You're all invited to my pity party
It's BYOB: Bring your own Blame
I hate to shave. Too many options really.
Shave gels. Shave creams. Shave lotions
They all look the same when mixed with blood.
I've let my facial hair grow grow and grow to the level of "Code Red". And my facial hair doesn't grow long. It grows thick. It adds weight to my face. I feel like Harrison Ford in "The Fugitive" when I let it get this bad. There I am, trimming hair, trying to re-enter society. I find it strange that immediately after shaving, I end up in a footchase with Tommy Lee Jones. Coincidence? I think not.
Tommy Lee Jones is the name of my beagle
I find putt-putt very relaxing. Bowling too. Coloring three. I liked all those things when I was 8. Then I went through a basketball phase, and when my dad tore down my basketball goal when I was 18 so he could put in a carport... that section of my life went down the gutter. So I guess now I'm regressing.
Come find me in 3 months when I'll be Co-captain of the Dallas Hopscotch League.
Every now and so then again I get into a complete creative funk/standstill. (Hence, the hopscotch joke) I try different things to get out of it
I blog
I cry
Then cry some more
So after spending the last 7 hours in a tearfall. I've come to this conclusion
Crying gets you nowhere. Unless you're in a crying contest, which in which case you might, depending on how good you are, get a ribbon.
See what I mean about creative funk?
Boo-hoo.
I hate to shave. Too many options really.
Shave gels. Shave creams. Shave lotions
They all look the same when mixed with blood.
I've let my facial hair grow grow and grow to the level of "Code Red". And my facial hair doesn't grow long. It grows thick. It adds weight to my face. I feel like Harrison Ford in "The Fugitive" when I let it get this bad. There I am, trimming hair, trying to re-enter society. I find it strange that immediately after shaving, I end up in a footchase with Tommy Lee Jones. Coincidence? I think not.
Tommy Lee Jones is the name of my beagle
I find putt-putt very relaxing. Bowling too. Coloring three. I liked all those things when I was 8. Then I went through a basketball phase, and when my dad tore down my basketball goal when I was 18 so he could put in a carport... that section of my life went down the gutter. So I guess now I'm regressing.
Come find me in 3 months when I'll be Co-captain of the Dallas Hopscotch League.
Every now and so then again I get into a complete creative funk/standstill. (Hence, the hopscotch joke) I try different things to get out of it
I blog
I cry
Then cry some more
So after spending the last 7 hours in a tearfall. I've come to this conclusion
Crying gets you nowhere. Unless you're in a crying contest, which in which case you might, depending on how good you are, get a ribbon.
See what I mean about creative funk?
Boo-hoo.
posted by Paul at 3:22 PM
4 Comments:
Bad, sad, dad, had. Botts had a bad day. What a day Botts had. The way these BLOGs look, it's as if there is some great revelation written here. One sees the soothing backgrounds behind smooth clean text and might expect some sort of agnorisis or enlightenment to be shared with the world. The truth is that I just got off a four-day party binge with some poor guys’ wife while he was out of town on business. I woke up this morning in my own vomit and lying next to her ravaged sleeping body. I wiped myself on the curtains and after using her husbands’ razor and toothbrush. I rinsed with a glass of whatever booze was laying in the bottle next to the Couch on the floor, spit it on the ottoman, then keyed his Mercedes on the way out. The truth is I got nuthin. Zip, zero, zilch, nothing, nada, not a thing, bubkis. So come back some other day when I feel like spewing some type of intellectual garbage. There is nothing here for you. Go away. Leave!
Damn..........It's all I have. don't take this from me.
I do this while wasting company resources. I cut and pasted into the frame I thought was going to mine. My apologies.
The last time I cried is when my mom said we should start seeing other people. I don't do it much myself because I hate hearing the "I'll give you something to cry about!" speech from my dad...and my boss...and my wife...and the neighbors very attractive Alaskan husky.
Post a Comment
<< Home