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One Month Later . . .

2002-07-12 - 11:30 p.m.

Ok. How do these weeks keep going by so fast? Damned if I know. The fact that I am getting entries in only once a week, and usually on Fridays, is absolute bullroar. I am ashamed in myself. Except I'm not, since I have been busy up the KA-zoo this week. Was it the sinus infection that kept me away? The heat slowly creeping back? The lack of sleep? Maybe. Maybe. More than likely, it was a little from Column A, B, and C. And a healthy dose of earwigs of course. Always with the earwigs . . . So, without further or due - "Welcome to Frogville!" OR "Too Many Melissa's Ruin The Broth!"

So the Dynamic Duo of Jimbo and Ben continued to rassle and frassle and moonshine their way through the second half of last weekend. We decided to really party down Saturday and played the card game taught to us by Peter lo those many months ago. That's right - Estimation. It would be as boring as Tracey Lundgren's face to describe the game so I will just note two things. #1 - I still find it hard to believe that the three of us went through more than 30 beers ("30 Beers?!" yelled the ghost of Bittersweet Flower Shop) #2 - The quote of the evening had to go to Ben when I asked what the score was at and he exclaimed, "Jimbo leads Zach by 10 points and Ben's coming up fucking huge in the rear." Oh did we laugh. And we laughed and we laughed and we laughed. And then we tried to call and wish Laconia Hannah a Happy Birthday but Ben accidentally called some Tammy woman instead. 4 o'clock rolled around and of course Ben wanted to watch a movie, and of course it was Big Lebowski, and of course I needed to go pass out in my bed, and of course Ben was up at 9AM. He said he woke up and felt he needed to go grocery shopping. Freak - ass.

Stores are already putting up their Back-to-School and HALLOWEEN displays. Not Cool. Me not like that.

I don't like how the heat is just hiding on us. It's just sitting there. Laughing at us. Waiting to strike back again. And don't think it won't. Cause it will. Oh - it will. I hate it. I hate the heat. My mother called work and asked if I was being a "cranky hank" because it was so hot out. I begrudgingly said yes. She asked if it was because I was such a "sweaty eddie". Sigh. It is sad that all my co-workers know that my mother calls me "Brown". Do you understand that one of my nicknames is "Brown"? As in the color? No one goes around calling their kids "Green" or "Orange". My parents claim it's because I would get such a brown tan when I was at the beach when I was younger. Wow. My parents are SO creative. I also would put the smart money on them calling me "Lou" in my lifetime more than they've called me "Zach". I'm not even going to explain "Lou". I have already humiliated myself enough in this paragraph. So heat? Yeah. I hate it. A lot. And apparently I didn't realize I traded my sore throat from last week for the sinus infection of this week. I'm still relatively new to this whole "Wonderful World of Sinus Fun". It's about as fun as Tracey Lundgren at a sock hop. I've had the sinus problems in the ol' brow before, but never above my mouth. Oh my God how many times I wanted to kill myself this week. The FUCKING PAIN. Seriously. If you don't have sinus problems thank your lucky motherfucking stars. Every night (as well as every morning and afternoon) it felt like someone was jabbing rusty needles into right above my teeth and then taking two magnetic bricks and crushing them into my skull. I know what you're thinking - that doesn't sound too bad. But it is. I don't get sick often, so when I get something small -like typhoid- I tend to think it's the end of the world. But this time, seriously, I would have rather had Ebola Pink Eye instead. I haven't gotten to bed in the last 5 nights without a rockin' cocktail of Nyquil, Sinu-tab, Advil, and a shot of bathtub gin. And then I get up at the crack of dawn and mew about as the Snooze goes off every 9 minutes spouting Imus at me and serving only to confuse me further. I hate it. I get home from work with all these grand plans (such as writing a journal entry, writing the Great American E-mail Reply to Brett, laundry, writing an entry) and all that usually happens is I fall asleep in the chair, Ben needs stitches, or the kids outside steal all of the roses off of Ben's rose bush and we have to chase them off with brooms and dead skunks. And then it's time to go to bed and start all over again. Vicious vicious cycle. And then I am told that the best thing to combat sinus trouble is to take a really hot shower. A really hot shower. In record temperature July. Fucking fuck. And my mom likes to say, "Don't you think it's funny that all my sisters and my mother have sinus problems and I don't, and your father doesn't, and now you do?" Yeah. That's fucking hilarious. I hate the heat and I hate sinus infections. Have I made this clear? I did not like the heat or the sinus troubles in a box, I did not like them with a fox. I do not like them Sam-I-Am (not to be confused with that Durham starlet IAMSAM). I wish I could just be encased in ice like David Blaine (or the head of Ted Williams - maybe) and be woken up when fall gets here. But if I can't have that, I will take a block of ice and a panda. I like pandas. But not this panda - seriously, he creeps me the fuck out. Doesn't it look like he/she's giving you "the eyes"? I named the Panda "Ming-Ling".

"Ming-Ling: Flirtatious Panda On Ice"

So tomorrow is the big day! Which big day? The day of the game? No no. (So you can put that old yellow and blue dress away) Let's see - tomorrow is Tim Curtis's 37th birthday. But more importantly - tomorrow is the big Melissa Etheridge concert at Meadowbrook! Les Foote's ship has come in. Although, if he sees Molly Ringwald there, some *serious* shit is gonna go down. I don't know how the carts are gonna run tomorrow, what with all the Tuesdays flocking to Meadowbrook to hold up their lighters to the woman who was willing to have her children be spawned from the drugtastic sperm of David Crosby. Oh well. My Dad and all his Canoe Camping friends will be living it up in the front row I'm sure. This concert has been a long time coming, and I'm sure my Dad will be singing "Come To My Window" for the rest of the summer, if not his life. ("You know, Melissa Etheridge has OTHER songs other than just "Come To My Window"! Like . . . that one about the door or something . . .and the one about angels and stuff - ya know?" - Brooke) But speaking of Timothy P. Curtis and girls named Melissa!! - So Tim calls from Toronto (it's in Canada - I hadn't heard of it either) the other night from the lobby of the hotel he was staying at with a little bit of a celebrity sighting! He didn't sound so thrilled about it to put it mildly. He told me that said celebrity had just left the hotel lobby as he was calling me. At first I assumed it was Drew Barrymore, as Tim's hatred for Ms. Barrymore and her skewed smile matches the depths of my vile distaste of Helen Hunt. Alas, it was not Drew. It was someone he didn't like though. And extra points! It was a Bunim-Murray Productions Media Whore! It was Real World New Orleans Melissa! Oh well. This is the kinda stuff that excites pathetic reality TV junkies like Brooke, Kate, Andrea, and me. I actually liked Melissa most of the time her season was on, and she hasn't done much to annoy me since, but she's in the new season of the Challenge that they're filming in Jamaica right now - so there's still a chance for her to do something horrible and Kyle/Tonya-esque. But I doubt it. Mormon Julie will be there, and she usually is in charge of the moronically annoying stuff (not to mention that dumb magnet, pork eating Amaya will be there too). Anyway. It was a lot cooler at the time. Trust me. Much cooler. At the time. [Also, for those of you specializing in funtime July birthday trivia, Stacey's birthday is also tomorrow, the 13th. Remember Stacey, gang? Her birthday is tomorrow. The 13th. Now what was that joke I had about Stacey and birthday parties . . . hmmmmm, I must have left my joke file at work.)

Oh man, here we go, another Canadian reference (and surprisingly, it has nothing to do with St. Hubert's). "Alberta, Alberta" Eric Clapton once sang. And now I am singing the same tune. But it is the blues I am singing. Because my Scotland, PA poster is still not here. I e-mailed my moosehead friend in Alberta, and basically said "Yo - wazza dilly yo?" Except I said it better than that. She explained to me that sometimes it takes a month for things to get from Canada to here. Gah?! Andrea got a package from England in a week and half and Carey said that Evren gets her letters in TURKEY in a week! I may not know where Alberta is, but I'm damn (pretty) sure that it's not as far away as Turkey or Britland. Man, now I'm not gonna have my Scotland, PA poster for the BBBQ. Oh well, I finally got the hooky hooks to hang up the NewsRadio framed picture, which Ben promptly did when I brought them home. So now, above the TV is a nice little NewsRadio, Simpsons, Beatles display. Grand. It will be even more grand when Scotland, PA gets here. . .

So on Sunday Ben was moaning about how he really wanted to go see Spider-Man since he never got a chance to see it, and everyone else has seen it, and he didn't want to have to make me go twice. Um . . .riiiiight. Don't twist my arm. So I went again. And it was good again. I love Spider-Man. [Note: I DO NOT love the kid that came into the store today wearing Spider-Man underwear in place of pants and peed on the floor].

"Mmmmmm, Spider-brains!"

[I bought this issue of Amazing Spider-Man, #346, a little over a year after I first started collecting comics -with Web of Spider-Man #66- and I bought this one at Collectables on Canal Street. I thought the cover was rad, to use the parlance of *those* times, and I was getting a discount since I occasionally worked stuffing the back issue bins for the guy that ran the place. Any old-school Laconia boyz (ie - not the playa-hataz) will remember that that guy must have been like 7 feet tall and he was a mean motherfucker. Anyway, that was my first "official" job and it was a lot fucking better than reporting to Mrs. Suplee]

BBBQ - Next Saturday, the 20th. Unless you are the goatfucker known as Tracey Lundgren, be there. Ben will be grilling up a fine and dandy roast (and by "roast" I mean hot dogs, hamburgers, and steamers). I just hope the weather cooperates. Otherwise - we are Sky-rewed.

So I'm reading this old issue of Goldmine (an oversized newsprint magazine that catalogs bootlegs) the other night in bed. It's the "The Name of This Issue Is Talking Heads" issue. I'd read it when I first got it off eBay, but that was quite a while ago. So I'm reading it and noticing how well the the 4 of them are getting along during the interview (which is odd, as it's 1992 when the article takes place) and how well-versed in all things TH the interviewer is. So I make a point to check who the author is when I'm done. Then I come across the section where David goes off about how TH's "Mr. Jones" is an update of Dylan's "Ballad Of A Thin Man" and why. Hmmmmmm, that would have come in MIGHTY FUCKING HANDY when I was writing a term paper on that VERY thing like 8 months ago. Argh. I still did well on the paper, but that documentation really would have helped. Oh well. When I go back in time to kill the inventor of sinus infections, I'll drop that Goldmine off to me last December as well. And then, to top it all off, I look to see who the interviewer/author of the article was and it's Timothy White! Who just died. That's right. The very same Timothy White who died on that Death On Parade I talked about a few entries back. Argh. Double Argh.

Fast cars / And motorbikes / I'm sure glad / He's on our side / The Jones Gang / Down at the bar / Watch out, this time / They've gone too far

This is for all you wild and wooley (not Effie) Wiggity-Wallakers out there. Because of little piss-ants that paid for their merchandise with plastic bags full and socks full of change, this was what the $COIN$ looked like at cash out the other night:

50 Up - 6.50

25 - 10.75

10 - 12.80

5 - 3.75

1 - 2.19

THAT EQUALS $35.99!!! That's just not right. That is JUST NOT RIGHT. Anyway. . .

There was an honest-to-motherfucking-goodness Bearded Lady in the mall tonight (and NO G.I.W., I'm NOT talking about the Junior Varsity football squad). I saw her and freaked out and sent Becca and Hannah into The Gap to follow her so they could see the circus freak and laugh too. And they both refused because they thought it was -are you ready for this?- "too mean to do". Man. I would have freaked out on them more, but I was already in a pretty large Dog House with the Eldridge family for my meanerific hi-jinx towards Becca the day before. And I don't need anymore more irate mother's invading my State dreams. Man, do I even TRY to make sense anymore? Sigh. All I know is, if I had been working with such heartless monsters as Maura and Andrea (or K. Lo for that matter) they would have ran their asses down to The Gap toot sweet! Toot. Sweet.

I got in a fight with FOUR (count 'em, FOUR) Slopps yesterday. Both B's, C, AND K. I fought through proxy with Conner through Brad over the phone AT THE SAME TIME that I was trying to hold my cyber-ground whilst K-Slopp (with the occasional aid of Bryan) attacked me on I.M. He was all "Laconia Christian rocks. You don't. When are you gonna graduate? The Footes are lame. You're lame. Lame Lame Lame." Screw him. Except he really doesn't like Laconia "Bobolia" Memorial Christian that much at all, so I have to give him credit for that. Whatever. Like I don't get enough shit from the females in my family, I didn't need Slopps turning on me (all at the SAME TIME might I reiterate) too.

So one month later. One month later and I haven't touched my nails. Well, I mean, I've TOUCHED them. You know, I mean I haven't bit or picked them once. NOT ONCE. I hardly believe it. But now I'm starting to resemble one of those freaky tribeswoman in those National Geographics with the long circular fingernails. Gah-ross. So I think it's time to finally say goodbye to my Lee Press On Nails. One month later and I say I won't miss them after I rip them back to shreds. I won't miss them. That much. I'm also attempting to do the impossible in curbing my soda habit. More like soda addiction. Because that is what it is. I was going through at least 5 bottles a day of Diet Pepsi, and a last weekend I had 9 Diet Cokes in one day. ("Why do you like 'Diet'? Ewwww" - I fucking hate that fucking question.) So I've been buying Aquafina from CVS ("Customer Vampy Services") in the morning and then refilling all day at the water cooler (where we talk about Seinfeld). It's better for me and I'm not as irritable, but all it means is more beer and milk. Ewwww. Not together. Yeesh. So one month later, and we still fight for Thundera and we still remember that some things are More Than Meets The Eye.

Let's everyone give a big hand to Brett and Monique for taking the plunge and joining the rest of society by not only purchasing a DVD player, but buying it in the guise of a Playstation 2, so that means video gameth all the livelong day as sure as my name is Parappa the Rappa.

You know what I like even better than Sinu-tab?! My snail! Ok, ok - "OUR" snail. And not the "royal OUR" either! Hannah and my snail. His name is Kitty and he can defenitely make a gray sky blue. He is also good at laughing, running really fast, being dejected, angry, and shy. He eats a lot too. Here is a picture of Kitty the Snail for all the world to see. Don't worry, as Hannah says, "He won't bite. But if he does, it'll feel really weird, since he has teeth all over his tounge."


And so, as Laconia continues to nurse its Ja Rule hangover, I must go to bed, as I need to be up in 5 1/2 hours to go to work. And I wonder why I'm not feeling any better. Wait - no I don't. It's because I'm not getting any sleep. Argh. And now I have to go fold fucking laundry. How many times did I say "fuck" or some form of the word in this entry?? I bet *at least* four times.

It's been real,

Count Anton von Faber-Castelle

ps - I didn't have one void or return today. And that's even with getting used to the 20% off discount for the 1st day of the train sale. So put THAT in YOUR pipe and smoke it Miss Bedford!

pps - It's 1:40 AM and Melissa (Rose, not the one from Real World New Orleans, OR my dad's lesbian idol) just scared the living shit out of me by busting into the apartment and yellling of fights and tear gas and the Gaslight. I asked her if Jeff was there and she said yes, but he wasn't involved. I'll just wait until her story checks out. Anyway, she is barging around and yelling, so I must depart before Ben puts on his shit kickers (to kick some shit).

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