There is going to be a lot of talk about poop in this entry. so if you can't handle it, stop reading now.

In response to Lisa's blog about never having to use the can at ACL, here's the thing: I move my bowels an average of twice a day, I use an average of 25 squares of toilet paper per dump, there are 800 squares in a roll, I've bought one 4 pack of toilet paper since I've lived in my apartment, there's one roll left, I've lived in my apartment for 8 months. Doing the math, I should have used 15 rolls of toilet paper in that time if I defecate solely at home. That means 80% of my dumpy lumpkins are sent to their watery graves in unfamiliar toilets. Don't look at me like I'm a horrible father, death is better than being stuck in a man's colon. (If you take the last part odf that sentence, it sounds like I'm very homophobic). Moral of the story: "Don't invite me to your house, for I will drop some logs in your forest" (I don't even know what that means!)

In further news. I was telling my physical therapist how cool my Nokia is and how it never breaks. She silently asked me for an example so I dropped it from a total of 2 feet onto a carpeted floor. I have done this numerous times on accident from higher points, onto harder surfaces, plus dropped into a tank full of gasoline, twice! I've lit it on fire, given it a bath, fed it to a girrafe (you know how far girrafe turds have to fall!?!) and its been fine. It seems that 2 feet and a carpeted floor seem to be the 6620's kryptonite, or that's what it says iin the owners manual, should have read that sucker. Now I can only send and recieve calls, because the select key doesn't work. I can't even check my texts!

That'll teach me to spend $180 on a phone. So I just spent $220 dollars on a new Nokia that they don't even sell in the States. It's shock resistant, water resistant, has an MP3 player, a flashlight, a radio, a compass, a walkie talkie, a sound meter, bluetooth, infrared, a calendar. I'm not kidding, It'll be here on Monday morning. I will be having the ceremonious first dropping from my balcony that afternoon if you would like to come give me a call (not an f-ing text!).

When you don't go out at all, don't have staph, are sans festering sore on you lip, or haven't just shaved off you beard (while cleaning out the last 8 ozs. of a botlle of pomade), there really isn't much to blog about.

Except, it's 6:15AM and I'm chowing down on a new flavor of yogurt I found at my local health food store. It's called Marionberry. What came first? The marionberry, or the crack smoking democratic mayor of D.C. who got elected to a second term after the scandal? I don't care. All I know is that these crunchy pieces are delicioso. My mouth is kinda numb though. What's that on my arm? A freckle? I'm gonna dig that out.

That poem rocked!

BTW. I found a girl's website and I think we need to convince her to move to Austin and fill in for Katie Spencer in her absence. Guess what her name is... Kate Spencer. Creepy huh?

But this one is funny. Check her out at www.katelikesyou.com.

I wait on my balcony

for the music to come to me.

The first night I missed the fest.

I wait with desire

for the beautiful fire

can't miss a note, beat lest..

a moment shall pass

a riff be the last

and my life was just in jest.

I need a job where I work in the morning again. I've now gotten in the habit of setting my alarm to get 8 hours of sleep but when the alarm goes off, I hit snooze for 3 hours. I'm not exaggerating. I wake up every 15 minutes. The only reason that I can rationalize doing this is because I have the craziest dreams that I don't really remember past a few hours.

The one that I had just before I came to work was about driving this huge purple hoopty around a city that I didn't recognize. I all of a sudden got a craving for a hamburger and stopped at what seemed like a Carl's Jr. I wanted time to look over the extesive menu so I went to the one that was posted in the bathroom. This place was cool. You could choose specific things like what type of lettuce (arugula, bib, green leaf, romaine, etc.) or tomatoes (heirloom, roma, vine ripe) and they had all these different kinds of meats and cheese. I looked at the menu for what seemed like 30 minutes in dream time before ordering a sirloin burger with smoked cheddar and beef bacon, bib lettuce drizzled with a little balsamic vinnagrette, roma tomatoes, grilled vidalia onions, chiopotle mayo, and dijon mustard.

My alarm went off right before I bit into it so I got dressed and went up to P. Terry's.

Hippie Chicks!

Everyone knows that I am prejudiced against hippies. They're cool but truthfully, I judge them right when I get that giant draft of patchoulli announcing their free loving, large government presence. This may be from dating so many of them. Why the hell am I still attracted to these pot heads? Why are they cool with me?

Do liberal chicks just want a crew cut, fratesque, anglo conservative? Do I just want a dirty hippie?

Is it that whole, I can change them with my love thing? Because I know its not. I've changed them for a time, but after I kicked them to the curb they went right back to their organic gardening, co op living ways. (Seriously, I have to show you one of my exes MySpace profiles. After I read it, I vomited and then took a 2 hour shower concentrating on the Netherlands)

This entry is prompted because I just gave this serious hippy a tour of the gym just now. She seriously skipped everywhere, and would ramnle off when talking and when I asked her what she was saying she would tell me that she had an active imagination. Yeah, or your really high! At the end of the tour, she stuck round shooting the shit for a half hour and then told me I was really cute and asked me out... to a drum circle!

I almost didn't tell her that I am dating someone. My imagination was pretty active too. but I am really high.

The world of ceramic fruit tree collecting is very feast or famine. You won't find any on ebay or anywhere for like 9 months and then bam! There's three beautiful pieces all at once. I will be very happy to make these additions to my ever growing ceramic produce family. Its difficult being at the top of the highly competitive world of obscure specialty antique collecting. Its not a large group. Actually, the only other person in it is what I assume to be an old lady living out in the country who beat my bid at the last moment on this great indigo piece. I get this from checking the previous auctions that she has won. She purchased a hand stitched quilt, an old foot powered sewing machine, a case of tapioca flavored Ensure, among other things. Bitch better hope we don't meet in a dark nursing home hallway. I learned how to kill an old lady slowly with her own knitting needles back in 'Nam.

In further news... Jess "the cheap Jew" Dunkel, as everyone will now refer to him, and I went to Shoal Creek Saloon last night for some pitchers and conversation. At the end, we split the bill, it came out to $21 each. I tipped my customary five dollars then asked Jess what he tipped. 2$! F-ing $2. Jess is usually a pretty generous guy, but under %10?!? I'd beat him with a sack full of valencia oranges (because it doesn't leave a bruise), but I think he'd like it. Everyone please berate him accordingly.

Next party idea for when Kate conveniently has to work: We'll call it "The Meating". This revolution will be taped and subsequently televised. I got the hook up on a truckload of D grade ground beef. It's D grade, that's not failing, it just means its not fit to be sold to in retail outlets but oh so fit to frolick in, wearing a minimum of clothes.

Think of the possibilities. We combine man's two favorite things: meat and naked chicks and, of course, beer. Then, it's like playing with fire for those of us who live dangerously, you have dysentery, explosive diarhea, salmonella, and, if we're lucky; mad cow.

Even better, if theres a little bit of manure, we can call it "The Staph Meeting"

This one's for you Kate. I know how sad you get when you can't get that daily glimpse into the inner workings of my soul.

One day soon, I think I am going to be that guy who everyone has to take care of. Lisa just made it look so fun the other day. (That's not a dig on you Lisa) I'm by no means saying that I am the model of responsibility. Everybody knows that Todd likes his sauce to the extreme just as much as Kate (that was a dig on you Kate). Anyone want to join in the debauchery?

Why Jess Dunkel is a actually a chick.

Man, Jess is going to get mad at me for this one.

So I try to perform the disappearing act that everyone does at partes when you don't want to have to say "nice to have met you" to a lot of people that you could care less about at that given point in time. You know what I'm talking about. If you're not trying to impress anyone, there's no point in the pleasentries. If I wanted to impress; I would of just come in the buff. Well, Jess was sitting in the middle of said group of people so I weighed my options and decided to exeunt. Well, I didn't add the over emotional text messages to the scale. Jess did actually see me as I was in my car and said goodbye but heres the texts.

1: So wait-how were you going to leave so shadily without saying goodbye

2:Glad I was outside, douchebag McAsswipe

Check it. This is how you can really tell that he's hurt. "Without" not "w/o" and he capitilized the "A" in "McAsswipe". Now those are extra keystrokes that a dude wouldn't use. Unless... he was mensturating

I really hate people who don't know how to shake hands. Well, not them per se, but their dads who never taught them the importance of a good handshake. Maybe they didn't have a dad, then its acceptable.

There's the limp wrist. Usualy this also goes along with the people who don't know how to grab firmly as well. Kate doesn't have this problem, which is why I'm scared of the "stag" semi formal w/ free hjs. Learn that you have the grip power of Big John in the "Over the Top" (BTW, one of the greatest Stallone movies of the late eighties; where he teaches his long lost son the tough, learn from your own mistakes, world of long haul trucking and competitive arm wrestling).

Then theres the vikings. They always insist on grabbing your wrist really, really hard with the excuse that they're checking for hidden daggers. I'm wearing short sleeves and what the hell are you doing in Texas in the 21st century for Valhalla's sake?

But worst of all: "The early grab". These are those people who squeeze too early and end up just getting the tips of your fingers where you can't grab back. You break the handshake and you feel like the d-bag who can't grab back. I wonder sometimes if they do this just for the emasculated feeling the other person gets. If so...I'm going to start early grabbing.

Have you ever recieved a text mid slumber and awoken to find its from a number which you don't recognize? Any blog readers knowe the number (512)740-6338? This mystery will be solved.

In further news, I hate dshes in the sink. Hate it, hate it, hate it. You may say I have an OCD. Whenever I get home, my roomate has piled a whole days worth of dishes up to the edge, they have solidified food particles on the plates, red gatorade stains on the glasses, and human blood all over the spoons! You can't get that shit out! Its worse than tomato sauce. People call me anal retentive but thats my only peeve.

Speaking of "anal retentive" as a means to segway into another topic: Freud made up the whole theory of anal retentivity (now thats a cool word), saying that when people are infants they are one of two types. Anal retentive individuals derive pleasure from the exercise of power that they have over their parents because they won't "give up" their poop. When they hold on to it, especially during potty training, they recieve attention and get to keep their precious brown gold all to themselves. Anal expressive individuals, on the other hand (or the other cheek rather), derive pleasure from "giving up" their shit to their parents. Their parents enjoy this tremendously for some reason and the kid realizes the pleasure of letting the doodoo express fly past his ass station like its some small Wisconsin village not even worth slowing down for on its way to Porcelain City. Unless its the local. Then he still gets a little joy as he grunts it out car by fiber filled box car.

After that description, wouldn't you like to join my new club, "The Asspressers"? We only Ass-press on special occasions, like my birthday. But we ass-express everyday. It will be a club totally devoted to something that we have had the joy of creating. We sweat and push and cry this thing into the world and we should be able to share it with other like minded individuals. Well, not share per se, but descriptions and feelings and if you want to, even pictures. You might be wierded out at first but dig deep. Mentally!

Isn't this what you have always really wanted more than a club devoted to the most anal retentive person you and I know?

DEUCES

Another night of getting drunk beyond the point of reason or sanity last night. To be young and still have a working liver, I thank my lucky stars everyday. I have no interesting topics today. This blog is just out of duty. Peace!