Summer, summer, summertime (summertime)

I love this city in the summer. The students are gone, so it's a little calmer all over the place, parking spots can be found, as can a table in a bar. Everyone seems to be a little happier, the assbag level of the town is lower, and I think everyone is just a little more relaxed. It's great. Plus, most of the people that I know around here stay for the summer, so I feel like there's a greater chance that I'll run into someone that I know downtown, just because the ratio is so much higher. Not that I didn't run into people during the year, but, like the rest of the summer, it just feels like a better time. And people are generally more available to hang out or do stuff during the summer, and the weather can be nice, at least in the early parts. When we get to 100+ degrees with 80% humidity in a month or two, I'll change my mind. But when it's like today, 72 and sunny, it can't be beat.

Again, I'm extremely tired, and apologize if I'm rambling or saying some inane stuff. I fell asleep for a little while, but woke up and felt the urge to blog. Unfortunately, I don't have anything interesting going on, so it makes or a dull post. Which is probably the norm around here of late. Really, though, there's not a lot going on for me, even though I'm feeling busy during the days. I read (in the middle of Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, still very good), go for walks, grill, and just hang out. And suffer from the seasonal allergy stuff. That sucks. I can't quite decide if I'm getting a cold or just having allergy symptoms, so I don't know what to take. Lately, I've gone the allergy route and had it work out ok.

Wow, I'm even boring myself to tears, and I love hearing about myself. . . I can't imagine what anyone out there is doing, if they've made it this far. Sorry, I'll come back tomorrow when I'm with it, and make a better attempt at being somewhat entertaining.

And just so you know, I deleted a whole, rather long paragraph about nothing whatsoever. I've been known to do that from time to time; in high school, I wrote full pages in a couple of people's year books, without really saying anything of substance. I really wish I still talked to those people, so I could see if they still had it, and see how absolutely childish I probably sound. Unless I said something extremely profound. But something's telling me that there's only a (very) slim chance of something life-altering coming out of my mind, especially at a time when I was playing the role of the "angst-y teenager." Seeing stuff I was actually trying to write well from that period makes me cringe up enough as it is, I can't imagine what seeing something I was intentionally trying to sound vapid would be like. Possibly an enlightenment. I should find these people. It could at least make for an entertaining post.

Tired

It's been a long day. Last night was spent celebrating my brother's girlfriend's 21st birthday and later me inadvertently nearly destroying my desk. And somehow getting a HUGE bruise on my knee, a pain in my left hand, a scratch across my chest, and just overall soreness. I really have no idea how that happened. I wasn't that drunk, just tired. I'd been up since 8, and had taken some allergy medicine early on in the day, so that probably didn't help. But really, I could have been mistaken for drunk before I left, I was getting words wrong in phone conversations and misspelling everything in emails.

I think just my overall loopiness affected me more than anything. Bill got a couple of drunken calls, so I'll have to hear his report on those before I come to any conclusions on how I was faring. I will say that I was more coherent than anyone else at the party. Which isn't really saying much. (It was rather ominous when I was going up the stairs to this bar only to see another fellow, who had also been celebrating his birthday, being carried down the stairs by a group of his friends. Once they reached the sidewalk, the dude was promptly dropped. Nice guys.) Bill also apparently was the recipient of a text message sent by myself, asking "Why does my thumb smell like teen spirit?" I have no idea what that means, but I vaguely remember waking up and sending it. Again, that was more of an out-of-it thing than a drunken message. Like the times that I've called people in my sleep. Or when others have woken me from my slumbers, and I cannot recall a single part of the conversation. Once I saw the message I had sent, though, I was almost in tears laughing. I can be a funny guy when in a daze, I guess.

Today was mostly spent bumming around again, going to the park and finishing up the mix CD's (they will be in the mail tomorrow!) and reading. Work tonight, though, was hell. Postal rates increased today, and of course we ran out of the 2-cent stamps that make up the difference in the hike. And people were not pleased by that fact. Then I literally got a small garbage sack filled with disposable cameras and rolls of film to be developed. Doing one-hour can be fun, but when it gets boring and tedious, it can make for a long night. Especially when the pictures are from a funeral (I seriously had two separate orders that had casket photos.), it doesn't improve my outlook on the day. Although, I did have some photos of a newborn baby, taken at the hospital. This kid was bringing a strong sack, that's for sure.

Ok, I don't really know if that last paragraph really made any sense. Especially near the end. But once again, I'm having a hard time typing, and my eyelids are having a hard time staying open. I will leave you with a bedtime story that someone suggested that I write, incorporating a mustache, whipped cream, and handcuffs. So here is "Ordinary Nights." (note: this has no basis in any real-life events. This is just me rambling on about a pretty ridiculous premise. Just let me go with it, I'll be finished soon enough.)

It was a Saturday night, and I was sitting at the kitchen table when she jumped me. It was a sneak attack that I didn't see coming, made with such litheness that a cat burglar would have been green with envy. First she handcuffed my arms behind my back, and then secured my legs to those of the chair, rendering me helpless. Then came the whipped cream. She knew right where to put it to annoy the piss out of me: above my lips and below my nose. Yes, I was given a Redi-Whip mustache. Now I love dairy products as much as the next guy, but I have a little trouble when it comes to anything edible coming out of a squeeeze can. And, to add to the embarrassement, I could do nothing about it. Not that I really would have, I was kind of curious as to where this was going, and I really wanted to know what I would look like with a mustache. I gotta say, it wasn't bad. If only I could grow one as full as the whipped cream had been. That is, until it started to melt and run down my face. Once I got a taste of it, I realized that my hatred of all things aerosol may have been unfounded, the deliciousness of it was too much for me to handle. In an epic display of power, I burst through my shackles, leapt up, and grabbed the can. After applying a mustache to my assailant that would have made Magnum P.I. proud, I emptied the rest of the contents into my mouth. Ironically, the whipped cream ended up coming out my nose, giving me another mustache. With our matching mustaches, I grabbed her arm, ran to the window and said "Look at all those stars. It's a beautiful night. . . to sleep! I'm tired. goodnight." And I ran to bed, buried myself under the covers and waited for my mustachioed friend.

I may have lost my focus at the end. I'm pretty sure those are my exact thoughts entering my head, so yeah. Anyways, it's still a solid story, I'll be waiting for my bedtime story writing prize.

nighty night every body. I promise I'll try to have a normal post tomorrow.