Canterbury [Man] Down

I won three-eighty.
After I spent 15.
I had this instinct about a horse named Marco Salt.
It's what happens EVERY time we gamble. I spend the afternoon betting paltry amounts on the underdog or the neglected machine. I lose.
Matt bets huge on several hands of poker and ends up getting "screwed by [fill in the blank]...and why do we even come here? I don't have money to spend on this! I want another piece of camera equipment."
"No, Matt. No."
"But this just...aaaah! I HATE gambling!"

I've Got Observations About So Many Things, But Not About Cars

I'm driving down 70th when my car is schmacked by a piece of branch or someshit launched out of an industrial mower. Aside from the pee running down my leg, this isn't an emergency, so I can't pull over and stop traffic.
I reach my destination and bend down by the side of the car. Those bastards! I've probably got a gaping hole in my....lower bumperish-side-fender thing.
I see that there are many dents. So very many.
And honestly, I don't remember any of them.
Those bastards! That flying tree made at least 40 dents of varying sizes and severity!

Behind the Music: Ugly Homes

The split level home peaked in the 1950s and has continued to quietly prosper ever since.
Yes.
Yes, people. That is what I'm talking about.

As the Home Commission Board Members twirl tiny straws in their Manhattans, the scene unfolds:
"A toast!"
Echoed, "A toast!"
"To James 'Carpenter' Level and Johnny 'Banana' Split, inventors of the Split-Level--"
"It's 'Level-Split,' All Brick Housing."
"To Level Split!"
"No, it's 'Split-Level' Housing Industry Incorporated Limited, Home of Aluminum Siding'"
"Whelp, in either case!"
"Another round!"
"Anyway, let's hear it for these guys, eh? Way to go, boys."
"You sly son of a..."
-----Business Lunch Brawl Ensues---------
Many hours later as Level and Split survey the plans over Gin and Tonics:
"Heck, let's do it. Let's please all of the people all of the time. Half brick, half aluminum siding."
"That's damn classy."
"You're damn classy."
"You're just saying that."
"No, seriously."
-----Back at the Office Two Person Brawl Ensues-----
Ugly ass homes are built around the Continental US. Level and Split leave a legacy of hideous houses, but blow their entire fortune on coke and prostitutes.

Joyride!

Newly returned from Cub Foods where I rocked an abandoned electric cart in the parking lot. My accomplices noticed a key in the ignition and I went Evil Knievel around a pole.
Breaking news: I was just interrupted by my dad who is giggling at a Pampers commercial: "Potty training is the largest challenge. Second is sleeping all night. It's a balance between intimidation and utility."
Naturally, I did not ask for an explanation. I prefer to decode his messages in sleep. And when they apply.
Which is to say, in about 10 years.

Where's My Soapbox?

dog toy
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Arggggh.
Listen up, children. You want to know why I leap out of reach of your pets? Why I gag at the sight of animal-human smooching? Here's the truth.
It's not that my dad hates animals because he's not good at sharing his space.
It's not about Lo, my beautiful fish whom Meg accidentally seared on the window sill when I left for Ireland. Although that was incredibly traumatic. All water under the bridge, Meg. You know I love you.
This is why I don't like animals: they eat things that are not food.
Nooooooo. Whyyyyyyy.
Not you, my precious Flip Flops.
Oh, Flip. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone with those doggies.
Flop, forgive me. If I had known, I could have protected you.
I would have. Please, believe me.

Evening Showers; Humid with a Chance of Cute Hair

Keyboarding or AIR GUITAR?!?!
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Shoot!
My best hair is happening after midnight.
Right now.
This is it.
This is my best hair.
It's summertime, which means that no matter when you shower, you will sweat again. I don't mind sweating. I mind showering. I have a one shower per diem limit.
The few benefits of the evening shower:
1. eliminates 60% of hairdrying overheat (approximately)
2. creates cute going-out hair in the event that I might leave the house
3. blog-inspiration
4. guaranteed ponytail the next day
When I am in sleep-prep mode, my hair looks freakin awesome. I mean, really. The bang behaves; the layers flip in whatever direction they choose; I look like a rock star.
I should take up the synthesizer.
Right now I am rocking out this keyboard as if it were a groovy synth. It is not.
Or it is and the music I make is this very post.
Yesssssssssssssss.

Midnight Snack Musing

Fun size candy bars are only fun if you have two or more.
And that is not the serving size.

Senior Discount(ed)

Remember that time we were walking around Calhoun and that old guy passed us...?
Walking?
And how he was a few yards ahead for at least a quarter of a mile while we marveled and tried in vain to pump our arms with enough force to overtake him?
Yeah.
And then we saw our chance and took the off-road path for a few seconds to pass him back (the shame morphed into vengeance so quickly).
Remember how we had to cheat to beat the old guy who walked faster than us?

No, me neither.

Catatonic Carly

"The best part of wakin' up...is stickin to the couch."
She's singing to the tune of Folgers.
Carly has just spent the last few morning hours sleeping off her exhaustion after...sleeping.
She complained briefly about the heat, though she is wearing sweatpants and is covered by a down blanket. She threatened to turn on the air which we can't because
1. It's not actually that hot. She's got that just-woken-up-sweaty-nap thing happening.
2. Mom and I hate the air conditioning. All of the windows are closed and what since I'm so hard at work, sometimes I don't get to go outside that often. I love the smell of summer. That's enough to make me defend number 3...
3. No authority. When you live with the Poppa, you don't touch the thermostat.
Now she's talking to the tv: "My day just keeps getting better!...The Laguna Beach Preview Special and they introduced me to all new people. Then, I twisted my back. And then I burped."
Somebody employ this woman.

Ode to the Bus

A poetic narrative in the freest free verse ever writ:

Metro Transit, what joy to me you bring.
I f'ing love riding Downtown.
Route 6, (minus the time that guy got stabbed) is where I long to linger.
In the window I pinch a finger.
(Crap. That hurt.)

I drift off into sleep when my head jerks back
Awake (Did I miss the stop? Where am I? Is that drool?)
I lean head-on-arm and slack-jawed again
Until Southdale.

And now, an interlude:

To the driver whose socks are long and smiles thin:
It'd be sweet if you were cheerful like the other guy. He always says, "Have a good one." Don't you want me to have a good one?
Oh. Well. Now I know.

To that lady wearing the stank ass perfume:
Don't do that anymore. No, I'm not kidding. You smell ridiculous. Can you smell that? It's you.

To the guy who checks out EVERY woman:
Oh, now. Please. Ew. Go sit with the stinky lady.

And now, a conclusion:
Fin.