How to Make It in Life

When somebody thinks something is really easy to do, they might say, "Oh that's duck soup!" Or, "It's as easy as pie!"

You never hear someone say, "It's as easy as pasta!" Or "That's rice!"

And why not? Pasta and rice are probably the two easiest things in the world to cook -- much easier than pie or duck soup, in any case. Actually, I've never had duck soup before, so maybe I'm wrong. What goes into it? But I suspect that no matter how you prepare it, duck soup is just a waste of duck. It's like watering down manna from heaven. Why not make some crispy Peking duck instead? That shit is delicious. Sometimes I wish Rachael Ray from the Food Network would cook me some Peking duck while dressed in nothing but a short skirt and a bra.

Ahhh, but then I think, why would Rachael Ray do something so silly? She would never wear something so degrading AND cook for me. She has too much self-respect. And besides, she'd get burned! But apparently she did it for FHM, like two years ago.










If you look closely at the eyes on her airbrushed face, you can see her soul dying on the inside. That's okay Rachael, we all make mistakes. Sexy sexy mistakes.

I've been so busy this past week that I've been neglecting a few things. For example, there are small piles of clothes at random spots on the living room floor, as if people were suddenly spirited away by the Rapture or spontaneously combusted in my apartment. But in reality I've been getting home at three in the morning every night this week, too tired to do anything except get undressed wherever I happen to be standing, taking a shower, then falling asleep. After this week, my place is a complete mess -- clothes, mail, trash, all scattered about. So when I started my clean-up today and began washing the dishes for the first time in a week, I shouldn't have been surprised that there was MOLD growing all over my plates and utensils. Not just a little, but a vast colony of green spores. I just hope they weren't waiting to find a human host. So anyway, this weekend will be dedicated to cleaning and unpacking and making sure I don't turn into the slob I'm afraid I'm becoming.

Why does orange juice taste funny right after you brush your teeth?

And why did I just drink orange juice after brushing my teeth?

Now I have to brush my teeth again.

Son of a bitch!

I went out with some friends for most of a hot, humid day yesterday. When I came home, it was hotter and more humid inside the apartment than it was outdoors. Then I noticed that my refrigerator door was ajar. Oh dear, I said to myself. We have ghosts. I pulled the door all the way open and looked inside. I swear, it was like opening up an oven -- I could feel the heat spill out of it, like I had decided to cook a pot roast in the fridge. @%$#, I said to myself. Everything inside was warm to the touch. My groceries -- my chicken, my steak, my macaroni salad, my mayonnaise -- all recently purchased, all done for. @%#&$!!!!!

I sort of wish I really did have a ghost, because then I could blame my stupid forgetfulness on something other than myself. Normally, I am obsessive-compulsive when it comes to checking if doors are locked, ovens are off, refrigerators are closed. I'll double, triple and quadruple check locks and switches. I'll turn my car back around after driving ten miles if I get a nagging feeling that I left one of my windows slightly open. It's sort of annoying to my friends and family, but for the most part, I think it's a good compulsion to have, because sometimes I'll catch things on the double or triple check that I didn't catch the first time. But apparently this compulsion has started to escape me recently, and at the worst times. The other night, I parked my car in the street and left the back window rolled all the way down for the entire night. Luckily, no one seemed to notice, but I felt stupid the whole day after. My powers, they fail me!

Oh well, perhaps it's the water in my new place, or it's just that I've got so much on my mind right now. Or maybe it really is a ghost, and it's decided to play tricks on me. I'll go with that for now because it can't be empirically disproven. Yes yes. I'll keep you up do date on what other stupid things my ghost makes me do.

Waiting for the cable guy
wish I could take a dump
but then he'll probably stop by
and I'll be caught in flagrante delicto
or in other words, mid-log
And then I'll have to force it all out
hoping I didn't eat Doritos the night before
or I'll have to cut my losses
if you know what I mean
Either way, there'd be no time
to cleanse my southern palate
Usually that takes me a good five minutes
to make it as clean as a whistle
or in this case, a kazoo
I'd have to pull up my pants and rush out
and avoid shaking his hand
and curse myself the whole time
for wearing new tighty whities today

I need to ease up on the night-time caffeine.

Which brings me to a question. Have you ever drunk so much coffee that when you're peeing afterwards, your pee smells like coffee? Tell me this happens to other people and it's not just me. Otherwise, I may need to see a doctor. Or open up a unique recycling business.

I must've put on at least ten pounds of muscle today. For today was moving day. My new apartment is on the second floor of a Melrose Place-style complex, but sans pool or sexy insane neighbors. It's also sans any elevator or dumbwaiter or any means other than stairs of getting heavy couches, refrigerators or bookshelves from the ground floor to the 2nd floor. I'm just lucky to be such a hulking physical specimen, a la Kevin Federline, that I could carry everything up on my chiseled back without breaking a sweat. Federline, yo.

But I did have lots of help from U-Haul, which made me realize that only certain gas stations pump diesel gasoline. Who knew? Truckers, you say? Touche. But let me ask you this -- have you ever encountered a trucker after they've driven 18 straight hours? They look at you with a grizzled thousand-mile stare and try to convince you that Jesus was an alien brought to Earth by a UFO. That's been my experience anyway. My trucker friend even gave me some literature on the subject, which I still have. Perhaps I'll post sections of his manifesto at a later date, once I unpack everything and find it. Or perhaps I shouldn't. He seems like the kind of guy who constantly Googles his own manifesto. He also seems like the kind of guy who would hunt me down and discipline me with his collection of glow-in-the-dark dildos.

I shouldn't generalize about truckers though. Most of them are cool. It takes lot of skill to maneuver a big-rig through rush-hour traffic. A lot them make great money too, whether it's through sweet government contracts, double-time night runs for FedEx, or winning overly dramatic arm-wrestling tournaments.

Here is the side of a beat-up old shed in my backyard that houses the washer and dryer.




Say, what's that beneath the paneling?




AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!




"We will pinch your face, crawl in your ears, and eat your BRAAAAAAIINS!"




Happy Friday the 13th everyone!

One day, a young gentleman was walking about his country garden when he came across a lone rose growing out of the bramble. This fellow, a well-groomed and elegant fop, said out loud to no one in particular, "I do say, that is a lovely flower! Perhaps I shall affix it to my lapel!"



But just as he bent down to pluck his prize, he heard a tiny voice scream, "Stay away, she's mine!" The refined and genteel jack-a-dandy, ill-equipped for handling confrontation, fainted on the spot. And with that, a triumphant little cricket bounded away with a thrust of her hind legs.

Here's a butterfly I saw in my backyard today. Click on the photo for a higher rez version. I'm really quite the procrastinator. I should be packing up and throwing things away in preparation for my move, but instead I take pictures of bugs. I don't know what kind of butterfly this is, but I was very sneaky and was able to get very very close to it, inches away in fact, before it flew away. I should become a ninja. Or perhaps a nature documentarian working for the BBC. Or maybe a combination of both. Yes, yes. I shall procure my poisons from the venomous snakes I document by day, then inject them into unsuspecting double agents by night. Ooooooh, perhaps I've stumbled upon a career. No one would ever suspect David Attenborough of being a silent assassin, would they? Well there you go.

So I finally found a new place to live. Yaayyyyyyy!!!! It's a one-bedroom apartment and it's relatively cheap. "Relatively" being the key word. But oh well, it's bigger than the place I currently live in and it's closer to work. The only downside is there's no backyard to plant things in anymore. No tomatoes, no bell peppers, no cool bugs to take pictures of. Now comes the stress of moving, renting the U-Haul, throwing out the back carrying the furniture, and the various changes of address forms I gotta submit. But I think it'll be fun. It's an excuse to throw away things I'm clinging onto for no reason, just because I'm a pack rat. However, it's also an excuse to buy new things to replace those things I throw away because I need things to match my new apartment. It's a win-win, really.

How disappointing!