So I got dressed up real nice. Improvised a bolo tie out of pipe cleaners and this squirrel skull I found on the street. Borrowed one of them collared shirts from my pal Fat Dave. Shirt may have been too big by a factor of a triple X, but I know I was looking real sharp.
Took her to the fanciest place I know. When we get there, I says to her, I says, "You can pick whatever you want out of the dollar menu, 'cause you seem like someone special."
Wouldn't you know? She walked out right then and there, without a by-your-leave. So I calls after her, "You can even have three of everything!"
Without turning her head to see the tears on my face, she flipped me the bird and kept on walking.
Broads these days. You know?
This is a far more important occupation than actually doing my job as a computer programmer or working on relaxation. As a result, I tend to write short stories when I should be working.
If you tell my boss about that, I'm calling your mother to tell her about that thing you did with her, umm--you know.
Why don't you let me take over? I'm getting impatient.
Just--just stop looking over my shoulder. I'm not going to let you judge me.
Look, just stand over there. Out of the way. I can insult your competence from anywhere, baby. Just make sure your eyes are on me. When I turn to give you a cheesy wink, I expect you to be paying attention. I also expect you to just melt.
Yeah. I'm really good at managing expectations.
Sometimes, they notice my sheer, silken harem pants.
Either way, they be askin about me booty, the dirty scallywags.
(b) movies: I don't see enough of these, though I should note that I am well equipped to enjoy the most terrible movies ever made.
(b.5) tv shows: Not having regular access to TV for six years and being wholly disinterested in sports has made me an ace at turning 99% of all small talk into brainstorming sessions and insult competitions.
(c) music: All time favorites: Tom Waits, Servotron. If the lyrics are -- thoughtful without being overwrought; playful without being obsessed with its own cleverness; and/or melancholy without sounding hopeless -- I'll tend to be drawn to it.
(d) foods: tripe, sweetbreads, cheeseburgers, msg, lard, carp, chalk.
2. Anger -- not your misdirected, angsty-for-the-sake-of-being-angsty sort of anger. More the, "hyperbole AND ad hominem? GRRRRAAAAGH! I SMASH YOUR TV AS WELL!" or "Garrison Keillor is still a pretentious bag of d---? GIVE ME MORE TERRY GROSS, RADIO!" So, basically, I'm talking that kind of anger that is so superficial that you can't help but be aware that it's superficial.
If you don't get how that could work out to be a motivator, err, hey, we've all got --
3. Problems -- I like 'em. Especially the kind that take just enough critical thought that solving them is a joy. Sometimes I like the sort of problems that require the kind of rapid perspective shifting that makes inflexible tightasses dizzy. Right now, I'm trying to work on my problem with shouting purely for effect. As you can tell from the above, it's not going too well.
I'm also looking into the problem of reversing the decay of animal matter, because of ...
4. My cuddly stuffed rat Bartholemew. Cross him, and he will erase you.
His powers are limited, however, and he can't give me back the time I'm spending on this. Why, Barthole--
Oh, hell with it:
5. The ability to refuse to completely participate in this farcical exercise. Harumph.
Why don't you respond to my pathetic pleas for attention? By golly, why can we not just skip this whole OKC thing and get married, like granny wants us to?
How could you? The orphans--will--not--survive--not unless they eat a fistful of yarn. You're damning them by living with neither guilt nor fear!
I should think the above is perfectly reasonable and segues very well into the next essay.
I--I'm having second thoughts. I've been thinking a lot about the future since I wrote that, and I think maybe we need a little bit of a break from eachother. I'm not even saying that I want to see other people, I just need some time alone.
I know how this might sound, and I know that it might hurt a little, but I just need to breathe a little before we take this any further. I know it sounds a little corny and maybe somewhat insincere, but just believe me when I say it: it's not you, it's me.
If you hate me now, I'll understand. I do hope that I can sort all this out and talk to you soon.
That, or if you think you can get an honest answer out of me on any subject at all.