After dumping the entire contents of my pepper shaker into my dollar store pasta I decided to skip dinner and drink instead. Since Jen and I moved in almost a year ago, I have managed to break every single piece of stem and glassware owned by both of us. I usually break them when washing them by hand, and have actually shattered a glass bear mug in my hands on several occasions. I just really hate dishes and I drink when I do them, a combination that bestows Herculean strength into my grip. As a result, tonight I am having a glass of wine in a coffee mug covered in kittens.
Jen is out with some new girl she met in her french class, and I am watching romantic comedies and kung fu by myself with a bottle of wine and a kitten coffee cup. I can't seem to get off of my couch the past few weeks. I catch myself daydreaming about lying on my couch while I'm at work, or really anywhere other than my couch, at least ten times a day. I stole my couch from my dad's house because I remember lying in that couch when I was in middle school and feeling my troubles melt away with it's dark blue tethered pleather exterior. Oddly enough, my inclination to seeking comfort in quality furniture is a perfect example of how I am becoming my mother.
When I moved in with Jen I begged my mother for the love seat she was hoarding in her basement. The love seat is large enough to accommodate a full grown cow comfortably and is probably the most most magnificent chair ever created. The chair's name is "Either Allen" because it has a potent either that will calm you to a sleep of unimaginable deepness. "Mom, please I need a chair for my new living room and you're not even using it, it's just collecting dust," I pleaded to my mom, whose response was, "I've gone through a lot in that chair, it's my divorce chair.
I drink my drinks out of coffee cups, because i've broken all of my wine glasses and generally all of my glasswear that doesn't have a handle attached to it. I watched romatic comedies for about seven hours and then realized I hate being single. It reminds me of the time when I was little nd my dog died and I watched homeward bound a thousand times . I tend to do that. Watch sad stories about what I'm sad about wright about that.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
WOP
My mother is convinced she is going to get murdered in my neighborhood, so she's made it a point to never visit me, saying, "I get neuvous driving in your neighborhood, I don't know where anything is and if I got lost I could get murdered." Inspite of her paralysing fear of Kansas City, Mo, my mom managed to make it to my apartment today, to steal the tires off of my car. Over the years I've watched my mom do some pretty cheep shit, but I think stealing my tires before the salvage yard tow-truck could get my car, and switching them out with her old tires might be her grandest heist yet. "They've got thousands of miles left Ryan, I'm not letting a salvage yard take those tires, when mine are bald."
At 7:00am she calls me to alert me that she is in rout with her boyfriend, and that I need to unlock the trunk. "Mom, Jesus Christ just reach in one of the broken windows and hit the trunk button," I slurred into the phone. Shortly after I said this I hear my car alarm going off. Apparently throwing boulders through the windshield and drivers side windows will not activate the alarm, but popping the trunk when the doors are locked will. So I had to get out of bed, which when you take into consideration how much I drank last night, was a challenge akin to climbing Everest. HEAT! the heat was on when you got back becuase you turned it off or so you thought becuase jen leaves the ac on with the wondows open and you hate that. talk about how you went crazy infront of clint how you were naked infront of clint and then talk about how this is just a normal day for you.
At 7:00am she calls me to alert me that she is in rout with her boyfriend, and that I need to unlock the trunk. "Mom, Jesus Christ just reach in one of the broken windows and hit the trunk button," I slurred into the phone. Shortly after I said this I hear my car alarm going off. Apparently throwing boulders through the windshield and drivers side windows will not activate the alarm, but popping the trunk when the doors are locked will. So I had to get out of bed, which when you take into consideration how much I drank last night, was a challenge akin to climbing Everest. HEAT! the heat was on when you got back becuase you turned it off or so you thought becuase jen leaves the ac on with the wondows open and you hate that. talk about how you went crazy infront of clint how you were naked infront of clint and then talk about how this is just a normal day for you.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
If I stay there will be double.
Somewhere between getting my nipples naired as a form of fore-play by a twenty year old hunk and swimming at a beach surrounded by sky scrappers, I came to the conclusion that Chicago was the city for me. I also came to the conclusion that people don't know what fore-play is any more. It has the word play in it, so play. Shave some nipples or backs, take it from me; it's kinda hot. Prior to getting my nipples shaved by a stranger in Chicago the only true form of fore-play I'd had was the time Cow and I played dirty scrabble in the nude, turns out there are only so many dirty words you can spell with four E's and three vowels. Fore-play has a new importance in my life now, which means yet another tally has been added in the, "things my future husband must be good at" list. In fact, it might be wedged between, "has good job," and "cries during Finding Nemo." People tell me I'm unrealistic in my expectations of a man who posses a great deal of masculinity coupled with an inclination to get teary eyed during heart wrenching Disney dialogues. But I think it's totally realistic, and I know it's realistic because I've seen it.
I went to Chicago last week with my friend Jered on a mission. I was to find a job, and Jered was to leave for Korea to reunite with his husband Michael. I like to think of my friends in terms of what animal I think they most resemble. Jered is a manatee, hands down; and not because he is fat and gets ran over by boats but because he just floats with the currant life guides him with, and because life has left scars on him so deep not even a boat could cut. He has never lost his grace though, and he is floating to Korea to be with the man he loves, who left two months ago for a job teaching English to children. Michael is more of a long haired chihuahua, and not because he has bladder control issues and shakes a lot, but because his energy is so overwhelmingly enthusiastic that you can't help but love him. Plus he sort of looks like a Chihuahua.
Somehow my manatee and chuihuahua friends work as one, and it gives me hope that maybe I'll find someone to float across the world and into my arms. But for now, I need to float my ass to Chicago and be absolutely alone, because lets face it, I'm lazy. I'm never going to accomplish anything in Kansas City where I have become lazy, unmotivated, and way to attractive to live here. Seriously I'm probably a Kansas City 8.5 but in Chicago I'm bumped down to a C-6 (Chicago 6). Jerrod and I walked probably a collective one hundred million miles in our four days together in Chicago and not one of those miles were walked alone; people were everywhere, and a staggering amount of them were mouth watering.
As we walked through Chicago I stared up at the buildings, as I have done many times before in that city, but I saw something different this time. I knew that the buildings I was looking at were going to be my north stars, my way of getting home after work, and that soon I would be telling people I live under them. I took frequent breaks to nudge Jered when a C-7 or a C-9 walked by, and we would freeze just long enough to absorb their beauty. Being surrounded by beauty is one thing, but being surrounded by beauty and hot ass men is another, which is why within 12 hours of being in Chicago I was getting my nipples shaved by Jailbate. Jailbate was cute, and optimistic about life and love. It was nice to find someone so pure in Chicago, I mean the guy has a rock collection. People that collect stuff in their adult lives are either cereal killers or just really unwilling to let the things they love go with the pressures of being a grownup.
I usually try and take something from each person I sleep with, not a strand of hair or anything creepy like that, but a lesson or a sentence. It's my own sort of collection. Jailbate gave me this, "you're going to love this city. It's crazy and hectic, but it's in order. Everyone is walking around but they all have a place to go, they all have somewhere to be." Jailbate's right. It wasn't until I got back to Kansas City that I realized how right he was. People here in KC are hectic, and there are people everywhere, but there is no order and people don't really have somewhere to be.
Cow called a few times when I was sleeping with Jailbate, I ignored his calls, rolling over as his ring tone filled the air from my pants pockets. I knew something was wrong, his calls signify a chapter in my life that I want to close forever, and under no circumstance will I open a book I've closed. Cow though, is intent on re-opening the book of mismatched chaos that was our relationship, and has finally succeeded by tossing a boulder through my windshield and drivers side window. I came home two days ago to a car with a blown head gasket and a boulder on my drivers seat. The need to get out of here doubles with every glance I get at my car. The need to leave Kansas City grows each day.
Cow has agreed to pay for the damages, and in the mean time I'm stuck driving my fathers crappy Yukon. This car is so big, the steering wheel is thicker than my wrists, which makes me look like a midget when I drive it. I am grateful though for my father and him lending me his vehicle. He called tonight to ask for the Yukon, because he needs to take my step mother to work tomorrow. On my way to his house to drop it off, the Yukon started to run out of gas.
I pulled off the highway at the next exit and coasted into a gas station, where I was greeted with two pick up trucks backed into eachother and about five men dressed in camouflage overalls. I was dressed in daisy dukes and a skin tight v-neck. I was almost certain that I would be lynched. As I quickly pumped gas into the gas hungry monster, the men begin to scream at a woman. One man hits her, sending her to the ground. Her child started to cry and I started to panic. The woman ran towards me and said, "I need gas money, I need to get out of here." She said this between gasps of tears. I watch as her toddler is physically thrown into the truck, screaming for help, and I watched the fear grow in her eyes grow. I gave her two dollars and jumped in the Yukon for safety.
"I need to get out of here too lady," I thought to myself as I sped away.
I went to Chicago last week with my friend Jered on a mission. I was to find a job, and Jered was to leave for Korea to reunite with his husband Michael. I like to think of my friends in terms of what animal I think they most resemble. Jered is a manatee, hands down; and not because he is fat and gets ran over by boats but because he just floats with the currant life guides him with, and because life has left scars on him so deep not even a boat could cut. He has never lost his grace though, and he is floating to Korea to be with the man he loves, who left two months ago for a job teaching English to children. Michael is more of a long haired chihuahua, and not because he has bladder control issues and shakes a lot, but because his energy is so overwhelmingly enthusiastic that you can't help but love him. Plus he sort of looks like a Chihuahua.
Somehow my manatee and chuihuahua friends work as one, and it gives me hope that maybe I'll find someone to float across the world and into my arms. But for now, I need to float my ass to Chicago and be absolutely alone, because lets face it, I'm lazy. I'm never going to accomplish anything in Kansas City where I have become lazy, unmotivated, and way to attractive to live here. Seriously I'm probably a Kansas City 8.5 but in Chicago I'm bumped down to a C-6 (Chicago 6). Jerrod and I walked probably a collective one hundred million miles in our four days together in Chicago and not one of those miles were walked alone; people were everywhere, and a staggering amount of them were mouth watering.
As we walked through Chicago I stared up at the buildings, as I have done many times before in that city, but I saw something different this time. I knew that the buildings I was looking at were going to be my north stars, my way of getting home after work, and that soon I would be telling people I live under them. I took frequent breaks to nudge Jered when a C-7 or a C-9 walked by, and we would freeze just long enough to absorb their beauty. Being surrounded by beauty is one thing, but being surrounded by beauty and hot ass men is another, which is why within 12 hours of being in Chicago I was getting my nipples shaved by Jailbate. Jailbate was cute, and optimistic about life and love. It was nice to find someone so pure in Chicago, I mean the guy has a rock collection. People that collect stuff in their adult lives are either cereal killers or just really unwilling to let the things they love go with the pressures of being a grownup.
I usually try and take something from each person I sleep with, not a strand of hair or anything creepy like that, but a lesson or a sentence. It's my own sort of collection. Jailbate gave me this, "you're going to love this city. It's crazy and hectic, but it's in order. Everyone is walking around but they all have a place to go, they all have somewhere to be." Jailbate's right. It wasn't until I got back to Kansas City that I realized how right he was. People here in KC are hectic, and there are people everywhere, but there is no order and people don't really have somewhere to be.
Cow called a few times when I was sleeping with Jailbate, I ignored his calls, rolling over as his ring tone filled the air from my pants pockets. I knew something was wrong, his calls signify a chapter in my life that I want to close forever, and under no circumstance will I open a book I've closed. Cow though, is intent on re-opening the book of mismatched chaos that was our relationship, and has finally succeeded by tossing a boulder through my windshield and drivers side window. I came home two days ago to a car with a blown head gasket and a boulder on my drivers seat. The need to get out of here doubles with every glance I get at my car. The need to leave Kansas City grows each day.
Cow has agreed to pay for the damages, and in the mean time I'm stuck driving my fathers crappy Yukon. This car is so big, the steering wheel is thicker than my wrists, which makes me look like a midget when I drive it. I am grateful though for my father and him lending me his vehicle. He called tonight to ask for the Yukon, because he needs to take my step mother to work tomorrow. On my way to his house to drop it off, the Yukon started to run out of gas.
I pulled off the highway at the next exit and coasted into a gas station, where I was greeted with two pick up trucks backed into eachother and about five men dressed in camouflage overalls. I was dressed in daisy dukes and a skin tight v-neck. I was almost certain that I would be lynched. As I quickly pumped gas into the gas hungry monster, the men begin to scream at a woman. One man hits her, sending her to the ground. Her child started to cry and I started to panic. The woman ran towards me and said, "I need gas money, I need to get out of here." She said this between gasps of tears. I watch as her toddler is physically thrown into the truck, screaming for help, and I watched the fear grow in her eyes grow. I gave her two dollars and jumped in the Yukon for safety.
"I need to get out of here too lady," I thought to myself as I sped away.
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