Being of the branch in the pothead tree that is populated by less socially glorified potheads; as in: the kind who find smoking utensils and miscellaneous pothead paraphernalia to be (in the spirit of the good Miss Pross from Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities) absolute nonsense; it is now a recognized necessity to NOT combine the two elements if I plan to leave the house.
what the person thought when I leaned over to sign a document and spilled like a quarter ounce out of the folds in my neckline from hours before – when I rolled a joint (and apparently spilled a bunch down into my shirt, somehow…
Today I wrote shitty Haiku, another 5,7,5 – of home brew another gaggle of lines, strung within the confines, another glimpse at how poorly I do. Yesterday I made cupcakes, fit to kill or thrill on the intake another subconscious way, to pass the hours away, a means of digesting my fate. At one time I dreamed naively, of my pen filling paper with poetry under signs of duress, stood in line like the rest, for words that never came to me. Someday I may come to stand, in the foreground waving a hand just look at me now, broken all the way down, as solid and proud as I am.
Yes, you are going to become one of “them”… you know who I refer to…you’re closer everyday to fitting the profile dashingly; just go out and get the 23 stray cats, already…get it over with.
Early morning, pre-coffee birthday wishes in the German language when you’ve forgotten it’s your birthday, as well as the fact that you live with a German, can be cause for it’s own follow-up therapy session; just sayin’.
The “word on the street” seems to be lazily conveying that it’s time to go home and put your jammies on.
“Going out” for your birthday isn’t supposed to entail a trip to CVS for laundry detergent.
Maybe this will be the year that you finally accept the reality that you don’t get carded anymore when you buy liquor or smokes.
Yes, you still live (and therefor, must drive) in the Silicon Valley; you can’t, or shouldn’t wonder why you always get home feeling like you just jumped out of a plane.
Try calming the fuck down, somehow – before your heart explodes; you’re not getting any younger.
Yes. Your PTSD has officially destroyed you and left your “Life” in shambles. Everyone with whom you have had even the most casual of interaction with anytime within the passed few years thinks you’re either:
Extraordinarily functioning for an insane person;
A kidnapper who has somehow managed to hold your roommate for ransom while waiting on payment for him all these years;
or just flat-out pathetic.
Yes. You have at last worn your current wetsuit for the last time – stop being so damned cheap…(?)
Yes. That sensation you have been experiencing whenever your mind touches upon the Opportunist is DISGUST, I am almost decidedly certain of this.
No. Your feet do not shrink as you get older. No, and that’s the dumbest thing anyone has ever told you and expected you to believe – find that person and put your (not shrinking with age) foot up an ass for such nonsense.
there’s something really “off” about “boneless” chicken…the very label BONELESS CHICKEN itself implies some sort of nightmarish science experiment at Foster Farms, headed up by MacGuyver, himself…bone in from now on, but you knew that.
1) How many times have you actually carried the bag out your car before leaving, despite its precarious position on the inside of the door-knob to the front door? Time for a new reminder spot, dumbass…
2) While sleepwalking, try to somehow remember that you will be held accountable for the things you’re up to during the early morning hours in the man-cave, by the men who cave there…
3) Over dinner with the parents of a childhood friend (who is now, unfortunately, deceased), try to avoid talking about “death throes” – even in the intended context of the fish on your plate. Talk about awkward…
4) Not everyone feels the way that you feel about certain historical figures, including, but not limited to: Joan of Arc, Genghis Khan, Socrates, Moses and Josephus; sometimes it’s just best to let ignorance override a situation in order to avoid a five-hour marathon of “truth versus textbook”…
5) YOU ARE NO EXCEPTION…not to ANY rule, ANY time, or under ANY circumstances…
6) The VERY gradual tapering off of the use of the air horn you keep stashed under the passenger’s seat of your car DOES NOT truly count as “changing your ways” in regard to ‘Road Rage’…
7) Using only one hand to flip off the dude next you (who cut you off twice) instead of both doesn’t count, either…
8) Again, when you don’t pay your bills – you lose your shit…
9) “All-Day Wear Lipstick” should be illegal for what it ultimately does to your appearance, after only a partial day – you’d be better off smearing wild berry stain inside your mouth and all across your own front teeth…go back to Blistex…
10) Lastly, just because you’ve had luck in the past with training (notably trainable) finches, does not mean that you can start ‘Homing Pigeons’ in your spare time…
• How old are you, again?…
• Really, I mean c’mon…you:
a) behave like a two-year-old at an after-school daycare birthday party b) be a bigger pothead than Spicoli ever was – and forget important shit c) insist on impossible things – rendering yourself impossible to please
• If a guy has been in your company for 48 hours and only then says something along the lines of
“You know…? You’re fuckin’ hot…”
Time to go ahead and take another inventory of things
• If the same guy makes the seemingly random suggestion of “painting your bedroom” or “gardening” the instant he comes over for the first time, take another inventory of things
• If someone posing as a “poet” seems UNABLE to leave the topic of themselves for very long, they are likely full of horse shit
• When a man believes that he needs lifelong reaffirmation and/or reassurances as a result of being let down a few times by a parent, or being cheated on by his ex-wife – GAME OVER. GET OUT.
• The above described situation is what I refer to as a “Conflict of Reality”…nobody wins
• It’s really too bad it isn’t physically painful to be a fucking sniveler – I think there would be far fewer crybabies in the world, if it hurt
• Plotting to kill someone while you are doing yoga or jogging or swimming still totally counts as plotting to kill somebody; doing it while engaging in healthy activities DOES NOT change anything about that