i guarantee this will happen to me someday

yeah, that's uncomfortable for everyone.

Okay so I'm still water, but I'm not this crazy pollutant water! I mean, what the heck is in our water? What the heck is in our air that's causing these rainbows in the sprinkler? That didn't happen 20 years ago. We need to wake up, people, and ask ourselves what kind of poisons we're taking into our bodies!



Slash, holy balls, lady. Really??

normalcy fail

The other night I went out with someone I thought I had pegged -- Samsonite, friends. I was way off. Two beers in, I wasn't sure who was crazier, me or everyone else. For the sake of self-preservation, I've decided it's "everyone else."

Erol says that in the time he's known me, I've become much more aware of how insane I actually am.

"Yeah, you're weird," he said. "But at least now you're starting to recognize it."

Great.

There's a kernel of truth to it -- maybe a whole 10lb bag of kernels of truth, but I'm only admitting to the one. Over the years I've gotten the distinct impression that I'm a little "off" -- my marbles are arranged a little differently than those of most.

For instance, I arrange my marbles according to color, size, opaqueness and sentimental value. Marbles infused with sparkles are kept separate, and held up to various light sources to find the best angle for sparkling.

But that makes perfect sense to me. It's like when I eat my M&Ms in order (brown, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, duh!).

I'm reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest -- I've been meaning to read it for years. The interesting thing is how my book-du-jour somehow suddenly exposes patterns and realizations about my day-to-day life. Maybe it's not that interesting. Maybe that's just called "reading." But I mean, to be fair, it's not like I ever have a conversation and think, "Omigosh, this is exactly like that time on Tila Tequila!!"

Anyway, in the Cuckoo's Nest the whole story is told by the Indian Chief. He's the "silent observer" -- and, as Randle surmises right off the bat, definitely not deaf or dumb. He is crazy, which you don't get from the movie. The guy is tapped. I'm not sure if you're supposed to notice that. It's kind of strange having such an unreliable narrator. But he's not a part of the struggle, and really, he's more normal than most of the other guys. At least, from what you can tell. The story is coming from his point of view, to be fair -- I'm sure no one thinks they're a complete nutjob, or realizes that they are consumed by what are to others senseless fascinations and insecurities.

Well, I was walking home from work today thinking a thought I've had a million times: I'm like water. I don't perceive in myself any particular flavor, nor any noticeable texture. I don't intoxicate, I don't serve any cultural role, I'm not comforting or refreshing. I'm just a basic, transparent liquid that takes the shape of the container I find myself in. Don't you see?? I'm the Indian Chief!

Okay, so that sounds weird. Work with me while I mix my metaphors, and think about it -- when you think about someone else, they're a somewhat static character in your mind. My friends each have a distinct trait that I have pinpointed as the strongest -- a certain flavor and/or texture -- and that's how I portray them when they appear in my stories. People are sometimes Malbec (smooth and calming); some are pineapple juice (the perfect additive to almost any concoction -- un poco de pina!); some are a milkshake (delicious in small doses, but too decadent for the everyday).

I'm sure everyone thinks they're water. But I don't think they're right, I think there can only be one glass of water and I'm the water, I'm the normal one. There's just the one narrator, the Indian Chief, and that's me. HOW!

...

I mean, I don't think it's crazy to be slightly neurotic about the things you eat. Just like I don't think it's crazy to feel nervous on a flight. And I don't think it's crazy to dislike strong flavors or have 9 different sets of shampoo and conditioner in the shower or invite myself on other people's dates. And if a song is really making my day, why wouldn't I play it non-stop for an entire week? Honestly, how is it weird to use ground turkey rather than ground beef?

I personally think that most people are too dismissive of things that should concern them. Smoking causes cancer: that's been proved over and over again, just don't do it. A lifetime of systematic neglect of your body causes heart disease, diabetes, obesity, chronic depression, joint pain, fertility problems: this comes as no surprise to anyone, especially people my age, and yet have you seen the obesity rates in this country? How come no one else is freaking out about it?? Why does no one floss?? Do you not know how disgusting that is?? ALKJALFL!!

Whew.

Blech, forget the Chief, I'm like that Cathy cartoon. Hang me.

No, scratch that, I'm still the Indian Chief -- perhaps not normal, but certainly not as crazy as the others. Not the constant fighter of the ultimate (although ultimately unwinnable) fight, nor the constant submissive; not the paranoid, not the catatonic, not the pompous, not the cripplingly insecure. Just an off-color character with certain irrational fears I can't beat.

Plus, I've got a blog to tell my tale. I'm the narrator, betches, so enjoy your stay in my reality. Slash, the mental ward.

(Get it? 'Cause I'm the Indian Chief! So we're in the mental ward... Oh, nevermind.)

erol eats babies

It's funny how it was always an unspoken fact that someday I'd grow up and everyone would be married and everyone would have babies of their own, and when that phase shows up I'm caught completely off-guard. What'd I think was going to happen? There'd be a Coming of Age ritual, some sort of formal commencement ceremony that would release my peers and I into "the world" to begin our adult lives?

...


Oh, wait, you mean that commencement ceremony? Sh*t. Yeah, looking back on it, I guess that makes sense. Seems I missed the boat on that one. Bigtime.

Erol, the horrible baby-eating ogre I live with, is expecting his first nephew in about 3 months. Normally I'm not much of a baby-cooer, but I am so freaking excited for this one to show up. I think it's because it'll be the first baby to whose family I've had any relationship whatsoever in over a decade.

Seriously, who has babies?

I find it difficult to imagine ever being ready for a kid of my own (or of a close friend), but I'm really excited that I'll know someone with a baby. I'm told I can babysit it if I want to, but I'm more into "Oh, this is noisy/wet/stinky/heavy, you can take it back now" than "Why, certainly, noisy/wet/stinky/heavy baby, I would be honored and delighted to wipe your *ss. But you should know that it's payback time when I meet your first girlfriend."

Frankly, though, I feel like I'd do a better job babysitting than Erol, who'd probably prop up the kid on the couch with some old socks and then start asking what he thought about such-and-such an article in last week's Economist.

"WHOA WHOA, Baby!! Did you just poop on the carpet?!?"

Haha I would pay so much money to see that.

Oh, which leads me to a hilarious gem from the Interweb: