Now With Linking Goodness
Gotta shout out ta mah mom. She has figured out this blogging nonsense and is now attempting to figure out new ways to worry about me. It's a good thing I decided long ago to never put in the full details of my day to day existence, for fear that I would eventually get long-winded emails explaining that the latest decision or fiasco is sure to leave me morally and financially derelict. Yes, it's true. The blog is actually Jon-lite. Anyone who knows me, though, knows I'm usually close-lipped about most of the deep happenstances or lousy circumstances. It's an evolved survival mechanism, probably not a good one, but one nevertheless.
As expected, I received an email from Mom asking about some incidents described in my blog. I clarified it and have decided that I will again start linking my more obscure allusions and metaphors. It takes more time to write, but it'll be easier for y'all to understand what I'm talking about, or as my mother aptly put it, my philosophical diarrhea. I think philosophical diarrhea is a nice way of saying I'm fulla-shit. But, I digress.
Fo' sheezy, anyway.
---------
There is only one real constant in my rather haphazard life. Jon, at all times, must have at least one part of his body that is not functioning properly. For a long time, this constant was met by the decapitation of my fingerprint, and most recently, the un-kosher bruise on my hip. The finger hasn't been bothering me much, and the bruise healed up a few days ago. Once the bruise stopped hurting, I began expecting the next pain. I mean, if I didn't hurt at all, bad things would happen, like the moon falling out of its orbit and crashing into Mars or something.
Most of y'all know that I'm a rather dedicated exercise-nut. I try to lift weights every day, and most nights, you can find me thrashing my punching bag, in search of a toned body or an Adonis complex. Whichever comes first. Well, about a week ago, I noticed that the shirtsleeves of one of my t-shirts were becoming too tight for my arms. This led to much glee, and even more stitch removal. Yep. I had to cut slits in a shirt's arm tubing in order to fit my arms through. The slit cutting led to much rejoicing. I bounded through the house, striking He-man poses and blurting erudite saying such as "By the power of Greyskull, Skeletor, I will make you my bitch!" It's kind of ironic, though, because I never knew what the hell He-Man was gobbling about until recently. The cartoons I watched when I was growing up were not captioned. And, I'm beginning to suspect that He-Man would not have attempted to swing from one arm on a pull-up bar without properly warming up. My muscles were already a bit tight from exercising earlier that morning and did not feel like dealing with the shit I was heaping. I swung once, and my arm felt much like a rubber band does after being pulled too hard. So, yeah, I pulled my right bicep.
It's feeling a bit better now, which is good, because I need to lift weights. It wouldn't do for me to cut slits in my sleeves, and then lose bicep mass. I am, unfortunately, feeling a bit sick. I guess a constant needs to be constant in order to be a constant.
-------
Happy fun sunshine days are best when good things happen. I was just out of a local pizza parlor, which serves the best deep-dish outside Chicago (it's all in the quality of grease, ya dig?) when a cute little blonde girl bopped past. We locked eyes and I winked. She smiled, turned crimson, and squeaked a greeting. I think her step faltered a bit. Now, were I up in my game, and I wasn't, I would've stopped to talk to her and maybe get a number. But, I was satisfied with my pizza and didn't feel like plying my man-whore trade. It's too bad, I think, because she walked past and I watched that very cute ass sally forth. What she and I shared wasn't quite a holy moment, but it was a very shared intimate moment. Random moments of sexual chemistry are touching and make a day worth living. I think everyone oughta have sex-charged moments with perfect strangers, at least once or twice a week. It's good for the soul.
I think these sexualized moments won't be common for a bit. I had a haircut (they were all cut!) today and the woman butchered my hair for lack of semantic coherence. I need emergency hair care, STAT!
-----------
I saw my first motorcycle of the season today. It made me happy and gave me funny tingling sensations. The bike wasn’t much to look at. It was an early 80’s Yamaha UJM (Universal Japanese Machine), the kind of bike that can pretty much emerge from the smoldering ruins of a nuclear holocaust relatively intact, but still leaking copious amounts of oil. The future will be built with engines and parts supplied from the rotting corpses of UJMs that have perished for lack of oil and properly functioning shaft drives. John Titor rides a Honda Four.
The bike was even maroon, which is standard operating paint for any bike emerging from the early eighties. It’s about time I see motorcycles on the road. The local bookstores have already sectioned off a portion of their magazine racks for my sole perusal and have kindly asked me to keep the pages drool and jism free. Although watching motorcycles run cannot substitute for actual riding, it’s all I have to subside my fix. Eventually, I’m going to enter convulsions and some doctor is going to drag me to a local bike and gun the engine.
B..b..b...but Doc! You’re an enabler!
Dammit, Janet! Some things man was not meant to intervene! This is one of those times. This man needs motorcycles!
-------
I have become accustomed to the sight of my roommate perched on the couch with his hands in his boxers. I'm not sure that my acceptance of this uncomfortable situation as a facet of normalcy in SNAFU (Situation Normal, All Fucked Up; Military slang and the name of our apartment. Yes, it's a double pun.) is a psychologically healthy one, and at any time I expect a mental breakdown, coupled with a Woody Allen like monologue about analysts and masturbation.
In the mean time, Blondie has bequeathed me his keys and I go to Krogers in search of fresh mozzarella and tomatoes.
As expected, I received an email from Mom asking about some incidents described in my blog. I clarified it and have decided that I will again start linking my more obscure allusions and metaphors. It takes more time to write, but it'll be easier for y'all to understand what I'm talking about, or as my mother aptly put it, my philosophical diarrhea. I think philosophical diarrhea is a nice way of saying I'm fulla-shit. But, I digress.
Fo' sheezy, anyway.
---------
There is only one real constant in my rather haphazard life. Jon, at all times, must have at least one part of his body that is not functioning properly. For a long time, this constant was met by the decapitation of my fingerprint, and most recently, the un-kosher bruise on my hip. The finger hasn't been bothering me much, and the bruise healed up a few days ago. Once the bruise stopped hurting, I began expecting the next pain. I mean, if I didn't hurt at all, bad things would happen, like the moon falling out of its orbit and crashing into Mars or something.
Most of y'all know that I'm a rather dedicated exercise-nut. I try to lift weights every day, and most nights, you can find me thrashing my punching bag, in search of a toned body or an Adonis complex. Whichever comes first. Well, about a week ago, I noticed that the shirtsleeves of one of my t-shirts were becoming too tight for my arms. This led to much glee, and even more stitch removal. Yep. I had to cut slits in a shirt's arm tubing in order to fit my arms through. The slit cutting led to much rejoicing. I bounded through the house, striking He-man poses and blurting erudite saying such as "By the power of Greyskull, Skeletor, I will make you my bitch!" It's kind of ironic, though, because I never knew what the hell He-Man was gobbling about until recently. The cartoons I watched when I was growing up were not captioned. And, I'm beginning to suspect that He-Man would not have attempted to swing from one arm on a pull-up bar without properly warming up. My muscles were already a bit tight from exercising earlier that morning and did not feel like dealing with the shit I was heaping. I swung once, and my arm felt much like a rubber band does after being pulled too hard. So, yeah, I pulled my right bicep.
It's feeling a bit better now, which is good, because I need to lift weights. It wouldn't do for me to cut slits in my sleeves, and then lose bicep mass. I am, unfortunately, feeling a bit sick. I guess a constant needs to be constant in order to be a constant.
-------
Happy fun sunshine days are best when good things happen. I was just out of a local pizza parlor, which serves the best deep-dish outside Chicago (it's all in the quality of grease, ya dig?) when a cute little blonde girl bopped past. We locked eyes and I winked. She smiled, turned crimson, and squeaked a greeting. I think her step faltered a bit. Now, were I up in my game, and I wasn't, I would've stopped to talk to her and maybe get a number. But, I was satisfied with my pizza and didn't feel like plying my man-whore trade. It's too bad, I think, because she walked past and I watched that very cute ass sally forth. What she and I shared wasn't quite a holy moment, but it was a very shared intimate moment. Random moments of sexual chemistry are touching and make a day worth living. I think everyone oughta have sex-charged moments with perfect strangers, at least once or twice a week. It's good for the soul.
I think these sexualized moments won't be common for a bit. I had a haircut (they were all cut!) today and the woman butchered my hair for lack of semantic coherence. I need emergency hair care, STAT!
-----------
I saw my first motorcycle of the season today. It made me happy and gave me funny tingling sensations. The bike wasn’t much to look at. It was an early 80’s Yamaha UJM (Universal Japanese Machine), the kind of bike that can pretty much emerge from the smoldering ruins of a nuclear holocaust relatively intact, but still leaking copious amounts of oil. The future will be built with engines and parts supplied from the rotting corpses of UJMs that have perished for lack of oil and properly functioning shaft drives. John Titor rides a Honda Four.
The bike was even maroon, which is standard operating paint for any bike emerging from the early eighties. It’s about time I see motorcycles on the road. The local bookstores have already sectioned off a portion of their magazine racks for my sole perusal and have kindly asked me to keep the pages drool and jism free. Although watching motorcycles run cannot substitute for actual riding, it’s all I have to subside my fix. Eventually, I’m going to enter convulsions and some doctor is going to drag me to a local bike and gun the engine.
B..b..b...but Doc! You’re an enabler!
Dammit, Janet! Some things man was not meant to intervene! This is one of those times. This man needs motorcycles!
-------
I have become accustomed to the sight of my roommate perched on the couch with his hands in his boxers. I'm not sure that my acceptance of this uncomfortable situation as a facet of normalcy in SNAFU (Situation Normal, All Fucked Up; Military slang and the name of our apartment. Yes, it's a double pun.) is a psychologically healthy one, and at any time I expect a mental breakdown, coupled with a Woody Allen like monologue about analysts and masturbation.
In the mean time, Blondie has bequeathed me his keys and I go to Krogers in search of fresh mozzarella and tomatoes.
posted by Jon at 1:07 PM
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