I Think A Plane Crashed Here

It's tough being all alone. Some people like it. I don't think I do. My fiance left to start her new job in Detroit, leaving me behind with the cats. Yeah, that sounds fun (3 full weeks of freedom!), but it's not. I had fantasies of crazy-ass parties every night with booze, strippers, limbo, booze and midgets. But instead I watch a movie every night and talk about it to the cats (not with the cats, because once I start to think the cats are actually talking back, that's when shit's gonna get real crazy), since there's no one else around. I'm now officially the cat guy and I need something to do. But I actually got out today and played some disc golf (damn course. Last time I played I got a -6, but today I finished with a +2. If that doesn't make any sense to you, it's okay, you're just not that cool. But I hate that feeling because now I've set a level of performance that I'll never ever obtain again simply because I'm not that good. I think I threw out my arm - even typing hurts. I'm such a wuss. So I need to surround myself with even more worthless players than myself - I'll invite my fiance next time. Mag - I love you, but ya know...it's just...well, I've dug myself a hole I'm never getting out of. Sure I could delete it, but I'm lazy).

I also did one of the most heartbreaking things in the world today. I gave up my van. White
Chocolate. I miss her, she was one in a million. The best thing about White Chocolate was that it could hold 10 people comfortably. That made for some good parties. The best was the night I was going to propose to Maggie, we had a keg in White Chocolate and she spilled beer all over me. It was so cold that night and I had hard nips the rest of the evening, but I still proposed, beer soaked and hard nips weren't enough between me and my love.

We BBQ'd on the JAYwalk (the main sidewalk through campus) with White Chocolate and I've definitely driven through the residence halls' lawns with it, trying to find some shortcuts while doing scavenger hunts. Another good thing about White Chocolate was the back bench that folds out into a bed. I've never really slept in there, but one of my brothers, who had locked himself out of the house found it nice and cozy in there (he didn't see the blanket and pillow I had in there, so I'm sure he wasn't as comfortable as possible. And I'm sure he took some homeless guy's spot for the night, because I never locked that damn thing. I didn't need to - who would think that there was anything valuable in there?)

Although my first van, Brown Sugar (which I've yet to find a good picture of - but this picture of it inside has a good story. Notice the confederate flag in the background? Well, I used to be a redneck...sort of. I had received that flag as a will from one of the brothers and as a joke, hung it up in my van because it fit the whole "crazy hillbilly with a gun rack and shitty van" vibe I was going with while driving Brown Sugar. Until one time I gave a friend of mine a ride home, not realizing that he was black and he might get offended. He was speechless the whole ride. And then he told me I'd better take that down. Being a racist hillbilly for a while was pretty intriguing, but not something I'd want to keep doing, so I took the flag down and used it to fix my radiator leak by tying it around the hose. It worked real good. I think that's the real purpose of those flags) was my true pride and joy. I was literally in tears when I took everything out of it so that it was ready to go get smashed - I had donated it for our Smash-A-Thon; take a whack at the windshield for $30 or break the tail lights for $10. I didn't go to the event, simply because I would probably have thrown myself in front of the baseball bat/golf club eventually and shout "Why!?!?!? Don't you see she's a beautiful thing? She never meant you any harm! I hate you all!" and go running awkwardly back home, clutching the fuzzy dice I took out of it moments before and sobbing uncontrollably. But I had good times with Brown Sugar, simply because I took it home for the summer and we used that vehicle to steal A LOT of stuff. Cement Mickey Mouse's, front porch geese ornaments, lawn gnomes, family signs. And we would drive through the school's backyard to get away from some cops. At one point my friend had a police radio and he heard my name and my van go through, so I kept quiet for a while. Then we would go shoot my potato gun out of the van at random objects/buildings. Sigh.... I wish I was still in college.

But I believe White Chocolate is in good hands. He's a brother of my fraternity and I'm sure he'll get into a lot of mischief back home. I just hope he steals a goose from some old lady's yard and brings it to my wedding as a gift.

A New Hope

There was a time when I could do anything or get out of doing anything. I think that time is over now. It used to be my crutch. It was beautiful:

"Hey ck, could you throw this trash in the dumpster?"

Me: "Umm, I would but I'm missing three ribs. You know I had cancer, right?"

Awkward silence. And then they would leave.

I could get into VIP rooms if I wanted to:

"I'm sorry, you can't go backstage, you're not on the list."

Me: "Hey, I've had five surgeries, they took out my gallbladder." I would promptly show them my scars. The bouncer would remove the velvet rope (I really wish I had velvet rope. I would have people carry it around with me everywhere I go. Don't worry - I'll pay them. With backrubs. I give good backrubs. But I would only allow people on the guest list to get through my velvet ropes. How do you get on the guest list? Well, it would be a complicated ranking based on good looks, personality, money, humor and the ability to do a really good cartwheel. That way, only really cool people would hang out with me. I think I could become famous for this. I could market and sell the personal velvet rope - sounds kinky, doesn't it? Well, it's not.) and I would be let in.

But I think my time is fading. People are starting to question the validity of my fragile health. I'm no longer as sickly as I used to be. I can run distances without getting winded, although stairs kill me. I hate stairs (why can't escalators be less expensive? And what the hell's the point of those flat escalators at the airport if people are just going to walk on through them anyways? Doesn't that defeat the point? Those people drive me crazy! Slow down!! I want to scream, but then I would be the crazy one, standing on a moving platform, enjoying the scenery). I can also play many rounds of beer pong without puking. So naturally, people assume that cancer is in my past and I'm "healthy." I guess it's time to move on.

I've contemplated trying to get another disease. Leprosy sounded unique, but I'd like to retain my limbs. Lupus is a joke, no one really knows what it is. Which is sad, because I like that word. I thought maybe alcoholism might work, but I'm sure people would just see me as a drunk. And I don't want to be associated with that word. But I think I could use glaucoma. I mean that's perfect, right? I could lose some of my vision and still get out of loads of work:

"Hey ck, could you take the trash out to the dumpster?"

Me: "Sorry, man. I have this disease called glaucoma. Ever heard of it? Yeah, thought so. Do it yourself."

I could get a chauffeur to drive me everywhere for free because I'm partially blind. I would wear an eye patch and make people feel awkward when they make some pirate joke and I tell them I have glaucoma and I've been wallowing in depression for the past year. The benefits are too numerous.

I just need to find a way to get the disease and go from there. I'll figure it out, but right now I'm too lazy. But for now, I think I'll stick to making fun of cancer and getting a laugh from people:

It's so funny because it's not true. And yes, I'm a heartless ass.

If you're reading this, I'm already dead.

So I find myself in a predicament these past few weeks. I'm moving to Detroit (hells yes! Detroit Rock City - if only KISS would stop by the county fair this year...) for better job opportunities (well, hopefully better, but it might end up that I'll be working at Burger King for the next year. College really helped me pull in all those job opportunities! Take Kanye West's advice and drop out before it's too late! Real life is a bitch!) and I have to break our lease at our apartment in Delaware. Of course, they're charging a fee and of course it's outrageous, but what am I to do? The guy we're dealing with is named "TC." His real name I do not know. He has a rough voice and talks to you like you're a naive teenager. He wants your money. NOW.

I can picture this man/creature cowling under a dim pool lamp, smoking a cigar and relishing his victory over the po' folk like me, counting his mob money while a half eaten Subway sandwich continues to gather flies on his desk filled with papers that need shredding. Here are some of the quotes that I've had to endure through or my fiance had to:

"If you don't take care of your business and move to China, I'll be in a rice bowl waiting for you."
-Clearly this man has ninja-like qualities that allow him to scrunch up into a bowl. But not just any bowl, a Chinese bowl, which are, as we all know, way smaller than normal ones. And he must have a McGuyver-ish sixth sense for finding one person in a country full of over a billion people.

"I'm not going to give you anything on paper. It's pretty simple. It's like, 'See Dick run. See Jane run. See Spot smash into Jane."
-"TC" must keep up on his nursery rhymes. I totally forgot about Dick and Jane, who have a killer dog to protect them from the drug lords who want their money for the heroin they're addicted to.

"You called everyone and their brother trying to get out of signing this document. You called Monica,"
-Obviously, since there is no Monica that we know of. The only Monica I know is Lewinsky. And that would be awesome if I had her phone number! We could talk about love, life and muscle cars!

It was really hard not to respond with WTF? after he said these things. It's like that SNL skit about Blue Oyster Cult where Walken says, "You'll all be wearing gold-plated diapers by the time were finished!"

"TC" then proceeded to threaten us over and over about going to court. I'm sure this guy has ties to the mafia. And I'm sure he could probably break my legs if need be, but I'll be ready for him. I'm going out tomorrow to buy a gun. And some bullets. It's like 50 cent: Get Rich or Die Tryin'. Except it's more like Get the Hell out of Delaware for Free or Possibly Die but More Likely Just a Harsh Warning and a Garnishing of Future Wages. I'm sure that's how it's going to go down, so keep checking back to find out the status of my life. I'll let you know.

Computer-generated image of "TC."

I finally broke down and made a myspace page. It's funny to click on your high school link and see all the people from high school that you graduated with. Simply because it's satisfying that most people are just as unsuccessful as you are and the ones that are successful were and are sill douchebags any way, so they don't count. I'm tempted to send people messages, but I have a feeling they'll think I'm a douchebag for looking them up on myspace. I'm also tempted to go back to my high school reunion. Maybe not the 5 year one, but definitely the 10 year one. Then we can make fun of each other for how fat we've become and that we're such losers for going to our 10 year high school reunion.

And aren't you really sick of the corny, disgustingly tacky backgrounds and graphics that plague some/a lot of my space pages? Mine's not bad, but I do have a background image, but it isn't pink with white stripes and there's no glittery butterfly images floating around while in the background some Sarah McLachlan song plays while you scroll through paragraphs of dumb phrases like, "Best Friends are like Good Drinks...." and you just want to take your monitor and throw it out the window to put it out of its misery? No one? I'm just crazy? Okay.

~ck