WAKE UP IN THE MORNING FEELING LIKE…

$hit.
I hate days like these. I should never look at myself in the mirror for this long. The
shirt I’m wearing looks like a ball draped in a curtain,
Except this ball has man-tits.

I could totally lose the weight if I wanted to. Mantra. Rinse. Repeat. I could go to
the gym, run a couple miles, eat something nice… OR, I could get stoned, watch Carl
Sagan’s “The Cosmos”, eat a microwavable pizza and fall asleep in a pool of my own
failure. The decision-making part of my brain also goes for the latter. This shirt doesn’t
make me look fat…

The Cheetos dust does, though.

My mom says that I should go to the gym to meet women. I think the whole,
“Talking to girls on the elipticals” thing only works for a select kind of dude… namely,
the ones who are also comfortable not wearing sleeves in public.

I’m the kind of guy who wears sleeves to the beach.

People like me don’t talk to girls at the gym. We’re too afraid you’ll see our
sweaty orb-shaped bodies, stumbling on a treadmill at 3 miles an hour, and think, “Well,
that guy is probably lacking in sexual stamina. There’s no way he could ever please me
physically, or emotionally. He probably listens to stupid music too, and talks too much
about how the latest three Star Wars movies have sucked.”

How are you supposed to flirt with someone when the predominant thought in
your mind is, “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK LEGS FIRE FUCK”?
 The girl on front of me is watching the Food Network while running on the
treadmill. This is like some sort of modern day, carrot on a stick contraption. Maybe if
she runs faster, she can have whatever Rachel Ray is cooking.

GRAB MY GLASSES, I’M OUT THE DOOR, I’M

GONNA…
Go back to $leep. I just walked out of my apartment to see a homeless peeing in my
general direction. Our eyes made contact for a few brief moments before he panicked
and ran away, wiener in hand. There is no way I’m starting my day with the sight of a
homeless dude’s dick. Let’s try this morning again.

GRAB MY GLASSES, I’M OUT THE DOOR, I’M

GONNA…
Call my Mom.
My mom has always thought there was a medical reason to explain my strange
behavior. When my brother and I were just kids, we were told that we both had
Tourrettes syndrome. My brother actually had it, but I was just a weird fucking kid who
did stupid shit all the time. My brother’s Tourrettes isn’t even that bad, so when we went
to those group meetings, with other kids “like us”, we were the boring ones.

The kid who yelled different types of cereal brands, and the girl with a penchant
for licking shoes sure got a lot more attention from the “crew”.

In high school, my mom tried to put me on Ritalin for ADHD, but the doctor
confirmed my suspicions: He told my mother that there wasn’t anything mentally wrong
with me, I’m just a little different.

She also thinks I’m gay, but that’s beside the point. I guess she forgets that time
she walked in on me looking at internet porn… straight internet porn.
 We both try and forget that.

If I were all the things my mom thought I was, I would’ve been the most ridiculed
kid in the history of public schooling. A Gay, Tourettes patient with Attention Deficit
Disorder? Sounds like a bullies’ wet dream…

Don’t feel sorry for me, life is 99% rad all the time; Sometimes your brain decides
to focus on that shitty 1%. Someone better call the WAAAHmbulance.

BEFORE I LEAVE, BRUSH MY TEETH WITH…

Toothpa$te, like a normal goddamn person.
I am single.
I’m single in the way Kanye West is arrogant.
I’m single in the way pop culture references are easy and cliché.
Helen Reddy doesn’t write feminist anthems about awkward chubby kids with self
esteem issues.
I am single, hear me roar.

It’s certainly not for lack of trying. I think I just have a fast-pass to the friend zone
or something. I’m that guy that you [Yes, you] always answer declarations of love with,
“but we’re just such good friends,” and “I don’t wanna ruin this great thing we have”. You
know what thing would be even greater?
If we dated and had sex all the time.
That would be way better than this, “You talk about how your boyfriend is an asshole
and all guys are assholes except for you, Dan, but don’t worry because that doesn’t
mean that I’m going to date you because that would break this endless cycle I have of
dating douchebags named Trent and Travis and then crying when we break up, and
telling you how great you are and how I deserve some really special, but not me
because Travis is really a great guy once you get to know him” thing.
Some days can make even the smallest bed seem too big.
By this point, you’ve probably noticed, and become annoyed with the amount of
times I’ve used the word “I”, and if hadn’t noticed yet… now you have. The paper clip in
Microsoft Word is asking me, “Are you done, yet?”
 This isn’t supposed to be a pity party, these are just the things I’m self-conscious
about.

CAUSE WHEN I LEAVE FOR THE NIGHT…

I remember that life is rad, and sometimes it sucks when you forget that.