Overthunk

Why it's still embarrassing to purchase products of a feminine nature after 20 years experience, I don't know, but sometimes it is. I decide I don't want to navigate the perilous waters of Wal-Mart, so I'll stop at the drugstore (as it used to be called in the parlance of my youth), even though I KNOW a guy will be working the counter at 9:30 p.m. I'm perusing the products, looking for my preferred species, and a Whitman's candy display is there on the end of the aisle, sparking a train of thoughts: "What the fuck is that doing there? Oh, no wonder I couldn't find it the last time I was looking for a last-minute gift -- it's here in this fucked up place, what kind of layout is that?" Then it hit me: "WHOA, it's there because duhhhhh, it's the most expensive chocolate in the store and it's right here next to the pads and tampons!" Stunned at this sexist display, I continue to shop, looking for other shit to buy to distract ...

If you take one of those big ol' rubber bands and swallow it in an attempt to engineer a cut-rate lap band surgery... you might be a redneck. Or you might just be that fat-addled and lacking of insurance. ----------------- p.s. Did you know that tapirs , even though they look like pigs with mini-elephant-trunks, are odd-toed ungulates, related to horses and rhinoceroses? They are said to eat dreams in some Asian countries, which could help me, because I've been having bad dreams lately. In specific, I awoke from a nap this afternoon with a fading remembrance of a big tray of deviled eggs, which I had apparently made. I hate deviled eggs. Conclusion: I need a pet tapir.

Although I can theoretically make up any new statement at any time like lemurs banging out Updike novels on word processors, I find myself saying the same things over and over and over. The dumb thing about this is I repeat stuff to people who know me intimately. "I just can't deal with a militaristic management style." "It has to be Hellmann's." "Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get me." "I'd rather roll the dice." I try not to, but I still do. Evermore Wages the war 'Gainst being a confounded Colossal bore. ----------------------- Did you ever find yourself sad that a Little Debbie pumpkin cookie was gone? Well, I just did. --------------------- p.s. Go out and find acoustic F*** It Up by Towers of London. Drink lots. Play it. Secret of universe inside. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- With every breath, I thought I'd had too much. With every breath I...

Two years I've been writing this. Two years. Most of you and I have known each other for most of that span. Why is it so hard to believe, the constant flow of time? -------------------------------- Reality is a question of perspective; the further you get from the past, the more concrete and plausible it seems -- but as you approach the present, it inevitably seems incredible. -- Salman Rushdie

Hi everyone, Because friends share in good things and bad and this is important to me, I thought you all might like to know. My mom, who had been battling many health problems, especially during the past few years, passed away Friday night. She was not a perfect person, but her love for me was. I figure if you want to know more, you'll ask. But if I don't seem quite myself for awhile, that's why. Thanks.

If this was myspace, you'd be annoyedly scrolling down, trying to find the clickbox to stop the page's theme song. Today, it would be the song "Defender" by the epic metal band Manowar . Ride like the wind Fight proud, my pup You're the defender God has sent Why? For this, the tiniest of dogs, exploded into violent barking and enthusiastic lunging at this threatening sight: A rather crappy patio set -- loaned out, but then returned. Once empty patio I look up to you and heed thy call This plastic ends my search I'll live your dream now passed to me And I now wait to shake the hand of fate Like the dusk awaiting dawn So umbrella, flap your spell With no heart to do me well So its written, it shall be Trust me, it's a great song. And in no wise wussy. Great to swing a paladin sword by. Oh, and there at the beginning? THAT'S ORSON WELLES.

(Warning: Cheese may be needed. Whine ahead.) The trouble with anything online is, it's you but it's not you. With predominantly online relationships, this is you but not you added to them but not them. This plus time equals an exponentially inaccurate virtual folly. The most important stuff that happens in my life, I don't write about. What's the line between "free spirited" and "skanky"? How come the amount you want someone is inversely proportional to the amount they want you, and even if that ratio changes, between the same two people , it still applies? Death: horrifying snuffer of sacred life force, or just welcome relief? What if all the things I'm pretty sure God is ok with, He isn't? Is it possible to never hear another depressing news story again? As I age, my emotions rule me less, resulting in more days of relative calm and happiness. As a tradeoff, I don't get as excited about as many things. If you want something, give up on...

On another trip to the Half Price Books store, I had to use the loo. They've cleverly used the covers from old Harlequin Romance novels from the 50's and 60's as a border atop the wainscoting, so they're at eye level as you wash your hands and such. There were bunches and bunches, but a few titles struck me as perhaps more... significant than others. Could our pre-Internet forebears have been more clued in to the variant stripes of sexuality than is commonly suspected? Exhibit A: Gay Cavalier Exhibit B: Master of Saramanca Exhibit C: Citadel of Swallows and finally, Exhibit D: A Night for Possums.

Well, I guess it didn't HAVE to die. But nonetheless, I destroyed it with the weight of 12 bricks and my stupid, stupid stupidity. See, the littlest dog I have has an amazing ability to dig holes under fences and squeeze her tiny self under. One morning, I woke up and SHE WAS GONE. After I freaked out and papered the neighborhood with ugly yellow signs, a man called me. She was apparently having a good time helping him put down some paving stones in his back yard. I was so glad to see her, I cried. I told her then to always stay with the pack, and she has. Still, I feared losing her, so I went and got a bunch of bricks. Bricks are heavy and scratchy. I had about 75 of them, over 2 trips. I could only take about 4 at a time. More were too heavy, because I had to carry them from the front of the house all the way around to the back, and I did not want to drop any of them on any metatarsals or the like. On the 2nd carload, I got frustrated. I don't own a wheelbarrow or a dolly or ...

Those who read this screed with any regularity are already acquainted with my love of John Updike, who, besides just possessing my esteemed enamorment, has won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction not once but twice. The day before yesterday I just happened to drop by the Half-Price Books in my town, where I, on a whim, thought some new Updike might just be the thing. So I picked this up. Note its price: $4.98. Well, the day went on, I continued shopping, visited with friends, and was waiting for my Independence Day Freedom Potato Salad spuds to finish boiling when I thought I might read a story or three while I was waiting. After all, there were 40 of them. Oh, look at that, an inscription in a used book. Let's see whose Great Aunt Margot gave this to them on which holiday... Well, I'll declare. That there says, "for Mark a rare volume John Updike" Being me, my first thought at any awesome event such as this is, "Nuh UH ." So of course I went and checked here ...

I pay $1000.00 per class to attend a prestigious private university. I am midway through a Master's degree and have a 4.0 grade point average that I intend to keep for the duration. I have over 17 years experience at adulthood and I own and operate my own house, car, career, and life. Yet still, the other day, I felt mortified and 12 all over again. In this particular class, there are those writing-surface-fused-to-an-uncomfortable-chair type desks that thin people don't think twice about sitting in. I, however, have gone through a past period of hugeness where I could just barely wedge between the chair back and the writing surface edge. Happily, now I can fit without too much problem, though I still marvel at the 6 to 8 inches of gut-to-desk space that most people have in those. Anyway, so the professor has this brilliant idea to play a game for an exam review (I know, wtf, it's grad school, I was thinking the very same thing). She decides that rather than raising our han...

Whereas... A = Driving two hours across town to a moderately important, though brain killingly dull, work function, being late and being turned away due to one's frazzled inability to manage simple Mapquest directions and "thinking" one has the cognitive capacity to find "a faster way," B = Bloating up like a bullfrog doing whippets, and; C = Being moved to tears by "needing a man in my life who loves puppies and makes cakes like that fine Brawny paper towel guy" or the minor annoyances such as the lack of ketchup... A + B + C = P Dig?

Hey, listen. I went all over the town, nay, THREE towns, looking for that wrinkle-concealing, chunky gold necklace that my mother wanted for her birthday. At Macy's, they only had a buncha tacky chunky bead strings and some wisp-thin silver chains, plus a store-brand marcasite encrusted $20.00 watch that I carried around for awhile, possibly arousing the suspicion of the security guards, before unceremoniously replacing it on the tiered table created specifically for Low-End Emergency Gift Jewelry at the finer department stores. So I went down to Nordstrom's and everything there was widely spaced and affluent enough that I felt white-trashy in just my black low cut shirt (revealing the pinkish, dwindling remains of a between-boob-blemish) and nondescript black shorts, but still I found nothing I deemed to her liking. Can I help it if on the way out of there I dropped in to Payless and found some 1 1/2 inch brown leather heels that fit and that were comfortable and coordinated w...

Main Entry: ad·dic·tion -- noun 1 : the quality or state of being addicted 2 : compulsive need for and use of a habit-forming substance (as heroin, nicotine, or alcohol, or raising digital fish) characterized by tolerance and by well-defined physiological symptoms upon withdrawal; broadly : persistent compulsive use of a substance known by the user to be harmful (such as staying up until 3 a.m. tending digitized virtua-osteichthyes until your eyes feel like the gravel at the bottom of the tank). It all started with a tipoff from here . I played this damn fishycrack for about 7 days for free, and then I forked the $20 over for the full version and now I'm waist deep in this muthafucka with a 2 to 3 hour a day habit. I have found 5 of the magic fish. 6 and 7 await, and I SHALL FIND THEM. O YES.

I'm starting a band. There have to be some other people over 30 who want to slant towards the dream as death edges ever closer.

if drivin' down the road with your left arm hangin' out into the blisterin' Texas sun, eatin' cherries and spittin' the pits out the window just to watch 'em fly, singing along to Dwight Yoakam and swipin' the final "g" off ever danged word makes you a hick... then I'm guilty.

Yep, today I went to buy dog food and make some copies at the local shopping center, and I saw this. I was gonna take a picture with my camera phone, but I thought better of it. I'd give better odds than not that this Bubba had a gun rack in his back window. I wonder if was a "You must be as tall as the catalytic converter to drive this truck" sticker anywhere on this thing when he bought it... (Yes, I made that picture. It was fun.)

Pants. Pants and a sock. Pants that didn't appear to be poop-soiled. Pants that didn't even appear to be old or much worn. Not hobo pants. Just black jean pants. Right smack in downtown Dallas , not a side street or culvert. Where people perambulate, not where they sleep on benches or burn barrel fires. Non-hobo pants, near a cathedral, seen shortly after Chinese New Year. Crumpled waist down, as if Clark Kent had lost weight, making their fit too loose, and they slipped free of his waist as he raised his arms to the sky, and Super-flew into the blue, a freak gale or greedy grackle snatching a souvenir sock from one foot.

Yep, that's a tiny cellphone-captured moment of a schoolbus sitting in the parking lot of a liquor store on a rainy afternoon about a month ago. The name of the package store in question is Centennial Fine Wines and Spirits (which you can read if ya squint hard enough at it), on Central Expressway, Dallas, Texas. (In the same liquor store where I once met that Sam Elliot lookalike guy, as a matter of fact.) (But I don't frequent it that often, honest.) (No, really.) The name of the district who operates the school bus had been obscured with black paint.