stuff i wrote while on the boat

i reckon that fifteen pounds is a resonable amount of weight to strive to lose between now and the time i go to seattle. that will bring me down to where i was last august, and i will be able to wear my “skinny” clothes again.
skinny clothes! ha!! one size does not skinny make.
so, yeah. portion control. impulse control. alcohol control. exercise. exercise. exercise. lovely… i just *can’t* wait.
ugh.
i best not quit smoking now. maybe i should start taking the chromium again. although, i blame it for some rather unladylike side effects.

* * *
my neck is *still* sore, by the way. that’s three days (four if you count the lingering twinge today). hopefully my disgustingly uncomfortable futon will put my skeleton back into it’s proper order.
* * *
i miss jason. but, i don’t believe what my magic 8-ball said about his missing me as well.
* * *
that lady smells like cat. or musty steamer trunk. no. pipe cleaners. she smells like pipe cleaners.
* * *
if you have a full version of windows 98 second edition you don’t need, you can donate it to the “heather shannon foundation for pc improvement.” shipping will be refunded upon request.
* * *
today, i wish i was invisible.
* * *
why is it that fat guys can get hot chicks, but fat chicks never get hot guys (unless they’re camren manheim)?
* * *
when men lose weight, their dicks get bigger; but, when women lose weight, their breasts get smaller.
* * *
when i close my eyes and listen to his voice, i design the most beautiful spaces. i wonder if this is my calling, my niche. i was only waiting for him to unlock the potential. but, once i hang up the phone, i don’t know how to make my ideas real. they exist only in that late night telephone comfort zone. that frustrates me to no end.
* * *
haiku:
children can’t grow up
if there is no reason to.
keep me in first grade.
* * *
i think it’s totally appropriate that she has hot pink hair on easter sunday.
* * *
i don’t like eating dead things any more.
* * *
they are the girls you avoided in high school. big hair, stretch jeans, $13 zellers pumps. on dressy days, they would wear their white tube skirts and lace stockings, a matching black bra & panty set visible through the cotton.
they smoked and wore too much make-up. their boyfriends were named “matt” and “bud” and “spike”.
when they talked, you could hear their rasping voices through doors, a warning to use a different bathroom unless you liked being sniffed at and called “priss” as soon as the stall door shut.
mack jackets and high tops, never laced to their high tops. you knew these girls slept around. what else were they good for?
* * *
i finished reading my book so i’m filling the pages with brain dump which i will later transcribe into greymatter (brain dump. greymatter. how appropriate.) and post online where i will wait for paige and goddess to write something flattering and supportive; dan to write something to make me laugh out loud, scott to write something short and sarcastic and (the shorter) heather to write something to remind me of why she’s my friend.
these are the core of my audience, at least the contingent who talk back via my cgi-powered medium.
with each comment i will feel fulfilled, my ego tank topped up with enviromentally-friendly, ethanol-blended fuel.
until the next time.
they come closer together now.
soon, i’ll never be satisfied.