Today I woke up fairly late and laid in my bed, under the covers, listening to the rain. Pleasant enough, say you. I did this because when I woke up this morning, I felt dangerously close to murder. I thought: "Self, if you go outside feeling like you do right now, before the sun colors the sky pink tonight you will have taken yet another human life, and this time, you don't live anywhere near a deep enough lake to heave the weighted body into." Logistics; my steel-trap mind is always thinking about consequence. Plus: did I really want to spend my Monday evening removing someone's jaw and sawing off fingertips? I'd rather get snuggly with someone special and watch a crappy movie with bad food holding court in my gut. Tomorrow's Bloomington Times-Herald will be the clarion visage of what is actually going to happen tonight to me; stay tuned. Will it be "Fuzzy Grad Student Kept Body in Trunk" or will there be... nothing?
It's one of those days. I find myself thinking more and more about my ongoing series, "Things Dom Hates." When I get in this mood, it's all I can do to not think about them, and instead to nice, quiet things, like a gentle summer rainstorm over a vast lake whilst you sit in a rocking-chair on a porch listening to Enya. Or Yanni. Or that Irish chick with the harp... Loreena McKennit. Yeah.
But instead of that, which is nice and healthy, instead I think to:
Things I Hate II. (Sinister clap of thunder caroms across the limestone-encrusted campus)
That grilled cheese bitch. OK: today, word came that the woman who was selling the decade-old, apparently mold-less grilled cheese with the Virgin Mary's face on it got--hold your breath!--$28,000. Yes. $28,000. That's sadder than a bag full of drowned kittens. She's going to be able to pay bills, buy a car, put a down-payment on a house BECAUSE SHE GRILLED A SANDWICH TEN YEARS AGO THAT BEARS THE FACE OF THE VIRGIN MARY.
The mall. Already, the holiday blitz is underway. Each year, it gets slightly more officious; that cookie-baking smell, the sea of "festive" decorations, the fact that it's as hot as a crematorium, and, of course, the utter lack of "helpful" sales personnel. I would hide, too, if I knew people like me were roving about, trying to, oh, I dunno, buy things. This year, though, I am blissfully almost without anyone to buy anything for. *muffled weeping; weeping, then laughing*
Email forwards. So, you are alone, on the verge of tears, and you think: maybe someone loves me! You open up your email inbox and it says that you have several emails. You momentarily delude yourself into thinking "Wow! I am popular!" You open the inbox, and filling it are things like "FW:Fw:FwFw:FW: Don't Break the Chain!", and attached is a message that tells you the heart-wrenching story of a little girl from some gross village in Bangladesh who lives in a shanty made entirely out of water-buffalo "chips", has no arms or legs (tragic rice harvesting accident) and who was born with one eye, attractively placed on her cheek. Yet, despite this (and her raging case of syphilis), she still keeps the hope alive that she can become a pediatric neurosurgeon. If you forward the email to ten victims, I mean, friends, a Fun Charity will donate one ten-thousanth of a cent to her. If not, you can go to the grave knowing you might as well have put a bullet in her head. No pressure! Also, This is Real!!!! I Know People Who Broke the Chain and They Became Impotent and Had Raging Halitosis! That's linked in no way to the fact that the people you know are all heroin junkies who eat garbage out of the Chinese restaurant dumpster. Mmm. Cold putrescent lo mein. If you decide to send me one of these forwards I may just have to issue a fatwah against you; watch your back while shopping at the mall.
The crow and the bluejay. Living in my neighborhood is a crow and a bluejay. They delight in two things: eating the dead squirrels that get hit on Henderson, and waking me the hell up every damn morning shrieking. My Israeli-issued bazooka is in the mail.
Well, I am heading out to Kansas today. More corn! Whoo-hoo! I will 'blog from there, should I not be drunk the whole time. (My dad bought me tequila, whiskey, vodka and Guinness. Am I an alcoholic now?)
Be safe, Bloomington; the snow's on its way.
Dom
PS: Hey! That was a nice, charitable thing to say! What's wrong with me??!
1 comment:
I often wonder when there is a fundraiser for something and companies say if you can get such and such a number of people then they will donate money. It's more like, we are gambling for you not to get enough people... but we want to look charitable in your efforts... good luck!
A Guinness drinker, I love that shit! haha. It's always nice to start out with the shots and Guinness before you move on to the lighter beers.
Thinking there is mail and it's just a forward can be annoying when you have a crap day.
Anyways, a wise man once said, "Don't mess with Dom's fire" ...he'll burn you and you will soon be, to quote from a Crow we all know... "Never more, never more, never more, never more, never more, never more, never more, never more..."
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