On the Eve of this New Year

It's my 200th post of the year on the last day of the year!

-Things to do in 2013-

-Graduate College 

-Run a lot

-Live away from home (at least mostly kind of) sustainably

-keep blogging and making more entertaining entertainments

-read books

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That's it. If I can do the things on that broad and general list, I will consider the year a success. 

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Words to live by for 2012 were:

The best thing you can achieve is transcendence. The best thing you can do is embrace the long, narrow grind it demands.

AMENDATIONALIZED!

Words to live by in 2013:

If you can pick your self up from your helpless, gelatinous, toothless, sack of organs and tender-skulled infancy and become a functional, continent human being. Then you can become a man. It's just gonna take a whole lot of mistakes, help, and crying. 

Slim Pickens Remembers the Milk

My children's-book-not-necessarily-intended-for-children! It's easier to read if you click on the first picture and then click through them with blogger's picture viewer thingy.

Keep the Speak OR An Old Man Kicks a Brain

They say a picture's worth a thousand words but I'm guessing that one there is about 250 tops. You'd be stretching just to get to 600 with that dim gem of scribbles and scrabbles.

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He's an old man. With a destiny, maybe. He's probably staring at a billboard for a grilled cheese sandwich. He's wondering why he has squiggly lines to the right of him and more straight, angular lines on his left side. They're annoying.

He's thinking about how when he goes to the beach today to enjoy the sun and nice weather, he might see that man made entirely of brains. That Brain-Man. He's really just one giant brain with eye stalks and a mouth in the folds and little spinal chord looking limbs dangling out from underneath and at his sides. He flaunts his grotesque prefrontal cortex.

He might just kick that Brain-Man today. He might kick him right in one of his squishy folds. He might kick higher than his groin will allow so that his foot gets stuck and the Brain Man sprints a red, painful manic sprint down the beach, dragging the old man in the sand like a sixteen year old girl with her date for the Junior Prom.

"Don't you want to get a picture with me?"
"...whatever."
"Make me look good or this clutch is gonna deviate your septum!"

And the old man will collide with beach towels and umbrellas and baby sunblock and boogie boards and tall glasses of crisp bubbling cola and leave a shimmering trail of sandy destruction in his wake.

And the old man will laugh so that his face crinkles up and catches sand in the crevices and cracks of his saggy skin and the granules will glint and gleam in the sunlight on this clear blue day. With the Brain screaming all the time. Screaming, high-pitched, raspy screams from his brain lungs. They'll blend with the crashing rush of the waves and the gasps of bikini'd girls and the squawks of gulls about to feast on overturned lunches.

All for and because of the old man! Who would've guessed? What wonders kicks and freaks can bring!

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And that's like, all you could possibly say about that sketch.

Deep and Crisp and Even

It snowed. Here is our columnic snowman.

Here he wears a hat. Although he is undoubtedly cold due to his head being made of frozen water, the warmth is melting his brain.

From our Family on this Day

Funky Christmastime Cheertime

Did I get a tablet for Christmas?

How would YOU like to be left in the fridge for nine months?

I got a tablet for Christmas.

A random page from my unlikely-to-be-released children's book: Slim Pickens and a Journey for $3.75

They changed the grocery store. The nuts were in an aisle that...I would not expect nuts to be in.

The first and last picture from my now discontinued series--Easily Heart Broken Chili Pepper.

Looping Looping

Since I've been home I've started waking up in my own drool.

Does anyone know if that indicates something?

It's funny to me. Because I always imagine watching myself drooling while I'm asleep. Probably with a big smile on my face. Just smiling and drooling into my own drool like a dog with an electrode jammed into the pleasure-center of its brain.

And then you wake up and think, "haha, I'm so gross." But it's fun at the same time.

I was trying to explain to my sister today how her relationship is gross and that I think just about all relationships are gross. Which, yeah, I know, it sounds pretty immature.

But! What if the strength of the relationship is found in overcoming that grossness? Huh?

This isn't some Disney princess stuff. No. A relationship isn't just pure distilled happiness and joy like the surge of water from an exploding dam. That's for cartoon characters.

A relationship with real humans is a voluntary proximity between two people. And people are gross. There's no way around that. You can try and hide it but we sweat and make gas and leak from just about every body part imaginable. And then we willingly put those body parts together sometimes. But, at the same time, it's taboo to talk about the stuff that comes out of us. So, it seems like a contradiction. We are, as a culture, ashamed of all these things. But, once you get passed the starry-eyed wonderment, that's really all that's left. Another person.

But I gross myself out all the time. On a regular basis. But I'm okay with me.

And if you can enjoy the company of someone while also acknowledging their inherent human ickyness, that might be the strength of the whole thing.

If you can be happy with yourself and your drool puddle and you can be happy with someone else and their drool puddle, is that not a harmony of mind and body?!

Is that not beauty delicately floating in the breeze of a fart cloud? I ask you! If you can agree to that, what challenge and flaws can you not overcome?
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you know, or something like that....

The Teenage

I've made out with people before.

Here's something I'm kinda proud of:

The first night of my first summer after my first year of college I met up with three of my friends from high school at an IHOP.

After we ate, two of the guys said, "Hey, we're gonna go over to JMU and smoke some cheap weed in the woods. You in?" (I was never really friends with these guys in high school)

My other friend and I declined. (We're runners! tee-hee! No smoking for us!)

After those two chuckleheads left, my friend starts telling me about this weekend he spent at an all-girl's college after his semester ended but before he came home. Based on his account, he generously "slept around".  He stuck his bear-claw in a fair-share of honey-pots. He...put his...karate chop action...in a...dozen...dream-cars.

And as luck would have it, he became infatuated with a young damsel (I think she was the second or third one he made acquaintance with that weekend).  And on this night, this girl was staying with another girl who went to the same college and had been friends with my guy-friend since Middle School or something crazy.

The two girls were about a 45 minute drive away on the interstate and my friend did not have car access after midnight so it was put to me if I could make the drive to help new love blossom.

But the deal was sweetened when my friend added, "And you can make out with my friend if you want. I told her you were clean." He showed me her profile picture on his phone, it was a black-and-white photo of her smiling and holding a solo-cup. I remember thinking she looked vaguely asian (she wasn't).

Well, I didn't put too much thought into the last part of my friend's statement and decided to take my chances. So, at around 11 PM, my friend and I set sail like two hormone-riddled sailors looking for a port to dock. Preferably two ports. Two, single, heterosexual ports with little to no diabetes or Ebola.

I was a little anxious about the whole thing but right before we got there, Beck's Where It's At came on the radio and I knew it was a sign! It was where it was at!

We parked in the parking lot of a peach orchard that was just outside the girl's house. The girls came out to meet us and we awkwardly stood around and kicked gravels for a bit. The girl's face (not the one my friend was trying to get with) was in shadow so I was still working under the impression that she might be kind-of asian.

Eventually, after lots of awkward small-talk, shuffling around, and half-heartedly running through the orchard, we separated into pairs and the girl and I went to the back seat of my car. (which is the comfiest back seat you've ever sat in. Bet on it!)

I remember being really self-conscious and saying whatever cropped into my brain. She was laughing at it though so I kept talking. I told her how weird it was that I had no idea who she was and she had no idea who I was and that we'd probably never see each other again and that my favorite poem is Howl and that I hadn't even seen her face in the light so for all I know she could be hideous but that her face at least has an attractive profile. Whatever that means.

She was a nice person. She was not hideous and not asian. She was pretty unflappable and I was enjoying the prattling so much that I didn't want to make out with her. Cuz that would interrupt the prattle-fest! I lived in the same town all my life so seeing people my age who I had not seen go through puberty was still a bit of a novelty.

But then there was an awkward silence and instead of saying something she started drawing on the fogged-up window and made it clear that I was going to have to make the first move.

I hate making the first move! Do you remember playing basketball in gym class and at some point the ball would get passed to a kid who would catch it and you could see in his eyes that his parents had never pushed team sports on him at a young age and that the world had started playing in fast-forward. He became paralyzed while everyone yelled at him to pass the ball or shoot or dribble or do SOMETHING instead of darting his eyes around in all directions. That's me trying to make the first move.

But then I made the first move (standard kiss, I think I did most of the leaning in) and after that relief wore off I pulled away and said something about my hair, like, what she thought of it. Then I told her I was kind of obsessed with myself.

She approved of my hair but told me I shouldn't let it get longer and was okay with my being obsessed with myself but that it's not the best quality for a person to have.

We alternated between sloppy teen making-out and neurotic conversation for a few hours. We came up with nicknames for each other. Her breath tasted kinda funky. But girls can get away with funky breath in my book. Because in the back of mind I always think it's my funky breath. Or maybe she had gum? Did I have gum? The point is--she was wearing one of those sweaters where the neck hole is so big that you can see a bra-strap and I told her that those are the best sweaters ever invented.

It was getting late so we went to check on my friend's progress.

He had done nothing with the girl except dull conversation. They were exactly as we had left them.

So my friend and I left. It was around four or five in the morning. By the time we got back home the sun was coming up.

Laying in bed, I thought, "I've done it! One night! One contained night. I never have to see her again. No regrets. No hang-ups. It's a perfect discrete moment in time. Beautiful!"

Then about a week later I felt mopey and desperate and broke down and I asked my friend for her number and texted her about hanging out again sometime.

What I thought had happened was that I'd gone out into the great big ocean and caught a big fish and just set it free. I didn't try to hang on to it or prepare it or give it a chance to fester. Catch and release. Being an adult. Yes I am. In control.

But then about a week later I started thrashing around in the waves yelling, "Hey! Hey! That one Fish! Remember me?! The guy with the hair and the green cargo-shorts?! I thought we had a really nice time! Would you like to get together sometime and drink some Cheerwine!?"

I actually told her that too, the Cheerwine part. I have no idea why. I don't particularly like Cheerwine but I had had pretty good luck with saying whatever fell out of my head so far. I think I'd just heard a Cheerwine commercial on the radio and figured if they were making Commercials about it, it had to be good.

A few weeks later we met up again in the Peach Orchard parking lot (sans Cheerwine). By this time, the driver's window in my car had rolled down and refused to roll back up so I did the interstate drive with the wind in my face. We hung out in my car and I used a Batman cape I had in my trunk to cover the open window. We kept hearing a weird rustling in the trees so we moved to her car because it had all of its windows. It was pretty much the same as the first time. I kept asking if she was comfortable for some reason, the way my grandmother asks me if I'm done eating and won't stop asking until I tell her that I am sure that I'm absolutely full. But it was all good, nonetheless.

And maybe it didn't have to be a one-time thing. Maybe it was just a two-time thing. Or a summer thing. It was really easy to talk knowing that none of it would have lasting consequences.

That was in early June.

We didn't see each other again until July when we met up at a lake and it was me, her, my friend, and another girl I'd never met but who went to the same college as me. It was a confusing day but I think it can be roughly summed up thusly:

-They were trying to set me up with the girl who went to the same school with me

-My friend was now aggressively flirting with his friend (the girl, not me).

-The picture on the side of my blog was taken that day.

-My friend got sick during dinner because he'd swallowed too much lake water while trying to splash and wrestle the girl. He spent the dinner in the bathroom while I ate Tachos! (that's Tater-tots + nachos = TACHOS!)

-At around 8 or 9 I left the girl's house and went for a twelve mile run down the highway and almost threw up my Tachos and everyone went looking for me. And to be clear, I told them I was going for a run. It's not like I ran off in the middle of the night. But at the same time, I ran off in the middle of the night. Didn't throw up the Tachos though.

-I tried to awkwardly hang around in her bedroom for as long as possible before my friend decided it was time to leave.

That was followed by a lot of awkward text messages and weird conversations and unspoken sub-text and suspicion and confusion and running.

I think by late August or early September that girl and my friend were openly dating (I never did find out what happened to the damsel) and I just went back to seeing the girl who had lived in my freshman dorm.

The three of us have now split apart from each other (as well as the girl who had lived in my freshman dorm).

What did I learn?

I don't think I really learned anything. It wasn't like a neat lesson. It was one of those things that changes your perspective.

It was like what vomiting would be like if you had never vomited until you were 18. You had been walking around thinking, "I know how food works. I take the food, eat it CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP! and then it comes out later.

And then you up-chuck for the first time and you're like THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING! WHERE DID THIS COME FROM? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?! THIS IS SO MUCH MORE COMPLICATED THAN I HAD PREVIOUSLY ANTICIPATED IT BEING!

But you try to stay cool and casual about it.

It was a fun summer.

KEST LA VEE-EH!

Tuba Arms

Have you ever been to a thing somewhere and said, ".............that's fascinating!"

Why not? Don't you want to be fascinated? I try to be fascinated.

It doesn't have to be a big ol' thing either--with red balloons and exploding pigeons. People think you need to travel the world or have a duel with someone to be fascinated. That's not true.

I've been faskinated in my own home, where I've lived all my life. You just have to look carefully.

I was sitting in my kitchen this morning, making fart noises at my dog sitting on the mat underneath our sink. I was just making some mouth-poots at my dog, her name is Reba, by the way.

She was not reacting.

So I gave up on that and said, "Gasoline!" in her direciton. She doesn't turn.

Then I said, "Tebow!" which is similar enough to her name to make her look.

Then I said "Hate crime!" She turned away.

I said, "Meebor!" and she turns around and runs over to me and I start petting her.

"You don't know your name, Meebor! No you don't. No you don't.

But, the interesting part is that at that moment I realized I have no memory of the last three months. I can not remember anything from September up to this morning. When I was making fart noises at my dog.

I don't remember posting on this blog. I don't remember the emails I've sent or received. I don't remember how I got home.

I blacked-in with my dog and it looked like I was having a pretty good time so I decided not to worry about it.

I mean, yeah, I could've destroyed people's lives emotionally or plastered hate speech across public buildings but I don't remember so...whoops.

You know, from my P.O.V., the only one I can trust to assess my actions, it doesn't count. I don't remember. I'm sorry if I took on a super-hero alter-ego called Garden-Hose Boy and whacked you with a rubber garden hose but crying to me about it will get you no where fast.

I wasn't there. I don't know how that went down.

I mean, I imagine I would've snuck-in through a window or crashed through a skylight and attacked you during a valley in your circadian rhythm, maybe a time of day when you were prone to low blood sugar, but we can never know for sure.

That's what makes it so fascinating.
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THE STRUCTURE WAS FOUND WANTING!

Drisping

Hey guys! Drawings are back!

We're having fun!

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DANGER!

I don't spend a lot of time thinking about physical dangers (like Rocket Rhino Bus) because I'm too scared of non-existent things like failure, rejection, and ordering food over the phone.

But I've heard that it's healthy to think about death, so that probably means it's healthy to think about danger.

I think the most dangerous thing, like, the most dangerous entity in the world, is a floating puddle of garbage-bag water in the dark.

This isn't an opinion, by the way. I've thought this through.

You're walking down a dark hallway in your house to the bathroom. You challenged yourself to drink 32 oz of water in 32 seconds because...because!

You really have to pee.

Your feet on the look-out for puddles but your face is woefully unprepared. You walk right into that puddle of garbage bag water (that seeping water that collects at the bottom of garbage bags) floating at neck level. Unable to react, you drown standing up and the puddle falls to the ground.

When the investigators arrive, they can only conclude that you peed yourself to death after a lonely-induced water drinking contest. It's a textbook case.

No one would ever suspect a floating puddle of garbage bag water! It will never be brought to justice. Forever lurking in the shadows.

The dark is scary! Like finding a ball of hair in your cuban black bean soup.

That's not a black bean! But...potentially Cuban.