reading

one of the things i love about being at home is the fact that i can read whatever the heck i want to, just because i want to. i really should be brushing up on french, considering that in three days i'll be in a 201 class on the subject and about the only thing i can remember right now is je parle un peu du francais (that means i only speak a little french). which, if i were to speak any french, is important to know just so i don't get some frenchie excited that i speak their language. if you start off by saying you don't know much, not much is expected. and that's a good philosophy to live by. damn i'm brilliant. i should write those stupid self-help books with the puffy covers that people buy for people below them for graduations, bad days, and employees. you know what kind of book i'm talking about, the kind of book that shows you really don't give a lick about the person, and you think they kind of suck and could use some motivating words because the fact that they are who they are just isn't good enough.

so enough ranting. i've recently been struck by the late night tv genius that is walker, texas ranger. i mean seriously, that guy can kick butt. you think he's down and out, not a chance in the world. he's got big muscled mullet man kicking his behonka when BAM! out of thin freaking air Walker leaps 12 feet in the air while simultaneously turning into a flying helicopter of roundhouse doom and totally turns the tables. i think hairs sprouted on my chest just watching that. all i needed was a beer in my hand and a dog at my feet to kick every now and again in order to really feel alive.

i'm off to smoke my pipe and stare at the stars. damn straight it's good to be alive!

my great uncle

Being a schizophrenic must be fun. I mean, my G-uncle is one (or two, but who's counting) and he's the best uncle i've got. He's always got some joke to tell or is trying to get my older brother, who is a children's ministry administrator, to drink beer with him. He's about 60ish, got long gray hair he ponytails back with about 800 bobbypins and wears somewhere near 4 gallons of OldSpice to cover up the smell of cigarettes. Ricky, that's his name, carries around those little paper bibles handed out by the crazy 'King Freaking James only' Baptists and tells people to read them in private. Yet, at the same time, he makes a point to let people know his favorite food is Devil's Food, and he says it with a gleam in his eye. He's slowly been collecting survivial gear because once his mom dies (who he "takes care of") he's going to the wilds of Arizona, wear his snow boots, listen to his christian music and clean up his soul. I told him most modern Christian music won't help any, but he thinks the label means it's good. If he only knew. Every week Ricky buys $43 in Lotto tickets because that's his lucky number. The numer 43 is so lucky he won a dollar last week. he splurged and bought ticket 44. But don't tell a schizophrenic he's wasting his money, he and his 'friends' might go crazy on your butt. But that's not right, it makes him sound crazy. And he's not. It's his 'friends', the ones that tell him to do crazy things. But we don't see those people unless the meds stay on the shelf. He calls those pills the friend killers. We've decided we don't like his friends and they're better off dead anyways.

i can't wait til i get old and go schizophrenic. then people will stop expecting anything but crazy from me.

i could get used to that.

The Pipe

i've recently discovered the joy of reading on my front porch while smoking a pipe. it makes me dread the fact that contract begins so soon. my pipe will sit there in its case, crying tears of loneliness while i steel myself to reading without the aid of fine tobacco smoke wafting into my nostrils. i think i will write a poem to my pipe to comfort it and me in the lonely days ahead.

Ode to Kildare

i do have a pipe
i received as a gift
it makes my heart glad
and to my smile it gives lift
as it sends to my soul delight

oh wonderful pipe
you are dark and curvy
just like a fine woman
that never had scurvy
or any disease of the eye

you've a briarwood bowl
that's knotted with swirls
and when it is lit
makes tobacco smoke curls
drifting lazily through the sky

but soon you must go
to your home in the case
but never forget
in my heart and mouth is your place
and no other will catch my eye

Christmas Lessons

1. irish cream is not the drink to give your little sister before breakfast because she won't like it, then will snitch on you.

2. it's ok for little sisters to drink champagne for breakfast, but only if mom gives it to her.
3. Little sisters like vanilla cigars.

4. your mother will buy you a pair of pajamas every year, whether you wear them or not.

5. your brother acts drunk on two swallows of Corona, and now has an excuse for horrible card playing.

6. never be on your brother's team for playing cards, especially when he's "drunk".

7. you can really only taste pipe tobacco when you don't have a sinus infection.

8. the music your parents listened to is generally good.

9. if you guess what your presents are before you open them, your family will hate you.

10. dad's are good at darts.

11. family's are good people. and funny too.

12. No matter how many times your family sings "we wish you a merry christmas", it will never sound good.

13. Schizophrenic uncles are funnier than 'normal' uncles.

Merry Christmas to all who read this. and to those who don't, that i like.

Christmas carols only come once a year..thankfully.

every year my family (which is only my immediate family and my sister's husband) get together to sing Christmas carols. while your heart may be filling with all this warmth and cheer, this loving picture bringing you memories of love and family, it really does nothing of the sort. you see, we all have horrible voices. not the kind of "oh, he doesn't sing that well" voice, but the kind of voice that makes you want to hurt small children or slap a puppy dog, just because you're in that much pain. and...we don't really know many of the carols. we might know bits and pieces of the first verse, and much less of the second, but we'll sing all ten verses those damn long-winded hymn writers so kindly wrote.

The first song we sang was "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" and we did pretty well. but then i started to notice that as we went along with our other carols, the second and third verses all started to go to the tune of "God Rest ye blah blah blah". one would have thought we were drunk if they hadn't known our family (well, most of it) is teetotalling (i really love that word, as a word, and just wanted to write it).

it finally ended when the dog ended up singing louder than us as my wonderful brother tried to sing the last two choruses of "hark the herald" solo as we only had one printout of that song. my head still hurts.

i think if we would have sung to Jesus when he was born he would have changed his mind. good thing God thought of angels.

aol and dust, satan's offspring.

i came home, excited about my new blogging capabilities, only to learn that the home computer no longer works. it appears that living in a pile of dirt causes significant problems to that darn little fan at the back of the computer as it attempts to breathe. images of office space sprung to my mind as i cursed the machine.

no problem, i think to myself, i have a laptop, i'll email and blog and live from that. nope. aol hates me, my computer, and my family. it reached out of my laptop, bent me over, and walloped my butt for even attempting to make it work. lazy.

santa claws.

merry christmas from santa claws.

so...

i was asked, well, commanded rather, to get a blog because unnamed person wanted to read my blog. but the problem with blogs (aside from the stupid name) is that one must think of something witty, charming, or intelligent to say. And you see, this is my problem (well, one of them). Because if i had something witty, charming, or intelligent to say i wouldn't go wasting it on a blog, I would talk to a girl. But alas, i sit here on my computer have nothing wonderful to say, which is precisely why i am on my computer and not on--uh, talking...to a girl.

so i have a blog.

the world is a better place. well, maybe it's just a place.