The Comfortable Ones

I decided to wear my older pants. Not that big of a decision really. I had worn my new pants all week to work at the coffe shop and had chocolate sauce and syrup all down the front. Whatever happened to just straight coffee and cream?

My older pants aren't really all that old though. Just a little more worn in the seams and such. Still had plenty of wear though.

The party was fun, i guess. I'm not really at ease in groups of people so i try to keep myself busy doing something. Cooking the food, helping clean up, whatever. Just don't make me sit and talk to people i don't know all that well. Or someone I did know well who it's still a bit awkward to be around. Maybe it's not, but i don't know how to read people. But i had my old jeans on. The comfortable ones. i tried to think about that instead.

So i cooked to stay busy. We ate the food in shifts cause nothing was planned. Typical. I was busy getting up and down from the dinner table to cook the kabobs. Kept me busy. But it also involved awkwardly standing on the couch we were eating around and then straddling it to get out from the table cause i was blocked in.

This happened four or five times then we ate. pretty good really. Middle eastern. we sat and ate, then played games in the living room. scattergories, taboo, talked. Sitting there in my comfortable jeans, trying to get in that spirit. Fun.

went home late, took off the comfortable jeans and crawled into bed. I layed in bed thinking that i did well that night. It seems ridiculous that things would still be awkward between people after so long, but i think we did pretty well. Not as comfortable as my jeans, but not all that bad.

When i woke up this morning i looked at my jeans. The older ones. The comfortable ones. The ones with a 4 inch rip in the crotch.

damn. should have had someone else cook the kabobs.

saving money the old fashioned way

I'm cheap. Not like 'let's buy him, he's cheap', but more along the lines of 'keep the tags on this, you can wear it and then return it' sort of cheap.

take today for example. I had around 12 dollars in my wallet. Meanwhile, i had a math test today. and i didn't have a calculator. Sure, it may be nature of math. But, if having a calculator means i can finish the test in ten minutes instead of fifteen, i'm all for it. i need a calculator, i don't really have the money to spend on one. i tried borrowing one, but no one came through.

Therein lies the dillemma.

Or so you would think. But not to the innovative mind that is mine. When you buy a calculator in the bookstore it comes in packaging with clear plastic on the front. what's so wonderful about this packaging is its pliability. you could most definitely leave the helpful calculator in its clear packaging and still press the buttons to complete a natture of math test. although the '=' sign was a bit difficult due to the fact that the packaging curved right there and was a bit thicker. It made a loud 'clack' noise when you would press it, but i coughed really loud each time and i don't think too many people noticed. it was definitely on the dl.


yes friends, i bought a calculator, used it in class, then returned it still in the packaging. i impress myself.


oh yeah, i saw andrew bailey the other day walking. he wanted me to blog about it. He was wearing a leopard skirt and highheels. it was rather frightening. or hot. you decide.

a blog for matt

the beatles wrote a song
about your revolution
drink this many shots
if you've an iron constitution

you stand on one leg only
and stand you do quite well
that's not all that unusual
but who am i to tell?

If i were to wake up
when the clock displays this number
it would be much too early
to break my hallowed slumber

unless the clock did say
post meridian also
then it would be fine with me
like water to cousteau

and wake i did to see
the clock's face stare at me
the beauty of this number
in darkness about me

should i go or should i stay?
the dillemma causes pain
to be with friends or my dear bed
i really just can't say

if i stay i'll eat the soup
my mommy gave to me
but if i go i'll kick some ass
and win some big money

i have to work tomorrow
before the clock strikes 5
but what's the point in living
if you're not gonna thrive?

so go i will and win
saving soup for other times
i'll save it for a rainy day
and eat and read the chimes

there's more to say about this
but i don't have the time
i have to go to work right now
it's 25 past nine.

http://mischiefmatt.blogspot.com/

blah blah blah

I'm really bad at this whole blogging thing. I sit here most of the time wondering what to write about, knowing i don't have anything to write about, and then pass off my measly attempts at writing to you. But i think that's what most writers do. I'm not saying all writers, because there are obviously good writers. Writers that write because that's what they're made to do. Writers that write because if they did anything else they might explode into tiny little pieces everywhere.

I'm not that kind of person though. I write because i'm bored. Because it's a lesser evil than what i probably should be doing. I'm a procrastinator. I like to put things off until they are almost due. Then i do them. Blogging helps fill that time between when i know something is due and when i actually start it.

Because, let's face it, Nature of Math homework isn't real exciting. Sure, it may be easy, but that doesn't matter. It's boring. And the fact that you have to show your work for simple problem doesn't make me any more excited to complete it.

While i humbly admit that i'm a better writer than some bloggers, i am nowhere that's anywhere when it comes to blogging, and i'm ok with that. This just isn't my gift. It's just a timekiller.

that was exhausting.

amazing valentine card

So everyone on my floor got an individual valentine card from our sister floor. Mine was so brilliant i thought i would share it with you all.

"we belong together like: smoke with the bong and clay aiken with song."

how sweet is that?

aaron got one too. it said-

she said you were cute
and i wouldn't blame her
but if you ask ryan
he'll say you're a flAMR*



*not actual valentine card, but this was much more interesting than his.

Vicarious Valentines

I have been thinking all day about what to write on this day. Valentines day. The day when all the little couples all over campus make shnooky faces at each other and get all googly eyed. As i sat outside common grounds thinking of my blog, as i am wont to do, I figured I would write about Valentines day.

But then, it hit me. I can't just write on Valentines day, i have no experience there. What's a single guy going to write about valentine's day? (yes, i could write bitter and cynical things about women, but that would be boring). I need to write about Valentines day vicariously through my roommates. (and a blogpost isn't a blogpost without some mention of flAMR).

flAMR's valentine's day from his perspective-

700 am- sleeping.
800 am- sleeping.
900am- still sleeping, my girlfriend keeps me out too late.
1000am- most likely shifting in my sleep, trying not to wake up.
11am- i'm up now. started practicing googly faces and puckering my lips.
12pm- dang. my lips hurt.
1pm- took a shower. dowsed myself in about 3/4 of a bottle of axe spray. If a little isn't too bad, more must be better.
2pm- showered again because the axe smell was suffocating me and my roommates.
3pm- used last 1/4 of bottle. much better.
4pm- started ironing clothing for tonight.
5pm- dang, i wish i knew how to iron.
6pm- Maybe amanda will iron my clothing. but then i can't wear clothers over to pick her up and that's no good. or is it?
7pm- hi amanda. here's stuff i spent money and thought on because i care.
8pm- dinner time. dang, this tofu crap is amazing. (amanda calls me a flAMR and tells me to eat some meat)
9pm- crying alone because girlfriend called me a flAMR. ain't no way she's getting any googly faces or puckering tonight.
10pm- amanda gives me googly faces.
11pm- i return the favor.
12am- the pucker practice comes in handy.
anything after this point can't be good, and most likely involves sabotage and kidnapping or kissy face noises.


Micah's valentines day from his perspective-

6am- working already.
7am- working.
8am- working again.
9am- ok, this sucks. i'm still working.
10am- yay, a break from work.
11am- working again.
12pm- lunch time, still working. heather came by and said hi.
1pm- back to work.
2pm- work.
3pm- wor--yeah, you get the picture. i work all day long. skip to 10pm.
10pm- kissy faces and googly eyes until open house is over.



I swear this is all true. makes me want a valentine.

Thoughts on Myspace

I like to think of myself as an "outside the box" thinker. And by "the box" i mean, "Myspace", that electronic web of Jr. Highers and bad music.

Now don't get me wrong, Myspace has its place. Somewhere between the level of hell reserved for the creepy guy that wears those tiny running shorts which let you see just a little too much man, and the level of hell reserved for the people who spoon in public places.

Here's why--

Myspace is made up of two kinds of people.

People that take pictures of their own cleavage with their camera phones and post them on Myspace and people that look for those pictures on Myspace.

There's also a third category of person on Myspace, who doesn't really fit into those categories. We'll call him "Mr. My music is so great i got 1200 hits on the first song and 2 (my girlfriend listened to it twice) on the next song." Yeah, we know your music sucks. You should know your music sucks. And your family only tells you your music doesn't suck, but they really think it does. Do the world a favor and can it buddy. You're not original, insightful, or talented. You're on Myspace.

If'you've got a Myspace, do yourself a favor and drop it like it's hot. drop it like it's hot.

blogdom and boreding.

I've recently been badgering my roommate to get a blog. Aaron, not Micah. I know all about Micah's life and don't need a blog of it. His life consists of work, making kissy noises on the phone to his fiance and reminded the whole world that he'll be gettin' some in july. While that must make for a life of some sort, it's not the kind of thing that makes for funny or interesting blog reading.

Aaron, on the other hand, leads an interesting life. I was laying in bed at 430 am this morning pretending to sleep, but in actuality just waiting for his phone to ring right by ear because he left it there on accident. Normally you wouldn't have to worry about someone's phone ringing at that ungodly hour (unless someone died or something, and then it's almost justified) but aaron's does. And it rings about 4 times in a row. not "ring ring ring ring" but that sequence 4 times in a row. And it doesn't just ring, it parties, singing ABBA. at 430 am. right by my ear. Nothing says 'wake up!' quite like dancing queen. young and sweet. only seventeen. Dancing queen. feel the beat from the tambourine
You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life. See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the dancing queen.

And he's not in the room. His phone is ringing at 430 am and he's not in the room. This means two things.

1. Somebody wants to talk to him at 430 am. If someone calls you after 3 am it generally involves illegal activities like kidnapping or sabotage.

2. aaron was busy at 430 am. Meaning he's already busy doing illegal activities or sabotaging something/one. He's got a tight schedule of illegality he's keeping. he's probably in the mob.

That's shady. That's gotta be something i want to read about. He's always complaining to me that i should write something because he's bored, but in all reality, this guy's gotta be an international terrorist.

If you know aaron, pester him until he gets a blog. then we can live his exciting life vicariously with him.

0wn3d

We in America have many things to be proud of. Our roads are generally pretty good, police corruption is kept to a minimum, and education can be had at a cheap price. However, one crown America is even prouder of wearing is the World Gaming Crown.

This crown was sought by over 700 players from more than 30 countries. These players come from such computer gaming savvy countries as South-Korea, brazil, and a bunch of other little countries that don't really matter.

Yet it was our diligent, hardworking 'cyberathletes' that were able to endure the rigors of such an endeavor and pull ahead of the pack with 2 gold medals and 1 silver to produce the highest national rankings.

You may take the cyberathletes around you for granted. Take a moment today to appreciate them. Buy them a drink, visine, or even a cybergirlfriend. They do much for the esteem of America among the gamers of the world.

If you love your country, love a gamer today.

las drogas

So i've got this problem with my nose. It's not sure whether it's congested or runny, and decides to do both at the same time until it figures things out. Even though i've taken about 12,000,000 grams of vitamin C in various forms, it has yet to produce results. The snot is still there. Defiant of my meager attempts to bust a hole through it. My nose has become a bright shade of "i've wiped it raw" and my tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth cause i keep breathing through it.

At work today i was making drinks with one hand and wiping my rungested nose with the other. The people that gave me weird looks definitely got a little extra ingredient in their drink, if you know what i mean...

I plan on doping up tonight with a cocktail of different drugs in order to stop the congestion, stop the running, stop the aches, stop the pressure, and solve world hunger.

mmm....drogas.

childrens.

"Mr. Teacher!"

"Yeah?"

"I'm almost the star of the day!"

"What do you mean?"

"It's almost my birthday."

"When is it?"

"Right after thankspatricks day."

"What do you do on thankspatricks day?"

"you wear red."

"ooohhh."



I went home for the weekend and helped my sister teach sunday school to five year olds. They're pretty confused at that stage.

veinte-quatro

My friends and i have been pondering the deep questions of life, and our world has been rocked quite considerably. You see, up to this point, Chuck Norris has held a place of extreme esteem. He has great beard, amazing roundhouse kicks, and beats the devil at poker every second wednesday of the month. In a guys' mind, that's pretty amazing.

And chuck norris is still amazing, but he's taking a backseat role, passing the baton to someone a little more hardcore, someone a little more kick ass.

That someone is Jack Bauer.

The 1st season of "veinte-quatro", as it is lovingly referred to by many, showed Jack Bauer to be quite the stud. Whether he has beating up on bad guys, saving the president, or doing a mix of Magnum P.I., MacGuyver, and Chuck Norris--he was all that. plus a bag of chips.

But the second season of veinte-quatro sent our adoration (bordering on jack baueriolatry) over the top. This guy is kicking butt and taking names. His methods of "interrogation" aren't what you call kosher, but they get the job done. He, figuratively, tapped Old Chucky baby on the shoulder and then proceeded to backhand him all over the place until chuck norris cried uncle. Bauer shot him in the face anyway just because he wanted to.

And that's why Bauer is taking Norris' place.

it's true.

This is basically just to say that i have cool parents.

My mom's taking this whole cancer thing pretty dang well and my Dad is probably the most selfless guy i know.


that's all.

Morphine and Dust Bunnies

My mom's doing well, enjoying the morphine drip (maybe a bit too much) and making sure we're cleaning the house.

She has some weird disease i've termed "anthro-house-searchophobia", meaning "the fear of people searching your house". Not for drugs or other illegal paraphenalia, that's hidden too well to be found. But she's worried that people will find things like dust behind the fridge, cupboards a bit askew, and other things like that.

We spent the last few days before her surgery cleaning the house from head to toe because there will be people coming over bringing dinner so my brother or dad do not have to cook for my mom (cancer couldn't kill her, but that definitely would). and they will obviously be bringing their white gloves for inspection.

"Here's your dinner, and did you make sure to polish the floor before you went in for surgery?"

Because that's really why people are coming over. To catch her napping. To see the house in disarray.

Well, my mom's sleeping in the hospital tonight, and we've pretty much destroyed the house. Hopefully she'll be too drugged to notice when she gets home.

despite her crazy phobias, i love my mom.