A Day in the Life
I'm bored, so I thought I'd add to the blog. I don't have a particular topic in mind, and nothing too exciting has happened lately; so, fueled by the one or three beers I have in me, I think I'll just recollect today's events.
Now when did I wake up again? Hmm. I suppose it was around 10:45am. My phone woke me up. Yes, you remember the loud phone I have. It's so loud, in fact, that it woke me up from another room. See, I'm currently in my "office," but the room next to it serves as my sleeping quarters. I was in there. It was my mom calling. The phone was only hooked up the previous evening (just moved into this place), and I guess she was just trying it out. I have yet to plug in my alarm clock, so it was good to have her call at that hour.
After the hang up, just kinda sat in the ol' "office" a bit. I wasn't about to make any breakfast (I rarely do) so I just kind of picked at the bits of food I had laying around. Not that I had to pick them out of the garbage or anything. I was at the grocery store last night, so I had some junk food laying around. A bag of chips... a bag of hot pepperoni sticks (which the digestive system does not like too much) and the remaining three butter-raisin tarts from a plastic tray that originally cradled six.
Then I surfed the internet a bit.
Later, I went to the mini fridge (yes, the room is well equipped) and grabbed a beer. I twisted the cap, and took a gulp. Then, casually glancing at my watch, I noticed it was 11:59am. Sigh. I would have felt so much better about that beer had it been 12:00 or 12:o1pm. There's just something about drinking in the morning that's so unwholesome.
Looking to add to the unwholesomeness, I decided that I would go to the corner store for a pack of Camels. Argus recently bought a pack, you see, and we've been smoking them on the porch (which is also conveniently attached to my "office"). Smoking isn't a habit for me - just a past time. "How am I going to get to the store, though?" I asked. Walk? Too slow. Bike? Flat tire. Roller Blade? "Hey, I haven't used those in a while!"
So I go downstairs and weave through the unpacked boxes to the closet. I find my skates. I don't think I've used them for a year or so. I go outside and lace them up on the concrete stoop and then make my way down the street. I'm a little wobbly at first, but this is mainly due to the road's bumpy surface. After a few seconds, I find my stride. When the pavement became smooth, I'm skating like an expert again.
At the store, I notice the sign that says no skateboards/rollerblades, but I ignore it. The check-out is right beside the door, so I figure it doesn't matter anyway. No hassle from the brown guy behind the counter. Maybe he didn't notice that I glided to the line up? I've never seen him there before, so I guess he also wouldn't be aware that I'm normally not 6'4" either.
"A pack of Camel Lights, please," I say. "And matches." He quickly fetches them, and I hand him a ten dollar bill (which barely covers the fucking things, and reminds me whyI hardly buy 'em anymore!). Then the guy starts caressing the bill, trying to determine whether or not it's a counterfit. He can't seem to tell, so he starts rubbing it on a white envelope or something with furrowed brow. I tap the counter impatiently, but he ignores me and holds the bill up to the lights and stares at it. The line behind me has three or four people now, but the clerk says, "Just a mintute," and runs all the way across the store to their back room, in search of one of those black lights, I imagine. He then returns, opens the till and gives me my change. I wonder if he does that for every customer?
So then I blade back and sit on the porch a bit.
I've noticed that the neighbor across the way is a guitarist like myself. I've seen him strumming an acoustic in the mouth of his garage the last couple of days, so when I hear a Green Day song ("Hitchin' a Ride") blasting from a stereo somewhere in his direction, I assume it's him, and decide to let him know that he's not the only rocker on the block. I step inside, leaving the door open, and turn on my Fender tube amp. Then, picking up the axe, I crank the volume and play the same song back to him. "Hitchin' a Ride" was one of the first songs I learned on guitar. I can't believe that album came out eight years ago. Time flies.
I then read for a while. The upcoming topic for the seminar I'm in is something to do with feminist literary theory, so I carefully arm myself with the knowledge I need to tear it apart in front of the pretentious, lesbian graduate students that sit around the table with me.
I suppose that's about it. I still haven't eaten anything healthy today, and have gone back to the pepperoni and beer a few times already. I was going to cook up some sausages on the barbeque, but I never got around to it. Meh. I'll eat something good tomorrow. And after that, I'll do my best to get into an adventure of sorts! That way I can come back here an tell you all about it.
Bye bye.
Now when did I wake up again? Hmm. I suppose it was around 10:45am. My phone woke me up. Yes, you remember the loud phone I have. It's so loud, in fact, that it woke me up from another room. See, I'm currently in my "office," but the room next to it serves as my sleeping quarters. I was in there. It was my mom calling. The phone was only hooked up the previous evening (just moved into this place), and I guess she was just trying it out. I have yet to plug in my alarm clock, so it was good to have her call at that hour.
After the hang up, just kinda sat in the ol' "office" a bit. I wasn't about to make any breakfast (I rarely do) so I just kind of picked at the bits of food I had laying around. Not that I had to pick them out of the garbage or anything. I was at the grocery store last night, so I had some junk food laying around. A bag of chips... a bag of hot pepperoni sticks (which the digestive system does not like too much) and the remaining three butter-raisin tarts from a plastic tray that originally cradled six.
Then I surfed the internet a bit.
Later, I went to the mini fridge (yes, the room is well equipped) and grabbed a beer. I twisted the cap, and took a gulp. Then, casually glancing at my watch, I noticed it was 11:59am. Sigh. I would have felt so much better about that beer had it been 12:00 or 12:o1pm. There's just something about drinking in the morning that's so unwholesome.
Looking to add to the unwholesomeness, I decided that I would go to the corner store for a pack of Camels. Argus recently bought a pack, you see, and we've been smoking them on the porch (which is also conveniently attached to my "office"). Smoking isn't a habit for me - just a past time. "How am I going to get to the store, though?" I asked. Walk? Too slow. Bike? Flat tire. Roller Blade? "Hey, I haven't used those in a while!"
So I go downstairs and weave through the unpacked boxes to the closet. I find my skates. I don't think I've used them for a year or so. I go outside and lace them up on the concrete stoop and then make my way down the street. I'm a little wobbly at first, but this is mainly due to the road's bumpy surface. After a few seconds, I find my stride. When the pavement became smooth, I'm skating like an expert again.
At the store, I notice the sign that says no skateboards/rollerblades, but I ignore it. The check-out is right beside the door, so I figure it doesn't matter anyway. No hassle from the brown guy behind the counter. Maybe he didn't notice that I glided to the line up? I've never seen him there before, so I guess he also wouldn't be aware that I'm normally not 6'4" either.
"A pack of Camel Lights, please," I say. "And matches." He quickly fetches them, and I hand him a ten dollar bill (which barely covers the fucking things, and reminds me whyI hardly buy 'em anymore!). Then the guy starts caressing the bill, trying to determine whether or not it's a counterfit. He can't seem to tell, so he starts rubbing it on a white envelope or something with furrowed brow. I tap the counter impatiently, but he ignores me and holds the bill up to the lights and stares at it. The line behind me has three or four people now, but the clerk says, "Just a mintute," and runs all the way across the store to their back room, in search of one of those black lights, I imagine. He then returns, opens the till and gives me my change. I wonder if he does that for every customer?
So then I blade back and sit on the porch a bit.
I've noticed that the neighbor across the way is a guitarist like myself. I've seen him strumming an acoustic in the mouth of his garage the last couple of days, so when I hear a Green Day song ("Hitchin' a Ride") blasting from a stereo somewhere in his direction, I assume it's him, and decide to let him know that he's not the only rocker on the block. I step inside, leaving the door open, and turn on my Fender tube amp. Then, picking up the axe, I crank the volume and play the same song back to him. "Hitchin' a Ride" was one of the first songs I learned on guitar. I can't believe that album came out eight years ago. Time flies.
I then read for a while. The upcoming topic for the seminar I'm in is something to do with feminist literary theory, so I carefully arm myself with the knowledge I need to tear it apart in front of the pretentious, lesbian graduate students that sit around the table with me.
I suppose that's about it. I still haven't eaten anything healthy today, and have gone back to the pepperoni and beer a few times already. I was going to cook up some sausages on the barbeque, but I never got around to it. Meh. I'll eat something good tomorrow. And after that, I'll do my best to get into an adventure of sorts! That way I can come back here an tell you all about it.
Bye bye.
posted by Wino McHackenpuke at 11:12 PM
4 Comments:
That sounds like a wonderful day.
So, have you left the condo with the condo gestapo?
No, Aughra, they're still around; but this unit is further away from Bitch Woman's place, so she will find it more difficult to tattle to them.
We had our work-ops review at work on the day you speak of. All I did all day was concentrate on not getting a boredom-boner whilst sitting around a mahogany conference room desk, listening to hapless blather from my bosses. Sometimes the flip-and-tuck method isn’t stealth enough for office situations.
Your day rings far superior.
Blake
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