Fat lip

Today, a man didn't get his car towed because weeks ago a comedy club bought several cans of chili and nacho cheese sauce.

Confused? I can explain.

Last night, I ordered dinner at the comedy club. Chili cheese fries. Wanna know something you never hear someone say after eating chili cheese fries? "That was a good decision I just made!"

Fifteen minutes after finishing my meal, I began to feel an odd sensation in the middle of my upper lip. It felt like a mosquito bite, only without the itching pain. It was a tightness in the tissue and some slight swelling. Over the course of the next hour, the swelling spread to my entire upper lip.

My friends and I went out for ice cream, and it helped with the swelling. I went home and went to bed. In the morning, I woke up, the swelling had not gone down. In fact, it was three times its normal size.

When I got to work, I called the clinic to set up an appointment. They fit me in right away, seeing as it was a possible allergic reaction situation. It was determined that it was the massive amounts of MSG in the canned chili and cheese sauce that my lip was reacting to. So, some allergy pills and I was good to go. Lip back to normal size.

When I got home, I rummaged through the cupboard and bagged up all of the foods I had with MSG in it. I decided not to throw the food away, but rather give it to a friend of mine, you know, a friend who won't swell up if they eat it. I pulled up to the house, which was a couple blocks away from the State Fair, and the car parked out front was about to be towed away for parking on the street. I asked my friend if she knew who's car it was and it turned out to be her brother's.

So there. A simple order of chili and cheese sauce leads to a car not being towed. Not exactly the best example of a the-world-is-all-connected zen exercise, but hey...

Not the Heroes I was expecting, but OK...

Quick update on my life: The gas is back on, I love hot water, and everything else is going swimmingly. Now, on with more pressing matters...


NOTE: Do not read the rest of this post unless you have seen the season premiere of Heroes. Spoilers ahead.

Okay, just so I have this straight...

Future Peter shot Nathan, trapped Present Peter in some fat guy, marooned Parkman in the Sahara, and hung around to see things go completely apeshit. Nathan believes he's now an angel, in a character arc that could get really annoying really fast. Parkman thinks he can communicate with a turtle, but it turns out to be an African version of Isaac from season one.

Mohinder discovers the source of the mutant powers in the adrenal gland, makes one syringe of instant hero juice, and has a crisis of conscience. He must choose between testing the formula on himself, or dumping one more syringe in the East River (never mind the fact that the needle could've hit a fish and we would've had a giant, flying, psychic, super-strong, teleporting, rapid-healing mackerel on our hands). So, he injects the formula into his own arm, and now he's Jeff Goldblum from The Fly...drinking sugary drinks by the gallon, climbing walls and setting a world record for fastest seduction/stripping of a fully clothed female character in network television history.

Nikki/Jessica is now Icewoman and has a new personality. No word yet on what happened to her son, who was last seen in New Orleans watching a building burn with her inside it.

Hiro is now a multimillionaire with one job to do: to protect half of a complex formula, which is promptly stolen by a woman whose mixture of unbelievably cute and ethically questionable leads me to wonder if I might have dated her in the past.

Sylar can now heal, having stolen (or co-opted) the power from Claire, in a creepy scene where she's wide awake with her skull cap off. She asks him if he's gonna eat her brain, and his disgusted response instantly kills at least half of the internet chatter about his character. Apparently his method of stealing powers is about as complex as removing a wrenched ankle in a game of Operation. He puts her skull cap back in place and leaves with a file folder containing profiles of the prisoners of "Level 5"

Level 5 is where they put the worst of the worst, and also Noah Bennett because apparently Levels 1-4 didn't have a bed open. So, Sylar strolls right in like it's the Sharper Image of superpowers, kills and steals Bob's midas touch...I'm guessing because his master plan for ruling the world somehow involves upsetting the gold standard.

And Sylar's attempt to crack open Elle's skull resulted in the metaphysical equivalent of plugging an American appliance in a European outlet. This shorted the whole grid and the Level 5 prisoners escaped, including, but not limited to the firestarter, creepy black guy whose powers are supposed to be threatening for some reason, fat guy/Present Peter, and The German...which why is it always that the evil magnetic guy in these stories has to be German? What the fuck did we Germans ever do...oh, nevermind.

Oh, and somehow Nathan's wounds were healed by a figment of his imagination, and Mama Patrelli is Sylar's mother as well.

Which begs the question: Did the writing staff mainline speedballs for a solid week, watching every episode of Lost before they mapped out this season? Let's just really screw with people's ideas of these well-established characters and spend the rest of the season trying to explain it.

In the end, I'll just say that I'm not disappointed, just a little confused. They needed to take this shit in a different direction. Hell, Heroes may be the one show that benefited from the writer's strike. It forced the producers to pull the car into a motel for the night, get rested up and hit the road refreshed in the morning. The only problem is they had a quintuple espresso before getting back behind the wheel, and claim they know a shortcut through the cornfield. There's no way out of it. I'm along for the ride and all I can do is buckle up and pray they find paved road soon.

Out of gas

It's not like I was sitting around the house thinking, "Gee, it's been nearly nine months since I've had a paid service or utility shut off at my place due to situations beyond my control." It's not like I've been taking natural gas for granted. It's not like I did anything to piss off my neighbor. In fact, I never even met her.

But, despite all this, I'm on day four without gas.

Yesterday morning, I had a unwelcome yet effective snap to consciousness when I stepped into my shower for what I assumed was my usual perfect calibration of the water knobs (full blast of hot, quarter turn of cold). In reality, it was ice fucking cold.

I had little choice but to continue the cold shower and wash up. Once out of the shower, dried off and fully dressed, I scrambled around the apartment to find my latest gas bill to make sure I didn't miss a cutoff notice. The most recent one I could find was from last month, which did have a notice, but I could've sworn I had paid it off. I took the bill with me and decided to call the service hotline when I got to work.

I stepped outside and on my way to the car, I saw a slip of paper on the sidewalk with the Oklahoma Natural Gas logo on it. Upon closer inspection, it also had my address on it. It also had Wednesday's date on it. Apparently, I had enough hot water in the tank to let Thursday go by unnoticed.

At work, I called the gas company and checked on the outage. As it turns out, my neighbor had smelled something funny and reported a gas leak. They said the way the lines went through the building that it was possible for my pipes to be the cause of the leak into the other apartment. So, I got shut off, too. They told me to talk to my landlord about when the plumber will be by.

So, I called the landlord. She knew nothing about anything regarding a gas leak. Ooookaaaaayyyy.... The landlord promises to call me back when she knows more.

This morning, another cold shower. I get a call from the landlord and the story gets weirder. Not only did my neighbor detect a gas leak, and not inform me of the problem that could've KILLED ME (!!!), then had the gas comany shut off my service... But she also moved out and skipped out on her lease. According to the landlord, all that remains in the apartment was her couch.

I also couldn't help but notice that the light bulbs in the hallway are missing.

The plumber won't be by until Monday afternoon. Looks like it's microwave meals and questionable hygiene for a couple more days, and I have no one to yell at for the screw-up.

Blade Runner

This weekend was the midnight movie I've been waiting for: Blade Runner. Easily my favorite movie of all time, having watched it at least one or twice a month for nearly twelve years now. And all that time, I had never seen it on the big screen, until now.

My first exposure to Blade Runner was in college, watching a bootleg copy of the theatrical cut at a friend's house. I was blown away by the visuals of the film, but was turned off by the boring as hell voiceover narration throughout the film. When my friend moved away, he sold me the tape for a dollar, and somewhere along the way, it disappeared.

I didn't see it again for nearly a year later, when I was fresh out of college. I was in my first apartment, sans cable TV, and I found a VHS copy of the director's cut at Vintage Stock for five bucks. Good deal, figured it was worth another viewing. Lo and behold, no fucking narration! This film now officially kicks ass!

I wore down that videotape shortly before I upgraded to DVD. It was supposed to be the first DVD I purchased, but the store that i bought the player from was out of stock of the movie. So, Blade Runner wound up being the third DVD I ever owned. I never lent it out, so when it turned up missing, I suspected theft. But fortunately I found a replacement copy at the bargain bin at Wal-Mart. The thing I remember about this purchase was that Son-In-Law starring Pauly Shore was right next to it in the bin, and was selling for a dollar more... Further proof that Wal-Mart is pure evil, when they think that Pauly Shore is more bankable than Blade Runner.

This past fall, with the release of the Final Cut on DVD, marked the fifth and hopefully final time I need to buy this movie, short of when I eventually upgrade to Blu-Ray. I got the four-disc edition, simply because they were sold out of the five-disc edition. No biggie. The four-disc, from what I can tell, has everything but the kitchen sink, which leads me to believe that the fifth disk is, in fact, a kitchen sink.

The Final Cut, in essence, is what every special director's cut should be. It's not a George Lucas hey-see-what-I-did-on-my-computer? redux/abomination. Nor is it a David Lynch you're-gonna-watch-every-frame-we-filmed-Goddamnit edit. It isn't even a Steven Spielberg how-did-this-movie-wind-up-being-shorter-than-I-remember? special edition. No, Blade Runner: The Final Cut was a light touch. Fixing a continuity error here, airbrushing out a stunt wire there, and, of course, adding the go-go dancers wearing hockey masks. They still left in one big continuity error in my opinion, but if you don't notice, I won't talk about it.

When it came time to design the poster for the midnight movie at the Circle Cinema, I took my time, spending close to 26 hours doing the illustrations, with Blade Runner playing in the other room while I worked. Once the artwork was done, I put the movie away for a while, vowing not to watch it again until I see it one the big screen. That was two months ago.

The movie played both Friday and Saturday night, and I was first in line both times. I saw it Friday with about seven of my friends, with a couple of them having never seen it before, so afterwards I had to answer some questions. Saturday, I saw it with Tony and Jenny, who are two of my favorite midnight movie buddies. They not only forgive me for completely geeking out over these things, but often join me in the geekness.

Every time I see this movie, I spot something new. I don't know if ti's poor memory retention, short attention span, or if the film truly is that richly detailed, but there's always one little thing that I discover each time. Seeing it on the big screen, with theater sound, I noticed quite a lot. Little bits of dialog that sounded drowned out on my TV came through loud and clear. And for the first time in my life, I realized that I need to upgrade to HD, because I saw things on the big screen that I would never had noticed on my crappy TV.

There's just something about seeing your favorite movie on the big screen for the first time. It made my Twizzlers taste sweeter, the Cherry Coke a little fizzier, the seat a little more comfortable. My life is richer having experienced this.

Fritschie, now available in healthy!

I haven't posted in a while, and the main reason for that is because I quit smoking. And, until I got used to the idea of not having a cigarette in my hand at any given moment, i had to detach myself from certain activities that lent themselves to the activity of chain-smoking, such as sitting at my computer for hours on end and goofing off on the internet. Hell, the average blog post wasted away at least a quarter of a pack of Camels. Little by little, I'm re-introducing those activities back into my life, always careful not to give into the temptation to run around the corner to QuikTrip for a fresh pack.

I've also adopted some new philosophies in my life, namely the idea that anything is bugging the living crap out of me at any given moment should be purged as quickly as possible... within reason, of course. Case in point, I cut off my long hair. I did that last Thursday. I went right up to the counter at the barber shop, looked the lady right in the eye, pointed at my hair and said, "Make this go bye-bye."

Her response, "Did your girlfriend put you up to this?" And her face kinda lit up when I told her I didn't have a girlfriend. But, I didn't take it any further than the haircut.

Another reason for not posting was that I didn't want to bore your guys with constant bitching about wanting a cigarette, which I firmly believe is why all of my previous attempts have failed.

In case you were wondering, here's a progress update: Doing great. It's been nearly two weeks on the patch, with Altoids and chewing gum for extra strong cravings...and if all else fails, I punch the cat. Fortunate for Chuckles, the cravings haven't been that strong. I also made sure that I got the name brand Nicoderm patches, and not the cheaper store-brand versions, whose dramatically lower price has me convinced they are nothing more than Scotch tape that's been licked by a three-pack-a-day smoker.

And I've only cheated once. Wait, I can explain:

On this past Tuesday, I left for work without putting on the Nicoderm patch. I tried to make it through the day without any nicotine in my system, but I couldn't. Work was too hectic to allow for me to run home for lunch and put on a fresh patch, and putting one on at night would've ensured a massive surge into my bloodstream too close to bedtime, and I've come to like my sleep. Plus, with the stress of my workload that day, it had come down to a choice between a cigarette or triple homicide. I actually only wanted to kill one person in particular, but... you know... there can't be any witnesses.

So, I bummed a smoke from my neighbor, and the head rush I got from the first drag led to me promising to name my first child after him. Sure, it tasted like hickory-smoked skunk hair, but it was soooooo worth it. That flood of precious carcinogens had my brain swimming, and I felt like I was kissing God. But, in the morning, I was back on the wagon. No harm, no foul.

I've also been transplanting that bad habit with a new, healthy one: I've been going for walks down at the River Parks. Granted, since getting my sense of smell back, walking around downstream from industrial plants with the low waterline leaving the nastiness fairly concentrated, hasn't been that much of a treat, but that has only helped quicken my pace a bit.

I started out small, a little over two miles per walk, but now I'm up to about five miles four to five times a week. It keeps my mind clear, and I've dropped a couple of pounds as a result. Once I drop a few more pounds, then I'll introduce a little jogging and running into the routine. I've also been capping off my walks with a few push-ups and ab crunches.

Walking around the River Parks have also afforded me new opportunities to witness some truly fucked-up things. For instance, there was the guy the other day who yelled at me to mind my own business because I happened to be walking past while he was fingering his girlfriend on a public park bench. I told him, "Sorry, pal, I didn't see the sign back there that said 'CAUTION: Dumbass reaching third base ahead'." Needless to say, at that moment, I quickly added wind sprints to my exercise routine to escape a thorough ass kicking.

There was also the impromptu recumbent-bicycle race I witnessed yesterday; five guys going as fast as they can on bikes that just screamed, "Why yes, I do work as a LINUX programmer! Why do you ask?"

Then there is the morbidly obese couple on the tandem bike that I see almost every time I go out there...really stretching the definition of the term bicycle-built-for-two. All I can do is just marvel at the tensile strength of bicycle frames nowadays.

Finally, and this is just an overall observation: What is truly great about the River Parks is that there are no real social mores in place here. Sure, everybody is really friendly, but looking at some of the things that go on there, I can't help but laugh at the thought that you can do pretty much anything you want, wear anything you want, as long as you make it look like you're getting some form of exercise. At any given moment, you might see some guy running in place, checking his pulse, with a lit cigarette in his hand. You might see a guy testing out his new homemade skateboard, which consists of a palette skid with furniture wheels nailed to it. I keep expecting to come across someone who sees absolutely no problem with practicing his javelin toss near the playground.

Yep, the River Parks...Comic goldmine.

I claimed this weekend in the name of Fritschie

THURSDAY

My mom came to visit me. We went out to eat at McNellies and had a blast. I made a futile attempt to pay for dinner, but Mom informed me that it's gonna still be a while before I could wrestle the check away from her. In retrospect, I should've put a couple more drinks on the tab, but hey...

FRIDAY

I took Friday morning off so Mom and I could settle the car loan at the bank. But first, we had breakfast at Blue Dome Diner, which is now becoming a tradition whenever Mom comes to town.

I'm all set up at my new bank. Once the checks and debit card are in my possession, I can bid farewell to BOK once and for all. Time for me to bank with people who give a shit about me.

Work in the afternoon was pretty light, and seemed to pass with no problems whatsoever. After work, I went to Target to pick up a few things, and wound up running into a couple friends of mine, so we went shopping together...also gave me a sneak preview of their birthday presents to me.

Treated myself to some Chinese food for dinner. Chicken Pad Thai is my new heroin lately. Then, off to Borders where I bought myself the Watchmen graphic novel. Never read it before, and I wanted to get a copy before they slapped the "Soon to be a major motion picture" label on it. Damn, this is this a good novel, and my expectations are really high now for the movie.

SATURDAY

Brunch with friends at Blue Dome, grocery shopping, and preparing for the party. We had a dive-in movie at Gene's mom's house. We had a screen set up over the pool, and we watched Jaws, the Life Aquatic, and Pirates of the Caribbean. I had an absolute blast with my friends, I grilled up some fantastic food, and got drunker than I have in recent memory.

About 2 a.m., just after we started watching Pirates, I got myself my eight or ninth shot of Jameson's. That's about when things started turning a wee bit fuzzy. I realized that my equilibrium was a bit off, so I decided to sit down. Just then, I had a strange feeling like I was the center of the universe, and by that I meant that everything around me started revolving, with my head being the axis point.

Gee, maybe lying down on the sofa would solve this. Then, the invisible weights were attached to my eyelids. Hard as I might, I could not hold them open. I wasn't asleep...I just couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. After a few minutes, or perhaps an hour Earth time, I became painfully aware of some urgent pressure on my bladder. I rushed myself to the bathroom to take care of the situation, mildly interrupted by knocks on the bathroom door from friends asking if I was alright. I was...just needed to pee really badly, and since it was bad enough that I knew I was gonna be passing out soon, I'd rather not have soiling furniture thrown into the mix.

So back to the sofa, where everything in my body completely shut down for routine maintenance...except for my sense of hearing and ability to understand words. I was incapable of reacting to such stimuli, but I could hear what my friends were doing, and ponder what it will be like to wake up in the morning. The last word I remember was "Sharpie".

SUNDAY

Woke up on the sofa, thankfully still clothed and magic-marker-free. However, I did have about thirty stuffed animals piled on top of me. I'm still unclear how so many stuffed animals became available to my friends the previous night, but i gotta give them all credit for originality.

I took a few minutes to get my bearings back, which was difficult with the four-alarm headache, stiff back and the feeling like the back of my throat had been sandblasted. I had a moment of panic when I couldn't find my camera. It was like, "Oh shit! Someone might have my camera, and by virtue of the digital format not only doesn't have to have the pictures developed, but they might already be plastered all over cyberspace."

I packed up my stuff and drove home, stopping at QuikTrip to get a tanker of Gatorade. I down 52 ounces of that stuff by the time I got home, and went straight back to bed.

I woke up around one, and felt much better; nothing a few dozen Tylenol and some caffeine couldn't cure. So, I went to Alisee Momo for the Tulsa Creative Network meeting, and my buddy Corey hooked me up with some grub and Pepsi. I stepped out for a smoke and wound up having to call an ambulance for a bum complaining of chest pains. Just to look at him, I think a little tightness in the chest was the least of his problems. There was sand and gravel stuck on his face, his clothes were ripped in various places, and it looked like he'd been doing some self-medicating and, as per usual with this practice, seriously got the dosage wrong.

Later, a bunch of us observed my birthday tradition: a movie. Namely, The Dark Knight at the IMAX. Pretty. Fucking. Sweet. This was my third time for this movie, and seeing it five stories tall just kicked ass. What a lovely way to finish up my birthday.

Now, I'm home and using up the last of my cigarettes. Tomorrow, I start off my 33rd year on this planet with nicotine patches and hopes to finally give my whitening toothpaste a fighting chance. Wish me luck.

Gotta love that new car smell

This weekend, I picked up my new car. It's a maroon '06 Chevy HHR, and oh, how I love it.

Perhaps my perspective is a bit askew, here. I've been driving a 2-ton pickup for a year and a half, with a tape deck, vinyl seats and no air conditioning. Now, I'm in a car with leather, A/C, CD player, sunroof, keyless entry, remote start...all the bells and whistles. I fear I'm going a little mad with power.

When I really think about it, the only perk the truck had over the new car was extra leg room. However, everything worthwhile in life requires a little bit of sacrifice.

I'm buying this car from my folks, or more to the point the BANK is buying from my folks and I'm buying it from the bank. This is my first major purchase in five years that wasn't a verbal contract. On the upside, this is gonna work wonders for my credit. On the downside, it's gonna be much harder to sweet-talk an extension from my debtors.

This means that the budget is gonna be stretched thinner than usual. I'm gonna try to float by for a few months with all of the perks I've grown accustomed to, like cable TV, name-brand cereal and a social life. One thing that's definitely gotta go is the smoking. I'm quitting on August 18, the day after my birthday.

Why not just quit now? Well, because I want to enjoy my birthday to its fullest without having to battle will power the whole frickin' day. Another reason is because i started smoking after a special occasion (Y2K, long story), and I'm gonna quit it after a big occasion. I also plan to quit with the same brand that i started with: Camel Red Lights. Yep, I'm that much of a graphic designer that I chose my brand of smokes by the cool packaging.

This is gonna be a trip; a life-changing experience. An exercise in discipline, and a long-overdue one. Let's see how this goes

Cars, boobs, beauty, Bub and bed

Tonight was Comedy Night at the Nightingale, and I did a killer five-minute set. I'm still a little buzzed from drinking four Red Bulls at the show (dear Lord, I need help), so I'm gonna be up for a little while.

So, here are the highlights of my week:

1. The plans are set for me to pick up the new car next weekend. My folks have the title in hand, and I need to fix a few things on the truck this week, get insurance set up, and have my folks sign and notorize the title. Then, I'll be good to go, and in debt again.

2. I did my usual Thursday night Guinness night at Arnie's Bar. I took my camera with me, and at some point in the night, a mystery woman took the camera and left me with a couple of breast shots. Two problems, though: First, I couldn't tell whose breast it was...even doing some CSI:Photoshop work couldn't solve the mystery. Second, and this is a note to those wishing to give a guy breast shots on his digital camera: Use the damned flash!

3. Last night was the Ms. Center of the Universe Pageant. I, and Personality of Cult by proxy, helped sponsor the show by designing the poster for the show. The show was great, and speaking as a guy who has worked with real pageants, they did a great job in mocking the process, and I'm looking forward to this being an annual event.

4. This morning, I got a message that my great-uncle Bub passed away. I'll have to check with my boss tomorrow and see if it would be possible to take off for the funeral. However, the truck may not be long-trip worthy until I can get the repairs done Thursday night. We'll see.

5. The Red Bull is finally wearing off, and now, I'm off to bed.

Help pick the January Midnight Movie at the Circle Cinema

We've got some great news, folks! Personality of Cult 2 has an opening date: January 30, 2009, which means this opening at the Circle Cinema also happens to be the night of the midnight movie!

Here's where you come in. You get to help us pick the midnight movie! Please vote in this poll:

View Poll |View Results

Polls PoweredBy MicroPoll

A weekend of muscle-twitching, teeth grinding fun and music

This weekend was D-Fest, Tulsa's huge arts and music festival. It's a good mix of local and visiting bands, lots of cool stuff to do, and it was tons of fun. And, Three Penny Upright scored me an artist's all-access pass.

Friday night was our night for fun. We saw Sir Threadius Mongus at the Continental, The Oh Johnny Girls and The Starkweather Boys at 1974. All great shows, and I'm so glad I went. The rest of the night I hung out with friends at the Nightingale Theater booth and more than abused my privileges at the artist's lounge, where there were complimentary snacks and more essential to my ability to get through the night, Red Bull.

Here-to-fore, I've never really liked Red Bull. I've felt that it tasted like strawberry soda that's been filtered through a mummy, with a color that suggests that it should never be seen outside of the can...kinda like taking a piss after a B-complex supplement. However, with them giving the stuff away, along with my want/need to stay out and party, I've changed my tone a bit. I think I downed about 5-6 over the course of the night (a couple of them with vodka), and Red Bull gave me the energy I needed to stay out until nearly four in the morning.

I could've kept going with a couple more, but when I felt the desire to ask for a needle and spoon with my next Red Bull, I decided to retire for the evening - or morning - at this point. Thankfully, I crashed from the stuff as soon as I got home, before the need to dismantle my electronics and clean the house with my mind set in.

I slept in until the afternoon on Saturday and headed back to D-Fest around four. Three Penny played at Tsunami at eight, and I went into my usual roadie mode, helping the band get checked in and set up. It was a special set for them, their last with their bass player Don, who's moving to Massachusetts next week. After the show, we walked around, checked out a few bands, had a few drinks. Sure enough, I had a few more Red Bulls. At one point in the evening, I think I got so hyper that my speech patterns devolved into Morse code, and I might, might have seen through time at one point.

By the way, when you've had a few Red Bulls, the last drink I recommend you throw in the mix is a White Russian. I'm pretty sure the chemical reaction in my stomach produced pure nitro-glycerine, but it soon transgressed into a feeling of calm and harmony with the universe. Everything was golden-hued, there was no more pain, and I marveled at the sight of everyone's auras.

I left around midnight to head to a pool party I had been invited to. Upon walking in the door, my buddy Tony commented on how I smelled "fruity", which meant that A) the Red Bull was escaping through my pores, and B) I'm really lousy at hiding new-found addictions.

Swimming was a fun way to end the night, even though it gave me a full-body hangover in the morning. But, a few aspirin and some methadone to calm the shakes and I was right as rain.

Today, I lounged around the house for a while and went to Don and Amber's going-away party. Good times, noodle salad. I'm sure gonna miss them.

Now, I'm back home and detoxing from the Red Bull. You know, a soda product shouldn't have this effect on the human body, nor should it garner a feeling of empathy for meth addicts. But on the up side, the chills I'm experiencing means I'm not wasting electricity on the air conditioner, and I'm typing reasonably well for a man shaking like an off-kilter Maytag. And now, I got to empty the puke bucket, hose myself off, get the dead baby off the ceiling and get some sleep.