Sunday, June 28, 2009

The pipes, the pipes are calling.

So I've been reading this book of Irish fairy-tales. I have learned that the term "Mermaid" comes from the Irish sailors who believed that "Merrows" (both maids and men) lived in the ocean near Ireland. "Merrow", and thereby "Mer" being based on the Gaelic word, "Muir", which means "Sea". Mermaid = Sea maid. Anyway... while reading this book, I've been reading it out loud to myself, with an Irish accent, just to make it more fun. As a result, I find myself now thinking with an Irish accent, and occasionally speaking with one when I don't mean to. I only hope that it becomes permanent, because Irish accents are awesome.

Oh yeah, also, it seems that Merpeople weren't just people on top and fish on the bottom, they also had webbed hands and feet. Yeah, feet... in addition to giant fish tails. Like people wearing scaly pants, with a giant tail instead of a butt.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Finally, my quest is ended.

I have just read the Odyssey, and it will stay long in my heart, for it reflects like sunlight on the water the deep thought within my soul that all my life upon this twisted and cursed earth has been a tiresome and anguished wandering through violent and harrowing trials, and will be until the God who rules the thunder, who shakes the very earth is His grasp, finds that my troubles should end, and sees fit in His wisdom and mercy to ferry me back to my beloved home. It likewise aligns with the desire in my heart to stand with my Lord at the final battle, and serve His will, for His glory, and His kingdom.

Up next in the queue: A Treasury of Irish Myth, Legend, and Folklore by W.B. Yeats and Lady Gregory

Somebody please pour me a glass of motivation.

Not having work is bad for me. Plain and simple. While I may not always enjoy working, I'm deciding that having a steady job is way better than having nothing to do. My reasons being these:

While I do have enough money to have held me over for this past week without anything to do, knowing that I am earning my way is, for some reason, comforting... Work = money. Money = the ability to get things that I want and need. Which leads me to the following.

Having nothing to do means that I fill my time with nothing worth while. I have spent the past week waking up at noon or later, getting something to eat, watching horror movies, and drinking. Four horror movies a day, and just as many drinks. I'm pretty sure that is not a good thing by any trustworthy counsel. And if idle hands are the devil's playground, then idle minds are the... um... devil's.... sorry, what was I saying? Ooooh, I should rent Idle Hands tomorrow. I love that movie. Oh, and someone remind me I need to buy soap. "We were walking down this long tunnel, and there was this bright light at the end, and were like, "Screw that... that's too far."." Ha, Brilliant.

Granted, there are plenty of valuable things I could be doing... like cleaning my room, or fixing my book shelf so I can finally store all of my books in one place without worrying about them all falling on the dresser in my closet which acts as my own personal bar... But hey, I mowed the lawn and did laundry yesterday, all that work would wear anybody out. Besides, if I'm not getting paid for it, what else is supposed to spur me to action?... surely not being a grown up and understanding that certain things need to be done regardless of what little pleasure we find in them. That's preposterous. Now, if you'll excuse me, there are a couple glasses of Pepsi and Dewar's in me yearning to break free.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Maximum Lifetime Awkwardness Reached.

Any awkwardness henceforth is in excess.

Today, for lunch.... I went to Hooter's with my dad and my uncle. Even if you don't know me, or my dad, or my uncle, I'm sure we can all agree that that's pretty awkward. If you've read the blog post here (or scroll down the page to "My dad, the Creeposaurus"), you will have some understanding of why this is particularly awkward... then mix in the fact that I am a big proponent of modesty (I don't ever want to see any woman in clothes that small unless she is my wife, and we are alone), and throw in my uncle (who is another set of stories, and a couple hundred gallons of creepy all on his own) and you will understand that this was a big pot of awkward soup waiting to boil over.

First off... why the hell have I been to Hooter's twice? And why has it been with family both times?.... and why did we go there today for lunch? This is all beside the point.

We got seated at the table nearest the aisle that the waitresses take to get to just about every other table in the place, and my dad and uncle (in my head, I call them Creep 1 and Creep 2)take the seats facing the door, perhaps so that none of their many enemies can sneak up on them. This gives them a nearly unobstructed view of all of the waitresses. I took the other side, which gave me an unobstructed view of women's college baseball on all of the tv's. I don't care about sports... but it was still better than looking at the waitresses, or being fully present in the moment. Fortunately, our waitress did not sit down next to me, touch me, or shove her boobs in my face while we were ordering, like the last time I went to Hooter's.

Creep 1 and Creep 2 carried on a conversation, I think... which is the only reason I'm glad my uncle was there. Had he not been, I would have been forced to pretend I was listening... but the whole time, even out of the corner of my eyes (which were fixed to the tv screens so fully that I occasionally had to grope around my plate to find a french fry to stuff in my face so that joining the conversation would not be an option) I could see them pretending they weren't trying to stare through cotton and polyester.

To help paint the picture in your head (so that I'm not alone here)... if you know my sisters dogs, and have been to our house... you will know what their little faces look like, pressed up against the glass of the Florida room door, their little eyes darting about watching all of the things that are going on in the family room/dining room/kitchen... wishing terribly that they could be inside, and be part of the action, and that someone would let them in and give them attention... but as soon as anyone looks at them, they duck down or scamper away, pretending that they weren't looking in the first place. This is exactly what my dad and uncle looked like sitting across the table from me... except my sisters dogs are way cuter, and Delilah's hair really is as yellow as she pretends it is.

Still, as awkward as this was (and really, you have to know all three of us to fully fathom the depths of this awkwardness), I suppose I can be glad that my dad decided that, for once, he was not going to hit on girls for me.

Yeah. He does that.