Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Dirty hairy.

I woke up late the other day, so I went to work without shaving. I didn’t have enough time the next day either, so I ended up doing the same thing. By the third day, I looked at my face in the mirror and thought I was starting to actually look good with a beard.

I’ve been letting it grow for a week and a half, and now all I want to do when I look at my face in the mirror is vomit.

I would, except I don’t want to have to clean half-digested food out of my chin hair.

I never learn. I tried growing facial hair two years ago and ended up hating it a week and a half into it too. This thing is just as hideously patchy as it was then, only this time I’m going for a whole beard instead of just a goatee. That means there’s two times the facial hair, which makes it two times as crappy.

The problem is that it takes up to a month for a beard to fill in, and I just don’t have the guts to walk around for two more weeks looking like a disgusting idiot. But then again, who’s to say I would look good with a full beard anyway? I have a feeling I’d just end up looking like a younger, less-maniacal President of Iran.

I hate this thing so much. I can’t stand to be this revolting for another second. I think I better go get my razor as soon as possible to use on my face before I’m tempted to use it on my jugular.

Monday, April 17, 2006

The only time I will ever regret not working late.

Conan O’Brien was in town today shooting a segment with Mr. T right next to my building in front of the Sears Tower this afternoon at 5:30.

Too bad I left work at 5:10.

I found out about it from Jamie. She was speed walking to the train station when she noticed the cameras. She thought it was just the local news and was going to walk on by until she saw Mr. T standing there.

Conan even talked to her for a bit. He told her he was glad they were done shooting the segment because cute girls make him sweat. That O’Brien is such a flirt. Mr. T didn’t say anything, but he made sure to get in on the flirtation by giving her a wink and a grunt as she left.

To think that all could have happened to me. If only I had decided to take the 5:38 train instead of the 5:16.

And if only I were an attractive girl instead of a sub-par-looking dude.

Let’s hope things work better for me when Conan comes in three weeks to tape his shows here. I sent in my email for tickets the second he announced his visit a couple of weeks ago, but I still haven’t heard back. I check my email round the clock hoping to get a ticket confirmation, but all I ever seem to get are messages about natural penile enhancement.

After hearing of Jamie’s good luck, I thought I’d try to cash in on it by getting her to send in for tickets herself and promise to take me if she gets them. Here’s hoping that Jamie’s fortunes stick with her and we get those tickets. Then I can finally say I got lucky with Jamie.

Friday, April 14, 2006

Dump data.

I like keeping records of things. Making lists and graphs is kind of fun and helps fill the void of having no social life whatsoever. Who needs friends when I have a list of how much I weigh each morning to keep me company?

My current record-keeping project has been my spending. I type out all my purchases in a nice, orderly Excel document to review at the end of the month. Turns out I spend way too much on toys. Who knew?

What I’ve really wanted to start keeping track of though is my excrements. I’d mark down on a calendar when I went and how I went. Did it take me ten minutes or half an hour? Was it thick like a brick or did it float on top in an oatmeal consistency? I’d make sure to mark down fragrance as well.

I don’t know how, but I’d hope that knowing that kind of information might be helpful in the future. Perhaps one day I’ll fall gravely ill and the doctor will scream “If only we knew this man’s past fecal history! Then I would know how to save his life!” I’d whip out my records and be cured from the doctor learning my stool was watery and kind of green on March 22.

Even though that would probably never happen, I think it would at least be useable for grossing out visitors who snoop through the day planner I keep above my toilet.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Path of poo.

Yesterday I went running for the first time in six months. The weather lately has decided to be less crappy, so I thought I’d slap on the old running shorts and head down 79th Street. It’s always been a nice little route, except for all the goose feces on the sidewalk. It tends to make iit more of an obstacle course than a jogging path.

I even made it the full three miles to Wolf Road and back. I’m pretty damn proud of myself considering I haven’t done jack squat in half a year. I was sure I would end up a whimpering tub of guff half way through. But by the time I made it home, I felt like a mighty stallion.

Today is a different matter though. The soreness set in overnight and right now I’m aching like hell. This guff tub is whimpering with every step he takes. 

Wednesday, April 5, 2006

Writing is easier when it’s already written.

I can’t seem to come up with anything worth writing at the moment, at least anything worth reading at a later moment. I’d blame it on writer’s block, but the truth is there’s nothing going on with my life to write about. I go to work. I eat. I go home. I sleep. And I defecate somewhere in between. That’s about it.

Since I can’t come up with something new, I thought I’d come up with something old. Here’s a random entry from my old high school English class journal, apparently the day after a big tornado when the teacher asked us to write about what we’d do if we were ever faced with one:

I miss those days. Back then I didn’t have a life either, but damn was I creative. The teacher would give us the most boring of topics to cover and I’d turn it into twisted, hilarious piece of crap.

Now all I ever come up is just crap.