It Came To Me In a Dream

Last night I couldn't sleep at all. I'm guessing that had a lot to do with the fact that I had about five energy drinks in a futile attempt to be energetic during my waking/socializing hours. I did an Arizona RX/Sugar Free Red Bull system and it didn't kick in until waaayy late. I stared at my ceiling for about three hours thinking about a million weird things, and I fell asleep for about two hours total (maximum), but that was weird half awake sleep. This isn't exciting at all- except for the amazing groggy dream I kept having. Actually, it was more like a clear prophetic vision.

I was basically living in The Grind: Hip Hop Aerobics. If you don't remember this, you are whack.

Eric Nies basically humps air with no shirt on and teaches you illicit dances while you get in shape. This is just like Flirty Girl Fitness but for all sluts and not just aging housewives trying to spice up their marriages or ladies strip teasin' for their man. It also features a very high Zumba factor which automatically increases the value of any product (or human being for that matter). Zumbas are the guitar solo of pants.

Anyway! When I was in 6th or 7th grade my mom bought me TGHHA (Awesome) on VHS as some kind of a sick joke. First of all, at this point my mom was still trying to tell me what to wear, which in her mind only consisted of body suits and high waisted, tight ass jeans in the brightest clown colors imaginable. I had buck teeth, a thumbs-in-belt loops problem, and I was not allowed to watch MTV at all. In fact, I wasn't allowed to watch VH1 either. I had no idea what was cool, and I read a lot of young adult novels about horses. I was a major fuck up.

When you treat a child in this way, and then hand them a brightly colored neon box with a ripped to shreds Eric Nies grinding, it's like handing them a box of projected sex appeal and coolness. I figured Eric was probably cool, and anything from MTV had to be okay... even if it was four years old. I thought I was going to get into sick shape, grow huge boobs, learn some amazing moves, and completely impress Aaron Gierada at the activity night, to make up for him finding the secret love letter I wrote in which I described him as a cuddly teddy bear. Once he saw me doing the worm with my giant grind-grown boobs, he would stop making copies of the note and want to hold my hand forever.

What ended up happening is a big more tragic. Unfortunately all the zumbas and Eric Nies saying "That's Niiiiiccceeee" in the world can't transform an awkward 12 year old into an amazing sexy dancing middle schooler. It, instead, turned me into a person who was grinding alone in the basement with her thumbs through belt loops and a southwestern print body suit and purple jeans on. Equally unfortunate is the fact that The Grind is still the most formal dance training I have, save a tap dance class when I was about 5 and the time I lied to my best friend about being in a Backstreet Boys dance class (yep) so if I were to unleash my tremendous moves, I'd probably revert to the belt loop air humping.

Maybe the most amazing thing about this is that I thought I was grinding to perfection. This is similar to the way Roundhouse made me feel that I could break dance. So confidently, in fact, that I said "Dad, check this out" and I was breakin', which I think was more of me rolling around on the ground almost knocking over my mom's weird knick-knacks.

The most upsetting part about my prophetic visions of my grind future is that I have searched somewhat tirelessly for clips (or, god willing, a full version) of my video, but it's nowhere to be found! I'm going to have to go dig some stuff up at my Mom's house. Maybe I'll buy Darren's Dance Grooves and update my skills. I think I could probably make more friends if I could pop and lock.

Possible Voyeur

I (maybe, possibly) watched two strangers have sex on my couch last night. I'm really not sure, and I was not drinking at all.

I'm blind without my glasses on, and when I'm half asleep, it's even worse. My roommate (who is out of town) asked me if a friend of his could stay over on his way to the airport. I said sure, and my roommate told me that his friend would be by our place pretty late and leave pretty early. I could care less who comes in and out of my house as long as I'm not expected to entertain them, so I naturally didn't care at all.

Well, when I am sleeping I do not have the luxury of memories, vision, or reason. Last night I woke up at about 3:30 am and I was very disappointed to learn that I had to pee. Fortunately, before I go to sleep I look like a very hot and sexy model, so I was wearing Big Dog boxer shorts and my hair was styled in the signature "alien top ponytail" I rock nocturnally. I lumbered out of my room and noticed what appeared to be two blurs on my couch. I'm not 100% on that, it could have been one long blur with a big fluffy brown top, but it seemed like two blurs. I stood there squinting and the blur(s) seemed to acknowledge my stunningly beautiful presence. I was piecing it all together, but in the meantime trying to discern the creature(s) on the couch so I really craned my neck and squinted super hard. I was tired and had to pee too much to use my "hand glasses" move, which you don't want to see if you never have. It's sexy, but too much for the average bear.

ANYWAY, I just peed (in the bathroom, not while I was potentially watching strangers bang on my couch) and went back to bed.

I didn't really think about it until this morning, but it really did seem like one of the blurs was mounting the other blur, and if that is what was going on, I stood there staring at it. There are a lot of potential "Your roommate is fucking weird, man" stories going around right now.

WEIRD.

It's Settled: I'm Never Having Sex Again

I received a strange document via e-mail yesterday, which brought to my attention a strange and horrible sexual fetish act: Forced Staring.

Forced eye contact is officially the creepiest and most awkward of all fetishes: this includes pee fetishes and foot fetishes. Enough weird stuff happens when you eventually climb into bed with someone, is forced eye contact really necessary? I can't believe people are really into that. I would hate it so much. The mere thought of forced staring haunts my dreams.

An unfortunate fact of my life is now that I know about forced staring, it's going to happen to me. I'm 95% sure. Eventually I'm going to have to tell a story about some guy I dated who blew a wad every time he forced me to stare at him for a long time. Every time something really starts to weird me out, it forces itself all over my universe. If you think I'm kidding, you should know about my magician hatred.

I fucking hate magicians so much, it's not even funny. When I see a magician I get so deeply annoyed that I feel like my ribcage is going to turn to dust. I moved into a house with a friend of mine after a shitty and annoying breakup under one precondition: NO MAGICIANS IN THE HOUSE. For any normal person, this would seem like a very easy rule. A couple of months later, I come home to none other than a MAGICIAN on my couch. Not a very nice thing to come home to. I'd say it's roughly tantamount to finding your children stabbed to death. Maybe a little worse, but that's the closest thing I can think of at the present moment.

Since then, this same roommate has become biblically familiar with a DIFFERENT magician. Last night at dinner, there was a MAGICIAN roaming around the restaurant, trying to delight people with his annoying, useless illusions. Criss Angel exists, and last night my freak ho Brother hinted that he may get his swerve on with a magician. I told him I would disown him, and I meant it! Someday, when I have more energy, I will fully disclose the details and intensity with which I hate magicians.

Fair warning- Once someone said: "How can you hate magic? You love wizards," to which I shot back "WIZARD MAGIC IS REAL! I HATE TRICKS."

I wasn't even thinking when I said that, but I really meant it. I'm mentally eight years old.

Seriously though: FORCED STARING! Sounds like the worst possible thing.

Bad Kid Update: Garage Band

Today a tenant who is apparently as nosy and untrusting of adolescent males in baggy jeans as yours truly came in to ask me what was up with the kids on the property. I immediately became excited, glared, and said in a sharp whisper "What did you see? What. Did. They. Doooooooo?"

Well, it turns out these little fuckers have some kind of a band going on in there. I don't think it's the awesome band Whiplash, so they can't keep this shit up. Maybe if they were nice, but since they decided to have a low(er) rent Rage Against The Machine attitude with me, I'll pull the plug on their shitty band and ruin all of their future vagina earnings.

The tenant said "I heard a drum beat, but it went on for a bit and it stopped. I got an earful, it's not bad!" This guy drives a "tricked out" probe and calls it a whip, so I'll have to take it for what it's worth. These children definitely pissed in a bottle back there, so when I catch them covering Static X songs I'm going to make one of them drink it. Then I'm going to smack one of them with a fish. I'll show them some Led Zeppelin rock and roll shit. I'll get black dog on their "where did this hair come from" asses all day long. Try me.

Anyway, now I am more determined than ever to catch these little fucks.

The only way they can stay is if they let me join the band and be my friends and finally let me be myself again, a.k.a. wear my JNCOs and watch Pat Tondreau aggressive Rollerblade outside of Westland City Hall. I will wax the curb eternally.

Public Record... Storage Facilities: The New Mall? Somebody get me a smoothie.

There is a group of 12-14 ish year old kids that keep coming on and off of the property. They have a gate code so I can't remove them. I'm sure they're up to something and when I find out I'm going to yell at those little turds. They look pretty nu metal, so I may have to bust out my old JNCOs to relate to them. The other day I saw them walking around, and since Storage Facilities aren't typically the kind of place adolescents hang out, I asked them if they had a unit. They said "YEAH" like little bastards. So then I asked them which unit, and they told me, but they were total pricks about it. I can tell they're totally "fuck the man" little kids. They think I'm the man for sure.

Three words: WHATEVA Bitch kids! I have tattoos and know people with dreadlocks, so just take a few steps back in your Sabbath t-shirt that your mom bought you at Target. I will verbally destroy every child on earth. I glare at them with every muscle in my ocular power.

Need I remind the world once again that (in my mind) I INTRODUCED Limp Bizkit to the Wayne-Westland school district? Once I was screaming "HEY I ACTUALLY LIKED POWERMAN 5000" over loud music at a bar, but the music stopped so everyone heard me. I have a "Behind Enemy Lines" CD in my car right now. I will smash this state into a million pieces and make a vegan patty out of them.

I just want to catch these kids doing something bad so I can say "Well, well, well.... What do we have here, boyssss????" and then scare them, but ultimately let them go. My job is boring and this is the highlight of my day- Fantasizing about yelling at middle school kids. It's better than what I fantasized about in middle school, which was wearing an over sized blue flannel and playing bass in Everclear.

I'll be like "a motherfuckin' chain saw.... I'll skin your ass raw... and if my day keeps going this way I just might BREAK YO FUCKIN FACE TONIGHT."

Give me something to break... how bout your fuckin'.... awww mann.

I want to buy a jump rope.

Fish Lyfe Update

So after partying my ass off last night at the Whiplash/Wilhelm show (so much water I peed like eight times) I came into work and the office STILL smelled like corpse vagina. I was kind of hoping the scent would just peace out overnight but my luck is running on empty (Shout out to Jackson Browne) so it didn't happen.

I knew I was going to have to investigate, and I was absolutely not in the mood to get all Scooby Doo on this atrocity (8:30 in the fucking morning, assaulted) but I knew it was the only way.

I just want to preface this by saying a couple of things-

First of all, I am not someone who gets grossed out easily. I say and watch a lot of disgusting things while I eat. I once spent an entire dinner telling my whole family that my birthday dinner was all bits of my placenta and I always point out to my brother that when he was born his mouth was on my Mom's bleeding vag. They are usually bummed but it keeps me amused for weeks on end so whatever. What I found this morning made me dry heave.

Second, since I became employed with this company about a year ago, I have found some pretty disgusting things around the various properties, including but not limited to: An old man shitting behind a dumpster; a plastic Wal Mart bag full of nuclear yellow pee; mystery substances and a giant space age cockroach; and a pile of orange human shit that I had to clean up using a small Tim Horton's cup. I've also walked in on a homeless guy with no arm sitting in a recliner in a unit. I don't get paid enough to deal with any of this skanky shit, but I do it anyway because I'm a slave to the system and I need to pai mah billz (Smash the state plz).

ANYWAY, I tied a scarf around my face and walked into the bathroom and the smell was so potent I though my face was going to melt off. I thought I was going to turn into the disgusting decaying fish Toxic Avenger. I looked over at the garbage can and I thought "No wayyyy, no way." So I opened the garbage can and- let me be very clear about this: YES WAY. There was a soiled adult diaper in there. When I opened that trash can I basically got slapped in the face and called a fat slut. I started gagging and saying "That's not fucking right, that's not right". I ran to the dumpster so fast, gagging with a scarf on my face. I hope they don't review the security cameras.

Anyway the good news is that the disgusting smell is slowly dissipating after I thoroughly disinfected the entire world. This smell was not right and it was from both the future and the past simultaneously. It is something that cannot be properly quantified, much like time itself. I can't even think of some sort of "Cosmic Year" scale to try to put it into perspective. For a second I wished Carl Sagan were here to help me out, but I know he'd just say "What the fuck? That's not right. Not right."

I think I'm going to mail that lady a much needed summer's eve.

Fishy

Man, I just have to throw this out there: This lady came into my office smelling like dead fish, and that shit has been lingering for TWO HOURS.

I don't know what was wrong, but I think she needs to see a doctor. I have the windows open, fans going, and I've seriously douched this whole office with hazardous amounts of Lysol disinfectant/air disinfectant spray.

This fish scent will not leave, and I'm going to suffocate myself soon.

I wonder if I could sue this woman for pain and suffering.

Please wash "down there".