a brief era that everyone is happy to forget about

Since the masses have cried out for more with much furiosity, I am reluctantly going to oblige with some touching reminiscings on this lovely afternoon. I know you may find it hard to believe, but I have once again sliced my index finger open, not once, but twice during cooking adventures and it is quite painful to type at my usual unfathomable rate. Additionally, I have a vindicitive little bitch of a cat who has a favorite activity of prying off my laptop keys and then mutilating them beyond any hope that I might snap them back into place. She also hates books. So you all better be grateful every time you see any of the following:

a 1 e = ,

and their associated shift characters, respectively. Anyways.

I have already mentioned my brief stay in the mental health facility, and perhaps you might be wondering, "I wonder what happened after that!" (! is 1's shift character, so you owe me one hail mary)

Well since you asked, after my enjoyable holiday at "High Pointe" The extra e makes it a classy jointe, I decided that what I wanted to do the most in the world, was become a massage therapist, and attend the internationally respected Blue Cliff College of Lafayette Louisiana. I moved into my fathers rent house in the even more respected and quaint town of Eunice, with attractions such as the snow cone stand in the music store, wal-mart and local gem of a bar "the purple peacock" Not a gay bar. I dont think.

My first priorities after moving to a new place, was to make friends, do well in school, lose weight and pursue some hobbies. So obviously I started playing online video games, gained 10 lbs, shaved my hair into a really really lame mohawk and drank oh I dont know, a 12 pack of budweiser every night.

I will say that for all of its merits, any town where more than a handful of people believe that lying down and taking a nap by the side of a road is a good way to spend your free time, is probably not the best town to make new friends in. In fact, people in this town did a lot of horizontal posturing, as shown by my poor concerned mother standing for hours in the laundromat who's otherwise ample seating was occupied by 3-4 gargantuan townies who napped peacefully as their moo moos and shower caps tumbled through the gentle cycle. Others were simply so foreign to me I was stupified into silence during encounters. Once while walking my dog in my lovely neighborhood, I nearly lost control of my sweet lab pointer mix because as we rounded the bend, we came upon 5-6 grown men in a front yard, dressed head to hood in camo, with a smallish deer missing most of its skin hung by its backlegs onto (I hope) one of their offspring's elmo swingset. I figured we probably didn't have a lot in common and kept walking.

This was also a town wherein upon seeking help for my (already diagnosed) case of bronchitis at the town ER, was given a pepcid AC and told to wait 20 minutes for drug interactions. I digress.

Many of the adventures I undertook while living in Louisiana imbibe themes of previous childhood humiliation blog entries, for instance, trying to reinvent myself into someone worth knowing. On a health kick, I had decided to become vegan and take up smoking. It wasn't cool enough to just smoke the things, I wanted to roll them too. The only problem being that the only thing I knew how to roll, was a big fat splif. I was also of the just shy age of 20, my birthday being in november. So I cleverly solved this problem by simply converting the 11-9-84 of my drivers license to 1-9-84 with blue sharpee. I would then go to bars where terrible bands played and look introspective while sitting at the bar, smoking my big fat splif cigarettes, reading some god awfully depressing poetry, and guzzling whiskey. Needless to say, the only friend I made that way was the tooth-missing bar fly who waddled up with his voice full of hope and said "HAY You smokin ganja in here!?" Our friendship just wasn't one made to stand the test of time I suppose.

I also tried to get into the tagging scene by creating a crappy television shaped stencil and sneaking around like one shady son-of-a-bitch in downtown lafayette with my backpack and wifebeater. I only had the balls to spray one half of one stencil on, before chickening out and just getting drunk.

For the most part, however, my time was taken up by playing a little game called "WORLD OF WARCRAFT," Wherein I frolicked about the mythical land of Azeroth as an azure blue troll, who incidentally also had a mohawk, and shot various forest creatures with my bow and arrow for hours, and hours, and hours while, IRL, I sat drinking heavily in a par of XXL pink floyd "dark side of the moon" sweatpants my mother hesitantly purchased for me at the local wal mart. She had always reluctantly let me dress myself. Thanks mom. I think. Anyways, my world of warcraft career spans so much time that unfortunately there will probably be multiple entries involving my escapades in Azeroth, and I figure its getting kind of late.

Its really quite a miracle I made it out of this period in my life, and it just goes to show, when you find yourself with dykey mohawk, crying in your empty house every day, everything is going to be ok. It really is.