weird sex

Yes, there was weird sex last night, strange loud sex, grunting weirdly-syncopated-yelling sex, bed-banging sex. The room behind my headboard and then the room over me. All this in a Hilton and come on, really, if a place that (fairly) swank can't have walls thick enough to muffle fuck noise, who can? I mean, really, isn't it expected that you're going to have some weird coupling in your rooms? And that the family staying next door isn't going to want to hear it? Or at least is going to pretend they don't want to hear it?

Maybe I'm just pissy about the $10 wifi fee, which I KNEW would buy me something slower than the pony express if I bought it.

Today I returned from the conference in Tampa. Sarah has been on the verge of death and so I went to the grocery store to buy her some orange juice, fish tacos, etc. Her head was a like a big loaf of freshly baked bread, all hot and garlicy (not really garlicy). Then I walked to the library and somebody asked me where the Sanctuary building was. Why, it's right there, I said, and pointed to the white tower across from our place. This guy was old, white, driving a luxury car, exactly the kind of person who would go there. Then I went to our shitty, shitty library and came back and motherfucking protesters were crawling over the sidewalks, waving signs and screaming (yes, literally) about our terrible administration and its socialist plots. I wanted to get a good idea of their agenda but could only catch some of their yells and could only read a couple signs from the office window, because of the leaves (we live on the third floor, surrounded by trees). I wanted to rush out with a poster of Obama sprouting devil horns, scream at the Fox News van about how he's the devil, how he came into my bedroom last night with a gas-powered vibrator and only prayerful worship of the lord would save us, but I'm too big of a pansy. Instead I cooked dinner and tried to calm Sarah, who's almost delusional with fever anyway.

The curious thing is that while we live downtown, our street is not heavily trafficked. And the people who do traffic it are usually on foot, going to the tequila bar or descending from the condos in the sky to walk their dogs. I started wondering who the target was, since most of the people in this neighborhood are probably fairly conservative anyway (our cheap place is in the midst of a swarm of concrete erections screaming affluently into the sky) or are broke post-college kids hitting the tequila place, and then I started wondering what the goal of this kind of rally even isy. Who's it for but the news van? Is anyone going to be persuaded by a crowd of fat late-40s in Uncle Sam hats with miniature flags blowing air horns about health care? Am I supposed to realize the error of my liberal ways after watching the 20th suited paunchy manager-class guy waddle up to the street?

Things At Work

We have a process called Timed Delivery Service, or TDS. Basically we have to log in, accept things, log out, log in with a slightly different name, and download stuff, then log off again and log on with initial login to edit, and then log off log on with the second login and upload stuff... then log off and on with with first name and mark that we updated the art. Seriously. This is supposed to be an "efficient alternative" that a sister company uses. TDS, indeed.

And by TDS, I mean tedious, for you slow people.

Also, there is always someone BMing in the men's bathroom at any given hour. BMing could mean Brian Morgan-ing, but no. It means pooping. Shitting. Always in there, this person with brown loafers making brown loafs.

By brown loafs, I mean turds.


Off to bed! I will be in Boston this weekend. See you all Tuesday, hopefully.

People are having some weird sex next door

I'm at a conference, motherfucker!

And much like sarah said, it's pretty badass. Unlike her, I even get to expense food

Sadly I cannot expense the ten-dollar wifi

Do It!

Awesome Tuesday Great Job

Overheard in one of the student lounges

"I love smooth jazz. That smooooooth jazz."

Where for out thou Tuesday?

I have resorted to posting pictures again and again

Avatar for those who haven't seen it.

Apparently, I have 40 hours of vacation that I have to use before July 1st. HAVE TO USE is the key word, else I lose all of them. This means I get to go to Boston and Seattle and Florida, and not have to have the bosses feeling butthurt or guilt tripping me with it "being good for the company."

Which reminds me: in about a month, I will actually be working on the project that I was intentionally hired to do, and not these mundane math equations. My boss told me so, like it was an afterthought. Then she told me about the vacation time thing, as a post script. Then she moved me out of my spacious cubicle and onto a folding table surrounded by the other artists. This just means I won't get to fart around on the internet as much. But it also means I get to bond like a robotic arm to the host that is the art department.

On another note, I have had the lingering smell of burnt toast for the last few days. The damnedest thing is that I don't have a toaster, nor bread that has been overtoasted. At work, the smell changes into a kind of Ionic air purifier smell. I think my nose is broken.

you've got me confused

Megan's two best friends are both recently single. Anyone need a date? I think it would be in my best interest if they get off the market soon so Megan doesn't start to get ideas about jumping ship. I know at least one of them plays video games.

I've been listening to 105.1 (the Ames station) for the past week with great enjoyment. The other day I heard a song called New Fang by Them Crooked Vultures. AWESOME song! The whole album is pretty cool, but that one song really stands out. Dave Grohl is involved, along with a couple of other famous musicians.

Yes, that was an all-caps awesome and it means I'm for serious.

Aside from that . . . I've been slowly plodding through The Book of the New Sun by Gene Wolfe. I'm almost finished with the first volume of two books. There are four books total, but they come in two volumes. Meaning there are two physical books, but four metaphysical books. It's confusing, I know. At any rate, it's been pretty good so far. The story is a pretty unique piece of science fiction set on a post-starfaring Earth, where society has sort of reverted back to medieval times and technology is only around as a dilapidated antiquity. The main character (and narrator) is introduced as a boy being brought up in a guild of torturers. It starts off slow but it really starts to pick up in the second book (the second metaphysical book, that is).

Hi ho

Here's another book recommendation: Nobody Move, by Denis Johnson. I picked it up from our shitty, shitty library last night and just finished it with the cat padding around on the windowsill nearby. It's a brief noir story.

This same author wrote Tree of Smoke, which I probably wrote about on here before, because it is so badass. (And much longer, and more epic-y, etc., but still tight and quick.)

They're both good!

. . . 

I'm on day three of my weekend without Sarah. I'd planned a pretty ambitious routine for myself: cleaning here, then reading, working on some projects, maybe hitting a couple cafes around here for lunch, but have I stuck to it? Only vaguely. Largely I've paced the hallway and stared into video games and cooked taco after taco. What the hell is going on here? I'll tell you what: three days alone (for the first time in more than a year) in an apartment turns the windows and doors into the walls of purgatory.

I dreamt last night that I resigned my position at work and then regretted it. Then I saw a starship.

The New iDrank

Grip and sip.

You Can't Unsee

I came to this conclusion while walking home: AMISH IS FOZZY BEAR. Think about it!

Lousy jokes.
Same hat. No matter the situation.
Constant empty stare (that never blinks)
98% body fur.

Just give him steak and Jack, already.

On Ice

Living in Iowa this winter is like living on Hoth. Only there are no ton tons. Speaking of ton tons, have you seen the ton ton sleeping bag? You can unzip it, slide in, and stay warm for the night. Ooooh yeah.

I haven't been able to check the blog much lately, because I can't access it from work. Work is now conveniently located next door to Barnes and Noble on the side opposite Rock Bottom. Surprisingly, I've only had lunch at Rock Bottom once. I have spent quite a few lunch breaks in Barnes and Nobel though. Today the up escalator at Barnes and Noble was temporarily stairs.

It is 9:43 and I am very tired. I will probably get up at 5:27 tomorrow and leave the house at about a quarter after six. It is strange! Before I started this job I was working 12:30 to 8, going to bed about 2 and drinking pretty much from the time I got off work to the time I passed out in my bed. It is strange! It's good though. I finally got a job with benefits and a regular employee status. I've been formatting and proofreading sales proposals for ADP these past three weeks. No, I'm not writing video game scripts, but I'm not taking phone calls either, so it is good.

I'm tired. Everyone is getting married?!? How can this be??? Maybe I should get married. you think?

Here is a Man's Fairy Tale:

Once upon a time, a Prince asked a beautiful Princess.....
'Will you marry me?'
The Princess said, ‘NO!!!'

And the Prince lived happily ever after and rode motorcycles and went fishing and hunting and played golf and drank beer and scotch and had tons of money in the bank and left the toilet seat up and farted whenever he wanted.

The End

I am strangely not satisfied with what should be a tremendous victory. After a year of wanting, wanting, wanting what I didn't have, now I've got it! I have a beautiful girl, a great job, and a nice place to live. Isn't that the American dream? This is the goodie at the end of the rainbow, right? Now I just think fondly of the days when I wasn't complete. Is this success or surrender?

I should have been an astronomer. Ever seen Enceledus? What a moon. It's the sort of moon other moons dream about being.

Snowy Tuesday

Freaking her out

Well, Blog, did you know that my parents will travel to this state in
a few months time, at the beginning of May? It's true. This will be
their second arrival here to see us, and will be considerably
different than the first: Rather than staying in a hotel on the south
side of town, they will stay with me and Sarah. This is promising
because I won't have to drive 30 minutes to see them, won't have to
sleep in a strange place when I'm over, won't have to procure a bunch
of single-shot groceries, won't have parking issues any weirder than I
usually do, etc. Also all my clothes etc. will be close to hand. Also
they can go walk around the neighborhood or hit the grocery store or
screw around with squirrels or the cat while I'm out.

But it also means that Sarah and I have to get a cot or an inflato
mattress or something. Do you have any recommendations? Recently I
slept on a modern military folding bed and it was awesome, except that
my back became cold as it hovered feet off the tile in a chilled
apartment.

What would you do with your parents in Florida for seven days? I bet
you're thinking this: take them to Disney. And we might. Last year we
did visit a park for one day and it went surprisingly well, everyone
walked around, saw giraffes, etc., drank soda and ate popping corn.
There were crocodiles. And this year we may visit one park as well.
But what else? What else?

There is a place called Gatorland but come on now.
There are prostitutes on Orange Blossom Trail.
There are shitloads of orange trees.
There is the beach, but it is an hour away.
There is my office, where my mother went nuts with her camera last year.
Maybe we'll hang out in the apartment, taunting the cat. All petting
her at the same time. Eight hands. Freaking her out.

Have Some Snow With Your Snow So You Can Snow While You Snow

I hate snow. Especially in the waning moments of my lunch break.

I got a TPS report today at work. Is this what sex is like??

Ideas for the Wedding

And some of you may also know this: in addition to general academic
advising, I also prod students to take the GED test. Yes, it's true,
in Florida and in several other states (maybe all) you can enroll in
school and receive federal student loan money without your high school
diploma, provided that you pass a slightly more rigorous entrance
test. How much more rigorous? Only slightly. The math questions look
like this:

2436 divided by 6

If you fail the test you can take it again up to four times within a
six-month period. Also I will teach you how to pass it once you fail
it

So a great deal of my time here is spent persuading students to go
take the GED test. Only a tiny number of them actually do (easily less
than 2%). However, they all know it's important for their careers
because we're required to remind them, so often, in some cases, that
they tire of seeing us.

And about every week somebody will come in because they'll be
graduating soon and they realize, suddenly, that life would be better
if they'd taken the GED test. Sometimes they've been offered a job
that they can't accept without it. Today one of these people came in
to ask about the test schedule. I gave her the handout. I also looked
her up in our database to see how many times I'd advised her. She
would be graduating now in two weeks and was having trouble finding a
job. She needed that GED. Do I get the results that day? You get them
in THREE MONTHS, I intoned. For probably the fourth time since she
started here. Three months!

You can imagine that these sorts of interactions bring me some glee.
It's not because I'm evil, but because it is so damn exhausting to see
the same arc repeatedly.

In other news, Sarah, I'm afraid that Dave and I have planned the
wedding, and the theme is this: Victorian-era time traveling.

At the end we'll climb aboard the time device and zap out to the reception area.

Dave suggests we have very large steaks, as well.

In other news, we will now need a new last name. Or we might.
Suggestions are welcome in the comments.

Unshaven, naturally

Well, and so, I'm engaged to Sarah. If you're on Facebook you likely
know this already. If you're not: surprise!

It may seem amazing to you. Maybe you're saying this: "I thought you
were never going to marry anyone." Well, it's true, I was never. But I
changed my mind.

I meant to write more on this subject but there's all kinds of great
shit going on here tonight.

1) This book Falconer came in the mail yesterday. It's by John
Cheever, supposedly written after he stopped drinking constantly, and
supposedly one of his best novels. I've only read fifty pages but it's
pretty great so far, the prose is tight and modern, and the
organization is perfect, veering from now to then. It's set largely in
a prison. Also, it's fairly brief (around 200 pages).

2) Video games.

3) People have been screaming about the superbowl. We live near a bar
that plays football on the televisions and so you can imagine. The
strange thing is, according to the NYT, the game is over, and yet
every six or seven minutes someone in the world whoops anyway. What is
going on? Are they in a pocket of delayed chronology?

Regarding marriage ceremonies, who the fuck knows how that will play
out. RIght now our combined net worth could be doubled if I cashed in
the nickels in the Rominger pot on the bookshelf, so anything we do
will be in the future. Maybe there will be a cake-eating contest.
Maybe a fist fight. Maybe nothing. An orgy? Would you attend our orgy?
"You may now bang the bride. And the rest of these floozies, most of
whom are unknown unto you." The only sure thing is that Amish has been
hired to strip for the bachelorette party.

Lets Play "Hide the Dick"

So, now that I have internet back, I figured I would let you in on what's been going on.

I live in Coralville now. It's a nice little 2 bedroom apartment. I need furniture, though. Right now, it looks like I am squatting. Soon, after I obtain a television and some sort of seating arrangement, I will acquire an Xbox 360 and take advantage of more time wasting fun.

I have a very cushioned job. I sit in a spacious cubicle at the back end of the building facing out into undeveloped countryside. I draw pictures in Illustrator all day, most of which consist of math problems. The chances any of you will see them is slim to none, unfortunately, because I signed nondisclosure statements and am unable to keep any of them or distribute any work. I have a 3 monitor system going, with an additional laptop. Most of my day is spent checking style guides, editing art, redrawing art, and going through the databases. I get a nice salary paycheck every two weeks and a metric asston of benefits (health, dental, vision). I also work with Amy Pendergrass's sister-in-law. I also get to see Rominger about every other day. Also, I had pizza with Kim Lamon-Whateverherlastnameis.

Currently, I am animating a short cartoon about ichthyophiliacs as well as a cartoon about dinosaurs having dinner. The graphic novel is also being devised...slower than expected.

Brass tacks. Moonsorrow. Empty milk containers. Congrats to Tim and Sarah, as well. Halloweenhead gets no love.

MAN

MAN Sarah and I both had to arise at 7:30 this morning. SEVEN
BUTT-FUCKING THIRTY. Those of you even one time zone over probably
weren't even awake. Usually I would not have been awake. The alarm
went off and I came out of a dream probably inspired by this short
story I read recently where a robot was surgery-ing people together
into living sculptures and my heart was flaring and I zombied my way
to work where I then tutored somebody on the finer points of essay
writing at a time when I am usually trying to get comfortable with the
cat prancing around the bed, nuzzling my knees.

We have this building manager here who comes in at 6 am and leaves at
3. Now, this schedule could be mine if I craved it, and this guy seems
thrilled constantly to be showing up when barely anyone is here
(though some classes on our campus start at 5) and leaving when the
sun is still high and everyone else is slumping over their desks, but
I have no idea how to wake up early. I've been working on this for a
while, as I have a gym membership that has only been good, for a while
now, for draining my bank account, but I can not pull myself out of
bed. And on the days when I can, I can't pull myself down the hall.
How do you re-engineer your sleep schedule? Has anyone done this
successfully without absolutely having to?

Fording

I will now start occasionally suggesting quality beers to you. That I
feel empowered to do this may not surprise those of you who know I
drink 16 or better hours per day, or that I have very little to do
with my time aside from type things into the internet. But here is the
real reason I am suggesting quality beers to you: tonight (just now!)
I opened this bottle of Sprecher Abbey Triple and it's like a bright
burst in my mouth. (Believe it or not, that was not intended as a
double entendre when I wrote it. ) It's light and fruity like other
Belgians but thick as well, just enough. A hint of wheat.

We have this liquor shop nearby that sells all kinds of quality beers.
The only disappointment I've had so far was a bottle of the usually
remarkable Dogfishhead's Theobroma, which purports to be assembled
according to the same specifications that went into specifying the
fermented chocolate drink swallowed by Aztec royalty. Well, this
bottle of stuff I held while playing computer games well into the thin
light of the morning tasted neither chocolate nor worthy of royalty.
No chipotle burn here nor spiece tingle. Just watery beer.

That said, almost everything produced by that brewery is pretty great.

That's it for that.

Now moving on: maybe I will say here what I am sure at least some of
us are thinking: I am sort of jealous as hell of Dave's job, in that
he has found a career in which someone will pay him to do, more or
less, what he likes to do. Now, I know that there is a wide gulf
between constructing bar graphs and images of kids contemplating how
many menu items they can buy with their combined $3.16 and master
minding cartoons, but I put to you that this gulf is less wide than
the one between academic advising and, well, masterminding cartoons or
books or what have you.

I am also jealous of Dave's town, and Rominger's town, in that it is
still fairly close to the Action, has culture, etc. I am not jealous
of your snow but really, aside from the weather, what do we have here
in Orlando? Cultural diversity, yes, that is good, and sometimes good
shows, and there is a bar a few blocks off which I just last night
learned hosts amateur burlesque. We also have a few airports and are
an hour from the ocean but do you know when I last touched that water?
And the locus of what I would consider literary culture in my
neighborhood, despite the fact that we live downtown, is a yuppy
bookstore a block off that carries almost more cafe menu items than
interesting works of fiction. Sarah and I did almost fall into the
social orbit of a death metal singer but then our friend stopped
dating him.

And we are now in this position where we have both sort of openly
decided we don't plan to be here long enough to invest energy into
developing relationships with people we're not all that interested in.
Yet we still plan to be here long enough (ie, at least 18 more months,
this lease plus one more) that we are probably going to turn into
brown recluses without social interaction. She knows some smart, funny
people from her job but they live far off, and we both get home at
nine pm, and they are embedded in their lives here, etc. So we are
alone with the cat. And the spooky thing, more spooky than any
loneliness, is that it really doesn't bother me, doesn't eat me, I'm
fine fine rolling around the floors of this place drinking coffee and
tapping into the computer and maybe fording my way through the hobos
outside to the grocery store or library and then returning home to tap
tap or whatever. It's okay if it works out in the end, if my social
aspect comes back upon me, but if it doesn't? What happens then? We
entrench ourselves deeper into our routines and suffocate slow.

The pizza's done!

Today is the first Tuesday of the rest of your Tuesday's.

Drunken bafoonery

I have recently been reading the book The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and other stories. Jekyll and Hyde was ok, but I just came to a story in this book called Thrawn Janet. To me it is worthless as I can't make any sense of the damn thing. Random thing that Stevenson would apparently refer to as a sentence: "Mr. Soulis, he hardly kenned why, ran after him; but he was fair forjeskit wi' his walk an' the het, unhalesome weather; an' rin as he likit, he got nae mair than a glisk o' the black man amang the birks, till he won doun to the foot o' the hillside, an' there he saw him ance mair, gaun, hapsetp-an'-lawp, ower Dule water to the manse." How did this story ever get published and what the hell does it all mean? Is this the language of the Amish or the Devil?

In other news, I hate looking for jobs but desperately need to find a new one. I've been looking a little bit in Des Moines, but I need to start looking there even more. Also, I need to visit everyone in DSM again soon for some type of drunken bafoonery. Hopefully I can line up a visit with some job interviews. More on this later...assuming said imaginary job interviews join me in what I call reality. On that note, I should probably just go join them in what I call the imaginary world and get some sleep. I recently applied for a job that pays $70,000 a year, starting salary. What an imagination I have!

I leave you with a poem by Henry Gibson, entitled, "Ostriches are not clumsy"

Ostriches, when they mate and such,
Frolic with a gentle touch.
They're cautious when it comes to sex,
One false move, they'll break their necks!
Imagine!