No Fucking Way

I just pissed all over my fly when using the bathroom. If I was a writer I would say that is somehow a good metaphor for this week, but unfortunately I don’t have the literary prowess to pull those thoughts together. Sorry I haven’t rapped at you in a while, things have been a little busy at the Casa de Tool. BigChurch.com is still blowing up my Inbox like Al Qaida, but sadly enough I haven’t even ventured over there as of late. Possibly the funniest for you (and saddest for me) recent event was that my mother called about three weeks ago and told me that if “you are not married in a few years you should really consider adopting”. Not only was this out of the fucking blue, I still haven’t figured out why she thinks she has a say in this process at all. Granted, I did pop out of her vagina, but I don’t really think that gives her any sort of input on me bringing some Ethiopian or Chinese kid back to my 1.5 room apartment.

It is not that I am against adopting, personally I think that every kid deserves a great childhood and I am even happy that those out there attracted to like genitalia are getting the chance to adopt (at least outside of Texas) because kids need loving parents. That being said, how the fuck do I even remotely fit into that equation?! I am 27 years old. While I can see having kids some day, when I think of “some day” I think of some time in the distant future, not signing a release form tomorrow. I have noticed a strange sense of grandparental entitlement in adults with kids above 25. We know that having kids was something you enjoyed and that some of us will probably get the same joy out of it (whatever the fuck that means). However, lay off. There is nothing more fucking annoying than people who can’t have kids anymore telling people who are still young enjoy for binge drinking and casual sex to not enjoy those things. Hell, I just started to do the things I was “supposed” to do in college. I am still waiting for my first STD, I haven’t felt that burn the films in sixth grade warned me about. Maybe next time I should just tell mom how every now and then I enjoy a nice J- I think that would shut her up for a bit, or at least make her think I wasn’t quite ready to be rearing a toddler.

Jesus Rock

Things are heating up at BigChurch.com! Today I received an email from “friggy” a twenty-seven year-old single female in the Baltimore area. Sounds promising, no? Listen to this clever message from her:

“Your profile sounds interesting. Mine may sound slightly tame, but let me say that I love your attitude. Go full throttle! I became more serious about God 5 years ago after some hard experiences and now I feel on fire for God! Right on!”

I will be up-front and say that for one of the few times in my life I feel a little bad for making fun of someone. But hey- fuck it. As much as I wouldn’t mind getting laid right now, something in the back of my mind tells me that this would be a bad idea. See if you can pick out the bad musical taste in the next sentence:

“In my free time, I like to listen to contemporary Christian music--I've recently discovered I love the stuff! Switchfoot, Caedmon's Call, Third Day, Chris Tomlin, Michael W. Smith, Sarah Groves. If it's filled with Spirit, I love it!!”

Did you see it? If not, I will pass along a clue- all of the music sucks. My guess would be that she needs some strange shit like Lords of Acid to enjoy while screaming “Jesus Christ” in a different context, but like the King of the Jews I don’t judge, I only infer. But hey, at least her mom doesn’t tell her to adopt like mine did on the phone yesterday. I will leave you with that cliffhanger for the next time I write for no one.

Let's Get Physical

No, this isn't about Olivia Newton-John or how the only way she will find the guy she was banging is with a rod and reel. I really need to get my heart/blood pressure medication filled. I took the low-grade prescription that my doctor gave me in May and when that didn’t work the dose was doubled. I never got that stronger dose filled, maybe it is because I get swollen ankles that hurt when I walked on them and the medication read that it caused “impotence and loss of libido”. Some days it made me feel like Jason Leigh in Mallrats when Shannon Doherty told him that he had “no libido to attack”. I suppose I should look into getting that taken care of soon, since I do want to live past 28, but I will take my time getting over to Rite Aid.

I decided to do my other heart-healthy initiative and finally join the gym like I have talked about for about two months now. With the cold weather setting in and my gut looming like The Blob over my belt it is time to hit the pool for the winter time. I am one of those people that can’t do treadmills or exercise bikes. It is just too difficult for me to run in place for an hour on end. The multitudes of hyper-bikers around me all seem to be working harder and are in-shape for this sort of thing, so a picture of me huffing and puffing while “Hit Me Baby One More Time” plays over the sound system just isn’t appealing. At least with a pool I can pretend that no one else is around. I am joining Merritt, which has a multi-ethnic group of people pointing at me every time I go to the website. I don’t know if this is Rainbow Coalition circle jerk or a collection of people telling me they won’t talk to me once I enroll. Apparently the multi-hued clique will simply point at and openly mock me at every turn. After looking at the offerings I am pretty sure I will not consider enrolling in any of the following classes:

Body Pump

AB Blast

Power Yoga

Super Body Sculpt

City Rhythms

I might have to buy a pair of tight biker’s shorts for when I play racquetball with my friends so I can disgust them into a forfeit, but that will come with time.

The J Man Has to be Embarrassed

I always say that if you are going to go big, you gotta go Big Church. However, before we hit up the house of God it is time to return to Match.com. I just got “winked at” by a 29 year-old woman. Let me first say that I think she mis-read her birth certificate because there is no way this woman is 29- no way. She has enough wrinkles in her face to be a stand-in for the Grand Canyon. She just finished reading Harry Potter and she enjoys hiking and Yoga. She cast a pretty wide net as her heights and weights were everything from a skinny midget to Hulk Hogan (brother).

Now that we nixed that it is off to my favorite website, BigChurch.com. I swear, the laughs here never stop. Some of my !!!NEW MATCHES!!! include:

-An eighteen year-old who is “sick of the same thing”. How can you be sick of the same thing at eighteen? You haven’t seen enough of the same thing to be tired of it, let alone sick of it. Call me when you’re forty.

-One woman had a clever quote that read, “Ask me about the time I got stuck behind the toilet.” You obsess over Jesus and you’re a fucking moron, that is quite the strong one-two punch.

Of course the best part of my favorite website are the blogs. There are the intelligent people, like cocky cocksucker fullofwisdom who says, “God, You are the potter; I am the clay.” Hopefully God will shape him into something with a modicum of intelligence, but I think this guy baked in the kiln too long. But, we have the real intelligentsia of BigChurch over at Ruthsheart’s blog. Here she advises us that, “Many of our young people are being taught that there is no God, no Divine Law, no accountability, no purpose in life, and that they are the result of some primordial, random collision of molecules and descended from apes. Is it any wonder that many have no respect for life, either in the streets or in the womb?” Of course she dreams about drinking “this strong drink (spirit), it is - bitter, sweet and very strong to my mouth and stomach.” It sounds like Ruth really wants to give Jesus oral and that is definitely her prerogative. Of course, jjjireh replied that sometimes he wakes up speaking in tongues, so he gets the fucked up award for the day.

FogHat

My hour-long drive to work can sometimes be arduous. However, yesterday was great. A low fog hung in the air and blanketed everything for miles. But, the best part was crossing the bridge right near my work. It stretches for four miles and is beautiful on summer evenings. However, it was even better yesterday because it felt like I was driving through the sky with nothing around me. I had a visibility of about 10 vertical feet and 100 horizontal feet. The superstructure appeared in pieces around me and it felt like I was on the only one on the road. One of my Deep Dish albums opens with a song called “Driving to Heaven” and that is exactly what this experience felt like.

I really hope I can sell a lot this fall and winter so I can get the dog I have been wanting for some time. I have wanted a dog of my own for some time. I always had one growing up and they just seem to make a house (or in my case an apartment) a lot more fun, albeit a bit smellier. It will be nice to come home to something alive in my apartment besides the fruit flies that appeared last weekend- something happy to see me, what a concept. I have put off getting a dog for some time because I wanted to make sure that I could afford one. But, since I am getting to be an older fart (or, as my friends point out, an old fart in a twenty seven year-old’s body) I notice that I would like a little more company in life. For most people this is a fucking no-brainer, but for someone like myself who (over)values their independence it feels strange to want something else.

Out in the Burbs

I fucking hate suburbia. Not long ago I was thinking that my disdain for these bland regions was pure urban snobbery, but today cemented it. I am spending the night in Powell, Ohio which is just off the northern part of the Columbus beltway. There is no identity of any sort out here. All I see are chains. Applebees, McDonalds, Houlihans, Ruby Tuesdays, Lowes, Home Depot, Barnes and Noble, Borders, the list go on and on. I tried to find someplace here where I could enjoy a beer and watch Monday Night football, but there is no place for community or uniqueness here- just a road to nowhere that is full of mediocre food and buildings that all look the same except for the signs. Thirty years ago Gordon Lightfoot said he was stuck in “Somewhere U.S.A.” because it was so quiet and non-descript. Now the areas around the country are built up and full of people, but they are still non-descript. They are the same no matter where you go. One of the people interviewed in Morgan Spurlock’s “Supersize Me” called it the “McDonaldization of America.” Right now I could be in Arizona, Tennessee or Kansas. The obvious question is, if nothing is special about a place, why would you want to visit, let alone live there?

Just last night I commented to a friend that the neighborhood eateries where we live have few chains, short (if any) waiting times, better food, and costs less money than the Olive Gardens and Arbys that dot the burbs. Granted, I will admit that my income level affords me some things that others cannot get. But, I will never understand why someone would make the conscious choice to live in such a bland area. Is there some allure to the faux mansions, beltway traffic and SUV dealerships that I can’t see? I enjoy the fact that there are businesses outside my door and my city works for the people that live there, not only the people that work there. There are few gigantic intersections where the elderly have trouble crossing and pre-1900 landmarks let me know I am home. I won’t ever get off a highway exit content in the fact that plastic discount signs light my way home.

Stuck In the Middle With Me

I am getting sick of waking and seeing myself in the mirror everyday. For some reason I still harbor the delusion that awake and see someone else in the mirror staring back at me as I brush the choppers. I was raised on a diet of Grimm fairy tales, so perhaps the magical mirror has been in my subconscious since my youth. Whatever the reason, I have often thought it would be great to be somebody. Perhaps if God wanted to prove to me that he existed, a trial of sorts (but much less stressful than Jonah), or maybe God felt the need fuck me over (I never could figure that cocksucker out). Whatever his motivations, I wonder if he could flip the switch like that.

For starters, it would have to be someone more normal. They would definitely not open their mouth as often and when they did said mouth wouldn’t say the first thing the brain transmitted to it. The “momentary lapse of reason” that David Gilmour sought would finally be fulfilled and everyone would be happy. Strangely enough, I wouldn’t change my body. I have never been comfortable in my metaphorical skin, but my literal bone covering has served me quite well. From the oversized legs to the skinny arms to the random backne, it all seemed to work quite well together. One thing I wouldn’t mind picking up some self-confidence. I don’t know what I would be self-confident about, hence the crux of the original problem, but I am sure it would be there. Hopefully this correction would assist several of my other current head case issues, the collection of which make my cranium a primordial ooze of manic moodiness some days.

The problem is that all this is a happy fantasy and I don’t know quite what I am going to do in the interim. I could Jim Morrison myself but that would take quite some time and I don’t know if I could do that many liquor-induced hangovers day-after-day. But, I don’t have to be happy with what I have. First, I think that’s bullshit advice. I am not Freud, or for that matter Jung, but contentment with one’s self seems like such a bullshit exercise that I won’t enter into it. That feels like non-denominational Christian suburban mega church bullshit that doesn’t fit neatly into my day. But then, neither does waking up as someone else. I hope to find a happy medium one day.