Livin' La Vida Loca

I'm starting a new roleplaying game! Woo! That's how great my life is! Maybe in this one, I'll get a date. That doesn't happen all the time, but it does occasionally. Ah, fantasy.
On a similar note, Ben should check out SA's take on one of the Dragonlance books. He'll either laugh, or beat me up.

The Big 666 Letdown

So, as everybody knows, Tuesday was June 6, 06-06-06, Satan's day. It was a little exciting for me. Bookies were giving 10-1 odds the apocalypse would happen. That's what excited me most. My head was filled with visions of a post apocalyptic wasteland, and I was gazing upon it from my mountain fortress. I have one! It's true, ask anyone! I couldn't wait to blast my way through zombie hordes, scoop up Dream Girl, and whisk her away to said fortress, a safe distance from the horror that the metro sprawl had become. This is my twisted fantasy, so I know she'd agree. Besides, what's she supposed to do, sit around and wait to be overcome by throngs of shambling undead? That, or be enslaved by Lord Humongus and his gang of chaps-wearing punk rock warriors. Together, we'd hide in the mountains, occasionally coming out to pick at the carcass of Denver.

But none of that happened. Wednesday came, and I didn't get to smash zombies on the way to work. Things just happened the way they always do. How very dull. I'm not a warrior in an armageddon nightmare world, Dream Girl remains just that, and, perhaps most disappointingly, there are no zombies. I suppose I will learn to deal.

I need to get one of these for work

But I got a part time job that rules. I'm a karaoke DJ. That's tits!

Oh yea...tits.

A (young) teen in a spa is like a kid in a candy store

The title, I think, deserves an explanation. This post was going to be titled "As Promised" referring to the previous entry's boast of an upcoming post. But when I punched the "A" in, that sentence was suggested by the computer. It was too delightfully random to pass on.

Anyway, down to business. I'm watching "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind." I have to admit, I love this movie, however, the last time I watched it I was left at the end feeling exceptionally lonely. It is such a moving relation ship story that really hit home for some reason, even though I've never erased the memory of a past relationship. Well, not without some help from my "friends." You know, Jack, Jim, and Mary J. But this time it's got me thinking. It's easy to become cynical about romance. When it's absent you want nothing else, and then it shows up and it's a big pain in the ass. I think. Maybe. It's been a while, maybe I've forgotten. Anyway, I'm in the former category at the moment, and cripplingly shy. So meeting females is a bit of a challenge, particularly when I find them attractive. A nice looking girl with blue hair and I cannot utter a syllable.
So I've become a bit of a distant observer. Hey, what red blooded American male doesn't enjoy a bit of girl watching. With said sociological activities I begun to notice a bit of a disturbing pattern. Women seem to gravitate towards the kind of guy that I am not. I'm not saying I'm a bad guy, in fact, that's just the issue. Girls like "bad guys." At least, girls I'm attracted to do. And so, I've compiled a list. It is a list of things I could "improve" to increase my chances of attracting a mate. Maybe I can even help some of you other guys find love. Just obey the list. It is as follows...

1. I have a job. I don't know what it is about being attached to anyone who needs you to buy everything for them, perhaps the motherly instinct, but chicks seem to dig it.
2. I am not addicted to cocaine, methamphetamines, heroine, or any other substance more hardcore than nicotine. Perhaps this is the mother thing again, or just some desire to be a psychic Bob Villa and do a "fixer-upper."
3. I bathe regularly. I suppose this must wash away my natural pheromones. Chicks dig guys who are dirty.
4. I care, at least somewhat, about the way I look in public. If you want to impress the ladies, you have to go around in sweatpants and Big Johnson t-shirts. Butt-wiser is just as good.
5. Does gross facial hair fall into number 4? I think it deserves its own entry. I need to either stop shaving altogether, or just grow a goatee like a foot and a half long. Sexy.
6. I am not in a gang. Big turn on, apparently. I can see how having a lot of money can do it for ya, but I don't get how being shot at does anything. Endorphines, maybe.
7. Teeth. I've got those. Too bad for me, eh?
8. I don't wear makeup to make me look dead. Corpses get girls, apparently.
9. Oh yea, I need piercings. In my face. Lots of 'em. Those make ladies get all up ons.
10. All decent lists have at least ten things.

There you have it. The key to romantic success. If you want to get laid, simply OBEY the LIST. From Littleton, this is Laird.

Ok, so I haven't really done a real update in a while. So sue me.

Just kidding, it's brewing, I'm just in a bit of a creative slump, I guess. Once the chaos simmers down a bit, I'll have a big, fat, steaming post for ya.

'Til then, Nay Jabba No Bodda!

Hey, Bastards!

I have nothing to say, for I am mourning the loss of ignorance. Truth is painful and my sanity is blasted.

Went to the art museum today with my sister and my cousin Jenni. It was pretty cool, until everybody else showed up, crying children and the elderly with younger relatives there to tell them "This is a picture of a prairie." Dr. Pretentious was there staring for long minutes through Black Flies at abstract still life. I was especially moved by the landscapes. I loved all the activity in Dawn of Arcadia, and was nearly choked by Monet's smoky depiction of Waterloo Bridge, hazy foreground with a barely visible industrial skyline.

It's good for the soul, I think. I want to drink in every detail, feel how the bare feet meet the sand of the shore, smell the incense in Spanish monasteries, taste the breeze through autumn poplars.

Everyone should go. It's free on Saturday. Show up early.