I Get Clean

Here's my last post for the month.

And, perhaps, year.

Not necessarily because I have stuff to do, no, I'm just the world's most boring human being. You would think a twenty year old living away from house and home would be more fun.

You would also be wrong. Sorry.

But I'm moving out, to a location still unknown-because I am also the world's worst (or best?) procrastinator. I have three days.

Moving on, in three days I will no longer have to go to the gym to take my showers.

For the past three months I have had to drive over to the gym every time I want to get sparkly clean-which is often, because I am a sweaty man. Going a day without a shower is like, I don't know, a more stinky man than usual. Just make up your own joke with that last sentence, it's too early for me.

Back to me being naked and soaping myself...

Since my roommate is a cheap, cheap bastard, the house I reside in lost hot water, heat, internet, cable, and then water all together. Out of that, I got water back. So I can take cold showers if I want.

If I was crazy.

So I decided I would tell you about my shower experience.

Naked men. All over. Some just finishing their workout, some just about to begin, and the rest just naked, being creepy. And people act differently about their nakedness. Half of the people quickly dry and dress, not wanting their giblets hanging out any longer than need be. The other half basking in their birthday suits, fearlessly exploring the small locker room.

I'm the latter half. But I don't sit down on the benches when I'm naked. Because I respect benches.

So I pick my locker out, and throw my shoes inside. What helps me choose a locker is if people have already chosen said locker, but have not put a padlock on it, thus, ceasing to be a locker, just a cubby.

If you're one of those people, fuck you.

So I throw my junk into the locker (not all of my junk, mind you), and wrap myself in a towel. The towels are white and scratchy, and they are too short, so I'm all popping out all over the place, Beyoncé style.

Is that her real name?

So it takes me a good moment to get myself wrapped up good. Once done, I walk to the showers. Sometimes I slip on the slippery floor in front of the showers. I'd feel a lot more embarrassed about it if there were ladies around. There being none (usually), I don't really mind it. It's kind of exhilarating, actually, because the only people who see my fall right on my ass are other dudes who have done the same thing.

Then I shower. Fantastic. Nothing special there, just bags of body wash put in dispensers, it squirts out like soap would when you were washing your hands. I say this because, by three months, maybe I would have brought my own shampoo or something, but I don't, just the generic wash.

Sometimes I get the empty dispensers, though.

That's no good.

Usually, that's about it. Then I get dressed. Sometimes, that's all I do. You may think to yourself, "yeah, that's all people do in showers".

Right, but remember I'm in the gym. And what I mean when I say 'sometimes that's all I do', I mean that sometimes I show up at the gym just for a shower. A soap and split. So the people at the front desk think I work out super fast and then go, spending fifteen to twenty minutes in the gym per visit.

Nope! Sometimes I actually do work out. And I shower after that, too.

Here's a fact about showering I just made up.

Did you know women spend fifteen minutes longer in the shower than men? Even more, when you're already late. I don't know why it takes my lady so long to get ready, she's so darn pretty.

So there you have it, you probably know way too much about me showering now, but you can talk about it with your friends.

Finally I made another post.

So its been almost a year, I should update my blog. But since I don't really feel like summarizing my entire year, I'll keep it short and simple, like pb & j.

So I'm broke, and I work a shit job, and I'm too sarcastic to ever move up in the ranks (but why would I want to? It's a shit job at the bottom, it'll be shit at the top).

But other than the majority of things in my life, things are pretty good!

I have a girlfriend (solid) for eleven months now, what what. I spend most of my days writing scripts, which makes the days feel productive but the results a minimum.

I'm that person at the coffee that thinks they're someone because they write. But its been nothing but ABBA jokes today, and trying to find a reason for three people to urinate before they can cross a street.

And that's my life. So it's pretty good. Because if I wasn't a writer, I couldn't think about that stuff and still sleep at night.

And I'll end with a countdown to my burfday (28 days) until I can (legally) drink! Because I have never, ever, drank before. Maybe I'll do a countdown until I'm homeless too (21 days).

UnTitleist! Golf reference what what.

Update!

It was my birthday!

About three weeks ago...

So I am older, and wiser, and more mature!

I would like to say that my life is moving forward at an incredible rate, but it is not. It's pretty much stationary. But my life has been quite incredible! I do things every now and then.

Probably the biggest thing right now is the death of Michael Jackson. It seems that everyone found out at around the same exact time, and they all had the same thought.

"Michael Jackson's dead? Oh my God...better let Max know. He's going to be completely distraught."

Sure.

That's about it, really. For now.

And possibly for the next two months...

Daze of Days

So, summer has officially begun!

(for me).

It began last Thursday, but today is the first real day of summer, because it is the first Day-When-I-Usually-Have-Class-But-Not-Anymore day.

A good day.

Yesterday was also good. I spent the day at the beach. I was going to post photographs of my adventures, but the photographs will be returned next Tuesday, so I decided not to. I went with Crystal, a girl I met at Café Julia, and her best friend, Casey. We climbed a dune. Then we ran down. Then I found some rocks, which are really nice. Then I climbed up.

"Where are you going to put those rocks?"
"In my garden."

Then I was laughed at. Then I climbed a tree and lounged in it, and smoked my pipe and dreamed of exactly what was happening. It was a lovely dream. A couple boats went by. A couple clouds went by. A couple breezes went by. Then I climbed down and we drove around and listened to music.

Many music.

Mika, Reel Big Fish, Ben Folds, Dresden Dolls, Streetlight Manifesto, Queen, and all those other bands I would list to make myself feel cool.

Next week maybe I'll go to Chicago. Crystal and Casey and I were going to drive there and back yesterday evening, but we decided not to. "We decided not to" as in, "someone is afraid of what they're boyfriend thinks". Maybe later.

Today, what did I do?

I played piano. Then I went to the café and wrote in my journals, and wrote jokes, and wrote things. Then I made a CD. Then I talked to my mother, and then had dinner.

And then, and then, and then.

(As you can see, I am very excited).

It started to rain, and will for the next two days. Which means nothing. My coffee was exceptional today. As were my pens; sometimes they do not write so well, but not today, no, they were just as excited as I was to be doing what they love to do. My hands were also fantastic today.

Sometimes they shake.

Tomorrow I am going to Men's Breakfast at six, and then Ma's Coffee Pot at nine thirty. I like Ma's Coffee Pot, because it's a cheap knockoff of Waffle House (not as good, but just the same). I will then sit in the porch during the rain and write and draw. You know.

I looked through my journal and found that I never finished my rating of the three doughnuts I had in Detroit. For some reason, that kind of brings me down. I'm a quitter, even when it comes to things I love...

Today, I suppose, is one of those thinking days.

I have yet to accomplish anything I am proud of, excluding Joanna's birthday present, which just so happened to be a major success, and the highlight of the month of April, no matter when her birthday was.

I still feel as if my life is at a stand still. A teenage stand still-which is a sluggish lifestyle that becomes "un-stood-stuck" the first day of summer. That's what I'm waiting for, more reading, more writing, more filming, more people, more postcards, more genuine smiles, more late nights, more early mornings, more loud music, more sand between my toes, less worries, less cares, less sighs, less wasted times, less unfortunate weather.

This is all, of course, taking place in Michigan (more or less, pun). Except for a week in Texas which I may, or may not, be in Dallas for a wedding and two birthdays.

And I am very excited! Very excited to achieve something that I will be proud of. I have no idea what it will be, but I am anxious to try and find out.

I am energetic, I am optimistic, I am hopeful, and I will end with a poem of my own that I do not hate.

I wrote it on March twenty-eighth.

I'm not much of a poet,
but I will tell you what happened.
It is customary for me to listen to the news as I drive.
Sailing down the streets late one evening, the stars continually catch my eye.
I am reminded of you immediately and recall exaggerated memories that often get told, often just to myself.
I begin to sing loudly, from the heart, like a faithful Gospel singer, all the love songs I know.
The songs bounce off the stars and remain to this very moment amongst them, ricocheting off their light.
I hope they caught your ear, wherever you are, because I am certain we see the same stars.
I park at home and cease my song. The newscasters try to behave as if they did not hear.
Even they know, however, that you are loved.

The Stops

Here are some pictures that I consider to be some of my best. Just a quick and little post for today.

"Get Me Something To Be Sick In!!!"

It's been long.

I had a dream where I was a manager at the coffee shop. What fun, and dear dear let's hope dreams do in fact come true. And to encourage employees who have to work at six in the morning, I would give the following spiel.

"Don't think of it as an opening shift, think of it as a starting shift. Because you open a book, but you start a legacy."

I'm quite sure that my employees hated me, but I think that line is pretty encouraging.

I also have two followers now, which counts for a very minute cult all depending on what I decide to write.

I had this conversation with someone from work.

"Do you believe in telepathy?" she asked.
"Not really."
"Ghosts?"
"Sure."
"You believe in ghosts, not telepathic vision?"
"Exactly. Ghosts don't have hotlines or ask for credit card numbers."

I have started letting the nadsat vocabulary seep in from numerous watches of A Clockwork Orange. Which is fine. Usually Steve and I will throw around phrases.

"Well, if it isn't fat stinking billy goat Billy Boy in poison! How art thou, thou globby bottle of cheap, stinking chip oil? Come and get one in the yarbles, if ya have any yarbles, you eunuch jelly thou!"
"Let's get 'em, boys!"

I have been tempted about asking my psychology teacher if there is a crip side of the brain, or a gangster lobe.

Current musical ventures-Limbeck, the Ditty Bops, Paris Combo, and Phantom Planet.

Current literary ventures-________ (did you notice the blank?).

I finished Franz Kafka's Amerika two weeks ago. It was alright. There is a fast talking man named Kerry who talks about music with me at work. His presence is enjoyable, except he often does not realise that I cannot hear him, for his voice does not carry, and I simply cannot hear that fast. He gave me the new Andrew Bird CD, Rilo Kiley, and Paris Combo. He's a good guy though.

My boss in the pizza place speaks in a thick ebonics accent, as in, idiotically mispronounces things in a very high voice.

"Ya'll got any chicken wangs?"

"I graditated from U of A, Universe-iddy uh-f a-bonics."

Other things worth mentioning are unmentionable because one of the two people to potentially read this is directly connected. I am learning Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk, and am planning on going to karaoke with some friends. So I will end with confessing my new, and blossoming, love for the Bee Gees, especially Barry Gibb impressions.

"Ah-ha-aah-ah!"