I suck at relationships, and relationships suck at me. Like a leech.

On Barometric Pressure

It's late. I've had a long day. I have to be up in a few hours to drive to Michigan. I can't sleep. That, or I don't want to. I dunno.

Today I'm having one of my many typical existential crises which pop up from time to time like a herpes outbreak. God damn. A friend of mine blames my mood swings on barometric pressure; she says that on days when the barometric pressure is higher, peoples' brains start to tweak. All I know is that I've been on fucking edge all day. There was this inbred family of buck-tooth orangutan-looking people in front of me in line at Barnes and Noble this afternoon who spent almost $200 on Dungeons and Dragons books. Harmless, yes, and completely inconsequential to me, but these people irked me so much, I kind of seriously wanted to kill them. Violently. Involving much bloodshed. People such as this shouldn't be allowed to live. And it wasn't just the affinity for Dungeons and Dragons, it was the fact that they couldn't string together a complete sentence if there was a loaded cannon pointed at their face, it was the fact that they obviously had not bathed in probably years, it was the fact that they wore Looney Toons shirts that sucked rod even when they were popular in the mid-90's. And trucker hats. Oh, the trucker hats. Ashton Kutcher couldn't even save them.

And then I kind of realized that, in a really depressingly sick kind of way, I might be a little jealous of those hick butt munchers. Jealous because, clearly, they don't take the time out of their day to think about a single one of the things that causes me to freak out on a daily basis. They are totally cool with being ignorant, stupid, Dungeons and Dragons playing hicks who reek to high hell like bad Indian cooking, whereas I don't think I'll ever be content with anything. I overthink everything to the point where I want to shoot staples into my head. Lucky me.

Most days I curse the fact that I was born as intelligent as I was, and I wish that I could be content to let my will to live get raped by some shitty corporate desk job with a decent salary. That would be so much easier than riding the see-saw I'm on. I don't think there's a place for intelligent people on this planet anymore, honestly; we are devolving back into blathering ape mongoloids in suits and fast cars.

I'm not cut out for this shit. What utter fucking nonsense.

Flying Spaghetti Monsters

Please check this website out immediately. Seriously.

www.flyingspaghettimonster.com

I want to be this guy's new best friend. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the FSM.

On Marriage

This is for Mel. She told me to start writing again.

So, it's been a while--months--since I've posted any garbled ramblings on this site. Weird. I go on sporadic kicks with this thing.

I went to a wedding this weekend in Minneapolis. Well, outside Minneapolis. Actually, way outside of Minneapolis. We were deep in the grips of Suburbia, in a land where the Strip Mall reigns supreme above all else, and there wasn't a single bar to be found. Seriously. No bars. Lots of churches, though. There was a heavy influence of the Lord in all things. I felt as though I was back home in Wheaton (read: uncomfortable).

It trips me out that people my age, friends of mine, are getting married. Here I am, trying to hold on desperately to the last shards of my tattered childhood remnants, and everyone around me seems intent on growing up, buying houses, having children of their own, etc. I have issues. Clearly. But I like my issues.

Anyhow, the wedding was fun. Of course. Weddings are always fun. Especially when there's an open bar. The Blonde One had other obligations, so I brought my buddy with as a wingman. We got ridiculously intoxicated on enough wine to fill the Grand Canyon half way, danced with anyone nearby who was in possession of breasts, ran a pretty standard burn, held numerous awkward conversations with old college acquaintances I haven't seen in years, and slept in my car. Don't ask. Actually, do ask. It's a hilarious story of missed opportunity.

I do have to add that Scott and Jenny (the bride and groom) are perfect for each other, and I'm happy for them. It was nice to sit in the ceremony and know that the two of them're supposed to be together. The last wedding I went to, we were taking bets at the reception on how long it'd take for the marriage to completely deteriorate. I gave it 14 months. Which is generous.

On Relating

'Nuff said.

On Crazy Old Apes

Dear Life,

You sure are weird sometimes.

Yours,

Peter

Sometimes I get the feeling that this whole tripped out existence of ours is just some elaborate joke, and that The Big Man Upstairs resembles more closely this crazy grinning simian rather than some old codger with flowing robes and a sage white beard. It certainly makes more sense. Perhaps God isn't so omniscient after all. Maybe he's just some crazy, ancient gorilla hurling his crusty poop at all of humanity and pounding his chest in gleeful satisfaction when it splats upon its mark. What if we're all just running around our whole lives, dodging the inevitable smack of monkey feces before it hits us in the forehead? I spend so much of my time sorting through the rubbish of the world in order to attain some sort of meaning and purpose for myself, but the longer I sift through all the shit, the more frustrated and further away from any answer I get. Perhaps that's the point.

These are strange days.

P.S. I am fully aware that in my last entry, I used the word "yolked" when I meant to say "yoked." That was embarrasing. But I'm too lazy to edit it. My apologies.

On Passing Rites, Among Other Things

Um, so I bought a car yesterday. Yeah. Seriously. A new car. Holy shit. How adult. How uncharacteristic of me. How cool. Wow.

And so, another of the fabled Rites of Passage has yanked me by the ear into an all new realm of existence I never thought I'd actually arrive at. Because buying cars is something grown-ups are supposed to do. Not me. I guess I've always held that childish mentality that I'd never actually get old enough to purchase a car or a house. It's a weird feeling when you wake up on that one particular morning with not only that glimmer of desire to make such an influential purchase, but the realization that you actually have the means to do so as well. What a trip. Responsibility hangs over my head in a massive, honeyed orb with anxieties buzzing around it like flesh-eating bumble bees: was this a good decision?, am I ready for such a drastic shift of my finances in the direction of endless monthly payments?, what the fuck am I doing?, etc.

But you know what? I deserve this. Rarely do I do anything really and truly nice for myself that isn't indirectly destructive, and this is a good start. Sure, I feel as though I could vomit gloriously at the thought of the burden I've yolked myself to for the next three years, but ultimately, I think this is going to liberate me in more ways than I even know. Hopefully.

I refuse to ever grow up, but sometimes it's fun to dabble in adulthood.