Don’t Ever Get Older

Today I went to the beach. It was fun, I got a tan, and I allowed myself to have Burger King (EPIC FAIL!) which eas beyond mediocre, and not on the good side of that division. I no longer look unhealthily pasty and pale, and I even got to spend some time with family.

After the long drive and such an action packed day (which included, but was not limited to, sitting on a towel for about two hours), I was INSANELY tired when I got home and ate dinner, so I thought I’d go to bed. That’s when I discovered the computer had crashed, so I rebooted it, and started reading shortpacked archives on Dad’s while I waited for another virus scan to complete, and then made sure my computer was running, and fed the cats, and then I needed to wash my face and brush my teeth and all that other good stuff, and then got into a couple conversations on twitter and text and then I laid down and realized I was hungry because, guess what? Fruit cocktail is NOT the ideal “tide me over through my sleep cycle” food that I thought it would be, so I got up and made a veggie wrap and still felt hungry so I drank a bottle of water and smoked a cigarette and fiddled about on Twitter some more and was still hungry so I ate an ice cream cone and now I’m wide awake and don’t feel like sleeping.

And there’s something I’m forgetting to do, but I can’t remember what it is because OH MY GOD I’M GETTING OLD AND MY HAIR IS RUNNING AWAY, but it’s ok, because now I can do this all with a sexy tan.

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The CreativeBug

I have this sudden urge to start drawing again. It’s not something I’m good at. In fact, I’m a TERRIBLE artist. But I have this urge, like an itch I can’t scratch, nonetheless.

Ok, WHY is “nonetheless” one word when it’s CLEARLY three words shoved together into a PHRASE?! ENGLISH, YOU ARE TERRIBLE!!!

But, seriously, I’d love to draw a comic about the daily life of a cashier at a convenience store, since the stories I have don’t always work in the written word.

Take, for example, the story of the abandoned hooker, or the guy who exploded in the bathroom, or, Hell, all the times I find poop on the walls…

Those stories don’t work as well in writing, but in graphic form…

Abandoned Hooker

She walked in with a cigarette in her mouth, wobbling around in her drunken state on too-high stripper heals. Sitting down at the bar, she began rummaging through her purse while talking on her phone to a mysterious person while every guy who entered the store looked upon her bare legs and almost bare breasts (aside: my phone just tried to autocorrect breast to bareback…I think it’s gay, too) with lustful longing in their eyes. She rose, stumbling forward in an entertaining wobbledyweave towards the bathroom. 45 minutes later she escaped her prison-like confines of the Women’s Restroom, approached the counter, flashed her minimalistic bosom, and demanded a cigarette as retribution. I claimed I didn’t smoke, she swore I “had got to be fucking kidding” her, and spent the next hour stumbling around the parking lot, screaming into her phone at Jason, her abandoner, before finally finding a new John to take her in for the night.

Remember that time I blogged from the bar?

So I’m currently sitting at the bar with people all around me, talking, jabbering, and the Bulls have just lost to the Heat. I hate basketball. Also, I think I might be almost drunk, if nit all the way.