TRUE LOVE

From the Ranted Files of Dr. G,
brought to you at great cost...

IN A FOXHOLE OUTSIDE MOZAMBIQUE, PINNED BY CROSSFIRE, DOWN TO MY LAST JUICY JUICE - I’ve seen the best little piggies of my generation starving, hysterical, naked in a tinny, rancid cubicle where a life enters this inhuman world, like a rough beast lurching towards a Bethlehem swimming in blood and methane. This babe, pink and fat, ripped from it’s mother’s teat, squealing and gasping, no chance it will live, but then again, who ever does…transported to foreign lands, tattooed and bartered over like a poly-cotton blend Walmart sweater. Eviscerated, bound prone by mentholated, saffronated tormentors who laugh and drool and puke and laugh again like short-skirted cheerleaders at a kegger. The UNMITIGATED HORROR of the UNSOUND METHODS by which this creature’s hide is charred to resemble the very mesquite briquettes that bake it slowly underground. It steams and pops for hours upon hours upon hours until it is pulled from the earth, a second birth, like the gross things in that movie, and laid out on a plastic folding table in a dim, muddy, saw-dusty garage, spewing it’s aborted innards, desiccated, resiccated bread and tropical, acidic fruit and smoky, rendered fat over the concrete, whence it will be the gruesome centerpiece of a star-crossed, sulphurous ceremony, overseen by men with sword and axe and knife, a testament to life and death and life again, a turning wheel driven and derided by vanity, but redeemed by love.

Bad things

You know things didn't work out so bad for our friend George. He got a nice job with the Yankees. Things didn't work out so well with the ladies. But he had some good friends, I assume he had health insurance and wasn't living out on the streets.

Let's hope things don't work out so bad for me. In the past week, I've been kicked out of grad school, laid off from a job, and met and might have blew it with the girl of my dreams. Takes talent, I know, pulling the trifecta, most people can only hope to pull off two of those feats in the same month, let alone the same week.

A good friend from college once told me, when your girl comes you'll know it.

I don't even know why this girl is the one. Sure, there are a lot of girls that I imagine how'd they'd look with no clothes on and more importantly how'd they'd feel. But this is the first girl with whom I could really just see myself. say for dinner, for a long drive in the car and to be honest I could care less what she looks like nude. and I haven't talked to her for more than five minutes.

so of course, I'm not even on speaking terms with this girl at the moment. Instead of explaining to you how I was a complete dork and messed up with the rare girl, that strikes me as special, let's talk about my day.

I get to sleep in, and don't have to work at the school that wasn't working for me. I got to play some online poker. I went to see my therapist. He seems like a good guy, but I'm still getting warm to him. I brought $7.99 worth of change to my bank's change machine and said courteous salutions to the maybe overfriendly receptionist. I didn't buy new jeans. All my current jeans are hand me downs from my generous younger brother, and by now they all have holes in them. I didn't have time to buy new jeans, because I had to hurry to hit the swim pool before going to a networking meeting. The swimming went great, once I relieved myself.

I hate to mention bathroom stuff. no one ever talks about the bathroom, except in screwball comedies, Dumb and Dumber, comes to mind. sometimes I feel like I'm the only one that hasn't mastered the whole number two thing. I just can't always just push it out, sometimes, I guess you could say things get stuck, and I get stuck on the toilet. No matter how bad I have to go number two, I avoid using the restrooms on trains and airplanes. Unless I'm home, reading something and not in a hurry, I hate going number two. There is nothing worse than having the train reach your destination or the plane hitting turbulence and you're stuck on the john and not quite finished. You give one hard push and then put a piece of toilet paper, between your anus and your underwear. All the time berating yourself for not holding it in longer.

Once I got the stuff that needed to be outside of me, outside of me. I went home, ate the half a piece of delicious Chicago deep dish pizza from last night, printed out my resume ten times, then realizing I made a mistake and print it out ten times again and walked to the networking event. The event said 6-9, and I mistakenly thought, I could stop by any time. At 7:15 they were in a circle, and I took one look at the brochure, and thought I that my $20 was better spent on poker and beer. So I headed to SE for some poker with some Georgetown Alums. At least in the short term, my decision paid off. I walk away with $61 extra for the night. I could go into my poker secrets, but I think I'll keep them to myself.

So, no job, no degree, no girl. no jeans, no constipation, no networking event, two beers and $61 richer, not forgetting ten resumes with mistakes, ten more or less perfect resumes folded neatly in the pocket of my jacket. not a bad day to end a not so good week.