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I dreamt of you on the night of my grandmother’s funeral.

It had felt strange that day, to say your name, after so long. It was inevitable, though.

“This is only the second funeral I’ve ever been to.”

“Who was the first?”

“Her name was Meg.”

That is the simplest explanation. I remembered you, therefore, I dreamt of you.

 But you were so beautiful. Your face was, at the risk of sounding cliché, radiant.

Not like a Proactiv commercial radiant. But in the classical sense of the word. A glow. And your hair was red still.

At one point, you tucked it behind your ear. Or at least, I think I remember that. It’s hard with dreams, like any memories, to keep them pure, unadulterated by imaginations, exaggerations, colored perceptions. What you wanted to have happened, what should have happened.

But still. I think you tucked your hair behind your ear. At any rate. Red.

You weren’t dead, obviously. But never had been. We were at a crowded stadium, the kind that probably neither of us have ever been to. We talked. You can’t know how much I wish I could remember what we talked about. But anything I conjure up at this point is sure to be a lie. I don’t remember.

It was strange, to have this experience on that particular night, just a dozen or so hours before I would begin to contemplate my own death. Sit back, make a hard analysis of my life, my past and current choices, and what choices I’m willing to make in the future, and realize that the road I’m on inevitably leads to you. I’ve got a good while yet, but a road is a road is a road.

You were happy. So happy. When I woke, I had to think so hard about what was true or not. I had these two images in my head. One was you, as I had just seen you, and the other was a sort of x-ray. A stop-motion film of a head being torn apart by a bullet from beneath. What do you call that soft part, between your chin and your neck? I don’t know. But I had these two images, and my mind was desperately trying to reconcile them. One, or the other, but certainly not both.

 I don’t know. Maybe I’ll see you again. I have a lot of sleepless nights ahead of me. Consider this an open invitation.

David touches my feet alot

I know this sentence has been uttered about a million times by now, but: I got a Kindle. I didn't think I would like reading on it, but I really do.

It's tough being so mainstream.

I also like the Hunger Games series now. How's that for a corporate sellout? Also, I've run myself into the ground with debt, mostly for brand name clothes and TV seasons on DVD.

Also, I'm thinking of having several children out of wedlock and getting a Snooki-related tramp stamp.

Finally, society will validate my existence!


And, in conclusion, I'm writing this to take a break from my Sea World application. I'm wondering if I can design a show where Shamu tries to eat me and I fight him off my rippling biceps and boyish charm. (Full disclosure, it's not the biceps themselves that ripple...)

I want to marry this girl:



And have this baby:



I'm not a scientist, but I'm pretty sure if we conceive in the Bamboo Panda bathroom, it's totally possible. (Fuller disclosure: yes, this is a picture I found after Googling "cute baby". Don't judge. I'm not picky.)

But really, she's amazingly talented. I listen to her CD's approximately all of my life and eternity. I got  a D on the approximation unit of my 8th grade math class, so you'd think I'd know my best subject a little better. BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE.

Today my acupuncturist (I spelled that wrong once on my iPhone a month ago and it continues to haunt me by autocorrecting even when I spell it right) tried something new, since it's been a rough week. She hooked up little electrical things to two of my needles, one in my left hand and one in my right ear. She turned the machine thing up and told me to say when I felt it. I didn't say it fast enough, so my ear and arm went crazy and I felt like I was going to throw up my brain, but luckily she turned it down again. In the end, I fell asleep while resting for the first time, and she decided to just let me electro-sleep in there for like an hour and a half. The whole thing had some Kevorkian fan-fic potential, but she didn't even make a move. In case you're wondering, my acupuncturist is super hot and has both a nose ring and a doctorate of medicine. I'm not sure which came first. Either way, I can finally fulfill my having-women-stab-me-with-needles fetish. It's a relief to be able to stop dating heroin addicts.

I'm listening to Tina Fey's "Bossypants" on audiobook. It's quite humorous, though I haven't heard the word "vagina" spoken more times in a day since I told a girlfriend my theory about the word itself. I explained that it was a word created by the Catholic church in the early 1600s to scare young boys away from them. (I fully support them in this endeavor, as the only thing more hideous than the word itself is the orifice it describes.) The girl then proceeded to litter our conversation with "the V word" until I finally snapped and broke her pelvis with a baseball bat. One part of that story is not true, can you guess which? (You win, it was actually invented by the Greek Orthodox's.)

For a very brief time in high school I had the nickname of "the Bear Jew" or "BJ", and I have the birthday card to prove it. I was well known for giving painfully exuberant bear hugs, and when a large group of us went to see Inglourious Basterds, which features a Bear Jew that beats Nazis to death with a baseball bat, the name just seemed to fit. It didn't stick, though, so I eventually ended the post abruptly.

AUGHHH

Under my blanket, burning hot. Not under my blanket, freezing cold.

I hate my life.

L33t H@xor

I beat a video game yesterday. This might not seem like much of an accomplishment, I think normal boys do it on a regular basis. But, for me, it's big. I've beaten two other games in my entire life. The reason for this is simple, I suck at video games. No coordination, a low threshold for frustration, and a debilitating case of the quits combine to make me, well, suck. I think I started two Zelda games that I actually did beat about 30 times. But, in a moment of boredom this week, I purchased a PS3 and some games, and now one of them is successfully under my belt. Go me.

Our family has always been a game-playing one. I'm a fan of some, (Risk, Monopoly, Set, Acquire, Bang, Settlers). Others are zero fun, (Risk, Racko[my mother's favorite], Bananagrams, Scrabble[everyone in the family teams up to try to destroy my dad, then he whines about it after he beats us by 200 points anyways]).

What's this, you say? Risk shows up on both lists? Yes. Risk is a very special game, that can't really be categorized. One the one hand, it's educational. You learn many things from Risk that you can't learn anywhere else. For instance:

Who knew that Kamchatka was not only an actual place, but a prime spot to launch an assault on North America?
Australia is actually not useless, despite all the real world evidence to the contrary.
Africa     "                                                                                                                   "
Europe is useless, confirming all real world evidence we already knew.
Everyone you know is an asshole.

That last one is the first thing you realize when you play Risk. People you've known for years who, up to this point, have always seemed like reasonable, friendly people, are revealed to be backstabbing conspirators, seeking any opportunity to ruin your carefully laid plans and, by extension, your life. Risk can unravel years of nurture and devotion, destroy casual relationships outright, and breed animosity that will fester for decades.

But dang is it fun when you destroy everyone.

Also, fuck Kamchatka. We all know it's not a real place.