Do you see the time stamp?
Oh, yeah. That's real time. Biology exam cramming + flu demands unusual hours. Haha, say that 10 times really fast.
It may interest you...or not, that the ability to make no sense is inevitably higher when it's in the wee morning hours and you've consumed enough coffee to calcify the liver of Juan Valdez and his burro. Nyquil also does the job. I should know, I've been mainlining that stuff with this crud I contracted last week.
So, you ask, where is my will to blog? The will to create? The will to drink milk straight from the carton with wild abandon? It's been taken to the pokey for routine questioning and I think it's still being held hostage in booking. Forcing my hand, I am allowing creativity out on good behavior between the parietal bone and cuboidal epithelium, aka short break from studying while I'm strung out on flu-inspired uppers known as 'cold medicine'.
I'm making no sense.
I just noticed I didn't post in September. I can't remember when I went a whole month without spewing nonsensical about school, books, and my neighbor dude who looks barely old enough to buy beer and looks like a very famous Hollywood actor. I pass him (the neighbor dude, not the actor) on the stairs and I turn into an awkward teenager.
Let's just say the movie star hair is quite lovely and when this fetus...uh, um...the neighbor dude... and I pass on the stairs, I typically become enamored by my Chuck's, keeping my head down. If I look up and say hello I end up blushing like I'm asking Santa for my first training bra. What the heck is that?
Speaking of Mr Coffee, he's has been out of town working again. Weekend only conjugal-mybestfriend-imissmyhubby- visitations are not making me happy which leads me to believe that in reality my neighbor dude, McHollywood HottieHair looks more like he could eat corn through a picket fence and I'm simply riddled with lethal levels of estrogen.
I'm leaning more toward massive chemical imbalance.
The only upside to Mr Coffee being away from home is that homework gets done faster and I can starfish the bed during the weekdays. I'm also reading more so my studies don't wholly consume me while I'm having a Nyquil Sniffling, Sneezing, Aching Head, Tripping on Acid, So You Can Rest Medicine. I've also learned that my library allows 50 books checked out on one card at a time. Additionally, the library also allow 50 books on hold.
Do you know how tripped out you can get when you have 100 books at your beckoning call? I'm punch drunk on the power of the library card and it's glorious internet-accessible library catalog.
Mr Coffee has also gone out of his way to provide me with stellar reading material. There is a new New Moon magazine that he brought home for my, and I use this word liberally, literary consumption.
He must really love me because he had to stand in line with a Twilight magazine. Probably wearing his USMC t-shirt, cover, and 50 pouches hanging off his belt for his assorted items he carries on a daily basis, ie..leatherman's, flashlight, cell phone, wallet, pocket knife, assorted pens/notepad, small pup tent, and one lone paperclip to lethally deal with the guy behind him that snorted and whispered, "sucker" after noticing Mr Coffee's impending purchase.
Oh, yes. Captain Awesome must love me.
The magazine has posters that my teenager absconded for her very own. There were two posters that I wouldn't let her put on her wall as they were smoking off the paper and burning holes in my retinas. Posters such as these remind me of my aunt.
First, I will clarify. I love and adore my aunt and while this juicy tidbit of poster mayhem may be a comical memory for me, it's sweet imprint upon my meager brain cells is equally endearing. Growing up, my sisters and I visited my aunt's apartment now and then. We'd find ourselves using her bathroom and dropping trou' right in front of Tom Selleck.
Yes, the actor Tom Selleck.
It's killing you isn't it? You want to ask me why.
I know you do.
Okay, I'll spill.
My Aunt is about 15 years older than me. I didn't even know what puberty was when Magnum P.I. hit the airwaves. However, my aunt had a roommate that couldn't resist him. And really, do I blame her? That chimney brush 'stache, the red Ferrari, and what appeared to be the giant, permed Ewok glued to his chest.
When visiting my Aunt, I would go to the bathroom like all normal people do until I'd see it. Those ridiculously small 1980s NBA-like athletic shorts. The smile. The Hawaiian shirt.
It was a giant poster.
Right. Above. Her. Toilet.
I'd walk into the bathroom, turn on the light and I swear to you, Tom's eyes would follow me around the room. I'd hate to turn around and tell him not to look because well, that was crazy. But Tom's presence was unnerving enough to give me stage fright on occasion just knowing that he would see me in all my mooning glory as I sat down to take care of business.
It was also bad because in the 1980's I thought of Tom being a serious old dude. I had not yet understood the appeal of some heartthrob over 20 years old who oozed manliness out his giant cavernous dimples. It was not in my rationale either, to consider 30 years old as anything other than worthy of a social security pension and a free tube of Bengay.
I only wish I could go back to 30, but yeah, whatever.
Poster madness is a good memory. I just wonder what my kids will think when they have to pee in front of some old guy. Haha, take that Tom.**
~Bee is off to find the sphenoid bone.
**please be aware, no actual posters have been hung anywhere near my bathroom or bedroom. My Aunt also states in her defense that Huey Lewis was much, much hotter.