So I once again have survived an 8+ hour Amtrak trip, although this last trip wasn't an over night, which meant that they didn't blast the cold air (so I didn't have to wear two jackets and fourteen sweaters under them), but no one was sleeping so there were people talking constantly and believing (incorrectly) that their lives were interesting enough to share them with me.
When I travel, I don't particularly like making small talk. (When I fly, I'm too busy screaming to manage an actual conversation, but that's another point entirely.) I like to put my ipod on, maybe do a few rousing crosswords, and spend the rest of the time staring out the window and making myself dizzy, or attempting to nap in between people moving around and poking my seat and letting their child scream directly into my ear.
On this trip I had several chatty seat mates, although the strangest of them all happened to be the one that mercifully didn't speak as much. He sat down beside me, and I noticed he was pretty good looking. I gave him a curious once-over, he made some polite small talk, and then he was mercifully quiet. But not long after sitting down, he took a shirt out of his suitcase and put it on - normally this would be of no interest whatsoever, but the shirt was a pale yellow with little cherries and flower blossoms all over it. It was something straight men should run screaming from, and someone gay men should burn immediately. He then proceeded to put on the most heinous pair of horn rimmed glasses I have ever seen, and then he topped off the horrific transformation by pulling out a Star Wars series book and reading heartily.
Seriously, wtf? If you're a good looking guy, why ruin yourself by gleefully reading a book about Star Wars, and dressing yourself like a gender-confused outcast with terrible taste in clothing? I just can't take anyone reading Star Wars books seriously, because 1) the movies were enough, for the love of god!, and 2) I just can't take Darth Vader seriously. Anyone that's part robot, speaks through a water filter, and calls himself Darth just isn't scary. And I tend to associate Darth with Garth from Wayne's world.
When I travel, I don't particularly like making small talk. (When I fly, I'm too busy screaming to manage an actual conversation, but that's another point entirely.) I like to put my ipod on, maybe do a few rousing crosswords, and spend the rest of the time staring out the window and making myself dizzy, or attempting to nap in between people moving around and poking my seat and letting their child scream directly into my ear.
On this trip I had several chatty seat mates, although the strangest of them all happened to be the one that mercifully didn't speak as much. He sat down beside me, and I noticed he was pretty good looking. I gave him a curious once-over, he made some polite small talk, and then he was mercifully quiet. But not long after sitting down, he took a shirt out of his suitcase and put it on - normally this would be of no interest whatsoever, but the shirt was a pale yellow with little cherries and flower blossoms all over it. It was something straight men should run screaming from, and someone gay men should burn immediately. He then proceeded to put on the most heinous pair of horn rimmed glasses I have ever seen, and then he topped off the horrific transformation by pulling out a Star Wars series book and reading heartily.
Seriously, wtf? If you're a good looking guy, why ruin yourself by gleefully reading a book about Star Wars, and dressing yourself like a gender-confused outcast with terrible taste in clothing? I just can't take anyone reading Star Wars books seriously, because 1) the movies were enough, for the love of god!, and 2) I just can't take Darth Vader seriously. Anyone that's part robot, speaks through a water filter, and calls himself Darth just isn't scary. And I tend to associate Darth with Garth from Wayne's world.
Dude! I am your father!
Anyway, I made it through the rest of the trip without further incident, and started my first day as a Grown Up that Works All Day and Goes to Bed Around 10pm After Bitching About Children These Days and How I Was So Much More Mature When I Was Their Age. Seriously though, was I that annoying when I was 18??
My new job is pretty much totally schwing, to borrow some lingo from Mr. Garth. My bosses are relaxed and have good senses of humor, I'll have some projects between my text twist and celebrity blog time, and I generally get to relax and do as I please. Not bad for a first job. Only problem is that I have to go to Omaha next week. OMAHA. Do you know what's in Omaha? Corn. And fields. And people that burst out of cornfields with chainsaws. That's pretty much it. However, our corporate headquarters are in Omaha, and I have to go meet the staff, so I get to go on a trip with my bosses. To Omaha. In a plane. A PLANE. I might get fired before I even get there, as I tend to claw at the person sitting next to me when I fly, and my bosses might not appreciate me peeling the skin from their hands because I'm a giant, giant pussy and am convinced that the plane is going to plummet from the sky at any moment. With my luck, we'll take one of those tiny planes with two rows of seats on one side, and only one on the other - you know, where the stewardess has to move the very fat man on board to the other side of the plane, just so you'll stay in balance and not go careening across the sky.
Next stop, Omaha!
My new job is pretty much totally schwing, to borrow some lingo from Mr. Garth. My bosses are relaxed and have good senses of humor, I'll have some projects between my text twist and celebrity blog time, and I generally get to relax and do as I please. Not bad for a first job. Only problem is that I have to go to Omaha next week. OMAHA. Do you know what's in Omaha? Corn. And fields. And people that burst out of cornfields with chainsaws. That's pretty much it. However, our corporate headquarters are in Omaha, and I have to go meet the staff, so I get to go on a trip with my bosses. To Omaha. In a plane. A PLANE. I might get fired before I even get there, as I tend to claw at the person sitting next to me when I fly, and my bosses might not appreciate me peeling the skin from their hands because I'm a giant, giant pussy and am convinced that the plane is going to plummet from the sky at any moment. With my luck, we'll take one of those tiny planes with two rows of seats on one side, and only one on the other - you know, where the stewardess has to move the very fat man on board to the other side of the plane, just so you'll stay in balance and not go careening across the sky.
Next stop, Omaha!In more friendly and less deadly news (until her parents find out), Erin and I have adopted a giant, fluffy cat named Cleo (or Catzilla for short, per my own twisted mind.) She is the coolest cat ever; very relaxed, very chill, very much a stoner, I think. She seemed a little perturbed at being scooped up and sped away from her home (especially because she's spending two nights as a fugitive in Kristyn and Becca's dorm room), but I think she'll adjust nicely. She played with her toys last night, hunted through the closet, and gave lots of those looks that cats give you which clearly say I'm going to kill you in your sleep. Because cats are intelligent and viciously evil creatures, and all they want to do is murder you and dispose of the body, in order to have full reign over their surroundings.
Courtesy of ICanHasCheezburger.com, perhaps the most frightening site on the entire internet
Courtesy of ICanHasCheezburger.com, perhaps the most frightening site on the entire internet
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