Monday, December 27, 2010
How I spent my 2010 or how Does This Beard Make Me Look Fat Got His Groove Back
2010 wasn't the most enjoyable year for the bearded one. But it wasn't all bad, there were highlights to accompany the low lights. I experienced all of the following in various portion sizes. And since I love you, and feel that since you keep coming back for more you're either glutton for punishment or love me back, I've assembled a list of what made this year a hybrid of bullshit and beauty. Raunchy and redeeming. But also, lets not forget that this is our first year together, that is, you and I, us dear reader, and if things keep going right, we might be headed for a Vegas wedding with an annulment included in the price. All right readers, let's roll.
1. Traffic citations
The fuzz got me for $300 after I made the mistake of pulling out in front of a bike cop while making a mad dash to Trader Joe's to get some bananas. Had I had noteworthy cleavage, I might have walked away from the incident 300 bucks richer. I'd have pulled my pants down to show some testicles, but I'm guessing cops respond differently to things like that.
2. Scholastic failure as an innate reaction to the prospect of having to address a lady and her face that was peeled off by a stop sign (true story).
That pretty much sums it up. That, and the fact that I'm afraid of needles and turn into a 3rd grader when I see them during routine doctor visits. So I'll never get to live my dream of wearing a white hospital coat while saying "Don't you dare die on me" or saying I need this or that STAT. So now I just demand things from people STAT. It doesn't work. They just think you're an impatient jerk. And I'll just buy my own lab coat, with those pens that look like a syringe.
3. What The Hell Happened To Your Eye?
I spent my 31st birthday fielding questions in regards to what bug, alien or overwhelming unimpressive siamese twin had decided to begin squatting underneath my right eyelid. There's nothing quite like having a nasty bulbous item grow to a tangerine-like proportion thus wrecking my session I had scheduled at Glamour Shots. I learned a few things from the 3 weeks of dealing with my bulbous facial friend: Nevada's healthcare system sucks, doctors don't like playing "cowboy", and even if you ask very nicely you won't get a ride on a helicopter unless you're in dire straits. I'm not talking about the guys that wrote Money for Nothing. I mean, you're losing lots of blood, a person is getting ready to emerge from your holy hole, or you need to be attended to by guys in lab coats yelling STAT alot.
4. I saw Devo.
The men from Akron, Ohio rocked my ear hymen and reconfirmed that they are the progenitors of nerd rock. Let the whipping continue.
5. I got back the Tom Waits bootleg the (expletive expletive expletive) from the Killers stole from me.
Yes, he fucking stole it from me. He's a rat bastard for that. And I hope he crashes his Lamborghini for doing it. Well, not really. But i hope he gets herpes. But who wins? I do. Cause I got back a recording of Mr. Waits' finest 2 hours in the mid nineties. And you know something? That guy was a creep, not Tom, the guy from the Killers. He liked to watch porn while other people were in the room. Porn viewing should be a solo act, out of general courtesy of others. But El Creepo liked to watch it while other people were in the room and referred to a woman's nether regions by the single worst slang term for said nether regions, that being "the gash". Holy beejesus that's nasty.
6. I found (insert your religious figure of choice you're supposed to find that leads to enlightenment, kind of like Waldo, but responsible for a lot more wars. )
I didn't "find" anyone in particular. Not Jesus, not the elephant with numerous arms,not Buddha. Not even the flying spaghetti monster. I guess i just found balance, enlightenment and a bread crumb trail of happiness I hope will lead to prolonged contentment and goodwill. Let's assume I found Waldo. Waldo illustrated to me that my purpose is being a good Samaritan. But also, I started reconsidering materialism and the concept of keeping up with the Joneses. And I realize that giving far exceeds gaining, projecting love exceeds the harboring of hate. So I do what I can, when I can. And it feels good. I think if i keep it up, that an eternal life of not wearing pants or having to shower because "the man" tells me I have to awaits me. And in my eternal life, the Afghan Whigs playing Gentlemen from start to finish. How often? All the god damn time. Why Gentlemen? Because it might be the best record of the nineties. That's why.
So dear readers, members of Homeland Security and those thinking that my "beard" is slang for a woman that a gay man dates to create a facade of heterosexuality (honey, please, yes I like the Weather Girls, but the Bearded one currently only bats for one team) as we march, sashay or bum rush our way into 2011, know that I love you more than you know and my heart radiates pure blinding love. Like a disco ball spinning to Staying Alive, my love shimmers and pulsates in pastel colored pants.
Goodbye 2010, you succubus of a year. Papa's got a new bag, and it's name is 2011. Cue the Neil Diamond, it's time to get shitty.