Bring it, December!

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone, mine possibly faster than everyone else's. I visited my great aunt in Corona for our "dinner" at 2:15 in the afternoon. Afterward, we came back to her house, where we looked through photos she showed me last time (but I had to pretend to be seeing them for the first), and she asked about my trip to Europe. I almost made it through the first sentence when she cut me off and escorted me out the door. "It was nice to see you," she said, as the screen door slammed in my face. I was home by 3:30p.m.

With a little bit of cheer and a lot of wine, I managed to make it through the rest of the night. Besides, I have two thesis papers I should be writing, but instead, I have been doing everything except writing. For instance, I'm updating this journal even though I convinced myself I could write nothing at the moment. By Friday, I was listening to the Carpenters and enjoying the beginning of the holiday season. Saturday, I baked cookies from scratch and had a lovely dinner of Kraft macaroni and cheese with Tyson chicken nuggets and red wine. After dinner, I ended the evening with a lovely night at the theater, enjoying a peaceful tragedy, "Spring Awakening".

For the past month or longer, I have been consistently also going to the gym every night. In comparison, I look a lot better, but I've only been comparing myself to the naked photos of Vanessa Hudgens that have been plaguing the internet for the past few years. Those are really great for your self-esteem, by the by. Anywho, after polishing off another bottle of red wine (it's supposed to be good for you to saturate yourself with red wine every night, according to WebMD!!), I ventured to the gym. Big mistake. My dream of working out came to a sad and sudden end when I found myself crying on the floor in front of an ever-running treadmill. I don't really know how it happened, but I'm almost certain all those slapping of buttons and cursing didn't help any, and the dancers in the other room who did nothing but stare - well, that didn't make matters any better, and I may have said a few things that will eventually air on COPs.

I now find myself lying in bed, after a soothing bath that nearly drowned me, contemplating the two weeks I have left of my first full-time graduate semester and doing anything I can not to write any more papers, though my continuing education depends on them. But really, what can one do?

The moral of this story? I may have bought some more Activia at the grocery store yesterday, and it may be hormonal mood swings brought on by this vagina yoghurt that rendered me an unstable mess, as opposed to the seven, large glasses of red wine I siphoned before heading to the gym. The world may never know.

A Really Lame Joke We All Secretly Love

Maude, an old woman, is watching the evening news when the anchor suddenly announces:

"Breaking news! A car is driving the wrong direction down a major highway!"

Maude grew concerned because she knew her husband was driving home on that particular freeway. She dialed his cell phone and when he answered she burst out with the news

"Harold! Be careful! The anchorman says there is a crazy person driving the wrong way down the freeway!"

Harold replies

"Call the station, honey, cause there's not just one, there are hundreds!!!"



-- 5 cents gets you nuts!

November, What?!

November, where did you come from, and why hasn't this blog updated itself?!

For the past few weeks I have been busy with graduate school (I had two or three two-hour presentations to give) and writing angry letters to just about everyone I could think of. Normally I don't have such rage (you shut your mouth, Erin!), but I was inspired when I was watching a pre-recorded episode of Family Guy on TV about a week or two ago and noticed an Activia commercial in which there was no Jamie Lee Curtis. My mission had been accomplished. Through this triumphant victory I was able to muster the courage to write letters to such companies as Barnes & Noble, regarding an incorrigible salesman who followed me around the music section until I left, and Pottery Barn (they know what they did!).

All this angry letter writing has left me drained and unenthused about creatively writing in this here journal. That is, however, until today. You might wonder, "What will he talk about today?" or "What gems of wisdom does he have for us?" The answer is simple: I have nothing to talk about, so put that in your turkey and stuff it. I do, though, have a new cell phone, with which I plan to take more pictures and upload to this blog, thereby making it more "child friendly". If you don't have children to read this blog to, I suggest volunteering to read aloud to dying children at your local hospital, pound, or dump - or wherever you take/leave them. Or you could just steal a child. I find kindergartens, city parks, or Disneyland provides a nice selection from which to choose.

Until I Write Again,

Brandon