dsheets

Well a while ago I was written up in school for walking off with food they didn’t let me pay for. The way that the register is set up is one line to get the food and a register line. That day there were cereal bars at the register line, and I circumvented the food line to get in the register line. I just wanted a cinnamon toast crunch bar because they’re so damn tasty. I finally reach the front of the register line, as if that doesn’t take long enough by itself, and then this old bat at running the thing tells me to jump in the back of the food line. Now I understand that this is technically where the entire breakfast process begins, but yeesh. I just want some cinnamon toast crunch! She pisses me off by taking the account punching thing away and holding it away like a five year old holding their tonka truck from an enemy diaper wear, so I just say “Bye!” and walk off with an un-paid for bar. I shouldn’t have stolen it, but that’s not the point.

This morning, I hopped off the bus and walked on over to the food line and got in the back. I didn’t feel like getting bitched at this morning, so I went with the “rules” that they have in place, but not on display anywhere on this planet. As I stood there, I began to notice something strange. This isn’t a line, it’s a blob of “brothers” standing about and more and more of their friends and strangers hopping in front of that blob to cut in line. So I’m standing in blob for ten minutes not moving, and I see at least five people do exactly what I did. Cut around the line, grab one thing, and move on. Nobody said anything, nobody took away account punchers like five year olds, and nobody came even close to writing someone up and getting the kid in trouble with their parents for stealing. Several kids just walked off with food, at least thirty kids cut in line, and I stood in said blob for at least 20 minutes. By the time I finally got to the end of the line with my food, I realized I was pissed.

If you’re going to run anything, you treat your consumers equally and fairly, and you don’t isolate people based on how you feel that day. I don’t care how much medication you’re on, and how much you forgot to take that morning, you don’t flip out on one kid and be a total bitch about things just because you’re a sub-minimum wage lunch lady who’s spiraling close to drug abuse and suicide. You persecute me, then you need to let ALL of your staff know that those are the rules, and they apply to everyone.

Quit picking on one kid whenever you feel like it, and remain consistent with your rules and regulations that you fail to keep posted and upheld.

As I plunge myself further and further into the tracks which lay forth the music career, I begin to realize every day how much I really love what I do. The feeling of putting everything that is in you into your performance, for the crowd and fans, and then feeling their reaction thrown back out to the field is purely exhilarating. Don’t get me started on listening to music. Absorbing the thickness of tone that flows into my ears as I listen and observe every aspect of the hearing spectrum… oh the passion I have for music.

By the way, I sprained my ACL. The official story is that I was fighting Pumas in the jungle. I slipped on puma blood after I snapped its neck with my giant, valiant penis and hurt my knee right there. Luckily I called my stealth jet with my watch and I was air lifted out of there.

I also have a passion for people I care about. This last month that I’ve lived has been the happiest one of my entire life. I’ve found something to look forward to, and to care about, and that makes my day every time I even think I about her. She’s pretty much my everything, and I can’t wait to see where time will take us.

Here’s to many more months of music and happiness… and many less months spent in pain from this knee injury.

–dj

Mark looked over at the fire and let out a long, boring sigh. If anything could make today worse, it would be to not move from this chair.

Mark picked up his paper, and began to browse the sea of text. He sipped his coffee. A bullet whizzed past his head, and made a log bounce out of the fire.

“When am I going to finally see the weather look up?” he muttered, alluding to the dreary sprinkle of showers that have plagued his city for about a week now. The grey, the dull, the boring showers that never go away, and tend to give people headaches.

A bullet swung through the window, shattering his coffee cup into a thousand pieces. The table fell over, in a place which made it easy to stub one’s toe.

Letting out another long sigh, our boring friend stood up. Shuffling over to the door in bunny slippers and a long golden robe, Mark looked out the peephole. Shortly after grabbing the doorknob, approximately sixteen gorillas plowed through his window, and began destroying his living room.

Earlier that day, Mark quit his job as a deadly animal engineer for Doctor Malicious, who owned the volcanic island which he lived on. Only thirteen of these gorillas were engineered by Mark, and the other three were just following the pack hoping for bananas. Of course, that might not be true, because that’s just a stereotype.

Mark, slightly annoyed, opened his door and walked to the mailbox for the mail. Grumbling under his breath about the weather, Mark accidentally avoided the three grenades, fourteen landmines, seventy-three bullets, and four poison darts which came in his direction. Mark picked up his mail, and slammed closed the mailbox, which then exploded into about nineteen-hundred pieces, all of which were on fire.

Grumbling all the way back to his front door, Mark again avoided the fourteen landmines, and newly-launched seven grenades, which were coupled by one hundred and thirteen bullets. Walking ever so steadily, with the pace of an old man who hasn’t had his coffee yet.

The fifty-four year old genetic engineer walked to his front door and let the sixteen gorillas outside, kicking one of them in the shin for not wiping his feet. Mark slammed shut his door, and surveyed the living room. Absolutely hating how Dr. Malicious destroyed his living room for quitting, Mark hobbled along to his bedroom.

Mark stubbed his toe, fell face-first onto a pile of glass which was once a very useful coffee mug, and died of severe brain tramua the instant his head came in contact with the pile.

Mark only got up from the chair, because he knew he had to pay his bills. If Mark hadn’t gotten up from his chair, today could have been infinitely worse.

I’ve officially decided that I can’t please everyone, and I’m not trying to. If Bill Gates were to feed EVERY hungry child with his crappy software, then they’d all still get viruses and keel over.

The origional plot of this post was going to be a lot more interesting, so instead I present you with a dancing banana:

This is usually about the same train of thought that chugs along in my head while I attempt to make conversation with the girl who’s got my world in a whirl. I say something solid, and then finish off with the dumbest thing since Scientology. It’d be a lot easier if you weren’t so amazing. Infatuations seem to be the gateway to awkward conversation.

When I sit down to write, I usually compile all the ideas floating about into some form of words that sound intelligent to me. I attempt to keep a flow that attracts the readers into figuring out where my point is, because I tend to ramble more than grandma when she’s off her meds. I don’t usually have a point, but I’m merely jotting down my thoughts. When I usually do have good ideas, they end up in some way that sounds good while writing it. The reader tells me it’s fantastic, and then I over-criticize myself and think my own writing is atrocious. It usually is.

It’s not like I ever meant to hurt anybody, but more-so that I wanted to just be happy myself. If some people got let down in the process, oh well. I honestly am more concerned with my own future than the future of my friendships. You are my brother in spirit and might as well be in flesh. I love you like I would my own family, but I just can’t let opportunities pass because you haven’t gotten over what doesn’t exist. In continuous denial of being apologetic, I do feel bad for taking away something that was unspokenly yours.

If a tree falls in a forest, which sect of hippies will plant three new trees, hold a candlelight vigil for the fallen tree and ironically start a forest fire? Whenever wack-ass stuff like that pops into my head, I usually speak my mind and receive a response. I never care about the response, I just like testing ideas and thoughts on people who don’t understand my sense of humor.

I’m going to end the post there. It’s not just because I can’t think of anything else to write, it’s just that…

Oh wait, that is it.

If happiness could be expressed in words, the text of this page would reach from here to never never land. The words would never end, attempting to tell you how much you light up my world.