It is hard to tell people what I do on my days off. I spend all week dreaming about all the writing and reading I am going to get done over the weekend, blaming the lack of production during the week on work. If only I had a whole the day, I could finish writing my book, take a five mile run, masturbate twice, and finish Infinite Jest. Then when the weekend comes, none of those things happen. Except the masturbation. Continue reading “Fine, I’ll Procrastinate After This One.”
It is tax season, right? Or is in a month? April something or other. Haven’t really thought about it much until I saw a man dressed like the Statue of Liberty (with his face painted green) and twirling an arrow sign that read Liberty Taxes. Haven’t seen one of those fuckers in a while. Usually they are trying to sell pizza, wash your car, or “accidentally” lose their sign. It was twenty-six degrees out, and I could see his exhaled oxygen streaming out of his mouth like a smoke stack. I wanted to desperately know this person — ask him a hundred questions about his life, starting with his lonely childhood, awkward teen years, and even awkward twenties and thirties because he still was a virgin. All leading up to how the fuck he is on the sidewalk spinning a sign, dressed up like Lady Liberty, and working for less then ten dollars an hour in the middle of winter. But I did not stop my car. I did not ask him the story of his life. Instead, I went to drink beer in my friend’s hot tub like any other goddamn decent American. Now, I realize I might have made the greatest mistake of my life. Continue reading “That Point in Your Life When You Wonder If You Wiped Thoroughly, But Don’t Care”
I don’t know if your self-esteem was ever low enough to get onto multiple dating sites, but mine sure was for a while. I’m told it is different in cities, such as Grand Rapids or Cleveland. More variety. Less cringing. But in middle Michigan, it feels like a bad night out at the bar. Continue reading “Your Insecure Wednesday Evening”
Purchased a new used vehicle. A Dodge Caliber. Blue, slick little fucker with a luggage rack and the seats that fold down for storage and late night banging on road trips. Now, all I need is someone to bang. Continue reading “When the Hole in Your Favorite Jeans Disappear Because You Threw Them Away”
Being single in the midwest is like living outside of a fast food restaurant with a revolving door. The restaurant never closes. And the food is always shockingly delicious once you take a bite. You know that the food is not good for you, but you consistently go inside to get out of the cold of loneliness or perceived depression. You want a milk shake or a greasy burger, just to give your brain a spark of serotonin. You know that the high will only last as long as the food is digesting, and eventually that you will have to come back down and face the world. You will have to go back outside, to the cold concrete sidewalk. With a bit of luck, there will be a Ronald McDonald statue sitting on bench that you can talk to.
This is the end of the beginning.
After cutting off all communication with my ex-fiance , successfully failing at online dating, and deciding that I should not morally be seeking a new relationship at this point in my life, I have decided to create this blog and comment on the single life of the midwest, along with comical observations about the ass-crack of America.