From upon a bad couch

Honestly, for being the weird little social butterfly he seems to be, my brother can be incredibly tactless. I believe that every time he tries to persuade my mother of something, he only manages to anger her. I know this would upset him, because it always upsets him when I mention it, but it's true. I think what it boils down to is that I'm more world-wise and know how to handle people better, how to sympathize with them. Basically, I know how to be manipulative. It doesn't really matter if the cause is for good or ill, because that's only a justification of the means. Semantics aside, Tom just doesn't get it. True, he can infuriate me as well, and that is often intentional. In that case, bravo, but he needs to learn the finer sides of the art of manipulation. That, and he still lives with my mom, which is a pretty steep handicap. They have to put up with each other all the time (I love my family, of course), and so I seem like an island resort by comparison.

I can't believe it's already the eve of blowing crap up day and I don't even have a decent crane-game grade stuffed toy to blow the hell up. I always have at least one that's ready for the ultimate end, but this year, I've been lazy. Sure, I tried to win one at the mall a couple weeks back, but everyone knows those cranes have the gripping power of an ancient white woman (I specify white here because I assume that other ethnicities have way cooler old people than the whities). My brother suggested I blow up the stuffed corn doll I have (yes, I do own one; yes, it was from a crane game; yes, it is both disturbing and hilarious). Kids just don't get it. The reason I didn't blow it up four years ago is the same reason I still have it: it's amazingly high wtf factor deems it a worthwhile possession.

For those curious, when I say I blow up stuffed animals, I really do. Mid-size ones are the best, and the weirder the better. I saved a Betty Boop doll for six months once, just to blow it up. It was, by the way, amazing. Let's set things straight though--second graders blow things up by piling firecrackers around the target. Kids a few years older might graduate to flares, maybe ground bloom flowers (no, toys never spin like you want them to when you strap them to one of those). Those only ever serve to singe, maybe melt the things. Artillery shells. That's what it has to be.

Well, at least having a day off is nice. Unless you're walmart, and you only acknowledge Christmas as a holiday worth closing for. Those poor people. I guess there are always dregs though. Times change, but the stories never do.

Something something first post something.

So, yeah. This is my first blog. A coworker/friend, Laura, persuaded me to make one. Really, the exchange went more like, "do you blog?" "What?" "Oh. I just figured you were the type that blogged.". So maybe that doesn't really count as persuasion. Regardless, I'm apparently doing it.

I'm in the supermarket, feeling like there's some kind of sanctity that's been broken when I see a box labelled plainly as lard, and thinking there are way too many people with bad tattoos around. I actually put a lot of planning into mine, so it's annoying to see so many butterflies and skulls. So original, my ass. If you're going to spend money to have something on your body for the rest of your life, please do the rest of the world, let alone yourself, a favor, and make it something worth actually looking at. Although, while I'm on that topic, what's just as annoying is when you ask me what mine means, and you clearly don't care. You smile and nod as I explain and then let the guilt roll off you with a (supposedly cute) "ouch!". I just don't feel like explaining it to every schmoe who feels like they need to talk about everything they think. What I do like, though, is when kids say they like my tattoo. Kids are mostly untainted by the world, so they tend to say what they think. As long as they're not screaming, I like them. Oddly enough, I like their compliments.

I bought a new kind of gin today-- it's called No. Ten, and it seems to be a special kind of Tanqueray. I like a good gin and tonic, so I got some. I can only hope that it actually tastes moderately good. It's apparently specially distiller gin that has citrus hints or something, not that the Internet really cares about that (why is Internet capitalized anyway?), and it was more expensive than the regular, so it had better be good. Now, a lot of people will say, "you like gin? Ugh! Why not just eat a pine tree?". And I can totally understand where they're coming from. Gin has a very strong and unique flavor. For those who haven't tried it, it's made with juniper berries, which does indeed give it a piney flavor. The reason I like it is the strength of the flavor helps te alcohol not taste like crap. Vodka, which has very little flavor, tends to make me sick because the alcohol burn is so much more potent. Really, I'm just a puss about drinking. Even my girlfriends say I drink like a girl. At least I've never had an amaretto sour. I count that as the point of no return. Or something.

I may as well stop for now. I can save more ideas for later. On a closing note, I'll say that I will never, ever eat onions that have been dispensed from a machine.