Candykirk's Blog

It is a weekend and you failed to party last night. The newspaper doesn’t have any good news. You are fat. You are bored. You say, “Hey lets get my fatass a walking.” Your dog says, “Yay, finally a walk!” Then you say, “Don’t be so happy dog cus this probably won’t be that long of a walk.”

When you get out the door you realize you need a jacket. You then realize you shouldn’t be doing this. You then take your dog back inside and you turn on the television. Then you eat a Popsicle and you cry about how you don’t have friends and will be fat forever. 

Then you decide you never should have gotten out of bed and decide to sleep in the crappy floral printed couch you bought from Goodwill that more than likely has been pissed on multiple times. You dream about a world where you aren’t alone. There is a dream with the hottest piece of crotch you could ever think of, and you and that piece of crotch are enjoying each other’s company. 

You then wake up and realize that you have a weird rash on your arm. The rash is probably due to sleeping on all that dried up pee. So you need to go and get a shot so that you don’t start howling at the moon. You get out to your car and remember that you need something new with the car, but you can’t afford to fix it right now so you have to ride buses and taxis everywhere. 

You then make a decision that you don’t need to do anything. This decision is a bad one for you. The rash continues to spread. By mid afternoon the rash is covering your face. You then remember that you have a date with a girl you met online. So you decide to call off the date

Then you get really depressed and think that you will be alone forever. You then hear the phone. It is your mom on the phone. She is inviting you over for a nice dinner with a  salad even included. You tell her you will be over soon. You then wait an hour for the bus to get to your stop. 

You get to your mom’s and eat a nice meal. You then feel sick. Your mom agrees to drive you to the emergency room. You get there and after some xrays are taken the doctor informs you that you have a crazy decease that could kill you or at least make your breath smell really bad for a while. 

You then get dropped off back at home. Your dog then begins to talk. The dog says, “See! You should have taken me on a walk.” You then say, “You’re always right dog.” You then take your dog on a walk and realize that you really should have done that earlier.

THE END

Yes, I know this is a very typical day for most people. That is why you read it. 

Rain Jackets, rain boots, and umbrellas are just a couple of the possible things you could break out when it rains. Usually these items are worn by little girls, old people, and professional weirdos. If you actually pay attention to the weather to know what to wear the next day then you are playing in to the system that JC Penny wants you to.

If you are a regular person then really you should have two rules or really sort of one motto. Don’t wear shorts in the winter, just wear your winter coat. You could extend that to always wear clothing that keeps you at a comfortable temperature. Umbrellas are just stupid for the majority of people that spend less than 10 minutes at a time in the outside.

I never wear a rain jacket. It just don’t feel right for me to be wearing accessories for the rain because I don’t fit in to any of the categories aforementioned. I am a man and men don’t need that stuff unless they are on the show Deadliest catch, in the Coast guard, or part of some cult that requires the use of rain boots and other related rain busting paraphernalia. 

There is this couple in my neighborhood that I have spoken of before. They wear matching outfits when they go on walks. Yesterday they had matching outfits complete with ear muffs. Today I found they had matching rain coats. These people interest me so much because I feel like one of them or maybe even collectively they are mentally ill.

I am probably the ill one though. I can’t even accept that maybe they are just a super cute and happy couple that does everything together. Maybe I am the sick one for thinking that matching ear muffs are over the edge. Are there others out there doing this?  

That could be a segment on Dr. Phil or some other related show, “Matching couples, Gone too far?” I just want to know what would make people want to match. What is it about a team in the same colors that excites people so much? I understand the need for uniforms in sports,in combat situations, and in a department store but for a casual stroll with your wife around the block? These people are crazy, right? They should be locked up in a looney bin or tried for some sort of crime. Maybe even if the crime is just annoying the man that doesn’t get why you would want to protect yourself from getting wet. These people should be written a letter. A nice big fat letter with pictures of them on these walks and then the pictures of my disgusted face every time I see them.

Being tired is a horrible thing to experience when you already aren’t a big fan of your job. If you are wet on top of that it makes it worse. If the weather outside is cloudy and rainy then it approaches the top of the shitty life meter. It shoots off the charts when there is nothing but constant annoyances all day at work.

I have a flooded basement and emergency people came to clean it up last night. The problem is that they stayed until 2. I couldn’t go to sleep with them here so I only ended up getting 4 hours of sleep. I mostly only got four hours of sleep because of the fact that I don’t trust them not to steal my stuff. I could have gone to sleep, but I had to keep an eye out for them walking out the door with my television. 

Going to work today was like being told every minute that I had some life ending illness. It was hell because I couldn’t get my computer to work and my lack of sleep was causing me mental illness. Crazy was so close the whole day that I could taste it in my throat. I felt like I was going to go insane and start throwing monitors and telling them all that I find all of this life to be completely idiotic including the dead end job I am in. 

Since I have a good way of not going completely insane. I was able to prevent any monitor throwing rants about how none of it really matters. The whole day was a battle for me like this. I was at the bus stop with these kids and one of the kids just kept saying fuck and nigger. He kept saying it over and over again. I wanted so badly to tell him to stop being so retarded, but I didn’t because I am not supposed to say retard as much as he isn’t supposed to say nigger at the bus stop. Instead I kept it all in.

I topped off this circus of hell with a quite afternoon watching movies at my home and drinking some beer. There was no nap that I took. The day is actually still a big crazy mess in my head right now. I also think that my basement is still flooding. Hopefully a good night of sleep will make this all better tomorrow. 

Reading is a super cool, fun thing to do for people that know how to read. For people that don’t know how to read it is nothing. Reading is like looking at a field of corn to people that don’t know how to read. 

In first grade I couldn’t read that well. A lot of the other kids didn’t really know how to read either, but I was worse than them. It was like looking at a field of nothing. Words on paper didn’t mean anything to me. Then one day I was in my little remedial reading group and this kid read upside down and never had to come back to the group again. 

So that is when I learned a stupid trick will get you out of things. Just make my mom read a book to me like ten times and I could pull off what that kid did. So I read upside down the next day and it seriously got me out of the reading group.

The kids that stayed in the group were all of the fun kids. They were the funniest kids throughout the remainder of elementary school and they were the kids doing drugs and having sex when I got to middle school. In high school a majority of the “can’t read club” moved on to prison sentences and raising those kids they made in middle school. They were raising those kids with the help of their mom, dad ,and a Bowling Alley wage.

I’m glad I learned to read. I am glad because without it I would be some weird person that lives in a very confusing world. I also would have been completely confused when Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon came out. 

Recently I found the first book that I gave a report on. It was in this closet at my mom’s among old peed on stuffed animals (trust me, I know) and also 80′s business professional woman’s wear. The book was Arthur loses a tooth, or something along those lines. I used a baby jar that had my real baby teeth in it when I gave the presentation. 

Without reading I wouldn’t have found out about any of the really cool things that people find a hard time putting in words. I would have never even known to start a search for a G spot if it weren’t for reading (A search that is never ending by the way). So what I am trying to say from all of this is that I am really glad I didn’t do drugs, get a girl pregnant, and start working at a bowling alley. I am glad I did better stuff like Book It. 

Baseball season is here and all of the grandpas are super happy that America’s past time has come to give them excitement. The people can now sit on the porch drinking lemonade and listen to their favorite team win. The old men can sneak away to the stadium to get all loaded up on prescription drugs and 8 dollar a cup beer. This is the best thing ever.

I have watched less than 20 games in my whole life. I was at one point in time a really big Atlanta Braves fan. The two reason for me liking the Braves so much was that it was the couple of years they won the world series and also they were one of the only teams I could consistently see on television. 

I am a crappy fan though. I couldn’t tell you a person that is on the Atlanta Braves. I probably couldn’t even tell you somebody that was on the team in the last five years. For  a person that had a Braves Starter jacket this makes me a pretty crappy person. I was probably never really a fan or maybe I was and just stopped caring. 

I played baseball growing up. Some of my best memories growing up are of playing baseball. I was never really great, but I could hit a ball and catch the occasional pop fly (I  hope that is what they were saying that whole time). I still don’t know why they call it a pop fly. Why can’t we just say and he caught the ball? Why would you need to specify it was in the air? They are probably saying fly so the blind people know what is happening. I will let it stand.

Baseball was the first place I learned I wasn’t meant to be great at anything. I was supposed to be there because the other kids needed somebody to play against, but I was not supposed to be good. I scored some points and struck out some fools, but nobody was probably ever talking about me and how awesome I was. I was just supposed to be the kid that after a loss went back to a secluded field and cried into his pizza pocket and All Sport drink. 

Ok, it wasn’t that sad. There was crying a few times, but I really did have a lot of fun. Baseball has always been one of my favorite sports. I love the open air, smell of grass, how historic it is, and how you do weird things like a seventh inning stretch and the wave. So when I see some oldies sitting on a porch listening to some Indian’s action then I will be jealous that I’m not old and doing that yet. I can’t wait to take pills to get a boner and be soft spoken because I’ve finally realized that nobody gives a shit anyway about what I have to say. Play ball! 

The first day starting something is usually the most memorable. Many people recall the first time they started at a job, met a significant other, or went to a funeral for a specific person. Usually you only go to a funeral for a specific person once so that is probably a crappy example. You remember these things though, unless you have some sort of memory issue.

Today I was remembering the first day of college. It was not as scary as the first day of high school, but everything was so exciting so that probably masked any fear there could have been. I remember most that I didn’t go to what was technically the first day of college. We had all of this orientation stuff and I didn’t feel like going. I also didn’t feel like it was required because it wasn’t part of any particular class. So instead my first day was like two days after everyone else’s first day, but it still wasn’t really my first day.

To tell you the truth I can’t remember my actual first day at college. I remember more of the time period. I was sad when I couldn’t really remember when I was trying to remember, and now this has just become a big blundering mess for you to read. 

I signed up for classes like a month before school began at some sort of day specifically for Freshman to do that. I remember that day I told this kid that was from some small town that he could come party with me in the big city (pop. 300,000) or so. I made up a bunch of crap and I didn’t see that kid for another year or so and luckily he didn’t ask me about going to any of these “wild” parties that I attended in the big city. I remembered this today and it made me think how hard I was trying to be cool to all these other people. I might have been cool, but some of the bullshit I came up with to make people think I was cool at that time was definitely not cool.

The problem mostly for me about remembering my first day of college is that I went to a Summer program at the college for three years during high school. So being there for my first day of classes wasn’t a big special moment. I also had started in the spring about one week before high school graduation and I remember the first day of that class that I took in the Spring to get a head start. My first official day of college is so lost though. I really can’t think of exactly what happened that day. 

I think maybe we went to a presentation about some journey. Gosh, this must be really stupid for you to read right now. You are reading me go through some thoughts on what I did my first day of college. This has got to be boring. Let me tell you about my first party in college. That would probably be way more entertaining.

I lived at home with my parents my first year of college so the first party I went to was about a month in to the semester. I was told that I had to stay there because I was too drunk to drive. I probably told a bunch of bullshit stories about how cool I was too. One thing I remember in particular was that I told this kid we should just try to stay drunk for our whole college career. Funny enough, he brought booze to a class we were both in that next Monday and I declined. I also found out that night that other people bullshit like me, because this kid promised to make me eggs the next morning and the promise was never delivered on.  

I hope you enjoyed this pointless and long journey through my brain only to be tricked in to reading a story that was supposed to be entertaining but wasn’t. I promise to do better next time, but remember that I am a bullshitter that doesn’t really care if you read this and you shouldn’t either. Also, I’m not sorry for you reading this. You made the decision and you are just going to have to deal with it. I hope you remember the first day you read something that was super dumb and I hope it was today this moment, right now that you are reading this. Now go take a bath to wash yourself clean of this. 

So maybe you are wondering if you are not normal and what the shit normal is. It could be you started reading this because you are bored and wanting to read some dumb words to pass the time until something better was happening. Is your behavior right now, not normal?

I don’t think I have overly unusual behavior, but I also don’t want to put myself in the same box as normal. Normal is usually boring. It is more fun to say, “We normally go to that Pizza hut, but tonight we went to Pizza Castle.” Just continuing to go to the Pizza Hut would be normal and that would be boring. 

So hopefully your behavior at most times is not normal. I want to walk in to a room full of people playing the Cheers theme song with Kazoos. I want most interactions to be strange. I want to go places and feel like I’m on drugs even though I’m completely sober. 

Right now I hope you are even felling a little not normal. I hope you are reading this and thinking this guy that wrote this is strange as hell. The guy that wrote this must be on something. The guy that wrote this must have huge thighs that jiggle when he rides in cars. 

That last line was to make you feel a little not normal. My behavior has been not normal while writing this. I did it while being so tired that I find a fork scratching on a plate to be a very interesting sound. Ok, This is ending now since this wasn’t the most coherent thing and I can’t put together a sentence or paragraph correctly right now. Or maybe I did put this all together correctly and had behavior very normal. Go learn that Cheers theme song for me, because I want to at the very least hear it during my next hallucination. 

Growing up you were probably told to stop your back talk and various other stuff by your parents that you were annoying the crap out of. This is if your parents weren’t wolves. If your parents were wolves then it is a miracle that you are even reading this.

My parents, not wolves, always told me I was a smart mouth. I just knew that when I heard that it meant it was time to shut up. If I didn’t then something bad would happen. It wasn’t like my mom eating me bad like the wolf parents would probably do. It was bad like go to your bedroom alone and watch Home Alone for the 22nd time bad.

How do people even think that it was bad to be smart though? The only bad thing I know about words that follow smart is probably a smart car. Why would a smart mouth be bad at all? A smart phone is like the best thing ever. 

My brother got thrown out of day care for having a smart mouth. I got soap in my mouth for being a smart mouth. According to my mom, my smart mouth is also what got me beat  up when I was younger. There was a time when this handicapped looking kid punched because I asked if some sort of dog was in his family, like possibly even his mom. He didn’t like that so he punched me and instead of getting in trouble my mom just told him that I was a smart mouth sometimes. 

I think a smart mouth should refer to a really good kisser. That makes a lot of sense. If your mouth is really intelligent and functions above average then it should be considered smart. That wolf kid probably has a really smart mouth that they had to use to bob for fish and stuff. From my experience they currently only use smart mouth to describe somebody that is saying shit that will make other people mad.  So many phrases need to be redefined. I hope the president has a team for this. 

Experiencing a knock out is scary and exciting. Scary because you are getting knocked out and that usually doesn’t happen because something pleasant was going on. Something pleasant could be going on like drinking or maybe you fell while dancing, but a knock out by being punched is what is being referred to. The excitement comes from something actually happening that indicates you are actually alive and something else can come and mess with that aliveness.

The first time I got knocked out I was climbing on this ledge and I fell off of it. The next thing I remembered I was crying and my dad was telling me to look at him and then he asked me the standard questions to make sure that I still remembered that he was the person that controlled me and the questions also meant to confirm if he was going to have to pay the deductible necessary for an emergency room visit. 

Once I told them how old I was and that “Daddy Jack” was the master of my universe I was told to go downstairs and not fall asleep because I probably had a concussion. The nursing in my home was not the best. If we weren’t bleeding, vomiting, and pissing ourselves then we weren’t getting any professional treatment. The only comfort allowed when you were ill but not showing the aforementioned symptoms was that my father would actually yell at my brothers if they hit me. 

The second time I got knocked out was when I encouraged my friend, a trained boxer, to fight me. I did this because of fight club. That movie that was so great it made me think I should fight too. I am not that smart.

That time it didn’t seem like I was gone all that long. because when I opened my eyes he was still dancing around me. That is when the fight was ended by me, I decided I can’t fight, and I went back inside to get even better at a Tony Hawk video game.

Unconsciousness is a weird place to be. It is like being super drunk for like 2 minutes and having a hangover that feels like a swollen eye instead of a unsettled gut mixed with an abundance of shame. That is probably a bad analogy and I’m probably stupid. You should probably just knock me out right now. 

Tramp is a word that is often thought of as someone that is whorish or skanky. While both of these may be true it isn’t really the full definition. A tramp is really just defined as someone who is poor or desperate. So a tramp stamp isn’t really a good name for that lower back tattoo considering a tattoo can be neither poor or desperate.

I guess it really could be both. It doesn’t make or have any money so by nature it is poor and it could be all dried out and desperate for some lotion. Either way I have decided I want to stop referring to people as homeless since I don’t really know their housing situation and start referring to people that look that same certain way as tramps. 

Yesterday I was on my way to partake of a W at Wendy’s. This is their answer to the Big Mac which is what I actually wanted, but Wendy’s has better fries. I pulled in to the Wendy’s and this Tramp pointed across the street with a concerned look on her face as I pulled in. I still parked and as I was approaching the door the restaurant I thought to myself that maybe she planted a bomb and thought I looked like a nice fellow that she wanted to warn (because I watch too much television is why I thought this) or maybe something was waiting for me across the street.

After I made sure that she wasn’t going across the street I decided to forget Wendy’s and go to the restaurant over there. It was the best decision I have made in a while. The tenderloin was the best one I have ever had, the service was quirky, and it was styled like a 50′s diner. I really can’t thank enough either my misunderstanding of what that tramp was actually doing (I’m now guessing it was probably crack related) or what the tramp purposefully told me. I hope she has the nicest box that came out of Sears this past holiday season. Ok, I actually hope she has a warm house to go to. I was just trying to be funny. Time to go get a tramp stamp in memory of my angel, the tramp…crack addict.