Sunday Funday (part 2)

Brushing off the red sand from my shoes this morning, I had a great hypothesis about life. It doesn’t stop. It just keeps on going. Our destiny: watch it pass by or hold on and enjoy the ride. I always say, “I’ll get to this or that when my life slows down,” but does that ever really happen? Even more, do I want it to happen?

We left for Moab early Friday morning to go the Moab Halloween Bike Fest. Willy (featured in the previous post), has a satellite radio, which he uses only for playing rap and country. I told him how much I hated both of those types of “music.” He said that when I drove I could pick the channel, so on my section of the road it was pure disco. I hate disco. So does Willy. But I put up with it just to spite him. HA!

Friday night was a huge mountain bike jump contest, which consisted of testosterone and red bull propelling these guys off a 20 foot dirt jump. Willy did a 360. It was extreme…no radical…no totally radical to the extreme.

Saturday my undeserving ass pedaled a fancy-pants mountain bike up the side of a rock to watch more testosterone/red bull driven madness of extreme cliff jumping.

Apparently Willy is known in the sport as “Swilly Willy the Drunken Master.” The water bottle on his bike contained vodka and pineapple juice. I forgot my costume for the Halloween party that night, so I had to come up with a quick fix. I used a bit of black eye makeup on my left eye to make it look like I had a shiner. Then gathered a wife beater and an empty bottle of Jim Beam. For the final touch, I put Willy’s bike helmet under the wife beater to make me look like I was pregnant. Wa-La!!! I was transformed into “the Drunken Master’s girlfriend.” I thought it was pretty funny and slightly ironic because I was the DD.

And even more ironic was how I watched guys go off dirt jumps and cliffs all weekend and not a one of them got hurt. But at the party, some idiot dressed up as an 80’s butt rocker fell off the hand railing and dislocated his knee. It was entertaining to watch him squirm around in his red fish net tights with his knee cap protruding through his strategically ripped stone washed jeans.

I got back today with just enough time to finish a paper that was due and then cram for a mid term. As I was sitting in the library at school, one my professors asked, “How was your weekend.”

“Oh! It was fantastic. I went to Moab and didn’t want to come home!”

“Yes,” he said with a gentle nod, ”but you only appreciate those fun times when you also have to work hard and go to school. Everything must be in balance.”

Dammit. There goes that silly hypothesis of mine.

I'm goin' to Moab!

Never been that attracted to Hunter S. Thompson...

or Napoleon Dynatmite for that matter.
Crazy dreams kept me up last night.

I have a hard time remembering my dreams, so I kept thinking, "I should write this down! This is some weird stuff!"

But I was too sleepy to get up out of bed to get a pen and paper.

"I'll remember it. How can I forget something this strange?"

Well... I forgot. All that I can recall is a vague remnant of witty commercial about McDonanld salads.

All of this has something to do with watching punk rock girls take off their "clothes." I'm sure they put a spell on me. I'm just sure of it!

Sunday Funday (part 1)

Alternate activities for a Sunday (besides going to church):
1 - learning how to throw a boomerang
2 - eating sweet potato waffles and drinking coffee
3 - hitting a bucket of golf balls at the driving range
4 - ice skating
5 - carving a pumpkin for Halloween

a message that seems to convey no meaning

Its as simple as paying attention. The only problem is that I ran out of money.
Although it once was entertaining, pointing out the obvious has become a tactless method of delivering my ideas.
Maybe if I was a bacteria I would be able to recognize the nuances of philosophy in a matter of minutes. Alas, my life is expected to last about eigthy years. So I've only just begun. But don't give up on me. Not quite yet.

Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies

Madeline, my little cousin, is all in a tizzy. Last week in Catechism she learned about purgatory.

DUM DUM DUM

Now she's convinced she's not going to heaven. I don't know what she's all upset about. I was pretty happy the day I learned I wasn't going to heaven.

No more feeling guilty about the crazy shit I do.

No more thinking I was better than everyone who wasn't going to heaven.

And besides, sleeping in, eating pancakes and sipping coffee is so much better for my "soul" than wearing panty hoes and listening to some self rigtheous preacher tell me what to believe. Because contrarty to his rhetoric, my life does NOT begin when this one ends.

Heaven is over rated. And, according to Madeline's teacher, cats don't go to heaven either because they don't have a soul.

No animal? Just people?

Despite the lack of a disco ball,

the party was fantastic.

Three 30 packs of PBR were gone within 20 minutes, and there was lots of rock star romance drama (just ask Anne.)

And for me, I managed to only get my heart nicked, not broken.

Start wearing purple!!!

Gogol = Russian Author. Bordello = Italian for whore house
Gogol + Bordello = gypsy punk from NYC!

Gogol Bordello is playing this sat. at the Blue Bird. After the show, come dance the night away with Eugene, Dimon, and me.

When: after the show...and will last 'til the wee hours of the mornin'.
Where: Rhinoceropolis

Be there or be L7!

I was 47 mintues late for work

Tyrone, you know how much I love watching you work. But, I've got my country's five hundredth anniversary to plan, Gogol Bordello after party to arrange, MY wife to murder, and Guilder to frame for it. I'm swamped.

SNOW

Don't worry. I already know I'm crazy.

Recently I went to a movie with a Russian.

I am of the opinion that starting a sentence with “I am of the opinion” is quite unnecessary. Nonetheless, I have an opinion I’d like to express. Here is the math:

Let x stand for the preview of the movie (seen during Proof) and y represent the night Eugene spun records at Larimer Lounge, so then x + y = z

To come to x, consider a1 + b1 = x1 where a1 is working for the German, and b1 is the TV at the German’s house where I first saw the preview for Proof. Then consider a2 + b2 = x2 when a2 is my passion for Jake Gyllenhaal (measured in beats/minute) and b2 is my tendency for nerdy activities such as movies about math (see the first law of entropy). Once these are established, then it is clear that x1+ x2 = x.

To come to y, consider c1 + d1 = y1, where c1 is equal to the number of time I have seen Gogol Bordello, and d1 is a measurement of how much I like to dance (also measured in beats/minute). Then consider c2 + d2 = y2, where c2 is the boy (unknown ethnic background) with the video camera and d2 is the boy (the Russian!) who recorded sound. Once these factors are established it is clear that y1 + y2 = y.

It is now seen that x + y = z, where z represents going to a movie with a Russian.

It didn’t make any sense a few days ago because of one extremely complicated factor:

With mustache













Without mustache













So there you have it.

PS – Gogol Bordello is playing at the Bluebird on the 15th. Stay tuned for the possibilities of an afterparty.

the little one is probably not going? His loss!

with such precision (15 decimal points!)

Although its not quite my style, it won't kill me to write a bit on current affairs. Besides, I heard on NPR this morning that all the cool kids are doing it.

My thoughts on the issue: Bush is praising this woman for being stubborn.

Politics smolitics! On to more important things.
And in other news...

Some CCU students were pulled over on a DUI charge back in September. But the plot thickens!!! The Lakewood police officer is being investigated on charges of insult/assault (not sure which one) because he called the kids "holy rollers." The only dirt I could find about this matter was in the Denverpost.com. Unfortunately they want me to pay them $2.95 for the full story. Cheap bastards!!!!! Kudos to those who can find out any information related to this matter.