Save Lando

well, seeing as how i took the weekend off, i should probably get to tell you about the dreams i had while i was away.

i was in the 1950’s. here in Oklahoma with my family, most notibly my father who was obsessed in a starange hobby. he collected clay figurines, furry clay figurines. they were all a pale bluish-purple color with very fine hair. I remember taking a trip with him to the local crafts store so he could purchase some more. he got many a figures, including albus dumbledore (to prove i had watched too much harry potter last week), but was dead set on an early 1960’s hearse (with miniblinds in the windows) for his figures. the price tag for it was $2k, and he said in a few weeks he might be able to do it. we then drove to his house so he could show me his furry clay funeral home for the figures.

wake. ok, i was thinking about the same thing as i was using the bathroom at 4 am. what was that about? dont worry, i paid attention this time and didnt make a mess.

so after i return to my nice warm bed, i pass out and stumble into another dream. it must have been ‘flashback weekend’ because i was in the 50’s now. but nothing so personal, no family. i was a bull riding cowboy. boots, hat, and all. but i wasnt stricly confined to the lifestyle of being just such, i also was dealing cocaine at a public library. go me! finally had an exciting job, well, until the mobsters showed. they had a problem with me or something, im not exactly sure. i was sure that they were chasing me around the library to my eventual hiding spot, kneeling on the crapper in the bathroom.

then ‘Machismos’ alarm clock went off. and i thought my alarm clock was annoying. mine does the increasing in volume wavering drone. his? obnoxious morning deejays at a crappy wannabe alternative station. “next up, another one from our good friends from Nirvana! but first! the weather!” i lay there every morning wanting nothing more than to smash that fucking alarm clock.

i was watching the drew carey show a few nights ago, and there was a joke about men not needing a bathroom door (and at most a glass one), and how you needed to be able to see the television from the toilet. i thought it was hilarious given that the placement of the television in my living room is perfect for a seat on the toilet. i also was forced to think on how much i actually watch tv from the toilet. i didnt think to post anything about it, choosing instead to keep that one to myself.

until the other night.

i was 6 innings into the cubs game and watching tv while urinating. keep in mind, i’m a hardcore cubs fan. of course i’m paying more attention to the game than what i’m doing, and… the cubs score!!!! i get so excited i start jumping up and down while pumping my fist (the free hand). yes. while i’m pissing. so a second or two into my celebration dance, i notice that there’s piss all over the toilet (and some on the wall). i finish up and swear alot, knowing that i have to clean up the mess i made. i guess the positive of it (if any) was that it was mine. whats worse, the cubs ended up losing and i had to suffer through both a loss and the stench of urine (but replaced by a much nicer bleach smell shortly thereafter).

maybe this is why i never get any company.

i read today that Mary-Kate Olsen has checked herself into a clinic for treatment of anorexia.

did you hear that? it was the sound of 10,000 anorexic teenage girls in the blogging world all cheering at once! since i’m in the loop, i will relay you their plans for a celebration. they’re all planning on going out to fancy restaurants and NOT eating a fabulous meal. they’ll order the fruit plate and eat a couple raisins to keep their strength up. so if any of you are confused as to which one of the twins is her, here’s a pic:

Mary-Kate is the blonde one in the white shirt that looks like she needs to eat a pizza. um… erm.. yeah. i never could understand anorexia. i mean shit, even choosing between that and bulemia, why not go with bulemia? you get to eat anything you want and still not worry about it. it seems the more fun of the choices. see, and now because i’ve said that, i fully expect to be thrown unceremoniously from the pro-ana diary ring. i cant say that i’ll miss it too much, as they obviously arent exclusive (marx brothers theft).

Msn ran a piece on musicians and rehab. celebrities needing help!, next on Geraldo. the whole article condemning drugs and their use, but not one single mention on how the drugs just may be making these people more creative. hell, in the first paragraph alone, msn almost deflates their entire argument by naming so-called ‘talent’ Kelly Osbourne, Scott Weiland, and Courtney Love (sorry). i could honestly argue that these people would not have careers if it were not for intensive drug use (especially courtney. see: America’s Sweetheart).

why are all these celebrities having these problems? is it the pressures of being rich and famous or the pressures to stay rich and famous? the constant attention or the lack thereof? whats the explanation? and why do i care? it must be the liquor talking.

because i’m about to go all Unsolved Mysteries up in this bitch.

so i was in the shower, and looking at the shampoo bottle (something guys rarely pay attention to. and i have another story about confusing FDS with hairspray in the 7th grade, but thats not getting told today.), and i remembered that it was left by the ex-roomies. TRESemmé i guess. as i am using it, some sort of strange force of recognition takes hold….

“TRESemmé, TRESemmé. oooh laa laa!”

the commercial had made its way to the forefront to torture me once more. oooh laa laa? TRESemmé? oh great, i’m using french shampoo, thats all i need. those that know me, know that my love for the french is rivaled by none (not even canadians who are second. and french canadians…dont get me started). and then it hit me, who better than the french to give you silky, shiny, healthy hair? look at them, they have it all over their body and i’m just worried about my head? things started breaking down after that, thoughts like “what if they french really are good for something?” crept in. my world was crashing down before my eyes, everything was a lie.

yeah, i held it together about as long before i started to laugh to myself. ‘the french are still worthless, dont worry Lando’. instead of wasting all my shower time on the french, i quickly made my tangent to one of the great mysteries of the past 30 years.

it was the hair that got me on this train of thought. who’s hairier than the french? CANADIANS. where did Roger Patterson take this famous footage? thats right, um… very close to canada. this wasnt a picture of the famed ‘Sasquatch’, this was a canadian nudist colony female who had accidently made her way across the border. I DEFY ANY OF YOU TO PROVE ME WRONG. i always thought myself intelligent, but even I blow myself away on this one.

color this mystery solved, and you’re welcome.

it happened again. being the last heterosexual single male left in my family, my father tried hooking me up tonight at dinner, with our waitress.

to my surprise? i wasnt that embarassed. at least i can say that it wasnt a woman from their church, and that she was even decent looking (if slightly a dim bulb not understanding my drink order). whats not to understand with: jack & coke. water. coke. sure, it’s 3 drinks, but damn, dont look at me like i’m the retarded indecisive one when you choose to not understand english. that and she didnt seem interested when the mention of a night with Lando came up, i assumed she was just on the upper side of the retarded line (like Jessica Simpson and everyone that watches MTV).

tonight was the birthday dinner for my fathers 51st (Happy Birthday Dad!), and for the first time in what seems like forever, everyone had a good time. i can partially thank the booze for loosening most of us up, and letting me ignore the antics of my very loud family (post alcohol). i have to change the flow of this, its starting to sound as if my family are drunken louts, and this is not the case (only a few are). after being made to suffer paula abdul’s singing on the way there and the grease soundtrack on the way back (i only sang with ‘raining on prom night’ i promise), i’m almost shocked i had a good time. i think more than anything i was pleased that my father had a good time, and was perhaps happy because he was.

we got a call on the ride home from my step-mom. she wanted to tell everyone how much my father had appreciated us. he was teary and moved by the gifts and love shown. given that i’ve only seen him cry a handful of times in my life, i’m proud of my family for showing so much love. jesus, i’m a big sap…fucking genes.