Unsolicited listsededs, or, A Plan Is Just A List of Things That Don't Happen

What I hope to accomplish in 2009:

- Beat Mother 3

- Go to California

- Make my own cheese

- Swanton bomb at least three people

- Get a hilarious tattoo that’s only funny for the last eight minutes before its etched into my behind

- Mail postcards to twenty-seven people

- Eat a zabillion grilled cheeses

Snapping Synapse

I'm fortunate; without the ability to choose how to remember, I can memorize an entire thunderstorm. Bolt for bolt. Against my will. I'll remember how many steps from my front door to yours, long after I have forgotten how to spell your last name or the smell of your apartment. I only remember the easy parts. Lucky me.

Hit The Coast As Hard As You Can.

The way it’s snowing right now, I feel like I brought it with me. People here said "No, it never snows here. It might rain all winter long, but it'll barely ever snow.”

Well, it’s snowed for three days now. Three fucking days. It came through the crack in my window and it felt like pins and needles.

"I don't know about that, I only know that I didn't put it there."

Who thought that the simple job description of building maintenance worker would encompass such tasks as cleaning human feces out of an elevator or scraping three-day old dried Kraft Dinner© brand cheese sauce (sans noodles) from a fire escape stairwell? Did I mention that these things were found in multi-million dollar condos? Did I mention the feces? Yeah.

DON'T BE LATE FOR DINNER

I've become somewhat of a housewife. I'm decoupaging at an alarming rate. My baking skills have reached level five, and my inventory now contains more new human interest piece podcasts than hardcore discographies. I'm going to celebrate my homemakerness by breaking a beer bottle over a jock's head this weekend and knitting him a wool bandage. Alpaca, brah.

This Is Nowhere Near A Hayden Song

It’s raining, but I don’t mind, I’m gonna find a falafel place somewhere in this town that resembles eat-a-pita and eat the shit out of it and then not tip regardless of service ‘cause the service was bad back home and I’m going to pretend the whole time that I’m in Hess on a Friday night oh dear.

I wanna GOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGO

Pre-show jitters are worse than:

-Christmas Eve
-The last ten seconds of December 31st
- Waking up fifty-eight seconds before your alarm
- Being late for work
-Seinfeld reruns when you’re waiting for something good to happen
-Knowing you’re gonna fall down a flight of stairs
-Bacon fat
-Back pimples
-People you knew in high school
-Zach Frank