Wednesday, August 18, 2010


Riding the coattails of my last blog, I offer you two things that don't quite belong together. I'd offer you one giant thing, with lots of writing and fun, but it's getting harder to talk about anything worth more than a few paragraphs. Right now I wanna mention this really great cookie I like to put into my mouth, and when a quick and easy picture is essentially all you need to explain it and more, my job becomes a struggle.

Yeah, it's easier to form two dumb ideas into one dumb blog, but I think I have something pretty spectacular locked down for next week's entry, though, so hang in there...I won't disappoint. From what my booze-brain remembers, as well as a catalog of photos on my phone from the night in question tells me, I had a good time. And in written form, one week from shall you. Rejoice! Down to business:

I'm not a huge sweets eater. To be more accurate, I'm not a huge sweets eater around every other week or so. My undeniable hunger comes in random waves, creating a solid, seven days of sinful, bloated binging, followed by seven days of pain, whimpering and denial. I think I've always been this way, but just now recognize the patterns in my madness. I swear, I can go months with being absolutely turned off by the idea of eating birthday cake, then go through a stage of eating Almond Joys and Swedish Fish until I wanna puke and die.

So...I found these.

"Delicious Caramel Bites!" These were found at Trader Joe's, an organic grocery store, for those that aren't in the know. I like going there because it eases the pressures and pain of eating like a pig. With a big ol' "ORGANIC" sticker slapped on to my food, I feel like I can eat more of it, and not feel as nearly as guilty. Instead of one pizza, I will now eat two organic pizzas. Don't deny the logic!

They look like circular waffle cones, too, which is a major plus. Man, I bet these would taste great with ice cream. And two pizzas! Okay, okay...two organic pizzas.

They're good. Like, really good. They're caramel based, but not too sweet, giving you the brash notion of just outright eating the entire Goddamn bag right then and there. No pain, no gain. I did everything in my power to hold off until I finished taking these pictures. As soon as I was done, I devoured them. Angrily. And with power. I am a slave to the cookie.

Yeah, check 'em out. So, moving on...

Sometimes I forget that I only wear black jeans. Not out of any kind of gimmick or denial of anything that isn't dark and evil, but because I swear I look like an ass in blue Levi's. I feel like I'm out of my element, where I'm awkward and confusing to everyone around me, kinda like when you're buzzed in a crowded, sober room and trying to hide it from everyone. You end up looking even worse than you actually are, and are soon labeled an alcoholic. And so is life.

Blue jeans really aren't that bad, they're just not my thing. Believe me, I grew up wearing 'em with my Chucks, leather jacket and ridiculously long hair. In high school, trying to look like Johnny Ramone isn't the most attractive thing to girls, and is probably what contributed to my growing, social retardation. What, you had friends in high school? Fah!

Anyway, I was in a Levi's store recently. I think they're a pretty legit brand of pants, even though my body has been morphed into a size that can't be categorized or numbered. I'm in between the inbetween. I swear I used to be a regular fit, 30 waist/32 length, but with the advent of "skinny" jeans, it seems that sizes are all over the place these days, different from what they once were. Or at least that's my theory. Might be all the cookies turning my body into unshaped, confused goo. Fuck.

Jeans, check. Something stupid? Check below!

These are really neat. Stored right in my face at the checkout counter, just beggin' to be thrown into the purchase. If you know anything about me, you'll know I love to impulse buy. Mint gum, keychains, candy bars, whatever's in my direct line of sight at the last possible second before I buy what I initially decided to spend money on, I'll give it a shot. A few months ago, I even bought a pack of baseball cards, just for the hell of it. I don't give a shit about baseball, unless you count drinking beer and eating hotdogs while watching baseball baseball. I will admit a fondness towards cards, trading cards, whatever cards, though. Obviously, it has that "collectible" nature, which I'm so into, and allows you to keep a giant, obstructive folder full of your paper treasures. Makes for a great coffee table book, as well as conversation!

In all fairness, the wrapper was really appealing and baseball cards smell good. So yeah. In the end, I think I looked at them for all of fifteen seconds, threw it in the backseat of my car and never spoke of it again. Oh, and when did baseball cards get so expensive? Why and how did I actually spend money on baseball cards? I hate you, me.

Sweet color combo. USA! USA! USA!

Labeled with, "Notes Along the Road," I've become intrigued. Interested. Excited! Anything that brings me closer to emulating Indiana Jones' way of life is alright with me. A few "field notes" for treasure hunting, jungle wandering and grocery listing will do the trick just nicely. I'll probably keep one in the front pocket of my shirt, maybe for lyrics, ideas, whatever. I could end up drawing sexually charged images of Ms. Pac-Man all day for all anyone cares, it doesn't matter...'cause I'm a badass with a miniature notepad.

In the end, I'm satisfied. As a sidenote, the dude ringing me up even told me that I was the first person to buy the damn things. Not shocking in the least. Yeah, I'm in a clothing store buying memo books. What do you want from me?



  1. God, I love Trader Joe's so much. And you're 100% right: it feels so much less sinful to gorge yourself on something with an "organic" sticker. Haven't tried those caramel bites yet, though. They sound "delicious"!

  2. If there was a kid in my high school that was trying to look like Johnny Ramone, I would have stalked him obsessively till he told me I was creepy and then I would have cried. Forever. But there wasn't, so I dated the kid that was trying to be Jhonen Vasquez, and we just won't talk about that.

    p.s. Girls can't find pants that fit anymore, either. We just hide our frustration better.

  3. I carry a mini notebook with me too. So don't worry, you're not alone.

  4. First of all, sorry for my english, I know it's crappy. (Spanish is my first language)

    I just sumbled upon your blog and I must say it's brilliant, in a really weird and funny way. It's like reading the process you go trough when you start thinking about something and then, after a LONG association excercise, you end up saying something out loud that totally makes sense to you, but makes people around you look at you and go "Where the hell did that come from?"
    You're just awesome, keep writing :D