Lunchin'

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

Dated Monday 1/10-Fucking Blogger's site was down yesterday and I'm too lazy and indifferent to change the details.

I thought it would be tough getting up this morning. It was a weird night last night. The smell of paint was still faint within my room, although I know it’s probably just my imagination. The holidays brought out the “Lunchbox” in me. Which is basically a college term my friends used to use for a slacker. "Lunching" is the verb equivalent. But now that the disastrous month of December is behind me, I am starting to get back to real life. And my real life includes Monday night basketball.

I play in a small gym in the valley with a random group of guys, the oldest two being in their 70’s. Both are actors. Probably no one you’ve ever heard of, but still they have made a living at their craft. I respect them for that, especially since one shot a soft-core porn in the 1970’s. I get a bit squeamish thinking of his now-wrinkled ball sacks slapping against a blonde-wigged housewife, but it’s soon forgotten, only to be remembered once again.

Last night, I played pretty bad. I am generally the tallest guy there, but we’ve brought some new guys in that are in the 6’5” range. I got taken to school almost all night. I thought I would wake up and be hurting, but for some reason, my body felt fine. I thought the absence would make the body grow weaker, but I guess I lucked out.

The lowlight of the game was getting accidentally smacked with a ball in the right eye, full speed by an ex-marine. It still hurts. I immediately called for sub and sat my ass down. I come prepared with a little first aid kit, and removed my ice pack. I felt a bit self-conscious using it because it seemed a bit fem. My inner dialogue was shouting, "This metrosexual guy is so worried about his face, poor fucking baby." But actually, I just didn’t want to have to explain a shiner to someone I merely pass in the hallway at work. Thankfully, I healed and the ice pack worked.

I got home around 11 and cracked a beer with Alex. He’s going on location today and we just shot the shit for a while and watched that marching penguin documentary. I still haven't charged Alex rent because he's away alot, plus he's a friend. And he hasn't taken advantage of that. He replaced my old crappy Sharp TV from college with a sweet 60" Sony. That thing makes even Two and a Half Men seem watchable. I drowned in Antarctica last night. It was pure HD heaven.

I grabbed a leftover burrito from the kitchen and had a late dinner. A Luna bar kept me going through the game. That’s another thing that’s a bit strange. I’m not a big energy bar kind of guy, but recently I’ve been using them when I don’t want to eat (like before a basketball game). I’ve been eating the Luna bars, which are the female version of the Powerbar. Strange, but I feel a little soft in line at Whole Foods with women’s power bars. It’s a bit like buying tampons, but in this case the tampons would be for myself. Thank God, that doesn’t make any sense. But I’ll leave it for you to chew on anyway.

I also had a dream about one of my blog friends that I’m attributing to the late-night Sharkey’s bean burrito. She doesn’t really post her picture on her site, but I remember her glasses. It was very strange, and the first time the netherworld of blogosphere entered my subconscious only to retreat, once again.