I have discovered YouTube. Now nothing will get done. I have been whiling away the hours watching homemade music video montages of video games I've never played and cartoons I've never watched. I want to stop but...I don't want to stop.

Linkin Park, Square, and Disney: Together at last.

This is what is going on inside my head. All the time.

I'm using this one as my "Army of One" type ad for my new Zombie Killing Academy.

Remember, guns don't kill people. Guns kill zombies. Unless they're magic. Then you're probably boned.

Listening to Imogen Heap and trying to write is difficult. My first impulse becomes to write a sentence in huge letters and then write the rest of the thought in the nooks and crannies of the letters until...until...I'm not sure until what but I'm sure I'll know when it happens.

I'm not sure how to get that effect while typing. I might be able to achieve something close in my sketchbook but I've been using that as a sketchbook for my biology lab as well. I've gotten some interesting comments from my professors about my red crayon phase, but no extra points as of yet.

Shifting levels of lights, dancing off-focus orbs, and a whole lotta lens flare while the words fall to the page would also be helpful.

If you'll excuse me, I'm off to reduce my weight so I'll be able to slip into this flowing, froofy, red dress.

We construct delicate things with the hope that they will teach you how to be gentle. We know how strong you are. We see the remains of the ones who have come before glitter and crunch as you shuffle your feet. Fragile wings are warped and torn by every impetuous gust of you.

Learn to be gentle or you will jaundice, too.

The simple things in life can bring the greatest pleasure. Like...hydrogen?

I'm actually talking about having no idea where your roommates are but knowing they aren't around the house and I'm no longer under the social pressure of having to wear clothing.

It's like Gurgs Gone Wild around here except I am mostly doing stuff like eating breakfast, doing laundry, washing dishes, noticing for the first time that a lot of our windows don't seem to have any drapes, waving to the neighbors, etc.

Gurgs Gone Domestic?

My current project is organizing my room. I have the smallest room in the house (which may lead you to believe that I didn't get first pick of rooms, but I did) and it isn't even shaped like a normal room. Kind of a Tetris thing going on with crazy angled ceilings.

The room was an addition to the house but despite being small and oddly shaped it is away from the living areas and the other three bedrooms. I also am a few steps away from my own bathroom (which is also the guest bathroom during parties) and in between is sort of a narrow, rectangular Arizona room. I guess it would be the long piece and the bathroom would be the square. Sweeeet.

What? Oh, but there's a couch in there and my bookshelves and the ferret and Mollie's leopard gecko named Puppy (who bit me the other day) and, during parties, it also serves as a dance floor.

Which brings me to my point. My younger brother, Donaldo, has a friend whose grandmother is moving in with her son. She was kind enough to offer Donaldo almost any piece of furniture he wanted and, in accordance with the Distributive Property of Lopezes, anything I wanted. I made the difficult choice to abandon my futon and replace it with a twin bed. It's smaller, but it's also extra-long so I think I'll be fine. I would usually sleep right at the edge of my futon anyway when I wasn't sleeping on it in couch form.

I also picked up a coffee table and end table. As I carried them to the truck, I realized that I had seen these tables before. Well, not these exact tables but a lighter-colored version of the same model. When I had my very first apartment, my friend Garrett's uncle was moving into a new house with his wife and had offered us any furniture we would be willing to haul away.

Now they've found their way home.

It is a bit unsettling to me.

Now it is time for Guillermo's Daily Math Question!*

The Distributive Property of Lopezes (in which x=furniture):

xD+G=xG+(xD/x)

The math may not appear to be right to all you people that actually "understand" "abstract concepts" but I assure you that if you take into account the recent breakthroughs in Quantum Lopez String Cheese Theory, all the numbers line up like a nice straight line of Tetris.

*Guillermo's Daily Math Question does not claim to be daily, math, or an actual question.

I hate waking up to my boss. Especially when he's completely justified in being upset.

Sorry about the earlier flurry of posts. That was very early 90's of me. Fortunately for everyone, that whole ever-human-being-as-a-microcosm movement crested a long time ago.

I was stumbling towards my room in my underwear and Brian's laptop was sitting on the couch. If Blogger is to believed, this was about a quarter to four am. That doesn't sound quite right. I'll know the time discrepancy after I post this and then I can use "mathematics" to figure out what time it actually was. I'm assuming uniformitarianism, of course. I always do. Wink.

Yes, well, Josh C. and a few of the boys were out for his bachelor party. Joey
tells it pretty good over on his blog. I have some issue with his statement that "I think it's safe to say that though we all reached at least a decent buzz at some point or another, that one Mr Lopez easily was the drunkest of the whole group."

I may have been the only one punching people and throwing up, but that has never been confined to being drunk. I threw up once for sober reasons. I think I was eight years old and had tried to eat two Big Macs. Well, I had eaten two Big Macs. That's why I threw up.

But I digress. At that point in the blogging, I was still feeling very, very ill and the pain I was referring to was not all artsy angsty emotional pain, but mostly concerning the quite physical pain as I was trying to type. My stomach and throat also felt a bit raw. They still do.

So my drunken butt is sitting on a couch in my underwear writing about how it hurts to type. Ladies, you've got yourselves a keeper.

I had an amazing time. I have to thank Nick C. for putting it all together. Not that he'll appreciate my thanks as much as the fifty bucks I owe him for the limo (hence the not driving bit towards the end of 3:43 post.)

But for the most part, I really don't know what I was talking about. I don't know who I meant to contact. I don't know what sunrise metaphor was supposed to illustrate. I clearly intended to publish three different posts in one sitting, unless I got up between the 3:43 and the 4:05 but I'm not sure because I imagine that it would have taken me a while to hammer through the alcoholic haze to get that metaphor out, flawed as it may be.

I've finally reached the point I've always feared: I have gotten so ambiguous and cryptic I don't know what I'm saying scant moments after I've said it.

Despite the tone of the emo trio, I had an amazing time with the guys and at Matt's and throwing up. At least the second time I threw up. There's some sweet video of that. I would like to find a way to host the video and put it up online to share with the world. That way, I can never, ever, EVER be accused of being arrogant. If I didn't know me as well as I do, I would watch the video and think I was something of an idiot.

My hand hurts.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

Not that I'll admit it.

Pain. Imagine that you have just painted a sunrise and that before your eyes all the colors are leaking away until you are looking at a blotty mess of black and grey.

Now imagine that this is happening inside your skin.

Not entirely pleasant. But necessary. At least at this junction. I revel in my mistakes. I wallow in them like a pig in slop. Messy and motivated. The desire without the goal. It hurts to cintinue. I will rest until I work tomorrow. thnen I shall contact whomever it isw I am contacting again.

I choose to be alone. The End.