Falling on my Face

I have been thinking. Recently I was standing around a camp fire (Yes in February) thinking about things that most people think about when they are out at a random spot in the woods at night, things that scare them. Most people do this, thinking, that is, and it’s the people that don’t that I fear the most. Crazy ass, close minded, conservatives. People who think that they have a world view because they watch cable news, and read fear mongers columns.

Breaking News: Some Bullshit Happening Somewhere

Now I am not the most enlightened person, nor the most intelligent, or traveled, but at least I know it. When it comes down to it most people know what they are good at. There are always competitions (Olympics are prime example) to see who is the best at doing a thing, awards for great thinkers and every other grand recognition, thus if you’re the best you, and everyone else knows it. I on the other hand have a great knowledge in what I am the worst at, not just bad at, but far and beyond, the worst.

When I was going the third grade the small private school I was going to closed. It was my first year in public school. My class room was in the basement of a large brick building that could have been an old mental institution. My teacher was old school, she was a tight ass bitch as well, who was retiring and so really dident give a shit about anything. She was planning on moving to South America as soon as school was out. On the last day kids were crying because they knew that she was going to be leaving and I remember yelling to them all "Why are you crying? She sucks! And I know you hate her!". Well the exact wording escapes me now but I digress. She loved times tables, and each day or maybe it was only once a week, she would give us timed tests, and if you did not finish in time you would have to spend lunch inside doing them all over and over again. I always stayed in. It was me and the tragically poverty stricken boy, who would say curse words just to get in trouble. Even the mentally handicapped kid went outside, but in my defense I think that he was exempt. Thus I learned I was the worst at math. In one of the most recent event I was out at a karaoke club, with almost nothing to drink (I had been on a bender the two previous nights) I got up to sing Last Night by the Stokes. In the middle of it I realized that the girl that I went to up sing with was not really around, unable to really pay attention to this fact due to my focus on reading the words, I forged on. By the time I was done, and back at my table I realized that everyone in the bar had looked away from me, my friends who had come up to dance/watch had tried to run away only hindered by doubling over in laughter. My partner had done the same, had put down the mic and was off to the side of the stage in a fit of breathless laughter. I am the worst singer, even in a karaoke bar, where literally everyone sucks. Years earlier in middle school (a newer building then elementary, but maybe more shitty, and akin to a jail rather than a mental institution) I was the only kid in the mandatory spelling bee to not even get the first letter correct! I have never liked giraffes after that. In 8th grade as a response to a challenge/joke I joined the football team. As the smallest member of the team the coach always had me do a sumo wrestler style work out with line backers, I only won once, by falling down and having the other guy run himself out of bounds, I lost every day but that one. Once, while on kick off team, I was running down the field, the ball returner was running straight at me. It was my big chance, I would have the tackle of my carrier, maybe go on to start, and begin my life as a star football player. I pulled my right arm back and threw myself into the lunge. It should be said that my jersey was MUCH too big for me in the act of lunging my arm went inside my jersey, the force of my extending arm twisting my pads around me, at which point I stepped in a slight pot hole in the field and fell over as the ball returner ran around me. At half time of each game the coach would ask "Who hasn’t played yet?" and I would be the player to raise my hand. I learned that I was the worst football player ever, even when play time was mandatory I was never put in! HA! Thank god for special teams. Through this I guess it could be said that I try hard and don’t give up. Great! The only thing that I am good at cannot be measured, is unrecognizable, and one cannot win anything with it. HA! Classic

I have broken bones, chiped teeth, made other teams baskets, cut the hell out of myself and fallen down more times than I can recount (some of them have been blocked from my memory due to various cercumstances!) I am told I am a cross between a baby and an old man of the worst kind. Yet it’s the strangest thing, when biking I am almost convinced that I could best a car (with the right leverage I think I could flip one). If I had to arm wrestle a bear I think I could win (maybe with the right wrist position). Ofcouse the logical part of my brain tells me that this is due to the amount of compounds, hormones, and steroids that my body is creating and pounding into my blood. My heart is beating out butane. It is clouding my brain, and diminishing the same logical part that conceptualized its existence.

In the sixth grade each person in my class was given a unique award. There was the best at this, that and the other thing, I honestly cant remember what people got. But I do remember what I was "awarded". I was deemed "Most Likely to Talk to Himself"! What the FUCK! Now I have never been told I was normal, but it’s amazing even at such an age I was thought to be the first one to go crazy if I was not already. Shit I am fucked. Oh well, I guess I fit in with all the other crazies out in the woods at night.

getin' wetter by the minute

Complete and utter despise for thys life. For fending off the crushing darkness in mans struggle against the world is far too much to take. This is what the forefathers of the forefathers must have thought, sitting around their campfire in the snow and wind, eating pickled beets before musing up the Holidays. Because the winter months can suck. Yet I love the Holidays, all the glitter and bliss of Christmas carols and lights. I just cant help but whistle “it’s a holly jolly Christmas”. Well that is until I realize that its winter. And I haven’t seen the sun in so long that I am turning Gollum, and every time I step outside I get shit on by the rain god Zeus on steroids, as he tries to see what will freeze off first; my balls or my thumbs. Every day when I get up its dark, I get outside and battle cars on my bike as the streets of downtown Portland turn in to river beds. The ride home is also dark and the same with the exception that I am going uphill.

Yesterday, following this same basic premise, I avoid death by inches to have wet socks all day. I am finishing up an experiment which means I have to spend hours trying to get samples ready for analysis on a machine whose basic function is to tell you what color something is. In the middle to taking mouse samples at about three o’clock I receive a text that a friend noticed my ol’ VW Vanagon has been tagged as “Abandoned” by the city of Portland and that they will tow it. FUCK! To be honest, the city was right. They have given me three tickets (not paying for parking and for parking in a “no park” church loading zone) all of which I did not pay until I was threatened with, and then slapped with a hefty fine (story of my life; try to stick it to the man and I get fucked! everyttime). Ouch. Anyway after being out 150 I decided to try to beat the system by parking my car in a neighborhood near a friend’s house. The city wised up to the situation. Missy, being at the scene, tried to move the van, only to find that the battery was dead. At this point I am frantically battling with the color teller (wiki FACS flow cytometry), finding how many cells are Aqua, Texas Red and Green, along with other colors that have names that only 8 year old girls know. After nine hours at work I have 2/3 of the samples left, I am starving, and the color teller goes A-wall. The several hundred thousand dollar machine is a finicky bitch, and you kinda have to rub its belly the right way for it to work for ya. One could say it detests me rubbing on it. Now there are not many people that know exactly how to work the fucking thing and so I had to spend an hour calling people until I got it back up and running. I almost had a heart attack every time I get a text, thinking its news that city is taking the Van to be scraped, and almost faint each time that the color detector breaks down 3 more times. At 8:50pm, after 12.8 hours at work, I run for the stairs to make the tram down the hill, realize after standing up that I have not eaten in 8 and a half hours and stumble to the elevator. I make the last tram down Marquam hill. I make it to my bike I in a daze, kick off and screeched to a halt. My rear wheel was partially disconnected! SOME FUCK-ASS TRIED TO STEAL MY WHEEL! That or I have somehow been riding on a wheel that could fall off at any moment… now that I think about it, I wouldn’t be surprised. After some in-the-gutter-of-the-street mechanics I was on my way to push the Vanagon up the hill it was at the bottom of, to push start it, in order to save the one and only from becoming a soup can. I was able to pick up a ride to the van from Tad (the all knowing roommate) where I found it in Missy’s driveway, charging! I guess winter isent so bad when my life is series of freak events day in and day out.
oh yeah i had a cinimen roll, and a bite of fish for dinner.

under control

I have a problem. It does not involve, drugs, alcohol, sex, or violence, at least the problem that I am thinking of doesn’t (the law may disagree with this statement). I have a problem with motion, as in moving, physically moving. Despite my cat-like agility I have been in many accidents, I currently owe some insurance company 500-ish greenbacks for breaking some old man’s windshield after being hit, or bumped rather, by another car (I don’t agree with their finding of it being my fault and I don’t know if I will pay). I have broken more bones than anyone else I know, along with the slew of scars and brain damage from head trauma, but this is not the moving problem that I speaking of either.
I am talking about my extreme motion sickness. Yesterday I spent seven hours on the ocean deep sea fishing. After meeting my brother and parents at Newport Oregon on Saturday night, it was concluded that we would wake up at 6-fucking-thirty in the morning head out on this journey. Don’t get me wrong, I was all for it. I had quickly forgotten about all the hours of puking/almost puking on people while on, planes, trains, roller coaster’s (not just kiddy rides), cars, the occasional tram and most critically boats. The last time I went on such a trip I think I spent a good ten minutes not barfing my guts out, swearing that I would never eat another poppy seed muffin (it was my breakfast at the time). All of this did not seem so bad while at the beach looking at the swelling abyss of the sea. Once on the open ocean all this came flooding back as I pitched from aft to port or whatever the fuck the left and right of boats are. The Captain was much too interested in my parents dog, Sadie, (how she, with 1½ inch long legs, looked like a wolverine and he concluded that she could defiantly be trained to be vicious) to even care about my blight. Among the other patrons of the craft where some hicks and a large black family, who kept me going for awhile with their banter about catching the biggest fish, that is until I puked all over the place. I was positioned at the very front of the boat for the entirety of the trip. Feet spread wide, leaning into the rail with both hands, trying to keep my eyes on the horizon. Needless to say, everyone kinda cleared to the back of the boat. By the end I had puked up my breakfast of cinnamon roll and lots of orange juice (now that I think about it may not have been such a good idea) while catching 6-ish fish. I say -ish because I was not sure what was happening the whole time.
After reaching solid ground I had to eat, not eating for hours always does me in, and throwing up what little I had for bfast made me famished. It seemed obvious at the time for me, a starving, sea sick, vegetarian to order a salmon sandwich. I was not disappointed. The restaurant was the Rouge Brew Pub, and I do not suggest taking your mother to such a place, or maybe just my mother. It started off bad, we were sat in the back, near the restroom. Obviously we had to move. There was then the water fiasco, the wine problem, food debacle, the ceiling fan embarrassment, and then she viewed the restroom itself. Disaster. And so we left. My salmon sandwich lunch almost went the way of my breakfast on the drive home. Almost. I followed the advice that any alcoholic (you know the ones with the real problems) would tell you on the situation 'the only sure fire way to *hick* beat the upchuck is *hick* to pass out'.

Something is happing RIGHT NOW!

I have moved! I am in Portland, sitting in my apartment watching large cotton ball clouds float past the skyscrapers just outside my window (what a fucking clichéd description, but its true, so go fuck yourself). Moving is without a doubt a bitch. My furniture consists of chairs, lots of chairs, which really breaks my balls because you really can’t sleep on chairs when you don’t have a bed. Because I cant sleep on a bed, or the chairs I have to sleep on the floor and because the carpet still smells like cleaner which has lead to a sore throat. This very concerning medical condition may have been produced by the copious amounts of substance abuse that I have been forcibly subjected to as of late. In other injury news I did something to a muscle under my left clavicle, it was really bad two days ago, it has sense dissipated but I am thinking that a relapse is highly likely.

I have been driving to and from Eugene and Portland for the better part of a month looking for and moving to what is a sweet place. Or so I had thought until two nights ago. My cousin, Sierra and I were sitting at the sweet corner bar, Ringlers Annex, just two blocks from my place enjoying some wine (well I was having wine I don’t know what she was drinking) and talking to a very nice bartender. When all of a sudden we heard pop pop pop, just like that, but there were six-ish of them and not three. Immediately after the sound I loudly announced to Sierra, the bartender and the rest of the bar that they were without a doubt not gun shots. I based this conclusion on the fact that out of all the guns that I have fired (not that it is a large amount but as an eagle scout you kind of have to have some knowledge about guns) none had been so quite or sounded so popy. Anyway just after I had told everyone what I thought, the block was flooded with cop cars. I, being sloshed to a good degree, was thrilled, and discussed the matter with Officer Bob, or Bill or some other equally simple and forgettable name. He was a straight up douche of an off duty cop, white cowboy hat, blue jeans, and some kind of collared shirt un-buttoned to reveal his necklace of Native American-like fake beads. He told me about something or other that I instantly forgot because it was just too interesting at the time, but we did talk about it for a while. After escaping the discussion to run to the curb and watch the goings on, make some phone calls, I returned to the bar to watch the street get shut off, and lit up by police.

The bartender then told me about how officer Bob, Phil, or whatever-the-F-his-face-was, was some kind of sex freak and was not really allowed in bars due to his habit of giving girls naked pictures of himself. Thank the sick god he worships that I forgot what he said, because it was obviously crap. It mostly pisses me off because he wanted to shake my hand and I did, and less that he was some pig rappist. I stumbled around the police barricade after briefly discussing how to do so with an officer blocking the walk.

Here is a link that gives no useful information: http://www.kptv.com/news/20888261/detail.html

more to come on me smiling and laughing to a degree that makes my boss want to fire me on my first day of work AND leaving my car all over Portland in an attempt to evade parking-nazi-fucking-fuckasses

Keep an eye above

THE SKY IS FALLING! At anytime a disaster could wipe us all out, or at least several people. Durring one recent parioniod evening I stumbled across an astroid, Apophis, also known as astroid 99942, that may hit the Earth on Friday the 13th, 2029 or swing back and hit us sometime in 2036.

http://www.strangecosmos.com/content/item/113502.html

http://www.livescience.com/environment/050106_odds_of_dying.html

I’d rather pee in the pool

After I wake up every day, while taking my morning shit, I am posed with the question; Why are fish so smart? Except the last two mornings. These mornings, my shits have been void of silly fish questions and contemplation of the silly fish answers (fish are so smart because they live in schools). This question (and, Why is it so easy to weigh a fish?) is presented to me by little fish cartoons that repeatedly pop out at me as I am trying to pop one out. But not for the last 2 mornings, because these silly, curiously ill-timed-question asking fish where on the shower curtain, which Missy took when she moved out of the house.

Bathrooms, as a rule, must be awkward, filled with pointless, stupid knickknacky things. Like grandamas house, whose bathroom has pictures of naked babies coming out of eggs, sitting in sinks and wearing little dress up bonnets (note how none of these babies are of any relation to the family). Some people’s bathrooms have too much popurie, which must mean that they have the foulest shits of all time.

Public restrooms have only one decoration, graffiti. Bars and the science library have exceptionally large amounts of graffiti. While studying chemistry I always have to read about ‘bob’ and how he will give you a BJ in the next stall over at 3 everyday, which is etched into the door. Public restrooms are always awkward, there is always the person who tries to strike up a conversation, or talking on their phone (I will admit this has been me on several occasions). My phone has always been trouble in the restroom. When I am not worrying that it will somehow fly out of my pocket and land in the urinal, leading to a disgusting sequence of events, I am freaked out about it ringing. This may not be so bad for some people, but you must understand that my ring tone is not exactly calming or quite. It is me screaming that my phone is ringing, on repeat. Which, when it rings while reliving myself, just sounds like my Johnson is screaming at me, causing strange looks from the neighbors intently staring at the cracks in the wall. I then have to recover with some kind of comment, fish jokes never go well.

dysfunctional

my brain is missing something... beer, late nights filled with, yelling, slurring, and swearing like a sailor. Am I growing old? No I cant be... the other day I had a long conversation about how some fat people have a front butt. And if they have to buy pants for that. I have just gotten off the trail of the crazy band wagon for a reality check and then it up back in to the driver seat for the horizon. Or some shit like that.

Spending so much time by myself has made me feel a little cuckoo. You know, you start feeling like an old person. The ones that talk for inappropriately long amounts of time when they get half a chance. I might find myself keeping the mail man from doing his job and think back later to how I ended up telling him how, as a child, my favorite color was a mix of green and purple, and how this later.... well I won’t go into it because I can’t become an old-person-esk social retard.

To fight this 'old' thing I have been doing several things. One; googleing words. When googleing the word bannana (my first attempt at spelling banana) I got 47,000 hits. You may be surprised at the number of people who made this same 'simple' error. I, on the other hand, was surprised by the lack of people thinking and writing about bannanas. Until of course I saw the 'Did you mean: banana?', damn it google, you got the best of me again. The made up word crong (I cant remember what I was trying to spell) got 18,800 hits. Urban dictionary states that Crong has four meanings; crap-wrong hybrid, meth bong, crazy strong, and boner. How the last one ties in beats me but I decided to use all four in a sentence.
My buddy passed me the piece, I took a hit and leaped up yelling " Crong bong, it was a freaking crong!” immediately falling back as the effects took over, leaving me so crong that I took a brick and broke it over my giant crong.
Well anyways you should try using all of them and see how you do it.

Today I discovered that I am 9 and 1/8 inches thick at my widest point . I found this out after another activity to stave off this whole 'old' thing; running. Notice that it is not jogging, something an old person does. Running in itself is not that unusual, for me or anyone else, but it was littered with occurrences that lead to me determining my thickness. As I was running, much faster than old people do, I saw a bug, a bee of some kind to be precise, not that unusual. As we were headed for a collision I tried to dodge, but due to my high velocity, I missed. Which is unusual, noting my cat like agility. Anyway the bee, now stuck in my locks of hair, was hit by my hand’s natural reaction to wipe it away, causing the bee to sting me. I instantly collapsed in pain. It was no bee, but some kind of super mutant bee that had been designed to inflict freakish amounts of pain on the human race, making my hand swell to 9 and 1/8th inches. Well ok I guess it did not happen much like that, but the bee was a freak. Looking at my finger now I don’t see a sting so it may not have been a bee, and I guess it did really have anything to do with my width anyway, maybe unusual for bees or bee like things. When I returned from my marathon length sprint, I found the house locked. This is not unusual, Josh, always locks the door every time he leaves the house, I am constantly being locked in. Nor was it unusual that I did not have a key, some may find it surprising that I am locked out/from/in many things all the time. I shared your surprise for the situation. After walking around the house I discovered the only open window also had the screen ripped off, Hurrah what luck! Using my cat like agility, I jumped up to the window, finding only my head able to fit through the small opening. After some worm-like wriggling I squeezed the rest of my body through the hole, falling into the kitchen. Inspecting the opening with a tape measure (something an old person would never have on them) I was able to determine that it was 9 and 1/8th inches open to the crong hot weather outside, and thanking god that I didn’t have a crong preventing me from fitting through the door-crong word-window or that I fell on Molly's crong disturbed cat, I went to go take a shower and forget about the death bee.

RESTART!!

OK I am restarting this SOB. I am doing this for one reason: I need something to do besides study and listen to MCAT audio books.

Today I awoke at 6am (which I will be doing for the next two weeks). In the time that it took to roll over, close my eyes and turn off my alarm it was seven. So much for my plan. At seven I went on a run, went to work, studied, wasted time, studied, ate, wasted time and studied. As you can tell there is not much to do. So what do people do? I believe that I am addicted to stress or doing things or just busyness. Everyone has that little thing that they do to waste time, a filler. I think for a lot of people its facebook (damn you facebook for taking so much human brain capacity time) it is for me but mostly I go to NBA.com. HAHAHA, yeah that's right my secret is out, my time suck is checking out rookie rankings, and team rumors. I have been to NBA.com no less then 13 times today. When I am not looking at which 4 position guy will be traded next (answer: Lamar Odem) I am yelling at Molly's cat mera, or mira or mirra or how ever you spell the stupid cats name. Well not really yelling, I do other things like think of ways to get her drunk, or... scarring her by standing up or something. After living with this thing I have come to the conclusion that all domestic animals are insane. They are domestic because there mind is broken somehow. They have been bread to have weak wills that snap early in life, most likely from pure boredom. They have nothing to do but wander the same areas looking at the same shit (actually this is must not be as bad as it is for us because they may not remember things in the same way we remember things, or for the same amount of time... or it may be worse).

The other thing that I have been doing is looking at rooms to rent in Portland. I hope to move there within the next month. Shit! There are a good number on craigslist, but I hate writing to these people with a person pitch about who I am; " I am a 22 year old male who likes, bla bla bla bla" what the fuck do people want. Needless to say that with a pitch like that I haven't had too many takers. HA! I would give them my facebook but lets be honest, how would you judge a guy with 950 pictures of him wasted? Now that I think of it, its not that bad of an idea; "Hey, here's pictures of me mostly naked, drunk, in a costume, guaranteed good time".

Back in the USA

I am back in the US! Its awesome in a non-India-kinda-boring way. The flight to get back was a bitch! 36 hrs being on a plane or in an airport. It fucking sucked and my ears are still ringing from jet engines blasting my face off. Checking through customs was a bit strange, which some bald (he even shaved his eye brows) militant asked me why I went to India. I stated, as he looked at my tourist visa that I was a tourist. He asked if I had any family or friends there and when I said no he said that no one goes to India "just because" (as I had said) and became a wee bit mad. It ended up fine after it came out that I was working hospitals and such, which I told him after I thought that he may want to do some weird search or something. After breathing crisp cool Oregon air and walking down quite clean streets I have to say that we are all very lucky to live in a place where people are not grabbing you, yelling at all times, almost running you over, spiting everywhere, while picking their nose, scratching their crotch, farting and burping without a second thought (yet less exciting).

HOLY FUCKING SHIT

It has been one hell of a trip. I have no idea who is reading this (there has to be someone right), anyway its been a freaking blast to write. I have had a top of fun here in India and fun talking about it. This being my last weekend here in India I went to the part state of Goa. When you walk around you think a weird twist on Mexico. Here exists the most picture perfect beaches in the world, or at least every close to them. The food is great there are drinks galor and everyone is trying to sell you hash. Every evening we watched a gorgeous sunset, while drinking a Kingfisher (One of the only Indian beers). The first night after wondering around bars, yelling at some Brit about how everyone has guns in the US, and US airlines don't give you free booze (he really freaked out at the very idea of not getting tanked on a plane for free), I was lead to some clubs by some Russians. After a dance off (I was told that I won) my friend had a hilarious interaction with some transvestites. The second night was more of the same but ended with yoga poses on the beach, and trying to come up with a list of "Only in India" ( its great). After the spiciest meal I have ever had last night I passed out and I am now going to have my last meal in India and get on a plane. Its been a wild ride, I have a lot more to tell, so Ill just have to say it in person, everything that has happened here has been typical of my life; hilarious. I may just have to keep this thing up.

Clubin'

So on the night of Holi I went to some clubs in south Mumbai. It was funny the first one that I went to consisted of a bunch of wasted westerners dancing to techno, being German, did was bad. ha. The second club was more mellow, serving designer drinks at outrageous western prices. Indians here like noise, the music is always so loud that it becomes distorted by the speakers. At 3 in the morning I was exhausted, couldn't hear, and kind more drunk then I would like to admit after my four gin and tonics. I am out of shape for this whole party thing. I have been waking up at dawn too often and going to bed before midnight just as much. This weekend my change this. Apparently the beach is full of people wanting to lounge on the beach and drink. I may just sit sleep, and relax. HA.

DAY 67 !

I think that's the number of days, I have been trying to keep track, but not very hard. This last week was spent mostly with me saying "aaaaahhhhuuuhhh" and griping my abdomen, in pain. Actually after half the week, I took some anti-biotics and felt much better and was ready to sit on a bus for several days time. Which I did. It was a bitch though. People here are really friendly but, they cant say no, or tell you that something is wrong. So when a bus is full they will just tell you it is coming, and not that it is coming full and I should figure some shit out. Or they will say yes it is a 10 hr journey, but only if the bus doesn't stop at every town and hut to pick people up and drop others off. It was one hell of a trip to Hampi. I had thought that I was smart taking the seat behind the door, you know more leg room, the nice breeze to cool (it is really fucking hot) me. This turned out to be a bad idea with so many people getting on and off, some fat guy with the same idea and sitting next to me, and the wind just became annoying and loud coming through the door. I was able to watch Mad Max 1 and 2 and read a fair bit. But that may be the one plus to the ride. Hampi was great, and the ride back I just layed down on my weird rubber bed, and watched as Indian fields and farms rolled by. To break wheat here some farmers just through it in the road and let cars, trucks, buses and carts roll over them, and then quickly sweep up the wheat.
Last Wed. and Thursday I have tried to go out of some bars, and check out the night life here in Mumbai. No luck, in this "24 city" everything closes at 1, so after getting done with clinic at 10:30-11:00 and then eating, there is not much time for much fun. We tried going to some 'club' that turned out to be more like a Red Robbin, and the most "Posh" bar in Mumbai, only to find that the upper crust here get it done early and also end just as lamely. Last night this guy Guarev invited me out to what I thought was some going away party that involved lots of drinking. Instead it was just him and his Indian buddies asking me about girls, and smoking huka. Huka bars don't serve beer, and I was in bed by 12:30. Maybe its my bad luck but people here dont really like to drink, I will see what I can do.

A Shit Time

Looking back I should have realized that eating some mutton malsala would only lead to bad things, but that doesn't matter now. At the beginning of the weekend I was struck with what Indians here call 'lose motions'. Unfortunately I did not have the time to oblige to such motions because I was on a mad dash though the city to catch a train to Goa. Try having to take a huge watery shit while running though train stations and streets (people here really get out of the way of a 6ft white guy running at them with a giant backpack) to just make the train, which I did with only 1 min. to spare before it left. It was a very rough ride on the sleeper train, in which I did not sleep much. After taking enough narcotic derivatives (yes that's what the prescription actually is) to freeze any addicts bowels, I had to hunch over on the top bunk, trying to make my bed only to see that the previous user of the sheets appeared to be in similar intestinal distress. Fuck. Still sweaty from running, I was very glad to have my sleeping bag and wondered why I even bothered with the stupid sheets. When we got to the beach I had lost half my weight in water and by the time I drank it back, had some food, had a nap and felling better I had a horrible sun burn, that reversed my state of being back to really shitty. I had forgotten that the malaria pills that I had been taking so diligently as of late make you burn very very easily. FUCK. The only good thing, I did not get bitten by a mosquito, so I guess I didn't actually have to take the medicine in the first place. Goa is known for its beach party atmosphere, as you can imagine I was excited to go, but the only thing I could do was sleep. After an over night train spent farting I am feeling better and ready for this, my second to last week, in Mumbai.

More and More and More

I hate pants. They are the bane of my existence. I wouldn't say they suck the life out of me, because they just keep heat in. Why people here don't ware shorts is beyond me. I am at the point that if I found a place that would sell running shorts (yeah the ones that are shy of a banana hammock) I would wear them. Fuck the stares, I mean I get enough as it is so whats 5 more out of 100000. I want some ice water, not just cold water, I can find that, but actual ice, a fuck load of it. I want my tongue to freeze to it, and eat so much that my teeth get that frozen acing feeling, and my throat is about to seize. I would like to drive my car in the cool Cascade air, on streets that don't have farm animals, old men laying in them or children defecating on the side of them. I would like to be driving the vanagon, listening to the Strokes, screaming the lyrics out while chewing on ice from fountain soda (pepsi), with short shorts on and the cool wind hitting me just as the vanagon hits her top speed of 60 mph. If I couldn't have that I would at least want a bed. There seems to be some kind of translation mistake, the Hindi word for what ever they sleep on has been translated in to the English word of 'bed', when in fact it should be 'pad'. If anyone here ever slept on what we know as a bed (not pad) they would surly become the modern day Rip VanWinkle. That is what I am dreaming of here in a tacky orange cyber cafe sweating my balls off in fucking pants.

p.s. I have recently viewed the Sasquatch line up. Yeah... so it may not be the best, but despair not, for I am on a mission to get the majority of the music that will be played there and become intimate with it (well maybe just familiar). Anyway GET YOUR FUCKING SASQUATCH TICKETS. I would rather be spared from hearing some whiny story about you being a pussy about going. I am sure as hell not going to start regretting not going now, after never regretting going (well maybe that one time, but luckily a substance abuse coma prevents me from remembering it) and I know you wont either.

Going up stream

Its very difficult for me to express the feeling of being in India. It involves lots of noises like "AAHHHHRRRGG", with hand and arm waving that is precisely coordinated with facial expressions that involve bug eyes, and cockeyed grins and grimaces.
I spent last weekend looking for a drinking hole. My first challenge was in determining if people call it a pub or a bar, I found that people will use one while not knowing the other but with no consistency on which one. As a drinker you are treated like you are a fine dinner, once you slosh down your glass the bar-waiter, intently watching you, will move it back into its optimal grabbing location, with a chipper smile. They are a bit fancy and people drinking are well to do men, who may get up and dance to the techno or 70's disco if the mood its them. After I made it to two places, by luck, I met some fellows that (after yelling at them first if there was another bar for some time, then pub, until they took me outside) took me to a huka bar. As they became gooked, I very tastefully tried their selection of beer (after gins on the rocks, it seemed time) and proceeded to have a loud conversation about American influence on India. The loudest (actually only two talked, the others just stared at me) a baby faced fellow, who may or may not have been sober, made some very interesting points, that completely evade me now. They did make it very clear to me that they loved Harry Potter and JK Rowling (and LOTR) and that there was another book written by an Indian that rivaled the actual series in its excellence, where Harry does something else. I took this well, being from some tie wearing business Indians. The next day, being Valentines and all, I was off to a club that these seemingly nice fellows told me to go to, hoping that it wasn't a gay bar, pub... whatever. As it turned out I couldn't find a single rickshaw that knew where the damn place was, if it really existed, and after walking around, I became very tired (partially from not sleeping the night before) and passed out. Drinking has, again, moved to the backseat and I have proceeded to spend most of my time in a Jabba the Hutt position.
This week (before reaching the rankest smelling fish market) my shirt gets soaked daily with more foreign sweat then a punk concert in the summer (or my 21st birthday...ok not that much). Thank you Indian Trains. Yesterday I was freaked out more then usual due to an old, short man, looking as if he may be dying, continually coughing in my face and all over my left side. And today I almost lost a birkenstock (luckily it flew on to the platform) due to me being pushed out of a train as it was taking off. Here you are an ant with other ants crawling all around you, over you, or trying to go right through you. I dont think that I will ever get over the amount of people. Dont come to India if you are claustrophobic, or maybe you should.
One last thing: Taking a pill everyday fucking sucks ass! My brain is suffering from some kind of block (I might be hypnotized, which I have become increasingly interested in/worried about) because I cant remember to take my Malaria pill. Thus I will take several every cuppla days. And even more when I found a huge grouping of red bites all over my ankles (the perpetrator is a mystery). Oh well, whats a really bad fever and possible death anyway, eh?, at least its not a kid.

not something to shake a stick at

So I have realized that people with retainers are just cooler then people without them sorry every body. This epifiny hit me last night as I looked in my retainer case longingly, and low and behold there it was, my retainer. My unconscious is just so smart that it put it away for me, man I am just soo awesome. It was then, as I was putting it in all happy-like, that I noticed that I had mosquito bite on my left pinkie knuckle! And then another one on my left forearm! After this shocking surprise I took twice the amount of my daily dose of malaria meds. I may also have a head ache, also known as definitive conformation of cerebral malaria! AAAHHHH! Today as I was facing death in the.. aaaaaauhh.. face, I was put into open heart fucking surgery! It was CRAZY! So I tell you now, dont fuck with your heart, because you dont want some kid about to fall on your unprotected bloody, beating heart. Actually it awesome, but it was 5 hrs. of standing. Ouch. There where two doc's taking out an artery from the guys leg while another split him open and sawed through his chest. It was a triple bypass, and it went smoothly.
Right now I am feeling more American then I have for a long time, due to two reasons. 1: Today I used a fork. This may not seem like a big deal but it is the first time in, aauuuhhh... a long time. And I did it twice, for breakfast and lunch, and I didn't even stab myself (a real risk for restarters). 2: I have found wireless internet in my apartment. Yes, thats right I am not in an internet cafe! Yeeha. I can now spend as much time as I want doing all the shit that I have normally have been spending an hour doing. Well that is from 9am to 9pm which seem to be to hours of operation for someones wireless, aaauuuhhhh... operation. So get on fucking skype at 7:30-ish pm your time to see if I am on in the morning (I cant promise that I will, I mean, like, I am, like, saving lives here) or if you want to talk at like 6:30 in the morning it would be sweet. my name is curpete, and I wont yell at you too much if you just woke up (I would put a smiley face or maybe one of those stupid winking faces but I fucking hate that fucking shit).

The City

I am in Mumbai with the fastest internet that I have had this whole trip. Its blazing! The flight here was fairly standard, you know it involved a plane, and an airport and was for all intensive purposes uneventful. When I fell out of the sky into the haze that surrounds this 14 million person city and got to my apartment, I was amazed. It is fucking different here. I live on the 12th floor of a huge building, and over look other giant residential buildings. There is a "MEGA MALL" just around the corner, and so far no gutters with feces on the side of the road. I havent spent enough time here to have much of an opinion but we will see how living in huge fucking city will be (and I thought that there was a lot of people living in the other parts of India that I have been to). I am now living in constant fear though due to mosquito's. I forgot to start taking my Malaria meds!!! So I am a walking time bomb for future pain and suffering. FUCK! One down, I just killed one of these death carriers which was sitting on the camera of the computer that I am on. If I dont post anything for some time its due to me being hospitalized for malaria. Also after four diligent years of wearing my retainer every night (well except all the nights that I was too drunk to remember/unable to get to it, and other obvious reasons for not having the thing in my mouth at during the night) I have lost my retainer. I have (think I have at least) fucking left it at the mother fucking Maze hotel! fucking shit fuck. I guess it was only a matter of time (I mean really, come on how have I kept it this long) and now I am not that guy who still wears his retainer (such dorks).

30 DAYS

That's it! I made it, without being killed, dismembered, or catching some tropical disease. Right now I am Derhadun about to go back up to Than Goun for the week. The internet shop is killing my boner about making it 30 days. The guy is playing the worst sappy music ever (I wish I knew the band names so you could envision this shitty RnB-like bitch that I am listening to suck out my soul). I guess it brings me to the point that people here have terrible taste in music. Linkon Park is the favorite band of young people (or something equally terrible) while others listen other just as bad American music. The Indian music that people listen to is not that bad, its a lot like some of the songs in Slum Dog Millionaire. I am going to acquire some so it can just take up space on my hard drive without serving any real purpose. I don't think that I can take much more of the music, I think its making me feel sick (if I die without making it a full 30 days Ill be so pissed), maybe I just have to have a bowel movement, or maybe I am hungry. Either way there is a lot going on and I have to get the fuck out of here. Peace, I am off to take a shit and then eat some food that looks like shit.

P.S. I dont know what happened with the last post (huummm...) but it is posted after the previous one (i dont know its name).

Sex Ed

This is a term that all of India needs to get to know better. Everything needs to populate less, dogs, cows, people, bugs, everything is on a mad race to take over the world by sheer numbers alone. By simply reducing the population it would make life better for everyone because there would simply be more to go around. Anyway thats it, I have some time to kill before breakfast so I am here at the internet. Which leads me to what some of you may be wondering (as I did), what DO Indians eat for breakfast? Well (one may say they should eat each other to help the population problem) we mostly have pancake like thingys. They are made of potatoes, wheat flour, and spices. You eat them with ketchup (which is spicy because it is mixed with chili powder), along with a bowl of pourage, which is the other most common breakfast, and fruit. Other times we just eat a different Indian dish, without rice. Yeah so lots of spicy Indian food (i know what your thinking, "no shit"). Enjoy your coffee and cereal you poop heads.

huuummm....

So right now I am listing to the Strokes and writing this as I watch this cow outside door lick its anus. Its amazing how long their toungs are. It is also amazing how many cows there are. They are all over the place, and its not just cows, but all kinds of bovines. Besides the dozens of cow species there are oxen and buffalo, I would not be surprised to find that there are more but alas I have not become an expert of bovines. All these cows of different sizes, shapes and colors are all equally stupid, equally very stupid. They just stand there, and thats it. Ok, I lied they do more then just that, they shit, and eat trash. They are also very good at blocking traffic, because they just stand of sit as a car honks in their face. They are very nice, just plodding along doing nothing. Life as a cow must be great, eating, shitting, and standing, some don't even stand they just lay down all day. I hope that life is treating everyone as well as it treats the cows in India.