smile scream always so extreme

man, o my beloved non-existent readers, my droogs n only friends, i have decided: a.) i am a shitty poster, and b.) i am a lousy fucking friend.

gringa, i finally got your link fixed.

i just finished up mid-terms, in which i had four essays, ten drawings, and two tests all due within the scope of a week.

and i have been feeling pretty selfish lately i guess. hording my free time and wanting to spend it doing only the things i want to do. and of course, the creative energy i would normally spend coming up with witty posts is instead being channeled into all these essays and such in the hallowed and hollowed halls of higher learning. (say that ten times fast.)

but i do have this for you:

we have long held in my household that if you want to hide something from my view, simply place it on a shelf behind something else. i will never find it. i am sure all of you, the beloveds, are snickering because you know some other male who finds himself in this self-same category.

well, the other day i am looking for the last rock glass that hasn't been left in a drunken haze at one of the neighbors' houses, i look in the cupboard, the dishwasher, the sink, the side table by the couch; marred with moisture ring scars the exact size of the bottom of said rock glass: to no avail.

suffice to say, o my beloveds, i am kinda aggravated. it's been one of those days. i want a goddamn drink. where the sweet cherry fuckstain is my glass...?

"it's in the cabinet with the rest of the glasses." my wife is sooo helpful.

"it is not! i looked there, twice!!" i spout, all piss n vinegar as i yank open the cupboard for the third time and--

"well fuck me gently with a chainsaw! why'd you put it on this side of the small juice glasses?"

(an aside: what the hell purpose do the small juice glasses really serve? i mean, does anyone still make a "well-balanced breakfast" replete with cheerios, toast and jam, a large glass of milk, and the apparently quintessential juice glass of oj? they are sorta the right size for a gibson i have noticed though, as long as you don't make it a double... now back to your regularly-scheduled program.)

"are you serious? you couldn't find it because it was on the other side of the juice glasses?!?"

i take a deep, steadying breath, and let it out in a prolonged sigh of surrender.

"let me see if i can attempt to explain the phenomenon of my inability to find things in pantries and on shelves to you, once and for all:"

she is already starting to giggle at me. which of course, makes me want to pour on the theatrics.

"let's say you tell me to get the medicine." i say, holding up one of the boys' prescription bottles, "and this is what i see in my head. an rx bottle. but let's just say the medicine actually looks like this:" holding up a blister-pack of gas-x.

"i will look thither n yon. my eyes will pass over this little packet of pills a million times without ever registering them, because i am looking for a bottle."

the giggles are full-on laughs.

"furthermore, if i think the object i am looking for is red, and it is actually blue, same thing, it's like it doesn't even exist."

the laughs are tears and are bordering on snorts, and by christ, o my beloved non-existents, i am hell-bent for a series of snorts.

"but the biggest way to confuse me is to put something slightly out of place from where it should be. if i know it is in a certain spot, then i won't be looking for it anywhere else, even if that is on the left side of the juice glasses instead of the right. since they are glasses, and it's a glass, it was completely invisible to my eyes."

i get the crescendo of laugh-snort-laugh that i so desperately needed at this point, and smile myself as i fix an old fashioned in my newly rediscovered rocks glass.

darth sardonic