Since my schedule as a writer is quite flexible, I often submit to my nocturnal tendencies and end up doing things at somewhat odd hours. It is not all that unusual for me to take a shower at two or three in the morning. I don’t know how the rest of the world works, but I just can’t take a shower without singing Steve Miller songs at inappropriately high volumes. I’m not sure how well sounds carries to other apartment units, but I can’t imagine my upstairs neighbor Kathleen is really happy to be woken up in the middle of the night when I’m going on about that big ole jet airliner that is going to carry me to my home.
In previous stories I’ve mentioned my interest in the game of laser tag. The other night I drove down to Denver to go play. I’m not sure why (wildly erratic sleeping habits), but when I got to Brian’s place I became incredibly tired all the sudden. So instead of going to play laser tag I slept on his couch for the better part of two hours while he watched “Dude, Where’s My Car?” Afterwards I drank two cans of Mountain Dew and drove back to Boulder.
I keep telling my mom I do not plan my life around driving her crazy– it just seems to happen that way. I do not think I caused any extraordinary amount of stress in her life recently until I quit my job as a computer programmer to pursue my writing career. Whenever we talk about my goals in life I can actually see conflict stirring about in her head. In general she tries to remain positive and encourage my creative writing pursuits. On the other hand, she has an overwhelming urge to reach across the table, grab me by collar, and shake me silly while explaining the benefits of gainful employment.
As far as my writing goes, my mom tends to enjoy my stories that are more political in nature. She hates, and I am not using that word lightly, the stories that portray me a less than favorable light. When she read about how I got drunk and made an ass of myself at Angie’s Christmas party I immediately received a phone call. While the actual words used aren’t really important, the tone of the conversation was quite negative. I know that my mom would do anything if it would keep me from writing about my personal life on my web site. Unfortunately, the sciences of hypnosis and mind controlling drugs are unable to achieve such specific objectives at this point in time.
Anyone who has above average spelling and grammar skills knows I am not a perfectionist when it comes to things like where to place punctuation marks and what exact letters should go in a particular word (and the order of the letters too). One alert newfunny reader (who also happens to be my sister) pointed out that I spelled Dave Barry’s name incorrectly. Which in itself wouldn’t be such a big deal—I have an exceptional talent for creatively spelling names. The beauty of the situation was that I had put a picture of Mr. Barry—with his name spelled correctly—right next to the story where I had misspelled it roughly 2300 times (in my defense I spelled it wrong with remarkable consistency throughout the entire story). My sister sent me an email pointing out my error in a tone that I would consider to be less than positive. Since then, however, I have been able to spell his name correctly a remarkably high percentage of the time.
While I generally don’t plug other web sites, I came up with the concept for this story after reading a web site titled
“Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About.” Despite a horrible color scheme that gives me blinding headaches behind my eye sockets, this page is a wonderful collection of stories involving a British writer and his German girlfriend.