Pompadoured

I’m going to talk about seeing your breasts.

I saw them that one time I met you and you stayed with me and my girlfriend. You took a shower in the shower, and I was updating my blog. It was some time like seven or eight years ago that I saw your breasts.

I think about seeing your breasts occasionally. I wasn’t supposed to see your breasts, and I don’t think about anything else about you. What was your Italian face? Your breasts were unremarkably special breasts. Did we speak things? It all seems vague, like some sort of non-breast thing I saw almost a decade ago.

I could be a person who pretended not to see your breasts, but realistically, I still tell people I saw your breasts.

My loving wife is aware I saw them, and she accepts this blog post I’m dedicating to seeing your breasts through a slightly open bathroom door.

My seeing-of-your-breasts is a legend I tell at parties. You are European, so you might not understand, but seeing your breasts made my life better. I’m an adult male that goes to social events and shakes the hands of good-looking, wealthy people, with a vision of myself firmly instilled, a directionless youth, seeing a set of pretty decent Italian breasts.

What I’m getting at, is that I’m very grateful. I replay my seeing your breasts in my head, and I feel things. I peek through the crack in the door, and I see something, and that matters. And seeing your breasts for about two seconds, in the mirror, is all that matters.

I want to experience the “star field” screensaver from Windows 3.11 in real life. Picture some sort of “space wind” in my face. A mighty space wind, as I float through space. “The same space wind that space aliens have felt on their faces for space centuries.”

I want something supernatural to happen to me. Not for like god reasons or anything, but just to, you know, see some other shit. I feel like I’ve seen everything ever, already, on the Internet. So many people bathroomed on, etc..

There’s that song about “my pussy and my crack,” that I kept thinking of today. I feel like that song and the one about “smelling yo dick” are two things that have taken me on a journey, outside my body.

The smells that have taken me out of my body are “gas” smell and “pizza” smell.

I watched an UNSOLVED MYSTERIES episode about Area 51 a few weeks ago. Robert Stack is amazing. His spirit lives on. “One for the ages.” “Our generation’s Lenord Nimoy on IN SEACH OF…,” which I just Googled and pasted above.

Textures that have caused me to float outside my body, like a beautiful angel, are any type of putty, and velour.

When Robert Stack talks, you never feel skeptical. You understand him. He leaves the world open for you, and you can feel like the world is full of so much possibility. Like, maybe you feel inside you “the aliens are real,” but the not-crazy part of the Internet and the world says “no,” and you go to YouTube and type “smell yo dick.”

I’ve been thinking about technology a lot lately, so I decided to write a blog post on technology.

One day, in the past, I thought to myself, “Gamecube is the future,” as I turned on a Gamecube and the tiny-ass DVD started spinning. That was the future!

Have you ever been holding technology, and felt like the object of technology you were holding at the time was an actual person?

I sold my Gamecube years ago, because I didn’t care about Gamecube anymore.

I wish I could sell my body like I sell my technology.

I also wish I could live “in nature” somewhere and live off of chili. Is chili technology?

Often, I think about where technology will be when I die, and what the last piece of technology I hold will be.

Thank you for reading my thoughts on technology. Have a great Tuesday!

I keep saying that it’s my “quad” that’s fucked-up, but I don’t even know what a “quad” is. Do you have legs? Do you know what a “quad” is?

I’m assuming it’s “quadriceps,” and now that I’ve typed the word out and looked it up in spell-check, and then defined it, I can confirm that this is what hurts.

It seems that at some point in my life I discovered that I have legs, and that they are weird. I wish that I had naturally-occurring wheels or something.

I pulled my quad playing soccer in an over 30 league, which is where 90% of all quad pulling occurs in a person’s life.

This is the third week of pulling my quad playing soccer. Each time I play soccer, it hurts worse.

I keep playing soccer because it “gives me something worth living for.” J/k! We drink beer after soccer. Also, my personal trainer tells me to do cardio.

In short, I wish I could cut my leg off right now. It hurts!

I love chicken sandwiches, and recently there has been a lot of talk about chicken sandwiches. I want to talk about chicken sandwiches.

My love of chicken sandwiches stems from my love of nuggets as a young boy. I grew up eating nuggets. Being with nuggets. Spending time putting multiple nuggets in to different sauces, and telling my friends how great nuggets are.

Fried chicken was also important when I was young. I love eating meat off a bone! It’s great. My grandma would feed me fried chicken. Life is great, and often life, for me, has included fried chicken.

In middle school I would get something called a “Chicken Supreme” at lunch, every day. It was a chicken sandwich with cheese. I loved putting mayonnaise on it! Mayonnaise is great. I would squeeze that mayonnaise out on that chicken, and it was great.

As I aged and became more mature, the chicken sandwich was there for me as a reliable source of pleasure. I would put the chicken sandwich full-on into my mouth, and it’s pleasure, along with all of the nostalgic pleasure of other chicken in my past, would slide down my tongue and into my stomach.

In short, I love chicken sandwiches. They’re great on the mouth, and I’m happy to have known their pleasure inside me.

Thanks for hearing me out, everyone!

The dusk is nothing, LeBron, does it dark where you live? Is there a horse for you to ride, through the fire, LeBron? I picture your haters, and you, breathing in the paint, drinking in the television. Like there’s a hoop island that fills with LeBron. Beautiful beaches. LeBron, you screw yours. You sleet fire LeBron. You sleet fire and, like, our wife threatens to leave us. She says we have no real friends, LeBron. There’s an island for LeBrons only. Put your shades on, LeBron. Let’s ride thru together, LeBron, like one hoops. You and your big-ass horse. Me, my big-ass horse. Oh how we murder shit. Ours becomes blessed, LeBron. Our wife accepts us. The people prick their shit up. They see our bodies together. How often do you pleasure on your horse? Do you watch television with your horse before bed? Where I’m at it’s dusk, LeBron.

In the sleepy Texas town of Houston, Texas, people make sugar cookies. They use sugar and other cookie making ingredients to make these cookies, which are often baked in an oven.

It’s hard not to like sugar cookies. They are made of sugar, and they’re cookies.

Sugar cookies are a tradition, like pumpkins and other stuff. They’re a food, and you eat them.

In the traditional sleepy Texas town of Houston, Texas, people just love their sugar cookies. Says Bob Marchamp, a long time resident of Houston, Texas, “cookies are what food is all about.”

It’s hard not to agree. For a long time people have been eating sugar cookies. It seems like sugar cookies are where food really shines.

10. McRib – Did not eat the McRib, but I heard it was back. Saw a commercial for the McRib that presented a scenario that demeaned the preciousness of human life. Would likely eat one if it was placed in front of me.

9. Working Out – I started working out again at the end of the year. Seems like 2011 was the year where everyone worked out. I don’t have any more anecdotes to back this claim up. Working out feels great, and if you haven’t done it before, I suggest you do. Number nine in this list.

8. Facebook – I don’t like Facebook. I generally spend around 30 minutes on Facebook every day. It seems like if I hate something so much, but also am uncontrollably drawn to it, that it’s a “thing” for that year. When I use Facebook, I get reminded of all of these people I know that, without Facebook, I would be happily unconcerned about. Instead I get to see where they went on vacation. And look at all of their profile photos. And see how dumb their husbands look.

7. Water – Seems like water was a big deal this year. I drank a lot of water. I went swimming some during the summer months. My wife used water to cook spaghetti a bunch, and the spaghetti was delicious. In at number seven is “water.”

6. New Toaster – In case you haven’t heard, I got a new toaster. It does four slices of toast at once, and has electronic controls for everything. It’s pretty great.

5. Kids – Seems like everyone had kids this year. In case you haven’t heard, I know all about children. They love all sorts of shit and are a fuckin’ laugh riot. You just laugh all the time with kids. It’s great. Number five in my top ten list.

4. Carbonated Water – When you carbonate water, something magical happens. It gets carbonated like Sprite. Carbonated water is great because, like Sprite, it’s fizzy. I love it. Number four in my top ten list.

3. Buying Stuff – I buy a lot of stuff all the time. Seems like other people also buy stuff. It feels shitty, but part of life on Earth. Like, buy a new dishwasher, also, Jesus loves you! New sweater, Grace of God! Bless you!

2. Cats – Why do people like cats. Bleccccch. It’s like, get a dog bro. Dogs are like cool tractors. Cats are like hard, shitty spaghetti. All I got to say about that. Coming in at number two in my top ten list is “cats.”

1. Cocaine – Discovered this year that every list should end with “cocaine.” 2012 coming like a fast, cool, good-looking train, y’all!

When I get a bill, I put it in a stack. The bills I do not look at for one or two weeks. Things that are not bills are usually advertisements from American Express or a restaurant or American Express advertising a restaurant. Occasionally there will be mail for the lady who used to live here. I will wait a week and then write “RETURN TO SENDER” in black pen, on the front. I learned this from an Elvis song.

Occasionally, there will be actual mail from real, actual people I know. This is usually a thank you card from my mother, who is very considerate, or an invitation to somebody’s 30th/40th birthday party, or a wedding invitation. I usually save these pieces of mail because they retain some sentimental value for a few months. I feel guilty when I throw them out.

When I get a package, I open it immediately. Packages that are cardboard boxes get open, broken down with a box cutter, and taken out to the recycling area of our trash. I feel good about the amount of cardboard recycling we do. We have much more recycling than our neighbors every two weeks, and I often think that they must feel like the world is filling up with trash around them and that they alone are causing global warming. I picture our neighbors killing babies, eating dog, and pouring their oil into a lake.

Packages that are not boxes get thrown away in the regular trash. I feel extreme guilt about my level of waste, which I consider severe. I have two children in diapers and a terrible addiction to consumer electronics. I understand that humanity cannot last forever, and that the act of being born, in essence, both propagates and destroys our species. I have been battling depression.

To summarize, the mail is okay. I consider it necessary, mainly because I have Amazon Prime. When I order diapers and electronics, I want to do it in the shame of my own home. I am the sum of what I order on the internet. Sometimes the mail reminds me of that.

My children will never be able to smoke in strip clubs, over a plate of steak and a beer. They’ll never be able to see a woman’s ass bounce on the ground while pushing smoke away from their faces. What is it people fight for?

I sat on my couch for freedom. I ate a pizza for freedom. Later, I made a cocktail for freedom, and sat in my backyard. I’ve seen severed heads on television, and I didn’t look away.

Sometimes I picture myself with a gun killing another, unknown, person. I can rape and torture with the rapers and torturers. Give me the circumstance, and I am confident of my reactions. They are weak in an animalistic sense, but they are not, as far as I know, any different than the reactions of many people.

It is an incredible thing that my life is not that circumstance, and I get to exist in a time of general peace. I exist to have a wife and children. I exist to wake up and look at my phone in bed, tabbing through news and eventually moving into the bathroom and then into the nursery to hold my two small children.

Our bodies are sculpted by murders and rapes that have already occurred, my ancestors killing and being killed. My German ancestors killing my English ancestors, raping and giving birth and becoming me, in front of a computer and listening to music about drugs and dancing.

Centuries later, I shop for ceiling fans on the internet. For freedom.

I ram toothpaste into a mouth. I rub lotion on a body. I push the body into a bed, and the body moves. It’s dark. Over us, the sounds of a dishwasher and a television clicking on and then off again. I read a book out loud. The next day I will cut down a tree and the branches will fall on a charcoal grill.

The book is short and I read it out loud. There is a mosquito, and it is flying. I notice that I have thumbs. My wife has legs, and I think about her having legs. I picture a Ford Mustang. Our planet is full of assholes.

When our feet are in sand, it’s bright. The ocean holds a boat. I picture a Ford Mustang on the beach, driving fast, maybe even driving on the ocean. I order food and a piña colada. A seagull is flying. I’m on my back and eating crab.

I’m watering our lawn. I’m wearing a robe and looking at the park across the street. I’m inside and listening to a song about murder. I own an XBox 360 and I picture my XBox 360 living forever, its hair waving behind it. I rub my hand magically over our dog, and our dog moves closer. Over time I grow older. I watch my body move.

Sometimes, I move the sharp edge of a knife over my skin and pull the dead skin onto the blade. I’ll rename all of the illegal files I have downloaded into a naming scheme I can manage. I recycle cans and paper.

Reorganized my desk so that there is much less on it. Moved a lot of things out of the cubby holes and onto other places, and into drawers, and just away.

I put my design books in a milk crate above the milk crate that holds my records. The milk crate at the top sags in the middle, forcing the milk crate at the bottom to sag at the top.

Last night I drank wine out of a can and sat in a chair while looking at my pants. At dinner, I was light headed. I had dessert. Over time, I hope to become a more responsible human being.

My throat hurts, and I’m crunched over my desk typing this. I hear a leaf blower. I rub my hands on my face and think about credit cards. I’m busy being unique and special, watching myself grow into a precious person. I’m creative and own Apple products.

Ate a beet salad 12 hours ago. Will probably make the bed in a few minutes. Heated up some frozen waffles for my son, and watched children’s programming.

The back of Pearl's head.

I drank six or seven beers while on antibiotics, at the pizza parlor. My strep relapsed and I took a nap on Saturday.

I played with my son and threw a ball at him. People came over late at night and I read the new Raymond Carver biography. I got a small radio for our room that has an iPod dock and I listen to FM radio on it. The dock is hidden, and then it appears when you press a button. The radio is red.

We ordered food from a new Chinese food place last night, and it was acceptable. This morning I ate cold fried asparagus and felt okay about it.

This morning I put on a flannel shirt instead of turning the air conditioning down, but it’s okay because we’ve started shopping a Whole Foods again. I want to rub dirt all over my naked body and run through a busy movie theatre.

I’m switching 100% from Pepsi Max to Zevia. Dr. Zevia is a major accomplishment in the carbonated beverage industry.

I bought a design book highlighting the Metal logos of a single man. I look at receipts like they have some sort of value, even after eating, and feel like I should make a scrapbook.

I watched a majority of Tango & Cash last night. I washed the dog.

AMP gum is fucking nasty. I keep chewing it because I feel like it’d be wasteful to throw it away.

Switch between computers often now (old Shuttle with Windows 7 & Macbook Pro). Dropbox has been turning me into a better person, on the inside.

I’ve been making an effort to read more often. I feel intense guilt every time I look at the stack of books behind my bed. Feel like 9/11 was my fault.

I think there’s some strawberry jam residue on the roly mat under my yoga ball/desk chair. My shoe keeps feeling sticky.

I sometimes stare at the local news. I’ll watch it when I’m feeding Pearl. It’s news. Sometimes people are dead or outraged. I’m feeding a baby. I rarely leave my house.

Sometimes I ride my bike to Walgreens. I sit in front of my computer and move my mouse and keyboard. Something somewhere explodes.

Somebody will give an opinion, and then somebody else will give an opinion. I’ll make a peanut butter and jelly foldover. It gets dark and my wife washes the children. News people report the news. I’ll drink a beer.

I will remember things I’ve forgotten, and be worried that we won’t have enough money to exist. I’ll make a document on my computer and stare at it. A newscaster will say what other people have done. There’s a fire somewhere. Guns, everywhere, and I’m eating an orange.

The news exists. I’ll watch it, and likely not process the terrible things that have happened. Afterwards, I will watch a movie or pee or something. I’ll stare at my phone for thirty minutes and then go to sleep.

A Picture of The Bedroom Fan (Royal Morgan, 2010)

Yesterday, I cooked steaks. Earlier in the day I went to the park. I ate a veggie burger near the sailboat pond. I sat with my daughter on the grass.

I watched the Maurice Sendak documentary thing that Spike Jonze did. I really liked it. Maurice is funny, obsessed with death, and comes-off as a really genuine and honest person.

I drank a Vitamin Water at the park. I also read the responses to this post. Discovery Green is a nice park with tall buildings all around it, all looking down on this little park full of children and people having a nice time. I wore my shoes the whole time. A group of women next to me said “Obamanation” many times, while putting clothes on their children and laughing. I walked around a building with Royal, and pointed to some bikes.

There’s a problem with my cuticles again. I’m afraid to think I need a manicure or pedicure. My fingers are ugly.

I’m staring at some AMP gum on my desk. Recently changed the photo on my desktop to a photo of my daughter. Want to play with Legos. My office is hot and I’m heavily addicted to caffeine.

In the picture above, Royal grabbed my phone, yelling “fan” and squealing while he took pictures of the fan.

Chose this image over a Lil' Wayne album cover.

I’ve rebirthed my blog. I don’t know what is going to happen. I’ll probably just post pictures of my children and recap my trips to the grocery store to buy formula and diapers.

I’ve added some new features.

Go here if you want to see a chronological list of posts that relate to important events in my life.

Go here to read posts from a secret blog that I kept for a couple of months last year. I will likely continue writing posts in this style.

Go here for the old Pompadoured posts, which I can no longer read without feeling gross inside.

I am excited about having my blog back. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m sure that you’ll once again feel pressured into reading whatever it is. Good for me!

I colored-coded all of the leftover wires from electronics and put them into a box.

I woke up early this morning and looked at design blogs. I feel like I just stare at the websites and do nothing. I feel less than passive about all of my information.

There is a tennis ball on my desk that I sometimes want to clench, but clenching never feels as good as throwing the tennis ball.

We have a problem with WIFI reception in the bedroom.

I repeat things a lot. I feel comfortable becoming the same phrase, and maybe reconfiguring it, and then repeating it. In my head I do this, I think of different ways to say things, unexceptional things. When a song comes on the radio, my first instinct is to change the lyrics and make it dirtier.

Overall, robes are comfortable. I have an oversized robe made for a really fat person.

Not ever sure if I drink enough water. Confused about my ability to have dreams anymore. Sometimes I have dreams, and I’m not sure about their consitancy.

I have a picture of dinosaurs at a birthday party next to my desk.

No caffiene after 2pm, anymore.

The trash cans were left turned over in a pool of streetwater. I need to bring the powerwasher out of retirement to clean the the big trashcan. Overall, the big trashcan is disgusting.

When it gets cold and my skin is dry, my hands start to itch at the tips. I wore shorts on our nighttime walk.

When I walk out of our house, towards the area with shops and restaurants, I walk past a very nice restaurant with very big windows. Yesterday, I was wearing shorts and high-top neon basketball shoes. I feel great walking by the very nice restaurant wearing ridiculous clothes.

It feels like I could swim in a pool not too long ago, and that the window of pool swimming was very short this year. The cheffelera is shedding at an incredible rate.

Don’t think I have enough sand in my life.

Didn’t drink soda this weekend. Eat a lot of seafood, because I’m not at a point in my life where I can feel sympathy for fish.

Had an hour nap yesterday. Washed the babies by myself. Had ice cream for dinner.

I don’t read much anymore, because it has become too painful. I read and I critique and that is all. I would rather spend time with my children or outside riding my bike or gardening than reading. I have enough emotional material and living to generate a range of responses in my writing. I do not see what I do as the culmination of what other people are doing.

I often feel my body deteriorating. I picture terrible things happening.

At the Mexican food restaurant yesterday, Royal kept pointing to a Christmas light that was off, saying “off… off… off.”

I’ve been playing a car game, and I don’t achieve anything.