There is a theory of there bring a certain "one" for every person. Well, spoiler alert. Maybe your 1 is in Cambodia and you'll never reach her. Too bad.

But that's the sad part. I f you think that you have come across this ONE through your life, you have to capture this moment as best as you can. There will be problems, but it's the meshing of the personality as well as the comfort ability that tells you this is a person for you for a long time. It has to fit logically, financially, all  that, but that is your number one. To Both Sides: Don't Blow It.

I think all I talk about lately is time, the passage thereof, and just the daunting nature of it all.  Like, for instance I've sat across from the same dude for something like 28 months now.  Be very extremely conservative and say 40 hours a week for like 40 weeks a year to take into account vacations, meetings, randomness, etc.  That's 3733.333 repeating hours! Or 156 days proper!

And in a hypothetical scenario, we even use IM with eachother rather than talking! You can't prove that!

But time is just one of the variables (constants?) in the power of a relationship - whatever it's with.  A large (majority) portion of whatever strength (and durability) you feel with something is the sort of intangible, inherent, congrigruity that's ingrained between the two things.  Time can enforce that (or even weaken it), but there's got to be something there.

Like my recent whirlwind romance with the album "Aim & Ignite" by Fun. I've had it for less than a week, and I already threw it in my top 10 albums all time. It hasn't gotten mee through any tough times. I haven't even gone running with it. It just hits me right and matches my wavelength extremely well.

That's likely a pretty simplistic and unimpressive example, but it's what I want to work with, so there!  Also, bands and shows are sort of like people, because when you discover one you really like, you want their whole back-catalogue. That's the equivalent of meeting a person, and wanting to ask them questions and hear all of their stories.

So, I'm often pretty confused when people can be with other people for SO LONG, and then you can just end it like that. How could you have not foreseen it, ya know? Am I the only one blessed with the honest-to-goodness disease of being fully self aware? I theorize that a lot of it is just outside pressure that has made it's way internal and becomes the driving force rather than chemical reaction based on attraction that's at the root of the matter. Social pressures, family pressures, looking at time as a force that carries observation, rather than the tempering force that it is meant to, and only can be; it's any and all of that I reckon. Maybe others just don't analyze the way I do/can.

Actually, hell, it's not even analyzing. It's just knowing your own feelings.  I've seen (multiple) facebook people get married and annulled in a manner of months. Do you not have the mental strength to put aside all emotions you can tag as momentary or fleeting or possibly wayward, and just concentrate on all the rest of the base, rawness left?

I say you look the other person in the eyes for 10 seconds with no outside influence. That should be all you need. If you can't help but smile and laugh, then that works too.  I'd test this out on my Cube Neighbor tomorrow, but that's a little weird, you sick animals.

There's another possible thesis here about not liking things straight away and then learning to like them and then eventually they can become quasi-indispensable.  That's for another more-boring thesis in another more-boring universe.

Back in my days of playing Super Mario Kart at my neighbor Ishee's house, there'd be something known as a "Ghost Race".  This is just a time trial mode where - get this - you're playing against yourself! A little ghost dude would run the same race as you, doing whatever it was you did when you got your top time.

Now, in a way, this phenomenon is REAL, as I raced my past 3 annual versions of myself in this, my fourth Capitol 10K.

And alas, even though I am literally older than I've ever been, I am obviously also faster! I blasted past my old course record time of 50:29 by posting a blistering 49:19 in the 10K.  That's right, a sub 8 minute pace!

See, now all I have to do is beat myself every single year and eventually I'll be 150 years old and running a 2 minute mile.

There IS bad news. For the last 300 yards or so, I was going straight Zenyatta style - zooming through my opponents. Then, all of a sudden near the end, my music stopped playing. Figured the system shut down because it wasn't designed to go at such a speed, but when I got to the end, I realized my iPod had fallen off!

I went to the chick race volunteer and was like, "I'm gonna go get my iPod" and she's like, "No, you can't go back." But I was like, "Um, yes I am."  Then some old dude walked the 50 or so yards with me, where eventually some patrons were pointing down to it. They were like, "We saw it fall off and felt so bad!" And I'm like, "No worries."

But - there are some worries. It is broken The screen is smashed a bit and the power button broken.  Now, the question becomes, will Best Buy replace it for the 2nd time in a week. I'm not totally familiar with the warranty plan I have. Only one way this Jedi can find out...

Also, there's some interesting stuff going down at work. It's like, go time. As I like to say, "Shit or get off the pot." I think that was Shakespeare. I never once have regretted doing something, always not going for it. So, if you wanna get it big time, go ahead and get it, get it big time.

So that covers physical prowess, a bit on goals, some on career. And, oh, there's something else pretty great that's going pretty great now with an initial outlook of continuing greatness, even on an upward slope of great. So, I got that going for me.

It has long been a badge of honor that I am sometimes referred to an as enigma; a mystery wrapped inside of a riddle. I put out my one liners, then go on long philosophical monologues, then make weird noises. All seemingly random. It's good for keeping ones perception of you as aloof.

But there's a real, distinct, semi-tangible part of me that I'm more than happy to share with the right people.  It provides a sort of Rosetta stone to my actions in day-to-day life. And when you can find a connection to someone like that, it's special. Adds some sense to the world when someone can identify with your plight. So, yeah, when you can find someone like that, you've got a goal: don't blow it!

I went to Best Buy today because my Ipod 6 broke. The powerbutton was stuck down.  Like 5 months ago, my Ipod 5 broke, but luckily I had been conned into buying their insurance. So they were like, "Here you go, take this new Ipod." No problems.

But this time, this guy was like, "Yeah, I think you woulda had to rebuy another insurance plan at that point." And I was like, "Ack Ack Ack, they told me I didn't have to." And he's like "Doy doy I don't know what the computer works like? What's this screen on top of it? You can maybe get an Apple Warranty" and I spit acid in his face and was fixing to leave.

But then I saw the customer service line who might have smarter people than the "Geek Squad".  I told this young ginger of my situation, and she's like, "Oh yeah that guy is new. I've been here OVER 2 YEARS. I bet he's wrong." And low and behold, my iPod is replaced. See, normally I would have swallowed the financial blow, but with just a little more effort, I saved myself that cash. Lesson to you kids. Never give up, never surrender.

Don't lose your skills from your past either, because I'm schedule to CUT SOME GRASS this friday. It will be incredible. It was my mode of income for a while growing up. I know over 2 techniques. My stedpad was a hard master, and I was his understudy. But I did well. And I did well pre-iPod days. This yard will end up paved with solid gold.

It's weird how I'm getting to a point at work where certain events are coming up multiple times. Like I've played the NFL Weekly Pool for three straight years. Now, the NCAA bracket one. It's somewhat crazy to think that the time I've been there has even been a significant amount for my bosses and other people, where major life events have occured for them, as well as the standard mundane passage of time.

Although, I'm sure I introspect more than 95% of the people out there, so they probably wouldn't find it as crazy. I think someone once said "An unexamined life is not worth living".  *researching* Alright, it was allegedly Socrates (pronounced So-Crates by Bill & Ted).  I'm sure he didn't say that litereally since he didn't speak English, and it could be misquoted (even a thousand years ago), but it's good none the less.

Further to that, I think for me personally writing is a part of it.  Granted there's a good bit of censorship that must happen these days if you're going to put something on the internet.  And being a gentleman, I don't kiss and tell (Frylock! She was here and I got laid again!), but encapsulating as much as a certain feeling is beneficial in a number of ways. Firstly, it helps you examine that feeling itself, the root of it, the repercussions of it, whether or not it's beneficial, and whether or not you can use it, or should try to get rid of it. And then really just for posterity.

Someone markedly less well-known than Socrates, one Vita Sackville-West said:
"It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by. How else, indeed, to clap the net over the butterfly of the moment? For the moment passes, it is forgotten; the mood is gone; life itself is gone. That is where the writer scores over his fellows: he catches the changes of his mind on the hop."

And that's something that's always stuck with me.  Perhaps writing about why you're writing isn't overly productive, but so be it.  I only thought of that, because I used to go running and think about stuff I could blog about, but now the thoughts have most definitely shifted away from that. Blame Twitter. Blame real life. Don't blame anyone. I probably ran out of good material related to bitching about stuff years ago, and there's only so many platitudes I've got in the barrel.

If you're into good writing, why not read some lyrics by Elbow? Have I ever officially endorsed SongMeanings.net as my official favorite lyrics sight? It's not because I like all the posters who turn every song meaning into something about drugs, but they generally have accurate lyrics, and most of all, you can gauge the relative popularity of a song based on the amount of comments.

Another good reason to write: so you remember not to repeat past mistakes. Actually, that's just a good reason to keep on living.

I'm really looking forward to being thirty. At 22, I don't think I ever wrote "I'm really looking forward to being 26", and that's because I wasn't (and still am not).  But thirty seems good.

A couple of the dudes I work with are thirty and got their first kids coming this summer. That's must be a pretty mental feeling. Luckily I think I'd make a good dad because games of Tetris on facebook only take a couple of minutes, so they'll only have to scream a little while before I come sort them out. Plus having a kid requires one of my favorite hobbies: buying stuff.  Just yesterday I was disappointed that my friend having twins was only having chicks at her baby shower. "But I want to buy them stuff too..."

They do have a registery, but somehow no major retailers are carrying onesies with my picture on them. Yet.

Also about being a bit older, this other friend of mine is getting married (to a girl from my hometown, and he now lives in Houston), so he's trying to move back there. The problem with finding a job now is, we've both been working about 2.85 years, and that's long enough to not be entry level, but still too short to be considered a senior anything. That's why when you're thirty, you've got something like 6 years experience and are a hot commodity.  And being that I personally think I've only gotten better looking over time, and wrinkles look dignified on dudes, I'll be a physical hot commodity by that point as well.

That's barring any freak farm accidents, stray fireballs, or any more heroin/donut binges.

DID YOU KNOW, that people who report no income actually get MONEY BACK on their taxes? Case in point: the friends I stayed with last night.  Why can't the government just sync up the tax records directly to your facebook, then let me pick where I can give the money they're forcing me to pay more of? Oh well, I'll pretend they're getting their refund directly from my anti-refund, so that way I'll be like, "Oh yeah, your tax refund check deposited? Yeah, my tax money was just taken out, so you're welcome. How about a beer?"

This upcoming Capitol 10K will be my fourth in a row. I need to start training because it would make me feel really good if I could somehow bust out my best ever time.  I sucked at it last year - I'm not sure why.  I think I had been thinking about training for the bike race at that point, or maybe was just lacking the eye of the tiger. So, equipped with new shoes (as my Nike Frees betrayed me at the Marathon and are on time out), I can hopefully come in with an alltime best and think something like, "Aaah, I may be getting older, but I'm getting better."

They should make some sort of a "1st World Tax".  Then we all pay into it, and in exchange you get a passport to all the countries that are in it, and get to do some of the good stuff there.  Granted, I'd be able to go to the National Health Service in England for free, but they'd have no equivalent here. I guess they'd get to drive on our roads and be protected by our cops, but I think they're allowed to anyway. 

I'll get this world fixed up eventually; you just wait and see.

This world is a mental place. Just now at the grocery store, I saw what must have been a 40 year old prostitute (with the boobs, blonde/orange hair) get out of the car with this wimpy guy with a whispy mustache, and then a 3-year-old girl!

The guy was so whimpy that he had manual locks and had to come around to the passenger side and lock it with his key. I haven't seen that since 1989.

Then I saw an old guy that looked like Doc Brown that had a suit on and a bow tie. Then a woman almost hit me with her cart because she was talking with her bluetooth. She apologized and I smiled. Then another dude was just stumbling around with a hint of psychosis in his eyes.

And all this within 5 minutes! That's why I think my latest sitcom idea, "Cock of the Walk" will be a smashing success (think Two and a Half Men timeslot)!

It's about a guy who marries a chicken. I was inspired by some mental news stories including this and this.

I haven't decided whether the chicken wife speaks English or not. But she brings money home by laying eggs. And the husband is kind of against that, ya know? The eggs should all be for him?

But he has his problems too, like the time he was at home eating a box of spicy chicken and she saw him. She was flying around with anger but he was just like, "What's the big clucking deal?" Then she tells him that it was her sister. Awkward. Plus he ate the breast. Double awkward.

Mixed in with this sitcom is this antagonist. It's the chicken woman's ex-boyfriend who is a chef, so his main goal is to cook her! Her parents disapprove of him and vice versa. The dad is an old, grouchy rooster, and the husband is always pissed off because he's crowing at the crack of dawn.

The "intimate" scenes will just show a bunch of feathers flying out of the bedroom door.

Okay, so there's atleast 8 episodes and the pilot. A cheap sitcom too because one of the stars is an animal.

So, when do I get my monies?

I've never really properly written about my formative years. Since I'm quite precocious, I sort of consider them to be from 3-7. After that, I was pretty much formed into my adult self.

But, yeah, those who have had the honor of an adult beverage with me while nostalgia was rattling around in my brain have definitely heard about them, but that's really the only way I can encapsulate what it was like. My story is a unique one, and that's something I am proud of.

Mention any song from the Beatles' White Album and I'll immediately go on about how I used to have to listen to that while living in a trailer in Austin. And I fell in love with "Rocky Racoon" there and then. Travelling Wilburys and Guns 'N Roses as well (in fact, November Rain spurred this thought). There is Nickelodeon. And having no money. And very literally and importantly collecting cans for money. And a man named Harry Bush.

We had something like 13 channels, and they were changed on this strange little box that I don't even know what to call. We'd pull out the couch bed on Sunday nights and watch The Simpsons and Married With Children. The greatest thing is that for a child, that's ALL YOU KNOW. You'd never find it peculiar. And I never did at the time.

I remember a very specific moment when my mom and stepdad were discussing money (we had none), and I came out with my collected quarters offering reassurance.

I remember I was so frightened about being outside of the house, that when my stepdad forced me out, I cried violently while banging on the door. I remember walking with a Mexican lad to the trailer park park (weird phrase) without telling anyone, and my mom being scared shitless. I remember stepping in something very devious at the trailer park pool that may or may not have been human feces.

Mention Price is Right and I'll go on about how we watched that continually. Summer of '89 must have been. Mention a wasp or hornet and I have a horror story about that. Funny thing: I got stung by a wasp on the neck 20 years later. Poetic justice maybe. Or just full circle.

If there's a moral here, it's this: I wouldn't trade anything, anything. You take your conventional childhood, I'll take mine. When my mom was my age, she was an immigrant with a young child, working at a day care for minimum wage, living with an unemployed dude in a trailer park. Fuckin' hell, it took 20 years, but now I can respect the hell out of that.

Now it's up to me to make sure that it was all worthwhile.

Recently I've figured out that the elliptical is the ultimate thinking machine.  The one with the arm handles that go back and forth. I use those too. It makes my arms and chest all workoutable and that.
In fact, here's a picture of me on it:

My new spandex clothes rock. And my cool new face.

ANYWAY, if you mix that elliptical and some LCD Soundsystem, I have the most brilliant ideas. I have sorted out my life pretty well recently. My goal of spreading an absolutely beautiful nature is going alright.

I went recruiting for work. It was like the best thing ever. I use my power of super perception to figure out who rocks and who is being fake. Don't be fake with me, I'll sniff it out. I can tell who the rat in the organization is. Be your real self ALWAYS. My policy is unconditional honesty. Always be who you are and who you want to be. It's good, it'll work out. Some people might suck naturally, I realize that, but there are places for them too.

So today I decided that everything has worked out perfectly in my life to bring me to this one moment. And I'm grateful for that. Everything works out the only way it can. Try to find someone that realizes that too. The past is beautiful, like the darkness between the fireflies. And most of all, It all will fall, fall right into place. I trust that now more than ever.

His arms and legs were strapped down, allegedly as a precautionary measure. Any involuntary movements could cause a problem, especially when dealing in such a sensitive area. An IV bag was to his immediate left, with the needle taped to the inside of his elbow.  The room was dark, and not as clean as it should have been.  There wasn't time for that now, and soon an infection in his body would become a moot point anyway.

He laid still as the nurse shaved his head. First with an electric razor, and then a straight edge. She then gently took out a blue pen and began marking.  She squeezed the IV bag, forcing more of the sedative into his arm. He began humming to himself, as he fruitlessly tried to keep his eyelids open.

The doctor came into the room next, followed by two men pushing a hospitable bed, very similar to the one he was in now. The doctor sidled up beside him, examining the marker on his head.  As the doctor walked away, he turned to his right, just before the anesthesia delivered it's final blow. Opening his eyes for a last time, he saw it, in the bed next to him. The shiny, lifeless, metallic shell which would soon be his own.