Eat that, Yankees. The Red Sox are going to the World Series, on a walk paved by a carpet of silenced Evil Empire ghosts.

GO SOX!

Categories: distracted
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Yankees suck.

Categories: distracted
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Sometimes I think my life needs the interlude of the elevator muzac of zombo.com. Relaxing, soothing, welcome.

However, I’ve noticed that my life is basically an insanity track test. I mean, you can’t look at sixty seconds or less of my life and NOT laugh.

I love my internship aside from the time. 8AM. Only zombies truly exist then. I don’t wake up till 1:30 if I’m lucky. It isn’t like I’m not up, walking around, interacting and presenting the illusion of being among the living. But I’m not all there. The last two days I haven’t been because the clonidine decided to grab onto my eyelids and tug violently downwards whenever my asscheeks settle into a seat.

Who else gets told by someone that they’ll hit you over the head with their walker, and it makes your day?

Go ahead, try not to laugh.

Oh, and Levesque is now among the living again. Now that she’s back to flipping me off, I feel much better. But she’s up to something.

Up.

To.

Something.

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Okay, for a lot of people, I realize that 6:45 AM isn’t early. For some sick bastards, it’s even late for getting out of bed. Not for me. Six forty five is the pitch dark ass crack of dawn that I don’t want to see unless I’m meeting it from the other side. It’s cold, it’s damp, it’s dark and it sure isn’t my bed. I have to be at my internship at 8AM so I have to drag my sorry ass out of my warm snuggly bed at an ungodly hour.

And my brain hates me. All day, it’s thinking “You want to sleep.” It even grabs my eyelids and yanks on them to get them shut. Even in the middle of meetings. Finally, I go home. I struggle through the first innings of the Red Sox game. I see the Sox bang out seven runs and then I sleep for an hour.

Yet now I’m wide awake.

What the hell?! Speaking of what the hell moments, when the hell did fall sneak up on my zoned-out ass? There’s a freeze warning tonight. The temp might plummet to near freezing. Holy shit! Where did summer go? I mean, it means the long days of hiking season are over, the crisp clear hikes are in, and snowboarding is just over the horizon.

…what am I complaining for?!

I’ve decided that if I ever move, Levesque has to be my roommate. We make an entertaining pair. Two ADHD people sitting on a couch, tapping away on computers, mindlessly watching red sox games and randomy saying shit.

Levesque will say something.

Thirty seconds later I say, “Huh?”

Or she’ll be whacking me on the arm with an empty water bottle repeatedly. This is great entertainment for her. Because of my work with kids, I’ve become immune to that sort of thing being annoying.

“This is great,” she said. “I’m entertained and you aren’t bothered.”

My reply? “What?”

Hopeless, we are.

On filling the air mattress: “I think your air mattress is broken.”

“No it isn’t.”

“I couldn’t fill it up last night.”

“Did you close the plug?”

“It has a PLUG?!”

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve tripped. This is a normal occurance to me that I don’t tend to think about aside from the outburst of “Shit!” whenever I do so. Except now with a roommate around, this provides great entertainment and gets pointed out to me.

We communicate primarily by flipping each other the bird.

Levesque starts telling me a story. There’s a knock at the door. I forget who it was. Maybe it was the pizza dude. I walk back to the couch. I realize she was telling me a story and I was paying enough attention to recall that and say, “Wait, you were telling me a story.”

“I was?”

And there was more of point to this post. Really. Other than Levesque would be a cool roommate.

Categories: distracted
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So, Sunday was a hard day. I spent part of it playing Fable. I’m really sucking at being Good in it. I killed my friend for money. The consideration was there not to do it…I even walked halfway out then realized it was 10,000 coins and went back and killed her. Anyway, my friend comes back and asks if I want to play Halo.

Sure, I’ll play Halo.

We play Halo. We beat one level relatively fast. We get lulled into a false sense of security and suckered into thinking we can beat the next one with the same amount of ease and a comparable time. No, it didn’t work out this way. Instead, we played the last checkpoint of the LAST level at least 11 times. Between the screaming and the swearing at the xbox we managed not to strangle the controllers and use the wires to strangle each other.

Especially when I got determined to finish the bastard level. “I can’t fucking take it anymore!” Levesque shouted.

“WE ARE FINISHING!” I said.

“Fuck that!”

“You made me finish the level last night and it took another hour and a half.”

“Fuck you! FINE!”

Another 45 minutes and various runs through that last checkpoint with that stupid warthog. FINALLY, we reach the landing zone. YEAY!

Oh no. Ship gets nailed. Not OUR fault. Computer informs us that we have to get to ANOTHER fucking site using that DAMN WARTHOG. That machine drives like a cross eyed armadillo. We didn’t make it of course. This brought on simultaneous shouts of “FUCK!” thrown controllers, a jab to the power button of the xbox and declarations of “I am never playing that fucking game ever again.”

At least on single player. Or cooperative. I hate that game. Fable won’t give me an aneurysm. Neither will KOTOR. We’ll see about Battlefront. Halo is going the way of Splinterfuckingcell.

And the Red Sox are in the playoffs.

GO SOX!

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