I even made a list of things to accomplish.
- Go to work
- Go to class
- Fantasize about rocking out at Live Band Karaoke
- Buy cheese
- Watch those damn Netflix movies that are gathering dust on top of the TV so you can further expand your cinematic horizons, I don’t care if you’re not in the mood to watch Rashomon. Kurosawa is a goddamn important filmmaker and if you want to know anything about movies you need to pay more attention. Jeez, man.
- Stop talking to yourself about yourself
In the end you realize it’s three days later and you’ve accomplished nothing. You went to work, but business was slow and your bike was finally out of the shop, so you rode it in circles inside an empty restaurant (I’ve discovered that our tables are a little too close together for a good indoor bike ride). You went to class but didn’t pay any attention and started writing this blog and drawing pictures of Meatwad and writing “make the homies say ho and the girlies wanna scream” all over your notebook. Live Band Karaoke isn’t until tomorrow, and you still don’t know if you would rather dress up as Beavis or Butthead for cartoon night. You are cheeseless.
You have yet to watch Rashomon, but you've watched Teen Wolf at least twice, and you’ve officially memorized the Magic Bullet infomercial (more importantly, you programmed the 800 number into your cell phone just in case you decided you needed thirteen blenders in one—that thing is fucking AWESOME) and Carlton Sheets’ real estate system is starting to sound like a sweet economic opportunity.
The thing is, thinking about buying cheese reminded you of a fight you got in with someone the week before about whether or not American was better than Swiss. See, because they said American was better because it was sweet and Swiss was too mild. And your response was, "whatever, I'm right and you're wrong, nyah nyah-nyah nyah-nyah nyah."
But you should have expertly explained that Swiss was better because it was a more neutral type of cheese that wouldn’t take sides if you ever made a sandwich, whereas American cheese was much more likely to overwhelm and take over the whole damn thing, stinking up everything in its path and spreading itself over all the other ingredients when it had no business being on the damn sandwich in the first place. Swiss cheese gets along with all the other condiments, no matter what they are.
Anyway, you spent all that time conjuring up spectacular remarks you could have tossed in their general direction to render that person speechless in cheese department. Then, with your ass firmly fused to the couch, you start acting out scenarios that could possibly trigger fights in the future, and imagine those events in your head and determine what you’d say if that event should occur, giving your opponent no planning ahead of time so you’ll come off quick-witted and brilliant. This eventually leads to other practice conversations, where you plan out more clever ways to shoot people down just in case somebody who is really drunk and gross hits on you at Mother's again.
So to ensure this situation becomes reality you construct an elaborate fool-proof plan, in which you determine how to set-up another possible cheese-oriented discussion so you can use your new savvy retorts, but which will never unfold, because let’s face it, you’ll probably zone out and end up sitting on your ass talking to yourself again.
By the way, it doesn't matter how old or creepy Jack Nicholson looks, I think I will always find him attractive.