Home Alone

Tony I am happy to see you are being proactive. Ian, good to hear from you again, glad to see you're out and about, seeing the world. I love reading all these Git-R-Done posts, because I get to respond with my tales of the lazy and uninspired. The thing is I feel like I was really productive today, but that is a relative term. You'll understand soon enough.

The weekend is upon us Gentlemen. As a result I have the house to myself as my Mother and Brother are both out rocking the County nightlife. As they are the only two people in the County who know me at this point, I did not join them in prancing off into the night. I was actually told by my Mother that she would not be back until the morning. I get the feeling that her forties have become like this wonderful sequel to her younger years, except this time she has income. Good for her. My brother is out being the Duke of County Nightlife as far as I can tell and that's neat, someone needs to do it.

So anywho, my life has been following a script since I got home. Wake up at two even though I set an alarm for eleven. Then I go knock on my brothers door since he has a job in society at 3:30. He doesn't say "Good morning" or even more appropriately "Good afternoon". He doesn't even just like sigh or something at the time or prattle on about his crazy night. No he opens his eyes and without even a hint of sarcasm in his voice says "MAKE FOOD".

Do you want to know the really sick part? I do it. I ask him what he wants. He doesn't give me a straight answer. I have to throw ideas to him while he lays in his queen size bed and pets his cats. The whole thing is a fucking charade anyway, I'm going to make Macaroni and Cheese. We are only 10 minutes from the border and that Kraft Dinner craving certainly nested in my brothers brain. Best bit is that he hates cheese. Gets his pizza without it. That should tell you something about the thing which Kraft has created.

This is followed by him going to work and me whisking away into my monks study to transcribe some ancient work or something. Note: I think I'm going to refer to Ctrl+C as the transcribe button now. Why did we ever let those silicon valley nerds pick out copy and paste for us, Jesus. Then my mom gets home and more eloquently asks me what we're having for dinner than my brother did. I cook something and my brother gets home with a look on his face of aggravation that I haven't finished dinner yet. He doesn't know it yet, but he is a purpose-built Father straight out of the 1950's. He wants his food made for him, yearns for the old music (given that's 90's alternative), keeps his Cadillac meticulously shined (full wax, every Wednesday) and holds the family traditions of Christmas sacred (one of which is he gets to open presents first, he just keeps reminding me it's tradition, this might be why I think traditions are bullshit).

Then I surf the internet until about midnight where I get too tired to keep it up and try to go to bed. That doesn't work, all god damned night. I just sit there and go crazy until about 10 AM when I finally conk out until 2 PM. Then I get up telling myself that it will be different tomorrow.

Anyway, today I broke script. Thats why I feel sort of accomplished. I woke up at noon (Holy shit, right?). I still made my brother food, this time. Then I watched the Daily Show. My brother got home, asked for food. I told him I wanted a SPAM sandwich. He said hell no. I said fine and made one for myself. He had Macaroni and Cheese. Then I got in my car and went to the movies because I wanted to see This is the End and I wasn't going to let my lack of social group from stopping that.

Pro-tip: Go to the movies alone. It's awesome. I don't really know why, but I enjoyed going solo. Funny as shit movie too.

Enjoyed the drive home with the top down. I actually haven't put it up on the ol' Jeep since I got home since I can just park it in the garage when it rains. Then I sat down in the living room and watched two more hours of stand up specials while drinking some beers and eating beef jerky. I was down right blissful. Looked out the window and saw clouds in front of the moon. Reminded me of the album cover to Coheed and Cambria's album In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3. So I cranked the album on principle and lets it's groovy tunage run through the house. Ran out of beers so switched over to the box wine stored in the laundry room. Now I'm in my room cranking tunes and drinking box wine out of a mason jar and for some fucking reason I feel accomplished. Pretty fucked isn't it?

Oh well, still have the house to myself. I'll just sit here and as the title implies, await the arrival of Joe Pesci and the tall guy so I can doop their burglary with marbles and shit. In the meantime going to crank some heavy metal and pretend I'm Greg Puciato. Time to break shit.