Looks Like Weed Smoked ME / Mac Hijack

This weekend all of my friends (2) went somewhere. Wait, Three. Jake went to Baltimore. Tara went to Boston and Trent went to Maine. I am supposed to go to Pennsylvania for Brian Lynch's bbq. But Brian mass texted me, and last I checked he was white-piping-hot-foaming-at-the-rabies-angry at me for a mass text message that was only discovered when the chosen receivers of the messages got together and realized that none of them were more special than the other.

"Beech Mountain Lake" and How I Started My Advertising Megamillionaire Career
Once upon a time, Aaron, Xenia and Tara went to the Poconos. We were supposed to meet Aaron at 11 pm, but we wanted to go to Pathmark bc we had a turquoise minivan without seats and we could fit a lot of toilet paper in the car, so we let much later and arrived at 6 am, b/c Genius Xenia missed the Exit to her own house from New York City. And this is what we saw when we arrived.

Here is what we saw on the way there:

Looks like pretty cool mountain machinosauruses? Turns out Tara thought Thesaurus was a made-up word to get kids to learn about words by creating a fictitious dinosaur who kinew a lot about them. (Yes, she was this way even when she was ten years-old.)

In towns where there is almost nothing, they have Supercenter Walmart (where Mr. Dan Rottenstreich will refuse to go to despite the 98 cent avocadoes, until he becomes a burn victim in a salsa and potato accident. Ask him about it.) Here are two highlights of the trip:

How to Get BudWiser: Don't drink and drive: Drink and Boat!

We Enjoy Budweiser. But We Also Enjoy Pabst.

Such is the plight of twenty-somethings. We enjoy x but we also enjoy. Coming up soon: A new campaign Tara and I engineered to start a Pabst/Budweiser Gang and corresponding feud. Believe me, you will want to see this...

Something you don't know is that I am very good at drawing with a mouse. Also I am particularly good at writing greeeting cards for children. But Hoo Hoo Cares?

On the real side of things, it should be noted that although I like my name, and am totally egotistical about the fact that I share it with a town that used to be famous for its bazillion tornadoes *not to be confused with Brazilian tornadoes (which sound like a tropical alcoholic drink i should invent), and the greek word for hospitality, *(not to be confused with hospitals or horsepitality which is a word i just thought of), I really hate it when I am the last name in people's phones, and I'm all, "Cool Awesome, Richard Simmons called me again." And he's all, "I didn't call you Xenia. You are the last number in my phone." From now on, I feel like you guys have to put this number in your phone: (858) 513-7600. Under this name: Zoobooks. Then you can accidentally order this: shit. and explain, "Oh, I don't want my kids to learn about hummingbirds, this is just the last number in my phone. Wah wah wah.

P.S. :

The coolest thing i found out is that xenia used to refer to a gift you would bring while you were travelling to foreign lands, and also to paintings on the walls in pompeii. You know pompeii, right? You've been to Busch Gardens. I have to say, my entire life has been filled with Anheiser Busch Theme Parks.




Any Hoo Hoo... God, I can't stop myself. This is a picture my friend ariel took and you know what? She is moving to San Francisco, which I had a plan to do twice until I started feeling like the world spawned from there and then I didn't want to go there anymore... but I think I secretly love it which is why I secretly want to hate it. But I don't. I'm not that good at hating.



Just Kidding. Yes i am. (See above.)

Other things to note: I think I am going to start a club called: AwesomeHouseAwesomeJobGreatSpaceNoCryLaughALot.

You wanna?

Tara, a girl I know, who hates it when people say they are from "Strong Island," yet mysteriously can develop a strong island accent when she is a beer or two in the hole (did I just make that up) was bike sitting for me on Sunday. Let me say, she did a marvelous job. And when my bicycle was sick she wrote a card made out to both of us, to prove she was not prejudice against things with wheels over things with legs. Isn't she nice? When she gets weeded, she says things to people like "Nice Song" or "Nice Face!" Let's all notice, that Tara did not want the glory all for herself, and henceforth used her alias "Senor Woodlands," which is her name when she transforms into a bicycle in order to get around the city so that the cab driver she gave euros *which can also be called yo-yo's according to some irish lads i know, to a cab driver posing as an irish tourist with a massive contusion or something.

This is a Story I Wrote:
It Must Have Been a Sunday

i couldn't be too sure, but i think it must have been a sunday when it became obvious that there was no way she could be anything she wanted to be anymore. emily had been working at the saw mill for six years, and in her spare time she made blue objects. sometimes earrings, sometimes books, now and again a pencil or a hat. she could make anything so long as the thing could be blue.

all she wanted to do since she was a little girl was make yellow objects, but it came naturally to her to make blue anything and so that is what she did when she was not working at the saw mill. nobody had any idea as to what her specific responsibility at the saw mill was. nobody realy could think of a reason to ask, so they didn't

soon enough, everyone in town moved higher up to the neighboring mountains because of the mudlsides. the mudslides had been happening since the town was a town. since samuel kitch had named it kitchtown. but now the homes were falling sideways, plates of food crashing downward, full of uneaten food and pajama pants were everywhere. the children in the town didn't cry, because they had seen so many mudlsides. they would grab their plastic hard hats. They were all the same kind on account of the donation of an enormous construction company.

i think it was on a sunday when toddler and grandpa alike were wearing those construction hats that everyone but emily moved up onto the mountain where the mud wasn't sliding and took their favorite things with them. Thomas's was a wrench. He loved that wrench and sometimes he wore it in his pocket even though it made his shirt sag down like something sad and old. He never used it to fix anything. he just loved it. the things you love are not always useful, i guess.

emily was all alone at the sawmill, wearing a construction hat when nobody else showed up. she had taken a fifteen hour nap only to discover that the desk in her room was sideways just like her house, but she went to work, thinking nothing of the mudslide just like everyone else usually did.

with no one in town delivering mail or putting milk into coffee, emily felt plain silly wearing that construction hat. she threw it into a pile of garbage that lay in front of the saw mill. samuel kitch had put the pile of garbage out there seventy years ago and nobody knew who he expected to pick it up. the town was so small that they had no sanitation department. all they had was a community compose heap and a little red pick-up truck that thomas sometimes used to take trash that would outlive the trees to some other town's landfill.

now the trash was wearing emily's construction hat, and i bet it felt just as silly as she did.

emily didn't know what to do with the quiet. somebody had turned off the big machine that was supposed to make a lot of noise, and now she was missing its company. she cleared her throat to sing. nothing came out. the little machine inside her throat must have been turned off, too. funny, she hadn't noticed until now.

Today at Gen this guy went on and on about how he hated corporate america and then he explained why this conflicted with his love of nikes. My dad was dancing to some songs by my band "Trent and Xenia," and then he started explaining to me some suggestions for mixing. I felt like a total alien. Years ago, I had a card with my baby picture. It said, "Resident Alien."