What's A Couple of Inches Between Friends?

Well - all moved into the new pad. I don't wish that upon anyone. I mean, and it wasn't even that bad. Moving is just something that sucks to do and will always suck to do. I can now understand why people end up staying in their home for 50 years or something......nothing to do with the love and memories of the home, all about the strife of moving.

My friend John is going to be forced to move out of his apartment for a smorgasbord of financial, emotional, and spiritual issues. I can't imagine living out in the big city - a place where dreams can turn to nightmares quicker than a meth lab explosion and and vice versa. Either way - I'm pulling for the big guy and I know he'll come out on top of this real thing - that I call life.

So that's it really - first day of the new job was system standard, only time will tell. Man though - that week off really put things into persepective as far as how much work sucks even if you like it, but I digress.

As for the title of this post, it means nothing; it just randomly came to me yesterday and I thought it would be a funny line in a lackluster college-male type film romp, where a dude convinces a too-hot-for-him chick to sleep with him because he's claimed his hog is huge and unlike anything she's experienced.

It probably would draw moderate laughs at best.

Rubs and the like

I'm looking for a good chicken rub........marinades are for shit from what I heard from the man on the TV the other day. The bird won't take the juices - and if he does, it'll burn. My friend John says I need to pound the bird, but that's his answer for everything! He also thinks there's sugar in beer apparently. We just kind of let him operate in his own orbit if you get my drift.

I quit my job today......starting a new job Monday. I hate quitting jobs - just all the hoopla and stress. I mean, you obviously shouldn't give a shit because you're leaving - but you always do. And you always feel guilt - even when its apparent you shouldn't.

So i think my rub will consist of sugar, olive oil, mustard, and some other stuff.
And my new job will consist of some new form of bullshit that'll I'll grow tiresome off.

Such is life and such is the game of rubs.

In The Future When All's Well

This post's title comes from a Morrisey song or the Smiths.......my friend John really likes his/their shit sound and overall awful fucking music. Me, not so much.

Banter is defined as rambling, playful and friendly conversation. That's what I will try to do I suppose. There is really no need to think I shant.

I've completed my trifecta of ulcer inducing worry today and feel like a new man. That would be new job, proposal for marriage, and new place of shelter. I'm sure I'll find a new trifecta, possibly superfecta of worry within the fortnight.

Until then though - I'll be walking around town with my head held high.....like a young George Clooney.