Sunday evening

Last night I spent some time with three of my dearest old friends. One of them - Jason - was just back here in his home town shortly before returning to where he actually lives now in Dallas. I brought some musical equipment out to my dad's house (which included 2 guitars, a bass, and a microphone) so that we could be as loud as we wanted to be (dad lives out past the city limits), and basically we got hammered and played music late into the night. It was a welcome reprieve from my recent stressors involving my girlfriend's son Michael and facing the reality of my grandmother's steady decline into the nightmarish haze of dementia. Jason is a graphic artist as well as a musician. In fact, he's the one that introduced me to a lot of alternative punky metal type stuff as I was growing up - stuff like the Dead Kennedys and Danzig. He's really good at playing covers, and we all drew great enjoyment from belting out songs from the Misfits as he played my ESP MH-400NT at an earsplitting volume. "I WANT YOUR SKULL! I NEED YOUR SKULL!"
I can't believe my dad slept through most of that, but he was snoozing toward the end in his chair in the midst of us.

I found it also helpful to immerse myself in everyday duties. I went to the store by myself and just really took my time Saturday. This was right after eating some Chinese food which didn't agree with me, and as a result I had to take the "Wal-Mart poo," as I referred to it when telling Jennifer of my experience. You never know what you're going to find when you go in there, and it is for this reason that the Wal-Mart poo is a very final option when all others have been exhausted. I went to the restrooms at the back of the store thinking that it might be less populated. The first of two stalls was locked but did not have any feet that could be seen which means that some asshole kid must've took the trouble of locking it from the inside and crawling out underneath, sliding through the unspeakable nastiness of the Wal-Mart bathroom floor in order to complete the feat. That left me with the handicap-accessible stall in the very back. Cringing from urgent cramps, I gazed at the head and found that on the back part of the lid there was the unmistakable shit-stain, complete with a happy fly who was exploring it. I seated myself on the front part of the seat, made my deposit, and was soon on my way...A somewhat-related joke I heard last week which has really stuck with me and which I will leave you with:

"Why did Tigger stick his head in the toilet? He was looking for Pooh..."