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About me

Life, Humor, Architecture, Random, Photography, Irony, Sex, Quirky

"The key here, I think, is to not think of death as an end. But, but, think of it more as a very effective way of cutting down on your expenses"

My Day of Requiem:

- 7:00am: Wake up to another bird hitting my window. It saw my birdhouse curtains. I should change those curtains when I get an alarm clock.

- 7:30am: Perform stretches and calisthenics in orange Adidas jump suit while listening to David Bowie. Perfectly normal.

-8:00am: Shower.

-8:15am: Stand in front of mirror. Dressed in a black suit and tie. Narcissism takes over for a bit.

-8:20: Leave the house. I try to avoid the annoying mime pretending to be hit by a car. I wish he weren't pretending.

-8:40: Sitting in the metro. The odors of a morning crowd have no effect on me, expensive cologne prevails. Although I smell humus.

-9:15: The boss smiles at me and gives me a compliment. Hypocrisy makes an annoying person a charmer. I smile back.

-10:30: Angry female co-worker verbally lashes out at me over something I can't make out. I see her lips move and her teeth grind as she produces this noise. All I hear is a dog barking at me.

-11:15: I start choking desperately. I don't panic. It's not the first time this has happened. Help will come shortly. By help I mean the Megan Fox trained in CPR. Please, I'm no idiot...

-12:45: Lunch. I'm interrupted by a little black boy from the Young Christian Society talking god and trying to sell me cookies. I tell him to stop prostituting himself for God like this. God is the worst pimp. Instead I give him something else. Real choices. I tell this boy where the money is at. Basketball or Rap. He looks around before opening his coat to reveal a collection of Kayne West mixed tapes for sale.

-1:35: In the office. A female co-worker tells me I look like her ex. I tell her she is mistaken. I point out she's not wearing her prescription glasses. She says she doesn't wear any. I stand back and tell her to close one eye and tell me how many fingers I'm holding up. She answers two. She's wrong. I only have one finger up. It's the middle finger.

-2:20: A crazy homeless guy swings the door wide open, throwing his head back and laughing while he flashes his penis to everyone. The women shriek in fear. His laughter drowns my words of caution as the door begins to return to its original position. I hear the sound of squashed grapefruit. His laughter stops. The door remains barely open. It is stuck on something. I hear a gradual moaning of pain. I call an ambulance.

-3:05: Coffee break. I hate coffee. I drink a few red bulls instead. The sugar rushes through my blood like fire. I feel like outrunning a Kenyan.

-4:05: A secretary walks out of the bathroom suspiciously unnoticed. She adjusts her skirt, wiping her lips and fixing her cleavage. Sweat streams down her neck as she catch her breath. She's new. She's pretty. She wants a raise. My boss walks out behind her.

-5:10: I leave work to go home. Annoying young intern strikes up conversation with me. He's a self-proclaimed ladies-man who keeps calling me bro. My ears cringe. He attempts to give me tips on how to seduce women. I want to laugh, but instead I just feel sorry for him. He's wearing crocs.

-6:00: At home. Finally. I start to lay back on the couch as my eyes catch the table top. I see a small box with a ribbon on top. It's my birthday. At least someone remembers. I bought myself something yesterday.

-7:45: My ex calls me. We go out for dinner. Half-way through she tells me she still loves me. I tell her I love her too. Three years ago that is. A couple suddenly stands up to announce their engagement to everyone present. People clap.
She picks up the bill.

-8:30: I return home exhausted. I sit down for a drink. I catch a re-run of 30 Rock on. I love Tina Fey. Something about women with glasses that turns me on. I wonder why I can't have my own Tina Fey. I stare at her. She briefly breaks the fourth wall to wink at me and smile. I smile back. I understand.

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of photos, unless otherwise stated.

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