So, I accused my girlfriend last night of having absolutely no train of thought. Where her train should be, she has a technologically superior thought-transmission device which merely transports her active consciousness from one place in her expansive and alien brain to another instantaneously and without connection to its previous location. Untraceable, except perhaps by some super team of electron jockeys.

Then, I got up this morning, had my morning commute and suddenly found myself ruminating (people at work might see this pun) on a girl I had met “online” in the old days of pine and finger. (On a sidenote, “pine and finger” is a phrase with endless possibilities; if you steal it, I’ll pine and finger you in a very uncomfortable way.)

At any rate, I was suddenly no longer swept along in my own stream-of-consciousness. Instead, I had clung to a rock, dragged my way on top of it and used binoculars to find the source of such a ferocious current. Let me give you a glimpse of my (not bizarre, probably, but amusing, I think) brain’s ridalin-deprived frenetia (that might not be a word, but I think it is far better than the likely “freneticness”).

You’ll have to click below to get the whole story. Go on. It’s not hard, but it is long. And yup, that’s an innuendo.
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…I’m gonna stop saying one of these days.

Jill Sobule is good. As are Skinny Cow ice creams.

I broke a tooth yesterday. I know that to most people this is nothing to write blogs about, but for me it was a fascinating experience. When I was a kid, pulling out my teeth seemed a natural enough phenomenon, and to my adult mind the same feelings resounds. However, when only a piece of the tooth comes out after prodding to remove “what has to be the sharpest popcorn kernel EVER,” it goes against every fiber of my being to not pick and jab at the detritus until nothing remains but smooth, clean (and probably vulnerable) gumline.

Needless to say, my tongue and war-scarred bubble gum now share quite a resemblance from the sharp edges of the now-dangerous molar.

Stranger still, however, is the cry I made after realizing that it was in fact a piece of decayed tooth that came out of my mouth and not, as I had hoped, a fragment of eggshell from a baby chicken someone had thoughtfully decided to incubate there.

“Does anyone know a good dentist?” the words dribbled out of my mouth, charging past my bottom lip like a stumbling fullback. Two co-workers responded and the great benefits debate began. Eventually, through the dirt and shrapnel, I called my friend, the dental student, for his advice and his father (the dentist)’s telephone number. He reminded me of our dear friend’s (my ex-girlfriend’s) father, the dentist, and her stepmother, the dentist.

It would seem I knew several good dentists. As irony would have it, however, I ended up using the first name given to me by a co-worker, as all of my contacts were full up with their spring break referrals. Thursday, 10:20 a.m. will be my first real dental experience, as I’ve only ever had one cavity and it was filled without anesthetic, not to mention without an aesthetic.

Hoo-Ray.

I’ve been struggling with this argument between my two Piscean halves for the last few months. Is my time more at a premium now because I am attached to a woman? I seemed to get very busy right when things finally worked out between Clare and me, but many of my male friends assume that I am just a casualty of love.
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Ok. Not really. This post has no sex in it, so now that I’ve got your click, I’ll move on.

A black mood last night and the night before, black as pitch and just as sticky. I’m not sure how days like that begin, but I knew that my yapper needed to remain decidedly shut if I was to get through it without “saying something I would later regret.” Some sort of twenty-four hour pissiness. It started late on Sunday night and ended after a brief time in Kenosha spent teaching unappreciative high school geeks the fine art of stage combat.
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