You know how you imagine some people start tweaking when they have too much caffeine? Well imagine me making those same twitchy movements, but not due to an overdose of caffeine or any mood-altering drugs that would actually have a benefit. Instead imagine that me, a person that has been drinking at a minimum 2 or 3 cans of soda a day for pretty much as long as I can remember, is giving up soda. I don’t really know what brainiac moment came over me that I decided to do this, but I haven’t had any carbonated beverages to drink in 4 days now. A friend of mine who had also given up soda a few years ago mentioned I’m supposed to feel awesome a few days after I give it up. I’m still waiting.
It’s really not that hard while I’m on the road. I mean there are a lot of substitutes that I can find and oddly enough I’ve been drinking this weird blueberry pomegranate V8 fusion thing that’s pretty tasty. Really the difficult moment is when I’m forced to eat out and the waitress is like ‘what can I get ya to drink, honey?’ and my response wants to be ‘whatever fucking pepsi you have in the building’ and I say something like ‘water’ or ‘apple juice’.
I must be stupid or something.
A fucking zombie apocalypse needs to happen like right now so I can stop wanting to drink Pepsi.
I’m a truck driver. Anyone who reads this should know that by now. If you don’t, then…I’m a truck driver. There now you know. So I’m at the main terminal for my once every 3 months visit, which is a long and arduously exasperating experience of safety workshops and log book reviews and whatever the administrative equivalent of rape is.
Apparently for putting a truck in a ditch a month ago, I was forced to perform like a circus monkey, driving around suburban Dallas proving I can make left and right turns in a truck. In addition to that, watching videos and listening to CDs of 10 year old lectures, I was “randomly” selected for a drug test. Yeah…”random”…right. Anyway, I did that this morning and they gave me a paper to get signed by about 50 thousand people, or just 2, but it was still very inconvenient. When I went to return the paper, the girl at the window went back to talk with someone and came back and said “You have to come back tomorrow.”
What does that mean? As if to try to reassure me she adds:
“Don’t worry. They’ll be nice.”
I’m sure what they detected was the plague I’ve been infected with for the past few days. I’m expecting them to sit me down tomorrow and be like:
“Yeah, we screened you for Dying, and it came back positive.”
That has to be it. I don’t do drugs. I don’t drink. I did have some DayQuill yesterday. Maybe it was that. I realize that they also screen for blood sugar. Taking in the fact that yesterday I had like 4 Pepsis, candy and some Chinese food at the end of the day.
And an ice cream bar.
And today I had like 3 Pepsis.
And an ice cream bar.
And Chinese food for breakfast.
I think tomorrow I should have Raisin Bran Crunch and a banana for breakfast. It’s my usual breakfast, but the idea of having Chinese food for breakfast for the first time in months was so tantalizing, it was unavoidable.
I’ve been moderately sick for about a week now, and pretty fucking sick for the past day. My nose has been alternating between resembling that of the Hoover Dam, to resembling the Nile River. I’m also pretty sure there’s a frog living in my throat, or a rat…now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure it’s a rat because only a rat would make it so damn dry, and proceed to try to claw it’s way up and out. Between sniffling and coughing and for some reason an odd amount of tears that are pouring out with no emotional attachment to them, what was worse was the damn hives I started getting yesterday. Now I’ve had hives before, and I know well enough not to scratch them or they just spread like a forest fire. So after the first 5 or 6 bumps started popping up, I had to repeat to myself “Don’t scratch, Don’t scratch, Don’t scratch!” Then for some reason it was like my body decided to reject the tattoos it’s had for years. My tattoos on both arms started swelling up as huge hives and it was fucking painful as all hell. But, alas the swelling has gone down, but I think my brain is lacking oxygen. So in preparation for my impending death, or Día de los Muertos, whichever comes first, I made a mask.
So EvilGirlfriend has one of those sandwich makers that she tried making a grilled cheese sandwich for me with, and I will say that I didn’t like it. This is not a reflection of her cooking…or pseudo-cooking skills I guess…but really a reflection on how the sandwich maker is really an unnecessary household appliance that perhaps has outlived it’s usefulness in the universe.
Le SandwichMaker is furious at SleepyToaster for stealing it’s job.
So I’m a little addicted to 9Gag.com. One of the posts that was put up was how to make a grilled cheese sandwich in your toaster. Impossible you say? Not likely you say? After many posts of people failing it, I would like to say that I was fucking successful. EvilGirlfriend did not support this idea. In fact, she wouldn’t even let me use good slices of bread. Instead she made me dig out the ends of the bread. So, it starts with a toaster, turned on it’s side. Now, I also read on 9Gag that various people were saddened to learn that their toasters were enabled with a safety feature of not being able to turn on when on it’s side. Genius solution…or not so genius as common sense…push the lever down BEFORE turning it sideways. So, bread, butter if you want a better taste, and some sliced cheese. I’m a simple person and just have American cheese.
So, put butter and cheese on one side of the bread, and put in toaster. It’s really not that hard. I think the problem most of the people on the web were having is that they were leaving it alone. See when you turn a toaster on, the little metal things clamp down so that it holds the bread in place. A slice of bread is thin enough that when on it’s side, it won’t touch, but the bread or cheese may start to curl up especially the end pieces and I’ll admit that it did start to smoke a little but I stuck a knife in there to press the cheese down. Now geniuses of the interwebs, I used a plastic knife for reasons that shouldn’t need explaining.
So, the best part of this experiment was not that I succeeded where others failed, it’s really the part that when the toaster popped, the fucking meal served itself. Both slives popped out and stacked onto the table. If I’d had a plate there it would have been 100% perfect. Ok I shouldn’t say 100% because I have an idea on how to make this more awesome.
So for some reason beyond any comprehension, my brain has been like ‘yo let’s start a new blog, yo.’ I have no idea why my brain wants to start a new blog or why it uses the term ‘yo’ a lot. So I decided that perhaps it was once again time to try that blogging thing again. I do have another blog but due to the fact that it’s about my job and the trials and tribulations related to it, I find the need to be less willing to express how I really feel about day to day life (i.e. my decision to attempt to keep swearing out of it when really I’m worse than, forgive the immeasurably over-used term, a drunken sailor.) Ergo, it ends up being boring more times than not and less updated than I’d originally hoped to keeping it. So…yeah. And here is a picture of something else I haven’t finished…a sock monkey that I’ve been working on for over a year.