did i mention he has no car, but an electric scooter? did i mention that?

((am i jealous?))

on my way to the kitchen to make coffee this morning:

newroommatex said:

hey, i brought some coffee from my parents' house. it's in your coffee pot. enjoy. that's some gooood shit right there.

mengtar said:

oh yeah? ((pours coffee, gags a little, doesn't swallow)) it's cold!

newroommatex said:

yeah, i made it at their house earlier. i figured that would be easier.

mengtar stares off like a dumbfounded idiot. is this how people feel when i talk sometimes?

that moment when you realize that you've made a huge mistake. you bang your head against the wall, and your stomach crawls into your throat. then your eyes unfocus and begin to tear while you realize the encompassing repercussions of your mischance and misfortunes.

i found a roommate on craigslist.

words cannot fully express his idiocy or my frustration.

our house has shuffled through aromas of dirty diapers, bad cologne, and teriyaki sauce.

he stumbled home from a party at 3am to knock on my door and ask if i wanted to meet his brother then proceeded to cyclone around the house with smacks and crashes and distribute all of the lumber in the garage around my back yard.

also, my back yard now has a flattop.

yes.



he mowed a flattop into my back yard. my back yard is an early '90s black man's haircut.




how does one enter recovery mode after something like this?

last night i tried my paws at a device i had only recently heard of... the neti pot. i wonder why it had never been introduced to me in my horribly congested upbringing. it's a tiny tea pot you fill with a saline solution and pour into one nostril with your head cocked while all of your nasal nastiness drips out the other... very charming, especially when your head isn't turned far enough and it spills into the back of your throat.



HIIIGHLY recommended, and also endorsed by this guy.

in other recent news, i have switched banks to one with better lighting and free popcorn, because these are the things that are important to me.



oh, hey guys. has it been raining? i suppose you want to come inside.



uhh... wait...



let's talk about this...



((closes door))

there are two argentinian boys that live down the street. they are five and seven. they visit me every day. i hide from them every other day. i get caught every other other day.

lx said:

did you know that i'm a jedi master?

mx said:

no you're not, lx, you haven't even mastered the force yet, probably because you're five. i haven't even mastered the force and i'm seven. you'd probably have to be at least ten to be a jedi master.


also, they are both left handed. luke skywalker is left handed. age seven math, with left hands, you will be jedi masters.



they are quite impressive.

i think i need to be in a library to be at all productive. being at home with papers to write and studying to do is just too difficult. i just end up watching law & order: criminal intent until my eyes burn.

special note: i don't watch it because it's good, but only because i've already seen every episode of special victims unit and plain bagel & order isn't on netflix.



and crossword puzzles? don't get me started.



le sigh.

i knew my phlebotomist today. we used to work together at og. we talked about things that are boring. i don't think he was allowed to laugh at my jokes on account of the lab coat.

GAH! i could use seven or so beers right now.

unfortunately i'm running the earth day half-marathon. sobriety for the environment. it makes more sense on paper.

you can fold a trope nine times, because they are not made out of paper. that's just where you put them.

fi fy fo fum...

i went to work and played with dogs for dollars.

i planted an avocado. i plan to have my own avocado forest by the time i leave for south america. i hope it becomes an invasive species and i am eventually named in a science textbook.

goals are important.



i have finally taught ari to "speak" on command. eventually they will be able to howl on the command "mengtar will now take your questions" which will be difficult because they will need to be holding a microphone and lack opposable thumbs. by this time science will owe me a payback for all of those avocados they're eating.

in recent news, i discovered that px was secretly living as an underground rapper.



be impressed.

oh, hey, hi, remember this? typing? abcs and qwerts?




remember these assholes?

it's been a few haircuts since last time.




but don't worry, i've grown up approximately zero.



i was awakened from an afternoon nap ((4-hour)) by a drop-in from rx. we caught up on life and things over a cigarette. his mom used to live in the house next to mine where our current neighbors live with their house of lies and horrible children and ugly dogs and broken tree that has not been proven to be my fault beyond a reasonable doubt...

also, i've been trying to catch the mouse in my kitchen so i can release it through one of their air vents. ((jokes, denton police department, jokes)) --safety dance.



smug as a bug on a santa monica peir.

i've been trying to work on jokes about joke books. so far i've been unsuccessful. but i make myself laugh each time, and i think i must count as at least two people, not to mention that i've heard the joke already when i rehearsed it in my bathroom mirror this morning. twice.



i must be done procrastinating the finishing of my paper on this poem:

Why I Am Not a Painter

I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,

for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. "You have SARDINES in it."
"Yes, it needed something there."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
All that's left is just
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.

But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.
--Frank O'Hara



--megfergi out!