September 2004 Dribblings

Category: dribblings

9.27.04
once again we (me) here at fleegan.com would like to apologize for the lack of updates. i would like to use the excuse that the hospital doctors took out my gall bladder the other day and i just haven’t felt up to sitting upright in a chair and typing for any amount of time lately. and if i can’t use organ removal for an excuse for not updating then i don’t know what else i could use. so i am totally using that excuse.

and? it looks like my softball career is over for the season.
dammit.

and? it looks like my salsa consumtion is over for the season…or ever.
dammit. dammit.

listen up you no good gall bladder! you can take my softball, but the salsa?! you fukker!

i hope to have The One About My Gall Bladder written in a week or so. until then i’ll be napping in the recliner and eating bollicky soup.

but they tell me (they as in the doctor i saw for half a second) that i’ll be feeling better soon and that my stomach problems will all go away.
dare i believe?

9.22.04
i sort of joined a softball team. what in hell was i thinking? tuesdays and thursdays are gonna be busy. i didn’t do too bad last night considering i hadn’t played in 12 years. also, it’s kinda sad when you think back and realize that you could throw the ball faster, farther, and more accurate when you were 14 and had arms like toothpicks. eh.

*****

i had a dream this morning.
so there i was walking in some kind of giant office building and i see one of my ol’ professors walk by and he’s got an arm load of papers and art pens and such and i said, “hey, Mr. Gee! Mr. Gee!” (that’s his last name. Gee.) and he ignores me. and i’m all why is he ignoring me? he always liked me. what is his damn problem? so i follow him and offer to help him carry some of his sketch books. and he still ignores me. the hell?!

so i follow him into his office because i’m determined to make him acknowledge me. he puts all his stuff on his desk and turns to me and sneers, “so. pickle. how do you like your job?”
huh? “my job? you mean painting houses? i like it. it’s cool. why? and why are you being a dickhead?”
“why are you wasting your time?” he says, practically taking my head off.
“what?”
“why aren’t you making any art? you’re wasting your time painting houses! you’re an artist!”
“i hate art!” i shout back.
“no, you don’t!”
“yes, i do!”
“why do you hate it?!” still with the glaring and the shouting.
“okay fine! i don’t hate art! i hate being an artist!”
“why?!”
“because it’s so goddamn selfish! it’s the most selfish thing you can be! i should have been a doctor or a scientist or a social worker or anything! but not an artist!”
“oh! and i suppose it’s not selfish to waste your talent and mindlessly paint houses?!”
“hey!”
“because it takes a total brainiac to do that work, huh?!”
“hey!”
“cut the bullshit, pickle and be who you’re supposed to be!”

then the screaming stopped. and he said, “you’re right. art can be selfish, and most art probably is selfish. but art can serve a purpose higher than ego. you have to remember that.”

end.

Dear Laura,
what is art? is it self-expression? if it is, then see? it’s got the word self in it! then it is about ego. blah!

gah. fix this please. somehow art has become evil to me (for like, the last 3 years). i feel guilty about being an artist. why? where is it coming from? help!

also, do you think this is about The Created?

Sincerely,
Artless in Alabama

9.21.04
ooh. sorry for lack of updates. i’ve been, y’know, busy what with hurricanes and weddings and all. in fact, just go read laura’s blog. my updates would be more of the same. except my liznchris wedding night ends with me and liz’z dad smoking cigars, drinking red wine and blahing about literature.

well, actually my night ended with me puking my guts out.
and? when you puke a merlot? it’s fluourescent red. not the dark red it was when you drank it.
things to know.

******

i nearly fell off the ladder today. i was at the top just painting away when all a sudden the ladder went to the right, to the right, to the right. and my body went to the left, to the left, to the left to counter-balance my fat ass. complete instinct kicked in which was to grab the facing board of the house (as if clinging to a one inch piece of wood would save my life) and scream for my father.
“dad?! daddy?! daddy?! DADDY!!!! DADDY! DAAAAAAAAD!”

he comes around the side of the house all, “what?”

“theladdertheladdertheladdergetthegoddamnladder!“

“oh! i thought you were screaming about a spider or something.”

cheese and crackers. apparently when i set up the ladder i had put one side of it in a hole.
amateur night.
thank you Holy Lord for not letting me fall and die. or fall and break something. or fall and break something really important and become a vegetable. you are most kind to me.

reefer log:
is it every human year
who invented the name pickle
pickle breath sign of disease
pickle lover poem
and of course there were oodles of pickling vegetables, scrapbook crap, baldheaded lesbians, and eurotrip queries as well.

9.13.04
while watching some kind of blech on vh1 about how much money the rapper Nelly has (by the way it’s gobs and gobs of money) i say,

“he’s a dude, but they call him nelly.”

and jimmy sings, “his name is my name tooooo. whenever we go out! the people always shout!”

“hey! there goes nelly! … and nelly!”

and then i cracked up and jimmy said how sad it was that i cracked myself up.

9.08.04
i finally updated the archives. i didn’t know that i hadn’t been doing that. so it was a surprise to me when i clicked on the archive and it hadn’t been updated since April. woops. where did “all those” (read: those 4) Weeklies go? skknt.

went to the daktari yesterday. same old same old. feh. i’m ready for the nanobots to go in there and fix me up. because seriously, i want to poop nanobots.

i had to get two prescriptions. and i thought they would cost at least a hundred million dollars. but they didn’t. and? i had a coupon for $20. i know, a coupon for $20 on prescription drugs? how?
i don’t know. it must be God. so the meds only cost $9.
thank you Lord Jesus for the coupon and for generic prescription drugs. those were really good ideas. you truly work in mysterious ways. and the whole DO NOT DRINK ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES WITH THIS DRUG OR YOU WILL SURELY GET THE PLAGUE AND DIE was a nice touch too.

it’s funny because when i read that i thought well, how much alcohol do they mean? like could i have one six pack of beer? one glass of wine? perhaps a small bottle of wine? but no. i’ve been on that medicine before and the pharmacist was all, “don’t drink alcohol with this.” and i was all, “okay.” and she was all, “seriously.” and i was all, “um. sure.” and she was all, “don’t even use mouthwash that has alcohol in it.” and i was all, “holy shit are you serious?” and she was all, “yeah.”

reefer log gobs of fun:
sniff the pickle
e-mail call wave from eurotrip movie
you got mail call wave from eurotrip
pickle gay florida real radio
pickle pops
picture of a pickle car
jerking pickle

i do not have the .wav from eurotrip, though i wish i did. “mail muthaf*ckah!” (does the asterisk really make it okay? should i ‘bleep’ out more letters? m*thaf***ah! m****f*****! i just don’t know.)

also, CZ was right. my post about the EV (8.24.04) has brought about a whole new genre of searches that frankly, scare me. and i’m too embarrassed to post ’em.

YOU AWFUL INTERNET PEOPLE WITH YOUR AWFUL SEARCHES FOR AWFUL THINGS!
THE BABY JESUS CRIES WHEN YOU SEARCH FOR DIRTY THINGS ON THE INTERNET.
A POX ON YOUR HOUSE!

9.05.04
we had a party yesterday. liz’z panty party.
i bought her pirate underoos.
i drank way more jack&coke than usual. like, way more.
way more.

very fun party. Tami Sparks was there. so how could it not be fun?

WHERE WAS COOKIE MAGOO?

i woke up at 4:30am, wide awake. could not fall back asleep. i have no idea why i woke up that early. so i sang along with every song on the radio. and when that failed to put me back to sleep i read Book II of The Iliad. which was very boring as it is the part where Homer names every Greek that fights in the war. i’m talking 15 pages of random Greek names and how many boats they have. then for three other pages he tells about all the Trojans and their stuff. it’s like all the begets and begats in the Bible, only with Greek names instead of Hebrew or whatnot.

“then Tracheus of Scrotos, son of Esophageus, brought his army and filled 50 ships. then Phoebus the great Achean warrior, king of Aorta, son of Queen Hecuba, sent his army and 30 ships to aid Agammemnon.”

for 20 pages.

and then like, three people show up to fight for Troy.

9.02.04
fixed the forum link.

worked like a dog all day.

broke a window.

went to the grocery store.

read Book I of The Iliad.

haven’t had supper yet. (but i will! i promise! laura gave me some new flavor oatmeal to try.)

my eyes feel like they have sand in them and my throat is so dry that when i drink water it doesn’t get wet. cold catching? i dunno. i had to pressure wash a building today. so if i do happen to get sick i’m gonna blame it on that.

my dad hated the weekly.

phone call from dad:

*ring*

<funny voices>

“hello? who is this calling me please?”

“hello. this is Popsicle calling please.”

“hello Popsicle.”

“hello.”

</funny voices>

“hi dad, what’s up?”

“um. About this weekly…”

“oh! my story! did you like it?”

“was that the Weekly?”

“yeah, i thought i’d try something different. so it’s the first chapter of a story.”

“oh. but. is that the Weekly?”

“it’s a substitute Weekly. did you like it?”

“well…”

“you didn’t like it?! none of it?”

“it wasn’t…y’know…funny.”

“GASP. really?”

“did that…happen?”

“what?”

“did you and laura blow up something?”

“what?! no. dad no. it’s a story and those are characters.”

“but did you and laura blow up-“

“dad! no! those are imaginary people. that’s not laura and me. laura and i are not twin sisters.”

“so that story is…fic? tion?”

“yes dad. the word is fiction.”

“fiction. yes. so you-“

“no. laura and i did not blow something up.”

“you just made up that story then? about you and laura-“

“dad! those are fictional charaters! it’s not me! it’s not laura!”

“and liz-“

“and liz is not liz!”

“but-“

“i know! i need better names! but even so, you didn’t like the story?”

“not real-“

“oh i know what it is.”

“huh?”

“you didn’t like it ‘cos it’s not about you. you’re not mentioned at all in this week’s Weekly and you can’t stand it!”

“what? … hahahahahahahaha!”

“don’t even deny it.“

“well i am pretty funny y’know.”

“oh i know. hilarious. a riot. a laugh-a-minute.”

“so, are you gonna do a real Weekly this week?”

“this is me pretending i didn’t hear that.”

“heh. i mean, one about me-“

“not listening.”

“because-“

“bye dad.”

9.01.04
new Weekly today. but instead of the same old “dad and i had this crazy day where…” tripe it’s the first chapter of a serial i’m writing.

two things you should know about the serial:
1. jay is not me.
2. elle is not laura.
3. liz is not liz.

okay, so there’s three things.

i’m just not very good at coming up with names for my characters.

reefer log:
kris pickle’s feet
hottah
pj pickle
baldheaded lesbians
pickle flavors

and of course there were tons of “pickling” questions. beets, okra, slimey okra, and so on. once again i shall refer all of you to www.foodnetwork.com

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