On why Dylan's mom is a badass and I am not

So I would like you all to know I'm back in Missoula safe and sound and that in the last 72 hours I gained little more than a mug with Tim's face in it, a bazillion pairs of stunna shades, and a stomach full of gas fumes. 

I went to Butte on Saturday to visit my co-authors Sam and Max and the rest of the Butte folks because my plans to be in Seattle were totally hella dashed by various evil forces and I wasn't about to spend my long weekend off work moping in my living room by myself (it has literally been raining in Missoula for 45 years and I have henceforth been steadily regressing into a mushroom-like state). As such I thought it better to mope in Sam's dad's living room instead.

Turns out Butte is pretty much how I left it: the restaurant food gives everyone immediate heart disease, Sam's cat has far too many toes, teenage boys inexplicably freaking love me and carve their own faces into mugs they make in ceramics class, the booze floweth like a sweet sweet river, and if it's not the 3rd of July or St. Patrick's Day it is the ghostiest of ghost towns ever. The only bar with a pool table that was open last night had about 8 men in once-flashy leather jackets and had googly eyes and just generally made me think I had in fact walked into the pre-release center and not a bar. High points: we barbecued delicious items and made bananas foster today, we have plans to shear Max and spin his hair into the softest wool in the world, and Sam gave me the neon sunglasses he owed me so now I'll never go out of doors either squinting or uncool.

BUT my car did more crazy things on the drive home than it usually does, the main one being that the fuel gauge was all like, "I cease to actually say what you have in your gas tank." I didn't have any cash to get extra gas play-it-safe-style, but I banked on the fact that this car has pulled through in amazing ways before and I would get home.  After about 30 miles of jumping straight from quarter-tank to fuel light on to quarter tank and back, however, and terrified the old machine would putter out in the one-lane construction zone, I pulled off at an exit, called my superman roommate, and read Flannery O' Conner as the bluest dusk descended.

Dylan arrived, siphon hose in hand, and after we inhaled only fumes for a while, he called his mom (read: his mom) for pointers, but eventually we gave up and left my car there. We'll get it tomorrow or something.  Moral of the story is that we could have never taken a road trip in the '70s.

I'd like to heretofore give a big shout out (is that what the kids still say?) to Dylan for rescuing me from the Montana wilderness, buying me soup when I had mono, and cleaning the downstairs bathroom, and to his mom for raising a dude who was okay with being my mom this month.  Thanks, Dilbert, for keeping it real and saving me from my otherwise obviously impending doom.

Post script: I'll get a picture of Tim's mug up if I ever wake up tomorrow.  

Max is terrible and I am dying

We have been on the road literally forever and ever. I hiked the Grand Canyon and saw a fake volcano in Vegas and a bunch of other horrible things and now I am passing away. Julia's last blog was so good and a sight for sore eyes, so congrats.

Ummmmm, I took like four pictures so I guess I'll put them up l8r. Me and Max got so so married as heck in Vegas, but I suspect he's cheating on me on account of my weakened and impotent state.

I'm like all Superman with Kryptonite all over his shit over here I'm so tired, fur reals, so check ya and I'll tell you some stories in the next few days.

The most delicious of gravy

I love having something to gripe about I know nobody in my immediate vicinity wants to hear and subsequently realizing GOOD GRAVY I WRITE A BLOG NOW so I can henceforth shout said gripes to the cyberwinds and you goobers can deal with it here.

Here is one I think about every time I go to the bathroom at work:

A few weeks ago I was using the staff bathroom in the back of the shop, and as I finished, one of my coworkers walked in on me. She got that awkward surprised look and apologized, but closed the door saying "That's why you lock the door!" I shouted back to her, "No, that's why you knock," and stewed over the sink for a few minutes before reemerging. Another coworker laughed, "I heard Heather saw your hoo-ha!" and I just shook my head and went back to the front.

Though this was a relatively harmless incident on the grand spectrum of things, what disappoints me about it is what it potentially represents. Why must we constantly defend ourselves against our fellow man? Foolish me, I thought people still had manners (I mean for chrissakes at least in Missoula, right?) and were conscientious of others' needs and spaces. I guess not. In our quest for security we have replaced fellowship with fear and are consequently continuing to decline as a people.

If I am to expand this particular bathroom incident to disturbing grandness, that is.

Lock the door when you take a dump or this guy's gonna barge in and powder his nose.

THINGS I AM NOT UPSET ABOUT:

Item the first: I finally finished my classroom observations at Big Sky High school and am looking forward to my career in education more than ever. My cooperating teacher gave me a rad review and though most of her kids were squirrely freshmen, I might miss em. Ahhhh, probably not. In any case, finding out a kid finished a book for the first time in his life is one of the most rewarding things I've ever experienced, and I can't wait until it gets to happen to me more often.

Item the second: New roommate Jordan moved in last week and BROUGHT A DOG I REPEAT A DOG. Dog's name is Gyp (which, I've learned, is not short for Gypsy in this case) and I will update you on his progressive cuteness and our house's progressive hairiness as the summer continues.

Item the third: This one episode of Top Gear. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like this show in general because it's about cars and stuff, but goddamitall I love funny middle-aged British guys. The only episode I've seen all the way through is where they drive shitty off-road vehicles through the Bolivian rainforest, instead of jerking off to a new Shmerrari or whatever, and henceforth have to combat snakes and caramelized coca leaves and El Camina de la Muerte, the most dangerous road in the world. Also at one point one guy attacks another guy with a machete. SHIT SOMEONE IS GOING TO DIE A BOLIVIAN DEATH. Awesome.

Well, Sam and Max are getting hastily married in Las Vegas right now and left me to uphold the blogging and I think it's going medium well, but excuse me while I leave you to drink a Hamms and pet a beautiful dog.

What a let down we all are

Julia's inaugural post had so much enthusiasm and a fresh outlook for a brighter future on this blog, but we all know that as long as Calvin and Max aren't pulling their weight (read: any fucking weight what the fuck dudes??), this is like pretty much the ghetto of the "blog" "o" "sphere." How am I supposed to get famous and internationally loved with such a shit blog?????

In blog news, Max and I are going on a road trip in a few weeks! We're going through Yellowstone and Vegas to New Mexico! We will take lots of pictures and have great stories that we will promise to post here and then never get around to posting anything!

I like dis.

I made dis.

I'm going to go jump off a building now.

Here I am!

It's true. Max and Calvin are medium blog failures (Calvin is debatably a Taco Bell fire hot caliber failure) so I have come to make Sam quit whining. I don't know what it is I'll write about either, but it's finals next week so any writing that's not me making a curriculum for 9th grade English is great and good.

Notable characteristics:

1. Pleased this has spell check.

2. Naps frequently.

3. Rarely brushes hair.

4. Street cred currently compromised by mononucleosis.

5. Mild dumpster diving skills.

6. Probably won't ever write long blog posts.

7. Thinking about quitting smoking.

8. Pretends to be a musician.

9. Not worried, even ironically, about zombies.

10. Needs to reel in the swears.

Likes:

1. Dogs.

2. Lists.

3. Kate Nash's new album way better than the old one.

4. Big water bottles.

5. Grandma Tanya on Facebook.

Dislikes:

1. Unloading the dishwasher.

Okay I think that's a good inaugural post.

By the way if you totally immediately become my biggest fan and click on my profile link over there and notice that I write for another blog, don't read it. It's for class and the other people have names like "writer dude" and "redhead readin." You know.

You're All Dead To Me and Other Things

I have received no e-mails regarding imaginary friends. So far this blog's overarching theme is "everyone fails Sam repeatedly and he whines ineffectually." Soooo... you know... fuck you guys.

BIG NEWS THAT'S SO EXCITING

Because my friend Julia has commented more times than Calvin and Max have posted combined, I have granted her request to join the GSS. I don't know what it is she'll write about, but she's pretty smart and not nearly as lazy or devoid of creativity as C and M.

I lied about Pancho and Lefty. It'll be done sooooooooooooooon?