Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Chirp.... chirp.... chirp chirp.....

Okay, gang, you caught me. It's been nearly a full month since my last post, and even more since my last meaningful post.

The Centipede has stumbled.

So let's try to get the lethargy rolling with a little free association.

What's going on lately?

Well, my girlfriend, the lovely and amazingly effervescent Pernille (du er dejlig, my love) showed me a video of a pair of youths who engaged in a rather bizarre past time; these unswallowed loads, after bringing their car up to high speeds on a long straight stretch of road, REMOVED THE STEERING WHEEL. The video, created by the passenger who also was primarily responsible for the actual removal of the bolts, shows cars on the side of the road, traffic coming from the other direction, the speedometer, any number of which should have been indication enough that removing the only means of controlling the vehicle was not a smart move. The video was put on line, and justice was watching. After a number of viewers saw the dipshit duo, they alerted the authorities, and the fools in question are now facing years in prison. The only way things could have been sweeter is if I could have been there to throw a 2 x 4 into the road just before they passed me, jarring the wheels, and sending them careening at high speeds off the road and into a light pole. Watch the video HERE.

Speaking of my girlfriend... (kys kys)... Pernille and I went to High School together. She was the exchange student, I was the wanna be jock nerd. I'd like to say we dated, or even saw each other outside of homeroom, but it just didn't happen like that. But the friendship we developed led to letter exchanges for a few years. She lived her life in Denmark, I lived a Rod Serling-esque existence on Long Island. Fast forward to March, 2007, and she finds an old letter of mine. She re-reads it, and wonders what happened to the fat kid she used to know. She writes me, and I get the letter a few weeks later. We begin to chat over email, then over MSN messenger, and then over Skype. She comes to the U.S. for one of her once-every-few-years visits, and this time, we meet up. And after fifteen years, she is still as beautiful as I remembered her being. It doesn't take long before we are dating, and now, even though she's over seas back in Denmark, she's looking for a way to come back for good (any immigration attorneys looking for a perfect success story, take note.)

In other news, my back is STILL in a great deal of pain from my accident. I am consulting with a spinal surgeon tomorrow. I may have to have a cyst removed, I may have to have vertibrae fused, I may have to be exiled to the moon. We'll just have to wait and see. Also, my court case against the douche who ran the light is about to go to trial, I've been advised.

I'm working part time at the Riverhead Main Street branch of a bank (let's call it Southern Star Bank, a division of Fiscal United). It's like a UPN sitcom. There's the big, tough talkin' gold tooth wearin' black woman who don't take no guff from nobody... the sassy short black girl with the innocent smile and the guilty hands... the intelligent and organized Latino military woman with the witty comebacks... the tall italian video game addict with the frat boy party life... the fresh faced short black man with the voice of gold... the clueless manager... the assistant manager who beats people with her shoe... the Peruvian firecracker who loves to party... the fat white guy who loses his temper... oh, wait, that's ME!

So yeah, things are pretty fucked up as usual.

More later.