We are always getting ready to live, but never living.

I didn’t send out Christmas Cards this year.
Well, it was mostly because it was only yesterday that I remembered what month it was, but it was also because I hate Christmas Cards above all else.
That is the one thing that I could do without.
My mom sent out 250 Christmas cards. 250!
That is 243 more people than she talks to ALL YEAR.
I am viciously against that sort of false sentiment, but I’m at odds with myself for the reasons I mentioned last post.
It does sort of give me an excuse to let the people I’ve neglected in the past year know that they’re still in my heart and I’m thinking about them.
So I don’t quite know how to deal with myself. Do I give in to the crazy flood of “Oh yeah, I remember you, I’m still alive, too!” or do I rage against the machine of false sentiment, all the while STILL neglecting to keep in contact with the people who I haven’t talked to all year?
Sure, I could promise to just write them a small note later on in the year, but I think we both know that’s not going to happen.
That is the one thing that sucks about the progression of time.
You grow up and you move and you lose contact with all the people who made you you. You don’t forget them, but… I don’t know.
Sam? Jean? Will Akers? I miss you guys. I’m sorry I’m such an ass.
I’ll write you guys next year, I promise.
Well, let’s talk about happier things.
I worked out today with Ryan. I didn’t really want to, nor did I want to go out and eat dinner with him last night at the restaurant I worked all day to get the fuck OUT of, but I went to both anyway, because I get to see him so little, and I’m even flattered he invited me along.
I played raquetball with him today, too, and man, that kid is hardcore.
If anyone goes into Room 7 at Winwood Raquet Club and finds my kneecaps, let me know.
Also, I doubt I’ll be allowed back there anytime soon.
Listen, whoever thought they should build the raquetball courts so that the top back of the court was open to the Club’s entrance should have forseen the occasional kind sprinkling of “Shitballs!” and “Fuck me in the goat ass!” everytime I missed a point.
Also, I saw Pablo Francisco at the Improv tonight. It’s weird, before when I was just your average layperson watching stand-up comedy on TV, I had no qualms about voicing my opinion on the talents of people there, but now that I’m like… a comedian, I keep stopping myself.
I don’t know. I guess it’s like the fat, middle-aged, balding couch potato who scream and curse at the screen when his football team misses a touchdown or something, but if his team actually put him on a field where he had to run and avoid the defensive line and all, he’d be like… “Heh… just kidding, guys. I suck. You take the ball.”
So, like. Um… Pablo Francisco wasn’t funny. I’m sorry. Can I say that?
I mean, I was under the impression that comedians told JOKES.
I feel bad just for saying it, but seriously. At least tell a JOKE in your silly little voice there. You can’t just say sentences in a funny voice. Well, I guess you can, because he just got paid lots of money to do so, and here I sit. Eating a Toblerone and updating my website.
I guess why I feel bad is also like… movie critics are people who aren’t good enough to make movies. Food critics are people who aren’t good enough to open their own restaurant. So when I criticise someone who is better off than I am, I feel like it’s going to be taken as sour grapes, when really it’s not.
I guess he’s just not my style.
He fucking filled up the Improv on a Sunday night, and he didn’t bomb or anything. The Feature had a bit of a Jack Black wanna-be complex, and I say the MC was the best of all three of them. But I also say that because I want to do the MC.
Oh shut up, I’m sure plenty of people lie and say I’m funny just because they want to do me, I can say KT is hot. And I will. KT Tatara is hot. Hawt.
That is all I have to say about that.
I wrote three jokes tonight that I think are pretty funny, but time and audiences will tell.
I swear, it can’t be done. I don’t know how Felicia does it, but I for one am GLAD my parents don’t come to my shows anymore. Man, it embarrasses me to even SAY half the shit, but it’s just too funny not to.
It’s like hackers or people who invent bombs. Their talents could be used for good, but noooo, it’s so much more fun to use it for evil.
Okay, well that was a completely randomly connected website update.
To review:
-Christmas Cards: Evil Tool of the Postman or Crafty Friend Keeper?
-Working Out is sweaty, painful, and time consuming, but it brings siblings closer.
-Pablo Francisco’s sense of humor is inversely proportional to KT Tatara’s hotness.
-Saying ‘fuck’ is funny. If you don’t think so, go fuck yourself.
That’s all for today, kids. And remember: don’t ever listen to anything I say.

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