As it turns out, my 8 o'clock resembles a one-armed four year old child whose mild case of ADHD is being remedied by a mixture of RC Cola and cocaine. Honesty? It's a circus. Huddled in my favorite seat towards the back of the room, I prefer to pass the majority of the time pretending I'm the only normal one. That girl who looks like a Seussical the Musical reject? The instructor that verbally curb stomps any opinions that differ from his? The loud-mouth boy who thinks he knows everything, breaths louder than an asthmatic after a 5K , and is under the delusion that he's going to be our next Commander in Chief? Yeah. I'm totally better than them. Actually, that's probably not true at all - but like I said, it's what I like to tell myself.
Also - Little Feet, Pretentious Camel, and I had an enchanting conversation over dinner tonight. Here's what we concluded. If I was an immigrant from Austria who:
- Had strung together a raft and by means of creeks and streams somehow found a way out of my land-locked home country through the rest of Europe, into the Atlantic, and to the shore of Elizabeth City, North Carolina
- Was the proud father of eight painfully talented singing rugrats birthed from my first two (and now deceased) wives
- Had a third wife carrying my ninth child
- Maintained an attractiveness not understood by the American standards of beauty
- With no money or valuable skills to speak of...
... my ideal job would be a porn star. Big surprise.
Not now. Not like this.
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