“That which does not kill me…” or “Jet fuel”

Quick post:

Last night I did not sleep very well. I got about two hours sleep. I am learning to sleep with a CPAP mask, which is a very strange experience.

I will not survive through the day without some form of assistance, and so I have delved into my college days for a cure-all that, if it does not kill me, will certainly assure both complete wakefulness and total spasticness.

Dariush’s Jet-Fuel Wakefulness Drink (I’m sure it has a name elsewhere, but this is what I call it)

2 – 8 oz. cans of Red Bull (I use the sugar-free)

1 – 20 oz. bottle of Diet Mountain Dew

Combine in a container of choice and drink. Have food on hand (preferably something from a convenience store) to keep the acid from eating through your stomach wall (and, if it’s true convenience store food, to keep the caffeine mixture of death from becoming self-aware and breaking out of your body Alien-style).

For those of you who are enraged that I am playing fast and loose with caffeine, I must share with you my mantra: That which does not kill me can only prolong the inevitable.

Which, ironically enough, is the story of owning a cat… But that story will have to wait to be told.

“Abandonment” or “Dude, what?”

Okay, so I finally remembered that I have this thing called a blog.

As for the BBQ fest, I could distill it into timestamps (I had assumed that it would be far more interesting in terms of blogging) but it kinda wasn’t. Instead, it distill down to eating large amounts of delicious animals and a man offering me multiple kinds of alcohol at 6:30 in the morning.

Then there was a visit from a very famous dignitary. I attempted to get an interview. I was unsuccessful. I did, however, get within six feet of him and the fact that the Secret Service did not shoot me is still totally amazing to me.

I have to get to work, so this post is, sadly, short. I will, however, leave you with one final, parting image.

Yesterday I got home at about 5:30 and found something white, papery and shredded on my living room floor. The shredder of said papery stuff was, of course, sitting next to it and totally happy to see me. So I began conducting an investigation.

And found more papery stuff.

And more.

And more elsewhere.

I keep the bathroom door shut when I am not home (and when I am home, since Cyrus likes to jump on the toilet tank lid and rock back and forth to make it make noise). Somehow, the little jerk got in and managed to shred an entire roll of toilet paper.

This is not cute. This is not funny. This is an abomination, an example of buffoonery and ridiculousity such as the world has never seen before.

But I still let the little jerk sleep on my chest at night. Somehow, he has found a way to be completely evil and then completely loveable.

I’m taking notes now. Maybe this is something that can be helpful with the ladies…

“Festivities” or “Reminder”

About a week and a half ago I got an e-mail from a lady whose husband I had written a story about. The man had already beaten the odds and received a heart transplant several years ago, but fate had caught up with him and he was now on dialysis and in need of a kidney transplant.

It was tough to sit on their couch and walk through their home and take pictures while trying, in my mind, to keep distanced. It was because of him that I went and got my blood typed. I knew that someday, someone might need my help and I wanted to help.

His wife wrote me. Her son, her husband’s stepson, had read the article. He got tested. He gave a kidney.

I got into this so that I could tell these kinds of stories.

Speaking of stories, tomorrow is the second and last day of the International Bar-B-Q Festival here in Owensboro. I figured it would make for a good posting event and so I am planning on timestamping the day and blogging it later. I am also doing multimedia work for the paper, so watch for a link to our photos and my audio from the celebration.

Finally, I will leave you with a quick story. Some of you may have seen this article in the news. (Note: I am only linking to Fox News because they say the phrase “junk in the trunk” in the story, and otherwise, I would never promote those hacks).

Feeling very snide, I copied and pasted a link to the article to Dr. Mom and Sis. Let’s just say junk in the trunk runs in the family.

Dr. Mom immediately replied that she was overjoyed that I will never get diabetes.

Dr. Mom – 1, Me – 0.