If anyone ever leads you to believe that 20 chicken McNuggets is a good idea, hit them.  In the throat.  Hard. 

So, a few observations from the past few weeks:

One: I am an asshole, which is a shame because I’m one of the nicest people I know, and I’m an asshole.  Because I believe in everyone’s right to have an opinion and feel free to express it, if one of my friends is laying into another friend, I let it happen.  We’re all adults, supposedly.  If you can’t take criticism then you probably shouldn’t leave the house, and if you wanted to express your opinions to me I wouldn’t stifle it, so grow a pair and cry to someone else.

Two: my wedding ring is a woman’s ring.  I really don’t mind; in fact, I think it’s very progressive, but it does remind me that I have very little from my father.  I’ve got his looks and his general distaste for my fellow man, but that’s about it.  My mother gave me the wedding band that she wore while with my father for 13 years on my 22nd birthday.  I remember her giving it to me because I went through about 30 emotions in 90 seconds and came out on the other end grateful for the gesture.  Friday I took it to a jeweler here in San Diego to have it sized up for my fat man finger and Monday I picked it up and put it on.  The work is shoddy; in trying to match the pattern on the outside of the ring it appears as though they let a child attempt the imitation, and the surrounding gold is coarse and abused.  I really like it.  It’s stunningly original; there’s not another ring like it anywhere.  However, it’s evident that it’s a woman’s ring.

Three: I live in an idyllic paradise where I believe everyone should get along.  This is not the truth of the world around me.  I cannot wrap my head around this, however.  If I put two people in a room together who have the unifying characteristic of feeling affection towards me then they should be fast friends, no?  No.

Four: Ray Kroc is an asshole, which is a shame because I’m one of the nicest people I know and I go around calling dead people assholes.

Five: I have no idea what’s happening in Libya, but I know everything there is to know about Charlie Sheen.

I am a prisoner in my skin.  I feel I’m more myself here in this blog than I am in person.

Everything above my ankles hurts.

Today was one of those days where I hadn’t used my voice until four o’clock in the afternoon and so the first time I spoke to someone I was startled by the way I sounded.  I spend a lot of time alone.