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if you stick around, i'll sing you pretty sounds.

smudge clothing company.
sometimes randy and sporadicfunk and i draw pictures and we put the pictures on shirts and you have to buy them.

here is a direct link to our store on zazzle.

shirts for sale.

also, you can find us on facebook.

become a fan.
guide to success with my weblog.
step one: read everything to the right of this module.
step two: click every number at the bottom of the screen.
step three: go back to step one.

repeat infinity times.
this is my personal assistant.
i managed to break this little nutang helper from his contract with nutang, and now he works for me. his name is jump-for-joya. he manages this site. all complaints and other inquiries should be directed to him.


he thanks you for your cooperation.
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Saturday. 2.2.13 11:17 am
february challenge fail.

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Sunday. 1.20.13 1:41 pm
so i'm two weeks into the insanity workout, and i know it may not sound like much, but i can now make it through the entire warm-up without stopping for water or air. woohoo!

i had my first weigh-in for my work's biggest loser competition. i need to beat everyone in the entire company to win, so that is my plan. i feel like most of my competition is older women anyway, so i will probably crush it. not to be sexist or anything. it's just that my gender makes me supreme. just kidding.

it's my commitment that will win me this twelve week competition. and so far, so good.

plus i need to be healthier. i've been drinking fresh fruit smoothies instead of eating desserts. i'm incorporating a lot of vegetarian dishes into my days. i'm not eating fast food anymore. i've given up soda and (so far) beer.


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Sunday. 1.6.13 10:52 am
hi peeps.

it's a new year, and a year for redemption.

i'm going to actually try to get into better shape over the new few months, and hopefully for the rest of my life.

send me your prayers, for i am constantly getting injured when i try to exercise on the reg.

i'll update frequently with my progress. if i remember.

cheers, y'all.

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Sunday. 12.9.12 9:23 am
i've been watching Deadliest Warrior. the episode that i'm scheduled to watch next is Vampires vs. Zombies. i'm not sure how this could even be a competition, even if it were possible. aren't zombies practically logicless? vampires are fully aware, and should be able to not only strategize, but also use firearms if necessary. zombies have no weapons except for their teeth.

i don't understand.

oh well. it's just a show.

speaking of shows involving zombies, i didn't see the midseason finale of Walking Dead last week. i was hoping for a double episode today, but now i only get to watch one, IF they re-air it.

fun stuff. weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

i don't know what else to blog about. bye.

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Tuesday. 11.27.12 9:03 pm
monday was the first day in a long time that i actually felt overwhelmed at work.

...i don't like that feeling. it makes me want to instantly quit.

i am currently in warren, pennsylvania. i had to drive from baltimore up here. if you don't know these locations, it's a six hour difference. i drove about half an hour, picked up my lunch, and then drove all the way up without stopping. it was crazy.

i find that listening to stand-up comedy on the road helps a lot, because you have to pay attention to get the jokes. i listened to jerry seinfeld, aziz ansari, stephen lynch, and bo burnham.

eventually i lost 4G signal, since most of the drive is through mountains or woods, and thus little to no phone signal. normally this sucks a bit, but it sucked extra this trip, because there are no good radio stations. i put my radio on "scan" and it only stopped like three times, and they were all country stations. kill me, please.

i will end this entry with a haiku.

i'm going to bed.
at the hotel far from home,
how am i to sleep?


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Monday. 11.19.12 9:19 pm
i wrote this before my surgery.


I twiddle my thumbs.

Thatís all I can do at this point. Twiddle. Repeatedly. Nervously. After all, my doctor has just informed me that I donít have any sort of life-threatening disease, or any sort of ailment that canít be fixed with simple non-invasive surgery.

So, I twiddle my thumbs, but mostly think about what it means to ďtwiddleĒ, or how stupid that word seems, as if an odd combination between ďtwistĒ and ďcuddleĒ. And now, it seems I canít think of a more perfect combination of words.

Iím only half-listening to what Dr. Som is telling me; this is bad habit of mine. I donít really care for doctors. I donít like paying someone to tell me whatís wrong with me.

As my mind wanders to words that rhyme with twiddle, I spot a green pen on Dr. Somís desk. I pick it up, and whirl it around my fingers, an ordinary feat of mine, but one that my doctor deems a bit extra. His eyes widen slightly, as he continues to tell me what my next steps are, and as I continue to barely listen.

It surprises me that he is even slightly impressed with me and the pen. Dr. Som is a surgeon. Perhaps itís because of the risk I take each time I release the pen from my middle finger and let it glide and spin around my thumb. Perhaps he is not impressed at all, and is instead surprised that I would dare pick up his pen. I test this.

ďCan I keep it?Ē I say. I donít even want to pen. Iím more interested in whether or not this particular pen is important to him.

ďSure,Ē he says. He directs me to the check-out desk, and I am thankful to leave. I donít really care for doctors, or twiddling my thumbs, or non-invasive surgery.

The attendant behind the check-out desk is typing away at her computer, and I wonder why or how she would have so much information to type based on the file I handed her. As far as I know, I only have to come back in six weeks. Is she typing every detail of my appointment? Why canít she just click a calendar and put my name on it? Maybe she is using my obstructed view of her screen to send an email to her friends expressing her excitement over an upcoming day trip to Rehoboth beach. No, that canít be it; that part of the east coast has been hit by a tropical storm, and itís supposed to rain for the next week or so.

I decide she is doing exactly what she is supposed to do with my file, whatever that is. I donít like assuming, but I canít exactly lean over the counter and watch her every keystroke. Well, I could, but I wonít.

I place the green pen on the counter. I feel bad for taking it, considering I am not completely sure that Dr. Som indeed told me I could take it. I was barely listening.

The attendant gives the pen and I a strange look, then looks back at her screen. This doesnít upset me, but I expected to at least not be given a strange look. I take the pen again, and hastily stuff it into the hidden pocket of my coat. Thatíll show her.

ďOkay, youíre all set to come back in six weeks,Ē she says. ďWeíll see you then.Ē She smiles at me. I return a half-smile and a slight nod, as I turn towards the exit.

As I leave, I feel less important, passing by other patients who are just as unexcited to be visiting a doctor. The door is harder to open then it should be. I came to this realization when I first walked in. Am I growing weak, or is it really just a heavy door? I hate this place. Knowing I have to come back makes me hate it more.

Iím not going back to work today. Thereís no way I would be able to sit behind a desk with this mood. Instead, I will head home. The drive is long, and my suspense for an impending minor surgery makes it longer, and hard to concentrate. I miss my exit. Thatís alright.

I pull out my new green pen to sign the receipt for my take-out. I leave a generous tip. They deserve little to none, as I am carrying out my order. But, I leave them a tip anyway, in hopes that my return will bring them a little happiness. That is, if they even remember me. Iím not sure Iím memorable.

My biggest fear about eating my jasmine rice and teriyaki chicken with only a fork is that I will pierce the Styrofoam container in which it was placed, causing the sauce and juices to leak and cause a mess. I suppose I could transfer the entirety of my lunch to a bowl or plate, but I risk a spill doing this. I clean the dirty spoons while thinking about this. I also decide that I wouldnít clean a fork if I only had a spoon, as I would take enough care as to not pierce the Styrofoam with a spoon.

I donít like messes. I donít like cleaning up messes.

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