i can't see the cereal on the floor

So yeah, I constructed a new design. I wanted something light and airy, so when school starts on September 3rd I can come home and have something pretty to look at. Granted, this layout contains a lot of blank space, but blank space often goes unloved and underestimated. This layout took me under two hours to complete, which is beautifully simple. Simplicity is often scoffed upon, but I was happy with my peanut butter and jelly sandwich today for lunch, so if you're not happy with the design, then something is sickeningly wrong with you, much like those who do not like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. That's all I have to say about that, really.

Oh, yeah, and I was waiting to mention a few things until I had the new design up -- I got an account at PBase sometime in April but never really made use of it, until approximately three days ago. A picture of Pat is there, too, in case anyone wants to match the name with the face. I made him pose for me on what I suppose could qualify as monkey bars, hanging upsidedown. We went to a playground, you see.

And, if you click the small blue star at the bottom of this entry, herein referred to as Kitty-Bob (I told you I loved that name, Resa), I'll be your friend forever and possibly buy you some fancy helium-filled balloons. In fact, I love Kitty-Bob so much -- he's the star, you realize -- that everytime I make a new design for my diary, Kitty-Bob will follow, decked out in a shiny new color and everything. I might get too excited with Kitty-Bob all together and enlarge him and paint him some sunglasses when you hover the mouse over him, even. Yes. I just might.

Anyway, moving on. Yesterday Pat and I drove around Minneapolis near his home, searching for a place to eat, and came across this little Itallian deli. The line of four people moved slowly, even though their orders consisted of some noodles dumped into a cardboard bowl with some sauce splattered on top. The woman behind the counter had a body like a barrel and carried a dull expression on her face, and she seemed like she didn't have much to her, as if she was the old woman in the shoe, or something. She waddled around behind the counter, dishing up meals for the couple ahead of Pat and me, talking loudly of the daily special while simultaneously bantering with the chef, who never emerged from the kitchen.

Pat and I waited for almost a half hour for our pizza. It was pretty good, but I only had a few slices since I was preoccupied reading the personals in a free newspaper Pat snagged off the stand. It was divided into five sub-categories -- "men seeking women," "women seeking men," "men seeking men," "women seeking women," and, perhaps the most perplexing and horrifying of them all, "other." Upon inspection, the "other" category seemed to consist of men who would probably roll if you pushed them who, unlike the rest of the applicants, didn't want sex and were impotent, but instead wanted to be a pain slave. As in, you can't find a healthy way to relieve your stress, like through yoga or video games, and instead you would prefer to unleash your wrath onto a strange fat man whose name you'll probably never know, because he'll call himself "Toto" or "inanimate object of your rage" or something. The "other" category also contained fifty-year-old women (who claimed to not sag, naturally), who, when they found out they couldn't leave fingerprints anymore, decided they wanted to experiment with women or video cameras or bondage, or maybe all of them at once -- it doesn't matter to them, they're "open to anything." I had to wonder if these people had ongoing bets with their friends on who could accumulate the largest palette of STDs, and then whoever won received free counseling to regain their self-confidence via the loser's wallet.

Later Pat told me that, as I was reading all of this and re-thinking the meaning of life, the piece of work behind the counter and the chef were yelling back and forth to one another about the gnats outside that blanketed all the cars in the parking lot. To my horrible misfortune, I was able to experience this army of breeding gnats firsthand when I asked Pat for the car keys and headed outside to get myself some Kleenex from the car. As I approached the little red vehicle, I had about five gnats hit me in the face, and right when I started to wonder why so many of them were airborne in one given area, I got a good look at Pat's car. It had gnats all over it, almost as if it was a mobile Denny's. I spun around on my heel immediately and decided I could stand having a runny nose if it meant staying the fuck away from the heinous breeding grounds.

This happened before we got our pizza, however. Before I began reading about the "others," before the chef loudly exclaimed that it was the gnats' "fucking day."

Despite the questionable atmosphere, the pizza was really good. It probably would have been better if I wasn't so caught up in wondering about the "others."

Pat and I were full after about half the pizza had been eaten, and we asked the woman behind the counter to wrap it up for us. I confirmed that she was indeed a mother judging by the way she spoke to Pat, about how he could have the pizza for a midnight snack or lunch. When Pat told her he'd be working at the State Fair, she commented on how expensive food is over there, and how fairgoers come to the deli afterwards and she doesn't understand how they can still want a hoagie after downing all those cheese curds and pronto pups.

Then Pat drove around the block at about 90mph in an unsuccessful attempt to rid te car of the reproducing gnats peppered over the car's surface. I even had the wonderful opportunity to observe a spider running around on the window nearest me having a field day eating up all the gnats it could catch.

I think one of my worst fears was most appropriately captured in comic no. 6 (you can find it here, since Angelfire is, for whatever reason, against direct linking) as spawned by Bryan. Oh, and the "pale girl" in the last panel? That would be me. For further hilarity, please read more comics written by Bryan and me last summer, and laugh yourself to the point of crying and maybe even tossing your cookies while crying.

But I digress. Upon viewing this said comic, you will understand why I still vividly remember the spawn of doom (known by some as spiders) acting as the reaper last night.

Early this morning Resa left for New York. Her brother attends college there and her family flew back with him to get him settled and see the sites and what-have-you. Thus, I am to be the temporary "cat keeper" until Resa & Co. return on Monday.

Pat started working at the fair today as well, so the day has been fairly bleak and drifting along like a piece of driftwood. I woke up at 10am, had my bowl of cereal, and then pretty much sat on the computer for the rest of the day, only stopping to shower around noon and have my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The most interesting thing to happen all day is when I was trying to carry my bowl of cereal to the kitchen table and some of the cereal fell out, and I had to leave it there since I couldn't see where it had fallen without my contacts in.

Regardless, that's pretty much it.

G'night.