Lost my Chi. Will dance for Chi.

A little update for those who ponder my whereabouts for the moment:

So here I am in South Minneapolis.
I am living the cliche dream: In my Mother's basement, turning 31 in less than a month. Eating hot dos and other various gas station food to survive(because I refuse to be more of a burden on my mum than I already am. And selling all my stuff to finance a vacation I most certainly do not deserve, in a yard sale that is in itself based on run on sentences and comma splices.

All I need is some hot pockets and some Xena tapes.

To say the least, I do not think highly of myself these days.

I am surrounded by thoughts of people who think my ugly red shorts are the one thing that define me. (incidentally, no one will buy them)

And thoughts of the same red shorts that I wore in a hot spring bath in Iceland.
(partially happy though. I liked Iceland. they had a Popeye's chicken in the mall in Reykjavik.)
Basically, I am immersed in deep thoughts about things that happened years ago.
And to tell the truth, I am sick to death of them.

finding myself at a loss of what to do tonight, as I spent the better part of the day shlepping my stuff to neighborhood yard/garage sale professionals, I wanted an out. I needed to get out and get away into that proverbial sunshine Day. the Brady Bunch would be so proud.
So I went to Uptown. My old neighborhood. I went to Liquour Lyles.
And there, I found two-fers and walley nuggets or some such shit served with fries. Pomm Frites for the uninitiated.
From there, I went to the place where things go to doe and be reborn as something more evil than the thing they were trying to escape in the first place: Williams Pub.
The Headquarters of Frat boys and women who buy their clothes at American Apparel.
I'll break it down and beg like James: I played pool and drank a tankard of beer.
These things are out of the ordinary for your normal neighborhood Andrew.
It isn't that I wanted to go, it's just that I wanted to be something of a wingman for a friend who was nice enough to rescue me from my isolation in South Minneapolis. (THE WORST wingman in recorded history. At least since 'Top Gun' came out)
And I was in Williams Pub.
I will need some industrial strength hot showers to wash the goo off of me.
the kind of showers where they use steam to kill the bacteria.
So many folks I didnt want to talk to that there was line to go to the Men's restroom. (That only happens at the Indy 500 as far as I know. See, they serve LITERS of beer there. that is a unit of measurement reserved for things you bring to parties when you want to be nice and not be the douche who brings chips.

And this mysterious shadowy figure (Me) does not drink beer unless forced by something pointy and stick-like with a gun and a knife attached at the end by nothing less than a bomb (or duct tape) threatening a family of bunny-puppy-tiny hedgehog-kittens.
I drank beer, my friends.
I drank beer to forget.
And the shit part is, I remember everything.
What was I talking about?
Oh yes, I was gonna tell you about my mood.
Meh.
I am grey and gray and blah and meh.
The sale is doing really well, but that is because I have nice stuff and don't like haggling about prices.
The first customer today came at 9AM.
The sale started at 10am. (please note that I don't like early birds)
I was in the garage grabbing some shelving that I was planning on selling, when I was placing the shelves to put in said shelving on a table, she said: 'Don't put anything on there, I am buying it!!' (the two exclamation marks denote her seriousness about owning the thing she decided she owned now.)
Ok. So I might have lost my shit at her...
However, there are several things to consider when you know me.
1) I HATE having yard/garage sales.
2) I HATE people who come early to aforementioned sales.
3) I am NOT a morning person.
4) MY STUFF. I did not receive any money from her, and I told her: "Guess what? This is still my stuff. I decide who walks away with it. I do not know you, stranger Danger, and I will put things where I want. We are not open for another hour. I hate your ass face, and I blame you for making racism a thing."
(I might have paraphrased myself a bit there)
And she replies(and I swear this is to the letter): "Well I'm a Bitch and a Witch, so which one do you want to deal with first?"

Let that sink in.

Got it?

I am a Bitch and a Witch. Which one do you want to deal with first?

I. Dislike. Yard Sales. A. Lot.

So I killed her. That's right. I murdered a woman at my yard sale.
my reply was, when i stuck her through with a blade that was forged with every fiber of my hatred and lack of a cup of coffee: 'I want to meet both, firewhore. But I will wait until Valhalla to see you again.'

Did I mention I went to Williams tonight?


I'd say more, but I have a yard sale to attend to in the morning. Won't you come visit me if you are able?
5715 Wentworth Avenue South
Minneapolis, MN 55419

I'll be the one who is all out of Give-A-Shits.

Stay Awesome.

Andy

ps- I hope my father had a really nice Birthday today. he lives across the street from Doogie Howser, you know. And he hosted the Tonys. Doogie, not my Dad. Duh.

10Am To 4Pm. Be there.