A Snapshot Of Ken

After thinking very little about this problem, I talked to SML and he suggested that I get a laxative. I took a suggested dosage before we went to Easter dinner at Brian and Jesse’s home a said very seriously to SML, “We can’t stay very long. I don’t want to explode in their bathroom.” This last point was very important because I would sooner lose a limb than have multiple people hear my bowel movements.

SML and I got home with every intention of going to the gym until I confessed I didn’t feel well enough to do anything but complain and groan. We were sitting on the couch watching Family Guy when the Albertson’s branded laxative kicked in and I started to feel as though my intestines had folded over into tight pulsating knots. I jumped up in a mad dash, feeling very much like a hunchback as I hobbled into the bathroom, trying very hard to move my abdomen as little as possible. I think I may have said something like, “It’s TIME!” during that rush, but it all happened so fast I could have changed my entire outfit and not have remembered.

When I finally did rest on the porcelain, I made some unsavory noises that I would rather not mention. I can’t think of time in my life where I’ve felt more like a faucet, and that includes the time I threw up five times at the Weber State Library. After everything had settled, I sat in near silence as the toilet water refilled, regretting very much the decision to take that small pebble-sized laxative. That silence was interrupted when through the door SML said, “That sounded very promising!”

It’s strange, because I could remember all sorts of things about the Dachau city, without remembering the actual name. I knew that Autoliv had offices there, and that it was located in the state of Bavaria. I even knew it practically bordered Munich, but the actual name of the city and concentration camp seemed impossible to remember. How is that I can remember the cobblestone streets, and the high wall around the camp but not the name?

Over the weekend someone asked me why I blogged. It’s a fair question, since I don’t receive all that many visits and my writing isn’t very good. I couldn’t say, “My fans would kill themselves if I stopped!” or “I’m giving something back to the world by writing about nothing.” It isn’t therapeutic, since I normally don’t write about real problems in my life and it certainly hasn’t earned me respect. So then…why?

I’m sure my answer “Because I like writing” sounded idiotic and half-assed. And that’s because it was. I don’t know why I Blog, but I have a feeling it’s because I have what’s clinically known as raving madness. Or is it because I want to remember something in the future; like how I felt after quitting my first job or how Gizmo will always be hawt. Or maybe I’ll just want to remember that the concentration camp in southern Germany was named Dachau?

Maybe I should just hit the delete button the way I would rip off a Band-Aid. It would sting; but only at first.

Moving really irritates me, especially unplanned tightly-scheduled moves. On Sunday morning, after I had moved most of my things, I left my office chair near my car since I figured that I could put another box underneath the chair. It wasn’t too long that I heard the wheel’s of the black leather chair rolling off into the distance. I jumped to the window to see where the rolling thunder and gone, but I was too late.

Like most people would feel after being robbed, I was offended. I felt like writing an angry Alanis Morissette ballad, but instead opted to pout and drank a bottle of water. I decided to be positive and focused on the fact that I was finally done! I could go home and finish unpacking, relax…

After taking a final glance around the apartment and bidding adieu, I plummeted down into the driver’s seat of my ill-fated Pontiac. After holding the clutch to floor, I turned they key expecting to hear the engine roar to life. Instead, I heard the soft sputtering of a failing engine as the interior lights flickered. My battery had died.

I can’t find my hair product anywhere! I use a putty made by Salon Selectives called, “Control[d] Substance”. It’s the only hair product that I like because it gives my hair a firm thick look that disguises the fact that my thinning hair could fall off my head at any given moment.

At some point, I could buy the Substance at several stores like Albertsons or Wal*Mart. Then, it started only being available at Wal*Mart so I’d buy four or five boxes at the same time since I hate going to Wal*Mart. Last Wednesday, I drove ALL the way to Wal*Mart, walked from the BACK of the insanely full parking lot, and searched through the hair care aisles ultimately to leave empty-handed.

Since I hate feeling defeated, I went to another Wal*Mart; the scary one in Ft. Union where the greeter booms, “Welcome to your Midvale Wal*Mart!” I walked through another insanely full parking lot, and searched through the maze of shopping carts only to leave empty handed. Again.

Luckily, I found one more box of the Substance stuffed away in my bathroom drawer (apparently hidden for safekeeping). But it’s my last one. What am I going to do? Does anyone know where I can get it? The website for Salon Selectives lies and sends you to an online retailer that doesn’t even sell their products! What the hell? I already have bad hair; I’m not ready for it to get worse.

What’s next? Are they going to stop selling Twinkies too!?

When I went to the grocery store a couple of weeks ago, I literally put my hands on my hips when I saw the prices of four razors. Were prices for the Gillette brand always this high? After making several trips to other stores including Wal Mart, I found the same outrageous prices.

Instead of purchasing the razors, I waited. I thought maybe prices would go down, or perhaps that Gabe would purchase some and I could steal his. Neither of the two happened.

I stood in the aisle at Albertsons pondering my options. In one hand, the Mach3 Razors and the cheaply made plastic bic razor horrors in the other, I weighed my options. I could either spend more money for the nice shave, or go on strike against Gillette and choose to bleed every morning.

I’m bleeding. I never thought I was such a cheap bastard