Spit Game

I don't know what's going on but lately, I've just been kinda phlegmy. Most every time I cough, I need to spit. And mind you, that is not ladylike, not in the least. But then again, who ever said I needed to be? So what if I cough? Don't you? And don't you also get that salty glob of goo bouncing on your tongue while you're driving? It makes me a bit nervous on the freeway because I get paranoid that once I roll my window down to eject the human slimeball, my speed combined with the wind will cause my salt goober to land against my driver side rear window, thus forth, freaking out whomever is sitting behind me looking out the window at the time. If it were me sitting back there, I'd be thankful that I left my window closed because I would be sleeping and if I left my window open, I would most likely have swallowed that potentially viral mucus because I might sleep with my mouth open.


I wonder who would feel more awful, the driver who spit, or the passenger who saw it spread across her window seat view, blurring their vision of how much of a percentage off their sale is at Ikea. What an indecent distraction from daydreaming. I'm gonna go with the passenger. I think the passenger would feel a sense of uncomfortable awkwardness, like when your underwear sticks to your crotch in public and you can't pull it out without anyone noticing so you just have to let it marinate.

This is only because 1) the driver probably doesn't know where their gift landed, and 2) the passenger might be a carpooler who doesn't even know the driver and would fail to react as a homie and say, "Oh my GOD! That's gross, man. Your spit just landed on my window." Nope. A carpooler would just ignore that it happened and once they get out of the car, they'd go to their office or pull out their cell phone, and tell everyone they know about the catastrophe that occurred this morning. It's not exactly the kind of conversation you want to be having while you're on a date.

If I were on a date at the local high-end wallet-slimming trendy hot spot, I would rather conversate about the proper way to pop a pimple than talk about swallowing someone else' liquid bacterial package. Although both conversations are quite distasteful, at least I can relate to disputing your friendly neighborhood T zone violation. If my date ever brought up spit, then I'm going to throw up shit.

Thoughts when you're sick

I'm sick for the 3rd time in the past 4 weeks. Today, it was raining like all the apostles were balling. All I could think about was my poor car and how I wished I could put it in the garage. Alas, I cannot. There is so much crap in my garage that there is probably a family of rodents chillin in the unused bookshelves and feeding off of the gazillion lbs. of discounted cereal we have expiring as I write. Every time a huge storm rolls into town, I like to think about the homeless people. Where do they go? What do they do? What should I do? Anything to help? What if they lose their stuff? Do they have to collect all over again? I guess so if you've lost everything. But then again, how can you lose everything when you have nothing? In this case, I doubt the Lost & Found can help. They'd be quite crowded if this were possible. And then there's those idiots who post things on craigslist's lost + found category. Um, yes, if I've lost my wallet with my ID, credit cards, and social security card in it (yes, I know I shouldn't have that in there. Someone please remind me to take it out next time you see me), the first thing I'd do is check craigslist to see if anyone found it. Yah, I'll most definitely do THAT.

Anyway, it's actually 3:28 AM right now. According to the timestamp, I started writing at 11:55 PM. That's what I get for multitasking with keeping up with Myspace and Facebook as two of those tasks. Boy, that sure takes some sweet time! I'd better use an alarm next time. Y'know, just to have a deadline. I can never make it as a journalist. How lame is that?

I think being a journalist would be a great job. Kinda like what Carrie does on Sex & the City? How cool would it be to get paid documenting my personal life? Of course, that would have a strict requirement that my life be interesting enough to produce a column in a trashy tabloid, that of which I will surely fail. For example, all I did today was watch television, eat macaroni with spam & cream of mushroom soup, and look out the window at my car. Oh, and I texted a few folks that I was sick and will not be joining them at the birthday party I was invited to. I should have gone too because I heard it was going to be a sausage fest. Voila, the example of a life less interesting than watching mold grow. I guess in order to creatively write that way, I'd have to have a lot more sex. Cuz sex sells, right? That's what I heard. Ahh, spam. And I tried to be pescetarian for awhile...it's sad that spam is what broke me.