Wow. My laptop is now making the exact same whistling/screeching noise as (what's left of) my shitty car brakes. I've been hearing a ringing cell phone noise in my head constantly. It won't stop. And now, my bathroom ceiling AND WALLS are leaking water. Who has leaking WALLS? All these water bubbles formed on the ceiling and walls just waiting to flood my entire apartment.

And of course all this shit happens on my VACATION. I only possess three items of any value and they all SUCK!

I went to yoga for the first time yesterday. One time a long time ago before yoga was popular I got free yoga every week in the third grade and I swore I would never go to yoga on my own volition EVER. The reason is because I don't like when people to tell me to be still, relax, or think of nothing. It makes me want to kill someone. Why should I intentionally think of nothing? Seriously don't ever tell me to find my inner peace or I'll cut you. Anyways I thought maybe I should give yoga a chance now that I hate work and everyone tells me it is a good destresser. I have to admit, that shit works you out. I was surprised. And overall, i did like it...BUT. BUT. Some things really pissed me off still. i'm just not all about the peace. When I walked in the instructor was talking about how we should adapt and find balance in our lives just like in yoga. Please. I hate bad metaphors. And the WORST part was that she kept calling your ass your SIT BONES. I don't know what in the hell could make someone refer to your ass as your sit bones with a straight face. Oh wait. Yeah I can. It's called yoga. She referred to them as sit bones PLURAL. She said the following statement: Feel both your sit bones on the mat. As in, your asses are separate entities. Not one sit BONE, but sit BONES. Anyways it was annoying. I think I'll go back on Friday.

You know what the worst feeling in the world is? Being a teacher and then grading the students' big unit test and discovering that you might as well been replaced with a mute statue or even a retarded monkey all of these days that you were working so hard to teach them, and they would have done just as well, if not better, on their tests. Because there's no way they could have possibly done worse. But you know what the best feeling in the world is? Knowing that in one more day winter break will come and you can drink all your problems away like the true alcoholic role model that you are. HAPPY MOTHERFUCKING HOLIDAYS!

Did you know that the 99 Cents Store has a deli? And a gourmet food section? I can only imagine what types of food are sold in these locales. The sign for the gourmet foods section flashes like the neon lights on a brothel of a two-bit whore. Classy. As I passed by and looked through the window, I think I could glimpse a tub of Land O' Lakes spreadable butter in the gourmet food section . With an expiration date that rivals that commerical astronaut food they sell at museums. Apparently it never expires, but it's probably been disgusting since a decade ago. One time in Vegas I went to this cheap ass supermarket outside of the strip, where the real people live. I bought Juicy Fruit gum and an orange. They were super cheap, so I asked the person at the check out stand why, but she just shook her mullet and said, "It's good enough for ME! I don't ASK!" When I got outside I bit into a piece of gum but I couldn't even break off a piece because it was so rock hard. And the orange was WHITE inside. I mean like a real fucking albino orange. Isn't the selling of such merchandise illegal somehow? They're trying to ban the sale of fast food with trans fats in them, but they don't care about albino oranges? I think I should run for president and change this. My campaign will run on the slogan: The darker the orange, the sweeter the juice. Stop the injustice now. Out with deformed fruits in 2006. And I'll post up signs in the 99 Cents Store. Cuz that shit's fucking gourmet.

Please tell me I'm hearing wrong-this is the news headline I just heard: Coming up next, an 86 year old third grader teaches himself-and the world- a very valuable lesson.

Kill me now.

You know what's stupid? The idea that anything actually matters. No, this is not my depressed-suicidal-homicidal rant, although that may come next time. No, this is reality. Everything is absolutely ridiculous. For example, the idea that I'm sitting at a staff meeting at work and they are talking about the new way to teach kids. We all know that this will probably change tommorow, and there will be an even newer (more profitable) way to teach kids, so when I look around, nobody gives a damn. Teachers are checking their phones, staring into space wondering how and when they'll kill themselves, eating a Ring Pop. Yeah, okay, that was me eating the Ring Pop. But seriously-how ridiculous is that? I'm supposed to be learning important information but I'm eating a watermelon Ring Pop and shifting it to different fingers to see which is the best fit. Because this is my new motto: Will it matter when you're dead? I have this little checklist in my head. Will learning how to supposedly teach better matter when you're dead? No. So I'm not going to pay attention then. Will paying your bills on time matter when you're dead? No, unless you owe money to a funeral home. So I'm not going to do that then. Will becoming a vegetarian matter when you're dead? No. In fact, didn't Abraham end up sacrificing a calf instead of his first born in the Bible? So I believe the Bible condones red meat. Further proof of this can be seen in Hebrew National hot dogs. But that's another story. The main point is, no, it won't matter when you're dead, so you should consume all the bloody yummy meat you can and chew on the bone while you're at it. Will working all day so that you're tired and pissed off only to suffer in levels of serotonin and personal relationships matter when you're dead? No. So I've decided that soon I will not do that either. After all, homeless people don't work and they all seem to own dogs. I can't even afford crickets for my chameleon, so these people are obviously doing something right that I'm not. Anyway, my point is, to think that anything matters except doing what makes you happy is ridiculous. Which is why I will continue to eat Ring Pops and beef. You should try this sometime: go through your list of obligations, and test it against my motto. It's very liberating. And if all these things do end up mattering when you're dead, I guess I'll be screwed. But at least my breasts will be bigger from USDA grade A meat hormones.

So today I was knocking at my dad's door because he was supposed to buy me some meat from the market. When I got there, there was no answer. I called his cell phone. No answer. This is not normal, I thought, as my dad always answered his phone, even when his senior-citizen ass had to duck under the steering wheel and take his eyes off the freeway to pick up his phone. But I kept knocking and calling, and no answer. So then I thought-Oh shit. What if he's dead? Weirdly, the first thought after that was, Oh shit, my fingerprints will be the last ones they find on the doorbell of his house. It seemed like the start of a bad sitcom/melodrama. But then I thought-Oh shit. This is for reals. No dad and no meat. Second worst day of my life after Christmas when all the markets are closed and I'm the only Jew who doesn't like Chinese food. Anyway, finally I hear this shuffling noise and my dad answers the door in these little running shorts of his. So he wasn't dead. No, instead I forgot that he was doped up on Serraquil. So then he starts grumbling. That's what he does lately, grumble. And about 10 minutes later I look up and he's still in his running shorts, after telling me he was going to hurry up and get dressed. Finally he's dressed and he chooses his huge knit 'Y" sweater. It's this bulky navy blue sweater with a very big white "Y" knitted on the front. I mean it's a giant "Y" plastered right on the front there. Don't ask. Then I remember that he was supposed to take us on a trip to New York when we were younger but instead he bought this very expensive sweater and could no longer afford it. So I don't feel as bad about caring more about meat than his impending death a little while earlier because two wrongs make a right.

Anyway. When we finally start walking to the market, he starts yelling at me to watch out for traffic as we cross the street at a pedestrian crosswalk.

"Stick with me! Watch out! Stick with me, I wave my hands so the cars will see me!" My dad starts waving his hands maniacally in the air.

"Yeah, dad, I see the cars," I reply. I think my vision is a little better than a 64 year old man doped up on Serraquil and Lithium even if I do have remnants of an infection in my left eye.

"You're wearing dark colors! Watch out!" he whines.

"You're wearing dark colors too!"

He acts like he doesn't hear me. Instead he just keeps waving his hands around in the air as we walk. This reminds me of the time when he was trying to teach me how to drive and kept yelling at me to not hit pedestrians. Case in point, I didn't get my license until I was 22.

"The cars are peeping! They're peeeeeping! Hurry up!" my dad screams. Yeah, he doesn't say the cars are beeping, he says peeping. Part of his self-proclaimed "Connecticut dialect".

"But I thought I was supposed to be careful!" I yell back. Again, he doesn't seem to hear me as he shuffles into the market.

I am happy to say that today I got meat and a not-dead dad, so this was not the second worst day of my life after Christmas. Easter still holds firmly at second place.

In other news, I realized that I use the word "maniacally" a lot. Could this be a summary of my life-maniacal? More to come on that note later.