Vilma Banky’s raised eyebrow

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Yeesh. I’m so sleepy these days. And i never, ever get enough drawing done on my days off. Where is my concentration? To be an artist of any sort, you have to be able to sit down and just focus and WORK for seven hours straight and finish shit. I can’t seem to manage that these days, and i don’t know why. I’m not drinking or drugging. And i sleep well. Today, i woke up and saw that i had a missed call and nine texts from John…

…normally, that would have woken me up. I know i’m sleeping in a larger bed and my phone is a bit further away, but still, unusual.

This weather — utterly schizophrenic. Last night it was 70 degrees at midnight with thunderstorms rolling in. Tonight, back down to 28 degrees with snow flurries. They did it, they broke the climate.

We finally turned the keys in to the old place. Now we’re just waiting to get our security deposit check in the mail. It’s over. We escaped that place. Turns out the massive leak was from the bottom of the water heater rusting out. Three days after we left. Three days.

I feel like my brain can’t think good right now. I’ll finish this later.

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I miss the old Dahir. It’s funny, he and Muna have switched it up — she used to sleep all night, while Dahir and i would hang out and do things and have fun. Now, she stays up all night and has developed a serious jones for movies, while Dahir looks a little more zombified every time i work with him. He’ll just stumble in and pass out, making some random excuse. Maybe it’s just a lack of sleep, or too much pot, or he’s trying to take on too much, but whatever it is, the dude is cashed out all the time.

I miss the old Dahir. I hope he gets the spring back in his step.

Every week at this job feels like it’s going to be the last one. Everything feels like it’s just teetering on the brink. It’s probably all in my mind. I might be at this place for 2-3 more years. So why does it always feel like the end?

I’ve lost touch with the wider world. The economy fell apart, and for years everyone was in disaster mode, and then it slowly got better, but things are still bad. How bad? What’s really going on in America? All you hear these days is guns, guns, the Superbowl, and guns.

Guns? Shmuns.

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Sometimes Mary pisses me off so much. Last night, her and my brother got it into their heads that Cooper needed to wear this old dog sweater that she has, a horrid thing that looks like one of those sock monkey puppets. Not just wear it, but wear it permanently and all the time. Even though it was too tight, they squeezed him into it. He didn’t seem to mind, but later when he tried to sleep, he started whining and trying to pull himself out of it. So i finally had to put my foot down and say NO SWEATERS ON THE DOGS and they were getting mad at me like it was my fault. Poor Cooper. Luna is my dog and Godzilla is my brother’s dog, but Cooper kinda belongs to both of us. So he gets stuck in the middle.

I think the point i was trying to make is that Mary still bugs the hell out of me. The way she talks… is infantile. She talks like a kindergartener or a kindergarten teacher, i’m not sure which. Her brain is filled with dog sweaters and warm cookies and poo-poo and stinky-doo and Despicable Me.

Why. Is this woman. In our apartment all the time. Why can’t my brother date a real adult.

>__<

On the plus side, my brother learned to make stir-fry from a mobile app. It’s delicious and i’m impressed.

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Hey, did you know that Better Off Dead has an evil twin? Well, more like a retarded cousin. While renting the film from Netflix, i saw that the year after Better Off Dead was made, the same writer/director made a movie called One Crazy Summer that also starred John Cusack and about half the cast of Better Off Dead. I watched it, and…

….oh. It’s horrible. It’s almost the same movie, really, except everything is unfunny and poorly-paced and my god, Demi Moore never was a good actress at all, was she.

The only good thing about this movie is that is has some hot ’80s bikini girls in it. That vintage hotness is irreplacable. As my coworkers have shown me, you can just pick up your phone these days and access an unlimited amount of porn where scads of women are totally nude and shaking and grinding and twerking and putting the camera right into their buttholes and whatever in the most explicit ways possible, but it’s just not as sexy as the ’80s movie bikini babe. That’s classic hotness.

I feel like Mr. Burns, reminiscing about how Vilma Banky could “do more for him with one raised eyebrow than all the tawdry half-clothed starlets” of the modern age. I feel you, Charles Montgomery. I feel you.