1. Explain why you started to journal/blog.

Because Kyle started one and when Kyle has something I the internet, I need to have the same thing. Actually for the first few weeks of my blog's life, I copied his design exactly.

2. Do people you interact with day to day or family members know about your journal/blog? Why or why not?

My parents know I have a website (the address is our last name, I should hope the know) but they don't read it. If it isn't crappy Osama Bin Laden humor, my dad doesn't read it. My mom doesn't know what the internet is, and my brother simply can't read. My co-workers don't know I have a website, I don't need them knowing about my life outside of my job, I don't like people like that having ammo against me.

3. Do you have a theme for your journal/blog?

It used to be a diner theme. I had links called, "hashbrowns" and crap like that. Now my theme is, well, me (in case you couldn't tell by the huge winking graphic of me).

4. What direction would you like to have your journal/blog go in over the next year?

I'd really like to use this as a device for good. I'd like to be able to keep writing stories on here or expressing my opinion on world events. I know for sure, at least for awhile, it'll document my move to and the adventures in Los Angeles. Of course, I'd like the content of my site to be worthy of linking. There are few sites that I would love to see my link on, I know my content just doesn't put me there yet.

5. Pimp five of your favorite journals/blogs

Are You Electrolicious? - This is what I strive for my content to be like. Ariel has a way of spinning her daily events into grand adventures. You won't find the phrase "honorary deputy of cheese" on her site. Well...you might.

This Jaded Life - I enjoy 's site because she's my eye to the third world country we all call, "The South." It's like Granny Moses but younger and with an internet connection.

Analog Cereal - The infamous P.J.Z. He's like myself, by times ten and with a posse of underage girls. More often than not, you'll end up reading Pete's blog and praying for his soul. Or you see pictures from his secret PJZ archive and you end up praying REALLY REALLY hard for his soul.

Goatee Style - Ryan has mastered the art of bloggery. His entire site is a well oiled machine that extends far beyond just his main blog page. Everything from evil goatees to brilliant advertising, Ryan has the best well-rounded site out there.

The Ruckus - Mac is pretty new to the blog world, but she's arrived on the scene with a roar. Her blog is brutally honest, brutally opinionated and sometimes brutally hung over. She's getting there, now if we could just get rid of the Martha link...

And I do have more favorites than these, but the ones above are just ones I check first thing in the morning. Please don't hate me, hate the Friday Five (P.S. - Perhaps if you were to PayPal me something in the neighborhood of $20, you could make the list too).

Someone ties a bow
in my backyard to show me love
My voice is climbing walls
smoking and i want love

My jaw's been broken
My heart is wrapped in ice
My fangs have been pulled
and i really want to see you tonight

I had to send an actually paper letter to a friend who is missing in action today. I had to use an envelope, put an address on it and find a stamp.

I was almost ashamed to be seen by the mail slot.

Last year I did my rant about Valentine's Day, so I'm not going to do it again, at least not yet. Nothing has yet to piss me off about it. The crapass helium balloons in the cafeteria are starting too though. Anyway, I still hold my position on the worthless nature of the day.

And to honor my feelings about that day, I'm taking my girlfriend to a hockey game. Nothing says "romance" like watered down beer and guys missing teeth.

Maybe she'll get a card too (especially due to her poor behavior lately).

"Chester appeared at a pep rally for the basketball team, and presented Johnson with a scrolled declaration proclaiming him an 'honorary deputy of cheese.'"

Some people just aim high in life.

I'm sure any college would be happy to honor your Cheetos points instead of recognizing your 1.03 GPA.

Idiot.

Sometimes, there's just nothing you can say about brilliance...

I know I promised that I'd make the attempt to add to this story every Monday, but I think it has already died. I don't think there was much a demand for it anyway, there's something about length that scares internet readers away.

Regardless, I've found another story to write and if I can just keep the oxen-of-inspiration pulling me on this one, I think we might have something special.

[UPDATE ON YESTERDAY'S POST: Connie apologized for labeling me an "embarrassment" and promised to buy me a Red Lobster dinner this weekend. Nothing says "love" like crabs. No...wait...]

Also, Heather FINALLY solves a sixteen year-old mystery...

FACT:

My girlfriend says I don't get invited to parties because my dancing is embarrassing.

1. What did you have for breakfast this morning? If you didn't have breakfast, why not?

Nothing for breakfast this morning. I polished off my box of Cheerios yesterday morning.

2. What's your favorite cereal?

I have a few favorite cereals, Cheerios, Frosted Flakes and Lucky Charms. All of which, at least to me, taste great sans-milk. I don't like cereal with milk because it makes it soggy, and on top of that, I can just sit at my desk and eat handfuls out of the box. It's much more convenient.

3. How often do you eat out? Do you want that to change?

That depends on what's going on. Usually when my girlfriend is home or I go visit her, we go out for food. But when I'm stranded at home, I usually just eat at home.

4. What do you plan on having for dinner tonight? Got a recipe for that?

I'm heading out to visit the girlfriend tonight so we'll probably Jimmy John's sandwiches. Best sandwiches since the Scranton Cafe in Lake Bluff closed.

5. What's your favorite restaurant? Why?

Right now, my favorite restaurant is Hooters. I've been on a MAJOR buffalo wing kick for well over a month now. We ate there last weekend and I ate 25 out of the 30 wings Connie and I ordered and I was still hungry. Mmm...buffalo wings...

Damnit, I'm hungry right now.

And no matter what...just don't stop believin'...

Do your own Friday Five.

That's the day I leave Illinois and begin the adventure to Los Angeles. No excuses, no backing down, no extending. That's it. I'm outta here.

List of things to buy when in L.A.:

1.) King size bedframe and matress
2.) Koss C220 DVD/Receiver Home Theater System
3.) new computer or a new laptop
4.) a guitar set of some kind
5.) get a dog
6.) Definitely a scooter, but I'm not sure which one.

This is what I get for taking one of those damned online quizzes. Not only do I get a messed up graphic, but I also apparently have no hope in life. And I'm also not quite sure, but it might be calling me the devil.

Bastards.


"You are maroon. You represent cunning stength, but usually a manipulative power evolves from it. You are vengeful and impure, and have nearly lost all hope at becoming beautiful inside again."

What inner color are you?

Okay, I'm trying something new. Every Monday, I'm going to try and post a new piece of a story. Perhaps not so much for the world to read but to get back into writing again. This is the story of Wayne Garber, average dude from Chicago, just trying to get to Los Angeles for his wedding. Tell me what you think, feel free to correct grammar, etc. Welcome to Wayne's world...(sorry, I couldn't help that one).

Wayne Garber - Part One

"This was like a bad episode of the X-Files."

That's the first thing Wayne Garber thought when everything around him began to sink in.

Wayne slowly woke and pushed himself upright on the bench. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes, then blinked a few times. Then, he panicked. He was sitting in a bus terminal, his shirt sweat soaked, and an equally damp little Hispanic boy sitting next to him and staring. Wayne instinctively leaned forward and reached his right arm around to check his wallet.

Gone.

His left arm shot out blindly searching for his backpack.

Gone.

Panic washed over him. He remembered the twenty dollar bill in his front pocket.

Gone.

Wayne's hands shot to his head, he began to sweat even more. How did he get here? Where is "here?" Wayne turned to the boy to his left, the boys eyes fixed on him.

"Umm...donde esta?" Wayne asked the boy, the boy just blinked. "Thank you." Wayne said as he rolled his eyes at the boy.

Wayne stood up and turned to the boy again, "Gracias caballero," and he proceeded to search for a ticket window.

The bus station had no wall that separated the inside and outside so the heat just filled the terminal and mixed with the smells of exhaust. Small families littered the station with their children and luggage circled around them. Wayne wandered towards what appeared to be the ticket window. Behind the glass was an obese man wearing a tank top, yellow with sweat. Wayne leaned forward toward the hole in the glass to speak, but the smell from inside the booth knocked him back. The huge man just glared at Wayne as he leaned towards the window again.

"What bus station is this?" Wayne said in a slow and deliberate tone, as most Americans do when speaking to what we believe are foreigners.

"El Paso."

El Paso? Wayne's mind exploded with questions, "How the hell did I get to El Paso? I was going to Los Angeles! El Paso is still in the U.S., right? RIGHT?" Wayne just stood outside the booth, blankly staring out at the buses coming and going.

"How much for a ticket to Los Angeles?" He turned back to the ticket man.

"Forty-five dollars." The man seemed disgusted that Wayne had made him recall that information.

"Okay, forty-five dollars. Is there an A.T.M. here?"

"An A.T.-what?" The man looked even more perturbed by Wayne now that he had continued the conversation. Wayne then realized the A.T.M. would be useless without his wallet.

"How about a bank? Hay un banco?" In the back of his mind, Wayne was thanking Ms. Degrasso for the Spanish classes.

"Front door," the man pointed with a meaty finger, "turn left, go three blocks. Banco."

"Gracias senior!" Wayne ran to the front door of the terminal and continued to the bank.

Wayne was half surprised that the bank was actually where the fat, unfriendly ticket man had told him. As Wayne approached the doors, signs were made and hung on the door. Red pen declared, "No Air Conditioning: No Aire Acondicionado."

"Great." Wayne entered the bank and headed to the first available teller.

"Hello, how can I help you?" The teller was young, maybe just out of high school. Her skin was dark tan and her long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She quickly glanced over Wayne, noticing first his smell, then the sweat circles growing under his arms.

"Well, I think my wallet was stolen and I need forty-five dollars to get a bus ticket."

"Well sir, since I'm assuming you have no identification on you, we will be unable to help you," Wayne's face melted, "However, we do have a phone you can use to call someone and they can wire the money to this location." Wayne smiled. He wanted to hug the teller. "Please come this way sir."

Wayne followed her to a small empty desk with an old rotary telephone on it. Taped to the desk we directions on how to wire the money, bank address and information. Wayne knew who he had to call, and he knew she wasn't going to be happy.

Rebecca “Becky” Marshall was his fiancé, and she had a temper.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, EL PASO!?” Rebecca's voice exploded over the phone. A few people in a nearby line turned as Wayne sank in the seat. “Wayne, how can you do this to me? The wedding is in six days! Daddy is going to be FURIOUS!” The last thing Wayne wanted to hear was anything about “daddy.” Rebecca’s father didn’t exactly approve of Wayne. Her father was a partner in a very upscale law firm and believed Wayne was nothing but a screw-up from the moment they met.

“Baby, you need to relax, okay? I just need you to wire me that forty-five dollars and I can get on the next bus once it gets here, okay? It’s like a one day trip from here so I could be there by Tuesday.”

“Fine. I’ll send the money. But I’m so pissed off right now Wayne I can barely think.” Wayne heard the squeak of a wine cork over the phone.

“Thank you so much baby. I love you.”

“Yeah.” Rebecca hung up the phone. Wayne stood up and returned to talk to the teller.

“Is there a restaurant I can go to while I wait?”

“Yes, there is a T.G.I.Friday’s just up the street.” She pointed further left. Great, a Friday’s, Wayne tried to hide his disappointment. “The money should be ready in an hour or two.”

“Thank you.”

Wayne stepped back out into the Texas sun, he was starting to crave a shower. Maybe he could clean up a little in the Friday’s bathroom. He turned and began walking toward the restaurant and passed an alleyway. An arm grabbed the back of his shirt as he walked by and pulled him into the shadows.

Two men stood close to Wayne, a short chubby one was holding his shirt, pinning him to the wall. A taller, mustached man held an old looking revolver near Wayne’s head. The men seemed puzzled by Wayne’s reaction to them. Wayne just stood there, thinking to himself, “Could this day get any worse?”

“Give us your money gringo!” The fat one ordered.

“I don’t have any! Look for yourself.” The tall one reached into Wayne’s pockets and came up with nothing.

“Aye! Cabron!” The fat one yelled again. “You, wait here. Do not move or my friend will shoot you dead.”

Wayne did as told, the two men walked a few steps away from Wayne and huddled. From what Wayne could tell, it was a very intense conversation. The two men waved their arms and whispered angrily for what seemed to be ten minutes.

Then men broke and returned to Wayne, the fat one again grabbed Wayne’s shirt.

“Okay, since you have no money, we have decided to kidnap you!” Barked the fat man.

“What!? You’re serious?” Wayne replied. The two men looked at each other.

“Yes, very serious.” The tall one said, punctuated with a wave of the gun.

“Come on guys. I’ve had a terrible day already. I woke up in the bus station, someone already picked my wallet and backpack, I haven’t stopped sweating since I got here and my fiancé is really mad at me for all of this. Please let me go.” Wayne’s story made the two men look at each other again.

“No, we cannot let you go.” The tall man reached above Wayne’s head with the pistol.

“You’re going to pistol whip me? That doesn’t work in real life guys, just in movies. Sorry.”

The tall man swung the wood handle of the gun down across Wayne’s temple. Wayne crumpled to the ground unconscious.