"I'd Let That Lonesome Whistle Blow My Blues Away" Johnny Cash

I flew out on Tuesday, leaving behind my candy-colored tank tops and Carolina blue skies. I arrived that same night to a frosty and empty Indianapolis, awash in Final Four posters and the concentrated stink of midwestern thunderstorms.

I started chain-smoking again, almost immediately. In fact, that's how I first saw my long-absent father. Apparently, said father has remarried and is now an active dad and husband for his sub-par replacement family (my disaffection for these people is worsened by their being Duke fans). He also admitted to helping himself to an unhealthy dosage of my Blogster entries. He said he hoped I wasn't angry, and I really can't be angry can I? I put it out there and a lot of people read it. Well, some people read it anyway. Ick.

Now, being that I'm a jovial fellow, I decided to take the high road and make nice with my...step-family. ICK. On Wednesday and Thursday I obeyed my self-imposed duties and entertained with, introduced myself to, reminisced with, and comforted the stream of people who visited the small Amish funeral home where the viewing was held. The viewing. Ick. Come in, sign the book, respectfully (or out of phsyical necessity) slowly walk past the rows of unused chairs, introduce yourself to me (yes, he was, is my grandfather), wet my collar with your tears, (yes, I remember he loved his coffee), and then stare at the body in that white-satin filled coffin. That's what you came for?

Not yet did I cry. The skin on my thumb cracked open from my continuous smoking in 30 and 40 degree weather.

Friday morning began windy, gray and wet. A beautiful back country day according to my grandmother. I donned my "Look, I'm Catholic" outfit, wrapped a Rosary around my hand and followed my family to the Church of Former Amishmen. As we filed past my grandfather for the last time, I reached out. I don't know why. And then I began to weep. When I finally collapsed sobbing in front of my Grandfather's coffin, I felt my father's arm around my shoulders, and we helped each other into the church.

Mom's pretty broken up. I talked to her on the phone last night and she's sitting alone watching old family movies and crying. There's probably an empty bottle or two of wine sitting around, but that's really none of my business anymore.

"Behold a Pale Horse"

My Grandfather died last Sunday night.

Safe on Thursday Night

Spring Break has run away like the short little cowardly bitch it has always been. This year it started with a really bad haircut from a stoned stylist and ended at 2 a.m. on a mostly-closed up Franklin Street. A street which, at this time last year, was lit up by bonfires, police cruisers, and drunk co-eds in banana costumes. Last year I, and a couple of folks who are no longer my friends, got fried chicken and watched the drunkies stumble around celebrating.

This year I got a steak pita with one really good friend and wondered whatever happened to my fake i.d. By 10 a.m. Monday, I realized it was right back to the same old shit. I had a job interview (took a taxi and TWO buses to get there), and this time, I don't think I screwed up. Well, I don't think I screwed up too badly. So my day almost ended nicely.

Then my brother called me Monday night. He received a Red Cross telegram from our three-years absent father. Nice way to deliver the news that your grandfather is dying. It's not like I didn't expect it. The last time I saw him he wasn't doing all that well, and he is over 80 years old. But GOD DAMMIT. He's the only person on my dad's side of the family that I love. The only one I care about. The rest of the bigoted, racist, judgemental, uppity motherfuckers can stick a lit stick dynamite up their asses and fart.

I didn't think I'd say that much.

"Be my friend. . . Godfather?" Mario Puzo's The Godfather Part I

I've decided upon a life of crime. I'm discreet, I have pretty good aim, and, once established, my loyalty is unshakeable.

I know it's 3 o'clock in the morning, and probably not the best time to be making absolute life decisions, but I have arrived at this decision after much intensive thought (conducted during the first 7 minutes of The Godfather).

E mio Italiano non è difettoso. Io sono perfetta per il maffia. Ma, io voglio essere un cantante molto famoso segretamente. . .

I don't have enough money to finish school. I don't even have enough money to file my taxes. I took a crash course this morning in tax preparation, filled out a few forms this afternoon, crossed my fingers, and am currently praying that I don't get audited.

And if I hear the words 'cover letter' one more fucking time I swear I'll attack the PRSA headquarters with a case of molotov cocktails and a fucking blowtorch.

At least now that I can admit this to myself, it's on to plan G: Attenzione mob bosses! I am the one for you! Listen: Luca Brasi dorme con i pesce! Buono?

TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF - The Survey
Name:	Gigi
Birthday:	I was born at the dawn of time. After a light dinner of enchiladas and ginger ale, I farted. This caused the Big Bang.
Birthplace:	The Center of the Universe.
Current Location:	Chapel Hill NC
Your Weakness:	Shiny objects and cotton candy.
Your Fears:	Hypodermic needles. It takes two nurses to hold me down and give me a shot.
Your Perfect Pizza:	I fucking hate pizza.
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year:	Take over the world with my army of koala bears and then kidnap John Stossel and keep him in a cage in my courtyard where I will routinely poke him with churros. Which I will then consume. Mmmmm, churros.
Thoughts First Waking Up:	"FUCK!! I"M LATE!!!"
Your Bedtime:	We do not sleep.
Pepsi or Coke:	Sierra Mist.
MacDonalds or Burger King:	Wendy's.
Single or Group Dates:	I like my dates like I like my sex. Alone, and with a full pack of batteries.
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea:	Starbucks.
Chocolate or Vanilla:	Strawberry.
Cappuccino or Coffee:	Peppermint Vanilla Frap.
Do you Smoke:	Yes. When I get pissed, smoke starts pouring out of my ears. Maybe I should go to a doctor.
Do you Swear:	Fuck you.
Do you Sing:	Like an angel. An angel of death.
Do you Shower Daily:	Yes. Sometimes I use soap too.
Have you Been in Love:	Once, I was young, and he was French. After we mated, I ate him and assumed his powers.
Do you want to go to College:	Um....I don't know how to say this, but I'm kind of already in college. Thanks for asking though.
Do you want to get Married:	Only if I can marry myself.
Are you a Health Freak:	Are you calling me a freak?! I eat granola.
Do you play an Instrument:	If you count the hearts of men.
In the past month have you Drank Alcohol:	I downed a bottle of rubbing alcohol last night. I felt so fresh and soooo clean.
In the past month have you Smoked:	I caught on fire on New Year's Eve.
In the past month have you been on Drugs:	Only what my therapist prescribed. And then the nurses at the hospital where I live injected me with something. I got calm and stopped biting after that.
In the past month have you gone on a Date:	I thought we explained the date thing already!!! WHY AREN'T YOU LISTENING!!!!
In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos:	Me likey Oreos!! Me likey Oreos!!
In the past month have you eaten Sushi:	I grabbed a fish that flopped up on the beach and tore it's head off with my teeth. Does that count?
In the past month have you been Dumped:	A plane dumped me off back in North Carolina. Does that count?
In the past month have you Stolen Anything:	I stole my boyfriend's soul. Does that count?
Ever been Drunk:	One time, at the hospital where I live, some old woman stuck a straw in my ear and started to suck. Does that count?
Ever been called a Tease:	Yes. And then I proceed to beat him with a hose. But I think he liked it.
Ever been Beaten up:	I am all powerful. I'd like to see someone try. ANYONE!!????? ANYONE???!!! fucking pansies.
How do you want to Die:	Gigi cannot die.
What do you want to be when you Grow Up:	I'm going to be world dictator. Guess I'll take it from there.
What country would you most like to Visit:	When I take over the world, they will all become one country. Gigiameurasiartica.
In a Boy/Girl..
Favourite Eye Color:	Dead.
Favourite Hair Color:	Dead.
Short or Long Hair:	Dead.
Height:	Dead.
Weight:	Dead.
Best Clothing Style:	Dead.
Number of Drugs I have taken:	1,780,203.44555
Number of CDs I own:	refer to number of drugs i've taken.
Number of Piercings:	refer to number of drugs i've taken.
Number of Tattoos:	refer to number of drugs i've taken.
CREATE YOUR OWN! - or - GET PAID TO TAKE SURVEYS!

"Does she have wireless?"

There was nothing to do at work Tuesday, so I was bored to the point of raking hot flaming nails across my face. Got to class and some random stinky kid sat next me. Even disregarding the fact that she was soaking wet and smelled like it, she had the breath of a thousand deaths.

I used to volunteer in a nursing home, and the elderly who were bedridden had to be moved in order to avoid bedsores.

This girl's breath smelled like the sweat that would waft up from the bedsheets.

After being released from the clutches of her bad dental hygiene, I had to wait for an hour, in the rain, for the latest bus in the history of Chapel Hill's mass transit system. I was drenched by the time I got home.

I peeled off all my clothes and threw them in the washing machine. And then I realized that my cell phone was in the back pocket of my jeans. I still haven't been able to turn it on.