so arriving home from yet another day that exceeded the ante set by the previous, a pattern made exponentially upward, has made this week one of the most momentous i've ever experienced, at least in the case of vocational inertia. in other words, i love my fucking job. and i'd go on and on about why/how/who and where, but that's a whole other issue with a whole other blog heading.
tonight is about dreams come true, or at least one in particular. ok that would also qualify as a venerable header to discuss my new job, but no. this dream is far different. this reality has fulfilled a dream that formed long before such concepts as "job" and "equity" and "botox" even entered my vocabulary. and like every major revelation to hit humanity, i suppose it's still subject to the "one man's treasure is another man's travesty," tenet, which makes the polar opposite of the joy i feel right now a regard of absolute disgust and degradation, which probably causes you to want to know even MORE what my major discovery is. and never one to keep my people waiting too long, i present the unequivocal answer to
ok don't even tell me i was the only mizundaztood seven year-old in northeastern pennsylvania so enamored by dog treats that he wasn't only tempted to try them, sinking his little chiclet teeth into the girthy, crunchy mass, but formed an all-out obsession with them. and this is more than just the real deal. as anyone who has come within a stone's throw of my, well, unusual list of personal proclivities knows, it's not just the shape of these that touches a boy's heart via his esophagus, but their graham cracker composition secures them the highest position on my list of, you know, favorite things. a temporary reprise in high school spawned by the discovery of an organic variety of dog treats made of "human-edible" ingredients was but a mere tease for an itch that would require something very specific to scratch (see fig. A). and while i know there's something sick and fundamentally wrong with feeding your children graham crackers shaped like bones that are clearly (and frighteningly) evocative of dog treats, i sort don't give a flying flea what it is
of course the psychotropic euphoria induced by this visceral discovery is to blame for the subsequent pop tart purchase, but with the weekend mere hours away, the time to burn all 200 calories per tart shouldn't be hard to sink my teeth into.
and that, my dear friends, is the high-fiber, omega-3 enriched, ooey gooey goodness of bryanambition for today.
with love, life and lesbian-themed journals,