mychai's Diaryland Diary

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JP's version of "I have a dream."

I tell you that there is one truth, and one truth only, when you are living the dieting lifestyle: When you buy a one-pound bag of Peanut Butter M&Ms, saying that you will eat only one every day, you are, in actuality, feeding yourself a line of complete and utter bullshit.

Because Peanut Butter M&Ms are like potato chips in that you can't eat just one.

That's about the only way they are like potato chips. Because potato chips are made out of potatoes and not milk chocolate, peanut butter, and a crispy, crunchy outer shell.

The new roommate has moved in. This was her first weekend in the former JPad.

If you know me, you will know that my most honest reactions come non-verbally -- in the forms of facial expressions and gruntal sounds. It's the cave man in me.

So... Let me start over again: The new roommate has completely moved in and now lives here.

Oi.

It's going to take some getting used to. It's been a long time since I've lived with someone. I've had bad luck in the past with roommates. I guess the best roommate I had was the Ex-Girlfriend, and that was for close to two years.

Then the whole "getting run over by a schoolbus" thing happened, which changed *that* situation pretty damned quick.

I had one roommate -- the one right before I moved in with the Ex -- who was a sorority chick. (side note: Have I told you I am done with sorority chicks? Well, I am.) This girl was a complete loser.

Every day, we'd get calls from all over Columbia from businesses pissed off because she wrote a bad check.

Wal-Mart claims they are all cheery and nice all of the time, but don't ever write them a bad check. They get downright ugly!

And this girl NEVER cleaned. And she was still in the "I like to party and down beer bongs and vomit everywhere" stage.

Which, I have no problem with. But dammit... clean up your vomit. I have a phobia about bodily fluids that I don't voluntarily wanna see, if you catch my drift.

Oh, and she NEVER paid any bills, like rent, cable, utilities. All of her money went to beer. Since all of the bills for the apartment were in her name(we were subleasing for the summer), I didn't much care about that. But I didn't give her any of my money for bills, though, because I knew where my money would be going.

If she was a hottt sorority chick, I wouldn't have minded. Her friend, who also lived with us, was pretty hot. But we aren't talking about her or the dirty dream I had about her.

So, when this summer from hell was over, dumb-ass sorority chick was supposed to move out by a certain date, or else all of her shit was going to be tossed in the garbage. The date came, and her computer and equipment were still on the floor, and she was nowhere to be found.

I would have hated for her stuff to be thrown away.

So, I took her printer. I needed one, and she didn't seem to want it.

I know, I know... it was a bad thing to do. But I kind of took it as payment for one of the worst summers I have ever had with a roommate.

It was a cheap printer, anyways. It didn't last for more than a year.

I said I was going to do a two-part series on my dreams and fears in life. And since today was Martin (lex) Luthor King Day, and his most favorite speech was about dreams, I guess I will make today the first part of my series.

Y'know... so you can feel like you know yer ol' bud JP a little better. And now, without further ado:

My ultimate dream in life is to be a professional writer. I want to go into a bookstore, look on a bookshelf (if they have 'em), and see a book with my name on the cover. That's always been my dream, ever since I was a little kid. My first book I ever wrote was The Secret in Aunt Em's Rooms. I wrote it in fourth grade, and my dad and I actually bound it and made it look like a book. That story rawked my socks in fourth grade. I haven't read it in a loooong time.

My second ultimate dream is to be a chef. I don't want a resturaunt or anything big like that. I want to work more small-scale. I would prefer to be some kind of private chef. I saw a special on FoodTv about chefs that tour with bands, and that looked to be a lot of fun. I love food. I love what it symbolizes. I love the smile that freshly made, well-prepared food makes as someone eats it. Food is a passion of mine. And for God's sake: if I make something, don't put catchup on it. That is literally an insult to me.

I've always been a traveller. But I want to do more. I want to walk and hitchhike around Ireland. I want to visit the small towns in England. I want to have a picnic in Germany by a river, a castle in the background, and a good friend by my side. I want to see the old concentration camps of Poland and say a little prayer. I want to see Red Square in Russia, and I want to eat something strange in Korea. Australia... sweet dreams. But I can honestly say that Afghanistan isn't on my agenda.

I wish to play the piano one day. Perhaps as well as my Good Friend Kourtney. When I move in with Lisa, I'll have my very own piano to practice on. And I'm excited.

I think my dream that rises above all other dreams, though, is that I want to have my own family. I want a wife who is beautiful and perfect to me. I want to have one daughter -- Samantha Sienna. I want to hold her every night, reading her a story, as she goes to sleep. I want for my wife and daughter to go for a walk every night after dinner. I could go on, as I have many dreams for my future family. And if it doesn't happen like I dream, I am sure it will still be perfect.

But I would like to be a stay-at-home dad. This would require me to marry a doctor (funny how gender roles have reversed, eh?). I would love to have my wife come home after a long day, welcomed by a fresh meal and a clean house. After our walk, I would give her a foot massage and talk about her day. During the day, when I put down the kid(s) for a nap, I would write. So, I would contribute to our income. I just would work more on the family instead of on the job. Y'know?

Ok. So, now that you have finished gagging on my sappy dreams and goals...

Remember how I mentioned Lisa up there? If not, your memory sucks, dude.

She has officially entered my Hit Slut Contest (which ends Wednesday, by the way.) I have a feeling that she will get a lot more reward than she expects since we are going to be living together soon.

Go read her story about our time at the hypnotist. I still insist that she made a lot of it up.

I tell you this, folks... chick has her some hands of silk. I was reminded of this when I got my tattoo and she held my hand so I wouldn't cry.

But when she touches you... umm... *there*, those hands work some kind of wonderous pleasure.

Mmmmm-Boy.

That's it for tonight, kiddos. I've got work in four hours.

12:22 a.m. - Tues., Jan. 22, 2002

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