This blog explores the breadth and depth of just how truly horrible I am at being an adult.


Tuesday, October 27, 2009

I apologize.

Loyal readers of Reasons I'm a Bad Adult (the 8 or 9 of you):

You all assuredly have heard about the personal troubles my fellow entertainer David Letterman has been having. A blackmailer caught him with his pants down, so to speak, and he decided to nip the problem in the bud by fessing up on national television. And it worked. Yes, his public admission of guilt on the Late Show was a success. It was sincere and funny, but, most importantly, it was great for ratings! Viewership shot up fivefold when the nation saw that this great comedian was vulnerable and human. In that self-centered, fame-obsessed spirit, I've got some apologies of my own to make.

First, I want to apologize for the opening sentence of that last paragraph. If you take a second look at it, you'll notice that I called Letterman "my fellow entertainer." To call him my "fellow" anything is a huge gaffe on my part, and I could not be more remorseful. To be perfectly candid, as I feel I must in such a public forum, my true "fellow" entertainers are something more akin to childrens' clowns and open-mic folk singers. Dave created The Top Ten List; in high school I used to have my classmates gather round me and have my buddy Zack kick me in the stomach. See? I'm sullying Letterman's name by just mentioning him. So I offer my humblest apologies to all those I caused pain when I insinuated that Dave Letterman and I were colleagues, including Mr. Letterman himself, his family, the whole Late Show staff (especially those he had sex with), and my loyal readers (hopefully it will be more than just the 8 or 9 of you once the news of this mea culpa spreads).

Next, I must apologize for the tardiness of this joke, the staleness of this premise. I mean, this whole Letterman thing happened, what, like two or three weeks ago? For the love of God, I wrote about the balloon boy the very same day he fake-floated away. But I decide to crack a Letterman joke almost a month after everyone else stopped talking about him? I have no one to blame but myself. Sure, I could tell you that I've been too busy, that I've been dating someone new, that I've been working on a soon-to-be-completed novel, that I recently got promoted at my job. Yes, I could tell you those things, but I would be lying. Because none of those things are true. I simply wasn't quick or smart enough to come up with a worthwhile idea for a post at the time, so here's something semi-worthwhile a few weeks down the line. That was wrong and lazy of me, and I'll be the first person to admit it.

And finally, let me apologize for taking advantage of Mr. Letterman's misfortune. What kind of vain, shallow, hateful person would use a celebrity's private pain to further his own career? Me. What kind of empty, soulless, vile husk of a man would exploit a talk show host's admirable candor in order to gain a few more readers for his middling, low-brow blog? Me. What kind of wine goes with a fine veal scallopini? Cru Beaujolais. You get the point; I'm exploiting the guy.

So, again, I'm sorry. And tell your friends.


Monday, October 26, 2009

I have side effects.

Tony Payne has proven effective in cases where one needs a totally-straight-but-somehow-still-kinda-gay friend (costume parties, dance contests, opinion on clothes you just got at Nordstrom), occasional comic relief, or someone to split a cab to the airport with. However, people who have hung out with Tony have reported several undesirable side effects.

Side effects associated with Tony include:

Being forced to read, and laugh at, his blog in front of him.
A lingering, vaguely unpleasant smell.
Thoughts of suicide.
Hearing him repeat the same damn story about "how cool" he was in college, despite the fact that you know it can't possibly be true.
Awkward silences.
Thoughts of murder.
Wet shoulders from when he cries on them because you accidentally brought up his exgirlfriends or childhood dog.
Thoughts of murder-suicide.
Making things maybe just a little bit too gay.

Friday, October 16, 2009

I launched myself in an experimental, homemade hot air balloon.

Thursday, October 15 2009

OK. One bottle of water? Check. One blanket? Check. Tenuous grasp of meteorology, physics, and direction? Check.

I think I'm ready to launch myself in my experimental, homemade hot air balloon.

God, this is gonna make me really famous. Everyone down below is gonna see me and they're gonna call the news and say "There's this guy in a shoddy-looking hot air baloon up in the sky!" and the local news will alert the national news and pretty soon all of America will have its eyes on me!

Fifteen minutes of fame, here I come!

Just gotta hack away at the ropes tying me down, and we are OFF! Just me, my blanket, my radio, and my overwhelming desire to adored. Nothing's gonna stop me now. Not the precarious open flame above my head, outdated map, or lack of safety equipment. NOTHING!

Time to sit back-- Hm. Not a lot of space inside this old laundry basket I'm using as the passenger compartment. Time to just squat back, turn on the radio, and wait for the news to start talking about me.

Wow. Well, according to the radio, someone out in effing Colorado is up in the air right now. In a mother-effing homemade hot air balloon. Mother-effer!

And, gee, wow. I'm floating a little high right now, aren't I? There's no way to control that is there? I think I'm just gonna have to keep on floatin'.

Ok. What can I do? I guess I'll just have to wait until people see me and then just hope we both get famous? We can both get famous for doing the same thing on the same day, right?

Just squat back and listen to the radio.

For the love of God, he's six. The other hot air balloon has a six year-old in it. Alone. Mother-effer! I'm never gonna get famous now!

I'm just embarrassed now. Now I'm just a twenty-three year-old with too much spare time cuz I'm on worker's comp.

I wish I could just lower this balloon and forget this whole thing. But I don't know how to lower the balloon. I was hoping the police would have to shoot the balloon out of the sky. Don't think that'll be happening since there's a six year-old doing the same thing now. Dammit. The world's supposed to be watching ME!

It's getting pretty cold up here too, man. I sure wish I'd brought more than one blanket.

Oh crap! The little kid's balloon landed and it was empty! WHAT? Oh my god. If he died, people are going to HATE hot air balloons. I'm gonna look like such an idiot in one. So help me God, if that kid died I will be SO pissed.

Up here the air is... thin up here. Having a hard time... thinking straight.

I think I'm over a body of water. I can't even tell right now. Why isn't the radio talking about me? Still talking about that... stupid six year-old, how he was on "Wife Swap" and how MAYBE he died when he... MAYBE fell out of a homemade, experimental hot air balloon his dad made?

Holy... moly. They found him.... alive in his... attic. I'm gonna kill him when... I get down from here.