Helpful Hints For Not Realizing You Are Completely (jesusfuckingchrist) Alone:

Sometimes I have a very difficult time eating by myself. Let alone, cooking myself a meal. The sound utensils make when no one else is over for dinner, when I'm not in love at all, is awful. They sound like a dinosaur falling through space, screeching "After 165 million years on Earth, no one even knows my god damn name!!" or it's the sound a glass of water makes when a nurse gently sets it down on my grandma's bedside table, and my grandma can't swallow and her mouth has been open for days like a gash across her face. I can't decide which. 

Anyway, if you know what I mean, may I suggest the following: 

When eating by yourself: make something you can carry like a burrito or a sandwich, and then walk around eating it--maybe even go in the alley---and I swear you won't feel as alone because you will trick yourself into thinking you aren't actually eating dinner because all the perfunctory actions associated with dinner (sitting down at a table with  place settings and loved ones) are removed. 

Of course there are other things that are hard to do when you're completely (jesusfuckingchrist) alone. Here are my simple solutions:

When going to bed: put a pillow between your legs then bring it up to your mouth and french kiss it, then punch it repeatedly and put it back between your legs and try to get some rest.

When in the shower: wait until the tile gets steamed up, then take your finger and write "Hey, you..."

When drinking coffee: do a little dance.

When on the couch:  extend  your leg and point your toe seductively at a throw pillow and run your hand along your thigh and smile at the wall.  Read Eudora Welty. Or Dorothy Parker.

When you realize you're jesusfuckingchrist alone: either call somebody and invite them to a BBQ and then try to find a BBQ that you can take them to, or turn your music up real loud and hope you'll have the chance to apologize.

Yes, this is for sale.

Thanks to Randy Pausch, My Childhood Dreams Seem Very Reachable

Randy Pausch's last lecture at Carnegie Mellon was inspiring. Life didn't pass him by because he tried, tried, tried and loved brick walls. Even though he died too young, he accomplished most of his childhood dreams. Most. That's insane. I've accomplished two. I know this because, after watching his lecture, I rooted around for my childhood dreams and found them in a file labeled, "Funny or Interesting." My childhood dreams were creatively called, "99 Things To Do Before I Die," and were written at age 13 on two stapled pages of college-ruled paper. The two I accomplished--in no particular order: 3) "Take a day off and eat everything that's been told bad for me," and 23) "Go to a big city and get lost." What's especially uninspiring, is that when I got lost in big cities or did nothing all day but swallow cookies, chips, and beer, I had no idea I was fulfilling childhood dreams. 

So, could I be told I have terminal cancer right now and feel as though I gave this world a good spin? No. I still have to, for example, : 19) "Go scuba diving," 24) "Ski bum for a week or two," 71) "Cut and Dye my Hair" 14) "Find Something Amazing!!!", and 84) "Ride an Elephant, Ostrich, and Camel."