I live in a basement. There are no windows. Occasionally, the lights go out due to poor wiring, and I am plunged into darkness. The only sounds are the scampering of rats that live in the crawlspace above the ceiling. Like the underground caverns of the Misty Mountains, this is a fertile location for rapid Gollumization. The transformation from pale skinny ghostman into slightly paler slightly skinnier ghostman was one that occurred with shocking speed, and once it’d taken place, I no longer walked but slunk, no longer ate but gobbled, no longer looked at things but stared ominously. I go whole days without ever seeing a ray of sunlight. It’s like living in a post-apocalyptic underground city like Zion or Ember. It’s like the movie Descent, only much longer and with wifi.
Brad Pike, How To Be Nocturnal on Thought Catalog (via thoughtcatalog)

Dinners with Dad

  • Dad: Ugh. This moron--from Sacramento; it's a Sac area code--keeps texting me. I told 'em they have the wrong number and to fuck off, but they keep doing it! I mean, look at this! It's not even English!
  • Text: "You got thizzs? I need 10"
  • Dad: Thizz-ehz. Thizz-eeez. ??
  • Me, laughing: Dad, they think you're their drug dealer. Thizz is ecstasy.
  • Dad: Well I'm telling them to fuck off.
  • Me: You have to at least tell them it's the wrong number or they'll think their dealer is pissed at them for no reason!
  • Dad: ...
  • Dad: Fine.

Somehow the start of my typical Friday night has evolved (devolved?) into standing in front of a mirror with a Coors Light in one hand and a blow dryer in the other. Drying my hair, pounding a beer. I’ve managed to string together three Fridays in a row like this.

Although tonight finds me in a solar system-themed fleece onesie, UO sneaker slippers, and a blue tuxedo t-shirt (I was going for the classy pajama look).