Jackson + Lincoln

Well folks, something happened one month ago today that I was a little afraid to admit, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that it may have been a good thing. As some of you may know, or as none of you know and that's quite all right with me as I'm seconds away from informing you anyway, February 28th was not only my birthday, but my official quarter of a century of not getting thrown in front of a semi and/or hit in the face with a shot-put toss. I'm rather proud of these two achievements. In addition to this momentous occasion, however, February 28th marked another happening (and this is the part that terrified me): as I suited up to go into battle with my liver at a local pub, one of my bracers malfunctioned. In laymen's terms, one of my powerbands broke. Like a staff in the hands of a sorcerer, my powerbands were the focal point of my outrageous badassness. There's no word in the English language to describe what went through my head for the next 5 minutes, but with my fantastic attention span, that's all the time it took for me to see that I still had some gum left and get excited about that. But allow me to go backwards; one of my powerbands broke. As much as this utterly sucks, it also means that one of them was still in tact. Yes, luckily, the lightening bolt remains unscathed, as the hugely neon green band has sacrificed its life in the line of duty.
In retrospect, I think it may be fitting. I mean, how much more significant is it that on the very day I turn 25, that one of the only powerbands in the known universe can no longer contain my awesomeness? It's frail rubber form just couldn't deal with the fact that I had conquered 25 years of pure rocking glory. It's also a testament to the lightening powerband's ability to adapt to and wield awesome powers, such as my ability to run at varying speeds. I know. Amazing.

But I sure will miss the green guy.

Fine. I'll do it.

Well, after the rousing zero responses on posts, I had more or less decided that it must mean that my mad writing skills and/or whitty repertoire had become worn out. Until I had someone request in person that I post agian. Seriously? You had to hunt me down and ask me in person? I thought it'd be easier to just say something in reponse to my other posts to let me know you cats were still alive, but apparently I was wrong. So anyway, without further ado, a new post.
Look at it. It's all shiny and unused. I bet it even smells new.
Yeah, I decided not to post that other one that I said I would. I spent like an hour making that planet Jupiter thing in photoshop just to decide I didn't want to post about it anymore. Not so much that it wouldn't be worth it, but I told like a million people about it in real life and then figured nobody read this stupid blog anymore anyway. It was another of my very detailed and very awesome end-of-the-world dreams. Man it was wicked. Anyway, as some of you know, it's the Lenten season again, those glorious 40 days where the most popular population-wise and most despised perceptionally (that's totally a word as of right now) Christian sect give up something they usually would not go without (well, some anyway. Many just "give up" stuff they don't care about anyway, like kids and homework. That was always my favorite.) This year I decided to go balls-to-the-wall and give up two things, as in one more than one. Take that, weak Catholics. I'm not even Catholic and I'm outdoing you kids. What two you ask? The two I live off of.
Sugar and Meat.
Yeah, that's right. The two things that make food not suck, I gave up. For 40 days. And let me tell you, it sucks. It sucks hard. Now I know some of you (Rhetorical, as I know nobody is actually ever going to read this. Sad face.) are sitting there whining, saying, "You can't give up sugar, it's naturally occurring in almost all foods. waaaaaah, you're stupid," and then probably finish that thought with a Snickers. News flash, I know that, but eating an apple to get some fructose or downing a Pepsi to overdose on glucose are still two very different things. If it's natural, I'm cool with it. If it's added in very small quantities, I may just have to live with it. I don't have a dang organic farm in my backyard, so I can't really control it that much.
The killer, though, is the meat. No meat is like somebody saying I'm not allowed to pee for 40 days. Imagine having to hold it in for a whole freakin' 40 days. I've gone a whole day once, and let me tell you, it hurts in all the wrong ways. That's about how it feels for me to give up mowin' down on the glorious cooked muscles of some deliciously dead animal. After about 8 days, my body started to ache from the sudden decline in protein intake; my muscles started to feel a little funny. No wonder vegetarians are such pussies. You want to put up a good fight for animal rights? Eat a couple to get your strength up. But I guarantee, once that savory patty of ground-down bunny parts hits your lips, there's no turnin' back.
I miss meat so much it hurts. Oh, and for the record, that includes all seafood, too. "Fish isn't a meat." Yeah, and tomatoes aren't a fruit. Eating fish instead of chicken or pork or beef is like wiping your ass with your hand to save trees. You're still getting crap everywhere, and at the end of the day, you're wasting a lot more water trying to wash your hand off, hippies. And if you don't wash your hand, then go back to Afghanistan.
One more thing. I miss meat so much that I actually spent an entire dream envisioning that I was eating a huge bowl of penne pasta with a basil and tomato pesto in an alfredo sauce, mixed with baby spinach and sun-dried tomatoes and, you guessed it, grilled chicken breast. Freakin' A it was tasty. Only 27 more days to go.