Falling down the stairs, cursing the cat

Last week I was at home during that awkward space between leases. One night I was walking down the stairs in the dark (so as not to disturb my family members) when I stepped on a cat and fell down the goddamn stairs.

After standing up and realizing I had just landed on my tail bone, I proceeded to limp around the house trying to find the stupid cat that thought it would be a good idea to sleep on the stairs.

In Ann Arbor, pets aren't an issue. Either they're with you all the time or they die, because college life is dirty life. I wouldn't slip on a cat in Ann Arbor because a cat wouldn't survive if fed by your average college student unless Whiskas started making ramen noodles.

Basically what I'm saying is that my tail bone still hurts and that Ann Arbor is better than the suburbs because it has more dead animals.

(work.)

This morning (when I wrote that first part) I implied that Ann Arbor has more dead animals, and that's not how it works.

I think if Ann Arbor and The Suburbs were given an equal amount of animals, in this case we'll pretend the animals are all cats that sleep on the stairs, then I am conjecturing that over time the amount of dead stair cats would be greater in Ann Arbor.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it should be.

Suburban fear SUV and the invention of landscaping

Last night I drove home to Walled Lake to pick up some clothes, and holy balls, Suburbia is ridiculous.

I think while I left all my neighbors bought the biggest cars they could find. Why? I'm guessing because they're afraid.

No, in Suburbia, you stay in the same place, so you start wondering what your neighbors have. 'Hey, look at that guy's lawnmower, I need a sweet lawnmower now. Shit look at this landscaping, let's buy a lot of bushes. Damn, look at his wife! Honey, go get ass implants.'

College towns, by contrast, don't give a shit. I don't know my neighbors - fuck, I don't even know my subletters that well - and I can drive my shitty car and have a messy lawn and I don't care what people in close proximity think: I'm moving in a year.

But the second I get myself a permanent house, I need to get a large black SUV that, at the press of a button, can turn into an even larger black SUV.

(Work.)

Suburbia is a great example of what happens when you put a bunch of people next to each other. Sure, they may get along, but suddenly if they do anything in their free time it's to one-up the guy next door. There would be no such thing as landscaping if the suburbs did not exist.

Wife: "Honey, mow the lawn."
Husband: "I did. It's well-mowed and it looks just as good as the neighbor's."
Wife: "That's it?! We have the exact same house as everyone else in this subdivision. We have to prove that we're better than them in some way.
Husband: "I guess I could go buy some bushes 'n shit."
Wife: "Husband, you're a genius!"
Husband: "I'll never forgive my parents for naming me Husband."

And that's how landscaping was invented.

Home is viruses, death, and pudding

Every time I go home for the weekend, a few things happen:
1) The neighbors are having computer problems and only I can save them. Someone was using KaZaA and they accidentally downloaded a zip file filled with tuberculosis. The problem is usually unfixable.
2) My mom tells me who died. I'll be eating cereal and watching TV and then she'll say, 'Did you know Ryan Berg? Because he was shooting up heroin in a parking lot when a drunk driver hit him, got out the car, and then shot him because he was in a rival gang.'
3) I eat like a pig. In college, you can't afford food amenities like candy bars and pudding cups, so I go home and it's like 'holy shit, this is where the good fat people go when they die.'

Be back tomorrow.

(Home.)