Oh, pilot of the storm who leaves no trace, like thoughts inside a dream
Heed the path that led me to that place, yellow desert stream
My Shangri-La beneath the summer moon, I will return again
Sure as the dust that floats high in June, when movin' through Kashmir.
So here’s what needs to happen today,
We need 13 gay couples to get married on 6/6/06.
Then if nothing happens: society doesn’t get sent to hell, God doesn’t strike down apon thee, or the world turns into a ball of flames. Then we can pretty much put to bed the whole “6/6/06” scare, the gay marriage argument, and any other superstitious nonsense.
My old home address had three 6’s in it and I’m not the devil.
Anywho last Saturday we had everyone and their mom hosting a garage sale in my neck of the woods. Basically everyone throws their crap alongside their driveway hoping that people will buy it. It’s pretty awesome if you’re looking for knick knacks and everyday things and it is very addicting.
I actually folded my clothes and decided it was time to take some stuff to the Goodwill. Getting rid of stuff has always been the center of arguments growing up. My dad and I are packrats, we’ll save everything we can just in case we’ll need it in the future. My mom is a minimalist and will throw away anything and everything if she deems it unneeded, which is ALWAYS up for debate. That’s why me actually taking clothes and getting rid of them was such a big deal.
I had to part ways with a couple of notable items.
My Southwest State Shirt was somewhat hard. The collar was well worn out and there were little ugly holes everywhere. I used this shirt as something to sleep in because it wasn’t even good enough to wipe up oil after my car. This shirt gives me memories of me visiting the old school. Sigh
Basically everything my dad has ever given me for Christmas. I never really missed any of this. All the Vikings and gopher stuff was horrible
My Daunte Culpepper jersey: I figured that I probably wouldn’t wear it anymore and I kinda hope the big bitch sucks in Miami
My prized Mitch Berger AWAY jersey: I pretty much shed a few tears because I took pride in having a punters away jersey. I remember the day I bought it for $10 and the store manager looked at me like I was screwed up in the head. I will always remember that jersey.
Sorry Steph (don’t kill me!)
My Jackson Hole sweatshirt: I remember there was this smoking hot woman wearing some tight ass leather pants. My eyes were glued on that fine ass and I couldn’t pay attention to anything. Somehow I managed to find this sweatshirt and buy it…and continue following that hot ass around.
My brown shirt: basically I remember wearing this to Hog’s Hawaiian party in which everyone was to wear Hawaiian shirts. I didn’t have any Hawaiian shirts so I wore this brown one instead. As it turns out, I ended up face down on Hog’s floor wearing someone’s Hawaiian shirt and a bunch of lays.
Tomorrow I talk about my fridge again.