Ain't Nobody Got Time Fo Dat

BLECK. I'm tired of starting a post then just staring at it. I just stew over this nonsensical piece. Why?Extremely low (non-existent) fan base aside, why? Much like the rest of the human race, I am constantly going things over in my head. Was it funny or clever enough, did it make sense, was it grammatically correct, can they tell I had an Everything bagel and shmear this morning? But you need to remind yourself, or at the very least, I need to remind myself that other people probably don't care as much about you as you do. (Does that read right? Meh, fuck it. It's English.) The reason people aren't hanging on your every word or noticing the stuff you find so blaringly obvious is they're doing the same thing as you. They wonder if anyone is gonna notice that deoderant stain on their shirt, that they've worn the same jeans for 4 days in a row, that they said 'furgle' instead of 'fertile' or that wad of spit that launched across the room when you put a little too much emphasis on the 'ch' when you said spinach.

Now, I could stare at this, preview it 6 times and edit the fuck out of it until it becomes a post over straight up spinach. But fuck that. My initial gut/idea/intuition/ghost spirit angels usually lead me in the right direction. It's just my dumb brain that tries (and succeeds) to ruin it. So here it is. I will reread this sombitch once over and release it into the wild.

Have at it, my friends.

Sacrificial Offerings to Universe.

Okay, this will be REAL quick cuz I gotta go to class and turn dis shiz in but I was hopin' to hear thoughts...from my one follower? Whatevs. Just have to get it off my chest and into the universe. So here it is, Universe, have your way with it. Slut.

THE JACKPOT

By Sam Hanson

11/21/12 Version 1

CAST

Sam – Late 20’s

Dylan – Late 20’s

(Sam is walking down a street and he sees a friend he hasn’t seen in a while, Dylan, who looks depressed and a little paranoid. Sam stops Dylan to catch up.)

SAM

Hey, what’ve you been up to?

DYLAN

(Not excited about his news)

Not much. I, uh, won the lottery a few weeks back.

SAM

No way! How much?

DYLAN

(Looking around)

Uh, that $10,000 a week for life thing…

SAM

Are you joking?? That’s amazing!

DYLAN

Yeah…it’s alright.

SAM

Dude, that’s like…

(Does the math in his head quickly)

…$520,000 a year!

DYLAN

Yeah…

SAM

What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you excited about this? Most 

people would kill for this!

DYLAN

(Leaning in and confiding in Sam)

Well, funny you should mention that. I don’t want to sound crazy, but I don’t really trust it.

SAM

Like a lotto curse?

DYLAN

Yeah but like more direct than that.

SAM

What do you mean?

DYLAN

Okay, so I get these checks right? They mail ‘em to me every week—

which is cool but they keep giving me these coupons and stuff.

SAM

…So?

DYLAN

Well, the certificates or whatever are for like, exceptionally dangerous activities.

SAM

(Laughs)

What? What are they for?

DYLAN

Well, the first check had a coupon for a free base jumping lesson and skydiving class.

SAM

Cool!

DYLAN

Yeah, that’s what I thought, but they just kept coming in;

(Dylan pulls a bunch of coupons, certificates and flyers from his 

back pocket and shows them to Sam)

bull riding, shark tank exploration, extreme parkour courses, 30% off firearms at Cabella’s. And then they got even weirder—I got DVD’s on chainsaw carving, how to make meth 101, a lifetime supply of bacon and cigarettes, a free deep fryer and 26 cases of Twinkies…

SAM

You could probably turn a profit with those Twinkies, man…

DYLAN

Sam! Be serious.

SAM

Okay, okay. So what does all of this say?

DYLAN

I think the lotto people are trying to kill me!

SAM

I don’t know, man. Maybe they’re just trying to be nice. Everyone likes free shit, ya know? They’re always throwing money and free swag at rich people. Kim Kardashian will never have to pay for a spray tan or yoga class again in her life. And anytime a celebrity goes anywhere like a red carpet thing, I’m pretty sure they get a free Smart Car and a Labradoodle.

DYLAN

But this is different! A guest spot on Swamp People, Ice Road Truckers, Deadliest Catch and American Idol? That’s practically third degree murder right there!

SAM

American Idol though? …It makes sense.

DYLAN

What do I do? They just sent me one for a Hunger Games simulation. I am so afraid to know what that would be.

SAM

Maybe it’s a friendly game of lazer tag…with arrows?

DYLAN

Sam! Please! You gotta help me! I can’t take it anymore! Everywhere I go all I can envision are Final Destination-type deaths and 1,000 Ways to Die doing an overly dramatic dramatization of my death where I get decapitated by my own surfboard.

SAM

You don’t even surf!

DYLAN

WELL I HAVE A COUPON, SO MAYBE I SHOULD! AHHHHHHHHH!

(Dylan throws the coupons in the air and crosses the street in furry)

SAM

Dylan! Watch out for that bus with the lottery advertisement on it!

 (Blackout and a crash is heard)

EVERYONE PRAISE ME.

A single calendar year has passed since I've indulged in a cigarette. REJOICE. 

Now, I've just gotta kick that meth habit and I'm woman of the year! WHOOT. Move over Tina Fey, I'm gunnin' fo ya. (No disrespect, you are queen) Who knew that sheer will power and a hint of Streptococcus would do the trick. I do miss smoking sometimes, mostly for the social aspect and because I want to look like James Franco in Freaks and Geeks (I'm obsessed.). But alas, I will never be a Daniel Desario (It's the hair) and now I'm okay with it. 

Because when I smoked I couldn't enjoy these supremely wonderful perks:

Hugging my dad without him hitting me in the head, saying I smell like an ashtray.

Smelling the shampoo in my hair.

Breath that smells like the food you just ate. 

Being fucking warm during the winter months. 

Not being rained/snowed/wind-ed on while driving and smoking. 

Not having that ache in your chest the next morning after partying.

Less time spent outside, sucking on a cigarette, staring into the abyss, being all deep and stuff.

Staying at home with my family more.

I don't die as much whilst running. 

People not preaching at me 'smoking's bad for you, you know?' (FYI: Yes, I am aware. Thanks.)

Having money for things. 

Not tweeking so much about mouth and other cancers.

Smelling like my perfume. 

Not embarrassed when my little brother or any other family member rides in my car. 

My dog doesn't judge me as much.

No ashes to wipe off my dashboard or burn holes in my seats.

So whenever I feel like I want one I take a deep breath. A sip of water. And chill the fuck out. Because that one drag won't be worth the sense of pride I feel when I wake up knowing I went another day without one. Now seriously, about that meth thing...

GURGLEGARGLEBRAINFARTS

So, I have 4 published posts (this hopefully being the fifth) and 8 drafts. EIGHT. My problem isn't a lack of ideas but I have no way to condense them and make them function together as one bad ass Transformer/Power Ranger robot of a blog. I've always prided myself on my eclectic style, presuming it gave me an air of whimsy and a relaxed attitude. But under further review, I came to realize it might not as whimsical and chill as I had hoped:

My bedroom has no real them but lots of different pretty things mixed together with a collection of WalMart grocery bags thrown into one general vicinity.

My wardrobe is a funky mix of cute shit from Target, gifts via relatives, and things that fall under the category: 'what still fits me'.

To passersby, my car may appear to double as my home due to the accumulation of blankets, water bottles, notebooks and a ever-growing collection of mismatching socks.

And my hair is just a plain mystery. Some days I think I am pulling off the voluminous, unruly vibe like one of those One Direction boys then I realize the back of my head looks one dread. Just one.

So yes, this all could either be cute and eclectic or it could be considered Crazy Lady Chic. And while all signs are pointing to ever-so charming CLC, I'm gonna stick to my guns and keep with this hodgepodge mentality, any other lifestyle seems like a snooze.

If I wasn't like this, I wouldn't have that fuzzy lamp next to my bed or that random purple desk that I love, I'd have to say no to crazy, awesome things because 'it doesn't go with the decor'. My clothes would be lame and far to monochromatic to be flattering. I already have everything I need in the convenience of my backseat, and if need be, I could actually live there. And my hair...well, actually it could use a little help.

OH YEAH, and I'll totally try and start making this shit run smoother. Hokay?