Who Doesn't Want Booze and Drugs All the Time?

Shit I suck.  I forgot to give a Happy Birthday shout-out yesterday to Frijole.  I mean on this here blog; I did call her.  I don't suck that much.  She is ill, which is just bad timing for a birthday.  No drinks for her.  Fink-Nottle was able to snuggle with her on the couch, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been (like say, spending the night on the floor of the bathroom making out with the toilet every half-hour).

Remember how I was going on about this awesome food trailer during SXSW (I'm too lazy to find the post), and couldn't remember the name of it.  Well, I overheard Argyle on Sunday say something to someone else, and it bumped my brain and I said, "Oh, yes, that's it, Kebabalicious!"  How could I have forgotten such a name?  Delicious kebabs!  It is truth in advertising.  Luckily, they are setting up shop right near my office again this year.  Tomorrow's lunch will be tasty.

I can't go today for three reasons:
1. They are not actually open for lunch until tomorrow (today is the last day of the film fest; tomorrow is the start of the music festival, which means more people wandering the streets in the middle of the day needing food and libations).
2. I am not at work and quite far from their location. 
3. There's something going on with my innards, which has kept me from work, and I highly doubt eating a spicy chicken kebab would make me feel any better, only worse.

My stomach has been bothering me since Saturday.  Nothing very forward of it; more like a whiny baby in the back of a movie theater.  I've been busy, and doing my best to ignore it.  However, I have become exhausted and gave up today.  Now I'm letting it full on out bother me.  I even drank some coffee to see if that would help make something happen (coffee to me is like a horse pissing in my mouth; albeit hazelnut-flavored horse piss).  It's all tight and terrible in there with a pain on the right side.  I swear if it ends up being my appendix, I'll kill someone.  I don't think it is, but I just wanted to get it out there so everyone knows what will happen if it is.  My dad and sister both had appendicitis (my sister broke her arm and had appendicitis all in the same week--she always got all the attention!).  Though, if I understand correctly, it's not really a genetic thing, so there's no reason to suspect I will need to be sliced open during SXSW and miss all the fun.  A day of rest and eating spinach should do it.  Right?

Wikus and Esquire are going to spend this rainy day visiting a museum with dinosaur bones in it.  They will have to wear long pants instead of short pants.  The weather is not as warm as it has been the past few days.  A museum is not a bad idea at all.  I will continue to stay in bed.  Thank goodness for the laptop.  The Boy is off to a meeting (he's been working in the livingroom ever so quietly, and bringing me things I need, like bubbly water, pills, horse-piss coffee and love). 

Here's the best kite from yesterday.

Here's Blossom, a very enthusiastic dog.  She was a great help during Twister.

I just browsed today's headlines in our mostly terrible paper, and here's an attention grabber, ""GETTING TO KNOW THE HOMELESS: According to a new survey, the homeless want friends, family, security and stability."  No way!  I always thought they just wanted booze and drugs, and to be raped and beaten on the street for sheer kicks.  Why would they possibly want to be loved and accepted?  If I wasn't laid up in bed, I'd totally be going on a murdering rampage right now.  And homeless people would not be my target--I'll start with all the fucking people who commented on the article (like you, "DefenderOfTheTruth," who thinks they are all asking for handouts and we need to ship them all somewhere else; "Merrick3000" believes we'll all be homeless soon under Obama; "ridewithclyde" feels they should all go in to the military). 

How sad that homelessness is so misunderstood, that there is actually an article like this in a fucking capitol-city paper.  I have never been homeless (though, I did spend a couple of  months on an acquaintance's couch and my stuff in the basement of her business), but that doesn't mean I can't understand homelessness and how it happens.  I'm scared of becoming homeless.  I hoard my money.  I have been laid off twice and fired once.  At any of these points I could have been forced to live on the street.  I've had health issues that so far haven't drained my bank account, but there is no telling what will happen in the future (like appendicitis!).  Of course there are plenty of homeless people who do just drink and do drugs, but at the same time, can I really blame them?  They are fighting for their lives out there, and surely deserve a vacation from reality.  Yes, that is not the best thing in the world to be a productive member of society, I get that.  At the same time, how productive are these commentators?  Do we know what they do?  Or do they simply have the luxury of enough money to not be homeless and thus feel free to comment on situations that they obviously have not even thought through?  I wouldn't say I'm a very productive member of society.  I have a college degree and good skills, but am I using them?  Am I really doing anything other than holding down a job that a brain-dead animal could handle?  Every time I see a homeless person, I realize just how lucky I am.  I don't hate them, I don't want them to be sent away and made to be someone else's problem; I want them to be able to have a better life, or at least be allowed to do the best they can on the streets without constantly being told they are drunken bums who deserve to die.