You're a Peein'::

So, a journal is not a journal when you only write about trivial inconsequential shit that you think you can make sound funny. You have to be honest, you have to tell the gritty details in all their ugly accuracy no matter who is reading. So, that's what I'm going to do.

I have returned from Europe for the third time. Each time I've gone it has changed my life. Not sweeping, overwhelming changes like coverting to shintoism, or marrying a french prostitute, but definitely smaller, but just as significant changes that make you a different person whether you think they should or not. Like shaving your head.

Yes, alright, I did it, I cut it all off...are you happy now? So now you know, I shaved my head. It's not long and flowing like it was, it's short and stubbly and easy to manage, and I don't have to shower everyday if I don't want to, not that I wouldn't, but sometimes, like on sundays when you're out late the night before and you don't have anything to do all day except sit at home and watch Tivo'ed smallville's and gilmore girls's (girls's?) you just don't feel like waiting for the shower to heat up so you can scrub your long greasy disgusting mop that no one will see anyway. So in that situation, I'm not a dirty slob, I'm a pragmatist. But back to the point.

Or one of the points at least, which is that I shaved my head. I did it. In ireland. that's right, I was in Ireland, and there was a survey, and it was conclusive...100% of people said cut that dirty rag off your head. And I'd been thinking about it for a while anyway, and the barber shop had trophies in the window and claims of national championships, and I didn't even know they had barbering competitions, but apparently they do, and these guys dominated. So I asked one of them to shave all my hair off. And though he and I both cringed as he took the scissor to that first clean, shiny twelve inch strand of long glorious locks I've had for so very, very long, it's over now, it's all gone, and I'm ok with it. Change can be good. I've never been one to fear change, but I do like routine. SO anyway, just to get it out of the way, I'm officially a stubbly, cue balled uncle fester.

And it's not like a had a reason to keep it anyway. It was long and ugly and no one else in the band had long hair, and I can think of other ways to make myself stand out, and no one liked it anyway, except for one person a long time ago and she's gone now, and I'm still here. I'm still here and it doesn't matter so lets just move on to other things.

I'm moving.

I'm moving out of this goddamned city because I hate it. I hate everything about living in this piece of shit city, I hate everything I used to love. I hate finding a parking spot, and the traffic...I hate the useless wage tax, and the hiked up car insurance, and the parking tickets for parking on a street that gets cleaned every first and third wednesday of each month between nine and eleven AM. Or for stopping my car for literally two minutes to pick up my goddamned dry cleaning. And that's no joke. I hate going over the bridge, and paying the tolls, and the goddamn pot holes which are everywhere and multiplying at a rate that would have virile young bunnies shaking their heads and drafting population control legislation. Bunnies always make me think of cadbury cream eggs...mmmmmm cream eggs....but I digress. Again.

So, I'm moving to New Jersey, because its cheaper and easier, and I used to have reasons for being here but they're gone now and I'm still here. I'm still here and it doesn't matter. And this comes at a very convenient time, because having just returned, jet lagged and bladder bursting from a week long stint across the UK and Ireland, I step into my craphole apartment in a fantastic location for a reasonable price to find that my bathroom ceiling has collapsed, wet and heaving onto the bathroom floor at some point in the last seven days, leaving chunks of former ceiling crusted around every Thomas's English Muffin nook and cranny in the pathetic six by six foot square shitting hole. If I'd been drinking out of the toilet, I might have been killed.

Beautiful isn't it?

So yes, I'm moving tomorrow. It's all lined up and there's no stopping it, not that anyone would want to. Not that I would want anyone to, because I don't. I'm moving away, so goodbye city, goodbye shitty, tiny apartment, goodbye me from last week, last year, last life. I'm gone and it feels fucking good.

I'm setting a new precedent here. Honesty. Do you want to know me, know my life, my mind? Read on. It's a brave new world out there, and there's a whole new me staring back from behind the plaster chunks and drywall dust. I'm burning bridges and building spaceships. Domination.