Where's All the Fucking Excitement

I've just spent a week in front of a computer screen googleing everything from haunted ebay auctions to ways to destroy the career of Ashlee Simpson. This is what you do with your free time when you're stuck in the middle of nowhere... Waiting. Today while the geologist and his wife came into the trailer and started yammering on about their family, pueblos, and historical figures that I could give two shits about, my mind started to wonder. Is this what I have in store for me? Getting to the point in my life where the only excitement I find is in museum tours?

I work with a guy named Walter. Walter is a 62 year old virgin. He drives a geo metro. He has a sword collection. Not cool samurai swords either, but fantasy swords. I've never had the pleasure of working with this guy but apparently he's a filthy bastard. Nobody can watch him eat without being physically ill. I heard that one time he was working all by himself when he had a stomach bug. He apparently didn't make it to the bathroom on time and shit all over the wall. He didn't clean it up and continued to live and work in a shit covered environment. It was discovered by the next logger to work in the trailer. I only bring this up because this scares me. If this job has any adverse effect on my personality, I'm suing.

Now I turn to poker for excitement and let's face it, I suck. I've lost more than I've won and in my book that means I suck. Lucky me, there's an casino 10 minutes from anywhere in New Mexico. The Indian casinos out here are filled with the elderly throwing their pensions away one quarter at a time. These people look pathetic. I think the weight of the average Indian casino patron is about 300 lbs. I went to Sandia to play in a poker tournament and this old man wheeling around an oxygen tank waddled up to me "Nan i nave a nigerette?", he said with tubes in his nose. Not only is this guy a danger to himself but he's carrying around a tank of flammable gas! Isn't that the way Jaws died? Anyway, I gave it to him and don't feel guilty because I think he wanted to die. He's gotten to a point in his life where gambling is the only excitement he can physically handle and from the look on his face I don't think it's doing the trick. I lost the tournament but like a moth to the flame, I'll be back.

I think this is all brought on by the fact that my birthday is this month. I'll be 27 on April, 29. Every time I hear that commercial for the army where the guy says "If you wrote down the story of your life, would anybody read it?", I think 'Hell yeah, I'm awesome!' Now I think that people would just skim past this part of my life and mumble to themselves, "Yadda, yadda, yadda."