I like to pride myself on being a rather easygoing, mellow person. I usually don't get too worked up about things. In fact, my biggest pet peeve, are people who start arguments for completely trivial things. I've seen my stepmother rip my Father a new asshole, for simply dropping an ice cube on the floor. Or watching a friend's girlfriend cry because he noticed a girl with ridiculously big tits. People need to learn to pick their battles.
Anyway, that's not what this blog is about. Like I said, I really don't get angry and "freak out," but today I did for a couple of reasons. First off, I lost my wallet. Sometimes i go through my day on autopilot, and I really don't think much about what I'm doing. So, when I went to get my wallet out of the jeans I wore yesterday, and they weren't there, I started freaking out. Immediately I started to replay the events of the last 12 hours in my head. Lets see, I peed, slept, went to school, peed again, and that's all that I could remember. After searching for 15 minutes, I started to curse up a storm. Couch cushions were thrown around like yesterday's garbage. Walls were punched a few times. It's a completely helpless feeling. After a frenzied panic that lasted about 20 minutes, I finally found it, on the floor of the kitchen, a place that I checked at least three times. "Whatever." I said to myself. I found the damn wallet, and this ordeal of being a spaz was over. I could get back to my regularly scheduled, calm demeanor.
I sat back down on the couch, and started watching the Padres game, and went back to normalcy. Then, a lizard ran across my floor. The little fucker snuck into my apartment last week, and crawled underneath the couch. I was under the assumption that he made his way out of the house, but no, he had been underneath my couch all along. As I saw him crawl across the floor, I leaped to my feet and tried to get him out of my house. I grabbed a spatula and a cup from my kitchen, and tried to scoop him into the cup, and release him outside. But the little bastard was much too quick, and crawled his way into the glass doors of my entertainment center. I was going to try to fish him out, but my good friend, Mr. Cable Box, told me it was time to get my pasty, white ass to work. Simple enough, I'll just grab my keys and go. Well, more stupidity ensued.
I went to the end table, where I usually throw my keys on the way into the door, but naturally, they weren't there. Fifteen minutes later, I still couldn't find them. I looked on the floor, couch, I even checked the freezer and the trashcan. I finally found them wedged inside of a magazine. An hour of my life, wasted because I am too stupid to remember where I leave things.
Perhaps I should tie them around my neck, or have my wallet surgically attached to my ass. Using my brain to actually remember where I put my things, clearly isn't working.