brian awakened to a sensation of moisture beading on his forehead. although it was the middle of winter in their east coast town, his mother had the heat in their home at an uncomfortable 80 degrees. he lifted the old, heavy blankets from his body and noticed that his shirt and pajama pants were now covered with dark, oval-shaped pockets of perspiration.


he sat upright and observed the elements outside his bedroom window: a buzzing street light, two cats, his dad's new pickup truck, and dust-covered trash bag. his 7-year old bladder, however, trumped the logic puzzle.


the heat in the hallway was more intense. brian scratched his scalp through his thick, curly hair and discovered that it, too, was covered in sweat. he shuffled along the hardwood floors into the living room to discover his mother at the table, jotting some notes on scraps of paper. through squinted eyes, brian made out lots of numbers aligned perfectly. mom's math homework, he thought.


"brian?" she said. "what's wrong, baby? why are you up this time of night?"

"it's too hot in my room" he replied.

brian heard a loud growling sound coming from his parents' bedroom. he looked down the hall curiously and then turned to face his mom.

"that's why i'm up," she said. "it's your dad. i figured i'd get some work done."

brian shuffled back towards his parents' bedroom, intent on getting a closer look at his dad. this wasn't the first time brian had been awakened by the sounds of his dad snoring; it was a weekly thing. brian's dad worked as both a commercial truck driver and a technician at a meat packing plant, so he very much appreciated his rest. after a pint of rum -- which brian often sniffed while his dad wasn't looking -- his dad slipped into slumber that couldn't be disturbed by even the loudest of sounds.

brian observed his dad from a distance, scanning his long, lanky body wrapped burrito-like in his comforter. his dad's head peeked out of the top of the blanket (hair also thick and curly) and his mouth lay agape along his pillow. with each snore, brian moved closer -- his steps calculated, silent, and precise.

soon, brian was standing directly over his dad, studying the intricate weaving of black and silver hairs in his beard. hearing the bositerous sounds more closely caused brian to furrow his brow in further confusion. how could a human make these sounds, he thought. his dad's tounge was a old, cracked bar of hand soap, suffering from the dryness of the house air. as brian leaned in to get a closer look at its many tiny lines, his dad sounded off a very loud snore. startled, brian shuffled off towards the kitchen, nearly losing his footing as he rounded the corner.

brian's dad awakened a few minutes later, also covered in perspiration. in front of him was his son, holding a large cup of water in his tiny hands. without speaking a word, brian handed the water to his dad and trailed off to his bedroom.

what?

as i was browsing the DVD section at Borders, i noticed an older white woman approaching, trying to pass. i stepped back to give her room, and do you know what she said?

"excuse you."

excuse me?

as she skimmed the movies in the row directly in front of me, i stepped into her line of vision and gave her a look of astonishment. she returned a smile.

is this one of those "i couldn't care less" sorts of things? i haven't been this angry since that woman bumped me in Potbelly in what appeared to be a deliberate act.

the dog got into a cologne sample last night

i don't remember knocking anything to the floor, but i know her tiny, mischievous ass didn't climb the dresser while i was sleeping. when i got out of the shower this morning, i saw the small vial chewed open with cologne spilling onto her birthday shirt. it was some old man shit i got from The Grooming Lounge, too, the dog and that area of the carpet smelled awful.

whatever. she looked fine so i didn't panic. after all, this is the same dog that ate a tube her own toothpaste and a pair of my glasses.

i know, i know.

i'm a neglectful blogfather. i have all the ideas and none of the time. writing at work isn't feasible anymore, because my mind wanders so much that when my clients call, i end up accidently interjecting story text into my consultation.

"i have a question, jamal. what's the difference between 'most favored customer' and 'basis of award customer'?"

"'most favored customer' is that customer or class of customers that receives the best pricing arrangement, including concessions. 'basis of award' customer is a different animal. it sleeps by day and inflicts pain on its prey by night. its deep red eyes, pungent breath, and sharp claws instill fear in the hearts of --"

" . . . we're talking about our price proposal, right?"

" . . . oh. yes."

also, for my millions of readers who don't already know, i plan to begin taking acting lessons soon. it's time for the world to know how crazy i am.