Sour Milk & Other Yumpy Things

I don’t have anything interesting to say today.

You’re probably thinking one of three things.

1. When do you ever have anything interesting to say, Patrick? You’re mostly awful and annoying. You really should think about coming to terms with that. Do us a favor. Also, stop posting so many Facebook statuses. And just because you have a Twitter account now doesn’t give you the right to flood other innocent people’s feeds with obnoxious statements. We don’t need to know every time your neighbor’s chickens go yumpy when the wind blows.

2. So, if you don’t have anything interesting to say, why are you saying anything at all? It’s pretty simple. Stop talking.

3. Even though you don’t have anything interesting to say, I somehow think this will still be interesting. More interesting than me doing nothing, anyway. If I had something to do I’d probably do that instead. But I don’t. So I’m reading this.

I think my ability to be honest with myself makes me a happier person. Sometimes. I also sometimes think about crying. So then I do. It helps me cope with how honest I am with myself. I have to blog today, though. Blogging is good. Blogging is fun. And to blog often is uhm.. makes for uh… ..makes for a good blogger! SO TODAY I BLOG.

Anyway, I think it’s important for everyone to know that my infatuation with Jim Halpert has just been taken to a whole new level. The other day I was asking myself: Would a wrist watch look good on me? My initial answer to that question was: No, Patrick. It won’t. You’re tall, awkward, and pasty white. Why would a wrist watch look good on you?

So I felt like crying for a little bit.

Then I googled “How to be like Jim Halpert”. I found an article on wikihow that would help me out. Here’s a few things it suggested:

1. Be clever and smart.

I’m sometimes clever and smart! Sometimes. Eh, not really.

2. Shake off insults.

I pride myself in my ability to not accept shit from people. I wait until I’m by myself to sulk in a puddle of my own tears.

3. If something doesn’t work out, never give up.

I’m currently working on this. Currently, it’s working in my favor. You know who you are.

4. Always be the guy who is laid-back, friendly, humorous, sly and always good looking.

I’m pretty laid back. As in I didn’t get out of bed until noon today. CHECK. I’m very friendly. CHECK. Humorous? A work in progress. HALF CHECK. Sly? Definitely not. NO CHECK. Always good looking? Uhm. Definitely not always. I’ll settle with sometimes sort-of good looking. SORT OF CHECK.

5. Always wear a wrist watch.

I’ve already decided that I’m not attractive enough for a wrist watch, but Jim Halpert is also tall and white (although perfect) so that was enough for me to justify googling the exact wrist watch that Jim Halpert wears on The Office. Victorinox Swiss Army Infantry #24654. I got very excited. However, it was a $350 dollar watch. So then I got sort of depressed.

UNTIL I FOUND A USED ONE FOR $50 DOLLARS ON AMAZON.

Hey, thanks Amazon.

Also, thanks mellow_melly for selling such a great watch for such a super price. Thanks a heap!

So you can bet I bought that watch. And it looks GUD.

So, now that I’m done talking about that I’m not quite sure what to talk about now.

Except Shannon texted me last night to tell me that her night class’s room smelled like a cat had exploded in it. I thought that was pretty funny.

Also, a while back I was in class and got “Polenta”, the tasty grainy-mush dish, confused with “Placenta”, the sack of goo located in a pregnant woman’s womb.

The conversation went as such:

Me: “Oh, you’re going to Texas Culinary Academy? My sister went there!”

Classmate: “Really? What kind of stuff is she doing now?”

Me: “She’s a pastry chef. Makes a mean lemon-blueberry scone. And cake balls. She’s just a really good pasty chef.”

Classmate: “Yeah, I’m not sure what I want to do exactly. Right now I’m just trying a lot of new things.”

Me: “Ah, I gotcha. There are some things I’d like to try. I always see people on cooking shows talking about placenta. I’d like to try placenta. Have you had it before?”

Classmate: “Wait.. Did you say…?”

Three other classmates: “OMG, what!?”

Me: “Ohhh.”

That was fun. Speaking of goo, upon pouring some milk into my bowl of Kashi cereal just now, I was saddened to find a white-phlegm looking substance slathered over the top of my crunchy clusters.

Sure enough, the milk expired the day before Halloween.

I’m not sure what to eat now.

Before I go, I want everyone to know that I’m writing this in Nichole’s attic. It’s messy up here.

Cheers,

Patch

*Originally written & posted on November 9th, 2011

Boosin Was Here

Back in the fall of 2011 I mentioned that god-forsaken Boosin would be writing a post for Eldon.

The little panty stain came to Shannon with his unfortunate story so she could help pass it on to me. She’s the only one that understand him over the plume of fish-breath that escapes him each time he opens his mouth.

So why am I doing this? I think I thought at one point that it would be funny. Now I’m rolling around through the gooey mess of my sorrowful regret. But keep my word, I shall.

Take it away, you little parasite.

…Hello there, my lovelies. This…is Boosin.

*GASP*

I know, I know. It’s really me. I’m typing this under Patch’s bed as we speak. There’s a lot of weird stuff under here…anyways.

While surfing the daily shuffle of doggy dating sites and Pinterest recipes, I came across young Patch’s blog. Isn’t he just so funny? FALSE. He’s the opposite of funny. Rather vile, actually.

So after countless nights of heavy sobbing and heartache, I pulled myself together and decided to reveal the REAL story of our relationship.

And that’s why I’m here today; to bring the truth to light and liars to justice.

Let’s start this off with a bang, shall we?

Number One.

He wanted to throw my tiny body in a bag and toss me onto the train tracks.

I’M A PUPPY.

Sick, right? I know. He acts like HE’S such a victim…I’m getting ready to file a restraining order over here. All I’ve ever been is kind and affectionate to this guy, and what do I get in return? DEATH THREATS.

Anyways.

Number two. 

Why is he always making fun of my plethora of names? Jealous, much? I have a loving family that can’t contain their love for me in just one name, that’s all.

Judge me if you want, I don’t curr. Color me crazy but aren’t we talking about a guy named Patch? I mean, what is he, a piece of fabric? Get a grown up name already…

And if Patch ever tries to connive Shannon out of getting me dog treats, he’s gonna find HIMSELF (I almost spelled ‘slef’) tied up in a burlap sack on the train tracks. And Denzel Washington nor Chris Pine will be there to save him.

It’s starting to get dark under this bed, and I’m afraid he’ll notice the light from my screen so I better wrap it up.

I’m off to slumber, my dears. Once I polish off this sultry red wine, of course.

Kisses, babies.

-B 

*As told to Shannon Dolan

Fat Vanessa

So I’ve been slightly absent lately. I know this, I know. It’s called school, y’all – learn about it.

But mostly it’s called laziness.

I’m writing today because something very special is happening and I want everyone everywhere to know about it. I would hope that your current facial expression would be that of someone very interested to know more but also someone who’s a little scared and confused.

Kind of like what Shannon and I looked like the other night when Lexi convinced us that San Marcos had frozen over. We thought the world was ending. And why in the world was Lexi telling us this? The weatherman made a typo and so it was broadcasted that San Marcos had a temperature of zero degrees. So I guess she thought it was a good opportunity to mess with us.

That shouldn’t have happened, though. We were so scared.

So anyway, what you should have gathered from that is that I hope you are eager/interested/excited/horrified.

Today, Eldon reached 1,000 subscribers.

I saw that my blog was found by people searching “ripped tights”, “demon lamb chop” and “lazy sloth sunshine” so that should help you decide what kind of people I have following me on WordPress.

What I’m mostly excited about is that I think I get a prize or something. Kind of like in Elementary school when you get to choose between a pencil and a goo ball. People keep telling me that this means that I need to write more frequently, but that’s not what I’m taking from it.

I just want my goo ball. I’ll also accept a pizza or a jeep wrangler.

I never thought I’d be writing a blog about my group of friends, but I want to thank everyone who have enjoyed my posts of our awkward encounters enough to subscribe and come back.

You are my sunshine. My only sunshine. You make me giggle when skies turn grey or something.

And on an un-related note, the girls and I are planning to start going to the gym together again. We’re abandoning our old ways and learning to combat our addiction to sugar, fat and salt. I wouldn’t say I depend on juicy treats, but I would say we have a special relationship.

The other day in class I had to write a statistics problem out on the board and one of the girls behind me commented on my ghetto ass and told everyone she wished she had brought singles with her. Also my work pants are so tight and I don’t think they can handle much more of me

I can’t have my pants rip again, guys.

I can’t go to the gym tonight though because I took too much magnesium and I’m having to make more trips to the bathroom than I’d care to comment on.

Also, both Shannon and Lexi are creating blogs. You should also be interested/horrified about this, too. I’ll be sure to post links to their pages when they become available! In the mean time, don’t forget to check out Jace’s Tumblr and Clare’s Blogspot and see what they’re up to! Clare saw a naked man walking through a cemetery the other day, and there’s more where that came from!

Also also, I image searched “winner” on google for a blog picture and found mostly images of Charlie Sheen and golden trophies so then I got annoyed and searched “winner, winner, chicken dinner” and wah lah – title picture.

Cheers,

Patch

Suso Montouto Tato

Robin Williams once said, and please excuse his profanity, “I haven’t seen any spiders in the house for days. What the fuck are they planning?!”

It got me thinking.

As I woke up to the horrific plume of moldy stank billowing from a glass of week-old milk and a dirty plate accompanying a juicy brown apple and last week’s chicken breast dinner, I began to wonder: Why is my bedroom not crawling with insects, maggots, and other forms of scum-indulging critten?

Better yet, where are they hiding and when can I expect them to revolt against me? I would be mistaken to think they would see me as a god and worship me for the endless feasts of week-old food I provide them with, but I’m beginning to see through that. It’s possible they’re planning to take over my humble abode as I speak.

I’ve got to learn to sleep with my mouth closed.

Albus Dumbledore said, “Every day, every hour, this very minute, perhaps, dark forces attempt to penetrate [these] walls.” Most people don’t know he wasn’t talking about Voldemort. He was talking about cockroaches, silverfish, termites, rats, ants, and anything from that God-forsaken arachnid family.

These videos should give you a good idea of what I’m talking about.

That one is Shannon’s favorite.

This made me think of the other day when I stepped on that roach carcass that Sophie left outside my door.

You can bet that I’m going to seriously consider cleaning my room today.

I’m putting extra emphasis on “consider” because chances are the rancid smell invading my nostrils isn’t going to be enough for me to take action. I’m going to need to see something with more than two legs crawling around here. And I don’t mean Sophie.

In other news, Shannon and Lexi decided to make a fan page for me a while back on Facebook. I didn’t approve this. They chose an awkward photo of me for the profile picture, and they listed me as an “entertainer” under my description. Currently, 5 people like my page. They are Shannon, Lexi, Lexi’s mother, our friend Maria, and some guy named Suso Montouto Tato. He’s an administrator for a company called “La Rueca Patchwork”. Their website is in Spanish so I’m still pretty unclear about what they do.

That doesn’t matter much, though. I just really like his name. Shannon thinks it should be the name of a gorilla emperor.

Last night Shannon sent me a series of HeyTells all of her attempting to sing “What’s Love Got To Do With It” in that breathy, high-pitched voice she does so well. It started out that way, anyway. It turned out to be just a whole lot of creepy.

You listen to that, and let it marinade.

Also, check out The Faces of Eldon for my latest description of Boosin. Not that you care. I don’t care, even. As a matter of fact, maybe you shouldn’t check it out.

If you haven’t subscribed yet, you need to. Pronto. That’s unacceptable. Scroll down to the bottom of the page and do it. Now.

Cheers,

Patch

*Originally written & posted on October 5th, 2011

Caitlins & Emilys

I’m not usually so awkward at parties.

I promise.

One of Jace’s friends was having a belated 21st birthday party, and since I was already with him that day we decided to stop by and see everyone.

Thankfully, I’ve been introduced to a good number of his friends at Southwestern, but almost all of them are named either some variation of  ”Caitlin” or named “Emily”. Did they plan this? They probably planned this I think.

So, anyway, that’s not fair because I’m already bad enough with names as it is and while you’d think this sort of thing would make it easier – it doesn’t. I never know which “Caitlin” I’m talking to, and I’ve been told different things about each one. I had to make flash cards in order to remember the difference between them all.

Not really, but I think I’m probably going to have to do that. Really.

So, we got to the party, and there was about 10 or so people there. It was pretty chill (meaning totally awkward). But I got to meet some really nice people. All of whom I’m just going to call “Caitlin” in my head. Or maybe “Emily”. We got there, and Jace and I both did two jello shots. They were gross. And jam packed with everclear which I forgot my body hates. I got just the right amount of buzz in order to participate in a game of twister.

Oops. Bad idea.

I had to apologize in advance to the other players because my long limbs would almost certainly find themselves in someone else’s face. Or maybe butt. Or crotchal region (wordpress wanted me to correct that to “crochet region”). Nothing intentional, though. Promise. I lost the first game, and as I fell to my doom I ended up nearly crushing a small girl behind me who I’ll call “Caitlin”. Or maybe “Emily”. I attempted to apologized afterward, but the rat poison-like everclear I drank turned “I’m so sorry, are you okay?” into something along the lines of “Imborded snorsy, budorys…?”

That’s maybe a bit of an exaggeration. I’m not quite sure what I said to that poor girl, all I know is that we didn’t talk for the rest of the night. Because I fell on her. Probably crushing her pelvis. Maybe cracking her femur, too.

Needless to say, I was done playing twister.

Once Jace had finished dominating everyone, he made his way over to a group of Emilys and Caitlins while I fell back into the kitchen and got stuck talking to a doe-eyed red-head named…you guessed it…KATELYN. There was absolutely no room for us to chat, and while that could have easily been an excuse for us not to talk to each other, both of us were very polite and felt obligated.

We talked about everything but the weather. She asked about my major. I asked about hers. She was so close that if either of us made any sudden movements our hands would have easily inappropriately groped the other person. I think I started sweating. I think she noticed. And I think that’s when it really started to get super awk-sauce.

Very frequently the both us would run out things to say and avoid eye contact by staring at absolutely anything other than each other. I chose the empty corners of the ceiling. It was so painful. In order to cope with this, I envisioned a dementor sucking out my soul. Or maybe staring into the eyes of the little kid in my title photo. Two things I would much rather be doing.

A couple of other people joined into the conversation…if you would even call it that…and started to ask more questions. One of them asked what made me decide I wanted to do Social Work. I got a little nervous because I knew someway or another in me explaining this I would end up having to tell them that I had cancer. That almost always leads to everyone throwing a pity party for me out of feelings of obligation as well as them asking me what kind I had.

So then they did. They asked me what kind I had. And very reluctantly, I told them.

“Oh…well, uhm…testicular…”

“Ohhh.” “Ooo, yikes.” “…ouch” were just a few of their responses.

From that moment on I knew what they were all thinking. A couple of them stared down at my crotch and quickly looked away once they saw I had noticed. They were all thinking about what it would be like to only have one testicle. And then they were thinking about my one testicle. And I knew this. And so I began to sweat even more.

It got very quiet. And the soggy, sweaty mess that was me quickly had to find a way to get out of there. I sipped on some punch that tasted mostly like gummy worms and looked over to Jace who beckoned me over to his possy of Caitlins and Emilys.

“Oh, well…yeah…my boyfriend is calling me over.”

I laughed nervously for about 30 seconds while they all stared either at my crotch or my sweaty forehead before spitting out, “Well guys…it was great meeting you…Ha-ha…and uhm, hah…Hasta la bye-bye!”

After the party I felt a little bit like sobbing myself into a coma. Maybe I was a little nauseated. I think at that point throwing up sounded wonderful. I remember Jace saying, “That was the most awkward party ever.”

“…Yup..” Was my response.

It really was, though. It was like being locked into a very, very tiny box. With awful things. Like spiders. Who stare at your crotch and think about your one testicle. We ended up going back to Jace’s room and watching “Bridesmaids” with some of his friends before going to bed.

I’m just so glad all of that is over. I’m usually very good at talking with people I don’t know at parties. Making friends has always been very easy for me, but something went very wrong that night. I just hope whatever it is is gone before tomorrow. I start at St. Edward’s in the morning and I need to be as little awkward as possible (not possible) in order to make people like me.

Knowing me, I’ll trip running up some stairs out of excitement and be stuck rolling around in agony on the concrete while people nervously decide whether or not they want to be seen helping me. Wish me luck.

Cheers,

Patch

Banana Sounds & Zelda Tunes

I think we all know what I’m talking about when I say “banana sounds”. Don’t we?

You know, the disgustingly horrific gushy-wet slop sounds that come from people who never learned to chew with their mouths closed. Where were their parents? Honestly.

I’m one of those people, sometimes. Only sometimes, though, so don’t get carried away.

These ranky-mush sort of sounds are also known as mac-n-cheese sounds, as well as mashed potato sounds. However, I’ve found that you don’t even have to be chewing food to makes them. For instance, I just returned from an exhausting 10 minute walk with Sophie (who btw has ADHD probably) and my mouth is so dry that every time I open it, a symphony of banana sounds resound off the walls of my home. It’s from the pasty, glue-like substance that was once my saliva that is now lining the inside of my mouth.

…I made actual banana sounds this morning while eating an actual banana.

I tried searching for an example of this on the web, but both google and YouTube are uninformed about this and have no idea what I’m talking about. Some friends they are. Idiots. Everyone should know what banana sounds are. They’re all around us, sort of like the wind or maybe God even.

Not that God is a lump of mushed banana rolling around in some person’s wide open trap. That’s not what I’m saying.

Just, if you listen carefully when eating around friends or family, they’ll make their presence known. And you’ll consequently have nightmares the following night probably.

On a different note, Jace is obsessed with his new Zelda game he got for Christmas.

It’s really very serious. He even downloaded an app on his phone so he can listen to any Zelda song (I didn’t know there was such a thing either) he desires at the drop of a hat.

That’s the first time I’ve ever said, “…at the drop of a hat” and I’m not sure if I like it. I’ll know by the end of this blog how I feel about that.

I spent most of the last week in Georgetown with him since it was his last week before his semester started. It was a really good week. I heard him say “fart” a couple of times which is big since he’s terrified of farts. That was pretty big. We also basically did a whole lot of nothing and ate large amounts of chicken nuggets. It was wonderful.

We even snuck into the science building there at Southwestern University and he showed me his research labs and I got to hold a vial of rat brains. Romantic. I also got to put my hand in a freezer that was like negative a billion degrees celsius and that was pretty exciting.

Returning to his Zelda addiction, at one point I heard this coming from the bathroom on one of his potty breaks.

I ended up putting on a cat-man mask he had in his room and scared the buhooligans out of him as he finished up his business.

SIDE NOTE: I was talking to him on the phone while writing this until I handed the phone to Sophie so she could say hi but instead she accidentally touched her nose to the screen and hit “end call”.

I at least think it was accidental…

Either way, I’m no longer talking to Jace on my phone. Sophie has absolutely no manners and only wants me to herself.

I think the moral of this story is that when you love someone, you discover all of the special needs they have. No matter how strange they may be, you continue to love and support them. In this case, I’ll continue to let him fantasize of being an elf-boy and only make fun of this on special occasions. I luh him…

Oh, and by the way, it’s 2012! Since the world is going to self-destruct or get sucked into a juicy black hole (that makes it sound like the world’s going to be sucked into a butthole, and I don’t mean that – I just needed an adjective) before next Christmas, I’ve decided this is the year to follow through with my new years resolutions.

1. I must learn to be more productive. Especially because I have a shiny new school to go to. Orientation is tomorrow and I’m a combination of nerves and excitement. I’m considering wearing a diaper in case I poop my pants.

2. Stick to the health-food supplements I invest my money into as well as keep a consistent workout routine. I really want to lose three pounds. I cut my tumbleweed hair and would like to look toned and fit like I did this past summer. Is butter a carb?

3. I need to learn to control my suffocating emotions and try to not over-think or over-analyze everything. I tend to do that sometimes.

A lot of the time. Well, okay. All of the time.

Some short-term goals would be to not make banana sounds as much, learn to play some Zelda tunes on my recorder so I can perform for Jace on Valentine’s day and finally, try to decide which hard drug this woman is on:

“I love to…WIGGLE”

Also, I’ve decided I don’t like that I said, “…at the drop of a hat.”

You won’t hear that from me ever again.

Cheers,

Patch

Moonchild

I called Jace “lamb chop” tonight. In a text message.

“What are you doing, lamb chop?” was my crime in its entirety.

He didn’t respond.

I’m going to give both myself as well as you all a chance to run to the bathroom and spew your dinner out all over that shiny  porcelain throne of yours.

I’m not one to go any further than saying something like “babe”, but it’s seemed that lately we have both been in a competition with each other to see who can come up with the sappiest, smelliest pet name to call each other. Neither of us is acknowledging it. This is very, very real however. And I’m going to feel bad if I’m the only one between him and I who has these thoughts.

Things similar to “shmoopie pie” and “diddle-dumps” have been said. Like, really bad stuff, guys. So bad I can’t even remember. Except “moon child”. He called me that the other night. That one is hard to forget.

You’ll just had to trust me on the rest, okay? I wouldn’t lie about this.

Last night I came very close to calling him “sugar tits”. I got that from this guy -

Hey, thanks Mel. For such a POISONOUS idea. Thankfully, I refrained.

It’s been an hour since I sent that message, and I have yet to hear from him. I’ve decide he’s suddenly suffered a small stroke, or an undiagnosed brain aneurism(spelled that as “brian” first) burst at the site of such a hideous, terrifying name…

The next thing I would like to talk about is…hmm…uhm. Well. That’s the only idea I brought to the table for this blog…so…like many times before I’m finding myself halfway through a post with no more material and highly considering either deleting it now or saving it as a draft and deleting it another day so I’ll feel less bad about deleting 283 words.

But I think I’ll keep it instead.

In other  news, Awkward Eldon has been given a few shiny awards in the last month or two! I’ve been so grateful that I’ve gone the last month or two without acknowledging them and essentially letting them collect cyber-dust. Shame on myself.

I really am very excited about these, and I’m humbled that people thought of me when seeking out recipients!

First, on December 4th and 14th, I was awarded The Versatile Blogger Award by FiercelyYours and Laurenrantnrave! Thanks a heap, guys!

The award works like this: 1. Formally thank the person who gave me the award. 2. List 7 unknown things about me. 3. Pass this award on to 15 other blogs. 4. Alert the 15 bloggers of their victory!

So…here’s my first question and biggest concern – does this mean that I have to find 30 bloggers to award this to? I don’t want to be a greedy little poopsmith, but I’m almost certain that won’t happen. I’m too lazy. This is basically me right now.

My sloth talons can only type so much. 30 people is a totally unfair expectation.

So, I owe you all 7 unknown things about myself. Buckle up.

1. The nails on the two toes closest to my big toe grow faster than the rest of my toenails. I have to keep a close eye on them so they don’t shank any innocent bystanders. I can neither confirm nor deny that these rogue toenails of mine have severely injured people I love.

2. I hate condiments. However, I’ll take a bath in cheese.

3. I often times have to avoid looking in the mirror in the morning because I usually resemble a bag of ass upon waking. Nobody needs to see that in the wee hours of the morn. Today, however, I didn’t struggle in attempting to tame my wild tumbleweed hair that usually ends up looking like a pigeon’s nest. I had a pretty good hair day today. Just the right amount of disheveled mess.

4. My favorite color is green. Like the color of my morning power smoothies, though perhaps not so vomity-looking.

5. My favorite band is Mumford & Sons, though if you ask me my favorite song on any given day it’s sure to change from artist to artist. I listen to a lot of Alexi Murdoch and like putting “Blood” by The Middle East on repeat. Gushy-gushy goodness.

6. I’m 6’3″, and I sleep on a very short twin bed. Often times I find myself sleeping in the fetal position because if I wasn’t in the fetal position my feet would hang off the edge and the monsters would get me.

7. Once in Elementary School I peed while sitting on a chair in the computer room with my fellow first-grade classmates and told my friends on the way out to recess that my pants were darker in one spot because the denim changed colors in sunlight. Brilliant excuse, Patrick.

I’m going to continue to look for other bloggers to pass the award onto, but that will take time. I don’t do well with pesky deadlines with this sort of thing.

Second, I was awarded the 7×7 Blogger Award from Articles of Absurdity on November 27th and from Iliketheworldfuzzy on December 24th. Thanks a million, you two! For this award, the awardee selects seven previous blog posts that represent certain categories: Most Beautiful, Most Helpful, Most Popular, Most Controversial, Most Surprisingly Successful, Most Underrated, Most Prideworthy, and then you pass the award along to seven new recipients.

By the time I would be through with that, people would be clawing my eyes out with my very own sloth toes and beating me with socks full of raw meat for writing such a long blog. I’ll have to continue this in my next post. If you made it this far, I thank thee.

Also, I started adding to More Foolish Follies! It’ll be a more frequently updated feed of the futile nonsense that is Awkward Eldon. Check it out!

Until then, have a super duper night, everyone!

PS – Jace still hasn’t responded. Yikes

Cheers,

Patch

Frageelee

So, I’m sometimes a terrible person and forget that I have readers who actually stop by time-to-time for the scoop on the terribly awkward situations I find myself in. In addition to this, I sometimes like to go oh…I dunno…like two weeks without writing anything. Sorry about that. That’s going to happen sometimes.

I know that’s not good “blogging” or whatever. I’m just way past wanting to be a good blogger. I’ve settled for being a person who writes the occational novel-length blog that people may or may not enjoy and go two weeks before writing another. It’s really working out for me, I think.

I recently asked my boyfriend, Jace, if I could start including him in my blog posts.

He said yes, and then I peed myself a little. So then I added him to The Faces of Eldon, so go check that out and see how good he looks. Also, go and follow his Tumblr page!

He’s in Houston over the break to spend Christmas with his family, but he’s driving back up for New Year’s Eve so we can spend it together! We spent his last day before the break here together, and it was SUPER. We ended up getting drunk later that night and found ourselves eating cheese and crackers on his bathroom floor. Romantic.

If you had the chance, I’d bet anything you’d be eating cheese and crackers on a bathroom floor with this guy, too.

I’m almost certain New Year’s will end in a similar way.

In other news, I have lots of other news. Although I can only remember one part of that news-clump so that’s all you get. When I finished my chemotherapy treatment back in 2010, I decided that, if accepted, I wanted to continue my Social Work degree with concentrations on cancer patient support at St. Edward’s University here in Austin.

The place basically looks like Hogwarts. So after a lot of catching up at Austin Community College and applying for the Spring of 2012, I finally received my acceptance letter in the mail today. I’m going to my dream school and I can’t tell you how much that means to me – especially after enduring chemotherapy.

Chemotherapy is basically liquified bitch that’s forced through your veins. That’s fun for no one. Yesterday marked the two-year anniversary of my diagnosis with cancer. Shannon wished me a “happy” anniversary. I’m not sure she knew what she was saying there.

This really was the best Christmas gift, though. I can’t wait.

One thing I could have gone without this season, however: Songs like these that play about a schmillion times at work. This song in particular. It makes me feel like I’m going burst into flames. It also makes me feel like my head is going to roll off my shoulders and knock some small child over.

It’s the kind of song that really makes me anxious. I start to sweat. My eyelid starts twitching Ren & Stimpy style. It becomes increasingly difficult to hold in my farts while talking with customers.

It’s just not good, guys.

Christmas hasn’t been all bad songs and lack of boyfriend, though. I finished all of my shopping for family within 24 hours of Christmas Day! Though, while at Barnes & Noble today I accidentally helped the wind swing one of the store’s massive wooden front doors into a small Asian man’s nose. He shook his head a little, kind of like a cartoon character does when they’re hit over the head with an anvil, and a woman who saw this gave me a look like she was personally going to send me to Hell.

Also, Shannon is here this year for the holidays which I’m happy about I guess or whatever. I was more excited earlier this evening, but at about 10 tonight I found myself on Shannon’s couch watching tv where she decided it was appropriate to release a monstrous fart on my leg that baby-shook my thigh.

It’s hurts to walk now. I thought that may have been from my run yesterday, but I’m pretty sure this sort of pain was caused by the violent ass-ripping she laid out across my left leg.

And while I’m sorry about doing this, although not really all that sorry, I’m going to have to cut this blog short because I’m tired, it’s the wee hours of Christmas Eve morning, and my throat feels like someone let a ravage possum loose in it.

I do want to wish you all a happy holiday season, however! And Awkward Eldon reached 420 subscribers this month, which is something to celebrate I think! Therefore I’m going to crawl into bed, put “A Christmas Story” on and whisper sweet, sweet nothings to myself until I fall into a small coma.

Cheers,

Patch

Everywhere Like Such As

Lately I’ve been a little…off track. This means that I’ve been waking up in the middle of the afternoon, getting almost nothing done, and feeling completely pooped by the end of the day. I usually feel pretty bad about treating my days like this, so I made the decision last night to stop being lazy and get back into my morning routine.

That means waking up at 6:45 AM and preparing my morning smoothie before I do anything else. I was very excited this morning to make my smoothie because I had bought a handful of things from work to add to my already amazing power smoothie.

I’ve said “smoothie” way too much, haven’t I..

While doing this, I discovered that Sophie is terrified of lemons. Or lemon juice, rather. I had some on my hands, and decided it would be completely normal to let her smell them. She took a hefty whiff right before fleeing the scene while barking relentlessly at me.

I decided I needed to make it up to her and re-declare my love for her (Don’t you dare take that the wrong way. Pervs.) In order to do this, I put on “I Don’t Want To Wait” by Paula Cole and projected my mediocre voice to her. I closed my eyes in a moment of sweet, sweet serenade only to find her gone when I opened them.

So then I sang “Crazy Girl” by the Eli Young Band in hopes of getting her back.

“Silly woman, come here and let me hold you. Have I told you lately I love you like crazy, girl?”

That didn’t work either.

Anyway, my morning smoothie consists of the following.

1. Two to three bags of Yogi Kava Stress Relief tea (let them steep for about ten minutes in about 2 cups of water)

2. One ounce of sun-dried Goji Berries (let them soak in the hot tea for about ten minutes)

3. One tablespoon of Raw Manuka Honey (stir in hot tea until melted)

4. One tablespoon of Nutiva Coconut Oil (stir in hot tea until melted)

5. Once tea has cooled, pour the contents into your blender. Add one cup of a mixed-berry medley (no added sugar), one lemon (pulp included), one apple (red or green), one banana and one cup of baby spinach.

6. Once everything is blended together, add one tablespoon of Body Tech’s Glutamine Powder, and two scoops of Vibrant Health’s Green Vibrance (make sure the smoothie is not hot before adding Green Vibrance)

I refuse to show you the end result because it will most likely end up haunting your dreams. Also, it looks mainly like baby vomit, and that doesn’t sell too well to people for some reason.

But, oh.. the taste and aroma here are both far from anything related to sour milk or pureed peas. Or vomit. I can easily see myself downing one of these some day among a Himalayan tribe in Nepal.

Or by myself. In my kitchen.

And since my morning smoothie was so incredible, I suddenly came across a bulky chunk of energy – one that I would nibble on in order to help me write another very futile blog post that people will most likely only get half-way through (if I’m lucky). I left the kitchen to head for my laptop and looked at Sophie saying, “Listen, child. You can come, or you can stay, ya hurrd?!” in my best ghetto-fabulous voice.

She decided to come.

Though I must mention the basil plant she half-mutilated while on her potty break in the back yard. I found her throwing this around the yard..

She tried looking all sweet and cuddly and innocent and wonderful afterward. Which worked. Obviously.

Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed Taylor Made’s blog. She’s pretty funny, and you all better have subscribed. Also, she’s very nice when she’s not threatening me. She wrote a blog for me, after all! That’s very good for me because I mostly have better things to do than write blogs.

Like sit around and wait for my lumberjack man-beard to fill out.

Though she tried telling me I should blog about less. Which is a nice suggestion I suppose. I’m, however, not as interested in being a successful blogger as I make myself out to be. I mostly just need an outlet for my nonsense so that people stop unfriending me on Facebook.

In other news, I’ve decided that I need to include Shannon in at least a small part of every blog I write. Mostly because she recently admitted to me that she only reads posts that have her or Boosin’s name in them, because according to her, those are the only parts that are worth reading.

Prostitution whore. What does she know.

I was over at her apartment the other day and Lexi and I had a small argument with her. We were trying to decide that if Gerb, Verb and Serbian (mentioned in my previous blog, Gerb. Verb. Serbian.) were the three of us, Lexi would be Gerb, I would be Verb, and Serbian would be Shannon.

That pissed her off. Mostly because I think she envisions all Serbians being hairy-bear men named Peggy. In order to make her feel better about being Serbian, I googled it and found a nice picture of a sweet, elderly Serbian woman. I posted it on her Facebook with the caption, “Hello, Serbian!”

“I’m not fucking Serbian!” was her response.  And instead of settling that argument, we watched the following videos on YouTube.

She’s so right. Hairspray tastes like crap. Or battery acid that’s been mixed with, I dunno, gypsy tears or something similar.

I know you were probably very nervous, Miss South Carolina. I still think it was very nice of you to suggest that our education over here in the US help the US…or uh, I mean South Africa and the Asian Countries.

And the Iraq.

That was very nice of you.

I then opted to head home. Shannon chased me out the door and down the stairs with a bag of Boosin’s poop that had been sitting on their porch since Thanksgiving. She threw it at me as I fled down the apartment staircase. The Boosins of the world celebrated in that moment.

And in that moment, I felt very sad. And small. And slighty suicidal.

I’m okay, now, though.

Cheers,

Patch

It’s Taylor Made, La Durr

Hello, readers. I recently asked Taylor from It’s Taylor Made to write a guest blog for Awkward Eldon. Mostly because I’m lazy and I’m trying to write more each month. The best way to do that is this, obviously. She, in return, will get (maybe, if she’s lucky) one or two of the ten or so readers I have to pitter-patter on over to her page. I can’t guarantee anything, Taylor. But really, you better go to her page.

Or. else.

Anyway, HERE. SHE. IS!

Earlier this week, I got the honor of being asked to “guess blog” on Awkward Eldon. Despite the ribbing I gave to our dear favorite blogger (not me, you guys!! We have to keep up appearances and say Patch since we’re on his blog. But shhh…I know) for his typo, I was super-excited at the prospect…until five seconds later, when I realized something very important: This request had nothing to do with me and his overwhelming love for my snark. He was just being a lazy jerk.

I discussed this topic briefly on my own blog post, but I totally get the play here. It’s like when you’re assigned a group project in school, and the slackers in the back row who listen on their Walkmans iPods all year and ignore you all suddenly materialize in front of you, the A-student who always sits in the front row and raises your hand and always read three chapters ahead the assigned chapters, and they’re all batting their eyelashes at you and like, “We should totally be in the same group, yo.” and then you’re just trying to be nice to the guy who you totally had the hots for all year who is now talking to you, but really all he wants is for you to do all the work and let him put his name on it right at the end, and you don’t realize until like three days before the project is due that you totally got played. That’s what Mr. Patch is doing and I’m onto you, sir.

But since I’m already here, let’s do this, amirite?

So I’ve been “assigned” the task of telling all of you people what my most awkward memory is. Really? Thanks, Patch. I’d absolutely love to air out my dirty laundry in front of a few million complete strangers. Would you like me to come to the front of the class and be naked, too?

And I thought you loved me, man. Sigh.

Since there’s absolutely no pressure whatsoever to come up with something that will make you lose the ability to restrain your bodily fluids, I will tell you about the most hilariously awkward moment that has ever happened to me (in my memory. There are so many that I tend to forget). So, here goes!:

I have made it clear on my own blog that I am a total baby giraffe. I’ve come to terms with it, and thankfully, my husband makes all attempts to wear protective headgear in my presence. Oh, but back in the day…

There was this time that I went to a lovely chain restaurant with a boyfriend. We’d only been dating awhile, so I was still actively trying to hide the fact that I was a SuperKlutz. These efforts became remarkably unsuccessful when, in the midst of enthusiastically telling a story, I flailed my arms about and knocked over a 100% full glass of tea into his lap.

This would be awkward enough, but it gets worse.

Firstly, this boyfriend only drank tea. This was the guy who never drank water, soda, or anything except tea (except when he was drinking Jack and Coke). I would go to his house and all there would ever be would be tea and tap water. This should have been the marker of doom, but alas, I was young. Anyhoo.

So, the totally full glass of tea pours almost entirely into his lap. He lurches up, creating a waterfall of tea that went directly into my purse. (Why did I even keep my purse under the table? It was a busy aisle and the chairs were rounded so I couldn’t hook them over the back of my chair. Lucky me.)

Oh, it gets better, because the waterfall of tea spilled right on my cell phone.

The cell phone I’d just purchased. Not three hours prior.

Sigh.

You may be thinking, “Oh Taylor! That’s so terrible! So awkward!”

It gets better.

“A lot” of (according to the mom, but I say it was only three or four) ice cubes ricocheted off the table and also my boyfriend’s knee, and hit a small toddler who was aimlessly playing on the floor nearby. (Which I still maintain was the mother’s fault, for letting her child play on the floor. I mean, hello, it’s a dirty restaurant. I used to be a server, I know how often and thoroughly servers don’t clean the floor. Not a smart move.) One of these ice cubes, the young girl swears, hit her in the eye.

She screeched for the next five minutes, before her mother finally took pity on all of the restaurant patrons (who were for some reason all glaring at me, and not the mother who refused to console her daughter properly), and carried the girl outside.

Oh, it gets better, folks!

The server comes back with a dirty dishrag to clean up the mess, and says, “Oh dude, we ran out of tea. Sorry, man.”

A minute or so later, he brings my boyfriend a Coke. Except, when he went to set it down, the glass teetered off-balance because of a stray shard of ice that the server didn’t see…

And spilled into my boyfriend’s lap.

Awk-ward!

The lesson here: Do not drink beverages in Taylor’s presence. Write it down, folks, and recite it until it’s burned into your memory.

Oh, and also, thanks for making letting me write this post for you, Patchouli! It’s been a pleasure dredging up horrifying memories for your amusement. Kisses!

(Cheers,

Patch)