The Garab Chronicles

Twa-Day: Day 69

And then, the ceiling caved in.

Twa-Day: Day 68

Plumbing issues, leaky pipes, and watersports: three things I'm not into.

Twa-Day: Day 67

Calculating mileage for taxes is the least sexy activity I've partaken of in the last 67 days. Also, there's a lot less lube involved.

Twa-Day: Day 66

Nothing to report, but I'm still here.

Twa-Day: Day 65

With 300 days to go and a tweaked out back, Enya shall be my medicine. Yeah, I said it. Enya.

Just try and tell me Caribbean Blue doesn't make you all warm and gushy inside with a chance of cool and breezy. Go on, try!

Twa-Day: Day 63

In less than 24 hours, we may finally join the rest of the civilized world and have a health care system that doesn't suck. This may come in handy considering my handstands of late.

Twa-Day: Day 62

Goose egg is all I've got tonight.

Twa-Day: Day 61

This post is late because: a) I'm a bad Garab. b) My blogging hand broke. c) I was busy humping street lamps and doing handstands on Santa Monica Blvd while tipsy. d) c, after a custard filled donut lovingly prepared by a guy doomed to wait on the semi-drunk past midnight. e) some of the above. f) a stripper was involved.

Twa-Day: Day 60

2 months.

Twa-Day: Day 59

I'd rather be set on fire than spend 45 seconds on Chatroulette. Don't ask, I'm not providing a link to that afterbirth of a social networking tool. If you must, Google. If you'd like to keep the last untarnished bit of your soul blemish free, don't.

I'm off to shower with bleach.