Vivid iKid

If you happen to be be cruising down the Oklahoma turnpike at any point, make sure to fuck up in your driving habits. If you don't you could be in deep shit. Keep in mind this relates specifically to the toll itself. People keep disobeying the laws that are so clear a porcupine on PCP could follow them. I mean common, it's not that difficult! Just read the sign dickwad! The sign reads: "Toll violations strictly enforced!".

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Late night and drowsy. In movement. A comfy chair. Ergonomic. Skinny lit cabin. G-force lullaby. Then it occurred to me -- I was in an airplane and I had no idea what our destination was. But then, worse things have happened to me before. Plus, by this point I was so tired, I figured I might as well chill and get my money's worth in stead of freaking out. And -- what the hell, how did I get all the way in the back corner of the plane when further up (where things were much more spacious)  
tons of seats were empty. So I dodged legs, slinking under seats, emerging in a field of padded airplane chairs. I guess I could end up in  
California or London or some smaller transfer city. When the plane came to a stop, I didn't get out with the rest of the passengers. I stayed  
inside so I could catch the return flight free of charge. And I drifted off again. Upon a rollercoaster rumble takeoff I was eased from  
sleep. Then I realized that just because I was on the same place didn't necessarily mean I would return to my point of origin. Wow, I must have  
gotten really drunk or something. I seem to remember being part of some fun in that past life...before the airplane. No biggie tho. Actually how crazy would that be if I did indeed  
end up in some distant city and I could just show  
up @ the doorstep of a friend of far away. I mean, it's not like I couldn't ever get home. Plus I did always need some sort of adventure to my life. That was imperative. We flowed along with air currents and eventually descended. I was then  
ejected from the plane in a rusted old car with  
some other girl and together we crashed into a bank of land. We were away from the metal tube and smushed into the ground in a dented vehicle. Airlines these days...huh...guess they have to save money somehow...well. At least I could tell I was back in the suburbs of original city. The girl clambered out of the heap of alloy scraps, jaunted off and was picked up down the road by a large vehicle waiting for her. That was just fine with me. She wasn't a type I looking to meet up with -- all the same I wished her well. There were some industry lights on the horizon and a plane or two flying overhead. As I disposed myself of the wreckage it was an unintensified semi-urban area of thick night I wandered into.

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I'm running out of fingers to count the number of times today I've reached down and stealthily felt beneth my crotch pantfold to see if my zipper is down. I keep having these bissare shocks, where I all the sudden think I'm commando and my pant zipper has come undone. I feel the cold blasts of air, and everyone is looking at me. But upon examination, everything is in place. There was one time, when talking to my group, that I actually heard the zipper coming undone. And I knew it was down for sure. But because I had been assuming it would happen all day long, I was ready, and I covered for it. I finished my sentence, dipped my head and slunk away while casually extending the bottom of my long sleeve shirt, as if I had just decided the proportions in my garb were off and needed to be modified in the shirt department.

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The other day I was just picking up someone else's discarded read on the subway, content to numb my mind with disjointed facts, when my eye caught some infotainment advertorials brandishing new jargon. I decided political correctness had just acheived a new low. My advice: Better watch out our some of these new terms will blindside you. You better stay up to date because everyone knows in a few months we'll all know these words and have known them forever. Here are some trends and terms to be aware of.

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-It seemed right that basement high school hopes wafted over me through the compact car interior as KoRn's Issues flowed from the dash while I popped Cherry Blasters into my mouth, spilling sour sugar all over the passenger side. Late again for an interview. But I was more calm than I had been in a long time. The driver wore skate shoes -- the laces were pink. Hanging blonde hair. Bitching about traffic. Tim Horton's coffee in the beverage holder. And it wasn't my fucking fault at all this time. I was gloating. We were late but it wasn't my fault. Carolina pointed out the pointing arrow lights, baffled, because there were way more streetlights and green arrows directions than there were streets.

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