I know what I'm thankful for...

Remember that spawn of Satan I blogged about? Well, apparently the beastkeeper is a reader. That's right, earlier this week, she did the world a favor and put him down. Now I can sleep at night.

Happy Birthday C-Crest.

This barely counts as a post, but it's my best friend’s birthday tomorrow and I'm willing to lose a little more sleep in order to commemorate it. Although I'm very busy, I feel an obligation to tell the world (and by "world", I mean the 10 to 15 people who still read this blog) that C-Train is 22 years old.




Happy birthday, dude. Much love.

Third year in a row

A few of my most faithful readers—I'm talking about the ones who might very well one day drink "Pecadillo Kool-Aid"—have asked about my People covers. Believe it or not; those magazine covers are actually forged. It's true; People Magazine has yet to recognize my achievements. Neverthelesss, I put my likeness on the coveted cover in a new style every year.



This one started it all. I was going for the classic Don Pec look. This is how I look about 98% of the time. My ascot was actually a pair of boxers, and the monicle was a plastic sealing-ring from a bottle of juice. I'm like the MacGyver of magazine-cover forgery.



The next year I looked like a cross between Burt Reynolds, Gabe Kaplan, and the "Joy of Painting" guy. This is my favorite cover.



Last year, I didn't go with a theme. My dad caught me off guard with his camera while I was wearing my flight gear, and the picture just happened to fit the cover nicely. What should I do this year? I'm open to suggestions.

By the way, I've had to shave my head completely for the Police Academy. I'm thinking about going for the Vin Diesel look. Unfortunately, I look more like Sinead O'Conner.

Speaking of the Police Academy; tomorrow is my first day. Incidentally, sometime tomorrow morning I'll be receiving my 20,000th hit. Scroll to the bottom and see what number you are. If you’re lucky number twenty-thousand, leave me a comment. Be sure to include who you are, where you’re from, and what time it is. This will be very cool for you; a lot like it was for the fifty-millionth visitor to Disneyland... except your name won't go down on record and your achievement doesn't matter at all.

The new and improved Casa del Pecadillo

Ok, I'm moved in. So far, only the Jaguar (Muffin doesn't like his former nickname, and his initials are J A G so he is now "the Jaguar") has moved in with me. A lot of my stuff is still at my parent’s house, but my new place is starting to feel like home. I have yet to get wireless installed in my new house so my posts will continue to be sporadic; I still have to go to my parent’s house if I want to blog.

In the mean time, I'll be posting on the many adventures I've encountered these last few weeks while moving.

About a week or so before we actually moved, we painted the inside of the house. On painting day, C-Train apparently had an overdose of stupid pills. He's usually a very intelligent and insightful individual, but—um, OK—well maybe that's pushing it. Either way, C-Crest was particularly beef-headed the day we painted my house. When the boy-wonder noticed a spider crawling on the wall next to the door to my room, he decided to smash it with his paint brush. There was and are two simple problems with this: 1. C-Crest's brush was covered in dark brown paint. And 2. We weren't planning on painting that wall.

I love it when a plan comes together.

Earlier that night, C-Train attempted to examine a can of "Stormy Waters", dark blue paint. Despite the fact that he had just witnessed this particular can of paint being opened; our hero picked up the can and turned it sideways! Approximately half a quart of dark blue paint now graces my living room floor. I think C-Train took enough stupid pills to sedate Liza Minelli.

Later that night, while the rest of us were desperately trying to make do with the remainder of the blue paint, C-Train had an idea. Einstein decided THIS:

would be a good way to use what was left of the paint he wasted on the carpet....

The moral of the story: don't let C-Crest into your home, under any circumstances. It will never turn out well.

The house is coming along pretty well. I've added most of the "Pec signature touches" that make me feel at home. For instance, the trash can in my room.


The broken bats on my wall.

Or the Barry Manilow record I found in a stack of my mom's old records. She is justifiably ashamed that she ever paid money for it.


"I write the songs that make the whole world cringe."

What's a kitchen without a bike?


Here's me and the Jaguar having our own little Laverne-and-Shirley moment: