I don’t want to risk jinxing it, but right now things are falling into place so well for me that I am almost scared I have a brain tumor or something. I just received some megafantastic news about my job, my condo appraised higher than what I am paying for it (this is good and bad, but mostly good), the money from all of these side jobs is starting to roll in like a beautiful green wave, I will be closing on my condo in two days, I’m going fishing in a week and a half, and I have my health (as far as I know). You could walk up to me and hand me the keys to a beer-powered spaceship made entirely of porn and money and I couldn’t be happier. I do sort of want a girlfriend, but I think that is just my subconscious trying to sabotage my good fortune.

Last night I was watching TV, and I thought “you know, I used to love watching TV from inside a fort.” I have blankets and a couch. I know more about fort building now than I did when I was seven. I bet I can make a really kickass fort since I’m now 31 and a half.

I was sort of right. The hang up is that couch cushions and blankets are still the same size that they were when I was seven. I, however, have grown quite a bit. When you are all grown up, you can’t really “play” in your fort. You can get into it, lie down, and sort of roll over.

I ate my dinner in my fort last night. It was 4000% rockin, if you must know.

I don’t really know why we ever called them “forts”, though, since that word implies a certain degree of impenetrableness. My forts were always falling apart. The blankets slip off the cushions, cushions fall over, and sometimes a wrong move leads to fort failure of the highest degree. To solve this problem I used a couple of nails. Mom never used to let us nail the blankets to our furniture, but I can now, and that’s just one of many advantages of being an insane adult.

After about fifteen minutes of TV watching, I realized that something was wrong. Actually two things; first, someone farted in the fort and I had no one to blame it on. The other crucial missing element was a “NO GIRLS ALLOWED” sign hanging on the outside. I made one of those in short order as well. So my fort runs from the couch out into the living room, the north and south corners supported by those folding wooden tray tables you get at Target. With nails in them. I must have gotten a little crazy, because one of the tables fell over and nearly decapitated me. That would be a great way to be found. “31 year-old man found dead in remains of shoddily constructed blanket fort. Story at eleven”

I fell asleep in my fort, woke up at about midnight and got in my big boy bed.

This morning I woke up at 5:30 and was all “WOOHOO” for some reason (not going back to sleep), so I decided to go to work. Now it’s lunchtime, and I just got a call from the landlord’s office to see if they could show my apartment to a prospective renter.

“Yeah, sure thing. Nobody’s there.”

No sooner had I hung up the phone than I made the following connection:

When you walk into my apartment, it is very apparent that no women or children have ever lived there. When they walk into my apartment, they are going to see my fort, complete with the “NO GIRLS ALLOWED” sign on it.

Awesome.

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