Ok, so I hung out with Cristina and Evan the other night and wrote about it, but not here. To read of our magical adventures, go to Tynan’s Angels, which is the greatest site in the land, other than perhaps this site.

The road to Reno stretches far ahead of us, but we all wish it is even further away then it is. I glance back. Style is working on his book, The Game. Every once in a while he reads a sentence to get some feedback. I’m sitting on the side bench staring through the darkly tinted windows at the passing space. We’re in the limo.

Just a few months ago Style told me he was going to get an SUV to carry his surfboards. Always at odds with the beaten path, I persuade him to buy a 120″ stretch caddilac limo instead. They’re cheap on ebay. A day after he agrees to buy it we’re in Houston driving it back to LA. I like people who are impulsive. It turns out to be a fabulous surf car, and a pretty great road trip vehicle at the same time.

Driving at the moment is Cliff, one of Style’s friends. A somewhat macho guy who is the head bouncer at a hot Hollywood nightclub, he’s the nicest guy in the world once you get to know him. They’re doing a movie or TV show or something about pro dirt bike riders, and we’re on our way to Reno to meet them and watch them ride. Always looking for an adventure to lay waste to my free time, I’m along for the ride.

“Ok, now when you pull up to the gas station, before you fill up come open the door for Tynan and I.”

It’s Cliff’s first time driving. We have a little tradition where whoever is driving opens the doors for the people in the back. It’s not a huge deal, but it’s a small touch that makes riding in the limo even more fun.

“No.”

He didn’t know that it was the “house rule”, so to speak.

“I’m not doing it. I’m not your bitch. You open your own door.”

Style and I look at each other.

“Dude, it’s just for fun. No one’s saying you’re anyone’s bitch. Just like when I was driving I opened the door for you and Tynan,” argues Style.

“Well, from now on I’ll open my own door,” replies Cliff, “You don’t have to be my bitch, and I don’t want to be yours.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” I offer, “It’s just for fun.”

“I don’t think it’s fun. I think it makes me a bitch.”

“Are you THAT insecure in your masculinity that you think that opening a door makes you a bitch?” asks Style. There’s a reason he’s a great pickup artist.

We continue to argue as the opera lights of the limo whiz by the mile markers. Style and I are having a good time, but Cliff has serious moral quandries about opening the door for us. We actually call Cliff’s wife to discuss the subject. She agrees with Style and I.

Finally Style and I come up with an idea.

“Do you think that the dirt bike riders are bitches?” Style asks.

“Of course not. They’re men. And I GUARANTEE YOU none of them would ever open a limo door for anyone.”

I know where he’s going with this.

Style continues, “I bet that all of them are so secure they would open the limo door and not think twice about it.”

Within seconds a bet is made. If the majority of the dirt bike riders agree with Cliff, Style and I will each squeeze through the partition separating the chauffer from the passengers and exit through the front door. If the riders can agree that it’s possible to open the doors for the passengers without becoming a bitch, then Cliff must open the left door for me and the right door for Style every time we stop.

Everyone satisfied that they’ve made a good bet, the limo lumbers on. There’s silence - everyone’s thinking about the bet.

Ten minutes later we pull up to the gas station.

“It’s your limo. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Cliff opens the doors for us and we exit like gentlemen. We never asked the riders their opinion, but I have a hunch Cliff made a good decision.

Usually I come to this page with an idea of something to write about. Not today. This will probably be one of those random posts with little bits of everything in it. Have you ever noticed that my first paragraph is always long enough to make that drop cap thing on the left look right? Often I’ll want to start off with a single sentence, but I write some fluff to make it look right.

I just gave my fish some medicine. They still have fin rot. It’s really scary because huge chunks of their fins just dissolve into the water, so they look really pitiful. I’ve bought tons of different kinds of medicine for them, but none have fixed them yet. Each time they seem better, but then after the treatment the symptoms start showing up again. Of course I’m trying to treat the root problem, too, although I don’t really know what it is. I change the water and feed them less. Almost everyone feeds their fish too much.

I really love my fish. I think they’re the best pet ever. I can go out of town and not have to worry about them, but whenever I have a spare moment I sit and watch them swim around. Now I don’t like watching them as much because they’re sick so it makes me feel bad. It’s amazing that they can just swim around and not die of boredom. I couldn’t.

I watched a couple documentaries recently. One was about String Theory. It was really fascinating. I love it when I know nothing about some subject, then I learn about it and all of a sudden it changes how I look at life. Maybe not in a big way, but enough that it has had an effect. I watched another documentary on the Concorde, too.

I was going to ride on the Concorde once. I found this crazy deal to ride it for $1000 to either France or England. Normally it’s $20,000, so I was really excited about this. I tried to get my friends to go, but no one wanted to. How is that even possible? You’re in a plane that flies FASTER THAN A RIFLE BULLET. That’s insane. It was the 31st of the month and I thought “well, if none of my friends want to go by tomorrow, I’ll just get a ticket and go by myself.”

The next day the deal was dead and I never went. Now it’s out of commission so I may never get to ride it. Never skip opportunities like that.

I got new sheets the other day. They’re really comfy.

I also got new underwear. I used to wear really dumb baggy underwear that made it hard to wear tight pants. Katya suggested this Perry Ellis underwear, which I liked a a lot, but I could only find it in XL. I’m nowhere near XL. It would fit snugly enough in the morning, but after walking around a lot it got way too loose by night time.

Buying underwear is hard. There are a lot of choices. I bought five different kinds and have been trying them out. I think I’ve got a winner.

I have a ton of self discipline. I have no idea where I got it from or when this happened, because I feel like I used to be completely not discplined. I see all these people doing things that are just insane. They smoke. They eat unhealthy foods. They play video games. It’s amazing. Why not just exercise some discpline and cut these things out? Even with my discipline, I’m not perfect. I can’t get myself to have a normal sleep schedule. I spend too much time on the computer (which is why I’m getting rid of it). I imagine life would be even better if I was more disciplined.

My life is fantastic. Every day I laugh because I’m so lucky to have such an awesome life. The best part is that it seems to keep getting better. Good things happen to me, good people come into my life, and “bad” events end up being good in the long run. The other day a friend was explaining this exercise where you think of something negative that happened to you. I couldn’t. I really tried, and couldn’t. I’ll try right now again.

…

Ok, actually that was easy. I’m fixing my old car to sell it and the water pump needs to be replaced. I don’t really care, though. My other car had a really annoying problem that I’ve been trying to fix, but Ben’s Workshop fixed it for me for FREE! I was so happy because I was expecting it to be at least $1000.

I set up an account at www.emigrantdirect.com and have 10% of all my income going there. I’ll never spend that money, only the interest. You guys should try that too. It’s cool to have a savings account that you KNOW will never go down. It feels like playing a game.

Ok, that’s enough random thoughts.

I always help myself to the student discount when available. Sure, I don’t actually go to school, but I still have my UT ID, and I’d argue that I learn more on a regular basis than most college students. Before today I’d never had any problem using my ID.

I’m sitting at a poker table at Foxwoods Casino in Connecticut. I haven’t played in a while, and it’s good to be back. I step away from the table to answer my phone. It’s my mom and she wants to know where I am. I’m at the casino. She insists that I’m flying back to Austin at 7:30am the next morning. No, I was flying out on Sunday and planned on spending Saturday with the family. She checks, and she’s actually right - my flight leaves in only seven hours.

We pile into the car and begin the two hour journey back to my grandparents’ house where I’m staying. That gives me about 5 hours to sleep, pack, and leave the house.

I wake up bleary eyed and contemplate the parking situation at my new place. It’s random, but I’ve only gotten a few hours of sleep during the past two nights. The night before I stayed up late watching the midnight showing of that pirate movie (instant review = 0 stars. Don’t see it.) and then woke up early to go to the casino. Still delirious, with my mind out of my direct control I stumble out of bed and begin packing.

I pass the time on the flight playing scrabble with my sister and mother and by watching a documentary on the Concorde. It’s fascinating. A several years ago I found a great loophole to ride the Concorde for only $1000, but I couldn’t get anyone to go with me. Now I wish I went alone.

The plane finally lands in Austin and I dash for the downtown shuttle. There’s a bus that runs from the airport to downtown every forty minutes, the next one leaving five minutes after my plane lands. The bus costs fifty cents, but only twenty five if you’re a student. Obviously saving a quarter isn’t a big deal, but I might as well. My sister had given me a quarter for it on the plane.

I step onto the bus and deposit my quarter nonchalantly.

“I’ll need to see some ID.”

Really? It’s a quarter. It’s not worth your time.

“Sure.”

I hand my somewhat faded student ID, with the picture taken a full seven years ago, to the driver.

“Is this expired?”

My mind races. There’s no expiration date on it. I still look basically the same. Is there a new design?

“Yes.”

I don’t really like lying.

“Well, then why would you possibly try to use it?”

I glance around the bus. There are only a few people on it, but they’re all watching the drama unfold. I consider launching into a tirade on the benefits of going to school, the proper definition of a student, and the importance of learning throughout one’s life. I sense that he probably wouldn’t buy it, so instead I sheepishly explain that I thought I could still use it. I instantly wish that I had chosen to deliver the tirade - now I just feel like an idiot.

Struggling to come up with an analogy, he says it’s like trying to get money with an expired bank card. My natural inclination to argue surfaces and I point out how ridiculous that is. Our whole conversation is ridiculous. It’s over a quarter, and it’s obvious I’m going to have to pay another one.

“Ok… look… I’ll just pay the full fare. It’s fine.”

He continues to argue with me as I pat my pockets. Uh oh. I have no more quarters. I reluctantly reach to my back pocket.

When I was in Boston someone paid me who owed me some money. For whatever reason he only pays cash, so I have a thick bundle of twenties and hundreds in my back pocket. The hundreds are on the outside, making it look like even more than it is. I try to feel the bundle to pull out the smallest bill, but I can’t tell where the middle is.

I pull out the wad of bills and flip through it to find a one.

He looks at me with more contempt than I’ve ever experienced. Yeah, the rich kid is trying to rip off the city by a quarter when he has thousands in his pocket.

On my fancy Treo 700 I have a little plugin that shows my daily todo list and calendar entries below my programs. I have to do this because otherwise I never really notice the things I write there, and thus don’t do them. I use the todo list a lot, but the calendar is basically empty.

Today I looked down and saw something unusual. “Are you totally ripped? Bet.”

No, I’m not.

Flash back a year ago. Hayden and I are sitting at Magnolia. I’ve been eating healthy, ending the 24 year reign on my body which white flour and sugar had enjoyed. I no longer order the “Ty Special” at Magnolia because it’s not healthy (ask for it). I’ve been working out. I don’t have a girlfriend.

Hayden and I have an illustrious history of large bets to motivate each other. I’ll save those stories for another day. I offer to bet him that within a year I’ll be the most ripped person he knows. He wants to bet because I lost the last bet, but knows better. I want him to bet because then I know I’ll do it.

I offer to make it totally subjective. If he thinks I’m the most ripped person, I win. If not, he wins. New friends don’t count.

We finally agree to make a gentleman’s bet and I put it in my Treo.

Now, a year later I look at it. I’ve failed. Although my body fat hovers around 8-9%, my weight is under 140 pounds. I’m not jacked at all - I’m skinny. I worked out religiously for several months and was over 150 pounds at one point, still with 9% body fat. People noticed that I was more muscular. Then I went polyphasic and raw and stopped working out. I haven’t picked it back up in all that time - it’s a lot easier to keep working out than it is to start again.

I IM Hayden to tell him about the bet. He’ll be amused that it wasn’t totally forgotten.

“Wow. Time flies.” he says.

It does fly. But it’s packed. I think back over the past twelve months, and a lot has happened. I quit gambling, I went polyphasic, I went back to normal, I went raw, I went back, I kept eating healthy, I got my first “real” job, I made some cool songs, I got a new place, My parents are getting divorced, I got some pet fish that I really love, I started this site, I started Tynan’s Angels, I bought my trademark sequin hat, I made a bunch of new friends, I got rid of Windows and moved to Linux, and I rapped on stage for the first time. That’s a lot of stuff. Most days seem to be pretty calm, but arching over them are huge changes in my life.

It’s exciting. I love change. Honestly, I’m probably addicted to it.

When I first got into the pickup artist thing I went to a seminar in Chicago. I didn’t know anyone there, so I was set up with a roommate. His name was Brian, known as LittleBigDick in the community. “LBD” if you’re around children or old people. I remember as we ate sloppy joes in the airport before leaving he told me about something he does. Every year he writes down what he accomplished that year. I told him I liked the idea and that I’d do it too.

And now, years later, I’ve finally done it. Those aren’t all the things I’ve done, of course, but they’re all little milestones in my life. Little occurances and coincidences that happen on a daily basis that snowball into changes that shape who I am.

All this leads up to a question - what will happen in the next 12 months? I can think of a few things - I’ll move into my new place, I’ll get rid of my computers, I’ll start working out again once I move, etc. Those are definite. I’ll probably (finally) make my first million, Tynan’s Angels will become huge, as will another project or two I’m working on, maybe I’ll get another girlfriend, maybe I’ll go to Africa, and surely I’ll learn some new skills. But that leaves a lot of blanks. What’s amazing to me is that I would have NEVER predicted or even conceived of half of the things on my list (raw, polyphasic, angels, job, gambling). And now as I think of what might happen, there are things I’ll write about in 12 months that I never could have imagined happening.

I wonder what they’ll be.