Field Ledger Archive
13,281 entries across the years, 2003–2026.
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March 2005
The weather smells like spring, so much so that it almost made me cry as I went trekking to Whole Foods. I'm never again going to be at Mason when this type of weather hits, when the skirts come out and the boys go shirtless. It hurts a little inside, I'll never sit outside the Johnson Center with Omar and peoplewatch. Its enough to make a boy tear up, I tell ya.
My life is very different now, and will be very different next year. And the one after that. But, it'll also be the same. And that makes me smile. And cry.
I'm happy inside, I hope ya'll are, too.
PS: Pics from Hawaii are comin', I promise.
My life is very different now, and will be very different next year. And the one after that. But, it'll also be the same. And that makes me smile. And cry.
I'm happy inside, I hope ya'll are, too.
PS: Pics from Hawaii are comin', I promise.
Sorry, princess, this is my house.
When I came home from vacation there were beer bottles on my coffee table, my pasta had been eaten, cocktails had been made and not cleaned up... my house was worst than how I left it (which is sayin' something, bitches).
Lee broke in through the fire escape and stayed the night one night. He cleaned up after himself and refilled ice trays. Exactly as I would have expected him to. The neighbor girls came over and watched TV another night. They drank a little, but came back to clean the next day. Exactly as I would expect them to.
When they arrived, windex and paper towels in hand, the door quickly locked-- deadbolt and doorframe. When they knocked, no one answered. Yet, obviously, someone had just run to the door to lock it! The neighbors yelled in "Lauren, it's just us! We're here to clean up our mess!"
After some presistance on my neighbors part, some asian bitch with short hair answered my door in a towel and wouldn't let them in. Wouldn't even open the door at first. She told them to go away, that she'd clean up. That she was a friend of Kelley's.
Kelley does not even have a key to my apartment.
Lauren left her keys with Kelley. Who then gave them to Amanda for god knows what reason. Amanda, the asian bitch with short hair, let herself into my apartment. Who knows for what reason or for how long. Fucking whore. I'm livid. Not only did she not clean when she left, she lied to Kelley (or I hope she lied, and that its not kelley doing the lying) about the way shit went down, and I feel kinda violated.
Clearly the amount of people in and out of my apartment, sans bitch, lends you to the notion that I'm really not super troubled by guests. I'm not. If you are welcome in my home and I gave you a key, and I happen to be in Hawaii, please let yourself in. If you don't have a key, you call and ask if you can come over while I'm gone, I'll put you in contact with someone who can let you in for whatever reason. Or I can say no. This stupid fucking slut of a human doesn't even know my last name and certainly doesn't even have my cell phone number to give me the courtesy of telling her hell the fuck no.
Hell, the person she said she was a friend of doesn't even have a key to my apartment! If you're breaking into my home and lying to my friends, please AT LEAST know who's key your using to break in! Being 4 degrees of separation away from me does not allow you into my personal spaces. Thanks.
She also didn't leave a note. You always leave a note!
When I came home from vacation there were beer bottles on my coffee table, my pasta had been eaten, cocktails had been made and not cleaned up... my house was worst than how I left it (which is sayin' something, bitches).
Lee broke in through the fire escape and stayed the night one night. He cleaned up after himself and refilled ice trays. Exactly as I would have expected him to. The neighbor girls came over and watched TV another night. They drank a little, but came back to clean the next day. Exactly as I would expect them to.
When they arrived, windex and paper towels in hand, the door quickly locked-- deadbolt and doorframe. When they knocked, no one answered. Yet, obviously, someone had just run to the door to lock it! The neighbors yelled in "Lauren, it's just us! We're here to clean up our mess!"
After some presistance on my neighbors part, some asian bitch with short hair answered my door in a towel and wouldn't let them in. Wouldn't even open the door at first. She told them to go away, that she'd clean up. That she was a friend of Kelley's.
Kelley does not even have a key to my apartment.
Lauren left her keys with Kelley. Who then gave them to Amanda for god knows what reason. Amanda, the asian bitch with short hair, let herself into my apartment. Who knows for what reason or for how long. Fucking whore. I'm livid. Not only did she not clean when she left, she lied to Kelley (or I hope she lied, and that its not kelley doing the lying) about the way shit went down, and I feel kinda violated.
Clearly the amount of people in and out of my apartment, sans bitch, lends you to the notion that I'm really not super troubled by guests. I'm not. If you are welcome in my home and I gave you a key, and I happen to be in Hawaii, please let yourself in. If you don't have a key, you call and ask if you can come over while I'm gone, I'll put you in contact with someone who can let you in for whatever reason. Or I can say no. This stupid fucking slut of a human doesn't even know my last name and certainly doesn't even have my cell phone number to give me the courtesy of telling her hell the fuck no.
Hell, the person she said she was a friend of doesn't even have a key to my apartment! If you're breaking into my home and lying to my friends, please AT LEAST know who's key your using to break in! Being 4 degrees of separation away from me does not allow you into my personal spaces. Thanks.
She also didn't leave a note. You always leave a note!
So, last night I went to Julia's for a little shindig. Never been to her place, its over in Washington Circle-- totally way fun. She lives with Cole, my ex's ex. Weird, but lovely good time.
They all went drunk diner-ing afterwards, and seeing as how I ate a peanut butter hamburger while in Hawaii, I needed not a bit of Diner. That said, I rode with them up to Adams Morgan from Washington Circle to hang out on the way (and the cab fare is less expensive from U street). We took a friend of there's ride. I made the executive decision after getting out to go home instead of eating, and the group told me to hop back in the car and catch a ride home with their friend. So, I went to the SUV hopped in and the dude asked me where I lived.
Soooooo wasn't their friend. STILL took the ride.
Yep Yep.
I'm trashy, ya'll. And I think he was straight. Nothing happened-- but god damned.
Its good to be home.
They all went drunk diner-ing afterwards, and seeing as how I ate a peanut butter hamburger while in Hawaii, I needed not a bit of Diner. That said, I rode with them up to Adams Morgan from Washington Circle to hang out on the way (and the cab fare is less expensive from U street). We took a friend of there's ride. I made the executive decision after getting out to go home instead of eating, and the group told me to hop back in the car and catch a ride home with their friend. So, I went to the SUV hopped in and the dude asked me where I lived.
Soooooo wasn't their friend. STILL took the ride.
Yep Yep.
I'm trashy, ya'll. And I think he was straight. Nothing happened-- but god damned.
Its good to be home.
I'm a darkly tanned, happy fatty.
I'm so happy. So internally fulfilled, free, and amazing. I have so much to share... the islands were amazing... disjointed memories, making love, and toes in the sand. Sea turtles, waves, whales, Geo Trackers, and memories. So many memories. And a man who took my heart very quickly. His name first Name's John, middle name Henry. He's a steel driving man, and if only I were making that up.
I'm in love with so many things. I can't wait to project my joy on the rest of the world. So much more later. I have to find my keys. I'm home again-- finding my keys is a real adventure after all this time.
And for now, a good old fashioned stalking:
"From:
Subject: hiya
Date: Sat Mar 12, 2005 01:34 PM
i see you in Whole Foods all the time, you're very cute.
and you have cool clothes 🙂
how are you?"
Not such a bad note to find in your box when you arrive home. I do have cool clothes.
I'm so happy. So internally fulfilled, free, and amazing. I have so much to share... the islands were amazing... disjointed memories, making love, and toes in the sand. Sea turtles, waves, whales, Geo Trackers, and memories. So many memories. And a man who took my heart very quickly. His name first Name's John, middle name Henry. He's a steel driving man, and if only I were making that up.
I'm in love with so many things. I can't wait to project my joy on the rest of the world. So much more later. I have to find my keys. I'm home again-- finding my keys is a real adventure after all this time.
And for now, a good old fashioned stalking:
"From:
Subject: hiya
Date: Sat Mar 12, 2005 01:34 PM
i see you in Whole Foods all the time, you're very cute.
and you have cool clothes 🙂
how are you?"
Not such a bad note to find in your box when you arrive home. I do have cool clothes.
I'm leaving for paradise in about four minutes.
Long flight, but long stay.
See ya'll in a week.
Long flight, but long stay.
See ya'll in a week.
When the streetlights outside hit the trees, and the shadows reflect onto one my windows, sometimes it looks like a monster waving just inches from the pane. The trees on P Street really are comforting, both in the day and at night. I don't mind the monster waving at me-- its like an old friend saying "Hey."
The snow has melted quickly, though its not as if the inclimate weather made much of a dent on my weekend. I made it to the National Aquariam with Marky, and we saw some excellent fatty invertibrates. Petrochirus diogenes, apparently. Just a good long day with a friend who I haven't spent a helluvalot of time with in a while. We even made it up to Adams Morgan to attack Toledo Lounge, catching up with Jordan and the boys. Mark and I won bragging rights by guessing the most Oscar Winners correctly AND we also have the high score on Q-Shot and Wordster. Granted, we were playing against straight men, but whatever. We're winners.
Good stuff. I guess this has been a swimming week for good buddyness.
Hawaii in two days.
The snow has melted quickly, though its not as if the inclimate weather made much of a dent on my weekend. I made it to the National Aquariam with Marky, and we saw some excellent fatty invertibrates. Petrochirus diogenes, apparently. Just a good long day with a friend who I haven't spent a helluvalot of time with in a while. We even made it up to Adams Morgan to attack Toledo Lounge, catching up with Jordan and the boys. Mark and I won bragging rights by guessing the most Oscar Winners correctly AND we also have the high score on Q-Shot and Wordster. Granted, we were playing against straight men, but whatever. We're winners.
Good stuff. I guess this has been a swimming week for good buddyness.
Hawaii in two days.
February 2005
Science has decided that the kilogram is now anachronous, and in need of a lovely new retrofit. Two competing theories are vying to be the new canon, and I won't tell you too much about them lest I run the risk of subversively educating, so all you need to know is that we want Avogardo's Model to win because it has a much neater name than "Planck." We're not pirates or algea, afterall.
Intellectually, I'm all for changing the model for which we base the kilogram, if its currently built around an unstable base, but I have to wonder-- what happens to the drug trade? Will the base price for a kilo of pot go up or down?
I do all of my business with pot on the ounce level, kind of side stepping this GramGate by virtue of not buying too high of quantity or too low of quantity, but I'm sure that there are folks who do deal with it in the larger weight who will either have to pass the savings on to me or charge me more for their new overhead, and that could lead to some interesting situations.
Will it fuck with old school potheads forever? By 2007 the change looks to be in place; does this mean that all of the dealers have to go out and get new scales if they're relying on digital metric ones now? Will the phisheads cry foul?
Seems like a sticky-icky situation to me.
Intellectually, I'm all for changing the model for which we base the kilogram, if its currently built around an unstable base, but I have to wonder-- what happens to the drug trade? Will the base price for a kilo of pot go up or down?
I do all of my business with pot on the ounce level, kind of side stepping this GramGate by virtue of not buying too high of quantity or too low of quantity, but I'm sure that there are folks who do deal with it in the larger weight who will either have to pass the savings on to me or charge me more for their new overhead, and that could lead to some interesting situations.
Will it fuck with old school potheads forever? By 2007 the change looks to be in place; does this mean that all of the dealers have to go out and get new scales if they're relying on digital metric ones now? Will the phisheads cry foul?
Seems like a sticky-icky situation to me.
Inbetwixt the haze of smoke and the yummy manjo fruit salad, Puja and I spent a whole day catching up, gabbing, and basically giggling at one another. Hell, we even made that fruit salad. And went to dinner. HUGE dinner. God it was good.
Good, good stuff.
Puja told me that I need to leave the opening of ethnic fruits to her. She's wise, that one.
Good, good stuff.
Puja told me that I need to leave the opening of ethnic fruits to her. She's wise, that one.
For all creeps, romantics, shyguys and shiesters, Craigslist and the City Paper offers an outlet for every missed chance with the random hotfolk and facinating. The "I Saw You's" are printed in the Washington City Paper every week, and Lauren and I used to read them religiously. Lately, as the printed word is slowly dying to me, I've been reading the craigslist version more religiously.
For the first time, I'm a Missed Connection!"
Word!
I'm gonna respond and see what happens, 'check yes or no' so to speak.
February 22nd came and went without any real problems, and all is right with the world. Kinda like if the only potsmokin quaker, Smokey, I knew came into work with a bag full of granola and a copy of Gandhi in each hand. Oh. Wait. She did.
For the first time, I'm a Missed Connection!"
Word!
I'm gonna respond and see what happens, 'check yes or no' so to speak.
February 22nd came and went without any real problems, and all is right with the world. Kinda like if the only potsmokin quaker, Smokey, I knew came into work with a bag full of granola and a copy of Gandhi in each hand. Oh. Wait. She did.
Caitlin: (15:19:15): that's a yes, prepare the bong bitches
Me, a week earlier: AGH! Lesbians on my TV!
Lauren, today: Finally! Fags on your TV!
Showtune for the evening:
From Mame, (go download it!!):
Bosom Buddies
We'll always be bosom buddies. Friends, sisters and pals
We'll always be bosom buddies
If life should reject you there's me to protect you
If I say that your tongue is vicious
If I call you uncouth it's simply that
who else but a bosom buddy will sit down and tell you the truth
Though now and again I'm aware that my candid opinion may sting
Though often my frank observation might scald,
I've been meaning to tell you for years you should keep your hair natural like mine.
if I kept my hair natural like yours Id be bald.
But darling
If I say that your sense of style's as far off as your youth, it's simply that
who else but a bosom buddy will tell you the whole stinking truth
Each time that a critic has written your voice is the voice of a frog, straight
to your side to defend you I rush.
You know that I'm there every time that the world makes an unkind remark, when
they say Vera Charles is the worlds greatest lush it hurts me
and if I say your fangs are showing Mame pull in your claws it's simply that
who else but a bosom buddy will notice the obvious flaws
I feel it's my duty to tell you it's time to adjust to your age, you try to be
pega my heart when your lady Macbeth.
Exactly how old are you Vera the truth
how old do you think
Oh, I'd say somewhere in between 40 and death
But sweetie
I'll always be Alice Tokeless if you'll be Gertrude Stein and though I'll admit
I've dished you, I've gossiped and gloated but I'm so devoted
And if I say that sex and guts made you into a star, remember that who else but
a bosom buddy will tell you how rotten you are
Just turn to your bosom buddy for age and affection for help and direction for
loyalty love and for soothe remember that who else but a bosom buddy will sit
down and level and give you the devil will, sit down and tell you the truth.
Me, a week earlier: AGH! Lesbians on my TV!
Lauren, today: Finally! Fags on your TV!
Showtune for the evening:
From Mame, (go download it!!):
Bosom Buddies
We'll always be bosom buddies. Friends, sisters and pals
We'll always be bosom buddies
If life should reject you there's me to protect you
If I say that your tongue is vicious
If I call you uncouth it's simply that
who else but a bosom buddy will sit down and tell you the truth
Though now and again I'm aware that my candid opinion may sting
Though often my frank observation might scald,
I've been meaning to tell you for years you should keep your hair natural like mine.
if I kept my hair natural like yours Id be bald.
But darling
If I say that your sense of style's as far off as your youth, it's simply that
who else but a bosom buddy will tell you the whole stinking truth
Each time that a critic has written your voice is the voice of a frog, straight
to your side to defend you I rush.
You know that I'm there every time that the world makes an unkind remark, when
they say Vera Charles is the worlds greatest lush it hurts me
and if I say your fangs are showing Mame pull in your claws it's simply that
who else but a bosom buddy will notice the obvious flaws
I feel it's my duty to tell you it's time to adjust to your age, you try to be
pega my heart when your lady Macbeth.
Exactly how old are you Vera the truth
how old do you think
Oh, I'd say somewhere in between 40 and death
But sweetie
I'll always be Alice Tokeless if you'll be Gertrude Stein and though I'll admit
I've dished you, I've gossiped and gloated but I'm so devoted
And if I say that sex and guts made you into a star, remember that who else but
a bosom buddy will tell you how rotten you are
Just turn to your bosom buddy for age and affection for help and direction for
loyalty love and for soothe remember that who else but a bosom buddy will sit
down and level and give you the devil will, sit down and tell you the truth.
I had tasty steak today for dinner.
I can't remember the last time I had red meat. I think it was this summer at Hamburger Mary's-- a freakin' hamburger. I grilled and seasoned my steak all by myself this time! Word!
Mark had to help me dethaw chicken the other day, and today he brought me fresh baked rye bread made from scratch. Jeeze, he's talented.
Anyway, red meat for red blooded boys. I'm off to the bar to flirt unabashedly.
I can't remember the last time I had red meat. I think it was this summer at Hamburger Mary's-- a freakin' hamburger. I grilled and seasoned my steak all by myself this time! Word!
Mark had to help me dethaw chicken the other day, and today he brought me fresh baked rye bread made from scratch. Jeeze, he's talented.
Anyway, red meat for red blooded boys. I'm off to the bar to flirt unabashedly.
Tonight at Taint (superfun) I went to the bathroom. Not an unusual occurrencefor me at a bar-- clearly. In the bathroom a boy was fixing his hair in the mirror (and in the sink, he may as well have been bathing. That boy, before allowing me to use the mirror, told me that only people who show their belly button get to use the mirror.
I showed my belly button.
He said "That is a great belly button," and then rasberried said postumbilical orriface. He told me I'd done good work with it, and then let me fix my hair, heading out before me.
Word!
Markie and I have the same family guy character.
(photo lost to time)
Which Family Guy character are you?
I showed my belly button.
He said "That is a great belly button," and then rasberried said postumbilical orriface. He told me I'd done good work with it, and then let me fix my hair, heading out before me.
Word!
Markie and I have the same family guy character.
(photo lost to time)
Which Family Guy character are you?
Remember all the bangs and bruises I had a few weeks ago? They told me that perhaps I should find a new passion, a new love.
Gin and I broke up last week.
Gin has hurt me too badly over the course of this year, the realtionship requiring more from each of us with each passing month. I can't do it anymore. The neighbors were going to begin to wonder who was beating me up so badly, and since I can't remember most of the time, I wind up having to fill in the blanks with partial information. You can't say that Gin did this to you. Domestic disturbances are soooo 1997 Lifetime movie.
Lifetime movie or no, after a long bit of thinking I've decided its best if Gin and I saw other people. She needs to get out there and live her life and make new friends. I need to do the same, so Bourbon and I are buddying up.
Bourbons a tough act. He's rougher around the edges than my girl Gin, but we seem to get along well. I can tell that we're having a good time together before I ruin it by spending tooo much time with him and making it all awful.
And, I can still wake up at 9:30 on my own after a good night out with him. How cool is that?
Gin and I broke up last week.
Gin has hurt me too badly over the course of this year, the realtionship requiring more from each of us with each passing month. I can't do it anymore. The neighbors were going to begin to wonder who was beating me up so badly, and since I can't remember most of the time, I wind up having to fill in the blanks with partial information. You can't say that Gin did this to you. Domestic disturbances are soooo 1997 Lifetime movie.
Lifetime movie or no, after a long bit of thinking I've decided its best if Gin and I saw other people. She needs to get out there and live her life and make new friends. I need to do the same, so Bourbon and I are buddying up.
Bourbons a tough act. He's rougher around the edges than my girl Gin, but we seem to get along well. I can tell that we're having a good time together before I ruin it by spending tooo much time with him and making it all awful.
And, I can still wake up at 9:30 on my own after a good night out with him. How cool is that?
I hope everyone had a great Fattentinesmas!
Until next year, ya'll!
Fatty Claus, out.
Until next year, ya'll!
Fatty Claus, out.
Ugh. I woke up at 8:30 this morning, after having gone to bed at midnight.
Since the skitrip I've been waking up early for a variety of reasons, but on my day off I shouldn't have been wide awake so fucking early. Does this mean I'm going to be trapped on a too-early sleep cycle for a few days? Boo on that.
I've got some good news. The woman responsible for the sherry enema is pleading not guilty to manslaughter. Thank goodness! Atta girl! I was worried for her well being, the mans been addicted to enemas since he was a child. Heck, he even had recipes-- the man was legitimatly a mixologist for the ass.
Who can't respect that? Who? Who!
Lad-da dee la da da.
Today is laundry day here in the land of Mike, so I have to find something rewearable and not heinous to do laundry in. But first, I need to shimmy up the fire escape and get clean. Why up the fire escape? I haven't had hot running water in nearly a month and a half.
The UN says that running water is a basic human necessity, so basically, I live in Apartment Rwanda right now. I've had to go to Uganda (re: Cait, Ash, Jer's) to hygienate my self. Yum! At least I've been able to call my living room Gitarama in good jest.
The light at the end of the tunnel (or more appurtenant, the water at the end of my pipe) is that the plumber will be here on Tuesday at 9am. I'm so fucking thrilled. I may actually be able to have a normal, clean, bath again. Honestly, the water pressure in the tub wasn't a damn thing worth writing home about in the first place, so now that I'm getting all new pipes, I really am looking forward to my new Bath-Time Barbie abilities. Yay!
Since the skitrip I've been waking up early for a variety of reasons, but on my day off I shouldn't have been wide awake so fucking early. Does this mean I'm going to be trapped on a too-early sleep cycle for a few days? Boo on that.
I've got some good news. The woman responsible for the sherry enema is pleading not guilty to manslaughter. Thank goodness! Atta girl! I was worried for her well being, the mans been addicted to enemas since he was a child. Heck, he even had recipes-- the man was legitimatly a mixologist for the ass.
Who can't respect that? Who? Who!
Lad-da dee la da da.
Today is laundry day here in the land of Mike, so I have to find something rewearable and not heinous to do laundry in. But first, I need to shimmy up the fire escape and get clean. Why up the fire escape? I haven't had hot running water in nearly a month and a half.
The UN says that running water is a basic human necessity, so basically, I live in Apartment Rwanda right now. I've had to go to Uganda (re: Cait, Ash, Jer's) to hygienate my self. Yum! At least I've been able to call my living room Gitarama in good jest.
The light at the end of the tunnel (or more appurtenant, the water at the end of my pipe) is that the plumber will be here on Tuesday at 9am. I'm so fucking thrilled. I may actually be able to have a normal, clean, bath again. Honestly, the water pressure in the tub wasn't a damn thing worth writing home about in the first place, so now that I'm getting all new pipes, I really am looking forward to my new Bath-Time Barbie abilities. Yay!
Gosh, once upon a laxidazical, the idea of a lounge and a dentist’s office were wholly disparate notions. Alas and anon those days are gone. On a drunken stumble home, I noticed that Exhale Club and Lounge (motto: “Come in and Exhale”) was literally within two feet of an emergency dental office. The proximity conjured to mind other venues that maybe shouldn’t necessarily be so close: Amphetamines and glass blowers; ketamine and cat hospitals... that sort of thing. I expect more from my Adams Morgan, frankly! Adams Morgan should provide Cocain and Chimay; Sparks and Darvocet. Big Slice Pizza and self induced vomiting. But that’s it.
For all cotangled crackheadings, I am still glad that I can be honorable and worth knowing to a variety of people who have seen me falling down drunk (or otherwise out of my ever loving mind) in a massive way. Especially if those people caught that same state within a day of each other (re: I have a black eye still). At my most embarrassed for myself, its good to know that those friends who got to see you at that point of inebriation will still ask for your company to a movie or your company as a roommate, should they need it. All within two days of making an ass of yourself. Thank goodness.
I remember a thing from back in grade school when I was being bullied: negative attention and positive attention. Guidance counselors can’t be wrong– and a car that stalks me for two blocks, rolls down its window and has its driver shout to me “You need a ride” is clearly one of those aforementioned types. I’m gonna guess its negative, but I still like to think of it as postive... Without a valid quandary, I am left with two immediate and disparate thoughts: reach for your mace; be flattered. Both are equally valid, if not good. Important, if not right, as well as honest enough to each column of thought to allow myself pride and pleasure in going on my own skippy way. Without the ride.
I made it home safely last night.
For all cotangled crackheadings, I am still glad that I can be honorable and worth knowing to a variety of people who have seen me falling down drunk (or otherwise out of my ever loving mind) in a massive way. Especially if those people caught that same state within a day of each other (re: I have a black eye still). At my most embarrassed for myself, its good to know that those friends who got to see you at that point of inebriation will still ask for your company to a movie or your company as a roommate, should they need it. All within two days of making an ass of yourself. Thank goodness.
I remember a thing from back in grade school when I was being bullied: negative attention and positive attention. Guidance counselors can’t be wrong– and a car that stalks me for two blocks, rolls down its window and has its driver shout to me “You need a ride” is clearly one of those aforementioned types. I’m gonna guess its negative, but I still like to think of it as postive... Without a valid quandary, I am left with two immediate and disparate thoughts: reach for your mace; be flattered. Both are equally valid, if not good. Important, if not right, as well as honest enough to each column of thought to allow myself pride and pleasure in going on my own skippy way. Without the ride.
I made it home safely last night.
I'm sore, banged, and bruised. But I'm happy.
No, I'm not sleeping with anyone on a regular basis: tanning has made me feel like its summer! Its amazing! I'm amazing! It really is time to herald the return of SummerDrunk!
Thursday didn't see me making it to all-you-can-drink-a-rama at JR's; instead I opted for the safety of straight men, and went to the improv to hang out with the boys. I can’t seem to escape the trap of ending up in bumfuck whenever I go out and play with them– the time it was Chris's in Alexandria. I woke up pretty much still baked. Shocking. I made it back to the District in time to party at Lee and Nill's with Ashley.
I was apparently more trashed at the party than I can recall myself (not blackout drunk, just feeling spectacular enough that I had no idea that I was tipping over my beer repeatedly for the sake of stories). I love shots, I really do, and at a point they stopped giving me real shots, switching them with water. It took me a few (3) to realize this fact, at which point I asked for another. Even I know that water is a good idea!
I was horizontal on my couch with my feet still on the floor when I awoke the next morning. There was no Ashley in sight, meaning she made it home safely. Attagir! last thing I remember from Friday night was the vane efforts at watching Alias. Sadly, we were both entirely too trashed to comprehend a whole episode. We must of start and restarted three times.
Umm, ya, it took a lot to get me to work on Saturday, seein’ as how I was still drunk when I woke up. It definatly required Lauren and I getting coffee... I love it when the coffee guy sees me at 4:30, blurry eyed and less than bushy tailed. He gives me my coffee for free! Hee! Anywho, when I got off work, I made it over to Shacha's for a lovely little party. It was already two, but that didn't stop Chris and I from goin' over there and having an absolutely fun time. Or so I think we had. Cause, uh, yeah... I got plastared at Sacha's.
I was drunk enough that I had to call around to find my keys on Sunday morning. I couldn't for the life of me figure out where I had left them. Apparently I put them in the sink, and Chris moved them for me. He knew exactly where they were...
My Drunky McSherlock powers of deduction tells me that Chris knowing where my keys are also means Chris had to put me to bed. Uh oh. This complicates things just a smidge-- on Sunday a friend of ours informed me that I may have "weirded" Chris out. Hee!
It damn well could have been anything. I am just as likely to have fallen asleep with my head in his lap as I am to have tried to make out with him. Either one of those could weird someone out, and either one is as likely as the other to have occured. He hasn't brought it up, and I'm gonna just let my own curiousity on the matter subside, and maybe just forget about it. Maybe. I am awful bruised up and my eye looks like I may very well have been punched– but that could have come from a domestic disturbance with my stairs.
I can’t wait to find out what really happened. There is nothing better than true gossip about yourself that you don't know.
So, anyway, like everyone else in America, I was doin the Super Bowl thing on Sunday. Drinks aplenty, but moderation, too. I clearly had been excessive for days and pace finally started to matter again.
I began my Super Day over at Caitlin, Ashley, and Jeremy's place, but I eventually had to make my way out to Glover Park for Bill's big shindig. Tons of people tons of fud, ya know? Bill’s all the way out in Glover Park, so it makes it a little tricky to get home, 'specially when I don't like waitin' around for the bus. I managed, with the aid of the lovely and wonderful Lil Miss Smokey.
Anywho, after my lovely ride home, I go to play more with Lauren, and she had Kelly in tow. Yay for snuggle buddies! Just snuggle buddies for a little while, though, cause this boy had to go to bed and get up eaaaarly on Monday.
This boy had the catch the Open Bar bus to Pennsylvania at 8 AM. Bailey's took the Improv skiing at White Tail providing us with the yummy open bar bus, ski rentals, lift rentals, a meal, and even booze in the lodge. Fred (Standsinsauce Movetocleveland), Bill, Chris, and I spent all day playing together. We provided the bowl hits on the side of a mountain, the good music, and the great comradery... It really was amazing, we had a wonderful time. See, ya’ll? Booze gives back!
I made it home early enough to go to Showtunes at JRs with Eric and his friends Kaari and Matt. Such a lovelier bunch of people than that one group I went with a couple of Thursdays ago. I practiced pace all day, and managed to not hurt myself or anyone else all day. Kaari and I even got a high score at one of those pushbutton-y games you place at Bars.
So, now after this remarkably long tally of events, lets discuss the damage done:
Ankle: Twisted.
Knee: Cut
Right Eye: Bruised
Right Cheek: Cut
Back: Scratched
Right Wrist: Scratched
Thighs: Sore
Damage from Skiing: 1
Damage from Drinking: 6
I'll let you guess which is from what.
No, I'm not sleeping with anyone on a regular basis: tanning has made me feel like its summer! Its amazing! I'm amazing! It really is time to herald the return of SummerDrunk!
Thursday didn't see me making it to all-you-can-drink-a-rama at JR's; instead I opted for the safety of straight men, and went to the improv to hang out with the boys. I can’t seem to escape the trap of ending up in bumfuck whenever I go out and play with them– the time it was Chris's in Alexandria. I woke up pretty much still baked. Shocking. I made it back to the District in time to party at Lee and Nill's with Ashley.
I was apparently more trashed at the party than I can recall myself (not blackout drunk, just feeling spectacular enough that I had no idea that I was tipping over my beer repeatedly for the sake of stories). I love shots, I really do, and at a point they stopped giving me real shots, switching them with water. It took me a few (3) to realize this fact, at which point I asked for another. Even I know that water is a good idea!
I was horizontal on my couch with my feet still on the floor when I awoke the next morning. There was no Ashley in sight, meaning she made it home safely. Attagir! last thing I remember from Friday night was the vane efforts at watching Alias. Sadly, we were both entirely too trashed to comprehend a whole episode. We must of start and restarted three times.
Umm, ya, it took a lot to get me to work on Saturday, seein’ as how I was still drunk when I woke up. It definatly required Lauren and I getting coffee... I love it when the coffee guy sees me at 4:30, blurry eyed and less than bushy tailed. He gives me my coffee for free! Hee! Anywho, when I got off work, I made it over to Shacha's for a lovely little party. It was already two, but that didn't stop Chris and I from goin' over there and having an absolutely fun time. Or so I think we had. Cause, uh, yeah... I got plastared at Sacha's.
I was drunk enough that I had to call around to find my keys on Sunday morning. I couldn't for the life of me figure out where I had left them. Apparently I put them in the sink, and Chris moved them for me. He knew exactly where they were...
My Drunky McSherlock powers of deduction tells me that Chris knowing where my keys are also means Chris had to put me to bed. Uh oh. This complicates things just a smidge-- on Sunday a friend of ours informed me that I may have "weirded" Chris out. Hee!
It damn well could have been anything. I am just as likely to have fallen asleep with my head in his lap as I am to have tried to make out with him. Either one of those could weird someone out, and either one is as likely as the other to have occured. He hasn't brought it up, and I'm gonna just let my own curiousity on the matter subside, and maybe just forget about it. Maybe. I am awful bruised up and my eye looks like I may very well have been punched– but that could have come from a domestic disturbance with my stairs.
I can’t wait to find out what really happened. There is nothing better than true gossip about yourself that you don't know.
So, anyway, like everyone else in America, I was doin the Super Bowl thing on Sunday. Drinks aplenty, but moderation, too. I clearly had been excessive for days and pace finally started to matter again.
I began my Super Day over at Caitlin, Ashley, and Jeremy's place, but I eventually had to make my way out to Glover Park for Bill's big shindig. Tons of people tons of fud, ya know? Bill’s all the way out in Glover Park, so it makes it a little tricky to get home, 'specially when I don't like waitin' around for the bus. I managed, with the aid of the lovely and wonderful Lil Miss Smokey.
Anywho, after my lovely ride home, I go to play more with Lauren, and she had Kelly in tow. Yay for snuggle buddies! Just snuggle buddies for a little while, though, cause this boy had to go to bed and get up eaaaarly on Monday.
This boy had the catch the Open Bar bus to Pennsylvania at 8 AM. Bailey's took the Improv skiing at White Tail providing us with the yummy open bar bus, ski rentals, lift rentals, a meal, and even booze in the lodge. Fred (Standsinsauce Movetocleveland), Bill, Chris, and I spent all day playing together. We provided the bowl hits on the side of a mountain, the good music, and the great comradery... It really was amazing, we had a wonderful time. See, ya’ll? Booze gives back!
I made it home early enough to go to Showtunes at JRs with Eric and his friends Kaari and Matt. Such a lovelier bunch of people than that one group I went with a couple of Thursdays ago. I practiced pace all day, and managed to not hurt myself or anyone else all day. Kaari and I even got a high score at one of those pushbutton-y games you place at Bars.
So, now after this remarkably long tally of events, lets discuss the damage done:
Ankle: Twisted.
Knee: Cut
Right Eye: Bruised
Right Cheek: Cut
Back: Scratched
Right Wrist: Scratched
Thighs: Sore
Damage from Skiing: 1
Damage from Drinking: 6
I'll let you guess which is from what.
Now that Julia Child has kicked, we can let the sherry flow free for merriment! Oh, sure, sherry's fun to cook with and its definatly fun to drink; I even hear you can get really fucked up off of sherry if you try hard enough. But what happens when you're an ulcer ridden alcoholic who can no longer swallow? Do you give up the sauce? Or find another means? I have less than fond memories of bootybumping intoxicants, but certainly you can't do that with sherry... can you?
LAKE JACKSON, Texas (AP) — A woman has been indicted on negligent homicide charges for allegedly giving her husband a sherry enema that killed him. -- via Canoe
Is it gross that I wanna know how much she gave 'em? Don't worry ya'll, I'll stick with my Coors Light in a pint glass.
What, with Martha's new Apprentice spinoff more than likely going to be done in shackles, her anal swallowing South Park gig, and the mental images of beerdouching myself to death, I'm now afraid to go into my own kitchen.
LAKE JACKSON, Texas (AP) — A woman has been indicted on negligent homicide charges for allegedly giving her husband a sherry enema that killed him. -- via Canoe
Is it gross that I wanna know how much she gave 'em? Don't worry ya'll, I'll stick with my Coors Light in a pint glass.
What, with Martha's new Apprentice spinoff more than likely going to be done in shackles, her anal swallowing South Park gig, and the mental images of beerdouching myself to death, I'm now afraid to go into my own kitchen.
"An administrator at George Mason University demanded $10,000 from a 17-year-old youth last summer in exchange for keeping the pair's videotaped sexual encounters secret from the teenager's parents, the boy testified in Fairfax County juvenile court yesterday... But when police started examining the tapes, they discovered six other people -- at least three of them juveniles -- having sex with Sinacore, prosecutors said." -- via Lauren, full article @ Washington Post.com.
Jesus.
I've only ever made one video, knowingly, and I have the only copy. This news totally makes me wonder what the hell else is out there. I was fucked up when I made my video with PennEx, but the likelihood that I was in intoxicated and in a situation where someone could have had an actual video camera is quite, quite high.
Afterall, there have been pictures taken without my permission or knowledge. There’s prolly a video somewhere. Whatever.
The rumor mill says that the boys’ sex with the dude was consensual, but lets be honest. He was between 50 and 55 when that shit was going down, they were 16-17, so I have sneaky little hunch that he paid them for services rendered… that said, what services could I have been rendering when I was too fucked up to see the blinking red light?
Scary thoughts. I was just being slutty, not whorey, but you still don’t want that shit floating around. How very, very Paris Hilton.
Speaking of scary, my night at JR's last Thursday could have gone better. Neighborsex was there, as were a bunch of his friends. Catty fucking faggots (read: his friends), those with less hair and more money than me, seem to think its acceptable to rag on a twentyone year old.
Jerks. I don't want to get into too many details, but there were negative references to me and Chris Robinson (Black Crows), shit talk about my my facial hair. Oh, yeah, and White Lion discussions specifically designed to exclude me. FUCK WHITE LION.
Put this on record: I don't care about White Lion. I missed Cyndi Lauper's Hey Day. I will not feel bad for never, ever owning vinyl. And its okay that I’m more Killers than Depeche Mode. Thank you.
*phew*
So, backhanded compliments being what they are, after neighborsex left (without saying goodbye no less), the boys stopped being catty and starting blatantly flirting with me.
Long Story Short: I got plastered and made them promise to be nicer the next time. They promised.
They made me feel like a person with social anxiety disorder, and I know that I’m not. What a yucky, unwelcoming air to hoist upon a newcomer.
Jerks. The lovely PennKim thinks that I should drag her kit and caboodle out with me the next time I have to face them, but I think I might have to do this one on my own, or with the help of another fag. We shall see!
Jesus.
I've only ever made one video, knowingly, and I have the only copy. This news totally makes me wonder what the hell else is out there. I was fucked up when I made my video with PennEx, but the likelihood that I was in intoxicated and in a situation where someone could have had an actual video camera is quite, quite high.
Afterall, there have been pictures taken without my permission or knowledge. There’s prolly a video somewhere. Whatever.
The rumor mill says that the boys’ sex with the dude was consensual, but lets be honest. He was between 50 and 55 when that shit was going down, they were 16-17, so I have sneaky little hunch that he paid them for services rendered… that said, what services could I have been rendering when I was too fucked up to see the blinking red light?
Scary thoughts. I was just being slutty, not whorey, but you still don’t want that shit floating around. How very, very Paris Hilton.
Speaking of scary, my night at JR's last Thursday could have gone better. Neighborsex was there, as were a bunch of his friends. Catty fucking faggots (read: his friends), those with less hair and more money than me, seem to think its acceptable to rag on a twentyone year old.
Jerks. I don't want to get into too many details, but there were negative references to me and Chris Robinson (Black Crows), shit talk about my my facial hair. Oh, yeah, and White Lion discussions specifically designed to exclude me. FUCK WHITE LION.
Put this on record: I don't care about White Lion. I missed Cyndi Lauper's Hey Day. I will not feel bad for never, ever owning vinyl. And its okay that I’m more Killers than Depeche Mode. Thank you.
*phew*
So, backhanded compliments being what they are, after neighborsex left (without saying goodbye no less), the boys stopped being catty and starting blatantly flirting with me.
Long Story Short: I got plastered and made them promise to be nicer the next time. They promised.
They made me feel like a person with social anxiety disorder, and I know that I’m not. What a yucky, unwelcoming air to hoist upon a newcomer.
Jerks. The lovely PennKim thinks that I should drag her kit and caboodle out with me the next time I have to face them, but I think I might have to do this one on my own, or with the help of another fag. We shall see!
Jung Explorer Test
Actualized type: ENTP
(who you are)
Preferred type: ENFP
(who you prefer to be)
Attraction type: ENTP
Actualized type: ENTP
(who you are)
| ENTP - "Inventor". Enthusiastic interest in everything and always sensitive to possibilities. Non-conformist and innovative. 3.2% of the total population. |
(who you prefer to be)
| ENFP - "Journalist". Uncanny sense of the motivations of others. Life is an exciting drama. 8.1% of total population. |
(who you are attracted to)
Take Jung Explorer Test
personality tests by similarminds.com
So, my attraction type is only 3.2% of the population.
Shocking.
Except not.
| ENTP - "Inventor". Enthusiastic interest in everything and always sensitive to possibilities. Non-conformist and innovative. 3.2% of the total population. |
Take Jung Explorer Test
personality tests by similarminds.com
So, my attraction type is only 3.2% of the population.
Shocking.
Except not.
Some 28 year old college chica just got 18 months probation for selling faux Duff beer. She was forced to reimburse the purchasers, to the tune of nearly 2k. I wonder what beer she used to fake it? I guess it doesn't matter, aside from the 18 months, they're makin' the bitch see a shrink. I still think its a good idea-- whatever.
In real beer news, apparently Coors Light and Molson are thinking about merging. Don't fret, you didn't miss the memo, both are still lame. I mean, think of the list of beers that you get with this new SuperBrew company? Molson Canadian, Coors Light, Carling, Keystone, Aspen Edge, Zima, Rickard's and Kaiser... would you honestly wanna order any of those? Ugh, bring me a Chimay!
Coors, Miller Lite, Zimas... they all kinda fall into the same category in my mind, watery and cheap. Little Miss Smokey said it best: "I drink Miller Lite when I'm actually thirsty and at the bar. Its not like I'd order it if I ever wanted a beer." Word. It is drunk water as far as I'm concerned, but if I'm ever near an avalanchable area, I'm gonna be sure to bring plenty of one of the new SuperBrews. It could save my life-- over somewhere in Europe (where is the Slovakian Cock from, anyway? Czech Slovakia? Ugh, I'm dumb) a man drank 60 beers and pissed his way out of an avalanche that covered his car. Apparently he drank and pissed so much his liver and kidneys hurt.
Buddy, I know your pain. Hmmm, how can I work this into casual discourse? I gotta go melt the snow?
In real beer news, apparently Coors Light and Molson are thinking about merging. Don't fret, you didn't miss the memo, both are still lame. I mean, think of the list of beers that you get with this new SuperBrew company? Molson Canadian, Coors Light, Carling, Keystone, Aspen Edge, Zima, Rickard's and Kaiser... would you honestly wanna order any of those? Ugh, bring me a Chimay!
Coors, Miller Lite, Zimas... they all kinda fall into the same category in my mind, watery and cheap. Little Miss Smokey said it best: "I drink Miller Lite when I'm actually thirsty and at the bar. Its not like I'd order it if I ever wanted a beer." Word. It is drunk water as far as I'm concerned, but if I'm ever near an avalanchable area, I'm gonna be sure to bring plenty of one of the new SuperBrews. It could save my life-- over somewhere in Europe (where is the Slovakian Cock from, anyway? Czech Slovakia? Ugh, I'm dumb) a man drank 60 beers and pissed his way out of an avalanche that covered his car. Apparently he drank and pissed so much his liver and kidneys hurt.
Buddy, I know your pain. Hmmm, how can I work this into casual discourse? I gotta go melt the snow?
January 2005
I woke up just now very upset... I had a very vivid dream that I forced myself out of.
The dream starts in an apartment, and someone in that apartment is telling me how truly talented people are always crazy. He then began discussing a woman who could speak french, and then about this same woman's painting, and how it wasn't even what she was most amazing at. I can't remember (now) what she was supposedly best at. In the dream, I recognized the art work as my neighbor's, Caitlin's. We're a little older in the dream. Some things had changed.
I identify the art to the man as Caitlins, and return to working on my own painting. Caitlin is there now. It begins to rain, and the paintings begin to become wet, both caitlin's and I's. Shes there, and faces appear in the paintings that are getting rained on. Its beautiful, unintentional, and lovely.
The dream itself feels like complete reality. There is something going on across the way, in the dream, that requires caitlin and I's attention. I immediatly fear the worst, that something's happened to ashley. I think, in the dream, that she's dead. We run to where the ambulances are. Dream Caitlin is very worried, too.
We get there, things are fine, and the homes that have the emergency are rows of trailers, not unlike the trailer parks I recall from my youth. Caitlin chats up the firefighter, I chat up the other, nothings wrong. I realize I can't remember anything from Real Now to Dream Present Day (the dream, again, is in the future).
The dream goes on, I don't remember now for how long, and I'm now with Caitlin's mom. We're having an intimate time together, the three of us, I think over dinner. I confess that I may need a shrink. I also admit that I don't remember the past four months or so. Not a thing.
I ask them to tell me what happened, what had transpired in the time that I'd lost.
Her mom worries that it will upset me greatly. She, in the dream, is very close to me apparently.
I ask what happened, what I was missing.
They agree it might be time to tell me.
Caitlin hesitantly tells me that a very close friend betrays me. I am told I have nothing to worry about anymore. She tells me it happens on Feburary 22nd. I, in the dream, think thats Mark's birthday. She doesn't confirm or deny anything. She relates that I fell off crystal wagon, hard, and that I'm lucky to be alive. She also tells me that I don't have anything to worry about anymore. I ask if its what I fear, and she says yes. I think that means (in the dream) that I'm HIV +. I, in the dream, get upset, and she tells me that I am just plain lucky to be alive. It is implied that the betrayal and the HIV are related, I believe.
I realize, in the dream, that this can't be real. That I can't have lost THAT much time. I force myself to wake up, and I do.
I go to the kitchen, now in real life, and its flooding. At some point I left the kitchen sink on, or I slept walk and did it.
Weird, right?
Do I start fearing Feb 22?
The dream starts in an apartment, and someone in that apartment is telling me how truly talented people are always crazy. He then began discussing a woman who could speak french, and then about this same woman's painting, and how it wasn't even what she was most amazing at. I can't remember (now) what she was supposedly best at. In the dream, I recognized the art work as my neighbor's, Caitlin's. We're a little older in the dream. Some things had changed.
I identify the art to the man as Caitlins, and return to working on my own painting. Caitlin is there now. It begins to rain, and the paintings begin to become wet, both caitlin's and I's. Shes there, and faces appear in the paintings that are getting rained on. Its beautiful, unintentional, and lovely.
The dream itself feels like complete reality. There is something going on across the way, in the dream, that requires caitlin and I's attention. I immediatly fear the worst, that something's happened to ashley. I think, in the dream, that she's dead. We run to where the ambulances are. Dream Caitlin is very worried, too.
We get there, things are fine, and the homes that have the emergency are rows of trailers, not unlike the trailer parks I recall from my youth. Caitlin chats up the firefighter, I chat up the other, nothings wrong. I realize I can't remember anything from Real Now to Dream Present Day (the dream, again, is in the future).
The dream goes on, I don't remember now for how long, and I'm now with Caitlin's mom. We're having an intimate time together, the three of us, I think over dinner. I confess that I may need a shrink. I also admit that I don't remember the past four months or so. Not a thing.
I ask them to tell me what happened, what had transpired in the time that I'd lost.
Her mom worries that it will upset me greatly. She, in the dream, is very close to me apparently.
I ask what happened, what I was missing.
They agree it might be time to tell me.
Caitlin hesitantly tells me that a very close friend betrays me. I am told I have nothing to worry about anymore. She tells me it happens on Feburary 22nd. I, in the dream, think thats Mark's birthday. She doesn't confirm or deny anything. She relates that I fell off crystal wagon, hard, and that I'm lucky to be alive. She also tells me that I don't have anything to worry about anymore. I ask if its what I fear, and she says yes. I think that means (in the dream) that I'm HIV +. I, in the dream, get upset, and she tells me that I am just plain lucky to be alive. It is implied that the betrayal and the HIV are related, I believe.
I realize, in the dream, that this can't be real. That I can't have lost THAT much time. I force myself to wake up, and I do.
I go to the kitchen, now in real life, and its flooding. At some point I left the kitchen sink on, or I slept walk and did it.
Weird, right?
Do I start fearing Feb 22?
I had a really busy day today, I bounced from work to home, to 12th and Penn (to pick up a package), to 13th and U (to get ready for hawaii), back to home, to the gym, to home, to Jenny Lee's (15th and U) to Chi-Cha (Carter's going away party), and couldn't quite make it to Staccato's for indie rock and roll karaokee for the children (tsunami relief) to catch up with the improvers.
Phew.
Anyway, on my way home, after spending time with Alex, his new boyfriend, and Jenny Lee I decided to come home, rub one out, and leave a message on Craigslist under men seeking men. Its a laundry list of the thing I want in a man. We'll see if anything comes of it, won't we?
Bring it on, 2005... the motto? "I've got feet, sweep me off them."
The Year of Love, indeed.
Phew.
Anyway, on my way home, after spending time with Alex, his new boyfriend, and Jenny Lee I decided to come home, rub one out, and leave a message on Craigslist under men seeking men. Its a laundry list of the thing I want in a man. We'll see if anything comes of it, won't we?
Bring it on, 2005... the motto? "I've got feet, sweep me off them."
The Year of Love, indeed.
The next time I'm doing a sold out show somewhere, I'm going to include high grade marijuana in my request sheet, just like Snoop.
He had this shit flown in to Utah because he didn't trust the quality of the bud out there.
Fo' Shizzle, lil Nizzle.
He had this shit flown in to Utah because he didn't trust the quality of the bud out there.
Fo' Shizzle, lil Nizzle.
Oooh, JRs. You fun, oft-pretentious fag saloon, you! This boy never drinks beer, but oooooh, three dollar pitchers will do it.
Yee-Ha I got drunk. Eric the ex is a bad influence!
Not the getting drunk, just the beer. Empty calories, I tell you!
I suppose I could go on teh beer diet. That works, right?
I need to learn to set the alarm before I leave, not when I get home, too, by the way. Cause, um, yeah, I fucked that portion of the competition up. The internal clock saved me, but booyakasha, I was scurred.
Oh, by the way, were you aware that there's a plethora of nascar poetry on the internet? Since when do trailers have high speed?
Yee-Ha I got drunk. Eric the ex is a bad influence!
Not the getting drunk, just the beer. Empty calories, I tell you!
I suppose I could go on teh beer diet. That works, right?
I need to learn to set the alarm before I leave, not when I get home, too, by the way. Cause, um, yeah, I fucked that portion of the competition up. The internal clock saved me, but booyakasha, I was scurred.
Oh, by the way, were you aware that there's a plethora of nascar poetry on the internet? Since when do trailers have high speed?
Ugh.
I've got me a a little heady-ache. I think it was the Gin.
Why is it when I drunk blog I sound overly snooty?
I think I'm gonna go watch Alias with the neighbors. They prolly have acheys and ouchies, too.
Snooty or not, though, I hauled and dumped trashcans of TOILET WATER. Fuckin' shitcreek over flowed for reals, and I volunteered to help clean it.
I'm sure the water ran clear after a while, but it came up for a reason. Too much poopie is my hunch, and thats gross. I eat asshole, it shouldn't bother me, but it kinda started to after I got a mystery blister on my hand. I think the water did it!
I've got me a a little heady-ache. I think it was the Gin.
Why is it when I drunk blog I sound overly snooty?
I think I'm gonna go watch Alias with the neighbors. They prolly have acheys and ouchies, too.
Snooty or not, though, I hauled and dumped trashcans of TOILET WATER. Fuckin' shitcreek over flowed for reals, and I volunteered to help clean it.
I'm sure the water ran clear after a while, but it came up for a reason. Too much poopie is my hunch, and thats gross. I eat asshole, it shouldn't bother me, but it kinda started to after I got a mystery blister on my hand. I think the water did it!
So, today was eventful for no good reason. I spent the day before yesterday with Dave Atell and random drunkeness-- can't complain, after all the man has a TV show. I certainly don't. That bein' said, tonight was a drunken revelry of a great magnatude...
Especially because Mel and I spent the end of the evening hauling trashcans full of bathroom water. Yeah, the bathrooms flooded and we got stuck with carrying the trashcans full of shitwater to the main sink in which we could safely dump them.
Fun times.
I made out with Lee, my straight good friend, on a sort of dare/"I'll make out with her if you make out with him" type deal. I won't mock it because Lee and I both now think that the other is an excellent kisser, and thats dope. Because he is. And so am I. And we have no reason to lie.
So, yeah, last night actually was Caitlin, Jeremy (the neighbors), and Lee's joint birthday party, and we had a drunken revelry. For a last minute shindig, the turnout was fairly nice, and we had a good time. I got to make out with a straight good friend of mine who could kiss well, and I got to go to work today and play with Dave. Dave's super fun, and a huge ol' drunk. Word.
That all said, it's now kinda sunday morning style and I'm going to smoke a bowl and watch adult swim. I can't compain. I'm glad Jordan sent me home with a bowl pack. And these are the days of my life.
Especially because Mel and I spent the end of the evening hauling trashcans full of bathroom water. Yeah, the bathrooms flooded and we got stuck with carrying the trashcans full of shitwater to the main sink in which we could safely dump them.
Fun times.
I made out with Lee, my straight good friend, on a sort of dare/"I'll make out with her if you make out with him" type deal. I won't mock it because Lee and I both now think that the other is an excellent kisser, and thats dope. Because he is. And so am I. And we have no reason to lie.
So, yeah, last night actually was Caitlin, Jeremy (the neighbors), and Lee's joint birthday party, and we had a drunken revelry. For a last minute shindig, the turnout was fairly nice, and we had a good time. I got to make out with a straight good friend of mine who could kiss well, and I got to go to work today and play with Dave. Dave's super fun, and a huge ol' drunk. Word.
That all said, it's now kinda sunday morning style and I'm going to smoke a bowl and watch adult swim. I can't compain. I'm glad Jordan sent me home with a bowl pack. And these are the days of my life.
Republicans! Be on notice!
I'm a pedestrian, I walk places. You... you in your boots and cowboy hats, black ties and long scarves, you evil motherfuckers... this is my town, and you are a guest! Again, I repeat, you are a guest!
You fucks. I realize that where you come from its okay to wear your self-importance on your sleeve, you have more cows than people. But! But! If one more of your goddamned limos, stretch hummers, or fancy-shmancy cabs are in my way when I try to walk across the crosswalk, I will beat the living pulp out of your car. And run. Quickly.
"Crosswalk," bitches.
I know the alleys, you don't. You will not catch me, and your car will be in a state befitting your soul. Dented and mangled. You can show your disrespect and deign for the common man, thats fine, but I need not civility in my disobedience.
Be on notice!
And, think of it as payback for the 17 mil we're shilling out for you to hit our pedestrians while wearing your cowboy hats and tropywives.
92% of your neighbors want you gone.
How 'bout that.
I'm a pedestrian, I walk places. You... you in your boots and cowboy hats, black ties and long scarves, you evil motherfuckers... this is my town, and you are a guest! Again, I repeat, you are a guest!
You fucks. I realize that where you come from its okay to wear your self-importance on your sleeve, you have more cows than people. But! But! If one more of your goddamned limos, stretch hummers, or fancy-shmancy cabs are in my way when I try to walk across the crosswalk, I will beat the living pulp out of your car. And run. Quickly.
"Crosswalk," bitches.
I know the alleys, you don't. You will not catch me, and your car will be in a state befitting your soul. Dented and mangled. You can show your disrespect and deign for the common man, thats fine, but I need not civility in my disobedience.
Be on notice!
And, think of it as payback for the 17 mil we're shilling out for you to hit our pedestrians while wearing your cowboy hats and tropywives.
92% of your neighbors want you gone.
How 'bout that.
Goal:
(photo lost to time)
I'd hit that.
What? It'd be masturbating.
Yah, add shag and chops to that, and thats me in two months.
(photo lost to time)
I'd hit that.
What? It'd be masturbating.
Yah, add shag and chops to that, and thats me in two months.
I'm on day four of Little Miss Smokey and I's Total. Body. Challenge. Yeah, we got suckered into health and fitness, but listen, this time its okay. Really. The only thing I'm actively giving up is fried foods and full calorie beverages, so its not like I'm eating every four days and doing lines of crystal off of my bedroom mirror like my last 'body challenge.'
My body dysmorphia might taunt me when I'm alone and in bright lighting, but this may actually prove fruitful.
As my loyal readers are aware, this boy doesn't have a gym membership at Washington Sports Club anymore. I neglected to mention that I'm an awful dirty whore who got kicked out for getting head in the steam room, but whatever. Needless to say, I'm not allowed back. So, thank god Discovery Health gave me an 8 week membership to Bally's.
Bally's is kinda gross, I gotta say, but its also mostly hetero (correlation?). This loosely translates into far more focus on my abs and pecs, and a lot less focus on my dick and ass. Maybe. We'll see.
The sauna's all glass and the showers don't have curtains. I don't see any nookie occurring, but you never know. I'm resourceful. And slutty. Same difference.
Anyway.
Yeah, so, Little Miss Smokey has brought into my life a world of fitness by actually making plans with me so that I can't bail out like a pussy. I've got about 7 more weeks 'till I'm poverty jetsetting to hawaii, so we'll see what sorta shape I'm in when I get there. I'll post before and after pics, too, if you're lucky. Or maybe just some of me naked in hawaii.
We'll see.
My body dysmorphia might taunt me when I'm alone and in bright lighting, but this may actually prove fruitful.
As my loyal readers are aware, this boy doesn't have a gym membership at Washington Sports Club anymore. I neglected to mention that I'm an awful dirty whore who got kicked out for getting head in the steam room, but whatever. Needless to say, I'm not allowed back. So, thank god Discovery Health gave me an 8 week membership to Bally's.
Bally's is kinda gross, I gotta say, but its also mostly hetero (correlation?). This loosely translates into far more focus on my abs and pecs, and a lot less focus on my dick and ass. Maybe. We'll see.
The sauna's all glass and the showers don't have curtains. I don't see any nookie occurring, but you never know. I'm resourceful. And slutty. Same difference.
Anyway.
Yeah, so, Little Miss Smokey has brought into my life a world of fitness by actually making plans with me so that I can't bail out like a pussy. I've got about 7 more weeks 'till I'm poverty jetsetting to hawaii, so we'll see what sorta shape I'm in when I get there. I'll post before and after pics, too, if you're lucky. Or maybe just some of me naked in hawaii.
We'll see.
Its still snowing, and I'm slightly damp.
I didn't stick around too long at work today, 'cause my manager pissed me off pretty much as I walked through the door. Granted, I'm nicotine free and not drunk, so I'm a little irritable, but still, I was entitled to this pissiess.
I was the second person to get to work today, and I ended up with a section I don't particularly like, so I tried to change it. Reasonably fair, right? In first, seniority, a bunch of different reasons for it to be okay that I change the floor plan. The hostess didn't feel comfortable doing that, since she didn't actually make the seating chart herself, so she went and asked Ennis, the slovakian cock, for permission.
(The hostess had already put someone ahead of me in rotation, stupid bitch, but I digress...)
Anywho, the slovakian cock told her a resounding no, so I went to confront him. I, acting like Madonna when her publicist told her to give up acting, told him to give me one reason why not. He didn't have a reason, but still wouldn't change it. I called him a shitty manager, and told him I would speak to his manager. It wasn't a faboulous drink-throwing bitch-down, but it did make me feel better. I asked if I wanted to leave, and here I am.
Jerk.
Maybe I do have an attitude problem.
Its still snowing.
I didn't stick around too long at work today, 'cause my manager pissed me off pretty much as I walked through the door. Granted, I'm nicotine free and not drunk, so I'm a little irritable, but still, I was entitled to this pissiess.
I was the second person to get to work today, and I ended up with a section I don't particularly like, so I tried to change it. Reasonably fair, right? In first, seniority, a bunch of different reasons for it to be okay that I change the floor plan. The hostess didn't feel comfortable doing that, since she didn't actually make the seating chart herself, so she went and asked Ennis, the slovakian cock, for permission.
(The hostess had already put someone ahead of me in rotation, stupid bitch, but I digress...)
Anywho, the slovakian cock told her a resounding no, so I went to confront him. I, acting like Madonna when her publicist told her to give up acting, told him to give me one reason why not. He didn't have a reason, but still wouldn't change it. I called him a shitty manager, and told him I would speak to his manager. It wasn't a faboulous drink-throwing bitch-down, but it did make me feel better. I asked if I wanted to leave, and here I am.
Jerk.
Maybe I do have an attitude problem.
Its still snowing.
Damnit all. It's snowing.
Not that I don't love that floatly white stuff, but couldn't it have waited for me to get to work? I don't wanna walk down Rhode Island Ave in this.
Yick!
Not that I don't love that floatly white stuff, but couldn't it have waited for me to get to work? I don't wanna walk down Rhode Island Ave in this.
Yick!
I couldn't walk down 14th Street this weekend without walking into a large, scary looking leather daddy, a slave sans ballgag, or a horrified tourist. Good Times. Yeah, the Mid Atlantic Leather Conference was in town, and I actually went on the "Meet the Meat" bar crawl this past friday. I knew that I could have gotten myself into real trouble, seein’ as how I dressed up like a gay 70’s teensploitation movie character. I was all sorts of varsity football jersey, shaggy hair, and rope handcuffs. Lets not forget the belt buckle in the back that Caitlin decided was just straight up “pornographic.”
Bitch was right, and I was hot.
Miss Meg came with me dressed in a sequened scoopy bra and leather pants. She looked hot as fucking hell, and honestly, the girl's body is ridiculous. I couldn't have asked for a better drinking buddy, seein' as how the minute we go to the Washington Plaza the straight bartenders were buying us rounds. We made one hell of a pair, tricked out football player and awry cheerleader.
We stayed at the Plaza long enough to get macked on by older gentle men, but no one of note decided I was the hotness, so we moved on. My fragile little ego needed to be stroked (yes, ego, not that) so we hit the Green Lantern and Titan, too. Lantern was excellent, and I made out with a boy for fun. Figures, he was the only one there who was clearly not there for the leather scene. He had gotten lost on his way from JRs, I imagine. Poor cute, tallboy.
I’m lame enough that the fact that his name was also the title of a Newbery award winning book made me want to make out with him even more. I suppose if I was going for the self-referential grade school sex look, a Newbury winner would be perfect.
Alas, bad kissers sometimes have great names, so it was back home and back to Yums for detox and rehashing. Meg made her way to the bathroom to relieve herself of a cocktail or two, and managed to sleep for a short bit on the bathroom floor. Yikes. I passed out somewhere between the Tivo and the radiator, with a jug of water next to me. I found it in the morning, but couldn’t find my voice. I reckon that’s why the slaves didn’t have ball gags, one night out, and even this loudmouth couldn’t talk the next morning.
One of the hot things about last night is that there were quite a few pictures taken of Meg and I, so somewhere someone is ogling us in posterity. Hot.
Bitch was right, and I was hot.
Miss Meg came with me dressed in a sequened scoopy bra and leather pants. She looked hot as fucking hell, and honestly, the girl's body is ridiculous. I couldn't have asked for a better drinking buddy, seein' as how the minute we go to the Washington Plaza the straight bartenders were buying us rounds. We made one hell of a pair, tricked out football player and awry cheerleader.
We stayed at the Plaza long enough to get macked on by older gentle men, but no one of note decided I was the hotness, so we moved on. My fragile little ego needed to be stroked (yes, ego, not that) so we hit the Green Lantern and Titan, too. Lantern was excellent, and I made out with a boy for fun. Figures, he was the only one there who was clearly not there for the leather scene. He had gotten lost on his way from JRs, I imagine. Poor cute, tallboy.
I’m lame enough that the fact that his name was also the title of a Newbery award winning book made me want to make out with him even more. I suppose if I was going for the self-referential grade school sex look, a Newbury winner would be perfect.
Alas, bad kissers sometimes have great names, so it was back home and back to Yums for detox and rehashing. Meg made her way to the bathroom to relieve herself of a cocktail or two, and managed to sleep for a short bit on the bathroom floor. Yikes. I passed out somewhere between the Tivo and the radiator, with a jug of water next to me. I found it in the morning, but couldn’t find my voice. I reckon that’s why the slaves didn’t have ball gags, one night out, and even this loudmouth couldn’t talk the next morning.
One of the hot things about last night is that there were quite a few pictures taken of Meg and I, so somewhere someone is ogling us in posterity. Hot.
Coral, the oft-crass, bitchy, class-of-her-own anti-hero has surely begun to piss me off. I'm predisposed to really liking Coral, seeing as how she and I shared some Cheetos my sophomore year of college, but Fattie pride is being strained. Coral's been steppin' to my girl Ruthie. You don't come out swinging against my Ruthie, we have far too much in common.
As we all know, if there is on thing that you don't do while I'm around, its kick the drunk out of a game. And, seriously guys, you don't do it to a dominating drunk, like my girl Ruthie! Miss Ruthie, I can relate. I've been kicked out of games before-- those girls were just scared when they kicked me off the scrabble table, much as they were scared when they eliminated you. Tell me 'superboulous' isn't a word.
Bitches.
Triple word score.
Oh ya, speaking of bullshitting for extra points and sophomore year, Mason got hacked. As a former member of the GMU community, I'd like to take this time to formally say goodbye to my social security number and hello to spam. And, of course, a warm welcome to the person who decides to steal my credit. Please take care of a lil sumthin' sumthin' for yo'self you'll be happy you did.. pay that really old cox cable bill I've let sit for the past couple o' years... honestly, they're really persistant.
Thanks! And enjoy the 27% APR!
As we all know, if there is on thing that you don't do while I'm around, its kick the drunk out of a game. And, seriously guys, you don't do it to a dominating drunk, like my girl Ruthie! Miss Ruthie, I can relate. I've been kicked out of games before-- those girls were just scared when they kicked me off the scrabble table, much as they were scared when they eliminated you. Tell me 'superboulous' isn't a word.
Bitches.
Triple word score.
Oh ya, speaking of bullshitting for extra points and sophomore year, Mason got hacked. As a former member of the GMU community, I'd like to take this time to formally say goodbye to my social security number and hello to spam. And, of course, a warm welcome to the person who decides to steal my credit. Please take care of a lil sumthin' sumthin' for yo'self you'll be happy you did.. pay that really old cox cable bill I've let sit for the past couple o' years... honestly, they're really persistant.
Thanks! And enjoy the 27% APR!
I don't know who the fuck this quiz thinks she is, startin' out all fantastic, and then cuttin' to the quick of my crazy like its her job. Fidelity, abuse, and pathological lying? Fuck that bitch, I will mace her ass. She don't even know me!
From here on in, no more quizes!
To wit:
You are a XSYG--Expressive Sentimental Physical Giver. This makes you a Sex Bomb.
You are sexy sex sex sex! The sexness! You are the sexiest, hottest and most charismatic of all types. You are a captivating speaker and a great dinner date -- relaxed, self-effacing, charming and generous. Your type probably has origins in something sad -- trying to keep the peace in a tough family situation, or an early heartbreak -- and you'll probably want to address and resolve that at some point, but in your relationships that heartache is pure gold!
You lie effortlessly -- not necessarily a bad thing. You can have problems with fidelity. You need frequent praise and validation, and in seeking it you can make decisions that aren't consistent with your general good judgment. In other words, don't cheat on your significant other just because someone is paying attention to you.
You strongly dislike conflict, and will avoid it. Like an XPYG, you give so much of yourself to your partner that you feel dismissed and unappreciated if you don't get the same in return. But you internalize your feelings more and have a hard time getting over them. You don't *want* to cheat -- you just keep finding yourself in vulnerable situations. But you'll stay with your partner in the long run from guilt and a desire to please.
Your sex life will always be hot. You are one of the rare people who can keep the fires of passion going forever -- if you find a good match. Find another XSYG and you will never need (or want) anyone else again.
Of the 175447 people who have taken this quiz, 8.2 % are this type.
From here on in, no more quizes!
To wit:
You are a XSYG--Expressive Sentimental Physical Giver. This makes you a Sex Bomb.
You are sexy sex sex sex! The sexness! You are the sexiest, hottest and most charismatic of all types. You are a captivating speaker and a great dinner date -- relaxed, self-effacing, charming and generous. Your type probably has origins in something sad -- trying to keep the peace in a tough family situation, or an early heartbreak -- and you'll probably want to address and resolve that at some point, but in your relationships that heartache is pure gold!
You lie effortlessly -- not necessarily a bad thing. You can have problems with fidelity. You need frequent praise and validation, and in seeking it you can make decisions that aren't consistent with your general good judgment. In other words, don't cheat on your significant other just because someone is paying attention to you.
You strongly dislike conflict, and will avoid it. Like an XPYG, you give so much of yourself to your partner that you feel dismissed and unappreciated if you don't get the same in return. But you internalize your feelings more and have a hard time getting over them. You don't *want* to cheat -- you just keep finding yourself in vulnerable situations. But you'll stay with your partner in the long run from guilt and a desire to please.
Your sex life will always be hot. You are one of the rare people who can keep the fires of passion going forever -- if you find a good match. Find another XSYG and you will never need (or want) anyone else again.
Of the 175447 people who have taken this quiz, 8.2 % are this type.
God love ya, Paris. You finally get to partake in one of the greatest, vainest thrills a gay young man can discover: calling out your own name in bed. Getting nailed hard has never been so fun and meta.
Honestly, though, isn't this a lil dangerous for the universe? I fear for the trapped souls that are bound to be tied up in the whooshing sound of Paris gettin' drilled.
Honestly, though, isn't this a lil dangerous for the universe? I fear for the trapped souls that are bound to be tied up in the whooshing sound of Paris gettin' drilled.
Where the fuck is Paris Hilton when I need her?
I could really use her black amex right about now. If I'm going to Hawaii, I need a few things: rock hard abs, a well furnished apartment to return home to (no one likes coming from paradise to la chateu de ghetto), and some new clothes.
Margaret Cho once upon a time ago revealed the true secret for perfect abs: sucking cock. The only way to get the perfect washboard is through repetitive waist-bending motions, something that I hadn't, until recently, been partaking in. Since my sex drive died out somewhere around the time of my crystal meth addiction, I assumed that it was the drugs and not the dick that caused me to disappear into a lithe, toned, concentration camp Ken look. The gym has taught me otherwise, showing me that I can have good arms and pecs without nose candy. I'm actually not allowed back at my gym, so theres no way to know if it would have eventually supplied me with the washboard I want. That said, I'm left with one option: the only way to discover which variable, dick or drugs, was at work for me two summers ago is to reestablish an active, healthy sex life for myself.
Logic's fucking fabulous.
That brings us to point two: My apartment. While mostly well furnished, the old girl could use some help in the bedroom. Long neglected from lack of use by more than a stumbly drunkard (read: me), I think its time to make it a saddle worth getting back into. Bookshelves, artwork, maybe even a bigger rug. An ottoman to be bent over.
If only I were 18 again... oh, the wistful days of having more than a passing resemblances to a high priced twink escort and the number of sexual suitors to match. Oh, the days of having boyfriends to just steal cothes from.
Alas, now I've some how become indie meets Bloomies, and I'm actually the person I would have stolen clothes from.
I could really use her black amex right about now. If I'm going to Hawaii, I need a few things: rock hard abs, a well furnished apartment to return home to (no one likes coming from paradise to la chateu de ghetto), and some new clothes.
Margaret Cho once upon a time ago revealed the true secret for perfect abs: sucking cock. The only way to get the perfect washboard is through repetitive waist-bending motions, something that I hadn't, until recently, been partaking in. Since my sex drive died out somewhere around the time of my crystal meth addiction, I assumed that it was the drugs and not the dick that caused me to disappear into a lithe, toned, concentration camp Ken look. The gym has taught me otherwise, showing me that I can have good arms and pecs without nose candy. I'm actually not allowed back at my gym, so theres no way to know if it would have eventually supplied me with the washboard I want. That said, I'm left with one option: the only way to discover which variable, dick or drugs, was at work for me two summers ago is to reestablish an active, healthy sex life for myself.
Logic's fucking fabulous.
That brings us to point two: My apartment. While mostly well furnished, the old girl could use some help in the bedroom. Long neglected from lack of use by more than a stumbly drunkard (read: me), I think its time to make it a saddle worth getting back into. Bookshelves, artwork, maybe even a bigger rug. An ottoman to be bent over.
If only I were 18 again... oh, the wistful days of having more than a passing resemblances to a high priced twink escort and the number of sexual suitors to match. Oh, the days of having boyfriends to just steal cothes from.
Alas, now I've some how become indie meets Bloomies, and I'm actually the person I would have stolen clothes from.
It's 12:30, and I'm getting ready to run over to Halo. I'm gonna guzzle some booze before I get there, out of neccesity this time around. I can't afford to be drinking all of my money, as per the norm, because I just bought tickets to Hawaii. Lauren and I are gonna be there from March 3rd until the 10th.
Fucking stoked. Pam's gonna have no idea what hit her.
That said, I totally missed work this morning. I slept through/never set my alarm last night. I'm not sure which it is 'cause I did my very best to entertain yesterday evening on what became a two event night. Kelly [straight] came over with her gayboyfriend Matt and I cooked us all dinner while we watched the two hour premier of Alias. We might start doing that regularly, Kelly and I. God Bless Tivo.
Speakin' of the Lord, god bless good sex. Neighborsex rules.
Fucking stoked. Pam's gonna have no idea what hit her.
That said, I totally missed work this morning. I slept through/never set my alarm last night. I'm not sure which it is 'cause I did my very best to entertain yesterday evening on what became a two event night. Kelly [straight] came over with her gayboyfriend Matt and I cooked us all dinner while we watched the two hour premier of Alias. We might start doing that regularly, Kelly and I. God Bless Tivo.
Speakin' of the Lord, god bless good sex. Neighborsex rules.
12
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