Okie dokie. This post is coming at ya via my new phone. Its a cingular 8525 and I am just learning the keys. I likie.

That 'r' sound post from a few days ago? I almost pissed myself laughing at 30 Rock when they had the movie "Rural Juror" mentioned.

haha.

RurJur.

Oh, Trevis. If only I could apolgoize more. When your best friend died, all we could do was hold a moment in time for her. I was so selfish, I didn't get the gravity of losing a best friend, even one that had been so distant for so long. You lit some candles, and I couldn't comprehend your grief. We had been waiting for her to OD and die, or (barring that) some sort of other combination o' awfu. We all guesssed that it would eventually come, and none of us were shocked. And I thought my nontear stained face was okay.

And then my best friend died. And I've sobbed for her, but not in recent years.

But tonight I sobbed for Emily. Woe is the holidays, and I miss her. I'm gonna visit her grave for Christmas, I think, and I'll bring that bitch cookies. I never bake, but I will for her. I'll have Mark or Geoff supervise. I can't take it. I've never missed her more. I want to believe she'd be proud of the man I am.

Emily'd be so proud. She'd be angry that I ran a marathon, but share my bed nonetheless. Odds are good she'd wear the pajamapants she always wore (I haven't worn them out or thrown them away). I miss her so much. She'd call me out for days. She'd send me an awful IM.

I love the holidays, but, oh yes, I hate them too.

As a boy, I had trouble pronouncing my "r" sounds. Tookey was the best I could manage for a little while. I had trouble with my "s" sounds, too, but I reckon thats just commonly called a lisp. Thank goodness for speech therapy.

I had a great visit home, and a good weekend of work. I'm perfectly content with the way month has gone. Sebastian's still kinda worn out from all the rough housing with Ling, my parent's dog (once mine!).

Ugh, this is no great update, seein' as how I'm kinda hungover. I'm not cut out for heavy drinking three nights in a row anymore. Nope, nope, nope.

I'm in swoon with Sacha Baron Cohen. Borat's one of the funniest mothereffing thing I've seen in quite a long time. Stoned and in good form with Wendy, we laughed our heads off. Go see it.

PS: I really can't stick to anything. The only major thing I've actually followed through on in years is the marathon. Relationships, breakups, blogs... Sebastian doesn't count 'cause he needs me. But, marathons and dogs- thats it. Huh. Not upset about it or bummed-- just weird.

I'm going a little bit batty. It's been five days since the marathon and I want to go running terribly. I'm craving a nice hour of pavement pounding, but unfortunately I could do real damage to myself if I were to actually go out and about. So, I'm just fantasizing about it.

Jon Jon sent me a pic of his Halloween costume, all black trenchcoat goodness, a sleek set of matching .9mm's, and black hockey mask goodness; an inspired Black Jason. Also in the email? A picture of Josh and me. Aside from the fact that I need to stop seein old pictures of the two of us, I also don't need to be reminded of how fat I had gotten then. I looked a bit muppety with the weight. Oh, sure, not Kirsty Alley fat, but I was definatly chunk-o. Another reason I want to get the turf under my stride sooner rather than later.

But, ya, Tuesday was a good Halloweenin'. I rummaged through my clothes bins and pulled out my ancient football practice jersey and threw on Chris's green track pants. A nice black line done with old halloween lipstick under each eye and I was set to go. Football player it was. Nothing for ol' Guinness's books, but when an intoxicated tommy-gun totting moll asked an inebriated me (on a drunk bus, no less) what team I was on, I screamed "YOU KNOW WHAT TEAM I PLAY FOR!"

Fun. Fun. Fun.

I'm not here to judge the happenstance drunkenss of others, but I think that Team Sketch did very well. Puja played shortly after noon until right around dusk, her in a football jersey with the same lines as I had under my eyes. We were adorable. After that, we ended up at Toledo Lounge with (roll call!) Jordan, Nelina (bartending), Geoffery, Chris, Jason Lemon (Geoff's friend), and Rose (also G's buddy). From there, Chris and I hit up Tonic (after some minor barhopping), catchin up with Steve and Lisa.

Copious consumption continued until I was face down on steve's bed-- the same place I awoke November 1st.

There will be pictures shortly, with any luck.

(12:51:02) Lurker Z H: Its hard out here for a ho
(12:51:07) BGM 20683: I know
(12:51:07) BGM 20683: shit

I totally ran a marathon on Sunday. I managed to run 26.2 miles in 4 hours, 9 minutes. Woo Woo!

Marine Corps Marathon.

Run for your life.

Lately, running has kinda been my life. No two ways about it, I've been passionatly running long distances for months. Running from my own crazy, running from my monotony, running from my problems. At whatever endset line I drew that day, I always found peace, resolve, and clarity. With the Marine Corps Marathon, I get to actually have people out there cheering me-- cheering among a sea of other faces. This time the finish line is something tangible, not just the completion of my daily goal.


Not run 'till I stop crying.
Not run from DC to Virginia to Maryland and back.
Not run for the thrill.

This time I'm running just for me. Woo-fuckin-hoo!

OOh Ra!

I think I may be on Wendy's cycle. She's got her PMS-y stuff and as of now, she's the only girl with whom I spend a large chunk of time. I'm constantly hungry, craving sweets, and bloated... don't forget moody and oft-sullen. Thats attractive. The lovelorn black hole I'm rockin' right now is enough to make me want to cut myself. Luckily, I'm not 14, and I've got a Robbie Williams and Diddy album double feature. If it were Fall Out Boy or somesuch I might be in trubbs.

Some people have real problems.

Molly was in and out of the hospital this week. She had a hyrniated disk in her neck that had to be operated on, and unfortchies the surgery was on her birthday. Talk about a blower. I feel for the poor gal and want a speedy recovery for my lovely Mamabear. I I yearn for more time to spend with her, but I've worked for about two weeks straight. Not that I ever work super hard, but for someone doped up on vicodin, well they can't exactly play with the boy getting off work at 1am.

The marathon is next Sunday. I'm bib #22155-- Those marine boys have no idea the ferocity I plan on bringing to the table. I'm so excited. I bought body glide, two new pairs of shoes (SALE!), and clif blocks today in anticipation. I'm so effin' stoked. Its coming.

I just found a song on my ipod called Fatty Boo. Its by Faithless, and its on their Greatest Hits. I kinda dig Faithless. They're dark and melancholy and also dirty-danceable. Its something I'd like to listen to while fucking.

God is a DJ being better to fuck to than Fatty Boo, but, uh, duh.

OOh, Ahh... a litte bit more, more.

Pictures from VFest are here!

After having been to the Virgin Music Festival, I officially would like to:

- Crowd surf
- Fuck Jake Shears
- Go to more festivals
- Punch Flea

Sebastian ate my journal this week.

I might have to start being here more.

I <3 Fergie's new album. Don't judge me, bitches.

Chris saw this boy in an ugly fedora walking down the street. The boy also had on ill fitting white pants.

What' ol' Agnes think?

"I bet his middle name is Ta-Da!"

I'm surrounded at all times by straightboys and dudefags. I'm way into it right now, since Lauren's hiding out mostly on H Street, and my the rest of my girls are all busy-busy-busy. Or in Richmond. Or, ya know, elsewhere. I'm pretty gosh-darn single and kinda getting into that, too, like when you switch from a moutain bike to a road bike. Its not neccesarily all that much different, but it takes some getting used to.

What part of growing up means you feel less? I've lost track somewhere of how emotion places in the great race of life. When I was a freshman in college (hell, when I was a senior in high school) and Phoenix and I broke up, I thought I was going to die. I loved him so much. So very, very much. When Trevis and I ended things, I thought I had risked my life for him and deserved a better ending. I was so very naive, and so very, very young.

Age. Wisdom. Adult Emotion. They're not the same thing. It seems obvious, but it sometimes has to be said. Youth and naivity are intrinsicly different things, though they do frequently go hand in hand.

You haven't heard from me in the blogosphere in months because I've been dating. I've been actively seeing someone. I've been falling in love. And, my dear reader, as of now, it may be dunzo. I prefer to think it isn't. Without a sugar coat, things are very much undone and in the air. Over time, things may (and I hope they do) find a positive resolution that includes two people bedside.

I hope so. His name is Joshua. Josh Giamichae[l] to be exact, and one of the most amusing thing about him, to you my dear reader, is that he is (up till now) ungoogleable. Here it is. Find him on your whims-- this is his first post of placement. As of this hour, and on this day, I love a man. As cliches go, he's a good one to believe in. So, I'll ad hoc him into the 20 years from now stigma-- I expect to still love him for who he was to me. I (and here's how you know you love) hope that I still love him for who he is in 20 years. But for the here and for the present, I know a good man. I hope things work out for the best. I'm not sure what that is, but I've got faith it'll rear its head.

I've been gone because I've been chasing the ideals of love. I'm back now.

I plan on staying, love or no.

My eyebrows are singed. My right eyelashes are noticably shorter than my left ones. I'm so goddamned brilliant; this is what I get for lighting a smoke on the stove at Lauren's. I shouldn't be smoking, I shouldn't be that drunk, and I shouldn't be at 10th and N.

I totally was, though.

They'll grow back. I'm going running.