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[09 Jul 2009|12:07pm] |
Also!
The ipod story has another deeper meaning I'll spell out for those of you who didn't get it:
Just because you've made yourself pretty on the outside doesn't mean you're no longer full of shit on the inside.
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[09 Jul 2009|12:04pm] |
My previous ipod was purchased "used". This meant that it came with about 40 gigs of music and videos added by the former owner. And that former owner liked hip hop. And big-titty-milf-porn.
I don't really like hip hop, or big-titty-milf-porn, so I never bothered really going through the music library on it. It had enough room to hold all of my music and good porn, along with his crap. So I simply backed everything up to my laptop, and trudged along.
Monday night last week I spilled water on it, and apparently Ipods are not water proof. It shut off, and wouldn't turn on again. In fact when I'd press a button it'd attempt to turn on, and then make a sad little noise that sounded like a dying kitten. When your ipod makes that noise it's time for a new one. Luckily Apple had a good deal on refurbed 160 gigs, and mine arrived last week. (side note, Apply ships crazy fast. Ordered at 1:07am tuesday, delivered at 1:40pm Thursday. They must know how rabid ipod owners are.) Getting the new one was an excuse to start going through my music library to clear up any duplicate songs and ensure that all the artists were under the same spelling and the like.
This was a huge realization to me, as I really never really understood just how SHITTY the previous owners tastes were. There's almost a gig worth of Insane Clown Posse songs. 12.3 fucking hours of ICP. No really. Twelve point three fucking hours. Of ICP.
Jesus effing christ. I feel dirty even having it on my computer.
But you know what? I cannot bring myself to delete it. I have a shitton of room to add more good music. I don't need the space. It brings up a weird electronic packrat argument. Just because you have the room, do you really need to keep something that you'll never ever listen to? Being a physical packrat is one thing, because physical tangible things will pile up and pile up until you're the crazy hoarder with piles of urine soaked newspapers. But is being an electronic packrat better? Will the data eventually pile up until it's impossible to sift through?
I guess we'll find out in the years to come.
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[04 Jul 2009|12:55am] |
Reasons why I should move from Bend:
I will never wear flip flops.
I will never attend a pet parade.
I will never float the river.
I will never shred the gnar at bachelor.
I will never drink a pabst on the west side.
I will never own a cruiser bike.
I have never eaten at the taco stand.
I could give a fuck when the Jubleale becomes available each Christmas.
I dont get excited when shitty local bands play at shitty local bars.
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[29 Jun 2009|11:04pm] |
You know how sometimes you get kicked in the balls, and it causes so much pain that it makes your stomach hurt to the point you feel like you're going to vomit all over the place, and getting stabbed would actually be a relief?
I ate at Panda Express tonight, and that is exactly how my stomach feels right now.
So yeah, dont eat at Panda Express.
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| Day Tres |
[21 Jun 2009|09:00pm] |
Important lesson: spending 14 hours doing nothing but drinking, walking to liquor stores, and gambling is fun. But adding food to the mix will help alleviate potential hangovers early on.
Oh yeah, I am hung-fucking-over. Breakfast consists of a single serving bag of cheezits left over from the airline, 3 aleve, 2 sinutab, 1 asprin, and a giant glass of water. I decide to hold off on additional food because we've decided to use my free buffet tickets tonight. AKA: gonna destroy the buffet later.
I start gambling and drop 160 bucks on Pai Gow and Craps in less than 45 minutes. I'm also not drinking. Coincidence? I put my name on a list for some no-limit texas.
I think I'm playing craps with a retard. That's rude of me. Mentally handicapped? Special? Whatever. He's eating a milkshake and throwing dice at the same time. He does both very, very slowly. Occasionally he spaces out and stares at the field endlessly until one of the casino staff says his name. An old woman just walked up and he turned and stared at her belly for 30 seconds. Her belly is where her tits are hanging because she is 80 and isn't wearing a bra. This is when the intercom announces my place at the no-limit poker table is available. Thank god.
I drop 40 at poker. I ponder if I should start drinking when Jon and Becki text me to say they're ready to buffet it up.
I've been reading a lot of Anthony Bourdain, and I try to ignore the horror stories he's written about poor food handling practices and grossness that you find at buffets. I try to ignore the fact that buffets are always at the bottom of the health departments clean lists. There are hand sanitizers everywhere, so its gotta be healthy!! Right?
Mmmmm terriyaki meatballs. I'm pretty sure that there is nowhere in Asia where terriyaki meatballs are an actual dish, but they are goddamned delicious.
Becki informs us over dinner that the ladies room not only has sanitary napkins, but Depends adult diapers available. I cannot decide if this is sad or awesome. Perhaps a little of both because I think about how adult diapers could increase the amount of time spent gambling instead of wandering the maze in search of a bathroom.
Why do people get so angry when they lose? Its called "gambling" & not "being given free money by strangers" for a reason. You're an adult. Having a hissy fit, cursing, and stomping your feet in public is embarrassing, you should stop before you get stabbed. Hunter S. Thompson said it best: "learn to enjoy losing".
I'm playing poker again, and its heads up between me and this black dude with a mohawk. Another black guy at the table starts cackling at us. "Oooh shit! Its the bro-hawk versus the faux-hawk!" I think I might have just gotten served.
There's an asian guy playing who was pulling chips off the table and out of play. I'm not going to go into the reasoning of how this is unfair in a no limit game, but I will summarize by saying this: its fucked and is akin to cheating. He gets caught and admits what he was doing, but is allowed to keep playing after he pulls the chips from his pocket. I'm a little shocked by this. At jons house he'd be shot at, stabbed, or possibly branded a cheater. Ha, I kid, I kid. No ones been branded yet.
Poker treats me well, and I manage to win back the 200 I'd hemmoraged earlier, plus an additional 50, so its time to retire. Also the terriyaki meatballs are asking to meet my old friend the toilet.
I just saw an 80 year old woman smoking a cigar. She then started coughing and spit something on the ground. ON THE GROUND. Despite the multitude of hand sanitizing machines I suspect this place is not very clean.
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| Day the Second |
[20 Jun 2009|03:22am] |
Its noon, I awaken and need food. The 24 hour restaurants in casinos are always a gamble. The key is to look at the surroundings and go from there. Do you see that the waitstaff, bussers, and cooks are all Hispanic? You would think that the pork carnitas would be a safe and delicious choice for a decent meal. And you would be wrong, as it was actually crap.
It's 12:15. Hello complimentary screwdriver.
Lately I've been on a hunt to find Crystal Head Vodka. Dan Akroyd endorses it and it comes inside a bottle shaped like a skull. Dan Fucking Akroyd. You know that a ghostbuster drinks good vodka. Also Jon informs me that its filtered through "herkazoid diamonds". Fuck yes. One of the bars has a bottle, and the night before a bartender informed us that they sell it at a local liquor store.
We step outside our casino and can see the liquor store. I'm not sure if its the desire to purchase vodka in a skull shaped bottle, or the vodka in my stomach, or the giant liquor store sign, but the store looks really close. Jon and I decide to walk there. Poor decision. Its like a mile away. And I'm fat and lazy. And they were sold out of the Crystal Skull. Fuckballs. I need another drink, luckily there is another casino close that will give me a free one.
The bible in Jons room is awesome.
Exhibit A: the back two blank pages have a handwritten letter from a woman named Monica saying how she's leaving her husband Robert. It has "to the left, to the left" written in big letters with a lipstick kiss next to them, and it ends with "ps: dont kill yourself. pps: lose some weight. ppps: be nice to your friends". Classy
Exhibit B: the front of the bible has a picture of an crematory urn, and someone has written "your mom is in here" on it.
Poker here is easy money. Or I'm an amazing poker player. Or I'm drunk and overly confident and pushing people around. I'm up a hundo on a 2-5 no limit game after about an hour and 4 screwdrivers. I hate it when strangers know my name. But apparently thats common procedure here because all of the dealers know my name even though I've only told it to one person. Fuck that shit.
Meet up with Becki and Jon to start the heavy drinking. Jon waits in a giant line to try to win a Lexus. I know there's no way I'll win a new car, and I am fat and lazy and don't want to stand in line, also the elderly unattractive migrant cocktail waitresses won't give us free booze for standing in line, so Becki and I sit at a slot machine. I hate slot machines. That dingdingdingdingding noise makes me want to shoot things. But as much as I hate video poker and slot machines, I tend to get lucky with them. I get on a 15 minute streak where my slot machine essentially plays itself and continually dings up bonus plays and I watch it while praying that the waitress brings me the fucking drink so I can cash out and go find a craps table.
Come line. Six on the six. Hard 8. Niner giner. Craps is awesome. Professional casino staff will not care if you constantly bet on niner giners or occasionally slur your words a little. Good god where is that cocktail waitress?? Does she not know my cup is half empty and I require constant beverage intake to maintain my winning streak??
I have had a perfect moment: I'm winning money at craps, staring at a gorgeous Indian girl playing roulette across the pit, drinking a free screwdriver, and listening to an all girl band sing Journey covers.
I momentarily lose track of where we are. The neon and mirrors and screwdrivers and slot machine mazes and dingdingdingding and identical hand sanitizer machines make everything look and sound exactly the same. Thank god the poker chips have the casino name written on them because we've swtiched casinos and I don't remember riding the stinky buses anywhere.
We wander up some stairs and across a catwalk and down some stairs and past the smell of vomit to the Golden Nugget and see the 1st attractive cocktail waitresses of the entire trip. They're young! And cute! And have russian accents! Or maybe I'm hammered and horny. At any rate, they bring me drinks that are really strong compared to the last 4 casinos. Unfortunately its really bright inside. Its like they're trying to make it look classy or make me forget that its 2am.
Holy fuck, Its 2am, and I realize that I haven't eaten anything but ice since noon, and I haven't drank anything but orange juice and vodka. 14 hours of drinking, and I'm also up almost four hundred dollars. Coincidence?
Two dudes just offered their suite to us to stay in. You know what you should never do? Accept a free suite from two strange dudes in a casino at 3:00 in the morning. Unless you like having naked pictures of you being posted on the internet or being gang-banged by two strange dudes from Salt Lake City. No thank you good sirs.
Holy god, these pillows are huge.
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| Day One |
[17 Jun 2009|01:55am] |
Wendover NV. Yeah, I'd never heard of it either. It's a small town on the Utah/Nevada border. That has 5 casinos, and super cheap flights out of Redmond. Jon & Becki and I had been talking about taking one of these trips for awhile, and finally decided to do it as Loretta Lynn was playing one night.
I decided to blog events as they happened., and they're all gonna be snapshots because I decided to use my G1 to write down events as they were happening. I cleaned up most of the spelling or typing errors. Its hard to type while holding a drink and gambling at the same time.
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DAY ONE
We get to the Redmond airport, which is apparently under constant construction. Check in goes smoothly, as I've remembered to remove all of the bullets from my pockets, unlike the last trip to Nevada.
The departure area for our flight looks like a waiting room for an old folks home, or maybe the factory where they make soylent green. I see bedazzled pants, bedazzled shirts, bedazzled jackets, bedazzled purses, and bedazzled shoes. Big permed hair. Canes. Oxygen tanks. A mullet. Matching pantsuits. Sexy.
The walk to the plane is ridiculous. We walk 100 yards one way, then do a U turn and walk 200 yards the other way. Walking through the same ghettoass plywood corridor that was here the last time I flew in September. The average age on the flight is 76, and I'd be willing to bet that Becki is the youngest person on the plane, followed by me.
The stewardess just said "for any of you who BYOB, and I don't mean bikinis hee hee, please stow them for the duration of the flight." WHAT?? I could have brought booze with me? Where the fuck is that on the TSA website???
They play games on the flight. I win two free meals at the buffet. One of the games involves the passengers writing their seat number on a dollar and then putting it into a trashbag. The head steward collects the money and then says "you know why I love America? Because a black man can ask people to put money in a bag and they just do it! Haw haw haw". Later he tells a joke about a bank robber shooting people in the head.
The flight ends, and the airport is decorated with bombs and piles of dirt. Awesome. The waiting area has a no-touch machine that dispenses hand sanitizer. I am awed by its futuristic sanitary magic.
And now we're on a bus to take us to the hotel. It smells like pee and is filthy. So filthy I'm able to write "pee?" in the dirt that coats the floor.
News flash: apparently the pee smell was the old man with the eyepatch who was sitting in front of us, and who is now standing next to me in the elevator. I need a drink. Badly.
The Rainbow is surprisingly nice. I thought it would be ghetto, but the room is nice. The bed is comfy, the pillows are soft, and it has wall to wall mirrors so I can pick up a cougar and watch myself fuck her. Claaaasssy.
Our hotel welcome packets have things like coupons for a free drink, or 5 bucks off food, or 20% off the gift shop. It also has a little note reminding guests to keep extra medication on them for medical emergencies. Its obvious they cater to the elderly, and also obvious that they'd rather keep them on the casino floor instead of in their hotel rooms.
Jon and Beckis room is much the same except for the gigantic black in room jacuzzi. Oh, and the mirrors on their walls extend to cover a second wall and the ceiling above the jacuzzi. I'm hoping the stains on the ceiling mirror are water from the jacuzzi and not semen.
Luckily the hand sanitizer machines are everywhere.
We walk far too much for being on vacation. I want to be a fat lazy American and take shuttle buses between the casinos. Instead we walk a lot the first day between the casinos and the concert hall. There's a surprising amount of astroturf on the casino grounds.
We go to see Loretta Lynn and again are the youngest people there as the median age is now approximately 86. Again there are hand sanitizers everywhere in the concert hall. Also 8 dollar screwdrivers. Weak 8 dollar screwdrivers dispensed from a machine and served in a tiny plastic cup. Horsecrap.
Loretta Lynn was glorious. She might be like 96, but she put on a damn good show. Her dress was sparkly and awesome and probably inspired half the audience to bedazzle some more shit. She should sell bedazzlers at her merch booth along with her autographed gospel cd's.
Also her granddaughter came on stage, and was wearing a dress that made it look like she had a dick she was tucking back. I thought I was crazy but Jon saw it too. Yeah, the moral is that we sometimes look at girls crotches. Sorry ladies.
Ed Hardy shit is lame. I'm sorry, but I hate most of it. If you're wearing some Ed Hardy shit with some bedazzles then you're probably a fucking douche. And if I ever wear any Ed Hardy shit you have my permission to punch me in the groin. Obviously you see a lot of Ed Hardy shit on dbags from Salt Lake City who are gambling in Wendover. And it makes me angry for some reason.
Oh no, I've progressed to angry drunk stage.
Side note: If you're 80 and wearing Ed Hardy shit to a Loretta Lynn concert you're actually pretty cool. This is because you're trying so hard to be young that you progress past ridiculous and into so-ridiculous-youre-cool. Go, old man, go. I hope that sparkly Ed Hardy shit hat gets you laid and that the viagra kicks in so you can actually perform.
*The next few entries from the rest of the night are pretty much garbled gibberish. I believe I might have been drunk at the time. They mention something about how much I hate slot machines, how the water here sucks, the showerhead is a lowflo crap design, and how I need to get laid.
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| And fallen men...we need the sun. |
[08 Jun 2009|12:30pm] |
I have a hard time finding people who'll go see movies with me. So I've learned to go alone, which for my shy ass is really hard to do. After a couple of years I've started to really enjoy it.
I love it when you go to a movie during the day, and it gets out right at twilight. Its nice to come out of a good movie into a sky that looks like it should be in one. That gorgeous blue color above, and the last fringes of crimson on the horizon that sillouhette the mountains in the background. The few clouds adding just enough to make the sky a little more interesting.
Sometimes I forget how pretty things can be.
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[31 May 2009|12:21am] |
Tonight I got asked to ordain someones wedding. That's always a huge honor.
5 minutes later the beautiful blushing bride-to-be barfed all over my leg and foot.
Gonna be a good summer.
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[25 May 2009|12:56am] |
One of my weird packrat things of late is posters and prints. Show posters, limited run art prints, etc. I got this neat concert poster for The Swell Season. Its a shadow of a man superimposed over the moon, and the moon itself is printed in a glow in the dark ink.
I pop it in a cheap poster frame, and turn off all the lights. Well the gid ink wasn't very glowey, so I figured it just needed to be exposed to more light for awhile. So I propped it against a wall, above a lamp, and curled up to read for awhile.
I apparently passed out, because a couple of hours later I wake up to a burning smell.
At some point the poster had fallen over on the lamp, and the 100 watt bulb had heated up the frame enough to melt the plastic, which had them dripped down onto the bulb, and with no plastic to protect the print from the heat it then started to burn the print itself.
Now I have a cool print of a glow in the dark moon, with the shadow of a man superimposed over it, with a GIANT BURN MARK IN THE MIDDLE OF IT. Oooh, and my room smells like plastic and burning.
Awesome!
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[19 May 2009|05:51pm] |
I've been having crazy vivid detailed dreams lately.
Last night I had a dream I was in Powells bookstore in Portland. And I couldn't get out of it. There weren't any doors or windows, just endless bookshelves and stairs, and huge frieght elevators that were big enough to move an entire floor, which made it hard to keep balance so Id fall down from time to time. I kept running between floors, and getting hassled by the workers who wanted to know if I knew the dewey decimal system.
Eventually I met some woman who worked there, and she said that she would let me leave if she could give me a show. Then she lifted her skirt to show me her vajayjay, and I said "I'm a tactile learner" and started to stroke her. So this is where it gets weird, because I moved my finger down to penetrate her, but couldn't because there was something square and hard inside her that wouldn't let my finger in. Maybe it was a book?
Eventually she let me pass, and the door led to the parking garage. But then the parking garage was just three levels of parking and windows, with no actual exit. I decided to simply ram my car through the window of the parking garage to escape, and woke up after that part. Immediately I grabbed my phone to write this shit down.
TYLENOL PM IS AWESOME.
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| sometimes my nights are entertaining |
[14 May 2009|04:05am] |
Sitting at Players. Enjoying a tasty beverage.
Suddenly this dude stumbles into the bar. Pushing a shopping cart. Not a full sized shopping cart, mind you. But one of those mini shopping carts, like you find in upscale grocery stores, or New York. He pushes it in and leaves it sitting in the middle of the bar, then stumbles up to the bar. He asks if he can buy a six pack, because Newport Market refused to sell him one. No? No sixers for sale at Players? "How about a double tequilla sunrise?"
What would you do?
Becki is wise, and realized it was best to serve this crazy fuck a drink rather than have him freak the fuck out. Because he did afterall have a shopping cart. And bitches can do some crazy shit with a shopping cart.
So he takes his tequilla sunrise, ha, and sits down to play some video poker. Sometime later he gets up, goes back to his cart, and pushes it out of the bar and to wherever his final destination was. It gets to be closing time, and I help clean, and realize that theres a brown and white chunk of...something...sitting on the video poker machine. I get closer, and notice the box on the floor that indicates it is a giant chunk of fudge. Like a 3 inch by 4 inch chunk of fudge. With bite marks and chunks chewed out of it.
Because what food product goes good with a double tequilla sunrise? Thats right: FUDGE, BITCHES.
So I grab the wrapper and use it to pick up the fudge, and theres a string of....something....connecting the fudge chunk to the video poker machine. It was like he had been gumming the fudge and decided to put the wet end down on the table. You know when you sometimes throw up, and theres a streamer of saliva and vomit connecting your mouth to the toilet? Yeah, it was like that.
Go ahead and throw up in your mouth a little, its fine, I did too.
KEEP IT CLASSY BEND.
Oh yeah, also Goddamn Gallows played. And they put on an amazing show. The best show I've seen in Bend in perhaps the last year. And you weren't there. So suck it.
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[11 Apr 2009|12:37am] |
Today at work one of my reps told me she had a customer that wanted to talk to a supervisor. That's me! Why did he want to talk to a supervisor? Because he didn't want to talk to a woman. Why not?
"Because women are not as smart or capable as men."
No, I'm not joking.
He then proceeded to tell me how its a "proven, scientific fact that women are stupid." And wouldn't get off the subject until I told him I'd hang up unless he kept it professional and got to the matter at hand. He then couldn't remember his phone number correctly, and hung up on me.
That's right. COULD NOT REMEMBER HIS OWN FUCKING PHONE NUMBER.
Who's smart and capable now, dicksauce?
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[25 Mar 2009|09:58pm] |
I've been doing alot of thinking this week. I started out apologizing singly. But really I should just throw out a general apology to everyone, even those of you who deserve to be treated terribly. I wanted to take a moment to post a general apology.
So yeah, I'm sorry for doing any of the following:
Sending drunken messages.
Sending mean drunken messages.
Stalking you.
Avoiding you.
Completely ignoring you.
Talking shit about you.
Not being honest with you.
Being too honest with you.
Not finishing projects I promised to finish.
Drove home drunk when I promised not to.
Throwing up in your street.
Making fun of your children.
Making fun of your children before they emerged from your or your significant others vagina.
I'm sure there are others, and if you feel you have a grievance you'd like to take up with me I will happily read it and add it to the list of things I feel bad about.
But in all honesty I'll probably continue to do those things, because I hate my life and feel the need to take it out on others at times. Sorry 'bout it.
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[09 Feb 2009|04:21am] |
You know what I hate? When a band puts out a record.
Not a cd.
Not a download.
A record. On Vinyl. And they only release those songs on that fucking archaic format.
What the fuck people? Its not 1960. I dont have a hifi system. Nor am I a fucking elitist record snob who wants colored vinyl or picture discs or what-the-fuck-ever else those weird vinyl collecting bastards like.
I want something that I can put on my ipod with a minimum of hassle. Sorry if I'm not cool enough to have a record player.
You know what else I hate? When you spend months being irritated that the band only put out the record, and you finally find a copy of it that some Russian punk rock kid has transferred to mp3, and put online through some pirate website, and you download it, and get really excited to listen to the songs, and then you realize that the songs actually kind of suck ass and you've wasted the last 20 minutes of your life downloading, extracting, and listening to them. And then you decide to give them another shot, because maybe you're just being picky, and sure enough, they're still not very good and you've wasted another 5 minutes and 3 seconds listening to them a second time.
So thanks alot, bands that do this. You can suck it, and I will officially not buy your next album, but instead steal it off the internets.
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[06 Feb 2009|01:28am] |
So there's this banquet thing at work. Kind of a big deal. Only the top performers get to go. I'm one of them.
Earlier this week one of the managers comes into my pod and says "oh, and paul, its not an open bar this year. I hear you like to knock them back, so I just thought I'd warn you."
Ok, seriously, what the fuck?
This is not a friend that said that. She doesn't know me. Where's she get off saying something like that, at work no less. Even someone else who was there said that it was a bizarre & almost rude thing to say.
Part of me was seriously pissed and considering not going to the event. The other part of me was pissed and considering getting fucking hammered before the event even started to spite her. Part of me thinks it was a joke, and writes it off. Part of me appreciates the warning, so I can plan ahead and keep a cuddler in the car. Part of me says the snide comment doesn't matter, because I outperformed like 600 other people to get there. Part of me doesn't really give a shit because I'm completely apathetic to just about everything lately.
That part won. It says "fuckitall, you get a free steak, might as well go."
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[27 Jan 2009|12:51am] |
A friend was telling me I need to post more blogs. And I was like "I dont do anything lately, so I dont have any awesome stories." and they were like "peejer you always have awesome stories, think of something." and I was like "no seriously, I dont got shitall, because I stopped drinking as much and lately I am sad." and they were like "what the fuck, dont be emo, write a fucking blog." and I was like "fine bitch, I will write about my balls"
And here it is:
So I'm a dude.
Sometimes I like to watch porno. It happens.
And awhile back I was thinking: "dang, all these dudes shave their balls, whats with that?"
And I kept thinking about it, because I secretly love cock and balls wanted to know was it because it felt good, or did it make their peepees look longer or what? Why? WHY GOD WHY?
And eventually I was like "dang, maybe I'll try that shit out, maybe it rules?"
Unwilling to take an actual razor blade to my no-no zone, I started looking for other options. Wax is scary. Hair removal chemicals make me worry about possible mutations. I use a regular Norelco shaver on my face/neckbeards, and I've always been happy, so I bought this Norelco electric BG 2030 body shaver razor deal. (further referred to as "The BS") Reviews on the internet for it sounded good. And you can always trust things you read on the internet, so hey, why not?
I was actually pretty afraid to try it. Because A. its an electrical device that's designed to slice. and B. I was intending to apply it to my genitals. For a dude that's pretty scary stuff. I had all sorts of horrible thoughts floating through my head like "OMG WHAT IF I GETS RZAR BURNZ ONMY BALLSACS" Cuz fucking shit, no one wants razor burns on their ballsack.
Because I am secretly a pussy I decided to shave the letter P out of my thigh. That worked, so I did a J on the other one. AWESOME.
With the thigh test out of the way it was time to get to the jewels. The razor is pretty nice because it comes with two different heads and some attachments that gives you a wide variety of options for hair length. You could do a basic trim if you want a little manscaping, or you can go shave completely smooth for the ever-popular prepubescent boy look. (I had to look that up to make sure I spelled prepubescent correctly. "PRE PUBE SCENT? that can't be right? that sounds like some sort of air freshener")
The results? I will spare you gentle readers with the process involved, but the final results rule. The answer to the question is that it feels great, and now I pretty much sit at home with my hand down my pants. FOR HOURS AND HOURS AND HOURS.
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[03 Jan 2009|06:03pm] |
"To err is human, to forgive, divine."
I've believed in this my entire life. I believe in giving everyone extra chances. Forgiving them for their past misdeeds in the hopes that they can become a better person, live a better life, be a better friend. Maybe I'm wrong.
How often do we listen to the little things that we want to hear, or believe the words that stoke our egos? Every day dear reader. Every single day. We like hearing those things, they're a huge part of what makes us forgive those who have hurt us. But maybe we need to listen instead to the truth that lies under the surface. Maybe we need to rethink our divinity.
How many lies are enough? What canceled appointment will be the last? How many broken promises is too many?
At what point do we go from Saint to Sucker?
And once we're there is it ever possible to tip the scales back and regain what we once had?
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| I'm leaving on a jet plane. |
[18 Sep 2008|12:02pm] |
I found out yesterday that T-Mobile, in all of its infinite wisdom, has decided to send me to help at a center in Charleston, South Carolina. I leave Sunday, and will be gone for about a month.
Its a pretty big opportunity, and I'm excited and nervous. I don't know jackshit about the state or the city or anything. If you know of anything cool to do or see in SC drop me a line. Also let me know if you wanna hang before I leave, otherwise I'll see you bitches in a month.
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[16 Sep 2008|11:29pm] |
I went to Portland with Amanda last night, and for a change I didn't have to drive. This meant I could get hammered at will, and hammered I got. After the customary meal at Montage I was starting to sober up, and being chock full of old mac and mud pie, I decided to lay back and try to sleep for awhile because I never get to on road trips. I curled up with my hoodie as a pillow and started to doze off. This was awesome.
Until I bolted awake and screamed "OH SHIT!!!!" like a complete crazy person. This scared the shit out of Amanda, and after a few moments I realized that I was safe and sound in the car instead of back in the nightmare that woke me up.
What nightmare? Pandas. EVIL PANDAS. Trying to kill me and eat me. Seriously the scariest dream I've had in months and months. Those fuckers look all cuddly and cute and you wanna snuggle them, but no, they will eat your face off if they have the chance. And it is scary when they do. You will wake right up and scream like a bitch.
Ohhh night terrors. You can suck it. Its a good thing I'm single. Sleeping with me would bite.
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