Thumbing

Not quite 100% on the health scale, but slowly and surely moving up, despite the fact that I take horrible care of myself.

Still coughing up chunks of lung, and my ears keep clogging from time to time, but no, that will not stop me from my main and present mission, i.e. going to the bar, which I did last night despite not quite feeling it.

You see, pretty much every weekend some old friend or another has been back in town for various reasons, and the last few months have been pretty much one, big, long celebration. I'm entirely ok with this.

...

I got my stimulus check in the mail today.

$

Canadian strip club, here I come. Its going to be a glorious night.

...

Ok, so I'm not actually going to a Canadian strip club, but you get the point.

I am however going to see my friend's burlesque troop perform tonight, and that will be, ah, equally as stimulating.

I invited my alcoholic dream girl to attend with me, which makes me feel a little bit like Dustin Hoffman from the Graduate, taking a possible "date" to watch women undressing on stage... What can I say, I'm a romantic at heart.

And again, I say "date" because I'm not sure if its actually a "date." Still haven't had that definition cleared up for me. Nor am I clear if she's actually interested in me in that way, despite her telling me drunkenly that she likes me, and that she's still in love with her ex with whom she's still involved with sexually.

I know how to pick them.

She did however mention he's out of town this weekend, which I'm not sure if that was just something that came up in conversation, or was a hopeful hint. Probably the former.

I'm not investing too much in this. Still, she can match me drink for drink, so it should be a fun night regardless of if it ends in sexy time or not. If she even goes with me.

Oh, another point in her favor, she mentioned she has to watch the new episode of Battlestar Galactica tonight, so might be late if she does go. Awesome! Lucky for me, my internet savvy ways enabled me to find the episode already online a few days ago, so I'm ahead of the game.

...

I was woken up to an odd text message this morning. I worry about your capacity to care for a dog, but more power to you. Still not sure as to why you felt the need to tell me this.

And other text messages from a friend of mine, recently moved away. I could possibly be organizing a trip to Denver sometime in the near future. Though I have tentative plans for a Chicago visit, and possibly another run to Austin. Though my plan making capabilities are somewhat diminished as of late. Well, pretty much all the time. I'm a horrible planner.

But I do have six hundred bucks to burn, so hell yeah. I could use a vacation.

2-1, We Still Got Time

Man, blackouts that occur at my work are like the snow-days of summer. Sometimes.

Like today, today was magical.

My schedule just got a major blow, in that I now have to work 2-10 three or so days out of the week. Suddenly I have mornings open again, and I'm typically a night person as it is. I don't do well with mornings.

So today was the first day. I got to work cranky as hell, mostly due to my sickness, which has entered the coughing up oddly green goo stage, which I can literally taste, and it is nasty. I hate this stage.

Then I got really angry about nothing for no reason, and decided to be silent and mad for a while. Then the blackout hit, and I thought, "oh shit, now its going to get really bad."

Last summer we had four or five blackouts, and I happened to be there for all of them. Which can be traumatic. Especially when it comes to keeping coolers and walk-in refrigerators cold, which can require the getting of the dry ice, in large amounts, and distributing the dry ice in every refrigerated unit. Or moving product to a cooling van of some sort.

Ps. Its fun to play the game, "How long can I stand in here without passing out," because dry ice sucks up all the oxygen in the room, especially a small, enclosed walk-in cooler, and people have literally passed out from being in there too long.

I get mad at this blackout, because the office staff seem to get to scoot out as soon as this happens. Its up to us, the workers in the trenches to do the manual labor, as always.

Unless you sneak out. Which I've done. Unashamedly.

But tonight worked in my favor. I got out earlier than I had wanted, and went to go watch the Red Wings game. And drank lots of whiskey and tea, in various forms, because we bar hopped in the hopes that the previous bar we were at somehow was causing our team bad luck, so the next bar would be good luck, which didn't happen, and then ending up at The Cafe, which proved to curse us even more, mainly because we lost. We basically figured tonight was cursed from the start.

So many superstitions among my hockey friends.

I cannot shave my mustache because it would be bad luck, considering as soon as I started growing it, the Wings started to really win.

S. carries around a Chewbacca figurine during the play-offs, and grows some facial hair himself.

D. cannot watch the game with S. at a certain sports bar, or the Wings lose.

Nor can the Wings and the Pistons win games on the same night, if they play on the same night. They must alternate winning and losing. Except for tonight. They both lost.

D. should have watched the game at home, its better luck.

The Tigers will always fuck up and lose. That's just the way it is.

(look at me, talking about sports. Ha.)
...

And my dreams have been really weird and disappointing lately. Especially the one about the ex this morning. Didn't need that.

At least I have two days off in a row this weekend. A godsend.

Oh, and my band will have its first show coming up, even though there's been some serious tension about one of our members, who doesn't consistently show up to practice, yet the one night we were going to bring it up and possibly excommunicate her, she showed up promptly.

Kind of like when you're angry about something, and the moment you get to release it, suddenly the other party apologizes, or gives in with a good excuse, and suddenly you just can't be angry anymore, despite trying.

Like when my boss wholeheartedly apologized to me (which is unheard of) for screwing me over the other day.

I wanted to be mad, I tried, but then the "I'm sorry" came out, and I melted.

I'm too nice sometimes.

Fall Down, Go Boom

I felt like a terminally ill kid, hospitalized and bedridden on the first day of summer. Outside, on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, all of my friends were out playing, and there I was, stuck in bed, struck with the plague.

And really hurting. Not so much due to the illness. More so because I wanted to be outside frolicking away on the almost-summer day.

I missed paint-balling. I just could not muster up the strength to go. I missed the kickball game, one of the cool things about this town in summer, the local businesses all organizing a huge kickball tournament. I missed not one, but two barbecues, and numerous beers with friends later at the bar. I missed a chance to hang out with a girl. I missed everything!

Somebody call the whaaa-bulance. I unashamedly was pouting to my roommate all day long, demanding she get me Chinese food. Which she did. Thank you, by the by. It saved my life.
And then I smoked a lot of herbal remedy, ahem, and I mean a lot, cause I had nothing better to do, and watched probably eight episodes of Battlestar Galactica. And hacked up and snotted out more goo than I care to describe, because its gross, and I wish I knew where all that gunk comes from.

Actually I don't want to know.

And then I had delirious fever dreams about having a son, and I had to protect him from strange mutant creatures that had freeze rays that would literally freeze parts of my body, and it felt real and hurt, and I woke up all crazy-like.

The weirdest thing about the dream was the feeling I had, of hugging my boy, and feeling such vivid emotion about it.

I've considered children, but I'm leaning more towards the "not for me" category. But it made me think about it.

Actually what made me think about it the most, was watching S.'s father Stanley at S. and B.'s wedding. It was the look on his face, the smiles all around, as he said how proud of his son he was... I felt funny for a little time after that, thinking about it. About having kids one day, thinking I could possibly do it. How I want to drink a beer with my kid(s) when they're all grown up and living their own lives, see their weddings, their pitfalls, their lives...

But there's so much I'm afraid of, mainly this world we live in now. How not safe it is, how much scary shit is out there. About how I would probably screw my kid up in many of the ways I feel like my parent's did me. Then again, I think most, if not all, people are screwed up in some ways.

Shudders. Whoa, being sick brings out some weird thoughts.

...

Anyway, I'm tired and full of goo. But I'm still going to go out tonight, because I just can't resist Monday nights, and I don't actually feel all that bad right now.

And I love beer. And I love this song

I sing it to myself as I walk to the The Bar.

And I like to watch people fall down, go boom.

The Funniest Nineteen Seconds of My Life

It took all morning to do, but I finally rearranged my room, and I am completely stoked about the new set-up.

I'm really shocked to say this, but I did something I never thought I'd be able to do. I packed up my Gamecube and my Playstation, and they now reside in a giant chest. The TV and various electronics I no longer use, thanks to my laptop, have been put in storage. I have also turned the old entertainment center table into a desk of sorts, which I am currently sitting on the floor and typing this at. Perhaps this will inspire me to actually use this desk for purposes other than mindless entertainment.

I mean, its been well over a month since I turned on the video game systems. Or my broken-ass TV. I cannot say I'm using my new found time all that wisely. I do tend to frequent the bar most nights of the week. But there are productive things going on, projects I'm forming in my mind.

Its also a good thing I've rearranged the room, because it had been in the same set-up as it was when I first moved in here.

There were times I found it very difficult to live in this apartment, considering its history. Sleeping in the same room I had slept in before, the set-up eerily similar to its previous occupant's whom I was intimate with, yeah, stupid memories.

But I've come to really like my apartment. Its a good deal. And my roommate is pretty much one of my best friends now. We get along great, and inspire each other to work on things. I edit things for her, she commands me to write songs, and drink, and its a good situation.

I like my room.

...

ok. Can someone please explain to me what a date is? I'm well aware that men and women sometimes have failures to communicate. But can we help each other out here? Let's be direct about things.

That being said, I had a really amazingly fun time. And I think I met my alcoholic dream girl. This girl matched me drink for drink. And pretty much ordered one for me one after the other, before I could even muster the yes I was going to say.

Our bill was a bit high. Especially high because the two bartenders that waited on us, rang us up incorrectly. 120$ worth of Absinthe is a bit much. A minor argument ensued, and we were both forbidden to have a tab there ever again. Which is no big deal since the bar is closing tonight for good. Oops.

But we had six. Each. And part of a seventh. Something tells me I really have a drinking problem, or the Absinthe ain't quite up to the usual amount of potency.

What really inspired me and my alcoholic dream girl, was that when we stumbled out of there, we passed another bar, and she insisted we get a pint of Guiness. So we did, and listened to an amazing performer, who played all the nineties butt rock favorites, like the Goo-Goo Dolls, and Oasis (which I requested Wonderwall. I'll admit I love that song. I don't care what you say). He had a little machine that filled in the rest of the instruments, so it sounded just like the actual song while he sang and played guitar.

We have a few things in common. Namely our abilities to consume massive amounts of alcohol and live, and we were both once engaged.

Unfortunately she also has a ex, of sorts, who she told me is bad news but is still having sex with anyway, which she did after I walked her home, as she informed me in a text message the next day. She also might be in Love with him. Or not, but she told me she also likes me a lot. Not sure if that's the like-like sense, again communication issues. And while this might not be the best girl to go for right now, I do kinda like her. I've hung out with her before, but only in group settings at the pub.

At least she's not moving away. Had me another one of those, which in the end is actually an awesome deal.

...

I don't think I was all that hungover this morning, but really I was more hungover from the four giant slices of pizza I ate in a drunken haze at three in the morning. Pizza hangover. My stomach is still not feeling it.

...

They are changing my work schedule, which is sort of bad news. I've managed to work 10-6 shifts for a long time now, and really like them. But now half my shifts are going to be the 2-10, or the alcoholic shift as I call it. Sleep til one, drink til four. Perfect for my lifestyle. Which is still fun, but man, I got to take a break soon.

...

And tomorrow is paint ball. Ooooh, I'm excited.

...

And the funniest nineteen seconds of my life, in the form of a youtube video, which I won't post because its NSFW and some people might not enjoy seeing two dogs engaged in intercourse, and then the dog on top vomits. But hey, look up "Dog Sex puke" on Youtube, if you feel like you might be into that kind of thing. I laughed for an hour. I am someone who appreciates these kinds of things.

...

Open Mic Night

A table of ladies in the far back of the room. Another table off to the side, a woman with gigantic, cavernous cleavage and her friend. The third table, my roommate and one of her new stalkers, a man who utterly lacks any kind of confidence or social skills relating to the opposite sex.

This was my audience for the open mic night I performed at last night. Guess which table actually paid attention to my singing.

It actually worked in my favor. I was utterly nervous before I strummed the first chord, chain smoking and peeing a little too often for the amount of beer I consumed. But as I strummed the first chord, it dawned on me that it didn't really matter who these people were, and they weren't really listening to me anyway. I relaxed a bit and played my "set" with ease, and had an amazing amount of fun, performing some originals and and long list of Mountain Goats' covers.

One girl told me I had a lot of nice "ditties." Not sure how to interpret that, but hey, its ok.

Such a strange venue for such an endeavor, the host bar being the local area sports bar I typically stay away from, except for a playoff game or two.

(My interest in sports is very and strictly limited to the playoffs. Basketball and hockey. Baseball I just can't watch.)

My favorite part was the roommate's stalker, who coward in the background, almost too afraid to actually sit and talk with roommate, who at the end of my playing gave me a very inspirational thank you speech. I just kind of laughed at it. I mean, I've played actual shows before, only like three, but it was a nice gesture.

...

Today was a special day at work. By special, I mean things were pretty messed up, which took place in the form of one of the ovens being broken, which happens way more often than it should. Broken since yesterday, one of the main pieces of equipment of my job. Lots of extra love being shared today, in the form of bitching and complaining, something we do best in our basement.

...

Oh, so much drinking going on these days. Putting serious dents in the cash flow. But on the other hand, many successfully fun nights. My social life is in full swing.

Not to mention some ladies are popping out of the woodwork. Which is exciting, but I'm not exactly looking to rush into a relationship at this point. In fact, I'm pretty dead set against it. The term "girlfriend" is not in my vocabulary currently.

But unfortunately the loins are whispering in my ear.

And I have a sorta date tonight. By sorta I'm not really sure if its a date-date, but it is a meeting up with someone to drink Absinthe, which I was shocked to discover is now legal again!

...

Other activities for this weekend include more drinking with friends coming to town, and I'm going paint balling on Sunday for the first time ever.

Finally I get to shoot people for real, sort of!

I'm totally aiming for the head.

Awesome!

Holy Crap!

Leonard, Lady Defender

Men can be serious douche bags sometimes.

I had been talking to her most of the night. A coworker of mine I sometimes see at the The Bar. I'll admit, I find her to be very attractive, and she's sweet and cool. She's also a good deal younger than me; not that I find the actual number of someone's age to be all that telling after a certain point. But she also seems young in terms of life experiences, from what I can tell, and also doesn't exactly seem to hold her liquor all that well. Ah, I remember my first bar year fondly. Or don't remember it all that well, and had to be filled in on the sordid details the next day, which usually meant I had to apologize to someone. To be that young again... sorry, I don't think I want to relive my twenties ever again.

It didn't help the douche bag she was there with was feeding her shots all night. And he was a douche bag, and he didn't seem too happy she was talking to me most of the evening. Same with another coworker who was also hanging out with us, who periodically swooped in like a vulture to win the other coveted seat next to her. As well as the four foreign dudes that tried to literally grab her as we left the bar, one of which I exchanged some heated words with, and was ready to punch in the face for his not-so-nice comments. Or the guy we passed on the walk home that told her she was beautiful and sexy, so I pretended to be her boyfriend, holding her hand as we walked on.

Granted, I probably didn't look like a knight in shining armor either, hanging out with her most of the evening, some of the regulars flashing me looks with raised eyebrows and smiles, the "you're gonna get some tonight" look...

And in fact, yes, certain thoughts did come to mind, to be honest and fair. She is attractive. But I do fancy myself an honorable gentleman. And I do have a slight crush on her, but alas, she's a youngin'. I wouldn't take advantage of any lady totally obliterated on the sauce.

I did end up carrying her home, as at one point she stumbled and fell into a bed of flowers, thus turning her ankle. I felt bad. So I lay down next to her, and we sat there for a while, as people passed by and inquired if we needed assistance.

Unfortunately she lives a ways out, and with the turned ankle I offered my place as a good resting area. In which I did selfishly offer her my bed, because I still have this compelling need for company, and human contact. Though I had to fight some urges, we didn't make out. Which I'm glad for. And instead cuddled up and slept, which can sometimes be so much more rewarding than any other kind of action to be had.

But ugh, there was something in the air last night. People, mostly the men folk, were acting like crazed, horny lunatics.

...

We met for coffee, despite many friend's warnings and advice. And though I had been preparing a list of things I wanted to say, somehow the subject of the past did not come up. I'm still angry about a lot of the things that happened, and almost felt let down after we parted. I got all worked up for nothing. But that was probably for the best. Angry words wouldn't really make me feel all that better in the long run.

Instead we just talked. Small talk. I suppose it was all right. A little awkward.

I just wish I didn't have those little emotional relapses I'm prone to. I can be pretty masochistic when it comes to the emotions. I'm a sucker for pain.

So then I drove the demons out with the usual remedy, whiskey and beer and good friends at the The Bar.

One of these days I'll stop going out all the time. Its really hurting my body.

...

I had a productive day yesterday. I finally opened a savings account. And I'm proud of myself. Then I bought some cd's and had a beer at the Cafe while I wrote some lyrics and enjoyed the sunshine.

I'm thinking about rearranging my room tonight or tomorrow. I think I actually want to make some sort of desk situation, like a work space, instead of doing everything in my tiny room on my bed. Especially the eating thing. Yeah, I eat in bed. Gotta snap out of that habit.

Mustache to Mustache

Ok. Seriously. Friends need to stop coming to town for visits. I mean, my friends, we are all raging alcoholics, and I don't need any further encouragement. I think one of these days my liver is going to give. I love you, but c'mon.

...

Granted its been a blast. Staying up until the wee hours of the morning, the sun starting to rise, and the dreaded bird song that when you hear it, you know you've had a decent night out, and are probably really, really drunk.

Saturday night was probably the pinnacle of the recent festivities. First there were the mustaches. I had three fake mustaches that used to reside on the door frame of my home, left over from mustache parties thrown by the ex, that I used to joke about saying they were like symbols from the Underground Railroad that signaled safe haven for mustache kind. I brought them to the The Bar, and the ladies I was hanging with all wore them, and there we sat in our booth, four mustaches all united.

Then a drive cross town to a party in the hair salon, which was entirely crazy. Pretty much anyone and everyone I know was in attendance, and quite drunk. Including the ex, which was awkward as always. So I did the only thing I could do to protect myself from that influence, and I drank even more.

Later we all came back to my house for yes, more alcohol (drinking whiskey and then wine at five in the morning = not a good idea) and we played songs and sang for each other on the guitar, like we used to do back in the day. It was joyous.

...

My new tattoo is itching like crazy. Most of the scabs have fallen off, though there is still dry, dead skin all about it. But it looks super-sweet, and I'm already planning my next tattoo. I'm thinking a broken hearted robot of some kind, holding a flower. A. has similar plans for a tattoo, and I think we're going to go together to get them done, our broken robots.

And if one remembers my previous analogy, yes, that tattoo is itching, too. Whenever I run into her in public, it always puts me in a mood for a few days. And I have to be careful about it. I'm still feeling the need for intimate human bodily contact, though not as overpowering as it has been.

...

I have to be careful. As she was leaving the party, something came over me, and I asked her to join me for a cup of coffee, you know, to talk about things...

I'm not sure it was the best idea. I'm still angry about a lot of things that happened between us. And there's still a part of me that cares very deeply.

A friend advised me to know what I want to get out of this talk. She mentioned 'closure' but I'm not really sure what that word means. Sometimes I think its just another word for getting the last word in.

I'm feeling confident enough in myself these days. I can handle it.

Tomorrow evening is going to be interesting.

...

Speaking of anger, work is utterly asinine. Mainly my work load, which thanks to the big O-pah, has increased ten fold. I now basically just make large piles of beef, and huge batches of baked beans. The show aired Friday, and we're still selling this particular product like its going out of style. It just figures it has to be my responsibility, well, and my counterparts.

They named me employee of the week because of this. Which is a joke to begin with. People know I don't exactly show school spirit around the work place, so they just love to comment on my employee of the week status. They literally gave me the coveted title, in the vain hopes that I don't ape-shit and start hurting people. Cause there were a couple times I was raising my voice over this. In a joking manner, but swearing and yelling all the same.

...

My parents are coming to town for the monthly bread run/take me out to dinner. Its going to awkward and hilarious. Because as long as I've known him, my father has had a mustache, pretty much the same style that mine is.

And there we will be, at the dinner table across from each other, mustache to mustache.

And I think about this scene in my head, and I start cracking up.

Cinco De Mustache, (And/or) Mayo-nnaise

I hesitated as I meandered toward the door that leads to the hallway, that leads to the stairs, to the heavy wooden door that leads to the Underground bar. I debated with myself, finding some kind of hidden strength to resist the urge to drink again. Strangely despite the week long binge I've been on, and I mean hard drinking bender banner week of binging, I still had the desire to consume a 40oz. at the local watering hole. Saner heads prevailed, and I smirked to myself as I chose to continue on my way. I need some sober time. The hangovers have been fierce, but well worth it, many a great night at the bar with good, true friends.

Instead I'm drinking tea, and catching up on some writing I've been doing, namely my fake blog on the Myspace page, which is a disturbing hobby of mine now. I wrote an email for the first time in months, and worked on some music. Band practice. And shortly sweet sleep. My body is in shambles.

...

Last nights fun included some arcade action which I really wasn't feeling this year. All the machines are the same, and I've beaten them all in the last three years. The sore arm of the machine gun arm is not worth it. Instead we hung out and drank a lot of booze, talked shit about coworkers and celebrated Cinco De Mayo.

Unfortunately the bar was also open to the public, and the clientele of this bar intimidated me very much. Lots of jock boys and sorority bitties. I've never been more afraid to use a restroom, especially with me and Leonard looking as gnarly as we do. One guy tried to get me to go into the bathroom stall with his friend, in a joking manner, to which I replied, "Give me twenty bucks and I'll do it," and then there was awkward silence, and I peed as fast as I could.

But there was the great bonus of the evening, free drinks and beaded necklaces and maracas that provided so much entertainment. I figured out how to open up the maracas and take out the ball bearings which served as the rattle, which I then threw at various coworkers all around the bar.

You should have seen the confused look on their faces as they were hit by a strange, little something, and then looked around the bar with a most dumbfounded expression. Hilarious. After I ran out of maracas I switched to the beaded necklaces, and then just started throwing beads at anyone within range. And then some of use headed to a porch for some late night porch talking, which is one thing I truly love about this town, sitting and drinkin' on porches.

But hangover was fierce today, and workload was as well. I shredded about sixty pounds of meat today. Goddamn that talk show host. Saturday all hell could possibly break loose. We'll see. I'm half hoping nothing happens, but then my labor will have been in vain. Sometimes my job is totally random and weird, and I like it for that reason, even if its a pain in the ass.

...

I find it most strange that I've really taken a liking to showering, specifically shampooing Leonard. I find it a most remarkable break in my bathing routine, and leaves my nose smelling the delicious scent of my manly shampoo for hours afterwards. Plus Leonard gets really soft to the touch.

Ok, I'm creeping myself out with all this talk. I'll stop.

...

Anyways, despite my broken body today has been really good. Plus the leaves are basically in full coverage. Everything is new again. I might go attempt to play at an open mike night tomorrow night. Its at a crappy bar, but it sounds like mega-fun. I'm really itchin to perform again.

...

Speaking of itchin, my tattoo is starting to shed the scabs, and its almost unbearable. It got me to thinking today, that falling out of love the hard way is like getting tattooed. At first the pain is unbearable. Its messy, and bloody, and it hurts. (if you've ever gotten a tattoo on the elbow, you'll know what I'm saying.) It runs deep. Then suddenly you're through it, the pain stops, but its still there. Then the scabs form, and a little while later the pain becomes an itch, then flakes off slowly, piece by piece. Then one day you wake up, and the pain is gone. Yet the mark still remains, the reminder, engraved forever, sometimes visible, sometimes not. Some days you even forget the mark is there at all, until someone points it out, or you find yourself staring at it for no reason at all. Huh, that's there all right.

Well, that's my stab at analogy tonight.

...

Tomorrow I might introduce my new idea for a food related event I have thought up. Its called Cinco De Mayo, (pronounced May-o as in the delicious treat known as Mayonnaise). We celebrate all food that goes well with sweet, sweet mayo (which is like, everything, cuz everything tastes better with Mayonnaise). It'll be a hit for sure.

I Balled Like a Baby

I cried. I cried and I cried. I balled like a baby. This coming from someone who hasn't shed more than two tears in a very, very long time. In fact, everyone did. The sound of sniffels throughout the restaurant, hankies dabbing at eyeballs, even S. and B. stuttering through tears as they said their vows. I lost it completely.

S. and B.'s wedding was perhaps the most beautiful wedding I've ever been to. The ceremony was short, and sweet, and completely heartfelt on every level. The presider of the ceremony did and amazing, philosophical job, (and had a most excellent mustache). I teared up immediately as the first song began to play, as did the whole wedding party. I'm still kinda weepy now.

Some other highlights from the wedding:

• The obligatory cute, baby, flower girl doing what cute, baby, flower girls do, as in stand completely still in the center of the room, rather than walking with her sister, as everyone gushed.
• A most excellent meal, which I told S. that it was most amazing, and that I would be having a most excellent, gourmet turd the next day.
• An older woman coming over to me and complimenting me on my suit (which was a huge hit.)
• J. and I exchanging phrases like, "I'm picking up what your laying down," "I like the cut of your jib," and "I'm eating what your pooping out." (My personal favorite).
• Some how Leonard has earned me the nickname "Free Candy."

...

Oh, and then there's Stanley. S.'s father, who normally I would protect the identity of, but with him, you simply have to say his name. His father is totally amazing. I love that man. I can't formulate the words to describe him, but he was the a huge hit with all of us. And we drank with him and it was sweet. I want to adopt him, or kidnap him and keep him in my basement in a jar.

...

After the wedding we bar hopped, and while everyone else changed out of their clothes, everyone demanded I stay in my suit, which I gladly did. I'm thinking about wearing it every Sunday and just walking around town in it. It makes me feel like I'm Salvidor Dali, or something.

And then I said my goodbyes to S. and B., tearing up again as I bid farewell to Stanley and M., and told them how much their son's existence truly means to me. Their smiles were thanks enough, the looks in their eyes.

Later we ended up at the The Bar, and I was truly drunk beyond all measure. I mean, we started at one in the afternoon, and didn't stop until 2 ish in the Am. J. and I again got into a deep conversation concerning our friendship, and practically made vows of our own to each other. And I cried again. Then I walked him to the house where he is staying, and parted ways.

And walking home, I was hit with this incredible desire. I was overwhelmed with joy, and had this feeling that I needed to have someone hold me all through the night. Not even sexual, I just needed a body to hold on to. I contemplated sending out some drunk texts, which roommate and I now have dubbed "Thumbing," but figured it might be misconstrued.

For example, "Oh man, some crazy girl thumbed me at like four in the morning!"

Hmm, that does sound kinda sexual doesn't it?
...

Ugh. So I guess a certain talk show will be airing the segment on my restaurant on this Friday at four o'clock. I won't mention the name, but it starts with O, and its going to be huge. My boss already asked me to make a mega-shit load of the featured product, which as fate would have it, is something me and one other person are responsible for.

Lucky us. Thanks O for the help. You've made my entire week.

But, as one friend put it, "Hey, you made something that became her turd."

I guess I'm honored.

...

I'm proud to say that I haven't played a video game in three weeks. But that will change tonight, because its the work party that I actually like to attend, because its free arcade games and free beer. Bring it on.

...

And an apology to the Lass: I know I pointed out that video in a mocking fashion, but for reals, I've never heard that song before, and now its totally in my head, and I actually do love it too.

Life is For Living

They call it the "Get what you get" deal. First you pay a flat rate of fifty dollars. Then you put your hand in a cigar box and without looking pick a piece of paper out of the box, which you uncrumple to reveal the tattoo the artist is going to put on you. As in, you must get whatever random tattoo you happened to pick.

Now, assuming its something entirely disagreeable, one may be allowed to pick again, after coughing up ten more dollars.

The three of us decided it would be an awesome idea to get tattooed in a such a manner, in honor of S.'s wedding day, which is tomorrow. And yes, we were very drunk when we decided this would be a good idea, to go about getting tattooed in this manner.

All day long I wondered if it would really work out this way. After all, my friends and I like to talk big sometimes.

So around five o'clock I got the call, and off we went to the parlor.

...

J. drew first. Chanting, "give me something metal..." as in rock music, he drew a demon's face with a dragon behind it. The three of us cackled with joy, because it was awesome. A. drew next, though the question weighing heavy on his mind, "Should I really do this?" He got a caricature of the famous Amelia Earhart, and again, the laughter, shouts of "Awesome!"

And as for me, of course, I happened to pick the one tattoo I had to decline. It was of a lady in a string bikini with giant knockers. My being able to commit to a woman issues notwithstanding, I had to think about this one long and hard.

On general principle, I should have gotten it. I got what I got, and them's the breaks.

But no. I sat there racking my brain trying to figure out if I really wanted it, knowing full well I shouldn't, when the artist came up with a different offer. He had me look at a poster full of tattoos, and pointed to one in the corner and said, "This one, and only this one, no extra drawing charge..."

I couldn't refuse it.

So now I have a skull, a pirate skull to be exact, wearing a hat and scarf, smoking a pipe, resting on my left bicep, in full view.

It is awesome.

I also asked the artist if he could add a mustache to the skull, but he declined for ascetic reasons. I'm thinking of going to a different place to see if they could add a mustache on later, but I suppose I should let this one heal first.

...

Oh, can someone who lived through this time please explain this to me? I mean, how creepy is this, and what is up with the lead singer's teeth?

Note - the awesome mustache on the jug player.

...

And I bought a new suit. I'm trying to find a way to post pictures, well, I mean I'm really lazy about posting pictures, and one day I will do it, cuz I'm thinking of getting a digital camera.

But the suit is sweet. Off-white, matching pants, and I also bought a ruffly, pirate-like shirt to go underneath.

I'm gonna look smoking hot tomorrow.

Leonard Loves You

It is done. Or at least partially on its way to completion.

Check it out: myspace

Heh.

More wedding shenanigans. I think I'm getting tattooed today. Though I'm not sure what of.

And its the first thunderstorm of the Spring. All hail.

Smoke and Mirrors in the Bathroom

It really is tangible, how the weather affects my moods. After a solid week of seventy degree days we had a cold spell rip through here, and for the last week I've been wandering around in a sullen mood. There were threats of snow, that luckily passed without incident. And despite my seemingly unending days after days of hangover, this day passed beautifully.

And instead of complaining about hangovers, which I never really do because it truly is my own fault, I've started to start each day at work by announcing how wonderful today's hangover is.

"Man, I'm having a great hangover today! How's your's going?"

But it is starting to wear on me, my body is in some state of disrepair, and it can't go on like this forever. I'm thinking of taking a week off of booze, probably after Monday. This weekend, though, its unstoppable. Wedding shinnanigans, friends in from out of town, and we are all basically alcoholics.

But its all right. We do what we do.

...

Sitting at the The Bar again, the four of us together, sitting in the booth we once swore that upon our inevitable deaths we would have our bodies bronzed and installed in, drinking together forever, so that anyone could hang out with us, our spirits...

Mugs in hand, me and my friends again, especially my friend J. whose recovery is simply remarkable.

There was a time when I'd thought we had truly lost him, when we almost gave up on him, left him for dead, because the road he was on was a dark one with a very definite end, and he was burning bridges, all of them, because he had to.

I don't know if he saw the tears welling up in my eyes, as we traded stories of bar nights past, our crazy, horrible antics, and then the real discussions, of his descent into the depths of drugs and alcohol, of his first failed engagement. He was never really the same after that one. And his words of advice and wisdom, concerning my failed attempts at marriage.

My man J. Its funny, because I used to tell the ex the same story over and over again when I was drunk, telling her all about my friend J., and how our friendship had fallen apart, about how much he meant to me. It became a running joke. "Did I ever tell you about my friend J.?"

...

Though I'll admit the night got a little out of hand, when we left the bar to go to a friend's house to drink even more, and there I sat in the living room, trying to play a guitar with only four strings, as my friends went off to a different room to do coke, which deeply kind of pissed me off.

I've done it before, only three times, and after the third time I got it all out of my system, literally, as I stayed up all night and then proceeded to throw up pretty much all of the next day.

I mean, do what you are going to do. I've lost more than a few friends that way, truly good people that turned into monsters, as their lives slowly fell apart around them. That was pretty much how J. got into trouble in the first place.

I was a little miffed about it. But fun is fun, and its a celebration. I'm glad I didn't go for it, as the thought crossed my mind for a tenth of a second. So instead I found my friend's girlfriend's bath robe and put it on, sprayed myself with cologne in the bathroom, and then played on two keyboards in a drunken fury.

...

My new joke when I'm at the pub is to ask people not to eat in front of me when I'm smoking. "Could you please not eat in front of me, I'm trying to smoke here..."

...

Oh, and perhaps you've noticed my mustache. Its my profile picture. His name is officially Leonard. Say hello to Leonard. He won't bite. Just don't touch Leonard.

Seriously, I feel like this mustache has given me a huge confidence boost. I can't really explain how or why. But I like it. I do, I do.