So I had a couple of amazing blog posts to do for you all, but I got fucked up and forgot them. This is what happens when you are as much of an alchy as I am. Oh, and some guy at the new hotel keeps sending me all these things to print out for him that I think I might just keep: Drink recipes. Some of them even look pretty good.
Speaking of the new hotel, I really like it so far. The front desk staff is very competent, friendly, and laid back, as is most everyone else I have met. It's interesting to know that my AGM does more drugs than I do. The system is a simpler remake of one I used to use, so I just jumped right on in on that. The biggest irritation is the fact that they don't have credit cards integrated into the system. It might be an older property, but it's very well kept up, and half the rooms have an amazing view of the space needle.
As for my other things, the bar is still going well, of course. Progress with Mala has gone interestingly. I got really drunk one night and hit on her perhaps a bit more blatantly than I needed too, but now she seems to be fairly interested, but a little unsure of what to do about it. I love the beginning parts of a seduction I really shouldn't do. In that same line, I am also looking to see who at the new property I want to work my magic on. So far there is one girl in accounting that's a smoking hot little Asian with just enough of an accent to light me up a little, and all the girls at the front desk are cute, but way off limits because I am their boss. We'll see if there is anyone in house keeping or the restaurant that is worth my time. Oh, and there is another chick at the bar who might be interested, but she wants me to grow a full beard. That's not happening, no matter how hot she is, or how cool her dog is. Also, on Friday night there was another really cool, hot chick that was hanging around outside with me for a fair portion of the night. I think she'll be back for some more of the Cox; they always are. And while I might be seeing Jenny a bit more often than I should, at least this way I stay out of trouble from spending too much time at the bar trolling for sluts to take home.
One more drastically important thing occurred yesterday. As a welcome gift from my new boss at the new hotel I got a porno mag that had been found in one of the rooms. Granted, they really don't help me, and I don't masturbate, so normally it would only be a kinda funny story, but because this is me, other weird things happened that mattered. Simone and I only have the one house key so far, and because I got home before she did yesterday I was locked out. This wouldn't have been a big deal if I had had something to read other than that porno mag. Like I said, the mags don't do much for me, but you'd have to be dead to not get a little horny after spending 40 minutes flipping through one. The only things that kept me from going straight to the bar to kill time, or get laid was that I didn't want to go out wearing my work clothes, and I had to work at 6am. So instead I ended up horny and had to call Jenny to come over, which she didn't manage to do. Guess I'm going to the bar tonight. It's been a week and a half since I dumped a load, I can't wait that long. Granted I've been laid a couple times in that time, but I haven't finished. I can't take much more of this, I need to get laid.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Death By Stein
I know it's strange lately to see me post things two days in a row, but sometimes I really just have to tell the story before I forget it. Granted I probably already forgot about 60% of the story anyways due to alcohol, but it still needs to be told.
Last night, when I got off work at the hotel, I went up the street to The Great Nabob, collectively known as The Bar, My Bar, and My Real Home. I wasn't planning to go up there last night. I wanted to go home and unpack, and even maybe get some sleep. I did eventually sleep, but lets not skip to the end like that. The whole reason I even went up there was because my new boss said he'd be up there last night, so, obviously, he wasn't. And then events forced my hand, so I stayed for longer than I should have.
When you go to a bar where you know everyone it's a lot like Cheers, only without the corny music. But that means that you are at least partially beholden to all those people. So if someone's birthday starts at midnight, you stay, and because it's a bar, you drink. If you're anything like me (and I know all of you are) that means you drink a LOT. B-Rad, Ben, Palani, Heidi, Jeff, Jeff's dog Sadie, Carl, Clinton and his girlfriend, Devlin, Chris, Scotty, Jenny, Alicia, John, Allison, Me, and the birthday girl, Karla. That was the approximate population of the bar throughout the time I was there. Oh, and two people no one knew.
I started with three Yaze (a ginger infused vodka that I love) and tonics in about the first 20 minutes. Karla makes them doubles for me. After that I switched to beer for a bit, and had three of those in me as well by the time midnight rolled around. We had also been doing a little detective work on who had stolen the Maker's Mark painting, and had found the most likely suspect. To celebrate her birthday and the detective work Karla got everyone in the bar a Washington Apple. Normally none of us would drink that sort of thing, but it was a toast to the douche bags that were all out on Saturday when the painting was stolen. After that I had a few more shots. Jager, Jameson, Hornitos, some other mixed shot, and then another Jager.
I can safely say that at this point in time I was drunk because there is no other excuse for the things I did next. Honestly, who eats birthday cake and ice cream when they just drank what I did? And keep in mind it was only about 1 am at this point in time. Oh, and I was chasing my cake and ice cream with beer. Somewhere around this time is when B-Rad and I started chugging 16oz cans of Bitburger. It's also when my memory started getting strange, and time played tricks on me. During this time everyone but me, B-Rad, and Karla left. And then it happened. B-Rad pulled out the steins.
These steins are so huge they could engulf a 44oz Big Gulp with plenty of room to spare. And I do mean plenty. They're probably about the same volume as Das Boot. I think they are about 18 inches tall. And B-Rad put ice and beer in them. Why ice? Because the beer was warm, and he wanted to chug it. Apparently so did I. But half way through I had to stop to hit the can. Apparently I'm no longer in professional beer drinking shape anymore because I puked my guts out. I think it was the cake and ice cream that did it to me. The combination of that much sweet stuff, cream, and a horrendous mix of booze did me in. But at least I finished my stein when I was done. Along with another two or three beers. And then, at 4 am, we all left, and I drove home. I really miss living a block and a half away sometimes.
Last night, when I got off work at the hotel, I went up the street to The Great Nabob, collectively known as The Bar, My Bar, and My Real Home. I wasn't planning to go up there last night. I wanted to go home and unpack, and even maybe get some sleep. I did eventually sleep, but lets not skip to the end like that. The whole reason I even went up there was because my new boss said he'd be up there last night, so, obviously, he wasn't. And then events forced my hand, so I stayed for longer than I should have.
When you go to a bar where you know everyone it's a lot like Cheers, only without the corny music. But that means that you are at least partially beholden to all those people. So if someone's birthday starts at midnight, you stay, and because it's a bar, you drink. If you're anything like me (and I know all of you are) that means you drink a LOT. B-Rad, Ben, Palani, Heidi, Jeff, Jeff's dog Sadie, Carl, Clinton and his girlfriend, Devlin, Chris, Scotty, Jenny, Alicia, John, Allison, Me, and the birthday girl, Karla. That was the approximate population of the bar throughout the time I was there. Oh, and two people no one knew.
I started with three Yaze (a ginger infused vodka that I love) and tonics in about the first 20 minutes. Karla makes them doubles for me. After that I switched to beer for a bit, and had three of those in me as well by the time midnight rolled around. We had also been doing a little detective work on who had stolen the Maker's Mark painting, and had found the most likely suspect. To celebrate her birthday and the detective work Karla got everyone in the bar a Washington Apple. Normally none of us would drink that sort of thing, but it was a toast to the douche bags that were all out on Saturday when the painting was stolen. After that I had a few more shots. Jager, Jameson, Hornitos, some other mixed shot, and then another Jager.
I can safely say that at this point in time I was drunk because there is no other excuse for the things I did next. Honestly, who eats birthday cake and ice cream when they just drank what I did? And keep in mind it was only about 1 am at this point in time. Oh, and I was chasing my cake and ice cream with beer. Somewhere around this time is when B-Rad and I started chugging 16oz cans of Bitburger. It's also when my memory started getting strange, and time played tricks on me. During this time everyone but me, B-Rad, and Karla left. And then it happened. B-Rad pulled out the steins.
These steins are so huge they could engulf a 44oz Big Gulp with plenty of room to spare. And I do mean plenty. They're probably about the same volume as Das Boot. I think they are about 18 inches tall. And B-Rad put ice and beer in them. Why ice? Because the beer was warm, and he wanted to chug it. Apparently so did I. But half way through I had to stop to hit the can. Apparently I'm no longer in professional beer drinking shape anymore because I puked my guts out. I think it was the cake and ice cream that did it to me. The combination of that much sweet stuff, cream, and a horrendous mix of booze did me in. But at least I finished my stein when I was done. Along with another two or three beers. And then, at 4 am, we all left, and I drove home. I really miss living a block and a half away sometimes.
Monday, December 1, 2008
It Might Take A While...
I think that, in video games, when someone casts a sleep spell on your character they should be hit with a turkey. Alright, that might be a little nerdy for some of you to understand, but lets just stick with the fact that turkey makes me tired just like everyone else. The next time someone (other than me) says they need to go to sleep, just slap them with a turkey.
I hadn't realized how long it had been since I updated this. I'm not sorry, I'm just busy as Hell. You know, Hell is getting busier all the time; all those dead hedonists. Pretty much since the last update on what I have been up to I haven't had much rest. I am in the middle of working an eight day stretch of ten hour shifts at my soon to be finished job, I've started at the new hotel for a couple days, I've worked the door at the bar a few times, and on top of all of that I'm also moving. Oh, and don't forget Thanksgiving. You would think that with all of this going on even I wouldn't have time to screw around and get drunk as hell and do stupid shit, in which case you would be wrong.
Working at the bar is fucking awesome. I might not be able to drink on shift, but after shift is party time. On the nights I have worked there, I haven't left the bar earlier than 5:30 am. Nor have I left sober. We kick almost everyone out at 2 am, and then with some of the regulars and all the staff we get fucked up. We smoke, smoke, and drink the rest of the morning while we actually do work. There's this little Asian chick who comes in almost entirely for the after hours stuff named Mala. Interesting girl, really cute, kicking body, but FUCKED up teeth. Can't decide if I want to fuck her or not. Really, her teeth kinda scare me, but as long as she's not trying to bite me with those weird ass things, I might be able to handle it. Or I can just get really fucked up and then fuck her; I'd never notice then. One of the other things that rules about working there is the 50% discount on drinks. It's not all drinks, but it's all the ones that I drink. Oh, and my job is just cool. Mario is convinced that my job encourages one thing: abuse of power. Think about it. I control who does, and who doesn't get into the bar. Hot chicks always get in as long as they are legal. Their boyfriends.... sometimes they get in, sometimes they don't. Or ID'ing the girls that just came out for a smoke so that I can have an extra minute or so to hit on them, and enjoy the eye candy. Yes, this job is perfect for me.
Saturday night I got a fair bit more fucked up than I meant to. After I got off work at the hotel, I walked up the street (still in my work clothes, tie and all) and started working the door. I've never seen that place so crazed. Even Halloween, and Bumbershoot were tamer than Saturday night. We had pretty much run out of glasswear a couple of times, so the bartenders were making gin & tonics in Duchess glasses (it's a damn goblet for a particular beer). God only knows how many beer bottles and glasses were broken that night, but I'm the one who sweapt them all up. After that I just sat down to get fucked up. Smoke a J with the bartenders and some of the regulars, throw back a few shots, and work at keeping up with B-Rad for drinks. Unfortuneately, I actually did keep up with B-Rad. Even when he tried to climb up on the bar and yell to the four other people in the bar that he was trashed. At this point I realized I was worse off than he was since I had matched him drink for drink, but he didn't smoke anything. The hangover the next day really bit.
I really don't have much else to update you all on. I try to stick to the exciting things, but really not much has been happening. Thanksgiving I saw my family. I'm finally all moved to the new place, but not unpacked. I don't have internet there, so I am going a little crazy. When I get off work tonight I think I'm gonna go get fucked up.
As always, don't do anything I would do.
I hadn't realized how long it had been since I updated this. I'm not sorry, I'm just busy as Hell. You know, Hell is getting busier all the time; all those dead hedonists. Pretty much since the last update on what I have been up to I haven't had much rest. I am in the middle of working an eight day stretch of ten hour shifts at my soon to be finished job, I've started at the new hotel for a couple days, I've worked the door at the bar a few times, and on top of all of that I'm also moving. Oh, and don't forget Thanksgiving. You would think that with all of this going on even I wouldn't have time to screw around and get drunk as hell and do stupid shit, in which case you would be wrong.
Working at the bar is fucking awesome. I might not be able to drink on shift, but after shift is party time. On the nights I have worked there, I haven't left the bar earlier than 5:30 am. Nor have I left sober. We kick almost everyone out at 2 am, and then with some of the regulars and all the staff we get fucked up. We smoke, smoke, and drink the rest of the morning while we actually do work. There's this little Asian chick who comes in almost entirely for the after hours stuff named Mala. Interesting girl, really cute, kicking body, but FUCKED up teeth. Can't decide if I want to fuck her or not. Really, her teeth kinda scare me, but as long as she's not trying to bite me with those weird ass things, I might be able to handle it. Or I can just get really fucked up and then fuck her; I'd never notice then. One of the other things that rules about working there is the 50% discount on drinks. It's not all drinks, but it's all the ones that I drink. Oh, and my job is just cool. Mario is convinced that my job encourages one thing: abuse of power. Think about it. I control who does, and who doesn't get into the bar. Hot chicks always get in as long as they are legal. Their boyfriends.... sometimes they get in, sometimes they don't. Or ID'ing the girls that just came out for a smoke so that I can have an extra minute or so to hit on them, and enjoy the eye candy. Yes, this job is perfect for me.
Saturday night I got a fair bit more fucked up than I meant to. After I got off work at the hotel, I walked up the street (still in my work clothes, tie and all) and started working the door. I've never seen that place so crazed. Even Halloween, and Bumbershoot were tamer than Saturday night. We had pretty much run out of glasswear a couple of times, so the bartenders were making gin & tonics in Duchess glasses (it's a damn goblet for a particular beer). God only knows how many beer bottles and glasses were broken that night, but I'm the one who sweapt them all up. After that I just sat down to get fucked up. Smoke a J with the bartenders and some of the regulars, throw back a few shots, and work at keeping up with B-Rad for drinks. Unfortuneately, I actually did keep up with B-Rad. Even when he tried to climb up on the bar and yell to the four other people in the bar that he was trashed. At this point I realized I was worse off than he was since I had matched him drink for drink, but he didn't smoke anything. The hangover the next day really bit.
I really don't have much else to update you all on. I try to stick to the exciting things, but really not much has been happening. Thanksgiving I saw my family. I'm finally all moved to the new place, but not unpacked. I don't have internet there, so I am going a little crazy. When I get off work tonight I think I'm gonna go get fucked up.
As always, don't do anything I would do.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Advances in Chaos
Everyone needs something to stare at while they think I believe. Some people stare blankly at the TV, or the wall. Me I stare at women. Today it was the long legged beauty on the couch in the corner of the lobby. She has absolutely phenomenal legs. Seriously, they're amazing enough to give ME fantasies, and I usually don't bother with those. Oh, and there's been this really cute Asian chick wandering through flirting with me too. And some decent cougars too. Anyways, seeing these two I started thinking and realized that I hadn't updated anyone on all the recent chaos in my life.
First lets talk about the shit I have been working. Since so many people have left recently from my work, I got roped into working 2 night audits, and 3 morning shifts. Do you know how much that sucks? I'm still a night person; I don't sleep. Since I don't ever manage to get to sleep at a reasonable time, I never wake up on time either. Damn, Legs just left. So I've been late a fair bit recently. Not more than an hour, but it's been once a week since I started working this shift set. Apparently, I can rack up a ridiculous number of write ups for this because they can't afford to fire me, and they want me to be supervisor. And then, last week, there was Thursday.
It started innocently enough. I worked at 6:45, and I was on time having been late the day before. Off at 2:45 and off I went to look at new places to live in since Simone and I hadn't yet found one we agreed on. The last place I looked at was up on Queen Anne Hill about 5 blocks from Nabob (the bar I'm always at) so I stopped in for a drink. I really meant it to be one. I even tried to order PBR, but my bartender forced me to enjoy happy hour by drinking Black Butte Porters, some German beer, and something else I don't remember. I did eventually get that PBR I had ordered, but that was 2 hours and several beers later. Best part was that I didn't have to actually pay for any of them. I spent most of that 2 hours playing pool with some random guys and they put all my drinks on their collective tab. Legs is back again; thank god for women who love to let their best features show so well. After that I took off back home, grabbed Audrey's computer I had been fixing, and brought it over to work to give it back to her. And this is where the trouble started.
One of the guys at work and I decided we needed a couple drinks, so we headed back up to Nabob, but not until we had coerced Audrey into coming up after she got off work and bringing our boss's girlfriend with her. Again, someone else paid for my drinks, thankfully. After the girls showed up, I got a fair bit drunker than I meant too. There are two reasons for that. One: I hadn't eaten since that morning. Two: As we all know, I drink better with an audience. Apparently I also flirt better with an audience. Apparently I was pretty ridiculous, and the chick I was hitting on most fervently was actually fairly receptive to it. She was also, according to my co-worker, a 7.5 or an 8, and two to four years older than me. Her friend, on the other hand, was about a 3.5, six to eight years older, and wanted my balls something fierce. I also spilled my guts to Whitney about how there's no way I could ever date Audrey, which, as always, relegates us to friends, and I always need more attractive women as friends. BTW, Legs has left the building for the last time; I think I'm gonna cry. Wait, never mind, this new chick who walked in is pretty cute too. When they finally did last call, we stopped by 7-11 and got more beer, and a bottle of wine for the girls. Then we hit the roof. The roof of work. With booze. At 2 am. Great plan. A couple hours later (4am), I finally went home, drunk as hell, and passed out on my phone so I didn't wake up when my alarm went off at 6 am to wake me up for work. In fact, I didn't wake up until around 2ish, and didn't call my work until the next day. And no, I didn't get fired. I think I paid for my mistake though. I had a hangover, and I hadn't gotten laid. Surely that's punishment enough?
Since I had failed magisterially to get laid on Thursday, and was too hungover to do anything about it Friday, and I worked both Saturday and Sunday nights I knew I had to get laid Monday. Now, granted, this is me we're talking about here. I could have still performed on Friday, and its pretty easy, and fun to get laid in the middle of the day, but you have to remember a couple things. Even I hate hangovers, despite the fact that I spend way too much of my life that way; I slept most of Saturday; and I was too high on Sunday to find the drive to get off the couch for much of anything. All this means that I did what any rational, crazed, horny man would do: I called my ex-girlfriend, the bookseller. No, I still refuse to explain myself over that one. So when she showed up we headed straight for the bar because that's what we do before we go fuck. At the bar we played a lot of pool and drank a lot of beer. Interesting things happened at the bar that night. First, Palani, the bartender, asked me to work the door Friday night, so now I have a job at my favorite bar which is awesome because they give me a discount on drinks. Secondly, I ran into the guy who has been trying to recruit me for another hotel in Seattle, and got an interview set up for the next day. Third, was a really strange couple that decided they wanted to hit on Jenny and I. Granted, they had just met tonight, and the girl had just broken up with her boyfriend, so some strangeness was to be expected, but not this. Oh, and the guy had the most irritating laugh in history. They first showed up while I was out smoking with my friend from work, and had caught Jenny before she made it outside, so she was playing a game against the guy when I came in. As soon as I got back the girl started professing her love for my "girlfriend". And the guy kept trying to rub my leg. It was really strange. The girl seemed interested in both Jenny and I because she kept rubbing my crotch, and flirting with Jenny, telling her how beautiful, smart, and just generally amazing she is. Jenny doesn't do threesomes with me, she doesn't like to share, so that was out. And there was no way in hell that guy was ever getting near me in a sexual situation. Still, the fact that the girl hit on both of us, and the guy was hitting on only me kinda creeped me out. Either way, they bailed after Jenny talked the girl into sleeping with that guy. Let me tell you, that conversation was hysterical. We bounced soon after and did what we do best.
Tuesday I went in for that interview, and walked out with a new job. Wednesday I quit my job, signed the lease agreements for the new apartment, and helped Simone get a few things moved in. We also discovered the greatest thing about the new place: the downstairs closet under the stairs locks from the outside. If Mario ever comes over I am locking him in that closet until he finally comes out of the closet and admits he's gay.
First lets talk about the shit I have been working. Since so many people have left recently from my work, I got roped into working 2 night audits, and 3 morning shifts. Do you know how much that sucks? I'm still a night person; I don't sleep. Since I don't ever manage to get to sleep at a reasonable time, I never wake up on time either. Damn, Legs just left. So I've been late a fair bit recently. Not more than an hour, but it's been once a week since I started working this shift set. Apparently, I can rack up a ridiculous number of write ups for this because they can't afford to fire me, and they want me to be supervisor. And then, last week, there was Thursday.
It started innocently enough. I worked at 6:45, and I was on time having been late the day before. Off at 2:45 and off I went to look at new places to live in since Simone and I hadn't yet found one we agreed on. The last place I looked at was up on Queen Anne Hill about 5 blocks from Nabob (the bar I'm always at) so I stopped in for a drink. I really meant it to be one. I even tried to order PBR, but my bartender forced me to enjoy happy hour by drinking Black Butte Porters, some German beer, and something else I don't remember. I did eventually get that PBR I had ordered, but that was 2 hours and several beers later. Best part was that I didn't have to actually pay for any of them. I spent most of that 2 hours playing pool with some random guys and they put all my drinks on their collective tab. Legs is back again; thank god for women who love to let their best features show so well. After that I took off back home, grabbed Audrey's computer I had been fixing, and brought it over to work to give it back to her. And this is where the trouble started.
One of the guys at work and I decided we needed a couple drinks, so we headed back up to Nabob, but not until we had coerced Audrey into coming up after she got off work and bringing our boss's girlfriend with her. Again, someone else paid for my drinks, thankfully. After the girls showed up, I got a fair bit drunker than I meant too. There are two reasons for that. One: I hadn't eaten since that morning. Two: As we all know, I drink better with an audience. Apparently I also flirt better with an audience. Apparently I was pretty ridiculous, and the chick I was hitting on most fervently was actually fairly receptive to it. She was also, according to my co-worker, a 7.5 or an 8, and two to four years older than me. Her friend, on the other hand, was about a 3.5, six to eight years older, and wanted my balls something fierce. I also spilled my guts to Whitney about how there's no way I could ever date Audrey, which, as always, relegates us to friends, and I always need more attractive women as friends. BTW, Legs has left the building for the last time; I think I'm gonna cry. Wait, never mind, this new chick who walked in is pretty cute too. When they finally did last call, we stopped by 7-11 and got more beer, and a bottle of wine for the girls. Then we hit the roof. The roof of work. With booze. At 2 am. Great plan. A couple hours later (4am), I finally went home, drunk as hell, and passed out on my phone so I didn't wake up when my alarm went off at 6 am to wake me up for work. In fact, I didn't wake up until around 2ish, and didn't call my work until the next day. And no, I didn't get fired. I think I paid for my mistake though. I had a hangover, and I hadn't gotten laid. Surely that's punishment enough?
Since I had failed magisterially to get laid on Thursday, and was too hungover to do anything about it Friday, and I worked both Saturday and Sunday nights I knew I had to get laid Monday. Now, granted, this is me we're talking about here. I could have still performed on Friday, and its pretty easy, and fun to get laid in the middle of the day, but you have to remember a couple things. Even I hate hangovers, despite the fact that I spend way too much of my life that way; I slept most of Saturday; and I was too high on Sunday to find the drive to get off the couch for much of anything. All this means that I did what any rational, crazed, horny man would do: I called my ex-girlfriend, the bookseller. No, I still refuse to explain myself over that one. So when she showed up we headed straight for the bar because that's what we do before we go fuck. At the bar we played a lot of pool and drank a lot of beer. Interesting things happened at the bar that night. First, Palani, the bartender, asked me to work the door Friday night, so now I have a job at my favorite bar which is awesome because they give me a discount on drinks. Secondly, I ran into the guy who has been trying to recruit me for another hotel in Seattle, and got an interview set up for the next day. Third, was a really strange couple that decided they wanted to hit on Jenny and I. Granted, they had just met tonight, and the girl had just broken up with her boyfriend, so some strangeness was to be expected, but not this. Oh, and the guy had the most irritating laugh in history. They first showed up while I was out smoking with my friend from work, and had caught Jenny before she made it outside, so she was playing a game against the guy when I came in. As soon as I got back the girl started professing her love for my "girlfriend". And the guy kept trying to rub my leg. It was really strange. The girl seemed interested in both Jenny and I because she kept rubbing my crotch, and flirting with Jenny, telling her how beautiful, smart, and just generally amazing she is. Jenny doesn't do threesomes with me, she doesn't like to share, so that was out. And there was no way in hell that guy was ever getting near me in a sexual situation. Still, the fact that the girl hit on both of us, and the guy was hitting on only me kinda creeped me out. Either way, they bailed after Jenny talked the girl into sleeping with that guy. Let me tell you, that conversation was hysterical. We bounced soon after and did what we do best.
Tuesday I went in for that interview, and walked out with a new job. Wednesday I quit my job, signed the lease agreements for the new apartment, and helped Simone get a few things moved in. We also discovered the greatest thing about the new place: the downstairs closet under the stairs locks from the outside. If Mario ever comes over I am locking him in that closet until he finally comes out of the closet and admits he's gay.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Aftermath...
Most of you are actually vaguely used to me keeping the weirdest hours on the planet, but, unfortunately for me, I'm not used to it anymore. Luckily, once the bookseller showed up, we hit the bar. Two vodka red bulls later, I was actually pretty awake. OK, kinda awake. Awake enough to beat her at pool anyways. We got home about ten or eleven, and actually fell asleep around two.
I know that I'm a sex addict, but sometimes it's just a specific type of sex. In this case, that would be violent, crazed, rough sex. Details would require pictures. Recovery would require skin grafts. It always cracks me up that she continues to be surprised that I can not only handle sex that rough, but that I crave it. Apparently she has to attempt to behave herself with other men because they can't take it... pussies. The other thing that cracks me up is that we can spend all evening hanging out together and not touch each other or anything. We both know what we're going to be doing later, but it has no part in most of our time together. We're all friendly, nice, and a little standoffish physically up until we get started, and then we tear each other apart. Whatever, the sex is good.
On other fronts, the new girl at work is cute, but way wrong for me. I know this never stops me, but still. As for work, there are currently six or so good lookin older women in the lobby. Oh, and I'm falling asleep. Yeah, I didn't sleep last night because I'm an idiot. Also, by the time I was finally tired I would never have made it to work on time if I had gone to sleep then. So, yay, I get a 28+ hour day, again. I really wish I could figure out how I manage to live like this. Seriously, I think I died a long time ago, but I've been having too much fun to let go. There's really no other way to explain how I manage to live off of what I eat, how little sleep I get, and how much I drink, smoke and fuck. By the way, there's a song that the only real lines are "I drink. I smoke. I fuck." It's actually a pretty cool song, not to mention pretty well laying out my life. Along with "Jesus Doesn't Love You Anymore" and "I'm a Bad, Bad Man" I think I'm pretty much covered. I didn't even need Emo rock to do it either.
Either way, I think it's time to pass out standing up.
I know that I'm a sex addict, but sometimes it's just a specific type of sex. In this case, that would be violent, crazed, rough sex. Details would require pictures. Recovery would require skin grafts. It always cracks me up that she continues to be surprised that I can not only handle sex that rough, but that I crave it. Apparently she has to attempt to behave herself with other men because they can't take it... pussies. The other thing that cracks me up is that we can spend all evening hanging out together and not touch each other or anything. We both know what we're going to be doing later, but it has no part in most of our time together. We're all friendly, nice, and a little standoffish physically up until we get started, and then we tear each other apart. Whatever, the sex is good.
On other fronts, the new girl at work is cute, but way wrong for me. I know this never stops me, but still. As for work, there are currently six or so good lookin older women in the lobby. Oh, and I'm falling asleep. Yeah, I didn't sleep last night because I'm an idiot. Also, by the time I was finally tired I would never have made it to work on time if I had gone to sleep then. So, yay, I get a 28+ hour day, again. I really wish I could figure out how I manage to live like this. Seriously, I think I died a long time ago, but I've been having too much fun to let go. There's really no other way to explain how I manage to live off of what I eat, how little sleep I get, and how much I drink, smoke and fuck. By the way, there's a song that the only real lines are "I drink. I smoke. I fuck." It's actually a pretty cool song, not to mention pretty well laying out my life. Along with "Jesus Doesn't Love You Anymore" and "I'm a Bad, Bad Man" I think I'm pretty much covered. I didn't even need Emo rock to do it either.
Either way, I think it's time to pass out standing up.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Stay Awake Forever: Plan B
Most people seem to have trouble staying awake for long periods of time, but not me. Once, a long time ago, I developed the perfect formula for staying awake and alert for long periods of time. Subsequently, I immediately used this formula to stay awake for three days so that I could consume a ridiculous amount of drugs (see Recipe For Destruction) after which I could never remember the exact formula for staying awake and alert. Because of this drastic malfunction of my higher memory skills I have been forced to make do with my backup formula, detailed below.
A Reason
Cigarettes
Booze, Lots of
A desire to get laid
A passionate, and completely unfounded, fear of not waking up early enough to get things done (note: Make sure you don't actually have anything to get done, it defeats the entire purpose)
Last, and most important, have three retard, construction, assholes from some Eastern Bloc country using power saws and hammers on the external siding RIGHT NEXT TO YOUR WINDOW!!!!
So I worked night audit last night, meaning that I woke up at 5pm, and its pretty much that time now, on the next day. I went to the bar after I got off work, had a couple drinks, and then came home to try and sleep. Yeah, that didn't work. First some guy closes my window from the outside (keep in mind I live on the second floor... It's pretty far up), and then he fires off some sort of saw. It pretty much got worse after that, and it lasted for about an hour or so. And then started again fifteen minutes later. It's been off and on pretty much all day. Not to mention all the yelling they all do at each other in something that sounds vaguely Russianish. I had all sorts of important things I needed to do today, so I made a plan.
First, I went out in the living room and smoked a joint. Then I smoked another one. After that I had pretty much forgotten that they were working on my room, why I was still awake, what I had to do today (nothing), and also when the last time I ate was. Since I forgot all of that, Mario and I decided to play Halo instead. Seemed like a good idea. Stoned Halo.... ah, great fun. Then we went boarding, and by the time we came home I was sober and really, really tired. At this point a weaker person might have given in, but not this man. No, I put the Stay Awake Forever Plan B (patent pending. No, not really) into effect. It starts with a reason.
Reason: Must fuck ex-girlfriend tonight.
Why? Um, you don't call an ex, tell her to come over, and then NOT fuck her.
No, why are you still sleeping with her? Do we really have to discuss this now?
Fine, moving on.
Cigarettes: $5
Sprite: $1.50
Red Vines: $1.25
Not bothering to put on a shirt because you couldn't be bothered, and besides, you were wearing a jacket: Priceless
So, yeah. Smokes, Sprite, and Red Vines. Healthy dinner, I know. Booze was already taken care of by the left over bourbon, AKA: Fightin & Fuckin Juice, from the other night (I'll write it eventually, or forget it, whatever). I think I covered everything else from the SAF Plan B.
I've heard that there are other things that work for staying up. I believe one is called caffeine, usually contained in coffee. Apparently, coffee is the weirdest thing you can ever add salt to, and this will cause you to be ostracized from all coffee drinking cliques. In theory you can also prop your eyelids up, but if you can roll your eyes back in your head it doesn't work so well. Also I hear setting yourself on fire is a great way to stay awake. With out serious painkillers you'll never sleep through bad enough burns.
Please use caution when using this product as there may be some side effects. Known side effects include: insomnia, paranoia, lethargy, delusions, wild fluctuations in sex drive, nausea, heart burn, acid reflux, diarrhea, unconsciousness leading to coma, variable weight gain or loss, anger, depression, lack of appetite, nose bleed, liver disease, cancer, heart attack, AIDS, gonorrhea, syphilis, herpes, clap, and sometimes you might get tennis elbow from all the cigarettes. One symptom that all users experience is something akin to a hangover. I am not responsible for what may happen to you if you choose to use this product. Hell, I barely manage to take responsibility for what I do when I use it.
A Reason
Cigarettes
Booze, Lots of
A desire to get laid
A passionate, and completely unfounded, fear of not waking up early enough to get things done (note: Make sure you don't actually have anything to get done, it defeats the entire purpose)
Last, and most important, have three retard, construction, assholes from some Eastern Bloc country using power saws and hammers on the external siding RIGHT NEXT TO YOUR WINDOW!!!!
So I worked night audit last night, meaning that I woke up at 5pm, and its pretty much that time now, on the next day. I went to the bar after I got off work, had a couple drinks, and then came home to try and sleep. Yeah, that didn't work. First some guy closes my window from the outside (keep in mind I live on the second floor... It's pretty far up), and then he fires off some sort of saw. It pretty much got worse after that, and it lasted for about an hour or so. And then started again fifteen minutes later. It's been off and on pretty much all day. Not to mention all the yelling they all do at each other in something that sounds vaguely Russianish. I had all sorts of important things I needed to do today, so I made a plan.
First, I went out in the living room and smoked a joint. Then I smoked another one. After that I had pretty much forgotten that they were working on my room, why I was still awake, what I had to do today (nothing), and also when the last time I ate was. Since I forgot all of that, Mario and I decided to play Halo instead. Seemed like a good idea. Stoned Halo.... ah, great fun. Then we went boarding, and by the time we came home I was sober and really, really tired. At this point a weaker person might have given in, but not this man. No, I put the Stay Awake Forever Plan B (patent pending. No, not really) into effect. It starts with a reason.
Reason: Must fuck ex-girlfriend tonight.
Why? Um, you don't call an ex, tell her to come over, and then NOT fuck her.
No, why are you still sleeping with her? Do we really have to discuss this now?
Fine, moving on.
Cigarettes: $5
Sprite: $1.50
Red Vines: $1.25
Not bothering to put on a shirt because you couldn't be bothered, and besides, you were wearing a jacket: Priceless
So, yeah. Smokes, Sprite, and Red Vines. Healthy dinner, I know. Booze was already taken care of by the left over bourbon, AKA: Fightin & Fuckin Juice, from the other night (I'll write it eventually, or forget it, whatever). I think I covered everything else from the SAF Plan B.
I've heard that there are other things that work for staying up. I believe one is called caffeine, usually contained in coffee. Apparently, coffee is the weirdest thing you can ever add salt to, and this will cause you to be ostracized from all coffee drinking cliques. In theory you can also prop your eyelids up, but if you can roll your eyes back in your head it doesn't work so well. Also I hear setting yourself on fire is a great way to stay awake. With out serious painkillers you'll never sleep through bad enough burns.
Please use caution when using this product as there may be some side effects. Known side effects include: insomnia, paranoia, lethargy, delusions, wild fluctuations in sex drive, nausea, heart burn, acid reflux, diarrhea, unconsciousness leading to coma, variable weight gain or loss, anger, depression, lack of appetite, nose bleed, liver disease, cancer, heart attack, AIDS, gonorrhea, syphilis, herpes, clap, and sometimes you might get tennis elbow from all the cigarettes. One symptom that all users experience is something akin to a hangover. I am not responsible for what may happen to you if you choose to use this product. Hell, I barely manage to take responsibility for what I do when I use it.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Sleepless And Stoned In Seattle
I think maybe I have been smoking too much, and not sleeping enough. Apparently, when some people quit working (2 days notice) other people have to fill in for the Audit shift. Which of course means me. Well here's a newsflash: I can't do the turnaround so well anymore. Everytime I have to work a couple of audit shifts in a week, I also have to work three 7am to 3pm shifts. Now I could handle this pretty well if I didn't have other things that I needed to get done, but I need to find a new place to live, and have some minor relation to a life. Hell, I even need to get laid periodically. All of these things require me to be awake in the afternoon, which means that I can't just adjust to sleeping in the afternoon all the time, so that I can handle the audit shifts, and the morning shifts. Besides, I fucking hate mornings. The only good morning involves the three B's. Booze, Bitches, Beach.
As for work and such, I should be getting a new job soon. Apparently stalking me is a good way to get me to come work for you. Just waiting to hear back on my background check now, and then I should be starting. Things to remember at my new job: Don't sleep with the front desk staff no matter how hot they are because they are only 18 or 19, and are my enmployees; Don't drink at the bar at the hotel because then I might actually sleep with the front desk girls; Don't make friends with these people, I have plenty of friends and it makes it really hard to manage people; Only be drunk at work when my boss is the one getting me drunk, but make sure he knows to keep me away from the front desk girls in said state; Make sure there is always one room set aside for me to fuck the front desk girls in because we know I can't help myself, if they aren't friends they're fuckable. I'm a bad, bad man.
I was actually going to try and quit smoking cigarettes, but as usual, that failed miserably. So instead I decided to start smoking more of something else. I know that my reasoning on that is completely viable, no matter what you all think. Besides, my bartender sells me great stuff. I wouldn't be doing it, except that I know that my new job doesn't drug test, and neither does my current one. Hotels are rad to work in these days; none of them drug test for front desk anymore. They still test for valet drivers, but that makes sense. Besides, I'd rather get blazed than drunk if I have to work the next day. What's the worst that can happen? I get a little too high and pass out three hours before I planned to go to sleep, and then wake up feeling rested? Damn.
On other fronts I'm still pretty much the same whorish self that I always am. It seems to me that women love walking up to me and saying, "You're a handsome devil. What's your name?" OK, so maybe that's mildly delusional, but it's still a valid point; I am a handsome devil. And wether you all dissaprove or not, sleeping with Jenny is still great fun. You have to understand that just ignoring a part of your sexual appetite does not make it go away. It just makes the craving grow. So for all of you who have those "strange" things you like to do in bed, but don't do with your current sexual partner, try and remember that it's going to become a raging storm of need at some point in time. At that point in time, if you can't open up to your lover and tell them what you need, or if they can't accept or fulfil your desires, then it's time to move on. If you do plan to try and keep an even trade with your lover in all things sexual, make sure that you have the ability to talk about sex. Specifically what kind, how often, how you both want it, why each of you want it the way you do, and pretty much everything else. That's the nice thing about Jenny, I don't have to explain all that to her, although we do still talk about it. Besides, she fulfils that darker side of my sexual nature pretty well. Find me someone that can take care of all my widely varried sexual needs, and I'll be a happy man. Or at least a sexually satisfied one (I hope). Sometimes an imagination is a great thing in bed, but sometimes it's a curse. You have to know when to turn it off.
As for work and such, I should be getting a new job soon. Apparently stalking me is a good way to get me to come work for you. Just waiting to hear back on my background check now, and then I should be starting. Things to remember at my new job: Don't sleep with the front desk staff no matter how hot they are because they are only 18 or 19, and are my enmployees; Don't drink at the bar at the hotel because then I might actually sleep with the front desk girls; Don't make friends with these people, I have plenty of friends and it makes it really hard to manage people; Only be drunk at work when my boss is the one getting me drunk, but make sure he knows to keep me away from the front desk girls in said state; Make sure there is always one room set aside for me to fuck the front desk girls in because we know I can't help myself, if they aren't friends they're fuckable. I'm a bad, bad man.
I was actually going to try and quit smoking cigarettes, but as usual, that failed miserably. So instead I decided to start smoking more of something else. I know that my reasoning on that is completely viable, no matter what you all think. Besides, my bartender sells me great stuff. I wouldn't be doing it, except that I know that my new job doesn't drug test, and neither does my current one. Hotels are rad to work in these days; none of them drug test for front desk anymore. They still test for valet drivers, but that makes sense. Besides, I'd rather get blazed than drunk if I have to work the next day. What's the worst that can happen? I get a little too high and pass out three hours before I planned to go to sleep, and then wake up feeling rested? Damn.
On other fronts I'm still pretty much the same whorish self that I always am. It seems to me that women love walking up to me and saying, "You're a handsome devil. What's your name?" OK, so maybe that's mildly delusional, but it's still a valid point; I am a handsome devil. And wether you all dissaprove or not, sleeping with Jenny is still great fun. You have to understand that just ignoring a part of your sexual appetite does not make it go away. It just makes the craving grow. So for all of you who have those "strange" things you like to do in bed, but don't do with your current sexual partner, try and remember that it's going to become a raging storm of need at some point in time. At that point in time, if you can't open up to your lover and tell them what you need, or if they can't accept or fulfil your desires, then it's time to move on. If you do plan to try and keep an even trade with your lover in all things sexual, make sure that you have the ability to talk about sex. Specifically what kind, how often, how you both want it, why each of you want it the way you do, and pretty much everything else. That's the nice thing about Jenny, I don't have to explain all that to her, although we do still talk about it. Besides, she fulfils that darker side of my sexual nature pretty well. Find me someone that can take care of all my widely varried sexual needs, and I'll be a happy man. Or at least a sexually satisfied one (I hope). Sometimes an imagination is a great thing in bed, but sometimes it's a curse. You have to know when to turn it off.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Way Too Close To Home
Before we get started on tihs one, I just need to let you all know that I am still working on the post for the last week and a half or so, but this is so much more important. Not to mention freaky as hell. But I really will get you all updated on everything.
OK, so I have to admit, I haven't been entirely honest with everyone. I have been sleeping with Jenny. Yes, I know you are all disappointed in me, but that is SO not the point of this post, I just wanted you all to know. Also, it explains why I know what I now know. Apparently, my ex-wife is now re-married. I know this because Jenny's sister's new room mate is friends with my ex-wife. Why does this world have to be this small? Some days I really hate my life. Honestly though, the best thing is that I don't think that Jenny's sister actually knows about the whole abortion thing. On the other hand, I could be wrong. Oh, and the only person that Jenny actually hates is my ex-wife. All because that bitch fucked me up. Whatever, I think I'll go drink off my claustrophobia. Really, when did my life get so small?
OK, so I have to admit, I haven't been entirely honest with everyone. I have been sleeping with Jenny. Yes, I know you are all disappointed in me, but that is SO not the point of this post, I just wanted you all to know. Also, it explains why I know what I now know. Apparently, my ex-wife is now re-married. I know this because Jenny's sister's new room mate is friends with my ex-wife. Why does this world have to be this small? Some days I really hate my life. Honestly though, the best thing is that I don't think that Jenny's sister actually knows about the whole abortion thing. On the other hand, I could be wrong. Oh, and the only person that Jenny actually hates is my ex-wife. All because that bitch fucked me up. Whatever, I think I'll go drink off my claustrophobia. Really, when did my life get so small?
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
I Blame Karen
As usual, I'm not dead. Disorganized, drunk, crazed, high, tired, busy, disinterested, and down right useless for most things, but not dead. Got a lot to catch everyone up on, but I think most of you already know what I have been up to. We'll start with Roslyn Wreck '08.
For those who don't know, Karen got us a two bedroom suite at the Lodge at Suncadia, which was fuckin awesome, even though the balcony sucked. So did the view from the bedroom windows. Seriously, all I could see was a roof. But the room itself was pretty sweet. Got to hit The Brick, and kinda Marco's on Friday night, and then Saturday we went to Diamondbacks for Slideshow which was pretty awesome. Friday night I think we drank margaritas, some of them on Harper's bill (he had $6 in his bank account apparently). Oh, and some Jager shots too. Karen had to buy the first round, plus an extra shot for herself because she lost the bet on how muh change I had in my change jar. Apparently a standard size mason jar can hold at least fifty five dollars in change, and Karen bet that it only had 21. Heck, even I only guessed 32, but that $50 paid for a fair number of drinks that weekend. The hangover the next day was totally worth it, since we ended up just sitting in the room most of the day watching football, and eating the frozen pizza we had for breakfast. We tried going to the beach, but only stayed for one beer. Saturday night was pretty killer since Slideshow was playing, and therefore DB's was packed. Luckily since I stuck to beer, the hangover wasn't all that bad. So let me tell you about the things that were bad.
I apparently had no game that weekend. Well, that's not true, I had plenty of game, like always, but I kept running into problems. The biggest problem was that I refuse to sleep with chicks that have boyfriends, fiances, husbands, or any other kind of significant other. I know that's not a problem for most of the girls around there, since they've never even heard the word monogamy, but I don't do that anymore (or at least I try not to). One of the other problems I had was that everyone seemed to think Karen was my girlfriend. And I do mean everyone. Even Hannah made a comment about it. Speaking of Hanah, she cockblocked me too, but I think I should probably thank her for that since I was pretty drunk at the time, and Hanah had a much better idea of what I was getting myself into than I did, thankfully.
Ending this post now since it has been about two and a half weeks since we left there, and that's an ubsurd amount of lateness, even for me. Besides, my memory of that weekend is seriously corrupt now anyways due to the amount of time that has passed.
For those who don't know, Karen got us a two bedroom suite at the Lodge at Suncadia, which was fuckin awesome, even though the balcony sucked. So did the view from the bedroom windows. Seriously, all I could see was a roof. But the room itself was pretty sweet. Got to hit The Brick, and kinda Marco's on Friday night, and then Saturday we went to Diamondbacks for Slideshow which was pretty awesome. Friday night I think we drank margaritas, some of them on Harper's bill (he had $6 in his bank account apparently). Oh, and some Jager shots too. Karen had to buy the first round, plus an extra shot for herself because she lost the bet on how muh change I had in my change jar. Apparently a standard size mason jar can hold at least fifty five dollars in change, and Karen bet that it only had 21. Heck, even I only guessed 32, but that $50 paid for a fair number of drinks that weekend. The hangover the next day was totally worth it, since we ended up just sitting in the room most of the day watching football, and eating the frozen pizza we had for breakfast. We tried going to the beach, but only stayed for one beer. Saturday night was pretty killer since Slideshow was playing, and therefore DB's was packed. Luckily since I stuck to beer, the hangover wasn't all that bad. So let me tell you about the things that were bad.
I apparently had no game that weekend. Well, that's not true, I had plenty of game, like always, but I kept running into problems. The biggest problem was that I refuse to sleep with chicks that have boyfriends, fiances, husbands, or any other kind of significant other. I know that's not a problem for most of the girls around there, since they've never even heard the word monogamy, but I don't do that anymore (or at least I try not to). One of the other problems I had was that everyone seemed to think Karen was my girlfriend. And I do mean everyone. Even Hannah made a comment about it. Speaking of Hanah, she cockblocked me too, but I think I should probably thank her for that since I was pretty drunk at the time, and Hanah had a much better idea of what I was getting myself into than I did, thankfully.
Ending this post now since it has been about two and a half weeks since we left there, and that's an ubsurd amount of lateness, even for me. Besides, my memory of that weekend is seriously corrupt now anyways due to the amount of time that has passed.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Death of Innocence
So lately I have been thinking a lot more about things than I normally do. Usually I just let the world slide on by, barely give it a passing notice, but lately I actually take the time to stop and think. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure this is a stupid fucking mistake, and I should abandon it quickly. As I'm sure you have all noticed there have been less drunken debauchery stories lately, and more things I actually think about. I also have a couple of half written posts that are waiting for me to finish them sitting in the editing page for this site which aren't stories. I know it's not what people really expect from me, or, more precisely, want from me, but I like to share my thoughts, so deal. I can't be drunk all the time, I'm broke. This will be one of those mixed posts; part drunken revelry, part politics, part rant, part insightful commentary on things most people never want to think about, if they even noticed.
Since there is only one true dictionary in this day and age, I decided to use it to look up a definition of innocence for this post. Number 2 is the most correct I believe: virginal, without blemish, without blame, not guilty, pure, clean, untainted, naive. I think that about covers it. I'd love to go into what I really think about the "virginal" part of that, but I think most everyone has heard my statements about that. The fact of the matter is that nowhere in that definition can you find one word that manages to describe any of my friends, my co-workers, my bar people, or anyone I know. Well, maybe naive, but only comparatively. I think this should depress me, but in all honesty it doesn't? Why? Because anyone who was the definition innocence would most likely piss me off if they weren't a child. Better yet, I think almost everyone in our society has the same feeling. We all hate people who are innocent because they are useless. They don't have the understanding to survive in what we think of as "our world". They don't get it, so they get hurt, and in getting hurt that innocence shatters like broken glass, and all those shards of glass shoot off cutting everyone around them, causing us pain. We can see it coming. We know what's going to happen to them because it happened to us. People fear for their children because they don't want to see innocence broken; they don't want to see the pain, or feel their own pain as they remember all the times when their innocence broke.
And the breaking of it isn't a one time thing. Innocence encompasses everything, every facet of life. The first time someone sticks their hand in a fire and gets burned, they lose a piece. The first time someone they know dies, a piece dies. Their first job costs them a piece. The first time someone yells at them, a piece breaks off. A kiss? Another piece. The first time they make love, another piece gone. The first time they fuck, one more lost. Their first love and subsequent broken heart; a shattering. You spend your whole life losing piece after piece of what began as a perfect bubble protecting you from reality. But it doesn't protect you, it blinds you to all of this wonderful, horrible existence. The act of being born is like popping open the lid of Pandora's box.
And here's the kicker about it: innocence attracts. We all want what we can't have, and innocence lost can NEVER be regained. Some of us want to protect it, some want to possess it, some want to destroy it. For a lot of us the illusion of innocence is enough. Supposedly the ultimate woman for most men looks like a lady, acts like a virgin, fucks like a whore. Or, for example, the ever desired schoolgirls, nurses, teachers, librarians, even nuns. Or for the truly sick and fucked in the head, the choir boy.
The other day I had a choice to make between women. I could take the "tramp" in her fishnets, hooker boots, black skirt, over exposed cleavage, and up in my crotch attitude. I could take the "wholesome" girl with her jeans, sneakers, T-shirt, and good conversation. The popular, bitchy chick; the nerdy girl; the rocker; the dyke; the bull dyke; the rave girl; whatever girl you can imagine, I could find that night, in that bar. Or I could take the shy little virgin girl, in the bar for the first time, too nervous to speak up, to scared to relax, to naive to notice she was the lone sheep in a room full of wolves. So many choices, so many options. With enough experience all you need do is study them for a moment and you'll know what they are in bed. It's in the eyes, it's in the way they move, it's in the way they Dance. Are they a dirty little whore in bed? Did they watch so much porn that it has become indelibly burned into their brain as the way sex is supposed to be? Are they so repressed that they freeze in bed? Do they let loose their mind, their inhibitions and free the beast inside, animalistic in their need for sensation and feeling? Will they let loose a frenzy that burns out at the end of the first orgasm? Is she one that will start cold, waiting for the spark to start and set the fire raging out of control in a firestorm of lust and passion? Which one will satisfy you tonight? Who will fulfil that aching need in your loins this night? Who can truly quench that blazing Need that drives you, again and again?
Even virgins will show it, if you know what to look for, the right questions to ask. And sometimes, just sometimes, what you really need is the cool waters of a woman to whom the entire act of sex needs to be the physical act of love instead. A woman, a girl, an innocent, who you have to touch so tenderly, gently. Someone whose innocence you are taking, but one that you want to break as softly as possible. Show her the joy, the passion, the thrill to be had, there on the other side. Awaken the Need in her slowly. Revel in the sheer pleasure of the act; take the time to do it right. And when it's done, and you see that glow of satisfaction flowing from her entire body, know that you did well, and you will reap the benefits in the days and weeks to come. Teach her to be every kind of lover you could ever want. And then let her loose on the world. My world.
What choice did I make that night? Most men would love to have a virgin, but they are scared of them. Me? I pop virgins like bubble wrap.
Since there is only one true dictionary in this day and age, I decided to use it to look up a definition of innocence for this post. Number 2 is the most correct I believe: virginal, without blemish, without blame, not guilty, pure, clean, untainted, naive. I think that about covers it. I'd love to go into what I really think about the "virginal" part of that, but I think most everyone has heard my statements about that. The fact of the matter is that nowhere in that definition can you find one word that manages to describe any of my friends, my co-workers, my bar people, or anyone I know. Well, maybe naive, but only comparatively. I think this should depress me, but in all honesty it doesn't? Why? Because anyone who was the definition innocence would most likely piss me off if they weren't a child. Better yet, I think almost everyone in our society has the same feeling. We all hate people who are innocent because they are useless. They don't have the understanding to survive in what we think of as "our world". They don't get it, so they get hurt, and in getting hurt that innocence shatters like broken glass, and all those shards of glass shoot off cutting everyone around them, causing us pain. We can see it coming. We know what's going to happen to them because it happened to us. People fear for their children because they don't want to see innocence broken; they don't want to see the pain, or feel their own pain as they remember all the times when their innocence broke.
And the breaking of it isn't a one time thing. Innocence encompasses everything, every facet of life. The first time someone sticks their hand in a fire and gets burned, they lose a piece. The first time someone they know dies, a piece dies. Their first job costs them a piece. The first time someone yells at them, a piece breaks off. A kiss? Another piece. The first time they make love, another piece gone. The first time they fuck, one more lost. Their first love and subsequent broken heart; a shattering. You spend your whole life losing piece after piece of what began as a perfect bubble protecting you from reality. But it doesn't protect you, it blinds you to all of this wonderful, horrible existence. The act of being born is like popping open the lid of Pandora's box.
And here's the kicker about it: innocence attracts. We all want what we can't have, and innocence lost can NEVER be regained. Some of us want to protect it, some want to possess it, some want to destroy it. For a lot of us the illusion of innocence is enough. Supposedly the ultimate woman for most men looks like a lady, acts like a virgin, fucks like a whore. Or, for example, the ever desired schoolgirls, nurses, teachers, librarians, even nuns. Or for the truly sick and fucked in the head, the choir boy.
The other day I had a choice to make between women. I could take the "tramp" in her fishnets, hooker boots, black skirt, over exposed cleavage, and up in my crotch attitude. I could take the "wholesome" girl with her jeans, sneakers, T-shirt, and good conversation. The popular, bitchy chick; the nerdy girl; the rocker; the dyke; the bull dyke; the rave girl; whatever girl you can imagine, I could find that night, in that bar. Or I could take the shy little virgin girl, in the bar for the first time, too nervous to speak up, to scared to relax, to naive to notice she was the lone sheep in a room full of wolves. So many choices, so many options. With enough experience all you need do is study them for a moment and you'll know what they are in bed. It's in the eyes, it's in the way they move, it's in the way they Dance. Are they a dirty little whore in bed? Did they watch so much porn that it has become indelibly burned into their brain as the way sex is supposed to be? Are they so repressed that they freeze in bed? Do they let loose their mind, their inhibitions and free the beast inside, animalistic in their need for sensation and feeling? Will they let loose a frenzy that burns out at the end of the first orgasm? Is she one that will start cold, waiting for the spark to start and set the fire raging out of control in a firestorm of lust and passion? Which one will satisfy you tonight? Who will fulfil that aching need in your loins this night? Who can truly quench that blazing Need that drives you, again and again?
Even virgins will show it, if you know what to look for, the right questions to ask. And sometimes, just sometimes, what you really need is the cool waters of a woman to whom the entire act of sex needs to be the physical act of love instead. A woman, a girl, an innocent, who you have to touch so tenderly, gently. Someone whose innocence you are taking, but one that you want to break as softly as possible. Show her the joy, the passion, the thrill to be had, there on the other side. Awaken the Need in her slowly. Revel in the sheer pleasure of the act; take the time to do it right. And when it's done, and you see that glow of satisfaction flowing from her entire body, know that you did well, and you will reap the benefits in the days and weeks to come. Teach her to be every kind of lover you could ever want. And then let her loose on the world. My world.
What choice did I make that night? Most men would love to have a virgin, but they are scared of them. Me? I pop virgins like bubble wrap.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
ICYB
So people who have known Karen for a while know that she has a made a long standing habit of saying one particular thing, but lately, even though we hang out a lot, I never hear it much anymore. This weekend I got to hear it again, which always sends drunks into fits of giggling hilarity. In comparison to the other night, where I got so drunk I don't remember half the night, and had to keep going back over the next two days to ask my bartenders if I had paid my tab, I was really quite sober. Karen wasn't, but thats normal for her hanging out with me, and Hannah wasn't really all that bad, even though it was her birthday, and she wanted to be. Hell, Hannah even kept her clothes on for once.
We had two really amusing highlights. One was Karen finally yelling, "I'll Cut You, Bitch!" Always good for a laugh, or the rolling giggles. The other was trying to explain to everyone in Nabob why I was wakling around with a pair of pants slung over my shoulder. The truth wasn't really all that interesting, so instead I told them they were the pants from some hot bitch who had stolen them from my house after sleeping over, and being to drunk to want to sleep in her own clothes, and then forgetting to change when she left because she was still drunk. OK, so that actually is the truth, but I neglected to point out that it was Hannah, and that, like always, we didn't have sex (thank God). Damn, how scary of a thought would that be.
Either way, it was a good time, like always. Not as amussing in the story department since I wasn't a total drunk ass, but hey, even I can't be a drunk ass everyday.
We had two really amusing highlights. One was Karen finally yelling, "I'll Cut You, Bitch!" Always good for a laugh, or the rolling giggles. The other was trying to explain to everyone in Nabob why I was wakling around with a pair of pants slung over my shoulder. The truth wasn't really all that interesting, so instead I told them they were the pants from some hot bitch who had stolen them from my house after sleeping over, and being to drunk to want to sleep in her own clothes, and then forgetting to change when she left because she was still drunk. OK, so that actually is the truth, but I neglected to point out that it was Hannah, and that, like always, we didn't have sex (thank God). Damn, how scary of a thought would that be.
Either way, it was a good time, like always. Not as amussing in the story department since I wasn't a total drunk ass, but hey, even I can't be a drunk ass everyday.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
The Sky Is Falling!!! Wait... Nevermind. Idiot.
So people are already freaking out about the whole economic colapse thing, but I'm a little confused. Why are you all freaking out? How does it really affect most of you? None of my friends are employed in the financial sector. None of you have large investment profiles. None of you have retirement accounts. So what's the big deal? Worried about another Depression? I got an idea. How about I explain what's actually happening and is going to happen. I'm just as qualified as all those supposed financial experts. I know a lot of really random stuff, about really random things, and, surprisingly, one of those things is the reality of the financial system.
Let's start with telling you what is wrong about what most people think. The most important of these things is that the people who work in the financial sector actually understand how the system works. Newsflash: They don't. In all honesty no one really understands the system. These days the great jockeys of the financial system actually took computer science and chaos theory. Chaos Theory for crying out loud! What does that have to do with finance, money, and investments? Everything. Chaos Theory is a way of studying the way systems change over time with relation to an initial condition(s). What that means is that the people with the best understanding of the way the market actually works don't really have an understanding of what the money really is or who it effects. And of course you basically have to be a genius to understand the mathematics behind it, not to mention the "solutions" that it provides. And guess what? They don't get it either.
So why does any of it really matter to you and I? It doesn't, directly. The market does help determine gas prices, food prices, and even housing costs. But with the market in decline those costs should go down, but don't expect them to; we are capitalists after all, and this is the ultimate in capitalization. But what else happens with the market in decline? Well, with people as scared as they are, they won't be travelling as much because they are worried about needing all the money they have. Most of my good friends work in the hotel industry, as do I, but I'm not worried at all about the decline in travel. The reason is because it's already the slow season, and the only people who travel right now are business people. Do you really expect them to stop? This is how they do their jobs, and we provide their lodging while they do it. As for the luxury hotels, the rich are always rich and they will always spend money, lest they stop being rich and important. So none of us are losing our jobs, nothing will get more expensive, and we didn't lose all our savings and retirement funds, so calm the hell down.
Now here's the kicker. Want to know why our market just plummeted? Because people are fucking stupid. OK, so we have the whole mortgage colapse thing going on, but we saw that coming a little bit ago. The government bail out? We spend more money than that every year in a useless war (get to that at a later date), or on tons of other useless crap. Granted the government doesn't really have crap for money right now, but it's not like that's a new thing. So whats the real reason the market is falling? I wasn't kidding before; people are fucking stupid. That IS the reason. And I don't just mean the rednecks in the south; I mean pretty much everyone.
While, yes, the market is a measure of how strong our economy is, it doesn't mean that the way you think it does. The market is actually a measure of our confidence in our economy, not the economy itself. Let's use a normal stupid person who suddenly has money to invest into the market and does so, meaning he suddenly has a small amount of influence in the market. Now imagine that idiot deciding he wants to pull all his money out of the market because he's scared of a colapse, and doesn't want to lose his money. Say he started with five thousand dollars in the market. Now multiply that one dumbass by fifty million. That's two hundred fifty BILLION dollars, also known as real money on Wall Street. What that really means is a huge drop in the confidence of our economy. But why? Nothing has really changed in what the economy really is. Wheat is still growing across the country, and being sold all over the world. Microsoft still makes software that everyone buys. Cars are still being bought and sold. Our economy is fine, people are just too stupid to realize it.
So open your eyes, your ears, and your brain. Wake the fuck up. And STOP WATCHING THE NEWS!!! Their experts aren't. Their advice is crap. Their constant coverage of absolutely everything that they think we need to know is the cause of the confusion and panic. The news is what labled this as an economic colapse, then the politicians picked it up, added "emergency" to the mix, and the whole thing went to shit. I wish I could say with faith that you'd be fine taking my advice, but honestly the only way my advice would help is if everyone took it. People have a herd mentality; one panics, they all panic. When they panic, the rest of us who don't just get run down. You can't stop it, you have to turn it until it slows down and people start thinking again. So blame the idiots for starting this, and keeping it going, but also realize that the only way to stop something like this if from the front.
Let's start with telling you what is wrong about what most people think. The most important of these things is that the people who work in the financial sector actually understand how the system works. Newsflash: They don't. In all honesty no one really understands the system. These days the great jockeys of the financial system actually took computer science and chaos theory. Chaos Theory for crying out loud! What does that have to do with finance, money, and investments? Everything. Chaos Theory is a way of studying the way systems change over time with relation to an initial condition(s). What that means is that the people with the best understanding of the way the market actually works don't really have an understanding of what the money really is or who it effects. And of course you basically have to be a genius to understand the mathematics behind it, not to mention the "solutions" that it provides. And guess what? They don't get it either.
So why does any of it really matter to you and I? It doesn't, directly. The market does help determine gas prices, food prices, and even housing costs. But with the market in decline those costs should go down, but don't expect them to; we are capitalists after all, and this is the ultimate in capitalization. But what else happens with the market in decline? Well, with people as scared as they are, they won't be travelling as much because they are worried about needing all the money they have. Most of my good friends work in the hotel industry, as do I, but I'm not worried at all about the decline in travel. The reason is because it's already the slow season, and the only people who travel right now are business people. Do you really expect them to stop? This is how they do their jobs, and we provide their lodging while they do it. As for the luxury hotels, the rich are always rich and they will always spend money, lest they stop being rich and important. So none of us are losing our jobs, nothing will get more expensive, and we didn't lose all our savings and retirement funds, so calm the hell down.
Now here's the kicker. Want to know why our market just plummeted? Because people are fucking stupid. OK, so we have the whole mortgage colapse thing going on, but we saw that coming a little bit ago. The government bail out? We spend more money than that every year in a useless war (get to that at a later date), or on tons of other useless crap. Granted the government doesn't really have crap for money right now, but it's not like that's a new thing. So whats the real reason the market is falling? I wasn't kidding before; people are fucking stupid. That IS the reason. And I don't just mean the rednecks in the south; I mean pretty much everyone.
While, yes, the market is a measure of how strong our economy is, it doesn't mean that the way you think it does. The market is actually a measure of our confidence in our economy, not the economy itself. Let's use a normal stupid person who suddenly has money to invest into the market and does so, meaning he suddenly has a small amount of influence in the market. Now imagine that idiot deciding he wants to pull all his money out of the market because he's scared of a colapse, and doesn't want to lose his money. Say he started with five thousand dollars in the market. Now multiply that one dumbass by fifty million. That's two hundred fifty BILLION dollars, also known as real money on Wall Street. What that really means is a huge drop in the confidence of our economy. But why? Nothing has really changed in what the economy really is. Wheat is still growing across the country, and being sold all over the world. Microsoft still makes software that everyone buys. Cars are still being bought and sold. Our economy is fine, people are just too stupid to realize it.
So open your eyes, your ears, and your brain. Wake the fuck up. And STOP WATCHING THE NEWS!!! Their experts aren't. Their advice is crap. Their constant coverage of absolutely everything that they think we need to know is the cause of the confusion and panic. The news is what labled this as an economic colapse, then the politicians picked it up, added "emergency" to the mix, and the whole thing went to shit. I wish I could say with faith that you'd be fine taking my advice, but honestly the only way my advice would help is if everyone took it. People have a herd mentality; one panics, they all panic. When they panic, the rest of us who don't just get run down. You can't stop it, you have to turn it until it slows down and people start thinking again. So blame the idiots for starting this, and keeping it going, but also realize that the only way to stop something like this if from the front.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
2 Hours Late And Still Alive
So, yeah.... Ed really needs to learn to drink less of Karen's drinks. Especially when she's already drunk enough to not need to be ordering them. Hell, I'm not even sure who paid the last tab at Nabob. It's not like this is really a new thing, but honestly, I think it might actually be getting a little absurd. Even last year the only real effect my drinking had on my work was the occasional failing to get up on time, and the frequent drunken night of work and debauchery. OK, nevermind, bad example. But either way, once my drinking starts to affect my work I really need to get a new job. Er, sorry, stop drinking. God.... I'm at work two hours late, still drunk, and hiccuping. This sucks.
Anyways, I basically took Karen on the same tour I took the Alabama people on. We just had more mai tais. Or at least I did. Karen had about 1 and a half. I had 2 and a half because Karen can't drink like a pro anymore. She didn't finish hardly anything last night. Not the maitai, not the vodka soda, not the special water, nothing. What a dismal failure. At least Susan said Hi when we called. And I got drunk. Yay.
As for women to hit on, the best one of the night was taken by a guy who was such a freaky nerd he made a broke Bill Gates look like a stud, but these days I don't poach anymore, no matter how much I want to. And trust me, I REALLY wanted too. The cocktailer there had a naked woman on her shirt, but she was still fun to hit on. Not the best lookin' woman in the bar, but still fairly attractive. Nabob probably would have gone really well if I hadn't miss placed the first woman who really hit on me, and then called a completely different hot chick by the first one's name. That didn't work out obviously. I was really on the ball last night.
I got a date tonight (in theory) that involves probably a little more drinking than I honestly need to be doing today. Especially after last night. But hey, maybe if I manage to get lucky this time Sandra might actually be fun in bed. If nothing else, she'll be drunk and that seemed to help the first time. Here's hoping. On the other hand, she is bringing her friends too, which presents options. Either I sleep with Sandra and it sucks/blows/rocks/bores me, or I sleep with one of her friends, or all of her friends. It's not as far fetched as some of you think. You all keep telling me that women talk about sex a LOT more and a TON more detailed than men, and when the man you were telling all your friends about got you off more than you thought possible, well, they have a tendency to want to find out for themselves. I know you think people (especially women) are decent people who wouldn't do that, but take my word for it: You are SO wrong. So pretty much there is no chance that I won't be sleeping with someone tomorrow, and not just cause I'm horny as hell. It's also because women are kinda slutty when they know a man can get them off, especially when its me. I'm just awesome like that.
Anyways, I basically took Karen on the same tour I took the Alabama people on. We just had more mai tais. Or at least I did. Karen had about 1 and a half. I had 2 and a half because Karen can't drink like a pro anymore. She didn't finish hardly anything last night. Not the maitai, not the vodka soda, not the special water, nothing. What a dismal failure. At least Susan said Hi when we called. And I got drunk. Yay.
As for women to hit on, the best one of the night was taken by a guy who was such a freaky nerd he made a broke Bill Gates look like a stud, but these days I don't poach anymore, no matter how much I want to. And trust me, I REALLY wanted too. The cocktailer there had a naked woman on her shirt, but she was still fun to hit on. Not the best lookin' woman in the bar, but still fairly attractive. Nabob probably would have gone really well if I hadn't miss placed the first woman who really hit on me, and then called a completely different hot chick by the first one's name. That didn't work out obviously. I was really on the ball last night.
I got a date tonight (in theory) that involves probably a little more drinking than I honestly need to be doing today. Especially after last night. But hey, maybe if I manage to get lucky this time Sandra might actually be fun in bed. If nothing else, she'll be drunk and that seemed to help the first time. Here's hoping. On the other hand, she is bringing her friends too, which presents options. Either I sleep with Sandra and it sucks/blows/rocks/bores me, or I sleep with one of her friends, or all of her friends. It's not as far fetched as some of you think. You all keep telling me that women talk about sex a LOT more and a TON more detailed than men, and when the man you were telling all your friends about got you off more than you thought possible, well, they have a tendency to want to find out for themselves. I know you think people (especially women) are decent people who wouldn't do that, but take my word for it: You are SO wrong. So pretty much there is no chance that I won't be sleeping with someone tomorrow, and not just cause I'm horny as hell. It's also because women are kinda slutty when they know a man can get them off, especially when its me. I'm just awesome like that.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Not Quite An Epic Mistake
So, easy stuff first. I guess I need to clear up a couple things. I'm not here to ruin peoples lives, so blithering on about the stupid crap my room mate gets up to is kinda out. He's welcome to do so, but I'm not out to piss people off, or hurt their feelings. That's why people like Sandra and Amy don't have my blog address. God forbid any woman I sleep with ever reads this. Sometime in the past 28 years I apparently either developed a conscious (unlikely, I know), or I simply learned my place (far more likely). In any case, I don't rip people who read this a new one. Anyone who doesn't is, as always, fair game.
As for what I have been up to, it is pretty much more of the same. I got pretty wasted the other night, Monday I believe. Went to Nabob where pretty much everyone decided they needed to buy me shots. Jager, whiskey, and something that I think was half and half. Whatever it was, it tasted horrible and hit like a truck. Hung out at the bar till 3am smoking, drinking, and generally having a good time. Some guy I'd met there before offered me a shot at a new job that actually pays pretty well. If I manage to get off my lazy ass, I might even take it.
So this brings us to Tuesday night, which is where the title of this one comes from. Karen, having been there for part of it, already knows most of the story. The rest of you will probably get upset (especially if your name starts with S), but that's fine. You wouldn't get pissed if you didn't care. Anyways, before you all go completely crazy from hearing the rest of this let's get a couple things straight. I did NOT have sex with her. No we aren't getting back together. Yes you are paranoid. It might have been a terrible decision we made a year ago, but it really was most likely the right one. If you don't know who I'm talking about by now, you don't pay crap for attention.
So on to the story. The bookseller called me while I was skating around town, and since I happened to be near where she was, I decided to swing by and play some pool. Ended up getting a few drinks at the pool hall, then some more at some bar in Pioneer Square, during which time Karen showed up. Since Pioneer Square is full of crazies (so not kidding), we decided to head back to Nabob. I got a poem using my name from some random guy on the street down in P. Square too, as did the girls.
Embracing the light of knowledge in the
Distance of things well done.
Weird, huh? Moving on, Nabob turned out to be not quite the drunkfest it usually is for me, or Karen for that matter, but the bookseller got a fair bit tossed and needed to stay at my place. We ended up spending half the night talking about random shit, including the sordid details of said tragedy from a year ago. It also turns out that her friends are even more extreme in their dislike of us speaking than you all are (except Karen, who doesn't care). They even deleted my number and stuff from her phone, and threaten to go into crazed hysterics if they ever find out we speak, yet alone all the other things that could happen.
There is a point to explaining all this sometimes. Like this time there's actually a moral to an otherwise long, painful, mostly pointless story. Sometimes we really do have to revisit things, if only to make sure we made the right decisions for all involved. At times I forget how much she drank before she knew she was pregnant, and how much that impacted the decision that we made. Either way, I think this time I won't be drinking myself into oblivion. At times in your life you have to go back and face your demons. The spectres that came back with this one weren't nearly as bad as I thought they would be, which is good. I still think if I ever see my ex-wife again I'd rather have a weapon in hand. so maybe we'll let that one slide for a while longer. Not like I'm in a hurry to revisit that rotting cesspool of hate, disgust, and rage. And it's not just her vagina that I don't want to visit again.
As for what I have been up to, it is pretty much more of the same. I got pretty wasted the other night, Monday I believe. Went to Nabob where pretty much everyone decided they needed to buy me shots. Jager, whiskey, and something that I think was half and half. Whatever it was, it tasted horrible and hit like a truck. Hung out at the bar till 3am smoking, drinking, and generally having a good time. Some guy I'd met there before offered me a shot at a new job that actually pays pretty well. If I manage to get off my lazy ass, I might even take it.
So this brings us to Tuesday night, which is where the title of this one comes from. Karen, having been there for part of it, already knows most of the story. The rest of you will probably get upset (especially if your name starts with S), but that's fine. You wouldn't get pissed if you didn't care. Anyways, before you all go completely crazy from hearing the rest of this let's get a couple things straight. I did NOT have sex with her. No we aren't getting back together. Yes you are paranoid. It might have been a terrible decision we made a year ago, but it really was most likely the right one. If you don't know who I'm talking about by now, you don't pay crap for attention.
So on to the story. The bookseller called me while I was skating around town, and since I happened to be near where she was, I decided to swing by and play some pool. Ended up getting a few drinks at the pool hall, then some more at some bar in Pioneer Square, during which time Karen showed up. Since Pioneer Square is full of crazies (so not kidding), we decided to head back to Nabob. I got a poem using my name from some random guy on the street down in P. Square too, as did the girls.
Embracing the light of knowledge in the
Distance of things well done.
Weird, huh? Moving on, Nabob turned out to be not quite the drunkfest it usually is for me, or Karen for that matter, but the bookseller got a fair bit tossed and needed to stay at my place. We ended up spending half the night talking about random shit, including the sordid details of said tragedy from a year ago. It also turns out that her friends are even more extreme in their dislike of us speaking than you all are (except Karen, who doesn't care). They even deleted my number and stuff from her phone, and threaten to go into crazed hysterics if they ever find out we speak, yet alone all the other things that could happen.
There is a point to explaining all this sometimes. Like this time there's actually a moral to an otherwise long, painful, mostly pointless story. Sometimes we really do have to revisit things, if only to make sure we made the right decisions for all involved. At times I forget how much she drank before she knew she was pregnant, and how much that impacted the decision that we made. Either way, I think this time I won't be drinking myself into oblivion. At times in your life you have to go back and face your demons. The spectres that came back with this one weren't nearly as bad as I thought they would be, which is good. I still think if I ever see my ex-wife again I'd rather have a weapon in hand. so maybe we'll let that one slide for a while longer. Not like I'm in a hurry to revisit that rotting cesspool of hate, disgust, and rage. And it's not just her vagina that I don't want to visit again.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Miracles Can Happen, Even To Me
So lunch with Amy went well. Not awkward or anything. She's doing well, says hi to everyone. Apparently I was right to split with her though. She's already moved on to someone else, and they are planning to move to Arizona together around the beginning of the year. Dependency is really not my thing. Nor is Arizona.
As for my weird date thing tonight, Sandra had an interview so she wants to move it to sometime next week. That's actually a good thing; hopefully all the marks will be gone by then. Anyways, I'm off to bed, gotta work early. Just thought I would update before I had something exciting to add.
As for my weird date thing tonight, Sandra had an interview so she wants to move it to sometime next week. That's actually a good thing; hopefully all the marks will be gone by then. Anyways, I'm off to bed, gotta work early. Just thought I would update before I had something exciting to add.
Pre-Emptive Discussion of Arising Problems
Normally I would post a hysterical story of what just happened to me, but for the last two days I worked night audit. This has severely impacted my ability to post rediculous stories, especially since I refuse to post about some things that would reflect badly on certain people that happen to be my friends (actual friends need not apply; you're all fair game). Wow, maybe I do have morals.... Nah.
So with nothing interesting having happened to me in the last few days, why am I writing a blog? Because today promises to be blog worthy. Trust me, SOMETHING is bound to go horribly wrong, or horribly right today. How do I know that? Three reasons. One: Today is Friday, and I don't have to work. Two: I work at 7am tomorrow. Three: I have plans.
Did I say plans? Yes. What kind of plans? The kind that could make a day something worthy of writing about. The kind of plans that make me write a pre-emptive blog just to help alleviate the tension for me (if I fealt tension), and build anticipation for you. QUIT BUILDING IT UP AND JUST TELL US ALREADY?!?!?!?!?!? Shit, calm down, I'm getting to it.
For starters I am waking up around noon, after I will have slept for four hours (I hope). After I get ready, and get some gas, I have to drive to Redmond. Why Redmond? Cause I'm going to lunch with Amy. Amy? As in my ex-girlfriend Amy? Yes. Why? Um, cause I'm an idiot? No, really? Be nice. Honestly, Karen might ACTUALLY be right for once. This might be too soon to start talking to her again, for both of us. I know we're doing lunch so that we can keep it short if it is too soon for us. And I think if we only do lunch, Amy thinks I won't be able to talk her into sleeping with me. Or at least that she can resist for that period of time, but give in to coming to see me some other night for a long night session. Either way, lunch will be interesting, to say the least. Is this enough by itself to write a pre-emptive blog about? Yes, but this is my blog, and I never do things just enough. I'm always over the top. So, yes, there's more.
After lunch I'll probably head home (if I'm not fucking), and then I got another date. Sandra, again. I know I bitched about it, but I believe people should get a third chance. Well, women get a third chance if they are decent looking, and eager. She's both, even if she's boring in bed. Also, I have a really hard time saying no. In theory we're going to do dinner and a movie and sex. In reality we will likely skip dinner, and possibly the movie as well if we can't decide on something. Failing all that we'll hit the bar then have a lot of crazed drunken sex. She was a lot more interesting to sleep with while drunk. Ah hell, I can catch a movie anytime; I'm gettin her drunk. Safer that way anyhow, I still got all the bite marks, bruises, and scratches from the last chick I slept with. On the other hand, maybe she'll catch a clue when she sees them.
So with nothing interesting having happened to me in the last few days, why am I writing a blog? Because today promises to be blog worthy. Trust me, SOMETHING is bound to go horribly wrong, or horribly right today. How do I know that? Three reasons. One: Today is Friday, and I don't have to work. Two: I work at 7am tomorrow. Three: I have plans.
Did I say plans? Yes. What kind of plans? The kind that could make a day something worthy of writing about. The kind of plans that make me write a pre-emptive blog just to help alleviate the tension for me (if I fealt tension), and build anticipation for you. QUIT BUILDING IT UP AND JUST TELL US ALREADY?!?!?!?!?!? Shit, calm down, I'm getting to it.
For starters I am waking up around noon, after I will have slept for four hours (I hope). After I get ready, and get some gas, I have to drive to Redmond. Why Redmond? Cause I'm going to lunch with Amy. Amy? As in my ex-girlfriend Amy? Yes. Why? Um, cause I'm an idiot? No, really? Be nice. Honestly, Karen might ACTUALLY be right for once. This might be too soon to start talking to her again, for both of us. I know we're doing lunch so that we can keep it short if it is too soon for us. And I think if we only do lunch, Amy thinks I won't be able to talk her into sleeping with me. Or at least that she can resist for that period of time, but give in to coming to see me some other night for a long night session. Either way, lunch will be interesting, to say the least. Is this enough by itself to write a pre-emptive blog about? Yes, but this is my blog, and I never do things just enough. I'm always over the top. So, yes, there's more.
After lunch I'll probably head home (if I'm not fucking), and then I got another date. Sandra, again. I know I bitched about it, but I believe people should get a third chance. Well, women get a third chance if they are decent looking, and eager. She's both, even if she's boring in bed. Also, I have a really hard time saying no. In theory we're going to do dinner and a movie and sex. In reality we will likely skip dinner, and possibly the movie as well if we can't decide on something. Failing all that we'll hit the bar then have a lot of crazed drunken sex. She was a lot more interesting to sleep with while drunk. Ah hell, I can catch a movie anytime; I'm gettin her drunk. Safer that way anyhow, I still got all the bite marks, bruises, and scratches from the last chick I slept with. On the other hand, maybe she'll catch a clue when she sees them.
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Power of Reflections
Some days when you wake up and look in the mirror the thought skitters across your mind that you look like you were up all night having amazing sex. This is usually evidenced by the messed up hair, the bags under your eyes from lack of sleep, and the mildly tender way you move. Every time this happens to me I'm always upset that it just looks like I was having great sex all night, as opposed to actually having had a sex filled night.
But today, today I looked even worse than normal when I woke up because I really had been having sex all night. Drunken, violent, amazing sex. And god did it show. I've never seen my hair stand straight up before; I didn't realize it was that long. And I'd forgotten how bad it looks to be covered in bite marks, scratches, rug burns, shackle (improvised) marks, bruises, contusions, welts, whip tracks, etc. On the other hand, all of those marks serve as excellent reminders of just how good it was last night. Every time you bump one it sends a shock along your nerves straight to your brain that triggers a full sensory memory of exactly how you got that one little mark. In intense things like showers this can be almost overwhelming. But I am here to tell you that rough sex shows up every other kind of tame, boring sex you could ever have. Or at least it does for short term things. I could take home every single girl I have ever met at Peso's and still not get a night like this. Seriously, I woke up about every hour or so after I had passed out just to fuck some more. I know you crazy bitches, you want details.
We actually did go to Peso's, where we only had two beers a piece. After that we wandered back towards my place, but stopped in the Seattle Center parking garage. One cigarette a piece, and then we decided fucking while looking at the view from there was a good idea. After that we fucked on the roof, the shower, and then several times in bed. My post about Karen calling me a stalion has nothing on last night. Especially since I didn't have to pretend the girl I was fucking was a posable doll for me to fuck. Sandra is alright, but the sex sucks. Even I can only play Gumbi with a girl for so long. But last night I didn't have to pose anything. All I had to do was fuck someone hard; really hard. I love simplicity.
My shower got totally violated last night, as did pretty much my entire bedroom. I remember her almost pulling down the shelves in my closet last night after I tied her to the bar I hang my clothes on with my work ties. Ties as in a tie. The kind men wear around their necks. After that she worried about her car, so we fucked some more just to shut her up. After we passed out for a while she decided to actually go check on her car, and when she got back we fucked again. When she decided to leave about 5 am we fucked again, as well as when she tried again at 7 am. 9 am she got up and dressed and made it to the door before I dragged her back to bed to fuck some more. I think she left about 11 am, after we fucked again.
And this girl just LOVES the cock. Just looking at it gets her wet. I love a woman who knows what she wants. The fact that no one would approve of us sleeping together again just makes it better. Even her friends think it's a horrible idea. The even go so far as to delete my number from her phone. I'd tell you who it was, but none of you would approve, so I think I'll keep it to myself. The only way to get it out of me is to find someone for me to fuck that is better in bed. Good luck to us all.
But today, today I looked even worse than normal when I woke up because I really had been having sex all night. Drunken, violent, amazing sex. And god did it show. I've never seen my hair stand straight up before; I didn't realize it was that long. And I'd forgotten how bad it looks to be covered in bite marks, scratches, rug burns, shackle (improvised) marks, bruises, contusions, welts, whip tracks, etc. On the other hand, all of those marks serve as excellent reminders of just how good it was last night. Every time you bump one it sends a shock along your nerves straight to your brain that triggers a full sensory memory of exactly how you got that one little mark. In intense things like showers this can be almost overwhelming. But I am here to tell you that rough sex shows up every other kind of tame, boring sex you could ever have. Or at least it does for short term things. I could take home every single girl I have ever met at Peso's and still not get a night like this. Seriously, I woke up about every hour or so after I had passed out just to fuck some more. I know you crazy bitches, you want details.
We actually did go to Peso's, where we only had two beers a piece. After that we wandered back towards my place, but stopped in the Seattle Center parking garage. One cigarette a piece, and then we decided fucking while looking at the view from there was a good idea. After that we fucked on the roof, the shower, and then several times in bed. My post about Karen calling me a stalion has nothing on last night. Especially since I didn't have to pretend the girl I was fucking was a posable doll for me to fuck. Sandra is alright, but the sex sucks. Even I can only play Gumbi with a girl for so long. But last night I didn't have to pose anything. All I had to do was fuck someone hard; really hard. I love simplicity.
My shower got totally violated last night, as did pretty much my entire bedroom. I remember her almost pulling down the shelves in my closet last night after I tied her to the bar I hang my clothes on with my work ties. Ties as in a tie. The kind men wear around their necks. After that she worried about her car, so we fucked some more just to shut her up. After we passed out for a while she decided to actually go check on her car, and when she got back we fucked again. When she decided to leave about 5 am we fucked again, as well as when she tried again at 7 am. 9 am she got up and dressed and made it to the door before I dragged her back to bed to fuck some more. I think she left about 11 am, after we fucked again.
And this girl just LOVES the cock. Just looking at it gets her wet. I love a woman who knows what she wants. The fact that no one would approve of us sleeping together again just makes it better. Even her friends think it's a horrible idea. The even go so far as to delete my number from her phone. I'd tell you who it was, but none of you would approve, so I think I'll keep it to myself. The only way to get it out of me is to find someone for me to fuck that is better in bed. Good luck to us all.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Playing Catch Up
I suppose that I should probably mention the events from this last weekend before Karen and Hannah start yelling at me to get it posted. The reason those two would be yelling is because it was them that was causing all the trouble. Well, to be honest it was mostly Hannah, but it was Morgan's fault. Hey, at least my bartender got an eye full. He almost didn't believe me when I said they were real. Actually, I don't think I do want to tell you the whole story. Just be satisfied with a few little teaser facts: Tequila makes Hannah's clothes fall off; booze makes Ed forgetful; Karen and Hannah can capture the attention of every male in a bar; some dude named Justin loves the Simpsons WAY too much; Palani thinks Hannah's got great boobs, but she couldn't dance on the bar because the owner was in that night. Oh, all three of us still fit in one full size bed.
The rest of the weekend was sadly tame. I couldn't get anyone to actualy go out drinking and didn't quite feel up to getting smashed by myself, or even going whoring for that matter. Instead I went home and got blazed. It worked even better.
Monday night after I got off work I went and got my book. Funny part is I bit it right after skating past some other skaters I had passed just a half block past. I'm just pro like that. After I got home and cleaned up the blood, I sat down and proceeded to read for a rather long time. When falling I somehow managed to rip up my hand, my knee, and my back up on my shoulder blade. Like I said, total pro.
The rest of the weekend was sadly tame. I couldn't get anyone to actualy go out drinking and didn't quite feel up to getting smashed by myself, or even going whoring for that matter. Instead I went home and got blazed. It worked even better.
Monday night after I got off work I went and got my book. Funny part is I bit it right after skating past some other skaters I had passed just a half block past. I'm just pro like that. After I got home and cleaned up the blood, I sat down and proceeded to read for a rather long time. When falling I somehow managed to rip up my hand, my knee, and my back up on my shoulder blade. Like I said, total pro.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Wash, Rinse, Repeat
So I seem to have developed a strange habit. OK, to be honest I have a lot of strange habits, but I developed a couple new ones apparently. The first one is that couples that stay at the hotel like to go out drinking and drag me along with them as a tour guide. By the way, I'm a really shitty tour guide; it's hard to see much when you stop at every bar along the way. On second thought, maybe that makes me the best tour guide around, or at least the drunkest. The second new habit is that I somehow manage to find (usually without help) the only girl in the bar that's there on her 21 run. It's like I have a gift for finding girls who need to be drunker.
So yesterday a couple from Alabama, accent and all, decided we needed to go drinking. Being the agreeable man that I am, I went with them. Started at Nabob with a couple games of pool, a Yaze and tonic, and three beers. Moved down to some place next to Peso's I don't remember the name of where we took some shots that were Jager dropped into Washington Apples. Afterwards we wandered down to Hula Hula and got Mai Tais.
Now, look, I drank a LOT of Mai Tais in Hawaii and these people make theirs way too strong to taste right. On the other hand it was perfectly strong enough to get me fucked up, which is always a good thing. Apparently, karoke (however the fuck you spell it) is still popular with the wrong kind of crowd. How is it that the favored form of torture by the Chinese has become such a huge thing for drunks to enjoy? However it happened, I hate it. Anyways, as I turned around to watch the morons "perform", a girl that looked a lot like the mistake from Hawaii (the one that later became prom queen) decided to make fun of my drink. I'll admit that the glass it comes in is a little girly, but the drink is great. I explained this to the girl, and of course fell into a conversation with her about drinking and such. She pointed out that I had vastly superior knowledge seeing as how this was her 21st birthday. When she went to the bathroom, her friends decided to ambush me (again) and point out that they weren't going to let me take her home. Normally I would see this as a challenge, but I did have two yokels to take care of so I let it be and shortly after we wandered off to the next bar on the line.
Actually, the next bar in the line was actually back to the first bar, Nabob. Apparently by this point in time I was a little drunk so the rest of it is a little blurry, but still amussing. When we got in I pretty much immediately ditched the hicks and wandered down to talk to the bartender and some random chick sitting down at the end of the bar. I really wish I could remember if she was hot, but having checked back the next day I know she was. At some point in time the Alabamans left, but I somehow managed to say in the bar until about 230 am, and smoked a lot in there. Eventually the bartender told me it was time to bounce, so off I went. Let me tell you, the hangover was totally worth it. Tomorrow I'll write up the story about last night, maybe.
So yesterday a couple from Alabama, accent and all, decided we needed to go drinking. Being the agreeable man that I am, I went with them. Started at Nabob with a couple games of pool, a Yaze and tonic, and three beers. Moved down to some place next to Peso's I don't remember the name of where we took some shots that were Jager dropped into Washington Apples. Afterwards we wandered down to Hula Hula and got Mai Tais.
Now, look, I drank a LOT of Mai Tais in Hawaii and these people make theirs way too strong to taste right. On the other hand it was perfectly strong enough to get me fucked up, which is always a good thing. Apparently, karoke (however the fuck you spell it) is still popular with the wrong kind of crowd. How is it that the favored form of torture by the Chinese has become such a huge thing for drunks to enjoy? However it happened, I hate it. Anyways, as I turned around to watch the morons "perform", a girl that looked a lot like the mistake from Hawaii (the one that later became prom queen) decided to make fun of my drink. I'll admit that the glass it comes in is a little girly, but the drink is great. I explained this to the girl, and of course fell into a conversation with her about drinking and such. She pointed out that I had vastly superior knowledge seeing as how this was her 21st birthday. When she went to the bathroom, her friends decided to ambush me (again) and point out that they weren't going to let me take her home. Normally I would see this as a challenge, but I did have two yokels to take care of so I let it be and shortly after we wandered off to the next bar on the line.
Actually, the next bar in the line was actually back to the first bar, Nabob. Apparently by this point in time I was a little drunk so the rest of it is a little blurry, but still amussing. When we got in I pretty much immediately ditched the hicks and wandered down to talk to the bartender and some random chick sitting down at the end of the bar. I really wish I could remember if she was hot, but having checked back the next day I know she was. At some point in time the Alabamans left, but I somehow managed to say in the bar until about 230 am, and smoked a lot in there. Eventually the bartender told me it was time to bounce, so off I went. Let me tell you, the hangover was totally worth it. Tomorrow I'll write up the story about last night, maybe.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
I'm Not An ist
Everyone goes through their life trying to find out who they are, to find a definition of themselves. They describe themselves as idealists, realists, pessimists, optimists. As if in defining themselves, they find their worth. Everyone has a need to know who they are so that they can live their life as that person.
Personally, I reject this idea out of hand. I don't want to be the same thing forever. I don't even want to be one thing, or even two or three things, for even a moment. Why? Because I refuse to be defined. I refuse to be constrained.
Life isn't about being something, it is simply about being. Worth isn't measured in how well you hold up to what you think you are, or what other people think you are. It's not measured in deeds, or thoughts. Life is not to be measured. Life just is. There is no defining it. You can't fight life. You can't force it to be something, or fit it into a nice neat package.
People think I'm a pessimist, or a realist. I could go on and on about what people think I am, but the truth of it is: They are all wrong. I don't live by rules. I don't live inside the lines. I do what I want for reasons even I don't always understand. There's no good or bad, no right or wrong.
Call me what you will, but I am not to be defined. I'm not a realist. I'm not an idealist. I'm not a pessimist, an optimist, a racist, a sexist, or even a facist. I am not an ist. And you know what? You aren't either.
Personally, I reject this idea out of hand. I don't want to be the same thing forever. I don't even want to be one thing, or even two or three things, for even a moment. Why? Because I refuse to be defined. I refuse to be constrained.
Life isn't about being something, it is simply about being. Worth isn't measured in how well you hold up to what you think you are, or what other people think you are. It's not measured in deeds, or thoughts. Life is not to be measured. Life just is. There is no defining it. You can't fight life. You can't force it to be something, or fit it into a nice neat package.
People think I'm a pessimist, or a realist. I could go on and on about what people think I am, but the truth of it is: They are all wrong. I don't live by rules. I don't live inside the lines. I do what I want for reasons even I don't always understand. There's no good or bad, no right or wrong.
Call me what you will, but I am not to be defined. I'm not a realist. I'm not an idealist. I'm not a pessimist, an optimist, a racist, a sexist, or even a facist. I am not an ist. And you know what? You aren't either.
The Hammer Is My Penis
OK, if I haven't yet bagered you all into watching Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog you seriously need to get with the program. It's 45 minutes of hillarity. Despite the fact that it may seem like there were previous installments, there weren't. But seriously, take my word for it, you NEED to see this.
Of Dead Fish And Ramen
So someone is trying to kidnap me. I think they live in my building, but I can't prove it yet. Or at least I wouldn't be able to prove it without falling prey to the trap they set for me. Someone has obviously been watching me for a long time, and planing this for quite some. See, what they did is leave a trail of ramen, my favorite food, that I am sure leads to some sort of trap with a large steel cage waiting to fall on me. I would most likely then be molested by hideous female trolls. Yes, I know you all think I am paranoid, but are you really paranoid if they really are all out to fuck you?
So Sandra came up the other day again. We had a decent time I spose. Did a little bridge jumping. Well I guess I should say a big bridge jump, since the bridge is actually about 70-85 feet. Good free fall, but I landed a little wrong on my frist jump so now I have bruises on the back of my legs. Or maybe those are from Sandra's heels getting slammed into my legs. That woman has no idea what she's doing in bed. Granted, I can get her off repeatedly, but just having something to enjoy, instead of someone to play with is really boring. Even I can't keep it up indefinately when all I'm really doing is work with no reward. I'm not sure there is any real redeeming qualities to this girl. She's boring to talk to, she's boring to fuck, she's even kinda boring to look at. Boredom is pretty much the worst thing in the world as far as I am concerned.
Speaking of boredom, I think it's time for me to jet. Next time I think I'll bitch about the death of originality. Or maybe whatever the hell else strikes my fancy.
So Sandra came up the other day again. We had a decent time I spose. Did a little bridge jumping. Well I guess I should say a big bridge jump, since the bridge is actually about 70-85 feet. Good free fall, but I landed a little wrong on my frist jump so now I have bruises on the back of my legs. Or maybe those are from Sandra's heels getting slammed into my legs. That woman has no idea what she's doing in bed. Granted, I can get her off repeatedly, but just having something to enjoy, instead of someone to play with is really boring. Even I can't keep it up indefinately when all I'm really doing is work with no reward. I'm not sure there is any real redeeming qualities to this girl. She's boring to talk to, she's boring to fuck, she's even kinda boring to look at. Boredom is pretty much the worst thing in the world as far as I am concerned.
Speaking of boredom, I think it's time for me to jet. Next time I think I'll bitch about the death of originality. Or maybe whatever the hell else strikes my fancy.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
My Theme Song
So a guy from work recently found my theme song. Apparently it comes from the musical Annie Get Your Gun. I've never seen it, but now I think I need to. Here it is:
I'm honored, I'm flattered,
This greeting really mattered.
This welcome is grand
But I'm really concerned.
I like your attention
But this I have to mention
You're playing with fire
And up to get burned!
There's a girl in Tennessee
Who's sorry she met up with me
I can't go back to Tennessee,
I'm a bad, bad man!
There's a girl in Omaha,
But I ran faster than her Pa,
I can't go back to Omaha
There's a girl in Wyoming,
And they're combing Wyoming
To find a man in white
Who was out with her that night!
There's a girl in Arkansas,
The Sheriff is her brother-in-law,
I can't go back to Arkansas,
I'm a bad, bad man!
I'm enlightened, but frightened.
Though my int'rest you've heightened.
It might turn out to be
That too much, too much for me!
So I'll go back to my tent,
And someday when you're old and bent,
Think of those you might have spent
With a bad, bad man!
I'm honored, I'm flattered,
This greeting really mattered.
This welcome is grand
But I'm really concerned.
I like your attention
But this I have to mention
You're playing with fire
And up to get burned!
There's a girl in Tennessee
Who's sorry she met up with me
I can't go back to Tennessee,
I'm a bad, bad man!
There's a girl in Omaha,
But I ran faster than her Pa,
I can't go back to Omaha
There's a girl in Wyoming,
And they're combing Wyoming
To find a man in white
Who was out with her that night!
There's a girl in Arkansas,
The Sheriff is her brother-in-law,
I can't go back to Arkansas,
I'm a bad, bad man!
I'm enlightened, but frightened.
Though my int'rest you've heightened.
It might turn out to be
That too much, too much for me!
So I'll go back to my tent,
And someday when you're old and bent,
Think of those you might have spent
With a bad, bad man!
Saturday, August 30, 2008
The New Twenty
So everyone keeps saying that I don't need to worry about when I turn thirty because thirty is the new twenty. Here's a newsflash for you: I don't want to repeat twenty. The only reason somone would ever want to do all that crap again is if they never really did it the first time. By that I mean all of those college kids who never actually had a real life, or at least didn't really get out to do anything. I, on the other hand, wasn't repressed. I got out and had fun. I went to bars. I went to raves. I did drugs. I drank. I did all of these things to amazing excess. It really is surprising that I'm not dead.
I guess that I could take the higher road on this one and believe people mean something else. Maybe instead of meaning that you can go out and party like you were supposed to when you twenty, instead you can do all the things that lead to success that you were supposed to do. Like finish school. Or maybe it just means that you can correct the mistakes that you made while you were younger. Make up with your family that you ran away from, start paying child support for the various children you fathered, quit going to church, pay attention to politics, those sorts of things. Or maybe, just maybe, it means that people feel like they need more time in their lives because they can't handle getting old.
There isn't all that much wrong with getting old, and none of it can be fixed by lying to yourself about how old you really are. All I can tell that is bad so far is losing your hair, joint problems, and the fact that you are actually catching up to cougars in age. Oh, and milfs are starting to be the same age as you, as opposed to your friends' moms. I haven't noticed any slowing of the libido, or anything of the like. Oh, I am noticing that the age range of women I am attracted to hasn't changed at all, which is not really a cause for concern as long as I am in the right state at the time.
I guess that I could take the higher road on this one and believe people mean something else. Maybe instead of meaning that you can go out and party like you were supposed to when you twenty, instead you can do all the things that lead to success that you were supposed to do. Like finish school. Or maybe it just means that you can correct the mistakes that you made while you were younger. Make up with your family that you ran away from, start paying child support for the various children you fathered, quit going to church, pay attention to politics, those sorts of things. Or maybe, just maybe, it means that people feel like they need more time in their lives because they can't handle getting old.
There isn't all that much wrong with getting old, and none of it can be fixed by lying to yourself about how old you really are. All I can tell that is bad so far is losing your hair, joint problems, and the fact that you are actually catching up to cougars in age. Oh, and milfs are starting to be the same age as you, as opposed to your friends' moms. I haven't noticed any slowing of the libido, or anything of the like. Oh, I am noticing that the age range of women I am attracted to hasn't changed at all, which is not really a cause for concern as long as I am in the right state at the time.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
This Ain't No Pony Ride
I owe the title of this post, like so many other amusing things, to Karen. And no she wasn't the one on the ride. According to Karen I'm a Stallion. To find out why, we have to go back to Wednesday (which I should have already told you about, but my comp is still busted).
So Wednesday night I went out with a couple that was staying at the hotel. Cool people. They drank PBR, live in Alaska, and the chick has a prosthetic eye. We hit Nabob (awesome bar up the street) and then headed down into Belltown where we hit up Shorty's (cool pinball bar) and then headed to the Sea Sound Lounge (I think). SSL is a little too clubby for me. It has that wanna be swanky look, with big open spaces, glass, lots of black and white, and velvet covered couches in the corners. They even have a dude who hangs out in the bathroom (gotta be gay to take that job) just to hand you paper towels and squirt soap in your hand (God I hope that was actually soap and not.... Never mind). It also had pretty hot Asian chicks. Other hot chicks were there too, but the Asians are the point to this story. Oh, and Jessica. Can't forget her, she provided the humor, for me anyways. Jessica is a chick I work with whom everyone but me (and thankfully her boyfriend, my boss) seems to think has a crush on me. So you have me (drunk), some hot Asians (drunk), some cool people from Alaska (drunk), and Jessica (sober). No, this story doesn't quite go the place you think it's going. Kinda.
Being me, and drunk, I decided to talk to (hit on) one of the Asian girls. Guess what? Yep, exactly. So after a little light conversation, and some dancing we ended up back on the couch. By the way, I may be white, but I can dance. At least I can if I am drunk enough. It's easy, or at least someone once explained a real easy way to dance to me. Dancing is just sex standing up; I'm good at that. Anyways, this is where it gets funny. Sandra (Drunk Asian chick I was with) asked me if Jessica was glaring at us because she was my girlfriend. I explained the situation: She's my boss' girlfriend, and he'd fire me if he thought she liked me. Sandra pointed out that it was probably a good thing he wasn't there. That still makes me laugh. A couple hours later, after doing basically everything you can get away with in a mostly empty club on a Wednesday, and after the Alaskans, and Jessica had left, I got Sandra's number and then helped her get her way drunk friends in the car, and on their way home. Apparently Sandra wasn't all that drunk. I was. I thought she was hotter. She's cute, and pretty cool, but I really thought she was hot as hell. Not like I care; she's fun in bed, and she reads.
Fast forward to Sunday. For those of you who forgot, Sunday was my birthday. So I threw a party. A really small one where I was WAY more sober than last year. I left Karen at the bar with two random guys hitting on her (Yay Karen) that apparently she didn't sleep with (Boo Karen), and went with Sandra to move her car. Her car that we ended up having sex in in the QFC underground parking garage. Classy, I know. Then we came home, where Mario and Morgan had gotten me a cake, which was hella cool, not to mention a huge surprise. Mario also made an idiot of himself by telling me they had also gotten me the Happy Birthday balloon on the coffee table. The one Sandra got me. Yes, people, he really is just that dumb. Then we went to bed.
Short Version:
Make out, strip, foreplay, fuck for about 20 minutes. 15 minute break. 2 minutes of foreplay, 1 hour of sex. 45 minutes of chit chat, 2 minutes trying to sleep, foreplay, fuck for another hour or so, pass the fuck out. Intermittent sleep for 4 hours. Get up, close window so she can sleep better, foreplay, fuck for a while, shower, sleep for 2 hours. Wake up, wake her up with foreplay, fuck for however long it was, go get breakfast. Respond honestly to Karen's text with a number, get voice mail from Karen calling me a stallion.
Eventually we even went to a Mariner's game. Anyone know who won? We left early.
So Wednesday night I went out with a couple that was staying at the hotel. Cool people. They drank PBR, live in Alaska, and the chick has a prosthetic eye. We hit Nabob (awesome bar up the street) and then headed down into Belltown where we hit up Shorty's (cool pinball bar) and then headed to the Sea Sound Lounge (I think). SSL is a little too clubby for me. It has that wanna be swanky look, with big open spaces, glass, lots of black and white, and velvet covered couches in the corners. They even have a dude who hangs out in the bathroom (gotta be gay to take that job) just to hand you paper towels and squirt soap in your hand (God I hope that was actually soap and not.... Never mind). It also had pretty hot Asian chicks. Other hot chicks were there too, but the Asians are the point to this story. Oh, and Jessica. Can't forget her, she provided the humor, for me anyways. Jessica is a chick I work with whom everyone but me (and thankfully her boyfriend, my boss) seems to think has a crush on me. So you have me (drunk), some hot Asians (drunk), some cool people from Alaska (drunk), and Jessica (sober). No, this story doesn't quite go the place you think it's going. Kinda.
Being me, and drunk, I decided to talk to (hit on) one of the Asian girls. Guess what? Yep, exactly. So after a little light conversation, and some dancing we ended up back on the couch. By the way, I may be white, but I can dance. At least I can if I am drunk enough. It's easy, or at least someone once explained a real easy way to dance to me. Dancing is just sex standing up; I'm good at that. Anyways, this is where it gets funny. Sandra (Drunk Asian chick I was with) asked me if Jessica was glaring at us because she was my girlfriend. I explained the situation: She's my boss' girlfriend, and he'd fire me if he thought she liked me. Sandra pointed out that it was probably a good thing he wasn't there. That still makes me laugh. A couple hours later, after doing basically everything you can get away with in a mostly empty club on a Wednesday, and after the Alaskans, and Jessica had left, I got Sandra's number and then helped her get her way drunk friends in the car, and on their way home. Apparently Sandra wasn't all that drunk. I was. I thought she was hotter. She's cute, and pretty cool, but I really thought she was hot as hell. Not like I care; she's fun in bed, and she reads.
Fast forward to Sunday. For those of you who forgot, Sunday was my birthday. So I threw a party. A really small one where I was WAY more sober than last year. I left Karen at the bar with two random guys hitting on her (Yay Karen) that apparently she didn't sleep with (Boo Karen), and went with Sandra to move her car. Her car that we ended up having sex in in the QFC underground parking garage. Classy, I know. Then we came home, where Mario and Morgan had gotten me a cake, which was hella cool, not to mention a huge surprise. Mario also made an idiot of himself by telling me they had also gotten me the Happy Birthday balloon on the coffee table. The one Sandra got me. Yes, people, he really is just that dumb. Then we went to bed.
Short Version:
Make out, strip, foreplay, fuck for about 20 minutes. 15 minute break. 2 minutes of foreplay, 1 hour of sex. 45 minutes of chit chat, 2 minutes trying to sleep, foreplay, fuck for another hour or so, pass the fuck out. Intermittent sleep for 4 hours. Get up, close window so she can sleep better, foreplay, fuck for a while, shower, sleep for 2 hours. Wake up, wake her up with foreplay, fuck for however long it was, go get breakfast. Respond honestly to Karen's text with a number, get voice mail from Karen calling me a stallion.
Eventually we even went to a Mariner's game. Anyone know who won? We left early.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Why It Seems Like I'm Dead
I'm not really dead, it's just my computer. I got lazy and forgot to fix my computer one day, so now my screen is indelibly burned into showing only a gray screen. This is worse than eating a bag of bloody dicks. For reference on how much it sucks I need to clue you in on the coolest thing I was expecting to buy this year: Warhammer. Guess who's other computer doesn't have the ability to actually run Warhammer? Yeah, mine. I hate computers.
Anyways, I haven't been posting because I am just a touch bit too pissed at my computer right now to give a crap. Even using the ones at work makes me violently angry. So do cabbies. I hate those conniving little vicious bastards. Always trying to hassle my peoples. Dicks.
I don't have a whole lot of funny things to tell you today other than that it is over 90 degrees which classifies as WAY too fucking hot. Oh, and it costs about $50 less to take a train to San Fran than it does to take a bus. Just need to decide if saving $100 is worth the extra amount of travel time (about 40 hours total) that is added from taking a train as opposed to a plane. Less travel time means more time with the ladies. Course maybe I could find a girl on the train who has tickets for the sleeper section and seduce her into letting me stay in her bed with her. I wonder if they are big enough.
In other news, my birthday is next week on Sunday. If I'm lucky I'll be just as shitfaced as last year, which would be pretty impressive. I was pretty messed up, for which I, once again, have Karen to thank for. Hopefully the bartenders at Nabob are as tolerant of me being shithoused because I will be. Granted I might not be at Nobob, who knows where I might end up. As long as it has booze and bitches I'm good. If you can't make it, I'll pound a drink and a shot for you.
Anyways, I haven't been posting because I am just a touch bit too pissed at my computer right now to give a crap. Even using the ones at work makes me violently angry. So do cabbies. I hate those conniving little vicious bastards. Always trying to hassle my peoples. Dicks.
I don't have a whole lot of funny things to tell you today other than that it is over 90 degrees which classifies as WAY too fucking hot. Oh, and it costs about $50 less to take a train to San Fran than it does to take a bus. Just need to decide if saving $100 is worth the extra amount of travel time (about 40 hours total) that is added from taking a train as opposed to a plane. Less travel time means more time with the ladies. Course maybe I could find a girl on the train who has tickets for the sleeper section and seduce her into letting me stay in her bed with her. I wonder if they are big enough.
In other news, my birthday is next week on Sunday. If I'm lucky I'll be just as shitfaced as last year, which would be pretty impressive. I was pretty messed up, for which I, once again, have Karen to thank for. Hopefully the bartenders at Nabob are as tolerant of me being shithoused because I will be. Granted I might not be at Nobob, who knows where I might end up. As long as it has booze and bitches I'm good. If you can't make it, I'll pound a drink and a shot for you.
Friday, August 8, 2008
An Intro
What's up,
By this time you all must be convinced that Ed is out of his mind. He is. Anyway, I haven't gotten around to posting on this blog yet so I thought tonight would be a good opportunity.
Contrary to what you must think I actually do exist, I'm not just a figment of Ed's imagination. I'm a man of few words and extremely lazy; what this means for you is when you read MY posts you won't have to sit there for 15 fucking minutes and read and read and read (Ala Eds posts). From now on I'll most likely be making video posts, but I need to figure out how to do that first.
So, in an effort to intro myself here's a cool list of things about me:
- I'm not gay like Ed says. The only person that's gay is Ed because he really IS gay. He's just not cool with his own gayness yet.
- I hate blogers because most of you are fucking pussies and ignorant.
- I play the lotto and will win.
- I play Halo and pwn.
- I'm humble.
- I'm awesome.
- I'm a server. This means my tolerance for humanity has gone down the drain. Here's a tip for all you cheap bastards out there: tip your waiter 20%. A good waiter can smell a bad tipper a mile away. At this point we don't really care about your stupid dressing on the side requests, we don't care about you and most importantly...we really do put our hands on your food and wipe our spit on the rim of your glass. Conclusion: Do NOT fuck with people that handle your food.
- I hate Asians...actually I don't mind you guys I just hate the REALLY Asian Asians.....my god, you people are horrible.
- I recycle and don't use plastic bags.
- I have bad credit.
- I love boobs.
- I love good food and good beer.
- Fall and Winter are my favorite seasons.
- I love pwning newbs.
- I hate modems.
- I can change a tire.
- I worship music.
- I've seen Madonna.
- I think Obama might be a cool guy.
- I hate stupid people.
- I'm bored
- I'm done with this stupid post.
Cheers,
-mario
By this time you all must be convinced that Ed is out of his mind. He is. Anyway, I haven't gotten around to posting on this blog yet so I thought tonight would be a good opportunity.
Contrary to what you must think I actually do exist, I'm not just a figment of Ed's imagination. I'm a man of few words and extremely lazy; what this means for you is when you read MY posts you won't have to sit there for 15 fucking minutes and read and read and read (Ala Eds posts). From now on I'll most likely be making video posts, but I need to figure out how to do that first.
So, in an effort to intro myself here's a cool list of things about me:
- I'm not gay like Ed says. The only person that's gay is Ed because he really IS gay. He's just not cool with his own gayness yet.
- I hate blogers because most of you are fucking pussies and ignorant.
- I play the lotto and will win.
- I play Halo and pwn.
- I'm humble.
- I'm awesome.
- I'm a server. This means my tolerance for humanity has gone down the drain. Here's a tip for all you cheap bastards out there: tip your waiter 20%. A good waiter can smell a bad tipper a mile away. At this point we don't really care about your stupid dressing on the side requests, we don't care about you and most importantly...we really do put our hands on your food and wipe our spit on the rim of your glass. Conclusion: Do NOT fuck with people that handle your food.
- I hate Asians...actually I don't mind you guys I just hate the REALLY Asian Asians.....my god, you people are horrible.
- I recycle and don't use plastic bags.
- I have bad credit.
- I love boobs.
- I love good food and good beer.
- Fall and Winter are my favorite seasons.
- I love pwning newbs.
- I hate modems.
- I can change a tire.
- I worship music.
- I've seen Madonna.
- I think Obama might be a cool guy.
- I hate stupid people.
- I'm bored
- I'm done with this stupid post.
Cheers,
-mario
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Virginity: $2
As we all know, I lost my virginity a long time ago and I never regretted it. Other people make different choices. You would most likely expect me to disparage the decisions of most people, but I don't. I am, however, disgusted by people who have decided to keep their virginity until it means something, and then they just throw it away anyways. That's just dumb. Your virginity isn't something to be proud of having or not having. It's just a line that you stand on one side or the other of. It's also a notifier of how shitty you are going to be in bed, to a point.
The Muslims are idiots, virgins are useless. When I die, I want 70 sluts. I've had more virgins than a suicide bomber, and I am here to tell you they aren't worth bragging about, or desiring. And seriously, popping a virgin is horrible. It's like a miniature version of childbirth: Blood, pain, and after it's all done you have someone who follows you around all the time. I guess the payoff is a little better since you can at least fuck the personn following you around. Obviously this is all from a man's view. I'm sure for a woman, it's just really shitty, really short sex when they get a virgin between their thighs.
Chicks really need to figure their shit out before they have sex for the first time. Here's a couple hints. It's going to hurt. You won't like it. You will need new sheets. You will always compare this time to all the rest. You will never live down the huge (definately not his penis) mistake known as the guy you fucked. You will have serious mental issues because of this. You will think that this is how sex is supposed to be. It isn't.
Oh, and the guy fucking you? Here's the most likely events. He won't call you after. Men hate to cuddle. He doesn't care. He won't be nice about it. He will tell everyone he can. He will always be the guy who took your virginity. He doesn't know anything about how to please a woman. He fucks like a rabid dog high on crack. His dick is tiny, but it's still too big for your tight cunt, and that's the only reason he's with you. He doesn't love you.
Does this all mean that you should keep it in your pants? Hell no. What it means is that by the time you have the experience to know what you like, who you like, and what you want it will be way too late. And that is totally ok. Just spend a little while slutting it up, and you'll get it figured out pretty quick. Get more than just one partner under your belt and you might eventually even find someone who knows what they are doing.
Oh, and for general reference, there actually was a reason for all of this, but I don't feel like telling it to you.
The Muslims are idiots, virgins are useless. When I die, I want 70 sluts. I've had more virgins than a suicide bomber, and I am here to tell you they aren't worth bragging about, or desiring. And seriously, popping a virgin is horrible. It's like a miniature version of childbirth: Blood, pain, and after it's all done you have someone who follows you around all the time. I guess the payoff is a little better since you can at least fuck the personn following you around. Obviously this is all from a man's view. I'm sure for a woman, it's just really shitty, really short sex when they get a virgin between their thighs.
Chicks really need to figure their shit out before they have sex for the first time. Here's a couple hints. It's going to hurt. You won't like it. You will need new sheets. You will always compare this time to all the rest. You will never live down the huge (definately not his penis) mistake known as the guy you fucked. You will have serious mental issues because of this. You will think that this is how sex is supposed to be. It isn't.
Oh, and the guy fucking you? Here's the most likely events. He won't call you after. Men hate to cuddle. He doesn't care. He won't be nice about it. He will tell everyone he can. He will always be the guy who took your virginity. He doesn't know anything about how to please a woman. He fucks like a rabid dog high on crack. His dick is tiny, but it's still too big for your tight cunt, and that's the only reason he's with you. He doesn't love you.
Does this all mean that you should keep it in your pants? Hell no. What it means is that by the time you have the experience to know what you like, who you like, and what you want it will be way too late. And that is totally ok. Just spend a little while slutting it up, and you'll get it figured out pretty quick. Get more than just one partner under your belt and you might eventually even find someone who knows what they are doing.
Oh, and for general reference, there actually was a reason for all of this, but I don't feel like telling it to you.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Morals? Me?
We'll get to the moral issues in a minute. For now, how about I give you a little hint of what's to come. Mario and I are planning something. Something hella cool. You're gonna love it, I promise. We just need two things: a video camera, and a way to get back down off the neighbors roof. Got you curious now, don't I? You'll just have to wait. The best part is Mario is such a pussy that I have to go first. If I survive, he MIGHT try it, we'll see.
Now, onto morals. Looking at the things I have done, and continue to do, you migh think I have no morals at all. This, surprisingly, is far from true. I have morals, they're just strange by standard measures. Let me give you a specific example, since it's the purpose behind writing this anyways. Today, I got the number for a smokin hot blonde at work. And I had a reason to call her. I was basically handed an invitation to ask her to dinner. Did I take it? No.
Now why do you think I didn't? It's a simple reason. There is a rule at work. No fratenizing with the guests. But, you say, you've slept with plenty of guests at the hotels you worked at. My interpretation of the rule says that I can't fratenize with them, but there is nothing stopping them. If they ask me to dinner, drinks, bed, whatever then it's OK. I just can't ask them. Some women just don't have the confidence to ask, they need a man to do it. There are several other reasons behind that too, I just don't feel like elaborating.
What it all comes down to in this instance is that tonight, instead of spending my evening with a smokin hot blonde, doing things that are illegal in most states, I am sitting at home having a nice quiet night with a beer and a movie. But who knows, it's still early, things may change.
Oh, one addendum to my rule is that if I am drunk, anything goes. I guess that's an addendum to all my rules.
Now, onto morals. Looking at the things I have done, and continue to do, you migh think I have no morals at all. This, surprisingly, is far from true. I have morals, they're just strange by standard measures. Let me give you a specific example, since it's the purpose behind writing this anyways. Today, I got the number for a smokin hot blonde at work. And I had a reason to call her. I was basically handed an invitation to ask her to dinner. Did I take it? No.
Now why do you think I didn't? It's a simple reason. There is a rule at work. No fratenizing with the guests. But, you say, you've slept with plenty of guests at the hotels you worked at. My interpretation of the rule says that I can't fratenize with them, but there is nothing stopping them. If they ask me to dinner, drinks, bed, whatever then it's OK. I just can't ask them. Some women just don't have the confidence to ask, they need a man to do it. There are several other reasons behind that too, I just don't feel like elaborating.
What it all comes down to in this instance is that tonight, instead of spending my evening with a smokin hot blonde, doing things that are illegal in most states, I am sitting at home having a nice quiet night with a beer and a movie. But who knows, it's still early, things may change.
Oh, one addendum to my rule is that if I am drunk, anything goes. I guess that's an addendum to all my rules.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Recipe For Disaster
3 Days, No Sleep
18 Pack of Beer
4 Packs of Cigarettes
$40 of Pot
$80 of Mushrooms
4 Lines of Coc
6 Tabs of Ecstacy
18 Hits of Acid
18 Pack of Beer
4 Packs of Cigarettes
$40 of Pot
$80 of Mushrooms
4 Lines of Coc
6 Tabs of Ecstacy
18 Hits of Acid
I Am So Going To Hell
One of the best things about working in a hotel is the fact that I get to hit on tons of chicks and call it good customer service. I hit on pretty much every female who comes through the door. This includes hot chicks, ugly chicks, fat chicks, old women, underage girls, married girls, chicks with boyfriends, and chicks here for bachellorette parties. This works out in my favor most of the time. However, sometimes it doesn't work out the way it should.
For instance, a week or so ago there was a bachelorette party down from Canada staying at the hotel. A bunch of hot, fun, drunk chicks. My kind of party. One of them got my number before I got off of work and everything. But did I get my roof and bedroom swamped with smoking hot drunk chicks waiting to sexualy abuse me? No. Why not? Because drunk chicks shouldn't write a phone number on their hand before they go to the bar. And because I didn't think to tell the night girl that if they came back to the desk looking for me to give them my number. So when they did, she didn't. Cockblocked. I hate that.
In other news, Seattle is usually pretty good to me. I love it here. I get to longboard all over the place as long as I watch out for taxis, and I have some great places to drink. I get to meet lots of "interesting" people too. Walking back from the bar the other day I got to meet a bum. Or the cabby who kept trying to convince Mario's girlfriend that she needed to have babies. Or the dumb ass at the WarRoom with his fucked up ass hat friend who would have cockblocked me that night if I had had the necessary energy to actually have game. It takes a lot of energy to pull one chick out of a sixteen girl bachelorette party. Or at least it does when the one you are after is the Maid of Honor. And the one behind her in line. And the one behind her. And all the rest of them. And maybe the Bride to be too. Yup, going to hell.
For instance, a week or so ago there was a bachelorette party down from Canada staying at the hotel. A bunch of hot, fun, drunk chicks. My kind of party. One of them got my number before I got off of work and everything. But did I get my roof and bedroom swamped with smoking hot drunk chicks waiting to sexualy abuse me? No. Why not? Because drunk chicks shouldn't write a phone number on their hand before they go to the bar. And because I didn't think to tell the night girl that if they came back to the desk looking for me to give them my number. So when they did, she didn't. Cockblocked. I hate that.
In other news, Seattle is usually pretty good to me. I love it here. I get to longboard all over the place as long as I watch out for taxis, and I have some great places to drink. I get to meet lots of "interesting" people too. Walking back from the bar the other day I got to meet a bum. Or the cabby who kept trying to convince Mario's girlfriend that she needed to have babies. Or the dumb ass at the WarRoom with his fucked up ass hat friend who would have cockblocked me that night if I had had the necessary energy to actually have game. It takes a lot of energy to pull one chick out of a sixteen girl bachelorette party. Or at least it does when the one you are after is the Maid of Honor. And the one behind her in line. And the one behind her. And all the rest of them. And maybe the Bride to be too. Yup, going to hell.
Friday, July 25, 2008
How To Be Pro Like Me
I'm pretty pro at a lot of things, but the important ones are actually really easy. The only thing is, no self respecting person can ever do most of the things that I can. Why, you ask? Because they have self respect. I don't. So what is it about me, really, that lets me do the things I can and, better yet, lets me get away with it all the time? There's a few things, but most people can't manage to pick up these habits and such later in life. Let me list them, and a little about them.
First, my complete and utter lack of shame. I can literally do or say basically anything, and never get embarrassed. I walk around naked all the time, with no regards to windows that are wide open. Or, well, I used to, before I got a room mate. I have sex in public places, and enjoy it. Even all the things that I slip up and say thatt should embaress me, or the stories that people tell about me don't even phase me. If, for whatever reason, you decide to try and lose your sense of shame, you really need number two.
Two, my ego is completely unassailable. I know that I am awesome. No matter what happens, what anyone says, what I do, what I say, my ego cannot be deflated at all. The fact that even after all the years of abuse and ridicule from pretty much everyone, I am still quite proud of myself. This would surprise me, but I'm too good for that sort of thing. I don't think that I am better than everyone, I just think that I really am that good. My ego is a strange mix of pride and degredation that is virtually impossible to explain, and understanding it requires you to be insane. Ego can't be taught, it simply is.
The third one we'll talk about is probably my sense of humor/sarcasm. The slash is there for a reason, which I am going to guess that all of you know by now. Karen once told me that it's my sarcasm that gets me women. She may be right since most women seem to find it rather amusing for some reason, and if you can amuse a woman, you can sleep with her. Or at least get her to talk to you long enough that she will eventually sleep with you. Which takes about 5 minutes.
Yet another weapon in my arsenal is my voice. At work we have to do these call back things where we call all the people who have checked in and make sure that everything is ok. Well, I try not to do them, not because of anything other than that all the girls I work with have to leave the room when I start doing them. Why? Cause they all get wet listening to what they call my "Sexy Voice". Don't know what it is, but women love my voice, always have. If I could sing, I could be the white Barry White.
So what does all this really mean? It means I can pick up women with less effort than most men because I am confident enough to do it, and I have a few things that help. But really, anyone can pick up a chick, all you have to do is take the chance, and open your mouth. Talk to a woman and wether you're funny, attractive, and engaging, or none of these things you can still pick up on a woman, just not as many as you could if you were all those things. Luckily for me I have all those things, and I'm the luckiest son of a bitch alive.
First, my complete and utter lack of shame. I can literally do or say basically anything, and never get embarrassed. I walk around naked all the time, with no regards to windows that are wide open. Or, well, I used to, before I got a room mate. I have sex in public places, and enjoy it. Even all the things that I slip up and say thatt should embaress me, or the stories that people tell about me don't even phase me. If, for whatever reason, you decide to try and lose your sense of shame, you really need number two.
Two, my ego is completely unassailable. I know that I am awesome. No matter what happens, what anyone says, what I do, what I say, my ego cannot be deflated at all. The fact that even after all the years of abuse and ridicule from pretty much everyone, I am still quite proud of myself. This would surprise me, but I'm too good for that sort of thing. I don't think that I am better than everyone, I just think that I really am that good. My ego is a strange mix of pride and degredation that is virtually impossible to explain, and understanding it requires you to be insane. Ego can't be taught, it simply is.
The third one we'll talk about is probably my sense of humor/sarcasm. The slash is there for a reason, which I am going to guess that all of you know by now. Karen once told me that it's my sarcasm that gets me women. She may be right since most women seem to find it rather amusing for some reason, and if you can amuse a woman, you can sleep with her. Or at least get her to talk to you long enough that she will eventually sleep with you. Which takes about 5 minutes.
Yet another weapon in my arsenal is my voice. At work we have to do these call back things where we call all the people who have checked in and make sure that everything is ok. Well, I try not to do them, not because of anything other than that all the girls I work with have to leave the room when I start doing them. Why? Cause they all get wet listening to what they call my "Sexy Voice". Don't know what it is, but women love my voice, always have. If I could sing, I could be the white Barry White.
So what does all this really mean? It means I can pick up women with less effort than most men because I am confident enough to do it, and I have a few things that help. But really, anyone can pick up a chick, all you have to do is take the chance, and open your mouth. Talk to a woman and wether you're funny, attractive, and engaging, or none of these things you can still pick up on a woman, just not as many as you could if you were all those things. Luckily for me I have all those things, and I'm the luckiest son of a bitch alive.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Disaster Averted... Sorta... Not Really
So I went out for a drink with a co-worker last night and as usual, things didn't go exactly as planned. We were fine until I started talking to random people. People that were fat Canadian chicks. People that decided that hitting on us was a good and fun idea. People that we REALLY didn't need or want to talk to. So why did we? Because I am me. And I drank a fair bit.
So what happened you ask? We hung out with the chicks until the bar closed and they were actually pretty amusing. Then we went to QFC, bought some beer, and hit the roof. That was yet another bad idea. I've been up on my roof a lot of times, and made a ton of noise, but this was the first time I ever got the cops called to my roof. They shined the spotlight up there and told us to go back inside. So we went back down to my pad, where I think we lasted long enough for me to pee before Mario threw us out for being too loud. After that everyone else went back to QFC for some reason, and I sat out on the street with one of the chicks. And this is where it gets really bad.
I THOUGHT that I was helping out my co-worker at this point in time, but I was admittedly pretty drunk. So to help him out I thought I'd at least get it started, so I ended up somehow getting the chick to blow me. On the street. At 3:30 in the morning. I got skills, or something. I didn't manage to finish before everyone else came back out, so I zipped up and we wandered down to their hotel, where (thankfully) they all went to bed without us. This is one of those times where I wasn't upset about having blue balls because that chick was pretty jank. Seriously. Thank God I didn't sleep with her. I might not have forgiven myself.
So what happened you ask? We hung out with the chicks until the bar closed and they were actually pretty amusing. Then we went to QFC, bought some beer, and hit the roof. That was yet another bad idea. I've been up on my roof a lot of times, and made a ton of noise, but this was the first time I ever got the cops called to my roof. They shined the spotlight up there and told us to go back inside. So we went back down to my pad, where I think we lasted long enough for me to pee before Mario threw us out for being too loud. After that everyone else went back to QFC for some reason, and I sat out on the street with one of the chicks. And this is where it gets really bad.
I THOUGHT that I was helping out my co-worker at this point in time, but I was admittedly pretty drunk. So to help him out I thought I'd at least get it started, so I ended up somehow getting the chick to blow me. On the street. At 3:30 in the morning. I got skills, or something. I didn't manage to finish before everyone else came back out, so I zipped up and we wandered down to their hotel, where (thankfully) they all went to bed without us. This is one of those times where I wasn't upset about having blue balls because that chick was pretty jank. Seriously. Thank God I didn't sleep with her. I might not have forgiven myself.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Hate Time!!!
That's right, folks, it's Hate Time!!! YAY!!! Or something. Anyways, what this is all about is that whenever I feel in need of venting I call Hate Time, and blow off some steam. Normally this involves me ranting at my room mate. Some of these rants have actually become mildly famous in certain circles, like the Fat Chick on a Bike Rant, or the Ugly People Must Die Rant. I'm just pro like that. Today's rant get's to be published, instead of just fondly recalled. It's also one 0f the first ones I will actually write, so we'll see. Oh, and I'm not really all that pissed, some people just need to be abused.
Quick thing first though: You know that song about eating worms? The one we all sang as kids?
Nobody likes me,
Everybody hates me,
Think I'll eat some worms.
Something like that anyways. I think that song is really how Mexicans get white people to eat the worm in the bottom of the tequila bottle. Since white poeple with no friends automatically become like ten times cooler after they eat the worm, this is actually good social skills for bars and parties. Too bad the Mexicans never actually learned these skills.
So my work internet is the slowest thing on the planet. I swear that the ancient Mayan technology of dial up is actually faster. If the Mayans had invented anything faster, they might not have gotten wiped out by Cortez because they would have been able to send an e-mail faster than the Conquistadors travelled. But no, they relied on their shitty dial up networks, and had to patch messages through Bulletin Board Systems using telephone cord. These ancient people have since been wiped out, so we don't have to deal with the rest of their shitty tech, like sun dials, and those huge clubs embedded with obsidian.
OK, women, I got a rule for you. After two kids, three at the absolute outside, STOP HAVING KIDS!!!! Seriously, women get ruder and bitchier the more kids they pop out of their vag. It's a sexual organ people, not a pez dispenser. I know it hurts, but for fuck's sake keep it to yourself. And it's not like having more kids is going to make up for your man having a small dick that he uses on every one of your friends. They hate you and your kids just as much as I do, that's why they fuck so many other people, they just want to get the fuck away from you. If you can't stop having kids then I suggest that you get that bleeding hole in your crotch sewn up. While you're at it, sew up the hole in your soul too. Kid's are no substitute for friends, loved ones, or a social life. Learn to deal with your fucked up life before you bring more people into it who will just suffer like you. Children do NOT equal acceptance, self esteem, worth, or love. Give it up.
Take a moment to consider that I am not racist before you read this next part. Trust me, I'm not. My room mate is, so I know. I'm going to keep calling these people blacks, just like I would call anyone with blond hair a blonde. Learn to deal with your own damn issues, I like mine.
Black people don't hate me. I don't hate them. But black Americans who try and have professional jobs seem to lose touch with reality somewhere. They become the most passive-aggressive, whiney, sniveling, weak-willed, pathetic people in the workplace. Notice I said black Americans. And only the ones who try to be professional. I don't know if it's them, or if it's just that they see white people that way. Either way, it's pathetic to have someone take me to one side, away from everyone else and tell me that whatever I just did upset them, and undermines them with the customer. Really? Undermines? Undermines WHAT? You're a front desk person at a damn hotel, you don't have authority to undermine. You don't have respect. You have NOTHING. Re-FUCKING-Lax people. I'm not treating you badly. I'm not ruining the customer's vision of you; they don't care. Most importantly: I DON'T FUCKING CARE!!! I'm an asshole. I accept it. My boss accepts it. The guests accept it. My friends accept it. Everyone but YOU FUCKING ACCEPTS IT!!! GROW THE FUCK UP!!!
Quick thing first though: You know that song about eating worms? The one we all sang as kids?
Nobody likes me,
Everybody hates me,
Think I'll eat some worms.
Something like that anyways. I think that song is really how Mexicans get white people to eat the worm in the bottom of the tequila bottle. Since white poeple with no friends automatically become like ten times cooler after they eat the worm, this is actually good social skills for bars and parties. Too bad the Mexicans never actually learned these skills.
So my work internet is the slowest thing on the planet. I swear that the ancient Mayan technology of dial up is actually faster. If the Mayans had invented anything faster, they might not have gotten wiped out by Cortez because they would have been able to send an e-mail faster than the Conquistadors travelled. But no, they relied on their shitty dial up networks, and had to patch messages through Bulletin Board Systems using telephone cord. These ancient people have since been wiped out, so we don't have to deal with the rest of their shitty tech, like sun dials, and those huge clubs embedded with obsidian.
OK, women, I got a rule for you. After two kids, three at the absolute outside, STOP HAVING KIDS!!!! Seriously, women get ruder and bitchier the more kids they pop out of their vag. It's a sexual organ people, not a pez dispenser. I know it hurts, but for fuck's sake keep it to yourself. And it's not like having more kids is going to make up for your man having a small dick that he uses on every one of your friends. They hate you and your kids just as much as I do, that's why they fuck so many other people, they just want to get the fuck away from you. If you can't stop having kids then I suggest that you get that bleeding hole in your crotch sewn up. While you're at it, sew up the hole in your soul too. Kid's are no substitute for friends, loved ones, or a social life. Learn to deal with your fucked up life before you bring more people into it who will just suffer like you. Children do NOT equal acceptance, self esteem, worth, or love. Give it up.
Take a moment to consider that I am not racist before you read this next part. Trust me, I'm not. My room mate is, so I know. I'm going to keep calling these people blacks, just like I would call anyone with blond hair a blonde. Learn to deal with your own damn issues, I like mine.
Black people don't hate me. I don't hate them. But black Americans who try and have professional jobs seem to lose touch with reality somewhere. They become the most passive-aggressive, whiney, sniveling, weak-willed, pathetic people in the workplace. Notice I said black Americans. And only the ones who try to be professional. I don't know if it's them, or if it's just that they see white people that way. Either way, it's pathetic to have someone take me to one side, away from everyone else and tell me that whatever I just did upset them, and undermines them with the customer. Really? Undermines? Undermines WHAT? You're a front desk person at a damn hotel, you don't have authority to undermine. You don't have respect. You have NOTHING. Re-FUCKING-Lax people. I'm not treating you badly. I'm not ruining the customer's vision of you; they don't care. Most importantly: I DON'T FUCKING CARE!!! I'm an asshole. I accept it. My boss accepts it. The guests accept it. My friends accept it. Everyone but YOU FUCKING ACCEPTS IT!!! GROW THE FUCK UP!!!
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