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
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
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!!!
Saturday, July 19, 2008
My Friends Suck
So my friend Heather came into town last night. Well, not my town. She went to Bellevue, which is Karen's town. But at least she was near by. I didn't get off work till 11, and by the time I got off she had already decided that she wanted to leave and call it a night. So I got bored. What did I do? Well, you know it involved alcohol, but it had a twist last night.
One Domestic Beer, Bottled: $2.50
Two Domestic Beer, Bottled: $5.00
Two Condoms From Dispenser Above Urinal: $1.50
Picking up a 7 because I am too lazy to find a chick with the self esteem to make me actually work for it: Priceless.
A very slightly reduced version of the conversation that got me laid:
Ed: Hey, how's the night treating you?
7: Great now that you're here.
Ed: Well, thank you. Want a drink?
7: Only if you fuck me afterwards.
Ed: Deal.
OK, so it wasn't quite that blatant, but it wasn't far off. She wasn't smart. She wasn't hot. She was attractive, willing, easy, and a decent lay. A man really doesn't need anything more when all he needs to do is get laid. I don't even care that I never did hear her name over the noise in the bar. And thank god my building isn't accesible to people who don't live there. I don't want a big line of all the random chicks I'll sleep with over the next while that I live here just setting up camp outside my door in the hallway. Outside is fine, they can deal with the weather, fuck the crazy stalking bitches.
One Domestic Beer, Bottled: $2.50
Two Domestic Beer, Bottled: $5.00
Two Condoms From Dispenser Above Urinal: $1.50
Picking up a 7 because I am too lazy to find a chick with the self esteem to make me actually work for it: Priceless.
A very slightly reduced version of the conversation that got me laid:
Ed: Hey, how's the night treating you?
7: Great now that you're here.
Ed: Well, thank you. Want a drink?
7: Only if you fuck me afterwards.
Ed: Deal.
OK, so it wasn't quite that blatant, but it wasn't far off. She wasn't smart. She wasn't hot. She was attractive, willing, easy, and a decent lay. A man really doesn't need anything more when all he needs to do is get laid. I don't even care that I never did hear her name over the noise in the bar. And thank god my building isn't accesible to people who don't live there. I don't want a big line of all the random chicks I'll sleep with over the next while that I live here just setting up camp outside my door in the hallway. Outside is fine, they can deal with the weather, fuck the crazy stalking bitches.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Dooced? I Think Not.
So even though a couple of people at my work know about my blog (I don't think they read it) I am so not getting dooced. Why, you ask? I'll tell you why. I'm the Employee of the Month. That's right folks, you heard it here. Me, Employee of the Month. How weird is that? I got a nice little glass standee and my name on a plaquard at the hotel. Oh, and money.
Not that any of this will matter soon, since Mario and I are totally winning the Mega Millions $105 Million jackpot tonight. If we win I'll tell you all about the amazing debauchery that follows. Mario wants to hire a hooker just so he can through $100's at her while having sex and screaming, "You're nothing to me, Bitch!" And to think everyone believes I'M the asshole. I just wouldn't waste my money on the hooker, and I'd throw $1's. I'm cheap like that. And I'm better with women, so I don't have to buy it.
So what have I been up to, other than winning prestigious awards, and huge amounts of money? Well, I got more than a little drunk on my nights off and managed to not fall off of my roof, which is something I haven't always managed to not do. I also got so wasted yesterday that I slept for twelve hours last night, and went to bed at 10pm. The Darkness might have helped with that, and a little something I call MGM. You'll have to ask for the explanation to that one. Since it's pretty much the typical thing I do, and since we still don't have anything to record my drunken antics I didn't feel a need to really tell you much about it. That, and I was really too drunk to post anything.
OH!!!! I totally got my SHIRT!!! This thing is SO me. This is now one of the places I will actually buy my t-shirts from. I love this sight, it cracks me up. Blame Karen for this one too. She's cool, and she hasn't been peed on, unlike some other people I know.
Mario and I also boarded down to the waterfront, then up and down that for a while, then hopped the water taxi to Alki Beach and skated there for a while. We also hit a little place called Cactus, which makes great margaritas and we had a few of those. The food was great too, incidentally. Great ride, but I think I totally fucked my ankle. Maybe I am just getting old and decrepit.
One last thing (Yes, I know I'm longwinded). One of the gay guys at my work told me today that I need to shave off my beard. I'm not big on men's fashion, or style, or anything like that, so I usually take the advice of gay men, women, and my room mate (who fits in the first category). But I always look for a second opinion before I do it, even if it's something that will grow back in about three days. So let me know, just leave it in the comments. And yes, if I do shave, I'll get you a picture.
I really shouldn't wait this long to do a post, I end up writing forever, sorry.
Not that any of this will matter soon, since Mario and I are totally winning the Mega Millions $105 Million jackpot tonight. If we win I'll tell you all about the amazing debauchery that follows. Mario wants to hire a hooker just so he can through $100's at her while having sex and screaming, "You're nothing to me, Bitch!" And to think everyone believes I'M the asshole. I just wouldn't waste my money on the hooker, and I'd throw $1's. I'm cheap like that. And I'm better with women, so I don't have to buy it.
So what have I been up to, other than winning prestigious awards, and huge amounts of money? Well, I got more than a little drunk on my nights off and managed to not fall off of my roof, which is something I haven't always managed to not do. I also got so wasted yesterday that I slept for twelve hours last night, and went to bed at 10pm. The Darkness might have helped with that, and a little something I call MGM. You'll have to ask for the explanation to that one. Since it's pretty much the typical thing I do, and since we still don't have anything to record my drunken antics I didn't feel a need to really tell you much about it. That, and I was really too drunk to post anything.
OH!!!! I totally got my SHIRT!!! This thing is SO me. This is now one of the places I will actually buy my t-shirts from. I love this sight, it cracks me up. Blame Karen for this one too. She's cool, and she hasn't been peed on, unlike some other people I know.
Mario and I also boarded down to the waterfront, then up and down that for a while, then hopped the water taxi to Alki Beach and skated there for a while. We also hit a little place called Cactus, which makes great margaritas and we had a few of those. The food was great too, incidentally. Great ride, but I think I totally fucked my ankle. Maybe I am just getting old and decrepit.
One last thing (Yes, I know I'm longwinded). One of the gay guys at my work told me today that I need to shave off my beard. I'm not big on men's fashion, or style, or anything like that, so I usually take the advice of gay men, women, and my room mate (who fits in the first category). But I always look for a second opinion before I do it, even if it's something that will grow back in about three days. So let me know, just leave it in the comments. And yes, if I do shave, I'll get you a picture.
I really shouldn't wait this long to do a post, I end up writing forever, sorry.
Monday, July 14, 2008
My New Title
So someone just gave me the greatest title for me ever. Or at least in the top ten or so. I am now known as the Alcohol Rapist. Think about that one. Just had to share that one while it was still fresh. Gonna go rape the booze now, have a good night.
The New Poll
So I was talking to Karen the other day and she told me a funny story. Apparently her rediculously hideous and fat friend is on the website Hot or Not, and basically uses it as a site to meet singles just to fuck them. I guess that's what everyone does, but (yes, I know I am a whore) this whole thing seems wrong to me. I mean these people basically search around and find someone that they won't immediately kick out of bed, talk to them for a couple weeks on the internet via IM or Email, and then go over and have sex with them. WTF?!!?! What happened to bars? And social interaction? Seriously, the sexual morals of this country have gone WAY downhill. Yes, I'm a whore, but at least I WORK for my lays. I don't just send them an email or two, pretend to be emo, and then capitilize on it. No, I go out of my way to talk to random strangers, get to know them a little, induce physical interraction, then seduce them into the bed. OK, so it might not seem all that different to some people, but it's a question of worth to me. And yes, I may very well do something about it, but that will depend on you.
The new poll that will be up soon has some interesting options for me, but you guys get to choose them. It was recently pointed out to me (and pretty much constantly over the last many years) that someone else should periodically be making my choices for me, since I obviously always make the wrong one (Duh, no stories without bad decisions). Well this is your chance to help me out. Whatever you guys vote that I should do, I'll do. Or at least I'll try.
If anyone comes up with better choices than the ones I will originally post, go ahead and list them in the comments and I'll add them into the poll. You got a week to get me to make changes and then I'll just let it fly. Try not to fuck me over too bad, but really, it's not like I really care.
Have fun ruining my life.
The new poll that will be up soon has some interesting options for me, but you guys get to choose them. It was recently pointed out to me (and pretty much constantly over the last many years) that someone else should periodically be making my choices for me, since I obviously always make the wrong one (Duh, no stories without bad decisions). Well this is your chance to help me out. Whatever you guys vote that I should do, I'll do. Or at least I'll try.
If anyone comes up with better choices than the ones I will originally post, go ahead and list them in the comments and I'll add them into the poll. You got a week to get me to make changes and then I'll just let it fly. Try not to fuck me over too bad, but really, it's not like I really care.
Have fun ruining my life.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Promises, Promises
So first things first. Simone is the best ride I have ever had. She's amazing. She's got great curves, and she's so sensitive, responding to my every touch. I think I'm in love.
As for other things, I did my normal weekend thing and got totally smashed. Someone once (or a hell of a lot more times) said, "If Ed is puking, it's time to stop drinking." Yeah, people needed to stop last night. Let me tell you about it.
I had originally planned to go hang out with my friend Karen. Do a little BBQ, hit the pool, throw some frisbee, drink a lot of booze. Keep in mind she's the useless friend who abandoned me to the Police, and the Drunk Tank. There's a very good reason she's my friend: without friends like her, I would have hardly any stories. Another friend of mine, Krissy, was in town and I didn't hang out with her the night before cause I had to work at 7am, so I was going to go meet her down town at the Pike Market, and then leave and meet up with Karen. Obviously, this wouldn't be the story it is if that was actually what I did. No, someone found my weekness: Free Drinks.
I met Krissy at the Market and then she offered me free drinks, a hot bartender, and a ride home. Hard to pass up. I know I got the ride home cause I made it here, somehow. And my drinks were free, and the bartender was fairly hot. The rest of it was pretty much just typical crazed Ed.
So Carlene, the bartender, asked me what I wanted to drink and I made the typical mistake, I told her to surprise me. Here's the scenario to shed a little light: new bartender at a new cool bar trying to show off for her friend she hasn't seen in a while, and me. I have no idea what I drank for the most part, but I know they were all pretty damn strong. Sometime in here I vaguely recall telling Karen that I might not make it out to her place. She laughed and said as soon as she heard I was hanging out with Krissy and getting free drinks she knew I wouldn't make it. For all the amazing anecdotes of what I actually said you would have to ask the people I said them too: the bar owner's wife and the wife's mother; the butch lesbian, her girlfriend, and her straight friend; the hot chick who fell off her stool, her sober mid thirties friend, and the six guys who were trying to run the train on these two chicks; the 21 year old girl on her 21 run, and her 8 friends who kept cockblocking me. Sadly, the only other chicks in the bar were Krissy, and her fat friend who showed up. Her fat friend might have hooked up with one of the guys in the band too, even though I told her he was gay (or at least he hit on me more than her for a while).
I bought a total of three drinks. One Blowjob for the 21er, and then two AMF's (Audios Mother Fucker) for the 21er and me. I may be damn good, but even I make poor choices sometimes. If I had hit on someone OTHER than the 21er (also known as the main star in the evenings events for the pack of girls) I would have been set, but I had to go for the gold. And the lesbians. And the married chick. And her mom. And the chick who was already tied to six guys that wouldn't let her out of their sight. And her friend who was about a four, sober, and mean. And the bartender who wandered off and took a bunch of E with her co-workers. Bad showing for me, I know, but sometimes even I am too drunk to work my magic. Wait, no I'm not. I just had the shittiest wings ever. A creepy fat chick, and a funny fat chick. Whatever, I didn't have to buy most of my drinks, and I had a lot of them.
All in all, I had a good time. If you got me beat, let me know.
As for other things, I did my normal weekend thing and got totally smashed. Someone once (or a hell of a lot more times) said, "If Ed is puking, it's time to stop drinking." Yeah, people needed to stop last night. Let me tell you about it.
I had originally planned to go hang out with my friend Karen. Do a little BBQ, hit the pool, throw some frisbee, drink a lot of booze. Keep in mind she's the useless friend who abandoned me to the Police, and the Drunk Tank. There's a very good reason she's my friend: without friends like her, I would have hardly any stories. Another friend of mine, Krissy, was in town and I didn't hang out with her the night before cause I had to work at 7am, so I was going to go meet her down town at the Pike Market, and then leave and meet up with Karen. Obviously, this wouldn't be the story it is if that was actually what I did. No, someone found my weekness: Free Drinks.
I met Krissy at the Market and then she offered me free drinks, a hot bartender, and a ride home. Hard to pass up. I know I got the ride home cause I made it here, somehow. And my drinks were free, and the bartender was fairly hot. The rest of it was pretty much just typical crazed Ed.
So Carlene, the bartender, asked me what I wanted to drink and I made the typical mistake, I told her to surprise me. Here's the scenario to shed a little light: new bartender at a new cool bar trying to show off for her friend she hasn't seen in a while, and me. I have no idea what I drank for the most part, but I know they were all pretty damn strong. Sometime in here I vaguely recall telling Karen that I might not make it out to her place. She laughed and said as soon as she heard I was hanging out with Krissy and getting free drinks she knew I wouldn't make it. For all the amazing anecdotes of what I actually said you would have to ask the people I said them too: the bar owner's wife and the wife's mother; the butch lesbian, her girlfriend, and her straight friend; the hot chick who fell off her stool, her sober mid thirties friend, and the six guys who were trying to run the train on these two chicks; the 21 year old girl on her 21 run, and her 8 friends who kept cockblocking me. Sadly, the only other chicks in the bar were Krissy, and her fat friend who showed up. Her fat friend might have hooked up with one of the guys in the band too, even though I told her he was gay (or at least he hit on me more than her for a while).
I bought a total of three drinks. One Blowjob for the 21er, and then two AMF's (Audios Mother Fucker) for the 21er and me. I may be damn good, but even I make poor choices sometimes. If I had hit on someone OTHER than the 21er (also known as the main star in the evenings events for the pack of girls) I would have been set, but I had to go for the gold. And the lesbians. And the married chick. And her mom. And the chick who was already tied to six guys that wouldn't let her out of their sight. And her friend who was about a four, sober, and mean. And the bartender who wandered off and took a bunch of E with her co-workers. Bad showing for me, I know, but sometimes even I am too drunk to work my magic. Wait, no I'm not. I just had the shittiest wings ever. A creepy fat chick, and a funny fat chick. Whatever, I didn't have to buy most of my drinks, and I had a lot of them.
All in all, I had a good time. If you got me beat, let me know.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Not Dead Yet....
Sorry I missed a day or two there (not sure who I am apologizing to, no one reads this, yet) but I swear I'm not dead. Let's see what I can tell you....
For starters, I have a new lady. I call her Simone and you can check her out here. The art on mine is actually a woman's face, which really looks like a Simone to me. If I ever get a camera I'll show you some shots of her. For those of you who don't quite get it, Simone is my longboard, not to be confused with a skateboard. Longboards are for cruising; skateboards are tricks.
Mario and I spent about 6 hours yesterday on our boards, which is crazy since I haven't really ridden a board at all since I was about 8 or so.... God, 20 years and I'm still the hoodlum kid who tries to get hit by cars. We cruised all over downtown Bellevue and Redmond, hitting highlights like inside BellSquare, the Marymoor trail, some sick parking garages and the absolute worst sidewalk EVER. Oddly enough, that sidewalk is in Bellevue. The view was dope yesterday, and by view I mean there was a ton of smoking hot, irritatingly pretentious, overpriced, undersexed, needy, high-maintenance, sweet Bellevue ass everywhere. The funny thing is how much this reminds me that I hate that town. Redmond is still a weird place, but nostalgia reigned supreme there. Just depressed I didn't get to fall off another balcony, or see the Mack and Jack's Brewery.
As for the day before, I am sure I did something interesting, but I also drank a lot, so the details are a little fuzzy. I know we barbequed, but I think all I really did was get drunk. Mario went to the Foo Fighters concert and had a great time, but he won't write about it, since he can't type. He decided yesterday that we need a digital camera/video recorder so that he can just be the camera man for all of my crazy antics. He's basically going to be the media man for the blog, while I do all the real work. Yeah, he's a dick, too.
Shit, out of beer, I gotta go.
For starters, I have a new lady. I call her Simone and you can check her out here. The art on mine is actually a woman's face, which really looks like a Simone to me. If I ever get a camera I'll show you some shots of her. For those of you who don't quite get it, Simone is my longboard, not to be confused with a skateboard. Longboards are for cruising; skateboards are tricks.
Mario and I spent about 6 hours yesterday on our boards, which is crazy since I haven't really ridden a board at all since I was about 8 or so.... God, 20 years and I'm still the hoodlum kid who tries to get hit by cars. We cruised all over downtown Bellevue and Redmond, hitting highlights like inside BellSquare, the Marymoor trail, some sick parking garages and the absolute worst sidewalk EVER. Oddly enough, that sidewalk is in Bellevue. The view was dope yesterday, and by view I mean there was a ton of smoking hot, irritatingly pretentious, overpriced, undersexed, needy, high-maintenance, sweet Bellevue ass everywhere. The funny thing is how much this reminds me that I hate that town. Redmond is still a weird place, but nostalgia reigned supreme there. Just depressed I didn't get to fall off another balcony, or see the Mack and Jack's Brewery.
As for the day before, I am sure I did something interesting, but I also drank a lot, so the details are a little fuzzy. I know we barbequed, but I think all I really did was get drunk. Mario went to the Foo Fighters concert and had a great time, but he won't write about it, since he can't type. He decided yesterday that we need a digital camera/video recorder so that he can just be the camera man for all of my crazy antics. He's basically going to be the media man for the blog, while I do all the real work. Yeah, he's a dick, too.
Shit, out of beer, I gotta go.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
My Deck Rules
I had to upload this just so Susan can understand the story I was telling her. But the way it goes is that I was really drunk, and I was peeing off of my deck cause I had to pee. The fact that I peed ALL over some random dude's BMW is totally immaterial. If you look closely you can totally see the shine of the flash off of the stream of urine. God I love my life, I am such a drunk ass. If you want the whole story, which really doesn't matter, you can ask for it.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Non Life-Threatening Addictions
So if you are addicted to things like sky diving, or hard drugs like heroin, or maybe police chases you might have something to worry about. If you have less dangerous addictions like most of mine you just have to worry about how ridiculous some of these things might seem to others. Obviously, I don't give a crap what anyone thinks of me, which is why I still make posts here pretty much every day, despite the fact that no one reads this. But let me explain something else that can happen to you when you have an addiction to something utterly ridiculous, but so friggin AWESOME.
Mario and I are both addicted to one sports game, and only one. If you were to guess, most people would guess things like Madden, or NBA Live, or even Tiger Woods golf. These games are crap. No, we have class. We have so much class that the only sports game we play is NHL 94 on the Super Nintendo. Beat that.
Let me tell you why NHL 94 is the best sports game ever. One: It's hockey. I dare you to come up with something more violent that you can actually get a video game for (Outlaw Golf doesn't count). There's no fights or anything in NHL 94, it's all game. Second: This game takes SKILL. The reason this game takes skill is because of reason three. Three: This game hax like MAD.
And not nice hax. Nothing cute and fluffy like Hackers style. You remember the Crash Test Dummies commercials? The ones where they crash a car into a brick wall at 80mph? Yeah, that's what it's like to try and check the goalie. You hit him, and down you go. And your goalie can't do that. They bounce off him like it's nothing, without falling down. Hell, half the time they just skate past him and the puck magically goes in. The computer will hax the puck AROUND your goalie to get it in. I'm not kidding, this thing moves like a damn Frisbee. Your shots don't have this magical, curving ability, and yours can also hit the posts of the goal. Oh, and they'll hold you all the time and then check you into the ground when they get bored of holding. Speaking of checking, the game will also be virtually impossible to check sometimes; meaning you can get a cross rink speed dash going and then hit some guy only to have YOUR player crash to the ice. Or you can hit the computer player over and over and have him just keep skating down to score. And then the worst thing: penalty shots. Even when you turn penalties off, the game still gets them, but you don't. Not a chance of it. Total Hax.
So why do we play a game that cheats worse than those guys in Diablo 2 who use dupes and trainers and hack programs? Because it's a challenge. A challenge the likes of which you just don't find much anymore. Or at least you don't find them without putting them onto the hardest difficulty level there is. Playing this game on the normal mode is like playing any of the Halo games on Legendary, but IT'S ALWAYS LIKE THAT. And the reward? The reward is slamming someone so hard into the glass that it makes that wet meat sound. Or that hard blast that puts someone on their back with the lovely little sign that pops up along with the whistle declaring them injured and out for the game. Or better yet, taking the worst team in the league, the Dallas Stars, and managing to win the Stanley Cup, no matter how much the game hax, or how many times it plays The Devil Polka. Yeah, that's right, The Devil Polka. That's reason enough to play it.
Trust me, Devil Polka Hax or not, this game PWNS monkey nutz, and is definitely worth the addiction. Check it out.
Mario and I are both addicted to one sports game, and only one. If you were to guess, most people would guess things like Madden, or NBA Live, or even Tiger Woods golf. These games are crap. No, we have class. We have so much class that the only sports game we play is NHL 94 on the Super Nintendo. Beat that.
Let me tell you why NHL 94 is the best sports game ever. One: It's hockey. I dare you to come up with something more violent that you can actually get a video game for (Outlaw Golf doesn't count). There's no fights or anything in NHL 94, it's all game. Second: This game takes SKILL. The reason this game takes skill is because of reason three. Three: This game hax like MAD.
And not nice hax. Nothing cute and fluffy like Hackers style. You remember the Crash Test Dummies commercials? The ones where they crash a car into a brick wall at 80mph? Yeah, that's what it's like to try and check the goalie. You hit him, and down you go. And your goalie can't do that. They bounce off him like it's nothing, without falling down. Hell, half the time they just skate past him and the puck magically goes in. The computer will hax the puck AROUND your goalie to get it in. I'm not kidding, this thing moves like a damn Frisbee. Your shots don't have this magical, curving ability, and yours can also hit the posts of the goal. Oh, and they'll hold you all the time and then check you into the ground when they get bored of holding. Speaking of checking, the game will also be virtually impossible to check sometimes; meaning you can get a cross rink speed dash going and then hit some guy only to have YOUR player crash to the ice. Or you can hit the computer player over and over and have him just keep skating down to score. And then the worst thing: penalty shots. Even when you turn penalties off, the game still gets them, but you don't. Not a chance of it. Total Hax.
So why do we play a game that cheats worse than those guys in Diablo 2 who use dupes and trainers and hack programs? Because it's a challenge. A challenge the likes of which you just don't find much anymore. Or at least you don't find them without putting them onto the hardest difficulty level there is. Playing this game on the normal mode is like playing any of the Halo games on Legendary, but IT'S ALWAYS LIKE THAT. And the reward? The reward is slamming someone so hard into the glass that it makes that wet meat sound. Or that hard blast that puts someone on their back with the lovely little sign that pops up along with the whistle declaring them injured and out for the game. Or better yet, taking the worst team in the league, the Dallas Stars, and managing to win the Stanley Cup, no matter how much the game hax, or how many times it plays The Devil Polka. Yeah, that's right, The Devil Polka. That's reason enough to play it.
Trust me, Devil Polka Hax or not, this game PWNS monkey nutz, and is definitely worth the addiction. Check it out.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Lifelike Update
So I was going to post about something else entirely, but I got sidetracked and then I changed my mind. So deal.
First off, I gave my room mate the ability to do posts here as well, so this is more of a group blog now, not that anyone will have noticed yet anyways. He's more than a bit useless so God only knows when he'll take the time to actually say hi to everyone.
Second, I'm still new at this so you'll have to put up with things changing a lot. You'll also probably noticed that I have a tendency to ramble. Oh, and I'm a dick. You can deal with that too. Now for important things that no one cares about.
This last week was interesting for me. Monday my girlfriend and I split up. Wednesday my room mate got back home from his camping trip so we did a little drunken BBQ on the roof, and one of my friends and her boss/friend showed up as well. BTW he'll hopefully be posting an edited version of the videos from his trip, they're hysterical. Thursday I bought a longboard, which I will detail later at some point in time, but it's rad, and I didn't die. I also had one of the longest meetings ever that same day. It was sposed to be two hours, and it was actually about three and a half. Somehow I managed to buy my longboard and make it to Hancock both after the meeting and still get some sleep. Friday you've heard the Cliffnotes version of, but yay for Beerfest. Saturday I checked a bunch of SMOKIN' hot chicks into the hotel I work at and was going to meet a few of them at Beerfest after I got off, but I got lazy and tired and ended up taking a nap instead. I hate missing out on both great beer and great looking chicks, even if they were really high maintenance, but I REALLY needed the sleep. For crying out loud, I fell asleep reading, which I so don't do.
So that's a really short version of my week. Things to look for in the future: The full story of what the hell happened to me and the drunk tank, how the first wedding I did went, and maybe even the details of the bachelorette party I threw as well.
First off, I gave my room mate the ability to do posts here as well, so this is more of a group blog now, not that anyone will have noticed yet anyways. He's more than a bit useless so God only knows when he'll take the time to actually say hi to everyone.
Second, I'm still new at this so you'll have to put up with things changing a lot. You'll also probably noticed that I have a tendency to ramble. Oh, and I'm a dick. You can deal with that too. Now for important things that no one cares about.
This last week was interesting for me. Monday my girlfriend and I split up. Wednesday my room mate got back home from his camping trip so we did a little drunken BBQ on the roof, and one of my friends and her boss/friend showed up as well. BTW he'll hopefully be posting an edited version of the videos from his trip, they're hysterical. Thursday I bought a longboard, which I will detail later at some point in time, but it's rad, and I didn't die. I also had one of the longest meetings ever that same day. It was sposed to be two hours, and it was actually about three and a half. Somehow I managed to buy my longboard and make it to Hancock both after the meeting and still get some sleep. Friday you've heard the Cliffnotes version of, but yay for Beerfest. Saturday I checked a bunch of SMOKIN' hot chicks into the hotel I work at and was going to meet a few of them at Beerfest after I got off, but I got lazy and tired and ended up taking a nap instead. I hate missing out on both great beer and great looking chicks, even if they were really high maintenance, but I REALLY needed the sleep. For crying out loud, I fell asleep reading, which I so don't do.
So that's a really short version of my week. Things to look for in the future: The full story of what the hell happened to me and the drunk tank, how the first wedding I did went, and maybe even the details of the bachelorette party I threw as well.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Best Fairy Tale Ever.... EVER!!!
So I was just going through my email, cleaing out all the random crap and I found something totally awesome that one of my friends had sent me a long time back and I thought I would share the wealth.
Whoops....
So when I logged onto the blog today I saw a new post and was kinda excited that my room mate had finally decided to post something. Then I tried to read it. Not very long into it I realized that it seemed a little familiar. Guess why.
SOMEONE went to Beerfest yesterday, and used every ticket he got, as well as some of his room mate's, and even three he scammed off some random chick that he's not sure was really all that hot or not. Keep in mind that at Beerfest some of the beers cost two plus tickets. He saw one that cost SIX, which is basically robbing all the drunks because they figure if a beer costs 6 tickets it must be good. But being a genius and all, he only spent 1 ticket each time. Even with only four ounce pours, a beer that is 22% alcohol per volume is still going to fuck you up if you drink enough of them. That's 44 proof, and most of the hard alcohols that people drink are 70 proof, which means that most of the beer he drank was equivalent to more than two shots each.
After Beerfest he tried to go to Gasworks park with his room mate, his room mate's girlfriend, and his room mate's friend. Apparently Gasworks is run by beer Nazi's because they wouldn't let him in with his own beer. He and the room mate's girlfriend took their beer up the hill where he promptly tried to drink it all. The RM's GF decided to go get a sandwich and left him there for 45 minutes, where he managed to finish most of his beer and was just deciding to leave when the RM showed up. He left anyways.
Back home he drank a few more beers, played some Bad Company, got a call from another friend telling him she was coming over to hang on the roof and watch some fireworks, wrote a blog post he couldn't remember and that didn't make coherent sense, and then went to bed completely ignoring everyone, and the fireworks.
Now take that whole story, replace pretty much all of the HE's with I's and you got my Fourth. When I realized I made that post last night I really wanted to edit it so it made sense, but I think it's better in my drunkass format. As you can tell I got in the main thing I wanted to yesterday: I drank beer.
SOMEONE went to Beerfest yesterday, and used every ticket he got, as well as some of his room mate's, and even three he scammed off some random chick that he's not sure was really all that hot or not. Keep in mind that at Beerfest some of the beers cost two plus tickets. He saw one that cost SIX, which is basically robbing all the drunks because they figure if a beer costs 6 tickets it must be good. But being a genius and all, he only spent 1 ticket each time. Even with only four ounce pours, a beer that is 22% alcohol per volume is still going to fuck you up if you drink enough of them. That's 44 proof, and most of the hard alcohols that people drink are 70 proof, which means that most of the beer he drank was equivalent to more than two shots each.
After Beerfest he tried to go to Gasworks park with his room mate, his room mate's girlfriend, and his room mate's friend. Apparently Gasworks is run by beer Nazi's because they wouldn't let him in with his own beer. He and the room mate's girlfriend took their beer up the hill where he promptly tried to drink it all. The RM's GF decided to go get a sandwich and left him there for 45 minutes, where he managed to finish most of his beer and was just deciding to leave when the RM showed up. He left anyways.
Back home he drank a few more beers, played some Bad Company, got a call from another friend telling him she was coming over to hang on the roof and watch some fireworks, wrote a blog post he couldn't remember and that didn't make coherent sense, and then went to bed completely ignoring everyone, and the fireworks.
Now take that whole story, replace pretty much all of the HE's with I's and you got my Fourth. When I realized I made that post last night I really wanted to edit it so it made sense, but I think it's better in my drunkass format. As you can tell I got in the main thing I wanted to yesterday: I drank beer.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Beer Fest, or Fourth of July?
This is important. Or well, I think its important. OK, it;s bullshit, but what do you care?
So, important things I did since last time.... I watched Hancock, I went to Beer Fest, and I tried to do a Fouth of July of celebration. I don't even know where to start.
Let's do a chroicological ordrer thing... nevermind, fuck that. Let's do a totally who gives a review of my last couple days. So this is how we lay it out, so that I can try and give more detail tomorrow when I am sober because I am so not now.
Hancock was good, as long as all you expect is something funny. Beer Fest RULED no matter what you expected. And I have no idea at this time what the Fourth is really gonna do for me since I abandoned my only celebration.
Honestly I am too drunk to really blog about any of it, so I will do it tomorrow. Enjoy the randomness of this crap.
PS: Some drunk chick with one of the greatest shirts ever "Ride the S.L.U.T." was totally hot today, and she totally wanted my scrot. I love sluts.
So, important things I did since last time.... I watched Hancock, I went to Beer Fest, and I tried to do a Fouth of July of celebration. I don't even know where to start.
Let's do a chroicological ordrer thing... nevermind, fuck that. Let's do a totally who gives a review of my last couple days. So this is how we lay it out, so that I can try and give more detail tomorrow when I am sober because I am so not now.
Hancock was good, as long as all you expect is something funny. Beer Fest RULED no matter what you expected. And I have no idea at this time what the Fourth is really gonna do for me since I abandoned my only celebration.
Honestly I am too drunk to really blog about any of it, so I will do it tomorrow. Enjoy the randomness of this crap.
PS: Some drunk chick with one of the greatest shirts ever "Ride the S.L.U.T." was totally hot today, and she totally wanted my scrot. I love sluts.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
So Glad I'm A Man
So I just found an awesome quote on the internet that I wanted to share with you all. Apparently it's from some TV show, but really, who cares where it came from because it is SO true.
Okay, George. Five reasons men are scum and women let us get away with it. One: we only want one thing. No exceptions. Two: we fall in love with you before we can have that thing and then fall back out once we’ve had it, whereas women conversely fall in love afterwards. Three: we will lie, cheat, steal or murder in order to get that thing… why am I sugarcoating this, you’re a big girl… in order to fuck you. Four: we freely admit the numbers one, two, three, and women don’t care. And the number five reason why men are scum and women let us get away with it: you can’t live without us.
PS: There are some SMOKIN hot chicks walkin by outside. God I love the view from my new place.
Okay, George. Five reasons men are scum and women let us get away with it. One: we only want one thing. No exceptions. Two: we fall in love with you before we can have that thing and then fall back out once we’ve had it, whereas women conversely fall in love afterwards. Three: we will lie, cheat, steal or murder in order to get that thing… why am I sugarcoating this, you’re a big girl… in order to fuck you. Four: we freely admit the numbers one, two, three, and women don’t care. And the number five reason why men are scum and women let us get away with it: you can’t live without us.
PS: There are some SMOKIN hot chicks walkin by outside. God I love the view from my new place.
Top 10 things To Do To Your Straight Room Mate That Everyone Else Thinks Is Gay.
1. Throw a coming out party for him and invite every gay you can find.
2. Get him trashed and take him to the Gay Pride parade.
3. Poor whip cream on his bed while he's sleeping and tell him his boyfriend was way to loud last night.
4. $3.00 for a jar of vaseline.
$6.00 for a pack of condoms.
$25.00 for a 3 pack of gay porn.
Convincing his mother and girlfriend that he's gay: Priceless
5. Wear your "He is Gay" shirt everytime you hang out with him.
6. Introduce him to people as your "Sexually Confused" room mate.
7. Ask all the girls at the bar if they have a gay friend that's single so you can introduce them.
8. Wait till he passes out drunk as hell, then take a condom on the end of a broom stick and shove it into his ass and leave the condom there.
9. Take pictures of him passed out naked with another man then send them to his mother and girlfriend.
10.Get him plowed and take him to a bar frequented by cross dressers, then leave him there.
2. Get him trashed and take him to the Gay Pride parade.
3. Poor whip cream on his bed while he's sleeping and tell him his boyfriend was way to loud last night.
4. $3.00 for a jar of vaseline.
$6.00 for a pack of condoms.
$25.00 for a 3 pack of gay porn.
Convincing his mother and girlfriend that he's gay: Priceless
5. Wear your "He is Gay" shirt everytime you hang out with him.
6. Introduce him to people as your "Sexually Confused" room mate.
7. Ask all the girls at the bar if they have a gay friend that's single so you can introduce them.
8. Wait till he passes out drunk as hell, then take a condom on the end of a broom stick and shove it into his ass and leave the condom there.
9. Take pictures of him passed out naked with another man then send them to his mother and girlfriend.
10.Get him plowed and take him to a bar frequented by cross dressers, then leave him there.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
County Detox Facility: A Review
It's hard to write a review for something you barely remember, but I think I can manage based on my shadowy memories, the various phone calls my room mate received, and the condition I was in when my friend abandoned me to the tender mercies of the City of Seattle Police Department.
A little later I'll give you the whole story about how I ended up in the Dutch Shisler Sobering Support Center, but for now let me just tell you about this place. I have no idea how many "cells" they had, but one of them contained a man who after having been there for at least four hours finally had the gumption to realize not only where he was, but that everyone around him kept calling him Bob. For reference, my name is most definately NOT Bob. My best guess on this is that when they first were picking me up I thought I was being arrested and since I didn't have my ID, I lied and told them Bob was my name. Or they just call everyone they don't know by a generic name. The first story is WAY more likely knowing me.
Coming to sitting on a vinyl mattress on a bed bolted to a wall, with my head in my hands, staring at a concrete floor was not one of my better days. But I have to admit that the facility was quite clean, with only a few homeless alcoholics strewn haphazardley across the floor. The staff was courteous and respectful. They didn't push me for my real name, and were quite cheerfully calling me Bob for just about everything. If you have never been so inebriated that you start to actually respond to an entirely different name, I highly recomend it. I was a whole different person in detox. The staff apparently told my room mate that I was rather amusing, and very easy to deal with. Amusing I believe, my sense of humor cracks me up, but easy to deal with: I think not. On the other hand, compared to professional homeless winos, I am probably pretty easy to handle.
I do have a few complaints about the sobering center. One, they didn't serve me booze to help slow the ultimate sobering crash. Two, they didn't give me a saline IV to keep me hydrated. Three, when I finally was released the guy basically walked me down a dark alley at one in the morning, out to the street and pointed me in a direction saying, "Your room mate is down there. Have a good night, Bob." That's just wrong. I could have been mugged and assaulted by all the homeless people that they had previously released back into the wild. I mean they are fine when they were still in their cages, and I was in mine, but once you let them loose they could prey on anyone. What would have happened had 15 or 20 staggering bums decided to assault me at once by waving paper cups, and old coffee cans at me all begging for change.
All in all my trip to the Dutch Shisler Sobering Support Center was pretty amusing, and would have provided a great eye-opener if I went in for things like that. As it was, the only lessons I learned are that wearing my room mate's retarded fedora looking hat, and my "He is Gay -->" shirt makes for an awesome story with a hysterical ending. Oh, and hanging out with any of my friends while drunk as shit means that no one is taking care of me, and thank god for that.
A little later I'll give you the whole story about how I ended up in the Dutch Shisler Sobering Support Center, but for now let me just tell you about this place. I have no idea how many "cells" they had, but one of them contained a man who after having been there for at least four hours finally had the gumption to realize not only where he was, but that everyone around him kept calling him Bob. For reference, my name is most definately NOT Bob. My best guess on this is that when they first were picking me up I thought I was being arrested and since I didn't have my ID, I lied and told them Bob was my name. Or they just call everyone they don't know by a generic name. The first story is WAY more likely knowing me.
Coming to sitting on a vinyl mattress on a bed bolted to a wall, with my head in my hands, staring at a concrete floor was not one of my better days. But I have to admit that the facility was quite clean, with only a few homeless alcoholics strewn haphazardley across the floor. The staff was courteous and respectful. They didn't push me for my real name, and were quite cheerfully calling me Bob for just about everything. If you have never been so inebriated that you start to actually respond to an entirely different name, I highly recomend it. I was a whole different person in detox. The staff apparently told my room mate that I was rather amusing, and very easy to deal with. Amusing I believe, my sense of humor cracks me up, but easy to deal with: I think not. On the other hand, compared to professional homeless winos, I am probably pretty easy to handle.
I do have a few complaints about the sobering center. One, they didn't serve me booze to help slow the ultimate sobering crash. Two, they didn't give me a saline IV to keep me hydrated. Three, when I finally was released the guy basically walked me down a dark alley at one in the morning, out to the street and pointed me in a direction saying, "Your room mate is down there. Have a good night, Bob." That's just wrong. I could have been mugged and assaulted by all the homeless people that they had previously released back into the wild. I mean they are fine when they were still in their cages, and I was in mine, but once you let them loose they could prey on anyone. What would have happened had 15 or 20 staggering bums decided to assault me at once by waving paper cups, and old coffee cans at me all begging for change.
All in all my trip to the Dutch Shisler Sobering Support Center was pretty amusing, and would have provided a great eye-opener if I went in for things like that. As it was, the only lessons I learned are that wearing my room mate's retarded fedora looking hat, and my "He is Gay -->" shirt makes for an awesome story with a hysterical ending. Oh, and hanging out with any of my friends while drunk as shit means that no one is taking care of me, and thank god for that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
