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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!