Balls
Balls. Balls. Balls.
I hadn’t taken Xanax at the office until yesterday after I found out this gal I knew died.

Her name was Stacy, a big ole lesbian born and raised in Atlanta. She was a drunk and a druggie at 14 (like me) and cleaned up her act and fell back down and cleaned up her act and was so inspiring to so many of us.

I have no idea as to what it was that took her life. I knew that she’d recently met a guy, despite swearing off men forever when she was younger but as someone once said…even a vegetarian craves meat once in a while.

Her passing took the piss outta me yesterday. I was in a fog for most of the day, functioning as well as I can while completely under because of medication. I ate ice cream yesterday, fucking ice cream which I never eat, I was in that much of a mood. My stomach hurt.

I went to the store and bought prune juice because needed to clear out my damn stomach. And took a lovely combination of medications and sleep aids and passed the fuck out, seconds after the Lakers narrowly beat the Rockets.

There was a kicker to last night as well…I was looking through this chick’s facebook…I sort of want to fuck her but not really. But there’s a picture of her and these other girls I know…and I recognize one of them as someone I deleted after she cockteased the shit out of me a year and a half ago. Not cool, not nice, not something someone should have done to me. But she did and I blocked her but now I saw her and her last name’s different.

She got married. So she was drunk texting and drunk calling me. And either fucking someone on the side or wanted to fuck me but had someone else. Some bullshit.
As Jonah would say on Summer Heights High, that’s bullshit, miss! The circle of shit completed and today’s crappy commute plus standing at Starbucks next to an incompetent fussy rude Indian woman and her fat little daughter (13 year old should not have asses that would satisfy my tastes) and her meek little son have made me feel grateful for living.

I’m pissed enough to refocus on the things I want to focus on. Reading. Writing. Working out. Not much else.

Speaking of not much else...that dumb actor sent me another facebook message. I looked on her photos and it looks like she's meeting everyone she possibly can. Lifeless maybe?

It blows my asshole that some people have their Mom fly in whenever they get sick.

Seriously. Fly in.

My mom would yell at me if I called her to ask how to handle something when I felt bad.

Retarded.

I got this email:

Hi person,
I'm an actress from Toronto who is currently starting the process to move to LA. I came down here originally for a couple of weeks to check things out, but had some unexpected good fortune.

A producer set several meetings up for me with casting directors and one of them wants me to audition to be Jon Lithgow's daughter in a Meg Ryan film.

Due to this and a few other scheduled meetings I have extended my stay until the 25th. While here I'm trying to touch base with as many of my fb friends as I can to make them real friends.

I hope we have a chance to meet, but if that doesn't work for you, that's cool too.

All the best, :) katie

katieblah@gmail.com

My response:

Dear Katie,
I’m an asshole from Boston who is currently floundering in LA. I came here to write great movies but had some unexpected bad fortune when I got a job in the industry.
Due to this and a few other unscheduled things (like friends dying,) I am still working here because I hate myself and want to die. And I hate my friends too so I
don’t even give a shit about my facebook friends.

If you still want to meet, let me know. Wear chaps and a tutu. At the same time.
I’ll pick you up at the 7-11 on Normandie; you know the one. If that doesn’t work for you, that’s cool too.

All the best  person

after smoking two cigarettes i had some retarded dreams about retarded stuff. gross stuff. sex stuff. yeah, well, perhaps that might be nicotine in my system waving its ugly face at me. guess i wont do that...

hi

someone else I know died yesterday. they think OD or suicide. This is getting retarded

Good morning assholes.

I'm trying to figure out an equation...one that equals me being rich and famous for being myself.

Right now, I currently don't have it figured out but what I do have figured out are elements of such that will get me there, I think.

The only problem is that I'm tired from exercise and tired of all of this bullshit.

that's the funny part. If I didn't have my life, i'd be completely fabulous all of the time and not feeling mediocre.

Ain't it a bitch sometimes?

Sup bitches?

I took some time for myself because I went on vacation to see my family back east and then came home and had some virus kicking my ass and then realized I needed to detox. So I did yesterday and I feel back to somewhat normal.

I had a great vacation besides being tired all of the time. I don't want to talk about the small details but lets just say my nephew is adorable, NYC is a lovely place to visit and there's a girl at the front desk at a hotel in Connecticut I should've fucked sideways because she was down but her supervisor showed up. Damn it.

Now I'm back and I've figured out that I need to cut certain bullshit out of my life that's slowing me down. Sadly, I've had to break up with alcohol. And most drugs have stopped working so I basically have to either go harder (no) or quit. No wonder people go insane.

I started fantasy football again and I hate it. I've been champion twice. Last season I didn't try that hard. Kind of silly.

Thank you xanax for letting me sleep through the night.

I'm kind of in wreck mode but not really. I'm just ready for my fucking vacation.

I dont want to deal with complaints.
I dont want to deal with assholes being assholes.
I just want to be doped up and on my plane and asleep.

People have been severely irritating to me this week so i'm hoping all of this goes the hell away.

I had to lash out a couple of times to make things less sucky.

I had to remind people that they are not to ruin my vacation.

I had to say things that might be cruel.

But at the end of the day and the end of my rope, I don't feel bad.

I just need to recharge.

I love it when I find random shit

I collect Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars -- always have. Probably due to loving them when I was a little kid and how there's nothing about them that could ever let me down.

When I was up in Santa Ynez at Santa Ynez Days, there was a bin that had cars -- three for a dollar. Now, I don't go for the common, regular ones. I go for upscale models or weird ones. Like this little snowmobile I got.

Today as I was moving them over, I heard a rattling inside of one. I tried opening it -- I tried doing this before with no luck. I figured, if there's money in there, what the hey.

I got a letter opener to pry the back up and three weird coins shook out.


1960 3 Pence piece
1964 6 Pence piece
1940 Farthing piece (I thought it said earthling, then I thought it said farthing)

It's random and cool as hell that this happened. I don't think these are really worth all that much but it is very cool to have something so random like this happen.

Tapping Out

Tried like a champ to read this script based on a hot new video game...it was not good. It felt like a video game and not a movie and thats why I don't play those things.

It was like GI Joe meets Alien except there's no suspense, just shit thrown on top of shit that doesn't really work and it made me sad. At this rate, the movie business will have raped every video game and cartoon character and comic until there's nothing left.

I'd rather watch Mickey Mouse fucking Minnie than another movie where an elite team of assholes has to go shooting up shit. I feel like I'd get more out of watching that porn too. They say we see lots of violence and explosions and all of that crap anyway...wouldnt it be less harmful to watch people fuck with bad stories?

I'm considering a SugarDVD account just so I can be entertained on a regular basis this way. Otherwise, I don't know what I'll do. I am sick of movies and TV licks my taint so badly that I watch a lot of Cops Reruns to fill my life up with crap.

Hit 500 again on my netflix queue

time to scale it back..ugh

Eff You Facebook

Facebook, you're like my girlfriend's right hand. You just make things harder.

Look party people, I'm all for social networking as a means for enjoying yourself and your life but at this rate, I'm completely fucking sick of having information, photos and useless crap jammed into my eyesockets on a daily basis.

Example: Some chick posted a thing up of her quitting her job via photos of her with a whiteboard. She's hot and calls out her boss for wasting company time.

It looked fake. She was too posey.
One day later...She admits it. It wasnt that funny to begin with.
Why did I need that in my inbox?

I'm too old and too retardedly smart to want to have to deal with crap like this. I am not dumb enough nor do I have the patience to click "add" to see Lady Gaga's true sex revealed or see the 10 photos you cannot stare at for 30 seconds.

I don't care about pictures of you and your friends in bikinis in a large group or your cousin's wedding or untagged photos of hot ass. Tag that shit or don't post it; give me someone to stalk or not at all.

Facebook has made it easy to forget about the little things in life and it's making us all dumber. I made a decision to ween myself off of it because I feel my intelligence and time being sucked away. And you know what else?

I don't like people all that much. I don't like reading them complain, post about restaurants they visit, checking into events via foursquare, reposting articles that most smart people have already read. It's pretty unreasonable and unreal and at the end of the day, I don't need it.

Pardon me; I have some real work to do. Figuring out how to avoid making my life seem like the plot to idiocracy.

Yesterday I saw my lifelong friend Beth and met her boyfriend, Aaron. We went to eat at this place called Boho which called itself a gastropub but everything was greasy and sort of so-so -- except the food that Beth ordered and didn't like. Aaron and i ate that up.

As the waitress, who I hadnt really noticed, came by, she started talking about how she didnt like dating pretty people since they're such assholes and she wants to date people with great personalities because thats whats important and I listened to what she said and thought "damn that's familiar sounding."

After she left, Aaron and Beth were like "go for it" and I was like "uh no, cannot break my no-dating-actors rule." Plus I wasn't really attracted to her, so that ends up killing it that way.

Late last night I turned over and grabbed my blackberry and wrote the following phrase down...it resonates to me:

"She came up to me saying everything I was thinking and it revolted me so I just walked away. I must not sound so good these days"

I realized that it was flattering to have a waitress come up to me practically throwing herself at me but at the end of the day I have the self-esteem not to chase things that I don't want or are just given to me because they're put right there in front of me.

My grandfather, Papa, was we called him, was one of those guys that everybody liked. He was a world war two veteran, loved a good steak. Loved cars and women.

He was a really heavy guy but that didn't stop him. He would have girlfriends come and visit; quite a couple of times we'd come to my grandfather's apartment and there would be some woman there chatting him up. Even in his old age, he still had it. I'm fortunate enough to have inherited his ability to charm a lady, somehow.

He was the only person who my mom felt safe around; she had a really torturous childhood, which sort of explains mine. My mom deified him a little, to the point that when he got sick when I was little, we were always going to the hospital. Always. Three, sometimes five days a week. I remember doing my homework in the lobby of one hospital, playing "penny hockey" with my sister in another. I got used to eating out of a vending machine. I'm pretty sure one of the reasons I overeat is because I used to stuff my feelings, like when I was a kid at the hospital.

He passed away when my family was on a trip to London and we found out after we got out of the taxi outside of my mother's house. My oldest uncle stepped out of my mom's house, then my other uncle, then my mom's mom.

My sister and mom burst into tears but I didn't. I knew that my grandfather was at peace and no longer going to dialysis three days a week. I knew that he wasn't angry at God anymore; he was with God.

As I was dusting, I grabbed this classic car that he gave me. It was porcelean and until today, I hadn't really examined it. It's a 1937 beige Cord phaeton convertible. I have always treated this piece like it was special. I don't let people handle it, even if it gets dusty as all hell sometimes. As I flipped it over and saw the 1937 Cord, I was drawn to the logo at the bottom; 1984, made in Brazil. It made me smile and made me think that the meaning I had to this car, probably was a lot less than it's worth financially.

Of course I googled it. It's worth $5 to $15. After looking closer, it was made by Avon for Father's Day that year.

It kind of makes me smile how precious I'd been with this item but it also makes me think about how it's just about the memories it evokes. It's a cool piece with a cool story. I think those are more valuable than the things worth the big money.

I still feel totally run down.
I picked up some wellness formula, ying chiao and elderberry syrup.
I really want to be asleep in bed.
This is one of those weekends where almost everything I have to do are things I don't want to do.
I'd love to cancel all of it.
I know I can't.
But I'm going to cancel half.
Not going for a walk tomorrow
Not going to go to any parties
Going to sleep
Lots of sleep
hopefully that will fix everything.

The conversations start as simply as
Hello, what’s the time
and my backwards soul knows your intentions are divine
Replete with sweetness and adoration and
Impure thoughts
Just like mine.

But I can’t have you
Not right then
It makes me wonder when
I can stop to smell the roses
Your perfume
A lingering touch
I think I’ve said too much

It doesn’t deter you
Your eyes say no and yes
But we’ll walk together.
I anticipate a mess
But despite the fear that resides inside
I go along for the ride; just this time

In my dreams, I fall in love
Cant control just what I’m thinking of
Sometimes she disappears without a kiss
Someone I deeply miss
I know it’s just my thoughts
Guiding silent voices from within
The urges and splurges
Feel so real
Alas, I wake up and I’m still here.

Prop 8 was declared unconstitutional

You have no idea how happy I am for my LGBT friends.

There is no reason that any consenting adult should be denied the right to marry another consenting adult (that isnt their direct blood relative, but this is California, not the back woods.)

Congrats to all.

You are all now going to piss me off by getting married and making me have to cry through a whole bunch of beautiful weddings and have awesome cake and awesome parties and stress me out by having to buy you awesome presents.

You can all go be happily married and make me sick by doing so.

Feel like shit today; I think between sitting next to somebody who was sick at the movies and having an intern help me who was sick, I am trying to fight off some bullshit. I will win, however, so we'll leave it at that.

Rewatched Napoleon Dynamite to get the visual fabric down for my current project. I never found that movie funny the first time and then I rewatched it and it's still not funny. And figured out that creepy uncle Rico in that movie played Ronnie in my favorite movie, Get Shorty. That was kinda cool.

So this morning I go to Urth Caffe to get a red eye and a muffin. I order my shit, the slanty midget at the register takes my order and I wait on the side for my red eye. Dump one shot of espresso in coffee. Not that hard.

I wait. And wait. And the guy keeps calling out a drink for some girl named Audrey. Wellllll....yeah. Somehow my name got butchered into Audrey. Do I look like I have tits? No, I have manly defined chest that doesnt jiggle. And my name and Audrey sound as similar as Peter and Podiatrist. So besides having slits for eyes, cashier dude, you are also deaf and possibly retarded.

Boss man was curt with me about handling something that I figured would end badly. Guess what? It did. I got yelled at by somebody who I don't allow to yell at me. I put him on hold. I dont yell back because I'll destroy people. I don't know how to bicker; I generally refuse to because if it escalates, I will have to ruin them. Alas, it got handled, stupidly, and I crave the opportunity to sit on my ass in my own office instead of working for someone else.

I'm achy and tired and I don't like you. That's all

Scary as fuck

This morning, while downing my pre-coffee and doing work during my time (like a moron,) I heard gunshots. Multiple gunshots. It sounded like somebody was going off with an automatic weapon.

I ducked my head out and saw one of my neighbors as perplexed as me. We discussed needing Kevlar vests and went back to our thing.

Ten minutes later…the same thing. OK, this clearly wasn’t what I thought it was but guess what? I called the pigs in.

Anyone with street sense would be able to tell you that if you went to do a drive-by, you don’t come back for seconds ten minutes later.

That’s some al qaeda shit, except we don’t have al qaeda in the 90038.

Ten minutes later, I heard more.

Yeah, me thinks this isn’t automatic gunfire. Me thinks these are kids playing with a loud air gun.

Besides the rat-tat-tat-tat, there was no noise.

I’ve scoured the news and there’s nothing.

Stupid as shit morons doing stupid stuff.

Still, was scary.

It has been quiet.

Yesterday was a pretty ok day. I got up and did cardio, went to the bank and then picked up some blank CDs to burn the new Sparkle Horse/Dangermouse and 500 Days of Weezy. I went to see Get Low with Robert Duvall and Bill Murray -- it's about a crotchety old guy who has terrorized his town for years via reputation and such, who wants to have a living funeral for himself and it becomes much more. Definitely took me down a level mentally. Then I went home and listened to The Low Anthem's set from the Newport Folk Festival and later went to a play about an Iraqi War vet who has massive delusions. It was one of those days where everything seemed delicately linked together by a theme. This one seemed to be delusions and secrets. It was kinda cool.

Stayed up late watching Cops and got up and just couldn't get myself to go see Inception. I just don't care to see it. I think I may go on Tuesday -- that would be good as I have no plans this week.

Today I cooked, wrote, watched half of Hung Season One and I'm planning on working out shortly. My body feels all achy and weird probably because i'm sitting weird. I should cut it out.

Wrote 3 pages of my new novel. Sometimes its hard to push myself to do it but I should do it...and make myself do it like it's my job.

That's kind of where my head's at right now. I have a screening of a documentary tonight that might be interesting.

When hatred backfires

At a National Organization for Marriage rally, a NOM supporter held a sign suggesting that the solution to gay marriage was lynching same-sex couples.

Yeah…

That’s not cool.

Now, I prefer vagina to dick. I like vagina as much as a fat kid likes nougat. But you know what I like more than vagina? My freedom. And since so many of them are so goddamn limited, I think I want to protect what’s important.

Gays don’t have the right to marry. Why? What logical reasonable explanation is there for this? The bible? Yo, that’s a book you’re believing in. I have a phone book I could claim is holy. It has coupons in the back that say Sully’s Plumbing will give me 20% off a roto rooter. And guess what? That probably isn’t accurate. And that was printed last year.

Gay marriage, to me, means that there is more room for economic growth. More businesses will thrive. More money into the economy will end up easing the strain on the cost of health care. Why? More people will get what they want – marriage…and in many cases, divorce.

Let all of the homos and dykes and trannies and other buzzwords have what they want. Let em get married. 50% of all marriages end in divorce anyway – don’t they have a right to be miserable too?

This way of thinking made me decide to donate, regularly, to Equality California. I’m happy to have done it, all because some ignorant asshole decided to spew hatred and fire my ass up.

The voices in my head are quiet today.

I found that if I do not work out for more than a couple days in a row, that my body will atrophy and I will become incredibly agitated.

It’s kind of funny how when you’re a kid and you’re active, you don’t think of these things. Meanwhile, once you’re old and busted, there are things you have to do.

I’m also, in the spirit of getting old, realizing there are a lot of foods I can no longer eat or I’ll get sick. Daily nausea is as fun as sitting on an extra large churro, extra cinnamon.

People are Disgusting

So I’m having dinner with this girl, recent grad, overwhelmed by unemployment and she starts telling me this story about this guy who dicked her over…and then tells me I know him and who it is. It’s the same story about the same guy I’ve heard from three different women.

Each of these girls are pretty, not hot. Each have something redeeming about them. Each of them has stupidly had sex with a con artist who treated them like crap. Guy pulled the “getting serious” bit and then pulled away. It’s gross and nasty and kind of ruins the business of being a proper slut like myself because these fake sluts are out there.

Why am I a better whore than this guy? I admit it. I’m not afraid to but at the same time, I’m also not playing the game of how-can-I-fuck-this-girls-head-up.
Now, here’s the funny thing. Each of the three girls this foolio played a number on all have the same story. Thought the guy was for real. Thought they wouldn’t be treated like the rest. Really really upset by him.

It’s sad. There’s also another item to throw in there. Each of these girls would think they are a “good girl.” One of them said those exact words.

Here’s the thing. The minute you call yourself a good girl, you’re not. You’re a bigger whore than all of them. Why? You’re marketing yourself like that little chickadee on the cover of a porn in pig tails, striped socks with a giant lollipop. You’re saying “I like to fuck.” That’s it. That’s what you’re doing.

No wonder this guy had such ease hitting these bitches.

And still, I feel bad. They’re relatively nice girls.

But they deluded themselves.

Nobody under the age of 25 has any business thinking they are in love with someone.
Remember that…

43 Things

Years ago, I found a website called 43 Things, which is a form of social networking (before we used that fucking stupid term,) that involves putting up a list of things to do/accomplish and then do them. I don’t know how else to define what it is but it is a community type thing. I have no idea how they make money since I can’t tell you if it has advertising or not (maybe, maybe not but lets face it, it’s better if I didn’t notice.)

I looked at the list I made in 2006 and it was pathetic. It was ten items long. And I only really wanted to do a couple of them still: Fall in love, lose weight, get published. I had done one item: get over my ex. When you’ve accomplished something, you can write about it, so I did and it made me happy to do so. And then other people can like your status or whatever their form is. It’s pretty cool.

I’ve wanted to do this for ages and I haven’t. After my friend died in 2008, I kind of stopped caring about goals and desires. But at the end of the day, if you have no desires or goals, you have nothing to look forward to and then what’s the point of being alive? (Yes, I have contemplated that in the dissertation in my head entitled “practical applications of suicide.”)

It’s taken a couple years and I feel I need to bounce back. So if you really want to feel like a retard stalker and get inside my brain…read along.

http://www.43things.com/person/CallMeMrStorm/

Pardon the vagina monologue.

I’m trying to revisit the level of crazy where life is worth living and not mundane and pointless. I think I’ve come out of a dark space so I’m peeking my head out, right the fuck now.

I hit a rut, a massive rut, partially my fault as I allowed myself to be un-awesome for a while where I’d rather stuff my face senseless and pop little friendly visitors until I couldn’t feel anything. Now, while I still love food and visitors, I don’t love the malaise that sutured itself to me like a custom fit dildo.

In the six months since I rambled on here, my car died and I bought a new one, I had a birthday that was stupid and pretty much decided everyone that I know for the most part is a giant fucking phony. Which is true. So…I shut down, a lot. I have reached a place where everything in life feels painfully intense and I really need to scale it down. Solution! More Drugs!!!

I wish that were the case but there’s nothing else I can do that won’t go against my promise.

My greatest promise, to my dear sister when I was 13 was that I wouldn’t abuse drugs. She’d had too many friends OD and I told her I would drink and wanted to smoke pot but that was it.

So I’ve tried to keep my promise, exclusions being my friend Xanax and Vicodin.
I spent the weekend by myself, alone. I planned on watching some research material (not porn but it might as well have been,) and writing. The research material sucked and the writing was stilted at best. I’m working on something new, fresh and happening. The kids will like it. Actually, the kids will think I need to get my head examined but I’m damn excited to make them think that. So there it is.
I spent my Saturday night blasted, cooking up a storm in my kitchen. I make chicken curry, chicken breast with risotto, chicken korma (I must have been inspired by Vishnu) and a lovely vegetable medley. I made some other shit too but I don’t remember.

I was up til about 2 am. It was very out of body. And I woke up and felt somewhat normallish on Sunday. I decided to tighten up my little life and decide what the fuck I was really going for.

What did I want?

Day three of bodyaches and bad sleep. Fuck me raw. Microplane zester, do your thing. It's gonna be a nyquill night tonight.

I had a dream last night, and couldn't stop thinking about outlining my friends entire reality show. the interviews that would be necessary, the cast of characters, the situations, etc. Now the one question I have is why cant i be productive about my own projects when i'm tired and sick?

So my friend was going to do some freelance work for this semi-posh club in my building and she showed up, they weren't prepared and then after barely doing any work, she was sent away because the crazy boss person wanted something done a specific way that they hadn't told anyone about. are you fucked? I cannot wait to see how this supposed club turns out. I think I might invest in a catapult to throw buckets of poop and herring up there when i'm bored. they also are responsible for the occasional jackhammering at 6 pm. jesus, please? I want jackhammering at 6 pm, but it usually involves a couple supermodels, a big rotating bed and me covered in babyoil.

at least my sense of humor isn't gone despite me feeling like shit. where's my cute intern friend? i feel lonelys.

Today I felt like shit, was shadowed at the office by a lunatic, accidentally attempted suicide and decided to purchase $80 worth of vitamins to try to fix my sort-of-illness.

I'm kind of glad to see reviews of the film Youth in Revolt are skewering the damn thing. I hated the book so much it helped inspire me to write my own novel. And Michael Cera needs to stop playing the same character and seriously learn to act. Dude could be the next Tom Hanks if he wanted to. I'm just saying.

The suicide thing? My jammed printer decided to dig a sharp edge into my wrist when I reached in to try to clear out paper. Yeah, nice unfortunate looking cut that looks like I pulled an Artie Lange on myself. What in the world was I thinking? Painfullll.

New shows to watch include Worst Cooks in the World and American Repo. The Repo Men went to reposess a car that was surrounded by Renaissance Faire people. They kept in character. Good god.

Off to try to sleep my way to betterness.

Match.com

I decided the other night to take a moment and see specifically what was going on on the internet. I've never actively tried dating, ever. Partially because I was always too busy and partially because frankly, I just don't like people all that much. I swear, I've been a misanthrope since I discovered that I was the only person I really truly liked.

So I type the barest of information in and good looking at profiles. And I keep finding people that are barely attractive and then some cute ones. Granted, I'm not looking at 21 year old babies anymore so I expect some of these girls to look like they've been stepped on by the Grape Ape (and trust me, the fug ones are out there.)

I stumble upon a friend's profile, which is actually quite good (I have threatened to date or hate-fuck her for years but she doesn't seem to have it within her mental construct to give in to the party host, probably due to the fact that we actually like each other -- how pathetic is that?) I shot her an email telling her I liked her profile and she looked good and she was not only embarrassed but seemed to be embarrassed due to the fact that she was even on there.

I let that one go and then I kept looking and saw this one girl who had ginormous BJ lips and so I checked out her profile. Despite the comment that every stupid woman makes i.e. "I Love to Laugh" this woman wrote one of the most asinine things I'd read in a while.

"I watch intellectual shows like Californication."

Say WHAT?

Where's my microplane zester, I need to do some damage to myself right now and I want it to hurt so bad I can get the thought out of my mind that the gene pool is so depleted that there are people out there who would categorize Californication as intellectual. And no, Devil's Advocate, it wasn't sarcasm. You can't judge sarcasm online. There was no ;) or :) or any of the other emoticons that retarded ass monkeys put up when they decide they want to be funny.

It makes me sad. These are people who walk through life deluded about what life is really all about. Granted, I know my guilty pleasures can be pretty stupid (Jersey Shore?) but I know they're not that bright. Californication is not intellectual. Online dating is not embarrassing. And perhaps dating in general is not for me.

It's just something I've never done or tried. And I may actually be bored enough to try it soon enough.

It could be amazing in terms of fodder for this blog. And possibly find me someone to share in my misery with.

Dropping some knowledge

I've been bad about this so let me un-bad myself. What's up sphincters?

I've been incredibly bored lately. To the point of playing games online for fun and drinking myself sober bored. It's at that point I get every other month where alcohol fails to get anything accomplished in my body. Suckitude.

I've been working out and trying to be healthy and it's working. Resolution #1 is good. Resolution #2 is me writing my second book which feels daunting since I wrote my first book after some girl I didn't like so much treated me like a pile of garbage and despite being ok with the outcome, I felt used and abused in the end. And you wonder why I don't have a piece attached to my arm.

So I'm using this to remind myself how to say words and string words together and remember how to creatively flow sentences like a twisted river of juxtaposition. I also weeded out my to-do list for the moment. Having "key lime pie" listed doesn't help. Learn to make it, you vacuous hooker!

Last night I had a massive pig-out of Indian food with my two faves and one of my comments at dinner was one of my comments at life -- the truth about money is that there will always be more. I learned this from my now-deceased friend...and it applies to life.

I bought a groupon (www.groupon.com) for $50 worth of Indian food to this place, for $20. And we used it and then split the difference afterwards. And I insisted we overtip -- about $24. On a $72 tab. Who cares right? we ate a lot and were taken care of. Well, the waiter comes out to find us, hands me the groupon back and says "you were so nice -- please have this back and use this again."

Money...there will always be more. And it comes to you if you allow it. Which I'm currently doing quite often now.

It feels good to be right. It feels good to be a gangsta. but I gotta stay grateful as always.