Makes you think, don't it.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Who is paying for your rock and roll lifestyle
My liver and horse cock seems to be the answer.
I would love to tell you the tale but Horse cock just walk home the woman he met last night and is on my front stairs waiting on my front stairs to go to breakfast.
I am still drunk.
I would love to tell you the tale but Horse cock just walk home the woman he met last night and is on my front stairs waiting on my front stairs to go to breakfast.
I am still drunk.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Mmmmmm.....Pizza
Just woke up at 8pm. Which is what happens when you work nights. It sucks because I don't work tonight. It doesn't suck because I was awakened by a call from the The Matador who is dragging his ass to the city, so drunkenness if not hilarity will ensue. And most likely drunken hilarity which is the best kind. So if you are one of my two readers and you know where the best drink specials are in Chicago tonight you will have to let me know. We will probably start at Piece, which is the coolest pizza place in town if not the best. Garlic chicken pizza. Mmmmmmmmmm. Tastes way better than it sounds. I am normally a classic red sauce and meat pizza kind of guy buy this is good eatin'. And they brew their own beer if you're into that kind of thing.
The only thing I managed to accomplish today is to wake up for and stay awake long enough for the cable guy to show up and install my very own cable internet. Yay! About fucking time I stopped freeloading and paying my own way on this ride we call the internet. The guy showed up only an hour into the 4 hour window which was nice, and seemed to be an earnest hardworking fellow instead of the normal creepy guys they send to put in your cable. All seemed to going well, he figured out where he was going to put the cable and then proceeded to drill in to my wall and was moving the drill in and out presumably to make the hole bigger when the drill got stuck. Stuck. In my wall. He tried to move it forward and back, the motor whining it's high pitched what the fuck are you doing to me whine until smoke started to come out of the drill. He gave it a 3 second rest and tried again. More smoke. Luckily the window was open in the room so the smoke could get out of the room so as not to kill us with noxious fumes. I asked if he could disconnect the bit from the drill. He paused and said oh then I could knock it through with a hammer. I am glad we are thinking. I regret leaving the room because I didn't see how he finally got it out but needless to say I have cable internet and am free to roam and scour porn to my heart's delight. Because as we all know the Internet is for Porn.
Second call from Matador. He is 30 minutes out, time to call for pizza. We are eating here because it is Karaoke night at Piece, and I'd rather poke my eyes out than listen to karaoke.
Thanks for playing.
The only thing I managed to accomplish today is to wake up for and stay awake long enough for the cable guy to show up and install my very own cable internet. Yay! About fucking time I stopped freeloading and paying my own way on this ride we call the internet. The guy showed up only an hour into the 4 hour window which was nice, and seemed to be an earnest hardworking fellow instead of the normal creepy guys they send to put in your cable. All seemed to going well, he figured out where he was going to put the cable and then proceeded to drill in to my wall and was moving the drill in and out presumably to make the hole bigger when the drill got stuck. Stuck. In my wall. He tried to move it forward and back, the motor whining it's high pitched what the fuck are you doing to me whine until smoke started to come out of the drill. He gave it a 3 second rest and tried again. More smoke. Luckily the window was open in the room so the smoke could get out of the room so as not to kill us with noxious fumes. I asked if he could disconnect the bit from the drill. He paused and said oh then I could knock it through with a hammer. I am glad we are thinking. I regret leaving the room because I didn't see how he finally got it out but needless to say I have cable internet and am free to roam and scour porn to my heart's delight. Because as we all know the Internet is for Porn.
Second call from Matador. He is 30 minutes out, time to call for pizza. We are eating here because it is Karaoke night at Piece, and I'd rather poke my eyes out than listen to karaoke.
Thanks for playing.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Just another day
I slept for about twelve hours and am still procrastinating about getting stuff out of the basement. I am feeling quasi energized while writing so if I don’t lay down when I am finished with this I may actually get shit out of the basement so Philarican and her Momma don’t kick my ass. I have a blog post I have wanted to put up for a week but the weak inter5net has been fucking with me. I Go Live in 2 days with my very own cable internet. I am happy about that. Thursday is going to be a full on suck ass day. I work on Wed night until 6am then have to be in a dentist’s chair by 11:30am. Then have to be home by 1p to wait for the fucking cable guy. They gave me a 1p-5p window which I suppose is better than an all day window but still will suck. As soon as the anesthetic from the dentist wears off I will order Jimmy John’s and possible pour an alcoholic beverage if I can remember to buy some damn SoCo. Maybe I have some in the basement. I thought of that yesterday but was too damn lazy to check, so I drank Miller Lite instead. While watching The Break Up/. If you haven’t seen it, don’t. My brother said he liked it. He must be getting soft. It wasn’t’ necessarily a bad movie, it just wasn’t good.
Monday, July 09, 2007
It can always be worse
The only thing worse than going into kitchen to pour a drink and finding you have no mixers is going into your kitchen to pour a drink and finding you have no alcohol.
Can you please tell me why I answer the phone.
Can you please tell me why I can't say no to friends.
Can you please tell me why when someone call you with a request for help. That they can't even show up to help them.
Why when I change plans to help someone else I am the one that gets burned. Yes I was a little put out when I had to change to plans to hang out with friends I haven't seen in a week to try help a friend I haven't seen in two months stay out of trouble, whne i know he is going to get back into trouble later. I felt guilty for not wanting to help, but I didn't not hesitate in saying yes. I couldn't meet with him as soon as he wanted but logistics dictated that I stay where I was at until after rush hour. So I get up off my bar stool after dinner and multiple diet cokes when I wanted them to be filled with SoCo and drive an hour to get home to find that my "friend" who needs someone to hang with is nowhere to to be fucking found. He could at least call me back but Nooooooooooo. I get fucked for being a nice guy once again. Maybe I am not nice because I am pissed. Or maybe I am not nice becasue I am not driving around the city trying to find which bar he is drinking himself to death in. Maybe I am not nice because I think he has burned too many bridges and he needs to languish alone. When does being a friend and helping out turn into enabling? I don't know but I actually have similar situations with two friends I don't know what the right thing to do is.
On a lighter note and one of the few positive notes of my day, I beat the Matador at Scrabble.`
Can you please tell me why I can't say no to friends.
Can you please tell me why when someone call you with a request for help. That they can't even show up to help them.
Why when I change plans to help someone else I am the one that gets burned. Yes I was a little put out when I had to change to plans to hang out with friends I haven't seen in a week to try help a friend I haven't seen in two months stay out of trouble, whne i know he is going to get back into trouble later. I felt guilty for not wanting to help, but I didn't not hesitate in saying yes. I couldn't meet with him as soon as he wanted but logistics dictated that I stay where I was at until after rush hour. So I get up off my bar stool after dinner and multiple diet cokes when I wanted them to be filled with SoCo and drive an hour to get home to find that my "friend" who needs someone to hang with is nowhere to to be fucking found. He could at least call me back but Nooooooooooo. I get fucked for being a nice guy once again. Maybe I am not nice because I am pissed. Or maybe I am not nice becasue I am not driving around the city trying to find which bar he is drinking himself to death in. Maybe I am not nice because I think he has burned too many bridges and he needs to languish alone. When does being a friend and helping out turn into enabling? I don't know but I actually have similar situations with two friends I don't know what the right thing to do is.
On a lighter note and one of the few positive notes of my day, I beat the Matador at Scrabble.`
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Karma bites me in the Ass - Revisited
Oringinally posted July 3, 2005.
If you read the comments you will know that I did not accomplish any of the things I wanted to do. Fell asleep and woke up somewheres around 5:30pm. Then fucked around on the computer and the internet from about 6p to 8p trying to figure out how to post a recorded message. I then finally got my S together and got on the road. Even though I was running late I did not go straight to work. Nope, I had to feed my tummy first. By the time I got on to the expressway it was about 8:30pm, and I figured I would be about 15 minutes late for work. No such luck.
9:04pm My car started to shudder a little and I realized horror of all horrors, I had run out of gas. The engine was still running but it would not go any faster no matter how hard I pushed on the gas pedal. Then I saw the tachometer drop to zero and I knew the engine had died. I was now down to about 60mph and dropping. I put on my flashers and moved onto the shoulder only to remember that there was one of those “wake up strips” on the side of the road. You know, those ridged bumps put there so when you fall asleep and start to ride off the road your tires make an annoyingly loud “BRRRRRRRPPPP” sound so as to wake you the fuck up before you kill yourself and have to explain to St. Peter why you are such a moron that you fell asleep behind the wheel and ran off the road. Speaking of morons behind the wheel, I had run out of gas and was now on the shoulder trying to avoid the strip that was slowing down my already grinding to a halt car on one side “BRRRRRRRPPPP”, and the edge of the pavement that gave way to grass and the ever ominous ditch on the other.
9:05pm I was able to coast almost a mile before coming to a complete stop. So I was now out of gas, late for work and stuck on the side of the interstate 11 mile from work and 1 mile from the next exit. So I grabbed my phone and car keys, got out of my car, and popped the truck to get my gas can. That was not there. Bastards. I had taken my gas can out of my old car when it died but apparently had neglected to move it in to the new car. I slammed the trunk closed and began to move on down the road.
9:07pm I had just dialed work and was just starting to explain what an idiot I am when a car slowed down, pulled on to the shoulder and stopped. So I quickly got off the phone with work, although I was very tempted to give my coworker the license plate number of the car, on the off chance that I was never heard from again. My instincts told me to do this but my inner need to always be polite talked me out of it. How would it look to the occupants of the car if I stopped 7ft from the car and started staring at the license plate? This is how I will end up dead someday. Because I didn’t want to offend some crazed serial killer. I did however give the car a wide bearth as I walked around the side of the car to be even with the front door. It was a relatively new car and it turned out to be a young Hispanic couple. Mid to late twenties, he may have been early thirties but she looked younger than him. I spent most of the time looking at the back of his head. She was shorter and her head did not come up above the head rest. He was very pleasant and talkative. It was very obvious that she did not speak at all the entire way to the gas station. She had given me a small polite smile when I had gotten into the car. She gave me a much bigger polite smile as I got out of the car.
I went into the GasCity and bought a gas can for $3.99, and I told the woman to charge me for a gallon of gas while she was at it, pump of her choice. She looked at me like I had a third eye. She then looked at her coworker, who apparently had some common sense and knew exactly what I meant. Girl #2 looked over my shoulder out the window and said put it on Pump #8. Girl #1 now giving Girl # 2 the third eye look says how. “2.29” was the reply. “2.29?” Yes. “On pump #8?” Yes. Where do they find these people? So I now have my gas can and change and walk back outside to get my gas and am greeted by Barry White’s “Can’t get enough of your love” blaring on the speakers out side for the entertainment and enjoyment of all pumping gas. I made me laugh and want to bust out into to a dance montage Ally McBeal style.
9:22pm I had gotten my 0.996 gallons of gas (even at a bajillion dollars a gallon, they still cheat you out of a little bit), crossed the six lane street, and had walked along the 1 foot shoulder and had made it back to the on ramp, actually the off ramp of the expressway with out being killed. So to celebrate I called the only person who could appreciate what a big dork I really am, That Drunk Girl. She found it very amusing. It set off a very fine conversation about the stupid things we have done. Like the quite hilarious drunk message she sent me the other night. (I still hope to post that). It helped the time pass quickly. I was soon at my car. She let me go so I could stop spilling gas on myself and she could change for the Bar-B-Que she was going to. Five hours earlier in Hawaii you know.
9:36 Gas in car. Me in the car. And now back at the top of the off ramp for the third time, going back to the gas station to fill up my tank. This time I paid at the pump, so I wouldn't have to look at the “I will never be anything but a gas station attendant” woman.
9:44 Tank completely full and in the turn lane to get back on the expressway. The song at the gas station was funny again but I can remember what it was. If I wasn’t frustrated and late for work I probably would have written it down in my PDA.
10:01pm Pulled into the parking lot at work. Instead of being fifteen minutes late (OK, twenty minutes late) I was a hour late. And I still needed to shave.
I got a lot of shit from people at work. Some people thought I had a flat tire. Now there is the telephone game in full effect for you. Others had started guessing at why I was really late. The most popular theory was that I got caught with a hooker in my car. One friend came to my defense saying I would have never gotten caught. Friends, gotta love ‘em.
Until then enjoy the holiday, and stay out of jail. I ain’t got the bail money.
If you read the comments you will know that I did not accomplish any of the things I wanted to do. Fell asleep and woke up somewheres around 5:30pm. Then fucked around on the computer and the internet from about 6p to 8p trying to figure out how to post a recorded message. I then finally got my S together and got on the road. Even though I was running late I did not go straight to work. Nope, I had to feed my tummy first. By the time I got on to the expressway it was about 8:30pm, and I figured I would be about 15 minutes late for work. No such luck.
9:04pm My car started to shudder a little and I realized horror of all horrors, I had run out of gas. The engine was still running but it would not go any faster no matter how hard I pushed on the gas pedal. Then I saw the tachometer drop to zero and I knew the engine had died. I was now down to about 60mph and dropping. I put on my flashers and moved onto the shoulder only to remember that there was one of those “wake up strips” on the side of the road. You know, those ridged bumps put there so when you fall asleep and start to ride off the road your tires make an annoyingly loud “BRRRRRRRPPPP” sound so as to wake you the fuck up before you kill yourself and have to explain to St. Peter why you are such a moron that you fell asleep behind the wheel and ran off the road. Speaking of morons behind the wheel, I had run out of gas and was now on the shoulder trying to avoid the strip that was slowing down my already grinding to a halt car on one side “BRRRRRRRPPPP”, and the edge of the pavement that gave way to grass and the ever ominous ditch on the other.
9:05pm I was able to coast almost a mile before coming to a complete stop. So I was now out of gas, late for work and stuck on the side of the interstate 11 mile from work and 1 mile from the next exit. So I grabbed my phone and car keys, got out of my car, and popped the truck to get my gas can. That was not there. Bastards. I had taken my gas can out of my old car when it died but apparently had neglected to move it in to the new car. I slammed the trunk closed and began to move on down the road.
9:07pm I had just dialed work and was just starting to explain what an idiot I am when a car slowed down, pulled on to the shoulder and stopped. So I quickly got off the phone with work, although I was very tempted to give my coworker the license plate number of the car, on the off chance that I was never heard from again. My instincts told me to do this but my inner need to always be polite talked me out of it. How would it look to the occupants of the car if I stopped 7ft from the car and started staring at the license plate? This is how I will end up dead someday. Because I didn’t want to offend some crazed serial killer. I did however give the car a wide bearth as I walked around the side of the car to be even with the front door. It was a relatively new car and it turned out to be a young Hispanic couple. Mid to late twenties, he may have been early thirties but she looked younger than him. I spent most of the time looking at the back of his head. She was shorter and her head did not come up above the head rest. He was very pleasant and talkative. It was very obvious that she did not speak at all the entire way to the gas station. She had given me a small polite smile when I had gotten into the car. She gave me a much bigger polite smile as I got out of the car.
I went into the GasCity and bought a gas can for $3.99, and I told the woman to charge me for a gallon of gas while she was at it, pump of her choice. She looked at me like I had a third eye. She then looked at her coworker, who apparently had some common sense and knew exactly what I meant. Girl #2 looked over my shoulder out the window and said put it on Pump #8. Girl #1 now giving Girl # 2 the third eye look says how. “2.29” was the reply. “2.29?” Yes. “On pump #8?” Yes. Where do they find these people? So I now have my gas can and change and walk back outside to get my gas and am greeted by Barry White’s “Can’t get enough of your love” blaring on the speakers out side for the entertainment and enjoyment of all pumping gas. I made me laugh and want to bust out into to a dance montage Ally McBeal style.
9:22pm I had gotten my 0.996 gallons of gas (even at a bajillion dollars a gallon, they still cheat you out of a little bit), crossed the six lane street, and had walked along the 1 foot shoulder and had made it back to the on ramp, actually the off ramp of the expressway with out being killed. So to celebrate I called the only person who could appreciate what a big dork I really am, That Drunk Girl. She found it very amusing. It set off a very fine conversation about the stupid things we have done. Like the quite hilarious drunk message she sent me the other night. (I still hope to post that). It helped the time pass quickly. I was soon at my car. She let me go so I could stop spilling gas on myself and she could change for the Bar-B-Que she was going to. Five hours earlier in Hawaii you know.
9:36 Gas in car. Me in the car. And now back at the top of the off ramp for the third time, going back to the gas station to fill up my tank. This time I paid at the pump, so I wouldn't have to look at the “I will never be anything but a gas station attendant” woman.
9:44 Tank completely full and in the turn lane to get back on the expressway. The song at the gas station was funny again but I can remember what it was. If I wasn’t frustrated and late for work I probably would have written it down in my PDA.
10:01pm Pulled into the parking lot at work. Instead of being fifteen minutes late (OK, twenty minutes late) I was a hour late. And I still needed to shave.
I got a lot of shit from people at work. Some people thought I had a flat tire. Now there is the telephone game in full effect for you. Others had started guessing at why I was really late. The most popular theory was that I got caught with a hooker in my car. One friend came to my defense saying I would have never gotten caught. Friends, gotta love ‘em.
Until then enjoy the holiday, and stay out of jail. I ain’t got the bail money.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
