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I have guinness poisoning, I went home on the subway last night (confidential to jmc: hoo boy!)listening to Creedence, some lady thought I was crazy and held her child tightly to her (this is possibly because I was wearing a knit cap and looked fairly River's Edge what with my long greasy hair and wild drunken bogman demeanor) I heated up some stew and watched survivor with the fambly, lordy, for some reason I was clenching my jaw. I drank more guinness at home, I went to sleep, got up about 800 times to pee. My special lady gets up at 5 am for some crazy ass reason to do with her job so I just woke up and read Oryx and Crake and made the kid oatmeal (she was wearing her new footsie pajamas at which I boggled) and totally lost focus, had tea and a rude ass mango. Then I took the kid to school (walking, "why are you mumbling man? speak up, yo. Please stop pushing me into the water falling off the awnings please ((kid fucking tacks around like a catamaran)) I don't know where you should go for lunch, isn't it just pizza or a bagel? just pick one, no you won't get pneumonia if you eat ice cream in the rain, but you shouldn't eat ice cream so much or your ass will fall off, no really.") Dropped her off. Had a Red Bull. Listened to the Misfits and Uncle Tupelo on the subway. Coffee. egg sandwich (I peeked into the kitchen at the megadeli I go to, it was like the bleedin UN in there, old Korean ladies in Kimonos, Mexican heavy metalers, super fey west indians, crazy). Now I'm here. Sound off like you got a pair...
Dude, the booze hit me like a ton of bricks too, which is weird since I only had like six or so. But I cabbed it home. By the time I got there I was staggering, stinko drunk and eventually puked up a firestorm. What the hell was in that stuff?
Fucking drunk bomb, I am starting to suspect that the bartenders are fucking al quaeda and they think we are a pair of dashing super spies and they are trying to roofie us and put us under that laser that slowly travels towards your crotch.
I haven't left for work yet, which means that I will not get there until 12, upon which time I will do the 3 hours of work I had planned for today and leave.
Went out last night with some old friends I haven't seen in years, who were roommates of mine in college and even later in NY. They're all successful and what to me is rich and we went to someone's house and it was huge and beautiful and serene and clean and practically empty with beautiful objects placed just so and curving white couches like a magazine spread. I love them and am happy for them but. So when I woke up this morning I was feeling like the total loser I am as the animals cascaded into my room and my daughter came home from her night out at 8:30 planning to go to work at 10:00 (ah, youth!) so I decided to take the dogs for a long walk. Jackson throws his head back and bays at the top of his lungs every time he hears another dog, and people lean out of their windows to see him and say things like "Coon dog! Girl you got your hands FULL now!" while he hauls me down the street. But it's beautiful today, and the sun is shining, and I have two kids and two dogs and two cats, and my friends don't have any of those things, and my house is full of books and music and the clay dinosaurs the kids made in kindergarten and dog toys and a thousand paintings and I don't have room for empty elegance because I've had this crazy full life and sure, I never got around to having a career or making any money, but hell.
mygothlaundry: Please be happy as much as possible as often as possible, everything else is white couches and silence at the dinner table, clink of forks on plates and other ennui pellets.
I wish I was that hardcore. I went to the fucking laundry mat and watched my down comforter revolve in the dryer with a couple of tennis balls. The old guy who's covered with tattoos and can hardly walk was in there, and I wondered again if it will be me some day. Then I went home and had cereal for dinner and contemplated breaking up with the woman I'm seeing (which is gonna suck), and went to bed early. I wish I had a hangover to explain how fucking shitty I feel.
(Plus I'm still really sore from the race I did last weekend, and I think I broke my foot during it and I have to make a drs appt to get it checked out.)
Right now, my swap valuations are so far off, there must be something wrong with the rates, so I get to sit on my hands while the smart guys figure what to do.
Working in banking makes it so you can get wrecked and still be a good scorekeeper at the Thursday night dice game. The more zeros, the quicker I can add.
Draggy day. I feel like the cigarette that missed the ashtray, rolled off the table in a bid for freedom, and landed with a hiss in a pool of beer and sooty rain.
I haven't felt truly dry laundry since I lived in the dorms.
Life is good, despite unemployment. Still got money, and got time to relax and recover from the unbelievable mindfuck that my last job was. The foot I sprained a month ago still hurts from time to time, which worries me slightly, but at least I didn't have to pretend to be homeless to get to the free clinic. (Plan B after lots of ice and wine and Advil.)
Must be the weather. Small crew hung out at our place last night, but I had my beer/rat-hippocampus stuff ratio off and ended up depressed. Want to change out of my whole life, but can't get my head around how. Or what an accurate long-term/short-term cost-benefit analysis would be. I also need to make a salon appt., which fills me with more dread than a doctor's appt., so I probably just won't today. My one good thought is about trying a weekly mileage goal for walking and jogging. I think that would be a good motivator - better than, "I jogged twice last week and walked the dog three times" cause that sounds like a fair amount, but it's really not.
Last night... 7 glasses of wine and three pints of beer and I didn't even feel it. Ate noodles when I got home. Woke up this morning feeling tired and nothing more. It's weird how these things sometimes work. If I had to apply occams razor here, I'd say that pixies stole the alcohol from my stomach and transported it over to you.
this dude called me to tell me he would see me at the noon meeting. this seems redundant to me. i'd have just gone ahead and seen me at the noon meeting. but i have never been a telephone person. some people are. i guess. or perhaps i'm being head-up-the-ass self-centered again. was there a nuance of pain/need/lonely i completely missed? did he need to talk about something, and i blew it? and if so, how will i ever escape this bog of self imprisonment behind my eyeballs? will i ever learn to think to say stuff like "hey, man, are you ok?"
I got together with a pretty girl last evening and turned her from Miller Lite to Guinness within three hours and then we watched a movie but I didn't try to put any moves on her because she still seemed a little nervous. She laughed at me a whole bunch which is good since my supergoofballness didn't annoy her. After she left I called quonsar to talk about the dead orphan I found on my porch, but he seemed indisposed to empathize.
WHAT THE SHIT JON. PLEASE EAT PROPER FOOD ONCE IN A WHILE. AS YOUR DRINKING BUDDY AND ATTORNEY I INSIST. If nothing else it makes for more aromatic and less pointy vomiting.
("I eat vegetables, I eat collard greens." You are inhuman, I swear.)
q, some people call you to tell you nothing, some people need help. See him at the meeting and don't kick your own ass so much.
It was the sandwich I had at lunch. I also had a banana.
I just dealt with some more medical red tape. Apparently, I had been scheduled for another lithotripsy without my knowledge. I called my first urologist and he said he didn't schedule me, the clinic did. I had to call two locations of the clinic since they apparently scheduled in Fresh Meadows (an area of Queens we locals call "way the fuck out there.")and got the appointment canceled. My better half said that the first urologist looked like a boozehound. I think she may be right.
I am currently trying to convince a friend of mine who owns an art gallery that the guy who provides her web space is stuck in 1993, what with his text-based, manually updated site. I've put together a customized Wordpress-driven site for her and it is ready to go, but the guy who owns her domain is so paranoid and dumb that he tried to convince her that merely copying the index page and hotlinking everything else to the test site on my domain would suffice. For some reason he is also insistent that she not purchase her own domain for the gallery name. They've been deleting and rewriting the code for over a year now, all I have to do is get them to let me install wordpress and they'll be back to standards compliant XHTML. The gallery owner is too ignorant to put her foot down, although she can tell the difference between a good design and the early days of 'nets. The other guy is just a dinosaur.
It was the sandwich I had at lunch. I also had a banana.
Ah you know it's just my mother hen instinct. I'ma 220 pound mother hen in a Redd Foxx t-shirt and shitkickers. Do you recall that I drank my guinness so fast that the bartender girls forced me to drink a last one because they were so amazed that I could contain that much guinness? I am such a derelict, bless my heart. Let's find one of those mob doctors who dig the bullet out of you and never squeal and they give you vetrinary drugs, a covert on the lam stonectomy.
Ah you know it's just my mother hen instinct. I'ma 220 pound mother hen in a Redd Foxx t-shirt and shitkickers.
I tend to bring out the Mother Hen thing in women (a female co-worker just lectured me on the importance of keeping hydrated, saying "I know you won't give up any of your bad habits, but try to drink six ounces of water with each drink." what am I, Hoover Dam?) But this is the first time, I've brought it out in a man. Eerie.
Macanudo,
You could bring out a mother hen instinct in a cement mixer.
I bet there are fucking gnarly methed out hep c bikers that want to make you soup.
Wow. I feel like I opened the door to the waiting room at the emergency clinic.
Yours truly's Ackyhawl gauge: extreme lightweight. Drank 1 glass of cabernet Wed PM and had a horrendous headache hangover the next morning.
Rat hippocampus gauge: likewise. I'm scared to try the alaska homegrown that was just mailed to me and smells like cat pee. But not so scared I'll give it up.
life/career gauge: marrying my S.O. of 5 years in our living room a week from tomorrow. We decided against Canada, CT, or any other yes-we-will/no-we-won't-let-gay-people-marry-place in the U.S. We figured who's more qualified than each other to freaking marry us? No witnesses (except the dogs and cats), just a big bash later. Hoping the weather is cool and fall-like so we can open the windows. The living room's going to get warm w/ 50 people in it.
as for the career....crossroads for another thread.
jon, best wishes on better health days, whatever it may be.
sciurus *clink* on converting a lost lamb to guinness
Why, thank you, you guys! divine how'd you know I was Jewish?! (I sent some light bulbs to the rabbi to bless for us, BTW. Who knew that little secret?!)
I didn't puke, I'm not a puker. Much to my dismay. I am the slowly metabolize the whole mistake kinda guy.
I didn't know you were Jewish, I'm from New York (irish/swedish extraction) so I'm what is known as culturally Jewish (therefore I say mazel, including the advanced sarcastic mazel tov,which this was not), I rock mad yiddish and have been known to eat chinese food on Christmas and value education.
I got a payment (thank you, lovely employer - you know who you are) so we paid the rent that was a month late (thank you, lovely landlady, who'll never, ever read this) and paid the ADSL before it was cut off (woohoo).
And now I'm having a lovely glass of red wine, and mr. taz has brought home lovely Double Riders for us to eat (it would take too long to explain, but, definitely - woohoo, and yum). And we are going to watch our first ever "Lost" episodes tonight (thank you lovely friend who made it possible for me to download these - you know who you are), and that's all feeling pretty woohoo, from where I'm sitting.
Taz
Are you gonna put your feet up? 'Cause then it would be perfect. If you could put your feet on a golden retriever, who would just kinda sigh happily and go back to sleep, double perfect.
The feet will most certainly be up, though, sadly not on a golden retriever.
Bunnyfire, I just said I managed to pay the rent, and that I'm going to watch Lost and eat takeout... Someone (not anyone we know, mind you) could probably make a case for this being less than maximally exciting. ;)
I didn't sleep much last night -- hyped up from a night out with the girls, and too worried about not-sleeping to actually fall asleep. Have a job interview later today that I'm gradually deciding I'm unprepared for. Also, no food in the house.
But the glory that is Specklet's breasts keeps me going, and will no doubt carry me happily through the day.
i saw him at the meeting. he has to go to his hometown tomorrow, a "return to babylon" type of thing, a place full of ghosts and temptation for him. he wants not to go alone. if i hadn't been going to the noon meeting, he would have asked about it on the phone. i complicate everything!
My roof is leaking. I haven't seen the sun in days. My condo is still in limbo (fuck you Eliot Spitzer). My freelance fell through. I realized I can't lay out books to save my life. I hate everything.I'm wondering if it would be wrong to begin drinking vodka at two in the afternoon.
I just read the answers to my AskMe question on anal porn and laughed so hard my face is wet. Yesterday was fast day (2 cups of broth and a cup of warm milk at bed time) so I can eat like a pig today and now the house is steamy with the lovely smell of split pea soup a-simmering. And I ache a tiny bit from planting 50 yellow tulips and 100 Dutch irises along the new walk way but since it is Friday I have Tacos, Margaritas and Survivor Day to look forward to this afternoon after doing the weekly grocery shopping. Meanwhile as I wait for my beloved to finish his morning nap, the new kittens keep me entertained with their mad new hunting skillz as they pop their heads through the dog door to drop off increasingly larger spiders and then withdraw quickly before attracting too much attention from the bulldog who is displaying her mad farting skillz in a way that competes with the smell of pea soup. And really, after I type this sentence I should take her for a long walk.
This afternoon I'm putting up my Giant Lighted and Animated Spider Actually Crawls on Web that I forgot I bought on clearance last November. I'm really excited although it is in a large box and has complex Asian directions which make me a little nervous. But I have a screwdriver and true resolve, and it will all be worth it once that Giant Spider is Lighted and Animated and Crawling on Web on my front porch. Then I can dig out the creepily laughing pumpkin, the Frankenstein face that sings Men at Work Who Can It Be Now? the ghost who moves unconvincingly up and down on a cable and the ancient gas station cassette of Spooky Halloween Sound Effects, naturally cranked out of the windows.
lucked into a wealth of bagels so i'm fed and i'm still a bit boggled catching up on what happened here while i was away to string anything else together yet--
aren't you glad you join in, esp. since everyone's so pro yoga? i'm honored to have witnessed ye emergence
oh, and my pants were, like, totally falling down at the time so anyone peeping out their peepholes at quite the lowerrider shot
and i ate some with beans, very british
now if i say i've done yoga, let's not make it all dirty, k?
*ahem*
*psst*
so, yoga, are you the one marrying papercake or is this another "coincidence"?
and did you guys decide really settle on cupcakes? and what about the buttercream?
*takes lion position*
photo by splunge
photo by TheophileEscargot
photo by Kronos_to_Earth
photo by ethylene
