When The Moon Is Round And Full, Gotta Bust That Box Gotta Gut That Fish

I had a dream last night that I watched the movie Moon.

I haven't seen Moon in the non-dreamy world. It looks intriguing, and I like Sam Rockwell, but I've heard it's slow and boring.

But what I watched last nite in my head... it was Sam Rockwell in a Moon-like movie, but it did not appear to take place on the Moon. Like somewhere in that kind of setting, somewhere in space, but not actually on the Moon.

Afterwards, I discussed that aspect with someone else who watched Moon in my head with me. That person said it was Moon, but it was heavily edited in post-production to make it not appear as if it was on the Moon. The screening results indicated that film was too slow, and so the producer-director people decided that was the fault of it being on the Moon.

And despite that, it was still a boring film -- in my head.

And then this morning, I woke up early (because I went to bed early because I was hammered) and within five minutes I discovered Patton Oswalt's upcoming film, Big Fan. This is guaranteed to be the opposite of suck.

Your Orphan Clothes And Your Long Dark Hair, Lookin' Like You Didn't Care

Why it's a good idea to keep an extra shirt in your office/cubicle/locker/cubbyhole:

When you're really, really hungover, and twenty minutes late for work, and you discover halfway to work that you forgot to put on a shirt.

(I mean, I had an undershirt on, but totally forgot about the dress shirt part of it. I'm also a very shitty writer who is terrible at telling stories and has a very annoying reliance on parentheticals and has all kinds of self-esteem issues. Fuck off.)

A Wiggle And Jiggle Can Make The Night Complete

I went to a baseball game yesterday afternoon, and I did not drink. I had one 16-oz bottle of Diet Coke for $4.75. I was rather proud of myself. I also walked to and back from the ballpark, beating my firm on the way back even though we left at the same time but they insisted on taking the N-Judah. When I got home, I went for a run/sweating exhibition for almost twenty minutes.

Of course, my friend wanted to give me two Super Anime Heroes Kinnikuman toys he picked up in Japan last year for about ¥650 (about $6), so I had to go to the bar, where I drank much and spent much. So you see, I didn't want to drink -- I was compelled to by the promise of toys.

Then I coasted through this morning hungover and hungry.

Sunbeams Are Not Made Like Me

Speaking of famous dead musical legends...

"Very sad. Looks like a normal soccer-playing kid."

I agrees.

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I guess I was feeling a bit overconfident because by the time the waitress was able to direct the woman’s attention over to the bar to see who had ordered the drink for her, I was already masturbating.

Tom Oatmeal is my internet find of the workday.

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Things I Would Like To Learn How to Do:

1. Photoshoppin' -- like, actually Photoshop shit, not just add text to a photo or use the macrame filter or something.

2. Make videos. Just like, record shit off of TV or the Internet and make it into a video, and not just hold a camcorder or an iPhone in front of the TV.

3. Moonwalk. I've wanted to moonwalk forevs. Being old, white, fat, and not terribly coordinated are four strikes against me. Also: Running Man.



4. Drink less.

5. Have amazing sex.

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Things I Used To Do But No Longer Do Because They Reminds Me of Jessica:

1. Watch Flight of the Concords.

2. Watch 30 Rock.

3. Watch It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia. (OK, I've never watched it, but I want to, but I can't, because it would remind of Jessica, who after we broke up developed a love for the show.)

4. Walk on Sutter Street.

5. Be happy.

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Eight or nine hangovers in a row, plus about six hours a sleep a night, plus being ridiculously busy at work all week leaves Dave with little energy to do any work at all on Friday.

I'm A Pitiful Site, And I Ain't All That Bright

Holy Fucknuts, I was really drunk last nite.

I am a Bad Decision Generator. If you want to make a bad decision -- e-mail me.

In this case, it was the idea to drink until 1:30 in the morning when I had clients coming in at 11:00.

I was also wearing my "A Wizard Has Turned You Into A Shark. Is This Awesome? Y/N" t-shirt last nite. This girl who I kinda know found the t-shirt itself awesome, and kept raving it about it the whole night, while I was feeling kinda awkward about it, because I have body issues and am too fat to wear almost anything else so I felt like I my t-shirt was just a canvas covering my blubber.

(Also: She put some serious thought into whether being a shark would be awesome or not. Reminds me of these people.)

I also gave away a bunch of burned comedy CDs to people that I had originally intended to give to friends Don and Magi. But they didn't come out last nite, so I got to share Paul F. Tompkins, Mitch Hedberg, and Maria Bamford with other people.

But I think I generally behaved like an idiot because I can't remember much else.

(Also: being hungover and cranky is not the best attitude to have when you meet with clients, so I decided I'd sequester myself away in my office and let the lawyers deal with him. I was unaware that not only did the client bring his cute little daughter, but he also brought a DOGGIE! THERE IS A DOGGIE IN OUR OFFICE. SO CUTE.)

(Also x2: Yesterday when I came home there was a notice taped to my door advising me that I have three days to pay my rent or GTFU. I'm dealing with it. But coming on the heels of (1) A friend who just got a $10,000 bill from the IRS, and (2) his girlfriend, who's cat died the day before, (and (3) -- the guy I met last nite who teaches pre-algebra to 7th graders), I realized I have nothing to get worked up about. It'll get worked out.

I am too blessed to be stressed.

Sleep Away The Day If You Want To But I Got Something That I Gotta Do

Hangover. Hangover. Saturday morning drinking. That's been my AM hours for the last 24 of them or so.

Shit: Facebook and fucking Twitter have tag-teamed to make short blog posts more vain and unnecessary than ever before. Goddamn you people!

It's Been A While Since I Was Your Man

I refuse to give up the self-referential writing game!

Also, when your very last blog post is of a TV crap pitchman who likes to relax by punching out hookers, uh, well, that just can't stand.

I guess I've been feeling better about myself as of late. Work has consumed my daytime for the past six weeks, and pot and GTA IV has consumed my nights. I'm pretty much that boring, fat 22-year old stoner of a roommate you once had, except I have a job, no roommate and I was born during waning days of the Nixon administration. (OK, maybe I'm not feeling so much better about myself.)

Been making slow progress towards overcoming a lot of the anxieties that have besieged me over the past year or so. Also, last Monday was the ex's birthday, and while I was very depressed leading up to it (it had been a major dealio the last two years of my life), once it passed I felt a little relieved. Don't have too many more memorable Jessica-related dates left this year. There's something to not get too depressed about! (The small things, they matter.)

As far as not-so-small things go, I got to lose my fattypants. I realized that so long as I'm overweight, I just won't like myself. That's always been true in the past. Hell, the first time I ever dieted was when I was sixteen, and one day, while washing my dad's car or sweeping leaves or something, my dad told me that "Fat people are never happy. You think John Candy is happy? I guarantee you he's not." (Note: John Candy was several years away from death at that point in time.) Of course, the task is harder than ever now -- I weigh more than I ever have, I'm 35, and my social life revolves around copious amounts of beer and whiskey. So yeah, got to make some of those lifestyle changes I always hear about. On the plus size side, I got my card for the 24-Hour Fitness across the street from my office. I know, I shouldn't be so superficial, but if I can judge a woman's body, I should be forced to judge my own, right?

Also, my friend bought boxing gloves and mouthpieces and wants to wail on me, so I should try to get into some kind of shape so I can fight back. Yesterday I got worn out after 2 minutes of playing fetch with my neighbor's bulldog. The day I can't hang with a four-legged fartsack like that is the day that's clear to me how outta shape I am.

And that dovetails kinda nicely with what my shrink told me a few weeks back: "Dave, you need a girlfriend." While I hate having to admit that I am a needy person -- it's one of those things I never wanted to be, like an alcoholic, that I now am! -- it is healthy to admit it, as losing weight no longer is a goal in and of itself: it is part of the plan for the return of my sexy ways.

Anything else? Well, I was an hour late for work this morning because I was totes hungover, and speaking of fartsacks, I am one.

It`s Been The Worst Day Since Yesterday

A Receipe For A Bad Day:

1) Be hungover;
2) Have a cold;
3) Be so busy at work because you're covering for somebody else who is out sick for the week, that you wind up falling behind on your own work;
4) Wake up at 6:30 am, unable to sleep, and start drinking beer and smoking pot until you fall asleep at 8:20;
5) Wake up again at 9:30, which coincidentally is the same time you should be arriving at work;
6) Be fat and depressed and lonely and know it.

Bah.