My Heart Is Broke, But I Have Some Glue

I read this Beth Spotswood person's blog and occasional other pieces at SFGate or SFAppeal and think, "She seems like a nice person." She's funny, charming, intelligent, and she -- in my opinion -- bravely decided to confront her alcoholism late last year and go into rehab for it. She is, as far as I know, still sober seven or eight months later. Good for you, Beth.

She also seems to have lotsa friends who still like her and hang out with her now that she's sober. Maybe she's a total liarpants when she writes about it, but that makes me ridiculously jealous. I'm not afraid to quit drinking (I've done it before -- repeatedly), but I'm afraid that this time, if I do, my friendships with everyone else in the universe will dry up. Because what else do I have in common with everyone I know (or at least, want to know)? We drink.

I was so lonely here for years until I started drinking again. Now, I'm still kinda lonely (break-ups and depression and all that), but at least I know I have friends here who like me and care about me. I didn't have that before.

Life: Confusing!

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Also: The saddest looking animal ever.

You're All Dressed Up Like A Lady, How Come You Behave This Way?

This is absolutely the most adorable thing I've seen in my life:



If there is anything more reliably cuter than forcing animals to wear clothes and prance around on two legs, I do not know what it could be.

Reminiscing, Got Me Feeling Kinda Low, I Broke Out The Everclear and Then I Drunk Some 'Mo

1:56 in the morning of July 4. This is the 4th time I've been drunk in the last 24 hours. There is some fool out on O'Farrell playing a recorder, which is the most incorrectly-named musical instrument of all time. It doesn't record fuckall, it just makes irritating noises that you want to get away from. If I was prone to beating up people on the street, that guy would be all hurty by now.

Last nite I was talking to some guy named "Dean," which I thought was amusing because I was drunk and when was the last time you talked to a guy named "Dean," especially when you're drunk? Anyhow, during our discussion about the neighborhood, I realized that the random street noise in the 'Loin really does aggravate me. It's not people coming home drunk from a bar at 1:00 in the morning that annoy me. It's the people who make loud, unnecessary noise at all hours of the day. Like some guy playing a recorder, f'r instance.

Goddamned depressed. July 3 of last year was my last day of work. July 4 was an awesome BBQ with a ton of friends, followed by karaoke at Encore. July 5, we were on the road to our new life in San Diego. I still miss her so much.

I've also never had a massage.



Also: last nite I suggested that a friend name her new kittehs Mr. and Mrs. Snugglepants.

I was laughed at. Just like Sarah Palin is laughed at every day, by everyone, because she is a clown. God, I always thought she was just a narcissistic egomaniacal weirdo, but her resignation speech is kind of a strange mess, n'est ce pas?

Anyway, Happy Birthday, America. Keep on dancing:

Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except For Me And My Monkey

So I'm at a birthday party yesterday, and we're sitting around drinking and smoking, and somehow the topic turns to Michael Jackson. Big surprise. But it's OK, since Michael Jackson is one thing that ANYBODY can talk about, which attests to his fame and impact.

Somebody inquires as to whether Bubbles, Jackson's pet chimpanzee, is still alive. I say I think he's dead, but I really don't know, so I fall into my famous addiction of fact-checking anything via my iPhone.

I learned two interesting things about Bubbles that I shared with everybody:

1. Bubbles is still alive. (He's been living in an animal sanctuary, because if you don't know, mature chimpanzees are fucking savages.)

2. Bubbles allegedly* tried to kill himself in 2003.

One of those facts is way more interesting than the other.

How the fuck does a chimp try to kill itself? Although the "why" isn't so hard to figure out:



*Can't find any sort of real confirmation -- beyond a Wikipedia citation -- that Bubbles did, in fact, try to kill himself.

"Bubbles the chimp's personnal [sic] style defined an era."

I Don't Think I'm Ever Going To Figure It Out

I can't tell a story. Here's an example of me making a very funny story not funny:

So, my friend's cat died a couple of days ago, and she was talking about her boyfriend handling the removal and disposal of the body. I guess she'd been telling that story at work earlier in the day, because one of her co-workers had the following story:

So, this woman was housesitting for a couple who went on vacation for a week. The couple had a dog the woman took care of. Well, one day the dog dies. She's unsure of what to do; apparently, she's unable to contact the couple to get instructions from them, and she doesn't want to leave a dead dog body lying around the house for a week or whatever. She decides to have it cremated and the ashes put in an urn, because that's what she thinks the couple would have wanted.

This is happening in Chicago, BTW, which is very important to the story. The woman doesn't have a car and gets around by the subway or whatever they have out there. She doesn't want to bring a dead dog stuffed in a garbage bag on the subway, and thank god for that. Instead, she puts the body in a roller suitcase and brings that to the subway instead. Guess it wasn't a very big dog.

One guy asks her if she needs help getting it downstairs, but she's very protective of it and says, "No! I'm fine!" But that doesn't help when another guy runs buy and steals the suitcase with the dead body inside.

So now she's got a new problem. She doesn't have to worry about getting rid of the dog anymore, but she also doesn't have any ashes to present to the family as evidence of their dead little doggie. So she goes to their BBQ grill and takes the ashes from there.

A thief stole a dead dog, and a couple in Chicago have spent charcoal that they think was their precious dog.

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What happened?

I don’t know. You know, ask anyone in Hollywood. Everybody has a Bill Murray story. He just punishes people, for reasons they can’t figure out. He was a student of Gurdjieff for a while, the Sufi mystic. Gurdjieff used to act really irrationally to his students, almost as if trying to teach them object lessons. There’s a great story along those lines that Jim Belushi tells about Del Close, the improv teacher: Jim went up to Del once, when he was a young actor, and he said, “Del, I want you to know that I really, really trust you.” And Del kneed him in the balls, really hard, and asked, “You still trust me?” Bill was always teaching people lessons like that. If he perceived someone as being too self-important or corrupt in some way that he couldn’t stomach, it was his job to straighten them out.

Harold Ramis has a really great interview in the new GQ, btw.

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Also: I just learned that Afroman's "Because I Got High" was a #1 single in, among other countries, Australia, the UK, and Norway (Scandinavians really loved it as a whole.)

I mean, it's OK and all, and it's about weed, which is cool, but really, Denmark? It's a simple novelty song. It's Dr. Demento-like. I like Dr. Demento-like songs and all, but I wouldn't want or expect any of them to be the #1 song in the fucking country. Especially if it's in a foreign language! Or how about you, France, don't try to act all, "It didn't reach #1 here," which doesn't hide that it reached #2 over there.

Fuck foreign snobbery.

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Gotta go to a birthday party. Not doing any things for Pride weekend since I have no gay pride, but that's only because I'm am completely absent of any gayness. I never caught it. I was innoculated young or something. Maybe it was watching Heavy Metal as a kid and seeing a hot naked animated lady with a faintly lavender bush. That may sound very gay, but even at age seven or whatever, I was like, "I'd be down for some of that."

So there you go: If you don't want your kids to be gay (not that there's anything, y'know), make them watch Heavy Metal when they're very young.



(Also: South Park had a Heavy Metal spoof? Why was I not informed?

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Gotta run. Here is adorableness.

Didn't I Blow Your Mind This Time

There's a couple who live on the first floor of my building with a pair of great, friendly, well-behaved dogs. Their apartment is right next to the elevator, by the building entrance, and they frequently leave their front door open so the dogs can play in the lobby. I love dogs, and it's way fun for me to play with them when they're hanging out.

I just ran out to the market, and saw one of the dogs -- Skittles -- laying on the floor in the lobby, looking bored when I left. I gave him a friendly pat. When I came back, he had moved over by the entrance to the elevator, and was looking really sad. I guess his ownerpeople had some friends over, so he was just chilling in the lobby, but he looked morose. I sat down next to him while I waited for the elevator, scratched and him and asked him, "Who's a good boy?" That cheered him up a bit, but then the elevator came and I was anxious to get upstairs and eat my Doritos. (I also don't want to seem like the kind of guy who's only friends in the building are a couple of dogs that hang out in the lobby.)

As the door closed and I waved bye to Skittles, he had that sad look on his face again. I figured he was sad that I was leaving, as he enjoyed the petting and the attention.

But then I thought about it. A dog doesn't really understand an elevator, especially if he never has to ride in one. He just seems people open a door, go into a room, and then not come out again. Or if someone comes out, it's an entirely different person. It's like some weird, trick room that must blow their little doggie minds. Into this little room I go, and then a short time later a little Chinese girl emerges.

It's amazing how dogs remain so cheery in a world they clearly cannot understand.

Well You Play That Tarantella All The Hounds Will Start To Roar

You're a dog. You're sitting there on the floor, or in a chair, or maybe you're out for a walk. And then you hear sirens from a fire truck or ambulance. Now, being a dog, you've got really sensitive hearing, so obviously the piercing sirens aren't any fun to hear.

So what is your response to the sirens? Do you lay down and try to cover your ears with your front paws, like an adorable little bundle of cuddleness? Or do you start barking your head of?

Every dog I've ever seen does the latter. Why? Is it angry at the sirens and trying to tell them to stop? Does it think that it should do its job to notify others of the emergency, and starts barking to get people attention, ala Lassie? Is it some kind of quasi-epileptic fit you go into, like those kids who start having seizures when they watch Japanese TV?

What is your problem, dog? Cats don't do that shit.

Since Puff the Magic Dragon Ceased His Mighty Roar

Uh, shit, embedding this fucking comic means it won't fit right here.

Oh wells. Read anyway.

I Would Not Could Not With A Goat

I drank for the first time in four days yesterday. Got pretty good and drunk at Mission Hill and at Whiskey, then got some super chorizo nachos, went upstairs, and ate my third meal of the day why I smoked pot, drank a 2-Liter of Diet Coke, masturbated (probably), and eventually fell asleep.

I left my computer on overnight, as I tend to do. I usually open up a half-dozen to a dozen tabs of various porn videos I'm contemplating watching in my browser. I can't be expected to jerk off to ten videos in one night (even I have my limits). But since I don't want to waste my porn video research, I find it's easier to leave my computer on overnight, then pick-up where I left off in the morning.

Uh, but this is not about porn. Instead, when I woke my computer up this morning, I was greeted with the homepage of Goatfinder.com (" A Top Online Source For Finding Or Listing Goats For Sale Nationwide!"). I haven't the fucking foggiest idea of what I was thinking last night that made me want to check out goats. I mean, goats are really cute and all (I prefer the term "Goaties!" myself), but I'm not looking to, I dunno, buy one or eat one or... whatever it is that Goatfinder.com might help me do.

Good god, it sounds like some sort of weird dating sight to connect goats with the people who seek them out.



"Quickly Find Goats That Are Available Now" I think I used to see ads like this on Facebook. Except for, you know, sluts (of all varieties!) instead of goats.