Another pointless blog by a semi-anonymous person somewhere in the world who is worried he just spelled "anonymous" wrong.
americanplatypus at gmail dot com.
So last night I was down at Whiskey and not much was going on. My boy was working over in Portero Hill, so I cabbed over. Not much was happenin' there either, but I learned two important things:
1) One of the bartenders is an amazingly awesome and hot woman from Jacksonville who I hit it off with incredibly well. She's also gayer than Christ. I'm going to think of a creative way to break my mom's heart tomorrow by relating that story ti her,
2) I'm not what the boys call a "breastman," but the other bartender last nite had tits that belong encased in carbonite.
A'igth. Wish me luck on trying to sleep tonight.
Oh, and I love this fuckin' country. Canada couldn't produce this shit in a bazillion years:
"Silo and Roy, two male chinstrap penguins native to the South Atlantic, made [New York] headlines six years ago when they came out with their same-sex relationship. … That all ended when Scrappy, a single female newly arrived from SeaWorld in San Diego, caught Silo’s eye. … On Thursday, Roy, all alone, sat disconsolately at the edge of the penguin area, staring at the wall."
They even give the sads to penguins! Five'll get you ten that Scrappy gets frustrated with Silo's feelings and moves on to a hotter, younger, much richer puffin.
A truly horrible species of woman.
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Also, I finished GTA IV a few nights ago. What is up with video games and these morally-complex, bittersweet endings? When I was a kid it was all about kicking the bad guy's ass and then taking the princess home and fucking her, forever, The End. But now -- I make the right choices and my girlfriend is gunned down while attending my cousin's wedding. And she was one of these crazy virtuous women who also was saving herself for marriage, so I never got to tap that! (And she died a virgin!)
And even after I blow away her killer on the equivalent of Ellis Island after a long car/motorcycle/boat/helicopter/foot chase, I'm left completely numb, my hope for a new life in America ruined because of the lifestyle I chose to pursue.
You spend a nice weekend trying to enjoy yourself, have fun, live semi-carefree.
Your net result is to be broke and horribly depressed and cursing the existence of the guy who invented sunny days. And you think your inability to get a cab when you're late for work (because you're horribly depressed) has something to do with that.
See if you can guess where Day 2 of Dave's Unofficial Diet went off the rails:
1) Tempeh salad for lunch; 2) Ran 1.5 miles (give or take); 3) Small Quizno's veggie sandwich (no mayo, forgot it had cheese); 4) Three Kettle & Sodas while catching up with a bartender who's been on tour with one of his bands for the past month; 5) Learn that another bartender and his new wife are apparently getting divorced, get saddypants, drink three beers and four whiskeys; 6) Go home and drink more beer; 7) Cry.
When it's 2:50 in the morning, what else would you rather be doing than fighting off a depressive episode with Budweiser and herb?
I have a stuffed dachshund toy that she bought for me one Friday. It's name is Bendypants. He's looking right at me. I feel like I've let him down, and because of me, he'll never see Jess again. That makes me way so irrationally sad.
I'll be OK, and all that; I'm a lot different person than I was four months ago or whatever (thanks, Doctor Therapist!).
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?
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
So I'm getting loaded tonight, and my friend (and possible very distant cousin) Kristine mentions to me that:
"Morrissey (not my real name), I saw your Chris Daly video."
"What?!"
"I saw you saying 'Fuck You' to Chris Daly. I was online and I saw it."
"What?!?!"
She then explains that she was on teh Youtube, looking for Whiskey Thieves-related vids, and she saw me hatin' on Chris Daly for one of his many silly smoking ordinances. Friend Rik then chimed in by relating a similar story he had with Friend Armand, where they stumbled upon the same vid and had a chuckle about it.
Here is said video. Dry your panties, ladies:
(BTW -- I have no idea how either Kristine or Rik could have found this video. But hey, my old apartment!)
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Also, I know there are plenty of truly sad things in the world, but: you know when you move out of a place, and you're closing the door for the last time, and you know you won't ever seen it again... is it possible to not be sentimental and wistful?
They lie about marijuana. Tell you pot-smoking makes you unmotivated. Lie! When you’re high, you can do everything you normally do, just as well. You just realize that it’s not worth the fucking effort. There is a difference.
It’s easy to be miserable. Being happy is tougher — and cooler.
-- Thom York (via Quote Book) [Great, now I'm getting lectured by a lazy-eyed Englishman.]
A hug can turn your day around, it’s like an emotional Heimlich. Someone puts their arms around you, and they give you a squeeze and all your fear and anxiety comes shooting out of your mouth, and you can breathe again.
