I'm having one of those days where I think there is something I'm supposed to do, but I just can't remember what it is. Like when someone asks you the name of clearly someone you know the name of... yet is flutters away to come back and dance just off your tongue. What the hell is it that I was supposed to be doing today? How frustrating!
LOL. Ma! Pa's been drinkin' again...
Some people have these cheesy wish lists... Amazon.com, etc. I am not into that... if you want to buy me something, buy me these...
I want these so bad!
'I pity da fool dat fuck wif my snap'... that was my fortune cookie wisdom from lunch. I found it in my pocket just now. The printed words were "you are compassionate and fun loving", but I think that Mr. T writes all that shit anyway and they have someone translate it at the press. They should have left it in it's original form... it makes me smile.
"When you're dealing with a store like this, they're insured up the ass. They're not supposed to give you any resistance whatsoever. If you get a customer, or an employee, who thinks he's Charles Bronson, take the butt of your gun and smash their nose in. Everybody jumps. He falls down screaming, blood squirts out of his nose, nobody says fucking shit after that. You might get some bitch talk shit to you, but give her a look like you're gonna smash her in the face next, watch her shut the fuck up. Now if it's a manager, that's a different story. Managers know better than to fuck around, so if you get one that's giving you static, he probably thinks he's a real cowboy, so you gotta break that son of a bitch in two. If you wanna know something and he won't tell you, cut off one of his fingers. The little one. Then tell him his thumb's next. After that he'll tell you if he wears ladies underwear. I'm hungry. Let's get a taco." - Mr. White (Reservoir Dogs)
I'm hungry (again). I wish I had a taco. It's effin 4:00 and the rain is coming down... just like clockwork. I feel like I'm in Orlando again. My day is significantly better after large amounts of pain killers, coffee, coffee, cafe su da (oh yes), coffee, and coffee. It helps that I have not spoken to many people today and I only got stabbed in the head with one meeting that was brief and efficient. I am planning a migration off Blogger soon, so this all may go away when I royally fuck it up. Be prepared for no more me. I received news that the Burden Brothers were playing an in-store before the San Marcos gig. This changes my plans a little bit. I am going to try to be in San Antonio the night before the show, but this will largely depend on Sean. It's good news... just requires planning. I think my bladder is the size of a pea. I may just get all the exercise I could ever need in power walking to the bathroom 1000 times each day. Maybe I can just pee in my office and conserve energy. Ideally, I would be able to open my window and pee on traffic below. That would be entertaining. Maybe not as entertaining as mindlessly clicking through personal ads to see what kind of cheese people write, but entertaining none the less. I'm also addicted to clicking through those rating sites. Some of those pictures are just priceless... worth way more than 1000 words. Hey, that's twice I used 1000 in this post... oh! THREE times! ...oh gawd I am so easily amused...
Today sucks.
Lunch at Mai's downtown (which just got a complete face lift... they marbled the front) with Sam was good. I laughed a lot. We were talking about obscure British humor. Good shit. Anyway, I may be going to
The Suspects show tonight despite my desire to go home and hide under the covers. It's the bands last show before they spilt up and I've heard they were good for an eight-piece ska and reggae band from Houston (not that there are many of those around). I picked up the new
Houston Press, opened it to a random page like I always do (no front to back action here), and the first words that reached my eyes were:
"Ever see people so attractive they make you mad? You clinch your teeth, your neck tenses up, you get migraines from the sheer frustration, the sheer futility, of trying to chat up someone so gorgeous. All you can think is 'These people are just too goddamn pretty! How the hell can someone be so damn pretty and walk the earth among us simple folk? It makes no sense - those pretty muthafuckas!'"
First off, do people like that really exist? The ones this "journalist" is describing? If so, why are they not having sex with me? Seriously though... come on... clinched teeth? migraines? Maybe this guy needs to masturbate more often. Secondly, where did quality articles go in the Press? They print crap these days. It has dwindled down to a source for band schedules and occasional social event listings. They should print a separate paper with just that for guys like me... then keep the original press for people that want to read crap. But hey... that's just me.
Did I mention that today sucks?
There should also be a
sniglet for when you type a big long post and then something stupid happens (you brain fart and click the wrong thing, the computer locks up, the program crashes, a
ninja kicks you in the head, the power goes out at your house, etc.) and
you lose the entire post. Fuck.
Today sucks.
Clayton must not be good at math. If Houston to London is about $400 and London to Paris is about $45, then why is Houston to Paris almost $700? Airlines are irritating.
There should be a
sniglet for the act of forgetting to blog something that you previously had planned on blogging. I know there are people out there besides me that see and/or hear things
all the time that spark some reaction towards an entry and then it just floats away between them and the next computer experience. That is also irritating. It is more irritating than airlines... in my opinion... however, you should be thankful because if I remembered the entries I've forgotten, this blog would be an exalted tome.
I may just flip out and kill everyone like a
ninja.
I have gone through every drawer in my desk... all six of them... and only found four Advil. My director's administrative assistant used to have all kinds of OTC drugs stashed in her desk, but the person sitting at that desk has changed faces so many times in the last few months that I don't even know the incumbent. I am slowly spinning a pair of scissors and a letter opener on my desk... wondering if I should jam them in my eye sockets to make the pain go away.
I don't get it. I eat at home, relax with a movie on the couch, and go to bed early... and feel completely miserable this morning. My head is pounding. My body aches. I feel like I'm getting sick... and I rarely get sick. Ugh! Thanks for the colorful emails about that little crying comment. It was completely not the picture some folks imaginations were painting for them. I watched a great love story and found myself crying uncontrollably. After it was over, I asked a friend their opinion of men that cry. I thought the response was quotable. That's it. No drama. It was just such a good story that I cry every time. Eclair got in trouble last night for the first time in almost a year. She was digging for, and subsequently eating, the tootsy rolls from the litter box. She hasn't done that since she was a little puppy. I really dislike scolding her (she never gets hit... it's just verbal... all tone) because I know she is feeling terrible... I don't do it often, so she knows I mean business. I need drugs. I very rarely take any type of pain killer for headaches. I usually just let it pass, but this morning I'm loading up. This absolutely sucks my ass.
"Men are human. Humans cry."
"Are you desirable? Are you irresistable? Maybe if you drank bourbon with me, it would help. Maybe if you kissed me and I could taste the sting in your mouth it would help. If you drank bourbon with me naked. If you smelled of bourbon as you fucked me, it would help. It would increase my esteem for you. If you poured bourbon onto your naked body and said to me "drink this". If you spread your legs and you had bourbon dripping from your breasts and your pussy and said "drink here" then I could fall in love with you. Because then I would have a purpose. To clean you up and that, that would prove that I'm worth something. I'd lick you clean so that you could go away and fuck someone else." - Ben Sanderson (Leaving Las Vegas)
I love that movie. I am going to watch it again... tonight. I may drink bourbon while watching it. Maybe. I don't know Greg... is there a greater irony?
Take a hip ride with
Sammy Sperm to learn the important role your prostate plays in sex.