Return of the Gooch.

In a stunning turn of events, a visit to my friend who works in a strip club culminated into a guest DJing gig at Montegos on 162nd and Division in Portland, OR. I initially hesitated at the offer. Hesitation was merely leftover restrictions from having a girlfriend or a 9 to 5 job.

"Shit... I'll DJ your club." And I was off playing all the shit I wanted to. Zombie. Van Halen. Marilyn Manson. Fuck yeah! Strippers were giving me money for a change... one asked me for my phone number. And I gave it to her.

So this Sunday, I'll be working there. Check back on this site for any changes/cancellations.

DJ Gooch. out.

It's Wednesday morning. Did the books, took out the trash, had a somewhat inspired workout, thinking about combing my hair, making a bank deposit, chilling at Taco House with Cheryl for a bit. My gym is buying newer, better tanning beds so I'm holding off on using my package until they get installed. That's smart economics, bitches. Nextel beep to Marty: no answer. Fuck, I gotta get out of this office. I need to clean this office. Basic cable doesn't offer me enough distractions... I need digital cable with On-Demand. My eyes are shifty today. Doctor's appointment today at 3pm. Can't forget that! Love needles in my arms. God... I'm still bruised from two weeks ago. Is my hair combed yet? No. Gotta do that. Oh, shit... gotta pay the Comcast bill. They're scheduled to shut off any time now. There's my inspiration to get out of the house.

I'm rollin'

goochout

House Arrest. Yo.

I'm staying in all week. I'm going to act like I've got a Martha Stewart ankle bracelet and only go to and from work and to the gym. There's too many ways to get in trouble and I've filled my quota for the week.

So what do I do? Sit on the couch, Nextel my friends, try to catch as many Family Guy and South Park episodes as I can before my psychotropic prescriptions and my glass of wine put me to sleep on my couch.

Props to Kaz for partying with me last week and Gregster for employing me this week. You two make my world go round. Round like a record baby. Right round round round.

Also, myspace.com has reunited me with all sorts of people... the entire Perfect in Plastic crew (including MistaKris), Jam Magazine people, and some fellow high school alumns. Alumni. Whatever. Great site.