In six months of being a strip club DJ I've never worked an entire night without drinking.
Tonight I did it.
Cinco de Mayo: The Mexicans defeated the fucking French.
Social phobia, teeth clenching... I defeated my stupid brain abnormalities and played good music, didn't take home a girl that was a sure thing, helped break up a fight, and kept the dancers' names straight.
Clarity is weird.
Also, I don't think I was crying so much in the blog where I explained the haiku. "Good motherfucking haiku, motherfucker!" Is simply a take off on a Chappelle sketch. I appreciate all who read this page and the comments make my life a little more interesting. Please sign them, although I think I know who's leaving most of them.
I'm working tomorrow night. I'm tired. Going to bed.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Thursday, May 04, 2006
I woke up this morning to the sound of a loud truck. It's not garbage day, so I wondered if someone was getting towed. I walked outside to see what was up and saw a truck with a crane arm extended over my house. In a brief, groggy instant, I thought to myself:
"They're towing my house!"
Not the case, just delivering shingles to reroof the building.
I've had the slowest work week in a long time. Just chilling, working out, cleaning the house. I put marble chips over my river rock. Looks cool.
Whoever leaves anonymous postings like the one in yesterday's blog... just sign your name. Oh, and my cheesy poem was a haiku. A haiku is a three line poem with five, seven, and five syllables. I'd never written one. Good motherfucking haiku, motherfucker!
Still waking up. Done more before 10am than I normally do, though. Lunch in a little bit where an ex works. I love our little visits. Every conversation reveals just a little bit more about how fucked over I got. Precious times.
Alright, enough time on this page. Look at Greg's or someone else's. Look away... I'm... I'm... hideous.
goochout
"They're towing my house!"
Not the case, just delivering shingles to reroof the building.
I've had the slowest work week in a long time. Just chilling, working out, cleaning the house. I put marble chips over my river rock. Looks cool.
Whoever leaves anonymous postings like the one in yesterday's blog... just sign your name. Oh, and my cheesy poem was a haiku. A haiku is a three line poem with five, seven, and five syllables. I'd never written one. Good motherfucking haiku, motherfucker!
Still waking up. Done more before 10am than I normally do, though. Lunch in a little bit where an ex works. I love our little visits. Every conversation reveals just a little bit more about how fucked over I got. Precious times.
Alright, enough time on this page. Look at Greg's or someone else's. Look away... I'm... I'm... hideous.
goochout
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Interesting. Right after I wrote my last blog, I went to a gym to resolve some computer issues for them. The manager, who I've known for about seven years on a work related basis, told me that I "have a great face, hair, eyes..." and that I'd "have girls flocking to [me]" if I lost about twenty pounds. He also told me that he normally has this conversation with girls (I'd love to see how that flies with the chicks). I appreciated his honesty.
I guess.
Oh, and just to answer some questions from some friends about last night... a haiku:
Eighteen year old date.
Former stripper at my house.
Watched TV, no sex.
The night went sour when she discovered (in a Seinfeldesque moment) that I didn't know her real name, only her stage name. Also, when she mentioned that I graduated high school when she was four.
Damn it feels good to be a gangster.
goochout.
I guess.
Oh, and just to answer some questions from some friends about last night... a haiku:
Eighteen year old date.
Former stripper at my house.
Watched TV, no sex.
The night went sour when she discovered (in a Seinfeldesque moment) that I didn't know her real name, only her stage name. Also, when she mentioned that I graduated high school when she was four.
Damn it feels good to be a gangster.
goochout.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Hmmm...
I had another hard drive failure which resulted in say, a retreat from blogging. Understand that hard drives fail. They're like hamsters and old people... they die.
The difference is that when my hard drives die and I haven't backed up any data, odds are I'll retreive everything and install a new drive and it will be as if nothing ever happened.
When your hard drive dies, it will cost you money and heartache from lost pictures, email, and porn. Back up your data. Schmuck.
So while I was out I experienced yet another illegal immigrant march/work strike just outside my window from another office I share with Gregster. Thousands of illegals and their supporters marching up Broadway. A sample of the wisecracks about this nationwide event:
"I could understand the guy at the drive through this morning." "Not a single room in Vegas was cleaned this morning." "Is that my gardener?" "Is that a march, or did a soccer game just end?"
Laughs ahoy.
Just because you have sex doesn't mean you're sexy. It's no secret that I struggle with weight related issues. My psychotropic drug experience has been an ongoing debate with my doctor. I cut back on my INSANELY high dosage of Seroquel and... holy shit... I woke up not in a slurring stupor at 10am and instead went to the gym at 7am. When decent looking strippers and chicks in general choose you to be the special someone in their lives (for a night, anyway) on a regular basis, it's easy to forget that you're a fat fuck. Combine that with the ritual of the (ahem) post-game celebratory breakfast filled with crepes, bacon, eggs, Chinese food, etc... and, well, you get me.
Enough of this jibber jabber. It's time for work.
goochout.
I had another hard drive failure which resulted in say, a retreat from blogging. Understand that hard drives fail. They're like hamsters and old people... they die.
The difference is that when my hard drives die and I haven't backed up any data, odds are I'll retreive everything and install a new drive and it will be as if nothing ever happened.
When your hard drive dies, it will cost you money and heartache from lost pictures, email, and porn. Back up your data. Schmuck.
So while I was out I experienced yet another illegal immigrant march/work strike just outside my window from another office I share with Gregster. Thousands of illegals and their supporters marching up Broadway. A sample of the wisecracks about this nationwide event:
"I could understand the guy at the drive through this morning." "Not a single room in Vegas was cleaned this morning." "Is that my gardener?" "Is that a march, or did a soccer game just end?"
Laughs ahoy.
Just because you have sex doesn't mean you're sexy. It's no secret that I struggle with weight related issues. My psychotropic drug experience has been an ongoing debate with my doctor. I cut back on my INSANELY high dosage of Seroquel and... holy shit... I woke up not in a slurring stupor at 10am and instead went to the gym at 7am. When decent looking strippers and chicks in general choose you to be the special someone in their lives (for a night, anyway) on a regular basis, it's easy to forget that you're a fat fuck. Combine that with the ritual of the (ahem) post-game celebratory breakfast filled with crepes, bacon, eggs, Chinese food, etc... and, well, you get me.
Enough of this jibber jabber. It's time for work.
goochout.