Some girl that hung out with a group of us at the beach deducted, after the time spent with me, that I was a "pompous ass."

Pompous: Characterized by excessive self-esteem or exaggerated dignity.

Perhaps she doesn't realize that I have an ENTIRE WEBSITE dedicated to essentially making fun of myself. Funny... it's not the first time I've been called this.

I gorged myself with salad rolls tonight. I cleaned the kitchen and made my bed. It took me five full minutes to find my fitted sheet (it was stuffed at the head of the bed; must not have slept well last night). I was at a friend's house last night and she pointed out how "well" her 11-year-old had made his somewhat disheveled bed. I didn't notice a problem; it probably looked a little tidier than mine at the moment. That's ultimately why men get married: To have the same person make your bed for the rest of our lives. Or, make our beds and reject us for sex for the rest of our lives.

Until death do you part, indeed.

Yesterday my ex-girlfriend and I resumed our friendship again after a sixth month hiatus. Yesterday the microwave she gave me three years ago quit working. It's like I had to sacrifice something to the appliance gods in exchange for a reunion.

I'm supposed to check out this new club that a former classmate is managing. Unfortunately, Mr. Saturday Night (that' s me) feels like finishing last night's bottle of merlot (I'll pour some out onto the curb as a tribute to my dead microwave) and falling asleep to the sweet sounds of a bootleg South Park DVD.

goochout

Do you have an account?

I'm sitting within the bowels of the Goochonline.compound. I fix computers during the day and today I took care of some residential accounts. I hate paperwork and residential work usually involves an acquaintance in some way. I didn't feel like sending an invoice to anyone, so here was my take for the day:

Job#1 (Will be invoiced $67.50)
Job#2: a six-pack of home brewed beer and a bottle of 9% alcohol beer. And $4 cash.
Job#3: $40 cash and a broken promise of take-out food.
Job#4: Two bottles of 2001 Oregon Merlot.

Aside from my sushi-punctuated days with Gregster, one of my better days at work.

I'm finishing off the day by washing some pills down with a few glasses of above mentioned wine. Oh, and updating this stale blog.

Wendy's Frosty: You eat it with a Fpoon.

I have more booze than food in my house. I'm starving and hoping the wine will satiate me until the morning.

Being Italian means you can drink wine shirtless while typing on a computer and watching television. Where's my wifebeater T-shirt?

Carlos Mencia: Wait... wait... still not funny.

"This is what you had before the bitches and hoes!" - The two "exes" that visited me during my shift at the strip club last night."

I DJ at the strip club again this Saturday. Montegos: 157th and SE Division in Portland.

Cost of the cleaning bill to clean my Father's couch on which I threw up after his wedding: $175.00

Number of cellular phones I have: 2

Number of plates at the last carousel sushi joint that I consumed: 13

Time I need to be up tomorrow to get to a job on time: 7:00am

Time I'll actually get up tomorrow: 9:30am

What I'll say when I wake up: "Fuck!"

South Park is on. I'm so happy (12:28pm).

goochout.

In an event that will rattle around in my head for weeks to come, my friend Nikki had two "exes" show up at my work at Montego's, the strip club for which I DJ.

If you're in "The Industry," as those of us who work in strip clubs are considered, there's obviously no negative stigma to being a strip club DJ if you date a co-worker (ie. a stripper).

However, this departure from normal occupation (let me stress that I have a real job during the day) is not, say, how I would want two girls for whom I've cared so much about (one was a girl that I was with for four years and another was probably the biggest "crush" I'd had in my adult life and actually dated for a brief period two years ago. I'd rather they'd seen me setting up a network or resolving some technical issue; not announcing a series of dancers.

It was funny seeing three of my best friends, Erik, Shavantee, Nikki, and two significant girls in my life all at the same table. It looked like an intervention. I bought them all drinks and resisted the urge to put the tab on my Dad's credit card (I already owe him for cigars, alcohol, a shirt, and a couch cleaning bill... all related to my antics after his marriage last Friday).

So upon leaving the club, my drunken ex girlfriend of four years slurred that she "knew she'd find me at a strip club"and to "have fun with the strippers" and yelled "man whore" as the door to her friend's van shut. Moments earlier, she stated that her "bladder was full" and she needed to "throw up," so I'll take her comments with a grain of salt.

Ouch. I hadn't talked to this person in six months because we'd gotten in a fight and this was not how I wanted any brief reunion to go.

I feel like my sails are deflated, though. Sobriety didn't help the situation either. My counselor, Dr. Jack Daniels was not going to bill me with a hangover tomorrow. Ok, I had a shot to take the edge off the awkwardness of the situation, but I sit here, writing sober.

So, was Doogie Howser the first blogger? I mean, he wrote in his personal log on the computer, just like I'm doing now, but his log was broadcast over the television during 1989 to 1993. Okay, since "blog" is short for "web log," it's not the case. However, I feel eerily similar when I sit here like a schmo typing my daily thoughts into a computer.

goochout.