It's my birthday today.
Thirty-three years old. I think Jesus Christ died at 32. He accomplished a lot by 32. He turned water into wine. I've only managed to turn wine into vomit. It's a neat trick. I do it towards the end of the night. Usually.
So it's close to 10am. I'm particularly leisurely today. I have two work related items to do: one is in exchange for food, and the other is a delivery to one of my favorite customers. Otherwise, I'm gonna try to live like Gooch at 31, except I'm waking up on my own bed instead of Marty's couch and not watching a lot of HBO On Demand.
A girl spent the night last night. For my birthday she promised not to cry while she got dressed or while she walked from my front door to her car.
DRINKS: A few of us are meeting at Original Roadhouse in Gresham 7:30ish.
I could spend the next three hours watching this season's "Sopranos" and "Entourage" without getting dressed or leaving bed.
Heh, now that sounds like Gooch at 31.
gooch:old
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