Last night I was at the Roadhouse, a country themed restaurant in my neighborhood that I often frequent. Nikki and I were hanging out, having a couple of drinks in honor of her deceased rat, Gracie. She had left, as she had to get up early for school this morning. I sat at the bar with my extra-large Jack and Diet Coke, the staple of my alcoholic diet. American Idol was on the television. "How gay," I thought. I had no idea to the extent of how gay it was.

A gentleman in a suit got up from the table where he was sitting by himself and sat at the bar stool immediately to my right. I was looking to my left as he got on his cell phone and started talking about "million dollar" deals and out-loud discussing how much he was going to make next month. He got off of the phone and said "hi" to me.

"How's it going?" I replied, barely taking my attention off of the TV.
"Great! My name's Chris" he said, as he put out his hand, which I shook.
"John. Good to meet you."

He then proceeded to ask me where I live, what I did. He told me that he lived in southwest Portland and that his girlfriend was mad at him for not being home. An appetizer platter was delivered to him and he pushed it between us, offering to share with me. I told him that I was good, but thanked him anyway. It was then that I looked over and saw that no one else was sitting at the bar, near us anyway.

Things started falling into place. My Gooch Senses™ were numbed by the JD, but when I switched to Gaydar, it was off the charts.I noticed that a man was violating the one stool space policy strictly enforced in an uncrowded bar. The "talking out loud about how much money one has on the phone in the hopes that someone overhears you" technique had just been used... on me. I also noticed that he was leaning really close to me (so close that someone later asked if I was showing him something on my cell phone, which I wasn't) and that he had the eyes of one of those televangelists that turns out to be gay and after you hear he's gay you look at him and say "of course he's gay... look at him."

I took a last look at my Jack and Diet Coke. I knew that I'd have to sacrifice it in an effort to get out of Dodge. Or, the Roadhouse; you know what I mean. There's some script in the gay handbook that says how to pick up on a straight guy and I imagine this guy was reciting it verbatim.

This happened when I was in college where a man sat next to me (while I was studying outside a classroom in an empty building), told me I was very attractive and asked me to coffee. When I told the man I was straight he told me that he was, too but still wanted coffee with me.

This also happened in Reno, now that I think about it. If a guy spends a lot of time talking about a girlfriend that you never see or if she's out of town a lot. Or, if he shows you naked pictures of his girlfriend. There's something that gay guys do with the whole girlfriend thing... using it as a tool to infiltrate the straight man's zone. I don't know what it is. If any gay guys read this, feel free to inform me what that is.

So there I am at the Roadhouse. A girl that I once dated but now simply maintain a platonic friendship with a strange dynamic and happens to work at the restaurant comes up and grabs some drinks to take to the dining area. I call out her name, leave Chris and my drink and follow her wherever she was going only to exclaim "goochthefuckout" and went out the back door. As opposed to someone wanting to go in mine.

Just did an hour on an elliptical trainer while watching Dateline NBC: To Catch a Predator. I normally don't work out at night but I didn't work out this morning. Also, I came home and had the urge to eat. A lot. You see, there's a lot of fat guys out there that say they don't eat a lot and that they have no idea why they're so fat. I used to be one of those guys but I've analyzed myself and realized that every calorie counts and I ate my share. And your share.

I had a moment of weakness in the kitchen and fortunately I don't have any junk food in the house. I did, however, focus my fat aggression on an entire spaghetti squash. I cooked the squash, peeled the spaghetti-like insides of the vegetable, put some spaghetti sauce over the "noodles," looking like a huge freaking plate of pasta and I proceded to fuck... it... up. My caloric intake was probably not as much as my distended gut would tell. However a full gut = fat guilt = a trip to the gym.


The only thing that can deaden the pain of an hours worth of exercise is Chris Hansen chasing down internet pedophiles. Tee fucking hee.

Anyways, off to bed. I'm exhausted. I haven't slept well in a few days now.

goochout.

My (Aries) Horoscope for today:

You may be feeling battle weary today as you tire of your old familiar games. Your current temperament might prevent you from laying low as you once again join the front lines in social engagement. Even if you have obligations now, remember that you are being presented with an opportunity to begin an important healing process. Don't distract yourself from the real work at hand.

Fuckin' A... indeed.

goochout

Man attacked by mountain lion and saved by his wife fights for his life

Copied and pasted from the story:
70-year-old Jim Hamm
Hamm's wife, Nell, 65

The couple celebrates their 50th wedding anniversary this year, according to CNN Newschannel. There's a math problem for you. A 20 year-old marrying a 15 year-old? I see why they call the fifties the "good old days." MSNBC has an entire series based on catching these "predators." Maybe Chris Hansen with Dateline NBC should pay Hamm a visit at the hospital. I think the mountain lion was actually dispatched by perverted-justice.com

And the #1 sign a date has gone horribly, horribly bad:








Found in my recycle bin: a Microsoft licensing certificate worth $500 that I purchased for a customer. It was next to the newspapers I hastily threw in the bin. I lost a remote control that way when I lived with my ex.

goochout

To answer Kelli's comment on the last blog. Where do I find these people? In bed. Where does Drunk Gooch find them? Who fucking knows.

Friday night I went out and had a couple of drinks. Two. For some reason, I got completely fucked up. I'm showing some constraint... even paying for and then passing a third drink to someone else... and I'm on the verge of blackout. People in my situation usually say later that "someone must have slipped something in my drink" but I don't think that happened.

So I drove two blocks to a friend's house as opposed to driving 12 blocks to my house. An act of responsibility in my eyes but in reality NOT a good idea. Then yesterday, one of my longtime friends who leads a really docile life and never does anything wrong informed me that he got a DUII a couple of weeks ago. I actually drove to see another friend from the same block where we grew up to inform him of this event and to ask him the following:

"Have you ever gotten a DUII?"
"Nope," he replied.

"Dammit, neither have I!" I exclaimed. Hence, the exclamation point. "I don't want to live in a world where you [my bartender friend] and I don't have a DUII but [other friend that did get a DUII] does."

So last night on a planned night of debauchery at a dance club, I had two Coors Lights over the course of four hours and drank the last one an hour before we left. Now I start a week of non drinking. I may have to leave the state.
















Me and my friends prior to going out. Notice two things on this picture: My hand is clearly on one of the largest fake breasts I've ever seen (and, I worked in a strip club). The other thing to point out is that I had to pixelate a girl's face because we can't have any pictures of us out there, no matter how platonic the situation, because. I mean, a girl dates me and she has to look like she's on COPS. Heh, living la vida gooch, indeed. Fuck, I still got a big, fat head.

goochout.