Is it nap time already? Can you believe that we as children used to rally against the organized nap? There was a time in my life that an authority figure told me to stop everything I'm doing and to lay in bed for an hour during the middle of the day and somehow that pissed me off.

Amazing.

Have a good weekend. Montego's on Saturday.

goochout.

Soccer action. Me on the left. The color green always makes me look a bit puffy; and the camera adds about 50 pounds, as we all know.

I just unloaded a bukkake of invoices out on the computing public. That should keep my arteries lined with prime rib juice for a little while longer.

I'm hungry.

goochout.

I'm working this Saturday at Montego's. Not Friday as usual. I regret the late notice and any inconvenience this may cause. You have a lot of choices when deciding where to spend your entertainment/lap dance dollars. We at Montego's appreciate that your business.

I'm still hurting from Tuesday. I feel as though I threw up, but I didn't. You know, the burning throat, the dizziness.

Apparently Heath Ledger took so many sedatives that he suppressed the part of the brain that tells you to breathe. I need a sedative that tells the brain not to eat or drink alcohol. If they invented a prime rib with a high alcohol content, I too would be found naked in bed by my housekeeper, my masseuse, and my bodyguard. Empty styrofoam steakhouse containers strewn about my apartment. A piece of horseradish laden fat marbled meat dangling from my smiling face. A seventies porn movie starring Seka would be in my Betamax VCR. I wouldn't be dead, necessarily; that's just how I'd be found.

gooch out.

Last night was Fat Tuesday. I'm a Fat Fuck. It worked out well.

Drunk Gooch was out in force last night. You know drunk Gooch: He's my Tyler Durden. He does the cool shit that I don't get to do as Sober Gooch. He's the text messenger of the random; the drinker of the plenty; the humper of the anyone.

That son of a bitch takes care of me. He buys me Red Bulls for my inevitable hangover the next day. Before he goes to bed, he starts downloading porn for me to enjoy when I wake up the next day. He gets phone numbers because he's so cool that chicks can't say no to him. I'm too shy to even talk to the girls that Drunk Gooch gets the digits from. I almost have to change into my drunk persona just to function on the social level that the people Drunk Gooch meets are accustomed to.

I have to be Sober Gooch now. Have to face reality as a computer tech. Laptops by day... Lap dances at night. I'm so happy I could cry.

I have yet to post in February. Sorry for the delay. A lot of things happening. For example: I sleep about 10 hours an evening. Someone said that it might have something to do with my mixing of NyQuil and red wine, but they're not doctors. So, I politely tell them to fuck off.

Soccer is going well. We lost our first game of this session. It hardly felt like we were scored on 5-0. We were, however. Adding insult to injury, the bar we frequent after games would only serve us 1/2 pints of beer (because it was so close to closing) leaving us to deal with our loss in sobriety (or go to another bar that's open later).

Remember when Superbowl was about watching the commercials and not the games (like... the 90s)? That era is over. The commercials suck and the games are actually pretty good.

I've discovered jogging, and my knees have discovered early onset arthritis. I'm losing weight, but I'm not looking cool while I do it. I'm like the white Fat Albert running in the opening credits of the cartoon.

Hey, hey, hey, indeed.

Have to get back to work. By work, I mean perusing the internet for porn that will get through the content filters.

goochout