I'm fucking telling you... every time I sat down to feed you the acerbic wit that you crave, I was stopped. Writus interruptus. Cockblocked from fertilizing your egg of boredom with my seed of excitement.
Batteries... emergencies... computer issues, parking patrol lingering around my car... Every time I sat down to type shit, shit happened.
I think you get the point.
"Gooch," you ask, "what have you been up to?"
Glad you asked. This entire summer has been chock full of me doing shit. For example, I've performed two weddings, DJed a high school reunion in Astoria (my first mainstream gig), visited an archaeological dig in southern Oregon, I'm DJing at Montego's this Saturday at 8pm, I'm going to my ex girlfriend's baby shower this Sunday. Combine that with the fact that all of my friends have birthdays occurring during the summer months and you can see why I'm a bit frazzled. I've been so busy that I haven't even had time to watch porn. I'm literally typing this on one screen while Carmella Bing gets railed on by some dude on the other screen.
I'm looking forward to a kinder, mellower rest of the summer. A trip to Reno, some more barbecues once it becomes bearable to go outside.
It's Friday night and I think I'm going to drink wine and just fall asleep. With my cat. Add a 'Sex and the City' marathon and I could be a fat chick.
I'm going downstairs, where it's only 90 degrees. Oh yeah, Portland's in a heat wave situation.
Peace.
Out.
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