BREAKING GOOCH

Last night I had one person ask the question "what do these [really attractive] girls see in you." He's referring to the string of make out sessions I've had with known good looking chicks and the ghosts of girlfriends past. Maybe it's alcohol. Who knows. Who cares. I'm not a bad looking guy... what the fuck?

Another guy questioned how I make a living at what I do with the little experience I have in the field. "How do you have your own company with all these customers?" Answer: Google. I have an artificial knowledge base in Google. When the customer isn't looking, I do a search in Google. NTLDR is missing? What does that mean...? Google that shit, yo.

Another was telling me what a 'ho' my recent ex-girlfriend was. Um, well yeah. Got me there.

Another guy was talking about how little the person that beat the shit out of me last month was.

Hey, that's great you guys. It's hard enough being a living, breathing legend without random people questioning my livelihood, manhood, and um... screw you guys.

I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier.

It's 5:16am, but I've just woke up and not just gotten home, which is the circumstance under which we usually find each other at this time in the morning. I'm actually waiting for the gym to open.

I woke up early. I'm not tossing and turning, as evidenced by the sheets still in place on my bed. I have been drooling a lot in my sleep lately. Work has been stressfull. Plus, the Ashlee Simpson/Jessica Simpson which-would-I-sleep-with debate rages on inside my head. I like Ashlee's heavy eyeliner; it suggests a sort of a rebelliousness that would allow her to drink a couple of Zimas and have sex with me just to piss off her psycho Dad. After I saw Ashlee's "Boyfriend" video on MTV this morning, I saw Jessica Simpson on a ProActiv acne medicine infomercial. I couldn't even get a boner to it.

Trust me: if anyone can jerk off to an infomercial, it's me.

Geez, I just checked the gym website. They opened at 4:30am. I thought they opened at 6:30. I'm out!

I mentioned to a random stranger with whom I was playing pool that I need to watch what I drink because I don't eat after 7pm, so I get sorta drunk quickly when I start to drink at, say 10pm. He, weighing about 135 pounds, stated that he wished he had a "good metabolism" like me because he'd been trying to gain weight since he was 16. Jesus... the grass is always greener on the other side. I think society puts too much into physical attractiveness as the tie that binds people into a relationship. I mean, everyone in a relationship knows that their significant other can likely meet and date someone else. Even someone more attractive than you are (in some sort of arbitrary social construction sort of way). Yet some relationships last simply through love. Sickness and in health... thickness and in health. My relationship with Cheryl consisted of the two of us losing and gaining weight, but not at the same time. We went on Atkins: I was skinny, she was heavier. We went on Weight Watchers: I balooned, she lost a lot of weight. Our relationship was like King of Queens: Fat bastard Kevin James and Piece of Ass Leah Remini (or, any CBS sitcom for that matter). She was pretty awesome, though. Guys way better looking than me hit on her at clubs and she rejected their advances fully. I had confidence in her, I never stressed about it.

Sometimes, it doesn't work that way. It's probably why I don't want to date girls who work in bars anymore: 6 hours in an environment where drunk guys are constantly hitting on you. No thanks, I can't take the disrespect from other guys towards me... whether I imagine it or not.

So now, I'm single (for a month now). Clean slate. I've asked only two girls for their phone number (and got them both). Both of them I verified that they didn't pour drinks, serve drinks, or were even someone I saw in the bar all that often. I have nothing against that crowd, but it's not a relationship environment that works well for me.

I don't date hardly at all, so decent places like Ruth's Chris are in the future. In the past I dated everyone that would go out with me. Now, I'm somewhat selective. In the interim, my friend is dating a girl with a lot of hot friends, so I platonically wing-man for them. It's a lot of fun and it's amazing how much fun you can have with a girl when you talk to her and don't just try to screw her on your friend's couch. Or on your couch. Or in your Ford Escape. Or... anyway.

Well, Girls Gone Wild infomercial is on... it's the best thing on at 5:20am.

Gooch:OUT

My next drunken 3am purchase will be made on this site. [click here]

Inhale. Exhale.

10am: Had a full weekend. Made some friends, crushed some enemies. Made money. Spent more. Taught valuable computer lessons to a dental hygiene student. Bought clothes. I'm down nine pounds since dieting and working out through an endeavor started three weeks ago. Part of my diet is not eating after 7pm. Unfortunately, cocktail hour runs through 2:30am. Empty stomach drinking renders me and a buddy of mine on the same [no eating after 7pm] plan a little plastered after midnight. Jogged a full two laps around my outdoor track this weekend and might've tried for more except I ran out of time (thank God... I was sucking wind). Going to work out as soon as I'm done typing this. In work today I'm actually being proactive with my customers: courtesy calls, follow-up calls. Right now I'm downloading some Night Ranger tunes. I'm going tanning and working out now.

2pm: What a beautiful fucking day. It feels good. Just did an hour on a treadmill, 20minutes of squats, dips, and curls. Got some work this afternoon. Feeling good. GOOCH:out

I rode the bus today to take keys to the Ford dealership so they can fix whatever the hell is wrong with it. I could have caught a ride but a walk to the bus stop didn't seem like a bad idea. Once on the bus I did the usual people watching. It's not as fun as the downtown MAX line, but amusing nonetheless. A baby wouldn't stop crying and then another passenger with a baby boarded and sat across the other baby. The crying stopped and the two infants stared at each other while sitting on their Mother's laps. They looked like they were communicating with each other somehow through grunts and squeals. I imagined what the conversation was like:

Baby Girl: How's it going?

Baby Boy: Good. Threw a bunch of food around my high chair and ultimately caused myself
another bath. Listened to some Raffi after that. Good times. You?

Baby Girl: Oh, unconsolable crying until Teletubbies come on. That shit is Hypnotic! You threw the food around? Did you eat any at all?

Baby Boy: Oh, yeah. I ate enough to shit myself later. I think we're going to the bank, so I'll wait until we're standing in line.

Baby Girl: Well played. Well played.

Baby Boy: It's how I roll.

I refuse at this point to read the uniparagraphed blog below this one and the audio one. It's creepy to read what my drunken subconscous has written, especially with the events as of late. I'm going to crack open a bottle of wine and watch something on TV.