If I stay buzzed, the hangover won't appear.

If I pay for it, I should use it.



Here I talk about working at the strip club last night, my desire to prove to my ex that I'm not a complete waste of skin, and the fact that my blinds are open and it's keeping me from going back to sleep at 10am.

Well Hello There...

...I didn't see you come in. I trust you slept well? Can I offer you a bagel, or a croissant?

Good morning, bitches. Last night I dreamt about the most mundane shit. It's like... I've already lived today in a dream and now I have to live it in real life. You know when you have a nightmare about something awful happening and you wake up relieved to find that nothing happened? I woke up several times during the night somewhat relieved that little annoying things didn't take place. They were things not worth waking up for, but I did so anyway.

Lame. And the cat hasn't figured out yet that a machine governs when she gets fed, not me. I've got that furry alarm clock going off at 5:00am (the machine with its Pavlovian tumbling of the kibble doesn't dispense until 6:45).

My weight loss continues, but it's hard fucking work. There's so much fucking food out there to eat and the cheaper it is, the worse it is for you. Can you imagine being a fat compulsive eater, a cheap fuck, and trying to lose weight? It's hell. I mean, I want a choice of three types of nachos for under a buck each. I want a choice of three different sandwiches at Wendy's for a buck each. I want to spend $7 at the dollar menu and then ask the person in the passenger seat what they want. I want to eat so much nigiri and sashimi at the sushi carousel that it takes two attendants to count my plates. Ichi Nee Son Shee... motherfuckers!

Ima nanji des ka? I've got to go.





Gooch:Konichiwa

Interesting Article

Gratuitous. Totally gratuitous. Anatomically correct, I'm sure, as I didn't know women had faces until 1998.

As I fight off the inevitable diabetic coma and my subsequent death, I've looked up things to read. Here's an interesting article... I can blame my health and behavior on genetics. Thanks God!

Were you born to cheat?

What the fuck is this shit?

I've been trying to avoid writing too much about my personal business; my thoughts evolving to the point that yes: believing that other people are really interested in what I'm doing day to day is pretty douchey. Douchie? Whatever.

However, in my bid to get healthy this year, I went to a doctor for a routine physical. My cholesterol is 204 and my fasting blood sugar is 101. The total combined equals my last score on Frogger.

Wow... my last two sentences reveal that I'm fat and old.

The cholesterol wasn't a surprise (I think I had a cholesterol high score of 240 or 280 in high school... there was no place to put my initials, unfortunately), but the blood sugar... well, wasn't really a surprise either.

I'd noticed in the last six years that sugary cocktails made me feel sick and flush. I'd since limited my drink arsenal to vodka sodas, Jack and diet, and vodka with my beloved sugar-free Red Bull (Red Bull gives you wings, but vodka and Red Bull... well... it'll make you a God-damned sexual tyrannosaurus*). I once (a few years ago) woke up in the morning, drank a sugar laden Slim Fast and suddenly went back to sleep for another hour. That shit ain't normal. That shit did get ignored.

What's sad is that I'd lost 10 pounds in the two weeks prior to the physical. I should have been a bit healthier. I've lost six pounds since then. Ignorant to my health maladies before last night; I just was looking to look better to ultimately, you know, get laid.

I'm coming to revelations in these early minutes of reading the report. This is why (in the early 2000s) Atkins worked for me, but not Weight Watchers (you can sugar the fuck up on WW and not exceed your 'points.'). This is why I was feeling good this morning until I ate those two kiwi fruits, as if I didn't just read that I have high blood sugar. As if my routine and behaviors can't just immediately be changed by the fact that I just read something that indicates I should fucking do so.

So what does this mean to the future of me? I shudder to think. "Lifestyle change?" Perhaps. I have such a phobia of needles that I can't imagine shooting myself up with anything, should dia... diab... that shit comes around.

"Sugar? No... I'm sweet enough already. Literally. I think I'm bleeding corn syrup."

I gotta go.

My Birthday is coming up soon.

goochout.


*Props to Jesse Ventura. And Ryan White.

The Gooch and the Furious

UPDATE 1:22pm: Added Twitter to the right bar of this blog. Also, I'm third row from the top, fifth from the left in the picture.

In work news, the wrong part came in this morning so I wasn't able to do my first job, which was to fix a TV tuner in a computer and visit with Juggsy McChesterowski or whatever the hell I named her. Bummer on so many levels.

In self adoration news, I've now linked Twitter updates to my Facebook updates. My journey to the Douche Side is now complete.

One cool thing about Facebook is that I have contact with friends I haven't seen in years. One shitty thing about Facebook is that I have contact with friends I haven't seen in years. I did, however find a picture post online. Funny shit (click for larger image):

St. Rose School (Portland, Oregon), 5th grade class, 1985

Gooch Torino

Had a two hour sushi fest with a friend last night. I seldom am able to spend two hours with anyone for that period of time. Once the conversation turned to the quirks of our pets, it was time to go. That should just be a rule for anyone: When the conversation turns to the number of times you clean the litterbox... just go home.

Unless you're elderly. Or insane. Then talk away.

After a few drinks with another friend on another night, I was told that my Natasha Richardson post was horribly offensive and that it indicated to her that I had "changed" and that I was a "dark and cynical person." That was the moment? I've got so many more awful moments on this site. I mean, what's funnier about a guy worrying about decorum when he jerks off? I think it's hilarious to worry about something that no one would ever know about, you know, like what's in a dude's spank bank. I've just got a unique sense of humor and maybe I write shit that I simply think is funny and hope that others will too, but that's not entirely my concern.

******

Conversation in Vegas:

Mike: "Dude, don't get me wrong, I think you're funny, but do you ever find yourself in a situation where you say something that you think is funny but it offends other people around you?"

Me: "Oh, fuck yeah."

******

Well, have to go now. Those kittens and puppies aren't going to kick themselves, you know!


Evel Goochevel: out

Morning Wood...

Megyn Kelly. Why can't I quit you?

I guess my funny joke in Vegas had already been made into a poster. I took this picture while urinating in the bathroom at Morrison Hotel in Portland.