With the relationship issues crumbling under me, I've decided to take a couple of weeks and go out of town. Unfortunately, my savings indicates that I have enough financial reserves to last, um... twenty-two minutes outside of Portland. I have learned that in my own personal dating experience, my chances with a girl dwindle to... zero when she starts calling me "Gooch." That's how I know I've entered the friend zone. It's happened numerous times. They don't even know they're doing it. This is okay as I made out with a girl ten years ago that called me "Gooch" during the event and holy fucking shit it creeped me out.
I'm sitting watching the remainder of the Windows Updates on the systems I've worked on today complete. Here's the website for the guy I'm filling in for. For whom I'm filling in while he's in Vegas. Get laid, young brother. Get laid. :
www.thedominoeffect.com
I'm out. Drinks, anyone? Where's my TPS reports?
Friday, August 12, 2005
I got nothing. Had a drink after work for the first time in a long time. I mean, my work schedule has no beginning or end as I merely whore myself out around town slanging my filthy tech support to anyone who will pay for it.
Where the fuck did that come from?
Yesterday and eventually today yielded me a workday finishing time close to 5pm. That warranted me the right to go into a bar, possibly bitch about my workday to the nearest asshole who'd listen and drink just enough that I shouldn't drive but I will anyway.
I'm spending an entire eight-hour day in an office. The people here are really nice, which is good considering my people skills have atrophied to about two hours max of tolerance. I'm wearing shorts and my company's logo t-shirt which means I look more in place by the pool instead of a corporate environment. Don't care.
Wednesday I was paid for five hours to sit at the court building and spoke twice. Once in mediation for my client versus an incompetent contractor and another time in front of the judge who eventually found our testimony to be not only more believable, but less white-trash than the defendant.
Shit, getting my writing chops back. Slowly released from the confines of a girlfriend has freed up some creativity. Fucking Thai food for lunch is releasing it's coma inducing toxins on me. Must drink corporate coffee to fight this before my head hits the fucking keyboard.
Goochout!
Where the fuck did that come from?
Yesterday and eventually today yielded me a workday finishing time close to 5pm. That warranted me the right to go into a bar, possibly bitch about my workday to the nearest asshole who'd listen and drink just enough that I shouldn't drive but I will anyway.
I'm spending an entire eight-hour day in an office. The people here are really nice, which is good considering my people skills have atrophied to about two hours max of tolerance. I'm wearing shorts and my company's logo t-shirt which means I look more in place by the pool instead of a corporate environment. Don't care.
Wednesday I was paid for five hours to sit at the court building and spoke twice. Once in mediation for my client versus an incompetent contractor and another time in front of the judge who eventually found our testimony to be not only more believable, but less white-trash than the defendant.
Shit, getting my writing chops back. Slowly released from the confines of a girlfriend has freed up some creativity. Fucking Thai food for lunch is releasing it's coma inducing toxins on me. Must drink corporate coffee to fight this before my head hits the fucking keyboard.
Goochout!
Monday, August 08, 2005
Peter Jennings passed away this weekend. I didn't really appreciate the "J" man, as nobody called him, until I found out that he was a smoker. Actually, he was a smoker until he quit, only to start up after 9/11. I can only imagine the smoker's rationale: I work in New York, people are flying airplanes into our office buildings, they're sending anthrax to my colleagues... fuck it, light 'em up. Peter Jennings should have done his broadcasts with a smoke in one hand and a high-ball in the other. Jennings decided that the Marlboro man should get him before Al-Queda.
This morning I awoke as I normally do on Mondays: groggy with a headache on someone elses couch listening to the news> Walter Cronkite, who been carbon dated to about 138 million years old is eulogizing Peter Jennings. My God, Walter Cronkite is spending his retirement eulogizing fallen broadcasters and presidents that are younger than him. That would have to be depressing.
Had a girl over to the condo Friday night. If you're on a date with a girl, a lot of them feel comfortable in commenting on the cleanliness/state of your place of residence. Her verdict: a lot of cool gadgets. Our next "date" is her coming over and cleaning up my house. I explained that she didn't have to do that, but she insisted. That's pretty much embarrassing. Embarrassing, but practical as I had a housecleaner coming in next week.
Housecleaning would have been a moot effort as a fire broke out at my condo complex last night. It was all over the news and my phone started ringing as people watching the 10pm news saw Treehill Park Condo Fires and immediately called me. I was three beers into the evening and rushed home, not knowing if my place was ablaze. It wasn't. I was shocked at the number of fire trucks that responded to the fire, which only affected one building. I think I counted seven or eight trucks. Normally I would comment on the waste of resources, but when it's a fire so close to my house... fuck it. Keep up the good work you wonderful firefighters of East County. I couldn't get my car into my complex so I crashed at Marty's last night. Fires suck. I'd glad I kept my couch sleeping on the optional tip as opposed to having to sleep on someone's couch with nowhere else to go.
Ummm... goochout
This morning I awoke as I normally do on Mondays: groggy with a headache on someone elses couch listening to the news> Walter Cronkite, who been carbon dated to about 138 million years old is eulogizing Peter Jennings. My God, Walter Cronkite is spending his retirement eulogizing fallen broadcasters and presidents that are younger than him. That would have to be depressing.
Had a girl over to the condo Friday night. If you're on a date with a girl, a lot of them feel comfortable in commenting on the cleanliness/state of your place of residence. Her verdict: a lot of cool gadgets. Our next "date" is her coming over and cleaning up my house. I explained that she didn't have to do that, but she insisted. That's pretty much embarrassing. Embarrassing, but practical as I had a housecleaner coming in next week.
Housecleaning would have been a moot effort as a fire broke out at my condo complex last night. It was all over the news and my phone started ringing as people watching the 10pm news saw Treehill Park Condo Fires and immediately called me. I was three beers into the evening and rushed home, not knowing if my place was ablaze. It wasn't. I was shocked at the number of fire trucks that responded to the fire, which only affected one building. I think I counted seven or eight trucks. Normally I would comment on the waste of resources, but when it's a fire so close to my house... fuck it. Keep up the good work you wonderful firefighters of East County. I couldn't get my car into my complex so I crashed at Marty's last night. Fires suck. I'd glad I kept my couch sleeping on the optional tip as opposed to having to sleep on someone's couch with nowhere else to go.
Ummm... goochout
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Essentially got jumped again. That makes twice in almost seven years. There are plenty of times I should have been punched in the past. Lots of times. Both times the beating has occurred, however, I don't think they were justified. I mean, everyone deserves a beating sometime, right?
Adrian... Adrianne...
goochout
Saturday, July 23, 2005
I haven't showered in a few days. I think I smell. I've spent the last five hours in a bizarre bipolaresquerollercoaster ride that began with a rampage on the streets of Vice City with a minigun and ending in bawling like a schoolgirl during a touching moment during the show Nip Tuck. I actually look crazy right now. I need to comb my hair. Shave. Shower.
Why do proctologists go into the field that they do? I mean, when you specialize you have to tell people in social settings at some point that you're going into that field and why. What's the answer to why? I mean, if someone goes into Psychiatry because they're interested in the mind and someone goes into plastic surgery because they're shallow and is a heart spacialist because they're fascinate by the circulatory system, then does a proctologist go into the field because they're fascinated with the ass? How do you answer "why are you going into proctology?" I'm not knocking it at all, but I'm just curious about the conversations during med school.
Why do proctologists go into the field that they do? I mean, when you specialize you have to tell people in social settings at some point that you're going into that field and why. What's the answer to why? I mean, if someone goes into Psychiatry because they're interested in the mind and someone goes into plastic surgery because they're shallow and is a heart spacialist because they're fascinate by the circulatory system, then does a proctologist go into the field because they're fascinated with the ass? How do you answer "why are you going into proctology?" I'm not knocking it at all, but I'm just curious about the conversations during med school.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
I haven't really had much to write about. Never an excuse, but fuck it. I did make my own media center computer complete with hard drive vcr, TV tuner, and Grand Theft Auto on the TV, like a real game. It's pretty nerdy but I don't care. Projects like that keep me off drugs and alcohol. Fucking hookers is still able to be accomplished through an intricate outcall program my escort service provides. I'm not drunk or high though.
As often.
Gooch:oooooooouuuuuttttttttttttt.
As often.
Gooch:oooooooouuuuuttttttttttttt.