Quote of the week: "You kiss just like my husband." - said to me Monday morning

This was sent from my friend Marty.
The band changed their name to Black Eyed Peed.
No Fergie... it's Black Eyed Peas. With an 'a', you know...
Let's get it started? I think she's done.
I'd still jerk off to her.
She phunked with her pants.
"Dude... Fergie's pissed!"
[your caption here]

I am a rock star...?

Last night was an epic hard core bender resulting in an hours-long blackout and lengthy descriptions from witnesses about my behavior. I did something with someone last night that I should really fucking feel guilty about. This morning I kept wondering why I didn't feel guilty. It was because I was still drunk. It's alright, I'm hiding out at my friend Nikki's house tonight. I joined a gym officially today. Feels good working out again. It's like I became single and suddenly realized that I'm fucking fat. God Dammit.

Festa Italiana this weekend in Portland and a rafting trip the week after that.

I feel like Doogie Howser typing on this thing.

I am a rock star. Unleashed an attack on my liver last night. I remember being drunk and hanging my leg over the side of a tall building my friends and I snuck on to. I also put my hands over the satellite dish's receiver, assumingly rendering some guests without some video for a couple of seconds.

Paging Dr. Jack Daniels.

I love JD. I drink it on the rocks. I drink it in my socks. I drink it on the floor. I drink it with a whore. I drink it at a party. I drink it with my friend Marty. I drink it at happy hour. I drink it in the shower. I drink it in the... what the fuck am I writing?

Have a wedding to go to tonight. Ninety degrees with a shirt and tie. Fuck. Rafting next weekend. Sweet.

What a weekend. I partied like a rock star. I'm not a rock star. I feel like shit. Having a house cleaner over to my house tomorrow before she goes to my friend Marty's house. Once. that's done, it opens up the way to having a friend over to cook dinner. I'm installing a computer at a friend's house now. I'm emotionally wrecked but glad I'm out of a fucked up situation. This entry makes no sense. Fuck it, it's not for you, it's for me. Good times ahead. Good times indeed.

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?

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!