Imitation is the greatest form of plagiarism.

-gooch

I'm writing this blog from the pillowtop comfort of my bed as I've come down with some wicked flu action. I've been sick on and off for the last month as the battle between healthy eating and exercise vs. four day benders and working in a smoky bar raged on. Finally I'm crazy sick, emerging from bed only to do service calls on two houses and a business. Now I'm watching People's Court and I've found that generic NyQuil is a great substitute for the booze I usually pound on Tuesday nights (taco night at the Skyland Pub).

Is anyone else getting emails with "see the attached file for details" in every other message they receive?

I guess I'll watch sit-coms tonight.

Technical notes: The Goochonline.net server has a new router which should all but eliminate the outages that have occurred recently.

Anyone playing GTA: Vice City know what to do after you've acquired all of the properties? I'm stuck. Shoot me an email.

Gooch: out.

Today is my friend Lee's birthday. He's older than me but he's young at heart. Actually, his heart, liver, and lungs have probably aged quicker than his youthful appearance would make it seem. So, he's young at heart but only figuratively speaking. Tonight I will guzzle an Irish Car Bomb in his honor and I request that everyone reading this do the same. He's a good pool player, a better drinking buddy, and the best friend a guy could have.

In Meridian, Idaho, anyways.

Just fucking with you, Lee. Happy Birthday, bud.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOBBY D. SIXTY YEARS TODAY.

FUCKED UP STORY OF THE WEEK RIGHT HERE.

I've been spending more time trying to hide this site than telling people about it. I get emails from people that I've just met (read: girls) asking if I'm "really that drunk and angry?" The answer: absofuckinglutely. Not really, though. I'm a fun loving guy. Not a lot of responsibilities and I party a bit too much. Don't forget... I lost my job and my girlfriend broke up with me within a short span of each other. I say that when life deals you a bad hand, make lemonade.

So I've made lemonade. Actually, lemon juice, and squeezed it into a pint or fifteen of Widmer Hefeweizen. I'll grow up (again) soon, but in the meantime I'm going to party like the rock star that you aren't.

YMIKE LEAVING THE GAME:Michael Yatabe of DFiVE9 fame has announced that he is leaving the music scene. Mike was the one who got me hooked up with Jam Magazine back when I graduated from college and he's still a good friend of mine today. Good luck to him in his future endeavors. His last show with DFiVE9 will be August 22nd at the Ash Street Saloon. Attendance is required, yo.

DFIVE9 IS... L TO R: YMIKE, WILL, NIC, KRUM.

Oh, yeah... back to me.

GOOCH WITH PARROT BAY GIRLS 8.14.03. HOLY CHRIST, THE DRINK IN MY HAND (A "PARROT BAY BREEZE") GAVE
ME THE WORST FUCKING HANGOVER. I SHOULD HAVE PUT THAT DRINK DOWN
AND HELD THE GIRLS. LIKE A STRAIGHT GUY WOULD.

I watched Unfaithful last night. I can't figure out which lesson I learned: To never bang a married chick or to never get married at all. Either way, I'm locking up my snow globes from now on.

I slipped a Xanax into my applesauce last night. I tricked myself into taking a pill. Next time I'm on a date that isn't going so well, I'm going to dump some Rohypnol into my own drink.

This msblast.exe worm/virus is a motherfucker. I've been putting out those flames lately. Make sure your virus software is up to date and if you don't have some sort of firewall, get one (Windows XP has one built in). You can hire me to fix the problem, if you get infected. I'm dirt cheap and seldom drink while working.

Blogger, who hosts these log pages, is having a planned server outage tonight. I had an unplanned server outage today. I regret any inconvenience.

What's really sad is that I don't remember writing that last blog at all. I know that in January I did some heavy drinking and every morning I'd visit this site to see if I'd written anything new. I think I've returned to that M.O. again. Jesus, what a whining bitch I've become. I can spell damned good, apparently, when I'm shit faced. I like the bumper sticker idea. I wonder if I produced that sticker if my drunk self would file a copyright infringement suit against my sober self?

Hmmm... Gooch: drunk: again. Hey, if anyone needs advice on how to run their lives, shoot me an email. My life is so fucked up that I'd cheerfully email you advice on how to run your life. Go ahead... ask me shit. I've just decided that dating could be worse than a full blown girlfriend. I'm not sure. At times of uncertainty, I sleep on the couch all day and watch whatever fucking marathon they throw at me (today was the Rocky movies on TNT). Because I get so lonely, I'll take any chance I can for social interaction, which usually involves drinking with friends until 3am, which is why I'm writing now. I still think I'll look back on these days in ten years and think that these are truly the best days of my life. I guess. I don't know. I'm drunk off Red Bull and vodka for Chrissakes. I feel like I'm not accomplishing anything with my life. This was cool for the first six months of unemployment, but now I'm starting to get bummed. If I could just find the cure for AIDS or cancer or some shit, I'd feel a lot better about my incessant drinking, partying, and jerking off. until then I'm a piss stain on the urinal of life.

The worst day single is better than the best day with a girlfriend. I'm going to make that into a bumper sticker.