Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It's been fifteen days since my last confession...

GOOCH: True Troutdale Story

I had recently moved to Troutdale and was recently single. My appearance and hygeine had become crucial as I endeavored more and more to meet the hot Troutdale bitches I'd heard so much about. I even resorted to using moistened towlettes during the course of ass-wiping just so wouldn't have that "no so fresh" feeling.

I had just finished taking a deuce when I blindly reached into the cabinet for a towlette. I grabbed one from a dispenser and, well, wiped. I got up and went to sit at the computer when my ass started to hurt. It was a dull burn quickly increasing to excruciating pain. I went to the bathroom to do... I don't know... something... when I looked down into the cabinet able to see what I couldn't when I was sitting on the toilet. I'd grabbed a Lysol disinfectant household wipe instead of the baby-wipe, both in similar packaging/dispensers. I unwittingly had rubbed chemicals into the most sensitive part of my body. And it hurt.

Bad.

Later, after the pain and tears subsided, I went to have a quick drink with some friends. I didn't know anyone that well, but the conversation got quiet, so I started one...

"Guess what I wiped my ass with an hour ago?"

Good ice-breaker, indeed.

GOOCH: Um... out?

I have to get a new mattress. It's like the Lone Ranger getting rid of Silver or Michael Knight getting rid of K.I.T.T. You could create an entire human being with the DNA you could scrape off that mattress. My girlfriend told me that the mattress is killing her back, and quite frankly it's killing mine, too (although I haven't admitted that to her yet). It's a living, breathing history of my bedroom life. Wine stains, the smell of massage oils, tears in the fabric from cheap rings, mascara stains. I didn't have sex with everyone I wanted, but with everyone that wanted to have sex with me. God dammit, I want to create my own Smithsonian: Gooch's mattress, Gooch's Atari, Gooch's first burned CD from 1996 (the Godfather Soundtrack), Gooch's Star Wars toys, the condom wrapper and shower cap from the hotel room where I lost my virginity, unimportant stuff like diplomas and trophies.

Oh well, so long good friend.

Rules... again (I'm sure I've done this many times before... just go with it).

It goes "In sickness and in health," not "In thickness and in health." Go on a diet you fat bastard/bitch. No wonder your wife is fucking your best friend/your husband is fucking everyone he can.

Quit saying "I'm Rick James Bitch."

Quit saying "Where's the Beef." (Sorry, my material is a little stale).

Girlfriends are like cars. If they break down on you three or four times, you probably don't want to take them on a long trip.

It's okay to date someone with kids, but establish a six-month rule before meeting them. The best way to avoid this situation in the first place is to date someone too young to have kids in the first place. Hey, you know where they are from 8:15 to 3:01 on weekdays.

Don't binge drink after 30, no one thinks it's okay after 30. If you date someone in their 20s and you're in your 30s, don't bitch at your significant other for his or her binge drinking. You got that drunk at that age, too.

Don't hang anything from your rear-view mirror. Ever.

If your name is Jennifer Garner, quit calling me. I'm taken.

Not Guilty.

I'm sitting here like an idiot... on my couch wearing only shorts and a three day-old beard... awaiting the Michael Jackson verdict. I really don't think I care either way other than I, as well as most of the country, are fascinated by stories of great falls by celebrities. I'm fascinated by the story of someone who had it all and fucked it up somehow because of a false sense of invincibility or immortality. I though a lot about Michael Jackson this weekend as I developed a wicked stomach flu and vomit and diarhea caused my throat and ass to be sore, respectively. "I'm guessing I feel like what MJ will feel about two hours into his sentence. Imagine prison rape while two 300 pound brothers are singing a duet of "The Girl is Mine."

I'm waiting for the verdict. While I do so, I want to apologize for the lack of updates and replies to emails. Shoutout to Tim, Marty, Meggan, Lee.

2:03pm Pacific Time... waiting for the verdict. Just ate a fudgecicle and drinking Crystal Light orange juice. I'm in the living room, typing on my laptop. The jury has been seated... waiting for the judge to come in. My Father is en route from Reno to Portland waiting for me to text message him the verdict to his cell phone. We really don't give a shit... just curious as to the outcome. Just ran upstairs to put on a shirt. Looked at the cell phone, no calls today. God forbid I should work on a Monday.

2:11pm: My girlfriend just came back to the condo. I feel like a schmuck for sitting here for an hour straight. My only saving grace is that I almost cleaned the kitchen in her absence. Otherwise, just a housewife watching gavel to gavel coverage. I've decided that I'll break away from the chronological order of the blog and end it with posting the verdict on the top of this entry. I wonder if my girlfrien will have sex with me before she goes to work. Dammit I can't think of anything else other than this stupid trial. How can I get a hard on whil thinking so much about a pedophile? Shit, give me the verdict already. Mama Say, Mama Saw, Mama cu saw.

Hold on... COUNTS 1: not guilty 2: not guilty 3: not guilty 4: not guilty 5: not guilty 6: not guilty 7: not guilty 7b: not guilty 8: not guilty 8b: not guilty 9: not guilty 9b: not guilty 10: not guilty 10b: not guilty

CNN.com - Study: New study shows that fellatio may reduce the risk of breast cancer - Oct. 2, 2003

Welcome home, Marty.