God dammit... woke up hungover but in a good mood. It just feels like one of those days and it's not a manic episode making me say that. Last night was good times at the club. Got to work with my childhood friend Ryan, which is always fun. When we were kids, people used to tease us saying "You two will never work in a strip club together." In 2005 we proved them all wrong.

Listened to Howard Stern's final terrestrial broadcast today. Can't wait for that stock to blow up. It's going to skyrocket... right?

DJing at a strip club is fun. Not just because there's so many easily accessible blow jobs in such a place; rather because I get to hang out with my childhood friend Ryan. Friends come in and visit me and they get to hear me rattle off "These girls work for tips and tips alone" a million different ways. They drink cheap and everyone calls it a night. I've been fondled by enough strippers that I'm pretty sure the experience of a casual visit to a strip club in general has been ruined for me.

Otherwise, I lack a lot of sleep, which I plan on catching up tonight. I'm taking my various pills and plan on slipping into something just this side of a fucking coma.

Perfect in Plastic is back? I just heard it myself. More to follow.

Word. GoochOUT!

I'm so tired. Just got over my hangover from Tuesday and I'm DJing tonight, which involves half a fifth of anything just to get me through it. I'm told I'm good at it, although I'm not sure where on the social-economic stratosphere that places me. Porn store janitors and strip club DJs. That's the playing field. I could fall asleep right now and I have to work until 2:15am tonight. I'll have a Red Bull, please.

goochout

My life as a strip club DJ. Last night started off awkward but ended as a rousing, awesome, Jack Daniels soaked success. Strippers got mad that I wasn't touching them. I played the music I wanted to. All my friends showed up. It was the most fun I've had at a strip club in a long time.

And they paid me.

These girls work for tips and tips alone. How many times and different ways can you say that during the course of an evening? Fucking plenty. Now I have to go buy my Grandmother a birthday gift with stripper money.

Return of the Gooch.

In a stunning turn of events, a visit to my friend who works in a strip club culminated into a guest DJing gig at Montegos on 162nd and Division in Portland, OR. I initially hesitated at the offer. Hesitation was merely leftover restrictions from having a girlfriend or a 9 to 5 job.

"Shit... I'll DJ your club." And I was off playing all the shit I wanted to. Zombie. Van Halen. Marilyn Manson. Fuck yeah! Strippers were giving me money for a change... one asked me for my phone number. And I gave it to her.

So this Sunday, I'll be working there. Check back on this site for any changes/cancellations.

DJ Gooch. out.

It's Wednesday morning. Did the books, took out the trash, had a somewhat inspired workout, thinking about combing my hair, making a bank deposit, chilling at Taco House with Cheryl for a bit. My gym is buying newer, better tanning beds so I'm holding off on using my package until they get installed. That's smart economics, bitches. Nextel beep to Marty: no answer. Fuck, I gotta get out of this office. I need to clean this office. Basic cable doesn't offer me enough distractions... I need digital cable with On-Demand. My eyes are shifty today. Doctor's appointment today at 3pm. Can't forget that! Love needles in my arms. God... I'm still bruised from two weeks ago. Is my hair combed yet? No. Gotta do that. Oh, shit... gotta pay the Comcast bill. They're scheduled to shut off any time now. There's my inspiration to get out of the house.

I'm rollin'

goochout

House Arrest. Yo.

I'm staying in all week. I'm going to act like I've got a Martha Stewart ankle bracelet and only go to and from work and to the gym. There's too many ways to get in trouble and I've filled my quota for the week.

So what do I do? Sit on the couch, Nextel my friends, try to catch as many Family Guy and South Park episodes as I can before my psychotropic prescriptions and my glass of wine put me to sleep on my couch.

Props to Kaz for partying with me last week and Gregster for employing me this week. You two make my world go round. Round like a record baby. Right round round round.

Also, myspace.com has reunited me with all sorts of people... the entire Perfect in Plastic crew (including MistaKris), Jam Magazine people, and some fellow high school alumns. Alumni. Whatever. Great site.