In a douchey endeavor and at the suggestion of a good friend, I joined Match.com. I received my first rejection notice. Apparently, there's a "Not Interested" button people can click. I've already emailed Match, asking that they provide (for an extra charge, of course) a "Fuck you, you fucking lesbian" button.
Just kidding, I'm not as jaded or angry as some might think. Sure, those of you lucky enough to regularly encounter me in real life might think I'm a bitter prick, but I'm just going through an adjustment period.
Yeah, that's it. Meanwhile, don't forget to check the twitter posts to the right of this blog. I've been railing on the Kennedy theme for a bit. Perhaps taking the joke a little too far for a little too long. Fuck it, it's funny to me.
Coasting through a good weekend. I stayed around the house, hung out with friends. I napped a lot. I ate too much and paid the overindulgence pennance by working out.
I started a script for a new podcast; should be good.
Didn't get the beating I think I deserved last night. I did drink and go to multiple clubs on the east si-eed. I woke up this morning and went on a Taco Bell bender, for which I now feel guilty (in a health/diet sense).
Found the obit for one of my former customers. He owned the gym(s) I used to frequent. I always liked visiting with and working for him.
I've taken another caffeine pill which forces me to work out. If I don't, my heart will explode and I will fucking die. Some people work out to stay healthy... I just want to avoid a seizure and death.
I'm in a fucking mood. I think I've been kind of a dick today. I've taken care of responsibilities, helped people out (in three distinct cases today). Otherwise, I've insulted and hurt the feelings of other people. Sometimes I think they deserved it. Sometimes I don't. I haven't really thought about it as it would kill my self contented buzz that's carried me through the day.
I will drink tonight. I will probably say something to get me punched. It won't be the first time, nor the last. I feel like running through town like a nineties rap video. You know what I'm talking about?
Heh, me neither.
Caffeine's kicking the fuck in. My extremeties are starting to hurt and my vision's getting blurry. Must lift or jog or something.
Thought this was a funny clip. I like the YouTube. I don't think I've given it as much time as I should. Which means I've treated it like this website. A lot of bloggers take the summer off. Maybe I should have and then written a "What I Did This Summer" summary. I've done a lot this summer; I'm actually trying to say no to events/projects/activities. In an effort to stay somewhat interesting, I still say yes to things.
I need to go to Europe. I always meet chicks that ask me where I've traveled and I always feel a sense of inadequacy when they've backpacked through France and I've merely drank my way through Maui.
"John, have you ever been to a third world country?"
"Um... Florida?"
It's a weird thing, dating. There's no anonymity anymore. If you meet someone, you can learn everything about them pretty quickly. Google, Facebook, MySpace, personal blogs, uploaded sex videos by angry ex boyfriends... everything about everyone is available via the interweb. It's our own fault. It's like the hangover at the end of a self exploitation party.
I'm self employed. My livelihood depends on people trusting me to work on their computers. Should I really have this website for current and potential customers to see what a degenerate I am? Should clients see me typing obscenities like shit, fuck, cock, Rush Limbaugh, and bukkake? Should clients read my having to explain what bukkake is? (or Rush Limbaugh).
Truth be told, we seem to be a culture that lets people get away with stuff. Ted Kennedy fucking drowned a chick and waited 10 hours (you know, for the scotch to work its way out of his fat ass) to report it to authorities. Michael Jackson molested kids. Hell... I'm watching porn on one monitor while I type this on another. The truth is, if you're good at your occupation, it doesn't seem to matter how you conduct yourself in your personal life.
Portland Mayor Sam Adams would be jerking himself off to that last paragraph. Either to that last paragraph or a picture of Macaulay Culkin age 12. This doesn't apply to you, Sam. You drunk driving slut. Oh yeah... I'm more pissed at Adams for that drunk driving deal (and the cops for not pursuing it) then his ass-pounding of a 17 year old.
How the fuck do you illegally pass on the right, drive your car into another (parked) car pushing it through a parking lot while accelerating the entire time, emerge from your car with your pants undone, have beer on your breath, and don't even get a parking ticket? I swear to fucking christ if I cross over the center line at 2am, there's a fucking SWAT team barreling down on me.
I know it's old news, but I'm still pissed about it. Oops... insert the word "alleged" above, wherever you see fit. Or don't.
On September 11th, 2009, I'm ordering drinks in tall identical glasses two at a time; drinking one really fast and then the other equally as fast. Then some hippies are gonna say that I didn't drink them, but the US government did. They're going to say that my mouth alone couldn't have caused those drinks to fall so fast; there had to be an accelerant of some sort.
I've had a significant lack of creativity lately. Trying to be funny on command has been a failure as of late. Plus, trying to make daily posts to Facebook without sounding like a self adoring/self loathing puke like everyone else on FB has jerked my giant penis of creativity to exhausted flaccidity.
Yeah, I just wrote that.
You see, Facebook is a lot of people's first foray into publishing themselves into the masses. People think that their daily minutia is interesting to the public in general. This can be attributed directly to the wholesale issuance of reality shows to... ah... fuck it. Don't get me started on that topic again.
So here's a blast from the past. Reno last year... drunken phone call from the hotel room after a night out. I don't think I've listened to this personally:
