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.

Happy Birthday Marty (11/23).

Last night we celebrated my best friend Marty's birthday by doing somewhat of a pub crawl. Through the course of the evening I drank Jack Daniels, Hefeweizen, Godiva chocolate liqueur, Bud Light and oh my fucking god I wish I'd throw up already. Met Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite at a bar last night. Fell asleep next to a girl that was psychoanalyzing me as I drifted off to sleep. Yeah, that's much more fun than a blow job. Thanks. Delve deeper... I might reach a full fetal position. I miss my child psychologist who let me hit him with a foam bat at the beginning of each session. Good stuff, but I guess I should think about what I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving.

I'm thankful for peer-to-peer filesharing and the abundance of music and porn it brings.

I'm thankful for the Nextel phone/walkie talkie and the call forwarding so I can get calls at all the places Nextel doesn't reach.

I'm thankful for antivirus software and antivirus condoms.

I'm thankful for asshole boyfriends and the noncommital sex from unhappy girlfriends they bring me.

I'm thankful for popsicle sticks and the vomitting I hope one brings me soon.

I'm thankful for Microsoft's mediocre products and the abundance of work they bring me.

I'm thankful for mail order Viagra pills and the good first (if only) impression they allow me to give.

I'm thankful for this website which celebrates (I guess) six years this month. I'm also thankful for the two girlfriends, two changes of residence, home purchase, college graduation, pregnancy scares, job I lost, business I began, friends I've made, friends I've lost, cars I've sold and purchased during the last six years. I need to settle down.

Not yet, but eventually.

Happy Thanksgiving.

GOOCHout.

I really hope I throw up soon.

Item #1: I apologize for the pussiness of that last blog.

Item #2: I performed a mock wedding on Friday at the Ash Street. If anyone was there, let me know how it went. I don't remember. Happy Birthday Brian and JNAU.

Item #3: I've officially deemed my mattress unsleepable. It hurts my back too much and needs to be refuckingplaced. It's made up and looks tidy. It's reserved strictly for sex and the obligatory post-coital cuddling. I'm on the couch this week until I replace it.

Item #4: First the hot-tub got fixed and now the digital cable at Marty's house is working. We watched two back episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Fucking sweet.

Item #5: How come it was okay for Ringo Starr and others to sing about 16 year-old girls? I hit the classic station on Sirius and caught a couple of tunes... "She's juuuust sixteen years old..." Sick Fucks. "Seventeen?" that's alright... keep Winger out of this.

Item #6: Do cartoonists in the funny/comics pages of the paper really need to keep making cute nods to each other? We get it... you're part of an exclusive fraternity and you think it's cute to put other peoples cartoon characters in your cartoons and to make funny inside jokes and references and fucking stop it already... make me laugh you fucks. Give me a reason (other than the Fry's ads) not to have the barrel of a .38 special for breakfast.

Item #7: Watched "Raging Bull" today. Robert DeNiro played boxer Jake LaMotta and Joe Pesci pretty much played Joe Pesci. The ending of Boogie Nights appears to me to be an homage to the ending of Raging Bull. Good movie. DeNiro and Pesci could do a kids' film and I'd watch it.

Item #8: I'm going to bed. Good night and good luck. You'll need it.

This entire week I've felt lonely. Not that I haven't hung out with friends or anything... just that I dreaded coming home to an empty condo. I don't have a cat or even a healthy plant to welcome me home from a semi-tough day at work. I've filled the void by drinking at familiar bars and over staying my welcome at friends' houses. Last night on my way home from work, I became thirsty (a common occurence on this medication). I remembered that I had an energy drink in the console of the car. The name of the drink is called "RedLine RTX" and half of the label is a warning. I consumed the drink in its entirety and by the time I made it to my exit, I'd begun to sweat and my hands were shaking. I felt like I was on cocaine except I still had money in my wallet.

Once I got home I decided I needed to immediately jerk off and go to the gym. BearShare yielded some fresh porn so my time to release was expedited. I threw on some gym shorts, lifted weights, went home, cleaned, grocery shopped, did laundry, cleaned some more, fell asleep, woke up at 2:30am, and started a loaf of bread in my new bread maker.

The breadmaker is a device that my ex-girlfriend handed down to me. My friend Marty happened to have some premix bread maker ingredients, which he gave me yesterday. I've actually been dying to use this thing as the thought of merely pouring ingredients into a machine and having a loaf of fucking bread mysteriously materialize while I wait is like a dream come true for me. I'm still excited about the automatic dishwasher and the Crock Pot for chrissakes.

I don't have the instruction manual for the breadmaker, so I had to determine the machine's capacity and adjust the ingredients accordingly. Fortunately I have the measuring utensils necessary for the task. Water first, then mix, then yeast. Don't let the yeast touch the water. Place breadpan back into breadmaker and set for 'regular.' I guess. We'll see what happens. I'm excited at the prospect of giving someone a loaf of bread tomorrow. Home made, from my oven. Sort of.

Anyways, I'm going to set an alarm to wake me at 7am, when the bread will be done. I actually enjoyed being home alone last night. Watched whatever I wanted, ate whatever I wanted. Didn't even have a drink. Sometimes being in my own skin doesn't require a vice.

Huh.

goochout

Jessica, Stefanie, Gooch, Marty, Carly: Halloween 2005.