True Goochonline Stories...



About ten years ago I was making out with a girl at her house, where she lived with her father. I started to become self conscious about my breath, so I excused myself to the bathroom where I intended on eating some toothpaste to hinder my halitosis.

As I approached the bathroom, my friend told me that the light was burned out and they'd forgotten to change it. I said that was okay, since I'd surely be able to navigate my way around a five-by-five bathroom. I felt around the sink and didn't feel any toothpaste tubes. I opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed a familiar foil tube with plastic cap. I removed the cap, squeezed some of the gel onto my finger, and rubbed it on my tongue, teeth, and gums.

It was the worst tasting toothpaste ever. I looked down at the tube but couldn't make out the brand name in the dark.

The "toothpaste" started to harden as I swished it around my mouth and small hard pebbles of the substance began to stick to my tongue and the hard palate to the point where I began scratching the inside of my mouth trying to remove this mystery shit that began to cement itself to...

Cement itself? "Oh, shit" I thought to myself. "This isn't toothpaste... it's denture cement." At this point, I decided it would be best to come out and explain what happened because the girl was pretty cool and I'd rather her think that the extended perios of time in the bathroom was because I was an idiot rather than that I was taking a major shit.

Did I ever tell you about the time I wiped my ass with Clorox wipes?

Lots of negative fallout from the revelation that I had the spreadsheet mentioned in an earlier blog. "You need to keep stuff like that in your head so no one finds out" to "that's just not right" to "You should get rid of that." Thanks for the feedback.

Socccer ended last night with another victory... for the other team. I had fun, props to Britta for signing me up without my knowledge. I'll be playing again.

goochout.

From May 31, 2007 [unpublished blog]

Suspend your desire to know the back story for this post. Free yourself from the need to ask me "how did you end up there" or "why Vancouver" long enough to get through this blog:

I was drunk and driving through Vancouver, Washington at 3am recently. I'd decided against driving for the evening and instead parked alongside a curb in a residential area. I reclined the seat, and within minutes was in a wine-induced slumber.

At 3:15am, I awoke to the sounds of a small child screaming for his mother. I opened my eyes and hesitated to look up, knowing that I'm in no condition to handle any situation. I did a little situp to see out my window and quickly went back down. Not because I was hiding, but because I can't do a situp. I pulled the reclined seat back forward and saw the surreal scene of a three year old in diapers standing on a curb, crying. I look back and forth to see if any adults were around. The street was deserted, except for this crying kid and a drunk guy sleeping in his car.

Fuck.

I get out and try not to slur my words as I ask the kid where his mother was. He didn't know. I asked if this is where he lives, pointing to an open door to a ground level apartment. He nodded his head and he brought me to the apartment. I said "hello" loudly as I approached the door. I walked inside to a messy apartment. They had digital cable and a messy kitchen. Oh yeah... there was an eight month old laying on the couch.

I said "hello... is anyone home" again. At this point some neighbors came out and asked if everything was okay.

My response: "No... I don't know where these kids' Mom is. There's no adults in the apartment."

What I wanted to say: "I'm a drunk white guy alone in an apartment with two black kids at 3am. Unless I'm Brad Pitt, this is a truly fucked up situation and therefore no, everything is not at all okay." I also wouldn't have slurred my words.

The couple came over and comforted the kids. They asked who I was and I told them "honestly... I'm just a really random guy."

They'd already called the cops and I spoke to two different cops. They didn't give a shit that I was sleeping across the street or that I was drunk. I asked them for a ride and they told me to leave as the Mother walked in to the apartment.

Sweet. She said something about that there was a babysitter in the apartment when she left.

Classic.

Drinking and driving... sleeping in my car... rescuing kids. I'm like Batman. Hell... I'm Fatman! Not something I wanted to publish, but oh well.

In other news... Larry David and his wife Laurie are getting a divorce. She's actually kind of hot. Is it star-fucking someone if they're simply divorced from a celebrity that you like? Hey, he's always got Cheryl to fall back on. He should just live in his TV reality.

I'm still dating someone. I'm not saying it's turned me into a complete pussy, but I did buy one of those LCD picture frames for sentimental purposes. Word of advice: If you want to try to have a normal relationship in the future, don't date strippers. If you date a civilian (someone not in the "industry") afterwards and she knows about your stripper dating past, it will cause a problem. It is inevitable.

Goochfact: I keep an Excel spreadsheet recording all women with whom I've had an "intimate" encounter. No one has ever, ever seen it.

It's not that I haven't written anything lately... I havde written a lot. Then I realize that it's too profane, too personal, something... and send it to the "draft" folder. I'm on a detox 'juice only' diet with a friend of mine. I think we're kind of seeing who will crack first. However, I'm fucking starving and my first meeting is in a room adjacent to a high volume kitchen.

That's going to be fun.

gooch

What the fuck am I drinking? I ordered a tall-sugar-free-vanilla-latte and the flavoring they actually squirted into my beverage tastes like a delicate blend of oranges, chemicals, and ass.

That's it... ass.

I was going to write something meaningful; a poem, a song perhaps... my recently discovered cure for cancer (I think it even works on AIDS, too). Fuck it. Starbucks screwed it up for everybody.

I had sushi today and stuck to my five plate limit. I haven't gained weight but I need to lose some more because the girl I'm dating doesn't dig on fat guys too much. I only know this because she told me this the first day I met her and...

Orange. They started squirting orange into it, realized their mistake, then pumped my standard and oft requested sugar free vanilla flavoring into it. Those degenerate hippie baristas think I won't notice that my latte tastes like DayQuil?

I've been pretty bummed out lately. I seem to go through these peaks and valleys of elation and sadness, which is indicative of bipolar disorder, for which I've been diagnosed. Mental illness is gay. I would rather admit to childhood bedwetting than bipolar. I don't believe people should discuss it openly. If you're bipolar, you should stay away from people when you're bummed out and party during the manic episodes. It's the way of our people and...

How much would it have cost Starbucks to simply pour out my latte and filter some more water through some more dirt in an effort to give me a $4 beverage that doesn't taste like cough syrup? Those mother fuckers.

I've gotta get back to work.

gooch:out

A message from my friend Robin regarding a 15 year reunion for Franklin High School (Portland, OR) class of 1992:

I have been approached by several people in the last
few weeks about a 15 year reunion. Well...it is up to
you! Please let me know asap if you are interested in
attending if something is set up. I am looking at
reserving a picnic area for alumni & their families as
well as maybe having a Friday night alumni only social
at a local bar.

I am asking for your help. I only have about 20
active email addresses of 1992 graduates. Please
forward this to anyone you know from our class and ask
them to get back to me so that I can get a
semi-accurate head count.

Thank you in advance and I look forward to seeing you
soon!
~Robin Bruck-Simmons

Only 20 email addresses? That's because only about 20 graduates from Franklin '92 have computers. Jesus... I don't remember seeing a computer inside the school. Of course, computers weren't my main concern then... feeding myself Coors Lights and getting Zimas and feeding them to girls and somehow never getting laid was. Oh yeah, and trying to write funny shit in the high school paper.

Robin's email address: rbruck_birdie@yahoo.com

gooch:1992

Jesus. It's been almost a week since I've updated this site.

I watched "Blades of Glory" with my Mom for Mother's day. It was pretty much a bunch of jokes borrowed from a bunch of other movies with Jon Heder and Will Ferrell playing, well, themselves. Also starring Jenna Fischer playing Pam Beesly playing Katie Van Waldenberg.

Also in the movie was Amy Poehler from Saturday Night Live. I spent a better part of the movie trying to determine with whom I'd rather have sex: Jenna Fischer or Amy Poehler. I'm intrigued by them because I don't think they're chicks that a lot of guys jerk off to. I mean, there's probably not a lot of teens with an Amy or Jenna poster on their ceilings. I feel a lot more intimate rubbing one out to a girl that not a lot of other guys are slapping it to.

Of course, I'm having this internal dialogue in my head while watching the movie and sitting immediately next to my Mother, which was odd. I ultimately determined that between battle for brain time during my next ham slapping session would be won by both girls because I'm sure my twisted brain could work up an imaginary menage-a-trois while I beat the bishop.

Don't feel like jay-ohing to a 10? Try two-fives.

I have an actual girlfriend now. This is the first girlfriend I've had in a year and the first non-stripper girlfriend I've had in a couple years. I'm doing all of the things that I make fun of guys in relationships for. Cooking dinner, shopping for purses, staying sober,. Sometimes being straight is gayer than being gay.

gooch

Mad props to Britta for playing the entire duration of our indoor soccer game last night. We only had two girls show up and there has to be at least two girls on the field at all times during the game. We lost with dignity last night.

Mad apologies to Gregster for missing out on Sushi today. If he forgives me, it will be sooner than I forgive myself.

Mad About You was a bubblegum pop song by Belinda Carlisle in the 80s.

Mad that I haven't DJed a strip club in a while? Montego's this Saturday at 8pm - 2am. Or until I pass out.

Sweet.

goochout.