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 |  Welcome to The Library. Randomness happens, Studyees. |
 I figured it was about time I started keeping track of silly thoughts or strange things I see from time to time. Sometimes it's vulgar. Sometimes it's sad. And even on some rare occasions, it's a riot!  I think a therapist would have a field day with this...oh wait...I already tried that, to no avail. I guess the rest is up to you. So feel free to stick your takes in The Drop-Off at any time, and don't hold back. Give it to me! Studyees, you get prime real estate in The Library, so make it count. Peace out NOW! 
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| K-Doc stopped by after the Bills' game last night to play cards with me and the boys and confront me about wearing her sweatpants last weekend. We're cool, as long as I don't do it again. I told her truthfully I didn't see what the problem was, since I had boxers on too so my junk wouldn't be all rubbin' around up in there and I knew it'd be the only way I'd probably ever get into her pants. Not sure what to make of the look she shot me after the last half of what I just said, but I know the looks y'all are reflecting off your computer moniters so save it. She's legal. So instead of going to sleep at 4am like I needed to, I caught the highlights of Barack Obama's speech at the Dem's Convention. Dude is mad diesel. He could be the closest person to a rock star this country has ever had as president. I like his charisma. I can buy into him. The downfall of staying up so late? Having to answer the door in my boxers at 11am to an unanounced visit by the man I share some DNA and a first, middle and last name with. But he brought cigarettes, which makes life slightly more bearable on my sleep-deprived soul. I just wish sometimes he'd bring some converation with him too. Wonder if I'll ever be satisfied. Gave dad some prints of the pics from sunday's dinner at his crib, which meant a trip to Walgreens to make more for me. Besides yours somewhat truly, here are the characters in the WTF-fest that became known as my afternoon:  Jessica; the blonde CWC I would french kiss a curb for. Vanessa; a young blonde CWC who looks and sounds like a bitch but is probably nice even though "stuck up" might be too nice a way of putting things. Sondra; a somewhat older cashier at Walgreens that I can't tell if she's totally high or has suffered one too many strokes. Vinessa; longtime readers of this clusterfuck may remember her as the 18 year old (now 19) I dated for twenty minutes last summer.So I went in to The Wall to make my reprints and caught CWC out the corner of my eye doing manual labor, so I just figured I'd leave her alone. Waited in line, and no matter how fast those cashiers move, the wait is worse than sitting through almost an hour of Jay Leno just to watch your favorite indie-rock band that nobody else has ever heard of. As I'm waiting, an Italian, curly-headed brunette catches my eye. She opens her mouth and her voice, from afar, smacks my eardrums. Vinessa. Things ended mad awkwardly last year, but I'm over it. As soon as Walgreens' Vanessa cashed me out, I u-turned it and made my way over to Vinessa for the best awkward conversation I've had in months. Nay, years. Left that and, while almost sprinting for the door, Jessica was halfway away again, working. And damn if she didn't spot me. Eff that. And with all apologies to the many fine women I have been fortunate enough to befriend in any way, shape or form through the magic of the internet, WDC and this here blogjam of my thoughts, motherfuck that gender with a splintered broomstick. I crossed the street for a Whopper Jr. (of course I'll take bacon and cheese on that!) and some fries at the home of The King. Ate my lunch and read the news, and comitted an error so fatal my eyeballs should have rolled back in my head, my testicles should have seceeded from the rest of my sac, and my glasses should have just glared my phone's white screen of death so hard past my retinae that I'd have no other option but to reset my life's microprocessors. I went back to Walgreens to pick up my pictures. Grabbed a pack of gum and Vanessa was behind the photo counter. Very nice to look at. Charged me for my merch...she speaks as if she's repeatedly been coached to be polite by a British schoolmarm (no offense to my great Great Britain fanbase), and I'm out. Almost. Curses; foiled again. What's with cashiers, and people that gossip, or make assumptions, or just have to stir the pot that gets called black by the overheating kettle? Word, for real. Can't people stay out of the way of the stone that flattens moss? Sondra, in mid-transaction with the typical Wall bluehair shopper, uses her "outside voice" to get my attention as I pass her at the main register. "Vanessa wants to talk to you. The blonde..." I'm more confused at this point by all the fuss than twenty blind lesbians at a fish market [Ed. note: No lesbians, fish or blind people are meant to be hurt by that statement. Fivesixer, LTD, assumes no responsibility for the potential damaging of your tiny heartstrings through the usage of a crude, decades-old joke copped from a porno mag he saw in his mom's dresser once, buried under other unmentionables. This disclaimer was NOT endorsed by either Clinton.] as she pointed to the cosmetics counter, and continued with "She saw you leave before and wanted to talk to you." Wait...Vanessa cashed me out at the second register on my first trip here before I talked to Vinessa, and Vanessa cashed me out my second time here back at the photo counter just then. And as confusing as that sounds, it's pretty simple to follow. If you don't, hang up and don't call back. I look at spacey Sondra and say "You mean Jessica?" Yeah she did. Fucking weirdo. So like a lost puppy I tail it over to CWC, thinking she might have something to say to me besides her standard, number one hit in China, "Didja get a job yet?" Ahhhh silly boy, what Kool-Aid were you drinkin'? True to form she berated me mockingly for coming in later than usual, then lit my words on fire when I told her I was already there once and didn't see her. I told her I shouldn't have to seek her out. She told me that no matter what I said, it would dig my hole that much deeper. Sensing defeat, I fucked myself over dearly by whipping out the truth. No, I did not drop trou, you pervs. Wish I would've, in retrospect. I told her I cashed out and talked to an ex-girlfriend instead of her. My take thus far? This chick is most likely single again, and the only thing keeping me from moving beyond the current customer/cashier relationship is my lack of employment. But I do know most all of what she's up to this holiday weekend now. The woman is crazy...but there I am, perpetuating the nonsense. I shoulda just told young Vinessa to call me some time and iron that shit out. Anyway, stay safe kids. Your B loves ya dearly. Enjoy the holiday. |
| I finally got fed up with modern technology and blew up my phone today. Cold boot reset. Lost the pics I saved (bless you Hailey for resending your gorgeousness), my ringtones and I'm not sure what else yet. All this after waking up incredibly early again, checking emails and having to log back in to WDC after each reply that wouldn't go through anyway. At least it's not reminding me every 30 seconds that my storage is low. I'm sure there was a greater solution (limit the adult website usage of the handheld mobile device, jackass) if I looked into it, but desperate times call for desperate punk moves, y'all. So me being up early did provide some benefits in the form of McD's breakfast burritos. Delicious and nutritious! And then I made my merry way to a place I like to call "The Wall" to print up some pics of people known as "my family". Wow did that shit turn into an adventure. A full complement of staff, vendors and customers, with your boy playing the part of man and the MILF behind the counter playing the role of girl. At the unheard-of time of 9:30am. Much to the chagrin of the cashier, apparently. I deliberately avoided the register and eye contact to no avail. I was spotted AND called out. "Wow!" she said, amazed and somewhat aroused sounding by the mere fact I was in the same place she was that early in the day. I had my basket, kept walking while not taking my eyeballs off the goal (the photo machines) and got loud. "It's too early for you!" I retorted, and kept steppin'. Her response? "Wow! And you've got a basket too!" I repeated myself loud enough for the store to hear. Yes, sometimes I'm a bit of a handfull when in public. Many handfulls. Placed my digital order, picked up a few necessities and proceeded to my daily verbal abusing the checker-outer place where I get my checking out on. And hot damn is she a sharp one.  "So, you gonna clean today now that you're up so early?" Judging by the contents of my basket, no...shampoo, mouthwash, Code Red Dew and Spin magazine, no. I shot back with "Why? You comin' over?" Her chuckle sounded like she threw up a bit in her mouth as she gagged on her laughter, which felt awesome in a "How close to the closest hiding place?" kinda way. She threw in a few more zingers, I smacked her with my sarcasm stick, and we ended with seriously spiteful "have a nice day"s. Made me wanna do bad things to her family that won't be evident for generations.At least she had the decency to offer me a newspaper, but I can't do breakfast without reading about the fuckups of this great country. My ace-in-the-hole was my pickup time on those pictures. Remember the bike in the tree? Yeah, she saw those, the weirdo she is, before I picked them shits up. And I don't like the way Walgreens runs their photo kiosks...they assign you a time to pick up the prints. At Eckerd they printed instantly while you waited. As advertized, they mostly were family pics, plus some that have already hit this juicy slab of internet meat. Like me looking fancy and shit. I waited til about 3 to pick those, uhhh, pics up. And that crazy woman was nowhere to be seen. To think I considered asking her to some kinda lunch date thing because I knew I was coming back and would've sold out for it, I shudder. I may have to shift my focus to the other cute (and way younger) girl with the weird facial piercing who also notes my presence and is a lot nicer to me, but also loves the CWC. And normally I duck away from facial piercings, because my eyes tend to fixate on that mutilation, but this girl is short and has nice eyes and pulls it all off well. And besides, Hailey's got a man (so let's all be middle schoolers and ooohh and ahhh...no, I'm not jealous). Just playin' girl, don't get mad.  And hey Nicole, I got your text and I hope you got mine. Seems almost like you're getting your (kidding) wish...it's like you show up in here almost as often as I do. So wish me luck WDC, as I prepare to hit the "Done" key on this, the 251st entry and the first after the cold boot. If you made it this far, I guess it all panned out, right? Even if I still get the "white screen of death" occasionally. Still. And I haven't even looked at things that are frowned upon by both red and blue states. Yet. |
| Good yikesly. Yeah I just made that word up. My phone likes to randomly blip and tell me it's low on storage space. I deleted some old pics and all of my texts basically...and on the real, Ash and Hailey OWN this T-mobile Shadow. I saved the pics, including yours of fireworks, my dear sweet piece of Ash, even if I don't like fireworks. And of your kiss-blowing, my favorite storm named Hailey. Allow me to get anti-biblical for a second: when life gives you salmon, it doesn't immune you from salmonella. My phone isn't nearly as fucked up as my ashtray is, or my garbage. But what is messed...ok, it's my kitchen, and my priorities...and these kids that I gave too much rope to. Winkz got ballsy with me and I shut him down. I wasn't feeling good so I took a nap. He pulled an Alex and I snuffed it right out. Sometimes even heroes have to be dicks. Plus I'm sick of being the nice guy that everyone wants to be around. I'm not that fun when I'm facin' the table cuz my landlord needed to get upstairs at 5am this morning and the only way he could get there was through my door. So I was not dealing with Winkler and his desire for my smokes. Rock over London, Rock On Chicago. Sleep reigns. My own time is just that...my OWN time. I napped hard. My phone is again fucked up. But I should hopefully get paid enough tomorrow to remedy that. In the meanwhile, I have been gifted by a large-mammoried female with a pack of smokes, and a gold-painted lemon. Because when life gives you lemons, you paint that shit gold. Ed did a fantastic job on the fake lemon Winkz stole and the they left in my mailbox. Atmosphere in here, don't be talkin' off my ear while I'll swallowin' my...Dr. Pepper. I have to send a gigantic shoutout to my favoritist person, Nicole. Yes, I did ignore your calls the last two days. Yes, I was sleeping, or trying to, both times. Yes, I love you long time like the chinese food we had that your mom bought the first time I met her. But my phone is messed up and I promise I will call you soon-like, tomorrow even. Marry in Veterans' Park...I would love that...but it isn't my wedding. And hey Goldie, I'm doing ok. Just let the lucky sonofabitch that you're marrying know that I'm really not that bad a guy, that I'm actually happier for him than you, hehe... and I will get you your info about Vet's park. But I do still love you like...like...like...the cool shit you are and always are. If I can't talk to you direct I know I can talk to you here, and you don't know how amazing that feels. The payback I owe you is out of this world. As for the rest of you, as much as I would love to stay and be social, I cannot. I might be fiending more sleep. But a hug would as well. |
| Don't be a douchebag, and get yer minds out of the gutter. It's not like that. At all. No really. At all. We all kinda looked ridiculous at the lawn fete last night. I had a wig-lookin' thing on with a headband. It looked like hair. We had a boombox. Dancing ensued. It was so stupid it was funny. Kinda looked ridiculous? Totally. Til some roidoid kicked the box out of Winkz' hand. The cd ejected, but this one dude totally palmed the box out of mid-air and this other one snagged the cd in mid-flight. I'm totally jammin' on old-skool hip hop right now. Anyway, Amber came down last night with a pair of Katie's sweatpants from her college. My place is an apartment, albeit a big and nice one (when it's clean). It's not a museum. Touch things. Use things. It's ok. But expect the same behavior back. So when Amber left those mad comfy sweats here, I dropped my shorty shorts and put them on. And ohhh, were they nice. That's what happens. I slept in them. And I had a nice sleep. A really nice sleep too. I guess Katie got pissed. So I dropped trou and threw on my own clothes when Winkler and some stoner chick came by this morning to re-collect clothing items. I have no shame when it comes to dropping trou. None. Besides, Katie is an amazing, responsible and educated girl with lovely curves and she will do well in life. That was my best chance of ever getting in her pants. Wearing them. Yes, that does totally make me a loser. Going to dad's today and hanging out with my bro and sis and Poppa B and my sis's bf and my aunt and uncle was so nuts in a great way. My bro wants to hang out and he saw the CWC who fucked with me hard today when we stopped in. He's diesel with his job that his mom got him even though I'm her soon-to-be ex-husband's son and I've been out of work a lot longer. I tried sleeping, because I'm such a slow eater and my allergies from the cats were kicking up intensely. I swear I'm still finding cat hair up my nose. And my eyes have itched like they have some sort of disease. I jammed my short, fat, Italian fingers into my peepers more often than some wack-ass rapper has put out mix-tapes. Yes I'm looking at you, Lil Wayne. I freaked on Alex today. Bigtime. She stomps in here like she owns...But you can't spell Downs' without owns, and money is tight so don't just grab my smokes like it's obvious that it's the only reason you come down here and I said I had none for you. I did call her all sortsa names, but that bitch needs to get her shit wrecked, as does her older brother. They are both annoying and I would love to deuce powerfully at them. I mean that. They are such poseurs. But I shouldn't be bitchnessing. I got into Katie's drawers. I guess I got some 'splainin' to do. My bad that I'm too wanting more sleep that I don't want to know what has been said lately. I want to just sleep. Ain't my job...to fuck you on your birthday... anymore. I'll post some pics soon, I swear. Familial ones. Non-offensive ones. Must get sleep. Go Bills.  |
| Can't let the stink out. He's been hangin' 'round for days. Pa Dukes got all diesel nation this morning and called me all too ripely at 9:30am to say basically he's come to his senses and picking me up at noon would make no kind of sense since he has shit to do tonight. Score for the kid who doesn't want to let his father down. Comes like a comet. Suckered you but not your friends. So I went to BK with Winkz, talked to Katie a lil, and broke off for Walgreens. Where that freakshow of a cashier adressed me, by name, to some co-worker over the phone, adding that I was her "favorite pain" to the tail end of her conversation. One day he'll get to you, and teach you how to be a holy cow. You do it to yourself, and that's what really hurts. If someone would like to answer the question of why I spent 20+ minutes making conversation with this, uhhh, female and enduring her potshot attempts at my life, I would love to hear it. But only if you give me some props for me breaking it down on the 1 and telling her what she should already know...that I pass enough places to buy a newspaper at, and I don't come for her "customer service". You do, and that's what really hurts. You do it to yourself. We deduced that if I worked with her we'd kill each other. I mentioned something about being her boss and she didn't appreciate that, but she just now has understood me when I said previously that I worked in a drug store. I guess being obvious to her is akin to actually following instructions, reading road maps correctly and behaving properly in public. All of which I do. Except maybe that last thing. One day I'll get to you, and teach you how to get to purest Hell. You do it to yourself, you do, and that's what really hurts. All having pretty much been said, I spent way too much time there with that crazy woman. All for a high-five that I initiated, no less. Fuck. I'm back on that wagon again. Fuck. What the fuck am I doing. (Notice the absence of a question mark...that means it's not a question, so don't answer it.) It's almost 4pm already and I'm late for a nap, plus Katie said she was gonna stop by to sell me some knives. Kitchen knives, not military ones. But that doesn't mean we can't stab lotsa stuff. Plus I have to find the Radiohead cd with the sick live version of Just before tonight's premeditated shenanigans we're hoping to pull off tonight at the lawn fete. All I can say is it involves a boom box and a song that contains lyrics like "It ain't my job to fuck you on your birthday...anymore" with dancing and hopefully not getting asked to leave, politely or otherwise.So I'm out to look at cookware utensils. So peace and stuff. I love this chick, by the way. And that one too. And you. |
| I blame Dane Cook. We did a whole lot of nothing today, which is a lot of hard work if you ask me. Me, Jake, Winkler and Kenzie just chillin' like 4 lazy ass lumps of flesh of furniture. I think I napped twice. Awesome. We managed to get a ride to the lawn fete. For those who don't know, lawn fetes are basically carnivals run by Catholic churches as fundraisers, with games and rides and beer tents and food and gambling and all that shit. Lots of people...lots of opportunities for trouble. Winkz went into the "I Got It" tent like 3 times and screamed "I got it!!" and bolted. I Got It is kinda like Bingo in a way, but you throw little rubber balls into a grid until you get 5 in a row and win a prize. But the best was this tent where you pay $2 for the opportunity to smash a creampie into your friend's face. They sit down and stick their head through a hole in a board, and you take a plate full of whipped cream and jam it into their grill. Good times. Cheerleading squads know how to raise funds, for sheezy. And yes, I did just say "for sheezy", my neezies. Every damn time we walked past this tent, a guy with a megaphone would be loudly promoting this game, usually into Winkz' ear. So Winkz finally had enough and told this joker he wanted to smash him in the face. Much to our chagrin, he gladly obliged. Anything to make a few bucks, I guess. I wanted him to give the megaphone so I could do his job, but he wouldn't give it up. Downer. So Winkler facials the dude, whoo hoo and just like that the fun is over, right? Not so fast, because if it was I'd have nothing to write about. One of the ladies running the pie-fest calls us back. We're all apprehensive, thinking this chick is going to pull a fast one with the leftover pie cream. Finally she just says "Don't you guys want the rest of this, ya know, and just get somebody else with it?" It's go time y'all. May as well have just handed me a million dollar bill and demanded I waste it on hookers 'n blow.I grab this plate and proceed to walk. I'm holding it as if it's the church's collection plate and I'm taking donations of stupidity. A boy, let's estimate his age as being 9, catches his gaze on my tasty plate and, no pun intended, his eyes pied up with excitement. "Hey guy! You like that! Yeah! Whipped cream. Want some?" He nodded and smiled and was ready to dip his fingers into that plate when...whoops, look at that kid, a faceful of cream. Yes, I jammed that all up in and around his eyeholes. Goodly. Job well done. The funniest part? The kid's parents laughed thier asses off big time. I know. It was a total dick move. But you'll have that in a day full of them, like me straight-up ignoring CWC at her place of employment. As in, I walked about 12 inches away from her and failed to acknowledge her presence. Diesel. But the best part was running into my bro, and even better, my sis who's up from Florida with her boyfriend, which was a nice surprise to get to run into her before sunday at my dad's for dinner. And let me rant about that. Love dad for making a stellar dinner on sunday for family. But do I need him to pick me up at noon saturday? And crash on his couch where I have nothing to do but watch him fall asleep in his recliner during bad western movies? Triple yikes. But it'll work out somehow. Anywho, the cards are dealt and I look rude blogging during a card game, so peace out and I swear I'll peep you cats soon, I promise. Meanwhile, don't trust dudes with plates of whipped cream. Mad love, WDC. Goodnight now! |
For today, I admit defeat. Noe  rose up to the challenge and outfucked me. Hardcore. And if you must ask, unfortunately you'll never know. Besides, as bitter and malcontent as I am today, I'm not feeling the mood to make every other word a four letter fuckfest. One of the things that seems to run on in my family tree is the lack of communication. I'm as guilty as the next person sharing DNA; I know this much is true. But word to my potential seeds...the right hand of this family is oblivious to the left. It means well, but lacks the wherewithal to give a fuck sometimes. (Whoops. There's that fuckin' word sneakin' in again.) Dad calls me last night and I tell him to either call me or have my sis call me when they know what's up for today. Supposedly the talk was going to Thursday at the Square, which is a free concert series downtown. It sucks because 95% of the people who go don't go for the music. They go because it's the place to be on Thursdays. Motherfuck that. So anyway, after lunch I decided to text my sis and welcome her home. This is how it went: Me: I just wanna scream hello! Selfish Whore (yes, that in fact is her nickname and she does answer to it): Hey u u gonna be at dads on sunday for dinner? Me: Yes indeedy sweetie. What's up with goin' to the Square later? SW: Dad and them are goin to some concert in canada. We're goin to meet some friends from florida. Me: Guess I'll see ya sunday. SW: OK, love ya! Me: Much love. Fuckin' what??? Dad and my aunt and uncle are crossing the border?? Shit, there goes my chance to make uncomfortable small talk with In Your Dirtiest Pants . And thank you for taking my feelings into consideration. Just because you flew in from Tampa and your life is on straight it doesn't make you special. And it doesn't make everything be about you. Priveledged wankerette. How does my bitterness taste? To further complicate things, dad mentioned nothing about Canada last night. I was under the assumption we all might be hitting The Square as somewhat of a familial unit. What the fuck was I thinking? In other news, stupid CWC thought I got a job. I no longer like her being polite and cute and nice to me. She needs to forget I exist. On the real. Only it blows when there is no love in life to potentially look forward to. Kinda makes life halfheartedly inconsequential. K-Wol got his first paycheck from the grocery store today, and the rule states: You buy pizza with your first paycheck for everybody. Like a good man, homes came through. Winkler, K and his lil cuz H-bomb went to Little Caesers for some za and some breadstick-like substance. Brought that shit to Burger King and I ponied up for drinks so we could eat at the almost swanky outdoor tables while some drunks tried getting chatty on us. Depew almost does it right y'all. Be nice to me and I'll give you instructions on how to find a diesel piccy of me on the world wide whatthefuck. I mean that...it exists, outside of WDC. Hunter made brownies the other day, which was nice when he brought them over. So the joke was all about brownies today, to the point where after pizza we went to Walgreens and I dropped $2.29 on brownie mix. But Bomber has no clue how to make brownies with peanut butter. How in the fuck does that kid not fall down more often?? K-wol steps up bigtime...makes the pb brownies AND throws M&M's and white chocolate chips into the mix, PLUS brings over some poundcake his hot mom made earlier. Winkz and I were chillin', deep conversation-style with a dvd in of a video that can actually get me teary, or at least verklempt. Go on and youtube "At Your Funeral" by Saves The Day and wait for me to one day correlate that video to "Cats In The Cradle" by Cat Stevens or Yusef or Ugly Kid Joe or whoever the fuck. I swear, I will blubber. I love you, Nicole. You are one hell of a kickass friend. Thank you for being a part of my life and for taking an interest in the words I commit to the world. You are, and always will be, cool shit. I'd marry ya if you weren't already engaged, and I didn't fuck that topic up too many years ago. I'm proud of you for all that you are and all you've done for me, and I'm happy beyond words for you and Craig, even if he still hates me. You're an amazing woman. I'm lucky to have been thought of as a tiny piece of your life and been able to witness your growth as a person. Did I mention the highlight of my day yesterday? Probably not because I was too fucking absorbed by my angst and hatred. Playing catch with Jake and throwing the football across the street, I attempted to throw it over a passing semi. Bad move, because my arm fatigued and it hit the front corner of the trailer. Niiiiice. I guess this is goodnight my friends. I'm gonna pop in a cd I can sing along to and peace the fuck out. Remember, I'm available for Bah Mitzvas, weddings and threesomes, and always tip your DJ. |
| Alright then. Lets try this again. Could someone please be a dear and youtube "Soft Serve" by Soul Coughing, as it is the most chill song ever? I'll even settle for a solo Mike Doughty version, because he's an incredible lyricist. I'm praying that I no longer get the "white screen of death" that my phone has been doing to me lately. I apologize for my f-bomb outburst yesterday. Well, fuck that...why should I apologize for something out of my control? And no Hailey, as much as I'd like to be, I'm not suicidal. But much love. Much love. I don't want apathy or hugs or happy horseshit. My sis and her bf flew in last night and *yawn* yay. I miss her. I mean I miss her in a way that I miss 1994. We were so tight back then. And I can't bring that back but don't bullshit me with "people change". Sing with me now "Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town" by Pearl Jam because I'm totally feeling that "I changed by not changing at all". How do you tell someone that? Really? To switch gears a bit, listen. I'm not looking for pity or love or attention. This is a skeletal version of the best entry I ever wrote that got lost in the whoknowswhere of cyberspace. And don't ask me why I'm awake at such an awful hour. Please. Yes, I'm a nutcase. Let's get that out of the way. I've crossed paths with so many people lately who think I'm awesome. I love that, and it's a good feeling, but I hafta question it. Nobody sees the same damn fool that I see in the mirror every time I brush my teeth. I can't front; I am who I am. And I had a really big "Who am I?" crisis yesterday. I would throw myself in front of a bus for some people, but why? People I don't even know and shit. I think I think I think too much. I had a lot of songs on my dome yesterday. "Unsatisfied" by The Replacements is one. I think the title is "Muzzle" by Smashing Pumpkins...I'm a music freak and I don't feel like sifting through 700+ cds just to hear a song. My life has been extraordinary, blessed and cursed at once. I'm so fucking frantic right now that I may actually go back to sleep, which of course is a good thing. Although McDonalds has some sweet breakfast burritos. I'll leave with this, because I know it's youtubeable... They call it love, and I get plenty of it. The rich kids burn it; my broke people dub it. They call it hate, and I get plenty of it but they know who to call just to get the party jumpin'. -Atmosphere, "They Call It" I will apologize for my anguish, but not for who I am. Love me. |
| I spent a lot of time crafting a nice entry about my life and shit, and then my phone decided to deuce on my chest. So fuck it. I'm pissed. It was a long, detailed entry about my life. I no longer give a shit. Fuck. It was heartfelt and meaningful. And now it's gone. So kiss my ass T-mobile, because your phones suck. Fuck, what a great way to ruin my shit. I had tunes, tributes, thanks and whatnot. I'm so pissed. Fuck this place. Cut me off. I really don't fucking care. The best blog entry ever just fades away...such is the fairness of my life. Goddamn am I bitter. Y'all have no fucking clue. |
| First, to celebrate me making my lazy way over to the library, a little mood music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_6KPet8Zo8 August 12th, 2008. Diesel Nation Fantasy Football Draft. Commissioner: B ** Image ID #1464188 Unavailable ** ** Image ID #1464189 Unavailable ** ** Image ID #1464191 Unavailable ** ** Image ID #1464192 Unavailable ** Be gentle. The fedora bites. Hard. |
| Wow it feels like a long time. I haven't been here in awhile. And I wish I had a good excuse. But I don't. Seriously? Not much has gone on. Can't do much when money's tighter than a pharmaceutical bottle. I think the most excitement this weekend was late saturday night. Winkz, Amber and Alex are down here playing cards with me and we're all devoid of nicotine. A fun bunch indeed. Until this dude Evan, who totally wants Amber, calls. And he's got some money on him. I wouldn't normally let such dorks in, but he's the meal ticket, and thus the adventure begins...at 2am. Go figure that every close place around that sells cigarettes is closed up for the night. We wound up walking in a gigantic circle for almost two hours before hitting a 24hr place, for one pack to split amongst the five of us. I know I know, save it. By saturday afternoon Winkz had already brought up the topic of quitting. But when you're in a room full of fiends, and empathy is one of your most favorable traits, there comes a time in a man's life when he has to lead the charge and make things happen. A tired bunch we were, and as a result I swear to live my life in a way that is not so out of control that I never have to smoke a Marb red 100 again. I will always keep menthols on reserve. Cue "Skinny" by Atmosphere here. Sunday was another day of waste, akin to the few days before. Catch out front, scrounging smokes, and teaching Winkz how to play rummy. I did manage to catch some of the Olympics though. I won't touch on the controversies that I'm too late to the party for already (but the Chinese lip-syncing scandal is absolutely ludicrous). I was more into the, uhhh, amazingly blonde and buxom agile American gymnast that had a few stumbles and then couldn't...oh, I don't know, because Seinfeld was on. I'm not at all a boob guy. The big guns don't excite me too much. I prefer a nice set of hips, a shapely small-of-the-back, and a curvacious- nay, dare I say, bootylicious- turn of the backside. Cue "Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-A-Lot now. Suffice to say, this weekend has not been short of tense moments. Each night after midnight has found me frantically searching to see if my payments have started back up. I must say, I have eaten like a champ...ok a deposed champ. Mac and cheese without butter and milk is like Van Halen without David Lee Roth, Wu-Tang minus ODB, gin without tonic or life sans meaning. And when I get to the meaning of my life, y'all will be the first to know. Cue "Peaches" by The Presidents of the USA here. Oh I forgot...saturday afternoon, K-wol stops by with what he proclaims is the juciest peach that he's ever had. All jealous Winkz, Ed, Jake and I were, we had to find out. So we step-roadied over to the supermarket to go peach shopping, only to leave with peaches and a few 2-liters of what you people call "soda", so we sent Winkz to the bakery for a Butterbar. For those not in the know, a Butterbar is an incredible butter pastry with crumb topping and a delicious buttercreme filling. In another long story abbreviated, the peaches we bought were horribly overripe and neither good nor juicy. Chalk that up to frustration. So word up, today the state comes through finally with some money. Woke up Winkler, had some BK and damn did it feel nice to smoke my own cigarettes again  . CWC asked where I've been lately and I told her I was trying to get over her. I love it when girls give me dumb looks! As if she's just taken up English as a second language. We came home, K-wol and Jake came down for a spirited game of Rummy 500 and some catch outside, and look, I'm all caught up now!Almost. We're gonna investigate what's stinkin' up the back yard, and later on I'll do my best to get caught up on the rest of you. In not wanting to waste a weekend on WDC, I went AWOL. My bad. Be back soon, I promise. Thanks for droppin' in. Cue up "Trouble" by Coldplay. Peace homies. |
| Well, 1 out of 4 ain't bad. Actually, it is, but fuck it til it limps, I'll take it if it involves money. If I keep checking on my debit card as often as I already am, I may have no fingernails left whatsoever. This morning, via my phone's internet, I was able to track on the state department of labor's website my UI payment history. It looks like they are not releasing last week's claim (which basically only means I'll get it eventually) and they released one "day" for this week's claim (since they prorate your weekly payment over four days in a week instead of seven), so it looks like I'll be getting $72 after taxes as soon as it posts to my account. That should be 2-3 days from yesterday or today. Needless to say, it's been a boring and edgy couple of days, besides a twice-pulled quad muscle, lots of herbal tea and crossword puzzles done like an alphabet fiend. And speaking of using my phone for online chicanery, bust this: tried checking my debit card balance through the issuing bank's website. What a freaking joke. When I try to check my balance on an actual computer, boom, no prob...enter my username and password, and my balance pops up. Sweet. But when I use my phone to look up the website, after putting in my username and password, I get prompted with one of six...six!?! ...security questions I had to answer when I signed up for online access. And they are by far the dumbest questions. Whatever happened to the simple old standards...your mother's maiden name, your father's middle name, etc etc. But nooooo...the question that I keep getting and then getting stumped on asks me what my favorite candy is. WTF?!? I don't eat candy that often! But I know what I like (**ahem** Reese's peanut butter cups, if you're keeping score at home). Or so I thought... I don't remember actually typing "peanut butter m&ms" as my favorite. And what's worse is I don't remember if that line is case- and/or space-sensitive...M & M's? m&ms? MM's?? All I know is I about ate half a bag of Starlite mints trying to figure all that out. And I know those are something I like, but not necessarily a favorite. I think I'm in need of a nap. I'm in need of something, that's for sure. Boredom is killing me and my body is fatigued to Brett Favre levels. But who would I be without saying happy birthday to the lovely and very talented chicochica . Hit up her blog or birthday forum if you haven't already. The years, they have been kind to ya, Lisa. Aight y'all I gotta be out, so peace out and take the scenic route. Have yer bad selves a weekend of fantastic happenings. |
| After sweating away hours on the phone and smoking cigarettes down to the stub, I finally managed this afternoon to speak with someone in the New York State department of na-na-na why don't you get a job. Needless to say, those people are pricks. I'm not talking the "lost-lover-on-90210" prick, I'm talkin' "Karate Kid villian"-type prick. My reason for not making the meeting I was supposed to have with them? We've talked about this already. The communist I spoke with today said he'd pass his judgement make his decision sometime today, which means I either keep calling on the status of the UI debit card in the next 2-3 days to see if my last two weeks of claims get added on, or I get the "denied" letter in a week to ten days. I did tell the job nazi that I did not presently own a vehicle, and had my benefits not been suspended I would've taken a cab to my appointment. But try living in my world, where it sometimes is like waiting on the planets to realign trying to get a hold of the people who say they'll do anything for you. I will be convinced of some type of conspiracy being held against me if my claim is not reinstated. If I can't pay my phone bill, electricity or rent, how in the blue fuck does the state expect me to find a job? They cut me off, they cut off most of the resources I have at my disposal to get hired. Dirty pool players. Anyway, enough griping. The phone itself was acting non-conformist for a day or two, I cleaned up a bit from the chaos last night became, had a nice walk and am peacin' on y'all in a halfway decent mood...of course I was just listening to live versions of Rage Against The Machine's "Killing In The Name Of", so maybe I'm kinda bent. If you've never seen RATM live, I have to tell you, there is no better experience in life than hearing 10,000 people screaming with raised fists, "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!" It was even better than the Disney Little Einsteins Fruity Stars cereal I snacked on for dinner. And seriously, if anyone can tell me what "fruit flavored" is supposed to taste like, there might be a prize at the bottom of the box for you. Fruity Pebbles, Juicy Fruit Gum, Passion Fruit Tums, etc. I do not get the generic imposter fruit flavor of some items that feature multiple colors but all taste the same and nothing like one particular fruit. Discuss this amongst yourselves, while I attempt at making pancakes on my quesadilla maker. Word. |
| Finally, the boys have taken up a sport that presents no bodily harm to my person: Fantasy Football. Not wanting to throw myself into their little circle uninvited, I opted to stay out of discussions about it. That is, until they started talking about the drafting of players. Enter yours truly. The issue was raised that they would need someone to sort of oversee the event and maintain some semblance of order. Sensing their void, I was nominated de facto Commissioner of The Diesel Nation Fantasty Football League. I'll try to get some pics up soon of today's draft, because once I commit to something I go all-in. I looked like one swanky commish in my tie, sportcoat and fedora, hair all done up, shaking hands with the attendants, calling the names of each selection and cracking jokes the entire time. I'd guess that I didn't know half the guys there, which for some reason made it all the more easier to rip on them if they made a poor choice. They were just impressed that they had a commissioner with a sense of humor, and it was even cooler that some of them knew my brother. Nice touch. It was a good day. So much for staying out of trouble though. Can't get into details but it could be interesting. Stay classy WDC. You're my number one pick. Peace. |
| Finally, the boys have taken up a sport that presents no bodily harm to my person: Fantasy Football. Not wanting to throw myself into their little circle uninvited, I opted to stay out of discussions about it. That is, until they started talking about the drafting of players. Enter yours truly. The issue was raised that they would need someone to sort of oversee the event and maintain some semblance of order. Sensing their void, I was nominated de facto Commissioner of The Diesel Nation Fantasty Football League. I'll try to get some pics up soon of today's draft, because once I commit to something I go all-in. I looked like one swanky commish in my tie, sportcoat and fedora, hair all done up, shaking hands with the attendants, calling the names of each selection and cracking jokes the entire time. I'd guess that I didn't know half the guys there, which for some reason made it all the more easier to rip on them if they made a poor choice. They were just impressed that they had a commissioner with a sense of humor, and it was even cooler that some of them knew my brother. Nice touch. It was a good day. So much for staying out of trouble though. Can't get into details but it could be interesting. Stay classy WDC. You're my number one pick. Peace. |
| Rain down...rain down ohh rain down on me... I survived yesterday's thunder/lightning/hailstorm. Now it's raining like no tomorrow. Only there better be a tomorrow. A good friend of Winkz, Ed, plays a good guitar and wants to see more of my lyrics. I showed him something I wrote just last night and he was like "I can hear it in my head...I can come up with a melody." I reorganized my cds, finally, yesterday. I'm anal about that. So after perusing my cds and listening to me singing along to myself, Ed says he might need a singer for his "Battle of the Bands" competition, which is tonight. The only problem is I don't know any of their songs, other than they're kinda screamo, which isn't my vocal taste but whatever. Get me on stage with a mic in one hand and lyrics in another and I'll move a crowd, even if I'm still tryin' to learn the words to my own songs. Ed mentioned once bringing his dope souped-up keyboard over to make some beats I could rhyme some of my lyrics over, but I'm more of a lyricyst than a lyricist. Until I can tear off some puncture-proof lines, I'll fiddle with some beats. It took me an hour this morning to realize I dropped my phone behind my loveseat last night. That was a huge waste of time. I think, in this pouring rain, I may post last night's attempt at writing. If you feel like perusing my port, it'll be somewhere in the Slurred Emotions folder with the title "How Do You". I'll do that while waiting this storm out and waiting for the phone call to see if I'm needed to sing. By the way, actually saw the CWC that will no longer be named in this spot yesterday and had a nice conversation. Seems like everybody's havin' hard times. Why do people make life a competition rather than try to help one another? Even the poor folk seem to want to say they'll do anything to be poorer than you. What kind of a back-asswards society is this? The rain has gotten ridiculous, as I may with my prattling on and on. Peace out, stay dry, and rock on.  |
| It's almost the middle of August in The 'Lo, so riddle me this my brothers and sisters: why are all the fans in my place set to the "off" position, most of the windows shut, and I awoke from a short nap covered in a more thick than thin blanket; and why is it positively chilly in the shade when, at this juncture of the calendar, I should be a dripping mess of sweat and road crumbs that stick to you after you've tossed a football around for an hour? The first meteorologenius that utters "Global Warming" is gonna get a barage of iceballs loaded with rocks aimed at their mouthpiece. So how did I manage to kill time last night? We went old-school. After getting some sustinence in the form of donated Arby's "food", Jake, Winkz and K-Wol came over for a friendly cutthroat game marathon otherwise known as Monopoly. Winkz pretty much housed us, but I had the (im)moral victory of the evening. The highlights: Jake's the first one out after a rash of bad luck, followed by K-Wol, who's mortgaging faster than an overzealous loan marketer like a scandal waiting to happen. K-Wol folds his assets into the bank and accuses me of costing him the game, which I kinda did but at the same time he proposed and/or agreed to some lousy deals. Me vs. Winkz and the matchup seems almost even except for one little detail: while I've got a comfortable amount of cash, homeboy has scored all the loot in Free Parking. He must've hit it for almost $3k. I've got multiple houses and B'way and Boardwalk and the yellow properties; he's got hotels on the orange properties. K-Wol is livid now, saying I screwed him out of almost $4k in a shrewd Railroad deal. Railroad-gate Scandal, Part 1: Off the bat, K-Wol snaps up two RR's and is foaming at the mouth for the other two. I land on it and the bidding begins. I convince him to pay for it and give me an extra $400 for it-deal. Not more than a few minutes later I landed on the last unsold RR and you think K-Wol had just seen a naked woman for the first time, so I knew if I got creative with this, I could totally use this to my advantage. After a few minutes of mediocre wheeling and dealing, and trying to determine what properties could be exchanged, he caves and goes "I'll buy it off you ($200) AND give you $800 on top of it." Good deal, right? Hahahahaha...who wouldn't take that? Me. This kid sitting in my chair, that's who. I told him I'd take his offer...only if I got immunity from having to pay him anything the first 5 times I landed on any of the RR's. Jake and Winkz roared, as if I had just hit K-Wol over the back with a steel chair and punched his grammama. This, to them, was an unprecidented manuever. But the lure of at least being able to take money from the other two was too good at the time. Railroad-gate Scandal, Part 2: I think K-Wol's brushcut grew an inch or two during the game, and not because we played all night. The first two times I landed on a RR he got all cocky and excited, only to be reminded of the immunity deal. Oooohh was he pissed. The third and fifth immunities came when I pulled the Chance and Community Chest cards that said "Report to the nearest railroad and pay the owner double the rent". That sent him over the edge...throwing stuff, threatening (jokingly) to flip the table, raising his voice and hating on me for not making $1400 on me and overpaying sickeningly for the two RR's. But like I said earlier, he struck the deals...he agreed. He played himself.That game took a good four hours, if not more. I went to bed around 3:30am but didn't fall asleep until maybe 6am. Woke up a tired groggy mess just after 9:30. Not the ideal night of rest. Didn't do anything most of the day but try to call the Unemployment people. After following their paper instructions and battling through the menus with their touch-tone voice of Satan, I'd get to a message that said "We're sorry. Due to a high volume of calls, we are unable to answer your call at this time. Please try your call again later." How about kiss my ass, hire some people to take the calls you're so inundated with, and reinstate my benefits you snotty wankers, so I can pay off each four minute waste of a phone call on my bill when I go over my minutes because you're not in my My Faves 5. Rotten douchetools. I swear. Whew. Now I feel better. I'm gonna go put something on the hip I Bo Jackson'd earlier playing catch... I bent down for the ball, heard a slight pop, and I'm back to walking like an amputee with arthritic prosthetics. Which should make straightening up the house all the more fun for about the only bit of good news this week... Pop Diesel is stopping by at his usual time (around noon, maybe earlier) to drop of a few things. I didn't think we'd be going away this weekend anyway because this week is the county fair and sunday is Fair Military Veterans Appreciation Day so he gets in for free. So who knows, maybe we'll hang out a bit this weekend. Anyway, y'all have a good weekend and take advantage of all the immunities you get. Peace. |
| It's not just a Guns 'N Roses song. Anyone who knows anything about me knows I'm not normally a patient person. For instance, on Thanksgiving I'm ready for turkey before The Macy's Parade is even close to being over. Or waiting in line...it gives me hives standing there dancing like I haven't peed in three days. Patience...not one of my virtues. The unemployment office Job Center, as it's now known as, is on one of the busiest roads in the area, but it's pretty much a straight shot about 20 minutes from my house. I'm actually glad I didn't try to bike there, because the construction was ridiculous. And if you didn't know, Buffalo has two seasons: winter and construction season. Eddie upstairs said he'd be back in 15 minutes when he dropped me off and went for coffee. I get called into this guy's cubicle in the back (it's set up like a maze that you can't win) and have a seat at his desk where I'd say 4-6 of his coworkers and their similarly unemployed clientele can hear my business and I theirs. Not fly y'all. I recognize this dude's voice from the few times he's called me about unemployed-folk matters but could never remember his name. He was Mr. So-and-so from the job center. Today I got his first name...Bert. Easy enough to remember, but I hope in twenty years' time I don't look quite as, ummm, ahhh...unhealthy(?) and twenty years older than I should. Asks me where I've applied and if I've documented it. Oops. Told him I did but it got stolen. Psst...that's a lie. I didn't document anything, but for good reason. They want the place, address, phone number, a contact person, what kind of job, the date, a stool sample and your mother's maiden name. All of which kind of makes no sense if the adress is a URL with no contact person because you did your applying online. Then he explains benefits have been extended for three months and hands me a piece of paper with a phone number and a whole list of instructions with how to get through on the phone to see if the suspension of my benefits has been lifted, but it's an overnight process and I have to wait until 8am tomorrow. Man, fuck that! I'm sittin' on no cash and now you want me to wait on top of it? Ohhh boy, it's gonna be a long night and I'm just about out of smokes. Not cool. Not cool. I figure after midnight I'll call and check the balance on my UI debit card. If it's an automated thing maybe they'll have the funds transferred first, if they even lifted the suspension at all. But The Bert-who-isn't-me seemed pretty optimistic, so I'm trying not to get my knickers twisted up over it. But damn, 12 more hours of waiting? Either I'll explode over anticipation, or I'll have one hell of a clean apartment. The house money is on me exploding, so place your bets. You have until 8am. Between that, the Brett Favre nonsense happening and all the pasta I could eat from The Bert-who-is-me's kitchen, I've got a lot of somethin' goin' on in this riot of a head. Gonna go run some laps, count the ceiling tiles and see how many rotations per minute the blades of the oscillating fan in my living room makes. Word, by 11:30 tonight I'll be wound tighter than a spool of thread, count on it. So if I get a little edgy later, ignore the short kid in the corner hummin' showtunes to himself and flingin' newspapers at imaginary rabbits. Stay occupied and peace out. |
| If you see something, say something. Don't know why that's stuck in my head. I think it's a Public Enemy song...may have to deal with the stacks of cds I've been avoiding keeping organized. Not much goin' down in the 'Lo lately, so I present a hodgepodge of life, love, stress and setbacks. A correction: National Night Out in Depew was last night, not Monday. I don't think I can share my disappointment about showing up in the sweat-evoking sunshine not just Monday, but way too early on Tuesday and having to go home and walk back. But I got a t-shirt out of it, met some people and overall enjoyed volunteering at a community function. Got a ride home from her honor the Mayor, who noticed the smell of skunks near the park. Everyone's so worried about rats; meanwhile mama skunks seem to have taken up a bit stronger presence in the area. Specifically, somewhere in the upstairs neighbors' hallway. The scent occasionally drifts into the front rooms of my apartment, which happens to be in the front of the house. The Mayor claims she has smelled them up as far as her 3rd floor bedroom. Something needs to be done. Got in touch not only with best friend Dave the 13th Apostle, but with a neighbor who can scoot me over to the unemployment office tomorrow to sort some shit out and get my benefits restored. Hopefully DavidMFM can still hang out Friday morning. Z.˚rz 's blog has been very educational as of late. Time to turn the country on its ear and get some kind of revolution going. Speaking of blogs, I want to vacation like Julie D - PUBLISHED! , because she's fallen off the face of WDC's earthnet. What a war would that be, between all of us National League East team supporters...me and the Mets, her and the Phillies, and janieruthryals and the Braves. Not to forget Zack and his NL Central Cardinals. Baseball is heating up. I love this time of year. But I hope Julie's ok and doing well. I can probably speak for a lot of you and say that she's missed. Actor Morgan Freeman gets into a bad car accident, and his injuries get detailed. Meanwhile, his companion (? I assume...the article does not state if it was a one-car crash) is made mention of only when noted that they used the Jaws of Life to free them from the several-times-flipped vehicle. Maybe playing God in a mediocre movie set supposedly in Buffalo has its priveledges. CWC update (for those who actually give a shit): Not much to say. Monday I went in there late in the afternoon, it was busy and she came in off break. I went to the primary register as to avoid her at the secondary register. I got a "hey" and she got a "'sup". No blood, no foul. Speaking of Buffalo, remember Archie comic books? I loved them as a kid, and typically outgrew them, only to rediscover them once in a fleeting moment as a teen. Well, The Buffalo News is reporting that the latest issue of Archie's comic book friend Jughead will be set in The 'Lo at The National Buffalo Wing Festival, and it includes several local references. How sweet is that? Snatch up your copy now, then crash on my couch the weekend of Aug. 30 and 31 to get that signed by the issue's writer, Craig Boldman, at this year's Wingfest. Only don't call them Buffalo Wings. Please. Chinese people in America don't call it "Chinese food" when they're ordering their native grub for takeout, so be respectful and call it what it really is...chicken wings. B-Lo represent! Finally, I gotta big-up my girl In Your Dirtiest Pants , my favorite Canadian, because like me she has no cable tv but can't see the awesome musical guests we States residents can on regular broadcast tv. Spoon on Saturday Night Live this past weekend, Atmosphere with a killer performance on Letterman last week, and Conor Oberst (Bright Eyes) tonight on Jay Leno. Hope your youtube is nice to you. That's all I got for now. Stay classy WDC. Wave your hands in the air like you're happy to have hands and I'll wave my hands back like I'm happy that people read this before I calmly peace out into the night. |
| So much to tell you, and so little patience today. Maybe it's because I'm sorer than a decamped cheerleader's overzealous mom. I hadn't thrown, hit or caught an actual baseball in probably 15 years. Softball? Yeah. I'm used to that. It's the excuse to get dirty and not look like you're pussin' out when you can't figure out a fastball from a curveball from a hairball anymore, and your mind still treats you like the sandlot hero you once were while your body slowly has turned to sand. So I played baseball yesterday. Ouch. Wait... I mean FUCK DON'T TOUCH ME AND DON'T MAKE ME MOVE!!! THAT'S RIGHT...TIE MY SHOES FOR ME LADY, OR I'LL STEAL YOUR CANE. Yeah, it's that bad.To make things worse, I'm primarily a 2nd baseman. Too short for first, and because I broke my right (throwing) shoulder twice in high school, I can't make the deep throws. I snagged a couple of grounders that were ESPN-worthy Web Gems at the hot corner, only to chuck the pill into center field, the dugout, the park pavillion, Erie street...toward the end I even managed to bounce not one, but two throws from 3rd to home halfway down the line. Gold Glove maybe; Gold Arm not so much...more like Golden Grahams cereal that sat in the milk too long. The only positive was my bat. In my youth I could crush a ball. Now, due to whatever decline the onset of age has brought on, I rely primarily on squeaking grounders past infielders and legging out singles. Or should I say, lung-ing out singles, because that sprint (if you can even call it that) had me gasping for air. At least I can still score from first on a single or a double... I just can't talk about it until the 2,000 lb. cow gets off my chest, which usually takes about half an inning. But all in all, it was mostly a good time. It got kinda lame at the end when I started hurting and not being able to see the ball as twilight set in, but hey, for an "old man" playing a kids' game, I did alright. In other news: I didn't have to report for jury duty today, because my number was high. That's pretty sweet. But what sucks is that if I had to go and went to bed at 11 or even midnight, I probably would've slept til 9:30am, or been super beat waking up at 7am. My body doesn't seem to pay attention to detail however; went to bed at about 2am and could've easily risen at 6:30am. I scratched out a couple hours of sleep, but ain't much better than making it all the way through. I'm done with the CWC who shall no longer be named in this place by her given name. Yesterday I walk in, get my paper, wait in line, am greeted with a mock-snobby "oh, it's YOU" and pretty much got peaced the fuck out. Dumb girl. Pass around the hat. I need to hit up the unemployment office asap. I was supposed to go there last week but couldn't get there, and supposedly my benefits are suspended til I can. That's way too long of a fucking walk, and buses don't run between suburbs, only suburb to city to suburb. So I'm kinda fucked. Tonight is Depew's Night Out, in conjunction with National Night Out. I volunteered to work it but I haven't heard back yet so I'll show up and see what happens. At least it's a night of free hot dogs and pop (or like the rest of the country berates me for, soda), plus the usual safety demonstrations, orchestras and such. Hell, it's something to do.That's all I got. Y'all be good and friendly and neighborly, and I'll try not to get Walgreens withdrawl or panic too much. Peace. |
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