30/05/05
29/05/05
"Hey, I don't believe in fate. Just gimme yr goddamned phone number."
That's what I should have said. It's funny how not spoiling the moment is often the best way to spoil the future. Mark those words. The reverse is often applicable as well. It's pretty annoying.
Truro was great. I forgot about the jackhammer in my right ear for pretty much the entire thing. Meghan groped a lot of boy-crotch. Will puked. Gery fronted with conviction. Toby got uncomfortable a lot, and Payson blew his bass amp, which is sort of a sketchy deal.
Toby got so uncomfortable last week he told his ladyfriend's roommate about how I thought it'd be great to put my penis in her vagina. I don't see anything particularly wrong with that, but I think it's funny how he must've somehow thought he was absolving himself by spreading the word. I'm sure that didn't make her feel uncomfortable at all.
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That's what I should have said. It's funny how not spoiling the moment is often the best way to spoil the future. Mark those words. The reverse is often applicable as well. It's pretty annoying.
Truro was great. I forgot about the jackhammer in my right ear for pretty much the entire thing. Meghan groped a lot of boy-crotch. Will puked. Gery fronted with conviction. Toby got uncomfortable a lot, and Payson blew his bass amp, which is sort of a sketchy deal.
Toby got so uncomfortable last week he told his ladyfriend's roommate about how I thought it'd be great to put my penis in her vagina. I don't see anything particularly wrong with that, but I think it's funny how he must've somehow thought he was absolving himself by spreading the word. I'm sure that didn't make her feel uncomfortable at all.
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28/05/05
Last night, for a change of pace on a Friday, I had a salad for dinner, a glass of red wine for dessert, and curled up in bed early with a book, looking forward to tonight, when I both open and headline a show in Truro. Today I woke up early with an ear infection. The opening band's costume scheme fell through at the last minute, and now I am expected to either fabricate or purchase one in the two hours I have left before we leave town. I am bedridden, and so broke I borrowed $50 last night to keep from starving before my next payday. Oh yeah, and my horoscope is some ominous piece of shit too: apparently my "ideas about enemies and evil are... about to undergo a revision. Freed from an illusion, you will at first be sad, then relieved, then confused, then elated."
Alright, so who's dicking me around this week?
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Alright, so who's dicking me around this week?
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26/05/05
23/05/05
Crosses the room from some corner I hadn't noticed, grabs my cigarette, drags on it, stubs it out.
I say "I didn't know you smoked."
She says "I don't. Now d'you wanna dance or what?"
~I could live a life brimming with smouldering cliches like this. You would not hear me complain. Sadly, she never called back, and what follows is far less cliched and somehow far more typical of the kind of unlikely scenario I invariably stumble into~
Last night, on my way out the door for work, I got a telephone call. With it came first a sense of vague recollection, followed closely by an insistent, mounting dread. This sequence took place in about the amount of time it just took you to read that.
A friend of a friend is making some sort of video documentary on dancing. I don't exactly know the details, because, as I said, I was leaving for work and hadn't the time to discuss or even contemplate the matter. The one detail I can provide you, however -and this really is the essential one here anyway, folks- is that, last week (the night of my last entry, come to think of it) it seems I drunkenly agreed to dance in this thing.
Now, it's not like I nevereverever dance or anything, but the instances in which I do are both rare and liberally-greased with some damnable combination of liquid courage and the attentions of a pretty girl. Typical indie loser fare. This? This is just a little different. Those of you reading this that actually know me don't need the sheer absurdity of this scenario pointed out to you. Those of you that know me are already laughing, or at least squirming uncomfortably in yr seats.
I think I agreed to perform as "dude who can't dance to save own life" or something like that, so it's not much of a stretch, at least, but still... what was I thinking? I'd almost certainly opt out of this were it not for this website's slogan up there looming large above these words. I feel a certain sense of obligation to myself, and to you, the reader, to not puss out on what is sure to be a veritable goldmine of base indignity.
I'm thinking this might call for a drink or ten. Any pretty girls out there feel like getting heedlessly drunk and being dance partner to some punk goofball with two left feet in his mouth tonight?
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I say "I didn't know you smoked."
She says "I don't. Now d'you wanna dance or what?"
~I could live a life brimming with smouldering cliches like this. You would not hear me complain. Sadly, she never called back, and what follows is far less cliched and somehow far more typical of the kind of unlikely scenario I invariably stumble into~
Last night, on my way out the door for work, I got a telephone call. With it came first a sense of vague recollection, followed closely by an insistent, mounting dread. This sequence took place in about the amount of time it just took you to read that.
A friend of a friend is making some sort of video documentary on dancing. I don't exactly know the details, because, as I said, I was leaving for work and hadn't the time to discuss or even contemplate the matter. The one detail I can provide you, however -and this really is the essential one here anyway, folks- is that, last week (the night of my last entry, come to think of it) it seems I drunkenly agreed to dance in this thing.
Now, it's not like I nevereverever dance or anything, but the instances in which I do are both rare and liberally-greased with some damnable combination of liquid courage and the attentions of a pretty girl. Typical indie loser fare. This? This is just a little different. Those of you reading this that actually know me don't need the sheer absurdity of this scenario pointed out to you. Those of you that know me are already laughing, or at least squirming uncomfortably in yr seats.
I think I agreed to perform as "dude who can't dance to save own life" or something like that, so it's not much of a stretch, at least, but still... what was I thinking? I'd almost certainly opt out of this were it not for this website's slogan up there looming large above these words. I feel a certain sense of obligation to myself, and to you, the reader, to not puss out on what is sure to be a veritable goldmine of base indignity.
I'm thinking this might call for a drink or ten. Any pretty girls out there feel like getting heedlessly drunk and being dance partner to some punk goofball with two left feet in his mouth tonight?
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15/05/05
Alone, smoking between bands outside the Khyber. Some punk walking by is like "hey buddy, you got a cigarette?" I say "no, but check this out," and toss a lit firework into the traffic on Barrington. I think I broke his brain.
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13/05/05
Man I hate porn where the guy's all "Unnngh, yeeeaah! Oh baby, oh fuck, eeerrrnnngh!" and so on and so forth. Dude, shut the fuck up; I'm trying to masturbate over here. Is there even a chick in the universe that actually finds that hot? Gross.
Oh, and speaking of hot:
I imagine this as the first shot in a gallery of Gilbert Switzer guerrilla porn.
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Oh, and speaking of hot:
I imagine this as the first shot in a gallery of Gilbert Switzer guerrilla porn.
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10/05/05
07/05/05
I just made two of the most "adult" decisions of my life. Go figure.
Two nights in a row, walking home alone with a hard on. Hello, internet. I suppose "adult" can mean any of various things.
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Two nights in a row, walking home alone with a hard on. Hello, internet. I suppose "adult" can mean any of various things.
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04/05/05
What the fuck am I griping about, anyway? I just saw fucking MOTORHEAD. FOR FREE. It was transcendent. And free.
So last night, before work, I'm buying a pack of smokes when the girl behind the counter, sorta cute, too many piercings, looks up at me and goes "You look pretty cool. You should join my band."
What an odd thing to say. So I'm like "Uh, thanks, haha, but I'm already in way too many bands" and she goes "Oh yeah? Cool. What are they called?" I'm like "Um, ah, er..." and I rattle off a few names.
She sorta squints for a second, and then gives me this look, as if to say yr kidding me, right? Those aren't real bands.
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So last night, before work, I'm buying a pack of smokes when the girl behind the counter, sorta cute, too many piercings, looks up at me and goes "You look pretty cool. You should join my band."
What an odd thing to say. So I'm like "Uh, thanks, haha, but I'm already in way too many bands" and she goes "Oh yeah? Cool. What are they called?" I'm like "Um, ah, er..." and I rattle off a few names.
She sorta squints for a second, and then gives me this look, as if to say yr kidding me, right? Those aren't real bands.
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03/05/05
I want to spew my thoughts all over this thing. I'm wound like a magnet's coil these days. But I have to keep it all inside. I'm at the end of so many tenuous ropes. I'm a rickety cage. On wheels. Stuck in the mud. I'm not even sure if I'm trying to protect what's inside from what's out or the other way around anymore, but I know that I can't let these bars break. I'm hard-pressed to tell if the effort is worth it.
I hate speaking in stupid metaphors. I hate people that write this way. Lemmy would not approve.
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I hate speaking in stupid metaphors. I hate people that write this way. Lemmy would not approve.
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