Random Things From A Tortured Mind With No Link To The Outside World
My link to the outside world has been abruptly severed. Somehow, someway I have managed to corrupt several files in my operating system. Ok, so I'm fairly certain that downloading massive amounts of random junk from the internet apparently without adequate virus protection has left my home computing system litte more than a thousand dollar shell of plastic and wires. Much to my chagrin, I was forced to find other ways to occupy my time and ended up channel surfing through the 200 plus cable channels available at a touch of a few buttons. This painful lesson reminded me why I don't watch much television beyond my smattering of cartoons, comedy central and FUSE. With a shudder of revulsion for the couch potatoes that keep reality televesion shows on the air, I acutally located a pen and some paper and broke it down old skool...
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Cost to make Passion of the Christ - $50 million
Ticket to see Passion of the Christ - $8
Mark of the Beast on the ticket for Passion of the Christ - PRICELESS
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A STATISTIC I AM MOST PROUD TO BE PART OF
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You Picked A Fine Time To Leave Me Lucille (Another Week End In Review)
The CD skips over and over, replaying the same part of the same song; yes dearest of diaries, another weekend has come and gone.
Highlights?
Met another very cool, extremely hot, tattooed hardcore chick at a strip club...again...I have a pension for such sillyness. I'm not sure what it is about chicks that tune in to hardcore rock and exposing breasts for a job, but the connection and pattern is obviously there. In addition to the tattooed hardcore girl with the skull and crossbones bikini, I spent 'quality' time with a latin girl with double D breasts and no sense of humor and a sister of soul that sported gold capped teeth and who accidently kicked me in the face while on stage doing her 'routine'. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise as I was treated to a couple of free dances on the house (actually, on my lap) because of the incident. My jokes and laughing eyes kept her cracking up the entire time and allowed me to examine her capped teeth quite extensively. Although this particular experience does qualify as 'new and different', I think perhaps I will leave gold, silver, platinum and diamond topped teeth to those in society that finds this sort of hardware attractive. Grant it, she was super hot and could work her backside better than a dancer in a 2 Live Crew video, but the thought of even a minor slip up and the damage those choppers could do to various parts of my sensitive body did produce a rather gruesome image that I care not to share.
The Big Bang is a bit of a chesse-ball, yuppy type establishment. It's a 'dueling piano bar' and one of those places you expect to find those that are not hip, not cool, not 'with it' and are still living somewhere back in the late 80's early 90's as far as their attire, muscial tastes and drinking habits are concerned. All of this was as standard issue as U.S. marines and M-16's. The only aspect of the entire evening that caught me off guard was that underlying fact that I actually enjoyed myself.
If you are lucky enough or in a few cases stupid enough to grab a table by the stage, participation in the various themes is fully required. Failure to comply results in chastisement that falls somewhere in between being belittled in front of class by having to read aloud the note you were trying to pass and being screamed out by a basic training drill sergeant; you best be prepared to deal with the consequences or find someplace else to drink. Even sitting in the back won't help you as the musicians on the stage pull no punches and have no qualms about hitting you with the spotlight and bringing you on stage (by force if necessary) in order to make your expierence that much more fun or that much more horrifying. I found myself drunkenly crooning to T.V. theme songs (Fraggle Rock, Facts of Life & The Jeffersons just to name a few), eagerly participating in an adult themed hokey pokey (use your imagination a to what we had to 'stick in') and much to the dismay of my date; out came the lighter as I head banged to 80's Hair Band ballads (WhiteSnake, Guns'N Roses & Poison to name a few). But the most fun was had with the crowd participation activities. There were several phrases that would make random appearances through-out the evening, that would force the crowd to pay attention, lest you get pulled on stage to do them all on your own. All responses were to be shouted at the top of your lungs:
"Do you what time it is...?Response: "WHAT TIME IS IT???"
"Why do you drink & Why do you smoke?"
Response: "To get Drunk & to get stoned"
And my personal favorite, everytime one of the piano players keyed in and sang, "You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille..."
Response, "YOU BITCH, YOU SLUT YOU WHORE!"
Before I knew it, the lights were on and my date and I were shuffling off to hail a cab. Personally, I'm just impressed that I am capabel of letting go and opening my mind enough to enjoy things like piano bars and Carnivale celebrations. Pretty good for a guy that hates people, places and social elitists almost as much as he hates Dubyah.
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All this social interaction is having an odd side effect. Or at least, that's what excuse I am currently using as I really am reaching for an explanation right about now. It seems, I'm becoming emotionally attached to a girl I have nothing in common with. My mind is screaming at me about falling back into old patterns and clamoring at me to hault the headlong slide I am about to take.
I suppose it doesn't help any that the alternatives are co-workers, bar flys and a growing lists of tits, lips, brains and eyes that simply are not obtainable for one reason or another.
Guess I could try the whole being alone thing, but that is a fate reserved for 40 yr old virgins and people missing major body parts and not a highly intelligent, wisdom dispensing guy whom likes to eat pussy like myself.
And yes, dearest of diaries, this means my first tenative steps at online romance are still stuck in park.
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