Full Moon Blues
Depending on who you speak with, what news channel you tune into or which website you utilize the weather here has been anywhere from 75-92 degrees over the past three days. My feelings of melancholy and infinitie sadness (shameless, I know) have been ushered aside into full blown spring fever�
�And still I struggle forth, lacking direction and focus. A dangerous dynamic duo for someone who thinks to much and analyzes anything and everything at the drop of a hat.
Another socially acceptable weekend, in which I was praised for my storytelling ability and my knack for pulling laughs from even the toughest of critics. Professional storytellers, I suppose, exist someplace but not in my neck of the woods. Standup comic? Unlikely as without my pack or others to draw inspiration from I would be booed off the stage and pelted with all manners of projectiles after staring dumbfounded into the bright lights of the big stage. In my case, I am only as good as my muses and I do my best work drunk in a bar. I'm quite certain there isn't a market besides getting free drinks and the occasional hottie for such a profession.
The tall tales of weekend suburban conquest continues�
Friday I learned a valuable lesson, but promptly forgot what it is I learned after drinking too much micro-brewed beer in a vain attempt to have a quiet night in. Did get a bit creative and almost artistic, if I had a pension for such things. The one that is Short and I took pictures of the never before tasted (or heard of for that matter) 22 oz. bottles in various locations through out the house. I tried different lighting techniques and odd angles, the result of which I will happily share
HERE .
Morning came with a complimentary hangover (the Big bear black Stout did me in) and said beautiful woman still sleeping in my bed. Barely had enough motivation to make it to my session with my hair dresser at 1330 and she gave me quite the tongue lashing me for being too loud when I was catching her up on my exploits over the past month. She is not one to get offended, but some of her more 'conservative; cliental can be. The way I figure it, regardless of who you are or what social circles you crawl around in, EVERYONE should hear at least one story in their lifetimes about groupie butt sex and midget strippers; even if by force. "Experience new and exciting things" I did say, at the expense of horrified home-makers and mothers of small children everywhere. My next appointment with her is scheduled for late on a week night for some strange reason?
Saturday brought stories that seemed to be microwavable leftovers, from occurnces that had already happened; talk about some weird dejavu. The woman formerly known as the super hot roommate made an appearance and divulged the reason for her extended absence since moving out a couple of weeks ago. She claimed to be extra busy with her school and work load, combined with painting and primping of her new home, but later confided to me that she is back with her metrosexual exboyfriend. If you think I'm prissy, then you would think this guy is just a straight up flaming fag; he drinks Smirnof Ice for gods sake! With another wet dream ruined, I turned my attention back to the enigma that once again had reared her beautiful head and made my night as the best bar in the world rather confusing. I still haven't got a proper nickname for her, but am leaning towards Tide. The three times we have met have all been at Casey's and she has been hot then cold and then lukewarm to me, which is really starting to become confusing. She is beautiful, highly intelligent and extremely tempermental, all qualities I understand well. When I put forth effort she is ice cold, when I casually converate she is red hot and when I combine the two she comes out like bath water, not too hot and not quite cold, but just not quite right. She is described by our mutual friend as 'high maintenance' and very picky all of which are fine with me if I could just figure out where this leaves me. I am giving up pondering such things further and am regressing back to junior high tendencies and just going to let the afore mentioned mutual friend take care of all the details.
And finally, three random things I learned this weekend:
1) Sending a drunk, who can't add properly while intoxicated with a fistful of dollar and instructions that are little more than to "buy beer", five minutes before alcohol stops being legally sold is not a job I am going to volunteer for again. When I walked out of the circle K with only a 12-pack onlookers summised, based on the amount of cash in hand and the estimated number of people that would be drinking that, "they are going to be so fucking mad at you dude."
2) In a pinch, a dog fight can be broken up by emptying the contents of your beer bottle on said dogs involved in said dog fight. Since most people don't keep hoses inside their house and lord knows how long it would take a group of drunks to find a water source at 3AM, this is a semi-acceptable alternative. I say semi-acceptable because it does work, I am living proof, but I had to sacrifice a full, perfectly good beer much to the delight of the dogs, whom spent the rest of the morning (night?) licking each other.
3) Every women should paint their finger nails slut red and never any other color. While decals and glitter are acceptable 'accessories', the only color that should ever be considered is slut red. Guys don't pay much attention to finger or toe nail color, but they will if you paint it slut ass red.
***
The ride comes to an end, but not before taking one more bone jarring turn that caught me a bit flat footed. It seems the X has finally given up on her "no more penis" plan and decided to find herself a booty call. That's what friends are for right? To pick you up when your down, help you move your worldy belongings from points A through Z and fuck you silly any time you decide to go on Mr. Toads Wild Ride.
Yeah, the ole ego is flying high, dearest of diaries, even if my soul is still stuck in quicksand.
Comments Are Always Appreciated!
powered by SignMyGuestbook.com