About Me
i can't figure out how to change my fucking profile picture. please see "pics" for updated snapshot.
age: 32 (Nov 11, 1979)
MEMBER SINCE: November 2003
occupation: big bad businessman
sign: please
body mods: I have every tattoo I'm allowed to have
crush: a beautiful little Greek girl
stats: sneakily well built
most humbling moment: realizing that my best or my most focused is not necessarily enough
So, is it wierd that it only takes two and a half days of laying around, reading books, tanning and napping before I feel like I'm going absolutely fucking insane? I feel like I could run a marathon or drink for days, and am liable to do either at this point. Glad I didn't come down here for an entire week, I'd probably have gotten myself arrested in town by now.
I'm going to take a break from the philosophizing for an entry, and start the story of last weekend and the concert I went to by myself. I would have told it real time, or right after, but shit, I didn't have a funny little log like this to write in.
So I'd had about 15 people over to my place Friday night, bunch of folks I met on the street outside the bar, which is damn near outside my place on the outskirts of Chinatown. I woke up cursed that the stupid clock had only changed an hour or two, slid to the fridge, grabbed a beer and banged on my roommates door--you up you lazy fuck? When have you ever been up before me? Leave me alone, I'm sick and the place stinks, who the fuck were those people? Haven't a clue, to be honest...you're still going to the show with me, right? we leave in three hours. Drop dead. This may be difficult, I think to myself, but am not particularly opposed to making the pilgrimage solo. So three hours and more beers later, I've got on two pairs of jeans cause ones torn so badly, and I stumble more than slide back over to his room and bang on the door again...Hey fuckstick, time to go, you ready? I'll meet you there, he moans. Not likely, I mutter and walk down the stairs to the weird little Chinese shop accross the street cause I can't find my goddamned sunglasses--if one of those random deadbeats took them last night, well, I guess it's my fault but that's piss poor form, eh?
So the stupid F train has decided not to run the proper direction today and I end up in Brooklyn, which isn't too bad because that station...
I'm going to take a break from the philosophizing for an entry, and start the story of last weekend and the concert I went to by myself. I would have told it real time, or right after, but shit, I didn't have a funny little log like this to write in.
So I'd had about 15 people over to my place Friday night, bunch of folks I met on the street outside the bar, which is damn near outside my place on the outskirts of Chinatown. I woke up cursed that the stupid clock had only changed an hour or two, slid to the fridge, grabbed a beer and banged on my roommates door--you up you lazy fuck? When have you ever been up before me? Leave me alone, I'm sick and the place stinks, who the fuck were those people? Haven't a clue, to be honest...you're still going to the show with me, right? we leave in three hours. Drop dead. This may be difficult, I think to myself, but am not particularly opposed to making the pilgrimage solo. So three hours and more beers later, I've got on two pairs of jeans cause ones torn so badly, and I stumble more than slide back over to his room and bang on the door again...Hey fuckstick, time to go, you ready? I'll meet you there, he moans. Not likely, I mutter and walk down the stairs to the weird little Chinese shop accross the street cause I can't find my goddamned sunglasses--if one of those random deadbeats took them last night, well, I guess it's my fault but that's piss poor form, eh?
So the stupid F train has decided not to run the proper direction today and I end up in Brooklyn, which isn't too bad because that station...
NOVEMBER 2010
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Shirley