artsitis

So here I am, thinking about the past again... (and leaving out some of the more important names)

Back to when my marriage dissolved, when I fell in love with a coffee shop, when I had two short flings, neither with any strings, and almost another...

Back when I met junkies, wrestlers, poets, musicians... artists, liars and geeks.

friends.

I met them because of words.

I met words because of Mike.

Mike, and Peter, and Hippy Jay - the crazy not so little jewish boy who introduced an Israli soldier and an Palestinian rebel in the pub at school. Some were afraid at that moment, but no violence erupted - they had more in common than they had to fight about.

I met mike in school, at Mount Royal...

The Lauras, Dr. Brownsey, a table full of people every morning, and my screaming hyena stupidity... $4000 of VISA debt getting people drunk, and not one of those people still talks to me. They were broke, and I bought the drinks. I was broke, and they left me thirsty.

Never believe that people are your friends when you're buying. It's when you're the one that's in need that you find out who your true friends are. Don't take advantage of it.

I've been on both sides.

I've lost friends because I took advantage of them, and I've lost friends because I felt taken advantage of.

Nikki and Lynn had great tits.

Bravo to Jason for convincing them passout would be a fun game. Bravo to me for making the rule that anyone who lit a cigarette had to throw an article of (their own) clothing into the ceiling fan.

2 guys and 2 girls drunk out of their minds, stark naked, in a lineup waiting for the bathroom for their turn to puke.

I'll never forget how awesome those girls looked naked... or how much of an idiot I was to waste their friendships by being a jackass... and by jackass, I mean buying them things instead of getting to know them - beer and rye and shooters.

I loved that time

And not all of them left me thirsty.

Just the ones I wanted to be friends with - as it turns out, the people I ended up friends with were the shit - the good ones, the keepers.

After Words, well, at the end of and after, there was the Freak house (3freaks.net = 3 freaks with a crayon = Mike, Peter and Patrick. I kept the domain, although I'd like to see 3freaks.com, which I also own, and which isn't currently in use, run by Mike - he'd do it justice...).

The freak house was a transient lair of www.whatthefuck.com (not really... but it was in the same league as a dennis leary worst case scenario story).

There were orgies and keggers and walls that weren't straight.

I made the mistake of not living there when I was single.

I suspect that would have been by far the best time of my life if I had been... although it was also the best time of the relationship I'm in. It's been getting gradually weaker since then, to the point where... well, it's weak in ways. Strong as steel in others, but no heat.

I go over the events of my life, and wonder that I'm still alive.

I've given up telling these stories to people very much, simply because either they won't believe them, and think I'm a liar, or they will believe them, and I'll regret that I ever told them.

Things like acid parties, and mushroom nights - LSD and Psylocibin, long lost friends.

drinking 300oz of hard liquor between 3 people, and not dying.

Stripping in the middle of the street and giving my clothing to a cute girl, because she likes them, and despite the fact that she's never agreed to come home with me.

Convincing the bar bouncer's girlfriend to come home with me... and then not getting killed when he finds out in time to stop it.

Always finding out after it's too late that the woman you lust after lusted after you too.

Fuck being shy, but how?

It's hard.