last days

Normally, I'd be skeptical about such a thing, but Gus Van Sant is a very compelling director. If the picture wasn't clue enough, the main character is based on Kurt Cobain, though it is not a bio picture. The trailer looks very good.

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misery. loves company.

After being prominently displayed on this very space, tennis dream queen Maria Sharapova met her unfortunate end in this year's Wimbledon tournament, losing to Venus Williams in straight sets. We here at Counting Backwards hope that Ms. Sharapova doesn't feel as if she was in some way "jinxed" by her appearance on this very site. But even if she does, we here at Counting Backwards would like to bravely step forward and volunteer our services in consoling Ms. Sharapova in this difficult and frustrating time. Counting Backwards knows plenty of difficult frustrating times. Why just the other day, Counting Backwards had to go online to find an infallable strategy to defeat the vicious Chac, the monster that appears on level 80 of Via Infinito in Bevelle in Final Fantasy X-2. As it turned out, the Cat Nip method did work, and Counting Backwards was very pleased...

...

What we mean is, we know what it's like, and with any luck, that uncalled-for outburst of supreme geekdom won't render our consoling services completely undesirable.

We can make a mean pot roast. Just so you know.

We now return to our regular programming.

out to lunch

I ventured out to the Philadelphia cheese steak place for an unfortunate, but nonetheless delicious (the cheese steak anyway), mixture of greasy meat sandwich and obnoxious right-wing talk radio.

The heat outside was insufferable, pushing 110 degrees. I hate the summers here.

On the walk back, I noticed two middle-aged women about half a block ahead of me carrying a table out of this antique store (there's forty in the six-block radius of downtown) and to their car. Right in front of them, was a young man on a bike. I approached just in time to see the young man get off his bike to help them load the table into the car. I thought that it was nice to see such unsolicited kindness. Unfortunately for the young man, his unsolicited kidness was repaid by stepping in just about the biggest pile of dog shit I'd ever seen.

land of the dead

So, I went to see Romero's Land of the Dead tonight, and I'd rather not go into much of it in case any four of you want to go see it. I did enjoy it, but my opinion was in the minority, I think. Zombies creep me out. I don't much like people invading my personal space and zombies get all up in it with the swarming and the biting.

We did some test location shooting for the movie today. It wasn't much, but it was nice to get things started. I get myself so worked up and nervous about this stuff. I don't know how my sister does it. She does stage acting, though not much professionally yet, and I don't understand how she's able to get up in front of all those people.

Luckily, I didn't have to get up in front of anyone. I sat the whole time.

I got into way too many deep, thoughtful conversations with people today. For some reason, I just couldn't shut up. I got into a discussion about not wanting to spend the rest of my life in this town at a Jack in the Box. Oddly enough, I did so while another equally deep, thoughtful conversation on the nature of god was occuring between someone at my table with a bible group--having a jam session--at a series of tables adjacent to us. It just further proved my theory that for whatever reason, that Jack in the Box is the most fascinating place in town.

Then, in the movie theater parking lot, I had a way too esoteric conversation discussing the deeper meanings of Land of the Dead. Neither of these two conversations I'm particularly proud of, but they happened, and there's no point in me denying them.

Now, I'm just sitting here watching Sportscenter and hoping I don't fall asleep on the couch for the third or maybe it'd be the fourth night in a row. Last night, I got back from dinner at Red Lobster with my roommate--we both had the dish dubbed "The Ultimate Feast," which consisted of more shellfish than I've ever seen on one plate ever--and since I hadn't slept the night before, save for the two hours I'd spent on the couch, I collapsed once again on my surrogate bed. We were watching Bram Stoker's Dracula, and I remember a heavily made up Gary Oldman say something to Keanu Reeves, but that was all. Then some shrieking evil banshee woman lunged at me and I woke up (that dream sucked by the way) with no idea of where I was or how I got there. It was 4:30am. I was delirious, but I got my bearings enough to make my way to my room. But my part-time doggy roommate was startled by my staggering. I'd forgotten he was there, but he reminded me he was spending the night by delivering a few good woofs, which only added to the disorientation.

I tried to reassure him with jibberish, and I think he realized his error. I mean, even if I was an intruder, he probably figured that he could make quick work of me.

Anyway, since I'm watching Sportscenter and since I'm bored and since I'm a pervert, I've decided to post a picture of Maria Sharapova, (you can clicky the picture) who hasn't lost a set in her latest Wimbledon campaign and is also the richest female athlete in the world, and one hell of an athlete at that and not just a sex symbol (I'm not naming names). Kudos to you. And big ups to the Mets for taking two of three from the goddamn Yankees in Yankee Stadium over the weekend.



Rock. And as a PS, I hope the Astros pen blows more games for Clemens. I hate that dumb Texan fucker.

sleepy couch

Rushmore is on in about 10 minutes, and I've never seen it before. I just hope I'm able to stay up through a good portion of it. I'm not sure if I want to be awake for the whole thing though. I already hear the couch singing its siren's song, and I'm not sure if I'll make it all the way into my room.

It's not like I didn't spend enough time in there today. I fell back into the trap of Final Fantasy X-2 again, and the sweet company of my virtual girls Paine, Rikku and, of course, Yuna.

...

That being said, I'm sure Rushmore is a lovely movie. I'll have to continue taking other people's words for it because I fell asleep on the couch again. I prefer couches to my own bed, though I never can stay asleep for a full night.

These mosquito bites are killing me.

After my friend's kid's birthday party, I got to play with his birthday gifts. We put together a Hot Wheels car track that was like some engineering marvel. It had a motorized car propulsion system and numerous two options for which way the cars could go. If you held down one lever, the car would go up to the top of a tall track piece, which then detached from the rest of the track and lowered to another part of the track and deposited the car there. It was sick. I think the adults were digging it more than the kids.

zombies are people too

Today got off to a inauspicious but familar start. I awoke on the couch with a half-finished bottle of beer on the cushion next to me, but I didn't spill a drop. I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remember trying to drink myself awake--for whatever reason--but clearly, that plan didn't work out.

I made it to bed with the sun just up and had a dream about a zombie invasion. I had a safe house, somewhere, that was taken over by someone else. I was able to find another place, though, for me and my family (I think it was my family) and we got to the familiar task of zombie proofing the house. I guess we'd been through it a couple of times. It turned out that the new place was easier to defend than the place we'd been nudged out of, so we weren't too upset about it.

Despite the rocky start, Saturday gained momentum as the day went on:

I listenened to the Mets defeat the Yankees for the second game in a row at Yankee Stadium, clinching a series win and no worse than a tie in the season series. It's the Mets first series win at Yankee Stadium. These things make me happy.

So happy, I decided it was time for a nap--once again on the couch.

I woke up in time to shower and get dressed for a party thrown by one of my coworkers. On the way there, I got invited to my friend's son's birthday party tomorrow where there will be carnitas.

Tonight's party was a small and cozy affair that had chicken cooked on a Texas barbecue, roasted vegitables, a really good band, a really lazy but photogenic kitty cat, a great mix of music and a keg that refused to become empty. I stayed for a good six and a half hours before navigating through the dark streets and more boisterous, youthful gatherings that were just winding down themselves. I still have a taste for beer, but all that's in the fridge is Michelob Ultra, which seems like more of a tease than anything else.

On an unrelated note (I'm watching MTV2), I don't understand why The Mars Volta make themselves out to be 20-times weirder than they need to be. I saw them live once and I think they played two songs in an hour. I was bored to tears, but the people smoking weed next to me were stoked. Maybe it's just more proof that I need to get back on drugs. My ears have been ringing with "B.Y.O.B." by System of a Down, though. Mainly because of that "Lala lala LALALALA...wooo oooo" part. Boy that's fun to say. I'm kinda feeling it though because I like their carnival metal with political/spiritual significance thing they got going on. Plus the bass player dude was the guy who inspired me to shave my head. Not on purpose though. We're not like bros or anything.

par for the course

First, I'd like to thank Edana at Skin Mama for making me just about the most perfect template ever. Now I'm actually going to have to write well enough to match up to the super keen look. Sadly, that's not going to happen tonight.

I went to a minor league baseball game here in town, and that was all well and good. The home team lost, but it was a close game, albeit sloppily played. The weather was nice and warm, and I had money for a hot dog, a bag of peanuts and a few beers. I got the tickets from work (comps), though, which meant I was grouped together in a section with local businessmen, as many of them also have tickets behind home plate.

This town operates on the good ol' boy network, as I guess many small towns do. And behind me sat a row of men who reminded me why--at times--I hate it here. Speaking in demeaning words and vaguely racist sentinments, the respected local business folk behind me drank and loudly proclaimed how they were going to tell everyone at the golf course about whatever it was they were talking about. They even pulled a prank on one of their friends by getting one of their good ol' boy police officer buddies to come up and threaten one of their group to stop throwing things or else he would get kicked out of the park.

The jovial cop returned moments later to ask, "Did you believe me? Did I sound convincing?" because, really, the cops in this town don't have anything better to do.

The businessmen got increasingly drunker (I did, too, I'm no better) and made underhanded passes (I'm sure they were all married) at the pretty young waitress who brought our section drinks. They scoffed at the baseball players when they made mistakes and talked about golf as if it were an actual sport (it's not).

But beer and baseball conquer all, and I was able to tune out the shaved monkeys sitting behind me to enjoy the game. I left the stadium with a head full of pale ale and set out for my local bar for a concert performed by assorted local dignitaries. Living here isn't so bad after all. I listened to a wide variety of music and watched a beautiful young woman with gorgeous legs dance the robot as I talked to some dude about California's bogus crackdown on cannabis clubs. He even showed me his card which allows him to grow and possess marijuana. If only I had one of those cards. Just for a conversation starter, of course.

when moths attack

As insects go, moths are good people. I sort of feel an affinity toward the tiny beast. You see, they start as ugly and malformed and then they go through an awkard phase and blossom into something similarly ugly and malformed, but this time with wings. Much like a moth, I began as a malformed infant (but a chubby cute lil thing), went into my awkward teen years, which spilled well into my 20s, and now, nearing 30, I'm clearly far from a butterfly.

That being said, though I consider moths my brothers from another mother, I wish they wouldn't flutter like spazzes around my face. The light on my porch is kinda like the Club 54 of moths from my neighborhood. It's the place to be if you didn't emerge from the chrysalis as a beautiful butterfly. Only the biggest and most important moths can hang--and I mean big.

This evening, I returned from a couple of beers and a meeting for the movie and ended up on the porch and the biggest flailing moth dance party of the week. Thursday must be Ladies Night. My roommate was gone and the front door was locked, but I was determined to get inside without an incident. The moths were not following the same game plan. Apparently, Moth Club 54 has a strict no human policy, and the natives were ruffled by my presence. Countless flailing moths boinked off my shorn scalp as I scrambled for my keys. I handled it well at first, but quickly resorted to pleading.

"Please," I said. "I just want to get into my house."

But they didn't listen. The scalp boinking continued at a feverish pace. I finally burst into my house after yanking my key out of the deadbolt lock, leaving what was left of my dignity outside with the moths.

office (boring) party

My two bosses are gone today. I don't feel like doing any work. I just thought I'd let everyone know.

This new Billy Corgan album is decidedly eh so far, but I was happy to read this. I don't know why you take out an ad in the Chicago Tribune to tell people that you want to bring back your rock band from the 1990s, but whatever's cool. I love the Pumpkins, and I can't wait to geek out like a big fat old loser at the reunion shows.

underneath the bridge

There's a foot bridge/bike path at the end of my block, which, for automobiles, is a dead end. The street ends in a bulbous little cul de sac, beyond that is the foot/bicycle bridge, which spans over a creek. We get a lot of foot traffic, but not a lot of cars. At all hours of the night, people walk by, I assume from downtown, and disperse through out the neighborhood. It's kind of the back door to the area. The people who are in the know, know.

As a result, there are no shortage of sounds, mostly human, that occur through out the night. There is also no shortage of transient folks, as they live under the bridge adn make their way over to the church around the corner that has a soup kitchen or food line or something.

It keeps things interesting, or at least it should. Not much interesting has happened since I've moved here, and right now, it's very quiet. A couple weeks ago, I thought I heard gun shots. Then, I was sure I heard gunshots because they were followed by an army of sirens. It sounded like it was all coming from the other side of the creek, though. Still, to be on the safe side, I locked all the doors and pulled down the shades. I won't be anyone's hostage.

Tonight I made my famous pot roast and was again pleased with the results. My roommate was able to fashion the juice left in the pot into gravy, which I think will be poured over mashed potatos tomorrow. I'm happy that I finally have my appetite back after my recent stomach malfunction, but all the fasting did cause me to drop five pounds. I'd really like to keep it off and lose more, mostly because it'd be something to do. I'm kind of bored with myself. The only problem is eating is one of the great joys of my daily life. I don't need to be more miserable.

this rum is cold

I sit with my midnight cocktail an hour-and-a-half late. My roommate put my bottle of Bacardi in the freezer, which was fine by me, she asked first, but now this drink is giving me frostbite as well as the usual brain, heart and liver damage.

I went out tonight. It felt weird. I went to a show and I wasn't sure if I wanted to be there. The bands were pretty good, especially the first one, but I kinda had to force myself to leave the house. I stayed in later than planned so I could watch the rest of the Giants/Diamondbacks game. I'm not a fan of either team, but one of my relief pitchers on my fantasy team happens to be the interim closer for the D-Backs, so when he came in in the ninth with a save opportunity, I had to cheer him on. He pitched a 1-2-3 inning to get the save--a sweet nine points for my team.

My new place is situated much closer to the bars than my previous living arrangement, but in the three weeks I've been here, I've only been out to the bars once. Now I just sip a drink on the couch until I fall asleep. I rarely get through a full one. I've been so damned tired.

The full tumbler beside me is a daunting task. I've had three at the bar, though. That should act as a primer.

the name's charles

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it wasn't much of either, but this is how my vacation went:

The Good:

1. Finally seeing the Mets win. My first game in four plus years, and the Mets beat Oakland 9-6. Coincidentally, it was the only game the Mets won of the three-game set. I was pleased that McAfee Coliseum was very easy to get in and out of and the tickets were reasonably priced. For $35, I was able to sit field level, just a few rows back from the visitor's dugout. I got to see Mike Piazza and Carlos Beltran go yard, and I spent the last three innings talking baseball with some old dude who was visiting California from Upstate New York. Good times.
2. My spunky lil Hyundai was sweet on gas. I got well over 350 miles to a tank and filling it up cost less than $20, which in California, is a damn miracle. This was a good thing, seeing as I did a whole lot of driving.
3. Seeing old friends and family that I hadn't seen in a while. This is always good.
4. Witnessing one of the most emotionally rousing wedding ceremonies I'd ever seen. The officiant was the groom's boss in the US Navy, and he performed a short, sweet service and followed it up with a slow-clap worthy speech at the reception that got a standing ovation and sent half the room into water works. The father of the bride followed with "I hope you love her half as much as I love your mother," which turned the groom into a bawling mess. One of the women at my table couldn't even finish what she had to say because she was crying so much. There must have been ecstacy in the champagne, because you could really feel the love. My table was the rockin'-est table in the joint, and even though most of us barely knew each other, we got looks from other tables because we were cackling so much. At one point, I was reading over the track listing of a CD that the bride and groom made for all the guests, which I thought was a really neat idea, and I heard someone shouting "Charles. Charles! CHARLES!" I looked up to notice it was the bride's uncle who was seated across from me. He was leaning across the table trying to get my attention, but got my name really, really wrong. I became Charles for the rest of the reception. We also stole all the disposable cameras off all the other tables and took pictures of ourselves exclusively.
5. I didn't once think about work.
6. I returned home to find a copy of the first issue of our national magazine in my bedroom and was relieved to see that it didn't turn out horribly wrong.

Best CDs of the trip: Blind Melon - Soup; M.I.A. - Arular; Neutral Milk Hotel - Aeroplane Over the Sea; Unicorns - Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone?; Gorillaz - Demon Dayz

The Bad:

1. A freakish (it's California) rainstorm fell during the entire Mets/Oakland game. It never rained particularly hard, but it was rather steady for the entire contest. There was no delay. I sat outside the entire time to show my support for my team and got soaked.
2. Exited the Mets game to sit in the longest traffic jam I'd ever seen. Not the worst, just the longest. It stretched from Oakland to Hercules, which is just under 20 miles. According to Google maps, I should be able to make such a trip in 23 minutes. It took me two-and-a-half hours. Stop and go. I exited the freeway at the first opportunity and got really lost on my way to Napa and made myself sick.
3. Ended up really getting sick. Either bad Denny's or a random stomach flu hit me with malicious force and I had to spend the whole of Friday in bed. When I wasn't throwing up, that is. My friend and her family were nice enough to nurse me back to health, but I couldn't eat all day, nor could I go out and get riotously wasted with the wedding party, which they did. I didn't. I had some ginger ale though. Luckily, I recovered enough to go to the wedding the next day.
4. My spunky lil Hyundai was unfortunately spunkless when it came to going up hills or trying to pass someone. I still love her, though.

More good than bad is good, I guess, so I can't complain. Next time I won't eat at Denny's.

on vacation

I don't know for sure what I'm going to do over the next couple of days, but I know I won't be going into the office.

I rented a car--a spunky lil Hyundai Accent--packed a bag and bolted out of town. Unfortunately, it's not as spontaneous as it sounds. I have a wedding to attend on Saturday, but when I saw the Mets were playing in Oakland the same week as the wedding, I took it as an opportunity to get out of town and away from my job for a couple days. The Mets better win tomorrow. I got my jersey and everything.

I love how they still show the LiveLinks dating line commercials with Evangeline Lilly from Lost. I wonder if she even knows; it just serves as proof at how unknown that cast was before the show--except for the hobbit and the dude from Party of Five. Does anyone remember that show?

I took a different way out of town this time--another combination of farm roads and state highways. On the way, I stopped off at an Indian casino to partake in the buffet. It wasn't a large buffet, which kind of negated the all-you-can-eat aspect of the thing. My first time up, I took a slab of some nondescript beef kind of thing and some wild rice with shrimp in it. The second go 'round, I went for some green salad and the tilapia filet. That was about it for choices, but I was glad that the food was palatable. The tilapia was actually really good. Oh, and I had some hush puppies. I still don't know what those are, really. It was better than fast food, in any case, and that's pretty much it when it comes to road food.

It was just about the smallest casino I'd seen, even small for the ones up here, but it looked like they were trying to expand it. The doors were held open for me as I entered and exited, and some dude in a cart gave me a ride all of 20 feet from where I was parked to the front door. I'll have to save some money for the trip back. There's a seat at the Pai Gow Poker table just wating for me.

celluloid slut

The best part of 8,000 channels of cable is [adult swim]. Trying not to wake my roommate laughing at Aqua Teen Hunger Force is a difficult task. I don't believe in the theory that there are a million channels and still nothing to watch. I can always find something--be it something I actually enjoy or crappy Skinemax softcore pornography to ease the pain of lonliness.

Still, I feel the need to rent movies, and tonight I got one called Soft for Digging, which was creepy as fuck. It's about some old dude who lives in the woods and runs off chasing his cat and ends up witnessing a murder that no one believes he saw. There's all of five lines of dialog in the movie, which is about an hour-and-a-half. It's mesmerizing though, and really well-shot and dreary, even though all of it was shot in the daylight.

I love horror movies, even though they usually scare the shit out of me. The good ones anyway, and I'm super stoked that Land of the Dead is coming out soon.



This will be the first time I'll get to see one of George Romero's zombie movies in the theater--not counting the remakes. The '90s version of Night of the Living Dead was feh, and the recent Dawn of the Dead remake was really good, but it was a totally different movie, which I was kind of thankful for. I didn't get a chance to really compare it to the original so I was able to enjoy it on its own merits. But Romero is the master; he totally created modern zombie mythology and you can't front on that...especially if you're a geek.

I hope Land of the Dead is good, because I'm going to get into a geek hissy if it's not--like totally spouting scene for scene analysis to anyone who'll listen, even if they're not listening, compare shots from the previous films to shots of the new ones, bitch about things like continuity from movie to movie and say shit like "that couldn't happen because in Dawn of the Dead it was established that zombies could only cross still water. Not moving water!" I hope Mr. Romero saves me the embarassment.



He did provide delight for the perverted Italian in me, because he cast Asia Argento, daughter of Italian horror master Dario Argento, who edited the European version of Dawn of the Dead (the original theatrical release is still the best version, though). Though she's no Monica Bellucci (Italian), Asia clearly rocks because she's on some serious Euro art trash shit and directs really bizarre and arty movies in which she has no problem with taking off her clothes and making out with other women--all of which is cool with me. Plus she has a sexy tattoo. It's almost enough to forgive her for being the thing that Vin Diesel was going to do for his country. Regardless, she's kinda horror royalty, and though she'd probably get all fucked up on drugs and blow smoke in my uncle's face over Christmas dinner, she's Italian, so I could bring her home to momma.

cats, orphans and pointless frustration

We kinda have a cat, meaning that the cat doesn't live in the house. I've seen him once or twice, and he seems nice enough, but I believe the poor fluffy thing has gone somewhat feral. He's got a little food bowl outside and since my roommate has been out of town this weekend, it was my job to feed the cat.

We had a nasty thunderstorm on Friday night, a rarity for up around here, though I think the brunt of it was felt in the foothills. It was pouring buckets, these big fat drops of water and the trees were bending under the force of the winds. I stood out on the porch and called out to the cat, but I wasn't about to go out looking for him. I hoped he was somewhere warm and dry and returned back to the comforts of my couch and my tiny tumbler of Bacardi and RC cola, because I'm a total class act.

The food was gone Saturday morning, so I took that as a good sign. I went out, got drunk, saw a horror movie from Thailand and returned back to my house to watch a couple of truncated episodes of Trailer Park Boys, because the show's really funny and Julian is my new idol.

I spent most of today in my room. I sat on the floor in my underwear and played video games. I only put a pair of pants on because I thought I heard someone coming into the house. No one was there, though. I kept the pants on. I was playing MLB 2003, and I just couldn't beat this one team. I played them like four times, and it was driving me crazy. My palms kept sweating on the controller and my eyes hurt from concentrating so hard. I get stubborn like that somtimes. I didn't even hear the pizza delivery person when she came by. She had to call me on my cell phone. I must have been in there for a while. I finally beat them, though, by one run and I promptly saved the season and turned off my PlayStation 2.

I did muster enough energy to feed myself, do a load of laundry and feed the cat. I relocated to the couch to watch Clerks, which wasn't as funny as I remembered, and Wag the Dog, which was every bit as funny as I remembered. I heard nibbling outside ont he porch and snuck over to the screen door to see if I could catch a glance of the cat. When I got to the door, the food dish had been vacated, so I turned on the porch light and saw a decidely not cat looking face peering back at me. It was a racoon. It was still chewing whatever kibble was left in its mouth and looking at me with these doe-y brown eyes, like out of a Dickens novel. I told it not to worry, turned off the light and sat back down on the couch to watch the rest of my movie. As soon as I sat down, I heard it go right back to the kibble. I hope the cat's okay, but I'm glad the food didn't go to waste.

death metal chicks

I had to celebrate. I had to blow off steam. The last two weeks have been driving me crazy, so I went to the strip club just outside of town. The town elders won't let one exist in town, because of some irrational fear of vaginas. But everyone's got their own hang ups, I guess. I have about 34,024 of them.

One thing I'm rather shameless about is my enjoyment of throwing money at women who display their naked goodies to me in a very wholesale and impersonal manner. I worried that since this was my first trip solol to such an establishment that I wouldn't have a good time. I shouldn't have been concerned. I had a great fucking time--I almost always do when I venture out by myself--until it was time for me to leave.

I took a grip out of the ATM to fund the trip. I'd have to pay for cab fare there and back, which wasn't cheap, but the cab driver turned out to be really cool. He gave me his number to call him up for the ride back.

Everything was going so well.

I paid the ridiculously high cover charge and parked myself instantly at the tip rail. This is important. I have to survey and scrutinize. I can rarely afford more than one lap dance and I have to pick the right one. Plus, I'm picky. Even when it comes to five minutes of paid affection. I mean, I'm not just gonna let anyone bounce on this lap.

Luckily, I had seated myself, quite by coincidence, next to some tip rail high rollers. They were tossing bank down for each girl, which turned our corner of the stage into quite a hotspot. I tried to keep up with them through the first couple girls, but really, it was impossible. They were hig stakes, all-in types. I'm far too concerned with not going too overboard.

I saw a nice sampling of dancers and decided it was time to get a drink of water and chill in the back for a moment, just so I wouldn't spend all my money, but then I heard the familiar intro of Iron Maiden's "Hallowed Be thy Name," and I couldn't resist.

It turned out to be a cover of the song by freaky vampire black metal artists Cradle of Filth, but still...I banged my head and sang along as a school-girl-suited little demon served our souls up on a fleshy, gyrating platter to the dark lord Satan.

I then retired to the back to send my old strip club/gambling partner a text message.

"You want a dance?" the Death Metal Chick with the pierced nipples (who actually looks nothing like the woman pictured above--I was trying to set the mood) asked as I was hunched over my cell phone.

"You've been here before, haven't you?" she asked. And then I remembered that she'd given me a dance before. It was the kinder gentler sister of the littler girl who beat the shit out of me.

We went to the back and I geeked out over the choice of music, because I'm a geek, and we had a few minutes before a new song was cued up. She did her thing, I did mine (try not to blush and giggle) and I paid her for her time and left a pretty good tip on the seat next to me.

I decided I'd take a few more bucks out at the club's ATM for a ridiculous processing charge so I could chill at the rail a bit more while I called and waited for my cabby to come back. Unfortunately, to have done so, I would have needed my ATM card, which was totally not in my wallet. So there I was, 10 miles north of town, with five singles in my wallet and a really, really empty feeling in my stomach. I called the cabby and embarked on what will go down in history as the most pathetic and whiney phone call of all time.

He said he'd be right out. I hung up the phone and convinced myself he was lying and considered swallowing my pride and trying to call my roommate or making the longest walk of guilt ridden shame. Ever.

Ten minutes later he rolled into the parking lot and drove me home to see if I could find my card. I didn't, but my roommate was home and she had cash. I wrote her a check. I paid the cabby and he told me to give him a ring if I needed a ride again. Score.

God really does love us sinners.

workerton

rocking out to pinkerton

I believe five days has been the longest lapse I've had since I started this thing, so I'll try not to make a regular habit of it. Over the last two weeks, I've moved, even though I haven't spent more than a full day in my new home yet, and went through the most arduous and somewhat rewarding work experience I've ever had. I also got a raise, which I haven't had time to enjoy, because I've been working so much; however, it's strange to be able to pay my bills and not wince after. I've never actually had this much money before. It's not a lot of money, but it still makes me want to run out to the store and buy things.

Just two weeks ago, I was rocking out to Weezer's Pinkerton with a room full of drunks. They all know each other better than I know them, but they're all pretty fun to hang out with. Even the dog was having a good time. On the walk home that night, I dry heaved over a chain link fence into an elementary school play yard. It was the Budweiser that did it. That was the last time I went out.

Yesterday, after pulling a 23 hour shift at the office and sending off the national magazine, I collapsed in my bed and passed out until 1:30pm. When I woke up, I began settling in to my new room, which is kinda small. Luckily, I hardly have any stuff. I unpacked a bit, and layed down in bed a lot. Around 7pm, I got a call from my roommate and she said she wanted to go to dinner. We went to one of the more schma restaurants in town. We both work at the same place, so we figured we should celebrate. We ordered a bottle of wine with dinner. The chef bought us a second--on the house.

Wine goes straight to my dome and makes me all wonky. Especially a good red wine. Both of these bottles were good red wine, and between the three of us (my other roommate, who's temporary, came along too), we drank a lot of wine. Then the chef bought us dessert and three glasses of port--because it goes well with chocolate cake--and then I was really drunk and chocolate buzzed.

baller

I was giggling like a mad old woman, which would have been embarassing if everyone wasn't smashed. And if my other roommate didn't take such a nasty spill on the sidewalk. She didn't get hurt, so it was okay to laugh. We had some extra wine, so the let us take home the bottle, which the three of us drank on the walk. It was a nice cabernet sauvignon, which is my favorite kind of wine, because it gets me the drunkest. And it sounds like it's really expensive.

Today, I didn't roll into work until lunchtime and before I even sat down to my desk, I went out to luch with a group of coworkers. I figured it was going to be a cake day, which I shouldn't have, because I knew we were on another deadline. Still, I figured, for whatever reason, I'd be out early enough to go get my perv on at the strip club to treat myself for all my hard work and celebrate my raise. My roommate gave me the number of a cabby who drives her around, and purportedly, he'd give me a cheaper rate to get out there. Apparently, he was down to go to the club and hang out himself, which would have been weird, but hey, company's company.

When the clock on my desktop read 12:30am, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to go, and even though I got in at noon, I still pulled a 14 hour day. I think I'm at about sixty for the week, and I took a day off. Mo' money, mo' problems. Lap dance tomorrow night, though. Work be damned.

i'm ecstatic

I walked to work today with a golden labrador who's my part-time roommate. He had to stop and pee on everything, which held things up some, but not by much.

At the office, I plugged myself back into the matrix and slapped on my headphones to listen to Everything Ecstatic by Four Tet (which is just one guy, Kieran Hebden, and his computer). It's the only electronica artist I've been able to get into, really. I'm not sure why I like it, but his last album (Rounds) is still a staple of my regular listening rotation.

I wasn't sure if I was getting into this album, and was ready to chalk up Rounds as an anomalie in my listening patterns until I realized that I was the only one left in the office and that the world around me had ceased to exist. The only thing that pulled me out of my hypnosis was an offending odor that had been wafting around my desk since I'd arrived. I couldn't place it, and thought that I just might have been smelling imaginary things. My sense of smell is quite wonky from years of smoking, but occasionally, my olfactory system will kick into high gear.

The random beeps and swirls from my headphones fended it off for so long, but out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the styrofoam smiley face staring back at me. It was dinner from a few nights ago. The chow mein had gone bad.

this isn't pretty

I think I've officially gone crazy again. I've been at work almost 30 hours in the past two days, and I've written so many words. I'm beginning to hate all of them. Fuck you words. I'm trying to keep these posts brief so I'll continue writing them.

Today, I was able to take a break for the office so I could go to a restaurant and go over the first act of the movie I'll be working on. The script looks really good so far, especially for a first draft, and today was kinda exciting. I wish I could have been more excited about it, though, but my workload right now is really more than I can handle.

My new neighborhood is full of insects and my house is kinda like their hotel. They come and go as they please and I'm doing my best not to be too rattled by them. There's a moth the size of a fruit bat roaming around in here somewhere, and I already evicted a daddy long legs from my room with the vacuum cleaner, which my roommate calls the spider sucker. I get the feeling me and that contraption will become good friends over the coming months. My laptop still doesn't want to find its operating system, so I'm writing this on my roommate's. I want to tell my laptop to look somewhere else for it, but she won't listen. She never listens.

Otherwise, this place is great. My room is small and my swanky television and surround sound system make watching movies in there something of a religious experience. Too bad I've only been here all of six waking hours since I moved in.

This will all change soon, of course. I'm counting the moments until things settle down and I can enjoy my full digital cable and entertainment system. All the new bills are going to make me too broke to go out anyway. Good thing there's a liquor store just down the block.

that was my fault

I made a post about mosquitos and how they phase through walls like Kitty Pryde, but I unfortunately wrote it in a Blogger window that I'd had open since 12 hours ago. Because that's how long I've been at work. I'm just about done with this Pacifico, and I don't want to have to rehash that old post. Instead, just look at Ms. Pryde and know that I've had a very very long past week or so. And I have to buy a new computer I think, so I can post properly. Until then, these will have to be short and snuck in when I get the chance here at the office. Since I'll be living here. More than I normally do.