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Saturday, January 31, 2004

More Super Bowl XXXVIII Houston, Texas

If you don't live here it's not too late to fly in and make this.

Bishop Don Juan's Pimps N Ho's Party and the Gucci Party:
Pimps N Ho's Party -- Invited guests: Snoop Dogg, P. Diddy, Eminem, Dr. Dre, 50 Cent and Mariah Carey. 8 p.m. Mercury Room. The Gucci Party -- Hosted by Snoop Dogg, with Jennifer and Gemma Gucci. 8 p.m. Boaka Bar. Ticket for both parties: $100 advance; $200 VIP advance. 1008 Prairie. 713-867-8926.

And if you do live in the area, you can be fashionably late to this.

The Super Shiznit Party:
Snoop Dogg performs. Other invited performers: Executioner, De La Soul, Deep Dish, Donald Glaude and BT. 8 p.m. Tickets: $30; $100 VIP. 610 Arena, 5515 South Loop East (Trading Fair II Building, 2nd Floor). 713-734-7469.

Tomorrow we go on a souvenir hunt. A mug. That's all I want. Just a mug. We decided last night that a cap would be too "Woo Hoo! The Super bowl rocks! Ow!" But a mug just says, "Oh yeah, the Super bowl was here. Umm...like in 2004 or something. Whatever."
Then we may go wander the streets. Paris is around here somewhere... *cracks a smile*

Friday, January 30, 2004

Superbowl Weekend. Houston, Texas

Tonight my g.f.'s colleagues are going on a bar-hopping celebrity hunt beginning immediately after quitting time. (Which I'm sure will come a little early today.) I should tell them to give me a ring if Paris Hilton pops up anywhere. Not that I'm into toothpick blondes. But that is one toothpick blonde I would not kick out of bed. If you know what I mean...
Actually, they would have to reach me by cell phone (someone else's cell phone, as I am not the cell phone wielding type). We and another couple plan on a night at the movies and possibly a bite to eat. It's KILLING ME that I don't have some piece of Houston Oiler paraphernalia to wear around town. With all the Superbowl hype I feel the distinct need to root for our previous ran-away-to-play-in-another-state-with-a-better-stadium team. Oh wait! Yes, I do. I have an Earl Cambell pin! Packed way, way, away somewhere. Fuck, I've got to find it! I could spend all day looking for it. And I can't; I have to straighten the apartment in case we all arrive back over here to play Grand Theft Auto-Vice City. Maybe it will just come to me. If I were a shiny Earl Cambell pin, where would I be? Hmmm...

Thursday, January 29, 2004

Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me?
From me, from her. Constantly.
Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me?
All day, everyday. What's going on here? We've been together for over three years. She and I. And always with the same question.
Is the other so in love that it's taken on some weird form of insecurity? One that needs constant reassurance?
Yes, with every waking, eating, sleeping, bathing, reading, breathing moment...I love you. I should tell you this. Tell you without being asked. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Wednesday, January 28, 2004

Regarding my feng shui dilemma, thankfully I have the superb ability to self-remedy and after consulting myself, I've settled on the proverb, "If it ain't broke don't fix it."
Ironically, I ran across this notion more than once in my reading. It seems perfectly understandable. Although anyone ready to argue that my hitting my head on the same kitchen counter that holds up the evil toaster which caught fire, is purely coincidence, has their work cut out for them.
Although certain bobbles have been put away, some things have remained. I have moved my computer to a position where my back no longer faces south and the fountain will also continue to flow in the hopes of bringing prosperity and new career opportunities. Although, my g.f. has begun the practice of pretending to go pee in the middle of the night, and instead creeping into the living room to click it off.

In other news, I've finished reading Close Encounters of the Third Kind. It took a while since I kept losing interest in it. Putting it down for days. It was actually very well written considering it was based on the movie. (instead of vice versa) But it's difficult to describe something so visually awesome to the reader. Something so based on sight and sound. Anyway, I'm on to You Shall Know Our Velocity by Dave Eggers. Yes, Dave Eggers. Those of you Egger-hating fans can go jump off a bridge as far as I'm concerned. I need to take a Steinbeck, Salinger breather.


Monday, January 26, 2004

Man oh man, what have I done? Recently I have been studying feng shui in an effort to promote a happier and healthy life for my girlfriend and me. But ever since things have sort of taken a turn for the worse. Things just started happening. I quit my job, I feel like crap, my g.f. feels like crap, the neighbor (a presumed fellow lesbian) went off on us about hogging all the parking, we arrrived home to an unlocked and somewhat ajar back door...
The only thing I can think of is maybe feng shui is way more involved than I think. You can't just place a crystal here, hang a mirror there. I've researched as much info as possible on the web - okay, I see now. The web. Internet. My sources may not be so reliable. Or maybe one should think twice about bringing energy altering devices into the home without thinking of their past history. Or maybe I'm just going nuts. I'm nutty as a fruitcake. And frazzled.
If anyone has any thoughts on this, they are certainly welcome.

Sunday, January 25, 2004

I am going to have my girlfriend lend* me her digital camera so that I can be the Thrifty Photographer. I prefer print, but I don't have money to spend on film and developing costs. She has two digital cameras - each at opposite ends of the rainbow. One is ridiculously expensive and the other is a crazy combination of cheap-ass dig. camera and mini Polaroid. For those of you not in the know, a mini Polaroid takes tiny little polaroids usually with sticky backing so you can paste them everywhere. It's one of those products made for teens, but adults have waaaaaaay more fun with.
Since I prefer not having responsibility of the ridiculously expensive one, I've decided to use the cheap-ass one assuming it will take obviously crappy photos that will somehow turn out looking cool or something. Then I can photoshop the shit out of them and make them even cooler. Yeah!





*borrow with the intent of never returning.

Tomorrow is a complete coin flip day for me. Lately my allergy shot has made me feel like ass for days after. As in worse, before better. But if I don't get it at all I may feel...I don't know I've never tried that. But I will inevitably arise feeling crappy tomorrow morning effectively sending me only half-awake to the allergist to get stabbed in the arm and lay down sixteen bucks. But maybe things will be different since I quit working around surfaces coated with three inches of dust and a decaying false ceiling that is collapsing in places above my head. Yes, sunny days may lie ahead.

Friday, January 23, 2004

The Proof is in the Pudding

I must be in love. Well, I knew I was in love, but now I have a weird form of proof.
Last night my girlfriend and I were riding in the car when she asked if I wanted to go watch pudding wrestling at a local bar. (She's friends with the owner.)
I thoughtfully stared ahead before deciding I had an overwhelming urge for pudding. I went so far as to demand we pull over immediately to buy some.
"Do we need to buy milk?", I asked.
At which point my girlfriend informed me there was a pint of ready-made rice pudding in the fridge. I was pleased by the news and drove home.
So in conclusion, at the mention of scantily-clad beauties rolling around in pudding I want nothing more than a gigantic bowl of it. The pudding, dude.
This is not to say we won't be attending the festivities. Oh we'll be there. Ringside with cameras in hand.

Tuesday, January 20, 2004

Thank you for the lovely gray cashmere sweater. Wow, cashmere. Caaaaash-merrrrre. It sounds like diamonds. I'm sure it fits perfectly, but I will probably never know. If you don't care to look inside of me, at least look AT ME. I don't wear cashmere. I wear rags. My mother reminds me of this when I visit. I spend money on about four pairs of pants and my shirts mostly come from discount and thrift stores. Nothing beats a well worn-in tee. I want to give it to someone who will actually get use out of it, but you may want to see it on me one day and I will be caught. I should have appeared more thankful. For that I am sorry. You are a very kind person who seems to enjoy doing for others. And you probably recieve very little in return. That's usually how it goes. I would also like to thank you for the framed prints and the waffle iron. (how did you know?) I'm sorry for seeming to almost cry at work the other day. I was having a bad day. I made you uncomfortable. I guess your generousity is limited to material items. I can't blame you. It's easier that way.

Monday, January 19, 2004

Today I....whoop...I was just about to write about my day, when a voice boomed out something from the direction of the bedroom.
"What's that you say?"
"I said, I shaved my legs for you baby!"
I must go now...

Saturday, January 17, 2004

There is a small ongoing dispute between my girlfriend and me over who actually "wears the pants." In all truthfulness, it doesn't matter, but we bicker nonetheless.
In the past few days I've determined that I should be title-holder. You can help decide...
To me the person doing most of the decision-making has mostly both legs in the pants. But since we share the decision-making on a regular basis and seldom argue about things, I've been forced to use a second factor. (Although, I think she does this passive-aggressive thing that actually gives her some weird form of control over me...eh, whatever.)
The second deciding factor of who, indeed, wears the pants in our relationship is the "fear factor." Like, when there is some unwanted varmint scrurrying across the kitchen floor, who springs up and heads for the can of Raid and who hops onto the couch and screams, "I don't know where the can is, just kill it for fuck's sake!"
No wait, bad example. That's not gross, it's just plain scary. Let's talk gross.
Like for example, when after noticing the bathroom sink is draining at a snail's pace and Liquid Plumber was a waste of money, you volunteer to plunge a foot long stiff bristled brush into the four different quadrants of the drain, (go look at it, it has four) fishing out possibly ten years of hair (including someone else's) and fifteen pounds of pure sludge....well, that's me wearing the pants my friends. Me. Excuse me now while I go and VOMIT.

Friday, January 16, 2004

Last week I bumped my head on the counter and sort of split it open. It wasn't gushing blood terribly, but I could tell I needed stitches. I opted to not have them based on the fact I have no insurance and it would leave a really cool scar. From what I understand, that is why you get stitches. So the cut heals properly and not all fucked up. Anyway, it's been a while and the scab finally came off supposedly revealing my really cool scar. I couldn't even find the cut at first. I dug around in my hair for a minute. And then I finally found it. My really cool scar. Except it just looked whimpy. Like a pencil mark. I could barely even see my really cool scar. It looked like someone tried to make a pencil mark on my scalp. I had the story of my really cool scar all worked out. I would say I did it getting hammered. In fact, I was picking up a hammer.

Thursday, January 15, 2004

A few unrelated and irrelevant things.

a.) The downstairs neighbor's cat bolts at my headlights when I begin pulling into the driveway. I then have to ease the rest of the way in with my head out of the window wondering why he is walking under the tires. When I get out he runs away. Pussy.

b.) I brought home a titanicaly big supply of scrap mat board today, which I will use for every purpose except its intended one.


c.) I discovered a hidden-away looking bar today in a residential-ish area called the Viper Room. It was spelled Vyper Rume and the words were formed with 1x2's on a sign that pointed down the length of a very long fence to a creepy unknown. It looked weird and made me wonder what kind of people go there. Then it occurred to me that the name was oddly familiar. I thought to myself, "Didn't River Phoenix overdose in a bar of the same name?"

d.) I just finished reading Agatha Christie's Pocket Full of Rye. And began reading Close Encounters of the Third Kind by Steven Spielberg. Clearly I'm not a book snob. I enjoy reading a variety of material. I'm only a couple of chapters into it, and I'm sure that it is much better than the movie I never saw.

Well, I guess I'll go take my Boca burger out of the microwave and serve it to myself with a side of chips. Girlfriend out of town. Man, I sure do miss her cooking. No one heats up a Boca burger in the microwave like she does.


Wednesday, January 14, 2004

Girlfriend going out of town tomorrow.
Party at my place.
Party of one.

Sunday, January 11, 2004

I can't believe I ever felt even the slightest bit sorry for myself for having allergies. So what if I get a shot once a week? So fucking what if I can't roll up the drive-thru and help myself to a quarter-pounder with cheese? So fucking what? It could be so much worse. Life could be so much worse for me.
Where is this coming from? I just finished reading a short book entitiled A G.I.'s Vietnam Diary 1968-1969, by Dominick Yezzo. I have no idea how many pages it was without counting ,since there were no page numbers. But it wasn't very long and I finished it in one sitting. Which is strange since I have a very difficult time concentrating on reading with any distractions whatever. Mainly the television. I've tried numerous times to read with it on, but find myself listening to it again and again. But the most remarkable thing happened this evening. For the first time, I was completely absorbed in my book and able to block out the T.V. entirely. I was so utterly amazed by this I found myself trying to figure out why. I even decided it was the size of the book. Usually I read old paperbacks, but this was a discarded hardback I found at a library sale. Maybe I was more emersed in the larger book.
I almost forgot the point of this story. After finishing the book my attention was once again focused on the television where after seeing a fast-food comercial I felt myself give a sigh. I can't believe this even occured to me after reading a book recounting the events of a year's tour of duty in Vietnam. I guess I'm just a typical American. Narrow-minded and self-absorbed. As moved as I may have felt I was, I was certainly not transformed apparantly.

Saturday, January 10, 2004

Conversation with girlfriend and her brother over the telephone.

"Hey Steve, happy birthday!"

"Thanks...I just learned some very disturbing news about my nephew."

"What?"

"He's been playing floor hockey for a year and half without a cup!"

"Oh, I see."

"And he plays goalie!"

I guess as females the concept of "cups" doesn't naturally occur to us. And the idea of protecting the family jewels of an eight-year old didn't occur to his single mother either.

Monday, January 05, 2004

Today has been a long and harrowing experience that has left me both mentally and emotionally drained. But I did it.
I completed my online driver's education class. (You expected more maybe?)
For a class that is designed by law to last no less than six hours, I tore through the lessons at breakneck speed in just eight. One of the added conveniences of taking it online is being prompted to answer random questions regarding your car to ensure proper identity. Driver's license number, license plate number, how many individuals on your policy, two or four-door passenger sedan, mother's maiden name and so on. These are mainly simple questions, but sandwich them between learning the lesson and answering questions regarding the lesson, and adding the fact you must finish the the final with a score of 70% before the UPS express delivery cut-off at 3:00 PM, you find you cannot answer the most basic question concerning the first letter of your last name, or the numerical month you were born.
But I still embrace deadlines. Deadlines although mostly breed procrastination, are what make us feel alive. Alive and in trouble constantly.

Saturday, January 03, 2004

Today was turning out to be an okay day...until I entered the really cool video store we rent movies from. I usually let Jenny walk ahead and pick out the movie while I poke around the local rags near the door. After quickly scanning what was available I noticed an almost surreal sight. It was my Ex's face emblazoned on the cover of a local gay magazine. THE COVER. The motherfucking cover. And to add insults of all insults to injury the caption read: Worth Watching - Our annual list of intriguing people. And to add even more insult, beneath her name read, poet and publisher. Poet and publisher. Poet and Publisher. Po-et and Pub-lish-er. Goddamit. Fuck. You just don't understand, do you? You couldn't. The thing is, it was supposed to be me on the cover of some fucking local magazine. ME. And SHE was supposed to walk in and see my smiling ass face. In reality, recently I have been submitting writing to a local lesbian rag. She (along with all my ex-girlfriends) was supposed to see my fucking name in the byline next to my it's-so-amazing-you-want-to-kill-yourself article. You know...maybe she did. And THAT'S why she's suddenly launching some stupid girlie lesbian zine. What a total loser. Yes folks, she is the loser.

Friday, January 02, 2004

Hard as I may, my mind has decided to occupy itself singularily with the pain in my tooth. I even had a dream about my dentist last night. An intimate one and I don't even find her attractive. (Do I?) She's sort of cross-eyed looking for pete's sake.

I think left-over Jello shots could be bad news. I just went to get a drink of water and decided I wanted something sweet and there they were. Cold and fruity sitting there in their little paper cups. So I just...

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