weekend bliss

or not? this weekend shall prove to be a test.

can i survive the weekend from hell or will i fall prey to the evils of labor day?

we shall see.

...and thanks fer all the fish!

So I guess Yana's back. (Yay!) That means my work in this field is done, and I can now retire to the safety of my evil Socialist Empire, with a blatant, unsavory plug the only trace of my operation here.

Agent Kilroy, over and out.

things about where i live that i did or did not miss.

i missed certain things about new york. i missed the clean air on the east end of long island. i missed the trees. i missed my animals. i missed my antique bed. i missed my family, friends and even my enemies. i missed the long walks on the beach and the deer on our 2 acre lot.

but i didn't miss the animals that fall down the chimney late at night into the wood burning stove. i didn't miss the summer traffic with bad city drivers. i didn't miss the over priced EVERYTHING. i didn't miss having to deal with my mother in the morning when i just want to drink coffee and read the paper. i didn't miss how my ferret likes to poop on the floor. i didn't miss any of that.

but it's nice to be home but don't fret california... i miss you too.

[who also thinks that SOMEONE rocks my site too much and that he's so funny i think everyone is going to boot me off? i do! heh. who also thinks that person is going to DIE on his death trap motorcycle? i do!]

Buying a motorcycle is a hassle

It should be simple, right? Cash goes into hand, bike goes into my garage. But no. I have to rent a truck and I'm not even old enough legally so I have to hope the guy won't ask my age. Why a truck? Because it's missing brake lights and mirrors and I can't have it on the road. And also I don't know how to ride it. This annoys me a lot. But it's a '79 Honda and it's so bad that it kicks your ass, and when it's feeling generous it just might take your fucking name.

Okay, I admit it's stupid, but I have a God-given, forefather-written Constitutional right to kill myself in the name of looking bad ass and having fun. That's what makes America great, kids.

I am so happy that Rich has in fact taken to blogging with such a passion. I felt awful for leaving everyone such blank, empty messages. It wasn't that it was by choice, but lack of, I'm not sure how I should word this, life has been up, down and inbetween, however nothing very worthy of writing lately.
hmm.

ps. tee hee hee. i know somthing yana does not. :P

shhhh boo

well it's all gone to hell in new york here. one of my friends died and no one thought to tell me. life is grand eh?

it's all gone to hell ... but oddly enough i have a great computer and a cable modem.

the fact that i am not phased by death is sad. oh and rich is taking over my blog with a passion isn't he? gotta love him. oh and crystal i love that graphic. yer a saint :)

Elementary, My Dear Watson

I know yer all just cheesin' in those briefs for a resolution to the eternal conflict between Good and Evil, Me and Dave, so I'm feeding you the late-breaking, brand-spanking-fresh news as it comes to me. I just got another call for Dave. I put on the Skinhead Voice. "Hello?"

"Yeah... um... is Dave there?" This caller, unlike others, was nervous. There were other voices in the background, all male.

"Who is Dave? I don't know a Dave."

"You don't know Dave?" This astounded our nervous, perhaps drug-addled friend. (He sounded a bit baked, a lot like a good lasagne.)

"No. No Dave. Is he a drug dealer or something? I get calls for him all hours of the day, seven days a week."

My antagonist's seeker giggled. I should remind you here he is a boy. (Boi?) "Man, he's a drug dealer too? I thought he was just an, um, male escort."

So there you have it, folks. A male fucking escort is giving my phone number out to his clients, and every fucking lonely gay boy in Salt Lake City is calling me up. Why couldn't he be a straight male escort? I wouldn't mind calls from strange, lonely Mormon chicks. In fact, I'd take some slack from poor Dave's back. I'd be glad to help you out, Dave.

A Dave Update

I came home from classes today to find a message on my voicemail. It said, and I promise you I am not making this up: This is Dave's ass. I hear you're going to shove a boot up me. Well, I hope you have small feet.

'Nuff said.

Who The Fuck Is Dave?

And why is he giving people my phone number? It's been going on since I got out to Salt Lake City. I answer the phone "Not Dave, can I help you?" and I get hung up on every time. I swear I'm going to shove my boots so far up his ass that he'll taste steel for a week if I ever find this bastard.

Dear goodness, I haven't been posting, really becuase I wasn't aware that Yana was gone already. Yep it appears this way. Oh well now your stuck with me for awhile. (come on you know you love me. you better :P)

Indoctrination and Conflict

First, why cats are so damned bad-ass.

Second, why I'm so damned bad-ass.

Classes started a week ago here at the University of Utah, so I thought it was time to buy my books. I went to the book store and spent half an hour finding half of my books- the others were out of stock. Then I checked my wallet. Much like a cartoon, moths flew out when I opened it. So I carried my books over to the ATM which is outside of the book store and slipped my card in. Tum te tum, dum de dum. I enter my PIN, ask for $250 in cold, hard cash, and wait. Transaction declined.

I glance to the left. I glance to the right. Nobody saw me take these books out of the store. I'm a college student. I'm about to buy a motorcycle. I can't afford educational books! What do they expect?!

But I'm an honest rat, so I take them back inside. I step up to a security woman, and ask where I can have them held for me. She gives me a blank look. I ask again: "Where can I have these books held, so I can get them later?" She gives me a blank look. A student comes over and tells me where the customer service desk is, so I go there and drop the books off. As I'm walking out, I hear somebody call: "Excuse me, sir!"

I felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned around. It was the woman who didn't understand English. She said: "Did you pay for that?"

"What?"

"Did you pay for that bag?"

I hadn't slept last night. My honesty just cost me $300 in over-priced text books. I was in a bad fucking mood. "You just saw me walk in with it."

"But it looks new. Did you pay for it?"

"Yes. At Fred Meyer's. Last week."

Snotty: "Do you have the receipt?"

I clenched my fists. I smiled sweetly. "No, ma'am, I don't carry receipts for every item of clothing I'm wearing." I pause, take a deep breath. "Did you pay for those pants? Because I don't see a receipt. I don't see any god-damned evidence that you paid for those pants."

She took a step back, a little surprised. Then she responded with, "Well, I need to see inside that bag." Glowering into her eyes, I unzipped the bag and pulled it open, displaying my notebooks and folders and pens. "That all looks new," she noted, haughty. "Did you steal those too?"

I took a deep breath. I took out a notebook and showed her the first three days worth of notes for French. Then I told her: "They're brand fucking new because classes started three fucking days ago."

So anyway... where was I... kinda lost my train of thought. Well anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say here is, I... hate... sauerkraut! And if you ever wake up and find yourself in an existential quandry, your life devoid of meaning, at least you can take some small comfort in knowing that there's still a little place called Salt Lake City.

...


Isn't it beautiful? Yes I am aware of my obsession with the Japanese language :)

Yes! haha I rule. [ well until yana finds out what i've done at least :P ]

i never felt alone... until i met you..

i'm probably going to unplug today.

i just spent a few hours reading about alzheimer's and such. why you ask? i'm going to be spending the next six months taking care of my grandma. i don't care what my mom says. maybe i will get so depressed that i'll burn out. but she's my fucking grandmother. so fuck parties, friends and life. i want the last few days, months or years of my grandmother's life to be at home and with someone she knows. that person is me.

i think god is testing me.. i don't like it. fuck you god. FUCK YOU. you can take your fucking test and shove it up your holy ass. you can kill off every fucking person i love but you're not going to win. i am. i'm going to win. i will come out on top of your holy fucking mountain. me. just me. then i will dance my victory dance and laugh at you. i can't wait.

[i hope this doesn't offend crystal. she respects "god" a lot more than i do.]

hahaha

some people are so classic:

just thought i would tell you.. since you havent replied to my last 3 msgs im deleting your sorry ass from my icq..

the question is.. should i cry now or later? hahahaha

..ohwell...

i changed my mind again.

sucks for the password-less i guess mwahahaha!

Jack in the box Irony.

a grungy looking man steps up to the coke dispenser, and presses the button, when a few pieces of ice fall to the floor. Instead of picking them up, he kicks them under the machine, leaving a nice puddle in an hour for some poor pimply faced teen to clean up. Then, he starts mumbling, bitching because someone accidently dropped a ketchup packet into the lemon for the iced tea container.

blogging away..

crystal will be kindly guest noting crap while i am away starting tuesday. sam might just be joining her and maybe even some other genius people i ask.

i know i know sam and my other genius friends won't be as bitchy or as interesting as me but we all know crystal is. so she'll make up for sam's boring posts about central park rollerbladers? oh you haven't heard those? you will, maybe.

[i highly doubt that anyone but crystal will do anything but i have faith heh]