Month: October 2005




  • Been sleepless lately. No matter what time I go to bed I end up waking up at three and five o'clock. It's like my body thinks I'm the Gorton's fisherman or something. I've tried sleeping at ten, twelve, and two. Same shit. I've tried drinking. No luck there, just empty bottles. Anybody have advice?


    I have a strange feeling it's because I don't have sex.




    This perdicament is probably why people came up with the idea to "save your virginity". It could very likely have absolutely nothing to do with wholesomeness or the love for a god. Think about it. Don't you know some virgin assholes and wonderful non-virgins? No? You're fucking lying.




    My theory is that people figured out withdrawal from sex can make you do some crazy shit. 'Like what' you ask? Well, there's this hole in a tree that is looking kinda fucking good to me right now.




    I'll use this last space to send out a warning. If anyone talks to me in person while I'm totally 'backed up', I might come off as a virgin asshole to you because my girlfriend isn't around to keep me in a wonderful mood. It could also be the fact that I am not a wonderful non-virgin to begin with, but an asshole non-virgin at heart. Either way, well, you won't like talking to me and chances are I won't like talking to you.




    Come to think of it, I was an asshole before I lost my virginity, too.





     



  • A friend of mine has gone through a few deaths this past weekend. I know what that's like.




    During dinner I had a conversation about sex, shit, and comedy clubs.


    Something's not right.




    The girlfriend is far away once again. I'm looking for something to do during the gaps she usally fills. The extra job isn't keeping me busy like I thought it would. In the past, this would be a time for me to get depressed and walk around with no pants. I don't think I'm going to do that this time; get depressed. Instead I'll try to find activities and friends to take out my boredom and inner sadness on.


    The pants are staying off, though. Gotta love the feeling of an icy October San Francisco wind on your balls. It's refreshing, like those stupid Sierra Mist commericals with the guy in frozen underwear. Although I don't like frozen underwear. It burns when frozen and gets super wet when it thaws.




    If you can find some point to this entry, well, you are a better man than me.





  • Because you care:
    lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice
    fleetwood mac
    mirage


    At about three thirty, I'm gonna MUNI to the BART station on Mission. Then I'm gonna catch a southbound train to SFO. Fleetwood Mac, Adriena Bartosova, and Zucchero will sing and play for me on my headphones as I stare out the blurry window. I don't know why, but there is something very comforting about isolating myself with music while on public trasportation. I like it better than driving.


    There's a flight leaving SFO for SEA a little after six, and I have a ticket to get on that flight. I mean, I don't have an actual paper ticket, but one of those electronic ones.(Meaning I shouldn't spill coffee on it.) The last paper ticket I got was probably in '94. I was 12 years old then and planes had paper menus in Economy.


    I'm fucking 24 years old now and peanuts have become too expensive to provide in Economy. At this rate Economy really will become cattle class because it'd be cheaper to move cows and people at the same time. Many redneck farmers will subsequently join the mile high club when they hear Old Betsy can ride with them on an aeroplane.


    I need to leave now. I have to pick up Old Betsy to sow some wild oats 30,000 feet up from here.



  • Sunday morning, 3:30am. The telephone wakes me up. I just got a couple hours of sleep after going to the re-opening of the De Young museum. It's the girlfriend.


    She was on her way to drop off a friend when an oncoming car passed by her. The occupants threw a full size pumpkin at her car, damaging the blinker light and the wheel well. That really pissed me off.


    C'mon, there are pranks and then there are idiotic moves. A prank like throwing eggs can piss you off, but it doesn't do anyone harm. A fucking pumpkin in oncoming traffic? That's just fucking dangerous.





    If you're a youngin' driving a black Lexus SUV with pumpkins in the back, stay away from me this weekend. I will beat you down with a pimp's fury.





    The girlfriend has requested I bring dressy clothes this weekend because we're going to a place called Bada Lounge. With a name like that you know everyone has to be dressed to the nines. Riiiiiiight.





     


  • Sorry, no photos for a while. Parents needed my camera for their trip to Taiwan and Japan. That means no images of food or park benches. I feel bad because you guys are missing out on a new series I was gonna do:

    Shit and how it floats in a toilet.


    There's this writer named Hipstomp who keeps getting his stuff copied by other bloggers. That shit is weird. The bloggers, not Hipstomp.


    Hey, I have to go. I'm eating at House with a friend and won't be able to take pictures of the food or what the food will transform into after I eat it.


  • Because you guys care:
    oh sherrie
    steve perry
    after all your words of steel


    Some people are marginally ugly. There are people who aren't very good looking. And then, there are some downright ugly motherfuckers. You know, so ugly that they know they're ugly and they know that you are thinking they are ugly. Do you ever feel bad for them, feel bad that they have to go through life like that?

    I'm talking so ugly that they look borderline retarded. So ugly that super braces couldn't keep their teeth from sticking out AT you.


    It might be fucked up of me to be thinking this shit, but the bus ride on Mission has it's fair share of ugly people. (Including yours truly.)

    But the bus ride usually has at least one beautiful female and, uh, male. The female is usually some designer or stylist who's wearing a wicked hair do and funky pair of jeans. The 'beautiful' male is usually some guy in high heels and sequined cocktail dress.


    One time me and my girl are in the car. We're stopped at the red light on 9th and Howard. She sees a couple of tall women crossing the intersection with pullmans.

    "Wow, they must be models," she says. "They're so tall."

    I squint a little bit. "That's because they're guys from Asia SF."

    "Oh, that would explain it."

    Anybody know if you can get the PENCK phone in the US?


  • Because you care:
    mais que nada
    adriena bartosova
    oba, oba, oba


    It's been asked a few times, what I do for a living. When asked that, normal people have normal answers. I'm a cop, an accountant, hooker, etc. Unfortunately I'm not normal. Far from it. I'm so far from normal that they wouldn't even let me on the short bus to go to school.


    Yes, I own a semi-new business that deals with industrial design and business solutions. This means I have a lot of bills and depend on a constant cash flow. It also means I sometimes take part time jobs in between my travels.

    Most importantly, it means I can do things like travel or clubbing if I feel like it. Clubbing as in I usually club my part time bosses in the face before I leave for a new country.

    So I guess you can say I'm a mediocre designer by trade, part time hire by necessity, and wannabe porno director(my resume is adorned with naked women).


    Now is an even better time to get a second job because my girlfriend has moved to Seattle. I literally have no one to do or travel extensively with.


    Deciding factors in getting a second job:

    -make and save more money by working seven days a week
    -Niners suck so bad that I can't bear to watch
    -sexually frustrated (less chance of a tantrum if I'm in public/working environment)
    -outlet for excess energy not being used for sex
    -need to buy a house in a couple years, would appreciate not eating ramen for the rest of my life after buying said house


    What the hell do you guys do?


  • Last Batch of Pics///Madrid///Day 5-7///



    The Prado, bitch.


    Apparently the founder of Goya foods is from Madrid. He put statues of himself all over the place. Probably because he is a dick.


    Dangerous intersections are marked by glorious monuments dedicated to Madridians whom have died there.


    It's Madrid's version of the Brandenburg Gate, El Brandenburg Puerta. No, wait. That must be wrong.


    Salty as fuck.


    Steak au poivre means jizz on steak.


    Unsatisfied with the jizz content on my previous lunch, I order a cup.


    Later I decide to balance my diet with menstruation.


    This is where we got a snack at 2:30 in the morning.


    Ice cream was very much in order.


    The more time I spent in Madrid the more I hoped I would meet a sculptor who could sculpt me into a fountain before I die.


    The world's only public monument to Lucifer.


    Spain has the best frozen urine in the world.


    More stuff about Lucifer.


    This is the stadium where they fight bulls. It smells like shit.


    Can someone refer me to a good Cuban place in San Francisco and Seattle? I'll trade info for this place in Madrid.


    More ice cream because I am determined to become fatter than suetalkstoomuch.


    In the event of an emergency landing over water, you will wear this ridiculous mammory-like vest so that we can laugh at your ass in case a shark doesn't eat your ass.


    I am ridiculously good looking.


    This shit came out of my ass hella fast.


    I want to go to Russia, but work won't let me for at least another nine months. Fucking sucks. Kinda like your mom.