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  • 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.



  • ///Madrid///Day 4///





    Our hero boards a train and receives an unheroic omlette.



    It tastes how it looks.



    Ate lunch at a pub. There were some Chinese-American tourists sitting on both sides of us (more about it later), but I chose not to capture them as it would ruin the picture. Chinese-American tourists ruin everything.



    This place is called the Museum of Ham. Note the retard in the far left corner.



    Puerta del Sol. It's where everyone gathers. You'll find a lot of college kids and other young adults dressed for booty. Me? I just walk around naked. Gets the point across much much faster.



    Found a small tapas bar in an alley, although she got mad at me because she thought I wanted to go into that topless bar down that alley.



    Some day, I would like a plaza this big in my house. I'd put my toilet right in the middle.





    Tourists are an interesting bunch. Especially the ones from the States.


    We're eating at a pub and in walk a Chinese couple and a Chinese-American family of four. After 15 minutes, the Chinese couple walks out. They have no idea how to order. I overhear they only have an hour to get back to the bus. An hour for lunch in a Spanish pub? They were smart to leave.


    The family asked for and received an English menu. They order and start talking amongst themselves. Loudly.


    Then the brother hurts the little sister's feelings. The mother scolds in Chinese while the father clearly questions his choices in life. I'm getting irritated.


    Then they call the waiter.


    "We only have an hour for lunch so can you hurry up?"


    The waiter, in true Spanish fashion, hasn't even put in their order yet. They get up and leave, pissed obviously.


    To me it's weird, though. They were in the same tour group as the other Chinese couple. Why not share a table and help them order? And why choose a sit down place to eat when you clearly have a limited time off of the bus?


    When I see shit like this and remember all of the tour groups my Dad dragged me on, it makes me detest how tours are run. I should run tours. I'd be like the best tour guide in the world.


    Because I'd do it while naked.





    I'm joking about traveling thousands of miles to order ham and cheese at a tapas bar when the couple next to us realizes we're Americans, too. They also need help ordering. So we help and end up chit chatting.


    A few minutes later, it's evident these are good people with bad luck. They thought a hotel above Puerta del Sol would be great. Boy were they wrong. They tell us about the never ending noise in Madrid's most active plaza and the giant neon sign facing their room.


    Oh, and there's no air conditioning.


    They're a couple of empty nesters and have travelled quite a bit, so it's no big deal to them. Part of the experience, you know? I tell Kinky that I want to skip to that part of life. The kids are grown and we can resume romping around the world.


    She says you need to find the right girl first.


    Hahahahaha.





    Spanish television sucks. Their version of American Idol is boring and two hours too long. It also seems to be on every night of the week.


    After walking around a bit we get back to the hotel and, well, none of your business.


    Okay, okay, okay. We showered. Seperately. The bathrooms are crazy small. Like my nuts. Anyway.


    We decide to hit the hay at around 3:00am. Earlier I had noticed that our hotel was on the same street as a few clubs and bars. Not that much sound, so I figured we wouldn't have to suffer through what that American couple was suffering through.


    At 4:00am, people were in the streets singing. I wake up and look. The street has turned into a river of people. The noise is crazy. But hey, part of the experience right?


    The sound doesn't let up until 5:00 or 5:30. I finally fall asleep.


    Until the keg deliveries come at 6:30. Kathunk! Kathunk! Kathunk! until 7:30.


    We decide to do the Spanish thing and wake up at 10:00. I also decide that I will have to get drunk later to get some sleep.





  • ///BARCELONA///DAY 1 + DAY 2///


    Tapas...


    ...and chorizo.


    I don't care how good they might be. I ain't eating anyone's balls.


    They're raising money for matching uniforms.


    Look everyone, cypherningya is showing off his penis.


    In Spain: People dress worse than their pets.


    I couldn't get enough plane food so I had it on the ground, too.


    Barcelona's airport has the most inefficient immigration line in the world. You get off the plane and there aren't any signs telling you where to go. I assumed I'd need to go down escalators and I was right. Later I would hear that if you had proceeded up escalators you would get your ass sniffed by german shepherds.

    I'm not joking.

    Anyway, so you go down escalators right, and then you realize you can't really get off because the line for immigration butts up right at the landing of the escalator. So you kinda have to grab ass your way up to the head of the line where two whole agents stamp passports. It's like they slowly stamp the passports just to fuck with everyone on the escalators. I mean, they don't even look at you. They just look down, holding in their snickers.


    I know a handful of Spanish words. The words I know consist mostly of what Speedy Gonzalez yells when he runs real fast. So imagine you're me for a second(there, I probably made your day better already). You're at the back of a long ass line that resembles a blob of people. Your stomach hurts. The people around you are mostly Spanish and you are learning that they stink a lot worse than the French. But above all else, imagine having the world's worst stomach ache.

    The pain is excruciating and I consider taking a fat shit in my backpack. I chew two Immodiums instead.


    An hour and a half later and I'm at the hotel my gf and her friend have been at for a while(they left a week before me). My ass launches some Iraqi SCUD missiles and I am reminded why I hate taking shits in Europe. The water is so far away from your ass that taking a shit has a cannon ball in a tiny pool effect.

    I haven't been in Spain for more than a few hours and I have diarrhea and a soaked ass. But here's the worst part. I'm almost ashamed to share it. Every time the water splashes, it seems to hit me directly on the anus. Jesus, I'm shuddering just typing that. I can deal with cold hands, feet, even balls. But a cold anus just makes me crazy.


    I finish up my bathroom duties and discover the girls cracking up because they heard every single drop of shit and toilet water. I let them laugh for a few minutes. Then I slap them till my hands turn red. They come back to their senses and we decide to go out to eat.

    As I walk out the door I'm excited but worried. Something's wrong but I ignore it, hoping it won't bite me back in the ass later.


    ///BARCELONA///DAY 2///


    There's this guy named Gaudi.


    He built this park.


    It has a great view.


    And a long wrap around bench.


    It's cool, unlike you.


    Obligatory backlit shot.


    The crane is actually older than the church.


    They meet everyday for coffee and gossip.


    We eat here for lunch.


    They're big on cured ham in Spain. Flies are pretty big on ham, too. I could make a clever reference to Spanish Fly, but I'm not clever.


    Crazy mutated shrimp.


    As I walk around Barcelona today there is a pain from yesterday that has not subsided. Luckily, I've stopped shitting because I shat eight times yesterday. A bit above my daily average of three times a day.

    It's lucky I've stopped shitting because I think my asshole is flipped inside out. Everytime I sit down it fucking hurts. I think I need one of those inflatable donuts. Or Preparation H. It almost feels like part of my intestine is hanging out of my ass. It really fucking hurts.

    I can't stress that enough.

    In an effort to make myself feel better during the siesta (and to avoid telling anyone), I fill up the bathtub with hot water and crouch in it for a few minutes. Then I get called to go out for more sight seeing, shopping, and eating.



    More Gaudi.


    I don't think he likes right angles.


    Picasso's place right next to a basilica.


    "Who's that weird Chinese pervert taking our photo?"


    His shirt does not impress her.


    There's a market with overpriced sandals outside the basilica.


    I told you it was a basilica.


    Ignore Dave Matthews and drink it.


    I mean, how can it not be clean? The fountain is outside and has a cool horse rider on top.


    And pigeon shit is so good for your body. It'll flip your asshole inside out.


    In Spain: Pigeons are second rate citizens and ducks are worshipped. They get their own condo.


    That's not his cock.


    A lot of humping went on in that building in 1992. It's where Olympians stayed.


    I don't know what fascination Barcelona has with balls, but it's starting to disturb me.


    Told you explorers just point and say, "That way." (For you douches that care, this is Christopher Columbus' monument.)


    This sign is actually older than the doors!


    I almost took a shit right here.


    She's tweaking her nipple.


    There's a fountain show just down the hill from Parc de Montjuic and the Olympic Games sites.

    I took a shit there.

    Note: Had to leave my camera on the charger for the third day in Barcelona. You're not missing much because I just went shopping. Oh, and my asshole flipped back in on the third day. That made me happy.


  • Food at Dahlia's, some mediterranean joint, and dessert cafe in the gay district(can't remember the name of the place or the district).


    July 30 - August 1

    We head up to U-Dub to look for an apartment for her. She's naturally indecisive and it carries over to hunting for an apartment. There are some really shitty houses and apartments in Seattle's U-District. And I can't shake a correlation of U-District and U-Bahn in Berlin. What a crap area.

    It's also freaking expensive.


    The Chevy Cobalt is a peppy car, almost as quick as a Neon. It's weird how Enterprise will rent these fuckers out to under 25 males. I mean, I'm male and under 25 and I drove the shit out of that car. Speed bump? Pssshaw.

    Clank!!!

    "Good thing I got the full coverage."


    She insists on staying at the University Inn and I can't get a good night's sleep. Some fool in the street starts yelling in the middle of the night and I contemplate starting up the rental car and hitting him. What do I care? I've got full coverage.

    Anyway, it's weird when you are in a city for a weekend for purposes that are not quite business, not quite personal, nor not quite social. Looking for an apartment is just strange because it ain't taxing, but you also shouldn't just go out and have fun. You have a job to do.


    We see a few houses for sale and we give them the once over. She'll be here for at least five years (ph. D program) so I might be coming up in two or three. The good news is I'm not shocked by the prices for a piece of shit because the market in Seattle is just as crazy as the market in SF. The bad news is I can afford houses in neither market right now.

    But this is for the future, right? That's what I say. Just planning for the future.

    Christ, I'm growing up.


    Coming up next:

    Pictures, of course, and all of the following less one:

    A) My trip to Spain
    B) Trying to speak Spanish (I don't)
    C) Nudity on the streets of Barcelona
    D) Women with excess arm hair
    E) Faggy guys
    F) Tapas bar not what I thought it was
    G) Penelope Cruz works on a train(non-sexually...I think)





  • Pictures on the way.







  • Sometimes I have weird dreams where I am someone else who loses a girl to another man. It's weird because I'm not sad or pissed or happy in these dreams. I just look up to see her gone and I just fucking cope. Like I welcome the loneliness.


    I used to push everyone away from me because I tend to think and execute better when I'm alone and isolated. My best work has usually been made when I was just fucking coping. Like if the world didn't notice me I'd do better.


    And it's funny, because even during school, university, and right now, people might recognize my work but they'll never link it to me. Makes me feel good, though. Because I'm a bit of a hermit and socially inept. But work recognized feels good because it means that on some level, I might connect with others.





    Don't get me wrong. I don't have nationally recognized shit or world renown. I'm merely good at what I do. Not great, not bad, just good.





    You know how people remember their first kiss? Anyone remember their first miss? Like you shoulda done something but you were way too chicken shit or stupid?


    Like she was already in your arms, you were looking down, she was looking up, you really want to plant one on her, but you look away because you're a pussy? Or how about the one where you were too tired to realize anything? You know, you haven't slept for days and you want to nap so she offers her bed but you take the sofa because you guys had a big lunch and you don't want to walk to her room even though you want to hold her so so bad.


    No? Uh, me neither.





    My girlfriend brought out the bravery in me.





    If you're wondering, most of my dirty humor has gone straight into the screenplay. Using xanga to switch tracks because a different train is coming through the story now.