Out of Left Field

So, last night I was informed a friend of mine is getting engaged. He's getting engaged to a girl his parents weren't too keen on him dating when they first found out about it (and if you think it's a little "feh" kinda thing, it's not, apparently his father couldn't get out of bed when he heard who he was dating). Not only that, around 2am last night I got a text from this kid saying he wants me to be one of the best men at the wedding. A) his parents would call me to try and talk this kid out of dating this girl (I am surprised I haven't gotten a call from them to tell me to try and convince him to call off the wedding... unless this is all a giant joke he's playing). B) if this is indeed a real wedding that is about to take place, I will be seen swigging from my GWAR flask several times through out the ceremony. A rather large swig will be taken at the "speak now or forever hold your peace" part as well. and then C) With all this in mind, what kind of fucking speech are you supposed to give during this kinda situation?

In other news I had a make up for my creative writing class that was supposed to be held yesterday but wasn't due to some Jewish holiday. The teacher kept coming up to me asking me my opinion on things and I would just shrug my shoulders or give him some half assed answer, followed by wondering why the fuck he is picking on me for so many things. Later on he gave us a very short story to read for homework and go over to talk about in class tomorrow about the writing style and why it is so good. The whole time he kept bringing up this one style and asking why someone would use it and why it is so good. The entire time he also was holding this large packet of pages i saw with notes written all over it. Then I thought to myself "jesus, that is the story I submitted last week." He raised it in the air and said how I used the style very well and more people should learn from my writing and so forth. The word genius was tossed around too. Who would have thought rants about high level alcohol benders would be considered borderline genius story telling? The notes are hilarious. Well, hilarious to me cause they're written as if the people were made up characters and not friends of mine I got retarded with out in California. Shit said such as how he loves my main character and thinks I should develop my secondary characters a bit more, possibly giving them more dialogue, etc. Other notes like how the teacher would like to hear more about this character and his adventures and see how much trouble he gets in (lord if he only knew the shit I've gotten into over the years... I think my next submission might be about the time me and some friends tried stealing another friend's car when we were 18 to see his thoughts on that one). This teacher is also very adamant about me trying to get this story and similar stories published. here in the fuck would I go about doing that? (I'm fairly sure it's an automatic A in the class, so please, do tell me how if you know) Also, if anyone could tell me why on God's green Earth I have that fucking Better Than Ezra song "Good" stuck in my head earlier today, I'm open to suggestions not only as to why but how never to get it stuck in there again.

I dunno what else I wanted to say in here, so here's the first few paragraphs of the story in question:

I knew this trip was going to be a bit wild, especially seeing how Loki and me were heading to the airport directly after the bar in Suffern, but I never thought it'd be so ridiculous so fast.

"Sir, are you a diabetic? ARE YOU GOING INTO DIABETIC SHOCK? Are you on any prescriptions that we need to know of? Do you need help? Do we need to take the plane down for an emergency?" Coming to consciousness, finding yourself sprawled across the floor in the back of the airplane to the barrage of these questions is not something you usually expect from a standard plane ride, but then again, you're not me and nothing apparently is standard when I'm around.

I came to after hearing these questions and answer "huh? what?" I look around and see 3 stewardesses hovering over me with the utmost looks of concern and shock as I kind of put up one arm to block the flashlight in my eyes. One stewardess piped up and goes "Sir, you look very pale, is there any health problems you have we should attend to?" I try and shimmy my body up against the back wall of the airplane as I reply with "I know, I'm always pale. Just leave me alone, I have to piss or puke. Just leave me alone." AS I'm sitting there, another stewardess comes running up with a damp, cold paper towel and throws it on top of my forehead and starts patting my face. I kind of do one of my Frankenstein arm toss and grunts. You know the one, the one where he yells “FIRE! BAD!” But, that wasn’t the case. My case was that I just let out "I HAVE TO PEE!" They point to the bathroom door, and don't tell me this isn't the standard door one would expect. I start pulling on it really hard like some dumb ape and grunting trying to get it open. I throw my arms in the air in frustration and exhaustion and am about to sit back down on the floor until one of the stewardesses tells me "sir, you have to push into the door and it will collapse and open." I looked at her like she was on drugs when she told me this and start shoving into the door. Weird shit, it worked just like she said it would. I must say, pissing during turbulence isn't fun. I kicked the door open to exit and staggered back to my seat to find where I threw my hat and ipod. Memories came back of me standing up to throw those 2 items down onto my seat as I stood up. All I remember after that instance was that I was taking a footstep and then what I can only describe a feeling as if someone hit me on the back of the head and everything went black. Obviously, no one was standing behind me and striking me across the back of my head, but yea. All of this happened within an hour of the plane having had taken off and us being up in the air.

When the plane landed, several stewardesses came up to me to make sure I was ok. They offered me drinks (which I said yes to only to find out the drink offered was orange juice) and sandwiches (which thank God I declined, because they had intentions of charging me 6 buck for a turkey sandwich I would have refused to have eaten because it had turkey in it). When I finally gave in to their repetitive questioning as to what it could have been that made me do what happened, I kind of just lied to them and told them it was a mixture of not eating dinner and not getting a good night's sleep. They believe it and I obviously didn't want to tell them it was most definitely because for 6 hours straight me, Loki and an ass-ton of people we know headed over to Suffern for a night of nonstop drinking pints of booze and shots of God only knows what. Apparently Loki's brother had to corral the two of us out of the bar cause we wanted to stay and keep drinking. I was reminded after the whole ordeal of me being in California that I was just a mess in the back seat staring at my cell phone as Loki was dead to the world in the shotgun seat, snoring his heart out. He and I sat there the next day when we got off the plane, staring at one another, hung over as all hell asking one another “how did we get on the pane in the first place?” Loki didn’t even remember leaving the bar, let alone, how he got on the friggin’ plane. All I remember is the two of us stumbling around, Loki dropping all his belongings all over the airport and being told he had to check his bags.

Anyway, after the two of us landed, we staggered off the plane like those zombies in Michael Jackson’s music video for Thriller. First on the agenda after arriving at LAX was to rent a car. We hopped some bus to the rental car place after sitting there, trying to remember the night prior as well as me loudly pointing out how ugly these 2 girls were sitting near us on the plane. I of course, not having any sense of care, was probably loud enough for not only the 2 said girls, but also everyone at the baggage claim to hear me go “UGHHH, SO FUCKING BRUTE LOOKING!” At the rental car place, we were given the choice of a full sized car. We saw a Dodge Charger, but the keys weren't in it. We were thoroughly disappointed and ended up sticking with a white Chevy Impala (I later found out there were V-8 Impalas when we returned the car and was kind of disappointed). But yea, we hit Denny's and sat there staring blankly at each other, grunting in pain and hating on what we eventually figured out was a fire alarm beeping every five seconds (you know, when you need to change the battery, and it keeps letting out that annoying high pitched beep? Yea, try sitting there eating your food while that is going off and causing the utmost annoyance since you have a hangover like no other).

On The Way to the Wedding, Dressed in Black

First of all, it is 11:20am and I am still drunk from the night before. Like, REALLY drunk, still. I dont even remember what I wanted to say. I guess I'll start with how my creative writing class went. I brought in an old blog I wrote many moons ago on myspace about me and Loki's trip to California about a year ago for his birthday. I had to read it to the class. At least half the class had their jaws dropped at how ridiculous the parts of the story I read were. After I read it to the class, the teacher asked me if the story was a autobiography or a fictional piece. I sat there wondering if I should admit I sound like some sociopathic alcoholic or if I should try and pass it off as a fiction piece. My reply was "well... um... if you're asking how I came up with the idea for the first part where the main character gets drunk and passes out on the plane and all the stewartesses run to me thinking I'm a diabetic... that was all yo," and pointed to myself. The entire class' collective jaws were dropped by this point. I tried passing it off as a fictional piece even more so and it was funny to hear the responses. People were like "I can relate to the main character." I sat there thinking to myself "no, you cant cause you think I'm a dirtbag ang ignore me." The best part was the teacher was saying how he liked the development of the main character and said something like "I like how the main character is always getting into trouble. You know, he's getting drunk on airplains, he's getting into scuffles in public bathrooms, he's shoving his finger in the noses of random girls he meets on the street... I see this character getting into bigger trouble as the story goes on." My reply to him was "oh, you don't even know..." I think at this point some other people in my class started to realize the main character was me (sorry Loki, Mike and JV but I didn't censor your names thinking they'd think it was just a fictional piece). Around this time, the girl I will refer to as "the dog faced woman" said "I think the main character is kinda cute," and then blushed and kinda got all shy. I just gave her this "not in a million years" look. I'm not sure I even know what that constitues looking like, but yea...

I'd give you a excerpt of the story, but I'm at work and don't have it in front of me, and just checking myspace, I realize it's so old that they don't have it saved anymore (which reminds me, if anyone saved my old blogs from myspace, please get in touch with me cause I really want them. Only person I know who saved my old blogs from years ago falls under the list of "girls who don't talk to me anymore after they got a boyfriend." Yea, I'm that awesome that once a skirt finds a dick, I am considered untalkable to. Horrah!

So um... yea.

Last night was pretty fun. I went to the Doomsday Prophecy show cause I haven't seen them in a while and havent really hung out with anyone from Jersey since I moved back to New York. (Hopefully that changed in the next few weeks when I get a new car and square away some legal problems with the law and the like). Anyway, I showed up and it's like I'm the fucking Don when I show up to a place I haven't seen a bunch of people in a while (I am kinda wondering how going to this upcoming Danzig show is gonna be. Last time I saw Danzig I had to make the rounds and say hello to so many people that my sister kinda had to sit in the corner by herself until Jared met us up). Anyway, have you seen the way kids "dance" at metal and hardcore shows lately? Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the guy who steals cable television. This one kid looked like Donald Duck on crack by the way he did his "moves". I swear by the end part of the Doomsday Prophecy set these 2 kids were fucking playing patty-cakes as they were two stepping. I am fucking serious. I am speechless just thinking of some of the goons at that place. Oh, and the worst was this girl that tj pointed out looked like Klaus Nomi (you know, this guy):



Yes, I'm serious. Not only did she look like that with long blond hair, but she was like 6'5". Talk about scary.

Anyway, Doomsday Prophecy slayed, and you suck for not liking them or even catching any of their shows. Loki's new guitar is a fucking piece of art that should be displayed in a museum it is so sweet. I told him repeatedly to go fuck himself for getting such a nice guitar. If you're wondering, it's this magnificent piece of work that was custom built by Music Man and it, matched up with his fucking tube amp, squealed and chugged like a fucking demon. I still have a slight ringing in my ear from that fucker. By the way, their show slayed. The other bands? Yea, well, they gayed. My GOD were those bands the suck. The worst was the band who was supposed to be headlining drew no one compared to Doomsday and the singer was wearing tight little bike shorts circa 1980. He tried getting everyone to come in to see his band while we were all outside smoking after the Doomsday set and TJ looked at him and said "i don't take orders from people wearing gay bike shorts, who do you think you're ordering around with those things?" Eventually, his loser friends all started rolling up their already short shorts to match his ball hugging shit.

I dunno where else I'm going with this. I'm too drunk and just zoned out for a while. I know no one is coming into the office today so I'm gonna go back to sleeping in the back room (shoes off, legs up on someone's desk... getting paid to do this shit is the sweet life).

Oh yea, and I am going to TJ and Dennis' parents anniversary party after work. Maybe I'll be sober by then (cause right now I am a MESS and I vaguely remember Dennis driving my car home when we got back to NY cause I was beligernet and refusing to adhere to whatever it was TJ was telling me when I got out of his car).

Haikus and Other Shit

So, I have been writing for classes and other crap-holes lately and haven't written shit in here. I dunno what's been going on lately. Not much? I went to the Rangers game yesterday. They beat Detroit. Good. Ran into Loki. Good. Drank with Mike, Mitch and Ritch. Good. Found out Danzig is playing December 26th in Jersey REALLY GOOD.

Tomorrow I gotta read aloud a story I wrote. I chose the piece (and I use the term lightly) on the time me and Loki went to LA this past October (wow, it's been almost a year now) for his birthday and met up Mike and JV while they were on the fall leg of their tour. I'm sure the criticism will be that I curse too much and I write too much about drunken debauchery. Whatever. I have my responses lined up for such criticism such as, "shut up" and "who the hell are you? Shut up."

Also, I was assigned to write 5 or more Haikus for the creative writing class I'm taking. Instead of writing about love or the seasons of the year, I went the way of the haiku stylings of SomethingYouShouldRead.com. So, here they are:

xbox Live

Twelve year olds yelling
Dropping the "N" Bomb like it's
going out of style


The Simpsons

A cartoon about
a dysfunctional family.
This is getting old.

Disney Buys Marvel Comics

How long now until
we see Mickey Mouse swinging
from a spider's web?

"May Not Contain Original Members"

How long can a man
milk his original band's work
for financial gain?

Hollywood

Why won't Hollywood
stop making these crappy
remakes and sequels?

Madonna

Old frumpy women
should not dress like that and look
like a teenage slut.

Thank you, thank you. I know, I am the next Matsuo Basho (he's a famous haiku author for those of you who are the poorly educated).

Blame it on the Rain

*WARNING: This is a long winded rant about the past 2 and a half days. It probably suffers from poor grammar and horrible spelling. It is to shut you, the reader who bothers me for not writing anymore, up.*

This past Thursday and Friday had been nothing but a hedonistic alcohol fused tornado of awesome.

Thursday started off long and boring but ended with... um? some kinda bang we'll call it. I went downtown during lunch to get Joe's Pizza and check out some record shops (I have a feeling I'm gonna be doing this until I get either the Cobra or the Chrysler back on the road. Chances of the Cobra getting fixed any time soon are slim to none... to the fact I might just push it off a cliff fairly soon. But yea, I finally got that "spoken word" album that is just this 12" vinyl record that compiles Paul Bearer's best rants from over the years of touring with Sheer Terror and heckling the crowd between songs. I think it's called No Really, Go Fuck Yourself. I haven't had a chance to sit down and listen to this masterpiece of trash talking, but I'm sure it's hilarious. I also got my hands on an original, 1st pressing, of Dead Kennedys' EP "In God We Trust, Inc." good shit.

But yea, nothing too crazy happened in the city besides some weirdo who kept kicking a pay phone trying to get it to work and only stoppded doing so to tell me he thought Danzig was the shit (he said this cause I was wearing my Danzig hoodie).

Anyway, I was feeling exhausted by the time I finally got on the highway back home. For some reason instead of taking a nap or something a normal person would do when they're tired, I just sat around watching tv and eventually making myself dinner. Did I mention that the only way worse way for your eye to tear up from chopping onions is to actually get a piece of onion flung into your eye? Yea, not fun. I made ghetto tacos. Not only that, I cooked for 2 or 3 people... but those 2 or 3 people just happened to be me, me and me. I ate as much as I could and put the leftovers away. I hopped in the shower, then proceeded to get a nice amount of shampoo in my eye like a jackass, and got dressed to go out (by that, I mean the usual t-shirt, jeans, hoodie and glob of pomade in my hair combo).

By the time I got to Scott's house, I was doing my usual old man complaints. My stomache is bothering me (obviously cause I had a taco feast unto myself), I'm tired, I'm thirsty, bla bla bla. We then headed off to the city, but made a quick pit stop before we hit the highway. I made Scott go to the bodega in town and get me something that'd wake me up. He came back with 2 double shot expressos in a can and another can of monster energy drink. Not only that, but he was on the phone with who we thought was Dan (but when I asked Dan the next day, he started laughing and said he wished he pranked Scott saying the shit this mongo was telling him). I dunno. The guy called doing a bad southern accent and saying stupid shit and also mentioned he was recording the call to show the cops he's threatening to murder him or somethign retarded (come to think of it, I think I know who it is now... whatever).

Anyway, we got down to Turtle Bay where Jeff was bartending that night. We walked in and went away from the guy working the door. We weren't sure if he was collecting money at the door or what, so I just bought a round of drinks and we walked past him without looking at him just in case he did want money from us. We then decided to go upstairs to A) see what it looked like up there and B) to see if Jeff was up there. He was and what happened for the rest of the night was drunken fiascos. Well, more like a normal night out for me and Scott.

First of all, may I let it be known that I want to murder every bartender in there? (well, besides jeff). Thursday night was the starting point and when I had to deal with them again last night (I'll get to that later), I just wanted to come back with a mini gun and mow the entire place down. I dunno who to hate more froM Thursday night more though. The douchebag with the frosted tips, taking girls cameras and doing these gay myspace poses, or the other douche and a half. Why is the other guy a bigger douche by half a douche? Because later in the night, when Pac met us up, Jeff asked me "you guys want shots?" (side note: Jeff never charges us for shit and on top of that, our drinks are usually doubles or tripples or just straight whatever liquor we ordered). So yea, shots are of the high end variety and don't cost a thing cause it's Jeff. Anyway, I tell Jeff to get us rumple minz and he asks one of the 2 bartenders where the bottle of that was cause he couldn't find it. The douche and a half and the frosted tips fag (seriously, who in the fuck frosts their tips? people who took a time machine and went back to 1995 to live a dull, fruity and menial life?) tell Jeff they don't have it. Douchey-Halfy rushes over to me and tells me they don't have it and then tells me they have Blackhaus instead. I tell him I am not drinking that shit. He asks me what I want instead. I tell him "I told him just to get me whiskey if you guys didn't have it." Douche and half asks "what kind?" I said "i don't know, he'll surprise me." The guy runs away and comes back going "you wanted 4, right?" I go "uh, sure, whatever," figuring Jeff would take care of it and I wouldn't pay (or well, I was gonna hand Jeff some loot for him for the rest of the night as a tip). Turns out the guy decided to take the order as his own and then hands me 4 mini plastic piece of shit cups that were the poorest excuses for shots and goes "that'll be 32 dollars." I look at him and go "what?" He goes "yea, 4 shots of this is 32 dollars." Me and Pac threw a 20 in each figuring the change of that is more than enough for 4 shots. The guy comes back and gives me the change and says "it was red label by the way." I threw the money back down on the table (maybe me and pac took it back, i don't remember) and when I told Pac and Scott what the guy said to me we all started going off on how red label is nothing to write home about and that guy being, indeed, a douche and a half.

The night only got worse in douchebaggery from there. The people in there were of the frat boy mentality. WE were probably the oldest people in there, save for the guy who looked like ernest hemmingway's slightly younger brother and the token africans bathroom attendant who I automatically hate, cause seriously sitting outside a bathroom and cornering you to take a paper towel and pay him a dollar for doing something you could have easily done yourself, then asking if you shit like if you want a stick of gum or to douse yourself in jacour noir and smell like trash.

highlights include me and scott laughing at some kid who looked like he just came from his own bar mitzvah, some dude wearing combat boots, ripped to shit levis, a flannel shirt with matching bow tie and a suit vest hitting on some girl, losers line dancing to Santeria by Sublime and the worlds worst DJ. I acutally started yelling at him that he sucks and I hope he goes to hell. Seriously, he was playing What's my Age Again by Blink-182 (strike one) and then started blairing that siren sample every Dj and their half-retarded mother has over and over again like it was late night on Hot 97 with Funk Master Flex (strike two through eleven). One guy said to me "hey, I don't see you up there doing what he's doing." I went off on the guy saying something about how I don't consider some fat kid with his ipod of shitty music he listened to at some state college and a sample box of sound effects downloaded off some my first dj gig website hooked up to a pa system as a dj.

Eventually Scott and I just couldn't take anymore reasons to hate humanity and we left. Scott was a blithering mess and a half. Why? Um, I don't know where to start off. A) He lost his cell phone at the bar. B) he fell backwards on an escalator going up. C) when I stopped to ask a cop for directions to the nearest E line subway, he ran screaming that he didn't want to talk to a cop, then as I was talking to the cop, Scott slipped in the soaking wet rain, in the middle of the street and was laying there. The cop said to me "are you kidding me? is your friend drunk?" I said "no...." and ran to grab Scott before the cop could get to him, carrying (more like dragging) Scott down the street yelling "move your legs if you don't want a ticket for public drunkenenss!" D) when we finally got onto the E and were maybe 2 stops away from the transfer to the A, Scott gets up and runs off the train screaming we're going in the wrong direction and to get off the train. After realizing I wasn't gonna win that argument, I ran off the train after him to drag him back onto the train, but it was too late. What happened next? E) We had to wander up and down the west side highway looking for a cab to take us up to Inwood. 3 guys let us in and then told us they refused to drive us up there, probably thinking we wanted the bad part of teh bronx (which is just about every part of the bronx). I'd have to drag scott out of these cabs cause he refused to get out not understanding anything going on. I finally got some guy and as things went on realized more and more this guy was a crook. First of all, I realized he started taking us the long way and started cursing him out going "I swear to God, if your dumb ass brings us to brooklyn I will murder you" and other variations of that threat. Also, his meter would jump 4 bucks every 30 seconds to a minute. Also, I eventually noticed he didn't have a taxi license in the window to prove he's legit til he saw me staring at all the info he actually did have and slipped something in there thinking I was too drunk to realize.

What pissed me off was a mixture of that whole BS with the cabbie, Scott repeatedly opening the window and letting rain in as he layed there half alive in the back seat and the fact I had to pay this piece of shit 35 dollars (which he kept insisting cash only as I siad to go fuck himself cause I see a credit card machine in the back). Yea. I asked Scott to give me money but he just kept mumbling no as I literally kicked him to get out of the car.

We finally got to Dennis' garage in Inwood, where we parked. His immigrant worker who speaks no English kept yelling at me thinking I had to pay kept yelling in Spanish for me to stop and I just told him to shut up leave me alone and got in the car and took off.

2 seconds after we leave the garage and Scott musters up enough energy to yell at me to stop at the Hess station right before the highway to get food and drinks. I said fine cause I was starving. I gave him 7 bucks to get me chips and a drink. I shoulda went myself cause Scott couldn't get it in his mind that the reason the door wasn't opening the 12 or so times he tried ripping it open was cause you have to order through one of those drive thru-like windows to get what you want. I kept yelling at him from the car to just go to the window but he just kept sitting there yanking on the door and punching it til I said to get back in the car cause the guy was screaming he was gonna call the cops. Here's a photo of Scott trying to finally crawl through the drive-thru slot to get the guy, not to tell him waht we wanted, but to open the door as the guy kept yelling at him:



Eventually I dropped him off and got 2 hours of sleep before having to wake back up. I'm glad I didn't have to do the whole "you're gonna kill me" bit with him that he usuially does when he gets that drunk and thinks i'm going to kill him and dump him in the woods for some fucking reason.

But yea, Friday morning rolled around. I went to my mom's job in the Bronx and passed out in her office for a few hours. Hopped the train to Queens to meet up Romil and try and see the US Open. What ended up happening instead was we got bombed starting at 11am til 5pm there. We were in this expensive restaurant til about 2:30pm drinking and eating, then from then til 5 we wandered the stadium realizing the game was never gonna happen. You meet some weirdos at the US Open it seems. Well, ok, most are of the usual snobish persuasion (especially since we had those expensive court side seats that snobs are usually the only ones to buy up). But then there was this one guy wearing a miami dolphins hat and shirt with a cooperstown windbreaker. As he wouldn't leave the two of us alone more and more, it dawned upon me that he was some beyond crazy sports nut. Was he a Dolphins fan? No. Why was he wearing Dolphins hat and shirt? Cause the Williams sisters live in Florida and I'm pretty sure Serena has some stakes in the Dolphins franchise. Yea, he's one of those people that'll hear oh, so and so likes such and such. Lemme do something to get their attention with said thing they like. You know? like hot girl likes a band. you wear a shirt with that band's logo on it next time you know you're gonna see her, stupid conversaion pops up, bla bla bla. Did I mention not only did this guy (his name was Jeff something or other) live in Pittsburg, but he frequented to Dallas to catch Cowboys home games, he was a Canadians fan (who the fuck like the Canadians besides the damn idiots from that part of Canada that like hockey?), he claims to have been to over 1,000 Bob Dylan concerts all across America and he claims to hold the most innings pitched at some fucking special game held at cooperstown once a year between old farts and retired baseball hall of famers. Good for him and his weird ass.

Yea, whatever. We texted Dan and met him up at Union Bar for drinks. after ordering a basket of french fries to fill my stomache and get some patron cafe to wake me up, we ordered another round, that turned into the hot bartender we like giving us round after round of free shots. We became filled with more booze and a wild streak. It started on the subway. Me and Dan just kept yelling "PAY YO FARE!" over and over ala this one scene from Mo Money. Hilarity took it a step up when we realized 3 times we missed the stop we needed. The last time we got off the right train stop, Dan just goes and slaps some random dude right on the ass and then gave him a thumbs up, scaring the crap out of the guy.

We got to the bar and just started shouting. We grabbed a back table and kept yelling at the dykey waitress to give us drinks and to tell the dj to "play some fucking 80s music." haaa. Booze kept flying. My tab went from 30 bucks to 80 bucks after ordering rounds of shots left and right in an order or two. I kept mocking some dude with a giant dookie chain that was the stereotypical "yea, i grunt while i get my swell on at the gym" kinda douche.a midget walked in and gave me a high five later on (I guess he didn't see me laughing my ass off watching him just shove people out of the way on the dance floor to get to the bar). I don't even remember why. I think he said I was hilarious or something. I Can't blame him, right?

Romil eventually left us cause A) He had to catch the last ferry back to Jersey before it was too late and B)Cause by that point, me and Dan were being the biggest assholes to anything that would give us the time of day. I wish I could remember the shit said to girls in that place. It probably wasn't as epic as those nights us 2 and Scott would just go to the bar and be sloppy messes screaming at people, cursing them out for no reason, but whatever.

We ended up back at Dan's place and I got a ride home from there somehow. My mom had to put up with a very drunk me and lord only knows the shit spewing out of my mouth at that point in the night.

Anywya, yesterday was a stupid street fair outside my office. I hated it. It was raining. I stayed in the office and ignored as much as I could. Tried going back to Turtle Bay to get Scott's phone for him while he was at work. This is why I want to burn that place down (besides all the lowlifes that go there now). First person I dealt with; fat slob bartender who spent about 10 mintues talking to her friends sitting there than serving anyone or even noticing me standing there, making rude sounds at her to get her attention. Then her not knowing shit and rushing me asking her for Scott's phone so she could go back to ignoring everyone but her friends. I left, got pizza and came back. This time I made another girl look for the manager (i was told by fatty the manager would be in by 7 so I came back after 7). This girl was clueless and said it was her 2nd day on the job. Eventually some asshole working there comes up to me asking what I want to drink and I said "I want the cell phone I came here for." He started talking down to me so I started just getting really brash with what I said to him. The whole time this is going down, that fat pig was sitting at the bar, not doing her job at this point, and just shoving chicken fingers in her mouth and not chewing them as she talked to some old drunk guy.

I told Scott that if we get his phone before the Face to Face concert this Thursday, I am calling her a fat pig to her face and then, depending on how enraged/drunk I am, will probably throw a drink or something, thus banning us from ever being allowed back in there (but come to think of it, I've done a lot worse at other bars and am still not banned, so who knows... and did I mention I pissed all over the wall in the bathroom the Thursday night we were there?).

so yea. that's fun had this past weekend for me in a nutshell. I don't know when the next time I'll write in here is since I'm taking a creative writing class (dude wants me to try and publish a 10 to 15 page story for an instant A in his class) and I am also taking a writing for social sciences class with some neo hippie feminist bitch who assigned us to think about writing about a social enviorment. Of course I'm gonna do it on a bar. We're supposed to write about gender roles. i might just post it here if it's funny cause it'll probably end up being "shot girls are the bigest trash in the world and the fact they dress like skanks only further proves my theory that they should be treated like the human garbage they are."