Hell-o Kitty

My cat is a bad one. When I first moved back in with Dad, after I got married, my cat didn't seem to have any trouble with the neighbors. Then I got an apartment, got attacked, and moved back in with Dad. Now, he is contantly fighting with the cross-eyed kitty next door. My dad discovered that the yard next door has a catnip bush, so we think that he's getting into trouble over the stash. Here's the dialogue as I imagine it.

Jiji (my kitty): Awwww yeah! This is the shiznit!

Elmo (next door kitty): Yo, G! Why you always up in here? Get-cho broke ass back over that fence before I got's ta pop your black ass! (yes, my kitty is black)

Jiji: What! What! You got a grip a this shit. Why you gots ta be all stingy an shit? Man, I'll take what I want and your cross-eyed ass ain't gonna do shit!

Elmo: Bitch! Just cuz yo mama was a chow dog don't mean you can chow on my shit, man. I'll snatch you up and put you over my knee, son!

Jiji: I hear you talkin' but I don't see ya walkin'.

Elmo: That's it, punk!

Then the two cats proceed to chase each other around the neighborhood, leaving unsightly clumps of fur everywhere.

The whole point of this post being that I had to take my cat to the vet last night, because Elmo bit a hole through his ear. Like most pets, I imagine, my cat doesn't appreciate my efforts to look after his welfare or the fact that I'm going to get reamed on the bill. He was so unruley, the doctor had to call in an orderly to help keep him still so he could have his ear cleaned.

Now, I've got this liquid antibiotic crap that I'm supposed to administer through a syringe twice daily. Ha! I tried in vain this morning and just about got shreded alive. As you all know, I'm not in the best of moods at any time that ends with "AM". As I'm trying to chase Jiji down for the third time, my dad pipes up with his little words of advice. "You just have to grab him and shove it in his mouth." No shit, Dad. Really? I told him that if he was such a freakin' genius, he could give it a go!

Long story short, kitty didn't get his meds this morning and I was late for work. We'll try again tonight.

Hell - O Potato

Hot one, commin' through!

http://www.passthepotato.com/potato-2.php?potatoid=050627134706-956297

Hell Hath No Chicken

When you think of hell, you might think of evil. When you think of evil, you may think of chickens. Well, here ya go....

http://www.savagechickens.com

Pay particular attention to the segment on evil. EVIL I SAY!!!!
(if this link doesn't work, I'm gonna look like a complete retard.)

Party Like Hell

There's only one thing wrong with winning an all-expense paid trip to New Orleans and having the most incredible, fantastic, unbelieveable time of your life. That problem is, when you get home, you realize what a smoldering, reeking, pile of shit your life really is and don't particularly want to live it anymore.

Hell's House of Reptiles

Ever drink Sobe? Flavors I once found refreshing, recently make me nauseas. The one flavor I currently still enjoy is Cranberry pomegranate. So, the other day, I pop open my customary bottle and flip the lid to see what quip the Sobe company has in store for me. Under the filmy plastic seal, the words, "Bathe the Stiffmeister" are emblazoned.

Bathe the Stiffmeister? I'm not a hundred percent certain of what "the Stiffmeister" is, but I have a pretty damn good idea. If I had a stiffmeister, I would hope that no reminder to bathe it would be necessary, especially from the lid of a juice bottle. In fact, I'd probably be spending a great deal of my time "bathing the stiffmeister".

Another word for "stiffmeister" might be "lizard". Is it a coincidence that a lizard happens to be the mascot of Sobe? Does the lizard need to wash his "stiffmeister"? If the Sobe lizard is the creature responsible for these liquid refreshments, he had better damn well wash something.

Then there's the fact that the juice bottle itself is gently reminiscent of what a "stiffmeister" might be shaped like. If I'm going to wrap my lips around and drink from the stiffmeister, it should be a clean stiffmeister. It sure tastes good for stiffmeister juice. Hmm.

What exactly is Sobe trying to suggest? Is this something appropriate? Should I be bathing my stiffmeister, or someone else's? And why does the lizard think that the stiffmeister needs it in the first place?

Hell Bear

This is my bear. I rock, but I don't really care.


Nihilist Bear


Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Hell's Other Shoe

Remember a while back (see "Hell Comes in Threes") I mentioned car trouble, and then driver's license trouble? Well, I knew the other shoe was going to drop before long, since we all know that these things happen in threes.

I won a trip to New Orleans on the radio!! That's right, hotel stay, VIP tickets to a concert, transportation, the works! I even won a CD, a t-shirt, and a stuffed toy. The only problem is, I can't claim my prize without an I.D.!!!! Last week, I waited 3 hours at the DMV, only to be told that I have to take the driving and written tests and that those tests had been discontinued for the day. GAaaarh!

Is there any way to get an I.D. like, tomorrow?

Text me: 1-800-GOT-HELL

On the dating front, there has been no action.
Van was supposed to contact me on Saturday, but did not follow through. Then, he spent about an hour sending me text messages in the middle of the night. What's that about? His excuse was that he had fallen asleep. Is this a plausable excuse? Let's discuss...

Support: A. Van works out of town and for over 8 hours at a time. This would certainly lead one's body clock to be askew and therefore account for odd hours of rest.
B. I, myself, have neglected many a return call due to unexpected siestas.
C. Why would he blow me off only to text me later on?

Defiance: A. I don't have my ID. Therefore, I wouldn't be much fun at any gathering that require proof of age. Thus, a convenient excuse may be necessary so as to mask a night of drinking with "buddies" to which I may have otherwise been invited.
B. Hours before his call was due, he advised me that his mother was visiting.

This is confusing. If he was trying to get rid of me, or blow me off, why would he text me the next night? On the other hand, what a lame excuse. On the other hand, would I rather a lame excuse or a flat-out rejection?

On the other hand, I don't really care all that much. Honestly.

There is an "adult" store nearby, in which I have sometimes found myself a customer. Wait, that doesn't sound right. I'm not a hooker. I didn't find myself a customer there, I was a customer there. Anyway, there's a really attractive guy who works there and, quite a while ago now, I had given him my phone number. He never called. I was a bit disappointed. Not heartbroken - just disappointed. I had written of this to one of my pen pals and she recently wrote back to say, "He probably lost your number." Well, I have had my number changed and disconnected since then. She could be right.

After all, I thought I'd seen all the signals, all the little signs that tell a woman when a man might want some. So, I dropped my digits on him. Oh, I was real slick about it too. I danced deftly around the "you work at a porn store and I'm asking you to call me" akwardness quite nicely. What better partner than someone who recommends your private viewing pleasures? What an interesting way to communicate to someone what your kinks and fetishes are.

I don't know what happened, but I haven't been back to see him since. I did drop by once, but he wasn't working. Since then, I haven't really had the money to spend there. I feel weird going in and not buying something from the guy. Anyway, maybe I should give that avenue another shot. He's really hot!

Another Night in Hell

I promised to tell date 2. Well, there's not very much to tell, so I'm going to give just the high and low lights.

I met Van at his condo last Saturday night. There was no trouble finding his complex, but I spent about 10 minutes knocking on the wrong door. This should have been the first indication that the night wasn't going to go well for me. I got all dressed up again. This time, I went for the school girl from Hell look. Problem was, I wore the most uncomfortable shoes in the world. This whole week, I've been wearing sandals to work so that the cuts on my feet can heal. Would it be so much to ask the world for a hot pair of shoes that don't destroy my flesh? That's what I get for trying to be sexy.

When I arrived, Van had a friend visiting. He already has a nickname - Dr. Smoke. The two of us got along and chatted for about 20 minutes on the subject of music and his punk band. I toyed for a moment with the idea of singing in a punk band. That'd be cool! What a great way to get out all this pent-up aggression and angst. I'm wound so tight these days, I'm liable to just snap on someone - No warning. I guess that's why I'm at a pack a day.

Van and I went to see "Unleashed" with Jet Li. It wasn't a bad movie at all, but there was less action than I expected. I have to say that this is the first made-in-America movie that worked well for Mr. Li. "Romeo Must Die" sucked major ass! Has he been in anything else that wasn't made in HK?

After the movie, I was adamant that the two of us should go and get something to drink. So, I walked several blocks - feet bleeding - to a bar, got up to the door, and suffered humiliation!! No I.D.!! Embarassing to no end, and I didn't hear the end of it from Van all night. I couldn't tell if he was really irritated by the situation, or he was trying to give me a hard time.

So, we went back to his place and hung out. I finished off a bottle of vodka and a couple Tequilla shots. Still didn't feel comfortable. He turned on the T.V. and guess who's favorite hottie had on-demand videos to watch! For the first time, I saw the My Chemical Romance video for "I'm Not Okay". It was all I could do not to drop to the floor and writhe around in some type of "Gerard Way is the most incredibly hot creature in existence" fit of desire! I did drool. I did gush. I didn't take my eyes off the screen. Probably not the best way to act in front of my date, but I just couldn't help it. I'd run over my own mother to get to Gerard. Sacrafice my eternal soul? No hesitation.

The night was basically boring beyond that point. It's my own damn fault I suppose.

A last item of note: Van did actually hold the car door open for me once this time. Good boy.

Hell Comes in Threes and Who In Hell are You (conclusion)

My god. I've been neglecting the conclusion of date #1 and there's already been a date #2. That, and more chaos of life has been visited upon me.

(conclusion) Hmm...just how much detail do I want to go into here? There isn't much left to tell of date #1. I really like Van's sheets. They have spirals all over them - just like my tatoo! However disappointing the foreplay may have been, the sex wasn't bad for first-time-sex. He "went down" which may have been the first time for me that a man has ever "gone there" on the first date. I, however, did not "go there". Out of respect, I won't go into any dimensions of any body parts. That's just wrong. I'd be really pissed and embarassed if I found out that some guy posted my chest size online. Let it be known that in my world, posting Neko's chest size online fully warrants a smashed windshield.

The next morning, I had to get up early for my weekly yoga class. So, that means Van had to get out of bed and drive me home. Well, he wasn't too happy about that one. I tried to hint that maybe I should stick around a little while or that we should do breakfast. He wasn't having it. On the way home, he turned up his radio and didn't say a word to me! Gasp! Can you imagine the anxiety I felt?

Morning After: 1 strike

I was about to chalk the whole date up in the "failure" column, but at the last minute, everything was saved; my pride, my ego, my vanity, my anxiety. I told him he had my number if he was interested in seeing me again and right away he asked, "How about next weekend?" Yes! That's got to be record response time.

End date 1. Look for date 2 coming soon.

Hell Comes In Threes:

Last week, my father got a new job. Now this doesn't seem like it should throw a big wrench in my flow, but my transportation situation was immediately all jacked up. For quite a while now, I've had "daddy's car", which is a fairly sweet Nissan Pathfinder. Daddy was driving a company provided vehicle. Naturally, with his new employer there came no new vehicle. And so, my sweet ride was suddenly yanked and I was left by the roadside, staring at my own vehicle - unregistered, uninsured and expired tags.

When the ex and I split, he had the truck to himself for about a week. When we were married, I hardly ever drove and he and his no-job-havin' ass ran that poor truck into the ground. Oh, yeah and then there were the 3 "emergency" cross-country trips. During one of which, several of the accesories went missing. Never lend your car to a junkie. For that matter, you sure as hell should never marry one!! Panels were missing, parts were punched out, and a whole lot of "what the fuck happened here?"

Well, what I was getting at with that last paragraph is that my truck held a whole lot of evil spirits and bad mojo for me. That's why I'd been procrastinating for so long before getting it on the road. Besides, I'd become accustomed to piloting a jet-black, automatic, cushy ship with a decent sound system and a CD player.

All at once, I had to pony up the cash and make the junkie truck legal. So, I took 5 hours off from work, drove half way across town to buy insurance, drive back, go for an emissions test, go to get my title changed (I was awarded the truck in the divorce), get it registered and finally, get new stickers. Whew. As if that wasn't enough, I got lost and was 2 hours late picking up my dad from his office. Then, I missed my therapist appointment. Trust me, I need it.

With all that out of the way, I thought I might be able to chill this week. Not so...

On Friday, I went and bought myself a new cell phone (did you get my text Shen?). Well, like an ass, I left my I.D. at the cell phone kiosk in the mall. I remember reminding myself over and over not to forget my I.D. Over the weekend, I was going crazy trying to locate it (more details on this later). Yesterday, I went to pick up my spankin' new phone and I asked the guys if they'd seen it around. Good news: they had. Bad news: they put it in the mail! Having my I.D. mailed back to me wouldn't be so bad, except that I have lived in about 4 different places since the address that's listed on my Texas I.D. Well, good-bye to that. I knew sooner or later I'd have to replace it anyway. At least I'm not still pulling my hair out over where it could be.

So this week's running-around-like-a-chicken-with-no-head task is to get my birth certificate from the county, go to the DMV and try to get a license issued. If all goes well, I can take care of this before the weekend. Do you know how humiliating it is asking Daddy to buy cigarettes for me?

Who in Hell are You? (part 3)

Before I begin part 3, let's review:

Threads: 1 strike (could have been better, could have been worse)
Food: 1 strike (at least there wasn't a steak involved)
Cuteness: 0 strikes
Car: 1 strike (not a Viper, but not a Geo)
Manners: 1 strike (not holding the door is a no-no)
Bling: 0 strikes (nice phone)
Conversation: 0 strikes
Musical taste: 1 strike (Van Halen without Roth?)
Threads: 1 strike (not Versace, not Old Navy ((or maybe it was?))

You may have noticed some adjustments. I think I started off forgetting that 3 points was bad.
So, beginning with that, here's the rest of the date-evaluation.

We went to a club downtown called "Crocs" to meet Bugs. It took a while for sis to show, so we took a mafia-style booth and I got to the martinis. The table was laden with parchment, and since there was no smoking 'til 10, I took some crayons and got to work testing Van's skills. I drew flames, he drew a dragon crouching from behind a rock. Not bad.

Skills: 0 strikes

There was a review of our previous meeting and apparently, he didn't remember much of it. He blushed when I reminded him of how friendly he had been. I like a guy with a little touch of shyness. Not Mormon enough to keep his hands to himself, but not Heathen enough to warrent a slap in the face.

Cuteness: still holding at 0 strikes.

Bugs finally showed and we decided that Croc's wasn't happenin'. He treated my sis with respect, included her in conversation and offered to pay for drinks. A big plus in the manners department, but still not enough to erase the car-door oversight.

Manners: still 1 strike.

I think the next venue was the Gigglin' Grizzly (I live in Colorado folks). It was the type of hot, sweaty nightclub where you can get lost in the crowd and they pass out promo t-shirts and glowing bracelets. I got a red one. (That's 'cause I'm red-hot) There was an encore of ass grinding and not being able to stand up straight in a room full of people. Black men seem to really like Bugs. For the second night we've chilled, another random ebony-skinned fellow wouldn't leave her alone. I couldn't begin to speculate.

Sometime between the dinner and the club hopping, I had made it clear to Van that he was taking me home for the night. I bade good-night to Bugs and hopped back into the Dodge.

Van has a nice condo. Not to far away, new carpeting, a loft area, a miniature pincer, nice furniture and very, very clean. This guy is getting a second date, if only for the wide-screen, plasma TV I'm in love with.

Crib: 0 strikes and holding strong.

Aside from listening preferences, another way I size up my companions is via cinematic choices. I'm a huge fan of horror, indie flicks and foreign film. When it comes to horror, almost anything goes. You'd be surprised at how many B movies I've sat through (or maybe you wouldn't). One of my all-time favorites is Evil Dead. Evil Dead 2 is great as well, but that's where it ends. The fact that at least one of the two was his shelves is a good sign.

Movies: 0 strikes.

Van also has 2 electric guitars. Now, having lived in Austin - the "live music capital of the world" - I have had many a suitor attempt many a serenade. After we toured the condo and the Star Wars toy collection, I convinced him to fire up the amps and strum a few chords. Impressive, the boy can play!

Skills: 0 strikes strong.

Now, at this point, alarms may be going off in your head, "Star Wars toys?!" I have had several collections of toys myself and am a card-carrying member of the "no way I'm taking that out of the package" club. So, color me dork, but no strikes for the toys.

Where was I...oh, the movie. Well, I didn't finish Evil Dead 2. About 20 minutes into the screening, I made my intentions clear by undoing the buttons of Van's shirt. On to make-out scores:

Kissing: 2 strikes against.

It may seem harsh at first to give so cruel a mark, but I love "the kiss". A good kiss can get my panties nice and soaked before the real action even begins. Van has facial hair, and my poor, delicate chin would up badly chaffed. No innovation and too much repitition. We're going to have to seem some improvement there.

I have to wonder to myself if Van had spent the whole day previous cleaning or if he is just a neat freak. The apartment was spotless! I mean, it was like a set, or as if he'd just moved in. Everything was spotless and neatly in place. For 1, most stoners aren't that clean. For 2, most single guys don't dust, and for 3, most dog-owners have a hard time keeping things up. Almost suspicious. If he had spent the whole day cleaning, that's a plus. But, if the guy's a neat-freak, that could spell danger.

More tomorrow.

Who in Hell are You? (part 2)

(this is part 2. If you haven't read part one, scroll down and read the previous post before reading this one.)

He did not, however hold the door to his car open for me and that definately deserves a strike against him.

Manners: 1 point.

Once we were underway, I asked to use his cell phone so I could call step-sister (let's call her "Bugs". No idea why.) He didn't bitch about minutes and the phone was top-notch.

Bling: 0 points.

On the drive, we talked and discovered that we had both attended the same elementary school and the same middle school. Kinda cool in my book, since I don't know anyone else who grew up in my hood anymore, let alone some random person. We also talked alot about music, which is always a way in which I size up anyone I meet. As I mentioned earlier, he is a Van Halen fan. Although not a favorite with me, I recognize their place as rock legends. He is a Sammy Hagar man. I like David Lee Roth oh so much better.

Conversation: 0 points.
Musical Taste: 1 point.

That's going to have to be it for tonight. I'll continue this tomorrow.

Who in Hell are You?

Before we get to the juicy details, I need to address Shen's comment on the last post. In case you're too lazy to "click" on the comments at the end of said post, let me summarize: Could I please come up with a more suitable (i.e. shorter) nickname for each of the men involved.? Why certainly, anything for the Great Gor-Gor! (....thunder....)

We will call date-boy by the nickname "Van", since he's way into Van Halen. We will heretofore address graduate stoner boy by the moniker "Bruce", since he's got arms like Bruce Lee (drool). And thus, it begins...

I've decided to adopt a "3 strikes and you're out" policy for my date analysis. Each category will be scored on a 3 point system, 3 being the worst and 0 the best. Each time the date-ee improves his/her performance, a point will be subtracted. Each time the situation worsens, or does not improve, a point will be added. If the date in question reaches 3 points in each category, the dating will end. Let the scoring commence...

I didn't end up ditching my date on Friday after all, although, for about 15 minutes, I thought he had ditched me. Thinking it wise, I had called ahead and made reservations at the restaurant. I got all dolled up, in my black velvet dress, make-up, black-spiked collar and new bondage sandals. (The policy is the try to scare the crap out of them on the first date.) I was anxious to leave, but I remembered that you're supposed to make the guy wait for some reason. My cab driver took his sweet time picking me up. I arrived at the Olive Garden, checked in, and stood outside, hoping to intercept Van. There wasn't much of a crowd, but nearly everyone gave me odd looks. A little boy stared at me for about 5 minutes. Then, I was seated, sans date. I sat there by myself for a while, before all the dots were connected and the waitstaff realized that my date had already been seated at another table on the other side of the restaurant.

With a nervous and unsteady step, I followed the hostess through a maze of tables. Van sat alone, looking at his cell phone. I smiled, sat myself down, and promptly ordered a glass of the house red. I panicked for a second when I realized that Van wasn't as attractive as I had remembered from my hazy night at the club and I wondered if I was just as shocking to him. No, I'm not going to score the man on looks, because I'm hardly that shallow.

He was all dressed up and although he wasn't wearing Versace, at least he bothered: 3 points.

Conversation progressed tentatively at first. We talked about Bruce a little and how I managed to track down Van's number. I told him about my "series of operatives" working under cover. I was thankful that he didn't order a big, buttery steak. Intentional or not? We talked about why I don't eat seafood.

Food: 1 point.

He picked up the check. Paid with a debit card. I'm not going to score on that, since I can't decide if I'm more impressed by cash or suspicious of it. At least it shows that he has a bank account, unlike myself, who is way to shady to have the credit required for a bank accout. He didn't ask if I wanted dessert, but he didn't bitch when I ordered several glasses of wine. I asked if he wouldn't mind driving to the club where we were to meet my step-sister.

When I followed him out to the parking lot, he couldn't find his car! Although he expressed his embarassment, I thought it was really cute!!

Cute: 0 points.

He drives a red Dodge sportscar with a sunroof. I'm thinking that it might be early 90's.

Car: 0 points.

(I'm going to post this now, because I was just rudely disconnected and barely had time to copy this much)

Let's Meet for a Date in Hell

Tonight, I have a date. It's the first time I've gone on a date since I was granted my divorce. Actually, it's the first time since waaay before I was even married. Considering the number of guys I've "been with", I've had surprisingly few of what you would call "dates". Tonight, it's the guy from the bar. Not the bartender, but the guy I was dancing with. Bartender never called me, but I didn't really expect him to. This guy didn't call me either. I managed to track him down. Sheesh! Does a girl have to do all the work these days? There used to be a day when a man would hold the door for a woman. Now it's "why don't you be on top?"

So I called this guy the other night and had to leave a message. I sounded like some giggly, high-school dorky girl. When I got home from work yesterday, there was a message on the machine. He sounded kinda giddy and excited and I think that's what got me. I called back and reached him, apparently getting stoned and watching Star Wars with his friend. We're going to meet at the Olive Garden, primarily because it's one of the few easy to find restaurants in town with vegitarian options. I tried to go to Applebee's once - not a single damn thing on the menu without meat!! Fuck you Applebee's!! I even offered to go to Taco Bell. Where in hell are my standards?

After dinner, we're going to meet my step-sister and her friends at a bar downtown. Then, I'm going to get laid. "So confident?" you say? Trust me, it won't be much of a challenge. In fact, if I don't end up getting laid tonight - the next round is on me.

At first, I was really excited. Now, I'm kind of dreading the situation. Why did I decide to call this guy and go out on a date? Wouldn't I rather just go home and relax, do the cleaning I've been putting off, rest up for yoga class tomorrow? After all, I don't know if I really like the guy all that much. After surfing MCR websites all day, I don't really want to be within 10 feet of anyone who doesn't look like Gerard Way. Seriously contemplating only dating men with the name "Gerard" or remaining celebate until I get to meet the man himself.

But then again, doesn't this guy deserve a chance? I mean, he was recommended by the guy I've been crushing on for years. Does that even make sense? I guess what I'm doing is testing. I'm testing to see if I've "still got it", testing to see if I'm ready to date again, testing this guy out. So, I'm not going to bail. I'm going to go through with it. Here's the plan - get really wasted and...no...wait...that's the usual plan...

What In Hell Did I Do Last Night?

Well, guess who had lots of fun this weekend?

Saturday night I went to a friend's graduation party at a local bar I'd never been to. The graduate in question is a guy that I've had a crush on for what seems like forever. Anyway, the night started slow... I hate when I'm the first person to get to a shindig. I feel like such a sober dork wandering around the bar by myself. The bar was DEAD when I got there too.

I'm always so awkward in these situations. I don't really dance until I'm completely wasted (we'll get to that part), so I chain-smoke and try to lean against something and make it look natural. I have to express my endless admiration for Shenry, who can just start gettin' down right away and make it look good. If I was a super-hero, that would be one of the super powers I'd wish for. Of course, Shen is a super-hero, so who am I to compare? I felt such a sense of relief when he and his wife appeared. I can always talk to her while I hang out by the wall.

I remember speaking with her (I'm not sure what her online moniker is) at one point. I had just gotten a Long Island Iced-tea from the bar and it tasted like a cup of fresh squeezed ass. I had been complaining to her that the Amaretto sours I had been sipping weren't doing the trick. She suggested that I chug the nasty "iced tea". So, I followed her suggestion and almost gagged. The last thing I can really remember clearly was Shen's wife saying to me, "Don't worry. You'll feel it in a minute."

What couldn't have been more than 10 seconds later, I was out on the dance floor, doing things that are probably illegal in most states. I remember stumbling up to graduate-boy and whispering in his ear that I'd had a crush on him since I was 12. (I feel like such an ass!) His response was something like, "That's cool, but you should check out my friend who apparently has the hots for you." My thoughts - "Oh, that must have been the guy who was kissing my neck and feeling me up while I was grinding my ass against his jock." I can only console myself with the assumption that everyone else was as wasted as I was and that no one will remember my drunken antics. I feel like I should call the guy up and at least get his name. I kinda blew him off.

I had also invited my step-sister who lived close by. I'd bailed on her a couple of times recently and felt I owed her an invite. It's a good thing she came, because I ended up crashing at her house. The two of us went downstairs and sat at the bar. We proceeded to down several shots and flirt with the bartender. The bartender threw ice down my shirt and we ended up eating face. Yes, I say "eating face".

Back upstairs, where I had my ass smacked numerous times by persons unknown and gave out a round of ass-grabbing myself. Um...I hope you're wife's not too pissed off at me Shen...

Damn. I thought that after my divorce, I would shape up a bit; not be so wild, more responsible. But, now that I'm free again I'm almost as crazy as I was back in my Austin days. Only difference is, I'm much older and I can feel it. Thank god my step-sister was there. I was able to drive the few blocks to her house and crash on her couch. She likes to throw drinks at me, but she always takes care of me.

At the beginning of the night, I was wearing a t-shirt that says, "Complicated." How ironic.

The Next Round In Hell Is On Me

So, I went out to the club last night. I'm realizing now that I'm not as young as I used to be. Can you believe I used to work 2 jobs and party every night 'til 3? Now, one solid night of drinking and staying out late takes me 3 days to recover from. Yet, here I am at work, trudging through the day. Maybe I'm not in such bad shape after all. I was even 15 minutes early to work!

I've had about an hour and a half of sleep. I must look like the living dead. My new job has me up and running about most of the time, so that has been keeping me from falling asleep. But, the music in the office is grating on my nerves!! "Urge to kill...rising..." (the Loco Motion?)

I met someone by chance who happened to be a reader of my old blog! I didn't realize that anyone but my friends ever read my odd ramblings. It was actually very flattering, like meeting a fan or something.

Then there was this guy at the club who wanted some attention from me. To begin with, he was really unattractive. Add to that, he was so drunk that I couldn't understand what he was saying. I think he said something about, didn't he "see me" at Hot Topic? Something idiotic. He moved away from me a little and motioned for me to follow him or dance with him.

It's the first time anything like that has happened to me. I'm not usually shakin' my ass anywhere, let alone a club. When I was back in my hay day, I always used to hang at the clubs with my friends - who all happened to be guys. Walking into a club with a bunch of guys is a sure-fire way to make sure that you don't get hit on. That can be both good and bad.

Anyway, I just waved the guy off. Really, really not anywhere near interested! (Now if I could just get the guy at the porn shop to give me a call)

The Bathroom in Hell

The Ladies' room at work isn't generally so bad. There are flowers, lotion and an air freshner that despenses perfumed air in timed disbursements. Normally, there are plenty of stalls and you can use the handicapped sink so you don't have to hold down the hot and cold when you want to wash your hands.

All in all, restrooms here aren't so bad on the scale of public facilities. But, every once in a while, there's someone else in the room. One of my biggest annoyances is having to share the restroom! There's the fat lady, who doesn't feel the need to stifle the panting and grunting sounds she makes and she tries to haul her ass onto the seat. Then, there's the skinny girl with the bad attitude who zooms on by the sink and doesn't even pretend to wash her hands. Anyone who doesn't wash their hands after using the commode should be shot. No trial, No jury - straight to execution!! Thirdly, there is the chatty middle-aged woman who doesn't give a thought to privacy or the delicacy of the situation and wants to talk to you from the other side of the stall. Finally, there is one handicapped woman in my office. She is in a wheelchair. Aside from yeilding the handicap-code-compliant amenities, I am always at an embarassed and awkward loss when it comes to helping this person. I mean, should I try to hold the door open, should I offer assistance in some way, should I talk to her? Every time I've encountered her, I don't speak and merely flail my arms about in an effort to signal both my willingness to help and reluctance to interfere.

One last complaint about the stalls themselves. The seat is almost always wet. This creeps me out almost enough to buy a few bottles of Purell and carry them around with me. I can never tell if the wetness is due to lack of aim on someone's part or the flush-backlash kicking water back up on the seat. If it's not backlash, it's in entirely the wrong area. Why do they even offer those paper seat liner thingies? If the seat is wet, fluid is going to soak up through the flimsy material anyway. Are they meant inspire some sort of false security in the user. It's not as if they're going to block moisture, STDs or anything basically. Are they even sanitary?

It's all I can do to keep from having a panic attack every time I round that corner.

Hell can be fun

I've developed a new amusement for myself at work. I like to jump into an elevator and close the doors right as someone's coming up to get in. Hee hee hee. Oh, the fun I've had.

Here's the technique:

1. Memorize where the "close door" and floor button for your stop are.
2. Jump into the elevator just as someone's approaching. You may have to practice to get the timing just right.
3. Jam the "close door" button in and then hit your floor button, while simultaniously pressing yourself against the elevator wall where you can't be seen. This is important because people get really pissed off when you don't hold the doors.
4. Listen for pissed off comments from the people who didn't make it in. This is the best part!

Risks involved:
Someone might see who you are and spread nasty rumors or give dirty looks.
Someone (mostly men do this) might shove their arm into the doorway as it's closing and board the elevator. Then you have to endure their scowls until they disembark.

Remember though, if you take up this past-time, you forfeit the right to be pissed off when you miss the elevator.

It's endlessly amusing! Mwa ha ha ha ha!

Mornings are Spawned from Hell

In order for me to get up on time this morning, it took 1 alarm clock, 1 wake-up call from a friend, and 1 knock on my door from Dad. This is the second day in a row that I have managed to arrive at work on time.

It doesn't seem to matter what time I wake up - I always feel like crap! Mornings are the most punishing of all moments. It could be partly due to my medication. It could be partly due to my drinking. It could also be partly due to the fact that I find it impossible to sleep before 11 pm, sometimes midnight.

I have been known to sleep for 12 hours straight through. I am the last person you want to run across in the morning. If I don't have to be anywhere, and someone wakes me up for no reason - you'd better look out!! I need my cigarette and my coffee and to be left alone. Unfortunatly, this causes a conflict with my current living situation. At the moment, I'm living with my father. My father is an early riser. Very early. That's bad enough, but he seems to feel that no one else has a right to sleep in later than he does. So, often on the weekends I find myself up late working on the multitude of projects I entertain myself with. Then, on the 1 or 2 days out of the week that I have the chance to sleep in - my dad is crashing around the house!!! Either that, or the cats are jumping on my head.

No rest for the wicked I suppose.

The Marriage from Hell

Well, well, well. So, it's finally rolled around to Cinco De Mayo again. I HATE May 5th!!

No, I hold no prejudice against Mexico or it's independence. For me, this day has an entirely different and altogether more sinister meaning.

Two years ago, exactly on this day, I marched into a courthouse in San Diego and proceeded to make one of the worst decisions of my life. Doomed myself to a year and a half of misery. - I got married. Thankfully, I'm divorced now. Oh, thank the gods!!

I wasn't the first failed marriage for my ex. He had another wife before. She had been with him for 8 years! She must have been completely psycho.

Hello single life, again! I must make it my goal to sleep with another man each year on this date - just to amuse myself at the thought of how pissed my ex would be if he only knew.