so yes, i DO occasionally get inspired to write this page. even lately. the problem is, it very rarely happens when i’m sitting at home. and it also typically involves booze…a little “fuel for the creative engine”, i guess we could call it. the difficult part comes the next morning, when i’m laying in bed trying to figure out what the fuck i thought was just so entertaining the night before. and who’s thong i just found in my pillow case. and where the midget-sized wonder woman outfit came from. but perhaps i’ve said too much…
when these bits o’ inspiration kick in and i’m out and about, i started phoning notes to myself to help out the diminishing short term from the night before. so without further ado, here’s what’s on my answering machine right now, not including the outgoing limerick, of course.
syntax de liquor
when i worked at sundance in san marcos, there was this kid (fresh out of high school, hence the term) that worked with us even though the store typically didn’t hire teenagers. he was the son of the doctor of the owner or something and so he ended up working a summer with us. he was a cool kid who i liked even though he basically had the spoiled little rich kid thing happening, but still wasn’t a jerk…a hard thing to accomplish with that kind of upbringing, ya know? so this one time, he was recounting the weekends beer-fueled activities when he got to a point in his story where he referred to “falling asleep in his buddy’s front yard”. i had to explain to him that people don’t “fall asleep” in other’s front yards, they PASS THE FUCK OUT in other’s front yards. if i had had a couple more last night, i would have been waking up with a concrete gnome, too.
is it a bad sign when you find your mobile phone sitting atop the styrofoam take out container from ihop in your refrigerator at noon on a sunday? i was afraid you’d say that.
see, my REAL job isn’t having a xmas party this year, so i’ve decided my NON real job (i.e. this astrowhore thing) needs to have SEVERAL. maybe a “twelve parties of xmas” kinda thing. the first of the series was last night, where kathi and i went to shoot pool, and i made her drive with the understanding that her minimal boozing would be covered by me so i could get my drunk on, and get it on i did. my drunk, that is. about a half hour after we got there, josh joined us fresh off trabajo de grande, and then a half hour after that my friend leslie drove in from sa, which i figured would be cool so we could do the whole two-on-two billiards thing, but leslie didn’t really play, as i recall. of course, due to MANY rounds of double crown and cokes, i don’t recall a great deal of last night, and i somehow ended up signing of on an $80 bar tab at the end of the night. ouch. at least a chunk of it got kicked back in, i just wish i hadn’t been quite so loud in trying to remember a term i’d come up with the night before. see, for some reason, i started coming up with slang terms (predominantly for josh’s amusement) for sexual acts. like referring to anal as “kicking it on the back porch” or a blowjob as “shutting her up the old fashioned way”. but i had come up for a term, that was DAMN funny at the time (and yes, i was actually sober when i came up with it) for a facial shot. and i think i used the term “facial shot” too loud and too often for most of the ihop crowd, including the people at my table; and all ’cause i was trying to remember something from friday night, who’s title would be…
(and before i wrote this, i called kramer, which even drunk i couldn’t bring myself to do at 2:00 am last night, and he reminded me that my slang term for a facial shot was “spilling some paint in the garage”, but i digress…)
syntax de caffee
sue me, but with slight holiday depression kicking in, partially due to another mom-less xmas and all, a comedy routine wrought with suicide and cancer jokes** kinda brought me down a bit. josh and kramer had a blast, but the other half of our opera box didn’t make it out so cheerful. anyway, afterwards, i met up with the josh and the k-man at this new place that serves nothing but desert, coffee, and booze, or a combination of all three called halcyon. the night then contained everything from beer and s’mores (the late night breakfast of champions, or at least people who damn near set themselves on fire with a deadly combo of sweater sleeves and six-inch-high blue flames who’s parents named them josh) and a coffee menu that offers up more varieties of java then most places have varieties of overall beverages, which brought to mind a question…
why must coffee be so damn complex?
for some reason, coffee can’t just be called coffee anymore. for example, they have something at halcyon called “caffee americano”, which is “espresso with a splash of hot water that tastes just like fresh, hot coffee”.
okay.
fine.
what?
i guess “caffee americano” does have a bit more marketable zing than “watery-ass espresso”, but last time i checked espresso went for a good bit more than coffee, so why not just make a plain ol’ pot of coffee? why would you drink something pricey that has been done just right to TASTE like coffee instead of just drinking coffee? that’s like these annoying vegetarians that brag that their $4.95 veggie burger tastes just like my $2.95 cheeseburger but without the beef. great. you spent twice the money for the same amount of flavor and taste…your parents must be proud. i guess with coffee speak, my glass of chocolate milk would be an “iced espresso-free mocha latte, hold the ice” since they say “mocha” instead of “chocolate” and “latte” instead of milk, right?
if you like watered down espresso to taste like coffee and veggie burgers that taste like beef without any cows coming to harm, do you also enjoy an orgasm without the fucking? just curious. weirdo. and to think i’ve been told MY pervertednesses were odd.
** 2023 note – the routine in question was george carlin. yes, THAT george carlin. the only time i ever got to see him, and the whole last half hour was about white guys that shave their heads, guys with tattoos, guys who smoke cigars, and how maybe people who died of cancer (my mom, my grandfather) kinda deserved it. it was targeted enough (purely coincidental, i might add) that josh and kramer asked me if i met him before the show and pissed him off. neither had occurred…
Replies: 3 Comments
i couldn’t have said it better myself…veggie burgers and pseudo coffee is nothing more than dietary masturbation…you get the effect of the real thing (i.e. caffeinated to the tits or a full belly) but none of the fun of getting there…
sean (very impressed) said @ 12/10/2002 04:44 PM CST
er, isn’t an orgasm without the fucking called “masturbating”?
topenga said @ 12/10/2002 10:16 AM CST
brave boy…
😉 said @ 12/09/2002 03:43 PM CST
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