Tonight was much more relaxed than I had expected. All the guys hung out in a stately living room full of antiquey furniture and drank. Noah played in the basement with the other kids, and the women were out back, except for Lisa and her sisters, who had a girls’ night out but failed to get hammered. Lisa used to be the queen of drunken wrestling, but she was seemingly untouched by the healing hand of alcohol. For shame, Lisa. For shame.
Stan and I were like “whiskey is brownish,” and everyone else in the room was all “Glenfordshireloch” this and “Highland Park” that. We were lost, but I carefully laid down a layer of beer, followed by bourbon and then more beer, followed by sips of bourbon to make my mind a little fuzzy and my voice uncharacteristically loud.
Cake Woman is eternally turning up her phone when our schedules permit us to actually speak.
“Hold on, Fucker, I can’t fucking hear you fucking talk. Always with the fucking mumbling!” Yes, she talks like that, only she swears a lot.
Apparently the solution to her complaint is bourbon. I don’t know if it tastes like oil and pencil shavings or walnuts and fishbait, just that it makes me loud.
It was the sort of bachelor party where the fiance showed up at the end. I hugged everybody, I think, and then I was on the ground outside wrestling with some guy who was walking by. He seems nice, I gave him my number. Call me! ^_^
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Hey, Jesse, why didn’t you just sell your car to pay your tuition? You could have sold both cars and covered it! I did think of that, but I didn’t know that it would sell in two days. Heck, I could have sold it in one. It would have been nice to have had the cash a couple of weeks ago, but whatever.
Stan, Dean, Noah and I are going to Boot’s non-stripper bachelor party tonight with booze, cigars, and assorted musicians, mostly of the jazz variety. I don’t know what kind of music Dean likes besides Morrisey, but Stan and I will be clinging together in terror. Perhaps we will beatbox in harmony to keep our hearts pure. There will be no Mingus among us!
Oh yeah, as if I am not writing too much already, Lisa invited me to be a guest blogger on her blog while she is entertaining her sisters, one of whom is in from another state and the other is getting married. I think that I will post about sisterhood, even though I’m more of a brother-type person, and my relationships with my three sisters are all strained. If I were posting about my family here I would talk about the simultaneous healing and destruction that family brings, and then I’d give a painful but hysterically funny example. I can’t tell their story, so I will just talk about how happy Renee looks and how relaxed Marsha seems for having a wedding coming up in two days. In fact, she said that I could wear a speedo to the wedding, so I’m pretty jazzed.
I was having kind of a tired and crappy day. I flat out slept in class for a while, and I was distractable at work. The afternoon brought glad tidings, and now Stan, Noah, and I are going to go to the Uptown Pizza Luce. Tonight might be all right after all.
Glad tidings? When did this become a horoscope? “Tonight: don’t fall into old traps!”
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Legenda del milagro — 100% de agave
Good tequila can be hard to find, especially on the cheap. Bad tequila is like paint thinner. This was pretty smooth in my margaritas.
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What a strange day. My date from last night called to get a raincheck for today’s proposed date at the Walker — exactly when I had the cell phone in my hand with her number highlighted so I could call to cancel. She called me “James” by mistake.
As you are probably aware, my drunken ramblings from last night had unexpected results. I don’t know whether to be ecstatic or afraid of the upcoming restraining order.
I was juicing limes like crazy until I found out that margaritas should be made like this:
- 2 ounces tequila
- 1 1/3 ounce Cointreau
- 2/3 ounce lime juice
I substituted triple sec for cointreau, because that was what I saw in a another recipe. This is my new hot weather drink, hands down. Also face down, if I were to have a couple, because WOW. That’s a lotta hooch!
Wherever you are tonight I hope you have a wonderful night. I’m just this guy, and I will keep writing for your amusement. All of you.
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The avacados are ready. The tomatoes are ready. The onions are ready. The cilantro is ready. There will be guac, and it will be delicious.
I’m about to go get some tequila, triple sec, and a bag full of limes. Tonight is margarita night, MFs!
I will likely also pick up a can of NA margarita mix so Noah can join in the fun. I think that is technically just “Lime-Aid.”
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Great, Stan is committed to helping Lisa paint at Marsha and Boot’s place. That means that I will be lost and alone in Brits, because I haven’t heard any other suggestions. Then again, I wouldn’t leave random anonymous suggestions on your blog, either.
Speaking of blogs, I’m annoyed by reverse sequential ordering. It makes it extra hard to read someone’s blog from the start. If that person has, for instance, a novel, you would have to actually work to read it in order. At some point I will rectify that failing in my blog with a “read from the start” link — but where would one start with my blog? I don’t think that anyone wants to read the posts that I imported from 1999 where I say “this is my server, bla bla bla.” I’m guessing that the really interesting stuff starts later, like the start or end of this school year, where I realized that for once I could say pretty much whatever I wanted because:
- My workplace doesn’t care
- I have three years before I will have to have a job where someone might care
- If a reader doesn’t like my writing, or worse, doesn’t find me funny: fuck ‘em! I invite very few people here, the rest are random individuals who came looking for something. I hope that you found what you were looking for, but if you haven’t, uh, well, this is all I have for you.
If you need me, I will be putting on my blue eyeshadow and heading out! (booze time is nine-ish, I think, since Polara plays at ten-ish. If you say hello I will buy you the beverage of your choice)
Note to Paul: Super Karate Monkey Death Car.
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Rumor has it that I might be heading to the basement to drink beer and lay down some tracks for the new band, since I have the four track, a cassette, a microphone, and a fridge full of delicious beer for the drinking. I sure hope that I like Summit, because that is what I will be drinking. Is today a Pale Ale day? Perhaps Hefe Weisen?
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I think that I was up too late. At least I wasn’t up as late as Cake Woman, who is working the third shift now. She baked me another cake, but this one had crumbled under the weight of its own deliciousness. I hope she is sleeping now instead of plotting more cake. I may take a nap in anticipation of tonight’s fireworks, perhaps while the Monk marathon plays on TV.
I took a little time to take pictures of seven of the eight elm trees in the neighborhood that will be cut down. Thanks a lot, Dutch Elm disease. I would have taken a picture of the eighth one, but it snuck up on me. Hopefully they won’t plant a dozen of the same tree next to eachother again — c’mon, how about a little biodiversity for once?
Hoffentlich meine neue Freund liest mein Blog jetzt gern, aber schreibe ich nicht auf Deutsch. Was fur eine Artikel soll Ich schreibe fur Sie? Vorher Ich schreibe sollte ich mehr schlafen?
I swear that I’m not always this off-kilter, but my German is always this atrocious.
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Things to do today:
- Roll out of bed
- Take pictures of Yolanda’s swollen thumb so she can get out of her weight lifting thing, or whatever the heck she needed it for.
- Do three loads of laundry… in a row!
- Watch the end of Dogma and the start of Super Troopers while doing my laundry
- Go to Pracna on Main with the quasi-fam and spend way too much money on delicious food and THE WORST SERVICE EVER, FUCKERS! I mean, seriously, if you are going to spend all that damn cash for mojitos that taste like rubbing alcohol you expect them to be delivered in a timely fashion. At least my open faced meatloaf thing was awesome. Then, Lisa, Stan, Noah and I tried to crash a wedding at the Nicollet Island Pavilion (where L and S had their wedding one sweaty day in July a few years ago) but were turned away by sternly worded signs.
- Watch Resident Evil II: Apocalypse with Stan. Why exactly do the women in that movie wear teeny tiny clothes? Shouldn’t they be wearing armor when battling zombies? I sure would. Of course, if they were wearing more clothes, would the movie still be watchable? Movies based on video games are never a good idea. Netflix should just screen those out for me so I’m not tempted to drown my brain in awfulness. If I wanted to do that, I would have finished that excrable mojito at Pracnas. It was like cough syrup! Not even minty cough syrup, just a plastic cup full of foul. It was like being at a frat party, only without the paddling. I missed the paddling.
- Practice my eloquence and wit while chatting online with babes until all parties involved turn into pumpkins. Thank you science jokes! (it was only one babe)
OH, that’s YESTERDAY’s list, because it is the 4th now. Lisa promised that her friend has fireworks and booze, which are all I need to complete my Independence Day weekend. Time to lose a finger!
What’s on today’s list?
- Write an embarrassingly loopy post in my blog
- Go to bed
- Crawl out of bed
- Do another two or three loads of laundry
- Maybe cook something for the quasi-fam, like breakfast, although in more of an afternoon timeframe because the “go to bed” step happened after three am. Maybe I should take this right off of the list, because honestly, until I cram some coffee down my throat I might as well be a member of the undead — a fate which I hope to postpone until my 30th birthday, when undeadedness is inevitable.
- Drink some beer.
- Go to Lisa’s friend’s house for fireworks so said friend can tell me about her grad student friends (who would hopefully be more compatible with me than the hiphugger, flip-flops and Abercrombie crowd that seems to infest the U of M campus like trendy freshman rats). Plus, they live close to the Roseville fireworks, which had better be awesome, because for the love of all that is holy, I cannot go even one 4th without inhaling the sweet aroma of gunpowder.
- Drink a lot of water.
- Get to bed crazy early so I can get to work early for a day free of grownups! I love staff retreat days! I go hang out with the designers and we talk about boys and braid each others hair! Yay! I’m getting a makeover and Angie is gonna tell me what Mr. Dreamy said about me after the lecture! I heart you, Paul! Actually, I have stuff to do, so we’ll probably not gossip very much.
I already complained to everybody about the Saturday’s manual labor at my mom’s house, but if you are the sort of random girl (or member of law enforcement) who visits my blog after googling for me, you might not have heard about the half ton (or more) of bricks that I helped unload while my dear mother lorded over us with the shotgun and the bottle of rotgut whiskey. If you are not a random girl, but some specific girl who has been directed to read my blog, you have already heard this story, albeit without the embellishments that I added tonight because I punchy and loopy. I don’t know who else reads this on a regular basis besides Lisa, Paul, and my cousin, who probably cringes every time I swear. HELLO, FUCKERS!
John taught me some new songs that we could sing while we worked, but the lyrics were all pretty simple:
Take me home!
I’m so tired!
After each line we’d swing our sledgehammers and bust up some more rocks. Shore was hot out there, all chained together and bustin’ up rocks. Then we made a break for it with George Clooney. John done got loved up and turned into a horney toad. I kept ‘im in a box but that one-eyed preacher done squashed ‘im and we thought ‘e was dead, but he weren’t dead ‘tall, just back on the gang.
Maybe that was something else. I’m kind of tired. Anyway, we unloaded bricks, then deadlifted rotten railroad ties into the back of the Home Depot truck (which is like chest-high, because Home Depot HATES PEOPLE WHO HAVE TO PUT THINGS IN THEIR TRUCKS). I won’t say what we did with the railroad ties because those random law enforcement officers might be reading this and not only find out where we dumped them (next to the railroad tracks in some woods) but also where the bodies are (under the railroad ties) — or at least the inedible parts, which include the liver. GROSS.
Once again, there are no bodies.
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