My Hands Smell Like Basil

Lisa always seems to forget that we have a few herbs in the back garden. As I was supplementing her sauce-from-a-jar I said that I am jealous of Paul’s Mom’s vegetable garden with tomatoes and a forest of pepper plants (don’t tell them who ate all the spicy sweet pickle slices, holy fucking delicious). Anyway, Lisa said that next year I could probably dig up more of the yard to claim my own space, and I casually mentioned that I might not be here next year.

I’m a little sad that I didn’t join Paul’s Party Pad as the eigth and oldest Power Ranger, heretofore to be referred to as the Den Mother, or just Mom, but I’m not sure that spending six months or a year living with 22 year olds would really improve my social standing. Nonetheless, it was an opportunity to revel in adolescence.

It was only three or four years ago that I had thought to myself that I would be looking at houses “in a few months.” Then, life went tits up.

I must be slipping, I only took 120 pictures at the art thing.

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Time to ROCK!

Apparently, Cake Woman got too much sun at the Uptown Art Fair thing yesterday and spent the night throwing up. I plan to stay hydrated. I might also see about seeing a Fringe Festival show tonight. Apparently the woman who tells the yoni story is in one, and how could I miss that? Otherwise, later this week.

I will be calling Gerg to see if he remembers expressing some interest in the fair, otherwise I will be wandering the streets of Uptown by my lonesome.

Blow up my celly if you wants to hookZ up, yo.

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But you know that already. Pictures later. Where is his camera phone?

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I’m Losing My Edge

It’s only nine days until I turn 30. At that point I will be forced to do my closest impression of an adult. I could start wearing a tie again. I’ve been trying to write something about growing old all afternoon, but this is all that I could get down.

The only part of hangovers that I actually dislike is when my heart pounds and pounds.

Time to get my shit together and head off to Saint Cloud. I’m going to get revenge on my liver for some crimes that I will make up on the way. I don’t need justification.

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Palmcorder Yajna

Fucking sweet, has this song available for download.

I don’t know if the lyrics mean anything at all but the song makes me feel good and sad and happy and all mixed up inside.

Hey, wait, you can also download it straight from the goats themselves, over here:

Oh, and lyrics here:

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Holt boulevard

I am so drunk right now. John and Jolene dropped me off. I don’t think that they knew how bad my hiccups would be, but such is the life of a PBR drinker. Not that I was drinking it before I got to Gerg’s house. Oh, I am such a fucking loser, to be drunk at another person’s 30th birthday. So many people were turning 30 in the next couple of weeks.

I can’t stop with the hiccups. I’m not irresponsible, I’ve just eliminated as much responsibility as I can.

I have the hiccups super bad.

There was some confirmation that I was cute tonight, but only from women who are dating my friends, and they might have been lying.

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I’m ready

Saddle ‘er up, let’s go for a ride!

I shaved and everything! Actually, funny story: while I was shaving, Stan played “Needle in the Hay.” Hilarity ensued.

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A Caveman In A Spaceship.

A Caveman In A Spaceship.

All right, I finally got around to sitting down and really listening to Valley Lodge, partly because I offhandedly replied to an email from the singer and he replied back and was all funny and cool and it was really special and then all of a sudden he just stopped. Any way, he said that I could burn 500 copies of the Valley Lodge cd for all of my friends, which honestly would be approximately 490 more than I would really need, especially since most of the people that I know could just take the mp3s and play them on their respective mp3 playing devices.

Nonetheless, I listened with an open heart and the slightly dirty pop and rock of Valley Lodge won me over. The next thing that I knew I was completely addicted and listening to the songs over and over again, one by one. At first I was just digging on the stuff that I knew was from John Kimbrough, but the next thing that I knew I was obsessively repeating “If It Takes All Night” and “Over It” and “Hey.” Dave’s voice was seducing me, drawing me in to his world of love and loss, broken hearts and Karo emotions.

Dave’s blog is funnier but less prolific than mine.

It’s all request hour on Radio K. Now is your chance, unless I’m in the bathroom or visiting the poster by Gopher Express that features me. You know, hanging out. Maxing and relaxing.

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Professional Wingman Services

So I’m going out tonight and I need a wingman. My boss (Zabe 1) suggested that I hire a professional, and that the professional should be female, since that is all the rage. Unfortunately, there is only one professional wingperson in the Twin Cities metro area (that I could find in thirty seconds of googling), and since she is cute I’d probably just spend the whole time checking her out.

Alternatively, I could take Stan or Lisa, but Stan is awfully quiet and would probably spend the whole time checking out the synthesizers on stage. Lisa likes to embarrass me when she gets drunk. Lisa likes to embarrass me when she’s sober, like when I brought home a woman, and she made Noah ask:
“Are you my new mommy?”

Actually, that was fucking hysterical, except that I am the sort of person who lives with a married couple and their three year old. Oh, now I’m sad again.

I think that I’m gonna go to the Varsity by myself and walk home afterwards. I will shave on Gerg’s behalf, I think.

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Bright, bright, bright sunshiny day

Stan woke me up again this morning, but this time it was so I could talk to the totally awesome Qwest tech, who came out and ran his fingers over the wiring to unleash extra decibels of awesome out of the modem. This may or may not solve the rain problem, but it was nice to talk to someone who actually knew what the hell was going on.

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