Jesse Mullan

Time to ROCK!

Written on Sunday, the 7^th of August, 2005 at 1:20 pm and was filed under: Diversions

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.

Read one comment...

Don’t Hit Me In The Face With Your Balls!

Written on Sunday, the 7^th of August, 2005 at 1:09 pm and was filed under: Photography

This is a weird game.

Leave a comment...

Merry… Christmas?

Written on Sunday, the 7^th of August, 2005 at 1:07 pm and was filed under: Photography

At some point in the night we played out own version of Bacchi ball, where everyone throws at once, and the tiny ball was marked by this snowman. The best part was seeing the snowman fly up into the air. I had no idea who was on my “team,” but it was super fun and stuff.

At some point I just clocked the snowman in the head with a ball. I don’t think that you’re supposed to throw overhanded. Ahem.

Leave a comment...

That Boat Is For Sale, But Does Happiness Come With It?

Written on Sunday, the 7^th of August, 2005 at 1:03 pm and was filed under: Photography

Leave a comment...

Sunset

Written on Sunday, the 7^th of August, 2005 at 1:02 pm and was filed under: Photography

Leave a comment...

Exactly

Written on Sunday, the 7^th of August, 2005 at 1:01 pm and was filed under: Photography

Leave a comment...

Take That, Liver!

Written on Sunday, the 7^th of August, 2005 at 12:59 pm and was filed under: Photography

Actually, my liver got the last laugh by teaming up with my kidneys to remove alcohol from my bloodstream faster than I could drink it. Mother FUCKER. There’s nothing like going to bed on a crappy self-inflating mattress pad while all sweaty, sober, and lonely. Don’t, and I mean don’t go look at the fucking stars by yourself out on a dock as the Mississippi drifts by, idly investigating the tips of your toes with waves like tiny fingers.

Later, Paul and Doni and I sat together, and that was pretty nice. We saw shooting stars and maybe a satellite. Then we all passed out, the last ones left alive. Well, everyone else had just gone home because somehow the drunken motivation had slipped away from the group.

Leave a comment...