Do I really come off as a lush? It’s all a total act. After this summer I will probably go back to the grim spectre of sobriety. In the mean time, any time that a cute woman wants to come to my house and encourage me to drink myself silly on the deck I am all over that like a cheap suit. Shit. That does sound like a thing that Drinky McDrunk Drunk would say.
None of you have any idea what the fuck is really going on.
Paul, you should come drink here too.
Apparently this morning Gerg’s bike was turning over but not starting. He said that he would try unfouling the plugs and stuff. Hopefully we can arrange another evening of shadetree mechanicry. Uh, I’m not sure that was a word. Oh well.
Dallas Orbiter will be playing the Varsity Theater. Have you checked out their album yet? Okay, their live shows are better, but soon they will be holing up in their underground studio again, so you will have to squeeze every last drop of awesome that you can out of their albums. EVERY LAST DROP.
Uh. That’s, uh, August… uh… 5th.
I’m a bad friend.
Oh yeah, my popcorn smells like carb cleaner. My carb cleaner smells like popcorn. Delicious. We got the carb out, cleaned it, adjusted the floats (using my IKEA tape measure), and put everything back together. Every so often, we would ask “where did this extra hose come from?” and frantic minutes of searching would reveal that it was just another overflow hose. When it was complete, it didn’t start because the battery was dead. Gerg promised that he would let me know how it all comes out tomorrow after a night of charging. It almost started a few times, but…
It’s been a long long week.
Gerg’s bike looks like this:
I’m only a little jealous.
Cake Woman asked me what plans I had for my 30th birthday. I shrugged and she suggested:
Drive your car off of a cliff?
Read 75 more words, see one more image, and read one comment...
I was hoping to write a post about something tonight:
This CSci 4011 homework is hammering away at my brain. I may never sleep again. That might be the Death From Above 1979 talking. WOW. I’m doing this last problem tomorrow.
Gerg finally got me the pictures that I took with his camera. I imagine that this is because I will be going to his house tomorrow to help him disassemble the carburetor on his motorcycle. I’m not cool, but sometimes I’m cool by proxy.
Kitty Cat Klub - June 24, 2005
Some of these turned out pretty sweet.
What does a guy have to do to get his name written on a piece of paper, inserted into a woman’s yoni, taken out the next day, partially burned, hung in the Southwest corner of a room, then buried with two cherries these days?
I wonder if I have burned all my bridges already, or if there are some that I missed.
Zach finally got the Suckadelic CD. It’s all cartoon supervillains over breakbeats. I am losing my mind. Right now. It is being erased by an onslaught of awesomeness.
Cobra Commander is playing at my house. Gargamel is opening. Doors are at eight.
I had planned to go to bed early tonight, but the Hawaii kids convinced me to go out one more time. First off was the Kitty Cat Klub, where some random electronic band was playing, and a dude who was at Marsha and Boot’s wedding was playing fucking bass! What the fuck? I was enjoying the bleeps and beats, but Renee, Dean, and Lisa all wanted to mosey somewhere downtown, so we piled into the Mom car and headed to First Avenue. No one was playing the mainroom, and besides, who goes to First Ave just to drink? Anyway, it was something like one AM, and Evan Dando was playing the Entry, so we went strolling in like we owned the place and everyone else boozed it on up while I chilled with a Summit. We heard just a song and a half before Dando departed the stage, but we stuck around because there was still beverage in our beverages. The lights came on and we all reminisced over our favorite Entry moments.
38 queries. 0.091 seconds.
