Now What Bubba?

Sunday night. Just spent the last two hours watching Dogma with no sound other than the comentary. How bored am I?

Last night was another ill advised drunken rampage and sobbing phone call evening. Too bad really, I could probably work through a lot more if I didn't drink so much. Tonite then, I'll be goin' out with Ian and presumably getting into some sort of trouble involving alcohol. Lucky me. I don't really enjoy drinking to that point, or smoking for that matter, but it seems that once a glass is in front of me, I don't stop until I'm on the floor, passed out in a pool of spittle, usually some time before 10:00 pm. You'd think after so many years of drinking heavily, I'd have developed some sort of tolerance. No such luck.

Now it seems, I need to get laid. In a very bad way in fact. And of course, one of the frustrating things about being in this situation, is that every woman I run into can tell. You end up with a certain smell, something to do with pheromones I'm sure, and they stay away in droves. Of course, the second you end up with one, they all want you. Twisted injustice that. It makes sense to be sure, it's just the universe fucking with you.

Other than having no sex life and a very limited social life, I still need to get my things back from the gruesome twosome that I called my roommates for months. "What things"? you may well ask, well, my vaccuum cleaner for one, my cell phone for another, my pride, dignity and various cds. I swear: From this moment, I will never live with another roommate. Unless she's really cute and puts out on a regular basis.

Fishbait