"People are afraid to merge..."

But at least Clay and Sean attempted, halfway.
Or is that worse, to only attempt halfway?

"[Chicago] is a Vampire..."

"[Bloc Party] is playing at the Whiskey tonight..."




"Don't you wish you could go back?"
"Go back where?
"I don't know, just back."

All he knew, at that moment, was that he was a 37 year old man, sitting on a stoop, drinking his 3rd beer, and it was dark out. The stoop light stopped working when the neighbors moved in a couple of years ago, and it never started working again after they left. Not after they left, or the Squatters for a few weeks after them left. The bulb is in the socket, but no electricity seems to enter.
In between brick walls, staring out into the street, he watched black boys on bicycles circling the block.
Over and over and over again.

He watched Mexican families walking slowly down the sidewalks, dragging folding chairs and toddler 3-wheelers, going home from a day and evening at the park.
He watched gangs of roving teenagers, all dressed the same in white t-shirts and jeans, roaming the streets, pissing on the lawn in front of him, passing joints, and starting fights.
He watched the police cruisers drving both ways on the one way street. Twerping the siren, and making the blue lights dance in the heavy hot night air.
No one greeted him, and only one out of, like,twenty replied if he greeted first.

He watched.
He watched.
He watched.

And felt nearly nothing.

Maybe a little fear, when the boys grouped up in front of him, asking for a cigarette.
Maybe a little anger, when he heard how all these kids talked to each other. Their voices sounded like violence, even when speaking "sweet nothings" that "hey girl!" they run across on the corner.
Maybe a little nostalgia, when the mind wanders to different times, different places.
Maybe a little regret, when watching the glowing ember flicked down the stairs into the darkness, onto the thin film of sewage on the concrete from the last big rain.
Maybe a little sad yearning, when he sees the couples walking under the streetlights and whispering leaves.
Maybe a little boredom at the way this whole thing turned out.

"The billboard said, 'Disappear Here.'"

Because I am sober and awake during the day,

I've started hanging out over here. I mean, screw it, I'm there Forty Hours A Week with so little to do.
Until I get Dooced, that is; then, who knows?

The only rings I care about are the ones my beer leave on the coffee table

But this video about two guys testing their mettle against Olympic athletes cracked me up.
Good for them!

"Supposedly she drank blood, but, yeah, she was a great kisser."

Ran into some people on Facebook, saw some OLD pics, and fell victim to a hit and run of nostalgia.
So, I randomly picked an old post and cracked myself up.

I Dropped Acid With Billie Piper...

on top of the Sears Tower, and then we totally did it. Twice.

Today, I had fun at work. Mind you, I didn't do any work, but had fun here. As you can see from my timestamps, I spent most of the day online, posting a Yin-yang of comments (some good, some bad). Those Gawker Commenters crack me up!

Eh, whattaya gonna do?

(Billie Piper is lovely, and when I found this syrupy video, I had to include it!)




Cheers.

(Billie: call me!)

Not Dead, Just Passed Out

Summer 2008:



Gas prices through the stratosphere.
Over $1000 in car repairs.
Annoyances galore at The Bank.
More hours at The Part-time job, sucking all my energy and annihilated my "social life." However, that job is like a Love Fest Laugh Fest compared to The Bank.
Grandpa M. died.
Grandma M. wants to die, like, NOW!
Still counting myself among The Poors.
Currently sweating my balls off as I type.
The last two women I, finally, convinced myself into asking out turned out to be both engaged, one with a kid.
My adult-onset mystery allergy is flaring up more.

But other than that, life is a Pink Cotton Candy Bra on a Porn Star!

Really, it ain't all that bad, I just needed to type some of that off my chest. I'm just bored, not down. Not falling back into that whole 2004 Madness; thank God.

I guess I shouldn't complain about work, I should be thrilled with the chaos of my job, and the fact I am burrowed away in The Gopher Hole most of the week. If I could just trade Biggie J. for another coworker, I'd be set!
Part of the problem with the job at The Bank is I've borderline "worked myself out of a job." Compared to my predecessor, I'm like fucking Flash Gordon. He went the extra mile to call around and hassle local vendors into selling at a lower price (true, he took bribes from them, and I wouldn't, but that's besides the point), but rest of the job he SUCKED AT! (and I'll not go into the duties of my job unless asked for they are not exciting. At. All.) Basically, what would take him 3 weeks to accomplish, I finish in 3 days maximum. Upside: makes my coworkers and boss happy! Downside: a whole hell of a lot of downtime!

But, at least I spend downtime moments here and there with The Banks interests in the forefront of my mind. HA!

Alright, enough bitching and moaning (and navel-gazing: Shut Up, Spav1!) for now, my computer is running sluggish in this heat.

'Night.