Sunday, June 7, 2009

I don't need blood stains on my hands to make me feel like I'm a man

What a weekend. I am exhausted, and I did not do all that much.
Friday I played some Magic and drafted rather well, going 3-1 and placing second, hopefully making some new gaming pals in the process. I was all set to go drinking after, but I was beat, so I came home to sleep...
And ended up talking to a woman on the phone for an hour from 2am to 3am, leaving me thoroughly exhausted for my Saturday. Now, normally, I would have liked to sleep in. However, thanks to the Sunday event that would be taking place not fifteen feet from my bed room window, I was jolted awake at the ripe old hour of 8am to people setting up tents and port-o-potties. That's right- you're shit woke me up.
So I did my grocery shopping and went to a Starbucks to finish working on an article, where I randomly accidentally farted on some people. I didn't mean to- I was sitting down and it just sort of happened. Thankfully...well, they noticed, but it was funny anyway.
I ended my Saturday by going to a bar and waltzed right into the middle of some fucked up birthday party. I left when a double chinned, orange tanned, absurdly breasted (presumably the birthday girl) started dancing and shaking my bar stool and smacking my shoulder with what was either a boob or a well formed pocket of residual vodka that was hibernating under her bust for a later date and know, for emergencies.
Sunday, I walked through the madness of the charity walk (that had woken me up again, after too little sleep), encountering a Stormtrooper and apparently, Bristol Palin, as I attempted to go eat brunch. He mother was, as I was told, on the campus (where I for the charity event. So not only was I tired, but I was likely in the presence of ignorance incarnate.

This is really my life.

So I enjoyed my brunch and went out to buy some books. I find myself rereading Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? so I picked up another Dick novel. I also bought Closing Time, the so-called sequel to Catch-22. Then, in desperate need of human contact, I went to the beach, found none, and came home to eat dinner and do laundry and watch the Pro Tour online.
I live in the suburbs, and it is difficult for me to get out. Well, not difficult, but drinking in the evening is a pain since the cabs charge extra to come here. This means I end up driving myself and not drinking a lot, which is fine. However, since I live where I work it makes it difficult to really get away, mentally.
I dunno, I'm just ranting. Looks like I am going to be signing up for kickball in a few weeks.

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