(no subject)
so i went out the other night and played some zombie songs at the hideaway. i called everyone in my phone and demanded that they come out and listen to me, so i didn't feel alone amongst the emo-punk kids that came out to see some crappy band with more ego than talent. they all cheered and made me feel special (thanks guys).
and then i got laid. by a nerd.
who, by the way, was supposed to call me on sunday night and DIDN"T. nor last night...still no word from him. best damned pussy-eater i've ever met. also owns more books than me, which is impressive. how's someone gonna go and NOT call a bitch when he's telling his buddy that he thinks i'm cool, and that he maybe sorta likes me? laaaaaame.
speaking of lame, saw the hungarian, i was walking down the road after rehearsal, and he pulls up, "hey, want a ride?" and i almost said, "no thanks," and then i realized he meant in his car...so then i hopped in and made him drive me the two extra blocks i had left to walk, got out without a word and walked away from him. small, childish victory, but it felt good to show a 35 year old man that he's out of the box.
i used to work at papa johns, delivering pizzas to the rednecks in the outskirts of jonesboro, and i worked with a guy who's mother had named him eric, but who's friends called him dookie. i prised a story out of one of them, and apparently he did a girl up the butt in high school, and it hurt her and everyone somehow found out. so they called him dookie. why they called him dookie is not really the point of the story, the point is that dookie told me once that i was in the box, and after i looked at him strangely, he explained that he had a box, into which went his brother and family and close friends, and people he cared about, and it was very hard to get into the box, but once you were in, you were golden, and he would do anything for the people in his box: "oh, you need a hacksaw, trashbags and a shovel? i'll be right over." but if you did something to land outside the box, there was NO gettin back in. finished, finito. i imagine that if dookie were a soprano, he'd prolly be tony.
i was flattered to be in dookie's box.
this entry brought to you by the Write Like Andrew Dykstra, Just Don't Drink Like Him foundation, visit them on the web at www.beer-addled-rants.org
and then i got laid. by a nerd.
who, by the way, was supposed to call me on sunday night and DIDN"T. nor last night...still no word from him. best damned pussy-eater i've ever met. also owns more books than me, which is impressive. how's someone gonna go and NOT call a bitch when he's telling his buddy that he thinks i'm cool, and that he maybe sorta likes me? laaaaaame.
speaking of lame, saw the hungarian, i was walking down the road after rehearsal, and he pulls up, "hey, want a ride?" and i almost said, "no thanks," and then i realized he meant in his car...so then i hopped in and made him drive me the two extra blocks i had left to walk, got out without a word and walked away from him. small, childish victory, but it felt good to show a 35 year old man that he's out of the box.
i used to work at papa johns, delivering pizzas to the rednecks in the outskirts of jonesboro, and i worked with a guy who's mother had named him eric, but who's friends called him dookie. i prised a story out of one of them, and apparently he did a girl up the butt in high school, and it hurt her and everyone somehow found out. so they called him dookie. why they called him dookie is not really the point of the story, the point is that dookie told me once that i was in the box, and after i looked at him strangely, he explained that he had a box, into which went his brother and family and close friends, and people he cared about, and it was very hard to get into the box, but once you were in, you were golden, and he would do anything for the people in his box: "oh, you need a hacksaw, trashbags and a shovel? i'll be right over." but if you did something to land outside the box, there was NO gettin back in. finished, finito. i imagine that if dookie were a soprano, he'd prolly be tony.
i was flattered to be in dookie's box.
this entry brought to you by the Write Like Andrew Dykstra, Just Don't Drink Like Him foundation, visit them on the web at www.beer-addled-rants.org