That’s right.
I suggested the shaving as a suitable alternative to the laborious chore of evenly cutting the dog’s hair and randomnicole of It’s Not us It’s You heard my words and took the only logical course of action.
I think the little sucker looks happy with it! Don’t you? He looks a little healthier, too!
Drunk, nearly blacked out, and unsatisfied with his life, Michael (Or SuperBR*, as we call him) did his best imitation of a tornado in the kitchen last night. He pulled a bunch of old vegetables and sour cream out of the fridge and decorated the floor and walls with them. Our other two roommates were sleeping. Michael laughed when I warned him how mad they would be and he jubilantly screamed that he couldn’t wait until they saw his modern art installation.
And, of course, as any good bulemic knows, what goes down, must come up.
*the BR stands for Baby Raper
Tonight is one of the first nights I’ve had to myself in a long time. Okay. I’m not exactly alone, it’s me and Hamm’s.
Yes. I’m drinking Hamm’s. I’m broke.
It’s a bit of a shock having to spend the bulk of the night alone. How does a young male like myself cope with such isolation? By utilizing the macbook pro webcam to take crapzor pictures of my recent used clothing buys. Time to indulge the gay part of my bisexuality. Fashion show!
Vintage Brown Button up shirt with dot patterns.
Purchased at: Bearly Worn, 50th and Division, $12
Levis Jeans
Purchased at: Buffalo Exchange, SE 37th Ave and Hawthorne, $28 (trade)
Adidas Shoes
Purchased at: Buffalo Exchange, SE 37th Ave. and Hawthorne, $24 (trade)
Green western shirt with star and horseshoe snap buttons
Purchased at: Red Light, SE 36th Ave. and Hawthorne, $18 (trade)
Brown perforated sports shirt with orange and white stripes
Purchased at: Red Light, SE 36th Ave. and Hawthorne, $14 (trade)
So put my TV up for sale on craigslist today. It’s a nice HDTV, but sucks at playing any non-HD content, including normal DVD’s, which I rent a lot of from Movie Madness.
The first offer I got was from the people who work at Forbidden Body Art a local tattoo store, offering a trade in tattoos for the TV. I think, if I wasn’t going to be short on cash very soon, and I actually had a tattoo idea, I would take them up on it.
I think the day I finally get a tattoo, it’ll go down like this. I’ll start going to a local strip club regularly. I’ll find myself a nice girl to fixate on: a real peach. I’ll display unprecedented enthusiasm for her performances, and then I’ll deliver the coup de grace, when I rip off my shirt while she’s high in the air, pole dancing, to reveal a huge tat of her face across my chest. She will fall off the pole in shock and knock herself out. Yeah. That’s my tattoo fantasy.
There’s a mini film festival going on at the Broadway Metroplex (1000 SW Broadway) in Portland. A few of my favorites are in the schedule, including these three weeks in a row:
June 16: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
June 23: Punch Drunk Love
June 30: Secretary
I’ll be in there with my eyes taped to the goddamn screen for all these beautiful films. I’m bringing a group. If you’re gonna be in Portland and want to go to any of these, drop me a line.
via Portland Mercury’s Blogtown PDX
Unpacking this week after my move to Portland, I was able to get a birds-eye view of my possessions. Like, for example, I knew I had a lot of cords, but after coiling and grip-taping them all, I realized, well: 
I opened another box, and 1994 popped out:
Whatever happened to virtual reality, man? This box would totally make the 1994 ice man from South Park comfortable.
I miss my old hair. Check out how fucking deranged I look here! Daddy’s home! This one’s from
late Feb.
I finally left my creepy apartment today. I stayed there for almost two months. The place had a generally icky vibe and far away from any part of town I wanted to live in or spend time in. (30th and Mission). I only got the place so my ex could come visit and stay with me. (And, as it turned out, have our relationship crumble before my eyes in such tragic and ironic ways that it’s hilarious.)
The place makes you feel like you’re being watched. It gives you a feeling like someone was just beaten to death with a pipe before you got there and the killer is in a closet eying you while he chews happily on the corpse’s severed genitals.
So I’m glad to be out of there. Today, the movers will come to my storage space to pick up my stuff. I spent a lot of time in the last few days packing and organizing the haphazard mess. (I’m wont to create haphazard messes.)
I also found some treasure. Pistachios and quarters, ya’ll!
This unpaid laborer helped me pack my things.
The Duck of Shame will travel with me, to mete out justice on unworthy roommates with his baleful gaze.
This packing tape says “split resistant” on it. So of course it split every time I tried to peel some of it off.
Nifty.
Going out on a limb at the risk of making my blog too intellectual, but here goes! Recently, Scott Beale posted a blog about kittens on treadmills. Logically, since I have the mind of an adolescent boy, it occurred to me to search “cat on fire.” in YouTube.
Found only one incident, and the video is of a news report, not the actual burning cat, which caused me to experience disappointment and relief simultaneously.
Couldn’t someone have at least lit a fake cat on fire, thrown it across the room, and dubbed it over with a hearty, “ROOOWWR?”
Maybe I’ve got a project here.
Hmm.
I don’t often take notes because I have terrible ADD. (or ADHD or lazy brain or whatever the hell you want to call it) I’ll get excited about a concept and write it down so I don’t forget it, but then I’ll almost never go back and look at notes. It just never seems so important to me to go back and look at what I wrote in the past. Maybe they should call it CID? (concept importance defecit)
Sometimes I do go back and look. Tonight, when feeling adventurous, I delved into the jungle of nonsense in my iphone notes app, I ran across a note containing only this line:
“houses full of peanut butter”
I have no idea what this means or what I was thinking. (Admittedly, it is an appealing visual.) This is the sort of thing I would expect if I were say, smoking pot on a regular basis, like I did when I was a teenager.
Maybe it’ll make sense to me tomorrow.
in ur twitter