I’m in your water.

I believe it was eggs.

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!

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.

My friend Jen, who KJ’s at the Stargate Lounge a.k.a. Chopsticks Too here in Portland gave me a list of her top 5 all time hated songs for people to pick.

1. Total Eclipse of the Heart
2. What’s Going’ On
3. Don’t Stop Believin’.
4. Loveshack
5. Summer Lovin’.

The main reason being that people either can’t sing these songs, act like total assholes when they do, or both.

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.

Really Shoutcast?

I ran across a neat blog today called Photoshop Disasters. They’ve got a great collection of hilarious and ironic fuck-ups that range from the stylistically inappropriate, to complete pooch fuckings like this Norweigan bus:

Edgy!

It’s kinda like Best Week Ever or the Soup for advertising/editorial imagery.

I miss my old hair. Check out how fucking deranged I look here! Daddy’s home! This one’s from
late Feb.

Hello, Walgreens.

I snapped this near my (as of today) old apartment at 30th and Mission in San Francisco.