fuck!!!!

fuckin non profits

the unbearable automaticity of being awesome

ah, the simple pleasures in life. the horrible person i deal with everyday called in sick today. i rejoiced. and then i was given a fulfilling task. not a bad day at work. told some dude the sky was falling.
last night as i sat home alone working on the painting, the door swung open, and my landlord stood in the hallway. i greeted him, while making a quick mental checklist of possible afronts that might bring him into the place without warning. the music was pretty low volume, the rent had been paid, the laundry room door had been locked... what the hell?
"what's goin' on there, brian?" i asked over my shoulder, still perched on the back of a dining room chair. he stood there staring at me blankly. then he walked over to me and began rubbing my back with his right hand. he was smiling. i had a smile on my face, but my armpits began to itch terribly. and then i smelled it: the sweet stench of booze.
"i got drunk." he slurred, with a whimsical influx on the word 'drunk'.
"sweet dude." i replied, cautiously slinking away from his over-affectionate fondle paw. needless to say this shit was AAWWWKWAARD! i mean, this guy is my landlord, and in over a year we've exchanged but a few words, usually regarding noise, kicking bremmer out, and other landlord/tenant business.
he ambled around the place for a few minutes, muttering things like "let's have fun" and "i don't know" and "i got drunk". he stood in the kitchen for a few minutes. i offered him a cigarette, even though i know he don't smoke none. but shit, what else am i gonna do, right?
eventually he left, falling on the stairs a bit. as i slunk down the stairs to re-lock the door, i chuckled, seeing as he has a fucking key so what's the difference...
so that happened. i wonder what he'll have to say for himself today. if his shame is great enough, i'm going to ask him if i can borrow fifty bucks.

ok maybe only just the one thing

it's cold out now, and no more moped.
i'm broke, and no more booze.
i've had it with these stupid women, too.
i hate my job.
i want old people to fall down.
i want young people to shut up.

i just got roped in to drawing about 75 album covers for a friend whose music i'm relatively indifferent to. i think it'll be good practice, though. the mulligans painting has sat unfinished for a while, and i am feeling good about finishing it this week. the thing is fuckin' huge. 4x4, nugga. i'm signed up for this sort asinine art contest involving pabst blue ribbon. all submissions become property of the brewery, and i think maybe you can win... uh... beer?

and now it's time to change everything

i will now change everything about my life other than being ungodly hot.

epic saga saturday

my saturdays are turning into epic quest of adventure and booze. it started with james and breakfast, and then... we went to the wine-making store, where i bought an ayinger oktoberfest, a rauchbier, and a six-pack of new castle cans. we then went to pine tree park (stephen and james and i) and sat upon some pine needles and drank a couple of beers. then back to the city. i borrowed stephen's bike, which i far too small for me and has no brakes, and headed to the westside, with a half pint of jack in my back pocket. the westside street fair was as cool as anything can be over there, so it was lame, but the group i met up with enjoyed a couple of drafts and french fries at the kopper top, and then off to OKTOBERFEST!!! of course i plowed right in, but my companions held back, because they were out of cash munny. i wasn't rich, but there was wurst and erdinger and polka for christ sakes! i ran into danny the dutchman, and drank beers with him a minute, then danced the polka with an octogenarian. off i went to putt putts, a bar that looks real rough on the outside, but isn't that foul on the inside, except for the staff and patrons. so i left and stopped by what i thought was a party, but was in fact a mother and father and their two sons. they gave me beer and i gave them some good ol' reynolds bullshit, because at that point i was quite drunk. i finished the jack on their porch, and stuffed a reds rye in my pocket for the epic ride home. at some point when i was downtown i sat down on a curb and fell asleep. but i woke up and struggled up the hill, only to find a giant box of useful things on the side of the road. i dragged it down to my pal dan's porch, promising to retrieve it when i had a vehicle, and then finally went home. the whole day just seemed epic and long.
sunday i got called gay by a tough guy. that was mean. pancakes and singer song writer and more beer followed.
this morning i saw a praying mantis.

miniature vacations are swell

being very broke from "livin' like there ain't tomorrow" wore heavily on me for about zero seconds as i picked up and blasted into my mini vacation! well, very mini, because of being all broke and only having one day off. thursday i got fairly drunk at meanwhile with three different sets of people, as if i had friends coming in shifts, and then ambled downtown to the drink for kendall girls, but just sort of ran into some gay guys, and we went to club moxie where my friend gillian poured free scotch down our throats. those people on ionia are all fucked, but i liked the loud techno music and the bosnian girl whose name i didn't catch. and then friday i was pretty mellow. until the sun set. james and i handled our business at logan's alley and the meanwhile again, where i met the best girl ever, who just happens to live in perth, australia. bummer. saturday, as i lay ruined on the couch, james and ryan showed up saying things about driving around in the country drinking beers, so next thing i knew, i was in the back seat of a yaris, sipping on high life and looking at cows. turns out we were the "support" car for a big bike ride down to holland, for tgibrewery's atumn fest. we found the bikers eventually, and rolled into holland kind of fucked up. i found peter for a minute, which was rejuvenating. he bought me a beer. after dropping him off it was more car beer and whatnot. we stopped by the whiskey lounge when we were back in town, where the bartender was lamely desperate for our future business. i had a glass of makers, james had a glass of jameson, and ryan had a glass of canadian mist(?). then to founders for more beer. i shut down at some point, and slept like a dead fetus on the couch. sunday stephen made french toast, and donnie told me about sorcery. it was a fun vacation.

karmic carmex

once again on the walk home i buy smokes from fatima the kindly turk, who only charges me five because she thinks i'm an art student, and once again a morton house dreg gestures in front of his head muttering, and i just keep walking. and then my lighter didn't work. here's it for now:
finally working on the painting
finally sick of going out
finally able to masturbate to print porn, after a year or so of internet porn withdrawal
finally carmex season