Halloween recap, and moar!

Guys. GUYS. Halloween Party 2009 was REEEEEEEETAHHHDED! Just look at this:

This is the murderous, creepy-as-all-fuck motorized demon-doll which presided over the festivities. Look at this and dare to tell me you would expect anything less than the motherfuckingest awesome Halloween party ever beheld by thine very eyes!

My roommates and I really went balls to the walls for this party. Every inch of our place was decked out with stuff: cobwebs, bloody gauze, skeletons, spiders, spooky candy, scurrry movies playing in the background, orange lights, music, and a half-barrel of PBR. It's hard to say how many people actually attended, but considering that the living room, kitchen, and attic were all pretty much packed with guests, I'd say at least 50 people showed up. It was fantastic! We had a hoe-down with a real fiddle, a dance party in the living room, a free shitshow by yours truly, and an effing half-barrel of delicious PBR-- which, btw, was basically empty in the morning.

Shitshow. Yeah. Perhaps I was the most out-of-control element at the party? Maybe? IDK. All I know is, I spent most of it wearing just the short-short-shorts and boots of my costume. People wrote things on me (Sidenote: anyone know who wrote "Fuck the Police" on my back?), and I was screaming at the top of my lungs for people to drink beer and give me money. Classy with a capital skank.

I think everyone cleared out by 2am, but the party did not officially end, in my mind, until noon the next day when my roommate's boyfriend did a keg stand in the middle of the street. DONE.

So, the moustache is gone. I had always said that I was going to shave it off after Halloween. It's funny how at first, having facial hair was the novelty, but now it's the other way around. I can't stay clean-shaven for too long. It doesn't feel right anymore. Plus, you can see more of the wrinkles in my old-as-fuck face without hair there to cover it.

That Monday after the party was so depressing. It was all over, and I had had so much fun. After such an epic weekend, to then have to go to work, fully clothed, no keg in sight...it was just so cruel. At least there was still writing all over my body, so I could quietly sit at my desk and know secretly that I had a giant penis on my chest, and an arrow wrapping around my torso pointing to my penis, saying "property of josh." Sigh.

Next on the agenda: KITTEHS!

omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomg my roomies n i r gonna git kittehs! 2 of dem! i can haz my bery own lolcats! ...Okay, I'm done (for now). But I am super-excited about this. We need to kitteh-proof our apartment a bit, and we want to move our apt door so the rest of the place is directly connected to the attic, thereby creating a large space in which two kittehs can roam freely. Yay! First we need permission from our landlord. I'm thinking she'll be okay with it. It is Riverwest, after all. Riverwest landlords are notoriously hands-off, as long as they get their money, and that suits me just fine.

Okay, I gotta GTFO. Alterra-job tonight could be full of rage. It's Donkey-Punch Tuesday, so we could be swarmed with people wanting their Donkey Punches. Tho I did just at this very moment receieve a txt informing me that the Maul is currently dead. Could be fun nite after all!

Guys! Halloween is almost here!

I am so excited, and you should be too. It's (almost) Halloween, mutha-fuckas!

Most of you who read this probably already know my propensity to go all-out for Halloween. This year will be no exception! I can tell you that I am going as a 70s porno-cop because I can guarantee that even your own imagination cannot conjure up the imag'ry of me in such a state! And, if your mind can, then I think we need to make slutty babies together. So yeah, just let me know.

Last year I was Jesus. Again, your mind cannot grasp it! My roommate accurately defined it by saying "Halloween should have ceased to exist after that. No one will never out-do Jesus". She is so right. Porno-cop won't do it, I can admit that now. But it's gonna be sooooo offensive. No, not offensive. Jesus was offensive. I mean, wow, very offensive. I absolutely should have been struck down by God/Allah/Buddha/Vishnu/L. Ron Hubbard himself/herself/itself that night. It is doubtless that I have a special place reserved for me in hell/purgatory/outerspace/my next reincarnation. I really should probably pray for forgiveness/meditate/achieve zen/get an e-meter reading. Alright, enough with the commentary. No, porno-cop will not be offensive. It will be...revealing.

Fuck...this is gonna be so great.

Sleepy + Drunky = Sleedrunpky!

I've had insomnia for the past 3-ish nights. Obviously, it is annoying and frustrating to not be able to sleep when you want to. But also, trying to function around normal people when you are sleep-deprived is pretty fucking hilarious.

I worked at the cafe last night and everything was just...funny. It helped that I worked with Ass Man and Johnson. By the way, our pitcher rinser shoots reeeeeeeally far! You can totally tilt it and aim it at things/people. So, the next time your fucking devil offspring touches my tip jar, it's going to get blasted in the face (ZOMG totally meant the unignorable 'that's what she said' right there!).

But getting back to the no-sleep thing, I'm fairly sure it's being caused by lack of drunk. The past couple of nights I've only had a couple of drinks. Not enough to be drunk. But, looking at the past, oh, 2 months or so, I'm pretty much staggering drunk every night of the week. Soooooo....yeah. You can't just stop that shit cold. You gotta ease off a little, or not at all.

Segue! I somewhat decided to ease off the alcohol because of an obnoxious math problem. I'll share! Vodka & Tonic w/lemon (VT) is ($3 + $1 tip = $4) . Number of VTs consumed on a typical night: 4. Number of nights per week VTs are consumed: 7. Number of days in a month (approx): 30. Number of months of daily drinking: 2. Now if you add that all together and then factor in that some nights I might only drink 3 VTs, or drink beer instead, or get free drinks sometimes (once bartenders know you, it TOTALLY pays off) it should come to $400+ for a month of drinking.

That. Is. Insane. And. Awesome. At. The. Same. Time.

But, slightly more insane than awesome. That's like a whole other rent payment, and it appears that I've got some kind of "moral compass" lodged in me unwillingly somewhere that is blaring a siren in my mind, just letting me know that that's not okay. It's not okay to drink $400 per month.

But there's a bright side! I have amassed a tolerance that an Irishman would be envious of. I hardly ever have more than the slightest headache in the morning (I still make it to work). And I have great stories to tell! It's hard to argue with that.

I totally have more things to blog about, since it's been so long since my last post, but I will save it for later otherwise this post will be about 5 totally different things.

Hi Falcor!

The title of this blog is what I remember screaming in my dream last night.

I rarely remember dreams, but this one was so weird. I was flying a pillow. Not riding on a magical pillow that could fly--I was actually piloting the pillow. So I'm flying this pillow really low over a river and up ahead it goes over a waterfall. As I pass over the falls, I see Falcor from Neverending Story flying up the falls, and I yell "Hi Falcor!" and keep on going. I...wh-what? There isn't really much else to tell about the dream, though I do remember the pillow being pretty difficult to manoeuvre and I got scared that I was going to fall off.

I bet that what I'm supposed to surmise from this is that my life is a bit out of control at the moment and I should be careful or things could go horribly wrong.

Um, I guess that is maybe sorta correct. My life lately can be summarized in one word: drunk. I can't remember the last night that I haven't been drunk. It's kinda fun! The drink of the summer is vodka tonic with a lemon. It's so summery and delicious. Anyway, I know it's not a good thing, but really, why the fuck not? I'm not self-destructive or anything, I just enjoy it. All I do is work. It's not like I have someone else to think about or occupy my non-work time, so I may as well fill it with booze and lolz.

Cheers!

Rage!

My coworker Demitasse keeps a wonderful blog where she likes to comment on our...exciting...work environment and its clientel at good ol' Mallterra-Gayshore. Well, she is getting married this weekend and therefore does not have time to regale the net with any good stories...so I hope she won't mind if I take a page from her book and rip some assholes.

Let me start by saying that my past few shifts at the coffee shop have been rough for me. I'm constantly angry, for whatever reason. Sugartits has come up with an interesting theory. She says I need to get laid. I laughed when she said that...but then, it kinda made obvious sense to me. Anyway, that's a story for another day.

Getting back to work. Last night, we got our asses handed to us. Bayshore is an outdoor mall. Fucking brill idea in Wisconsin, let me tell you. So, it's set up like a creepy too-perfect town with streets and cobblestone and assholes and music coming from nowhere. It's like working on a movie set, except there are more ugly people (but we do have police chases!). There is a "town square" (I shit you not) where events are held. Here I maked this for you to see:


Last night there was live jazz music in the Fuck Pit. This meant that we had an influx of custies pretty much all night long, yet we were staffed only with our usual 3 people at night. It was pretty nuts, and we actually had a line to the door at 8:00. Sugartits was taking orders, I was making drinks, and Stritch was in the kitchen (sorry, I don't know if Demitasse has a nickname picked out for her yet, so I just called her Stritch). We kept our cool mostly and worked through it as best we could, and nobody really gave us any shit, so that was good.

So 9:00 rolls around (closing time) and of course there are people walking in the door right at 9...and we "have to" serve them. First there's Tubby McDouchebag. Tubby is on his motherfucking phone and looking at the menu. He's just standing there talking and looking, so Sugartits says "You all set to order?" and Tubby...oh Tubby...Tubby holds up one finger to her as if to say "please excuse me a moment, you're interrupting my conversation." Sugartits is rightfully shocked that this d-bag would have the nerve to do such a thing, and she walks off saying "NO he did NOT just hold up a finger to me!" I decide this cannot go unpunished, so I walk up to him, and in the nastiest voice I can muster I say "NO, we are closing RIGHT NOW so I need your order RIGHT NOW." He puts his phone down and says "Uh, can I get an extra-large mocha, and I want lots of chocolate." I ring it up, Sugartits adds an extra 50 cents for being a fucking cuntscrape, and I fill an extra-large cup halfway full of mocha powder and add a splash of espresso and hot milk. I severely hope I gave him diabetes.

Next lady orders a smoothie. Fine. Okay. Make a smoothie.

Then, two kids from Zumiez next door walk up to the register. They look like 12 year-olds with pubes on their faces. They order 3 extra-large espresso shakes.

I nearly destroyed the world with my mind at that moment.

Oh, and they just happen to have a punchcard with all 3 free punches available. Turns out one of our very own coworkers gave it to them, no doubt in an effort to score free shit off of them. Sugartits called them out on it, as she was making the shakes. "Did _____ give this to you guys?" They just kinda looked away and didn't answer. "Well you call him right now and tell him he's in big trouble" "Oh, we don't have his number." Perfect. They aren't even really friends with him. So Sugartits says "Well just so you guys know, if you EVER come in at close and order this again, I will NOT serve you." They were sorry, and did apologize, but that did not change the fact that we were seething with anger at _____ for making this possible. So after we finally locked the doors, Sugartits called _____ and bitched him out. He was very, very sorry and said he would not do it again. We'll see. I'm not so easily persuaded.

It took us a little over an hour to close, which is much longer than normal. But we did it, and the world continues spinning. We left a note for the Ass. Man. to make sure and schedule an extra person when there are events going on in the Fuck Pit.

So now I'm off for the weekend, and heading up to Fond du Lac for some family stuff. It should be nice-ish, maybe. Meh, I'll just drink. And apparently I am now on a quest to get laid so I can relax at work. It's probably a good idea because, honestly, I might kill somebody.

OMG, I write a blog?

So today? I had a phonecall? from this girl? who said everything? like it was a question? and...I ALMOST FUCKING LOST IT. I was seriously trying my hardest to not let her hear me laughing on the other end. Just ridiculous! And this girl is applying to graduate school. To teach children. This is really fucking sad. I sometimes wish I had the authority to make admission decisions based on a simple phone conversations.

Alterra and me did not mix well this past Saturday. I got...angry. Irate. I was screaming at people and ignoring them when they told me their drink was wrong. I don't know what it was, but it was certainly uncharacteristic of me. Thankfully my boss thought it was hilarious...and told me to go on break.

I'm preparing for doing most of my move this coming Saturday. My mother kindly offered to come down with her SUV and move stuff. I guess I won't be able to move most of my big stuff, but I'm thinking I should be able to get most everything else. Exciting! I'm guessing I could probably start staying at the new place after that. I probably won't have my bed there, but Marissar scored a pretty sweet curb futon, so perhaps I can sleep on that for the time being. Or, I could drink enough to pass out every night, thereby negating the need to have an actual sleeping surface. That might happen anyway. You know me!

I'm currently reading All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque, translated by A. W. Wheen. It is fantastic. I saw the 1930 movie a couple years ago because I had always intended upon reading it, but I just got to the movie first. The movie is very well done, and seems pretty true to the story. But now that I'm reading it, in English, and I'm continually impressed by the author's insight on mankind, I really would love to read it in German. The problem with that is I can't read German. But you never know when reading something that's been translated if the translator was able to capture the intent of the original author's words. 'Tis a conundrum. Am I being impressed by the author, or am I being impressed by the translator? I may never know.

I love how my blogs are never about one subject.

Pukeasaurus Retch

Looks like I 'aven't blogged in a wee bit. So here's some news from Shaneriffic's world!

First off: I are moving! Sweet! Just signed a lease with my good friend Marissar in the lovely Riverwest neighborhood. It's about time. I've been wanting to move there for quite a while now. I hang out there almost exclusively at this point, and it had become annoying to take cabs there and back. Now the bars I frequent are close enough for me to stumble to (and oh, you better believe there will be stumbling)! Our place is a roomy 2-bedroom upper with a huge finished attic, and a porch fer sittin'! And I'll be paying about $150/month less in rent than I have been paying for the past 3 years, so this is very good news. True, the cast of characters the neighborhood presents will be quite different and possibly dangerouser (?) than what you might normally encounter on the East Side, but I feel as though it's all worth it. Plus, 2 of my good friends/coworkers live literally a couple houses away, with other friends very nearby. Score!

In other news, I bought a bike! Yay! I layed down some pretty serious dough for a killer Jamis road bike. My transition to hipster douchebag is now complete. I think I'll be issued a Chrome bag now. Hopefully it comes filled with PBR.

I speak little of my job at UWM, mostly because to me it's just a job I have out of necessity because it pays well and I get full state benefits. But apparently, I am very good at what I do. So when it came time for one of my coworkers to retire last month, I was chosen to take over her client load, essentially doubling the number I was already working with. The economy being what it is, we aren't really being allowed to actually hire people to fill positions. So. Yeah. I have a lot of work. Like, a lot. I'm doing the best I can, mostly...though, blogging while at work probably isn't helping. meh.

And then lastly...I haven't puked from drinking in weeks! Progress!

Disconnected...and reconnecting

I haven't turned on my TV in over a month. Not counting turning it on to watch a DVD, or sometimes a few minutes in the morning to get the weather forecast for the day ahead, I have grown completely uninterested in television.

I never thought I'd see this day.

I grew up in the middle of nowhere. Our house was surrounded by cornfields with nothing worthwhile even remotely close, not even for a kid on a bike. So the only thing me and my siblings had, especially during summer break, was TV. I was a slave to it as early as I can remember.

Daytime TV held nothing interesting...it still doesn't. So we would watch movies constantly, but it was the same movies over and over because we couldn't even get cable where we lived. Still can't. So that is why, to this day, my brother, sister and I can recite some of these 80's gems by heart: Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Top Gun, Indiana Jones 1 & 2, Dirty Dancing, Spaceballs, Back to the Future, etc. This is exactly why my dad was HORRIFIED with me when I obliterated my entire family last xmas at a game of Scene It. I'm pretty sure he realized then how he failed as a parent.

TV raised me, seriously. I know that idea is thrown out there a lot as a way for us, as a society, to take stock of our lives and the lives of our children. It's almost lost meaning. But for me it is the truth.

So this new phase of TV-lessness that I'm in seems strange even to me, like I'm turning my back on a beloved parent. But honestly think about what's on TV right now. It is 50% "reality" shows, 40% cop/detective shows, and 10% sitcoms. In any of these genres, each show is basically the same thing, but with a different cast and setting. I sort of find it insulting. I'm really only commenting on the major network stuff, because I would much enjoy some shows that air on some of the standard cable channels like History or NatGeo, because I'm a nerd like that. A nerd without cable.

But I used to be so different. Merely a few years ago, I was watching so much TV that I had two DVRs. That was the pinnacle of my addiction to the tube. It makes me a little sad still to think that I was that shut off from the real world, and perfectly happy to be so.

Now my TV watching is reduced to the extremely small handful of shows that I can catch on Hulu: Simpsons, Family Guy and American Dad. That is it.

So what am I doing with myself these days? Well, movies à la Netflix, the aforementioned DVDs, and...reading. Like, voraciously reading. I read 4 entire books in 8 days last month. Then, just to make sure I didn't miss anything, I read them all again, a bit more slowly (maybe a full 2 weeks).

I am so happy to be reading again. It feels so nice. I think TV has robbed us of the pureness of the written word. It can evoke so much within us. TV just displays it for you and you don't have to think or even react. Words are amazing. Even if something isn't written particularly well, you can still get a feel for what the author is trying to convey, and you can't help but react. Because it is all in your psyche. You visualize the characters, settings and facial expressions. You experience the emotions and reactions. There's just nothing else quite like it.

So now I'm searching for my next literary conquest. I'm thinking of delving into the classics, as I feel a bit lacking in that area. Any recommendations?

Thanks for tuning in.

Oh baby, turn me off!

It seems that in the last month, month and half, I've been approached, admired, or talked to by more girls than boys ever have.

What the hell.

This morning, case in point: I was waiting for the bus outside my building as usual. Other people were waiting as well, and it is more or less the same people every morning, including this one girl that I recognized just from our mutual bus rides. Nothing strange about that. We never talked, as I don't really talk that early in the morning.

We both usually get off at the same stop, too. Also nothing out of the ordinary. But this morning she seemed to walk a little slower than normal. Whatever, no big deal. So, I was making my way to pass her, and she waited until I was right next to her before she spoke.

"So, do you go to school here?" I could see the desire in her eyes.

"Um, no, I work here." In my mind, I was all why the fuck is this happening again?

"Oh. What area?"

"Graduate School."

"Oh."

And then I proceeded to surpass her and continue on to work.

I immediately felt bad. I felt like I was being rude, because a normal person would have kept the small talk converstaion going, if not just out of politeness. But I felt it would be wrong of me to do that and give her the wrong impression. I almost turned back to correct the faux pas, to ask her what she studies, that sort of thing. But feigning interest when there is none seems a little mean.

This was just the latest incident of girls mistaking me for straight. I suppose that's not so bad, since I'd hate it if I were obviously gay all the time. I hate "being gay" except for purely comic reasons. It's not something I find even remotely attractive, which I suppose is a big reason behind why I'm single so often and for so long. Life would undoubtedly be easier if I actually were straight...but I feel like that wouldn't be as fun, somehow.

And this proves to me that acting gay is something you turn on or off. I pretty much knew that already, but these circumstances reaffirm it. I could be the gayest fucking thing you've ever seen. It's pretty easy. It's almost exactly like being extremely super nice to a customer when you'd really rather be slamming thier skull against a curb.

I really don't understand why so many gay men leave it "on" all the time. It's repulsive.

Anyway, I guess I should give bus girl some props for actually having the nerve to say something to me. It couldn't have been easy, as we humans tend to avoid situations which may result in being shot down. Hm. I hope I haven't ruined her day.

On a very loosely related note: if Miss California doesn't support gay marriage, then maybe I don't support the marriage of dumb blonde fuckwits.

So now what?

I met my idol. So now what?

It was last Thursday, April 16th. I was getting excited because the next night I was going down to Chicago with my best friend slash seoul mate slash korean fag-hag Amy to see our favorite band, Death Cab For Cutie. On Thursday evening I got a special email for Fan Club members about a chance to win a "meet and greet" with the band before the show. I figured I'd enter, even though I've never won anything in my life.

I fucking won.

So Amy and I got to meet the band on Friday before the show. We got our picture taken with them. It was so surreal. I still feel like it might not have happened, but I have the picture, so I know it did. I remember shaking each member's hand, and I remember all I could say was "hi". I didn't even say my name or introduce myself.

I couldn't like, gush over them or anything. For one thing, I'm thirtysomething years old, and gushing is just not okay anymore. Also, I mean, the band didn't seem annoyed that they had to come and meet us, but I would just think that it's one of those things that they don't look forward to. So, I didn't want to do something that would have really made them uncomfortable.

Well anyway...it was still amazing to get to meet them. And the concert was fantastic as well!

Sweet dreams are NOT made of these

I rarely remember my dreams at night, good or bad. But every once in a while I have one that's intense enough that I remember most of it, or least very clear visions of certain scenes which transpired. Last night was one of those nights.

And I feel kinda sick.

Maybe it had something to with the fact that for dinner last night, I ate sushi and french fries. Who knows what triggers certain dreams. Normally I find the notion of dream interpretation sort of fascinating. Not that I place a whole lot of stock behind things like that, but it's just one of those curious things that you can't help wondering about. But last night's dream...well, I don't wanna analyze it at all. I don't want to think about it enough to even be able to analyze it.

I don't think I even want to mention anything about the dream here. I just don't want to relive any of it. But, I can't just leave it at nothing, so here's an abbreviated version.

It wasn't a "scary" dream, like I was being chased and couldn't get away. I wasn't killing anyone in the dream (though THAT would have made the dream much better). Simply put, there was someone in my dream, someone I've known in real life, whom I never, ever, wish to see again. The fact that this would even come up after all these years just makes me hate my brain, and for a fleeting moment, I really wished that Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was real.

Just that fact that this person was in my dream isn't the worst of it. My own actions in the dream are what really makes me sick. Let's just say...I was feeling...frisky. Ugh.

This is really tormenting me.

This undesireable person I speak of isn't the one I was frisky with, though. It was this person's real-life companion, whom I hate almost as much...though in the course of the dream this other person morphed into another person, and then I wasn't quite so averse to all the friskiness.

(Sidenote: if I'm misusing who/whom....well, I can't fucking keep it straight, so get used to it.)

I woke up this morning covered in a gross sweat. It was awful. It still feels awful. I feel like the only way to combat this is to get wasted every night and pass out instead of going to sleep. But, I don't think I have enough money to live like that. And, I'm not so sure my insurance would cover self-inflicted liver failure.

Sigh.

Maybe that would still be better than having a dream like that again.

Lookingforwardtoittiveness!

I just got my Death Cab For Cutie tickets in the mail. April 17th, Aragon Ballroom, Chicago. I am so effing excited! This will be my 5th DCFC concert. I heart them so hard. Everything Ben Gibbard does is pure genius, of course. I really really hope they play "We Looked Like Giants" because it is unfuckingbelievable live.

So I found my ooooooooold blog the other day. It apparently still survives online, even though I haven't posted in it since like 2004 or something. I was reading through some of my old posts, and it struck me that I sounded very immature and infantile, and, well...gay. LOL. It was pretty funny to read that and then remember what was going on in my life at that time. Needless to say, that time in my life was excruciating. I was dealing with the disastrous end of a 7 year relationship, and trying to figure out how people actually went out and did things, met new people, and did stupid, reckless things with those people. Without going into too much detail, I did learn how to do all of those things, in spectacular fashion. I wouldn't change any of it, because I know it was essential to my growth as a person, and I think it has helped me tremendously in finding myself. I have found myself. I am myself.

I had a ridiculous real-life story that I was going to write about here, and of course, I have forgotten what it was again. It was definitely one of those "there's no way that really happened" kind of stories, but it was absolutely true, I assure you. Hopefully I will remember it again someday.

I have a tendency to forget things that happen to me, even if alcohol isn't involved. Perhaps these events in my life don't seem that odd or atypical at the time they're happening, so I therefore don't make an effort to commit it to memory. But then a few months down the line I'll think about it and wonder how the hell that happened. But by that time, the details have gotten fuzzy. It will sometimes come flooding back to me, so it's those moments that I wait for now.

I need to be writing more. I can feel it inside me. I have a story to write and it is screaming at me to let it be written. I see these scenes like movies in my head, but it can be very difficult to get it into words for me. My mind usually starts racing so fast with ideas: "this will happen!...oh, and then this could happen!...but wait, this should happen first!..." and so it becomes very disjointed and then I forget a lot of it. Maybe if I tried to write everyday, this wouldn't happen. But now I have a backlog since I haven't sat down to write in about 3 months. The last time I did I sat at Alterra-Humboldt for 6 hours, writing the entire time. My hand hurt so fucking bad, but I couldn't stop.

Alright, time for some actual work, I suppose. I didn't do any at all yesterday, so I guess I should remedy that. Later, peeps.