Yeah, I’m home and the TV’s on and, you know, why not? So, so far: • Sarah Siverman is awesome. • Jack Nicholson is drunk. • I’ll be asleep in less than an hour. • Justin Long just said “fully erect.” I am confused. • Ooh, they just showed Sacha Baron Cohen. Hott. • Dane Cook cut his hair. I don’t care if he’s the official douchebag comedian. He’s hott. • Why are they pimping…
I’ll have to write more about the Rob Crow show when I get up tomorrow (today; this was taken at 1 or 2 a.m.). I’m way too drunk right now. I’m so drunk I wrote all kinds of shit on myself while waiting for the bartender to ring me up. What did I write? Your guess is as good as mine. Lots of stars, though — a sign I’m in good spirits. Project 365
• I burnt the ever-loving shit out of my left thumb and forefinger today, getting Texas Toast out of the oven with what are, apparently, completely decorative pot-holders. It has taken me, like, fifteen minutes to type this many letters. • My neighbor has three big dogs living in her apartment. It’s sweet in theory, but really annoying in practice. • Perfect pre-spring sipping wine: Viognier. Mmm, apples and honeysuckle. • I’ve spent more time…
Why is it that, at 25 years old, I still feel like some sort of 10-year-old pretending to be grown up when I paint my nails? Seems silly.
• I’ve been reading a lot lately about Tuscan wines, and trying to teach myself how to properly pronounce Italian words and phrases, and it has rekindled in me the long-held hunch that I am an Italian trapped in a Scotch-Irish body. “Sangiovese” and “Brunello” and “Trebbiano” can’t help but sound rich and sensuous as they roll off the tongue. (And to think, I thought it was “san-gee-oh-VEESE” until, like, two days ago.) • Today…
I just took the first of the last three sips of this glass of Italian skunkwine (can someone translate my mixed terminology, please?) and I caught a glimpse of an avalanche of sediment tumbling from the little reservoir atop the glass’s stem. Ew. Today I spent the day looking at pictures of dead dogs. Believe it or not, it’s a project I’m working on at work. And it’s pretty sad. Pit bulls bred for meanness…
This afternoon I was in the shower, nursing a dull headache (no doubt inspired by the fact that from about 6 p.m. until 2 a.m., the only liquid I ingested was extremely fermented), when it occurred to me that I had possibly bought a Justin Timberlake song off of iTunes the night before. And, sure enough, now I see that “Rock Your Body” is part of my digital collection. WTF?
I just spent, like, an hour on MySpace. And what have I gained? Herpes, probably.
Finally, it feels like home. Er, “home.” I’m not sure when I’ll ever find home again. The real one.
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