26.Jan.2004

it's a mistake.

--

when your favorite girl:thing discovers humanity

On the Lord's Day of Rest, I tend to drink beyond the limit of my stomach and my nociceptors. I spent two hours at Henry Hudson's on the north side of town, socializing with an old friend of my brother's I had met in passing over a decade ago. Rod, the pseudo-intoxicated crony, bought drinks for me, and we spent the two hours taking the wonderful piss out of my brother.

David, my brother, and I then absconded to his place of work, where I re-arranged the cubicle of one of his co-workers in the hopes that mayhap they would figure out a five-foot-two lush had her grubby little hands all over his sacred area, as I am usually this kind of drunk.

Updating this, I'm currently at Rod's, listening to Led Zeppelin from the days which lit me to late-night cinders over a decade ago. I type this with both my brother and Rod hollering various musical requests at me from across the room.

We are discussing music, analyzing tracks, and the very riffs that pushed Jimmy Page to all of his messy glory. I am consuming whiskey and coke, almost pondering contacting my Precious, merely to inform him I might be stuck here for the rest of the night.

Anyway, the point of this post is that I'm normal, and, I can't grapple with the poetry of my cerebrum merely to twist the English language into something wearable at present. Sorry, baby. You'll have to go with the crimson dress that makes me eye you salaciously from miles. There are more drinks to consume, and there is more music to delight in. I end this entry on Men at Work's "It's a Mistake" from Rod's playlist.

If it's a mistake, let me repeat it through my fingers alone.

Quote of the evening:

"You know, most women might complain that you leave the toilet seat up, but, I just put it back to its upright position after I used it."

I'm a man for the ladies, believe me.

--

time & machine