Fun fact: people are fickle as shit. I’m not innocent just yesterday I was dead set on quitting my job and was full of piss and vinegar then I had a few drinks and a quick chat with a co-worker about DC lore and now, well… my shift starts at nine tonight. It’s the constant stream of crisis that made me want to quit my job at the bar. At any one time, a staff member is in meltdown or a customer is dishing out empty threats – and then try to force their way back in to ‘apologise’, okay fuck-face, sure.

I probably should quit but there’s always tomorrow for that.

In other related news, I’m reading this great book right now which is strange for me as I barely ever describe something as great if not related to fucking or cheesecake, and I read even less. It’s A City Dreaming by Daniel Polansky. As of right now, reading that and getting wasted on Corpse Revivers is the only thing giving me encouragement to stay out of my bed. Absinthe and my bed have a lot in common actually. They both make me feel warm and fuzzy and I get to avoid difficult questions and neurotics from projecting their shit at me. I have to say, that book is excellent, I do recommend it and wish my life was anything close to as interesting as the protagonist’s. Arguably it’s as dysfunctional and just as alcohol, sex, and coffee orientated – which by the way, Mother, isn’t a bad thing at all, I’m having a good time or at least seem like I am.

This post will unfortunately be a short one, I’ve yet to have a morning black coffee and as I’m so easily distracted, once I close the document, I seldom open it up again. You really know your life is in a sorry state of affairs when your own words start to bore you. Maybe I should mix it up for you, the reader, by throwing in a random FUCK for dramatic effect.

 Note to self: engage in more booze fuelled hijinks for better anecdotes.


Easter in August

After many months of ignoring my blog and after much contemplation of just deleting it entirely, I’ve decided instead to start afresh. The reason for this is mostly because of my inability to keep things from people when I’m drunk after I’ve ran out of other interesting – or not so interesting – anecdotes. Suddenly there was a moral panic about what to write about and who to write about considering I couldn’t remember who I’d told and who’d read some words of scorn. Naturally, if they had been the subject of scorn, obviously they probably fucking deserved it; the only issue with that however is the biggie, being that a confession booth is a bit redundant when you stick a megaphone on it.

Months have gone by and the badgering about posting to the blog from friends – yes, friends! Who knew? But only a few let’s not get carried away – and acquaintances has finally come to an end. Four months fashionably late after Easter, I’ve forced this blog, and whatever creative or motivational energy I have, back to life and out of the rocky mausoleum. So, what if Christ beat me at the metaphorical resurrection game by 113 days? I’ll bet you any money in his lifetime, Jesus didn’t get a very staged overly-priced picture with David Duchovny, so ha! – I win, sort of.

To make it clear now, despite that previous analogy, I’m in no way comparing myself with the biblical figure Jesus of Nazareth, he was a much better story teller than I will ever be. No one’s starting a crusade in the name of Mills & Boon erotica so, believer or not, his short stories about being nice to people must have at least been written well for people to start massacring each other over them. Even then, my attention span is far too short to even hash out a Mills & Boon novel. Well this paragraph is all over the place, besides that, the point is, my comparison was a half-arsed attempt at an amusing self-depreciating pop not a holier-than-thou statement.

Apparently based on that little ramble, in the time since my last blog post I’ve become incredibly insecure that I have to justify and defend myself about everything or maybe by saying that it’s just being insecure in my insecurity. This is exactly why I downloaded Tinder again; in hopes that a litany of shallow matches will mean a nice little boost for my ego and self-esteem by easing my apparent constant panic. The bonus to that, obviously, is getting laid once in a while. Let’s not even talk about finding long term commitment on Tinder or – fuck it – love, I’m far too self-absorbed for any of that for the time being as I’ve recently discovered, as my ex-girlfriend did too.

So, there you have it to surmise; a shitty life pro tip for you after all the waffle: download Tinder. At worst it’s a desperate distraction of shallow attraction and shallower banter, at best you get laid so what more can you ask for out of a free app? It’s not like Candy Crush which, if you pardon the pun, really is fucking soul crushing.

Easter in August