Rebel, mind your last name

Good morning, Vietnam.

All abuzz with weird thoughts tonight… Outlandish schemes and exciting propositions, distant worlds and foreign sands. Someone must have slipped something in my drink.
Maybe it was me.

I have been absolutely 100% responsibility free for the last two days. For better or worse, my week-long wave of projects and due dates and sorrow broke and rolled back into the sea at about five o’clock Friday night, PST. The other obstacles, which are many, are so distant (almost a full WEEK away) that they don’t even loom, they merely stand on their tippy-toes and try to look menacing. I care not, beasties. Leave me be.

It’s a hellishly cold night in San Luis Obispo, as if even the atmosphere had deserted us and the hateful frigidity of the void was free to reach down and torment me at will. In a masochistic sort of way, I can almost appreciate weather like this, at least when I armor myself with sweatshirts and leather and beanies. We walked the streets for a while after tonight’s feast, and between the clear skies and the orange streetlights, this old shithole of a town was almost a sight to behold. We beheld.

Reading over my other entries from this weekend, I realize it was a fairly eventful one, full of turning points and plot twists and dramatic background music. Indeed, what I had predicted to be pretty much just a forty eight hour booze-fueled Halo 2 tournament at the Johnson pad turned out to be, if not monumental, at least enjoyable. You toil and you struggle and then, when it’s over, you have a weekend like this. Not an epic star-shattering blow-out, but a liveable, grounded, smiling-but-not-showing-any-teeth kind of weekend. Just what I needed.

Two hours worth of feasting on the delectable culinary stylings of N & G has left me powerless to do anything besides type. I would sleep but I made the terrible mistake of making my bed this morning, and with the sheets all tucked in I’m afraid that in my bloated state I would injure myself trying to gain access. Instead, I’ll sit here mashing away at you, my ravenous fan-base, until I pass out or digest myself back into a normal human shape.

On a completely unrelated topic, I did indeed dance with a beautiful girl this weekend, for quite a while. It’s a practice I thoroughly enjoy, and though I don’t often get to partake of the ritual, its rarity makes it all the more exciting. Two thumbs up to you, hottie from Blue. Our relationship lasted just upwards of an hour, but given my current degree of emotional decay, her propensity for crashing into innocent dancersby, and the troubled state of the world (both socio-politically and environmentally), it’s probably for the best that it lasted no longer. I never learned her name, so we’ll call her Gwen, because she kind of looked like a Gwen. Gwen, I’m sorry, but things between us never would have worked. It would have started off well, but after a few months it would degenerate into harsh words and slammed doors, unanswered phone calls and baleful glares. Nobody wants that. I’m glad you, too, had the foresight to seek to prevent such a tragic future from ever coming to pass by not giving me your phone number. We both know it was for the best.

Looks like I’ll be venturing into the frozen wastes of Oregon for a week or so after finals. I can’t wait. A visit to A-town, now no doubt awash in many feet of snow, should be damn fun. Certain regions, be they cities, counties, or countries, just seem to generate quality humans. Just as LA has a mind-blowing ability to forge and unleash hundreds of thousands of thieves, perverts, and posers per year, places like Hayward, Ashland, and Brazil seem capable of producing large quantities of good folks, for which I am eternally thankful. I can’t specifically define what factors, be they environmental, geographic, or genetic, come together in such places to create people I want to be friends with, but that’s why you go and visit: for fun, adventure, and to further the research on the root causes of awesome. It will, however, be fuckmook off-the-hizzle cold, which I don’t look forward to. Winter is the suck. Sometimes you just have to sack up and power through, though. Snow-chains and Goretex and testosterone, bitches.

Did you know they once blew up a whale with dynamite in Oregon? I watched a video, it’s dope.

It’s time for me to cut. It’s been quite a couple of days, with certain events being enjoyable enough to offset the bad shit, like cleaning our filthy bathroom and getting (literally) kicked in the junk by my ex.

Not that I’ve been checking the UPS Online Tracking shiz every 5 minutes for the last three days, but my (our) copies of WOW are somewhere between Vernon, CA and my greedy greedy fingers right now. If you don’t here from me for a while, don’t fret, it’s because I’ve become a full-time citizen of Durotar and spend my days eviscerating dwarves, pillaging farmsteads, and looking for Old Blanchy’s Oates.

I’m such a geek sometimes I amaze even myself. They need a Betty Ford clinic for video games… some day I’ll wake up and find myself way too old to be dorking so hard.
Fuck it. That day is not today.

Goodnight, wretched readers, goodnight.

-T.

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