-- No, I haven't been here for a while. That's probably a good thing.
I have been so goddamned miserable that last few weeks, typing it all up
would have only gotten me more upset. I left Jville in a really bad
mood, having wasted my 8 days of freedom from work, and then when I get
back, I have the worst 3 2/3 work days possible. I worked -- took
no or little lunches, no breaks until Thursday, and took shit from Duc.
I didn't even think I had work on Thursday, and then I found out on Wednesday
that we did, but only til 3:00.
So on Thursday (New Year's Eve), I got a cold. I decided not to go to some party that Albutt's lead singer's boyfriend was having, even though there was much weed to be smoked. Everyone who went seemed to have a good time, especially Waylan. (Waylan is Jimbo's college buddy. Coincidentally, he's a lot like Waylan Smithers of The Simpsons -- bright, quirky, and banging his head against the door of the closet he's in). Anyhow, when Waylan came home with Jimbo and Ray, he laid outside on Ray's driveway and lawn, yakking for, oh, about 1 1/2 hours. He was very cold, as he repeatedly mumbled to us -- I bet his nipples were rock hard. Ramone said he's never seen anyone yak so much before. There was lots of noodles in the yak he left on the sidewalk. That stuff isn't easy to get off, either -- I was hosing that stuff down, and it took it's time washing off into the street.
I was sick on Friday, so I didn't go to Maya's Birthday celebration in San Diego on New Year's Day. I figured I could make it to that, both to see Maya and to be back in San Diego for a night (my ulterior motives come out!), but I felt like shit, and didn't wanna leave Jenny (my ride) feeling like shit, either. So that's party #2 Haole missed out on.
I did get to sit home and watch the Rose Bowl. That was not a party. That sucked. And if the UCLA defense tries sharing the blame with the offense any more, I'm throwing up.
Saturday I lay around and got high. What the hell, I was sick, I needed some herbal remedies. The highlight of that day was when Das came by, and four of us went down to the Westminster mall to meet Al's ex-roomie Ricky, who lost a golf bet with Das and had to have a T-shirt made that read "Manure City." It rocked, Das couldn't keep from laughing, and now I'm thinking about starting a clothing line called Manure City. Hell, maybe I'll rename the little journal that...
THEN on Sunday, Ricky was having a going-away/birthday party. I figured what the hell, I feel like shit, let's make it a clean sweep and miss that party as well. Done.
Throw in the Halloween Party I was too depressed to go to, and that's four parties I missed in two months. There is no joy in Haoleville. Or in Manure City.
Well, I did get to hang out with Phil on Sunday nite. Oh, and I met his woman, Jenny. Heh, Phil's a lucky man, all that AND the body of a ten-year old boy. If I had a girlfriend, I'd hope she was just like Jenny.
And no, I'm not having masturbatory fantasies about her. Although I could tell you about the porno I found under Ray's couch.......
Anyhow, enough of that shit, that's all in the past. There's, um, no use worrying about what's past, just focus on the future and enjoy the present! <--- Yeah, OK, probably the only time I've ever had to say that.