11/20/98 -- Jeezus, I am so bloody hungover.  The few hours it took me to get to work today did a little to sober me up, but god, I do not feel good.  Typing is giving me a headache.  My hangover stems from finding several bottles of previously undiscovered Bud Light to go along with the jug of tequila Ray bought at Fedco on Wednesday.  That is a big fucking jug, it's like a gallon of tequila or something.  Anyhow, it's gravitational pull drew me in and so I spent last nite drinking by myself.  Again.

I stopped by to talk to Ray again and prevent him from working on the paper he realized he had to due for today.  Yeah, he realized it yesterday he had a paper due.  Carson Palmer, the USC quarterback, was asked on Wednesday if he had any tests this week.  "Uh...no...um, maybe...uh, I think so."  Of course, Ray doesn't play football for a major college and doesn't have slut cheerleaders to do papers for him, so I guess this simile/analogy thing isn't valid. 

OK, maybe they're not all slut cheerleaders.  Sleeping with the quarterback doesn't make you a slut.  It's kind of acceptable, I guess, sort of like a guy sleeping with a model.  If a woman wants to sleep with all 113 Division I-A starting quarterbacks, she can go right ahead. 

God, I think I called Akiyo last nite.  The bottles of sleeping pills I have were stating to look inviting, so I wanted something to take my mind off of them.  I think I sorta was supposed to call Maya b/c she paged me, but I confused the 310-area code numbers and ended up calling Akiyo instead.  She didn't want to talk to me.  I felt like a duphus when I was on the train today and realized that.  And shit, I still have to call Maya.  So wow, I made a fool out of myself and got nothing done.  Sort of a typical Haole night. 

I'm getting fat again.  My baggy jeans now look like jeans that are meant to be baggy but look small on a fat guy. 

I think Winston is getting back this weekend from Dallas.  He's moving up north, like, next week with his woman.   I guess we'll booze down this weekend some time.  We'll just schedule him in around football.

Nothing gets in the way of USC/UCLA.  Except if Ray's mom wants to watch TV.  She has the worst TV habits, I'm not kidding.  Sappy korean dramas, Hard Copy, and Access Hollywood.  That's it.

Speaking of Ray's mom, I'll pass up the opportunity to make any momma jokes and instead tell you how she didn't have a stroke.  See, I come home last nite and I'm eating her damn good cuttlefish pancakes, when she starts talking on the phone to a friend in Korean.  She says a few words in english, like "stroke" and "blood pressure".  I wonder who she's talking about -- maybe her mom, or someone.  Anyhow, later on when I'm drunk, I come down stairs and Ray tells me, "My mom had a stroke today."  Huh?  "Well, she thought she had one, so I took her to the hospital and the doctor said she didn't."  How can you think you have a stroke?  "I dunno, she just thought she had one."

Maybe Ray and his mom are more alike than I thought.  I still have no idea what happened to Penisman's mom, although she seemed fine to me.  Maybe it's me -- the pressure of having a loser white man in their home has placed too much stress on them.


 
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