What's that strange thing you British play? -- Er, Cricket? Self-loathing?.

8:59 pm, November 30, 2004

So, alas, the 4-West Flag Football team lost a heartbreaker in overtime of the Quarterfinals, 19-13. We should've beaten those panty-waists, they weren't all that good.

You know, I kinda wish I'd kept my stats, being as this was my final game of UW Intramural sports (true, this would've been my sixth season, my second season of ineligibility, had I not red-shirted the first two years I was there). I DID get a catch for our only extra point. If only we would've gotten that other extra point. IF ONLY THE DAMN REF WOULD'VE SEEN KON'S GOD-DAMN SACK, as her head was too busy searching for gold up her own ass.

Dig it, my MP3 player's fucking God-like. Got my Alt-rock folder, my classic rock, my rap, my techno (58 songs, beeotches! Accounting for HOURS of head-thumping, monotonous beats).

Today was a real shitburger with flies at work. One of the machines broke down, but it wasn't mine. My machine's the only decent one there. Sure, when it jams with checks, it JAMS (ain't to hard for me to jam -- gotta love the Michael Jackson reference), but all in all, I see relatively few problems. But, you know, Tuesdays are our busiest days, so of course this old man's fucking machine break's down. (By the way, the story on this guy, his name's Osmond. I think he's Indian (the country, not the casino-owner) and his religion is as such that he only showers after he has sex. I shit you not. The man stinks to high heaven). Our boss, in all her wisdom (her name's Melody Hagstrom, HAGstrom!) decides to take ME off the machine and make me search through old checks, finding the rejects they need to send back to whoever for whatever. I'm the most competent monkey they've got over there, and she decides to feed me the shaft nice and slow in my cornhole.

On the plus side, I got my last two paychecks today. $600 in the bank. After $200 for rent, that's $400 I can put to my $1600 credit card debt. Go poverty! Go destitution! Go prostitution! Go prohibition! (OK, Go 40s, as they're cheap and they'll fuck me up good and long).

Hi, my name is Steven Taylor and I'm an alcoholic. I'm happy to say, not a drop of alcohol has touched my lips in 17 days. At first, the shakes were overwhelming, and the vomiting and profuse sweating was a bit disconcerting, but I keep taking it one day at a time. And, you know, I intend to keep going to the meetings. With that, and the Lord's help, I think I'll MAKE it to this Saturday. That's when I break my sobriety and start drinking again. Man, fuck 12-steps! I can be sober when I'm dead from liver failure

Current Mood: Level - the world's perfectly balanced vodka ... GOD I want a drink !!!
Current Music: The Melvins - Spread Eagle Beagle