Ahh, nothing like sampling the sweet cookies of Matt's girlfriend Anne. Yes, I made that sound dirtier than it needed to be (melts in my mouth, not in my hand . . .). Seriously, I'm gonna be living off these Chocolate Chip Masterpieces for days.
I'm sad. And unhappy. It's comforting to know there are always constants in this world. Death and Taxes and all that jazz. The sun will come out tomorrow. My poo will come out today. And, of course, the legion of one in the conspiracy to fuck over Steve is alive and kicking. I knew as soon as I got to Seattle that I should've just turned my ass around and driven to Burmuda. Perhaps Jamaica. Or maybe Kokomo. Some far off tropical land where tropical drinks rest in my hand and we'll be falling in love to the rhythm of the steel drum band. Come on, pretty mama! Get there fast so we can take it slow and I can watch my Seahawks in the playoffs in peace, thousands of miles away from The Curse of the Nate. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I could kill a thousand rabbits and shove their feet in and around every orifice on my body, and Nate's bad voodoo would STILL curse everything I love and cherish. I'm beginning to think it's not even his fault anymore. Even if he WANTED to root root root for the home team, it would just be no good. It has been ordained that proximity to Nate dictates how poorly my teams will play in professional sports. His heebie jeebies have yet to be fully reflected upon the amateur teams, though I noticed the Huskies didn't do too well against the Oregon schools in football this season (not like we did all that well against ANY school, but that's beside the point).
I got my first glimpse at my new home in Renton yesterday. A condo, to be exact. $675, but I'm taking the smaller room, so I'll be paying slightly less than half. Jake and I are pretty gung ho about getting in there, so it could seriously be a next-week move-in date. Anyone feel like helping me pack some shit?
This place is fucking huge for a two-bedroom apartment. We're gonna fit both a ping-pong table AND a bumper pool table. I'll have my futon in the living room until my aunt hooks me up with some really kickass furniture. Then, of course, there'll be the TV and beer fridge. Plus, we've got a fucking fireplace AND a balcony. It's fucking huge. And, if we decide to throw any responsible, semi noise free parties, there's TONS of parking just across the street in the form of an abandoned parking lot.
Anyhow, I went from checking that place out straight to Seattle for drinking. Another bottle of Champagne (this time the strawberry flavored variety, so not nearly as nasty). Then, it was off to Mike and Ian's kegger. I'm gonna tell you what, there is a REASON why I need to have a part in these kinds of parties. The organization left a lot to be desired. First of all, Mike and Ian put the keg in the kitchen. Under normal circumstances, that's an understandable endeavor. However, Mike and Ian have a tiny-ass fucking space that barely sits at one-person wide. That might not be so bad if we could get a reasonable flow going, but these morons just stand in the fucking doorway and hallway, clogging the artery to the heart of the party. Therefore, with me and a few others being there for an hour, most everyone was sober except the knobs standing constantly around the keg. Twice I had to yell at these rubes to keep the line moving. Seriously, people with full beers clogging the kitchen is NOT my idea of a good time. To one dude I said, "OK, why don't you mack on this chick OUTSIDE! Some people are TRYING to get to the beer." I don't think he was too pleased, but then again, he wasn't a rot-see guy so I had a good feeling I could've kicked his ass.
Now, one good thing about the party, they combined it with their neighbors, so the keg was at Mike and Ian's, and the music and dancing was next door. Only problem was, with all the sober high schoolers and freshmen, all they did was stand around and talk. By 11pm, if there aren't three or four chicks bumping and grinding, or some drunken groping, then you're losing me. Especially when I wasn't even drunk enough to get any good political debates going with the rot-see dudes. My only salvation would've been realized had David Michael Manni answered his phone. I impersonated Nate in order to invite him to "a party." Of course, not telling the Patterson boys he was invited, and not telling David Michael Manni who actually was having the party. The confrontation could've been for the ages. I left him a message saying there was a party and only giving the address. I hope he showed up anyway, but I wasn't about to sit around and find out.
So, we left as Kon was just getting to the party. But, hey, we got back and I kicked some major ass at Monopoly while ignoring the movie Troy on DVD. Then, I sat around in befuddlement as Eddie's friend Jimmy (Jim-May JIM-may Jim-may, Tim-may JIM-MAY) tried to explain to me his rationale for voting for Bush. If everything that came out of his mouth didn't elicit an immediate taken-aback response from me, I might've better schooled his Philosophy Major ass (as it stands, a DEFINITE step down from English Major on the scale of respected majors, which as it stands leads the pack. Electrical Engineering ranks about 69th). Of course, the whole thing got started because he made the offhand comment that there isn't a reason why anyone wouldn't think the Jon Stewart book is funny (while I agree, the parts I was able to read were hilarious, I still stick to my guns that there are enough people in the world with big sticks in their asses who don't think ANYTHING is funny, but of course, I just responded with the fact that conservatives wouldn't find it so funny, when I actually should've said that RELIGIOUS conservatives wouldn't find it funny for the most part).
So, yeah, Konford, Yoo-lia is a fox to be sure. Hit that shit.
As for me, I'm gonna be crying about this latest Seahawks setback for another few days. Keep your shoelaces and razor blades at a distance for a while.
And, for everyone else, if you get a chance, take a vacation to Batman, Turkey. It's quite a lovely city. And, on your way back, hit up Robin, Pennsylvania. Nobody believes me when I say it exists, but it does. It was home to the 1973 World's Fair and the world's largest collection of hallucinogenic mushrooms.
Current Mood: Hottest legs: Gwen Stefani; Smallest Rack: Gwen Stefani
Current Music: Aerosmith - Critical Mass
(Anonymous)
2005-01-09 01:50 am
Couple things here Stev-o. (1) There is still no Robin, PA. There isn't a Robin anywhere in the US. (2) Kokomo is in Indiana. About as far from a tropical Island as you can get. (3) If you need some help getting you shit moved I can probably lend a hand, and a small pickup (that will have a canopy after next Friday).
-Nate
PS Next time you make it to Enigma, GA, (30 miles east of Omega), make sure to look up Mister Freeze.
we're number 69
(Anonymous)
2005-01-10 03:53 am
Hey at least we cracked the top 70. That's the highest finish in years. C-man, I will not let you down! And I'm sure you dominated debating with Jimmy. I can probably help move stuff this weekend.
Konford Zachary
From Pete
(Anonymous)
2005-01-10 02:59 pm
Yeah, I can help you move. Keep me posted.