Upticking.

Moved out and living a bit. Drinking entirely too much, but that's how I deal with the pH changes of my personal fishbowl. I look at beer like its a thinger for thinging. Yeah. That's it.

Ordered a transit card, soon I will own. It will rule. I'll be all, "se-wipe!" and go. Rocking the Chicago Transit as it has never been rocked before. Because I'll be all drooling on the benches. Fuck man, I get up EARLY, like, two hours after my roommate goes to work.

Also: I'm a liar.

But for the children! Yeah, I'm thinking of the kids.

The job is, wait for it, actually not terrible. I am approaching a new era of openness and communication with my superiors bosses. That or I, probably, am giving people too much credit when I was shitfaced on the company's dime last night. Either way, I will continue to not job hunt. Well, I'm lazy anyway and these guys just keep being all, 'here: money'. Who am I to say no at this point?

In other news, I am hoping to start having hijinks and adventures soon. However, I am sorely out of practice, so if anyone has any tips & tricks for that kind of shit, drop 'em off. I could use the kind words. Or not so kind words. And yes, if you suggest, I will do it and report back. And if any bones are broken a scan of the X-Rays will totally go up.

Well? Whaddaya got for me?
- posted by Pat @ 10:28 AM

 
Moving with mad skills. I am half-way moved. I have a bed!

Also: I, like Kristy, do not fear the Mother Fucking Zombies. Shit is good. And fresh.

In the hizzy.

Or something.

Also: I am fucking tired. Back to work naping and rocking the Secret Agent Radio. Bam!
- posted by Pat @ 10:37 AM

 
I'm listening to a band name Shpongle.

And have been. This is possibly the longest song ever. At least it is good.

The hockey tournament could have been better. I am severly bruised and cut as was the plan, but the other part of the plan, kicking ass, did not occur. Methinks I need to work on my plan. Like maybe avoid the personal injuries and go for the winning, instead of both.

Whooosh....

That's been life lately. All rush, no quiet. And things have been changing on me without letting me know. I currently have no idea when I am moving, or when I move will I have room to live? And just exactly who is going to be passed out drunk in my front room? And oh, Milwaukee? Yay.

But hey, at least I'm happy, hearty and hale. Its a good day to be breathing.

ps. got the Cowboy Bebop Music Import Box Set. Its rad, except it doesn't have a full length version of 'Tank!' That makes me sad. Booo.... Crappy live version.
- posted by Pat @ 10:25 AM

 
Weekend of the Fourth, just the numbers:

Bar-b-ques attended: 3

Non-Bar-b-ques attended: 2

Bars attended: 2

Number of hipsters mocked: a large drunken number. Seriously, Paul, sorry man. Shit got out of hand.

Number of hipsters almost mauled in a bar: 1 <- this guy was a douche bag and I don't have to apologize to Paul for it because it was before I went to his party. And made fun of all his hipster party-goers.

Number of hipsters I talked to for 45 minutes about the new White Strips Album because she was good looking and had big boobs: 1 I have NO IDEA what I was saying. Just, really, boobs.


I am still debating if the boobs were worth it.

That conversation sucked. Its a good album, but its ONE FUCKING DISC. It sounds a lot like their other albums. BLEARGH.

Number of times Pat got retarded and let a drunken hipster cut his hair: 1 Thanks for the bald spot, drunky. Dammit, she SAID she did it in college for beer. I guess not AFTER beer. And pot. And copious amounts of being a hipster.

Number of hosts pissed at me for showing up to their parties late: 5 heh, I need to work on my punctuality.

Number of times I got shot down this weekend of the fourth: 6 yes folks, 6. All six were unique and special in their own way. From frosty converstation, to running away while they think I'm not looking. I do bring out a wide range of emotions and reactions in people.

And in celebration of my spectacular weekend, I'm leaving the state! I'm taking a roadtrip up to Minneapolis for Underwater Hockey Nationals. I've got a real good feeling about this year. Hopefully we'll win a game! I kid, we usually do okay. But hey, I don't feel like I suck this year, so that can only be good, right?

I'll be back in Chicago on Monday and probably not back online until Tuesaday at work. Until then, gentle reader, enjoy the sports hate. I truly believe that hate can be enjoyed by all.
- posted by Pat @ 4:52 PM

 
How to freak yourself out:

Step One: drink heavily the night before. This is the most fun.

Step Two: cultivate a hangover for the day of the event. This part is fun while happening. Not as much fun after a succesful harvest.

Step Three: eat nothing but crap so your breath stinks and your tongue has salt burn. Again, fun and tasty while cultivating, but poor when you win.

Step Four: grab a red style of Gatorade. See, its for the hangover. And, its red.

Step Five: brush your teeth. Now, while the brushing is ongoing, you must forget that you have just had a bunch of red beverage.

Step Six: spit.

Now, at this point, you should have a muddled head from the booze, a salt burned tongue from the food and you have just spit up a bunch of pinkish-red foam. First throught I had: the fuck? Second: how did I bleed that much and not taste it?

It took me a solid ten seconds to realize what had happened. It was awesome. I am so awake now.

Ugh. Off to hockey.
- posted by Pat @ 3:51 PM