I have to get up stupid early in order to go to work.

I get a train from my station at 0602 in order to get to Shinjuku and catch the Chuo rapid headed toward Kabe at 0633. Normally it is mildly crowded, all seats are taken, and some people are left standing. One thing that is constant however is the stone cold silence and in the early morning I am pretty certain this is something we all appreciate.

This morning however this was stolen away….I saw the culprits reach the platform almost as the train was pulling in. They went from line to line until for whatever horrid reason they stopped behind me giggling and jabbering away like school girls on crank. Two then dashed over to the Kiosk and bought “Calpis”, whatever the fuck that is, some kind of liquid in a bottle that frankly seems to have the consistency of ok…use your imagination: think “facial”, and dashed back just in the nick of time to board the train with yours truly.

I got on first and took a seat near the door. This is when I got my first good look at them. Four girls, all early twenties, 23 at most, and, had clearly been out all night and had spent that night drinking, alot. Cheaply dyed blond hair was badly frazzled and eyes were beat up and looked horribly tired. Makeup looked stale and old. Body language was slow, uncoordinated and messy and along with all of this traveled the smell of both Alcohol and something else…maybe it was Kimchi? Fried meat? Someone stepped in shit? I had no idea and I still am clueless.

Two of them plopped down on the bench next to me and the other two stumbled, then teeter tottered until they fell down onto the bench across from me. It was quite a site to behold. The train car was now full and everyone was quiet like corpses except for these four clucking and sputtering and talking like four Yakuza guys playing cards. If you have been in Japan for a while you would know what I mean. Lots of “Omae”s and “Maji Suge”s and “Fuzakena”s etc. All the while laughing it up because clearly, this was high comedy. Oddly, nobody else seemed to “get” the joke.

The girl across from me, both of them actually were dressed very similar. Both were petite and wearing heels, black tights with booty short jean cut offs over them and equally colorful and silly tops, one of them sporting a jacket that I initially thought to be a life preserver and the other wearing mid drift tan leather that could or could not be a “coat”. I think I saw a character wearing something like it in “Mad Max: Beyond thunder Dome”. High Fashion.

Both of them sat with their legs fully sprawled out and open and were gesticulating wildly recapping an event with another friend who apparently, became so drunk she passed out in a pool of her own urine, face first, after she urinated on the street, in Shibuya. Fascinating.
I was thinking “High class”.
I was thinking “My type”.
The older people on the train took turns, as if they had all worked out a schedule, giving these girls looks so full of disdain I actually checked my tie and sat up straight, my close proximity to these four putting me in the line of fire.

At Nakano station a man sitting next to the one across from me got up and de-boarded and the girl then took this opportunity to pass out and she fully did this, collapsing across the briefly open seat in dramatic, face first fashion. The old woman who had been making her move on the seat stopped in mid stride and simply did an about face and strode off. Clearly she was impressed with these examples of Japanese youth.

The three girls that were still conscious then began taking photos of the girl lying prostrate on the bench, first of her face, then taking photos of her whole profile, then the girl next to her, I swear to god: started taking photos of her crotch which was turned up facing her as she was laying on her side (not a bad back side if I might put forth this observation but…anyway). Thank god the girl, her friend, had jean shorts on. Then one of the friends on my side tossed her a “Calpis” bottle, about the size of a 20 ounce coke bottle and the one taking the crotch shots began pushing it against the girls jeans (vaginal region here folks) and they all were cackling uncontrollably and one of them was taking video with her phone and the one doing the dry humping with a bottle said in a great mockery of a dirty old man voice “Dou da? Koko ga? Kimochi desyou?” or “Hows this baby? You like it here? Feels good right?”
And at this point I finally lost my shit and began laughing.

I really tried not to but come on…this was getting way out of hand. My snicker apparently spurred the closet case Lesbo on because she got more animated, for about 30 seconds (god knows what she had planned next..sure…I was/am curious), until the passed out friend suddenly came to life covering her mouth and gesturing wildly. A friend lurched across the car and pushed a plastic bag, likely the one the “calpis” came in into her hands just in time for her to launch a very impressive flow of vomit into the bag. Not once, not twice…but three solid purging’s. Well Done.

The best part is…THEY DID NOT GET OFF THE TRAIN.

Despite what I can only describe as a heavy feeling of total and intense loathing coming from everyone, even me as the vomit smell wasn’t working for me at 0700, they stayed in their seats and got off the train one at a time as various stations came up. By the time my station arrived, the only one left was Puke bag girl, her eyes half open, her head leaning against the side board of the bench, drool leaking from her mouth like some ominous icicle and vomit on her black life preserver coat, her legs hanging as wide open as physically possible in that posture, her bag of goodies had been tied to her wrist by I’m guessing, her friend. Her friends had totally left her to “make it home safe and sound”.
With friends like….right?

I am not here to judge. God knows I have done or been witness to some of us (gaijin) doing some pretty stupid, vapid and just ignorant shit over the years….but come on….On Thursday morning????

Part of me still hopes she got home, wherever in hell that is, ok.

remember going out the night before thanksgiving unitl the clubs closed ? then we would get up the next morning and play football before the big meal at mom and dads…..

have you ever seen an ITT Tech commericial? I have. and at least once a day, i feel like an idiot. im at a 4 year private university, studying engineering, paying out of my nose for it. LITTLE did i know, that doesnt have to be the case.

turns out, for a mere $20 dollars a day, in the time it took to contemplate changing my major, I can already be a full fledged engineer making 70G’s a year. then, i can jumpstart my career by commercials. you know who got his start from a commercial? keanu reeves. so yeah, its legit. and yeah, im so fucking retarded.

how do i know its 20 bucks a day? everyone in the commericals has like 3-5 kids. plus, its always a rags to riches story of working long days for minimal play (McDonalds anyone?).

and theyre single parents. you know how i know that? they have 3 kids and never show the spouses. which leads me to believe that at some point in time, there was once a bread winner who talked the poor guy into having several kids. then she disappeared.

not only do they have time to get their degree, they have gobs of time to play with their kids on the playground. they have gobs of time to design their house with large picture windows. they have gobs of time to make commericals. they have gobs of time to do everything that I can’t because im an idiot and spending gobs of money trying to get what they already have.

so fuck ITT Tech. fuck ITT Tech and their shortcut to happiness. fuck ITT Tech for their rags to riches stories of moving from behind the register to behind the drafting table. fuck ITT Tech for not telling me that i dont have to do all the BS i did in high school in order to get into college. then fuck them doubly for not telling me that i didnt even have to go to college, i could have technically been an engineer once i graduate from their technical institute.

im the goddamn idiot.

After drinking a few of these the night before, I awoke with a bit of a hang over. They have quite a high alcohol content like most English beers. Not counting the legless lager in the gold can that you see being drunk in most shop doorways.

I went to the Chemist for some Panado for the headache and he suggested a pill for my left over feeling. Panado`s

I know what to do with, but these were something else. So I asked what doI do with them, and he laughed. Then he said if you don`t want to swallow them you`ll have to put them where the sun don`t shine.

Then I went to pay him for the medication and he said, you can put that there too, where do you come from? South Africa.

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Someone recently made mention on my Facebook wall about having to take the senior test at 7:30 AM on a Saturday morning up at Truman State University. This brought back painful flashbacks of my experience with the PRAXIS exam, at the same time a year prior.

Well aware of the test that Saturday morning, I did what any college student would do in the same circumstances: get hammered the night before. I was soused, topsy turvy drunk. The test didn’t really have any bearing on our degree, and in my efforts to have as much fun up at school as physically possible, drinking was a safe option. I don’t recall the occasion, or whom I even drank with, but I think it is safe to assume it was a very dumb idea, and wrecklessly irresponsible.

At 6:30 AM the next morning I woke to my alarm, in the living room of my house, still fully clothed from the night prior. I just got up and walked to Violet Hall, where the testing was taking place. As I stepped foot in the school building it occurred to me that I was still very much so intoxicated, as was dually noted by some of my classmates that came within a few feet of me. Poor form, Peter.. Poor form. I made it to my designated classroom and began the test in blissful oblivion, questions about the process of painting in the 16th century and random ceramic terminology, this was going to be a breeze.

Cue hangover.

Oh no. Oh God, no. The cold sweats started. The delirium tremors made filling in bubbles with my number 2 pencil harder than answering the questions themselves. I could feel hot vomit bubbling up my esophagus. I gathered my dignity and strength and shuffled to the front of the room. “May I please use the restroom?” “Sure, but we can only let one person out of the room at a time, you’ll have to wait until the other student comes back.” Son of a bitch. I know that hangover-sickness comes in waves, so I focused my attention on my test. The wave approached again, and the cold sweats were my sign to go to the bathroom. I got up and shuffled to the front again. “Can I go now?” Oh no, sorry, someone else already left to go. You’ll have to wait again..” Well, this is it. I was going to vomit all over this very quiet sterile classroom where people were intently focused on a test that determined their future as a teacher. Since I had no intention of becoming a teacher this test meant nothing to me other than experiencing a painful hangover the likes I would normally have slept through.

Then the door opened. I made a beeline to the bathroom before I had even reached my desk again. Halfway down the lobby towards the restroom I vomited in my mouth. Not just a little regurgitation, but a full blown chunky vomitus that I somehow contained in my mouth. As I drop kicked the door open, I let fly a projectile spew into the nearest receptacle, which just so happened to be the paper towel trash can. I couldn’t even make it to the toilet. I just unloaded in that little metal trash can like I had the bubonic plague foaming out of my face. Sweet relief.

As I stumbled back into the classroom reeking of disgorged beer and whiskey, I took a seat and lay my head down. I was abruptly woken by my classmate kicking me, pointing to her test and then to the clock. It would seem that I passed out for over an hour, snoring and burping. This left me a paltry 20 minutes to complete a test I had barely made a dent in. I finished my test just in time to hand in my answer sheet then rush back to the bathroom to vomit, in a toilet this time. The bathroom was now full of test takers who hushedly giggled at my retching. As I emerged from the stall wiping my mouth, people looked at me witha mixture of disgust and amusement.

“Tough test, wasn’t it?” I muttered. This roused more disgusted looks and a few laughs.

The beauty of this whole scenario was not only did I finish, despite my hangover and vomiting, but I passed with flying colors. I did very well, and others in my class didn’t pass at all. Truman gave me the the tools I needed to become one of the school’s most functional alcoholics.

This clever information comes from Drink Aware (UK)

Everyone who drinks too much knows the unpleasant flip side of a night on the tiles – the dreaded hangover.

That horrible morning-after feeling can range in strength and intensity and vary from person to person, but it usually involves a banging headache, sickness, dizziness, dehydration, mild diarrhoea, tiredness and weakness.

A hangover can also leave you struggling to concentrate, irritable and sensitive to light for a prolonged period after your last drink – not a good combination if you want to enjoy the next day and not spend it suffering in bed.

 So, what causes a hangover and how can it be treated?

 The principal cause is ethanol – the alcohol in your drinks. It is a toxic chemical that works in the body as a diuretic, causing the headache, dry mouth, dizziness and constant nausea. Your hangover eases as the body turns the ethanol into a less toxic chemical. The other factor that affects a hangover is the type of drink you have been downing. Dark drinks tend to make hangovers worse. So does mixing drinks. 

What precautions can you take to prevent a hangover?

The Government recommends that men should not regularly drink more than three to four units a day, and women not more than two to three. Units can be complicated to understand, so arm yourself with knowledge before you go out and find out how many units are in your chosen tipple. It may be more than you realise – a large glass of wine, for instance, contains around three units. Follow these guidelines to kick hangovers into touch:

• Keep well within the Government’s recommended limits. That’s the best way to avoid a hangover altogether.
• Try not to drink on an empty stomach; eat something – preferably carbohydrates – before you start drinking. The food will help slow the body’s absorbtion of the alcohol.
• Avoid dark coloured drinks if possible. They contain natural chemicals (congeners) that can worsen the hangover.
• Drink plenty of water or soft drinks in between alcoholic drinks.

What can you do to treat the symptoms? 

• Drink as much water as you can before hitting the sack and keep more by the bed to slurp if you wake in the night.
• Take a painkiller – a soluble one in water is best.
• Take an antacid to settle your stomach.
• Remember alcohol is a depressant. A tea or coffee may give you a slight temporary lift, but they may also dehydrate you further, so keep up with the water to counteract this.
• Go for a gentle stroll if you feel able and get some fresh air and light on the face.
• Avoid hair of the dog – you might think it helps but all you’re doing is easing the alcohol withdrawal and delaying the problem.
• Get plenty of rest and relaxation and stay away from booze for at least 24 hours after a heavy session.

It’s Sunday in Palm Springs, 75 degrees out, beautiful mountain backdrop, happy friendly people and their pets are out enjoying the life…

And I feel like shit.

Why?

My first week eating only raw food was rough.  Imagine cutting yourself off cold-turkey from drinking over 100 adult beverages per week, abstaining from your morning cup of crack with the pretty mermaid on it, and suddenly refusing your body any access to pizzas and Mexican food…NOT a fun transition.

If you’ve seen New Moon, and watched Kristen Stewart’s “Bella” writhe and scream in her sleep over her lost Edward (who I still maintain looks an awful lot like Bert from Sesame Street), you have an inkling of what my first week raw felt like!

Weeks two and three were a different movie…I felt euphoric and “high” and ate up all the positive comments I was getting from friends and strangers.  EVERY SINGLE DAY I saw a thinner, sexier, happier, healthier, more in-tune version of me in the full-length mirror.

Having a cute young raw foods chef at a Santa Monica cafe ask me if I was “raw” the second I walked in the door surprised me.  When I answered yes, and she told me she “thought so, because my eyes were so clear and I really had a case of the glow” I was beyond flattered.

But here I am near the end of week four, a week of apathy and fatigue.  What’s up?  I feel like I’m doing this right…I’ve slowly been upping my intake of greens, I’m making sure I get natural fats like hemp oil, I’m still eating a lot of juicy organic fruits…

Also, I eat very little dehydrated raw foods (they make me feel as dry as they are) and most days just eat foods in their whole simple form without trying to “doll” them up.

I’m hoping that it’s just another cleansing level I’ve hit?  I would expect my recent toxic past to haunt me for awhile. Maybe it’s a little bit mental…one month is the longest I’ve ever gone before raw…? But Jesus do I hate the idea that some or all of the benefits of raw eating might just be in my head.

One interesting distinction I’d like to make: I’m not depressed.  I’ve spent much of my life in moderate to severely depressed states, this isn’t anything like that.  I’m clear about things–almost scary sober–but I don’t necessarily like how that feels…

Sometimes eating raw makes so much sense to me, and I see it as the answer to a lot of peoples problems both on a personal level and a collective one.  That’s how I mostly feel…at other times the whole thing seems ridiculous and absurd!  Not eat ANY cooked foods?  Not get drunk and stupid?  WHY?!?  What am I trying to prove? To whom?

As an example last night a guy at the bar wanted mashed potatoes.  We don’t have that on the menu, but Mike the Chef made some for him anyways, that’s the kind of old school cool we serve up.  When I bring him the potatoes I’m drooling.  When he adds a few dollops of real butter I’m butter.  So I try and remind myself that when I get home later I was actually going to make my own version of mashed “potatoes” which are made from soaked cashews and cauliflower blended up with salt & pepper.  They taste pretty good.  But they are NOT potatoes, and they are cold.  For some reason it just seemed stupid to me…am I too good for potatoes?

My intention with this blog is not necessarily to inspire anyone to do anything.  I simply want to reveal what eating raw is doing for me (now and in the future).  So please take what I say with a grain of pink Himalayan crystal salt.   I’m half-way through my trial and will continue to candidly share my peaks and valley floors with anyone interested…

ive been noticing that i’ve been getting over going out to parties. more and more i want to just lay on the couch and watch anime or something. i think it has to do with a few things.

i just have a lot of stuff that i have to do on teh weekdays. and once i get to teh weekends, im like, i just dont want to do shit. i just want to take a break and sit there. yeah ill go to my friend sbday party, or go out to some bars oromething, but i used to want to go to house parties and such. i wanted to go out and meet people. now i dont so much.

maybe im getting burned out. ive been getting pretty tired lately. its teh end of the semester, ive been working pretty hard, that could be it. i could just prefer to sit and do nothing because my body is tired.

maybe im just over pretending to have a lot in common with a person becuase of a bond they share with a distant cousin, or a memory they spark, or a common view on the world. haha im cool with it, its human nature. but just to put it in perspective, it makes it a little disconcerting when i htink someone is trying to get to know me. it makes me think that they have alterior motives or that theyre just plain weird. well no, in actuality, i get a self consious. i usually dont have people who ask me what i think about things or how i think about myself, so i just get really self concious when people ask me about my life beyond the last episdoe of curb i watched. im just not used to it.

maybe a different thing, is when i go to tehse house parties, i dont fit in. im trying to have a conversation, but theres just younger people going around trying to get all crazy and shit. trying to cause a rukus or something. more and more, im starting to know less and less of these people. and i just feel old.

i think the biggest reason: maybe i enjoy not doing anything. look at me know, its like 2 in the morning, and what do i have to show for the night? a better understanding of global warming? a deeper knowledge of various types of inyuyasha demons? a reminder that “real sex” actually shows “weird sex” that “real people” have? im blogging for christs sake.

like really, is it that big a deal that i wasted the end of a saturday night blogging? who thinks that and how self righteous of you who do. what are u doing thats so much more deserving of respect than blogging on a saturday night? everything? anything?

haha i dunno. maybe im just secure enough with myself to not really care tht much, but i doubt it. i know when i go to work tomorrow, and someone says, “hey what did u do this weekend?” im going to tell them about hti crazy fucking party i went to, and how super mega fucked up i got, and how many people i banged, and then the trouble i got into last night. gotta save face. haha.

or maybe ill be confident and tell them that i did jack shit, and it was everything i ever wanted from a night, and that when they go home, they should google “hangoverfiles” and read my blog.then theyll understand where im coming from, and realize the error in their ways.

I tried to make this an every day thing, I really did. Until I didn’t.

Well, these are supposed to be confessions, so confession – daily things aren’t really my forté (except work – when I have it – when I’m on time and reliable). I can’t even remember to take my allergy medicine on a daily basis. So, I’m back to say I’m trying. Also, I’m moving. So, the stress of that on top of looking for a job, not to mention the fact that my move is on deadline because my parents are coming next week…not the point. Anyway…

I found a place that I LOVE at the 11th Hour last weekend. I signed the lease on Tuesday and got my keys, planning to celebrate that night, then start packing and maybe taking one or two loads over to the new place before really getting into everything on Friday. I’d already enlisted two burly guys to come help me on Saturday with the last load (all my furniture), so I thought I’d be able to take a leisurely pace with it all. I should really stop trusting my best laid plans. I’m so easily distracted.

In the honor of every good celebration (even ones you’re having for yourself), I picked up a bottle of vodka on the way home from the signing of the lease. Like every bad celebration (especially those you have for yourself, alone), I drank the whole bottle. Now, I could argue that said bottle was consumed over 8 hours, but that’s a pretty lame line of reasoning.

I also picked up a blackjack taco, double-decker taco, volcano nachos and a volcano burrito (to munch on over those 8 hours). I hadn’t yet had the burrito, but I had my (soon-to-be-ex) roomie pick me up another blackjack taco and crunchy taco on her way home from work. Those, plus the burrito were consumed before the night was out.

The next day, I was stuck in a full-blown, sick-as-a-dog, top 5 worst hangovers I’ve ever experienced. And that’s saying something (read: I’ve had a lot of hangovers). I felt like I had a really bad case of the flu. I couldn’t keep anything down – not even water. I didn’t pack, and I could hardly move. So much for my super-successful moving Wednesday. When Man vs. Food came on, I nearly started losing the nothing in my stomach, but managed to make it through (because it’s a great show).

I still felt really shaky Thursday, and had to lie down after each 30 mins of physical activity. Mainly because I have a LOT of books. Scads. Hoards! I’m practically a library. And dammit, they are HARD to move. OR to motivate oneself to move. But, by gum, I moved my books into boxes, and packed quite a few other things throughout the day, after a breakfast of chicken noodle soup.

Pop culture trivia is one of my favorite things about Thursdays, so I had to shower and break for that too. I took one meager load over to the new place, but was still pleased with the amount of work I’d accomplished, because most of my stuff was in boxes ready for transport. At trivia, I took a big risk and ordered the spicy boneless buffalo wings, but everything turned out okay.

I felt sore, but otherwise fine when I awoke today. After a hangover like I’d had, that’s the best feeling in the world…well, one of the best. I had to lug all my book boxes downstairs first thing, and broke for lunch when that was accomplished. A Simply Asia Spring Vegetable Rice Noodle bowl. I put in a dash of soy and more than a dash of red pepper flakes, and it was wonderful.

After the first load, I knew I needed to take a break for at least an hour, since I was so physically drained. I treated myself to Jimmy John’s – two Italian Nightclubs (just like the Vito, but with more MEAT(!) and mayo) – for lunch and dinner. I ate and lay down for an hour channel surfing, then packed and took over load #2. When that was complete, I immediately packed the car with #3 because I wanted to get home in time for Ghost Adventures (love that show!!). I was successful!

I doctored both sandwiches with mustard (again, what kind of a self-respecting sub shop doesn’t offer yellow mustard as a condiment?!), cream cheese and was caught by a moment of inspiration that forced me to add Trader Joe’s olive tapenade. It was unbelievably tasty!

Anyway, that is why I haven’t written. I may not write again until next week, when I’ll have access to the Internet again. Bon appétit for now…

Kurvaszar kedvem volt tegnap Anna miatt… Szobámban ültem és bámultam a sötétbe a fejhallgatón meg valami lélekölő zenét hallgattam. De aztán még is rávettem magam, rácsörögtem Bencére és megkérdeztem, hogy merre vannak. Bár élni se volt kedvem tegnap de jókedvre derített az alkohol meg még Vince is lejött, régen beszéltem vele… Lassan már fel se ismerem Az eredmény: délelőtt 10:30kor még mindig nem vagyok teljesen kitisztulva de már valamivel használhatóbb hangulatom van mind az elmúlt héten. És még ez a videó is jókedvre derített.

Egyszerűen, perfect. Nem szeretem az elektronikus zenét de ez lebilincsel. De nem csak a zene, a videó is. Nézzétek meg, KÖTELEZŐ

so was making a grill cheese today, and it occured to me, why the fuck is it called a “grilled cheese sandwich?” you don’t grill any cheese. were making this grilled cheese, and were going all out. were grilling up some onions, some avacado, butter both sides of the bread. i mean, were grilling everything BUT the cheese.

if anything, there should be a comma in there. like a grilled, cheese sandwich or a cheese sandwich, grilled. in this way, one can denote exactly what ur making, and not lead anyone on. by having this comma, u are saying, i’m grilling a cheese sandwich, the cheese in my sandwich isn’t grilled, but the sandwich itself is. u are saying, to be honest, i would like to grill the cheese but im not, im grilling the sandwich. its subtle, but its a HUGE difference. and nobody likes to be led on, and by having the comma, you are being more straight forward and honest.

if u really wanted to be honest and call it a grilled cheese sandwich, it would require u to actually grill the cheese before putting it in the sandwich. it sounds stupid, but have you ever had cheese that has been grilled? its so, fucking, good. cheese that has been grilled is crispy, its thin, and i dare say it tastes BETTER than regular cheese. so theres no reason NOT to grill the cheese itself, people just dont. its a shame and its dishonest.

thats exactly what a grilled cheese is. its an honest fucking sandwich. its two pieces of bread with some cheese in it. yeah u can put different cheeses and make it gormet, but in the end, its a goddamn grilled cheese sandwich.

maybe i have it all wrong. maybe people DO want cheese that has been grilled, maybe they DO know that theyre leading people on, maybe they realize that their being dishonest. if so, theyre not lying to everyone else, theyre only lying to themselves.

which is it? a sandwich with cheese that has been grilled or a cheese sandwich that has been grilled? decide now. i say, if ur gonna grill the cheese seperately, if ur gonna eat some cheese that has been grilled, put it between 2 pieces of bread that may or may not have been grilled, then call it a grilled cheese sandwich. but if ur not, if ur going to put cheese between 2 pieces of bread then grill the sandwich, put in that comma. call it a grilled, cheese sandwich.

otherwise, ur not being honest with the people u serve it to. ur not being honest with sandwich because ur calling it a false name. most importantly, ur not being honest with urself.

It’s 11:30 am; Otis and I have only been up for one hour. With our combined hangovers and devotion to sleeping in, the two of us managed to snooze through the shattering barrage of noise made by the garbage truck emptying what sounded to be Dumpsters full of glass bottles and screaming children not less than two feet from our window. A few hours later, this early commotion was followed by a strange procession of horns on I-5 (conveniently located just one block behind the apartment) that whined in such perfect harmony I thought our upstairs neighbor was enthusiastically blasting Sigur Ros at quick, short intervals. Despite these disturbances, I was not to be truly roused until 10:30 when our apartment manager called to announce that the plumber would be arriving in thirty minutes, wanting to be sure that our closet had been cleaned out so they could get to the proper pipes.

Rolling out of bed, dressed head to toe in wool and wrapped in an acrylic sleeping bag, I sauntered into the cold, dark grey of the kitchen where Otis lay sleeping on his mattress in the corner, and told him to clean out the closet. Lifting his head from his blankety cave, he told me to call Frank back, tell him “no”, and go to bed. “It looks to be draining fine now, so I don’t see any real need for preventative plumbing,” I told Frank.

Now awake, I moved towards the freezing leather couch. Carefully laying down a blanket so as to not make contact of warm skin to cold leather, I smirked to think of how clever I was, duping the first law of thermodynamics so early in the morning. As I made myself comfortable, Otis pulled the most recent issue of the Stranger out from some hidden fold in his sheets, where he’d been cuddling it through the night. He was incensed by the issue’s poor writing, he told me, enumerating his grievances  article by article, and finally producing a small moleskin notebook in which he had drunkenly written a letter to the editor addressing his manifold concerns the night before. As we bemoaned the unworthy exultation of shitty music and terrible art for the sake of odious ass-kissery, I puttered around the kitchen making peanut butter and honey sandwiches until what sounded like a plumbing truck pulled up outside our window. “Is that a plumbing truck? That sounds like a plumbing truck. Didn’t you talk to Frank?” Otis questioned at rapid pace, still swathed to his head in twisted sheets and old quilts. I peaked through the blinds at the truck immediately outside our window, so close in fact it blocked all natural light- “’Concrete sawing, drilling, and breaking,” I read, anticipating the intimate urban symphony in store for us as a city worker pulled a variety of massive machines out of his truck into the cavernous alley.

Ryan fearfully suggested they may find his tunnel*, which they very well may have had they sawed, drilled, and broke much longer. Luckily they were satisfied with drilling shallow entrenchments at various intervals- our tax dollars (were we not chiefly employed under the table) hard at work…

*details on this later

I have been absolutely worthless today. It’s true. Aside from hitting up campus this morning to turn in a paper, I have been holed up in my room for the entirety of the day, napping and generally being worthless. I have never (I repeat, never) had a hangover this bad in my life. Like I mentioned, I’ve never been much of a wine drinker, but I had entirely too much wine last night which left me feeling like absolute sh*t today! After falling asleep at around 230A, I (for some reason unbeknownst to me), got up a 7:20A wanting to die. After about an hour of tossing and turning, I decided it would be better to use the time productively and head to campus where I could a) turn in a paper, and b) get a breakfast sandwich at the Garrick. I thought a few liters of water and a decent breakfast would cure this awfulness. Silly me. Silly novice-wine-drinker-me. Didn’t help. Came home and passed out for three hours. You would think that with the entire day at my disposal, I would have finished my readings and write-ups for two measly papers, right? Nope. I’m on paragraph #2 of the first article and have made zero progress.

Worthless. I think I’m gonna go back to not liking wine <3.

Here are some snapshots from last night… hanging out with my lovely flatmates prior to our party:

[California, Thailand, Georgia (the country, not the state)]

Keti & I; check out our sweet kitchen lights!

With Aaron – an honorary flatmate.

Fon took this picture — adult prom photo gone wrong. Hahaha. Cracks me up.

xoxo,

non è che il risultato finale mi faccia impazzire (anche perchè a levà tutti i difetti me so magnata un pò de luce sfanculando leggermente la prospettiva) (ma come cazzo parlo…), anche se quando avevo 16 anni i miei capelli erano proprio così, blu e scoloriti (e valla a trovare la tinta ai pigmenti blu nella calafrica del ‘99, quando ancora oggi te fanno le meches co lo scolapasta in testa).

vabbè, daje co sto primo piano di un brutto imbarazzante, che ritrae la sottoscritta durante un hangover della madonna, generato da 2 serate metal, na notte di pafffione, dai molti spinotti (come li chiama mia nonna) e dalla molta birra circolata nel suo povero corpo. l’espressione da rincojonita non sono riuscita a toglierla.

Jeg griner næsten stadig, selvom det er ved at være lidt tid siden jeg så den. den indeholder alt det en klassisk komedie skal have, en seriøse brudgom, hans tossede svigerbror, den smarte Party ven, og vennen der er under tøflen, og så self en vild polterabend i Las Vegas, hvor de dagen efter ikke kan huske noget og mangler en mand og en bil.
At filmen var så god fik mig til at se igennem fingre med at den minde utroligt meget om en film jeg havde set før, nemlig “Dude where is my car” man kan tydeligt se lighederne her
Men den skal sku have 5/5 stjerner, fordi den bare er pisse sjov…

Ditlev

As many of you are no doubt already aware, i spent Hallowe’en weekend in seattle with jo-ann and trevor. The trip started off with a somewhat ill-fated trip to Tan Popo for all-you-can-eat sushi. The sushi and assorted Japanese foods were fantastic, my ill-fated remark refers rather to Trevor’s stomach and his need to share it’s relative fullness for the rest of the night via assorted grunts and groans which Jo-ann and I only put up with because we were both well-sauced by this point.

The next morning it was up and out (at least in theory) on our way to Seattle. Trevor and Jo-ann had rented a fantastic grey Prius for our little road trip south of the border and somewhat predictably I now want one – in all fairness so does Jo-ann. Anyway, the road trip was lovely and we soon arrived at the home of Cale and Sacha. Needless to say, drinking ensued. That night we were off to Showbox SoDo – which was a wicked venue, like a big old warehouse, making me feel very much like i was Kyra Sedgewick in the movie ‘Singles’ – to see The Airborne Toxic Event who were brilliant. We did shots of tequila and drank supercans of PBR all night and it was amazing. (BTW, my favourite song by The Airborne Toxic Event is Sometime Around Midnight – click to see the video)

The next day was largely a hangover day and we sort of hung around the house acclimatising to the surprising warmth of Seattle. Later Trevor and I ventured out to the supermarket unsupervised which proved somewhat disastrous as it was not unlike two Id’s who’d left their Ego at home. We came back with over $100 worth of beer, chips, and pop, and beer only costs (!) $10 a case in the states. Any man who can pass a bag of Lay’s Limon or a six-pack of Land Shark Lager is a stronger man than I.

That night we stayed in and watched some terrible hallowe’en fare. The best of the three movies we watched was called ‘Shrooms’ and it was about some supposed friends who flew from America to Ireland on holiday to take mushrooms. I say supposed friends because very early into the film we found ourselves wondering why people who hated eachother as much as this bunch did would waste a thousand-ish dollars flying across the atlantic to spend a holiday together. Furthermore, are there no drugs in America? Who flies to Ireland to take mushrooms? Is this some sort of trend I don’t know about? Is this what all the kids are doing these days? Needless to say all but one of the “friends” ended up dead and the killer, after getting away with all the murders, escaped, for some reason, into the forest. It actually wasn’t a terrible movie apart from these and maybe a few more plot holes. We also watched ‘Stan Helsing’ which was just plain fucked up.

The next day it was time for some sightseeing in downtown Seattle starting with Pike Place Market. We stopped in for a Starbucks, Jo-ann had a thing for the fishermen, and Trevor, for some reason, drank a Hangtown Mary which included a raw oyster dangling nausea-inducingly from a cocktail pick. Later, despite protest from Jo-ann, we ascended the Space Needle which was actually properly amazing. It’s not right in the downtown core so you have a view of that, Puget Sound, and the whole surrounding area. Also, you can walk outside right the way around which is really cool; we had a drink up there and all loved it.

Later, we all kitted up and proceeded to get our drink on. After some initial indecision Sacha decided on Dorothy over Lederhosen, Cale topped his outfit up with a mustache, and I affixed my Cher wig and slipped into my poncho. Upon leaving the house Trevor was already quite drunk, rather foreshadowing the events that later transpired, but at this point each of us were blissfully unaware of anyone’s drunkenness but our own.

After arriving at Showbox at the Market – again, amazing – we got stamps on our wrists and proceeded to enjoy the party-time sounds of Seattle’s very own Cool-Ade. It was a brilliant party and then all of a sudden Cale came up to the rest of us and said that Trevor had been kicked out for being too drunk. After some initial disappointment Cale hatched the rather masterful plan of re-dressing Trevor in some extra bits and pieces, including my poncho and wig (I was also wearing a fantastic psychedelic shirt). So Cale painstakingly removes the Fred Flintstone costume from the now balance-challenged Trevor and replaces it with the wig and poncho. Only after he is fully re-dressed does Trevor point out the big black X that is drawn over the entry stamp on his wrist, precluding him from returning at all.

After a fall in the parking lot and the poncho moving again from Trevor, back to me, and then to Sacha, we’re now on our way home and out of downtown Seattle having only arrived an hour previous. All is going swimmingly again until we’re speeding down the freeway and Trevor decides to open his door to vomit. Only we’re going 65 MPH. And he’s not wearing his seatbelt. So a bit of shitstorm unleashes in the car and Jo-ann and I are trying to hold onto Trevor as his relieves his turbulent stomach onto the busy road (and a little bit onto the car door).

Now, just as we’re trying to find our way back onto the freeway after diverging in order to let Trevor finish up what do we see but A LANDSHARK BILLBOARD! Realizing that this is indeed a stupendous moment Sacha pulls the car to a hault and Cale and I dance a jig beneath it as Jo-ann tries capture the moment on film rather unsuccessfully.

Upon arriving home Trevor headed straight for bed and despite thinking it was a good idea to drug him awake – we failed – the night died down after that. Needless to say Trevor woke up with the mater and pater of all hangovers and we hit the road home.

En route we stopped to get Jack In The Box which was BRILLIANT, Jo-ann decided she needed to try every flavour of vitamin water, and Trevor usurped a coat that I liked at the outlet mall for his own – coatstealer. Finally, the next day we had lunch at the Black Frog before Jo-ann and Trevor had to head back to their real lives in the Big Onion. It was a fabulous trip.

A few things I learned:
1. Trevor’s new nickname is Captain Obvious as he has an uncanny ability for vocalising the obvious.
2. Showbox is fantastic. Go there if you’re in Seattle.
3. Ditto, the Space Needle, it’s surprisingly good.
4. Avoid Trinity night club at all costs. It was aweful and an event transpired as confusing as it was angering.
5. I am quite good at the playing the drums in Rock Band.
6. Do not show Trevor a coat you like at an outlet mall.
7. Lay’s Limon are amazing. (Why do we not have them in Canada?)
8. Jo-ann and I are quite good at swaying a la Sonny and Cher, or at least we seemed to be after a few drinks.
9. Bluto may be the best name ever in the history of horror films.
10. Do not go to Ireland to take shrooms.

Holiday Pictures from Thailand !!

This is one of the beach’s on Koh Phangang.

Beach at night time.

En-route to Koh Samui.

Looking rather small next to the standing Buddha in Bangkok.

Some more stunning Buddha’s

Crazy Bangkok at night – full of very annoying and persistent street sellers.

The Full Moon Party Night – absolutely amazing night. Best 4 days of my life! Danced until sunrise every morning.

Another crazy night on Koh Phangang Beach.

Oh dear….My best mate and I trying to get home, but got fleeced by all the street sellers in doing so!!

Hang over from hell…..

Dressed for a more sociable evening!!!!

A relaxing morning traveling in a tut tut drinking coconut milk!

Followed by a relaxing afternoon at the Zoo in Bangkok….

Last day of my holiday – (trying to get some sight seeing in)

Now back to relaity – but happy holidays!!!

I am waiting for everyone else to send me their pics – so will add some more when I get them. Hope you have enjoyed some of my experiences in Thailand…..

I know several writers who are terrified of showing people their work because somebody might steal it. In the film business the stories of “script stealing” are legendary… (The Full Monty, Hangover and The Truman Show to name a few). But film is a collaborative business if you want your story to get made at some point you are going to have to show it to someone, at some point you are going to have to show it to a lot of people.

You may well ask where is the integrity in the film industry… when a studio displays a do not pirate our movie commercial in front of a film that was originally stolen from a starving writer?

If you are an Executive stealing someone elses creativity you might as well give up now and go get a job working tables on Hollywood and Sunset at least that way you may end up rediscovering not only your own humanity but also your own creativity. Remember the dream that you had when you were twelve… “you wanted to make movies, you didn’t want to steal them.”

Success that is not earned from honest toil is more expensive than people realize, there is a numbing of the soul and a life lived with a dream that was never “truly’ fulfilled.

I remember last semester, working at the language center with seniors, they all started to get this crazy look in their eye. it was a mixture of anxiety, fear, being lost, all these things. and then they started to do really impulsive, irrational things.

and when i start talking to people in my classes, and when i think about what im doing, how im trying to cope with this…its all happening to me and starting to happen to people around me.

ive been trying to do things that take my mind of worrying about the future. but my projects have been delayed, so i have all this idle time. which is good, but eventually my mind wanders back to my uncertain future.

i mean, just last week, i drove through the entire los angeles national forrest, taking pictures along the way. thats what i did all that day. the week before, i just started driving down the 110 and then pch until i found a beach to take pictures at.

i can see the correlation between my actions and my mental state. its obvious im searching for answers to my future. im driving, but when i start out, i don’t know where i’m going. i keep driving, searching for answers, hoping that what i am internally searching for will appear. when i see something that i think will be good, aka the beach or the forrest, i go there. i find comfort, stability, and clearity of mind in nature.

its interesting how some people i talk to have these ideas of what they want to do after college. it obviously reflects the fact that they dont know what they want to do.its as if they are stalling or delaying the inevitable. take me, im taking an extra semester. one person are going to work on campus for a year, maybe study abroad, then apply to grad school. some of these ideas are counter to their degree of study. maybe even TFA would apply in this area.

another interesting thing, especially with engineers, is how some people are starting to question their major. i mean, if i could do it again, i would have done business, not engineering. i think i was lucky because i worked as an engineer, i did the cubicle thing, and realized it wasnt for me. then i started to question my major, and decided to change the emphasis of my engineering. fortunately, this was 2 years ago, and not my senior year.

i guess i can feel ok know what type of job I want, and have some idea of what career path i would want to puruse. now its a matter of what industry and company i would want to work for. its in line with my major, and its a alright plan that involves getting paid and being able to make a comfortable living. it will allow me to not worry about how im goign to have to pay for debt, rent, and food. but more importantly, its what i want to do, and i know this because i asked the tough questions early on.

Alan shifted groggily as the first ray of sunlight slipped through the cracks in his blinds, its luminescence clawing at his eyes. A threat to face the day. As with any afternoon like this, he thought he would roll from his left side to his right, his body a sodden, rotting log, curved like an “S” that somehow insinuates cutlery, but when his left arm tried to lead him there and shield him from the sun, it was faced with some resistance. Not much, but still enough to startle his body to a slightly higher form of consciousness than that booze-induced coma he was in. He aware of his flesh, and his flesh now aware of its surroundings, Alan felt something sleek and smooth, cold and curved, held tightly against his body like that terrifying clown he used to cuddle with as a child. What was his mother thinking when she gave that to him, anyway?

The crack of dried saline and gunk compounded with the thudding in his head as he peeled his eyelids up, opened just enough for him to make out the shape of things beside him: an empty handle of Evan Williams bourbon. He’d crammed enough forensics knowledge into his head during that semester that even despite the horrific hangover he was still able to deduce that said hangover was likely due to the presence of said bourbon absent from said bottle and even more likely being processed somewhere between his liver and soul. Content with solving the mystery of the missing bourbon, and discovering the identity of the mysterious shape asleep beside him, Alan felt accomplished enough to complete his turn away from the window and fall back to sleep.

He closed his eyes before his bourbon-slowed mind could fully comprehend the significance—or even the presence—of the used condom sprawled on his hardwood floor like the sad and lonely shreds of the balloon that Jesse Hird popped at his 6^th birthday party. Not that Alan was bitter or anything. The thought of this childhood trauma was finally enough to shake him from his slumber, and Alan sat up more abruptly than he likely should have. Blood rushed to his head with the thud of an angry fist against an oak door. Or maybe a baseball bat.

Once he was able to think again, Alan realized that perhaps the night’s conspiracy reached deeper than he previously thought. Especially since he was still wearing pants. Was he living in an episode of Californication? Alan had always idolized David Duchovny, but more for Fox Mulder than Hank Moody. The X-Files was his inspiration for moving to Washington, D.C., and pursuing a Forensics degree, in hopes of one day becoming an FBI Agent, and discovering for himself if the true was really out there after all. But if life should imitate art, he wondered, then perhaps his life was changing along with the career of the artist whom he imitated.

This threw him into a panic. A crisis of faith. What had he been doing with his life? He had only ever seen the Series Premiere. He would have to catch up on all the seasons on DVD. How many seasons had there been so far? The X-Files had nine! How many more would they have by the time he caught up? And when would he find the time, now that he had to leave George Washington and transfer to some school in California to pursue an English degree. What the hell was he going to do with an English degree?

For a moment, he wished there was still bourbon to drink, but the mere thought of it made his stomach churn and sent him hurtling towards the bathroom. Perhaps Californication would have to wait.

Well the weekend is over and I had a long long sober Friday nite and after I rid myself of being bored and after I ate too much PF Changs I went to bed.  Woke up of coarse feeling really good…hit a 90 minute hot yoga class (this is the craziest thing known to man) and had a great class.  Heard the hubby on the phone making plans with the neighbor for a party.  I was feeling really good and really did not want to go.  The day dragged on for me we purchased a new TV so it took ALL DAY to hang the thing on the wall and hide the chords etc (this is a chore I WOULD PAY TO HAVE DONE just fyi) headed to the party around 9pm.  I will tell you I WAS THE ONE WHO SAID AT 1am…time to go.  Those three words never ever come out of my mouth.  I did do some power drinking but did not make a fool out of myself.  For that I am proud.  I did leave saying a few too many love yous and I may have made some vacation plans that I never intend on keeping.  All and all not to bad for me.  I was a little slow on Sunday but got moving and took some advice “not to feel guilty”.  Now it is Monday and I AM BORED 5:18PM and you know what I am thinking…What do you do when you are not drinking?  I get a day or two but seriously what would you do if it was 24/7?   Is it really a better way of life?

Ladies and gentleman, behold 2 of the 35 Most Awesome Science Fair projects:

CLICK HERE FOR THE ENTIRE LIST

I still can’t figure out the exact reason why these little failures make my “too much alcohol causes serious depression” frown turn upside down.  Fucking whiskey.  Way too much whiskey last night.  When am I going to learn that Bourbon won’t snuggle with me at night or have breakfast and read the Times and in bed with on Sunday morning?  When will I learn to leave that fucking whore?