| THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016). |
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I jsut spent the last 4 hours at the bar, my cozy bar the place I hang out when I want to be away from people because they never have any business. Epseillay at noonish, which might seem odd for dinking but I got off at 8 am, so not so odd for me. I sat around at talked with my favoirte bartenter into Teela, who although is about the most annoying liberal I know is pretty cool. (just don't talk politoics with her.) Talked about soe weird shit, this, and that. Things that pretty much you all have heard about a thousnd times come from my lips. I'm stating to wonder if I'm doomed, and I don't mean relationship wise, or life wise. Just in general. I mean what I define as the "perfect woman" doesn't even come close to normal standards as far as I can tell. So there is stike one. Second, I have thousands of little inside jokes that I share with no one but myself savve the 15 or so sorabjites that would understand them, but fuck I can't explain that to people they'd just think I was nuts. That leaves me living my life as I have been, wondering what the fuck is going on. And contemlplating things that under normal "sober" circumstances I would think about for about half a second. I realize that none of this makes any sense, and that it is just as the topic proposes "drunken rambling" but hell its 3:24 well past my time for bed. I'm drunk, and felt the need to type, but seriously couldn't think of anythign to post in any other topic. I'm not tired just drunk, which doesn't do much for me because well I need to sleep sooner or later. The cat is trying to eat my foot at the moment, which is rather uncomfortable, but I just don't have the will to stop him at the moment. Pez, I worry about you constantly darlin, and will call as soon as I am awake and sober. You probably don't want a call from me right now anyway. Nate, love ya man, and as far as I can tell things be going good for you. Sem you the good dick I know you to be. Patrick well what can I say.... dick....I love ya. Spider, Moodnit, Sarah, I dig everyone of you... Swine who I've seen post like 4 times since I've retured its good to see you back.And anyone who I've forgotten in my drunkenness don't take it personal, I can barely remember my cats name right now. To the throne of white I go. |
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post while pissed? "I mean what I define as the "perfect woman" doesn't even come close to normal standards as far as I can tell." do tell. |
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I feel for ya. 1) Compromise on the woman thing, if you really want companionship. One thing, though...Don't compromise in the direction of a woman who'll shit on you. 2) No one will ever understand you completely, probably not even yourself. Learn to live with that. Don't use it as a crutch to isolate yourself. 3) You are doomed. We're all doomed. Live it up, baby! Cat...good to see you. :) |
Maybe your problem is due to the unreasonable expectations you have, if you're looking for the "perfect woman" and ignoring the perfectly good but imperfect women around you. I don't know if you're doing this or not...it's just a suggestion. |
I've quit looking for women, they are a pain in the ass and nothing but trouble. Most of what I need to do is figure out where I'm going at the moment, thats my goal. |
I have incredibly high standards for all the people I let get close to me...but they are reasonable in that no one would want to be my friend/partner unless they could follow my sense of humor or have intelligent conversation with me. As far as physical attraction is concerned...I don't know...are you only attracted to waifish runway models? It's okay to have standards for that too, but do you write off everyone immediately, instead of letting a cute-but-not perfect woman win you over with her stunning personality? Do you think you are really "above" all the women you meet? Or, do you set up such high expectations, so that you aren't the one who feels inadequate in the end? I'm not trying to be mean. I think you are a sweet guy, I'm just trying to get you to look at why you think this way. |
You are way to young to be this jaded. Grow up a little and then when you start looking again, you'll probably find some women who are more mature than whatever birds you've been chasing as of late. |
Nah. Be jaded now and get it over with. :) Just don't sit and be jaded for most of your 20's like I was. Listen to your elders, boy! |
if i say why, it will probably offend someone somewhere. |
I've been of the opinion that Hal needs a change of scenery for quite some time. |
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i'd say come down here, but renting a room in someone's house is going to run close to $650 and there are shit for jobs. but there are a lot of ladies. |
. I suggest going to school, too. The older you get, the harder it is to do that. Plus, it would increase your chances of finding people you really jive with. You can still bartend if that's what you want to do, but it'll make your world a little bigger. . I bet nate's just sick of hearing about Montana. . I expect I'll be leaving next summer. |
I take it as more info on the advice given, really man let loose. |
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i was just going to go off on genetics and why it is better to live by the coast and a whole rant both base and baseless, stipulated with sweeping generalizations which, regardless of if antigone agrees or disagrees with me, will lead into forty or fifty back-and-forths between him and me. and frankly, i just don't give a fuck. hal, move to santa cruz. pull pints at a bar i like and i will come buy pints from you regularly. if you're not completely who you appear to be i might even bring along some trim to introduce to you in sly fashion with gratuitous reference to you giant, twat pleasing fishstick. |
That is classic. |
well done |
By fishsticks, I mean "fishsticks". |
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and a bartender should be able to spell tanqueray. |
why is hip hop so god damn funny these days? |
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Otherwise, I usually have vodka tonics with lime, although I prefer gin & tonics with lime. |
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I love vodka. There's a kiwi brand called 42 below thats meant to be really good. |
Never tried gin. Gin shots don't make sense to me, though. |
kiwi vodka. shit. that's like polish uh kiwis or something. |
you call yourself real alcoholics. phtfh. |
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Like you've heard it is supposed to be, or it has a reputation of being good and is really crap, or...? I can't drink anymore, but when I did, I was a vodka girl. I think some of my drunken ramblings from back in the day testify to this. I remember Nate once telling me to go easy on the ooze. Don't know why that stuck with me all these years. Today I made bread and now I am eating it, yum yum. |
Absolut blackberry. mmm Yeah, us kiwi's. Famous for nothing. |
and it wook me five minutes ti toe ut ecko yook my hotns fome, i lost her. |
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i can't believe i told anyone to go easy. i can't believe i'm not more hungover than i am. maybe i'm not sober yet. |
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and it wook me five minutes ti toe ut ecko yook my hotns fome, i lost her. translation: vodka and cranberry is a very good thing until i have a beer and a sparks. and it took me five minutes to know (?) that ecko took my horns home; i lost her. wow. i don't think i've ever typed that bad ly before. |
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The world was floating on water last night. I was fine until this guy watched me sing and decided I needed beer and then I decided I wanted sparks. Ick. P walked me home and stood around while I locked up Notorious and went inside. We kissed once, right before he left. I can't remember if I locked the door. P is the person that I've had the longest running neoplatonic relationship with. We kiss, sometimes; he's given me a couple hickeys. Usually this is initiated by him whispering "I think you should kiss me." It's sort of a recurring game of two-person spin the bottle induced by alcohol. I think I locked the door. I sat at the computer. I slogged to the toilet. I puked. I sat at the computer again, trying to type something that's somewhat legible, unsucceeding. I slogged to the toilet. I puked. I sat at the computer, hit submit before I turned the thing off and went upstairs where I puked in the other bathroom, removed my eyes and clothing before closing my eyes. This morning I've been sluglike. I thought I was the only one home so I was walking around the house without any pants. When I was proven wrong I dragged myself upstairs. Been drinking water like crazy. My stomach hurts and I wasn't sure if it was from upset or hunger, I decided to eat because if it was upset I'd feel better after puking. The Jehovah's Witnesses came by while I was preparing Kim Chee flavor Ramen with sad expressions discussing how most of the people worldwide live on $2 a day. I'm fine with that. Money doesn't say how live their daily lives or how much they eat. Starvation, though, is an absolute outrage. I eat. |
Twilight was approaching and the sky was beautifully clear. A low mist hung over the bay, obscuring the Moss Landing power plant and making Monterey look like an island. Somewhere to our right the Sun closed her eyes, painting the water yellow and orange and pink as she drifted off to sleep. There was a group sitting in folding chairs around the bonfire. A_, the birthday girl and not my ex-fiancée, was wearing a diamond studded tiara and a white feather boa. She was surrounded by highly animated women, mostly elementary school teachers, and one or two subdued male counterparts. I was standing between the bonfire and the water with a couple of the longer-leashed men. We were talking about the Moon, who stood brilliant white and shot lines of sliver down the edge of the breaking surf. It seemed as if an enormous fish was floating on its side, its silver scales glistening on the surface of the bay. I commented on how quickly my drink had disappeared and then realized I wasn’t sure how many I’d had. Eventually the ranger descended onto the beach in his white truck. He drove by us and said “The beach is closed, and if that is alcohol in those cups you need to pour it out.” We looked at him like he was retarded. He drove around to the other bonfires and then came back and sat with his headlights on our party. I walked over to B_, A_’s man, and punched him in the shoulder. He turned and nailed me fiercely in the side. We traded blows for a bit before I threw an errant blow into his ear. As I apologized for breaking the “above the belt below the neck” rule he found my spleen with his fist. I fell to the ground and he gave me a hand up and we went back to watching the ladies break down the celebration. Somehow we made it to the bowling alley bar again. “Coasters”, across the street from the Boardwalk. The karaoke scene was a little more young and hip than last time I was there, but not by much. Someone started buying pitchers and somehow I got a glass and it was never empty. The details are hazy, but I may have popped my karaoke cherry with “Oops, I did it again.” Someone signed me up for it and no one was going to let me duck out of it when my name was called. Not that I would have. Are you shitting me? I love Britney. When I got home I jumped in the shower because the bonfire smell on my skin was making me nauseous. The acoustics in that tight little space made the walls of the shower start to rock back and forth. Gently, like being on a boat. Which is when I coated my feet with a semi processed pizza stew accented with a nice Sierra Nevada foam. And now I’m hung over enough that I don’t want to open a bottle of wine. Or eat. Or see the Sun. My shower smells like the inside of me. I need to fix that. |
It was fine when the soup was hot, a bite here and bite there (easy, just take it slow, you don't want to puke). Unfortunately when you eat things somewhat slowly they get cold. I laid down on a couch and closed my eyes. Then opened them. Then closed them again. I couldn't get comfortable, because my discomfort came from my center which is the place I utilize the most when dispelling pain. I opened my eyes, halfway this time. When I don't pay attention to things in a normal way, I see floaters. It's a fairly normal thing, accented by the lack of vision aid. I saw something else though, something different. The couch I laid on, a loveseat, too short for my frame, faces west. I was a bit scrunched and my face faced south. Which happened to make it perfect for gazing out the window and outside. The view is a couple tree branches, telephone poles, a cable line and a row of houses (perpetually facing east). Ordinary. What was not ordinary was what else I saw. I could see telephone calls. Thousands of telephone calls, zipping up and down the line at maybe half lightning speed. They look like those blobs you see after looking at a bright light, only they move, zipping along the lines in both directions at once, entering and leaving houses. A facinating system which I could watch for hours. A squirrel crossed the cable line, snapping me out of it. I tried to see the telephone calls again, ignoring the calls that actually made the phone ring, but I couldn't do it. I moved to the front room, to a full-sized couch facing south, laid down on my side facing north and closed my eyes for a nap. The phone rings. I let it ring. The answering machine records. It's K. K and I used to be okay friends (I guess). I sobered her up and talked to her on her 21st birthday (it was a month before mine). We were going to be drinking buddies but the one time we actually drank together it wasn't too grat of a thing. She got mad at me when there was a show at her house because I didn't say hello and just waved instead. Now she never initiates conversation with me, I have to specifically ask her questions and she answers them. I've taken pictures at shows at her house and given copies to her, she never thanked me and then she used one for the cover of her zine and never told me or offered me a copy even when I gave her one of mine at the symposium. I got up, finished the now-cold bowl of soup. I pulled a classic last night, went to see my housemate's show and got the address wrong, there was nothing where he said it was, an overpass, maybe I'm confused. It was a classic Ms. Pez thing. I biked back up to North and went to the karaoke bar where I proceeded to drink and sing. I sang "Fever", "The Stray Cat Strut" (alla Pezuli), "Personal Jesus" and "Kiss". For some reason the karaoke room emptied out except for a few regulars and it was good. I danced with a female regular whose name I've never asked and never can remember from when she's called up and Maria. They are both fantabulous singers and dancers but Maria stands out. She's a short black woman who'd shaved her head since the last time I've seen her, wearing a short tight shiny black dress, a cowrie shell choker and enormously high heels. She flirts with everyone and has a good time and I guess that's what really matters when it comes down to it. |
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I don't mind religious people knocking on the door, though sometimes I'm on the phone or something. Most of them are fairly pleasant people who just happen to think that converting people to their religion will get them to heaven. If they're not too aggressive about it, it's not bad at all. They try and find issues that we care about here: the government, pollution and music. |
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After all a kiwi was the first to the top of Everest. A kiwi split the first atom (which is kinda ironic seeing as NZ is a nuclear free country) A kiwi flew the first mechanically powered airplane. We were the first country to give women the power to vote. and L&P. World famous in New Zealand. |
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As for mormons, when they actually show up, I'm in my underwear and a military tanktop, so I invite them in and offer beer or booze to them. Its rather amusing, esp. because I've actually had a few actually take me up on it. Guess they weren't very devoute, but with the one's that don't accept the booze, I sit crack a beer and say: "Alright, lets talk religion." And see how long it takes them to finally leave. A few of them have made it several hours, most leave within minutes. The ones that accept the booze have sat and chilled for quite a while, dicked around on the XBox and got trashed with me. Mormons are funny people. |
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They left. |
K |
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I'm not rude, I'm rather nice about it. Plus, its fun as hell. As for the: "I think it's very brave of them to go door to door like that, with no promise of financial reward at the end of it." Thats bullshit and you should know it, Mormons take care of their own, and sorry to say it, but where I grew up, in a span of 5 years after they built the Mormon temple the entire area surrounding which was very nice residential area. The property prices went up crazy amounts and after 5 years there were very FEW people who didn't follow the Mormon Faith. |
...with a shotgun and a wife beater shirt with a bbq sauce stain and be all like...."YEAH YOU BIBLE-THUMPIN WEENIES BE GETTIN OFF MY LAWN BEFORE I COUNT TO 3...." nothing gets people running faster than the sound of a shot gun being cocked |
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i had a bunch of mormons at my high school, and was friends with some of them. some were bratty rich kids, but a lot of them were just really sweet and naive. they dont watch R rated movies so they wont be desensitized to sex and violence. one of my mormon friends gave me a book of mormon for my birthday with an inscription saying that she hoped i would realize it was the true word of god. nearly all of them are at school in utah now. |
Utah. |
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I've never had anyone come to my house. I've been approached on the street. I don't like to be approached by anyone, no matter what the cause. It freaks me out. I was approached by a stranger when walking home from Dunkin Donuts in Boston one day. It was so random. "Do you live around here." "Yes" (I thought she wanted directions) "Would you like to come to my church?" At this point I would have just said no, but I had to know. "What Church is this." "The Boston Church of Christ" (a-ha!) "No thank you." |
Aww. I miss you kids. |
there you go. The Mormons have a really hard time owning up to that massacre back in the 1800s where they killed every member over 6 of a wagon train headed to california. Of course, it's more complex than a one sentence summary, but not much more. |
there you go. The Mormons have a really hard time owning up to that massacre back in the 1800s where they killed every member over 6 of a wagon train headed to california. Of course, it's more complex than a one sentence summary, but not much more. |
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Because I do. |
And you know what else is interesting about ravers, when your chasing them they can't hide from you in dark places because of the glow crap they wear. They run like streaking neon bulbs. |
guh |
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But then again, who cares what Dave wants. |
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Mark is. |
. Hal, what are you doing between 6pm and 10pm Saturday? |
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