I am THAT bored. I put my ipod on random and this is the shit that comes out. serves me right.
write anything you want. yeah right. you come to the realization that 99% of your readership knows you had a pet frog named barney that you tried to mate with a hampster. when this page was started years back it was supposed to be an outlet. you know, write whatever the hell you want as long as it makes you feel better. subconscious screening happens and it turns into freaking goldilocks and the three bears with a beginning, middle, end, and moral.
afraid of what might come out. random people coming up to me saying, "I read your BLOG. why the hell would you want to drink a blood martini with an eyeball as the olive? you are ONE SICK FUCK. btw, you still have my bridget jones dvd." societal expectations.
with or without you. that's better. goes with my peanut butter sandwich. maybe it's dedicated to the (lack of) jelly. I am also now boiling water in a big pot so it can cool, and I can drink it tomorrow. I am that cheap.
for those of you wondering, it is going well here. you make a friend or two, find a good bar (or 7) and things aren't so bad. haven't yet been bound by hand and foot and carried out of the office by a rioting mob. there's still time.
20 pounds to go. managing to make it to the gym most mornings before work. side effect is, metabolism shoots through the roof. this is an example of what happens.
"man, finally out of that place so glad I'm out it's freaking 8pm already what the hell am I going to do now the night is already over but it's still early and I don't feel like the gym I went this morning should I eat but I just had a snack at 6pm and hey...how YOU doin'...maybe I should go to the bar and have a beer but it's only tuesday and do I want to drink by myself but there's nothing to do at home should I go grocery shopping maybe I'll just go home and do more work or do another cantonese lesson and why the fuck did I buy a 360 and hook it to a plasma TV to play UNO?"
fuck. that was like 5 steps on the way home. freaking wired as hell from cardio and still have a ways to go. resting heart rate is like 110. who the hell needs drugs when you can buy a treadmill?
the crystal ball is forecasting a trade-in. it's gonna feel like heaven and go like hell.
nite. | 
