as soon as i got home from work i wanted to curl up and fall asleep but i had some home-work to do, and i wanted to revisit a really nice xxx dvd that was sent to me, plus i wanted to eat my leftovers from last night – rib tips mashed potatoes and green beans from the pantry, and i wanted to watch the cubs destroy the reds on tivo, and i wanted to write you.
my job at buzznet this month includes having to write two articles a day about bands playing at coachella and even though most journalists only have to write one article a day tops i like to write if you havent figured out and i can write two articles and several blog posts and a love letter to africa and still have time to chat with a girl in canada on msn.
my chair smells of a terrible combination of sourdough bread farts and Endust. my floor is littered with dozens of used kleenexes. theyre mostly congregated around the fireplace but theyre strewn in such a way that they appear to be running out of the fireplace into the safety of my writing closet.
my clothes need washing, my beard needs shaving, my head has had the same cap on for four days, and my table is a collection of soup bowls and plastic cups that once held water.
its now 152 and i didnt watch the porno i only enjoyed half of the cubs game which i didnt know would be preceeded by a who-me-worry president bush throwing out the first pitch as dozens of secret service men stood on top of the roof of the ballpark in cincy, i didnt chat with anyone on msn, i did watch countdown with keith oberman, and i did view half of Crash which i enjoyed a great deal.
i did read 50 blogs, i did do my home-work, i did eat my sickness pill, i did cough a lot less this evening, and i do wish that i had a girl half my age beckoning me from my bedroom so i could do her before retiring for the night.
strangely once upon a time i had such an angel. stranger still, more than once the fates blessed me so. and strangest yet, each time i did appreciate it because i knew my luck would be fleeting, and sure enough, as always, i was right.
living in los angeles for twenty one years has taught me many lessons and one of them is you do not have to be handsome to end up with beautiful women, or better, willing girls. you dont have to be funny, you dont have to be rich, you dont even have to own an automobile.
living in los angeles has taught me that women may have their faults, but men for the most part are laughable boors who barely know the rules of chess, let alone its inner strategies, therefore dont hold your breath waiting for them to find a g spot or learn how to dance.
i arrived home to phone messages from two incredibly beautiful women this evening with amazing bodies and clever minds, both of whom had sexual appetites that i wouldnt have believed if you whispered in my ear as a highschooler “not only do such creatures exist, but you will witness them in action.” both hotter and more real than these two. somehow.
my mailbox stored one magazine upon my inspection. the week. published by maxim.
and my television was tuned to a station informing me that the senate majority leader who had earlier stepped down in shame had announced that he would not be seeking re-election. indeed, the hammer had been broken.
ants had made themselves curious around a gift my mother had sent me for christmas, peach scented liquid soap that she had marked for your kitchen so i let the hot water run and i took a sponge and made the countertop a wonderland of soapy scalding water which i shall never dry.
and since now it is 237am and i havent coughed in an hour i creep to my room, whisper my prayers in the dark as the electric blanket heats up, then slide under the overstuffed comforter and fall asleep within minutes wondering what on earth the next girl who will share my bed be like, as the hallucinetic mood music of mogwai’s mr beast sends me peacefully on my way while soft raindrops tap against the window pane.
im not happy. im not sad. im not sleepy.
im just far too quickly at the end of this day.