For some more than a years time I have neglected my own duties as autobiographer extraordinaire, glorifying the life of a procrastinator, succumbing to the draw of dereliction. And so an absent life chapter sudden spilled, drips down to my fingertips and pools here on this blessed domain of interweb greatness. The poster will post on, my waistline silhouette will continue to appear lumplike on the pocketside with the camera snug, I will still pick up every human and domesticated animal within my vicinity, I will most definitely continue to take, and upload about one photo too many, and the sentences will run on. Run on sentence… Run on…
In hopes of sparing my scarce readers any further I will divert now from words of ramble to favorite pics of many. (From May ’07 to last week)
And look forward to the next one… I give my word itll be in less than 14 months.
Greetings and salutations to you all, I apologize I’ve gone through quite spell of blogger’s block partly because I didn’t have the time and partly because if someone were to ask me what I did last weekend my reply would probably be a dull and blank one. No longer is this the case. And so it begins:
A few weeks ago, back when I had a girlfriend and 2 jobs to occupy my time, basically slaving away at the daily grind for dollars that made little sense. My chance for escape came when my dear pal Ian hatched a plan for us to go stay visit Ash’ms, Christa Ryder and the new love of my life / Ashley’s boyfriend Daren Smilie. Needless to say the very prospect of these tentative arrangements solidifying into weekend plans was enough to send me into a heightened state of arousal. Ian and I hit the road at damn the ungodly hour of 5:30 A.M. embarking on what would turn into an 8 hour ass-falling-asleep-fest complete with sing along emo music audible throughout the rear speakers only, cause most the time if I have to listen to that shit at all thats how I like it, faint and kinda shaky. So prior to the trip people advised me to be wary of the smog polluted skies of LA and not to get arrested in Mexico, heres a pic of the gorgeous Los Angeles sky you can almost make out a plane in the background or maybe its just fecal matter I don’t know.
Maybe three or four hours into the epic journey I managed to catch some winks while sitting fully erect with my fuckin arm at a 45 degree angle and evidently Ian thought this was some majorly entertaining shit. The unpleasant aftermath of my sunbaked napping was a gnarly ass half farmer tan on my right arm that without the administering of the soothing aloe via Christa could have fucked up my days. I’d say the highlight of our excursion was the night spent in Tijuana where Mr. Cuervo and I made friends and he introduced me to his rowdy cousin the “Adios Motherfucker”, truly a lovely family all in all.
The next memorable excursion for yours truly was my time spent over at the lovely University of San Francisco with lovely ladies ingesting lovely liquids and peeing them out in womens bathrooms. Ally, better known as A-face round them parts, showed me a time and a half. Showed me my first club experience (north of the border) where my faith in the Hyphy movement was restored. True it wasn’t anywhere near Tijuana’s Gropefest ’07, and true I didn’t take any pics when inside but take my word for it when I say the force of friction felt was enough to grind down my jeans to the threads. Beleee dattt.
Saint Patties Day ’07 was a bit of a bust, despite my best attempt of being green and mean the night will be remembered as the night I failed to celebrate my heritage coming home with unbruised knuckles and as many brain cells as I left with.
The same can’t be said for the evening at lovely Courtney‘s. The boys and I warmed up at Umpy’s house as a prelim. Brotha dawkness did what he does best, and faced the consequences dished out by the vengeful homeowner. Luckily his penis shielded most of the blow. We walked the streets in the cloak of night and into the pad of Courtney where everyone felt the need to pop shots elbow to elbow in the kitchen. I was quick to assemble with the fellas and strike a quick pose for the room full of adoring womens. Compare this pic with this one. Things started gettin nutty as the night progressed; Dawkness tried pinnin the tail on the Jenny and Dylan seized the role of the noise nazi.
Then there was Sasha’s, my favorite Russian chic. For this occasion I felt it necessary to come dressed with my favorite accessory, enjoy that corniness. she looks cute as a damn button there too. I fair well. So I spent the majority of that night bleeding profusely from the crater of the once proud pimple I tripled sliced with my fuckin Gillette Mach 3 turbo
emo pain expression device razor. Half a roll of toilet paper later I was back in the game, beads of sweat clinging to each one of my ass hairs in the kitchen. It even looks sweaty in that picture. Sweaty Jimbo balanced shit on his head. Adam hosed puke off Sasha’s doorstep.
So I guess I never posted to the world about the aftermath of bambi colliding into my Celica, well it’s still in the family and I picked up a 1990 Toyota Supra, white, turbo, 5 speed, targa top, with about 105k miles. So I rock that pretty hard, its fast, its a tank and I love it.