Tag Archives: diary

Diary New Year’s Day 2011: I Am a Massive Fucking Chickenshit

26 Apr

I should have kissed Anne at midnight.  What threw me was her talking about needing to find a guy to make out with.  This means: not you.  But still. I could have done it.  I ended up sleeping at her place.  I don’t remember going to bed, but I woke up next to her, surprised.  And I thought she might think I was her ex-boyfriend, and wake up and realize it was me, and be shocked and appalled.  But no.

She was an excellent sleeping partner.  She was wearing tights and would like, wrap her top leg around mine as we were spooning.  And put my hand in a comfortable place near her boobs.  I keep thinking- maybe I should have fucked her, but how?  I would have been too drunk to get a boner at night and in the morning my mouth tasted like rotten tequila.  Cut yourself some slack, dude.  You don’t have to fuck everybody.

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Diary: New Year’s Eve 2010– Never Tell Me the Odds

26 Apr

Fuck- anyway.  Going to Anne’s. I will not be fucking Anne. Right?  Or I mean, what if I will be fucking Anne? That would be awesome.  But I will not be fucking Anne.

I mean, she just broke up with a dude—what does this mean?  Why do I care? She is not going to be my girlfriend.  I don’t want her to be my girlfriend. But I would like to see her naked.

I’m excited just to spend time around other human beings.  Especially chicks, who—like, a lot of my friends are hot chicks.  But there is literally no chance of me fucking them.  An earthquake could happen, and they could be splayed out naked, and I could also be naked with a boner and a beam from some building could fall on top of us at a serendipitous angle and force my dick into them, but still somehow I would not be fucking them. Whereas, Anne, and that friend of hers, there is merely a 99.99999 % chance that I will not be fucking them.  Somehow this is exciting to me.  Like, if pussy were money, I would be the guy who spends the last dollar from his welfare check on scratch tickets. Continue reading →

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Diary 2/19/11: Turning 35

25 Apr

Anyway.

Yeah, it’s my birthday.  I am thirty five years old.  This feels like a momentous age for some reason.  I am thinking like a woman,  because, for an unmarried woman, this age is some kind of shitstorm where your last viable egg is now gone and you just have a 9/10th’s empty gumball machine with only a couple Trig Palins left rattling around.  But still, I am single. I am single with no plausible hope of not being single.  I do not know even one person, out of the dozens and dozens of reasonably attractive women whom I know- I do not know even one person I would consider dating who would consider dating me.

And now I’m thirty five.  So you figure, if I meet someone tomorrow, we hit it off, we get married after a year, we spend two years traveling and hanging out and somehow saving money, and then we have kids, that puts me at thirty fucking eight when my first child is born.  And if I want to have more kids, I’ll be into my forties.  My ball sack will be full of Trig Palins.  And this is assuming that I meet someone tomorrow, even though I have been trying, trying hard, to meet someone for ten fucking years.  I have been doing everything.   But ultimately I would have to completely reengineer my life to meet a woman and make it stick.  I would have to put myself in a position where women are around me naturally. Because girls don’t want you; they don’t come looking for you; they don’t even like it if you come looking for them. You have to be forced to be in a place and your presence there has to be in no way motivated by there being girls there and they have to slowly come to like you over time.
Continue reading →

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Diary: Gas Powered Leaf Blower

14 Apr

A fucking gas powered leaf blower going. Which is illegal,right? Gas powered leaf blowers are banned. But I have never seen a leaf blower operating without the sound of a fucking outboard motor blasting. The ban on gas powered leaf blowers has had absolutely zero effect. What did they do– was there some amnesty where you could turn in your gas powered leaf blower in exchange for a toy or something? For an electric powered leaf blower? I’ve never once seen anybody using an electric powered leaf blower.

Still, the fucking gas powered leaf blower. Accelerating now. Crescendoing. And then diminuendoing, murmuring almost, then roaring again as its operator discovers a new patch of leaves. What the fuck does the gas powered leaf blower do? How is this a more suitable tool for cleaning up the approximately 30 leaves that accumulate in front of an apartment building in Studio City, where the flora consists almost entirely of evergreen or tropical trees? Why, in the area I am from in New England, where there is a legitimate problem with the enormous mountains of leaves dropped annually by oaks, birches, maples, etc.– why in that place where there are genuinely a shitload of autumn leaves to deal with, do you never hear a gas powered leaf blower? People go out with a rake and rake their leaves into piles. Kids jump in them.
Continue reading →

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Diary: Butternut Squash

23 Mar

Trying to cut a butternut squash. They should make the president’s limo out of this fucking shit.

What animal that has ever existed could possibly eat a butternut squash?  Isn’t the point of a fruit that wildlife eats it and disperses the seeds?  A fucking triceratops couldn’t get through this thing.

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Diary: Steve Jobs Sucks Cocks in Hell

19 Mar

Ugh, thinking about work.  Thinking about work on a Sunday.  Not only that, but I better get off this journal and go do some actual fucking work.  On a Sunday.  Because I am a white collar professional in the United States of America in 2012.  Typically, in the past, a job with these sorts of demands would have a least paid you handsomely.  But now, everything is in decline. Every industry.  So we all gotta work harder, we gotta work longer, we gotta do more with less.  We gotta hustle. So many people want your job that you are constantly auditioning for your job. And yes, I know it’s better than getting your hands chopped off in some Sierra Leonian diamond mine at age ten.  My point is, only marginally. Continue reading →

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Diary: Sitting in the Park

16 Mar

OK. Sitting in the park.  Opted to write over playing guitar.  This is therefore the one day when a hot available chick would have been walking in the park, heard my magnificent guitar playing, stopped and talked to me, and then had sex with me.  Stayed with me for all my long days and borne me many children.  Now instead I will die alone.

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Diary: I Need to Get Laid

2 Mar

I could have fucked her.  If I had played my cards right.  If I had gone for the makeout earlier.  I got her back to my house.  I got her shirt off, anyway, although she kept buttoning her pants back up.  But when I was kind of kissing around her hipbones, she was getting really hot.  So, I should have played it better.  I should have gotten those pants off.  I could have done it.  I could have gotten her hot enough to get her pants off, and then I would have fucked her.  And I would be just as hung over, just as sleep-deprived, just as tired, but I would have gotten laid.

Because now I need to get laid.  Getting laid by a new woman is like methadone and my maintenance dose is running out.  Last new girl I fucked was the end of January.  So that’s how long it lasts.  About a month.  About a month between fucking a new chick and feeling again like I’m completely undesirable. Continue reading →

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Diary: An Actress

16 Feb

I need to jack off, to that chick (REDACTED), whatever the fuck her name was.  She showed up to dinner with (REDACTED)’s parents wearing dark gray yoga pants and when her legs hit the right angle you could see the outline of her vagina.

She is hot.  Skinny, in good shape, perfect bone structure hot.  In her youtube videos she looks merely “quirky hot,” like, her face looks a little fuller and her teeth look like a mouth full of jagged chiclets and she just, you know, looks like the kind of chick you would see across a room and think “that chick is kind of hot.  Maybe I have a chance.”

Then in person it is clear she is the kind of chick with whom you have no chance.  She has that sleek, lithe build like a lemur, or one of those whippet-looking marsupials that just went extinct– the thyalacine.  A thyalacine I want to fuck.

Continue reading →

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Diary: Going to a Party

7 Feb

This party.  Now I’m too tired to go to this fucking party.  Jesus.  Too fucking tired to do anything.  Woke up too early.  And spent the whole day alone and now I’m tired and weird.  And (REDACTED) isn’t going, and (REDACTED) is going to flake.  And no one  I know is going to be there.  And I can’t get drunk. Because I’m going to have to drive.  And it’s going to be lame.  And google maps doesn’t work on my fucking computer.

But fuck it, I’m going to go.  Maybe I’ll get some ass. This chick (REDACTED).  Even though she used to date Chris, I think she wants to fuck me.  Or, I think she wants to fuck people. And I am a person.

But who knows. Maybe she’ll just fuck Chris.  I bet she’s the only chick there, and the rest of it is a bunch of loser UCLA dudes.  I’ll make a long drive, spent and exhausted, and I’ll get a DUI.  I’ll get raped in jail, and I’ll get AIDS.  I’ll spread AIDS to my cat (through a scratch or something; I don’t fuck my cat.  Much.), and my cat will die.  And my dick will get cut off somehow.  Somehow my going to this party will result in nuclear annihilation for the rest of the planet.  That’s how bad this party is going to suck.  At this party, some cold I’m carrying will combine with some other virus someone else is carrying—but not an STD, because I am definitely not getting laid at this party– some virus I’m carrying will combine with tetanus I get when someone at this party drives a nail through my dick and it will create a supervirus that will kill the whole planet.  But especially the people I love; they will die first, in front of me.  And my car will get stolen. Continue reading →

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