anna said, no way

are you broken up with ashley.

i said, swear to God.

she said, you love her too much for that. plus you’ve been together for a year or some shit.

i said, why dont you just worry about Emeril.

she said, who?

i said, your boyfriend.

she said, i dont have a boyfriend.

i said, that mexican singer guy who’s dad used to–

she said, you mean Enrique?

i said, yeah, that dillweed.

she said, Enrique is not my boyfriend, and he’s sweet, shut up.

i said, ok, later.

she said, wait wait, come fly with me, lets go to tahoe.

i said, some of us work for a living.

she said, hahaha, you, work, that would be a change.

so i said, what would we do in tahoe?

she said, we’d drink.

this isnt really a diary

i hand write my diary. but when i was a kid i used to write down how the cubs did at the end of each diary entry so that i could try to see if there would be a correlation between my day and the day the cubs had in our mutual quest for greatness.

so like if i was sad, id say “so…life sucks. god that teacher is a jerk. and to top it off people, cubs lost.”

one way that you know this isnt a diary is i dont compain on here. a diary is a great place to complain. great because you dont bother anyone else and you can use it for reference the next time you feel low.

one thing i loved about bukowski, he hardly ever seemed depressed. and he had a lot to be depressed about.

ok, its 335am, maybe i can fall asleep now.

layne linked to my LA Riots 10 Years after thing calling it a photo essay, but its only two pages long.

i met this guy at a party after the incredible Tsar show on friday. he said that he had read my blog and he suggested that im living a great life.

i said, i leave out all the bad parts.

and i make up a bunch of lies.

i will tell you though that at this party there was a keg, porn on the big screen that had perfect sound, and 90 per cent of the girls were really hot.

but that was friday.

today was sunday.

today the cubs lost both games of a double header.