ashley is the most jealous girl ive ever met

theres an ashley on your porchi find it endearing, in a way, most of the time.

the same way that i hope all my friends and loved ones find it endearing how messy my home is, how crappy my clothes are, how ridiculuous it is that i have no automobile, and how my memory is as reliable as a cell phone in the canyons.

but im crazy about ashley and that shouldnt be a surprise to anyone. everyone loves the daisy princess.

she pouts and cries and yells and is always there to tell me what parts of my blog and web site are incorrect. how i have ignored her Once Again, even after the poll overwhelmingly said that they wanted more, not less, of her on these pages.

she lets me know what a mistake im making with the girls i dont even dare write about on here.

she lets me know how much she misses me and thinks of me and tells me the things we’d do if id only rent a car and pick her up and wisk her away.

she is a naughty angel trapped in the body of a teenager struggling to escape into a world of barefoot walks through dandilion fields that culminate into wild romps that make the doves scatter and the sunbeams blush.

shes a whirlwind of affection caught in a rainstorm of apathy called downtown irvine.

shes as single as can be and only has eyes for me.

until recently.

for the longest time ive been telling ashley that she needs to date guys her own age.

of course they wont be as talented and skilled and practiced and witty and marvelous and honest and romantic and amazing and humble or be able to shapeshift and juggle and ballroom dance, and cook, and rollerblade like me.

but you’ll make due, i told her.

then the other day i was reading her online diary and within days of my little pep talk i discovered that she made out with not one, but two, available young orange county suitors!

so here’s to you, ashley newingham, princess of the 949, sow your wild oats in the parking lot of wild oats… but be safe because thats good shit over there.

and in a few years it will be i who will be the jealous one.

40. hosemonster

two reasons im happy to have a blog

the first reason is so i can tell you that my favorite fast food restaurant of all time KFC is giving away a small serving of Popcorn Chicken from noon-2pm, so sorry kids, only those in the PST will be able to take advantage of this terrific treat. Thanks Chris for the tip!

now, i dont read Salon unless Rabbit is writing, but Vodka Pundit has a link to a story that is quite fascinating. Turns out women like semen!

According to the story, women who dont use condoms are happier than women who do use them.

As someone who practices ultra safe sex, this puts me in quite a quandry.

Or it means that the grande finale needs to be… well…

See why i dont read Salon? Although, now we know how Rod got all those chicks. They were after the quart of jizz in his belly.

michelle is a tall, athletic, attractive, libra.

a marketing director for a tech company, she’s into good music, wrote for the daily nexus and sends me steamy emails even though ive never met her — though she swears my name rings a bell.

i mighta met her once when i was visiting santa barbara, but i doubt it. i think i woulda remembered her.

but maybe not. i do have a habit of drinking a tad when im hanging in the 93117.

hot nexus babes were plentiful when i was there and it’s nice to know that the tradition lasted past our reign, but the reason i am bringing up michelle is because i linked her website yesterday and not her blog, and any time you can link a blog from Oxnard you should.

i bought my first car, a Saturn SL-1 in Oxnard.

anyhow, michelle’s web site, like this blog, is filled with way too many pictures to punish those who insist on dialup connections. However she has a “boys we love” section that is a parade of homoerotic poses from some of the prettiest lads this side of the Castro District.

you girls cant be serious about that shit.

normally i dont spotlight people who link me, but i didnt belong to a frat in college so the nexus is the closest to beer/chicks/idiocy/lifelong connections that i’ll ever get.

tybie forever!

tomorrow is the first day of summer

so i decided to get my trashy summer novel reading started in grand fashion by breaking open my signed copy of ken layne’s novel of intrigue, muder, technology, “dot.con”.

okay, even if ken wasnt my friend, former roommate, current linking buddy, and future drinking partner, i would still think that his book is top-notch.

im a super slow reader and i’ve made it through the first 30 pages, and not only is this book funny, but it’s true.

i wont ruin it for any of you, but let me act as a witness, this “novel” includes characters that if you walk down the lower Haight in Frisco, you might very well meet some of the bumbling crack street vendors like “Charles” outside Palestinian-run corner markets named “O’Lowney’s.”

we all knew that ken could write, but i wasnt so sure that he could write a novel.

let it be known, the fucker can write a novel.

i cannot give such a glowing review to one of the best chinese restaurants in west hollywood.

for the record, i love the food at p.f. changs, but why must their service be so crappy?

last night karisa took me out to dinner so as to console me from my shocking dumping. we had the crab won tons, spicy shrimps, lemon scallops. i had some harsh shots of rum, she had an apple martini and licked the sugar from the glass and pretended like it wasnt the sexiest move ever.

still the loser server guy whose only job is to take the plate from the kitchen to the table forgot to bring soy sauce.

how do you forget that? its a fucking chinese restaurant. sure theyre playing frank sinatra and there isnt one chinaman in the whole dump, but no matter how californian you tweak the chinese food you’ll never ween us from the soy sauce, renaldo.

isnt the purpose of having the waiter only take the order, and the food server only bring you the food, efficiancy? quality? customer fucking service?

karisa is a trooper though and took her time with the sugar even though her martini was third rate.

38. mcluhless