I Have No Idea Why I'm Not Famous Yet

Chest Pains

"Why are you having chest pains?"

- Poll on the side of this blog

So, another Friday.
This blog now has a number of 12 votes, tabulating a score of 1.6 out of 10 on Hot or Not. There's really nothing more I can do to bring up the ratings and Blogger has threatened to drop me if I don't.
It's a free service and anyone can post on it; but, they are still threatening to drop me. Or someone is?
I don't know if I can go back to the Dickensian diary that is lying under my bed.
Looking at it now, I see that the last entry is pretty boring:

December 26, 2003

Christmas came and went. I got a jacket and a TV. Jenny and Brad refused to help me bring the TV into my apartment, so I was forced to do it myself, drunk on eggnog and wine.
I hope this warranty works out.

Man, those were the days.
In other events, the ex-girlfriend came back into town. It's been two years, so she's more of an ex-ex-girlfriend. She looks good, which pissed me off. I was hoping that she would come back looking like a sack of feta cheese. Oh well. I learned of how happy she is with her current boyfriend – some French-Canadian.
I told her I was glad as I clenched my fists under the table and tried to figure out why it only takes two years to make someone not want to sleep with you anymore.
The fact that she's getting regular sex and I am not bothers me as well.
We had nachos and steak on the company tab.
We parted company and I contemplated suicide on the ride home. But, I just couldn't bring myself to kill myself with leftover nachos in the car.
There's something sad and pathetic about dying in an ironic way, and my bloated carcass covered in guacamole and salsa would just drive home the fact that my life was a disgusting mess.
But, I kid. It was a nice dinner and I don't hate her as much as I thought I did.
But, the chest pains are still here and I blame the nachos; that I finally got around to eating last night.
I'm a health nut, I gotta admit.
It was between the nachos and the week-old slice of pizza from Armondos.
As I ate the nachos I cried, as I realized they were the last piece of K I had in my life.
There's something sad and surreal about a man crying while eating nachos and watching a commercial for a metal detector.

A birthday card is being passed around today for A. How do you tell someone you couldn't give a shit about your own birthday, much less their's without seeming like a complete ass?
I simply wrote "You're still here, way to go!"
It seemed subtle and to the point.
But, I lied. She is not here. She is vacationing. Let me find out where on my Outlook.
Key Arena it says. I guess this has something to do with the women's basketball she keeps wanting us to go to. I don't even like male sports, much less women's basketball. Yet, day in and day out she bugs us to go. I think it's because there's a good chance that the lesbian population of Seattle won't cut the admissions mustard to hold up a women's team for much longer.
Maybe if they made gay marriage legal in Key Arena they'd get more takers. That would be awesome. They'd have a big scoreboard for all the gay marriages they performed! Man, that'd piss off Pat Robertson.

I had a drink with Cary last night. It was swell. This may be the reason I'm having chest pains. There's something not right about eating salsa that came out of a bucket.
Yes, we were in Azteca.
Cary showed up late, so I entertained myself with the folks on either side of me.
On the one side was a man and a woman and the man kept talking about what a great man he was. Apparently he was thoroughly involved in the church and politics.....but, as his voice grew louder and louder I deciphered that his greatest achievements were in the processing of ethyl alcohol.
On the other side was a man talking on his cell phone, with what looked like his girlfriend sitting next to him. The woman kept shouting unintelligible things into the phone as the man talked on it. So, I figured she was friends with whomever he was talking to. Little did I realize, she was the man's ex-wife. I realized this when I finally deciphered, through slurred gibberish, "HE'S WITH ME, HIS EX-WIFE YOU BITCH!" as she screamed it into the man's ear and phone. It's always around this time in someone's alcohol insanity that I like to make friends with them, so when she asked me for a cigarette, I obliged. She called me "baby-baby," which was endearing.
Cary finally arrived and I told her about the ex-girlfriend and the nachos and my chest pains; but, she didn't care. No, her friend is neighbors with Dave Matthews and I learned that Dave Matthews likes to hang out at her friend's garage sales. Apparently the friend never, ever, EVER! asks Dave about his "other life." That life being the Dave Matthew's band. Apparently, Cary met him at the friend's party and he was really nice. He even sent another ex-girlfriend of mine to buy him cigarettes. I like anyone who smokes, normally...unless they're drunk and yelling into cell phones. So, here's to you Dave...you sent my ex-girlfriend to get you smokes – just like I did when she was around. Maybe I'll start a band. Hmmmm.....

So, the Guy Who Sits Behind Me is stalking a woman over our computer system.
"Hey, how do you use the membership system to look up last names?"
Yes, he's got it in his head, again, that if a woman looks at him, she's flirting...or something. So, now he's trying to find out her last name in our membership system. Ethics aside, this guy is creepy. M and I are trying to figure out why women give this half-assed pony tail wearing, Bon Jovi dreg their phone numbers. But, he has a good heart; I've never watched someone try as hard as he does to make an awkward moment extend into a lifetime. He's making noises now, which means he may talk soon. These are the times I'm glad I have Jesus around...somewhere.....no, wait, those are rice cakes....why do I have rice cakes around?

Regards,
M