Shots Fired - Shots Out

Long Weekend



It's nice to have that rock star feeling that someone thinks you're dead.

I'd make a joke about being metaphorically dead, but I've done that throughout this blog for six months now.

But, I've just done it again.

LOL!

Moving right along...I took a long weekend.

The reasons?

Well, it started with the release of the new Nine Inch Nails album. And for all of you in cyberville – go buy it. I've read your blogs and you are all mentally unsound enough to enjoy it to the fullest. In fact, I'll go as far as saying listening to Nine Inch Nails is the equivalent of scraping your wrist with a kitchen knife during some crying jag.

Crying jag is one of my favorite expressions.

Back to our story: So, I took Tuesday off so that I could stay out until midnight on Monday and buy the album with a couple of friends.

Well, Tuesday is not enough, especially when you figure there's that stupid Monday in between the weekend and my day off.

So, I took Monday off.

But, it doesn't stop there.

Last Monday I came in, looked around, realized what I would have to do for the rest of the week during the hours of nine and five and figured: why not take Thursday and Friday off?

I'm really surprised this didn't continue onward until I quit.

So, I had six days to walk the Earth.

Thursday:

I spent the day trying to figure out ways to get enough cash to get drunk enough to forget that I'm utterly broke. This meant that I spent five hours staring at the TV. It's really a shame when you get paid at nine the next day and keep thinking about time machines. Eventually I sold some CDs so that I could afford beer, cigs, dinner, and gas. Later, I went to Klive's new house. He bought a townhouse – 3 floors, 1700 square feet. It's in Magnolia. It's nice. He's the type of successful lad that has all the cool stuff the finance banker in movies about Wall Street lives in. Hell, he's lived on Wall Street – Wall Street, Seattle. All his furniture is from Hong Kong, where he used to live on assignment for his bank. Basically, Klive is the antithesis of me: sitting on his couch in sandals, a shirt, and shorts drinking a Budweiser I sold a Velvet Underground CD to buy. Later, I found a drive-thru Starbucks that will limit my only exercise of walking to Seattle Center for coffee to nothing.

Friday:

This is taking awhile to remember. I'm sure booze was involved...oh, yes, this began the epic I will call "The Cooler." See, I had this huge chunk of ice in the freezer – beginning to get interested yet? Months ago I had a party and someone brought ice. The ice melted in my sink. For some reason I figured I would be able to use it at some time. I don't know why I thought this. So, I put the melted ice back in the freezer. Well, it became a bag of ice, shaped like the sagging bag. Point is: it was useless as anything but a cooling device. Cubes could not be made; I broke a knife trying. So, this chunk sat in limbo for three months, until I bought 165 dollars in groceries (I had olive oil and garlic salt to my name before getting paid) and I needed the extra space in the freezer. So, I took the ice chunk out and put it in a cooler. I then threw some beers in the cooler. I then dubbed it the "Travel Cooler." My idea was – wherever I go, I'll have a cooler of beer in my car. Now, the cooler itself looks like luggage, its even got wheels and a pull out lugger thing for rolling it to and fro. So, I pack the puppy up and head to Scott's to see how his girlfriend is doing after having her wisdom teeth yanked. I guess it must've looked weird rolling a virtual suitcase full of beer up to his doorstep at 2 in the afternoon. I got Shanna some ice cream and a magazine, had a couple with Scott, then left to meet Josh and Monica for beers at Cucina Cucina, then at Applebees. You can't smoke in Applebees, and this angered me. The rest of the evening I throttled some kittens in my anger.

Shaturday:

Woke up to the foul stench of cooler water spilled all over my car. Went to the Triple Door for my brother-in-law's birthday. The Triple Door is really nice. It's like a small theater with dining-seating. The music, however, made me envy Helen Keller. The first act was the retarded man's Dave Matthews and he pulled the following boners: Muttered "shit" when he screwed up one of his trite lines in one of his shitty songs, yelled angrily at members of the audience he thought were heckling him. The next act was better, but if it wasn't for the lead singer trying to hump her guitar I don't think I would have been all that entertained. This was another of the countless establishments I'm not allowed to smoke in, but this sucked worse cuz I had to get a pass to go outside for every smoke. Also, the wait staff was so metrosexual that they all looked like androids. Later, we went to Rock Bottom for a beer: Rock Bottom has the shittiest beer on the planet. I hate Rock Bottom. But, only to confuse my hatred, you can smoke in there. After that it was off to Cha Cha's (or something). I continued drinking, acted obnoxious and...yeah, you know how it goes. I kept making up things that I had heard about people. Like, for instance, I'd go up to someone and say "Hey, how's the new house?" Even though they had no new house. This was funny until I got this woman with a hit or miss sense of humor who looked annoyed when I kept asking about her new red car. "Hey, red – that's like fire! Ow!"

Sunday:

Had dinner at my dad's. Well, I drank beer at my dad's. Surprisingly enough he didn't annoy the hell out of me and I had a good time.

Monday:

More money problems that are too annoying to describe. Met my sister for a beer at the Virginia Inn during the day, then greeted Weisberg at five for what would be a night of thorough boozage. We began drinking at my apartment, then met Erin over at the Great Nabob. There, I talked to Palani who had arranged for us to listen to the new album at the bar. We left and went back to my apartment and drank out on the communal deck. After that, we went to Jabu's (the bar that sounds like an ethnic slur) and we were lucky enough to have walked in on Bingo night. We played Blackout and left. Erin departed and Weisberg was becoming a douche with his lack of gusto for drinking more. We went back to the Great Nabob and found out that Palani had ditched for whatever lame-ass reasons. Here we switched to Vodka and Red Bull to wake us up. After that it's a blur. Scott showed up around 11. I bought the new album. The disc wouldn't play in the bar's CD player. Scott talked with some chick about the cosmetic business (he's not gay, he's a health and beauty buyer – wait, maybe he's gay). I gave some girl my number, she immediately handed me her phone. Some dude answers and I realize that she had called the number I had given her to check on my sincerity. I didn't mean to give her a wrong number, I just transposed a couple of digits cuz I was drunk. Um...something about pool....Scott suggested we go to Hurricane and I distinctly remember not knowing what Hurricane is, even though it's a tradition to got to the Hurricane for omelets. Um...Scott or I were rude to the waitress at Hurricane...Scott ended up floating me 30 bucks, when I tried to pay him back he said I should keep the money. I then got pissed off that he wouldn't take the money. I then formed a theory that everyone was talking behind my back about how much of a leach I am. We took off, got a cab. The cab driver tried to rip us off by driving the wrong way (or maybe not – we were drunk and had no clue what was going on) we bitched at the cab driver. I remember being surprised that he didn't kick us out. We got home, listened to the album, ate take-out omelet. Scott kept talking about how if we had eaten at the restaurant we would have got unlimited hash browns. This made me angry for some reason. Weisberg passed out. I wrote "I love Dick" all over his face with magic marker. I passed out at 4.

Tuesday:

Horribly hungover. Horribly, horribly hungover. Later, I went to my sister's, after that I listened to the new album and was awaken from my music trance to the knock of a cop at my door. "Sir, we got a complaint about the music. Just turn the bass down."

"Um...OK."

I closed the door and thanked God that I wasn't smoking dope or something.
Wednesday:

Well, I'm doing this.



Pleace,

Matt