I am the host with the most

I love my roommate. She tapped the keg for our party because I've never done so and would most likely have fucked it up.

We cleaned the place up nice, complete with foofy foods like hummus and vegetables... OK, there were m&ms too, but they were GIANT and in strange pastel colors.

We keep him in our secret closet. He dances for nickels that people throw at him.

I am so happy with how the party turned out. The crowd was big enough, but not too big. Everyone was respectful of our stuff and drank responsibly while managing to kill the keg. I am heartened that our future entertainment endeavors will meet with success. Next up is likely Pumpkin Carv-nival Part II: The Carvening. I certainly learned my lesson from last year not to leave pumpkins out in rainy weather for two weeks. Ew. Though it was fun to push them all off the balcony.



Stretching out

I love my new apartment like I love puppies.

Each time I come home, I have a moment of awe that I live there. It’s beautiful, spacious and full of charm. AND it’s coming together nicely with our preexisting and newly purchased furniture. The living room looks so adult with Katie’s new couches and my awesome rug. The dining room will be good, but we just need more stuff for it, it’s so big. The kitchen was fantastic before we put anything in it and will only grow more incredible – though we did overlook the fact that none of the brand new drawers and cabinets have handles. Yeah. Got to get on that.

My bedroom remains a mess, mostly because after getting my new bed set up and my books put away, my motivation to do anything else dwindled. It’ll happen before next Friday, though, when we are hosting our housewarming bash. I am insisting, though here for the first time, that I purchase the keg as I’ve never done so and have wanted to ever since seeing “Teen Wolf” – which got an odd sort of props from The O.C.’s third season premier last night. I swear, they’re not even trying to make those characters believably 17-years-old, but if they did I probably wouldn’t love it.

Also in the good news department, my time-off request went through and I’m taking a long weekend in New York on the 23rd. I’ve done the NY thing enough times that I don’t need to act too touristy, though I’m always excited about real NY pizza, even if we have the next best thing right here in Portland.

What we also have in Portland is rain. I’m going to have to gear up if I want to attempt scooting to work from here on out. I’m thinking something like this:


-Thank you for reading.


The most outrageous shit ever

Am I that lowly of a person that I get excited when people leave comments on my blog? Yes I am. But what do I see there? BLOG SPAM!!! Scroll down a bit and check it out for yourself. Check your own blog, for that matter, if you have such a thing. Did you look? You’ve got to be fucking joking, right? Yes, because you comment on my blog, I will be very interested in your diabetes testing site. Why, to think, I’ve gone 24 years without considering the fact that I COULD HAVE DIABETES. What a horror!

Fucking blog spam and mattress ads on my Gmail. I think the path of cultural technology excess I’ve embarked on could just be an intermediary to a complete shutout of info tech.

Thank you for reading (and not spamming, fuckers!)

I'm just a boy with a new haircut

I think I will instantly fall in love with any woman who washes my hair.

Of course, it helps that all the girls working at Belle Epoque are button-cute. They said just a wash would be $10, so I'm thinking if I can stretch out two washes a week, I will have beautiful women wash my hair forever.

I treated myself to a full-service wash/haircut/hand and scalp massage (all standard at B.E.) last night and couldn’t be happier about it. Well, actually, I’d be happier if it was a little cheaper, but I figure it’s all money that I won’t be spending when I go bald. Flaunt it while you got it, I always say.

I went under the shears of the owner herself, Dayna Cakebread (not sure if that’s a real name). She moves with speed and precision, at once deciding on her vision and carrying it out with excitement. It was fantastic, as I usually have few specific requests for my stylist. There are just general guidelines that usually include, but aren’t limited to, shorten the back and de-thick-ify the sides. She did that and oh such more… not that I was paying attention because her uber-cute new assistant was massaging my early-stage carple-tunneled hands. Ohhhh so nice. She tried to give me a little too much spike in the back, but I decided I didn’t want to look like this

(that part behind the “N” is still his hair.

Anyway, the move is still on. Apparently my Dad just got a truck that I can use. Sweet. He must be giddy like I was when I got my scooter. Seriously, he’s been talking about getting a truck for like 10 years. It fulfills his inner-putterer, though at this stage in life, I don’t know how much rugged use he’s going to get out of it. I mean, my folks just got a gardener for the love of Pete.

Thank you for reading.