An Erotic Memoir...

So after all that bullshit about never never puking, I puked this week. It was bad. Let me tell you about it.

Nowell, Sadie, Carly, and I treated ourselves to world's best pad thai in the Tenderloin on Saturday night. We got the noodles and a big plate of pineapple fried rice. And basically, that night in bed I puked it all up.

Hmm, I guess that seemed like bigger news in my mind. Especiallyin consideration of those readers who possess the abilityto puke at the mere smell of whiskey in the room. I guess you just have to understand that what I said in the previous blog entry is true: I have puked just once since I was eight. I think I am still kind of frightened by it. When the fuck do you breathe? I thought I was going to suffocate!

So I was out of action for the next two days. It's something I don't deal well with, I think. It's so frustrating cause there was all this shit that I wanted to do with myself during this time. Cry Cry Cry Two days. It's not a big deal. It's over now. And at least I didn't get poisoned at a time when I needed to be at some job. And the whole thing is kind of funny because I much more deserved to be puking last weekend, when I was so drunk that I had to spend the night at a frat house. So time to move on. Time to find some other way to give myself a complex.

One thing I have managed to do that I am happy about is spend $700 on four pieces of paper. You guessed it, feather 2 pixel tip-riders: plane tickets! When I think about it, I suppose it's a bit demented that I will force my girlfriend to three different stores so that I can save $1 on socks, but I don't think twice about blowing any amount of cash on travel. Just one of those things, you know? And she understands. As far as the trip goes, I'm flying into Marseilles, France and spending a good chunk of September in Europe before my flight from London to SF. Nice direct flight! My parents are actually gonna be in southern France for a conference, so that's why I'm going to Marseilles. I'll hang out with them for a few days and then...find something useful to do with myself.

Those are the immediate happenings. Puke and plane tickets. I had visions of a more dynamic post, but I suppose that even the most beautiful dreams sometimes turn out to be too delicate for the touch. That, and today I realized that I have been rather depressed for the last few weeks; maybe that has something to do with the decrease in quality. Depressed as in feeling a lack of physical and emotional energy. I think that sometimes just moving forwards is a challenge for me.

That, and I need to get the fuck away from here for a while.

Oh, and I made my return to art studio. One of my pieces was waiting for me there, fresh off its tour of Hunter's Point during the "Bad Neighborhood" art show. Stupid fucking me didn't even go see it. I get into my first show -- albeit a completely meaningless one-- and I don't go. I was told a few people were talking about my work too. Whatever the fuck that means. And I didn't go!

Well, I was really really tired that night. That sounds good, right? Anyways, before I have even have a chance to get my head together at the studio, I'll be away for another five weeks. So hopefully I will come back with a renewed drive to play artist some more so we don't have to send yet another special delivery to the Island of Lost Dreams. I have faith in the power of a unified Europe.

And future blog posts will resound with lyrical beauty. And the Iraqi civil war will end with a few firm handshakes. And Carly's amp will tomorrow work anew. And I will once again be able to eat pad thai triumphantly.