Monday, October 18, 2004
Friday night was a very weird and depressing night. As I've mentioned before, I am broke. Not "I can't hang out with you tonight because Monday is the night I got to Spanish Harlem to suck dick for cheeseburgers" broke, but "I really can't be spending $7 a drink at a bar and have 15 of these drinks and order out $25 worth of dinner four nights a week" broke.
So after work on Friday, I had only one goal: get drunk and watch the Yankees-Sox game at my place. Knowing that both my roommates were out of town for the weekend, I had a special Jason night planned: some wine, some candles, Maxi Priest and Roberta Flack softly singing "Set The Night To Music", and of course wrapping up the evening by masturbating in front of my open window, swaying back and forth because it's hard to beat off standing up and drunk with your pants around your ankles (trust me - it is).
But it was not meant to be. The game was cancelled due to rain, and Fox instead showed that terrible David Arquette movie "See Spot Run", the one with the dog in it. After throwing up all over myself and my couch, I pulled myself together and made a sandwich.
Depressed, I channel-surfed and pounded some wine before eventually deciding that I would go to the Blockbuster nearby to rent a movie. Not a good decision.
See, Blockbuster on a Friday night at about 9pm is not a good place to be for a half-drunk, lonely manic depressive for hasn't shaved since Wednesday morning and is seriously considering the seminary to justify his celibacy. Everyone in the store was either a happy, young couple looking for a movie to watch and cuddle to, or a really hopeless-looking single person. It was unbelievable. About a dozen or so twenty-something couples of all races walking around arm-in-arm, saying things like, "Well, I guess I could watch 'Love Actually' if you really want to" and "But babe, we got the movie you wanted to last time - now it's my turn" as I sobbed loudly into my hands and shook with tremors of sadness (and lust).
Also, there were about a dozen loners walking around. I'm not talking about "loners" in the dangerous, mysterious but cool sense; I'm talking about people who look like me, but older. You know, mildly successful single people in their early thirties looking for a constructive way to spend their Friday night. And I take it back, they didn't look hopeless, but that's what kind of made them seem hopeless to me. The fact that they were content with this plan, thinking, "Well, I don't have anything to do or anyone to hang out with, so I think I'll go to Blockbuster to get a movie and watch it alone" made it me very sad, and even more determined to propose to the next girl I kiss.
I wound up leaving the Blockbuster without getting a movie. And to be honest, I don't even remember what I did on Friday night, so I got so drunk (all by myself!) that I basically blacked out. I know I talked on the phone for a while to my long-lost friend Alice, and I remember going to bed at 3:30 (though I started drinking alone at about 6:30), but that's really all I got.
Exciting, I know.
But next weekend is my roommate Brian's birthday, so at least there is a light at the end of this week's tunnel.
[Jesus, I just read this over and it sounds like I'm going to kill myself. Good lord. Honestly, I'm not going to kill myself. It's just really too much work. So let's talk about something happier!]
The Philadelphia Eagles are making me happy. Very happy. But they're also making me scared. Very scared.
The other day I was on the subway and thinking about what would happen if the Eagles won the Super Bowl. Sure, it wouldn't be on par with the Sox winning the World Series (which isn't gonna happen ever), but those whiny New England fans have gotten two championships in the past three years from the Patriots, so excuse me if I instead of offering a shoulder to cry on, I push one of them down three flights of stairs.
I thought about an Eagles' Super Bowl victory, and tears started welling up in my eyes. God didn't bless me with a large enough vocabulary to accurately describe what this would mean to me (instead, he doubled me up on the chest hair and love of mashed potatoes), but I can only say that it would be, without a doubt, the highlight of my young life so far.
What could possibly be better for me? Graduating from college? Big deal - any asshole can do that. Having sex for the first time? My first time was a miserable, awkward experience, replete with a lot of "I'm sorry" and "Is this right?" and "Damn it - I thought this would be easier". Getting a job? You're supposed work, jerkoff. No, this would be IT for me. I think they only thing that could even come close to something like this is the birth of my child, but since god and I had a falling out he's going to make all of my kids retarded, so I think the Eagle's Super Bowl win is better.
I don't want to go too into it, but I'm investing a lot of emotion into this team. It could be love. And when my love goes bad, well, let's just hope my application for a permit to carry doesn't get approved. For everyone's sake.
Another sports related item: Carlos Beltran, you'll want to take the 4 train. That runs express on the east side, and will take you right to Yankee Stadium no problem.
A random sampling of words or phrases typed into google that brought people to this site:
- "curtis martin" and marriage license
- "lindsay lohan"+orange+tan
- "under armour" washing smell
- alex mosley of cult jam
- choada, slang
- lhaso apso brings good luck testimony
- fucking in the rain
- std "white blotches"
- pubescent nude gymnasts
And my favorite, dangers of eating pussy.
Because really, if this site is about anything, it's about the dangers of eating pussy. That's actually what I was going to call it before going with "everything is wrong with me", but I went for the subtle approach.
Another thing is that a lot of people who's name I've mentioned on this site have been getting googled. I always ask before using an email from a reader if I can use their full name, because once it's out there, it's out there baby! And believe me, these people get googled and people are coming to this site to learn about them.
So please remember this the next time I have an email post and ask if you want your full name used (if my laziness desists for even a moment, I'll do one Friday, so if you have anything good, or any thought-provoking questions, send 'em in). I know that I have made myself virtually unemployable for the rest of my life because of this site (Potential Employer: "This Jason Mulgrew looks like a good candidate. Let me just look him up in Google...what's this 'everything is wrong with me'? Oh dear god in heaven! Sweet mother of Jesus Christ himself!"), but I don't want to drag anyone else to the unemployment line with me. Unless they're offering a handjob. Because then I'm down.