Everything is wrong with me
Monday, November 15, 2004
unscathed, Peterson, ODB, booze
Once again, I have survived unharmed. The IT people have come and gone, my computer is (apparently) fixed, and I am still employed. Sure, I spent the morning sitting in the chair opposite my desk in my office, staring at the IT guy as he went through the nooks and crannies of my computer, sweating like a fucking monster, rocking back and forth, and saying novenas, but I made it - unscathed.

The lesson? I can't be fucking touched. I just can't. Everything always works out for me. And yes, I am concerned I might be jinxing myself, but I'd prefer to not think about that very much.

Some things we learned since last Friday afternoon:

- Scott Peterson is guilty. Like, even the law say so.

I was on the phone with my roommate Brian when the Scott Peterson verdict was read. Brian works for an entertainment news show, and we just happened to be talking when 4pm rolled around and the verdict was announced (seriously, it was a total coincidence and not because I am secretly a media/gossip whore who regularly buys US Weekly).

When the foreman said, “Guilty”, I could hear the yelps of joy from Brian’s co-workers, but Brian and I were silent, totally shocked. This isn’t because we thought he was innocent; we couldn’t believe he was actually not going to get off for it.

[silence for a five seconds, listening to Brian’s co-workers yell in joy and high-five]
Me: “Well, he is guilty.”
Brian: “Oh god yes.”
Me: “I mean, they shouldn’t have even had a trial.”
Brian: “Who goes fishing on Christmas Eve, leaving his wife, who is eight months pregnant with their first child, home alone?”
Me: “Also, after doing that, who dyes his hair and tries to goes to Mexico with $10,000 in cash and four cell phones while awaiting trial for his wife’s murder?”
Brian: “You know what pisses me off most about this? They tried to blame the Satanists. Everyone’s always shitting on the Satanists. Just because they worship Satan doesn’t mean they're murderers.”
Me: “I’ll tell you – this is why I hate the media. But you know what else stinks?”
Brian: “What?”
Me: “Now there is a precedence in which someone who committed a high-profile crime actually paid for it. If Peterson were to have gotten off, that would have basically been my green light to go on that shooting/arson rampage that I've always wanted to go on."
Brian: "The one you told Ben and I you were going to start after the New Year?"
Me: "Yeah. Because, you know, it'd be sensational, and since I'm an internet quasi-celebrity, I'd get a high-profile attorney, and the media would be all over it, but I'd get off, even though the evidence against me would be overwhelming."
Brian: "Pubes and other body hair scattered everywhere..."
Me: "Empty packets of Taco Bell mild sauce scattered around my victims' bodies..."
Brian: "Photos of you standing naked in the burning buildings masturbating and drinking vodka-cranberry out of a giant pot..."
Me: "Exactly. But now, I have to rethink this. Which sucks, because I was really looking forward to it."
Brian: "You should buy a gun anyway. We drink and curse way too much not to have a gun in our apartment."
Me: "Well, now I know what I'm getting myself for Christmas!"

- Old Dirty Bastard is dead, passing his moniker to his 13 children, heretofore known as Young Probably Cleaner Than Their Father Bastards.

Well, I can't say I didn't see this coming. The father of 13, who's had just about every meltdown possible and who has been in jail for drugs and has been in a shoot out with police, succumbed to something on Saturday. I really hope when the autopsy comes back it shows that ODB died of something lame, like instead of "fatally high levels of crack cocaine found in bloodstream", it says, "asphyxiation due to cheese doodle caught in trachea", or instead of "heart failure (abnormally large heart) due to drug use", it says, "cerebral hemorrhage due to fall while trying out new roller skates".

What is hilarious is that many people in the press are calling ODB (also known as Big Baby Jesus, Dirt McGirt, Osirus) a "genius". Good lord. At least when Christopher Reeve died and was lauded as the Greatest Man And Actor The World Will Ever See And Know And He's So Good He's So Much Better Than Jesus And Jesus Doesn't Like Him Because He's So Damn Jealous, he wasn't shot twice, and almost charged with attempted murder.

I would call Albert Einstein a genius. I would call Stephen Hawking a genius (and a prick - long story). I would call the inventor Burger King's Hershey Sundae Pie a genius.

But I would not call Old Dirty Bastard a "genius". I would call him "some fucking crazy-ass black dude".

But still, let's give him a proper send-off, and recall what he sang in the international hit the Mulgrew Family likes to listen to every Christmas Eve before being tucked in to bed, Wu-Tang's "Dog Shit":
You're the type of bitch don't appreciate shit
Never had shit, so you won't be shit
That pussy there, couldn't satisfy a hair
On my body, treat me like a lolli and slob me down
*SLURP, SLURP* I'm Doo Doo Brown! [laughter]
Tossed salad, oh you in some shit now
Callin me a dog, well leave a dog alone
Cause nothin can stop me from buryin my bones
In the backyard, of someone else's house
Ol Dirt Dog, but I'm not dog out
Here comes Rover, sniffin at your ass
But pardon me bitch, as I shit on your grass
That means hoe, you been shitted on!
I'm not the first dog that's shitted on your lawn
May he rest in peace (and god help the choir of angels).

- I can't be left alone when there is alcohol in the apartment.

On Friday night, my roommate Brian and I were sitting in our living room, drinking wine, and watching tv. Both of us had plans for the night, and we quickly plowed through the red wine, then moved onto the white wine. Soon, that was gone. At that point, Brian left to go meet some friends, leaving me alone. I started drinking beer. Then "Braveheart" came on. And the wheels came off.

"Braveheart" is one of my favorite movies ever. But it is not a good movie to watch drunk and alone.

So I sat alone in my apartment, drinking, watching "Braveheart" and getting very emotional. This was not helped by the invention of a new drink. Once the beer ran out, having no tonic or cranberry juice or Red Bull immediately available, and realizing that if I were to drink vodka straight while alone I might as well just end it all, I mixed the vodka with the only thing left in the fridge: Diet Cherry 7-Up.


Diet Cherry 7-Up is a very good mixer. So good that you don't even taste the vodka. So good that you don't even realize how much vodka you're putting in your drink. So good that you may or may not get a little teary over "Braveheart". So good that after watching "Braveheart" you download "The Electric Slide" to cheer yourself up, listen to it 20 times in a row, and actually do the Electric Slide on the last eight or so listens. Also, on the last three times, you take your pants off, grab your penis, and make your penis do the Electric Slide with you. And yes, you are single.

At any rate, I eventually met up with my friends, who were at a party in the West Village. Everyone who came to the party was asked to bring a dessert. I didn't know the hostesses of this party, but wanted to make a good impression, so I brought a half-eaten can of Cool Whip, straight from my fridge. I thought this was a great idea at the time. I still think it's a great idea. The hostesses, not so much.

I don't remember much after that. I remember the party, and then going to a nearby bar. I remember getting up to take a piss, and while doing so, thinking "Holy shit I'm fucking drunk", then going back to the table and whispering to one of my friends, "Holy shit I'm fucking drunk - I need to leave", and sneaking quietly out into the pouring rain/sleet. I don't remember this at the time, but - surprise surprise - when I woke up, there were remnants of white pizza (i.e. crust) on my bedroom floor.

Thus, Saturday was a tough day. I almost checked myself into the hospital on three separate occasions, convinced I was having a heart attack. Instead, I went to the grocery store to buy some vegetables, shampoo, and Gatorade (total cost: $65.82), and promised myself that this week I was going to start going to the gym again, first thing Monday morning.


I didn't go to the gym this morning.

But hey - the important thing is that I still have a job (for now).

And the important thing is that, well, I can't think of anything else. I'm just so glad I didn't get fired. So I'll stop now.

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