Texts From Last Night

I don't usually whore out other people's websites, but this one is worth a gander. My favorite at the moment being:

(715): Apparently at one point I was wearing my sweatshirt backwards like it was normal and then I threw up into the hood. Never drinking again.

link

Random Shuffle Weekend

94.9FM in San Diego is possibly the best radio station I have ever heard. When I first moved here, I remember thinking, "How are they able to play all this good music without rotating the same six songs that the sponsors pay for (*cough* KROQ *cough*)." The answer: Not owned by Clear Channel. They are privately owned and can play whatever they want. The result? Great f@#king music all the time. Anyway, they are giving the DJs the holiday weekend off starting this afternoon and to fill in for them, the employees surrendered their ipods. I would go nuts without my ipod, but a three day weekend would dull the pain. They posted pics here. Thought this was a cool idea by a cool radio station.

Sick Day (from the dog's pov)

7:45am: After our bay walk, the girl kissed me on the head and dashed out the door as usual. I mentally prepared for a day of napping and casually shredding various low hanging items around the house, when I noticed the guy is still in bed. He's going to be late again. Tisk tisk.

8:35am: Still home. Normally, this time of day he would be scrambling around, trying to shave and get dressed at the same time, but he's not. He's just standing in his underwear, staring at a potted plant and sniffling. He looks like fried hell.

8:48am: Back in bed, but now the tv is on and he appears to be watching a show about a sponge with special pants.

9:32am: He's now opened and closed the refrigerator at least 47 times without removing a single item. I am starting to believe he's doing it to me on purpose. Underwear continues to be the preferred attire

10:45am: Finally some action. A giant truck with SDGE written on the side tried to attack our patio fence. Luckily I was there to scare them off, but my victory went grossly unrewarded as I was thrown back into the house with a string of obscenities. A true hero needs no gratitude.

11:37am: After popping some more pellets from a little bottle, he's now standing in the center of the livingroom, watching a show about an intolerant woman named Judy. I don't think he's aware that he's humming. The vestments have been upgraded to include a sock with a hole in it and a ski beanie.

12:02pm: The trips to the fridge have finally started paying off. I scored a piece of hotdog, an unidentified crunchy substance and a pickle stem. Maybe we can turn this thing around.

1:15pm: The battle for couch space has created a rift in our mid-day camaraderie. I suspect he thinks evening couch rules apply during the day as well. Silly man. I laid on my side and kicked him for a while, then sat on his head until he moved to the futon. Smell ya later, Pig Flu.

2:09pm: The guitar sounded good until he attempted to sing and sent himself into a gran mal coughing seizure, which of course triggered several violent salvos of machine-gun sneezes. I was front row, so i think we're about squared up for all the slobbering i've ever done on him.

3:19pm: The sponge is back on and now we're snacking on something he recovered from the back of the cupboard. It tastes a little like the tennis ball i found at the bay this morning.

3:46: I think... is that? ...*

*editor's note; unable to complete entry as the female resident returned and the subject apparently went completely insane

Man vs. Stomach

I like oyster shots. I don't know of it's the bite of the hot sauce or the bonus vodka but they are good times and I get them when I can. Yesterday we rode to Coaster Saloon in Mission Beach and I saw that they were on special. We were right at the beach on a warm Sunday and I thought, "Yep, gettin one of those bad boys.". What arrived at our table was not the oyster shot I had grown to love. It was an oyster sitting at the bottom of a kamikaze glass filled with warm, watered-down, salty vodka. After inquiring as to why it wasn't a traditional oyster shot in a shot glass with spicy cocktail sauce and parmesan cheese sprinkled on top, the not-so-helpful waitress said, "It's vodka. They put extra in it for you." While this may have been the first time in my life that a little "extra" booze was not a good thing, I agreed to muscle it down as now both the waitress and my wife are staring at me. As the waitress walked away, I decided to show my wife that I was a man and wouldn't be bested by a glass of mushy barnacle meat in hot toilet water.

So I tried it.

It's been a while since i've puked, and even longer since i've puked sober. When that liquid hit my throat, I knew then and there, the streak was over and I was going to projectile vomit across a room full of unsuspecting people who were definitely going to freak out on me. I slammed my mouth shut, swallowed hard and prayed. The contents of my stomach made it halfway up my throat and I thought about running for the door. My eyes filled up with water and my stomach went into a wrenching heave, but I was able to clamp my throat shut and somehow kept everything down. At this point i'm doubled over with tears and snot running down my bright red face and can see my wife looking for an exit strategy. She's asking if i'm ok but I know she's deciding weather or not to flee the scene of the crime if I yack all over the booth which would be awesome because the only thing more embarrassing than vomiting in a bar is doing it while sitting by yourself. After about 30 seconds of fighting my furious stomach and promising God I would rethink atheism if he helped me out, it subsided and I took a breath. Barf record still in tact, I pushed the glass to the other side of the table. When I got the bill, the waitress leaned over and said, “I took the oyster shot off the bill since you didn't finish it.”. How thoughtful of her.