I'm not sure how it happened, but I somehow got sucked into writing for another blog. Which is probably a terrible idea, since I barely write for this one. In fact, I don't even know if you can call it "writing". It's more like transcribing my verbal diarrhea. But whatever.
The site is called Burt Reynolds' Mustache. Hey, don't look at me, I didn't name the damn thing. But I've learned an important lesson since being drafted into service there, and that lesson is this:
Don't respond to emails from strangers when drunk.
Although, I suppose that there are worse things that can happen should one do so. Anyway, apparently a bunch of bloggers write there, and they are each responsible for a specific day of the month. I get the 21st. The 21st of EACH MONTH. What a terrible fucking idea this was. Who knew blogging would be so demanding. I mean, if I didn't crave the artificial attention and wasn't desperate for acknowledgment by a bunch of anonymous lunatics, I might just quit this gig. But alas, I need love and attention. The attention of lying strangers is all that gets me through my day.
Oh God. Oh, dear sweet God, please stop the hurting.
OK, that took a weird turn again. Ignore that last bit.
Anyway. How was everyone's weekend? Good? I don't particularly give a shit, but I'm trying to get you to keep coming back. My weekend was lovely. Friday was the Rebirth Brass Band cruise, which totally rocked and was highlighted by me teaching a sixty-something year old man how to light a joint in high wind on the deck of a boat. What can I say. I read a lot.
A friend from out of town came in Saturday, and we had a good time catching up, drinking and laughing about how insane the Midwest is (he's a college friend).
Today I'm sleepy and can't wait until lunch.
Anyway. Tomorrow is the 21st. You'll find me over here. It's a weird site. With a bunch of weirdos writing for it. Again, I don't know what I'm doing over there. I suppose I'm just lost in a desperate quest for love and affection, wandering through these empty electronic streets, wishing someone would just cuddle with me, or perhaps rub my back a bit.
OK, ignore that part too.
Peace out, playas.
P.S. - Shut it, Red.
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Listening to: Tricky - My Evil Is Strong
Monday, August 20, 2007
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16 comments:
Oh TK, I feel your pain and indecision: it's pathetic but if it weren't for the fake attention I receive online my life would have slightly less meaning than it does now.
Fucking hell that's still pretty depressing.
My weekend was shitty thanks for asking and my week is shaping up to be even worse! Yey!
I will however check out your post tomorrow (which I'm sure will be sparkling and witty) in an effort to help you feel validated.
Oh, man -- Awesome! Finally, I've been given an opportunity to flame you. It's so on. I'm sending Bianca over, too. It's gonna be the best gang bang ever. Except, as soon as I write gang bang, Bianca's head will esplode.
You know you were dying to be over there writing. I mean, it is not . . . . . sorry - I am getting distracted by that picture of Alex staring at me and those sexy glasses. Hey Alex. What's up? You ever get tired of commenting on this TK guy's site come on over to mine. Okay. Talk to you later. P.S. Those glasses are hot.
I resent the implication of being an anonymous lunatic--I'm barely anonymous any more.
The 21st of each month is labeled "lie to tk on must. site" on my outlook calendar now.
Aw, man, my wife read this too you know. Anyway, no. But he comes by here, you'll meet him.
Now stop monopolizing my comments and get back to shaving your feet, you circus freak.
TK: Oops. Sorry about that. What I meant to say was, I wonder who the stalker is because I know it's not you - you are constantly telling everyone how much you love your wife, blah blah blah (or something along those lines). Sorry,I was drunk when I wrote that previous comment.
I know i'm late in the game, but you don't know how it happened (re BRM)? You know exactly how it happened, mister. I pimped you out and i am not embarrassed. What's more, i'm waiting for my cut.
Thanks TK, I acually have more than one internet stalker anyways. I seem to attract the weirldly obsessives in real life too. I have literally no clue how I do it.
But yeah, sub emo blogger profile pic is being replaced post-haste. I didn't anticipate random online strangers actually reading what I had to say. Silly Alex.
Garrett, you really have no shame. None whatsoever.
TK: Meg totally pimped me out too. She is always doing shit like that...
Mindy: What is wrong with it? I told Alex that she has lovely glasses. Big deal. Apparently she didn't like being told about having sexy glasses, and TK didn't like me hitting (although I wasn't actually hitting on - just playfully bantering) on his commenters. But I still don't understand what I did wrong.
Therein lies the problem, Garrett. Maybe you should also ask Alex if she's married to a gay man or something!
Are you married to a gay man, Alex?
L & F - In the mail, kid. In. The. Mail.
Alex - You reap what you sow, I suppose.
Mindy (1) - and yet, we love her anyway.
Garrett (1) - If I've said it once, I said it a hundred times: You're psychotic.
Mindy (2) - ?
Garrett (2) - Oh, for fuck's sake.
You know it really takes a certain type of person (think 'slave') to blog.
I was given a shirt recently that says, "BLOGebrity".
Such a demanding hobby. ha.
I think Burt Reynolds' Mustache will basically be converted to the comments section of our respective blog clique's comment section.
I left a response to your comment on my blog. Thanks for visiting!
And I like how Dustin assumes that I read your blog and your comments. Maybe I should continue to do so in the future.
mindy, I love your bear on the toilet. So cute!
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