fallfallfall

Today was kind of a dream come true. Started off cold and gray...crept towards sunny but still stayed cold and windy. The seemingly permanent green has been slowly leeched away. I woke up earlier than I had planned (always a bit of a shocker) and managed to get away with all my insane feats of procrastination (waiting until the last day to pay my P.O. box, managing to somehow not overdraft my bank account). I've been breaking in my new be-swapped style parka (I swapped a pair of swank white loafers to Jigga for it) and it feels all nice with the fake fur lining the inside. Driving to work, as I crossed the bridge, I was kind of bowled over by light breaking through the gloom over red and yellow trees and the river...it was just kind of amazing. I'm feeling very stoked about the world at large at this very moment.

Like the squillion things going on tonight. Unlike most places I've lived, I would drive myself into a tizzy over missing this or that glorious event. But here, it's just...there's always something awesome going on. And so if I really feel like hitting the town and seeing and being seen and polka dancing on the hearts of the unwary...I can! But I so rarely do, because I'm already so in love with the friends I have, I just want to hang out with them. This could be why I struggle to find a boy worthy of my affections...I am never out in places where cute gay boys go. Perhaps I should revise this policy?

Honestly, though, I'm not too worried about that. Not only is it coming up to be time for me to have sex (it's pretty much an every 3-4 months kind of thing) but...One of my crushes from last spring/summer is back in town and apparently doing one-on-one yoga sessions for 'donations.' Do you accept payments made in...dick? I guess he's kind of a yoga genius though, so if I don't get 'da vibe' I could at least get some sweet yoga for cheapish. Thinking about seeing him again though kind of freaks me out. He's incredibly dynamic and awesome, but I just get filled up with a powerful sense of nervousness. Upon meeting him I was just like...wow. You exist? Really? He's a total international sexed-up libertine and I'm...not quite the seasoned sexual warrior I would like to be and certainly not close to where he's at. Due to my runaway parade of insecurities, I don't really pursue people unless I am wasted and usually then I'm not really making sense, so I only hook up with idiots and/or people I'm not really attracted to. Sure, there have been a handful of exceptions. But not really enough to turn the tide on the other trend.

Anyway. Whatever happens happens. Which I've always thought is one of the most obvious statements one can make. Oh if it happens...it happens? Redundancy! It obviously didn't bother me enough to prevent me from using it.

Notice the subtle transition from honest disclosure to linguistic analysis? I didn't.

this is a start, i guess

Less than two weeks between entries? Surely, you jest!

This year's Thanksgiving was far less chemically destructive and far more enjoyable. So nice I did it twice! The beloved friendtor and I teamed up the the T-day itself and threw together a delicious, drunken dinner for ourselves and a couple other friends. We ate outside a little early and the light and temperature were almost perfect. An antiquey-looking candelabra brought the class with drippy white wax that looked just like magic tastes. Magical.

Two days later, the lovely V-Ron invited me and a handful of others to enjoy Thanksgiving's sequel and prepared an absolutely, epically tricked-out feast. I wouldn't even know where to begin complimenting what, but I assure you...I'm pissed that it had to end.

In even more exciting news, my beard is completely out of control. It is becoming a fro for my face. So I think I need to actually manage it. I probably wouldn't even want a beard if it were not my biological imperative (not merely to conduct facial hair, as almost all men and some women do, but to grow a full-ass beard) and a product of high-grade laziness.

Why am I fucking writing this? I couldn't tell you. It is rather unspeakably boring, no?

My birthday is three weeks from Friday. I am terrified. I am not ready to be grandfathered into adulthood. I have strictly barred myself from entrance for a reason! Turning 25 is not going to change that. It's just going to up my raging guilt levels about responsibility-aversion and waste-my-life-itis.

Though it is easy to let this occasion overshadow all else, I must remark on how nice it will be to be back in Montana. It has finally started to get a little gray and gloomy here, much to the glee of those of us who like actual seasons. But how oh how will I survive the Siberian wastes of Montucky in my weakened, southern state? HOW?

It will be an interesting challenge. At least at first, before I am crippled by cold and complaints.

Hopefully next time I come to blogging seminar, I will remember to bring my personality.

why oh why

Must it be such a trial for me to blog on the reg? I suppose it is symptomatic of the vicious laziness that is locked about me like tigerjaws on babyelephant head. But laziness-be-damned and depression-get-thee-behind-me, for this weekend blew wind into the sails of my being. Or maybe that was the alkeyhaal.

Friday was simply a matter of excess for excess' sake - after a ten hour day at work, I wanted to explore the world through the lens of an empty wine bottle - my tiredness yielded to a surprise guest re-appearance by the spirit of my youth and I ended up staying up until 4 or 5 in the morning.

Needless to say, Saturday got off to a slightly later start than usual. I met up with Jonas (from the Kentucky Shade, my beleaguered, be-managed be-and) and his girlf (I'm going to push for this word's welcome into our lexion) Sara. We took a long, traipse-y walk around the East Austin Studio Tour, starting off at Bolm Studios (one of my fave local studios and a highlight of last year's tour). Bolm was not at its most impressive, but I really liked the work of a dude named Shea Little. I was thinking about cash-advancing myself $150-$200 for one of his pieces featured in the show - and I am obviously not in a non-precarious financial situation. What-so-fucking-ever. But he put together these strange, mixed-media found-object-y maps (or what looked like maps) of strange, future cities of nuclear plants. I didn't know what to make of them, but couldn't really pull myself away. I only felt that way about one other piece I saw that day, at Stacked Studios (out by my old house) where I saw an awesome 2X4 woodblock with modern comic art - a masked man shooting the stomach out of one of a pack of zombies with a pop-art-inspired BLAM hanging over it. But, obviously, I bought neither.

After the tour, Jonas, Sara and I went out for a lovely/expensive dinner of moules frites and wine. Sara and I had been attempting to get together for this FOREVER and it was good to finally do it (even if the moules were really not that bomb whatsoever and if I hadn't been drinking for free all day I would have balked much more substantially at the price I paid). The mussels (or moules), while not exactly prepared to perfection were rather impressively sized - and they had a fairly cheap white Bordeaux that went nicely along.

After dindin, it was prep-time leading up to the show I organized at the Carousel for Little Aurora (my ex-roomie's band), Corto Maltese (disgustingly prodigious group of semi-friends) and....some dude I slept with six months ago. Homeboy really busted out an incredible performance (on Sat) complete with small intermissions for dance pieces. He did a fucking man-voice/uke cover of a Mariah Carey song, ferchrissakes. The LA came together with a vengeance and at this point I was drunkenly sitting right in front of the band in chairs with my beloved friendtaur for the last two songs - lady K-Boz (aforementioned ex-roomie) continues to look deep into the wilds of fashion-future when assembling her costumes and usually pulls of some maddeningly psychodelic old-lady fashion that would have anyone else looking the fool. Corto...what can I say about them but that they are a rather alarmingly good band. And for some reason I need to try and give them some fucking 'hints' such was my wastitude - what the fuck do I really know about making music? nada, obvs.

Much photos, muchmuch staying up late.

Sunday, my second chance at studio-touring glory, quickly buckled under the weight of my need to sleep. And then buckled further with my desire to have a late, boozy brunch with the friendtor - we only got to hit a handful of places on Sunday. Conversely, it was more work of people I knew being presented in a much more intimate space (someone's home/yard and stacks of weird storage unit thingies). Then, once evening was upon us, it was off to the showing of my friend's cool short doc at Pacha.

And more ridiculous heights of stay-up-late-ing.

My room is finally a gorgeous, perfect red. I am still obsessively avoiding the full unpack.

In mere moments or much later tonight I'm going to take another hot streetwalk down memory lane and follow up every blogpost I could find from this day. Surprisingly complete for my parts of my life I chose to remember and acknowledge.

actions...have...consequences?!

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

That was a dirty, dirty weekend. Let's start out with the good - Broken Social Scene on Thursday. I was absolutely blown a-freaking-way. It was a gorgeous, generous and wildly energetic performance. They played all their best songs from You Forgot it in People, which probably their best album (though I do love the self-titled track as well). My friend Kurt showed up that night and it was a wonderful night for celebrational boozing - truly icing on the cake to my Austinversary.

I took Jared and Kurt to Waxploitation's Halloween bash on Friday, where I threw on a leisure suit and ridiculous Hawaiian-ish shirt and told everyone I was their real dad. It was a cool affair to be sure, but I wasn't quite feeling it so we ended up taking off fairly early.

Saturday was the Halloween bash and it was a fucking DOOZY. CRAZY amounts of people ended showing up, to the point that the kegs were floated one shortly after the other. WHadda surprise, what a lovely-ass surprise! I went as Donnie Darko, but nobody really got it at first glance, rather tragically. Alas, it was not the worst of the Halloween tragedies. Not by a LONGSHOT. At the end of the night...Let's just say I ran facefirst into something that kept me up all night and all the next day. Oof. One year later, it's still as brutal as ever. I'm ready to go back to being over that shit, since the way I ran my body into the fucking ground ended up making me a little sick. But I didn't regret it - it was a fun night, I managed to not spill all my fucking tragedies onto unwilling ears, etc.

Kurt took off the next day and I've been doing the packing/moving dance ever since.

Then, Halloween. I won tickets to the White Ghost Shivers Ball, which was a ways outside of town at a club called 'The Oaks.' Everything was going swimmingly - the crowd was cool, everyone's costume was pretty fucking amazing (the best one was a bloodstained Bride from QT's Kill Bill) and the WGS set was off the fucking hook. I had received a call telling me to bring a bottle of booze, as the band was getting gypped on the free booze front - they rented the place out, but got no preferential treatment for bringing in a crowd like they did. Tacky, I say! So I brought a bottle of whiskey.

And who knows what happened to it? Not me. It was just innocent flask hits and the occaisonal beer until the end of the night - when myself and a pack of ghoulish drunks proceeded to hit up some Jim Beam and nasty cherry whiskey straight from the bottle. Until I blacked out. I can only theorize, given the immensity of my disability the following day, that I kept on fucking drinking. Apparently, though, I did make out with the foxiest new she-blogger in Austin, it would seem. Anyway, it seems that I got complete incoherent, crashed at my friends' Jason and Mary's house and woke up not believing that I had actually crashed or blacked out. I also took Mary's computer with the absolute certainty it was somehow mine. I was obviously still fucked up, but somehow lived to see another day. I don't think I've ever been hung over like that - at least not in recent history. But I might have to break up with whiskey forever. I'll miss you, baby!

I ended up having to call in to work and probably costing future-me lots of money. Which sucks. But I felt wretched enough to need to sleep the entire day away. Honestly, I kind of freaked myself out by the wildness of my behavior (remembered and un-remembered) and really feel like I need to slow the fuck down. I just started reading the His Dark Material series, so hopefully I can use that as an excuse to lie low and fucking behave myself. In other news, I will use this new 'down time' (wuzzat?) to paint my new room red, to unpack and to set sail on an exciting new diet, composed only of chicken and yams. Yay? I hate the thought of all this pesky sobriety, but I'm sure it won't stick.

PS my new roomies rule, no matter what psycho-departing roommate said to me last night - I have to believe she was the crazy one, and not my new companions! I've got a good feeling about them and my instincts it not be to trifled with. Word.