Coquettish

"You're coquettish."



"That's kind of fucked up. Like I do a lot of cocaine? I mean, maybe once or twice, but it's not like a regular thing."



"No. Not coke-headish. Coquettish. Listen to the sound of my voice."



"What does that even mean?"



"It means, get the fuck off me, you dirty dirty whore."

Sick

I woke up at midnight on Friday night. I had been sick with a cold for two days prior and my nose was crusty and I hadn't really eaten much more than soup and crackers. When I woke up on Friday night I felt as if there was a very large rock that had settled itself dead center in the middle of my guts. I climbed out of bed and went to the kitchen hoping that putting some food in my stomach might help sooth the ache. I was running very low on groceries at this point and decided that oatmeal was probably going to be my very best option as far as a midnight meal was concerned. That was about as far into the thought process as I got before I was running to the bathroom to expunge my system of the rock that I thought had settled in for the long haul. I realized that it wasn't a rock in my stomach when I came to the conclusion that the substance spraying out of my anus was in no way rock like. Quite the opposite of anything that might be considered a solid substance at all. There was very little in the gaseous form as well. It was pretty much all liquid feces. I'm quite certain that there may have been what might be considered a flake or two though, I didn't recall consuming anything flake-like at all prior to the experience that I was having. So I sat and waited for the rock to disperse, and when I felt it had sufficiently been relieved, I happily wiped away the dirty wetness from my buttcrack, washed my hands and went to the kitchen to continue the task of making oatmeal. I boiled the water, I poured it over the oatmeal and I sat and waited for it to cool. As I sat there waiting, I realized that when I had thought earlier that my stomach was in a condition to resume normal digestive processes, I may have been mistaken. I was once again making a bee-line for the toilet. I squirted out the remaining rock in my belly, washed my hands and went back to my oatmeal. I slowly and deliberately got about halfway through the bowl before a new feeling began to creep through my insides. I leaned back and took a deep breath. It slowly dawned on me that I was about to lose everything that I had just eaten. I once again headed towards the bathroom, this time with the knowledge that I was going to vomit for the first in many years not due to any sort of alcohol consumption. I was expecting a great deal of dry heaving, but what I got was quite a bit more. It seemed to be mostly the stale saltines that I had consumed only a few hours before in a solution that seemed to be mostly water. It had been all that I had been drinking for the last few hours as well. The feeling I had during the process was actually quite satisfying, which is not always the case when I'm regurgitating alcohol. The difference seemed to be the lack of a severe burning sensation. Though, during the process, there was some pressure put back on my bowels and there was a moment where I had to consider whether I should continue throwing up or spin around and shit some more. Luckily, the pressure was not overwhelming and I was able to control the situation with my sphincter. When the whole situation was over I actually felt quite relieved. I sat on the floor next to the toilet for a moment as is the normal process in any regurgitation situation. It was only a matter of time before the rock in my stomach reappeared and I was back sitting on the toilet, splashing ass piss into the porcelain throne. I wiped up, washed up and went back to my oatmeal. I considered eating it for all of about three seconds before I dumped the remainder into the trash. I was sick and I was going back to bed.

Choices

There always seem to be another excuse to smoke pot. No matter how often I consider quitting or least taking a hiatus from the drug of choice, I can never really seem to go more than a few days without someone offering or being in a situation where I really can't think of a legitimate reason to turn it down. Unfortunately, these "situations" usually involve a member of the softer sex profferring me the bowl. And for some reason, the thought process that goes through my head during this offering is that if I accept the marajuana, then this woman will, at some point, have sex with me and therefore turning down the marajuana would be like me turning down sex. I don't think that I could live with the knowlegde that I may have lost out on a chance to get my dick wet just because I thought I might improve upon my life by temporarily giving up smoking pot. My miserable, pathetic existance won't allow for such a frivolous and inappropriate display of decision making.

Friday Night

I've got a plan. I've checked my bank account and I have exactly $63.19 to last me the next twelve days. I'm not exactly sure how I will divvy up all that money but I know how I will spend a very small percentage of it this evening. I will go to the corner marker and pick up two 40 ouncers of a beverage of my choice. I'm sure the price range doesn't vary too much between brands of that specific quantity. And I'm sure my selection will be fairly minimal as well. Not that I am picky. I will probably barely care. It will certainly make making a decision that much easier. I will take these products to the register and if the total cost comes to $5 or less I will pay for them in cash. This is because I only have five bills in my wallet. All five with the face of George Washington. If the total cost comes to more than $5 than I will have to pay with my debit card. I will take these beverages of my choice to my humble abode and will take one of them to my bedroom immediately. The other I will place inconspicuously in the refridgerator and hope that no will notice it before I can get to it. I will go back into my bedroom and turn on my XBOX and will not leave until I conquer Splinter Cell other than to go to the bathroom or to get the other 40 ounces of beer. I am not exactly sure how long I have until victory, but I imagine upon completion I'll want something to eat. I am thinking about spaghetti but I might have to settle for rice. I'm not interested in being particular this evening so I'm not really concerned about what I eat, just so long as it satifies. I'd also like to somehow ensure that I do all this uninterrupted by my roommates. So much so that I might even have to turn down whatever it is that they might be cooking for themselves for dinner this evening. I don't know if I have the willpower to turn down a free meal if offered though. But I know the acceptance of the meal would mean at the very least having to converse with them possibly even being with them past the end of the meal if they decide to stay in the apartment as well this evening. And that is exactly what I am trying to avoid. Any extra time spent with the roommates is time I would rather have for Splinter Cell. And I do believe every second will be absolutely necessary if I am planning on being victorious this evening.

I Forgot To Jerk Off Last Night

I got home last night after work and about thirty seconds after I walked in the door my ex-girlfriend showed up to collect her goods. Some files and some other random crap that she had conveniently left at my apartment. I'm quite happy that none of my roommates were home when she was there. I get the feeling that it would have made things a bit more awkward than they already were at that point. Though things were a lot less awkward than I thought they would have been. I asked her if she wanted to have sex at one point, but I immediately chickened out and said I was joking. I'm a pussy. What the fuck do I care? Anyway, she left and I got a whole hour and a half to myself. Rather than jerking off, I watched some tv and when my roommates walked in I went to my bedroom to take a nap. I couldn't deal with them. It was only moments after my head hit the pillow that I was rudely interrupted by "I'm So Pretty" off the West Side Story soundtrack blaring on the stereo. I couldn't take it. I had to say something. Her excuse: The couch dweller has a date and I thought it would help her get ready. She obviously didn't call her the couch dweller, but I thought for anonymity purposes I would leave that out. I went back to my bedroom only to be awoken moments later with their deeply heated debate on what should and should not be talked about on a date. I felt my involvment a necessity. I walked in and contributed as best I could in hopes that they might learn something and get out of my fucking apartment a little bit more often. So CD (Couch Dweller) went on her date. The guy came in. He was wearing no less than three rings on one hand. There is a very creepy feeling about shaking hands with a man who wears that many rings. I can't really put my finger on it, but I don't like it and I immediately judged him for it. They left and I watched tv and ignored my roommate and then went to my bedroom around nine. Shortly after slipping into my bedroom I received a text message from my roommate asking me how to send a letter via the US Postal Service. Just let that linger in your mind a little bit.

I'm Cool Because I Play Splinter Cell

I got home from work yesterday to find the couch dweller working on her resume on my computer. I was really hoping that she wasn't going to be home at all. I was quite horny and had not had a chance to ruin the t-shirt I was wearing the night before, so there was some build up that I was really looking forward to getting rid of. Luckily, about ten minutes after I got home she left to go pick up my roommate. So I grabbed the computer and checked my email and then out of the corner of my eye, I saw my XBOX. I immediately wanted nothing more than to move it into my bedroom. To play it for hours in the privacy of my own sanctuary with no one to judge me for my child-like behavior. So I took a chance. I grabbed the console and the wires and went to my room. There were some issues once I got to the bedroom though. The tv had to be hooked up as well and though not that difficult there was some minor room rearranging that had to be done in order to plug it in. So by the time I got everything hooked up my roommate and the couch dweller were walking in the door and my penis had yet to be satisfied. I didn't leave my room for two hours. Then they told me that they made dinner and asked if I wanted any. I said yes. We ate salmon and stir fry and then after the meal was done I went right back to sneaking around corridors and alleyways knocking people unconscious or killing Russians. I got to bed some time around midnight after working my way through a mine-filled guarded courtyard. As I laid in my bed with my bottle of lotion with thoughts of ex-girlfriends flying through my brain I couldn't help but feel genuinly happy, if only for a moment. I ruined my t-shirt, threw it into my hamper and passed out feeling satisfied.
Of course, the feeling was almost completely gone by the time I got up in the morning. It's now almost 1:00 in the afternoon and any thoughts of pleasure I may have had last night are a distant memory. Angry work phone calls and stubborn coworkers have ensured my hate-filled Wednesday. Thoughts of having to see my ex-girlfriend in real life, rather than the happy fantasy world she was involved in last night, will keep any enjoyment out of my life for the rest of the day at the very least. I'm fairly certain she won't be blowing me in between the exchange of goods that we will have going on later on this afternoon. I guess it never hurts to ask though. Maybe I can make her feel guilty enough to perform some sexual favors in the twenty minutes or so that I'll have to spend with her. Here's hoping.

The Couch Dweller and the Idiot

The couch dweller has been sleeping on my couch and interrupting my morning routine for going on three weeks now. I was in the habit of doing most of my chores in the fifteen minutes after having eaten my breakfast and before leaving for work in the morning and now that there is someone sleeping on my couch in the middle of my living area it's made getting to some of these tasks a little bit difficult. She is a very attractive, curvy religious freak. It's all very confusing. Last night I convinced her not to become a stripper. It wasn't really one of my proudest moments, but I had smoked quite a bit of pot and there was a good show on television that I didn't really want to miss and she had asked if I would take her. So rather than going to a strip club and watching my attractive, religious roommate quite possibly take her clothes off I convinced her that her morals were more important to her than the money she would need to live, all so I could sit, relax and watch NBC. When the show was over we played Scrabble. She went first. Her first word was god. The dissappointment was overwhelming. At least the game can't get any worse. We can use any words she said. I said fine. What was I going to do? Argue? With a Jesus-lover over Scrabble at 10:00 on a Monday night? The game was already ruined. But I was persistant and played on, though I probably should have packed everything up and went to bed or turned on the tv. During the course of the game she spent the majority of the time texting some guy in San Diego who she claimed had a very hot girlfriend and after every text would exlaim, "He's such a weirdo!" She also managed to smoke two cigarettes and continuously tell me how tired she was when there was a delay in the responses to her texts that she sent out. Obviously, this girl is interested in me. Could I possibly be this dull? This unappealing? You get to a point in your life when it's a struggle to get out of bed in the morning because your life has become pathetic and meaningless. This rendevous really didn't help to alleviate the feeling.
She's moving out in November. I don't know if it will make my life any better. It will just give my roommate that much more reason to try and converse with me. I'm not a fan of her's. She's half-retarded. She makes most conversations painful and I'm not sure if her inability to interpret sarcasm is a blessing for the pleasure I take in confusing her or just unfortunate that we'll never be able to truly establish a meaningful roommate to roommate relationship.