01/31/2005 - 2:22 p.m. | cling to your tooth

We watched Sideways the other night. First, I highly recommend it if you like Wes Anderson movies (It has the same mix of subtle human comedy with the occasional insane explosion of slapstick) or are a wine snob in the slightest. It certainly made a convert out of me. "Never again!" I cried as I tossed the box wine in the garbage (or at least planned on doing - we'll have to wait 'til we can hire Tebben out to remove our trash from the premises). Smacko aided me with much more aplomb, tossing the jug of cabarnet into the street in a dazzling explosion of glass and purple foulness. Anyway, I have more recently taken to getting smashed on fairly decent bottles of wine, because I think that's funny as hell. Saturday night I must have done so on a fairly empty stomach or something because I was gone as hell. While I don't remember yelling through the bathroom door that I was conceived in a yellow Datsun, squeezed through a condom such that my genetics were foul, there was plenty more gold for the evening. We stumbled over to some party on California and Illinois. Think we've been there before. Anyway, everyone there is wearing ties (some sort of "Corporate Pimps and Ho's" thing) and we clearly are not. "Zip up your coats all the way!" Kyle yells. "Bitches won't realize a thing." So we get about ten steps in, and we're all carrying bottles of Boone's Farm and shit, so Kyle goes, "Nate, put that bottle in the closet." Somehow, I took this to mean, "Nate, get in the closet." So I attempted. But either the door was broken or I am strong as hell because I ended up knocking the thing over and kind of tumbling along with it. Garfield.

Smacko made sure to chuck one of the empty bottles at their front steps because, as he says, he's here to make your day..... shitty. The rest of us took off with our 84 cent flashy glow rings from Wal-mart (courtesy of Melissa). I think I had her right pissed off, too, because I kept calling her Shelly. See, problem is, I only know two girls, and they both have "ee" names, so it tends to happen in both directions. Anyway, I proposed to her, I think. And lately I've been calling everyone "baby," so I prolly said that about a million times.

Night Two of Winery was spent at bingo. Well, first "Um Jammer Lammy" for two hours as we all continually failed that God-forsaken island level over and over and over again. I was less hosed than before but still in a fairly good condition, such that I ran home dragging the cheap ass kite I won behind me while everyone else took the SafeRide back. Pussies. It was a pretty standard evening, but I think we finally made some ground in getting the Bingo Admin into our lives. Dan (of Dan's Dad fame) agreed to go to the stripclub in Danville with us this Saturday. He even gave us his number. Well, that or a very clever ruse (Actually, not too clever at all, in that we were to the point where the "Got your nose" thing would have blown our minds). Either way, it's pretty awesome. We all assaulted him multiple times, making sure he wouldn't back out. Tony and ButtSex even said they'd come, but that remains to be seen. On the plus side, however, we now have Tony's e-mail address, so he should start expecting a vast increase in the number of huge, scary-as-hell porn clips he gets in his inbox. I bought Touchdown a drink, and he tried to touch 77, who visibly flinched. Also, was Perfect Legs there? She got fat. Oi. When Tony asked who in the bar was still a virgin, I do believe only Shelly and myself raised our hands. And they didn't even believe me. As a small, weak little boy, it's always wisest to give piggyback rides only when intoxicated beyond reason. The bartender yelled as Shelly and I tumbled backwards in the hallway by the bathrooms. And Kyle was dressed as an old man the whole time. Why an old man, you ask? Well, that day was also the first day of shooting for Andy's movie, and Kyle suddenly had a much bigger part than anticipated. Thus, better dress him in sweats, give him a prosthetic paunch, and coat him in makeup. I held the microphone while Shelly filmed, and I must say, this is going to be one kickass movie if these and my own scenes are any indication. Which reminds me: Learn how to sew quick, so as to repair shitty fabric glue on Scorpion costume.

I've more or less been forcing everyone to sit and watch the Magic Bullet infomercial with me. We usually have to stop after a few times each night because someone (usually a girl) starts whining excessively. The rest of us, I feel, could carry on indefinitely. Lately, Shanks and Smacko have taken to calling the toll free number and asking for Berman, the drunk who hates vegetables in the informercial. Results have varied from the cooperative (Fearful Asian woman giving Tebben a different number to call; awesome lady playing along, going, "Naw, man, Berman's gone. He's drunk as hell. Drinks all night and then margaritas in the morning!") to the bitchy ("I've never even seen the informercial, and you're wasting my time, blah blah blah"). Mostly it all leads to a slew of bad Australian/British accents and the riding around in my car yelling and wearing stolen rubber gloves from Jimmy John's. My homelife makes all sorts of sense.

Incidentally, you might see some pictures floating around on the internet of me fellating a snowman. This is all a very clever ruse, I assure you, done with creative Photoshopping. I mean, it's not like I would ever, ever do that, right? And why does our snowman have a huge erect penis, you ask? Could it be that we simply must take even the most wholesome activities and twist them in our own horrid image? Yeah, maybe.

Shelly is a juggernaut of unwarranted destruction, by the way. We were at a party at Brytne's on Friday night, and being me, I'm sure I said something mean to Shelly. However, I am a firm believer in an eye for an eye; I said something mean to Shelly (I bet it wasn't even all that mean), and it is well within her rights to say something awful back. Unfortunately, she possesses not the faculties for this and instead socked me in the arm. Whole new ballgame, kids. We now have an eye for a tooth, and that is not how the game is played. You owe me one insult, but I owe you one punch yourself. Things escalated quickly, we tussled, and Shelly started biting. Now, if there's one thing Shelly shares with her larger-breasted counterpart, it's her God damn wideass mouth. So when she chomped down (and she did, several times - hard!), she attacked a good deal of surface area all at once. This was not over. We continued to struggle, me doing my best to keep the hell away from the jaws of death. She socked me in the glasses - I tossed them aside to avoid damage. Should have taken out my teeth while I was at it, for the next "accidental" punch was to my mouth, and I started to bleed. That pretty much put an end to the fighting. Then! Mere seconds after I had cleaned out my mouth (with Listerine and that pleasant as hell kick in the face burning), Spritz was soon on the receiving end of Shelly's fist as well. His grievous crime? Messing with her hair. For shame, Spritz! His mouth wound was much worse than my own and would not stop bleeding, possibly because, like myself, he kept dousing it in mouthwash and laughing at the pain. Shelly, still in drunk mode, is bawling by this point. Anyway, serious ramifications resulted. The next day when I showered, I looked myself over. The right arm is bruised to shit, there's a chomp in my left forearm, a huge gash in my side, and what appears to be a shark attack on my right inner thigh. It looked like I'd been mauled by a dog. Anyway, in accordance, I decided to revamp my zombie story. Shelly was supposed to survive until the end, but I'm switching her with Kyle, for I decided she'd make a much better cannibal than him. He's got the look, and that's very important, but if she can bite like that with nothing more than alcohol in her, imagine what she'll be like filled with zombie rage. Entire limbs will be chomped off.

I started my job this weekend. I can't say it's great, as I'm pretty much being paid to have people hate me over the telephone, but there are enough benefits to make it worthwhile. The fact I've already made $60, for one. That's absolute insanity. I'm so used to be absolutely poor as fuck that the idea of making any sum of money is just amazing to me. And the free toothbrush only sweetens the pot. I think I completed training yesterday, which means today will be the first time I call actual people. This seems like one of those jobs that would be better drunk, but of course that isn't professional at all. Of course.

I was sick as balls the last few days, and I'm not sure it's really the miracle cure purported, but I still feel like it should be passed along. They sell these little Alka Seltzer-y type things called "Airborne," and you drink one of them in water every three or four hours. Bubbly orange ass, if you must know how it tastes. It's supposed to make you less contagious to other people if you have a cold, but there are rumors that it pretty much gets you through the thing altogether. I'm not sure - I had more than a couple days of misery - but I did start late, and it now is completely gone only three or four days later with no real remaining signs at all. And, no one else (even my partner in sin!) got sick, so maybe that's something. Yeah, maybe I have immune system of a newborn baby chick. Anyway.