August 8th, 2002. Thursday
 

 
    I didn't get home until almost 2 am last night.  I originally had an expletive-filled account of it, but I've cooled off a little since.  It was going to be one of those passages where every other or every third word was "fucking."  As in "I didn't fucking get fucking home until fucking 2 o'fucking clock in the fucking morning last night, because I fucking had to watch the fucking 10 o'clock fucking show and the fucking editor fucking kept me there until fucking 12:30 editing the fuck out of my fucking questions.  Then the fucking F train was all fucking fucked up, so I had to fucking take the fucking G train for the second fucking night in a row and then fucking switch back to the fucking F."  Well, I guess that's the expletive-laden account in full.  Funny how that word doesn't really get diluted the more you use it.  Curiously, I just got an email, which was composed as a regular email, complete with greeting, message, and signature, of which every single word was a derivation of the word "crotch."  I'd sent out another "Crotch of the Day" photo yesterday, so this response was appropriate. Although it was still quite shocking. I've actually read over it a few times, and for some reason I find it terribly amusing.
    Busy little bee, am I.  Rehearsal tonight with the neighbor's band, then a little party in the East Village with a co-worker from my nightjob. He just sold his first comic book.  Well, not "just," it's been sold for a while now. But the issue just came out yesterday.  Pretty impressive I should say. Then this weekend, the apartment search begins in earnest.
    I am very tired. I was so bored between jobs last night, I actually went for a run at the gym, which I haven't done in months.  Did I mention I was at my tv-watching job last night until 12:30, writing trivia questions about alleged child molesters?  That was real fun.  I can barely keep my eyes open.  And me, with so much rocking and fucking shit up to do tonight.

An Instant Messenger exchange I just had:

Smellicus: i just wrote a thank you letter to the guys at carmax.
G Rock: oh right, the car. how's that working out?
Smellicus: awesome!  it did the 4 hour drive to my uncle's smooth as buttah.
G Rock: who did you give the old car to?
Smellicus: melwood.  home for 'tards.

I can't stop laughing at that.  Just one of those things you're either going to find hilarious or you don't. No explaining it.

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