wish you were here

The great Miami Spanish spam phone call caper continues.

I lost money gambling tonight. Plus having a day where I don’t feel good about my body didn’t help, either.

Somebody, please pay me to write.

I know some cool fucking people.

Poop.

Nevermind. I was going to say something, but really, I’m just the one who doesn’t understand, right?

What do you say to a girl who is obviously less intelligent than you who doesn’t like to go to “blue collar” bars?

In my hood, you slap that bitch in the face.

Actually, in my (old) hood, we’d push them down to the unpaved street, and drive our go-kart in circles around them, spitting rocks in their face.

Man, I’ve never been in a fight before, but I really want to get in one with a girl, just to see if those old WWF wrestling instincts and observances at IMPACT graduations would kick in.

Well, my domain problems are fixed. And it was all my fault. And I really don’t feel like recounting the story. Did you miss me?

“It doesn’t matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.” –Anne Sexton

San Miguel beer is really good.

Morvern Callar was one of those movies I’m not sure I could describe emotionally. All I can say is that it was good.

I have to say though that seeing Samantha Morton’s post-baby belly on the big screen was refreshing after a week of plastic. I mean, there was one girl today, before we went into the movie, wearing a boostier where you could see where her implants were. I. Am. Not. Kidding.

I want to write some more. I got another idea. My head is awesome.

I love getting writing done, and wanting to do more, but there’s other things to do first.