Mish Mash

OH MY GOD I BET BOTH READERS WERE SO WORRIED ABOUT ME.

The Reader's Digest version of where I've been for the past two months is Face-Down in a Gutter, bottle of JB rolling slowly from my hand.

Today I woke up to a really horrifying noise. I went to investigate in the kitchen. Upon entering, I saw my roommate in her bathrobe, head wrapped in a towel-turban, grinding coffee beans in a blender. She turned to me, laughed maniacally and shouted, "WE DON'T EVEN NEED A GRINDER!!!"

The eight-year-old son of this guy I work with kept calling the gallery tonight. I thought it would be funny if, just once, when I said, "B., your son is on the phone," he bellowed in response, "I have no son!" This is also a man who believes my sole purpose in life is to provide him with half and half. I knew Bennington was skirting some issue when they simply wrote "Bachelor of Arts" on my diploma, and now I know it's so glorified used car salesmen can operate under the assumption that I majored in half and half fetching. I think it would be funny if, one day, I barged into his office unannounced demanding that he refill the coffee canister and go to Walgreen's for more half and half.

The last blog post I began writing was a list of public places in the Bay Area where I've thrown up. I don't think I'll be finishing that one.