They're having a Christmas party here. I think they're all from the hot girl factory.
The worst thing about stage three is that it makes me send drivelly emails
If there's snow falling it's snowing. If there's rain falling it's raining. If there's sleet falling it's sleeting. But what if there's freezing rain falling? Is it freezing raining? That doesn't seem right. This is a relevant question because, whatever you call it, it's doing it outside right now.
It's supposed to finally warm up tomorrow. I hope so. I'm quite tied of shivering all the time.
I have no idea what I want for dinner. I think I'm getting burned out on
eating. Maybe I should look into absorbing energy from sunlight, the way
I've been talking to an honest to goodness Bering Sea fisherman.
It's snowing again. Big giant flakes. It's pretty.
I'm starting to get worried. That's just how my minds works. Worry sucks. I'd rather be my usual mad/sad.
I didn't even notice, but there's an uberhot girl at the table behind me.
Drive at one mile per hour, taking up two lanes. If your car ever creeps up to two miles per hour, slam on your brakes. Bonus points are awarded for a 360-degree spin.
It's snowing like crazy out here! Brrrr!
He's not only the president, he's also a member.
I've been calling this the Yummi Nation. But now I think it's the Lummi Nation.
Sitting at a bar, drinking a beer, and smoking a cigarette. Too bad I had to flee the country to do it.
It sure seems like more.
I knew this was going to happen. Once again, I was right. Once again, I wish I'd been wrong.
I just tried to watch a movie on my blackberry via Netflix. It didn't work. It would have been cool, though.
At least I'm pretty sure it's strike two. It might be more like strike one-million.
I bought a damn scraper for my windshield. I wonder if Alamo will reimburse me.
These fucking pull-tab players keep monopolizing the bartenders. I may have to go on a killing spree.
I can't make up my damn mind about driving down to Seattle tonight.
It's snowing here. Little baby flakes...
Because there was an evening, in September I think, of 2003. Because I
looked, and because I saw. That's why I never had a choice. That's why it's
I miss my kitties. As of two days ago, this is the longest I've ever been away from them.
Sitting at this Slo Pitch bar next to the hotel, trying to cram in a couple of beers before too many weirdoes show up.
I bet I have nightmares about 80s hair.
I'm watching Heathers. All the hair is cracking me up.
All the barstools in this place are slanty. It's disconcerting.
Had Mongolian Grill. I'm experimenting with their sauce choices. This time I
had garlic and chili sauces. Not great. I should have had teriyaki.
It's 4:00 and the stupid sun is already setting.
Her face is deformed. Everyone must see it, but nobody ever says anything.
Something isn't right. The world suddenly seems out of kilter.
Tonight I'm in disguise again. It just feels safer.
I like them. They're pretty. Mountains are one of the reasons I moved here
This morning a beautiful girl woke me up at 5:00. But alas, it was only with a phone call.
That's the bartender's name. What's weird is that she's white.
The mall was actually open. I bought a coat, because the wind chill outside is -2365841265 degrees.
They're out of African Amber. I drank it all.
The front desk called me because somebody had lodged a noise complaint about
my TV. My TV wasn't even on. I told her it was my new loud neighbors. Now
they're out in the hall arguing.
Now I'm sitting next to a dude who's talking to himself about how he has two hours left to live.
Talking to a girl who says she's majoring in ketchup bottles.
Stores in this stupid mall close at 6:00 on Sundays. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of.
The narrow path became a thin line became a scant thread...
If I could stay here, in stage two, then maybe I could survive.
(draft) Hazy gold. No detectable head. Interestingly floral aroma. Nice flavor. Whatever hops are in this, they're the kind that I like. Good.
(draft) Hazy Gold. Aroma and flavor of pine needles. Not the kind of hop that I like. Calling it decent goes against my instincts.
(draft) Black with a thin tan head that faded quickly. Fairly neutral aroma. Thick mouthfeel, with a nice strong roasted malt flavor that coated my mouth. Good.
(draft) Black with a lasting creamy head. Aroma of burnt malts. Flavor of burnt malts and a touch of coffee. Pretty good.
(draft) Very dark amber/brown with a lasting white head. Nice aroma and flavor of malts and spices. Maybe some vanilla. Good.
(draft) Hazy brown. White head that pulled a quick disappearing act. Mild aroma of roasted malts. Medium mouthfeel. Flavor surprisingly strong of roasted malts. A bit of a bitter hoppy finish. I disagree with this beer's classification, but not with its taste. Damn good.
(draft) Cloudy brown, small head. Malty aroma. Flavor of a mild brown ale, but with a lingering hoppy finish that I could have done without. Just decent.
(draft) Hazy amber with a decent head. Citrusy and hoppy aroma. Flavor of watery grapefruit juice. Decent, I suppose.
Trying to convince myself that it wasn't all a lie.
Chillaxin' with a bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter. I'm being spoiled by this beer.
It's a beautiful day outside. I can see it out my window as I work.
I have new neighbors in the next room. I may have to kill them.
I ordered a pizza from this Boston's place. I hope it doesn't suck.
Tried to go to Boundary Bay, but everyone in Washington was already there.
That's how many movies are now in my Netflix queue. I have such an exciting
I don't know what's more ridiculous, that she thinks she can get away with
the way she treats me, or that I actually let her get away with it.
I'm conducting one.
It's no use. I'm wasting my time.
I probably don't want to know.
My favorite kind of hot girl is the kind that doesn't think she's hot.
I have this really weird thing that I do. Even I think it's crazy. But I'm doing it now, and it somehow makes me feel better.
I'm sad tonight. Drowning my sorrows with Mac & Jack's African Amber.
Back at the hotel. Expecting another very long night of work.
Still up. Still working. Thinking about all the yummy overtime pay I'll get.
On The Biggest Loser tonight, they had them run a marathon, and they
put the last part over sand. Because I guess running 26.2 miles on
asphalt was too easy.
At some big mall. I need new work shoes.
It's gonna be a good night for glaring at my phone. Maybe with a nice bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter. Or two.
It's a beautiful sunny day here. Chilly, though.