::12.27.2003::

Mood: Indescribable.

So, another Friday night all alone, yee haw… It’s funny I thought that maybe Tiff actually wanted to spend time with me, god damn, I hate it, I hate how I’m always trustful of people even after they’ve screwed me. Here’s the story, as best I can recall having downed about 2 beers and 3 shots of rum, Tiff calls me Monday night and wants me to go hangout with her after work Tuesday, so of course not being one to say no to a beautiful young woman (especially one whom I’ve such history with) I say yes. Tuesday afternoon rolls around, and she calls saying that she’s not feeling well, I make the offer to come over and keep her company and she shoots me down, saying that we could just reschedule till Friday. So, the week goes on, I rouse myself away from a drunken stupor so as not to screw things up for Friday night. Now Friday night rolls around (I’ve been staring at my liquor cabinet as though it were a naked supermodel sitting on my bed upon arriving home from work, since Wednesday morning) and low and behold after leaving a message on both her cell and house phones, she never responds. So what do I do you may ask? Well, I get my lowly ass up and go out, I ended up finding myself sitting in a theatre watching ‘Cold Mountain’ (don’t ask me how it was I don’t remember). After a pit stop at Waffle House for some self abuse of the stomach kind, I returned home and tore into my stash as though it were a present on Christmas morn (which by the way I didn’t get to do Christmas morn, as my parents made me open all my gifts before they left for Destin). Now here I sit, having had one of the most miserable Christmas’ of my life and just coming to realize that I spent $30 on 2 posters for a bitch that won’t even return my fucking calls, not to mention the fact that having the house to myself for a week was nowhere near as nice as I’d hoped it would be.

So, the next and probably final question is; am I really going to let this get me down?


Answer: Fuck yeah, look at me, it’s the goddamn holidays and here I am alone, drunk off my friggin’ arse, in an empty house, and I’ve got nothing to do tomorrow but laundry and cleaning. The holidays in my book fucking suck. If it damns me to hell to say ‘humbug’ then gimme the fucking ticket and I’ll me more than happy to go get on the hell train. I mean the way I figure it is that the only way that my life would get any worse is if the following events occurred in the following order:

1) I pass out from booze and spill it on my computer
2) The computer catches the alcohol and I’m awaken by a flammin’ desktop
3) Having put out the flames and gotten the alcohol out of my system, I go to the computer store, but while in the store someone smashes into my car
4) I have no choice, but to call Sarah and ask for help
5) Sarah arrives in no time at all, but she brings David
6) Upon returning home, I am forcibly polite and invite them in
7) I open the door to hear the phone ringing, its Tiff calling to confirm what I’ve just told you in above entry
8) I drink my self to death
9) Sarah and David both come to my funeral then go have sex in their car in the parking lot of the church
10) Tiff comes crying to my coffin side and blubbers on and on about how wrong she was and how much she loved me
11) My parents arrive home from Destin to discover the house is a mess and has not been cleaned while they were gone, only later to discover: A) what has happened to me while they were gone B) my stash of alcohol in my room, which was acquired through my manager C) this website

Now with my past and my current run of oh-so-great-luck that I’ve been having, odds are that all this will happen, but somehow just to add to the cosmic joke that is my life god will inevitably throw in my getting struck by lighting somewhere.

>> Alan spun round and round on 12/27/2003 12:30:00 AM