I'm'a'gonna grab all these entries out of the nether regions and then shut this fucker down. Anybody who wants to read the new journal, send me an email, drop me a comment, whatever, and I'll bump you over.
god, a nickname sure can get old.
it told me so this morning when I tried to open Netscape. Nope! We no letta you open da netscape! This is on top of its refusal to play the microsoft excel game last week. I have tried the deletion of preference files, restarting, and flinging foul names upon this machine. None have worked. Being that Explorer will not allow me to save any cookies, I am about to give you and only access the interweb with my cranium mounted satellite dish.
Today feels better than yesterday, fortunately. Stan and I went to Target and looked at the toys while he explained to me the secret job names at that same establishement. We went to 43 restaurants trying to find one that was open. We found only the falafel place that serves (mmmmm) glarlic (sic) bread. We tried to eat big pieces of bakalava. We went to a bar and looked around and left again. We went home and watched the discovery channel. It was a straight edge big night out!
I have been neglecting you, my livejournal peeps. It won't happen again.
jesus a. h. c. need something else to wile away your days? Yeah, I gotcher wiling away. friendster.com has me in its clutches and won't. let. go. leave your address in my comments if you want to be sucked in like a fucking hoover. if they bought some more server space and shit loaded faster, I could literally sit there for hours fucking off and accomplishing absolutely nothing.
Actually, I have slept a little. It was more akin to passing out and the cat kept wanting love so it didn't go quite as well as planned. My hangover hangs over and my eyes are a little bleary. Usually I drinkfor recreation. Last night I drank for escapism. You really do forget things after enough whiskey, and not just who you made out with, a common problem from last week.
Darren is still in the intensive care unit. It will be two weeks on Sunday. Two surgeries, one to sew his battered liver together and one to suck old nasty blood out of the sack around his heart. His lungs hold a staph infection and his temperature is 103. The stuff they brought out of his lungs with the suction thing was tar and blood and pus, black nastiness which he coughed and sputtered up. His eyes are awake and alert and we made jokes about male nurses and blow jobs, but the tube to his lungs and the food tube in his nose make him unable to speak. I decrypt his movements of one hand, two feeet, two eyes, and scabbed lips to help him feel more comfortable. He gets irritated sometimes as my lip reading skills are nil and I often bump into the bed.
His family says that he remains aware far longer when I am there than when I am not. This makes me feel bad and good together. I hope he does not fall in love with me for the 19th time when he gets out as I will obviously have to take care of him for some time. I told hiim I would get a hottie nurse outfit. He was pleased.
We went to find the scene of the accident last night. He must have lost it on a hard s curve in the rain and on railroad tracks. He rode the scoot up the curb ramp and into a small tree, thumb to forefinger thick. The tree and scooter stopped there but he flew into the lane of oncoming traffic where he was either hit by a car or totally run over. I would imagine the latter b/c of his extensive injuries. Then whoever it was just took off, leaving his limp and soggy body until a pedestrian saw it two hours later. I can't even imagine the pain he must have felt lying in the street.
As many times as I've wanted to kick his ass to outer space, I can't possibly tell you how much I want him to get better.
The doctors say he shouldn't ride again after all this spinal damage. As if that is even vaguely conceivable. 20 years riding, never owning a car...I guess I have to wait and see what he thinks when he can speak again.
there are strange things in my nostrils, on my face, under my fingernails. the bike is coming well and the dropbars are almost installed. The stuff in my nose is weird. You (well, I, actually) have to sorta scrape it out with a fingernail which are of course already filled with schmutz. Engine goes under the hammer tomorrow and I'll post pics when finished. Not that it looks any different from before, but fresh flat black makes the world go around, right?
mouth tastes a wee bit foul, thanks to the hugoriffic cheese steak I consumed for lunch. I packed my bags and left the house with Boston Big Hands Stan and soon we will be off to the scooterisms in Chapel Hill. freeze Your Balls/Boobs off indeed. It's fucking cold out there. I'm staying with the truck, methinks.
survived a 10 day road trip with stafford, if only barely. work almost seems like a vacation in comparision.
details to follow.
jami, I miss my pillow. I'll text you my addy in a bit.
Somebody on the BBS just mentioned that they listen to Madonna, Billy Joel (the GOOD shit, not that river of dreams nonsense), and...wait for it...Leonard Cohen. That's like eating raw eggs and dog urine mixed with chocolate chips. I won't mention which one is which.