My apartment got raided, and I'm awaiting a call from the police so they can come arrest me. Whee! I'm fine, though - I'll get out of this, even if it's by serving time.

Stealing a friend's clearwire for tonight. I'm alive.

All the pieces are in place. Now I've just gotta work like mad to make this machine start. Oiling, tightening... And gas. Gonna need lots of that.

I can smell vast rewards just ahead, but the paths seem to be dead ends. I don't care. There must be a way. I'll climb the walls if I have to.

Everyone has things they blog about. Everyone has things they don't blog about. Challenge me out of my comfort zone by telling me something I don't blog about, but you'd like to hear about, and I'll write a post about it. Ask for anything: latest movie watched, last book read, political leanings, thoughts on yaoi, the benefit of revolutions, favorite type of underwear, graphic techniques, etc. Repost in your own journal so that we can all learn more about each other.

Let me see if I can remember the last three days.

Thursday night was Anji's party. Smoked a bit, but not a lot happened there. Went to Tim's, broke into the Jim Beam, got a bit drunk. Fell asleep.

Friday morning. Woke up. Got paycheck, ran around paying bills. Ran into crush from five years ago. She's gotten less sane, but she's still a blast to hang out with. Made plans to party that night on the spot. Went to work 5-10. Bought a rat. At 10, met Joe outside work on chance. Stopped by tattoo parlor, got a very reasonable pricepoint worked out. Made appointment for saturday. Hauled Joe to Tim's, where many more people then I had anticipated were present. Bought beer. Drank a lot. Smoked a lot. Spent the night seeing in three. Got a massage from a pretty lady, and was even able to remain polite when I had to manage to stand up and exit in a dignified manner before I was undignified down the front of my shirt. Passed out around 2:30.

Woke up saturday morning about 8:30. Hung around for three hours while everyone woke up and left. Bought rat supplies. Caught a two hour nap, then smuggled rat into my no-pets apartment. Bought stem for Mikey, and one for myself. Babysat sister for a few hours. Bought from my dealer, went with Tim, Sasha, and Ashley to the tattoo parlor. Was told to return in an hour. Went to Tim's. Smoked, pounded down some oxy in anticipation of tattoo. Got inked (Finally). Walked three miles in the company of good friends, buzzed on pills and pain. Got to Anji's. Smoked more. Started drinking. Smoked more. Drank more. Old crush decided to tease, which I tolerated for a bit before turning the tables and making a spectacle of her in the main room without my hand leaving her lower back. Was informed I was one of three people who had ever accomplished that, and the only male. Ego swelled. Drank more. Smoked more. Ended up laying on the floor in the dark in a dingy basement, vaugely aware that Ace Ventura was on TV. Burned the last smoke on 4:20. Hiked three miles home. Forced myself to remain awake until 9, so I could call work and be sure I wasn't due in.

All in all, I spent about sixty hours involved in partying, going to parties, or preparing for parties, and came out the other end barely coherant and with a tattoo. Living the dream, woo!

Sasha wants me to plan her 21st. I've been given a $200 budget to this end. Apparently she wants something called 'Deathbane', which is a potion containing moonshine, three kinds of extremely hard A, and fruit. I'm also getting paid again the day before this party. It may end up being yet more epic.

I feel revitalized. This is what I live for.

Why's everyone so convinced they understand me? For serious, people. I have only a tenous grasp on why I do what I do, and everyone and their mother who's had passing aquaintence with me in one venue thinks they have a roadmap to my psyche.

There is one (1) (I) person who I think may understand me completely. Maybe. She understands more then she allows herself to know, I know that much for sure.

There are two (2) (II) others who could understand me, with a bit more wisdom. Not to mention the motivation to do so, which one of them certainly won't ever have and the other is too distracted with his own life to care, and more power to him.

This is a grand total of three (3) (III) people who can make a claim to understand me without being total fuckwits. This is not good odds for anyone.

I chose the wrong night to get completely obliterated on pain pills.

Getting a tattoo. Ideas, any ideas, appreciated. Fire away!

I just finished reading 'The Stand' for the second time. Last time I was 11. Age has made it a better book. Time to read the source material, I think... Job, especially.

Wake up at 9 PM last night.
Beat Arc the Lad.
Called potential job, got interview time.
Got utterly blasted an hour before my interview.
Passed interview with flying colors.
Became employed.
Dealt with Stern Talking-To from apartment management.
Went to parents.
Mom mentions willing me her old bong (!!!).
Eat. Eat a lot, in fact.
Mom mentions bong again (!)
Mom shows me bong (!!) ...And many, many, many other smoking devices (!!!!!!!)
Mom gives me bong. From 1979. That did five years of duty on my parents coffee table.

I love getting shit done in a day.

Most every woman I know is utterly incapable of finding a decent male without my guiding hand. It's fucking ridiculous, and I'm fucking sick of it. I've been in positions where I had to logically realize that the person I loved (And, in one case, had committed four years to) is simply not a good choice! I did it. It sucked, but I did. So am I some sort of fucking superman of mental fortitude, or are the women around me stupid, oblivious, weak, or all three??

Good to see that Nick has retained my tendency for violence, but tempered it with some forethought and caution.

So I fell asleep with a Snu in my mouth.

Nicotine gives you WEIRD dreams.

Bizzare capture the flag, then some sex for flavor, then a bit of street racing, and a spiritual vision to finish it off.

What the fuck, nature?

So I quit smoking. Tobacco, that is.

Yay me?

Never really liked Led Zepplin, truth be told. Had them on my playlist, but the songs usually got skipped. I suppose I'm too hyperactive for that sort of music. But wow, add a bowl of weed, and I see the light.

I really ought to trust my instincts more. The only problem is, they don't bother with logic, and I frequently can't make others see it my way without that logic. In time, my insticts are always proven right, but it's typically too late by then.

It's strange, how little quirks of personality can add together to paint a new picture of someone that I thought I liked. The instincts knew, even months ago.

http://www.raymondwatts.com/lyrics/sweetchild.html

Always did like that song. 'I wanna do more then I can' seems to sum me up well. I'm learning to limit myself, to not reach beyond my means.

I have a car, as of yesterday~

Eris Ambika: BECAUSE I DON'T WANT NO NON-ALIEN SPORE BURSTING OUT OF MY CUNT UNTIL I'M GOOD AND READY AND HAVE THE COURAGE TO SEE THE MOVIE ALIEN WITHOUT THROWING UP

Nessa is epic.

I'm turning 20 on monday. I'm going to be getting a ton of pure apathy from most of my friends! Awesome!