What's he on about now?

In case the articles, essays and opinions throughtout this site just weren't enough for you, here's my online diary (a.k.a. 'blog'). It's as close as you'll come to the inside of my head, so don't say I didn't warn you
(and remember, you can always e-mail me if you love or loathe anything you're about to read)...


   Friday, November 23, 2007

   IT'S CALLED RAMBLINGS FOR A REASON

Okay, this NaBloPoMo stuff really sucks. A blog entry a day, every day? Really?
Who, aside from truly awesome people like Andy Towle, Digby or Denis McGrath can pull that off? I met the latter at the CBC press gig the other day and he admitted that he just tosses that stuff off. "Bastard!" I said. You make it look so easy! Sure, he said, but no one reads it. Oh please, I said, I write for fab magazine.

I'm back from the fab 13th anniversary party. Only two of the five DJs scheduled actually performed because -- on this cold, slushy, nasty night -- the event was sparsely attended. By 2am, I was on the dancefloor with the lovely Richelle, Brad and the aptly-named Andrew Awesome and no one else. Tragic! People will grumble, they'll blame Paul, they'll blame me, but whatever. I had a few free drinks, danced with my friends and we all later went to Woody's and closed the joint. Good times!

I'm impressed with my typing here. I'm so drunk -- and stupidly compelled to continue my blogging duties. Why? I've got nothing to say right now (I'm certainly not going to talk about what went on at the pub) and I should just go to sleep.

I shouldn't drink. I take in the liquid and become liquid. Soft, flowing. My neighbours are still up. Young kids, like 20, making noise. I want to flow under their door like water and join them. Yes, I know what that sounds like but please, they're 20 and have a lot to learn. I just want the company.

Does drinking make me feel lonely? Or just strip away the pretense that I'm not?
Wow, I'm gonna regret writing this in the morning. Shut up!

Thank god for my dog. She's curled up in a little ball at the foot of my bed. She just went out for a pee and didn't like the snow. Me neither. I've got to be up at 9. God help me. It's time to curl up with puppy -- g'night!

Labels: fab, introspective, Tegan the Jack Russell Terrorist