08 July, 2009

No sessions yesterday.

The most musical things I did over the past two days were buying bass strings and making stems. That was about it aside from sorting through all the stuff I'd been concocting. Searched high and low for The Adventures of Brisco County Jr., turned out it's not something you can find on Hulu and the more *ahem* "less than legal" avenues offer only a 10GB version. Built a scarf rack for Georgie. Mopped cat pee. Ate a lot of corned beef. Did a lot of dishes.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Now would like some tip, shaft, or are you more of a "ball guy"?
Ran into the Gerbs on the way to Gangchen with Georgie. Lots of metros, homos, and hipsters in there last night, packed in like sardines and they all got pissy when I tried to move through. You've never seen so many grown men shamelessly wearing coochie-cutting Daisy Dukes in your life. (I have, but that's because I go to gay bars. The drinks are stronger, the prices are cheaper, and I'm still waiting for the instance where my dashing good looks scores me a few free drinks.) Turned out it was some guy Richard's birthday and all fifty of his closest friends chipped in and got him a chocolate dick cake.
Some guy tried hassling me for change in the bathroom. I'm standing there, in the urinal, with my dick in my hand and this guy starts hassling me for change so he can get a night in a St. Paul homeless shelter. The guy had nicer clothes on than I did and he decides to start hassling me for change while I'm trying to piss. I tell him I spent all my money on the bar tab and he gets this angry look on his face and asks, "You mean you got no change?" I repeat myself while leaving the bathroom with a still full bladder. He starts hassling the guy taking a shit as I leave.
I see him come out of the bathroom and Georgie and Gerbs are ready to go, so back into the head I go to evacuate my bladder. I come back out and have to make my way through the throbbing, thonged throng of screaming, flailing merries and ladies wearing stylish hats with long sweater dresses over tights to get over to George and Gerbs and we leave from there, and I see the bathroom pan-handler leaning on a car talking to some woman. Sometimes, most of the time, I really don't get Minneapolitans.

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