July 20, 2002
The Magical Beer Dog
Mike sucks at everything except for kissing and pool. That is all I have consented to allow him.
Last night after a rather militant evening of work the two of us retired to his house. Under the glow of flourescent and black lights we played two games of pool, both of which involved me getting my ass kicked. I really like pool... I'm just horrible at it.
When the rest of the crowd showed up, just a few people from work, four games of playing the winner followed, with Mike being that winner each time. I drank orange juice, without vodka, and talked to Angie, another one of the cooks in Bogart's.
When Mike had finished raking everyone across the coals, proclaiming softly to me that he really wasn't playing as well as he usually did, the two of us went to abuse the priveleges of his cable modem. We downloaded about six Weezer songs, and I sat on his lap and sang softly along. He rather liked 'El Scorcho.'
For the rest of the evening I would periodically burst into song:
"God Damn you half-Japanese girls..."
Then we went upstairs and played Halo on their X-Box. That game is beautiful and awesome. It took me a considerable while to get a handle on the controls, and I never did fully manage it. I enjoyed myself immensely anyway, cursing at the aliens and myself.
It amazes me how things like food and sleep become unimportant when I am with him. I didn't get home until about a quarter after four last night, but I sort of went to bed reluctantly. Sure, I may yawn. Sure, my stomach may grumble. But I have him.
I love that he enjoys my company as much as I enjoy his. I love that he shows it.
I wander back into the kitchen at work and a grin leaps to his face. An obvious grin.
I need to talk about something else, don't I? Must suppress Libran giddiness over having found ideal mate. Must.
Look at me suppressing, kids. This is a fucking feat if I've ever witnessed one.
Now I don't know what to say.
Kevin's dog likes beer. Especially when it gets poured all over him by Kasey.
He also thinks I look like a big dog pillow. Which I am, I hope obviously, not.
For some strange reason I am covered in bug bites. I think I must have a spider colony in my room or something, because they're everywhere. It pisses me off. This is precisely the reason I don't go outside.
I just hate to think of little bugs cruising all over me when I'm asleep. When I'm awake, fine. I'll smack their asses. But this just isn't fair. I'm too busy dreaming to notice that they're having a picnic on my body.
See? Now I'm talking about stupid shit.
Unless, of course, it was all stupid shit.
Likely.
Go read my poetry. Gee, thanks.
astera at 11:50 a.m.