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it’s always awkward to talk to someone about your personal life. even more so someone you’ve only known for three weeks and you’re talking about erections and sexual positions.
i meant my psychologist, you freaks.
don’t get me wrong, he’s a great guy, it’s just a little weird describing my sexual activities with someone i just met who could basically be my dad. i don’t really have a problem with it with people my own age. and perhaps it wasn’t the awkwardness of a new psychologist or anything like that, just what we talked about. but i suppose that’s the point of having a psychologist.
i’ve been playing a lot of pangya again ‘cos the goons got in on it. i sank another ten bucks into it to get my angsty tennis player back. and it seems i’m not half bad at the game either. at least i know the basics, anyway.
as i mentioned in my previous post, my sister hooked up with a guy in vegas named tom. he was kind of a douchebag after we left, not calling or texting, but suddenly out of the blue he calls and wants katy to get online. so they talk, via webcams too, etc. and i just get the feeling that while he is a nice guy, and my sister is smart, they’re not smart to persue it. i thought NC > CA was a long jump for a relationship, try NC > Ireland. that and it seems like he kinda strung her along. but.. it’s not my business.
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this certainly makes me happy. sucks for bermuda tho. at least it’s not coming here.
also two miscellaneous images for you:
played golf today. on a monday! kind of a dreary day for the most part, but when i was leaving it was nice. played nine holes before it started thundering, so we headed in (dad and i, that is) - i played god awful, as always. here’s the thing you need to know about me and golf: i am king of approach. you get me within 15 yards of the green with a pitching wedge, i’m up there, no. fucking. problem. and usually pretty close to the pin.
so it’s like this:
driving to fairway = crap
fairway to 15 yards = crap
15 yards to putting = king
putting = crap
cart maneuvering = king
so yeah! i’ve got the chipping shit down pat. everything else, well. i am awesome at driving a cart.
still waiting for that fuck to refund my money for that shitty cell phone they (and i say they loosely, i’m pretty sure it’s just one guy who refers to the rooms in his studio apartment as “accounting”, “shipping”, and “President’s Office”) sold me. if i don’t get all 168 bucks back, i’m taking it to paypal. i’m giving this guy a chance.
in the meantime, i have a crappy loaner phone. which was a bitch in itself. in order to get a loaner phone (which is a courtesy, not a privilege), i had to prove that my previous phone was repairable. unfortunately, moisture damage is in no way repairable (i didn’t know this at the time, i just figured if they couldn’t fix it, they could give me a refurb they had on hand), and they can tell on the spot. there’s a dot behind the battery and slightly under a piece of plastic that turns completely red when it gets wet. so, i grabbed some tweezers, picked it completely out, grabbed some alcohol and q-tips, rubbed the adhesive and dye remnants from the phone, and since it was completely dry by then, headed into the store. they looked at it and told me they could repair it - after six to eight weeks. i’m like.. what the fuck? crap on a stick. yeah, gimme a loaner phone.
so, i use this ’til they discover that my phone has had moisture damage, they send it back to me, and i turn in the loaner phone. but hopefully long before then i’ll have a new phone that hasn’t been in the pamlico river like my last one.
i have the inane ability to stretch out the most useless shit about my life into paragraphs upon paragraphs of text. and you read it. and we’re all just a little bit dumber for doing so.
edit:
i’m the second D - YAY HURRICANES. :(
in other news: YAY HURRICANES! :D
i played golf today. and i played barefoot. it was really fucking strange. for all these years, i’ve been playing with some form of foot cover. not only was it fun, but i did a little better. and the best thing? it’s legal. there’s a pro on the PGA tour that plays barefoot, apparently.
paul mentioned it to dad ‘cos the soles of his shoes are cracked and were being annoying, so he took them off. i took mine off after i had to go wading around a ditch looking for my ball. greens feel like sponges, by the way, if you were curious.
still shot in the three digits, which blows, didn’t make par on anything.
mom’s running a fever, hopefully she’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.
so on and so forth.
come on now
who do you
who do you
who do you
who do you think you are?
hahaha!
bless your soul!
you really think you’re in control?
birthday’s coming up. twenty-four. hi! i’m old! and yet, in my head, i’m still stuck at sixteen! somewhere i stunted myself and i have a wonderful inability to grow up. barring all the internal problems i have, here’s my list, if you’re curious:
1. 1gb RAM
2. klipsch promedia 5.1 ultra
3. a new three wood (golf club)
4. guinness pint glasses
5. barnes and noble gift card
6. half life 2: episode 1
7. headcrab plush (which is now sold out. FUCK.)
8. a hat/shoe rack for this space behind my door to keep my room a little cleaner.
9. money!
most of it’s rather inexpensive, ‘cept for the speakers. ram’s only seventy. and god dammit, i knew i should have ordered that headcrab sooner. LAME.
had to housesit for my dad last weekend. wasn’t too bad, driving back and forth from washington to greenville is a bitch. i could have stayed, but i don’t like that house, and the beds are like stone. plus no eats. NO EATS, I DON’T STAY. it’s funny though, i thought that dad getting married would change what he had in his fridge, but even in greenville it’s just condiments, flavored water, ned’s drinks, and beer. pantry has candy, more condiments, cookies, and maybe bread/sandwich stuff. maybe. plus when i’m there, the dogs do not. shut. up. last time i house.. sat? for them, they spent all night circling the house, and fighting with each other. i’m pretty sure the neighbors hate those dogs by now.
alongside that, dad asked me to break up this 3-4″ deep concrete (with wires in it for strength, yee-haw), load up the bricks and concrete into the truck and take them to the dump. even with mark, paul, AND joe’s help, we didn’t get down through it. we broke it up pretty decently though, and loaded the bricks into the truck. that’s about as far as we got. concrete is a bitch.
also last weekend, paul and i played golf, and kinda.. charged a lot to dad’s account on food and drink. beer is expensive at golf courses. food too. there’s a “minimum” they have to spend monthly, but still, the month is only half over. dad doesn’t read this, but if he happens upon it, sorry! you had to spend it anyway, right? RIGHT? that dumb woman left the bacon off our bacon and egg sandwiches too. blah.
he wants to play at bradford creek on friday or saturday, but i might ask if we can play at cypress landing but after seeing their horrible website, i may not go there. christ, GET A REAL DESIGNER, YOU FUCKS.
saw that movie poseidon. well. downloaded it. it was pretty awful. i think richard dreyfuss is gay in it, too, but i couldn’t tell. haha mmmmm.. RICHARD DREYFUSS! inside joke, you wouldn’t get it. or rather, you would, considering the only person reading this is paul.
oh. the portrait. have i mentioned this? searching this site says i haven’t. okay, here goes.
so stephanie wants portraits of the whole family. not together. individual. her’s is already done, a HUGE 6′ painting that is basically a ripoff of gone with the wind. blue velvet dress, demure look, sitting to the right while looking at the painter, so the eyes follow you everywhere, it’s fucking creepy. ned’s is done too, barefoot on a couch with one leg tucked under him, looking at the viewer with a frown on his face. reminds me of viggo from ghostbusters 2 - and if you’ve read my facts page, well..
SO ANYWAY. dad, katy, and i have to get one done as well. don’t get me wrong, the lady’s extremely nice, but she.. apologizes too much. granted, i was in a rush, but i’ll get to that later. the first time they mentioned it to katy and i, they asked what background i wanted. i answered honestly, i wanted the apocolypse in the background with a robot army behind me at my disposal, and my pose would be something like this:
so yeah, that would be awesome, right? i thought so too. katy said she wanted to be sitting on a toilet, in a pose of the thinker, rows and rows of books behind her, with a lit-up lightbulb over her head. we were fucking howling at this point, it was hilarious and they said we could have whatever we wanted. stephanie just kind of.. laughed and brushed it off. dad said it was okay with him, which meant if it’s okay with stephanie, then it’s okay with him. of course, i’m sure stephanie made sure the artist said BLACK BACKGROUND DON’T LISTEN TO THEM.
also on the way home, katy and i had the idea that my friends and i should commission someone to get all of us painted like
a) queen, in bohemian rhapsody or
b) mount fucking rushmore
again with the howling, the hilarity, it sounds fucking awesome and one day i am going to do it.
back to the story, i had my “posing” last weekend, and it was.. painful. the woman is very nice, but she doesn’t.. you know, stop talking. that’s alright, that’s fine. that’s how some people are. but i didn’t really want to be there in the first place, no offense to her. she took like 90 pictures, made me change my shirt once, changed the background twice, and i headed off to play golf with paul. i’d rather not see what my pictures look like. they’re gonna look retarded anyway. though she was the woman who took the picture that’s linked up on the top left up there. katy and i actually said we’d have no problem with her painting THAT picture because we both think it’s the best picture we’ve ever taken, but she said that stephanie insisted on two separate portraits. great.
so my portrait is probably going to be me in a dark grey shirt, against a dark red background, standing with my arms crossed. hopefully she’ll choose one where i’m smiling, at least. one with me frowning would be way too damn gothic. i’ll take a picture of the portrait when it’s done, i’m sure it’ll be horrifyingly embarassing.
i just thought of something to ask for for my birthday.
10. compressed air
cos i glanced at my case’s temperature monitor and it said 103 - IDLING. pretty clogged up in there. and air is expensive! six bucks for aerosol, fuck you. :(
anyway. looking forward to guinness and golf again this weekend. maybe having some money from housesitting. and letting my fingers recover from typing this novel of an entry. sayonara.
so we played again on sunday, and katy came with us this time. it was dad, katy, paul, and i, and it was a really shitty day. barely any sun when we got there, plus there was some tournament going on so we couldn’t start until.. 3 or so. and the moment we did start, it started raining. fantastic! didn’t stop us, though. i started off crappy, like i always do, but after i got a nice buzz going on, i did a hell of a lot better. wonder what that says about me. but get this:
on the second hole, there are some cheapo government houses about 500ft back from the green. halfway down the fairway, we watched these stupid black kids steal the flag off the green, run back towards the house and throw the flag into a ditch. so dad called up to the pro shop, and told them about it. we played on, dad hit his ball way over the green, and they stole that too. he walked up to them (they were hiding behind a fence), and asked where his ball was. they didn’t say anything but i saw a ball fly over the fence and land near the ditch. dad asked “is that where you found it?” - again. no comments from the peanut gallery. we fished the flag out of the ditch, and played on - all while being heckled by these stupid bitches.
now you can call me a fag, you can call me gay. that shit rolls off of me like water on a waxed car. but it took every bit of strength i had to not walk over there and club each one of them in the face with my driver until they couldn’t pronounce words without it coming out as a gurgle when they started in on telling my sister to come over there and suck their dick and the like. i hit my ball, got in the fucking cart, and drove off. dad hid behind a tree and, yet again, these stupid fucks send out a kid to steal the flag again. dad runs out with a camera phone and makes it look like he got the kid’s picture and says “got it! got your picture. the police will be with you in a few minutes, buddy.”
right as we start on the next hole, the kids from the pro shop (weekenders, teenagers that worked for snack bar, cart shop, etc.) came driving up in two carts, like.. seven of them. hooting and hollering, running over to the fence and just scaring the shit out of these little fuckface punks. banging on the fence, just generally scaring the hell out of them. one cart headed off to the shop, the other up to the road to meet the police car which was now pulling up alongside the house where these cocks lived. they were given a warning, if they did it again, the course would press charges for vandalism and trespassing and all sorts of shit that goes along with it.
now you may think me insensitive, or racist for saying this, but these kids are just simply put: niggers.
okay. a black person is a normal guy. but black. a nigger is a black guy who’s so fucking ignorant and stupid he makes it his life’s work to ruin everything for everyone. someone who pops out babies simply for the check they get from the government, then doesn’t give a shit about the kid afterwards. that’s a nigger. some douche who runs around and bashes windows in just cos he gets off on it. that’s a nigger. i’m not like.. a member of the KKK or anything, i’m just saying, this is the only word i can think of that describes these douchebags so.. SPECIFICALLY. and i’m not abiding by that “THAT’S OUR WORD, SON.” bullshit. if they use it, i use it too. “a nigger is a black person without any redeeming qualities.”
you can think less of me for stating this. i don’t care. i don’t use the word in their face, i never call them by it. but this is how they reference each other, so it fits. this is my opinion. this is my feeling. call me a racist, some uppity club-going golf-playing white honky fuck, whatever. that’s who i dealt with on sunday.
anyhow, moving on. until i started drinking, i was blowing goats. so, i got a decent buzz going and actually made a birdie (no cheating or anything) on the 17th. i wanted to play more, but everyone had had enough, so we went home and just hung out for a while and ate dinner while it started to rain heavily. guess they were right in stopping.
overall it was a pretty decent weekend. worked on saturday to help build the treehouse for dad, picked up a hundred dvd+r’s for 30 bucks, got hit in the thigh with a 3 iron by ned at full force (well, it was an accident, the kid didn’t wait until i was back far enough before he swung. and it hurts like a bitch now.)..
so, yeah. politically incorrect as i may be, i had fun.
golf!
on saturday, joe, paul, mark, my dad, and i all went golfing. we got there a bit late so we didn’t get through 18 holes but we finished up around 11 or 12 of them. drinking was involved. i brought guinness, mark and paul brought pabst, and joe paid sixteen dollars for a six pack at the clubhouse. har!
unfortunately since drinking was involved, we forgot about the camera after the 2nd hole and didn’t remember we had it til the ninth. here are some pictures!
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joe teeing off from the second hole.
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hole 8. i finished off the beer i brought, joe was on his.. fifth?
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me in the fairway, believe it or not. i may have thrown my ball out onto the fairway. i’m not sure.
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paul in his native territory. GET IT, THAT’S A GOLF JOKE.
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paul thanking god for his wonderful golfing talent.
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mark whiffed on his first try..
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..and so did joe. this was his second.
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gotta play faster, sun’s going down.
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dad from the side of the cart path.
strangely, alcohol + golf = better. well, i played better. i made par on two of the holes whereas sober, i couldn’t come close. i still slice the shit out of the ball sober or buzzing. gotta fix that.
it’s really weird, a month ago if you asked me if i wanted to play golf, i would have laughed at you. now? i dunno what the hell happened, but the game’s just seriously fun. especially with alcohol and friends. but damned if it wasn’t cold as a motherfucker out there when the sun was going down.
lastly: “look at these fancy golfers.“
hey you. wanna know what i did today (aside from getting the silent treatment for being late to easter dinner)? yeah, i thought so.
so, yeah, i’m pretty godawful at golf, but i certainly tried. we skipped out on 17 and went to the halfway point of 18 ‘cos we were tired (tired enough that i wrote the score for 18 in 17)
and yes, that is an infinity symbol. paul asked for that score. and the last hole he said “i got whatever you got, minus four.” so i put in twenty-thousand.
so, the final scores were:
paul: infinity² + 20093
dad: 74
me: 20108
feels like we were playing calvinball.