Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

Hordes of Revenants

The reason for that much protein is so that I can gain lean muscle mass and lose fat as opposed to just retaining muscle mass while losing fat. I am enjoying the way my body is changing and would like to continue the trend.

Apparently they decided to go to a land line since it's cheaper and spaced on telling me. Which, given the husband, is plausible.

I don't have a record with crack addicts. I did it once accidentally at Mutant Fest and that was the end of it.
 
1. Wake up in a stranger's tent. Note the half full fifth of jagermeister lying next to your head.
2. Consume jagermeister with new friend.
3. Put on clothing.
4. Leave tent. Be social.
5. Someone asks if you like DMT. Reply in the affirmative.
6. Search around for a pipe.
7. DO NOT LOOK IN THE PIPE OH NO DO NOT DISLODGE WHAT IS IN PIPE FROM PIPE YOU WILL IGNORE THE LITTLE OFF-WHITE ROCKS YES VERILY IGNORE THEM FOR YOU ARE ABOUT TO SMOKE AN EXPENSIVE HALLUCINOGEN OH YES AND IT WILL BE FUCKING GREAT.
8. Smoke.

Ta-da! You have now accidentally smoked crack.
 
The BFF and I finally found our own place, with the addition of one of our friends now and another in December. The house is nice. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, garage more than big enough for the yoga swing and my weight set, manicured backyard. The chickens will be following in a couple weeks, I still need to level the ground in a corner of the backyard. In December the BFF and I will be building a sauna in the back. I'm so excited.

In other news, the guy who moved in with us is a twisted genius. This is why. One day we were sitting around the kitchen drinking beer and joking about the best way to get a large group of naked women in our household on a weekly basis. We laughed about free press-on nails, wine coolers, a reality television party. Our friend says, "Why not have a naked party?" The BFF and I laugh, say, "Shit, sure, why not?" We both thought he was joking.

Nope. No jest there. He had been taking us seriously, which is funny, 'cause the BFF is in a long term relationship and I am generally not into large groups of naked strangers. Surprising, I know.

Fast forward two days. I get home from work. There are guests. Couple people I do know, a few I don't. Naked. On a pile of blankets. In my living room. I ended up getting an hour long naked rub down from five other people. We were up so late that it was dawn before we all fell asleep. It was surprisingly cozy. The next day when I woke up naked absently cuddling some chick I had never met before my first thought was, "This is pretty alright."

I made everyone breakfast, people filed out in dribbles and gobs. Then it was explained to me what, exactly, had lead to a naked rub down. It was a massage party. He said that it was just a way to test the waters, a prototype party. Given how well it went there would be another one on the weekend.

Holy shit, smashing success. Ten people showed up; three guys, seven ladies. There were no creepers. We started out with a communal meal--a bunch of salad in large bowls. I didn't know most of the people there. Introductions were made, a plethora of strangers told me I had an amazing voice. That night was just a softly talking kind of night, I had not slept well the night before.

We set up two massage tables, bobby pinned down sheets to the tables. Dragged the futon into the living room, put a couple sheets down over that so people would have a place to rest. Dropped some fuel into the wood pellet stove in the living room. Littered the living room with candles on some fine china I picked up at an estate sale a while back. It was so comfortable. So welcoming. In twenty minutes we had transformed our bare living room, previously fit only for yoga and sparring (we removed and capped the light/fan fixture), into something that reminded me of a breath of fresh air, the stars laid out into a net over the sky, the smell of pine sap in gummy balls on my palms.

Anyways, epic rub downs ensued, there was much delightful nakedness. Multiple phone numbers were passed my way. I don't think I'll be interacting romantically with any of them. I think I would prefer to be withdrawn for now. I just make bad decisions concerning women. A lot.

Or maybe I should. Maybe I should Costanza Effect it. Go straight against my gut instinct since that thing is defective as fuck about womenfolk.

Funny side note. The inside of my thighs are really ticklish. One girl just would not stop rubbing on them. I bucked up and down, left and right, giggled and cackled. It was really embarassing and pretty funny.

ADDENDUM: So I've been watching this show on Hulu, No Ordinary Family. I'm not sure why I watch it. For those of you who are not aware of it, it's this show about a nuclear family of four that gets super powers in a plane crash. Main characters -

Dad: pudgy police sketch artist. Powers? Super bruiser. Strength, endurance, can take a bullet, small healing factor.

Mom: model skinny bench chemist. Same actress who plays Rita on Dexter. Powers? Speedster. Can bypass the speed of sound without wind shear.

Son: learning disabled goof off. High school aged. Powers? Brainiac.

Daughter: most stereotypical teenage girl ever. Powers? Fucking telepathy.

What really fucking gets me is how mom and dad interact. Maybe less that, than that dad is always right and mom is always wrong. Dad is not necessarily patronizing about the situation, he always broaches the situation with a soft touch. An edge of reason. What does this say about his wife, though?

However, aside from the complex layers of sexism and tokenism throughout the series, it's really surprisingly good. I am less horrified than amused and interested.
 
Coconut oil is really good for your skin. Coconut's not my favorite thing, either, but I don't really smell it after the first half hour. Nose kinda goes numb to it, I guess. I'm not super into nudity either, especially in front of strangers, but it was surprisingly not weird. Actually surprisingly not weird. There were a couple times where I was like, "I'm actually okay with this? Whoa."

Eye candy abounded, which was nice. But after the first fifteen minutes it was like everyone got over it and it was really comfortable. I feel like I have a kind of connection with the ten strangers who showed up. It's hard to verbalize how, but I feel kind of close to these people I barely know now. Which is weird for me. It takes a while for me to feel comfortable with people.
 
Last night at Muay Thai I didn't react fast enough and I got punched in the ribs. The guy who punched me in the ribs is this dude who has studied Xing Yi (which is a pretty neat internal art) for four years. He hit me with what he later told me was a beng--wood--punch.

I only realized something was wrong when I attempted to do a foot jab to create some space. Twisted on the right foot, wheezed, made contact with the ball of the left foot, fell over.

Comical. As. Fuck.

Doesn't end there, though. I rolled when I hit the ground onto my back, did a kip-up, wheezed again. Hands up, parallel with my heart, fingers out. Feeling spiteful and recognized he had done some weird shit I decided I would try some combatives I learned at a CrossFit seminar last month. It was all about flexors vs. extensors. Apparently there are more localized muscle groups to serve extensors as opposed to flexors.

Bad move, bad move.

We got in close. There was a clinch. So I tried the combative flexor/extensor thing. It worked great. Until he somehow managed to do some crazy weird fucking yoga move, it was like his hips were a ball bearings and he had just had a bunch of WD-40 sprayed on that shit. Then he proceeded to quickly and efficiently tenderize my fucked up ribs with his knee.

Then I fell over and curled up in a ball. Every time I laugh my chest hurts.

I laugh a lot.
 
OUCH! Poor thing. Hope the pain isn't too terrible. But, it does sound like the martial arts studying is teaching you some great things. That... is always good. <3
 
Thanksgiving was something else. So was, in particular, the day after. It was a good something else, though. My mother couldn't make it down, she was snowed in, but it was only about two-thirds the size of last year's Thanksgiving so it was good. This year's Thanksgiving was only about eighteen people versus twenty-eight or so for last year.

Highlights

- A friend invited his little brother, little sister and drunken uncle. Whilst the little sister, two friends and I were playing Parcheesi the drunken uncle came up behind the little sister, grabbed her chair and started saying, "Our family is so fucked-up! You're related to me! You are fucked-up because you're in my family!" For a good four or five minutes. This was before dinner even started. He spent the rest of the night puking outside of the house in the backyard.

- The turkey was excellent. As were the yams.

- My friend's wife told me I was a good looking man. She also told me that I was her fall back should anything untoward happen to her husband. I called her a cradle robber, an exaggeration, she is only eight years my senior.

- She Hulk and Tall Man showed. This is a big deal socially. Why? I hadn't talked to either of them for two months and twenty-three days before that. It's pretty complicated. Actually, that's a cop out it's not complicated at all. Basically, Tall Guy was responsible for Badder Day, I never want to talk to him again, after Badder Day Tall Guy wouldn't leave me alone in the most disgusting facsimile of a kicked puppy I have ever had the intense displeasure of experiencing, Tall Guy and She Hulk are an inseparable unit now as they are married, I won't talk to either of them unless put into a position where I have to.

This sucks for everyone involved, myself included, since She Hulk is my oldest friend and one of the single dearest people in my life. I think it goes the BFF, She Hulk, my mother. Last May I left some girl who was pretty alright, all things considered, for insulting She Hulk to my face. Called her "some random whore." So people--not myself--have been all sorts of butthurt concerning the complete lack of communication on my part. So the thing with them showing up and me not immediately leaving is a show of, I don't know, renewed friendship? At leas that's what Tall Man seems to think. In all reality it's me being polite as I mostly ignored the both of them.

However, and this made me feel really bad and kind of conflicted on a lot of levels, She Hulk was kind of handsy. Not in a grope way. Not exactly. She just kind of touched me a lot. Was close. She was either hanging out with the husband or me and I was doing my best not to engage. So I proceeded to drink some of her homebrew--she was the person who taught me to brew--and forgot how good she is at it. Very efficient sugar to alcohol. She made apple ale. Very good. Her ABV on the apple ale was probably around 12%. Didn't taste alcoholic. Drinking one was like drinking two heffeweizens but deliciously appley.

Couldn't even look Tall Man in the face. He wisely stayed as far away from me as possible. Next day I saw her when she was on the verge of passed out drunk and pretty much the same thing happened. I'd like to be friends with She Hulk but Tall Man couldn't take it. Apparently us hanging out for a couple hours a day, five days a week to run drives him into a violent jealous rage so I don't want to be involved. That's her deal. Not mine. She's smart enough to know what that means. No one looks good after something like that, no one looks good at all.

- After all of us got uproariously drunk and traded stories we watched Little Mermaid 3 and heckled the shit out of it. Great times.

- Later that night I called someone and sang to her, somehow forgetting half the lyrics midway through the song. It was baaaaad.
 
So, here's the thing; most of the time during the day, I'm thinking of a song. Snatches of songs I really enjoy, sometimes when I'm talking to people, whole songs. Occasionally I even break out in song. It's crazy, I know, for someone with my personality, but it happens. Within my group of friends I can even occasionally get two or more other people to join me. Once I got nine people singing Mad World with me. That was my pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving dinner.

Anywho.

Here are some songs I've been singing/thinking lately.

[video=youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ki-RtgYHXI8[/video]

[video=youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-qEy8LrYb_Y[/video]

[video=youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p99a6K81zqM[/video]

[video=youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IV5pjmRkkEw[/video]

[video=youtube]http://www.youtube.com/view_play_list?p=71211DF33FE3E75E&playnext=1&v=cmt97DAaE68[/video]

[video=youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ira3LoZiTWc[/video]

[video=youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03hC_Ml8aAM[/video]

I am not a hipster. I am not a hipster. I am not a hipster.
 
The doors in my house and walls are thin.

I have night terrors.

I just woke up everyone I live with screaming. Didn't drink last night. This is what happens on nights I don't drink: I have night terrors. Been drinking since I was twelve approximately to deal with this issue. I usually sleep through the night terrors, just wake up feeling a little harassed and anxious. The feeling usually goes away within the first hour.

This morning the most embarrassing thing happened. Apparently I gave a someone's-coming-at-me-with-a-big-fuckin'-knife scream instead of the normal couple of throaty yells. To my roommates' credit they came out swinging. I live with martial artists. As a side note, I kind of pity anyone who tries to steal from us. We have a table of swords. The one adjacent to me leaped into the room with this cruel, curved sword of his--kind of like a sword breaker with those steel outcroppings from the main blade but more willowy and sharp as razors, I imagine it would tear anyone to pieces really quickly. The one across the hall from me shows up with his Chinese straight sword drawn. The BFF--from the other side of the house opposite the garage (meaning my delicious little outburst traveled through my door, down the hallway, resounded into the living room, took a ninety degree turn to the right into the kitchen at the far wall of the living room where it decided to take a left, go down another hallway and into his room)--is all of fifteen heart pounding seconds behind with a machete.

Of all the things I wish for the last hour aside from not having had the night terror at all, I wish I could have said I had the axe handle I sleep next to in hand. I wish I could say that the length of tie-in I have (my redneck katana) leaning against my nightstand was in my white knuckled grip. Lacking that, I wish I could have said that I had pants on. But no. None of these things were true. Instead I was mostly naked, breathing hard, eyes wide, pupils dilated, covered in a cold sweat, heart racing, freaked the fuck out.

Everyone except the BFF went back to sleep and he's going to work. Making me breakfast right now in his muted attempt to be helpful. I went to see a therapist about my night terrors when I was a teenager. I got useless advice, "You're just overtired. Set a sleep schedule." It really reminded me of the subtle connection between advice and assholes. Everyone's got one and very fucking few people want to deal with it. Then when that didn't work it was, "Do you know when you have the night terrors?"

"When I'm asleep," I said.

He said, "Well, if you're sleeping with someone have them wake you up before you have one."

What, am I fucking a psychic now? Is it their job to constantly baby sit me? Fucking useless.

Anyways.

I feel like headbutting someone. Constructive, right? So embarrassing. Sounds like the omelette's done. Time for pants.
 
Holy shit. Last night was crazy.

Here's what's up: my friends finally convinced me to join their Mouse Guard game. It's basically a table top RPG that's like Redwall. This has a more Animaniacs feel to it. That's really a moot point though. I showed up to play at my friend's place. There were, including myself, five people in this two story house. Over the course of the next fifteen minutes six more people showed up. Then another nine showed up, in three different groups of three.

Between the twenty of us we ended up getting together eight fifths of liquor. I declined to drink. The antics were ridiculous. I went into the kitchen at one point in time--I had already ignored the morbidly obese couple making out--and found them on the counter fucking. Drunk as a pair of judges on a golf course. Just, whammo, going at it right there. Not my house, not their house, neither of us were in a position to judge the other so I turned around and didn't say anything.

Fast forward five minutes, someone else goes into the kitchen, suddenly there's the sound of glass breaking, shrill shrieking and a house shaking crash. Someone found the land whales in their complicated tangle of rolls of fat, type two diabetes and a black-out drunk lack of shame. Not gonna lie, couldn't help but to laugh. Apparently the random dude I'd never met before saw the couple I had never met before, dropped his glass, the fella in the coupling situation fell backwards and pawed the lady with him.

They broke the tile. Not just one, either. Four. They broke four tiles. Splintered one of them. They were fine though. I don't think either of them really have a capacity to feel shame, either. At least not when you're that drunk.

Good time.
 
I had the weirdest fucking dream last night. It would be a brilliant short story, I think.

I was working in a really grungy Italian restaurant. Kind of an inversion of this five star place I used to work at. Then this skinhead in his forties shows up, he's got this big dragon tattoo on the side of his face, and flips open his badge. I'm a cook there so my immediate thought is, Oh fuck, health inspector, and I look down at the openly rotting tomatoes. But the badge is weird, it's brass with obsidian inlay in the shape of a dragon fly and he tells me I've been conscripted to join the Lord of the Flies' Service.

Apparently, this is like the FBI. I understand this. Though I am confused, I take off my apron and join.

Now we're behind this fucked up, dirty, messy mall. It's in a U shape, with the outside of the U being publicly accessible and the inside of the U being for maintenance work and shit. There are barrels with shit lit on fire for warmth. The guy with the dragon tattoo is talking to me, gruffly, treating me like an idiot. Says we're there to investigate a possible meth production ring. He has to take a call so I should go forward and look.

Scene change: I've gone forward to look and there's this rusted out beige rape van put up on blocks. A shiver goes down my spine. There's someone inside of it--alive, yes, but unblinking or moving, completely still--so I keep on going and I see a shit of blue barrels. They are of the fifty gallon variety. I see, maybe, fifteen or sixteen of them in two groups. The one immediately to my left has about two thirds of the total while the one fifteen feet away at about two o'clock has the remainder.

I whip out my cell phone and report about the barrels. I go closer to one with a chuck missing from the upper part knocked out and fall backwards, start feeling dizzy, like maggots are crawling down my sinuses and trying to fuck my tonsils. The sky is a vivid red-orange with malicious yellow clouds. Plague carriers. Vast buffers of smog. I manage to get up, but in the fall I dropped my phone. He's hung up. I slip my phone back into my pocket and curiously go forward.

Scene change: I'm inside of the mall, now. In the service area. I'm in an empty white walled hallway with white tiles, completely unmarked by dirt or human passage. I stop because of this eerie, evil red glow coming from the port hole in the door. I gulp, I breath, I ease my shaking hands and push through. There's this truly huge guy threatening some androgynous looking person with a hammer. I can't breath, I can't think; all of the sudden I'm running and I jump onto his back.

I manage to slip my arm around his neck so that I'm in a choke hold while he's going on about how incredibly stupid it is to jump on someone's back when they've got a hammer and he starts fucking pounding me with it. I crane my neck down so he can't hit my head. But now everything is crystal clear, I don't need to breath, I know exactly what to do. I take out the cell phone and call my senior partner/recruiter/man with the dragon facial tattoo. I tell him what's happening. I ask him if I'm doing it right. I tell the androgynous person to run while they still can.

Finally, while I'm being slammed against the wall repeatedly so hard I can't feel anything the man with the dragon tattoo shoes up and proceeds to beat the big man in the face with a crowbar. Shards of teeth, blood, flesh spray and I fall off the fellow. The big corpse is on the ground and I'm on unsteady legs.

The androgynous person returns--a woman, that's clear now--and puts the big corpse in a bag while complaining about her job. I see why. I'm looking through the port hole into that eerie room after the man with the dragon tattoo quickly dragged me out and I hear the buzzing roar of all the flies coming to consume the corpse. It's amazing. There are so many they make thick waves in the air, forcing drafts of flies into the wall with loud thumps.

I asked the man with the dragon tattoo, "Do you think it was the Lord of Flies taking over that made it that way?"

He said, "It's better not to know."

Then I woke up.
 
I had the most ridiculous night yesterday.

Context: hanging out with the new lady friend. I'm not going to prevaricate and say that we have a whole lot in common or that I'm particularly interested in her aside from, maybe, four key things. One, she's a talker (I really enjoy listening to people). Two, she has interesting taste in music. Three, she's very pretty. Four, she's funny as fuck. I really dig funny girls and I can, admittedly, get lost in her eyes a little bit. But shush you. That's not cute. Fuck off.

Moving on to the point: she knows, maybe, eleven things about me (I enjoy writing, I have two living parents, I run, I lift weights, I study Muay Thai, I'm sarcastic, I used to train hop a lot, I have an eclectic taste in music, my name, my age, I work in a tofu factory). I know, well, a shit ton more about her. What she doesn't know is how much I abhor cocaine. Literally. Hate the shit. Don't do it. Don't like being around it. Don't like being around people who do it, sell it, package it; whatever. Cocaine's bad news bears.

I should have seen this coming because she jokes about how I am eligible for a high ranking position in her (fictitious) cocaine empire and she's from the Florida Cays. For those of you who haven't been around there--whoa mad coke for cheap. Soooo I met her two best friends last night, brought gin and tonic water, and settled down to drink and get to know them. Her two best friends are complete and utter bros. They wear Nike brand bullshit and everything is faggy. The people I chill with on a regular basis are punks, nerds, body-hippies or radical progressives. There are times when the lady friend has said shit that made me take a step back and go, "Hey, that's not cool." Like when she bitched about how some customers had "Jewed" her. I was like, "Whoa, single white female, not cool."

Feeling decidedly out of my normal social situation I instead focused on monosyllabic answers and stone faced calm. Not to mention very carefully arranging the ratio of the tonic versus gin to keep my in check enough to not let out some quip about how concerned they were about something's relative homosexuality. Almost as though they wanted to fuck it. Anyways, they all started doing coke with no warning. Right in front of me.

Fucking hi jinks ensued. For those of you who are unaware, cocaine makes people fucking hyper and exciteable and blah blah blah. I had gotten them drunk and now they were spazzing out, rapping and dancing like morons. Then we got in the fucking car and went out to the part of town. Why? I can't particularly remember. I had been convinced in an underhanded and devious manner. This is part of the reason I enjoy this chick in a shallow and superficial manner: she is underhanded and devious and I dig that.

So we hop out at the worst bar in town after driving around the redneck part of town for a while. I managed to talk the two guys down from throwing donuts at a homeless guy. Fucking ridiculous. There was a shooting at this bar not one fucking month ago. Given the clientele of the place they didn't actually repair the wall where the bullets entered, instead they left the bullet holes and spraypainted arrows pointing at all seventeen of them. As a side note, on the bar crawl with the guys from the factory we all nearly got 86'd from this place because we were making fun of all the plastic gangsters and someone called my coworker a fag for having long hair. He's a sweet guy, so he took it in stride. One of my other coworkers was less sweet.

Anyways, so they've all got their fake IDs out, I get my real ID out and we continue to drink. Because drinking and driving is safe, m'kay? They were all coked up and I was feeling boisterous and red in the face from my black and tans. Then this plastic gangster rolled up and started really fucking graphically hitting on my lady friend. The most ridiculous shit. I told him to stop, pretty politely. As in, I put my arm around my lady friend and asked him if we had been introduced and told him I was her man. I wouldn't have if she hadn't seem so uncomfortable about it. I kind of enjoy watching the people I'm with get hit on by others.

Being the drunk plastic idiot he was, tall too, and clearly thought he was a big deal he stood up and pushed me back against the bar. Then I laughed in his face. Took a deep breath. Did not him in the face with my pint glass. Did not open palm strike into the sternum. Did not kick him in the knee cap. What ends up happening is the two bros hush, the lady friend looks up at me with wide open eyes, and I explained to him in some drunken detail who I was and what I would do to him if he didn't back away immediately.

Oh, and b-t-dubs, I lied.

I said something to the effect of, "I'm the man who kills your parents, your baby momma, cripples your bastard, shoots your dog, burns down your house, murders your friends and gets away with it laughing." Total lie. I would never do that. Then I went on to detail the amount of people I know who professionally did fucked up shit to people who owed me a favor. Shit, at the end of the tirade the guy was trying to buy me a drink and tell me it's cool and he didn't mean to front it's just tequila does things to him and say that if I ever wanted to roll we could do some big things, him and me, and you know at the end of the day it's about who you know and who you roll with and someone with connections like me and him we could get shit done, we could accomplish things. He gave me his phone number and gave me a couple pills I tipped the bartender with.

The lady friend was looking at me like I was an alien. When Robbie, the plastic gangster wannbe drug dealer, trundled away I informed her that most of that was a bluff. Then I told her the story about how I got involved with a biker gang when I was eighteen. Then I told her about playing around with an AK-47. Then I told her about some guys I know who are way into heroin and I don't really see them anymore, not wanting to get sucked into that scene. I was in the middle of telling her about this acquaintance of mine when that dude came back with his girl friend, lit. the baby momma, and tried to get me to rob a fucking Sprint store with him.

I just told him to go away. On our way out after I called a friend who lived nearby to sober drive us back to her place her two friends started a fight to get their dicks hard to something. I guess theyh fell for my bullshit about being a badass. The really only badass thing about me, in the conventional sense, is the people I know. Then that's only because I know some fucked-up people who probably should not live in society. For some reason they like me. Dunno why. So I had to get involved and pull one idiot off another idiot and them some fucking moron whipped out a knife and I had to talk him down with one of his friends, thank fucking flying spaghetti monster for that, and I'm never going back to that bar ever again.

It was a ridiculous night. I think I'm going to break up with the lady friend. Coke is bad. But free coffee is good. Decisions, decisions.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom