Switching over to  Distiller as I'm not too fond of this title anymore.

It sticks well on XBox Live but as for the submissions I make I've been told it's a bit 'intimidating'.

Whatever that might mean.

SO! Submissions from now on will be made from my Distiller account. Still settling back into it so it'll all be sorted out this week.

It's true that you learn something every day if you're paying attention.

Two weeks ago I taught the attendants of SOCH hospital's emergency room that ultra strength tylenol does nothing for a man who's bleeding out. It's like putting a band-aid over a bullet hole. Not going to do the job. Try again, buddy.

It took eight hours of being in the emergency room until they realized, "Oh fuck, this guy is going to die. We need to get him into surgery like.. two hours ago." After the fact of internal blood loss (although if it's still inside of you, is it really lost?), Grandpa clarified just what happened when 4am rolled around and they pushed me under the knife. Apparently one of the problems was that my appendix decided to rebel. Didn't feel like it was being appropriately represented and wanted out. So it decided to sabotage my insides on the way out. So that was awesome.

It had happened Thursday, denied it attention until Saturday and at mom's birthday her and my aunt told me I looked like death. After dinner they told me to get home and rest. So I sort of did. But instead of rest I ended up passing out, coming up out of it, then going under again. If Diddle hadn't drunkenly ran my door down I'm pretty sure I'd be six feet under. Her, Bryan and Chris got me downstairs. They'd been drinking all night but apparently my zombie like visage was enough of a sobering sight to realize shit was going down. Mom had become paranoid that I wasn't answering my phone once I got home so she came by, took me to the E-room with Bryan's help.

Apparently grandpa got there immediately which I'm a little surprised about. Aunt Donna came in for a visit during my three night stay. The day after the surgery the roommates came in and refused to leave until the nurses started fussing which sort of made me happy.

Once I got out on Tuesday I packed for the convention I'd been waiting all damn year for. Jamie picked me up at 2am, got up into north PA by 10. Jamie crashed immediately so Matt and I went out to walk around the city for a while. We began meeting people the moment we walked out front of the hotel. Friendliest damn Canadians and Germans I've ever met attending the con. Hung out throughout the entire convention. I haven't had that much fun in a long time.

As for the current situation I've got a lot of shit out the way. Certification for teaching and enrolled in the new college. done with. Out of the way. Fu~~ck that. Done.


This Friday will be Chris's 21st birthday so he's basically invited all of New Jersey to our home. Needless to say, he's very excited. He's apparently got all of his friends from north jersey coming down which will be interestingly obnoxious. Although, if they can put with Chris and his antics then they can't be all that bad. Saturday night we'll be invading Atlantic City. It being Chris's day, he's going to get sloppy as will his girlfriend Danny. So it's up to Bryan, Diddle or myself to drive. After hearing Bryan and Diddle's mischievous and unsettling stories of how they've used the "thumbs on the line" driving strategy to getting home from a heavy drinking night in Atlantic City, it'll probably be up to me to get us home alive.

Fucking babysitting.

... of course Bryan is 27 and Diddle is the same age as me. Regardless. They're big, sloppy drunken yahoos. Wouldn't have them any other way, of course. Keeps the house interesting.

Edit: In the hospital again. Wounds opened up. Hating SOCH oh so very much right now. So very, very much.

So. I survived. Had one of the best times of my life and probably going to do it again. Probably should get a couple of things out of the way.

Big thanks to  Vitani for actually convincing me being social is a good thing. Also for keeping us both awake on the way up to PA by encouraging me to yell MSI lyrics like a phucking retard for the last half of the drive and feeding me truck-stop hot dogs. She is more fascinated with my navel wounds from the surgery than anyone else.

Except for maybe  Kallikai . She seemed equally, if not more of a curious pull towards my wounds as she felt it her duty to prod and poke at them whenever she absolutely HAD to have my attention. But it's okay because she's cute. She avoids the ritual punishment of being thrown into the snake pit. ... this time.

The first day at the con was pretty amazing. Every time I stepped outside for a smoke I ended up talking to someone and staying out there for like forty-five minutes chit-chatting. Then I was abducted by Canadians which was a pretty interesting experience.  Silkpaws dropped eggs of knowledge ranging from Canada's history to tabletop games which overwhelmed me, but then the informative lectures were broken up with out of the blue jokes which kept me on my toes and from feeling completely ignorant to the mysterious ways of the elusive Canadians.

There was a lot of that 'up on the toes' business at this con. I had fursuiters stalking behind me and just hug me which was a new experience. It's hard to fight back since they're like giant pillows which means throwing elbows does nothing. They are virtually invincible. So, in essence I was molested routinely by strangers and I think I'm cool with that. Being molested by giant bipedal anthropomorphous people I mean.

Only at Anthrocon.

The registration wait was hell but fortunately made fun by  INoby and his 'mates. After the whole balloon fiasco we ran into each other about five more times just.. YELLING things at each other. I think both of us only caught half of what the other was shouting and retreated from the initial two encounters somewhat confused. All in all, good times. Good times, indeed.

I got to meet artists. Which was awesome. I got all retarded around  arphalia because I'm an idiot and it took two visits to her table before I regained coherency and began to speak proper english.

Surprisingly I had not had a drink until Sunday so I have no excuse except that ah em dum.

Met a whole lot of awesome people; so many that I can't really map them all out in this post. The people I spent the most time around were Kallikai and her friends who of which were fun as fuck.

As for my next con, Fallout strongly suggests Rain Furrest but I'm probably not going to be able to swing that in September. Too many things happening that month. So, I'll be attending Fur Fright once I can find some roommates. So, if your interested drop me a line.


OKAY so. Currently in the queue is a gift story for a woman I met at the con. Just finished two parts of my first story arc and leaving them to be completely edited tomorrow as right now I'm probably heading to the bar.

And I'm already a little drunk so its in everyones best interest that I don't try and edit anything... much less touch anything electrical.

Distiller + Alcohol = Inanimate objects combust.

You should see what’s left of Tucker's tower of power. Poor cat's scratch tower blew up real nice. He's still angry at me for that, I think.

So, to sum it up:
1) Hitting Fur Fright; requesting roommates
2) Updates tomorrow
3) The rum is always gone.

I lied.

Vatani picked me up from my house at about 2am Wednesday morning and I was falling in and out of sleep to the brilliant comedy stylings of Patton Oswald. Hunched over, falling to one side while laying protectivly of my knewly sewn up navel hole, I was falling in and out of a drug induced comotose like retarded sleep.

Read: Vicodin is a helluva' drug.

Updates will be made once I get home from the con.

Just as long as another one of my organs doesn't just up and jump-fuck rebel on me. I'm keeping an eye on you, liver.

So. Maybe you frequent readers will remember some time ago I complained about not feeling so good. For me to even announce my discomfort means it's probably something I should take care of but I'm too stubborn (IE stupid) to get looked at.

Apparently, my appendix went rogue. All this time it was nestled comfortably into my large intestines, all sound and cozy and then decided to start an infectious rebellion; slam-dancing its way into my bladder and setting my skin on fire all while virus-esque symptoms tore at my mind and its frighteningly weak grasp on sanity.

Little fucking communist of an appendix.
The surgeon, Sergeay put it in a little baggie and I gave it to Bryan and Diddle to keep on their nightstand so they would always think of me.
-and how something so small can take you down and rape your loved ones while you lay on the ground, weak and helpless. weeping and boo-hooing like a little bitch.

That should also say something about child-birth. Keep that bit of info. It's a gift.

The first day my Grandfather O'Hara and his wife came in for a visit. Haven’t seen him in forever. Then just as I was swinging out of my bed, Diddle comes trotting into the doorway who gets a nice long look up my pretty hospital gown. I'm doped out of my mind so I'm staring at her in my "getting out of bed position", after a tense moment of gaping at each other she throws herself back into the hallway wall, knocking over Chris who was just arriving who in turn knocks over Bryan who lands in an old mans lap who had been sitting by the window quietly putting together a puzzle, injuring the elder's pelvis or something.


My cock is a weapon of mass destruction.

So they hung around and wouldn't leave me alone. Which I'm grateful for. Because Rib wouldn't stop texting me if I was okay, then followed by a million retarded questions about work. If it wasn't him it was Doc and his insincere, hesitant, on the hour every hour, "Do you need anything?" text messages where I know he would wait by the phone, fingers crossed that I had died or was asleep.

A few other visits. A phone call from Dad from wherever he is in the world right now. A call from Grandma back home.

-

Anyway, got a lot of writing done. I should have some pieces up tonight before I leave for AC in... (Squints) 14 hours.

I should probably start packing soonish. Fucker is already rolling around in my largest luggage, having a grand ol’ time tearing shit apart. Earlier he did this crazy Jackie Chan wall-jump thing onto my shoulders when I had arrived home and attacked my face with his affectionate/smothering nuzzles. Don't let him know that I actually missed him. He'll gloat and actually think I like him or something.

I'm not kidding. I will destroy your favorite StarBucks if I even suspect him of knowing. This is our secret, asshole.

AC Meme

Where are you staying?
Westin

What day are you getting there?
Wednesday early afternoon (so I hear through the grapevine)

Who will you be with?
 Raziel0682 , Volt.  Vitani and their friends for the most part. Until of course I become seperated and lost in the sea of furries and have to fend for myself.

Do you do free art?
Of course! It isn't very good so your funeral.

Do you do trades?
Sure. Why not.

Do you do commissions?
I'm a whore like that, yeah.

Do you have prints/ CDs ?
Nope.

Do you do badges?
Not as of right now but I'll try anything once.

Will you have Art in the Art Show?
Nope

What is your gender?
Male

How old are you?
24

Can I talk to you?
Abso-frickin'-lutely.

Can I touch you?
All requests must be made in writing and given to me ten minutes prior to physical contact.

Can I hang out with you?
If you need to ask then no. I'm very polite to people I meet until you get a feel for my off-beat sense of humor. Then I'll be "throwing 'boes" the rest of the time. I can be somewhat brutal but it's all jokes. Just jokes, sweet-heart. Just jokes.

How can I find you?
Yelling my name at the top of your lungs seems to be the norm. Flares and fog-horns may also prove useful. I do not promote sky-writing indoors however, I do promote the age old art of smoke signal. Everything is more exciting when on fire. Trust me.

Other cons I may go to:
I've no idea. We'll see how this goes and I'll do it as I do everything; wing it.

Move was successful. Thought you'd all like to know. However there have been a few casualties.

My big, honking PC that I would have to apply "The Fonz" method of mechanical engineering [read: hitting it] to get it to activate no longer functions. So I have decided on taking the necessary steps to disposing in the same fashion as I have with people I have met from the internet and ex-lovers.

I will be disassembling it and selling what I find inside for cash to strangers who have shady occupations and skin-problems.

What I'm getting at here is that a good portion of the stories I have been working on in my free time have up and vanished. Luckily every story I've written is kept someplace in my sporadically sparking and constantly roiling mind. Problem is I lose it quite frequently. However, it usually turns up in a book half-read or under the dirty laundry.

I've recently found someone who has been enough of a dedicated fan of my writing to help fund me getting one of these new 'lap top' devices. It's all witchcraft and sorcery to me but hey, I believe my ghost can take another hit for the team for using such a device of unquestionable blasphemy.

So as I have said, the move went well. When I returned home to fetch my lovies "Thumper & Cork", mam insisted I leave them her and her swelling army of tiny, ankle biting canines. Of course.. Cork did not agree with this arrangement and proceed to take it upon herself to actively revolt against her new overlord.

According to mam; bunnies bite very hard.

At least Cork does as Thumper has become chubby and submissive and wimpy.

But then, she never had much luck when it came to getting friendly with my pets. Pyro, the bird Bryan's sister gave me as a lad, would chirp and sing 'Walking On Sunshine' and nibble happily upon my finger tips. Mam would walk in and it was an epic battle of mass proportions. Feathers and flesh flying about. It was madness.

I digress. My roommate, Diddle's friend from work, Chris assisted in me moving in a bit which I believe was a crafty tactic to check out all the neat shit that I've come across in my days of travel to ye 'ol Wal-Mart and over the rocky road to Target.

My original thoughts to moving here were, "Yay! Naked time ALL the time!" and "My friend and I can play video games all night long like a never ending sleep over!". Alas, neither are true. Diddle, Bryan's girlfriend does not feel comfortable with her boyfriend being naked in the same room as other men un-supervised. She is afraid he might have, 'those thoughts'. Which I can understand. I'm pretty sexy when I sport nothing but socks.

The second notion was shot down as he and Diddle are attached at the hip. When she isn't home, he waits patiently, in his living room, anxiously awaiting her return. The only way he'll play something is if Diddle plays too which narrows our library to DDR, Brawl and... well really anything you can play on the Wii.

For fucks sake I play more with Diddle now than I do with B-rai when he isn't around. Bastard ass head.

So once Chris found out I'm down with distracting myself from life with video games he was all, "Let's kill zombies" and I was all, "You're my new shotgun caddy" and now we're BFF.

Just as a heads up, I will be attending AC.
I know. I'm sorry. Party is over. Please avoid contact if you'd like to have fun and not become victim to my socially ostracizing rants on pop-tarts and why they're better NOT toasted. Also, ask me to speak in an accent and I will punch you in the baby-maker.

Straight shot to the testicles and/or ovaries. Your choice.

So. Summery of this journal post is as follows.
I) I'm alive. I moved successfully. I have surrendered my lovies for Fucker, my new cat. One day I will trade him up for a husky. That day will come. Oh yes. It will come.
II) Re-working stories as they have been lost in the move.
III) Getting a new laptop. Suggestions would be neat since I have the mentality of a fucking new-born with a natural crack addiction when it comes to computers. Help me. Please.

The move is almost upon me. I have boxes cluttering my room instead of my own articles of clothing tossed about the floor. I've discovered lost treasures that I had thought stolen or left behind and even my DreamCast which I had mourned over for maybe a week or two a couple years ago. In two more days Rib and I will take my bookcases, wall mounts and several boxes of DVDs and books over to my new place.

While bundling some old comics I happened upon photo albums I used to frequently contribute to through elementary through half of high school along with some photos my parents had snuck in of me when I was younger and visiting my grandparents in Ireland. I have photos of this room when I was four and we moved in. I can't believe how long I've lived in this room..

..-this fucking box of a room where I can't take a step without tripping over wires and falling on something jagged and metallic. I've developed a death trap for myself. I believe it's my subconscious's lengthy plan of a painful self-inflicted suicide coming to fruition.

On a side-note however, I've found a total of EIGHTEEN articles of ex-girlfriends clothing behind my bed and mixed in with my lot of clothing. My friend and I made a bra and panty necklace. ..Which was promptly stolen and dragged under the bed by my little sister's dog. And we never saw it [in one piece] again.

Anyway. Along with the old photos of some impostor child I deny I ever was were photos of friend's long past expired. The first crush, a beautiful sociopath who always had a content smile on her pretty face when I agreed to hold her hand (after beating that suffocating shyness away) each day after school when we were eight; ousted from life by a painful addiction and awful home life. The Finks (who, coincidentally were cousins with such an appropriate last name) who taught me the thrill of thievery and to craft words to make them mean ANYTHING you want; now one is a permanent seat warmer at poker tables down in Atlantic City testing the tolerance of his shriveled liver while the other tries and tries again to live off of failed internet scams with a leech of a significant other. Ugh. The list goes on. But when I looked at the photos I was initially filled with a pining to get back those feelings we had at the time captured in the small prints. However that awful knowledge of who they are now corrupts those warm feelings and leaves a bile-like taste on the back of my tongue.
But they are who made the mistakes for me and were too damn proud to accept a helping hand. As she said. "You can't save everyone".

Well in the attempt to move away from such depressing things, onto some news (for the two people that read these journal entries)!

I've decided to stop mulling over my big project which was to be a long, novel length series. Instead, I will be working on short stories and the like until I get my teaching career all smoothed out. I've run into some wrinkles with the graduation of my first school and transfer to the next and this series is too important to me to just muck it up from the get-go.

So, I give you ZOMBIES!

Yes children, ZOMBIES! The animate corpses of the recently (and not so recently) deceased who's main interest is chasing fast moving mammals who still have a palpitating heart and devouring them! Although.. to be honest I've never seen a zombie actually FINISH eating another mammal. It gets all gory and then the camera just sort of pans away. A waste, really.

The only snafu I'm having at the moment is nailing my mind down. It's always someplace else from what I have to do tomorrow to what I want to do NOW until tomorrow arrives. My thoughts have become so schizophrenic that it's hard to dedicate to anything. Although, I have been getting better with some help from Rib. He's been knocking me around anytime a distraction might come around.

That's about it for now. Alright. On your bike.
I'll give you a whistle when the zombie story is up.

Bryan: "I've got some good news, boyo. I've found a fourth roommate so that'll drop the rent down."
Myself: "Killer.
Bryan: "So you'll have the money by next month, right?"
Myself: "Of course."
Bryan: "So you're working again?"
Myself: "I'm always working."
Bryan: "How did you get a job so quickly in our tow-.. (Gives a suspicious, leering eye) What exactly are you doing?"
Myself: "I'm fighting the good fight."
Bryan: "There are a lot of 'good fights'. Which one are you referring to?"
Myself: "Depression."
Bryan: "... people take meds for depression."
Myself: "YES! But no meds for depression induced by lack of love."
Bryan: "..."
Myself: "Stop looking at me like that."
Bryan: "You're not pimping out of our house."
Myself: "We must take to the streets and fight this tyranny!"
Bryan: "You are NOT going to take to the streets and battle depression with whores and hussys! You've already gotten me blacklisted from our old town's Pathmark with your 'sodomizing gophers' rant."
Myself: "Oh, I'm sorry. I figured being in AMERICA we'd have some breathing room on expressing personal freedoms and what can and can not be done to disgraced congressmen by the enraged public."
Bryan: "You can. Just not in the frozen food aisle, apparently."
Myself: "We should bring lynching back."
Bryan: "I hardly see the connection to your money situation."
Myself: "I could loot the body! Do I have to hold your hand and explain everything?"


I'll be transferring to a college in South Jersey soon and as coincidence would have it, one of my oldest friends and his mate have a vacancy in their home which has been extended in offering to yours truly although at the time I was in full stride.

Now, however I am not in full stride. A week after the offer I hit a bit of a stumbling block. This block in question was a curse as it has caused by flailing body to stumble head-long out of a ten story high building's window. Glass shattered, nasty stain on the pavement. Beautiful disaster as a whole.

However now I've fallen into a fantastic temp job until something better comes along to feed the funds. I'll still be attending my first con this summer and once the move is complete I'll be able to produce much more. However the problem is I have two separate versions of the same story and I can not decide whether to proceed from the first person perspective or third. It doesn't sound like a big deal, I'm sure but I've been racking my brain for the past three days of how to move forward.

By next Friday I'm sure I'll have something to show for it.

... Hell. ._.

Random thought: We all know how GLORIOUS a Temper-pedic mattress is. Apparently it's a godsend. But they don't say anything about how it might enhance the experience of the horizontal monster-mash. Fill me in here. I'm curious. I want to learn.

Changing the name and transfering the stories over and then some old works that I've edited. I'll keep this up for three days. Add the new name if you'd like or not. Your call.

The secret name is, "Distiller".

First two profiles for my "Change in my Pocket" characters are up. Brief character personality explanations in the captions below each profile.

Very close to finishing the first intro chapter. Grim is the last one I need to jot down before I release the story and his profile which I will probably do at the same time.

Remember, all profiles are in my SCRAPS section to save room.

I hate everything and quite possibly every one. Don't touch me.

Yes, it's that time again. Once every twelve years when the moons of Jupiter are completely aligned a strange occurrence-... occurs. I get sick. I get sick hard and it shuts me down and all I want to do is roll around my bed, kick my feet like a little whiny prat who doesn't want to go to school on a cold miserable Monday morning.

My head is all stuffy and I can't smell stuff I like to smell and I can't taste very well. I highly doubt it's because of all the whiskey I drank and cigarettes I smoked on New Years. That's a horrible and absurd notion and you get five minutes in the needle-closet for even amusing such ideas.

 Vitani and I did some food shopping for her family. Then since I was such an awesome cart driver (and reacher of stuff that was out of her reach) she came over and made me eel. We sat around, drinking wine and watching "American Psycho" before retiring to watch "Surfs Up" about eight times before we passed out in a lovely snoring heap.

All in all it was a charming night. However, it did wonders for my cold. I'm currently battling a wicked hang-over and my stuffy nose sodomizing cold. It is quite literally fucking my brains out. No kidding. My nose? All stuffy and stuff but sometimes it'll leak. That's not sickness nastiness. Oh no. That's my fucking brain because I've been blowing until the cows come home.

In other news, I'm currently scouting for a new job. Thinking of hospital blood testing. Maybe get a job at Yankee Candle so I can make-up names. The idea came to me a couple years ago when a girl I was dating had an addiction to dragging me into those bath and body shops and smelling every God damned candle and spray they had.

My first scent will be, "Blonde Orphan". It smells like wet trash and hopelessness.
My next? "Angry Step-Dad". It has a potent musk of Old Spice and alcohol fueled rage. The wick is made of red & black flannel.

I'll keep you all posted on how that project is working out. In other news, done with school until next Fall so... I know I keep saying it but life gets in the way. I will have a plethora of new works for your peepers to analyze and your filthy finger tips on the keyboards rape and criticize with horribly sharp and painful words.

It's funny how one little momentary distraction can tear me away from school work that starved for my inattentive attention One little thing. Ten page paper needs to get banged out. I'm on it. Eight pages into it, had some dinner, then got the irrefutable urge to write.

So I did. Wrote a whole mess. It's crazy. Momma is so proud. Yee.

Then Jamie called. She needs to get out. Going nuts. I haven't seen her in forever. We hardly see each other because of work and school. So. Fuck it. Let's go. I leave home with the intention of grabbing coffee with her, loitering out front and then I'll stop someplace to pick up rabbit food. A simple trip to the Wa turned into a 45min high speed pursuit of beer up north to Manchester where we met her friends and had a good 'ol time. Stayed out way too late. Belted out some tunes to House of Pain like an idiot. Saw Cliff, haven’t seen the old boy in an age and a half.

So now I roll over, one eye still winced shut because the dark is too bright for me. I lick the roof of my mouth and it feels as though I've been chewing glass all night. I can still feel last night's fire on the tip of my tongue; that burnt-numb sensation.

And I've still got two more papers to bang out for Friday.

Ah ham dum.

I enable myself to do these things and I justify it by thinking these are precious moments to gather experiences to help mold my writing.

The morning after however I always look back and in retrospect see I just wanted to get fucking nutty. Ah, I am a tricky boy.

-just been busy as fuck.

Finished psychological profiles for four characters
-half done with newest short story.

Shaun White and Fable II have been consuming much of my free time that's been spared by work and school.

An update should be dropped in December.

Meanwhile go beat off to the crap scraps I've got up. It was written/drawn when in high school so should be good for a laugh.

I write more ridiculous journal entries than I do my own damned work.
Procrastination is the word of the month for those of you who were curious.

Moving on; I have been sketching, a horrid concept to be sure. You’re not alone with your initial thought so ban together with your fellow feared and confused brethren and take to the streets of New Jersey and riot in protest. Realizing that my stories, whether they are well written or god awful, will never so much as be glanced over without an eye catching icon to pique ones curiosity. It has been about 5 years since I last picked up a pencil & sketch pad and I’m as much a mockery to the word “art” much less “illustrator” than I remember.

Needless to say, it might take a good fistful of time until my next submission. It could be a few weeks, maybe a month. … It depends on how big the individual’s fist is, really.

Due to the fact that I am constantly scatter-brained I’ll explain that each of my main characters for the “Change In My Pocket” (CMP) story line will have their own profile (including characters involved in the adult side-story following Chrissy [Kitty] titled “HeartThrob”). An introduction short-story will be submitted after each character profile is posted (via scraps) with the spot-light specifically illuminating the character before the curtain raises on the main production of CMP.

Two character profiles are done, they will be submitted into the scraps soon once I’ve finalized and proof-read them. Soon after the couple of scraps are posted the initiation story containing said two characters will be submitted on the top profile page, hopefully with a nifty little image of my own creation.

In my free time I will be fleshing out Chrissy’s story when I have an overwhelming overflow of writing mojo. Otherwise, it is mostly a side project.

As a side note, anyone who might catch me on XboxLive: an open invitation to kicking me in the head with a verbal assault if I’m discovered procrastinating would be greatly appreciated.

Oak-kay. So. Distracted again. But it's for a good reason this time. It's called Yggdra Union.

I'll let that sink in for a moment.

...

You can tell it's worth the investment of the time I should be spending on my writing because it's hard to pronounce.

In other news, I recently dragged Thumper out to see "Burn After Reading". She thought it was absolutely horrid while I thought that after the build-up of the plot, the rest was some witty, smart stuff.
Then again she thought "Pineapple Express" was absolute genius while I thought it was retarded. A couple of stoners bumbling around, bickering like a damn married couple with a bit of gun play? Yeah, that's a good night out right there.

I'm aware I'm bitter. I just don't understand the joke that everyone else in my age group does. A conversation at Johnny's party slows then someone quotes a line from that bumble fuck movie, a chorus of laughter and good 'ol Distiller stands there with that goofy, "What the fuck are they laughing about?" uncertain smile on his face.

And then I'M the fucking weird one? Because I don't understand why James Franco playing a stoner is funny?

Well I'm not the one with the burnt down house now, am I Johnny!? Who's living on the street because he called Distiller "WEIRD", Johnny!? Well, you fatherless BASTARD!? HUH!?

Ugh, Ineedtolaydown. :/

Very much burnt out. Taking a break from school work to check on how my recent submission was taken by the masses.

23 views, 1 watch on FurAffinity
308 views, 4 faves and climbing sharply each night on YiffStar

And not one comment. I find this a bit perplexing as well as vexing.
I mean, was the story any good for the first part of Chrissy’s story? Speak up for jump fuck’s sake. I’m left to assume it’s just fine considering the story is being passed around like a hooker in the back seat of a prom limo.

Within the week of my birthday I’ll have a lot of time to work on some writing. Rounding out a CobbleStone short story. I have an idea I’d like to get started on for CMP; fleshing out character origins in short stories before getting into the meat of the series as well as do some character profile sheets for anyone who’s kind enough to sketch them out of boredom. (HintKOFFnudgewink!)

School is going well for the most part. I’ll be subbing after this semester and researching schools in the states. Trying to accumulate some extra scratch for a revenge visit to Salem and to hopefully attend AnthroCon for the first time this summer.

However, as I first stated, I’m burnt out. Running up and down the state this morning because last night I realized, “Hey, this information isn’t exactly on par with what the syllabus says” and low and behold, right authors, right title, wrong god damned volume. On the way back Thumper coaxed me into a side-quest to the mall where I spent a good sum of money but at the same time, she helped me kife a dollar someone had let slip. On top of that, I recalled my reservation on WarHammer Online because I need the money and now that I’m in the writing swing again, I need less distractions.

The droopy eyed, monotone voiced clerk asked once if I wanted to reserve something else while he slowly pecked at the keyboard of his cash register. Declining, he asked again a moment later as he slowly shelled out the notes. The look on his face told me he was contemplating suicide after this transaction however, my grasping green eyes as well as Thumper’s were watching him go FAR past my expected refund amount as I stuttered, “N-no, just the refund, fella”. I looked at her, she looked at me licking her chops with that excited glint in her feint hazel eyes.

So, instead of a 10$ refund I received 60$. And yes, we did Super Size our lunch in victory of his blunder. I’ve got to keep going there. Last time the new girl was so caught up in our conversation about Final Fantasy she ended up giving me Disgaea: Hour of Darkness for nothing.

Ugh. Back to the grind..

Perhaps I should upgrade my personal schedule to more of a "NEED" status.

Being my only day off for the last two weeks, I was hoping to knock out a submission I've been prodding at during the wee hours of the early morning. As anyone can tell, this did not happen.

Thinking loosely on this subject, I've toyed with the thoughts of cutting off some ties that are not mandatory. However, lot of my ties ARE somewhat mandatory.

Unless I dedicate my life to complete thievery and scoundrel-ism, that would eliminate the need for a grind job.

I could eliminate the girlfriend but then I wouldn't have the constant reminder that this world hasn't completely gone sour.

Television isn't really an issue and video games have become less of a distraction over the past three years. Christ, I hope I'm not growing up or something horrid like that.

All that I can really do is beat myself bloody until I sit down and put my nose to the grindstone and MAKE something.

That and cut down on masturbation. That might help. Idk.

New Jersey heat gets to me. And when I say "gets to me" I mean, drives me absolutely mental. The summer's air is thick with humidity, the hard rain will only fall for ten minutes just to play with you. You sit in your living room sweating fluid out of every pore in your pink, spongy body. You'd cry if there were any moisture and salt left in your muscles and flesh. Dry sobs heaving from your tightened throat, you pray for an eternity for a death that just won't come.

The next day? Stunning. The sun trickles down just enough to keep you comfortably warm, the breeze is constantly breathing softly against your hair and skin. Great day to see a ball game,

Enjoy this day, because the next entire week is going to fuck you in the butt. Don't be surprised if a plague of frogs eat your crops and a swarm of locusts crawl into your significant other's head and eat out the back of their eyes.

This is New Jersey summer.
Walk it off, pussy. :O

Classes resume next week. Contemplating a second job. Or organized crime. Crime tends to be easier AND more fun! Though jail time might cut into my class and writing schedules. Or, perhaps give me MORE time to write. Not that I even followed a schedule to begin with or else I might actually wring something palatable from my alcohol swashed mind.

Ugh. More to come.