Where does that SNOT come from and where does it go?

I haven't written anything in the journal for quite awhile, and I was thinking of just chucking the whole thing, but I recently was able to get ahold of some mood stabilization medication as a special side offer from my crack dealer, and that's been working really well, actually. I'm not so ANGRY anymore, or at least I don't care that I am. I'm too tired to be angry at the things I used to be angry about, and too busy concentrating on not throwing up to be able to spend time and energy complaining about cultural stupidity!

Well... I was just out in Portland for awhile. It's not easy being bi-coastal, or bi-anything for that matter. I'm talking about Portland, Oregon, and Milwaukee, where I am now. Milwaukee is on the coast of Lake Michigan, and if you don't think of the coast of one of the Great Lakes as a coast, well then, you're just a geography snob, and fuck you. The good thing about being out in Portland is the cheap drugs and the optimism. The bad thing is that they don't have the internet out there yet, so that's why I haven't been able to update this.

I was trying to go out to breakfast at some kind of a brunch or breakfast buffet this Sunday morning, since I've gotten so thin it makes me sick, though not as much as the men who like thin women. I love those buffets that have salty scrambled eggs with ham chunks, and really dry pancakes, and burnt waffles, and greasy link sausage, and barely cooked bacon, and unripe melon chunks that taste like meat, and hardened gravy with grey sausage, and greasy homefries, burnt on the bottom. But you can't find that kind of buffet in Milwaukee, it's all champagne brunch with smoked salmon and crepes and shit like that. I called Pieces of Eight to ask how much their brunch was and some snotty asshole answered the phone and said some absurd price like $23.95. Now come on! Just make it $25 (or be really absurd and make it 24 dollars and fourteen cents or something). No one can afford that kind of brunch except for the over-eaters or people being taken out by their rich grandmothers, anyway. You're right, snotty asshole on the phone at Pieces of Eight, I can't afford that, I don't care about your view of the art museum wings, or the concrete grey sky over Lake Michigan, or "fresh squeezed" orange juice. Where's my Capn' Crunch and my pills?

A Grievous Error

There are misspelled words on tombstones and monuments and tattoos all the time, it's no big deal. But last week I saw something that really made me go through the roof. I was walking by the Pfister Hotel, and they have put up all these murals for the new restaurant that is going in, under the parking garage, which I'm looking forward to, or WAS, until this incident. There must be something about "PARTS" in the name of the restaurant, because there are all these diagrams of like a chicken and a pig and it says "chicken parts" and "beef parts" -- something like that, and somewhere else it says, the best new restaurant coming to these "parts." Something like that. That's all okay, but then there is a martini glass, and it says, "martini parts" and on the diagram there is vermouth and VODKA. I mean has it gotten to this point, where it is just assumed you're going to make a martini with vodka? The way you turn on a TV and you automatically know it's going to be shit? I hope not, because that's not a world I can live in. Maybe it's just an unfortunate trend and will go away. But for now, I guess if there is anyone at all paying attention, PLEASE, if you are going to call your drink a MARTINI, it must be made with dry vermouth and GIN, okay? GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN! Am I getting my point across? GIN GIN GIN GIN! Do I feel strongly about this? YES! GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN!

Dating Again

I've recently started dating a Carthusian monk, so that I can get the recipe for Chartreuse from him. So far I've got about 20 herbs nailed down, but the proportions are going to be hard to figure out. This monk is hard to figure out, actually. He loves TV, but can't have sex, swears like a sailor, but otherwise if pretty quiet. It's a real challenge, but I'm making progress.

Tripple Unanswered Question on the rocks

I was a little drunk and kind of out of it when I wrote that last entry, and I'm not much better today. It's really hot, and even though I'm in the AC, I can feel the strange fatigue behind my eyeballs that feels like being half drunk already, so why not cool off with something extra stong?

Anyway, I was going to go back and delete that last thing I wrote, but then when I logged into this piece of crap otherworld it wasn't even there, so I guess it saved me the trouble of getting rid of it. But it's kind of disturbing, becasue I really thought that I DID write it, and post it, and publish it, as it were, in this here realm. There are a lot of unanswered questions that just flew into my mind, but later, for all that.

I'm looking for a new bar

If anyone can point me to a decent bar in the Milwaukee area I would forever be in your debt.
I may not stay in this shithole long, but for now I'd like to get out occasionally and have one or two cocktails, maybe seven. I've been frequenting this place that I won't mention, because even bad advertising is more than they deserve. Someone has got to tell them that a mojito is not made with mold that floats from the bottom of the glass once it is revived by the cheap ass rum they tried to ignite. Why not make a flaming version, if it's already going to be toxic? This is the same place where the asshole lit my rayon shirt on fire trying to light my cigarette. Drink just a little bit less guys if you're contemplating those smooth moves. In the meantime, I'm experimenting at home with that Midleton Irish Whiskey some guy left here when he was too embarrassed to come back for it after he puked on the foyer.

never trust bartenders on sunday

The next time someone serves me a martini made with vodka they're going to get it right back in the face.