Slap & Tickle

I hope you all had a wonderful and safe holiday weekend…

Man, I love those three-day weekends! I think all weekends should be three days. It’s just the perfect length. Normally, by the time I decompress from the previous week I start stressing because it’s Sunday night and I need to get my stuff together to start another week of work.

With the three day weekend, I can totally waste one day by just vegging out… staying in bed all day, watching TV, reading, perusing my vast collection of porn… there’s nothing like the finer things in life.

My Saturdays usually begin with me cleaning the pig-sty, which is the nicest term I can come up with for my condo. A week’s worth of newspapers, dust, dirty clothes, unwashed dishes, and a ton of mail (including unopened bills, opened junk mail, various catalogs and magazines—both news and porn) are randomly strewn throughout the place. I vacuum, dust, wash, throw out, scrub and polish. Thankfully, my place is about the size of a tic-tac, so it only takes an hour or so. However, once I start laundry, all bets are off… how can one man create such a huge pile of dirty clothing?

Then, I’m off for coffee at Starbucks and any other errand I can think of…

Then lunch…

Then I usually get it in my head that I need to start a project of some kind. Usually, it’s something pointless and guaranteed to undo all the cleaning that I’ve done all morning.

And then comes the moment I desperately fear: finding something to do in the evening. A weekend is a total waste if you spend it at home… alone. Ugh. I can think of nothing worse. I don’t mind being alone the rest of the week, I just loathe sitting around on Saturday night, eating fast food or a frozen dinner. Making a meal is even more pathetic. If I’m home on a Saturday night, I won’t eat. I’m too damn depressed…

If I’m out with friends it’s great. I don’t care if we are doing nothing (so high school), but I love to hang with friends. Or those that I think of as friends. Why is it I always call them, but they never call me? I guess they can only handle me in small chunks… otherwise they tire of me quickly. It’s not great for one’s self esteem when no one ever calls. [I’m more pathetic than even I thought possible.]

If I can’t find any of my friends (because they are avoiding or hiding from me), then I’ll head up to SF to the Lonestar… by myself. Again, not much happens, I smoke a cigar, have a few beers, try and speak to people, get rejected and drive home. Man, that drive home is long if I haven’t had a decent conversation… significantly shorter if I chat with a cutie. I guess driving with an erection cuts down on commute time… there’s a scientific experiment in there somewhere…

And then there’s that nasty bitch called Sunday.

Nothing beats a good early morning wank on a Sunday morning. This replaces the Sunday morning sex that most people get—because I am alone… so alone… [pity poor Chris…]

Another Starbucks morning and reading the paper on the patio. I don’t mind being alone then… of course I’d love to discuss the news with someone besides my sister. The only thing we seem to have a grasp on is the entertainment industry. Otherwise, we really couldn’t give a crap. The Middle East? Get over yourselves! You are crying over dry dusty land with no fun spots to speak of—is there any spot in the Middle East that isn’t a tourist spot because someone died there? The Wailing Wall? Oh, yeah, count me in on the fun for that… I bet they have a sweet gift shop.

I’m shallow and I know it. Still, it would be nice to meet a guy that had some substance (and a big dick) that I could talk about issues with (and F’). Even better if he’d want to talk about the entertainment industry (and have a big dick—although talking entertainment is not a deal breaker… and neither is the big dick…)

The rest of Sunday is spent trying to remove myself from the couch... and to start my ironing for the week (which I usually ignore until it’s too late, so I spend the week either wrinkled or late for work because I’m forced to iron in the morning and I tend to oversleep).

As Sunday afternoon slips into Sunday night, I am again filled with dread. How can the week take SO LONG to get to Friday and then, like a popcorn fart, the weekend flies by and it’s Monday again? It’s just not fair.

Now if we had a three day weekend, I wouldn’t mind spending an entire day running errands and working around the house—for I’d still have two days left to fart around. And Sunday would be the perfect buffer day: a full day off before and after. Truly glorious.

Someone said that in order to work only four days a week, we’d have to work 10 hour days. Like I don’t do that already? Come on, I tend to work 50-60 hour weeks, you do the math—10 hour days would be the same or less.

I think I’ve done enough ranting for one day… and think, only three days left until the weekend! See? This three day weekend and four day week is working out already.

I could get used to this pretty quickly… when’s the next holiday?