Quick Post While Drunk

Okay, so I’m not drunk, but I shouldn’t drive; god damn it feels like I’m typing so slow right now. I type slow as is, but fuck; this is like on slow-mo or some shit.

So like I got a lot of shit I can say because honestly I have not posted anything for a year besides stupid shit every now and then. Recently a few people have followed my blog and I don’t know if it because they like to hear about my life, the few sexual and fictional stories I wrote, but regardless they have followed my blog, why? I don’t know, but it’s cool.

Honestly my most read post is about a ghost watching me masturbate; my question is, are you just into sex or do you like stories about ghosts? If I title every post with the word masturbate will like everyone read my shit.

Anyhow, I kinda ran out of steam at this point, but like I got to say, “I’m not the smartest guy at football, but who the fuck goes for it on 4th and anything?” That is like…so dumb.



Whoa Man, Did You See That Man!


I’m in the mood to tell you a story, a story that once happened to me; it might not be a gripping story, but a story nonetheless.  And it lets me practice using words to describe a story that makes the reader feel like he or she is there. One morning I was bored, so I was re-reading my own blog and I came to two different conclusions: When I’m typing something for awhile I’m bound to make an error in spelling and/or grammar, which sucks. And my stories, some of them are kind of entertaining, I hope; I was there, you weren’t…so your perspective is not the same as mine.

As most of you know by now a video came came out, Fallout 4…I like to play it, and spend a lot of time doing so, So much that I have yet to beat it or even take advantage of the DLC’s. I’ve downloaded Nuka-Cola the day it came out, have I played it yet? No. Why? Because I’m too worried about making sure all my settlements are built up.

I more or less spend too much time doing all the extra shit, not playing the main story line.

Anyhow this game has a system of scraping junk that you can turn into building material. One of the many things that you can scrap is a board game, a board game called Blast Radius. And this is where the idea of this story came from.

This actually happened to me, just because the video game reminded me of it, didn’t mean I’m making it up.

At the time in my life, if you read my other posts you might know some of this already, if you haven’t…Matt Hasselbeck was still a quarterback for the Seattle Seahawks and I lived in a town called Puyallup. My friend Marcus lived with me, he had a girlfriend; the two of them were popular and liked parties, because of this it was not uncommon to walk into my apartment and see twenty people walking around talking to one another even though two people lived there.

Marcus was…I don’t know if you would call him Mexican, because he wasn’t. He was born in America with a mom who has German roots and a father who he never met…from what I was told he was a guy from Mexico.  This gave Marcus that dark skin look as he stood around five feet six inches and was about two hundred pounds. He had six piecing in his face, more often then not those holes were taken up by alternative looking jewelry. Something that you could buy at Hot Topic, seven to eight years ago before the store became all “preppy hippsterish”

Two in each ear, the one in back being a larger gage then the one in the front. One in his tongue and one in that spot above your chin but under you mouth, he often liked to wear a curved piece of sliver jewelry in that piecing. Something that came out of his face and came to a point as it made a U shape as it ended under his chin.

He would often rock a mohawk too…which was not that often in all reality, but when he did his hair was dyed some unnatural color, such as blue and the mohawk was held up a foot over his hear with Elmer’s glue as it was separated into several spikes that were all perpendicular from the top of his head.

His girlfriend on the other hand, his girlfriend at the time was pretty cute. She was bigger then most girls that Marcus went after in the past. Which shocked me. She was not fat by any means, at least not according to most people. One day we were having a conversation and I said, “You got to love them, who cares if they look like they were in Playboy; you’re not trying to make other men look at her and be jealous of you, you’re trying to be happy.” Marcus somehow got into the idea that a chick standing at five foot three and weighting 150 pounds was fat. “Who cares if she has a stomach, all girls do; you shouldn’t be asking yourself if he thinks she is hot, you should be asking yourself if she makes you happy.”

She was about five foot two and came in at about one hundred and forty pounds with blond hair and blue eyes, which I found super attractive until she started trying to change the rules in my house and…Marcus was “pussy-whipped,” so anything she said was how it was. I just moved out shorty after.

My best friend Eric still lived in the same house around the block from my parents, but I was now in an apartment with a roommate. He hung out at our house a lot of the time.

Eric was your typical white boy with a drinking problem. Eric stood around five foot eight and at the time weighted about one hundred and thirty pounds. There was nothing too special about him, just picture a white dude with brown hair and blue eyes.

My other friend, from pretty much the entire time that I lived in Washington, was this guy named Dmitry. Dmitry worked out a lot and was the typical strong dude that all the women wanted to sleep with, and according to what I’ve heard from a few women he is not that tiny either. Dmitry moved to America from Lithuania, USSR at the time, in the early 90’s. His first English word(s) were, “Shut up,” which I find funny when he told me he started school and the teacher would be telling him to do something and all he did was say, “Shut up.” 

He even thought me how to say, “Bitch ass,” in Russian, which was great when you’re a kid in ninth grade.

Dmitry is about five foot eleven and one hundred eighty pounds with enough arm muscles that you would assume he can pull a car with a rope. He has blue eyes and blond hair, but now a days shaves it all off making him bald. Every now and then rocking a goatee, which is weird because it comes out red. He is also that one friend, that one friend that smokes pot every two hours on the hour.

Which I feel bad for…the second time I smoked pot was his first time smoking pot, which is another different story if I remember to write it. A year later you came to find out that he would smoke the same about of pot in 30 days ad it took me to smoke is 365 days.

My apartment manager, Marilyn, lived right next to me, she had a grand-son named Ryan who also hung out at out apartment more often then not. Ryan was the youngest of us, he was super skinny at one hundred and fifteen pounds with long brown hair, down to his shoulders. He loved rock music for the eighties and at the same time loved music that was in the same genre as Slipknot, Mudvayne, or Trivum.

He often looked like he was in a mid 90’s grunge music video. Which to be honest didn’t fall too far out of reality when you stop and think that Seattle was just a 50 mile drive north of us.

It was a rainy night, like most nights in Western Washington. I had the downstairs apartment. There were four apartments per building, and these apartment were built in the early sixties so the kitchen was practically the same size as the family room. If you went into the family room you would get to the back door. This door went out onto a massive patio that was more or less blocked off from anything.

The patio was a good twelve feet long and thirty feet wide, this is where we had a pool table and a ton of plastic chairs for all the smokers, which was 90% of most parties we had. When you went outside at looked straight you saw a hill, you were on the bottom of that hill, so that was blockage. There was also a wooden fence separating my backyard from Marilyn’s backyard, the fence went from the apartment to the hill, witch was only about twenty-five feet. Opposite of that, on the other side of the lawn was another wooden fence, this one only went from the side of the apartment to the end of the patio before getting to another hill that dropped about five feet into the parking lot.

Because of the fact that I was one the first floor the balcony of the apart above me, that was the same size, covered my entire patio. So even if it was raining, we were not it in.

That night we had about seven people in the family room smoking pot or drinking beer, seven people outside playing pool, smoking cigarettes, and drinking beer. Emily on the computer being a YouTube/music DJ. Ryan, Dmitry, Eric, and I were sitting on the kitchen floor drinking beer and passing around a glass bong because Eric got the ingenious idea to play quarters.

Dmitry is one of my only friends that like Heineken, I’ll drink it and all; but like most of my friends I stuck with PBR, Rainier, MGD, Budwiser, Blue Moon, or even Icehouse.

We’re sitting there bouncing quarters against the kitchen floor trying to get it to land in the glass cup of beer. Rap music is being played, rap music from the early 2000’s, every now and then being switched to heavy metal upon Ryan’s request or country upon Eric’s request, but no one at the party was happy when country came on. Every now and then Donavin would run inside to play some Flogging Molly.

I was exhaling pot smoke, Eric was drinking his beer, and Ryan was talking about ghosts as Dmitry stood up to go get another beer. As he stood up he and took a short walk to the refrigerator he also bent down to grab his empty beer bottle that he sat on the edge of the counter.

After grabbing a new beer Marcus pops in to yell, “Hey Dema grab me a beer.” As he swung around with a beer in each hand he also hits the empty beer bottle with his arm which sends it flying towards the middle of the kitchen, where no one was sitting.

Because of the material that was tiled on the bottom of my kitchen floor there was almost no traction if you were to slide a glass bottle from side to side.

At this point in the night I was feeling pretty good, and say weird shit; it gets my point across, but…it still sounds weird because I either start talking and forget what I’m talking about as I turn it into a short story about Rainbows being different colors or I can’t find the word I’m looking for so I substitute it with something else.

I’m was now blowing smoke out as I’m watching this empty beer bottle fly thought the air in slow motion as the music being played is going at regular speed.

The bottle speeds up and crashes into the ground and upon impact shards of green glass slide each way and some of them even slide out direction. To someone else it just looked like a glass breaking and sliding all over the floor.

I’m sitting there as all my friends stand up and look like a major catastrophic event just took place and they all look at me, still sitting on the floor looking at the wall like I just made some type of profound scientific discovery. As I say “Woah man, did you see that fucking blast radius.”

And of course they laughed at me before Eric sad, “I love you man.”



Can You Make It Home?



People were laughing at her, it was so great to finally be in the situation were I didn’t have to say anything. She was so embarrassed, it was awesome.

Eric is one of my best friends, and will most likely be my best man, when I get married. But it’s a close toss up with my other friend Dmitry. The point being, many of you who read into my posts know who Eric is.

He did something stupid, but so do all of us, at some point in our life. He lived in Colorado at this point in time, I mentioned it in another post called A Horse With No Name, there a few other posts in which I talk about Eric.

In fact he was in my first post I ever wrote called I Didn’t Eat My Vegetables When I Was A Kid with the follow-up story Damn Trash Cans.

Before Eric moved to Colorado he had a job at a shipyard in Seattle that was laying him off ever few mouths at a time, I think he has been laid off five times in a year.

Then he moved to Colorado for some chick the broke his heart, again.

While he was living in Colorado, some guy moved into the house across from my parents house. I didn’t have a job at the time, I think. Regardless of the job that may or may not have been there, I was living back at my parents.

Eric got a fight back to Seattle one year to spend the holiday with his family, and well his house was on the other side of the block. So if he didn’t have to be at his parents house, he was with me doing something.

He was over at my house one day. At this point in time I still had the red Volvo seen in a previous post called Oh, Poor Kid, hey…..look at that, Eric is it that story to.

At this point the Volvo did not look so good, it had a grey hood on it and one of the turn lights was upside down. I got it a previous accident that “totaled” my car, but it was fixable. My dad and I ordered a 1996 Volvo 850 and replaced much of the front end, just the body parts, every mechanical part(s) that create forward motion was fine.

With that being said I got into another accident afterwards that popped out the lens of one of my corner lights and bent the new grey fender to a point that was not fixable. One of the red fenders was still in decent shape and we had a light from the other car that we didn’t need to use until now.

However the light was on the other side of the car.

So that nice red car now looked like a piece of shit with two red fenders on each side, a grey hood that was slightly bent from the other accident, and a corner light that was turned upside down to fit on the other side of the car.

Anyways, me and Eric were hanging out all day, we even went to Marcus’s apartment so he could hang out with him. It became Marcus’s apartment after I moved out.

It was great to visit there and see the massive pile of dirty dishes, that I was no longer responsible for. If you want to live that way, go for it bro, whatever makes you happy; however that did not make me happy, it actually made me very depressed.

I was not living there anymore, so I didn’t care.

Anyhow, Eric and I got back to my house after stopping at the Jackson’s on the corner to buy some beer. A few hours prior to this, when he first showed up to my house it was still bright outside.

The next door neighbor was outside of the house doing stuff and Eric yelled, “Bane,” across the street. My new next door neighbor, that didn’t really like me in the first place, also worked in Seattle at the same shipyard that Eric used to work at.

Eric worked with him for some time and they knew one another, so it goes to be that when we showed back up at my house Eric and I ended up on the other side of the street at a house party.

I got my wheelchair and I took it with me to his house, but I knew I could not fit it inside of his house. I just parked it outside of the door before going inside the house.

There I am walking around the house using walls and furniture to keep me from falling over. I have to carefully plan out where everything is so I can plan out where and what to lean onto before I sit back down to drink beer.

While I’m sitting down and talking to my new neighbor I told him, “dude, my mom almost called the cops on you.” He just got done talking about the party they had a few weeks ago where one of his friends got too drunk and ran out into the street, at midnight, yelling.

There were about 10 people at this house, maybe less.

I noticed a chick with blond hair going outside to have a smoke, so I followed after her. I knew that I didn’t have a shot with her, however I am more social with someone in an outside setting when we are both smoking.

I found this out when the smoking ban went into effect.

I go outside and see 3 other guys out there and we all start talking.

Before I go any further, this is not the first time this happened. It was the first time this exact situation happened, but I have heard a similar line of questioning before.

She was standing on the small slab of concrete that goes into the front door and has steps on the other side that go down to a sidewalk that leads to the driveway. My wheelchair was behind her, parked in the gravel pit the was about two feet below her.

One of these guys was playing with a piece of hose and smoking while he was standing right next to my wheelchair. Eric came out to stand down on the sidewalk, and these other two guys were just playing around in the front yard.

When Eric said, “dude we need to go home.” 

She pops into say, “are you okay to drive home?”

She saw me walking around this house and just assumed I was really drunk, it never entered into her mind that I was handicapped. She also completely failed to notice the wheelchair that was behind her.

I asked her to turn around, she thought that was kind of weird.

All the guys were now laughing at her and I say, “that is my wheelchair and I’m not even drunk.”

She then felt really bad and went onto say, “I’m sooooooooooooooo sorry.”

I then point at my car and say, “and that is my car, in my driveway, so I’m not driving anywhere”

She felt really bad, but no matter how bad she felt I highly doubt that would have made her think in the future that someone else who walks “funny” might not even be drunk, maybe they are handicapped.

Oh shit, imagine that!

I just simply said, “shit happens.”

I get in my wheelchair to go across the street and open my garage door while Eric splits from me and walks around the block to his house.

Damn Trash Cans


“There is salt and pepper all over this counter, what the hell were you doing last night?”

That’s what I ended up thinking when I woke up the next morning. If you read I Didn’t Eat My Vegetables When I Was A Kid, you have heard about this infamous trash can. This is one of many great times I had with my friend Eric, after all if you can’t laugh during a bad situation, you are not having that much fun in life.

There I was laying in my bed, at the time I had of those bunk beds that had a futon on the bottom that you could fold into a couch. I had a small bedroom in this apartment, by the time you put a desk against one of the walls and the bed against the opposite wall, you didn’t have more than 2 inches (5.25 centimeters) between the edge of the bed, when it was folded out, and the back of my desk chair.

This means that the television, the old big box television, was about 3 feet away from you when you sat on the couch.  This made a great spot for playing video games or watching TV. However that night I was sick, I may have had something on the TV, but I was sleeping between my “episodes of sickness.”

I think it was about the fifth or sixth time I woke up that night, my door was closed and I did my “sick thing” again. At that point I decided that the trashcan needed to be emptied and washed out, again. As I get myself out of bed the door opens, who is it, Eric. It was about three in the morning at this time and Jason, who just got into bed, had to get up in 3 hours.

Eric then sat down to watch TV, rather it was already on or not I can not remember, mind you that Eric came into my bedroom with two double shots of whiskey.

Eric then started talking to me saying a bunch of nonsense, I stop him and said, “you may not want to sleep in here,” he then asked why, I looked at him like he was dumb and said, “because I’m sick.” “I don’t care man,” he said as I was picking up the trashcan. “Do you need to empty that” he asked, and I said yes, then the trashcan was ripped away from me.

I hear him dumping the trashcan into the kitchen sick, not the bathtub; but I was thinking to myself, “whatever, it’s already done, yelling at him wont do anything.” I’m laying in bed again as he comes in and starts talking to me, “where is my trashcan” I asked, “what trashcan” he asked.

After a slight pause in conversation, “Can I take these shots of whiskey before I go get your trashcan,” he asked me before he stood up. I didn’t really have a problem with Eric drinking more, because I can’t really stop him; and he is an adult, if he wants to drink some more he can.

I’m laying in my bed watching whatever channel he turned it to, and he comes back into my room with a trashcan, but it was not the original one. He brought me the tall 13 gallon trashcan, I will refer to this as a black trash can.

“What the hell man.” He asks me what he did wrong, as far as he was concerned I asked for a trashcan; so he brought me a trashcan. As I’m trying to explain to him that it is not the white trash can, which took about 5 minutes to do, he is also trying to tell me that there was no such thing as a white trash can. He eventually decides to go find this trashcan that no longer exists!

He comes back into my room after about ten minutes, but this time he had another shot of whiskey. It was a single shot this time, but there were now three shot glasses in my room, one that was about to be drank. I looked at him with a confused look on my face and said, “what the hell man, I can’t throw up in there.”  

He sits down to watch TV and talks to me about his ex, who I really didn’t care about, but he is my best friend so I got to act like I care. I remind him, after he starts to cry, that he needs to go get my trashcan, so he leaves the room again.

He comes back with the black trashcan, keep in mind that the bag was still in the can and it was full of trash. As I’m yelling at him that the trashcan is not white and there is in fact a white trashcan by the sink, where he left it. 

“What the hell guys, shut up I need to go to work in two hours,” Jason was yelling at both of us from his bedroom. I finally decided that I was just going to have to clean out both trash cans in the morning. I told him that he can bring me the black trash can but he needed to take out the bag.

He turns around in the hallway, with trashcan in hand, and disappears for an unknown amount of time.

This time he comes back into my room with a piece of toast, that was actually toasted and not brunt! He sits down and eats this toast, the whole time I’m looking at him as if he just lost all use of short-term memory. This whole time he is eating I do not say anything to him, I just continue to stare. By the time he ate about half of his toast he looked at me and said, “what.” 

After telling him about the trashcan again he leaves my room, with his last half of eaten toast. He returns to my room, this time with the trash bag alone and full of trash, not tied. I’m starting to get very annoyed as I explain to him that not only can I not throw up into a plastic bag full of trash, I can’t stand it up either.

He disappears into the dark part of the house and drifts back into the dim light with a salt and pepper shaker, both full. “What am I going to do with those man? Throw up on the floor and hope I have enough salt to soak it up,” Eric looked at me like a little puppy, like he did something right and I should pat him on the head.

I was tired of this going on, most people would have been about an hour ago, but Eric is my best friend, and it was highly comical to me. At this point I figured that no matter how many things I tell him to do he wont get any of them right.

He was in my room again and saw the empty shot classes and asked me if I wanted to take a shot with him! After I tell him that I’m not going to take a shot with him, he asked me if he can have a shot. I tell him that at this point he was not allowed to drink anymore. He asked me why and I had to explain to him that for the past hour or two I have been asking him to do shit for me, and he didn’t get anything right; and he misplaced the white trashcan in the kitchen, that apparently didn’t exist anymore.

“Bring me the damn black trashcan,” he already took the bag out of the trashcan. He comes back with the black trashcan, without a bag in it. He then shuts the door because I told him to, hey he got something right!

He sits down in my desk chair and gets on the computer to look at porn, which is kinda weird, but whatever.

He then turns around to talk to me, I don’t remember what he was trying to tell me but I interrupted him to say that in the morning I was going to find a white trashcan.

Soon after he ended up slumping over in the chair with his forehead rested on my knee. If he was awake he would be staring at the floor. I eventually kicked his forehead off of me and turned off the TV, I just let him sleep on the floor. Luckily I did not have to throw up again the rest of the night, so in all reality Eric didn’t have to do anything.

The following morning I woke up, like I do most mornings I turned on the TV. Eric was no longer on the floor, at some point during the night he had enough sense to jump onto the top bunk.

When Eric woke up, we start talking. I found out what I assumed, he did not remember any of last night. At this point he knew of the white trash can, so we got up to go into the kitchen to find something to eat. I walked out there to find some interesting things.

A trash bag with trash in it, but no trashcan. A white trashcan by the sink. A few empty shot glasses next to a bottle of half empty whiskey. Salt, pepper, and sugar shakers in the middle of the counter. A half eaten piece of toast. Full cups of water; and apparently when he made toast he thought it would taste really good with salt, sugar, and pepper; that he got all over the counter.

I promised him I would not tell this story to anyone, but you don’t know him. So does it matter? I find the whole thing highly comical and I cherish these type of stories. He really was a great guy, I just baby sat him more often than I would have liked to. After we got done cleaning everything I took him home. That was the trashcan story, I hope you found it amusing, if so please let me know by leaving a comment below.