My evening begins with Tinder.
Ron right? r you free to hook
up for coffee sometime? u
seem like my kinda guy. 2
many weirdos on here tho so
im gonna delete. Anyway u
should text me at 123 456 7890
Spokeo is my friend.
Pittsburgh burner, registered to a
male. Multiple priors. At least
you’re a fellow Pennsyltuckian.
Yeah, too many weirdos.
Tried to get taxes done tonight. Found out the 401k (early-withdrawal due to previous employer closing its doors and the split with the divorce) still haunts me. Probably didn’t withhold enough for federal, let alone state. Appointment was at 7PM. Waited til 7:10, then told the cute receptionist I still needed my 8332’s from my ex-wife, and wasn’t sure I’d brought a credit card with any digital money on it, and I’d reschedule.
Forgive the missing entries of late. I haven’t returned to the comfortable numb of potent potables.
I won’t.
Started a new playthrough of Dragon Age: Inquisition last night. Female Qunari Mage, Nightmare Difficulty, w/Friendly-Fire. Don’t expect it will hold my interest long, but I did destroy the Pride Demon in the first major rift-closing battle with nary a casualty.
I’ve been drinking SodaStream tonic mix, slightly past its freshness date. Kinda like liquor– if I drink it while spinning madly in place like an autistic child raised by Oompa Loompas. Maybe it’ll ferment.
I’ll be getting a screening for the full array of social maladies tomorrow morning. Making sure they include HSV this time. Both of them. All of them. Every goddamned HSV in existence. I’d rather have HIV.
I don’t suspect any dirty creatures have taken up residence in my dark shadows, but it’s nice to pick up those papers without being asked to come into the doctor’s office for a private one-on-one. If he doesn’t want to talk to you, it means you’re not afflicted. Ignore the inscrutable measures and ratios, write “Great job!” in red ink on the cover sheet, slap on a few gold-star stickers, and frame it for mounting in the boudoir.
My drug-doctor has some degree in “Sexology” hanging in his office. Maybe I could be a “Sexographer”.
Might spend a half-hour tonight applying for a loan from LendingClub. Their denial responses are so polite. It’s like a friend telling you to go fuck yourself for your own good.
I’m tired. Of everything.
I see the girls this weekend.
That’s all that matters.