Lucid Life

Sometimes I feel like I'm walking around with my own hand up my ass, making my head talk out of sync with my thoughts. I am a giant mutant self-puppeted ventriloquist dummy. I need a pancake.

King of Kong

I'm anticipating this almost as much as i am Heath Ledger as the Joker.

Jesus was a Mormon Pt 3 (What's a Pederast?)

I have some MORE pics.

This is a better view of the main "stage" area. Can you spot the $600 pair of heels?


Here is the SupperClub supplied dandy traveling backrub. Unfortunately the muscle-knot remover isn't covered with the meal cost.

Here she is again, this time removing the back of Chloe's skull to get at the brain.

Jesus was a Mormon Pt. 2 (or Quintana has Balls)

As my buddy Ryan would say, "Yeah... Well."

Yeah, well indeed. A lot of life happened between then and now. Chloe is still on the mend, and we both are looking forward to our next trip back to the SupperClub. I promised pictures, so will simply let them do the talking.

Some preface:
SupperClub is a nightclub/bed. I don't know how other to put it. Imagine a bordello designed by the masters at IKEA. There's about 200 feet of bed on a balcony, where all the patrons cozy up to each other on white sheets. It is a nice icebreaker.

Below is the kitchen, and a large dance floor, as well as more bed and overflow tables. Everyone is hot. There's plenty of airflow. It's difficult to be as drunk as we were and not keep the Black Cherry Bombs from spilling on to our cushy accommodations. I think i was a very good boy and managed to not bite anyone who wasn't in our party. Oop, I've been reminded that i did take a nip at the butt of one of Stacy Kiebler's friends (see below).

Some identities have been obscured for the sake of... obscuring identities. Enjoy.

This young lady was our server. She tried to climb into my "to go" box.

An opera performance, lauded by Chloe. This performer greeted
everyone wearing black duct tape over her mouth.

Me, enjoying myself.

This fella was our busboy.


The ladies sharing our bed. The second one from the right
looked like Stacy Kiebler.I refused to go home with her,
even after her repeated, increasingly aggressive
requests. Too skinny. I bit the butt on the right.

Our host(ess) for the evening.


Our host(ess) with much fewer pieces of apparel.

Sir Spam-a-Lot rallying the crowd.

The dance floor. No one moved like the D.

Our friends, old and new, without whom we'd
have just been watching Lebowski at home.

A Room With a View

I was checking my email, and this is the view i had from my computer desk. I was first drawn to the commotion, and then i realized there was a bikini clad Asian vixen in high heels. This required some more direct attention.

It looked like they were filming something for film class. A short skit about the unlucky business man and the proverbial unobtainable bikini clad Asian vixen in high heels.

I called my wife over to witness the event, not only to justify the slight oddity of the situation, but to subvert any perversion that could be derived from me staring out the window at a barely clothed chick flanked by a bunch of drooling (yet pretending no to be) guys.

Who cares. I know Eduardo would want to see this, so i grabbed a camera and took these shots. For my friend, see!? For proof!

I like my apartment. I like my apartment building. I like my neighborhood. I like random girls in bikinis and high heels. It seems like a natural thought process. I suspect if i change the subject to pancakes, no one will follow? I had a single pancake for dinner. I like pancakes.

On a side note; I need a new camera. I'm creating a PayPal account to start taking donations. I will post tomorrow.

Less is More

After nearly three months of recovery, sprinkled with soreness and all-out pain, it seemed that Chloe's comfort wasn't improving much after the extensive surgery. She went back for a full exam, and they discovered some new developments in the same region.

A cyst had developed on Chloe's left ovary; this one twice the size of its host. The shape was irregular, so extra fluid was suspected to be surrounding it, as well as extending into her left fallopian tube. The initial suggestions from the doc were these:

1. See if the hormones Chloe was now taking would have an impact on the offending region. Perhaps this would pass as a normal cycle.

2. Surgery. Immediately.

We had just gone through this. We knew what the aftermath of an invasive surgery would entail. Chloe has been ill since March, and is simply sick of being sick, and all of this is taking a massive drain on the both us. Perspectives have shifted. Our lives have changed. This terrible invasion into our well-being has made us only stronger as individuals, and cemented our relationship more tightly than a midget with a construction helmet and Superglue. For those friends and acquaintances reading this blog, beware, as our vow, our wedding promise of world domination, has begun to come to fruition.

After a little bit of convincing from a loving husband, and most of it coming from the "mom sage," Chloe opted for #2. Why fuck with it? We're lucky she didn't, because the doctor only had a best guess without looking at the trouble directly, and the diagnosis changed dramatically once she could get a direct look.

I'll save the details for Chloe to divulge, but in the meantime i can say the following.

Chloe is a powerhouse, a potent example of strength. Once she was opened up, it was observed that her condition wasn't one easily tolerated by most humans. The pain she was experiencing would have dropped anyone to their knees every time it decided to take a random jab. Her sentiment was always, "Hrm, I'm just a little tender today."

There were pieces removed. Fortunately, this also didn't take away our ability to procreate (although it has affected the chances of it happening simply, and without the help of a third party). Don't be sad for us. Feel our muscles. We are now strong with health, and have always been bulging with humor and the enjoyment of existence. We are the coveted life; the couple that "look so happy together."

We are simply tired. And we need some movies to watch. Leave a comment and make a suggestion.

Jesus was a Mormon

This is the first part of likely many. Dinner has bloated me and i can't go on.

Last weekend, i went with some friends, old and new, to a San Francisco venue called "SupperClub." What a restaurant. The food was a 3 of 5, but the event was a 5.

The limo arrived behind us like a government agent on the trail of his first kill, or like a shark sleekly and almost nonchalantly stalking a box fish. It couldn't be here for us, but we were informed otherwise. We pulled up to J's around 5:45, prepared to do the big "surprise!" yell to D as she passed through the threshold while she discovered her carriage for the evening. I was dissapointed to find out she had to be told of the impending ride to whip herself into presentable shape before it started to cost.

I looked like, well, me. Quasi-business, semi-rockabilly. Chloe looked like a fetish model straight off the pages of Joanna's Angels, with the exception that she was as live as a Nine Inch Nails concert.

J and D, as always, looked not only stunning, but nearly unrecognizable from our 'childhood' together. "Saucy" is the word that immediately comes to the frontal lobes, but that is an understatement. "Pimp" is overkill, as they wouldn't be doing any trading of sex for money. Sex is free 'round dese parts. I think "good" is enough to leave it open to subjectiveness.

We (the wife, J&D and I) poured into the limo and begun our adventure. It's good to have friends who work for Google.

The trip itself was great. We hadn't seen J&D long enough for J to grow a hedge off his chin. It looked like he had been eating the chest of an Iranian disco dancer on the prowl. D is simply always prime USDA. She's really why they built the Hubble telescope; spying on hot chicks is the "hobby" of its operators. To have these characters warmly pressed up against you in a car is an adventure in and of itself.

To be continued... with pics!