Hello Again Whoever You Are

So. It's been a good 4 days since I've written anything to my friend Bloggy McBlogspot. Usually I don't carouse with filthy Irishmen, but I've come to understand Bloggy; it's just that Toole that freaks me out. He's a real crabby bitch all fucking day... BUT, he's got an admirer! Yenta

Anyhow, since Yiddish has appeared in my blog twice this week, I must confess: I just plotzed in a brown paper bag and put it on my bosses chair. Hilarity ensued.

That was a lie... I'm falling into old routines. Wishful thinking, no... it's kind of like diarhea of the mouth mixed with paranoia and depsondency. Forgive, please.

Anyhow. This past weekend my mother was in the hospital. She went in on Friday and was out Monday. She's doing well now though.

So. I was going to take pics this past weekend of all the killer surf delivered by Charley, but Charley was a lying cocksucker who didn't deliver on his promises of six foot lefts with deep barrels and long rides. Instead, he delivered knee-high chop and kelp.

Saturday is the Nth-annual 94th St Block Party, which is sure to be rife with binge drinking, embarassing moments, a virtual pandemic of Foot in Mouth Disease (being that there will be so many parents there), and vomit. Lots of vomit. We're supposed to bring a dish to this thing, but I think I'll bring a bucket.

My buddy Jeremy (Fogelthorpe, Pogues, JayRu, Fiscal Responsibility, Buy-Side Economics, Rhombus) came to the beach Sunday night to celebrate my birthday proper. Instead we got stoned and fell asleep on the couches around midnight with cartoon network on the tube.

This weekend should be fun. I've got a date with mun rakas for Friday. Not that we have to make dates or anything... I own her, after all.