lost my maps

I should get back in the habit of doing this. I was reading Matt's blog and noticing how he seems to keep post quite regularly. I think it'd be helpful for me to just type and talk it out. I like posting poetry, but I can only talk in code so much and so far no one, including myself, has been able to crack it. Last night I asked Matt where our lives went wrong over beers at the Foxhead. Closest I could come to pinpointing it was that we never had a plan for ourselves. There was never anything to refine, no vision - just vague ideas and a thousand different ways we could say "wouldn't it be great if..."

I think I should give up drinking. But my birthday is coming up. There are a lot of things I need not to think about this birthday. And I'm sharing it with at least 3 friends who have birthdays in December who love to drink. I think we're starting out at One Eyed Jake's. This doesn't bode well for someone with a record of public intoxication in the drinkinest bar in the drinkinest town in Iowa.

Working a bunch more overtime this week. Right now I'm infuriating Jennie over my ability to describe the waft of strippers and how it nearly drove me mad at the casino last night. Oh yeah, Matt met up with my dad and I at the Riverside Casino last night. I lost $5. Matt won about $10 in front of some girls I told him to gamble next to. They weren't going to leave the casino with us unless we asked, I could tell. And we didn't ask.

I think this Oren Ambarchi album is affecting the way I type and think and know. They're all the same anyhow. But I still don't know why I most always awake full of shame the morning after a good night of drinking. The last time I can remember when I didn't was the morning after the adventure Andy and I had at the strip club. Maybe one of the most decadent, indulgent, and socially shameful nights of my life and I woke up feeling like a new man, proud and excited about a new world. A world where naked women will roll all over you for money the same way my cat rolls and drools on the carpet over her catnip. I woke up drunk and confident. I went to work. Andy called in sick. I was out of sick days. Probably wouldn't have mattered though. I felt great. Until I puked in the bathroom. But my coworkers were proud. And so was I. Maybe something like that will happen on my birthday. I don't want to go back to jail. And I don't want to wake up feeling like I did this morning. Alone, beat up, and full of shit - unsure of what I said amongst friends, unsure of what I gave up to the people that matter; not the ones I have to pay.

Last night at the Deadwood, towards the end of the night, as I was bemoaning the fact that not only had I missed T.I. on SNL but I had requested Whatever You Like twice on the jukebox and it had yet to come on after about half an hour of waiting, a the ringleader of a group of 3 college girls called me out for being a misogynist. It's strange what people can pick up in a short amount of time.