Michael R. Barrick

Sing it to the tune of the Mickey Mouse club song...

And here is why:
Scotty: "What is it?"
Data: "It is... " (sniffs contents of bottle) "It is green."

Getting hammered on anything green is almost without fail a bad idea. But you gotta do what you gotta do... I'm broke. I had a bottle of melon liqueur left over from a cocktail party and a box of pineapple-banana juice. And I had a lot of fun last night for a grand total of $9.50 including cover, tips, and the one drink I had at the club. Given that I usually drop over $50 on a night at the club.

As for the silly things I wrote last night when I got home here are the explainations:

The fish: Trish did in fact give me a fish. Apparently her mom's boyfriend catches more than they can eat and they routinely give fish away to friends and family. Being broke and all, free food is good.

About Trish touching "it": OK, this is in part a reference to an entry in Ziv's journal where he claims that all boys want is for girls to touch "it" (to which I'd like to point out that some of us do grow up). Anyway, I was horsing around with Daevina. I had poked at her with my pointy shoe to get her attention and she was play kicking me back in the bum. Trish decided to get in on the act, unfortunately I didn't know this and turned around at the wrong moment and got a large, clunky boot somewhere unpleasant.

About me touching Jen: This was an accident. I was talking to Todd and Jen started poking me. I poked her back and then we started doing the play catfight hand-slapping thing. The only problem was I was still talking to Todd and not paying attention and accidently brushed her boob. Kim made the disturbing observation that it is a sorry state that I can joke about touching someone's boob a still be non-threatening. That's me, Mr. Non-Threatening... wanna be my friend?

About Nic kissing me: It was on the cheek. I don't know why she did it. I'm not complaining.

I just don't feel like going to Sanctuary tonight. I was planning to go, I even washed my club clothes and started getting ready. Now I've changed my mind. Trish won't be there. Mike's decided not to go. I can't get drunk because of work tomorrow and the annoying fact that I have limited funds. I think I'm better off to save what little I have for when Lorra is in town next week. Why do I feel obligated to go to Sanctuary every single bloody Sunday?

What a freaking pathetic life. Tomorrow my big thrill will be writing an agent to convert personal contact lists from the old mail system to the new one. I can feel this wave of anger and revulsion sweeping over me. Bitterness, would be the right word. Suddenly I don't feel like being the cheery, level-headed one. I feel like ranting and bitching. For fuck's sake I'm going to be 34 in two months, I'm divorced from a dyke, I sit in a cubicle and waste my days on the most boring shit imaginable, my crapbox car is older than some of my friends, my life revolves around going to nightclubs. My last "relationship" was falling for a girl who is completely messed up over a custody battle (note to Sylkweb - if you are going to go it alone, really go it alone, cut the father out of it completely). The one before that was a lunatic whore, literally - ad in the back of the West Ender and everything - $100 for a massage and a hand job and four different pills just to make it through the day, who lied to me from beginning to end, and I let myself be lied to because I am a pathetic, lonely shit.

There are things I can do about it, I know. And I'll do them. But right now I just want to scream FUCK FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUCK!!! Trish always runs away when I'm not feeling cheery, Ivana has big enough problems without mine (which is part of the problem), Lorra sure as hell doesn't need me whining at her, so here it is. I'll hang my dirty laundry out on LiveJournal and tell Tharsis about it as I type (he is named Tharsis for a reason - he is my cat Tharsis). If anyone tells me I should see a therapist I'll punch them in the head. I mean it. I've learned enough about psychoanalysis on my own and in school to know that it is a bunch of untestable wanking bullshit. It's all inductive and doesn't stand up to Falsification (per Karl Popper). If I'm going to listen to unscientific speculation about what's going on in my head from someone else I'll talk to a good astrologer - at least that pseudoscience has ten millennia of refinement behind it.

But look at me, I can't even bitch about how I feel without going off on some obscure tangent. I'm a fucking joke. In fact I am such a joke I am a character in a sitcom. I'm Ross from "Friends".

You know what I pictured at this point? I was going to have a café gallery that I ran with my wife. My kid would be tearing around annoying the customers. My art would be hanging on the walls and there would be plush chairs and booths that I made with my dad and I'd be sending money home to my mom. And where am I? My [ex]wife is a dyke, no kid (thankfully... God! If I had had a kid with her...!), my father is dead, my art if piled in the corner of my apartment and I haven't had a show in two years, and I'm into my mom for $2500 and I sit in cubicle looking forward to the Friday doughnut cart to come around. This fucking well defies the laws of physics by sucking and blowing at the same time.

I'm just annoyed. I've let myself get fucked over by greedy, selfish women. I've let my life careen down the slope of least resistance and ended up in a rut because of it. I've let people who would be confused by a simple syllogism influence my decisions. The only reason I've ended up with a fucking computer "career" is I know how to think and solve problems. But these are someone else's problems. I don't give a shit anymore. Time for it to be about me.

So there.

Do you know where your brain is?

I have not been so covered in lipstick since I was whoring around at the Catwalk at C6. In deference to the official status of my divorce I was asking every cute girl at the club to kiss me on the cheek. As I got drunker I extended that to anyone who was wearing lipstick. I've got some photos that I'll post tomorrow.

For no sensible reason I ended up making bangers and mash for Opium and Sleepless Knight (who gets bonus points for finding bland boil-the-shit-out-of-the-vegetables and fry-the-meat-in-grease northern European cooking "exotic" - I actually had the pleasure of feeding the man his first ever Guinness). Chopping onion when you are too tanked to stand at 3:30 in the morning verges on completely fucking surreal. Although I have to say this for cooking drunk: at least the grease splatters don't hurt.

So many cute girls tonight... I got kisses from Daevina (who was first), Lori, Louise, Mel, Nancy, Opium, Sandi, and others. If only Ivana was there. All things in, she's really the only one I really want to be kissing... well except maybe for Mel, but I already struck out there... But when my mind is clear and I close my eyes it is Ivana I see first. *sight* If only I knew what to do.

But now the sun is up, Opium and Sleepless Knight have gone their merry way and I should catch some Z's so I can get some shit done tomorrow.

Ugh, Monday.

It's raining today and despite the fact that I didn't go to Sanctuary last night I still had trouble getting my ass in gear this morning, probably because I was up late Saturday night.

Right now some shmoe is babbling on about picking up hardwood flooring for his condo in a SUV that he rented and how he wants to buy one now. Barf.

Here's today's comic. I've said it before, I'll day it again: there is not enough coffee in the world for Monday mornings.

This morning was my first Monday morning in years. It wasn't so bad. I had planned to walk in to work thinking that it would go a long way toward waking me up and getting started. Well, it didn't happen. When the brutal reality of the morning presented itself I found that a little extra sleep was more important so I ended up driving in. I think I will make that part of my routine. I drive on Mondays so that I getting to bed a bit late because of Sanctuary doesn't get in the way. It's all about priorities.

Still in my PJs at noon with Tharsis on the monitor.

Let's start with todays comic from the collection. Mmmm... coffee.

At the moment I'm still waiting to hear from HSBC. This is getting annoying. I want news, damnit! I'm sick of being broke. Although there are definitely things I will miss about working at home, the spastic income won't be one of them.

Last night was Evilyn's birthday. I was supposed to go to Myr's party and then meet Evilyn for cake. Well I ended up getting over ambitious with the drawing I was doing for her birthday and it ended up taking a couple more hours than I planned. I ended up skipping dinner and missing Myr's party in order to get to Death by Chocolate on time. So I ended up having cake for dinner. Not bad in itself, but following that up with drinking wasn't the most brilliant thing I have done lately.

The drawing in its frame

After cake and coffee it was off to Sanctuary for more fun. And it was fun for the most part. A whole bunch of Evilyn's friend's came out and the place seemed much more crowded than usual. Other than the unfortunate side-effect of the line at the bar being a bit long, having a good crowd is definitely a good thing. But things went a little sour at the end. This guy I am acquainted with, John, seems to have discovered drugs recently and has been seriously overdoing it. Last night he was on GHB and overdosed. Seems he split his face open when the convulsions stared and night came to a grinding halt as he bled all over the dancefloor and the paramedics were called in. Bloody idiot, in every sense of the phrase.

My sympathy is severely limited for this kind of irresponsibility. And I feel justified in my distain by the fact I have done equally stupid things (as the scar on my forehead will attest, although that was aquired through good, old-fashioned alcohol consumption and I wasn't so lame as to get the whole club shut down and wreck everyone else's fun). I'm just embarrased that I was actually over at this guy's home last week. I'm embarrassed by the association. I'm tired of mentally unstable, irresponsible idiots.

Evilyn opening the present

Not that I have ever been terribly tolerant of stupid people. I left Duncan to get away from this kind of idiocy. I stopped hanging around with people like Ken (the person who was feeding me drinks the night I split my head open) for the same reason. I've done my experimenting, learned my lessons, and I just don't want to be around people who still haven't grown up, or even worse, won't grow up.

(Hating Everything is Not the Same as Having an Opinion)

So the vain little pretentious monkey has a LiveJournal. Take a look for yourself and see what an idiot he is. Do they not teach grammar in school anymore? And even a lack of effective education is no excuse for the spelling, this thing has a spell checker! But that is just the superficial stuff - potentially forgivable if the content was of any merit at all. Of course it isn't. Nothing but whining drivel. And here I was looking back at my old journals from when I was eighteen, thinking I was a pretty stupid kid. I feel much better by the comparison.

The catalyst for this rant was this foppish baby-bat had the gall to harass my good friend Evilyn about the damn picture at the club and post viscious, lying, vitriol about her in his journal. Turnabout is fair play.

Louis (bellath) sitting with his friends.

So here is the photo in question. Once again defiantly posted, this time for the express purpose of ridicule and derision, whereas previously it was posted on my Gothic BC site as a positive endorsement of the scene here in Vancouver. But chances are you won't be seeing much of this little poser (would you believe I bought my first Siouxsie record two years before this cretin was born? - listening to it now, BTW) around much because he has now successfully annoyed several of the promoters and people who actually make the scene happen (as opposed to simply whining about how it sucks in their LiveJournals).

So - as my friend Heidi would say - Louis (a.k.a. bellath) here's a big round of fuck you, just for you.