First off - I am writing this because Jason asked me to start blogging again, and considering his blog was the only one I subscribed to - I feel maybe if I start back up again he will too.

Now considering the circumstances (I'm not telling you if you don't already know, its a bit derisory) I was able to have a surprisingly perfect day. I woke up at three in the afternoon (whoops) and met up with Keith and Andrew at the Mt. Tabor Soapbox Derby. There were some pretty funny contestants, pursuing the Flugtagesque cheers, but for the most part the drivers went for the futuristically sleek why-does-every-solar-powered-car-look-like-me? piece of shit that of course goes like 60 mph. (I hear they get pretty good gas mileage like 36-Highway, so long as the road is all downhill.) Anyway, some substitute-teacher-looking-mother-fucker did some Karate at us, we missed the crash (was there one? why did everyone start running and gasping?) and spent the majority of the time plotting the aesthetics for our-never-going-to-follow-through-with-this soapbox entry for next year. There were a few good ones, (like this one of Keith's) picture this: Keith Hall riding in a praying-mantis-like position, barreling down Tabor on a sort of jury rigged reverse tricycle (two front tires and one in the back) with a paper mache'd woman in hospital garb - legs akimbo. Keith's strawberry jam smothered head would emerge from her labia with some fucking Cabbage Patch Kid type shit affixed to his helmet. I want to call it something ridiculous like the Born To Be Wild or LaborLazer.

After the derby, Andrew, Jason and I went over to watch a UFC fight (with the most faux-ganster but scarier-than-gangster-because-they-try-so-hard-to-be-gangster doods) for some reason. I got all types of demasculating comments for wearing a lavender cardigan, like the garment itself was dawned upon me by some mystic faggot from the Far East (he must have used the Samantha Stevens nose twitch thing when I wasn't looking). This article-of-fucking-clothing was apparently enough to make the shirtless-beer-guzzling guys (who were constantly slapping each other on the fucking ass) feel uncomfortable with anything seeming 'gay'. Are you guys really that uncomfortable with gay people? Chill the fuck out. I didn't realize I should have put you in a headlock and accused you of being gay first to prove my manhood. Things got even weirder when the title fight started actually going. These guys were hooting/hollering/shucking/jiving into a frenzy as they shadowboxed the television. I mean these lunkheads were more boisterous than the audience in that movie The Kings Of Comedy. The most wigged out dude - Larry Love - (he's totally the white trash version of Chris Tucker) started fighting the much larger, much tougher, much everything more host of the party. Somehow they tossed each other onto the host's girlfriend, smashing her head. No one really paid her any attention except Andrew, Jason, and I which made things even more awkward/terrible. The best friend consoled the crying girl outside. The host belligerently strutted about. Larry (bloody mouth and all) confessed his brotherly love for the host. And we all learned an important lesson about testosterone. It was all very after school special.

After that we went to a karaoke party that didn't have any karaoke or party happening - so I got a ride to Rotture and met up with Sandra (who is in my phone as Sandra Soon To Be Deported.) Oh Sandra! Oh du, du bist so schoen! Schoene nacht, wie du!

A few drinks later - Leah and I finally got to spend some much needed "best friend time" wandering the streets of the S.E.P. industrial area (which I am legally banned from - sigh). We eventually went to some CRAZY all-night party and danced till the floor was blended into sawdust. My heel is bleeding still.

This would have been a perfect day for a digital camera. I need to get me one of those.