Alex O'Neil's blog

If life gives you lemons...

Then you'll have lemons. and I drink a lot of tequilla drinks, lemons are pricey.

I cannot think of any good words to write, I've started and deleted three sentences already.  I wish I were a profound thinker, but frankly, I'm really really not.  I have some angry thoughts that make me think once in a while, but that's about it. 

 I always start my blogs when I'm too drunk and am too lazy to tell any good stories (which I actually have) and feel like writing something profound (which I never have). 

Anyways, I need to get a date.  I mean, ahhhh date, not sex, not anything, just some sort of... I dunno, something.  by need, I actually mean, would like. 

Whats the difference between ba ba black sheep and a regular sheep? 

the first one had to ride the in the back of the bus until the 70s.  (original :))

I worry about people sometimes.

I feel like my life is going pretty weird, but man, I have a few friends that I really worry about.  I don't know what the hell to do, I love them to death but feel completely helpless to make them feel better.  Does anyone know what to do?  Christ..  that's right.  Jesus, shit in his diapers when he was a baby, fucking christ.  I hope everyone is doing good.

Also, I have to stop writing these when I'm drunk, they kind of string together in a sad way. One of these days I should sit at my computer, with a case of something strong, drinking, and making a long detailed trip report of what it is to sit and get drunk in front of a computer. (don't worry, that's not tonight).  Problem is that I'd try and make it more epic than normal because I would try and make it entertaining.  Maybe I'll take a journal of another person, but that's not quite as accurate because it's hard to pay attention to someone else's drinking habits and behaviors for an entire night.  Maybe this is a boring, slightly egotistical idea, but... I don't care.  Seems interesting.

Playing a tiny bit of guitar lately, that's super fun but frustrating because I am really bad.  Which, of course I am, I've never really played.

Also, I'm hungry.  I would give my soul for a turkey.  Off to pound an icehouse. gross.

One long bender after the other.

I've been on a two week bender and tons of shit has happened.  It's 6 am so I'm a little to tired to write about them all, or even think of any highlights, but I'll get around to that soon.  Been drinking with Pete, and Schooler and Keshia and Sticky mostly. Lots of other people too.  I keep pissing Keshia's new roommate Brandon off, but that's ok.

    Feel out of my mind but it's been a good time.  Partied a few nights ago and Brian risk was taking weird pictures all night, some were kinda funny. I'll post em.  His idea is to take random pictures of people, and then turn them into a web coming with word bubbles.  Seems like a good idea  to me, and knowing him it'll be somehow erotic in nature.

Big companies or us?

Free market is still true, just dumbed down these days because of consumers. We could have 14 different computer OS's but people aren't comfortable with that. Comfort is the name of the game, and by comfort I mean: "predictable". That's how Shari's and Denny's and Red Robbin all stay in business, travelers find them to be "comfortable". Of course I blame, to some extent, big companies and manufacturers for producing such a limited range of supply.  But think of people you meet and talk to. They are generally pretty fucking dumb. 

Are we being dulled by the wal marts and GM's of this world, or, as a people are we completely controlling them and creating them?  I think my main complaint is that I hear people bitch about wal marts and other massive companies coming into town and creating evil.  But,  How often do we actually attack the fuelers of such a market?  The consumer.  yuh know, I get shit for being "impolite", "rude", and an "an asshole", but I believe I'm doing god's work in making fun of things they should be made fun of about.  It's a bunch of jesus loving, truck driving, morons who shop at wal mart,  But we won't attack them?  PC gets in the way of attacking the true villains.  The dumb.  Ever talked to a guy in a nascar hat that you were glad you talked to? yeah, me either.

That's my rant.

Stinky cloth.

    So I'm in my friends bathroom, washing my hands. I was my face with water, as one sometimes does.  I reach to dry my face with a towel, I give it the quick smell to make sure there were no horrid smells, or some smell of something less than fresh, and then I quickly dry my face.

Fast forward 2 seconds.  I pause... and realize that the very towel I had smell inspected was, in fact, very smelly.  My lazy brain skipped out on the most important part of this entire operation, if, contained in my whiff is a BAD smell, don't dry your face. 
So that was gross.

That in itself isn't much to think about, but am I such a lazy creature of habit that my brain simply skims over processes taken in by one of my 5 (6 if you count my tickly penis) senses? Lets hope not, or I am in line for some smelly smells. 

I was editing this email for my many spelling and grammatical mistakes when I realized something.  I don't think I've ever changed anything from my "rough copy" and "final copy" in school.  Seems like every fucking class I had in high school wanted a paper, with both a rough and final copy, generally due at different times.  Why the hell would I write two god damned papers? Like a lot of school related stuff, I wonder what the norm is on rough and final copies?  I imagine I'm not much of a minority in thinking that the "rough" copy concept sucks. 

How many ducks does it take to screw in a light bulb?

It's been a while since I did the math but I think it's precisely 14.  13 to be ducks and one to actually be a person and not a duck and screw in the bulb.

Happy New year mother fuckers.
It's starting out well for me, got nice and drunken with Brian and Keshia and went to the crab bowl. Had a few smooches, and started out the new year on the right foot. Actually I was jumping up and down on my left foot at midnight, so that statement is false. (Wow, I'm lucky, I had just kicked my power supply and my computer shut down, I thought I lost all of my information but the internet saved me and somehow all of this was still available. Thanks Firefox!  Sticky asked why I cursed and I told him, he replied with "you shouldn't masturbate so hard" to which I replied  "yes I should") 

Anyways, I'm broke as hell and too lazy/scared to go get a job and solve this problem once and for all.  I'm going to try and go to a Circle Jerks show in a couple of weeks, which should be pretty awesome.  Well I have nothing more to say, I'm fucking bored. Later.

My dinosaur wears plaid.

What's short, fat and hateful,
wears purple,
and fucks old ladies?

...Me! In my lucky lavender Polo!

My last few days...

Oct 9-14... or so. Have been a bit of a blur.  I have stories, but don't even know when they are from, whether it was early today or 4 days ago.  So, this is my non-linear mostly true, somewhat guessed tale of my weekend. 
    I went to the crab bowl two days in a row at one point, which makes me a "regular" by definition, and to be a "regular" at the crab bowl makes me a degenerate, by definition. a few nights ago I tried to go to a punk show but they were sold out.  I had been drinking heavily to pregame for the music, but now that there was no music, all that pregaming turned out to just be regular ol' binge drinking.  With no music to go to, Brian Risk and I walk to a nearby party.  Nay, we are driven there by some friends.  We are some of the earliest arrivals. We don't slow down, we are both wasted.  I am more enthralled by a very mean kitten than by anyone of the people at the over crowded party.  I fed the cat a little beer, he scratched and bit me.  Getting pussy drunk to get it to like me not working?  Seems familiar.  I don't remember much after hanging out with my new friend. I am told of a funny story about me in the morning. Here is a conversation I had with a troll named Treasure. (She should have stayed buried)

Max and I are standing out side chugging from a bottle of rum. Treasure approaches.
Treasure: hey guys, freshen up my drink
Me: Ok (grab bottle of booze from Max and her drink from her.  Pull from bottle, glug from her cup)
Treasure: HEY! You're not spiking my drink
Me: Oh, sorry. Here (pulls from bottle again, glugs more of her drink, hand both to Max and walk away)

I don't remember the next hour or so, apparently I puked, then walked back to Tucker and Mckenna's.  My fickle memory returns to me when I return to Tucker's.  I make Kalua  and peanut butter sandwiches for Tucker and I.  He is surprised and yells at me for ruining his sandwich. I pass out.

Last night: I'd been drinking for days, and more importantly all day, so I was tired.  I try to go to sleep at 9pm in Tucker's bed. Someone comes in and says "come drink".  I jump out of bed, run past them, leaving her in the doorway. Run to the kitchen, slam 3 shots that are sitting on the counter, and run to the back of the house again. This is going to be a good night.
It is, and now I'm hungover.

Other tidbits: Tried to kiss everyone, kissed no one.  My stomach feels like there is something wrong with it.  I've been substituting food with booze. I'm not sure if this bender is over.  This is fun.

Jesus Christ

January 21, 2006 11:32 AM
H is for hippeee.
tTHATS YOU CHEL chel chellyson

hottty bom bodddyyy hecka

That atrocity above was a picture comment on myspace. Try to read that, and I don't mean assume words, actually try and read it as spelled.  Are people turning into fish?  I'd feel kind of bad if this person turned out to actually have some sort of mental illness, although not that bad.

I'm a terrible cameraman

  last night I went out with Brian (Brain)  to take some pictures.  But before that we decided to have Irish Car Bombs for dinner.  We each took four of those with extra whiskey added in each, then took a few straight shots of whiskey for good luck. I shaved while drunk, which I didn't realize until I looked at my mug this morning. Anyways, we head out to downtown to get some dinner and play some craps. The problem is Brian is wobbling so violently from side to side we can barely make progress down the street. I'm not so bad but I'm in no shape to help a friend out, we'd just end up in a drunken pile on the desert ground. I snap some photos with my digital camera with the intention of putting them up on vox the next day (today of course).  We arrive at a park bench where Brian decides to take a break, he promptly pukes behind said bench and continues to do so for the next five minutes.  At this point I'm not enjoying seeing him vomit and have passer byes look at us and laugh, so like any good friend I give him my keys and ask him if he knows how to get home, he nods as he pukes and I stroll on. I get to Harrah's for some late night steak and shrimp, the 6th time I've enjoyed this meal in 13 days.  My usual waiter Xavier is there, he is a big black man with a beard and a funny laugh.  We generally give each other endless amounts of shit. "I enjoyed the tip you stuffed in the dinner roll last time you were here" he comments.  I laugh. I stuff my face with haste and take off for home.  I call Brian to see if he made it home all right, no answer.  As I stumble to my front door I have a bad feeling Brian isn't home and I'm locked out.  That is the case.  I go around back and crawl through the window, which is a great thing to do at 2 am in a terrible neighborhood with upstairs tenants who might shoot me in the ass as I crawl through.  Brian is no where to be found.  Not a lot I can do except hope he's not in jail or asleep on the street, which are both very likely.

    The Morning
    I wake up at 6 am, Brian is here asleep.  Normally I wouldn't wake him up but I'm pretty curious.  I kick him awake and ask him what the hell happened, he smirks and rolls over.  I still haven't found out.  The next thing I do is hook my camera to my computer and check the pictures.  Of 14 photos not a one is is decent.  They are all so bad and ugly I can't even post them on here, I suppose I'm not the best drunk photographer in the world.  So, that's last night.