S.A.F.M.

When life throws your face onto a sidewalk, you can always take sweet photos of your smile until the doctors fix it. Or something like that...

There really isn't much to say, write, or express. Life has its ups and downs, you should be so lucky.

Sayonara

Once upon a time a sweet hearted militant "native-american" lived near me. He was rad, he was bad, and he was always doing things his way. With a redneck calling and a past rich with military activity, this guy knew how to make life his bitch. Rents due? Fuck that I'm going to get a motorcycle. College isn't working out so great? Fuck it I'm joining the Marines. This dude knew how to live.

                        The symbols of his people, and a beer.
 Virginia showed up in style. Rocknrollportland.blogspot.com!
Seriously, the kid is no joke. Pickups, bikes, beers, guns, ex-girlfriends. R as we'll call him is a true wild man. 

Yeah, there was food, it had some excess liter fluid on it though.
Girls with guns, a fitter farewell to our new American Hero. 

By the time the night was over I'm pretty sure the United States had picked up a new killing machine and the rest of us had lost a reliable good time. It's too bad, but it made him happy, and you can never criticize a guy for chasing a dream. Why? Because it'll expose the fact that your too afraid to do it yourself. 

I laugh in the face of lame

Good news comes occasionally and in a mellow form. Your life is never radically changed by good news. Maybe you believe otherwise, but bad news just has an effect on your life that seems so much more dramatic than that of good news. Today was yet another of those bad news days. The key to everything though is a good sense of humor, keep that, and nothing can bring you down. The year of 2008 has been fun, as I said before I've been robbed once, and a few days after that event I totaled my car as well. So that week was a learning experience. Today God felt like throwing yet another curveball into my life, oh God, you silly bastard. Finding out your car has been broken into is a unique experience. I think my initial reaction was, ah crud. By the time you find out you can't do anything but laugh because otherwise your letting the bastard that walked off with your back window and whatever else he took win twice. My reaction was one of victory, " Ha ha, I laugh at the pathetic beast that broke my window and grabbed up whatever crap was in the trunk." So my laughter kept me soaring, I don't care about the break-in. I'm not worried about stuff, or lack there of. So after a quick call to the cops, followed by another jingle to the insurance people, all was better, sorta. So my car sits down there in a bullshit lot with more drunks wandering around than the last night of Mardi Gras and while it sits, it lacks a back window. So that is probably bad, so is the fact that I will now have to deal with all of this bullshit for a week or two. But look on the bright side, because of this I forgot to take a test for some random class I'm taking. Woopsie Daisy right? Well fuck it, bad news rains down. Rule of three, so lets strap ourselves in and wait for round three. 

Assert Yourself

Because it was my birthday I felt the need to celebrate. Farewell teenage angst, having turned 20 and feeling the to need to assert my dominance I treating myself and some lads to Chucky Cheese, the most dated batshit crazy place on earth. When you walk in, your excited. When you leave, your not sure if you had a good time, or if you are just really freaked out. Chucky Cheese employees hate you, I am serious. It was my birthday and because I'm not seven, and my nose isn't runny, and my mom didn't buy me the super duper birthday party splooge-fest full of dancing rats and half retarded Cheese employees bouncing up and down for me they couldn't even give me a one cent birthday crown. Cheap bastards. After that heartbreak you walk to the register to buy one super expensive pizza, a few drinks, and if you aren't eligible for welfare yet you can grab some tokens too. MMM... that pizza tasted like microwaved baby vomit. While on the topic of gross, 2 girls 1 cup, how about Chucky Cheese play place? Stay away from that bastard, I literally saw a kid wiping his boogers on the slide as I not so merrily rode the mini-mary-go-round with a very unhappy little girl. After a few rotations on the mopey-go-round I couldn't stand the grandmothers disapproving look anymore so I hopped off the ride, one token gone forever.

The next thirty minutes were spent spending my tokens in the lamest of ways. Oh, this game doesn't work, bye bye 25 cents. Oh, this game gave my two tickets, sweet 10 more plays and I should have a lollypop. Shooting games? Ha, get outta town G-unit, this place is more child friendly and post 9/11 than a republican daycare. 

Time continued to pass as I watched child after child rake in the tickets. Eventually my buddy Virginia and I decided to try and ride this mechanical horse together. Now that got some attention. To make the little devil work you had to rock back and forth in a rhythmic manor occasionally pressing "jump" to throw the digital horse over an oncoming fence. What it looked like in reality  was my body thrusting against Virginias in a passionately rhythmic manor for all to see, and our excessive laughter gave the locals a real awakening. 

Fifteen minutes and a few tokens later we left, and thank god for that. All and all I would say Chuck showed me a good time, but it had to be pulled out of the belly of that monster because the employees, the patrons, and the scene were not making it easy. Not the best $18.99 of my life. 

Don't Sweat Fiscal Issues

Last month I thought it would be fun to go to vegas, so I did. At the time (and still now) I was living in a shitty studio apartment adjoined to another with the bridge between our two homes being an outdated piece of shit kitchen. Back then I the people living on the other side of the kitchen were less than swell. One of them, the so called lease owner, was a twenty-two year old retired whore. She was dealing with a rough patch, being on probation and all, and let a guy come live with her to smooth things out. This man, a man as big as he was stupid, was covered in tattoos that looked like he literally used the pen to scratch the ink into him. These two were a wonderful couple and since the tall asshole gangbanger guy was living with her now things got sketchier. He had previously informed me, during a threesome I photographed which he, the whore, and some random 18 year old stripper partook in, that he had been in jail off and on for several years. This was no old man, he was just an idiot. Back to the point I left for Vegas, woopee Sin City, Americas cheesiest accomplishment yet. Well when I finally got home, tired, ragged, and ready to just get back into the swing of regular college hoopla I noticed my room was torn to shreds. Now usually my room looks like Hiroshima five minutes after the bomb was dropped, but today it looked as if an F5 tornado had made a pit stop for my apartment. Oh, I've been robbed of everything I own except for a stupid fucking printer, marvelous. At that point in my life I owned a very nice video camera, for you know, filming stuff. After Vegas, I didn't, after Vegas I owned some clothes, a futon, and a mess, it was a bummer. Fear not dear reader, today is my birthday, and I decided to use that insurance money to buy myself a new camera. So expect more visually stimulating posts in the future. Oh, and as a wise man once said, "Fuck probation ridden ex-whore room mates and their on again off again con boyfriends."       (Oh, and if I die tomorrow, it was those people that killed me)

Put a rubber on me I'm ready to blog.

I strive to live an interesting life. From this day forward most batshit activity will be recorded, enjoy.

My blogging hymen is gone forever.

Hello, my name is N.W. and I will begin sharing now.