so. i've been writing and writing and writing and getting so sick of it i can't tell; screen poisoning, screen beam struck, a moon whiter than. screen. it was for school so it made me change my i's for I's and get rid of them all, in the end. scary to see yourself changing into sheets (paper, not cotton; too bad) and a meagre success; while in 'real' (corporeality lurking hey hey) i have to steal and drink my (canadian) roommates' whisky ("canadian company," of all the brands they could have picked) alone! in front of my, err, screen screen; pale moon screen struck screen damnyou. is it sadder to drink manhandling sentences in a shoebox room or in a lame bar? which seem to be but the only options.
what i'm doing is mixing tapes. motivation though on an all time low, since my computer, set at random and all, seems to do so much better than me myself on all alert. might be a body issue again though. i declare i do miss the guts to put baccara on a tape that doesn't go to anyone near me.
i'm going back to beijing for winter break and it's gonna break me in two at least but i know i want to i want to. i'm gonna ride cabs. and take phone calls. count tiles, call your house and your cel, sidewalks and ice and dry sidewalks an empty bottle. microphone feedback no i'll walk home. you know i've kept shitloads of stupid pictures. i'm getting prepared for not living up to any.
buses and trains are a huge part of my social life these days. i ride up to four hours a good day a school day; and i get off at the same place every time and check for the time temperature point of departure what do they think. i keep my change close in my back pocket. i keep losing library books. i keep track and off. i'm doing letters i don't write but wish i had and feel shit that's what it boils down to.
the rain has stopped bugging me after all, now if that isn't promising. i so do wish i just could be back. plain.

Tags: ghosts

for the first time in four months, i smell cold air. gosh you know but it makes me homesick for beijing.

Tags: ghosts

how a tired little online quizzy (get over the lame questions, get your player on shuffle, take down the songtitles as they come and don't cheat!) turns into the most reveiling shit you've heard about yourself in ages. in short, i now know that all my friends think i'm a superficial blabber and a waste of space, and everybody else just wants sex; that i am indefinitely scarred by my grandparents while my parents are really really cool; that my weekends suck; that one of my strongest points is that i'll always be somebody's nasal-sounding, whiny ex-lover; that i should try to stay away from new york galleries; that i'll spend shitloads of money at a fertility clinic may the day ever come; and that my overall prospects are not that exciting in general, unless i never go home anymore.
look what i got:

x how am i feeling today?
the terror continues . party of helicopters


x will i get far in life?
life indoors . 1 mile north


x how do my friends see me?
shit you hear at parties . minutemen


x will i get married?
heaven knows i'm miserable now . the smiths


x what's the story of my life?
art star . yeah yeah yeahs


x what was highschool like?
pirate love . new york dolls (i wish.)


x how can i get ahead in life?
long way home . supertramp


x what is the best thing about me?
mind contorted . daniel johnston.


x what is today gonna be like?
hold on to your skulls boys and girls . xbxrx


x what is in store for the weekend?
the thrill is gone . chet baker


x what song describes my parents?
it's a living thing . ELO


x to describe my grandparents?
memory lane . elliott smith


x what song will they play at my funeral?
mannequin . wire


x how does the world see me?
brand new set of teeth . the locust


x will i have a happy life?
dark was the night, cold was the ground . blind willie nelson


x what do my friends really think of me?
caring is creepy . the shins


x do people secretly lust after me?
use it . new pornographers


x how can i make myself happy?
i'm poison .wandering stars


x what should i do with my life?
blood oranges comatose life of wonderment . das oath


x will i ever have kids?
dr. love . bobby sheen


i'm in awe. this must be how church works.

Tags: ghosts

1) i'm crouching into a shady corner of my second linz sunday afternoon,
waiting for my friend merzow and his car - by now, my escape from the suburbs
is not only planned but already scheduled; and i feel a little like
seeräuberjenny, angry pre-riot grrrl freebooter camouflaged as a waitress in a 1930s german revuesong; washing glasses and taking tips while secretly listening out for
her fellow pirates' ship with its eight sails and a whole shitload of guns to
get to the city and fuck up things for good. kopf ab. alle. hoppla. yeh, and as
you can see, i obviously have nothing else to do but sit, and wait, and listen;
and write you another of these partially pathetic little emails that should
help make me feel better; or feel at all.
just finished reading an old mass email c sent me to read on a
boring day (umn yeah, one exactly like the one you're reading now); and i'm not
quite sure whether i enjoyed it a lot or it just made me hurt; inexplicably and
in a very, very blurry way, even for myself. maybe it's that old horse i've
been (excuse my german metaphors) riding until it fell down dead to the ground
ever since he started telling me stuff about himself; the whole thing about so
not be able to relate to anything in those narratives, desperately trying to
bring them into accordance with my own storylines i consider personally
significant, but getting an odd friction only; or maybe it's the language thing
that makes me want to write and write and write and write back, but only hit
glass doors all the time with the english i picked up from random pages,
occasionally shared sheets, falling leaves and scattered pop lyrics which is
admittedly ok but still insufficient for the purpose of writing out stuff i
mean to write out.

2) the getaway is accomplished; and i'm sitting in k' house (which i
really should start thinking of as my apartment soon), cooking the first meal i
have to prepare myself since being back from china, trying to write this
email simultanously. i'm actually only partially sitting. that nervous, hollow,
spiky little ball of restlessnes, hunger, and -yeah - loneliness makes me rush
back and forth between those two rooms i'm inhabiting now, my bare feet slowly
getting used to the cool wooden panel and the slightly gory carpets. i'm having
pasta with pesto since i just can't be bothered to fuck around with anything
more elaborate than that, and the apartment's at ground level, which means that
i can watch the people passing by pretty well; and they can watch me back.
outside my bedroom windows (there are two) is a small intersection which cuts
kind of an aisle through the row of three-to-four storey houses in front of my
building, and on the right side there's an african beauty shop that offers
braiding and bleaching as well as rap and ragga videos of artists i've never
heard of. the name of the shop is afro lello; and it's closed on sundays, like
every shop in this small town seems to be, for that - as far as i remember, and
in case that hasn't changed, the late night gas station that had provided me
with emergency sugar rations during the five years i have been living in this
neighbourhood before setting out for beijing, closes at ten on weekends.
there's yellow curtains in my new house, a records player that must have
been hot in the late seventies, and a tapedeck thanks god, which looks as if it
was not a bit younger. no phone though. outside people will have to contact me
by email; or stop by if they want to see me. weird. a girl that reminded me a
lot of beijing badass eating girl from far away, but turned out to be somewhat
meatier and generally less appealing, walked by a minute ago. no dogs so far.
k told the landlord family (which is reportedly huge and excentric, goes
by the name of manias and occupies four out of the eight apartments of the
building) that i was his cousin; to keep them out of my hair and screen me from
stupid questions mostly, which i'd rate unnecessary and a little exaggerated
maybe, but it makes sense since there's a rug in front of the bed that looks
exactly like one of the bedroom rugs i grew up with, and on, in my grandma's
house at bindermichl, so things looks familiar enough to make me feel almost
related to him. the house must have been really pretty once. parts of it still
are, but a lot has been remodeled in the mid to late seventies or a similarly
cruel phase of excessive use of brown stone tiles, golden doorknobs and
plastiklaminat. like with most european (austrian?) late 19th century town
houses, there's a courtyard on the back - a courtyard which nobody but the
manias family is allowed to use for anything other than dumping waste in the
three plastic containers allocated to the building for that
purpose. the arrangement itself doesn't really bother me since the courtyard
looks, and feels, terrible anyways: not a single tree/plant left, concrete
placed everywhere, a couple of family garages, children's bikes and those
typically german, potentially traumatizing porcelain figurines which are called
gartenzwerg here (but surely can't be called "garden gnome" in english like my
online dictionary suggests?! i'm currently using the technische universität
chemnitz one, and i guess those guys should know what they're talking about,
but - garden gnome. excuse me.). still. i had to strain my anyhow very limited
right of use this very afternoon already because k not only left some
nice stuff in the kitchen, like yoghurt and deep frozen pizza (no frozen
dumplings, too bad - but THAT would have surprised me a lot, anyways.), but
also approximately five kilograms of rotten potatos which simply had to go. i
definitely can see myself settle here for a while. tonight i'll be sleeping in
someone else's bed, but with my bike in the same room; circumstances which so
far i only have come across in tv shows or berlin based movies, and which
used to impress me a lot, and raised the wish of imitation. i even found a copy
of art spiegelman's maus in the bookshelf. i should be safe.

3) i'll start my new job tomorrow. i'm trying to ignore the irony that i have
worked in a bar for five years to support myself while studying sociology and
gender studies at johannes kepler university, studies i graduated from last
year, and am now coming back from spending a postgrad scholarship in china only
to be a bloody waitress again. if things like that would really matter to me
and i instisted that i was pursuing a career of some sort, i could point out
that i DID manage to climb up that ladder a couple of steps. i mean, i get paid
better. my new workplace's serving food, if fallafel and somewhat elaborate
grilled cheese sandwiches (with lettuce, onion, tomato and sliced hard boiled
eggs) count. hell, they even have day shifts. i'm still not entirely
comfortable with the situation. part of the problem is der unaussprechliche, my
kind-of boss bzw. at least the person who's assigning shifts to the various
waitresses - he's the twenty two years old, sleek, somewhat stylishly arrogant
ex-guitarist-now-student-of-media-theory at the local arts college who i made
the mistake of sleeping with once last summer, losing interest in immediately
after that and turning down his enamored hitting on me ever since. i harbor the
suspicion that he's still bearing a certain grudge. my very first shift starts
at 10pm, and as far as i know there's no official closing time and a whole
shitload of thirsty assholes eager to drink the night into small hours.

4) my missing beijing is swinging wildly from nice to terrible; but the better
part of the day i'm taking it pretty easy i guess. it helps a lot that i'm on
my own again; away from my parents' house. right now i can watch three longhaired
teenage skaters rehearse tricks in front of afro lello. they're moving public
trashcans around and call each other by their last names. three blind mice
don't you know! three blind mice ain't it so! yay.

i was agonizing over the june mix for the tape project when i realized that i was totally unable to come up with any new songs to make sense of what's happening this summer, and all the nips and changes - me trying my best to straddle half a life each in two austrian cities but with an old aching heart still trapped in beijing anyways, and my stupid head light and way up somehwere in the clouds; the certainty that i'll be leaving for far and something completely new again in less than two months' time licking my palms and face like a not entirely unwelcome but slightly scary big big dog. cheap way out would be to blame it all on being stuck in the wrong superchunk song, like: head over heels my hands on my heart instead of i tried to grab a bunch but there was only one. seriously, all that seems to be left are the old tricks gone stale long ago: the new order number i've been dancing to drunkenly in the hot, drawn out weeks just before high school graduation, several rock songs (boston, the la's, whitesnake) off my dad's glove compartment mixtapes which managed to establish a slightly embarrassing yet inevitable importance during the more exposed phases of a shook up late childhood, and, top of the list, the shangri-las, all of it, trainride killer, much much better than any cheap novel (prove me wrong). hey but maybe it's just a repetition of last summer's deadpan mood that made me send out a mix with nine stultifyingly similar cover versions of love will tear us apart; plus the original. i've got to say though that it was not purely out of spite. i mean, i made a copy for myself as well, and merzbow, mike spike and i listened to it over and over and over again while driving to fluff fest; as if the monotonous trickle of da da da da da da could make up for the metal-hc-with-an-attitude we'd have stand up to at the fest.

mnn well anyways it's not entirely true that there's no significant new music at all. there's nedelle, who i (in my ignorance of most things currently happening musically speaking, i mean) learned about only recently, finding the natural night (yes i know but what else?) on one of the mixtapes c sent back to the us, and who happened to play just a week ago at vienna einbaumöbel. a fifteen person audience (i'm not entirely sure about this, but could it be that my friend goo and i were the only ones to pay the full six euros for the door? and just because we felt like helping the wonderful seayou records out a bit?). a star-infested, intoxicating school night; all naked feet in slippers and cheeks glowing a heavy shade of pink. and we waited and drank and then she went on stage and she played, and wha. what a teenage thing to say. but: nedelle you're soo cool! aw aw ah like your songs! hey hey smile at me nedelle! i'd have loved to but of course i missed out on bothering her after the show, so i watched her dance a little bit instead. might have been because i was a teeny bit intimidated by so much strychnine nonchalance, but mainly i guess i was busy being distracted by wondering about the wooden cubicle right next to the stage that served as the club's (ha. club. right. it's like a one-room space of 30 square meters and a lot of arts and craft therapy for acid victims style oil paintings on the walls) loo, contemplating whether i should go have a pee there, or rather at mcdonald's down the road. ended up spending the night with goo, in the shaky pirate ship type of a bunk bed i rented for the summer, waking up every time one of us moved the tiniest bit. i listened to traffic endlessly.

things have been turning out right lately though, with the nights getting cooler and my days oh so sweaty. i'm wearing dresses. i ride my bikes a lot; and trains. i wonder what mid-july's gonna be like - this year's summer seems to have softened on the edges; unlike the ones before that threatened to cut right through my skin like pieces of shattered glass. and just to be on the safe side (with the less cool kids, where i belong after all) i ripped all of my parents' tom petty cds on my last visit home. not that i didn't have, like, four already. ha.

food for animals probably is a very good band, but it just didn't happen last
night - the room was too small (or maybe just too white? cause no space can be too narrow on a monday night gig with only twenty people in the audience?) and nobody was moving or seemed to be any interested in what was going on with the three guys from dc (i wonder whether they know ryan mixtape? they look like people i imagine him being friends with, for some reason. maybe it's the lead guy's beard, and also that he's a little chubby and has this air of someone who'd put vegan steaks on the barbecue), even though they clapped enthusiastically after every single song (audience, not ffa. but now that i think about it - hey, ffa also clapped and cheered after each song - nevermind.). aww aww. anyways i didn't really enjoy either, cause the new thing is that i've started feeling suffocated at linz shows lately; maybe that's because of all the people there who i know but then again don't (i mean, those kids have been around for years, and so have i, and it really is a city where you bump into each other all the time, and everybody is somebody else's ex-lover) but i know soo much about them and they know everything about me, but we still don't talk and never will, and that's when i get uncomfortable; slightly. i'm having a hard time handling this mock closeness and much prefer being a hipster in beijing, where i can hate and ignore all the other hip kids and just get away with it.

anyways i don't live here any more so why worry at all? i'm still hiding at my parents' house, and don't have to go out if i don't feel like. chocolate. soy milk. i have to put a stop on getting tipsy every day.

it's eight right? that's what my computer says, and the alarm clock i brought all the way, and my light head and raging stomach. but not here it's not really. i got back to linz for my nice little european vacation yesterday night; and it's early sunday afternoon and of course, how could it not be raining. heavily. i watched a newspaper delivery guy run for his life, violently kicking an iron cart in front of him, almost butchering a dog that on his part was trying to flee from the floods to the same entrance thingy. i haven't been out walking yet. which is okay because i'd probably get run down in no time, anyways my sense of ground and road grip is not fully back yet; and i keep bumping into things with my elbows and knees and forehead even. i ran into the same chair for four times within two hours. i'm tripping over the remains of last night's luggage, and the boxes of stuff i've torn apart. i crashed right into my mom's legs when bending down to check on my food in the oven and losing balance. i feel an inexplicably strong urge to watch tv; and i'm trying not to give in.

the trip itself was nothing spectacular; except maybe for the male couple
sporting mustaches, tightass jeans and dark blue buffy satin jackets, absorbed in a copy of gay times (a reassuring sight after living in a city where any gay film festival is shut down by the police); and the fifty middle-aged french couples who kept eating chocolate and crowding the aisle and were drinking about a litre of red wine each while discussing the quality of the female flight attendants' eyes and asses. nobody slept. i went half crazy over not having brought a book and inhaling the in-flight magazine (i know everything, i mean: everything, about sailing in croatia now; including the exact location and reservation policy of any five star hotels in the area). twice delayed departures. confusion about the gate of my connection flight. a slimy sandwich and ahard landing. tongue between my teeth, broken skin, a trickle of thin blood mixed with spittle, bitter taste in my mouth.

i spend the nights in my teenage bedroom (heavily remodelled, my mom being a serious home decorator and all. a far cry from don martin three song text fragments smeared on the wall and the droppings of my pet rat two-tone which dominated the mess i left ten years ago) - painted bright white and full of new space saving furniture that can do fancy little stunts. i'm staying in and try to occupy myself hard to do with all my records still at my friend merzbow's place; and all the books in this house being in german. i found a translated copy of ian mcewan's atonement, and didn't even get to open it the german jacket blurbs alone made me put it down in disgust. it''s hard to be home; still: way way better than last year, and right now i'm a little too tilt to care about all that, anyways.

i miss beijing, even though i hated the rain we've had the week before i left. i miss the dusty, crowded apartment and my cold bedroom, and c's. i miss not being able to understand a word of what the waidis and the koreans are chatting about on the bus. i miss taking a cab whenever i want, just like that. i miss having a lover, and someone who'll have dinner with me. i miss it to hate changing between subway lines. i miss automatically assuming that every other white person i meet is an asshole. i miss my eat. i miss c. i shouldn't have told anyone thet i'm kind of a little bit back with eating meat (birds, at least), cause now my parents are overjoyed and the house reeks of veal. i want to sleep. i might puke instead.

it's late april, and still so chilly that i find it almost impossible to get up in the morning. call wednesday and ten and i've just crawled out of bed not because i was so sleepy or i had been up late working last night or i was reading or sick and miserable or depressed or having sex or a headache, but simply because i was cold even wrapped in my big heavy towel and my - admittedly, for employment as the main comforter in an unheated appartment inappropriately thin - blanket. i spent an hour lying there, anything music and distraction hopelessly out of reach, the light changing with the clouds driven by the sandy wind that has been there all winter, rested for a couple of days in march, came back crushing any hope of a! nice! spring! two weeks ago and hasn't gone away since then; and i was trying to wiggle my way out of a stupidass dream i didn't finish because my nose had gotten so cold that it woke me up. i needed to go pee, urgently, first-things-first emergency like, and i was squirming but i still tried not to move at all cause i wanted to avoid to expose my feet, my thighs, my arms, hands, belly, shoulders to the air in my room. i don't remember being so cold in any spring ever before, nowhere, at no time, in none of the funky apartments that littered my late teens or the makeshift crashpads well-meaning punk concert bookers made me sleep on while on tour; but i'm sure that is just not possible and i'm terribly wrong, again. anyways, the weather is not good, and for a change that's not only my whimsiness but generally acknowledged for there has been a dust storm for more than four days now and literally everything is covered in red dirt, some sort of sand so fine and insidious that it even penetrates my sleep, digging its way through cloth and hairdos and crawling into scalp and skin. i smiled at someone on the street yesterday and i got my mouth full of shit instantly. i stopped doing that.

it's not that i'm having a bad time, though. s, my new roommate, is cool and friendly and very very bright, and just as cold in her rooms as i am in mine; so we're both trying to spend as little time as possible in the apartment. last night, she took me out to have donkey meat with a handful of chinese friends and korean classmates of hers in some little dump of a place somewhere outside west fourth ring road and it turned out to be fun, even though i'm still not entirely cool with all the meat that seems to be intruding my poor ex-vegan's life lately. i hate the compact, aspic-like globs of fat and withered, soft-boiled patches of skin and the dark drops of marrow and little tubes of cut up veins that are all over the place in a chinese non-veg dish, so i usually just pretend to eat it all while sticking to the staple, or, in absence of such, to the least threatening looking order. in the case of yesterday night, amongst an abundance of cubes of cold donkey, illegally shot wild duck, braised fish guts and pork, i found myself in the absurd situation of having to take refuge to a plate of roasted grasshoppers and millipedes, which were tasty when you just didn't look.

there was also a bit of a drinking feast going on, in which i fortunately wasn't involved very much. like in the most generic of all exciting-year-abroad stories, baijiu, the local equivalent of any other place's nastiest liquor possibly available, was pushed on the two male foreigners by the chinese host party in large quantities (on the grounds of gender, s and me were spared for etiquette and misguided chivalry, even though s gained face by downing shit-shit-shitloads of beer while i chickened out and held on to my teacup), turning mr. p, one of the sweet korean guys we had brought, into some sort of ranting monster giving equally loud, long, nonsensical speeches in bad chinese and deliberately pouring bowls of lukewarm rice gruel over his fellow countryman mr. j's jeans. in spite of the obvious, neither s nor i saw the little red flags going up and, by the time we were discussing how to split up for the cabs, still thought that everything was just fine with mr. p, cause otherwise we probably wouldn't have gotten in a car with him. to cut a long story short: i now know that it is 20 kuai (~ 2 euros, 3 dollars) to puke into a beijing taxi, that you, the two giggling white girls, will get stared at wickedly when hauling a big, as good as unconscious asian guy down a well-frequented alley on a school night at ten, that spiked fences are dangerous, and that the legendary instinct that will infallibly carry both the drunk and the horses home to their boxes is nothing one should rely on too heavily when manhandling someone so intoxicated that they outweigh you by the threefold, cause you might easily end up dragging your guy in the wrong direction for half an hour. s and i finally gave in, hung mr. p over a railing, called mr. j for help, squatted on the sidewalk and waited it out. after we had successfully dumped mr. p on mr. j, and finally made it to our apartment complex, we were instructed that h, our other roommate, has ordered a new washing machine before leaving on business, and that the thing was now sitting in the security guards' little box waiting for us to be carried up in our flat. i slept well.

which doesn't mean all too much though. i hate the thought of all food today, yet i'll have to eat dinner and probably even lunch, or diet on chocolate wafers for the rest of the week. mr. p is fine and reportedly went to classe this morning. my hair's getting too long and i keep forgetting birthdays. i'm counting down a relationship to sixth to last week. it's late april, and the wind is driving me crazy. i send kisses.

most of the time i spend creating things - texts, maps, music - i'm terribly afraid of being banal, but always only a tiny step away from the mediocre and the appaling. that's probably the reason why i would never write lyrics for any of the songs i played didn't write them down at least. i couldn't help that certain lines seemed to slip into place almost by themselves and cling to a part of a melody, especially after many, many repetitions, but i kept those to myself. if anything, i took advantage of lyrics already written by somebody else (i.e. so many things now come in plastic tubes! funny how they smell when you squeeze them out! etc). which doesn't mean i merely plagiarized them. i played with them, modified them, added my own accent, bended them until they fit me, changed their very core, made them sound different and gave them a new meaning but i wasn't afraid of using them.
insofar the way i handled the words of the songs i sang bears a striking resemblance to how i utilize cultural theory i've taken a liking in. at first, i may be fascinated by their clarity, spellbound by their phrasing and hypnotized by the plausibility of their argumentation; and i'll find myself agreeing with them from the bottom of my heart. this might be pleasing while it lasts, but isn't very insightful at the same time. the stage of awe and admiration has to pass - to make any sense of theories for myself and my own work it's necessary to take them further. i want to exploit theories, test them, push them to their boundaries.
i don't apply a theory as i'd apply, say, a bottle of hair dye: follow steps 1-6 for a perfect result, and don't forget to wear the plastic gloves for proper nail protection!, but like to regard them as the toolbox and the wood i'll need to build all the tree houses i've always wanted. if i can't ride them like a pony.
i hate it when stuff smells bad. i drink a lot. i have a small but growing collection of soda-can engagement rings.

it's not easy to shift those dull pale limbs and drag them through the hot and golden treacle that is the last june days this year; stiffling air snug and close to my skin as if i was a duckling being hatched; concrete aglow and all these flaccid plastic bags i get my feet tangled up with. i have to learn how to move slow again.

i've been staying in a lot. which is partly because i spend my days working; scantily dressed and literally glued to the chair in front of my desk (naked skin! sweat! and these stupid plasticy upholstery!), ploughing my way through the same uneventful struggle with the text i'm supposed to edit every day (sit for three minutes, get up again; despair. pace up and down the room. sit down again, type out a couple of sentences, get up, open window, close window; bathroom. sit down. type, panic, delete. get up, fetch paper and a pen, scribble bunch of notes, knock over tea cup, curse. wipe up tea leaves with tshirt. marvel at wet stains on interview transcript. get up, fetch more tea. sit down. right on.), when all i really want to do is to be out in the streets at night; and count tiles on the sidewalk and the cracks in the curb; and see how they match with the letters of my name.

and this is how the weekend was. lots of bowls of cereals (spelt flakes. oat milk. a small concession to the distant vegan past, and its arduous affairs with screamo band members; a period of unnecessarily dramatized sex angst and guilt-ridden, soy-product-heavy breakfasts). a melted men show. waitressing at a free techno party with everybody being on acid. long distance phone calls, liquor in my fridge; and veins. i did not throw up. a train on sunday; too warm and sweaty and plans for the night.

the minute i got home - a darkish, smelly, stuffy apartment - motivation quickly faded; so there was no cycling down to rhiz for me any more. i was too busy stripping naked; and lying down. i wish i at least could say i spent the night drinking rum and jerking off, but i'm afraid all i did was stare at the tv screen and sweat. what an ass i am sometimes.