For Friday, April 13th, 2018
Saturday: We were on our bike trip. Since we were out of the city and away from the nightlife and the bright lights we went to sleep early, at 11.00 pm. I usually don’t go to bed until 6.00 am on Sunday. I thought I’d feel refreshed and vibrant and mature by going to bed at a reasonable hour, but actually I missed staying up until dawn and passing out drunk.
Sunday: I had sex for the first time in two weeks. That dry spell was scary because I base my self-worth by how often I have sex. This is a severe issue that would be delved into at rehab at some point in the future if I were the kind of person who could afford rehab. I’m white but not THAT white. I’m won’t-get-shot-by-cops white, but not money-for-rehab white.
Anyway she was South African. The last three have been South Africans actually. By chance they were all white. This is my dick’s apartheid era. Their accents are funny. Like, they pronounced “rice” as “rawss.” An accent that’s sort of how aliens in movies speak English, after they have somehow become fluent.
She lives in a sitcom. As in she has a gay best friend and a brash, slightly-less-attractive housemate who both provide commentary and ask sassy questions to drive the plot forward. I was this episode’s guest star. I wonder how I fared in the sexual recap. Girls always break down sexual encounters like ESPN. She likely told her friends that I don’t have a six-pack and the gay one will judge me a little for that. Well, whatever. I used to work the abs, but making them pop takes about two extra hours a week or so of precise, specialized effort. This is a waste of time; the majority of girls decide if they’re going to fuck you before you take your shirt off. Also, I do not live near a major body of water and I never go to the pool.
Monday: Instead of writing, I visited my dealer before he left for Singapore and then got high and decided spontaneously to try to learn some card tricks on YouTube. Haha, it didn’t work. (see: “rehab”, above)
Tuesday: Instead of writing, I wasted like 2 hours on Twitter at night. It annoys me how many funny people there are out there. How dare someone walk the earth being more interesting than me? Reading their shit makes it hard for me maintain the delusion that I’m some undiscovered genius who just hasn’t been discovered yet. I’m 30; I would know if I were special by now. The worst thing about getting older is that you receive ultimate confirmation that you’re not a star, you don’t have the X-factor.
Wednesday: I did write, and I posted this thing. I put it online and now it’s gone. The material is burned. Now I need new thoughts. But it takes so long to collect new thoughts.
I listen to a lot of podcasts with comedians and they talk about working on bits for years until they’re ready, testing things out with multiple audiences until it all clicks. Writers don’t really get to do that, you only get one shot at the target.
Thursday: I ran for about an hour to train for a charity beer run. My left ACL is hurting a little bit. If I get injured and can’t work out, I will probably kill myself. Being in shape and handsome is of paramount importance to me. I must be in shape, have a good haircut, have Ray-Bans, and have a well-moisturized face (see photo above). Some guys can get by and get laid on personality alone, they have a magnetic vibe. They are fun to be around. I am a chore to be around. My personality isn’t good enough for me to be a bum. God that would be nice, to not go to the gym and just wear T-shirts with holes in them and still get ass.
Friday: Tonight is the South African girl’s birthday party. On Monday morning I saw her check her period tracker app. She was on day 25 then. So that means tonight she’ll be on it, I think. I love period sex – I have a designated period towel at my house – but girls can get squeamish about it. I hope she’s down. We’ll see. Anyway, have a good weekend everyone.