Chicken Fried Rice, Among Other Things...

I got mad at my friend the other day. He insulted me and I told him to stop (it was a particularily mean insult). Know what he said? "Well, now that you're sober now, you're an antisocial asshole." Okay...yeah...riiiiight. I just don't think drinking a bottle of Night Train, a fifth of Jack, and then three pitchers of beer all in one night is any fun. He doesn't eat a lot, he's two inches taller than I am, is thin as a stick, so you can only imagine what that amount of liquor does to him. And he's one of those loud, pay-attention-to-me drunks. Arg. It's always drama with that kid.

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I love making chicken fried rice. It's so easy to make. Too bad it's 90 degrees outside, about 100 in the house, and 1000 if I'm cooking. But I can't help it; I love to make chicken fried rice.

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Someone complemented me on my blog. (You mean to tell me that I'm not the only one who reads mine? Whoa....) It's the Audience of One concept. There's always at least one of anything in the crowd. Jeez, I feel honored.

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I like a certain Mr. Owens. You don't know him but you'd think he was geek if you saw him. I never have enough courage to talk to him...at least in my coffee shop. At the bar, after I've been drinking, I can't stop talking to anyone I know so I usually talk to him at the bar. That sucks because I have trouble being intelligent around him, even when I'm sober; he's a rather smart chap and must think I'm a dork. But I think he's really interesting.

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John might be moving back to my side of town. I hope not. There's almost a certain freedom in knowing he's too lazy to come to this side of town...I know that I won't run into him. I feel so much better now that I know he never shows up at the coffee shop. I've seen him around once or twice, but because one of the Elders of Classic Country Music was there, I barely noticed him (only the fact that he bumped into my chair did I notice that he was even there).

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I read my epic poem about September 11 to two very drunk girls. They loved it. I'm thinking of posting it on my web site, but I have a disclaimer: It's not a patriotic poem...at least not in the "America is Good, God Blesses Us, We Kick Ass" sense. To me, it is patriotic because it focuses more on the everyday veiw. Or whatever. You don't have to like it, but I think it's damn good.

Tune in again for the next installment: "Facing the Wall: How I Learned To Dislike People".