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The relentless march of time as seen at this VRBO rental

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I’ve been spam banning about a dozen accounts here over the last couple days, and it’s getting tiresome. But I’ve been successful at it, unlike those CLOWNS in CONGRESS.


We’re playing the Stars again, and will probably lose this game too because we’re flu addled and suddenly suck, apart from our goalies. I guess that’s one advantage to being weird and staying away from all the other players because you need to keep your “mental” game “sharp”: you don’t get as many germs from your disgusting teammates.

I’m in Santa Cruz right now, at a VRBO rental that used to be a party house back when I was in college, it turns out. Lots of weird goths made out under black lights in the living room where I’m drinking a beer and writing this. Now it’s full of the finest art from Pier 1 Imports and vaguely beachy knick-knacks. “Mahalo for removing your shoes!” says a cheerful sign in the hallway. I’m pretty sure I heard group sex happening in one of the closed rooms off there. My friends and I are going to divy up these bedrooms for the weekend. There were, like, a lot of different moans all coming from the same room, which was notable to me as I was waiting for the bathroom. There’s a standalone gigantic salad bowl w/ stand all painted a cheerful antique picante red near the large dining room table. I think the dining room table had random bottles of like premixed mud slides and plastic handles of vodka the last time I was here.

So much weird sex happened here, and I think I saw my first keg stand in the patio. We’re having a barbecue tomorrow. Time is a bitch. But frankly, I don’t think I’d have much fun at that kind of party anymore, so it’s also a relief. My social gifts are too subtle for that shit. It was called The Lighthouse at the time, because it sort of looked like a lighthouse.

Sharks (sick) @ Stars (suck)

5:30 PM Pacific

Prediction: I keep remembering weird details as the weekend rolls on.