Saturday, December 29, 2007

Either my beard or my breath or my hands smell like Indian food. I can't remember much of what happened last night except the best bar on earth (pool, ping pong, chess, shuffleboard, live soul music, live jazz band, Sierra on tab) and for some reason drinking coffee. Why the fuck am I at work? Aren't you supposed to come into work on Saturday to get shit done, not post on your stupid blog that nobody reads?

What a fucked up winter.

Friday, December 28, 2007

FUCK FUCK FUCK YES. Saturday, Jan 12th. We all get to be seventeen again for the evening.

(This is a rumor and Googling "Froberg" and "Obits" only gets one good hit, but I am getting my hopes WAY the hell up anyway)

Wednesday, December 26, 2007



Supposed to be on my own, a bachelor. Instead I'm already stuck in the house wondering if it's worth it to go on the front stoop to smoke. Blues songs and stupid sitcoms are my existence. And it's only been one day. What kind of person am I, really?

Friday, December 07, 2007

Work is the only place I can still rock out to Dashboard Confessional without being embarassed.

Also, eff this winter, man. All I've been listening to is Mineral and Gloria Record and Lifetime and Texas is the Reason and Jawbreaker. I should sit at the bar at Pete's Candy Store and sing emo songs real loud and complain about snow and talk about how great the summer was and drink hot cider and Capt Morgans until May. Who's down?