Sorry I haven't posted in a while-

-I have a pretty good excuse though.

I'm a werewolf.

Fuck.

Last Wednesday night, a blood red full moon, shadowed by the first lunar eclipse that ever fell on a World Series game, caused me to fall to the floor, start uncontrollably screaming, and transform into a beast.

I can't believe I missed that fucking game.

I was wearing my El Guapo shirt at the time, too- and it's totally fucking ruined.

I mean, don't get me wrong, it's great that the Red Sox won it- I mean, really- if someone had asked me a few months ago if in exchange for the Red Sox winning the World Series I would accept the disease of lycanthropy, causing me to change into a wolf and feed on the blood of the innocent on a monthly basis, I would have had to give it a long, hard think.

I don't think I would have done it, but you know- hindsight's 20-20, so who knows.

I never got batteries for the iPod, either, so I haven't talked to Dan about it yet. 10 bucks says he's gonna be a smug prick.

That's so fucking typical of me- I hate when I do stuff like this, but I do it all the time.
What the hell is wrong with me that when I KNOW I have a problem, and KNOW I really oughta do something about it, instead of actually stepping up to the plate and addressing it, I just kinda drift into denial and hope everything will work out.

I did it when Kristen and I broke up- I knew we were having problems and rather than address them, I shut her out, didn't return her phone calls and she dumped me. I do it with my bills all the time, I'll get a bill, and for some reason just don't pay it. Yeah, whatever, it'll work out. Next thing I know, I try to make a phone call and the goddamn thing is shut off. And now, once again, I'm in the same fucking boat. I get bit by a lycantharope, get warnings out the ass from both a creepy old homeless man and the ghost of a dead man, who was communicating with me from beyond the grave through his old iPod, and probably still would be if the batteries hadn't died.

Just get some batteries, asshole- this is a big one.

But no.

Mikey's hookup closes at 10:00, and I just HAVE to see the end of that fucking West Wing re-run I've already seen twice? I mean what is it going to take for me to get off my ass?

It's like... fuck dude- there is a fair to middling chance that you are going to transform into a MONSTER, and you really need to re-watch that episode where Donna drops her panties in front of the writer from the Times?

Still, that is a good episode.

It's just kind of a drag to look at the headlines all over the countrythat say "The Curse is Over" when, well- you know, it's just getting started.

Also, my cat's dead.

Can you believe it?

The Red Sox win the world series, and not only do I miss the game, but I sprout hair and fangs and eat my fucking cat.

One thing about it that's different from the movies is I actually remember what happened that night. I couldn't really control myself, but I could see, and I remember.

I'd like to tell you about what happened, and I will, but it's getting kind of dark, and I better go pull out those two pairs of handcuffs out of my dresser and lock myself to my bed. At least I got something useful out of my relationship with Kristen.

Fuck, maybe I should call her- she was into some pretty kinky shit.

Anyway, I gotta go- it's getting dark.

This sucks.