Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Bringing it Backwards

I am back in Las Vegas. It is pretty important that I don't forget how I ended up back here again.

Playlist: Marked Men, Notorious B.I.G.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

On moving on.

As it turns out, you were a better fantasy than a reality.
I'm giving up the ghost of you and I.
I am o.k.

Playlist: Shook Ones, Public Enemy, Notorious BIG

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Funny bathroom story

I almost forgot to share my humorous bathroom story, or some potty humor, if you will.

I'm in the eighth grade, in the cafeteria, and I have to drop a deuce. Pretty standard behavior goes on at this point. I walk into a stall in the restroom in the cafeteria and start to do my business. The restroom is in bad shape on this day, however. It smells bad, like a horse had eaten another horse and then shit it out in the trashcan and left it to rot. It was an offensive odor, to say the least. I was doing my business when a kid walked into the bathroom and caught a whiff of the offending odor and decided to pose a question very loudly.


I looked left, and then I looked right, and reassured myself that I was in fact in a restroom.

The answer, my friends, was this: shit.

Shit, god willing, is the only thing that should ever smell that bad in a restroom. Don't get me wrong, piss smells bad too, but shit is the real cake taker when it comes to foul restroom smells. Sometimes puke, sometimes some poorly aimed piss, but almost always: SHIT!

Playlist: Clueless Motion Picture Soundtrack, The Get Up Kids, The King Khan and BBQ Show, Braid

Dying is most definitely not fine.

There is something truly deeply wrong with the world around me. I'm not talking about the president now, or the president before, or the general state of politics, world affairs, or anything like that. Granted, those things are terribly wrong, and it does eat away at me a little bit, but like the self centered piece of shit I am it does not seem like anything too incredibly urgent to me.

This is not a suicide note. I could never kill myself. It is of course a selfish act, it is too final, and while I always talk about how unafraid of commitment I am, that is one I am not particularly interested in. Plus it would hurt. Alot. There is absolutely no way dying does not hurt unless you do it in your sleep. And even then, I bet you wake up just a little bit because it hurts so goddamned much.

I do not think I'll be dying anytime soon, but never at any point in my life have I ever thought that dying would be such a viable alternative option to life. I have never felt, until now, that if I were to perish in some kind of freak accident, or some kind of natural disaster, that I would be fine with it. If things somehow managed to cease to be for me, and please understand I am not wishing for this, I do not think it would be the worst thing in the world for me. To continue living would not be the worst thing in the world either. If things got worse, that would be the worst thing. Things feel so incredibly bad right now, that the following options both seem perfectly acceptable:

A) Things will get better, and this will pass
B) I will tragically die in some kind of weird incident that is no fault of my own

Choice A is obviously the best one. I would LOVE for things to get better. I like where I live, I like who I live with, I am in love with somebody (unrequited, sure), but it isn't all bad. I mean, come on, have you seen my kitchen? It's a nice kitchen! I like to clean it when I feel like shit (I'll probably be cleaning the kitchen after this).

Choice B is a bit more morose. People will miss me. I have no doubt about this, and that is ok. I'm not interested in this choice because I want to be missed. The main idea behind it is a sudden and quick relief of ALL PRESSURE. One second is all it would take and then every problem in my life would be gone. Of course my life would be gone too, but then again, like I said before; things are bad enough for me to even consider this would be ok.

How would I like to perish? Earthquake related mishap? Only if it's sudden and quick. Hit by a car? Same deal. Overdose on drugs? No, I have no interest in that. Sure, Lenny Bruce did it, and he was rad, but it isn't for me. It is kind of sloppy. I think ideally I would die saving somebody I care about from a fire. Or a cute dog. These are not fantasies, really. I do not want to die, I have to put alot of emphasis on this just in case anybody who cares about me reads this. I DO NOT WANT TO DIE. I won't kill myself. I won't seek out a way to die as I have listed above. You can't go out and find an earthquake to die in.

Essentially this entire thing is an homage to Shawshank Redemption. Get busy living, or get busy dying. Since I won't be busy killing myself, I only have the one choice. I know this will pass. It always does. I just wish it didn't have to hurt so badly.

Playlist: Everytime I Die, Death, Death by Stereo, Dead Can Dance, Ra Ra Riot (this list is mostly a joke)

Monday, March 9, 2009

Walking With the Zombies, Baby

Sunrise and sunset. Hot and cold. Happy and sad. Mean and nice. These are all fine examples of what I am being put through right now. I opened my heart and exposed myself to something I haven't been trying to avoid as much as something I was just confident I wouldn't let myself go through again. It's not over yet, and I don't by any means want it to be over. This is because when it's sunrise, when it's hot, when it's happy and when it's nice, it's too good. It's better than I can describe, at least at this point it is. I'll break, though. I always do.

I don't know what to say right now, and I don't really know what I want to talk about, or do or anything like that. I am so turned upside down by the goings on in my life right now. I should slap myself in the face hard and get a fucking move on. Really, what could the hold up be?

When I was in the sixth grade I got excused to go to the restroom. The restroom I ended up in was in the sixth grade area of my middle school, which made sense, however this restroom was poorly lit. Most of the lights didn't work. Also, the stalls in this restroom did not have functioning locks. As a result, while I was trying to poo, I oft had to also try and keep a leg up in case anyone ever decided for some reason it would be a good time to kick the door open on me. This particular trip was going fine at first, I had the place to myself and was pooping accordingly. Then I heard footsteps and whistling. No big deal, I thought, just another kid, going to the bathroom, I'll mind my own business and so will he. Unfortunately, things did not go as I had hoped they would. He used the urinal, I assume, and then washed his hands. When he was done, he strolled by my stall, which seemed weird to me, and then he through his used paper towel over the stall wall, hitting me. I said something along the lines of aw man, I think, and this is where things really stopped going my way. "What the fuck did you say?" He said. I didn't really know what to say at that point so I just kind of stammered and cleaned myself up in a hurry. He then kicked the door to my stall open, and got in my face. Luckily my pants were up by this point, saving me further humiliation. I didn't really know what to do or say, so I didn't say anything. I just remember trying to push him away from me and crying a little. He kind of tormented me and slapped me around for a while. He was a bigger kid, probably an eighth grade student. I've blocked out most of this memory. This is something that has recently just occurred to me. I do remember, right before he stopped fucking with me, he had this weird turn. He went from evil and mean to just a regular guy, and was like "alright, later dude". After he left I just sat there kind of crying for a while. Nobody came in the entire time. It couldn't have lasted longer than a minute. I went back to class and told the teacher I was sick. I got sent to the nurse and my mother eventually picked me up. She could tell something was wrong and eventually I told her what had happened. I had no way of identifying this kid though. All I remember about him to this day was that he was bigger than me, blond, and had blue eyes. I'm still pretty angry at him, so if you see him, kick him in the nuts for me. Next time if I remember, I'll share a funny public bathroom story.

Playlist: The King Khan and BBQ Show, Bomb the Music Industry!, Thorns of Life

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Just send it to Jesus, care of the Pentagon.

Yesterday I did my laundry. This involves me packing up my stuff in a shitty mesh hamper, bringing it down to my car, and driving up the street to Launderland. Launderland is right next to a 7-11, and across the street from a Fresh and Easy. This 7-11 that it shares a stripmall with, I have noticed, seems to be a bit of a magnet for what I typically describe as "weirdos". These dudes aren't always homeless, or drug addicts, but they are usualy homeless, or drug addicts.

Before doing laundry, a task which I find very tedious, I usually tend to intoxicate myself. It makes the task of sitting around and waiting while reading, or listening to podcasts or music so much more enjoyable. Yesterday I loaded my machines, inserted my coinage, and then walked to 7-11 to buy a tall can of Arizona Iced Tea. When I sat down back at the laundromat to enjoy my tea and listen to some tunes, I noticed a rather homeless looking man in a wheel chair pushing his way through the door. For a second I thought perhaps he had come in to ask the patrons of the laundromat for money. As it turned out, he was just doing a load of laundry. I felt a little bit like a jerk, but not really, because it wasn't an unreasonable thing to assume. I have no hang ups about him asking me for money so long as he doesn't harrass me further if I say no to him. He loaded his machine and went outside to watch the traffic go by, or the sun set or something. I continued listening to music until it was time to dry my clothing. After loading my dryers I decided I wanted to look into perhaps a snack food(munchies?) or something along those lines at the 7-11 next door.

I wandered about the isles of 7-11, and decided that instead of a snack, I would satiate the craving I had been having for Dr. Pepper lately. I got a Super Big Gulp, paid, and made my way back, but along the way decided it would be a good opportunity to put my bag that I had been carrying in my car. In my haze I accidently walked toward the car next to mine, which I also did in part because I noticed the wheel chair gentleman attempting to move out of my way on the sidewalk area.

"I see people do that all the time!" Said the wheelchaired man to me.
"What?" I said, as soon as I had realized my error in car spotting.
"Go to the wrong car. They all look so alike!" He clarified.
"Oh, yeah. Heh, I've done it before." I said, not especially interested in talking.

He continued talking to me from the curb, but the traffic started roaring past and I missed most of what he said. I nodded in a friendly manner though, and at the point I had accepted my fate as the guy that this dude was going to talk to for a while. Most of the conversation centered around how he had traveled the world, far and wide for some kind of career based in sports medicine. He also told me that his parents moved him to California when he was little, and then they moved to Ensenada, Mexico. He told me about how he had learned five languages, and how the Soviet Union fell, and how in China they won't let their atheletes ice their injuries because it isn't traditional. He spoke so much and so certainly that I could not get a word in edgewise. Eventually another neighborhood loafer showed up. He was a hispanic gentleman who looked to be in a bit better condition than our mutual friend. They knew each other. The man in the wheelchair eventually introduced himself to me as Bob.

Eventually a cop pulled into the parking lot behind a person he was pulling over, and Bob started talking a mild amount of shit about the officer. Oddly enough it was right at the time that my drying was finished and I had to excuse myself and go fold some clothing.

Something tells me this isn't the last I shall see of Bob.

Playlist: American Nightmare, Piebald, tall cans of Arizona Green Tea

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

She's so important.

I hate disappointing people that I care about. I can always see it coming from a mile away too. It is worse in person, when you can see their face. The earliest instance of this puts me in a car seat in Brooklyn sometime in the mid 80's. My brother and I are in the car waiting for my mother to go buy some cigarettes. It's an old Cadilac, the seats are an off color white leather, I think. I am probably 3, maybe 4 years old. My mother rushed out of the store and held up candy bars, they were twix. She looked so excited to give us this gift, and I remember telling her how I didn't like peanut butter, and for some reason if I think of the look on her face even today it almost brings me to tears. She just looked crushed? It doesn't seem like a big thing to be crushed about, and I highly doubt she has any recollection of this incident today, but I remember it. It almost(apparently?) traumatized me. At the time all she did was go back into the store and exchange it for one I liked better. I don't know why this haunts me like it does, and I may have even written about this here already. If not here, then it was probably in my livejournal.

I am so wracked by the very notion that I could be disappointing people in a way that is so big right now, that I can barely bring myself to do anything except for get caught up in the vices that make me forget about these things temporarily. And on top of that, I'm forming a relationship that is so incredibly important to me, and gives me so much more of a reason to stay here. I want to say I know I'm going to be fine. I feel incredible most of the time lately. However, the anxiety of what is going on aside from these new beginnings is crushing when it hits me.

Playlist: The Killers, Smodcast, Laundry, waiting for Friday night as patiently as I can