Friday, July 18, 2008

A full moon, a convenience store, and a head full of mushrooms.

White trash semantics:

7-11 is always a store. 7-11 is always 7-11. A store, however, is not always a 7-11.

This seemed very important tonight when we got to the corner store. We went inside and I couldn't bring myself to select a product and buy something. Everybody in the place was looking at me, I swear. They all knew I was out of my head. Then a very beautiful girl walked in, paid for gas, and left. I turned completely around to look at her. I was wondering to myself why I didn't stop her, tell her she was beautiful. I don't want to scare people. That's usually why I don't compliment them. I'm missing out on alot of thank you's I bet.

Playlist: Pere Ubu, the Melvins, mushrooms

Thursday, July 17, 2008


I can recall a monsoon season when my childhood friend Pete(who now goes by Frank), and I were sitting inside playing some bastardized version of Magic the Gathering we had made up. The rain was coming down in sheets and it was hot. Very hot. Pete's bright idea was to simply go outside and run around in it. The idea of getting my clothes soaking wet seemed kind of strange, but I lived just up the street, and if it really bothered my I could just go and change.

We got outside and were soaked very quickly. We took our shirts off and ran about in the water filled streets. There wasn't a soul around except for us. We ran the neighborhood, and at 12, we were probably the youngest rulers this neighborhood had seen. Pete got so intense about the whole thing he decided he should slide down his driveway on his stomach. It was so wet out that he was successful.

I don't really remember what we did after, but it probably involved video games, pay per view movies, and or soda. Life was good back then.

The World Series of Poker, where I have been working, is finally over. My last day of production was the 2nd of July, and after a week off I came back in for a week to do some shit work and help with the load out. One of my coworkers put mayonaise on my shirt and I got really pissed off. I almost punched him in the face. It takes alot to get me that mad, but for some reason when it comes to somebody fucking with my clothing I get angry really quick. I took a shirt that once belonged to Jean Robert-Ballande, who is a poker player who was on Survivor for one season. Nobody likes him very much. I just think it is funny that I have his shirt. It's not very nice and I probably should sell it on Ebay. Awesome.

Playlist: Maritime, weed, beer, summer break

Sunday, July 13, 2008

The Desperate Jerk.

When somebody breaks your heart and then attempts to ruin your life, it is commonplace to not allow them back into your life, correct? I was going to ask why I did this, but a different question is a tad bit more appropriate.

How did I get so lonely that I invited somebody who betrayed me so harshly back into my life?

I am not exactly hung up on these actions, they happened quite a few year ago. Also, I'd like to think that I am not the grudge carrying, shit talking jerk I was before. And I swear, I am not. I am confident that the main reason behind my forgiveness was pure curiosity. I just wanted to see what would happen. Also, if things had worked out better, I might've been able to take care of that loneliness thing too.

My friend Natalie touched on the subject of wanting something more than you knew you could possibly want in her most recent entry. I don't want to be lonely. I want non-loneliness, and I want it more than I ever knew I could want it. It is getting scary, and I am becoming that awful awful thing that scares girls away like a strong stench: desperate. I am feeling like the human embodiment of desperation and I know people can tell. It is pathetic and there is nothing more undesirable than a desperate jerk.

Playlist: Red Cross, Piebald, NPR, working