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

Monday, February 23, 2009

Hey! You're part of it.

My memories have been vague and sporadic lately. Things come back in very brief waves that don't even really seem to be connected to anything.

Out of nowhere I remembered lunch my freshman year of high school. Hanging out in the court yard with Stephanie Valenzuela, Mark Siquian, Justin Brink, Jason Buzzbee, Aundreia Gerov, Nadine Rondeau...I don't know any of these people anymore except for Stephanie. I haven't thought about most of them in years. And then that memory reminds me of the fact that almost every day we used to get soft pretzles with nacho cheese for lunch, and we used to get these ridiculously huge sodas called Nehi. That name strikes me as quite Mormon. I also remember the fact that Aundreia Gerov was my first girlfriend, and I didn't even really like her that much. She came over one time during the month our relationship lasted. My mother said she thought that she might be a little bit too "wordly" for me. My mom is awesome.

I keep losing my past and then finding it again. When I was 19 I waxed nastolgic for 16. Now that I'm 25, I'm really just trying to focus on being happy now. I haven't steadily worked in a while, money is tight, yet somehow, I feel pretty good about life. Now if only I could earn a lot of money all at once.

Playlist: Brett and Cynthia's infinite playlist, Bif Naked, Spring Heeled Jack, reefers

Monday, February 16, 2009

Dear self, try to take over the world plz.

I'm left with a terrible dilema lately. What should I be doing with myself? The production career clearly isn't cutting it, and while that leaves me terrified and on the verge of tears sometimes, at other times I handle it well because I think it is just a realization that I really was indeed meant for something more. I almost know it. I'm not here trying to make it. I am going to "make it". How does one "make it" you may ask. I think it involves a goal that is not really grounded in anything concrete.

What do I want? A career in entertainment. I'd like to write comedic routines and deliver them to crowds of people, preferably whilst standing in front of them. A stage is not really needed.

How do I get this? Well, the first step is to write the first routine. It probably won't be that smashing because this kind of thing takes time to get good at. My favorite comedians weren't pros when they started, so why would I be? Man, I wish I would've started earlier.

What do I do after I write that routine? The answer to this is obvious: practice! Deliver it to friends, hit up the open mics, you know, circulate that shit and get some feedback.

What then? I have no fucking clue. I figure if I can fall in with some kind of comedy scene, eventually I'll make contacts and be able to get myself onto shows and whatnot.

What if this doesn't work out? Hopefully the economy will pick up and I can commit myself to sad and pathetic existence of being "meant for more" at a Starbucks or some shit. I guess at that point there's always music. That's two things I could potentially fail at. Awesome.

Playlist: Disconnect, Locust, Combatwoundedveteran

RE: If assholes could fly, this place would be an airport.

In late August of 2005 I went with my girlfriend at the time and her family to visit some of their extended family in Mexico. I wrote a brief account of my trip in an email to my good friend Kevin Bowman, whom I wish I could see more often. Here is most of that email:

"we left the following morning around 6 or so. easy drive, only took five hours. we get to jessica's parents, go eat some sweet food at this place called johnny's burritos(like, whoa this place rules). after that we took off on our way to ensenada, mexico. it's in the mexican state of baja california, home to such wonderful places as tiajuana(i hate it when people call it TJ), and mexicali. that put our drive total at about 11 hours that day. but damn, was it worth it. her dad bought us all dinner at this corner stand that made the best carne asada tacos i've ever had. i was also able to buy the following things that are not available(at least not widely) in these here united states: manzana lift apple soda, fireworks(the real deal but i'll get to that later), mr. big candy bars, and the ever elusive churros filled with caramel and strawberry syrup. afterwards we spent like 2 hours driving around looking for a motel. we found one eventually in a sketchy(aren't they all) area called 'el kuku'. the logo on the sign was a naked baby from behind wearing cowboy boots with a kiss mark on its right buttock. pretty sweet. only one room was left, the suite commonly known to them as 'el presidente'! 2 bedrooms and a jacuzzi and a full kitchen and bathroom. so basically we stayed in a mexican apartment, jessica and i took one creepy bedroom and her sisters took the other with her parents sleeping on the extra matress in the living room. amazingly there were no roaches. one thing to take note of, however, is the incredibly weak water pressure in mexico. the toilets all seemed to flush fine(appropos), but sink and shower pressure were not so great.
the next day we ate carnitas(the real deal) for breakfast at her uncles house and throughout the course of the day i learned that absolutely nobody has central air or heating in their houses in mexico. vents in walls are very odd to them. pretty neat, and hot. after this we made our way to something called la bufadora, which is basically a point where two big cliffs come together on the ocean in a way that the waves shoot water up like 300 feet into the air when they crash there. around this thing they have build a huge touristy mall type thing where people pettle their wares. is that the correct pettle? pedal? petal? who cares. anyway, they had all kinds of rad stuff, lots of churros stands and perscription drugs and food. it ruled. and the la bufadora thing was pretty intense too. there were candy shops that made the candy stuffs right there on the street and around these there were almost swarms of bees. some lady got stung and said "ohmigod, i just got stung by a bee". it was brutal. we made some purchases there, one of which was a big bag of m-80's and some bottle rockets. then we went back to jessicas aunts where we ate more carne asada. my only dissapointment during this whole trip was the lack of sea food, though i'll admit i'm still pretty thankful i didn't end up with tricanosis after eating that carnitas. damn that was some good pig. after we got back we went to the firework shop that is just around the corner from her uncles house, i bought her little cousin some fire crackers(he was thrilled, his father is strict and normally wouldn't allow such tom-foolery), and for myself i bought the ever amazing and awe-inspiring cherry bomb. now i know whatcher thinkin', something that resembles a smoke bomb, but instead of smoking it explodes. no dice. it was like a fucking cartoon bomb, all round with a big ass fuse coming out of the top, it was plastic, and it was red red reddddddddd. a thing of beauty. it was also five bucks a pop, but hey, what's five bucks when they don't exactly sell them around the corner where i'm from?
a word about mexican fireworks...sure those fuses look long, but damn, they burn fast as shit. if you light one of the m-80's, you have less than 5 seconds to throw it. it blows up well before it hits the ground, and it sounds like a fucking gun shot. we went down to the beach to light them shits off, and man, it was the most fun i ever had running from dangerous explosives. the main thing we tried to do was light off multiple fireworks at once. my record stood at 5 bottlerockes from one match. i also managed to light off 4 m-80's all at once. it sounds like a gang war, i tell ya. the grand finale though, was the wonderful and fantastic cherry bomb(or cherry boomba, as the spanish speaking native cousins called it). nobody else had the cajones to light it. to be honest, neither did i, but fuck if i was wasting five bucks. hand or no hand, i wanted to see that thing explode! we were in a kind of spot where the elevation was lower, so i had been lighting things off on the side areas where i wouldn't have to lean face first over the explosive things. we took an empty potato chip bag and filled it with sand, then half burried the c-bomb in it. i placed it on the top of one of the ridges and calmed my nerves. then i wasted about 7 matches trying to light the damn thing in the wind. it did light though, and i ran like hell about 25 solid feet way, plugged my ears, turned and watched. the fuse burned down, and about a full two seconds passed, then...BOOM! it was the loudest explosion i've ever heard up close. i felt a shock wave slam into my shins and whiff past me. it was insane, and everyone was in awe. i couldn't believe people sold those things...to children no less! needless to say, it was the greatest single second of my life. i was still amazed by it on the way home later that night...
it took us 5 hours to get from the valley to ensenada. it took 9 hours to get back the other way. we went through tiajuana because the border we had used the day before closes from midnight to 6am, and by the time we would've gotten there, it would've been closed. it took us 2 hours to get to the border. the whole time i was half asleep with people wheeling their limbless relatives past us and crazy dogs and small children begging and playing drums and things. it was surreal to say the very least. and damn scary. we made our way home eventually and went to sleep. the next day we drove home around 5 or so, made it home around 11, and hit the hay. work yesterday was a blast, obviously.
i even managed to register for one class. english 102, for the 5th time i think. man, i need to study more. and be less dumber. or something. yeah. this was a long reply. way longer than you expected i bet.
at least we didn't go to cabo, because i woulda had made it my mission to find sammy hagar and bitch slap him. i hate that guy."

I came across this looking for something in my old email address. I thought most of the memories shared within it were enjoyable enough to post here. It's weird to think that was over three years ago.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Due Process

Still yourself. Make your musical selection. Place the earbuds in your ears and think. While you think, let your fingers roam over the keys, just like they used to when you were 19. You were somehow less self conscious and at the same time moreso then. What's the topic? The topic is love. The topic is always love. Girls, friends, family, hobbies, it always boils down to passion. To love. To what you feel so strongly about.

There was a time when I wrote at least a page a day, and the only person I shared it with was John Robison. People hated John, but nobody that ever really knew him hated him. He's just as defective as anybody else. I stopped sharing with him eventually, and sometime after that I stopped writing all together. I got swept up in my twenties, working, trying to find myself, and with that I stopped analyzing myself deeply enough to ever really figure anything out. To recognize my strengths and my weaknesses. I always hear about them from other people, but I cannot simply recognize them myself.

Love, love and rejection, love and marriage? No, no marriage yet. These are my two most common themes. I think about them. I write about them. I pine over them, and I constantly try to defeat them. I try to figure them out. I try to own them. Have I succeeded yet? Why the fuck am I listening to Tiger Trap right now? Because I am not despondent, not like I have been.

The hardest thing for me to figure out since my last relationship ended was how to date women. I've never done it. I've never wanted to do it. I always fell into relationships with people who were at first just close friends. The dating thing always seemed so conformist, and not that I'm some kind of iconoclast, but I just didn't think it felt right. I still don't think it feels right. The whole thing seems creepy and contrived. Dudes buy girls dinner and then it's just supposed to happen? I'm sorry, if you are a girl and you can honestly say "he should at least buy me dinner first" about having sex with somebody, you probably shouldn't be having sex with the person you're saying that about. I am getting ahead of myself here. What works for me obviously won't work for everybody else, and I can accept that. But the whole system just seems broken to me. What I think I really mean is that the whole system is broken for me. And that's why I always champion the underdog, because I feel like I've got things so incredibly stacked against me. Why do I feel this way? Because I'm overweight? Because I lack confidence? Well, yes. That's exactly it. I don't think I'm good enough for anybody, I don't think I'm smart enough for anything, and when things do happen in my favor I find myself riddled with questions as to why that would ever happen. I feel like the wool has been pulled over my eyes and that everything going on is just some kind of huge joke being played on me when things go well.

My entire love life has been built apon one major principal: It doesn't matter if I fuck up because I don't deserve it anyway, and eventually they'll all find out.

Where does that leave me? Alone again. What's wrong with being alone? Nothing, entirely. But seriously, if you can ask this question in an accusitory tone, fuck you. I don't care if you want to be alone. That's fine. I enjoy having somebody in my life in a romantic capacity, and I've been without it for long enough. I don't want to "play the field", and I don't need to have sex with any more people that I don't care about. I don't need anybody to hold my hand, but I do want somebody to. And there is nothing wrong with that. I have a balance I'd like to strike between wanting somebody and needing somebody. I want somebody, and that's all fucking right.

This is too bitter.
All I really know at this point is what I want.
I want somebody who wants me as much as I want them.
And I don't want them to be shy about it.

I drink too much.

Playlist: Tiger Trap, That Dog, Old 97's, wine

Monday, January 19, 2009

Cologne is like mouthwash for assholes.

My roommate and I were at the park near the carousel. I noticed a young couple moving to get onto it. The girl was rushing forward, literally squealing with giddiness. The gentleman who was with her lolligagged behind with the biggest ever "I'm gonna get laid" smile on his face.

I immediately thought that he thought that. Then I thought, how about this self: perhaps it's two people who enjoy each others company greatly doing something fun today, you ever think of that, asshole?

I've never understood the idea that somebody could think at any time during a date that they're "totally getting laid". I can't ever have that kind of confidence. If I'm making out with a girl I don't think that. If I'm going down on a girl I couldn't be that cocksure. As a matter of fact, even as my penis is going into the vagina, until I get it in there, and then pump once and keep going, I'm not entirely sure if it's going to happen.

Playlist: The Killers, Marked Men, Infest

Monday, January 5, 2009

You can do anything.

I met a girl and she is incredible. She likes me too. I am heavily anticipating what will happen next.
I still haven't found work yet and I am terrified. I feel so close to failing with everything. Teetering. I keep thinking about everyone I would let down and how my mom and dad believed in me, at least to some extent. I just want to succeed so badly, and it hasn't happened yet, but I'm not supposed to be defeated this damn soon. I feel lost again and I thought I was really done with that feeling. I did.

Final summation: I'm scared(but not cold.)

Playlist: Jacks Mannequin, Piebald, Shellac, Lagwagon

Friday, January 2, 2009


I am not afraid of commitment, but I am so damn terrified of being hurt that I keep on not allowing people the time they need to make decisions about me, or concerning me. I get all twisted up thinking everything is not going my way and make selfish and stupid decisions based on this. I have got a lot of work to do and a great deal to figure out still.