What's the best of 2009?

THIS.

I'll tell you what I think tomorrow.

Fuck it.

from the kitchen counter...

The kitchen counter is marble, or fake marble, or shit. I don't know.

I know that I am sitting on it. I know that I am drinking some Jameson. Its not my first.

I have spent different parts of the last few hours cleaning this kitchen. My company has been singular, minus a sponge, a broom, a pseudo-broom.

There is recently a new couch in our kitchen. I am organizing my clean laundry on it. I have made this kitchen my own.

Both middle knuckles on my hands have gotten really red over the last couple of days.

The strange part is I haven't wanted to hit anyone in a week or two.

Strange.

I'm lonely lately.

It is my own fault.

But not because of what the 3 people who read this think it is.

It is because I am lame.

Sorry.

Better blogs soon, I promise.

Or you can come kill me.

For the past....

I am hopeful for you.

Be strong.

I wish this was more.

These shoes are made for shuffling

I'm back in Chicago. I've been visiting since Friday, I leave early
tomorrow. It's been a strange trip. I saw a good friend get married
and it was wonderful.

I'm trying to figure out how to not put the cart before the horse.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore.

I'm going to see the bean, maybe he has some advice.

Birthday Survival Plan

It was a success!

I'm 27, have been for more than a week now.

Am I alive? Yes.
Am I happy? Yes.
Am I freaking out? Of course.

It'll be ok, whats the worse that can happen.

It continues from the shuffleboard bar

This might be our last night at this bar. I'm a little sad. I've grown
to like it in the few days we've spent here.

I feel like I'm either out of the loop or in the center of the storm.
Either way it feels pretty nice.

I'm not sure when things happen in life and that counts as meeting new
people. And I don't know if the people you meet are new, or their
attitudes are new, or if you are new.

I know this though, there is a bartender in Long Beach who plays the
songs that murder my heart.

But should that matter? And should it count?

Fuck it.

I'm just trying not to freak out and loose my mind.

And accidentally fall in love.

I fall in love enough.

I need a sandwich.

Birthday Countdown Part 5

This is a preface to what will spill out of me tonight at the bar with shuffleboard.

I think about you sometimes. I imagine you are riding your bike, like I am. I'm hoping some one is happy to hear you coming up the steps, driveway, whatever. Maybe somewhere some one is painting you a picture, or writing you a letter, and they have the postage to send it. I hope you don't drink too much, and when you do, I know you will, when you do, you call a friend you haven't spoken to in a while. I hope they are happy to hear from you. I hope the miles and roads between us get smaller everyday. I think you might be getting a handle on this stuff, the distance from family, the art bouncing around in side, the self destructive behavior. This summer will be better then all the other ones past. This will be the summer we do things people will write plays about, we'll make stories that people we don't know will tell their kids and put themselves in our place. So cheer up. You'll make it through the year, you always have. You'll make a new friend or two, you'll lose a couple more. Just remember that its time to sing. Take a shower and live a little tonight, ok?

Birthday Countdown Part 4

It was probably fifteen minutes past midnight, some Saturday or Friday night, probably March or April. My dad and I hadn't moved out of the house on Santa Rosa Circle yet. (That's the one with the names in the concrete) I had spent the evening out with my friend Nick Lee, he's famous, he was a waiter in an episode of Real Housewives of Orange County. We weren't drinking, or getting high. Fuck, we weren't even smoking cigarettes. We were driving around, eating fast food, maybe sliding on said fast food trays, maybe ghost riding shopping carts into polls. We ended up finding a sign for some church's open house and bringing it back to his garage. Or maybe we put it in someones lawn. That probably makes more sense. So we were fucking around with some church sign, totally sober. We lost track of time and I showed up fifteen or twenty minutes past curfew. I walked into the house and the fireplace was one, but all the lights were off.

Things had been strange in the Booth house those months. That is where this post came from. Just for reference.

By the fireplace there was our computer desk. My dad was sitting in the chair. He had been waiting for me and asked where I was. I told him. Nick. Church Sign. Sorry. He was upset. He said this:

"You aren't going to do this to me. Not like your mother."

I said I was sorry and went to bed.

I was seventeen, about to graduate, about to move to an unfamiliar city. My parents marriage was finally done. I didn't have time to argue with my dad about how I wasn't how he thought I was.

It is funny the times you find yourself giving up, or giving in.

I did both that night.


**********************************************

I decided tonight I am going to be recording things into the voice memo app on my phone because its easier then setting up all the recording stuff and it makes me feel better about the immediacy of the whole thing. Here is the first one. Second or third try, recorded in my bathroom. I heard this song tonight for the first time in my life and I decided that it was a good place to start. Enjoy.

BOOTH! - Chelsea Hotel Number 2 (originally by Leonard Cohen) - http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?zunmdmzjetj


Expect more of EVERYTHING!

Birthday Countdown Part 3

I use to have one of those 110mm cameras. I had got it from my grandmother, Constance. It had a brown leather-esque case. I took a lot of pictures with that camera. I remember when I got it, I put an info card in it, in case it got lost. My hand writing was extremely sloppy, more so than it is now. I still remember the way my name looked.

I feel related to everyone with the name Anthony. We are a part of group, a secret collective, that only I know about.

One day in high school we got out early, it was finals. I remember everyone was going to soccer practice or hangout or do something exciting, but not me. I snuck off. I took my 110mm camera and drove around to places that had been important to my romantic development. I took a picture of Michelle's house. I took a picture of Jennifer's House. I took a picture of the cul-de-sac I lost my virginity on. I took a picture of the playground where I had my first kiss, and then I turned around a took a picture of where I had my first real kiss. I took a picture of Kimmy's house.

I know I took a lot of pictures that day. I got them developed and I used to keep them in my backpack. I didn't show these pictures to many people, if any at all. I carried them with me in boxes for a few years, moving them from place to place, house to house, until just before I moved to Sacramento, right around when I started this blog.

I took my truck to the dump and threw away a lot of things. One of those things was the box with those pictures in them. There were a lot of pictures in that box, but I remembered that set, in the blue vinyl sleeve, as the one I thought about keeping.

Sometimes you have to start over.

Birthday Countdown Part 2

I was in sixth grade. I had been dating this girl Raquel for a couple of months. The funny thing about sixth grade and dating is that nothing really happened, at least for me. No sneaky handjobs in the movie theater, no under the shirt, over the bra second base action, nothing. Anyways. I was in sixth grade, and I had managed to convince my mom to take me to the school for Raquel's little sister's christmas program. It was lame. But the point was to see Raquel and exchange christmas gifts. I dont remember what I gave her, but I do remember she gave me two things. She gave me a necklace with a key on it. That key fit into her necklace, a heart, and made it complete. It was totally tacky but at the time meant SO MUCH. And the other thing she gave me:

The biggest boner of my entire life.

Yup.

We kissed by a tire swing. It was my first kiss. And I got this crazy hard big boner that was uncomfortable and messy and wouldn't go away for almost 3 hours.

It wasn't big, literally, but it felt enormous.

And the kiss had no tongue or sloppiness, it was just lips to lips.

It was awesome.

From the shuffleboard bar, one week later

I have problems with being ignored. I'm a pretty selfish person. But
the thing, funny or not, is that I only need acknowledgement. I'm
pretty sure I spelled that wrong. Anyways. I find myself fitting into
the same sort of thought all the time. There is ALWAYS a foot out the
door. Always. Why? Not exactly sure. Just the same way I don't
understand why the guy close to me keeps saying bro.

I am pretty selfish. That has to come out in this blog. Thinking
people care or are better off for hearing my stories about drunken
life failures, that's lame.

But this has turned into a mess.

I'm trying to find a medium where the interesting parts make sense.
And I'm trying to find a part of life where I don't lie. And I'm
trying to find a space to express everything.

I'm buying beers for people. Rather a beer for a guy.

Anyways.

Shuffleboard makes me want sandwhiches and attention.

I get neither.

Birthday soon.

Birthday Countdown Part 1

It is late 1988. I am in first grade. My mom made me oatmeal for breakfast, I put extra brown sugar on it and washed it down with milk. There was probably some toast too. I run into my parents bedroom where my mom is getting ready for. Obviously, since its 1988, she has to take me to school on her way. She has a jewelery box on the headboard of the water bed she shares with my father. The box, not the bed, looks like it was carved from a fallen redwood, and its drawers are lined in felt. I climbed on to the bed and my little fingers dug through the jewelery.

"What are you doing?"

"Ummmmmmmmm, nothing"

"..."

"I need to give Ashley Jefferies a present. She likes jewelery, necklaces. You have a bunch of necklaces, I don't have any, so I should give her this one." I hold up a necklace made of white sea shells. It isn't a pooka shell necklace or whatever, but it similar.

"You should probably ask first"

"Ok. Mom, can I have one of your necklaces to give to Ashley Jefferries. I like her, and she might like me if I give her this. That's what she said"

My mom let me take the necklace to school and give it to Ashley. She liked it. She didn't like me.


*******************************************

I was thinking about this story a couple of days ago. It's mostly true. Surprisingly I don't remember what i had for breakfast, or what I said to my mom one morning in 1988. I also might have given this necklace to a different girl, but because this is my blog, this is how it happened.

On the 16th I turn 27.

To celebrate this milestone I'll be putting up stuff like this. Little memories, expressions, stories, insights to why I am almost 27 and sandwich between a girl looking at Hello Kitty lunch pails and a guy watching wrestling with Korean subtitles in a university library.

Most of the stories will be mostly true.

Thanks for coming around.

A Wonderful Suprise

Thank You

You need to lite your cigarettes and laugh at all your jokes

I only had one class today. I'm missing friends who are in differnt
parts of the country, so for them I tried to have a good me day.
Sometimes the best intentions don't make up for history. If I keep
watching women walk out of my life my head might explode. I'm always
walking after them, today I'm driving by, and if that doesn't help I'm
having a drink on the patio. That's how someone would want it.

Don't bother trying to explain angel...

I'm sitting in a bar full of shuffleboard, cheap beers, and men who
say "son". The company is mixed, and strange, and perfect. The
bartender has put on two songs that are driving me crazy with the
their appropriateness. I'm remembering a hotel in San Bernadino when I
bought "Live Though This". I'm remembering breaking up with a
girlfriend after seeing Taking Back Sunday and the Lawrence Arms at
Chain Reaction in Anahiem.

I would talk about it more, but there is shuffleboard to play. Things
are a mess, I'm happy.

I'm sorry, it's been a while, I owe you...

Tonight I'm drunk.

Tonight I'm not going to blame anyone else for the shit I'm dealing
with.

Tonight I spent time with friends who care about me alot.

Tonight I remembered how much that mattered.

Tonight I realized where I've been fucking up.

So to Whit: I'm sorry. I never told you how much I loved Harley, and
how I am sad to see her go.

To my dad: I'm glad you're better, stay that way.

To my mom: I'm glad you're still sober, it makes me very happy and
hope for the future.

To Dan and Tony: I know what's coming, and I've dodged some bullets
already, and I'm excited for the rest.

To Bill, Hickman, Tim, Conner, Gabe & any other possible groomsmen in
my wedding: sorry it didn't happen, but it's gonna happen someday, and
it'll be great.

And to me? Fuck em, you'll be fine

My new favorite spot in the world.

I happened to be looking out the window during class and saw someone
walk across the roof of the building next to mine. I found it, and it
is amazing, to me.

Your kindest words

There are about six to seven things I need to get by on any given day.
Today's list is as follows.

1- burrito
2- some sing along song
3- a smile from a stranger
4- a woman with a sexy voice
5- the memory of someone who is gone
6- an unexpected message
7- a little relief from responsibility

Let's see how the day goes

Once, twice, three times a...

Salvation? Not so much. If there's one thing I've learned from my
father, mother, grandpa, grandma, and myself, it's that this doesn't
ever fix anything. It doesn't make it better. You feel better, but
everything else is still fucked. And I guess it is ok. Because at the
end of the day we have nothing to show for it anyways, right? Everyone
grows up, grows old, and grows apart. We don't talk, we don't dance,
we don't fight, we don't love, we don't fuck. Battles are singular,
pain is minimal, and lessons learned are few. Will we change? No, it
works. Will we survive? No, it doesn't work.

Maybe the saddest day of her life

I am getting really good at sitting in airports, waiting. I'm also
gettin really good at doing this by myself.

This girl, 8-12 years old, a few aisles away is not. She has a dad,
uncle, man, whatever with her.

I'm typing this on my phone listening to a song that reminds me of my
bus trip that was supposed to get me to Chicago, but just got me to
Denver.

She is wearing ears from Disneyland.

I keep thinking of all the airports. I keep thinking of all the
people, the ones I knew and the ones I didn't, that I flew with. I
keep thinking of all the things I was flying to, and all the things I
was flying from. I keep thinking about how I got dropped off at the
airport by someone new, again. I keep thinking about how long this
stuff can go on, and I'm probably comfortable with forever, most days
at least.

I don't know what she is thinking about. But for the last fifteen
minutes she's been silently crying. I think I'm the only one who
noticed.

I want to tell her it's fine, it'll be ok. The turbulence will be the
best part. She'll land home and her friends will be glad to see her.
And her pet will run to say hello. And someone will have made her
something special to eat. And she'll always be able to go home, there
will always be some place full of these wonderful memories with it's
arms outstretched, waiting for her. I want to tell her to stop crying,
not because I'm callous, even if I am, but because it's going to be
ok, it's all going to be fine.

She'll never be sitting alone in an airport, trying to figure out if
she's coming or going. Listening to the same song on repeat to try and
get some feeling back she had for a while. Trying to keep her hands
from shaking from the booze or whatever. Thinking about where she
thought she'd be when everyone started turning 27. Worrying about
never figuring out any of this stuff. Hoping the best for her friends
that make horrible deciscions, but seeing they are better than her
own. She'll be better than that.

She just took off her ears, more tears streaming then ever before, and
walked away.

Maybe we have more in common then I thought.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed for turbulence.

I haven't felt alive in a few hours.

I'll see in Seattle.

Human League was playing at work...

So I tucked my dick so I could be the waitress in the cocktail bar.

That much is true.

They see your every move...

I've pretty much given up on being the person I am supposed to be, at
least in certain company. Explaining yourself all the time gets old.

I'd like a forum where I could shout from a mountain top all of
someones failures, all their ability to be the whores that the bible
warned me about in 7th grade. But those places don't exist. And that
shout doesn't make me feel better.

I just play into it.

It is all fun and games until you are on the other side. Then you just
see everything played against you.

Let's be honest...

Hearing your ex-fiancé make plans to party in your shared room when
you are out of town really puts a damper on everything, especially
your trip.

But what can you do? You don't have the balls to throw her out. Or the
balls for any other part of your life.

Anthony, your lame as fuck. Shut up, grow up, and get your shit
together. All your problems are your problems.

Asshole.

It only took thirty minutes

Navigating the downward passage

Everything's gonna be ok soon, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day.

All things being equal, I am a horrible person.

I am also not alone in this. But those people really only show up towards the back of PEOPLE and in the lead stories of the afternoon news. Don't get me wrong, I am not doing the things that put those people in those situations, but close enough.

I get really down on myself in these parts. It is not the place I want to be. It is not the way I want to think of myself. It is my way of coping, a little.

The problem is I can't help myself. I want everything, all of it, every little sip. I don't care who I hurt. I don't care how I look. I don't care if it is right.

I found out my Saturn returns from October 30, 2009 to April 7, 2010.

I am getting a head start on that.

I want to apologize, but I am too selfish and excited to run my life into the ground to worry about it.

Natalie, thanks for helping me realize what I am doing, even if you didn't know you were helping.

Here's to the next few years.

BEAR DOWN!

I am feathered by the moonlight...

I'm sitting outside one of the cleverly named coffee shops on campus.
I am eating almonds. Someone told me once that eating almonds is a
good way to center the soul if you've been feeling uneasy about
things. (*editors note: I made that up. Almonds are good.)

This Counting Crows song is playing: Murder Of One. Great song, but
not a hit, and not one you'd expect to hear out side of Freudian Sip.
(I would have gone the other way with it, Freudian Dick. Sometimes a
sip is actually a dick. Nevermind.)

Back to the song. It has been the soundtrack to, but not the
inspirations for two mini catharsis. One was on the 405 yesterday. My
deciscions are never the best decisions, but they are the right ones
for me. And then the other today. For being independent, I'm pretty
dependant. I always need aproval/encouragement from other people,
sometimes from people I don't like. About art, thoughts, choices,
pants, bedroom tactics, my moustache.

If I keep hearing this Counting Crows song I might be do something
bad, like develop a conscience. Or buy a house.

On an unrelated note, I found myself to be repeatedly making eye
contact with a woman across table area. Some dude just sat down and
put his backpack on the table. Her face is behind the backpack now. I
just got cockblocked by a backpack.

(chelsea said yesterday I hadn't updated in a while, so this is for
her.)

From this Hemingway story...

"I wanted to try this new drink. That's all we do, isn't it - look at
things and try new drinks?"

Yup, thanks.

The Brand New Excitement

(an impartial list)
- tuxedo shirts with Roach
- football with the Bears
- Seattle with Whit
- Texas with my dad
- British Lit with the cute girls
- everyday with the roommates
- crazy new things with people I don't know
- the backyard with Dan
- life with Bill
- drunk texts with imperceptible
- my new fascination with women in Oregon
- thanksgiving with my Mom

Things are awesome out here, come visit and let's play!

This day could someday be an anniversary

The hills are burning. It might be an omen, for the right or wrong decision. I don't really know. The thing is, about this, about all of this, was that when it first started to fall apart, last October, I thought my heart was broken then. I thought I had healed it, that things were getting better. But now that I look back on the last ten months I know that wasn't true. It broke big that day, in the bathroom, but it didn't heal. I just sort of added stuff into the crack, and it fell out. It broke a little more everyday. I did it to myself, which is the part that I don't like to admit. I thought I would be able to fix it, I couldn't. I thought I could look past it, I wouldn't. I thought I could forget it, I can't. To borrow from a friend of mine, to take something from him about something much more important and tragic than this, and try to attach it to something less, "in like a lion, out like a lamb gone astray". I was excited to plan a wedding, I was excited to wear a suit, I was excited to dance to my favorite songs, with my mom and dad and all my friends. I was excited for beer koozies and burritos, bachelor parties, cans on the back of a car, a honeymoon, all of it. And I miss it all right now. A lot.

I know it is right, that I am not getting married today. It isn't her fault. It isn't my fault. It is how the cards were dealt and how they were played. It would have been an epic party, the hills burning, it snowing ash on the bride and groom. It sounds too good to be true. And it is.

I've been running this in my head for months. It isn't a final draft, but I need to get them out of my head, for me.

I remember the first time I saw your smile. I remember the first time I heard your whit. I remember the first time we sat on the couch and shared all those surface level things that make us more of who we are then we care to admit. I remember the first time we got drunk together. I remember the first time we fought. I remember the first time we made up. I remember saying goodbye to you at the airport, and it being one of the saddest days of my life. I remember opening the door to you the day I got back, and how happy I was. I remember waking up in my tent, in my old room, with you, and it feeling perfect. I remember asking you to marry me on the beach that night, and puking afterward. I remember all the downs, and all the ups, all the hot days and the cold ones. I never wanted to spend them with anyone else, and I am glad that starting today, I never have to spend them with anyone else. I love you.

I wanted this to be the song we danced to. I'm sorry no one will ever see it.

About Last Night

Things are not as bad as they seem, or appear, or sound.

I just got through my first week of university, for the second time in
my life. It makes me very happy.

The things that came out last night aren't new, they've been around
but I've been quiet about them, for reasons. I've been fine.

I don't feel the need to explain, just elaborate.

In lieu of flowers please send beer/whiskey donations to me. The
address is up, and to the right.

Come see me, I got a mouth full of words and an empty stomach.

a brief reprise...

The hiatus is over.

I don't have much right now.

I am falling apart apart.

I have a bunch of classes.

I should have been planning a wedding.

I am not.

I will not be.

See you on the 29th.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xBdeX9LfJww

did someone say hiatus?

Sounds like a great fucking idea to me! I've got things to deal with, yards to sit in, songs to write, places to put of visiting, vigils to keep, and, oh yeah, money, pills and girls.


"Watching simpsons, afraid to call you..."


It'll only be a couple of weeks, I promise!

I'm sitting on the couch...

thinking about how this weekend is going to be awesome. We just got
Internet at the new house, which helps. Bill is getting married
Saturday, which helps too. Things should come together on Sunday, but
we have all heard me say that before, right?

I am becoming rapidly worn out by working a bunch of days, and my lack
of creativity.

More empty promises.

I am sorry.

An Incomplete List...

of things and situations and a couple of relationships that I might have left to die on an operating table or some sort of metaphor that has nothing to do with how things actually are.

(as a post-introduction preface I will give you this: I am moving into a house, parts of the apartment are gone, headed that direction. I spent the evening discussing the merits of short story writers around a beer pong table. It doesn't sound as bad as it seems.)

(as a second post-introduction preface I will let it be known that I am very often left defending my choices on life, liberty, and the pursuit of short story authors. I am also left petting the cat while other people are asleep. This could very easily turn into a rant about someone, but they are asleep, and it is not right, and it is not worth it, so I will pet the cat and move on.)

Tonight I have decided that bullet points are not cut out for me. This list will run long and deep and have an end at some point. It might be worth it, I will definitely feel better. Its 3:30 in the morning, so if it doesn't make sense I will explain it, just ask.

Every time I look at you your eyes are big and I know that if it were not for me you would not eat and you would shit on a pile of shit you shit days ago. You scratch and bite, and seem afraid, but you sit and sleep next to me. When I am not around, I don't know what you do, that is between you and whoever decided that you should be alive for my (and others) comfort. But when I am here, I know what you are doing.

We fight, a lot. About everything. And I try hard, harder than I have ever tried with anyone, over anything, to make it work. I feel wrong a lot of the times. It is because there is nothing thrown back. There are small meaningless jabs about things I can't control, and they hurt. But the things you don't say hurt as much as the things you specifically assign to me. I am always wrong, and I don't do enough, even though I try so hard. I cant talk about this anymore. It hurts.

You are this ideal, this ideal thing that doesn't exist. You ebb and flow. You drown me then make me drown in drought. Things get more complicated, because they are already complicated. I wish you didn't have a face, because sometimes your face makes me cry, and sometimes your face I don't even know.

Every time. Every Single Time. Everysingletime I have stood in front of you and not kissed you for how much you have saved my life, I deserve to suffer a hundred years. This list is long. Very long. Again, I am sorry.

There are stacks of money that I owe people. Some of them are real people I have known since seventh grade, some of them are faceless corporations. But I owe them, and it makes it hard to get up in the morning, because I know that I will make some money that day, and it is never enough.

60640. I owe you. I didn't try. I failed you, and me, and my friends. I took advantage, I am sorry. I'll be back, to see you, for real this time, I promise. will you hold me to it?

My passion. I don't know if you are too much. I know I mean it, that is for sure, but I don't like explaining you. My heart has all these things running around in it, all these people that it cares for, all these things that make it smile. But it is intense...

And I get sick of apologizing for it being intense.
I am sick of apologizing for things that I mean, even if someone thinks they are wrong.
Because sometimes I am wrong, but I mean it, and that is something.

I don't like not being taken serious. I don't like being ignored. I don't like being made to felt dumb. I don't like doing all the work, in anything. I don't like the way I have been being made to feel. I don't like supporting with no support. I don't like not being creative. I don't like how things have been.


But this is all I will do.

I am sorry to you, and more sorry to me.


So the apartment turns to ice and I will sleep in the common area. Will life be fine in the morning? Yeah, it always seems to be. Will I be? No, not so much, not at all. I'm good at hiding things. It seems to be a trait of my parents, both sides. Do I want to be rescued? From the bed I have made myself?

Yes?

Will I get out of it?

Probably not. I hear it is pretty cozy, I think I'll check it out again soon.

In here (the place I am pointing at, in the middle of my chest) it makes sense.
I hope no one got left behind.

What a glorious Monday, yeah?

More naked blogging

I'm sitting in front of the computer, naked. I need to shave, my face, and get ready for work. I'm not in the mood. So I am going to spend the little time I use shaving to update this little guy. I'm moving again over the next few days. Back into a house, but a house I've never lived in. I was over there earlier today and was worried there wouldn't be a window of my own, but there is, and that makes me excited. I'll show everyone when I'm settled.

That is probably the largest unspoken problem with the apartment I've lived in these last almost 12 months. I don't have a window.

Safe and Sound

I am at home. I have been for a while now. Chicago was wonderful. It made me happy. My good friend Dan got married, and it was beautiful, I am glad I know him and his beautiful wife. I am going to hang out with some friends tonight and make a mix tomorrow. I register for classes on Tuesday, I am excited. Some parts of my life are a little scary now, but they are going to work out. I'll talk to you guys tomorrow.

Vegan BBQ stick party at the TASTE

Mmmmmm, Old Style

4 wheeled cops!

p.s.

pray for turbulence.

Going Back

I'm going back to Chicago.

Less than 12 hours I will be there.

I'll send picture updates. Maybe a written update.

I am totally excited. Stephanie is going with me.

I am at home, coming out of a drunken haze, waiting for here to show up. Our flight leaves at 6:52. If she isn't here in time, I'm taking the flyaway.

Someone who means a lot to me told me one time you have to make a decision, and give someone else the opportunity to come along. If they don't come, well, they don't.

They better.

twitter and a new picture

I need a new picture, for the little one on the side.

http://twitter.com/boothis86d

Expect some good things from that!

one more for the road

Looking at old posts.

This one was about Stephanie, before anyone knew her.

http://sinkintothepacific.blogspot.com/2007/06/i-hear-that-sometimes-you-fall-into-old.html

Life is pretty intense sometimes.

the one about ripping of titles of friends episodes

Isn't that how they used to title episodes of friends? "The one about (insert thing that probably isn't very funny, or explain much about the episode, so if you were looking through an online database of Friends episodes and you wanted to watch your favorite episode, which happened entirely in the coffee shop, and looked for "the one about not leaving the coffee shop" but it was actually called "the one where Nietzsche has nothing on Ross" you would be totally fucked, which would make you hate that episode and in turn hate Friends.)"

Right?

That's how they did it, isn't it?

Is Friends secretly responsible for my inability to name song titles appropriately?

Something I was kind of thinking about. I'm working on starting this story idea I have in my head. It might be too long though. So, I don't know, I'll figure it out.


At some point when I was taking English 102 about, fuck, I don't know, 7 years ago, I was obsessed with making this little short film. All it was about was this women smoking cigarettes while this guy walked out of the bathroom in a towel, put on his clothes, and left without saying good bye. He did open to door after leaving to say "Oh, you left your lights on" and then it faded to black. I wanted the girl to be a bleach blond with lots of roots and lipstick in quantities to match. A girl who was in my English 102 class could have played the woman perfectly. She also had an extremely sexy/mostly cute Texan accent. Too bad all she did in the film was smoke a cigarette. I also wanted her to be sitting on a bed with lots of shitty wood paneling on the walls. The apartments I live in have that paneling, well, not my apartment, but most of the others, and I walked past an open window today and saw it and it suddenly reminded me of that film I wanted to make.

I'm curious as to what the story was behind that film. It showed up fully developed one day. Just shit itself into my brain. I'm sure there is some exciting back story having to do with a woman who broke my heart, but I don't know what that is, not anymore.

I'm going to get back to starting that story I have bouncing around in my head. Have a good fathers day.

P.S. - I'm going to major in creative writing at CSUN. It's is going to go swimmingly.

Good news!

ellipsis

Let the times begin

I just finished my last paper of the semester. I have a few tests still, but no more will my time in front of the computer be tied to academic pursuits, at least not for a few months.

TIME TO WRITE!

lets try this again.... AGAIN!

I Have no idea what happened with the other one, lets hope this works - http://www.megaupload.com/?d=GIBA8JZ0

The Soundtrack to Rocky 7

I made a mix, and I was trying to name it, and I thought "This would be the worst soundtrack to a Rocky movie ever". I don't know how that came together, it just sort of did. I'll post the link at the end, but no info, just gotta download it.

It took me 4 days to write a paper. Most of it was just thinking about it and putting it off, but I finished it tonight. Stephanie is hanging out in Ventura, so it is just me and the cat. I went to 7-11 and bought a 32 of High Life and a 20 of Diet Coke. I don't want to start drinking rum and diets, I wish I would have bought a larger beer. Damn shame. I'm thawing soyrizo on top of the stove and I'm going to cook it up with some potatoes o'brian. (Potatoes: In sixth grade (1993-1994) I ran for vice president of the class, and on my poster I wrote " I can spell potatoe!" and the "e" had an x through it. The kids didn't really get it. What a shame.) A friend of mine and I are exchanging texts about questionable sexual deciscions. I was listening to the mix, now the new Lilly Allen cd, which I downloaded illegally. (I bought somewhere in the neighborhood of 500+ cd's from 96 to 2006 or so, so I download music illegally, because there are a lot of those cd's I would never transfer to my computer. I gave a lot of shitty bands my 18 bucks back in the day. I am ok with it.) I am not tired at all. It is 1:10 am, and I could go 3 or 4 more hours. I make a lot of energy, naturally. It is pretty exciting.

Now I must cook and drink more. Maybe write another quick story. Funny thing about the last one, Amelia, was it was supposed to say IN the shower, but I thought it gave to much away. That is what the gentlemen is doing though.

HUGS!

http://www.mediafire.com/?yl4jhwvwmkm - The Soundtrack to ROCKY 7 - a mix

Today I tried to ruin someone's life

At one of the last tables I had today at Pepper's, I tried to ruin one of the ladies life.

It came out quickly in the server/table exchanges that she was getting married next Saturday, and that this was her last meal before her bachelorette party. She was having lunch with her mother.

So I tried, I tried to ruin her life.

I was going to be the most charming, handsome, charismatic, funny, fuckable waiter with a moustace that she had ever had wait on her. I laid it on thick. We talked about puking, and penis straws, and lemons, and wedding jitters. She was laughing, and smiling, and had a good meal, and I was 95% responsible.

Now, I still want her to get married, I just wanted her to second guess her decision a couple of more times before she follows through with it.

So, to the blonde bride-to-be with the Hello Kitty bank card: Good Luck tonightat saddleranch! Do shots, kiss your friends, where a dick candy on your shirt, grind up against some greasy club guy and ride the bull. Make sure you ride the bull.

I'm sure she will be fine.

Apartment 108

Randy is 28. He lives in apartment 108. His building is small, enough. The other residents only know his name from the mailboxes out front. His is the only one with both a first and last name. The tag is also not centered like the rest of the tags. The color is worn. It has been like that for 10 months.

Every Thursday Randy takes a late lunch. He walks around the corner from his office to his favorite pupuseria. It not his favorite for the food, the food was fine. It is his favorite because it is the closest place by his office to get the new issue of L.A.WEEKLY. He brings back whatever random thing he orders to his office and opens the L.A. WEEKLY. He goes straight to the personal ads and spends the rest of his time at work on the phone with various agencies, working out the specifics of his reservations. It is the same every week.

Friday night he gets home at 6:05. Every week, 6:05. He takes two side streets and rolls one stop sign to pull into his space at the same time. Randy carries his lunch bag and avoids contact with any neighbors that might be out.

Thursday is the only day he doesn’t bring his lunch to work.

6:25, his phone rings. “Randy?” “Yeah, let me buzz you in”.

There are two quick knocks on apartment 108. Randy lets the young women in. Her hair is long, a couple of inches below her bra strap, or where it would be, and dark. Usually he likes it longer, but this will work. He locks the door behind her, which startles the woman, but she sees the money sitting on the coffee table. Her quick counts makes out a few bills adding up to 275 dollars, a little more than what was agreed, and that makes her slightly more comfortable.

Randy leads her to the bedroom. The bed is made, the floor is clean, there are a couple framed posters hanging on the wall and one picture on the nightstand, Randy and a women with dark hair.

The conversation is short and specific. “I must have music playing”, “Your hands must be here”, “Please be quiet” and “Please don’t smile”. She follows every order, though typically that is not her specialty.

Randy pushes play on tape deck. The first song starts slow. Kick drum, then cymbals, then some bass. Funky, but not funky enough. Randy stands behind the women and spends a very short time exploring her body. The songs keep playing, he doesn’t say a word, and neither does she. Each song is getting louder, each song is picking up pace, but Randy’s mood does not change. The seventh song, she’s been counting, slows dramatically. This doesn’t affect him at all. The last song fades out and Randy gets off of the bed. He slides open closet door, puts on a yellow robe, and gives the women a twenty-dollar bill. “The rest is on the coffee table in the living room. Thank you.”

The woman says nothing. She gets off of the bed and starts to put her clothes on. She looks at Randy, but he is in the bathroom and has just turned the shower on. She finishes getting dressed and grabs her money as she leaves apartment 108.

Randy takes off his yellow robe and steps into the shower. He faces the showerhead and puts his head down, letting the water stream down his face. He holds his hands around his eyes, making a scuba mask, the way she showed him that day in the hills. A few tears mix with the water. He turns around and tries to finish his shower. He can’t. It has been 10 months.

Who wasnts some hollandaise?

I do.

I work in a couple of hours. Then I get to spend my Friday night writing a comparison paper on two works by Virgina Woolf. Why not, right?

Back to the hollandaise. A month or so ago I started going out to breakfast on Sunday mornings. It was nice, to sort of start a tradition. I had Eggs Benedict for the first time, no ham, meat is murder you know. They were very good. I drank probably six cups of coffee and got all shaky. I haven't been out for breakfast on Sundays for a while now. I miss it. Breakfast is such a good time, the more company the better.

I woke up this morning with the face of a girl I had a one night stand with in my head. I wonder how she is these days. I have no way of finding out, it is probably better that way.

The dream I had after I woke up the first time, but before I got out of bed, was about myself walking around a mall with a friend from high school. I haven't seen him since his wedding, 6 or 7 years ago. In the dream we talked about how he followed this very standard path to success, and how it was nice, to be able to afford the peacoat and scarf he had on, but that I didn't envy him. What that all means, and where it's going, I have no idea.

It was a nice coat, but it didnt fit me.

Return of the naked blog

An impromptu list of times I have either cried or been naked:

• Now
• On this couch in a beach house in Oxnard, CA
• Standing on a train platform
• At a doctors office
• Watching porno
• Watching Must Love Dogs
• Eating pizza
• Drinking wine
• While laying on top of a car
• At bill's wedding (both are possible)

Just something to think about on this wonderful Cinco De Mayo. Tonight, Coronitas!

The worst band ever...

I know one guy, he likes this band, The Verve. His taste, obviously, is almost the worst of people I know. I was thinking of him today.

I was watching some concert compilation, and at the beginning of the only song I have ever heard by them, and probably the only song you have ever heard by them, the guy pulls down his American Apparel v-neck so he can put the mic to his chest.

What?

Huh?

I guess to illustrate the importance of the song. I guess.

You don't hear anything.

Whatever.

The Verve sucks.

My First Shot

It was my junior year in high school. I was 16. It was Easter break. Not spring break. Spring break was brought into the lexicon by people who want to remove all aspects of Jesus Christ from American culture, the same people who write x-mas on their Christmas decoration boxes after the holiday is done. (See? I can totally pull off all that crazy christian school stuff I was subjected to all those years!)

My friend Nick and I were across the street from his house, at his neighbor Cade's place. We had bought weed (for the first time!) a couple of days before and we were picking it up from Cade. He was nice enough to break it all down for us, so we didn't smoke any stems or anything. He probably took some for himself, but that's what happens when you let someone else handle your drugs. We were probably going to go BBQ or something else that day, but at the moment we had nothing going on.

Cade was 18, a senior at another high school, and lived alone. Yup. He had his own little 2 bedroom house. He was artsy, dark, and a little nuts. He blew away my 16 year old mind. And he got laid ALL THE TIME. By very attractive girls, and women.

So Nick and I are standing around in his bedroom, probably listening to Dr. Octagon, hearing some story about SOMA's, fucking, and hamburger meat. (Maybe.) We decide to leave, so Cade opens his sock drawer to get our weed, and there is a bottle of liquor there too. I say "What's that?"

Goldschlager.

Cade tells us about it. I had never heard of it before. My family like their Jack Daniels. And Smirnoff. And Beefeater. And Bud Light. But not this stuff! Cade asks if we'd like some. I decline, but then, he sells it.

"That stuff floating around in there, that's real gold."

Done. I say sure.

Warm. Straight from the bottle. Goldschalger.

My shot virginity was gone.

I coughed, rub my chest and shook my head. (I still do that.) There were gold flakes on my lips.

It was wonderful.

We said our goodbye's and thank you's and I drove home, buzzed, from my first shot of liquor.

Pre-work-meditation

It gets old, being told everything is your fault.
It gets old, being told you are a mistake.
It gets old, trying to work out problems.
It gets old, trying to stay quiet.
It gets old, wanting to run away.
It gets old, wanting to not be responsible.
It gets old, the apologies.
It gets old, the revisionist.

Things are fine, or they will be when I get home from work.

Friday is MAYDAY. It will be nice to put the things that keep me up in the mornings on a different shelf then the one they reside.

A story later, ok?

The rapid onset of age and what I know about it

In a day or so a friend of mine starts his last year before 30. Another friend just started 30. I know a kid who is going to be 6 in a month. I think it is 6, I'm not sure. I can think of someone's birthday for every month except for October. There is this one guy, but I haven't seen him in years, he doesn't count. Age seems to be catching up fast. I still feel about 22. I know a lot more than I did at 22, about everything, but, inside, I'm still 22. Just to catch you up, here's 22 for me:

• November 16th, 2004 to November 15th, 2005.
• I was finishing my time at Bed Bath and Beyond, and starting my time at Pepper's.
• I was not single, then I was, then I wasn't.
• I lived in 2 different houses.
• I opened a savings account.

There is other stuff that happened, but that is what comes of the top of my head now. What is it that "they" say sometimes? The more things change, the more they stay the same? I can see that. I rememer having a conversation with my dad on his couch, telling him I was going to get married, I was going back to school, and I was moving.

See?

Details are not important. But it happened. The conversation, at least.

Oh yeah, age. My body makes funny noises now when I move at night. I don't rebound as fast as I used to. I know more things, but am forgetting how to interact with people, especially people I love. I give up sooner, even without giving up. I worry about things I didn't used to, but none of those things are houses, kids, careers or success. I have less friends, but they mean more.

So where am I? Canoga Park? Yea. In love? Yes. Sleeping on the couch? Sometimes. Lonely? Sad? Bored? Cold? Excited? Lost? Emotional? Old? Happy? Check, check and check, infinity!

There is no impending doom. There are bad days, but more good days. There are lost nights, but more found days. I like to think I have it figured out, a least part of it, but I say the worng thing, or let the wrong thing hurt me, or let the right thing keep me occupied, and then I realize it is all gone.

It is hard, most days, but it is worth it, and it feels good.

Too happy? Too sad? I don't know.

I've been thinking of friends I've lost, and what my friends have lost, and what I need, and what I miss, and the holes aren't as big as they used to be, but I don't know how to tell anyone.

So, here's this: Thank you. For the snowy walks, for the glimmer you gave to a friends eye, for the tears we had, for the laughs we will have, and for every day to come.

We will get it right, I promise.

Live blog from the rattling the honea gowing away party

Bikes and bridges

The thing I truly learned from Chicago

Was to not use toliet seat protectors in public restrooms. No place
ever had them, and now I don't use them.

Sent from my iPhone while pooping at work. Happy 300th post.

In 13 minutes and 45 seconds: PIZZA

Spring break has started. I worked a little and left early. I spent some time with Stephanie, and made a great burrito. (Yes, you can put fake chicken nuggets, boiled potatoes, nacho cheese, black beans, jalapenos and hot sauce in a huge tortilla and not be disappointed.) Rode my bike, walked to the store and now am drinking a 40 and waiting for pizza.

I've got a bunch of exciting things running through my head. There is a definite short story, a couple more songs, maybe a picture idea or two. I am definitely excited for this new, fresh bout of creativity.

Even if I am starting to swim in a sea of self doubt. I'm getting closer to thirty faster than I feel is necessary. I don't see the people I care about enough if at all (that's you, Whit, and parents). I'm feeling more lonely in the city. I'm doubting the possibility of creating a family, including my desire to. School is kicking my ass, but only because I don't care. Things are getting rough.

But my good friends are getting married, my cat sit next to me when I blog (and wakes me up at 6:45 for food, which is ok lately), I have my health, I have music, and I am getting more comfortable with the fact that that things like family, my future, my friends and my own marriage don't have to happen or work out the way I thought they would for them to still work out.

This is post 299. Post 300 will be a picture from the early stages of my road trip to San Francisco. I would give you more, but, sometimes, that is all I have.

Spring break starts soon.

I'm not as prepared for this women in literature midterm as I could
be. Spring break starts when it's done, I'm going to San Francisco. I
have a hard time maintaining my desire to finish school. So I'll take
this test and then reevaluate it in a week.

I told you...

non vegan delights and punk rock

I have had this window open for a couple of hours. Inspiration has been zapped. I am going to cook a grilled cheese club and listen to Propagandhi.

Talk to you tomorrow.

Back at the airport

Imaging chasing the dragon in a fancy bathroom

The joy of anonimity...

Most of the people

I found the drum circle

On the yellow bridge

Standing in a dirt lot

Anarchists ?

Landed

Inflight turbulance

Going to Sacramento

to march against budget cuts to the community college system in California.

I'll put some pictures up as things happen!

A couple of thoughts as I drink tea this morning.

Octomom makes me sick to my stomach. Pretty much everything about her. The babies, new and old. The media frenzy. The reality show. (I'm not sure if there is one, but there has to be, right?) And the fact that I know about her to begin with.

Nostradamus was a genius. I doubt he is right, but man that guy was in the right place at the right now. Writing a bunch of stuff, and, as I am finding out today, drawing a bunch of stuff that is vague enough to convince most people he could see the future? Pure Genius.

Tea is done. I am done. Time for school.

Birthdays for babies

This girl I know is having a birthday. It's a strange mix of people
who are younger than me. It's par for the course at this point. There
are songs playing that have no bearing over my life, but these kids
love them. But this isn't about that, it's about this.

This guy named Anthony is getting left, and it's not me.

Tonight was, apparently, a do or die night. And he died. That's his
fault, not mine. I used to worry about that stuff, but now I concern
myself with myself.

It's been interesting to watch though, because he's been fucking up
every chance he's had. He's dozed off next to me for about 26
minutes. Poor bastard.

At least he is spared from the Sublime sing-a-long, no one deserves
this.

Sent from my iPhone

Shopping is hell, punk is dead

Taken at Forever 21, in Woodland Hills. I was very hungover.

Test

This totally a test to see if I can blog mobile.

Dear Miss Backer,

Your two items that were the entirety of your purchase are as follows:

1. Ground Turkey (probably for burgers)
2. Cat Litter (probably for a littler box)

The original color of your hair was peaking out of your scalp, most likely to be taken care of before the next night you took those two well manufactured mounds more commonly called breasts out on the town. (My teachers would call that a run on sentence; it would be hell to diagram.) Your purse was large enough to fit 6 gold bars and probably cost 3. I saw you drive away in your H3, with its H3 license plate frame, just in case some one didn't notice the H3 symbol above the other H3 symbol. You drove over two double yellow lines to go about your business, I did too.

I imagine you at home now, yoga pants and sports bra. Your hair is up in a bun, your cat is curled up next to a fireplace, or a wall heater. Turkey, uncooked. Cat box, unfilled. Text messages on an Iphone plan some future night of possible infidelity, for someone. A throw pulled over your feet and a bottle of smartwater sits on the end table. Are you smarter than a 5th grader? Yes. Yes, you are.

this time last year

Last year, this day, the 8th day of February, I was freaking out. Freezing on the inside and outside. I'm still freaking out, but in different ways. I want to write more, but I got wrapped up in archives and have to go to work. School starts tomorrow, its been raining.

Lately when I get upset (read: wanting to punch or cry) I clean. The kitchen gets it first, then the living room. I leave the bedroom alone. Strange.

I found some lost minutes

and filled them with shots of Jack Daniels and nice shirts. Must get started dancing. Pictures tomorrow. Maybe.

twenty days...

A friend of mine started a blog the other day. He told me about it. I like it. It reminds me of those days a couple of years ago, I wouldn't say they were better, or more exciting, but they were different. There are routines, and they change. There are constant faces, and they change. There are pets, kitchens, jobs, loves, fears, desires, destinations and dream vacations, and they all change.

This lack of writing is really frustrating, and I'm the only one to blame. There are hundreds of unused minutes in every day. If I string them together I can find all the time in the world to do anything.

In honor of my friends list, a list of things that have happened to me in the last twenty days.

1. I smashed my finger.
2. I saw mostly naked pictures of a co-worker.
3. I won a party.
4. I celebrated a birthday for someone I couldn't pick out of a lineup.
5. I rode bicycles to a bar, and back.
6. I cooked Falafel.
7. I got Noam Chomskitty high.
8. I wrote a song.
9. I made a mix.
10. I slow danced in the kitchen.
11. I received a large tip from a man with a leprechaun voice.
12. I surprised a friend in Long Beach.
13. I went back to SDSU.
14. I got into a shouting match.
15. I made pigs-in-a-blanket.
16. I saw a new band comprised of 2 people I really respect and a third I should.
17. I saw Andrew Jackson Jihad at a punk house, for the second year in a row, and made new friends.
18. I have a new President.
19. I hung out with a wonderful dog named pancakes.
20. I failed at making Magic Rocks. Sorry Imperceptible.

Tonight, I will listen to a friends radio show, drink beer, cook spinach enchiladas and kiss a beautiful women.

I am busy, and happy.

For the girls in the photographs and the songs that don't remind me of them.

I've heard them talk about heartstrings. Apparently, they get pulled. I'm not sure if they have any other function, or if they even exist, but for the sake of the thoughts I am having, there are heartstrings, and they only get pulled.

I've lived on the edge of a lake once, for a couple of months. It was in walking distance, and I visited it once. It didn't occur to me that I lived so close to a huge lake until about fifteen minutes ago. This song came one that I listened to a lot when I lived in Northern California, and it talked about the lake. I thought "Wow! I used to live by that lake, and I only saw it once." It was winter, but still no excuse.

Things will pop into my life, and they blast in full speed. I will have never heard of something (i.e. the apparently shitty book/movie combo Twilight) and within a week EVERYONE I KNOW will be talking about it, telling me to listen to it, or read it, or see it, or eat it, or drink it, or fuck it. Whatever. This has happened most recently with "The Secret". I can't even spell that right, I had to fix it, so I have no idea what the secret is, but apparently it is about positive thinking and visualization and wasting money on books and movies and seminars. I think. More on this later.

I know a lot of women. I will feel good to say that a little more than half of all the people I know are women. Crazy, huh? I know! Anyways, maybe because of their personalities, or maybe because of male personality, or my broad shoulders or whatever, but a lot of my women friends and acquaintances complain to me about their lives. Friends, lovers, jobs, roommates, food allergies, and clothing. And they also are the ones who get into things like "The Secret" or "the 10 people you meet on the way to the liquor store" or whatever that one thing was called. I don't know.

The song about the lake got me thinking about someone. I'm pretty sure she hasn't graced these virtual pages. I've known her about a decade, off and on. She always seems to have some problem. Some guy, some job, no money, whatever. But she never seems to do anything about it.
She takes pin-up pictures, and shows them off to her friends, but that's all. Strange, really. She puts all this effort into something that she thinks might make her life happy, but not enough effort for it to actually change anything.

Life is pretty easy. Don't get me wrong, I've been sad. Butt-fuck-seriously sad. Moving-across-the-country-in-the-winter sad. I've been there. And I've been happy. Super-drunk-coke-party happy. Moving-across-the-country-in-the-winter-happy. I've lost jobs. I've given jobs back. I've lost friends. I've given friends back. People die. It sucks, yes. But everyday you meet someone new! Or at least you should. I don't need a book to tell me how to be happy. Or how to live my life. You can keep your Bible, and your Secret, and your Twilight, and your Harry Potter, and whatever else finally told you the obvious things about being happy in life.

If you want to be happy, do it.
If you want to fall in love, do it.
If you want to be famous, do it.
If you want to leave, do it.
If you want to write songs, do it.
If you want to die, do it.

I was trying to figure out if I had gone to that lake more often in Chicago would I have been happier. The one time I went it had been snowing for a day or something crazy. It was only a couple of days before I left. I went with Allison and it was awkward, uncomfortable, fun, sad and joyous at the same time. Everyday was those last two weeks. But I wasn't happy and I did something about it. It was entirely possible that I could have failed, or that if I would have stuck it out one more month, hit that mythical/magical three month mark I would still be there. But I didn't, and I'm not, and I'm happy.

So keep your books. I'll be over here in the corner, smiling.