Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
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.
http://www.mediafire.com/?yl4jhwvwmkm - The Soundtrack to ROCKY 7 - a mix
Saturday, May 09, 2009
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.
Friday, May 08, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
An impromptu list of times I have either cried or been naked:
- 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)
Monday, May 04, 2009
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.
I guess to illustrate the importance of the song. I guess.
You don't hear anything.
The Verve sucks.