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!