Fuck you and the blog you rode in on...

(What do you want to know about? The weeks of quiet? The changes of opinion? The new drugs? And where they come from? Some pussy? Or no pussy? Or why it is suddenly pussy? Is that it? Or is it the new towns? Or the new beds? Or the conversations I keep all to myself? Do you want to hear about the jokes that didn't work, the faces that don't show, or the corners that now make up my days? Well fuck you.)

I borrowed a lamp from my old roommate. We haven't talked in weeks. And the lamp has one working bulb, out of the three, that I use at night while writing. I gave up cigarettes for a lay a while back. But she doesn't know anymore so I'm back to smoking. I pulled a fan from my trunk. It has been hot as shit the last three days. So I use the fan to blow smoke out of my window. My new roommates don't know. Most nights I leave the living room without saying a word. I retreat to my room. Some nights I wrap a belt around my neck to make sure I cum. Some nights I watch Japanese wrestling matches from the early 90's. The last few nights I use my phone to bore someone to death, or sleep, and jerk off to compilation videos of blonde women blowing black men.

I sleep for minutes at a time. When I am not asleep I am grinding my teeth, counting sirens outside of my window, and praying for some stray bullet to find my heart.

Because everyone needs an unexpected funeral.

I think of stories to write, anecdotes to explain away the last few paragraphs.

But that doesn't really bother me anymore.

On passing you on the highway exactly an hour ago

To Whom It May Concern,

There's space between the really important things in our lives. Between the seconds, the breaths, and the tears. We don't notice it, we don't think of it, at least I didn't use to. Now it is all I think about. Every left turn shows a right. Every laugh holds a tear. And every heart-beat is separated by a non-beat. These gaps that we don't think about sometimes hold hands and turn themselves into days weeks and months of space. Focusing on these little things will drive me crazy, errr, crazier. And I think you might think this is a little abstract, but this is just a foundation.

I've been out of town for the last few days. You knew about that. I'll be around for a few more hours then its back out into oblivion. I hear you've been asking about that. I've been stumbling through airports and social situations that we used to plan together. Your name comes up in casual conversations in beds, bars and brothels. People ask how you are, or how you've been, or where you are, or where you are going; but I've seen these eyes and looks before. They are asking about me. I'm not a narcissist. But they want to know the edge is further from me then it seems. Don't pat yourself on the back though. They've asked these questions before and if I was a betting man I'd say they'll ask again. And I am. And they will.

I sleep on less couches lately. But I can still find one when I need to, and they still feel like home.

I digress.

I saw you today, we passed each other on the road. I was headed North, yourself South. It reminded me of the spaces. For three short seconds I watched you living, 40 miles an hour in the opposite direction. My car smelled like cigarettes as the wind pushed the last remaining thoughts of shitty slave wage labor out of the window. I couldn't tell what was on your mind. But I know it wasn't me. And that's good.

I keep seeing people get married. I watched a couple get married on the beach yesterday from behind some glass. Then they came upstairs and I served them and their guests drinks. A lot. Everyone was happy. There were people from all over the world. It was raining cats and fucking dogs outside. There was a moment, just a second, where I was pouring shots for the family, and the music was real loud, and most people were dancing and I realized that I was in one of the spaces.

Clarity sometimes comes at the expense of others.

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.

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.

i didn't forget about you, and i didn't forget about me, i just did a lot of this

celibate girl walks into a bar

(no one pictured is celibate girl)

I used to have "a bar". The one I went to all the time, the one where I knew the bartenders and owner and cooks and all of it. I still know most of those people, and I still go there, but it's not the same. As I enjoy saying, "I lost it in the divorce". That is not 100% accurate, but that is ok.

I ended up there tonight. I was trying to make headway with a lady who is not the second chance, but interests me none the less. She never showed up. But celibate girl did. And that is fine. Most of me has moved passed my fascination. But part of me is still getting kicked in the balls about it. And her are the sordid details.

Celibate girl showed up, probably invited by Robert, because with one comes the other, most of the time. She shows up with a gentleman, whose name is Kevin. (I just decided to get rid of all sort of fake names/pseudonyms/whatever. Celibate girls' name is Hannah. All parties are happy. Or at least me.) Hannah and Kevin aren't old enough for cheap car insurance, let alone able to buy drinks. After being asked to buy a Jager-Bomb for Kevin I devise a plan and make it happen. (It was asked for by Hannah on Kevin's behalf) I use a plan because I used to love this bar, and even if my feelings have changed lately, I still respect it. It comes out later that someone already bought him his Jager-bomb, and mine was a "gift".

Fuck That!

I drank at this bar underage, and the tips reflected that. I have drank and drank and drank at this bar, and my tips reflected that. But I just got screwed.

There have been conversations between myself and Hannah about getting to know each other better. We might have tried a little bit, but not that hard. So I sat in this style of chair I have sat in some many times before, and it hit me. I am being used.

Hannah might not be into this Kevin, but she might as well be. Don't use me to get other dudes drunk.

She tries to tell me there was a misunderstanding, and tries to give me money. I won't take it. I tell her that it was a lesson. And I learned it. So I get rid of her. DELETE! I don't have her number anymore, I hope it lasts.

The point to this whole thing is that I don't need this shit, I am drunk, and I hope someone will learn a lesson.

my first party in the hills without that pesky freon addiction

Here's what I remember happening at the LA Blogger Party, a few days later...
(as close to chronological as possible)

On our way to the house, and by we I mean Bill, Whit, Tricia (thanks again DD) and I, Whit tells us LA Daddy (it's super funny to me to refer to people by their blog name) needs some plastic forks and ice. 4 20lbs bags. We find a CVS. They only have 7lbs bags and no forks. So we walk through it and out the other side (?) to a Vons. There's a VW bug in the parking lot and the sex jokes start. I exclaim loudly to my friends (and an unsuspecting woman) that I am wet. The party just started.

Oh yeah, we still had to buy 7lbs bags of ice. The count goes to eleven. (That's a Whit joke)

We find the house, we meet LA Daddy, we open beers, we tear paper to make business cards. We open more beer and the bloggers start showing up.

Red Stapler shows up, with the red stapler. If I had been on top of my game I would have made the UHF "red stapler, mmmmm, very tasty" joke. I'm kicking myself. She was way fun and way nice. Bill stapled my face.

Then we get to meet Write Write Baby. All three of them. The baby was a good baby, in that it wasn't giving out insider trading secrets and it didn't cause any physical harm to me. Two things I look for in a child. We played a little golf ball catch. I realized I am great with kids. For 30 seconds.

Then more and more and more and more bloggers show up. Super hot mom Baby on Bored showed up and I started to hit on her. And by hitting on her I said "I read your blog, the post about 10things to do instead of taking a bath with rose petals. It was funny." Smooth until the day I die. My ringman wasn't with me, but I saw it and abandoned ship. (A ringman is like a wingman, except they just check fingers for promise/engagement/wedding rings. They are useful helping continue eye contact and also not getting you yelled at for accidentally looking at a chest.) I decided not to try to hit on anyone else that night. She showed up with House of Prince, whose blog I had also read. As was revealed very early, she is breastfeeding. I made a joke that we could now make white russians, because the milk was here. Oh yeah. It gets better.

September 10th sat at a table with a bunch of people. We didn't say much to each other, but Donald and I talked about making money with a blog. It was a good base for another participant in shots later on in the evening. At the table I met Childsplayx2 who traveled up from San Diego and recommended living in New York. And I also met Andy, Kitchen-Fire's husband. We bonded over punk rock. I was excited, VERY excited. More people showed up.

I was anticipating meeting Rattling the Kettle. On his blog his sense of humor seemed like one I would enjoy, and I did. I wish we would have talked more, but at this point I had 3 drinks in my hand (beer, red bull and vodka, champagne with strawberries) and it was time to get things going.

Side note: being vegetarian at potlucks is sorta shitty, but you just have to improvise, like using a knife to scrape off all the fun stuff from the bagel bites so you just have mini bagels. Those do a good job, those and carrots.

At this point in the evening I spend most of it inside, jumping from conversation to ice chest to carrot plate to conversation. There were a bunch of people I didn't meet at this point, it happens. I did met Down With Pants (shot taker numero dos) and his wife. I wish I could remember her name, but I wasn't retaining much at this point. I had to start writing down blogs to check out on a piece of paper. DWP is huge! Like crazy linebacker huge, and just as awesome. I enjoyed the time with him and the Peruvian beer. Pretty much any beer with foil around the neck is tasty, and this one was too! DWP isn't a parent blogger, so I think we made some sort of super-hero-non-parent-blogging-world-power consisting of him Bill and I. You tremble. It is possible we formed no such group. But I do remember making fun of parent blogs. The funny thing is a parent blog is just like my blog, just change the baby name with my name and beer bottle with any drink reference. Keep the all the crazy baby antics though, I do those too.

I met 8cmdeluded and her friend whose business card is in my wallet. Things get pretty hazy at this point, but I know that party is winding down, and I think that we get into a friendly match of making fun of each other. There's the thing about letting someone come inside of you, then some stuff about owning a skateboard, then some "who the fuck is david sedaris" and something about Henry Rollins. It was good times for all, and by all I mean myself for sure, her probably, her friend maybe, and everyone else no.

I meet justinspace around the food table and we drank maker's on the rocks together, but separately. I never drink the booze on the rocks, my head explained to me why in the morning.

The shots happen sometime between the anti-mommy blogging jokes and the how to make babies conversation. It was me, Bill, DWP, Donald and When Tara Met Blog. Jim Beam, WOO! The party was great, but not so much a shot taking party. It was good to get the shots flowing, thanks again to those 3 for joining in on the fun.

Oh yeah, before the night is over, I take off most of my clothes and get in the hot tube. I almost drowned, the fucker had a crazy deep spot, like 7 feet.

I know I met some more people, but these are the things that stick out. Big Ups to LA Daddy once again for the great party.

Now I have to go read the 30 new blogs I'm checking out.

I am excited.