death and my feet still on the carpet.

1.

Two weeks late the phone rings and I think I hear

tears or mine just start to fill that spot in sound

where you know there should be sound but something involved just cannot hold their end

of the bargin that is grief

and news

and condolences

and a map to someplace where it makes sense.

I fall back on the shit couch made to a bed and let me feet hang from the end and they didn't quite touch.

2.

Me.

Bill.

Smirnoff.

Tonic.

This is what you drank.

This is what you had me make you.

When I couldn't have a voice.

When I couldn't have a space.

When I had to wrap my own presents.

Those fucking overalls never fit and it wasn't your fault and that was how it had to be.

That wasn't your fault.

This wasn't your fault.

But I sat there with my best friend and toasted and drank to a man fifteen years gone.

I let my feet hang from the end of the barstool and they didn't quite touch.

3.

Random bathroom before a set of songs I felt I had to rip my skin open to get out, I'm pissing and breaking pills in half for time and chasing with beer and I get in front of a mic and sing about how all of this won't ever fucking work and you smile from wherever you are. You always smiled from that chair that you needed help out of and you fell from and yelled and screamed and cried and lost something that you could never get back. I could map that room. All I wanted was that fireplace to burn. Something. It never happened. I walked out on the deck and looked into yards of families that were what television said families were and I hated them and now I know my family was it. My family was life. Me wedged in one of those chairs, feet hanging from the edge, not quite touching.

4.

Fuck

your

middle

name

if all you ever need is

pussy

pills

and booze.

5.

You were the ultimate Booth.

Your son and grandson rolled into some sort of superhuman with shaky steps and strong opinions.

I admire your taste

I admire your swing

I admire your contentment.

But that was after the clubs, the cigarettes, the pussy, the booze, the service, the wives, the crazy secret foreign country marriages, the surveys, the second (first) family, the lies, the damage and then finally the three times I saw you a year.

What I really admire was the way you pointed, while holding your vodka drink, at whatever was wrong.

You always meant those points.

And I always mean to keep my feet where they reach.

Coffee mugs for the damned

A couple of old men were knocking at the door. I was looking through the lower peephole that had been recently installed in the front door. I thought it was there because I was short. Actually it was there so I could be left home alone and people would feel better about it. I opened the door. It was Saturday and I had no shirt on. They were from a church I had attended a few weeks earlier on a whim. I filled out a visitor card and put in in the offering basket. No money though. I didn't have any cash on me and they hadn't earned it yet. The old men asked if I had been back since the first time. Then they asked why I hadn't. Then they asked if I liked coffee. And if I would take their gift. And if I would come back, or at least think about it. I said No, I was busy, No, I would, I might, I will. I closed the door while they walked back to their station wagon. The coffee mug they gave had old man candy in it. The wrappers made to look like fruit so you would feel better about sticking hard candy in your mouth that tasted like shit. I unwrapped one, put it my mouth, and promptly spit it into the trash can. I did this to every peace of candy. My mouth felt sugary and rotten. Maybe that is what Eve tasted so long ago; maybe that is what they wanted me to think. I put the mug on the proper shelf in the corner cabinet and got something to wash the overwhelming taste of sin out of my mouth. A little later I made some coffee to drink from the church mug.

I moved that coffee mug from house to house to house to apartment to house to apartment to apartment to house for a few years. I used to wrap it in this old t-shirt and toss it into the suitcase full of things I almost forgot. I never saw those men or the inside of their church again. I kept drinking coffee from their mug though. One morning in a kitchen that wasn't mine for very long the handle broke off. It was full of fresh coffee and a sugar cube. I was staring out the window at a yard like one of those robed fathers on Christmas morning in a coffee commercial when the business end of it crashed to the floor. It wasn't Christmas. I wasn't a father. I was naked.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

nothing feels as old

As I did last night. I sat on my bedroom floor drinking wine, eating fake buffalo wings and then drinking beer. When you meet someone who hasn't heard all of your stories, who wasn't there for all the heartbreak and happiness, who doesn't have all of the same friends, and spent their formative years in different parks/garages/clubs/driveways/backseats you get to learn more about yourself. Recounting losing your virginity is different when it is almost 10 years removed. Replaying soundtracks to your evenings leaves you with songs that don't carry the weight they used to. Trying to explain inside jokes, or why you can't get high, or name sections of deserts that are now empty shopping centers, or which girl it was that you last referred to as a girl, before you started dealing with women, really add the pages to the calender that had snuck on unnoticed up to this point. But being so far removed from these things and realizing that you don't have to defend those decisions anymore, that makes the transitions easy to take. It was a great night on my bedroom floor, like one I hadn't spent in almost a decade.

the times we do, the times we don't

I got a digital camera for Christmas in 2005. I have taken a lot of pictures on it. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 4000. That is at least what I have saved. There are pictures from 3 going away parties, a last night in town, 6 or 7 different states, costume parties, birthdays, nights at bars, beaches, mountains, airports, trains, buses, friends, girlfriends, ex-friends, people I never see anymore, kitchens, living rooms, bedrooms, garages, yards, patios, apartments, houses, a pool, and my own blood.

I had a box, probably 14x20, full of pictures taken with traditional cameras. 35mm, 110 mm, disposable, polaroid. Sometime before I got the digital camera I threw all of those pictures away. I don't miss them, those times didn't seem familiar. I didn't long for them, I am happy they are gone. In terms of the pictures I own, I didn't exist before 2005.

It is a strange feeling, feeling like you didn't exist, when you know you did.

That might be why I take a lot of pictures now. I often forget to take pictures when something momentous is happening. The everyday stuff, I'm there for. And those pictures turn out better anyways.

nervous energy and the music that doesn't help

And in a new northside home / I can spend a night alone / Not thinking of who I would leave / If the bottle got the best of me. - I Am Not Who I Used to Be by The Gunshy

I am a ball of energy. I work in less than 2 hours. I already rode my bike to lunch and back. I already played guitar for about an hour. So much energy.

Long drive home / Shoes on the staircase / You play new songs / Come recommended from / A guy you know / But you don't mention his name. - Channeling th Boss by Deepshit, Arkansas

I am having anxiety today, a little at least. I am nervous. Not a worried nervous, just nervous. I guess that makes it anxious.

Could we be saved by inventions and hopes? / Cause I'm not all right. / The night seems to swallow me whole and spits out / second guessing. - Young Loud and Scotty by Lifetime

I haven't been feeling 25 lately. More like 15. 10 years off the mind, body and heart. I don't dread waking up. I don't hate going to work. I don't have never ending thoughts of impending doom. I am enjoying every second spent with my roommates and my friends. Every song I listen to or sing along to feels better than the song before. I'm feeling things and saying things I haven't in years. I had no idea being back in California would work out so well for me.

I always wanted / Your affections / Now I don't know what to do with them / You say you crave / My attention / But I'm Tired and I won't be dragged back in. - Dragged Back In by The Weight

I'm going to take a bath.

well there's poor then there's poor

That's the opening line from a song my friend Dan wrote today. He recorded it and sent it to me. It is very good. When there is a proper version of it I'll pass it along.

Yesterday I learned something about my friends when I was trying to be told something else about them. Another person, my dad, was trying to get me to join the military. And he was saying I've wasted the past 8 or so years of my life. And that my friends don't care about me. I threw rocks across the street at a real estate sign that I couldn't hit. I drank box wine from a red solo cup and tried not to cry when trying to defend my actions/feelings/loves up to that exact moment. But I didn't do any actual defending. I sort of caved, and agreed that maybe things could be better, or at least different.

Bill came home. Crystal came home. Juliana and Bobb came home. Bert came over. Stephanie came over. We shared drinks and stories of the disconnect between us and our parents. How I am spoiled that my mother shows general interest in the things I do, the songs I sing, the pictures I take, and the things I write, and that none of our other parents understand what we are doing. They were all married, with kids, and careers by this point in their lives. Some were on their second marriage already. They don't see the point in working jobs we hate to have enough money for rent in a house with our best friends and buy 24 packs of beer on a sunday night. They don't see the point in anything we do. And that is ok. They still all love us, and they still wants nothing but the best for us, but their best and our best are different. I can tell you that we all care about each other, and we all include each other in most of our plans and decision making.

And I learned something about myself.

I can find something to be passionate about. I think I found it. And I learned that I can tell someone something and not need their approval, or a response. I can say something so that I know it has been said, and that is all that matters.

I'm learning to apply my diy/punk rock ethics to other areas of my life. It makes me smile.

5:30, millions of things to say, but how?

i participated in a small celebration for someone born on leap day. They are 24 years old. They are also six, technically. In the course of the evening I was quoted poetry, given free drinks, and harassed for my life decisions. To say to someone that you will regret a choice you made in 5 years is easy. Life changes dramatically in 5 years. But to be attacked (barely) for deciding to do something about the happiness in your life? Whatever. Live and let learn. Live and let die. The list of things that other people think I will regret in five years (or in some cases less) is a very long list. Add your entry. Thank you for your input. Your opinion will be considered. I don't want to say it, let alone think it, but that same list you are carrying around in your pocket probably makes it hard to walk upright, maybe? At least at times I try, even if I have a tendency to fail.

the recurring joke that is probably much more serious

I like to say that I am really seven years old. Actually, I think it is funny. That even though I can hold down a job or have a girlfriend or a checking account or drive a car or drink beer or stay out late, I am actually only developmentally seven years old. Pee and Poop jokes are still the best. I like running around whatever house/apartment I am occupying naked. Completely inconsequential things. Except for this feeling I experienced this morning.

I'm really selfish. I'm going to take my ball home and then no one can play selfish. I get upset when people move on with their lives without me. I think I should be massively more important to people than I am or deserve to be. Even the people who I am very important to, its not enough. I can completely abandon friends that I have had for 1,5,10,15, even 20 years, and they should still hang on my every word, thought and emotion.

I am an asshole. A son-of-a-bitch. A piece of shit even. I have very little consideration for other peoples feelings. I showed that by the way I handled moving out to Chicago, and the way I have handled myself since I got here.

I am thankful everyday that my friends and family put up with me. I don't know if I could, or even want to.

I really don't know why I expect people to wait around for me. I always thought, hell, I was sort of raised, that if you wait around you'll get left behind. More and more these days I wouldn't mind getting left behind.

200 - mix

I love that numbers like this get us all sentimental. This is my 200th post on this blog. In high school I had a crude diary on a free server that I had to code everyday and upload. Then I had a couple other blogs and misc things. This one was started less than a month before I moved from Lancaster to Sacramento. It survived the move there and back. I think for the most part I did too. It stayed with me through the pretty consistent chaos that has been the last year. Everything on here is wordy, except when it's not. It's sad, except when its happy. It's boozy, actually, pretty much always. One of my favorite things about blogging (besides the invitations to orgies at my own funeral) is putting together a mix for an occasion, sorting it, uploading it, and sharing it. If there is any occasion, this is one, so I put 13 songs that are just killing me softly (and sometimes not so soft). There are some older stuff, some newer stuff, and some surprising stuff, maybe. It's about this blog, the stuff I've written about, the stuff I didn't write about, and the people who still check this out. Brew some coffee, put some booze in it, browse through some of the older posts, before I knew what labels were, and enjoy. I'm actually listening to this mix as I type this, and it's pretty fucking good. Have a good chinese new year, even though I'm a few days late.

200 - http://www.megaupload.com/?d=3FPI56CD
Joining The Army - Lucero
Our Life Is Not A Movie Or Maybe - Okkervil River
I'm Sorry for Saying I'm Sorry - The Arrivals
Silver Lining - Rilo Kiley
Personal Slump - The Weight
The Wright Wrong - The Wunder Years
Red Alibi - Sparta
Never Get To Know - Paul Baribeau
God Deciding - Hot Water Music
The Condition - Defiance, Ohio
Song for Dennis Brown - The Mountain Goats
That's What You Get - Paramore
Hot Knives - Bright Eyes

a farewell to peppers

Oh peppers, how you made my days go by, how you filled my pockets, how you helped my middle class attempts at smashing the state. You made me drinking buddies and bowling friends. You brought people to sing with in karaoke bars. Dry-run-thru's of taxes were done at your bar. Surprise visits to lovers too. Peppers you were the backdrop to some of the best and worse days. To some spirited debates and colorful outbursts. You let me outlast more than I should, but I go before many others who should already be gone.

So here's to you peppers, to the people that you let me meet, the beliefs you reinforced, the money you allowed me to make, and the friends I will never forget, even though they have already started to forget me. Thank you for these folks - Whit, Tricia, Miska, Carey, Juan, Randy, Tommie, Kelly, Red, Louis, Harper, Wayne, Bryan, Anderson, Keisha, Sam, Heidi, Donna, Deanna, Ashley, All the hosts with their sexy teenage butts, Vicki, Gina, Kevin, everyone I ever drank with, everyone I ever made fun of, and everyone I will never miss.

Peppers, You hardly knew me.

my first sin was a young american girl

A couple of days ago Bill and I hung out. We got my money back on a car battery, we had lunch, we went shopping. Our shopping consisted of a single stop at a LEVI outlet. I bought some pants, some skinny jeans, something I have been enjoying lately. Bill bought some pants too. I knew the girl who rang up our purchases.

It was Kimmy Martinez. The first girl I ever kissed.

And by kissed, I mean kissed. Behind a church, after a youth church meeting; tongue, teeth and erections.

(For the longest time when I was making out, I was aroused. It still happens today. Some women inspire the hardest erections with the slightest touch. I am fourteen.)

So there she was, working part or full time at a retail establishment that saw less than 35 customers a day. And she looked the same, how I remembered her. Her body was slimmer, her face was the same. I caught her looking at me the way she periodically did back then; head down a little, eyes pushed up as high as possible, as if she was a librarian looking over her reading glasses. For a second I was thrown back to those days, being 14, knowing nothing about women, but wanting to know everything. I wondered what it would be like to kiss her now, but that thought soon left with the realization that it could never happen again, and it shouldn't.

See, she has a boyfriend, and a child, and what would appear to be a full time job. Her parents live in San Francisco, one brother is married, one is toiling away in a horrible band, at least the last I heard that was the case.

And me...

Some ways I am the same. Parents in different places. In some ways I am different. No children, no siblings, no significant other.

So we said goodbye. Said it was good to see each other. Said we hoped to see each other again.

And that was probably the biggest lie of them all.

rinse. repeat.

I have a really good memory. I store lots of knowledge, some useful and some not. I remember a lot of things that happened when I was pretty young. I am glad I still remember this story.

I went to preschool at the same school that I went to for elementary, junior high, and high school. From being around 4 till 17 I spent most of my days at a private christian school. The original building was two stories and had a bunch of classrooms. In the middle was the playground for the kids in preschool, me.

In our classrooms we each had our own nap mats with our names on them. And we had coat hooks with our names on them. And we had clear boxes stacked high up out of reach with our names on them. Those held our emergency change of clothes.

My class had one set of teachers. The other classes had their own. There was this one teacher, man she was HOT! Tall, skinny, blond, gorgeous. (Funny how at 4 I already knew what was supposed to be considered attractive.) Knowing know about the hiring practices of the school, she was about 18-20 years old.

When I had recess and and her class hat nap time or some other activity I would stand outside and look into the window at her. Creepy. Then I would go run around and swing and slide and whatever, then go back and stare at her.

One day I was standing outside of her window and the urge to pee hit me. Like a ton of bricks. But I stood there. I crossed my legs and watched. I did what some have referred to as the pee-pee dance and watched. I pinched myself and watched. Then I gave in.

I pissed my pants.

And I stood there, watching. After a minute or so I went up to my teacher, feigning embarrassment, and told her I had an accident.

It was no accident. I knew I was going to, but I would rather stand there at the window and watch this teacher.

So I got to use my change of clothes. My pants had velcro instead of a zipper. I was awesome.

And a creepy bastard.

Now that essentially went on to repeat itself in very differing situations, no more piss, but definitely social awkwardness or discomfort, for the rest of my life. It still happens. And when I realize it, it makes me laugh.

10 years ago, oh fuck...

I was inspired by a post Island Girl did about herself 10 years ago. Big ups to her for this one.

10 years ago, this exact week, I had just finished my freshman year of high school. Tomorrow, I would be going to the KROQ Weenie Roast (look at that lineup! WOW!) Summer had just started, I discovered making out, and I loved the shit out of Nirvana. Thinking that the best way to get into my head, or rather, the me of 10 years ago, I pulled out my yearbook. Here's some quotes about me.

• "You are truly someone to take sides with." - Liz Blanchard
  
• "I have really, really enjoyed our time over the past year. You are such a sweetheart, your great hugs (even though you crushed my boobs sometimes), and loving words have been so nice to hear over the past year" - Jessica Pickle I had a HUGE crush on this junior. She moved to Colorado and wrote me a letter once. I had that letter for a long time.
• "I hope you come here all 4 years, so I can watch you grow" - Joy-Carin Rufener

And then a whole bunch of people saying "You're Cool" or "KIT" or "Have a great Summer!". I would like to think that as I got older and more developed as a person the messages in my yearbook would get better, but they are probably mostly the same.

It is pretty strange to look at something like a yearbook 10 years later. I was trying to remember things from then, and I remember some, but it made me remember a lot more. Enough of this reminiscing, I'm going to go for a walk.