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.

12 months of 2008, plus one - mix

It's almost 6pm, New Years Eve. I have no plans. I'm waiting to figure out what I'm doing, so I made a mix. One song for each month of 2008, plus a bonus one for next year. I hope this finds you happy, safe and excited for what 2009 will bring you.

12 months of 2008, plus one - http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?wqxjgem5gmg
January - Over And Out - Alkaline Trio
February - This Is A Fire Door Never Leave Open - The Weakerthans
March - Channel The Boss - Deepshit, Arkansas
April - This Year - The Mountain Goats
May - The Radiator Hums - Cursive
June - Humble Narrator - Two Cow Garage
July - Big Casino - Jimmy Eat World
August - Moab - Conor Oberst
September - Jinx Removing - Jawbreaker
October - The Swiss Army Romance - Dashboard Confessional
November -Caleb's Grave - Drag the River
December - I Gave Too Much Time To The Wine - The Gunshy
2009 - 100 Resolutions - The Lawrence Arms

filling the silent apartment

with the sounds of the Pogues the day after Christmas. filling my empty belly with a too strong hot chocolate/peppermint schnapps drink that is cold now. I've switched to the postal service for some inspiration if I start messing around with a synth tonight. Christmas went well. I couldn't get full, and I couldn't get drunk, and I tried all day. This time last year I was sitting on a bus. Remeber that? I think my seat mate had prison ozzy tattoos on his hand. My nose is peeling and I don't know why. It seems to be that time where I am running into people I haven't seen in a few years. It is all starting to feel very strange. 2009 will be a banner year, much like 2007 I imagine.

2008, you've let me down and made me feel like a prom queen. Seriously.

A series of thoughts as I sit around pre-gaming.

Pre-Gaming.

That is what I am doing.

What is it?

Well, its the drinking you do before you go out drinking.

• I'm not sure if buttered toast is a bar snack anywhere, but it going really well with my beer right now.
• Christmas came really fast this year. Last year it was an afterthought with the big move and everything, but wow, it got here fast. I was at a store 5 days ago and they were selling discount Christmas lights. I guess if you put them up in October you don't need them 12 days before like I did.
• I'm going to an Ugly Christmas Sweater party tonight. Does this mean office ladies get together and have Tight T-Shirt/Tight Pants parties? Do they stand around dress like I do and drink beer from cans with koozies and laugh at how ridiculous they look? When I walk into their place of business do they almost want to ask me where I got my Tight T-Shirt like I do when they wear their ugly sweaters into Peppers?
• Did I mention I'm working at Pepper's again? It's way better than the glory days, that's for sure.
• I finished my first semester of school since I think before I was able to drink legally. I feel very proud, but I could have done better.
• Noam Chomskitty doesn't like it when I pet his FUPA. I am making him fat.
• Canoga Park can get really cold. Not Chicago cold, not even close. But wearing a tshirt and shorts in November will make your body forget how cold it once was.

Well, time to go party. Maybe a picture tomorrow?

Best of 2008 - mix

I know some people, and they know some people, and those two groups have been making Top Ten Albums of 2008 Lists. I thought about doing it, and in listening to some of the albums that came out this year I realized there were a bunch I liked a lot, and a bunch I sort of liked with a couple really kick ass songs. So I decided to make a mix of my favorite songs from 2008. They are in no particular order, and they are all over the place. Its too long for a cd, sorry. 26 songs to listen to that week between Christmas and New Years when you either don't drink enough or you drink too much. Plus, as Bill pointed out when I told him about it, this way people can hear some new stuff. So, enjoy.

Best of 2008 - http://www.megaupload.com/?d=BI9PCTH0
1. My Year In Lists - Los Campesinos
2. Stay Positive - The Hold Steady
3. Sleep With No Bad Dreams - Good Luck
4. Drunkasauras Rex - Madison Bloodbath
5. Let's Dance To Joy Division - The Wombats
6. 5 Twenty 5 - Tim Barry
7. Ten Years Trouble - Off With Their Heads
8. First Song - Gordon Gano's Army
9. Cappuccino - The Knux
10. The Dirt Whispered - Rise Against
11. In The Craters On The Moon - The Mountain Goats
12. Drunk By Noon - The Measure [SA]
13. The Darling Days - The Gunshy
14. Shell Game - Banner Pilot
15. We Are Wild Stallions - The Riot Before
16. Juno - Tokyo Police Club
17. You - Atmosphere
18. Anna Is A Stool Pigeon - Tom Gabel
19. Walcott - Vampire Weekend
20. Little Brother - Dead To Me
21. Cath... - Death Cab For Cutie
22. Calling And Not Calling My Ex - Okkervil River
23. A Little Bit Cooler - The Cool Kids
24. Dear Sir - Bridge And Tunnel
25. A Jingle for the Product - Dillinger Four
26. Candle In The Wind (Ben's Song) - Andrew Jackson Jihad

Its good to know you're doing fine...

...with no reason to call.

I am bad at calling people. I'm bad at calling them when I think of them, or calling them back.

I blog more often than I talk on the phone.

Weird, huh?

I'm not sure what it is.

But for christmas, everyone is going to get a phone call. So if you want one, email me.

wordless wednesday. the first blogger to show up in geography class.

this year it is is this one, last year it was that...

The last two years, more than the years before, I have had a specific song play over and over in situations that would later become important.

Last year it was the song at the end of this post. Those times are another story entirely. This post is for the moments so far concerning the video above...

There is a radio station out here that considers itself indie, and apparently that just means they don't come in very well. (I'm kidding, they are really good, but their reception is shit.) I heard the song one night driving my car, or Stephanie's car, I don't remember. A few days later the video was on the "on demand" part of our cable box and I watched it 10-12 times. (It is on repeat as I type this, to put me in the mood.)

I've had some rough spots the last 2 months. I don't document them even though I would like to. Long story short, I am where I want to be, and a good portion of the people I surround myself with are not. Believe me, I wish I could, but I can't. I feel like Island Girl.

My loneliest nights and days have had this song attached. Some of the worst thing said to me have had this song attached.

I am both sides of this song. I am neither. I am this song. I am not.

and the bath came back, the very next day...

I took a bath today. It was my first since turning 26. It was nice. My body is sore. A bunch of friends got together yesterday to play flag football. Apparently there are muscles in my chest and around my "core" that don't get any work. Those muscles don't like me today. I don't like them either. But as a gift to mend our rift I offered them a bath. They accepted and seem to be more comfortable. I'm going to walk to the store and buy some stuff to cook.

I have 2 days to apply to a university. I have no idea where to go.

Any ideas?

slouching towards 30...

If there was a hill, and i was my twenties, well, now I am on the back side of said hill. Sunday I turned 26. Monday I recovered. I'm closer to 30 now than 20. That's what happens, right?

I've been in the process of neglect. I've neglected my bike, I've neglected my reading, I've neglected my cooking and I've neglected this. So, for probably the 17th time I'm going to make this thing more regular. I spend a lot of time sitting around watching people become chefs, best friends, fashonistas, sluts and drunks in a little box, I should be able to tear myself away for 15 minutes and throw together some picture with some anecdote about Noam Chomskitty getting neutered or throwing up arm in arm with a girl on my birthday. (That's the new Booth birthday tradition, two years running!)

Imperceptible was nice enough to send me some stuff in the mail. I'll take some pictures.

Hide your VW's I'm feeling frisky...

25 and no posture

I spent the evening making the apartment a home. I cleaned, vacuumed, and cooked dinner. For a while it worked.

A recently friendly face had decided to head back to Florida. I made the 5 minute walk to the bar to say so long. I keep collecting going away parties, hoping the ones for others outweigh my own. They might all be the same, drinks and smokes and bad music. Coworkers doing their best impression of friends, saying the things you are supposed to say so in a couple days it won't hurt to realize you forgot they left. I share a couple of shots, never with the person of honor, and exchange a couple of stories about the nights before I came around and what they used to do. The bar closes it's doors and everyone piles into their cars. I walked back, this time its a little colder and I walk a little faster. I cross the street when I'm not supposed to and I see my reflection in the windows of the diner as I walk past. I realize I'm slouching, and I have been for years. I straighten up and things are better when I get home.

The hours I've been spending alone are adding up like someone else losses on the market. Me? I'm just trying to make it out alive.

stealing other people's democracy, all by myself

There is a video floating around of a bunch of people telling other people to not vote. I think they are kidding. But they also say they are going to wait around for me to register to vote. So, I'm not register, and I'm not going to. Interesting?

I'm not going to link to that video, but I'll link to this one, it doesn't talk down to me.

More on this whole election thing to come.

streets...

I just watched a video where some punk kids set fire to a bunch of buildings in Chicago.
I think...
I've been listening to this Ben Folds song because of Whit for a good portion of my night.
I've been drinking cans of beer with my cat. and VH1.
I took a quick walk, to a liquor store, and a pharmacy, and a market, and all I bought was the beer I've been drinking.

I miss the streets of Chicago. Not so much the city, or maybe the circumstances, or maybe my inability to stand up for anything at any point. Really, I'm not that sure. But I know I miss walking those streets with a hundred places to go, with fifty buses passing me by, with twenty five bars to stop in and drink. I used to pass people on the street.

Now I just pass their empty containers.

7 things i think about while drinking beer alone in the apartment

in no particular order.

1. why does the number 7 always make me think of jesus?
2. if someone with a lot of credibility told me the things i did affected other peoples lives I didn't know, would i believe them?
3. seriously, punk rock should make everyones day better.
4. when I become a teacher, will I be able to do all the things I want to?
5. or will everyone have to read that book about the red fern growing?
6. will dan ever play music again?
7. why doesn't anyone deliver burritos?

wow, what a life.

Blogging as an existance

I would love to blog for a living. But I would get to distracted by fantasy football, death cab for cutie youtube videos and waiting for checks in the mail to get anything done.

I just wanted to post something today.

Her name was Jessica

I met her sometime during my junior year. She was a transfer to our little private school community. I remember having a science class with her. And I remember one of my good friends was trying to pick up on her. I was making out with a different girl named Jessica who I had a crush on the previous year but now decided to return the favor. I got invited to a birthday party by a girl who was a couple of years younger than me who I was kind of friends with. I wanted to buy her a present, so I asked if this new girl Jessica wanted to go to the mall with me. At this point my friend wasn't trying to pick her up anymore. After we went shopping there was a couple of hours until I had to take her home and go to this party. I half jokingly asked her if she wanted to go make out. She said sure. I took her to my mother's boss house, who was in England. We took a pad off of a pool lounge chair and put it on the ground and started making out. I got to second base as fast as I could but got stopped there. I spent the next 45 minutes or so with my hand up a shirt, sloppy kisses on my mouth and grinding my crotch into hers, jean on jean. I still remember how uncomfortable that felt. I took her home, we laughed and joked the whole way to her place. We hung out a few more times, hooked up and enjoyed each others company. Then she started dating someone, and I think I started dating someone and we just stayed friends.

About 9 months later I was keeping myself occupied with random girls and thoughts of college and everything that happens the last months of your senior year. My parents were in the process of splitting up. They still lived at the same house but spent a lot of time with the people who would become my steps. One particularly lonely afternoon I called Jessica. I invited her over. We hadn't hooked up since Christmas the year previous probably, or maybe later, or sooner, I don't remember. When she showed up at my door the first thing she said was that she wasn't going to kiss me. I hugged her and said no problem. We walked through my empty house to my bedroom. I think she had been over before, probably for a party. I put on some cd that was killing me at the time and we sat on the bed. Soon we were laying together, sort of spooning, sort of anxious, sort of distant. I think she said she had changed, that she didn't do that sort of stuff anymore. I told her again that it was ok. I told her I wasn't looking for that. She asked what I was looking for. I told here I just wanted someone there, someone to help fill the empty house, but life back into the coffin that had become my bed, my room, my house, my life. She looked shocked, a little. She hadn't signed up for this. I didn't know what she expected. Probably to repeatedly push away my advances. Maybe to give in. Maybe early afternoon sex. Maybe a bible reading. But she didn't get any of that. She just laid there next to me with a hand in my hair until she had to go home. And she left.

We didn't mention that afternoon. We rarely talked, except for school stuff and mild gossip at lunch. I think she is married now with a kid. And on that one day she did more than she will ever know for me.

Burritos!

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Dear VMA's...

No, I haven't watched them, but I'm going to. I was too busy watching the Bears beat up the Colts. Surprise, I know. I am watching the post show though, and I am confused. Is this where we are? 9 years removed from Nine Inch Nails debuting new music on live television? Say what you will about Nine Inch Nails, but at least Trent Reznor wrote music and no one from Duran Duran was in the band.

Anyways.

I'm going to TIVO this and watch it. No outside influence from blogs or anything. I'm gonna review it.

WHY?

I'm launching a new site - BOOTH REVIEW - this is gonna kick it off.

Be Prepared.

Love, Anthony

Dear Football...

Today is the beginning of football season. I don't count the Thursday game. I don't like the Giants, and I don't like football on Thursdays. I have a few wishes I want football to grant for me this year.

• Keep the Madden Curse ALIVE!
• Let Hester Break the all time returns for TD's record. Against the Colts.
• Let ESPN's Mr Fantasy Guy not convince me to start someone who will ruin my fantasy team that week.
• Have this be the last 16 game season.
• Don't let my cable go out during any games.
• And last and not least, bless Neckbeard.

Go Bears!

Let's keep the romance alive!

Apparently Christina Aguilera (?) and her man with a beard keep their relationship sexy by having Naked Sundays ALL DAY! That is what some woman with blond hair and a yellow suit told me while I was trying to watch college football,well, naked.

Being naked is pretty fucking rad. (Pardon my use of 80's terms of cool)

I'm naked a lot of the day, when I'm not in school or at work. At least the job all my friends know about. I did online philosophy and history homework today naked.

I talked to Whit on aim naked.

I'm blogging naked right now.

The only problem with all of this is if the cat is around he thinks my balls and/or penis are some sort of toy for him to bat at with his paws.

But you know what? Fuck Him!

Let's keep this blog sexy, lets keep our romance hot and heavy, lets save the whips and chains for when the kids are away at camp.

I'll blog naked.

You read naked.

All the world will be a better place! (I'd explain the benefits to the environment, but you already know that!)

***sponsored by The Secret Naturist Society***

***I'm kidding***

Anthony Sells Out...

This blog is up for sponsorship. Why?

Because I am broke.

Surprise, huh?

No, I am not upside-down on the home I own, well, because, I don't own a home. And my bank didn't go under so I can't get my funds because, I have 4 dollars in the bank.

Yup, broke.

32 dollars in my wallet, 31 available on a credit card, some miscellaneous change in my car, and 20 dollars in 1982 uncirculated pennies I got for my graduation from high school.

I was gonna go to the pawn shop today to pawn my guitar, but I stopped because Stephanie said she would leave me if I do, and she was already pissed off, so I didn't, I believed her.

So I need some cash. Here's how we'll do it.

You can sponsor it for one day for $10.
Or seven days for $50.
Or a month for $180.

In return you get:

• One post a day, two on weekends.
• The option of picking the topic of the post(s).
• The option of picking the style of the post(s).
• A picture of myself (and maybe Stephanie) at your favorite Canoga Park Landmark.

So go ahead and think it over. Tell your friends. Post it on your blog. Add it to your church newsletter. Whatever.

Thanks, I have to go suck dick in the alley now.

Class, classes, classless.

Sunday and Monday I saw Matt, my friend from Chicago. We stayed up ill 3 drinking and singing and recounting those cold months I spent there and the warm months I've spent here. It was another example of how both greatly and positively music has affected my life.

I sat in my first class yesterday since sometime in 2003. Different, very different. I didn't know my way around the campus, there was no one I had a class with before, no one who went to my high school, no one's younger brother or sister. On 3 hours of sleep I did well. I was excited to be there, and I'm excited to go again tomorrow.

I say things at the wrong time. I say them the wrong way. I say them to get things I want. I say them to back out of things. I say them to avoid confrontations. The worst is when it is the best thing to do but you do it at the wrong time.

I'm getting better at rebuilding bridges I've burned. I don't think I need any more practice, but I keep setting them on fire.

football and money

A year ago I was worried about where I was going to live and if I was about to loose my job.

One year later, today, I got a job working for the same company I thought was going to throw me out on my ass. And I live in Canoga Park.

Oh, how things change and how they stay the same.

Almost a whole bottle of Jack Daniels was consumed sitting on a nameless road tonight. We tried to figure out how we had even gotten things together enough in our lives to even meet. Chance encounter after chance encounter with so many people put us on that empty street.

I don't think I've ever been so amazed in my life, how things work out, come together.


You wonder where you change, or how you change. Places, people and things fall in and out of favor. Songs loose meanings, mountains don't scare you, valleys don't hold you, and you don't know why.

It feels good to do this again. The feelings are very different. But I love them.

I think if I ever were to be famous, or someone decided to document me and my life for the sake of prosperity, this last year will be the one. The one that sold the movie deal, the one that gets quoted on the sleeve, the one that people mine for ideas of how to not live their lives and how to create a character with no soul. This last year is the one that so easily folds me into a pretty little package with the ribbon and the shit-paper, my cliff note life.

But godamnit, it would be the best cliff-notes ever purchased.

Or not.

I got a lot of years left of fucking up ahead of me.

30 days (almost, not really, close. sorry.)

Stephanie sits in a restaurant waiting to be interviewed for a job. These have been tryings days lately. There's a new car that refuses to start, sitting on one of the only streets in the San Fernando Valley without streetsweeping or parking restrictions. Pure luck. Every day from before 2 to after 4 in the afternoon we drive around and Stephanie picks up, fills out, and drops off applications. We argue about money, but it is more about the insecurity. Stephanie hasn't been here before. There are some days I feel just as old as her, and other days it feels like it's more than 5 years that separates us. I've been jobless for months before, selling things on e-bay to make rent and pay utilities, riding bicycles with Bill to a bar that wouldn't charge us for our drinks. I've wandered around a city of millions in falling snow, walked a mile and a half in the dark through neighborhoods I've never heard of let alone seen before to interview for jobs that I was completely unqualified for. Returning things you bought for a buck or two so you can get drunk and sleep through the anxiety, I've done that too. It gets exciting, trying to figure out what bill you can hold off paying, which peter you can rob to pay paul. I'm in the middle of a two week interview process to serve at Pepper's again. Almost 3 years of experience at the same place and I still need multiple interviews. If things would have worked out how I wanted them to, I'd already be stockpiling cash under my mattress.

Soon.


Canoga Park is beautiful. There's graffiti, burrito places, vegetarian restaurants, a pool to swim in everyday, and an abundance of nooks and crannies to explore. A nice man named Bill runs the liquor store around the corner (Tally HO!). Our apartment manager is absent minded. Life is good.

Except the cat wants to kill me, and help me cook.

I'll unpack my camera and show you how things are.

in 15 minutes....

I'll be with Whit drinking beer.

I am moving on August 1st to Canoga Park.

I start school on September 2nd.

I got a car that drives on freeways.

I'll be quiting my job soon, but shooosh, they don't know yet.

Then I'll serve again, maybe tend bar, and read more, and write more, and blog more.

August 29th 2009. Thats the wedding day.

See you there.

girls shoes

Yesterday I bought 5 dollar lady shoes to wear to work.

They aren't very comfortable.

And they dyed my socks black.

My kitten likes the way they smell.

I am alive. I still work too much. I'm moving again soon!

Sleeping Houses at Dawn

Tender eyes and hearts close and pound,
silence deep enough to drown,
Proud words and turning ache
swearing just for swearing's sake.
Wrong turns and blinking blinkers
taking place of abandoned winters,
Shorter skirts and warmer hearts
begging for this to start.

Glasses sweat and empty out
fears and hopes and loves and doubt,
No equal level and no familiar gauge
to finally feeling one's age.
Glowing blue and yellow days
now batting, Willie Mays,
Your father's face evolves
to fit all of us involved.

Still some smoke holds on
to the horizon at dawn,
And visitors leave flowers crossed
where the innocence was lost.
We count the paper for it's worth
and pray it stretches over earth,
fills our every need today
or makes us hate to run away.

lunch break party is almost over

i'm smoking cloves, drinking beer, making a mix.

i leave to go back to work in 5 minutes.

i have no insurance, no smog, no registration.

i have 2 bucks in savings, 100 in checking, 40 in my pocket.

i'm out of gas.

i get paid in 10 days.

i work 45-50 hours a week. I don't get paid daily overtime. i get one day off every seven.

i'm in love. i'm in a great band.

i miss my families. i miss some of my friends. i miss my moustache.

i've never been happier. i've never been lonelier. i've never been so low. i've never been so high.

i love music. i love life. i love you.

have a great day.

i'm trying too.

VONS - 1 Booth - 0

A taped up 12 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon was purchased the other day. Last night while watching a scary movie in the dark I was drinking said beer and eating Oreo cookies. The second beer tasted strange. I thought it was the cookies. It was the beer. It was actually club soda. I was pulling the "beers" out of the box in the box and putting them in my koozie without looking. VONS, you got me!

http://crapulentjukebox.blogspot.com/

So me and Frowning Bill are making a mix blog called The Crapulent Jukebox. His first mix is up, mine is being made as we speak. So add it to your blogroll and readers and things you tell your friends about. In the mean time, my breaks don't work and a burrito purchaser heard me call a co-worker a mother-fucker.

Happy times indeed.

when in mexico...

I fold burritos for a living. I do the other stuff too. I put meat in them (yup), I put dairy in them, and rice, and beans, and sauce (yup) and good times. I also make tacos, tortas, bowls, enchiladas and the dreaded taquito.

Dreaded?

Oh Yes sir, dreaded.

Yesterday a lady asked me if the taquitos were hard or soft.

Wait, the place I work at is like subway, but mexican. Actually, it is more white-boy-mexican, but whatever. So I'm on one side of the sneeze guard and you are on the other, and we move down the line and put the things you want into the thing you ordered.

Actually, I'm a lunch lady. No hair net, but a hat, and gloves.

So this lady asks me if the taquitos are hard or soft.

I say "Umm, they're taquitos."

Pause.

Then I say "Uhh, they're hard (implied DUH)"

She let me know, angrily, that in MEXICAN FOOD taquitos can be hard or soft, and that she was MEXICAN. She also called me an asshole. Or rather implied I was an asshole.

I told her I didn't know that, and that I wasn't mexican, you know, in case there was any confusion or anything.

She might still be mad.

She had a taco instead. You know, the soft version of a taquito.

days bleeding together

Folding/rolling burritos fills my days. I spend less time with my friends. I don't stay at their houses long enough, or try hard enough, or even show up enough. I go to work while roommates sit on the couch and come home and they are still there. I smell like burritos. I feel like a burrito. I don't hate my job. I don't yell at anyone or punch boxes of frozen fries. I'm just there all of the time. I can't find time to write, I can't find time to post blogs, I can't find time to write songs. I can't give all the time stephanie wants from me or all the time I want to give to her. I don't cook. I don't read. I don't take baths. I don't walk anywhere. I don't have any money. I get on the wagon. I fall off the wagon. Everyday is a blur, but not like it used to be, when I would work 5 hours, make 20 hours worth of money, and have a great time doing it. Now I work 11 hours, make 11 (or less) hours worth of money, and don't know where it is or where it goes. I'm on my break from work right now. I'll go back in 20 minutes. More burritos. More tacos. More people not saying please. More headaches. More calculated breathing. More. More. More.

I want less. Thank you.


Tonight: Bill's birthday.