my boss and coworkers all have faith in me, because i've proven myself worthy enough times over. it's a good feeling. one thing this lazy piece of shit can say with out a doubt is, "i'm a hard worker". needing more work is usually the problem.
SO ANYWAYZ... it's fried-ay night, and i feel the uncontrolable urge to go out and blow the money i borrowed for gas on drinks weed, and partying in general. did i mention i have over $1,200 sitting in my car? it's the money i'm using for payroll, because imma have a crew of 10 people each day for this job in the LBC. but god damn, you better believe i used all my will power when i drove by larry flint's hustler casino there in gardena, and DIDN'T pull into the parking lot.
so now? now what am i gonna do all friday night? not a goddddd damned thing. maybe a shower. maybe i'll watch sling blade again. mmmmmm Hmmm. i reckon i will.
believe me nobody is more disapointed than i am that there's not some kinda plan involving me and booze, and however many playboy bunnies that will fit in my hot tub. but i must use restraint in these times of coming up. every drink bought, taxi ride taken, and or door cover paid for puits me that much farther from my goal. and the goal is to have my bills paid for, and food in the fridge. reasonable enough, right? i was just never good at this delayed gratification type thing.
because i am officially becoming the dude. i mean look at my rug. doesn't it really tie the room together?
i wanna take up bowling, and i'm already always late on my rent.
i think i sorta dress like the dude. i hate wearing shoes, and love wearnig sweat pants.
man... i love this rug too. i wanna lay down on it, and do push ups on it, and stare at it.
it's the first real decoration i've had for this bumfuck tiny box of an apartment. and it was given to me. double score.
i think i'm sleeping on it tonight. zzzzz.
we told him, "dude you drink that shit, you'll get fffffffucked up dude. trust us."
and he did. he trusted us and drank that two months old bong water... and he got fffffffffucked up. but not the good kinda fucked up.
an hour had passed and he was already curled up in a feverish ball on the floor shivering in front of the space heater.
wiatt was two years younger than us, and therefore he was like a science project to us. he'd do anything we told him, and we were high and bored, and wanted to see what would happen if say we convined wiatt to drink the ancient bongwater.
but me and my homies sure felt bad when he had a 103 fever the next day. but oh well. the lesson learned? it something in between not drinking bongwater, and not being the youngest when in highschool.
i mean YES.
i don't know what the fuck i mean. maybe i just don't have an answer for every fucking thing. maybe i just need to think more. maybe i already think too much.
and know what i don't have an answer. anything i say is just made up, johnny-on-the-spot. luckily i'm fast on my feet.
like go ahread and ask me why i wore that shirt to work, or why i didn't remember to turn that one light off, or why i'm so quiet, or why i'm anything. because the answer is, "i dunno, just cuz."
let's break it down to it's most simple form of logic. and that is THIS, i am a stoner. therefore i strut through life in this sorta hazy... half awake, kinda mildy retarded type thing. most of the time when you see me, you can tell my mind is still asleep back on my couch at home. and the "representative" is in check, because i'm the master of putting my body on auto pilot, and checking myself out.
i can sit with the tv on and sorta stare over the top at my verticle blinds for hours before i realize that Meet The Press is on chanel 4 and the sun is starting to rise.
questions and thinking and blardeedar. all garbage. everyone wants to KNOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW too damn much.
let others do the thinking for you. you're in good hands, prolly. besides, it's so much less effort that way. and who doesn't love to lower the ammount of effort ya gotta give? eh?
it's like the new high carb diet i heard about. they say, "eat as much carbs as you like, and the best part NO EXCERCISE!" riiiiiight. brilliant. a balanced diet and excercise was so lame.
i've never been a bigtime porn watcher. it was always interesting to me in a kinda clinical sense. but porn doesn't make my dick hard. nope. not really.
i rely on my imagination. i close my eyes, and imagine the craziest shit. the whackin off fantasies are basically the same theme though, an example being that the swedish bikini team kidnapped me so that they all could worship me, and give me BJ's... and hold me hostage as their sex slave. YOU know, the typical ridiculous guy fantasy crap.
as an experiment, i've tried to get the job done with my left hand. and know what? it ain't happenin. imma righty i spose.
i remember in grade school sex ed class, the teacher told all us young pervotrons, and i quote,
"You do not need to masterbate every single time you get an erection..."
oh don't i? i disagree motherfucker.
masterbating with a condom on or in the shower is the least messiest ways.
i've had ex girlfriends who didn't understand beating off. they thought that because they were giving me sex, i shouldn't have a desire to masterbate. men will always masterbate, to us it's something that has to be done regularly, like shaving our faces, or ummm takin a piss. so ladies, don't take it personal.
i never use any lotions or vasoline or nothin like that.
i've masterbated while driving, in the restaraunt bathroom while on a date, at every job i've ever had, and basically every other innapropiate time you can think of.
thank god nobody can read minds, because the nasty shit i think abou to get off is straight up WRONGGGGG. i am one sick and twisted fucker.
this one time, when i was spankin the bacon, i guess there was a lot in there, and it shot out and hit my face... sum even got in my eye. and lemme tell you... that shit burns when it hits the eye.
i wash my hands all the time, and people have no idea how thankful they should be for that.
ok, if you read this whole post... you're far too interested.
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....... nice. my comfort movie, i could use a little of that.
the second thing i did was take a shower before i went over because i smelled literally, and i know i'm repeating myself here when i sday i hate the missuse of the word literally, like butt. all of me. like butt. now i smell like soap and all is well.
this is a test to see what happens when try and tuypre whith ouyt lookin f say yhr krels. looks like i lost it at the end there.
now i'm so hungry i could fucking eat at arby's. eww.
ok all you salty anal weiner burgers for half off, suck it easy.
but yeah, i'm here standing in the circle k on 83rd and ummm indian school road i think, and they had this internet kiosk thing, and i think it's fucking genius. just waht i needed, and excuse to hang at the circle k.
so the job is going great... i got signs from here to egypt, and the actual sale is so blown up it's straight tits.
but man, i'm so lonely. i don't know a soul out here, and am working solo this time, and welp, i just feel so alone. i sat in my hotel room at the red roof inn last night and just drank a beer and slept for eternity. i've since then checked out and intend on sleeping in the car tonight. save me some duckets...
if you get caught with weed you go to jail out here. isn't that fucked up? in LA it's like you get in deeper shit for parking in a hapicaped zone than WEED. fuck it and fuck you, i'm out.
i think the best way to describe myself is that i'm an enigma in the form of a puzzle, and shrouded in mystery.
i like vaginal foods like tacos, hamburger, and sushi.
my face hair is poking me but i'm just gonna ride it out and grow a beard and my new nickname will become "trail mix". and all will be well.
i already dress like the unabomber anyways, dark nondescript hooded sweatshirt, and aviators.
always, always have a plan b. cuz you need more than one plan, get me?
george w bush was a category on jeopardy tonight. *barfs*
i'm about to eat a piece of cake. ok i ate it. moving right along...
WHOA! on jeopardy the answer was clearly vagrancy, and once guy guessed "what is vagabond?", and the chick said, "what is gypsy?"... RACIST BITCH. at least say, "what is hobo?"
i think i'm going to pheonix for the weekend. someone save me!!
i remember the first time i tried out the 69 position. it totally sucked.
it's like as an american teenager there was no way i wasn't gonna try it. i had heard so much about it, and how rad it was. but let's face it, 69ing is way over-rated.
first of all, the position itself. unless you're on the floor or have a mattress the size of rhode island, there's really not enough room. legs spread out ect ect. not to mention the person on their back has it waty easier than the person on top.
nextly is that i think 69ing ruins getting head. i wanna lay back and enjoy my BJ, and not be distracted. i'm sure the head you get while you give head is not as good as the head you'd get if you weren't dividing her focus. and vice versa.
if two people are so bent on dual pleasure... why not just go at it with some old fashioned vaginal intercourse. aka, hittin the skins. i mean, at least that way you guys can talk about stuff, like politics, or global economics.
yes they're using me, this much is true. but it's for the nicest of reasons.
they use me because where i am is the most fun place to be in the whole world. i could have a party in a coffin. and they know this. and like having fun. and therefore gravitate towards me as often as possible.
when it's time to go home at the end of the night... they're sad that they have to go anywhere they know i'm not gonna be. but wearing out their welcome would be a regretable mistake...
but my hottub?! pshhhhhh.... that's just an added bonus.
don't you wish you were my friend?
i'm more of a pool dude than a spa dude. that's me pretending to be a dead lifeless corpse.
i might start selling sunglasses on a street corner in inglewood like i used to do in 98. that job was burly. i had to show up at 7am, set up the stand, and kick it there till 9pm when my boss came and payed us, grabbed the cash register, and the sunglasses.
it sounds ghetto, and it was, but man it was so mellow. i liked working with pete the best, cuz we were old highschool buddies and we'd drink tall boys under the tent thingy all day, and take turns sleeping in our cars, and peter stole twice as many sunglasses as he sold, and fuck i miss that job. sure a 14 hour shift is a bit much, especially on the days i got paired with the bosses scarecrow/wife... but ahh well. i think you catch my drift. and if you don't, you're useless to me.
but then again, you're useless no matter what.
i do it for the benefit of understanding. cuz how can you fully understand, and have thought something all the way through, unless you consider the ugly scary thoughts too. the thoughts that might be painful to consider.
for instance, i'll take a stance on something i know is ludacris, just to cross it off the checklist of possibilities. playing devil's advocate; it's a dirty but someone's got to do it.
maybe it's just selfish, because it's based on the way *I* think. i need to look at the pool table from all 360 degrees, and consider every possible shot, before i take my turn, and i think that's applicable to everything in life, from decisions to the way you feel about an issue, or anything.
fuck "question authority", it's should just be "question every-fucking-thing".
maybe i was just a smart ass in highschool or maybe i was doing it then too, cuz in my history class Ms. whats-her-face assigned debate topics to everyone. and guess who got the most ridiculously hard and obviously impossible topic? me. i got pro-slavery in the south. how do you argue in favor of something so internationally taboo, and that has such a consensus that it's evil and wrong, and that you aren't actually in favor of at all?
i got a an A+.
now of course you're thinking to yourself, "yeah sure, anti you retard, i'd do all that thinking, but sometimes there isn't enough time," and hey man, i totally feel you on this. i've been there, bro. and no, at time to think things through is a not always available. but that doesn't make it a luxury, it's still a neccesity. so whenever possible, turn your brain ON. and ask the biting questions that hurt. consider the opposite of how you feel or of how you view things.
i know i've been very advicey and assigned homework already this week. but tough shit for all you losers.
the most important rule of being a good salesman is that you have to sell yourslf first. meaning, noone's gonna buy crap from someone they don't like. basically salesman is synonomous with manipulator. and my family is full of world calss salesmen (or salespersons to be politically correct)
ever find out someone was talking about you behind your back, be it nice things or talking shit, and you just trip out so hard that people knew you were alive when you weren't in their direct vision? i do that all the time. i'll be all, "what's her name was talking about MEEEEE?" when really i shouldn't be shocked because we all know, anti = very interesting.
i had a dear friend who has known me since 9th grade ask me, "anti what has happened to you? you used to be the voice of reason, now you're totally crazy..." i didn't know how to answer because i was so floored that they ever consiered me a "voice of reason".
i think my blunt honesty approach to life is really hit or miss. the truth hurts, and lotsa people aren't ready for that shit. they wanna hear, "no you don't look fat in that dress" or, "i think that blonde chick digs you, bro" or, "your girlfriend is not a bitch" but who does that help? how am i doing you a favor by enabling you not live in reality.
if they want to be lied to, chances are they're lying to you too. so wow, they think you look fat in that dress, or that the blonde DOESN'T dig you, or whatever.... and are gonna let you play the fool and tell you what they think you want to hear. isn't that like "only true friends tell you when you have something stuck in your teeth"? being honest isn't bad manners, i don't care what you think.
i need a shower, and i have BO, but the guilty pleasure of the day is liking my BO.
i think people that read this bullshit website assume i'm an all around asshole. i'm so nice and friendly and smiley it's enough to make you puke. just thought i'd throw that in there.
hasta la vista, baby.
i have fears and reservations, like normal people do. but i never let them get the best of me.
i figure keeping the faith and diving in and and ...
and basically pulling it off,
to me thats still a quality and not a detrement.
it feels so good too when it works. and it works far more often than it fails. even when it doesn't work out, it's still not failure. only talking myself out of it is.
and i understand how it feels. how the "what if's" can dominate your thinking, and make you justify backing out. i would never tell someone they're wrong for thinking that. or that it's dumb. maybe those folks just can't get passed it, and they know their limits. and seriously, i repect that. it's not me, but i can dig it.
but where does one draw the line? the what if's never will stop if you don't have boundaries. cuz the way i see it, it's really risk assesment/management. and again, i think that is important... lemme illistrate my point with absurdity:
how can you leave the house, cuz what if a bird poops on you?
how can you take a shit, because what if a cottonmouth water moccasin slithers up and bites your ass?
how can you have a friend, what if they stab you in the back?
how can you fall in love, what if they break your heart?
i mean i understand saying "how can i murder someone, what if i get caught?" but mostly people are just sweating the small stuff, and missing out on wonderful things because they're affraid of this and that, when we're supposed to only fear FEAR itself.
i'll admit i could use a good dose of the "what if's". some friends started calling me dicey, cuz i just take chances all over the place and roll the dice with almost every decision. i kinda push myself in the water, and see if i float, and when i don't... either figure out a way to help myself, or beg everyone who's answering their phone to save me. but fuckit really, because i like it this way. i like having the only regrets being that i need to be less risky. i'm a firm believer in "nothing ventured, nothing gained." and i know that is the attitude that is gonna make me a success in the future, and actually... that makes me a success TODAY. even if i'm a poor starving pathetic success at that.
so i'm assigning homework for all you readers. TAKE A CHANCE. with anything.
steal a candy bar, approach that "10" at the bar, quit that job you hate and try for a better one, confront a friend, stand up to a bully, chase your dreams, give all of yourself despite the fact there is a chance you might not be recieved...
just do it. even if the chance you take is as small as buying a lotto ticket. just do it.
but jsut in case i'm intending on getting some things off my chest.
with regard to comments. when i started blogging, comments really helped me feel less insecure about my childish writing style. but it became something i obsessed on. too much so. and i was affraid to take comments away too cuz i thought i needed them for this shit to be fun for me still. cuz if it ain't fun i ain't doin it. and let's face it, you all would be so fucking heart broken.
but man, without the comments, things are groovy. and i feel like i can write more freely because i'm at that point where i could give a fuck about you the reader. read this dribble, go right ahead, but blame yourself for your sins this time.
i feel like becoming one of those long post, frequent update, types of bloggers. the ones you link out of obligation. i have always tried to keep my shit short and sweet as often as possible, because i felt like it'd be more likely to get read that way. because when i reach a blog that has a jillion words on it, i just scroll though and look at the pictures.
so fuck comments. i'm not publishing my email anymore. and stats are the next thing to go, cuz in the end... fuck all that extra stuff that is just distracting me. i don't care who comes here and from where and IP addresses, and yadda yadda. fuck it. i took it to the point of fun equivilent to watching mold grow. the indentity i've built on the internet is bad bad bad... it's getting killed pronto
cuz i'm not anti. or antidisestablishmentarian. that's just some messageboard thing i made up in 1999 that stuck. people would talk back and forth there, and i was half testing how long a name can be, and half trying to irritate everyone by having an obnoxious name. to this day i'm still not even sure what the fuck an antidisestablishmentarian is. and i could care less.
so who am i you ask? good question. who knows. i've revealed my true identity on here enough. if you don't know my real name by now, you're prolly not supposed to. i've been too caught up in all things electronic and digital and wires and machines and bleeps and clicks
and the fucking hum of the machine. the hum that i can't sleep without hearing. the constant stimulation i need to keep busy.
if you;re reading this, turn off your computer and go straight outside. it's where i'm headed after this. if you read this sentence that means you're still here. serious, go outside in the cold suffering weather if you have to, and look around, take a picture, just get some fresh air.
there's so many things i never have done. like... fuck a hot chick while water skiing on one foot. and that shit ain't happening as long as i sit up in THIS piece. i'm out, yall bitches and stinkboxes.
eat a dick
the first chance i get to spend money on something non food or bill related, i'm getting myself a universal remote control for my TV. that's my huge luxury item purchase.
i discovered the smart way to replace light bulbs is to steal them from the light ficxtures in the hallways of my apartment building. and the best part is not that they're that cool flourecent ikea style of lightbulb that doesn't burn out for ever and ever, but that the light bulb in the hallway gets magically replaced. it's sparking an idea for a light bulb ebay auction extravaganza. i obviously have infinite supply.
MTV is sucking the life out of american youth culture. middle america, shame on you.
buying a pink lighter to prevent theft doesn't work. i'll steal whatever i can fit in my pocket.
chicken flavored ramen tastes like crap. especially after the 50 millionth serving in a row.
i told an old lady in my building, who looked even older than the ladies on golden girls, that i agreed it was cold out and, "my nipples can totally cut glass"
dail up is a joke.
my friends live in this back house situation, and there's all this crazy plantlife, and therefore... crazy wildlife. so i was a little freaked out when i came within inches of getting hosed down by a skunk. and when i picked up what i thought was a dropped bonghit off the ground, and it turned out to be a spider the size of a US quarter crawling all over my hand... i felt a wee bit unnerved. but it was two seconds later when it fucking happend AGAIN that i decided, FUCK NATURE.
sometimes i just want to go out drinking with my friends, even though i haven't been able to afford that in ages. and now that i think about it, i've alienated myself so much, i don't even have most of those friends anymore anyways. but tony pierce says i can be a bowling team sub. out with the old, in with the new. p.s. this does not include the 3 or so friends i still talk to.
is it wrong to hate my mom for calling me right when i was whacking off, and basically being a total mood killer. HAHAHAH. that's a joke, like as if guys need a "mood" to spank it. but seriously mom, you got some bad timing.
why is it that everyone is down to hang out, but only at their own house, and so noone caves, and noone leaves the safety bubble of their own house, and we all watch the premiere episode of the bachlorette alone... ?? hmmm?
i've always hated sleeping, it feels like i'm wasting time and energy. i'll lay in bed eyes wide awake, thinking... sure i could go to sleep, and waste 8 hours just laying perfectly still. OR... i could use the time better by studying tai bo. or knitting a badass sweater.
i use musk scented Speed Stick by Mennen because it's the official deodorant of the NBA or because it drives the ladies crayzay? or all of the above?
i'm hooked on buzznet.com, but i have run out of interesting pictures to take without leaving my apartment. bummer.
one of my guilty pleasures is thinking that ashton kucher is funny as fuck.
i think all the chicks on the san diego real world are ugly. except the korean and the blonde.
i prefer budweisser or whatever other piss beer you can get. fuck all this IPA micro brewery, mouthful of hopps and barely and oats bullshit. call me un-zany, but i'm just trying to get drunk, not have a tastebud party in my mouth.
vanilla vodka is evil, but in the best possible way!
i will beat you at 2004 madden, but only if we're playing on a playstation.
i love pretending to pick my nose and eat the boogers when people stare at me.
and this poverty induced annorexia i'm dealing with really bites the big one. people think i'm skinnier than i have ever been, and it's true. pretty disgusting actually.
have you seen those snickers bar commercials where they demonstrate a "side effect of hunger"? i can totally relate. lemme tell you the list of hunger side effects I've experienced:
pain. the stomach straight up hurts. but it comes and goes. right now it's numb.
easily angered. i have lost all abilities to be patient.
emaciation. i look like sally struthers needs to make a drive by.
fatigue. even though i can't sleep, i have no energy.
and the worst of all... the death to all hope.
the sign job i do was unexpectedly slow these last two weeks, and it really threw a monkey wrench in my whole program. i'm working on finding a new job, it's just a fucking process is all.
it's funny cuz at first i was like, "whatta bummer, i have no weed."
then i was all, "aww fuck, i'm out of cigarettes!"
then i got frustrated by having no gas, rendering my car useless.
but now? NOW?
now i can't even be bothered thinking about that shit. i walked by the mirror with my shirt off to get to my bathroom last night, and winced as i saw my ribs sticking out. it's getting embarassing.
please find it in your heart to help me a tiny bit. i hate begging, i feel pathetic, and i am. i'm just in a fucked up situation, and even if only one person sent me a dollar... that's enough tobuyramen for a week. please please help me!
or just me and my dumb luck... yeah that's what i thought.
if ignorance is bliss, and knowledge is power... how come we got ignorant people in charge of everything? i know you're prolly thinking, "who cares as long as they're happy..." and i back that 100%. more power to that line of logic, ect ect. but there's a system at work here, and we're all perpetuating it's existence.
you can't even talk to people about it, because they have their one liners and justifications to shut you down with the push of a button. but they're part of "the herds" or the masses, who don't like to have to think, and are far more comfortable watching dharma and greg reruns in the middle of the night than actually having a thought of their own.
it's like you can't even squeeze in the consideration of a new idea, because they have this whole interlocking infrastructure of reasoning that will crumble down to a pile of lies and warped reality if they did ever consider it. it would be no different than trying to squeeze a chevy carburetor into a dodge engine. you'd basically have to scrap everything and rebuild it with chevy shit, otherwise the engine won't run. you get me?
why are there no atheist missionaries, spreading the faith that there is no god, and our bible "popular science magazine", and shit like that... ?? because us non believers think it's fantastic you found a little hobby for sunday mornings, it's like a little clubhouse, and you all get to hold hands and sing and feel great. we don't want to take that from you. we think it's fucking awesome. you get to die and turn into wormfood just like me.
scared little non-thinkers perpetuating the cruel and viscous realities of our savage modern day version of Darwinism where, literally, one has to sabotage or be sabotaged... and really was neanderthal man more civilized than we are? it's debatable.
don't ask where this rant came from. because it came from my ass.
i don't own shit. my walls and shelves and cupboards are bare. i moved in to this scumfest of an apartment in august... but if you had to guess, you'd prolly think i moved in yesterday.
that picture right there is what things looked like in here for the first two months. a beach chair, a couch, and myself. (that's my long haired friend dave in the shot, as well)
and since that picture??? well... little has changed.
and so the story goes that i was never materialistic. and again... "or so they say..."
cuz like i don't see it that way at all. to me i AM materialistic. i trusted people to move my shit for me, and even payed them to do so, cuz i had to be elsewhere, and when i returned after a few months, i asked them, "where's my stuff, my little trinkets and thingies, my printer and fax machine, my furniture i made in woodshop, my kitchen things (blender, silverware, plates, microwave), and where the fuck is all my artwork and stuff that hangs on the walls???"
imagine everything you own, and payed to have moved and stored, got thrown away. even pictures of like family members and friends from your childhood. everything. wiped out. all gone.
so like maybe now i am less materialistic. fuck ownership. ownership is onwershitty. having belongings is over rated. and even though i don't believe that,
and desperatley wish i had a million things to play with
or look at
or just have belong to me...
if i don't pretend i hate it, i end up dwelling on how angry it makes me.
you people can't understand or relate, so nevermind. it's not your fault you're smarter than me and would never let this happen to yourself. it's my fault.
i'm starving myself trying to climb back up the ladder. and i'm trying and trying, with little to NO help from anyone. how do you know when to give up? i think i'm at that point.
"good things come to those who wait"? like what? a slower more painful death? they need to change that saying so it reads, "waiting sucks, instant gratification is the bomb"
movies that take place in some "far away" place, or some "far away time" or any of that crap, are just weird and boring. who can fucking relate to that shit?
like the lord of the rings.
elves, dwarves, hobbits, gandolf, blah blah
it sounds like some kinda geekfest role playing game. but at least dungeons and dragons has kinda association with the occult, so it's a wee bit cooler.
or movies that take place in some strange far away land... like star wars, or bad boys II. (yes florida is a strange far away land).
i really only like movies that take place in LA. like pulp fiction, up in smoke, , the big lebowski, stand and deliver, and crocodile dundee III. ya know, movies where i can constantly remind everyone of my wonderful geograghy-of-losAngeles skills to pay the bills type shit with a half cab mctwist.
hey that's right by the hollyweird bowl..."
"i know where they are! that's east LA, on sixth street!"
"look they just drove by tony pierce's house!"
yeah there's the few exceptions to the rule, like as i mentioned somewhere else, TRON is tight. i also like ace ventura II, and cubed. and they're all non LA films.
oh and movies where people have accents?! GOD KILL ME
i couldn't even handle five seconds of snatch. or even good will hunting made my ears bleed. and that reminds me, FUCK MASSSACHOOBLAHBLAH
bigskanky thinks it's funny when i'm mad.
i got un-invited to a dinner party tonight because two of my exgirlfriends were gonna be there. yes two. what i find ammusing is that there would have been no way in hell i'd have gone knowing they were gonna be there. so it all works out. except the act of getting un-invited is so...
it just makes me want to say, "don't have pity for me, honeybunchesofoats, i'm sitting pretty..." and by pretty i mean, pretty close to going postal.
but whatever, i'm done sweating the small shit. and the un-invitation was viewed as a favor to me. always look at people's motives. it might make whuuuutever easier to swallow. like when your bestfriend stabs you in the back and fucks your girlfriend. maybe he meant it as a favor. so you should just sing, "tra la la" and skip down the street chasing the ice cream truck. right?
ok, i guess there's boundaries.
but still, maybe that harmless prank that got pulled on you was designed to make you laugh, and even though you didn't, you should focus on the fact that someone was trying to make you smile. i know from experience that most people don't give a shit if you are smiling or not, and there sure ain't nobody trying to make me smile.
i once heard that it's a bad idea to do nice things for people, because they're gonna turn it around into, "you were nice to me, but not nice good enough!"
like they're gonna give you hell for buying them the wrong brand of smokes, and you're busy thinking, "jeeze, i knew you didn't have any, and i didn't even KNOW your actual brand, so i guess i ain't doin YOU a favor in a while..." because you were trying to be thoughtful.
"it's the thought that counts" is a myth. it's obviously "not fucking it up" that counts. but the frustrating part is, somethings you'll never do good enough. there is no "nice enough" for some people, and you're gonna lose more points than if you did nothing at all.
so much for trying to get an "a" for effort.
this is a blog.
i'm a fireball not to be fucked with, or better yet, a shooting star,
do you follow?
i have dreams that i'm gonna reach, and a plan so simple that it makes people mad. they say, "how can it be that easy?" and when they see that it could be that easy for them too if they just knew how to be happy, they get mad,
are you picking up what i'm layin down?
i'm sure the point in life is to be happy. and yeah i'll play the rat race game if i have to, so i can keep the comforts i have in my life.
*roof over my head
*food in my stomach
*porn in my VCR
but i'm a minimalist. and all i want is zero debt, and to be doing what i love every second i can. and no. you people have no idea what i love to do is. only people i have specifically told one on one "this is my dream" know what it is.
so here's the deal. i've talked with people who are living my dream, and asked them all how i get going with it, and they all told me the same things to do, so now i gotta do them, and get on with it.
no i never went to college. no i never tried very hard thus far in life. but my half assing everything was enough to not be homeless. yes i am starving... but man, when i turn on the juice, it's gonna be filed under straight up "inspirational",
ya dig me?
sometimes the things that give you butterflies in your stomach are the things you know you need to do the most.
can i get a "whoaaaaaaa, BUNDY" ??
because it's logical to be a psycho.
sitting sataring out the sliding glass door, with a half burned bong hit, and a glaze over my face. slackjawed. about to cough again.
i'm in my favorite jeans, and one of my most broken in t shirts, and i just bought a fresh pack of parliament lights, and i have the rockenist rockstar hair south of hermosa beach pier.
about to crack a tecate, because i tecate my body, and i'm about to come through, sportin the shotty.
i shaved today too, cuz man like shit fuck you know right? i hate shaving, i do. i have that shitty kinda face hair that turns into a million ingrown little bastards if i cut too close to the skin. or i just do nothing and let the scruff grow until it feels like a million fingers poking me to death. there's really no comfy middle ground.
why me, why me. why's it always gotta be me.
sometimes i'm so good at articulating my feelings. and i can say the same sentence a hundred different ways to circumvent potential misunderstanding. i think i hate being misunderstood.
sometimes it can be more sickening than trista and ryan.
or i ask a million questions. obsessivley.
like you could say, "i feel funny..."
and i'll go, "funny how? like, do you feel sick? are you uncomfortable? are things awkward?"
and chances are, i made you feel funnier. the funniest.
and not a good funny.
i'm such a stickler for mutual understanding, that i lose focus on what we're even talking about. i've always done it. personality flaw, i spose.
i'm trying to break it down to basics these days. taking it to brass tacks. a wise man once said, "keep it simple, stupid."
life is supposed to be fun, let's not forget that.
so there i am, it's freezing cold, and my ass decided "i need to take a hot tub"
my ass was right.
i live in the fanciest fleabag studio apartment ever. obviously.
all work and no hot tub makes anti a loser.
i'm pale pastey and psychotic.
this guy i know named oscar is dating this psycho hose beast, who is surely a great lay as all psycho chicks are, but man i was embarassed FOR him, and so were all the other people at the house i was at.
it wasn't even big enough to call a party. there was like 10 people there tops. but this chick oscar brought... she was totally out of her mind.
she comes up to me and says, "what's your sign?" and i proudly announce that imma gemini...
well somehow she saw that as a sign to go ahead and tell me she's from south africa, and that charlize theron is from her same home town, and then went into painfully tedious detail about charlize theron's upbringing.
so i feel bad because oscar is trying to pull her away from the one inch from my ear stance she had, and she was bellowing out brittish-accent-ish having nonesense so loud that my brain shook and sounded like a rattle snake's tail. people started taking pictures. it was that bizzare.
some of my down as fuck homegirls like bigtanky and lil P tried to organize a "girlie photo op" to resuce me from the nutjob. and it worked for all of three seconds. but, as though driven by magnetic force, the psycho... and oscar's date no less, came straight back towards me.
i eventually managed some lame "i gotta piss" or whatever type excuse... and then spent every waking second outside in the cold smoking cigarettes, and waited for big tanky and hewhocannotbenamed to get back into my truck so we could get back home.
and i feel bad for this mixed up white girl from south africa, who felt she could use the N word so liberally. i felt bad that she was the butt of the joke the whole night and was too oblivious to see it. i felt bad oscar was associated with her... he seemed to hate her. and i felt bad that i find it so ammusing and that i was saying the craziest shit back to her, like when she told me i was gonna die old, alone and miserable, i replied, "good, at least one thing i learned from my pops is... divorce makes you poor. so i'll be alone and old and miserable, but then i'll hop in my fucking porsche and speed away, and i'll feel like a million bucks, cuz i'll fucking HAVE a million bucks."
but oh well, even oscar hi fived me. i guess he should feel bad. and i should feel annoyed. ok nevermind. problem solved.
oh and whitey just called and says rep him on the blog cuz he's got nowhere to live in santa cruz anymore, but he doesn't fucking care, because as he put it, "wooooooooooooo, homie"
and pigeon john is a genius.
meetings with my passionate friends over record contracts
wanna be so young again wish to take it all back
you sweaty little nikkis rapping over bomb tracks
and then get hungry so we all go taco bell raps
but now all we do is work to the bone
getting kinda older now it's showing
bills to be paid and still don't own
flat broke still got a cell phone
sleeping on a couch don't gotta home
wanna be a rap star sitting on chrome
but i know in time things are gonna change
and re-arranged, and i'm gonna show 'em
been through this (been through this) long before (long Before)
sitting knocking waiting at the same old door
but i gotta go ain't waiting no more
if the door ain't open break through the window
don't think it greed gonna take it all
when the kingdom come they'll sing this song
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