so like, i'm up, i think sleeping would be smart, or something, but. i'm kind of too stressed out as it is, and i only remember dreams when they;re nightmares. and i haven't had one in almost a year.
i like a lot of stimulation. the hum of my fan, and my computer, mp3's playin, my talk radio on, the tv on (but on mute). shit, most of the time i sleep with all of my lights on.
i haven't done a lot of sitting silently. sitting there, long enough, i'll start thinking the right shit. clear out the pipes so to speak.
or maybe self rezalization is just masterbation, wich i would LOVE to be true, cuz i'm the king of jerking off. it's like... a family trait even...
my rap name is now zip tie, says whitey.
i dub him, "atman"
but luckily, i squeezed in an extra 45 minutes worth of rest while whitey drove my truck 30 MPH over the speed limit the whole way home. now i just feel sorta loopy.
i got new sunglasses though, from a signwalker. i told her i'd buy them off of her, but she insisted that they stay a gift.
and now i think i will wear them everytime i write. now all i need is a coversation hat.
it's hard to manage anything sign related when there's garbage smacking you upside the head. was that a bag of doritos?
the liquer store ladies knew me and whitey were outta-towners within five seconds. niice.thinking i belonged there would have been a diss.
there was also some scary ass church group thing at the burger king when we had breakfast. it was basically a terrible day to be without my camera. sucks for you. all i can say is, a fanny pack worn under an old man's mantits.
me and whitey are doing a great job despite the hellish factors involved with this sign job:
overly needy clients
impossibly far geograghy, with regards to sign walker dop off and pick up.(it takes me about an hour versus the normal 10 minutes.)
desert hell winds
but fuck the sign job, cuz it's just what i use to fill my mind with things other than what bothers me.
good old workohol. watch as i drown my sorrows.
but what sorrows do i have? i derno. none i guess.
i'm basically a sef-funded, babe-magnet... who lives in paradise.
but i derno. cuz big tanky pointed out how this one dude's uber-confidence was totally fake. and i kinda said, "so what? prolly most confidence is faked..." and then i went off on a tangent about how only the most fugly assholes have true confidence (in general) and all us nutcases who are actually easy on the eyes have serious self esteem issues, and ugh.
i had a few beers, so try and keep up, if you can...
if i had to choose right now between crashing into a huge ball of flames or going to work tomorrow... believe me it would be an awesome fire show.
i wish mine and white's small stoner minds could remember a fraction of the hilarious stuff we say to eachother all day. you have NO idea.
in news that has no relevance.... there is a splinter inbedded in my palm. the one on my left hand, man...
and i have tried to do home-style surgery on my hand with tweezers and a dim light, but...
it's in deep now, some kinda calous fucker has taken over. i hope i don't get SARS.
so then whitey was all, "dude..." and i was like, "dude?" and he was all, "duuuuuuuuuude!" and i was all, "nah, dude..." and he said, "aiight..."
but then again, him and i have that conversation like ten million times a day. and we still have no idea what each other is talking about.
i just bought marlboro blend no.27's. buy 2 get one free.
i just ate a donut from 7-11 and washed it down with a coffee drink starbucks in a bottle thingy.
and what's with pretentious art-fags who over analyze shit, but really they take themselves too serious and can't wrap their head around how fucking hipster wannabe they are?
just throwing that out there... any takers?
anyways, i shaved my pithy scruff into a sorta goatee thingy, and i'm gonna rock it all weekend, soo how it looks monday. i wish i could grow my beard out, but i never make it past the the length where it's a million face hairs stabbing me like daggers to the phase where it doesn't stab me.
ok whitey's done with his haircut and he looks ridiculous. that's what he gets for giving it to himself. this weekend is gonna RULE.
and some dude emailed me asking me to turn on my site feed. so i did... i think...
but what IS a site feed? am i, like, retarded? someone go off in intimate detail RE: site feeds in my comments please. thanks.
maybe they should just chill out, or read between the lines. or shit, in MY case... quot me accurately. when i say i wasn't talking shit, i always mean it, cuz if i wassss, i'll talk MORE shit. and to your face.
people throw stones in glass houeses cuz it's easier to jump to a reaction. it's comedy in the end. how can you be mad at MEEE, when YOUUU do all the same crap? makes no sense.
hypocracy is a great thing though. imma hypocrate and proud of it. it's waht makes me human. but i think having your head up your ass and being a hypocrate are worlds apart.
here's the other thing i don't get... if i WAS talking shit... who cares? yer gonna come ask me why i was talking shit? hahahah, yah ok. and that is sposed to accomplish what now.... ?
personally, if/when people are talking shit, or telling my friends to keep me on a short leash, or any of that crap.... i just silently remember. i don't get all huffy and confrontational, like some people i know. because i really don't see that solving anything. besides, maybe i'm totally wrong. like that person was about me today.
back when everyone was too young to be able to say they hated playing AYSO soccer, there was a team of all of us stoners from highschool.... everyone was no older than 8 or 9 years old, and oddly everyone was named either brian or ryan.
there was brain hart, ryan wood, ryan wetham, and of coarse.... ryan WHITE. so the mom's all had to make up nicknames to make cheering for your son less confusing.
and somehow the name whitey stuck. whitey just looks like a whitey, and even though he introduces hisself as ryan everywhere he goes, people can't help it, and eventually start calling him whitey, or a variation of whitey.
whitey's stepdad had a good description of whitey, he said, "talking to ryan is like reading book. but only one word off each page."
in highschool whitey was totally mr. popular. he was a stoner legend. and fuckit, he still is. of all us losers back then, HE was the first to switch over to chronic while the rest of us were still picking seeds out of our dirtweed. and of all of us losers, him and i are the only ones who still kick it. peter became a tweaker, dave's girlfriend is a hater and keeps him locked down, and weissman is cut off.
i give whitey advice about his imaginary love life, and he pretends to listen. and we compete to see who knows more beastie boy lyrics by heart.
another funny thing about my old friend is that he is the most alergic person in the whole world. he's even alergic to his own sweat... no lies. so he's barely ever wearing much clothing. i'm always barking at him to put his shoes on or his shirt on, and "hey bro, who the fuck are you??? spicole?"
but yah, what makes ryan the best is...
if you were stranded without a ride someplace...
and it was 6 or 8 hours away...
whitey would quit his job or dump his girlfrien to be able to help you out. he's one of those.
WASSAP, LIL SIS?
whitey is two hours away. i just called him.
and he's headed straight here, for bonig hits and beers. after i write this shizzle, imma head to 7-11 for some brews.
it's always so rad when whitey visits. and now that i figured out that adelanto is close enough that we don't need to stay in a hotel out there... i'm SUPER AMPED.
we are already making bigtime plans to pimp the hos on this holiday weekend. or at least hurting ourselves really bad on our skateboards. i haven't had a big bloody mess of a injury in far too long.
any guesses on who it is?
it never fails. 8:30am will be just minutes away, and these damn maintenance men are all prolly scrambling to figure out how they're gona wake me up TODAY.
all last week it was the vacuum cleaner in the hallways. why the fuck do they need to vacuum every morning at 8am for a week straight?
today they were waxing the tile by the elevator. wich is right next to me!!!!
so i hear this sound.... sounds like a chainsaw, and i am ripped out of my bed, and i swing open my front door...
and there he is. this mexican dude, with some floor polisher looking thing, literally polishing the spot that would normally be under my welcome mat (if i HAD a welcome mat) THAT CLOSE TO ME!!!!! like his little polisher was bumping my front door!
so i slammed the door in his face, and proceeded to get ambushed by a million wrong number phone calls. i am so sick of being one digit off from the south bay animal hospital.
then my messenger on my computer starts going off, "DINNGA LINGA LINGGGG"
maybe i should start going to bed prior to 5am.
i was surprised. i had been dipping into his weed stash. and knew he'd been partying but...
just to see your dad's coke stash sitting in front of you... i was kinda bummed.
AND i had been pinching his weed pretty hard by now. i started small, and kept taking larger ammounts to see how far i could take it before he'd tell me to stop. he never did though. he just tried to hide it better and better. but my point is, he KNEW i'd be snooping around...
so anyways, i took his coke bindle and gave it to some nose candy friends i had, cuz at the time, i just didn't do white drugs. only green ones.
now i'd have totally kept it, and used it on special occations like, "hey it's wednesday!" ORRR i'd at least have sold it.
i wonder if he still snorts the stuff. hmm.
all my mom ever did was get sauced on the wine.
2. Are the photos you post Photoshopped or otherwise altered? nope. i just change the size.
3. Do you like it when creeps or dorks email you? yep.
4. Do you lie in your blog? never.
5. Are you passive-aggressive in your blog? never.
6. Do you ever threaten to quit writing so people will tell you not to stop? nah. but i considered holding out for paypal money once.
7. Are you in therapy? If not, should you be? If so, is it helping? no no no no.
8. Do you delete mean comments? Do you fake nice ones? i have deleted a few. banned some ppl. never faked nothign tho.
9. Have you ever rubbed one out while reading a blog? How about after? i have beaten off at almost every possible chance i have ever gotten.
10. If your readers knew you in person, would they like you more or like you less? i am an accurate reflection of this glob thingy. so it's be the same.
11. Do you have a job? signs, man.
12. If someone offered you a decent salary to blog full-time without restrictions, would you do it? duhhhh!
13. Which blogger do you want to meet in real life? everyone.
14. How many bloggers have you made out with? i forget.
15. Do you usually act like you have more money or less money than you really have? i spend like i have it, but... i don't.
16. Does your family read your blog? not really. my cousin does.
17. How old is your blog? like 1 and a half.
18. Do you get more than 1000 pageviews per day? Do you care? no. i get MAYBE 100 unique IP addys a day. the "readers" can suck my hairy horsemeat.
19. Do you have another secret blog in which you write about being depressed, slutty, or a liar? oh totally.
20. Have you ever given another blogger money for his/her writing? never.
21. Do you report the money you earn from your blog on your taxes? HAHAHAH
22. Is blogging narcissistic? yep.
23. Do you feel guilty when you don't post for a long time? nahhh. i just long to write on it. i'll write on paper if i'm forced to.
24. Do you like John Mayer? never heard of him.
25. Do you have enemies? yes. anyone who fucks with my signs.
26. Are you lonely? only when i'm stranded in el centro for a weekend.
27. Why bother? cuz it's for me.
i think i am so hungry my face os gonna fall off.
memorial day weekend. who cares. whats the difference to me. so i miss out on boozing in hermosa. i wouldn't have gona anyways.
oh man, i should call whitey right now to make sure he's on board for the mission. cuz if he goes, we'll be all the party we need.
plus now we'll both have our skateboards, so after the signs go out, we go out, and see what adelanto is all about.
i'm working for notoriously bitch ass clients this weekend too. the kind that drive around and complain is a sign walker had his hat on crooked. and try and bargain down for a better rpice cuz we should have "been on it" and made sure the dude's hat was straight. ok they're not THAT anal, but... they're gonna make it hell for me i know it.
especially if/when the sale does poorly cuz that adelant spot has had too many sales there recently, and i have a feeling the spot is burnt out.
but when a sale goes shitty, for some reason they love to hate on the sign guys first.
i've been killing it lately though. i bet this super difficult client will love my work. everyone else does.
andy, or the weissman, or whatever he liked to be called is a total dick. and the fact that i let this moocher/manipulator be my friend for so long really shows everyone how much of a sucker i used to be.
i moved to manhattan beach in 6th grade from hollywood. and on my first day of school, i found out that they did things differently at my new school compared to my old school, and all my peers were gonna talk shit all whilst i tried to adapt. for example, i had a lunch box instead of a brown paper bag to carry my lunch in, cuz at my hollywood school, you were only cool if you had a lunch box. so here comes andy weiss. he decided the only way i was gonna learn what's cool was to kick my lunch box across the school yard as often as possible, and talk mad shit about me as i went to go fetch it.
so yah, it was kinda weird that him and i became friends. and really, it was because of turbo graffix 16. we both were the only two kids that had that particular system, and our friendship was born.
over the course of our friendship, andy pulled all kinds of crap, most of the shit i didn't even see until years later looking back and reflecting on it all. like if there was anything you had that was nicer, better, or newer than what andy had, he'd shoot your shit down. or even worse was if you had something that andy didn't have yet.
so i'm sure it drove him crazy that i had so many things before him:
1. a job
2. a drivers license
3. a car
4. a girlfriend
5. getting laid
6. moving out into my own place
ect. ect. ect.
in the end, i had to write andy off cuz he owed me $100, and everytime i asked him to pay me any or all of what he owed me, he'd ask, "why what do you NEED IT need it for?"
pfff, i neeed it cuz it's my fucking money.
anyways, the cool part is that andy is almost 26 years old, and STILL LIVES WITH HIS MOMMY!!!! HAHAHAHAHHAHA...
that's the last bong hit i have till i buy more. anti is out of weed, bitches. and yes i just refered to myself in the 3rd person. so sue me.
i nearly did the same thing with toilet paper.
it's like... Weed and Toilet Paper... two things you don't want to run out of before you bought more.
and i'll manage to screw up both.
but at least i steal enough hotel towels to always have a clean one of those for myself, cuz i once had a roommate that used paper towels to dry off from the shower. so i know there's lazier than i out there.
in irrelevant news, i have a new microwave. it's all black, and now i can heat up stuff. i just don't have any stuff. like usual.
and for some reason i have three packs of cigarettes. all are different brands. and they're all open. how am i sposed to choose? and where'd they all come from?
know why you didn't become the success you think you "deserve" to be? cuz youmake it happen for yourself.
point the finger all over town, at your mom aqnd dad, at your shitty friends... point the finger if you have to. but that's not living in reality, now is it?
being able to look in the mirror and see the creator of your destiney. now that's reality.
hind sight is crystal clear and if i could go back, i'd prolly do a million things differently. anything from studying more in highschool, to banging all the hot chicks i wished i banged. but either way, it's the past and i only spend half a second thinking about it. same with the future.
i thinkabout how i feel right now. and right now i'm feeling sorta "meh..." but i don't even really know why.
i had too much time to think in el centro. their radio sucks, and i'm not intrested in TV, so i just sat there, and thunked my brain off.
we're chiillin with buds and fucking bumping cypress hill, cuz when the shit goes down you better be ready. i'll talk more,
we're bumping yo.
and you are just low on the totem pole a la today. besides howard stern is about to come correct on my radio dial. so check it i'm.... OUT.p's.
next stop, el shitty. i mean, el centro.
this year started off with me being told by a crazy manic bitch i had never met before in my life, that i was going to die old... and alone.... and miserable. intresting.
i feel extremely isolated right now. i haven't even left for el centro yet, and i already feel ten thousand miles away from everyone.
it's not so bad really. especially if you bring enough NyQuil to sleep every second of free time away. then you barely even notice you left town. you barely even know your own name.
i don't think i'm gonna leave for el centro till midnight or so. i'm all about midnight-missions. so i'll show up inot town round 4am or so, and i'll go straight to work... and put up signs until i'm blue in the face, and want to pass out from over working myself. and i'll keep the pace going strong till about midnight friday night. and i'll finally check into the holiday inn, and and not move a muscle till i have to deal with the signwalkers the next day.
the whole time i'll thinking about what and who i am missing. cuz that's what i do. think too much.
El Centro, California - aka, Hell Centro - aka Little Bagdad
tomorrow i leave or el sentro and i'm not exactly doing back flips of joy over here.
no joy at all.
but at least i come back sunday to friends with smiley faces, and act-right pouring out their fucking ears.
btw, i am the devil. mua hahahahahhah
not nvervous bout el centro, just loathing the loniless of being holed up in a butthole town for three days, with not much more to do but signs, and twiddle my thumbs watchign the weather channel in my hotel room, with the air conditioning on so high, your nipples will cut glass.
i am reallllly thinking about staying at the holiday innnn. again. cuz like, my cousin is going signing up the signs in the A. Z. annnnnnnd, he said he's gonna stay at the swank ass sheraton by the metrocenter... me and raymi know allll about sheratons. it's like having a hole the size of the moon in your wallet.
but i just want the holiday inn cuz it has that boardroom thingy, and basically all access internet.
home sweet home.
raymi's happy birthday to big tanky post
martin's happy birthday to big tanky post
angelina, trueboy, and the viking's happy birthday to big tanky posts
and this pic always makes her laugh.
it doesn't matter how hard you try, cuz who cares how hard you try? i don't wanna hear that shit "umm duhhh... i TRIED my best" well thanks for nothing you useless incompitent jerkwad.
i'm not concerned with the excuses.
there's only pass or fail in life. pick one.
sorry doesn't fix it. explaining why you fucked up doesn't make it go away.
oh you wanna know how to make things better? don't fuck it up next fucking time.
if there IS a next time.
i can't believe she still puts up with me and my lame never ending cycle of drama, but i'm grateful to no end.
i hate when something i'm writing like this starts to sound like i'm signing a year book or some shit, man.
she's so much cooler than you could hope to be. smarter (she actually reads the news paper, who fucking does THAT anymore man??), tuffer (she's beaten up more dudes than chicks), more compact (she's only like 5'2 or some shit), and more pleasnat to be around than a car air freshener.
in fact, even if i hated her, and i wanted to talk shit, the only way i could pull it off would be if i lied my ass off... cuz the truth is, there is nobody who i think higher of, cept maybe my mom.
so cheers tankoholic, im pouring out some of my 40 for ya, i suggest anyone that reads this do the same.
now i've been there and i'm not even stressed like i was this time last week. i know where everything is and what everything looks like, ect ect.
AND last week i dug into the underground signwalker network that exists in every town. it's really signwalker specific, it's just... there's a type of person who signwalks, bottom line. and anyways, i got the chains all rattled and i'll have lotsa guys ready to go. and i know where they all live (under a blu tarp by the rail road tracks, and the roberta motel), if they don't show up when they said they would i'll hunt them down.
my plan is to go budge-style on the hotel this time. i'm not gonna slum it as hard as that hotel me and kenneth saw for $16.98 a night, maybe i'll bust out the best western. it didn't look so skeezy.
being happy isn't a dream for me like it used to be. i can find happiness in simple pleasures.
a buzz, getting my foot stuck in just the most comfortable spot on the couch, realizing i had a pint of ice cream i totally forgot to eat cuz i got high that night i bought it.
i get high every night.
did you know it's my birthday coming up (JUNE 7TH MARK YOUR CALENDARS!!!) and i'm gonna be 25, and i feel like i know a secret i shouldn't.
like being this young, and knowing how to be this happy is cheating the system.
i have my mom to thank. she's incredible, and taught me so much... but mostly she taught me how to be a man. way more than my dad ever did.
all pops ever showed me was how to screw people over. but then again... i guess that is man-ly enuff, and usefull to know. so whatever.
see that smile i'm rockin in that picture? man that shit can't be faked. and why am i so happy?? i'm glad you asked.
firstly it's NOT cuz i'm a lazy stoner with no ambition. wich might sound like a blatant lie, cuz i AM a stoner and yes... extemely lazy. but by no means am i happy because i simply have aimed so low...
i am happy because i live for every second i have. i do what i want so much more often than what i have to do, it's fucking ridiculous. and i answer to noone but me, and i rubber stamp everything "a-ok".
i base it all on my first gut reaction to seeing someone when i walk into a room. is my very first thought, "oh, right on, it's great to see so-and-so" ORRRRRR am i like, "ugh, it's THAT fucking person. now i am less happy than i was two seconds ago." ?????
the list of people that make me say "ugh" is so short:
dave's girlfriend cindy
and austin nagl;er
my life has been tailored in such a way that i never have run ins with any of those people, cuz cutting the drama outta your life is priceless.
that picture was taken the day i made syvlie cry, cuz she was trying to invite herself over to my house, and i didn't fall for her shitty little damsel in distress routine. the true damsels in distress were MY two home gurrrls who were trying to get rid of sylvie as nicely as they knew how. wich wasn't working.
and for the record i didn't TRY to make her cry, she's a drama queen and literally she's an actress and always trying to get you to "see her star in her play" at the local junior college, and she turned on the tears cuz that's what usually works for her. helps her get her own way.
so we went back to my apartment, and someone took that picture in mid rant about, "how could she be that oblivious, she's GOTTA know she's buggin..."
and i think it's a funny picture.
the shitty one was named hector, and i could tell he was gonna be a problem from the jump.
so what happen?? good fucking question.
what fucking happens is that hector fucking disapears.
abotu an hour or so before he was sposed to get picked up by me, i noticed he wasn't on his post, and waited and waited to no avail.
no hector. nowhere.
so i grabbed up his signwalking sign, and picked up all the rest of my guys on time, and drove to his spot with a car load of signwalkers to prove to everyone that i TRIED to find him.
one theory i have is that hector, pictured here, bought beer, got drunk, feel asleep, and eventually got picked up by either border patrol or the cops. both of wich there was a shit load of in hell centro. but who knows. signwalkers can be totally useless.
i just feel bad for the guy (sorta) cuz his ride left without him, and it's a lonnnnnnng walk back to orange county from there. yikes.
i don't get the celebrity discount?
um well, we don't do that here. are you famous?
ohhh... you don't recognize me, i'm so embarrased. well i don't wanna make a big deal out if it.
well... tell me who you are, i wanna know...
ok... do you watch much daytime tv?
well i'm on the show that comes on after general hospital.
it's a fact...
my sister loves soap operas
well send her my thanks....
can i get your autogragh for her?
how about that celebrity discount, hmmm?
no prob, it's on the house.
so who do i make this out to?
make it say, "to rhonda, last night was a real kicker" she'd love that...
but thankfully it's the last day here.
me and kenneth could not find the stock car races to save our lives, wich is funny cuz el centro is the smallest podunk town ever EVER.
i keep doing boneheaded things. like losing the hotel keys every two seconds, or spending 20 minutes trying to get the dollar thingy to work on a soda machine.
yesterday since kenneth and i BOTH forgot topack ourselves any extra underwear, we went to target. we almost bought the sponge bob square pants pinata.
so we check out of this shit hole hotel in like an hour, and then no more computer access (or that's what they think)
cuz i'm stealing this key to their computer room, and since i am likely to get sent out here next week, i'll be able to blog my heart out. cuz u know i love that shit.
this was the pic of our hotel from their website.
i wanna try and get them to use this one.
the town itself is pretty wacky, but i expected far worse. it's still on the mad max side of things though...
last night i drove away from the gas station with the gas pump still stuck inside my car. i ripped that shit straight outta there man, and got gasoline all over myself trying to sorta repair it. gasoline here costs no cheaper than $2.39/gallon, btw.
the signwalkers have been the usual pains in the asses. showing up too late mostly. but they're commuting here from orange county, like 3 hours away, so... i guess i should be thankful i don't have to hire the losers el centro has to offer.
me and kenneth are gonna go to a stock car race here in town after the laker game is over, and tomorrow before work, we might go into calexico, since our hotel is literally a 5 minute walk to the mexican border.
THAT was what was stressing me out.
le sighhhhhh.... this weekend is gonna be a cakewalk, my amigos.
i'm overly prepared for my job this weekend in el centro, but for some reason... i got that damn jittery feeling.
it's prolly a good thing, cuz i'm like READY for shit to happen. for shit to not go right. and for me to be stressing out big time when that fucking happens.
i have 7 signwalkers already lined up, and ready to rock. so i only have to find 3 brand new ones (as of now)
you never really know how fucked you are until it's 15 minutes before you have to have 15 people on 15 different street corners....
and noone showed up for work that day...
but being the sign guys that we are, i know that i'm just being paranoid right now. i can do these sign jobs blindfolded. i'm like a Los Angeles Laker... it's gonna be a struggle, and there'll be obstacles, i don't have home court advantage, but somehow, someway... with teamwork, talent, and know how...
i'm gonna win it all baby.
besides, i think i'm just jittery cuz i have a BRAND NEW fucking skateboard. yes. that's right.
maybe you're a chance reader, or you only check in from time to time, but the bottom line is this: having a skateboard FINALLY, makes me so happy that my heart is going to explode.
now you know.
and here is the current standing of the TO DO LIST
book hotel room for kenneth and i.
get maps from AAA
secure a fat bag of some stinky death weed
and charge up the cellie with minutes galore.
ehhh.... good nuff.
i am now complete.
hey everyone, THIS WEED is sooo nice. unless your a cop or something, cuz then all i have to say is...
this is arregano.
can i make you mad? that's lame if i can.
cuz see... with me.... only *I* make me mad. or a better way to put it, only *i* choose when to be angry. cuz it's a choice. at least it's a choice for people with self control.
rage filled losers are so busy reacting to everything around them that they find upsetting, that they have no real action of their own.
i have heard the arguement that if you don't flip out and lose your temper, you are letting yourself be a door mat.
how are you a door mat for not letting people piss you off? that doesn't mean you have to get taken advantage of... i support sticking up for one's self. but getting pissed off is a "your problem" not a "their problem" cuz the odds are, they feel fucking fabulous!
how is that fair to yourself to let someone acting the fool actually bother YOU? i can't control anything but me, and imma make sure i feel fucking great.
try and get one over on me
screw me over
it doesn't matter, cuz i'm not gonna get mad. sure i'll alienate you from my life, and definitely i'll get even, but you ain't gonna make me mad. cuz like a wise man once said about "making" someone feel a certain way, "i don't make monkeys, i just see one."
TSAR PLAY @ SPACELAND TONIGHT
i wanna go cuz tony said he'd buy me a beer. and tony told me that on AIM, and he only lies on his blog. so i might really get one if i go!!!!
i got this comment today:this probably doesn't even warrant comment, but...
first of all, Hallie Salassie was not a rastafarian, though rastafari grew largely in part of mythology surrounding him (another name for him is Ras Tafari)
second, for shit's sake, look at what rastafarianism did for jamacians & black people the world over! it was instrumental in changing black consciousness as to make it more race-affirming than race denying - no more wishing for lighter skin, no more straightening the hair, new vocabularies of empowerment... the religion did a fuck of a lot in the way of social change (as well as personal feelings of happiness & shit like that among rastafarians).
now, nothing against the band - i havent listened to them at all - but that view of religion is the simple sort of shit held by 14 year olds. i share a similar distaste for convention & institutions & all that - but if you look at it from the right angles, religion at its core is anarchist and anti-institutional
Anonymous | 05.12.04 - 2:07 pm | #
in regards to me posting song lyrics from some ska/punk band. that guy is a total idiot.
and for the record i still scream it loud and proud: FUCK RELIGION.
things to do still:
book hotel room for kenneth and i.
get maps from AAA
secure a fat bag of some stinky death weed
and charge up the cellie with minutes galore.
because that's how i roll.
this last pull off the chonger was a cloud of resin smoke, and it wasn't even white smoke, it was like yellow, no... black... and i thought i was gonna barf from coughing so hard. but then i like stopped somehow. i'm gonna smoke the rest right now... hopefully the bars close soon, and my man don't find a girl to take home. cuz i need his attention for five seconds, or long enough to hide it for me by his car. that's it! 5 lousy seconds... ok i'm stalling on hitting this bong cuz...
well that last cougher was rough, dude. ok, i'll stop being a total pussy, wait here.
and oh shit, i'm now a sweaty mess from coughing my lungs to shreds. perfect time to light a smoke, eh? people trip out on my for smoking cigarettes in mid coughing fits, but... for me... it's the only thing to shut me up. calms my spazzomatic throat hysteria.
ok, so the guy just called, but i think it was a drunk call from the old pocket, considering i could hear nothing but loud bar sounds, and hombre didn't answer my call back.
i guess i could find another pipe or something to scrape...
either way i know me and kenneth are gonna have plenty for el centro this weekend. ROCK! .
things to do still:
book hotel room for kenneth and i.
get maps from AAA
secure a fat bag of some stinky death weed
and charge up the cellie with minutes galore.
but that will change this weekend when i truck my ass out there to completely take the town over with my sleazy little plastic signs. cuz that's what i do best.
Mr. Cowan signed up for the trip (no pun intended). he said he needed a gettaway, and we's tight, so he's gonna come and share the hotel cost, and wander the streets of el centro aimlessly taking pictures and being a general town-nuisance while i job the signs.
we intend on doing more of the same when i'm available to kick it at night. i betcha you'll be able to find us at THE town bar.
anyways it's only till sunday night, and now that i got a hang out partner for after werk, i'm totally stoked. also i give up on getting fuckall for my birthday, and im just gonna go and get myself my damned skateboard.
yah so, the to do list for tomorrow... Get pay check, Cash Pay check, Buy new skate board, Cream my panties. in that order.
my facial hair feels longer than it's ever been.
and i just killed a spider on the wall with my bare palm, and i felt it crunch and pop, and it was kinda gross. but that's what it gets for entering onto my turf.
my psycho religious cousins all think i'm a strung out drug addict. kinda funny. i'm like, "yo, weed? weed's not even a drug, dumbasses." but they insist that i'm out of my mind, and need to find god. it's extremely annoying i must say.
i talk about how pot is so mild, and how hard drugs like speed, and shit EVEN BOOZE are worse than pot. but they say, "oh anti.... you're just splitting hairs..."
they don't understand because they are the ones who are out of their minds. they don't even have minds, they're like little brainless sheep. only a RETARD doesn't know that tweakers suck, tweakers steal, tweakers are fucking disgusting. fuck those fucking glassheads, but.... stoners? pot heads? dude, lay off, we're just annoying and perhaps we move too slow. we ain't no big whup, yo.
and who are they to talk? last time i checked over eating was a sin too. funny how i'm the only skinny one in the family. just my mom and i. and everyone else is a fatass, religious, OVER EATER, who think that their sins aren't as bad as YOUR sins so you're going to hell, and they're gonna play a harp for you in heaven. HAH!!!
see you in hell you self righteous, naive, judgemental, non-thinking little lemmings. cuz there IS NO hell, that's the real joke.
but i guess the fight ended with me telling her that i was gonna kill her.
she said, "you can't kill me, anti, i'm bigger than you..."
so i replied, "oh yah? i'll kill you in your sleep."
so i find out all these years later that she took that shit to heart. she was scurred to sleep at night, and had nightmares about me ambushing her with a kitchen knife. she said she would think she was hearing me go downstairs for a knife and pop out of her room and there'd be nothing.
i just like to finding out they didn't think everything i ever said was total bullshit
even though it was.
man, fuckin fat girls always got some shit to say, don't they?? ya i called you fat, look at me i'm skinny.
i used to feel kinda bad that i showed up to my grandma's house so stoned out of my mind, on days like this (mother's day, easter, whutever). but now my philosophy is that they better love me as i am (wich is stoned), or leave me the fuck alone. and when i show up today, they better have their mouths shut, especially if they start in with the, "Anti, why don't you go to church with us next sunday...?" or any of that shit. cuz i ain't hearing that noise, nahmean?
they all secretly diss me at my grandma's hosue, cuz my sisters and i are the only non-christian's. we're like the black sheep. and shit... at least my sisters are married with children... they TRIP OUT on me though.
"where's your girlfriend?"
"why don't you quit smoking?"
"when are you gonna get a real job?"
"how's bout givin your truck a wash n wax?"
"you look so thin, eat something please!!!"
and my cousin's who are all psycho, and married, start in with their two cents too. they shut up when i say that i'm going to hell and that i'm goin with a smile on my face, and that i can't wait for the real war to begin. religious weirdos.
annoying ppl with my camera has been a new source of joy for me. perhaps that will work today.
LINK: Jay V used his real voice on this thing.
and like happiness, and a drama free life are priceless, and people just don;t know how to do it. you just live yor shit by you rheart. were it on your sleeve, brother. cuz fuck anyone who ain;t down. fuck ppl that are gonna get hurt. fuck everyone.
this is my life.
my fifteen damn minites and imma use em up like the honorary beastie boy that i wish i was.
no i don't have a limo, ten million dollars, and all sorts of bitchs sucking my dick all night long, every day of the fucking week.
but i got me, and i make me proud, and on days liek this, drunk, and high, and happy, and thank the gods, (tho the gods musdt be crazy) and say, "fuck yah, i'me, and noone else is.... HAHAHAHAHAHAH suckers!!!!"
nuf fuckiung said.
LINK: raymi's still so funny.
not really, but extremely close to it.. for beers.
carrie was was older than me and ginger, and ten times crazier. she once had a '64 impala that got shot up with bullet holes, she was into punk first, first into mexican gangsters (ginger had one for a bit), first in a rehab, and first to have a baby. carrie's awesome though, even though i'm pretty sure she hates me.
next to carrie is my mom. and yes... obviously my dad scored hisself a hottie. and luckily, i look nothing like my dad.
next is Ginger. ginger may not have been punk first. but she was punk longest. she's still sorta punk in a weird i have a kid now, granola-head, married kinda way. ginger is ten million times smarter than i am... and was always the most photogenic of the family. and when i was born and brought home from the hospital, the story goes that ginger said, "i bet he wants a GIANT taco from not eating for so long..." and the crazy thing is, ging was right!
on the far right is julie, or jules as we called her. and yes that's a HER... she's just the least photogenic in the family. she's kinda a nutter dude. see... my dad left her and her mom in chicago and moved to LA and started a whole new family with my mom. then my dad sent her guilt money all her life. she'd max out her credit cards, and he'd pay em off. guilt's exspensive i guess. julie i think always secretly resented carrie, ginger, and i for being his "new" family. and i eventually disowned julie as my sister in 1995 when she told my dad about my bongs and where to find them, and UGH.... that was IT. but i give it up to julie for doing burly shit to piss my dad off on porpose, like fucking the vice president of his comany. HAH.
and there's me. in the front, wearing some weirdo little outfit that makes me look like i am on my way to pimp school to get my degree in pimpology. OR... about to get my ass kicked again by all the mexicans for being the only white boy in the hollywood public school system. ahh, the good ole days.
i know. it's fucking crazy.
yah there's joints thrown in here-and-there for good measure, but shit... i even got a car bong, so like... even joints and pipe bowls are rare to me.
but i think it's kinda dumb, cuz like, i'm really bad at bong-hitting. of all my friends *I* cough the loudest and the hardest and the longest. bigtanky doesn't even cough. neither does colorado girl.
so my midnight-mission got midnight-cancelled. and instead my laundry is getting done, ALL OF IT, and for the first time in 2004. don't even ask me how it's possible to go that long without getting my clothes cleaned, cuz i have no fucking clue.
i have one slice of pizza left, and it's from bigtanky's cheese half, and it's cold, and gross. just how i like it.
i wish i had ice cream. i never have any ice cream, dammit.
alright... after this cigarette, imma see if the clothes is dry yet.
what the fuck ELSE is new.
i'll just continue to buy new underwear and socks every damn time.
anyways, tonight i'm gonna go to downtown LA to do a midnight sign-job mission. my favorite kind.
there's also the second half of my fatty arizona pay check waiting for me. wich is nice. cuz i need that shit right about now.
if i didn't smoke weed i'd be a millionare. i betcha i've spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on it since i started the habbit over ten years ago.
if i wasn't so lazy, i'd just sell that shit, and smoke for free.
but selling weed is like a MAJOR pain in the ass. i did it in highschool. and SOMEhow ppl know only to call you up right when you're about to get busy with some shit. ain't that a bitch?
plus when you sell the weed, every once in a while you're stuck with a batch that noone wants to buy, cuz the weed wasn't the bestest bestest. but if you're just buying pot like a normal person, when you get stuck with some less-than-the-greatest weed... you don't have like 2 oz. of it!!!!
yes they call me anti. yes it's because i really am anti. everything.
cept when it comes to catching a buzz. hence the tecate.
i keep packing the bong and totally forgetting that i did, and i hold it in my lap for like an hour... lemme smoke this, one sec...
and perhaps i'll get carted off to some magazine sponsored party/hipster-hell-ride thing.
i wanna bring my camera and get in everyone's face under the guise that i'm a "freelance journalist", and have them pose for lame pictures
and if i'm REALLY lucky i'll get myself 86'd outta there, like slamming down my hand on the eject button in a
no that's some oldskool polack joke i think.
but yah.... hopefully i'm so drunk by the end of the night i lose something important like my keys or my wallet, or my cell phone. cuz that's how you know it was fun... if you're locked out of your car and your house, with no money, and no way to reach anyone...
sighhhhh... i can't wait!
orrrrrr..... another excuse to get piss drunk and make sure that i am tore back on seis de mayo....
whutever it is, i am pumped. i have a fat bag of weed, i got me some tecate beer.... and i'm drinking right now, i got the day off...
i got bitches in the livingroom gettin it onnnn and, they ain't leaving till 6 in the mornin
so whatchu gonna do? i gotta tell yall something though on the real... i have no idea what or why may the 5th has any importance for mexico.
i'm a big self-medication-fanatic. and self applied medical practices are the shiznit.
today i used the pointy part of my tweezers to scratch off any and all excess junk on all my teeth.
like what you pay a million dollars to have some dentist's loser trainee do...
cept they have like "the proper" tools...
it took forever, cuz i had bad lighting and a shitty, dirty, mirror.
but my teeth feel dentist-chair-new.
like how you can run your tounge on the back of them, and feel every groove and little detail.
like... they made up enough to shake hands, not hold ill will or harbor hate, and she's fixin to move to the northwest of america with a new man that will perhaps bring her happiness... and....
after all the restraining orders, violent acts caught on video tape, blackmail, jealousy traps, couple therapy, cheating, incredible lies that went unknown forEVER, and an odd resentment for eachother....
resentment... if for nothing more than being stupid for eachother....
sometimes shit can't work cuz it wasn't sposed to be. maybe there's too much baggage too fast in the relationship. Passive Agression, and the ability to hate the person you love so much... because they are now an extension of yourself, and it's easier to tell the person you love the most hurtful things on fucking porpose with a motive of trying to crush them and make them really feeeeeel some pain. just like it's easy to beat your-fucking-self up for dumbass no big things that you do. like, "fuckkkkkK!!!! i can't believe what an idiot i am, i forgot to bring that extra bottle of jager to the party!" but like say it's a friend of a friend in your car... and THEY forgot the jager, you're like, "well whuuutevs, hombre.... dirtbags like us got no worries" and then commence the high five. but you best believe that stupid-bitch girlfriend who should KNOW better, fucking forGOTTTT (gasp! ????) the jager?! the JAGERRRR???!!!" and of course commence the rest of the night you being a mad-madison and her being a fucking anoyed to high hell (and justifiedidly so) undeserving girl that you fucking SEEE as an extention of yourself. get it? get me?
so if you made it this far thru the ramble you deserve to hear what my point is. and it is THIS. we all know that some relationships (sad but true) are ultimately (for a million potential reasons on BOTH parties fault) DOOOMED!!! but... that doesn't mean that both parties didn't truly LOVE eachother as best as each of them possibly could, and it DOES mean that everyone just being nice and getting over the fact so much drama has gone down is FUCKING AWESOME.
kickass. sorta makes you wanna braid some hemp and bang out a bongo in the corner of a jungle drum and bass club. i mean, not really at all, but for lack of a better analogy.
tony linking you in this style on one of his posts is like a award
my girl kitty told me that she thought my blogging has been great lately. wich blows me down croming from such a NAMEDROP worthy source
and meltingdolls is back home safe and sound and alive. telling me tails of backstage wonders at coachella, and winging it knwoing nobody and fiding hotel status, ppl from her town, and a ride from two hours away to LAX. i hope she writes about it soon.
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