i haven't even ordered my own book, and i dont even know what it looks like in real life, but i could care less.
knowing it's there, and done, and seeing it for sale, with my faker new york times review, ect. that's all i need, man.
i think more bloggers ought to consider doing this. it's a rad very feeling
my first attempt at independent publishing a reality before my own eyes.
i tried to fall asleep, and the fucking pdf shit was just brewing in my head, and i knew i had to slam this shit now, or i would eat myself alive.
the truth is, cafe press charges $0.03 cents a page, and a $7.00 binding fee... so the price is straight cost. i make zero.
i dont want to make money off it. i just thought it would be cool for myself to have.
special thanks to tony pierce who urged me to do it.
and if i thought i had insomnia before. hah. now i have to, and WILL force myself to sleep.
catchy ain't it?
the other title i considered was Dem Crazy Hos, but nah. that dont fit as well.
so here's the status report:
i was gonna send it all to cafepress for finalization, and have the link up to buy it before i fell asleep, BUT... converting my text to a PDF file is my only hang up.
i have the front cover and back cover art all prepared. i have the text editted the way i like it. and i CAN convert that shit into a PDF, i just cant get the right size dimensions i want.
a minor, very correctable, detail.
perhaps tony P will offer his experience and expertise tomorrow (if he's not too busy).
they drive a hard bargain, but oh well... that's life ain't it?
it was so cold this morning, i had to wear sweatpants under my jeans just to be able to hang with it.
my blook is done. but now im stalling on the artwork for the front and back covers. i'd being doing it right now. but NOOOOO, my day off was robbed from me by these car sale assholes that hire us sign guys. thanks for nothing.
by the way, they didn't even have my checkity check so it's coming out of my pocket, and the "check is in the mail" HAH. im not holding my god damned breath, that's fo sho.
but i AM pleased to report that i am higher than than the stars right now. in fact, there's stars in my eyes.
being slackjawed and spacey is how i crunch the time. and you know this.
me, the viking, and whitey. (yes, im wearing a hawaiian shirt ni the dead of winter. that's how i roll)
now i feel sick.
and i have to work today.i wanted the day off. but... whuuuutever.
i need something fizzy to drink. like sprite.
i needed one extra signwalker, and was two seconds from getting one of the illegal mexican guys that hang out by inglewood boulevard and the 405. but i knew dave has NO job, and thought of him, hoping i would be able to help him out. (i know you're thinking to yourself, "anti is so thoughtful, awww")
SO, i dial his number on my t-mobile pre pay cell phone and,
WELL WELL WELL. dave's there to inform me, that although this job is closer to his house than any signjob will ever be... and he'll be making a cool 50 bucks CASH each of the three days...
welp, dave says he's is too embarassed to signwalk. "come on man, someone might SEE me" he said...
i told him, "that's the point."
but i spose i understand. this area is where a lot of our mutual friends (that went to the same highschool as us) live and work, and drive around. and holding a sign for money doesn't scream "look how well i've done since school!!!"
but whatever, is dave a little school girl? he's gonna get embarassed to make $50.00 USD?
and dave is 6foot-something, has long chewbaca/werewolf hair, and he wears keds, board shorts, and black knee socks... and then he's gonna pretend he has the ABILITY to get embarrassed?! hah. i'm not buyin it.
he just messaged me, yes at 3am, like the jobless no-good crooke he is. and then said NEVERMIND. woke me up for nothing.
so this post, is what made me feel sleepy again.
thank you blog. you never fail me.
seriously, it's like the hard part is already done. writing it all! and now im just organizing, editting, and compiling.
im using tony's Blook I as a semi skeleton...
and alecia of arizona was nice enough to IM me and let me know that she wanted to buy a copy. and welp, it's almost done as it is, so im getting super duper excited about it all.
my e.t.a. for completion to send off to the presses is sunday.
it makes me have insomnia.
i can't break away
like a child in his fantasy, punching holes in the wall of reality. all my life i wanted to fly, but i don't have the wings and i wonder why.
i can't break away
woah well my momma told me when i was young, stand tall birdie your number one. she said but you can be what you want to be,but you can't change the course of your destiny.
i can't break away
oh no no no no
i can't break away
well i can't i can't i can't break away
oh no no no no
i can't break away
i can't break away
by, Big Pig
being sick is the best excuse. "anti, why do you look so miserable?"
"i just dont feel well..."
who can refute that?!
so i didnt have to eat, i didnt have to talk to anyone, and i got leave first. that was the most painless thanksgiving of my whole life. thankfully.
and this is my first holiday season with my car-bong-invention, and holy shit, how did i manage getting through the holidays without that shit before? i guess i had more patience back then.
this will be a driving force in getting what tony pierce told me i ought to have done long ago. and now he's on his second one! i have his first one... signed, of course. and i read from it all the time.
yes. i want to make a blook. i've made up my mind
so that's step one. step two is collecting and editing, and putting my archives all together... and making it a PDF, and step 3 is telling cafepress to send me one hard copy of MYYY blog.
how sweet is that?!
i think it would be cool if someone wanted to buy it, so i'll put up a link to buy it when its ready. but im not gonna charge more than cost... for two reasons:
1) this is for ME. i want to hold my writing all done up fancy with a nice binding and a cover. ect. because it think it would be cool to ME to have.
2) im guessing that my "sales" are gonna be on the low side. so why make it more pricey than it has to be?
truth is, i doubt anyone will buy one. i'll buy four or five, and hand them out to friends who'd like one, and anything that happens after that is gravy.
because although i have never written one before... im going to write a novel.
and after all the publishing houses tell me "thanks, but NO THANKS" i can say back, "yah fuck you, i thought you'd be pricks!" and do it myself, thanks to cafepress, and thier divine wisdom to make self publishing part of their services.
UPDATE: this post is why im thankful. now i must go stick my nethers in some mash potatos.
the 405 northbound is a parking lot from the southbay to the valley. and im GLAD. happy as a clam that Los Angeles is bveing vacated.
i also have a signjob in Lawndale, CA wich is so close to home, it's laughable. manhattan beach boulevard, and hawthorne boulevard. hundreds of cars, COME ON DOWN. pussy cow.
my face is still chock-full of novacaine on my left side, but it's all gravy, because this time they didn't have to whip out the big guns:
the intraligamental syringe. aka, my nemisis...
i need to lay the fuck down...
the nyquil is already making me feel loopy so im peacing out.
tomorrow is gonna be hell and a half.
be glad yer not me.
or, at least, gladder than normal.
the first time i got busted with weed:
my friends and i had convinced my sister carrie to buy us a double bubble, double chamber, two foot acrylic bong, made by the company Matrix. and it was a champion bong.
it lived in a locked wooden chest in my bedroom at my dad's house, because there was no way in hell i would be able to pull the wool over my mom's eyes at her house, like how i was able to do so to my dad.
and so before, after, and(or if we ditched) during school, we would congregate in the safety of my bedroom, and start making clouds. all i had to do was towel the bottom of the door, turn my fan so it pointed straight out my window (like an exhaust) and no one would ever know. sometimes we went the extra mile and lit an inscent, or blew our smoke through empty toilet paper tubes shoved full of dryer sheets.
usually the only two people home was the maid that my dad had pick up after him, and the gold digging wife. both of whom stayed far away from me and my bedroom.
well, im not sure WHO narced on me, but i've always suspected it was my oldest sister julie who lives in chicago. and as a result i have not spoken to her since then... but it's ok, my real sisters and i never liked julie. so my dad comes to me one day, and wants to know what's in the wooden chest i keep padlocked.
i knew i was fucked.
we went up to my room, and with nervous hands i unlocked my secret paraphernalia stash.
my dad took all my pipes and my bong, and threw them away, and then it was time for "the big talk"
luckily IM as good a spin dr. as my pops, and i wove this sob story about how some girl broke my heart, and within seconds we were off the marijuana topic, and onto the topic of picking up ladies.
needless to say, i wasn't in any trouble at all.
and i only had to get caught like that two more times before he gave up on busting me, started calling me "bong man", and i could smoke weed with the door wide open.
so yah, despite the pain, and how it is currently inhibbitting my eating and sleeping ... i feel great!
i mean... i do have two really nice strains of marijuana. one is called dirty girl, and there ain't nothing dirty about it, and the other is called bubble yum, it's it's not as special.
stern is 'best of' this week. i hate those weeks.
the other detail that sucks is the heavy duty motrin that the dentist gave me. welp...
i lost it.
it's gone, and the pain isnt, and im the smartest man alive. yes, it's true.
but the truth is. im not that miserable. it sucks and everything, but the ends will justify the means.
i put too much importance on my own needs, and ignore everyone else's needs, and maybe i should listen more to the viking when he screams at me for being lazy and only caring about myself.
he only says it when he's enraged, but who says that means he's wrong?
my tv is on, my radio is on, my computer is on, EVERY light in my house is on, i have a lit cigarette in the ashtray... it's gonna be a long morning. hurry up sunrise.
i even told the bitch when she asked me, "do you have any special medical needs i should know about?" i told her!!!
"i hate dentists!"
...and i continued by mentioning "send me home with pain, lady... and we gots problems..."
well sho nuff, WE GOTS PROBLEMS!
and there isn't a bonghit in the universe for me to smoke until AT LEAST "7ish", or so says Dealer McDope.
pfft fuck that noise, ya heard me?
and now they want me to go in on wednesday to try and get the bottom lower cavaty that they were unable to get today.
she asks if i smoke, or drink coffee, or if i dont sleep well.
yes, yes, yes. what else ya got?
so they set me up for wed, but i have accupunture wednesday... :(
so it'll be needles stuck in me, cup bruises, and then yay! drills and a numb face!
wouldn't it be easier to just beat me with a broom handle? at least it wouldn't eat up the entire day.
all the discomfort in half the time! genius.
you have someone in the car, or waiting at your house, and you stand there trying to look as impatient as possible, while they play GTA on their playstationo 2.
i always wonder whats going on in their heads. are they thinking that the neighbors are spying on them, and they're trying to like cut back on the TRAFFIC? or are they just THAT stoned?
and saddly knowing who im dealing with, and i know they aren't thoughtful enough to worry about "traffic".
it's like, hey man i back that... you wanna taker easy, so just lemme weigh it out myself, and i'll be stoked taking all the head nugs.
see? i think THAT's the problem. he's a talker. although less of a talker and more of a rambler.
the whole time it reminds me of some scene from some movie i saw where the junkie girl was SO PISSED that the guy didnt fork over the dope until AFTER she gave him the head, because the way she saw it, it would have been way more mellow to suck dick while high.
in MY book that small chit chat i have to make with the drug dealer the same fucking thing. it would be so much less agrivating if i was high.
what happened to the good old days?
the days when drug dealers were a dime a dozen, and all in competition with eachother, and all you had to do was wait for THEM to call YOU. and sit tight while they rush over to your house fly faster than veggitables being spit out my mouth.
now you practically have to beg them to take your money. it's gettin to be ri-goddamned-diclous.
becuase that one was wiped off teh record completely like it never happened. making this whitey's third DUI to his friends, and his second as far as the DMV is concerned.
his battle plan is simple. get the best lawyer he can, and tell his mom about it no sooner than AFTER it's all dealt with. i back this plan with all my fucking heart. i love whitey's mom, she's great. but bev dont need to worry more than she has to.
when ryan was in jail, i was the person he called with his one phone call. that fag! no seriously, he called cuz he said he knew i'd be up at 2am, and i was. and i was glad to be there for my friend.
the thing about whitey is, booze will forever be his ultimate demise. it's why he's broken ankles, blown it with chicks, gotten locked up in jail, and worst of all... it's why he was air lifted off a mountain in santa cruz once, leaving him with in a coma for a week with no sense of smell, and now if he drinks like he used to, he's get seziers.
anyways the point is that ryan forgot his passport in my car, and thanks to the dui it's the only identification he has... so i hope he hasnt needed it. id feel kinda bad.
my apartment isn't even that big. it's like the only real benefit to having a cordless phone is so that i can talk to people while i take a shit. which, btw... im not at all interested in.
and if there was some sort of emergency situation that REQUIRED me to use a telephone while defacating, i always have the cell.
cordless phones are the worst because the battery is bound to turn shitty on you, and not hold a charge, and then you have to try and focus on what your caller is saying whilst all you really hear is the BEEP'BEEP'BEEPing; you never know where it is when you NEED it, like when it's ringing, or when it's time to call pizza hut.... who needs all that drama? im over it.
so i'm lagging on ordering my pizza, becuase im lazy in my sweatpants today. trying to taker easy, becuase i weasled my way out of working tonight, and... i have another dentist appointment tomorrow.
tomorrow they're gonna whip out the drills. and im gonna grip the arm rests with tenacity, and try and focus on my breathing. and im gonna try and look thankful that they give me a bib to catch all the drool leaking out of my dumb old numb face.
other than my mom, my sisters and i, they are all religious right wing wackos. who "pray" for my mom and me and my sister, because they think we need "saving" like they've gotten.
them with their backhanded compliments, "when are you gonna get a REAL job, anti?" oh YAH???? well hey auntie so-and-so the 70's called, it wants it's hairstyle back. and screw YOU, uncle whats-his-name, i dont need your tone, or your snide druggie jokes made at my expense.
from my point of view, being married with kids by age 21 is the mistake, not the answer you all, SO LOUDLY, proclaim it as.
yes those are cup marks on my back. no i DONT trust doctors. why does that bother you? huh? does it make you feel good to talk shit? because guess what buddy-buddersons, you're MY reletive, and thank good old grandpa for the shitty shoulders. you turn will come.
and i'll be waiting...
it's also saddening to see that my moms sisters are so different from her. and i ask her how she has the strength to hear them babble on like rascist elitist snobs who listen obediantly to whatever bill o'reilly tells them... and she says that everyone has a right to destroy themselves. and i say, "oh yah, i forgot"
and that's how i feel like the better person in the end. because who's to judge how others lead their lives? right? but granting one the permission and ALLOWANCE to feel and think for themselves, even if it glares in opposition to what you believe, is the orignal american spirit, that has since been long forgotten.
sexual repression, and a culture based on greed and a puritan ethic. god bless america.
i think the stereotypical american is a fairly accurate depiction. a fat fuck, with a McCheeseburger in one hand, and a McRifle in the other, who's on the lookout for homosexuals to condem, and assault.
that was hilarious.
the deputy like what my pops had to say
tony flattered me by linking me at the bottom of such an inspiring post that he wrote.
angelina is in love, and no one deserves it more than her.
trueboy is wearing the same pantalones she wore the last time we fucked. and i can't believe she still remembers...
jamie, get back to america you slacker. i can't watch over BOTH coasts, you know?
my cousin's ex has some strong opinions about me.
and spliffmaster matty h saw the beastie boys with some homies of his. but that was the easy part.
so yah, im trying this new thing, that's actually NOT SO NEW. it's been around A LOT longer than the swallowing-vicodens-method. and dont get me wrong, i think partying on pain pills is like the super coolest. who's got a darvaset they can flow me?! codiene anyone??
but when you NEED pain pills. and you're taking them to maintain your composure, and not to be takeing advantage of the multiplier effect... that's when it SUCKS. that's when western medicine's approach of treat the symptom but fuck the problem (because there's no money in problem solving), fails you as a person.
that's why capitalism is fucked and flawed, for ethical reasons like that. they make more money in the medicine, NOT the cure. placing money over people. leaving pain sufferers to flap in the wind, and hope for a "good week". meaning shit doesn't flare up and you have semi free range of motion.
so know what, poorboy? while yer at home playing on your laptop, hoping your girlfrien-who-hates-me doesn't find out you SIGNWALKED, because she would be embarrassed.... i'm trying something new for my "poor little whittle shoulder wolder that's got a hurty-poo" because what you dont realize, is that your mocking tone is why you're who you are today. recognize.
my mom made me brownies, becuase she felt sorry for me, and im gonna go drive over and fetch them now. peace to the out.
you all should check out
my friend sean from nebraska's site.
sean's the man, and he works at a liquor store, and has cool poloroids of the local homeless. i bet sean would make a great sign guy.
what up? beach baker crew.
and in fact that illustrates how i feel about anyone who wants to be the creator of their own demise. people should be allowed to destroy themselves as much as they want to.
i say make crack cocaine legal, and educate everyone on what it's risks are. and guess what, all the crackheads that will overdose... welp... WE DINT NEEDEM!
ok now with that said let me get to the meat and potatoes of this glob post, and that's the seat belt law.
let's throw in the helmet law even though i don't ride a motorcycle, but my point is... if i don't want to use the available safety harness to protect myself, THAT'S ON ME.
so when i pull into the 7-11 parking lot, as i did tonight, i don't need to feel that sudden adrenaline rush that a parked cop car gives me, because i didn't buckle up for the three block journey at 2am. (why would i buckle up?) i get pretty pissed that i have to fucking grab at the belt and hold some part of the strap over my shoulder for that "decoy" effect.
i think it's elitism at it's ugliest. because "they" decided that YOU'RE too fucking stupid to make your own mind up. YOUUUUUUUUU are too dumb to just behave yourself without laws to FORCE you into submission. "we the govt will think FOR you. please turn off your brain, and return your seats to their fully upright positions."
i think the nicest thing somebody could tell me these days is something along the lines of, "hey man, rock on witch'yo badself" and not give me "tips" on what they think is right for me.
once i had the option of choosing a cheaper smaller apartment, or a larger more expensive apartment in the same tiny complex. so i asked my dad for advice, and he gave me advice that i have since used for far more things than picking an apartment...
and i did. and it was awesome, and i always would rather roll the dice, take the chance, go out there and feel life... perhaps come up a few bucks short, but die with a smile on my face.
im going to be tied up with accupuncturationism up in my area at 9am, and believe it OR not anti is gonna see a dentist @12:30 (im scurred)
and shit man, my act is getting cleaned up every which way. BUT my point is... it's gonna be a burly day. and that's prolly why im not very sleepy and my brain is click'click'click'n away
plus i owed him 60 bucks, so he had leverage on who was gonna drove to WHO'S house.
whitey wanted to go surfing, and i told him that we'd only be 30 minutes, and it WOULD have been only 30.... but i can't control the train schedule... and our timeline got hijacked by a slow moving freight train at marine, near the costco. but i got whitey to go is my point.
while we were unloading the 1/2-price-car-signs my cousin michelle brought out her baby drew, who wanted me to hold him. wich i did.
we stopped at tommy burgers on the way home, and whitey got a cheeseburger, an orange bang, and a chocolate shake.
white-nation says he wants to head to mexico for a few days, that sounds so fucking tempting. FUCKING MEXICO!!!! who needs to go to vegas to party... when TJ is 3 and a half hours away?!?!
the cupping marks on my back still feel a little sore, and i hope i don't get cupped more when i go in tomorrow at 9.
that's one of my favorite tee shirts... it has holes, it's soft and broken in, and i've owned it since i was a senior in highschool.
the arm snapped off of my blue blockers, and in frustration i shattered the remains into fragments with my 3 pound mallet. i need a replacement pair STAT.
whitey has my paycheck, he picked it up for me yesterday... but now he's nowhere to be found. he better not be surfing. i hate surfers. i think the ocean makes people saltwater-stupid.
i think scott petersen killed his wife, but i dont think there was enough evidence to convict him. do they even know how lacey died? no. but they think they know who killed her? and im scared that the unborn baby that he was convicted of murdering will be the catalyst that the religious-right uses to outlaw abortions.
im smoking slightly less weed these days. or... the last two days. but maybe this is a trend that will last a lifetime. or maybe i just have a cough right now. WHO KNOWS?!?!?
so we smoked up some purple kush and some other kind that is almost as good, and now um we're just stalling one last second.
oh and i didn't notice until i was almost done, but as i layed there on my back in my underwear, i guess the flap in the fron of teh boxers was wide open for all the world to see. sorry dr chang, i wasn't trying to get fresh, i swear. besides you have to be at least 102 years old.
im sposed to go back thursday at 9am, and im only slightly looking forward to it.
although i must admit, my shoulder DOES feel a little better.
i like it in there too, it's cloudy with insence smoke, and the most relaxing music ever. and i like that dr chang is so bossy, i kinda respect her more for it.
Bursitis simply put is the inflammation of a bursa. In the normal state, the bursa provides a slippery surface that has almost no friction. A problem arises when a bursa becomes inflamed. The bursa loses its gliding capabilities, and becomes more and more irritated when it is moved.
first of all, the song's chorus says, "go see cal, go see cal, go see cal" wich on paper looks fine. but say it out loud, go ahead, do this now. now do it faster. notice how it sorta sounds like "pussy cow" ? well for most of me and my peers we didn't know it WASN'T pussy cow until we were at least in middle school.
but i remember in Phoenix AZ they had some shmuck selling trucks at the local doudge dealership. he was way younger than cal worthington, and was actually best described as some new jersey meathead type with the tight shirt and the jabroni hair. i find enjoyment in the absurdity of such things.
and like, the random news anchors. these dudes rule. here in LA there's this one guy named John Beard, but he has a moustache, and there's a black dude named marc brown, even though we all know about this marc. or if you tune into chanel 13 news, you get this anchorwoman who's like so hot that they make her stand the whole time, and pose and prance around in little outfits, and the news is like, "someone's cat took a dump. the end." oh shit that's good stuff.
but when i stayed in toronto, the gossip was that this one dude for the CBC totally thought he was off the air, and made jokes about the pakistani weatherman being a "camel jockey"
you gotta love live tv, man.
the audio from a Cal Worthington Ad
if you hate me, how is that my problem. and the opposite is true: if i hate you, why do you care? get over it.
and hate is really too strong a word. im not talking about that PASSIONATE of a feeling. im talking about dis-liking someone. im talking about that sinkning feeling one gets when they hear the name of a person who they're not too fond of, or walk into a room that they are in. ect.
basically the hated person should be stoked. being hated doesn't have to bother you. it's really a choice.
so like if im at a party, and there's two people who hate me, and are mad that im there, GUESS WHAT?!!?!?!?
im not gonna notice, and im gonna prolly make them hate me more when i laugh, and dance, and spill drinks on myself.
but i always wonder why some people go on a mission to CHANGE the way someone feels about them. you can't change people, and you certainly arent gonna convert someone from a hater to a fanclub member. so why bother? why waste your time and energy?
if i was you. i'd move on.
and then proceeded to call me the nick name "drewbie" and says he's gonna tell everyone the truth.
when the truth is, i think she's hideous. ew.
the truth is not that i hate drew, i think she's a star, but certainly she's a butter. oh totally.
but hey, who cares, i liked her in riding in cars with boys.
mother superior jumped the gun.
that's his email, tell him what a knucklehead he is.
he didn't bring me a 180 from his work, and he knows i never had one, so i derno, i guess he forgot. now he's reading over my shoulder wich offers interesting opportunities.
HI DAVE YOU BIG LOSER!!!!
he says "you spelled wich wrong," and i say "who cares"
booze does nothing to help this situation.
now of coarse i'd love to go into details about how "it takes two to tango", but i wont because that's bullshit to me.
it takes two to tango, sure. but it takes only one person to walk away. so everytime i over react, "he started it..." isn't a valid excuse anymore.
it's all about self control, and self displine. can you do it? can you control yourself? or do your emotions run your life?
im somewhere in the middle, and im working towards total control. wish me luck.
im tired and drained. and i've come to realize that life is like one giant game of elimidate. and the rules are: Promote my progress, or face ELIMINATION. and it applies to everyone, especially YOU.
there's more signs out than there are people who LIVE in pico rivera, and yet this car dealership is 100% inept at selling any cars. i don't like checking in with the head guy louie, because it's hard for me not to laugh in his face when he hasn't even sold one car.
i mean, you'd think they'd sell one car on accident. ya know? like at least ONE.
the good news is that there is a head shop right around the corner from the sale, and they have the coolest shit in there.
oh and i bought a new sweatshirt.
do you like it? well no one cares if you do or dont because no one asked you (not counting myself)
there's this one signwalker from studio city, and i dont know why, but i hate his guts. he's an "asker" and i HATE askers, trying to get everything from D size batteries to a ride to the bus stop. not to mention he spilled coffee all over robert.
at the end of the daty after i paid him, my truck was literally full to the brim with peeps, so i made his ass hide under a signwalker sign in my truck bed, and then rode the Botz Dotz all the way to washington and rosemeade.
tomorrow is the last day of the sale. im hoping it dont rain.
"what? where is you?"
wich IS my favorite place, and wich means that ryan is at state line, and on his way to a merry time in Tempe, AZ. last year it would have been my low-on-the-totem-pole ass headed out there. im beyond stoked it's him and not me. although tempe is far cooler than the shitty west phoenix area i had to lurk in.
he says he knows someone out there this time, so hopefully it won't be as dreadfully lonely for him, as it always was for me.
i barely have enough money to get me by until i cash my check while im working tomorrow. thankfully i stocked up on cigs and food. i just forgot about weed, WICH IS SO UNLIKE ME.
the viking says he has purple kish tho... and that i like. so i am totally on way up there in a bit. hi mike!
and everything's gonna work out. even if i have to scrape resin.
i totally slacked off and fucked myself over, because the banks are closed today. ugh.
i hate when that happens.
i found this blue decoder toy thingy in my honey nut cheerios, it's for some game on the back of the box, and it's basically the same as tea left side of a pair of 3D glasses. so my brilliant idea was to put it over the lens of my new camera (no no the broken one, that one's still broken, this is the one i bought to replace the broken one.) and thanks for the helpful tips about getting mine to work. but sadly this is not just water that seeped in and destroyed everything. this was POP. pop and booze. so i might as well have poured crazy glue in there, nahmean?
and fuck that HUGE sign at the inglewood exit at the 405. xtx hates it too. it's like brighter than all of vegas combined, and it's basically a huge ad for the OC. "thanks lawndale, the 405 REALLY needed that one."
i dont have to go to the print shop in temecula, and that ain't nothing but buttertoast if ya ask moi.
go. out. side.
indoors is comfy and warm and safe and secure, and my own private reality stays in tact for as long as it lasts. happy happy joy joy, someone whip out an acoustic guitar and let's sing "we are the world"
cuz see, that ain't living, no sir. living is doing. and doing... well that's what i need to do more of. feeling safe and cozy at home is the politically correct way to say, "rot slowly in your hole until you die"
and everyone knows yer sposed to rot quickly at a place that is fun. it's the only way. and fun is anything outside the realm of your living quarters.
if you're the right person, you can have fun even whilst locked in an iron maiden.
im preaching, but to myself. in case you thought this sounded insultingly hypocratical to swallow... but btw, we're all hypocrates. it's part of being a human, don'cha think?
so yes in a perfect world wich i will strive to achieve, i'll take a fucking walk here and there, and ride my shitbag skateboard more often.
i even pledge to not smoke weed before 8am from now on. (baby steps)
i've already started eating more frequently and have been making lots of meals here at home. (the toaster oven counts right?)
so when i say im gonna do something, i do it.
99.9% of the time im talking to hear myself speak. this is that rare .01%. you betcha.
my uncle works a second job in simi valley, so he drives by my cousin's house on his way home. and the custom has become that he grabs my paycheck, while grabbing his own paycheck. and i wake up at my conveniance the next day, and find it in his backyard BBQ. wich we treat like a locker.
i was woken up by my hair cut person deanna, she wanted to cancel my 11am appt. and bump me to 1pm. (bitch)
and i tell them, i dont look sloppy at all, and they're elitist for thinking so. and what they call sloppy, perhaps others call comfortable.
but let's take things down to brass tacks, shall we? there's a fine line between not giving a fuck, and being a big stinking bag of insecurity.
let's just say i started off not caring but now im ten miles past being insecure. i think i send off a message that i dont think well enough of myself to even take care of how i look.
i've sorta let my sloppy styles become part of my existence, and my only excuse being, "hey sucka, i gotta be me..." but is that really justification?
can't a crackhead argue the same point (i gotta be me) maybe you just gotta PROBLEM, and you shouldn't make yourself a martyr for a cause that has no importance.
im sick of my cousin's "starving artist" jokes, and only because he's right.
it's not like i have to shave everyday, or wear a designer suit, or throw away my skateboarding shoes. but maybe i could show up to work showered, my teeth brushed, and my hair cut nicely and tucked cleanly under my ball cap.
maybe i could go through my closet and eliminate every t shirt that was bought prior to the year 2000.
big tanky and i recently saw this sad sack of a boy slink from his parked car to the store he was headed to. i commented to her how you could totally feel his insecurity as he dragged his feet and kept his eyes on the ground... with clothes that didnt fit right, and hair and a hat hiding his face. and i wondered how often i come across the same way.
tomorrow i get my hair cut, and today i did my laundry. i have a fresh tube of toothpaste, and im bout to jump in the shower.
johnny's cleanin up his act, folks. mark it on your calendars, it's a day to remember.
*idea of imaginary supermodels talking to me stolen from tony pierce.
"well, i was gonna do mine so umm..."
i cut him off with, "-right on!" and headed to the elevator wich was about to automatically close.
as i was sorting and filling up the machines downstairs in the garage he popped his head in and said, "well i mean... how many loads you got?"
"dude, im gonna use all the machines. i got 4 loads. relax, it will only be 45 minutes."
and btw, he had all damn night to take his turn. i have to wait around while crazy-lady from unit #XXX uses up all the daytime to religiously wash everything she owns. i wash my clothes four times a year, and this fuckbag has to breath down my neck. i hate him now more than the middle eastern guy who's accent is too thick to make any sense.
and that middle eastern guy i dont even hate, i just feel bad smiling and nodding, but i've learned that, "im sorry what was that you said?" is a HUGE mistake.
i haven't seen the neighbor that i totally pulled a homer simpson on in a while. i borrowed a can opener from her a month or two ago and have never seen her since. if she reads this blog, "thanks lady from unit #XXX, the soup was delightful!"
i have an apt with a hair stylist tomorrow at 11am, and they just called to confirm my apt.
how gay is that?
it's like this huge loud fun toy that SUCKS and equally RULES. and shit you PAID for the fucker, so you might as well use it.
but then the promlem becomes that you CANT use it, because there's pennies and clothes and trash and shit, all over the floor.
i know it's been forever since i last did my laundry. i can t3ell because im almost out of socks, and i have TEN million socks. i got them all from that 4 month stint that i decided brand new socks were way more conveniant that cleaning the dirty ones. so yah, maybe i can work on that project for a while.
my cousin just makes his sister do his laundry, maybe *I* should make his sister do MINE too.
i need to go hoodie shopping, because all my best hoodies have been lost, stolen or straight torn to pieces. and a comfy hoodie and some worn in jeans is like the antidis uniform. ask anyone.
my homegirl desire signed into aim, not des the one i have pics of, and not dvl.. it's ANOTHER desiree, and anyways... she totally gave me to best advice: "if supercuts scares you, go to this place called ultralux, and i bet if you drop my name they'll hook you up." because desiree was a hair stylist before she was a mommy. so i go in at 11. and im going to get drunk first.
when im out drinking with friends, im the first one drunk ALWAYS, and if im not careful, i'll be the first one passed out naked (and nauseas) in the bathroom, with the door locked. (imma lightweight)
weed has always been my flavor. and i think it's because i live in a city where i have no choice but to DRIVE.
the worst part about drinking to me is the next day. especially the part where my stomach trembles like a badly beaten redheaded step child.
but it sure is strange that writing this has made me so thirsty for a shitty can of budweisser that im so totally buying myself a tallboy on my way to the bank today.
Are you kidding I buy stuff at the thrift store and return it in a new box.
AND IF THEY QUESTION YOU.
-You can be a total dick, acuse them of selling you bullshit, and then just on to the next place, you could even go back to the same place if you wait till after 5:00. Patience is the key to this scam. You just need to find that customer service representative who doesn't give a FUCK. That's how I do my job -
FUCK THE SYSTEM.
sean | Email | 11.08.04 - 3:09 pm | #
i've just crawled outta my bed, and found the last cigarette in the house.
and now here i sit in my underwear, with an un lit cig in my mouth, and the computer screen going blurry from all the eyeball jizz that floats accross my pupils.
but like, duh. tell us something we dont know.
so we opted for watching the visualizer on itunes for about an hour, one of us occassionally saying, "nice one..."
then i told him the story about how i ended up with my camera sitting in someone's rum and coke, and whitey told me about how evil teh combonation of pop and cameras can be.
he once was in his car, and had his fancy camcorder next to him wrapped up in his t shirt so that it would be stationary while he drove. but then he basically spilled a supersize Coke from taco bell all onto the camera and shirt, and he literally threw the camera in the garbage can.
wich is what he told me to do with mine. but i derno, i see no harm in letting it kick back and seeing if by some grace of god it will one day work again.
or i could at least smash the broken camera to smithereens with my 3lb. roughneck chisel edged mallet.
i already bought the replacement and tried to see how poosible it is these days to do that trick where you buy a new one, and put the broken one in the box at home without making it look like you opened it, and tell them you want your money back.
it's not an option. i have to just suck it up and realize that this was why i bought the $179 camera and how much more upsetting it all would have been if i had that $499 camera that i liked. that's a lot to replace.
but i'll admit it, i DO care about how i look. i DONT want to hate my future haircut, and i definitely am affraid i will. BUT THAT WONT STOP ME! im determined to correct this situation that has gone so terribly wrong.
my large regular crust pepperoni pizza from pizza hut just arrived. more on haircuts later.
it's been a year and a half, and my cousin and his 19 year old stripper girlfriend decided that she had gotten into enough trouble, gotten enough tattoos, and done enough drugs to safely say, "it's time to go home."
home for her is ohio, and my cousin is gonna head over to my place after he delivers her to LAX. since she's moving and all, her stuff is like totally up for grabs, and i might come up on loot. i hope she had some good stuff... like perhaps SILVERWARE... man i need that shit bad.
if i had a bottle of water i think i would get down on both knees and thank jebus. im ten kinds of cootin mouth right now.
in a half an hour im gonna wake up david who is sleeping in the back seat, and im gonna fetch my signs ive put up around town and on the freeway exits. i'll be done just in time to get my walkers paid, and perhaps be home by 5:45pm.
i like to change the lyrics to every song so that i am just sorta repeating dave's name over and over again, and then i also give him a new nickname every hour. currently he's the werewolf of garden grove. earlier his nickname was susan.
tonight i'd really like to fall asleep early. NyQuil and a hot shower might be in order.
the car radio is on arrow 93.1FM and im so glad that boston song is over. i hate boston and i know its more than a feeling.
dave's laptop is dying, and i wanna hit publish while i can, so peace out'chall.
im just chillin at home thinking about how badly i want a chicken cordon blue sandwich from Jack in the crack.
i feel like people watching right about now. i wanna sit back, suck on a beer, and use up my jukebox money while all the shiny shirted boys and hoochie'd-out mamasitas strut their stuff, and proceed into the club that has the longest line. but people watching is only fun for about one cigarettes worth of time.
i thought i was gonna go up to hollywood to party with the viking... but now i feel too burnt out, and i dont think i'll be able to keep up with them. you're either part of the party, or just dead weight...
i guess that settles it. im going to do nothing tonight, and "save my energy" for more important things.
like masterbating myself to sleep, picking my nose, twiddling my thumbs, and whistling dixie.
dave has brought his laptop to work, and showed me how easy it is to hijack an internet connection from ANYwhere. right now we're stealing it from the hospital on Garnden Grove Bl right by the 22 freeway.
so what do i have access to now while i kill time waiting for my walkers to get off work? well... the car bong, the ipod, pillows, and now free internet.
WHY AM I GONNA GO HOME?!
but anyways, all the walkers are doing fine, dez made it here JUST in time, and i need to have a talk with Jacob and set him straight.
im going to tell him to get his truck back, stop tweaking, and start acting normal... because we like him and want him to make some $. but not until he shapes himself up.
tonight im not certain what plans i wanna go for. i can either do nothing, or do nothing at the vikings house. and well considering he just got some super purple kush... im tempted to head up there.
but i might have to wake up earlier if i do that, because he lives the wrong direction from work.
dave just farted the LOUDEST fart ever, and now thinks he's a regular comedian. har har har. i guess payback can be a bitch.
things dont just go your way, there's every obstacle in the world out there, and there's even people who's JOB it is to be "out to get you" and they'll pop you the first fucking second they can.
man, just wipe the hair out of your eyes, pull your hat down, and put your KNOW HOW to use.
i walk the waqlk talk the talk, and do the dew, all whilst hanging off a car bong, hidden behind $3.99 aviators.
im excited about tomorrow because i anticipate it going great and being home by 6:30pm. how key is that?
my body's tired, i can feel it in my eyes, i almost totally passed out four hours ago, but then i had to buy weed before it was too late. and now my mind is humming louder than this computer.
and i want a new hammer. a 20 oz. waffle head.
I'M in the city of orange. i spent all day trolling around the block at orange, and on the 5, the 57, and the 22 freeways. because they all meet right there.
dave ended up being my helper, and he kept getting super pissed because my farts smell like dying dogs. it's good to be the boss...
there was a fallout with some walkers so i was able to line up dez and her boyfriend. so that makes four of my friends totall making sign money. im building an army.
the sale is two minutes from disneyland, i cant remember the last time i was there. but you have to be filthy rich to truly enjoy yourself there. i think the churros alone cost ten million doll hairs.
it's been the most annoying tempature in here lately. like just cold enough give you goose bumps... but not cold enough for the heater. i just want it to rain. we need a decent storm.
daylight savings means that the signwalkers get off way earlier. you cant signwalk in the dark. it's literally and figuratively the ONLY bright side to the sun setting at 5pm.
i bought a box of raisin bran, with the hopes that it will clean me out, nice and thourough like.
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