i smell like your medicine chest. i look tired like the elderly.
i like BARE BREASTS and i connot lie.
there's a gay bar in santa fe springs called the RimRam, and i told mark that they should name it the asslick-buttfuck, just to avoid confusion.
i still do not understand why MY b.o. smells so good, and everyone else's b.o. smells like hot garbage.
today at disney california adventure theme park, two rides crashed into each other, and some tourists were rushed to an area hospital. CAN YOU SAY, "cha-ching$!$!" ???
tomorrow morning i will be picking up and organizing 15 strangers, Giving them a job, and hoping i won't have to Fire any of their bitch-asses.
"aviator" is my favorite style of sunglasses.
it feels like im dreaming as i type this, i haven't made friends with sleeping in far too many hours. just the thought of eventually being rattled awake to my horrific blaring alarm clock... it makes me want to go grab myself a redbull, and make the circles under my eyes larger and more defined.
i only have two menthol cigarettes to my name, and so im nursing them, and smoking them with a rubber nipple, so i can make em LAST: the hazzards of being morbidly lazy.
i was gonna use cough syrupp to finish me off, but im a pirate deep down.... so rum will suffice.
i hate having a conversation with the dimwitted. repeating your illogical thoguht process DOESNT make me suddenly agree with you. if you have nothing new to say, shup up and listen for once.
jesus had a mullet.
i am losing motor functions of my neck muscles.... i guess thats a sign. nite nite.
another assfuck of a day. OH YES. it's true.
i've been awake for 31 hours, and working slowly and steadily all through the night, only stopping for the occasional refills on coffee and rice kispy treats. but its over now, and i feel like a flickering light bulb, i would lay down... but my mind has melted too far beyond the path of no return.
my my friends, booze and high octane drugs are on tonights menu.
suplemented with a soothing DVD and a taco? FUCK MAN, i need to take a dip in the pool like a coal miner needs a bar of soap... BADLYYY.
my sign helper forgot his Doral Light 100's, and im going to smoke them all for his punishment.
or is that punishing myself?
to the couch!!!! the socks need to be delicately peeled off these hard working feets-o-mine.
oh darling, please believe me...
im gearing up to be busy busy buys this weekend, like whoa and a half. moons over my hammy. that's what i will eat at 5am in between the two sign jobs im preparing.
i have to work long hours, all through the night, because it's easier than busting your hump in the brutal agonizing sunshine.
don't youlove that disorietned feeling of having NO CLUE where you are? like when you wake up hung over in some chicks bed, and leave only find that you were in a senior citizen's home. yeah, "one of those" nights. ugh.
my arms and shoulders are doing great. my neck too. ITS A MIRACLE!!!.
or maybe i'm just sleeping smarter, btw, i had my first nightmare in FOREVER, last night. it was horrible.
the last time i remembered any of my dreams (good or bad) was when i was living in canada (aka: america's hat). i mostly never remember dreams, and im pretty pissed that i had to remember a fucking nightmare. in the nightmare there was someone named Ace, and if i ever meet someone named ace in real life, they're gonna get popped in the face. nip that one in the bud before any shit takes flight, get me?
i spose the lesson learned here, folks: never fall asleep sober enough to remember ANYthing. NEVER EVER.
i guess on the bright side, im up early.
i think the thing i hate about a nightmare THE MOST is: YES you know it was just a dream and has no basis in reality... BUT you still have memories of the dream, no different than memories of real life events.
whats the psychological point of it all? why do we have nightmares? a friend's doctor says we have them because of anxiety...
maybe i am anxious about my secret. even though my dream had nothing to do with mondays upcoming TOP SECRET EVENTS.
i do have some GOOD NEWS to report. i woke up without ANY neck or back pain. im getting good at sleeping in the right positions.
and no im not talking about "what gives you boners" because that's basicly anything, if you're a guy it couls just be a pair of silk boxers for chrissakes.
i'm talking about what gets you LIVE? what makes you light up? is there anything that can amp you up?
be amped, god dammit.
i'm jumping around like a caged animal beating my fists against the walls. apparently my upstairs neighbors are what amp ME up. weird.
it was hard to understand big tanky at first, because my sides were splitting as i laughed at the ficticious name "bobby beatoff". i think that should be my new sign in name on MSN Messenger.
anyways, she went on to point out how movies in the 70's (a la taxi driver, carnal knowledge, anything by Kubrick from that era) were more adult films that didn't place weight on morality. she continued to remind me that the film's ended in often violent horrific ways, and yet STILL let the viewer walk away witht he ability to judge the movie on their own meritts.
i guess my take on walk tanky was tellin me, is that it's just people not wanting to think. it's people wanting to be told, rather than to FIND OUT. it's laziness.
it's fast food drive thru's, 1 hour photo labs, jiffy lube, and every other concept or device which convinces the WORLD that we need to be in this big hurry.
apparently no one has time to read the news paper anymore. i know that it's a RARE day if *I* myself pick up the times, or the daily breeze to see whats cookin. know why?
because everyone loves raymond is on, and it's bland dull comedy style is just dumbed down enough so that i don't have to use one brain cell to sit there and soak it in. ahhhhh....
whats the news gonna do anyways? it just pisses me off. it's not news anyways, they should run a disclaimer under the news, "for entertainment purposes only". i think it's a sad estate of affairs when during times of world crisis (terror attacks in london as an example) you are more likely to find out whats going on over there by using a well worded Technorati search, rather than listening to any major media News cast.
especially since bloggers are ALL gossipy 12 year old girls. but oh well.
but it's true anyways. fantastic four? the pink panther?
did hollywood just give up on new ideas? i mean... for how expensive the theater has become, you'd think they'd at least stop pumping out virtual re-runs.
get a rusty abandoned shopping cart and fill it with your two months worth of dirty clothes, and drive that beast to the laundry coin-op, using the bottom of your shoes as a brakes.
then fill every available washing machine, and realize you have a shopping cart of clothes that stink gross like your belly button STILL left over. wonderful. at least you have quarters you dipshit.
then go wander around and get stoned, and completely lose track of time, and totally forget about the laundry process... BUT hours later it dawns on you, and you find your clothes sitting damp in a pile on the far table. you want to plot revenge and trash everyone else's laundry process, but then you remember that OTHER people's laundry is almost as nass-tayy as touching your own vile dirty clothes. so you just say fuck it, and grab what you can of your damp pile and try stufing it into a dryer. you dont care if you drop half of it on the dirty floor along the way. that's just how it goes.
once its all dry, you feel kinda retarded for ruining so many different articles of clothing. but oh well... that always seems to happen. thats why you go through clothes so fast.
and what you dont ruin... you lose.
i hope you all watch that video below of mark, and get a taste of the lunacy that is a Sign Job Helper Person. i can't believe the stuff mark says, or the way he thinks. i've never met someone so wrong about so many things. it's nuts really.
but he works hard, and means well. so whatevs.
ok you fucking nimrod dipshits from hell. i just want to let you all know how much i hate you all, and how excited i am about my upcoming stufffff. i'm dying over here, cuz it kills me to omit things from my glob. truly. but in one weeks time it won't be a secret, and the little trolls and maggots can swarm out of their nests and leave me ceremonial comments of reverence and servitude.
i'm starving because i haven't eaten all day, and maybe im just bitter. oh shit... *remembering* i DID eat today. god dammit. this weed is making me hungr-AY. no doubt bout it.
big tanky wants to watch life aquatic again, and im desperate for a dominos pizza (yes i know they suck, but it's twofer tuesday.) and monday needs to hurry its ass up already, luckily i have ANOTHER double job (my third in a row) and im moving from broke, to paid off, to filthy stinking loaded.
but the signs are feat or famine. the famine will come around again. im just glad that we're feasting like romans. more than you can eat is a good thing when you're talking about money. BOO YA.
alright, i must get back to watching one of the ten trillion new DVD's that are littering my shelves.
renting is for ppl with commitment problems. and regular tv is for bitches. the end.
these last two weekends, i had to pull double jobs. running two signjobs at once. AND believe me, it's no walk in the park. it truly IS hard-ass work. for example i had a 22 hour work day yesterday. 8am to 5am the next morning. i just woke up an hour ago.
double sign jobs pay double too....so yeah, all those debts i had a couple weeks ago (everything from back rent, to car repair, ALL my parking fines, cell phones, ect) are wiped clean. stress-deleted.
and this is why i lived a charmmed life. i try not to ever worry about things, and as a result, everything sorta just works out in the end. story of my life. IN FACT, the times i've had the most trouble is when i allowed myself to sweat the small shit. it monkey-wrenches the whole fucking program.
i have for you the perfect example to demonstrate my point. have you ever been late to an appointment or a date?? I've noticed that the more you RUSH, and weave in and out of lanes of traffic... THE MORE red lights you will encounter. AND ON THE FLIPSIDE of that coin... if you're eating a chilli burger while you drive, and you're PRAYING for a red light, so that you can stop and finally clean up the pile of steaming hot chilli that fell in your lap. Well My friends, you will not get a red light. Every signal will be green.
that's why you should just be happy that you are a stupid idiot, because the dumbest people live the happiest lives.
how DOES one treat themselves to a hard days work COMPLETED (i busted out a 16 hour graveyard shift from hell)
MY SWIMMING POOL!!!
im now a tee shirt designer, it;s true. and no, my tan lines will never go away. that's just the hazzards of being a GOlden God.
i just realized something that is going to be a crucial to my swimming pool experience. IM OUT OF BREWS! oh well tho... i still have captain morgans chillin, and a shot of rum at 1:30PM, is as good a time as any.
i just made that face where you grit, and bare your teeth while squinting you reyes as tightly as you can. umm... smooth i guess?
i hope everyone in los angeles who is suffering from the heat wave pictures me casually doing laps in my perfect-tempature pool.
god i love this condo!!!
bad breath fog
i have to stop off in gardena before we bone out to La Puente. but i promised mark we would get pancakes for breakfast (our actual dinner) and it seems like a nice treat.
no such luck. im wide awake, i feel like i could bust out a marathon, fucking a.
then i made the mistake of spraying my menthol muscle relaxer on my sunburn instead on my aloe. it burnt like hot coals being pressed into your skin.
so now i sit here, clean as a whistle, too tired to go to the 24 hour k-mart, and too awake to fall asleep.
im going to pace my apartment. i would do my laundry, but im sure that's exactly when i would fall asleep and find all my clothes tossed out.
neighbors aren't down for finding your wet laundry in the washer. go figure.
i haven't heard whats up for the signjob this weekend. i hope i have a job someplace. hi viking.
maybe i'll go take a drive to denny's and eat pancakes. that always makes me tired, is it worth getting dressed for? i don't want to be sitting there in denny's realizing that nothing on teh menu is appealing, and trying to figure out an escape plan without the waitress noticing, becuase that would be easier than explaining myself. i hate explaining myself.
sometimes that happens to me when i drive to 7-11. i start walking all three aisles and realize i've eaten everything in the store at least 3 times in the last 6 hours. i guess i just show up out of habbit.
i could take a shot of NyQuil, but i want my sleep to be au natural. nahmean?
fuckit. it's time to break out the green crack.
SO THERE I WAS waiting for traffic to fly by, so that i could safely open my car door, and run out to grab some signs from the truck bed. you've got to be fast on your feet when you stop your car in traffic like that, all it takes is ONE idiot, and you and your car are painted against the sidewalk. People usually are a little startled when i come running at them with my sledge hammer, but they just dont realize that i have signs in my other hand. Once this thuggy looking dude from the Watts area told me, "You better watch your ass, jumping and running around like that could get a n**** shot.." i apologized and went about my way. i didn't mean to scare him, nahmean?
SO THERE I WAS standing over colin's coffin, realizing that this was the first time i was face to face with a dead person, and wondering why it had to be my best friend that died. he was wearing a blue suit, his eyes were closed, and his hands (which were crushed in the accident) were hidden behind this bronze medallian looking thing. he was SO white, his skin was as white as milk. i stod there for a second, without emotion, and stared at my dead best friend. i said to myself, "bye colin..." and grabbed my mom's hand, to signal for her to lead me away. that was my first funeral, i was in 1st grade.
SO THERE I WAS on an airplane, and on my way to a city i've never heard of before. bentonville arkansaw, wal-mart global headquarters. it's a small town, the population is 13,000 (7,000 of them are wal mart employees, yikes creepy). The Walton private airport looks more like an air fleet, and the cities airport is dwarfed in comparison. I had a meeting scheduled to secure an account selling walmart (the world's largest retailer) MY companies shevling design. i rented a car from budget, and proceeded to find my shitty motel. i sked the gal running the front desk, "hey toots, whats there to do in these here parts?" and she looked at me with slightly bugged out eyes and said, "umm... in arkansaw?!" and i guess that was enough of an answer. so i didn't hesitate to order the in room porno once i got my shoes off, and the blinds shut.
my approach is always to just dive in, and see what happens, just start punching keys until there is no more whitey space at the bottom of the blogger compose page. sometimes i will have an opening line ready to go, some kind of opener that i know will be easy to build off of, like: "so there i was..."
or sometimes i will hear a lyric in a song, and i'll steal it, and build off it (like what i did with this post)
anyways. my point is that i don't fucking care, it never bothers me very much when i am starved for any ideas, and i just type bullshit and diarrea my brain all over the glob, so taht you all can read it and wonder why i took the time to make this available to the world to read.
it's just YOUR tuff luck for being a sucker, and actually reading it. HAR HAR on YOU.
i can't see through the purple/pink fog. yes im HIGH.
older and wiser, i know that sticking out shouldn't have to be about the way you look... but more about the way you think. be a free spirit. make up your own fucking mind without influence. or when someone challenges and idea or an ideal you have, DONT CAVE IN. be your own man, and then stick to your guns.
what are the signs that somebody is a loser? how about someone that can't see past five seconds into their future? a person who doesn't care enough about the world we live in to read up, and make up their own mind? someone who makes poor choices consistently, over and over again? YEAH those all sound like good places to start.
here's what i think are heroic qualities: sacrificing yourself for the benefit of others. being able to see and BE five steps ahead of everone else. never having an elitist "im better than anyone else" attittude. a person who GOES for they want, and GETS it.
it's one of those toss and turn nights, because i've been sleepless since midnight. i blame this all on my day time nap. maybe i should eliminate that nasty habbit... BUT how else do i make the corporate slaves of america jealous?
oh wait... they can sleep too. that's the beauty of owning a car. it's a traveling nap-center. sometimes just getting into a car makes me tired. i am my own pavlovian dog, it's true.
i've got two kinds of very high priced bud. Kush and the Green Crack. it feels like my brain has been replaced with helium, and im thankful for my neck... becuase without it, there's no telling how far into the atmosphere my head would float to
my boy Stern is on the air right now, so fuck the internet. i really need to save or for satellite already. satellite radio... or tattoos?
the choice is clear, fuck a satellite radio. eagle across my chest, HERE I COME! not to mention jesus on my arm, virgin de guadalupe on my back, and bud leaves behind my ears.
oh yah, im gonna come correct.
today was a fucking great day, and you know it because i made my sunburn worse all damn day long, and i didn't care. fuck it, i haven't had a sunburn in too long. im due.
worlds best bacon wrapped hotdogs
too bad i didn't eat more whuile i was trolling through the fashion district of downtown los angeles. right now im fixin to fetch me some carl's junior, i think they laced their BBQ Chicken sandwhich with crack cocaine. but hey... i ain't complainin or nothin...
yes that is a shopping cart underneath
and yes, he was CRUZIN
i've been home since 7:45pm, and now i gots to get back to east LA where there are signs awaiting my arrival, so that the sign can be plucked from the grass it was so firmly hammered into, and hucked into my truck bed. it's new home.
and always remember: only users lose drugs. the end.
i have to write this down now, because i won't have time when i wake up in the morning, and shit... i won't remember by then any fucking ways.
what ype of life is this? i sit here and ponder that a lot lately. which typically leads me to wondering why i can't shake the idea of a "type"
every single person can lead a truly unique life. but that's misleading, and a lot of the ego doing the talking, because all that really changes from person to person are the names and faces. but people are the fucking same. ugh, its enough to make me spit up my pizza.
i've been doing a great job on focusing my energy while i sleep. i concentrate on staying in the optimum position, and it's getting less and less difficult to wake up in taht same position. TRAINING yall. i can do it. i believe that it's the little things that are going to save my back from eventual surgery.
i made a new banner, just another day in the barrio. someone walking by told us that all the hub-bub was because some-guy shot some-other-guy 28 times in the chest. Los Angeles is truly one bloody city.
i'm drinking nothing but tap water, and pissing like a race horse. i've been spending money like a valley girl with daddy's credit card, and it needs to cease. you can't live high on the hog without getting bucked back into the mud now and again. my come uppance is due, i'm just lucky it's as easy as set dollar ammount.
i expect everytihng to go wrong while workign the two jobs tomorrow. bell california will be like clockwork, im nt anticipating any curve balls.
but the la puente job that im doing AT THE SAME TIME is gonna fucking-fuck me. i know it. they're gonna bust the banner on me, OR they're gonna stall on the signwalking check. UGH. bastards.
the good news is that i only have about $15 dollars to my name, and i could barely afford to make it until friday (the day my pay check would be ready)
but that day is NOW, basically, and when i wake up, you better believe i'll have east-west-bank on my minddddd.
my eyes are heavy, and my shoulders are hunched in a bad way, so i must resign to making new cigarette burnes in my egg crates while i fall asleep and light myself on fire. but dont worry, your hero will be covered head to toe in icey hot, it's true.
some people have a pint of ice cream, other folks have a tall boy can of piss-beer. EVERYone's wearing pajamas, and buying cigarettes. although there was ONE dude who was dressed like he just popped out of a night club.
i sat in my car, wearing sweatpants with no underwear, a tee shirt i picked out of the dirty hamper. i have the sweats pulled over my feet instead of shoes. and man, im content to just sit there, and watch the 7-11 slowly dissapate.
there's no sense rushing in there, only so i can wait in line, flinching my eyes under the flourecent lights, and my hands sticky with slushy. besides, i have the NEWS talk radio on, and i find it comforting. i don't listen to the details, but the bass-y voices of the newscasters are relaxing, and could lull me to sleep if i wasnt careful.
because im parked directly in front of the glass doors, everyone is forced to stare me in the face as they exit the store. they stare, and i stare back in hopes that i will get to ask life's eternal question, "whatchu want, ese?"
everyone once in a while someone will com eup to me and ask me some boolshit. like, "hey man, can you hook me up some chronic?" or "are you 21? will you buy us beers?" i say no to everyone, because i like to stay outta ppl's bizznass.
i love going to the seven.
they allege that there is a heat wave going on, but living one block from the ocean means all i see is fog, and its chilly max one hundred percent. So smash an ice cream cone on my forehead and call me a unicorn, because it's like that.
my lips are resinated from all the bong smoke passing through them. let that be proof that i smoke WAYYYY TOO much weed. im saturated, yo. im starting to resemble that profile pic i use for my blogger account. its true.
i got saved from having to make the fucking trek out to arizona. it would have been hellacious-supreme working like a slave in that desert heat. ugh. (even though i would have done it, if i had to) BUT bossman threw my mack-daddy-self a jobby nearby. Bell, California.
i don't drink sprite, i am down with sierra mist. what type of life is this?!
i walked into my bank the other day and asked them, what the fuck is this shit all about anyways, who the fuck charges shit like that on an account of such an obviously starving stoner????? and then i poured myself a cup of coffee and grabbed a bag of popcorn, while i made sure to blast a fart before i left. i fucking hope with all of my heart it was an eggy one.
my bank hates me, which is why i just CASH my paychecks directly. you can't trust a bank, but you can't trust yourself drunk with a full paycheck of hundred dollar bills in your pocket either. such is life.
if you choose to sit around, and read blogs, then at least do it while eating cookies. it makes the experience more pleasant, and less shitty.
WALK TALL. that's todays advice to whom it may concern.
and by walk tall i mean, do everything you do with "UMPH". Put a little FUNK in your junk, and never half step your shit.
don't set your money down on the 7-11 counter, paying for your budweisser. SLAM IT DOWN, and look the arab straight in the face and say, "BOO YA MOTHERFUCKER!!!!"
don't just shake someone's hand when you meet them for the first time. squeeze the shit out of their hand like you are trying to break every fucking bone that you can.
don't stand on the edge of the dance floor, holding your legs still, swaying to the beat. Take your fucking shirt off, get on all fours, and start bucking like a donkey.
i mean it, and im 100% serious. you have GOT to stop pussy footing.
i don't really understand the logic in NOT putting your all into everything you do. why do anything timidly? why not WALK TALL, and hold your head up, and give gangbangers dirty looks, while you break baseball bats over your knees.
talk loud, WRITE HARD, work yourself to death, and party like it's 1999. don't smoke a bong hit.... destroy your fucking lungs.
when i shut a door after entering a room, i fucking slam that shit so hard, it nearly busts off the hinges, and it feels fucking great. go slam a door as hard as you can RIGHT NOW. i don't care if it's 4am and every signle neighbor is gonna wake up and be pissed.
they'll soon realize that a slammed door is the tip of the ice berg.
life is a mosh pit, and we're all just either throwing elbows or standing on the sidelines. who me? im king of the pit.
and although that is "good" becuase the brakes are so fucked, that im surprised i haven't destroyed my rotors by now... and it needs to get done.
but it's BAD mostly because i have other shit wrong with the truck, and parts can be expensive, which jacks up their estimate.
oh btw, want to hear THE ESTIMATE???
$865.00 USD. (gasp)
that is a tad bit more than i was counting on. and definitely more than i have, but i told them to go ahead and do everything.
it will be ready by 5pm, they said.
so now, i'm finishing off the last of my bonghits, and calling dealer mcdope every hour (and on the half) to see when he will return from las vegas (or to see when he will wake his ass up)
here is a minor list of $$$ i owe to various places:
$ 865.00 to shell gas station.
$ 211.54 to verizon phone company
$ 900.00 to rent for july
$1,100.00 to car insurance
$ 250.00 to Redondo Beach Parking Enforcement.
totals = over $3,300... i owe a lof of people and places some serious cash, eh? not bad for a guy with $134 dollars in his wallet, and $20 in his bank.
i think i am NOT too excited to wake up this early.
i'll be back after the sun goes down.
i sit here nearly an hour before midnight in my usual "im at home" stance. which means i have an unlit cigarette hanging from my mouth, no tee shirt, and greasy strands of hair obscuring my vision.
whitey called me randomly... like i told him, "man, i didn't know you's in town." it turns out that white-boy just got off a long plane ride from pennsylvania, and was hopeing that i would shed light on the question that had been burning at his soul since he landed in the world famous LAX airport.
"who has the kind bud?"
i stared at the ceiling while i searched for names. i was running low on weed too, as it turns out, and well... if whitey is asking ME where to score bud... things must be in bad shape. i suggested we call dealer mcdope, but it was only half suggestion, and the other half was inquirey. i KNEW whitey had a reason why dealer mcdope was not an option.
mcdope's in vegas. ugh.
that's fine for me. what do i care in the end? im UNAFFECTED (yah suuuuuure) really tho, all i have to do is lower the frequency of bonghits, increase the cigarette frequency... and this ship JUST MIGHT stay afloat. lets just say, im not worried because thats why the gods gave us resin
whitey was too full of energy for me because it wasn't long after his bonghit that he bounced off the walls on out the door. he has a 6 hour drive up to santa cruz, and he said he misses his girlfriend. aww. (that fag)
so yah man. a big WOOP TEE DO to sat'nite, because i have to wake up for werkkk tomorrow anyway. i went and got the new chicken western bacon sandwich from carl's junior, i give it an A+. i saw tanky's newly/freshly dyed hair, it looks badical. and in a minute... im gonna go visit 7-11 and see whats crackin. (buy chocolate)
this is all for now.
"um excuse me..."
"just what do you think you're doing?"
"well... what's it LOOK like i'm doing?"
"it looks like you're taking your pants off."
"close. i'm getting naked."
"why are you getting naked."
"i like to be naked."
"look man, i don't like you to be naked, stop ok."
"does it offend you?"
"No, it just makes me a little uncomfortable. look i said put your clothes on."
"see, it's not so bad."
"why do you like to be naked so bad?"
"i just like the freedom of movement, plus... it's hot as fuck out here in the desert."
"true... *dry heat* Pshaw..."
"besides, all you are ever wearing is a bikini."
"fuck you. so are you gonna put your clothes back on or what?"
"can you at least get some napkins to sit on? you're going to skeeve out that chair for chrissakes."
"so we'll call the lobby and get a new room. who cares..."
"this room DOES kinda suck."
"yeah baby, the wall paper is making me fucking sick."
"seriously though, at least put on some boxer shorts. it's just not right to see your john thomas flapping any which way the wind blows it. can't you be decent?"
"fine, i'll put on my drawls. but no talking during NASCAR!"
wear a belt, never wear a helmet, wake up during daylight, avoid junk food, drink water, open windows, be outside, shower everyday, clean your house, do laundry, sleep in your bed, bring your camera, give all of yourself, tolerate everyone, wear sunglasses, lean back, brush your hair, sing along, dance like no one is watching, upgrade regardless of price, don't listen to bloggers, show good manners, greet people with a smile, call before you arrive, knock before you enter, always wash your hands, don't touch your face, think before you speak, control your own destiney, realize you have nothing to be shy about, make everyone else realize how worthy you are, don't eat until you are STUFFED, and smoke lots and lots of weed.
oh and of course... quit cigarettes.
I GET TO DRIVE A BRAND NEW CHEVY IMPALA ALL DAY TODAY.
isn't it just totally typical that i woke up without the ability to look to my right (sore neck) and also... i have nowhere to go anyways.
my cousin has my truck, he needed to borrow it. i told him it was all good, but that he needs to baby the fucking thing. if he drives MY truck like how he drives HIS truck, my truck will commit suicide.
UPDATE: i called him on the cell phone, and he told me that he is parking my truck immediately because the brakes ARE bad afterall. his ETA for total shut down on the brakes: 5 days. BUT that's perfect, if you ask me... i can do my sign job, and throw the beast into the shop on monday. boo ya, MF'ers.
the last time i saw him, he had so much gel in his hair, and the tightest-shiny shirt i ever saw a heterosexual man wear in my life. in fact, the group was starting to wonder about the constant ambiguity. but seeing him the other day was weird... it caught me off guard. we were even cordial to each others' face... and we each looked back about 20 seconds later at the same exact time and made final eye contact.... like we were both wondering at the same time, "was that for real?" he sure looked different, in fact... i would not have recognized him at all if i wasn't close enough to shake his hand. all scruffed out with an afro, and bare feet. funny how he still had on skin tight clothing, although now instead of prepped out, it was thrift store chic. classy, hahahahaha. thats the thing about small town blues, and no matter how big your town is... NEW YORK CITY to paris, texas... running into certain people is less than pleasant. but i say fuck them, i hope it's harder for them, because it was really no thang for me. i just saw him, said, "oh hey, yo." shook his hand, and split. perhaps he saw me coming and was gonna try and be mr cool, and not say nothing to me. (not that i would have cared either way) it's just funny to look back at a person who i used to be best friends with.... who i used to spend every day in the summer with... the person whom i talked with and confided with FIRST about my parents finally getting divorced... and to now see him and know that he is an enemy to me these day. such is life i spose. it's just trippy.
it's never me, it's always you.
it's everything that you do.
it's not being around enough, it's hovering over my head.
it's making the grass look greener everywhere else except inside my head.
it's not never me though, im gliding perfectly and seamlessly... and harmoniously. i am the master of adverbing my way to nirvana.
and i wanna, let you know, im sorry that i cannot be blamed for any and everything. but it's just not me, and i know that it could never be me.
it's the way i slept last night, it's leftover baggage from our last fight.
the check is in the mail, and your ship has sailed.
but it's never me, i never failed.
it was everything else, it was you. it was everything you DIDNT do.
and im stranded, all alone.... my malible tincan heart beaten flat and useless. and its everyone else's fault... because i never took responsibility once, NOT ONCE.
on a new day, TODAY, it's all brand new. and instead of blaming... im thanking you.
that's the view from naja's, a bar in the king harbor marina.
a couple of days before my birthday i prepayed dez $10 to cut my hair. she never ended up cutting my hair, but i guess im glad. my hair finally grew out to a point that is not annoying me. but i hope dez doesn't think i forgot about my ten bucks or my over-due haircut... i'm just laying in wait.
the chiropractor said he could tell that my shoulder muscles weren't in spasm as bad as they normally are. could this mean... PROGRESS?! stoked!
the brakes in my truck sound creeky like the floorboards in a haunted house. i'm no car expert, but im banking that it's prolly not a good sign.
sometimes when i go into 7-11, i wonder if the guy behind the counter is thinking i'm a loser for shopping there so often. then i wonder if he is paranoid that i think HE is a loser for working the graveyard shift at a conveniance store. then i buy my cigarettes and ice cream and leave.
i'm headed off to the chiro-cracker in a few seconds.
lemme chug this first, and snap this bong hit
socks and tee shirts are for pale losers.
best wishes to Mister and the soon to be Mrs. Richard Delicious.
i barely even saw any cops, but who was lookin? i know that i am not in need of much recovery, which is more SAD than anything else. the really saddest of the sad parts was when it was in the middle of the night, and i was straight OUT of camel lights. then i got the worse news of all... dealer mcdope had already passed-the-fuck-out
but he was up bright and early (11am) so that's all swell and dapper-dandy.
i have noticed that the drunker i am when i fall asleep (regardless of position) i wake up without back pain. that is a scary equation.
have you ever noticed that the people who hang out inside donut shops are the dreggs of the earth? right now i have glaze all over my fingers and low-fat-milk breath.
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