Sunday, June 28, 2009


I am currently charging the redhead's macbook, my ipod, and the blackberry. All at once these three things required some attention and power. I decided that I ought to take the opprotunity to recharge my battery aswell. Tonight I traded in the nightcap for a pot of sleepytime tea. I visited with my family, went for a ride on the bicycle, actually stopped to smell the lilacs, and caught up with friend.

I am trying to find a way to make life simpler, and I expect that in less than a few weeks that opprotunity will present itself.

Friday, June 26, 2009

if you really knew me...

You'd know:
*I can never fall asleep wearing socks
*I have a way about me that ensures I can become the center of attention
*My larger than life schemes always have a way of working out
*I am often overwhelmed by decision making
*I have a history insomnia
*I am secretly happy we aren't bunny-sitting for Evan
*The state of my room tends to dictate the state of my finances and relationships.
*I wake up every morning ready to clean
*I try to walk my talk as best as I can
*Nothing makes me laugh harder than my family and their "unique ways."
*I am usually on edge when I ought to be calm
*I often forget to the think before I speak.
*you could offer me a joint at any hour of the day
*i am starting to allow room for every emotion
*iam learning to give second and sometimes even third chances

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

getting married and having babies...

Lately Facebook has been hopping with people announcing their pregnancies.
It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't have to include pictures of the growing baby belly.... I don't really care about the stretch marks you are volunteering for, also, is it just going to hit a point where they are going to start streaming the night of passion that lead to said semen infection?
I guess I am perhaps too selfish (read fucked up) to appreciate people hitting all the spaces on the board of the game of life. I remember playing that game with my family as a child. It never made sense to me, it all seemed so boring.
Graduate high school, go to college, find a career, get a wife, have some babies and retire.
It was so predictable. I don't remember ever feeling like I would ever be able to model my life after any of that.
I often wondered what kind of people get excited about checking off those moments that society teaches us to be 'milestones.'

have your cake and eat it too.

Yesterday provided me with a potpourri of emotions.
I met the kid for some afternoon wine in the park, and it was beautiful. The sun was shining, the warm wind was perfect and we were toasting over a fine bottle of Spain.

Later in the evening I met with my mother and we made our way down to the Fleetwood Mac concert. She was crazy excited, and I was stoned. Amazingly enough our seats were already perfect, then we got rushed to the front of the stage, the show was awesome, and Stevie still has the voice. I perhaps inhaled far too much marijuana smoke during the show, and subsequently still feel groggy. I should have went home right after the concert and curled up with a pizza.

Instead, I made a bad decision and went to see the kid post-concert, and I think I am suffering every possible punishment.
He asked me how I was going to react when Oatmeal returns from overseas, and suggested that I would get really needy and jealous. Truth is, I already was.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

the delicate art of flippy cup

My mother said I look like someone took a cheese-grader to the side of my head and ear. The artists think I was trying to imitate Van Gogh. The jocks are comparing it to Ivander Holyfield, The bloggers are speculating about possible abuse a la Rhianna, and the writers know full well that I was hammered, yet again.
I went the a 70's themed fondue party lastnight, and it was lovely.

I really like being in the situation of not knowing anyone in a house full of people. These are simple sentences.
Hindsight is 20/20, I should not have drank a six-pack of cider before indulging in copious amounts of red wine.
The last thing I remember before running into the side of a garage with my face, was feeling dizzy. I didn't expect the situation to get to that point, I will say for the record that I had full intentions of behaving at this party. I didn't cuss anyone out, though I wanted to. I didn't scream at Chris when he threw a glass of white wine at me-and i wanted to. I didn't take out any frustrations on the kid, or even on his ridiculous roommate and his questions.

I did however decide that it was not only a good idea to participate in an impromptu game beer pong, but also substituted the beer for wine. After losing pathetically at wine pong, I decided to take it an extra step.... enter the worst idea ever-flippy cup. <-- for those of you unfamiliar.

I don't remember trying any fondue, I don't remember any names of the people that I met.
Luckily Chris was there and was able to recall the events. Apparently there were a lot of things that went unnoticed by me.

1) One of the kid's ex girlfriends was there, dressed in red. Evidently Chris thought she was being rude by flipping through a collection of cds and dvds. He accused her of being a thief... nice.

2) When the kid came into the garage to see if was dead, his brother was asking everyone around the fire "Do I really want to know what's going on in there?"

3) I spent a portion of the evening referring to a "little person" as a nugget and Cheuy.

I remember when the kid's dick-head roommate found it appropriate to bust out drinking games at a fondue party,
I remember deciding to hijack the situation, filling cups with red wine.
I remember being in the backyard and feeling dizzy....
The last real memory was stummbling hard to the left and planting my face into the side of a stucco garage, apparently the mixture of rock and glass does NOT make for a soft landing.

Friday, June 19, 2009

waiting for the train.

Standing on the cement platform, anxiously awaiting the coming headlights gliding down seventh avenue.
As the train nears the station, a million little emotions course through my veins.
I feel nervous, calm and ignorant at all once. My palms get sweaty, and cotton mouth sets in.
The thumping of my heart, deafening. My collar starts to feel tighter and it gets a little harder to breathe.
I step back from the yellow line, just as it arrives, and cars full of poems disguised as people rush past my nose.
The doors open, I feel your lips against mine-and the anxiety ceases, you board the train.
How I envy your ignorance, I hear that it's bliss.

thoughts @ 420 part II

I enjoy the smell of fresh cut grass, lilacs and the air right before it starts to rain. This city has been providing me with these sensual aromas for the past few weeks, and for that I am thankful.
I can feel my time here, in this crazy redneck city coming to an end, and I am starting to wonder where I will head next.
Originally the plan was Europe. I started to lose interest when I realized that I would be breathing in one musky smell across the pond that should remain as a memory of being here.
The kid.
Last night was another (mis?) adventure in yum yum delirium, but this time it wasn't my own psychosis on the line.
Sitting directly beside someone who has been dangling the carrot infront of my face for over six months, and hearing the thoughts falling out of his mouth, I started to feel pretty bad for him, not the usual sympathy-this time empathy played a starring role.
I remember a few years ago when I felt completely lost, confused and like I had to man-up in order to be taken seriously.
I crawled out of that shell of an excuse and realized that I had to stop trying to prove myself, and that it was enough to look around at the things that I had in my life already. Once I learned to not take everything for granted, things seemed to be not so stressful.
I hope that I can influence some sort of boost in esteem for this latest victim of post-teenaged angst.

Now that Europe has been temporarily put on back-burner, I am full of possible destinations.
A big part of me wants to go back to Los Angeles, but each time I consider that as an option some beautiful memory creeps up and brings me right back to reality.

I have been stressing out over the most ridiculous things for several weeks, and today I have decided to take my own advice (for once), and stop and take inventory of the things that I actually do have going on for and around me.

Hope my discoveries aren't too terrifying.
Another brick removed from the wall seperating me from the others.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

yum yum delirium

I went for a walk the other night. A much needed one at that. I was exhausted, stoned, a little buzzed and all things yum yum delirium. The weekend had provided many an excuse for a break.

Thursday night was the usual at steak palace, I was stoned, and in no mood to be dealing with jackass guests. The usual banter between co-workers and getting another talking to from management regarding my "comments." I have gotten quite used to those "sit downs".
After work I briefly hit the patio, got offered a job at Starbucks. but I wasn't really feeling the vibe, and peaced out to Spaghettiland. Lately I have been wondering a lot about the "friends" in my life. There have been several times where I have been in a room full of them and still felt terribly alone, and I don't think it's depression, but it might be time for me to leave this crazy city.
I drank far too much that night, and before long was out of control. Thankfully I had the kid and Lisa to wrangle me up and get me in a cab.
The next morning I had two ambitions, take some painkillers and find breakfast before getting to work.

Being a complete glutton for punishment I agreed to work the dreaded lunch shift at steak palace. I entered the front doors, and immediately felt dizzy from the transition of the bright sun to the dark and cavelike quarters. I made my best effort to not throw up while serving beer and tequila in my section, but then something happened-something I was not prepared for.
Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears have made an art of flashing their lady business around Hollywood, and good on them, I guess when you know what you are good at you should do it. Sadly, the same wasn't the case for the lady sitting a table nine. I was turning the corner, feeling dizzy, bracing the weight of the tray of beer and steak knives on my palm and for some unknown reason (aside from God wanting to punish me) I looked over and caught the execution of the Sharon Stone "Indecent Proposal" leg uncross. What I saw was tramuatizing, stomach turning and down right disrespectful- full bush. Seriously, if I had ever questioned my sexuality this was the clincher. Trying to balance myself climbing two stairs, a full tray of drinks, hungover and dry-heaving silently after the sight of that shrouded lady flower was my personal Vietnam at half-past twelve on Friday afternoon.
My last table had finally paid and left and I had only had to endure two hours of punishment before I was meeting Lisa and the kid for lunch at some new restaurant with clipboard -thin plates. "Double Caesar please."

Before long we found ourselves at such a familiar location, we were back at the park. The very place that has seemingly been the set for several very interesting relationships.
It was interesting, sitting in the park and already trying imagine myself remembering that very moment well enough to put it to words. The kid was thumbing through some book and I was writing in my journal. While he was reading an excerpt to me I swore I could smell him as the breeze picked up, as it does when the rain clouds creep over the mountains and the sun begins it's game of hide and seek. I will never be able to recall what he had said to me, it was pronounced perfectly and spoken so softly, yet far too intelligent for me to have understood.

I was wondering if there was a stark difference between a persons "character" and their "true self"?

Part two of my dreaded split shift at the palace kicked off around 5:30, and having decided that I was in the mood to party again I met up with Lisa for a night of drinking the minute I cashed out. Our scottish friend created a drink that would put most if not all alcoholics to shame. This had 12 shots of Vodka, 3 shots of tequila and 2 beers... mixed with a fruity slush and served with 5 straws... after two of these one thing was clear, but I couldn't tell what that was. Insta-shitfaced. Then we smoked three joints and decided to hit the strip club, it was like a night out in Vegas, but there was a serious difference, this was NOT Vegas. The flashing neon lights, palm trees and slot machines had been replaced by a parking lot trolled by the homeless, a hot dog vendor and prostitutes. After overpaying for cover and a beer we sat just behind pervert row and kept the party going. On the way out I noticed that Lisa had indeed made friends with the hotdog vendor, and then a fight broke out. Two beer fueled straight guys were going fist to cuffs on the sidewalk, one had apparently suggested the others girlfriend was a chubby (true) bitchy (true) slut (rightfully assumed). What is it with the breeders and feeling compelled to defend everything with their fists? One of them got taken to the ground mere feet away from me and the sound of meathead hitting the cement was enough to make me want to petition to have bicycle helmets handed out as doorprizes to the guys who win the most prizes from tossing coins at stripper swamp-crotch.
Lisa looked at me, hot dog in hand and we both shuttered.

The next morning (12:30 pm) I woke up, and retrieved the half bottle of Shiraz from the basement and headed down to my mothers for afternoon drinks. Lisa joined a few minutes later, and there we were having beer, wine and vodka for breakfast with my mother, her bestfriend and my grandmother.
By the time we left at 6 I had the game plan of an early evening nap. Lisa, on the other hand had other ambitions. Two hours into my nap I awoke to the choir of mexicans next door laughing their asses off. I went to the window, and just as my eyes started to focus I heard her voice. She was partying with them, and when I called her name she responded "I am in Mexico!"
She came inside and told me that it was very good Tequila and that they were going to be making us homemade salsa and guacamole, what a hunter gatherer.

She took a nap on the couch and I got ready for a moving away party. I have been attending an awful lot of those this year, and I am always secretly jealous of the lucky ones who are dropping a lot, packing up the rest and taking off. The party was actually more fun than I had anticipated, and all was going well until around four in the morning, when Lisa fell.

I came out to the porch and saw Lisa standing by the railing. She leaned back to light her cigarette, and the top part of the railing gave way. She fell eight feet backwards, and landed on cement. I will never be able to put to words how I felt during the next four minutes. I still feel sick thinking about it.

We checked her into the hospital, and after a few days she came home. Something tells me that she will not be a fan of wearing a backbrace for the rest of the summer, but on the other hand, I bet she's thankful that she is able to walk.

I feel so callous about a lot of the things that are spinning around my nervous mind. All of a sudden it turns to being just the feeling of empty. A machine that is programmed to wake up, get on the bus, run errands, go to work, drink and return home.... lather rinse repeat.

Everything seemed like it was on the edge of a rebirth, and that is when I realized that it was just a fluffy variation of change.
(with all due respect to Buddhists, Born Again Christians and anyone who ever bought a Jennifer Lopez album.)

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Intervention in the key of Amputation

The whirlwind that was a few weekends ago was a defining moment of "this is your life...." Friday afternoon I was biking back from the liquor store with a 15 pack of beer, a back pack full of flippy cups and eggs, and high expectations. The superhero/villains party went of without a hitch, Unless you consider a naked man, the whore who stole Christmas and a costume flashback a hitch. After spending twenty-five minutes hanging lights in the tree that is growing through the middle of my porch, and gluing my eye shut while applying fake eyelashes, falling down the stairs looking like I was running late for a Kabbalah luncheon with Ashton, Demi and Madonna I realized that I should have probably not smoked that Louisville slugger-sized joint.

Madness kicked off quite late in the evening. In a matter of minutes the familiar scent of marijuana and campfire was filling the air, and I found myself surrounded by both the most important people in my life and some of the most brilliant fillers in the world. Within a few hours, flippy cup had been the activity of the night and Chris came around with Chief Hardbody's vest followed by belt and pants-there was now an instance of indecent exposure at the party. Hilarity had arrived, and debauchery ensued.

Thankfully the cops did not arrive to this house party, it would have been terribly difficult trying to explain to officers why these drunkards were all decked out in superhero/villain costumes.

There have a been all too many foggy flashback nights of tippy train wreck lately, a fact that is sometimes terrifying. There have been several instances in which I have had to not only reminded, but actually informed of things I said or done on the eve before. Most recently was my latest appearance at the gay bar. Apparently after having a "loud conversation" with the kid I suggested that nothing I felt in regards to him mattered anymore because "Oatmeal returns in six weeks and then I am back to part-time." After collecting my jacket from coat-check I participated in a very awkward and inappropriate dialogue with coat-check-girl.
Ryan: "Thank-you lesbian"
Coat Check Girl:"I'm not a lesbian"
Ryan:"Yeah.... yes you are."

Twenty seconds later I had apparently stumbled across someone using words I thought were too big for him to be using in a conversation that I had decided to eavesdrop on. After asking buddy to spell the word to me, the kid quickly (read thankfully), hailed a cab and had us whisked away from what I am sure was a hot mess moment courtesy of a very drunk, stoned, emotionally exhausted text book passive aggressive.

I wrote a letter on Sunday. It was basically my side of a conversation that I had been trying to have for several months now. I admit that I was quite nervous about delivering it, but it felt right. Things between the kid and I had me a nervous wreck, and I had to learn to be objective about myself in order to step back and dissect the situation as is.
I was wrong about one thing though, I thought I had anticipated his reaction, I was wrong.
I thought he would take the chance and run for the hills, I figured he would then have the excuse he was waiting for, I assumed that he was selfish enough to believe that I was destroyed and he had finally won the tug-of-war over control.
Instead, he made several very strong arguments, one very great excuse and charmingly albeit conceited informed me that people usually give him a second chance. Something about him seemed so innocent again, and I remembered the very first time I saw him. I was feeling really good about hearing him out, then I had to go and fuck it up.

6 hours later and I had already downed several hand grenade shooters (consisting of an ounce of mandarin vodka, and ounce of jagermiester and a third of a can of redbull), eight 20 oz pints of beer, a 'warehouse' sized Caesar and half of a joint. Everything was completely fine, I was convinced that I had been over-reacting, I wasn't all that mad at him anymore and I was having a blast. But one by one the bricks of that wall came crashing down, and at the eleventh hour self-control checked out on me. I slammed the cab door, pissed off to have been leaving alone and begin the textually active shock and awe campaign. I said things that I didn't even actually feel and called him nothing but a tease and an illusion.

These are not times for the weak of heart. I find that whenever I feel most vulnerable I turn for the bottle or pipe and try to distract myself with the illusion of being high n drunkin'. It had kept me upright for years, so it must in fact be my crutch. Aside from the financial impact, headaches and hang-overs there are so many things that go wrong when I am on the sauce and herbs.

1) Making contact.
It used to be just a drunk-dialing. Everyone has done it at least once. After a few glasses of courage you get the nerve to call the unlucky and usually sleeping son of a bitch that you feel you have unfinished business with. Liquid courage even gives you the ability to speak 'truths' as you see them, with beer goggles and blood-shot eyes. But now it's so much easier to be a complete jackass, you don't even have to worry about who is going to be answering the phone. Drunk-text, drunk-email and the ever popular drunk-Facebook. Things hit an all time high (or low) for me when I wrote a letter and mailed it while still drunk... hopefully when it arrives to that person in a week they have prepared for the insanity packed envelope. Come to think of it, I should have included a joint to soften the blow.

2) Confrontation.
I am infamous for my love of confrontation, and sometimes I can even come across as sane and intelligent while in the process of debating and stripping down someone in font of an audience-think of the modern day Roman Coliseum. But add several glasses of wine and tact is so far gone that even my echo would not reach it. It has been said that I lack a filter between brain and mouth, at this point in the night it would prove that the vital part missing between my brain and razor sharp tongue is a connection all together.
For instance, the other day I was en route to Steak Palace for a night of steak slinging when out of nowhere I come across another pedestrian in the above ground network of walkways. At this point a normal person would have smiled a hello and continued on their way without affecting either of their days. I, on the other hand, was for some reason immediately distracted by what could have put any fabric encased appendage to shame.
"Lady, I understand that lulu lemon produces really comfortable garments, and it's great that you are obviously leading a very healthy and active lifestyle, but you are packing a wicked camel toe." REALLY? What the fuck was that? Come to think of it, I am surprised that her reaction was along the lines of a 'thanks for the heads-up', that could have ended with me getting my ass kicked by a very athletic looking, pre midlife crisis woman of the recession.

3) Confessions.
What is it about getting hammered that induces truth to spew from my mouth like it's going out of style? Everyone feels really great after they have confessed their sins in the booth at church, but no Catholic mourns their religion has as much as I have had become a complete martyr in many cases by deciding to tell the world a little secret.
When it comes to confessing shit to people, I tend to just open my mouth and let crazy fall out. I have not only taken ownership for evil plans that I have executed against people, but have gone the extra mile and explained them step-by-step to the alleged victim.

I took some time to review the journals, and I think that this is something that I finally understand. Jumping is easy, falling feels like freedom, but eventually you have to land and more likely than not it is going to hurt. Tonight while I was cashing out a friend told me that I need to stop wearing my heart on my sleeve, I pulled out my phone and re-listened to Lisa screeching "Amputaaaaaaaaation".

The full moon had ended again, and finally things are starting to be a little less fuzzy.