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| I'm on Vacation |
| 10.25.04 (2:36 pm) [edit] |
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I am writing from an undisclosed location. I am going on vacation as of noon today. I will be at Fudgeface's tomorrow night. I don't know that I will be able to write on here on a regular basis. I am sure that I will be full of stories upon my return.
Next Tuesday after I vote!!!!
Have a good week everyone!
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| Missed Connection with my Life |
| 10.22.04 (4:20 pm) [edit] |
I found this on Craigslist. I am glad I came across it. Now I am putting it on here because it applies to my state of mind. Maybe it will cause everyone to think a little.
How did this happen? I'm not quite sure.
I'm a good guy, some even say a great guy. Fun to be with, interesting witty.
I'm not.
I'm scared sometimes.
I feel alone sometimes.
I feel like people really don't know me.
This is why...
Days become weeks. Weeks become months. Months become years.
Six years at the same job.
It pays well.
I enjoy what I do.
I have a short commute.
Yet I still want to leave.
My entire life in New York.
I love the diversity.
I love the cuisine.
I love the 24/7 lifestyle.
I love being close to my family.
Yet I still want to leave.
I hate being tied down to material things.
I want to burn it all. I really do. I can't.
I commute, work, commute, sleep.
I commute, work, commute, sleep.
I commute, work, commute, sleep.
I commute, work, commute, sleep.
I commute, work, commute, sleep.
My days off are rarely my own.
Errands. All the things you have to do.
Grocery shopping, paying bills, washing clothes.
Take what you make in a month. After taxes.
Take out your rent.
Take out what you spend on food.
Take out what you spend on transportaion.
Take out what you spend on whatever vice you may have to keep yourself going.
Shopping, drugs, alchohol, gambling. Whatever.
Take out your phone bill.
Cable bill.
Utilities.
Cell bill.
Laundry money.
Gas.
Insurance.
Did I miss anything? Probably.
What do you have left?
Now add up time communting, working, and sleeping on a standard work day.
How many hours out of 24?
Shit, shower, shave, eat. How much left?
This is my point.
WE are ALL slaves to a system.
We are all stuck in some kind of routine.
We are not free to stimulate our minds.
We will never know who we really are beacuse we don't have time to explore it.
That is why I don't know who I am and it bothers me.
What has our life become.
Were we, as people, supposed to be living like this?
Better house, better car, better toys.
Are you happy?
Where is your time to enjoy life?
Who would you have become if you had that chance?
you are
bitter
broke
tired
poor
overworked
underpaid
unappreciated
stressed
depressed
lonley
weak
sad
should I go on? I could.
Burn it all.
Fuck McDonalds and Starbucks. Their products are overpriced shit.
The run mom and pop cafes and diners out of business. Fuck them.
Fuck tv.
The majority if it is mind numbing garbage.
Fuck mtv telling you what music is cool.
Go outside see a band that hasn't made it yet.
Pick up a fucking instrument.
Fuck the media for giving our mothers, sisters, and daughter eating disorders.
Fuck the media for making men insecure about their car, penis, house, hair.
What's 75% of your spam mail in your inbox. That's right.
The other 25% is for medication that we need after living the life they give us.
Push up bras, make-up, press on nails, high heels, hair color.
Fuck that.
Pride in ones appearence is one thing.
Being something you are not is something else.
You are beautiful. Stop it.
You do it because we've all been brainwashed. Wake up.
Do you know when a woman is most beautiful?
When she wakes up in the morning.
Guys, stop watching sports, start playing them.
Your missed commection is your own fault. Meet someone.
Meet someone real.
Become some one real.
Fuck material possesions.
I'm slowly getting rid of everything I own.
Eventually I'll leave New York. Probably the U.S. also.
I don't know where I'll go, what I'll do, or what I'll be.
The only thing I will have left is me. The real me. That's what I want to be.
Wine, women, and song. That's all I think I'll need.
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| I miss my family |
| 10.21.04 (1:06 pm) [edit] |
I know it sounds ridiculous. Especially all the things that I’ve put up with or dealt with in my head. I’m fortunate enough that my parents remained together for unknown reasons. The only thing I can think of is “for the kids” and “divorce” is not an option. They are as old fashioned as they come.
They are both drunks (I’m sure that explains my need for it as well). I haven’t been to see them in about two weeks. The previous three weeks always ended in shambles because my mom makes a sport out of treating me like shit when she’s drinking. I take it. I always have. For whatever reason something compels me to defend her when others talk about her. No matter how often she attacks. I stand by her. Maybe it’s because I know how alone her life is going to become. I’m scared that she’s going to die alone and a drunk. I see my reflection in her eyes at times. I cry. I can hear her emptiness against my walls. Begging for understanding. Begging for affection. Begging to be heard.
If only……..those words seem so empty. At 8 years old I can remember thinking “if only they wouldn’t drink anymore”. At 27 those words still echo. It feels like I am eight all over again. I feel like I’m hiding under the kitchen table after I had put my brothers to sleep in their bunk bed. I feel the cold floor as I lay under the chair out of sight to make sure that my father doesn’t lay a hand on her and vice versa. I wanted to save them then. I want to save them now. Maybe in saving them I think that I can save myself.
I miss them but I can’t be around them right now. They drain me. They make me feel heavy with guilt about who I am. They make me feel like a liar. They break themselves against me. I am their rock. Blood runs thicker than water. Mine is so thick I choke on it. I don’t know that I’d want anything different. I suppose I wouldn’t be me if it were. Then again being me is never what I make it out to be.
My father is a drunk. My mother is a drunk. My aunt is a drunk. I am a drunk. My brother confessed to me two nights ago that he thinks he needs help. Last night he called me drunk. He got mad when I called him today to ask what his deal was. He tells me that his job is on strike. He has nothing else to do. I sigh and tell him I’ll call him later. I’m not in the mood to talk. I don’t want to. What can you talk about when there are no answers to the questions that burn inside?
When my aunt fell of the ladder. She was so drunk that she didn’t know the left side of her brain had started to hemorrhage until she became partially blind. Her family brushed it off thinking she was just being a drunk. I try not to think about what would have happened if they hadn’t operated on time. When I found out that my mom had burned her face with grease and my brother and sister went to the movies because they brushed it off to another drunken episode I couldn’t help but thinking when did it stop mattering?
I know from experience that one gets tired emotionally from dealing. It’s hard to face the reality of watching someone waste away. It’s hard to face the possibility of sickness or even death. It’s hard to face that someone would lose that self-control. It’s hard to face that someone would do that to themselves. It’s hard to face that someone would make the ones that love them suffer. It’s hard to face that one cannot make the changes to help them. They have to want it for themselves and if they are drunks they don’t care. They just do what they do and risk it all for the sake of the buzz.
The bottom line for me is that I love them. Drunk or not I need them to make me feel like I belong somewhere. To make me feel that I am not just anybody. To make me feel like I am a part of them. A part of something solid.
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| The First Rain |
| 10.19.04 (1:40 pm) [edit] |
So the first rain has fallen. I love the feel of cold weather on my face. I love the sound of rain against my window in the middle of the night. I love the taste of hot coffee in the morning after you try to not be upset about jumping into a puddle when your brother drops you off.
Oh you thought it was going to be one of those romantic moments right??? Oh no because you know I’m writing about my wet ass foot right now. I hate wet socks!
The part that really blows is that I can’t do a damned thing about it. I don’t carry extra socks around but right now I am wishing that I did.
Last night my brother and I hung out and watched the Red Sox win their game in the 14th inning. We had pizza and beer and shots of gin. We hung out with one of his friends and just watched TV and talked shit all night. Now understand that for every one shot that I took (I had five total) he was taking two (cause he’s a man’s man). So he was pretty drunk by nine. He forgot who won the game and then continued to just talk and talk about his life and our family. Yadda yadda yadda. He’s a drunk talker. He wants to tell you how life should be and how one should feel about things. It’s like listening to my dad when he’s all shit-faced. My father in his old age however laments so much of his past. He’s got sad eyes and a worn out soul. You can see it in his big brown eyes. That is another story for another time.
Then he asks me about HER. How is she? Fine How is her daughter? Getting big Is she married yet? Uh no. (I could have thrown a slice of pizza at his forehead for that one). Do we talk often? Not really
“We should all hang out some time. Invite her over on Thursday we can cook dinner or something,” he said.
“Are you joking?” I ask.
“No I’m serious. It would be nice to see her that’s all,” he says.
“Oh,” I answer. My mind is somewhere else already.
“I liked her you know. I mean she was one of those girls that you really want to know. It helped that she was fine don’t get me wrong,” he says laughing.
I put the beer to my mouth to prevent me from telling him to shut-up. I take a huge swig. Ahhhhh and I sigh. He is still talking.
“It was like she didn’t care about things. She was down to earth and knew how to laugh at herself. Girls aren’t like that you know? They are stuck on themselves. She wasn’t like that,” he says.
“Nope she’s wasn’t. She still isn’t,” I say. I wonder what she’s doing. I’m tempted to call her but I don’t. She had just left me this long ass message on my phone last Friday. You could tell she was tired cause she was rambling on about things. We play phone tag a lot. Random messages. Waiting for the other to call. Pick up the phone. Put it back down.
“You think she’d come out if we invited her?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’d have to ask her. She doesn’t get off work till late evening though so I wouldn’t count on it,” I say. I want to change the subject.
“Well it’s an idea and tell her that I said she has too cause I want to see her,” he said.
“Ok I’ll ask her and let you know,” I said. I get up to get another beer. He changes the channel and tells me that he’ll take me to work tomorrow morning. He is determined to finish the gin and I talk him out of it. I ask him what for. He’s just going to have a hang over in the morning. His answer is that he wanted to see if he could finish it. Any drunk knows that it’s the best excuse in the book. I remind him who he is talking too and he just laughs. He puts the bottle away and we sit in the living room again.
He offered to give me back rub when he heard me crack my back before I got up to go to bed. Being that no one else ever offers (hello roommate????) I said sure.
1. My brother is really drunk.
2. I forgot how strong he really is.
3. He was determined to get every knot out of my back
4. He is not a professional massager
5. He admired my tattoo the whole time (he mentioned how “bad ass” it was at least six times.)
6. My back is mush. I think I may have bruises but I can’t see my back so I’m not sure.
7. It hurts when I bend over to tie my shoes and it hurts when I try to stretch it out a little.
8. I will never let him give me a massage again.
Cruzando remember when **C** tried to give me a cute little massage in the car when we were waiting for the Jack in the Box?
“You’re all kinds of fucked up” Those exact words were used again last night. Thanks to his monster hands I’m still fucked up but in a different way.
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| The Best Cup of Coffee |
| 10.15.04 (7:38 pm) [edit] |
I am having the best cup of coffee that I have had in years right now. Starbucks and Peet’s cannot even come close.
It’s 4:15pm and I am tired. The day is gloomy and I have to work tonight. I am sipping this cup slowly. I don’t want it to end. I can’t help but think Wouldn’t it be great to have her make me something like this every morning? Then that little voice comes back on She’s not gonna wake up and make you something like this every morning. So I sigh and stare into the caramel colored beverage and let its warmth comfort me instead.
I called to say thank you and though she didn’t make it specifically for me (it was actually for the clients) I want to whisper things like ”I’m addicted to your coffee.” I suppose to that’s better than some of the things I could whisper.
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| An X-Tina Night |
| 10.14.04 (1:29 pm) [edit] |
So last night we watched the Christina Aguilera concert on TV. It finally came out so I could buy it for him. Yes his birthday was in March. Yes I could have gotten him something else but I didn’t. I got him that and the La Bamba movie. He is spoiled.
Anyway two bottles of wine, two glasses of vodka and grapefruit juice, cheese, parmesan artichoke dip and a frozen burrito combine for quite a hangover. I missed my bus this morning and had to wake him up so that he could bring me to work. I felt bad but I over slept. My head hurts and I want to crawl back into bed.
I tried drinking a cup of coffee but it made it worse. I am now drinking sparkling water with lemon in it. I know he tried to stop me from drinking more but I am a lush.
Christina is so under-rated. I know most think she’s a little whore but the girl is 23 and doing what people that age do. Have sex. It’s not a crime. I feel bad for celebrities. Not in that “aw” kind of way it’s more of a “they can’t do ANYTHING without being watched” kind of way. Anyway the girl is talented like it or not she can out sing most of the pop tarts out there right now.
I’m glad we went to her concert when she was here.
I have two more I have to go too before I die. Pink and Lenny. He has seen them both at the same concert. I am envious. If I were more clear headed I’d go on and on but I’m not going too. I don’t have the energy to think properly right now.
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| The Playstation 2 |
| 10.13.04 (12:16 pm) [edit] |
It’s officially not a good thing. I mean when you are off all day and up till 2 in the morning trying to play this game that you can’t seem to turn off cause you’re actually pretty good at it you should begin to know that it’s the devil.
I have 23 movies in my Netflix queue file and since I’ve gotten that PS2 I don’t watch TV anymore. Unless of course my roommate is home and he’s watching it. As soon as he goes to bed or he decides to go out I am all over it. I have a system even. Get a glass of water (in case I get thirsty so I don’t have to pause it). Find a decent CD to play in the background (cause sometimes the game noises get annoying). Find a good spot on the couch (the glare can get really bad and you can’t see a thing sometimes) and PLAY!
Sometimes if I get stuck I come into work the next morning to look up helpful hints to help me beat that particular part. I am a sad, sad case. I don’t want to leave the confines of my home. What for? I have food (we finally went grocery shopping). I have water (the essential). I don’t even want to go to the bars at this point. I’m considering eating special brownies so I can see what it looks like high!
I am doomed and since I have no one here to drag me out to do anything there will be no end to this anytime soon. I have two weeks until I go visit Fudgeface. I wonder if I can beat the game before I go on my little vacation. Hmmm is this a goal? I am getting to old to be staying up all night but at least I won’t have a hang over the next morning.
In my head I already have the time zone in which I will be playing tonight. It will be after 9pm (unless of course my roommate stays home and watches cartoons which will then cause me to go to bed early). Before that I will be tackling the job of doing my laundry because I am out of socks and I can’t miss America’s Top Model at 8pm.
I have become what I said I would never be. Out of all the goals I’ve never accomplished being a couch potato has begun to suit me well. Especially when I can see my reflection in the television and come to the conclusion that I look like an egg with legs hanging off the couch.
Where is my motivation to be thin and beautiful? How come I am not out chasing the straight girls in sun dresses? When did I start considering marrying gay men just for the hell of it? My world has become tragic and the saddest part is that I am have become content with it.
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| The Devil Amongst Us |
| 10.12.04 (5:49 pm) [edit] |
My sister called me last night crying cause she thinks 1) My mom is crazy or 2) there is a demon in our house.
I believe in spirits. It is fair to say that I have had my share of my own “encounters” to really believe in what most call none sense. I do not however believe in psychics cause I still want to kick their tables over when I walk by them.
Apparently last night my mom was walking in and out of the house trying to act like she hadn’t been drinking for most of the afternoon. My dad was in his room with our talking parrot watching TV. My sister was in her room with her door shut when all of a sudden my mom comes charging into the room. She walks over to the sliding door and opens it looking around like a crazy lady that was just sprung free. My sister tells me that she had wide eyes and looked pale.
“Ma what are you doin?!” my sister yells. It is fair to say that my sister has no patience with alcoholics. She has already been jaded by the affects alcohol has on others. She has no sympathy for anyone who cannot make a choice to stay away from it. She has no sympathy for anyone who uses it as an excuse to act in an irresponsible manner. She has no sympathy period sometimes.
“Did you see that??” my mom asks then walks back to the living room.
She drops to her knees and starts to pray. The smell of liquor off her breath makes you want to hold her if you understand what goes on inside. She starts rocking back and forth then proceeds to cry. My sister is still asking her what is wrong. My father gets up from his chair to see what is going on.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asks in his tone.
“I saw something in the house. I was sitting in the kitchen when something passed by me. It was cloaked in black with hollow eyes. It came from behind me and into her room,” she says still crying.
I’m sure no one has hugged her to reassure her that everything is o.k. A simple touch would have calmed her but that’s not the nature of our beast.
“Something is really wrong with you,” he tells her before walking away.
My sister was standing in the hallway and told me that my mom then walked to her room and turned on all her candles. My mom has shrines for her saints. There are rosaries, candles, pictures of Jesus and the Mother Mary and there are statues of the saints. She then proceeds to get Holy Water (she brought some back from Guatemala when my grandfather passed away) and walks into ever room and spills it like a preacher would when blessing something or someone. She is mumbling prayers and still crying. My father got up again and told her to calm down. That there was too much going on in her mind and that she needed to relax before she got sick. I think he was just trying to get her to leave them alone. She said that she heard a bird singing in the living room and then the shadow crossed into the house. She was shaking and cried some more. My sister says that eventually they got her to calm down and blow out the candles. She said more prayers before going to bed. My sister calls me about 10pm last night.
“***** hi. Are you busy?” she asks.
I can always tell when something is wrong, “No what’s wrong? Are you crying?”
She sniffles a little, “I think something is wrong with mom.”
“What happened?” I asked getting ready for another drunken argument about how my sister prefers her friends to her mom.
“I’m not sure what just happened,” she tells me the story as I have written up above.
I remember thinking how silly it seemed but somehow not completely out of whack. Especially in our house.
“Are you alright?” I ask her.
“I’m not sure. I mean I guess you know,” she says. Her voice is a little quivery.
“She scared you huh?” I asked.
“Yeah a little cause of that thing that happened when I was younger,” she said.
I swear on everything I have that when she was five years old I woke up to someone standing over her watching her sleep. I sat up in my bed and was frozen. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck were on edge. I wanted to scream but couldn’t. It just stood there watching not able to move. The next morning she had asked me if I had gotten up to check on her cause she felt me touch her. I didn’t tell her then what I had seen. I had waited five years to tell her why I wouldn’t let her take the rosary off of her bedpost. It has happened a lot for her. She’d get up in the m idle of the night and sleep with me cause she swore someone was touching her. It happened a few months back. She went to sleep in my mom’s room cause she swore that someone was touching her feet.
“Look maybe the liquor has finally gotten to her?” I say. I didn’t know what to really tell her. Why not blame it on that? It made more sense than anything else we could come up with.
She giggled a little, “I think it scared her even if it wasn’t real.”
She giggles when she’s nervous. I am not really sure where she got that particular trait from.
“Well are you alright?” I asked.
“Yeah I’m a little scared you know but I’m fine. I just hope she isn’t going crazy,” she said.
“I’ll call her tomorrow o.k? I’ll ask her what happened to see what she says,” I reassured her.
“Don’t tell her that I told you she was drinking. I don’t want her getting mad at me,” she said back.
“I won’t. Look brat get some sleep. I am sure that everything is fine and I’ll call you tomorrow o.k?” I said.
“O.k but promise me you’ll ask her,” she said.
“Goodnight. Get some sleep. I love you,” we hung up.
I called my mom this morning. I was curious. When I asked her about it her voice started to quiver a little. She told me the exact same thing. She says that when she went to sleep last night she was scared and that when she woke up this morning there was a piece of paper on her stomach. It was blank. I had to ask her if she was drinking. She told me that she had a glass of wine but she didn’t really drink. I pondered that for a minute. I know that if she said one she meant at least three glasses. I told her that maybe she needed to really think about what happened. Even if it wasn’t real maybe someone is trying to tell her something. She says she is going to the priest after work sometime this week. She needs to discuss what it may mean and whether or not she has to have the house blessed.
I tell her not to get to crazy with the idea. That maybe she was tired or slightly buzzed. She refuses to accept anything other than “I know what I saw”. You can’t argue with the religious.
If there is an exorcism (this kind of creeps me out) I’m sure I’ll attend so that I can write about it. She swears she saw the devil. My sister is scared now and my dad thinks my mom is going crazy.
I should mention that it’s been a year since my grand father passed away this week. I think maybe her emotions and his spirit have combined. Hopefully to show her where she is going if she keeps drinking. Death is a scary thing. The actual thought of having seen it stare at you is completely terrifying. I am not scared to die the thought of HOW I may die is another story.
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| The Nostalgia |
| 10.07.04 (2:44 pm) [edit] |
The best of Sade is playing on repeat. There is something so simple about her words. The way she sings them. I wonder if I woke up in love with the cold that is nipping at my nose. The slight drizzle that happened on the way to the bus made me smile. Lazy days full of rain are on the way. Another cold lonely winter is headed my way. Maybe I’ll put out an ad wanting to convince someone to just lie next to me this season.
I think it’s the after effects of the “special” brownie from last night. I’m glad I don’t smoke that stuff. I think too much as it is already. I’d just ponder and ponder and ponder some more. I had a restless sleep even after the three drinks and the brownie. I dreamt of my roommate yelling at me for not asking someone out on a date. I dreamt that his boyfriend was laughing at the fact that I wasn’t seeing anyone. I dreamt that I was sitting on a cliff and there were people yelling at me to jump but I didn’t want too. The waves below crashed into the sand and I was slowly sinking.
There you are knocking on my door. I’d want you to lie next to me. We wouldn’t have to say much since there isn’t anything else to say. We could just memorize the lines of each others face. We could just enjoy the warmth of the breath between us. Your brown eyes haunt me. I want to say that because of you I have found solace in my being alone all the time. I want to say that because of you I’ll never let anyone back in. I want to say that I won’t ever know what that feels like unless you are there with me. I may never say those words and mean them again.
Intoxication of the mind and the soul is such an experience. Nostalgia has bitten me. It wasn’t anything else. I think I knew that when I woke up and looked up at the picture on my wall next to my bed. I took a deep breath and I knew that today for the first time in months I’d be thinking about all the things I need to let go of from my worries on up. Making stops along the way at the things I cannot change. Shaking hands with the things I’d like to happen. Encouraging the things that won’t let me move on. Waving hello to the things in my past. Standing side by side with the things that have given me hope.
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| Having Babies |
| 10.06.04 (1:49 pm) [edit] |
Last night I was riding back from my class out of Oakland on the BART. I am trying to read my book by Henry Miller (which I find hard to do as it is). I noticed these girls get on and sit on the seat opposite of mine. I pretend to look out the window but really I am watching their reflection. They both have the same color hair. The same light eyes. One is a little taller than the other. They are talking and giggling about something out of my range. One is pregnant.
I thought of my own sister. I wondered if we’d ever experience that. I’d like to, I think. At least to have that much more between us would be great. I think it’s my age. She is after all only 17. Still as I watched them I wondered what they talked about. If it was her first and if they sat around talking about names. Whether or not they argued about the pregnant one taking care of her-self. What did you eat today? Did you take your prenatal pills? Did you make your appointment for the doctor’s yet? If he can’t make it I’ll go with you to your Lamaze class. I caught myself smiling a little. I though of all the people that I know that are having kids or have some already. Would I ever know what that’s like?
I can’t personally see it for myself but for her I do. I don’t really know if she dreams of white weddings or picket fences. I’m going to have to ask her one day. It would be an interesting conversation to have. Of course she’ll want to know why I am asking and I’ll have to tell her that I was just wondering. We don’t talk about that after all and when we do they (my siblings) all agree that if I “ever” get married I’d be the last one. That’s reassuring isn’t it?
I guess it doesn’t matter since I’ve never dreamed of settling down. I’ve always wanted to travel and wander. Which would explain my constant unsettled state of mind or does it?
Regardless it definitely explains my wanting to win the lottery.
After my little moment I called my sister while I was waiting at the bus stop.
“Hey what are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh you know nothing,” she says in her little sarcastic voice.
“I just wanted to call to see what were you up too.” I told her.
“Where you at?” she asks.
“Waiting for the bus. I’m on my way home.”
“From where and who were you with?” she asks. (She likes to know these things I never tell her anything when I’m really out).
“I’m coming home from class,” I tell her. She laughs. I think she just likes to hear me say it.
“Awww you were sitting with there with your homies?” she asks.
I can see this conversation was going to go the same way it always goes. Into “let’s be mean to ***** land”, “Uhm yeah if you want to say that. Look hooker I just wanted to say hello.”
“I know you said it already,” she says. “Uhm can I call you back? I don’t have any minutes.”
“No I don’t want you wasting your anytime minutes on me. Use the valuable minutes damn it,” I tell her laughing.
“Aww then I’m gonna have to say bye-bye for now,” she answers.
“Shit-head,” I tell her. “I’ll call you this weekend.”
“I love you too,” she says and hangs up.
I can’t see myself having the above conversation about the future anymore. I get on my bus and settle into the germ infested seats. I wonder if the person that was sitting here before me had peed themselves before coming on the bus. I look around at the older people across from me. How come everyone that rides the bus after dark looks so lonely and tired? I look out the window and I’m glad she’s sitting at home probably laughing at our conversation and not riding on the lonely ride that I am always embarking on
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| What A Day |
| 10.04.04 (1:27 pm) [edit] |
So yesterday we went to hang out at the Castro Street Fair.
1) There were a lot of people
2) There was lots of liquor
3) There were cheerleaders
4) There were drag queens
5) I didn’t get one number
6) I was also with the cutest girls there
7) Until the storm that hit at the end I was having a good time.
I’d like to write more but I wouldn’t know either where to begin or where to end. I was let down by a few people yesterday. My roommate says it was the liquor. I will believe it because I want too. A part of me needs too. This morning it was all still surreal for me. It didn’t happen that way did it?
I will say this I am grateful for having Cruzando as my friend. In moments of complete confusion he manages to almost always keep his head and make sense of things. More or less (cause he was a bit buzzed too). At the end of the night we ordered some food from the restaurant down the street. I was with the gayest guys in the middle of the Oaks Club in Oakland. We were all buzzed and my adrenaline was still going. By the time we got home I was drunk again. I talked to the bartender who is quitting her job to move on to other things (she was cute and as always I find them too late). O.k so she has three kids and one of them is 13. She is only 29 or something like that. It was her voice and the color of her eyes that reeled me in.
“***** she has three kids,” my roommate kept telling me.
“Yeah I know,” I said back.
We laugh that “I know everything about you” kinda way. I needed to be silly. There had been too much seriousness a few hours before. What the fuck happened?
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| The Surreal Life |
| 10.01.04 (12:57 pm) [edit] |
I used to have the hugest crush on Jordan knight when I was 15. Out of all the New Kids on the Block he was my favorite. I think its cause he sang “Please Don’t go Girl” so well. I went to their concert when I was 16 and had their bed set to match the t-shirt that I got from the concert. I didn’t like Jon or Joe or Danny. Just Jordon and Donnie cause they were cool. Danny looked like a monkey, Joe always looked like someone punched him in both eyes and Jon, well I thought he was gay.
Upon realizing the he was going to be on VH1’s Surreal Life I wanted to watch. I had a genuine interest in seeing what happened to my little love muffin. Because of time and well my own preferences changing along the way there was the Ryan Starr issue. OMG. That girl is delish. Most who have never watched American Idol would not know who she is but because I can be such a pop bitch even when I don’t want to be when I saw her I knew exactly who she was.
Now last night was the first night that I had seen the full episodes from the first episode till this last one before the new one on Sunday. I am hooked and still officially have a crush on Jordon. Even if he is conceited, a little spoiled and wants to take Ryan to the hot tub (over my dead body). To be fair Flava Flav, and Joey from Full House (cause I don’t know his real name) and some crazy woman from Europe are also in the Surreal house. OH!!! And I almost forgot Charro (if you don’t know who this woman is it’s because you are too young to be reading this entry)
Who ever thought of this show was on some good shit because the show is brilliant. These people don’t have ANYTHING in common except that at some point they were or are famous. They come from absolutely different backgrounds. The drugs did a number on Flava (see kids drugs really can hurt you) but you can’t hate on the man because somehow he is getting laid by the big European Amazon lady who likes to run around half naked and kiss random men. She’ll screw anything with a wiggly stick in my opinion. (Yes I said wiggly stick).
I don’t really understand the point of the whole show. Except that there are challenges to be won for charity donations which makes sense somehow? What other reason would there be for you stick a bunch of ex-famous stars into the same house right?
Damn I’m so brain-washed from watching crap like this but it’s so much fun.
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