Tuesday, September 25, 2012

myself thinking

that one is for all of you Fun "fans".

Here's the truth: when I type in the dark, I get vertigo.   I begin to feel my body flip upside down and my head gets dizzy.  I have to type with a light on, otherwise I really start freaking out.
My week is rather cyclic.  It begins on Friday.  I spend the entire day at Applebee's.  And usually, it's fine.  By the end of the day, I'm pretty tattered and worn, and I find myself usually (only a little bit) wondering why I continue to work at a place that robs my soul.  Saturday and sunday go by, they are both nice because they are days off.  Monday comes and I swear, it's like death.  I can't explain it; I don't understand it; I work one shift at Applebee's and by the time Monday is over, I just want to rip my shirt off, light my bar on fire, kick a few hosts in the mouth and walk out the car side door, never to be heard of or seen again. (funny little anecdote: there was this guy that used to work at applebee's, I can't remember his name.  But, he just stopped showing up for his shifts one day.  A month later, his wife showed up, wanting to sit in his section and we told her he hadn't been in for a month and that he was fired for not showing up; we never heard from either of them again.  Alright, maybe it's not so funny.)  The work I do is so... compromising.  Everything about it is a compromise.  It's a compromise of my morals.  Dealing with people I don't want to deal with is a compromise.  Admitting that I'm wrong when I'm not is a compromise.  Just... my entire career (honestly! even the fact that I work there.  It's a funny  sad story.  You should ask me about it sometime.) is a conflict of interest.  It's me doing something that I haven't ever wanted to do.
Anyway, by the end of Monday night, I'm ready to quit; to throw in the proverbial towel.  But tuesday morning comes, and I find myself thinking about guys who work in Ecuador, picking bananas for 13-14 hours every day to make $200 per week.  Wednesday comes and I think about construction guys that work 12 hour days doing hard labor in the hot sun or in the freezing cold.  Thursday I find myself thinking about how some people have to work every day.  And by friday, I have realized how cushy I've got it and what a whiny bitch I am.  Ha ha ha. 
So I go to work and start the whole thing over.  End over end, I'm circling.

I love you for reading my meanderings of thought.
Always do what you're afraid to do.
I'm skipping school tomorrow.  Don't wake me, I plan on sleeping in.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Love is watching someone die.

this song is really beautiful.

I took tonight off to go to a barbecue with some very dear friends.  But I ended up sitting with my grandma as she spends her last few hours on earth.  Death is so surreal.  Does anyone really have any idea what comes after this life?  What's the deal with goodbye for forever?  I held her hand and watched as she laid there, unconscious, fighting to breathe. 

Fighting to breathe.

When I was younger, I used to hang with this guy named Frank.  He was my first friend in elementary school after moving to Santa Maria.  He had a bowl cut. He used to take major league batting gloves (he had a bunch of them.  Specifically, Angels and Dodgers gloves) and cut the fingers off of them.  Sometimes he would bring them to school and let me have one.  It was very nice.  My parents didn't like Frank a ton; he cursed and wore gloves with the fingers cut off.  He wasn't a good influence on me. 
I often wonder about Frank.  I don't even know his last name.  I hope he's doing okay, he was one of my very first friends.

Every now and then, while riding my bike, I think about jumping off, and hurling myself into a back flip, just to see if I could land it.  Wouldn't that be rad?  If I could actually do it, it would be sweet.  But then, I quickly remind myself that my motorcycle isn't paid off, that it would crash into oblivion and that I would probably end up dead. 
So I doubt I will ever attempt my cool back-flip-from-the-motorcycle idea.  Too bad.  It's a great one.  I wonder if it's even physically possible?

I'm still thinking about going to Barcelona, Spain.  I don't know, man.  It's fraught with danger, that's for sure.

Thanks for reading.
I love you.
Better get living while we're dying.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012


Lookit, everybody.  I want to go to Europe.  I think I'm going to go in October.  You are all maybe rolling your eyes or thinking that I always say crazy crap like this.  And you're right.  But I think that in October, I am legitimately going to go to Spain.  Or maybe Italy.  I can't decide.  I know that I want to go to one of those two place, then take a train north to France.  I am going to visit versailles, possibly Normandy and St. Michel (not sure what that is? Don't worry, I put a picture below.)  After that, I think I'm going to take the chunnel north and then fly out of London.  I'll be gone all of 11 days or so.  So stoked about the idea.  
Now, about the funding... ha ha ha.  We'll see what happens.  A fool and his money, you know?
Isn't this rad?? It's over by Normandy.

It's been a minute since I posted on here.  School started.  Guys, I really hate school.  I honestly wonder if it hurts my soul like pornography or hard-core gangster rap does.  It's just so dumb and artificial.  I'm so close to being done... so close.

Somebody in my house is using my toothpaste.  It drives me CRAZY.  Not because I'm not willing to share my toothpaste.  I really don't mind sharing.  However, I do mind when they squeeze the tube from the middle.  Look, I know it's not that big of a deal, but I really, really can't stand it when the toothpaste tube is squeezed from the middle.  It says it on some of the tubes:
I just can't stand it: as you reach the half-empty point of your toothpaste experience, your tube of toothpaste is this sort of mangled, pliable mess of plastic, fluoride and gel. So, dear toothpaste thief, if you're reading, I warn you to take caution.  I will exact my revenge!

I love you for reading.  Seriously.
Live lucky.