my inarticulateness

ugh, my last attempt at a post was utterly abismal, for sure. i will reiterate to my readers at this point, who really ought to be out playing in the sunshine, wait oh, it's been raining, well not really, today was merely pedestrianingly overcast, perhaps the type of weather i hate most, for while i quite dislike the rain, the daylong gloom of overcast has always sickened me ever since my childhood days at los berros elementary school. oh the horror, the horror, the smell of the misty dew upon the black asphalt. the screams of the enjoyment of recess, but how could anything be enjoyed under such oppressive gray gloom, no sun today. well overall, the whole fucking lot of it was pretty fucking oppresive, just like now, the same but different. i was at dumb job number one today, working endlessly at revising the goddamn rentals for about 20 different upcoming events, sitting at the tables in the center of the conference room, perhaps at about 2:46pm, maybe later, i don't know, it's all such a blur which i can't forget away quick enough, anyway, my point, it felt like i was seated at a desk in grade school, work on the some retarded ass problems from a text book, the slight taste of stress coarsing through my body as i meticulous attempted to overcome the damn near insurmountable mess of a pile paperwork, ergo "framework" scattered out in front of me, must check the rentals for this one again, must not miss anything, must avoid getting yelled at by big mean boss man paulie, oh the horror, oh the similarity, oh the job well done. big mean boss man expressed his and queen bee meme's delight and appreciation of the job i be doing, thus my work ability and efficiency is ever so approved of. and i think to myself, oh wonderful, my job is safe, well i know that, of course my job is safe, but oh to know that additionally my work, retarded as it may be, is in fact valued, why for a moment i almost took some amount of pride in that which i do for money. why when i speak of my day job, it is not unlikely for me to somewhat emote that yes, while i work for a stupid catering company, it is the number one caterer in the bay area, and whereas before i would mention that work involves some stupid bullshit of running errands and shuffling paper around, that now indeed it is more i dunno to say, oh i work with the operations and shit like that. why indeed i am the operations assistant, whatever the fuck that means. but it sounds important, and it is. why one day i could succeed my big mean boss as the director of operations, he's even said so, and then all my hair could fall out, i could become even more of an embittered asshole, be constantly stressed the fuck out, berate the fuck out of the employees in my department, and quickly have a nervous breakdown or quit or something. really my big mean boss doesn't do all that, i mean he does some of that, but it is a tough job, and not one that i really at all want. ever. well, maybe if it paid twice as much, which it probably should. even then, i dunno if that would motivate out of bed to be at work at 6am until 6pm. though maybe i could pull it off for a couple months, but then all my hair would fall out, the stress condenscing in my nasal region thus making my nose grow larger. did you know that i was not even aware that i had a big nose until fairly recently? why looking at myself straight on in a mirror, why i never would have guessed. and my asshole friend tony berating me for years for having a big nose, it never fazed me, cuz he was a short chubby mexican with a big nose with a bump up near the top. i figured the cunt was projecting. and then suddenly, in poorly shot photograph i saw it, horrified, i have a big nose. this is why tony once said i look like a bird. even tommi made a comment the other day, something about me being bird like or some shit. maybe it really does get in the way in an annoying way when i kiss boys? it's a wonder i've never broken the motherfucker! but i swear, i didn't always have a big fucking nose, that which is only enhanced of uglyness by wearing make-up, something i used to enjoy. no, i've known for many years now the astonishing fact that one's ears and nose do in fact continue to grow throughout one's life. so it's only going to get bigger! oh what am i to do? never did i ever consider that i would want plastic surgery, and woe be to those who would follow in the path of jennifer gray, but still, if it interfers with the desire of cute boys to kiss me, what ought i do? and my lips, i they full enough? not eating is tough, perhaps i ought to really have the remaing fat sucked out of my belly. and with my hair tied back at the moment, when i was downstairs during the set break doing push-ups in the office the mirror did done told me that my ears looked ever so much slightly bigger, but i guess that one's ok, cuz my ears are hella erogenous and maybe i look a little more elfin, another bizarre backhanded complement previously paid to me by tony. no, plastic surgery perhaps is not the way to go, but i often wonder, how ought my face really look like, because it is not the way necessarily it was made out to be. i had somewhat of an over-bite growing up and had to wear nightly neck gear at night for several years, of which i would routinely yank off after about half an hour of attempted sleep and toss across the room, cuz it hurt like a motherfucker. but with a combination therapy of retainers and braces and such somehow i managed to escape a fate which befell my mothers brother, aka my uncle john, the concert pianist virtuouso who used to play with world reknowned flutist Rampal, at least until flute guy died. now my uncle john, i ain't seen him in about 10 years, well he was always a real nice guy, but the dude has an overbite like a motherfucker, i swear, his damn chin is like hella recessed. so when i said to my mom, as a little squirt, why must i wear this god damn neck gear, she said unto me, cuz you don't wanna have an overbite when you grow up like your uncle john, cuz we didn't have this back then, or they couldn't afford it or some shit, but i think that a fair amount money, so i dunno know what the deal was, and my knowledge of history and technological devolopment of orthodontry is somewhat limited. anyways, my point is, my face has already been realligned against per presumed genetic predicaments, and then scarred as fuck from horrible horrible acne, in part caused by a bad diet of dairy during my adolescent years. so it's settle then, the only plastic surgery i will consider is gene therapy from stem cells that might one day reduce the scarring upon my ugly ugly face, for while scars are cool and do build character, i'm over it, not that i've really cared for most of the recent 8 or so years or whatever. anyway, the my original point was that the purpose is blog is not your enjoyment, not a retarded ass diary, not gossip about my silly friends and bitch about my dumb fucking jobs. it is for me to practice writing. and to make the time go by faster at the stupid jazz club, haha.

kristin hersh

kristin hersh is one of my absolute favorite songwriters ever. evidently from all circumstances, at the very least every other album she puts out is one of my favorites of the year of which i will listen much much much. the only other of my trad favorite artists who are as consistent in quality are sonic youth, i wish i could still say the same about frank black's solo work, but dog in the sand was his last great record.

anyway, my favorites by her are the first throwing muses record, though i still haven't absorbed it enough, but the songs vicki's box, rabbits dying, delicate cutters, and that god awfully gorgeous bloody scream of the lyrics on hate my way where the song just goes totally psychotic, that's some fucking shit.

house tornado is just such a rad record, it's probably the first one that i really got sucked into, mainly by the melodies, what's that song at the end of the first side, fuck i can't remember, but the guitar rhythm, gaa-dum-dum gaa-dum-dum, definitely my favorite way to play guitar, cuz i suck and it's easy, and it's so repertitively krautrock or some shit. oh yeah, run letter, thanks allmusic guide. seriously, i have like pretty much all of the throwing muses albums on vinyl, cassette, and cd, i'm that gay.

the real ramona is the shit, tho, fucking my favorite song is hook in her head, tho say goodbye is also a masterpiece of melody and a perfect chord progression of color. i'm really not drunk enough to be writing at all coherently, or with any inspiration. tragic really.

bright yellow gun was the song that got me into the muses, and i waited for months for columbia house to stock that fucking album, cuz they didn't have no fucking muses at the god damn wherehouse in lompoc. actually i first heard her stuff when she was on 120 minutes promoting her first solo record. i didn't really dig the single with michael stipe, but she did this live solo acoustic performance, and i was blown away by sundrops. my favorite song from that solo record is houdini blues.

limbo is another one i listened to all the time back when i was a freshmeater in college.

sky motel is probably my favorite of her solo records, maybe mainly cuz it doesn't sound so damn acoustic and is more electric, plus the production is so alive sounding. that song about eating pussy is some hot shit, and the way acoustic guitars sound, all rhythmic and bright and shit, was something i much tried to emulate at the time.

the songwriting on the throwing muses reunion record is also one of my favorites, and i listened to album hella lots for months on headphones while working some dumb ass data entry job.

50 foot wave is just the total shit, really it's all in the drummer, the new ep kinda sux cuz the guitar and drums aren't loud enough, but golden ocean and the first ep blast hella proper in my shitty corolla.

wish i could write better.

onwards towards our doom

i can't wait to not have to be at the jazz club 4 nights a week. having tuesdays and wednesdays off is gonna be so wonderful. perhaps i might accomplish more than the drinking and laying around and such that i tend to only on fridays saturdays and sundays. oh yeah, and all the spending of my apparently disposable income. i'd have ideas if i had time to have ideas, really, i say, really. perhaps i could even have time to practice the drums, or read the instruction manual to that damn keyboard i bought.

celebrity gossip

some things i learned at the office today.

we're doing some event on saturday at the great american music hall. it's some kind of secret show or some shit for john fogherty, formerly of creedance clearwater revival, u know, back when he was a relevant rock star. i haven't heard anything solo that he's done past 1986, but i remember centerfield as being kinda bland, and that eye of the zombie follow-up record was just silly looking. glad i didn't pay mroe than a dollar for either. anyway, in addition to 1999 and 2000 year wine, gatoraid, arrowhead bottled water, and odwalla juice, let's take a look at some of the other items on our fortunate son's rider:

3 pounds of pretzels
6 red bulls
1 jar strawberry jelly
1 jar raspberry jelly
1 jar peanut butter
2 pounds of trail mix
3 pounds of mixed candy in a big ol' bowl

also, there must be ivory soap and candles and shit. christina aguilera and tom cruise ain't got nothin' on this shit!

so the ladies were discussing sharon stone also today at lunch. turns out the head princess knows sharon stone's best friend or some shit. remember that aneurysm she had a copy years ago? well it turns out that what really happened was that she passed out on a treadmill and ended up at the hospital, and uh at some point someone said, oh maybe it's an aneurysm, and that's the big story the public got, but really it wasn't shit, and she just played it for attention.

finally i mentioned to one of the cool kids here that i was going to see ladytron, and she was like oh yeah, my dj friend parties with ruben (the kinda cute asian one) whenever he comes to town to dj, they always do like a lot of blow.

fascinating, simply fascinating stuff, no? fuck, i feel like fucking wonkette.

nihilistic thoughts

so i'm grossing around $217.50 today, working about 14hrs at my two dumb jobs combined. i keep telling myself this, that it makes it all ok, working 14hrs, getting somewhat well fed at both my jobs in addition. we had a vegetable curry chicken thing at taste today for lunch. it was pretty tasty. here at the jazz club, patricia made me the cheese tortallini dish, it was kinda bland, and probably not good for my svelt figure, but whatever, i did not pay for such. i've had two beers and a shot of tequila thus far this night and have ever so righteously moved onto water, sparkling, in attempted to sober up and purify myself of the vileful alcohol of which i needed earlier to somewhat temper my lack of clarity towards minimalist sanity. seriously, i'm so ok, so ok tired, but not terribly.

this god damn bass player, he sings his fucking solos louder than his god damn bass amp. what the fuck is with people who sing tunelessly when they solo? is this performance based wankery? i've decided to become anti-performance, whatever that means. performance, the motivations, the schtick of it, the actorness, thespian of musicology, seems oh so un-punk rock. whatever. i suck at performance, perhaps. but what is with this vituousic need for performative self expression with respect to ones wankery? you are not prince. you are not sexy. he is excused. but it is all ok if the audience, or that person in the audience believes in it, is forgiving, believes in, has faith in the performer, wanting the performer to succeed. to manifest something? a value per the performative ticket, to the time of that which is spent witnessing the performance? much like ordering a large plate of food at an expensive, or not expensive restaurant, a denny's perhaps, you have paid for the product, you have incentive to enjoy and consume it. i saw fat, 45 years old at the time, robert smith play. i wanted him to be good, reincarnate ever so temporarily my high school memories of depressive angst, oh plz fat bob don't suck. i recall it was a good show. sure he was a dick afterwards, seriously diminshing his already diminished stature in relation to music that is important to insignificant me. but oh how i had faith and desire to enjoy the show, wanting it to mean something more. oh god, another fucking bass solo, we-dee weee, boo-dooo beeee! sick shit man. anyway, i wanted what meant something to me in the high school time of trauma to still be relevant to my life through fat bob's innoculous performance. did it mean anything? i remember that they played from the edge of the deep green sea with a slightly altered chord progression, that sounded cool. more ambiguously sounding with somewhat of a major chord present instead of the funeral minor from the wish record, somewhat recast as an uplifting dirge towards the ectasy of death, or some shit. it sounded green, like a deep green sea. oh the romanticism of this girl, mythical, flinging herself into the sea, this mythical unattainable love, heartache, the feeling i get from spirited away. i want a boy that turns into a river dragon, and we will fly away toward imaginative unattainable infinity. now that's hot.

so there's this customer here right now, a long haired asian boy from austrailia, a la brea (is that how it's spelled? oh i don't care) piercing, maybe a nose piercing too, i don't remember. even ali, the somewhat new anorexic hostest was like, damn he's hot. now this is a god damn river dragon boy, and he done come up to me to ask me, having been in the country and city of san francisco for only a mere couple of hours now, do i know of any clubs with perhaps r&b type live music? and i was like, no not really, cuz i always work and i like don't know shit, but haha, uh, hey coke head joshua do you know of any, and he's like, oh grant and green, great blues music all the time, and i'm like, yeah, go get a weekly, perhaps that would be of some help. so ali is like, oh he's really young, and i'm like, i don't care, i'd hella touch him all over. as of now i can somewhat see his figure in the darkness from across the room, perhaps more so if my eyes were not all un-dialated from staring into this computer screen. he is sitting with what i presume to be his parents. seemed straight anyways. ali was like, oh what if he is 18, or younger, 16 maybe, and i'm like, well most of the guys i've fucked around with have had the maturity of 16 yr olds, so it's all par for the course, who the fuck am i the care?

marriser, i miss u. bitch u don't myspace me anymore. maybe u decided that myspace was lame. i did, but i'm still on there. holding out for those sporadic moments for when a closeted arab boy might want to meet up and fuck me and then declare that he doesn't like the sticky gooey touch of cum, let alone the drama of sucking dick. but that was weeks ago! i really should start on my novel, aka my pathetic sex life.

digby rocks!

go read!! one of my favorite bloggers!

another week of doom

jazz club, monday night, blah. joshua loves it though, to him it's the best shit ever. that's cool, not really. kenny washington is singing with the band. he's about 4 ft 8" of something and he sounds like stevie wonder sometimes and skats like a motherfucker, so yeah, he can sing real good. still i'd so rather be at home. i've heard it all before and i ain't paying to be here.

so how did i waste my money this weekend? edward done picked me up from the stupid cafe to go to an after-hours party at just after 2am saturday night. he said he had some stuff, but then it was like, oh i need money, and i was like, oh nevermind. so we get to party, it's ten bucks, so that left me with three. drinks are five. the bathroom line going nowhere, sickly breeders everywhere, edwards says he's fucked two girls here, oh my god, no cute guys, well maybe one, he's kinda large, not fat, just a big built male, kinda cute, i accidently bump him with my pool cue stick thing, i'm so sorry, he's like it's all good, i can tell now he's bi, but ya know how it is, in a place like this, pussy is the priority, appearances, for sure. besides he's probably dirty, and really, is he at all my type or cute? his lips are a bit small, but he had pecs and an nice ass, just ever so bulbous upon his baggy psuedo sport type clothing. whatever. i'm outty. so i hit the atm up the street and blow another ten bucks on a cab. maybe if i had been more hella drunk or all coked up, or there had been more than three actual fags in attendance i might have had a good time. but no, a thwarted attempt at adventured that resulted only in twenty dollars wasted. hella stoop. and tommi was mad goes i done abandoned his drunk seemingly passing out ass back at the house.

we celebrated easter by ordering a pizza from nizarrio's. it was hella good. fuck zombie jesus day anyways. i had wanted to cook a leg of ham or something, but failed on the follow through, cuz all the damn store done close early or some shit for these stupid religious retards.

went to h&m today, and oh what disappointment that was. i guess it's cheap compared to the other retarded stores, but still more than i felt compelled to spend. i found some cool jeans there that tommi decided to get. now i regret not getting a pair too, cuz now i gotta go back.

the crazy pants i got last week at ardvarks are all fucked up now, cuz all i did was wash them. turns out the color was printed on or some shit, not dyed, and when was in warm water, the shit is now hella streaky and faded, not that there was a tag on this shit or anything. so how the fuck do i salvage this $30 investment. oh the bitterness. oh the goddamn money wasted. fucking sux. i'm thinking red dye and spray paint, but that could all be more disasterous. i really oughtta be making my own clothes or something. me and tommi really need our own tailors, like prince. my epiphany in h&m today, which i believe i have had before is that i must open a clothing store of girls pants for boys, cuz goddamnit, the girl's pants are ALWAYS SO MUCH COOLER! it is not reasonable nor fair. i do not want to dress like an uninspired faceless american male. i want flambolance and flair. and i want some motherfucking yellow pants. though purple velvet would be my first choice, cuz yeah.

i'm so terribly bored

so here i am on my evil blog again, typing away on a keyboard i can't even see cuz it's too fucking dark and i'm kinda buzzed from the red wine i've been drinking all night. but it's only been 2 glasses of pinot noir over a three hour period, perhaps when combine with the nautious music, an inability towards coordination is manifested.

sometimes i wish i was a japanese tourist. a cute couple just walked in, the guy is really quite hot, though i suspect if i got a closer inspection my assessment my decrease somewhat in relation to his potential dork factor. i can hear the female talking right now, her voice is reedy - i suppose that's as good an adjective as any, it is not pleasing, but it is not displeasing in a high pitched stereotypical way, more mid range to her timbre.

oh the lament of the 13 plus hour day. sure i net $200, but is it worth it to have no life. perhaps i could do food service at a posh restaurant and make more, but oh how i despise serving and the fake-itude associated with such. oh the horror of once working at a denny's. i had to answer the phone today at my god damn dumb job number one, it fucking sucked. EVERY time i got up to something, the phone would ring, and it didn't ring that much, but always in inapporitune spurts, and managing two calls at once, a bitch, especially with some of the bitches i work with. i mean most of the people at taste are really quite very cool. there are really one or two that somewhat irritate me with their condescending attitudes of bougeous entitlement. but oh to be the head mistress's assistant, i suppose acting like a cunt occasionally is really part of the job description. and i suppose it's really to my benefit to perceive someone else in the office almost as lazy as me, asside from the receptionist, of whom i was temporarily filling in for. though i must concede, her job most definitely does suck. really! answering the phone all day fucking done been pissing me off. additionally i be the master of multi-tasking, thus i be performing jamaica's job as well as mine for the duration of the day, all of course to only minimal notice and appreciation by my big mean boss, although aside from a few choice moments, he was not too much of a dick to me today.

so here i be at the jazz club, joshua is spinning waiter trays on his fingers again, incessently like kareem abdul jamaal, only without the fucking basket balls. i always get a particular child recollection at such moments, from about first or second grade, some kid who could spin a basketball on his finger much to the amazement of all the children, a feat render all to impossible for my fragile finger, for were not those basketballs ever so heavy? even now, not a task i might embark upon, for my elongated digits of useless musical virtue are ever so materialistically of utmost importance to my person. why i recall the now horrors of spraining fingers in middle school and high school PE classes, oh the horror, the horror. such childhood tortures of which i was forced to endure, and to what ends? did i ever gain any atheletic appreciation let alone learn anything of value? no, only but to be endless taunted and perhaps near sodomized for being a glorious motherfucking faggot. fuck the folly of my desire to rise forth through the public school system via brainwashing from televised programming. all a bunch a bullshit. but oh the character. really, imagine the negative bitter bitch queen i might not have become.

we are all doomed

it won't stop raining cuz the environment is totally fucked and the fake president wants to drop nuclear bombs. read this at billmon. we are fucking doomed.

so i spent $200 on my day off

yesterday was my day off, it was pretty good. i had a LONG week working my dumb fucking jobs, but got to cap it off by going to a party for my work @ the catering company. it was a 60th birthday party for one of the owners, and so me and tommi went and got hella drunk and ate lotsa food. i hadn't had ribs in years, but i think i picked a good night to make an exception. we were freaked out about who we were gonna sit with, but then by chance we ended up at the table with Susana and her husband, Roger i think was his name. anyway, she is one of my favorite people at the stupid catering company, so cool. they asked us about how we met, and i was like, oh i was on mushrooms, and she's like, oh our daughter was conceived on mushrooms. anyway, the only thing that sucked was that we missed out on having dinner with mikey and his mom that night, but i kinda had to make a choice, and i went for the free food and booze at the lush as fuck log cabin. i also got to see one of my other favorite people from taste that night, robin, who quit about year ago, she's awesome. i miss her a lot.

anyway we went out after that, to the cafe and it was kinda dumb. we had picked up tommi's friend dan, who later i guess was all weirding out my roommates a bit, oh well. anyway, at the stupid cafe we met up with mikey, met his new hot boy, and with them was some other god damn drop dead gorgeous lil' thing, good thing the left to go to sucky n'touch before i could say anything too stoop.

anyway, back at the house i passed the fuck out cuz i was full of booze and food. i woke up at some point and got up to go piss. later on i woke up again and realized that my room possessed more than just tommi's light snoring. i look over and i'm like what the fuck is tony doing passed out in the room? how and when did he get here? so i'm like tommi, hey tommi, what's tony doing here, and he's like that ain't tony, that's dan, and i'm like, god damn, i'm wandering around all butt ass naked in front of fucking dan whilst he be sleep, like oh shit, gross. haha, but anyways.

so i awoke way later to them both all gone and decided to go fucking shopping, cuz it was my god damn day off. so i made my destination the haight, and my first stop Ardvarks or whatever it's spelled, in search of some crazy pants i'd seen there previously, but that they lacked in my size. lo and behold they had an abundance of the particular pants of which i was in search of, and perfectly a size that fit me well. these motherfuckers are some multi-colored pastel checkered diamond mo-fos, my drunk ass roommates said it made their eyes hurt when i spinned around in them, so yeah, the only thing that would make them cooler would be more of a bell bottom type effect, but for $30 i was pretty pleased. so now i gots 3 pairs of hot pants acquired from that store, all done specially made by someone most definetly fabulous.

i headed on down the street to crossroads, buffalo exchange, and that other place with the meat locker. anyway, i acquired a plain short sleeve button shirt, and one of them hipster fake punk leather belts with the double row of metal square horizontal diamonds. a full outfit for $50, mission accomplished! so onwards and forwards to spend way too much money at amoeba.

i done got the new morrissey cd, and while i must say that the bonus dvd was some bullshit, that record itself is fucking gorgeous, the only song i'm not so hot being the single. but that second song, dear god please help me, onmygod, that song is fucking beautiful. listened to that record all last night, quality quality stuff. the motherfucker is singing with some real passion these days, it's hot.

anyways, i also scored hella cheap vinyl copies of siouxsie and the banshees first record, my second favorite by them, and husker du's flip yr wig, which i heard for the first time today. i also picked up the new dfa remix cd and the 50 foot wave ep that just came out. the dfa remix cd is some hella hot disco shit, i like it. the 50 foot wave record isn't as rockin' as their other stuff, sounds more like the muses, it's less aggro and loud, more angular. angular is good direction for them to head in, but the loss of intensity is disappointing, it's like the songs would sound better if they were just bumped up ten or twenty bpms. they had some fool named mudrock produce it, and i ain't familiar with him, but they should stick with the guy who did the first two records, cuz that shit is mixed hella thick and proper. maybe it'll sound better in my car tho, gonna make a new mix with the new ep.

so later on me and tommi and daniel went to dinner, my treat, cuz i'm such an awesome guy, to the sausage factory. it was hella good. came back, the straight boys were hella drunk at this point. the had already gone through a 750 of tequila and were now onto a pint of absolut. they was watching the original cape fear, i sat through about 30 minutes of it, seemed pretty quality, but me and tommi crashed out before it was over. fucking hell though, i woke up this morning with a text message from stephanie downstairs saying that the music was too loud from about 1am that night, and i was like, bitch, what the fuck am i supposed to do with a text message when i'm sleeping. well, bitch finally decided to call the landlord and complain about the noise, bless her heart. of course, I'M THE ONE THE LANDLORD CALLS! so i ignore her first two phone calls, but then the third time i answer, and she kinda innocently lectures me all little old lady like as if anything she is saying is gonna have any effect on the alcoholic behavior of my roommates, the offending parties in question, and i'm like, yeah, uh huh, ok, i understand, yes i know, hey about you give them a call, cuz really the issue is with them, yes i know we all gotta work and shit, yeah, tell me about, don't care, yadda yadda. so i call up nick, and i'm like dude, deal with this situation, and he's what, i can't watch a moving in my living room? and i'm like hey, i'm absolving myself from the situation, cuz yeah, you oughtta be able to watch a movie, and lil' stephanie oughtta be able to sleep, cuz lord knows that the girl's gotta go out lawyering in the morning.

so that's my weekend, except friday night we went and saw Slither, which was the fucking bomb ass shit, especially with a bottle of jameson. i had a blast, i gives it motherfucking 9, cuz it was some quality comedy gore horror made my a guy with troma cred. a classic for the ages!

another $400 gone

away to my evil corolla. my starter died. sucked. shall my credit card debt ever be overcome? i'm working so damn much, and still not getting anywhere, or i am, but i don't have any time to do anything. iz lame.

here we are

oh wretched chanteuse of open mic night, why must thy mediocrity torment me so? this is bullshit. the fucking night started off here at fake jazz land with 2 people in the audience. obviously somebody is doing something wrong, i.e. the owners. bossman little man, i discovered, in the last period of managing, earned a wage of 25 dollars an hour, lil' napolean done logged 115 hours over a two week period, amounting to almost $3000 in net. fucking hell he worked 115 hours at this damn jazz club, yeah fucking right. this place is shit.

vote westly

cuz angelides' stupid fucking party planner can't get her god damn shit together. tomorrow at my dumb job numbah 1, we be catering a fund raiser for angelides, and like a week ago, the numbers were at 400 people, but then they went down to 325. but then all day today, damn bitch be calling up mags the event designer, and first goes to 340, then an hour later, 355. then once everything is straightened out with the fucking rentals and paperwork, all bullshit that I had to do, the damn bitch has the nerve to call back and say, oh, we're gonna need to go to 375. fuckin' cunt, yeah sure i got 45 minutes of overtime, but fucking shit, i do need a break every now and then, don't i? ended up going straight over to dumb job numbah 2, and here i be, well on my way towards gettin' drunk, cuz fuck it, i'm grossin' over $200 today.

did my fuckin' taxes yesterday, fuck the god damn federal government for trying to take more money from me. fuck that shit, and fuck that war. i had no problem cutting a check to the CA state taxes, cuz I know that goes to something actually useful, but fuck them federal taxes, all subsidizing corporation and rich motherfuckers. fuck that shit. ain't getting no more of my money, i'm a strugglin' musician, right...

looking to purchase one of them line6 pod xt thingys, cuz my girl jaye in LA was like they the shit, so i'm torn as to whether or not to get one of the pod things or a live type one for a hundred bucks more. also trying to score the shit off ebay at like 2/3rds the price. not that i would ever have time to use it though. another 60 hour week this is gonna be, and my poor little drummer is sick with what i done had last week, oh the tragedy of it all!

drunken adventures post sickness

so saturday night was totally lame. i spent $26 and all i got was one corona. fucking dumb. i went to n'touch with mikey and mike, and it was boring. all we did was stand around in the vanilla cornor, and the boys there weren't even particularily cute. whatever. so i like was like fuck it, i'm taking a cab back home, even tho i should have just fucking walked down the street to check out the party at gangways. oh well, next time.

so sunday was weird. spent like $30, but i did like 6 drinks throughout the course of the evening. went out and met up with this half egyptian and spanish (i'm not mexican, he had to make very clear, stupid...) guy who done found me on myspace and wanted to kick it, and i was like, ok whatever, you seem kinda cute. he was in fact pretty cute with his beany on and baggy clothes and what not, (underneath the clothes, ehh not so much). but his crime was alas being somewhat boring. he didn't drink and doesn't do any drugs or nothing, so i basically was like, well i'm gonna drink, cuz i been sick all week, this my day off, and yr kinda weird, so i need some booze to loosen me up. cue daniel, i call up pretty roommate to potentially come rescue me, and he shows up mad quick at the fucking cafe, so we do a tequila shot together, and daniel is like, well the guy is ok, but why the beany? is he hiding a receding hairline? and he's boring. and we come to conclusion that we must him to the dance test. which he fails. anyways, i decide to stick it out and see what happens and daniel returns home to his beloved final fantasy x. anyway, i decide to haul the boy back to my place, and he turns out to be boring in other ways too, but i suppose i was somewhat entertained, i guess. anyway, after kicking him the fuck on out of my house, i'm like, daniel let's go out again, but he's like fuck that, it's raining, i got wet already for you once, i'm staying here and getting my power-up thingys for my game characters. so i call up mikey and meet him the sadlands. but mikey is feeling a bit demure and lathargic, unusual for him, i suppose, so i kick it for a bit there and at the bar, and eventually figure fuck this shit, a desparate situation of which i reckon i oughtta escape, so we both call it a night. i return home, daniel is still on that damn game, i pass out on the couch momentarily, and awake later to proclaim fuck it, i'm fucking going to sleep.

all this and i could have been working on music instead, and still have $50. i'm a damn fool, so much for living life.

regarding the atrocities

i have yet to confront my two roommates about last thursday night, as bildo was awol, but he said that the lil' russian was all to blame for the mayhem and that he was merely trying to contain the situation and behavior, certainly not taken amusement at any of it, of course. right. anyway, the house was cleaned up, but i am unsure how much of this was done by the lil' russian.