Let’s Start With a Bang

Lately, I’ve been singing to myself…
I  d o n’t  w a n n a   be here no  more.”

October is over, a month that made me wax and wain with a purpose. A purpose I’m still trying to figure out as there is a goofy sideshow election going on that perfectly represents what this country, like myself have become. Divided.

I’m divided in half like a bi-polar nightmare and I don’t know if I keep challenging myself to see how far I can go, or if I keep making the same mistakes because I know it’s a challenge I can win. I started with a bang seven months ago and blew up my world by moving to a city I haven’t lived in since fucking George W. Bush stole the election in 2000.

I got a job that pays me well, and pays me benefits. I found a great apartment, some cool friends and a pretty girl and I loved that I loved everything in my life until it all stopped reciprocating that love to me right before the short lived summer of Seattle, 2016.

It makes me wonder… was it really love at all?

Maybe it was infatuation that changed my world and turned me upside down. Maybe it was the start of something new, and the journey to get to the destination that once I got to, I subtly started questioning if I really wanted to be there. It was obvious by my actions, so naturally those actions have caused me to question the reaction I’ve been having to my troubled, self inflicted life. Maybe I don’t know what I want, and maybe that’s ok.

What if instead of living a bi-polar life, I am living a world of multiplicity as I’m pushed and pulled into half a dozen different scenarios in my mind. Jesus Christ was NOT perfect, and neither am I, but I don’t think it’s wrong to be a saint and sinner simultaneously, just like him.

I came back to the west coast last week with the option to leave early, but since those first  72 hours have past me by, I’m starting to think that maybe I need to slow my roll and give it a chance. Maybe I need to stop trying to blow up my life and start trying to piece it together through finding out what I want, a little bit at a time through observation, and the patience to see it through to the end, or the beginning depending on how I look at it.

After all, I spent 13 years in that God awful place they call L.A. and I didn’t sell my soul for anything less than a million dollars of my own self worth that comes in the form of credit card which I don’t really care about anymore. It’s not real, it doesn’t really matter, and really the only thing that I can do is take a deep breath, maybe get a little artificial sunlight and go out there and live my life and discover what it is that comes next. I got to admit, It’s kind of exciting that I can still be this much of a free spirit in the summertime of my life.

For awhile I’ve been singing to myself
I  d o n’t  w a n n a   be  h e re  no  more”

…but I’ve been flowing like a samurai and stinging like a butterfly. Now I don’t feel the need to blow up my life again, but I do love the excitement, so for better or worse, let’s start with a bang.



Broken Glass, Sticky Ass

In an effort to write at least two blog entries a week, I have decided to go back 10 years and see what I wrote about on October 8th of 2005.  I found this blog from the MySpace chronicles dated October 13th, 2005.  I think that date is close enough.

I remember when this happened. I was frustrated because I had just broke my coffee pot, a wine glass, and THEN spilled an entire bottle of diet coke on myself within the same hour as it fell from my hands, and onto the floor where it erupted into the air and  all over my stuff as it cascaded down my face, my white t-shirt, my kitchen cabinets, and the rest of the floor of my extremely efficient studio apartment in Hollywood.  

When annoying and awful things like this happed to me, I just keep trying to convince myself that it means something good was about about to come my way, which is why everything else is going haywire. This may have been written 10 years ago this week, but some things haven’t changed.  I still break things made of glass by accident, (or in the case of THIS most recent blog, totally and completely on purpose) I still drink coffee and diet coke daily, and I still have a PMA.  If you don’t know what that acronym stands for, chances are you probably don’t have one.

Also, remember Tom from MySpace? He used to be the shit. Now that dude is like the poor man’s Mark Zuckerberg, but with a lot more money than me.


(Originally posted October 13th, 2005)

Before I could do anything, I was covered in DC, and the 2 liter bottle that fell awkwardly to the floor had sprayed my entire bathroom with the same carbonated and aspartame full soft drink that will probably end up giving me stomach cancer.

I spent a good twenty minutes wiping off the sink, windexing the mirrors, and using my once white t-shirt to wipe down each one of the thirty-three items I have sitting on my makeshift sink basin that are now dripping in soda. This was the final straw.

I guess it seems funny now that I think about it, but just a half hour prior to this explosion of caffeine, I had knocked over my coffee carafe which shattered into 83 pieces on my carpet. Thank God I bought that dustbuster last month or I’d be picking out shards of glass from my feet, my hair, and my cat’s paws for weeks.

In an attempt to prevent any other forms breakage, I chose to finally clean the all the cups and mugs I have sitting next to my sink which also doubles as the “kitchen” sink…if I could call it that.

I had gotten 5 out of 6 glasses clean when I accidentally bumped my favorite wine goblet against the porcelain which hilariously shattered into the basin. Luckily it only cracked the glass and I was spared the tedious task of picking out pieces of from the sink.

But, by the time the diet coke erupted like a volcano in my apartment and sprayed a stream of soda which I just now realized reached the screen of my computer, I found myself  gulity of screaming “FUCK!”  as loud as I could as the soft drink dripped down my face like beads of sweat on a hot and humid summer day.

So knowing me and my belief that everything that happens is a way of life manifesting some other unseen reason, I couldn’t help but think that these three things are in some way connected and as silly as this may seem to non believers, I believe it means more than I just had a clumsy or unlucky night.

I’d like to believe that every shard of glass represents something glorious that is about to happen to me. I’d like to believe that this is life’s little way of preparing me for the next stage, and I’d like to believe that someone so un-accident prone like myself has 362 good days a year and maybe a few where I feel a little off-balance like tonight.

To be totally honest, I do believe those things and to be totally honest I have been laughing at myself all night as my once white, but now stained t-shirt hangs on the bathroom towel rack as I continue to find dried drops of diet coke in the oddest of places.

I just hope I got all those shards of glass up off the floor.

currently listening to: