Today has been full of dirty words. Not fun-dirty, like cooter or jizz. Words like "expectations," "prioritizing," and the dreaded queen mother of them all...."overdraft protection."
As you can gather, I've had better Mondays.
However, this weekend had some high points that make the days when life takes a dump on your chest decidedly more tolerable. For one, a younger brother from another mother camped out Friday night to audition for Last Comic Standing, so along with El Dondo I went to pay him a visit. And what moved me was that he knew it would mean taking a train to LA, walking across Hollywood, spending a whole day amongst painfully un-funny wannabes, sleeping in the rain, and ultimately standing alone on stage, showing strangers two minutes of what he holds dear to his heart, knowing deep down it would probably end with a quick dismissal. And he did it anyway. I won't even sit at home and submit my writing to unseen editors for fear of rejection. The kid has stones.
And I like knowing there's that sort of courage in the world.
After that El Dondo and I took our show on the road, cruising the Sunset Strip, winding through Beverly Hills and Pacific Palisades, down to PCH to greet the ocean, then back up the freeway through downtown. It was beautiful and calming and sometimes we chatted but mostly we listened, because the world around us had plenty to say. It was pointlessly important and worth every minute.
And I like knowing there's that sort of peace in the world.
And on Saturday night I drank too much...first time, of course. As I was in no shape to operate a toothbrush, let alone a car, Hinger took me to a combo burrito shop and donut store, open twenty-four hours for your convenience. And I don't know what exactly set me off, but he made me laugh....and it went downhill from there. I laughed until I had tears streaming down my face. Until I fell off the yellow plastic stool. Until everyone that frequents such an establishment at 2am set down their snacks and just stared at the gasping, squealing freakshow and the 6'7" man-ginger calmly munching a burrito next to him. I can't attribute exactly why, but I do know I haven't been that uncontrollably gleeful in ages.
And I like knowing there's that sort of happiness in the world.
I'm so broke my bank accounts have taken me out of the equation and just started bailing each other out. That's fine. On any given day I might be cowardly, or agitated, or sad, or all three. But the good stuff, it's still out there. Just gotta remember where to find it.
Namaste, bitches. Don't let the man get you down.