Jane, you ignorant slut*

I'm far too bored lately to only use this for posts of quasi-substance. Plus el bloggo has been a bit on the heavy side as of late. That being said, my current thought for this blustery Wednesday afternoon:

Is it weird that I want to make out with Seth Meyers, but only when he's doing Weekend Update on SNL?

Don't feel obligated to respond....I think I already know the answer.

May all your mid-week celebrity fantasies come true -


*It's a very old SNL reference. If you didn't get it, our friendship is on the rocks.


enough is enough; or, how may I service you?

I am employed. Commence excitement.

we're both so happy we could shit

It says a lot about my life that I reacted to the offer of part-time retail work as though the position came with unlimited travel, the Nobel Prize, and free sexual favors in the break room. It has none of those things. It does provide a name tag, a time clock, and the ever-present membership card that I must offer as the very thing to fill that inexplicable void in your life. In essence it's the exact same job I had at sixteen, just hocking a different sort of wares. Nothing flashy. Nothing fancy.

And I couldn't be happier.

I'm finally to the point where I care significantly less about being impressive, and goddamn it feels good. I can't proclaim to not care at all. That would be an exaggeration. But I'm 24, living in a garage, working part-time, and I can't help feeling like I'm getting somewhere special, in that "not all progress involves forward movement" sense.

You don't have to agree with me, obviously. But cards on the table? I feel like a majority of people in their 20's just fall in line with what we're told to do by the omniscient force that is society. You get a degree or two, start up that 401K, find love or something close enough, make spawn, buy a boat, hurry hurry run run run because if you don't check 'em all off by the time your number is up, you do not pass go and most certainly do not collect your 200 dollars.

And to that I say...meh.

Sure some of that is nice. Saving money is smart. Relationships are apparently swell, for some people anyway. However, I know these people. A lot of them, and you do too. The ones that are better off, insert finger-quotations, than me. And a majority of them just aren't that happy. They're happy enough, but that enough is what kills me the most. We've all settled for enough at one time or another, because of course it's better than nothing. Wanting more is scary. Change and uncertainty are scary. But nothing worth having comes easy. Fact.

My big risk is finally paying off, though I am savvy enough to know that's a matter of interpretation (see: broke, garage, retail). I realize that if tomorrow my graduating class was to publish a "Where are they now?!?" pamphlet, my little entry would not illicit gasps of envy and intrigue. And that's okay. I used to be far more judgmental, grossly so, but now? Do you take care of yourself and those who depend on you? Are you doing something that makes you feel fulfilled? Does it suddenly dawn on you at random times how great your life is? Then we're gravy. I don't care if that's happening in a tent or a townhouse, as long as it's good for you, it's good for me.

I guess as I meet more and more intriguing people in life, I'm realizing those who are happy, not enough, but truly happy, happy even when there's not a ton to be happy about....they're happy because they followed their hearts even when it wasn't impressive. When it didn't fit the preconceived mold. When they fucking winged it. And I respect that.

So here I am, occasionally working, always hoping, and never doubting. Things are good. It may not be impressive to others, but it's more than enough for me.

I was going to end on that, but I've been saving this nugget for a while and it seems an appropriate time to include it: (via)

Minimalists see life like this: either you can spend your money on stuff, or you can spend it on experiences. They have learned that stuff doesn’t bring lasting happiness or golden memories.

So they spend their money on living life. On seeing the world and building relationships with the people who live in it. At the end of your life, do you want a garage full of crap or a heart full of memories and friendships?



cash or credit

I spent five hours weeding today.

hat tip

This is what I do now. I weed. Actually, the weeding is a new thing. Most days I run a local path, passing geriatrics in sweatsuits, looking like they should have disintegrated decades ago.

The sweatsuits. Not the old people. That tissue paper-esque parachute material that was never a good idea.

Although I can't blame them. No need to be fashionable at noon on a Tuesday. All the good-looking and successful men are, ya know, working and whatnot. But I run all the same, because having a firm ass somehow reassures me that my entire existence isn't completely for naught.

After a run I'll saunter down to Safeway under the guise of groceries, but really leaving the house period is quickly becoming reason enough to shave one's balls. Really put that best foot forward. But that outing got old quick as I found that some people, for god knows what reason, still find it appropriate to write a check for groceries.

Get the fuck out. Get. The. Fuck. Out. GETTHEFUCKOUT. Who still does that? People in the 'burbs, apparently. In Hollywood, going to the store was practically a military exercise with all the forms of crazy you encountered. Here it's like a bad prime time sitcom, where people ACTUALLY stop and chat about what so-and-so went on to do after high school while blocking all access to the cereal aisle. Then they go and write checks for skim milk and cat food. And I die a little inside.

Weeds. Exercise. Food. Game shows. Resumes and cover letters and two references that are not members of your family. And on sneaking occasions, sixty seconds of existential crisis to the tune of:

and again

Forgive me for the lack of posts lately. My rate of inspiration is on par with my rate of income. Not to worry, however. The tides shall turn soon enough. Because,

you guessed it

Keep the faith, amigos -



melpomene and thalia

I wasn't the one to send this to Postsecret, but it's nice to know others are sailing in the same boat:

I've already had my scrambled eggs, and after watching half of a True Life (I'd relocate for love, natch) my food has definitely settled enough for me to proceed on to my planned run around the reservoir. Thing is, it's raining. Hard. And while I'm all for romping in the rain, I'm sitting inside a comfy house with two warm dogs spooning my thighs, wearing slippers I stole from a roommate years ago. Actually, upon further review I'm wearing sweats I stole from the same roommate as well. Weird, especially considering he's 6'7" and I maybe come up to his nipples, but size is of no relevance when it comes to comfort.

Not that that has much to do with anything. But if you're jonesing for another hit off the random pipe, the dogs have moved on and my thighs are now cold.

Ohhhhhh the comedy and tragedy of being unemployed. Happy mask or sad mask, doesn't matter much because no one can see you up there in the cheap seats, taking in life's drama as a weekday matinee because why the fuck not? You've got nothing but time.

That was my fancy way of saying other than an interview with The Cheesecake Factory at three, I'm what you would call available.

Comedy and tragedy. What I really should say is I need to be finding a rehab program for a family member, but that one-liner tends to silence the crowd. Instead I'm going to keep watching the rain; it's not providing answers, but it's also not posing more questions.

Final act? If the big Cheese doesn't want me, I could foresee a postscript involving tears on the third floor of the Walnut Creek Town Center parking structure, the exasperation stemming from this, that, and the other but mostly the other.

Ha...as I wrote that sentence, yet another email popped up:

Although we were impressed with your background and experience, we have decided to pursue other applicants who more closely reflect the requirements for the position.

And that was to haul my fancy-educated ass around as a pool boy. No joke.
Comedy and tragedy, how closely they live.


nothing good happens after midnight

I'm a massive life-suck for undertaking the biggest changes of my life in the past weeks and failing to riff on that in any way, but ya know...shit happens. Hopefully I'll be back on the wagon soon, but currently my words would leave an emo aftertaste, so instead I'm ordering up a vague sandwich, hold the details.

For the record, my life is awesome. Really and truly. I'm just having a rough weekend trying to help fight the demons of others when I'm already worn down from going five rounds with my own.

Keep calm and carry on I guess....we'll get through this. We always do.



queen takes pawn

There's nothing quite like hanging around old homos, and the best place to do it is at the Roosterfish in Venice Beach, CA.

Exhibit A:

my friend Jess - "...so that's the line I used on that hot lez over there. Too cheesy?"

me - "No not at all. I'd totally give it up if someone said that to me."

old gay bartender, without missing a beat - "By the looks of you, I'm guessing you've given it up for a whole lot less."

Yup. Got called out, and I loved it. Old gays are the best. Those bitches are tough as nails because they were gay before it was cool. Gotta respect your elders.

I have more updates and random thoughts I've been meaning to share, but this whole not-having-a-home thing is shaking up the routine a bit. Hopefully once I get a nap and a burrito in me I'll be back in the saddle.