“You just do it. You force yourself to get up. You force yourself to put one foot before the other, and God damn it, you refuse to let it get to you. You fight. You cry. You curse. Then you go about the business of living. That’s how I’ve done it. There’s no other way.”

-Liz Taylor
(compliments of http://itsnotthatserious.tumblr.com/)

Scraped the bottom this week, but no permanent damage was sustained. The combo of circumstance, time of year, and general chemical imbalance due to excessive holiday partying has begun the perennial assessment that goes along with pulling out a new calendar. But rest assured, things are good. All of the things. Tonight is the obligatory work party, where some people drink that shouldn't, and some don't that should, and I'll undoubtedly wake up tomorrow needing to apologize to at least one entire department. 

Regardless, trying to stay mindful of Ms. Taylor's little white diamonds of wisdom.  Gotta keep living. 

Stay classy out there, and for fuck's sake take a cab. DUI's are decidedly not sexy.  




welcome to october.


no but really

This week has been a moderately-priced disaster, and I can't promise that one more straw of professional fuckery won't break this camel's back. BUT, that being said, I have Santa Monica, Big Lebowski Birthday Fest, and a visit from the parentals on the horizon. It's nice that even when it's bad, it's not that bad.

Yours in exhaustion,



I will never stop searching...

...for that one time when it is actually appropriate to tell a coworker to go fuck themselves.

I deal with days like today with the utmost professionalism and maturity - I write passive-aggressive emails, sigh heavily, openly play Bejeweled for all to see, pout in meetings, use big words for no other reason than to be condescending, question authority when I know I'm in the wrong, and mutter lots of comments on the topic of how such a successful company can be so full of ass-hats.

I am not what you'd call "proud" of Tuesday, July 19th, 2011.

But not every swing is a home-run, right? You go home, you cool down, and you remember that you're going to the Giant's day-game tomorrow on your work's tickets instead of actually doing your job.

Oh, and whiskey.

It helps too.

Don't let the man get you down,



nuptials and knives

I got a new knife last week.

To clarify, I did not go to the knife store with all my knife knowledge and pick out the latest in knife technology. I was a groomsman in a wedding, and we six gentlemen were gifted knives.

I very clearly have no need for a knife. I am not in prison, nor do I often work slaughterhouses / the docks / mafia hits. I am but a common urban homosexual, and I need a knife like I need pleated khakis. But the knife was part of a bigger lesson from my Idaho adventure.

The knife wasn't about me.

I have now been to a fair amount of weddings, but this one involved two of my dearest friends and therefore hit quite close to home. I see them usually once a year, and at the risk of sounding disgustingly corny, every moment I get to spend with them is a treat. But when you go to a wedding where the invited guests equal a quarter of their hometown's population, one on one time is an elusive goal.

Another groomsman that hadn't seen the couple for quite some time said it perfectly on our first night out. Noticing that I hung back when we all saw our buddy for the first time, he said "It's hard not to push everyone out of the way, isn't it? We all feel like we've earned a special spot in the moment."

When the groom asked me to be in the wedding, we were washing dishes after the engagement party on a snowy Idaho night, and he stumbled through the question in the anti-climactic way only straight guys trying to convey something important can do. It was not a particularly poetic moment, but it was ours, and therefore special to me.

During the wedding I did everything I could. I took the toasts while we adjusted our suspenders, I umbrella'd old people through the rain, and I helped the groom dry his pants when he had a wardrobe malfunction minutes before the ceremony. With the other fellow's words in the back of my mind, I did everything in my power to be the best groomsman possible.

During the reception, after the meal but before the cake, I found myself dancing next to the groom, and it was mutually decided that a piss break was in order. Being males in a red state, we bee-lined for the door and found somewhat-secluded foliage mere feet from where they'd taken photos earlier in the day. As a wedding's worth of alcohol emptied before us, I said -

"You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

And that's all I needed. To clarify, for this guy that's a fairly lengthy conversation. More importantly, I knew that him, and me, and the marriage, and the moment, and the people inside....we were all good. He probably would never give that instance a second thought, but for me it brought the peace I needed. The day was about him, and if he was good, then so was I.


I will probably never use that knife. But my friend gave it to me as a thank-you for standing beside him during what was arguably the most important day of his life, and for that I will always be honored. It was the best way for him to share his special occasion with us. That knife will continue to remind me that it's not about your life's place in the moment...it's about the moment's place in your life. Thankfully I was present for this moment, as it is one that I will truly never forget.



Smile. It's Friday.



mirror mirror

"The difference between how you look and how you see yourself is enough to kill most people." - chuck palahniuk


and nothing but the truth

I just spent fifteen minutes searching Facebook for one particular post I received over a year ago because I needed to jumper-cable some emotion. It worked. I am currently fine being ten pounds overweight except for the fear of ruining Zach and Kelsea's wedding photos with a double chin. At least twice a day I go on the Virgin America website and price out trips. I am only obsessed with Virgin America because flying them makes me feel fancy. I feel tremendous guilt for not exercising, not capitalizing on a creative outlet, and not going home enough. I am more torn up by realizing I control all of these choices. At twenty-five years old I'm still very much learning how to let go. I'm not sure I'll ever learn. For the first time ever I'm choosing to repeatedly see the same individual in social settings and it has nothing to do with sex. This terrifies me. I maybe lied about it being the first time. The terrified though, that's true. I want to try Zumba. I do not understand Excel spreadsheets, Youtube sensations, or anything regarding political unrest in the Middle East. I finally make enough money to fuck around, and it feels awesome. San Francisco may not be the greatest city on earth, but I'm convinced it's the greatest city for me. I want a dog but fear the commitment. See also: tattoo. I don't have insomnia but have a subconscious resistance to sleeping at night, leading to hours fruitless internet usage much like this. And porn. I am consistently reminded of how wonderful my life is, now more than ever. I miss a lot of people. I'm not sure what compels me to start, and alternately to stop, writing in any capacity.

And that is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Or as close as anyone realistically gets anymore.

How's THAT for an entrance back into the game?

Lovingly serving up slop since 2003,



hearts and shit

Not only did I lie alone in my bed in the dark on a Sunday night watching "Camp" on Netflix, but I also re-wound it to watch Vlad in the swimming scene at the end..........more than once. You don't even need to know this train wreck of a B-movie to know this was the most pathetic pre-Valentine's display of gayness in the history of time.

I did however double-check to make sure I wasn't an actual pedophile, and the actor was 24 even though he was playing a high school junior. So in my mind that makes it less creepy.

What's MORE creepy was I found his birthday when googling him to make sure I wasn't missing out on any questionable low-budget films he may have also made, including but not limited to any roles without pants.

And THAT'S how I spent my Valentine's Eve.

This post brought to you by the Committee to Make You Feel Better About Your Life In Comparison.


words to live by

I still want this framed above my bed. Got to figure out a way to make that happen


the problem

"So, what you're saying is that you have a problem that is totally your problem, but you'd like to find a way to make that problem my problem. But here's the problem, Newbie: it's not my problem."



wish you were here

Oh wait, I will be there. In twelve days. I'm even going to upgrade my flight so I can drink free champagne to excess 35,000 feet above the desert. And then, you know....glitter. And neon. And all sorts of delightfulness that I'll neither confirm nor deny takes place because the internets keep no secrets. This is why I wake up most Sunday mornings and fight with travel agencies on behalf of other people. Those lights. Right there.

Speaking of places I'm about to be:

See those buildings with the red roofs? Starting next month, I live in one. Fo' serious. If I can't motivate myself to run with all of that out my back door someone just needs to throw me off the bridge because I'd be a damn lost cause.

Of course this officially ends my time in Neverland, because as of this weekend I'm back to paying rent and champagne over the desert will become fewer and far between, but that's okay. Give and take as always. Plus I think writing that monthly check won't hurt so bad when I realize it's paying for a dream come true.

Speaking of dreams, it's night-night time. And a good week to all.


by any other name

Tonight there's an empty recliner. There's a bowling team with an incomplete roster, and a husband of 55 years with an incomplete life. A family without a mother, so on and so forth, you can list the absences for days but Rose isn't coming back to take her rightful place.

Last night was not any more or less special than usual. I worked, I drank, I danced. I took a muscle relaxer and listened to my boss describe a conversation she had with her dead husband through a clairvoyant. I don't remember falling asleep, and am not entirely sure we were alone on the floor of her shabby studio apartment.

It's weird how when you really love someone, you know even in one word when something is wrong. My mom left me a voicemail at 8:30am, and I rolled over to my boss with her dead husband maybe in the room, and said:

someone died last night.

Rose was not my grandmother. She was a loud Italian woman with a fondness for Indian casinos and a living room full of Frank Sinatra paraphernalia.

What she is now, is gone. For me, processing death is like speaking a foreign language - I do my best, but when all is said and done I'm certain I've missed the point.

She was not robbed of a full life, but that doesn't make it any easier. She was simply eating ice cream and then, she wasn't. I find myself wondering about her last words.

Rose didn't know my middle name, nor I hers. She was one of many people that made a cameo appearance in my life, but in her passing I find peace and turbulence, sadness at the loss but joy in the life. Mostly I find myself wondering.

Rest peacefully, Rose Carvelli. I hope you find Frank and say hello and he's everything you imagined. You were his biggest fan.

And you will be missed.


the sign of a good friend

They're always thinking of you:

"Gaggles of high school wrestling teams at SJC. I think I died and went to your version of heaven."

-text from AK



Although you may think that you are concentrating on your work, you're probably having a hard time preventing your thoughts from being carried away by the crazy schemes of your friends or coworkers. In fact, your attraction to the most outrageous ideas could actually be a reflection of your current boredom. Don't pretend that everything's fine if it isn't. Seek constructive ways to shake up your routine before you feel really stuck.

I've worked 14 hour days all week, and this comes up in my iGoogle. Woof.