cabbages and kings

2011-12-09T14:46:00.001-08:00

“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.

JH

fall-ing

2011-10-02T20:59:00.000-07:00

via

welcome to october.

no but really

2011-08-11T23:33:00.000-07:00

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,

J

I will never stop searching...

2011-07-19T20:52:00.001-07:00

...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,

J

nuptials and knives

2011-06-22T22:15:00.000-07:00

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.

TGIF

2011-05-27T10:42:00.001-07:00

Smile. It's Friday.

-J

mirror mirror

2011-04-26T22:52:00.000-07:00

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

and nothing but the truth

2011-04-18T22:30:00.001-07:00

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,

J

hearts and shit

2011-02-13T23:12:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-03T15:52:00.000-08:00

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

the problem

2011-01-30T14:28:00.000-08:00

"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."

-scrubs

wish you were here

2011-01-23T22:07:00.000-08:00

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.

-J

by any other name

2011-01-23T01:10:00.000-08:00

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

2011-01-19T13:43:00.000-08:00

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

horoscope

2011-01-06T23:11:00.000-08:00

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.

9

2010-12-30T00:05:00.001-08:00

Now that I'm back from Idaho, where I'm not fully convinced they even have internet...nine things about me.

- I've always wanted to have fun hair. Badly. But now that its days are numbered, I'm just happy to have hair at all.

- At one point or another of childhood I took swimming lessons, golf lessons, art classes, radio classes, and one day of vacation bible school where I cried so hard they gently told my grandma it was probably best I didn't return. Telling, very telling.

- I generally don't think about outer space because it weirds me out.

- The first song I ever karaoked was "Nothing Compares 2 U" by Sinead O'Connor.

- I feel ashamed when I admit that I don't know how to drive a stick shift.

- If I ever adopt a boy, I already have the name picked out.

- I generally despise movie theaters.

- Everyone makes fun of the way I pronounce "measure"...and I still don't know how my way sounds any different.

- The right shoe always goes on first. Not that I think it's good luck or anything. It just does.

10

2010-12-26T11:19:00.000-08:00

ten things for ten different people; you're so vain, you probably think this list is about you.

(1) I know you hated 2010, but I think it set you up for an amazing 2011. I have faith, and I know you do too.

(2) You are my favorite mistake.

(3) Vienna waits for you, by Billy Joel. Listen, and then listen again.

(4) I doubt I'll ever find a happiness like when we sit on the beach at sunset and talk about what we're thankful for.

(5) Thank you for calling my bullshit, amongst a million other things.

(6) Fly that freak flag, baby. Fly it high, fly it proud.

(7) Life by and large sucks from 21-23. It gets better. Promise. Hunker down and stay the course.

(8) You would never guess how much I look to learn from you.

(9) Ecclesiastes 3:1

(10) Do what you love, and fuck the rest.

last call for the bandwagon

2010-12-26T11:07:00.000-08:00

True story? I love this shit. It's masturbation into the cyberspaces (even more so than usual blogging), and hearkens back to the days of MYSPACE SURVEYS, and don't EVEN pretend like you weren't obsessed with them. Mine might not be in perfect succession, as I'm bouncing around the west for the next ten days with little to no internet, but it'll get finished. Thank you RC/RD/CC for the inspiration. I reserve the right to modify as I see fit, because some of these feel redundant:

Day 1 - 10 things you'd like to say to 10 different people

Day 2 - 9 things about yourself

Day 3 - 8 ways to win your heart

Day 4 - 7 things that cross your mind a lot

Day 5 - 6 things that you wish you'd never done

Day 6 - 5 people that mean a lot, in no particular order

Day 7 - 4 turn offs

Day 8 - 3 turn ons

Day 9 - 2 smiley faces that describe your life at the moment (author's note: yeah, no)

Day 10 - 1 confession

This is so much better than doing work, i.e. why I opened my computer to begin with.

double negatives

2010-12-22T19:34:00.001-08:00

I don't have much to say about the holidays.

Not in a Grinchy way. I still love me some Christmas. But I'm spent. I have a week's worth of beard and bags under my eyes. I haven't slept more than five hours in I don't know how long. There is a beautifully decorated tree downstairs, candles and fire lit, festive hors d'oeuvres and the casual chatter of a girl scout troop reunion, and I'm holed away upstairs, watching free porn clips while haphazardly packing for a ten day trip.

I'm not joking about any of that, by the by. Most notably the girl scout party and the porn.

I'm not not excited to go home. Home, and engagement party, and New Year's Bash. Don't take this the wrong way. I'm simply, as the French probably don't say, le tired.

I want no Blackberry. I want no schedule requests, I want no fake-pleasant-work voice, I want no movement, I want no nothing. I want to go to a forgotten beach with a book and Ziploc of the painkillers associated with a major surgery.

Not the little Ziploc either. We're talking freezer bag.

I'm not not happy. But I need a few deep breaths. Full time-out, charged to the home team.

I don't need to remember how perfectly absurd and wonderful my life is, because I think about it every day.

Forget the two front teeth....all I want for Christmas is more of the same.

And to me, it doesn't not make sense. And that's all that matters.

Merry Christmas,

J

less is more

2010-12-16T22:24:00.000-08:00

It was recently brought to my attention that I've been writing less and simply posting more pictures. Alright, true story. Part of it is the fact I now work fourteen hour days and effort above and beyond staying awake is monumental. Part of it is the natural ebb and flow of my forever-unsteady emotional expressions. And above all else, it's the fact I believe in less being more, and for the here and now a simple post seems to relieve more stress than a messy brain dump.

Por ejemplo:

On the homestretch...I need Christmas, an Ambien, and a few deep breaths.

Namaste -

J

delirious

2010-12-12T17:56:00.000-08:00

I had some.

It is now officially Christmas.

Game on.

Not you, Hugh Grant. You go home.

2010-12-11T21:15:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling the need to watch this movie, this scene in particular, and not just because it's seasonally appropriate.

hair today, gone tomorrow

2010-11-27T11:51:00.000-08:00

I got my hurrrrr did yesterday.

not exactly.

Continuing the 2010 trend of trying new things, I went to a real salon. The kind of place where they bring you beer, massage your scalp, and display spray-painted art on the wall that resembles a fancified vulva. This is a drastic departure from the processed plastic hell that is my typical Supercuts experience. Having had the same hair style since Clinton's first term, I thought it was high time to try something new.

I am not necessarily proud of the fact that my definition of breaking the mold is underwhelming to most. I rarely change my order, let alone eat somewhere I've never tried, but I am how I am. And I maintain that there are worse ways to get a thrill than walking a different route to work.

But back to the hair. In a complete departure from character, I just told the man to do something. Anything. I am about as hip as a tape deck, so my concept of what is currently cool should never be trusted.

So he did something different. Not multiple colors or layers by any means, but a noticeable difference. And I feel fun! And fresh! And I bought real product (although he didn't completely sell me on the necessity of a hair dryer)! Overall I'm quite pleased.

And a little ashamed I don't let go more often.

This has been my realization over the holiday break. Sometimes you just have to fuck it. I'm tired of "Ohdeargodbutwhatif..." So what? Hair grows back. Life goes on.

I spend too much money on good champagne for turkey day. But it was damn tasty, and I got to share it with some of my nearest and dearest. And after I type this, I'll probably never think about how much it was again. But I'll remember that it was good, and that makes it worthwhile. And that's all that matters. There's a vast, vast amount of things and places and people I won't get to experience before I die, for a variety of reasons, and I think that's true of everyone. Might as well try as much as possible, whenever possible. And if it sucks, you don't do it again. But at least you tried.

So I didn't hike Malaysia, or eat exotic roots, or tattoo stars above my hoo-hah. But I like remembering that steps, no matter are small, all move you in the right direction.

Lather, rinse, repeat -

just don't

2010-11-21T23:08:00.000-08:00

Rant nuggets, now 100% white meat:

-Do not assume that because you are Sally Sunshine at 6am that everyone else is too. I apologize, overly-exuberant middle aged couple, but I do not have a life boner over being at the Sacramento airport before dawn.

-Do not lose your shit at work. This is a big one, and I came dangerously close to violating my own rules on Friday. Instead, step outside, smoke the hell out of a Parliament, do your work, and get the fuck out. Then, by all means, lose your shit. But until you're a safe distance away, never let 'em see you cry.

-Do not make excuses. I for one smell that stink a mile away. Make an informed decision, stand by it, and if you were wrong, own up. I'm starting to think the entire world needs to grow a pair.

-Do not say there isn't time. There's always time if you make something a priority.

-Do not put so much as a Hershey's fucking Kiss in front of me, because I am officially pudgy. Balls.

- Do not forget to be thankful. Not just this week, every goddamn day. Fo' real.

WHEW.
That feels good.
Something more positive in the near future, promise.

Can I get a "hellz yes" for the short week?

-J

if I had hair, I'd whip it

2010-11-18T12:37:00.000-08:00

New green sweater = swag on.

goodnight moon

2010-11-17T00:56:00.000-08:00

you don't have to be alone to be lonely.

survey says

2010-10-05T22:12:00.000-07:00

OK, fine. I belong to a dating site. I don't pay for it, and I'm rarely on it after three lackluster blind dates. But seeing as how I'm currently in the sauce and most definitely ovulating, I took a damned "what kind of person are you" survey. And as much as I want to mock this, holy balls. Talk about on the money:

Lusty but indirect. Kind, but also using friendship as a means to sex. Oh, that feels gooood. You are The Backrubber.

We call you “The Backrubber” because you straddle that fine line between coming on to someone and just treating him nicely. Backrubs are just one example; you’d meet for coffee, or talk about books/movies, or even argue a little bit, all the while mostly preferring to screw.

Your indirect approach is not some evil trickery, but rather a result of your open mind. You’d enjoy either love or sex, but the latter definitely doesn’t require the former. While you are responsible and ambitious, you absolutely DON’T have uptight views on relationships. So ultimately, you just enjoy a man, and let things take their course. If he wants you, great. If not, that’s fine too.

Though you’re not thinking too much about Love at this point in your life, odds are, when the time comes, you’ll be very happy settling down. Your ideal mate is gentle and horny, just like you.

So screw me. Or don't. I'm fine either way.

-J

puppy love

2010-09-23T16:48:00.000-07:00

I've found the love of my life, and his name is Mr. Bojangles :

I had to do the awkward two-handed grip because at twelve weeks he's already a beast. But I do love me a fatty. WANT WANT WANT.

days like today, in fact

2010-09-22T11:43:00.000-07:00

Seriously though. I don't don the tiara for just anyone.

And this concludes today's rant.

hallmark my words

2010-09-19T00:44:00.000-07:00

I bought this greeting card today:

If you had ketchup packets in your glove box I'd have french fries on my floorboard. If you had an "I'm with Stupid" t-shirt, I'd have a pro wrestling hat. If you shouted "Yahtzee" at climax, I'd shout "Bingo." If you produced a television show called "America's Funniest Animal Attacks," I'd suddenly get mauled by a panda. What I'm trying to get at here is that somehow, someway, you and I just seem to be made for each other.

I'm going to tuck it away for now, but I think it was a solid purchase. Hopefully one day the Yahtzee to my Bingo finds it as poignant as I do.

the question no one likes to ask

2010-08-31T23:06:00.000-07:00

Actually, the question isn't the problem. It's the answer that we seem to fear most.

a break in the clouds

2010-08-12T16:22:00.000-07:00

Today. Outlook calendars and room reservations and cancellations, and cancellations, and cancellations, an entire company simultaneously shitting its pants.

I am a balloon days after the party.

However, you're never given more than you can handle (no, honestly) and now life is coming down off its eight-hour high. Several deep breaths and muttered threats later, I came across this:

And while I can't shed clothing just yet, I took the message to heart. Back to work, smile in place.

Get naked and do your thing -

J

the city of angels

2010-08-08T13:34:00.001-07:00

Oh LA....you're a filthy bitch and I love you in the kind of ways that require a safeword.

Everything in moderation, including moderation.

Peace and love and sand and Del Taco,

uh-oh

2010-07-29T22:42:00.000-07:00

Byron's post (motivation, not content)

2010-07-21T22:30:00.001-07:00

I didn't know the right way to come back. I disappeared for two weeks and now here I am, tail between my legs. How to ease back into your life....something poignant? Something relevant? Begging for forgiveness? Acting like nothing happened?

No. To break the shitty-blogger ice, I give you this:

Now lest any panties get into a wad, this is of course not a personal statement. If I were actively doing blow I'd be a size 2 and the most couture bitch on the block. No, it just REALLY makes me laugh, so clearly it earned feature placement in this, the blog post long overdue.

Thanks for not giving up on me. More inappropriate, random, and ultimately pointless musings coming soon.

hugs not drugs -

J

then and now

2010-07-05T20:48:00.000-07:00

Five months ago, I wrote this.

It's weird to me because I vividly remember that day. The rain, the phone calls, the holy-shit of it all. And now here I am, fast-forwarded almost five months to the day and everything is indeed OK. I just put my new first day of work outfit in the dryer, a hot little J. Crew pant and button up combo that screams professional-homo-in-the-big-city. It will be worn with my new backpack. Satchel? Sack for my shit. REI calls it an"urban sling" but that's a little too swishy even for me. This whole commute thing is new to me, so I needed a trusty sidekick for my train/bus/walk extravaganza that comes with living opposite a large body of water from one's place of employment.

I don't really know what I want to say. It's surreal. The move, the living arrangement, part time work, now full time work, San Francisco, etc....I'd say happy ending, but it's still one giant beginning. The major lessons have been gallons of patience, oceans of optimism, and finding that delicate balance between working to accomplish and letting fate do its thing. It's been good. Real good.

But I'm trying hard to keep this in mind as well:

I have lots of awesomeness happening. More than most. But as quickly as it arrives it can depart, so the focus is on acknowledging and enjoying every aspect of my current good fortune.

Take some time to appreciate this week.

Also, please send positive vibes so I get on the correct bus. I'm still moderately inept at public transit.

Thanks, Friends -

J

life happens

2010-07-02T22:29:00.000-07:00

"toddler bikini" should be the name of a band

2010-06-24T11:26:00.000-07:00

I've spent the last two shifts at work clearance-tagging toddler bikinis. I must somehow make it through one more marathon shift tonight, and then, freedom. Granted, freedom begins with a five hour drive through agricultural nothingness at the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow, but that drive does not involve a red pen or any item in size 4T, so a vacation it shall truly be.

I'm brimming with goodness. There's job potential, it's officially summer, LA is figuratively (and will soon be literally) on the horizon, and Landon fuckin' Donovan proved that he needs a wheelbarrow to haul his gigantic red white and blue balls around South Africa.

Not actual blue balls, I'm sure. I'm guessing somewhere around 73% of Americans would sleep with that man right now.

Now get out there, position your junk in front of a swimming pool jet, and enjoy yourself some summer.

-J

the longest day of the year

2010-06-21T21:03:00.000-07:00

Back in the days when my my bed alternately sported Ghostbusters and Ninja Turtles, my family, still a cohesive unit at that point, would take yearly trips to Disneyland. Not yearly as in every year, but often enough that I can't readily distinguish between visits.

As these trips would approach, I would become the typical child I rarely was- should I get Chip or Dale's autograph first? Would we swim in the pool every day? And no, I can't clean my plate because how could one think of eating when Peter fuckin' Pan is so close I can practically feel the breeze as we fly over London?

I'm fairly positive I didn't actually say fuck. And my parents never made me clean my plate. But you know. Generalizations.

My dad was consistent in addressing my overwhelming anticipation, much to my elementary dismay.

"This moment is the best of the whole trip. Before you know it, it'll all be over, and it'll be a good time but nothing will get you quite as excited as dreaming about what could happen."

That's not verbatim. I still had a gap in my teeth, and with the understanding that twenty years have passed and me currently being two nightcaps deep, that's the gist. You get the point.

Generalizations.

The most brilliant moment in your life still won't make your heart race like it did when you imagined it the day before.

And that's not a bad thing. But as adults we learn that this is a double-edged sword. Anticipation is a magical feeling, but if allowed to manifest without restraint, even great experiences are followed by an asterisk even if you'd never in a million years admit it's there.

It was great, but...

The key is to separate the excitement and the expectation.

Tonight, the longest day of the year, I am signing a non-disclosure agreement. I'm double checking my driving directions, and trying to find matching dress socks without holes in the toes. Not that I anticipate having to take my shoes off, but just in case. I'd die of humiliation if I looked like the bumpkin that couldn't afford decent socks. I don't have a job interview tomorrow. I have the job interview - the one that would validate my degree, the one that doesn't have a downside, the one that would allow me to order an appetizer without thinking twice about whether it was a special enough occasion.

Generalizations, but more true than not.

That kind of a job interview.

And I'm excited. But after a handful of fool-me-once occasions, I'm cautious on the expectations. Tapping the breaks, here's the truth as it stands: I have a job. I have a bed. I have people that love and support me. And after the handshakes are released and the "describe a time when you overcame adversity" situations are addressed, my life will go on. And it's exciting to think about new responsibility, new experiences, and making actual money. But it's just that, a thought. An expectation.

This weekend I'm driving to LA to see a smattering of Best Friends, capitalization intended, and everything will be perfect because I expect nothing and am excited for everything. Maybe we'll embark on the sort of ridiculous booze-fueled adventures that we'll bring up at each others weddings. Or maybe we'll just sit and talk for hours, making the same jokes that continue to prompt laughter no matter how many times they're repeated.

It's about separating the excitement from the expectations.

A lot could change tomorrow. Or nothing could change at all. Generalizations, but either way on this, the longest day of the year, I'm sure as the sun finally sets that it will rise again tomorrow. And regardless of what happens, I don't feel foolish for expecting more good things just over the horizon.

weekend warrior

2010-06-13T22:15:00.001-07:00

Last night, i.e. the same Saturday night when millions nationwide met socially for all sorts of week-ending debauchery, I got off work, took the train home, warmed up one of those skillet-meals-in-a-bag, and then watched HGTV while eating an unacceptable amount of makeshift microwaved s'mores. The night before that I got off work, took the train home, and watched an MSNBC special on San Quentin prison. I had Eggo waffles with a whiskey diet for dessert.

Conclusion: I need to (a) have the sort of drought-ending sex that requires stretching and a signed waiver, or (b) be taken out behind the shed like Old Yeller because there's simply no hope left.

At this point I think either option is completely justified.

Here's to living the high life -

J

just because it sounds good doesn't make it healthy

2010-06-09T22:07:00.000-07:00

A certain song found its way on the radio this morning, and suddenly this quote became relevant:

“There is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these lovable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable.

The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.”

Chuck Klosterman

How trite, I know. A song, never our song because there was never a we, but a song all the same, background to a cheesy montage of unrequited god-knows-what. But you can't un-feel. So the song will occasionally appear, I will play a rousing round of what-if, and he will win. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Want more sad-sack? This morning I was turned away from Happy Donut because after digging all the change from my console I was still twenty-five cents shy of my requested chocolate bar, no filling. This shanty sells hard-boiled eggs in a basket next to the register, and suddenly I'm the pathetic one. No donut, no lover, just an empty-handed walk back to where things don't always go our way.

Oh well...the person or the snack, it's likely both would have left me unfulfilled.

Here's to eventually getting the good stuff -

J

true divas never die

2010-06-03T10:25:00.000-07:00

Rue McClanahan has left the building.

one fierce bitch

Why do I care?

Rue McClanahan = Blanche Devereaux, patron saint of late 80's booze and lust
My drunk alter ego since 2004 = Blanche St. Patience, an ardent fan of booze and lust

There is your dot-connection. This is why she gets a dedicated post, and Gary Coleman does not.

I hope she's up in heaven with Bea Arthur and Estelle Getty, sitting around the kitchen table like they always did, passing time till Betty White eventually joins them for pie.

rattlesnakes and cholera will get you every time

2010-06-01T22:25:00.000-07:00

I'll admit it. Recently I've been a bit of a see-you-next-tuesday.

(via)

Not for any rhyme or reason. But it happens, ya know? Things are just as hunky as they are dory, and then BAM I get a chemical spike all up in my gray matter and let's just say it's best to let the calls go to voice mail. When shit goes down, internally or otherwise, I circle the wagons Oregon-Trail style until it's safe to ford the river. No Indians in, no cattle out. Lock-down mode. You played the game in fourth grade. You know how it works. All I'm saying is that my self-issued hall pass is for your benefit, Mr. Kite.....I aim to keep the bitching to a minimum. Demons come and demons go. C'est la vie.

being a child in the 90's was fucking awesome.

So enough on that. The long and short of it: I'm crazy but the clouds have cleared and now we're back on the wagon, trudging west toward the promised land. And I have news, and things, and stuff, and all of it worth sharing. Chuck Palahniuk has written that all he does is listen to other people's stories and re-tell them in his books. That's what I'm aiming for tonight. Little nuggets of information that are quick and random as sex on Craigslist.

- If you like Bloody Mary's, you must do this: get a big ol' jug of cheap vodka. Buy a pound of fresh jalapenos, and cut them into manageable chunks. Put that, seeds and all, into the vodka. Let it sit for at least a few weeks (if not months), turning the bottle occasionally. Use in a regular BM (bloody mary, not bowel movement) recipe and impress all your friends with your awesomeness.

- I'm going to take a paddle-boarding class this summer, and it's going to be awesome. No really, I can do it cheap through work. There's even one offered on my birthday. Sign? Me thinks so.

- Last week at work a woman told me that a single goose generates up to a pound of shit a day. She knows this because she owns a business that keeps geese (and their shit) off of golf courses and other public areas. She ended up buying grey boots so when she stepped in shit it would be less noticeable.

- That same day a child came out of the dressing room with a hygienic liner from a bathing suit crotch plastered to her face like a big pussy-blocking mustache.

- I went to the National AIDS Memorial Grove in SF this past weekend. This was not a wise choice given the fact I was on the aforementioned rag, but whatev. Point being I came across this boulder, read the inscription, and promptly lost my emotional shit. I can't even explain why, and maybe that's the point.

rest in peace

- Lastly, today I treated myself to some retail therapy. I'd had my eye on this shirt for quite some time, and given the peaks and valleys of the past week, I felt as though I deserved it. A small reminder of the goodness all around. So of course now I'll share it with you, with the added bonus of big bossy beaver-face to add a little excitement to your Wednesday.

Keep on keepin' on, my little pioneers. It's a long road, but I hear it's worth it.

-J

bite-sized thoughts

2010-05-25T00:25:00.000-07:00

It's graduation season. I had mentally outlined a themed post accordingly, all Baz Luhrmann and Green Day lyrics, et cetera, but the truth? I don't know shit about shit. Not being self-deprecating, but the best lesson I've learned in three years is realizing how much I still don't know, and more importantly, being okay with that fact. I recognize that my opinion and a dime leaves you with ten cents, so here's my brief advice; Do it. Whatever it is, nut up and go for it. Move, love, travel, teach, explore, create, and from maybe from time to time simply exist. But whatever it is, do it because it speaks to your soul.

(Also, read this post from Coke Talk and take it to heart, particularly the difference between self-exploration and self-indulgence).

And that's all I have on that topic. Go forth and be awesome.

In completely unrelated news, if you ever leave a massive pile of discarded clothing on a dressing room floor I will come to your place of employment and defecate in/on/around your workspace. That is my fair warning now that I'm back in the retail world.

Lastly, upon visiting this weekend my sixty-nine year old grandmother made a beaver joke. Straight-up double entendre regarding the irony of my chosen stuffed bedfellow and my avoidance of vagina.

I was never the kid that wondered if he was adopted. I clearly belong with the crazies.

And I have to be to work in not-too-many hours, so off to bed with me.
But seriously about the clothes....it's just unnecessary. Goddamn.

-J

objects in mirror are closer than they appear

2010-05-17T23:05:00.000-07:00

As if this shit-sundae of a day needed a bright red cherry on top, my driver's side mirror is no longer a virgin. She was defiled by the post at the top of the driveway, an innocent bystander wounded by my apparent inability to grasp spacial relations.

dejected penguin has a case of the Mondays

I was dead-set against taking any laps in the pity pool today, though I woke up ready to dive in. Instead I went for a run in the rain. I grocery-shopped. I laundered and bill-paid and cooked and cleaned, not worried about idle hands but more the idle mind. The little train that could was chugging along, until I heard the sickening crunch of an errant estimation.

This is why we can't have nice things.

Poor Fergie the Focus. She made it three years without so much as a scratch, and now I don't even get the temporary relief of someone else to blame. The glass isn't cracked and the whole apparatus is still attached, so a trip to the scrap yard is not in her near future. It's just that hindsight is important; it keeps us aware of our surroundings and on the right path. The last thing I needed was a fresh reason to second-guess my judgment, on the road or otherwise. But to steal a Seuss-quote (that I will ALWAYS equate with a certain best friend) -

Why decry a cloudy sky,
an empty purse,
a crazy universe?
My philosophy is simply,
things could be worse.

-J

virtual herpes

2010-05-05T13:23:00.000-07:00

I just sat on the phone for two hours. It cost me over $100, and I didn't even get talked off.

my morning

Apparently my laptop has been sleeping around, because it suddenly came down with a nasty case of the comp-clap. Pop-ups, contamination warnings, corrupted downloads, DANGER WILL ROBINSON, DANGER we had ourselves a problem.

I'm practically Amish when it comes to computers. I don't know how or why they work, they just do. Like the average American, I can use a computer to pay my bills, write a letter, and watch strangers have sex. Beyond that you might as well ask me to build a rocket. And then make it do math. In German.

I went to buy an anti-virus program, which was fine and dandy, but then I couldn't load the program because my downloads were corrupt. I tried to use the free online chat-with-a-technician option, but that requires a download as well, as my comp made it clear how it felt about that process. So then you have to pay $10 to call India and talk to Toboo. Tobu? Tofu. Tofu told me that yes, I was basically fucked, and no, he couldn't do anything. But for $80 he could transfer me to the magical wizard that had the answers. My balls firmly squeezed, I said sure, so off to the wizard we went. The wizard further wowed me by somehow taking over my computer remotely from somewhere near the Pakistani border, and found the demon file hiding near my laptop's colon. Celebrations abound. After thanking the wizard, I got sent to Myanmar, where someone, I'm assuming Mowgli from Jungle Book, managed to install the $50 anti-virus program I wanted from the beginning, again from halfway around the world.

Thank god for these people. Tofu, Wizard, Mowgli, I may poke fun but without them I'd be stuck typing on the equivalent of an open sore. It sucks to feel helpless, but sometimes you don't have a choice. Pay the fee, bite your tongue, and realize when you're in over your head. It's money I didn't want to spend on a problem I didn't intend to have, but shit happens. They healed my cyber-wounds and were kind enough to not comment on some of the more questionable sites in my browser history. So that was a plus.

I'm off to re-coup some of my financial losses by spending quality time in the green vest. Happy Wednesday, and remember that Cinco De Mayo is NOT the same as Fourth of July, so enjoy your guacamole but don't be a douche.

-J

never make design choices while in the sauce

2010-05-01T22:36:00.000-07:00

Ohhhhhhhh this is terribly over the top in the best way possible:

via

I want it poster-sized in my eventual abode. Well, not for always. Let's be realistic. I would not host brunch for the Kennedy's with this over the serving set. But ya know....time and a place. Regardless, I want magic tracked all over my house.

role models

2010-05-01T18:34:00.000-07:00

I know I keep writing about the damn grocery store....but really it's the most happening place in this town. As I'm rounding the corner on the booze aisle, I overhear:

"I'm gonna go ahead and get two or three bottles of wine for me...I mean, since we're here."

Holy hell...this is a win on so many levels. This woman is a WASPy poster-child: probably a mid-level executive, blond hair with a hint of roots, suede blazer, I'd guess an overpriced faux-SUV in the parking lot. Her man friend, also without wedding ring, is in loafers, no socks. Notice how she jumps straight to two or three...one bottle is for beginners. Also, for ME....as in, if you think you're going to have even the slightest urge to fuck tonight, my eyes are going to need to be floating in chardonnay. But my favorite part? "I mean, since we're here." HAHAHA. Right. Like you're doing everyone a huge favor by being so thoughtful as to plan ahead. God forbid you run out.

This woman was undeniably pure gold. I hope I run into her again.

Also, if you've put two and two together and realized I was by myself in the liquor aisle at 6pm on a Saturday night, feel free to lick my tits. Sometimes you have to make your own entertainment, alright?

Happy Saturday. Bottoms up.

-J

Jane, you ignorant slut*

2010-04-28T13:41:00.000-07:00

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 -

J

*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?

2010-04-26T22:49:00.000-07:00

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?

-J

cash or credit

2010-04-19T22:48:00.001-07:00

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 -

J

melpomene and thalia

2010-04-12T09:57:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-11T00:39:00.000-07:00

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.

-J

queen takes pawn

2010-04-01T10:38:00.000-07:00

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.

short and sweet

2010-03-25T15:37:00.000-07:00

When it's time to work, work hard.When it's time to play, play hard. Remain mindful of this, and you'll go further in life than most people.

I'm writing that more for me than anyone else. But it's definitely universal. Gotta remember that fun ain't free, and progress ain't easy.

How did we feel about the usage of color up yonder? Green for spring? No? No one cares. Also I saw Topanga from Boy Meets World (who isn't famous enough for me to know her real name) while lunching at Luna Park today, and by default this makes my day awesome.

That's all. Was it good for you? I feel you had to fake it as to not hurt my feelings. So here's an added bonus we can all relate to:

hat tip: bam!

OK now that's all.

-J

dessert in sheep's clothing

2010-03-23T16:35:00.000-07:00

Three days. Three days until I pack up my little bottle of Motrin and my special oatmeal bowl before clearing my web browser so the new girl doesn't see that my three most visited sites are Facebook, CNN, and Wikipedia.

(via)

Today when I walked to the store for lunch, I bought a small salad, veggie enchiladas, and an apple. I love apples, but really I only bought it in a half-ass attempt to convince myself it would be a suitable substitute for dessert.

Someone I represent once told me that when she really cut loose, her ultimate naughty treat was an avocado. I told her she really lived on the edge.

I went so far as to hold a chocolate bar in my hand before remembering that swimsuit season favors those who don't resemble sausage in a casing. So back to the shelf it went, and I just had my apple, and fuck that. It tasted like an apple and nothing like a dark chocolate.

But really it's not the apple's fault.

All I'm saying? If you want candy, get candy. But don't take it out on the apple when you end up feeling let down. It never promised to be anything different; you just hoped it would be.

Something to be cognizant of, lunchtime and all the time.

Keep It Reasonable, Friends -

J

old mother hubbard

2010-03-21T20:55:00.000-07:00

I haven't played this game in a while. Here is what my refrigerator currently holds:

- pre-packaged cheese slices, expiration unknown
- half a jar of jalapenos
- open bottle of Yellow Tail chardonnay
- raspberry jam
- chicken stock

I'm currently sans-pants (by choice) and even more sans-money (not by choice), so walking to the store is 100% out of the question. I keep staring at the cupboards longingly, hoping that the magical Food Fairies will remember that I'm more or less a good person and make something appear as an offering of goodwill. No luck yet. Just cockroaches. No Food Fairies.

I shouldn't even admit this, but I just counted my quarters I keep for laundry to see if I had enough to get Domino's delivered.

That's all I have. Feel better about your life? I hope so. But if this describes your Sunday nights as well, just come on over, we can be fail-friends. Bring snacks.

-J

trash and treasure

2010-03-18T11:00:00.000-07:00

I started packing up my room last night. It started as packing for my weekend adventure, but that lasted for about three items, and then I got sucked into that oddly addicting zone that one enters when sifting through memories of the past.

via here, here, here, here, here, aaaaaaand here

I like that photo, but I guess it's kind of deceiving. I don't mean to suggest that I spent all evening wearing my sad-pants. On the contrary, I quite enjoyed the walk down memory lane. But since I try (as much as possible) to live in the present, acknowledging the past is kind of like jumping in the ocean; even though it's fun, it can still be jarring.

I found my old fraternity paddles, which made me miss chapter meeting on Sundays; I found old cards from family and friends, which made me miss those I see on rare occasions ; and I found my dildo in a Crown Royal bag, which made me miss dorm room sex. A lot.

Moving is weird like that. It's not just the physical act of transporting your belongings. It's seeing what you hold on to and what you've finally made peace with letting go, and of course that reaches far beyond what you can place in a box . This will be my tenth move in seven years, so I have to remember that even though there's always trepidation when the sorting begins, I'm still alive and still happy and in possession of incredible riches regardless of cash value.

Of course, now I'm still not packed for this weekend. Eff. But I'm off in an hour, spending the afternoon cruising through my old friend The Central Valley, then spending three days in Napa and San Francisco. With trusty camera in hand, I hope to make more memories worthy of a spot on the shelf, an ever-present reminder of how damn fortunate I really am.

Happy Thursday friends. May your bracket picks prove wise.

-J

with friends like these

2010-03-12T13:05:00.000-08:00

....well, you know the rest.

And that right there....that's friendship in my world. Blatant mockery wrapped in a hug.

Happy so-close-to-weekend-you-can-taste-it.

-J

dancing with myself

2010-03-11T15:40:00.001-08:00

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

Mississippi school sued for canceling prom over lesbian student - CNN

OK, I don't do a ton of social commentary on el bloggo. I'm very neutral on the issue of bloggers hauling out their soapboxes. Sure, news is an ever-renewing bag of topics, and having an email address and a keyboard in 2010 allows you to preach far and wide on whatever the hell jiggles your bits at that moment. That being said, I am a firm believer that those who feel compelled to comment on every last sociopolitical issue, regardless of their knowledge on the topic, are generally insufferable and high on my list of individuals I'd sterilize if given the chance. Notice how I never say much about the military or the economy? That's because I don't know dick about either. See how easy that is?

Just saying, I don't feel I've yet abused my right to comment now and then. But being quaintly queer and having attended high school, today's post is dedicated to states full of backwater bigots and those who love them.

You can read the whole story here, but long story short a lesbian student wanted to wear a tux and bring her girlfriend to prom.

Let's stop right there. She did not ask to bring a greased hog and a strap-on in a little cummerbund. Just her girlfriend. Also, she wanted to wear a tux. Apparently in Mississippi this is the equivalent of wearing someone's pussy as a mask on the dance floor and then forcing everyone into communal devil worship while you burn the place down, because the school district put the kibbosh on that shit faster than you can say First Amendment.

A regular laugh riot, no? But wait, there's more! Here's the Board of Education's statement:

The decision was made "taking into consideration the education, safety and well-being of our students."

So in this instance, "education" must mean "keeping them sheltered from anything remotely like real life", "safety" must mean "if the dykes show up, bet your sweet ass someone will assault them", and well-being clearly equates to "they can't breathe our air or we'll catch it too."

Yet another reason not to fight states when they threaten to leave. You know what, Mississippi, we re-thought the whole secession thing. Take Utah with you, then you both can go hang out with Uganda and have a big ol' hate-party. Genital mutilations, then punch and pie.

Aaaaaaaaaaaand deep breath. The sarcasm train has come to a full and complete stop.

This is real life. No joke. Twenty-ten, we're living in the fucking future, and people are still being told what to wear and who to love if they expect to be left alone.

This. Shit. Still. Happens.

Treat other people the way you want to be treated, folks. Just because someone may hear different music doesn't mean they don't deserve to dance.

-J

funds not available

2010-03-08T17:26:00.000-08:00

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.

-J

the all-knowing box spring

2010-03-05T17:32:00.000-08:00

This is all I have to say:

hat tip here and here

I almost disobeyed the mattress. Almost. But it's Friday and we're alive...so fuck it. Let's go make a mess.

Happy weekend -

J

things my friends say, vol. 11

2010-03-03T15:46:00.000-08:00

Today's nugget, courtesy of:

"SPEAKING of the dark continent...."

Oh, and don't think before that we were talking about Africa. No, no....we were talking about the black man sitting next to us.

This took me back to my grandma telling the story of when her sister dropped her (n-word only rappers can say) baby doll down the one-holer back on the farm. True story. Ask Grandma. She'll tell you without batting an eye.

And if your family isn't from the Midwest, a one-holer is an outhouse.

See, you learned something today. Never say I don't enrich your life. Knowledge is power!

-J

muddy buddies

2010-03-01T16:16:00.000-08:00

Saturday at 8am I bought handcuffs and condoms at the grocery store. Both were on sale.

They were part of my sloshball uniform. I was a proud member of team One Night Stand, not to be confused with the competition, team Hair Bands. Sloshball is kickball, like in grade school, but with a keg at second base, not like grade school. At least not my grade school. We only made it six innings before what little decorum we initially displayed washed away. I peed in public. More than once. We stood united somewhere near the imaginary pitcher's mound in the pouring rain and belted out the Star Spangled Banner, because the universe and Coors Light compelled us to do so. I did my first keg stand and mud wrestled people I just met. It rained more, people puked in the outfield, and once the keg was empty we went all walked home for pizza and naps.

"All God does is watch us and kill us when we get boring. We must never, ever, be boring."
-Chuck Palahniuk

My life may be a lot of things, but thankfully it's not boring.

Oh, and remember how it's March? Yeah, that happened.

-J

and that's the way it is

2010-02-26T11:50:00.001-08:00

I keep sneezing. Usually I don't mind sneezing, but added bonus with purchase, I'm hungover. Every time I get a nasal sneak-attack it feels like Satan himself is drop-kicking my right temple. I did wash my hair though, and my clothes are more or less clean. So I've got that going for me.

What do I have to look forward to today? Other than eventual sobriety, that would be a meeting with a six year old aspiring child model and his overbearing mother. Since I'm still full of whiskey and sass I feel like serving up a steamy bowl of Reality Soup to this harpy of a woman. Can't wait to look her in the eye and tell her that her child simply isn't that special. I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it. God I can't stand children on a good day.

And Pat Benetar is on the radio. Maybe today is looking up. Me and Pat versus Satan and Macaulay Culkin Lite. Not an ideal Friday, but hey, I take what I can get.

Yup. That's it. Sorry you'll never get the thirty seconds it took you to read this back. Now talk amongst yourselves. Mama needs a cold compress and a quiet room.

-J

raindrops on roses

2010-02-25T15:03:00.000-08:00

Holy balls....been quite the day, and I haven't even had my snack. I wish they made pudding packs with vitamins, minerals, and a little MDMA. You know, strong teeth and bones, serotonin blasts, everything a kid needs to make it through the day.

precisely

I've even used my fuck-you voice today. One upside to being of the rainbow is having a killer snatchy/condescending tone; it comes in the kit we get upon joining the Sequin Squad, along with Madonna's Greatest Hits and a bottle of chardonnay. When used at full force the bitch-tone leaves a burning sensation reminiscent of a wet slap on the ass. But fun as it is to employ on occasion, I hate the tone because it means I'm worked up. Tension is not my jam. As such, I thought I'd take this opportunity to list some of my favorite things. Elementary, yes. But until I get the aforementioned pudding, this will have to do.

THINGS THAT ARE AWESOME:

meat and cheeses platters

parallel parking on the first try

Maker's on the rocks

any opportunity to use the words "fancy" or "biscuit"

off-color jokes

flying first class

sex that still has that new-car smell

romping outdoors

day drunk

castor canadensis

the smell of sunscreen

walk-offs on the dance floor

fire pits

three day weekends

naps

Ahhhhhh....I feel better already. Mostly because when reviewing the list, I realized how often I get to enjoy these things. And I no longer wish to commit physical harm to all of the muscled out mouth breathers that complicate my day. Everybody wins!

Happy Thursday amigos. Even if it's something lame like whiskers on kittens...always remember what gets you through the day.

-J

in a perfect world

2010-02-24T17:23:00.001-08:00

I wish it was socially acceptable to approach a casual acquaintance, and in a calm and pleasant voice say,

"You should know, I could deliver you a top shelf orgasm. Just a real blue-ribbon fuck. Not a doubt in my mind."

And then walk away.

I might take that for a test drive soon....nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

Happy mid-week. Go balls out on something tomorrow and see what happens. Life is for living.

-J

just call me will robinson

2010-02-16T14:49:00.001-08:00

Whoops, disappeared for a week there...damned real life dancing all up in my business.

that's me in the orange

Quite a whirlwind it has been. And yet, not. Does that make sense? Craziness is marching closer, and yet after the initial two day mess-a-thon of emotions, Chicken Little has left the building.

It's weird, when real shit hits the fan, big shit, important shit....I tend to exit stage left. Not in a bad way. I just don't write about it at length, and talk about it less than the unimportant nonsense that tends to rule daily conversations. Like watching my first episode of RuPaul's Drag Race last night. Holy hell. Wigged, duct-taped messes lip-syncing to beat the band. New favorite show. But that's neither here nor there.

I've noticed a trend with big decisions in my life. They just seem to...happen. Little fanfare. Little commotion. I didn't have a crazy experience picking a college. I hardly did any research, applied at two schools, and went to my second choice because I got more money. And looking back I wouldn't have changed my experience for the world.

When in school, I fell into a major, never did an internship, and found a job one week before graduation. Held it for six months to stay afloat, then in one week's time quit, moved, and started a new job in a new city with no idea what I was doing. And it's been an incredible two years of growth and realization.

Now I'm faced with a departing roommate, a stale job, and a restlessness that's been slowly growing for quite some time. I don't have a plan, and given history I'm becoming comfortable with that reality. Kelly sent me the following today (from here), and it now my mantra for the foreseeable future:

Stop.

Stop listening to everybody around you.

Stop following aimlessly.

Stop making excuses.

Start going after what you want.

Make decisions.

Don’t apologize for those decisions.

Some decisions you make will be wrong.

You will fail.

Some decisions you make will be spot on.

You will succeed.

Some decisions you make will just be.

That’s OK too.

You know what you want. Your friends and family know what they want for you.

There is a monumental difference between the two.

It’s the difference between being happy and just being.

You can’t please everybody.

Don’t try.

Most people won’t agree with you.

Good.

Agreement is safe.

Acceptance is safe.

Doing what you’ve been doing is safe.

Seek danger.

Short and sweet. I'm going to Vegas in two days, and I'm going to leave life behind. I'm going to drink whiskey excessively in public and play $3 blackjack on tables with burn holes in the felt. I'm going to toast some friends hello as they've just recently returned, and toast others goodbye as they prepare to depart. If I find a zen moment amongst the neon, I'll be thinking about that monumental difference mentioned above.

Then I'm going to come back and start seeking some danger.

inventory

2010-02-09T22:52:00.000-08:00

Here's a brief, stream-of-consciousness thought for the moment -

Recently I find myself taking a mental inventory of my room each night before bed. I know this has to do with my imminent move, because it's not something I usually do. Not actually thinking in terms of size, quantity, or value, but more along the lines of sentiment and origin.

Tonight I keep looking at a picture propped up on a shelf. I don't have many hard copy pictures anymore thanks to the wonders of modern technology, but this one I've had for six years. It's an action shot of me and my best friend from home. We're at her mom's house, in the back living room, and I remember it like it was this morning. It's a textbook action shot, candid to the point of embarrassment. We're off-centered and oblivious, belting out Wham! as if our lives actually depended on it. What you don't see is us getting stoned beforehand and eating lasagna out of the pan, or me getting a handjob on her mom's brand-new couch after everyone else passed out. What you do see is happiness. Living in the moment happiness. Happiness even though my hair was too short and her mouth was wide open, both of us waking someone up before they go-go. We were nineteen and everything was perfect.

But of course it wasn't perfect. There were undoubtedly the standard doubts and disappointments. But now the rough edges have been smoothed by time, and all I see is the happiness.

I lead a pretty awesome life, even when it's not. You probably do too. Let's make that a focus for the remainder of the week, yes?

Namaste, friends -

J

this is not a test

2010-02-06T17:14:00.000-08:00

Well shit, forget stop, drop, and roll...it's go time, bitches.

"drop" looks suspiciously like "power bottom," no?

What was previously on the horizon has set up shop in the here and now. My common-law partner in crime is movin' on up, literally and figuratively. The land of liberal living has called his name, and when the Bay Area rings, you damn sure pick up. In three short weeks he'll be busy taking the next step, which means it's time to circle the wagons and call together the great minds of our time. I need wisdom. I need guidance.

I need a fucking plan.

I do not plan. I make short term arrangements, occasionally even booking trips a few months in advance, but I'm much too laissez-faire in my views of the universe to really think that my arbitrary timelines make a damn bit of difference in the big picture. I haven't an inkling where I'll be in ten years, and neither do you. So I generally float on the vibes of nature and heed action cues as they present themselves.

As for now: message received, Powers That Be. Subtle as a studded dildo.

Now is my moment to practice what I preach. I have to let go, give myself up to the moment and know that the beauty of these situations lies in the unknown. This is not to say I didn't allow myself a minor breakdown. Yesterday around 4:30pm, I quietly stepped away from my desk out into the rain, where I promptly dissolved into a rousing chorus of alternating sobs and "fuckfuckfuckwhatdoIdonowfuckfuckfuck."

The poor UPS man stumbled upon me and probably thought he'd unearthed a puffy-eyed storm monster with a wicked case of Tourette's.

After I'd emptied myself of the initial panic, I came back to the realization that this is it. All the repeated mantras of faith, the professed need of change, the late night what-if sessions....it's here. It's time. Deep breath, head held high, time to show off what we're been working on.

This is not a test. Proceed quickly but cautiously. There's no need to panic.

Everything will be OK.

slightly less than happy hour

2010-02-04T16:58:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been thinking about what compels us to make the best of bad situations.

Occasionally on Tuesdays, I'll head westward and meet up with my surrounding cast of characters for a little dollar taco action. It so happens they live across the street from an El Torito. Not just any El Torito though; it might actually be a faux-mexican portal to hell. I'm pretty sure the penal system has a higher standard for customer service. The servers ignore you, the food takes forever, and actually prying the bill from their hands could be a competitive event. It's a big joke of an experience wrapped up in a lukewarm tortilla.

And yet, we go back.

I know....it doesn't make any sense. This is California, meaning Mexican restaurants are on every corner, within a stones throw of a pot dispensary and an In-n-Out. But we all have similar situations in life. You know something is bad, or at the very least not good, and still you rationalize sticking with it. Well, it's cheap. It's close. It's easier than cooking.

He didn't really mean it.
I don't know any different.
It could be worse.

Same stale chips, same stale results.

Where does toughing it out end, and being scared to change begin? It's such a bitch of a conundrum. Like with the food situation. It is true that it's cheap, and walking distance is crucial since a DUI is decidedly bush league. But do those factors outweigh the shit-tastic experience we're then certain to have?

I only bring it up because choices much larger than"blended or on the rocks?" are on the horizon. Nothing to freak out about yet. I'm staying calm and remaining seated at this point. But as February marches on it's becoming apparent that this larger question of comfort versus complacency will be taking center stage.

Not a bad thing, just the way it is. Can't have your flan and eat it too.

-J

things my friends say, vol. 11

2010-02-02T11:58:00.000-08:00

Today's nugget, compliments of:

"By the way, do you want to go giant squid hunting with me?"

I did take the time to verify, and yes, he was 100% serious. Maybe it's just me, but "by the way" is usually followed by a logical afterthought or small side note. Giant squid hunting fits neither of those requirements, especially considering the sentence before he was talking about brewing his own beer.

But would I trade this for a life where my social circle didn't occasionally offer a random calamari hunt? Not for all the fish in the sea.

Happy Tuesday -

J

from russia, with love

2010-01-28T14:03:00.000-08:00

I am being accosted by Russian brides.

Not directly. As in, they are not currently banging at the door. But they have infiltrated my inbox, and they won't leave.

Somehow my company missed the boat on spam protection, because we get everything. For a few weeks, it's Canadian prescriptions. My boss was bombarded with gold watches. Then I got big black beauties. Followed by Viagra at 80% off. And now, Russian brides.

Today I got back from lunch to find this subject line:

HELLO MY SWEET KITTY! DO YOU COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT MY RUSSIAN PUSSY?

Um....no? Sweet Kitty keeps his distance from all pussy. Pretty sure I'd remember one with communist tendencies and poor grammar.

What kills me is that these people actually make money. Schemes only last as long as they're profitable, so someone out there is shelling out $3.95 a minute for god-knows-what, but I'm betting it involves Anastasia and a bottle of vodka.

Continuing the theme of societal hemorrhoids....the cast of Jersey Shore. I hate even bringing them up, but yesterday I got my W-2 in the mail, the annual reminder of just how much Uncle Sam enjoys anally pile-driving the working man. After I sobbed into my pillow (not really) and poured a stiff one (really), I got online to find out that those goons back east are going to make 10K an episode for a twelve episode season. Six figures, just to act inbred on television for a few weeks.

My figures start with a "3" and end shortly thereafter with a "go fuck yourself, poor person." Commence face-stabbing.

Online whores, media whores, and yet I feel like the dumbest whore of all. I try to be proper and corporate, with my business card and my labeled files and my secure vanilla existence; meanwhile the freak shows on the fringe laugh all the way to the bank.

I'm not saying I'm going to go wax my downstairs and buy a webcam. But a better balance of money and happiness? Finding that would definitely warrant a fist-pump.

-J

elementary

2010-01-25T15:50:00.000-08:00

I wish this was in the signature of all my emails today. And maybe tattooed on my forehead:

politely borrowed from here, by way of here, here, here, and here

I've got a case of the Mondays reminiscent of grade school, when you fell down at recess and Mom made the tuna with too much mayo so it made the bread all soggy, and Mrs. Stewart let some other douche be the line leader even though it was YOUR turn to be the line leader, and you're pretty sure everyone hates you because this is not how it's supposed to work.

Of course you'd go back on Tuesday and maybe Mrs. Stewart would be hungover so you'd get to color all afternoon, and fuck if there's one thing you love, it's coloring. And everything would be okay.

I'm bringing my Crayolas tomorrow in the hope of a better day. Feel free to do the same.

-J

city of angels

2010-01-24T21:10:00.000-08:00

So we meet again....me, a Sunday evening, and by whatever chance of fate, now you. One of these days I'll get over apologizing for the places my mind goes once the sun sets on another week, but I'm not there yet. It would of course be easier if I wrote this anonymously, or didn't worry about any form of judgment or repercussion....but when you're a big ol' sack of crazy, I suppose you have to embrace what comes with the territory.

I am rounding the corner on 25 and still spell "judgment" wrong. Every. Fucking. Time. It's maddening.

For no reason in particular I'm listening to slow trance-y techno, which while perfect for drugs and long talks, is not conducive to being positive and productive when home alone. My room looks like a Goodwill exploded, our kitchen is a biohazard, there are emails to write and checklists to cross off, and all I really want to do is watch The Big Lebowski.

As I just momentarily daydreamed about a nightcap somehow appearing in the form of a white russian, a roach took a leisurely stroll across my bed. Well, halfway across. I took a few seconds to silently curse this overpriced infested shanty I call home, then Raid-ed his buggy ass to hell and back.

I even flicked him onto the floor first, lest I Raid my sheets. Two points for planning ahead.

What I'm getting at is I want to go back to Saturday afternoon, when we climbed to the top of LA and silently sat in the sun, breathing in the joy that comes from being above it all. In case you're not from these parts, the best part about rain in LA is that all the smog and dust and ego disappears, and for a day or two afterward everything is as clear and beautiful as the postcards would have you believe. What most citizens of this fair city take to be a punishment, a burden, a struggle, in actuality it creates the opportunity for something amazing to emerge.

The trick during the rain is to remember that it's temporary.

There has been a lot of hardship lately, friends and strangers alike. While I'm slightly baffled at the sudden rainstorm of misfortune, I'm hoping that everyone will not only make it through but also be blessed with a clearer view on the other side.

chin up, lil soldiers -

J

things my friends say, vol. 10

2010-01-19T13:16:00.000-08:00

Today's nugget comes to us all the way from Thailand, compliments of:

"Last week I saw a ladyboy get baptized in the ocean by a guy wearing a hemp tunic with a bigggg marijuana leaf on the front. Reminded me of you."

This leaves me equally amused and mortified. I'm tempted to ask which part in particular conjured up thoughts of me, but I'm scared of the answer.

Happy Tuesday, cheeky monkeys. If you're in LA, run between the raindrops.

-JH

lost in translation

2010-01-18T19:20:00.000-08:00

This weekend I saw a senior citizen take Communion in gold hot pants.

Who says one can't be stylish whilst receiving the body of Christ?

This has little to do with anything forthcoming. But I needed you to know. Gold hot pants. Old woman. Catholic wedding. The only thing that kept me from laughing out loud was the GIGANTIC Jesus (looking quite heroin chic, I might add) looming over me. Giant Jesus demands solemnity. I've sinned in ways the church hasn't even banned yet, and I still wore a tie. Even matched it to my shirt. But apparently the dress code is a gray area when you're in good with the Boss.

Meantime, back at the ranch....

When I wasn't avoiding the cold stare of Gigantic Jesus, I did actually pick up on something enjoyable. As this was a grande Mexican wedding, everything was bi-lingual. The priest went into an explanation of the saying si Dios quiere, which in case you ditched seventh grade Spanish, loosely translates to "if God wants it."

I'll spare you the drawn out sermon; bottom line, sometimes we have to realize certain decisions are out of our hands. Even though this particular phrase invokes a higher power that I'm not entirely sure pulls my strings, it stuck with me all the same.

Fast forward to today, when I was holding down the backseat on the long drive back to the left coast. As I'm more than guilty of having what second graders call a "staring problem," I love gluing myself to the fun side of a tinted window and watching the soap opera of lives concurrently heading west on I-10. Retirees and road trips. Endless entertainment.

As we continued along, 80mph and too many cacti to count, the following entered my screen: an older, nondescript white hatchback driven by and older, nondescript white woman, neither memorable at first glance. The back of the hatchback was haphazardly stuffed with items looking as worn and forgotten as their chauffeur. As we pulled up next to her, I saw the woman was crying. Nothing hysterical, but enough to be noticed. And immediately I felt for her. I think we all do that at some point. (And if by "that" you weren't sure if I meant cry in the car or empathize with a stranger, you're right either way). I didn't know this woman. I couldn't venture a guess as to where she last filled up, at what mile marker the sobbing would cease, or who put her in such a state.

I say "who" instead of "what", because in my experience the "who's" cause more tears.

But there I was and there she was, separated by fleeting white dashes and infinite unknown back story; ludicrous as it sounds the only thing I wanted to do was tell her "si Dios quiere" over and over again until she believed it, and maybe keep at it until I believed it as well. This stranger with the pain all over her face for the whole desert to see, I wanted her to know that, Dios or not, whatever had happened would end up okay. She would end up okay. Her worn-down car and her worn-down life would eventually end up exactly where it needed to be.

It does not escape me how crazy this all sounds. She could have just been a pack-rat that turfed a desert creature and got choked up. But we all inherently carry our personal baggage into our interpretations. And as the white hatchback faded into right-lane oblivion, I hoped that we both were headed en la dirección de la felicidad.

it's not the pronunciation that bothered me

2010-01-15T12:05:00.000-08:00

I was having one of those mornings, those mornings, when I received this magical typo from a client:

Here are some men raped by (agency name). Let's check on there viability.

Can't always rely on spellcheck now can we? An inappropriate raping AND the wrong "there".....this person clearly needs a stiff drink and a Hooked on Phonics workbook.

***

I'm off to Phoenix so behave yourselves in my absence. You know I hate coming home to a mess. I will, however, be attending my first Catholic anything, and a Mexican wedding at that; hopefully I won't burst into flames so I can describe my religious experience upon returning. How embarrassing that everyone is going to sing songs and I won't know the words. Christ hates those who lip-synch, I'm sure of it.

Feliz Viernes, amigos -

JH

all in a day's work

2010-01-11T16:56:00.000-08:00

I know someone who scrubs the kitchen when everything else seems resistant to change.

Another friend takes photos when the rest of life appears out of focus.

Today I spent hours looking at flights halfway around the world, flights I don't have the funds to purchase or the time to take. But I like knowing they're there. Alitalia, those layovers, those stamps wet on my passport all still a possibility. One day. Not today, with Logic and Reason keeping those dreams from leaving the gate. Today is call sheets and billings and only the mind allowed up in the air. But someday. Someday that final boarding call will include me.

And that someday is enough for today.

drought

2010-01-08T09:31:00.000-08:00

You know you've hit a dry spell when an attractive man in a Bentley makes two consecutive turns behind you and the first thought you have is "Please for the love of all that is sacred be following me....I'll absolutely be late for work if it means a good old fashioned anonymous hook-up."

I could say that was a made-up scenario, but then I'd be lying. And I can't lie to you.

Happy Friday lovelies. Let's all make a conscientious effort to get some this weekend, shall we?

-J

thicker than water

2010-01-06T13:13:00.000-08:00

My grandma wants to have a Spam party.

Exactly what it sounds like.

She's turning 70 this November, and when I asked her plans last night on our weekly phone call, she said she wants a big party....a Spam party. At this point I'm driving home, so I'm reasonably sure I haven't been drinking and therefore heard correctly, but clearly baffled all the same I asked for an explanation.

"Well I've always loved Spam. You fry it up with mac and cheese and it's just delicious. Plus it's a running joke from when we went to Hawaii in 1978 with.....(I blacked out here).....and you know they just love it on the islands. Plus I keep all the old Spam cans I use, so we can put flower arrangements in them. And I want everyone to either bring a Spam dish or at least a recipe idea I can make later. And I want a t-shirt to wear. Do you think they sell those?"

Yes Grandma. They sell those.

At this point the fact I'm surprised is ludicrous. My family tree, particularly Dad's side, grows someplace where hallucinogenic mushrooms mingle with runoff from the anti-depressant factory. We are not, and have never claimed to be, a normal people.

Speaking of, and this is where I'm really descending into hell, I get a Facebook friend-request yesterday from someone I've never heard of, and our only mutual friend is my aunt. So I shoot my aunt an email, inquiring as to the status of this stranger. Turns out she's my second cousin twice removed, from that part of the family, the part that warrants italics. I've heard about them. But pictures are worth a thousand words, so I took the liberty of saving some choice gems from her page so you can understand that my white trash tendencies are more nature than nurture.

I need to reiterate. Actual. Family. Members. Distant, but still inescapable. And now I will let the reality of it all do the talking, because nothing I can caption will do these justice. And I did try to maintain a modicum of respect, why at this point I'm not sure, so I blurred faces on two....but that last one I had to leave. I don't care if it causes a family meltdown. It's worth it.

I'm a horrible person. But I mean COME ON. You can't serve up treats like that and not expect me to dig in.

Happy Hump Day -

J

things my friends say, vol. 9

2010-01-05T14:48:00.000-08:00

Today's nugget, compliments of:

"Sooooo I seriously believe the cleaning lady at my office stole my banana. And I'm so broke....that this....is an issue."

When I lived in Koreatown I once had a minor breakdown because I dropped a bottle of spaghetti sauce, and knowing I couldn't afford another one, it was plain pasta for dinner.

And these are the best years of our lives. Right?

the fourth wall

2010-01-04T16:50:00.001-08:00

Excerpt from a chat with one of my more unique talent, a charming young lass who describes the following in a manner and tone one would expect when reading a grocery list:

"Well I'm working at this place called _______, which is a high end lounge with an S&M motif. Some nights are themed and masters bring their slaves, some nights we have to act out masturbating while getting choked...it's a good gig. The other night I got beyond wasted on Jack and (A-list male celebrity deleted) stuck his camera all up in my crotch while I was on stage, but I was too tanked to care. That night I was only wearing red tape on my nipples and red fishnets. I just like it better than Vegas, performing out there gets monotonous."

Monotonous. The woman standing there brought us a plate of homemade rice krispy treats, and later tonight will mimic fetish sex on stage for the pleasure of the wealthy elite.

I would give anything to see her resume.

welcome to the future

2010-01-03T21:19:00.000-08:00

I saw something the other day that said "1990 was twenty years ago." People I graduated with have children in elementary school. I am now the same age my mother was when she had me.

Just saying....a new year brings a spectrum of emotions.

Speaking of the way-back-when, as I ponder possible resolutions I'm reminded of an elementary school mantra that was always directed at the underachievers. Remember what the teacher would always say about incomplete assignments?

Something is better than nothing.

And to this day, I agree. Even though I dared never leave an assignment unfinished (lest I fall from my gleaming pedestal of perfection), I still got the drift. And I much prefer that message to the more demanding directive of "if something is worth doing, it's worth doing right." Which of course is fine and dandy in spirit. But I like most people have certain areas of life where I am completely content with being afloat in a sea of mediocrity. Mostly trivial things. Math, for instance.

What I'm getting at is more or less a lesson in realism. There are reasons we all haven't accomplished our every goal up to this point, and they usually have to do with those darn personal shortcomings that we just can't seem to shake. I could have cleaned the kitchen today and, flush with determination, declared that in the spirit of bettering myself, no soiled utensil shall grace our counter top from this day forward, forever and ever, amen.

And that, friends, is called "delusion."

I'm lazy. The dish soap dries out my hands, I hate scrubbing, and frankly my ability to turn a blind eye far surpasses my ability to self-motivate. I hold all these truths as self-evident. That being said, my list of resolutions focuses on something being better than nothing. Instead of stringent diets, budgets, or god forbid sobriety, I am instead focusing my attention on smaller goals. For example:

Eat smaller portions
Polishing off plates that can be confused with serving platters is decidedly south of sexy.

Eat only when hungry
Snacks make the belt buckle disappear, not the boredom.

Lay off the weeknight hooch
Simply making it through another day does not (always) qualify as reason for a nightcap.

Buy fewer rounds
He's a hook-up, not an investment opportunity. Spend hard-earned money in a way that does not include ultimately searching for your other sock as a payoff.

Occasionally break a sweat
How many chubby guys do you approach in bars? Case in point.

Those are the big ones, and of course they're all connected in one way or another. Hopefully taking small steps still gets me somewhere.

I mean, it's not the 90's anymore. It's time to get serious.

don't need no education

2010-01-02T14:22:00.000-08:00

So here's the skinny: I'm a bit wrecked. Good wrecked. The kind of bewildered exhaustion bestowed upon one after three full days and nights of partying without regard to health, reason, or the socially acceptable time of day to begin building a wizard staff.* My voice is gone, my immune system is right behind it, and I'm sitting here with spotty memories and bruises of unknown origins, not exactly being what parents would call a role-model.

But hey...it is what it is. Clearly you're not the judging type. That's why we get along.

While at the cabin yesterday, we played a game called Wits & Wagers. Fun concept: trivia questions are read, you write down your best guess, and then you can bet on the spread of answers to gain points. Fairly simple.

Fairly simple except that one by one we became mortified at our fundamental lack of basic education. Twelve friends playing this game, fourteen diplomas between us, and we had people guessing that the world's largest pearl weighed in at 70 pounds. For the record, it was seven. Seven pounds. Fun fact to know and share.

We guessed thousands of feet short when assessing waterfalls. We were hundreds of years off when recalling historical events. One by one we would mock a competitor for not knowing when Hawaii became a state, and then feel karma's open-palmed slap on the ass when everyone now knew you honestly believed it would cost $3 million to open a Subway franchise.

We're not dumb, any of us. We all have above-average educations, fledgling careers, good upbringings; pedigrees worthy of at least face time on Jeopardy. But the humble pie was served family-style as we sat dumbfounded, silently wondering how we each could know so much and yet so little at the same time.

To be fair, there's of course an argument to be made about quality versus quantity when it comes to smarts; I do not know which king beheaded which wife, but I do know you wear a green-tinted moisturizer to neutralize a reddened face.

Knowledge is really just mental priorities.

What I took from this ego-bruising game was more or less my resolution for the year. I might muster up an actual list tomorrow, but for now my larger mantra is this:

Keep Learning.

I'll of course attempt to mold this onto other desires for 2010 - learn how to eat smaller portions, learn the actual grammatical rule regarding "who" versus "that" - but more importantly I want to remember how little I actually know. This is not self-deprecation. I can be downright intelligent when push comes to shove. It's the larger essence of learning, to think beyond what I know, or what I don't know, and look for more either way. Learn moderation. Learn patience. Learn to write every day, learn time management, and learn to live by Ecclesiastes 3:1 if you're down with me folding an unexpected biblical reference into the mix.

I'm thinking within the next week I'll need to be putting some resolutions down for accountability purposes, but for now I'm sitting here alone on the couch, generic sport drink in hand, quite pleased with the thought-fodder that comes from a much-needed vacation, and feeling genuinely excited about the promise of the future.

Happy New Year -

J

*wizard staff = duct taping your empty beer cans together end-to-end to form a lengthy wand of awesomeness. Best started before noon. Comparing staff length is encouraged.

things my friends say, vol. 8

2009-12-29T16:12:00.000-08:00

Today's nugget, compliments of:

"I met my soul mate....he is a certified Grade-A dreamboat and I want to civil union the shit out of him right now."

Yup. Civil union as a verb. I'm fine with it.

-J

truth in advertising

2009-12-28T21:39:00.001-08:00

I like to take laps at the airport. Sitting while people-watching is fun, but I enjoy taking my show on the road. And since my travel equation always holds true, where (X) the amount of time I give myself inversely affects (Y) any sort of line or delay, my ample two hour allowance for holiday traffic equaled me getting through security in approximately thirty seconds and therefore being quite familiar with Concourse C at PDX.

I was in the best sort of mood for people-watching, but both my shiny new notebook and my shiny new camera were buried deep under clothes and presents, an oversight made while jamming four days of travel and gifts into one backpack without regard for priority. As I didn't feel like unpacking the entirety of my Christmas and my unmentionables for all to see, I was left to observe and report without the aid of pen or photo.

What really struck me, more than the disturbing abundance of Santa hats and the general hodgepodge of humanity waiting for flights, were the giant yellow posters positioned front and center at every Southwest gate. Without graphics or context, each simply proclaimed:

"It's hard to move on if you're standing still."

That's all. No explanation, no gimmick, nothing. I get that they're an airline, travel, moving, suggested action etc., but the syntax as a whole has had me thinking far more than I'm sure was intended. Did they actually intend to play off of typical year-end reflections involving forward motion, or the lack thereof? And if so, what was the rationale behind that decision? Or am I just forcing my own interpretation and insecurities on a vaguely-written ad campaign? Am I the only one to do so?

I don't know. But I do know I stood for a socially uncomfortably period of time, contemplating the concept of movement versus progress as the annual hourglass drains while the queue of folks awaiting their flight back to Houston squinted at their tickets, determined to ignore the staring kid with the yellow backpack while waiting for their rows to be called.

***

SNA to PDX is A-OK

2009-12-22T16:38:00.000-08:00

I booked my last job before Baby Jesus' Birthday and I'm itchin' to get the fuck outta Dodge.

photo credit where credit is due

I'll be in the land o' beaver for a few days, and I try to stay off the interwebs as much as possible whilst in the homeland. So in case I don't make it on here, enjoy yourselves however you deem appropriate. Or inappropriate. If you're already on the naughty list, might as well finish strong.

be well -

JH

eff me

2009-12-21T17:56:00.000-08:00

For the record, I realized after posting moments ago that the previous two posts were also just glorified lists.

The hypocrisy is not lost.

Dammit. Love me anyway? Kthanxbye.

and a partridge in a pear tree

2009-12-21T17:30:00.000-08:00

If frequency of blog posts determined placement on Santa's list, in four days I'd be opening colorful boxes of reindeer shit. Writing fail on my part this month. Yet another "area for growth" on the ever-growing resolution list.

And this posty-post right here...it's not going to be amazing. Let's just get that out in the open. No one will etch these words in stone because I am channeling my inner six year old and cannot focus on anything other than SANTASANTASANTA.

By and large my self-imposed blogging rules are to avoid (1) emo boo-hoo shit, (2) dear diary references of no relevance to anyone else, and (3) lists. Lists are the least offensive but are an easy out all the same, the written equivalent of offering up a handjob so you can claim effort when really you just want to sleep.

So if you couldn't tell before this, I'm absolutely breaking my third rule today. If this upsets you, well, Rudolph says go fuck yourself. Such a potty-mouthed reindeer he is.

Any-hoo.....things that are currently the schnapps in my cocoa:

Wheels up in roughly forty hours, SNA to PDX...I have a middle seat but I'll deal as long as Mr. or Ms. Window Seat isn't a pee-monster. It's a two hour, twenty minute flight. You go more than once, and I activate Beast Mode.
My shopping is 99.9% done and I didn't sell any organs to finance this miracle.
I get to see my cousin and her cute little bi-racial baby, renewing the sadness over both my parents being white as pure snow.
Babs promised me lunch at Juan Colorado's, and nothing makes me happier than a mouthful of Mexican. Pun intended? Bet your sweet ass it was.
Presents. Spare me the holier-than-thou shit. I need new socks and that business ain't free.
Food. Paid for and prepared by others. Massive win.
Reuniting with a bestie for some good old fashioned shenanigans. If being hungover on Christmas Eve is wrong, I don't want to be right.
Board games with my dad's side of the tree. Not only is it tradition, but mixing alcohol with mental illness and sarcasm is a special joy not known by the masses.
Green. Everywhere. Actual trees, not a weed reference, and yes I do have to clarify because it's Oregon and both are plentiful.

That's all. Sorry to subject you to a list-job, I'd offer more but my mind is 1,000 miles to the north...and I have a headache.

Safe travels amigos -

JH

wonders never cease

2009-12-11T12:52:00.000-08:00

Here are some things I don't understand. If you have any insight, by all means share with the class:

Ashley Madison
Have you heard of this? The online "agency" that helps initiate extramarital affairs? Their site motto is "Life is short. Have an affair." This intrigues me. Obviously I don't have the moral marriage-is-sacred hang-up; I'm all for fucking early and often with whoever pulls your trigger. I believe cheating is like love in that it is defined within one's own mind; there's no hard and fast set of standards. I just get hung up on the sheer blatancy of this site. Can you imagine being the partner that finds that in the ol' browser history? It's like finding a Google search on how to hide a body....if you don't connect the dots, you deserve what's coming. Almost 2010, and we can't even manage infidelity the old-fashioned way anymore.....perplexing.

Folgers Coffee
OK, this one drives me insane. At my Ralph's store, they keep the Folgers Instant Coffee locked up in the front of the store with the Skoal and Virginia Slims and other things the lower echelon of Hollywood craves. WHY? There has to be some illicit use of which I'm unaware, like how they guard the cold meds so we all don't whip up a fresh batch of meth in the tub. I'm convinced there is a dark sinister use for those caffeinated crystals, and I won't rest till I know what it is.

Straight Girls in Clubs
After my outing into stereotypical Hollywood club-land last night, I offer this friendly reminder to the young lass that opted against panties in December: no one buys a cow if it looks like a big slutty whoreface. Or something like that. Bottom line, I accidentally saw her vagina. More aptly put, I was visually accosted by her frightening impostor of a vagina, which I can only hope survived a nuclear explosion as an explanation for its deformity. Maybe it was cursed. I don't know. But goddamn. First off, have a modicum of self-respect before you throw your legs open in the direction of unsuspecting homos. Second, if your poor puss looks like it's been whittled out of oak, best to save that surprise for the bedroom lest you frighten away potential suitors. I'm as down to do naughty things with a stranger as anyone, but desperate doesn't begin to explain this chick. Baffling.

Weather in LA
God forbid it ever snow here. I predict people would eat their groceries, their pets, each other, and then die of starvation before attempting a trip to the store. It rains here and people act like they're personally being punished. Anything remotely close to the realities of the outside sends this town into a tailspin. Portland in 12 days. Can't. Wait. To. Escape.

I guess that's all for now. Answers and explanations welcome.

Happy Friday Friends -

JH

check it twice

2009-12-08T16:44:00.000-08:00

THE holiday list. Try it...you just might like it.

READ - "SantaLand Diaries" by David Sedaris
Really you should read the whole collection of holiday-themed short stories, but this is the crown jewel. Few things make me laugh out loud, but no matter how many times I read his account of working at Macy's Santaland I still end up in stitches. Good shit.

LISTEN - "River" by Robert Downey Jr.
Didn't know Iron Man / Sherlock Holmes had a Christmas song, did you? A bit on the mellow / depressing side if you acknowledge lyrics, but a great way to shake up the holiday tunage if you get tired of hearing Josh Groban. Which is not only plausible but absolutely certain to happen.

DRINK - Delirium Noel (beer) or Rumple Minze (shnapps)
Noel is the festive offshoot of the Belgian Delirium Tremens brewery, and Rumple Minze is the kick-ass (real) German version of peppermint schnapps. Use liberally to make yourself or others more tolerable while still feeling festive. Also, even though there are usually ample opportunities to get poo-faced, remember most of them happen in the proximity of your family or co-workers. Leave the beer bong in the closet and be aware that just because it's Baby Jesus' party, it doesn't give you the right to act like an asshole.

WATCH - "Love Actually" or "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation"
In the former, watch the scene where he holds up signs in place of caroling if you're down for a good cry; in the latter, watch the scene with the squirrel in the tree if you're in need of a good laugh. Both are classics.

WEAR - something subtle and erring on the side of dressy
The holidays are garish enough without you adding to the visual massacre. Anything with Santa's face on it is a no-no and if caught will result in the end of our friendship.

VISIT - a neighborhood advertised for its lights
Every city has one. If you live in the bottom half of Amerrikuh, put on a festive hat, pour some of the aforementioned spirits in your cocoa, and walk. It's better up close and makes you feel wintery. If you live in the top snowy cold as a witches tittie part of the country, for the love of god stay in the car, but load up all the seats and make an outing of it. It's festive and simple, and lazy individuals like me can enjoy the displays without actually having to do anything.

GIVE - what you can, if you want
If someone expects a gift, fuck them. You can show appreciation for someone without a box and bows. Don't have a meltdown or take out a loan over gifts. Be thoughtful, be reasonable, and no matter what anyone says, giftcards mean you don't care enough to try. Fact.

BE - laid back
This time of year freaks everyone out. Plane delays, check-out lines, shipping failures, food disasters, relatives and their respective disorders, money, the usual year-round assholes....it's enough to seriously consider grinding up a Xanax in the nog and wake up around President's Day. Don't give in. Be pleasant and cut everyone, including yourself, a little slack.

That's my list. Not my gift list, obviously. That includes a trip to Europe and Ryan Reynolds holding chocolate peanut butter ice cream.

Don't judge, Everyone is allowed a Christmas dream.

-JH

take two

2009-12-06T22:24:00.000-08:00

I know I blame Hollywood for all things wrong in the world short of the atom bomb, but this weekend made me think about a part of life that is usually drastically different from what the movies would have us expect.

The time to say goodbye.

A buddy of mine recently got demoted, and we were discussing his plan of action over lunch. Somewhat tongue-in-cheek, he said in the last meeting with his bosses before he quits, he wants to remind them what a bad decision they're making, and "walk off into the sunset." Whether he does it or not, the essence of his comment epitomizes what we've all grown to believe:

There's nothing in life like a grand finale.

A nail in the coffin. The final word. That perfectly timed quip right before the music swells and the credits role. We crave it. In the movies their voices never shake, and they never stumble as they walk away. If we're angry, we want to leave on a real TKO of a verbal slap, striding away defiantly as they shamefully realize their mistake. If we're feeling bittersweet, we hope for a lingering last touch during a meaningful silence before slowly walking away without turning back. If we're sad, we want to be the last thing they see as the plane/train/automobile door closes, trying gamely to smile as a single tear escapes.

I'm just saying... Rhett Butler frankly not giving a damn in Gone With the Wind? Powerful exits are legendary.

I was all geared up for a particular bittersweet goodbye this weekend. I had a my choice lines picked out and everything. And while the banter was sufficiently poignant and a lingering touch occurred, what I had hoped to be a grand finale felt more like fireworks in the rain....not quite how it was meant to be.

But in real life, no one yells "CUT!" as you walk away. Goodbyes are rarely plain and never simple, and I'm not even sure with a million takes I could have said everything I wanted to say.

I guess that's the blessing and the curse of not looking back...you'll never know if you were right to move forward.

don't touch the turducken

2009-12-01T11:48:00.000-08:00

Well it's Tuesday, it's officially December, and I'm wearing these little beauties:

...so for all intents and purposes, today is officially The Tits.

I like this time of year because I like seeing the truth. Messy, hilarious, awkward truth about families and relationships, the little man behind the great big facade that we're never supposed to acknowledge. It is not usually warm sweaters and easy conversation and foods both tasty and light shared with people you enjoy. It is, however:

- learning a better way to roll a joint on a bathroom floor at 2am Thanksgiving morning, and then laughing hysterically over the fact that things like a turducken actually exist.

-having a round-table discussion with your friend's family about when she'll start having solid bowel movements again.

-joining in on cherry pie with your fingers after it fell on the floor, because there's no sense in throwing it out when the three second rule is in effect.

-hearing the explanation of how Jake Gyllenhaal's face makes Aunt Someone nauseous.

-sitting in another family's living room as they discuss who spilled the beans of a cousin's lesbian engagement to Homophobic Grandma....

-...and then finding out said lesbian wedding is set to take place on Halloween. In full costume.

-calling your own family, 1,000 miles away, to find out your nephew ate shampoo and everyone is getting sauced over a rousing game of dominoes.

-coming home to your own apartment, setting up your plastic Target tree, and drinking Sam Adams seasonal variety pack while your friends haphazardly trim the tree while discussing whose job it is to name porno movies.

-sitting alone in the dark after it's all said and done, no fireplace, no snowflakes, just getting lost in the little lights as you think about all the great things you have in your life.

It is not Martha Stewart Living.
It is not Courier and Ives.
But it is pretty damn magical all the same.

photo credit: Aaron Keigher
see more of his work and follow his 365 days of photos here

feast, meet face-hole

2009-11-25T12:43:00.000-08:00

Happy Turkey Eve, bitches!

My one request on this weekend of thanks - really go for it. No half-ass gratitude in this house. It's too easy to bust out a pre-packaged "I'm thankful foooooooooor....healthandhappinessandfamilyAMEN, pass the rolls!"

This is the equivalent of people who write "hanging out with friends" and "listening to music" when they're supposed to describe their interests.

ZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzz

C'mon. Take a second. You can do better than that. What moments make you feel alive? Who makes you laugh so hard you snort? What opportunities have you been given that changed the course of your journey?

You don't have to tell me. You don't have to tell anyone, for that matter. But somewhere between the hugs and the stuffing and the football just be sure you're giving a mental hat-tip to the things in life that make it worth living.

Namaste my lovelies....may you eat mashed potatoes till you puke.

-JH

things my friends say, vol. 7

2009-11-23T17:21:00.000-08:00

Today's nugget compliments of:

"I had the bacon ice cream last time. You would hate it. I want to fuck it."

I have no doubt that this statement is entirely factual.

everyone loves a quickie

2009-11-19T17:05:00.000-08:00

A quick n' dirty post as we round the corner toward turkey time...

**I'm only working three of the next ten days. That, friends, is a favorable percentage.

**Yogurtland just started offering peppermint frozen yogurt. It should offer you a smoke and a ride home afterward. It's that good in the mouth.

Gratuitous holiday tie-in? You betcha.

**It's t-minus one hour until I leave for a long weekend in Arizona, and I'm chomping at the bit. I'm long overdue to get the fuck out of Dodge. Every time I visit the Grand Canyon State it's a delightfully messy hodgepodge of intoxication and cacti.

role model.

**I love Thanksgiving. I love turkey and football and naps and looking at the ads even though there's not a snowball's chance in hell of me going to a mall the day after. Can't WAIT.

no words.

One week till the holiday season kicks off my friends...start building your tolerance now if you're ever going to make it through six weeks of family time.

-JH

lessons from the fluff and fold

2009-11-17T23:53:00.000-08:00

I'm always a bit apprehensive when I feel compelled to write after midnight. You know that trepidation you get when your phone rings in the middle of the night? Like you just know it's not going to be good, because happy topics wait for daylight?

It's similar but not exactly like that.

I've been meaning to write. I really have. Insightful things, transparent things, and all things in between. In the past, oh, week or so, I've been kicking around posts on:

hiking
how every liquor label releases a new ad campaigns for the holidays
things I find funny about straight porn
my not-entirely-serious Christmas list
motivation
the new color scheme of our apartment building (hint: metallic silver and lavender)
the means justifying the end

You thought I was kidding, but scatterbrained folk need never exaggerate.

The problem, or part of the problem if it's really a problem, is this random list my roommate dearest found on the interwebs and emailed me about being a better writer. On one line it says to write everyday, but then on another line it says to only write about things you find interesting, because if you're bored, your audience will be too.

I am simply not interesting everyday. Conundrum.

However I do start to feel guilty if I allow for cobwebs to grow on el bloggo, not because I'm delusional enough to think I might miss posting the one day a powerful literary agent goes trolling through the riffraff, but because you can't win if you don't play and this tiny corner of my life is one of few where I'm allowed total control.

Some of those other bullet points, I haven't given up on them yet. But tonight, for whatever reason, this is the last thought on my mind:

I'm thinking about the guy who works at my cleaners, who shall remain nameless because I know him only as Dry Cleaning Guy. He works in the middle of Hollywood, sandwiched between a Subway and a rocking chair store that never actually seems to be open, his every day spent looking across a tiny strip mall parking lot out to stalled traffic on La Brea. This man is happy. And not the forced, I-will-get-fired-if-I-don't-greet-you sort happy. Genuinely excited about life. Every time he gives me my pick-up ticket, me or anyone else for that matter, he presents it like some form of sacred scroll, using both hands like an offering, slightly bowed, not aiming for comedy but sincerely grateful to be handing over the ticket that will eventually allow your slacks back into your possession. Every single time. And every single time I think to myself...I hope I'm on track for that kind of happiness.

I like to think I am.
And hopefully you are too.

when LA doesn't suck (it can happen!)

2009-11-12T16:57:00.000-08:00

This is going to be real quick-like, because I'm swamped at work and actually doing my job.

I know....right?

I've been kind of a headcase monster grumpy twat all week, for no real reason. Disturbance in the universal force, to be sure. Funky vibes. Bad juju if you will. However today was pretty good all around, a definite improvement at the very least. And as I was negotiating usage on a German newspaper ad (wtf?), I looked out my office window and saw this:

Call me crazy, but I think this is the universe's way of saying no worries...we're all good here.

bah humbug

2009-11-10T15:55:00.000-08:00

I was all ready to be a Perky Peter today, and now the accounting woman tells me I'm out of vacation days for the rest of the year.

fuck.

This is the hard part about working for small company, owned by people you legitimately enjoy. I've worked for numerous evil corporations and it's simple to trash their policies and procedures, mostly because they're put into place by heartless cyborgs you'll never meet. I used to steal extra orange aprons from Home Depot simply because they acted as if they were made of precious metals and they'd shit a goat if one went missing. Reason being, some random smart ass would put one on and tell people that lumber was free today, or to use the saws themselves, etc.

I envied those smart-asses.
I used to hide aprons between the bags of manure to make them think impostors were afoot.

But I like my current bosses, and I just can't bring myself to rip on them. Instead I'll take my bitter spoonful of reality and I'll swallow it right down.

For the record, it's not like I went nuts and spent 2009 jet-setting between my homes in Barbados and the damned Alps. I took five days off. FIVE. Still, I had, oh, 3-5 days I was planning on taking off between now and 2010, but the rent, she doesn't pay herself, so now I'm in a pickle.

This woman wants to kill herself.
I can't say I blame her.

Weirdest part? For as poor as I am, I would take more vacation over higher pay without hesitation. Money just come and goes before I even really see it, and I'm quite skilled at living one bad month away from the poverty line. Time, on the other hand....when she sent me the list of days I took off this year, I can instantly remember the family or friend (is there a difference?) I went to see, what we did, and why we did it. And I wouldn't trade any of those moments for the world. Because, to steal the quote:

"It came without ribbons!

It came without tags!

It came without packages, boxes, or bags!"

Love those moments friends, whenever you can have them -

JH