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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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

nothing good happens after midnight

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

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


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

-J

queen takes pawn

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

Exhibit A:

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

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

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


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

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

short and sweet

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

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

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