Dig it: Halloween 2009

The cliché is that Halloween is when women get to dress up as a "slutty (fill in the blank)."

Personally, I think it’s a good thing. It’s already a pagan holiday. If women want to celebrate it by dressing as a sexual fantasy, that’s all the better. Now if only I could find myself a nice ritualistic orgy…

My hard drive failed yesterday

I bought it three years ago, when my iBook melted and took something near and dear to me. I cried like a baby. And then I bought a hard drive. I filled that little bastard with everything. Every song, picture, porn clip--they were all in there.

Well, when I went in to add more fun to the party, it just looked at me. And then minutes later, starting making the infamous "click of death" noise.

OK, let's see. I get fucking fired. The next day my (redacted) dies. A couple of days later, a big chunk of the last three years of my life virtually disappeared.

FML.

Can't sleep

Fact: Gigolos get lonely too.

My father was a very damaged man. But amongst that wreckage was a stunning work ethic that despite a 4th grade education allowed him to provide quite nicely for his family (however much he may have resented said family).

As such, I'm not very good with downtime. One of dad's favorite little tricks was to burst into my room early in the morning while I was still sleeping to scream at me about some stupid shit. Needless to say, it scared the shit out of me. He was like a fucking Nazi, yelling in his stupid southern accent and bad grammar and I'm all startled and wondering if the house is on fire or something terrible has happened. But no. It was something completely banal, like "Where the fuck is the fucking hubcap on the rear driver side of the car?! Where did you go? What did you do? ARE YOU ON DRUGS?!?!?"

Well father of mine, I wasn't on drugs then, but I am now, fucker. And they're pretty much the only thing that keep me from just driving off a cliff or pulling a DJ AM and seeing how many Oxycontins it takes to reach nirvana (i.e. sweet cloak of death). Well, drugs and porn.


So waking up without a stupid job where I'm overworked and undervalued is actually a bad thing in my life. If I'm not doing 100 things at once (and generating a steady income while doing them) I feel like the worthless bum that "ain't never gonna be shit," as the old man liked to constantly remind me.

At the same time, I've done a fantastic job of alienating myself from the people around me. No matter how hard I try, even my closest friends are a good arm's length away. And it fucking sucks.

I woke up this morning well before dawn. My street can be so quiet before the start of rush hour. I smoke the remnants of last night's joint and turn to you. But you're not there. You eventually left me, too. You're just too young, vital and well-adjusted for the likes of me. Which is especially fucked up, considering that you're quite parentally-damaged like myself. Just not nearly as much.

But...at least I realize it. I'm making strides. You seemed to have a good time at the show on Wednesday night. Even though I could feel the distance you maintained between us, no matter what I did. You let me put my arm around you, but I felt you stiffen against it, ever so slightly.

But I persisted. I smiled and laughed and clapped and paid attention and everything. All of the things you used to say you'd wish I'd do. I got a little teary at towards the end. It was a sad song, and it only emphasized how far away you are from me now. Like, so gone.

So I drove you home. I told you I love you and that I miss you. You said you loved me too. You kissed my cheek and gave me a really tight hug. I asked you out to dinner this weekend, and you said yes.

The next day, I got your email saying dinner would have to be postponed indefinitely. You're just really busy with work, and all of your side gigs. Working hard and making money, you know how it goes.

Oh yes. I know how it goes.

Saturday AM Wake N Bake

Please stand by...

Well then

There I was, all smug with my neat little plan. Folded so perfectly on my sparkling clean desk.

Everything in a row, 1, 2, 3, 4.

And then I saw it. A cockroach. In MY apartment.

There are only a few odd and completely random things that literally terrify me. On that list are fucking cockroaches.

I’ve lived in this place for years now. It’s got ups and downs, like most living situations. One of the biggest pluses was the fact that the house is regularly sprayed for roaches. Hence, I’ve never had to deal with those…things.

Roaches have breached my space here exactly two times. Both times I freaked the fuck out. The first time my gf of the era handled it. The second time, I somehow made it happen.

And then, around 1AM last night, I saw it. It was perched on one of the three living room windowsills. Fuuuuuck me.

I’m kind of shaking inside. Oh man. I’m squinting so it only appears as a scary, dark blur. I throw a shoe at it. Twice. The third time the roach falls to the floor and makes a break for it. I lose my fucking mind. I start smashing it with a shoe. Somehow, it remains unfazed, and just kind of hops back and forth in front of the window. Ooooh SHIT. I gotta really go in and do this.


The roach leaps onto the wall and I unleash the fucking fury. I’m hammering his roach ass like there is no tomorrow. I see a couple of parts splinter off, and realize it’s finally stopped moving.


I’m breathing like a crazy bastard and my heart is pounding. I have a vague recollection of screaming “DIE YOU FUCKER JUST FUCKING DIE!” a couple of times. I cover the roach’s splattered carcass with the murder weapon: a grey Nike hiking shoe. 

My cell phone rings. It’s the landlord from downstairs.

“Are you OK?” She loud-whispers. “What’s going on up there?” 

I apologize profusely and explain the scenario. She kind of chuckles and says she understands. I guess the guys that spray the house missed a month or something. Says she had ‘a little one’ in her kitchen. I’m like, fuck, OK. Thanks for, um, letting me know.

And then today happened. I guess it wasn’t fully unexpected, especially after the roach. They’re like harbingers of doom. Because the third time a goddamned cockroach got into my space, I woke up and it all kind of…fell over.

It’s funny, because after the whole roach debacle, I accidentally set off one my smoke alarms (which is for some retarded, yes, retarded reason is hooked up to my remote control? Um, hello?). And when it did, I said out loud “It’s all coming apart.”

And then it did some more and for real though.

Thankfully, my karma account seems to be well up to date, because there is a potential jaybeez to the remedy coming together tomorrow afternoon. It was originally scheduled for today, which is even craaaaazier.

I’m telling you, this shit is for real. It’s all for real. I’m excited.

Story of my life

Kanye West and Spike Jonze made a short film together. Kanye posted it on his blog last night. It's fucking amazing, on a multitude of levels.

Of course, anything truly awesome on the internet has a very short shelf-life. Hence, the film has already been taken down for some reason or another.

Surely it'll be released for real at some point, hopefully sooner than later.

In the meantime, Free Kanye and slap the shit out of Chris Brown while you're at it.