Tag Archives: Girlfriend

Journal Type Shits , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Hold On

by

I’m out already. Back in the comfort of the office. All is dark now and the light is on and it smells good and now I really am drinking whiskey and ginger ale, but the heat is still off. No sign of the AirBnB guest, except that the back door was unlocked and the extra set of keys were on the table. So far as I can tell he is fast asleep in his quarters.

Just before I left for work I watched the Alabama Shakes on YouTube. I’d never actually seen a video of theirs even though I listen to their album all the time. This video is a little different than the album version and it almost made me cry. And it got me through the day. That’s what art is all about!

GF is out with her friends, celebrating killing her first lobster at school. I am supposed to pick her up in a Zipcar when she’s done. I offered because one in five woman in the United States will be a victim of a crime and I want to keep her out of that. Don’t like her traveling home alone at night. She does it sometimes and it’s fine, but I’d rather her not if I can help it.

Supposed to be a busy day tomorrow. I’m working a double. But I’ll be home again at a decent hour. So strange, three days in a row. I kept thinking all day that today was Thursday. I was so sure of it. But anyway, strange, because I usually close tonight, tomorrow, the next night and the next, but I’m not even working Saturday, going home for Easter. Coworker left me two dollars from yesterday’s cash take. Weak.

At the wine tasting, no one gave the salesperson who was showing us the wine any respect. It was so weird. One guy was yawning and saying the wine was bad and another was interrupting her all the time saying she didn’t think that was right. It was so weird. One coworker said that they were probably acting this way because the wines were inexpensive, and last week were tasting Burgundy Grand Crus, so they were probably like yeah whatever. Well, shit, that’s pretty fucked up to disrespect someone just because of that. I mean shit our manager is the one who told her which wines to show.

But fuck it. Everyone is mean sometimes, sometimes you just got to Hold On.

Alcohol, Journal Type Shits , , , , , , 5 Comments

Another Strange Day Off

by

Well shit here we are again drinking the blood of the earth and wondering whether or not the entire fourth division of the Santa Barbara Mockingbird Saints will come calling. Perhaps only half of them and that will be bad enough.

I’ve had too much to drink. I went out and tried to be something like a barfly. I tried to do the things that others do, to do things that would be fun, to leave the comfort of my own home and well, it was both good and bad.

GF was supposed to meet me at the bar, but instead she got out of school late so immediately we had to go to the grocery store and you know how that does wonders for my mood. Especially after three beers and a Hemingway daiquiri. And before that two cappuccinos. Looks like another red letter night for dreams.

We’re sitting at the table, she’s reading, and I’m thinking about nothing because my brain is racing like a pro.

Well I just don’t get inspired by alcohol like some people do. And now GF is moving to the couch, so I will have to follow suit, and she will fall asleep soon and I am working back to back doubles starting tomorrow so if I know what’s best for me I’ll go to sleep, just like she will in a matter of minutes, because she can’t be comfortable and read and drink tea without falling asleep.

I thought I had it all figured out, a number of times today, and then I don’t know, I got home and called Citibank.

Journal Type Shits , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

Only If For a Night

by

Shit I couldn’t hardly sleep last night after a long day of working I came home and ate some seafood pizza that GF made and drank half a bottle of Californian psuedo-champagne I got for free from a man in a bejeweled blazer. The pizza was delicious. I ran out of bubbly halfway through so I also had a beer. And before that, I had a shit ton of caffeine, so my dreams were lucid yet horrible.

I dreamed I was serving lemonade, bartender style, at a bus stop where these cranky bitches who brunch were yelling at me and Lawrence Fishburne wasn’t taking any guff. It was awful. And with GF turning on and off the lights and whatnot shit was getting psychadelic in there.

She had to go to this volunteer thing at like 6:30 in the morning, so all this was going on around 6. I was like fuck it, I’m getting up. And that rarely happens but the dreams were so bad and I felt like a ball of fiendishness.

I’ve been up for a few hours now and watched the sun not rise at all behind all the clouds from the windows of the office.

Shit I did my taxes. Just got my last W2. Got some money back but for the first time in my life I don’t need it desperately to make a payment. I mean, the loan companies want it but they can wait. I’m just going to bank that bitch and I’m sure the IRS will come calling wanting that shit back anyway.

Yeah but then I thought about asking GF to marry me. I would have a long time ago but never had enough money for a ring and we’re in no rush anyway, since we’ve been living as a married couple since 2009. But now I got this credit card with six months of no interest so fuck it!

Now my landlord is outside walking around with that weird Saturday morning gait, checking license plates and whatnot.

So basically all is right and good with the world, and my life is a tiny sphere of perfection. Just waiting for other shoe to drop, as it were. A mother fucker really can’t get this lucky forever.

Morning Warm-Ups , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

A List of Things I Did Today

by

It’s been a wild day. I spent a lot of it outside the house. Most of it up to now. And now we are home and GF is doing yoga to a video and the people downstairs are practically yelling at each other as a means of communication. We can’t wait to move out of here and not hear these people any more.

But whatever. Big deal. Better than having suicide headaches.

I’m kind of hungry now. I went to PS Gourmet Coffee for the first time today and if you haven’t seen their campy ad on TV you’re missing out.

It’s a lot smaller than it looks in that commercial. I hung out there for a while. GF had some meeting and she wanted to go out for lunch in the city so I figured I might as well go with her, even though it meant missing out on some writing time. It’s President’s Day or something so she didn’t have to go to school.

I sat there and read an Irish newspaper article about this owl getting stuck in an SUV on a Florida turnpike and living through the 140 mile ride. And then I read some more about women and guns.

Then we went to this super cool coffee shop called Barrington or something like that.

Then we went to this Thai restaurant called Brown Sugar Cafe. It was awesome. There were fish swimming around.

Then we went grocery shopping. At least that’s over. Trader Joe’s was mobbed with cars.

And now I’m here, trying to get into the writing groove, but all this noise…and shit I don’t know. I’m not feeling it.

From the back heel through the hands you want to be one long diagonal line. Really feel both legs working evenly. Inhale lift the body, exhale vinyasa.

Journal Type Shits , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

Back in the House

by

It’s cold out there ya’ll. Snowing last night and shit. Snows like a mofo in this town. But I am so warm and toasty now I got the space heater and the regular heaters rocking. And I heated up some soup from last night, the squash soup, and opened up a bottle of red wine I bought from work to learn about since my wine education has been slowing down to the point it’s falling backwards. And now I got a head rush. And I’m eating this roasted duck,what’s left of it. Oh my God I can hardly function this way. And I just finished reading Ruth Reichl’s Garlic and Sapphires. An amazing book that talks about food all the time, so I am in a food place right now, a food paradise. A paradise of the senses. And fingers on the keys too so I got the touch and I’m listening to The National so I got the ears going too. Life just doesn’t get much better than this.

I wanted to link to this interview about Seth Godin if only to remind myself later that I read it at this time, because I think it’s going to change the way I look at writing, or at least change a little bit, or at least start a change to the way I approach the idea of writing. This is how Seth Godin writes. This was the part that really made me think:

What’s your best advice for overcoming procrastination?

The deadline focuses the mind, of course. The curse of the traditional writer is that the publisher wants a book no more often than once a year. So procrastination is part of the process.

But blogging? Once a day. Not every minute like Twitter, which provokes mediocre writing because there’s so much of it. But every day? Better write something, better make it good.

Oh my god I’m like the posterboy for gluttony right now. This class I took once, Biblical and Classical Literature, one of the five major contributors to my renouncing my Christian faith, we had to illustrate the seven deadly sins. I could take a picture of myself right now. Shoving basically an entire duck in my mouth. Oh my god oh my god.

Though I’ll remember not to recommend this wine with duck.

“Better write something. Better make it good.” I’ve just been thinking that over and over again today.

Tonight should be a good night for writing. GF has a lot of reading to do and I don’t think we have anywhere to go. Tomorrow I’m going to take this rusted bike to the bike shop and see what’s what. I’ve been having to take a taxi home after work too many times  and it’s not financially sustainable so time to consider other options. Helmets probably cost a shitload. Or a shit-ton. Or at least a guinea.

I’m slowly making my way through Great Expectations. The last time I read it was in…ninth grade or before that. I’m at the time when Pip is taking leave of his old friends and he’s being a total douche. Poor Joe.

I’m going to try to write something about something specific today. Maybe instead of being a food critic like Ruth Reichl I could be a book reviewer. I need more time to read books though. Fuck it I’m already a bartender. I’ll write a post about this wine.

Nighttime Cool Downs, Not Fit for Public Consumption , , , , , , , , , 3 Comments

And We Would Cook a Corn Meal Porridge

by

Readability Index: Weak

Well, shit.

It is almost one AM. It’s funny how some people say, “It’s 1 AM in the morning.” I’ve never done it before, but one day, by God, I’m going to say, “Yeah by that time it was like 2 AM in the night.” I bet no one will think anything of it. Because it makes total sense to me.

Well, but shit.

This is to be my wind down post before going to bed.

God I love hitting that publish button so much. All the words blocked off in their appropriate fences with pretty blue titles. And all the ways to keep track of them. To catalogue them. I love cataloguing. I could totally dig a job where I just fixed people’s iTunes libraries. I love databases, especially the ones with no point whatsoever. Of course those kinds of databases don’t exist.

I love the Mad Hatter.

Yes, but I am trying to wind down, and unlike this morning, well I just can’t stop my fingers. They are moving so fast and with such precision that it almost hurts to watch. God. How did I get born with fingers that work? Jesus Christ. What if my fingers were cut off in a freak trolley incident? What a bitch that would be. What difficulties that would present.

I am so god damned perfect. Like a machine. Like a sad machine. Like a god damned ecstatic James Brown SEX MACHINE!

Well but shit. It is imperative that I calm down now so that I can go to bed. So that I can wash those god damn dishes that led to this beautiful coconut muffin that my super hot girlfriend just made.

She is so super hot that I am afraid of time. I am afraid that she will get older and so will I. I will have saggy balls. What a bitch. She is so super hot that I just want to jump into a drying tub of amber with her and die like that French movie called…The Game. But in French.

But for now. We are both so perfect. No diseases. Ten fingers. What a couple of assholes we are.

Hoo.

Shit. The dishes. The dishes. I think…no, I know that that is what life is REALLY ABOUT. Life is really about doing the dishes. I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again and again. Because I feel that it is true, and I know that I know why, but I can’t articulate it, even to myself. I know that life is about doing the dishes, but I don’t know why I know that.

But that’s neither here nor there, as my friend would say who has gone to Afghanistan for a year and we parted on bad terms. Isn’t that a bitch. We have been friends since High School. We have been so cool together and now he is seconds away from dying and we don’t even like each other.

Yes, but as another friend wisely told me in a funny voice, “Friendship is a long and bumpy road.” Yes. Yesssss.

Well. Shit.

These muffins are delicious. And I never expected to be given the gift of sitting here for two or three hours after work just doing my own thang.

The truth is if it weren’t for my girlfriend I would have no structure in my life whatsoever. I would probably be watching Marley the Bob Marley documentary right now and blogging about it. And I would do that for about three hours and love the hell out of it and not eat a god damn thing. Then I would watch some porn and then I would blog some more and then the sun would come up and I would have not eaten or drank or took my coat off. There are many bloggers out there who come to this and find it a pleasurable state. I do, too, until later when I look back, like when I’m at work and I think if I got anything done that day, then I am not happy about it. So God only knows what the fuck is going on. But my girl makes me go to bed and wake up in the morning and eat and wash the goddamn dishes. And take showers. Trust me I’d be the dirtiest mother fucker alive. I love taking showers once I’m in the shower but I hate undressing and getting in there.

Showers are just about the most luxurious fucking thing anybody could ever do. And millions of “poor” Americans take showers every day. We are rich as a bitch over here! Showers feel fucking great. God damn I am an American! How did this shit happen. In France I had to shower in cold water and it sucked sucked sucked. I have taken many cold showers on the advice of Tim Ferriss and the venerable General George Patton, but those were for a purpose. Hot showers…man they are one big fuck you to the Earth, but I can’t stay away. Yes I know. I’m a terrible Earthling.

Ah, but fuck I will talk about that some other time. I can’t even be bothered to stop typing long enough to pick up that goddamn muffin! Yum so good. Oh god it’s warm and good. It’s so goooood o fuck. Jesus.

What the shit am I doing with my life! Christ in heaven and blazing angels pissing on Willie Nelson this muffin is good!

Yes, so now to do the dishes.

There is so much more to talk about. I can go without sleep. And I totally would. But y girlfriend’s home and the mother fucking hammer is down.

Tomorrow I work early in the morning and she is not going on a field trip so we may be just talking and laughing the early hours away. AKA staying stone cold the fuck asleep because we stayed up until two AM in the night.

So I’ll just be reading Ruth Reichl on the bus and itching to get back here around 4 PM and type my ass off.

Right now…the dishes.

Existential Something or Other Zen Type Shit, Not Fit for Public Consumption , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

Breath(e)

by

Readability Index: Strangely Readable

Well. That story didn’t look as intense as I thought it would. For some reason while I was writing it I was getting really hyped up about the whole thing. I feel that I have failed to convey my outrage.

Nevertheless, I am breathing now. And I will forget the man who interrupted me, and remember the man who is my brother, who has a little girl and a wife, and likes to eat food while drinking grapefruit juice, and the man who is an amalgation of starstuff, as Carl Sagan would say, and the man who is a thousand worlds, as Neil Gaiman might say.

Yes. I am at one with the universe, which is myself, and therefore how could I ever be not that. If I could be at two with the universe. Or at odds.

But I am not either of those.

I am one and so are you. We are two. Who are one. With the interrupting man.

And my girlfriend, who keeps interrupting my thoughts while she makes muffins. It is 12:42 at night and we are about to eat some fresh muffins. Got to love that!

“Want to listen to French music?” she asks.

She. Is. Crazy.

And there is a shit ton of dishes to do.

And she is interrupting my thinking!

Ahck.

Nope, just going to breath(e) while the weird French music plays.

I love her. She is myself. And I am obsessed with her (myself).

I am obsessed. With myself.

And the muffins need more time.

Just going to breathe…breathe in the nature of the universe and breathe out the nature of God. Count the name of God aloud and…sink into the depths of love and brother feeling.

And sister feeling.

Sounds like a couple of things one might get in trouble for.

I am so calm and smooth like limestone from the Haut Cotes de Beaune. I am so smooth like worn limestone. I can feel Michelangelo shaping my left toe. And it is so cold that I am the cold and the hot and the candle on the table. I am the shirt that I am wearing. And more importantly, the shirt is me. And I am obsessed with this shirt.