women... life.... stuff

I can't goddamn sleep again.


Motherfucker I am depressed. I usually fuck my way out of depression. I have a girl. This isn’t supposed to be so difficult? Alright, I have a girl in Arkansas that is the difficult part. I can’t go on a no sex kick and sustain a long distance relationship and maintain my sanity can I? I can’t get her out here sooner and I’m not going home anytime soon. Let’s just say I’m at a very frustrating impasse. I want to pull out my own teeth drunk on whiskey to get through this. I want to pull out my toenails with pliers later tonight. I want to tweak out on adderal and right those columned lists or pluses and negatives. I don’t get feeling like this and being so far away from someone it doesn’t make sense. I know its reciprocated when I hear from unaffiliated parties that she was overheard talking about me. It’s nice. But for fucks sake, literally for the sake of me getting fucked before goddamn Christmas what the fuck do I do?
I’ve been fine to reassess my life til now at the bed and breakfast. I’ve been happy to wallow like a pig in a trough eating my dad’s food and staying rent-free while I wait to figure things out. I’m not looking for other girls; I’m just looking for reassurance that waiting this thing out.
For my mental health let’s just say it’s been since June 12th that I have seen my girl. In that time I have been totally faithful and patient. But I feel like an old wooden roller coaster that needs some maintenance. You gotta go around those things banging in nails about every day. There’s no fucking break form that shit. It’s rickety, temperamental; it’s a R-o-l-l-e-r C-o-a-s-t-e-r. I call her at 2:50am California time and she’s in Arkansas sitting in front of a bottle of Jack Daniels. Whoopee. That’s great for her. Do you know what my vice is? Girls. I like women. I like looking at ‘em a lot but I especially like touching ‘em and getting horizontal with the ones I really like. I need to start smoking. Try intravenous drug use or something. I can stick to a lot of things. I hold onto my convictions like a winning lotto card. I am horrible at not being validated physically or enough emotionally (telling me she wants to do it) to a fault.

No wonder I kept trying to break things off. I knew how hard this was going to be for me. I’m not even 2 whole months in. I could drink more, but I’d fuck someone from the bar. I could write more but I’d write about fucking. I could workout more but I’d have to join a Gym. And for that matter if I keep working out this obsessively it’s going to be me turning down hoes cause I’m drunk at the bar and they saw me at the gym and are dying to know if I can bench-press their BFF since it’s her bachelorette party. I know… it sounds crazy. Shit like that happens to me. Crazy women swarm to me when alcohol is involved. I talk mad drunk game as long as I don’t have to play bar games. I could not win a girl over w/ my skill at bar games. Or any games really. I kick ass at solitaire but can you imagine that pulling in some honnies? Hey baby wanna watch me play solitaire? Awww yeah, Solitaire and it’s straight to business, cause it’s Wednesday and that’s when we make sweet weekly love…

What’s gonna end this madness? Do I wait for her to move out here? Do I give her some ultimatum? Do I encourage her to set a goal? Ha-ha. God, That sounds like complete shit to me. That’s not how I roll. I know her deal, she wants to be mature and responsible and save money. I get that. I know I’m being selfish here. But she works 2-3 days a week and she’s drinking at goddamn 5am in the morning and I’m staring at ceiling tiles thinking its time to butter the corn. Ya know, parking the pink Cadillac, lock crotches; give her a hot beef injection. I need to get dancing with the good old-fashioned horizontal mambo… I wanna make sweet hot love by the fire listening to Barry White. Seriously. Does anyone have a bearskin rug I can borrow?

What else do I have to ponder when I’m up at 3am and she’s drinking herself to sleep? I need to moonlight as a night watchman at a sheep farm so I can catch some zzzz’s. I’m not in some city. I’m in sleepy small lake town, Lakeport, CA. What do I have to do when I don’t have Ethan? I need a library card, a gym membership, and a porn site membership. Some breath mints, a 20 pack of Trojans, and a god damn job.

I hate when thing are up in the air. I am all about plans, missions, projects, and goals. I may not seem like it but I love to write a list and when I have to keep myself on task I write lists every day. Like clockwork. Whether I complete them or not I write them. IF I was writing a list my first priority would be figure out how to get her here or to figure out a tactful way to have her give me a date that she’s set for herself.

Personally, Karen and I said in June that when she left she wasn’t coming back. I haven’t felt anything that intense and passionate in a long time. Maybe I haven’t felt anything like that before. What is scary is I can’t tell if it was because she was leaving and I knew it or if it’s genuine. If it’s the big “L” then this is worse than I thought. The problem with being privy to the ins and outs of the game is knowing what’s predetermined. Knowing the fixers means knowing the math of the situation. Percentages and calculations means being pessimistic which is the biggest slap in the face. What if this isn’t what I’m building it up to? That’s the secret there… Does knowing the rules make me the king of self-fulfilled prophecies? Who am I to criticize someone for not moving away from her home in Arkansas 2000 miles away? She’s leaving her friends and family to be with some guy? Of course it’s me so I’m biased because I’ m awesome. I’d move here for me. But I see that side of it. The whole mess kills me because this is what I do all night, think about all the angles and I’m so good at it I can make whatever conclusion I want and justify it just as easy as any passing whim.

Oh Jay-Z…. of course I wish I had it on lock down like you. I’m soft, but you’re married now. Let’s end w/ the Jigga bein’ hard back in his prime before I get sappy.

"Big Pimpin' (Extended)"
(feat. U.G.K.)

[Jay-Z]
Uhh, uh uh uh
It's big pimpin baby..
It's big pimpin, spendin G's
Feel me.. uh-huh uhh, uh-huh..
Ge-ge-geyeah, geyeah
Ge-ge-geyeah, geyeah..

You know I - thug em, fuck em, love em, leave em
Cause I don't fuckin need em
Take em out the hood, keep em lookin good
But I don't fuckin feed em
First time they fuss I'm breezin
Talkin bout, "What's the reasons?"
I'm a pimp in every sense of the word, bitch
Better trust than believe em
In the cut where I keep em
til I need a nut, til I need to beat the guts
Then it's, beep beep and I'm pickin em up
Let em play with the dick in the truck
Many chicks wanna put Jigga fist in cuffs
Divorce him and split his bucks
Just because you got good head, I'ma break bread
so you can be livin it up? Shit I..
parts with nothin, y'all be frontin
Me give my heart to a woman?
Not for nothin, never happen
I'll be forever mackin
Heart cold as assassins, I got no passion
I got no patience
And I hate waitin..
Hoe get yo' ass in
And let's RI-I-I-I-I-IDE.. check em out now
RI-I-I-I-I-IDE, yeah
And let's RI-I-I-I-I-IDE.. check em out now
RI-I-I-I-I-IDE, yeah

[Chorus One: Jay-Z]

We doin.. big pimpin, we spendin cheese
Check em out now
Big pimpin, on B.L.A.D.'s
We doin.. big pimpin up in N.Y.C.
It's just that Jigga Man, Pimp C, and B-U-N B
Yo yo yo.. big pimpin, spendin cheese
We doin - big pimpin, on B.L.A.D.'s
We doin.. big pimpin up in N.Y.C.
It's just that Jigga Man, Pimp C, and B-U-N B

[Bun B]
Nigga it's the - big Southern rap impresario
Comin straight up out the black bar-rio
Makes a mill' up off a sorry hoe
Then sit back and peep my sce-nawr-e-oh
Oops, my bad, that's my scenario
No I can't fuck a scary hoe
Now every time, every place, everywhere we go
Hoes start pointin - they say, "There he go!"
Now these motherfuckers know we carry mo' heat than a little bit
We don't pull it out over little shit
And if you catch a lick when I spit, then it won't be a little hit
Go read a book you illiterate son of a bitch and step up yo' vocab
Don't be surprised if yo' hoe stab out with me
and you see us comin down on yo' slab
Livin ghetto-fabulous, so mad, you just can't take it
But nigga if you hatin I
then you wait while I get yo' bitch butt-naked, just break it
You gotta pay like you weigh wet wit two pairs of clothes on
Now get yo' ass to the back as I'm flyin to the track
Timbaland let me spit my pro's on
Pump it up in the pro-zone
That's the track that we breakin these hoes on
Ain't the track that we flow's on
But when shit get hot, then the glock start poppin like ozone
We keep hoes crunk like Trigger-man
Fo' real it don't get no bigger man
Don't trip, let's flip, gettin throwed on the flip
Gettin blowed with the motherfuckin Jigga Man, fool

[Chorus Two: Bun B]

We be.. big pimpin, spendin cheese
We be.. big pimpin, on B.L.A.D.'s
We be.. big pimpin down in P.A.T.
It's just that Jigga Man, Pimp C, and B-U-N B
Cause we be.. big pimpin, spendin cheese
And we be.. big pimpin, on B.L.A.D.'s
Cause we be.. big pimpin in P.A.T.
It's just that Jigga Man, Pimp C, and B-U-N B.. nigga

[Pimp C]
Uhh.. smokin out, throwin up, keepin lean up in my cup
All my car got leather and wood, in my hood we call it buck
Everybody wanna ball, holla at broads at the mall
If he up, watch him fall, nigga I can't fuck witch'all
If I wasn't rappin baby, I would still be ridin Mercedes
Chromin shinin sippin daily, no rest until whitey pay me
Uhhh, now what y'all know bout them Texas boys
Comin down in candied toys, smokin weed and talkin noise

[Chorus Two]

[Jay-Z]
On a canopy my stamina be enough for Pamela Anderson Lee
MTV jam of the week
Made my money quick then back to the streets but
Still sittin on blades... sippin that ray...
Standin on the corner of my block hustlin
Still gettin that cane
half what I paid slippin right through customs
It'll sell by night its extra white...
I got so many grams if the man find out
it will land me in jail for life
But im still big pimpin spendin chesse
with B.U.N. B, Pimp C, and Timothy
We got bitches in the back of the truck, laughin it up
Jigga Man that's what's up

ranting on July 22nd

I want fewer attachments , I feel tethered down to social networking these days.

it's weird that I update myspace and facebook like I used to update my journal...

I was watching all these skateboarding kids on my friend's skate DVD and t I want to balance all these out but the constant updates and all of the constant messages really arent what i want to be keeping up with. I want a quick in and out experience. IF I have time i want to write not upload pictures and see who's commented on my page and how many profile views i have. which is funny, becaue I always check.

freedom, yeah right.

I watched Mike Hawkins' Stake DVD Lurking Hard the other night and have been mulling over rebellion ever sense. See, there's a reputation associated with skateboarders as being mischievous and whacky…they were having a blast getting hurt and skating places they shouldn't. I imagined how much fun I was having when I was their age. When I was running around in San Francisco drinkin 40's in Shakespeare's garden in golden gate park. I love it. I loved watching those talented young kids skate all over the U of A in Fayetteville after knowing how many times they've been kicked out. I think it's great that you can get kicked out of somewhere for skateboarding. I love that it's so dangerous and disruptive. I love that you can only smoke in certain places. I love that you can't talk on your cell phone in your car in California. I love that there are so many rules and there is so much legislation that there are all these boundaries around us that we put on ourselves if there's not some bureaucratic body to do it for us. There are far too few people out there to subvert things and challenge the norms that no one meets anyway.

Look. We're all fucked up, we have crazy issues, we're medicated, we fuck around on our significant others, we're scared to be alone, we obsess over our body image and all the details of our day-to-day lives. We are all apart of a system that is woefully perpetuating monotony. People are rushing into marriage, babies, and Escalades the way a kid runs to a quarter toy dispenser at the grocery store. I want to run into the ferocious full-mooned night with a pastor's wife. I want to take a knife to a gunfight. I want to talk on my cell phone on the highway while I go 13 miles over the speed limit. I want to make skate ramps out of church pews. I want to blast DMX in halls of congress for a laugh. I want to take the republicans and the democrats and their financiers and put 'em on an island. I want a working democracy. I want a government that doesn't intervene when banks go bankrupt. I want to see more celebrity mug shots and stretch marks and nipple slips and sex tapes.

Cause I've got daggers for eyes and a razor for a tongue and I wont ever settle. I'll watch it in silent (and not so silent) upheaval as society comes crashing down on its self. As the rules fall apart and people fall apart with out them. I can't believe that we have these amazing lives and we continually settle for the drawl of a picket fence and the crest of the sun over a freeway divider, that erect pinnacle of our morning commute. In another world, I'd player devil's advocate. I'd be the joker to someone's batman. I'd subvert someone's grand plan for moral cohesion. I can't believe we settle. I can't believe we have free will and the ability to do so much with our lives and we don't.

I am actually debating whether I should delete myspace and facebook. What the fuck is a social networking website anyway? What's social about that? Now all I do is text. Back at Shakespeare's garden we had pagers. It was bad enough. today I'm tethered to a lot of different internet based things and i dont really need any of them. I love human interaction. I love the thrill of the chase. I love to flirt. I love going on adventures with dynamic and amazing people. I am lucky to have the people i have in my life. I miss so much of the face-to-face communication I used to have. I can't imagine being a kid now. All I'd do was post pictures of shirtless me on myspace hoping my high school crush would see it and constantly checking my sent messages to see if she read them. God it's like a prison where we cut ourselves off by immersing ourselves in technology. I am so guilty of this. If I'm alone at a bar I sit there and text the whole time. I totally deny myself the opportunity to experience something random and amazing just because I can check facebook on my blackberry and I can send instant messages on my iphone and post on twitter all of my bathroom breaks during the day.

I'm gonna be the bathroom guy on twitter. I'm gonna start a profile and all I'll do is update it when I have a bodily function. That has as much relevance as anything else people post.

Ugh. I'm stagnant because I don't know how to take over the world. I'm stuck because I go to jail for parking tickets. What happens when I try and ramp my jet-powered bicycle over the white house? I'm in jail for life.


Our models for life and behavior are flawed. Our god is whoever is doing the new Nike, or Gucci ad campaign. Our god is the MTV producer who tells us what to do.


There is so much more potential in people than we are exercising.

It's like the joker says, "I'm a dog chasing cars. I don't have plans. I just do things. I'm not a schemer." I love that. It made so much more sense to me than Harvey dent or batman. Here's someone whose only goal is to create total anarchy. He bets that he can subvert one person out of 3 and does it. There's not a lot of risk and he fucks up a lot of shit. It's brilliant. Now for a disclaimer: I don't really want to be the joker I just want more than this mediocrity. I like the idea of rules being subverted in the public circle. I like people knowing that we have freedom to get off our Asses. I don't want to blow up a bunch of people. I'm just bummed to see people so happy to take what the get. I'm so sick of 72 month no interest loan on Hummer H3's and Toyota Priuses like ants in the car pool lanes. Should we really pat someone on the back for being green because they buy a Prius? Please.


No wonder I didn't finish my political science degree. It makes me depressed. So let's go grab a skateboard and head down to our nearest historic downtown and rattle some cages. Hell, I bet you can get in trouble just by blasting iggy pop and sitting on a skateboard these days.

Gettin outta Jail Greeting Cards:

Gettin out of Jail Cards. I mean, seriously.

I have walked in a Hallmark store and numerous drug stores but I never really thought about how there's not a good section for men’s' needs. So your old lady needs to send you some dope while you're in the pen, there should be dope dipped--- "hope jail is nice" cards. You know, something special for those late destitute nights in solitary. X rated scratch and sniff cards. I'm heading grossly off my initial topic, obviously there's very little to do in jail and any attention while you're there is exciting. I watched a few guys get mail and I was awestruck when the drug dealing Camaro drivin toothless crack heads were reduced to babies at mail time. Yeah he does 400 push-ups a day, but when Roy Lee got a letter from his sister he was a bitch for the rest of the day. People ate his food and pushed him around all day. But what about when he gets out?

Here's where my idea comes in, if you need to know how long til he gets back in the game, when he's going back to court, or if you just need someone to split the cost of an 8-ball it'd be perfect if there was a card for that. I don't think I'm asking for much. I would have enjoyed a card, and it could be simple, like: " Thanks for not being a snitch, next gram is on me."
Or: "While you were gone, someone had to look after your old lady, glad I could be there for you bro."

Anyway, there's a whole untapped market, and with as many drug transactions and arrests as there are around convenience stores it's only common sense to Market these cards to companies like AM-PM, 7-11, and Wal-Mart, cause where else can a crack head go at 3 AM for Motor Oil, Twinkies, and diapers?

Dry Humping a Virgin

It was the spring of 3 proms. I went back-to-back-to-back. Back before I had much common sense and wasn't too concerned about paying rent or where I was going to sleep I did a lot of temp work in downtown San Francisco and found myself with a substantial amount of time and disposable income. I drank, went to clubs, and sat in coffee shops. All of my activities though were dwarfed by thirst for the blood of virgins and drunk Britpop girls at Popscene. To this end there was a substantial portion of my income set aside solely for shopping. I had connections at my favorite stores, Men's Macy's on the 3rd floor (designer collections) Emporio Armani, Club Monaco, Versace, Villain’s, Wasteland, American Rag, and Agnes B. If there was a designer clearance I was there.

I was going through a few interesting phases and this conincides with the Glam / Britpop era.

If you look once at this picture you can understand why Ethan has such an affinity towards David Bowie music. (and why you never see me wearing brown and pursing my lips at the same time)

I know what you're going to say. I look ridiculous. But do we say David Bowie you looked ridiculous? Fuck No. Ziggy Stardust, nice pants. So let's stay on point here. The pants that I was wearing in this picture are the most fucking hardcore rock n roll item of clothing I've ever owned. Vince Neil or Bret Michaels or God Damned Axel Rose himself would have shat themselves for the pants I was wearing. They were Versace brown snakeskin print vinyl pants purchased using an employee discount. I am sure to this day that the sales associate was honoring cock and gay men and lonely housewives everywhere by helping me to purchase these pants at a more reasonable price point. To this day I cant tell you how many people learned the exact size of my cock from me wearing those god damn pants so much. Think David Bowie in Labyrinth or Sacha Baron Cohen in Sweeney Todd. I effing loved those pants. I literally loved the crotch right out of them. Well, technically I ripped it out while passionately dry humping a virgin in front of her mother.

Not just any Virgin, but a primed and ready virgin blinded by the throes of passion and the hottest fucking pants ever. She was a private school girl from University High School in San Francisco. She is to this day one of the only women to ever make me feel completely inadequate intellectually. Her friends were driven, and clearly headed for success with early acceptance letters from tier 1 schools with hobbies and sports they played with nearly professional aptitudes but for all of their brains and skill they didn't know a thing about teenage rebellion. I think I was her model for rebellion. I know because when I walked into her house and her parents and their guests met me they were nearly speechless. I was wearing the pants, with steel toed grip fast boots, black designer button, with impeccably styled hair, when I walked you could hear the slosh of a half drunk fifth of Jack Daniels in my messenger bag. It was like a calling card, you could hear the sloshing and the heavy footsteps and meet me at the door.

She often did and tried to hide me from the watchful eye of her parents and her older brother. It was a fun game for me, to abide her but to always say hi to them. I liked to think I was out there, I was the rebellious elite, and I was taking her with me virginity and all. She had as many obligations a day as I had pulls off of my Jack Daniels bottle. There was cross-country, soccer, volunteering, yearbook, dinner with her family, movie with her friends, study with her biology partner, and etc. Everything that kept us apart made her want it more. Secretly I was envious of her schedule and obligations and opportunities. She saw them as restricting and coercive; they were what kept us apart. She broke them willfully and anxiously. Her friends and family were mortified. I remember when I took her to her prom, all in black, in the back of a 16-person limousine. I pulled out the jack Daniels, as was part of my habit those days. In unison 3 of the girls and 2 of the boys in their over-priced dept store dresses and rented tuxedos gaped, "you're not drinking before the prom are you?" Who goes to prom sober? I didn’t. I took the bottle and gulped like I was coming up from the ocean’s floor starved for air.

Sometime after that, in her house, in her bedroom with Lauryn Hill playing in the background and her parents making noise upstairs it started. Writhing and petting just as innocent as an 8th grader at a church lock-in. Then it graduated. Hands like flashlights in the dark desperately looking or a light switch. Hotter than she was used to or I expected. You could hear her legs hot and sticky with passion catch on the vinyl of my pants. I was tucked up into the waistband, not prepared to go any farther. I was anxious about her parents and her lust. Intimidated by her defiance in the eyes of her parents. She was going for it and all of my social upheaval was cresting to its climax.

She grabbed me through my pants, pulled, rubbed, grasped clumsily on the outside of them for leverage. Pushed herself down onto me and I could feel how hot she was through my pants and her cotton panties. I can remember the clumsy sound of her fingers on the top button scratching the textured pants, and I could feel the pinch as I throbbed against that constricting waistband and her tight grip on my pants.

The door swung open, not in an alarming way, in an 'I know what you're doing way' type of way. Mom flipped the light switch like a TV sitcom. I rolled off the bed onto the floor, she hid under the blankets as best she could but her mom was red with fear and embarrassment sure that she'd caught us further along than she had.

I left shortly after, I didn’t have to, and she was 18 and leaving shortly for college and defiant with the confidence of someone who already has one foot out the door. I was stubborn and embarrassed, and waiting on the bus when I noticed a draft. I looked down and my walk of shame was exponentially magnified by the torn seam and ripped crotch of my $700 pants. I wanted to turn around and go back, get my $700 worth on her mother's kitchen table. I went to Mel’s Diner and had a cheeseburger instead.

Ben Afleck, seriously?

Who Fucking knew that guy had it in him to do such a good job directing "Gone Baby Gone?"

Seriously. Two Afleck's in one crime movie that scored a 93% on Rotten Tomatoes? It boggles the mind.

As a procedural, Gone Baby Gone is by the numbers. As a portrait of human folly and resilience, however, it's great drama, and it has some powerful performances to match.

but Richard Roeper's is the best "Ben directs Casey in Gone Baby Gone, and it’s a career highlight for both of them."