wordbillz

Holy hat, I'm in love. (Seriously)


No more games. I;m in love.

hung the fuck over.




Thank god football's on.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

more later

I officially quit smoking cigarettes for the thousandth time tonight.

"Quitting smoking is easy.... I've done it several times."



I remember my first cigarette vividly, and I hold very few attachments to it, but I know it was the day of my 12th birthday in the courtyard behind Desert Hills Middle School, with my friends Matt and Brandon, both of whom I have lost contact with.

I have forgotten what it is like to not be a smoker. To not have a medical excuse to disappear from it all every 30 to 40 minutes, and it makes me wonder if I will know how to be, or even worse, if I must change myself in such a mechanical or functional matter to make this all work. I am used to having a social excuse to exist outside of a building, alone, without talking to anyone, without doing anything. To have that ability to inhale all of my worries and wants and thoughts as poison, and exhale them into the wind is a privilege that I have cherished for almost half of my life. The metaphor of it all is the most addictive aspect, I think. I'm not afraid of how my body will handle this, only unsure and defensive. I'll miss the smoke rooms, and novelty ashtrays, and my friend George at the Discount Smoke shop, and the smell of ashes in the air of an otherwise unlittered place.

This October I turn 24 years old. I will have been a smoker for most of my life 'officially' after that date. I have one cigarette left, which will be my ultimate birthday present to myself. This is, in all actuality, my last chance. Otherwise I submit to being a smoker for the rest of my life's duration, as well as a more punctual death. I hold no fear in failing this task. I am doing this for reasons beyond my own personal health.


I've kicked drugs. I've kicked girls. I've kicked lifestyles. I’ve kicked family members.
This is the hardest thing I've ever tried to kick. (I've also kicked ass.....for the lord)


Optimism: I am eager to remember what a REAL breath of fresh air is and was.





Let's kick it...

wordbilly.

I am battered. Slowly recovering from Saturday night, when my roomate and I were jumped by 10-15 people because I accidentally knocked over one of their 40's (which was sitting on the sidewalk while its owner was doing pull-ups on a street sign for some reason). Mid-appology, as I was offering to buy the guy another 40 (which costs 2 dollars), I got punched in the back of the head by someone, and then swarmed. When I finally managed to beat some people away from me and look up, I saw 4 guys on my roomate tracy, and couldn't think of anything to do other than taliban myself right into the guys. We never backed down, fought like we didn't deserve to live, and got the holy shit kicked out of us. We were also the last ones standing, and never once hit the ground(thank god) or got a blackeye. I look fucking good for getting my ass kicked. I don't condone shit like this, and I'm not any kind of tough guy by a long shot, but goddamn it, at least we showed some fucking heart. Ran the gauntlet and came out breathing.

I want to go see Me and You and Everyone We Know. The Director will be interviewed on SG Radio tonight, which is a pretty cool program if you haven't heard it yet.

Well, I need to draw up some storyboards and re-bandage my ankle.

Also, in other news, my fake tooth fell out again. (in a sandwich, not in a fight)

Damnation. I've been playing 'tour-guide extraordinaire' for the last 2 days for a friend from Washington who came down with his girlfriend. We did all the touristy shit that they wanted to do, like go to the Warf and take a picture by the Full House house (I'm still not sure which one that's supposed to be). A lot of walking and a lot of headaches. I really hate the Warf, because it just sucks, in every sense of the word. It sucks out your energy and your cash. People go down there, and suddenly a vacation becomes a task, rather than a break. You go and buy ridiculous souvenirs that have nothing really to do with San Francisco, and charcoal caricature sketches of 2pac and eminem. Later on I threw them on a cable car (of course) and sent them into Chinatown. Then, for the best Chinese food in town, we had to venture as far out of Chinatown as possible, and stopped by Eliza’s. My favorite shit, and a surefire meal to impress. Night ended with me introducing them to Sake, which was plentiful, and and still lingering in my forehead. Fun night. Time for breakfast, and then I gotta see a man about an ankle.
Fin

i return home to find my inner circle of friends fighting with one another and campaigning for people like me to take sides.




grow the fuck up.