JUST LIKE DAYDREAMING10
Its official: I am an asshole. I have a female friend--(which female friend is unimportant)--and were been hanging out for nearly a year. She has no interest in dating me and I wish she were my girlfriend, we are both aware of how the other feels and manage to be friends nonetheless. Last week, I was drinking too much white wine and getting too emotional and I sent her this email that got carried away. I do this sometimes. I have this need to just fuck things up; I dont understand it, it just happens. Its the same with the situation of having crushes on my friends: It wasnt reasonable for me to feel what I feel for--(insert names of female friends here)--but I do and although Ive always known it would never leave the realm of my journal, their boyfriends/husbands had and have every right to think Im a prick.
Friday evening: Dave, the Capn and I drove out to Rancho Cordova to visit Chris and Bethany. Rancho is about fifteen miles east of Midtown, a desperate suburb full of cheap apartments and desolate malls. When I was a kid, it was called Rancho Cambodia because of all the Asian immigrants. Tasteless, yes. Non-PC, definitely; but this was the 1980s so what can you expect? Its not the worst part of Sacramento--(which would be South Sac or Del Paso Heights)--but its no place to hang around at night when youre alone. Chris and Bethany rent the master bedroom in a large house. They have a yard and their roommates are rarely around. This is why it has been so difficult to get them to move Downtown--why should they? They pay $250 a month for basically an entire house. We stayed there until nearly midnight before driving home, playing a very distracted game of Trivial Pursuit.
This morning was the 90th performance of I am Older Than Dirt and I Know Everything. Mr. Ives was explaining about how he gets discounts because he is over 50. He followed that up with this extremely random conversation about chlorophyll. Perhaps its an area of interest because he remembers the first plantlife springing up when the planet began to cool.
And I wasthe first life form with multiple cells. Splitting up the first cell was a real trick, but after that it got easier
A constant shaking, the overwhelming smell of gasoline. Heat. I am on a crowded bus riding through the interior of Mexico, packed next to the aisle by a very fat man who clearly has never heard of a little invention known as Right Guard. I am guessing he is from Germany by the fact he is wearing Lederhosen. Everyone else on the bus is grossly obese and dirty, coughing and picking at boils. There is no air conditioning. Just when I think it cant get worse, the PA comes to life with a shriek of feedback. The voice coming over is loud--how loud? Turn up your home stereo as loud as it will go and put your ear next to the speaker.
I first came downto Mexico with Pershing hoping to flush out Pancho Villa, Mr. Ives pauses, moving a little so the sunlight coming through the windshield backlights him properly. When you travel to a hostile land to flush out a desperado with a formidable mustache, you need to have a good supply line. Also, because of the aridness of the location, the guns need to be constantly oiled. The troops need to be constantly reminded to oiltheir weapons, which I did a lot, haha. NowId like to hand the mic over to Thelma
Another shriek of feedback as the mic changes hands.
Its hot on this bus, dont you think its hot? Its hot and Im hungry. Maybe we could stop at the next village and get some tamales, some nice beef tamales or maybe some tacos. No, enchiladas; enchiladas are always good, the kind that have meat and cheese rolled up in a corn tortilla and are covered with sauce and more cheese. It sure is hot. Its hot and Im hungry
I wonder if I have anymore Lean Cuisines. Hey, Larry, are you going to Noahs bagels?
There arent as many files to work on as Friday. I guess everyone is doing less business these days. Someones radio station has become the gateway to all the forgotten hits of the 80s and 70s. They actually have the audacity to play Fooled Around and Fell in Love by Elvin Bishop. Elvin lived down the hill from us in Forest Knolls. Forest Knolls is also the place where Jerry Garcia died. I guess Forest Knolls isnt all bad. There is a keyboard setting--(a type of keyboard *sound*, for you non-musicians)--that the second I hear it, I know I am about to be subjugated to a god awful balled. Consequently, I have come to refer to this as the Keyboards of Death. I heard the Keyboards of Death at least three times today. The songs always start off the same, a couple of bars of unaccompanied keyboard notes played slowly before the other instruments come in followed by some soggy vocalist mewling about lost love or how they found that special love or how that special love has made them confused or how that special love caught them so off guard they crapped their pants.
Desperate to block out the Keyboards of Death, I start recapping the weekend in my mind:
Saturday evening, Tim drove Dave and I to South Sac where Tims friend Nathan lives. We smoked some pot, played some ping pong, and watched the History channel. There was a documentary on Theodore Roosevelt to remind me why I miss having cable. We got Jimboys on the way back to Tims apartment. The three of us watched Shallow Hal, which was surprisingly good. I drank a six pack of Michelob. Sometimes you just have to drink Michelob. I didnt get to sleep until past 3.
Sunday was the Superbowl. A bunch of us got together next door to drink and eat and watch the Raiders play like a bunch of Nancy boys. The best part of the whole spectacle were the commercials. Afterwards, everyone went outside to smoke but as I dont smoke I went to my own kitchen to cook. The night sky was insinuating through the window. I opened the blinds and enjoyed a secret world I will never speak of.
More Phil Collins, Bonnie Tyler again? I was watching Bandits last night and it featured the music of Bonnie Tyler. Synchronicity. The ugly side of Synchronicity. The contact at one of our new clients is named Fanny Outlaw. Sounds like a girl who posed in Easy Rider magazine. Fanny Outlaw in Horny on a Hog. Fanny Outlaw in two-stoke engine
Did I really nod off? More importantly, did anyone notice? Everyone is commenting on the lethargy around the office. During lunch Manny the Culvert Troll walks into the break room to look at the Scene section. After reading something he tosses the paper on the table in disgust.
Assholes.
What?
Those cops, the ones who took Pete Townshend in. Pete is innocent, man. Innocent.
I have no idea how to respond to that, he is clearly agitated, his mood changing the way the atoms are moving around the room.
I was at a swap meet this weekend, looking to get some mirrors for my Vespa. This guy was selling vinyl, so asked if he had any Who albums because I need another vinyl copy of Whos Next, he looks thoughtful. Whos Next was originally part of a theme album called Lifehouse
Yeah, I remember, Townshend couldnt finish it because he had a break down.
The look that MCT gives me is like a filthy beaker full of poison.
What the fuck did you say?
Nothing. Finish your story.
He continues to give me a hard look for a couple more seconds before moving on.
Anyway, this guy just laughs, just opens up his rotten trap and lets out this donkey laugh, You wont find no short eyes music in this stall, he laughs, and its all I can do to walk away, but I came back, MCT gives me a smile an assassin wouldnt touch. Oh, I came back. He was closing up his stupid little stall, he was crouched down like a dirty monkey putting some records away and I kicked him the ribs. He shrieked like a little girl, so I kicked him again. There was a cracking soundhe was trying to crawl away but that wasnt part of the plan. What happened to that donkey laugh? I asked, but there were all these bright lights and soundsI dont remember what happened next.
Want a temp that has all of Jeffrey Dahmers clippings? That kind of likes Guns and Roses because they covered a Charlie Manson song? Indenture Temps wants to be your temporary staffing solution.
The next thing I know it is a quarter past five and I am at a gas station. The clouds have waned to reveal the pinkness of the retreating sun. Two older men are cleaning my windshield, their conversations as soft as the rose colored light
Its official: I am an asshole. I have a female friend--(which female friend is unimportant)--and were been hanging out for nearly a year. She has no interest in dating me and I wish she were my girlfriend, we are both aware of how the other feels and manage to be friends nonetheless. Last week, I was drinking too much white wine and getting too emotional and I sent her this email that got carried away. I do this sometimes. I have this need to just fuck things up; I dont understand it, it just happens. Its the same with the situation of having crushes on my friends: It wasnt reasonable for me to feel what I feel for--(insert names of female friends here)--but I do and although Ive always known it would never leave the realm of my journal, their boyfriends/husbands had and have every right to think Im a prick.
Friday evening: Dave, the Capn and I drove out to Rancho Cordova to visit Chris and Bethany. Rancho is about fifteen miles east of Midtown, a desperate suburb full of cheap apartments and desolate malls. When I was a kid, it was called Rancho Cambodia because of all the Asian immigrants. Tasteless, yes. Non-PC, definitely; but this was the 1980s so what can you expect? Its not the worst part of Sacramento--(which would be South Sac or Del Paso Heights)--but its no place to hang around at night when youre alone. Chris and Bethany rent the master bedroom in a large house. They have a yard and their roommates are rarely around. This is why it has been so difficult to get them to move Downtown--why should they? They pay $250 a month for basically an entire house. We stayed there until nearly midnight before driving home, playing a very distracted game of Trivial Pursuit.
This morning was the 90th performance of I am Older Than Dirt and I Know Everything. Mr. Ives was explaining about how he gets discounts because he is over 50. He followed that up with this extremely random conversation about chlorophyll. Perhaps its an area of interest because he remembers the first plantlife springing up when the planet began to cool.
And I wasthe first life form with multiple cells. Splitting up the first cell was a real trick, but after that it got easier
A constant shaking, the overwhelming smell of gasoline. Heat. I am on a crowded bus riding through the interior of Mexico, packed next to the aisle by a very fat man who clearly has never heard of a little invention known as Right Guard. I am guessing he is from Germany by the fact he is wearing Lederhosen. Everyone else on the bus is grossly obese and dirty, coughing and picking at boils. There is no air conditioning. Just when I think it cant get worse, the PA comes to life with a shriek of feedback. The voice coming over is loud--how loud? Turn up your home stereo as loud as it will go and put your ear next to the speaker.
I first came downto Mexico with Pershing hoping to flush out Pancho Villa, Mr. Ives pauses, moving a little so the sunlight coming through the windshield backlights him properly. When you travel to a hostile land to flush out a desperado with a formidable mustache, you need to have a good supply line. Also, because of the aridness of the location, the guns need to be constantly oiled. The troops need to be constantly reminded to oiltheir weapons, which I did a lot, haha. NowId like to hand the mic over to Thelma
Another shriek of feedback as the mic changes hands.
Its hot on this bus, dont you think its hot? Its hot and Im hungry. Maybe we could stop at the next village and get some tamales, some nice beef tamales or maybe some tacos. No, enchiladas; enchiladas are always good, the kind that have meat and cheese rolled up in a corn tortilla and are covered with sauce and more cheese. It sure is hot. Its hot and Im hungry
I wonder if I have anymore Lean Cuisines. Hey, Larry, are you going to Noahs bagels?
There arent as many files to work on as Friday. I guess everyone is doing less business these days. Someones radio station has become the gateway to all the forgotten hits of the 80s and 70s. They actually have the audacity to play Fooled Around and Fell in Love by Elvin Bishop. Elvin lived down the hill from us in Forest Knolls. Forest Knolls is also the place where Jerry Garcia died. I guess Forest Knolls isnt all bad. There is a keyboard setting--(a type of keyboard *sound*, for you non-musicians)--that the second I hear it, I know I am about to be subjugated to a god awful balled. Consequently, I have come to refer to this as the Keyboards of Death. I heard the Keyboards of Death at least three times today. The songs always start off the same, a couple of bars of unaccompanied keyboard notes played slowly before the other instruments come in followed by some soggy vocalist mewling about lost love or how they found that special love or how that special love has made them confused or how that special love caught them so off guard they crapped their pants.
Desperate to block out the Keyboards of Death, I start recapping the weekend in my mind:
Saturday evening, Tim drove Dave and I to South Sac where Tims friend Nathan lives. We smoked some pot, played some ping pong, and watched the History channel. There was a documentary on Theodore Roosevelt to remind me why I miss having cable. We got Jimboys on the way back to Tims apartment. The three of us watched Shallow Hal, which was surprisingly good. I drank a six pack of Michelob. Sometimes you just have to drink Michelob. I didnt get to sleep until past 3.
Sunday was the Superbowl. A bunch of us got together next door to drink and eat and watch the Raiders play like a bunch of Nancy boys. The best part of the whole spectacle were the commercials. Afterwards, everyone went outside to smoke but as I dont smoke I went to my own kitchen to cook. The night sky was insinuating through the window. I opened the blinds and enjoyed a secret world I will never speak of.
More Phil Collins, Bonnie Tyler again? I was watching Bandits last night and it featured the music of Bonnie Tyler. Synchronicity. The ugly side of Synchronicity. The contact at one of our new clients is named Fanny Outlaw. Sounds like a girl who posed in Easy Rider magazine. Fanny Outlaw in Horny on a Hog. Fanny Outlaw in two-stoke engine
Did I really nod off? More importantly, did anyone notice? Everyone is commenting on the lethargy around the office. During lunch Manny the Culvert Troll walks into the break room to look at the Scene section. After reading something he tosses the paper on the table in disgust.
Assholes.
What?
Those cops, the ones who took Pete Townshend in. Pete is innocent, man. Innocent.
I have no idea how to respond to that, he is clearly agitated, his mood changing the way the atoms are moving around the room.
I was at a swap meet this weekend, looking to get some mirrors for my Vespa. This guy was selling vinyl, so asked if he had any Who albums because I need another vinyl copy of Whos Next, he looks thoughtful. Whos Next was originally part of a theme album called Lifehouse
Yeah, I remember, Townshend couldnt finish it because he had a break down.
The look that MCT gives me is like a filthy beaker full of poison.
What the fuck did you say?
Nothing. Finish your story.
He continues to give me a hard look for a couple more seconds before moving on.
Anyway, this guy just laughs, just opens up his rotten trap and lets out this donkey laugh, You wont find no short eyes music in this stall, he laughs, and its all I can do to walk away, but I came back, MCT gives me a smile an assassin wouldnt touch. Oh, I came back. He was closing up his stupid little stall, he was crouched down like a dirty monkey putting some records away and I kicked him the ribs. He shrieked like a little girl, so I kicked him again. There was a cracking soundhe was trying to crawl away but that wasnt part of the plan. What happened to that donkey laugh? I asked, but there were all these bright lights and soundsI dont remember what happened next.
Want a temp that has all of Jeffrey Dahmers clippings? That kind of likes Guns and Roses because they covered a Charlie Manson song? Indenture Temps wants to be your temporary staffing solution.
The next thing I know it is a quarter past five and I am at a gas station. The clouds have waned to reveal the pinkness of the retreating sun. Two older men are cleaning my windshield, their conversations as soft as the rose colored light