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December 7, 2002 Christian techno is scary.
Saturday nights with the guys drain the goddamn life out of me. Everytime I go over to Jeremy's house I wake up Sunday morning to my alarm thinking Nooooooo! and I sit at work hungry and hungover for the rest of the day. I was planning to interview Chris from Agent today. I wonder if I'll be able to make it. I'm such an uninspired douche.
I'm not quite sure what kind it was we smoked last night, but boy was I ever riding a magic carpet. Weeeee! I don't even think anything I said last night made sense. I was Anna Nicole Smith. We hung out with Joe and went over to Mikey's and they played an irie game of Guesstures. That was freakin hilarious. This dude we met named Raphael was trying to act out a word, and one of Matt's guesses was that the word was "stoked." What the fuck. Maybe you had to be there. I made a really lame Ninja Turtles joke when Rafael introduced himself that I probably shouldn't have made. I was such a load last night. Drunk as all hell too. I ate dinner at about 3:00 a.m. and went to bed. This morning I called work and told them I'd be in two hours later than scheduled. I love how I can show up to work in jeans and a hooded jacket and tennis shoes and just chill. I'm taking the night off tonight. No more.
December 5, 2002
Sarah is Gabe's best friend, but he didn't give her anything for her birthday a couple months ago, so I told him I would find her "anything Cinderella" (per her request), and ended up getting her this--seeing as how it was the most decent looking, not-plastic-nor-pink Cinderella piece of Disney merchandising I could tolerate forking over money for. And it's nice, it really is. I mean, it's not a goddamn Princess Collection pink alarm clock with Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Snow White on it, which was frighteningly inches away from being second choice. I didn't get that because it made me want to throw up.
Assigning myself to weed through every piece of Cinderella merchandise under the sun for a nice gift is like telling an anorexic person to review a restaurant.
Why do people tell me I look like Michelle Branch? Doesn't she do the theme for Sorority Life? Who wants to be associated with that. I guess that's better than being told I look like Mulan. How about this--I don't wanna look like anyone. What is this broad doing, licking her lips? Jesus.
Gabe and I were over at Ryan's watching a movie called "Sweet and Low Down" with Sean Penn and Uma Thurman. A very easy movie to watch when you're high, it doesn't lose you. The story takes place in the same musical era as Squirrel Nut Zippers jazz, and I loved it. The soundtrack was grand. It made me want to sing. Woody Allen directed it, and he did his stupid narrative in between all the scenes. Although I don't know how much of a feel-good movie it can be when Woody Allen's face is randomly taking up the whole screen. Meanwhile I think someone drew his eyebrows on with a Sharpie. I give it "two eyebrows up."
Hm, I don't know what it was that Kings had last night either but I have never been told so many times in one night how high I looked. I never know how to take that, I'm too goddamn paranoid. It wasn't even what he and Geoff call "the purple death." And the worst people to be around when you're high and paranoid are Nick and Tom, the anti-stoner, hippie-hating, Coors Light-pounding punks. They ostracized me out of the room. I literally left cuz I couldn't hang with them making fish faces at me. It kinda chaps my ass to admit that, so I'm never letting Kings smoke me out if we're going over to Jeremy's again.
Okay, maybe I will but, I'm gonna hide from Tom and Nick.
At work today it dawned on me that two weeks is much too long to go without seeing my boys, so Kings and I got some Mexican food and beer before we joined everyone over there. I got drunker than shit (or just faded because of the abominable bowl I packed for us the way there). I wish I could remember half the funny ass crap we talked about, but I can't, of course. I ended up chowing some more Mexican food later that night, when all of us (about 10 people) sent Nick's poor friend Anthony down to the local Alibababertos with a shopping list of burritos and tacos and particular extras. But it goes without saying that my carne asada fries, in all their bean, guacamole, sour cream and cheese-covered glory, were top notch. If food could give you orgasms, my munchies would have made me come like such a rocket that I would have left a hole in their kitchen ceiling. Blast off!
Kings and I heard some Christian techno on the radio, actually. That's what we were freaking out about. It had an 80's Spyhunter kind of video game loop and it was cut with friggin bible phrases and god talk samples. "Hallelujah! Praise the lord!" We couldn't stop laughing. It would have been kinda scary to me normally. But it was one of those things, those classic moments, that nobody could possibly understand the humor of unless they were there in that truck, with us and that song playing... on the same wavelength, mentality, even planet that we were on.
The gift I bought Sarah came in the mail yesterday. It was sitting on my doorstep in its original packaging, just taped up and all beaten in like Ace goddamn Ventura had delivered it. I'm not mad about that, though. I just find it strange that this Cinderella Quartz Clock/Water Globe in all of its scary Disney glory was found on my doorstep like a friggin abused, abandoned baby. I must get it off my hands. There's something sacriligious about having it in my room. December 4, 2002 
After that, we tried watching The Matrix. Oh, I was completely out of it. Gabe was stoned and babbling about watching that movie on acid and shrooms. I was like, shut up. I hate subscribing to "drug movies." Movies that you watch on drugs. That's passe, isn't it? Or do people still think it's innovative to suggest, "Hey let's take some acid and watch The Matrix!" I liken it to doing E and getting a light show. The dynamic is exactly the same. The only thing I pre-meditate when it comes to drugs is the munchies. I go to Vons and get a bag of chips or something if I know that where I'm going is green.
It's been a year and nine months me and Gabe have been going out. What a bang! Ha. We ditched this birthday get-together we were invited to by some friends of his (a group of underage girls, as always.. just kidding) and spent the whole night over at Joe's smoking ganja and eating potato pancakes that Nikki made. Latkes, or however they're spelled. Oy vey!
November 25, 2002 What a dream.
I had this dream last night that I was on a cruise ship smoking copius amounts of marijuana with 311. Damn was I ever having a good time! I've forgotten most of the details except for the special tray they used to pass out the joints. It was like a dinner tray that had about 70 holes punched out of it just for holding roaches. A girl took a lighter and torched the ends of all of them at once like candles on a birthday cake and passed them out to everyone on board like hors d' ourves. (I can never remember how to spell that.) P-Nut and Tim Mahoney were the ones there. I remember waking up and regretting that my dream was over before I was able to have my picture taken with them.
November 23, 2002
Happy birthday, Geoff. I worked from 8 a.m. to 5:00 tonight moving furniture around the salon since they remodeled last night. I was friggin exhausted. But Kings was going to take me with him and Tom to see a show at the newly reopened SOMA. When I got home, I collapsed on my bed and got to sink into it for five minutes before having to get ready to leave again. Taking a hot shower felt so good I almost fell over. I didn't expect to go with them to the show but I was excited to see Geoff afterwards. I asked him what he wanted and he told me, "I dunno. A bottle of something." So Kings and I went to Beverages and More where I bought him a Heineken Magnum--an oversized bottle of beer so beautiful I cradled it over my shoulder like a friggin baby and wanted one for my own. We met up with Tom and made our way to SOMA. I was yawning like a madman the whole way, and wore my Kangol hat so that they wouldn't notice me falling alseep in the back seat.
I was the happiest I was all day today when I was in my room dying my hair purple and listening to one of the best bands of our time--Rage Against the Machine. I thought about Josh and Ryan the whole time. How good music used to be.
November 20, 2002
I went to the Tavern last night with the sales rep I met at work, Michael. He's a spaz. I had fun for a little while though. Everytime I go there it's like a goddamn high school reunion. For one thing I saw Jarrod Harshaw. Dude that I had a huge crush on in freshman year and summer school. Oy vey. I didn't even recognize him until I asked him what his last name was. And then I got all silly and started confessing how much I liked him. Meanwhile, he didn't really remember me at all. I was having fun though. It's cool to come clean about your feelings to someone you liked a lot when you were younger. I was erasing some kind of conscience chalkboard. How come every time I go McKee's I see someone I liked in high school? I liked everyone I guess. No one liked me though. *sniff*
I also saw this girl Leah. In the journal entry below, I wrote about how bad I felt for the girl who's Green Day tape I stole seven years ago. Well, Leah's that girl. So when I saw her, I introduced myself, and confessed to her that it was me who stole her tape. I told her, "You had your locker broken into and your tapes were stolen. I had one of them. I had your Kerplunk tape." She rememebered that happening. But she was totally cool about it. She asked me if I enjoyed it, and I told her how obsessed with Green Day I was, and she said, "In that case, I don't care. I'm glad you got it." She told me she was a singer and songwriter, and introduced me to Chris and Chris from Agent 51 and Pivit, who I've heard of but never got into. I just told Pivit dude that I remember them playing "Runaround Sue" on the quad at RB during lunch. That was about seven years ago. But I thought it would be interesting to talk to them for Hurley, so I scribbled my contact info on some paper and gave it to them. I never have business cards on me when I need them. I'm a douche.
And of course I saw Ryan's cousin, Chris, who I never recognize. He told me he had to talk to me about something, and I said, "Who are you?" Oy god. He was like, "You gotta be kidding me." Oops. He looks different everytime I see him. Damn those beer goggles.
11/19/2002 A stupid observation, I know.. Let me alone, will you.
Starbucks has these holiday-oriented cardboard cup-sleeves with random sayings on them now. Yes, I noticed this because I have nowhere else to go on my break and I'm a corporate whore. But I'm convinced the little sayings on those sleeves were cranked out by a marketing staff stoner, because the one I'm looking at says, "What is Myrrh anyway?" and the other ones say, "Who puts the snow in snowglobes?" and "Who eats fruitcake?" I bet the person who wrote that does. Stoners eat fucking anything. I kinda wished I was stoned right now. I have a lot of things on my mind. If only I could convert them from worries to random tangents that I can convince someone to slap on a Starbucks cup.
November something, 2002 Jeremy's house
This is the second Saturday in a row Kings and I have gone out, it's great. We ate at Thaigo and went to his house to drink and watch 80's videos. And a COPS marathon. We were making fun of that movie Roadhouse too, I think that's what it's called. You know, that movie with fluffy-ass Patrick Swayze in it and a bunch of people with flannel vests and tight jeans. And the mullets, oh, the mullets. Tom and Lauren and Nick and Casey met us over there but took off shortly to go to Jeremy's. I guess some dude from RB, Baltazar something, was supposed to hang out with us too. I asked Kings what Baltazar's last name was. He said something along the lines of "Gljsdfsi!hsdfj" because it's something Indian that starts ith a G and has about a thousand syllables. What's funny is I was like, "Oh, I know that guy!"
Take the Poway boys in their trucks blastin the pop-punk, add that to the guys in PQ playing their Eminem, and a little Rodney Pratt from Escondido blaring his Easy-E and talking like Tony Montana, and you've got Kings--driving down the freeway with ICP on so loud that my head is hurting more than it was when Youth Brigade was compounding my hangover. Though I have to admit, that morning, he introduced me to probably the best example of my obsession with guys voices--the intro of "Bitchin Camaro" by the Dead Milkmen. "This is what you listen to when you're hungover," he told me. Meanwhile I was shrinking under my Kangol hat and covering my forehead because it felt like someone was bashing my skull in. I remember trying to laugh, because I thought the song was funny, but my cerebral cortex was whimpering.
I'm also insisting that the best sign that you're high/drunk is when you go to the bathroom and you slam the door behind you. Unintentionally. I know I'm drunk after I slam the bathroom door and wonder, "Did I just slam that?" Then I look in the mirror and try to convince myself that I'm sober..
Green Day is playing right now. Geoff put it on. I'm so sentimental about this c.d. that I could cry. ... I have to thank that chick whose P.E. locker we broke into in 1995, because I stole her Kerplunk tape and I became obsessed with it. She had a Green Day tape, and I took it from her, poor girl.
Everyone is talking about something and doing that routine of making continuous jokes about that one thing but what I'm struggling with the most right now is getting over how much I love the song "Pulling Teeth." I could only think they're high because they're seriously arguing over whether or not Lieutenant Dan from Forest Gump was a "perverted faggot." But the truth is that they're just drunk.
Dookie is on track 8 and no one has complained. This c.d. is so good it's making my cigarette taste better and better.I don't know what's making me so happy--hearing this c.d. or being with my friends.
I went to the bathroom and came back to hear that the music had stopped. Just when I told Lauren that my stroll down memory lane was over, Tre Cool came on for the hidden track. At the closing for which, I was to choose a new c.d. It was daunting to decide on one worthy of following Green Day. I put in Led Zepplin and pressed play.
I woke up around 4:00 in some strange room and didn't remember how I got there. Then I remembered that i was at Jeremy's house and I passed out from over-indulging in illegal activities. And the fucking cat went to the bathroom and scratched around in its little box in the room I was sleeping in. It reeked so bad I had to move into the living room. Kings and Dee were passed out on the couches there. So I slept on the long couch and Kings moved into the bed I passed out in, next to the cat shit. Hah. I don't think he noticed how bad it smelled.
Last Saturday, I don't remember the date.
Kings and I went out to dinner tonight. I told him to meet me at Pat and Oscars, and there was something wrong with our waitress. She abbreviated all of her sentences. Lol. She brought out four breadsticks for us, and said something like, "Here is your four bread. Eight more. Just ask. Chicken coming." I'm exagerrating a little bit, but she actually told him, "Here is your four bread," and mumbled a few other things before she walked away. I didn't realize how cryptic our waitress was until Kings was like, "What the fuck did she just say? What?" And just as he was making fun of this other waitress, she came up right behind him to tell him someone was going to bring us salad dressing. Kings was like, "Something always fucked up happens to me when I go out to eat. Everytime." It was fucking funny though. We ate a grip of food and went to Jeremy's house to drink. I had the hardest time ever making room for that beer and wouldn't stop complaining about how full I was.
October 28, 2002
We hung out with Ryan, Danielle, Jessica and Kice tonight. Gabe accidently locked his keys in the car. I started pounding beers in Jessica's kitchen because I was contemplating making screwdrivers to drink at work but never got to and I was really desperate. Tonight was definitely one of those nights where all I wanted to do with sit around with my friends and do nothing. After we got AAA to help us with Gabe's car (after everyone tried jimmying it and failed, except me, I was putting ice in my beer cup because it wasn't cold), we headed over to Kice's house in La Mesa. I bought some caramel apples from Vons and ate half of one of those monstrous bags of Chili Cheese Fritos on the way. I'm such a fat hippie.
October 27, 2002
I was crossing the street on the way to work today, carrying my tote bag that says "HIP HOP" and has the frog doing a headspin on it, when someone in their car started playing "Rapper's Delight" loud enough for me to hear. Timeless, timeless good song. So I thought that was cool. It cheered me up and made me smile as soon as I heard "I said a hip, hop, the hibby, the hibby to the hip-hip hop and you don't stop..." It made me love life and think the day was wonderful. Cheesy, yes, but that's what a good song does.
The other dream I had was about being drunk and succumbing to Gabe who, by some sadomasochistic intoxication monitors, was granted permission to pierce any part of my body he wanted to. I was bring held down as he shoved a barbell through the left lip of my vagina with some contraption resembling a hole puncher. What an asshole, lol. No wonder I woke up wanting to go back to the 311 pot dream.
In line we saw this dude Mike Young whom I've known of since middle school, but like everyone else I've run into since graduation, he had no idea who I was. We also saw Brad Bohensky whose band I've been meaning to interview for Hurley for a couple months now. He said hello and I didn't bring up our aborted interview, but for some reason I'm afraid that--like the dudes from Agent and Pivit that I met the other night might eventually--he had come to think of me as "the skeevy writer girl." I shyly stood with all my insignificance next to the guys as they chat. By this point I'd met Dave, the guitarist for Jett (formerly known as Good Fer Nothin). I didn't tell him I was intending on reviewing his performance that night because I sort of got this complex. But I had my notebook, and my tape recorder, a blank tape from Kings and a camera all stashed in my purse as necessary in preparation for an impromtpu interview. A security woman who had the hairstyle of a Saint Bernard hassled me for all my luggage. But "What's in your purse is your business," she insisted, and dismissed me with the understanding that I was probably just very insecure and insistent on having everything with me at all times (which is true, but tonight was a special case).
I recorded Jett's set with my tape recordder which has been neglected of use for so long I forgot that I needed a new on. Afterwards we talked to another dude from high school whose name I couldn't remember but did as soon as he introduced himself as"Fonzie," Eric Fontanella. I was trying to tell him we went to the same school, but our hearing was gone by then, and he wouldn't remember me anyway. It's a little disheartening to be reminded so much in one week what a nobody you were in high school. Ha.
Back at Gaebe's house I took some shots called "Tooters" which tasted like friggin Otter Pops. Gabe showed up and I got to be with him for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Troy even came over and graced us with his presence for the first time in eons as well. I was on ephedrine and physically running on fumes by the end of the night. Damn the Man for having me work on Sunday morning. I anticipated going in the next day looking shitty as all hell. And I did.
I brought that c.d. and the new J5 album my brother burnt me a copy of to Ryan's house where Gabe and I revisited to partake in the usual ritual of smoking before eating fatty fried foods and pizza. Pizza and beer night. I miss those too. I downloaded "Bitchin Camaro" with Greg's computer while we were stoney and Ryan was insisting that we get him some music. I, of course, stealthily searched for funny Sifl & Olly clips to litter his Kazaa with. Ryan and Gabe probably had something else in mind. I just wanted to listen to talking and singing sock puppets.
We went from there to Mikey's house so that Ryan could help him practice his bass. I asked nearly a million times where Kice was because of my predisposition of vocalist whenever there are two or more people with guitars in the room with me. I belted out some "Mellow Yellow" (that silly Gap commercial song) to the chords they were strumming, and Stephanie egged me on. But my improvision muscle has atrophied since mine and Kice's last jam weeks ago. Finding someone who can play a style of music with lyrics that I know is like unsuccessfully attempting and re-attempting to unlock a hallway of doors with one very selective key. I've only been lucky enough to open up a few rooms--the jazzy "Reefer Song" that Kice and I both knew by chance, "Creep" by Radiohead, and "The Warmth" acoustic by Incubus with Kice, Josh, and Daman respectively on guitar.
I'm thinking of all these things I did today as pastimes that always kept me healthy and happy--beer and pizza nights, listening to Rage, making music with the boys--and I only notice that the recent rarity of these occasions has left somewhat of a residual skin on the surface of my soul's chicken soup (for lack of a better metaphor). I need to work on bringing out my inner Dyonisus.
We took our beers down to Jeremy's, played pool and got drunk. Except there were no whippits involved this time, even though they were buy 2 get 1 free last Saturday at the High Road. I smoked and had a nice buzz. Actually, I spent the whole night writing in my composition book. I wanted to write my drunken thoughts down so that I could read back on them and see what a dope I am. Nick was being anti when we were smoking. He calls anyone who smokes weed a "hippie." Anyway, this is what I was writing. This is stupid. If it doesn't make any sense, it's because I was under a couple influences.
I couldn't sleep after I moved to the couch in the living room because I didn't have an alarm clock and I was afraid I wouldn't wake up in time to go to work--at 10:00. What a pisser. So I closed my eyes and jolted myself awake every half hour to check what time it was. I did this for a couple hours until Kings woke up and took me home at 8:45. We listened to the Dead Milkmen the whole way there, and my head was fucking throbbing. I was so hungover. I only laughed when he played me "Bitchin Camaro" and he started singing an 80's song that was on the radio, the one that goes, "I just can't get enough.. I just can't get enough.." He knew all the words. When I got home, I didn't even have time to lay down. I just took a shower, got dressed and left immediately for work. I can't begin to descibe how shitty and lame that was.
I guess someone decided we should do some whippits, so Kings and Dee and I went down to the High Road to pick some up. I was high actually while we were there and I wanted to buy a button that said, "Everything I learned about life I learned by reading banned books." For some reason I thought that was really interesting, but when I'm high, I want to buy everything. We came home with three boxes of nitrous for everyone. Gabe came over later, and told he was quitting cigarettes. He started the day off not having any, and decided to see if he could go without buying them. So he didn't smoke all day, and he was being a total whack MC the whole night. He was near me but it didn't feel like we were going out. He was just grumpy and out of it. He even left and went home and left me at the house, which was really saddening. So I drank and smoked more, and did enough whippits to make me wanna puke, and passed out in the guest room.
Kice's apartment has nothing in it but two guitars, a mic, amps, a piano, a clarinet and a chessboard table. I thought it was really charming simply because of the instruments. And I was very excited that he had a piano. What sucked is I forgot how to play everything because I was high. I really did. I managed to play "Hurt," "Heart Shaped Box," Aerosmith's "Dream On" and even "Easy Like Sunday Morning," but all the Fiona Apple was impossible to recollect. I didn't even want to sing, I sounded like shit from all the hydrogenized vegetable oil in those chips. All the xanthum gum and onion flavored powder. Ha. I couldn't find the right keys anyway. I'm sure knowing notes and chords would help, but when am I ever going to learn them. Speaking of learning though, I think Halsy should learn how to listen to himself play guitar instead of just playing. He was doing the riff from "The Man Who Sold The World" and was totally skipping a little half note, fucking the whole song up. I'll admit I couldn't even tell you what note it was, but it was a crucial one. I think he was high and didn't know he was messing up. Because he played it like that over and over again. Me and Dani seemed to be the only ones who noticed, and jesus, I couldn't handle it. I think it bothers me, to such a stupid degree that it borderlines pet peeve status, when people have no rhythm. Meanwhile the only thing I can do with a guitar is look at it.
Danielle's hair is bleached white at the roots and the ends are black. I guess she's supposed to do it red. I looked at her tonight and she was the stoniest I've ever seen her. From smoking all the mexican jumping pot Kice had. Gabe said the smell of it reminded him of high school. Huh huh, "dirt."
So I got some suspenders today. I bought them because I'm lame and I wanted to copy this chick I saw in a Victoria's Secret catalog who looks cute as all hell. I was worried, though, that she can pull off the Tracy-Chapman's-guitarist look because she's got a big rack. Boobs make fuckin anything look good. Meanwhile if I put on suspenders, my pinstripe pants and a little wifebeater, someone might mistake me for a man. A sexy, bisexual Asian man. GAH! I think I'll do it anyway. I've been having lesbo dreams. Why not.
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