grow up already

things to do
July 31, 2007, 12:23 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

things i would like to do while living in the east bay:

1. go to mount diablo
2. take some walks in the hayward hills
3. take redwood road out to oakland and try to find that one spot with the best view to pull over and wish i someone to make out with but actually find the entire experience quite enjoyable solo
4. hike at las trampas and lake chabot with ipod just like the old days

things to do while i’m still in sacramento:
1. i really should find someone to sleep with before i leave this place since it doesn’t matter anymore.
2. ride over all the bridges
3. take the bike trail to old sac one more time
4. make some illicit art for the people of midtown, something a bit more positive than the “cum dumpster” stencils all over the place

 Hayward Blvd.

my future, temporary hood in the east bay. there have to be some advantages to living all the way out there…the pretty view is one.


oh hai i wroted mor
July 26, 2007, 10:44 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

A couple months ago I was driving with Aundrea in Hayward. We were behind one of those weird pickup trucks with a camper shell that’s covered in stickers. Usually it’s like a bunch of Raiders stickers. But then one of us noticed a couple of cat related slogans.

I love cats! They taste just like chicken.
Lost your cat? Check under my tire.

What the fuck. We strained to read more and started tailgating the guy. They just kept coming.

Ask me about microwaving cats for fun and profit.
Cat…the other white meat.
So many cats, so few recipes.

Lost your cat? Check my bumper
1000 kills and counting (cat in crosshairs graphic)

We had to see this motherfucker. We did some shit and got alongside him. If you’re picturing a weird skinny old guy with a light-colored cowboy hat and white beard wearing flannel, so were we. And that is exactly what he was.

i would like to tell a story
July 26, 2007, 9:07 am
Filed under: tmi

Cause I just realized that I like telling stories. Ok, let’s see…story, story…ah! Got one. The time me and Diana borrowed someone’s car for the weekend and drove it to Los Angeles without telling them and then the car blew up.

Aundrea’s aunt had a Pontiac Firebird convertible she was trying to unload. Diana, the not-proud owner of a Dodge Neon, was thinking it was time for an upgrade maybe. So since Aundrea’s Aunt Valerie had known us for years, she offered up an extended weekend test drive. That Friday morning I woke up to Diana on the phone asking me if I wanted to go to Los Angeles. In a convertible. Why yes, yes I do.

So we packed up some shit (including a gray sweater and a giant bottle of diet pills- don’t ask me what the fuck I was doing with a bottle of diet pills) and hit the open road. Totally Thelma and Louise style right? Well sort of. On the way there I mentioned how cool it was that Valerie would let Di take the car all the way to LA. Diana said something along the lines of, “Um, she doesn’t exactly know about this but she said I could have it for the weekend.” Case closed.

By the way, can I just say that after the experience of being in a convertible for five hours, I will never own one. By the time we got to LA I felt like I hadn’t showered for seven days and my hair was on the corporate fast track to management- if by management you mean being dreads.

So we got to LA unharmed but quite dirty. I had noticed the car was sort of off while driving it aimlessly around Hollywood. You’d press on the gas and it’d sorta rev up before actually moving forward. Diana had noticed this too. Perhaps the car was a dud? We got a pizza, ate half, threw the rest in the backseat for later and decided to check out Beverly Hills. We drove past the Chateau Marmont and turned right on the first hilly street we saw. Mira Loma Boulevard or some shit. Mira Loma Drive…something. Alta Loma? Oh man don’t you hate it when that happens? Alta Loma Drive?

Anyway, we had the top down and just were starting to approach pay dirt: the omigod-do-you-think-a-celebrity-lives-there houses. Then a noise slowly came to our attention and silenced us, like how a ringing cell phone will slowly wake you up. For a few seconds there was only the sound of the engine, growing louder as the car got slower.

Then came a smell, which was the unmistakable smell of an engine overheating. To the uninitiated (us), it just smelled like “oh shit car bad smell.” We looked at each other and I said “Pull over! Pull over!” and we did, right under a low hanging eucalyptus tree, which was planted in the side yard of a multi-million dollar Better Homes & Gardens showstopper (although eucalyptus is soooo Oakland Hills fire). The engine got incredibly loud for a second and the tachometer was vibrating somewhere way past redline. I opened the door to get out and saw flames. Honest to god motherfucking flames. I yanked my feet back inside, shut the door, faced straight ahead, and didn’t say a word while that processed. Then,


We both used our convertible disaster survival instincts and jumped out Dukes of Hazzard style and ran across the street. Yeah it was definitely on fire. The entire bottom half of the engine compartment.

And it was still running. Amidst our screams, cuss words and hyperventilating, we determined that was probably not good, to have the engine running while it was on fire. Alright I don’t like to tell the next part normally but I will this time: Diana was brave and started to head towards the burning car to turn the ignition off. For a split second I watched. And then I ran to catch up, to be right there. No way was I going to sit there and like, live if something happened to Di. Now it’s kind of silly because it wasn’t a burning building, just a car. But both of us were convinced it would blow up any second. That’s the only time in my life I remember doing a thing like that.

The car was turned off. I believe a purse and a cell phone were also grabbed, because next thing I remember is trying to call 911. Nobody had really driven by yet, but a guy (someone’s gardener most likely) stopped and offered up his cell phone. What happened next is pretty fucking LA: me, Diana and dude standing in a circle, burning car behind us, all dialing our cell phones and saying things like, “Do you get service? I usually get service here…no, hold on…got a bar…think I’m getting through now.”

The fire was growing ever larger. I humbly withdrew my Nokia 5190 from the service contest and instead collapsed onto the sidewalk hyperventilating. The flames were several feet high, nearly touching that low-hanging eucalyptus planted on the side of a mansion. Little flaming balls of something were dripping onto the ground. Either Diana or the guy finally got through to 911 and he left.

Now I noticed people driving by and not stopping. Except two. The first was a well-heeled couple in a Mercedes SUV, who paused only long enough for the plastic surgery nightmare of a wife to roll down her window and say in a Russian (or maybe Transylvanian) accent, “Don’t go near it. It could explode at any time.” And roll up her window and drive off. Uh, do we look like we want to go near the car? I’m on the sidewalk having a panic attack and Di is sort of hopping around, alternating between swearing at the car and telling me to breathe, damnit. The next person to stop was some weird dude in a Toyota truck (you like how amidst all this I can recall exactly what kind of cars they were driving?) He ignored me and Diana and instead focused on the cheap thrill that is a burning vehicle. Like stopped right next to it and hung out the window as if he were ordering a big ‘ol burger with extra pickles in the drive-thru. Like this was a reeeeal good time. Right then, I kid you not, something inside the engine exploded and flames shot out from it sideways, licking the side of his truck. Karma? Carma? Or did the freakshow get a little too real for you, sir? Either way- my deepest apologies.

That was when we heard the sirens in the distance. If you’ve ever been in an emergency situation, the moment you hear sirens is the moment you start to calm down, just a little.

The Beverly Hills Fire Department put out our car. Much of what was in the backseat was salvageable, including the camera. They gallantly posed for pictures, which we still have.

Di joked that she would not in fact be purchasing this vehicle. I joked about not ordering a barbecued pizza. Someone joked about the name of the car- a Firebird. They called us a cab and a tow truck. The cabbie took us to Beverly Hills proper. You know- the flats. I learned that in Hollywood Wives. The Firebird went to a car graveyard and we were deposited at the nearest four fucking star hotel.

Remember how we dressed for a road trip and drove for five hours through Central California in a convertible with the top down? And then endured a roadside vehicular emergency? That’s how we looked when we walked up to the front desk. We looked like the most cluelessly haggard yet vaguely not-dykeish lesbians you’ve ever seen. Diana politely requested “whatever the cheapest room you have is.” Concerned about cost (I had had just quit my job with like, $130 to my name), I immediately added, “One bed.” $275 and lots of haggling over how much went on whose card later, we were lounging in the king sized bed of the most luxurious hotel room I’ve ever had the pleasure of paying for.

I never saw the diet pills or the gray sweater again. I still think about the sweater sometimes. Which is stupid as hell but I think, “Why did I bring that gray sweater to LA? Would I still have it if it hadn’t been in the Firebird? Yeah, I totally think I would….ok, I probably wouldn’t. Probably would’ve lost it by now. You lose everything! You’d lose your own head if it wasn’t attached. Oh god not funny.”

If you were wondering about Valerie and if she was mad about us almost-stealing her car and accidentally blowing it up, you can stop now because I’ll enlighten you: she was.

bleezies n heem
July 25, 2007, 9:29 am
Filed under: quarter life crisis

So I didn’t just need more coffee this morning. My life really did suck.

After spending much of the day debating, I decided to come back to the Bay Area. I don’t want to speculate on potential details yet so I’ll just say: Did y’all MISS ME? Cause I missed almost everything about you!!

This weekend I was at a party in the Mission, standing on a balcony over an overpacked backyard when “Ayo for Yayo” came on. Nothing like being back in SF for the weekend and seeing a hundred people get excited over a Nickatina song. I looked down and saw a group of four dorks dancing and singing “Ayo for yayo, walk around with yayo, all in my nasal, I musta been craze yo!” in their high-pitched girl singing voices. Man, that song isn’t for singing. It’s for looking back and breathing a sigh of relief that you don’t still, well, walk around with yayo all in your nasal. Duh.

I can’t wait to get back.

July 24, 2007, 11:44 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

fucking myspace chain bulletin. sucked me right in. on the other hand, it’s clearly confirmed right here that i am GREAT IN BED. 

L : Unbelievably great in bed.
O : awesome kisser.
U : You really like to chill.
I : Great in bed.
S :Great in bed. crazy.
E : Great in bed.

here, i’ll prove it.

B : You like people.
A: You like to drink.
D : one in a million.
I : Great in bed.
N : You like to drink.
B : You like people.
E : Great in bed.
D : one in a million.

yeah see if your middle name was badinbed, you’d only get two great in beds.

ever have one of those days
July 24, 2007, 10:12 pm
Filed under: quarter life crisis

Where every possible decision you can make just seems like a big pile of shit? I am. Instead of rejoicing in the fact that I am unemcumbered by any real commitments or tie-downs, I’ve spent the past six hours systematically highlighting the negatives of any possible direction life can take.

Move to Portland? Wouldn’t know where to begin. I see a hill in that picture. What if I end up living somewhere shitty and out of the way?

 Move back to San Francisco? What the fuck, been there, done that. So I can run around and party all the time? What if I start drinking again? Do I really want such a hectic existence? Think of the fog. Imagine life as a long commute to and from SF State in the fog. Imagine the $700 rent and astronomical student loan debt.

Stay in Sacramento? What the fuck,  I’ve been here for two years. Nothing has been accomplished. If I’m going to sit around not accomplishing anything, why in the fuck do it in Sacramento?

Or like, fuck where I live and finally start working on a real project, the one I’ve been thinking about doing for years? How you uh, how you comin’ on that novel you’re working on? Huh? Gotta a big, uh, big stack of papers there? Gotta, gotta nice litte story you’re working on there? Your big novel you’ve been working on for 3 years? Huh? Gotta, gotta compelling protaganist? Yeah? Gotta obstacle for him to overcome? Huh? Gotta story brewing there? Working on, working on that for quite some time? Huh? Yea, talking about that 3 years ago. Been working on that the whole time? Nice little narrative? Beginning, middle, and end? Some friends become enemies, some enemies become friends? At the end your main character is richer from the experience? Yeah? Yeah?

Whatever the case, I hate my life right now. Something needs to be done. This seems to happen once every couple of months. Perhaps I only need more coffee.