"When it rains, it pours"
- Everyone
I called up some friends tonight to go hang out. It was just going to be an average night. Get together, head somewhere, talk about something, laugh, listen to music, dance, etc. But then, you have those days where lots of not-so-great things happen, and it puts a damper on the night.
I took off from home and started heading into a general "My friends are over here kinda" direction. I made some calls, asked people if they wanted to hang out, and got a loose idea of who might be willing to. Then the phone rings. It's my mom. She usually doesn't call me when I head out. My dad wanted to talk to me.
My dad and I tend to butt heads.
He wants me to be a certain way. The way that he is. The problem is, my dad, more or less, is a miserable person. He has no friends outside of those he made when he was still very young, lacks any social skills, and most importantly, tact.
He wanted to speak to me. I told my mom to put him on the phone. In the background, I could hear him shouting, demanding my presence back home. Oh great. Not again.
I get there and he's sitting at the dinner table. He doesn't look to pleased. He asks me how old I am. It's rhetorical, but I have to answer or it'll piss him off even more. He asks me if I think this is how a responsible person acts. I don't know what to answer. He proceeds to tell me that responsible people don't stay out all night past midnight. People with jobs go to sleep at a decent hour and wake up super early to get things started. I agree with him because, generally, yeah, responsible folks will head off to bed early to get a decent night's sleep. However, I know more people that are responsible enough to go to sleep at odd hours of the night, and still wake up to get to work and get things done. I count myself in the pool of people that can sleep 2 hours and be ready to go and take care of things.
The thing is, my father doesn't know who I am. He never bothers to ask about my day, or what's going on with my life. So he doesn't know how responsible I actually am. I've messed up here and there, and yeah, it's been pretty bad. But I'm not some nutcase who can't hold onto jobs, or screws up his life because he can't get up in the morning.
He asks me to hand him my house key. Okay. He can have it. He tells me to go out with my friends. Then, when I get home, we'll see if he lets me back in. I give him the key and I take off. He's not too happy. I'm not happy either. I'm pretty angry. Who wants to live with that kind of person? I think I'd rather live in a car than with this man. This isn't an isolated incident either. These kind of threats have been made before. This time though, it really did get me past the breaking point. I want out of here! I was ready to get out of here!
When I finally got out of the house, I called back a few people, decided that the best person to hang out with would be James. We'd head out and meet new folks and crack jokes and win over a crowd with our charm. We'd forget about our nonsense and problems for tonight and enjoy a little freedom. Except he wasn't picking up anymore. I head back towards "My friends are over here kinda" and figured he was busy.
I persisted, and I kept on the journey to "over there". He sent me a text saying he was getting ready to take off. He would text me directions. No dice. I waited for almost an hour. Driving around LA County. I called. No answer. I texted. No reply. I suspected he was out with a mutual friend of ours. I called them one by one, nobody knew where he was. When I called our friend Claudette, she said that she had gotten a strange depressing message from him. I started to worry at this point so I started calling and texting the bugger again. He sent me a text requesting that I not go hang out with him, that I wouldn't want to be there. More texts, no replies. I headed to Claudette's place and we agreed to mount a rescue mission. We had a few clues as to his whereabouts, but nothing solid, so we got directions to the last known bar he had been at that night.
As we were heading out, she received a text message from him saying that he didn't want to be bothered. He wouldn't answer my calls, so I figured a girl would have better luck. She did. He was mumbling and slurring his words, letting out details here and there. He had a bad day and ended up hanging out with some friends, who seem to have gotten far too drunk and wanted to give him a ride home. Something was missing though. It wasn't enough to get James down.
He took off walking, 2 miles from home. I figured he'd be okay.
I headed home, our rescue mission not quite successful, but about as good as it would get. I wanted to get home and sleep. He called me when I was about half a mile from my house. He appologized for not giving me details and I convinced him to let me pick him up.
Apparently, he's being laid off because the company he works for is downsizing. They told him right before the work day, so he had to sit there for eight hours, knowing that he'd be let go in a few days. How's that for kinda cruel? When he got out, he called his crazy friend Tiger to go hang out and get drunk. They got drunk. James started talking about his job. Everyone else chimed in with their problems. Before long, three people were crying about their lives, one was near passed out on the floor, and James was going on and on about his failed relationships. One giant pity party, hold the emotional support.
We went for a walk and he let it out. How he's got no future prospects, how he lacks any kind of skill, and how his relationships are more or less screwed up from the start. Of course, it was all residual from the gathering of emotional wrecks that had gotten together an hour before. He slowly realized that he's got quite a few things going for him, and we spent the rest of the night building ourselves up on the good things that are coming up. I hope I put it in perspective for him, but I won't know until we get going with our lives and he does the things he said he will.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Puzzled. Pieces.
It just kinda fell into place.
I realized what I felt was missing from my life. It was in front of me the whole time. That's probably why I didn't notice it. It was on my mind constantly, but that didn't necessarily place it in my life. I didn't want to admit that's what it was because it felt selfish. I don't own her and I didn't want to think that I felt that she needed to fill a space in a mandatory kind of way.
She has ways of making me realize very important things without having to say much.
It's not selfish, she said, in a far better way than I could ever possibly say it. It's going to sound cheesy, and derivitive, and biased, but she never ceases to impress me and surprise me. She understood without me having to say much either. She could always do that. I'll stumble with words for minutes, and she'll distill it with a simple, "Yeah, like."
Anyway, I was missing her terribly and admiting it to myself really helped. Life is looking brighter and brighter.
I realized what I felt was missing from my life. It was in front of me the whole time. That's probably why I didn't notice it. It was on my mind constantly, but that didn't necessarily place it in my life. I didn't want to admit that's what it was because it felt selfish. I don't own her and I didn't want to think that I felt that she needed to fill a space in a mandatory kind of way.
She has ways of making me realize very important things without having to say much.
It's not selfish, she said, in a far better way than I could ever possibly say it. It's going to sound cheesy, and derivitive, and biased, but she never ceases to impress me and surprise me. She understood without me having to say much either. She could always do that. I'll stumble with words for minutes, and she'll distill it with a simple, "Yeah, like
Anyway, I was missing her terribly and admiting it to myself really helped. Life is looking brighter and brighter.
When your life flashes before your eyes.
Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. I've known my friend for about 6 years. It's a long enough time that I value his opinion and observations concerning my life. I may not always take what he says to heart, but he's been in my life long enough that what he has to say, carries some weight. He's leaving in about a week; roughly. So we have to take advantage of our limited time together.
The goal tonight, was to get so drunk, that we had to walk home, lest we risk exploding in a car together. He's important to me, but I wouldn't explode with him in a car and be willing to call it a wrap with my life.
Tonight though, it seemed that the odds were against us.
We headed to a bar that's about four or five short blocks away from his current residence. We've been there before, and there are plenty of colorful stories to tell. From our initiation into the "Hellfire Club", to iPod night, there is a sordid history that we carved out of that single hole in the wall bar. This night, I think, was enough to top the rest of the experiences we've shared at that locale.
I've been considered by many a "tough" guy. I've had a fight or two in my lifetime, but not one where I've actually thought I might end up dead at the end of the engagement. I've posted on here enough that you might have to click on 'past posts' to look up the entirity of my recorded history, but my death-defying feets extend past this digital record keeping.
When it comes to dealing with people that are actually representing some kind of Los Angeles, or LA County affiliated gang, I don't take it lightly. My friends tonight were a little naive in dealing with the situation. They were either, far too drunk to realize the inherent danger, or too naive to process the risk. Somehow, we managed to offend two young gentlemen that were looking to represent some form of gang. All we were doing was, hanging out on the smoking patio of the 'Saints & Sinners' bar in Culver city. They were upset at the fact that they asked for a cigarette, and we found ourselves lacking the requested amenities. We told them that our company only carried either, electronic cigarettes, which run on batteries, and deliver a non-lethal dosage of nicotine, or, a cigarette which was donated by local bar-patrons with cigarettes to spare. At that point, we were in some form of life-risking danger. PERIOD. At the point that I realized what might occur over the next hour or so, I followed through with what I told myself I would do. And, despite the fact that my life was seriously on the line, I still felt silly doing it. I don't know why, but I know it shouldn't have been the case. I felt sheepish almost. But if I know there's a chance that I might leave this pious mortal realm in the next hour, I want to tie up at least one loose thread in my life.
They asked us where we were from. That is a method of provocation among street gangs. If you say something that remotely resembles a gang name, even by accident, that gives them clear and present course to beat you senseless or worse.
Luckily for me, nothing ended up happening. My naive friends are convinced that they called it, and that I was just some emotionally built up paranoid kid. They didn't grow up in my neighborhood. They don't know what it's like to walk two blocks from your house and look at a block of concrete, knowing that some poor soul was pulled to the ground with high-speed lead weights.
The question that coursed through my mind was, "Do you have any regrets? If you die tonight, is there anything you would have done differently?" I don't think I had any serious regrets. I was happy with where I was going, and what I was hoping to achieve. I don't think my soul would be carousing through limbo anytime soon.
I realize it's 4:40 am, and I should probably be sleeping.
I can't sleep though. It's not the fact that I might have died. I can't pin it, but something is keeping me up tonight, and it won't be denied my full attention.
If it were up to me, I would sleep during the day, and wake up to live through a far more interesting and foreign nightscape.
I'm still happy, but I wish that I were an owl. Ever vigilant, and looking into a neighboring tree, to see what kind of company I may find to keep.
The goal tonight, was to get so drunk, that we had to walk home, lest we risk exploding in a car together. He's important to me, but I wouldn't explode with him in a car and be willing to call it a wrap with my life.
Tonight though, it seemed that the odds were against us.
We headed to a bar that's about four or five short blocks away from his current residence. We've been there before, and there are plenty of colorful stories to tell. From our initiation into the "Hellfire Club", to iPod night, there is a sordid history that we carved out of that single hole in the wall bar. This night, I think, was enough to top the rest of the experiences we've shared at that locale.
I've been considered by many a "tough" guy. I've had a fight or two in my lifetime, but not one where I've actually thought I might end up dead at the end of the engagement. I've posted on here enough that you might have to click on 'past posts' to look up the entirity of my recorded history, but my death-defying feets extend past this digital record keeping.
When it comes to dealing with people that are actually representing some kind of Los Angeles, or LA County affiliated gang, I don't take it lightly. My friends tonight were a little naive in dealing with the situation. They were either, far too drunk to realize the inherent danger, or too naive to process the risk. Somehow, we managed to offend two young gentlemen that were looking to represent some form of gang. All we were doing was, hanging out on the smoking patio of the 'Saints & Sinners' bar in Culver city. They were upset at the fact that they asked for a cigarette, and we found ourselves lacking the requested amenities. We told them that our company only carried either, electronic cigarettes, which run on batteries, and deliver a non-lethal dosage of nicotine, or, a cigarette which was donated by local bar-patrons with cigarettes to spare. At that point, we were in some form of life-risking danger. PERIOD. At the point that I realized what might occur over the next hour or so, I followed through with what I told myself I would do. And, despite the fact that my life was seriously on the line, I still felt silly doing it. I don't know why, but I know it shouldn't have been the case. I felt sheepish almost. But if I know there's a chance that I might leave this pious mortal realm in the next hour, I want to tie up at least one loose thread in my life.
They asked us where we were from. That is a method of provocation among street gangs. If you say something that remotely resembles a gang name, even by accident, that gives them clear and present course to beat you senseless or worse.
Luckily for me, nothing ended up happening. My naive friends are convinced that they called it, and that I was just some emotionally built up paranoid kid. They didn't grow up in my neighborhood. They don't know what it's like to walk two blocks from your house and look at a block of concrete, knowing that some poor soul was pulled to the ground with high-speed lead weights.
The question that coursed through my mind was, "Do you have any regrets? If you die tonight, is there anything you would have done differently?" I don't think I had any serious regrets. I was happy with where I was going, and what I was hoping to achieve. I don't think my soul would be carousing through limbo anytime soon.
I realize it's 4:40 am, and I should probably be sleeping.
I can't sleep though. It's not the fact that I might have died. I can't pin it, but something is keeping me up tonight, and it won't be denied my full attention.
If it were up to me, I would sleep during the day, and wake up to live through a far more interesting and foreign nightscape.
I'm still happy, but I wish that I were an owl. Ever vigilant, and looking into a neighboring tree, to see what kind of company I may find to keep.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Fuck you, world.
I'm happy today.
I woke up this morning, and for once, the morning brightness and sunshine didn't have its usual effect on me. I was not happy. Not in the least bit. There was very little to look forward to in life. I've been floating for the last few weeks. It feels like my feet haven't been touching the ground. Just a strange detachment to everything.
Anyway, I spoke to someone today that made me realize quite a few things. She's very calm, slow speaking and outwardly, not anything really jumps out at you. She wouldn't stand out in a crowd, and her quiet demeanor almost guarantees she could go undetected in an empty warehouse. She sits and readjusts her legs every 15 minutes. It's about the most character you could get out of her. Then, bit by bit all that falls away. She's talking about her childhood. Her face cracks a constant smile, punctuated by furrowed brows and small fits of laughter.
She was poor most of her life. When her mother took off and left her alone with her 5 brothers and sisters for a whole year, she was the mom. She had to organize and run a household at 14. Without money, they would have meals comprised of cans of jalapenos in brine. That's it. They'd eat incredibly hot chili peppers for dinner.
She would work for 128 dollars a week and support her mother, attend high school, and continue looking after her brothers and sisters. She would save a dollar here and a dollar there...anyway, I covetously hang onto these stories, as I've grown attached to them. We spoke for hours. Sitting in the sun, her story unfolding before me. It's amazing what this quiet meek woman has accomplished. And that is why I say, "Fuck you, world."
Fuck you because I've realized how petty most problems are. There are so many hardships people have had to endure, and I've had my share, but there's always someone worse off than you. I'm a happy person. I'd forgotten that I was a happy person. Hardships weren't a thing. Somewhere I forgot that. I love without appology. I help without asking. I listen when needed. Even when those people keep me at arms length, that's okay. If they decide to seek me out, I won't turn them back. It hurts to think that some people are happier without you, or they need you at a distance to enjoy life. But I have to be happy because they are. Not because I feel its some altruistic duty, but because I am happy when people are happy. The pain will always be there. The happiness is what will help me get on with my life. I'm going to be the person I want to be. I'm going to find love. I'll have little baby Alexi (Oh how cute they would be!). I'll grow old with family and friends. I'm going to enjoy every book, every film, every conversation, every song and note in life. I'm a broken person. But I'm going to rebuild. I'm going to fix it. I always manage to.
Thanks mom.
I woke up this morning, and for once, the morning brightness and sunshine didn't have its usual effect on me. I was not happy. Not in the least bit. There was very little to look forward to in life. I've been floating for the last few weeks. It feels like my feet haven't been touching the ground. Just a strange detachment to everything.
Anyway, I spoke to someone today that made me realize quite a few things. She's very calm, slow speaking and outwardly, not anything really jumps out at you. She wouldn't stand out in a crowd, and her quiet demeanor almost guarantees she could go undetected in an empty warehouse. She sits and readjusts her legs every 15 minutes. It's about the most character you could get out of her. Then, bit by bit all that falls away. She's talking about her childhood. Her face cracks a constant smile, punctuated by furrowed brows and small fits of laughter.
She was poor most of her life. When her mother took off and left her alone with her 5 brothers and sisters for a whole year, she was the mom. She had to organize and run a household at 14. Without money, they would have meals comprised of cans of jalapenos in brine. That's it. They'd eat incredibly hot chili peppers for dinner.
She would work for 128 dollars a week and support her mother, attend high school, and continue looking after her brothers and sisters. She would save a dollar here and a dollar there...anyway, I covetously hang onto these stories, as I've grown attached to them. We spoke for hours. Sitting in the sun, her story unfolding before me. It's amazing what this quiet meek woman has accomplished. And that is why I say, "Fuck you, world."
Fuck you because I've realized how petty most problems are. There are so many hardships people have had to endure, and I've had my share, but there's always someone worse off than you. I'm a happy person. I'd forgotten that I was a happy person. Hardships weren't a thing. Somewhere I forgot that. I love without appology. I help without asking. I listen when needed. Even when those people keep me at arms length, that's okay. If they decide to seek me out, I won't turn them back. It hurts to think that some people are happier without you, or they need you at a distance to enjoy life. But I have to be happy because they are. Not because I feel its some altruistic duty, but because I am happy when people are happy. The pain will always be there. The happiness is what will help me get on with my life. I'm going to be the person I want to be. I'm going to find love. I'll have little baby Alexi (Oh how cute they would be!). I'll grow old with family and friends. I'm going to enjoy every book, every film, every conversation, every song and note in life. I'm a broken person. But I'm going to rebuild. I'm going to fix it. I always manage to.
Thanks mom.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Caught Up.
Waking up early does something to you. It, in a very cheesy manner, reinvigorates the spirit. The dawn of a new day has some psychological effect on me. I've been steadily pounding away at a project (a few) between feets of manic depression and getting lost in books. It's coming along fine, and I find that working on them in the morning helps a lot.
That is, because when the sun starts hanging low in the sky, I'm the complete fucking opposite.
We haven't really spoken in a few days, but the hours stretch. They pull and extend and become days in and of themselves. I wait for her ringtone, and every second reminds me, she's got other things to deal with. I am considerate. I don't start dialing. But I break. I break and I can't help it and I text her, or I call her, or something. She doesn't pick up. My mind races up besides me to catch up, then sprints on past me, running wild with my imagination. Nobody has ever done that to me. Other girlfriends, I went days not speaking to them, and it was okay. I didn't sweat it too much. Except, she's not my girlfriend. I don't think. Not anymore.
About the only person right now that really asks about my day, what I was doing, what I'm going to do about my crap, is James. He's been helping to nurse me back to psychological health. Although, I don't think it can be too healthy as it includes a lot alcohol and profuse smoking. Somehow it helps anchor me. I'm pretty positive it'll fade once I realize it's only really hurting me more, but the ride is enjoyable. The people we meet, the situations we find ourselves in, it's a little more exciting and new.
My artwork is becoming something different. I like it, but I think it's becoming more introspective. The canvas and paper is riddled with linework and brushstrokes that aren't always made intentionally, but I feel they've been made by something else inside me (Hokey meter up past the 10 on the gauge, but whatever. It's true.). I wait to see what this develops into.
But right now it's daytime. It's not even noon and I've gotten some great things done. I'm going to carry on before night descends on me like vampiresque darkness, sucking my cheery marrow dry.
That is, because when the sun starts hanging low in the sky, I'm the complete fucking opposite.
We haven't really spoken in a few days, but the hours stretch. They pull and extend and become days in and of themselves. I wait for her ringtone, and every second reminds me, she's got other things to deal with. I am considerate. I don't start dialing. But I break. I break and I can't help it and I text her, or I call her, or something. She doesn't pick up. My mind races up besides me to catch up, then sprints on past me, running wild with my imagination. Nobody has ever done that to me. Other girlfriends, I went days not speaking to them, and it was okay. I didn't sweat it too much. Except, she's not my girlfriend. I don't think. Not anymore.
About the only person right now that really asks about my day, what I was doing, what I'm going to do about my crap, is James. He's been helping to nurse me back to psychological health. Although, I don't think it can be too healthy as it includes a lot alcohol and profuse smoking. Somehow it helps anchor me. I'm pretty positive it'll fade once I realize it's only really hurting me more, but the ride is enjoyable. The people we meet, the situations we find ourselves in, it's a little more exciting and new.
My artwork is becoming something different. I like it, but I think it's becoming more introspective. The canvas and paper is riddled with linework and brushstrokes that aren't always made intentionally, but I feel they've been made by something else inside me (Hokey meter up past the 10 on the gauge, but whatever. It's true.). I wait to see what this develops into.
But right now it's daytime. It's not even noon and I've gotten some great things done. I'm going to carry on before night descends on me like vampiresque darkness, sucking my cheery marrow dry.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
A Retrospective
This photograph was taken last week when a friend of mine started snapping pictures of us in my room. I don't think I had seen myself photographed for quite a while now. I was a little surprised. I don't remember looking like this just a few weeks ago.My face is gaunt, my hair is thinner than ever, my nose... is doing its own thing, and I practically live my current life in books. (PS For reference, a photograph of my uncle and I, when I was but a wee baby is framed and enhanced for easy comparison) I think it's post traumatic stress disorder. That's where you shrink away right? Or is that herpes...
Anyway, I'm not going to Philadelphia. After I had finally convinced my frail psyche that moving was going to be okay, that I had everything to gain, they called and said they weren't going to be hiring me after all.
Fuck.
Now I'm shooting backwards into the little niche I had been living in for about two months now. Alex don't want. I mean, there are some silver linings to the cloud, but the cloud is massive, and forgive the cliche', but monolithic. I'm getting a 9 to 5 job now just so I can keep paper on my desk and pencils in my hand.
Altogether, I think I'm falling apart here. There are too many other things going on, and one very big thing I can't help but think about constantly. I don't think I want to get back on a regiment of pills and doctor visits again. Once was enough!
I think I might decide to be optimistic, settle into an upward groove (patent pending), and get something done. Gumption. I think that's what it's called. I'll get moving forward and my momentum will result in a velocity not seen since a certain Mr. Eggers wrote a whole scientific journal about it.
See? That's how my day goes. From hour to hour and paragraph to paragraph, my mood is all over the damn place. I find myself escaping too much these days. How am I going to help myself though? Oh fuck, don't even ask me right now. I can't ask myself right now.
Adventures in Highland Park
Tonight I found myself in Highland Park. I drove myself over after a friend of mine demanded my presence. I don't think I've ever been mandated to attend an event. Apparently, without me there, the whole night would have fallen apart. I doubt there was much truth to that, but me, in an eager attempt to placate some folks and show them how "in" I am, I hopped into my automobile and lurched down the freeway, into one of the moste scenester areas of Los Angeles I've encountered (for those that haven't been through the trials, Highland park is adjacent to Echo Park).
I arrived in Highland park, when not a second after, I received a phone call from a friend, asking for a ride.
Allow me to introduce my friend:
She's a very cute girl, 24, who is in a relationship that almost defies sensible logic. She's an intellect, reads great books, watches amazing films, knows how to strike up a pretty good conversation, and has the self esteem of a fish in a shallow pool of water. I waited in front of her place for close to 20 minutes while she "dressed appropriately". Whatever. I have Love Line to listen to on the radio.
We get down to the bar and meet up with the rest of the folks. Apparently her boyfriend is going to be at the club. That leads me to wonder whether she asked to hang out because she genuinely wanted to "kick it" with us, or if she wanted to show up with a support group that would help her rally against her deadbeat boyfriend. It turns out it was neither, and as soon as boyfriend showed up, she dropped us to go have some kind of argument with him. I met him. He seemed okay, but appearances can be deceptive. She left the bar with him about 20 minutes later, tears pulling lines of mascara down her olive cheeks.
The group and I spend the next 30 minutes talking about how great she is, and how much she completely misses that fact. We agree that boyfriend is kind of a douche for spoiling her night. It's not the first, and we all doubt it'll be the last.
We carry on with a few drinks and hanging out on the smoking patio. There is a couple discussing music and slow sipping their beers. We watch and observe the interaction, deciding that they're just the exact type of folks we'd expect at this bar. Good looking, but about as deep as a convex lens.
We listen in on their apt observations about the music scene, the way that our world politics boil down to defeating bush, and how their shopping sprees rule their paychecks. At this point I realize that the folks I'm hanging out with are at their exact level. I love them, but at the same time, I grow a sincere disdain for my company. I'm probably not better than them in the least bit, but I recognize their failings and their trappings. It makes me wish I had stayed home, reading a book, or sleeping soundly.
The people I'm with run out of cigarettes. It's time to ask the attractive couple for a couple of smokey treats, and my friend shimmies herself over to their corner to ask for a couple of spares. Their eyes light up and they spark up a conversation while the rest of us look on, almost envious at her predisposition for engaging strangers in comfortable interaction.
The others decide it's taking too long to score a couple of cigs. We roll on over and find them discussing breasts. Our friend works in the lingerie department of a well known department store. They're sizing up breasts and comparing cups. At this point, I really want to head home. She implies that she wants to go home with the girl with whom she's sharing bra strap tips with. This provokes the other gentlemen I'm with to hoot and howl and egg them on, perpetuating some strange schoolboy fantasies that they've been nursing in secret. The girl looks over at me and runs her fingers through my hair noting how soft it is. I raise my glass to her and as soon as she's turned around I can't help but roll my eyes. Why aren't I home yet?
Friend goes and makes out with girl, her significant other turns out to be her cousin, visiting LA, and my friend engages in friendly (yet subtlely hostile) music speak. They don't agree on the Beatles, and for them, the night is set in stone, chiseled by the music fates. They're inseperable. The rest of the gang decides to get these two girls making out. They do so, head to the bathroom, I talk to a homeless person about homeland security, and why 10 drinks are never enough to keep us down and out. It's the most interesting conversation I've had all night.
Somehow it all comes to an end, I have to drive people home, and all I can think about is Her. I think about how much I'd have easily given up this terribly pitty night for five minutes in her arms. It's almost too painful to think about, but it's sobering. I get home and write this post and I look through some of her pictures. It's time to call it a night and sleep tight.
I arrived in Highland park, when not a second after, I received a phone call from a friend, asking for a ride.
Allow me to introduce my friend:
She's a very cute girl, 24, who is in a relationship that almost defies sensible logic. She's an intellect, reads great books, watches amazing films, knows how to strike up a pretty good conversation, and has the self esteem of a fish in a shallow pool of water. I waited in front of her place for close to 20 minutes while she "dressed appropriately". Whatever. I have Love Line to listen to on the radio.
We get down to the bar and meet up with the rest of the folks. Apparently her boyfriend is going to be at the club. That leads me to wonder whether she asked to hang out because she genuinely wanted to "kick it" with us, or if she wanted to show up with a support group that would help her rally against her deadbeat boyfriend. It turns out it was neither, and as soon as boyfriend showed up, she dropped us to go have some kind of argument with him. I met him. He seemed okay, but appearances can be deceptive. She left the bar with him about 20 minutes later, tears pulling lines of mascara down her olive cheeks.
The group and I spend the next 30 minutes talking about how great she is, and how much she completely misses that fact. We agree that boyfriend is kind of a douche for spoiling her night. It's not the first, and we all doubt it'll be the last.
We carry on with a few drinks and hanging out on the smoking patio. There is a couple discussing music and slow sipping their beers. We watch and observe the interaction, deciding that they're just the exact type of folks we'd expect at this bar. Good looking, but about as deep as a convex lens.
We listen in on their apt observations about the music scene, the way that our world politics boil down to defeating bush, and how their shopping sprees rule their paychecks. At this point I realize that the folks I'm hanging out with are at their exact level. I love them, but at the same time, I grow a sincere disdain for my company. I'm probably not better than them in the least bit, but I recognize their failings and their trappings. It makes me wish I had stayed home, reading a book, or sleeping soundly.
The people I'm with run out of cigarettes. It's time to ask the attractive couple for a couple of smokey treats, and my friend shimmies herself over to their corner to ask for a couple of spares. Their eyes light up and they spark up a conversation while the rest of us look on, almost envious at her predisposition for engaging strangers in comfortable interaction.
The others decide it's taking too long to score a couple of cigs. We roll on over and find them discussing breasts. Our friend works in the lingerie department of a well known department store. They're sizing up breasts and comparing cups. At this point, I really want to head home. She implies that she wants to go home with the girl with whom she's sharing bra strap tips with. This provokes the other gentlemen I'm with to hoot and howl and egg them on, perpetuating some strange schoolboy fantasies that they've been nursing in secret. The girl looks over at me and runs her fingers through my hair noting how soft it is. I raise my glass to her and as soon as she's turned around I can't help but roll my eyes. Why aren't I home yet?
Friend goes and makes out with girl, her significant other turns out to be her cousin, visiting LA, and my friend engages in friendly (yet subtlely hostile) music speak. They don't agree on the Beatles, and for them, the night is set in stone, chiseled by the music fates. They're inseperable. The rest of the gang decides to get these two girls making out. They do so, head to the bathroom, I talk to a homeless person about homeland security, and why 10 drinks are never enough to keep us down and out. It's the most interesting conversation I've had all night.
Somehow it all comes to an end, I have to drive people home, and all I can think about is Her. I think about how much I'd have easily given up this terribly pitty night for five minutes in her arms. It's almost too painful to think about, but it's sobering. I get home and write this post and I look through some of her pictures. It's time to call it a night and sleep tight.
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