I will be taking my very first flight in the next month, which seems pretty awful - 22 years old and I've never flown before. Probably a lot of people have never flown, so I guess I'm grateful I'm not that person, and who knows, maybe their afraid of flying. Ha, I laugh in the face of their fear!
You see, I'll be in San Francisco the last of June with the good ol' family. I'm gonna make funny faces at fish, eat fantastic seafood and walk into bars alone wearing Denver Nuggets attire. What a rabble-riser I yam! If you think about it, Lakers fans could be all over that fucking state. It would also be nice if the Nuggets would just bury the Lakers in the next 2 games of the playoffs. I really don't like those Los Angeles Lakers.
Speaking of 22, I celebrated a birthday on the eighteenth. It really wasn't much of a birthday. I went to work, and then I bought myself some beer. The hours I was at work really ruined the day. Every day that I work is a ruined-day...
I think I'm writing a book. It sounds like a book, it's expansive like a book, I've written a lot of words and it's expletive with many a detail like a book. Before, I had called it a writing project, but now, I'm confident in calling it a book. I've started many writing projects that have gone nowhere, so I won't be surprised if in three months I've torn up everything to do with this project. Let's not get any one's hopes up!
Just about every weekend now I've been stopping by the drive to talk to Jay. He's my best friend's dad. I like it that no matter how mature a person gets, when it comes to friends, that person isn't ashamed to admit he still refers to that one special friend as his/her best friend, and why should that person be ashamed! He's not my good friend, Jon is my best friend! And then follow that up with a and don't you forget it! That's just one thing I'll never let go from my childhood, the feudal system of the friends. The best friend is at the top, no one can trump his/her position. He/she is there for the long-haul, like the Pope. They've been with you the longest, you can tell that person literally anything. Below that person are your good friends. They might also be an acquaintance of your best friend. You hang out with them many a-time, and they might treat you like family. This top portion of the feudal system is your extended family more than likely. Below that are friends, or people you talk to a lot, maybe hang out with, and you all enjoy each other's company, but that's about it. Then acquaintances and so forth.
Like I stated, I've been visiting my best friend's dad on the weekends. Usually later in the night, for a good 2-3 hours, we stand out on the driveway of his home, and talk. It's been a lot of fun. And since his son has been out of the country, I think it's been rather helpful so Jay doesn't get lonely. Jon is the baby of the family and they're not used to him being away for so long. So I step in and do my part. And on most occasions, the weather is cooperative. Jay has a lot of entertaining stories, and I really like listening to the man talk.
A couple days ago, I busted out the scooter and went for a ride in Carey Park. I've noticed from time to time that motorcyclists will signal me, either with a peace sign or just their index finger out to the side of their ride. I flash a peace sign back, and never my index finger alone, I still don't get that. What is this some sort of commune? I'm riding a scooter, not a Hog. I'm not comfortable with the exchange. This isn't a gang, I just like riding a scooter...
If I was on a motorcycle myself, still, I don't want to have to signal everyone else on a motorcycle each time I pass them. What if I signal someone twice, or it's a group that ride, is one signal enough or am I being disrespectful? And why are a lot of them wearing leather and chaps!? You don't have to wear those clothes in order to ride a Harley. Hell's Angels my ass, the Hell's Angels would stab you if they saw you trying to act tough with your gloves and steel-toed boots. Shit, it's pretty hard to try and look cool riding a scooter, don't signal me! What are you trying to do, snub me!? Look at this jerk, I'll signal him as a joke, see if he does it back. He did it back! Oh my god, what an idiot! Can I start riding a horse around town? Maybe a group of us equestrians can ride up and down the road, maybe come up with our own signal.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Friday, May 08, 2009
Post.
I don't understand why some people will ask you to guess a certain number of times something has happened to them, or, ask you to guess the price of a certain item. I'm never right in my guess; I'm not even close to the fucking number! "How much do you think my new sinks were?" "I don't know." "Take a guess." "60 dollars!" "...no...637 dollars!!" And I'm left saying to myself, 'I'm such a dumb fuck!' Because I don't know the street-cred of anything, I don't know the value of shit - what this or that costs - I don't have a fucking clue, and you know what, I like what you might be talking about or what has transpired for us to reach this point of the conversation, but I seriously don't give a fuck what the value is...of anything!
And who argues against a good deal!? It's half-priced burgers at Spangles, and my aunt is complaining that it's still too much money for food...tonight, if you choose to select one of five or more different variations (different toppings) of (on) hamburgers, you get the meal half-priced! And you argue about it!? I say, if you're at a restaurant, you order what you want and forget about price! If it's high, oh what the fuck, you treated yourself for once. You only live once. You Only Live Twice is a pretty good Bond flick, though it doesn't hold a candle to Dr. No, From Russia with Love, or Goldfinger.
I can't believe how out-of-the-ball park I am with guessing the price of shit or the value saved, I suck at reading minds. I'll have to add that to my list: I can't fly, I don't have X-Ray vision, I can't pass through objects, I can walk through fire and get burned severely - that's a draw-back, and I can't read any one's mind. It's a sad existence.
And who argues against a good deal!? It's half-priced burgers at Spangles, and my aunt is complaining that it's still too much money for food...tonight, if you choose to select one of five or more different variations (different toppings) of (on) hamburgers, you get the meal half-priced! And you argue about it!? I say, if you're at a restaurant, you order what you want and forget about price! If it's high, oh what the fuck, you treated yourself for once. You only live once. You Only Live Twice is a pretty good Bond flick, though it doesn't hold a candle to Dr. No, From Russia with Love, or Goldfinger.
I can't believe how out-of-the-ball park I am with guessing the price of shit or the value saved, I suck at reading minds. I'll have to add that to my list: I can't fly, I don't have X-Ray vision, I can't pass through objects, I can walk through fire and get burned severely - that's a draw-back, and I can't read any one's mind. It's a sad existence.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
On my Break
Today I took a 40 minute break and went for a drive. Driving can be fun. I like to think of it in the same respect as probably the pioneers would have if they went on a leisurely ride through hilly pastures, you know, maybe with their pioneer-wife, or whore they ran off with after a drunken visit to the mining-town saloons. If they were with the wife, the couple would gallantly gallop to a fresh Spring meadow, lay out the table cloth, and they might engage in a picnic. If the pioneer were with the whore, though, the two might engage in a forced-three way with a toothless backwoodsman.
My drive was 35 minutes, down Adams off 10th street, through a residential area past 30th street, then on to Thunderbird Lane, north to Kisiwa/Kansas Avenue, then out north on Plum Street as far as 82nd, and then I made a loop and came back to work. I was alone in this excursion, and I entertainment myself with the iPod. Sometimes I feel inclined to jet, or leave a certain place and drive around, then come back. I'm an advocate for driving.
As I came back, heading south on Adams, I made a left at 10th street. At the time, I was listening to Race Car Ya-Yas by Cake, full blast, of course, and with the windows down. A mom and her daughter were outside, the mom up by her house or shanty from the look of things, and the little daughter, about 5 or 6-years-of-age, riding her bike on the sidewalk. I completely forgot the lyrics for that song are:
The land of race car ya-yas. The land where you can't change lanes. The land where large, fuzzy dice Still hang proudly Like testicles from rear-view mirrors.
As I passed the little girl, I thought: you know, my music is just loud enough that she could probably hear it very clearly as I pass her. And then in the song, the words like testicles from rear-view mirrors were sung. And then I couldn't help, but think: did that little girl hear the word testicles as I passed her in my car? I took a glance in my rear view mirror, and it's kind of hard not to think she did hear the lyrics because when I looked back, her bike was on the ground, as though she threw it down as she fled to her mom, screaming, "Mommy! Mommy! Testicles!" She had ran from her bike on the ground and had ran to her mother, I'm oblivious to what apriority the girl expressed as she ran back to mom.
Thinking back on it, this isn't the first time a child has ran from me, or been frightened by me. I frighten kids. It's the reason why I don't like kids, that and screaming. I had to talk to a little kid one time visiting a co-worker's house. I didn't know what to talk to her about. I asked how she was doing, and she said fine. And I nodded my head, and looked off in the distance. Why did I look off in the distance? Maybe hoping out of the blue, somebody, another adult, would come up - definitely not another kid; one kid is enough, I don't need two to be awkward around. I then asked if the little girl had gotten any new clothes for the new school year; school was just around the corner, and it was only, at most, a week away. And I thought she'd be in to clothes; she was a second-grader, I think. She said she got a new dress and some shoes. I said FUN! I then commented on her dress she was wearing that day. It looked new, and I thought perhaps this was the new wardrobe she had gotten for school. I told her her outfit looked cute, thinking she'd like that. And then she ran away. And here I thought we were having an absolutely engaging conversation. Why do people make you meet their kids like the tykes are adults? And then to leave me alone with the little person...what the fuck are you expecting us to talk about!? Exit strategy? The plight of the newspaper business???
My drive was 35 minutes, down Adams off 10th street, through a residential area past 30th street, then on to Thunderbird Lane, north to Kisiwa/Kansas Avenue, then out north on Plum Street as far as 82nd, and then I made a loop and came back to work. I was alone in this excursion, and I entertainment myself with the iPod. Sometimes I feel inclined to jet, or leave a certain place and drive around, then come back. I'm an advocate for driving.
As I came back, heading south on Adams, I made a left at 10th street. At the time, I was listening to Race Car Ya-Yas by Cake, full blast, of course, and with the windows down. A mom and her daughter were outside, the mom up by her house or shanty from the look of things, and the little daughter, about 5 or 6-years-of-age, riding her bike on the sidewalk. I completely forgot the lyrics for that song are:
The land of race car ya-yas. The land where you can't change lanes. The land where large, fuzzy dice Still hang proudly Like testicles from rear-view mirrors.
As I passed the little girl, I thought: you know, my music is just loud enough that she could probably hear it very clearly as I pass her. And then in the song, the words like testicles from rear-view mirrors were sung. And then I couldn't help, but think: did that little girl hear the word testicles as I passed her in my car? I took a glance in my rear view mirror, and it's kind of hard not to think she did hear the lyrics because when I looked back, her bike was on the ground, as though she threw it down as she fled to her mom, screaming, "Mommy! Mommy! Testicles!" She had ran from her bike on the ground and had ran to her mother, I'm oblivious to what apriority the girl expressed as she ran back to mom.
Thinking back on it, this isn't the first time a child has ran from me, or been frightened by me. I frighten kids. It's the reason why I don't like kids, that and screaming. I had to talk to a little kid one time visiting a co-worker's house. I didn't know what to talk to her about. I asked how she was doing, and she said fine. And I nodded my head, and looked off in the distance. Why did I look off in the distance? Maybe hoping out of the blue, somebody, another adult, would come up - definitely not another kid; one kid is enough, I don't need two to be awkward around. I then asked if the little girl had gotten any new clothes for the new school year; school was just around the corner, and it was only, at most, a week away. And I thought she'd be in to clothes; she was a second-grader, I think. She said she got a new dress and some shoes. I said FUN! I then commented on her dress she was wearing that day. It looked new, and I thought perhaps this was the new wardrobe she had gotten for school. I told her her outfit looked cute, thinking she'd like that. And then she ran away. And here I thought we were having an absolutely engaging conversation. Why do people make you meet their kids like the tykes are adults? And then to leave me alone with the little person...what the fuck are you expecting us to talk about!? Exit strategy? The plight of the newspaper business???
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