NOTE: If you are easily offended by offensive things then please go somewhere else. I suggest pbskids.org or barbie.com, you wuss!


SCROLL TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS PAGE TO LISTEN TO MY HILARIOUS AND WILDLY OFFENSIVE PODCAST!

Tuesday, December 31, 2002

Remind me not to call my ex-fiance so much - no offense to her, but every time I call her it becomes this huge downer for me. I must love pain or something.
Wrote seven songs yesterday


MOOD: quiet content

BACKGROUND: Seether "Disclamer"


I don't know what happened. I mean, I just started learning the goddamm guitar. Shit, I don't even know how to really play it yet. But yesterday, all day, I just got this old Stone Cold Steve Austin notebook and a pen and started writing down all this shit that just started pouring out of my head, all these songs about sadness and heartache and Arizona and drinking and Debby and Collyne and all these songs about being happy and being content with yourself and your life and wrestling and internet porn. It just started flowing from some sort of well within myself. It felt amazing, liberating. Freeing. Amazing.


So today's new year's. Big fucking whoop. I'm going to get in my car, go get some coffee and some comic books, and just stay in. I don't have to take Collyne out or take Bobbie out or hang out with the big Him or go hold hands with Casey to justify who I am. Fuck them. I'm just going to stay home, work out, and watch the Osbournes.


I'm Steve, goddammit.

Sunday, December 29, 2002

Feeling happy today, happy being single, happy having money in my pocket, happy being sober and happy being me.


MOOD: smiling

BACKGROUND: Ra "From One"


Sitting here eating chinese food and listening to Ra. They're fucking good, too. I don't know. I'm just really happy right now. Reading comic books, eating chocolate, getting ready to work out, thinking happy thoughts of the past, tying very successfully to be content with myself right now.


I can hear "Spider Man" playing in the other room. My father's watching it with my mom and really liking it. I can hear my brother playing guitar in his room. The rain has slowed down for the first time in a handfull of days, slowing down to a little drizzle. The temp is 55 but after these past few days that's like summer to me.


Trying to adjust to my life now. It's different than what I'm used to, me being ion the straight and narrow. Hell, I'd find Jesus right now if I didn't want to.

Thursday, December 26, 2002

The strangest things always happen at the strangest times.


MOOD: disbelief

BACKGROUND: Bowling for Soup's first album "Let's Do It for Johnny"


Tired today for no real reason, tired and wired at the same time, from all the coffee. Angry for no reason either. Angry at life and everyone and nothing. Exhausted. Sober and exhausted. Day 27, if you're keeping score. Wish I was in Paris with Dan Brodie right now.


Well, here's the thing. I was in a movie, what, two years ago? A small indie movie I have been hoping and praying would one day see the light.


Hit me over the head with a bucket of cheese, why don't you, huh?


It's been turned into an internet serial. Episode 1 premieres 1.1.03 at http://www.fof-films.com. So there you go.


My life is nothing. But it's a lot of fun.

Wednesday, December 25, 2002

Very surreal Christmas, sitting here in the kitchen watching old wrestling tapes and drinking Pepsi alone.


MOOD: content with a hint of lonely

BACKGROUND: DMB "Under the Table and Dreaming"


I'm just not feeling it, you know? Not feeling the love of Christmas. Not feeling the Christmas spirit and the Christmas love and all that other bullship they teach you to feel. Just sitting here, doing some breathing exercises to calm me down, letting Dave Matthews seep into my mellow haze, and trying to convince myself mentally that this Pepsi next to be is actually a big fucking bottle of Miller Genuine Draft. It's not working, though.


And when I think back at it, this is the first Christmas I've spent single since I started high school in 1991. Is that the reason why I'm moving so slow, breathing so heavily, so clammy and stiff? Is that the reason I keeep walking outside to get some air, finding myself staring too long at the sky? Is that why thoughts of Deb and Col are wrapping around my feet, weighing me down like concrete?


Saw the damm two towers film today. It was okay. I used to be a literate, intellectual, cultured, asshole movie guy, the type of guy who watches foriegn films and loves Fellini and searches out independant films and talks loudly in resturaunts. Now I just want a good fucking explosion and some tits, not some three hour long computer generated blowjob, you know? It was a good film, a big sweeping epic type thing and I respect that. And it was visually astounding. But I would have rather watched the Jackass movie twice instead. Sorry, but that's just me.


This wasn't the Christmas I remembered. Maybe that's because the last five Christmas-es I spent drunk. Maybe this is what happens as you get older, that it just becomes another day. Maybe I just need a blowjob. Maybe I need to get shit faced drunk tonight.


Maybe this is my life now and I had better get used to it.

Monday, December 23, 2002

"And we said, nay. We are but men. Rock!"


MOOD: honestly happy

BACKGROUND: Tenacious D "Tribute"


On almost day 25 of my sobriety, it was extremely disheartening to see my father, after a month or so absence, walzt into this house with an eighteen pack of beer and not one single coke, one single sprite, not one fucking snapple to be seen. I could almost sense my will cracking, almost taste the coors on my brown lips.


Well, more than likely, I probably would have cracked under pressure if I hadn't gone out and finally bought myself the Tenacious D album that I've wanted for about a year.


But yeah. I'm sober. Still.


Good for me.


The big Him called me today when I was in the shower, left a message to call as soon as I could. And I didn't. You know what? It's Christmas and the last thing that I need right now is stupid, pointless drama bullshit. That's probably the only reason he called my ass, to shove more stupid drama down my damm throat because he never calls me because he actually wants to talk to me. Figure that his wife went out and he called me to be an asshole and say, you were with Steve, weren't you?


For the first time since probably high school, I almost feel happy being single.

Sunday, December 22, 2002

End of sober day 23 and trying to remove myself from the drama cloud is taking everything I have.


MOOD: tired and exhausted

BACKGROUND: MXPX


Last night, me and Bobbie were having a great time, dancing, talking, singing, like two of the greatest friends. It was incredible. It was like I was in high school clowning around with one of my best friends. Felt damm great.


Then I had to drive someone home. By the time I got back, the big Him was there and he was making out with Bobbie.


I'm too much of a monk to hate that fucking bastard.

Saturday, December 21, 2002

Sober day 22 (got my math wrong yesterday) and the drama continues.


MOOD: strangely excited

BACKGROUND: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant "No Quarter"


I don't want to say that this is a date, because if I do say that it is, then this invisible cloud of stress will just flow all over me and I really don't want that right now. I have been trying not to stress out, not to focus too much on negativity, and try to center myself in peace and focus only on the here and now.


But Bobbie and I are going out tonight.


Thing is ... the big Him, the husband of the woman I found myself dating a month or two ago, he tried to go out with Bobbie and date her back when "the fit hit the shan" so to speak a while back. And I know for a fact that the Him invited Bobbie over to his place tonight to "watch emovies and hang out." But apparently, she would rather hang out with me tonight, go out with me and spend time with me.


Can you see my male ego all swelled up from where you are?


And the thing is, Bobbie is so incredibly beautiful. I take her out, hang out with her, this 24 year old tall blonde woman that looks like a model, a woman that men just stare at and hit on and buy drinks for all night, and this woman looks like someone from the WWE only beautiful. And when I'm out somewhere with her all I can think is "Why is this woman with me?"


But lately, she's just become my bestest friend. I hung out in her bedroom, smoke some weed with her, play with her dogs, dance with her at the club, listen to her read some of her poetry, and she seems to have really latched on to me as a real confidant. Makes me feel really special, really important, strangely good about myself.


The only thing is, how will the Him take being dissed by Bobbie because she'd rather spend the night with me? And is there some sort of spark, some romantic thing between Bobbie and me?


Don't care. Don't give a fuck. Like the Tao of Steve. I'm just living in the now, being me in this moment, and I'm not going to bend for anyone. Bobbie wants to spend the night with me? Great. I'm not going to be clingy, not going to try too hard, not going to blow this into a big thing, not going to let my low self esteem destroy my night. Going to go out, have fun, be myself, and that's that.


No Bullshit.

Friday, December 20, 2002

Saw Collyne the other day at the bar.


MOOD: depressed (not for reasons you think)

BACKGROUND: Saliva and Authority Zero


Funny, now that I think of it. I've been in Sactown for only ten months and I technically already have three ex-es.


And yes, I am depressed right now but it has nothing to do with the fact that I saw Collyne at the bar. No, I'm depressed because my mom and me just finished watching the early Peter Jackson drama "Heavenly Creatures" which, in case you haven't seen this incredible film (Kate Winslett's first onscreen role as a fanciful, mentally wacked out, murderous lesbo teen in New Zeland), is one of the best downer films ever created. Really, go rent the sucker if you've never seen it


So, I'm here eating Carl's Jr. and watching old seventies and eighties super hero cartoons, trying to clean the taste that the nineteenfifties New Zeland murderous lesbo film leaves. Feel like I need to watch nine hours of Sesamee Street now just to get balanced.


I always hear all these Sacramentions talk about the rainy season. They always talk about it with some sort of smugness about them, like they gain some sort of pride from it. I always dismissed their high talk hullabaloo about the goddamm rainy season. But goddamm if it hasn't stopped raining for a few days now, you know? And I'm a desert rat, a desert spick, not used to these drops of rain which fall from the sky.


So I went to the bar last Wednesday. Didn't drink (today's day twenty of my sobriety - no drinking, no alcahol, not even nyquil). I just sat there, writing in my journal the events of this past month. Well, Collyne and the big Him was there. I tried to act like a cool cat, like I didn't care that they were there, just hanging out, old friends, whatever. That was all a lie, obviously, but that was that. I sang my stupid kareoke songs, talked to my old bar friends, and just sat by myself, occasionally talking to Him or kidding around with my old Col.


Think I was too hard on her, though. At one point, she said "Steve, you're not making this any easier on me." That took me back a bit. That's what my ex-fiance said, too, when we were eating at that resturaunt after she had broken up with me and I brought up our first dance. She said the same thing. I'm not making this easier on her. So, I told Col exactly, word for word, verbatum, what I wish I would have said to my ex-ex.


"Is this supposed to be easy for you? Is that what you want, for this to all be 'easy' like ripping off a band-aid or something? Because it is a lifetime of pain to me right now."


I find myself in a position where the things that I once used to define myself are gone, where I am no longer fully sure who I am anymore. It's a pretty interesting feeling, being alcahol free and smoke free, being super skinny again without that little beer gut I used to have. Without the breating problems I used to have. With a newly found respect for music, for art, for people like Annie Lebovitz and the Get Up Kids and the Used and Robert Frost and Michaelangelo. Me here writing poetry and trying to learn the guitar and working out and listening to Against All Authority and trying to better myself.


Not sure who I'm going to be now. I'm surprised that I'm no longer the crazy drunk Steve-O that everybody gets a kick out of. Not sure who I am now. I'm quieter, more substance to my bones, I think. I mean, I could easily be one of those all black wearing, Hot Topic shopping, black fingernail poetry writing goth fuckos, or one of those sensitive, delicate, vegitarian, Yo La Tengo listening, I Work At A Record Store hip guys. Or a rocker with long hair who acts like an asshole but he knows an instrument so her gets all the tits.


But I'm not really any of that. Or, to put it better, I'm a bastardized version of all of that. I'm a bastard. I always have been. I'm too brown for the whites and too white for the browns. people think I'm a gangsta but I don't know spanish and I watch "Invader Zim" reruns until I know them by heart. I've always been too different to be included into any one group and my current change I guess represents this.


Fuck all this. I think too much.


I'm going to go take a shower.

Wednesday, December 18, 2002

It's the little things that I'm not exactly used to yet over here in Cali.


MOOD: happy and skittish

BACKGROUND: old MST3K


Seeing seagulls still freaks me out sometimes. Most times. And the condensation blanketing the windows in the morning, too. And the fog like stringy cotton covering everything everywhere. And the snow on the faraway mountaintops. The squirrels everywhere, like they're planning something. And the constant, nonstop pissing rain for days and days. All of it a constant reminder that I'm not living in Arizona anymore.


Got two days off. Nice. Sitting here, wasting the minutes, downloading all the Sixty Watt Shaman and Against All Authority songs I can get my mouse on, cooking up hamburgers, drinking too much coffee, and waiting for the sun to peak through the dark rain clouds. Thinking.


Lost in my thoughts of the past, of all those mistakes I've made that have turned women away from me. Missed opportunities and lost chances all floating around me, taunting me from the sidelines. Horrible "what if" questions that go nowhere and do nothing more than slow me down, keep me stuck in this subconscious quicksand I seem to be in.


My brother, who, since giving up drinking has become a timid, passive little pussy (no longer will I edit myself ... fuck fuck fuck), and my manic depressive mother, went out this morning to go see the new Lord of the CGI Special Effects movie and I declined, opting for sleep and internet porn instead of three hours of overly done computer effects and "Agragon, son of Herbevore, brother of the mightly Jaberwok of Septavon, who slayed the mighty Roother of Dragnor, who once ate the fearsome Diskothio ofWeston, the man who once drank the deadly Fructose of Phosphoric, who once took under him the mighty Brestgragoriam of ..." and so on and so forth.


Sorry. That's just the way I feel.


I know that this isn't a popular viewpoint right now, what with Tolkein now becomming a really cool, hip sort of thing, but when I saw the first film, I felt a subconscious cultural need to like the film, almost as if I had to, that the acting and the script and the special effects and the cast and everything all formed this quiet whisper, saying, in some sort of Hitler German accent, "You will love this movie. You cannot resist this movie. There is nothing wrong with this movie. You will not criticize this movie. You will buy all sixty seven versions of the trade paperback." Does that make any sense at all?


It's like back when everybody and their goddamm grandmother spent every waking hour of the day pissing me off by saying "OOH! Blah blah blah 'Sixth Sense' blah blah blah blah 'Sixth Sense' blah blah blah 'twist ending' blah blah blah ..." until finally I just started lying and telling people I'd seen it and thought it was freakin' great. Did the same damm thing with Swingers, too. I thought the movie was good, you know, but the original Rings novels were such classic, landmark novels that the plot and the structure of the film I've already seen in Star Wars and the Wheel of Time and those Shanarra books.


Sorry.


I know that must paint me as incredibly ignorant, but I never said I was a super smart guy.


Well, day twenty of cold sober sobriety is now upon me. And It's been over a week of not smoking. And let me tell you something, I've drank heavily for the past five years, drinking almost every night to frightening amounts of excess. Five years of hardcore drinking nonstop. And even though at most I smoked four or six cigarettes a day AT MOST, the quitting smoking part is a million times worse than quitting drinking. A million times worse.


But it's my pride that keeps me here, keeps me going, my pride and my shot to shit male ego.


I'm proud of myself right now. I'm really becoming someone different, someone new. I'm down to 132 lbs. No smoking. No drinking. And I'm a monk now, taking some time to spend time rebuilding myself instead of chasing tail around. There's Collyne, who loves me and wants me but wants to be single. There's Casey, who wants me but is already taken. There's Bobbie, who seems to have become my new best friend, the girl who everyone wants. And I'm sick of women. No offense to any women out there but ever since I've moved to Sactown I've been given the run around by a handful of women from seventeen years old all the way to thirty nine years old, all these women doing ring around the rosie with me, and now all I want is a rest, you know? A rest from it all, a rest from trying.


And that's what I'm going to do. Sit here, watch television, and try to remember who I used to be.

Sunday, December 15, 2002

Okay, so maybe I was wrong.


MOOD: male ego full to the brim

BACKGROUND: Pink Floyd's "The Wall" (film)


Just back from the bar. And drinking O'Doul's all night has left me sober and, unfortunately, wide awake at almost three in the morning. But I'm tired from the working out. Sore, too, and that might help me get my brown a** to sleep.


But I got this male ego driven adrenaline, not really pumping through my body, but more like gently flowing through my body right now, something I haven't felt for a long, long time.


So, anyhoo ... you remember a while back, that thing that I wrote about my co-worker Casey and I not having anything going on between us, about us being so close, all brotherly and sisterly between us, and all of that stuff? Yeah. Well, my bad. I guess, now, that I was one hundred percent wrong about that, about the whole "nothing is going on between us" package. After tonight, that's all down the toilet.


Am I dating this girl, this tall, redhead, volumptous, sexy young woman? And how does she feel about me, I mean, how does she really feel about me? I mean, I know that she wants me, but does she really know me enough to formulate any feelings for me that go beyond that? And how exactly do I feel about her?


These and other questions I will be sure to start asking when I start giving a s**t about that stuff.

Saturday, December 14, 2002

Sore, tired, and vaguely happy on this cold, damp, piss rain day in Sacramentown.


MOOD: happy, I think

BACKGROUND: The best band ever! @ www.bigego.com


Can't talk for too long. I'm going to meet Casey at the bar tonight, so I have to work out and shower still before I meet up with her. And for your information, Little Miss Noisy, today is day fifteen of my sobriety and day seven of my cigarette-lessness, although I did toke up last night with Bobbie, my (apparently) new bestest female friend who has really taken a shine and confided in me these past few weeks.


And no, I will NOT be drinking or smoking tonight, and no, tonight is not a date.


Not this time.


Casey and me, that's something different, something special. We're the best of friends, real close. And we both know that we want each other. We know that. But we're too brother and sister-ly to ever have anything happen. And sure, during my drinking days I've done some kissing and some hand holding with her, but it's all just bar stupidity, sort of, water under the bridge sort of stuff that gets forgotten the next day.


And no, nothing is going on with me and Bobbie.


I don't think.


Oh, and also, this is week one of not seeing Collyne. Shame, too, because I am still in love with her. But apparently, she's gone from me now.


Oh, and did I mention that I'm a monk now?


Monk Steve. That's me. Damm. Might have to change my http address to that. Got a good ring to it, you know?

Wednesday, December 11, 2002

Sober day 12 and sore as all hell.


MOOD: emotionless, blank

BACKGROUND: Monty Python


Started working out again, like I did this last summer. Last night, during Raw, actually, I dusted off the black, menacing, thirty pould weights and the ab-roller and the thigh-master and did a good half hour, which is bad, actually, since in my prime of a few months ago I could go a good hour and a half of hardcore working out. Now, I could only do near a half before I just collapsed.


Hadto work out, though. Being sober, I never realized how much alcahol helped me sleep. And I just got sick of those sober nights where I'd be up for hours alone with just my thoughts, my dark, introspective thoughts about how Collyne broke my heart and how much I miss my fiance of a year ago and how much I hurt her, thoughts of my drinking days, how happier I was when I was drunk all the time, and how my last bender of (now) twelve days ago really scared the living s**t out of me.


So I started working out. And to make it all kosher, I stopped smoking three days ago.


So here I am, cold and sore and tired and depresssed and guilt-ridden and lonely in this foggy, rainy hell hole, and all of this without drinking and without smoking, me, Steve, piss ass poor and sober as all hell. And, knowing this, I am fully expecting myself to act like a big a**hole to everyone for quite some time.


Maybe that'll get me a chick like all those white, tattooed a**hole guys out there.

Friday, December 6, 2002

Single, sober, and wanting to die: the Reverend Steve story.


MOOD: exhausted and wired

BACKGROUND: DMB "Busted Stuff"


Last time I posted something here, my Col broke up with me and indefiance I decided to go on the date anyway - instead of going to the big concert with her, I went alone, right?


Well, wrong.


I went on a bender. Not just any bender but a classic movie bender. I was at the concert alone and sad, my heart broken yet again, and I had a beer and then two and the three, just me alone and hurt, getting so drunk that I think I got into a fight and I think I was kicked out sometime around midnight. Yeah. I got drunk and drunk and drunk and I knew all the bands there personally and they didn't help so they started buying me drinks and drinks and drinks and sometime around the second band I don't remember anything. Don't remember a single goddamm thing. Don't know how I got home, but apparently I drove home. Almost got into an accident, I think.


I had a bender and almost died.


Again!


So today is sober day seven.


Yeah, I'm sober Steve now.


This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do ever. Clean and sober, cold turkey, not a drop for seven straight days. I have a drinking problem and I need to stop drinking before I kill myself or kill someone else. So I'm done. No more. Sober day seven. When I think back at last weekend I get so ashamed and disgusted with myself. I am not going to flush my life down the drain anymore. I am going to live.


First off, let me tell you the truth ... being clean and sober is probably the worst thing I've ever had to do in my entire life. Hell, I wouldn't wish this on Hitler, ok? This is bad, the shaking and the crying and the sweating and the panic attacks, and this mixed with the fact that the woman I spent the past month fighting for broke up with me. Damm This is bad. I drank every night, every single night. I would get drunk pretty much every night for the past two, three years. Now, going cold, this is bad.


I want a beer every goddamm second of every goddamm day.


That's why I won't have one.


Day seven.

Friday, November 29, 2002

Let it not be said that my life would make an excellent sh*tty romance novel.


MOOD: happy yet sad/sad yet happy

BACKGROUND: Neil Diamond (classic break up music)


She broke up with me.


Single again. Funny, that. Sounds kinda funny.


Single Steve.


No making this some sort of big, dramatic, down on myself thing. F*ck that stuff, you know? I've been way to down for the past year to go through that again. She's getting divorced, newly single, and she says that she needs to learn to be alone now, learn to be strong, and although she loves me and still wants to be withe forever, she needs to learn how to be herself and be strong by herself.


And other chick bullsh*t like that.


How am I coping with this?


I dunno. I'm not kill myself, my life is pointless Steve right now, which I should be, in all honesty, but I'm not sad, either. I'm just here, just me. Just sort of empty and in pain and sad but in this strange, silent, subconscious way that I can't really put into words. It's just there somewhere inside myself, this hole where she used to be, maybe still is.


And that's that. I imagine I'll cry later, maybe tomorrow. But not now. Not now.


Now I'm going downtown. By myself. Going to go see a local band play, the Knockoffs and the Riff Randals live at the Distillery. WAS going to take her, but she left me, so I'm taking me there.


And that's that, I guess.

Today is the Super Bowl for customer service representatives.


MOOD: little raspy

BACKGROUND: Alien Ant Farm


The day after Thanksgiving, the biggest shopping day of the year, the World Series for people in retail, people who suffer for all you a**holes out there, people ... like me. So, sick or not, I'm going out there, into the brink once more, dear friends, stepping out into oblivion.


The last day I worked I saw some flyers for "BUY NOTHING DAY," right, and it said something about "stop the corporate beast" and "make your voice count by killing the money machine" and other such b.s. hippie jihad fawtas, you know? I laughed when I saw those secretly posted all over my bookstore. Yeah, like anyone can stop this day from happening, like anyone can stop the shopping from happening.


Get a clue, hippies!


(I just like blaiming things on the hippies)


Little bit phlemmy still. Little bit hoozy. Little bit raspy and hazy still from my sickness these past few days. But I have to do this. I have to go out there and face the public, the maddening thrones of shoppers all stupid and mindless and wanting my blood. In my mind it's like a battle between good and evil, the republic and the resistance, me and the people. So sick or not, I need to go out there and fight the good fight.


I'm like the bookstore Jesus.

Thursday, November 28, 2002

Never thought I'd use the phrase Kafkaesque to describe a wednesday night with my familia.


MOOD: happy yet frightened

BACKGROUND: Rolling Stones "Her Satanic Majesty's Request"


It's almost midnight and I'm here drinking up a wonderful storm with my mom and dad. I decided it was best not to go to the bar tonight, considering my sickness. I also decided that if I was going to stay at home tonight, I was going to wage full frontal chemical warfare in my body against this sickness. So I went to the store, bought me the pills and the drinks and the vapo-rubs and the cough pills and the ointments and the teas and the medication and all that crap.


It's like f**king 'NAM up in this body, b*tch!


So I've got a stomache full of extra strength Robitussin pills, a cap and a half of NyQuill, some antibiotics, way too much vitamic C, and now I'm capping that off with a few beers with my crazy parents. My dad, my estranged father, is back for a few days.


Thank god for f-en turkey day, right?


My mom is near tears, which is pretty much usual for a night drinking with my family. Everyone who knows me personally knows that once my mother starts crying, it's time to leave. And it might me time for me to leave. And my dad's starting to get angry and beligerent, which is nothing new. When he drinks, he shuts himself off. Nothing new. Nothing special.


I've spent my entire life with these people to the point where I can recognize their patterns and live comfortably with them. I know my dad, in a few short minutes, will storm to bed. My mom will cry. They will storm off to bed, leaving me here by myself. Then, when they're in bed, they will speak nothing of the night's evens, wake up tomorrow morning, and pretend like none of this ever happened.


It sucks having to tuck in your parents. You know that?


But tright now, we're riding the shark, you know, on the cusp of the wave, and right now we're still all drinking happilly, hanging out, eating our steaks, listening to music, hanging out. My mom is occasionally getting teary-eyed (she can cry about anything when she's been drinking) and my dad is only occasionally being angry dad. But we're a family right in the here and now, drinking, laughing, having a blast.


We are all just superfriends, like Robin, Flash, and Aquaman.


Wild night. My dad drinking and angry. My mom drinking and crying. And me with a head full of NyQuill and alcahol, fading in and out, trying not to pass out.


But hey! At least my throat feels fine.

Tuesday, November 26, 2002

Sick all to hell, missing my baby.


MOOD: ready to throw up

BACKGROUND: Life of Brian


Think I got this from my Col, too. She was pretty sick the past few times I had seen her. Now we're both homebound at our respected houses, missing each other. And we can't really talk on the telephone because I don't really have a voice anymore. So we're stuck missing each other, which sucks. I could do with a bit of her right now.


Well, the big He has a big date tonight with Bobbie, my blonde co-worker friend. It's a big moment tonight, these two going out together on a date, doing the dinner and a movie thing. If things go well tonight, then the big He will forever be behind us, behind Col and me, and we will have nothing more to ever worry about.


Too bad I'm too busy vomiting.

Monday, November 25, 2002

Got sad today for no reason at all and found myself crying in the bargain book section of my work.


MOOD: quiet hazy sort of sad

BACKGROUND: food and "Fisher King"


And again I say that there is no one specific reason for me being sad, me being exhausted, me flip-flopping through emotions so heavily that I quietly lost it at work tonight. No real reason other than I've been through the gauntlet from hell this past weekor two and although I have emerged unscathed, I still have subconscious emotional scars that are still screwing around with my head.


The big Him, the other guy in my triangle, well, he's now dating Bobbie, the attractive and spacey young blonde catch from my work. They're seeing each other, not very seriously, but they're boyfriend/girlfriend, which should take the heat off of me for a while, which is good.


I've been through enough drama to make Stephen King freak out a bit.


So, I should be happy. The doors are now open for me to finally hape an open, honest, healthy romantic relationship with this woman who will love me until the ends of the earth. But something is stopping me from being too happy, something holding me down a bit, slowing me down like quicksand.


Here's to bouncing back soon.

Sunday, November 24, 2002

Col can sense things and sensed that something was wrong, so she asked me tonight if perhaps she was making me feel uncomfortable ... and I answered her honestly and openly.


MOOD: hazy

BACKGROUND: Kids in the Hall


I told her ... I was extremely depressed. I was very much sad and depressed and contemplative and introspective and all around quiet, which is something that I usually am not. But I am. I'm quiet now. And I might be quiet for a very long time beyond my drunk night at the bar.


And I told her that in no way does it have to do with her or us or how I feel for her. Either does it have to do with the big Him or with my detached parents or my brother who loves me and at the same time wants to kick my a** for what I'm doing to this family, you know? Neither does it have anything to do with work or with my health or with my ex, the legendary Debmonster (whom I still love, in my own way), or with any of that.


Or maybe, in a better way to put it, it has to do with all of that stuff and more. But I digress ...


I'm just sad now. It isn't anybody's fault. It's just that, as you can see by looking back at all my previous blogs here, I have had, dramatic pause, one hell of a f**king few weeks. Anger, fighting, crying, love, hate, violence, and nearly drinking myself to death. And now I find myself in a position where the big Him has realized that Col and I are in love with each other and is allowing himself to detach himself from her so that we can finally say that we are dating.


So why am I depressed when this should be the happiest time in my life? I don't know. If I knew, I'd tell you. I'm just emotionally exhausted now after all I've been through to get here and I'm a bit scared that I may stay this way, quiet and shy and longing, forever. I'm scared too, constantly waiting for that subconscious other shoe to drop, you know? The moment when the big Him loses it and finally gets revenge against me.


So here I am. I'm almost 26 years old living in California with a cell phone and a leather jacket and a Caddy and a manager job at a bookstore and I am dating a young woman who is absolutely in love with me. And I'm so stupid that I'm depressed.


At least the new Osbourne episodes start next week.

Saturday, November 23, 2002

Exhausted in every possible way but somehow quietly smiling.


MOOD: quiet content

BACKGROUND: WWE: The Anthology


Went to the bar last night. You know how you can tell? Because yesterday was a day of the week. Well anyways, I was concerned. I mean, once I arrived he, the big He, said he needed to talk to me outside for a little bit. That spells trouble any way you spell it, you know? And my life has been a non-stop exchange of drama and angry words and pages out of script of Guiding Light.


But things were good. We sat outside for a while, smoked, exchanged words, told each other how we felt. Talked some things over. Some deep personal s**t, too, that I won't mention here. But the thing was, when we returned to the land of the living back inside he let us be us, let us go on by ourselves, Col and me. We held hands, kissed, talked trash about people and our pasts, laughed.


Felt good. Felt free. Felt like it should, you know, two people who have found each other thrown together, sort of testing the waters of a relationship.


Feel strange. Feel like I've never felt this way before, like I have to learn how to kiss all over again but this time it's the first time. Like I'm back in high school feeling up Theresa Schoenbraum on her couch while her mom's away. Like this is the first time I've had my arm around a woman before. Like these are my first steps.


Going out tonight. Please, no drama tonight.

Friday, November 22, 2002

Popped a few prozacs with my coffee this morning, so work was a breeze.


MOOD: happily headless

BACKGROUND: "Wonderboy" by Tenacious D


Work is just getting more and more crazy coming to Christmas and it's just going to get more stupid. More stupid customers. More ignorant a-holes. More negativity. Which is fine, because I've run the gauntles these past ten or so days. I've argued. I've vomited. I've passed out. I've cried. I almost drank myself to death. I've had to fight for myself. I've had to stand up to anger and adversity. I've had to face the other man and tell him every last shred of truth, the unadulterated facts, even the crap I've been hiding from myself. All that and I've gotten some nice sex.


So bring it on, Mr. Day-After-Thanksgiving, you little b*tch! I almost died. Bring on your holliday hell and all it's b.s. fury because what can't kill me can only make me stronger and more of a wise a**. Work aint gonna be nothin'.


This song is the best goddamm song in the entire world, damm, this rocks. Jack Black is a god, I swear to him! And you know something a bit scary? My brother, my older, more violent prone, more racist, more insensitive and hot tempered (the bizzaro Steve), he's Mister Serious-Karaoke-Guy with about thirty of his own private discs of songs in this case that he takes to the bar, right? Well, he's got everything from Metallica to P. Diddy and even, yeah, "the history of Wonderboy and young Nastyman."


Should be pretty frightening tonight. Not as scary as my Britney Spears, though, but right up there.


Are they going to be there tonight, the ex-lovebirds, my couple? Oh hell yeah. A lot of drama and tension and yelling and bickering and long walks outside and s**t, typical night at the Maple Room cocktail lounge, Sacramento, California. I love this woman, I do. I also love myself, you know, and this is a nonstop emotional roller coaster of back and forth bickering that I hope will all be worth it one day when I can honestly say that I am "with" this woman.


Never been good at this whole "being in love" thing.


Probably my parents fault. Screw them.

Thursday, November 21, 2002

Strange scenes like from someone else's dream.


MOOD: glazed over

BACKGROUND: South Park Season 1


Like some bizzare play that I finding myself acting a part in. It's like I've been awake for days dancing this strange dance at some club I'm not familiar of and I'm so tired, so exhausted, but I'm too scared too go to sleep. Or perhaps I'm asleep and I'm too scared to wake up.


My life is good. I know that. I'm feeling happier, healthier. Feeling good about myself. Things are great.


That doesn't mean things are perfect, though. Still a lot of anger. Still a lot of yelling. Some unforgivable things that can never be erased. Some dark spots that are like chasms that I don't think will ever be forgotten no matter what. I realized that I was going to find myself in a position like this one when I fell in love with a married woman. I walked into a bear trap when I first met her eyes across the bar, when I first put my arm around her and told her how great she looked, when I first kissed her.


It's like I'm running this marathon, you know? Drama like in high school but more intense, more personal, and with lives on the line. Drama played out amongst bad music and warm beer and cigarette smoke. And throughout all this tension, all this drama, all this chaos, I know I shouldn't be smiling. I know I shouldn't be happy. But I guess I am.


Crazy.

Wednesday, November 20, 2002

Just want to say one more thing ...


Damm, my life is good.

She's sitting here with me!!!


MOOD: unbelievable

BACKGROUND: seether and DMB


No s**t.


She wants her turn, so here's her, here's my little Col.


hi all!!!! Happy times.


That's f-en it? I mean, goddamm! I've been writing to everyone about you for over a freaken' week now, and now that you have your chance to write to all my fans (chuckle) you just say that? Come on! You must have more to say. At least mention my latino heat.


sorry, I am eager to take you to bed, can you blame a girl?


Okay, !SO! Reverend Steve has to go to sleep now! Good freakin' night.


Hold on ...
WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT SLEEP?


I haven't said this in a long, long time, but ... goddamm life is f**king good.


Stand back ... there's a hurricane coming through.

Tuesday, November 19, 2002

Trying to get used to feeling content, which is hard considering the events of this past week.


MOOD: peaceful

BACKGROUND: Office Space


Just got off of work. I've got a cold Coke, some Burger Queen, and I'm watching a movie right now. Things are good. Things are content. I woke up happy. I spent the whole day happy. And now it's late, it's cold, it's foggy, and I'm still happy. I've been miserable for so long and what with my crying, anger-filled, almost killing myself week, God knows I deserve to feel good about myself, happy to live my life for once, goddammit.


Not sure if the Other Guy spent his evening with Bobbie, the hot/dumb chick from my work. Hope so. Goddamm I really hope they hooked up, him and Bobbie. That would make my life just so much better. Hope and pray they hooked up. And even if they didn't, no biggie. I know that they're going out drinking and singing tomorrow night.


Damm.


Really damm funny how life tends to work itself out, you know?


In just a small matter of time, my life has changed so much. I went over to their place today - they're staying with a friend right now and this friend is kicking him out at the end of the month, so they're still living together, Col and Him, but only temporary - and picked her up. He was there. He knew I was picking her up and knew I was taking her out. But before her and I spent the day together, Him and I hugged, sat down on the couch, watched Tom and Jerry, had a smoke, talked about wrestling, and then I took her out for a few hours. And that was fine. I even told her I loved her in front of him. And he smiled.


And later on this week, me, my Col, and my mom are going to go see that new Harry Potter movie, maybe get a drink or two afterwards.


Today was a great day. And I had better prepare myself for many more to come.


Damm, that's cool.

Sunday, November 17, 2002

Smiling right now, smiling honestly, which feels so damm good.


MOOD: energetic

BACKGROUND: wrestlemania 18


Why shouldn't I be? I've never said this before, well, not since three years ago, but ... I'm dating someone, a woman who really loves me. I'm seeing someone, holding hands with someone, and everything feels wonderful.


Damm. What am I going to say to the girls at work, all those young, nubile women who long for the latino heat? What am I going to say to the ex-fiance, huh? That's a conversation stopper, right? What am I going to say to my parents, huh? I don't have any idea what I'm going to say to them. There's no real good way to say that I'm dating this woman. I love her, but this is going to be incredibly difficult.


But you know what? I'm sober. I'm eating Jack in the Crack, reading Harry Potter, watching old footage of the Rock and Sock connection and listening to the Ataris and the Knockoffs and just smiling. Honestly smiling. Feeling good. I have the love of a great woman and the ultimate blessings of the Other Man.


I've been through hell and back this past week and when I woke up I realized that all that happened was that I was living in California.


That's going to be a great line in my movie.

Saturday, November 16, 2002

Drunk right now, so what's new?


There was fog out tonight, fog so thick, leftover fog from San Francisco bay. Fog so thick and heavy that I thought I was in some sort of horror movie. Thick. Heavy. Bad. Seriously messed up. And I'm from the desert, the heat and racism of Arizona, USA, a place where fog never hits. Bit I made it to the bar anyway. Why? Becuase I'm a trooper.


Bobbie was there at the karaoke bar tonight. She is a girl I work with, a young blonde woman that has hit on me, sure, and I've hit on her, sure, and she is as hot, as sexy, as incredibly attractive all to hell as she is rock stupid. Nice to see her drunk. It's everything you would expect and more.


I wanted to sing to her, not to Bobbie but to Col. Wanted to sing the song, OUR song, "Where Are you Going" by the Dave Matthews Band. The song I sing to her. But it never came in to the rotation. Oh well.


The fog should have let me know something, you know? Some sort of clue. Some sort of quiet, subconscious sign of things to come.


Sitting here eating Jack in the Crack and watching last year's Royal Rumble just so that I can see my hero, the Hurricane. I tried to downplay my love of wrestling when Deb and I were together. But now that I'm here I have to say ... I love wrestling, I love the Hurricane. I love all the stupid crap, the bad storylines, the overUBERdrama, the bad acting, the whole story. Like watching Titanic but with submission moves. And this, wrestling, I now know is my comfort show, my comfort food so to speak. I watch this to make me feel better. I mean, hey, as bad as things get, at least I'm not Test.


Speaking of the ex-fiance ...


I still love her. She'll probably never know this, but I still have a spot in my heart for her. In all my life, this one thing will never change. I am in love with Debby. I loved her and I still love her. I was engaged yto her for a reason, that I honestky thought we would spend the rest of our lives together. And that's that. It just hurts me now knowing how well her life is without me, you know? She's happy and energetic and open and honest and smiling and artistic, all the things she refused to be while in love with me. When I was on the phone with her (it was her birthday yesterday) she was saying goodbye to someone at the party and she said "Yeah, this is my year. This is my year to shine."


I cried.


I cried because my life is drinking and working and drinking and falling in a painful love triangle. Yeah, sure, my life is great, too, Deb. Thanks.


I've cried way too much in the last 42 hours.


And they were there tonight. Him and her. My pretty little love triangle. We were good for a while, the three of us. Especially after last night, a lot of crying and yelling and violence and anger and aggression, but it was all acpped off by the three of us going to the bar and getting pissed ass drunk. And I know now that beer will wash away almost any anger. Almost. So tonight, or last night, was the night where he, the big HE, had his date I set him up on, right? But this date, the date between him and the illustrious Red Lobster chick, did not go well. Ok, yeah, she's already dating someone. Ok, he got hurt. And if she was single, my day would have been a million times better But things happened the way they did. And he's telling her these bad things and setting the seeds of self-doubt in me, and trying subconsciously, or perhaps consciously, to hurt us, to destroy us.


And I do love her, I think. I think I just might love this woman. And it scares me that I would even think about love ever again after being hurt so much with the Debmonster. But I find myself in feelings of eternal love with this woman. But, in all honestly, I cannot see us together if this other man is in the situation. As long as he is here, I will not be with this woman. If he's being a baby and playing these games, then Col and I will never happen. Ever.


The thing that hurts me the most about this ... that night, the night we spent together, the night me and her went out, the night eeventually everyone found out about ... we did not f**k each other. We made love. It was the first time I had sex in almost a year, and I was scared and frightened and nervous. But it happened. And it was beautiful. Fluid. Like water falling onto a windshield. Amazing.


And when I see her now, even at the horrible bar with the horrible music and the horrible beer, all I can think about is how she tastes, how she felt, and how I want that again.


But if he, the big HE, is in this situation, I cannot live through this pain, this frustration, this heartache. Everyday I wake up I am in pain. Everyday I live now I hurt. I don't know how much longer I can take this.


When I finally write this book, it's going to be f-en great. John Leguizamo is going to have to play me when I sell the movie rights.

Friday, November 15, 2002

Going out to the bar tonight.


Add dramatic music here.


No, no, no, no, no. No more drama. No more lies. No more hiding. No more fearing for my safety and well being. No more drama. I'm going to go to the bar tonight and drink and sing and get plastered. The other guy, the violent man, the husband. Remember him? Well, I set him up with a date. One of the hot as all hell Red Lobster women. And anyone who has ever gone t this bar knows and most likely adores the legendary Red Lobster women.


And me and her? Well, we're going to have a few beers, sing a few songs, dance a few dances, and see. And see. But one thing has apparently been made clear. If he goes home with the Red Lobster chick, then I'm taking HER home.


I'm a mexican-american that's slowly turning into one of the biggest white trash mofo's in the world.


So, random note. This lady comes to work today, tells me she's looking for this one book. She doesn't know the name of it or the author but the author is the same person who whote the KJV bible.


So who's the author? God?


This'll be my third christmas with the Barnes and Noble organization. I got this job after almost two years with a major video store chain that treated me so bad and whose work politics and policies were so illegal that I stole my weight in swag. And in my almost five years in the world of customer service, I've learned a motto that helps me survive day in and day out.


The customer is always right, even when they're completely f**king wrong.


Wish me luck tonight.

Smiling.


Actually, honestly smiling.


Feelings like skipping through grassy fields inside my chest.


Eating cold pizza and there has never been anything that has ever tasted better to me than this cold pizza. God, I love cold pizza. And I love sitting here listening to oh so evil pirated songs on my computer. And I love reading Terry Pratchett books because they are just so funny. And I love this new sweater I bought myself. And I love these new socks I'm wearing. Sure I stole them from my brother, but still. I feel warm now, and I don't think it's all the socks and the sweater, if you know what the hell I'm saying.


Today, the next day. Wow. Today is a good day. A new day dawns in the lion's den which is California and young Reverend Steve finds himself alive.


Man, love's kinda f**ked up, you know?

Thursday, November 14, 2002

In an hour.


S**t.


Probably going to meet at the Maple Room. That's our bar of choice, or was, before all this happened. Going to be me, him, and her. All face to face. This isn't going to be pretty. There's going to be a lot of crying, a lot of tears, and a lot of pain. And I have to realize, have to admit, that this isn't going to be a happy ending that leaves a yellow brick road for her and I to be together forever.


Oh no. I'm not a negative guy. I'm a realist. And the cold, hard reality of my situation is that all of us, and I do mean all of us, him, her, and me, are really going to be hurt by the end of the night.


Welcome to the Reverend Steve story.


I'm a wreck. Cold. Shaking. Sick. Scared. Haven't had any food in my body all day and I've been drinking like a fish since yesterday, wince he called. I wish I could have been a big man, a brave man, and stood up to him, stood up for her. But I was scared. I ran. I was scared and I ran. I ran away. I hid in the record store and hid in the Wendy's and hid in the mall and went to the bars I've never told anyone I go to and got so drunk that I don't know how I drove home, no idea how or when i went to sleep.


Think I tried to drink myself to death last night and goddammit if I didn't get damm near close. I wasn't a man yesterday so I san away, disconnected my phone, and just took off.


I'm sorry, Col. I'm sorry baby. I'm sorry I ran.


But tonight. S**t, in less than an hour, I'm going out there and doing it. Being honest. Being me. Being Reverend f**king Steve. Trying to make up for last night, you know? Am I scared? You're goddamm right I'm scared. I'm shaking just typing this thing here in my kitchen. Feel like I;m going to vomit at any time. I'm scared. I'm scared to death and I don't want to do this.


And I know how stupid cliche crap this is going to sound, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do, that old line of how a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, you know?


I'm not a religious man. Shit, I have my own religion I created in 1996. But, seriously. If you can, pray for me.


Thanks.

Here's the story.


Fell in love with a girl. Isn't that how most stories start? Well, that's how almost all my stories start.


I fell in love with a girl, flirted with her, joked around her, hit on her fiercely. Then, a few weeks later, I learn she's married to a friend of mine. I distanced myself from her, you know? I didn't want to do bad against a friend.


But we become tight, this girl and me. We call. We talk. We joke and kid. Months pass and she's my best friend. My confidant. My closest friend. And as the months pass, her relationship, which wasn't steady to begin with, was faltering. And things started happening between us.


Now he knows. He says that he will leave us alone but that all he wants from me is he wants me to tell him the truth. He wants to talk. And I'm frightened all to hell. I'm scared. I'm sick. I'm vomiting. I'm not eating.


I am so frightened.


But I need to finish this.

Wednesday, November 13, 2002

Things do not bode well.


I know I've been treding on a thin line for the past while. My love life has been a joke, something very high level Jerry Springer-ian, you know? But last night apparently a lot of things went down and apparently while I was gone this Indiana Jones ball has been rolling and now I'm back and I have no idea what went on while I was away but apparently there are a lot of people out there right now that want to beat the living s**t out of me.


Gotta love California, huh?


A year ago I was in the heat and racism of Phoenix, Arizona, going to the local Bennigan's where I knew everybody, drinking my beers and hanging out with my small, tight-knit group of friends, and I had a fiance that loved me. Now I'm in California with a cell phone and a leather jacket and my love life is an appaling joke (make that a spectacularly appaling joke) and it seems as if a lot of my good friends want to beat me to a bloody pulp.


Apparently is the key word here. I love my mother but one thing she isn't is super smart. She kind of takes what happened and uses her wild mind to paint you a picture that's the worst thing ever. But I have a sneaking suspicion that she wasn't doing that this time.


I might just be in big f-en trouble here.

Tred all to hell


Got home around seven this morning. Decided to call in sick, not that I'm at all sick, but I'm somewhat running the risk of someone kicking my a** right now. So I'm just playing it safe, you know?


Just sitting here, listening to Howard Stern and making me some spaghetti and meatballs and drinking some beer and reflecting on the past night. A really good night. Went out. And I didn't drink. And I didn't get piss a** drunk. I spent the night with a woman I love. I just might find myself in trouble because of it, but that's something for the future. The present is all that's on my mind.


Don't find myself saying this a lot, especially since I moved here, but ... goddamm life is good.

Monday, November 11, 2002

Well, round one, I guess.


I'm here in Sacramento freezing my desert ass off. I'm eating a hamburger, bloody as hell, with barbeque sauce spilling everywhere. I want a cigarette bad but this is day three without one. No, I'm not quitting. I'm just seeing how long I can last, testing the waters, so to speak. And the Beatles are playing on the stereo. A damm fine day, so far.


I've got to jump in the shower. I don't want to, but I have to. Once I'm done with my shower I'm going to go get a drink with a good friend of mine who, coincidentally, might kick the living f**k out of me. He called a little while ago, sad, wanting to talk. He's a great friend, yes. He's an incredible friend and someone I've loved for a very long time. But he's also easily jealous and easily angered and maybe, just maybe, he might beat the living f**k out of me.


This just might end up ending badly, you know that?


Hope he doesn't kill me. I wanna watch "Raw" tonight.

I'm currently sober, which is a pretty big miracle.


Ever since I've moved from my lifetime state of Arizona into this cell phone hell hole, I've been pretty goddamm miserable. Drinking non-stop. Going to my stupid little karaoke bar with the same little crew. Singing the same small songs. Smoking up a storm. Trying to forget the friends I left and the chances I threw away. The fiance I hurt. The fiance that left me.


Funny, though. I think I might be in love. I think.


Don't be happy, though. There's more to this than just being in love. This is the beginning of a really bad time. There's probably going to be some violence. I might even have to defend myself. A lot of bad things are going to be said. A lot of drama, crying, agony, pain, suffering, name calling, back stabbing. Bad stuff like that.


Like in that movie The Godfather when the five families are going to war, right, they go to "the mattresses" they say, like, to hide out the war. Yeah, I'm about to hit the mattresses.


Will it be worth it?


Goddamm, I hope so.