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


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


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 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


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


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.


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! @

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.


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.