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


Tuesday, May 20, 2003

I'm trying to learn to focus more on the present situation I'm in and not dwell too unduly on the events that mock me from my shady and drama-ridden past.

MOOD: quiet

BACKGROUND: Digger "Monte Carlo"

I'm trying to be happy. I really am. I'm trying to be happy and positive and smile and hug people and resume my usual wisecracking, jokester life that everyone knows me for. I'm trying really hard to be a good, happy, well adjusted individual. It's just very hard because in being happy, there are a hundred things that I'm trying really hard NOT to think about.

Trying not to think about the serious car accident that I was in last week. You never know when something like that's going to happen. You don't. That's the truth. We get way too glazed, way too complacent in our cars. We think that we're Superman in our cars, we let our guards down, and we get too relaxed and not prepared enough. Hell, I was turning into the parking lot of my work and some punk 16 year old, no insurance, no license, his brother's car, he sideswipes me going about 30 mph, turns me around two or so times, and just drives off. Tries to, at least. Some complete stranger in an SUV chased him down, got him back to the scene. If he hadn't had done that, then Mr. 16 would have just kept driving, the asshole little kid.

Damn, I'm going to have to stop yelling "TERRORIST" at all the SUV drivers now.

I got pretty banged up, too, hitting my head on the top of my lowered windshield as I crashed into the median during my spinning. Sounds serious, right? Well, when the cops, the crack team of Sacramento, California police officers, eventually showed up to the scene, they really didn't give a flying fuck what was going on. They didn't give a fuck. They just treated it as a small little traffic dispute and let Mr. 16 go off with a warning, those Sac cop fuckers! Now I'm left with a $5,000 car bill and the two kids involved have dissappeared and their insurance refuses to do anything about it.

Let me tell you now, if you tell me you work for Geico insurance, I will violently rip off your private parts with my long, blunt fingernails and then pee on your bleeding corpse as you scream in pain on the floor below. Seriously.

Trying not to think about that.

Trying not to think about [CENSORED]

Trying not to think about the little her, about her smile and her laugh and her hair and her eyes and her evil black bitch heart that will rot in hell for a thousand eternities for the bullshit she has put me through this past year. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I missed her immensely. I do. With all my being I honestly do miss being with her. It's just that with her comes heartbreak and drama and, eventually, violence from her psycho Big Him. And until she shows me otherwise, until she shows me that she can leave him, she is out of my life completely.

Trying not to think about all the women that I passed up. For Her. Trying not to think about all the women at work that I have such massive crushes on. Trying not to think about my ex-fiance who is now living in San Francisco, about two hours away from me. Trying not to think about how much weight I'm losing. Trying not to think about how great it would feel to pop a few pills and drink a few beers and go to sleep. Trying not to think about how much I miss the warm sunny day feel you get during the day in Arizona, a feeling like a blanket of sun draped all around you. Trying not to think about how much money I'm NOT making and how stupid everyone else in this world seems sometimes. Trying not to think about my love life. Don't get me wrong. It's great right now, my love life. It's happy and playful and all around cool as hell. I've just been hurt some many times this past two years or so that I'm scared, reserved, frightened, not sure of myself, let alone sure of what I'm loking for anymore.

I'm just trying not to think about a lot of stuff.

This probably sounds really down and depressing and it doesn't mean to be. My life is actually very positive right now, very happy-go-lucky sory of cool. There's just a whole lot of bad things right behind me, things that I can feel breathing down my neck every second of every day. They're there. I know they are. And it's a constant struggle to try and stay looking forward.

Thursday, May 1, 2003

It's always nights like this when you really want to sleep when you never can - somehow that's representative of mankind's existance in a really deep way that I'm way too tired to try and decypher right now.

MOOD: tiredwiredsleepyawake

BACKGROUND: "Paradise Lost 2: Revelations"

It's almost four in the morning and I cannot sleep. Spent an all-nighter at my bookstore, my wonderful corporate behemoth bookstore, working inventory. And now, obviously, it's almost four in the morning and I cannot sleep a single wink. Too tired from working all night and too wired from all the coffee I drank to keep me up all night, all battling each other in some sort of vicious circle in my stomache. Watching the early morning fog roll in slowly, blanketing the city softly as I drive through empty streets. White Stripes playing on my old tape deck as I watch my cigarette smoke drift out of my driver's side window and mix with the fog and drift off into the night. Figured this was a perfectly good blogging mood for me to be in.

Comic book movies. A ton of comic book movies. I figured that the massive rush of comic book movies would have happened a decade past, back when Batman was the hip Hollywood buzz word. A few came out. The Punisher was a pretty horrendous film, but at least it tried. It took the big budget summer monster X-Men to kick start the money grabbing comic book-to-big-screen stampede that we're drowning in now. Being a closeted comic book geek, I seem to find myself torn when all these films come out. I see them, I fall in love with them at the moment, but the more time passes between my first viewing of the film and my present state of mind, the more I realize that it wasn't all that great.

Daredevil was a good example of that. I loved it when I saw it, back on opening day, sitting there with my popcorn and my gummi worms, geeking out over all the sly little references hidden in the film specifically to appease geeks like me. But the more time covers up the euphoria of the theater experience, the more I realize that it's basically "Daredevil for Dummies." I understand that you cannot realistically put a comic book with decades of backstory and characterization and plot lines onto a big screen and truly give it justice, but to place the lengthy Daredevil/Electra concept and shorten it into a nice, dark, campy little hour and a half package isn't anywhere near smelling like justice.

I think that's enough geekdom for me for now.

I'm entering month six for my sobriety. It's fairly easy for me to not drink anymore. My drunk brother helps. No offense to my brother or my family, forgive me for shitting in my own nest like a dirty bird does, but my brother goes out every night and drinks to messy, stinking excess every night, turning his life into a blind sort of haze of drama and arguing and drunk memories every single night. And having that next to me, seeing that and the reprecussions of that every day, every night, helps keep me in check.

I thought that quitting drinking would be so much harder than it actually was. I come from a long line of drinkers. I vaguely remember being young and drinking with my parents from as far back as 11 and 12. And these past two years I became a social drinker who had to drink every single night, every single day. So when I decided that drinking just wasn't very fun anymore and decided to quit, I had in my head a sort of "Ed Wood" scene in my head where Bela committs himself for herion addiction, that I would be strapped to a bed, screaming. But no. Quitting is easy as long as you actually want to quit and my life has been excellent recently (well, ommitting the whole crazy mofo tries to kick my ass and threatens to kill me thing) and I see myself happily never drinking ever again.

My balls are really all up in the air right now, so to speak. Being a new man, I've been really trying to better myself recently and with that has come a few offers on my table. For starters, I might be traveling to Ohio in September to act in a low budget horror film. I'm very excited about this because one of the actors already signed up is Ed Wood actor Conrad Brooks who actually acted in the legendary cult film "Plan 9 from Outer Space" and I would kill my own mother for a chance to even meet him, let alone act alongside him. I've been acting for so long, even working on a few motion pictures in my nice little career, but the pinnacle of my career would honestly be acting with a man who worked for Ed Wood. I could die happy.

Also, it looks as though I might soon be acting for and collaborating with local Sacramento, California television show Cinema Insomia. They recently hosted an old school nighttime spook show featuring "Plan 9" and I was lucky enough to attend. It was honestly a night that I'll never forget, seeing Ed's magnum opus on the big screen. It was a touching experience and probably the closest I will ever get to seeing the film in a "Rocky Horror" setting, where I always thought a movie like that would really shine. People laughing, people smiling, people yelling at the screen and all in all thuroughly enjoying Ed's film the way that it should be enjoyed. Incredible stuff. Be sure to visit the show's web page because they have a little write up regarding me, which I enjoyed.

I'm writing a play, too, my second, one that's really serious, really personal, really beautiful. Forgive me stealing a line from a Kevin Smith movie but I finally had something personal to write about, something that wasn't about lost love or sadness or minimum wage. It's called "Two Hour Face-to-Face" and it just might be the greatest thing I've ever written. I'm still working on it. Actually, I'm denying my laptop and I'm carrying a little blue notebook around with me everywhere I go, writing every single second that I'm awake, as my current young, wonderful relationship victim, Kitty, can attest to. She hates it, honestly she does. Everywhere I go, everywhere, I have my notebook and my pen, writing every second I'm awake. I have to. This is good. This is my best work, pouring my blood and soul into the ripped, torn little pages of my notebook.

It's my "Citizen Kane" or, at best, it's my "Plan 9" and I want to finish writing it to see just how it ends. It's all flowing really well right now, not just my play writing but my whole life, really, and I'm really interested to see how it all turns out in the end. Such is life, I suppose.