Shorts

I don't deal well with even the smallest change to routine, and react poorly when things don't go according to plan. I am unable to adapt without complaining and whining about it. I am not reliable. My actions are often governed by spite, and anger. I have very poor eating habits, potato chips being the main staple of my diet. I'm immature. I model my behavior after the hero in the last movie I've seen, or the anti-hero, the protagonist, whatever. When I was younger, I wanted a drug problem, because everyone I admired had a history of substance abuse in their past or present; well, I've got one. I've thought about having sex with just about every woman I've ever met. My hair is falling out, and I am forgetful. I also have trouble concentrating when people talk to me. I am not a good listener. I am selfish. I wouldn't say that I am compassionate either, instead, I am oversensitive. I hold grudges.

In short, I am a failure, and since you come by here on regular basis, you might as well know the reasons why, so I have listed them for you in no great detail. I don't think I will ever be able to escape these behavior patterns, they will only intensify, and my folly will become even more grande as I age. I am a bad person, and I don't suspect that I will do well in life.

This is what I was thinking as I waited for Remington in the bar downstairs last night as I proceeded to get trashed after work. Sometime around 10pm, we went to another bar where a friend of Remington's was turning 26. For a Monday, the bar was packed, and Remington and I decided to sit in the back by ourselves, but before long we somehow managed to gather a group of about 8 people we barely knew at our table, most of whom were female. I spent most of the evening chatting with a cocktail waitress that works nights, sleeps into the afternoon, and writes for three hours everyday before she goes to work. "A reality novel," she said. She was blonde, young, and wearing knee high socks overtop her fishnet stockings. I told her I get drunk, fuck as many girls as I can, and write about it. This seemed to impress her. The young are so foolish. I invited her to the show that the band I am in is playing later in the week and walked home in the rain sometime around 230am blasting Deerhoof, which I am slightly obsessed with right now.

Today, I spent most of the day gripping the keyboard in a white knuckled trance, trying to stop the office from spinning in circles while listening to the BBC. Tony called and we went for a drive in his convertible and had some udon noodle soup for lunch. By 5 I was feeling much better, and was looking forward to having a nap before going to band practice. Just as I was about to leave work, Veridian called and asked me for a drink. She had just returned from San Francisco and wanted to give me a gift. I was just getting over my hangover, and I hadn't seen her in almost 3 months, so I was hesitant, for about 30 seconds. I told her to meet me at the bar that I live above, where I ordered two ceasars, and two pints of pilsner from the same bartender that had served Remington and I the night before. I had to be at practice by seven, and by 6:15 Veridan and I were in bed. The phone started ringing repeatedly while she was giving me my present when I realized that she had changed the clock by my bed while I was in the shower and I was actually almost an hour late. I threw my clothes on and grabbed a cab to Chinatown, where I rocked out like someone on their last legs of this shit life, just like Keith Richards would have done it, man.

I am embracing my defeat. I will pay dearly for my behavior, it will get worse. This is only the beginning.

Milk Man - Deerhoof