current interest: composing horrible stream-of-conscience poems (that's pronounced 'po-EMS' by the way)

driving home from work 1/29/2011
so it goes:
dirty talk
Jameson shots
bitches
30 stiches
and sore muscles
you gotta hustle
"you touched me"
oh honey
no
I have to go
speed by 1000 night clubs, dive bars
past potential futures
with unsuitable suitors
in fast cars
bad times
listening to Sublime
I was bullshitting
just kidding
it's not 1996
I'm in a fine fix
listening to some old mix
dragged down by old frustrations
lifted by new motivation
crooked teeth
crooked smile
"won't you stay awhile?"
check engine, check engine, check engine

observations:
Old hipsters! Falafel! Microbrews! Bald heads!
10:22pm Sun, Jan 16

Old punx! Sing alongs! & so much flannel! This is our future by the way! Not bad!
10:35pm Sun, Jan 16

Working blows and I am going to blow my pay cheque on shoes and Williamsburg. I've made bros with everyone at work except maybe the boss's best friend forever, but hell even he talked to me tonight, so who's to say. I really like everyone including the notoriously difficult head chef. We talk about books and Swedish language and travel and pickled papaya (holy shit, so good). I suppose it helps my cause that he is one of the co-owners of the place -- a major strategic ally.

My boss is really the only major issue. A perfectionist to a fault -- much like myself, but about 100 times more high strung -- with the tendency to take all of her anger out at whichever employee is closest by. Which has tended to be me. However, I found that she is significantly easier to deal with three margaritas deep. She tried to get me to go shot for shot with her, but I'm not a whiskey fan, nah, gin's my thing and gin only, and anyway I'd prefer to debate politics and talk about dumb guys which was what the other patrons wanted to do. As did she. She resoundedly dismissed my previous suitors as well as those of my friends, save the Canadian pizza chain heir. I wonder if I'll end up having that attitude at some point. Not jaded but wanting a provider. At this point I don't care too much. I was less afraid of her and more amused and intrigued by her in that state. Also she declared publically that she is a fan of Sarah Palin so I won't feel all that bad if I do get fired. I held my own in the debate, winning several shots which I passed onto my boss.

It is nice when bosses finally reveal their "less professional" sides. You know that it's in them, somewhere, that they're not total robots. And it's easy to forget that bosses are human...sonewhere. Actually, no, it's more like that it's easier to forget that they tend to cover for that. If anything, at least being vaguely terrified but then remembering "Wait a minute, I don't even need anything remotely resemebling a college degree for this shit so who cares if I get fired?" is a different sort of feeling than "No one told me a frontal lobotomy was a recomended prerequsite for this position."

I drove home feeling weird and wishing I had more reliable source of disposable income. Ultimately, this must be a temporary position. At least half of my co-workers hold advanced degrees. Fuck, one of them was even a doctor in his home country. However, he seems content being head waiter and listening to Radiohead here in Boston. More motivation, if anything, for me. I shall not settle!

Kalindy Millions

I can relate.

It snowed all day. I did some things I've been putting off and listened to a lot of Neil Young. Got a lot to learn, love to burn... Keeping that in mind.

So many ups and downs lately. Oui, c'est la folie. I admit it! I don't wanna jinx anything, but I think shit's gonna start happening soon. And by "shit" I don't mean horrible things but good things. I'm cautious though, as ever, which doesn't serve me well. You know, these past few months, I've been playing it so safe I stopped playing entirely! Retired at 23! Well, fuck that. I mean, you know it's bad when your mother and your friend who works 60 hours a week both tell you to "live in the moment more".

So the thing to do is come up with absurd plans of action and extreme dreams. And then there's the hard part -- the action. Actually, no, that's wrong, that's what I used to think. The action component comes quite naturally as soon as the fear dissipates. Fear of what, you ask? You tell me. It's as irrational as anything: fear of failure, fear of ridicule, fear of rejection. Well, one simply cannot live ruled by negative potential outcomes. I'm not using a coherent metaphorical language to describe this, I know, it's past 4am after all and I'm past due for something to knock me out.

But I think it's time that we found out:


How is it that I can be nostalgic for a place that I've never been? And also this main fellow in this video, Matthew Bannister, is very good looking. I used to listen to Sneaky Feelings on the long drive back to Vermont and daydream of going to New Zealand. Studying at Otago, doing interesting and potentially even relevant academic research, living in a flat, going to rugby games, penguins on the beach, cute guys with strange accents, Tall Dwarfs, and walking up and down the steepest street in the world. Then the stock market tanked and my major wasn't approved and I quit my horrible job and I couldn't study abroad and ended up drunk in Montreal in the springtime instead of exuberant (and, yeah, drunk) in some quasi-exotic place on the other side of the world.

I'll admit it, I idealized the hell out of the place. Later on I would meet a New Zealander who would describe Dunedin as "the arsehole of the world". This sentiment was echoed recently by the Australian bartender who chatted me up while I filled out job application #313. "One for the bucket list, eh? Rubbish weather, full of whackas. Go to Sydney instead! Ahh you'll have a rip snorter in Sydney! Yep, just keep applying, she'll be right!"

Excerpts from my diary at ages 17 to 18:

A few things:
I don't dwell on the past. I don't plan ahead. I don't wear a watch that functions. I can totally relate to Smiths lyrics.

Read more »

Small town Vermont in the summertime: what else is there to do besides work at a gas station, meth, dirt biking in the woods (oft combined with meth), binge drinking, and "ugly chicks"? Making a gangsta rap side project, but of course. I enjoy their bargain bin Biggie Smalls-style and Adam's falsetto vocals.

I opened the champagne pre-emptively last night at 11:35pm. 2010 couldn't be over soon enough. Me, a master of my own reality.



p.s.: