chris called me and told me that she was picking me up after work so we could do laundry and sure enough there she was right as the guy pulled the birds tail and before fred flinstone could slide down his dinosaur’s tail i was rounding the corner and i saw my baby sitting on a step exhaling a camel light.

she has blonde hair now. dark roots on purpose. a frayed green denim levis jacket, powder blue sweat pants and a wrinkle on her forehead because the generic pain killers her fuct up doct prescribed her weren’t worth the ten dollar copay and how do you tell someone, listen, i know a few things about meds and this shit isn’t working, i might look young enough to get carded, but im an adult and my shits fucked so give me the damn vicodin for this is why the good Lord made it.

but shes so sweet she just hangs up the phone and yells fuck into her pillow. fuck! and breaks down and sobs cuz it really hurts and it would be one thing if the doctor was unsure but this shits coming from the nurse practioner not even the doc but from some bitch who can only prescribe advil. and by the way, what fucking loser needs a prescription for advil.

meanwhile in america everybody has the hookup. this one, that one. look at her over there. yep, even him. dosed, drugged, done. and this is a girl who wont have a beer with her meal after the laundromat because the label clearly said no alcohol on the bottle of pills that don’t do shit.

and im all, don’t you remember even one day in isla vista?

she smiles and i take her hand. we’re in a booth in silverlake. the crest. its dark. theyre playing slow jams from the eighties. pointer sisters at the moment. it doesn’t sound cheesy. it sounds of all things, classic, for lack of a better word.

thank you for all the love you give me i tell her and she smiles and says my name.

its like groundwater. its vital. to not have to wait for the flood or the downpour, all you have to do is open your eyes and theres this super strong foundation that hasn’t wavered a smidge since it began.

which isn’t to say there weren’t disagreements. or fights. or nights where one party would huff to the guest room and put a blanket over his fro and try to go to sleep on the futon. there were disagreements.

and tears, and loud moments, and angry lipsticked messages on the mirror.

there were no angry lipsticked messages on the mirror.

but there were some loud moments.

and those moments usually ended up with the one in the soft comfy bed creeping over to the guest room after about twenty minutes and crawling into the futon with the tearful one and whispering all the right things as they both fell asleep among unopened boxes and books.

is it good for a man to want a lot of love in his life i asked her as we waited for liver and bacon and a thick burger with an onion ring and mashed potatoes and homemade chips.

and she said yes. its good.

she said i pretend that i don’t want it too, but i do.

and later she said that my hair didn’t look so bad

that in fact it looked good.

and the liver came and they gave me a mini pitcher of coke

and we both talked about how much sleep we were going to get as soon as we got home.

lago + mental spigot + joh3n

so it doesnt suprise me that meesh is surrounded by incredible nature, super famous celebrities, and neighbors like “aisha” who claims to be from sweden and single (pictured).

if america flowed me enough to get my car right now, i would drive to aspen and spend a week this summer with meesh and aisha to support them in any way that they require.

hark. whats this? meesh types, “We’ll be waiting and in dire need of some sexual healing.”

one of the good parts of being as old as i am is once you pass a certain age you start to have control over your emotions, mastery over your body. breathing technics come into play allowing for creativity like you aint never seen before.

can i actually heal? hmmm. thats a tough question.

whats toughest about this all is my mom reads my blog.

i might have to ask my mom to stop reading my blog.

the answer is fuck yeah ladies

why do you think they call it playing doctor.

other problem is some big wigs from across town are looking at this blog this week and i was trying to mellow it out but every time i do that it just makes the writing super boring. and then to make up for it i start cursing like a pirate. all in all you can understand why i cant get a paying writing gig to save my damn life, and why im stuck in this deadend job of saving lives of the good citizens of hell-a county.

today is humpday. time flies for me here at the xbi. i like it and i hate it. i never have any time to do the things that i need to do. and it seems like we never catch as many people as we want to and then its time to go home.

i think ive compensated for that lately by staying up till 3am trying to write something good. but the sad thing is i have such a hard time writing at night that it isnt even really worth it.

saw a little bird today who was orange. but my bus was late which made me late and by the time i passed him i was late for work and didnt have enough time to take his little picture for all of you bird watchers out there in the rock-a-sphere.

jack valenti supporting tim robbins as the baseball hall of shame continues to bungle even the simplest of chores: showing a classic baseball movie and letting the lead actor introduce it. if they cant pull this off, charlie hustle doesnt stand a chance.

last night with the Owens’ of Ventura, howard and billie, as lovely a couple as you could imagine, who treated me and my pal matt to choice seats behind home plate.

perhaps you have read howard’s wonderful blog that not only sports some level-headed political thought, but great design, and the courage to publish ones own poetry. i admire acheivements like those since i dont have the fortitude or ability to do any of those things.

howard is also a fantasy baseball geek like myself. and as matt is slowly becoming one himself it was fun to toss around some ubergeeky thoughts about rookie pitchers, strategies on autodrafts, and whether or not you should pinch run for old men like fred mcgriff when youre down by three runs.

i felt a little bad for billie who was completely surrounded by baseball nerds, but i imagined she knew what she was getting herself into. but maybe she didnt know the ridiculous depths our sick passion for the national pasttime would sink to when we started contemplating exactly where the pitcher should bunt the ball in the top of the seventh with two runners on.

the correct answer is “in play.”

it was candlestickian cold last night at chavez ravine. but after an eighth inning hot cocoa i was completely satisfied.

thanks to the ultra slow style of hideo nomo and jake peavy, four hours later the game was finally entering the ninth inning.

i didnt care.

baseball is pretty much the only thing that could keep me outside in the cold, happilly.

i love you baseball, classiest sport there is.

48. The Coyote’s Bark

after being dropped off i chatted on the internet with pretty much all of america and when they were done with me i was able to do a mini photo essay about the evening which i hope you all approve of.

today is wednesday. which means the brezney astrology for last week is almost over.

im happy it’s almost over because it said i was gonna cry this week.

i didnt cry even once.

i take that back. i nearly did when a hot chick told me she had zwan tickets for me saturday night.

on the floor.

rupaul + moby + mc brown