and the number 19555

stitched on it is telling people that there’s room to move back into the bus and she’s sitting in a seat and im thinking, ho, if you think there’s room back there then you go stand there.

there’s no room on the bus. she may have the mta sweater and dress shirt collar sticking out from under it but im the fucking busblog copy editor and what little room there is is there to keep us from rubbing our asses on each other as we bounce down wilshire and you might think that’s a good thing to be doing at seven thirty in the morning but look around, its not such a good thing to be doing at seven thirty in the morning.

i turn my back to her so that my ass is in her face.

gray haired sweater woman.

aol chatted with miss montreal last night.

me: why dont you like me any more.

her: i still like you, maybe more than ever.

me: why didn’t you kiss me last week then?

her: im still trying to figure that one out myself.

me: maybe you should go back to just sorta liking me then.

women.

none of them know how easily pleased i am. none of them know what i have to offer them.

if they want to go out with their friends and leave me behind, fine. if they want to sit and watch tv with me and hold hands, fine. if they want to parade around in finery and push the boundaries of slutty, fine.

i dont even care if they run around and date others.

and then if they want to come back to my place every night and hold me tight as we count sheep together with a window open and the white stripes on mellowly as summer comes and goes, you know what, that’s fine too.

life can be so easy if you want it to be.

the ladies think im not old and they’re so wrong, i am so old.

if all goes well im about to do something that’s going to take a lot of energy and a lot of effort and a lot of being 100% 100% of the time and all i want to do this month is watch tv and get molested and sample the wide varieties of rum that get sent to my po box.

i dont want to fight with any hotties. i dont want to worry about deadlines and commitments.

karisa did the coolest thing this weekend, she avoided any responsibilities that she might have out there, she threw her cell phone into the la brea tar pits, filled up her mustang with super and drove and didn’t come back till the very last minute.

one day i’ll get to do something like that, i hope.

and if its when im olde and gray and driving a motorhome then fine.

if its before that when im young and still have something to say, then fine.

if i can drive around and meet all of you and take pictures and take my time and spread good will then fine.

if i have to start a caravan of old men in motorhomes and have a cannonball run of senior citizens, then ok.

there are so many possibilities in this deck of cards its mindboggling. it makes me lose patience in people who get paid to say no all day. it makes me lose hope in those who dont think big all day. it makes me want to shine the light on the egyptians who kicked more ass in their day with nothing but slaves and clay than allen greenspan ever did with the federal reserve and that old man still isn’t behind a winnebago and you know why? because he’d drive it right off the road before making it to the end of the block.

i wanna rock right now.

i wanna rock right now.

my buddy saw tsar the last time they played and he’s cynical and takes his time making decisions and bought the cd after the show and yesterday told me that he is now a tsar fan and i said duh.

rene called me last night after work and we tell each other we love each other about every other minute and still all i wanted to do was write but her stories were so good, her life is so good. she is so good.

got off the bus, made sure to accidentally step on the toes of 19555 and saw that despite the up escalator dying half way up, and despite the fat women who stood there like it would automatically fix itself after two seconds, and despite the 20 Santa Monica dissing me at the stop, by the time i was 4 blocks from the xbi i went into the little tiny chinese deli and got a martinellis apple juice and a croissant and the man looked me in the eyes and told me to have a good day.

and thank you.

and you know what, i think he really meant it.

go out there and kick some ass, superheroes.

steph in south beach + wasted life + britcoal + Incendiary Introspection