|
|
I'm actually gonna do a journal entry. By that I mean, I'm actually gonna write about my boring day. I'm only doing it as procrastination. I just woke up. My sleep schedule is thoroughly fucked up das why. What I really should be doing is working on these two short stories that a deadline is coming up for. Then there's that group project thing with The Hairy Editor for class. That's what I hate about group projects. Fuck, you have to work with people. Granted, I KNOW the person this time, but still, you have to basically baby-sit someone. Bullshit. Anyway...
Oh, and the Hairy Editor is getting on my ass about this other new project. You see, he and Overpublished got to talking and they decided that they wanna publish a serial. But here's the rub: The Hairy Editor wants the story to never end. A continuing serial that basically goes on until whichever succeeding editor doesn't want it anymore. Sort of like an amateur version of Stephen King's The Green Mile. I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted that the Hairy Editor asked me to do it. I mean, he probably thought of me because I'm the only hack fiction writer he knows. The only person un-literary enough to wanna do it.
But anyway, yeah, I'm coming off another pretty brutal 24/7 shift. Spent the whole night doing nothing with Ball And Chain, then I came home and had to take Gramma to get her anus probed. Literally. Then Mother has the shingles.
There really needs to be a fucking vaccine for the shingles. Horrific disease. I'm trying to watch my immune system cause I definitely don't wanna contract this one. I swear, zits from fucking hell.
Okay, and that was my day. Weird, I really forgot how to do this already.
Thursday, November 17, 1999, 7:21 pm
More procrastination, but it's haircut day so that makes everything better. Although I wish the wonderful woman who cuts my hair would stop trying to gel my hair like Ricky Martin. It's no fun having people around you singing "Livin La Vida Loca."
Anyway, I should be working on that paper that's due on Friday. Thing is, it's been so long, I forgot how to write a paper. Probably has something to do with why I'm not in the Master's program.
In fact, I have so many fucking freelance writing projects going on right now, it isn't funny. Initially I'm like, "hey, I'm unemployed. I should be doing something." Right now I realized that maybe I shouldn't have obligated myself to everything that came across my banana.
Oh, and the Hairy fucking Editor didn't like the werewolf serial and I was totally in the mood to kick his fucking ass last night, but then me and Ball And Chain had an aborted sex attempt last night that pissed me off more. Here's a little rule: don't start something you can't finish. And I'll leave that at that.
But then I had dinner with the Hairy Editor and Overpublished, and so things are just a little less pissy as far as the serial situation is concerned. But it's kinda hard spending the whole night trying to avoid bringing up the projects I'm supposed to be working on for Overpublished.
But anyway, speaking of Ricky Martin, here's one CD I never thought I'd want in a million years: the new Garth Brooks. You see... Nevermind. There's no way I can justify that. In fact, what I really wanna do right now is max out my credit card on CDNow.
Oh, and here's a long ass story that I wanna tell but it's long ass, but I'll try anyway.
Maybe it's because of the kinda high school I went to, but I constantly run into people whom I thought were DEAD. Literally! You see, people tell me that so and so died, and other people back this up and I guess you know how it goes when shit gets passed down the bananavine.
So anyway, I'm at Ala Moana the other day and suddenly Short Negroe walks up to me and says hello. And I'm babbling and staring with my jaw on the ground cause I thought he was DEAD. Collie Bitch told me he died of cancer two years ago and here he was, alive and irritating as usual.
That's my lesson, I guess. If Collie Bitch said someone died, I ain't believing her. And the thing is, she wasn't joking. She honestly believed they were dead. So it's just stupidity on her part, and stupidity on mine for fucking falling for that dumb ass rumor.
And here's the weirdest part. This isn't the first time it happened. About five years ago, I was playing darts, and Lock Jaw comes up to me and says hello, and I nearly had a heart attack cause I was told Lock Jaw died of cancer. Again, Collie Bitch's fault.
Anyway, tying back to the day I ran into Short Negroe at Ala Moana, that very night, I go to eat dinner with Ball And Chain and there's this guy she knows sitting in the booth behind us, and he talks real real fucking loud, and I over-hear him start talking about Lock Jaw, and how sad it is that he died of stomach cancer. Then he starts describing Lock Jaw to his friend, and I realize it's an entirely different person. There's two people on this island named Lock Jaw! Collie Bitch must've somehow heard that this poor other Lock Jaw died, and believed it was the Lock Jaw that we all know and hate. Therefore, I now feel absolved because I'm allowed to talk about what an asshole Lock Jaw really is and feel none of the guilt.
Isn't that fucking freaky? All of this happened on the same day.
Did I explain this clearly? Fuck, it's too complicated. I don't know why I bothered to take up web space with this shit.
9:29 pm
Wow, Druglord stopped by to drop off fish. That was weird. I actually haven't really cruised with him for almost six or seven years. He was saying that the time he saw me at the mall, he was looking at me going, "That can't be Aaron. That guy's too bulky." And then when I turned around, "Holy shit. That is Aaron!" You know what that means? I REALLY DID GAIN WEIGHT! YEE HAW!" Anyway, one of the few nights I stay home, he stops by. Go figure. Was kinda nice actually. He came to the back patio and we was just talking about shit for a while. Then we went for a drive to smoke since my Gramma refused to take a shower. Trippy. He claims he hasn't smoked weed for months. Only three times this year. Shit. Now I guess I gotta think of another name for him.
And I finally got to tell that dead person/not-dead person story. I swear, it's a helluva lot more coherent verbally...
Well hopefully, now that he's not all druggie, I can start going fishing with him again. I kinda stopped talking to him for years cause he's been so fucking weird, but tonight, it was almost like high school. Hell, almost like intermediate or elementary. Shit, I knew him that long. I'm growing fucking old. I gotta call him up and go fish with him. Especially since I'm unemployed and I have nothing better to-- Oh fuck. I gotta work on that paper.
I thought Dogma fucking rocked. "Nigger owes me twelve dollars!!!" And I didn't know Matt Damon could be funny. All I saw was Good Will Hunting and The Rainmaker and he was all trying to be touching and deep and shit, so that was a pleasant surprise. "Who's house? Run's House! Who's house?..."
The only thing about Dogma that I couldn't fucking believe was that Stacey Hayashi saw it before I did. I swear, I'm waaay behind on films. I gotta start prioritizing. By the time I finally watch the current movies, they're practically heading for video already.
Oh, by the way, at the beginning of Dogma, there was this real fucking funny disclaimer. Three of them. I missed the first one. Something about the definition of "disclaimer," "disavowal," and something else. If anybody saw it, I'd be much obliged if I knew what that first screen said. God bless.
