The Day The Year Ended With Blood, Paychecks And A Cup Of Noodles

She's been hobbling around the coffee-shop all morning, muttering, "I'm fine," beneath her breath. 

When I got to work at eight, Kirsten told me she'd had an accident. She'd dropped a knife. Like anyone would, she flinched--and she flinched right into the blade, which sank into her ankle. This was not a small wound. She didn't have the proper bandages to stop the blood. 

A lot of people out and about on this New Years Eve, and with that has come a steady level of busy stress. Of course knowing Kirsten's wincing with each step makes it hard to focus on customer service. Doesn't help that the new driver, Tyler, was screwing up the deliveries all morning and almost forgot Spin Burger's buns, again. That and an aura of concern as Tim and Jason are about to come back from their vacations to an Old Soul that kinda fell into complete disarray while they were away. Feels like the parents coming home after a wild house party.

At some point during the morning I look over at her at the espresso machine and glance down at her bloodied pant-leg. The cement floor beneath her feet is splashed with blood, which looks like mud when mixed with coffee-grounds and dust. I nonchalantly step behind her and place a hand on her back and whisper, "You really need to stop now."

"Why?" she asks, giving me that I Can Do It look with her eyes. 

"No, no," I say. "You're bleeding."

"What?" She looks down. "OH MY FUCK!" 

This happens to also be pay day, so here comes Hank to collect his check. He seems good. Different. He recognizes the disaster happening behind the counter and volunteers to work the register while Kirsten tries to take care of herself in the bathroom. Lucky even steps away from the roaster to help make a few drinks when the rushes get crazy. So I got my last chance to work with the soon-to-be officer, and he shook my hand and told me to never stop chasing my dreams, never. 

Later, during a lull, Hank and another fella with a medical background take a look at Kirsten's wound and determine that she does, in fact, need to go to the hospital. She freaks out--her panic about California's healthcare bubbling over--but ultimately leaves with Hank to get stitches and crutches. 

It was a shame for her year to end like that.

Last night was good, though. Kirsten ended up coming along with Shaun and I to the Pinback show @ Harlow's and the whole plan turned out better than I'd expected. Even ran into Lindol taking notes for an article he'll post soon about the show on Sac Press. He kept complimenting the very first thing I ever wrote for Sac Press, back before I took it seriously, and he encouraged me to keep doing that. I will.

Next year. 

By the time work ended today, I really had no urge to do anything for New Years. I'd had touch-and-go plans to see Favors @ Luigi's, but passed on those as the evening moved on. Had a good talk with my dad about the future. Found out he tripped over a cat in the bathroom and broke a rib against the sink four weeks ago, and is doing much better now. Then I made up a Cup of Noodles and called it a night. 

2011 will be my year and my year alone. 

I can't wait.

- Left to Fry

The Day I Wrote About A Robot, Read Vonnegut And Listened To The Angry New Kanye West Album.

Top Picks From My New Favorite Bands:

Frightened Rabbit, "Skip The Youth."

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, "40 Day Dream."

Florence and the Machine, "Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)."

The Heavy, "Short Change Hero."

Kings of Leon, "Pickup Truck."

Lissie Maurus, "Look Away."

No Age, "Chem Trails."

The Temper Trap, "Down River."

Titus Andronicus, "Four Score And Seven."

- Left to Fry

The Day After A Night Of Red Wine And Vicodin

Here's the final stretch of 2010--these hollow days between xmas and new years. If anyone made any resolutions twelve months ago, they better be wrapping those up soon. It's a bit too late to start losing weight or plan a vacation, but I guess if you're tenacious you could pull anything off before Saturday. Or maybe you followed through with all your resolutions. Got that new job, saved a little money, moved out of your parents' house... Or maybe you didn't make any. No matter what 2010 is over and done, and even though time is an imaginary construct and the sun will rise in the east as normally as ever, the changing of the calendars is always a significant moment. If not for the universe, then for mankind. 

It's everyone's second birthday. 

"This'll be the year," we say--the year we achieve and learn and grow more than the year before. 

We hope. 

And in many ways, no matter what we feel twelve months from now, we'll all have grown significantly, spiritually and physically. The people we'll meet, the opportunities that'll knock, decisions we'll make. It's insane to try and think of the first couple days of 2010 when I had twelve fresh months on the calendar and not a clue how those days would come to be filled. You never know. 

I'm waking up in a Midtown house a few blocks from the State Capitol with Kirsten in my bed and while she sleeps, I put a couple e-books on the Nook and head over to Old Soul to say hello to Meredith and Nick and Lucky, snagging a mocha and a blackberry scone before heading back to my room to get intimate with Kirsten before she leaves for work. 

A year ago I was living in Carmichael with AJ, a puppy and two kittens. 

A year from now, where will my bed be? Will I wake alone? 

Yesterday I felt something close to perfect, and I don't think it was just because of the three vicodin I took throughout the evening. Pizza, marijuana, brown ale, red wine, opiates and sex, I've found, are the best way to rinse off the dregs of the Christmas season. Kirsten's comment, "We've got the no-strings-attached thing down pretty well," was a good summary of what our situation has become. We were unusually comfortable with each other yesterday, bittersweetly aware that her transfer to Weatherstone next week will be a big change for both of us, no matter how you spin it. I know she's been a positive--if not slightly destructive--influence on me, and I know I was able to bring balance to an otherwise tumultuous period of her life, even if just for that brief flicker of time. We realized that our chapter, like 2010, is coming to an end. 

You tend to appreciate things a lot more when you know it's over. Usually.

Still got Pinback @ Harlow's on the 30th to look forward to. I have to open on the 1st of 2K11, so I won't be making it out to Bryce's new home. I don't think I'll even make it to the Favors show @ Luigi's... But maybe. I figure the important thing is to stay up for the midnight hooplah. Also, if I go to the Favors show, I'm more likely to get a kiss from a random girl when the clock strikes twelve. 

Found this photo in the land of Facebook of myself at graduation in June of 2009, which is kind of a trippy snapshot of my first day as a real person.

So anyway, I've got these two days off to dwell on the coming year and hopefully get some writing done. At the very least, the Nook's got me reading again--not that I'm not already swamped with a King novel, the Prose piece, and that weird book by Aravind Adiga. In the meantime I'll be flipping through Mother Night from Vonnegut. Gotta say the Nook is quickly growing on me. Good news: the Barnes and Noble website stopped crashing from all the other new Nook owners trying to edit their libraries online over the weekend.

Kirsten might move to Connecticut. Sean got a guitar for Christmas and we're that much closer to starting a band. Because of scheduling conflicts, I won't be seeing my Dad as soon as I'd hoped. Also didn't hear back from Kayla, so I don't think we'll be crossing paths this year. Later today I'll be seeing True Grit with Sean and then Kirsten's coming over again after she closes Old Soul. 

In honor of Hank, who's been gone since xmas-eve, this little drawing he made me: 

Good luck in the real world, Hank.

- Left to Fry

The Day At The End Of Christmas Season

I think I figured out the reason it's strange to visit my family. It's not because I don't love them unconditionally, and it's not because I was abused or anything... But it's because I have this growing sensation that they're expecting a lot out of me. Not only in the pursuit of my happiness and success, but to advance in places where they couldn't. I understand this. You don't invest a million dollars (statistically) into the first 18 years of anything's life without hoping your efforts aren't wasted. It's strange to visit them because I'm constantly watching myself through their eyes, and it's very hard to feel natural in that position. 

That said, Christmas is finally over. 

In the same way I've come to rationalize the nonexistence of God, I think I've willed away my need to enjoy Christmas. Why bother? It's just a fancier Valentine's Day at this point. Growing up, I'm noticing something I didn't see when I was younger. All those people who brought such cheer to my holiday are either living in other states or just going through the motions. It's not their fault the effort's waning, especially as the kids grow up. Everyone's getting tired of Christmas. It's fucking expensive. And as you grow older, it becomes the only day of the year you ever see your family--which makes it kind of a tragic day, if you think about it. 

That said, it's meant to be a religious thing or whatever. I get that. I'm all for a little celebration here and there for the dead guys--they deserve to be remembered. But with the lights, the music, the TV specials, the snow and The Christmas Story,  X-mas is always going to look like the Superbowl when it comes to the end of the year. It's not subtle, either. It's a whole goddamn season and everyone knows this, and we allow it. Even though Christmas is a holiday for one day of the year, it gets ninety. Seems wrong, especially since there's no proof that Jesus was born in December anyway.

Best gift: a Nook Color. 

It's still too fresh of a gizmo for me to give my full opinion of the Nook. It's not an iPad--I'll just admit that right away. But it's plenty neato and has a few great features and a ton of potential. Having the internet is a big plus--except it's giving me lip about watching youtube videos--and the screen is gorgeous. My favorite part about it so far is the idea of subscribing to magazines. They're colorful and fun to navigate with touch-screen. Not sure if I should be expecting any such things as "Apps," but like I said, there is potential. 

Thank you Mom. 

Sister's getting older, faster, and watching someone grow up is just as crazy as they say. I can't even begin to imagine what I look like to her, her big brother out of college, doing... something. She's about to be taller than me, which makes me feel like a hobbit, and I am shocked constantly by the evolution she has made as a human being. First sprouting up from an infant, learning language, forming habits, adapting hobbies... There she is texting, asking Mom if she needs help cooking dinner, my living and breathing sibling who I once held as a newborn in a hospital room.

Second best gift: a bottle of 2005 Tempranillo from Vina Castellano.

And my mother, forty-one. She's moving along well--that seems the best way to describe it. She's happy in her career, happy with her little home, and Loren. I like that she still has a lot of spark in her heart and that gives me hope that she's living an honestly happy life, despite its downs. After she sends Loren to San Diego for college, it's off to Arizona, she says. I believe it.

I think the pride she feels for me about graduating from college is still strong, but it will start to fade if I don't take more steps forward, and soon. I know her biggest hope is for me to achieve more than my father. I imagine her thinking: It's great that you graduated, but please for the love of God get into a good career. 

The good news here is that she's encouraging me to move, even if that means I get another low-paying coffee-shop job, same shit different city, which at least lets me know she understands that I graduated into this country right after Bush left office. Like something out of a post-apocalyptic screenplay, she told me, "You gotta do whatever it takes to survive."

Strangest gift:

Then part of this pressure is caused by my own view of life. My own hope to achieve at least one great thing in this life to make it all worth it. Not that each day isn't a blessing in itself, but to be on one's deathbed and recognize greatness in their past can only be the most reassuring thought before dying. So maybe I imagine this pressure from my parents because I want to be pressured, or maybe I'm just imagining what I would be thinking if I were my own parent. If I were raising me, would I be proud?

I don't really want to answer that question right now.

That's no such topic for Christmas season. 

- Left to Fry

The Day I Renewed Registration, Adopted An iPhone, Smoked With Max And Friends, And Wrote In The Third Person

I need a vacuum. 

Instead I have an adopted iPhone, and I don't think it likes me. This is a lie because I know damn well that the first computers I used were Macintosh, but I still would say that I was raised on Microsoft products. There's a part of me that detests the touch-screen, the apps and the feeling of betraying my loyalty, as though Lance were asking me to root for a team other than the Raiders.

(who have not had the greatest season this year, now at 7-7, but it's still way better than how they'd been since the tuck-rule fiasco against the Pats and losing Gannon's quarterback rating, and now they still have a slight hope for the playoffs, no less)

That photo was the first taken with the iPhone. I call it: Infected.

AJ and I finally finished our game of phone tag with a chat about my situation with Kirsten and some catching up. She's off to New Orleans in a week or two, and, apparently, moving to Denver next year. Funny to think it'll be her that ends up in Colorado, considering my Plan A before graduating from SSU, and I truly hope the best for her out there, doing her jazz / teaching thing. Good conversation.

Side note: this is the greatest and worst movie trailer I've ever seen:

Why does Christopher Lloyd hate puppies so much?

Celena flaked. Deep down I'm disappointed, having been looking forward to taking her to Spin Burger (and now I'm starving for no reason) and watching Inception at my place, no matter the outcome. I'd been wondering if her boyfriend was out of town visiting relatives or something, otherwise I don't know how she'd planned on explaining this plan with him (his name is Chris, oddly enough) and maybe he was home and she couldn't get herself to lie to him. Maybe she thought better of it.

I don't know what that's all about, but it was a nice little fantasy.

While waiting for said meeting with Celena, I ate a Pop-Tart for dinner (chocolate chip cookie-dough flavored, couldn't resist) and then went to Max's and met his friends Pete and Sammy. A nice couple. Mostly watched Max play Mass Effect 2 on his PC while Pete played a couple multiplayer rounds of Black Ops with Sammy leaning against him on the couch and me on the floor on a red bean bag. We passed around a joint and a pipe and then the couple began whispering and soon left, and a few minutes later I figured Max was having more fun focusing on Mass Effect (can't blame him, it looks awesome) and bounced back down the street to my house. 

On the way home, I realized that I have zero trust in relationships. It will always be a game of compromises and unmet expectations. Sammy, for instance, did not want to be hanging out with three guys geeking over videogames and smoking pot. She didn't even smoke. And she may think she loves this guy, Pete, and Pete seemed like a really nice guy, but she hates this part of him. She might be okay with it now, but it will wear on her, as other little things become big things, and she will soon be unhappy. And Pete? He'll get interested in other women again, almost like clockwork, and it'll make him question everything.  

That's probably not true at all. They're probably really happy. I just refuse to believe it. Part of me is saddened by the faithlessness, but whatever. I don't need a relationship right now anyway. 

What I need to do is get Tim to finish his recommendation for my Peace Corps application because Sean finished his and now all I need is one more before the application is complete. 

It's either a wild adventure waiting to happen, or not...

Kirsten just found out that Tim and Jason are transferring her to Weatherstone on H & 21st. This is a big thing. She's not sure how she feels about it--it's sort of a promotion, but also a huge change--and apparently this'll be happening in two weeks. It could mean that I start gambling a lot less.

I've said goodbye to a lot of people in my life without flinching. So goes the ebb and flow of the coffee-shop culture. People pass through like the seasons. Personalities mix and mingle, attract or repel, adapting constantly to new situations.

Considering the side-story I've shared with her, having Kirsten transfer to Weatherstone is a huge twist to this chapter of my life, and since I barely know anyone who works at the Weatherstone location, I wonder how it will turn out. I do know Huggy and Allie, sort of, but mostly from when they call to order stuff from the bakery, and that one time Allie came to get trained on the new espresso grinder. But when they took Frances away from my location in the alley, I pretty much never saw her again. 

So how this'll affect my situation with Kirsten, I'm not sure. 

Second photo: The Bulletin Board.

And now, because I wrote it and don't want all that effort to go wasted, a third-person account of my morning, up to 3:20 pm, written while iTunes was installing: 

The Day By 3:20 PM

He wakes a few minutes before his cell-phone alarm begins to chime to a warm bedroom and the sound of a light rain outside his window. It’s ten. It’s nice to wake up alone sometimes and he enjoys the fading memory of his dreams and starts to think about the day to come. His plans for this day off from work at the coffeeshop.

It’s an unremarkable Wednesday in Sacramento, remarkable only because it’s the week of Christmas, and the plans he has aren’t entirely noteworthy, either. But half the battle is having a positive attitude, so he makes sure his demeanor is in order and gets out of bed. Before that, however, it’s good to spend a few minutes surfing his favorite websites to connect with the world and look for conversation topics.

He listens to that voice mail message from his ex-girlfriend that he missed from last night and it’s just another round of phone tag where the torch is passed to him to be the one to call back, so he texts her and says he will be available all day. Her turn.

Then his phone alarm goes off and it’s time to go.

It’s a bad hair day, but fuck it—he says—that’s what gel’s for.

He figures the beige La Habana t-shirt will suffice and wears the same jeans he’s worn for the past five days. Who knows how many days he’s worn that gray sweatshirt in a row, the one he bought from Grocery Outlet when the seasons changed. His right shoe is torn above the big toe and he can see his sock when he slides his feet over those worn soles.

Today he leaves Holmes on—the heater—and will let the machine’s metal ribs gently radiate while he’s out and about, so as to combat with the forecast of chilly rain.

He lives down the alley from Old Soul, which makes it hard not to make the trip at least once every day—for a shift at work or otherwise—and today he wants to grab a mocha and a muffin before the drive to the DMV. It’s also a nice pitstop because it feels to him a lot like coming downstairs from his room as a child and finding the family cooking breakfast in the kitchen, being welcomed with love into the new day.

In the alley he greets John, the bike-shop owner in the warehouse space next door to the coffee-shop. Always a chipper fellow, John comments about delivery business improving and wishes the best of luck at the DMV. Hand-shakes and maturity—it’s still quite a new feeling, this sensation of being an adult.

A familiar customer is sitting outside—the guy with the hot girlfriend—and it feels right to ask him his name. Garrett. Chris. Nice to meet you.

Inside, he first looks at the counter to see who is working—Meredith and Shaun—and then notices Lucky roasting coffee to the left, Devin in the kitchen in the background, and Hank stacking white boxes near the supply fridge. Laura and David wave hello to him, lanky hipster customers sitting with their laptops to the right, and this reminds him of Sunday night and the house-party where he last saw them. Meredith, pleasant as ever, and Shaun, always a gentleman, chit-chat with him about the morning. Shaun wishes him luck on his half-planned evening with Celena. Sarge taps him on the back—Meredith: "I totally thought he touched your butt"—with a greeting, and it’s always good to see Sarge (especially when he’s not glued to World of Warcraft). On the way out, he runs into Max at the counter and they leave together and make plans to meet up and smoke later.

He returns to his room and grabs Prose’s “Reading Like A Writer” and his laptop bag, then makes his way to the black Integra parked outside. It takes a minute for the engine to warm up and he eats a pumpkin muffin while he waits, taking sips of a mocha while 94.7 plays Gary Jules’ version of “Mad World.”

“Mad World” becomes “Lullaby” by The Cure, and his love for 94.7 soars ever higher.

He has directions in his pocket, but finds himself looking for 3600 Broadway when he should’ve been looking for 4700 Broadway. This leads to an unnecessary u-turn and slight delay that keeps him from the DMV until 11:00. Nearby church-bells ring out beneath the overcast sky, marking his arrival and echoing as he enters the gloomy building.

Now serving b-zero-nine-five at window four.

Not too busy. He gets through about twenty pages of Prose before his number is called. It’s meant to be a short trip to register the Integra parked outside in the drizzle, but it turns out he needs to get the car smogged before he can get his new red 2011 sticker.

He pays 100 dollars for an Incomplete.

On the way back down Broadway, he considers this new twist to his plans: Should he continue on and take care of this today, or work this into tomorrow’s schedule? His eyes scan the street-front for smog stations. How much will this cost? he wonders, second-guessing his idea of Christmas shopping today. He decides to go home and deal with this smog and sticker stuff tomorrow.

Then he passes Smog Wizard and a few minutes later he’s pretending to read Forbes Magazine in the small lobby with That 70’s Show on TV while his car engine is hooked up to machines and told to turn to the left and cough. It passes its physical for the cost of seventy bucks. He makes small talk with the other customers—Christmas references mixed with the difficulties of being middle-class Americans, and something about a house boat—and again finds himself feeling unusually adult today.

Like he’d grown up a little overnight.

It’s back to the DMV and the monochromatic drone of the woman on the intercom. This time he’s a few more numbers back in the line. He sits near two pretty, high-maintenance types giggling over a stand-up comedian’s youtube video that they watch on an iPhone. An employee in a Santa hat passes out candycanes to the kids. A young family sits to his right and distracts their daughter with a game of Angry Birds. There’s too much Christmas spirit floating around for people to be annoyed, so the mood is actually uplifting. He reads until he gets bored, then embraces the DMV soundtrack: the endless chant of serving numbers, a baby crying, kids complaining, couples bickering, people talking loud on their cellphone, feet scuffing linoleum, fifty conversations at once. His number is called and after a few clicks on the keyboard the man in the Santa hat hands him the 2011 sticker and that’s that.

The rain has been off-and-on all morning and it happens to turn on as he hurries to the 2011-legal Integra with its taped-on mirrors holding up rather well in the wet weather.

It feels good to get shit done, though he’s officially postponing his trip to the Arden Fair Mall until tomorrow. 

Lance sends him a text about being at Old Soul with the iPhone, so he heads back down the alley to meet him as soon as he’s arrived home. Hey, I know you—he says, passing Kirsten smoking a cigarette in the alley. They say hello. Inside, Meredith and Shaun are still working and he orders a turkey cranberry sandwich with a Cheerwine chaser. Lance joins them at the counter and talks about the iPhone—slightly cracked screen, not a concern, completely erased to like-new conditions—and he’s thanked a hundred times for giving such a nice gift. Then Kirsten clocks in, Meredith gives hugs on her way out, and the scene shifts back to home, this time with his new touch-screen gizmo.

First he turns on the netbook. While it’s starting up, he eats the sandwich and rolls a joint, which he starts smoking while installing iTunes.

And now iTunes is done installing. 

- Left to Fry

The Day I Slacked On My Search For Meaning And Value In The Future

Found out the slow loris excretes a venom from its inner elbow, which it licks before biting its enemies. That's some crazy shit. Makes me think of all the other cute animals who have dark souls, like this chameleon. 

Today was my Friday. Fell in love with a girl visiting from Santa Barbara who said she liked my beard, didn't like the guys who came in with her who asked if I had any gum. Made me realize that I haven't asked anyone for gum since I went to college. Made 38 dollars in tips and I don't know how that happened. Kasha ("porridge" in Polish) was there when I started my shift--an adorable red-headed school teacher--but I don't think she likes me. At least I found out that guy she'd met was only a friend. 

This Planet Earth stuff is amazing. 

Put to a playlist of Pink Floyd, Planet Earth is a dream. 

New guy at work: Nick. Competent, friendly... Should do fine. He's Shaun's friend, and I'm not sure if he's in the band, as well. Nick might have been the guy playing electric guitar in the background, thrashing his head around during the balls-out instrumental breakdown. 

Lance is gonna give me his old iPhone 3, maybe tomorrow morning before I head out to the DMV for registration and the mall for gift certificates. Lance is also awesome because he often brings the closers dinner at work. Today it was chicken strips from Buckhorn Grill. What I really want from Lance is his secret to success, but I suppose in the meantime a free iPhone is pretty neato, too. 

It's storming outside. 

Tomorrow's the night Celena may or may not come over. Still very curious about what she's thinking and wondering how innocent she thinks this seems. I'm thinking it would be neat to tell her outright that I'm interested in being friends with her but find her way too fun and cute to say I'm not attracted to her, so we won't be able to hang out if she's dating someone, and how 'bout them apples?

Last night Kirsten and I didn't do so hot at the casino. 

Kimberly, the same customer who brought me the Santa hat, bought Meredith and I copies of Francine Prose's "Reading Like A Writer" for Christmas. Made me feel all kinds of warm inside and I really think it's the perfect motivation to get me writing again: that voice I miss from college workshops that told me that I should. Anyhow, I thought that was super nice of her and she's my new favorite person. 

Today I felt like I was taking too much of a break from dwelling on my plans for the future. I guess I sort of have been, at least since sending out those Peace Corps recommendation requests to Tim, Sean and Colleen for my application. Still no word from Tim or Sean, though I suspect one is too busy and the other is too lazy. No offense to Sean. I know I'd think of it as a homework assignment, too. I'll start bugging him about it soon. In the meantime, I should keep looking for a new job. I should keep looking in new cities. I don't know what's out there. I don't know if the Peace Corps is the answer I'm seeking. 

I don't know what I'm seeking, or why.

Just found out where sand dollars come from. It's disturbing.

Thinking of going to see my dad next Monday and Tuesday. Also want to figure out a way to meet up with Kayla during her visit from Portland to Northern California. Some nice escapism on a road trip might be good for me. Remind me that there's a lot more out there and how close it all really is. 

I say I need to figure my life out, but I still finish this blog entry and watch the rest of the "Shallow Seas" episode of Planet Earth. Oh, and I've just started eating little bites of Nutella with a spoon because I have no food or patience for boiling water to make oatmeal. I'm excited to go to bed soon and wake up for breakfast. I'm hoping for a dream about pancakes.

And a dream within that dream about a ham omelet. 

The milk in the fridge at Old Soul expires on January 2.

2011. 

This is the time of year when every third person you say goodbye to says, "See you next year," and I'm trying so hard not to dislike those people. I also don't like using the word Christmas around this time of the year. I never know if someone will get offended. People get testy enough about having to hear endless loops of Christmas music everywhere they go, and some of them might not like being accused of having a decorated tree in their livingroom. 

- Left to Fry

The Day After The Christmas Party

"Watch your sperm," Sean says before he leaves this morning.

I can't believe they're putting Fat Tire in cans. 

Jason brought up the Peace Corps e-mail and asked me what the time-frame was for such a departure, and I lied and said it wouldn't be for another year (albeit, this could be true, but I marked May as my earliest availability). The rest of the day, I kept expecting Tim to say something, but he didn't. I just hope either of Old Soul's owners have the time to write me a recommendation.

After Sean arrived around 6:00, we smoked a quick joint while walking to Spin Burger to meet Kirsten and Ruben for dinner before the Christmas Party. Comparatively dry night after the day's stormy downpour. We had a few moments to catch up and I told him about my exit interview with Sac Press--the "compliment sandwich" that Colleen served me. His parents' had been throwing a dinner for friends that Sean had no intention of attending. The lure of socializing and free beer won.

Hank was at the Party. Good ol' Hank, with a sharp haircut buzz and just four days left before leaving Old Soul to work for The Law. It's hugs only whenever I see the guy. This must be what it feels like when your older brother goes off to college. 

For whatever reason, Sean had a banana, which he ate en route to Spin Burger--noting the erotic nature of eating a banana in public. Turns out, Ruben has a banana allergy, and couldn't even shake Sean's hand when they met each other across the table. We drank tall cans of two-dollar Pabst and dined on appetizers, drew on the wall with chalk, talked about owning a slow loris (see below) and I was happy to find out that the Raiders had won. Anyway, Ruben's a weird guy and Sean nicknamed him ChoMo, which is prison-slang for child molester, and I'm pretty sure the guy hates me because I'm sleeping with Kirsten and he's not. 

Then Celena sends me a text that says she wants to hang out again soon. We make plans to meet after she gets off work this Wednesday. This is the girl with the boyfriend who did yoga on my bedroom floor and melted my heart when she translated Carla Bruni. Not sure what to expect this time. I just know I'm much less  concerned with being a gentleman about this. If she puts her head on my shoulder again, I'm going to kiss her.

Really I'd be happy if we just got stoned and watched Inception.

During the party, Sean and I left with a few other Old Soul employees and friends to smoke on someone's balcony down the street from Weatherstone. This was a really nice moment. Christmas lights were tangled in a mirrored chandelier hung from the ceiling. Couches and beaten chairs. A table covered in trinkets and candles. Names I remember: Ryan, Huggy, Yuri... Jack and Meredith were there. Everyone joking about the heartfelt but undeniably cheesy speech that Tim and Jason gave moments earlier.

Kimberly brought me a Santa hat to wear to the Christmas Party. She's this lively older woman currently working on a memoir, a new face among the Old Soul morning customer crew.

Told Dapper Dan to keep me posted on any flights he'll be taking now that he's gotten his pilot's license. I made a show-you-the-world Aladdin reference to Kirsten about this.

Kirsten's in love with having sex with me, which is worrisome.

Both Shaun and I brought friends named Sean to the Party, which was awesomely confusing. At around 10pm, we ventured over to Crystal's going-away shindig and were just in time to see Favors play in the livingroom. Kirsten and Ruben met us there. Sean (my Sean) fell in love with Crystal when she was up there passionately playing the drums. Laura, lead-singer David's girl, pulled me up to dance with the small crowd a few times. A good quick taste of house-party nostalgia. I ate stale popcorn off the Christmas tree. It was good to see Chris outside of Old Soul and away from World of Warcraft, even if it did seem like he was on speed. Crystal leaves for Baltimore in the next week or so.

Ruben left and I realized that Kirsten had intentions to stay the night at my place. After the show was done and goodbyes were shared, the night moved me and Sean and Kirsten back to my house, where I rolled a joint before we ventured out again to the liquor store to buy a twelve-pack of canned Fat Tire. It's always exciting to smoke joints in public and I don't know what made me so bold last night, other than this day-long sensation of prideful invincibility, this feeling that nothing could go wrong. Kirsten unsuccessfully tried to convince me to go to the casino. I do my best to disappoint her.

Later, the three of us had a long conversation on the front porch about relationships and mistakes and marriage and babies. Then Kirsten passed out in my bed and Sean expressed concern that I was getting involved with a baby-crazy woman who will try to steal my sperm. High or not, I'm still rather aloof about the idea. I think it could work so long as there's communication between the parties involved regarding expectations. Yeah it would be nuts to have a child out in the world, especially one I'd have no intention of raising, but what's the harm? I'm probably being terribly naive about the whole thing.

I'm probably being terribly naive about a lot of things.

- Left to Fry

The Day I Mused On The Unknowns Of The Future And Tried To Figure Out How I Got Here

I don't know what the hell is going on. 

My room is a mess. Clothes everywhere. Kirsten's open Apple laptop. Holmes, always reliable, heating the room with silent confidence. My headphones--the formidable cord tangled in loops like spilled intestines. I see an ethernet cable next to the empty speaker box. A half-empty can of pineapple juice and an open bottle of flat brut champagne. More clothes. Scraps of paper. A camera. An empty jar. A bicycle flashlight.

I'm listening to "Home" by Edward Sharpe and Magnetic Zeros.

Everyone is addicted to Minecraft.

I've listened to "Pursuit of Happiness" by Lissie Maurus 46 times in the last 12 days.

Kirsten stayed last night, and the night before, and will be here tonight when I get off work. We often get dinner together--either at Spin Burger, deVere's, or Hot Italian--and then come back to my room for a movie and non-commitment intercourse. It's becoming a pattern. We're aware of how strange our "arrangement" is because now we're scheming to get her hooked up with Dapper Dan, a customer from Old Soul. All she wants is a baby daddy. Until then, we battle daily trying to keep the trumors away--true rumors--and it's becoming difficult to explain why Kirsten and I are spending so much time together.

What's craziest of all, I guess, is those moments when it feels like we're each other's flotation device amidst the wreckage of a mid-ocean airplane crash. Whatever that means.

I've indirectly asked Tim for a recommendation for my Peace Corps application (not exactly a two-weeks notice, but it still felt weird). I've also asked Sean and Colleen--who apparently already finished hers--and then my application will be complete. I've decided to just go ahead and try. If they want me, great. If they don't, no worries. 

Like I was saying to Kirsten: if going to college and getting a useless degree is what it takes to get into the Peace Corps, then at least I'll feel like going to college was worth it.

Alternatively, I'm sort of looking into becoming a Montessori teacher through some organization in San Diego. 

I honestly have no idea what I'm doing.

I'm looking forward to the Old Soul Christmas Party tomorrow night. It reminds me of the good-old-days of A'romas and being a part of a big family during the holiday season. Sean's coming up to be my guest and afterward we're walking over to Crystal's Going-Away Party. 

I've got to get to the DMV sometime this week.

The first word of anyone who wakes up late is probably always, "FUCK!" 

Yesterday's paycheck was $550.19 (rent, plus nineteen cents).

Had a dollar in my tip jar with 361-1857 written on the end, but no note or explanation, and so I can't just assume it's some girl leaving me her number, although I'm still very tempted to call. 

Even if my life doesn't make a whole lot of sense, at least my finances are in order. Bills are getting paid, rent is affordable, and I can still cover a forty-dollar outing to Spin Burger. I'm excited about the chance of deferring my $15,900 student loans for another 27 months, thanks to the Peace Corps. 

To be honest with myself, writing the previous sentence was way too exciting. I think I really do want to follow this Peace Corps path. Why not? It's the perfect time of my life for something crazy. It's the best thing I could do with an English degree. My graduating class went to college thinking it was some magical party land that gave you all the greatest experiences of your life, then shat you out with a high-paying career where money rained from the sky and nuclear families grew on trees. 

Not true.

Now I'm listening to a band called Frightened Rabbit.

Here's a photo that Lisa, an older woman with boundless energy and fiery red hair (and possible Sugar Momma candidate), decided to take of me at Old Soul with her camera phone while I was pouring honey:

My beard almost qualifies for a real beard. I don't think I've shaved since before Thanksgiving. Meredith keeps saying that I look older, and not just because of the beard. She thinks Kirsten made a man out of me.

New faces: Michael, the author. Ryan, the fisherman (who leaves on the 26th for Alaska). Kaitlin, Ryan's cute friend (who hopefully won't be going with him). DJ Eddie Z, the weekend entertainment at Spin Burger.

It's always good to know a DJ. 

"Swim until you can't see land," says Frightened Rabbit. 

I hate the holiday season. It's impossible to make plans with anyone. 

It's already Christmas. What the fuck? I'll be heading up to Auburn after a morning shift on Christmas Eve, then heading home again Christmas night to open the next day. Then it's Pinback @ Harlow's on the 30th and maybe a trip to see my old college gang for New Years. I haven't figured out the details. Favors will be playing (@ Luigi's?) on New Years Eve, too... I can hardly see past Tuesday, so I don't know what I'll be doing. Like I've said, I have no idea what the hell is happening.

Also decided that I'm Irish. 

- Left to Fry

The Day I Walked To Old Sacramento And Officially Ended My Internship At Sacramento Press

I got my reporter badge changed to "Community Certified" instead of "Editorial Intern."

Nice mellow day. The Sac Press exit interview went well. I even got a little sad toward the end. Glad Colleen encouraged me to keep writing for them. I'll always wish I could've spent a lot more time in the office with those people. For that reason alone, I might ask Colleen to keep throwing me an article to write every once in a while. I kinda enjoyed the hell out of that internship and I know I'll miss it soon.

It took all of these when I walked to Old Sac. 

- Left to Fry