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