enter: master of change

oh man, is it the end of the month already? noooo I’m just dillusional and, you know, drunk. Not really. I wish. No, that’s not true either. If I was drunk I would be spewing nonsense and counting my misfortunes, like always. You know me, drunk and feeling sorry for myself like every bukowski poem you’ve ever read. When the girlfriend and I decided to buy a townhouse, one of our own, hgtv style, we had no fucking idea it was going to take three months and provide heaps of regections and disapointments. We find a place we like, we offer, they regect, we find, regect, our agent finds us a house-house, apparently set in stone, it falls through, the girlfriend cries, we wait, we found a place yesterday, made an offer, now we wait. wait wait. fucking shit I want this to be over with so we can buy some expensive champagne and finish packing. I hate blogging with no audience. I mean, I don’t necessarily care. that was a lie really. buuut, at my last blog I had gained a consistent fan base as well as aquired a number of favorites, but this site is so vast and impersonal I don’t even know where to begin. something somewhat "good" happened to me though with the bad luck that’s been breezing through my life lately I find it hard to believe anything shall come of it. but that’s a pessimist talking and I, as you know, prefer "cynic". This "good" thing I speak of is a job interview. well, not exactly a job but an internship at a local magazine. The magazine, Echo, is a the largest gay and lesbian magazine in Arizona and sports a hip reputation. An EDITORIAL INTERN, where I would, like, kiss the writer’s ass and bring them starbucks and shit. I’d feel out of place and try too hard and holy shit what do I wear?! This position seems sketchy due to the fact I am not a journalism major, but a, uhhh, change-every-semester major and people like, what’s the word?, consistency. and thaaaat, I seem to lack. if I am offered the internship it will only be 20 hours a week which means I can still keep my grooming job to pay our seemingly 1500 dollar a month rent for this soon to be announced townhouse. oh, how things are changing. the air is shifting and our lives are fucking progressing faster than microsoft technology and air america radio. faster moving now. with some erratic drunk driver that doesnt know where they’re going but they’re driving fast and yelling loud. and I’m down because, well, I’m always down. change is good and if it didnt happen I’d get bored. so would you. that said, a few days ago the girlfriend’s mom came down. she does so every few weeks to purchase a pound of marijuana here in phoenix and sells it for twice as much in bullhead, a shitsmall town up north. the girlfriend’s mom is not your ordinary mom, she is a really fucking amazing woman. anywho, we are here, smoking pot, herself, her boyfriend john, and me. we talk shit about hometown kids and I drink corona, even though I don’t like corona. jane calls, comes over, beer in her backpack and four ecstacy pills in her pocket. though she approaches the drugs modestly, "hey I brought some drugs if you’re interested", she knew exactly what she was doing when she packed four pills and trotted in the door all smiley and shit. so, we took them because, well, she had them and offered them. I enjoy ecstacy to shit. I absolutely love the relaxed, wobbley, euphoria that fills you. I love how you feel when you come up, and your body gets warm and you want to rub your hands together. I love the tightness in your jaw, air in your eyes and if you’ve never made out on ecstacy, you’ve never really made out. this day I didn’t make out. instead, we sat around our dining room table illuminated only by christmas lights and listened to stories from the girlfriend’s mom about traveling with bands, drug binges, the chicago comedy scene… and we sat in long periods of silence and enjoyyyyed our drug. that day. was a good day. an enlightening day. a calm day. and I felt good when it was over. this could have been the highlight of the week if I hadnt finally eaten at the restaurant the girlfriend chefs at, sol y sombra, in north scottsdale. I wore a mini skirt and got super drunk off spanish wine. the girlfriend sent out primo food and the roommate and I talked about how he thinks he’s going to die alone. which he probably will. in cuntclusion, I’m fucking tired. I’m excited. I’m ready for some hot shit, some challenging shit, something new and spectacular and, I don’t know, DIFFERENT, to enter in. stage left. second act. lets go.