you’re going to die soon

I like to take opportunities for what they are: potential dissapointments. I know that going into things so the end result is never much of a hit for me. If you live your life this way you’ll see how much fucking happier you’re going to be. Seriously.

I went to northern california to visit my family. They have lots of barbeques and my dad listens to rush limbaugh. I swim in the pool and talk about global warming but he thinks it’s just a "theory". I buy my own twelve pack but only drink half. My brother’s girlfriend nags him all the time and he takes it because they’re getting married and she has fake tits. My grandma takes care of a half dead dog all day long and looks forward to periodic trips to Reno. If I had a lot of money I’d cure all their problems easily, and perhaps that should be a steadfast goal of mine. to, you know, "fix" things. Or whatever.

I’m currently as content as someone who is never content can be. I need some outlet that doesn’t require hours of shitty internet research. I want to do the zine again because I need to write some things down that are crawling casually around my brain, using their feelers to find some form of sweetness or life. But as it goes my nights are more spent getting wasted and playing a few rounds of Scraboggle. My ideas sit dorment, collecting dust from the ceiling fans.

I just finished chuck klosterman’s book and I’m a little bit in love with him even though his photo on the back appears to portray a short, thin, weird nosed nerd with orangish hair.

I thought I was going to die on the way home for california. seriously, I sat with my hands grasping the sides of my airplane seat until my knuckles were white and my breaths were held tight in my chest. the plane kept making dives and pushes and jolts through the sky of a hefty storm over phoenix. The plane only contained twenty passengers so I would peer around my space and see nothing but empty seats and dark purple wind zooming by. The plane flew in circles around sky harbor for perhaps an hour, the pilot coming on periodically to inform us that the storm was too thick to land so we’re just going to wait it out. Apparently the fuel source was not efficient enough to "wait it out" and eventually the plane was diverted to the las vegas airport where, when it finally touched down, I fucking peed myself. Not really, but I could have.

I layed uncomfortabley on the three seats trying to hold my book in such a way it was readable. It really was the book that got me through the nasty flight. While back up in the turbulent air after an hour of trying to find a comfortable position in vegas, I read about chuck klosterman’s experience at the EMP in Seattle and the arrogance of other rock journalists inbetween prayers to God to please "don’t let me die". Funny since I don’t believe in God, or rock journalists for that matter.

three hours after the expected arrival time our plane landed at sky harbor and I dragged my feet on those stupid moving walkways to find the girlfriend waiting.

It was, by far, the worst airplane experience I’ve had to date. But knock on fucking wood. As if that really works.

tonight brings the "dinner party" of a dear friend of ours. we’ll attend and surely feel a bit out of place since his friends mostly consist of catty, hispanic gay gays and their catty, hispanic fag hags.

I think I’m getting sick. My throat is raspy and my ears itch. I’m broke. Waaay broke. My burnt shoulders are peeling. The day has just begun and that’s kind of depressing.