Cuddling Hours

I am a firm believer that no arguing should be done before the closing period of "Cuddling Hours". Now depending upon your schedule, “Cuddling Hours” should be somewhere between 11pm and 11am... for example my cuddling hours go from 11p to 8a with a half hour rest/water/"I just need a minute to get rid of the pins and needles I have in my left arm from you resting your head on my arm" period. The only activities that should take place between these hours are drinking, fucking and spooning... But someone decided to disturb me during my cuddling period and now I can't sleep... So with that in mind here are some of the random thoughts going through my head:

Good women are like amazing music.

How can I make such a comparison? To be completely honest, I have no clue. But, what I do know is that music can change or amplify a person’s mood. Now while I realize that this is no epiphany, I think that it’s an important point to make for my argument. A woman you care about should be able to cause certain emotions to stir, not just butterflies and skipped heart beats, but real emotions. Happiness is all good and dandy but I would venture to say that you don’t know how much you care about someone until they hurt you. However easy it is to let them “ride off into the sunset” is a pretty good indicator of just how much you care. Love is getting pissed off and fighting until you feel as if you want nothing more to do with the person only to realize shortly after that you still long for their attention and support. I also realize that under certain circumstances this can become an unhealthy habit, but in the cases where drugs and/or abuse aren’t an issue I believe the desire to work through your problems is key to a healthy relationship. And in retrospect, I really shouldn’t have mentioned love because it is a pretty hefty topic that could go on for days but I hope you catch my point. It really doesn’t matter if you’ve been with someone for a day or a year, if you can let them walk away from you without so much as a fight you really don’t care about them as much as you think. All the feelings of wanting them back at a later date are usually influenced by your ego or desire to have sex. I can count on one hand the amount of women I wasn’t ready to let go of, and to be honest its only two. So how does this all relate to music? Well whenever I listen to Bill Withers I stop the record and experience a feeling of sadness. In a little over two minutes, he can make me miss a woman I’ve never met and yet I keep playing the song. I kind of let that get away from me but fuck it, it’s too early to worry about coherent thoughts and I tried to wrap it up in the end so who cares?

I feel as if I should claim a victory for wrapping that all up at the end there... so yay for me!!

More about "L.A." Girls

Being that I’ve spent most of my life in L.A. I always feel its imperative that I’m not really sure what a “good” girl is… I mean I live in the land of coke whores and sluts… I was watching a stand up special on HBO the other day and the comedian (Jim Jefferies) made a really good point…When a guy has sex with a bunch of girls he’s referred to as a stud. On the other hand when a chick has sex with a bunch of dudes she’s referred to as a slut.. What’s the difference? Well to me nothing, but he made the point that to be a “stud” you had to have a few things going for you: you have to be funny, witty, charming, drive a decent car and have a fake job. You have to have all of these things at once and use them in the right combinations if you’re too funny no one takes you seriously. If you’re too witty you come off as a dick. If you’re too charming you seem like a sleaze ball. To be a slut there is only one requirement: Be there… Things that make you go hmmmm…

Privacy

My friends always ask why I have a password on my phone… My reply is so that bitches (both female and male) stay out of my business. I mean I try to be as honest as possible and try to make a point of telling the truth whenever a question is asked. But FUCK!! Why go through my texts? If I make it a point to say all you have to do is ask then all you have to do is FUCKING ask… It’s not a difficult concept is it? Anyway, what’s done is done and its water under the bridge at this point.. I’m no longer mad but I am changing the password on my iPhone. And I’m not telling a soul the password; if I’m dying and you need to call my mom call her from your own damned phone!

Love,

Lost Halo :-)

Random thoughts at 12:30AM

I just got off the phone with a friend of mine and I'm not sure what to think or really what to write about. My original intention was to type a "Scrubs-esque" monologue about taking shortcuts, but due to my conversation, I just wasn't in the mood. I don't really know how to feel or what to write. I mean at this point I'm not even sure I should publish this. To be candid I feel quite confused about the way my night has seemed to progress. Well fuck it... Here is what was supposed to be "A Scrubs Moment of Clarity". It's probably not that great but hey, even Babe Ruth struck out more often than he hit home runs. Enjoy...

A Moment of Clarity

At the end of the day a lot of us take the easy way out. Be it, taking a short cut home from work or cutting corners while at work. We all find ways of making our lives that much more simple. Its what makes humans the force that we are; we couldn't run at the pace of our prey, we invented spears and arrows. We couldn't travel far distances fast enough, we domesticated horses and later invented boats and cars and airplanes. We as a race are known for our ingenuity it is an innate ability for us to create tools and use them to aid us in our daily tasks.

But what happens when the corners you cut, the "tools" you use don't seem to make life any easier? Sometimes easier isn't really the best way to go about it... To lie is easier in the short term while telling the truth makes it easier to live with yourself. Then again there have been times when I have told the truth to no avail, and the girl to whom I was speaking the truth still decided to want nothing further to do with me. Life is just a funny fucking thing. You do what you think is right and in all reality you have a 50-50 chance of it working out. It's truly an anomaly that I don't think anyone will ever figure out.

Why are we here? Well I think the answer to that question is simple. If we weren't here where else would we be.

So Since I'm Lazy....

I haven't really felt like writing anything substantial for this blog in recent days... It seems as if time can really slip away from you in this town. I mean there is always something going on so with that in mind I've decided to post a throw away chapter from a novel I'm working on.. I hope whoever reads this blog (which I'm pretty sure at the moment is no one) enjoys it...

I used to think that I was depressed.

Every day was spent lamenting some “catastrophic” event as if my world was coming to an end. I contemplated suicide on a daily basis, so much so that I actually wound up with a razor blade in hand wondering exactly which way I should open them. Should I slice along the vein ensuring my eminent death? Maybe I should slice across the vein, you know, give myself some chance of savior, maybe my roommate would find me, maybe Mrs. Katz from across the hall would knock on the door to borrow a cup of sugar and upon hearing no response she would kick in the door to find me on the floor and call 911 or maybe I would come to my senses and rush myself to a hospital. Should I run bathwater, cold or hot? Do I leave a note? What should I say? Do I blame people? Do I take the moral high ground and not blame anyone? Imagine yourself going through this process. It’s really not as terrifying as you think. A sense of calm encompassed me, a sort of disconnect from reality – as if in the long run you don’t really matter. Indulge me for a moment, there are close to seven billion people in the world. Look at this number 7,000,000,000; you are one person in this group. You are not a snow flake, there is someone out there in the world who acts like you, sounds like you, looks like you, fucks like you, and on the right day at the right moment could be confused for you. If you really think about it, and I mean take a moment here and contemplate it 1 in 7,000,000,000 – that should be enough to make any maniacal egotist feel insignificant.

Death is at the doorstep, knocking… two flicks and the door would magically open she would stroll in and escort me with her to where ever it is that you go when you die. She awaits me at every corner. She rides shotgun next to me every time I drive; she chuckles at those bumper stickers that read “Jesus is my co-pilot.” She wishes everyone realized that its not some hippie riding next to them, it is that slight chance that something could go wrong - that someone else can cause you to become a statistic. Every night when I lay down I can feel her breath on my neck, urging me to turn on the heat. I don’t have any problems sleeping, I simply acknowledge her the way I would a girlfriend.

Have a good night kiddo; maybe tomorrow you’ll catch me.

…

It took me a very long time to realize that I wasn’t depressed; I simply felt as if there was no forward progress in my life. I was my own stumbling block. I refused to progress. I showed up late to the same job every day, I did the same inventory count, I ate the same breakfast, and I went through the same routine. I wasn’t depressed, I was fucking bored. Life is about challenges

I arrived at work on time today; this is a very rare occurrence for me its not that I intend to show up to work late it’s just that this morning traffic seemed to be lighter than usual. Most people hate their jobs; most people go back to school just to prepare themselves for another job they’ll eventually grow to hate. Me, I love my job well at least in theory. I bartend and by definition providing people with alcohol and entertaining their qualms with society is fun. I hate where I work, stupid fucking fluffy mascots, cunty hostesses, and shitty servers. I hate the fact that I have to show up to this place in a uniform that gay federal prisoner would be proud to dawn before they walk onto the yard. Everyone here is an aspiring fuck-head.

“I am going to be the next Merrill Streep.” Say’s a waitress from fuck-off Oklahoma.

Little does she know, no one cares about Merrill Streep. No one cares about her tiny little delusion. No one really cares if she lives or dies. She is a server at a restaurant that requires her and me to wear suspenders and buttons. She is a server that moonlights as an actress. Just like I am a bartender that moonlights as one of the many things I moonlight as when I attempt to pick up chicks. We’re not going anywhere. We are right where we’ll be next year. I am doing exactly what I’ll be doing when I am 30. I might be in a different place but I will be in the same position. I have a job, not a career. I work a job because I never took time to invest time into anything. I simply allowed life to wash over me.

Mel will never ever change, she might change jobs (pray to the gods that she does) but she’ll continue to walk into work and vent to me, or Caleb or the ketchup bottle on 67 about how this new guy won’t return any of her calls. It’s always the exact same formula I like to call in a “Mel formula”

A: Mel meets cute guy

+

B: Mel fucks cute guy

+

C: Mel shows cute guy that she is a psycho by calling him 12 times after he fails to pick up the phone because he is busy writing a goddamned essay that will earn him $300 from a college student. Leaving him eight messages: three requesting his whereabouts, three using language I hadn’t heard since the night before, one apologizing for acting so weird, and another one condemning me to the deepest darkest pits of hell for not answering her.

=

D: Most sane men, including myself, never wanting talk to her again.

Yes, I got myself into this situation a year ago but I think that I was totally blind sided. I was always told never to dip my pen in the company ink (wait for it, I have a very witty pun coming up) but no one ever told me not to dip my cock into the restaurants house sauce. Bill Murray and I really should get together and work on some scripts…

She really just goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on.

“Simon is such a great guy...”

Simon is on the shortlist of men that can actually stomach her psycho-babble. She decided to marry him after three months and now she is cheating on him. Poor bastard is too caught up in his career to realize that his waitress of a wife is banging one of her regulars in parking lot on her fifteen minute breaks. He seems to simply gloss over the fact that at night Mel chooses not to have sex with him instead opting to fall asleep. I’m sure he can sense things are going wrong he just either doesn’t know what to do about it or he has come to the conclusion that Mel is crazy and is reviewing his legal options.

I can understand his predicament: Simon isn’t the most attractive of men in fact he is quite the opposite. He is a portly barrel-chested fellow with a penchant for ribs. I find him to be quite the slob. Mel on the other hand, (save her mental short-comings) is an extremely attractive girl. Please allow me to be honest, she’s damn near ascetically perfect. She is 5’7, weighs about a buck ten, works out like a professional athlete brown, has her hair cropped in one of those cute “Posh” bobs, she has these emerald eyes that are to die for. She has the build of a swimmer broad muscular shoulders and a tiny waist, with almost no fat to speak of on her body. I could never really understand why she would want to be with a guy like Simon until I she invited him to our weekly bar night. He treated her like a Goddess. Really, it made me want to vomit. He truly wanted her to feel the same as he did. It was an odd experience to see a man treat a woman, whom I had discarded as quickly as I had bedded her, in such a way. After my feelings of nausea wore off I started actually crushing on her again.

“ are you even listening to me? God you should be the one that has an answer for my predicament.”

The problem was she hadn’t supplied me with a question, or at the very least I wasn’t paying any attention to her when she posed her problem in the form of a question. See this is the problem with people after I have sex with them; I no longer have the desire to be around them. I simply feel as if they’re the teacher from peanuts I hear nothing but a trumpet.

...

A Lazy Sunday/Monday to Reflect...

Every once in a blue moon I take off Sundays to relax. By relax, of course, I mean I pretty much sit around and do absolutely nothing. So, seeing as my night (last night), for all intents and purposes, was pretty boring I thought I'd jot down some of my musings from this past week.

Here are a few things that come to mind.

1) Really Ricky Hatton? I feel that fighting (be it MMA or Boxing) is the last of the true sports. It man versus man bleeding out their soul in order to achieve victory. So far be it for me to judge these warriors that put their lives on the line in order to keeps guys like me entertained. I mean I don't think you could pay me enough to go two rounds with either Pacquiao or Hatton but REALLY??? Two rounds? That’s all I get? I mean here I am working the bar and within the first two minutes Hatton's on his back. As a bartender you want every fight to go until the final bell, the longer the fight, the more people drink, the more they drink, the more scrilla I make. . I'm not mad that he lost I'm just mad that he went down so quickly...

2) Wolverine.... I... I don’t really know what to say. I liked the beginning thought the middle was kind of cool and then they (the screenwriters) decided to kill the movie. What happened to Deadpool, the world may never know... P.S. The economic downturn must have really hit home @ Fox because those claws were... how should I put this gently? Wolverine’s claws looked as if a Santa Monica Junior College student designed them. I mean I was HIGH and they looked like shit, so you can only imagine what they look like if you’re sober. UGHHHH!!! It is 10:50 on Tuesday night and I’m still pissed about the movie. If Star Trek sucks I’m done!!

3) Co-Workers: I think we all have a co-worker at work that is just a little… "off", you know that guy (or girl) that just doesn't seem to pick up on social cue’s; they walk over to you with the intention of say something then shy away from it or when you are extremely busy they feel its their chance to take a stand and they boldly push the envelope in an attempt to gain your respect. My co-worker is totally socially inept; he can’t seem to grasp the basic social norms. For example: He recently took trip to Compton. Why? Because, he was curious and wanted to see what Compton was like. Now you make think to yourself, “hmmm… I’ve always heard that Compton was a dangerous place” because it is. No one in their right mind would ever venture to Compton just to check it out! The people in Compton hate Compton!

4) Women. I have to ask myself is it possible to tell multiple women the same truth? Can you truly feel butterflies in your stomach around more than one woman? I’d like to think Hank Moody got it right when he announced "…I'm a fan of women; I have all their albums." [Just a side note, watch Californication. It is possibly one of the greatest shows ever written] Whenever I start to think about love and how so many conventional sources lead us to believe that you can only be in love with one person at a time, I’m forced to ask, how is it possible to feel a certain way about only one woman? Maybe I’m just jaded; after all I live in the land of 30 women. For every girl I meet there are 30 out there that are (for the most part) exactly like her, yet every once in a while I meet one or two that seem to be different. In the land of the lost souls variations seem to be far and few in between. Is true love still a viable option in this city? Or do we just simply think ourselves into loving someone? Personally, I have no clue if I did I’d be writing a book about it…

I live in the craziest town in the world! Where else can you lay out by the pool on a Monday and find other people laying out with you? I've always appreciated LA for it's awkwardness but I must say, that for all it's shortcomings (and there are plenty), there are always charming weekdays spent by pools on 70 degree day. I don't think you could ask for much more. Just enjoy the sun...

Lost Halo is Back??

So I've decided to take this "blogging" thing a little more seriously... I don't think anyone follows me yet but frankly, fuck it! I'm a pretty interesting guy and I do some pretty interesting things. My mind moves in really odd way and that gives me a pretty interesting view on life. So from now on this is going to be a fun place; life is going to get a lot better and I am going to start getting my shit together by doing what I should have done all along... Write about how shitty my life can really be.