Decisions Irrevocable

If I could, I would change the name of this blog to:

The Elusive Butterfly

working hard at hardly working

If you read the title, you might be under the mistaken impression that this entry is actually about something specific. And it may be. If it is, you are probably more aware of what it is than I. All I know is that I feel compelled to do something creative and since I am stuck here at work I am pretty much limited to writing text.

A brief story:

I am a musician. I write songs. I play the guitar. There is nothing really special about that. I also go out to various bars, restaurants, coffee houses and take the stage on open mic nights. This is a little bit more special, but just a little bit. A couple of days ago, after coming home from work, I went to the supermarket and used what was left on my atm card to buy a twelve pack of nice beer. (Firestone Ale. If you haven't tried it you really should. It's truly a wonderful brew.) I went home and started drinking as I set up my drum kit for recording. I play the drums also, just in case you didn't know. I laid down a bunch of good stuff, but I'm still working out my recording set up so it might have been all for naught. Later on I went to a coffee shop to listen to what I had recorded on my laptop and get a good caffiene buzz to counter my four afternoon beers. Then I went to an open mic and had a couple of vodka tonics. I played some new tunes and talked to this older guy that plays trumpet with a riteous sense of tone. He basically called me selfish and stupid for not handing out my recordings to people. I think he was right. He said I have a martyr complex or something. After that I went to a bar up the street and got pretty drunk off of Sierra Nevadas. I made friends with this really drunk and really loud mexican guy named Richard. He liked me because I knew who the band X was.

Drunk Fat Mexican Guy: "Do you know X?"

Drunk Skinny White Guy: "Yeah, John Doe and shit."

Drunk Fat Mexican Guy: "JOHN DOOOEE!!!!"

I liked him to. From there on out we hung out by the bar and had a loud talking competition. It was a draw. I think I was the only white dude there. I was having a good time talking about racism and politics and rock and roll.

I ended up spending the night at this girls house. I met her at the open mic place, and she was the one that invited me up to the other bar. We hooked up a little bit, and I wanted to have sex with her but there was no condom so I kind of lost my motivation. Probably a good thing. I think I may have regretted it later. I regret staying at her house as it is. Showing off my hard-on and what not. Stupid drunk.

I think I woke up around 6. Tried not to wake her but failed. Mumbled something about grabbing a bottle of water from my car. I had had a lot to drink the day and night before and was posessed by a pretty serious hangover. I left with no goodbye. I hate saying goodbye.

I drove towards home with cold and aching body, listening to Howard Stern and thinking about greasy food. I tried the breakfast burger from Carl's Junior because I saw a billboard for it. What a shitty fucking sandwich. Stupid Drunk.

I got home right before my dad woke up for work. I stayed in bed until the afternoon. I had the day off work to work on recording and stuff while my dad was away at work. Instead I lay in bed hungover. I got more done the day before when all I had was the short span of time between when I got home from work and my dad got home from work. Stupid Drunk.

You know what I like about your jokes? They're practical.