Monday, March 22, 2010

I am currently living in my parents home. My parents have become my friends in the past few years and I have no problems living with them except for the fact that I need to be on my own to grow as a person. I am 24 years old and can't find alone time in my own house. I am looking for an apartment or house to rent with my lifelong friend. I check out craigslist from time to time and there are a lot of places that seem too good to be true. There are places that are completely dumpy, then there are places that seem realistic. My friend has a dog and we would both like a yard for her pup. We would like to find a place that allows dogs and cats. Most apartments don't allow dogs which is why we want to find a small house to rent.
The other day I found an apartment in Torrance that allows cats and dogs. They had two pictures to prove that dogs and cats are allowed in their apartment complex.


These pups are buddies!

That cat looks scary.

These pictures don't make me want to rent this apartment any more than I did before. Even though I do think they are cute and entertaining.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Sooooo, it turns out that the new Portugal. The Man doesn't physically come out until May. It was only released digitally in March. I didn't even know this happened. Technology has slipped one passed me once again. I finally started looking online to purchase it and I couldn't even figure that one out. Well, I have to wait until May, which I can't because I want it now. Portugal. The Man just has amazing artwork that I want in my possession. I may have to resort to the $9.99 download on iTunes. We shall see . . . I will be going to Fingerprints in Long Beach today which is a great record store. I can usually find what I'm looking for there.
Right now I'm listening to Beach House. It is my newest mellow-dreamy-alternative music that is keeping me smiley. "We parted our lips and reached from inside." This boy/girl duo is getting me excited for the summer. This summer is going to be epic. Most summers are. Seattle is awaiting my arrival. I cannot wait to be in the Seattle rays and the Seattle greens. My mouth is beginning to water. Music all day today. Record store and music/ art show tonight at Suzy's. Life is quite simple when you have beautiful things to enjoy in it.
"Lover of Mine" Live.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

"Get the feather flying." -C.S.M.

The seashell lies on top of a stone
platform, surrounded by large feathers.
About to take flight. The length
of its existence is unknown.
The impression and the meaning
is forever. The euphoric satisfaction
of its placement is beyond
necessity. It's perfection.

I really did find the perfect place to put that shell.

Stomping on the ground
with my boots, losing
my balance but always catching
myself. Hand up reaching
for the energy, pulling it towards
me and sweating it inside. The music
predicts my next move. My body
predicts the next beat.

October

After finally getting my mother's chihuahua Bella to pee outside in the rain, I was able to leave and still make it to work on time. I gave the pups kisses good-bye, grabbed my snacks and headed out the door. After walking up and down the block a couple of times in the rain, I realize that my car is gone. Hoping my mom would have some kind of answers and resorting to habits of my childhood, I called her freaking out. She had no answers except to take her car to work. On my way to work in my mother's oversized SUV, I called the police department to find out that my lovely black Honda had been towed this morning from the front of my house because last night I parked it beautifully blocking a neighbors driveway. How could I be so stupid? I'm not quite sure. My only defense is that it was late, dark, raining and there are only two driveways on my block. Either way, I'm a moron and have disappointed myself yet again.
My manager texted me saying what I thought would be wondering where I was. Instead, he tells me that my Boss' father just passed away. How depressing. Suddenly my problems went away. That put a sad mood over the whole day. The waves were huge and I saw many surfers out there risking their lives for what they love. I ended up only having four tables by 3:45. The day consisted of playing games on my phone, talking to Johnny Ryan about death, and shooting the shit with Dorey about what's, "unamerican." Another slooooow day at The Shellback Tavern. One hour and forty-five minutes left. I just ate a philly cheese steak sandwich and Julio gave me a pack of cigarettes that he found earlier when he was cleaning. Such a strange day. This is my life. Now if I could just get my car out of the impound.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

The new Portugal. The Man album American Ghetto came out last week. I could easily get it on iTunes but I want the real deal. Best Buy doesn't have it. Borders doesn't have it. I need to either go to the lovely Fingerprints in Long Beach or the amazing Amoeba in Hollywood. I will make a list and check it twice and make my way either 20 minutes north or 20 minutes south to get what I want. A trip to music land. I remember when I could just walk to the record store and get whatever I wanted. Now, the music I want is so far away. Well, not that far away at all. Compared to two blocks away, a little more of a stretch. What about kids that don't have cars? It's sad that we have lost such amazing and convenient record stores. Go Boy Records was right by my house in Redondo Beach. Scooters in Hermosa is long gone. We lost that about six years ago. Even the newer Rocket ship Records in Hermosa only lasted a short time. If I want the new Carrie Underwood album or the new Black Eyed Peas album, I have no problem going to the closest Target or Best Buy to find it. If I want to get good music that I enjoy, I have to make a trek. I don't mind spending $9.99 on iTunes but I like the whole feel of a new CD, with the album artwork and details. The artwork for Portugal. The Man is so fun, colorful and thought provoking. I want the real CD and I will get it!

Errands

Pumping gas with money out my ass
I got a cold jamba juice awaiting
more cash for my hungover boy
behind the bar. I hope to get
a healthy meal and one drink
instead of two. It's not even one
in the afternoon. Can't get drunk,
got stuff to do. Already crossed
post office off my list. Saturday
is a bad day for errands. Crowded.

Monday, March 8, 2010

Ohh the Irony of Life

I just picked granola crumbs out of my plastic covered "jury badge." I feel so important. The video was so great- "It's so rewarding to be a juror and you learn so much about the way the system works. It's interesting. You feel good about yourself for helping out." So . . . what about the bills? What about the kids? What about the people that depend on you on a daily basis? Parents have to make their children walk home, have strangers make them lunch, arrange rides and carpools. Not to mention the bigger challenge of making accommodations for a child or loved one that is physically or mentally disabled. Shifts need to be covered, phone calls need to be made. Not everyone has a personal assistant. Most employers do not pay for their employee to do jury "service," especially if you're just a shitty waitress. My main title for my occupation is already "service." Fifteen dollars a day is NOT rewarding and it does NOT make you feel good about yourself when you have a family that you are letting down and the economy is shit. There just has to be a better way.
I'm freezing my patootie off in this trailer. They stick you in this tiny space with all these uncomfortable chairs. I took a nap in fetal position which caused much indigestion when I woke up. There is some tool who "backs up everything on his computer with the program Time Machine" stretching on the floor. People are friggin weird.
Then again, people probably think I'm weird. I'm not dressed like a twenty-four year old. I don't have my business suit on. I'm not carrying my briefcase with me. I'm in the corner with two chairs facing each other to rest my legs as an ottoman would, jotting down God knows what in my five year old sparkling glitter journal with a dripping heart in front. I probably look like I'm eighteen. The only reason I look that old is because that's the youngest jurors can be. Am I just a nostalgic angsty twenty-four year old bitching about how life is unfair in her diary? Or am I making valid points and discussing intelligent truth with herself?