More about my oxygen.

I paused outside where that girl works, down the block. Nope. I don’t feel like forcing myself to try to do a goddamned thing that isn’t as fun and simple as eating a slice of pie. Fuck it. I have a salad in the passenger seat, and a reasonable cup of coffee that is nearly cool enough to sip. I take it back to the family estate where I chase dinner with one 40oz malt liquor, some bong hits, and a movie. Take… it… easy. Sometimes it’s nice to hang out alone. I was up late, but fairly sober before bed, patting myself on the back for taking it easy. No torture, moving on.

I don’t know what to do about girls. I’m concerned about myself and my mind and my heart these days. I’m definitely ‘on the market’ for dating. I realize this to myself, based on my own feelings and being honest to myself about them. I think I’d like to ascribe meaning to my current situation by making it simpler and pasting a stereotypical label on it: I’m growing up and I’m awash in hormones. Put that way, it doesn’t seem so bad. Further, I’m well poised in life and assessing the charts shows me in a good position. Steady breathing is the remedy for much, and I keep holding my breath until I exhale a whispering whistle which alerts me that I need some fucking oxygen now.

Friends have suggested maybe seeing a therapist. Even as I squint and purse my lips, I can’t deny that this is probably true.

Bland sandwich and the 10-beer poker face.

I’m not proud that I spent the entire day sleeping and trying to ignore myself. I’m in the suburbs watching my parents’ house while they are on vacation. I’m here alone, and making sure the cat stays ok. I didn’t do anything all day, and at 4 pm I still laid face-down on the leather loveseat. The only thing I accomplished is a bowl of cereal. I spiked up my mohawk for the first time I’ve spiked my hair up since high school. It looked good. Maybe that’s why that girl was interested in me. Well at 4, my mohawk was still crinkling itself across the arm of the loveseat as I turned over again, still not ready. I wasn’t hung over. I almost never get a hangover. I don’t feel sick. I just feel high and spaced out as I watch time pass. No anxiety, it just isn’t that pretty to look at. I could accomplish anything if it needed to get done, but without a gun to my head, nothing does. I went back up to the bar, and it had the same people. I still didn’t simply ask this girl for her number, instead deciding that tiny unimportant facts about a girl who I don’t even know mean that nothing would ever work out. Convincing myself at the time that even just hooking up isn’t worth the trouble, even if that’s all either of us would want, and all I would need to add are a few obvious sentences to put us on that path. I like to collect moments to roll my eyes about later. I blew $40 at the bar, didn’t really care that fucking much. I don’t know what I want, what I need, where I should be, how to make things better, how to fix what’s broken in my life, how to accept and embrace that nothing is broken at all. This is it, I’m living it, and I can do whatever I want. Why isn’t that enough? It always has been before, I think.

At 7:21pm, I raced atop my KHS Professional road bicycle with a grin on my face. For the short distance between the sofa and the bar, I stood and cranked fast with my goofball mohawk cutting the air like a shark fin. It’s the 7:21 moment that I would like to preserve, but that was only a delicious moment washed out inside a pretty bland sandwich.

Crying, chauffeuring, kissing.

Earlier yesterday was one of the times everything felt really difficult and I burst into tears wishing that I had a lot more than that to really get rid of these crummy feelings. In stark contrast was today. I had a nice relaxing happy day. I held it all together just fine. At 7:21 I’m playing the part of friendly chauffeur in exchange for a bag of pot. Then I’m going to go to the suburbs where I end up drinking eleven beers and kissing this very pretty girl who was definitely into me. Kissing is a pretty big deal for me, and something I’d like to figure out how to do more often. This kiss wasn’t much, and I wished I was less drunk. Comfort zones, imaginary barriers and sheepishness. Dig it – I know I am the man, but if I keep struggling to keep it a secret, then what’s the difference?

“The man” is a subjective and meaningless measurement. What I mean is that I like myself, and I feel like I’m a unique person who a lot of girls would feel really lucky to be with if they were patient enough to find out what I’m all about. But I also worry that I am carrying a whole mess of bullshit, and I don’t want to pretend that I’m perfect so that I can trick a girl into seeing a false version of me. I don’t want to pretend to be something that I’m not – even slightly – in the interest of hooking up. Well, whatever the fucking case, this girl was obviously very attractive and awesome by anybody’s standards, and I was pretty psyched that she didn’t punch me in the stomach when I went ahead kissed her. It’s a little unfortunate that I had to hear from somebody else that she definitely wouldn’t – because these “signals” and “body languages” are things that I am fairly awful at reading and deciphering.

Yards and roofs

Nat said to come over, and I think it only took me about a minute to cruise over. I’m doing alright. I think I’m actually going between shitty and great with a scary frequency. But here I am now, pushing a button on my watch with the hand holding the sweaty can of Chesterfield right before we head up to the roof to see if this lightning is going to hit anything close by. After that, I go to a BBQ when the storm passes. A few more beers in another yard, and I find someone fun to joke around with and talk to. Lucky. I manage to be the last one there, and me and the host went out for a bicycle jaunt and more drinks at bars. I considered the whole deal a big success. I had a fun time throughout.

Louis CK

I’m watching lots of clips of Louis CK on youtube at Jonas’s.

{Unrelated: Shit I haven’t listened to in awhile.}

Classical music in the backyard.

I’m on God’s green earth in the best backyard in Philadelphia. This is an event chucked together by Jonas where he invites people to come listen to classical music and drink some wine and eat some veggies before being dismissed into the evening to pursue other events and interests.

I had some anxiety when I got here about an hour before the event began. Fucking anxiety. I need to blow that shit up. Classical music and wine help. At 7:21, I’m talking to Jonas’s mom about her bicycle which I tuned up. We’re discussing the design aspects of mountain bicycles vs. road bicycles, and which option would be appropriate for her type of riding, and how to get the most out of whichever one. Then I stood off to the side feeling really sheepish and quiet, like a guy who loves to look at his own feet while listening to the beat of his own heart through whatever din.

The sun set, and I began talking to a lawyer about his work with immigrants. We had a good and comfortable conversation with wine and delicious vegetables which served as dinner and kept me alive. I was glad to meet this guy, glad for the talking. After that, me and Nat split a pitcher while I didn’t quite manage to stop blabbering about my ideas about humans which I can’t put into words.

Crunkly then, I klunked over to the Bangout dance party where I danced, staying to the very end just to leave abruptly, drunkly, dissatisfied.

A good night in retrospect, a series of palpitations at the time.

10th and Pine. I’m in a band now.

As my watch beeps at 7:21pm, I’m at the corner of 10th and Pine. I’m driving my van, and my daydreams conjure a blurry image of a green Cannondale from a book that I read several years ago. As that vision enters and fades my subconcious, getting burned into the present with the beeping of my watch, my gaze falls upon a fully different bicycle locked on the corner. It’s a “Glacier 15.” I love cheap bicycles with assumed tough-sounding names. How can you not laugh when you decide to name a bicycle after a slowly moving frozen river? Glaciers and bicycles have nothing to do with one another, and that is a certain fact. If a bicycle was ever ridden on a glacier, it wasn’t this model. The “15″ refers to the number of “speeds.” This is another cheap mountain bicycle.

This makes me think of the best bicycle I have ever seen (based on hilarious naming criteria). It was in Key West. Nick swung an abrupt U-turn on White Street and Lael and I followed. The sight that required a stop was a cruiser bicycle named the “Dune Commander.” That is the best bicycle name I have ever seen. Riding a bicycle on loose-packed sand hills is not something that any machine or rider will ever “command.” It is more accurately “not possible.”

I’m driving my van ’cause I just dropped Mike off at home. We just played some music. Mike and I are the ones who started “Mini Band” a bunch of years ago, and I’m very fucking psyched that he called me up to say he’s writing new songs. Mike – if you’re reading this, I’m very fucking psyched, and we should probably try to practice more often, and yes, get a show. Let’s do that shit. I have big drums in the practice space now.

I’ll say of myself that I was never the best drummer, but I like my style. I was worried that I got 100% worse by not playing for a few years – but these songs will definitely come together. No worries about drums. It was an awesome practice – a brief introduction back into familiar territory. Mike is probably the only guitarist / songwriter that I will ever feel naturally comfortable creating music with. We go back a-ways.

Shower after pink hair dye.

Pink hair dye didn’t seem to work too well. (It’s a credit to my mother that she’s willing to help try to make her 26 year old son’s mohawk bright pink). Well, all the dye washed right out, so I’m left in a kind of gnarly bleached blonde mode until I feel like doing something about it. 7:21pm.

Tearing down the convention

It’s time to tear down the booth. It’s tedious and labor intensive, but it beats the hell out of standing still for about 7 hours. Moving makes the time go by quickly, and we’re flowing in the direction of completion. $100 cash for two long days of work. Not much money, but lord knows I didn’t work very hard. It’s all about standing around watching geeks mill about, and watching super hot girl nerds float around in costumes. It’s pretty worth the bucks when you add it all up and factor in the details.

Talking to Dad

I’m outside the Philadelphia Convention Center. I just worked a long shift at the same booth that I worked at in Orlando. Now those folks are here, and I’m working again. Next month, they’re flying me out to San Diego to work at another convention – it doesn’t pay enough to get rich, but my hotel and flight is paid for. So I can go somewhere and see a little bit of something without incurring expense. That’ll do.

I’m talking to my Dad about happy Father’s Day, but I won’t be out to visit, ’cause I’m working this gig. I’m also thanking him for being home when a guy showed up to buy my air compressor for $100, and letting him know about our new record-breaking bicycle sales week. We had a very good week, and now I’m making some cash on the side.