Weirded Out

Today felt weird.  Weird because I woke up at 9am to go to my new job, something I haven’t had for four months.  Weird because it was September 11th, and weird because this is the second time I started a job on September 11th, and that other time I started a 9-11 job was actually ON 9-11.

My favorite number is 11, and it has been since the 1990s but today, if I can be honest, eleven is weirding me out.

I had a mini crisis in my mind before I started writing this.  I was trying to put a metal shelving unit together without the instructions because the movers disassembled it to move it, and I fucking lost those directions back in 2014.  I spent 30 to 45 minutes searching for how to put together a metal shelf, had the model number, etc. and even watched two videos on it but I gave up after fifteen minutes cause I just couldn’t focus on the shelves, cause I was focused on the 11 other things I have to do today.

I start all these little projects at home and I swear I’ve finished sixty-five percent of them, but the other thirty five percent are left undone, in the middle of, leaning up against the wall and lying on the floor of my guest room and it just jabs me in the annoyed and frustrated part of the brain when I remember that I have to get back to them.

But why the fuck am I stressing about decorating my apartment while making the most efficient use of my time?   

That’s just how my brain works.  It needs things to think of and tasks to do, and it needs to visualize how to do them, work on them, and then complete the task almost like a computer program.

I hate that today made me feel weird, and just like those unfinished projects, this new job is something that I don’t want to do, but I know I have to do it.  Otherwise there will be shelf, no dresser, no chair to sit on or no money to afford this apartment that keeps challenging me each day.

I’m going to somehow get through this adjustment period, because I know that’s all it is.  I wrote this to help me NOT feel weird anymore, however I might feel weird again along the way and starting and finishing this blog actually made me feel a hundred percent better about my life even though I’m weirded out about the other thirty five.

blah, blah, blah.

I thought about something really profound today.  I want to tell you so bad, but I can’t really put it into words. It’s like being happy and sad, regretfully proud and believing in the most truth based conspiracy theory ever.

I’ve felt like that a lot the last few months, especially when I was living in four different parts of the United States since June.  I drove 1100 miles in 21 hours, and I know that doesn’t sound very impressive, but almost six of those hours I spent waiting at Goodyear for my car to get four new tires.  Then less than thirty days later, I drove another 3200 miles by myself cross country and paid for almost everything with cash.

Fact.  I have not worked a real bonafide job since May 13th, and if I can be ultra candid, those last two weeks at my bar job I barely even “worked.”   I went to smoke a cigarette during a shift around 8:30pm and I never came back.  Who the fuck do I think I am?

Apparently, I’m someone who defies the rules of conventional thinking and bridges the gap between the brain cells and stars in my mind, and that reminds me of a song I’ve been listening to for a week.  this galaxy in my mind

Sometimes it becomes even more difficult than normal for me to understand what I know and even more of a debacle to explain it to anyone.  And I don’t know why, but I’m drifting away from you.

I’ve been kind of a baller lately, and by that I mean I cried like a bitch in May, June, and July.  In some ways I was a baller cause I made enough money to finance this $5000 move back home but it other ways I teared up when I saw the sunrise while crossing the border from California to Arizona.  Here’s the proof

0727170509c.jpg I know what you’re thinking….he can’t possibly cry and drive a car while taking a picture of the sun coming up, but you’re wrong because as I found out, I am able to do a lot of different things at once, even though I recently lost my wallet in my apartment tonight for a few hours.


I swear to God I don’t know what I’m going to do with 1150 square feet of space but the good news is the walls are starting to come alive with the memories I’ve made in the past and those are the things that will inspire me in the future.

I’m numb from blocking out the pain, drenched from the tears I’ve been holding in since somewhere outside of Phoenix. and I need money so bad that I took the first and only job that I was offered,  even though a part of me loathes the fact that I have to.

My friends and family tell me it’s the logical choice, and that sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do, and whatever other euphemisms that apply to my situation that they can throw my way. I do appreciate it, and I am listening with one ear, but right now all I can hear is blah, blah, blah.


I Hate Being Me

This is already a misleading title for a blog, especially one like mine.  I can sum it up with the following statement:

I know who I am and that means accepting the limitations that my body puts on me.

It’s kind of been a crazy, euphoric, frustratingly annoying yet completely fulfilling few months.  Life came full circle, and I knew this would happen one day 17 years ago so I wasn’t expecting anything other than that.  However, if I can be completely honest, the route that was mapped out to get me here safely wasn’t exactly the one I imagined myself going down, again. But then again, that’s part of being me…expecting the unexpected, however ridiculous and crazy it seems, while being prepared to deal with the unpleasantness.

It’s kind of like going to the beach for the weekend, but thinking it might snow, sleet hail, blow up and/or have a major catastrophic event occur for 8 minutes one day. That’s how much control I have over HOW my life happens.

I also have done everything in my power the last next decade to not let it become  mundane including dating people who are not right for me, self sabotage, purposely being misunderstood, never settling, and also running from the truth.

I talk a lot to convince myself it’s going to work out.  (Insert positive affirmation here) If I don’t want to be somewhere, don’t blink cause I’m gone.  But I can’t run from myself anymore.  It’s tiring, it’s exhausting, and besides, the more I run the closer it gets.  It finds me at my darkest hour but IT also is there guiding me though my moments of clarity and truth.

I know who I am, and I know where I supposed to be, but that peace of mind comes with the responsibility of being able to maintain the “unconventional” way that I carry myself as my Mom and sister tell me.  I take risks, and I do not worry about money right now because I always seem to have more than enough even though I haven’t worked since early May of this year.  Charmed, maybe, but please don’t stand near me when connecting to a bluetooth device, cause I’ll cause the radio waves to bend and static will fill the air and it will drive me nuts cause I can’t change it.

They say don’t get so upset, but how do they know what it feels like to be me?  They say everything happens for a reason, but am I the only one that it happens to happen to, just when I don’t want it to happen?  Cause they say don’t let the little things get to you, but it seems like “the little things” are what’s keeping me from eternal peace and harmony.

I understand me now more than ever, and I realize  that means I’m the nice guy who starts a conversation and smiles, but I do realize that I’m also the crazy person in my car yelling profanities at my smartphone  somewhere in the middle of Alabama right when the GPS decides not to work again for the third time this week?

I hate being me sometimes, because I know that I’m making it all happen.  I guess I should take it easy on myself.


Ten Years Ago Today…..

(It’s been awhile since I posted. Sometimes my life happens at a rate that is difficult for me to document in real time and I’m ok with that.   Thank God I have a good memory.)   Speaking of which…

I found this old MySpace blog today.  It’s dated right around the same time as it is today, but ten years ago.  I had to go back to New Jersey because my Mom was sick, or there was a issue with her and I needed to be there.

I don’t know exactly what I was thinking, but it reads like I was ok with the idea of having to go back to NJ for someone else even though I didn’t like it there when I was younger because it reminded me of what a shitty person I was. That’s pretty much the bottom line.

I’ve changed a lot since then though, in fact I’ve changed so much just within the last 90 minutes.

Now, I know who I am, I love who I am, and  and I’m proud of where I came from, which is one of the many reasons I’m moving back there this summer.

I’m from Jersey, and I fucking love that about me. #NJALLDAY

Anyway, here it is:

Screen Shot 2017-05-31 at 10.10.54 PM


Do You Think You’re Better Off Alone?

About 18 years ago I first heard this song called “Better Off Alone” by Alice Deejay. I remember hearing it in a club, in Atlantic City, high af, and you could say it came into my life at a time when I questioned the exact title to the song. At that point I had had enough of living in NJ, not knowing who my friends really were, and I didn’t feel like there was anything left there for me. In some ways, I felt like I was better off alone.  So I chose to be alone, and I left the East coast for good.

I moved to Seattle in July of 2000. I was barely 24 and I wasn’t there more than twenty five minutes when my friend picked me up from the airport, got me stoned, and played a version of Better Off Alone I had never heard before. I remember being driven back to his parents house slightly nauseated from the night before and incredibly inspired knowing that I made the right decision in life because that song found a way to follow me to my new place. I might have thrown up in the toilet downstairs the fist day I moved to Seattle, but I was fucking ready for my next adventure, and for the time being, I was better off alone.

I lived the next 18 months of my life impulsively, purposefully, and spiritually. I came to the point where I fell in love for the first time again, and I experienced all these emotions and drug fueled responses to the idea that maybe, I wasn’t better off alone and perhaps having someone in my life to love and to trust was becoming a better option. I found someone who would listen, and someone who would talk to me, unafraid of becoming too exposed to the hard truth of being honest.

For one reason or another that time didn’t last forever, and as I was packing up my Mitsubishi Eclipse on a warm rainy day in March of 2002, I again thought to myself, I know I made the right decision. Perhaps I AM better off alone, and I knew I was. It was the only way for me to protect my heart and my feelings and not allow them to be broken or distorted again. I got really good at just moving on in life and only relying on myself and being ok being alone.  In some ways I am really proud of that independence, but in other ways, it made me so jaded and lovesick for years that it’s hard to see how it did me any good.

Years would go by and I would move to southern California and I would forget all about this song. I would get so wrapped up in the idea of living in Hollywood and pursuing my dream that I wouldn’t have time to question it, reflect on it, or even think about the fact that maybe I was wrong. Was I better off alone?  I didn’t really care at that point because I was surrounded by other people doing the same thing.

It’s such an empowering and extremely lonely thought at the same time. Am I better off alone? I don’t know. The parameters of deciding whether or not I was have changed so many times in my life. Now it had been 7 years since I heard that song and one drunken night in the summer of 2008 I started listening to electronic music again and thinking back to those times almost a decade ago.  I needed a reason for every action, a cause to fight for, and I questioned everything in life as I  wondered, Am I?

Now it’s 2017, and life has reached it’s point on the circle where it becomes full like the moon. Here I am again  in the living room of  my apartment in North Seattle, questioning the answers and provoking my thoughts yet again.

Am I better off alone?

That’s the question right? For years it has been Yes, then No, then Yes again,  but I can assure you that I have felt nothing but the epitome of aloneness these last few months and it fucking sucks. I’m tired of being alone.  I’m tired of being so far away from my friends and my family. Sure, it’s been wonderful to have experienced all the things in life I have had the chance to experience, but for the first time in 17 years I’m thinking that no, I am NOT better off alone. I want someone to share these experiences with. I desire the familiarity of a place I know like the back of my hand and as much as I love the Pacific Northwest…it ain’t gonna happen here. I’m not better off this way, and finally I know now that it’s time to come home.

I will always love this song, no matter what remix I hear. I will always remember how instrumental the lyrics are for me even though they haven’t changed.  They remind where I’ve been, and where I came from. They remind me to always take stock in the fact that even though I’m independent, I still have the desire and the need to have people around me to love and keep me inspired.

This song gave me the mindset and the strength it took to leave New Jersey in 2000, and the wisdom and knowledge to know that it’s time to return in 2017. I can’t think of a better example of  life coming full circle than that.

Do you think you’re better off alone?

Not anymore.


Signum remix:

original mix

dash berlin remix

heavy trance remix




I Always Get What I Want

They say:

You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you get what you need.

I’m not a huge Rolling Stones fan, however even though I understand that philosophy, I politely disagree. In some ways, I always get what I want, and I don’t think there is anything wrong with that.

We have this suspended belief in life that it is somehow a selfish act to want something, then go out and get it. Personally I don’t see how this is a bad thing at all, unless you are royally fucking someone over in the process of getting it,  and I don’t mean like making plans and then breaking them to do something else, I mean it’s a bad thing if you pull a 2008 housing market crash to get what you want. Wanting more money isn’t inherently a bad thing, but if the act of getting it hurts someone else in the long run, to me that is inexcusable. It’s not money that is the root of all evil, it’s greed.

I consider myself a honorable friend and a good person. In no way will I deliberately fuck over someone for personal gain. How do I know this? Because I’ve done it in the past and I didn’t like myself afterwards and I promised myself I’d never do it again. I was a shitty person for awhile when I was younger and even though I tried to cover it up or make excuses for those selfish actions, the truth always comes out in the end. Sometimes in an inconvenient way.

I’ve had rifts with my lifelong friends that I never want to go through again, and each day since, I try my hardest to avoid those perils in my life.

I’m honest, but I’m not transparent. I’m supportive, but I’ll always speak my mind if I disagree, and even though part of my job is to bullshit with people, I’m not a liar and I’ll always say what I mean because the world needs to hear it.

I’d like to think I’m a good judge of character, but my experiences this last year living in Seattle has left me with the notion that when it comes to matters of the heart, sometimes I let shitty people into my life, but not anymore. I want people who are honest and who are trustworthy and who understand that it’s not always important to be right, as it is to be fair. And like I said before, I always get what I want.

I have always lived my life for me, and in some ways I have always gotten what I wanted, although it never happen exactly the way I planned, or it’s never precisely what I expected. I think that’s alright as long as I realize that my wants must be genuine, and my actions to get them must be honest and commendable. If that’s the case, then I don’t see anything wrong with the idea of putting yourself first to get anything in life, especially if it helps someone else.

Maybe the Rolling Stones were on to something with that song, but I feel like the lyrics need to be tweaked just a bit to fit into my personal experiences. Perhaps it’s like this….

“You can’t always get what you want, but you will always get what you deserve.”

As someone who has proof of that concept, I like those lyrics a lot better.

Sometimes, Rabbits are Jerks

Recently I was in Hollywood to decompress, visit friends and help one of them move, and to figure out the answer to the question..”What do I want to do with the rest of my life?” While I was in L.A. part of my job was to watch Tasha’s bunny Rocco for a few days while she was moving stuff out of one apartment, and into another. I had a great time hanging with Rocco, playing with him, and feeding him his daily cheez-it treat, but I found out something new about this bunny that I never saw first hand. Sometimes, he can be a real jerk.

Rocco and I got along famously when Tasha and I lived together and shared an apartment a few years ago. he and I bonded, took selfies, and played and watched TV. He would occasionally get into little amounts of trouble by chomping on the walls and trying to eat power cords, but that’s expected with a bunny.  However I never expected the acting out in a blatant spiteful way like he did my last morning in Hollywood.

Tuesday night I brought a pretty bird back to my hotel I had met that weekend. Keep in mind I mean the slang word for “girl” and not an ACTUAL bird. Ok, now that we got that out of the way, I introduced her to Rocco and he liked her immediately. Rocco is a flirt, and loves attention regardless of if it’s male or female, so when she and I were making out on one of the queen sized beds in my room at the Hollywood Super 8, Rocco would jump to see what was going on and to try and “get pets” from us by forcing his little head under one of our hands. It was cute, and it was kind of funny, so I played along for awhile. Then I noticed something. He was getting a little bit….jealous.

When we went back to making out and stopped paying attention to him, he decided to jump on the pillow and started scratching and ripping it up as both our heads were using it. I shooed him away and he ran to the chair where I had my leather bag and jacket. I look up a few seconds later and he’s trying to eat my Kenneth Cole messenger bag so I scold him like any animal guardian would, and make him get off the chair and back on the floor where he belongs. He proceeds to jump up on the other bed in the room, and starts nibbling on and ripping up the cover sheet, like a jerk. Like a way of saying, “Fuck you Christian, I’m gonna do what I wanna do.” A bunny after my own heart.

I don’t care at this point about the $5 hotel sheet this rabbit is ruining, so I go back to my grabbing and pawing, and Rocco goes back to the destruction of property.

At around 5am I wake up to the very loud sound of Rocco eating a road atlas from 2012. He is tearing out the pages reminiscent of that scene from Dead Poets Society when Robin Williams tells his students to rip out the first 15 pages of their textbook. Rocco is TRYING REAL HARD to get me to notice him, obviously.  I get out of bed and walk over ready to question his motives, but what catches my eye is not the damage he had done to the bed sheet, it was the 23 little perfectly rounded poops that he left at the scene of the crime.

First of all, he knows better because he’s litter box trained. I’ve seen a few turds here and there over the years, but this was an epic shit fall that I know was pre meditated. Rocco was clearly not happy that I had a girl over, but why would he act so sweet in one moment, and then so ridiculously like an asshole the rest of the night?

I know animals can be jerks, I mean just look at chiuauauas and other little dogs like that. Most of the time they are just yipping little dickhead rat dogs with Napoleon complexes. But Rocco and I shared time. He’s my boy, my pal, my bunny confidant. Why was he being such a dick?

When Tasha picked me and Rocco up, I had to tell her what happened. She has always told me Rocco can have an attitude sometimes, but I had never seen it first hand. It made sense that he wanted attention, but did he have to try and cock block me too?

“He was mad at you because he knew the girl wasn’t his Mom.” Tasha said.

Now it all started to make sense. When Rocco, Tasha and I lived together years ago, he never really saw me or Tasha with other males or females. He certainly never saw us making out because we had evolved to being best friends, but we also never brought over a significant other out of respect. Plus it would probably be weird to say to a date “and here’s my bedroom where I sleep 3 feet and one queen sized bed away from my ex girlfriend. Wanna make out?”

Rocco was pissed at me because he probably thought I was doing something bad like cheating on Tasha, hypothetically. If I’m a rabbit and I see my “father figure” touching on a girl who isn’t my mother figure, I’d be pissed too, especially if I had never seen two people hook up before. He acted out and ripped up that bed as a way of protesting the fact that he wanted more attention and he probably thought I was doing something wrong, which clearly, I was not. This was just a case of misunderstanding, and a funny way to find out that Rocco can really be a jerk sometimes.

Dear Rocco,
If you’re reading this blog, I sincerely apologize I didn’t pay you enough attention that night. I know you’ve never caught feelings for a girl and maybe as a bunny you have a lot of pent up sexual tension. So destroy whatever sheet, bag or book you want next time, but please don’t shit on the bed in a motel like a a vagrant. Have some class. Remember that Tasha and I had a chance to neuter you, but decided against it. You’re welcome


I Just Don’t Care Anymore

I don’t feel like doing anything for the rest of the year. In fact, I don’t feel like caring about doing anything for the rest of the year either which relieves me of any guilt, and therein lies my self fulfilling prophecy.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not sad, I’m not depressed, and I’m certainly not feeling like the world is coming to an end, although if you look at my Facebook feed, you would probably think otherwise about the latter statement. Simply put, I just don’t care about the stupid shit that I used to care so much about. You know, girls, Hollywood, politics, the state of the world, etc etc., and I have to say, it’s truly been a relief not caring about that shit. It’s actually quite liberating.

For years I hustled and I cared about looking younger, attracting the right girl, being in the best shape as possible, being successful which equated to having a lot of money, having a major artistic goal to achieve and doing things in an effort to gain an advantage over someone or something for a job. In the end, it really didn’t get me anywhere other than a few thousand dollars in profit, 20K in debt, some amazing life experiences and stories I’ll tell til the day I die, but overall I feel pretty much frustrated and worn out.  I guess you could say I was hustled by the hustle.

Fast forward to now…

I moved up here 9 months ago to find out who I am, what I’m supposed to do, and to find a better quality of life for myself.  I think I gained the knowledge to know who I am and I’m definitely living a better quality of life, but the “What I’m supposed to do” aspect still lingers.

But who really cares? I would imagine I am the ONLY one who would be the most invested in figuring out that part of my life, but for some reason, it doesn’t bother me not having a plan for the future. I mean, the future for me is as simple as what am I going to make for dinner tonight, and do I have enough wine to compliment that dinner.

I may not be living the life I had planned out so many years ago, but recently something dawned on me. What if in a past life I was incredibly successful, but totally miserable at the same time? What if I had all this money and power, but felt utterly alone every night I came home to my empty house? What if after I died, when God asked if I wanted to be reincarnated I said “Yeah, but I can be a hot bartender with tattoos who doesn’t look his age, with a talent for writing who lives in Seattle in his early forties?

HAD THAT BEEN THE CASE, I am living my reincarnated life right now and I’m ok with it. Right now, I choose not to care about my status anymore. Truthfully,  if I take a look around myself now at what I have and where I am going, I’m actually quite happier.  I think my previous life on this planet would be proud of me.

I’m proud of me. I went though some shit last year and then some life changing shit in the last 9 months and maybe I just need some time to let all the shit sink in. Maybe I need to step back and observe everything instead of trying to grab life by the pussy. (Sorry, I had to)

Ultimately, it’s my life, and there’s no one telling me what to do. Has there ever? As long as I have a job, I pay my bills on time, and I’m generally nice to people, I think I’ll be ok.

So as I hunker down for my first Pacific Northwest winter in 15 years, I’ve decided to not care as much and indulge in who I am and do things a little differently. If I’m feeling guilty about eating that third slice of pizza, I’ll probably eat that fourth one now. If I worked out on Monday and Tuesday, I may just take off the next three days because I feel like I earned it, and I do own a lot of sweatshirts. And if I wanna just lay on my couch and watch 11 hours of football on Sunday, the only thing that will make me feel guilty about that are the thirty minutes of the game that I missed because I was taking a nap.

Life is quite comfortable, and for now that’s how I like it. I’m vegging. I’m not in the mood to go out and change the world, and I’m not in any rush to get to a certain point in my life where I can feel like I “accomplished” anything cause I’m already there. My only main goals are to gain a little weight during the holiday season, make some money, and catch up on some sleep. So far, I’m three for three today and it feels pretty fucking good. It feels good not to care.

Let’s Start With a Bang

Lately, I’ve been singing to myself…
I  d o n’t  w a n n a   be here no  more.”

October is over, a month that made me wax and wain with a purpose. A purpose I’m still trying to figure out as there is a goofy sideshow election going on that perfectly represents what this country, like myself have become. Divided.

I’m divided in half like a bi-polar nightmare and I don’t know if I keep challenging myself to see how far I can go, or if I keep making the same mistakes because I know it’s a challenge I can win. I started with a bang seven months ago and blew up my world by moving to a city I haven’t lived in since fucking George W. Bush stole the election in 2000.

I got a job that pays me well, and pays me benefits. I found a great apartment, some cool friends and a pretty girl and I loved that I loved everything in my life until it all stopped reciprocating that love to me right before the short lived summer of Seattle, 2016.

It makes me wonder… was it really love at all?

Maybe it was infatuation that changed my world and turned me upside down. Maybe it was the start of something new, and the journey to get to the destination that once I got to, I subtly started questioning if I really wanted to be there. It was obvious by my actions, so naturally those actions have caused me to question the reaction I’ve been having to my troubled, self inflicted life. Maybe I don’t know what I want, and maybe that’s ok.

What if instead of living a bi-polar life, I am living a world of multiplicity as I’m pushed and pulled into half a dozen different scenarios in my mind. Jesus Christ was NOT perfect, and neither am I, but I don’t think it’s wrong to be a saint and sinner simultaneously, just like him.

I came back to the west coast last week with the option to leave early, but since those first  72 hours have past me by, I’m starting to think that maybe I need to slow my roll and give it a chance. Maybe I need to stop trying to blow up my life and start trying to piece it together through finding out what I want, a little bit at a time through observation, and the patience to see it through to the end, or the beginning depending on how I look at it.

After all, I spent 13 years in that God awful place they call L.A. and I didn’t sell my soul for anything less than a million dollars of my own self worth that comes in the form of credit card which I don’t really care about anymore. It’s not real, it doesn’t really matter, and really the only thing that I can do is take a deep breath, maybe get a little artificial sunlight and go out there and live my life and discover what it is that comes next. I got to admit, It’s kind of exciting that I can still be this much of a free spirit in the summertime of my life.

For awhile I’ve been singing to myself
I  d o n’t  w a n n a   be  h e re  no  more”

…but I’ve been flowing like a samurai and stinging like a butterfly. Now I don’t feel the need to blow up my life again, but I do love the excitement, so for better or worse, let’s start with a bang.