Wednesday June 29 2011

Getting out of bed at 1:28 p.m.

Breakfast: Cream of Wheat Cereal. Orange Mango Juice. Zinc.

Anthony is being a pest—sneaking into my room and stashing my cell phone somewhere—placing the weight scale on my chair.

As him and Kelley shower I pile up everything I can against the bathroom creating an obstacle when they open the door.

Lunch: Egg Salad Sandwich with Tomato. Kettle Cooked Potato Chips with Avocado.

I get the sudden urge to organize and decorate the house—all the while Lauren, our nanny, is doing her thing, vacuuming, cleaning, and picking up. Kevin’s here cooking his daily eggs and bacon—Maury on the television—You are not the father! You are the father!

It’s the queen’s birthday. Doing it up at Otani’s for the Hibachi grill. All of her friends from work are here celebrating. The chef lights up a volcano onion—chopping up shrimp and tossing it into our mouths. Sake bombs and warm Sake shots. Kiri Ichiban. Hibachi Chicken with Fried Rice and Mixed Vegetables. An Asian lady marches over with a gong and accidently identifies the birthday girl as Martha.

Moving the festivities to Harpoon Larry’s. Darren and Kevin show up and have a few drinks. Then across the street to CP Shuckers. Sitting on the bench outside with the guys—watching a serious game of Cornhole.

Moving along to that stretch of Atlantic Avenue referred to as The Block, where 20-somethings can have their fun at hopping from bar to bar. We follow the girls inside of Chemistry. Dancy pop music booming through the PA—watching amateur break-dancers on the slippery dance floor. At some point after the girls decide to switch bars to The Boxx, Darren and Kevin leave. I’m all alone in the hot sweaty crowd while Margot parades with her lady gang at the bar. I take off to wait it out until she’s done. As I’m walking down the strip I spot a familiar face, the face of a coward, that asshole who took advantage of my queen back in December. Part of me wanted to go right up to him and wallop him upside the face and maybe say a few nasty things. But instead, I just keep on. That’s over with.

Already feeling out of place and little weird to begin with. Now I’m being reminded of dark history. I don’t feel good. I express this to Margot as we’re driving home. She keeps asking me if I’m mad or upset.

Me: “I’m not mad. I just feel weird. I don’t feel good.”

I tell her who I saw which wasn’t a good idea because when I go to open the passenger door she starts her “I want to go home” speech and claims I’ve ruined her birthday for bringing that up. Oh man, here we go. I’m not even sure I feel like describing what happened next[[[[[[[[[[Let’s just say it was the destructive abusive angry violent ferocious scene where the couple fights and things just get worse. Even Darren and Kevin have a hand at trying to lighten up the situation—playing their video games and being their cheerful selves.

In episodes like these she brings out the worst in me—I get angry because she won’t give me control—she won’t let me take care of her—one thing sets her off and the night is over.

“Why can’t you let people take care of you?! You think you’re so above everybody!”

I hide her keys to protect her from driving drunk and upset. She won’t give in. She refuses to stay here with me. She sounds like a broken record

“Give me my keys! I want to go home! I hate you!”

HATE HATE HATE HTAEATE HTEAHTEHA. My goodness.

“You are a wreck! Just lay down and breath, please.”

I’m tired of yelling and hearing her yell. Eventually I give up. She gets her keys back and marches off out the door.

She didn’t leave. I can see her car still parked in the guest spot. I’m on the ground Indian style in the parking lot leaning up against someone’s white mustang—clove in hand—phone ready to be answered because I know she’s going to call. And there it is—phone lighting up. I answer. I’m relaxed now—we’re talking like nothing happened. Inhale the Black. Exhale the white. She pretends that she’s on the road driving home or somewhere when all along her direction is aimed back to my house. I watch her pull up.

Me: “I see you.”

Her: “That’s not me.”

Me: “[snickering] You’re a liar.”

Still on the phone as she walks towards me on the sidewalk…

Me: “[:)] You came back.”

I know her too well. She can’t just leave me. Even now though, she finds a way to blame me for letting her. OMG. I tried to keep you here and you wouldn’t shut up about going home.

If something doesn’t change I foresee this progressing into a disaster for the both of us. Not that I didn’t see this before. I have a really hard time giving her up because I love…I love…I just love her. What can I do? What do I do? What do I have the strength to do? I’m not strong enough to let her go. Are we doing either one of us justice by staying with each other? I wish I didn’t love her so much. I wish she didn’t love me so much. There’s not much we can do about that. I think choosing to not love is harder than choosing to love.

She lies there almost naked underneath the sheets—a little bit of makeup smudge on her face. I stroke my hand over her head and kiss her brown shoulder….I didn’t even get the chance to give you your birthday present.

Sleep 5 a.m.

Tuesday June 28 2011

DREAM: Rummaging through a dump yard right off the interstate. Finding discarded pictures, vintage 80’s style—maybe from a hair salon—mangled up—edges bent in. I’m trying to collect them to bring home. I hear a familiar phone ring from just up the hill where it’s understood China Wok is at. In waking life at work it’s automatic for me to answer it. Here I feel the need to run and pick it up until I remember it’s my day off. So I continue gathering the finds.

Leaving Margot’s house sometime after 9 a.m. Her and I are headed to Williamsburg. On the way there I purchase the fun card tickets from a lady I found on Craigslist. Good deal.

Breakfast: Lemon Poppy Seed Muffin. Orange Pineapple Juice.

Me: “Are you gonna like me today?”

Her: “I’ll try.”

[kiss]

Her: “Are you gonna like me?”

Me: “I’m gonna love you today!”

Hello Busch Gardens Williamsburg. It’s only been a few years or so since I last traversed your mock European continent. The polka accordion soundtrack following me everywhere I go—up and down the hilly coarse rock pavement—passing vending stations with overly priced refreshments and food—the families—the kids—the heat—the excitement.

“This place is much smaller than I remember. I guess everything seems bigger when you’re a kid.”

The Loch Ness Monster is our first ride choice, a classic rollercoaster that I’m sure would be a disgrace to the park if it were ever torn down. The Big Bad Wolf and Drachen Fire leaving was a bad enough loss.

We venture through the zoo part of England…

A few workers are handling a huge Burmese python. We’re allowed to touch. Putting my hands on his thick round body—a long yellow and white pipeline. I can feel the constant movement. It’s amazing how his whole body seems to be moving all at the same time.

We’re allowed into the bird aviary—feeding the pretty rainbow lorikeets with a tiny cup of $5 nectar. They’re beautifully colored. I spot two actually mating on a rope. One of them hangs out on my shoulder, nibbling my blue sunglasses and picking at my ear.

Me: “Those birds remind me of you.”

Passing by the bald eagles with their permanently furrowed brows resembling old wise men in a constant state of contemplation. All these birds were taken from the wild because they can’t fly anymore.

Passing by the white wolves. Staring at one of them lounging by a manmade brook. Feeling unimportant to him. I’m just another observer on another day in his life. Does he care about being watched all the time? Maybe we’re being watched, too.

Dianne, a hawk perched in a closet size cage, I read has lived here at the park for more than 10 years.

Me: “Man that sucks. It’s just depressing. If I was a bird and I couldn’t fulfill my life’s purpose (i.e. flying), then I wouldn’t even want to live.”

I was smart enough to pack a lunch for us. So we trek back to the car enjoying Egg Salad Sandwiches, mine with Tomato. Some Watermelon. Kettle Cooked Potato Chips with Avocado. Honest Ade Orange Mango Mangosteen Juice.

After a while the rain starts to heavily pour down. We take shelter underneath a show house in Italy. It eventually stops.

We run into a situation at Apollo’s Chariot. The lady at the front of the line refuses to let us though with my green backpack because they have a policy of no loose articles allowed in the station. Of course we’re forced to pay a dollar for a locker nearby or stash it somewhere safe. We almost had this issue at Alpengeist. But this is ridiculous. I’ve never experienced this before. Usually you could just leave your belongings in a cubbyhole before you got on the rollercoaster. The whole idea of a theme park isn’t just make-believe thrills. It’s a money scam, obviously. They know you’ll be stuck here in the park without food and liquid. And they know you’re gonna complain in your head about that $6 water bottle but fork out the dough anyway because it’s convenient and you’re thirsty. And now this? Punishing the people who want to bring their own nourishment or have their own stuff? You’ve lost me. But like any establishment that’s bonkers, you find a way around the system because you’re smarter than they are.

Margot gets soaked on the Pompeii ride. She’s legitimately pissed because she gets drenched after the boat drops from these water blasters mounted along the fence. These kids thought it was funny. Her dress and hair are soaked. It’s the end of the world. She thinks she looks ugly and feels like a dog.

“C’mon baby, its just water. You’ll dry in an hour or so. You’re pretty already. It’s not a big deal.” But no. It’s a big deal. Enough to where she gets teary eyed and ends up buying a new dress from one of the shops.

We find out later that the water blasters even cost money to use them. I think it’s kind of funny that someone went out of their way to pay for Margot’s misfortune.

I’d like to say that we had sex on the sky lift ride. But I couldn’t convince her to be a little adventurous. Plus, the trip was shorter than I thought.

Getting dinner at the Trapper’s Smokehouse in France: BBQ Ribs, Beef Brisket, and Chicken. Green Beans. Mac n Cheese. Waffle Fries. Lemonade.

When it feels like we’ve run out of things to do here, we leave.

“There’s just nothing else I want to do that we haven’t already done.”

She takes the wheel while I nap for a little bit.

Stopping by her mom’s place where so many cats live. Their dog, Zooey, is spastic, running around with two tennis balls in her mouth begging for me to throw them.

It’s not often I get to see Margot and her mom interact. Her mother has the same body structure. She gets a lot this beauty from her momma.

Back at her place in Bay Colony. She’s got P.S. I Love You [2007] on the TV.

Enjoying a cold Sam Adams.

When the movies over I turn off all the lights except for the washer and dryer room with the door cracked.

Smiling, “I’m just setting the moooood.”

Making sweet love—seems like forever since we’ve had sex but it was really just last week—I finish earlier than I wanted but she doesn’t mind.

Back home.

Sipping on Hot Red & White Tea and eating Blueberry Streusel Bread.

Talking on the phone with a friend—The stories of our lives coexist in strange reoccurring experiences. Learning from each other’s individual insight. It’s amazing the cages we keep ourselves locked into, and for fear that we may lose those precious cages.

I’m really tired…

Sleep 4 a.m.

Monday June 27 2011

DREAM: Taking bread ties and hanging up this blanket structure from the ceiling. People are watching as if I’m about to perform or present something. The laptop is open. I’m typing. Someone objects that I may be scheming a plan to terrorize the world. This is absurd! I retort back, “How can I possibly be sitting here coming up with a diabolical plan like that?” Pointing at the crowd, “I have an audience!” My point being that I wouldn’t be so stupid as to allow anyone to know about it if I was doing such a thing.

Waking up at 11:11 a.m.

Orange Juice. Zinc. Vanilla Yogurt.

All day shift at China Wok.

Snapping the ends off the snow peas—prepping bags, putting the paper bags into the plastic bags.

It’s a slow afternoon.

Egg Sandwich with Tomato and Mayonnaise. Cape Cod Kettle Cooked Potato Chips with Avocado. Honey Green Tea.

Only in Virginia Beach do we have sunny days and rainy days all at once.

Art’s here delivering with me for the dinner rush. I make fun of him for his lack of knowledge of big English words (at least for him) like “overwhelming” and “disdain”.

Standing there configuring the route for a bunch of orders. Out of nowhere these arms reach across the counter and shake me. It’s Richard Misfeldt. He surprised me. “Richard! You scared the shit out of me.”

Delivering an order by Lynnhaven Mall. This lady’s a regular and she has a billion cats and other animals but she’s not an old lady, probably in her mid 30’s. This time when I come to the door I hear a dog yapping. She comes outside.

Her: “She’ll bite you.”

Me: “Really?”

Her: “Yeah she doesn’t like men.”

Watermelon.

After Art leaves, Virginia Beach’s appetite for Chinese food continues, as well as mine.

Vegetable Lo Mein.

Organizing—cleaning out my car. Prepping lunch and snacks for tomorrow when I go to Busch Gardens with my baby.

Earlier, our new maid/nanny, Lauren, sent me a beautiful image of a spotless kitchen. She’s doing a wonderful job.

A bowl of Frosted Shredded Wheat Cereal.

At the queen’s house. She’s engrossed in this reality show for songwriters.

As we discuss tomorrow’s agenda she starts to get irritated because it’s supposed to rain and I don’t have a/c in my car and we can’t find out how much parking costs.

Smiling as I say it, “Why are you so irritable?”

“Because I just am!”

“But I want to know why.”

“Because I’m a woman!” Immediately she switches the subject to a greater concern, “I’m hungry.” But she says it in an adorable kid voice complete with an animated frown on her face. She puts the couch pillow between her legs and drops into my arms. I love her. It feels like I haven’t seen her in a while. I mean, I haven’t. It’s been a few days. It’s weird and good at the same time. I like the space between visits. It helps us appreciate each other’s company more. It gives us breathing room. All those bitter moments forgotten about for the time being—being given a chance to replace with tender loving moments.

All comfy in Margot’s bed—she’s sound asleep, cause she can do that sort of thing in 15 seconds flat where it takes me at least 15 minutes.

Anthony sends me an email:

Subject: excerpts from anthonys blog. Monday June 27th

...I feel really good about Lauren. She is definitely going to help us get back some of the communal feeling that I thought was slipping away. She is like the syrup on the stack of pancakes that is our family....
...Also, great news, Josh is not moving...
...With this cast of characters, I feel overwhelmingly positive about this summer and all that it has to offer.
Sleep at 3:15 A.M.

Anthony takes on an interesting role in our group of friends. I’m the father that keeps the order and promotes responsibility. As much as he’s, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the facilitator of fun and liveliness, he’s also the watchman who looks out for cracks in the social system. We’re not just roommates here at 1435, Chantytown, Chanticleer, whatever you want to call it. We’re family. And we treat it as such.

Sleep 3:45 a.m.

Sunday June 26 2011

DREAM: Sleeping on a bed with Gillian. I wake up to use the restroom but I’m in a mall and the trek is inconveniently long. It’s understood in my mind she got up to leave because she was upset about something or maybe uncomfortable. I look down the corridor and there she is—she sees me and turns to walk away. I’m too far at this point and there’s too many people getting in the way for me to catch up. Attempting to follow her I step through a doorway and all of a sudden I’m in Japan. It’s like a gateway or a teleporter. There’s no way I’m going to find her here. I write a letter or note to send, like a telegram. We’ll see what good that does…

Did you feel that fire?

You need a healthy distraction, not sex.

The human connection with all its complexities and ecstasies are practically irresistible.

Learn about the power of being alone. It will save you from many hardships.

You’ve got a good thinking cap on your head about these kinds of things.

Pure touch.

Curiosity in a new feeling.

In the morning.

Bad timing...

Getting ready for work just after my alarm goes off for the second time. 11:46 a.m.

Breakfast: Hot Brown Rice Green Tea. Egg and Cheese Burrito from Sonic.

In between deliveries I have to snap off the ends of the snow peas for Ling—a tedious task but it becomes kind of hypnotizing and it’s easy to get into a flow.

Lunch: Peanut Butter Sandwich. Honest Ade Orange Mango Mangosteen Juice.

Watermelon.

The day goes on and on. The tips are good. Better than yesterday. The poor people order on Saturday and the rich people order on Sunday. This is the pattern I’ve noticed.

I pull up to the restaurant to find Raven and Amanda taking photos in the back of her truck. They were bored. They ride with me for the last three deliveries.

Delivering an order on Scott Lane—a cute old couple—they’re regulars. This will take some time. Because here’s how it goes: I knock. I watch the old man in slow motion—he inches his way to the door. He asks me to set the food down in the kitchen. He takes his time pulling out a chair. Then he sits down. Then he has to turn the lamp on. Then put his glasses on. Now we’re ready to make a transaction. I hand him the ticket. He analyzes it, confused on where the total is. “It’s $21.61.” He pulls the wallet out of his left pocket and counts the bills. I can hear his wife’s oxygen machine buzzing—the clock ticking. Then he pulls the change out of his right pocket and counts the coins. Glancing over some family photos on the wall. He’s ready to make his payment. I collect the money on the table and thank him and tell them to enjoy their meal. One day that will be me.

Back home—walking around in the night. Pacing back and forth by the dumpster in our cul-de-sac—staying in the shadows of the trees. Talking on the phone—talking to myself—analyzing my relationship with the queen—the ups and downs—the ugliness and the beauty. Oh how hard we both worked to be with each other. Why did I fight so hard to get her back when she rejected me? Was it love? Was it dependency? Was it ego? I’d like to think it was love and that’s certainly what I believed it to be in those moments. And I know it was. But are we functional together? Do we match? Am I the only one that knows how to take care of her? God, I hate asking these questions. It’s depressing. She’s all I’ve known for so long. She’s my lovah baby.

An interesting thing happens after I send Margot this text: “i love you so much.”

She replies: “I love you too baby”

But immediately after receiving hers my mom sends me her own text: “Missin u love u”

My mother and I share a bond that allows us to feel things and sense things at the same time no matter how far the distance.

Dinner: Campbell’s Chunky Canned Soup. Naan Bread.

Listening to music—something I haven’t done in a while.

Milk.

Sleep 3:30 a.m.

Saturday June 25 2011

Waking up just after 11:11 a.m.



Breakfast: Egg and Cheese Burrito from Sonic. Orange Mango Juice.



Delivering an order way out near on the corner of General Booth and Oceana, next to the Commissary. I pull up to the house. The guy is standing there engrossed in a phone conversation. No words are exchanged as I hand him the bag of food and he signs the bottom of the credit receipt nonchalantly. No tip. He didn't even bother recognizing my presence nor did he feel the need to... "Thanks for nothing dude!" I yell out the windows as I drive away. But he didn’t hear me.



Delivering another 5-mile order—another non-tipper. It's just another SHIT TIP DAY here at China Wok.



The combination of not being rewarded for work and dealing with the relentless traffic annoyances puts me in a defeated state of mind. I start dwelling on my feelings of insecurity from last night—thinking about Margot—the future—is this going to work—I love her so much—there's nobody else she will meet in her life that will appreciate her beauty as much as I do—I fucking adore her—every part—her perfect small hands, her slick arching hourglass back, those luscious Indian lips…Mmmm.

I said once, "I think I need more pain." But I don't need any more pain. I am not prepared for another Dark Age. I don't deserve it. Nobody does. Or do they? Do I? Does she? Oh Lord, I’m talking as if something’s happened and nothing has happened. I guess I’m just reminding myself that I’m still vulnerable.

I can't stand feeling like a victim. Nobody does. We all would rather be the perpetrator, the one in control. We all work so hard to be in control. But there’s something alluring about surrender. Not being in control and putting all your faith in a power greater than yourself, a power you can trust. I remember learning that once, well actually many times, growing up in church. That’s what I need more of. Surrender.



Lunch: Cape Cod Kettle Cooked Potato Chips with Avocado. Vanilla Yogurt. Vitamin Water.


A mother and her child are waiting for their food. The little boy fiddles through his mom’s wallet and takes out some dollar bills. “MAKE MONEY!” he blurts out. “No. Mommy’s money. That’s not how you make money.”



Delivering an order on Great Neck Circle. As I’m leaving the lady kindly tells me, “Thank you for dinner!”
“Oh no problem!”
“…and breakfast actually!”



The evening is steady business for me.

I’m able to get off early in order to make the show tonight.



I pick up Anthony from the house—he helps me load up the gear and onwards to Norfolk.

A lot of friends and familiar faces here at The Taphouse. I play a small set of acoustic songs—some Weezer and Pixies covers—then full band Musicplayer—Cj’s first time performing with us on the bass. Something went foul on my end during the second song—guitar string out of tune and distortion out of whack—I lost my focus. But we redeem ourselves on the last two songs. And it feels great.

In the poolroom chatting with Emily. A lady approaches to compliment me on Musicplayer’s set. She had wonderful constructive things to say, one of them being that she almost cried.
“Thank you.”

Out on the front porch with Ian, Alex, and Gordon.
Alex: “That’s the human experience for you…”
Becca affixed the left side of Gordon’s hair into spikes leaving the ride side normal.

Walking down the street with Gordon and Anthony with pizza on our mind.
Gordon: “There’s something about this time of night that screams pizza.”
Eating a few slices of Chanello’s.

Leaving Norfolk. We stop at that shady Shell gas station where they close off the inside and you’re forced to use the front window. Anthony buys me a Dr Pepper. I gulp enough to satisfy me and get down the pizza I had earlier. I offer him the rest. He pesters me to drink more…
Me: “No man! I only like four or five swallows. I can’t handle any more.”
Anthony: “That’s what she said.”



Back home. It’s been a long day. Darren’s uploading his thoughts and concerns into my brain over an incident involving his sister that will have to go unmentioned. I always take on the role of a mediator and try to uncover the facts, stay neutral and logical, but understanding.

His sister, Gillian, ends up in my room letting out all kinds of stories and over-analyzing thoughts, her relationship with her brother and all the downfalls she observes in him. I love to see a sibling connection in action. There’s something beautiful about a sister and a brother. She focuses on her recent break-up with someone she’s loved for over two years. At moments tears well up in her eyes—insecurity—a kind I can relate to in some way. I feel like a therapist listening to her and asking questions to better understand. Sometimes people just need a listening ear. I show her how to do automatic writing where one writes nonstop for a certain amount of time—a lot of things can surface from the subconscious but it’s a therapeutic activity to release built up thoughts and emotions. She’s impressed with the outcome. I try to stress the importance of having an outlet to release all this inner anxiety. Either way there’s a unique friendship being birthed here.

I give her that amazing autobiographical graphic novel, Blankets by Craig Thompson—to read and help her fall asleep.



Sleep 5:45 a.m.

Friday June 24 2011

DREAM: Arriving back home from somewhere. It’s late at night. Lauren Lowery is already living here. I find her sleeping at by the edge of the front door of Carmen and Josh’s room. Her glasses are off making her appear to be somebody entirely different than I remembered. Anthony inquires about her. It’s understood that she works at a thrift store. “Yeah, dude. She even works at a thrift store! Just like you.”



Getting out of bed after my alarm goes off for the second time. 11:11 a.m.



Breakfast: Blueberry Streusel Toast with Butter. Orange Mango Juice. Zinc.



All day shift at China Wok.



Delivering an order at the Shell station off VB Blvd. I decide to venture into the JCOC thrift store nearby. It turns out they're closing for business pretty soon. Everything is 60% off. I stumble upon the ultimate boom box stereo/radio and a box of 30 cassette tapes on how to learn Mandarin Chinese: Speak & Read Essential Mandarin Chinese I. Perfect. Now while I drive around delivering Chinese food I can learn how to speak Chinese too. And hopefully understand my boss's conversations. There's no doubt they talk about me.



Kroger. I have an employee slice open a watermelon of my choosing to make sure it's a good one before I buy it. Ooo man. This one's perfect. Big. A deep pink red color. I tried Ling's advice on selecting the sweetest watermelon by picking one that's irregular in shape and not a perfect circle. He was right.

Stop at the house to cut it up. Darren and Kevin are conducting their usual scene of acting like an old married couple—arguing over which grocery store is the best, Food Lion or Farm Fresh?



Quick stop at Anthony's thrift store to tell him about my finds and about the JCOC closing down. Of course he already knows about it. I should've predicted that because all thrift stores are a part of their own interconnected entity. And he's a veteran member.

Anthony: “Hey Robert! Guess how many cute girls are in there right now?”
Me: "Uh, one."
Anthony: "One."



A lady that ordered earlier comes back in the restaurant complaining that her rib tips were unsatisfactory. She's not used to Cecily's temperament or her "whueva's" and straight face responses. It only eggs the unhappy customer on. I try to intervene by just listening and apologizing for the inconvenience. She leaves with her $5 returned to her. Interestingly enough she calls back shortly after to apologize for coming across as mean. I think she realized she might have overreacted.

It's amazing what more can be accomplished by just listening and treating people with respect. They solve their own problems and come to their own conclusions.



Lunch: Cape Cod Kettle Cooked Potato Chips with Avocado. Honest Ade Orange Mango Mangosteen. Blueberry Yogurt.



Delivering an order on Bob Lane. The customer’s stereo is cranked up for that infamous Sublime song. A guy meets me on the front porch. I look over at the door and there are four dogs peeking their snouts out through a tear in the screen—a perfect picture moment if I only I could’ve captured it right at that moment.



White Chocolate Lemon Berry Granola Bites.



It’s a steady workday but nothing too overwhelming.



Meeting Chris and Justin at the storage unit so Chris can pack up his drums. I stay for a while practicing songs. I hear a burst of rain and thunder cracking through the sky above me while I dance around a reverb drenched melody on guitar.



Back home. Darren just finished baking these delicious Chicken Cordon Bleu fillets. I snag a few generous bites.
“I haven’t had a lot of protein today!”



Taking a walk in the nice fresh fallen rain air with Kevin, James, and Darren’s sister—smoking a clove and chit chatting about men’s bathroom etiquette.



The queen is making me uneasy for some reason. She’s been out and I just keep feeling these cold vibes from her. Eventually she’s here in my room. I feel like a scared insecure little boy—familiar emotions from The Dark Ages. But I’m overacting because I’m stressed from the long day I guess. Nothing’s wrong though.
“I’m more insecure than I think I am.”
She comforts me. I love on her. Everything…is…fine.



Milk.

Sleep 4:20 a.m.

Thursday June 23 2011

DREAM: Vision of an antique red convertible that’s abnormally wider than a regular compact car. It’s almost as if they built an extra half onto it. Camera view above the car as the wind blows across the rider’s faces. Margot’s in the half side by herself looking a little out of place. Josh and someone else are sitting in the backseat with smiles on their faces having the time of their life. It’s a road trip and it’s understood to be an escape from responsibility.



Sometime after 1:30 p.m. Morning sex.

Me: “You’re sexy.”
Her: “You’re silly.”



Breakfast: Everything Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Mango Juice. Zinc.



I put up an ad to offer someone to stay at our house rent-free in exchange for cleaning services. Within the minute, people respond. I inform Kevin a girl will be coming by to check out the room cause she’ll be sleeping on Dustin’s top bunk. He immediately starts cleaning up his room to make a good impression for her.

Me: “Kevin! She’s going to do that for you.”



An old friend of mine from Belarus contacts me. Yana. I haven’t been in touch with her. It’s been maybe 3 or 4 summers ago since we met and developed a wonderful friendship. On the web cam—she’s wearing a komodo gown and making tea. She looks so happy and full of life. Catching up on each other’s lives…

Her: “I’ve seen your girlfriend online. She’s so unusual. And you look so different.............Are you happy?”

Me: “Yes. I’m happy.”

She tells me about a time when she made love to someone with my songs on in the background.

Me: “Really? I don’t believe that.”

Her: “I think if you can make love to a song then it’s a good song.”



Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea. Peach.
Watching Cop Land [1997].



Musicplayer rehearsal at the storage unit with Cj and Chris. Running through the songs with Cj—he gets more and more confident in the material every day. Feeling good about the show this Saturday.



Back at the house meeting with Lauren Lowery as she will be our house nanny starting this weekend. Sharing some watermelon and talking about second chance marriages.



Darren’s “trying to hang out.” He understands the concept of double thinking and how prevalent it is in out society.



This is probably one of the funniest sites I’ve seen all day: http://animalsbeingdicks.com/

Darren: “Do these animals even understand the complexity of their actions?”

Hanging out in Darren’s room with Kevin and Dustin, entertaining ourselves with this animal site.

Dinner: Tuna and Rice with Onions. Hearts of Palm in Fresh Garlic. Coke.

Getting a kick out of all these voicemails I saved from Kenneth. Oh and there are many. Sitting there on Darren’s futon playing them all simultaneously. “It’s a Kenneth flux capacitor!” That’s what we’re calling this stupid little recording we made.



Eating a small bowl of Frosted Shredded Wheat Cereal.

Anthony walks in with more things on his mind than I’ve ever seen. Ultimate decisions. Reflections on the lack of nurturing of this newly acquired family he’s been a part of here at the house. He’s a family man at heart. He believes strongly in community, a rare quality, and one that contradicts the American view of individualism. He’s conflicted. He’s frustrated with the ever-changing tide of relationships. I can relate.

Me: “I’m the conductor of this train and people come and go. Some stay longer than others. But I’m always here. I’m not a nomad. I like stability.”

Anthony: “Well I want to be an engineer on your train. Can I do that?”

Me: “Of course. I’m always in need of workers.”

Anthony: “Okay but I might take breaks and flirt with the passengers.”



Sleep 5 a.m.

Wednesday June 22 2011

DREAM: There’s five of us. We’re supposed to spend the night at this lady’s house but something bad happened and she had an emergency move out into a townhome that’s understood to be Chanticleer. I arrive alone. I open the front door. The lights are off. The lady is lounging in the living room alone. 4 cats and 3 dogs roaming around. Grappling a grey American shorthair cat in my hands. All the animal’s fur is freshly shampooed and clean. I saunter upstairs to find the room where we’ll be sleeping but every door I open there’s already a kid sleeping in a bed. In the bathroom a bunk bed is set up. I’m not sleeping in there. I refuse to breath in that dank air. Realizing we’ll have to sleep on the couches I gather blankets and pillows from the closet to bring downstairs. It’s understood there’s a lot of people in the house now for some kind of funeral reception for the death of an older couple. I set up the blankets on a couch of my choosing. I go get pillows and come back to find Anthony and Kelley having sex on my couch without any discretion whatsoever for the presence of all these people.

“Really? What the fuck is this shit? You guys are really having sex on my couch? I put these blankets here!”

I realize at this point the whole room got quiet and all eyes and ears are focused on me. I feel the need to retort to the crowd…

“Yes, I get angry sometimes and I like to use the F word and the S word and B word!” It’s almost as if I’m preaching or giving a speech, “There’s nothing wrong with being angry. We’re all human right? And all of us have emotions. I think the key is not letting it get out of control. Don’t let your anger get out of control. I’m not going to let someone taking my couch get the best of me…” I pause for a second thinking about the reason these people are here: a funeral reception. My lips and eyes start to feel heavy, like I’m about to cry and I barely make the words out, “I know you guys lost some very special people in your life.” My mouth frowns uncontrollably and I begin to whimper…“So have I!” The tears pour out. I take notice of the shocked faces of a few people nearby. I was referring to the time my sister died in waking life when I was younger.



Waking up just after 1:30 p.m.



Breakfast: Everything Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice.



Errands.

Finding a shaded spot in the Target parking lot. Trying to find a way to cut through the fence into Rachel’s neighborhood. She’s going through a mild turmoil of some kind. I figured I’d stop by for a visit.

There. Kino allows me to pet and embrace his whole body. Sex and the City on the TV. Her dad vents to me about fatherly things, “This is Facebook dad and real dad talking shit.” He’s kind of upset on how long it took Rachel to get a replacement phone after she dropped her other one in the toilet.
She feels overwhelmed with what I establish as “the strong preying on the weak.”
Me: “People take advantage of the weakness you portray. I think you’re stronger than you think you are.”

Getting some groceries.



Cutting up and enjoying watermelon in the kitchen. Some kids in the neighborhood come to our door trying to sell Anthony and Darren some really cool rocks, which they probably just found somewhere. Hustlers. I inspect. One of the kids has an arrowhead shaped rock claiming he made it himself. Anthony drops a bunch of quarters in their hands and we take our prizes.


Practicing songs on the guitar—in Dustin and Kevin’s bathroom. Playing music in the bathroom is one of my favorite places to play. The acoustics are perfect.



Lunch: Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea. Peach.



Doing a house show at Russell and Rusty’s place right off 21st street. The big light bulb in the yard induces a lot of picture taking. Playing an acoustic set of covers and Musicplayer originals—feeling confident in my voice despite the lack of practice. The house is intimate in space and design. A lot of friends mingling with one another. You Blew It, a rock band from Florida goes on next. Then, Adam of Invisible Hand does an interesting side project performance using a vintage synthesizer and a pedal board—pulsing zips and buzz sounds with charismatic melodic hollering into the microphone—it’s kind of hypnotizing. Off and on hanging out in Rusty’s room where it’s cool because of an a/c unit mounted on his window. Someone’s passing around a bowl—taking a few hits. I don’t ever smoke except on occasion when it’s offered but even then I usually refuse to waste time and effort into it. Either way, I feel loose and chill, lying there on Rusty’s bed—Jessa putting out tunes on her flip phone.

Outside I’m feeling the weight of the high, something I’ve rarely felt before. Erin walks around the block with me. I talk about how convinced I am that the two of us knew each other in a past life, more specifically in the medieval time era. “Yeah you know how some people just look familiar, like you’ve seen them or known them from another time, every time you look at them you get nostalgic…”

A group of people pile into Adam’s big orange van to head to 67th street for beach fun. Considering joining but I really want to see my baby.

Driving home from the show. I’m stopped at 24th and Birdneck. For about 5 seconds I completely lose sense of direction and have no idea which way to go. Oh man.



Back home, eating leftover Spicy Beans and Rice with a Carrot. Chit chatting with the dudes.

Margot shows up. We start talking about our day and I explain how I took a few hits for the first time a while. She is immediately disappointed in me and even covers her face with her hand as if ashamed. She’s really offended. She claims it’s dumb and people do idiotic things while on it. This sparks a long debate and argument over this and that. It’s an upsetting scene because it becomes too overwhelming for her to handle. Well, what about alcohol? You see the same effects when it’s abused. I don’t see any difference in the danger levels. If anything alcohol is even worse in those matters. This part she takes personally. She leaves. I call. She comes back. We bicker some more, and by that I mean trying to understand her logic and trying to explain mine. Questioning the relationship…. The problem is, I just talk too much about it and cover every aspect of the issue. It makes her feel bad and like she’s always the reason we have these episodes. This is really a shame because I love her so much and I know the desire to be with each other is strong. But I hate not getting along. I hate seeing her upset and unhappy. And she’s expressed her dislike in seeing me unhappy with her.

Eventually the coldness subsides. Cuddling and loving.

“I worked too hard to get you back. You can’t lose me that easy.”

She transports herself to dreamland within a minute while I sit and reflect on the day.



Eating a small cup of Frosted Shredded Wheat Cereal.



Sleep 5:45 a.m.

Tuesday June 21 2011

DREAM: I’m living in a house in a rural area where most of the homes have 5 acres of land to speak of and there’s plenty of space between the neighbors. Except, I have a neighbor who is excessively close. She’s an old lady. Kenneth is out back moving junk around. At some point, he loses his temper over something the lady does and begins to hoot and holler, running around like a maniac. Snickering, I creep back inside my house trying to stay away from the commotion.



Waking up somewhere between 1:30 and 2 p.m.



Cleaning up the kitchen. Anthony’s in the living room listening to Bob Dylan and announcing the lyrics to the song before they’re even sung as if he was just having a conversation with me.



Brunch: Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Chai Coffee.



Anthony says we can come by the thrift store and pick up anything we want after 5.

Darren: “We don’t hang out enough. I’m coming in your room at 5:15 and we’re going to the store. It’ll be a date.” He does this grunt/snicker thing that’s a trademark Darren laugh.



Business. Tweaking stuff on the HHO system in my car.



One of the maintenance guys drives by in his golf cart smoking a big stogie. He confirms with us that Chanticleer is haunted—apparently our court has the most history—describing some of the tenant’s stories where they heard doors opening and shutting repetitively and the sounds of people running up and down the stairs that weren’t there. Here’s one of those accounts: http://www.apartmentratings.com/rate/VA-Virginia-Beach-Chanticleer-Apartments-902707.html



With Darren riding in his Audi.

Dropping off cash at the bank.

As we walk into Target I inform Darren of how inevitable it is to spot cute girls in here, employees and customers alike. Chomping on a peach. Our quick paced conversation never stops as we browse through the food/produce sections. Picking up some OJ, tomato sauce, and a bunch of gallons of distilled water. On the way out…

Me: “You’re just a lot of talk…egotistical thinking…you think you can get whoever you want.”

Darren: “I can…”

Me: “Because you’re human just like everyone else. You have emotions…”

Darren: “No dude. I’m from the future. I’m a time traveler.”

Me: “What are you telling me humanity evolved into some primordial mass of non-emotion or non-existence?”

Darren: “Nah. The universe is just one big computer. This form of reality is like a hard drive—”

Me: “No. We are not a part of a computer. Time doesn’t have the risk of randomly stopping like a hard drive. It just keeps going.”

Of course none of these things we’re talking about is taken seriously—just opening our mouths and letting out a mush of words and ideas and nothingness.

Picking up some neat things from the thrift store.



Watermelon and a Peach.



Cj comes over and we crack down on Musicplayer songs. We spend about 3 hours straight. He’s on overload and feels overwhelmed. I know I would if I had to learn 6 new songs from scratch in only a week.



Carrot and Salt n Vinegar Chips.



Darren enters my room going on a rant about his knowledge of drugs and his philosophies on the absurdness of marijuana being illegal—how suppressing the people’s choice is directly associated with the increase in crime and creates a dangerous underground culture. It really boils down to the abuse of it, or anything for that matter. Too much of alcohol, drugs, food, television, etc. can have adverse effects. Moderation is key.

Art stops by after his bowling league game. Smoking cloves out on the back porch. He’s terribly scared of the water bugs crawling around us.



Dinner: Spicy Beer Glazed Black Beans with Rice and Onions.

Finishing Four Boxes [2009].



It’s Kevin, Darren, Anthony, Rusty, myself, and Skippy—we all hop into the big red truck and head to the courts off First Colonial and Mill Dam for some Night Ball—probably one of the most frustrating and stupid games I’ve ever played but a good time nonetheless. 3 on 3 with a glow in the dark basketball. Skippy hurts his knee twice—Darren and Kevin both sport green shirts resembling leprechauns—Rusty hops around with such vigor and uses tickling tactics to keep me in check. In the end our team wins and we all leave with sweat on our bodies and love in our hearts.



Noodling on the guitar.



Sleep 5:30 a.m.

Monday June 20 2011

DREAM: I'm confronted with an older guy in his 60's. I take notice to his car, which, according to him is a 1993 Toyota Camry Wagon, a rare model that looks distinctively different than my Camry Wagon, a model that in waking life I don't think exists, at least not the way this one looks. It's a sharp blue teal, an appealing color to me. I ask him how much it would cost to re-paint my car. He responds with some made up word, "chast". It's understood to mean a grand. He further explains that certain colors I will have to get permits for and may cost more. I was only inquiring but for some reason he thinks I want him to paint the car. It won't be done till the next day. While I'm waiting I play a video game on this phone I borrowed from somebody. It's a unique version of NBA Jam for Sega. It's on full screen mode in my mind—watching the two-dimensional basketball players move around with the ball on a street court scene rather than a gym. I guess street ball style too. There's only a few seconds left before the buzzer. I shoot from half court for the win. I think I miss the shot. My vision strays from the video game screen and to the people around me. Anthony and Kelley are sitting next to me. It's understood they had a son together, a little boy. He's acting whiney. Anthony gets impatient with the boy's peskiness and shouts something mean, showing his lack of control. The boy responds, "Will you at least get me a towel?" Anthony shuffles through some bags and pulls out a thick burgundy colored towel.

11:06 a.m. alarm goes off. Snooze. 11:11 a.m. I wake up. She’s lying there all cozy and sweet begging with her wagging arms for me to embrace her. I like her better in the morning.

Breakfast: Egg and Cheese Burrito from Sonic. Peach. Orange Juice. Zinc.

All day shift at China Wok.

Putting the bags together waiting for orders to come through—reading Adbusters.

Zana walks into the restaurant, my beautiful friend that I always see along the streets. Dirty blonde hair, cross around her neck, and a genuine smile across her face. I invite her to ride with me on a few deliveries. She describes that blessed day, not dreadful day, when she got into a car accident and was in a coma for a long time, which she takes a liking to calling it “the gorgeous slumber”.

“I asked our Lord for something big…to change me.”

She says she knew that same day that it would happen. Listening to her I don’t hear the British accent as much. Maybe it’s only an act for strangers although it is something “the Lord” told her to do. She has a beautiful soul and puts off such a sincere desire to connect with people on a compassionate level. There’s something different about her. Maybe she’s enlightened.

Taking a Chase Point order. We pull up just in time to see Rachel getting out of a car. Apparently, they know each other. As we drive away Zana says, “I love her. I really like her freckles. She’s cute.”

I get an order for Ohio Avenue near 1623 and near where Zana lives. So I drop her off. Before she exits we exchange a lovely hug. She surprises me with a kiss on the cheek. In no way did it feel romantic or awkward—something natural—a blessing kiss. I assume she does this to most everyone.

Lunch: Margot Spread Sandwich with Sweet Brown Rice Bread. Honey Green Tea. Salt n Vinegar Chips.

Delivering an order to the trailer park near the oceanfront. A husky black man answers the door with a confused look on his face.

Me: "Did you guys order?"

His face transforms into macho excitement, "Fuck yeah!"

The teenage son giggles.

Car Talk with Art. He's here helping us with the dinner rush, or lack thereof.

As I sit here chowing down on watermelon I recall one possible reason I love this particular fruit so much. When I was younger and I would tag along with my mom in the Michael's arts and crafts store, I remember finding those green floral foam blocks you use for artificial flowers. I loved pressing my fingers into them. The sponginess of it always fascinated me. Watermelon has that same texture and it's what I would imagine those green foam blocks should taste like.

An advertising company that wants to paint your home like a billboard and they'll pay your mortgage: http://www.adzookie.com/paintmyhouse.php

"If money is flowing to advertising instead of to musicians, journalists, and artists, then a society is more concerned with manipulation than truth or beauty." - Jaron Lanier

A very slow night for Chinese food.

Dinner: Spicy Salmon. Rice with Onions and Red Peppers. Broccoli.

At the storage unit rehearsing bass lines with Cj. It’s an admirable thing he’s doing trying to learn songs from scratch for the show this Saturday. It’s last minute. But we’re making pretty good progress.

Back home. Anthony and Skippy are persistently bothering Kevin while he’s sleeping—attempting to dip his hand in warm water—piling up as many junk as they can find to serve as a booby trap when he opens the door in the morning.

Eating a bowl of Frosted Shredded Wheat Cereal.

Watching Four Boxes [2009].

Sleep 5 a.m.

Sunday June 19 2011

DREAM: With Rusty Painter delivering an order of Chinese food to an older apartment house right near the boardwalk. We walk up an intricate design of stairs to reach the top level. The door opens. It’s one of Rusty’s friends whom I’ve met once before. He’s having some kind of birthday party. There’s a lot of other people here hanging out, a different circle of friends, mostly associated with the beach punk scene. The total for the order is $30.07. He gives us 30 dollars and we head back to the car. A little annoyed he didn’t tip. I recalculate the total and realize we overcharged him. We dart back upstairs and tell him it’s only $21.56. He insists we keep the change for a tip. We decide to hang out for a bit but I’m getting antsy because it’s understood I have more orders to deliver. Rusty’s about to leave with a few buddies to get some smoothies somewhere. “Hey Rusty! We have to go soon. Are you just gonna stay here and get a ride back? Cause I got to keep going.” They leave. I wander off downstairs to the lower level. The hallways are freshly painted in sea green with street art and graffiti and cartoonish characters. Out back I discover a small back alley putt putt course. It’s rundown and not in use anymore but all of it’s still painted over in that sea green. This place seems nostalgic for me, like I’ve been here before in my younger years of dream life. I slide down a slope where the golf ball is supposed to fall down being careful to not hurt myself. I analyze the putting holes and water pipes and nooks and crannies. It’s all very distinct looking. I notice a breakfast stand open for business on the boardwalk nearby. They have mini coffee cake pies and strawberry cobblers and peach cobblers and candy and drinks. Waiting my turn—there’s other people in line. One of them mentions that it’s 9 in the morning, which doesn’t seem right to me because when I was upstairs in the apartment it was understood to be late at night.

11:40 a.m. waking up.

Breakfast: Brown Rice Bread with Margot Spread. Peaches. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Full day shift at China Wok.

These two guys waltz into the restaurant. One of them is real jolly and making jokes with my boss.

He sees me and says, “If I had the money I’d buy you a Volkswagen van.”

I respond, “Are you saying that because of the tie dye shirt I’m wearing?”

Jolly Guy: “It’s okay I used to be a hippie!”

Me: “I’m not a hippie.”

Jolly Guy: “Oh no you’re definitely not one—”

Noticing his unbuttoned Polo shirt, “But I used to wear Polo shirts like you.”

Lunch: Hard Boiled Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise, Mustard and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Vitamin Water.

Work continues—steady—steady.

Delivering an order way out on Birdneck and General Booth in the military housing. Driving through the neighborhood at about the speed of a walking pedestrian because if I don’t the curbs they call speed bumps might destroy my car. There’s a few middle school kids playing in the park nearby. They stare. One of the girls hollers at me, “Hey!”

Me: “Hey!”

Girl: “I love you!” [configures her hands into a heart shape]

I mean, what am I supposed to say to that? I have no choice but to return the gesture, “I love you too!”

Girl #2: “Creeper!”

Eating a Swiss Milk Chocolate Bar with Hazelnuts.

Delivering an order off West Lane except it’s down through one of the courts that I never see. The house next door stands out like a sore thumb from the all the other duplexes. Two stories high with a triangle attic level—made of dark wood. It has two ominous stone gargoyles guarding the driveway. There’s just something mysterious about it. It’s the kind of house if you were a kid you’d make up scary stories to associate it with. That’s the kind of house I want to live in.

Dinner: Vegetable Lo Mein.

Workday is done.

Everyone’s in the living room. Entertained by Cops on the TV. It’s funny how easy it is for people to immediately deny responsibility for anything once a figure of authority shows up.

Stretching and doing crunches.

Chores—laundry—doing dishes—making tea.

Eating a bowl of Frosted Shredded Wheat Cereal.

My baby shows up after getting off work and having a few drinks.

Lately I’ve felt overwhelmed with the lack of time to myself. Before, I didn’t work so many hours and my schedule was freer to work on music and be creative. I’ve found it difficult with this new 40-hour work life. I hope to find a balance soon.

She’s lying there on the bed—all of a sudden the hate meter moves up like 10 notches. But it has nothing to do with me. Maybe it’s the four drinks she had earlier tonight but there’s no reasoning with her whatsoever. It’s all emotion and anger and nonsense. Feelings have their merit but they can be overwhelming. She’s stressing me out. I just want to love everyone. She wants me to be on her side. Of course I’m on your side, baby. I love you. Sometimes I disagree with you but I’m still on your side. She claims I’m a pushover just because I don’t have a war-like mindset. I’m not a pushover! I just want to love everyone. Gawd. She plays the age-old womanly game of running away or leaving on her own accord then expecting me to run after her and if I don’t, then “You don’t give a shit about me.” This goes on for the course of an hour or so…

I walk over to put the tea in the fridge then rub my hands all across her back and shoulders. I whisper over her sweet distressed little head, “Relax…”

No more words. They’ve become useless. They were since the beginning. She just settles into bed and that’s it. I snuggle with her a little bit before she falls asleep.

Sleep 4:30 a.m.

Saturday June 18 2011

Waking up past my alarm, 11:25 a.m. Late for work.

Breakfast: Two Peaches. Blueberry Yogurt. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

For some reason people don’t like to tip during the day. Shit Tips like whoa.

Lunch: Hard Boiled Egg. Cape Cod Kettle Cooked Potato Chips with Avocado. Vitamin Water.

One of my favorite perks about this job is the customer’s dogs. Every single one of them is immediately at the door ready to meet and greet with me. Pitbulls. Bengals. Dachshund. Hounds. Terriers. Collies. The collies are the best—I just want to rub and sink my hands into their big pillow-like fur.

I spot Zana, the British-speaking friend I met a month or two ago. I always see her walking on the sidewalk of First Colonial or VB Blvd with a big sunshiny smile on her face.

Delivering an order at the Sundial Hotel. The guy starts signing the credit receipt and mentions how he’s not good at math. Another dude standing there in the doorway asks me, “We’re be’in a pain in your ass arn’ we?”

I don’t really understand what he said so I respond with, “Yep!”

Being a little facetious he says, “Oh! He just said we’re be’in a pain in hiz ass!”

Oops. It was a joke though. Maybe the comedic icebreaker helped in getting a good tip.

Treating myself to an Oreo Blizzard.

After 5 o’clock the dinner rush barges in though the phones with a cluster of orders. It’s non-stop until 10 p.m.

I earned $111 in tips.

I walk into Darren’s room—he’s ranting on about drugs and how they’re almost never associated with serial killers. Anthony’s laid back on his bed reading a thrift store book on the first NBA Dream Team. He looks at me and asks, “What are you doing tonight?”

Me: “Margot wants to have sex and watch a movie.”

Chilling in their room for a little while—sharing watermelon and a Cream Ale—entertaining ourselves with overly viewed and overrated Youtube videos.

Heading over to the queen’s place.

Eating leftover Mongolian Style Beef Pasta with Mushrooms, Red Peppers, and String Beans with a Coke.

She puts on No Strings Attached [2011] with Natalie Portman and Ashton Kutcher. A romantic comedy chick flick at it’s finest—a lot of nonsensical and unrealistic situations all to make the viewer relate but still remember that it’s a movie.

Afterwards I decide to simply strip down completely naked except for my socks, which I rarely ever remove. “What are you doing?” “It’s hot in here.” I stand over her lying on the couch. My baby’s so adorable in her magenta colored dress. She acts fearful in a playful way, turning her head and making a shocking noise. “You’re naked!” “And you’re not.” It’s been a while since we’ve had sex. I love her on top. I love being behind her. I love this soft silky caramel body and those tiny fuzzy white hairs making her skin resemble the outside of a peach. I could take a bite into it and not even the sweetest peach could be sweeter. I finish. Still in position caressing her head and back I speak softly into her ear, “You’re so beautiful.”

Sleep 4 a.m.

Friday June 17 2011

Waking up at 11:05 a.m.

She’s making those cute bed noises in reaction to my leaving for work, “Mmm…no leaving.”

Breakfast: Plain Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Full day shift at China Wok.

It’s dreadfully slow.

Reading the new Adbuster’s issue—putting the paper bags in the plastic Have a Nice Day bags.

Delivering an order to Rockport in Latitudes next to Target. It’s Rachel and Kanzas and Kelley and Vincent and of course Kino!

Lunch: Hard Boiled Egg. Cape Cod Kettle Cooked Potato Chips with Avocado. Peach White Tea.

Quick stop at Trader Joe’s—picking up yogurts and a watermelon.

I pull up to the restaurant to find Emily spread out across the two front seats of her car, napping with the engine and A/C running to keep cool. I tap the window and impersonate a voice, “Mam! You can’t be parked here!”

Giving her the rest of Ambrotious’s stuff left at my house. Standing there shooting the shit about our lives and ideas. All problems and relationships exist only in your mind. They’re not tangible. You cannot touch them. YOU create them. Once you understand this concept, everybody’s behavior will make perfect sense. Conflict arises when your expectations of that person differ from reality. You expect that person to know your expectations and be the person you created them to be in your head. Watch out for this. Communication is the only solution.

Discovering the watermelon I bought is sour. Bummer. I thought I had the Picking the Best Watermelon Tactics down. I return it for another one only to discover another sour baddie. WTF. It’s slow right now anyway so I assure myself Kroger may have a better alternative. A dollar extra but bigger. Again. Sour. I give up. Ling smiles after seeing me slice it open in the kitchen. He offers me some of his. “This ones sweet and cold.”

Swiss Milk Chocolate with Hazelnuts.

4 non-tippers all day. Getting frustrated—yelling, “Bring on the SHIT TIPS! Stack’em to the heavens!”

The congestion on the road and the endless number of traffic obstacles is really getting to me. I have no patience for overly cautious idiotic driving. “You’re slowing me down! Get the fuck out of my way!” I can’t help feeling like this. I’ve become a bitter driver. Road Rage. I have an overwhelming compulsion to cut off one of these heartless egotistical drivers in their slick Dodge Chargers and shout, “I WILL FUCK YOU UP!” There’s an ironic aesthetic at play as I blare Rubenstein piano sonatas on the stereo. I was hoping the dramatic classical melodies would calm me down and remind me how much better I am than this nonsense on the streets of VB.

The dinner rush has begun. China Wok sent out a bunch of menus in the mail so we’re getting hit with a lot more orders than usual for dinnertime. It’s just Cessily and me. Time to kick it up a notch. Quickness. Every second counts. Run. Don’t walk to the door. I’m a one man delivering wrecking crew. “I’m on fire!” Hearing in my head the narrator from the NBA Jam Sega game announce, HE’S ON FIRE!

It barely rained for a few minutes. Despite, I notice a rainbow painted in the sky.

Delivering an order on Old Virginia Beach Road. After I make the transaction a dude asks, “Hey you wanna shot man?

Me: “I wish I could.”

Last order for the night in Thousand Oaks. The door next to me says, “999”. An inversion of “666”. Symbolizing justice and truth.

Anthony calls me while I’m on the way home…

Me: “I want to destroy…and create at the same time.”

Anthony: “Okay. I’ll be home soon.”

Enjoying a nice cold Summer Brew from Trader Joe’s.

Darren just moved into Anthony’s room. He’s showing me his computer set up to which he uses a big screen TV as a monitor.

Eating a Carrot with Ranch.

Darren and Anthony hop in my car and we grab a free pizza using one of the Papa John’s pizza cards Kevin gave us. Chicago Style. Having 3 or 4 slices. Jamming at the storage unit—I take the drums, Anthony on guitar, Darren on bass. Nothing really cohesive. The purpose is to release aggression through sound.

Back at the house. Darren and Kevin take it upon themselves to become the interior wall decorators of the house, hanging up signs and pictures. I lost my desire to corrupt the walls after the move.

Smoking a clove on the back porch with the guys—fascinated with the array of bugs surrounding our bug zapper. One in particular gets caught in a perpetual electrocution state.

Slurping down glasses of Milk with Mango.

Sleep 3:30 a.m.

Thursday June 16 2011

(this is what my mechanic drinks his coffee out of)

Getting up early at 9:30 a.m. Driving to my trusty mechanic off N Military Highway to have him look at a few things on my wagon. A/C isn’t working because of a corroding hose. No big deal—I rarely use the A/C.

Margot meets me back at the house. She also had to get up early to trek back from Richmond. We plop down in my bed and take a nap…

DREAM: Upstairs in my room of the townhome. It’s understood that I had a bunk bed and a bookshelf set up in the middle of the room. I removed it earlier to free up some space. It feels strange. “I have so much space and don’t know what to do with it.”

☼

Lying next to Margot analyzing a glass bottle of apple cider vinegar sitting atop a shelf. The label on it states it contains MCG, which is understood to be a natural chemical found in the vinegar. She questions it.

I tell her, “Yeah MCG is healthy for you. It detoxifies your body.”

She doesn’t seem convinced.

☼

Driving up the road in my station wagon. I stop because I’ve made a wrong turn I guess. In the passenger seat now and suddenly Anthony’s at the wheel turning around and going back the way we came. He flips on a radio station I already had dialed in—playing an 80’s hair metal jam.

I tell him to “Use that hair you got!” insinuating he should head bang to the music because of his long hair. Thinking more about what I just said, “That’s something my mom would say.” I laugh a little. In my mind I can hear my mom saying, Well that’s nice, in her adorable motherly voice with an emphasis on the “i” in nice.

We arrive back home and walk into the living room. Instead of the white walls that perimeter the house to the outside there’s these big folding plastic transparent doors. I run over and tap the lock with force and magically unlock the latch, then peek out to get a closer look at a car pulling up. It’s a sleek looking Chrysler wagon, a rare model that I’ve never seen before, very long and expansive. It’s been raining or it still is but only drizzling. Australian guys hop out of the car and start lugging in miscellaneous food, mainly half eaten pizza pies that still seem to still be hot. Inside the house I hear them talking, “Glad we got that before it went through the compactor.” Apparently they went dumpster diving somewhere.

“Where’d you get this stuff?” I ask.

One guy answers, “The F,” which is understood to be some kind of fast food place in Australia. He mentions something about how there’s no law against this here. I grab a piping hot slice of cheese pizza and take a big bite.

Waking up from our nap a little after 1 p.m.

She’s waiting for me to finish recounting my dream so we can leave,

Margot: “Longest dream ever!” “Did you have sex with me in your dream?”

We head to Panera for brunch. Eating a French Toast Bagel with Honey Walnut Cream Cheese, a Pumpkin Muffie, and Orange Juice.

I grab a copy of The Virginian Pilot. “Man, it’s been a while since I’ve looked at the newspaper. Ever since I quit that job I don’t read it anymore.”

Kroger.

Back home.

Anthony’s got the computer stereo cranked to 11 where you can barely hear anything. It just sounds like the speakers are broken.

Me: “What are you deaf?”

Kelley and Rachel are sprawled out on a blanket in the backyard wearing bathing suits.

Business.

Lunch: Tuna Salad Sandwich with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honest Ade Pomegranate Blueberry.

Watching Harry Brown [2009].

One hour shift at China Wok. 2 orders only while Art takes the bulk of the dinner rush. Sitting down with him while it’s slow. I mention how he’s a black market man. “Art you know a guy that knows a guy for anything.” It’s true.

I grab Anthony and we go to the courts across the street from Wawa. Schooling these kids in basketball. When I say kids, I mean kids, like middle school agers. It’s kind of an entertaining scenario. Remembering when I was that young and what it was like trying to impress everyone around you. There’s Billy (red shirt) the ball hog who takes too much pride in himself, isn’t willing to pass to his unskilled peers. There’s Josh (green shirt) who barely knows what’s going on. There’s Boy #3 (purple shirt) who is literally pulling out his cell phone constantly between plays. Then there’s Boy#4 (brown shirt) on the other side of the court playing by himself. Ball hog Billy doesn’t mind marching over there, stealing the boy’s ball and throwing it as far as he can across the yard. Boy#4 feels angry and helpless because of the unfair class system, which goes unsaid.

Watermelon.

Dinner: Mongolian Style Beef Pasta with Mushrooms, Red Peppers, and String Beans. Challah Bread with Butter.

Out on the back porch sharing Black Cloves with Darren, Kevin, and Richie. What else can we do but listen to Darren preach about his great plans to teach elementary school kids how to grow their own vegetables. I try to facilitate the conversation.

The queen shows up clad in short black shorts and a black Harpoon Larry’s tank top—she looks good.

I pick up an Erotica Anais Nin novel called Little Birds and read a random passage:

“Her body, freed from veils, shone with the whiteness of pearl. Maria closed her eyes as if she wanted to flee from the shame of her nakedness. On the smooth sheet, her graceful form intoxicated the eyes of the artist.”

Snuggling, tickling, kneading, touching, squeezing.

She has this unusual ability to fall asleep in 15 seconds whereas it takes me 15 minutes. Sleep tight, baby. Join you later.

Eating Strawberry Yogurt with Fresh Mango.

Research.

Sleep 3:20 a.m.