what a week

Every time my old college buddy, Santana, comes to town...we GO TO TOWN. He was in this time for business, testing a machine that measures corrective lens or some shit. we had been bar-hopping the previous four nights and the following morning i was an exhausted mess of stink on the verge of vomiting, cursing the day i met him from my toilet seat, choking on the nastiest beer shit i had had in some months. my whole body was beaten up from late nights and carrying heavy loads as a banquet server...over...and over...and over. it gets ridiculous at times and one can see madness in this system we call 'society'. we fucked it all up and everyone seems to know it, but no one wants to stop, or start over, or make things right--maybe it's too late for that--so we submissively continue under the demoralizing conditions of indentured servitude, waiting for our day, but it never comes. And it never gets better. you're always on the bottom, treading, fighting just to keep from going under and any visible light on the top is a dream being dangled above you, just out of your reach--never obtainable--and that's how they like it. keep you believing that happiness is just around the corner--you just have to 'work harder.' work for happiness. pay to live...hmm. i think my rib is cracked.

we woke up around eleven this morning and decided we'd hit up the Flash for some nourishment, and to hopefully get this lousy feeling in my stomach to desist. cold, bone-chilling blasts of November wind were attacking the shoreline, so there weren't many people out, and i liked that for a change. quiet. still. nice. we ducked into the Flash and it was a Sunday, which is the day that all the assholes put on their football jerseys and get tanked and then have a "who's the loudest asshole" contest. Santana ordered a mimosa, and myself a bloody mary that i could only finish half of (that's the best half anyhow) before i moved on to a beer. Feeling full after downing the drinks and five appetizers, we never got around to ordering lunch and decided to sneak off and see what some of our other alcoholic buddies were up to. we were somehow able to avoid Izzy (the hardest bartender in southern California to say no to), in part (i think) because it looked like management was cracking down after he gave the bar away to us last Sunday. This time, we were grateful for the reform.

we jetted over to Polumbo's (the award-winning cigarette smoking alcoholic who will either die at 38 because of his habitual choices, or live to 120 because he's such an asshole that even Death would procrastinate it's duties so as not to deal with the mother fucker), but he and the others weren't there. the tv was left on and a cheesy-ass, 'scary' movie was playing about a baby-sitter being stalked by some pervert who breathes heavily into the phone, and she's too damned dumb to do anything but make bad suspense with the help of a bad director and a bad orchestra. we sat and watched for a few minutes to see if the baby-sitter was at least going to get naked, but when that never happened we phoned Polumbo. he was at Open Bar, a place next to where we had just been, and after working my ass off to get Santana's stoned ass off the couch we went there and a good deal of heavy drinking pursued shortly thereafter.

the place was loud and messy, the music from the jukebox was terrible, but the pitchers flowed nicely and seeing as how i only payed for one but drank much more, made it a damned good day. After three or four pitchers we were able to convince Santana to miss his flight again and instead leave the next morning. some time after that i lost sight of him..."hopefully he ends up at Polumbo's," i muttered.

somewhere along the way i met Kirstin, and somewhere after that she fell in love with me and i with her...fucking booze. what to say about Kirstin...she sells 'legal' drugs to pharmaceutical companies or some boring shit, and after blowing a bunch of smoke up her nice, big ass she smiled and said, 'I like your eyes' ....'thanks,' i thought, 'your face ain't so great, but i like your rack.' it was tan, freckled, and amazing. i wanted to bury my face in that mess and just hide there, like an ostrich, and not ever come up until we found ourselves in a place that seemed a little better than the one we're living in now. i wanted to take her home and really see what that body could do, but she said it 'wouldn't be the best, tonight.' apparently, she had to stay at her friend's side and play 'wing girl' later on. maybe she wanted to seem respectable and sure, be a good friend, and that's to be appreciated a little i guess...what else can one really say. looking at it now i'm glad things happened that way because I was unaware that another girl I had recently been seeing was hanging out at my house with my roommates...it could've been awkward if I had walked in, drunk, with a girl on my arm.
When I saw her, she approached me with a warm hug and asked how my night went.

"fine" i replied, "can we grab some tacos?"

Later that night, once she had fallen asleep, i checked my phone for any word from kirsten, and a text message was waiting...

"im very happy i met u. I had a great time tonight."

'me too kid. me too,' i thought.

then i got up, drained a warm beer someone had left, sat down and took another good shit and sighed, what a week.