...could have been a lot worse.
I have to be fair.
This was just one month out of a year that started out looking like it was going to be amazing, and I really don't want to let the awfulness of February just shit all over things this early on like I usually do. I'm getting tired of that shit...and apparently so are a few of my "readers."
So rather than complain about being single on Valentine's Day for the fourth time in a row, instead I'll just bitch about how I woke up on the morning of February 14th to take a piss, and became dehydrated from it instantly. I eventually got so dizzy that I just ran back into the bathroom and puked my guts out. For the rest of the day I rolled around in my bed suffering from a fever and an eye-melting headache. After a few more days of this, the congestion and coughing started. The rest, of course, is history...
It was a pretty low point for me after that...because I pretty much lost the will to do anything. I don't even really know why. I think I just became disappointed...in everything -- especially myself. What do you do when you're disappointed in the world, everything around you, and the person you see when you look in the mirror? You start watching The Office.
So I just stalled...for like a whole week. And in my current situation that's really bad. I have too many financial obligations to be sitting around playing solitaire and watching shit on my Netflix account (which is apparently something I'm prone to doing because I am half white...a fact I learned from stuffwhitepeoplelike.com -- a website which, although funny at times, has declared open season on culturally self-deprecating humor toward white people and given yet another free pass for every single non-Caucasian race in existence to openly make unfair, racist generalizations without having to worry about it pissing anyone off...so if it's not part of the solution, might as well be part of the problem, right? And then the Mexican half of me just laughed and laughed...).
Anyway...on a much more positive note, when I was through being physically miserable, my best friend and I drove out to Chain Reaction to see the legendary Madball holdin' it down. It was the closest I've ever been to New York City while still being in Southern California. I'm not sure what was more hard style -- seeing Madball open with Set it Off, or seeing blood smeared all over the floor.
I somehow managed to drag myself through another week of listlessness when I was suddenly invited to the last Internal Affairs show, a show which I declined from attending at the last minute because I had become so depressed and miserable that I decided I was not mentally healthy enough to go anywhere and actually have fun. It's like the movie Big Daddy...when a five year old welfare situation shows up at your doorstep and starts throwing up on the floor, if your natural reaction is to just cover it all up with newspapers, then it means your entire life is just too fucked up for words...and I guess I had reached a point where I was just trying to throw newspapers on top of a debt of $63,000.
So finally, I answered back to this sudden dry spell of emotional death and drove all the way down to Carlsbad to see my best friend. This visit may have been what I needed all along. We started the night by playing rock band and finishing half a bottle of Single Barrel Jack while chasing it with Cranberry Juice. I honestly...don't really feel like explaining why we did this. A couple more shots of Whiskey and we found ourselves walking around downtown Carlsbad...where we stuffed ourselves with carnitas at Senor Grubby's, and eventually wandered into an Irish pub.
The true insanity began after we stopped at the Jack in the Box on the way home and ate outside in front of it at 12:00am. Later on we crawled under the 5 freeway overpass and then just said "fuck it," and climbed onto the actual retaining structure next to it and sat on the railing ten feet away from cars that were passing by at 70mph.
The next day I woke up with a rotten hangover and tried to kill it with a bowl of spicy Albondigas soup. Hooooly fuck. I basically just passed out after we ate, and when I came to, my best friend asked me if I wanted to play Joust on the PS3. Not remembering the classic 80s arcade game at all, I had no idea what we were in for.
Unfortunately, my best friend lives in an apartment complex full of geriatrics and people who are apparently mentally challenged. So, after a good fifteen minutes of intense gameplay the cops showed up and had to ask us to keep it down...and if we were "actually playing Joust," because they couldn't seem to believe it.
My visit to Carlsbad came to an end on the worst possible note. My best friend and I both agreed to try out 6 grain rolled oats together and see if we could make it through a heart healthy serving. For some reason, we left this as the last activity we would do before he had to go to work. Let me just say, that although it is the healthiest possible thing a person can eat, it can only be described as a revolting mass of slimy, non-uniform plant matter...with sunflower seeds in it. Every single bite was like hell on Earth...which is why we eventually started calling them horror oats. I will never eat them again, but I will give mad props to the man who can do it every single day.
Eventually my family picked up on the fact that I was floundering in a pool of my own piss and vomit, and so they started panicking...which was great, because I never really panic about anything, and it was about time someone else started doing it...
I really just need to square my ass away and start shitting Tiffany cuff links...you know...sort my fucking life out, mate...I am on the edge of slipping into that metaphorical "world of shit" that R. Lee Emery is not about to put up with...the only thing I'd be good for right now is getting a group of British people through a zombie apocalypse by dragging them to the Winchester pub...
Speaking of zombies...
After eating the worst tasting shit in the universe, I drove back to my wonderful, safe, racially segregated neighborhood and contemplated some serious shit. The next day my best friend and I drove to a house party in Fullerton...which was nice because I got to see my old neighborhood (the one where people steal your face plates, not your mail). We laughed, we mingled, we sat on the jaded side of the room and looked awkward. Eventually a ginger walked into the room with some dude and she sat on the couch next to my best friend. Somehow she became the first person I really talked to at this party, and she introduced me to the awesomeness of Left 4 Dead. She was surprisingly nice to me, until her boyfriend took her away...they might have actually been the first people to leave the party that night.
I still think Valentine's Day should be moved to February 29th...
