12:49
Seattle, WA
September 27th, 2013
I like seeing my friends getting successful. Albeit bittersweet, it's a nice thing to witness. I like seeing hard work getting people I know into better stages in life. I like it when they share their happiness with other people, rather than dump on the ones that helped them get to a better place.
I experienced a strange deja vu moment tonight, while I was at a Pop Punk show. I realized that I was in almost the exact same spot that I was in tonight, only 12 years ago. The names were almost the exact same. The places were almost the exact same. The backstory, while being morphed in a way, almost the exact same. In certain ways, it makes me happy. In others, it makes me sad.
I fucked up. Fucked up pretty bad. It's really nothing to dwell on, but I fucked up. I've been pretty good at fucking up for a good while now. I think it was a good fucking up on my part, helping me to realize my problems, addictions, and faults, and to help me find a way to become a better person. Sometimes, it takes 34 years to realize that although you may have made decisions to make your life better, they may not always be the best ones. Sometimes those decisions do more than just hurt you, but the people around you, as well. I believe addicts refer to this as a "moment of clarity". I sat in a living room for almost a month and a half dealing with my fuck up. My phone never rang, besides a few dear friends. Just me and my thoughts. It's brought me to this path that I'm on now. I'm not on some walkabout "Kane in Kung Fu" type of path, but one to make myself, and the people around me, better people. This sounds a lot like some Hippie Dippie bullshit, but I see it working.
My libido has been off for years. As much as I can blame previous relationships for the lack of interest, I think my wallowing in self-pity really caused it. I think my constant blaming of everyone else, and not myself, has caused it. In times where I should have dusted myself off, and continued my life, I just raised a finger at anyone else involved. That is something that needs to change.
I've spent a lot of my life hearing the word "no". My whole family has dealt with that for years. I think it's time for a change. I think it would be nice to hear a "yes".
I think I listen to too much Pop Punk.
Is there such a thing?
Sorry for the mental vomit. I just felt that it should be shared.
Stay healthy, players.
Friday, September 27, 2013
Friday, January 20, 2012
This One Should Get My Ass Kicked.
It amazes me how the male brain works.
Let me rephrase. It's amazing how the male brain reacts when there are boobs involved. That's better.
Boobs can convince you that the sky is green, the sea is orange, and that Diet Dr. Pepper tastes just like regular Dr. Pepper. It's that simple. Being from this ridiculous race of big, dumb animals, I know this act far too well. I see it in myself, and I see it in the male friends surrounding me. I've heard all shades of stories that would shock you, nothing short of "I didn't mean to sleep with you brother...he tricked me". No, this has never happened (I think), but you get what I'm saying.
As I have mentioned before, my inner concept of the "old fashioned relationship" is dead, due to the rises in technology over the last 15 years, but, shockingly enough, boobs and booty can still make a man act like Corky from "Life Goes On" in a heartbeat.
Case and point:
I went to eat with a couple the other day, and as we were having a pleasant conversation about everything under the sun, the mood switched to being about how the male in the relationship denied the female sex, due to the fact that he was tired. As the conversation continued, I noticed she was wearing a lower cut shirt, and the more she talked about the mornings non-activities, the more the man wanted to grab those sweater puppies more than ANYTHING ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH. I'm sure she used that to her advantage, and I would hope so...idiot. Not trying to start a fight, kids.
I've led my life in a multiple directions, and a lot of them have led me into situations where said items have turned me into an utter assclown. Some more terrible than others, and some that I regret more than anything. I wander into those situations, wondering where Emmett Brown, and his goddamned Flux Capacitor, are. A lot of those moments get picked up by sad bastards that have to hear some lopsided story about what a real prick I am, and how I made them miserable, blah blah blah. If any of you readers out there know ANYTHING about me, my "love" life is something very dear to me. I'm still that old fashioned kid that my parents raised to be respectable. For fuck's sake, I still say "nice to meet you" to complete dickheads!!!
I put myself in a very delicate situation years ago that haunts me in a horrific way still to this day. A situation where I tried to do the right thing. A situation that NEEDED the right thing, but that right thing was never going to happen. Not on my end, mind you.
A couple weeks ago, a friend had a party that I really wanted to go to, but after hearing the aftermath, I'm glad I worked. Apparently, a remnant of a shitty situation was there, spewing from their neck, expressing how they couldn't wait to "break that fat fuck's jaw" (the fat fuck in question being yours truly). Obviously, there are 2 sides to every story, but from what I understand about said person, I couldn't point them out in an Affliction shirt wearing line up, and they can't read. Fortunately for me, I had a grip of friends standing up for me in the party, whether it shut them up, or not. All was based on a lopsided story by a busty dame that I did wrong, and the only reason, I presume, that it was brought up, was a) to get some much needed attention that wasn't handed to them by a parent, and that can only be received by being a complete bag of shit in front of an audience, or b) the thoughts, hopes, and prayers that they would grab a boob by the time they hit the sack. Either way, they looked like a jerk, and to be honest, I feel genuinely bad for them. Sooner or later, shit's gonna crash down. Maybe not. Maybe the sky will actually turn green.
Either way, fedoras are for lesbians.
Let me rephrase. It's amazing how the male brain reacts when there are boobs involved. That's better.
Boobs can convince you that the sky is green, the sea is orange, and that Diet Dr. Pepper tastes just like regular Dr. Pepper. It's that simple. Being from this ridiculous race of big, dumb animals, I know this act far too well. I see it in myself, and I see it in the male friends surrounding me. I've heard all shades of stories that would shock you, nothing short of "I didn't mean to sleep with you brother...he tricked me". No, this has never happened (I think), but you get what I'm saying.
As I have mentioned before, my inner concept of the "old fashioned relationship" is dead, due to the rises in technology over the last 15 years, but, shockingly enough, boobs and booty can still make a man act like Corky from "Life Goes On" in a heartbeat.
Case and point:
I went to eat with a couple the other day, and as we were having a pleasant conversation about everything under the sun, the mood switched to being about how the male in the relationship denied the female sex, due to the fact that he was tired. As the conversation continued, I noticed she was wearing a lower cut shirt, and the more she talked about the mornings non-activities, the more the man wanted to grab those sweater puppies more than ANYTHING ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH. I'm sure she used that to her advantage, and I would hope so...idiot. Not trying to start a fight, kids.
I've led my life in a multiple directions, and a lot of them have led me into situations where said items have turned me into an utter assclown. Some more terrible than others, and some that I regret more than anything. I wander into those situations, wondering where Emmett Brown, and his goddamned Flux Capacitor, are. A lot of those moments get picked up by sad bastards that have to hear some lopsided story about what a real prick I am, and how I made them miserable, blah blah blah. If any of you readers out there know ANYTHING about me, my "love" life is something very dear to me. I'm still that old fashioned kid that my parents raised to be respectable. For fuck's sake, I still say "nice to meet you" to complete dickheads!!!
I put myself in a very delicate situation years ago that haunts me in a horrific way still to this day. A situation where I tried to do the right thing. A situation that NEEDED the right thing, but that right thing was never going to happen. Not on my end, mind you.
A couple weeks ago, a friend had a party that I really wanted to go to, but after hearing the aftermath, I'm glad I worked. Apparently, a remnant of a shitty situation was there, spewing from their neck, expressing how they couldn't wait to "break that fat fuck's jaw" (the fat fuck in question being yours truly). Obviously, there are 2 sides to every story, but from what I understand about said person, I couldn't point them out in an Affliction shirt wearing line up, and they can't read. Fortunately for me, I had a grip of friends standing up for me in the party, whether it shut them up, or not. All was based on a lopsided story by a busty dame that I did wrong, and the only reason, I presume, that it was brought up, was a) to get some much needed attention that wasn't handed to them by a parent, and that can only be received by being a complete bag of shit in front of an audience, or b) the thoughts, hopes, and prayers that they would grab a boob by the time they hit the sack. Either way, they looked like a jerk, and to be honest, I feel genuinely bad for them. Sooner or later, shit's gonna crash down. Maybe not. Maybe the sky will actually turn green.
Either way, fedoras are for lesbians.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
You Don't Want A Boyfriend, You Just Want Mr. Spock.
Sorry for the months of no posts. I've made quite a few, but some cut a little too close for comfort, and there are some personal aspects that I don't seem necessary to share with you guys. It's not that I don't love you, troops, I just have some ish that you don't need to know.
Nutshell of my life for the past few months: I found a new job at an old place that I had helped open, kind of rad. I moved out of the boondocks, and closer to the city (which I love the place. It's so ghetto, that if I want to feel better about my life, I just open the blinds. For example, there's a couple next door that have a 20 year old daughter with a 1 year old son. The mother neglects the boy, and I wake up to her parents calling for the lad by his nickname, "Boo-Boo! Boo-Boo! Where are you? Boo-Boo!", but it's with a very dear friend of mine, and we both keep a good house, so not all is bad.). Sad note: my son moved away. His mother moved to Hawaii, and, much to my disapproval, placed him with her parents. I haven't seen him in a couple of months, and I miss him so much.
So, I guess this one's for you, Jones.
I turn 32 in a couple weeks. I never, in a million years, thought that this is where I would be. I know that everyone says that about their lives, good or bad, but it's the truth. I think of all the pipe dreams that I have had. I was supposed to be the big rock star. I was the one who was going to make it big off of a ska band, right? Good looking out, World. 2nd, getting a degree in music business because getting a job in an industry that will never go down, figuring records will just keep getting pressed, and people will keep buying into the multi-billion dollar music corporation forever, right? Ugh.
I can honestly say that even though there have been failures and heartbreaks, there have been plenty of smiles and good times. I went on tour with a ton of bands, I released some records, I've partied with my favorite people, and Milo, well, as much hell as I have been put through to have him in my life, he's still the coolest dude I've ever met. Sorry, Nagel.
I have enjoyed what I do for a living, figuring I've done it for quite a while, and as my father likes to tell me, "Someone is always thirsty, son." (He says this to me while sipping the finest Evan Williams Bourbon). It's small tidbits from the Doctor like these that keep me rolling through the everyday jime, called life. As I've said before, he's a self made man, and has been with the love of his life for 40 years, so if there's one person to look up to, it has to be someone like that. I'm not looking for a G.G. Allin type role model these days. Plus, it's one of the few things that I'm actually good at, this whole bartending thing.
I've realized, though, that I am the master of bad timing. I can tell you almost anything about popular music over the last 70 years, I can twist you up a fine cocktail, I can write a bubble gum pop song that would make Frankie Lymon blush, but timing, that's not my strong suit. For fuck's sake, I started a ska band after 1998.
I'm not out looking for a pity party, it's just a fact of life. As my mother says, "We Sampsons: if we didn't have bad luck, there would be no luck at all.".
It's a shitty way to look at life, and, yes, I am a pessimist, but, hey, it is what it is. Due to horrible timing, I've had 10 years in a band that I would never take back, a son that would never have been around, and some friends that I would have never been as close to, as I am now.
On that note, here's a funny tour story:
We were doing a west coast tour in April of 2007 that included shows in all up and down California, including a headlining slot at the world famous Whisky A Go-Go. Although it was a pay to play spot, headlining the place where Miles Davis, Otis Redding, Van Halen, Motley Crue, etc. played was quite thrilling. I actually teared up on stage during load in at that exact thought.
The show was packed, we played a killer set, and friends, old and new, showed up to watch the performance. At that time, we were touring for our final album "Last Stand", and after doing shows with the like of bigger bands, obtained quite a following. After the show, the only right thing to do, was to go get hammered at the Rainbow. That's what old music playing bastards still do, right?
Zac and I walked there with the mindset that we were now in the biggest band in the world, and were at that point, complete rockstars. There was a certain swagger that we had after that show that had never been in our step before. I was Freddie Mercury that night...minus the mustache, teeth, and love for the same sex.
We got to the Rainbow, and our friends were already there with drinks in hand, waiting to knock us out, whiskey after whiskey. It worked, to the point where I was unable to walk around my own feet, and rather, on my lips.
I noticed a blonde gentleman sitting at the bar, with blonde hair, singing along to the 1987 soundtrack that they constantly have on rotation on the entire Sunset Strip. I drunkenly squinted at him, when it hit me:
"Zac, is that Jani Lane?"
"From Warrant?"
"Yeah, from Warrant, dick. You know any other Jani Lanes out there?"
"Yeah, that's him."
"I'm going to beat the shit out of him. I fucking hated 'Cherry Pie'."
"You're going to kick the lead singer of Warrant's ass, just because of a song? That's not right."
After several minutes of coaxing me to stand down, I began to scan the outside bar, with the thought of whom to fight. This is ridiculous, figuring I really don't like to physically harm people, I would just rather them feel like complete dumb-dumbs. I then scoped a table full of guys, wearing pastel colored sweaters, with collared shirts popping out of them. Stupid. I scanned the table some more.
"Hey, Caz, is that James fucking Blunt?"
"Yup, that's him."
"Can I kick his ass?"
"He's all yours, pal."
I proceeded to his table, and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Excuse me? Yeah, excuse me?"
"Yes?"
"You're a faggot."
(turns away)
*taps shoulder*
"Excuse me! Hey, Blunt!"
"What?"
"Can I politely ask you to stop ruining the world with your shitty records? The Queen Mum hates your voice."
(Right before this tour, Mr. Blunt was awarded quite a few Grammies for his "You're Beautiful" record. Not that it makes it an amazing record, but why would my Podunk, Nowhere ass do anything to hurt homeboys feelings?)
He then turns to me, with his lower lip out, and leaves the outside bar with his gaggle of Easter colored friends. Now, if you have ever been to the Rainbow on a Friday night, getting a table outside is a bitch and a half, so I guess I have good timing on certain occasions...wink.
Everything that happened after that was X-rated, and would be completely horrifying to my mother, and any other faint of heart person, so we'll leave it at that.
Until next time, poonhounds.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
I'm Not Coming Home Tonight, I'd Rather Sleep On The Street...
Life is a real curveball throwing bastard, you know?
One minute, you're ok, health is good, job is good, your relationship with baby momma is good, everything is solid. Next second, it gets thrown in your face, like some sick joke. It's a total "dollar bill on the fishing line" sort of game...and it happens over, and over.
I'm not getting emo on this one, but sometimes I think that karma is a real bitch, but it goes both ways.
I'm known about town as the local asshole. I don't find that necessarily true, as I am just brutally honest with people. If I don't like your shoes, I'll laugh, tell you why they're horrid, and that's it. I'm not one to sugar coat the shit out of anything. I think it's a trait given to me by my father.
Here's a story for you:
Years ago, I met a guy that was, what seemed to be, one of the boys. He "fit the part", so to speak. Was into punk rock and ska bands, boozing, womanizing, you know, the life. I hung out with this guy constantly. Everyday was another beer, another album, another day. All was lollipops and pony rides.
I don't know when it started going downhill. He would always preach about (insert pivotal punk band here), yet not know shit about the genre at all. Not that it's a bad thing, but it just seems that when you proclaim that things are "punk rock", you would assume that they would have a roundabout knowledge about said rock and roll music. Alas, this guy had about 5 bands that he followed; some iconic, others shite (in my own eyes). For example, I'm a huge No Use for a Name fan, but I'm not going to press on you why I think that they, melodically, ruled punk rock in the mid-90's. Ha. I really don't feel that way, but I am a huge NUFAN fan.
I think it started to hit when this guy started to purchase local businesses, upping his status, and buying into the capitalistic lifestyle that all of his bands preached against. Not that I hate money, but shut up, BRO. His outlook somewhat changed. It went from pals, hanging out, and chasing tail, to constantly lying about everything. Income, girls, you name it, it was a constant lie.
Funny side note: After Tim Armstrong's "A Poet's Life" came out, he called me into his office, whee "Wake Up" was blaring from his computer. After taking a glance at the video on the device, he looked at me in amazement, wondering where this guy came from. He HAD to be kidding. "Dude, look at him, all punk rock and shit.". He wasn't kidding. After explaining Rancid and Operation Ivy to him, he somewhat got it.
I think everything came to a head one night at a Hank Williams III concert. After a few (9 or 10) cocktails in, I finally decided to call him out...in front of the lady he was with. It wasn't pretty. I proceeded to piss all over his parade. I called him a poseur in front of everybody. I mean everybody. The lady, his employees, his "friends". All of them. Maybe it was a bad call on my part, but somebody had to throw him off of his high horse.
Another side note...not as funny: I worked for him at one of his bars for about a month. One Sunday, we had a meeting at said bar with all employees. After the meeting he asked me if I wanted to go out for drinks. I explained that I had to work that night, with him responding, "It's okay, dog, I'm the owner". I went out with him, and he went ahead, and got both of us shitfaced. Seems okay, if you didn't count the fact that he still expected me to work that night, still filling my gullet with booze, and proclaiming "I'M THE OWNER" at every whim. The following day, I had a meeting with him, and his 2 managers. They fired me, asking me why I was so hammered on shift, and when I looked at said "friend", he huddled in the corner, with his tail between his legs. From that point on, whenever he saw me at the bar, he would tell me "thanks for giving me your 23% at the bar, dog". Yes, this is the way he talks.
Since that moment in time, nothing has been good. You would think I could keep my stupid mouth shut, but I can't. I'm always that guy. I never really thought about it, until now. Now, when he is in the process of purchasing the business that I work at. The same business that helps me pay my bills, feed my son, help his mother, etc. I have no options at this point, but to ride it out. He has paraded around town, without signing shit, telling people that I have to look for a new job. I could call that karma, but I think it's different, in this sense. This is malicious, high school behavior done by the guy who is the captain of the football team. The guy that used to beat the shit out of me on a daily basis. I've watched my fellow coworkers practically give him a blow job to maintain their jobs, but that's not for me. I want him to come to me, but he won't.
Guys like that hang out with their employees for a reason. Their employees HAVE to be nice to them. Brutally honest (read: town assholes) don't. It's unfortunate, but that's the way it has to happen. He has already proclaimed to the town that I am going to need a new job, and to me, that's a real pussy way of going about it, especially for a job I've worked at for a while, and have had extreme loyalty to. I know he'll hire a GM to do the job for him, but, again, another pussy way around it. Can't always look like the bad guy, can you?
The fact of the matter remains that he has no respect for people's lives, or well beings. I guess at this point, I dare him to buy the company. I'll be happy to tell him to fuck off, in that punk rock style that he has always "cherished and loved". Black Flag would have called you an asshole, too, dick. I wish my buddy would have gotten away with taking that Clash poster from your beloved bar, that all your bartenders run your life around.
One minute, you're ok, health is good, job is good, your relationship with baby momma is good, everything is solid. Next second, it gets thrown in your face, like some sick joke. It's a total "dollar bill on the fishing line" sort of game...and it happens over, and over.
I'm not getting emo on this one, but sometimes I think that karma is a real bitch, but it goes both ways.
I'm known about town as the local asshole. I don't find that necessarily true, as I am just brutally honest with people. If I don't like your shoes, I'll laugh, tell you why they're horrid, and that's it. I'm not one to sugar coat the shit out of anything. I think it's a trait given to me by my father.
Here's a story for you:
Years ago, I met a guy that was, what seemed to be, one of the boys. He "fit the part", so to speak. Was into punk rock and ska bands, boozing, womanizing, you know, the life. I hung out with this guy constantly. Everyday was another beer, another album, another day. All was lollipops and pony rides.
I don't know when it started going downhill. He would always preach about (insert pivotal punk band here), yet not know shit about the genre at all. Not that it's a bad thing, but it just seems that when you proclaim that things are "punk rock", you would assume that they would have a roundabout knowledge about said rock and roll music. Alas, this guy had about 5 bands that he followed; some iconic, others shite (in my own eyes). For example, I'm a huge No Use for a Name fan, but I'm not going to press on you why I think that they, melodically, ruled punk rock in the mid-90's. Ha. I really don't feel that way, but I am a huge NUFAN fan.
I think it started to hit when this guy started to purchase local businesses, upping his status, and buying into the capitalistic lifestyle that all of his bands preached against. Not that I hate money, but shut up, BRO. His outlook somewhat changed. It went from pals, hanging out, and chasing tail, to constantly lying about everything. Income, girls, you name it, it was a constant lie.
Funny side note: After Tim Armstrong's "A Poet's Life" came out, he called me into his office, whee "Wake Up" was blaring from his computer. After taking a glance at the video on the device, he looked at me in amazement, wondering where this guy came from. He HAD to be kidding. "Dude, look at him, all punk rock and shit.". He wasn't kidding. After explaining Rancid and Operation Ivy to him, he somewhat got it.
I think everything came to a head one night at a Hank Williams III concert. After a few (9 or 10) cocktails in, I finally decided to call him out...in front of the lady he was with. It wasn't pretty. I proceeded to piss all over his parade. I called him a poseur in front of everybody. I mean everybody. The lady, his employees, his "friends". All of them. Maybe it was a bad call on my part, but somebody had to throw him off of his high horse.
Another side note...not as funny: I worked for him at one of his bars for about a month. One Sunday, we had a meeting at said bar with all employees. After the meeting he asked me if I wanted to go out for drinks. I explained that I had to work that night, with him responding, "It's okay, dog, I'm the owner". I went out with him, and he went ahead, and got both of us shitfaced. Seems okay, if you didn't count the fact that he still expected me to work that night, still filling my gullet with booze, and proclaiming "I'M THE OWNER" at every whim. The following day, I had a meeting with him, and his 2 managers. They fired me, asking me why I was so hammered on shift, and when I looked at said "friend", he huddled in the corner, with his tail between his legs. From that point on, whenever he saw me at the bar, he would tell me "thanks for giving me your 23% at the bar, dog". Yes, this is the way he talks.
Since that moment in time, nothing has been good. You would think I could keep my stupid mouth shut, but I can't. I'm always that guy. I never really thought about it, until now. Now, when he is in the process of purchasing the business that I work at. The same business that helps me pay my bills, feed my son, help his mother, etc. I have no options at this point, but to ride it out. He has paraded around town, without signing shit, telling people that I have to look for a new job. I could call that karma, but I think it's different, in this sense. This is malicious, high school behavior done by the guy who is the captain of the football team. The guy that used to beat the shit out of me on a daily basis. I've watched my fellow coworkers practically give him a blow job to maintain their jobs, but that's not for me. I want him to come to me, but he won't.
Guys like that hang out with their employees for a reason. Their employees HAVE to be nice to them. Brutally honest (read: town assholes) don't. It's unfortunate, but that's the way it has to happen. He has already proclaimed to the town that I am going to need a new job, and to me, that's a real pussy way of going about it, especially for a job I've worked at for a while, and have had extreme loyalty to. I know he'll hire a GM to do the job for him, but, again, another pussy way around it. Can't always look like the bad guy, can you?
The fact of the matter remains that he has no respect for people's lives, or well beings. I guess at this point, I dare him to buy the company. I'll be happy to tell him to fuck off, in that punk rock style that he has always "cherished and loved". Black Flag would have called you an asshole, too, dick. I wish my buddy would have gotten away with taking that Clash poster from your beloved bar, that all your bartenders run your life around.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
I'd Thought I'd Known The Consequence, Sweetness, Can You Believe This...
I have a pretty amazing family. They may be old fashioned in some ways, but you know what? They honestly are constantly keeping it real. I can't think of another friend's father, who asks his son, "Have you heard this new Gaslight Anthem album? Wow! He's really channeling The Boss!". I also have a VERY patient mother, whom has had to deal with 3 Sampson tempers, attitudes, and chauvinistic sense of humor (read: dick and fart jokes).
I think this whole blog has been placed in my head because my roommate had a heart to heart with his mother. It's nice to hear about my friends getting along with their parents.
When I was 19, I was still living with my parents. I had a job working for Primestar (which turned into DirecTV), didn't pay rent, and just freeloaded off of those two every day. My brother was 9, so he didn't matter. Kidding.
Every time they left town, they trusted their house in my hands. Looking at my life now, I don't know why they didn't automatically assume that the place would have been burnt to the ground by the time they got back, but they had one rule: As long as the house is in the same condition as when we left, then consider it null and void. They would come home, see the engorged, black plastic bags sitting at the end of the driveway, and would never say a word...as long as the house was still "proper".
Let's not shit ourselves. I had some parties. SOME FUCKING PARTIES. Sometimes, to the point where you look around, scared shitless, wondering who the hell all of these people are. You told 10 friends that you had the house to yourself, but 8,000 so and so's showed up. I had vinyl collections stolen, greasy scumbags in the house, but I still had all of their stuff EXACTLY where they left it...every time...well, kind of.
One time, I thought I had everything cleaned, but my mother found a bottle cap in a heater vent in the family room, but we laughed about that.
When I was 19, my parents went on a diving trip to Thailand, and, once again, foolishly left the house in my hands. This time, and it's kind of karma, in a way, I told a few friends to come over, and they did. It was around Halloween, so there were parties everywhere. My best friend at the time had invited every girl in his black book, but only five of them showed up...dressed like the goddamn Spice Girls. 2 male friends of theirs showed up, a local pool shark that we knew, and some random asshat that I didn't know. They brought a plethora of wine, and were ready to party.
My parents have a great house. A backyard, aptly named "The Office", at that time a hot tub, and all the proper party attire.
All 5 "Spice Girls" wanted to use the hot tub, and they did. Mind you, there was about 8 or 9 of us. This was no "party". That's where the irony will set in later. These girls, 3 of them being "thick", to be nice, practically drained the hot tub, almost to the point of frying the heating element. The other amazing part was probably the fact that one of them had spilled a glass of wine on their rug. Yes, it was red wine. Oops.
When they came home, a week later, I thought I had everything back in the exact place that they had left it, but I was wrong. Obviously, there was a big, red stain on their rug, and the hot tub is damn near on its way to Fuckneckville, so maybe I was getting senile in my old age back then.
The following day, I walked out to my car, which had a letter from my parents, sitting on my steering wheel, stating that I had been using their abode as a "flop house", and, for lack of a better term, GET THE HELL OUT.
I was gone within 5 days, and I will always be grateful for that. I was a spoiled brat, and I needed that kick in the ass to get my life into play.
I still remain a 31 year old child. At some point, I plan on growing up, but life is still too short for me. We're all dead in a year and a half, right? However, these two brilliant people still support whatever endeavor I have, come to every important show, and party harder than most of you.
By the way, guys...I still laugh at the marks in the dining room table, caused from a righteous game of quarters, but I love you both the same.
I've been calling my mother frequently to make sure she's solid since Nasty's exit. She's a strong woman, and deserves a medal for all that she has done.
On a side note, people, quit asking me if I'm ok. I pretty much stubbed my toe. All is still coming up Sampson.
Much love to you all,
RPS
I think this whole blog has been placed in my head because my roommate had a heart to heart with his mother. It's nice to hear about my friends getting along with their parents.
When I was 19, I was still living with my parents. I had a job working for Primestar (which turned into DirecTV), didn't pay rent, and just freeloaded off of those two every day. My brother was 9, so he didn't matter. Kidding.
Every time they left town, they trusted their house in my hands. Looking at my life now, I don't know why they didn't automatically assume that the place would have been burnt to the ground by the time they got back, but they had one rule: As long as the house is in the same condition as when we left, then consider it null and void. They would come home, see the engorged, black plastic bags sitting at the end of the driveway, and would never say a word...as long as the house was still "proper".
Let's not shit ourselves. I had some parties. SOME FUCKING PARTIES. Sometimes, to the point where you look around, scared shitless, wondering who the hell all of these people are. You told 10 friends that you had the house to yourself, but 8,000 so and so's showed up. I had vinyl collections stolen, greasy scumbags in the house, but I still had all of their stuff EXACTLY where they left it...every time...well, kind of.
One time, I thought I had everything cleaned, but my mother found a bottle cap in a heater vent in the family room, but we laughed about that.
When I was 19, my parents went on a diving trip to Thailand, and, once again, foolishly left the house in my hands. This time, and it's kind of karma, in a way, I told a few friends to come over, and they did. It was around Halloween, so there were parties everywhere. My best friend at the time had invited every girl in his black book, but only five of them showed up...dressed like the goddamn Spice Girls. 2 male friends of theirs showed up, a local pool shark that we knew, and some random asshat that I didn't know. They brought a plethora of wine, and were ready to party.
My parents have a great house. A backyard, aptly named "The Office", at that time a hot tub, and all the proper party attire.
All 5 "Spice Girls" wanted to use the hot tub, and they did. Mind you, there was about 8 or 9 of us. This was no "party". That's where the irony will set in later. These girls, 3 of them being "thick", to be nice, practically drained the hot tub, almost to the point of frying the heating element. The other amazing part was probably the fact that one of them had spilled a glass of wine on their rug. Yes, it was red wine. Oops.
When they came home, a week later, I thought I had everything back in the exact place that they had left it, but I was wrong. Obviously, there was a big, red stain on their rug, and the hot tub is damn near on its way to Fuckneckville, so maybe I was getting senile in my old age back then.
The following day, I walked out to my car, which had a letter from my parents, sitting on my steering wheel, stating that I had been using their abode as a "flop house", and, for lack of a better term, GET THE HELL OUT.
I was gone within 5 days, and I will always be grateful for that. I was a spoiled brat, and I needed that kick in the ass to get my life into play.
I still remain a 31 year old child. At some point, I plan on growing up, but life is still too short for me. We're all dead in a year and a half, right? However, these two brilliant people still support whatever endeavor I have, come to every important show, and party harder than most of you.
By the way, guys...I still laugh at the marks in the dining room table, caused from a righteous game of quarters, but I love you both the same.
I've been calling my mother frequently to make sure she's solid since Nasty's exit. She's a strong woman, and deserves a medal for all that she has done.
On a side note, people, quit asking me if I'm ok. I pretty much stubbed my toe. All is still coming up Sampson.
Much love to you all,
RPS
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Sometimes I Post Things Too Tsun...
Bad taste? Shut up.
By the way, I'm so poor that I steal the Wifi from work at this point. Thanks, America.
As I had posted previously, I have been single for 3 years. This had a pause for about a month. Anyways, after a text message question from a dear friend asking how one can maintain happiness with single life, I gave her 5 easy steps to enjoy life on your own. This also made me think that I could give out decent advice to all of you, and since I like to try to be Brendan Kelly on this thing (read: Bad Sandwich Chronicles), I am willing to give good advice that I don't take in consideration for myself to all of you. If you have a question that I can answer, I'm more than willing to give you said advice.
Back to the real, here are my 5 easy steps to enjoy being a single person:
Step 1:
Appreciate being able to spread out over the ENTIRE bed. Cuddling and spooning are great, but they make body pillows for that. Creating a makeshift girlfriend out of a comforter is quite simple, and they flatten out during the night, so by morning, that bed is your territory. Boom.
Step 2:
Is you're out, and about, and decide to go home with some "12 hour (max) relationship", do NOT take them back to your house. NO...NO...NO! Go to their house. Nobody wants a stalker. Their house may be disgusting, but remember, you're only over there to get some. Plus, seeing the state of their house will show you how they live. This will help in the "just getting some" aspect. Avoid exchanging phone numbers. If you are asked for your number, make sure to give them a number of a friend that needs a lot of attention. Maybe they'll get some, too. I've used the same friend for a while now. He even knows it.
Step 3:
This is where things get weird. We've all had that relationship. The one where the other person flips out every time they have a few shots. It starts with a few texts, then by the end of the night, they are standing in your bedroom calling you all sorts of names. For example, remember that scene in "High Fidelity", where John Cusack is outside of that apartment complex, screaming, "Charlie...You fucking bitch....Let's work it out!"? Give that relationship between 6 months, and a year, and that person won't be there anymore. You may/may not want it, but trust me...life is better without it.
Step 4:
It gets weirder. In my industry (liquor, not music...music is way easier), the ongoing aspect is that if you are a partier/patron, and your ex is also somewhat in that group of friends, it's really not ok for them to "ban" you from that establishment, especially if they have no control/management/ownership of it. Now, I think that it is only acceptable if the ex did something extremely fucked up, but not in this case. However, if they try to (unsuccessfully) ban you from said establishment, feel free to bring whatever date/prospect into that bar, and proceed to make out/dry hump/feel up that person in that establishment. Not only does it proclaim that you are single, but it also says, "Hey, person, I'm doing alright, and, hey, look what I can do!". You win...every time.
Step 5:
Now we are back at home. This one is rough. If you aren't into the "one night stand" thing, or you are a total "3 dates, and maybe I'll show you what it/they look like" type of person, let's face it, people get horny. If the Jenna Jameson video, or the old "Battery Operated Boyfriend (B.O.B.)" isn't doing the trick, you are going to need an old stand by. Make sure that it is somebody that A) You've already given it up to, or B) They are fully down with the "no strings attached" aspect. Here's where it gets tricky: keep your goddamned mouth shut. If you even tell one friend, and that dreaded ex will be outside of your bedroom window, drunk and pissed.
It's that easy, kids. Other than that, you can continue with your job, life, kids, party, and whatever it is that you people do anymore (getting stoned, and playing video games?).
By the way, I've been listening to Mos Def while writing this. Black Power.
Get back at me.
RPS
By the way, I'm so poor that I steal the Wifi from work at this point. Thanks, America.
As I had posted previously, I have been single for 3 years. This had a pause for about a month. Anyways, after a text message question from a dear friend asking how one can maintain happiness with single life, I gave her 5 easy steps to enjoy life on your own. This also made me think that I could give out decent advice to all of you, and since I like to try to be Brendan Kelly on this thing (read: Bad Sandwich Chronicles), I am willing to give good advice that I don't take in consideration for myself to all of you. If you have a question that I can answer, I'm more than willing to give you said advice.
Back to the real, here are my 5 easy steps to enjoy being a single person:
Step 1:
Appreciate being able to spread out over the ENTIRE bed. Cuddling and spooning are great, but they make body pillows for that. Creating a makeshift girlfriend out of a comforter is quite simple, and they flatten out during the night, so by morning, that bed is your territory. Boom.
Step 2:
Is you're out, and about, and decide to go home with some "12 hour (max) relationship", do NOT take them back to your house. NO...NO...NO! Go to their house. Nobody wants a stalker. Their house may be disgusting, but remember, you're only over there to get some. Plus, seeing the state of their house will show you how they live. This will help in the "just getting some" aspect. Avoid exchanging phone numbers. If you are asked for your number, make sure to give them a number of a friend that needs a lot of attention. Maybe they'll get some, too. I've used the same friend for a while now. He even knows it.
Step 3:
This is where things get weird. We've all had that relationship. The one where the other person flips out every time they have a few shots. It starts with a few texts, then by the end of the night, they are standing in your bedroom calling you all sorts of names. For example, remember that scene in "High Fidelity", where John Cusack is outside of that apartment complex, screaming, "Charlie...You fucking bitch....Let's work it out!"? Give that relationship between 6 months, and a year, and that person won't be there anymore. You may/may not want it, but trust me...life is better without it.
Step 4:
It gets weirder. In my industry (liquor, not music...music is way easier), the ongoing aspect is that if you are a partier/patron, and your ex is also somewhat in that group of friends, it's really not ok for them to "ban" you from that establishment, especially if they have no control/management/ownership of it. Now, I think that it is only acceptable if the ex did something extremely fucked up, but not in this case. However, if they try to (unsuccessfully) ban you from said establishment, feel free to bring whatever date/prospect into that bar, and proceed to make out/dry hump/feel up that person in that establishment. Not only does it proclaim that you are single, but it also says, "Hey, person, I'm doing alright, and, hey, look what I can do!". You win...every time.
Step 5:
Now we are back at home. This one is rough. If you aren't into the "one night stand" thing, or you are a total "3 dates, and maybe I'll show you what it/they look like" type of person, let's face it, people get horny. If the Jenna Jameson video, or the old "Battery Operated Boyfriend (B.O.B.)" isn't doing the trick, you are going to need an old stand by. Make sure that it is somebody that A) You've already given it up to, or B) They are fully down with the "no strings attached" aspect. Here's where it gets tricky: keep your goddamned mouth shut. If you even tell one friend, and that dreaded ex will be outside of your bedroom window, drunk and pissed.
It's that easy, kids. Other than that, you can continue with your job, life, kids, party, and whatever it is that you people do anymore (getting stoned, and playing video games?).
By the way, I've been listening to Mos Def while writing this. Black Power.
Get back at me.
RPS
Saturday, March 12, 2011
I Think I'm Going Deaf, or Maybe I'm Just Hearing Less.
I've been told I'm really happy lately.
I don't know how to take this statement. Am I truly that big of an asshole, that everyone can count the number of times that I smile on one, or two, hands?
Truth be told, I've had a whirlwind of emotions come over me lately. Obviously, the entrance of Sgt. Nasty into the United States Military has me cocked sideways, the unknown future of my livelihood is in utter disarray, my band is going into a very large change, but I'm also in a fresh relationship that has me standing on an ear day to day (She's not crazy, I'm just always asking questions. She claims that she IS, in fact, crazy, but whatever.).
Happiness really varies on different levels. I've dealt with a lot of unfortunate events that, apparently, have put me in a bad mood.....constantly. I really wouldn't say bad mood, but very cynical when it comes to everyday life. I went (raging, I might add) through my twenties like the very world in front of me was burning to the ground. I did everything that you could possibly do that even your mother would cry over.
My friend VR said this to me the other day:
"Your new girlfriend is hot, blonde, and awesome. This surprises me."
"Why the hell would you say something like that?"
"Sampson, you're a very unpleasant person. Shit, we've known each other for years, and it STILL takes me 30 minutes of a shitty conversation before we get nice with each other."
I didn't know whether to punch him in the face, or kiss him on the mouth. I did neither. I just nodded, and smiled, like an Asian foreign exchange student. How do you take that? Do you accept the fact that other people recognize your happiness, or just look out for number one? Strange concept, I think.
I guess I can talk about the things that are, and definitely aren't, making me happy.
Sgt. Nasty: Read previous blog.
Job: Once again, read previous blog. It's really not that veiled.
Band: I haven't really talked about these guys. I now play in a band that I am very proud of. We have gotten the attention of the general public here in our fair city, and have recorded an extended play of 8 songs that, still to this day, blow my mind. Recently, I had a sit down with one of our members, where, for lack of a better term, I had to talk to him about "growing up". It was one of the hardest conversations that I had ever been through with a dear friend, and I know that day will be coming up for me soon enough (I'm not getting any younger). We want to tour, but he has a lot of shit on his plate that he is ALSO proud of, but conflicts in the way of touring, and whatever ridiculousness we want to indulge in. It's a rough deal, figuring he is exactly like me, but what seemed to be a very dear heart to heart, turned nasty in a barrage of passive aggressive Facebook and blog posts. I love this man to pieces, but I can only hope that he can turn the bad into good. He's too talented to get all ultra mega nega core on me.
My relationship is something you can stay the fuck out of. Beat it.
I do, however, find happiness in a lot of other things. I enjoy the times that I get to spend with my son. I enjoy the times that I get to spend with my dysfunctional band. I enjoy the times I get to serve all of you surly drunks when I work, and I really enjoy the times I get to spend with someone that I truly do care about. These are things that make people count the times that I do smile.
Cheers, fuckheads.
I don't know how to take this statement. Am I truly that big of an asshole, that everyone can count the number of times that I smile on one, or two, hands?
Truth be told, I've had a whirlwind of emotions come over me lately. Obviously, the entrance of Sgt. Nasty into the United States Military has me cocked sideways, the unknown future of my livelihood is in utter disarray, my band is going into a very large change, but I'm also in a fresh relationship that has me standing on an ear day to day (She's not crazy, I'm just always asking questions. She claims that she IS, in fact, crazy, but whatever.).
Happiness really varies on different levels. I've dealt with a lot of unfortunate events that, apparently, have put me in a bad mood.....constantly. I really wouldn't say bad mood, but very cynical when it comes to everyday life. I went (raging, I might add) through my twenties like the very world in front of me was burning to the ground. I did everything that you could possibly do that even your mother would cry over.
My friend VR said this to me the other day:
"Your new girlfriend is hot, blonde, and awesome. This surprises me."
"Why the hell would you say something like that?"
"Sampson, you're a very unpleasant person. Shit, we've known each other for years, and it STILL takes me 30 minutes of a shitty conversation before we get nice with each other."
I didn't know whether to punch him in the face, or kiss him on the mouth. I did neither. I just nodded, and smiled, like an Asian foreign exchange student. How do you take that? Do you accept the fact that other people recognize your happiness, or just look out for number one? Strange concept, I think.
I guess I can talk about the things that are, and definitely aren't, making me happy.
Sgt. Nasty: Read previous blog.
Job: Once again, read previous blog. It's really not that veiled.
Band: I haven't really talked about these guys. I now play in a band that I am very proud of. We have gotten the attention of the general public here in our fair city, and have recorded an extended play of 8 songs that, still to this day, blow my mind. Recently, I had a sit down with one of our members, where, for lack of a better term, I had to talk to him about "growing up". It was one of the hardest conversations that I had ever been through with a dear friend, and I know that day will be coming up for me soon enough (I'm not getting any younger). We want to tour, but he has a lot of shit on his plate that he is ALSO proud of, but conflicts in the way of touring, and whatever ridiculousness we want to indulge in. It's a rough deal, figuring he is exactly like me, but what seemed to be a very dear heart to heart, turned nasty in a barrage of passive aggressive Facebook and blog posts. I love this man to pieces, but I can only hope that he can turn the bad into good. He's too talented to get all ultra mega nega core on me.
My relationship is something you can stay the fuck out of. Beat it.
I do, however, find happiness in a lot of other things. I enjoy the times that I get to spend with my son. I enjoy the times that I get to spend with my dysfunctional band. I enjoy the times I get to serve all of you surly drunks when I work, and I really enjoy the times I get to spend with someone that I truly do care about. These are things that make people count the times that I do smile.
Cheers, fuckheads.
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