and I'll Never Be Your Cranberry Man

      The cold Los Angeles night had a sharpness to it, the air rushing in through the windows as i crossed the 1st Street bridge over into East LA from downtown chilled me right down to the bone. A shiver ran through and i pressed down into the driver seat looking for warmth, right hand firm on the wheel, left hand dangling out the window, cigarette dancing between my lips with each bump from the road. The ash was trickling down onto my jeans, but i didn't care much at this point, i had, after all, had been wearing the same pair of jeans for more than a week now, they were specked with car grease, fryer grease, chili sauce, crusted pieces of food that i casually brushed off and the thigh part of my pants looked like a kid wiped his crayon residue off on me, i stopped caring at this point. The woman was out of town, she wasn't around, my appearance didn't seem to matter to me at this point, unshaven, running out of clean laundry (i wasn't wearing any underwear and my socks were mismatched) i could feel the grime on the clothes seeping into my skin. I kept checking the rear view mirror for a copper, "You'll never take me alive copper..."... that's what a man halfway into his rum bottle taste like. I pumped the music up into the small speakers until they crackled to give some life to the situation, to give some action, it was too quiet out, we needed a little madness sprinkled into our lives.
      I kept driving over that bridge and then eventually made a turn onto State Street, gracefully gliding onto the 5 North towards home. i lit up another cigarette and went over those things that you go over when you're one beer away from being a good buzz, and 2 scotchs away from being damn near drunk. At this point, you're in the halo part of town, the in between of drinking and being sober, you start to question life and it's possibilities, and you also start to question yourself. I thought of the woman, and the fight we had a few nights before, the resolution to our fight seemed like a cop out, like we were coming to a compromise, which fully, i can appreciate. That's the best word you can find to use in a relationship, compromise. It's like wanting chocolate ice cream, and she wants vanilla, but in order to settle you both choose the Neapolitan in order to not fight and share a box. Although, there is strawberry in the middle, and at first glance, you both hate it, you both loath the strawberry, but little by little, as the ends close in, you start picking at the strawberry, and so does she, and eventually you hear the spoons clank together as you reach for that last bite, and out of a sign of kindness and love, you split the last piece in half, and the tub is gone. Fucking beautiful.
      The fight was in regards to our past. Correction, in regards to her past. Up front and blunt, the woman doesn't like to use condoms, so we go freebird every once in awhile, and i'm cool with it, i can keep track of what's coming when and am highly aware at making the judgement call. But as we're doing this, i start to think about previous encounters she may of had, and i trust her fully, but on the other hand, she's so naive, she very may well have done a lot of things with a lot of people and not strapped anything on. She was on the other side of the world for a vacation once, and i'm pretty sure it ran the same way we ran, because she was in love with the guy then, and i'm sure rawness was not a rarity. Paranoia got the best of me then, and when she left town i took my ass straight to the doctor. The results were clean. Un-tainted love. I brought up my concerns to her and she made me feel like i was being a dick for wanting to know how many people she banged without using a condom. This can make a man feel like his girlfriend is a whore, but i would never call a girl a whore.. that just seems... so... so... so wrong (i called a girl a whore once because she stole my poem and claimed it as her own. writing is the only sacred thing i have in my life, i have no religion, i have no hopes, this is what i got, and if you take my words from me, well, than you are a WHORE). anyway, she deflected my questions and claimed that i was a "man whore". Now people, please, listen for a second, i've only ever had a single encounter that you can call a one night stand. And it was fucking horrible. it felt so fake, so pretentious, so fucking full of bullshit that i can't even put it in words. The girl was a girl i brought home from the bar, and it felt so rehearsed. "oh yeah fuck me. Fuck that pussy" that's not what i want to hear right now, lets just enjoy ourselves, i barely fucking know you!. But the girl persisted so much, she was overly sexual to the point that i knew she was putting on an act thinking that's what i liked. My cock got soft, and i couldn't go on anymore, i apologized and went down on her as a sign of good sportsmanship. The whole time i hated myself profusely, and vowed to never again take someone home who i didn't genuinely find interesting (to this day i haven't).
      It made me angry that she called me a "man whore". I had fucking principals, i was the good guy, the right guy, and maybe not the best guy, but i didn't want to be like all those assholes out there fucking everyone and not making good on their promises. i was not a liar, but wanted to be the most honest that i could. i persisted on asking her how many people she had been with, but she had no number, she claimed to have forgotten, because, here's the kicker, she had a lot of "black out sex", which means she had been drinking, and could of possibly done things that i don't want to even think about. It doesn't matter to me, i love the girl (love is like a dog from hell- to quote a greater man) i didn't care who she had sex with, i just want to know what the hell was going on and what kind of mind frame she was in. If she cheated on her boyfriend (several times) then what makes me so special? After all, the way we met was when she cheated on her boyfriend with me, and then she flew out to another state and cheated on him again, and then she went to visit some family overseas and cheated on him a third time. i watched as she was madly in love with him, they moved in together, i wondered if he knew that i was banging his girlfriend? She passed me over and went on with her life, still cheating. I watched all this from the outside and when she got back from overseas we got together for a few drinks. she confessed her love for the overseas boy and wanted to move back to marry him. i was sad inside.
      years passed, and i met other woman, some were good, some were bad, and some i didn't really hit it off with. i dated every woman under the sun. Chinese, latina, white from the west coast, white from the east coast, religious, political, a girl who was into Scientology, a girl who was a stripper.. i dabbled all over the place to find it was exactly what i liked. none of them worked out, and then, like a miracle, the woman popped back into my life, and we started up again.
      Now we're six months in, and beyond the three month mark. I don't really care how much "black out" or "love" or whatever sex she had, but just don't call me a man whore, that goes against every moral i have in my bones. I wanted to point the finger back at her and call her a whore, but that would be bad class, and i would never be that low. I breathed in and out and let it go. The fight was based on the grounds that i had seen her be madly in love with someone, and then cheat on them. Now i was the guy she was madly in love with, and i feared for my heart so. Would she cheat on me? Would she meet some guy somewhere and fall for him and lose the comfort she had with me? i dunno.. the possibilities are endless in that scenario, and i'm only going to give myself an aneurysm thinking about it. I trust nothing in my life. I know that it can very well be taken away from me at any minute. i could sit here and have a jet engine fall through the roof of my shitty apartment housing complex and kill me. So i appreciate everything i have, and the things i don't, i let them sit on the back burner until i get to them. So i don't hate the woman, i don't think she's a whore, and i've got all these facts in front of me about her. But you know what? I've never had faith in anything in my life, and i feel that if i don't have faith in this, it very well may end. So i'm going to sit here, with my heart on my sleeve and let her get it all out of this crusty outer shell. You can't live your life based on principals, it gets you nowhere except angry with humanity and life. I do hate people, i hate all of you, i hate myself, i hate this planet and i hate the system, i hate the galaxy and the universe. But i will not kill myself, out of a guilty sense of self preservation. So i have no choice but to be here and try to make things work out for me. I love, and hate you all. And as for this current relationship, i'm going to believe a little, that not all people are shit, until i'm proven wrong.

amen.

It Was Just Another Night By Hell

some nights are hard
harder than most
the kind of hard that test your patience
test your ability to fight
and reason
but mostly fight.
some nights are hard
and really make you rub your head
with your thumbs
and wonder why you're here
make you want to rip your face off
and
probably kick something.
these nights are hard because that's the way they are
they kick you in the kidneys
to let you know what it feels like to be kicked
in the goddamn kidneys
and any time after that
you'll protect your kidneys.
some nights are hard
and burn like candles
some night are hard
and burn like pits of fiery ash.
either way
at least there's something burning in your life
and you can't be sad for that
some people have nothing in their lives
no hope
no salvation
no dignity
or class
those people are the people that can't differentiate
hard nights
because most nights are hell for them
but they're still alive
still breathing out in that midnight air
sucking in ash, smog and apathy
without a look of worry on their face
they are dwindled down
to less than human
but still human
more so than any of us.
some nights are hard
but harder so
when you only think about yourself
and what you've been cheated (if that at most)
out of.
don't let those bullshit nights be hard on you
because at the end of your day
when you lay there
and stare up into that ceiling
with only your thoughts for company
what will matter most
"is how well you walk through the fire."
"...and i will always appreaciate bad days like this,
because they give me a frame of reference
in regards to my happiness..."

Saturday Night- Witnessing the Decline of Humanity- Duel Fashionistas Wreaking of Spoilage.

      I witnessed something today that really depressed the hell out of me. It wasn't as if I had a mind set going into the day of depression, I actually thought of today as one of the best days I'd had in a long while. Woke up at  noon, with the blinds pulled closed, it was dark in the room, but sunny and light outside. I laid in bed and played the game that i always like to play in the morning until i got bored of myself and rolled out of bed. I made myself a breakfast burrito with some eggs, shredded taters, sour cream and pico. All in all, it was a pretty good morning. Laid around the house reading the new Adam Carolla book. Popped outside for a few to smoke cigarettes and chat with my lanky neighbor (who I secretly adore). It was great going in, and I felt positive for once.
     The restaurant is a dangerous place, if you're not prepared for just what which way the lines may melt. You very well may go in expecting a down night, but you get caught up in one thing and another and sooner than you know it you're pounding beers left and right. It's a hell of a thing being dragged across the coals. You get a raw deal and don't even know it till you're too far in too pull out.
      It had rained all week, the weather was shit (at least for Los Angeles folks who are scared of everything). Me? Personally.. i love me some fucking rain, some thunder, some dark clouds looming overhead. It means all the sorry fucks lock themselves inside of their house and watch Gilmore Girls or Grey's Anatomy. I have the streets to myself, i have the bars to myself, and most importantly, only those real barflies come out and stake their claim. There's something about smoking a cigarette outside of a bar, in the rain, with the neck of your coat turned up that shakes my bones. Blissful existence.
       Now that the skies had cleared and those poor (not monetary poor) schmucks could creep out of their house, they infested every restaurant, every bar, every known crevice to mankind in this goddamn city. Here i was, shelling out food to these folk. I did it without judgement, after all, their money was a green as the next guys'. But I didn't want to get to know them on a personal level, i didn't want to be their friend or confidant, i just wanted them to come in, to eat, to drink, and then leave. It was that simple, at least to me.
      So it's around 9pm, and i see this dame sitting all by her lonesome at the edge of the bar. The kitchens slammed, and i'm doing the dance, making the moves, pulling out the food at a nice pace, everyones eating, having a good time, and i look up, to see, one of my regular barflies sitting at the kitchen counter (it's an open space) hanging out with his giant mug of beer smiling at me like he just won the lottery. I nod in his direction and yell a few words at him, letting him know i acknowledge his presence in the restaurant, the man, after all, is here more than 3 nights a week, I must make him feel welcomed. I drop my head down and continue slaving away at the next order. When i'm done i look up and see that he's no longer around, i search for him and go out into the dining room, to give the man a proper hand shake and a somewhat genuine welcome. Midway through the dining area, I spot him with the lonely dame at the bar and i divert my course. I walk straight out the front door and light a cigarette. I stamp back and forth across the asphalt and watch him peripherally. He's working his old magic on the dame, that old school work that isn't around anymore. I must admit, the man comes on strong, but he doesn't hide any of his qualms. He knows where he's going and he knows what he wants. I feel like this night is the night where the dynamite fuse met the spark, and chaos will resume after a slight intermission. Excuse me while i retrieve my rum bottle from the cubby.
       Alright, back on track now. So the lonely dame and the barfly hit it off. I watch them casually creep closer and closer, and then i watch him take her face in his hands and kiss her. He kissed her like a sheep needs a Shepard. i was happy for him then. He had frequented our spot for so long and i had no clue what went on outside in his personal life, but the man was scoring tonight. Whatever he was saying, or whatever she was drinking, seemed to do the trick. I cheered secretly inside for him. I continued with my work. The bartender came back and mentioned to me that she was a lesbian, i wondered if this was "here-say" but dismissed it automatically on account that my bartender wasn't one for bullshitting and producing fake stories on false pretenses. So maybe the lonely dame was a lesbian, but on this particular night, my barfly (i now refer to him as mine because he's a character in my account) may have said the right words to get her to loosen up enough for some manly manhandling. I was amazed at the scene.
        They kept drinking, i kept working, the night kept doing what it does. Eventually she got up to headed over to the john and I thought nothing of it. She was in there for awhile.. I figured the dame was adjusting her make-up and washing a few things out (or whatever it is that broads do in the bathroom). My  barfly walked over to the mens room with the smile of a champion. He came out a few minutes later and went back to his seat at the bar. The lonely dame never returned, and finally, my barfly grew weary and tired and hit the streets like any other decent barfly does, in search of his next prey, devouring what he could, dancing around like a spider needs a fly.
      There were two dames sitting over by the pillar that i had been eying for awhile. One had short black hair and a decent looking face, but there was nothing special to her, she was just another broad with broad looks and empty eyes (let's call her empty face). The other dame sitting with her was starry eyed and had an elongated nose, with full lips, a small chin, and looks that would stop a singer mid-song (lets call her Sally). I watched Sally eying me from across the restaurant but i took no stake in it, on account that i had a something steady going on in my life, but i still couldn't help admire a beauty like that from afar. I kept my eye on the duo  dames while i worked and watched them progress through a couple rounds of sangria. They emptied their glasses like two little champions and then empty face got up and walked over towards the bathrooms. She walked into the hall and then walked back out, taking a seat where the barfly had sat earlier. i walked over and started talking to her as she motioned for Sally to come and sit with her. She asked me if i thought Sally was pretty. I responded with a firm yes and started asking her probing questions (where you from? Have you been here before? What do you do? yadda yadda yadda...) The conversation was going nowhere quick, and Sally was no help, dame was lamer than church on Wednesdays. i thought i'd shake things up a bit and told Sally that empty face had asked if i thought she was pretty and i said yes. No response from Sally. Go figure i said, dame over here thinks i'm weird. Sally said she really liked weird, so i responded with a hand slap on the counter claiming i was weirder than the weirdest man she's ever met in her whole life. I expected a laugh, or a slight chuckle or giggle, but was only greeted with a look of disdain and apathy. i asked them what they did (since i knew women always like talking about themselves) and they responded with "oh fashion stuff. i'm and assistant to an assistant, and Sally here, well, she's in school for fashion." i tried to make this work in Sally's angle and said that once out of school she had a go in with the fashion industry, I guess she responded. I had about enough of the shit and walked away casually as empty face got up to check on the bathroom situation again. They flagged me back over and mentioned that someone had been in the bathroom for a long time, and they really needed to pee. i told them to use the guy's restroom if they had to go that bad, but they responded with a look of disgust. they both said that men were absolutely disgusting in their habits, which i laughed at very loud. they asked me why i was laughing, and i mentioned how usually i thought women were more disgusting in their habits. I let the argument drop. i thought about it some, and it was true. I had walked into that bathroom, in my own restaurant, and had seen blood soaked tampons and pads on the floor. now that my dear friends, is gross beyond belief. whats the worse a guy can do other than piss on the seat a bit and shit and not flush? you do know that when you leave your menstrual cycle on the floor that someone has to clean that up? As where when a man pisses on the floor, you mop it, it's gone, or a man doesn't flush, well, you kick the handle and it's gone. it's a no foul no play kinda deal. so what's this dame sweating me about taking a pee in the mens restroom?
       My bartender walked over and mentioned to me that lonely dame was the last one in the bathroom, and that she might be the one holding the situation up. I told empty face that she was probably in there puking (i didn't like her anyway, so her response didn't matter to me). she responded with typical bullshit and asked me to go and open the door for her. i said no, that it was a bathroom, and it was private to whoever went in there last. i mentioned again that the mens room was more than readily available, but she declined. in the end, empty face and Sally walked out, both flustered and angry, making a scene with me about how i wouldn't open the womans restroom to let them pee.
     this is what depressed me. the fact that someone was obviously in there suffering. The lonely dame had a bad night, she was feeling down, she drank a bit too much, okay, that's a given, and she was making out with my barfly, but where in the world does it give the right for one person to put their bladder in front of the well being of another human? Lonely dame is obviously suffering here, and instead of empty face trying to help, being a "sister" or whatever bullshit label girls give to each other, she merely wants to get in close with me so i can open the door to let her pee because she doesn't want to pee in the mens restroom? Who the fuck do you think you are? i hate to disappoint you moron, but that's a goddamn human being in there, puking her fucking guts out, and instead of being sensitive to her situation, you're gonna complain that your bladder hurts? You have the option of peeing in another room and yet you don't take it? i have no sympathy for you. even worse, you want me to go over and open the door on someone who's probably sitting on the toilet passed out drunk? let the dame be drunk. Empty face swears like she's never been in a bad spot before and needed a couple of minutes to get her shit together. i have no sympathy for people like empty face, i hope she gets hit by a goddamn truck doing 90 on the streets. dames like that only think about themselves. and that's the thing, we're all humans here, all i ask for is a little understanding, a little humanity, realizing that she put herself in a bad place, yeah, i get it, but you don't have to carry her home, just give her a minute to collect her nerves and gather enough courage to pull her panties up around her waist. What pisses me off the most is having the option for an out (not the out you want) but an option nonetheless and yet, still having to invade the privacy of a person just so you can piss in a bathroom? i bet if i switched those damn signs around on the doors you wouldn't even notice the difference. why? Because you're that fucking stupid. Whore.
      That's what depresses me in life. Humanity. I can walk into a Starbucks and ask for a glass of water, and be constantly turned down, even if i'm sweating up a storm and dying of thirst, they consistently turn me down. What the fuck? i ask to myself, from one human to another, i'm not being belligerent, i'm not begging your customers for money, all i want is a cup of tap water and you can't even give that to me?  How far have we gone as humans that we can't even hold doors open for old folks anymore? How far have we gone as humans were we honk at someone who is crossing the street in a wheel chair because they are crossing too slow? How far have we gone as humans where we don't tip, or even say thank you? The decline of humanity is perhaps the saddest thing to watch. It's worse than watching the rain forest be cut down, worse than watching dolphins slaughtered in Japan and even worse than claiming to be vegetarian because you don't like the thought of cows dying. You know all those vegetables you eat every day? They were picked by migrant workers who are in that fucking field for 12 hours and don't get paid over time, their hourly wage is half of what you make an hour, so don't sell me that vegetarian for animal cruelty shit. It's worse to exploit a human than it is to exploit an animal, and i hope you choke on a tomato one day. You stupid self indulgent twat.