take from that what you will.
anyway, there's work. i've been a massage therapist for the past nine years, and i love it. nothing like going to work and giving backrubs to old ladies and office drones for cash. it's great; it's like the opposite of beating somebody up. not that i'm into beating people up or anything. cuz i'm not. pinky swear. every few months some random old lady patient will tell me my hands are blessed by god, so i must be doing something right.
there's my fun. which is broken down into cycling, reading, and relaxing. as much as i love riding around in the dark solo, some of my best days have been spent sitting around on the porch all afternoon with friends. i also host a lot of movie nights.
i don't really do much else. i go out for coffee more than for beer, and i'm a minor snob about both. sometimes i yell "check your entitlement!" at my cat.
wait. did i say cat? i meant cats. i have several. like three and a half cats. well, almost four, but one of em is feral-ish and won't come in the house. so she's only kinda like half mine. i may be thirty eight going on two thousand three hundred going on nineteen, but i've managed to raise some fucking sweet cats. two of em a partner and i found abandoned, literally, on the day they were born. i bottle-fed them what was probably their first meal. they turn three this may.
i've been telling myself to pick up writing again. i used to be good at it...although, i used to be depressed too. i feel my muse fled when my sadness did.
i recently named my bedroom space-station-alpha. don't know why. it just came to me. if it helps, my porch has been named porchugal. i need to make signs indicating such.
i'm debating eventually leaving the country. maybe in a couple years, maybe in ten. for some reason living in a converted shipping container on a beach somewhere sounds like a viable future. i hear chile is nice this time of year.
i'm debating building a vegetable oil powered 4x4 monster van. you know, for road trips and zombies.
i'm also debating buying a catamaran and naming it "broseidon". YOU KNOW THAT'S A DAMN GOOD NAME FOR A SAILBOAT, COME ON!
okay. i've been thinking about it, and i am probably, like ninety percent sure, that i'll be living out of some monster truck rv in a couple years, for a couple years. the current plan is to tour the country and see all the america i need to see, and then go hide somewhere on a forested hillside overlooking a body of water. could be a river, could be a lake, could be the goddamn ocean, but i want to retire and enjoy life before i'm hella old, and cuz i just happened to party away most my young adulthood, i'm gonna have to luxure on the cheap. so yeah, chile?
also, i seem to be a monogamous/nonmonogamous switch. i have no problem dedicating my life to my partner, and i have no problem managing [juggling] several relationships without getting jealous or snippy. currently, i am fresh out of my primary relationship and am now only dating sporadically. i have a secondary partner that i care for and love, but her main focus is her bf of seven years [might be eight], so i'm mostly looking for someone to be my main squeeze and grow old with me.
i don't have any recent pics of my beard. it's longer than represented photographically.
i'm also really ridiculously good at talking shit. i'm a sarcastic bastard with a heart of gold. i have references.
fifteen hit combo
finish him! and kabal wins
also: i invented the word "entwhitlement". you know what it means.
OMG I JUST INVENTED CATITLEMENT! CAT+ENTITLEMENT! HOLY SHIT I'M GOING TO DIE ALONE!!!
...but really tho
movies: what would jean claude van damme do? have movie nights at my house, that's what. but really tho; i have a pretty sweet theater setup. it's comfy as fuck.
shows: like on tv? i haven't had cable since i was in high school. that being said, i have every episode of sifl and olly on dvd, and a projector. come over.
music: why are there so many good bands that start with s? sonic youth, sigur ros, sisters of mercy, swamp witch, spiritualized, sunny day real estate, sleep, etc. why?! a friend of mine just burned me a grip of new tunes, so i've decided i'm really into beach house, dark castle, electric wizard, and dead meadow.
food: i like all of it. especially if it requires chopsticks and/or comes off a truck. except for ethiopian. i mean, i've eaten it, and it tasted good, but there's no ethiopian food shaped hole in my heart that needs to be filled. also, not to be a dick or anything, but sriracha totally kicks tapitio's ass. i was a chef for ten years. i have some fucking standards.
knuckle tattoos. i mean, seriously now. you got eight letters and the rest of your life to express yourself: what do you do?
here's a few i've come up with:
sometimes i wish i had an extra finger on my left hand so i could get "heat death" tatted on me. or one less finger so "entropy" would fit correctly.
it'd be nice if someone figures out how those immortal jellyfish work. i kinda wanna stick around for awhile.
where does a blanket fort end and semipermanent art installation begin? is it the articulated wooden framework and pulley system? the symmetry?
speaking of blanket forts, is there a cuddling equivalent of a booty call? can't i just ask someone to come over and snuggle in front of a movie for a couple hours?
man, booty calls be cutting in on my cuddle game.
THE SNUGGLE IS REAL.
aaaaaand considering we were sitting on my porch at 2am saturday morning, i'm gonna have to agree with her.
so yeah. sitting on my porch. sometimes there's bonfires.
except for when there's bike rides. that happens sometimes too.
i'm leaning in through his kitchen window. watching him cook. a cutting board separates him from the window- from me. it's been awhile since i've been here. it's been awhile since i've needed him.
"all you're gonna do is suck it all in until you get sick. you know that."
i try being an adult. i try looking him in the eyes, but i can't.
"you need to close that shit up. let it heal a little. find somewhere else for the world to go."
his hands blur out of sync with his words. out of sync with everything. he goes through a stalk of celery in the blink of an eye. three cloves of garlic, gone.
"the world is gonna be the world no matter where you put it. it's not doing you any good trapped up in there."
my eyes lose focus for a minute. his hands seem to lose speed. tapping against the cutting board with no discernable rhythm. half an onion and a carrot appear as i regain my vision..
"you aren't going to follow my advice. not yet. you never do."
the knife sweeps the small pile of vegetables into a sizzling pan held just below the counter. everything is set over a low flame on the stovetop.
"you'll figure it out someday, kiddo. i got faith in you. i just hope the journey isn't any more difficult than it needs to be."
i stare, speechless, just like i used to, as his knife begins a new dance over a head of lettuce. tapping the board in quick, short bursts.
"now if you don't mind, i'm trying to cook here."
i step back.
the window is shut.
the blinds drop down.
and i go home.
if you're halfway decent. if you're poly-minded, if someone has told you you're awesome in the past week. if your first instinct is to laugh when your friends fall down; especially if you'd laugh along were it you that fell instead. if you've ever thought there should be a chronicles of riddick-inspired remake of point break.
maybe welding a tinyhome onto the back of a retired military five ton six by six and living in the woods sounds pleasant? yeah- hollaaaaaa.
or if you want to be in my bicycle gang. we can ride around with one hand and swing chains around in the other. once we get really good at it we can replace the chains with rotors and be a helicopter gang.