a bitter, sharply abusive denunciation.

I've hit bottom and it feels alright. Society demands that I shower regularly, but they cannot force me to shave!

I have grown what could very well be the worst beard in the entire world. It is as much social experiment as it is laziness- how long will it take before someone tells me to shave it off?

It is an odd feeling, to be sure. It felt like summer the other day, which is cliche but accurate. I'm not really thinking about school. Basically the same thing I was thinking about during the schoolyear.

I guess I'm not really thinking about anything. I had a dream that I cart-jacked the ARC golf cart, and was later caught. In the dream, everyone was cool with it and even replaced the cart with a newer, faster model. They were terrified, though, that I would just steal and lose it again. So I had acceptance but not trust. Maybe there's something to that.

What is significant is that I'm now dreaming about hypothetical nonsense instead of the standard emo-nightmares. It would be refreshing if it wasn't so boring. And even then, I'm not bored. I'm content, with a blanked out mind. Which is a bit scary.

It occurs to me now (at work, at the gym, working with people) that I should at least have done something to my hair. Straightened, styled, combed... shit, anything. Hat? My hair is crap.

Moving on...

I have no clear direction in sight right now. Nowhere to live. I turned down free housing and food, because of my loyalties to my job. What will that loyalty cost me? And was it worth it? Time will tell. I have no regrets (hence the lengthy myspace pseudonyms) and I am sure my decisions will pay off long term. Ish.

Lease is up in July. Then home with the parents. Then--- where?

I also need to write a new song. A song takes inspiration. Inspiration takes heartbreak. Heartbreak takes a girl.

If you are a girl and you would like to break my heart//have a song written about you, please feel free to apply. Send all resumes to trueslide(at)gmail(dot)com and we'll talk. AIM= slidetrue

The Science of Sleep fucked me up badly. It was like seeing an incredibly accurate charicature of myself. I appreceate and I am impressed by how much it resembles me, but I am also offended by it. I am made self conscious by it.

I have always maintained that if my life is at least interesting, I am doing something right. Life as a movie. That is to say, if someone would like to watch the current plot of my life in a movie, things are fine, whether I am up or down. That places boredom at the bottom tier.

This movie, though, made me feel badly. To the point where I am not sure I would watch it again. I think it is crucial (cruxial?) that in the movie of my life, no one feels bad for the main character.

Heavy.

Final Fantasy XII is running and ruining my life. Sidequest after sidequest after sidequest. 70 hours in ten days. Do the math.


Jesus Christ, I need a hobby.


Girls, apply now.

lightning, bro.

I am zonked. Straight wired. Count Dracula might tap into my neck if he needs an energy boost. Caffine. Buck stars, I'm on it.

Study, study, study. I am blasting rap music and taking practice tests. I'm not even sure this is real.


I wanna swim to Japan and back.

how to be paris hilton.

i) be sweet at all times.

ii) never hold anything

iii) if you walk past a mirror, always look at yourself in it.

iv) whenever you enter a house, always ask for toast and butter.

v) if you don't know what to say, just say "that's hot."

I was flipping through channels and the Simple Life was on. I hadn't seen this show in years and I was not going to start watching it now.

Paris was talking to a girl who looked a good deal like her.

"You're hot."
"Thanks, I think you're hot too."
"Thanks bitch."

Then she addressed a girl who looked even more like her.
"Your legs are killer, and you're hot. But you're also a boy and I think people will realize that."
I guess one of the Paris look-alikes was a man. Paris apparently needs a body double for something.

She finally chose the winner, a third contestant, and told her they had a lot of work to do; most important of which was memorizing the afforementioned rules. I changed the channel after that.

Why is this relevant?

Because I am only two rules away from being Paris Hilton.

So does anyone have any toast and butter?

A report. I am still drunk.

I showed up thirty minutes early tonight. What followed my punctual arrival was perhaps the longest half-hour in history. I approached the hostess and I said, plainly:

"Hello, my name is John Solis. S-O-L-I-S."

I spelled it out for her because people so often mispronounce or misspell my name.

"Uhhh.... that's nice." She stabs. "Did you want to be seated?"

I quickly realize that my promptness has left her confused and disoriented. "I'll just sit at the bar."

Time passes and Brendan and his cohort arrive. I leave my chair and finish my mojito, which is apparently the trademark drink of Cendio. Cedino? I am still drunk. I finish my drink, and I order another. I am desperately wanting something called a 'caramel appletini', but I feel that any manhood I have left will be tossed out the window if I order this drink.

I lean in on the bartender and ask him, "what would James Bond order?"

he doesn't know.

Luckily for me, and my liver, Jenny knows that James Bond drinks a dirty martini with a twist of lemon rind. Shaken, not stirred, of course.

And with that one simple and idiotic request, I consumed my first of ... six? martinis tonight. I am still very very drunk, for whatever it is worth.

The 'free vodka' was scheduled to last from 9:00 pm to 10:30 pm, but ran out at around a quarter to ten. Luckily for me, I had an open tab and no sense of money management. Christo imbibed a Patron shot and yet another "James Bond" martini on my behalf. He bailed out early, but to his credit, he drank every beverage handed to him. What a champ.

I have a fatty crush on the promoter. Something about a woman in power. Hi Andrea.

Time passes and I notice that my ride has arrived. I am drunk and paranoid, and incredibly cautious of my behaviour. I am sure not to offend her, though at one point in the night she is certain I grabbed her butt and I scream at her till she admits she was wrong.

She was wrong, by the way.

That was, thankfully, my only incident of the night. I saw quite a few people I didn't expect to see, and my drunkeness was (likely due in large part to the high quality of the drinks) a very happy sort of drunkeness.

I was largely mentally distracted throughout the evening, but that did not stop me from dancing and looking like an idiot. Some people lead with their hands, or even their hips. I lead with my crotch. Maybe it's been too long, but the pelvic thrusts just force their way into my social life when they aren't satisfied in my private life.

Thank god I'm still drunk or else that last paragraph may not have made the cut.

My happy drunk turned into a slightly more hostile drunk as the night went on, but I never crossed any lines of appropriateness. I took a puff of a cigarette which is unlike me, but I suppose I only wanted to blow a ring. Which I did, quite successfully.

More time passed and more things happened, and I got a taco and enchilada. I thought my enchilada would be full of beef, but as I bit into it, I found nothing but cheese. In fact, it was an entire bag of Kraft shredded Mexican style cheese, wrapped in the worlds thinnest casing. I finished it though, because I am a trooper.

At some point during the night, we encountered a few gentlemen playing a rousing game of midnight wiffle ball. One of them invited me to smoke, and I agreed to, for some reason, but was too drunk to find their apartment. I suppose that this is a good thing, at the end of the day. I assembled the hookah back at Christina's house, and it was very good.

There are a ton of gaps in here. Here are some blurbs:

1) Everyone assumes I'm still handling this girl that I no longer am. It creates some awkard moments, for sure. The fact that I'll still defend her honor just compounds the stupid situation.

2) When I am drunk, I definitely like to kiss people. Sorry for that.

3) I am the drunk dialing master. On 20 drunk dials, I'll get around 10 answers. That's .500! I'm the Tony Gwynn of drunk dial averages, though none of mine panned out into anything successful.

4) I still want a ride and a hot tub party. Just so you know.

5) In my drunkeness, my paranoia is quite amplified, and as I type this, I am incredibly skeptical about what I left behind tonight. Yes that is vague. Yes I know.

But here's the point: I didn't embarass anyone. I didn't ruin anyones night. No one knows I hate them, and no ones knows I love them. But I *did* get way fucked up, and I *did* have a really good time. So take that. I'm still a person. Not an alcohol-fueled awkward-moment machine like some of you may have thought.


Tomorrow I need to find my car. And once I found it, I would have to find a way to get there. I had no idea where I parked it, but upon checking my text messages, I realized that I had left myself a reminder.

"Dear John: You parked in front of Banana Republic. Be good, I love you."

At least someone does!

Goodnight.

No longer lofty!

What the shit. This is not epic. Doesn't have to be. I'm just gonna set too high a standard for myself here, and let everyone down.

I'm referring to the way this is written, not me drinking tonight. Just so you know.

So here's some things I'm thinking of: I like to wear board shorts the moment I get in the door, and I almost never wash them. How's that?

Yeah.


What now.


Oh and I'm getting FUCKED UP tonight probably. Wish YOU luck. Ha.

Cendio, La Jolla

Summer is essentially here for me. I have a final next Wednesday- Marketing, which is also my major.

Important, right? Wrong. I have bigger things to worry about.

For example, where am I going to embarass myself next? What bridges can I burn further? I hear alcohol is quite combustible.

The answer lies in La Jolla. The answer lies in a birthday, a promise, a test, and free drinks. The answer is Cendio, a latin-themed La Jolla restau-bar that was formerly known as Moondoggies.

As far as burning bridges goes, free vodka and plentiful company should provide ample amounts of fuel. Incendio, coincidentally, is Spanish for fire. Ominous.

I hope that isn't the case tonight. I hope I make a good showing, display appropriate levels of drunkeness, and arrive home SAFELY and WITHOUT confessing my love or hatred of anyone. That is what I want. And I want Christo to have a good 21st birthday, too.

There is a girl out there, whose opinion means more to me than it should, who thinks I'm going to drink too much and get too rowdy and ruin her night. I hope she's wrong, and I wish she trusted me. Regardless, though, I journey forth into the night with good intentions.

Summer hasn't even officially started yet and I'm already antsy. Anxious, even. I have high hopes for the night- not because of where I'm going or who's going to be there with me... but because I've been really bored lately, and I want to make sure I remember how to have fun.

The only question will be whether or not anything catches fire in the process.


Wish me luck.

John

the birth of trueslide.com

I've owned this domain for years. Just YEARS. And I've never done anything with it. Typical of me. Here it is. Day one. 2:13 am, a late night debut, just like seedyplayer.com. Thanks for stopping by.