on this night of nights we two are so hopelessly inevitable

it's a haiku.



In Filipino tradition, it is said that the way you spend your New Year's Eve will resonate throughout the year. Because of this it is almost mandatory in some families that the entire core group is together on New Year's Eve. This was not the case for my family last night, as our hero was facedown drowning in the largest flagon of Guinness ever poured by humans.


I decided to go downtown, which was the place to be, and thankfully I wasn't driving. We had a table and we were with a good crowd. Pictures up on lushcollective later on. Everyone and their mother was in some sort of relationship so I attached myself to an extremely tall beer and hoped for the best. My night was comped courtesy of Lauren and Audria from the Hills, so drinking/cabs were not an issue.

I was entirely overdressed and some very large women found me adorable in the same way that a cute hat is adorable or a big piece of cake is adorable. The camera added a lot of 'prestige' and generally creeped everyone out.

The entire night, I knew I would inevitably end up in pacific beach. It was a combination of deep seated determination and fate. It became my mission. Another girl, another party, another crowd- I left my heart in PB and that is where my night would end-

At any cost!

Still though, as the clock struck midnight I was *not* in PB, so I forced myself on the nearest female and trademark overwhelming awkwardness filled the air.

"That was nice. So I was thinking I should call you."
Yeah my boyfriend over there doesn't think you should.
"...whoa. Oops. Whoa."
[John of unlimited charisma quickly backs away from the booth.]

In Filipino tradition, it is said that the way you spend New Years Eve will resonate throughout the year. Maybe this year's gonna have me getting my ass kicked.

To Pacific Beach!

Many drunken phonecalls had filled me with a sense of urgency. As if she might disappear at 2 AM, or my cab would turn into a pumpkin, or other such fairy tale urgency. I managed to hail a cab and collected Kevin and Kathryn and it was off to PB. I generously offered to pay for the whole cab, but I was thwarted by the cabbie who reminded me that he only accepted cash. So I payed far less than my share and quickly exited the scene.

I was totally lost at this point and several more phonecalls had me running into awaiting arms; though I inadvertently smashed some of her jewelry. Ataraxia is the state of mind in which you are no longer concerned with consequences. No more worries. It occurred to me later that I had lost my wallet somewhere and a small search party, armed with a single flashing LED keychain was sent out. Nobody found anything. My phone died. I don't know which cab company I took home.

In Filipino tradition, it is said that the way you spend New Years Eve will resonate throughout the year. Maybe this year's gonna have me going broke.

I wasn't worried about the wallet. I was happy to have completed my mission. I was full of alcohol and everything romantic there ever was.

Aren't you worried about it? It's such a pain in the ass.
"No, for some reason I'm not."

I woke up the next day with many farts still in me. My body has programmed itself not to fart in a girl's bed. Reality sets in and I remember where I am. Ataraxia wears off and I'm immediately disappointed by the inevitable trip to the DMV I'll have to make later. I got a ride to my car and I was complimented by the world's nicest floormats. They read, "You are THE BEST! :)" and I thought that was awfully positive for something you smear your dirty shoes all over but what the hell.

So in movie-mode I drove home. I might have been the only car on the road. I hoped I wouldn't get pulled over; I don't have anything on me. No license, no registration, no nothing. I make it home without incident and only now am I hung over.

I unleash a series of loud but not entirely unpleasant farts and I fall asleep. My cashmere sweater has shed all over my blazer and I look homeless, sleeping in jeans. I am awoken a little later by my cellphone, which is now charging.

A gritty, almost Rastafarian voice takes me by surprise.
Eyyy der Jannyboy! Ya know where yar wallet be?
"What? No?"
I've gat yer wallet Solees. Yar numba was in da wallet."


I met up with him at a neutral location and he handed the wallet to me. We happened to meet at a cafe and I offered to buy his meal. He said he had to get to work, but he wished me a happy New Year, told me to be more careful with my wallet, and drove off.

After getting my wallet back I realized how much work he had to do to get the damned thing back to me:

1) He had to dig through the whole wallet and somehow ended up with a list of contact information regarding the gym that I worked at.

2) He had to look up the directory OF that gym, and match my name to a list.

3) He had to determine which of the contacts would take him to me and which were just office bureaucracy runarounds

4) He had to call my ass, go out of his way to meet me at a safe and neutral location, and didn't even want some soup and a sandwich for his troubles.


Just because he wanted to do the right thing.


In Filipino tradition, it is said that the way you spend New Years Eve will resonate throughout the year. Maybe this year will see me being left vulnerable but loved by those around me.

I felt so good about the way everything panned out yesterday, and today was just icing on it all. And I didn't have to go to the DMV.

this hyphenated lifestyle

-

part three: john the gorilla: the long hard never again

11:38.



I am at work and I am still drunk. Doubtless.



For real, I'm never going to finish the Vegas story unless I do it now, as a proper segue into last night.



It's Saturday and I'm in vegas and we're at a breakfast buffet. Every hotel feeds you in buffet form, whether you're at the Venetian or Lucky Louie's Bad Times Casino. I am in "line" behind a very scary cholo man and I think of Rebeca. He glances over at me while he fishes for eggs, and asks, "Where did you get that scar?"



There are people who have known me for months-- years, even, without asking this.



He catches me off guard and the response is kneejerk. "Gunfight," I tell him.



He nods approvingly and moves on. Breakfast is decent, not great. They have yogurt and I fill up on that. There is no better feeling in the world than just being completely overflowing from the inside, chock full of dairy products. It's how an IED must feel. A pipe bomb. Something simple, poorly made and deadly-- that's me, when I'm full of yogurt.



I go to the pool for a long time. 122 degrees in vegas. I fall asleep on my back, so I am now two distinct shades of tan with my shirt off. I am told that this drives the ladies crazy. Two-tone John is on the prowl; watch yourself.



We go to the family reunion thing. I am still a deranged fuckmonster, but I resist the urge to hit on my distant cousins. I sing some karaoke songs. I hit on the bartendress. Huge, overflowing, jiggling personality on that girl. I get drunk. Typing that, I want to throw up because I am drunk right now.



I tour vegas with some of my older cousins. I start gambling again. There is no poetry here; I lost everything. All my profits from the day before, the saved 200, everything. It's gone. I feel like a loser; mostly cause I lost over and over. Losers lose.



I go to sleep a broken man. I look like this picture. I hate las vegas. Forever.



I go home the next day. I'm all out of embellishments.

---



Last night I'm in PB and my phone rings at around 11:00. Next thing I know, I'm at SDSU drinking with my coworkers. I drink too much, too fast. Story of my life. I smoked all of Tina's cigarettes. Nice. I wake up mostly naked on a couch that isn't in the same house that I was drinking at. This was startling but not surprising. If there's a difference.



I am drunk at work now. Probably. I want to throw up. I am full of regret and alcohol. Which may be my next CD title.



The upside is that I recorded a sick version of All Choked Up into my keyboard this morning. That should sound good.

John goes to Las Vegas; cries blood.

PART ONE



I've only got so much time before I don't want to write anything at all. This is precious. Let's go.







Friday. Wake up way too early and it's me and the family in a GMC Yukon Denali headed to Las Vegas. The maiden voyage, again. 21 in vegas. But I'm with my family. Family reunion in Las Vegas. "Oxymoron" isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind. I don't think about it at the time, but the words family and Vegas don't belong in the same sentence.




Family and Las Vegas don't even belong on the same planet.




It's just me and my family. This is a reunion and I'm not slinking into a club alone. So this is going to be a drinking and gambling trip. I've got money in the bank, money on my credit card, but none in my wallet. We're all pissed off. I've been living at home for one week now and things have been going smooth. I can't hide in a car, though, even one as big as a Yukon. Conversation turns frustrating. I claw at the window but the AC is on so I give up and start to read Choke.





We drive and my dad answers his phone. My uncle tells him that he's already at the hotel. And four people were just shot. Beginner's luck doesn't hold up too well against a rifle and a psychopath. I hope that the situation is over by the time we get there.











I'm reading Choke and my mom is talking to me. I can't tell if it's the book or my mom or both but I'm getting pretty pissed. The main character's life is basically ruined by his mom. That's not a spoiler, it's on the back cover. Maybe the book was behind it, but know that I was pissed. Regardless, I keep it mostly bottled up and I plea for her to SHUT UP. I'm trying to read. Please just stop talking.










Then it explodes-- A blood vessel in my left eye explodes and I am sure that this weekend is going to be awesome.








I won't bring it up again, but Choke is outstanding. A very fast read for 300 pages- hard to put down. My rage continues until we check into our hotel. The blood has since been mopped up and no one mentions anything about a shooter. I see it on the news later.




We head up to the 11th floor to find our room. 1123 opens properly, because our magnetic key cards are programmed to open Room 1123.




I didn't know what to expect in this suite. Two beds. A window, for sure. A couch if I'm lucky, and a large CRT television. Some doofy small remote and maybe... black sheets? White sheets? Who knows.













What I did NOT expect was a naked fat white man. And his exceedingly fat black hooker.













And like the proverbial deer in headlights, I couldn't shut the door. He got up and sprung for me, and I pulled it shut as fast as I could. The door didn't open again.



We got a bigger room comped, which was nice. My mom wanted to sue the hotel. She didn't even see anything, but this is America and etc. I tell her to shut up. I need to chill out on my mom, but Vegas is hot, and I'm with my family, and I'm fairly well pissed off.



We tour the place a bit, and I break off to gamble. I don't have any cash on me, and my dad gives me some money to play with. I turn $100 into $250 very quickly. I call him and he congratulates me. I pocket the profits and hit another table. I'm playing roulette exclusively. I turn $20 into $160 more and I call my dad again. From gambling alone, I'm up over $200. If you count my dad's money as a gift, I'm up over $300.















I take a break and treat my brother to some arcade games. This picture is unposed. Posed he looks normal. The rest of the time, this is what he looks like. He makes ugly faces and ugly noises and pretty much does his best to annoy me. He never sees the punches coming, because I am fucking lightning.





Regardless, he appreceates the gesture and I stick $200 in the hotel safe so I cannot lose it.





I gamble more later and it hits me.





See the trip to Chowchilla for reference, but after Rosarito I will never be the same. The moment I'm not in San Diego... the moment I'm in a new location, all I wanna do is fuck everything in sight. The hotel is full of cougars. Smoke-damaged shells of women who were gorgeous 10 years ago. Gravity-ravaged avatars of the girls most men would have killed themselves over 20 years ago.




There are college girls around too, but I have no wingman and they travel in herds.



Without a second dude, I'm just a creepy 14 year old drunk guy.



I love cougars but I have no idea how to talk to them. I feel like anything I could possibly reference will be new and scary to them. iPhone? Some of these chicks probably are still trying to figure out cordless phones. So I'm limited to light banter and the shit they feed me. Everyone tells me I look so young. Cougars love that.




What the fuck am I thinking though? In my hotel room right now, is my brother and my mom. It's like I'm living at home, except I'm on the road. And I'm not gonna get to bone any of these milfs anyways- they're out here with their dudes, just talking to me to make some old bald white man jealous.



A dude covered in tattoos sits down next to me and asks if he can take the roulette seat next to his girlfriend. I cash out.



Wandering around, I notice that old dudes are full of advice. They are either gay or lonely, but they are happy to be talking to someone and seem knowledgable. One dude wanted to buy me a beer, and I declined. I said I wanted to stay focused, but in reality, I just wanted to stay not man-raped.



Thank god I stashed those two bills. With my change I win $500 more or so, and I lose it all. At the peak of my insanity, I placed a $200 bet on black.





There's a scene... Wesley Snipes looks right into the camera and says, "Always bet on black."





Never bet on black. I lost the bet and everything else. I was down to nothing but the $200 in my hotel room. Thank god I stashed those two bills. Still up.

I got back up to the hotel room and realized how quickly I spent $500. I felt like shit. If it had been cash in my hands, I would never have spent it. But a bright little coin that says 100 on it is easy to throw down. My mom and dad tell me its fine. It's vegas and that's what happens. And I'm still up $200.







I think to myself, "The next couple dates I go on are comped by Las Vegas." That's nice.





I go to bed. The reunion is the next day.

His majesty's brilliant metamorphosis into base sex-fiend.

(...continued from previous post, "The maiden voyage....")



Hello loyal reader.

I must regretfully inform you that I have abandoned this project. There is simply too much information, so I will give you the bullet points, if you were curious.

*John/Ben arrive safely in Chowchilla. Stephanie's dad lives in a castle on a golf course.

*John calls dad; informs him that he drove. Dad is skeptical, suggests that car will break down on way home. John informs Dad that dad is wrong and an idiot.

*Saturday finds the roommates at the 'resort' area of the course- food and swimming pools and etc. abound.

*John is so pent up from abstaining since Thursday, even the most haggard of women are completely attractive to him. Hillarity ensues.

I'll stop the slideshow to include one hillarious conversation with a 4 year old nephew-ish person of Stephanie's. His name is William, goes by Liam. He is from Seattle and wants to be a surfer. He doesn't let his mom cut his hair, but he is only 4 so it's not that long.

Liam: Hello.
John: Hi liam, how is your day going?
Liam: It is good. I rode in an airplane.
John: That's right, you're from Seattle. I remember now.

John: Liam, do you like baseball?
Liam: Yes.
John: Do you like the Mariners?
Liam: Yes.

(Liam fidgets with some sort of cookie and kicks his feet. I do the same thing because I am basically four and I like cookies.)

John: Did you know that the greatest baseball player alive, Ken Griffey Jr, used to play for the Seattle Mariners?
Liam: Yes. Did you know that the best snake alive is the King Cobra?


John: Yes.


We later discussed watermelons, the best animal, the best dinosaur, and the difficulties of surfing in Seattle, WA. But I did think that transition from my hero to a venomous reptile was pretty seamless.

*John, Ben, Stepahnie, Vincent all play way too many drinking games. John goes to bed drunk and angry.

*John and Ben leave before Stephanie and Vince on Sunday.

*John drives like an asshole. Car is acting suspicious. John and Ben press onward.

*Car is really acting suspicious now, we press onward.

*Radio turns off and emergency brake light turns on. What the shit?

*transition...

*John and Ben are broken down in front of Angelina Jolie's house on the corner of Sunset and Foothill in Beverly Hills. We are ignored by paparazzi and security guards, and because it is Sunday, a tow truck and mechanic are completely inaccessible.

*We are rescued by a combination of AAA, the world's surliest tow truck driver, the only gas station in Beverly Hills, Stephanie Fall, and Ben's grand-aunt Kathy, who is perhaps the sweetest lady in the world.

*Dennis warns us that we will likely have to take a train back to San Diego and come back next week for the car.

*John calls home, lies about what happened, says he is back in San Diego already but is not coming to visit them for some unknown reason. John refuses to let dad know he was right about the car breaking down.

*Repairs are eventually made, John and Ben arrive home scott free.



*John makes some irrational phonecalls; eventually busts a nut.





~fin.

the maiden voyage of his most excellent Sir John the Indefatigable.

Thursday:

My phone rings at 11:45 pm. Ben has just gotten back from Los' house, with Stephanie. He wants to know if I am going to Stephanie's graduation party tomorrow.

I hesitate. Dylan is unable to go because of work. The green Ford Ranger has been unreliable at best, though recently has been running strong. My beloved Nissan has never let me down, but it hasn't really been tested and Chowchilla is 377 miles away.

I relay this information to Ben, who assures me we can make it. He needs to know now, because if I'm not going, he'll ride up with Stephanie in the morning. If he waits up for me, there is no way I'm going to bail on him in the afteroon.

More importantly: Stephanie thinks I am going to go. My word is my bond.

So I commit. "Yes. We're going. We'll figure out the car thing later."

My housing issues are evicted from the back of my mind. Car paranoia signs a temporary sub-lease. I eventually get to sleep.

Friday comes, and I am a solid four minutes late to work. The shift begins and ends quickly, and I'm back at home preparing a backpack. I laugh a bit as I look for the bag- I hadn't used it since the first day of the spring semester. I find it and fill it with t-shirts, shorts, and loafers. I stuff an optimistic amount of condoms in the front pocket as well.

I'd been so distracted on Thursday that I'd completely forgotten to "handle it." So to speak. Wax the batmobile, etc. This becomes important later, but for the time being, it manifested itself in me bringing condoms to what is basically a family picnic.

I tell Ben that we should check my tires, and that I would like to drive. I estimated my nine gallon tank yielding us 270 miles before we'd need to refill, and I wanted to test the roadworthiness of this particular 17 year old car.

I call my mom (specifically my mom, and not my dad) and let her know I am driving to Chowchilla. She asks where it is and wishes me luck. She wonders if my car can make it; I assure her it can. Is this enough obvious foreshadowing yet?

We neglect to check the tires and we're off. I notice certain things. The car rattles a good deal after 85 mph, depending on the surface. Drafting other cars does wonders for your gas. We'd gone through half a tank in the first 100 miles. Ben did some quick calculations and realized that we were only projecting 200 gallons on my tank of gas. On the freeway. I guessed that it was an error with the meter and not the engine, and sure enough, we squeezed almost 200 additional miles out of the remaining "half tank."

The goal was to refill in a town called Earlimart, more for sentimental reasons than conveniance. Let it be known that there is no store called "Early Mart," if you're ever explaining your location to an extremely confused group of friends in another car.

Ben and I both took careful precautions to make sure our ipods were charged and ready for the nearly seven hour drive. Playlists were made. Plans were set. It was only after we were out of range for San Diego's radio stations that we realized that neither one of us had brought an adapter to use them in the car.

Nice.

to be continued.