and my daughters will drive volvos.

I get home at 2:22 in the morning, which is more coincidental than ominous. My room, as always, is illuminated. It looks like the laboratory of a mad scientist; the television bouncing blue and white lightning against the simple slat blinds in the window. It looks like I'm already home. It looks like I'm up to something.

I ate pizza tonight, driven by both hunger and a desire for sobriety. Why can't we not be sober? I finally realize that's a plea for drunkenness; society has taught me to ignore double negatives otherwise. Regardless I eat this pizza and it is delicious. Brian works at Amore pizza on Mission boulevard in PB, and he is from New York and we talk about pizza and music.

I say that it is interesting how a lot of people have a favorite album, but it is typically not by their favorite band. This begs the question, "why is your favorite band your favorite?" I won't answer that now, but think about it: what's your favorite album... and is it by your favorite band? Bet you it's not.

Welcome to the rotation, I say out loud, as I drunk dial someone I've not drunk dialed before. I bat zero, though, and I get the machine. The message. The answering machine. Whatever. The drunk dial is less a cry for help than it is an acknowledgment. We're like criminals who want to be caught. Best case scenario, she picks up and we are outed as drunk dialers.

As if to say, "congratulations. I am in a disoriented state of mind and you made the cut. Welcome to my tequila reality."

And every song on the radio matters, so badly, because the lyrics are crystal clear. So sad I'm gonna die; I hope it's going to happen later than I think.

We want so badly not to be strangers. That's why we start a conversation with the pizza guy or our old and dear friends. "What's new?" as if to say, "Make me familiar again... make us not strangers and make our lives overlap so we can..."


So we can matter to eachother.


Legitimately.


Sometimes I miss everything so badly that I dream about the way I used to live.

How does the overdramatic adjective go?

The love of my life.

Life was my love, before. I want to wake up and go up stairs and know that I'm around people who care about the nothing in my life. Cause that girl smiled at me and it makes me feel good, and this diet is working well and I think I'm gonna take up charcoal drawing.

Let me be significant because I'm around you all day.


This is where we fall apart. This is where my system fails. This is where my magical rollercoaster live-at-home-lifestyle falters. Parents always care, but it's duty over interest. It's necessity over friendship and it's given instead of earned. I was born into this team, not drafted.


We were all destroyed by ourselves and now where are we?


What happened to us?


You realize what you're doing when you have to explain it to an old friend. Your life exists undefined till you're forced to define it for someone.

"So what are you up to man? I mean, are you into girls and stuff?"
Of course I am. What do you think?
"No I mean, what's going on with you and girls?"
Oh. Yeah, well... the diet, school, working out... it's finally been about me.
"Yeah that's probably for the best."
(I don't feel the same way.)
Yeah... probably....



I'm hard as hell inside and out and I just wanna be vulnerable for five seconds to remind myself that it's the softness that matters.


big slick on the draw, ace king is a good hand, drop back limped raise stand up with a new plan.

Never grow old.

I'm not embarrassed anymore. I feel young and I'm happy. I'm made young by what I'm doing. I'm finding life in habit and habit in life. Honest.



Never leave a stone unturned. No "what if." I have to stare into space once in a while or else I might miss that shooting star.



Better to regret doing than not doing.


I wanna be so content that all I worry about is my life. To prolong that happiness. To stay alive long enough to enjoy it. I never think about mortality because I'm never satisfied.






As if I have nothing to lose until I do.



What matters is the chance. The potential. I wouldn't trade this lotto ticket for the world.

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