imagine living your whole life for the worst thing you ever did.

part one: milfhunter
------------------

Like clockwork I'm old.

1985, John is born.

22 years later I am the oldest man in the entire world.

I've been so attracted to adult behaviour in girls lately that I must be an adult.

Can't find a job? Oh tell me all about it.
Stressed about your full time job? I've got a boner.
You miss college? Let's get married.
You're nervous about your wedding? Dear God lets run away from all this...

These grown up problems get me going so much because I'm at this bizzare stage where I might be the only medicine left for these people. I'm a grown up. Still living like an eighteen year old. I'm gonna make you young forever.

The people I'm closest to are my age, and in turn, a lot of them have graduated and moved on. And their situations are terrifying to a college student. But somehow, I'm not phased. I'm not scared. For some reason, I don't think it's gonna be me. That dude who slows down and lives for happy hour and is in bed by ten cause of work...

You see it, around this age, around this time, at this exact fifth year in college. That nervous confusion of the 22-24 year old college student. People feel old, and they're over the college scene. They just wanna get out. Move on, move up.

I do feel old, but I'm so not over it. I've seen enough wealthy and miserable graduates to know that it's not for me *quite yet*. I'm already thinking my career is going to have to be fun...

that is HUGE.

because as a business major, you usually realize in your senior year that your career will be lucrative but not fun.

I think mine might be fun. I might force it. It's gonna be great.

I've never felt so positive about the future. I think about it so rarely- I exist two weeks at a time. But I look forward and I feel good.

I see all these kids around me doing the SDSU dance, and it's funny to see how the patterns are so consistent. Freshman year people tend to act a certain way. Sophomore too. Junior too. Etc.

It's like my hero complex has grown up with me and graduated college before I did, because I just wanna save these 'grown up' girls who've accepted this monotony... the total value change.

I saw Johnny Rotten on Jimmy Kimmel and he's 50 years old and he's STILL pissed off. Ha!

I'm completely rambling. I don't feast on other people's misery, I just wanna help. For realsies.

------------------

part two: something's wrong syndrome
------------------
Everyone loves to be a victim. You can see it in people as young as toddlers. Here's a classic example:

Kid is toddling around the living room and bonks his head on a table corner. Ouch! He pops back up and keeps toddling around, but mom runs in from across the hall and coddles the shit out of him. "OHMYGOD AREYOUOKAY? OHMYBABY!"

This attention... shit, read Choke. Anyways, this attention not only reinforces the behaviour, but the "what's wrong?" aspect of it suggests that SOMETHING IS WRONG!

So the kid cries, cause she's wondering if he's okay so he must not be.

"What's wrong?" is the most fucked up thing you can ask someone.

Are you alright? Well fuck you, I'm not now.

And once you make yourself the victim, there's no backing out. You're miserable and you can't just turn it off. It's hard to change character on a dime. All cause some drunken bitch couldn't perceive the difference between distracted and depressed.

Here's how you fix it. Just claim drunkenness. Just do it. You can get away with anything if you're drunk, don't make yourself a victim or a villain and just say, "Oh I'm fine, I'm just shitfaced."

That's all there is to it. Heed that one, save yourself a lot of awkwardness. Trust me.

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.

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