Note: This was written late this past Friday night/early Saturday morning. I just now got around to posting it. No lyrics this time.

It's been said many a time by many a person in many a context that it's the little things in life that make life good or bad, a joy or a misery. And to a certain extent, I have to agree with that. There are things out there that while considered small on their own, when added up, can make a huge difference on one's view of life, even if the little things that have added up seem meaningless at first glace or by themselves. There are some little things that really make my day. One of them is having exact bills and change. That's just one of those "hey, alright" moments. Another is pointing your finger at a red light as if you had the power to make it turn green, and actually see the timing work out (without looking at the stoplight across the street and timing it when it turns yellow). It just makes you feel good. Earlier tonight, I had another one such moment. When I make the turn to come up the steep street that snakes around to my building, I can see if the parking spot reserved for our unit is taken or not. Since both roommates were home, I assumed when I made the turn that it would be taken. It wasn't. And it made me happy that my day could begin ending on a little something that made me happy, if even for the briefest of moments. It was a good end to a good day. Now, had I been forced to park down at the bottom of the hill, it still would have been a good day, but it just would have been a drag to schlep my tired ass up that hill, down a flight of stairs, up three more flights of stairs, and then to my front door. It just was not something I wanted to deal with after freezing my ass off for three hours at AT&T Park to watch the Giants snatch defeat from the jaws of victory…again…in a disappointing losing effort to the Philadelphia Phillies. And besides, what the fuck is a Phillie, anyway? Is it just a person from Philadelphia? What a cop-out. It's like when someone runs out of ideas for a new team, they just say, "Fuck it, we'll just give 'em a nickname people from this city already have." My guess is that's how the NFL team so cleverly known as "The Texans" was born. I mean, really…that's some quality creativity there. Top-notch stuff. Does Texas really only have Rockets, Spurs, Astros, Rangers, and Cowboys going for it? After just those things, all that's left are the Texans themselves? I guess being the biggest state doesn't mean you have the most variety. Anyway, I digress. Where was I? Oh, yeah. So, glad I got the parking spot, glad I didn't have to walk up the hill, and it was a little thing in life that made me happy.

Another thing that makes me happy: crap days! Now, for those of you who don't know me that well, that phrase might be a little confusing. When I say "crap days," I don't mean a shitty day. I mean a day where I allow myself to cheat on my otherwise rigid eating habits, and enjoy some crappy food. I am a health freak, and as such, I watch what I eat very carefully for most of the week. But one day a week, usually just for one meal, I find the best-tasting shittiest-for-me food I can, and get my fix of junk food so I don't go fucking crazy. It's like a little holiday I look forward to every week, and this week, I saved it for today, because 1, me and Travis, my roommate/best friend since first grade, were gonna get a shitload of KFC Snackers, and 2, I was going to the Giants game, and no live sporting event is complete without shitty food.

I got 6 KFC Snackers, two each of BBQ chicken, crispy chicken, and buffalo chicken. Travis got two each of the buffalo, crispy, and cheese Snackers. I also got a steak burrito (since the KFC we went to was also a Taco Bell), because I had a feeling that six Posit-It sized sandwiches were not going to fill me up. I was right. The Snackers and burrito didn't stand a chance. Anyway, I was hoping that Travis might trade me one of his cheese Snackers for one of my BBQ chicken Snackers, but man, he was adamant about keeping his cheese Snackers to himself. Not in a selfish dick type of way. But man, he's usually so nice and generous all the time, that I expected his regular, almost obligatory, "uh, sure!" response when I asked if I could make a trade. To my surprise, it was met with his signature brand of reluctance and hesitation – a combination of child-like (and I mean that in an endearing way) head rolling and painful sighs – when he really prolly wanted to say, "um, how 'bout fuck no? I wants these fo mahself." And that's totally cool. But was resulted was one of those little things that bothered me about today.

After I came back from the Giants game – it was prolly around 11 p.m. at this point – I really wanted to get a cheese Snacker to see why Travis thought they were so good. I figured the drive-through would be open late, since Taco Bell often advertises "open 'til midnight or later." Apparently, that applies to participating locations only, and the location nearest me did not wish to participate. What a slacker location. So now I have to continue to wonder about the mysterious and enigmatic bliss that is the KFC cheese Snacker…that is, until my next crap day.

As for the crap day at the Giants game, it was great…a churro, AT&T Park's famous garlic fries, the ballpark's perfect and surprisingly reasonably-priced lemonade (the best lemonades I've ever had are at the ballpark), and a sinfully decadent ice cream treat…vanilla ice cream sandwiched between two chocolate chip cookies. Letting my curiosity get the best of me, I looked at the back of the ice cream sandwich wrapper before I opened it to get a glimpse of the nutrition facts…500 calories. Almost as much as a Big Mac. I didn't care. It was a crap day. At the ballpark. Special situation. End of story. I indulged in the first bite and as the ice cream started to melt in my mouth, I started to laugh like an evil genius that just finished explaining his plan, and all of its detail, intricacies, and vulnerability to some secret agent man (yes, that's a reference to the song…I once thought it was "secret Asian man." I think it should be Walter's theme song). The price for this hockey-puck sized treat? 5 fucking 25! After failing to get that cheese Snacker after the game, and since my sweet tooth was still…um, sweeting, I went to a 7-11, and got another ice cream sandwich. The price there? $1.25! But they (the people who set the food prices at the ballpark) know that if you're all the ballpark, you really don't care what something costs – if you want it, you'll pay for it. I mean, fuck, if you're gonna pay $30 just to PARK for a 3-hour game, when it costs $15 to park ALL DAY in some areas in San Francisco, they know you're a sucker. Even though I didn't get my Snacker, that ice cream bar totally hit the spot – again – and it was just another little thing that made me happy to be alive.

But while there are some little things that add up and make a regular day good, there are those little things – or maybe, in this case, not-so-little things – that you think about and just think, "fuckin' A, what the fuck is up with THAT?" Ok people, believe me when I say I do not want to get into some political debacle here, but when I pulled into a gas station to jot down some ideas for what I am currently writing, I couldn't help but notice the price for gas. Unleaded is $4.09 a gallon. Now then, I am not saying that Bush or his administration or anyone remotely involved with his administration had anything to do with gas prices rising…and before I continue, I am not saying "I am not saying" just to be sarcastic here. Take the following literally: I am not saying that Bush or his administration or anyone remotely involved with his administration had anything to do with raising gas prices as outrageously as they are now. But, I DO know that when he was first elected back in 2000, you could find a gallon of unleaded gas for $1.49. I'm not saying…I'm just saying. And thinking about rising gas prices – no matter who's at fault or for what reason – pisses me off, and just irks me enough to count for a little (or not-so-little) thing that makes life frustrating.

Something else I noticed…this isn't so much about little things that make or break a day, it's just something funny I've noticed: Guys are stubborn. What's more, we're thickheaded. Even if we know we've made a mistake – and admitted it out loud, and others verbally agree with said admission – we will continue on our course of action, regardless of the consequences. Case in point: me, Joaquin (one of my best friends since middle school), his little brother Emiliano ("Nano" for short), and Tyler and Kim (some friends from Joaquin's college), were walking from AT&T Park to the parking lot after the game, when Nano said out loud something along the lines of, "Hey, didn't we pass where we need to get into the parking lot?" To this, every one of the guys said something to the effect of, "yeah, we should probably turn around." But of course, no one did. We all just kept walking straight ahead. The car WAS in the direction we were headed. We'd get there eventually, anyway. Thank God Kim was walking toward the front of the group, because had she not turned around and headed back what must have been only 15 or 20 feet to the entrance of the parking lot, there is no doubt in my mind that we would have just kept right on walking. Again, we would have gotten to the car eventually…maybe after everyone else had left (slight exaggeration), but it prolly would have taken several minutes longer. And being as cold and windy as it was, at about the 5th inning, I just wanted to see the game end. I didn't really care who won or lost. So when we weathered the elements long enough to where we were headed back to a sheltered, climate-controlled environment, every second we spent OUT of the car is a second we didn't spend IN the car (funny how that works, isn't it?). Alls I'm saying is, it was a good thing she turned around and took action when a valid point was made rather than just go along with what was happening and take the hit, as guys tend to do sometimes. It's like when we dial a wrong number. Bullshit, it was the wrong number! And just to prove it, not only am I not even gonna look at the number I just dialed, but I am going to press the buttons twice as hard this time! Because I'M right and the PHONE'S wrong. Ha. As crazy as women are, guys are equally idiotic. It makes for a combustible environment. That sounds like it'd be fun to write about. More on this in a future blog. Stay tuned.

Speaking of future blogs, keep your eyes open for a blog about how religion is a lie. And how love is an even bigger lie. Anyone I DIDN'T intrigue or piss off with that last sentence? I am sure I don't care. Seriously though, that blog is coming. Can't wait to hear what people think about that happy lil subject matter.

Christ, writing this much wears one out (I started this thing about an hour ago). It's weird: I don't typically think of writing as something that wears me out. Then again, there are a few things I think shouldn't wear me out, but seem to, and going to a baseball game is one of them. It's not like it's hard to keep up with. Of the three most popular sports in America (baseball, football, basketball), it's by far the least-action packed. No one's getting pummeled into the gridiron every 40 seconds, no one's running up and down a court. There are very few instances of intense physical exertion (aside from the pitching), and even fewer instances of applause-worthy feats of athleticism and thrilling competition. If a game's on and I'm at home and doing something, I'll put it on just for background noise, and occasionally look up when I hear the crowd suddenly roar. Sometimes I'll even take a nap with a game on. There's something that's just more relaxing than exciting about watching baseball than watching basketball or football. I mean, sure, you can relax and watch football or basketball, but not nearly as much as when you're watching baseball. But for whatever reason, going to a game just seems to sap the life right out of you, when you didn't even do a goddamn thing. You chatted with some nearby friends or fellow fans, you ordered some ice cream sandwiches and lemonade, you talked shit to the visiting bullpen or outfielder, you stood up and cheered during the three or four stand-up-and-cheer-worthy moments, you spent $30 on parking like a dumbass, and then went home. And took a nap. What the fuck? Ballgames just seem to do that. Ballgames and movies in the theater. That might just be me, but they just knock me out. Movies, though, are a little more subjective. Comedies don't really zonk me out like an action movie would. I felt way more energetic and alert after watching the new Harold and Kumar than I did after watching Iron Man. Which is really weird, considering I had…um, help…enjoying Harold and Kumar. So I guess movies with a lot of action drain me more than movies with Neil Patrick Harris riding a unicorn. Who'da thunkit? But that's ok. Being tired is a good thing. Makes sleeping easier. But for some reason, being tired makes me feel like I actually did something that day, and it makes it easy to welcome the night.

Oh, nighttime. I can't wait for nighttime. There's something so welcoming, mysterious, accepting, foreboding, unleashing, tempting, and enticing about the night. It's like you're more free at night. More free to cut loose, to let your inhibitions go, to let the real you out. I think when people say "they only come out at night," the "they" refers to what's really inside a person. And sometimes, that can be freaky…and freaky can be in a good or bad way. Driving around trying to get my Snacker allowed me to be reminded of some of the regular night sights that frequent my area. Neighborhood cops patrolling the area in their cars, looking desperately for a group of loitering teens they could catch with some alcohol or a blunt. The troubled patrons of a dive bar stumbling out the door hoping to find a sober ride home after exchanging their hard-earned money for a night of vomit and ranting and a morning of headaches and dry-mouth. High school kids wearing their varsity jackets off campus, like they're going to impress ANYBODY looking like nothing but a giant bag of douche. Wow, you lettered in track and field and football. And you have little gold tin pins, too. Here, this chick here saw your letter and pins and will be happy to give you a blowjob and then I'll give you a pat on the back. You rock. And if no one believes you, they can just look at your jacket. Assclown.

But the night brings with it something else besides an alluring aura, loiterers, bored cops, and douche bags in letterman jackets. After a while – it may be several minutes, it may be several hours – there will come a time when you get tired and just want to go to sleep. I got tired since about 9 when I was watching my hand turn purple and yellow (no joke) at the ballpark because it was so cold. It's now 1:36 a.m. I can barely keep my eyes open or focus on the screen in front of me. But the night allows me to go inside myself in a way I can't during the day. It allows me to be honest and open with myself and others about things I would otherwise not be, or may even not want to be. At this point, I'm too tired to be anything but. And sometimes it may take some other – what's the word I'm looking for – condition for me to be this honest and/or open. It could be drunkenness, anger, happiness, loneliness, determination, frustration…what ever it is, when it takes over – and at night is when one or any combination of the aforementioned seem to take over – it allows you to see yourself and who you are in a way that you otherwise couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't, or simply don't want to. I don't think I'd be able to record my thoughts in the same way I did the last hour and 42 minutes had this been the daytime. Couple it up with the song that I recently found and had on repeat this whole time ("Candles" by Dirty Vegas, in case you were wondering) and I got me a recipe for some serious pondering, thinking, dwelling, mulling, brooding, reflecting, and hopefully, a shred of concluding. By the way, that song is one of those songs that just seems to get inside your head and makes you wanna crawl inside yourself and look around, see what's there. Just a penetrating, haunting, hypnotizing, entrancing song. But again, I digress. So, take whatever you're feeling with whatever is going on in your life right now – be they solitary things great in size or numerous accumulative small things – and raise a glass to your condition. I guess this is my way of saying, "here's to the night." The darkness that consumes the land, the sea, and the sky may shine on whatever you are looking for far brighter than any light.

Ya see? The fact that this blog turned out to fit 4 pages EXACTLY in Microsoft Word was a cool little thing that just made me a kinda happy. But the fact that this sentence and the ones before it bumped it over 4 pages kinda irks me. Oh, well. I'll get over it. Not that it matters once it's up on MySpace anyway. Besides, now I get to reap the reward of a long day and a long night resulting in a near-crippling tiredness: sleeping like a baby. I wish my bed was made, though. It'd be easier to just crawl into it and melt away. Another one of those damn little things. Those fuckers are everywhere.

"So now I step into the light/Now I'm floating/New horizons/On my search for greater things."
Manmade God - Search for Greater Things

It's not very often that in one day you do something that changes the way you look at something you've known your entire life, seeing it in an entirely different light. Yesterday, though, was one of those days for me. Now, for those of you that know me well, and after reading what I just wrote, you might be expecting some revelation about…well, anything, really. Take your pick of any situation of mine that you may be familiar with. I bet some situations come to mind more than others. But alas, you are going to be disappointed. It's been a very long time since I've suddenly "seen the light" and been hit with an epiphany about a meaningful part of my life. As far as my life goes, it's all questions right now, and very few substantial answers. So, maybe the answers to my questions are these greater things that I'm searching for. I dunno. As of late, I've just felt like a rat on a wheel, and I've been getting pretty fucking tired. So, what do I go and do? Get more tired! I took a recommendation from Travis, my roommate and best friend since first grade, and decided to walk from the front door of my parents' place in Mill Valley to the top of Mount Tamalpais, a peak of 2,571 feet, and back down, back to the front door from which I began.

I was going into this thinking that it would help me think about things. Hell, I was hoping that it would help me think about everything; the direction (or lack thereof) of my life, situations in my life, at work, with friends, family, personal victories and losses, the people who love me, the people who hate me, regrets, memories, everything…yeah, not so much. Thoughts about almost everything – and everyone – popped into my head at least once, but they wouldn't bounce around in there for more than several seconds, a minute at the most. Sometimes I deliberately tried to think about something, and the mountain wouldn't let me. I'll explain later. It was a great way to get clear, whether I liked it or not. I brought my iPod with me, but I decided to only listen to it on the way down, after I had made it to the top, so I could listen to my thoughts. So for over 3 hours, it was nothing but my footsteps, my breathing, the wind, and any animals and insects that happened to be nearby. No music, no cars, no people.

The no-people part was especially nice. Since I knew it was going to be a hot one that day, I began my trek just before 7 in the morning. Armed only with a peanut butter and banana sandwich, a bottle of water, a camera, and my man-tuition to get me to the top, I set out. I had no idea where I was going, no map or anything. I had lost my phone the night before, so I didn't have any resource to get any info on me at the time (I since found my phone). I didn't know what trails or paths to take, what went where, or how long it would take. I figured, I'll just walk toward the mountain, and then keep going up. Simple, yet effective. All I had to do was keep an idea of where the peak of the mountain was. I mean, it's a mountain. It's hard to miss. So I leave at ten to 7, and it was weird, because as I was headed to the mountain, it was like I was walking past all these different locations from years gone by. I passed the elementary school I went to as a kid. I passed the video store I used to work at (that will be closing down soon). I passed what was once Village Music, where I bought my very first record. It has since closed down as well, and is now being completely renovated. I guess it really wasn't so much different stages of my life. More like, reminders – or remainders – of my youth.

When I passed Village Music, it struck me how much different the town I grew up in was when it's butt-ass early in the morning than when I usually experience it when I'm there, which is late morning or early afternoon. Village Music had been transformed into a construction site, and it struck me how I never, ever consider a construction site to be peaceful. But at this hour, what is usually an epicenter of grinding, sawing, jack-hammering, and digging was quiet and tranquil and peaceful. With barely any cars driving through the streets, and just a jogger or two, it seemed as if the entire town was still asleep. I guess it should have been. It was 7 a.m. on a Saturday. But it was a time I don't think I've ever seen my hometown before. No Priuses or Land Rovers scurrying around, no rich wives walking their dogs that are no bigger than a football, no one window-shopping for clothes that are far too expensive, and no goddamn bikers who think the road should be shared, and by "shared" they mean take the bike lane, and half of the main lane. Sorry. I hate bikers. But man, to see Mill Valley without them, or any of the aforementioned people or things… it was nice.

I think I was the first one to take the trails that I did that day, because I must have eaten more cobwebs than a porn star with a thing for grandmas (I'll let that image sink in for a moment...ewww...ok, moving on). A small price to pay for the tranquility and isolation of the early hour. The hike wasn't hard, per se. Sure, there were times when I was barely trudging up paths that gravity seemed to loathe, and there were times when I was breathing so hard that I just had to stop, but it wasn't a "hard" hike. All you have to do is put one foot in front of the other, and repeat as necessary. That's all there was to it. Maybe that's what I was thinking about the whole time, and why I couldn't focus on anything for more than a few seconds. "Man, I wish I knew what I wanted to do with my– fuck, this trail is steep. And it keeps going. Goddamn! Hah, thank God, it kinda levels off for a while. Now then, where was I? Oh yeah…I miss my friends in Chico…" And so it went for hours.

Getting to the top of that peak was only a matter of time. I knew my body was strong enough, and I had faith that my mind was strong enough to push my body, so I knew I just had to wait it out. Since it was my first time doing this – and yes, I will be doing it again sometime (who wants to come with?) – I didn't have a whole lot to go on as far as directions go, so needless to say (but I'm gonna anyway) I made a few wrong turns. Much of my time on the mountain was spent backtracking, taking precarious, slanted paths that seem to just disappear, and getting turned around more than a few times. Not that it really mattered. I wasn't on a time crunch or anything. It just meant that it might take a little longer to get where I want to go, but for every wrong turn I made, I was one step closer to finding the path. I got to explore more areas of a place I thought I was familiar with, and learned more about it.

Man, it was sweet to finally get to the top. I got there around 10:15am, and there was not a single cloud in the sky. I could see for miles and miles. All of Marin. Most of the entire San Francisco Bay Area. I could see the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge, San Quentin, highway 101, the playing fields of mine and rival high schools, the Bay Bridge, the Marin headlands, the boats in the harbor of Sausalito, and the very top of the Golden Gate Bridge towers. I was above all of that. I saw it all at once. It was breathtaking. After I inhaled my pb&b sandwich, I busted out the iPod and just chilled at the peak, letting the sun soak into my skin. It allowed me to give my feet a few minutes to throb their balls off (feet DO have balls, remember?) before I go back to torturing them again. I put my iPod on shuffle and just let it run for about a half hour, taking pictures and thinking. Even up there, I couldn't think for long. The beauty of the scenery was too much to silence. And the music only added to the majesty and the grandeur and the power of what I was seeing.

Whenever I would go running or hiking before, I would always look up at the hawks and think, fuck, they're fucking high! For once, I was looking down at the hawks. It was really something to be higher up than they were. I would think of the hawks flying up there, remember that old "hawk-eye" cliché, and think that they are able to watch everything going on beneath them. They're like the watchers of the mountain. They see all. They know all. They have all of Marin under their watchful gaze. I'd like to think that I now know that feeling. It's empowering and uplifting in a way I can't describe. I doubt it's the same having simply driven up to the peak. I might be wrong. But those hawks got themselves thousands of feet above their home on their own. So did I.

At about that time, there were other people coming up to the peak. There is a parking lot only about a quarter of a mile before the very top of the peak. As I started back down and saw people getting out and climbing into their cars, I couldn't help but grin as the paved road and the rocky path split, and I started to make return down the mountain. They made it to the top, but knowing that I got me there, not a car or a bike, made me feel really, really good.

With the accomplishment of making it to the top absolving me of any fatigue I experienced earlier, and with my iPod now pumping me up even more, the trek down was unexpectedly easy. I don't think I returned exactly the same way I came up, but it went by like it was nothing. Of course, I had gravity helping me out, too. By now, it was a little before 1, and I came down the mountain tired, sweaty as balls, a little sunburned, my calves scratched up and my feet throbbing, but I couldn't remember when I felt better. This was a high of accomplishment. My buzz was quickly killed, however, by the regular happenings for which Mill Valley, and much of Marin, is (in)famous; the Priuses and Land Rovers scurrying around, the rich wives walking the pint-sized, ridiculous excuses for dogs (some of the dogs were fully clothed…fucking retards), people window-shopping for clothes that are far too expensive, and the bikers…the fucking bikers. There were helmets and Spandex everywhere. It was horrible. But it wasn't long until I made it home. I got in my car, and headed back to my place in Corte Madera, where I promptly amputated the shoes from my feet, shed myself of my dirty, smelly, sweaty clothes, showered, and took the greatest nap ever.

Not a day goes by that I don't see Mt. Tam. Again, I can't really help it. It's a fucking mountain. I've been seeing it all my life, and I have a view of it from my place. But now, when I look at that mountain, the peak in particular, it makes me feel accomplished, empowered, and determined, not in any single capacity, but anything I do. I mean, I climbed a friggin' mountain. I owned that sumbitch! I literally went up and down that mountain, and then some. As cliché as it sounds, it serves as a reminder for me that if you simply decide to do something – no what-ifs, no hesitations, not even thinking about being turned around – you can make things happen. We've all gone through tough and uncertain times in our lives. I doubt many of us will find a point in our lives when we're NOT uncertain about something. But just knowing what you are capable of, no matter what goal you have in mind…it makes you wonder what else you're capable of, and if you're capable of more than you think you are. It makes you wonder about other ways can you surprise yourself, and come away knowing yourself a little bit better.

I didn't find any of the greater things that I was searching for. I wasn't really expecting to find them on a mountain, anyway. But what I found on that mountain, what I came away with, may be a catalyst for helping me figure out where to look.

"Sing with me, sing for the years/Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears…"
Aerosmith – Dream On

Wow, look at that guy. That poor guy. Who am I talking about, you ask? That guy who wrote that blog like, a year ago, almost to the day. I really feel for him. I mean, life's no fun when you're caught up on everything that's getting you down. Then again, there ARE a lot of things that can get you down, and all those things that he mentioned can do just that, so I know where he's coming from. Cool quote, though. Except, I'm not really a big Nickelback fan. There stuff is ok, not great. That Rockstar song is catchy, though. Figured You Out kicks ass. Ok, they're pretty good. But why couldn't he start a blog with a quote from an amazing, iconic band, like, oh, I don't know, Aerosmith? They have so many good songs: I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing, Love in an Elevator, and Dream On. Oh, man…Dream On. Dream On is one of those songs where every single word is right where it should be, one of those songs which if presented the opportunity to change anything, I'd leave it alone. As far as I am concerned, it is a perfectly written song. That laughter and tears line, that's a really good one. If he writes another blog, he should start it with that line, with the laughter and the tears. This guy prolly had a lot of both in the last year, but judging by his other blog here, it seems like he's released more tears than laughter. I should ask him.

Ok, enough with this third-person business. I don't have the patience right now to come up with some elaborate transition from third-person to first-person, so I'm just gonna make the change. But it was a lot of fun to write. That's pretty much what I was thinking after reading my last blog entry dating back almost a year ago (except the Nickelback thing – they really do rock some serious ass, but they're no Aerosmith, so if you haven't checked it out, you might wanna take a minute and do so. It'll really make this whole thing make more sense. And it's not as long as this one, so it'll just take a sec. There was another entry, but it was quickly removed, got me in a little bit of trouble. But, whatever. Make mistakes, learn from 'em, move on.

But anyway – wow – what a difference a year makes. I'm now living in the bay, not San Francisco, but in the bay. I was actually in downtown San Francisco earlier today, recovering from a friend's 25th birthday party. She set up a VIP area in a club, got 7 hotel rooms for her friends, and I was lucky enough to snatch one up. But thank God I don't live in the city. This bartender had the nerve to charge 16 bucks for two shots. With a straight face, too! And, despite my Jew-Jew going crazy and tripping the rip-off alarm and yelling "Vhat, ah you kiddin' me" while sounding like he was trying to launch the biggest loogie in history, like a schmuck, I PAID FOR IT. WHAT THE FUCK? I was with my once-and-future roommate Walter, and we just went to a liquor store and got a bottle or two of Captain Morgan and got blissfully shit-faced for the whole night for the same price as two measly, piddling, little shots, and then just went back in the club. And I come back the next morning, and there's a 40 dollar parking ticket on my car for what, because the street-clearer couldn't reach the several feet my car blocked? 40 dollars…come on, San Francisco. No amount of money is gonna get that little patch of curb clean for the day, so really, why bother at all? But really, this is all nitpicking. When all I really have to vent about is a ridiculously priced drink, or a 40 dollar parking ticket, life's pretty goddamn good.

Now that I think about it, this last year has been pretty goddamn good, easily one of, if not the best of my life, and it's due in large part to the fact that I'm in the midst of a two-weekend roll, a roll that's really put this whole last year into perspective, and a roll that's gonna continue for several weekends more. I'll explain.

Last weekend was a gig with the band Saturday during the day (yeah, if you haven't heard, I sing in a band now), then I hauled ass to Chico in record time for what was one of the greatest parties I've ever been a part of, the 70's party. Not A 70's party. It was THE 70's party. Even better, it was next door to my ex-girlfriend's house (don't worry, she's my best friend, plus, we only lasted about six hours), so I got to see her.

Then, this past weekend, it was PCW on Friday night, where I wrestled in front of our biggest crowd ever at our biggest show of the year, and I wrestled in the main event for the PCW Heavyweight Championship. Didn't win, but I was really happy with the match, really happy to see all the boys again, and really happy to step through that curtain. Even though I don't watch wrestling any more, it reminded me why I still love to do it. So, to all the boys who make me never want to get out of the business, thank you, thank you, thank you. Then, it was to the Montgomery Street Pub in Oroville where SOMEONE has evidence that the original E.G.O. was riding high again. Then, it was back to Chico to drink with some buddies and just hang out. And it turned into an amazing bonding experience with three guys that I now consider some of the fucking coolest people and most kickiest-ass (yes, I claim it as mine now) friends anyone would ever want. Haha, I sound like a little kid: "I made some new fwiends today." But it's true. We spilled our souls to each other about everything, and to be that comfortable expressing yourself is something you really have to feel to appreciate and understand. To those guys, and you know who you are, you are the most genuine, truest people I know, and you're another reason I miss Chico so much, and I count the days until I make it back. Then, yesterday, it was back from Chico Saturday during the day, and my friend's 25th birthday party last night, with the VIP and obesely-priced drinks, and hotel room.

And as if THAT wasn't enough, this coming weekend I am finally moving into my new place in Corte Madera. I can't fucking wait. It's got a view of Richardson Bay, Mt. Tam, and just over a nearby hill is a view of the ENTIRE bay, and the place itself is amazing. Then, on Saturday, my ex-gf/best friend/muse is coming to spend the day in the bay, and I'm gonna be right there with her the whole time. More on her later... Anyway, not only that, but I'm (probably) seeing one of my favorite comedians Saturday night, then on Sunday, it's Kid motherfuckin' Rock at the Fillmore in San Francisco. Not too bloody shabby!

Then the week after, I'm probably gonna go back to Chico for the weekend. Then two weeks after that, it's PCW again in Oroville, and if this last show was any indication, this next show is gonna fucking RAWK! These last two weekends were so goddamn good, and these next several weekends are gonna be so goddamn good that it made me really appreciate where I am now in contrast to where I was a year ago. I mean, a job that while it was fun, was going nowhere, I was stressed out, etc., etc. Now, I got a job with a kick-ass company with really cool people that pays me quite well, I'm in the best shape of my life, I'm extremely excited about the music I am making with some truly talented people, I've never looked better (in my opinion), I've never felt better, I'm getting my own place with my best friend since first grade and a roommate from college, I am loving every second I'm in the gym thinking about the next time I get to step through those ropes, which I am now looking forward to every time, I couldn't ask for better friends, and I'm finally finding that balance between work, time to myself, staying healthy, working on accomplishing my goals, and having a good time. Perhaps more than anything else, beyond everyone and everything else, I have never been happier with me. And that feels pretty goddamn good.

But all the aforementioned considered, this last year has been the most influential of my life, mostly because of, and I know this is gonna sound cheesy (ask me if I care–wait, I'll save you the trouble: I don't), but this past year has been the most influential of my life because of one person, and I'm willing to bet most of you know who that is. I'm not gonna get into detail – that's what the book is for – but I believe we define ourselves based on our relationships with others, and I would not be as happy with myself as I am, nor would I know myself as well as I do, nor would I be able to define myself as a man without this person, and the impact they have had on my life. Through all the wrongs and all the rights and the dragging days and drama-filled nights and sex and Skyy and nachos and parties and secrets and jealousy and brooding and crying and laughing and texting and confiding and missing and AIM and phone calls and wishing and fighting and hurting and healing and everything in between…knowing this person has been the tallest peak and deepest valley of my life, and it has made me whole.

I was in the Haight-Ashbury looking for clothes for last weekend's 70s party, and I went into a poster shop, and I came across a poster that had prolly 100 quotes trying to define love. I read a quote that said something like love is religion in which another is believed in. Now, I'm not big on religion at all. I think it's been raped by too many people with their own agenda too many times to really have much meaning at all, and I think that's all it's ever been, a series of agendas. Love is not that much different from religion, and I'm prolly gonna write a separate blog on that subject, alone; religion and love and the similarities between the two. So, as far as religion goes, I don't believe in it. As far as love goes, I'm not sure that it's even real. Like religion, love is really abstract, intangible, is open to way too many interpretations, and makes people do some really, really weird things. But I believe in this person, maybe more than I believe in anyone else, and my totality as a person myself is due in a large part to them, and just in case I've never taken the time to thank them…thank you. No matter what life brings, you have a spot in my heart and soul forever.

Once again, if no one reads this, that's fine by me. If everyone in MySpace reads this, hey, that's cool. I'm really just getting my thoughts down again, and I forgot how good that feels. So, if you think anything I said in this thing is lame, or if you don't like what I had to say about something, then I cordially invite you to apply suction to my genital area, because this is MY blog, goddammit! These are my thoughts and opinions, and if you don't like it, that's your problem. Deal with it.

And so another year has passed, another chapter of life is written. I doubt I'm gonna wait another year to post another blog. So much happens, and life just gets too interesting. I used to think that life was about figuring out what you wanted to do with your days on this plain of existence, and then make it happen. I'm not so sure anymore. I don't know what I wanna do. I used to think I knew, but I didn't and I still don't. But, you know what, you don't have to know, and I don't feel like I have to know any time soon. I'm having such a good time while I'm trying to figure it out, that I'm not sure I wanna know. I'm just having too much fun…and maybe the secret to a happy and fulfilling life is as simple as that.

Man, I hope I'm not jinxing myself by writing this thing.

"Sing with me, if just for today/Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away/Dream on…"

"How the hell'd we wind up like this?"
Nickelback - Someday

So, this is my first venture into the infamous blogosphere. I find it only appropriate to begin with a quote from a Nickelback song. Anyone who knows me knows that I love Nickelback, and anyone who thinks that they don't rock some serious ass can suck a fuck. Since this is probably the first of many blogs to come, I plan on opening all of them with a quote from a song, and include the song and artist, just in case anyone is curious about what's going on with me at the time I'm writing.

So, has anyone ever wanted to take a nap for 20-30 minutes, and you wake up 2 hours later? That shit happeend to me earlier today, and despite waking up rested, it really let me know how stressed out I am. Between dwindling bank accounts, bills rapidly accumulating, working a job that, although I enjoy it, it is taking me no where, and with my life goals still so far away, it seems like my life is stuck in a standstill, and I'm just left with thinking that I'll get my shit together "Someday" (hence, the song).

Despite the aforementioned, it seems like I am still having opportunities to do the things I want to do presented to me. I've been wrestling for one year as of tomorrow, and I have already done more in the business in one year than I ever thought I would, and I realize that there are so many people to thank in that respect. To those people, and you know who you are, I truly thank you from the bottom of my heart for turning my dream into a reality. I truly feel alive every time I step through that curtain, and it's one of the few things that I do that truly brings me joy.

So little else seems to these days. Hangin with my friends, sure. Going to the bars, hell yeah. Hangin with the boys, fuck yes. I am even lucky enough to enjoy my job, even though as I said before, it's not taking me anywhere. Everything else is just real world stress shit. Work is work, bills can blow me, and money is going down like Michael Jackson at a cub scout meeting. Searching for another job in Chico is like digging through a pile of shit to find the one nugget that is gold, not corn (pretty, I know), which is why I am thinking of moving to San Francisco, where there are many more opportunities for me there than here. I think that's a step in the right direction.

Really, this is just me bitching and venting, and I really don't give a good goddamn if no one reads this, or if everyone reads this. I'm hoping that a return to an old practice will help me try to find some peace of mind, which I have come to realize is the absolute best way to get a good night's sleep. I haven't had one of those in a very long time, and I think it's gonna be a very long time before I have one. So I will continue to beware of the dangers of a nap, and I will remember how 20 minutes can, without warning, turn into 2 hours. Until I find some peace of mind, I think I'll be taking a lot of naps.

"I know you're wondering when/You're the only one who knows that..."