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Katfight at Koi

Reggie took me to Koi last night for my birthday. The place was crowded with the Hollywood hip and the Hollywood hip-wannabes, interspersed with Hollywood hip-wannabe businessmen looking awkward in their attempts to look cool with their hair plugs and rasberry martinis. I had heard the food here was amazing, but was unimpressed with the majority of the clientele, particularly the three girls in designer skank outfits who shoved me out of the way in their hurry for the hostess to address them immediately.

We were told to wait at the bar despite our reservation time which had passed twenty minutes earlier (rumblings around the room was that you could wait over an hour past your reservation time), but Reggie happened to know the manager who got us seated immediately. The food was really good--we had the baked crab rolls, the "creamy" tempura shrimp that had this caramelized glaze and the miso cod which melted in your mouth. While we were looking at the dessert menu, Megan, the manager, came by and grabbed the menu and said, "You're going to try everything." She bought us a sampler platter of desserts and a glass of Japanese dessert wine, which was the equivalent of Fat Girl's Heaven. The dessert platter featured strawberry cheesecake, a molten chocolate volcano cake with rich vanilla ice cream, a creme brulee trio (vanilla, hazelnut, cappuccino), and an assortment of mochi (strawberry, mango, vanilla, chocolate, espresso). I honestly don't think I've ever been so happy at a dinner before in my life...I mean, they gave us the regular portions of everything on the dessert menu. It was like eating whatever you wanted from a really upscale restaurant's dessert tray.

As we left the restaurant and walked by the valet area, we saw a brand new white Mercedes parked at the curb in front of a little VW Golf. The valet drove up and parked a car slightly in front of the Mercedes, and in a hurry to get out, the Mercedes' driver backed up to try to get around, slamming into the front bumper of the VW. From how hard the Mercedes went back, I don't think the driver even looked to see if anything was behind her. So there was this sickening crunch and everyone kinda gasped. The driver of the VW gets out and inspects the bumper, but no one gets out of the Mercedes. Some valet guys go to the driver's side and tell the driver that she just hit a car, and out jumps one of the three girls who had obnoxiously pushed in front of me to talk to the hostess. She's talking on her cellphone and never gets off the phone to fully give the situation her attention at any point in the night. So she's arguing that she didn't feel anything, that she didn't back up, that she didn't hit that car. There had to have been 15 people out there including about 5 valet guys who all saw it, and she was still claiming that she didn't hit the car. The bumper of the VW was creased (I heard that VW bumpers are made out of foam so even if they look fairly okay, they're crumbled on the inside) and she looked at the back at her car and says, "See? There's no damage." At one point, I heard her try to make the argument that the car was kinda crappy anyway so the damage didn't matter. I happened to have watched the whole thing happen including the moment of impact from less than 5 feet away, so I told the valet that I saw what happened and she definitely backed into the car, which negated her next claim that the guy behind her drove into HER. So this idiot chick is arguing with the valet and getting belligerent and the security guard pulls her to a corner to talk to her in private. The girl who had been in her backseat has gotten out, and is flashing her boobs and flirting with the valet, telling him it's nothing and "let's just drop this whole thing."

Just when I thought these chicks had reached a peak in their level of disgusting behavior, I see this brunette in the passenger seat who'd been on the phone the whole time say, "I'll take care of this." She jumps out of the car, announces, "THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED." She said that they didn't hit the car and started cussing out the valet. The valet doesn't speak the greatest English and is trying to be polite, telling her that they backed into the car and were responsible and they had witnesses that saw it. She's in his face, totally drunk and belligerent, and calling him all kinds of names he doesn't deserve, trying to intimidate him. He tries to make a case that he's not wrong, even pointing to me saying, "That lady saw the whole thing." She looks at me and I said, "You guys backed into this car." She takes a step towards me and says, "IS THIS YOUR SHITTY ASS CAR?"

Okay, let's hit pause for a second.

No this isn't my "shitty ass car." The way she said it, it was like she was trying to intimidate me, like I'm gonna say, uh yeah, you're right. My car is shitty, you drive a Mercedes, so feel free to whale on that shitty little pathetic thing because this whole thing is totally my fault. Fuck you, you arrogant stupid bitch.

I say, "No, I drive a car much nicer than yours but even if it were my car, you still backed into it."

She went on a tirade that had the word "bitch" mixed in there, so I laughed and said, "Shut up you drunk ho."

Apparently, that surprised her and threw her off so she said, "You Asian..." (the rest was incoherent) and she rushed up and goes to shove me.

So this drunk, prissy-diva chick goes to shove me but I've got her wrist in my hand and have it twisted agains her body with my fingers pushing hard at an angle against her bone before she can even finish her motion. Her wrist was so thin it felt like I could snap it with just my hand if I pressed hard enough. Her eyes go so wide and instantly, there are security guards pulling her away. She screaming trash talk and the men force her into her car, but I'm not worried about it because she's an idiot and she's gonna get herself in some trouble if she really wants to step back up to me. The security guard came up to me and apologized but I laughed and Reggie said, she's trying to pick a fight with the wrong person. I think secretly both of us wanted her to try to start something. We had watched this girl verbally abuse a poor guy who was just trying to do his job, strut around like she and her friends couldn't be held accountable for their own irresponsible actions, try to throw some blubbering racial slur at me and then think she could put her hands on me to physically intimidate me when she wasn't verbally dexterous enough to. I wouldn't have minded teaching that girl that her arrogant sense of entitlement doesn't protect her from a broken nose, but even though Reggie said he had hoped I would punch her, I would have probably just grabbed her if she tried to put her hands on me again and thrown her on the ground to avoid any severe legal tangles.

She made a big point of walking by me later with her nose up to show she wasn't afraid of me, but she didn't look me in the eye or say anything. I just laughed because she's a coward and she knows it. I don't care if her dumb drunk friend drives a Mercedes and they think they can't be held accountable for anything. Those girls were despicable human beings.

Today is my birthday and I got an email from Macy's Online that said, "For your birthday, FREE SH...." (apparently the subject line was too long to display). I was hoping that it said "free shit" but it turned out to be "free shipping."

I had a dream last night that I went back to college to walk around and I walked into this room that looked like some A/V Club's lair. Lots of techie/geeky stuff laying around as well as personal items. I started leaving notes for one of the guys on his desk, telling him I was in love with him and had been watching him from afar for a while, and we started leaving notes back and forth. I could tell he was surprised but really into it, wanting to meet me, but to me, it was a joke and I kept stringing him along. One day, I walked in and left a note and as I walked towards the door, he stepped into the frame, catching me red-handed. He was this really tall guy with red hair, about 6'3, bulky in that he'd be considered straight up fat if he weren't so tall. He really wasn't attractive, looked like he wasn't the most hygienic person and didn't have much of a sense of humor. So he looks me dead in the eye and says, "So you're the one." And I'm thinking, oh crap, this was all a joke and now I'm being confronted. Plus, he was blocking the door. So I'm blubbering because I'm caught and this was all a cruel, awful joke I was playing on the poor guy, when I realize he's Kevin Ray Underwood. And I'm thinking, he's basically a guy who's really sensitive and not that socially adjusted, but also has the potential to be seriously violent if he feels he's been humiliated, so I'm freaking out. I'm looking at him like, can I pretend convincingly enough that I'm someone who's been into him to get myself out of the room, and even if I can, if I try to disappear, is he going to stalk me? I'm trying to act like I was really into him even though I'm shy and embarrassed now but I can tell that he's looking at me and he knows that I'm scared of him and not into him like all my letters have said. So I can tell he's getting suspicious and a little angry, and I'm blubbering because I'm scared of him and trapped in a room and I know he's going to kill me or seriously hurt me when he realizes I was playing a cruel joke on him. I woke up just as I was half-apologizing/half-begging for him to understand that it was just a stupid, stupid mistake I made that wasn't funny at all and begging for him to forgive me.

I think this dream was spawned by an exchange I had with Brian late last night, when I said, "Hey Brian, my bologna has a first name." And he said, "O-S-C-A-R?" And I said, "No. Kevin."

*****
Last weekend Michael graduated. He goes to a school for kids with special needs, and they graduate the year they turn 22. The graduation was held on the basketball court of the school with all the chairs from the classrooms and offices pulled together for the audience to sit on. There were 5 kids graduating, 3 from Michael's class and 2 from another, with varying levels of functionality. The kids put on some skits that were written by one of the students (one of them was titled "The Frustrated Corpse," a detective murder mystery narrated by the corpse) which were surprisingly good and not worse or less developed than skits put on by normal high school students. Michael's teacher, in his speech, described Michael as the "Alex P. Keaton of Room 18, the businessman of the class." I got a kick out of that. Michael and one of his graduating classmates had each prepared a speech, but when they were asked to go up, they both refused to go first. The teacher asked Michael if he wanted to go first and Michael said no, so he asked the othe girl who said no, so he asked Michael again who growled at him, so he asked the girl who said, "No, have Michael go first." Finally, he made the girl go up first and she spent nearly her entire speech thanking God and assigning him adjectives. It was kind of sweet though, the power and conviction of her faith. Michael still wouldn't go up so his teacher offered to read his speech for him.

The teacher started off reading, "Hello, my name is Michael J. Shih" and one of the kids yelled (very seriously), "YOU'RE NOT MICHAEL SHIH!" Halfway through the speech, Michael went up and read the speech over his teacher's shoulder.

They opened up the floor to the students who had parting words for their graduating classmates. One girl stood up and said, "I'm really going to miss you guys now that you're graduating...but I'm glad you're leaving." Another kid told this girl, Frances, that he was going to miss her even though she once threw him into a wall. He steamrolled over teachers trying to shush him as he described the incident and informed her that he was still going to miss her despite that. Overall though, many students had very nice, sentimental parting words for their classmates. After a while, the same kids kept raising their hands so they ended the ceremony and proceeded to the BBQ.

I'll tell you, Michael is a lucky kid because he has a family that is supportive and protective of him, and also, has the financial means to support him and give him the care he needs. There was one kid, a really interesting character and nice kid, even though he rapid-fires questions that cause conversations with him to go in a circle [ie one 1 minute conversation I had with him:

who are you?
I'm Michael's-
Why are you Michael's mother?
I'm actually Michael's sister.
What color is that smoke?
I'd say gray or--
What color is that tree?
Oh I'd say--
Do you know how I turned on the grill--?
I suppose, uh--
I turned a knob. Why are you Michael's sister? ]

My mom told me this kid's father wasn't around and his mother had died when he was young so he was raised by his grandmother who looked to be in her 70s, wheelchair-bound and very feeble. There really wouldn't be anyone to take care of him, especially now that his grandmother was so old. Near the end of the BBQ, he beelined over to me from across the entire school where I was on the basketball courts playing basketball. He walked right through the middle of the game and said to me, "Before you leave, I want to do this." He clasped both hands tightly and shook them. At first I was confused because he was kinda doing that close to his crotch. I asked him what he meant and he said the exact same thing with the exact same motion, in the exact same location. I asked him, "Shake my hand?" He nodded. I told him, "I'll shake your hand right now!" He smiled so broadly it lit up his entire face and shook my hand enthusiastically. That made me feel really good.

With most graduations, there's this electricity in the air, a feeling of excitement, of all the possibilities that could be in the future of these kids set free into the great wide open. With this graduation, it seemed like everyone was proud of the graduates, but underneath was the unspoken question of, "What's going to happen to them?" It's very bittersweet.

As for Michael, he's going to be working at my parents company doing data entry while we look for some kinds of classes he can take that can teach him work skills. We're trying to cut back on his medications to see if that can give him a better balance, and hopefully, as he matures and gains independence, with the right guidance and structure, he can succeed within his individual potential in life and attain a satisfactory level of autonomy.

My goal is to become financially stable enough to afford a place for him in LA, and perhaps start some kind of company where he can do simple tasks that would occupy his day and give him a sense of achievement. I would like my parents to move down here permanently too in order to keep him close, because I really do worry about his health and think it would help his development to be around peers more instead of his parents and other symbols of authority all the time.

My mom's dream is that one day, Michael will be able to get married and have kids. I would like to see that happen as well, but that's something that will come if it's there. We can't push it. The best we can do is help Michael develop within himself, to raise his self-esteem and guide him through his quest for independence, help him and protect him when he hits one of the limitations of his disability, and ultimately give him unconditional love in hopes that he lives a happy, uncompromised life.

It's an exciting time and a scary time. It's all very bittersweet.

Starring Cloe from 24, it's like an indie Romy & Michele's...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UlEGZmduSdE&search=grant%20lee%20phillips

Last Saturday I got a massage from a deaf and blind woman. To communicate with her, if you want her to massage deeper, you grab her hand and gently twist her wrist, and if you want her to go softer, you stroke the back of her hand. She was very good (I hear massage therapy is an intuitive art), and the whole time, I was thinking about how she experiences the world, since without your senses of hearing and sight, your universe is created almost entirely internally. And for someone born without these senses, this is the only universe from which to understand reality. I bet it's rich, with shapes, dimensions and forms we could never imagine that would blow open entire potentials for science and perception of reality.

So something's wrong with my knee again and I don't know what. I didn't suffer an acute injury, but in the last few weeks, I've been having these little explosions under the knee cap where it feels like a rubber band just snapped. I realized while bowling last week, that my left knee can't support a full weight shift. Sometimes it just clicks really loudly and I'm limping around. I went to an orthopedic doctor and his nurse was asking me for my medical history. I realized I couldn't remember how many times I've torn it up. 5 surgeries, 2 ACL tears, 4 meniscus tears and 1 removal. I'm pretty sure that's what the medical records will say when they get here from my doctor up north. I know every time I hurt my knee, it's awful, and I'm fully aware of how painful and grueling knee surgery and the subsequent recover is. But I just can't stay off the court. I would do anything for a bionic knee.

This morning this guy in a Porsche rolled down his and nonchalantly threw out a handful of wrappers or some other form of crumpled paper matter. We were stuck in traffic and he did it like it was no big deal, or no one would notice. Knowing I had a few more minutes at the light, a part of me wanted to get out of the car, pick up his shit and throw it back into his car. But I'm kind of a coward. He did try to cut into my lane when the light turned green but I didn't let him. The girl in the Honda behind me wouldn't either, which makes me suspect that she saw his little litterbug act. People really don't think enough outside of themselves sometimes.

Is it bad that I think this picture looks like Shawn Marion?

I love Shawn Marion. Go Suns.

If you like basketball and want to see players' family pictures, check this out. It's pretty...what's the word...horrifying.

A picture for byt because he asked nicely...

I thought I would just share with you all that this is one of my favorite pictures.

Today it took 4 hours for me to make lemonade because I fell into a k-hole.

In case anyone doesn't want to be surprised before hand, Reggie's cake on Thursday will be carrot. And it will be adorned with a frosting princess.

I've joined a women's basketball league, which turned out to be a JEWISH women's basketball league. It's fine though, they've got some girls who have really good game, though some of them play in those really long black skirts so they can't dribble between their legs. I'm not sure they all have the ability to dribble between their legs per se, but in any case, it's a good excuse if you can't.

Our first game two weeks ago, I led our team with 10 points, 14 rebounds, 2 steals and a block. I think I had an extra block in their but Reggie was keeping the tally and I guess he didn't see it. It wasn't a big one, just one of those subtle ones where I brushed it on the way up with my finger tips so it fell just short of the basket. Blocked shots make me happy. Unless I'm the shooter. Then I feel like an asshole.

Last week's game was frustrating. I felt the burning desire to punch one of the girls on my team, who's a selfish and non-team oriented player, who was hiding out in the post because she didn't want to play perimeter defense which was where she was supposed to be, and then she kept bitching that I was out of position. I was out of position because she was hiding in mine. I blocked 4 shots and knocked people to the ground because I outweigh most of the girls by 20 to 30 lbs., can block out and play physical, and can grab backboard when I jump. That's what qualifies me to be in the post. She didn't want to chase their speedy point guard around. That's what she appeared to think qualified her to play in the post and to yell at me to tighten up the middle. She also mistook a 2-2 zone defense, which I proposed and she agreed to before the game, for an offense. I mean, I don't know what part of "2-2 zone DEFENSE" made her so vehemently argue that it was an OFFENSE...but I started to feel like Sean Young in Ace Ventura screaming, "LACES OUT!" as I was screaming, "THE 2-2 ZONE IS A DEFENSE" and I finally gave up. But the level with which I wanted to hit her and with which I still do has prompted me to call the hypnotherapist for a "chillout/anger management" session. But if I find her hiding in the post again next week, I'm going to knock her down.

I'll tell you what I got for Reggie for his birthday. I got him the special edition DVD of King Kong, and tickets to an upcoming Angels/Red Sox game. And a nice case of syphilis. I'm just kidding. About the King Kong DVD.

I'm very tired today. I don't know why it took 4 hours to make lemonade.

I Am a Drug Addict Klepto

So I went down to Irvine today to have lunch with Miranda, her husband, Gilbert, and their two kids.

We went to a little sushi restaurant and as Miranda is giving me a harsh 3rd degree about when I'm going to get married and how I need to take my biological clock more seriously, her 7 year-old son Austin is going through my wallet. He keeps pulling out my money and my cards and I keep pulling it away and telling him to stop it. So Miranda and I are in a heated conversation and Austin keeps going through my wallet and I keep taking it away, until suddenly, he holds up a little baggie, waves it around high above his head and goes, "WHAT'S THIS????? WHAT IS THIS????"

*Rewind two months*

Reggie and I had just had a massive blowout screen-door-bangin'-in-a-storm fight and I came home from work to find his car parked outside my building. I went over and didn't see anyone in the car, so I went upstairs and there was no one home. Then I got into my usual paranoid frame of mind that maybe he was hiding somewhere ready to jump out and kill me a la Fatal Attraction and shit (yeah I know...I really need more faith in mankind). So then I search the house, scared out of my mind but there's no one there so I look out the balcony and see that his car is now gone. I'm thoroughly creeped out so I call him and ask why he had been parked outside my house. He says that he'd run up to grab his coat which he'd left at my place before the fight and I was relieved to know he wasn't stalking me. Then he asked me who I was taking to the game (meaning the Clippers game) which was starting in half an hour, and which I had completely forgotten about in my very angry state of mind. So I'm pretty blatant with my spite when I say that I was going to call around and see who was available to go, but then I realize that the game is in half an hour. Reggie says he'll go with me and I'm angry at him but I still say fine. So he picks me up and we ride halfway to the Staple Center in angry silence and then have a loud he said/she said fight that takes us to the parking lot and then some. Finally, we wear ourselves out and apologize, but as with all post-fight periods, it's ridiculously frosty and awkward.

So we're walking towards the Staples Center, not really knowing what to say to each other, tension still on level high, when Reggie stoops down and picks up a little baggie of weed. Now, I'm someone who gets excited finding a heads-up penny on the ground, and a found quarter can make my day. But a dime bag of weed had to be the best random thing to pick up on the street, second only to the unlabeled video tapes that my roommates at that summer of USC picked up which turned out to be porn. So the little baggie breaks the ice between us because 1. We think it's hilarious that we found drugs on the ground (albeit in downtown LA) and 2. It leads to a lighthearted discussion about who should carry it, with the obvious choice being me, since Reggie is a young black male and thus, would get 20 years or something ridiculous for carrying weed while I , being a non-young black male, would get off with a slap on the wrist. So for shits and giggles, I put the baggie in my wallet and completely forgot about it.

Actually, that's not true. I remember it's there from time to time and I keep thinking that I should really take it out because I have a nagging feeling that leaving it in there will lead to one of those situations that I'll later regret and wonder why I didn't take it out in the first place, but which doesn't deter me from wanting to tempt fate and let some hilarious, awful wackiness-ensues-and-you're-really-up-shit-creek situation happen. Like knowing I shouldn't carry a fake ID in my wallet day-to-day while I was in college, but being too lazy to take it out, then having my wallet stolen, then recovered by a campus cop who called me and had me come into the station to reclaim it, then told me that he noticed I had two IDs in there and thought it would be a nice warning for me if he just destroyed it since it was probably just a "bizarre mistake" this time, but next time I would get to spend some more time at the station...

Anyway, so I know it's in there and I always think I should take it out. But I never did. Maybe it was part lazy, maybe it was part masochism. Maybe it was a challenge to the universe to see what kind of hilarious but shitty situation it could put me in.

So fast forward to this afternoon, as Austin waves this baggie of weed around in a crowded restaurant as my conservative cousin and her husband gape at it, and I have to tackle him to get it back...then I have to go through the story of how it ended up in my wallet which of course, no one believes.

But you all believe me.....

And of course, the moral of this story is, don't pick up weed that you find on the street. Unless it's yours, in which case you gotta pick that shit up quick cuz you know that weed ain't cheap.

Suns Win!!!!

You can read the recap of the game at NBA.com.

The big story of the night was Kobe's disappearance in this game.

The bigger story of the night, is the writer's choice of words in the following excerpt:

"When Bryant decided to stop shooting, the Suns decided to run the Lakers off the court. A pair of free throws by Marion with 4:31 remaining in the third quarter gave Phoenix an 80-56 bulge. Phoenix held a 90-65 bulge entering the final period. "

By bulge, we're talking about penises, right? Because a 90-65 bulge definitely sounds impressive.

Andres Nocioni: the best YMCA player in the NBA

(excerpt from SI article by Chris Ballard)

The frenetic Argentinean has been the key for the Bulls thus far in making the Heat sweat. In Tuesday's Game 6 Bulls loss, Nocioni had 23 points and 10 rebounds, and in the series he's averaging 20.8 and 9.6. I don't have a tally of the times he's hit the floor, flown out-of-bounds or shoved his elbow into someone's back, but no doubt his numbers are impressive in these categories as well.

Nocioni reminds me of that guy at the Y, the one in his late 30s who's still playing with the younger guys and takes every game very, very seriously. He's the dude setting hard picks (and yelling "Use it! Use it!") while playing with a bunch of teenagers who are goofing off. He's the guy who lifts weights after he plays, the guy who never wants to play 21 or H-O-R-S-E, because what's the point of that? Nocioni is that guy if he were 26 years old, 6-foot-7 and had the athleticism to dunk on James Posey. The other day, Scott Skiles described him repeatedly as "a man" while trying to explain Nocioni's effectiveness, and it was easy to see the coach's admiration for his forward. In fact, Nocioni might be a decent approximation of Skiles had Skiles been 6-7 (remember, Skiles once tried to fight Shaquille O'Neal). In the wake of Tyson Chandler's injury, Skiles hinted that he might put Nocioni on Shaq for short periods of time. Here's hoping he does.

FREE RAJA!!!!

This story makes me so angry.

Colorado cops are assholes:

http://www.thedenverchannel.com/news/9063737/detail.html

The Politics of the Office Shit

There are three ladies' rooms in our office building (one on each floor), and each is distinct in its own way.

The one of the first floor sits across from the dentist's office and apparently shares their air circulation system, because it always smells like a dentist's office. This one, unlike the others, has no decoration (if you call a framed piece of advertising for the management company decoration). Despite the slightly unpleasant olfactory connection, this one is my favorite because it's always clean, and it's always empty because outside of the two dentist's assistants on that floor, the offices are predominantly male.

The one on the second floor is never too cold and by far smells the best. We used to work on the second floor before we moved to a larger space on the third, and while this bathroom had more traffic, it always smelled like apples and cinnamon. Maybe someone on the floor had a thing for Apple Jacks and it reflected in her pee, but this bathroom has a homey feel like you're in a little old lady's house, albeit a little old lady who has a deep appreciation for an industrial flush.

The one on our floor sucks. The good thing about it is that it's the only one that has a full length mirror so you can thoroughly check to make sure you aren't leaving the bathroom with your skirt tucked into your underwear. But on the other hand, it always has this awful chemical smell that comes through the vents, making me think about chemical warfare and what that would smell and feel like. Also, this is apparently the building's designated Shitting Bathroom.

Now most people (women at least...I've noticed that my male coworkers actually seem proud when they fold a magazine under their arm and proclaim that they're taking the Browns to the Super Bowl...in fact, once my boss actually told me that he was going to the bathroom, then seconds later, called me to discuss different accounts as his words echoed on the tile around him), most people do everything possible not to do their business at work. The office bathroom is a shared space and to hot box a shared space with mcnasty is just embarassing and will quickly have your co-tenants hating you. Yet for some reason, our bathroom always smells like the most unkind hotbox.

I started timing when I go to the bathroom based on the traffic that I see out the window coming in and out of the bathroom. If I see someone going in there and they don't come out within 3 minutes, I'm not going in there for at least 10. I don't care if they were just doing their make-up, my fragile psyche can't chance it. If I walk in and there's someone already in one of the stalls and they suddenly go silent and stop moving, I assume they're waiting for me to leave so they can continue taking a shit, so I jam out of there as quickly as possible. I notice that when I walk in and there's someone already in there, I'll get going with the peeing as quickly as possible as if to say, "Don't worry! I'm just peeing! You can take your time in front of that mirror!"

The worst thing is when you walk in and someone has already laid a stink bomb. Now you have to think...well, now that I'm here, the next person who walks in is gonna assume I did this. And depending on the level of stink, sometimes I walk right back out. I can't hold my breath for that long anyway.

Sometimes when you walk in, you discover that someone hasn't fully flushed. My first reaction is always to jump out of the stall to get as far away from the offending toilet as possible, and then run all the back to my office. But the bigger, more mature voice in my head will convince me I can always use the other stall. Here's the thing though...if you discover someone left something nasty for everyone else, it's in your best interest to flush it. Because let's just say that you use the other stall, but as you're leaving, someone else walks in. They have no way of knowing that you used the other stall. For all they know, you left the monster in the toilet. So you have to flush it, even if it's none of your business, even if it means you get sprayed by tiny microscopic shit particles as the industrial toilet whooshes the offense away.

So in conclusion, please don't shit at the office. Shit in the alley out back or in the corner of the parking garage where your boss always parks, but please don't shit at the office. And if you have to, make sure you use one on another floor, so if you manage a perfect covert getaway, it will never be linked to you.

I'm going through the footage that we've shot so far of the documentary on Michael. I've been sitting in my living room watching the mostly handheld footage for over 6 hours and I feel the way I usually feel after a 6 hour car ride...got the full headache and mild nausea. The sound has some issues that I've gotta figure out soon before we shoot more (we used mostly a lavalier versus a boom) but overall, there are some really funny Michael moments. One of my favorites is when he bursts in on my mom in the bathroom and you hear her scream, "MICHAEL!!" Then he hurries out and tells the camera, "You can't go in there. It's PRIVATE."

Michael on annoying neighbors with noise complaints:

"If they complain, I'm not answering the phone. And if you call one more time, it's called sexual harassment, I'm calling the police to have you booked and moved out. " (hear that Anna??? Stop sexually harassing me...)

Michael on being touched:

(to his mom) "Don't touch me. Because I'm on film. The movie star doesn't like to be touched. "

Michael as he spoon-feeds ice cream to Reggie aggressively in an ice cream parlor:

"It's like I'm your daddy! Eat it Reggie. It's like I'm your father and you're my child!"

And then there's me running through the front door yelling, "Cody's here but she didn't bring the blow up doll."

Today was a day without meaning. Like a sentence without fragments. I found that a part of me really liked the echoes.

Today was a day without meaning. Like a sentence without fragments. I found that a part of me really liked the echoes.

Today I was browsing profiles of people who went to my high school on myspace. I clicked on a girl who looked familiar, and she claimed that her current mood was "In Love." I clicked on her photos to see who she was in love with, and it looked like apparently she had just gotten engaged. So deciding on further investigation of what type of person could make a person designate "In Love" as a whole moodset, I went to her Top 8, found the gentleman, then clicked on his photos.

In the first one, he was wearing a fanny pack.

How does one fall in love with a man who wears fanny packs?

I really don't understand what's going on.

I made up a new word today (and I was happy enough to share it with Thode on myspace):

peginis (pe-JY-nis)

It's like a bacon wrapped hot dog...but with genitalia.

A Trip Into Human Psychology (aka flexing my internet skillz...)

Because my claim to fame is my ability to find things on the internet, here it is before the internet gods take it down:

You guys have heard about the guy who killed that 10 year old girl and then planned to eat her. It's a super fucked up story. Well, the press is claiming he had a blog that hinted at twisted things.

So here, for your psychological delving: http://futureworldruler.blogspot.com/

And his myspace page that you can't access directly from myspace because "it's going through routine maintenance," if you call investigations into psychopathic murder "routine."

There's a comment from one of his friends who myspace has encrypted the name and link. Posted 2/24/2006 8:41 PM:

"There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. Some kind of high powered mutant never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die. "

And still...more than you need to know...

He had an Amazon.com wishlist that has since been removed. On it, he had desired a book on cannibal culture, a villain how-to book ........... and the William Shatner CD.

There's also message board where it's rumored that the posters encouraged him to follow up on his subversive fantasies.

One poster writes:

_______________________________________
Crazy motherfucker posted:

Man, work sucked tonight. It was really busy. And Nathan and Murray talked about Dragonball Z the entire night. The ENTIRE night, from 4:00 to 11:30. I like Dragonball Z, but they were ridiculous. They've both seen or read about like every episode of every series, even the episodes and features that haven't even been shown in America yet. They were having debates over things like whether or not non-Saiyans could learn to power-up and become like Super-Saiyans, and what certain characters, like King Kai, would look like if they did. And then they were talking about what it would look like if they could design their own character. They were like "I'd give him Trunks' hair and clothes, Gohan's body..." and blah blah blah. All Night.Whatever happened to Ben Stein? Other than the old Clear-Eyes commercials, I haven't seen or heard about him in a long time. Ben Stein is cool. But I get really tired of people comparing me to him, it used to happen all the time. I may not look or sound very enthusiastic, but I certainly don't sound like him. I wish I did though, that would be cool.
______________________________________
This is scaring the fuck out of me. He's like a regular nerd, and all the sudden he's like "BWARGH NOW I AM A PEDO CANNIBLE PSYCHO RAARRRR". Humans are the scariest species on Earth.

(end of post)

Seriously, how does a person go from just a "regular" seeming person who spends a hell of a lot of time on the internet and has a lackluster social life, to suddenly coming out as a psycho pedaphile cannibal? What's the trigger?

Lastly, a detailed look into his world from his blog:

Thursday, September 08, 2005

The Past

I did a lot of thinking today. I spent most of my work day lost in thought as I performed the mindless, physical tasks. Well, I spend most of the days like that, but even more so today. I was just thinking better, or something, clearer. It was one of those days I have once in a great while where I think about my past, and remember things I had forgotten.

I realized today, that one of the (many) reasons I like Melissa so much is that she reminds me of what I've lost. Of how I used to be. Melissa is often silly, and goofy, and makes her coworkers laugh. I used to be like this, years ago. Back when I was in school, I was always well known. I wasn't popular, no one liked me much, but everyone knew me, because I was so weird and funny. Sometimes, people I didn't even know would come up to me in the hall and say things like "Do something weird," or, "Do the chipmunk laugh." Even as far back as elementary school I would get in trouble every day for talking too much, and being too loud. Such a far cry from my present state of complete and total shyness and timidness.

1998 was the year that a large part of me died. Well, part of it was in 1999, but most of it was 1998. In all it was a period of about a year. I usually refer to this year span as "the longest year of my life."

I graduated from high school in 1998, and most of my friends, except for Chris, either joined the military, or went off to college, so I didn't see them much anymore. This caused me to retreat even further into the world of online chatrooms, which I had been battling an obsession with for two or three years. My main obsession was an AOL chat room called "Witty." It was full of great people. Regulars who were always in there, and I became great friends with many of them. It wasn't your regular AOL chat room, the Witty regulars were all a little more intelligent than your usual chat room inhabitants. They discouraged people talking in all internet slang abbreviations and A/S/L checks, and things like that, so the idiocy was kept to a minimum. It was here that I met Melissa. I don't remember exactly when, it was sometime in 1998, I don't remember if it was before or after I graduated. We became very good friends almost immediately. I had a crush on her even back then, but she had a boyfriend, but we still were good friends. Then, a few months later, about the time I went off to college, she was going to lose her internet access for a few months, I don't remember exactly why. This was another major blow, I lost another one of my best friends. It was about this time I started getting really depressed.

I went to college, and this was a MAJOR blow. I'd always been shy around people, even though I was always goofing off and being the class clown in the past, I was still shy in certain situations, especially when it came to one-on-one human interaction. Goofing off for a class full of people I could handle. But trying to talk to just one person made me nervous. It had never really been much of a problem before, though, but when I went to college, it got out of control. As time went by, I kept getting more and more nervous and scared. There were just too many people around, even though I was going to a small college. I started to get panic attacks. I'd skip class and just sit in my car for hours, or sit in the library, in the stacks where there weren't any people, and read. Anything so that I wouldn't have to go to class, or walk through the people-filled halls. Then I got so bad I couldn't even work up the courage to go into the library anymore.

And at the same time I was fighting this crippling social phobia, other things were going on which just added to my mental strain. Me and Melissa were writing real letter to each other, but I hate writing letters for some reason, just like I hate talking on the phone, so we only exchanged a couple of letters. Well, she wrote me four, but I only sent on or two. I'd sit there in the library hiding, and try to write a letter to her, but I just couldn't and this depressed me even more, because I thought she would think I hated her or something, and I would lose her as a friend permanently.

Also, I was failing all my classes, mostly because I never went to them, and, even when I did, I couldn't pay attention because I had so much more on my mind, or couldn't stay awake. I only slept a couple of hours a night, because my chat room dependency was getting worse and worse. I would sit in the chat room for hours and hours every night, talking to pretty much the only friends I had.

After I lost contact with Melissa, I fell in love with one of my coworkers at Carl's Jr. Her name was Genie. I was very in love with her, but, like always, I never said anything to her, I never told her I liked her, or asked her out. We were friends, and talked to each other a lot at work, but that was all we were. Then, she started dating a guy that also worked there at Carl's, who was also my friend. His name was Tim. This made me even more depressed, but I didn't give up hope that maybe they'd break up or something, and someday I'd have a chance with her. In time, I would come to regret ever hoping that something would cause them to separate.

Then, it all came to a head at once. The strain of all these problems, especially the social phobia, was too much to bear. I was in danger of having a mental breakdown at any moment. So I finally decided that I would have to drop out of college. I went to my mom, and told her for the first time, about my depression and social phobia, I'd never told anyone before, not even my best friend Chris. I told my mom, and told her about my social anxiety problem, and that I was going to drop out of college and start going to a psychiatrist. She didn't really understand my problem, and still doesn't (whenever I try to talk about how shy I am around people, her answer is, "Just stop, don't be that way."), but she was supportive anyway. So I dropped out of college, this was in early November. I never did see a psychiatrist, because as soon as I dropped out, I started feeling a little better, and I hated the idea of going to one because I knew all they'd do is give me pills.

And then, towards the end of November, the shit really hit the fan.

Friday, November 27th, 1998. The day after Thanksgiving. The biggest shopping day of the year, and also one of the worst days of the year for automobile accidents. On this day, two of my friends, including the woman I loved, became a statistic.

Me and my mom and sister had all been out shopping most of the day too, and, as we were driving back to Purcell, going south on I-35, we drove over a spot where you could tell there had been a horrible wreck recently. The road itself was actually melted in one place. Then, when we got home, I got the phone call. Genie and Tim had been in a horrible wreck. Tim was dead, and Genie probably wouldn't make it. It turned out the spot we had driven over was where the wreck had happened. They were driving northbound, and had a blow out, and spun out of control, they went clear across the median, into the southbound lanes, where they spun into a large van going full highway speed. Genie wasn't wearing her seatbelt, was thrown something like 20 feet through the windshield. Ironically, this is what saved her. Tim, who was wearing his seatbelt, was still trapped in the car when it burst into flames. He burned to death, and was burned so badly they had to use dental records to identify him.

Up until they re-paved the highway just a year or so ago, you could still see the burn mark on the highway. It was an almost daily reminder for me of the accident. Also, someone kept flowers there in the median of the highway at all time for many years. I don't know who, some of Tim's family, I guess.

I went to Tim's funeral, and I also went to see Genie in the hospital every day. She did make it through, but she was in the hospital until December 18, the day before my birthday. I went and saw her every day, and I would sit there for hours. Even the days she was unconscious, or so doped up on morphine she barely even knew who she was. Even when she was conscious, she'd still be so doped up I had to help her eat. Most days I was the only visitor she had, her family hardly ever even came to see her. Partly because it was about an hour's drive to even get to the hospital she was at. But I drove it every day, and sat with her every day.

I felt like a horrible person. Because in the back of my mind, a voice kept telling me, "Hey, she's single now, just give her a couple of months to get over the loss of Tim, and then make your move." I'd tell that voice to shut up, and stop thinking things like that, but it kept coming back.

Of course, this made me slip farther and farther into depression. She got out of the hospital on the 18th, and I spent the next couple of weeks in a state of deep depression. I would drive around aimlessly in my car for hours, listening to depressing music, and thinking depressing thoughts. Actually, it wasn't exactly aimless. Most of the time was spent driving around Lexington, where Genie lived, trying to get up the courage to visit her at her home. I was just biding my time, remaining her friend, until the day I thought it was safe to ask her out. And then she shocked and surprised me. Just a couple of days after she got out of the hospital, some other guy at Carl's asked her out for New Years, and she accepted. I couldn't believe it. It was too soon after Tim's death. I was shocked by this, and also depressed further by the fact that it wasn't me who was going out with her.

I spent the next few months in a state of deep depression, and seriously thought about killing myself on several occasions, but never had the nerve to go through with it. Which made me feel even worse. I was such a coward. I was too afraid to talk to people, too afraid to ask girls out even after being in love with them for months. I was even too afraid to kill myself even though I wanted to.

Over time I started getting a little better, but I battled depression for a couple of years. I still have the social phobia, and very occasionally small bouts of depression, but I'm much better than I was then, at least when it comes to the depression.

But still, over the last year or so I find myself becoming more and more detached from the world. I almost never leave the apartment except to go to work or my parents' house, and when I do leave the apartment, I walk around like a zombie, with a blank expression on my face, not looking at anything or anyone. In fact, the last couple of months, I've noticed that my eyesight is going, probably because my eyes are getting weak. Whenever I'm out of the house, I never focus on anything, I stare blankly ahead, operating on a sort of fuzzy peripheral vision. The only things I ever really focus on and look at are books or computer screens for hours on end, which strains my eyes further. When I'm not safe in my apartment, I am silent and expressionless, looking at nothing. I have no personality. If someone says hi to me, I either ignore them, or grunt out a small "hi," or "ok," if they ask me how I'm doing. It gets worse every day, I withdraw farther and farther into myself with each passing week.

My spirit has been totally crushed. Anyone who looks into my eyes can see this.

I wish I could be like I used to be. I wish I could be like Melissa.

I wish I could be human.


Or Perhaps, Here's the Trigger (from his blog):

Saturday, August 13, 2005

Going Back; and also some good news.

This is something that's been going on for a while now, but I've never told anyone about, except for my parents, and I briefly mentioned it to Phillip when I was working at Carl's. I've not even told Chris, which will probably make him mad, because it's such an important thing. He will probably say, "I thought we were best friends? Why didn't you tell me?"

'm moving to California, to be with Melissa.

I've known her for almost 8 years now, and we've been really good friends the entire time. We've known for years that we were perfect for each other, but there was the pesky problem of us living about 1500 miles apart. She didn't want to move to Oklahoma, and I would've hated for her to have done so, because Oklahoma sucks, and I don't even want to be here. I've always wanted to move to CA, or somewhere else on the west coast, even before I met her, but I couldn't move to CA because I was too poor, and CA is so expensive to live in. But a few months ago, shortly after she broke up with her last boyfriend, I brought up the idea of me finally moving to CA, and we started to seriously talk about it. I told my parent's and Phillip about it way back then, and I was going to tell Chris, but it was something I would've rather told him about in person than online, and every time he came to OK on leave, I just couldn't seem to find the right time or place to talk about it, I didn't really want to talk about it in front of his entire family, as I am a shy person, and don't really like talking about matters like this in public.

After a while though, the plan sort of fell through. Mostly because she was taking her last breakup really hard, and she also said she didn't want to force me to move halfway across the country and so far away from my family. So we stopped talking about it, and I had pretty much given up on the idea. But then a couple of weeks ago, she brought it up again, and since then we've been talking about it again, even more seriously than last time. Unless something unforeseen happens, it's going to finally happen this time. But we don't know when. Basically, as soon as I can save up enough money to feel comfortable doing it. CA is expensive, and I won't have a job when I get there. I'll be living with her, but I don't want to be a total dead-beat and have to mooch off of her. I don't really have a target goal on the money issue, but I'd like to at least make back the $1200 I had to spend on my car a while back. Then I also need to get some work done on my car first, nothing major, just a new set of tires, and before I attempt the drive I'd want to make sure I got a good tune-up and stuff like that. So, we don't know for sure when this will be happening, but I'm hoping two or three months at the most. She's got a vacation coming up in early October, and she's hoping I can get a week off from work to come stay with her for a few days first. I was really hoping to maybe be moving there by then, but she insists, and it is a good idea, that I should come stay with her for a week or so first, because for some reason, we may end up not getting along together in real life, though I don't see that happening at all. The main reason I don't really want to do this is because that's extra money I'll have to spend. I'll have to get a plane ticket, and take some spending money, and on top of that, I'd be missing a week of work. I may not even be able to get the time off from work though. I don't know for sure what the policy is on stuff like that.

I really hope it doesn't take too long. I would move out there today, if I could. We've already wasted so many years not being together even when we knew we should be, that I hate to waste even one more day.
posted by Kevin @ 3:10:00 PM

*******
Sunday, October 09, 2005

Argh.

So, I never wrote the other day like I promised, but that's because something happened. So now I can write about what I was going to write about, combined with the new developments.

If everything had gone as planned, I would be in California right now. That's what I was going to write about the other day, me and Melissa finally had all our plans set for me to come visit her in California. She is on vacation this week, and I was going to go to California to visit her while she was on vacation. I had my plane tickets bought and everything, I got some great deals. But then, a few days ago, she called me up in the middle of the night and said I couldn't come anymore.

She had gotten all depressed, thinking about her ex again, and said she was too depressed for me to come. But worst of all, she gave me the old "lets just stay friends" talk. I hate that thing. I've heard it so many times I know it by heart.

I guess I'm just too nice, women all want to be friends with me. Even girls I don't like have told me what a nice guy I am, and, as if that wasn't bad enough, I've even been told that "I actually forget you're a guy, I don't even think of you as a guy, you're like one of the girls to me."

That fucking hurts.

But anyway, Melissa cancelled the trip. My plane tickets are non-refundable, so she said she'll pay me back, but it will have to be in small payments over a period of time. I don't know how she'll do it though, she already owes her dad a bunch of money she borrowed from him. I actually feel bad about her having to pay me back.

Like I said, I'm too nice. I should be mad at her. I should be like "Bitch, you better pay me back!" Instead, I feel bad about her paying me back. I'm pathetic. I let people walk all over me in social situations. I inconvenience myself just so other people can get what they want. Like if I was in one of those Christmas rush things, where everyone is frantic trying to buy the season's hot toy, if I got to the toy first, and it was the last one, I'd give it to the next person so they could have it.

I'm not mad at Melissa though. Dissappointed, but not mad. I could never be mad at her.

What really gets me about the whole "lets be friends" thing, is that they always say they don't want to date because "I don't want to ruin our special friendship." What they don't seem to understand is that that pretty much ruins the friendship as well, because it's pretty much impossible to stay friends with someone you are so in love with, but they don't want you. It hurts to talk to them, or hang out with them, because the whole time all you can think about is how badly you want them and can't have them.

And I do love Melissa, I love her more than anything. Maybe it's stupid, considering that we've only met once, for a few hours once, and she had a boyfriend at the time, so nothing happened. So you might think it's stupid to be so in love with someone you've hardly even met, but I don't think it is.

Ok, I've got other stuff I could write about, but that's the most important of the stuff that's happened recently, so I will save the others for another time.

posted by Kevin @ 4:16:00 PM