pride schmide

yesterday went well for a day where nothing went right. where were you? i tried and i guess that's what i get. i really wanted to be out. and with people. it was and wasn't to be. my desperate pleas were met with silence or occasional unrewarding texts that lead to more questions i'd have to wait to have partially answered. i walked to work to get my bike. i got to fullerton when the rain came so hard i had to pull over and wait it out. i got to belmont when the post-parade crowd was coming the other way. i did, however, stumble upon a friend which seemed good but got caught in conversations i haven't wanted to have in 20 years. i begged lara to save me but it took her forever. long story short...my socks were wet all day. i saw my friend owen play. i stuck it out, man. walked to dunkin donuts to get some coffee. and finally, at roughly 9:30, american music club honored one of the handfull of people left's request and played outside this bar. see, i like music. and sometimes i really like music. i was cold and, at times, lonely most of the day. i had that feeling that i was the guy everyone forgot to think about. but by 9:30 i was just fucking pleased as punch. and i rode my bike home really fast. fastest i have ever ridin. that felt good, too

i'd say sometimes i amaze myself

but you all know that i often amaze myself. yes, i'm my biggest fan. still, the fact that i cut my own hair and consistently do a really good job on the back with no more than a hand mirror and a zen like feel does, indeed, amaze myself. sure, i've been cutting my hair since you were in short pants. i used to have an intricate system when i lived with my pop that included a folding mirrored closet door that allowed me to have both hands free and see my neck from multiple angles. maybe that helped with my "feel". who knows? what i do know is that my neck is clean and i'm ready to sweat freely.

the pitch

ok, i've got to get this down on what isn't paper but, you know, is like it. my sitcom...goes something like this: it is about a guy that works in a grocery store. maybe he's, oh, 38. anyways, he's tried and failed at living with girlfriends so when the girl he loves asks him to marry her he says yes on the condition that they keep separate apartments. see? scenes of failed relationships include reading an 1100 page book on the making of the atomic bomb while in bed with girlfriend and one i'll just call room full of farts. i also like the idea of this clearly made up guy carrying his wife over the threshold and then cut to them in bed post-coital where he asks "so, do you want to spend the night?" comic gold. oh, the real catch is that this guy and his friends are always coming up with made up sitcom ideas or scenes. so, in that way it'll be a little scetch-y. i'm thinking kendra can animate some of these asides. if hbo picks it up i'll flesh it out with f-bombs and tits.