JESUS

My flight is at 3ish...er, something like that...tomorrow...and so like my boss is all asking me if I'm coming into work tomorrow. Okaywhat? I'm all, "Well...I wasn't planning on it," and he just gives me that extended-stare-over-the-tops-of-the-glasses look. And I'm all, "What? Is that a problem, or something?" And he does the textbook passive/aggressive thing of the "No. That's alrigh--(cannot be heard anymore because he is walking away with his head down...) So, I was like "and don't you come back..." (No. I wasn't.)

I don't respect non-communicative bullshit. Would the world come crumbling down if you just come out with whatthefuckeveritis you are trying to communicate? Jesus. Why do people have to do worthless, boring little performances around what they are truly thinking? Ulterior motive, perhaps. I don't like to rush to that judgement. I like the thought that someone may just not have the capacity to articulate their thoughts. Or that they question the moral/ethical value of their thoughts. The mere idea that people fuck with you just cause they intend to fuck you over would not be thought number one on my WHATISYOURFUCKINGPROBLEM? list.

Well. I just don't care. I have performed above and beyond the call of duty at my job for many years now. And that's an outside opinion. I am stellar. And that's the fact. And so...that's why I can have such a kiss-my-sweet-ass attitude, and be fair. I should have said it quite a few times by now...but...now I'M SAYIN IT, AIN'T I? And it's makes me feel all cozy just reliving it.

Okay...so now I'm going to tell you about Jesus.

Jesus was this homeless dude who hung out in our little neighborhood. We live smack dab in the city...surrounded by victorians, which are law offices or professional buildings. Down the street is the Capitol, and all the government buildings; state, county, and federal. It's all right here...including the homeless.

So...this dude. He totally looked like the American version of Jesus...you know, like on those Easter movies made for t.v.? He had these dreadlocks, though. And he was semi good looking, for a homeless dude. So like I would see him all the time. And then finally one day I pulled over and he was sitting in this parking lot playing guitar. It was a Martin 6 string...with a Ovation case. I was like...dude...what is your story? And he was all talking slow and quiet. He said his name was Steve. (but we will always call him Jesus.) And he went into these little chords as he talked. He would like play for a bit...with his icky, dirty hands (but his nails were short and clean)...and then he would just say some totally random thing. I asked him if he had a family. He said, (strumming a g, like 5 times) "I got no family. I've had 3 girlfriends." (strumming a c now) "One, I had for a month." (now back to the g) "One, I had for a week," (now he stops playing and looks me square in the eyes, "and the last one I had for an hour." And I was like not sure if he was a maniac or just stupid. He wasn't on drugs...I could tell. And he didn't smell like alcohol. The whites of his eyes were solid white. And his teeth were straight...AND CLEAN. I was like, THIS DUDE IS LIKE SOME COLLEGE STUDENT DOING SOME SOCIOLOGY THESIS!!! Even his dirt didn't look real. It looked like ink...

So now I was on a mission to trip Steve up in his act of being a homeless Jesus. I told the neighbors, and wouldn't you know it? None of us had ever talked about him, but we had all secretly nicknamed him Jesus. We were on NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH over Jesus to see if he was a fake.

One day I was smoking cloves out back and Jesus and his Martin and Ovation came strolling down the alley. He smiled, and just at that time, Dave (my loveydovey) came driving up. Jesus looked at him. Then, Dave got out of the truck and said, "Hey, how you doin?" And Jesus shot like a bat out of hell down the alley...all running behind slow cars in traffic and shit. I was like...Whatthehell is that all about? And Dave told me that he had seen Jesus running after cars quite a few times. (like a little dog, or something. Poor Jesus...er, whatever.)

Then, another time I saw Jesus at the park. And I was like, "Hey, are you hungry?" And he's all "ye ah m an" (he talked really slow, like a stoner) "can you get me some french fries and a chocolate shake from McDonalds?" And I'm like, "Dude. I'll get you what I get you...and you better thank me for it when I do." So, I get him the NEAREST TO CHOCOLATE Jamba juice that Jamba could make. I came back, and I proudly hand it to him...like IM-SUCH-A-FUCKING-NICE-PERSON...and he's all, "whaaat's thiiiiis? I can't haaaaave thiiiiiss...therrrrrre's vitaminnnnns in that, maaaaaan..." And I was like, "That set me back FOUR BUCKS, MISTER. YOU'RE GONNA DRINK IT." (Jesus was only like 5'4"...I knew, in a pinch, i could kick his ass.) And so Jesus drank the Jamba juice.

The last time I saw Jesus was the night he pulled out our chase lounge and slept on it. As the sun came up the next day, he would rotate it back into the shade, until it was literally under our back window. I went out back to smoke, and saw this dark blue lump of godonlyknowswhat on my chase lounge. Dave told me it was Jesus. Later, I went back outside...and Jesus was gone. So was the chase lounge.

I have my theories about Jesus. No doubt I'll run into that shit at some SUIT LADEN convention downtown...sippin an espresso and juggling a PDA and cell. That guy. (I will then tell him I want my FOUR DOLLARS and MY CHASE LOUNGE back...the shitty little theif!)

Occasionally we hear of people who think they've seen him...but...I don't think it's the real Jesus...(there are Jesus lookalikes...)

I was never able to get a hold of his deal. Once Dave asked him what his deal was...why he was homeless, and all...and he just laughed. Jesus laughed and said, "Oh maaaaaan. I'mmm jusssst herrrre forrrr the jammms," and he did this spazzy little guitar solo...

Kristen said she saw Jesus at the Greyhound station, playing guitar outside...she wasn't sure if it was him...but, she really thought it was. Fact is, Jesus is gone..and...well...peace, love, and bong hits to you Jesus. We miss you, man.

Kat

*Theme song of the day, in honor of Jesus: ONE TOKE OVER THE LINE. (brewer/shipley)

i bet they never flossed...

this is the strangest life i've ever known.

 

blue monday

So like I worked today. That's really not okay...as I'm salary and I have Monday's off.

I did this, like good faith bullshit. Since I plan to be in Los Angeles Wednesday through Friday...and since I only had to work 2 days last week...I figured I should, like, show up today.

And there was no red fucking carpet...nor exorbitant thank you's. I would have much rather taken the cut in pay. But...it's over. I found myself with this perpetual Sid Vicious sneer...pretty much at everything. Especially the wonderful little stupid jaunt to both Safeway and Rite Aid just now.

Okay...this isn't just your average Safeway. This is the SINGLES RRRRRRRREALLY LOOKIN FOR SOME SOME Safeway. And I'm not talking GOOD LOOKING SINGLES. No. These are the idiot hybird freaks who have been rejected by normal singles. These are the 50 year old fake blondes in spandex...and those are just the guys.

No. Not really. Actually...I just described the idiot cyclists who gather in their little clicky shoes in my alley out back every Saturday morning. Now...THEY are nether freaks. I mean...any guy who shaves their legs more often that I do...well...Jesus! And then their whole deal with spandex. I mean...Brad Pitt would look shitty in spandex...so what fucking prayer have you got Mr. Receeding Hairline? Oh...and they're LOUDTALKERS. And everything's so fucking important.

"WHY BRAD! ARE THOSE NEW $1600 ALL STEEL 20 INCH RIMS?"

"ARE YOU SHITTIN ME? HELL NO, JOHN. THEY'RE CENTERLINE 22 INCH TOMAHAWK SERIES WITH 3 YEAR LUSTER WARRANTY AND CURB DAMAGE REPAIR..."

And it's all ape-in-the-jungle yellage with their shaved legs, clicky shoes, and fucking spandex.

THIS is how I begin my Saturdays. I wish I had a scope rifle and a rooftop. Rubber bullets would be fine. Or...just a high pressure hose. But...that's in a perfect world.

So, yeah. Safefuckingway. And so there's like this tweaker bitch in line right behind me...and I'm all like unaware that she's there...as I was in my own world with my mp3 player blasting Soundgarden's "Good Eye Closed." So then...I've done all the stupid little prompts from the fascist regime of checkers and baggers...with their needing my fucking card...and needing to know if I plan to immediately dispose of paper or plastic...and then an occasional idiotic question...as I have RESISTED the TEMPTATION to LISTEN TO A DAMN THING THEY HAVE TO SAY!!! You see...I READ LIPS, BITCH! AND HERE COMES THE COOL GUITAR SOLO WITH CHRIS CORNELL SINGING IN THIS STONEY TRIPPY WAY...SO DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!! I GAVE YOU THE CARD...I WANT PLASTIC...AND NOTHING ELSE MATTERS.

But no. The tweaker bitch next to me actually commits SIN NUMBER 1. She BUMPS INTO ME...like...HEY MOVE OVER kind of bump. Welp. My reaction was normal. I just looked at her. But...my feeling is this. I do 30 push ups a day...and bench press, too. You touch me...and I'm considering this a FIRST STRIKE. But...as I said...I just looked at her. And she all gives me this WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT, BITCH look...which, makes NOT GRABBING HER RATTY HAIR AND PUNCHING HER IN THE HEAD any easier. But, I didn't. You see...I'm nice. They actually pay me to be nice at work. And I really do it. It's one of those compromises I committed to...what with the money thing and all. But, I'm even polite. And that suprises some. I have one good deed I do every day. It's this like personal pact. A good karma thing...er whatever. But...from that good deed on...I feel no need to be nice. I will be appropriate...but I will be acting. It seems the only way.

Usually I employ sarcasim. It helps alot. And...since I appear to be so All American nice girl...no one ever knows I'm openly mocking their annoyingness. Occasionally I will encounter another hi brow humorist...and it's like some family reunion...speaking in our Native Tongue. But...most don't get it. And I don't care. I should care...but it would be a waste of calories.

Anyhow...I was driving home from SAFEFUCKINGWAY and this line of motorist ahead of me are all like going 15 miles and hour through the little road...like some goddammed funeral, or something. And then the leader of this time warp caravan decides to come to an ABRUPT CESSATION OF MOVEMENT. That was it. I'm finished with work...I've escaped the sentence of imprisonment at SAFEFUCKINGWAY, and I'm a block from home! I yell out "WHY ARE WE FUCKING STOPPING?!?"

However...I forgot I was wearing one ear of my mp3 player, and had rolled down the window so I could smoke... Some homeless person was rrrrrrrright next to me on the sidewalk...and I guess I woke him...or scared him...or whatever..(which I regret)...(kind of)...and they let out this SHREIK! Which, in turn, freaked me out...as I HAD ESTABLISHED MYSELF AS THE YELLER...and hadn't, obviously, expected a response to my question.

The moral to the story.

Monday's aren't for work.

Less money is better than less rest.

No matter how bad it is...it could always be worse.

I am thankful for my bad ass, good (and I mean DAMN GOOD) looking boyfriend...however. He endures my shit. And, actually, I'm very fair with him. He's all cozy on the couch...and I will settle in and let all the fruitless events of the day just slip away...

INTO THE ABYSS OF SATAN'S HELL THAT THEY CAME FROM...

especially the spandex laden nether freaks.

*no offense is intended, if you are some avid cyclist. I'm sure you have no clue what a total morph you are...and you are probably really happy in your odd little morphed reality. Happy Trails, my friend. But, stay in your bike lane, clicky shoes boy.

Kat

in the beginning...

I met this kid a few years ago. Adam. He was this little shit idiot who got busted like selling meth, or something. He was like 5 foot tall. He was cuter than cute...and wasn't a little shit meth freak himself...but...he wasn't the best esteemer of character. That is: he thought like an idiot and surrounded himself with idiots. So, blah blah...Adam gets hit with this like 5 year sentence with CRC in California. He was certainly preparing for the hell that awaited him...he was hella freaking out. The Courts didn't give a shit. And, Adam became some convict.

Somewhere along the line, someone told me he was all alone in this stupid world. I felt some odd sense of like human duty. (Don't ask why...cause usually I find people to be intensely annoying...what with their selfish, empty little worlds and needs...) But, occasionally I find a rare soul who is real. A rare existence who's choicest desire is to contribute to this life...in their unique...yet edifying...way. I offered to write to this little shit kid. And, although I had to set him straight on my intentions...he chose to become a friend. Each day I listed my epiphanal moment, my theme song, and my muses. Albeit odd...he cherished them. Well, Adam is free today and has graduated from college. I don't know anything beyond that. So...once a stranger, now a stranger again...

Adam will never know how much I relied on him, in the end. Having the opportunity to write whatthehellever I want...knowing that he will read it...and nothingatallfuckingmatters...well...I guess I learned alot about myself. More importantly...I discovered transcending truths and intense reality...it has been such a cool journey.

In the spirit of human speaking to human, only...anyone is Adam. I offer my ramblings...and cherished realizations...just because...

Kat