Featuring The Moments You Resent.

So this morning was entirely wasted on a fuddled hysteria of tearing my apartment upside down and inside out looking for two lost socks. I had done laundry last night under the menacing specter of hand-written signs from building management warning that 'these machines could break down at any God-damned moment and that you used them at your own peril'. Well use them I did and I had thought I had really scored a solid, that was until I had two pair-less socks mocking me.

As it turns out I had just mismatched a pair in my delirium of putting laundry away in the wee-hours of 8:53 pm and it was the pair I had actually pulled out to wear this morning so obviously I didn't discover it the two times I ripped apart my sock drawer, flipped my mattress, picked up my sofa, unmade then remade my bed, retraced my steps in the interior hall so by the time I finally discovered the missing socks were sitting on my dresser the whole fucking time I could have just slapped the morning in the God-damned face. But I just hailed an Uber instead.

Yeah. This entire shit-show of whack was brought to me compliments of having to go working on a Saturday morning. Working on the weekend is entirely optional of course, but I am in make as much money and pay for my next six vacations as fast as I can mode and I'm not fucking around about it. I'm also probably moving. Again. Which is expensive. To the Westside.

That last part still shaketh me to my hipster foundations, but the clickety-claskety barge of shame to the Westside has really become just too unsafe space for my liking and lately Uber Pool is a straight up crap shoot. Yeah, occasionally you get some hot dude heading to LAX or away from their hangover or both, but this morning it was a woman so fat I could smell the mold in her fat pockets. I vomited six times in my mouth, and of course she giggled and muttered into her phone about being blessed someone saved something for her on YouTube. So I have actually now wanted to slap this morning in the face twice and it is just a quarter past too fucking early.

Overcome With Apathy.

This morning some doughy-faced, lumpy-haired, yet mercifully well-scrubbed migrant reclined on me the entire duration of the clickety-clackety peasant barge of shame to the Westside. One could hardly blame him. He was probably shuttling between his seventh and eighth  job, weary from overwork, exhaustion, bad sex and trying desperately to support his three wives and 47 anchor babies. Actually that is not true and completely racist, but I really can’t help trying to invent backstories for some of the characters I come across on the Metro. It’s the way locals travel, or so their new slogan goes for Jesus Fuck Christ sake.

Yesterday there was some bright-eyed young thing on the Metro wearing a smart Eataly polo shirt and I could only assume that he works there because if that place has its own line of clothing then that is some seriously over there bullshit. I really wanted to ask him what it was like in the shop since Christ knows I’ll never be seen in that place. Shopping for artisanal cheese, charcuterie and seasonal truffle oils? Please. Some places are finished before they even start. I’ll make do with Instagram and memories of DeLaurenti thanks all the same.

I think I may have up and committed myself to a month of straight-long drama and-a-half which is to say I gave notice on my flat and now have to find a new flat. I think I actually found one so there is that part hopefully done, but then of course there is the torture of moving all my possessions across town and learning a new neighborhood and commute and all that whatever.

There is the line from the best move ever Dune ‘Change, it jars something deep inside us. Allowing us to grow.’ And that along with case after case of PBR always manges to get me through these bumps in the road.

Always Regarded As An Upset.

This morning some doughy-faced, lumpy-haired, yet mercifully well-scrubbed migrant reclined on me the entire duration of the clickety-clackety peasant barge of shame to the Westside. One could hardly blame him. He was probably shuttling between his seventh and eighth  job, weary from overwork, exhaustion, bad sex and trying desperately to support his three wives and 47 anchor babies. Actually that is not true and completely racist, but I really can’t help trying to invent backstories for some of the characters I come across on the Metro. Some of them don’t allow you that luxury, sadly. They leave nothing to the imagination and throw it all out there, and bless them. So much better than those serial Uberers and Lyfters which I was in such danger of becoming with all their airs, graces, and detached vacant smartphone enthrallment. Bitches on this am ride catch up on their zz's.

Yesterday there was some bright-eyed young thing on the afternoon Metro wearing a smart Eataly polo shirt and I could only assume he works there because if that place has its own line of clothing then that is some seriously over there bullshit. I really wanted to ask him what it was like in the shop since Christ knows I’ll never be seen in that place. Shopping for artisanal cheese, charcuterie and seasonal truffle oils? Please. Some places are finished before they even start. I’ll make do with Instagram and memories of DeLaurenti thanks all the same.

I think I may have up and committed myself to a month of straight-long drama and-a-half which is to say I gave notice on my flat and now have to find a new flat. I think I actually found one so there is that part hopefully done, but then of course there is the torture of moving all my possessions across town and learning a new neighborhood and commute and all that whatever. 

There is the line from the best move ever Dune ‘Change, it jars something deep inside us. Allowing us to grow.’ And that along with case after case of PBR always manages to get me through these bumps in the road.

Reactionary, Empty And Everywhere.

I’ve been trying with rather alarming success to distribute my disgusting mood evenly throughout the day. I wouldn’t want any one person or organization to be overly enriched with such beneficence.

First thing this morning at the bus stop some Jaden Picket-Smith understudy thought he was throwing a solid by letting all the women and children on the bus first as though he were the bandleader on the titanic. I tried to stifle a laugh as best I could, but as soon as I saw the Champion camo hoodie and Fucci bag I just couldn’t let it lie.

‘What the fuck do you think this is a cotillion ball?’ I said as I brushed him aside and walked onto the bus well ahead of no fewer than a dozen members of the fairer sex. As I took my seat I noticed he was taking my picture no doubt to be posted to some social media outlet later in the day with some hastag like #gratitude or #kindnesswoke. I couldn’t be too upset since he was wearing a backpack from the sound engineering school that was probably charging him an eye-watering amount for no future job prospects whatsoever.

This child was fresh off the boat from Cincinnati or somewhere equally pointless, but he quickly got religion as the clickety-clackety barge-of-shame shimmied us to the Westside. First when the truly salty AF unhoused wretch flopped himself between us, and then when all the other riders on the bus did all they could do to avoid his  Champion hoodie and fake Gucci wearing ass. Because brown people really don’t like black people in this town and you may as well not be nice to anyone because they will never appreciate it.

Later on during the ride I noticed another passenger with beyond unforgivable hair deposit some shreds of paper out the window and I stifled my furiousness, but only just.

It took no less than an entire hour to traverse the 12 block stretch of Santa Monica that constitutes Beverly Hills. I signed into my Fwitter and began tweet-raging to the City of Beverly Hills all the while trying to keep it civil and non-racist, however, I may have inadvertently taken some digs at the Saudi Foyal Family. Sometimes I think the movie Crash is a documentary.

By the time we did get to my stop the paper strewing tweaker was naturally standing in front of me holding out her hand asking me for spare change. I couldn’t even muster words. Just a disgusted shake of the head. People like her end up getting jobs cleaning train stations because the Universe has a plan for us all. 

Case in point. Whilst in the swirling center of this tempestuous vortex of early morning fuckery I received an email from Lyft complimenting me on my civil and non-racist feedback and refunding me the entirely of my recent trip to the airport. 

Clearly, my shouting “Fuck Texas” at the man wearing the Texas Forever tee-shirt in the departures lounge of Idaho Falls airport last Thursday did not go unnoticed by the furies.

We Imagined Most Of It.

I’ve dropped any bougie pretenses and have almost entirely dumped my ordinary Uber and Lyft drivers in favor of straight up peasant class transport. The clickety-clackety barge of shame to the Westside does offer ample cruising opportunities and I get a lot of reading done because at that hour Angry Birds and Duolingo are just too much for me to be having. I am also getting into fewer spats with Uber Customer Support and the Lyft Wall of We Hate Customers.

I don’t know how much longer they are going to need me to fling myself from pillar to post all in the name of a paycheck, but it could be months, possibly weeks. Hopefully days. I have planned my next four vacations, however, the first starting tomorrow with a brief trip up to Idaho which as I believe I have mentioned is always like walking through a mist of dementia, alcoholism and diabetes. I can’t wait to go thrifting and thrash my diet on crisp bean burritos.

I believe I have finally devised a work-around for my present employer’s draconian internet policy so hopefully I can get more writing done. It will require a little more discipline and technological intrepidity on my part, but I am up for it if only for the variation. I certainly intend to get less work done because it has just gotten to be a pain in my ass, boring, and more-so-than-usual just a genuine drag.

My new hot boss who I will go into greater depth later flounced into my office yesterday (withoutknocking) and caught me researching gymnasia. More accurately his gymnasia, shit, and all while I had some Superman movie blasting on the Jesus phone. Totally busted.

When I’m not busying myself into a dither gunning for employee of the year I am usually walking around the mall enjoying the dogs which are fantastic while lamenting people’s poor clothing decisions which are relentlessly priceless. People in the Century City Mall are clearly on it with their bullshit. More on that and the new hot boss later.