so on my beautiful drive home after work (looking out over the golf course to the sherwin
mountains which i can see out my deck) im on the phone with adam going on a laundry list of bad items that have happened over the past week since he left, i lose service because cingular/at&t is one bogus liar with "the fewest dropped calls nation wide", YEAH? COME TO MAMMOTH we'll talk fucking reception, which adds to list of bullshit. i put my purse down when i walk inside where of course the boys would be doing nothing but screaming into a telemarketer's headset "waz tha dealll with french toast" playing local 14 year olds in halo 3 (which one day, i will burn in our fireplace). i reach into my purse to go outside to make my very important long distance romance phone call, where my red gatorade cap has cracked off and poured every last ounce of thirst quenching drank into my 2 years strong target purse. which leads me to walk ouside calmly, close the french doors, turn around the chairs, and cry like a little bitch, just call me "last straw mcgee". i continue to reconnect my call, and say "i just need a break, i want to go home, like LA home," and was met with 30 minutes of consoling and "things can only get better, they boys will take care of you til i can" and a lot of making everything better. i felt like the biggest shitbag walking planet earth, but it did get me to thinking. where several hours later while bored at work today i wrote a little something that was spawned from this sudden "wack attack" which made me both extreamly "bummed out central" and "wow i/we rule." where every bit of it is true with so much left out, i'd need more pages than the bible to get down how hard we got down. i do quite miss LA.some things i miss...a lot of you, and LA.
all though the summers hit mostly over 100 degrees in the nappy valley where my $2 target flip flops felt like we're melting into the asphalt, the amount of time spent on a $5 inflatable killer whale raft in martine's dad's pool drinking wine coolers because we finished off all the beer before 12pm, and the zuma 7 take over trips where we would say every time 'fuck we should have just taken the beach bus' but i think we're too old because we're not 12 year old skanks from calabasas, was enough to heed my hate for central valley living. or maybe it was putting over 1,300 miles on my car one summer sitting in traffic having a dance-a-thon to sandstorm, mxpx, the movielife and lloyd banks on the way to corona every week to see b-roll and purchasing airbrush tee's from dickie mart, or driving to san bernardino BLARING life of agony to stand in a dirt cloud surrounded by long hair and hot topic bondage, full and wasted from free beer and monsters to watch slipknot and pick on frank, or going to arizona for spring-broke-break with martine to resuce terateraterror where we had a on land "booze cruz" for 4 days straight where hang overs were out of the question, but found out that ungodly temperatures and fish bowl drinks while laying out resulted in 3rd degree sunburns. spending most time at the hotter-than-hell-no-airconditioning chateau harder aka the reseda wolfpack house with its various house shows, bbqs, and drunks jumping off the roof into the pool (which is just as easy when blacked out, mind you, just even more completely unsafe) going to soup plantation with joe and essa and playing the eat til you puke game, i usually put down the most. or maybe that night when me and martine went to tijuana with big zack, dre and the TERROR boys , 
big zack turned into andre the giant scooping me and nick on his shoulders, meanwhile me and martine are sippin out of sketchy pastic black bags in an even sketchier van on the way to the hong kong bar (yeah we ALLLLLL remember that night, sorta) slow dancing with luis after he got stripped down naked by 2 strippers and i talked all night in spanish to a hooker. nights in hollywood is a chapter all its own, where i might not necessarily miss passing out on a side street off hollywood blvd with bryan only be be woken up by a street cleaner, or him getting kicked out of moscow for throwing a girl into the fountain steps, it's one of those things you look back on and say 'wow, must have been a good night..' or rollin deep to the volcom bowling party and getting kicked out immediately as we stepped out the car for BYOB and hangin out at the top of the standard for the MADA party, open bar, fuck. or going out to dinner with luis every week when he got off work where i got tanked and we bullshitted for hours about god knows fucking what. all the bbq's we demolished, clubs we tore apart, side walks we peed on, alleys we threw up in, long ass car trips, back seat dance parties, stumbles up the stairs, wade vs. me after a bottle of jack, misha vs. the wall, hotel parties, sound and fury 3 day same outfit, taking pictures of hollywood stars with fucked names and industry parties with open bars!!!, i miss it all, a lot. and i miss a lot of you. i really do.
just reminding you of some extreamly bitchin times
xoxo
little did i know til after i posted this, martine a few days earlier had made a simular post. which only furthers the idea that me and her are undeniably one in the same as well as extreamly fucking gay. and on an even gay-er note, i miss her incredibly. on a nohomo level, this is the longest me and her have been apart. i srsly miss everyone from down south a metric ton? i don't know how much that is, it sounded larger. thinkin bout this shit makes my brain insides hurt, who knows whats going to happen in the next few months, i know in the next few hours i'll be in lakanuki sweatin to the beats of the 80s, 90s and today ordering my 6th round of "longislandiceteaplease" with sarai, cos bitches i just got paid. i'll laugh all the way to the bank, ha ha haaaa, cos its ridic for the hours i "worked" aka searching for puppies.
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