DAY 66: BBQ

Spring Street BBQ on Spring and Caesar Chavez is fucking delicious. I’m not going to say it is the best BBQ I’ve ever had, but it’s the best I have had in LA (Fuck BBQ King with their day old stale tasting meat!) Go for the spicy. I had baby back ribs and tried some of the jalapeno and cheese stuffed chicken as well as the brisket. The brisket is awe-inspiring. In fact it inspired this poem;

First crush,

First touch,

First kiss,
First fuck,
None compares to the brisket in my basket.
Loves face; eyes that cry bbq over a smoky skin.
The blood of gods,
Men have died for you.
How many men would lie with you?
How many men have lied for you?
I crouch over you, protective.
My arms on either side,
My eyes watching glazed in a dream.
I love you.

DAY 65: Flavor

There was wine for the premiere. My dumbass spilled it all over my desk. So glad to be free I head out to the bar with coworkers. Why do I mix liquor with beer. Why does whiskey or tequila have to bring out the exquisite flavor of beer? I dunno, but it does.

DAY 64: Fanny Packs

I’ve said this before, but since it hasn’t left my brain it must be important. Fanny packs are useful. You can hold just the right amount; a camera, wallet, notebook, pen, bus pass, keys, etc. It’s like a utility belt. The problem is its name “fanny pack”. If people who wear backpacks are backpackers then it follows that people who wear fanny packs are…fannypackers. Which is cool. I know a lot of cool people who wear fanny packs. I just don't happen to.

DAY 63: Deuche Bag

Deuche Bag. This is not an insult. There is nothing wrong with being called a deuche bag. It is the most sanitary part of the deuche. Now if you call someone deuche expulsion or deuche drip back (DDB) I would be extremely offended. It also works if you add a negative adjective to deuche bag such as “dirty” or “used”. This too can be offensive, but deuche bag by itself…no. It’s like calling someone soap. You piece of soap!

DAY 62: Moving Moving Moving

I’m helping Iain move today. He now lives next to the devil (I saw him mowing his lawn) and several dudes that love playing craps on the sidewalk. Narrow halls and even narrower stairs I navigated these dangerous elements carrying a futon frame and several other furniture pieces. Tired and sweaty we decide to head on over to Bri’s to regroup before seeing a movie. We start a well contained forest fire and hunger strikes like a wolf in the night. House of pies. How do I feel about house of pies? Once, when I was in fifth grade I was extremely sick. My stomach was trying to expel itself from my body and as I ran towards the doorway it succeeded. But since I tried to hold it in it shot out my nose. My nose burned for several days. The burning was accompanied by the taste of vomit in the back of my throat. Now, I ask myself this question, “Which was a better experience; vomit in my nose or eating at House of Pies?” Vomit in my nose.

“Rescue Dawn” was good. For two hours I forgot about my stomach pains and the horrible taste in my mouth.

DAY 61: Nebula

What happened? Several years ago I saw Nebula perform in Portland. Fucking awesome! The gong, the guitar, the drums. It made me want to get stoned while cruising back roads in a pick up truck. Tonight at Spaceland is the second time I've seen them in LA. No redemption. They seem small, no longer rock that slaps me in the face they have become a firm handshake with no eye contact. Look me in the eye! Look me in the fucking eye! I blame the new drummer, guitars can't carry it all.

DAY 60: Nice Ride

Bri and I ride from the office to my place and then from my place to the Red Lion where we meet up with a bunch of peeps. French fries and a couple of Warsteiner's later we're off to Glendale/Atwater for a late night ride. The them is "Day of the Dead". Outside of a Mickey Dee's we drink beer and people watch while a giant skeletal head does figure eights in the parking lot. Due to all the bikes and skeletal face paint I keep expecting Danielson to run by. Soon we mount up (side note: whenever I think about riding with a group of people I am reminded of "Young Guns" and how Billie the Kid AKA Emilio Estevez would say, "Regulators mount up!") and begin traveling across the city. Within fifteen minutes I have no fucking clue where I am. It's a bright crispy night and the air feels good in my lungs. A couple hours later and I'm back where we started from. The night ends with breakfast at Astros, breakfast at midnight. breakfast, oh so delicious!

DAY 59: Learning Curve

Trying to learn how to curve my ball in bowling. When I played a week ago I was doing it no problem. Now that I'm trying to do it on wooden lanes it's not happening. The owner and a worker keep stopping by to give me tips.
"It's all in the fingers. Squeeze the fingers" (this is similar to Spider-Man shooting a web)
"Go at a diagonal"
"Lead with the left. Lead with the left."
So much to think about. Plus I have to remember to shake hands.
Gutter. Gutter. Gutter. I bowl a 60. What the fuck? I go to the bar and buy another beer. The bartender is watching Rob Schnyder in "The Hot Girl". She asks me, "When is this going to get funny?" It's subjective. However, in bowling there is measurement. A standard. According to that standard, I suck.

DAY 58: Supa Beard

Holy crap my beard is getting huge! It's monstrous and all consuming. I think it is beginning to give me psychic abilities. Abilities of the mind; esp, pyrokinesis, and telekinesis. I can cloud the thoughts of others. My voice is hypnotic.
"Hi Will! How are you?" asks some random character.
"I'm great! How are you?" I reply.
"Well to be perfctl..........." their eyes drop to my chin. They're out like west hollywood boy. This is my opportunity. I can make them think water is fire, that they're a chicken, or Tom Cruise. This is the power of beard hypnotics. With a great beard comes great responsibility. I snap my fingers and turn my back on them. All conversations are now done over the shoulder.

DAY 57: Stella Crap

When I first hung out with Stella, my dog, I couldn't tell the difference between her taking a crap and a piss (besides by analyzing the remnants). Now I can read her posture. In a fraction of a second I can say piss or poo. When she takes a piss her ass is lower to the ground and she holds her body at a 45 degree angle. When she takes a crap her ass is much higher due to the pile up and her body is at a 90 degree angle. Her front paws shake while her hind legs bounce on the ground below her looking for support. People always glare at me when she takes a piss since I make no movement to check. I say, "It's a piss." Immediately their eyes glimmer as if to say, "How'd you know that? Is it magic?". No, it's not magic, it's body language.

DAY 56: Seeing a show

Three bands at Spaceland; Abe Pagoda, Bi-Polar Bear, and Parts & Labor. I've been letting a Cincinnatian who was stranded in Hollywood sleep on my air-mattress. He came with me to the show and I'm suppose to be meeting Dewey later on. A girl from the UK who just flew in from New Zealand also came. She's staying in a hostel on Hollywood and has been travelling for 3 months. Hearing people talk about traveling sparks jealousy similar to what I felt when other boys played with brand name "Transformers" while I played with knock-offs from "Kings" in Nampa. I've heard mention of Parts & Labor and was interested in checking them out. Before going I listened to all the bands online. None of them sounded the same in person. Live, Bi-Polar Bear was great; much heavier. Parts & Labor was entertaining, however live they reminded me of a heavier Guided by Voices. I liked their recordings more which came across as a multi-textured wall of sound with vocals that ran against it like cracks.

DAY 55: Picnic

Diggie and I ride to Griffith Park for a picnic full of couch surfers. Everyone is nice full of adventures and stories. Munching on chips I listen to stories about India, France, South America, New Zealand, etc. It gets me juiced. I wanna run away, instead we head over to Bri's where I chew on goat cheese and salami while awaiting the main course of taco casserole. Delicious. I quench my thirst with spiced wine and eggnog resisting the temptation of falling asleep. The couches are so poofy. Comfy, I dissolve into the creases like butter melting in a hot pan. Gotta wake up. Gotta ride home.

DAY 54: Somewhere

Freezing cold, my nipples point which way to go. I'm at some club called something with a number after it. Why do bars, clubs, and restaurants in LA love numbers? It's Walters birthday and I'm trying to wear alcohol like a coat. Who would have thought half the club would be outside. Who would have thought that there would be a mime on stilts dancing in a pond outside. So this is Hollywood. My 100 proof coat is getting warm. I'm antsy and I run about as though I'm on fire having shots with Walter every now and again. The friendly smiles turn into frowns as I vomit streams of mismatched sentences. My coat is getting way to warm. I think I might have had two 2am's. Clocks drop back an hour. Going home me and Diggie stop for food.
"Dude, your eating all my bacon." Diggie scolds me. Back in the car I say, "we should go get something to eat."
"We just did. You had french toast."
Oh, I need to get out of this fucking coat.

DAY 53: THRONES

I meet Julie and Randu at the Pirate Bar after work for an open faced turkey sandwich and several beers. Randu is reluctant to drink since he is recovering from food poisoning. Five minutes later at La Cita he's feeling better and we're taking shots of Tequila. It was Shea's last day of work and co-workers have gathered. In the middle of the patio lays a monster dog. Brown and drooly with a head the size of a microwave. As Julie and Shea rub his belly they baby talk, "Who's the big doggy? Who's the big doggy? You like that dontcha? dontcha?" I turn to Randu, "Wow, this would make a great website, huh?" The sentence is out of my mouth before I realize I don't know who this person is. It's not Randu. He gives me a look like he walked in on his grandma giving me head. "What?" I say. His look dissipates and he replies, "I think they already have sites like that."
Our purpose tonight is to see "The Thrones". We get to The Smell, where they are playing, after a drink at Bar 107. We purchase our tickets and find out that they won't be playing for another hour. Off to another bar. Its down the alley and a left at 2nd street. As you enter mariachi music attacks your eardrums. The bar is reminiscent of a high school cafeteria (granted, a tougher high school than what I went to). After a conversation in spanglish, we pull up chairs at a fold out table and watch the dancing while taking turns going to the bathroom. Randu leaves and a short Mexican man wearing a cowboy hat with a thin mustache slams a chair into our table while he walks by. Julie giggles, he turns around and leans across our table. "Hrmmm brpppp." he slurs in broken english. "I'm sorry, what?" I slur back as Julie tries to explain that she was not laughing at him. I give him a friendly drunken smile but unfortunately it's not disarming. "Hrmmm brpppp." He slurs again. "Que?" I say.
"Hrmmm brpppp." He slurs again. I can't figure out if this is English or Spanish. He walks off and Randu sits down across from me. From across the room he shoots knives out of his eyes, returns to our table, and says "Hrmmm brpppp."
"I do not understand." I reply. He gets pissed and walks off. Randu leans into me and says, "Gringos are not allowed." As Randu explains that it was english he was speaking, the little man comes up behind us and begins talking to two other guys. He's pointing wildly at us, his body language saying he wants our asses kicked. The two guys don't give a fuck, but we decide to leave before he finds a couple that do.
I rock back and forth while I listen to The Thrones. The bass puts me into a deep trance while I zone out on a tattoo of Bob Dobbs. Gotta love The Thrones. His mighty beard amplifies his deep voice. A monk from the year 2100, a musical time traveler, a future viking.

DAY 52: Smoking

I've been smoking more. This is training for France. I want to be a really good smoker by the time I get there. It's only two months away, so I have to exercise my lungs. A crisp breeze and a pint of beer seem to be good buddies for this activity. The breeze always triggers nostalgia of smoking in Boise during the fall. Beer and cigarettes is a flavor combination that overshadows peanut butter and chocolate. I'm surprised it doesn't have it's own jolly rancher. Another cute couple is coffee and cigarettes, but they make me nervous. They're the poor man's Exlax. Gotta get back to work. Puff-1-2-3-Puff-1-2-3-Puff-1-2-3.

DAY 51: Office Halloween

The last two years everyone in the office has dressed up. I came in expecting to see an army of costumes. I saw maybe five. For lunch I go out with Melissa, Mikey, and Bri to the Pirate Bar (Redwood). Walking around downtown I feel like we are the only people dressed up in the city. Something about the bright day makes it all feel very surreal. Is this how cops, sailors, and baseball players feel? At Redwood, I have some delicious fish and chips. It's dark and everything is decorated with nets and ships. Later, back at the office, we have a costume contest. Good news about 20 people have had their costumes all day, they just hadn't put them on. I take third which is a massage at Burke Williams (do they give happy endings?), Brad took second as a coked out Brittany spears (I think coke is the theme of this Halloween) and Katie takes first as "Zoltar" from "Big".

(I will not take this photo down)

DAY 50: Tim Allen

Walking out of work with Adam and Melissa a Vulcan passed us walking a doberman in a red shirt. I told him this was illogical. He told me that the dog was a security officer. I mentioned that the "security officer" would be the first to go. Adam responds, "I'm just "Crewman Number Six." I'm expendable. I'm the guy in the episode who dies to prove how serious the situation is."
"What's that from?" Melissa asks.
"Galaxy Quest."
Then we begin talking about Tim Allen. Big Bully, Santa Clause, The Shaggy DA, I've seen them all...unfortunately.
Melissa informs us that, "He ruins everything."
"Yeah," I say, "He ruined coke for me"
"Whaddya mean?"
"He used to deal coke." I say.
Adam shakes his head and replies, "Fucking Tim Allen...he sucked the fun out of coke."

From this day forward this is my reasoning for not doing coke. "Fucking Tim Allen...he sucked the fun out of coke."

DAY 49: Pillow Please

The only thing on my mind is sleep. I'm so fucking tired. I feel like I spent the weekend running a marathon. I want to fill a coffin with goose feathers and fall asleep while wearing one of those frozen eye masks. The lid will be shut and I will sleep for centuries before rising and sucking the blood of virgins. Fuck yeah virgin blood. I totally hear that keeps you young. People at work keep talking to me. I have no idea what they are saying. It comes out, "blarp renog blarg blarg pitter."
"Yeah, okay." I say. What am I committing myself to? I hope none of it involves treason or a intra office Oprah's Book Club.

DAY 48: Universal City

Tired...so tired. I keep passing out standing up. The teachers voice puts me to sleep. The computer puts me to sleep. The chair puts me to sleep. Chris calls and reminds me that I'm suppose to go to the Halloween Scare Fest at Universal City. If I don't I will regret it. I love being scared. We arrive early which is good since there is already a line. Inside, the streets are pumped with smoke and deformed monsters run at you with chainsaws. The first maze is the Friday the 13th. It makes me giddy...the anticipation of being scared. It's a controlled panic attack. The maze is great, though nothing "gets me" until the very end when I think a dummy without a head turns out to be a person who gets up and runs at me. I thought for sure it was a dummy. Not only that, but it happened right after another scare. Totally unexpected. Last year I went to Knott Scary Farms which had more mazes and less of a wait, but the costumes were not nearly as good as at Universal. On the backlot I see Leatherface tear off a girls face while she screams for us to help her. Someone from behind me compliments her shoes. She politely says, "Thanks you, now can you help me get out of here?" After the backlot it's the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Maze followed by the Jurrasic Park ride (much better in the dark). While Chris dries himself off we go and wait in line for "The Bill & Ted's Halloween Show". Much funnier than I expected; Transforming Phone Booth with the receiver on his pelvis, two roller blading pirates dressed in velour, hot girls dancing, Rosie O'Donnell and Donald Trump making out, fire, and explosions. It's 11:30 and I'm falling asleep. The lines to get into mazes are over an hour long. We wait in line for the classic monster maze. It takes about 40 minutes to get in. Chris wants to try the Freddy Maze next. It has a 110 minute wait. Too fucking tired. I break it to Chris and head home. It's after two when I pass out. I gotta get up at 8:30 to walk the dog and go to work. Triple Fuck!

DAY 47: Halloween Party

It's 5:30pm, class has just ended. I have 3 hours to get home and finish my costume before Dewey's party. Before going home I stop at Walgreens to find clear red plastic for my goggles. None with the wrapping paper, office supplies, toys, or cleaning supplies. I find it in the candy aisle wrapped around a box of chocolates. After an hour of costume engineering, I run out of spraypaint and have to go out for more. By 8:30 the costume is done. Held together with thread, tape and safety pins. However, the paint is still wet so I set up the fan and wait another thirty minutes. At the party I meet Al Capone, Daft Punk, Weird Al, The Pot Cookie Monster, Steam Punks, Backyard Super Hero's, some Royal Tenenbaum's, Kim Jong the Illest, Scarface, Geisha, Flash Dance, Fat Biker Lady, Owen Wilson from Djarling Unlimited, Victorian Era Lady, and several other people. Drinks are poured, beer is drunk, cookies are eaten, and shots are taken. The night ends with people trying to tackle a giant inflatable snow globe. Kim Jong the Illest goes first and is catapulted across the yard remaining horizontal and spinning like a frisbee. Everyone giggles and laughs about how "this is not a good idea" while several other people line up to tempt the drunken injury gods. I get home around 3am and pass out just before 4am. Double Fuck! I have to leave for class at 8:30am

.

DAY 46: Whoops! I didn't see that party there.

My plans for the evening are to go home and work on my costume. So far, I've only bought the ingredients and set up the sewing machine. Unfortunately, it looks like I'm going to a "Gilligan's Island" themed costume party so the costume will have to wait. I borrow a pair of off white pants from Diggie, put on a dark blue polo, and my navy blue yachtsman hat...poof I'm the Skipper. Diggie is dressed as the professor. You would think that there would be more main characters at a Gilligan party. I was one of two skippers and Diggie was the only professor. I didn't see a Ginger and there was only one Marianne and five Gilligan's. The Howell's were a no show (basically, we're all just riff raff in their eyes anyway), but there was a U.S.S Minnow, a palm tree, a ninja, and a pimp. There were also several guys with brand new baseball caps, diamond earrings, and baggy drawers who responded to "hello's" by making a kissy face, jerking their head up, and going "Uhhh!". After some smokey punch, we return to the "Smacura" and roll out. It's off to the "Party of the Ages" this is another party that I am accidentally going to. Upon arriving I see the host, Archie, running out the door in his tidy whitey's ala "Risky Business". The place is packed and I see several coworkers. I love arriving to a party late since it always takes less momentum for me to feel comfortable. I will blame this phenomenon on alcohol. Once you see that first dude fall while cackling and drooling you know your not, "That One Guy". We hang out for a couple of hours, have a few drinks, and then head out to the "Brite Spot" for a french dip of sobriety. I finally go to bed just before 4am. I have to get up at 8:30am for class. Fuck.

DAY 45: Horse Thieves

Tonight I went and saw my friend Alex play at The Spaceland. He's in a band called "Horse Thieves" which consists of him singing on guitar with a girl who plays piano. It sounded great. Unfortunately, I missed the first song since I didn't realize the smoking lounge was sound proof. I also met two more people that have never met anyone from Delaware. So far, out of the 40 people I have asked, there have only been two that have known any Delawarians. One of which was a Delawarian. When I asked her there were any other peeps from Delaware she said she did not. Something sinister is afoot.

DAY 44: Fart Shoes

I really like my converse slip ons. They're black with horizontal stripes. The only problem is they make fart noises when I walk. People can tell when I'm coming from the echo in the hall. It's like I strapped two whoopee cushions to my feet. Bbbbltttttt....Bbbbltttttt...Bbbblttttt.

DAY 43: Tobacco Torture

My youngest sister Charla is four years older than me. Growing up in my Nanny's duplex she would taunt and torture me. One Saturday afternoon, while snooping through our two older sisters bedroom we came across a container of "Skoal Bandits" (the less messy chewing tobacco that comes in little pouches). Her eyes told me everything. Screaming, I was almost out of the door before she pounced on me. I dragged her behind me as I crawled towards the bathroom. I knew if I could get there I'd be safe since the door had a lock. In front of the sink, she was finally able to pin me down. Prying my mouth open, she forced in a bandit, and covered my lips with both of her hands whispering into my ear, "If you swallow this you will die." I knew from elementary school that tobacco kills. Her statement was reasonable. It took me several minutes of struggling before I was free in that small amount of time I had swallowed the bandit juice over and over giving me a slight buzz and a stomach ache. My face was red and covered in a mixture of tears, snot, and tobacco spit. I pulled the dip out and flung it into the toilet. In my bedroom over the noise of my two roommates, the washer and the dryer, I could still hear Charla's giggle fit.

DAY 42: Rules

So this is me from the future (though the picture is from the 22nd). Though I try to write everyday, I don't always have time to transfer my writing from a notebook to Gingerbeard. I've been reviewing my entries and thinking about what it is I'm doing. I look at these and realize some days there is just nothing happening and the writing is boring. Incidents happen everyday, but many of these interesting incidents are embarrassing. I can't be completely honest because I like where I work and the people I know. Also, any event that takes place in my life currently is some how a result of my beard. Sometimes I will talk about my beard and the wonders that it causes and sometimes I won't. In the same way that the beard is a filter for alcohol it is also a filter for words.

DAY 41: Lil Evil

The first time I earned hell points I was 7-8 years old and I tricked a neighbor boy into tasting dog pee (It was either this incident or when I poured thumbtacks on the floor of my sister’s doorway, or perhaps when my Dad mistakenly spanked my sister instead of me for slamming the door on my other sisters hand). I think his name was Tim and he lived a couple of blocks away. The other neighborhood kids didn’t like him. They said he stole. I’d like to think they didn’t influence my villainy, but most likely they did. At this time I was living in Milwaukee, Oregon in a small house on Risley Drive. Our garage contained a car that no one drove, several large jugs of various liquids (I have no idea what were in these), stacks and stacks of newspapers, and a large assortment of tools. On this particular day there was a large mutt in there as well. I believe he belonged to the “Holy Roller’s” daughter that was taking care of me. Tim and I were playing hot wheels and babbling about various intellectual subjects; how come they didn’t play a Spider-Man segment for every episode of the Electric Company? Was the force real? If you jumped off from the highest branch of the tree across the street and you opened an umbrella would you float to the ground? It was during one of these discussions that a little yellow river appeared between us. “Is that dog pee?” Tim asked. I thought about it for a few seconds while the aroma wafted up to my nose. It smelled like apple juice. I responded, “No, it’s apple juice.”
“Nuh uh, it’s dog pee.”
“No, it’s apple juice. I think the dog knocked over one of the jugs. We make our own apple juice out here.” Tim’s eyes lit up with excitement. I could see the gears turning as he pictured my family picking apples and juicing them using the most advanced technology. “Really?” he said.
“Yes.” I said.
“I don’t think he knocked over a jug. I think its dog pee.”
“Well taste it.” I offered, using my most serious face. Tim stared at me looking for my adolescent “tell” in this high stakes game of poker. Content in believing me, he slowly dipped his finger into the small puddle that was quickly being absorbed by the concrete. He moved it back and forth coating the tip of his index. The time it took him to bring his hand to his mouth felt like the distance between the Fourth of July and Christmas. It was all worth it when he suckled on his finger and opened one eye larger than the other, pondering. “It’s doge pee.”
In hell the devil twiddled his fingers, laughing as my perfect zero turned into a three.

DAY 40: Sonora's is rotten

I wake up at 7am which is way too early to wake up on a Saturday. I have a class this morning so I ride out to Santa Monica and Highland. It’s a nice ride no traffic and a crisp breeze, a good way to clear my head of all the cobwebs. I’m given an hour and a half for lunch, which I use to search for materials for my costume (that’s right, I finally figured out what I’m gonna be). Hollywood costume and toys didn’t have anything. I found most of the material at the army navy store. After class I go to Ozzy Dots and another Army Surplus store followed by a dinner of tofu, veggies, beans, and a Spaten at Good. I realized I have barely eaten all day resulting in me being light headed.
At Good, I feel sorry for a waiter and a hostess due to a customer they received. He’s a high maintenance middle-aged man with his 9 yr old daughter and girlfriend. They immediately take a seat and when the hostess asks if he can move to a different one he refuses. She explains why and he replies, “Well, that’s your problem”. They bring him his menus and after about 3 minutes he begins demanding a waiter of whom he asks for a kids menu, which they do not have. He asks what kind of food they have for children. The waiter says, “I’m not sure, hamburger, fried chicken?” The girl sticks her tongue out at each response (this is a place that advertises a mystery beer night). While I sit there, a minute doesn’t go by where he isn’t hollering for his waiter. Once the food arrives the little girl begins running around like it’s a Chuck E Cheese. 15 minutes later her Dad makes her sit down to eat. Her BBQ chicken is cold (No shit! Your sitting outside and she doesn’t touch it for 15 minutes of course its cold). He sends it back and I ride home counting my blessings.
My plans for the night are to visit the Camille Rose Garcia exhibit with Diggie and Joe. Galleries are the new mosh pits. It's impossible to navigate the crowd and even harder to look at the paintings. Much of the art has polar bears in them. I love the polar bears. It's very storybook. The crowd becomes overpowering so I go next door to "Sonora's". DO NOT EVER GO TO SONORA'S! I'd rather eat and drink at a Chevron. Which I tried to do on our walk back, but thankfully while I was inside Diggie set up reservations at "Jones". They have amazing spaghetti and meatballs and after a couple of glasses of wine and I'm passing out. The beard needs its rest.

DAY 39: Soon to be outta here!

Click. Click. Click. And done. I just bought my ticket to France suckas! Au revoir! I leave for Nice December 21st and do not return until January 5th. Fuck yeah! I think buying this ticket just gave me diarrhea cause I’m about to shit myself. The beard is going international.

DAY 38: Old Dream

I had a dream from when I lived in Boston that I cannot escape:

I’m woken by the sound of a large aluminum can followed by running water. It’s winter the windows are fogged and below my dirty mattress is a cold wooden floor. I smell coffee. The aroma pops me out of bed and into the cold. In the kitchen Brandon is making Folger's (In real life I don’t think Brandon drinks coffee). Behind him next to the fridge are three enormous grey tabby cats. “Whose cats are these?” I ask. “Dunno” he shrugs and walks out of the room. I squat down, balancing on the balls of my feet, and pet cat Number One and Number Two. Number Three, who I am unable to pet, begins rubbing his face against me so I stop petting Number One and pet Number Three. Number One then begins to rub his face against me so I stop petting Number Two so I can pet Number One. Number Two immediately begins rubbing against me so hard that his front paws bounce up and down off the ground. I continue switching from cat to cat for a couple of minutes, while who ever is the outside cat bounces higher and higher on his front paws. Finally this cat is standing. Causing me to lose my balance and stop petting the other two. While trying to stand, these two rub against me working themselves into standing position I jump up and fear takes over. I slowly withdraw from the three large cats who walk towards me. Backing into the living room, I am stopped by some unknown obstacle as the three tabby’s awkwardly march towards me like furry little zombies paws out in front repeating a mantra of, “Meeeow! Meeeeeeeeeow! Meow!”

Not sure why, but this dream terrified me.

DAY: 37 Haiku

Noble Viking gift

Extinguish it you cannot
Willed into being

DAY 36: A Lil Privacy

Dad left this morning while I was at work. Same old, same old. I think I drank enough for a couple of weeks on the cruise, but since Adam is visiting from Boston I drink some more. I also have some hot wings. Gotta love hot wings and beer. It’s like cookies and milk or salt & vinegar chips and squirt. I hang out for a couple of hours and then head back to the homestead to enjoy some privacy. Me and the beard need some serious alone time.

DAY 35: Home

I can smell coffee as I hear Dad clear his throat. Too early, my eyes stay shut and I sleep for another hour. It’s now 7am and the coffee smell is gone. I want coffee! I wake up grumpy. I must have slept on the beard wrong. The ship is docked in Long Beach and it is time for us to leave. Not sure which is worse getting off or getting on. Next we take the freeway to downtown. It’s 8am rush hour and my mood is not getting any better. I get to work by 9am. Thank goodness for car pool lanes. Work! Work! Work! At least I get a cup of coffee. Go home go to bed, still a little grumpy.

DAY 34: Ensenada

Today is Ensenada! After breakfast, we exit the ship and catch a tour bus downtown. We wander the streets until my Dad is able to spot the same church spires that he saw from the ship. After hailing a cab and spending $3 we’re standing in front of it. Dad wants to stay for mass (it’s Sunday after all). I pull up a pew and spend the next hour using junior high skills to decipher a barrage of Spanish. “Jesus digo”. Got it. We walk back to where we were (couldn’t take a cab since we didn’t remember the cross streets) and have a beer at some tourist spot. It’s like a Mexican themed TGIF. A little more wandering and I try to pin Pops down on something to do. He wants to ride a public bus around. I’m not really down for this, instead we take a carriage down to the beach or attempt to. The final road is closed off so we have to turn back and now I’m able to see the shanties, seafood stands, and cantinas from across the street. After some bickering, we do more wandering on foot and find a little cantina with 3 other people in it away from the tourism. It’s Tequila time and our spirits rise. Dad is pooped so he goes back to the ship while I check out the stores and have a few more drinks. On the ship we meet our same dinner table that we have had since day one. I end the night in a hot tub, listening to a girl tell me the condensed history of knitting.

DAY 33: Captain and Craps

I can’t sleep. I think it’s the alcohol. Turning on the light, I read until 5am then its back to sleep. 10:30am rested and ready, I fly out of bed and head up to the little coffee shop. The caffeine feels great. I’m ready to gamble but I have no luck so I spend the rest of the day reading on the front deck. Bright and breezy! Coconut drinks are passed around me while I slurp on a delicious Mary. The deck is a moving wall of flesh papered in bright bikini’s with hints of bermuda. A visual timeline; smooth skin turns into old wrinkles. Grey haired men play shuffleboard and Japanese tourists engulf the four ping pong tables (where do stereotypes come from?). My novel is almost finished and words begin to blur. In the casino a squad of guests are overpowering the craps table screaming, “25 on hard eight, hard four, hard ten, hard six”. The roller is hot, he goes from his last $5 chip to $1800 in about 15 minutes. Every roll is a hard fill in the blank. Time slips by and I’m back in the room putting on my suit in a hurry. Dad’s already left so I power walk to the front of the ship for “cocktails with the captain”. I get a glass of wine and join Pops in the back. On stage, a dapper skinny man croons to dancing senior citizens who are eventually interrupted by the Captain (think Ed Eisner). He introduces himself and the crew through a stream of heavy accented mumbles. To wrap up the night we have dinner. When finished, I sit out on the back deck and sleepily gaze out at the black ocean. It’s like flying through space.

DAY 32: WTF!

At 1pm Dad picks me up and we drive to Long Beach to board the cruise ship “Paradise”. The boarding process is worse than the Denver airport and I feel like a pinball bouncing off of various people and objects. Soon, we are dragged in front of a faux Mexican stage where they take a snapshot, but before we can react the flash fades and we are put on an escalator. Inside, they swipe our sail & sign cards and usher us further onto the Empress deck. Here, surrounded by forty other people, we stare straight up and walk in circles (after a couple of hours of guidance we are left to fend for ourselves, this must be what birth is like). The walls are a salmon color with carpet that invades their base. In order to follow building code, anything that is over 6ft tall has to be covered with lights. There are 11 decks and after successfully dumping off my luggage I head to number 6 where I begin drinking and wait for my father to show. A couple of beers later we find ourselves at orientation hosted by the clone of Uncle Joey from “Full House” (why does this show continue to rape my memory). He wears a red white and blue windbreaker with shiny blue sweatpants. His gym whistle is missing, the absence of which draws more attention than if he were to have one. He is a ball of energy and I picture him running in place behind the stage chanting a mantra of “Enunciation, pronunciation, projection.” We return to our room to regroup. On our way out, the Floor Captain (I think that’s what he was) tells us to get our life vests for the safety drill. “Does it matter?” I say, “Since if we are in the water the undertow will just drag us down.” I could tell by his expression that he was impressed by my knowledge of “Titanic”. The safety drill is an hour of “just sitting there” followed by 30 minutes of “Just standing there”. Dinner is next. I have duck, a side salad, and beef Wellington served with a glass of Shiraz. For dessert I have a cup of coffee and cheesecake. Fucking delicious. It’s casino time and more drinks. Dad wants to hot tub, but I feel uncomfortable sharing my human stew with strangers so we separate and I explore on my own working up a thirst. The longer the night goes the more surreal the cruise is. Drunk people everywhere yelling, laughing, and having a good time. I venture up top to see the ocean and while wandering I find several dimly lit paths. They remind me of an episode of 60 minutes concerning inebriated people falling overboard. Dead and unnoticed. Before the thought vanishes I begin picturing someone running out of the shadows and flipping me over the rail. I spend 20 minutes creeping myself out before meeting up with Pops. We have a glass of scotch followed by more black jack. Eventually the night wears on Dad and he excuses himself for bed. A few minutes later my streak turns south and I shuffle off after him. On my way back I encounter this. I'm gonna say shrimp cocktail.

DAY 31: Tomorrow

Tomorrow I am gone. “Come aboard, we’re expecting you!” Oh, so excited. Hopefully I will get to meet Isaac, he’s my favorite. Yipee! Perhaps, there will be wacky adventures with various 80’s guest stars. Hold on…I am the 80’s guest star and so is my beard. I’m nervous someone might plant stolen diamonds in my room resulting in me being mistaken for a famous cat burglar who has to run from security through various corridors using jump cuts edited to a clichéd rock song (probably “The Who” though I’d request “The Smiths”). The chase would eventually end at a formal affair where I fall knocking a tray into the lap of a politicians hot busty trophy wife. Slipping on a stick of butter, I will clumsily tear off her dress causing the room to erupt into a raunchy fiesta where bald men with monocles swing their slacks above their heads while howling like wolves. It will be at this fiesta where I rip the fake red beard off the real burglar clearing my name. YES! I AM READY!

Day 30: Celebrate

30 days ago today I threw my razor away (sing it to the tune of "the kkk took my baby away"). My beautiful beard has guided me through one month of excellence. Gold stars. The beard gods have smiled upon me. One curiosity has come up, why this time around is there less red. This is a case for Encyclopedia Brown. I have noticed that I started growing my beard around the same time that I ran out of ketchup. Could this be it? Also, the last time I grew one I was outside a lot. Perhaps the scruff needs more Vitamin E. Finally, I use to bathe in babies blood. Maybe I should start doing this again (since stopping I've also noticed I can no longer read minds, jump as high, or dress as well). I want the ginger to be more prominent otherwise the name of this blog is nonsensical. Hopefully, it will only take time.

DAY 29: Beard Hates Daydream

I'm thinking from now on I will only wear button up shirts with starched collars. The top four buttons will always be left undone exposing my kemo'd manly chest. To draw attention away from the chest glare I will wear a 26kt gold necklace that is tight enough to cut into my neck fat. I'm gonna smell wonderful! Tonight after work I will go to costco and buy a flat of axe body spray. All the cans will be emptied into my bathtub where I will soak for an hour every morning while I listen to James Blunt, do crosswords, and enjoy scented candles. To attempt to do any of this would be death "The Beard" would kill me. Currently, it is thrashing about on my chin. "Dont'cha get it beard, I'm just fucking with you! Relax!" I stroke the curls while I softly coo. At first it resists, trying to shrug off my hand, but eventually it succumbs to the slow stroking. "I'm sorry baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." I whisper. We fall asleep together, attached emotionally and physically. I'm sorry beard. I'm sorry.

HEY CHECK OUT THE VIDEO GAME AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PAGE!

DAY 28: Girls like beards

I keep having a female friend ask, "Why are you growing a beard." (They obviously do not understand the awe and power to ask such a foolish question) "Ya know girls don't like facial hair" or "Beards are gross! ewwww!" and they wrinkle their nose. I reply, "FuuuuuCK YOU! You dunno what your talk'n bout hussy." A truly cultured woman understands that a man can only be measured by his beard. Face curlies are manliness. To prove it I found the following on craigs list:

stephanie on: facial hair - w4m - 22

Date: 2007-10-08, 11:31PM PDT

i have a love affair with facial hair, lucky for me it is in this year, although i have been a fan since my first boyfriend. i think most men look really sexy with any facial hair but then there are those who just rock the giant civil war beards, those are awesome. for some reason hairy guys are my weakness. who is with me on this? i know there has got to be a lot of lady admirers because everyone has been rocking the beard lately. it takes a special guy to rock a manly mustache as well, those are a little more particular.

but anyways, where are all the fun guys with beards!

Hey Stephanie, they're all around you. You just have to believe.

Day 27: AMD

I believe that it is possible to train an ape to use an AK-47 assault rifle. They have apposable thumbs, so why not? What if you set up dummies that rewarded the ape with a banana everytime it was shot. Or if you put a shock collar on the ape and a banana on the dummy. If the ape goes for the banana before shooting the dummy you shock it. If you did this over and over eventually the ape would understand that before it is allowed to eat the banana it had to kill. Since apes have been known to teach other apes you drop the skilled ape off into the jungle to teach other wild apes. Now hypothetically, what if there was a village of rebels next to this jungle that you wanted to wipe out. You would simply fly over the jungle and drop AK-47's into the trees while another plane flew over the village and showered it with banana's. Soon there would be an army of apes upon the village. Killing everything in sight for golden rewards. Scary, huh? I hope Iran doesn't find out about this. I've reflected on this in the past, but I'm afraid it is possible that the beard could bring it to fruition. I hope the beard doesn't drive me mad with its power. Beards have done so in the past. The Mad Monk is a perfect example (though I've heard he wasn't mad or crazy, but what do books know?). Check out that beard. This is the type of beard that can absorb poison and knife wounds. I hope to have such a magnificent beard, but minus the crazy.

Day 26: Sweet and Sour Chicken for Breakfast

Where am I? I'm not home. My eyes slowly focus in on a red couch/chair hybrid. To my right is a monstrous television. I'm at D & J's. My head pulses to every heartbeat. Phone call from work. The wookie ringer is getting old. "No, Melissa is working." They say sorry and hang up. Later, I realize they were worried b/u audio was never loaded and put in the groups. It was. I have flashes of dealing with it at "Firecracker" while drinking a gin and tonic (yes, I moved on from the vodka cranberries). Dewey stirs from his bedroom and I sit up on the couch and stare blankly at the mammoth black screen in front of me. I don't know if I would stare at a blank wall if it wasn't there or if this is conditioning. I like to think it's conditioning. After five or ten minutes, my zen state is interrupted by Dewey, "You wanna go get your bike and some breakfast?" Sold. In Chinatown we drive by my bike making sure it is still there. We search for dim sum and fail. I buy a taru boba while we search some more. Giving up, we go into a Chinese restaurant filled with Chinese. Dewey says this is a good sign and I agree. He orders seafood noodles and I order a tilapia tofu hotpot. We also split an order of sweet and sour chicken. Dewey's noodles arrive first and I use my chopsticks to make the whole shrimp speak, "Hello". Their eyes are big and Dewey informs me that you shouldn't peel them, but eat them whole (minus tail). Mental note; gotta give it a try. The sweet and sour arrives. It's a C in my book, very average. However, the tilapia is awesome. A whole fish. I part his lips and allow him to speak, "Hello". With a full stomach, I say adios to Dewey and head off to retrieve my bike. The lock is mangled and my frame is dented. "Ha! I laugh at you, you inept bike thief. Your a failure. How'd you get your crack last night. It wasn't from selling my bike!" Thank you kryptonite. Thank you beard, what a wonderful aura you have. To get home I use the secret Metroid passage. Saving enough time to play two games of golf with my Father. He destroys me once again. I need to get lessons.

Day 25: Hip-Hop don't stop

The French Dip really is one of the only two good items that Brite Spot has to offer. I like putting tobasco in the Au Jus. The coffee is the other item. I have two cups to wake me up while I read "City Beat". The last 2-3 hours has been spent in a well air conditioned, dim lit room sitting in a comfy chair. Boy am I sleepy! At home, Dad is watching "An Officer and a Gentleman" I sit down joining him, killing time until "Firecracker!" The sex scenes are uncomfortable. At 10:30 in Chinatown I'm suppose to meet Dewey and Shannon for some Hip-Hop (the event is called "Firecracker"). I map quest it to find the shortest route and begin cycling. Three minutes in, I find a pedestrian bridge that puts me a block away from the event. I feel like I just found a secret shaft on Metroid. Clark and Joe are also there and I begin the night with a vodka cranberry. It sounds so refreshing (feel free to read with a lisp). For the next couple of hours I get jiggy with it while I listen to Joe tell me how wonderful science is and how insignificant we are. I annoy him by comparing everything he says to "Star Wars" or "Star Trek" (The force = gravity). He talks about these Nova documentaries that I am now dieing to see. One is on string theory...very interesting. After the show, I get a ride back to J & D's and play some pigs with Dewey and Wheels. A couple more drinks and I'm ready to pass out.

Day 24: The Beard is back on straight

Everything is a-o-kay. Work...phlebttttttt. Let's skip past it. Tonight I break the vicious cycle. I ride up to Vermont St. and have a couple of beers at a hip diner. It was called "Something something with some numbers after it". Need to pay better attention to names. I have some chili cheese fries with Iain while he tells me stories of his fathers last visit. The chili on the fries is odd. It appears to have no meat or beans in it...it's just sauce, but delicious all the same. Whatever the fuck this place is called it has gorgeous waitresses and is open 24 hours a day. I'll have to come back at some ungodly hour to sleep on a table. We travel across the street to see a movie; "Eastern Promises". Within the first 3 minutes it's obvious that Cronenberg is the director (though it is a little more tame than many of his others). Aragorn holds up as a Russian and the blood letting melodrama proves entertaining. My biggest gripe is in the lack of beards. It's hard to take all these bad asses seriously when none of them have beards. I guess that's what makes it a fantasy. Midnight is great. Nice and chilly. For most of the ride, I lean against the handlebars with my chin thrust out in front of me leading the way.

Day 23: Yawn

Wow. This week is going by extremely slow. Have I said this already? A blur of monotony. Shuffled papers, deliveries, dubs, and emails, emails, emails. I'm trapped in a "Loverboy" song. "Everybody's working for the weekend." I have no time to enjoy my beard. No one on one, the beard and I alone in a comfortable silence. I poke holes in a plastic film that covers a plastic tray. 8 minutes to cook plus 2 minutes of sitting equals; lunch is served. Need to buy groceries. By 4pm it has dawned on me that I have had way too much coffee. The way my hand is shaking, I should be making margaritas or running for office (tha, thump, thump! Thank you, I'll be here all evening and remember to tip your bartender). Mmmmm....margaritas. Soon, a week from Friday. Thank you beard. I need excitement to stimulate your growth. 9pm I'm home and the monotony continues. I walk the dog, make dinner (ham, cheese, potato burrito), play a video game, study French, answer the phone a lot, and go to bed. Wash, lather, rinse. Repeat. Wash, lather, rinse. Repeat. Calgon, take me away.