1. Tuesday, August 19, 2003

    i dont know why good things happen to me. 

    have we discussed this before? i think we have.

    lets just say that good things happen to me and keep happening and then some bad things happen and then a lot of good things happen to make me forget about the bad things, and then other good things happen and then the ladies knock on the back door and then they come in and then they dont leave and then there they are in the morning and then more good things happen and then they drive me to the busstop.

    before the busstop i was standing there naked dripping wet from a nice morning show. its hot in la and so my showers have toggled to the colder just so as to cool off. and a ridiculously well built girl was drying her hair with my snoopy towel and i was thinking how i wanted to just stand around my house dripping wet and naked for the rest of the day.

    how could i call in sick and make this happen?

    ive found that i think of a lot more things than i actually do these days.

    i think about all the letters i want to write people, and all the things i want to fix up around my house.

    i think about all the photo essays i want to write and all the cds i want to download and burn.

    i think about all the jobs i want to have and all the traveling i want to do.

    i think about how differently my life would be if i could only stop time and get unshackled from the responsibilities that i have and actually go do a study on the best taco in east la or the best place to get a burger on the beach.

    ive never actually hiked to the hollywood sign.

    ive never been to catalina.

    or the playboy mansion.

    theres so many things that i need to do here in hollywood.

    and yet i could have stayed in my christmas light lit room all morning today, taken a nap with that hot girl, ordered in some chinese and drank sake with her until the sunset.

    but that wouldnt ever happen.

    my life is good, not perfect.

    gastbook + knives out + perfect gallows