I recently applied to Blockbuster Video to see if I couldn't get myself some free rentals...and a job. Instead of handing me a piece of paper, the guy pointed me to an electronic application machine. I sat down at a little booth and started 'filling out' this electronic application. I thought that maybe it was a joke, and there would be hidden cameras all around, but now I realize that they do this because anyone who survives the application wihtout throwing the machine through the window deserves to be hired. First of all, it had a keyboard. A very tiny keyboard. You realize that you have to fill out things like your address, so you start to type...like on a regular keyboard. But then you keep making typos because this keyboard is about 1/3 a real keyboard's size; so it mocks you relentlessly as you feel that you have suddenly lost your ability to type. Then you realize that you have to fill out things like your past work experience...so obviously they expect you to have your past job's address and phone number memorized. I just made the numbers up, hoping Blockbuster doesn't actually try and call my past boss...otherwise they'll be ready to talk to the owner of Espresso Garden and they'll hear: "Hi...you've reached the home of Cindy and Johnathan Ramsey...we're not home right now...leave a message after the beep." Then, best of all, I had to answer a series of about 50 questions. Here are some of the actual questions:

1) When arguing, I often swear:

a)strongly agree
b)agree
c)disagree
d)strongly disagree

2) Slow people make me very angry:

a)strongly agree
b)agree
c)disagree
d)strongly disagree

3) People often dislike me:

a)strongly agree
b)agree
c)disagree
d)strongly disagree

4) Most people are stupid:

a)strongly agree
b)agree
c)disagree
d)strongly disagree

I hope they weren't monitoring me because I was literally laughing out loud at some of their questions. Who in their right mind would put that slow people make them angry? Or that they swear often? So I went through all the trouble to write some of my own questions for Blockbuster to use on future applications:

1) I like to steal from my employer:

a)strongly agree
b)agree
c)disagree
d)strongly disagree

2) I want to be hired just to tell people how much
Blockbuster sucks:

a)strongly agree
b)agree
c)disagree
d)strongly disagree

3) I often kill when I am angry:

a)strongly agree
b)agree
c)disagree
d)strongly disagree

4) I am prone to random acts of indecent exposure:

a)strongly agree
b)agree
c)disagree
d)strongly disagree

In other job related news, Starbucks is testing to see how long they can string me along with, "You are the most likely job candidate", and "You will know very very soon", before I go berserk and maim someone. All other possible jobs have given me the right to burn down their buildings by not even calling me back. They should have looked under "Additional Comments" where they would have seen my warning, scrawled in child-like handwriting, "pleese higher me or i will be forsed to burn down your bilding and take all your wurkers hostige...reely...i mean it."

I laid there with my head on my pillow...as usual, and felt the cold steel under my bare arms, chest, and legs, feeling the riveted bolts digging into my hip...not as usual. It suddenly became clear to me that I was not laying down, as I had suspected, but was indeed standing up, leaning against the wall, head holding the pillow in place. It was dark. The kind of dark where you can trick yourself into believing that your eyes are closed, even though you know they are not. I reached out and touched the cold steel all around me. Four corners. Like a box. 'Like I coffin,' I thought to myself. I slowly kneeled down and felt around towards the bottom on my makeshift bed and felt a small opening. About 2'x2', just enough to squeeze through. I went into this hole feet first...because God knows I don't want to meet up head first with something unpleasant. I inched my way about 10 feet in, and felt another opening in the floor. About 2'x2'. I soon found myself hanging from the edge of this ledge, on purpose mind you, and dangling in this silent pitch-black world. I let go, with the hopes of feeling something solid under my feet in a matter of seconds. After about 10 seconds all I could think was, 'I'm going to die...I'm going to die...I'm going to die...this is it...I just committed suicide.' Falling...falling...I kept my eyes clenched shut...the way you do when you are expecting something really bad is about to happen...even though shutting my eyes made no difference. In fact, if anything, closing my eyes made things brighter...you know the way you can press your fingers to your eyes and see lights, flashes, shapes...even that was better than the nothingness I had begun to get used to. Out of nowhere I hit water in what seemed a perfect swan dive. I guess my sense of direction had gotten completely out of whack and I was falling head first. I came to the surface thinking, 'Ok, so now I wish I had hit cement instead.' One of my biggest fears is being in murky water, not knowing what is in the water, and feeling something touch my foot, or grab on to my ankle. I frantically swam until I felt more steel walling, slick from the water my splashdown sprayed all over. I placed one palm on the wall and awkwardly swam in some direction...I don't know which...it didn't matter. With fatigue came thoughts of wishing some huge fish would swim up and eat me...or pull me under. I just wanted out. Out. Out. Out of breath I found myself laying there with my head under my pillow...as usual. No cold steel against my skin. I sighed a sigh of relief as I removed the pillow from my head and it was dark. The kind of dark where you can trick yourself into believing that your eyes are closed, even though you know they are not.

I can only imagine what the little bird was thinking, because I will never know why it had the strange urge to explore our house. There I am at the computer when I hear a rush of fluttering and flapping and turn to see a golf ball sized bird hovering in the living room. He hurredly made his way into the kitchen and my only thought was that he would see the huge window and fly straight into it, thinking he had found freedom. Luckily he merely got trapped behind the curtain. So this little bird which was stuck on a window sill and couldn't get enough room to flap his wings to fly turned and saw this monsterous human walking towards him with a white garbage bag. He probably wasn't too happy with the scenario he had gotten himself into. I was going to try and get him into the bag to let him loose outside, but this just ended in failure after failure. So I reached in quick, cupped the bird in my hands, and walked outside. I opened my hands and he sat there for a split second, looked at me, then flew incredibly fast out of my hand chirping loudly. That bird is going to go back to his friends and tell them how he was abducted by this strange creature...and he will probably be laughed at and told that he has too much free time on his hands.

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People say that hitting a few balls at the golf range helps them to relax and wind down. Not me. I went today with my dad and found the experience to be completely the opposite of relaxing. I knocked all hundred balls off the little patch of grass, which was slowly being filled with huge divots, and felt no release. Maybe it is because everyone else was hitting that blasted white ball multiple hundreds of yards every swing, and my normal swing would wrecklessly cause the ball to land a mere 30 feet away. So I decided that if I ever needed to be angry and just couldn't muster up the ferocity inside of me...all I would need to do is hit a few balls at the range and *presto* I'm ALL riled up. It also made me think of the huge untapped potential of sports super heroes. Think about it...9 Iron the super golfer could drive around the city in his suped up golf cart, fighting bad guys. He would stand proud in his too short shorts, retractable spiked golf shoes, and alligator logo polo shirt. Clubs strapped to his back like samarai swords. He could target a bad guy from 300 yards away, pull out his trusty 1 wood, and pop the guy in the head with a speeding golf ball. And each time he triumphed over evil he would leave one of those little ball markers that snap off of golf gloves on top of his latest victim...and the little marker would just say 9I. Maybe Tiger Woods will play 9 Iron in the movie.

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Heh...somebody voted that my site "sucks" on that little bloghop thingy I put in over on the left hand side of the page. 8 people put "love it", and 1 person put "sucks." Well, at least I know their not sucking up.

I felt like Rambo as I walked outside with a 12-gague Remington shotgun in each hand, a pack strapped to my back with 1 1/2 oz.shells, and a Smith and Wesson police issue 357. around my waist. And now I can't help but continually press my right shoulder in a slightly massaging fashion, as if the pain feels good. Every time I pulled the trigger of the shotgun, all 50-something times, the 7.5 lbs. would fly back into my shoulder with the engergy equalling 45.9 (ft. lb.). What does that mean? That means that my right shoulder is black and blue and hurts every time I move my arm. But it's a good release of emotions/energy/frustration. There's something about pulling back the hammer of a handgun, slowly squeezing the trigger, and feeling the contained explosion force the 38. mag out of the barrel that makes you feel better. Or maybe that's just me.

So there I am, laying in my bed "massaging" my shoulder, and I notice something that really disturbs me. There is a new shadow on my ceiling. I lived in that room for years, and now that I am back home I noticed a shadow that I have never noticed before. It's right above my bed, towards the window, and caused, I'm sure, by my blinds. But I couldn't help but wonder what caused this indescript shape that I never saw before. Maybe a new plant grew in front of a light we have outside. Maybe I was never really that observant in previous years sleeping in that bed. Or maybe there is a huge, flesh-eating monster outside my window waiting till I go to sleep.

I'm re-reading all of Chuck Palahniuk's books. I've finished off Fight Club for the second time, and am now getting close to finishing Survivor again. This is odd because I have never re-read a book. I have never read a book that so intrigued me that I felt I needed a second reading to catch details and understand better. But now I'm doing just that...and waiting ever so impatiently for the soon to be released Lullabye. This guy is a genius of prose.

Am I rambling? Do I do this allot? I'm sorry.

I'll go read more of Survivor now.

It feels like all I can do is remember. It feels like all I have are the memories.

It feels like maybe it was all a hypnogogic hallucination, a pre-sleep dream, a vision.

But it still hurts.

I think about her, and what do I remember? All I can really do is remember since she isn't a part of my life anymore. Or is that being too harsh...I don't know. I don't think I could be too harsh to someone I held in such high esteem for so long. Someone who was made into my hero. My idol. My apprentice of sorts who could do no wrong. And now I am left with wondering, with memories, with dreams.

We're sitting in her car, listening to some of the first techno music ever...on cassettes. Nobody had CD's yet. She is showing me some early rave dancing, hands flowing in a continuous circle to the rhythm of the music. But only at stop lights. I can't help but think that it looks silly. But I can't help but smile and ask for a copy of the tape to play in my tape-deck-alarm-clock.

We're sitting at the kitchen table as she paints. I always loved her artwork. A single rose sprouts out of a cracked heart. I watch, mesmerized by the brush strokes, the movement of the hand, the precise placement of every line of paint. I wanted to do art just like her, and tried my best...but never showing her my sad attempts because I knew they were not up to her standards.

We're on the porch as she gives me a hug, and I don't really understand. I know she is going somewhere, with someone, but none of it is too clear to me. I watch as she slowly makes her way to the white pickup truck and hear my dad crying. My dad never cries.

::

I'm sitting in my car, listening to techno...on CD. Nobody has cassettes anymore. I can't help but wave my hands in the flowing continuous motion so popular now in raving. But only at stop lights. I can't help but think I look silly. But still, I can't help but smile and remember.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table as I paint. I always loved art. A single heart with a hand reaching towards it. I watch as the brush hits the canvas, the brush strokes are made, and each line of paint is precisely placed. I try my best to paint to the caliber I expect of myself, and I can't help but remember.

I'm on the porch as I remember the last hug I had from her...the one that nearly made me cry. I know she is somewhere, with someone, but none of it is too clear to me. I've never seen my dad cry since that day. I walk past the laundry room and see the hole my brother punched in the wall out of frustration, and I can't help but remember.

I can't help but remember.

And I hope one day new memories will be made.

I hope beyond hope that she will be more than a memory to me.

How can I explain the last couple of days? I can't. So I won't. Simple solution huh? (deja vu huh?) But I will say that things have taken a turn for the...um...well, for the something. Things have definitely taken a turn for the something.

I've passed a milestone...which by the way is an interesting expression. I mean, in the past did people set up stones at each mile so those traveling would know how far they have gone? The only time I have used a system like this was when I was backpacking out in the middle of nowhere and people would have little pyramids of rocks to show that you are still on the right track. Only problem...not everyone was headed the same way so these little markers just confused the heck out of us. But that wasn't my point. I have passed a milestone. I will never again be a freshman. Unless of course I find out that I failed all my classes and have to retake this last year. But let's keep our fingers crossed shall we?

Mirroring what Helena just talked about on Crispyhead, I am in the throes of the turbulant world of lying, cheating, and money...also known as the world of job-hunting. I would be working at Outback right now had I lied and said I would be here longer than just summer. And I doubt any other restaurant will hire me for a mere three months. Eh...if all else fails I can go back to the days of whip cream fights, eating free pastries, serving five people a day, and making myself free drinks over at the Espresso Garden. I must say, getting paid hourly to do that was a pretty good deal.

On the topic of computers (since mine has the friggin Nimbda virus), what's with the error messages? I walk into my room and my screen says, "This program has performed an illegal action." What...my computer is a delinquent now? That's almost as bad as, "Keyboard cannot be found, press any key to continue."

Though the job was a little rushed, and though the setup was not the best, and though we had only a couple weeks practice...we now have a demo CD. It's a compilation of 5 songs, pretty much covering every style of music we play. Acoustic, slow, fast, etc... It's a little rough around the edges, but fun nonetheless. I guess we're going to try and sell some copies and get some gigs once we are all back in Orange. I have no idead HOW to do so, but I will do my best to get one of the songs on this site so y'all can hear what we sound like. And we have a Breakfast Epiphanies website that will be up and running by the end of summer (if Ed ever friggin WORKS ON IT!) We'll have some sound clips on that site too.

And now I'm off to apply to the corporate master...Starbucks. Ya know...Starbucks will probably have something to do with the end of the world. I'm not sure how, but it just will. And now I'm going to apply to be a barista there and make $9.25 an hour. My assimilation has begun.

How can I explain the last couple of days? I can't. So I won't. Simple solution huh? But I will say that things have taken a turn for the better....for the MUCH better.

Now on a completely different note, I have found something for you all to read. Go HERE and indulge in some fine action/drama from a devoted fan of the game Castlevania. I only say this because 1- I can't believe that anyone would put this much time into writing a story about a video game, and 2- it's frickin' hilarious. Just read a couple chapters of this thing...it will put a smile on your face.

Hey everyone...it's ROOMSTOCK 406!!! You heard me right...it's the first of what is sure to be an annual hit in the dorms of Pralle-Sodaro. We're having our very own Roomstock (c.), "3 days of finals and music." I've pulled about 1,043 songs into a playlist and we're playing it non-stop for however long it lasts. So far we've had a grand total of four people come for Roomstock...though it is our suspicion that they were all here for reasons other than the soon to be infamous event that is being birthed right here in our dorm room. But hey...at least we're not selling bottled water for $10 a bottle in hundred degree weather. And there's not much chance of huge bonfires being set seeing as to how we don't have Limp Bizquit singing Break Something live. Oh, and no moshing...the people who live below us can be a little irritable if we make too much noise.

By the end of this week Breakfast Epiphanies' first demo, Playing the Lounge, should be released. After recording from midnight to 5am on Friday, and a couple extra hours on Saturday, we've got all the music recorded. But let me tell you...things get a little wacky when you've been recording for 5 hours straight in a small, stuffy room: Christina, our rhythm guitarist, was just muttering, "Sleeeep...neeeed sleeeep. Waaaant beeeeed," over and over. Aaron, our sound engineer, was hitting himself on the head with random objects, like Christina's sandle...but then again that's not too out of the ordinary for him. Chrissy, our drummer, was patiently waiting for us to continue, all the while politely mentioning that she had to be at a meeting in a mere 6 hours and she had not slept yet. Ed, our lead guitarist, started turning our one slow song, Afterday, into a hardcore punk song. And I, the bassist, spent my time combatting the "Grant is gay" jokes. But it will all be worth it once we finish the vocals and burn the first copy.

I was recently part of a photo shoot for a friend of mine. He had to take some pictures for his final. Here's one of the shots. I have no clue why I put this up. Don't question me...it's better that way.

I am SO special. I had the Fork Avenger AND Barry Jackson sign my guestbook. I feel loved. OH, and not to mention the recent guestbook signage by Robert Smith. (shuddup...let me think that it's real...I like my fantasy world).

I have to go now. I still have 5 finals to study for and then I'm done with my freshman year of college. Went by fast didn't it? Hahahaha! NO! It was actually pretty torturous in many ways. But it's over. Or at least it will be soon enough. And I think all the creativity, wit, and style that I had in me has been sucked out and fed to the ever hungry monster we call college. It's evil minions, called professors, have succesfully sucked out my will to live and left me with no time and even less zest for life. Gosh...I'm painting a nice picture for all of you who haven' t been to college yet...aren't I? Ok then...college is GREAT! We get to LEARN! We get to STUDY! There's no sex, drugs, binge drinking, or mass procrastination. I have to stop now...I can't keep that up any longer. Lying doesn't fly too well with me. Right...enough rambling. Go. Do something productive. And no...reading more websites it NOT considered productive.

Come on now...I really need some motivation to not procrastinate. I thought that coming to college would help rectify this terrible habit of mine...but instead my "putting off all work because it is infinitely more important to play Tony Hawk 3 than do actual work" skills have been greatly improved. Example (and this is just one day): The other night I had a sudden epiphany, "HEY! I'm in college. College kids have homework. Therefore...um...I should have work." I felt like Lenny from Memento as I dug through my bag and found notes and homework assignments I had no recollection of...but I obviously wrote since it was in my handwriting...
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which by the way is another interesting topic. I write like a left handed person...with my right hand. In other words, my hand curves around the pen/pencil, bending my wrist at a 90 degree angle. I think this developed because of my art. I would use this hand position so I could see what I was drawing better...so my hand would not be covering the drawing. Then again some people say that how you write reflects your inner psyche. Maybe this writing style of mine reflects my bad habits...
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which would include kleptomania. I am a klepto and I know it. "People with Kleptomania usually do not steal because they need the object stolen; they sometimes secretly replace the object after stealing it. They steal "for the thrill of stealing," and they don't want to get caught at it." I guess this would make sense since I have so many signs and random objects that do not help me in any way...but I felt this insatiable urge to take.
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but I seem to have gotten myself off topic. As I was saying...I looked at all the homework I had due and low and behold I read, "Fiction paper - tomorrow," only in nearly illegible handwriting. "Hmm," I thought to myself. "Can I really let myself forget what I just read? Do I lie to myself to be happy? In this case...yes, I do." No...actually I don't walk around quoting good movies. My actual reaction was more similar to, "OH $#!%!" So I sat down, read a short story I had never laid eyes on before, and wrote a couple page analysis on it. It took a mere 30 minutes. I turned it in the next morning and then had another revelation, "I have spanish today...we have workbook stuff due on wednesdays...today is wednesday...therefore...um...I have work...SHOOT!" I hurredly did half the work necessary and turned it in. What was the result of my half-hearted effort? Full credit on spanish (the same grade as the kids who worked well over an hour on it), and this written on the back of my english paper, "SO good! I can't offer advice; you write well! May I have a copy for future scholars?" Right...like I'll EVER do a paper multiple days in advance now.
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now where was I?