I wonder if this coffee shop has anything for $2.50...
In the last one hundred sixty-eight hours or so, I've generated slight communal fame for a four and a quarter minute song I recorded in my living room (132 plays in two days on soundcloud - not too shabby), had the very foundation of my existence shattered right before my eyes, was homeless for five hours, denied an employment opportunity that was the very cause of my momentary homelessness, made decent the inside of my immobile automobile only to pile in it the tangible part of these last three months of my life tighter than a shortbus to fat camp, heard a girl sneeze and ignored her, witnessed the already deteriorated relationship of my grandmother and her grandchildren disintegrate to the point where she damned us to hell (and said fuck my song) and fallen in love - like a million times - with the same girl.
yep, that's her. Being interrupted. By Kanye West.
My bestest friend in the whole wide world, Tiny (insert first of many shameless twitter plugs: @_p0ck3tdanc3r) has been increasingly flooding my mentions with her horoscopic mumbo jumbo. And while I normally don't subscribe to the generic tellings sealed into the very fabric of our existence by the stars (and by stars, of course you know I mean run-down self-help 'professionals' with, because of the risen awareness of the uselessness of self-help, no other source of income and no alternative outlet for their 'craft' resorting to fabricating generic all-encompassing prognosis as prophecy), Tiny has been slamming me daily with these projections which, to my surprise, have been not only accurate, but DEAD-ON. Ultimately leading me to raise my enthusiasm regarding how the next 358 days play out. Don't get me wrong, I remain skeptical of the "science" but because of the few I've recieved, I'm paying closer attention to how the small intricate details of my short-termed existence influence the ultimate greater picture. So essentially, you can thank Tiny for this very blog post.
I love watching sign language, by the way. A group of six signers just entered the coffee shop and with them they have a small toddler. How cute. I wonder if she signs as well.
I guess I should next address my short-lived homelessness (lol - wow, how unprofessional, Rodney to insert 'lol' into a blog post - fuck you foo! I do what I want! l-o-motherfucking-l! hmph!). Yesterday, I was invited to venture back to the promised land of Denton by my friends John and Devlon (insert second and third shameless twitter plugs: @rollinballs214 and @KaneJetson, respectively). John had a meeting with his advisor and took it as an opportunity to reunite with two of the least busy Spacecadets, so Devy and I accompanied him on what became a journey of tested friendship, lies and deceit and self-discovery (not really - the only self-discovery that took place was me finding a grey hair on my left testicle during a trip to the bathroom. I didn't tell anyone. Until now. -__- I promptly removed it, by the way.).
As fate would have it, I'd been needing to venture to Denton anyway in order to retrieve my belongings from the Traphouse in light of my decision to not live with a cracked-out, socially inept, pitiful sham of a human being who had me sitting on the hood of his Altima flying down a residential street at an unprecedented 45-55 mph at five o'clock in the evening on a day that will forever go down in infamy as Terrible Tuesday and to prepare for an interview I had the following day, today, at Pizza Hut. Therefore, following John's meeting with his advisor and a Big Gigantic-themed musical interlude, John and Devy dropped me off at the Traphouse for what became a four-hour trek down nightmare boulevard as I removed the relics of every memory created in my quarters, known as the Greenroom, and packed them into my car, affectionately christened The Pirate.
Because I couldn't find the keys to the Pirate, a situation about a month and a half old now, after the contents of the Greenroom had been removed forever (I realized that the landlord removed my disco-themed spotlights and installed a conventional ceiling fan JUST as I was leaving), I had nowhere to go but out. I'd decided that I was going to, hopefully, be granted the opportunity to crash at a friend's place for the night, just so I could make my interview the next day and proceed back to Dallas thereafter. So I sojourned. By foot. All over my little hipster town. To five households. Scattered all over the province. Five different locations. Five different friends. None of the motherfuckers home. I consequently ended up sitting outside on the steps of my Denton-nestled once-estranged homie, Marshall's (lucky for you, no shameless twitter plug here) place roughly between the hours of 7pm and midnight while he ground out his shift at, wouldn't you know it, Pizza Hut.
I'd never in the entirely too long period of time I've known Marshall been so happy to see him. Like the genuinely good person he is, however annoying and bitch-made, he allowed me the opportunity to sleep the night at his place after breifly explaining to what owed him my presence.
You ever get to telling a story and want to quit midway because it's taking entirely too long to convey what will more than likely end up a very anti-climactic point? Never? Oh okay.
The following day, I woke up bright and early around two in the afternoon to the bellowing of Barry White's "Never, Never Gonna Give You Up". This, me waking up at two not being ripped from dreamland by the Darth Vader of soul music, can be attributed to staying up until 5am in communication with the girl who I've found in the last few months, fits every requirement I've ever made in my history of spousal unhappiness for the perfect woman for me.
If you read any of my previous posts or intend to read any of them in the future (I don't see why you would after making it this far through the current one), then you can or will readily attest to the impact that crazy girl above has had and I hope continues to have on my existence.
Nevertheless, I woke up an hour before my interview, cowpooped around the internet for a bit and found that the chapter of the national organization a few of the Spacecadets and I have been working to establish in Denton had been approved by our regional director. Elated, full of love and with the melodies of Jheri Curled soul dancing around my head I entered my interview a whole minute early - just a little beacon of sunshine. Only to discover that the manager, who herself requested that I come in for an interview for whatever available position in her store, didn't currently have any openings. Which translates roughly into, "Yes, you dumb motherfucker, you came all the way out to Denton without a means back to Dallas, walked to five recently-discovered unreliable friends' houses and sat outside in the freezing cold waiting of a fat white boy WHO WORKS AT PIZZA HUT AND TOLD YOU ABOUT AMPLE STAFF OPENINGS, just to be turned around in less than five minutes in the same condition which you arrived: jobless. Have a great day! :D"
This coffeeshop is more of a high school hipster hotbed than I thought. These kids are way too scene for a lonely blogger like me. Maybe if I look perterrbed by their meaningless conversation, arcane behavioral patterns, sexually ambiguous fashion-sense and tendencies to spontaneously whelp in soprano without regards to gender or mass, I might catch some of their "RAD" YEAH! That would be SO CASH! Is that guy's name Lauren?
I guess with all of that stated above, what I'm trying to say is: 2011 will prove to be, as Tiny prophesied, interesting, at the least. I've had my share of bottoms and peaks in the first seven days alone but, for some strange reason and very uncharacteristic of most in similar circumstances, I remain optimistic. I have hope that the positive aspects of my existence (the increasing success and positive reception of my music, the camaraderie and support of my closest friends and siblings (possibly the last shameless twitter plug in: @RikkiWorld_ and @princezzjazzmyn) and the shared affection between me and a woman who seems to be the greatest addition to my existence since mastering the craft of inconspicuously masturbating in public restrooms two years ago) will continue to outshine, outweigh and outnumber the forces of the universe acting against me and the happiness I envision for myself and loved ones.
I wonder if that deaf group is just as annoyed looking at these posers as I am having to listen to them. I ought to tilt my hat low and follow them home just to fuck them up. lol I may just do that.
As always y'all,
love yourselves and each other.
Peace.
(definitely not my last shameless twitter plug in: @_bornfree)
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