win or go home.

music was really the only thing i ever spent money on. now that no money is coming in, i find that i don't really need to spend any money on music at all. i already have a ton of albums i haven't listened to, and these days, i find that i'm often too lazy to pick a cd out, and instead, i choose to listen to the mix 96. i never know what i'm going to hear, and if it's something as good as crowded house's "don't dream it's over," i'll end up singing along.

i used to force people to listen to music i was listening to. i don't know why that is. maybe it had to do with being insecure and thinking that if i impressed someone with the good music i had, maybe that person would think i was awesome. when i got to college, though, everyone was burning cds. i was one of those people who would make more cds for other people than listen to the actual cds people would make for me. yeah, i was that much of a snob. and it was completely unwarranted too, since i was listening to a lot of crap. but whatever.

my mom's friend from college has been staying with us this weekend. apparently, this woman got a divorce after 30 years, and now she's just kind of traveling around, reconnecting with old friends. the first thing she said when she saw me was, "you look like your dad." "yeah," i said. i haven't really said much else to her. i guess i'm just afraid of talking to people who end up having some sort of existential crisis or make some sort of life-changing decision. i just can't imagine sleeping in a bed with someone for thirty years, making a home, having kids, paying bills, going to work, watching tv, having arguments, buying clothes, decorating christmas trees, carving pumpkins, watching the fireworks, taking out the trash, sharing meals, and reading quietly, and then poof. all gone. no more. and it wasn't even death that did it. it was a divorce. and jesus, she's a hardcore catholic, too, praying before meals and asking a strange boy in his twenties if he's coming along to church.

i can't imagine it. thirty years of looking at someone while thinking, this is the person. this is it. i'm going to live everyday with this person and die with this person by my side. and then it's oops, i didn't really want that. i'm going to visit california and sleep in a guest room in a house where they never run the goddamn air conditioner. i'm going to track down some old flame who may or may not already have a family of his own (yes, word on the street is that's what she's doing). i just don't get it. how much arguing and frustration and sadness does it take for someone to finally give up? i hope i'm never in a position to find out.

i have some shit i need to repeat. i don't really want to, but i have to because i have nothing else to write about. one of them is about how weird it is to be back home with nothing to do. it got to the point where i hung out with my little cousin this weekend, and he would make comments like, "god, i'm so bored to death," or "well, i'm really bored." i wanted to say something like, "how do you think i feel? i'm twenty-five and i'm hanging out with you on a saturday night for christ's sake." but i have to at least attempt at being a good role model and emotionally restrained and mentally balanced and all that other crap, so i couldn't say anything.

my other cousin told me about gina, the girl i worked with at tower and then more recently at kelly services. gina worked the night shift and would sleep until four or five in the afternoon. once, during our fifteen minute break, she confessed, "some days when i don't have anything to do, i just sleep and sleep. i know it's bad, but you know, i'm not doing anything, so why not just sleep?" it was a pretty sad confession, but i couldn't say i couldn't relate. anyway, now gina works for the dmv, and she told her sister that nobody cool worked there. everyone there was really old and whatnot. her sister's response was classic: "like you're cool?" i definitely wish i had a younger sister who could put me in check like that.

i have to admit i'm not cool. i'm not one to dance with young hipster bitches at the rickshawstop before a plastiscines concert. i'm not going to make my hair look like cristian's from project runway and wear those eighties-style glasses when it's dark out. i don't know how to get the bartender's attention, and if i do have a few beers, my prostate gets inflamed. yes, i'm so cool that i'm constantly aware of my prostate's condition. i'm so cool that a little bit of ice cream will make me run red lights and jump out of cars to find the nearest restroom. i'm so cool that if i say something even slightly stupid or out of character i'll think about it, as well as what i should have said, for years afterward.

i'm so cool. i'm living the dream, man. i'm finally a statistic.

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