2003-08-24 | DREW AND NOT U

First, my car starts making weird noises.

Just when I thought everything was okay.

Then the last 2 days at work were close to miserable at certain points...but it's over for now.

Then some person reviewed my diary and gave it a shitty review. Dissed my layout, which gets compliments all the time. Said I had no "emotion" which is ridiculous. I have probably 200 songs on here, and just within those you can find more emotion than you've ever felt in your lifetime. Maybe she's a big Dashboard Confessional fan and I just wasn't EMO enough.

Then some tool tags my message board and tells me my diary sucks, and tells sticks up for Gideon Yago, who I have actually said good things about on here. And the bad thing I said about him were like a catillion years ago. Maybe it was Gideon, himself. If it was, I guess I shouldn't use him as a reference when I apply for a job at SPIN magazine.

He told me to spend my time on something else, or something like that. I spend too much of my time working a job I don't like, which is probably why my entries aren't exciting enough for all you people with short attention spans.

If there's no blood, guts, sex, lies, or bragging within the first line of an entry, I guess it's just not for the masses.

When I do find something better to do with my time, like working at a job I actually enjoy, like writing for people that actually appreciate it, and who will actually pay me, or such as being in a band, or something along those lines, then I won't have to write in this diary anymore, foolio. But maybe I will anyway, just so jackasses like you can complain.

It just fuels my fire anyway. Pass me the kerosene, ese.

We had some NBA players staying at the hotel this weekend, and a lot of them disappointed me with their attitudes, although I didn't meet any in person, I just talked to them on the phone. Khalid Reeves and Jason Terry were jerks, although there's a chance one of their friends may have been calling. Luke Walton was nice on the phone.

Gilbert Arenas was too.

Sean Rooks' wife was nice. Khalid was the absolute worse though, which is funny, because he doesn't even play in the NBA anymore, because he wasn't good enough to last more than a season or two, but he still thinks he's Hollywood, baby.

Luke Walton will win a ring next year with the Lakers, and I hope it doesn't change him too much. And I hope he doesn't dance like Mark Madsen did a couple of years ago. Boy was that awful.

And my car is making a weird noise again.

Just when I thought everything was okay, something else has to worry me.

Don't talk to me about emotion, dummy.

I had an amazing dream a couple of nights ago. One of those dreams that are so epic that they're almost life-changing.

I don't remember all of it. Just parts of it. There was too much detail to remember. I just remember bits and peices. It was so good anyway that I wouldn't want to share the whole thing, because somebody could make a movie out of certain parts, which is what I would do if I had better dream recall.

In part of my dream it was my co-workers and me at a hotel, but it didn't really look like the one I work at.

Everybody, including me, was delivering room service, and it just so happened that one of my customers was none other than Dan "the Automator" Nakamura of Handsome Boy Modeling School, Sinister 6000, Dr. Octagon, Deltron 3030, Gorillaz and Lovage fame.

On the first delivery, I pretended like I didn't know him, but I forgot part of his order, so I went back downstairs, and I started thinking of a way that I could praise him, since I had a reason to go back now.

I returned with the rest of the order, and before I left I started to say something like "Mr. Nakamura...I just wanted you to know how much....", but he saw something in my eyes that I geuss made him feel uncomfortable, because he started freaking out and yelling for help, and started to pick up a phone to complain, but by then I was already walking backwards and apologizing. What kind of threat did he think I was, anyway? If I knew Kung-Fu, I wouldn't be working in the goddamn room service department. If I was a stalker or papparazzi I would'nt have addressed him, I would've just taken a picture, or hugged him, or mooned him, or punched him in the face, and then ran away, but I didn't do any of that, because I work in the goddamn room service department.

Anyway, that didn't go well. But later on the dream, after a whole bunch of other dramatic stuff that I can't remember for the life of me, suddenly the people at work started gradually transforming into the staff of the Drew Carey show.

I can't remember, but I think I may have been playing the part of Drew Carey, which would probably upset Drew, because nobody plays a better Drew than Drew.

I don't remember all the details, but at some point we went to the roof of the hotel, which for some reason was the ground of the city, so what we came out of was not only our ceiling, but was also part of the street. We lifted the cover and peeked out, as if we were re-enacting Michael Jackson's "Beat It" video.

We hung around outside for a while, but then a riot started at some bar across the street, which was above our hotel, which was weird because the hotel is 3 floors, so we were underground quite a ways. Apparently the angry mob, as opposed to the happy mob, was upset with us, and they began to chase us.

Some fighting of some sort ensued, and maybe some hi-jinx as well, but I'm not positive. All I remember is that when we finally made it back to home base, which wasn't actually a base at all, but was the room service department, which for some reason was in the rafters of the hotel, packed into a far corner, so as to not scare off the rest of the employees or customers, we were all so relieved to be alive that we just hugged and cried for a while and told everyone how much we loved one another. It was a triumphant, but confusing ending to a semi-remembered dream, and it was beautiful.

I also remembered something else which was that the Automator yelled at me and was very mean. Maybe that's why Kool Keith won't work with him anymore.

He was also drinking some alcoholic lemonade concoction.

So life is fine, even though a couple of people think me and my diary suck, but it's just not as exciting or fulfilling as my dreams, which is why I keep telling myself it's time for a change. It's all a matter of getting off my ass, which seems harder than it sounds sometimes. It's not hard at all, but it's so nice being lazy all the time. Deciding whether to take a nap or sleep longer...whether to order a pizza or eat something even more unhealthy...deciding whether to watch bad tv, or a bad movie...these are the dilemmas of a lazy man. You say these are not dilemmas, and I say

EXACTLY

So I procrastinate once again, and I continue to complain about the stuff that I should just be doing. I know I eventually will, but I wish it just wasn't so time consuming.

Everybody's working for the weekend except me. I'm weaking for the work end. Or something like that. In other words I never want to work another day in my life, unless, like Monster Magnet, my job is to be in a band. But I don't think we'll have as much hair, and our moustaches won't be as fancy, and I don't know if strippers will play our music during their routines. So I do want to work, because I want money, but I don't want to work a real job. Ever. So I'm putting in my sometime within the next few years notice, ASHP.

(as soon as HUMANLY possible)

- premature ejaculation | tantra +