weekend alluvion

this past weekend was painfully uneventful. when you are broke, you tell yourself that you're just going to take it easy, sit at home, maybe get stoned, make some mac and cheese and watch a movie. fat chance. i got home, in dire need of a nap. the beginning of my short slumber, my recharge of the batteries if you will, was interrupted by an onslaught of phone calls;
"Let's get a drink!"
"What are you doing tonight?"
"Happy hour at wherever..."
Finally after the fourth call, I turned off the ringer on my phone and decided i would nap, come hell or high water. Whenever i nap i have the most deranged repetitious dreams. the one i had that day involved cobras. I'm walking out by this small pond in the middle of a forest. as i walk around the pond all the water begins to dry. Then the trees start shrivel and die into the ground and as the pond dries, it turns into dust and sand. Seeping out of ground come a family of cobras surrounding me in all different colors, hissing, ready to spit their venom. I'm surrounded and ready to piss myself then i wake up, sweaty and lucid.
I rub my eyes and turned my phone back on. five voice mails, all the same shit;
"Let's get drunk."
"Thinking' bout drinking? There is no god!"
"Alcohol this, cocaine that."

Boredom is evil and breeds contempt for oneself. what a shitty fate, to be stuck with nothing but these shitty options. I'm so done with this same bullshit. I'm so bored that now I'm lying to myself.

So i get up, i take a shower, i skate to the mission waiting to meet up with my friend Nat. Nat's eating dinner with his parents and he calls me when he finishes. I can hear a faint exhaustion in his voice. Motherfucker makes me come all the way down here so that he can fall asleep as soon as I arrive? Very inconsiderate.

So i grab a bite, annoyed and flustered, then make my way over toward Delirium, my precious sanctum. I watched Manny Ramirez hit a walk off home run against the angels which helped me perk up slightly. Then the deluge of alcohol ingestion begun again. i drank, four tecates at delirium, two shots of fernett and two Jameson neat. i wasn't fucked up yet, but i was well on my way.

At the bar, some obnoxious, lightweight hipster pogue bitch comes up to me and asks me why I'm in a bad mood and if i want to fuck. she says that my jacket is very colorful.
"So you like it," I say attempting to engage her.
"I didn't say that."
I'm all for that type of brutal honesty but this woman was trying to get me in bed with her. she was one of those mediocre looking girls that came to the city to go to USF and in the process discovers she's different somehow, dyes her hair, switches from shopping at the Gap to shopping at Diesel, from wine coolers to Pabst, from Marlboro lights to cocaine hangover Sundays.
for the health of this blog i continue my dialogue with her.
"do you ride a fixie?"
"You'd like that wouldn't you?"
fashion, purely fashionable, in the moment, flash in the panhandle, fashion. form over function. i don't get the attraction of it. you put one guy with rolled up pants, a dirty tshirt, tattooed sleeves, and you put him on a bike with a front brake and he's just another filthy hipster. you put the same guy, same scenario but you take away the brake and suddenly he's every girl's random wetdream.
"no i ride a skateboard."
"well, that's hot," she tells me, "that'll always be hot."
she really started getting on my nerves at this point and i kept looking for an exit from the conversation, a minor lull in the action so i could slip away, a misplaced glance that takes her attention from me, if even momentarily. it seemed nothing could assuage her. she was vehement that i give her my undivided attention. while in repose i can rip this girl to shreds, in the moment i don't have the gumption to be that mean. its a weakness, i know. miraculously one of her girlfriends comes over, drunk and loud and distracts her. i turn around to see if she's spotted me and she's pointing at me and scowling because i didn't say goodbye.

The rest of my night was in constant motion skating from one end of the mission to the other seeking out strong drink, rolled spliffs and avoiding coke. its incredible to me that the mere presence of an individual carries with it an aura of substances to be ingested. a phone call from one guy means a cocaine dudefest, while from another means pothead potluck! what a bevy of randoms i know in this city and scattered across the board, they bring with them pockets full of vice, hollow conversation, best intentions and zero follow through, myself included. we're under a dome, a random functionless dome that protects from nothing and everything at once.
I landed finally on a couch in the mission waking early to the passive aggressive sound of my best friends roommate clattering her organic breakfast and the ding ding of the chat box on her computer.
i get on the bus at 8:15 and go home to the foul smell of mildew in the hallways. nobody gives a shit about where i live but me. another discussion all together. i took a pull off a stale old joint and went to bed.