Wish List.

Today is September 24th.

My 26th Birthday is in 35 days.

If you remember correctly, last year I made a four-item wish list, and every one came true. I've decided that this year, I will do the same, with my final selection of four debuting on my blog one week previous to "Weekend of Debauchery '06".

I have, however, decided to start with one BIG list, and slowly add more and pare it down untill I'm ABSOLUTELY SURE what I would like to come true on October 29th, 2006.
If you also remember correctly, my last birthday was terrible resulting in me frantically breaking up with my boyfriend, sleeping with my ex, dealing with my daughter stealing $700 from Mindy, jumping on an airplane with the flu, and at one point taking six cabs to and from Lower Haight in the middle of the night. Also, I almost had to check a Canadian bitch. Great party, though.

Anyway, here goes.

Preliminary Birthday Wish List
1. For Shaun to spend the night at my new house, watch Undeclared, eat Turkish take-out, and have him help me artfully drape my blankets on my couch.
2. For Samantha, Lauren, Ian, and Jen to make good on thier birthday promise of visiting me.
3. For my cat to have visitation rights.
4. Cake. (This one's from last year, I know.)
5. Meatloaf.
6. Socks and pink panties. Lots of them.
7. A party at Cafe Royale, the Tenderloin's Peach Pit.
8. A bottle of Veuve Cliquot. Make it two.
9. For Erica to break up with Miguel. (Long story.)
10. Everything I've ever wanted.

Well, there's the first ten. The trick to making birthday wishes come true? Take an active role.

More soon.
--M

Okay. Got It. No really.

Allright. Allright. It's time to be realistic here.

So I was talking to my sister Roxie today, and she was like:

"Omigod! I haven't checked your blog in so long, and usually that's how I know what you're up to!"

That's when I realized: What the hell am I up to?

Okay. Here goes.

1. Sometime in August, a little company called Juicy Couture asked Erica to be the General Manager of thier new store at San Francisco Center.
2. She took the job, and soon after asked me to be her Assistant Manager.
3. Then she asked Jay, Mere, and Erin to come to.
4. Right after I put in my two weeks at LF, Mary called me one night, desperate. "Do you know anyone looking for a studio in the Tenderloin? I need to find someone to sublet my apartment." I took it the next day, even though it's actually in the Tendernob.
5. I went to Seattle. I saw my wives, piked up Davey, and slept with my ex. Oops. For some reason, I got back home and started FREAKING OUT as soon as Davey left.
6. I started work, and the size of the responsibility seemed overwhelming. It just seems so big, you know? So much all at once? That's what she said.
7. Then I transfered all of this freaked-out-ed-ness about moving and my job to having slept with my ex because it seemed like an easier thing to be freaked out about. Sex? Oh, I can handle that. Again, That's what she said.
8. I reserved a van to move my stuff on the 2nd. I bought two plane tickets, one for me and one for Counts, to San Diego on the 17th. I reserved a big ass truck for the 17th to get all of my shit out of my storage unit in SoCal and bring it up to Frannie.
9. Realized I had transfered all of my freaked-out-ed-ness onto my ex. I gave that bullshit up, but then I started having nightmares about getting fired from my job and losing my apartment, so I started freaking out about Woody again to stave off the nightmares. It totally worked, but then I was saying stupid things like: "I don't know, I just miss him, and you know: I miss him. I'm so freakin' wasted you guys. Omigod, I'm so FREAKIN' wasted. I'll just go home with that Jason guy. Jake. What the hell! Whatever! I don't love anybody! Fuck you! Omigod, I love you so much, Mindy."
10. Then my sister calls and she's like: "How are you?" and I was like: "Really good." That was it. I think I kinda snapped out of it.

Well, I'm glad that's over.
That's what she said.
--M

Contentedness.

Everyone keeps wondering what's wrong with me.

I don't really know.

It has something to do with the fact that I could afford them now. The two of them and all of them, and maybe, I wish they were here.

Bush @ Mason. Countdown: 10 days.

--M

"So...it's just me, you, the hipster and the gelfling?"

So last night was Nick Budrow's "I got fired" party at Rye. It was absolutely fantastic. Especially considering Erica and I had just come from a fun filled evening at Larry Flynt's Hustler Club with Nathalia.

Just so you know, my period is finally over, and I've come to a few conclusions.

1. I'm skipping my next three periods. I know that's how I got myself in to this whole week-of-crying in the first place, but I just can't handle the idea of doing this again in 3-4 weeks.

2. I am a complete idiot. No, really. I have no concept of what is good for me and what is not.

3. Every single muscle in my entire body hurts. Bad. I need to take better care of myself.

4. I miss Shaun.

5. I need to start packing.

--M

A response; in repose.

Was thinking today about what scares me and what does not.

What does not scare me? Well, I always thought loving someone/thing (to hunts' delight, I just said the word slash in my head), whether it be requited or no, did not scare me. Whatever the means. Whatever the ends.

Now, something I love may be something I just do because it is beyond my control.

It clears up alot.

At 17.9.06, Milkshake said...
This is scaring the crap out of me.
And maybe I'm over exaggerating mid-that-time-of-the-month type hormonal fluxes, but maybe I'm correct in thinking that drawing metaphore and correlations between events is scary enough without being confronted with the fact that it's a physicality. A PHYSICALITY. Meaning to remove this tendancy, one needs not therapy, but surgery. A surgery that doesn't yet exist.
What I mean is that I do this to a fault, and in my naivety thought I could flush it all out by writing it down. Like every quarter I've tossed into a tollbooth, a blond lock of hair pushed across a forehead, A note written on a mirror and every last sugary sweet and thick rich slice of cake in this world that I have been lucky enough to taste--and all of these things in thier poignancy wont leave me, and now I know they never will.
It's all one in the same.
Damnit.
Delete this at your leisure [or don't], because upon a re-read, my vagina seems too loud.
--M

And what, you think I don't do this? In what world does a story have four story lines taking place in three different cities on two coasts with only me and my messed up head as the defining thread? More importantly, when does it stop?

You guys, I'm super seri[al][ous].

I hate it. I hate it because there are those times when it becomes like combat--right there, in the moment, when you are quite sure there is a story happening. You can feel it because you can remember this one time in Olympia when the sheets are off the bed and we are so desperatly trying to make a life. You can feel it because you've said goodbye so many times before, but this one will be on your terms because you will be the one not calling: because you are the one who crept down the hall and out the front door while he and his roomates slept. And all of those times when you are on the kitchen linoleum crying about some boy or some bitch or some twins or some story that didn't go as you had planned, most of all of those tears are for what that story could have been. How it could have sounded. How that Cake could have tasted. How many quarters I could have had.

And when all of those neurons start firing when I'm right there, right in there, and common sense would tell me as it would, the devil on my shoulder will always be that elusive story and he will whisper so cutely to me.

"Do you love him?"
"Does it matter?"
"No. I suppose it does not, because if you don't turn on your heels right now, you'll no doubt ruin this story."
"Are you sure?"
"Which band was better: Pearl Jam or Nirvana?"
"Yeah, I get your point."
"You will leave and you will cry. And do you know who will be there? Right there in your bed?"

It's funny because we are in bed together right now. My greatest love, and she is perfect.
And forever we will create my iStories together.

But are you getting it?
I have quite possibly sacrificed my life for stories. And it's true, those stories are not always in the past for sometimes you actively realize that you're making them; somewhere on I-5 or on a barstool or in your ex's arms in your best friend's bed or everytime you make a sandwich and you can't help but think of Bike Josh and beg of him to get away from Road Cone Man. Or whatever.

And mostly, yeah. Yeah, okay you're right. Mostly this is about that ex and all of those times and quarters and airplanes and more exes. And this is only about that ex because of all of those times and quarters and airplanes and CAKE and goddamn it why does he look so fucking much like cake right now--and why is it all so simple for me to revisit and so hard to leave behind, and why is Seattle so far sometimes and why have I edited this post four times now?

And then Jen was in town the other night and she's all like:
"Wifey, yeah. That's cute and all, but he will always be the boy who pulled you over backwards over a chair at the Monkey Pub."
Yeah. I guess she's right.
But then again, you know what they say about stories.

Whatever. Stick a candle in it 'cause it's fucking done.






Wait.
I'm not done. I'm editing this again.

I just mean that I'm unsure why this is such a big fucking issue--because it shouldn't be. All of this. It shouldn't be a big deal that I made a decision a year and a half ago that gave me an ending to a beautiful essay. That's fine, right? Well if it's fine, then why am I trying to rewrite it in my head right now, to have some sort of explanation should I ever be asked for it that sounds better than it actually was?
I'm scared sometimes by what my head creates.
You can return to what you were doing now.
--M

For Davey: Part 4

Milkshake said...
Oh my god. A breather, finally.

List:

1. My apartment is trashed. Disgusting. I have no will to make it not so.
2. I am currently midst the most gut-wrenching rag I've ever experienced. When I'm not puking, I'm in the fetal position wishing someone would clean my apartment.
3. I haven't packed anything, and I move on the 2nd.
4. Siobahn keeps reassuring me that Bush & Mason is: "kinda loiny." It's not, but she's sweet to say it.
5. I think everyone I hired under me is more capable of doing my job than me. I'm just saying it's a definite possibility.
6. Miss you huge. Come home soon.
--M

Oh, THAT'S what I've been up to.

Stories?
Hmm...

Shaun and Pete started school again. What does that mean? IT MEANS I'M CONSTANTLY CRYING BECAUSE I NEVER SEE SHAUN. Do you think this is some kind of joke? This is no frikken' joke man. I'm going through withdrawls. He's doing really well at the Clift, though, I'm proud of him.

Jeannine finally slept with Darrell. As she puts it: "Yeah, I guess he knows how to lay the pipe. It was okay. For reals though? He's totally hooked on the gine."

Los and Jess got engaged. Crazy.

Daniel was in town just before I went to Seattle. I'm finally putting up a pic of us swilling whiskey at Thieves.

Davey came. Yay. Also, let it be known that Miranda Moure, David Hodson and Nicholas Mathisen were for the first time all in the same room. At the same time. Getting our crunk on.

Mary is freakin' crazy. How is it even possible that I could wreck a grown man? Jesus. On that note, I didn't have to. She did it for me, hahaha.

Jen is in town. Right now. I gotta get some work done and take a shower so I can see my beautiful wife.

I think that's all.
Well, that and all the mamas rockin' dollas--me and the girls will no doubt soon tire of burning benji's like so much firewood. It's hard when your new world is pink and there are checks to be cashed and leases to sign.

Don't tease me for moving to the Tendernob.

[and don't be fooled by the rocks that I got.]

More soon. Promise.
Thanks to Dave for the pics I jacked.
--M

"Bandwagon? Anyone? C'mon, tomorrow's Survey Thursday. It's a tradition, Dammit!!"

The Best Myspace Survey
* . . About You . . *
Eye Color::	Brown
Hair Color::	Brown
Height::	5'7"-5'8"
Favorite Color::	Red or Green
Screen Name::	Milkshake
Favorite Band::	Soul Coughing
Favorite Movie::	The Dark Crystal
Favorite Show::	Undeclared
Your Car::	Muni
Your Hometown::	Seattle
Your Present Town::	San Francisco
Your Crushes First Name::	Haha..."William", because Meredith wont let me say his real name because she hates this other guy with the same name. Also, Kyle Palmer and Woody Lopez for shits and giggles.
Your Grade::	Grade A Hot Sexy Rock Star.
Your Style::	Awesome.
* . . Have You Ever . . *
Sat on your rooftop?:	Yes.
Kissed someone in the rain?:	Definitely. Jen remembers.
Danced in a public place?:	Of course.
Smiled for no reason?:	Uh...yeah.
Laughed so hard you cried?:	All the time.
Peed your pants after age 8?:	Yup. Sock drawer too.
Written a song?:	Hahaha. Yes. It was 89 lines long.
Sang to someone for no reason?:	Every single day.
Performed on a stage?:	Yes. Drunk. And sober too, I suppose.
Talked to someone you don't know?:	Never. Just kidding! Of course I have.
Gone out of your way to befriend someone?:	Yes. And I'm still waiting for Patrick to come around.
Made out in a theatre?:	Duh.
Gone roller skating since 8th grade?:	Yup.
Been in love?:	Many times.
* . . Who was the last person to . . *
Say HI to you?:	Sam, the man who owns the coffee shop.
Tell you, I love you?:	Mindy.
Kiss you?:	Nicholas.
Hug you?:	Sally.
Tell you BYE?:	Peter.
Write you a note?:	Jeannine.
Take your photo?:	Jess.
Call your cell phone?:	Erica.
Buy you something?:	??
Go with you to the movies?:	Peter.
Sing to you?:	Peter.
Write a poem about you?:	David.
Text message you?:	Jeannine.
Touch you?:	Peter.
* . . What's the last . . *
Time you laughed?:	10 minutes ago.
Time you cried?:	I have no idea. Probably January. No wait! When I got my new job, but before that, January.
Movie you watched?:	Empire Records
Joke you told?:	The hipster/lightbulb joke.
Song you've sang?:	"Deborah" by Beck
Time you've looked at the clock?:	10:29
Drink you've had?:	Coffee.
Number you've dialed?:	To Sally.
Book you've read?:	The History of Rock and Roll
Food you've eaten?:	Pizza. It made me hella ill.
Flavor of gum chewed?:	Crappy Scary Melon that Sam gave me, I think.
Shoes you've worn?:	Chucks.
Store you've been in?:	Bennetton
Thing you've said?:	"Thank You."
* . . Can You . . *
Write with both hands?:	No.
Whistle?:	Yes.
Blow a bubble?:	Uh-huh.
Roll your tounge in a circle?:	Yup.
Cross your eyes?:	Can't everyone?
Touch your tounge to your nose?:	No.
Dance?:	Kinda.
Gleek?:	Never. And I've fucking tried.
Stay up a whole night without sleep?:	Of course. Both on and off drugs.
Speak a different language?:	Not sober.
Impersonate someone?:	Yeah, that bitch at Nick's Crispy Taco's that I almost had to check last Friday.
Prank call people?:	Not as much as I should.
Make a card pyramid?:	I never have.
Cook anything?:	I can cook everything.
* . . Finish The Line . . *
If i were a ...:	...boy, I'd be named Michael.
I wish ...:	...I had a Monster Truck.
So many people don't know that ...:	...I wasn't always like this.
I am ...:	...scared most of the time.
My heart is ...:	...full of myself.
Take this survey | Find more surveys You've been totally Bzoink*d

August 29th, 2003

On Aug 27, 2003, I packed a bag of all of my indie-cool clothing, left my beautiful apartment and perfect lifestyle in Miami and boarded a plane for Chicago, and finally Seattle.

On Aug 28, 2003, I bought a pair of YSL sunglasses.

On Aug 29, 2003, I wore said sunglasses to Bumbershoot, ended up running into Aaron Gerking. Later that night I wondered how long it would take me to recover. Want to know? Well, I don’t mean to count all of my chickens before they hatch, but I’m thinking it will be somewhere around the realm of this coming October 15th, just two weeks shy of my 26th birthday. What does that mean?

That means 1,143 days will have gone by.
That means I will have boarded exactly 30 separate airplanes (including the one shortly to San Diego)
That means I have crossed the country 10 times.
That means I have left the country once.
That means I have seen two couples get married.
That means I have had three birthdays.
That means I have lived in three cities.
That means I have had five jobs.

But no one has died. That I know. Personally.

And what do I mean by “recover”? Merely to have everything back that I had before I got on that plane.

And If you’d like to know, Samantha is doing fine. She has a fantastic job and lifestyle.
Jennifer is more fantastic than I ever could have thought. She even has her own car; a nice one.

And sometime around the fifteenth, I will be fine too.
I will be perfect.
--M

[p.s.--although i miss all of the seattleites dearly, it's so, so, so, so, so good to be home.]

That is all.

1. Some idiot at EZ Rent a Car gave me a PT Cruiser. Idiot. I'm halfway to destroying that thing.
2. The first thing said to me when I finally found I-5 north and was presented with a beer? "It's the water, BITCH!"
3. Went to the duck. Nico was working. Excellent.
4. Found Mrs. Crystal Wren at Two Bells. She kills me. Absofuckinglutely slays me. Also, on a side note, no one I know dry humped David Cross at the Nitelite. Maybe Joe, but it was never confirmed.
5. Dick M@ters went to the fucking BALLROOM. Hahahaha.
6. Had hot warehouse sex.
7. Went to the phantom record store.
8. Got a manicure.
9. Saw Jackie, FNOG, and Rice. Apparently, Rice broke up with Tanya who is seeing some other girl that they live with now.
10. Went to Peter Smith's bar. Tight.
11. back to the 9 Lb. Hammer.
12. Passed out watching Empire records.
13. Woke up.
14. Came to Bauhaus.
15. Posted on blog.
--M