Big D's Wild Ride

To The Memory of Aaron Behar

2011-05-08T00:58:00.000-07:00

Yesterday (technically), May the 7th, marks the fourth anniversary of Aaron Behar's death. I never know how to deal with this particular anniversary as it is pretty morbid in any kind of celebration. I had actually written about eight pages on the subject that I intended as a kind of retrospective of the last four years of my life as a result of his passing. The thing is, though, that it was kind of all about me and didn't really dig deep enough to make it compelling to any outside reader. It's not that it was necessarily bad, rather just unnecessary and uninteresting to anybody who is not me.

So, what I've decided to do instead is to just keep it simple. I miss you, pal. Every day. But life is slowly starting to come along and I think that if we were able to talk right now, you'd be mostly proud of me. I don't think this world will ever be as good as it was with you in it, but I promise that I'll do my best to live a life that will honor you in some small way. You really were the best of us, which I know is cliche because that's always what you say about the dead, but in this case I do really mean it.

I hope one day that we'll meet again. But if not, the only thing I can truly promise is that as long as I'm still alive, the world will always in some small way remember Aaron Behar. I love you, buddy.

Hungry for Heaven

2010-06-10T21:11:00.000-07:00

I know I’m a few weeks late, but I’d like to share some thoughts about Ronnie James Dio. Most people who know me are aware that I am a big fan of his, and it seems only fitting to put aside some time and cyberspace to acknowledge, remember, and thank him.
First, I thought I’d think back on how I became a Dio fan. Here’s something I’ve rarely admitted to anybody in this world: the first time I heard Dio I thought he was awful. I was about thirteen years old and had only recently discovered my love of Ozzy Osbourne, and even more recently Black Sabbath. I was hungrily buying up as many of Ozzy and Black Sabbath CD’s, or tapes as the case may have been, as I could get my grubby little hands on. In one such instance, at Best Records in Simi Valley, don’t look for it, it’s not there anymore, I stumbled upon a Black Sabbath CD entitled “Live Evil.” It’s meant to be a double CD, but Best Records was only selling the first volume. Recognizing some of the songs (i.e. “Iron Man,” “Paranoid”) I eagerly purchased it. When I made it home and put the CD in the player, it was most definitely not Ozzy’s signature voice. The voice different, it was bigger and meaner. It sounded odd hearing that voice sing some of my favorite songs. I listened to about half the album, and put it away, I thought forever.
It wasn’t until years later, towards the end of high school, that I would encounter ol’ Ronnie James again. I was driving along, listening to the classic rock station on the radio when an absolutely amazing heavy metal song caught my ear. I pulled my car to the side of the road and listened to the song. From the opening lyrics “Oh no, here it comes again,” to the second verse “time again to save us from the jackals of the street,” I was hooked. Then at the end of the bridge, that gigantic, mean, yet somehow enduring voice called out “Neon Knights!” A memory tugged at the back of my brain. I remembered a song on the old “Live Evil” CD called Neon Knights. I knew this was no Ozzy era song. I couldn’t believe it: I liked Dio. No, that’s not quite true, I loved Dio.
I drove to the Warehouse, the last remaining record store in Simi Valley at the time (sadly there are none today. I’m sorry, youth of today), and bought the Black Sabbath CD “Heaven and Hell” and Dio’s solo album “Holy Diver.” I went home, listened to both albums, plus “Live Evil” all over again for the first time. Not long after, my friend Clint and I went and saw Dio in concert at the Universal Amphitheater. Not long after, I would purchase his entire discography and see him live several times. When he was touring with Heaven and Hell (Black Sabbath minus the name for legal reasons) I bought my ticket to see the show. Sadly, I had just started a new job and couldn’t get the time off. I endlessly regret missing that show as I would never get to see him live again, though Heidi did do an excellent job in recounting the entire concert to me afterwards.
I’ve loved heavy metal all my life. That’s no secret. From the day I heard Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” on the radio when I was nine years old, I began stealing all my brother’s tapes and soaking in the sheer energy of a brand of rock n’ roll that is utterly unique. Heavy metal would help carry me through the misery that is high school, and give me inspiration whenever I needed it most. In my adult life, I find myself relying less on heavy metal and even poking fun at it. Most people I spend my time with nowadays don’t take the genre seriously, and in some ways it’s easy to see why. By its very definition it’s over the top. It’s loud, sometimes a little silly, and never does it pretend to be poetic in its delivery. What it is though, is honest. For a long time, I would spend countless hours trying to get people to hear heavy metal the way I hear it. I wanted Dio’s music to connect to people the way it connects to me. Now for the first time, though, I realize that it’s just not important. I don’t need people to love Dio and heavy metal the way I love it. It’s not that they’re necessarily being snobs, or that I get something that they don’t get. It’s simpler than that. It’s just that Dio is not for everybody. In fact, that’s a huge part of the man’s charm. The man’s music gave, and continues to give, inspiration to the outcasts, and if it doesn’t work for some people, then that’s fine, hopefully they’ll find something else. And for you church groups that would protest his funeral I say fuck you, his music gave me more hope and inspiration then your religion could ever hope to.
My name’s Danny Cerullo, and I’m a Dio fan.

You Can't Kill Rock n' Roll?

2010-01-18T21:40:00.000-08:00

An Open letter to Ozzy Osbourne:

Hi Ozzy, it’s me Danny. Uh, you know the guy with the giant tattoo of you on his back. I understand that’s a little creepy, but come on I was 18 years old for Christ’s sake when I got it. The reason for getting it is still special to me, no matter how ridiculous the tattoo is on a 28 year old man. You see, Ozzy Osbourne was important to me, scratch that, is important. Not just the music, but the idea of the bigger then life (and God) rock star got me through a lot of rough days in high school. There wasn’t a problem alive that couldn’t be solved with “Crazy Train.” No unrequited love could penetrate the walls of “Goodbye to Romance,” and when I was feeling my most insane, my most self-indulged pity party could always be put into perspective with “Diary of a Madman.” The idea that a marginal talent with sheer booze-fueled charisma could rise to the level that you did always provided me hope for my own place at the top.
With all this in mind, I’d like to express dissatisfaction with who you’ve become. For one, stop referring to yourself as the Prince of Darkness. You’re not, and never were, the epitome of evil. The beauty of the conservative community referring you to as evil and the Prince of Darkness was that the joke was always on them. You understood that when they called you a devil worshipper, the best comeback was not to come after them angrily or deny such allegations, or buy into the image to sell records. No, the correct comeback was to write songs mocking these accusations, then play the part of the evil rock star in caricature form. This tactic always made them look like assholes and you look like a genius. You’re records sold and your fans understood the joke, even if it was lost on everybody else.
Secondly, the name of your upcoming album. Soul Sucka? Seriously? This is the best you could come up with? And on top of this horrible, horrible name you’ve gone and fired Zakk Wylde. This isn’t necessarily inherently wrong, though I do enjoy both Zakk’s playing and song-writing, but it’s the way it was gone about. After playing with this guy for twenty years you fire him without telling him face to face, but rather it’s done through the media. That’s sickening, dude. I only have one or two friends that I’ve known that long and there is no way in Hell I would treat them that way. If you don’t want to play with him anymore then that’s fine. Just be a man about it.
Next, the reality shows. I’m not going to go into this too much because so much has been said about it already that I can’t really offer anything new. The biggest problem is not how bad they suck, or how much it makes us hate your family, it’s that you’ve let them turn you into their stooge (by them I mean The Man, who else?). They’ve downgraded you from a rock star to a mere entertainer. Maybe it’s just inevitable, everyone gets corrupted eventually. I can deal with the drugs, the booze, the egomania and all of your other faults as a human being. Hell, we all got faults. Just know that every time you shout “Sharon!” on some stupid TV show or shitty commercial, another piece of my childhood dies. Ozzy Osbourne: the killer of childhoods? I don’t think that’s what you want, friendo.
Finally, stop being a dick about Black Sabbath. If you have no intention of legitimately rejoining those guys then let them use the goddamn name. Stop this Heaven and Hell bullshit and let them tour under the name Black Sabbath (as soon as Mr. Dio recovers from his cancer of course). I get it, you’re still pissed after thirty years about getting kicked out of the band. Guess what, though, you’ve had way more success then all of your band mates combined since then. Chances are, most of them would trade places with you in an instant. Black Sabbath was more then just you, let it live on.
Now, lest you think this is all negative I’ll end with something positive. After all, why bother writing this if the situation is hopeless? A lot of people shit on your newer music. I’m going to say I enjoyed both “Down to Earth” and “Black Rain.” I think both are fine, though definitely not timeless, albums. The music is still there, you just need to regrow those balls and say fuck the world for all of us awkward young men that can’t think of ways to say it for ourselves again. I believe it’s still buried in you somewhere and I look forward to you making an album that makes the world remember just what a badass Ozzy Osbourne truly is. Just please change the damn album name.

Still Got It

2010-01-10T23:05:00.000-08:00

I know I haven’t written in a while and I feel just terrible about it. Some of my faithful readers might just assume that’s because I’ve run out of stories about me making a giant ass out of myself in front of women. I’m here tonight to tell you that this is just not true. In an effort to prove this point, I’ll tell the tale of me going to see Reel Big Fish with my good buddy Wyatt.
The day started off with me working at 6 in the morning and therefore not getting nearly enough sleep the night before. In fact, I was so out of it when my alarm went off (and god knows what kind of dreams I was having for this to happen) that the first thought that ran through my head was “I don’t have to go to the opera tonight,” and I hit the snooze button, rolled over and went back to sleep.
I got off work at about 2 in the afternoon and Wyatt came over at about 3:30. He brought with him a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a twelve pack of coke. We went right to work and polished off the bottle. My roommate Veronica, noticing that we were already way past a sociable level of intoxication, offered to drive us to the concert in downtown Boise.
I remember leaning against the bar in the Knitting Factory, drinking a beer, and talking Wyatt into inviting a young lady across the room to come have a drink with us. After a little persuasion, Wyatt went over to her. He came back seconds later. Our first rejection of the evening. A few beers later, a tall drink of water and her slightly less attractive friend came and stood to Wyatt’s left. I told him he should offer to buy a round of shots (of course with me included in that round) for the ladies. He wasn’t too confident in his ability to broach the subject with the girls, so I gave him a pep talk and we even rehearsed it a couple times. Finally, he worked up the confidence and leaned over.
“Excuse me, ladies…”
The Amazonian immediately laughed and said “Line ‘em up. We heard your guys’ whole conversation.” Wyatt seemed a little embarrassed, but I laughed as well. The girls thought we were hilarious. Here’s where the night gets a little fuzzy at times.
I’m not sure how many beers we consumed, or really what bands were playing (I believe there two or maybe three opening acts) but I talked with the tall girl for some time and even made a painfully awkward attempt at dancing with her. Wyatt was meanwhile having the time of his life dancing in the middle of the aisle by himself, obstructing the paths of several people. After a little while, I suppose I got bored or something. But I felt I needed to make a big play.
“So, do you want to make out or anything?” The words slurred out of my mouth so badly that I wasn’t even convinced I said anything real. She got the message though. And she didn’t really like it.
“I can’t believe you just said that. That really is just ridiculous.” She then left and went about her evening. I didn’t think I’d see her again, though she did come back a while later and buy me a beer. I’m guessing out of sheer pity at that point.
Towards the end of the evening, when I assume Reel Big Fish was performing, a small group of ladies came into my vicinity and I chatted them up as well. They didn’t seem too offended and one even danced with me a little. Though not in a very provocative way. As soon as I noticed there was no more music I asked the blond girl in the group for her phone number.
“I’m married.”
I didn’t argue the point and went about my way. Somehow, Wyatt and I got a hold of Veronica and Jasper and they were nice enough to pick us up and drive us home. I tried recounting my story to them but I believe in my drunken state it just came off as more sad then funny. I got home and almost immediately went upstairs and passed out. Wyatt would later ask Jefferson to punch him in the face. When Jefferson politely declined, Wyatt passed out. Our hangovers the next day were not a pretty sight.

A little baseball rant

2009-09-30T21:09:00.001-07:00

"is very proud of the Angels celebrating with Adenhart's picture in Centerfield and pouring champaigne on his jersey. Now that's a classy team........Sorry Dodger fans, but you cannot honestly tell me the Dodgers have that much class!!!!"

This was posted by a friend of mine on Facebook. I left his name out because I don't feel it's important, but I wanted to address the bigger issue here. I think this represents the biggest problem with sports and to a larger extent sports fans. I'll go through a few points here to voice my displeasure.

1.) Does it really make anybody feel any better about the fact that Nick Adenhart died (http://sports.espn.go.com/mlb/news/story?id=4055343) because the Angels poured champagne on his jersey (which by the way could be read as rather tasteless considering he was killed by a drunk driver, but that's not really important either) when the Dodgers didn't celebrate the same exact way with their hypothetical dead teammate?

2.) Do we really believe that the Dodgers wouldn't have honored their fallen teammate in some way had their season unfolded as the Angels' had?

3.) Let's pretend for a moment that the Dodgers don't "have that much class." Does the Angels organization inherently have more class then the Dodgers? For instance, if we were to put Matt Kemp in an Angels uniform, would he suddenly gain class? Or is that the Angels just magically found the 25 classiest people in baseball and somehow signed them all to their team? When Bobby Abreu takes off his Angels uniform does he magically become the same guy that Phillies fans complained about not hustling just a few years ago?

4.) It's important to remember that this day in age that team loyalty only actually exists with the fans (If you want to attack the Dodgers fan base then that's another story, though still extremely flawed. I'll be the first to admit the atmosphere at Dodger Stadium is not what it used to be, but a few thousand rowdy fans hardly condemn an entire fan base). Players don't have loyalty anymore, not because they're bad people or have less class then players from earlier days, but because they have more options and choose to exercise their rights to pursue what they're worth.

5.) I need to reiterate this because it often gets lost. There is no Dodgers-Angels rivalry! I'm not saying this to shit on the Angels organization or to deem them unworthy of a rivalry with the Dodgers, they run a very good organization and deserve every win they get because of it. The reason I say this is that rivalries don't exist when two teams play in different leagues and have no history of playing important post-season games against each other. If and when the Angels and Dodgers play each other in the World Series (though really it would take a few times within a relatively short amount of time) then we can start talking rivalry.

I'm done ranting for now. I hope this makes some sense. My goal is just to show that it's okay to be passionate about your team, but when your sole purpose as a fan is to hate another team rather then love your team, then I think you're missing the point. It's a fucking kids game guys. Let's try not to lose sight of that.

Now, if the Dodgers won't get their heads out of their asses and clinch this goddamn division, I'm gonna go take a shit on Angels jersey.

New project

2009-08-24T18:24:00.000-07:00

Alright, so I'm over writing about drugs. Well not really, but I'm over writing about only drugs. I've decided that it's time for me to start working on that ever-elusive novel I've been talking about for a very long time. So, my new project is that I will start posting the chapters of the novel as I write them. I'll update as often as I possibly can. This first one is kind of a prologue. It sort of sets up the idea (kind of) and buys me some time to do some real writing. Anyway, without further ado, here goes.

The Legendary Inferno

Chapter 1

The first incarnation of the band, at least as far as I’m concerned, started with Mike and me. Oh, you could probably trace the roots back to the days of our punk band Disliked, or Dave, Casey and Erik’s untitled band they put together in Mammoth, but that’s probably just overkill. The name, and even to an extent the brand, was created by the two of us. So there was me playing guitar and there was Mike playing the drums. We were infinitely more interested in both the drinking and the mere creation of music than the artistry of writing songs. What we lacked in musicianship we made up for in ideas. W had endless ideas and were armed with the fact that we were completely convinced of our greatness.
Still, the story doesn’t start there. In fact, it doesn’t even start with Mike and me. It starts with me, a barely-graduated-from high school-burnout, slowly getting accustomed to the notion of failing out of community college. As always, there was a girl. A girl who saw me as the very face of Rock n’ Roll. To her I was the personification of the drunken rebellion, life above responsibility image that I had always desperately wanted to be but could never quite pull off.
So that’s where it begins, at a small community college in Moorpark, California, years before the Legendary Inferno would be formed. The only thing I wanted to do at the time was to get drunk and get laid. Come to think of it, not much has changed.

A Trip to the Moon

2009-08-14T17:58:00.000-07:00

It was Hallween of our junior year in high school and Casey, Mike, John and I decided that we would partake in some acid. Mike and John had already experienced it but Casey and I still had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. Still, we figured what better day to drop acid for the first time then Halloween? We all got the night off from our respective jobs (I actually quit mine as they wouldn’t give me the time off) and secured the drug from a stand-up gent at school. We got two hits a piece and headed over to Erik’s house to start the evening. His parents were going to a party or something that night, so we figured we had time to hang out, smoke some pot and let the acid kick in before we had to go somewhere else. It should be noted that for Halloween that year I had shaved a small mohawk into my hair and worn an old army jacket in an effort to look like Deniro from Taxi Driver. Meanwhile, Casey decided to dress like a 1970’s disco king. I don’t believe Mike or John dressed up at all.
So the four of us plus Erik and Charles (a very large and intimidating man, but sort of a gentle giant) sat in Erik’s room, smoking pot and waiting for the drugs to kick in and generally having a good time. I soon started noticing that something was different and decided to go downstairs to pee and collect my thoughts. After peeing I immediately noticed I was feeling great and felt the night was going to go perfectly. I exited the bathroom where a giant man-child jumped out of the shadows screaming at me and waving his arms in a threatening fashion. I grabbed the left side of my chest and fell to the floor silently. In a daze I hear Charles’ voice.
“Uh-oh.”
“What did you do, man?” Erik was now chastizing Charles. I slowly got up to let them know I’m alright and Erik helped me on my feet. “You shouldn’t fuck with them, dude. That’s just mean.”
Charles seemed to feel bad and all was forgiven. After that we decided it might be a good idea to go somewhere else. We got in John’s truck (I know he really shouldn’t have been driving at this point, but we were kids so lay off) and prepared to leave. At this point, Charles decided to jump in front of the small truck and start shaking it back and forth. The four of us crammed in the cab of his truck just stared in silent horror. We all collectively became convinced we were dealing with the Incredible Hulk and his rage had completely taken over. Once again Erik came to our rescue and escorted him away from the truck while apologizing to us.
The rest of the night is mostly fragmented memories for me. I remember sitting at the Del Taco for a while convincing Casey that we were going to find a party and have fun. He didn’t believe us and walked home. He later said that he spent the entire evening fucked out of his mind while watching old horror movies in utter terror. Then I remember sitting at the Taco Bell talking to my mom on the phone telling her I wouldn’t be home that night.
“I’m spending the night at Mike’s”
“Mike’s?”
“No, Casey’s.”
“So you’re spending the night at Casey’s then.”
“No, Mike’s.” This could have gone on all night but god bless my mother she just decided I would be alright and didn’t ask any more questions.
Next thing I remember Gina and Rosie had picked Mike and I up and drove us to Denny’s. Where John was at this point I really have no idea. I ate scrambled eggs and marveled at the fact that I couldn’t feel them going into my mouth and into my stomach. I ate about four plates of scrambled eggs. Then I remember being at a party with Mike. For some reason we were all alone in the backyard where there was a keg. We spent roughly a half hour trying to pour ourselves a cup of beer before we realized it was empty. However, there was a moon bounce there. Mike and I sat in that moon bounce, and jumped and had probably the best time of our lives. Somewhere there are pictures of us sitting in the middle of the bounce and looking like the crazies, happiest people in the world.
Finally, I remember sitting in Gina’s backyard around 5 in the morning, enjoying a blowpop, trying desperately to be quiet. Rosie was sitting next to me and I realized that Gina was trying to set me up with her, a very cruel thing to do to a kid with a head full of acid. We were sharing a blanket and she tried to cuddle with me. Lacking proper communication skills, I merely ripped the blanket away from her and went and sat about ten feet away (ironic because about 6 years later I would have sex with Rosie ). Then a dog came over and I shared my blowpop with the canine. I felt I was bonding with the dog.
I don’t really remember anything else. Though I know I slept for about 16 hours the next day.

How May Pots Have You Smoked?

2009-08-02T00:44:00.000-07:00

Everybody’s got that one friend who discovered drugs before his peers, and therefore became the authority on the subject. It was seventh grade and my friend Greg and I decided we wanted to get stoned for the first time and (we had both discovered alcohol months ago) and so we went to Brian. Brian was the guy that lived in a house that may or may not have contained his parents, I’m still not really sure to this day, and openly smoked pot at a very young age. I told Brian that I wanted a dime bag (yes, kids, there was such a thing in those days), and he said “Ok.” The three of us planned to meet in the wash, where interestingly enough I had been arrested a few years back for starting fires, and get high.
Brian delivered on his promise and got us the dime bag. However, he didn’t bring a pipe with him. We were forced to crush, bend and manipulate a soda can into a pipe. For those of you who don’t know of the can-pipe, this is like three steps down from the apple-pipe. For those of you who don’t know of the apple-pipe, well maybe you should stick to your church groups.
Not really knowing how to smoke from a pipe, especially one fashioned from an aluminum can, I struggled to get a quality hit in. After two or three bowls, I managed to get two or three decent hits in and felt a little light-headed. I believe Greg initially got the hang of it much better than me as there was one instance where he blew a respectable sized cloud of smoke into my face. To be honest, I don’t remember much about the rest of this day, except running across the street to the Rite-Aid in full traffic in a quest to obtain some much needed ice cream.
Here’s what I do remember: a couple weeks later Brian decided to give it another go. This time Greg sadly was not with us, but Brian did remember to bring a pipe and a fishing pole. It was raining that day and we went back into the wash (this was the haven of the drunken, stoned morons once upon a time) and smoke three or four bowls. We walked along the wash for an hour or two until we arrived at the Rancho Simi Park, the one with the fishing pond, and proceeded to cast out our line. We fished for about 45 minutes and, since it was raining so hard and the fish weren’t biting, decided to call it a day. We went back into the wash to start our trek home.
At this point, I was incredibly stoned. I was like the kid in the ABC Family movie that gets stoned for the first time and has absolutely no control over his actions and is destined to do something completely moronic. Perhaps I should explain the wash for the readers who are confused. It consists of two rocky sidewalks running parallel with each other, with diagonal walls running into a flat surface in the middle where a small stream carries water and waste to the dump. When it rains, this small stream turns into a very large, fast moving stream.
So, as we were walking I decided I would do a high wire act by the edge of one of the rocky sidewalks. Brian didn’t think this was a good idea.
“Stay away form the edges, man. You’re stoned and it could be dangerous.”
“Fuck that, man. I’ve got complete control.” Not 15 seconds passed from the time I said this statement until I slipped and was tumbling down one of the walls. I was slipping and trying in vain to grab ahold of anything on the slick walls. Brian dived to the edge and reached out his arm.
“Take my hand!” he shouted and I complied. Though my hand fell a little short and he grabbed the sleeve of my green, old-man sweater that I had found in my fathers’ closet and liked because it resembled the sweater Kurt Cobain wore in the unplugged video. After a few seconds of frantic scrambling he managed to grab my hand.
“I’m not gonna let you die, man!” He shouted at me again, and I responded by laughing. The whole situation was rapidly becoming very funny to me. My foot found a slight crevice and I was able to gain my footing and, with Brian’s help, I was able to pull myself back up. We lay down on the gravel and laughed like idiots for what seemed like hours. Finally, we got up and walked home. We went first to the 7-11 and got some sodas to appease our extreme cotton-mouths, and then decided to call it a day. I went home and contemplated a new life of getting high and doing stupid shit.
I don’t really talk to Brian anymore, though when I do inevitably one of us will bring up the day he saved my life. Last I heard he was a tweeker and he had a kid, but I still owe the guy my life. So, basically if the guy needs me for anything I’m there for him.

A Journey Begins

2009-07-03T16:32:00.000-07:00

Part 1

When I was in sixth grade I had already embraced the idea of drug use. The D.A.R.E. program in fact had a reverse effect on me. It made me want to get high. Even the horrible tales of drug use excited me as I had learned by then that the best stories that humans tell are ones based on the horrible things we do or are done to us. You could say that from the beginning I was into the drugs for the stories.
The thing is, though, I didn’t now what drugs were. I didn’t know what they looked like, tasted like, or how to ingest them. I also, obviously, had no idea where to get them. My confusion was so complete that when one kid brought a pot leaf to school and showed it to the fellas, I didn’t understand how that was supposed to get you high. That night I couldn’t sleep as I tried to wrap my brain around the thing (In hindsight, the kid with the pot leaf didn’t really know either as he and a friend ended up simply rolling it up and trying to smoke it.)
My friend Chris was very likeminded. We used to discuss getting high all th etime and even tried smoking a cinnamon stick once (yes you read that right) to achieve our goal. One day, before school I filled a small ziploc bag with several Actifed pills from my mothers’ medicine cabinet. When I got to school, I showed them to Chris and we thought we were finally going to accomplish this great task. We each popped three or four of those bad little fuckers. Of course, within an hour we weren’t at all high, just extremely drowsy as the warning label suggests might happen. We were falling asleep at our desks in class and Chris became convinced he was going to die (first drug freak out, man) and told a couple girls what we had done.
By lunch time Chris and I were in the principals office desperately trying to talk our way out this predicament to the principal, a couple cops, and our parents. Chris told a story about his cousin and her drug use and started crying. When asked my side I simply replied:
“I had a cold.”
“Why did you give some to Chris then?”
“He had a cold too.”
Naturally, they didn’t believe me at all, but I learned an extremely important lesson that day. When you’re lying to get out of trouble, even if you’re caught dead in the water, stick to that lie. Clint to it for dear life because even if the cops and the principals and the teachers and the parents of the world don’t want to admit it, they’ll respect you for it. Shit, I only got grounded for like two days.

Onward and Upward

2009-07-02T19:29:00.000-07:00

I realize I left my loyal readers hanging with no second part to the last story and for that I am sorry. I've decided to change directions though, for a little while at least. You see, one of the main reasons I've been lagging between posts lately, in addition to the laziness and my overall lack of ambition and maybe a slight drinking problem, is that it has become increasingly hard for me to delve into the failed love stories of my life. For a guy that is as unsuccessful with the ladies and relationships in general, it can be pretty painful to constantly be trying to remember the exact details of how shit went awry.

With that in mind, I am going to be writing nothing more than humorous tales over the next month or so in an effort to lift my spirits a little. The first series will focus on (what else?) drugs. I've been thinking about what drug tales would be most interesting without getting too redundant. The conclusion I've come to is that I'll write about my first and my last experience with each drug I've experimented with at some point in my life. Everything from alcohol to Zoloft, it'll all be here. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and I'm sorry for being a bit of a sad bastard. Tomorrow, you can expect my charming, witty self to emerge once again.

A New Bar, A New Girl

2009-06-21T00:47:00.000-07:00

Part 27A

I like bars. To anybody who knows me this probably doesn’t come as much of a shock. It’s also no secret that my favorite bar in Simi Valley was the Treehouse. Soon, though, even before it closed, we decided to find a new bar as the Treehouse was starting to lose its luster. I had to find a new bar. Luckily, there’s a small hole-in-the-wall bar on Los Angeles and Tapo called PC’s. So, one Thursday, after a brief warm-up round at Chuy’s, we stopped by. Inside I felt at home immediately. Old drunks were littered about the place, there was a smoking patio where you can take your drink, and the bartender is a well-dressed older gentleman who freely hands out life advice.
On that first visit, we sat down at a table in the front row. The young, good-looking karaoke host looked over at me and smiled excitedly and ran over to me to give me a welcoming hug.
“Hey, stranger, it’s been a long time!” She said to me. Now here’s a moment of perfect honesty: I didn’t’ actually know for sure who she was at this time. I knew she was either Hillary, a girl whom I shared several mutual friends with in high school but never really got to know, or a girl named Julia, who of course we used to refer to as “Julia Gulia.” Being the drunken moron that I am I have developed quite the skill at dragging along a conversation with someone I can’t remember until they give me sufficient clues as to who they are. So I soon figured out she was indeed Hillary. She was quite impressed, though admittedly factiously, by the fact that I got medical benefits from my place of employment. We had a nice conversation that night and I resolved to continue it at a later date.
PC’s soon became our regular hangout on Thursday and Saturday nights (not surprisingly those were the nights that Hillary worked). Hillary and I would always engage in conversation and, I believe, flirt. One evening, after learning that she had recently returned from college in Berkeley, I learned that she had not experienced the same Simi Valley I had growing up. We made a date (though possibly just a play-date) for me to show her around town. On the day in question, she called me and informed me that she was not feeling well and had to bail on our day together. Later that night in a drunken stupor I bitched to my roommate Victoria that I would in all likelihood never get laid again. She smiled politely as I bored her with the details of my sad depressing life.
Soon, Hillary and I rescheduled our date and, according to her I gave the first hint that this was more than just two friends hanging out. I told her that she “better pretty herself up for me.” Though to be fair, I’ve said the same thing to Jefferson McCool on many occasions.
On our date we went to the batting cage, the driving range, got ourselves some root beer floats at the A&W and had dinner at Palermo. We then shot pool at a local pool hall until it was time for me to pick up Jefferson from work (that’s right, it needed to be said that you interrupted my date) and then the three of us enjoyed a few beers at the Treehouse. Our second date, among other things, we hiked along a golf course where she relieved herself into the hole on the 13th green.
Still, I was having trouble taking it to the next level. Over a few beers I tried to explain the complications to Jefferson.
“So what’s the story on Hillary?” Jefferson asked me.
“Here’s the problem. She’s great, and we get along and have a lot of fun together. But I just can’t close the deal.”
“You’re just pussying out or what?”
“Well, she doesn’t drink.”
“Oh fuck. Yeah, I don’t know what to tell you. That’s a tough one.”

Over the next couple weeks I had essentially come to grips with the fact that, once again, I was to become the mayor of friendville. Then, finally I caught a break. One night at the bar she worked at, for some inexplicable reason (at least according to my shitty memory) she was drinking on the job. She didn’t drink often, so after a few girly drinks she became quite suggestible. (Side note: I need to point out here that she was dating another dude, though not anything completely serious). Jefferson and I offered up the idea to keep the party rolling at his apartment and she agreed. On the ride home, Jefferson (like always) rode shotgun and Hillary rode in the backseat. He questioned her as to why she had never made out with me and why she was into this other dude when Danny Cerullo here was the nicest man in the world. He may not be the most subtle man in the world, but I challenge you to find a better wingman. She didn’t seem to have an answer.
Back at the apartment, Hillary and I were frantically making out on the couch, much to the disgust of Jefferson and his lady, who was visiting for the weekend. Soon we moved into Richard’s bedroom, who was never there because he was out with his lady in Hollywood (Another side note: Richard ended up marrying that wonderful lady so I feel we both won in this situation.). We fooled around in his bed for quite some time and by the time the sex commenced it was around 4:30 in the AM. She was on top and it was a lot of fun, though after about 10 minutes or so I noticed the gyration had slowed and then came to a complete stop. I looked up at her face: she was fast asleep. I wasn’t offended in the least and, being the wonderful man I am, allowed her to sleep though it became increasingly uncomfortable for me throughout the night. I didn’t get a second of sleep that night, but I felt it was well worth it. The next day at work I bored Maria with the intricate details of my sexcapades to the point where she asked me to please stop and go home early.

The Day I Fucked My (Honorary) Little Sister

2009-06-01T14:25:00.000-07:00

Part 26

Clint and I had been out on the town, and decided to stop by Hudon’s Bar and Grill for a few drinks. Don’t look for it, it doesn’t exist anymore. Hudson’s was more restaurant than bar, but if you could get past that then you could enjoy long island iced teas for about two bucks a pop. As soon as we walked in Clint saw a table full of girls whom he knew. That’s the thing about Clint, due to his natural good looks, athleticism, and charisma, he seems to know girls everywhere I go with him. Then, I usually proceed to play the funny, likeable but ultimately unfuckable friend while he works his magic. At any rate, we sat down with these girls and ordered our beverages. Almost immediately, I struck up a conversation with a young lady named Nicky, who actually seemed pretty into me. My self-deprecating jokes were rolling. I didn’t actually think I had any chance at laying her, but I was having fun anyway so I didn’t mind.
After about an hour, I noticed two old friends from high school, Rosie and James, had come into the establishment. I went over and invited them to our table. Throughout high school, my entire group of friends considered Rosie our honorary little sister. She was small and always came off as very timid. Aaron Behar was once quoted as saying, “The first person who ever fucks Rosie, I’m going to have to punch in the face just out of principle.” James was the guy everyone knew was gay but he never came out until after high school. He was also very small and timid in high school, but now seemed much more outgoing and had also bulked up considerably. They came to our table and we all caught up and laughed about the old times. Clint, the ultimate alpha male, seemed to feel threatened by the newly bulked up James, and started playfully pushing and punching him. At one point, James pulled Rosie and myself aside.
“I think Clint thinks that because I have muscles now that I’m tough. He’s hurting me though.” Rosie and I laughed our asses off.
Another problem with Hudson’s that it closed early. So, at about midnight, they kicked us out. I got my new friend Nicky’s phone number and said goodbye to her. I then invited Clint, Rosie and James over to my apartment since my roommate was out of town. They all agreed, Rosie and James would follow Clint and me in their car. By this time, Clint was incredibly drunk and told me all about how he was going to fuck Rosie. I laughed and wished him good luck.
Back at my apartment we started to drink more and catch up on old times. James proceeded to smoke him and Clint a few bowls of the pot. Within a few minutes, Clint excused himself from the room. He went straight into my room and passed out on my bed. I went and nudged him and explained to him that I was going to pass out soon and that he should sleep somewhere else but he merely groaned and went back to sleep. I went out back to the living room where James was now sleeping on the couch. I sat with Rosie for a few minutes and we talked. Then I had an epiphany.
“Hey, I’m gonna go pass out in my roommates bed. Care to join me?” I asked her politely. She nodded her consent. We had some fabulous, sloppy sex in my roommates bed, where I noticed that my former little sister had developed quite the pair of breasts. Afterwards, I bored her to tears by describing Kirk Gibson’s famous homerun in great detail. After a few hours we heard James scuffling around the apartment shouting that he was going to go home and if Rosie wanted a ride she should probably go with him. She got out of bed and I walked her to the door naked. We said goodbye.

The next day I called Mike to tell him all about my night.
“So, I had sex with Rosie last night.” I told him. He was silent for a moment.
“Okay, tell me the story.”
I proceeded to tell him all the sloppy details. Again, he was silent for a moment.
“Okay, I can’t believe you did that. I’m going to hang up on you right now, because I can’t talk to you. I want you to think about what you did, and I’ll call you later.” Mike was a little upset because he felt just as protective of her as any of us. I called Erik afterwards though, and he was quite impressed and thanked me for such a wonderful story. You’re welcome.

The Scariest Thing I Encounted on Halloween was Remo

2009-05-29T19:10:00.000-07:00

Sorry for how long this took me, but expect regular updates from here on out for the summer. Also, I apologize for the length, but I felt it needed to be long to capture the essence of this magical evening.

Part 25

Halloween fell on a Tuesday that year. The parties had taken place the previous weekend so Jefferson, Remo and I found ourselves drinking at the Treehouse with a handful of lonely old drunks. The bar lacked any festive qualities for the holiday. In fact, only one person in the entire bar was dressed up, and that was a fifty year-old lady who had a grass skirt and a coconut bra. She was visibly intoxicated and we spent a good portion of the evening chuckling from afar as she danced away by herself.
The night went normal for most of the night. Jefferson and I split numerous pitchers of cheap domestic beer, while Remo sipped happily from his imported brew. I think we were all a little burnt out that night and enjoying being low-key. I find that it is when one has this attitude when the night usually gets very interesting.
Around closing time the coconut bra lady, let’s just call her Delilah for arguments sake, approached me and asked if it was possible for me to give her a lift home. Me, being the giving and generous young man I am, obliged.
“Where do you live?” I asked her.
“Moorpark.” She replied as if it wasn’t a big deal. Moorpark is right next to Simi Valley but at the time I was living in Granada Hills and Jefferson, who I had to drop off, was living in Canoga Park. This was a good deal out of my way and it was about 1:30 in the AM, so you could bet the cops would be out. Still, I had told her I would so I decided to just suck it up. As we walked out to the car Remo pulled me aside.
“Danny, I don’t think you should drive her home.”
“Don’t worry, Remo. I’m not too drunk I’ll be alright.”
“No, that’s not it. She’s probably got a group of guys waiting for you at her house and they’re gonna jump you and rob you.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Remo? Rob me for what?”
“I just don’t like this situation.” Remo was sincere. “Look, I’ll follow you. I’ve got a baseball bat in my trunk, if she tries anything we’ll be ready.”
I agreed to let him follow us, if only to appease him. Jefferson, and our new lady friend got in my car and off we drove, with Remo following not so subtly behind us. For the first few minutes of the drive Jefferson was silent. When Jefferson is silent, one gets the feeling it’s like the calm before the storm. Sure enough, once we got to the freeway he was coming on to Delilah pretty heavily. He suggested we get some beer and drink at her house for a while. Even though I knew this was a terrible idea that could only lead to disaster compounded with the fact that I had to work in the morning, I agreed for some reason. We stopped at a Vons and Jefferson and Delilah went inside to purchase the beverages. Remo parked a few spots down from me and got out and came over to my car.
“What are you guys doing, are you okay?”
“Yeah, we’re fine. We’re just picking up some beer.”
“You guys are really playing with fire here, you know.”
“Relax, Remo. Nobody’s dying tonight.” I told him. Remo walked back to his car, opened his trunk and held up his bat for me to see. I nodded and smiled. He got back in the car and waited.

Fifteen minutes later we were at her house and things started getting weirder and weirder. The house was a mess, the kind of mess that suggested that she had recently moved in. There were pictures of a little girl all over the place. She told us that the government had taken her daughter away. I assumed it’s because she’s an unfit mother, but Remo thought maybe it was the CIA. Then Jefferson and Remo decided to convince this poor lady that they were porn producers (Remo may be extremely paranoid of government conspiracies but he enjoys fucking with people as much as the next guy as well) and that Jefferson was a millionaire.
“You could be in one of my movies, you know?” Jefferson told her.
“Really? I don’t know if I could have sex on camera though.”
“Well, I’ll bet you’re a really good actor. Maybe we can find a non-sex role for you or something.”
“I love acting. Can I perform something for you guys right now?”
“Of course.” We all agreed. Even I was intrigued at this point. She began to perform what I believe was a Saturday Night Live sketch, though I have no idea which one. She was dancing around and shouting when suddenly she began foaming at the mouth. Bubbly saliva started spilling out of her mouth and she was giggling uncontrollably. All of us got uncomfortable and we urged her to stop and calm down. She grabbed a bottle of pills from a nearby table and ate it. We inquired as to what that pill was.
“They’re my happy pills.” She informed us. Jefferson and I each asked for some. She handed us three each. I took the bottle from her and read the label: Zoloft. We popped them anyway, though Remo politely declined and scorned us for taking them.
When she left to go to the bathroom, Remo turned on us.
“There’s gotta be money in this house. How do you think she pays for this shit? I’m telling you, she’s set up by the mob or something.”
“Remo, try to relax. There’s no money here.”
“All I’m saying is I’m trying to make a score here and you guys are getting high?”
“Take it easy, Corleone.” I said. Still, Jefferson and Remo decided to go explore the house. They told me to distract Delilah when she came back in. I was left alone to contemplate what I had gotten myself into. The pills were also making me incredibly nauseous.
Delilah came back in and asked where everybody went.
“I think they went to the bathroom.” Was all I could think of. She walked over to me and smiled.
“I like your eyes.”
“Thank you.” I was not happy, and was about ready to kill Jefferson and Remo.
“Can you kiss me?”
I looked around and hoped my friends would come back into the room. No such luck. I leaned in and kissed her, her lips were dry and cracked and wrinkled like I imagined my grandmothers’ would be. Then she slipped her tongue in. I prayed this would be over soon.
The boys walked back into the room and I pulled away from her. Jefferson looked ill and Remo looked disappointed.
“I think we better take off.” Jefferson said. We all agreed and we left. Not before Jefferson poured most of the bottle of Zoloft into his jacket pocket for some reason. Years later, he would put that jacket on and find those pills and remember this night. She said goodbye and to keep in touch. We nodded without looking at her. Before we drove off Remo pulled me aside one last time.
“Danny, I still think there’s money in this house and I’m gonna come back later and find it. Now, I know you like to tell stories but keep your mouth shut about this one or you’ll blow it.”
“Alright, Remo. Go home.”
We got in the car and drove off. Jefferson did not look well and sure enough as soon as we got on the freeway, he leaned his head out the window and threw up Delilah’s happy pills and about 20 beers onto the 118. This made me remember just how nauseous I was and the vomit started rising up in me. I choked it down and focused on the road. Somehow, I got Jefferson home. He rolled out of the car, mumbled something that sounded like “Can you give me a ride to work on Thursday?” and stumbled into his apartment. I drove off and got home safely. I parked, ran upstairs, into the bathroom and threw the night up into the toilet and promptly flushed it down. Work was awesome the next day.

You Ain't Heard the Last of me

2009-04-24T20:25:00.000-07:00

I know I haven't posted in quite a while. I assure you I am not done posting, nor am I even close to out of ideas. The thing is I'm a giant moron and decided to pursue a degree in creative writing. As you might imagine, this involves a lot of writing. The semester ends in just a couple weeks and I will have a ton more time to write fun stories about my inadequacies. Starting somewhere in the earlier part of mid-May there will be regular updates once again. Thank you, my faithful reader.

Kings of Vegas part 2: Dethroned

2009-03-05T18:29:00.000-08:00

Part 24

We arrived at Harrah’s and walked towards the elevator. I spotted two scantily clad girls going in the same direction and my inebriated brain immediately judged them as hookers.
“Let’s go to the bar first and get a drink.” I urged. My friends all agreed, they didn’t want to deal with this any more than I did. After a round of well-deserved whiskey-cokes, we headed up to our room to enjoy our newly bought blow.
Back in the room we polished off the drugs and were feeling pretty good about ourselves. We beat the cops, the drug dealers and the hookers. Sure, we weren’t the Roman army or anything, but in our own way we had conquered Vegas.
There was a knock at the door. We all went silent. I made eye contact with Casey and Aaron and there was an immediate and inherent understanding that we would just pretend that we weren’t there. Pete had other ideas. He opened the door.
“Hello there, welcome to the party.” Only one girl came in.
“Hi guys, my friend’s running a little late.” She smiled at each of us individually. She was pretty decent looking. Dark hair, dark features, big ol’ boobs. She also appeared to be very young though I’m quite sure she was eighteen. Casey still disagrees with me on this one, but fuck him. She came in and sat down on the edge of the bed and asked who the birthday boy was. All my friends awkwardly pointed to me. She came over and sat on the edge of the bed I was sitting on and looked me in the eye.
“So what do you want, baby?” She smiled at me. Casey had heard enough and decided to leave the room and Pete quickly followed him. Aaron made no effort to leave. He just laid on the other bed in the room.
“Let’s pretend for a second I don’t really have the money for two of you. What would happen then?” I asked my lovely new friend.
“I could call and cancel the other girl if you’d like.”
“Yeah, I think that would be best.” I looked over at Aaron who laughed at our patheticness. I tried my best not to do the same. She made a brief call, then hung up and focused her attention on me.
“So what do you want?”
“I don’t really know how this works. What are my choices?”
She quoted me $300 and that I was guaranteed to “have a good birthday” for that price. I looked over at Aaron who knew I didn’t have that kind of money. It was at that moment that I decided for better or worse, I was going through with this thing. I handed Aaron my credit card and told him to go get an advance for me. He reluctantly took the card and left the room. The lady and I sat in awkward silence for a few minutes as we were waiting for Aaron to get back. She then excused herself to the bathroom. I was left alone to contemplate what I had gotten myself into. Finally, Aaron came back with the money in hand. He gave it to me and then took his place back on the bed, again making no effort to leave. When Charlotte the Harlot came out of the bathroom I handed her the money.
She set a clock radio alarm for fifteen minutes and took off most of her clothes. She danced for about a minute or two and then proceeded to take my pants off. Now, some combination of coke, booze and downright terror, I was as limp as the day I was born. It took her about 7 or 8 minutes to get me to a semi-erect state. She then went down on me (over a condom) and all I could do was force myself not to look at Aaron because I knew I would burst into laughter. The silence was palpable. Finally the alarm went off and she looked at me with genuine sympathy in her eyes.
“I wanted you to cum.”
“Yeah, I did too, but I guess things don’t always work out.”
She put her clothes on and left the hotel room. I pulled my pants back on and Aaron and I sat in awkward silence for a few minutes.
“I know you’re probably feeling like shit right now, but I’ll tell you this. You’re not doing too bad in the Johnson department.” Aaron finally said to me. I looked over at him and we both burst into horrible fits of laughter. We called Casey and Pete back up to the room.

We woke up in the late afternoon the next day. Casey looked over at me.
“Do you have any money left?”
“Some, but I spent way too much.” I replied. We agreed that although we were booked another day, it was best to just cut our losses and head home. The drive home we talked very little. We just listened to heavy metal. It turns out we hadn’t conquered anything.

The Kings of Vegas

2009-02-17T18:04:00.000-08:00

Part 23

It was my 25th birthday and Casey and I decided to do the one thing that had eluded all of our previous birthdays: a Vegas trip. Casey was even nice enough to drive and spring for the hotel. Behar and Shitty lived in Vegas at the time so we planned to hang out with them. Our old friend Pete was even temporarily staying with them so there would be five of the old crew hitting the town together. To this day I believe I’ve been to Vegas with Casey more times than with anybody else I know. So we know the drill. The first night is usually spent drinking until the sun comes up and then we lick our wounds during the day and plan to do it again the next night. The next night almost inevitably is a disappointment due to a lack of funds and functioning brain cells. This time we decided to add a new element to our adventure. We bought two grams of coke. The plan was to teach Vegas a lesson that it would never forget. Ah, how plans fail.
We arrived at our Hotel, Harrah’s, in the early evening and our three friends met us there. We got a couple drinks in the bar and caught up then bought a bottle of rum in the gift shop and went up to the hotel room to get loaded before we really hit the town. Once in the room, Casey started chopping up the drugs. At first we were trying to keep it a secret from Pete because he had had a previous addiction and we were not so much concerned about ruining his progress but rather that he’d totally relapse and snort us right out of a good time. But Pete found out rather quickly and assured us he didn’t want any. So we finished the vile white powder and the bottle of rum and left our room to seek out the American Dream. I made an offhand comment about finding a hooker at some point.
Over the next several hours we walked around the strip, stopping at every bar we came to and got a drink. We sat at blackjack tables for a while and enjoyed the complimentary beverages. For anybody without any coke experience (good for you) there is something you should know. While experiencing this specific high, alcohol goes down like water, seemingly without having any effect on you. You don’t have any idea you’re at all intoxicated, and then it all slams on you at once. You’re suddenly really fucked up. This is where we found ourselves. While wandering the strip aimlessly, Pete randomly passed me his cell phone.
“Here are those ladies you wanted.”
I took the phone, a little confused and unable to comprehend what was happening.
“Hello?”
“Hi, baby. I understand you want a girl to come up to your room.” Her voice was very kind.
“I sure do.”
“Okay, would you like one or two?”
“I think two sounds better than one, don’t you?”
“That sounds great. They’ll be there in 45 minutes.”
“I can’t wait.” I hung up the phone and passed it back to Pete. I was vaguely aware that I had just agreed to have two prostitutes come up to my hotel room, where I would somehow have to pay them. I was also vaguely aware, however, that our hotel room was more than 45 minutes away. I figured it would all just work itself out. All the same I decided I needed more coke if I was going to possibly have to face a couple ladies of the night. Walking down the strip towards Harrah’s we came across a large black man who offered us some weed.
“We don’t need any of that. You got any coke?” I asked.
“You know it, son. How much you want?” He was nervously looking all around.
“Just a gram should do. Forty right?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He held out his hand and I handed him forty dollars. He handed me back a clump wrapped in cellophane. He quickly left and we, just as quickly, walked away in the other direction. I held the drugs in my hand, and the one hundred degree heat caused me to sweat pretty profusely. Soon my hand was coated in a pasty, coke powder. I licked my hand to catch a quick numbing sensation.

A quick side note about Casey (this will be important in a second, I promise). Casey is among my oldest friends in the world, and despite hanging out with me and other cretins and burnouts his whole life, he has managed to maintain a very clean image. Even to me, who has seen Casey drunker than shit, doing all kinds of drugs and participating in degenerate activities, like fucking his old lady in between a couple dumpsters in an alley behind a bar, this stuff never seems to touch him. He’s always seemed above it.

Casey grabbed my hand, saw the powder encrusted upon it, and slowly and deliberately licked the palm of my hand. Finally Casey had come down to our level, if only briefly. For me it was a magic moment, he probably wishes it had never happened. We continued on down the strip to our hotel, praying to God or somebody that we wouldn’t have to face a couple of money demanding hookers when we got there.

To be continued…

A Stand-up Guy

2009-01-18T19:04:00.000-08:00

Part 22

I had been doing stand-up comedy at a local bar for a few months and, although in hindsight I really wasn’t very good at the time, I usually got a pretty good crowd reaction. Most of my jokes referenced the fact that I physically resembled Jesus and that my greatest pain in life was that I was really into Jewish girls but they would never fuck me. Maybe not the most original or tasteless material you might say, but then I would say fuck off elitist. Jefferson ran the room and would put me up pretty much whenever I felt like performing. I was also working early mornings, like 4AM early, at a grocery store in Newbury Park. Though I would usually show up on average two hours late, it still made the night life difficult. I would get to the bar around 9PM, go on stage around 10:30, and then drink until closing. I was averaging about two hours of sleep a night. Still, the show must go on as they say, and I was convinced at some point my act would get me laid.
One night, Hailey was in town and came to see me perform. She brought her friend Theresa with her, who I’d known since Junior High though I hadn’t seen her in years. Theresa and I had once almost hooked up when we were 14 or so, but I was still terrified of the female gender at that point in time so nothing happened. After the show Hailey, Theresa and I caught up; it had also been a while since I’d seen Hailey. Theresa and I hit it off really well and soon were drinking and laughing like the old friends we were. Hailey later took me aside and explained to me that Theresa still had a little thing for me. Being socially retarded as I am, I find it difficult meeting new women so it’s much easier when someone I already know is into me. I exchanged numbers with Theresa and we agreed to hang out soon.
Our first date we went out for dinner and drinks. She learned of my shitty work schedule and I learned of her previous meth habit. It was clear that this relationship wasn’t going to work but we decided to give it a go anyway. Over the next couple weeks we hung out a few times, but usually I was just too tired to do much after work so I would take a nap and then head to the bar. I don’t think this schedule was great for her, as she wasn’t a huge drinker. We kept hanging out though because even though our conversations didn’t exactly set the world on fire, we still got along pretty well.
In our third week of dating we went for a walk in a park. It was fairly late at night so the only person around was a creepy old man who was fishing out of the local pond. We walked until we were far enough away from him where he couldn’t see us and sat down and began making out. It wasn’t a passionate make-out, instead more of an awkward, mandatory make-out. I got my hand up her shirt, but that was weird. She probably would’ve let me have her that night, but I never pushed it. There was no sexual attraction, and no booze to induce it. Eventually we got up and walked back to my car in silence. We only hung out one time after that and it was just as awkward. The relationship didn’t burn out, it just fizzled. There were never any hard feelings though, and I still send her an email every now and again to say hello. The situation also produced a comedy bit for me as well:

“Believe it or not, one time my act actually attracted a girl. After the show she came up to me and told me that she really liked my set. We hung out a few times but nothing ever really happened. After about a week, she broke it off. I was slightly upset about it, after all I am desperately lonely, so I asked her why. She told me it was because she really liked my act, where I am an awkward, self-deprecating guy with no ambition who drinks too much. Then I found out that’s just the way you are and there is no act.”

Three's Company

2009-01-16T18:15:00.000-08:00

Part 21

The four of us, Jefferson, Jasper, Helen and I, sat at a booth at Judge Roy Beans. Financial troubles had already begun to drive a rift between my 3 friends but the total falling out was still a couple months away. I had cut the sex out of my relationship with Helen out of fear it would become something I wanted no part of. For now though, the work day was over and the beer was flowing, so things were going well. When the buzz first hits, everything is great and everyone is happy. It’s not until the end of the night when the anger starts coming out.
The thing about living in a relatively small town like Simi Valley is that if you go to a bar, it’s inevitable you’ll run into several people you know. Many of these people you don’t want to see, like the jock that used to kick your ass in high school, or the girl you once asked out on a date only for her to pretend she didn’t hear you. Sometimes, though, someone shows up that you’re genuinely excited to see. A young lady named Harmony walked up to our table to say hello. She was an old friend of mine and Helens’. Also, she was quite hot. In high school, somehow Shitty had dated her for a while. I still have no idea how he pulled that one off, I guess maybe there’s more to him than I thought. Then again, we all did a lot of drugs in those days…
She sat in the booth between Helen and I and we ordered another pitcher. That pitcher turned into several and night wore on. I was in the middle of a debate with Jefferson and Jasper about the merits of statistical analysis in baseball, when Harmony interrupted.
“So, Helen and I were thinking that you, me and her could have a threesome tonight.” Her eyes were very seductive and I could immediately tell she wasn’t joking. Baseball was totally forgotten.
“That sounds like it would be a good time.”
“Well, neither of us have ever done that and we figured you’d be a good match.”
“Yeah, sure, I like it, when do we go?” My mind was trying to reminding me that I wasn’t supposed to have sex with Helen anymore, but I drained my glass of beer and silently told my brain to shut the fuck up. This was two girls at once.
It was decided that it would take place at Helen’s place in Canoga Park, which of course was also Jefferson and Jaspers’. Helen drove the two fellas and I rode with Harmony. The two of us made good time to the apartment and believed we beat our friends by quite a bit. So we waited outside.
“I really like to have sex in public places.” Harmony suddenly announced. Within seconds we were rolling around on the grass making out. Before anything could take place though, my phone rang. It was Helen.
“Where are you guys?”
“Oh are you home already?”
“Yeah, we’ve been here like 15 minutes.”
“Oh, we’re just waiting outside. We’ll come up right now, come get us.”
Soon we were in Helen’s room, wondering what to do next. The ladies suggested that it would be erotic if they started without me in the room and then I would come in as though I was crashing the party. I agreed, mostly because it would allow me to have another beer while I waited. I walked out into the living room where Jefferson sat alone, looking quite drunk. Jasper had already gone to bed.
“Hey, buddy.” He drunkenly said.
“What’s up, man. Mind if I join you for a beer before I go in there?”
“Sure. What did they kick you out or something?”
“Kind of, they felt more comfortable starting without me, I’ll join them in a minute.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, what an ordeal.”
“Well at least I get to have sex with two ladies, you know?”
“Yeah, it’s just too bad they’re both useless cunts.” Jefferson seemed to be in one of his drunken rages so I decided it was time to go into the room.

The sex was fun, though short. I did make it two times, and the first time I even lasted quite a while, but the second was over about as quick as when I was 18 years old. Harmony even commented:
“That was kind of quick for you.” She wasn’t trying to be mean or malicious, just observant. I tried to talk myself into a third time but none of our bodies were really up to it at that point. I left the room to find Jefferson still sitting on the couch.
“Hey, buddy, how was it?”
“It was a lot of fun.”
“Good, I wanted to stay up and make sure you had a good time.”
“Thanks, man. You can go to bed now, I think Harmony’s gonna drive me home now.”

On the drive home Harmony and I made out a little more. I once again apologized for being so quick the second time (I’m not sure why I was so concerned about it, nobody else was. Maybe it’s because I knew I could’ve done better.) She laughed and said she was actually impressed I was able to go a second time. She dropped me off at my house and we resolved to make another attempt at it sometime. We never did though.

The Continuing Saga of Dirty Diana

2009-01-05T22:22:00.001-08:00

Part 20

In those days I was out of work and I was living on unemployment. This amounted to roughly $440 a month, so things were right to say the least. To feed my ever-growing drinking problem I’d go to the Treehouse with different people as often as I could and I’d always make sure to buy the first pitcher. After that I would mooch off my unsuspecting friends for the rest of the night. When this tactic failed I’d find the loneliest looking girl on the dance floor and begin dancing like a complete asshole with her. Realizing she was suddenly part of a show, she would inevitably play along. The theory was that she’d be so thrilled to get the attention that she’d buy me drinks afterwards. If that failed then maybe some folks who was thoroughly entertained by the sheer spectacle of it al would spring for a round. Believe it or not, this worked more often than it didn’t.
One fine Wednesday evening, I was at the Treehouse with my sister, Clint, Helen, and Casey. Luckily, there was no need to con these people, they were just nice enough to feed me as much booze as I wanted. Also, they were too smart to fall for my stupid shit even if I tried. Casey and I had been drinking before going to the bar so Clint had picked us up. So I was carless.
We sat at a table by the bar, over-looking the dance floor. It was a slow night, but there was one lady dancing alone. She was older, probably in her forties, and haggard. Her hair was the kind of messed up that only comes from a week long drinking binge. She danced alone as in some kind of trance. Her eyes fixated on the ground as she moved awkwardly to the left and to the right. It was quite possibly the saddest sight I’ve ever seen. Casey, becoming more and more accustomed to me being his own personal clown, suggested I go dance with her. I’ve never been one to disappoint my friends if I can help it, so I obliged. I expected to walk out there, to a couple obnoxious moves such as the cowboy or the lawnmower, she’d look at me like I was an asshole, and I’d happily head back to the table and my beer. Instead, as soon as I stepped in front of her, she grabbed my ass and started gyrating her crotch against mine. I was surprised by this, but I managed to keep my cool and went with it for the sheer joke of it all. It went on and on, for multiple songs, until it got comfortable for everyone in the bar. At this point, however, the booze had taken over and I was into it. I pulled her around the corner and sat on a bench in front of the bathrooms and she stuck her tongue down my throat. We made out for a few minutes, then she looked at me with her beautiful lazy eye and said:
“Take me home.”
“Well, that could be a problem seeing as how I live with my parents.” I was hoping she would suggest her place, but she just stared at me. “How about a motel for the night?”
“That sounds perfect.”
“Okay, I need to talk my friend into giving us a ride.”
“Make it happen.”
I walked over to Clint and told him my situation. He looked at me like I had just fucked a young donkey. Pure disgust. He told me no. I reminded him of the code (for the female readers out there, the male code is simple: you must do everything in your power to help your buddy get laid when the opportunity presents itself). Clint reluctantly accepted. Helen intervened and tried to talk me out of it.
“Look, Danny, if you’re that horny I’ll have sex with you tonight.”
“I’ve already had sex with you, I wanna try something new.” I realize this wasn’t the nicest thing to say, but I don’t have the energy to defend myself. My sister shook her head, clearly disappointed in the life choices of her kid brother. It was at this moment when an older gentlemen, who had been sitting alone at the bar drinking glass after glass of straight whiskey, decided to chime in.
“We got a name for her around here, you know? We call her Dirty Diana.” He then turned back to his drink and said nothing more. My friends and I were silenced. We all looked around at each other in disbelief. Clint broke the silence first.
“Code or no code, I’m not dropping you off at the motel 6 with some broad named Dirty Diana.”
“Yeah, you got a point.” There was no sense in arguing, I was beat. I decided not to tell her I wasn’t taking her anywhere and instead sat back at the table and had an enjoyable, if uneventful, rest of the evening. Within minutes she was back on the dance floor, seemingly forgotten all about me.

note: the title of this blog contains two song title references. One is very easy, the other slightly more obscure. Who can guess both?

A Casual Casualty

2008-12-22T16:53:00.000-08:00

Part 19

On Thursday nights in a darkened alley in Canoga Park, CA the college kids gather at a couple bars that are within a couple doors of each other. Casey’s Tavern, which features a jazz band in which the average member is 65 years old, and the Scotland Yard which caters to the dread-locked, power-funk loving crowd. Some friends of mine and I would go most weeks in an effort to infiltrate the college life (a semester here and there of community college didn’t quite qualify my life as the “college experience”), also the drinks are exceptionally cheap.
One magical Thursday evening I met up with my friend Victoria, who would later become my roommate, who in turn had met up with her friend Jody. We started out at Casey’s, drinking two dollar whiskey-cokes until our hearts were content. Jodi and I hit it off pretty well, trading insults almost immediately. I consider the ability to flip shit with someone an important character trait. She also happened to have two, identical, physical characteristics I was particularly fond of as well. Nothing happened between us that night, bit we exchanged numbers and planned to hang out again the following week.
So the next week I met Victoria and Jodi at Casey’s again. They had already been there for a bit by the time I got there and Victoria had met a dude and was somewhat preoccupied. This left Jodi and I mostly alone to flirt and get drunk and get to know each other. Around closing time I drunkenly invited everybody, Victoria’s new dude included, to my (parents’) house for a nightcap. Everybody enthusiastically agreed, even though Victoria had her own apartment much closer.
Back at my place the rum and cokes started flowing and very quickly Victoria and her dude disappeared somewhere. Soon after, Jodi and I were making out and before I knew what happened we had just had sex in my parents’ backyard at about four-thirty in the morning. We both agreed it was a lot of fun and decided we should do it again some time. I got all three of them out of my house before my parents’ woke up to go to work and crashed out feeling pretty good about myself.
Over the next month or so I would frequently leave the bar a little early to meet up with Jodi, or go to her house when her mother left town, which she did frequently. We quickly found that we had very little in common and really didn’t even enjoy each other all that much. Still, the sex was great, I assume on both ends, so we continued. It was my first truly casual sexual relationship. I really liked our arrangement, but she soon tired of it and got back together with her boyfriend. Our last correspondence was a short series of text messages we sent each other while I was drunk and horny.
“Hey, what are you doing? I’m very drunk. Do you want to meet up somewhere and make out?”
“I don’t think my boyfriend would like that very much.”
“Who would date you?”
She never responded. I found out soon afterwards that she hated me, and would tell anybody who would listen, the extent of her hatred. I assume it was the rude text messages, but it could be something else; after all I was a drunken moron. As far as I know, she still hates me to this day. Jodi, if you read this: I was drunk and made a bad joke. I t happens all the time and I’m sorry.

The Short Happy Life of Danny Cerullo

2008-12-18T20:36:00.000-08:00

Part 18

As most of my friends grew up and either moved away or began acting like responsible adults, I began to run low on drinking buddies. Very few of my friends were ready to get ripped every night anymore. I knew I needed a new crowd to run with. Luckily, I worked at a movie theater full of degenerates. I struck up a friendship with Helen, who was my manager at the theater. I liked her because she seemed to enjoy my crass humor and the fact that she, despite me working in food service, never gave me shit about my long hair and my grotesque man-beard. It also happened that she was one of the few people there that were old enough to go to the bar with me. So we would go out drinking and she would invite me to the parties that the dumbass kids were throwing. I would show up, drink their booze and generally make an ass of myself. It is through Helen that I befriended Jasper and Jefferson McCool (they’re not brothers), and soon the three of us would form a beautiful trio of drunken nitwits. In fact at one point I overheard Jefferson telling his mother on the phone that he had finally met someone in L.A. that likes to drink as much as he does. The issue at hand, though, is Helen. I had many a good time with her, but (I know this is a constant theme of mine) all good things must come to an end.
I was at a party where Jefferson spent a large portion of the night putting peanut shells down the pants of a drunken girl whose ass was hanging out while sitting on Jasper’s lap, seriously this went on for an hour or more. Meanwhile, Helen had been drunk under the table by a kid who was all of sixteen years old in a shot contest. It was just another night of drunk fun, but then a curveball had to get thrown into the mix. A young man named Dennis, a card carrying member of the bro-patrol, came up to me and informed me that Helen was very into me.
“Really? I hadn’t even noticed.”
“Yeah, bro, a lot of dudes can’t tell when a chick’s into them.”
“Yeah, I guess so. I’m just not sure it’s a great idea.”
“Bro, she wants to fuck you. She even sent me to the store to get condoms for you guys.”
“You bought condoms for me to have sex? That’s fucking weird, dude. I guess there’s no way for me to turn that offer down now, since you went and did that.”
Soon I found myself alone in a bedroom with Helen having the sex. I would find out much later that a few of the theater kids were watching us threw the window. Afterwards, I got dressed, bid her good evening and went home.
A couple weeks later Helen told me she was having a couple people over at her fathers’ house, who was out of town. I went over there, case of beer in my hand, with Mike expecting some kind of party. Helen was alone and slightly annoyed that Mike was with me. We started drinking anyway and soon everyone was in high spirits. After the case was gone I went upstairs with Helen and we consummated again.

Jefferson, Jasper and Helen all got an apartment together out in beautiful Canoga Park, CA and I found myself drinking out there with them quite often over the next few months. Jefferson and I worked in a kitchen at a bar, and I would usually go over to their place after closing. Some nights I would follow Helen into her room at the end of the night and get my sex on. Before long, however, I was starting to get the sense that she was really into me. She had a lot more emotionally invested in this affair then I did. My good guy conscience started wearing on me. Casual sex is only good when both parties understand that it’s casual, I can’t condone using someone for sex. So I did the only thing I could think of and cut off the lovin’. She understood where I was coming from and took it well. Still, there were many nights at the apartment where she’d strongly hint that I should come into her room with her, and I’d have to pretend to pass out on their couch. Many of these nights got very awkward.
Jefferson, Jasper and Helen had a falling out that stemmed from money issues (isn’t that how all falling outs happen?). Like any kid whose parents are divorcing, life forced me to choose sides. I inadvertently chose Jeffersons and Jaspers. I didn’t talk to Helen for a long time. Years later I ran into her at a bar, on her birthday even, and we buried whatever hatchet that needed to be buried. I would run into her periodically before I moved. Upon hearing, from my then girlfriend, that I was moving up to Boise to live with Jefferson and Jasper, her response was simply:
“Have a good life, Danny Cerullo.”

The Futility of Man

2008-12-15T12:06:00.000-08:00

Part 17

My brain has always worked like a muscle: the more I work it out, the stronger it gets. Between booze, heavy metal and comedy central my brain wasn’t getting much exercise and in turn I felt myself getting mentally sluggish. In an effort to counteract this effect I decided to start guitar lessons again, this time focusing on theory rather than technique, and I made a deal with myself that every paycheck I would buy two books that I considered to be classics.
The first two books I decided on were a couple of American Beat classics: On the Road and Portnoys Complaint. When I brought them to the counter, a young girl with braids in her hair and a wearing a long, flowing skirt, rang up my books. She complimented me on my choices and I told her about my deal I made with myself and that I was a little embarrassed to admit I’d never read On the Road.
“Me neither, and I’ve always wanted to.” She confessed.
“I thought this was like the Hippy Handbook.”
“That’s the old-school hippies, the new ones just listen to a lot of Phish.”
I laughed and invited her to come over to the theater I worked at any time and I’d get her in free.
Over the next month she would periodically come into the theater and I’d make good on my promise, and every two weeks I’d go into the bookstore and she’d ring up my purchases and we’d talk. Once, she mentioned she loved Mexican food but had never been to Campo’s (for those readers that are not familiar with Simi Valley, Campo’s is the epitome of great Mexican food in that town). I immediately jumped on my opportunity and offered to take her there. While we were enjoying our burritos and talking we discovered she had dated, for a few years, a good friend of mine and we had even hung out years ago. This threw a wrench into everything. I’m a man who respects, and always has, the male code. You just don’t pursue the former love of your buddy’s life, especially not without his blessing which he most assuredly would not give. Nevertheless, we continued to hang out, but nothing physically ever happened.
One day while enjoying a Campo’s burrito (she had immediately fallen in love with that place and always wanted to eat there) she invited me to a Renaissance Festival. Being more than a little nerdy, I had always wanted to go to one but never had the opportunity, so I enthusiastically said yes. The festival was great. Everybody talked like an idiot, the beer was flowing, and they served meat on a stick. We had a great time hanging out all day, but I still couldn’t work up any nerve to make a move. We hung out several times after that: going out to eat, walking our dogs together, and seeing movies. Still, nothing ever happened and it had officially gotten weird. Soon, we barely hung out. It became a once a month or so kind of thing. When I started doing stand-up comedy, she would come and see me perform and we’d drink and laugh. Soon, she started telling me about her dates and bitching about men. Welcome to Friendville. Once, while enjoying a Guinness at a bar she asked me why guys can’t just say how they feel.
“Well, I can’t speak for every guy, but my problem is I’m a pussy.”
“Yeah, I figured that one out a while ago.”

Soon enough she had a boyfriend. Just to make me feel like I was in high school again, he was, of course, a jock. He was loud, obnoxious, and more than a little annoying, but fun at parties. Sort of the anti-me. Over time we fell out of touch, and I don’t even have her phone number anymore. I guess this is where living by a code gets you.

A Hell of a Sendoff

2008-12-10T20:39:00.000-08:00

Part 16

The old saying goes that no good thing can last forever, and as a lesson in that aspect of life Dave’s family moved out of the Hollywood Hills house. It had provided a place for us all to gather and drink, talk music, play music and generally behave like complete assholes in a city that wasn’t our own. Also, when people asked us what we did last night, we could always respond with: “Got drunk in Hollywood.” That phrase is priceless. We decided to honor the house the only way we knew how: to get hammered and trash the place. We pulled out all the stops for this one, inviting just about everybody we had ever hung out with. I even invited a few friends of mine from the movie theater I worked at; among them Donna who I had broke my impressively long sexless streak with a few months back. We toyed with the idea of reuniting Inferno one last time, but it just seemed like more effort than it was worth.
Early into the night, I had already hit it off nicely with Jill, Donna’s friend. The three of us drank and talked for hours. At various points I would sneak off with one of them and make out for a while. I would alternate between the two. This wasn’t exactly a skuzzy thing to do, as they were fully aware of what was going on. My drunken brain was starting to attempt to wrap itself around the idea of my very first threesome. My lack of self-confidence was there, the idea of trying to please two women scared the hell out of me, but it was buried behind a liquid wall of rum and bud light. I became more and more comfortable with the idea, as did the ladies, so I suggested we all go back to my house (why I had suggested my house where I lived with my parents instead of just staying at a house where there were essentially no rules or limitations, I’ll never fully understand). They both agreed. I walked out to the balcony to say goodbye to some friends and found a very large group of people standing out there.
“Everybody jump up at once!” Somebody shouted and in drunken obedience we all did. I still don’t know who made that command, but when everybody landed the balcony partly collapsed under the force. One young drunken imbecile toppled off and tumbled down the hill. He was okay but it seemed like a good time to leave the party. Either the cops would soon come or Dave would kill everyone standing on the balcony.

On the drive back to my house (Jill was driving) Donna began to get sick. She turned pale and stuck her head out of the window. She never threw up, but she clearly was in no condition for our planned extracurricular activities. We tried to talk her into it anyway, but she politely declined. Jill still wanted to come over so we dropped Donna off at home and went back to my house. Once back there we had a couple beers from my parents’ fridge and made out on the couch for a little while. We then made it upstairs and commenced with the lovin’. We did our best to be quiet, though I’m quite sure we failed miserably. For one thing my bed was broken and creaked like crazy when I simply rolled over in my sleep. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was good that night. We went several rounds and I really went the distance. She seemed to be quite pleased with the outcome as well. It was nice to finally come to the realization that, at least when I’m drunk, I’m not half-bad in the sack. We fell asleep around dawn and woke up a few hours later. It being a weekend, my parents were home and awake. We walked downstairs silently and awkwardly. I said good morning to my parents, who responded with their own pleasantries with uncomfortable smiles. I told them I was going to take my new friend Jill out for breakfast. We left and enjoyed a nice meal at the Denny’s, then went and saw House of 1000 Corpses. It was both a shitty movie and a weird way to wrap up our enjoyable evening.

The Captain Let Me Down

2008-12-06T18:46:00.000-08:00

Part 15

At 21 I was flat broke, working at a job I hated and leaching off of my parents. I partied nearly every night but I was still young enough where it didn’t affect me. I even managed to hold myself together enough to get on the Dean’s List at college, with straight A’s. Life was by no means awful, but there was a distinct feeling that things could be a lot better, especially financially. It’s at these times when the people who love you really tend to step up their game. My sister, knowing that I didn’t really like the idea of still living at my parents, let me sleep on her couch essentially whenever I wanted to. She would also pick up my bar tab roughly ninety percent of the time (if this sounds like enabling to you, then fuck you and the horse you rode in on). Our relationship became an perfect symbiosis. She would let me know when I was being a total irresponsible fuck, or too much of a drain on mom and dad, or just when I had gone too long between laundry cycles. I in turn would pick her up from bars when she got into a fight with her friends (it’s a fact I’ve never been able to prove false that all girls get into semi-regular fights with their female friends) and I would listen to and provide my opinion on her grown-up problems (i.e. career, future, etc.).

One night I decided to make a down payment in repaying my sister and her roommate Jodi, who would frequently chip in on my bar tabs as well, and I brought a jug of Captain Morgan rum over after I got off work. We drank some rum and cokes and watched movies and listened to music. My sister was spent and turned in pretty early, which left Jodi and I in the living room with half a bottle of rum left. Jodi made us another round and we fell into talking. We broke down and analyzed life’s problems in the way that only drunks can. Soon enough we found ourselves sitting closer and closer to each other. This was strange because it was far from the first time we had been drunk together, in fact it was a multiple occurrence per week kind of event. We had even joked about hooking up some day, but never with any hint of seriousness.
We decided to play a game of poker, but it proved too complicated for our drunken minds so we switched to black jack. We laid some ground rules: The loser of a hand has to either A.) take off an article of clothing, or B.) tongue-kiss the winner. The rules were simple and the game took off quickly. Shirts were removed and make-out sessions were dealt back and forth. Before long we found ourselves laying in her bed, kissing and groping. It was at this moment that the rum began to turn on me. Once that booze turns there’s no going back, no shaking it off. I must’ve looked like Rocky after Clubber Lang was done with him in the first go around, because Jodi asked me if anything was wrong and why I was stopping.
“I just need…go…bathroom.” I mumbled semi-coherently at best. I got up and all but ran to the toilet. I poured my stomach’s entire contents into the bowl and then draped my upper body around it in a desperate caress.
Jodi, much to her credit, never got mad or offended. Instead, her maternal instincts kicked in and she brought me a glass of water and some advil for later. She made sure I was okay and then went to bed; after all she had to work in just a couple hours.

God Bless the Tree House

2008-12-03T16:15:00.000-08:00

Part 14

It was mid-February and very cold, about as cold as the greater Los Angeles area gets anyway. Life wasn’t good but I was having too much fun to realize it at the time. Erik had come into town that day and we were at my parents house (yes, I was the grown man that continued to party at his parents’ house while they were at work) drinking a case of bud light. As a result we were already very drunk by mid-afternoon. While that drunk at that time of the day there’s an unexplainable urge to go out in public and experience the world. I like to think of it as showing society that I’m above them by displaying that I’m okay with being rip-roaring drunk in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday. Mostly, though, it’s probably because I was bored and horny. We decided to go to a bar and see if there were any desperately lonely ladies out there. We called Mike to see if he wanted to go with us. He did, but for some reason he’s always hated every bar in Simi Valley with the exception of the bar in the bowling alley. So that’s where we went. We drank a few pitchers there and talked to the old drunks that sit there everyday. Overall, it got a little too depressing even for me so a little after five we went to my sisters’ apartment which was in the complex next to the bowling alley. There we partook in some captain morgan while trying to talk my sister into going out that night, she had to work the next day so she was slightly apprehensive about it. In the end, she conceded. Mike left our company but Erik, myself, my sister and her friend Chris all set off for the legendary Tree House.

It being a Tuesday evening, the Tree House was pretty slow. There were only a few scattered groups of people about and we soon settled into drinking our beer and playing video game bowling (ironic because we had just left the bowling alley where the beer is cheaper). To tell the truth I had forgotten all about getting laid at this point, I was just having fun. While waiting for my turn at the bowling machine I ventured to the pin ball machine a few feet away. While I was playing a lady walked over to me and watched me play a while. Soon she was manning one paddle and I the other. We were laughing and having a grand ol’ time and I soon forgot all about my friends and my attention was focused solely on the woman in front of me. She told me she was forty years old, but she didn’t look it to me. She offered to buy me a drink and I went with her to the bar and we sat and talked for a while. The next hour or so is pretty unclear as to what transpired, but the next thing I know is we’re in the ladies bathroom having the sex in the stall. This, by the way, puts me in a very elite club of people who have had sex in the Tree House bathroom. Soon Chris was banging on the door and shouting at me that they were leaving and that they were my ride home. My new friend, however, offered to give me a ride home. So I went outside and bid my sister and friends a good night, despite their disapproving looks.
My lady and I had another couple drinks then left to go to her house. On the way we picked up a bottle of wine for her and a couple forty ouncers for me. We got back to her apartment, actually it was her mother’s apartment who she lived with but that’s not important, and went into the spa in the pool area. We drank and had more sex while soaking in the hot water. This only lasted briefly though as security came and kicked us out. She was not happy about this and vocally wondered what her mother paid rent here for if you can’t fuck in the spa. We decided it was as good a time as any to call it a night so she drove me home. We did it one more time in her car while parked in front of my house. After it was over she put on my shirt, my favorite Ozzy shirt, and told me she’d give it back to me next time I saw her. We exchanged numbers and we talked about making a trip to Mexico where we’d do a lot of blow and have lots of intercourse. I walked up to my house, still very drunk and shirtless and went to bed. I had every intention of calling her in the next couple of days.
The next day Erik came over. He asked me how it was with a smile on his face.
“It was great.” I told him. “She knew what she was doing, you know what I mean.? I mean, she had some experience. Did you know she was forty?”
“Oh, that explains why her tits were sagging down to her knees.” Erik has always had a gift of putting everything in perspective with one comment. I never did call her back, though not because of Erik’s comments. In the end, I’m just a giant pussy. I still miss that shirt.

Slumpbuster

2008-11-29T23:02:00.000-08:00

Part 13

I had turned 21, but not much else had changed. I was still working at a movie theater, making minimum wage, living with my parents, drinking too much, and sexless. My band, Inferno, had recently gotten back to do a reunion show. Well, it was actually the first show we had ever played together so I don’t know if one could really call it a reunion. Either way it was a lot of fun. Our friend Bobby was getting kicked out of his house and decided to have one last party to send it off right. He invited us to play and we didn’t think it would be polite to turn it down. We arrived early and set up our gear and Bobby supplied us with some booze.
“So I figure you guys will go on about 10:00 or so.” Bobby told me.
“You know by then, we’re gonna be shitfaced, right?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
So for the next few hours we drank and made merry. Fifteen minutes before our show Clint, our singer, pulled me aside and informed me that he had an old, shitty Christmas sweater that he was going to wear and then light on fire while we performed. I agreed that this was an excellent idea.
We went on and launched into our repertoire. Mike, the drummer, was drunk and nervous and played the songs a little faster than normal. I, the bassist, was drunk and in my own world and played the songs a little slower than normal. Dave, the guitarist, was relatively sober and tried to hold the whole thing together as best he could. We played all our hits: “Downing Vodka,” “In the Jar,” “Crushed,” and “Fuck Puppet.” We even threw in a cover of Ozzy’s “Believer.” The music might not have been as tight as it could’ve been but the show went great. The crowd loved us and our energy was through the roof. During “Crushed” Clint lit his sweater on fire as promised. The sweater went up a little faster than any of us anticipated and a couple people from the audience had to rush him to strip it off of him. Unaffected, he finished the show with an intense passion. Later I was recognized at the movie theater where I worked by a couple dudes who thought Inferno kicked ass.

A few days after our quintessential show, we threw a party at Dave’s house in the Hollywood Hills to honor his sister’s birthday. We talked on and on to anybody who would listen about just how great we were, but that we were satisfied with that show being the last breath of the legendary Inferno. One young lady, Connie, was in town from Anaheim. What she was doing there, or who she was with I still don’t know but we hit it off nicely. I was most attracted to her enthusiasm about being on birth control and hating condoms. She was a big girl, but short with very large breasts.
After drinking quite a bit, Connie, Clint and I sat on the floor of the living room talking. She lay down in front of me and I began poking her breast with my index finger as if I was testing the heat of mashed potatoes. She would periodically look up at me and say something suggestive. Soon I got up and told her I needed to show her something in the bathroom. She followed happily. The bathroom was pretty small and cramped so I ended up bending her over the toilet. On the other side of the door a few of my friends were giggling and making obnoxious remarks. I found the whole situation to be quite funny, she didn’t. To make her happy I brought her up to an empty bedroom where we finished the job. The next morning I woke up, thanked her for a wonderful time, kissed her goodbye and hitched a ride back into Simi Valley with Dave. The whole ride home I felt good about what can be considered my first true Slumpbuster

Yet Another Awkward Milestone

2008-11-24T19:27:00.000-08:00

Part 12

I possessed a fake ID from the time I was 18, so turning 21 did not hold the same allure for me as it does most people. I had already discovered my love of bars and most places in town didn’t give me any trouble. Still, it was an excuse for a party. So the day before my birthday we invited everybody I knew, and many I didn’t, to Dave’s house in the Hollywood Hills. The idea was to party and drink until midnight, then take a giant entourage to Universal City Walk and hit some of the bars there.
The turnout to the party was great. Old friends I hadn’t seen in a while showed up, as did all the regulars. Someone bought me a giant bottle of Heineken, and when I say giant I mean about three feet long. In a drunken stupor, I made everyone at the party take a single drink out of it to symbolize their love of me.
The casual drinkers and well-wishers filtered out relatively quickly. We were still left with a very large group to go to City Walk though. Upon arriving, already irresponsibly intoxicated, we immediately stumbled into a bar/Japanese restaurant. It’s actually primarily a restaurant and wasn’t really equipped to handle us. The first drink I ever ordered legally was a sake bomb. The premise of this drink is simple; you drop a shot of hot sake into a glass of cold beer and drink the whole thing down in one effort. Of course, we added a little more theatrics to it than that. We would two chopsticks on top of the beer glass and then balance the shot on the chopsticks. Someone would yell “Sake Bomb!” and you would slam your fist into the table causing the chopsticks to spread apart and the shot to fall in. Then the drink was consumed amid many cheers. We ordered several of these over the next half hour and at one point I explained in drunken slurs to Mike that I had written a new song called “Sake Bomb. All Night Long.” We were pretty sure we were changing the world with that one. Soon the proprietors asked us to kindly leave because of the scene we were causing and the mess we were already accumulating. We didn’t think this was nice of them so Casey stole a couple of tiki torches from them.

I can honestly say I don’t remember the rest of the City Walk experience, but eventually we found ourselves back at Dave’s house. There were a couple additions to our party that had come back with us, most notably a young girl that was flirting with my old pal Remo. Again, the details are a bit fuzzy but soon I was making out with her in the kitchen. Later, Remo would tell me that she was my birthday gift to me (she wasn’t a prostitute or anything, Remo’s just a weird guy and I’m still not entirely sure what he meant). She announced she was going home and I asked if I could ride along, as it turned out she lived in Simi Valley as well. My friends tried to talk me into staying, it was after all my party, but I was convinced I was getting laid so I left with her. On the ride home I began rubbing her leg and felt the deal was all but closed.
“My husband’s a marine.” She suddenly announced. My hand removed from her leg quickly and the rest of the half hour ride was spent in silence. I had no idea what to do with this information she had given me. We reached her house and she got out and kissed me goodbye. I didn’t have to ask that I was expected to walk home, despite the fact that my house was over three miles away and it was somewhere in the neighborhood of 4AM. On the way I stopped at a 7-11 and bought a pack of cigarettes. Before I resumed my journey I smoked and contemplated how I had misread the situation so badly. I got up and walked the long distance home, alone, as my 21st birthday continued to raged in the hills of Hollywood.

Trailer Trash

2008-11-17T19:35:00.000-08:00

Part 11

It was October and the weather was starting to get cold. As my 21st birthday approached I was already beginning to not just accept, but embrace, failure. I had begun to realize that (Community) college just wasn’t for me, I was working at a movie theater for minimum wage, living with my parents, and my band had split up. I kept my brain marinated in enough booze to where those things didn’t affect me, but I also hadn’t been laid in fairly close to a year and that wasn’t sitting well with me. I spent most of my nights in Hollywood at that time. Not Hollywood in the sense where I was doing anything really cool or hip, but Hollywood in the sense that my friend Dave had a house out there and we’d go out there and get drunk. The most Hollywood things we’d do is occasionally fill Inn N’ Out cups with rum and coke and walk along Hollywood Boulevard and talk with the local crazies. Also, sometimes we would drunkingly drive by Ozzy’s house and sing Crazy Train at obnoxious levels. We felt it was a sign of respect, but in hindsight it was probably more than a little annoying.
Other than that, most nights were spent drinking at Dave’s house, dissecting what Rock n’ Roll really is and really means, and punching each other in the face when someone was least expecting it. This got a little out of hand when Clint’s fist connected with Dave’s jaw at just the right place with just the right velocity and broke it pretty good.
“I think it’s broken.” Dave said.
“Oh shit, are you serious? That’s fucking badass!”
“Maybe I should take you to the hospital.” I was trying to be the responsible one, but Dave shook it off and said he just had to smoke a bowl and he’d be fine. Well, he smoked a bowl and wasn’t particularly fine so Clint, Dave and I went to the hospital. Dave spent the evening in an examination room getting prescriptions for pain killers, while Clint and I wandered the hospital like drunken morons trying to steal medical supplies. This is basically what my life entailed at this time.

My friends the Kassians had were having another party and, despite the humiliation I received at the hands of their parents the last time, I enthusiastically went. The party started the same way as the last one I went to, everybody got too drunk too soon and many left by Midnight. A few of us stayed up and powered through the evening, however. Much later in the night, my friend Donna, who I worked with at the movie theater, went out back to throw up. After emptying her stomach of its contents, she called for someone to bring her another drink. I happily obliged. I sat outside with her as she lay down and nursed her new beverage. Within 15 minutes we were making out. It didn’t seem weird to me at all that I was making out with a girl who had just thrown up about 4 feet away from where we now sat. She expressed an interest in having sex and I promptly agreed. However, I didn’t want to repeat a similar mistake to last time and wanted to go to another location rather than have the Kassians’ parents disrupt my good time again. Clint, who was about ready to go home anyway, offered his trailer(Clint was living in a trailer parked in the backyard of his parents’ house).

When we arrived at Clint’s trailer, Donna and I immediately started making out on the fold out bed. Clint handed me a condom but didn’t make any effort to leave. Instead he just turned on some music and played along on his guitar. Again, I didn’t think there was anything weird about this so we proceeded. I got off her clothes and we began to have sex, with Clint now singing along to the music as well. Soon he got bored of this and started talking to us. Not dirty or anything, just general conversation. He grew frustrated with us not responding so he started barking out instructions to Donna and even started pulling on her legs in an effort to add some force to our fornication. Since she was extremely drunk, she soon made an effort to take his pants off as well. Even in my inebriated state I wanted no part of this (nor do I expect Clint did) and excused myself to go pee. I walked outside of the trailer and pissed on a nearby tree while thinking to myself there’s got to be a better way. When I walked back in, Clint was off playing his guitar again and Donna was, very tiredly, waiting for me. Unfortunately at that point I had lost all semblance of a hard-on and I could tell it wasn’t coming back. I crawled in bed next to her and promptly fell asleep. The first time I got laid in close to a year and it was weird, uncomfortable, awkward, and I never blew a load. If that doesn’t sum up my life, I just don’t know what does.

Let Me Put My Love Into You

2008-11-12T16:21:00.000-08:00

Part 10

Like so many people before and after him, Shitty failed in Los Angeles and decided to move to Vegas to be with his parents. Mike had also tired of Southern California and moved to Georgia to work with his father. With the trio of sexual failures broken up I took to hanging out with larger groups of people. I spent most of my time with Casey, who had just moved back from Mammoth, and my old bandmates. At this point, any of us who weren’t 21 had obtained fake ID’s so we began to spend a lot of time at bars.
That summer I also spent a lot of time with Annie, a girl I’d known since high school. She would come over and hang out at my house for hours on end and even got along well with my mother. We would go out to eat, to the movies and even long walks together. I thought I had a legitimate shot with her, until I found out she’d been banging my friend Clint for the past couple years. Just another example of how many girls find me to be the coolest guy they’d never fuck. I got over it, as I always do, and simply learned to enjoy the friendship. She soon moved away to go to college anyway.

One night in the early summer, my friends the Kassians, who are twins, hosted a party one night when their parents were out of town. I always found them to be very nice people so I looked forward to it. I showed up with my usual party favors, a bottle of captain and some Shasta Cola. This particular group of people consisted mainly of ex-theater fags. They drank and put on quite a show about it. It was always a good time. We drank and got loud, and as it got later we drank more and got louder. Still, most of them were weekend warriors at this point, in that they had real jobs and responsibilities, and no longer could sustain the binge drink. The party thinned out, most people left and others crashed out in various rooms of the house.
At around 5 AM, the only two left standing were myself and a gal named Hannah. We sat on the couch talking, philosophizing, and generally solving all the worlds’ problems. I slid a little closer to her.
“Would you be terribly offended if I kissed you?”
“No.” I moved in and we began making out. I should point out that Hannah and I remain friends to this day, though we rarely see each other. Every time we’d hang out after this night she would make fun of me for the lameness of that line. But hey, it worked.
We made out on the couch for a while, then moved into a spare bedroom that was unoccupied. As we laid in bed and lost various articles of clothing I found myself feeling quite happy and relaxed. It was at this moment that the bedroom door opened and in the doorway stood the Kassians’ parents. They’re cool people so they didn’t freak out or anything. However, they knew Hannah quite well, and while I put my pants on and located my shoes and my keys I had to listen to them lecture her about making bad decisions, having self-respect and that she could do better. I wasn’t happy, but I couldn’t really argue.

The Rat Pack

2008-11-07T19:01:00.000-08:00

Part 9

The coldest days of winter were setting in and I was wandering around aimlessly. I was 20 years old and I had no girlfriend, no job and school still wasn’t going very well. I spent most of my time those days with Mike and Shitty. Josh Behar had worked for a mechanic for 5 months or so and he was so bad at his job that his boss had taken to calling him Shitty. Upon hearing of this new nickname we jumped right on it. Josh would forever, still to this day in fact, be dubbed Shitty. I should point out though, that his boss intended it as a put down of affection. He genuinely enjoyed loved the guy. One of his common sayings was that Shitty was the most expensive clown he ever hired.
So Shitty, Mike and I spent most of our time getting drunk and trying to meet women, of course we were about 99% unsuccessful at the latter. We tried everything our drunken, underdeveloped brains could come up with. Mike and I would constantly talk about our band Inferno. I took to calling myself Dante because I thought it sounded exotic and cool. Shitty went to Bartending School thinking that there was no better way to meet chicks then to be the one getting them drunk. That ultimately backfired when he realized he wasn’t very good at making drinks and lacked the ambition to actually try to get a job as a bartender.
We went to just about every social gathering we were invited to in our quest. We went to Isla Vista, the community surrounding UCSB and also known as the STD capitol of the world, just to be the only three guys that didn’t get laid. Shitty actually had a chance as he took to manning a keg at a house party we stumbled upon. A decent looking girl took to talking to him for about ten minutes and she seemed to enjoy him. Just when he got to the point where all it would’ve taken is a simple suggestion he decided to go in a different direction.
“Do you want to see me get ugly?” He asked the poor unsuspecting girl. Before she could answer he made a face that I can only describe as looking like Yoda crossed with Station from “Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey.” She smiled nervously and excused herself. He would later say that making his friends laugh was more important than getting laid, I think he just ran out of ideas.

In Early March of ’02 the three of us went to a party at our friends’ house. There was a young hot girl, I think she was sixteen but she might’ve been seventeen who was madly in love with Mike. He spent most of the night trying to stay just sober enough to be able to talk himself out of making a very dangerous mistake. I found myself in the garage with Shitty, a couple guys we knew, and a fat girl who was playing with her pet rat smoking bongloads and shot-gunning beers. Soon everybody cleared out of the garage except Shitty, me and Rat Girl who had kindly put her friend away. I decided to just go for it and leaned in and started making out with her. I made eye contact with Shitty to signal for him to leave us alone. He stayed and talked to us for another twenty minutes or so, I believe just to be a dick, and then left to seek his own adventure. Rat Girl and I fooled around well into the night and the early parts of the morning. I kept trying to engage her in the sex, but she decided to play hard to get. When the sunlight started seeping in through the small windows in the garage door I decided I’d had enough. I passed out right there on the couch next to her.
In a few hours I woke up and saw the girl I was next to. I had a raging headache and really didn’t want to deal with this scenario. She smiled at me and I smiled awkwardly back. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and went and found Shitty passed out on the floor in the kitchen. Mike was nowhere to be found, though I learned he had avoided temptation and caught a ride home. I kicked Shitty awake, he was my ride, and told him we had to leave immediately. He slowly got up and gathered his things. Rat Girl came in the house at that time and asked if I was leaving. She was holding her rat again.
“Oh yeah, I gotta work later.”
“You said last night you didn’t have a job.”
“Yeah, well I gotta work on the yard at my dad’s house.” She clearly didn’t believe me and shot me a look of pure animosity. Shitty and I left and drove to the Denny’s for breakfast.

Treating A Girl To The Good Life

2008-11-05T19:34:00.000-08:00

Part 8.2

Jade left her fiancé to run with me full time. I thought it was nice of her because it meant I was having consistent sex for the first time in my life. Though we did all the bullshit that relationships entail (dinner, sex, spending an exhausting amount of time together, and of course talking about our feelings) we still maintained a certain amount of secrecy. She had decided not to tell her parents, who were pretty conservative people, about me. Her fiancé had been well-to-do fellow with a good job and a bright future. I, meanwhile, was a long-haired, tattooed, guitar playing college dropout (I had failed almost every class in my first semester and decided I would take the next semester off) with a rapidly developing drinking problem. Apparently she didn’t want to deal with the hassle of them hating me so we just bypassed it altogether.
Early in the relationship she cheated on me with a friend of hers. She showed up at my house drunk and crying and told me all about it. I wasn’t too upset in truth, after all we had just begun dating and I wasn’t too emotionally invested in it. I did feel some of my first pain of real jealousy though. After a long, long talk, one of those long talks where all you want to do is go to sleep but she keeps talking kind of talk, I forgave her. Probably in large part because I was so happy to be having sex on a regular basis and was committed to having more of it. We moved on and we were happy, usually.
In the late spring of ’01 I moved into a house with a bunch of friends. There were five of us living there and we all partied far too much. Most nights we were faced with a decision between dinner and beer. Beer just about always won out. I would work every day until 5 or 6, come home and drink with whoever was home until we passed out or Jade dragged me to bed. She would never sleep over, or rarely anyway, because her parents couldn’t know she was dating me still. I was sharing a room with my friend Clint at the time so we would often pass out on the futon in the downstairs room where the dining room was supposed to be. She would wake up in the middle of the night and go home. This routine carried on for some time, though I don’t believe she was too fond of it. Once, while we were having a party at the house I took Jade up to my room and we began to have sex. Clint shortly afterwards came upstairs with his girlfriend to find a certain CD of his. His girlfriend decided that if we were having sex, so should they. The sounds of consummating radiated around the walls of that small room. I like to consider that my first foray into group sex, though in the end I just feel kind of sleazy about the whole thing.

As the drinking and the late nights continued, our fights started becoming more intense. Physical violence never entered the picture but we would yell and scream quite a bit. Once, for instance, we had a few people over and proceeded to get very drunk. Jade started working the room and getting quite a few laughs. She was the life of the party, which probably pissed me off because I’m supposed to be the funny one. After everybody left she commented on how funny she was.
“I don’t know if they were laughing with you.” I said with a little too much bitterness in my voice. I didn’t mean it as hurtful as it sounds, I sort of meant she was like the village drunk which I guess isn’t a whole lot better, if any. She went into a rage and screamed some vile things at me. Not wanting to wake all my roommates I tried to calm her down by telling her I’m sorry, but it was far too late for that. She locked herself in my bathroom while crying, screaming and shouting as loud as anybody in the history of the world. After a few hours of this, and all my roommates very upset with me, she left and went home. The next day we laughed it off as we always did.

Five guys who drink too much and play music too loud can only sustain living in a house together for so long. We were told by our landlord (Clint’s dad) that October would be our last month living there. I moved back home and Jade and I continued to date a couple more months. After having free reign on the sex and the drinking, though, it was a little hard to adjust to life back at home. With her still not wanting to tell her parents about me, it meant we spent nearly everyday hanging out with my mother. This grew tiresome very quickly. In the early part of January of ’02 she told me she wanted to talk. I drove us to a park where we sat on a bench.
“I’m not happy.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m not really either.”
“It’s nothing you did, I just think this has run its course.”
“Sure seems that way.” I drove us back to my house and she got in her car and drove home. The end is always so anti-climatic. We would still hang out for a while after, and even had sex a couple times. Soon, though, she was dating a new guy, the very same guy she had cheated on me with at the beginning of the relationship.

Greatest Birthday Ever

2008-11-03T22:09:00.000-08:00

Part 8

It was October of 2000, the thrill of a new century still fresh in everyone’s spirits, the shadow of 9/11 had yet to be cast over this country, and I still felt the future actually held promise for me. My hair was long now, down past my shoulders, and I could grow a respectable beard for the first time. I had also recently acquired my first tattoo. It was a giant back mural of Ozzy Osbourne holding up Randy Rhoads in a dramatic fashion. Underneath it read: You Can’t Kill Rock N’ Roll. I was in (community) college, I was in a band, and was developing a fun little drinking problem. My parents no longer gave me any grief for staying out all night and I was pretty much able to come and go as I pleased. I had even had sex a few times. Life was good.
On Halloween night, a friend of mine threw a party. It was one of those parties with so many goth kids that everybody was so busy brooding that they forgot to have a good time. Our mission was to change that. Erik, Casey, Mike and I showed up in ripped up jeans and heavy metal t-shirts. Those of who hadn’t grown long hair yet wore rock star wigs. We showed up already obnoxiously drunk, and brought with us a case of cheap, domestic beer. We immediately turned off the unfun tunes of Morrissey and replaced them with Black Sabbath. Soon, I’m proud to say, everybody was having a good time. I soon removed my shirt to show off my new tattoo.
Seeing as how we brought a new life to the party, we were rewarded accordingly. Mike made out with a lady in a bedroom, Erik felt up a girl in the can, and I had a very long conversation with a young lady myself, while her fiancé sat a few feet away. Her name was Jade, and I knew her vaguely from school. She was impressed with me, attracted to my charm that Aaron Behar once summed up perfectly in the way only he could:
“The great thing about you, Danny, is that you’re a metalhead, but you’re not a dick.”
She enjoyed my non-threatening personality while also thinking I was something of a bad-ass due to my tattoo and my appreciation for shitty beer. Nothing happened that night, but later I would find out that she wished I would have dragged her into the bathroom in a secret fit of passion. I left that night with her phone number. For the next couple months, we would hang out at school and build up the sexual tension. We even went on a pseudo date one night. We went to see a mutual friends’ shitty band play and got lost in Westlake. I hugged her goodnight later in the evening and I could feel her disappointment. I’d like to say that I was tentative due to her being engaged, but in reality, I simply can’t close.

On my birthday that year, she came over to bring me a present (I can’t remember for the life of me what it was now) and to watch Kids in the Hall with me. Before long we were dry humping on my bed. I pulled out a condom and she asked me, “Are you a slut or something?” I was taken aback with the question. I only had the condom because Mike had left a couple in my room after he had fucked his girlfriend in my bed. (It was long joked that my bed saw more sex from my friends than from me.) We had the sex that day, and it was good. I believe I performed pretty adequately too, though she might tell you different. Later that night my friends took me out to a strip club where I got very drunk and received many birthday lap-dances. It was pretty much the greatest birthday ever. Jade and I would get into a relationship soon afterwards.

Graduation

2008-10-30T22:40:00.000-07:00

Part 7

During the first half of the first semester of my senior year, a fear started growing in the back of my mind. It was the feat that I might not graduate high school. Up to this point I had always gotten by on what I like to refer to as my “natural intelligence.” I could almost always do pretty good on tests and pull a decent paper out of my ass when I had to, and in turn I could get away with doing close to no homework. Now, I found myself getting more and more stoned before school, and often during school. It had gotten to the point where I didn’t stand a chance on tests because I had no fucking idea what was going on in class. I didn’t know what period we were studying in History, I didn’t know what author we were reading in English, and I would stare with an empty gaze and an open mouth as my math teacher wrote series of numbers and letters on the chalkboard.
Needless to say, I didn’t do too well that first semester. I suddenly found myself in a situation I never thought I would be in. I had to pass every class in my last semester or I wouldn’t graduate. I wasn’t immediately sure how I would pull this off, nor was I really too concerned about it. One day, after ingesting a healthy dose of psychedelic mushrooms before class and almost having a motherfucker of a breakdown, I decided enough was enough. Getting high was still fun, but not before school. I stayed sober while at school from that point on, and wouldn’t you know it, I passed every class with flying colors.

The summer after graduation was filled with many fun times. As I established my new found adulthood in a sea of drunken stupidity, I slowly readied myself for (community) college. It was at this time that a young lady sent me a friend request on the AOL Instant Messenger. Her name was Sally and she thought she remembered me from high school, though she was a year younger than me. We chatted a few times and thought it would be a good idea to hang out. This was really my first date, in the sense that I was going to hang out with a girl I didn’t really know with the intention of “getting to know her.” I got ready for it in my typical half-ass way. I didn’t wash my car, but I hosed it down, I didn’t shower but I put on clean(ish) clothes, and I didn’t comb my hair but I did wear a hat.
I took her to see the movie Coyote Ugly, which was her request. Then we went to Marie Calendar’s for dinner. After dinner, it seemed things were going pretty well, I went to the liquor store and used my fake ID to purchase us some booze. We then went to my former elementary school to drink. She wasn’t quite the seasoned vet at drinking that I was/am so she got snickered pretty quickly. Soon, we were fooling around with heavy petting and other such nonsense. It didn’t really go anywhere that night, and to be perfectly honest I was a little disappointed I didn’t get laid that night, but thems the breaks. It was enough, however, for her to believe we were in a relationship.
We kept talking and she kept pestering me to hang out again. I invited her over to my house when I was having a gathering while my parents were at work. She came over and after another couple drinks we went up to my room. We consummated there. It didn’t last any longer than my first time, but this time I was a little more prepared for that fact. Round two was a little more satisfactory for everybody involved, I think. We hung out for a while afterwards, then she went home. I went downstairs and bragged to my dear friend Erik. He nodded, smiled, and even gave me the ol’ high five. However, he already noticed I was treading dangerous water.
“This chick is into you, man. I mean really into you.”
“Yeah, I know. I just told you we did it.”
“Dude, she’s gonna tell you she loves you within a week.”
“No fucking way. I’ll tell you what, if that happens, I’ll break it off.”
Erik has always been an insightful dude.

A few days later I took Sally to a party. We proceeded to get very drunk (I know it’s a common theme, fuck off), and she drove me home. We decided to pull over on the side of the road and fool around. For the first time in my life, I had a condom handy. Between that and the extreme drunkenness, I was able to last much longer. I had my first experience of ever actually pleasing a woman. Afterwards, she told me she loved me. I knew in my heart of hearts that I had to uphold my end of the bargain with Erik.

I waited a couple days, more like put it off. Finally she tracked me down at my house and said she was coming over. Erik happened to be over at the time.
“You gotta do it, man.”
“I know, but you’re gonna have to leave before I do.”
“Alright, but don’t be a pussy.” Erik left just as Sally was arriving. They exchanged awkward pleasantries. She came into my living room. I told her I liked her, but didn’t love her and this wasn’t fair to her. It might have been the biggest asshole moment of my life to this date. She didn’t’ take it well. She cried and yelled and yelled some more. After a half hour it was over. She left and I was free. Erik came back over and we got drunk.
About a week later, my friend Casey had a party at his parents’ house. He wanted to hook up with Sally’s friend so he invited them both. It was very awkward. I’m still not happy with him for that one.

Putting It All On The Line

2008-10-27T23:20:00.000-07:00

Part 6

The rise of the internet has given every socially awkward and sexually frustrated young man a venue to voice their thoughts and opinions, no matter how sick, depraved and degenerate they happen to be. I had toyed around with the idea of cyber sex for some time. I mostly thought it was good for a laugh but there I felt there was a certain level of real eroticism in there as well. I’d like to think I was attracted to this activity because, as a writer, I’m turned on by words and their power. Mostly, though, it’s because I’m a fucking loser. Before I’m judged to harshly, I do have to point out that to this day, at the age of 26, I’ve only had cyber sex a handful of times, and most of those have been very much booze fueled. It’s not something I seek out very often.
While in a “Looking for Love” chatroom one night at the age of 16 or so, I began chatting with a lady. She explained to me she was older and looking for a younger man. I think she said she was from Wisconsin, though I’m not entirely sure. I was eager to be that younger man for a night. We started talking dirty back and forth, she was a lot better at it than I was. The dialogue was mostly along these lines:
“Do you want me to play with your balls?”
“That would be good.”
“Am I turning you on?”
“Yes.”
So it turned out I wasn’t really any more articulate online than I was in person. Soon, either she was very turned on by my obvious lack of experience, or she was growing quite bored. She instructed me to call her. Now, I was a teenager and living at home, with my parents asleep in the next room. I told her I didn’t have a phone. She didn’t believe me and called me a pussy. We never spoke again.
After this experience I decided to stick to more youth oriented rooms. Once I went to a “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” chatroom (don’t judge me, that’s a good show. It’s not like I only went there for pseudo-sexual exploits, I also wanted to discuss the program) and met a girl who claimed to be a werewolf and a psychic. We started chatting and eventually got into the dirty stuff. This was my first full-on cyber sex experience, and really, it wasn’t that cool. Afterwards she admitted she was in special needs classes at school and had ADHD and Dyslexia so bad she couldn’t really function around people very well. So, basically she was retarded and I felt like a very dirty man for saying the things I said to her. Later, she would claim to be my girlfriend and tell me she was in love with me. I didn’t log onto the internet for about a week after that and when I finally did she had deleted her profile. I still sometimes wonder what happened to her.

Reaching the Promised Land Only to Find Out it Was A Lie

2008-10-20T20:44:00.000-07:00

Part 5

The first two years of high school for me were very miserable. I had bad acne, I was painfully shy and had a very negative outlook on the world as a whole. I even went through a dreaded trench-coat phase (this was before Columbine so if you made that connection you are wrong, very wrong). I didn’t like very many people in my school and went out of my way to be “uncool.” Then the summer before my Junior year came along and my small group of friends started smoking a lot of pot. Not a lot like I did before, rather like Cypress Hill a lot. My friend Casey would come over (his mom would actually drop him off at my house without knowing that he had a bag of weed and a bong in his backpack) everyday and we would get high and watch Wonder Woman and Mr. Rogers. It was a pretty sad existence, there’s no getting around that, but we had fun at the time.
By the time school started again I had adopted the stoner culture pretty much in full. My trench coat was replaced by a torn up army jacket, my uncombed hair now covered by a beanie and I had stopped shaving. My shaggy appearance became a constant source of humor around school. Once, when my converse became so ripped in the front that my toes hung out, I taped a cup-o-noodles container to the front of my shoe to protect myself from the elements. The most important thing is that I learned to let go of all my anger and enjoy the good times I was having. Plus, my acne was starting to clear up, so that was a plus. My aforementioned friends Casey and Mike and I, plus John and Aaron slowly became known as the Stony Five. That name was placed upon us by Aaron’s brother Josh. One day at the Aaron and Josh’s parents’ apartment we had a large quantity of the pot and someone dated our ability to smoke it all. Josh simply replied:
“Don’t doubt the Stony Five, man. These guys can really put that shit away.” That day we put away so much we dubbed that day forever to be Doobie Day. This takes place on December 12th every year. Thus a legend was born. Okay, nobody ever really called us the Stony Five after that except ourselves but we were still proud. Soon our friend Erik was pronounced the honorary sixth member of the stony five.
Everybody in the stony five except Mike and Erik at this point were virgins. To use a famous Jefferson Mccool saying: We couldn’t get our dicks wet if we fell out of a boat. None of us were proud of that except Aaron for some reason. Once at a party, while playing a drinking game a girl found out of Aaron’s virginity.
“You’re still a virgin?” she asked in disbelief.
“Fuck yeah.”
“Aw, can I take your virginity tonight?”
“Fuck no. When I get laid it’s gonna be by someone a lot cooler than you.” Years later, Aaron would say that he only said this because he was terrified at the prospect of actually having sex. I like to think that he was just above it though.

I had an English class with a girl named Lupe, who was very hot. It just so happened that Mike was currently dating her good friend Tanya (After her experience with Mike she would come out of the closet as a lesbian, but that’s a different story altogether). We made plans to all hang out together. Our first night hanging out I learned that Lupe was very much into me and the deal was all but closed. It still took me four or five hours to make a move, such was my fear of the opposite sex. We all ended up spending the night at Tanya’s and Lupe and I slept in the walk-in closet. She gave me some hand-love and I was on top of the world.
A week or two after that I was out with my friends and got a call from Lupe to come hang out at her house because her parents were gone. We raced over there as fast as Mike’s Mazda would take us. As soon as I walked in she brought me to her bedroom. She was extremely drunk and I was stoned out of my skull and a few shots of Jack Daniel’s deep, but we awkwardly and messily started making out. Soon we commenced with the sex. If I said I lasted a minute, I would be lying to make myself sound cool. It was over inside of 25 seconds. We laid side by side for a few minutes in silence, then she fell asleep. I woke her up to say good-bye and she groaned something along the lines of “see you later” and then I gathered my friends and left.
In the car I took the high road and told my friends we just fooled around. I didn’t want to brag about how great sex was only for her to later announce how embarrassingly bad I was at it. I would keep up that lie to everybody except Mike for a couple years. We went through the Drive-thru at Inn ‘N Out and tried to figure out where to eat our food. Aaron and Josh were out of town with their parents, so we knew their apartment was free. We broke into their home, via the sliding glass door on the balcony, and ate our burgers while sitting on their couch and playing their Playstation. We called it an early night and all went home shortly after. Needless to say, things between Lupe and I deteriorated after this night. We hung out a couple more times, but there was no hanky panky. Soon we just fell into the “friends” category.

Taking the High out of High School

2008-10-15T23:51:00.000-07:00

Part 4

It was late in my eighth grade year and I had stopped smoking pot. I had discovered Black Sabbath and spent most of my free time trying to learn every one of their songs on guitar. Most of my friends now had varying success with the ladies. Several bases were reached by them and a few had even reached the mythical Promised Land. I’d had no success and was beginning to give up.
I learned that Maggie, an ex-girlfriend of my friend George, was into me. Maggie was a very nice girl, very much the kind you could bring home to mom. To be honest, at first I didn’t know if I was interested. It was probably due to the fact that she was my friends’ ex or, the more likely, I was terrified of females. I agreed to go out with her and for a while I reverted back to fifth grade when having a girlfriend meant doing anything I could to avoid her. After a couple weeks I realized that there was a lot more at stake here though. I started spending more and more time with her and found that I actually enjoyed her. I even got some of those wonderful tongue-kisses that are still new and exciting to a 14 year old. We would talk on the phone for hours, something I had never done before with anyone (my social anxiety was even worse on the phone because moments of silence seemed to last forever). I would tell her about the genius of Ozzy Osbourne and she would listen and even sound interested. I would recite her shitty heavy metal lyrics that I wrote. Once I wrote a song called Hypocrisy, which made no sense, and read her the words. She asked me what Hypocrisy meant. I hadn’t expected anybody to ask me that, because I didn’t know, so I told her I thought it was some bad form of government. That was a good wake-up call for me to start knowing what the fuck I’m talking about before I say or write something.
Like Talia and Hailey before her, I would walk Maggie home, most of the way anyway, every day after school. We would kiss goodbye on the corner of Sequoia and Los Angeles Ave. We almost never actually hung out after school though. I came up with a plan to solve this problem though. Hailey was now dating my best friend Mike. He would come over to my house everyday, only to go do some hanky panky at her house two doors down. I felt they both owed me for this. I told Hailey that she had to befriend Maggie so we could all hang out together. Hailey did this and due to Maggie being so cool, Hailey began to like her. Very soon, they would become best friends. The four of us would hang out together quite often.
The summer came and with it another step toward adulthood. I had graduated Junior High and was gearing up for the miserable clusterfuck that is High School. Over the course of that summer, though, I made it past first base with Maggie. Maybe even all the way to third base, I’m not sure. I’ve never been entirely clear on what the sexual bases are. Either way, it was a lot of fun.
Sadly, our relationship couldn’t handle the strain of high school. We dated for a couple months but things were noticeably deteriorating. She was on the girl basketball team and was, with the help of Hailey, getting more and more into the art of partying. I had started to hang out with the punk rock group, a sure-fire sign I was not going to be getting laid. When we broke up there was no crying or major dramatic moment. There was never a big fight or a series of break-ups and getting back together. She went on in her honor roll classes and fun parties; I put Sepultura patches on my Dickies jacket. We continued to take the bus home together everyday after school though, and even got a jaywalking ticket. Her parents paid her fine for her, while mine made me do the community service to teach me a valuable lesson. I spent most of the next year or two still very much into her but never bothered to act on it

An Interlude

2008-10-13T22:01:00.000-07:00

Junior High was in full swing and I had replaced baseball and Metallica with pot, vodka and Nirvana. I dressed like an asshole, ripped up jeans, an open flannel over the Incesticide T-shirt with torn up converse. Okay, so that’s not that different from the way I dress now, but at least I don’t wear Nirvana shirts anymore, right? The girl situation hadn’t made much progress. A couple of girls expressed a certain degree of interest in me but I was either uninterested or (more likely) far too shy to act on anything. For about a two week span I dated a girl named Karissa. She was very into school and school spirit. I wasn’t. It didn’t work out needless to say. Another time I kissed a young lady named Kim at a party. I had been smoking cigarettes that day in an effort to display my manliness. When we kissed, however, the taste of cigarette breath was too much for her 13 year old sensibilities and pulled away retching. So, at a time when many of my friends were having much success with the ladies, I found myself alone. Luckily, I had discovered something that all young men discover at about that age that helps an awful lot with not having a girl around.
It should be noted that both Hailey and Brianna were dating a couple of large, angry dudes. They were the kind of guys that would punch a man in the throat for saying hello to their girls. They were the kind of guys who at the age of 14 or 15 (they were both dating older guys, typical) had already been in, and won, about a thousand more fights then I have to this day. One would think that because of this my hanging around my two friends would not be tolerated. This was not the case. Both of these guys enjoyed me greatly and found me to be absolutely no threat whatsoever. Frequently the five of us would hang out, and I’d watch them all make out for four or five hours. I would crack some self-deprecating jokes and everybody would laugh. I taught both of the gentlemen how to play the guitar (Todd would quickly become far better than me). In turn they would get me high. It was as good a system as any.
Eventually the good times always come to an end though. One day I was hanging out at Brianna’s house and she suggested she give me a facial. I had developed some pretty acne at that point and she promised it would help clear that up. At that point I was ready to try anything so I agreed. As she was applying the mask her manfriend walked in. He looked surprised and angry and Brianna and he left the room. I washed my face in a hurry and rushed to see what all the fuss was about. Her dude gone, I was informed by Brianna that she wasn’t allowed to hang out with me anymore. I was bummed because Brianna and I had become very good friends. But in that instant I was also somewhat happy. A very large man was jealous of me and the time I was spending with his lady. Out of respect to her he wouldn’t kick my ass so it was a pretty nice situation for me. She then explained to me that it was because he now considered me a faggot and he couldn’t tolerate her hanging out with me. My ego probably could’ve done without that one.

Speaking in Tongues

2008-10-08T21:05:00.000-07:00

First Love?

Well into sixth grade, and still coming off the high of actually kissing a girl (one of the few of my friends who had actually accomplished this feat), I turned my sights to the girl my underdeveloped mind and loins had been eyeing for a few years. She was every man’s fantasy, the girl next door. Okay, not really next door, like two doors down, but for the purpose of this examination let’s call her the girl next door. Hailey was her name. I spent a lot of time with Hailey and her best friend Brianna, who was also a neighbor of mine. The three of us were inseparable in a lot of ways, even so far as I was the only boy allowed in both of their rooms. This is an undying testament to my completely non-threatening charm. I’m pretty sure at least one of their dads’s assumed I was gay; not really the biggest ego boost for a twelve year old.
Being twelve and socially worthless, the only strategy I could come up with to get her to go out with me was to corner her in the rare moments Brianna wasn’t around.
“Will you go out with me?” I’d ask.
“Don’t ask.” She’d respond. For years I would blame her for my ineptitude with the female race. Come to think of it, I still do.
The months dragged on and I kept up my flawed, yet persistent, courting process. Matters got worse when my good friend Chris got himself a lady friend that would tongue-kiss him. He had officially passed me on the cool meter. Their tongue-kissing grew legendary around school and I became merely a sidekick. My knowledge of heavy metal and comic books no longer elevated me above my peers. Something had to give. It was around this time when the fear of becoming the permanent social sidekick was kicking in when Hailey finally agreed to go out with me. I’m still not sure why she caved in, but I like to think it was mostly pity.
The first few months were awkward. I employed the same behavior patterns I did with Talia, which meant basically ignoring her. Quick side note: Hailey hated Talia, which was the first time a girl was ever jealous because of me. After a while, we started getting more and more comfortable around with each other. After all, it’s very hard to avoid your neighbor for very long. We kissed a couple times here and there, the same type that I encountered with Talia, but we took it quite slow for the most part. Then summer time came and the fun began. Hailey lived on the corner of our street and around the side of our house is where I had my first open mouth kiss. A couple weeks later we started incorporating the tongues into our routine. We continued to date and got along quite nicely into the dreaded junior high. I had discovered alcohol a little in the sixth grade and developed an appreciation for it. Once junior high hit I also discovered the pot. Hailey wasn’t really into either of these things (ironic because in due time she would end up hitting these things harder than me), but it didn’t much effect our relationship. Shortly into the seventh grade I even got to touch my first boob.
In the second semester of junior high, the pressures just got to us I suppose. We drifted apart for a reason that I can only assume isn’t important enough for me to remember. She soon met another dude named Todd (I’m getting really sick of guys named Todd) and I would enter a period of drought with the ladies that would extend over a year.

Every saga has a beginning

2008-10-07T11:16:00.001-07:00

First Kiss

Long before I became the awkward man I am today, I was an awkward boy. My story starts when I was eleven years old. I liked baseball and heavy metal (okay, some things don’t really change). I was tall and sickly skinny, my voice was so high that I often was mistaken for my sister on the phone and nary a hair grew on or around my genitalia. I also had a girlfriend. All this basically meant was that I avoided her more then I avoided the other females at school, and for her part, she would occasionally make me bracelets or necklaces out of grass clippings and leaves. I did walk her home after school everyday, though, since she lived literally right next door to our elementary school.
Talia, my girlfriend, and I were on and off for the better part of fifth grade and even into the early part of sixth grade, though we took the summer off from each other. To be perfectly honest, I don’t really remember ever having a conversation with her, though I’m sure we must have at some point. In hindsight, I probably took her for granted and drove her away my neglect. In my defense, I was going through a strange time in my life, what with puberty and junior high looming on the horizon.
There was one day I remember well though. We went over to her house after school. Just her and I. It turns out her parents weren’t home and she was going to get me a Klondike Bar (I really had a passion for those things and my mom never bought them) for the rest of my walk home. I followed her in, and once inside she pivoted around to face me.
“Do you want to kiss?” Her eyes were darting between me and the floor, and her smile shook nervously.
“Uh..okay.” The quiver in my voice was more than just prepubescent voice cracking. “How do you want to do it?” I’m still not sure what I meant by that question.
“I don’t know. Maybe we just close our eyes and do it.”
We both closed our eyes and leaned in and touched our lips briefly then pulled away. For the purpose of foreshadowing and to get a cheap laugh, I’ll say it lasted about as long as the first time I had sex.
We laughed and giggled uncomfortable for a few more minutes, then she got my Klondike Bar and I went on my way. Our relationship was never quite the same after that. I guess one could say that was my first time disappointing a woman. It certainly wouldn’t be the last.

It's been almost a fortnight since I last posted

2008-10-03T16:44:00.001-07:00

Sorry about the lack of posts lately. I was on vacation all last week and came home this week to find that our neighbors, who we were "borrowing" the internet from, had finally secured their internet connection. Thus, the Dorian house had to finally enter the world of paying for the internet. So for once it wasn't laziness preventing me from writing, but rather financial irresponsibility.

I have to get a few things off of my chest here really quickly. First off: Go motherfuckin' Dodgers!. 2-0 Baby. There really is no feeling quite like watching your team do well in the postseason, and as a Dodger fan it is a rarity for me.

Secondly: To all the sports writers and talk show hosts and ESPN analysts, stop with the "cursed Cubs" already. I'm fucking sick of this shit. The Dodgers beat the best team in the national league two straight games in Wrigley and all I hear about is how much the Cubs are choking. The Dodgers beat the Cubs, it's that simple. A curse didn't beat them, the Dodgers did. Los Angeles boasts the best pitching in the National League, and their offense, with Manny and the kids getting plenty of playing time, is above average. So why does nobody give them props for playing so well? I just realized I'm sounding like an irrational whiner who cries "east coast bias!" every chance I get, and for that I apologize. I'm very happy the Dodgers are playing well and will enjoy the rest of the postseason no matter what happens. Just thought I'd vent a little.

I will be starting another series of posts in the next day or two. This one will probably have to do with my encounters with the opposite sex. If any girls I've had encounters with read this and wish to be left out (I will be of course changing names either way to protect the guilty) send me an email and let me know. This will also serve as an experiment to see how many ladies I've known read this and/or are deeply ashamed of their involvement with me.

Can this really be the end?

2008-09-23T17:18:00.000-07:00

Job #22

Hastings

Upon my arrival to Boise I almost immediately, with the help of my friend Jefferson McCool, secured an interview with Hastings. For those that don’t know what Hastings is: picture if Blockbuster and Borders fucked, had a kid, and took a shit all over its head. That’s Hastings. I nailed the interview, mostly due to the fact that I’m nearly ten years older than the average applicant, and got the job. It took them a while to officially hire me because I lost my social security card somewhere. Hopefully somebody stole it with the intention of stealing my identity and it horribly backfired on them when they realized I have no money and horrible credit.
My job is to run the front of the store. This basically means I have to make sure the kids I work with are doing their job adequately, and getting yelled at by angry white-trash customers. Some people I work with think it’s the greatest job ever and others think it’s the worst. The truth is it’s neither. It’s eerily similar to every other job for a corporate chain I’ve ever had. The faces and names, and in my case the city and state, may have changed, but everything else remains the same. It’ll be interesting, and I promise to keep anyone who wants to know updated, to see how this job comes to an end. Will I take some bullshit righteous stance on a trivial corporate rule that I disagree with? Maybe I’ll quit because they won’t let me wear jeans anymore. Maybe they’ll want me to work on Halloween but I want to do drugs. Maybe I’ll tell a customer exactly what I think of them and they’ll complain up the ladder until I’m fired so the company can save face and avoid a lawsuit. Or maybe I’ll stick with this job for several years and climb the corporate ladder until I run my own store and be considered successful among my family and peers. God that would be depressing.

So this is the end of my series of job blogs. At this point I struggle to remember just what I was trying to accomplish with this. I think I was trying to realize something about myself, but I’m not sure just what. I guess maybe I was trying to prove that I’m not a failure, or that I am. The only thing I can really draw out from all this is that without each of these jobs/events taking place as they did, I would be a different person, for better or worse. Maybe in the comments section we can have a little debate on sociology vs. psychology. Did these events shape my life into what it is today, or did I shape them? I’d love to read some opinions about it, especially because I’m on vacation and probably won’t be writing anymore until I get back.

Music Man

2008-09-19T18:29:00.000-07:00

Job #21

Dave Janssen’s School of Music

When Vons laid me off for not paying my union dues I wasn’t very concerned because my friend and former guitar teacher, Dave Janssen, was opening up his own music school/retail store in just a couple months and had offered me a job. Also, I had it in my head that I would be able to collect unemployment since I had technically been laid off. The lovely people at the unemployment office, however, had other ideas. They felt that me not paying the union with the knowledge that I had to in order to keep my job was essentially the same thing as quitting.
So after a couple months of being extremely broke (thanks for all that beer you bought me, Remo) Dave opened his school. It was great from the beginning. I worked the front desk, so my job was to keep things running smoothly while Dave taught lessons or attended to other business. A good chunk of my day was spent bullshitting about music with customers, students, parents of students, the teachers and the resident luthier. It was the only job I’ve ever had where my boss had 100% faith in me. That’s the thing I’ve never quite understood about Dave. He has an absolute, unshakeable faith in me. When I took lessons with him he always saw potential for greatness rather than the many shortcomings I had as a musician. He would often come to my comedy gigs to support me and even tried to get me to put together a stand-up show at the school. It sounds corny, but sometimes all a guy has is the support of his friends.
The previously mentioned faith he had in me prevented Dave from seeing my social retardedness and he really believed that I was going to be one of the main reasons for the success of the school. Music is one of the three things I can talk about infinitely. The other two are baseball and porno, naturally. Because of this I actually did pretty well at this job. I learned to manage the teachers’ schedules effectively, handle customer concerns, and I managed to find the time to play the bass and/or guitar for a couple hours everyday. In short, it was the greatest job on earth.
Often times on Fridays, we would all go out for drinks and play a music theory drinking game. Everybody would come up with theory questions and pose it to the group. Whoever got it wrong would have to drink. I wasn’t very good at it but I like to drink so it worked out nicely. I would answer every question with “A minor,” and then I would be wrong and have to drink. Luckily, my musically knowledgeable friends caught on and would always put one question in where the answer would be A minor. For my part I would ask questions like “What has nine arms and sucks?”* and other questions of musical triviality.
Things were going extremely well. I wasn’t making a whole lot of money but it was getting to be more and more. Unfortunately my natural instinct of being scared of the comfortable kicked in. My old pal Jefferson McCool in Boise called me to bitch about losing a roommate and the pain in the ass it was going to be to replace him. Out of curiosity I asked him how much the rent was and the figure was very low, especially to a boy from Southern California. I told him that maybe I’d take the room. After a couple days of thinking it over I talked to some friends about a possible move to Boise. Most thought it was my usual, once a year half-baked idea about moving somewhere. I decided to move in some ways just to spite them. Dave wasn’t thrilled with my decision but supported me and expressed a wish that I come back soon and that a job would be available to me when I did.

*The answer is: Def Leppard

Making Money the SafeWay

2008-09-17T19:51:00.000-07:00

Job #20

Vons (or Safeway depending on where you live)

The lady and I got back from our trip, which turned out to be exactly what I needed, and I knew I had to find a job immediately. By this time I had strongly developed my inherent sixth sense for obtaining menial jobs. I applied to Vons for a graveyard position. Due to my extensive experience in the grocery business I was scheduled an interview the same day I applied. I don’t think I’ve ever been more relaxed and confident at an interview in my life. I knew I was qualified, maybe even over-qualified, for this position. What can I say; some people are just born to stock shelves. I got the job with ease, passed a breathalyzer drug-test on the spot and was hired then and there. A couple days later I watched the mandatory, corporate bullshit training videos. A couple days after that, I was working.
Originally I was hired to be the graveyard dairy guy, but Greg (the night grocery manager) immediately recruited me for grocery when he saw that I could actually perform my job adequately. I was all for the move, if for nothing else it got me out of the coldness of the dairy department. Stocking milk at 3:30 in the morning is simply not very fun. Plus, it meant I didn’t have to work with the other dairy guy Travis, who is a douche-nozzle. I liked Greg, he was a hard-working man. He was loud, crass and had absolutely no patience for bullshit.
“I don’t get strokes, I give ‘em,” was one of his favorite sayings. He was one of the prototypical grocery store lifers that if you’ve never had the privilege of meeting than you are missing out. The rest of the people that I worked with were all strange characters as well. Men and women that society either forgot or just shunned all together. I got along great with all of them.
Every night was essentially the same. A load of 10-15 pallets of product would come in and we would break them down, and stock them. There was no shipment off day. No matter how fast you broke down and stocked, you knew tomorrow there would be more. The secret to stocking quickly (and according to Heidi, also a metaphor for life) is not moving faster than anybody else, but rather to not stop to straighten the boxes. In the process of stocking an aisle, a shit-ton of cardboard piles up and you have to learn to leave it a mess. Once you start stopping to break down all the boxes, you’re fucked. I’ll let you decide for yourself if that’s wisdom for life or not. Anything can sound like an epiphany when you’re up all night.
I worked there about three months or so and then the union came calling and asked me to give them a whole bunch of money to join them. I declined and Vons had no choice but to fire me or the union would burn them down or something. My parents saw my refusing to join a union as a sign that I am once and for all, not a communist. The truth is, I think unions are a great idea. They were created to help regular people not get fucked quite as bad by the rich elite. Now, though, they’re just part of the machine. They do nothing to help anybody (except Major League Baseball’s players union, Jesus fucking Christ they’re powerful) but themselves. The evidence of that is not hard to see. In California, every time in my memory the Super Markets workers went on strike because their union advised them to do so, they ended up coming back with a worse deal than before. I’ve worked enough shitty jobs in my life, as you have been reading o’ faithful readers, to know that I’m going to be fucked by Corporate America no matter what, but I refuse to pay them to do it.

Richard and Danny make a porno

2008-09-12T17:38:00.001-07:00

Job #19

Porno

I was out of work and flat broke (I’m aware that’s a pretty common theme in my life thus far, thank you). I desperately needed to get my hands on some money, because my lady and I were planning to drive across the country. I managed to raise some money from the security deposit on my old apartment, some focus groups, and my credit still wasn’t completely shot at this point, but I needed a few hundred more dollars to pay for the trip. Often times throughout my life I’ve found that when you’re at your most desperate and down on your luck, that’s when your friends come through for you; though not always in the way you’d expect or hope. My friend Richard called me and offered me a job as a Production Assistant on a film his company was producing and he was co-directing. The title of this film is Barely Legal: Baby Fat. Now, I’ve been to strip clubs, jerk-off booths, and even had relations with overweight girls in a bathroom bar, but I wasn’t sure if I was quite ready to work in the porn industry. But as most of these stories go, I was hard up for some cash. In some ways my story parallels the typical story of many a falling starlet, I guess.

Now this wasn’t my first time on a porn set. Four or five months earlier Richard called me to tell me he had bought me a gift while he was on vacation. However, he had to work that day and couldn’t bring it to me, but if I wanted to drop by the set I was more than welcome. So Behar and I took a ride down to Sherman Oaks where they were filming. When we pulled up on the driveway, Richard was waiting outside for us.
“Hey guys, good to see you. Try to talk quietly, they’re filming right now.” Richard whispered to us.
“Hey, Richard!” Aaron shouted from the other side of the car as he slammed the passenger side door. We then followed Richard into the house. First we ran into a girl holding a make-up case. Richard introduced her to us.
“Guys, this is Lisa. She can take a cock in her ass this big.” His arms were spread an exaggerated length. Aaron and I just both smiled awkwardly and said nothing, but mouthed hello.
“He’s kidding, guys. I’m the make-up artist.”
Richard then took us into the bedroom where the action was going on. A gentleman was making love to a girl in the style of a dog. They both seemed to be enjoying themselves. We watched for maybe a minute and decided we’d had enough. We walked back into the kitchen and Richard and I started talking Dodgers. Soon the young man that was having the sex earlier walked into the kitchen, completely naked. His manhood was flopping around his calves.
“John, I’d like you to meet some friends of mine. This is Danny and Aaron.”
“Hey guys, nice to meet you.” He shook each or our hands while we both focused intently on his eyes. “Man, fucking makes me hungry, you know what I mean?”
“Totally.” That was about all I felt I could say in this situation.
John went over to the vegetable platter and started enjoying some celery. At that point we decided to leave. When we got back to the car, Richard gave me my present. It was a pewter dragon. I thanked him and we left.

I arrived on set at about 8 AM. The location was at some rich guys’ house in Encino that the production company had rented for the next two days. The day started out simple enough, I just had to carry various things into the house from various people’s cars. In addition to Richard, my friend Fernando was also on working on the set that day, so I felt less alone. I then set up the buffet of vegetables, bagels, coffee and various other things the “stars” needed throughout the course of the day. Soon the girls started arriving and went with into the make-up room (the bathroom). While in the kitchen placing trash bags in various strategic spots, Richard handed me two boxes of douches.
“Go ask the girls where they want these, would you?”
“Sure.” I walked to the bathroom, knocked and went inside. I held the two boxes out in front of me.
“Where would you like these, ladies?”
“What are those?” They both had smiles on their faces.
“Uh…they’re uh, your douches.”
They both broke out laughing. Richard then came in behind me laughing as well. Apparently Richard had informed these two nice girls that this was my first time working on a porn set. They were all having a very good time.
Soon I was introduced to the entire motley crew. There was Jake, the hippy camera man who thought he was the greatest camera man in the world and also enjoyed regaling us with stories about fucking his wife. There was Bill, the old-man photographer who stared just a little bit too long at the girls and made some creepy comments even by porn standards. Then there was Tim the grip, who I was to work alongside for the most part. Tim used to work on legitimate movies but his meth habit had caused him to fall from grace and resurface in porn. He liked this industry because nobody asks questions about what you do with your paychecks. He was surprisingly very good at his job though. Meanwhile, Fernando had done this before and did a lot of paperwork and worked more directly with the director and talent.
Tim and I worked on lighting the sets while the girls prepared to get railed and Richard and Jake worked on setting up the shots. There was a lot of hard work setting up all the lights and heavy equipment, but we got it done. Once we had everything set up, I got to just sit around while the magic commenced on camera. About halfway into the big kitchen scene, the male lead in a fit of passion threw the vegetable platter off the counter and on the floor. Ranch dressing spilled everywhere. Richard, being scared for the safety of his stars called me in to clean up the ranch. I came in with a roll of paper towels, got down on my hands and knees and started wiping down the floors. I guess the male lead felt bad about making such a mess and started helping me clean. He wiped the sides of the counters. I did not realize he was right next to me and rotated counter-clockwise to meet a giant cock, inches from my face. I promptly got up, set the paper towels down on the counter and walked into the living room to sit on the couch. I sat there for about 45 minutes, trying to get that image out of my head and telling myself that I was doing this for my trip.
The day went on and on, about a 13 hour day all together. I slowly got used to people fucking in front of me, and engaging me in conversations while completely naked. One of the male actors told me that I should eat more dark meat to increase my muscle mass. The girls seemed appreciative when I brought them a bottle of water after a particularly grueling scene. I got through the day, and Richard gave me a check then and there. As I drove home, it occurred to me that there were worse ways to make a living.

Crossing Borders

2008-09-10T19:31:00.001-07:00

Job #18

Borders

Money was now desperately tight. Aaron and I had to get creative every month just to make rent. I had completely stopped paying my credit card bills (something that still is very far away from being resolved), and we were behind in every other bill. Aaron had just got a job testing video games for THQ, which was his dream job. I knew I had to find something, even if it was just a placeholder until I found something better. I applied to every online application I could find. The first to call me back was Borders Books. First I had an interview in Simi Valley, which is a decent drive to make from Granada Hills for $8.00 an hour but I was desperate and at least I knew the town. I nailed the interview but they fucked up the paperwork and it took a couple weeks before they called me back. By that time I had received a call from the Valencia Borders who were interested in hiring me right away. Valencia was about the same distance from my apartment as Simi, so I took it. I was hired to work the coffee café. I figured the money sucked but at least I’d get some tips to balance it out a little.
Being a corporation that loves to have rules just to have rules, Borders doesn’t just hire a new employee and have them come in for training. They put you through an entire week of “Coffee Education,” and they only offer this training once a month. The day they designated for me to start said training I was supposed to attend a Heaven and Hell concert (Black Sabbath with Dio at the mic for those of you who are unaware). If I didn’t attend this training I wouldn’t be able to start for another month so I had to miss the concert and instead learn the difference between African coffee beans and South American coffee beans. I hear Heaven and Hell brought the house down, but my friends who attended didn’t learn how hot one must steam milk for a proper latte. Basically what I’m trying to say is fuck corporations and their stupid rules, regulations, and general inflexibility.
I didn’t get many hours and I wasn’t very good at making coffee. The customers enjoyed me though as I am a friendly and personable dude when I want to be. I worked with all young girls, which if that sounds like it would be awesome you’ve obviously never spent a lot of time with young girls, who were all very nice but didn’t really know what to think of me. I got asked just how old I was frequently.
After about a month working there, Aaron died in a car crash and I decided that I didn’t want to live in my apartment anymore without him. I moved back home with my parents. It would have been ridiculous to drive from Simi to Valencia for such low pay so I promptly quit my career as a barista.

Never trust an Armenian man named Ray

2008-09-08T21:29:00.000-07:00

Job #17

All Digital Communications

My mother grew tired of my claims of being an “unemployed cell-phone salesman” (and my growing tendency to borrow money from her) so she called in a favor to her co-worker whose cousin owned a cell-phone shop. His name was Ray and he owned an establishment called All Digital Communications in beautiful Canoga Park, California. Ray is an Armenian. An interview was set up and I dressed in my Sunday best. Nothing particularly stood out about the interview except one part.
“Danny, we’re looking for a salesman with integrity.”
“That’s perfect. I’m of the belief that one can be a very effective salesman without being dishonest.”
“That’s what I like to hear, Danny.”
This will make sense soon, I promise.

The job was ten hours a day, five days a week. I made $1500 a month plus commission. At first I was excited about the $1500 a month, until I did the math, and at ten hours a day I was merely making minimum wage. Also, if I quit or got fired within the first three months I would forfeit all commission that was coming to me, and if any had already been paid to me, I would be sent a bill. My first day, my two co-workers, Eric and Armando, assured me that if I can sell, I will make a shit-ton of money. Most of that day I just watched Ray, Erik and Armando work the floor. Most customers didn’t speak English, and the ones that did either asked for Ray directly or were skinheads. I could tell immediately that I was not going to succeed at this job.
My second day the actual training began. Ray showed me the computer database. It contained a creepy amount of information about people and companies that Ray had never met or been associated with. How he got this information I don’t know, and it was made apparent that I shouldn’t ask. My job, I learned, was to cold call these people and get them to come in and buy cell phones. Also, I had to call the businesses and tell them that I was their new Sprint representative and that all future orders were to go through me. I just want to take this moment to both clarify that we were not officially affiliated with Sprint, and reiterate that Ray told me he was looking for a salesman with integrity.
The days crawled by, I didn’t make any sales, except to a Mexican couple who bought a Verizon Wireless family plan and were very nice, and Ray grew increasingly impatient with me. He refused to train me, and would just assume that I knew how all of his policies worked. He once yelled at me for selling a prepaid minute card because he didn’t make enough money off of them. There were no prices listed anywhere for the phones, but I was expected to know the price for any given phone at any given moment for any given plan. To top it off, I wasn’t making any money so I was still broke and was pretty much miserable. I felt I couldn’t quit because my mother had gotten me the job and, let’s face it; I’ve disappointed her a few too many times.
One day Ray told me to call a company and tell them the lie about being a Sprint representative and I told him I just didn’t feel right lying like it. He got offended and said we weren’t lying. I realized then I was dealing with a special kind of man. He was practically mobster like in the sense that he didn’t feel he was doing anything wrong. He sold stolen phones (I forgot to mention that part. He would come in the store at random times throughout the day with boxes of miscellaneous phones and wouldn’t tell anybody where he got them. He would just say he got them from his “source.”), lied to people and nickel and dimed his long-time customers. Plus, he was just a condescending piece of shit. I decided to quit regardless of my mothers reputation. When I told her about it, she was of course completely understanding and apologized for hooking me up with this dude.
I told Ray that I was quitting and he got pissed.
“You’re quitting after all the time and effort we’ve put into your training?”
“I guess sales just isn’t for me after all.” I hung around for about a week after that while he found a replacement and then got the Hell out of there and never looked back.

Mortgaging my future

2008-09-04T18:37:00.000-07:00

Job #16

Global Mortgage

Aaron Behar, who had become my new roommate a few months earlier to replace Veronica who went to school in Australia, and I were both unemployed. I had left Domino’s and he had told the Home Depot to go fuck themselves. Other than being poor, life was great. I was living with my best friend in an apartment I loved, and I also was still dating an amazing girl. I didn’t really feel right about asking for anything more, but rent did need to get paid.
Aaron and I went to the Select Staffing Service on Ventura Boulevard in Woodland Hills (I had previously had good luck with that placement company) and took all their tests. I told the nice lady several times that I did not want to talk on the phone all day at any job. Aaron said he’d do just about anything. Two days later, we both had a job at a place called Global Mortgage, telemarketing.
Our first day, our boss Brian gave us a brief breakdown of the company which took all of about five minutes. It was clear right away that this was simply not a legit company. Brian repeatedly complimented both Aaron and I on our speaking voices, which is complete bullshit. I both mumble and stutter in a monotone voice and Aaron didn’t fare a whole lot better in that respect. But Brian really seemed to enjoy us, so we were on the phones within the first fifteen minutes of being there. We had to read a script to the customers, something about home values increasing in their neighborhood and the time to refinance is now, in an effort to get them to give us a whole bunch of money. After a few calls where we didn’t close any deals we got our first Glengarry Glenross-esque sales speech. It was from a gentlemen who went by the name of Asi (I don’t know how to actually spell his name and I didn’t have the gall to ask) who simply told us we have to learn how to “turn those motherfuckers into pussies.” As we visibly struggled to understand just what exactly that meant, Brian jumped in and told us that if somebody hasn’t hung up after two minutes, just pass the phone onto one of them.
Each day got progressively worse. On the second day, they told us we needed to start getting people’s social security numbers from them. On the third day, a couple of shady looking fellows came into the office and gave Asi an envelope of what I can only assume was a large quantity of money or coke. On the fourth day Brian was nowhere to be found and nobody was talking about him. On the fifth day we found they had sold the company to a group of Armenians who had no idea who Aaron and I were or what we were supposed to be doing. I got a job offer elsewhere that weekend and decided to just not go back. Aaron stuck with it for almost another month. When he finally quit they didn’t pay him, and we had to meet Asi in a strange secluded parking lot to get Aaron’s last check. We got the money without incident, but it was not very pleasant.

Deliver us from evil

2008-08-28T18:53:00.000-07:00

Job #15

Pizza Delivery

Despite some decent savings and some security money borrowed from my sister (I’ll pay you back someday, I swear), I decided to jump right back into the workforce, at least part-time. My buddy Dave delivered pizza for Domino’s and put in a word for me. I figured I could earn a little extra money in tips, especially with Christmas coming up, and that would hold me over until I found something decent.
The great thing about interviewing at Domino’s is that there are no expectations, no questions about why a grown man would want this job. They understand life’s not going as planned for me and they’re just happy I have a clean record. So I got the job quite easily.
My first day, I walked in and the manager led me towards the back.
“Sorry about the smell, we’ve got a pipe busted in the mop sink. You’ll get used to it.” She told me as we walked to a broom closet that served as her office. It began to occur to me that perhaps I didn’t want to get used to it.
That evening, I watched videos on their computer from 1956 about the virtues of being a Domino’s employee. When I went to the bathroom, I noticed a sign that read:
Employees must wash hands for thirty seconds after using the bathroom. If you can’t count to thirty, sing Happy Birthday…twice.
I knew right then and there that I wouldn’t last very long here.
My second day, I went on a ride-along with a fellow driver. She was a forty-five year old, haggard woman who spent our entire ride driving recklessly, bitching about her no-good kid and her less-good husband, and explaining to me that my seatbelt was broken so just stop trying to fasten it.
I never made it to my third day.

A glimpse at how the other half lives

2008-08-27T18:33:00.000-07:00

Job #14

Wireless Sales Expert

After getting laid off Murphy’s, and getting denied on my claim with the labor board about the owner not paying me (a very important lesson in how shitty the poor have it), I filed for unemployment insurance. I collected unemployment for three or four months making about $400 a month. I was still living with my parents with no end in sight, and tended to party away my meager earnings.
In March of aught-5 my friend Maria offered me a job at a company where she’d recently become a manager. The job was selling cell phones in a kiosk in Costco for a company called Wireless Advocates, which only exists within Costcos. Another good friend of mine, Kevin, worked there as well. To tell the truth, I didn’t really go into this job intending to make a lot of money, stay very long, or take it that seriously. I just thought it was something to hold me over for a little while.
The first couple of months didn’t go well as far as sales, but we had a district manager that didn’t much care. Due to my general social awkwardness I had some trouble connecting with people enough to sell them on a new phone and contract. Slowly but surely, though, my confidence grew as did my sales. Then I talked Maria into hiring Jefferson McCool. Without sounding too queer or anything, this event would signify the beginning of the Golden Age of my life.
Over the next months Jefferson, and I refined our sales technique (I’d include Kevin and Maria in this but they were already good), which basically consisted of instilling the belief that there’s no way these two dudes would, or could, rip you off. Our unshaven faces, dirty uniforms, general disinterest in the product we’re selling and probably a faint scent of stale beer drove this point home nicely. We weren’t salesmen and anybody could see that, including upper management, but our numbers were good and nobody could say shit to us.
Soon I started making enough money to move out of my parents’ house once again. I moved in with my friend Veronica, who had a room available in the apartment she’d been living in for some years. We were both laid back and non-confrontational people so we existed in harmony. I still spent most of my time in the bars, don’t get me wrong, but I was earning my own way now. Money suddenly was a much lesser issue than I’d ever experienced before. I was making about $30,000 a year (if that doesn’t sound like a lot to you, fuck you and send me some money) with full medical benefits and I got a taste of what it was to be an adult, and I gotta say I kinda liked it.
The summer of that year, Jefferson and I got invited to Lester and Junebugs’ wedding in Vegas. We convinced Maria to give us the time off, not hard to do seeing that she arrived late and left early every day so she kind of owed it to us, and headed to Vegas. We arrived at the residence of Josh and Aaron Behar late in the night and proceeded to head to Fremont Street and get way too drunk, and stayed up until sometime after the sun rose, as is necessary when in that town. The wedding was in the early afternoon the next day; needless to say we were very hungover. We giggled throughout the ceremony, especially when Junebugs’ hot daughter was singing to a CD and it skipped halfway through. After the ceremony, they started taking pictures of everyone at the wedding, Jefferson and I were asked to just head up to the hotel room where the reception would take place. If inviting us to the wedding at all was their first mistake, this was, maybe not their last but a much more significant one seeing as how all the booze was up there. We proceeded to drink their bottles that were simply marked “rum” until we were good and sloshed, the kind of drunk where we were no longer responsible for anything. The party soon joined us and everybody was drunk and having a good time. We ended up getting a 14 year old kid, who was wearing a Metallica shirt, hammered. He thought we were the coolest guys in the world, so we liked him for that. Late in the afternoon we announced we were leaving. We headed down to the casino and the kid followed us. I put a couple quarters into a slot machine and waited for my free drink. Soon a security guard approached the kid who was now standing a few feet away from us and asked him what he was doing there. He explained to the gentleman that he was with us, to which we replied: “We’ve never seen this kid before in our lives,” and promptly walked away. Aaron Behar ended up picking us up, because we were in no condition to drive, and drove us back to his house where we fell asleep at about 7:30 in the PM. The next morning, we all went to the jerk-off booth where Jefferson paid forty dollars to masturbate to a couple girls making out with each other. We then drove home. Long story short, we weren’t totally grown up.
The months passed and life was good. In January of ’06 I ran into a young lady at a bar who I knew in High School. We hit it off and were soon dating. I’m not going to go into too much detail on this one, but let’s just say life got even better. I had a job that paid the bills well, my own place, good friends, and a lady friend who not only understood and forgave my shortcomings, but loved me for them. Kevin had left the company for a better paying gig and we had failed to hire a replacement for a long time, so we all had to work a little more than we would’ve liked, but it wasn’t a big deal because management didn’t really bother us. Of course, all good things have to come to an end.
It started when we finally got around to hiring that replacement. His name was Kyle, he was Jewish and it showed. He’s the guy that fuels the fire of the stereotype of the Jewish people. He was fat, with no physically redeeming qualities, he was conniving, and valued money above all else. He came in and started outselling all of us and Ruben (our district manager) had a man-crush on him. He outsold us by lying to customers and then bailing when they came back angry. We gave him the benefit of the doubt time and time again but he was a real piece of shit. In August, Jefferson decided to move back to Boise, which once again left us with three in the kiosk. Since Maria was becoming more and more disinterested in the job, it was basically just Kyle and I. Before too long, Maria was caught by Ruben surfing the internet, eating food, talking on her phone and ignoring a customer while alone at work. She was sent home and shortly after she quit. Ruben hired a couple more salesmen. They were just kids, 18 or 19. I didn’t mind them too much, especially considering they hated Kyle, but work just wasn’t fun anymore.
It was at this time I decided to do what I thought was the grown up thing and I asked Ruben to make me the manager. He elevated me to manager-in-training status, which basically means all the responsibilities with none of the pay, and proceeded to jerk me around about when I would become a full manager. “When you’re ready,” he would say. Meanwhile Kyle, who wanted the position for himself, started telling Ruben lies about me and turning him against me. Due to Kyle’s superior selling numbers, Ruben believed him at every turn. My natural instinctive hatred of jobs and corporate life kicked in and I told Kyle exactly what I thought of him and soon afterwards Ruben too. I was fired on my birthday, although nobody told me. I had to find out two days later when I showed up to work and found my password no longer worked in the computer. Kyle wasn’t working that day, so I just walked out to my car, called Ruben and told him to fuck off. I had some money saved up so I wasn’t too worried. Plus, I figured that I would find another decent-paying job pretty easily. I was wrong.

Note: This is a short version of what I intended to write, which is why this took me so long (that and my general laziness). If you're interested in the long version you can buy my book when it comes out. Target date: September 2026

The Original Cooks of Comedy

2008-08-08T15:56:00.000-07:00

Job #13

Line Cook

Being an irresponsible young man in his early twenties who drank a little too much and lacked any real ambition, the next logical place for me to work at was a bar. I got a job as a line cook at Murphy’s Irish Pub. It was actually one of the more hoppin’ bars in town at the time. Everyone went there: cowboys, rednecks and even your average, everyday white trash. The place claimed to be Irish but the only thing Irish about the place was the fact that they had Guinness on tap, and the owner was an Irish cocksucker. I would hang out there a good portion of my time anyway, so when I was offered a job there it just made too much sense. As an added bonus, Jefferson McCool was the kitchen manager. There was also a young man named Josh who worked in the kitchen with us who was also a comedian. Jefferson McCool hosted the comedy night at Murphy’s every Wednesday night and both Josh and I would usually perform at said comedy night(back then I was doing a routine that consisted of me complaining that due to looking like Jesus I couldn’t bang any Jewish chicks, who I was really into. I know I was way ahead of my time). We called ourselves “The Original Cooks of Comedy,” an idea that could’ve really taken off which a pseudo documentary if that damn Josh didn’t move back to Mississippi or wherever the hell he’s from.
Whereas I had, in my teen years, mastered the art of cooking for stoned people, Jefferson McCool helped to teach me the ways of cooking for drunken people. Basically, you deep-fry everything. The kitchen was never really that busy so we usually just hung out, ate free food and, if a cool bartender was working, drank rum and cokes through the duration of our shifts. To replace Josh when he left, we hired a girl Jefferson and I simply referred to as “Bilbo Juggins,” because she was short and had rather large breasts. Our plan was to make her do all the work, but it backfired when we realized she wasn’t very good.
For about a month, this was the greatest job ever. Free booze, free food and to quote Jefferson McCool: “I get off work and I’m already at a bar. It’s awesome!” Then a chain of events started to happen to ruin everything. First they fired the manager Sam, whom we all liked and brought in a man named Lester, the karaoke DJ and former (probably current) cokehead. Lester in turn brought in his lady friend June to be the kitchen manager, who we called Junebug. They pulled aside Jefferson McCool one day and said to him:
“Good news, Jefferson, we’re promoting you to assistant kitchen manager.”
“Well that’s great, except I’m already kitchen manager.”
“Well, we’re gonna bring June in and see if she can jumpstart things. You’re doing a great job though and we want to give you a raise to $8.00 an hour.”
“Well that’s great, except that I’m already making $9.50.”
We would later find out that the owner purposely brought these people in to run the place into the ground.

Then something really amazing happened. They stopped paying us.
“Are the checks here?” We would ask; our eyes full of naïve hope.
“They’ll be here Tuesday.” The checks would never come on Tuesday though. We stuck around though, mostly because we still got free booze and we really had nothing better to do. Also, we still sort of believed that maybe someday we’d be paid. Once a week or so, Lester would come into the kitchen, hug us and tell us we were doing a great job and then hand us a twenty. He started to get so sentimental about all of our plights that we dubbed him “Hugs-a-Plenty.” Soon the comedy night was terminated, which nobody was coming to anymore anyway so it didn’t really matter. For some reason we kept showing up that whole month though.
Finally, one day I showed up to work and was told that the place would be closing the next day. I hung up my apron and sat down at the bar. Jefferson got behind the bar and started serving drinks. It sucked, them not paying us and all, but I feel we drank close to a full paychecks worth of booze that night. Jefferson would later describe that evening as the best night of his life. He really likes to drink. That night all the employees sung “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” on the karaoke stage together. Lester proposed to Junebug and we drank cheap champagne. When two o’clock rolled around we all went our separate ways. Jefferson and I would later work together again and even attend Lester and Junebugs’ wedding in Vegas, but that’s a different story altogether.

I fought the law and the law was indifferent towards me

2008-08-07T16:37:00.000-07:00

Job #12

Legal Filing

This one should’ve actually been posted before the Albertsons gig as I worked here while working at Regal. But, much like in my journey through life, I got a little mixed up.
My mom’s boss’s husband was a lawyer and said he’d help her son make a little money. So two days a week I would drive out to Sherman Oaks to his office, sit at a desk and rummage through a large file of documents I didn’t understand. He sort of told me what was expected of me, but it was early and I was hung over and really just didn’t understand. The one thing I did understand was that it was not okay for me to read these files too in depth. He didn’t want me to learn any inside information on his clients. Naturally, I read all the files pretty damn in depth. I learned one of his clients was suing the company I was currently employed at: Regal Entertainment Group. This client was suing because she fell down the stairs of a theater and claimed it was too dark. Too dark in a theater that was currently playing a movie. I brought to his attention both the fact that I worked at Regal and that I thought this was a bit of a ridiculous lawsuit.
“Well, the stairs should’ve been lit up, it’s just not safe.”
“They do have lights on the stairs though.”
“Yeah, but a couple of the bulbs were burnt out.”
I decided not to press the issue because I could see he was more than a little upset about my prying into the files and my disapproval of his lack of ethics. He went back to his office, and I went back to being very confused as to what I was supposed to be doing.
The rest of my day was usually spent staring at the hot secretary that was employed in the office. I once told her that I was a comedian. She smiled and said “That’s nice.” I think that was the only time we talked. The best part of the day was lunch, as I would wander around Ventura Boulevard until I found something that looked good. There’s a lot of good food on that street. My lunches usually ran a little longer than the half hour I was allotted but nobody ever said anything so I assumed everything was okay.
After a couple weeks my boss was slowly realizing that I hadn’t actually done anything during my time of employment. He started checking my progress every hour or so to make sure I was doing something. After two days of this, I stopped showing up. Nobody ever said anything about me being fired or me quitting, it was just never mentioned again. I’m pretty sure I made my mom look like an asshole on that one, and for that I’m sorry, but I’m just not quite cut out for working in law I guess

Dan the Ripper

2008-08-06T23:54:00.001-07:00

Job #11

Albertsons

At this point in my life I had begun to realize how easy it is to acquire a menial job. Nowadays I consider it a refined skill, I could get a shitty job tomorrow if I had to. Between this new found knowledge and my previous grocery experience I got hired at Albertsons less than two weeks after I left the Regal. I was under the impression that I was getting hired as a grocery clerk, which was the same thing I did at Jons for a long time. However, they had something different in mind. They made me a Ripper, which anyone who’s ever worked in the grocery industry knows that this is by far the shittiest job in the store. You have to get there at 4 in the morning, and pick up all the cardboard boxes off the floor that the real men (overnight stockers) throw there, and then break the boxes down (hence the name “ripper”) and load them into carts. Once you’ve loaded about 25-30 carts full of cardboard, you start putting said cardboard into the bailer. Soon enough, the bailer fills up and it needs to be tied using thick metal wires that will cut you several times a day. You then push the several hundred pound bail onto a pallet and haul it out onto the dock. This process repeats on a heavy load day about 3 to 4 times.
So, I was always scheduled to start work at 4. Since I was a bit of a barfly, I usually stayed out until about 2 in the morning. The only times I ever recall showing up on time were those times I simply didn’t go to sleep. I’d show up to work still drunk and totally useless. The other times I would stroll in around 7ish. Since I was either still drunk or really hung over, I wouldn’t work very fast and thus not much would get done. Nobody at Albertsons thought much of me and most would barely even talk to me. I started to realize that, probably mostly due to my appearance (long hair, full beard, bloodshot eyes), the managers didn’t really approve of me being on the sales floor when the store was open. I started to realize that I was essentially the store troll they kept in the back whom they made do all the shitty work that nobody else wanted to do. This encouraged me to do even less work.
Here’s an example of what these people thought of me. The other guy that did the same job as me was retarded. I don’t mean that in a cute way or to be mean, he was actually retarded. All the guys there referred to this gentleman as “The Bullet.” My nickname was “Slow and steady.” That’s all I have to say about that.
I ended up quitting this job because I thought my comedy career was going to start taking off. Also, I fucking hated it. So after just a couple months I once again found myself unemployed. As a side note, my comedy career was not taking off, I’m just an idiot.

An Empty Stand

2008-08-05T19:32:00.000-07:00

Job #9 revisited

Regal Cinemas (again)

The lesson I’d learned at my previous job about sobriety not being a curse and all went right out the window. I was partying my ass off at this time of my life. In an attempt to make a little money I went crawling back to the Regal. Since there was a new general manager, who had no idea what a shitty employee I was, getting hired back was relatively easy.
From the moment I started back, however, I was miserable. There was a general feeling that life just wasn’t going as planned (I know that I’m to blame for just about every misstep, you don’t have to point that out like you just had an epiphany) and I was in a hole that I couldn’t dig myself out of. My solution: show up to work hung over and treat customers like shit. I was easily the oldest non-manager, except for a couple border-line retarded people, and was making minimum wage at the age of 22. It was at this time, however, that I started my soon to be failed career of stand-up comedy. So, it’s not like it was a completely useless time.
I don’t want to harp on too many details of my second stint at the Regal. Instead, I just want to talk about my last day.
As I said before, I was miserable there and really kind of wanted to get fired. I showed up one evening a little hung over and not wanting to be at work. That night I was to be an usher, which is a fancy term for cleaning theaters after movies. As soon as I walked in, one of my 18 year-old managers asked me to go buy her and some of the other kids some booze. I happily obliged. They gave me money and I walked across the street to the liquor store, on the clock of course, and purchased a large bottle of vodka. I brought it back and didn’t even bother to hide the fact that I was holding a bottle of booze.
We convened in the open stock room behind the concession stand and proceeded to pour drinks. The kids got really drunk really quickly. Soon, they were yelling, falling over and generally causing a scene. I continued to drink, realizing that this could very well be the final straw for me. Sure enough, the general manager soon came into the store and called all the ushers into his office one at a time. I realized then and there that this night would be my last night and I should go out trying to save some poor kids jobs. Mr. Kung, the general manager, asked to speak to me last so I knew that he knew that I was to blame and that he was trying to sweat me out. I marched to the front of the line and into his office.
“We both know it was me, stop torturing these poor kids.”
“You drank that whole bottle by yourself?”
“Yeah, I got a bit of a problem. Friends and family keep telling me that I need to get help and this has been a real eye opener.” This was not true, nobody was really that concerned about me. “So, just fire me and lay off of them.”
“You’re willing to sign a paper that says it’s all your fault?”
“Yep.” So I signed his paper and walked out of his office. I told the kids not to give in to him no matter how hard he pushed. I tore my shirt off and walked off into the night, ineligible for rehire at Regal Entertainment Group.
About two years later I heard that my ripping my shirt off had become a small legend and as employees quit or got fired they would follow my lead. Young people I’d never met would participate in this ritual. I’ve never felt such shameful pride in my life.

Finally a Break in the Music Business

2008-08-01T15:29:00.000-07:00

Job #10

Line 6

First of all I’d like to apologize for not posting yesterday. I was a little preoccupied due to the fact that Manny Ramirez is a fucking Dodger. But I digress.
While I was working at Regal my friend Clint got a tip on a job in a guitar workshop but he already had a job or he was in school or he was going to do missionary work in Africa, I’m not really sure. So, instead I applied and wouldn’t you know it, I got the gig. The company was Line 6, who makes amplifiers and guitars and such. I worked in a big warehouse where I, and three other guys, sat in the far corner and inspected and did minor repairs on guitars. I basically got to play guitar all day everyday, and they even let me wear shorts to work! The hours were a little rough; I had to be there at 7 in the morning and often didn’t get off until 5 of 6 in the PM. All in all though, it was a fun job. The people I worked with were swell, and my boss did an incredible Chewbacca impression. The best thing about working there was the food-mobile that came for the morning breaks and lunch breaks. They had this Sausage Mcmuffin (yes, they actually called it that despite the legal ramifications) that I had to eat at least two of every day or I’d go into withdrawals.
One of the guys I worked with, whose name is Gabe, was a totally mind-fucked, conspiracy-theory believing hippy. He would regale us with tales of alien structures on the moon, mile-long creatures that flew through space at the speed of light, and Jamie Lee Curtis’ penis. The man could fix anything on a guitar though.
Then there was Jeff, or JK Northrup as I call him. You might’ve heard of him, or you might not have. The man was a kinda sorta rockstar in the 80’s. When he started working at Line 6 he had just finished recording a new album with XYZ, which was selling very well in Europe, but they couldn’t seem to get a tour off the ground. His stories were fun though. We got to hear about opening up for Deep Purple, and the groupies that thought semen is good for their complexion.
While I worked here I even cut down on my drinking. Since I had to be at work so early, I didn’t feel like dealing with the hangover that would come, so I learned an important lesson: perhaps sobriety isn’t a curse after all. Soon enough, though the hours were catching up to me and I started getting that feeling of “What the Hell am I doing with my life?” So for the second consecutive year, I quit my job with the intention of going back to school.

Regression

2008-07-30T14:01:00.000-07:00

Job #9

Regal Cinemas

Within two months of me quitting Countrywide to become a rock star, my band broke up and I was working for minimum wage at Regal Cinemas. For some reason it wasn’t even an easy job to get, probably due to the fact that I refused to shave my beard or trim my hair, and maybe because I was a drunken moron. My first interview with Regal was with my future friend Richard Sankey. Richard looked at my resume and liked my experience, but was put off a little by my appearance. To this day, I believe he was actually afraid of me and that’s why he didn’t hire me. As a credit to his acting ability, though, he looked me straight in the eyes and told me he believed I was management material. He decided not to hire me. Luckily for me, the communication at Regal was a joke and a couple weeks later I got a call from a different manager to set up an interview. This interview went a little better (I shaved my beard) and I was hired.
My first day was the release of a Harry Potter movie. Less than an hour in I came very close to quitting right there, but I stuck with it and the next thing I knew almost a year had gone by. As an interesting (not very interesting actually) side note, my first day was also Jason Haskins’ first day. He would go on to have some success with this company, I would not. My basic job was to serve fat people popcorn and soda and listen to them bitch about the high prices. I was not a very good employee; I was rude to customers and did not maintain a very clean working environment. Some of the kids I worked with seemed to enjoy me, though, mostly because I could buy them beer. Sadly, in hindsight, I believe some of the kids identified with me because looking at me they could see their future.
Although I was probably partying harder at that time of my life than ever before or since, my body displayed a remarkable amount of resiliency. I would stay up drinking until the sun came up two or three days in a row, get a couple hours of sleep and go to work at 9am and still be able to get through the work day with little problems. Nowadays, I drink 3 beers and I’ll be hung-over all the next day. The negative side of all this was that I couldn’t manage to stay in school for a complete semester, and I wasn’t really accomplishing anything worth noting. I have to assume my parents weren’t exactly thrilled with the direction of my life at that time either, despite them being too nice to ever kick me out.
Eventually I got a second job, which I’ll go into further detail about in the next post, and worked the two together for a while. Soon enough I quit Regal entirely seeing as how it wasn’t really doing me any good, though I would be back soon enough…

An Introduction to Corporate America

2008-07-29T21:39:00.000-07:00

Job #8

Countrywide Stooge

This time around searching for a job was a little different, both on a personal level and the global scale. America was still dealing with the aftermath of the 9/11 terrorists attack and the world was slowly coming to grips with the fact that the Star Wars prequels just weren’t that good. Me, I was no longer living with my parents and was getting sex consistently for the first time in my life. I knew I needed a job that paid well enough to pay rent and for the first time around I felt that maybe I actually had something offer a place of employment.
Anyone who has lived in Simi Valley knows that there was a period of time where any underachiever could get a job at Countrywide and make a halfway decent living. I applied through a temp agency and within a couple weeks I was working in the mail room. Every day hundreds of packages, each containing hundreds of loan contracts, would be put at my working station. My job was to open the packages and stack the contracts in like piles for 8 to 10 hours a day. There’s really not much memorable about this job, other than the breakfast burritos, those were pretty fucking awesome. After the new year hit I decided to go back to school and quit Countrywide, I thought forever.

Three months later I was back living with my parents and back at Countrywide, though in a different city, this time West Hills. Also, my job was different and I worked at night. This time I was called a Loan purchaser, which basically was a really unnecessary term for data entry. The hours were from 3pm to 10pm Monday through Friday, leaving me plenty of time to both get drunk at night and sleep it off the next day. My boss, though hot, was a bit of a ditz, and since I’m a fast typist I was always able to complete my nights work with plenty of time to spare I was able to sneak out of the office frequently and get myself an on-the-clock bite to eat. Also, I was known to go into the bathroom, sit on the shitter and fall asleep for a half-hour or so. I stayed with this job through the spring and the summer.
Why did I leave this job, you ask? Well, I was in a band at the time. It was called Inferno, my stage name was Dante but that’s a whole other story, and I believed we were going all the way. One day, a couple hours before I was supposed to be at work we were hanging out in our singer Clint’s house, drinking and recording on his four-track. When it came time for me to leave for work I decided I wouldn’t go in that day, I also decided I wouldn’t call. The next day, rather than just going in and being a man and dealing with whatever shit they through my way, I called and told my hot, yet ditzy manager that my band was going on tour through the western United States and that I had to quit effective immediately. She was actually very nice and wished me luck. I’m still waiting on that tour.

Origin of a night stalker (stocker)

2008-07-28T18:55:00.001-07:00

Job #7

Stock Clerk (Jons Market)

Jons Market, which is based in Los Angeles County, decided to tackle the Simi Valley market. Since they were new to town and had to staff an entire super market they would basically take anybody (except for, for some reason, Mike Demetriou). So I got hired along with some friends of mine including my neighbor and former co-worker Brea, and Casey who some readers may remember as the guy my old boss referred to as Ezekiel. Casey and I were sent to training together, which was nice. Once again, since Jons did not currently exist in Simi Valley, we were sent to the Van Nuys location. For a shy, white kid from Simi, Van Nuys can be quite the culture shock. The store was incredibly busy with lines as far as you can see from open to close. In an attempt to be a model employee I, as I had been instructed to do, asked every customer if they wanted help out to their car. Well at one point, a large black gentleman came through my line and purchased a couple of 40 oz. beverages. I asked him very politely if he wanted help out, his reply stays with me to this day.
“What you gonna do, hold my dick?”

When the Simi store finally opened things were pretty good for a while. The company was just small enough to not be overly corporate, the managers for the most part weren’t slave-drivers, and I worked with my friends. After a few months, I turned eighteen and received my first promotion, to stock clerk. For the next year or so this would be one of the greatest jobs I’ve ever had.
The things that were great about this job are as follows: 1.) I had more freedom at this job than I’d ever had. I arrived in the mid afternoon and got off at about midnight. I had a certain amount of things that needed to be done by the end of every shift and as long as I completed them nobody would ever bother me. I quickly got pretty good at this job (it’s amazing what not showing up to work stoned can do for your work ethic) and learned how to manage my time. No manager was ever on my back because they knew I would get my work done. Not to sound too dramatic or cheesy, but I felt like a man, it was nice.
2.) My co-worker Frank. I could probably write an entire post on Frank, the man was just cool. He was in his fifties and a Vietnam vet. During the war, in which he was never part of any fighting, he developed a liking for Asian women and it carried over to the states. Also, the man had game. He may have never really pulled any 10’s, but he would pull more 6’s than my 18-19 year old self could ever hope to imagine. We actually kept a running tally of all the customers he’d bang on a wall in the back stock room, until his ex-wife came in to talk to him and noticed it. Another time, while Frank and I were killing time in the back room, a lady customer walked out of the bathroom and as she saw Frank there was an awkward exchange of pleasantries between the two. Once she was gone, he turned to me and said, “Had her about a year ago.” He was a good man and a good friend. He taught me a lot about always keeping an even disposition even when a customer or a manager is being completely irrational.
There were numerous other positives about this job that I’m not going to go into specifically in interest of saving some space and time. But I do have to point out that I was still a kid and prone to doing the fucked up things kids do. A co-worker and I developed a scam to steal beer from the store. Every night I had to take out empty milk crates and put them on a pallet on the dock. There was a camera aimed at the door which I would bring the crates out of, but the cameras could not see something I placed in the bottom crate. I would place a good amount of beer in the bottom crate and take it outside. My co-worker would then take his break and drive to the back and place the beer in his car, later we would get drunk and have fun.
The summer of ’01 I got promoted to the manager of the dairy department. This was supposed to mean more money but by this time management was fucked. They brought in a new store manager and a new assistant store manager, who hated me. They never gave me my raise and they would write me up for any reason they could find. One day, I called in sick (to go to a Bob Dylan concert, but they didn’t know that) and told me if I didn’t come in I would get suspended. I had only called in sick about 5 times in two years before that so I decided I’d had enough. I came in the next day and before they could do anything I put in my two week notice.

Apologies

2008-07-27T17:47:00.000-07:00

Due to circumstances beyond my control (hangover) I will not be able to write my next post today. For this I apologize to my reader. To make up for it, I pledge that I will post two blogs tomorrow. It is my day off and and I should be well rested (no money for beer).

We are the Youth Gone Wild

2008-07-26T14:44:00.000-07:00

Job #6

Panda Express

This was my first legit job, as in I filled out a W2 and the government took a piece of my ass every check. Once again, this job was located inside the Super Vons, my main source of work at this point in my life. Also once again, Brea’s mother got her and me this job; apparently she had a lot of clout at the Vons.
Panda Express represented many firsts for me. For starters, it was the first time I ever had to take a drug test. Now, as I’ve mentioned in earlier posts, in those days I smoked an awful lot of marijuana. In fact, many authority figures in my life would refer to me as “on the pot.” I didn’t realize there would be a drug test so I never altered my behavior or bought any of those infallible concoctions they sell at head shops. Instead, an hour before the test I drank a gallon of cranberry juice and pissed about a dozen times. To this day I’m not sure if I passed, I can’t see how I could’ve, or if Vons is just a laid back company (whereas I worked for Panda Express, I was technically an employee of Vons). Either way, I got hired.
My first day working I sliced open my finger and almost served a very bloody portion of Orange Chicken™ to an unsuspecting customer. My second day I burnt my hand on the egg flour soup. I was starting to learn that in food service, maybe being stoned wasn’t the best idea for optimal performance. Over the next couple weeks I gradually got better and realized that it really wasn’t a very difficult job, despite my fears otherwise. Once again, I wasn’t as good as Brea at our job, the Mexicans that cooked in the back really seemed to love her while being indifferent towards me, but I managed to keep up.
My manager Evan (pronounced E-Von) was an effeminate, pear-shaped Chinese fellow. He was nice enough, he even let me take home whatever Orange Chicken™ was left over at the end of the night, but due to my shyness, awkwardness, and probably both my stonedness and general poor grooming, assumed I had a bad home life. He would always tell me that my parents not loving me wasn’t the end of the world and that having a good, steady job can help ones self-esteem. He was being so nice, I didn’t want to tell him he was wrong on both counts, so I just nodded and kept working.
Overall, this job only lasted about a month and a half or so. I didn’t lose this job because of bad performance or a better opportunity elsewhere or any of the traditional explanations. No, the real reason was that they wanted me to work on Halloween and I had made plans to drop acid for the first time that night, so naturally I had to quit. That’s right, I quit my first legitimate, Uncle Sam approving job for LSD. Part of me wants to say that I chose life over work, experience over the mundane, enjoying my youth over accepting my role in the soul-sucking, lifeless world of the working class. But the truth is, I just wanted to get high with my friends.

Just for those who wondering, yes I did end up doing the acid, and yes, it was awesome. My friend Mike and I jumped around on a Moon Bounce for like three hours and had the absolute time of our lives.

Don't Put All Your Eggs in One Basket

2008-07-25T14:54:00.001-07:00

Job #5

Easter Bunny

This would’ve easily been my most humiliating job to date had I not been wearing a mask. That’s right, kids, I was the Easter Bunny. This was just a few months after my Santa’s helper gig I had in December. I worked for the same guy, though this time there was a few differences. 1.) It was Easter rather than Christmas, obviously. 2.) My friend Brea had other things going and didn’t need this job. 3.) The old man (who still looked eerily like Santa and the children would continuously point this out) would take the pictures while kids sat on my lap.
First the good: By this time my voice had sufficiently changed and I was (a few voice-cracking lapses aside) a deep-voiced man, so for that reason I was instructed not to speak as it might frighten the children. For me, that was good due to the fact that I heavily disliked speaking, not just to children but to pretty much anyone in a public setting. Also, I didn’t have to work the camera this time around, so I wouldn’t be the one responsible for fucking up the pictures. Basically, there was no skill involved to do this particular job.
Now the bad: My awkwardness around children transcended the no speaking safety net. Apparently my body language was not very inviting, and whereas the Easter Bunny should probably be at least slightly theatric and boisterous, I had trouble channeling the character I was playing.
The really shitty part was this though: The bunny suit was hot, like sitting in a sauna for six or seven hours hot. It was also, something I didn’t realize until too late, slightly see through. Now, before you go and think something incredibly dirty I need to assure you I did have the foresight to wear boxers as I didn’t know who else had worn that suit over the years. This caused a problem though. When I was sitting down I was fine, but part of my job was that when it got slow and there were no kids waiting to take pictures, I had to walk around the store and engage the little buggers. With the lights of the Super Vons shining all about me, my Pantera boxers were evident through the suit. Most people simply laughed at me, but a couple children got frightened, and one mother scolded me for destroying the imagination of her beloved mongrel child.

This job is also significant in that it was the first time I ever got to take breaks in an official employee break room. I would sit at the table, drinking a soda and enjoying a Cup O’ Noodles in my costume, sans bunny head. The Mexicans that worked the produce and meat departments got a big kick out of me and laughed at me the entire duration of my break.
What valuable lessons did I learn from job number five? I guess it would be that I need to maintain some dignity despite working shitty jobs.

Santos L. Halper

2008-07-24T12:49:00.000-07:00

JOB #4

Santa’s Helper

Santa came to town every year at one of the local Vons, which due to it’s larger size than the average Super Market, we called it the Super Vons. My friend Brea’s mother worked at the Vons and got to know the man who played Santa. Turns out he needed a couple teenagers to take pictures of the kids. So, Brea and I got ourselves a job. She was very good at this job, I was not. My natural awkwardness around children is only surpassed by their natural awkwardness around me.
My job was to line up the kids, take them to Santa and then take their picture. These kids were either frightened of me or just downright didn’t respect me. I got laughed at by a fat kid because I had to wear an elf hat and costume, and being the model employee I was at the time, I just smiled and took it in stride. The fact that my voice doesn’t project well, I lack the confidence to shout and I just flat out have a mumbling problem added to the inevitable confusion. The lines were chaos, the kids weren’t happy until they reached Santa and the pictures usually came out looking like shit because for some reason I couldn’t center a fucking camera.
The whole situation came to its crux when, while trying to pose the kid for a picture, I simply said: “Smile.” That sounds innocent enough, right? Well, being that I was 15 or maybe 16, my voice was still known to crack at times. So, “Smile” came out sounding like a prepubescent demon straight out of some pansy Hell dimension. Needless to say, the kid wasn’t happy, started crying and I learned a valuable lesson that day (although it would still take me a little longer to implement it as you will find out in the next entry). Working with children is not for me.

Movin' on up

2008-07-23T13:29:00.000-07:00

Job #3

Mover

This was both sporadic and short-lived. Phil, from the mail store, decided to add U-haul to his list of services that he offered. He'd rent these trucks to people and if they wanted someone to hlep load and unload them he would call me. It was hard work but I always got to bring a friend so it wasn't so bad. All in all, I did this three times over about a two month period. Once I brought my friend Luke, once my friend Mike, and once my pal Casey, who Phil referred to as Ezekiel because he couldn't remember his name.
Being as weak, lazy, and generally uncoordinated as I was/am I wasn't very good at this job either. I couldn't really lift any of the heavy stuff which kind of defeats the purpose of hiring a mover. But the people were always very nice and I got through it, they'd even feed me which was nice. It was probably the first job where I learned that work sucks, but it is possible to endure it. Maybe that's not really a profound lesson but it is something that has stuck with me and had an impact on my attitude towards work, for good or bad.
As I said before, I did this three times and then Phil decided he'd had enough of the U-haul business, so I was out of work yet again.

Job the second

2008-07-22T19:28:00.000-07:00

Job #2
Mail Clerk

That title is somewhat inaccurate, but I never had an official title so this is the closest I can come up with. This was a summer job my mother got for me. She had worked for a man named Phil at a mail and shipping store. Phil was an old Italian man, and also the creepiest man I had met in my life up to that point. As an example, he would eat salt and vinegar chips and tell me they tasted like pussy. Having never tasted pussy at that point in my life, I wasn't in a position to disagree with him and was actually surprised a few years later to find that his assessment was not true in the slightest. But I digress.
I was fifteen years old and I was more interested in smoking pot and getting drunk than in working. This trend would continue for some time by the way. My job was simple: sort mail, run deposits, and watch the store while Phil went out and fucked his mistress. I would show up late, even though I was only required to work a few hours a day, would fall asleep in the mail room, and stole small amounts of money. I had even come up with a scheme to steal a large sum of money. When I was running a particularly huge deposit to the bank across the street, a friend of mine would come and kick the shit out of me and take the money. We never carried out this scheme but I'm not proud of the fact that I even dreamed it up. This job lasted the entire summer somehow.

The many jobs of Danny Cerullo

2008-07-21T17:05:00.002-07:00

Recently I was at my shitty job during a slow period and I started thinking about some other jobs that I've had. Then I started thinking about all the jobs that I've had and they added up to quite a bit. Twenty-two to be exact, so I've had almost as many jobs as years I've been alive. I then began thinking that it might be interesting to do an examination of all twenty-two jobs and see how, or if, they have shaped my life. So here is the first of twenty-two daily posts about my life as a working man.

Note: These entries will only cover jobs I've actually worked at. In other words, jobs that I've gotten but never showed up to will not be included, and yes, there are a few of those.

JOB #1

Umpire

This would be considered my first job, as I got money for performing a task. I was thirteen, maybe fourteen, years old and probably at the height of my teenage awkwardness. I was shy, completely uncoordinated, and had a severe mumbling problem, basically the same as now with more pimples. All these aspects, combined with the fact that at this stage of my life I was slightly disenfranchised with the sport of baseball, made me horribly unqualified for this position.
I would miss a lot of calls because I wasn’t paying attention and often times when I did make a call nobody heard it because I couldn’t bring myself to shout. I lacked confidence, so if a coach came out of the dugout to argue a call, I would usually change it. Many coaches would exploit this, and many even seemed to enjoy yelling at a kid. Most of the time when I would change a call this would outrage the opposing coach and I’d hear it from him. This was my first, of many, experiences dealing with irate white people who have an odd sense of entitlement. Dealing with these people would eventually become a fairly decent skill of mine. Not at this time though. I umpired less than half a dozen games before it was decided that this wasn’t for me.

Priest pulls a Tommy

2008-06-30T20:45:00.000-07:00

I just picked up a copy of Judas Priests’ new concept album “Nostradamus” and I’ve decided to share my thoughts on it. I’m not going to break it down song by song because that sort of defeats the point of a concept album, plus I’m far too lazy to do that. I want to point out that, while I am a fan of Priest, I’m not very passionate about it. I think they’ve written some great songs, but in my opinion they have a lot more throw away songs than other metal juggernauts.

First off, the atmosphere of the album is amazing, and consistent. That for me is the most important thing, they had a plan and they stuck with it. The songs effortlessly blend into each other and the mood is dark and foreboding. In fact, the music itself tells a great story. The basic formula for the album is as follows: 1.) Write a short track that is quiet, beautiful, yet sad. Then towards the end throw some dynamics in there with a crescendo. 2.) Carry the momentum from the crescendo into the next track and make the pay off to the build up worth the wait. Make it heavy, yet keep the doom atmosphere. Feel free to insert a catchy chorus with really cheesy lyrics. 3.) Repeat.
It’s not quite that basic, but it gives an idea what to expect. I’m not criticizing that formula either, I think it works really well.

The mellow parts of the album work great, as do the build-ups to and the hit when it gets heavy. What doesn’t work for me though, is that the songs can go on a little too long. Don’t go all Dream Theater on us Judas Priest. You have more balls than they could ever hope for (the mandatory subtle gay joke about Rob Halford has been made). That said, the long songs work better here than on any Dream Theater album because there’s not a billion time signature changes in every song. The songs are well crafted and it helps you to occasionally forget how long these songs are. Overall, it’s a minor complaint.
The not so minor complaint I have is the lyrics. I mentioned the catchy chorus with cheesy lyrics, and I wasn’t joking. It’s a concept album about Nostradamus so I wasn’t really expecting earth-shattering lyrics. Also, as a metal fan you get used to dismissing lyrics and focusing on the energy, the atmosphere and the general “bad-assness.” Lately, though, I’ve found myself questioning why this is. I love metal, but I also love music with deep, insightful lyrics. Why are these two things seemingly so impossible to combine? Why is it that Tom Waits can sing a song about pirates and he’s considered a genius, but Iron Maiden does it and people laugh? How is it possible that all the members of Judas Priest are obviously phenomenal musicians and have spent a great deal of time honing their craft, but can’t seem to back up their music with lyrics that do honor to the great songs they write? I don’t know the answers to these questions, and I’ve thought about them a lot. I’d love to hear anyone’s thoughts on these topics.

Why do the Dodgers suck?

2008-06-16T18:04:00.000-07:00

This is not a sports blog but I will occasionally write about baseball because, unfortunately, I'm a diehard Dodgers fan.

The Dodgers suck this year, there's no getting around that fact. They have disappointed in nearly every aspect of the game. Everybody's got an opinion on why that is, and they're of course entitled to it.
Now, that being said, I'm getting sick and tired of sports journalists, knee-jerk style fans, and even Dodgers management claiming that the reason for the underwhelming performance is the young players. Sure, they deserve their share of the blame because baseball is, after all, a team sport. But just for a moment let's look at the high-priced veterans. Andruw Jones has been a huge bust and is now on the DL. Rafael Furcal is on the DL. Jeff Kent has gotten old. I don't mean to criticize him for that, it happens to all of us, but he is costing the team quite a bit. He's on pace for career lows in just about every offensive category. Plus, his on-base percentage is a measly .279, that's just plain awful. If a younger player was putting up that kind of obp he would be cut in an instant. Juan Pierre is just not very good at the game of baseball, and he should not be starting everyday for any team, much less leading off everyday. Brad Penny has been awful this year and is probably heading for the DL in the next day or two. Derek Lowe, until his last couple starts, has been very bad. Don't even get me started on Mark Sweeney. You add all this up and there's not a team in baseball that could recover from these injuries and underwhelming performances (not to mention terrible decisions about distributing playing time by management). So, why is that everytime Joe Torre, or Larry Bowa, or Ned Colletti, or Bill Plaschke open their mouths I have to hear about how the Dodgers are losing because Matt Kemp doesn't know how to run the bases, or Chad Billingsley doesn't "know how to win?" You take the kids off of this team and you have a historically bad team.

I promise, there won't be too many baseball blogs for you non-sportsfan people out there.

Just for the record

2008-06-08T12:17:00.001-07:00

From now on Aaron Kiefer will be known as Jefferson McCool, Jason Haskins as his brother Jasper McCool, and Josh Belville as Jimmy Chunga, the loveable rascal.

40 Greatest Metal Songs Of All Time

2008-06-06T01:56:00.000-07:00

I just caught a Vh1 program where they broke down the 40 greatest metal songs of all time. These are my thoughts on that.

40. Breaking the Law-Judas Priest.

This is actually a pretty good start.

39. I’m Eighteen-Alice Cooper

This is one of those instances where they feel they had to put something by Alice Cooper, because…well, he’s Alice Cooper. To some extent I can get behind that but can you at least choose one of his songs that kind of sort of resembles metal. This is a prototypical 70’s rock anthem. For fuck’s sake Welcome to my Nightmare would’ve been a better choice just for the title.

38. Balls to the Wall-Accept

This is gayer than the gayest Judas Priest song. Yes, that includes Turbo Lover.

37. Smoke on the Water-Deep Purple

Just because every dumbass that’s ever picked up the guitar for five minutes knows how to play this song does not make this a top 40 metal song.

36. Wait and Bleed-Slipknot

This one is just plain fucking stupid.

35. Bang Your Head (Metal Health)-Quiet Riot

Metal drives you insane and that’s a good thing. Ok, this is also a pretty good choice.

34. Paranoid-Black Sabbath

If we’re talking the most influential metal songs, then yes this belongs on the list. However, if it’s a list of the greatest metal songs, as the title insinuates, then there are much better Black Sabbath songs.

33. High N’ Dry-Def Leopard

I don’t really know this song, and you know what? I’m not ashamed to admit that. Def Leopard is a decent rock band, but under no circumstances are they metal.

Thunder Kiss ’65-White Zombie

Welcome to the Planet Motherfucker, now there’s a metal song.

31. Rock You Like a Hurricane-Scorpions

I was once at a Scorpions concert. They ended their set without playing this song. Then for the encore, they came out and the singer announced: “We wouldn’t leave you San Bernardino without Rocking You Like A Hurricane!!!!!!!!!!!!” For that feeling of elation, I’m not upset over this choice.

30. Epic-Faith No More

Look, I like Faith No More, I like this song, shit, I even like gay old Mike Patton, but this is about as metal as Jason Haskins.

29. Caught in a Mosh-Anthrax

It’s got the word Mosh in it, it must be the 29^th greatest metal song in the world!!!!!!!!!

28. The Beautiful People-Marilyn Manson

I’d like to believe that I’m above even commenting on this one, but come the fuck on! Marilyn Manson is to metal as Carlos Mencia is to funny.

27. Run To The Hills-Iron Maiden

Ah, the plight of the American Indian…sung by an Englishman. It doesn’t seem right that they glorify all the British wars, yet vilify us for committing genocide to the indigenous people of our homeland. Still, you could choose pretty much anything off this album and it would qualify for this list. Plus, I just want to put this out there, I wish Bruce Dickinson still went by the stage name “Bruce Bruce.”

26. Refuse/Resist-Sepultura

This song makes me want to kill people, but in the good way. This, as we all know, is the true test of any great metal song. Good choice.

25. Cowboys From Hell-Pantera

I once thought about getting a CFH tattoo, then I turned 16.

24. Dirty Deeds Done Dirty Cheap-AC/DC

*Spoiler Alert!* There is an AC/DC song later in this list as well. That seems unnecessary, but at least in this one it features Bon Scott. AC/DC is not, and has never been, metal, but at least Bon Scott was the kind of guy you’d really like to have a beer with. That counts for something.

23. Freak on a Leash-Korn

I don’t like Korn, never have. But, I suppose if you want to talk about influential, or genre-changing bands…wait a fucking second! Korn changed metal for the worse, why the fuck should we celebrate anything that travesty of a band ever did? Tuning down your guitar 15 and ½ steps doesn’t automatically make you heavy. I wish your father didn’t rape you, ‘cause then maybe I wouldn’t have to hear your whiney music.

22. Enter Sandman-Metallica

This song changed my life…sadly I’m not kidding. This song really does belong on the list of Danny’s greatest metal songs.

21. Paradise City-Guns N’ Roses

Axl’s white, leather suit really drives the importance of this song home. Oh wait, no it doesn’t.

20. I Wanna Rock-Twisted Sister

Dee Snider seemed pretty surprised that this song was included on the list. Do you know why he was surprised? Because this song is a contrived anthem, written about teen angst by a man that has long since passed his teens. Catchy though.

19. Man in the Box-Alice in Chains

This song actually does bridge the gap between metal and grunge remarkably well. I have no sarcastic response to this one.

18. Slave to the Grind-Skid Row

Well, at least they picked one of the more metal Skid Row songs. Honestly, just because Sebastian Bach hosted this atrocity, doesn’t mean there has to be a Skid Row song on here. Also, I believe he took credit for writing this “awesome riff.” I guaranfuckingtee he did not write that riff. Maybe he wants credit for writing the awesome songs on Jesus Christ Superstar.

17. Live Wire-Motley Crue

This is one of the rare instances I’m opposed to choosing a lesser known song. If you have to include Motley Crue on this list, which since you’re VH1 I guess you have to, then can you at least include a song that somebody, somewhere has actually heard?

16. Walk-Pantera

If there’s an ounce of white trash in you, then you have to love this song. I’m no exception.

15. Bulls on Parade-Rage Against the Machine

This song is famous for Tom Morello making his guitar sound like a turntable. Innovative? Yes. Metal? Not even a little bit.

14. Toxicity-System of a Down

A common element in metal is to change rhythms often. Another common element in metal, however, is to not suck.

13. Rainbow in the Dark-Dio

Dio is the single most important man/band in heavy metal/music history. The only problem is there are no Dio era Black Sabbath songs on this list. That pretty much proves that this list was made by morons.

12. Bring the Noise-Anthrax and Public Enemy

Listen, VH1. I know Scott Ian is your boy, and he obediently comments on all your “greatest” shows, but this song is just plain fucking awful. I would rather eat at Arby’s then listen to this song.

11. Peace Sells-Megadeth

Dave Mustaine says that he saw headline for an article in a magazine that read: “Peace is for sale, but who’s buying?” and somehow, he condensed that into: “Peace Sells, but who’s buying?” What a fucking genius! How did he get to point from A to point B?

10. Ace of Spades-Motorhead

I got nothing bad to say about Motorhead. Because if I did, Lemmy (God) would strike me down where I sit.

Crazy Train-Ozzy

Let me get emotional for a moment. The first time I heard Ozzy shout: “All Aboard!” at the beginning of “Crazy Train,” I knew I was a heavy metal fan forever. Then, the first time I heard the Ozzy and Kelly Osbourne duet of “Changes,” I knew I had made a gigantic mistake. It was too late to turn back at that point though.

Raining Blood-Slayer

As a metal fan I know I’m supposed to love and respect Slayer, I mean they’re alright, but I for the most part I just can’t get behind them. Plus, one time I dropped acid at one of their concerts and it was the most frightening time of my life.

The Number of the Beast-Iron Maiden

Good song, but “Hallowed Be They Name” is infinitely better.

Detroit Rock City-KISS

I knew there would be a KISS song on this list, I accepted it from the beginning. Yet, somehow, it didn’t soften the blow. I’m sorry, Dave Janssen, KISS sucks. The only good thing they ever did is write a Disco album, because at least we don’t have to hear those songs on every Classic Rock radio station 25 times a day.

You’ve Got Another Thing Coming-Judas Priest

VH1 called this song: “One of the greatest songs by the Metal Gods.” You know what would’ve been a better choice than this pop song for the top five? I don’t know, maybe the song “Metal Gods.”

Back in Black-AC/DC

I disagree, but not passionately so.

Master of Puppets-Metallica

This truly is one of the greatest metal songs ever. I wish Metallica would start doing coke again, maybe they could write good songs again.

Welcome to the Jungle-Guns N’ Roses

I love this song, and if this were called “40 greatest rock songs of all time” then I would agree and maybe even argue this should be number one. However, this is the greatest “metal” songs of all time. Axl’s too sensitive for metal. Any great metal band/artist wouldn’t take ten years to produce one album. They’d produce seven shitty ones in that time.

1. Iron Man-Black Sabbath

People that know me are going to be surprised by my opinion on this one, because I’m a gigantic Sabbath fan. However, I disagree. Once again, I return to my point of this not being the most influential metal songs. Sure, the riff is great and every asshole that’s ever played the guitar knows how to play, but there are so many better Black Sabbath songs than this one. Don’t get me wrong, I respect the fact that Black Sabbath is number one and Led Zeppelin is nowhere to be found on this list, but just because even my mom has heard of this song doesn’t mean it’s a great metal song. In fact, that might be several points against it.

Welcome to my blog

2008-05-30T14:16:00.000-07:00

I'm not one of those people that moved away from Los Angeles (Simi Valley actually, but who really knows where that is?) because I'm tired of all the fake people and bullshit that goes on in that town. L.A. is just like anywhere else in the world in the sense that if you look for shit, you'll find it, but if you have a good screening process you can meet some truly great people. Plus, I'm a huge Dodger fan to an irresponsible and unhealthy degree, and to a much lesser extent the Lakers.

Now, I live in Boise, Idaho. I've been here about a month and so far I've had a blast. I've met some interesting people, watched a lot of tv, played some video games and drank a lot of cheap beer. Some could say I'm doing pretty much the same thing that I was doing back home, and I'd say you're right with one exception: my rent is much cheaper.

So, I guess the question is: Why am I starting this blog? Well, for one thing, my brother made a deal with me that we'd blog together and his is already up and running with multiple posts. What can I say, I write slow and always have. Another reason is the obvious one. I live relatively far away from most of my friends and family and this is an easy to let them know what's going on in my life without actually having to talk to them. The third, and last, reason is that I'm just egotistical enough to think that people want to know my opinions, and tales of my exploits. Basically, I find my life, and the lives of my friends, to be a wild ride.