Just wanted to drop back in here. Despite what I used to think ... that blogs were just the fast food equivalent of writing, I feel the need to keep this going by just "blogging" a little something here today. Really folks, I don't vomit in my mouth at the slight mention of the term "blog" anymore. I just choke a little and fell faint. I'll get back to the real prose and poetry this week. If you want the "Dark Desert" short story series to appear back at the Sun Runner Magazine send your emails to the editor of that publication. Demand that they bring it back! Raise the banner ... fly the flag ... we don't have to be subjected to the dull and mundane 24/7. A little foul language and animosity towards jack rabbits and creosote bushes never hurt anybody, right brother! Together, we can make this fun again.
I am not sure how things got so out of hand. Labor day used to be filled with end of summer activities that were, to be generic and unwordy, fun. BBQ's, beer bottles, hand holding, hot sun, hot bodies, carnivals, menthol cigarettes, gun shooting, wet t-shirts, drunk driving, high flying, rodeos, drive inns, fireworks, pretty girls and rock 'n' roll. It's, Monday, labor day proper right now and I am listening to classical music and wishing I was in Raleigh-Durham or Truth Consequences, New Mexico or, fuck, even Djibouti, Africa for all I care. Anywhere but here.
Out here in the Hi-Desert, California's vast sprawling Mojave, half the partying population was arrested last Saturday night in the the CHP and SO's joint sting operation to imprison and ruin the lives any poor saps that got within a one mile radius of an open liquor bottle and just happened to be walking through the parking lot with their car keys in their pocket. Probably why I havn't been invited to one single BBQ today! Driving around sober Saturday night was quit a choatic scene. The DUI checkpoint had traffic backed up out to interstate 10. I am firmly under the believe that they are more CHP officers in Yucca Valley and Joshua Tree then there are people. Jesus, it was a real blitzkrieg. I don't know if any of you have had to take the walk of shame from the Jailhouse out past Joshua Tree, back into town? A solid three or four mile walk out in open desert along the highway. And god save you if your heading in the opposite direction, east, to the dirty deuce-nine! I did the walk once hangover in cowboy boots. My cell phone was dead when I got sprung. I had no coin and no wallet. The horror ...
Anyway, I am sure it looked like the goddamn Oregon Trail along the Highway come Sunday morning. If you would've been peddling cigarettes and bottled water you would've made a killing. I was out there trying to hustle my Shawn Mafia Cd's. At this point in my life I should be making jack ... instead I am making jack shit. Next time I'll go with bottled water.
Thursday night, after getting off a ten day stretch down at ... hold on now, wait ... let's just say "my day job" ... doing a little old school undertaking. I signed some papers awhile back where I can't disclose the name of the company I work for in any type of social media. So much for pride in profession and personal identity. Who needs that shit anyway. Regardless, I was at my court ordered schooling and I little down in the dumps. Came home and tied one on with my roommate and a punk rock hairdresser named E. Got a bit to frisky with a 30 pack of C-Minus and some 211. Ended the night listening to final mixes of the new album. Got sentimental over a certain someone and passed the fuck out. Didn't wake up until 3:00 p.m. the next day.
Went to Applebee's and sat in the bar with a few buddies. Talked to heinous D., who was tending behind the bar, about the possibility of pulling some "strange." He told us sometimes it just gets a little to "strange" to even bother with. I wasn't to interested in anything at that point. Especially booze and women. I ate some wings and drink about ten thousand diet cokes. A few guys that looked like professional wrestlers showed up and this other dude that looked the lead singer of Good Charlotte. At this point all the trim was just flying out the window. My German body builder buddy, Shane came in to and sat down with me. These guys were getting more ass then first three stalls at Dodger's Stadium. Your possibilities of pulling any "strange" out of Applebee's on that Friday night were impossible and next to impossible. Take your pick. The bottom just fell out of the barrel. The stock just plummeted!
Around 7:30 p.m. I decided to head out to the Yucca Valley High School football field and catch the game. Only because it just felt like a goddamn labor day thing to do! John Cougar Mellencamp and Apple Pie! Bruce Springsteen and mother fucking Muscle Cars! What was really happening was that my daughter had been texting all evening about coming to see her dance/perform at half time. So, I took leave of Shane, Good Charlotte, Wade Barrett and the New WWE Nexus, my buddy and headed out. Got parked, got seated in the bleachers next to a blonde gal I knew and waited to be amazed! Waited for my goddamn labor day moment. As the good Dr. would say ... the American Dream in action! I think it was the YV Trojan's against the Denver, Bronco's. Or maybe it was the Cowboys. I wasn't paying much attention.
Sitting in the bleachers I noticed the arrival of some people that I wasn't quit in any proper state of mind to want to encounter. The chance meeting made the sizzle go completely out of my steak. Lone geeks from a distant past that used to shake me down for lunch money. Now thirty something ... tired, bloated, and bored. But still that determined stupidity raging behind a veneer of medicated pacification. Bullies from the HS days.
Shortly there after, my daughter took the field with her troupe and danced up a storm. She talked em' into the building, tore the house down, and then spanked the baby! I schooled her to be a damn fine entertainer! It brought me back up momentarily. I went back around the bleachers and got some 50 cent coffee from the concession stand. Went back to my seat. Tried to watch the Trojans go over on the 49er's but I just wasn't believing it. My labor day weekend might as well have been a typical Tuesday in April. My kid didn't want to hang out with me either. That might have saved my labor day, but alas, she wanted to go out with her friends after the games conclusion. Couldn't blame her. Decided I should make tracks. Decided to head back to the Bee's. Started to get some heavy vibes from the top of the bleachers ... maybe a good fist fight might just be the thing to save labor day weekend! Began to think it was all in my head. Began to think that my ER co-pay on my insurance wasn't what it used to be. Ambled back to the car. Thought to myself ... God! Are you still up there? Your in breach of mother fucking contract buddy in regards to this whole labor day weekend thing! Where's the new romance, the fast cars, and the whiskey? The DQ ice cream cones, the hand holding, and the midnight stroll?
Back at the Bee's I picked up my friend. Looks like everybody was in the process of pulling some "strange" after all! Maybe labor day weekend wasn't a complete bust! I got a big hug from J., who was working behind the bar (baby, you are a Capital F - fine - to the fourth power underlined dame ... and I can say that without fear of contradiction) and drove home. Got another thirty pack. Popped a few tops and through em' down. People arrived. Others followed. Everybody scored that night ... but I didn't. That's what you get for being stupid, sappy, lovesick and sentimental. But there is always next week. And next year. Or even another typical Tuesday in April.