Ho-hum

It is not like I have been all to busy as of late. I have been working with some frequency and trying my best to woo tables with my charm and undeniable wit; whoring myself out for tips in hopes of making rent. Actually though, I have not written as of late because there has not been much to report.

Lonestar has proven to be an alright job for the time being. My fellow co-workers seems a little closed off to the idea of making anything other than a professional work based relationship. Its either that or being raised in this backwater, overtly religious state has made them a little wary to outsiders. Who am I to pass judgment either way?

The job is the usual meet and greet and then roll silver ware that is suspected from a lightly schlocky steak house. Oddly enough there are no cooks or dishwashers of Mexican descent. Now this is not me being white, suburban, twenty-something racist... Au contraire. I am merely offering up the fact that all restaurants I have worked in have had in some form a Mexican presence helping things along. When I think about it... It seems that there is less of an over all Spanish presence in the entire state of Virginia! Weird.

I April-fooled most of the folks back north with the promise that I had failed and would be making my way there in 2 weeks time. And like hungry fish they took the bait, hook, line, and sinker. I hope that was not too mean spirited. It gave me a pretty good laugh.

The evening before April Fools Brian and I set up the apartment in the form of an absurdist obstacle course for Mike to wake to. Spray cheese hanging from the ceiling, a Native American mask in the fridge, and tape on the door were a few of the things we rigged. He retaliated by taping off our door with tin foil. My grandmother would have remarked at the waste. I barely got a chuckle.

Other than those few things there is little observed that should be recorded. Hopefully things will pick up with the warmer weather.

Who knows?

Brian

I need Smurfs.

I don't want to give into my own smugness with this post, but I suppose to expunge all that self indulgent nonsense from my writing I have to write in a self indulgent and smug way.

Its been nearly 4 weeks (with one of those weeks spent in a drunken haze back in the comfort of my old stomping grounds) since my exorcism from my parents grasps and some things have come to light in their absences. I suppose that part of the "coming of age" of the 21st century American male is taking on the medial tasks that the parents once took care of and facing them head on. As much as I like to believe I've had a firm grasp on responsibility certain things have come to light.

Paying for Laundry - Now I've been separating whites and darks since my early teens. Its never been the comical sitcomish situation of a lone red sock ruining everything or the shrinkage of my favorite sweater. Its a fairly simple operation. Put your clothes in the washing unit, add some detergent, set your cycle, and go sit on the couch till the buzzer a buzzes. Simple. Easy. No problem. I've apparently been taking the luxury of an at home washing machine for too much granted. See out here in the real world it cost a dollar fifty per wash... And its hardly adequate enough space for all my clever t-shirts, let alone my 3 pairs of pants. The expense comes to about $3-6 a week depending, which seems at first glance like change in the couch, but that small chunk of change is the difference between toast and Sketti-O's for dinner.

Waking Up - High school seems so far off at this point even though its hardly been the blink of an eye since I've been in the hallowed halls. Back then it was hardly a chore to awake before noon. For the most part it was necessary to get up at (shutter) 6:30 and jog down the hill, pop-tart in hand, hoping to catch that big, yellow bus. But somewhere between graduation and community college 6:30 in the morning became the hay hitting time with drunken, lazy eyes and for the most part it wasn't even my own hay I was hitting. My mother, being the wise sage she is, allowed me to keep this routine for the most part, attempting to quell this nasty habit here and there, but letting me learn from my mistakes (and hangovers). When she grew fed up and my routine became pathetic, she would rattle me from my daze after few hours of sleep until I found a niche of a 10 A.M. wake up time. Now, with out her supervision, and with no reason to awake before the ice cream man comes a calling, my sleep pattern is all awry.

Nutrition Pattern - I know from my corpulent physique that you wouldn't guess it, but I am somewhat of a health nut. Everything that passes through my teeth and gums and down, down, down the esophageal tube into my stomach is registered and separated into categories in my brain. For the most part I am very conscious about what I eat and how fast it will kill me. Don't get me wrong, I still slobber down a quarter-pounder with cheese in record timing, but I usually remind myself afterwards that its gonna hurt in a few years. There was always the comforting blanket of mom's pot roast or lasagna every so often that never registered as a harmful meal. It was good, old fashioned, at home cookin' and there ain't nuttin wrong with that. Despite my peaked interest in the culinary arts there is a paranoia in knowing everything you put in your meal. Even more distressful is realizing you've eaten food from a can at least five nights this week.

Dishes - At home we had a dishwasher... Her name was Grandma... I kid! I was a spoil middle class brat to my public school brothers who didn't have the luxury of a dishwasher. Now I feel their pain and curse the soft, pink hands of anyone with such a monstrous machine. Dishes back home would be done in a timely fashion... Timely enough to serve my meal purposes and be left where ever I want. The next day the dirty dishes would have disappeared from my desk, couch, ceiling fan etc. and be cleaned and put away by some mysterious force. My brother and I always theorized that there were Smurfs living in the drains that would come out at night retrieve dishes and pair socks. Apparently those nice little smurfs don't come in every home! Now when I leave a dish somewhere it stays there and just sits, and sits, and sits... Then green fur starts to grow on it... And that is no substitute for a fern my friends. So I bite the bullet and bring the dishes to the sink, but there they sit, and sit, and sit... Until... And you wouldn't believe this... I have to get a spunge (I never really knew what they were for) and some dish soap... And clean the dishes off... Manually...

So those are just some of the many differences from home life that are slowly building some character into my puddy of a back bone.

Brian

Fresh Fish!

I've got bags under my eyes you could put your groceries in. I'm either not sleeping enough or I'm sleeping too much. If I had to wager I'd say too much seeing as I woke up at the ass crack of noon.

Brian was already slaving away in the recliner, smashing the joystick on the Gamecube controller, and playing a little Super Smash Brothers: Melee. I know many of you richer and dandier folk are brawling these days, but give us a break. We just moved in. We haven't even got a paycheck yet. I couldn't stand it anymore. Cranking the speakers up to the maximum capacity and letting George Harrison burst through with the ever wonderful, Monday de-funktifier "Wah Wah" was the perfect cure.

I leapt from the couch, bounded around the living room, and slammed my shoes on my wandering feet. It didn't take much convincing to get Brian to follow and the two of us hit the beach once again.

The sun was shining in quite a pick me up kind of way and the strong winds didn't deter us. After searching the streets for somewhere to park, not wanting to revisit the towing disaster of days past, we zipped our wind breakers and began haunting the vacant streets. There were actually a few misinformed tourists looking dumbfounded to the fact that there was no one around. Brian and I used them as our tent pole for the usual laugh inducing activity of "Poke Fun at Strangers".

The beach was wind struck and occupied mostly by scavenger seagulls looking just as dumbfounded the absence of people. They starred at us with hungry eyes like all they saw were walking talking pretzels. Brian allowed his inner Irish Setter to shine as he chased some down the beach trying to catch them in his grasp. I wonder what'd he do if he actually ever caught one... Probably feed it to the rat.

We walked down the beach, as close to the surf as we could, picking up shells and horseshoe crabs and discussing this and that. It was pretty therapeutic to actually be out in the sun and moving my legs a little bit. Any anxiety I might have had subsided in exchange for good, old fashioned fun. It it was 10 degrees warmer I would have gladly dove into the water. Dipping my hands in the water I realized it was just about warm enough to swim in. Flashes of skimming, boarding, and just chilling on the beach were received from the future and helped supply a new, less cynical outlook for the future.

I found a big rubber fish. Brian found a big dead fish.

After about a 35 minute stroll on the sand we moved onto the boardwalk, which is made of cement. It was like a bad IPod commercial as joggers, most likely listening to Vampire Weekend or The National (I was going to make a Sufijan Stevens joke, but I guess he's out.) and showing off their freshly toned buttocks bounced on by. We bought some iced tea, shared a super sized Twix, and beat foot back to the car.

On our way home we passed what must be the first national monument I've seen here in Virginia, Mount Trashmore. Using the only resource American's can trust, Wikipedia, I've found that its a serious place. It was once a landfill that has now been turned into a lovely hang out for the citizens of Virginia. I guess you could say its kind of a trashy place. (Bwaa-ha-ha). It apparently features a 24,000 sq ft. skate park, two lakes, various walking trails, and a large playground. Not to mention its a 165 acres of green grassed glory. So we found yet another place to hang.

We got home. I played some more Scrabble, trying not to listen to my pulse, and munched away on some delectable little pizza bagels. Boredom set in and we kicked around the soccer ball a little bit. After we were out of breath and a little sweaty we came inside and vegged to some South Park and Colbert Report.

Tomorrow hopefully we'll hit the home base for a weekend, but things are looking up here. It should be an alright summer.

Brian

Somewhere I lost an hour

Welcome to the most laid back, boring, uneventful, poignant, mind boggling, nerve racking, stupidly funny, week to date in the 3rd quarter of my life.

For the record I did secure a job position at a local, quite low key, not-so-tacky, run of the mill steak house called Lone Star. I am officially part of the fold in their small family of servers. They've awarded me with an apron, 2 t-shirts, and a little black book in which I will one day write down the various demands of hungry southerners. Did you know there are six different ways in which to cook a steak? I kid you not.

But that was Tuesday and today is Saturday. Time has moved forward. I guess I have aged a little bit. My heart has been racing more and more. My roommates have been trying to quell my hypochondriatic fears of imminent death, but I know better. Of course I must be dieing. Honestly what else could be the cause... Stress? What an excuse!

In reality I think sitting around all day, everyday in this apartment is giving me an insane amount of anxiety. I need to go out and do something. Unfortunately this entire area is a perpetual strip mall emporium. Its an endless supply of Dollar Stores, Just-a-Bucks, Family Dollars, Bottom Dollar, etc. Its not exactly hard to get gallons of peach Tampaco or $50 worth of cap guns, but I had that back home.

And where are the people? I suppose I should ask, where are my peers? Everywhere I turn there are overweight undereducated 40-somethings or young riff raff in tight jeans and zip up hoodies, but where are the people I'm supposed to bond with? I attempted to haunt the halls of the local Barnes and Noble, but that was to no avail. It was mostly kids reading bad manga or girls giggling over Cosmopoliotan.

Hrumph.

I'm heading home for a week Tuesday. It'll be a refresher.

Brian

Good Morning!

Saturday morning I awoke, still sitting on my couch, a warm Coor's light in my hand, the afternoon sun peaking in through the blinds, and I was still a little drunk.

And this is what it is to be on your own.

Mike, Brian, and I finally had some down time in which to ritualistically drink our selves into a stupor. It was a the first time we've had since we've arrived to bond between each other and our surroundings. What was supposed to be a quiet night at home drinking the typical white twenty-something beers of choice (Blue Moon, Land Shark, Yuengling, and Mickeys) slowly became a night of hedonistic filled debauchery. Brian giggled insensibly to himself. Mike did his darnedest impersonation of Linda Blaire by spewing forth vomit in such a fury I thought his skeleton was sure to follow. It all slowly faded away into Saturday morning.

Saturday was a day of rest which lead into another party made entirely of Navy guys. Each one did their best to represent a different facet of the frat boy mind set. Beer pong was the game of choice as it has seemingly become my generations past time of choice. Skate videos were the only form of entertainment. And one excitable little man was discussing the fine points of why he wouldn't do gay porn (mainly because men have muscle based asses while a females is softer and smoother). Before I left another guy quaintly described how he would deal with his recruiter if they ever were to meet again... With a swift punch to the dick.

We headed home, after being worn out, watched Saturday Night Live, and finally I got to feel the pillow beneath my head. I dreamed of sitting in a theater with Jason, an old friend of mine, while some middle aged woman tried to hit on me. She attempted to make out with my cheek and then stuck a twenty dollar bill in my mouth. The dream moved to my old neighborhood as I stood on the front porch of my little brother's best friend Mark preparing cookies for everyone. He stomped them into crumbs and I awoke moments before pummeling his face.

Brian was tapping me on the back asking me to join the party. I came out at the early morning hours of 12:46 as Mike was finishing up playing Kingdom Hearts 2. Mike ran out to get his hair cut. Brian and I began to play some Sonic the Hedgehog. Mike returned quicker then expected and dragged us out to Wal-Mart as it seemed his barber was not opened on a Sunday. We loaded the car with empty beer bottles hoping to gain a small fortune, but alas there are no bottle returns in Virginia. Apparently the vast majority of states don't, a fact I had never known. New York, and ten other states, are apparently in the minority there. Which begs the question, what do the other bag ladies in other states do for fun? The Wal-Mart parking lot was the sad substitute we found to leave our empties in after embarassing myself by approaching the Wal-Mart greeter with what must of been a bizarre sight, me with a cart full of empty beer bottles. Mike got his ears lowered as Brian and I combed through the soft lit halls of Wal-Mart experiencing an uneasy bit of Deja Vu. It seems that all Wal-Marts are designed the same and this one tickled the back of our brains and helped recall home. We expected to walk outside to familiar surroundings. This was not the case.

We drove home and sat around. I read some more of Ayn Rand's The Anthem which is great, but quite depressing. Brian finally picked up the collected trade of The Watchmen and began to devouring. I cooked some tuna noodle for diner. We played some more Sonic the Hedgehog. Watched a disappointing George Carlin special. Followed it up with a disappointing bit of Adult Swim. Then they hit the hay while I vegged in front of the television.

Nothing exciting yet, but tomorrow I fill out paperwork at my new job.

LONE STAR SERVER.

Brian

Tokens, Pizza, and Booze

It was sunny today with nary a cloud in the sky.

Today's mission was one great urgency; something that might define our future, whatever that may be here in Chesapeake. Brian woke at 9:30, while I took the much needed opportunity to sleep in till 11:00 o'clock. As I previously stated vivid dreams have been causing a stir in my attempts to snooze. I love them and hate them at the same time. Last night was a shoot out between me and an old foe in the surreal locations of an abandoned Main Street, Beacon. He was armed with a paint ball guns and the bizarre assistance of the police. I was a lone protector with nothing more then a pellet gun and my wits. I don't know how it ended, but it was a frustratingly long battle.

But I digress...

Our mission was to hand in our stacks of job applications in hopes of procuring some form of income. Brian was vegged out to some Discovery Channel special while I scribbled away the same job history over and over and over and over again. Phone numbers, names, and addresses I never wanted to remember are now burned straight into my frontal lobe. I finished, nursed my wrist a bit, chugged some delicious Ocean Spray cranberry and hit the road, jack.

Chesapeake and the Hampton Road area is becoming oddly familiar like something I saw when I was younger and forgot I forgot about. Its only been 3 days and I already feel some comfort in my surroundings. Thats a positive thing. Brian drained some of his last dinero into his gas tank and we went from one depressing retail store to the next hoping for some glowing response from the management. Most were uninterested in outsiders to the state trying to take jobs from other hard working Virginians. One girl behind the counter at a hotel gave our applications gold stars to signal importance to the management. Regardless things were looking low.

Then, thankfully, I met a lovely woman named Tara who seemed more then happy to take our applications.

"What're y'all applying for?" said the semi-sweet assistant manager of Lone Star (a charmingly schlocky steak house)

As if planned, "Anything that pays money!" Brian and I said in unison. She smiled and set us up with second interviews tomorrow at 3 with the hopes of hiring us as servers. By this time tomorrow I could be a waiter in a charmingly schlocky steak house. I can't find any reason to argue with that.

As much as I'd like to count all the eggs I had in my one basket at the time there were many other hens waiting for their unborn young to be snatched. (Is that the proper way to turn that aphorism on its head?) So we moved along, trying to keep our spirits high, and kept selling our selves to uninterested people.

Now things are different in Virginia, this I know, but try this bit of proverbial fat to chew. Keep in mind that Chuck E. Cheese is an arcade aimed at children ages 8 to 14. Its spokesperson is a large mouse or rat who seems to have an affinity for pizza and video games. They usually host birthday parties to slews of kids hoped up on pitchers of coca cola looking to run rampant through the ball pits and slides. Its the typically tacky children's restaurant America does best. Nothing weird just yet.

So Brian and I, in a positive manner, charge the doors. We flirt with two middle-aged locals who are seemingly there to play ski-ball and finally meet the manager. He's was about 26, overweight, and sporting a pinky nail longer then the finger itself. (I was gonna follow this sentence with I'm not here to judge, but I'm a writer... Who the fuck am I kidding?) Trying to keep my attention off his pristine coke nail by focusing on his gawdy gold necklace the man lets us in on a new hurdle to over come: In Virginia you need a license of sorts to work with food.

It'll cost us $45 to get. I guess you gotta spend money to make money.

So while he continuously flipped our applications over back to front feigned some sort of false interest Brian nudges me from behind. It takes me a second, as my eyes were preoccupied by the outrageously bright pizza menu, by finally I find the strangest thing I've seen in the south so far. It was more bizarre then the Christian only bookstore/cafe. Weirder then the Arby's called Arby's Roast beef sandwiches are delicious. There, as if as normal as breathing air, was a beer tap. I can not make this shit up.

In Virginia... Chuck E. Cheese... Serves beer....

I'm slowly adjusting. These things are starting to feel commonplace. I'm not saying its wrong just saying its weird.

Brian

The Thrill of the Hunt

I don't know what it was, but something launched me out of my bed at the crack ass of dawn this morning.

The night was plagued with vivid and utterly surreal dreams that seem to be happening with some frequency. I don't know if its the change of location, the change of diet, or something in the air down here... But it my mind is on rapid fire. Its absorbing everything it sees, processing in, and shooting it out in new and exciting ways.

Today, after a well rounded breakfast of Honeycombs and name brand root-beer, Brian and I headed out the front door armed with our charm and good looks on a mission. We knew in our heart of hearts that if we want to survive in this new community we'd have to become thriving members of the local economy. What better what could we do that, but then to get a job in retail?
So we jumped in his car, which was luckily not towed today, and headed into the thriving metropolis of Chesapeake, Virgina.

After getting turned down by the local Walgreen's (We're overqualified anyway) we stumbled upon an amazing discovery. Like a shining beacon over the horizon we saw the glowing beauty of a movie theater. Logic dictates that where there is a movie theater there must be a mall. Lo and behold, there a mall did sit. It seemed ripe for the plucking. A mall is usually a plethora of commerce and always in need of college dropouts like myself who will whore themselves out, usually in some sort of khaki panted uniform, for a little more then minimum wage. Yet I was sorely let down.

The mall was more of a labyrinth forgotten by time and hidden far off the main road. It stank of old days, haunted by the ghost of a once thriving hang out. I could feel the howls of Orange Julius poltergeist's hanging in the air. Trying to remain upbeat we began our search. With bright smiles we went from store to store (four of which were Footlockers I kid you not) collecting application after application from people that we were clearly smarter then. Beggars of course can not be choosers. We made our way through, passed by forgotten fountains and a sad excuse for a cookie stand, and came to the end... Where a hotel lay?

I kid you not. It looked like Donald Trump had hidden away a failure long forgot and we found it. Black and shinny, made of marble, and with the scent of fresh, fluffy towels... Of course we got our applications and moved on our search.

From Chuck E. Cheese to Benigan's to the hallowed halls of Food Lion (Google it folks!) the overwhelming feeling of defeat loomed in the air. Our hands were full out applications, but our hearts were filled with dread. So we went exploring and headed towards Virgina Beach. It seemed like a good idea.

After driving around, watching the 7-11's and Arby's fly by with such frequency I felt I was in a Hannah Barbara cartoon, it loomed in the distance. The sandy shores of the beach came into focus and there it was... The depressed, quiet, off season streets of Virgina Beach... I don't know what we hoped to find. Scantily clad women? Drunken college kids? Fun at every turn? It is February and the truth just hit home... Our new home...

Virgina is a once a week a year kind of state.

We walked to the sandy shores, dipped our finger tips in the salty waters, and stared off into the distance. Out there, beyond the ability of human site lay so much. The open water beckoned and for an instant I thought I heard the siren's calling me to my doom. We turned away, Brian and I, pulled our sweatshirts in tight, and headed back to the car.

We didn't say it, but it didn't need to be said. Together we were gonna do this.

...I hope.

Brian