Thursday, July 30, 2009

Whatever Happened, Happened [Rarely Pure]

Well...it's been a minute since I TRULY had an adventure. I had been secretly begging for one among the bland school, work, and blah routine.
Well...you know how they say be careful what you wish for...

The night started out simple like this: [Note: Viewing the videos in the story ARE NOT required to understand the story. It just adds a wee bit of comedic depth. Note again: Before the first video starts, I'm already up 4 Jack and Cokes and now, three of those Buds in video 1 are mine.]


and then I decide to partake in this:



and then finally at 3 something, AM...


Now... I'm pretty sure I went home at that point. The bar is right around the corner literally from where I stay. Totally visible from my roof. In fact, I KNOW I went home, because I spoke to @couturekitty on Twitter. But then that lusting demon nature of mine rang out, and I somehow ended up calling a girl that I knew would grant my carnal desires with very little feedback. So I stumble my way back out into the night, and that's when my phone is going bananas. Why?

The trip from my bedroom to the car was about thirty minutes long. And it appears that I managed to drunk dial a couple of folk in between as well. One such call went to my friend Ajax. Ajax is hammered. Ajax is outside my house honking the horn. I tell Ajax that I haven't had anything to drink so I couldn't party like he obviously was. I tell him to take me to the girl's house where he drops me off and promises to comeback in 20 minutes. I do not like this girl. 20 minutes is sufficient.

Ajax is good on his word, and now I'm sweating and covered with woman fumes. I say, "I needs to shower." Ajax, says "Let's take the beers I just got, and go swimming." I say sure, confident that the pool we were going to is legit. Because swimming is definitely like showering, and I'm not thinking to ask where the beers came from at 4 AM.

Meanwhile, the girl is at this point trying to figure out how I'm going to get into my house seeing how I left my keys at her house. So she annoyingly calls me up to ask me will I return. Which, she wants because that's more time I soend with her. I tell her that she needs to cool it down, and she asks me am I drunk. [Note, I can drink for days. but I like to consider myself a time delayed drunk] I'm now hammered. So hammered, that I feel like lying is the best option here. So I say no... she exhales. I jump into the pool.

The water's cool, and the beer- disgusting...oddly familiar... but it's STRONG, so I won't complain. The pool however, belongs to somebody Ajax doesn't even know. So when there's lights inside the house and shouting in our direction... two lightskinneded half naked guys have never ran back to the car faster.

We get back to my house, and I'm LOCKED out. So Ajax says, dude there's a ladder on your garage... and I say, "Hells yes...because the upstairs window should be unlocked." Nevermind, the ladder won't reach the window, nevermind, I am now shit faced gigly drunk. I place my nasty strong beer in my backpocket and up the ladder. Now... talk about good saints... because the girl is out front, and notices two guys climbing around on the garage in the dark. Where she now calls the police. We almost simultaneously come out into the street where she realizes her mistake and she screams at us. Ajax turns to me and says, "It's the pool guy!" and he takes off down the street. Between the screaming, Ajax running, distant sirens and the sudden screeching of tires- I take off after him and we run until we can't run anymore and end up in the field near the train tracks.

I wake up... and it's day light and between our lifeless bodies is a bottle of Thunderbird.
I drag myself down the field with Ajax barely conscious... and get back to my house. I grab the spare key from the next door neighbor and finally, Ajax and I crawl into bed... to recover.

...
For 23 minutes when my hypochondriac sister calls an ambulance and then THAT started...ugh.


"The truth is rarely pure and never simple." -Oscar Wilde

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

All The Best Cowboys Have Daddy Issues [Strive to touch the Stars]


So lately I've been feeling ...what's the word? Meshy. I've been placed in situations where I have to act responsible to make critical decisions for children under my watch. In my care...under my influence.

Is this God once again, trying to teach me something? He put The Constant in my life to teach me compassion... he made me care for my grandmother and become a "Big Brother" to learn patience. What if he wants me to become a father?
Is that possible? I mean I've always been anti-children...but not in these recent years. I've always secretly feared being a father. I've been known to joke that I would backflip out of vagina before I came in it. ...as a reply to guys who have kids and say, "It was TOO good to pull out." Yeah, right. See...My dad sucks. Not saying he's a bad guy, I barely know him... he just sucks as a father. Anyway, I can't help but recall something that happened not too long ago every time I'm placed in the Daddy position.

[BTW...this is an excerpt from my old blog on MySpace, called "The One with My Daddy Issues]

"I'm so ugly, my father carries a picture of the kid that came with his wallet."
-Rodney Dangerfield

So... I'm not a complete asshole.

In my attempt to sell myself as a better candidate for the female audience, I occasionally swallow my fear of children and put on my role model mask. Now, believe it or not- I am quite the role model, and I give out GREAT life advice despite my own terrible behaviors. However life has a funny way of keeping things in check that you wouldn't believe...

So- I'm hanging out with this girl- for shits and giggles we'll use the name Nora- and Nora has a little boy of about 2. So, I kinda don't mind little boys at around this age because they're becoming curious and the destructive edge is coming out of them... yeah, no more baby blue and cute booties. We got a man-child on our hands. Give him the touch. Give him the power. Nora is beginning to attempt to potty train him, and I don't know how it happened, but it suddenly became a great idea for me to teach him how to go peepee in the potty. Now usually a request like this is beyond my capabilities of acting, regardless of how bad I wanna girlfriend. I am at level 5 fear now, and my brain is screaming "Abort! ABORT!" However, I do not.

I scoop little Aaron up and whisk away to the potty. The magical realm of number 1's and 2's. I stand there speaking in that ridiculous baby talk of broken english nonsense- "Peepee goes potty" with a majestic fatherly vibe. This is it! I'm tappping into my inevitable daddy vibe. I'm so proud! I immediately stand up to demonstrate how the regal number one is performed, and whip out my dick. Now, it is here where maybe I forgot I was teaching a kid how to pee. Maybe in the back of my mind I really had to go, or maybe it was sheer force of habit. Regardless, I tilted my head back and released magical beer/liquor/soda contaminated urine into the toilet as I'VE DONE A MILLION FUCKING TIMES.

Only this time, there wasn't that orchastral sound of peepee splashing against blue toilet water. No just the sound of peepee on skull, because Aaron sure was bent over, head half into toilet looking into it.

I look down in confusion at the absense of sound first, then to my horror I'm peeing on this kid's head. I painfully stop peeing, but it's kinda too late. I've peed all over this kid. So I immediately toss him into the shower and run water on him. Nora is asking what's going on- and I tell her he put his head in the toilet. She screams.

Same difference right?

Yeah...I'm SOOOO ready to be a Dad.

"And he that strives to touch the stars, oft stumbles at a straw." -Edmund Spenser

Thursday, July 16, 2009

The Cost of Living [Today]

Today is the greatest day I've never known. Can't live for tomorrow...
Folk like to say that I'm anarchistic...or nihilistic, that I'm cynical and I don't stand for anything.
Maybe. I'm actually none of these things at all.
I always like to think of myself as someone who only deals with the 'superficial things that really matter'... I still laugh at that.

Humanity is ridiculous.
My friend Christian used to live in an apartment, and in this apartment, some genius had decided to mount a fairly large double mirror on the wall opposite the shitter. So I couldn't take that shit without staring at myself. And it was there that I realized, that I'm never going to me more respectable than right here. You are now scrunching your face in confusion.

The point is I strongly believe that people take themselves too seriously.
You preen and you posture, you make love and war, you protest and stature... and you do it with such gravity and meaning.
When... everyday your very own biology makes you go look and feel ridiculous.

"Save the planet!" Like we matter to the planet. "Pro-this" "Pro-That" "Anti- this" "Fight for that"
Blah. Blah. Blah. Keep doing everything you can to build yourself up.
...except the "superficial things that really matter"
The higher you climb, the further you think you can run away from your nature. Maybe you need a mirror across from your shitter.


Maybe I'm pretty damn fatalistic...or maybe I'm an idiot in the guise of intellectual praise. Either way, I just wish people would re-think all their agendas.


Does this make any sense?

"There are two days in every week that we should not worry about, two days that should be kept free from fear and apprehension.

One is yesterday, with its mistakes and cares, its faults and blunders, its aches and pains. Yesterday has passed, forever beyond our control.

All the money in the world cannot bring back yesterday. We cannot undo a single act we performed. Nor can we erase a single word we've said - yesterday is gone!

The other day we shouldn't worry about is tomorrow, with its impossible adversaries, its burden, its hopeful promise and poor performance. Tomorrow is beyond our control.

Tomorrow's sun will rise either in splendor or behind a mask of clouds - but it will rise. And until it does, we have no stake in tomorrow, for it is yet unborn.

This leaves only one day - today. Any person can fight the battles of just one day. It is only when we add the burdens of yesterday and tomorrow that we break down.

It is not the experience of today that drives people mad - it is the remorse of bitterness for something which happened yesterday, and the dread of what tomorrow may bring.

Let us, therefore, live one day at a time!" -Anonymous

Monday, July 13, 2009

Meet Joe Budden [Expect Nothing]


Shelley invited me to the Rock the Bells concert yesterday, which was all the way out in Baltimore county. Since I pride myself on being impulsive, I decided to go. Besides, I was having a kickass weekend with Shelley so far. What could a trip out to this random concert hurt?

KRS-One is there. He's doing what KRS what KRS does. Tech N9ne's there... haven't seen him in a little bit. It's kinda cool. Big Boi performs...not mad at that. The Roots beat it up, Common kills it and Busta Rhymes loses his damn mind.



So I'm having a great time... but I'm hungry. I'm hungry and I need to eat. As I'm walking I happen to finally notice the lineup for the concert and I notice that Slaughterhouse is listed. I'm thinking to myself wait a minute... not my new favorite group... featuring two of who I believe to be the most underrated MC's in recent hip-hop history. Joe Budden and Royce Da 5'9".

I immediately start tweeting Joe...(@mousebudden on Twitter, one of the very FEW celebrities I follow on Twitter, who sucks on responses, lol.) asking him if he's performing at the Merriweather show. I had to have tweeted him about four times, in between walking to the BBQ shack and getting Shelley a margarita. So I'm totally harrassing her about why Joey and Royce are underated and why I wish they'd get their turn in the limelight and how Slaughterhouse is going to kill it... when I decide that this BBQ sandwich alone won't cut it. So we walk down a little hill to hit the Boardwalk Fries and I'm sitting there totally worried because I'm wondering if I missed their set or not. I'm biting fingernails, waiting on the jerkoff in front of me to hurry up because I wanna get back to my seat in case Slaughterhouse goes on. I'm still tryin to tell Shelley about how great they're tracks are when the jerkoff moves and I catch a glimpse of his arm...which surprisingly has the same tattoos that Joey has. He heads to the condiment table and I oddly follow him over, as Shelley watches me in a strnge bewilderment. I approach him silently as he's drowning chicken tenders in ketchup- because I don't wanna yell his name out just in case that's not him. I walk up on him and I think I think I kinda startle him as he turns to me and gives me this look that without a doubt perfectly displays his annoyance and says, "What the fuck do you want?"
As talkative as I can be, for 5 seconds I was at a loss for words... and he gives me the strangest "fuck off" stare and mumbles, "Dude, chicken tenders" as he leaves the table. Royce walks over and then my words come back...

"Hey... when ya'll going on?" I ask feeling incredibly stupid.
"Around 7...yeah he's pretty hungry"
I walk back over to Shelley, defeated... and she gives me a comforting hug. When we return to our seat, I take a look at my twitter and notice how coincidental that I'm tweeting how I wanna see Slaughterhouse, then immediately after I tweet:

TonyTescadero: Yo, @mousebudden Sorry for running up on you at the ketchup table. I just really respect ya'lls work.


There was a big screen over the stage you could text messages to,
and Shelley made my day by offering to text the scren: "Don't mess with Joe Budden when he's eating chicken tenders" but it never showed up on screen...sadly.
The end result however, is that I sat in my chair eagerly awaiting Slaughterhouse, and at exactly 7:05 PM a friend of Shelley's who was there comes up and says "Yo... Slaughterhouse just killed it on the other stage"

Sigh...
I guess I'll just have to wait for the album.


"Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed." -Alexander Pope
"My dreams were all my own, I accounted to them to nobody; they were my refuge when annoyed- my dearest pleasure when free." -Mary Shelley; 'Frankenstein' or 'The Modern Prometheus'