Happy Holidays from Bubblegum Jones.

Miffed!

Before I put one foot on the Number 13 bus this afternoon, the bus driver managed to piss me off!   Not only that, but she continued to tug and nag at my patience until finally before getting off the bus at University Avenue in City Heights, I decided that I would leave her with a strong, deafening tone in her ears.  Literally!  

This afternoon, desperate to get out of Will's house and out of City Heights, I found enough loose change in the bottom of my bag to treat myself to coffee.  Good coffee had become a small personal luxury that--at one time, would have never brought me as much happiness as it does today.  I refused to settle for a quick trip to Starbucks in City Heights, instead choosing to ride the bus to North Park and visit the Starbucks in that neighborhood.  By doing this, I would ensure that I would not have to sit staring at young, Hispanic teenagers making out in a corner or being harassed by young kids, begging for a dollar; these two, which are very common sights at the Starbucks in City Heights.  No, in North Park, I would be able to sit at one of the sidewalk tables, smoke a cigarette and enjoy my coffee.  Of course, even in North Park, I would probably have to endure the homeless person, walking by and stopping to beg for an extra cigarette--it was tit for tat, really.  And I simply wanted to be there.  But back to the bus ride.

The #13 arrived at my stop and I readied myself to climb aboard when instantly, I was greeted with this bus driver's stern voice.  The middle-aged, heavy set Black woman immediately held her hand up, indicating for me to stop.  

"I wanted you to stop so this lady to get off the bus." She said.  Only then could I see another older, heavy-set Black woman slowly making her way up the aisle.  And I do mean slowly.  In her right hand was a cane, used to assist her walking.  In her left hand was a metal shopping cart.  The woman tried, unsuccessfully to maneuver both the cane and the cart.  As if that wasn't enough, this woman and the bus driver were trying to have a conversation!  Obviously they knew one another.  

"Are you gonna be okay getting off at this stop?" The bus driver asked.  "Is anyone coming to pick you up, girl?" 

"Oh yes," Miss Slow-Poke responded.  Not only did she respond, but she had to stop all motion in order to do so.  And she had yet to reach the exit of the bus!  The bus driver, seeing me still standing outside, waiting, took the opportunity to volunteer me to assist the slow-moving, heavy set woman with exiting the bus.  

"I'm sure this young man will be happy to help you off of the bus," the bus driver said loud enough that I'm sure the rest of grim-faced riders could hear.  I took the shopping cart first and placed it on the side walk then offered my arm for her to grab.  The slow moving, heavy set woman  gripped my arm with such a strong grasp that even I was shocked at the firmness.  The flesh of my arm in her grasp and shaking at the same time, the woman slowly lowered herself down from the bus and onto the pavement.  All of this took roughly four minutes!  I entered the bus with a huff and took the first seat roughly three feet behind the driver.  I dug into my bag, fished out my iPod, plugged in my ear buds and set about tuning this whole scene out.  

And that's when bus driver started up again.  I was listening to I:Cube and trying not to make eye contact with anyone when the lady sitting directly across from me started waving her hands to get my attention.  She pointed towards the bus driver.  Meanwhile, the bus driver was also trying to get my attention.  

"Your music is up way too loud."  The bus driver told me.  I'd gotten out of my seat and was now standing next to her while she continued to steer the bus along Fairmount Avenue.   

"But I'm wearing headphones.  How could you possibly hear the music?"

"Well, the good Lord has blessed me with having to wear a hearing aid.  The high pitched ping pong coming from your music--I can hear it." She informed me.  I couldn't believe this! 

"Can you hear it now?" I asked.  I removed the earbuds from my ears and lowered the volume.  

"Yes, I can hear it. If you could just turn it down lower." 

I huffed and returned to my seat.  I was tempted to argue with this bus driver, but what I really wanted was for her to get the bus to the next stop, which was where I was going to get off.   By now, everyone was staring at me, trying to figure out what I'd done to upset the bus driver.   I was miffed at this woman.  I couldn't understand how her having a hearing aid was suddenly my issue.   We were a block away from my stop when I got an idea.  

The bus stopped at University Avenue.  Half of the people on the bus, including myself began to exit.  As I came closer to the bus driver, I reached into my bag and fingered my iPod. 

I inched closer to the door and the bus driver.  Closer.  Closer.  

When I was just beyond her right shoulder and with rapid speed, I increased the volume on my iPod, ensuring that this mean bus driver lady got a full blast of Adore by I:Cube (complete with the ping pong).  I looked at the disturbed look on her face and smiled.  She opened her mouth as if to say something, but it didn't matter.  I stepped off of the Number 13 bus, feeling satisfied with myself.  

Exes and Hoes.

This past weekend, I was in contact with my three exes.  Through phone calls, text messages and visits, I was reminded of three men of whom I'd had previous relationships with.  While I like to think that they all ended on somewhat civil terms, I had to admit, even I was surprised when I communicated with each one of them.

I spoke on the phone with John on both Thursday and Friday.  On Thursday afternoon, I met him at Number 3 to do a clean-up job for the two unoccupied units in his building.  It was fun hanging out at the old building, the work was easy, I got to be with Miss Lester and I got paid for my work.  

Working a catering gig on Saturday night, I began receiving text messages from Raymond.  I couldn't respond to them immediately, but when there was a lull in the job, I would grab my phone and read the messages.  He was looking to hookup.  That was the farthest thing from my mind.

 I texted back to him.   Even after sending text messages back and forth, with me explaining that I would be downtown until well after 1 in the morning, Raymond and I continued our conversation of text messages, which finally ended only after I told him that I was in bed.  This was around 3 in the morning!

Dutch called on Sunday morning.   He and I spoke earlier in the week about me taking some Christmas photos for him.  Half asleep, I mumbled Hello into the phone.

"Come take my pictures." Dutch said.  "Lunch will be on me. I have this 2 for 1 coupon so I could take you to lunch afterwards."  It was after 11 o'clock Sunday morning and I was still in bed.  I didn't get to bed until almost 4 o'clock, after working a party downtown that ran until well after midnight.  I caught the last bus leaving downtown, heading to City Heights where I had to ride my bike the rest of the way back to Will's house.  Exhausted, I'd slept until shortly before the Dutch called.  He could hear the sleepiness in my voice.  

"You're still asleep and I'm hungry," he said.  "I'm going to eat.  Call me once you're up."  I told him that I would, hung up and went back to sleep.  

Before I sat down to write this entry, I started thinking about the my friendship with each one of my exes.  Even though the relationships soured, I like to think that--even at the moments when each one was over, I would still try to maintain a somewhat decent friendship with each.   And I have always been happy with that.  What was odd initially was the fact that, I still remained in contact with Dutch--even while I dated Raymond.  And I remained in contact with Raymond--while I was dating John.  The three men have never met one another to my knowledge, but they do know of the others.  

Monday evening, while waiting for the bus in City Heights, I received a phone call from Raymond.  We talked about his weekend text messages and I expressed my distaste for what he was asking of me.  

"The text messages," I began.  "I didn't like them. I don't like that." 

"I wasn't aware that they were making you uncomfortable and I apologize." Raymond responded. 

"I'm all for hanging out, going to a movie or even getting together for dinner, but there's no going back.  I don't want to do that and I know you can respect my opinion on this." 

"Yeah.  Sure.  And I'm sorry about that." 

By the time the bus arrived, I had ended my phone conversation with Raymond and felt good about stating my feelings.  I like the friendships that I have with my exes, but they're just that.  Friendships.  

Relief and Comfort.

After blogging about the nasty rash that had developed all over my body, I was finally able to get back to my doctor for another follow up.  As I'd mentioned, I was still covered in small red bumps which itched and burned, usually with me scratching and clawing at my arms.  

"Oh wow, this has indeed spread."  My doctor told me after inspecting my shirtless torso.  "But I'm not sure if it was a reaction to the shot or if it's something else."  He began naming off a few other possibilities, using medical terms that I had never heard of.  I continued to sit there, nodding my head and hoping that he would start writing out some sort of prescription.  

While he was scribbling on his notepad, the doctor assured me that it would all go away in a couple of days.  With strict instructions and a couple of prescriptions in hand, I left his office, promising to follow up with him in a few days.  

Standing outside of CVS, waiting for my prescriptions to be filled, I received a phone call from John.  

"I'm heading home soon in case you were still thinking of stopping by."  He said.  Two days ago, John and I spoke on the phone and I told him that I would be in the neighborhood and could stop by if he was at home.  

"As a matter of fact," I began.  "I'm still on this side of town, picking up some medicine.  I can stop by afterwards." 

"PILLS!" He exclaimed in that tone of voice that, to this day, always makes me break out into a loud laugh.  

I hung out at Number 3 for about an hour, catching up on chit chat with John while feasting on a bowl of his infamous chili.  "I had a bunch of ground turkey here, so I used turkey instead of beef," he told me.  Miss Lester circled the dining room table, going back and forth between the two of us.  Later, we crammed my bike into the trunk of John's car, stopped for coffee then drove me back to City Heights.  

It was all so comfortable and familiar.  And I enjoyed every moment of it.  

Burning Skin.

Last week, I went to see my doctor, complaining about skin irritation that had started to spread as the result of a shot that I'd received the previous week.  Initially, the irritation was only on my right butt cheek and groin area.  My doctor gave me an examination, had me fill out a bunch of survey questions and told me simply to apply some hydrocortisone and the problem should go away in about a week or so.  

"If this doesn't work," he said.  "Call me and we'll figure out what our next step should be." 

Last night, I awoke frantically scratching and clawing at my upper arms.  Even before I removed my shirt, I could feel the small red bumps, which appeared to be taking over the upper part of my body.  Trying not to panic at 4 o'clock in the morning, I calmed down enough to allow myself to fall back so sleep--promising then to call my doctor in the morning.  This morning, after I'd gotten out of the shower, I inspected my upper body and confirmed what I'd felt while in bed.  My chest, shoulders, arms and stomach were now covered with small red bumps.

And they itched like hell!   

I stood in front of the mirror, afraid to move but at the same time afraid to look away.  It looked as if I had measles or chicken pox.  When I could no longer bear to look at myself in the mirror, I ran into the bedroom and called my doctor.  

I tried to remain calm while I spoke with the nurse and described to her how the allergic reaction had now spread from the lower part of my body to the upper region. 

"Are you taking any other medications?" The nurse asked.  When I told her no, she placed me on hold while she went to find my doctor.  Minutes later, she was back on the line.  

"Okay," she said, sounding a bit out of breath.  "The doctor wants you to stop applying the hydrocortisone and instead start applying calamine lotion to stop the itch.  If the rash continues to spread, we'll have you come in on Monday." 

Monday?!  What was I supposed to do until then?  I understood the Thanksgiving holiday was coming and sure, I was aware that the office would be closed but--here I was trying desperately not to scratch my outer layer of skin and now the nurse was telling me that I would have to wait until Monday before I could see the doctor.  

ARGH!

Bums.

Arriving almost 15 minutes early for my doctor's appointment, I was sitting outside in the courtyard, smoking a cigarette before going in to meet Dr. Morris.  Keeping my eye on the time while at the same time, puffing on the Newport, I eyed the man coming towards me.  I already knew what he wanted.   In fact, I was ready with my response as soon as the words came out of his mouth.  Check out this little exchange.

"Say bro,"  he started. "You have another cigarette on you?" 

See!  I knew that's what he wanted.  What's more, I hate being called 'bro' by anyone, but it's usually vagrants who like to use that slang-ish term of endearment.

"No, man.  This is it."  I said, holding the half-smoked cigarette up for him to inspect.  With a loud huff, he walked inside the medical building.  

Only to return a few seconds later.  

"Well, could you save some of it for me?" The bum asked.  What was wrong with this dude?   From my seat, I eyed him and began, "I'd kinda like to enjoy this smoke by myself." 

But that wasn't enough for him.  Frustrated that I wasn't willing to share my cigarette--and no, it wasn't the last one, but I wasn't telling him that-- the scraggly vagrant spat one last remark at me.  

"That's okay," he began.  "God hates greedy people."  He said that and disappeared around the building.   

So now, I'm greedy?  Who would've thought?

Who needs an education?

For as long as I can remember, I've always had a fond relationship with public libraries.  I can still recall receiving my first library card to the W. Walworth Harrison Public Library in Greenville, Texas in 1982.  I think it was the librarian telling me, as she put the card in my young hands that, with [that] card, I could come, read and check out any of the books that were on the shelves.  

And boy did I?!  I love the fact that a public library is one of the few public places where you're supposed to be quiet, where you're surrounded by books and you're in the company of others who love reading and books as much as you do.  

There are some beautiful libraries in San Diego.   Some of the branches, while older than others, are more comfortable to be in.   The University Heights branch, where my bike wheel was stolen, while its a small branch, is very quiet and soothing.   Then there are those, such as the Mission Valley branch, whose large open areas and ample lighting provide the perfect atmosphere for getting lost in a good book, a great magazine or--if you're like me,  pillaging through the archives of whatever I can think of.   The Coronado and Scripps Ranch branches are so beautiful and well worth visiting.  

Now having written all of that, one can only imagine my frustration and disappointment with the public library in City Heights.  The building is fairly new and the accommodations are excellent.  The building sits in the heart of City Heights and is an anchor for the Performing Arts complex.  The library is also a quick bike ride or bus trip away from Will's house.  It's also where I've spent a few afternoons.  This evening, sitting at one of the partitioned tables, I noticed all of the graffiti which was scrawled on just about everything!  But it was this one particular table which caught my eye and I knew I had to photograph it.  

If there's ever been any doubt that my wanting to be a teacher wasn't a good idea, it was squashed after reading what some kid had written.  And in the library of all places.

Anyone who reads dis [sic] shit is a assholel [sic]!

I can't get back in school fast enough.  

Back where I belong.

As of this afternoon, it became official that I was indeed set on keeping the promise that I'd made to myself about going back to school once the Spring semester started.  Sunday night, I'd spent half an hour trying to organize a schedule that would allow me to take at least three classes, but at the same time I could only take the three twice a week rather than full time like in the past.  

This afternoon, I didn't hesitate signing up for my classes and now its just a matter of getting down to City College and paying my representation fees.  So it's official:  whether I'm homeless, broke and unemployed or not, my ass is back in school come January.  

I can't wait. 

Great day for a march.

It turned out to be a beautiful day here in San Diego, making it the perfect day for a march.  Along with most major cities, San Diego was hosting its own march against Proposition 8.  According to rumors, over 25,000 people showed up (ranking San Diego number one in the largest number of marchers that marched yesterday) in protest of the proposition that passed back on November 4th.  I'll admit, even I was shocked that so many friends and neighbors turned out to march from Balboa Park to the administration building downtown.  What was even more spectacular was the fact that not all of us were gay.  Just as many straight people showed up, armed with signs, whistles, dogs and whatever.  It was great.  I saw a few friends, old neighbors and spent most of the march, walking alongside John, Wes and Lee.  

I guess this turned out to be the best day to reconnect with old exes too.  In addition to hanging with the present ex (John), I ran into another ex later in the afternoon.   Long after the march had ended and I'd commuted back to Hillcrest from downtown to retrieve my bike, I ran into Raymond, while browsing the racks at Buffalo Exchange.  We stood, talking and looking through the racks of second hand clothes and finally ended up having lunch together.  

All in all, it was a great day for a march.  I voted against Proposition 8 and I'm almost certain that the people that I know did as well, but still I shudder to think that there are those who voted in support of it.  

Here's some pics from the march.  

YES WE DID!

Lucy emailed this to me today.  

Election Day

Hell yeah, I voted!  I hope you did also. 

LOST.

Wanna know how to make a 34 year old gay man cry?

Take away his Prada sunglasses.  

I have no idea where I left them.  Frantically, I searched through all of my things and looked high and low in Will's house, but for the life of me, I have no idea where I left my sunglasses.  It would be easy for me to call it karma, but I know that I would never absent-mindedly leave my sunglasses anywhere.  What's worse is now whenever I'm on the bus or walking around town, I'm forced to look at people rather than hide my eyes behind the big wraparound that I've come to love so much.  I refuse to give up the search.

I'll keep you posted.

Chocolate Milk.

Happy Halloween!

Rich, Chuck, Will, April, James and me as the Chocolate Cow.

Beyonce--Single Ladies (Put a ring on it).

What can I say--the woman is FLAWLESS!

Return to Saturn.

This morning around 10 o'clock, I received a phone call from John.  He needed a favor.

"I'm gonna be heading to Las Vegas on Friday and I was wondering if you were available to house sit and look after Lester."  He said.  "I'm leaving on Friday and won't be back until next Thursday."  

I didn't give it a second thought.  Of course I would look after Miss Lester and while I no longer lived at Number 3, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to get out of Will's place--even if it was temporary.  I told him I would do it.  

Profiled--twice!

Okay, to date, it's been about two weeks since I moved from Hillcrest, post breakup and over to City Heights with my friend Will.  But in that two weeks, the most outrageous thing that has happened to me since my arrival to City Heights has to be my run ins with the San Diego Police Department.  

Two times in the span of seven days!  Check this out.  

My first run in occurred Friday (10 October) around 1:00 a.m.  I left Will's house and set out on my bike, heading for Kensington.  There's really no need for me to explain what my destination was, simply because--it was one in the morning and there I was out on my bike.  In other words, I was headed to a booty call.  At a stoplight along Fairmount Avenue, I noticed the squad car to my left, ready to make a left hand turn near the City Heights police station.  A few seconds before the stoplight turned green, I began peddling, crossing through the intersection and continuing on Fairmount.   I barely made it a hundred feet from the intersection before I had a spotlight glaring on me from the left side.  

It was the police car; veering towards me with one of the policemen climbing out of the car and running towards me.  

"Hands out of your pockets!  Hands out of your pockets!"  He yelled, flashlight glaring on me with his right hand ready near his weapon.   

"Then could you reach in my pocket and turn off my iPod," I requested.  I still had the earbuds in and the music was blaring.  The officer motioned for me to stop the music. 

They called it a routine stop.   "We do this all the time," the brown haired cop tried to convince me,  "it's routine."  But I think he saw the skepticism in my eyes because suddenly the reason for me being stopped went from being a routine stop to my running the red light--even though there was absolutely no traffic in any direction and, like I mentioned, it was one o'clock in the morning.  

"You can't be serious about stopping me for this,"  I protested, while the other cop was giving me a thorough pat down.  "It's one in the morning and there's no traffic out here.  Hell, I wouldn't have said anything had you guys ran that light back there." 

I had one cop going through my pockets and my wallet while the other verified my drivers' license information with their dispatcher.  The whole time that this scene is taking place, I'm trying not to glance at my watch or to appear anxious.   I heard the dispatcher radio back that I had no warrants or any kind of record with the police department (even though I'd told them this prior to the cop calling my information in).  

"You've never been in any trouble with the police," brown-haired cop asked me. 

"Nope," I responded. 

"Not even for a routine traffic stop--or anything like that?" 

"Basically," I told him, looking square in his eyes.  "I'm not one of those people that gets in trouble...or that gets caught." 

Needless to say, I didn't get a ticket for running the stop light.  In fact, nothing happened.  But I know the cops stopping me a one o'clock in the morning...when I was on a bicycle, and calling it a routine traffic stop--was nothing more than my being profiled.   And while I was a little frustrated, I wasn't angry.  I simply grabbed my wallet, iPod and cigarettes and returned them to the pockets that they were in initially.    Before the police car took off, I began pedaling up Fairmount Avenue towards Kensington.  

The following Monday (14 October) the same thing happened again!  Only this time, I was leaving my friend, Rich's house in Normal Heights returning to City Heights.  Monday night, Rich and Truc had a party at their place.  In preparation for Halloween and to commemorate the fact that Rich had gotten his backyard all spruced up for fall, he and Truc had a small get-together.  Of course, there was plenty of food, drinks and pot!  Around 1:30 a.m., full, drunk and stoned--I set out, once again, on my bike for Will's place.  

I wasn't even two blocks from Rich's house when the loud siren of an approaching police car pulled up behind me.  

"I saw you run that stop sign back there."  The police officer told me.  

"Are you fucking with me!" I exclaimed.  "I stopped at the sign.  There were no cars coming--it's almost 2 o'clock in the morning!" 

Once again, I handed over my drivers' license and waited while the cop pronounced my name into his radio.  Where the other cops gave me thorough pat down, thankfully this officer didn't because I had a small stash of pot in the front pocket of my jeans.  The officer returned my drivers' license and gave me a 'stern' lecture about obeying the rules of the road, "Even though you're on a bike, you still have to obey them as if you were in a car."  

You know, it's one thing to lecture me when something needs to be corrected or when I've made a mistake, but it really pisses me off when I'm talked down to.  

"Yeah, sure...whatever." I said and once again started pedaling towards City Heights.  

Two times in seven days.  That has to be some kind of record. 

Gracie

Part Rottweiler and part Labrador Retriever, Gracie is a massive beast of a dog.  Not even two years old, Gracie bounces and flops through this house--completely unaware of her own massive bulk and her invasive presence ensures that everyone around her will be aware that she's in the room.  I've known this dog since she was six months old; about the same amount of time as Will, when he took her in and has raised her since.  

I know Gracie's secret.  

When I moved into Will's place, I knew that I would have to adjust to living in Gracie's space.  The day that I moved in, my shorts were covered in her drool.  Where I once had to deal with Miss Lester's hair all over me, this dog drooled on everything that she came in contact with.  I don't have to mention how much I love dogs, but this was one dog that I refuse to bond with.  Partly because even though I'm not with Miss Lester, I still consider her my dog.  Don't get me wrong, I don't ignore Gracie--it would hard not to, it's just that she's not a dog that I would play with.  I barely even pet her.  And whenever she comes begging for food, I give her a hardened stare that sends her the opposite way.  

A few nights ago, I was getting ready to go out for a late night bike ride.  As I was moving my bike out of the living room and onto the porch, Gracie decided to lay down smack dead in the living room floor, between the front door and where I was standing.  Rather than demand that she move, I instead continued to roll my bike backwards, forcing her to jump from where she was and to immediately back out of my way.  

The narrow hallway that leads from the front of Will's house to the bedrooms was the next location of Gracie and my showdown.  Where she would normally bolt through, causing Will, Glenn or me to jump or be knocked out of her way, I now stand firm and push her out of the way with my leg.  I make it a point to never been in a position to where she can see me at my eye level; instead always looking down at her--again, my stare sending her the other way.  

In spite of these actions, which will eventually teach her which of us is in charge, I'm not mean to the dog.  I know how much Will loves her.  I don't know how he does it, but he does care about the dog.  

But it doesn't mean that I have to care about her.  

Late night at Lestat's.

After the long, event filled day that I had today, it came as a surprise that I was still wired up once I arrived back at Will's house around 7:30 this evening.  I spent the day, running around--tending to a bunch of small errands in  Hillcrest.  All in anticipation for the job fair that was going on downtown.  

The paycheck from the last catering gig that I'd worked arrived at John's house yesterday and this morning started with me riding my bike from City Heights to Hillcrest.  From there, a brief stop in Buffalo Exchange then to North Park for a haircut.  I needed to get all of this, plus a few small errands in between, all completed by noon.  Just in time to catch bus in order to get downtown to the job fair.  

And for once, everything went according to plans and on schedule.  

When I arrived downtown, I was met with a line of close to 200 people, all for the job fair.  A new luxury boutique hotel was opening downtown and apparently, everyone had seen the same ad on craigslist, talking about the hiring process that was going on today.  The line stretched the length of the city block!  Only when the line was moved across the street and out of the glaring sun, did I finally settle in--realizing that I would be there for a few hours.  

Four hours later and meeting briefly with a guy who I'm pretty sure I didn't leave an impression on, I left downtown feeling as if I'd wasted a whole day.  Once I finally left Hillcrest, stopped for dinner in City Heights then returned to Will's house--I decided that I would spend the later part of the evening, sipping coffee and hanging out at Lestat's.  I didn't want to be at Will's and Lestat's was open 24hours, so why not, right? 

I caught the last bus that runs through this part of Fairmount Avenue and rode my bike the rest of the way to Normal Heights.  Even at close to midnight, Lestat's was full of people; insomniacs, students and people who just wanted coffee at this hour.  I was tired of thinking about my problems.   I was tired of feeling sorry for myself.  I was tired of trying to get over the breakup.  And I was tired of being at Will's.  

I stayed at Lestat's until almost 8 o'clock the following morning.  Only when Normal Heights seemed to wake from its sleep and the late night staff at Lestat's was starting to clock out, did I decide to finally ride my bike back to City Heights.  Still wired from the many cups of Kenyan coffee, I packed my things and left.  

No More Number 3.

After John and I decided to split up, I moved into the condo next door to Number 3.  With all the renovations and construction going on in the building, it was highly unlikely that the empty unit--the show model, would be shown to any potential buyers.  For the month of September, I basically lived upstairs but--as John and I agreed on, I would be out of the unit at the end of the month.  

Today was that day.  

For the past couple of days, I've put off packing the remaining boxes of my stuff.  I still had clothes hanging in the closet--waiting for me, but I would instead look at the stuff before moving into the next room to occupy myself with useless nonsense.  I even skipped out on hanging with my neighbors...I just wasn't quite ready to end it.  

My buddy, Fred, offered to help me move my stuff and I gladly accepted his offer--I would've been crazy not to.  We set up a time for him to stop by, leaving me time to get the rest of my stuff packed.  Of course, I delayed and hesitated until a half hour before Fred was supposed to be here.  And when I wasn't delaying the inevitable, I was thinking about all of the good times that John and I shared together in Number 3.  

I've always believed that Lucy had it correct when she said that condo was like another person in John's and my relationship.  

"There's four people in your relationship," she would tell me.  "You, John, Miss Lester and that building."  She was speaking the truth whenever she said that.  

I'll admit, I'm not exactly looking forward to moving across town and I'll definitely miss this place...but I think I'm only now coming to the true realization that my relationship is truly over.  

Twenty-six thousand eight hundred seventy one dollars AND sixty six cents!

A day before I was scheduled to move out of the condo, I received two letters in the mail.  They  were from a collection agency.  A Department of Defense collection agency to be exact.  Seeing as I'd anxiously ripped open the envelope, my only option then was to actually read the letter.  The letter--actually, both letters were informing me of a debt that I owed the Department of Defense. 

$26,871.66! 

Was this some kind of sick joke?  

There I was, standing in the middle of the living room, staring at these two letter in total disbelief.  With no other option--other than to completely ignore the letters and to throw them in the trash, I decided that I would, instead, call the agency and get the full scoop on the matter.  I called the 1-800 number and after listening to some ridiculous country tune (this was the government after all), I was finally connected to an actual person.  That's when I delivered this speech:  

"Hello...I'm calling in regards to these letters that I just received in the mail and I wanted to acknowledge them and to express my intentions...I don't know how you arrived at this total of 27 thousand dollars, but I want you to know that I have absolutely no intentions of paying this debt whatsoever..."  

The woman on the other end, listened patiently at first, then she began to spew her own words to me; none of which I paid any attention to.  When it was my turn again, I continued:  

"Look, you can't really expect that I'm going to pay any of this.   The last two years that I was in the military, I received no pay at all...I was thrown out of my place all while the government continued to garnish my wages and now--almost four years later, I get a letter from you guys saying that I still owe you.  I'm sorry, but I flat out refuse to pay you anything..." 

She then went on and explained how the government could continue to garnish any future wages that I may have.  She also quoted some law that I really could care less about. It was my turn again:  

"I have news for you, ma'am...I have no money and even if I did, what makes you think that I would just send you twenty seven thousand dollars?!  I'm calling to let you know that I received the letters, I'm acknowledging them and I have no intentions on paying you period.  Please make a note of this in your records and please do not send me anymore letters regarding this." 

"Sir... " she started, but was cut off with me hanging up the phone.  

This is downright ridiculous.

Stereolab--Ping Pong

Ladies & Gentlemen--STEREOLAB! 
Enjoy.

Scrambling for Peanuts.

Last week, while scanning the San Diego 'jobs' section of Craigslist, I came across a listing for some open positions at a downtown hookah bar.  The write-up describing each of the open positions sounded interesting and even though they were looking for part-time help and offering only a minimum wage salary, I was interested.  "You must be comfortable working in a smoke-filled space..." the ad proclaimed.  The smoker that I was, I knew I could handle the smell of soft-scented tobacco for a  few hours.  They would be conducting interviews on Tuesday; the listing informed and I made a note to go downtown to check it out.   

Still without a bike and no cash for the bus, I set out walking towards downtown from Hillcrest.   Thankfully, it wasn't too hot and although there was a slight breeze, I was still sweaty and flushed by the time I reached downtown.  I'd anticipated this happening and had another shirt in my bag, in addition to bottled water and a face towel.  A quick stop on campus at City college (I could still use the facilities)to freshen up and I continued on, this time at a more leisurely pace so as not to start sweating again.  

The hookah bar was located on G Street, south of Horton Plaza and two blocks from the Gaslamp district.  From the intersection where I was, it appeared as if they were open for business--even though their hours (according to their website) stated that they didn't open for business until much later.  There was a large crowd of mostly young people lingering around outside.  I was about to head inside the bar when, upon closer observation, I realized that everyone standing outside the bar had employment applications in hand!  

There were atleast fifty people standing outside!   This was not what I'd expected. 

Since I'd made the effort to show up, I figured I may as well stay.  Per their instructions, we were to fill out an application and once we'd completed it, add our names to the list then wait to be called inside to be interviewed.  As I was adding my name to the list, I saw that they would be interviewing sixty-one people for three positions--all with part time hours!  And as it seemed, I was the very last person to sign the list.  What's worse is, the interview process started at 4 o'clock and here it was not even 4:30!  

The interviews were being conducted at a quick pace, with some people being interviewed two at a time.  Finally, almost an hour and a half later, only me and a young lady were left sitting outside at a table.  

"We're really going to have to sell ourselves, you and I." I said, smiling at her. 

" Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.  I guess this is what you get when you post an ad on Craigslist." 

She was right.  The crowd that showed up to apply for this job were a bunch of people just like me.  We start our mornings everyday, scouring the employment listings on CL, looking for that one job and hoping that we're the only ones that find it.  I didn't anticipate a crowd this big all trying for the same--minimum wage, part-time job as me.  I figured there would be maybe 10 applicants at the most.  This crowd was simply a grim reminder of how bad things had become--not just for me, but for everybody.  

When I did get called in to be interviewed, I was relaxed and had the biggest smile on my face.  There really was no need to be on edge and I figured the woman who was about to interview me was probably ready to call it a day.  Normally, I would had a look of defeat on my face, but instead, I answered her questions truthfully and overall, I think I made an impression on her.  We talked about the establishment, what they were looking for and what I could bring to the position.  The interview was brief and she informed me that due to the overwhelming turnout, they would be holding call backs for another interview for a selected few.  She didn't give me a definite yes that I would be called back, but I left there feeling pretty good and thinking that I may very possibly have secured one of the few open part time, minimum wage paying positions at the hookah bar. 

I'll keep you posted.

Obsessing about Facebook.

Back in May...

As the Spring semester was winding down, one of my classmates from City, Matt threw a party at his house.  Everyone from our Honors Core classes showed up, in addition to some of Matt's friends.  The party was a blast and it was good for all of us to unwind and talk about how we all were looking forward to the upcoming summer months.  This also was the chance for some of us to see friends from the fall semester classes in addition to biding a farewell to some who were transferring on to four-year universities.  

It was at this party, while talking to a friend, Tiffani that I would get reacquainted with Facebook.  She and I were talking about exchanging photos and how to get in contact with each other.

"I know," she suggested. " Give me your Facebook and I'll send it there."  Without giving it a second thought--I'd brought and smoked a lot of pot on this evening, I gave her the link.

The next day, I realized that while I did indeed have a profile on the networking site, I didn't have any pictures, friends or any of the cool things that most users of Facebook have on their pages.  In fact, I couldn't recall anything that was on mine, other than the mere basics.  I figured I was supposed to have a profile on the site--just in case it ever came up.  Much like it had on this evening.  I made a mental note to one day, sit down and actually devote some time to building the profile.  This was around the time, mind you, that I was also saying that I was going to create a new blog (this one)--whenever I got around to it.  

Fast forward to this week...

I received an email, alerting me that Tiffani, whom I talked to at the party was requesting to add me to her friends' list.  I accepted immediately.  From there, I set about checking out her profile and seeing her friends' list, while at the same time, starting to work on my profile.  I realized that quite a few of my old classmates from last year all had profiles on Facebook!  Suddenly, I was sending out friend requests and updating my status.  I was writing on my friends' walls.  I was searching for people that might possibly have a profile and looking for new people to network with.  

Over the past two days, I'd become a mad man; obsessed with my Facebook page.  I've brought my old classmates up to date about what's been going on with me since I dropped out of school this semester.  I've emailed two buddies who are studying abroad in Argentina.  I'm waiting for a friend in Chicago to add me to her friends' list.  And I've joined a few celebrity groups.  

I love Facebook!  Now, in addition to this blog and my many other profiles on other sites, I have my Facebook profile, which I plan to nurture much like I do the others.  Once I figure out how, I intend to link that profile to this blog. 

As soon as I finish this post, I'll switch to my profile there--just to see if I've missed anything during my time away from it.  Whoever reads this, if you're on Facebook; look me up and let's link each other.

I am indeed a man obsessed.

Closer to the Breaking Point.

I was walking out of the city library in University Heights, talking on the phone to Lucy, when I noticed it.  

"You're not going to believe it, but I'm looking at my bike right now and somebody has stolen my front wheel."  I told her, trying not to freak out.  

"What?!"  Lucy yelled into my ear.  As I walked towards the bike rack, I could feel the anger building up inside.  Why would somebody steal my wheel?  

What's more, where the hell would I get the money to replace it?  This was the last thing that I needed.   Let's recap:  no job, no money, barely a place to live and now this.  I mean, how was I supposed to get around town now?  

"I need to get off the phone," I said to Lucy.  "Let's talk later." 

She could hear the frustration and anger in my voice.  I could feel my chest starting to tighten.   Lucy was going on about not wanting to get off the phone with me, but I could barely hear her.  I was still trying to figure out who would do such a thing.  My bike isn't flashy or super expensive; in fact, it's a mass produced bicycle.  And weren't there people around to see the whole thing happening?  The city library was next to a grocery store, not to mention, there's a bus stop in front of the building.  It was 3 o'clock in the afternoon and I'm sure--no, I'm positive there were people nearby. 

There was nothing left to do.  I didn't dare barge back into the library; though I was tempted to.  Instead, all I could do was unlock my bike and carry it home.  Fortunately, it was only 2 blocks.  Walking down the sidewalk of Park Boulevard, lugging my bike while trying not to let my bag fall off of my shoulder, I was so angry.  Maybe Lucy was right:  maybe it was time for me to give up this crusade that I was on--but going nowhere.  Maybe I should just leave everything behind and head back to Texas.  This was too much.  And I really didn't think I could handle anymore.   Thinking about that, combined with just being fed up with it all, all I could do was hurl my bike and its one wheel into the grass nearby.  I flung that bike two feet in front of me and watched as the front reflector on the handlebars cracked and broke.  

I was getting closer and closer to that breaking point.  

Fifteen minutes later, I was in front of our building and ready to explode.  The first person I saw was John.  

"Look at this!" I yelled, sitting the bike down to rest on the front forks which originally held the wheel in place.  "Some asshole stole my wheel!" 

I didn't want to run into him.  In fact, I didn't want to talk about my bike with him.  But I needed to do something.  Yell...scream...cry...ANYTHING.

There wasn't too much to say.  I stood in John's office, bag still on my shoulder and just thought about it all.  The tears started sliding down my face and all I could do was cry out, "Why me?" 

It wasn't until later on in the evening, after talking to Lucy again and finally pulling myself together did I decide to post my rant on Craigslist.  I don't know why I decided to do it there, but I was angry; hell, I still am.  But seeing my rant posted there did make me feel a little better.  Buying a new wheel for my bike will definitely set me back a few dollars.  And the small paycheck that I have coming soon will probably just barely be enough to cover it, setting me deeper and deeper in debt.  So I typed out my anger.  Even though there's a small chance that the thief will actually read my rant, it still felt good to type it out.  As with policy on Craigslist, the post will be deleted in a few days, but don't worry.  The screen capture, above is here to stay.  Click on it for a closer view.

The truck in front of Rich's house.

My friend, Rich has a beautiful house.  In fact, his and his next door neighbor's are the best two houses on his street.  His lawn is always taken care of and the house has a striking appearance even while the others along his street are in need of more care.  Upon initial glance, his home's presence says a lot about Rich, himself.   He lives a very orderly live--free of clutter and anything that's unnecessary.  The beauty, that is his yard is the direct result of the hard work that he puts into it.  The man is a skilled landscaper.  

I'm writing about his house to create a funny contrast.  Some time, last week I was invited to have dinner with Rich, Truc and Dino.  I rode my bike from Hillcrest to his place in Normal Heights and just as I wheeled up to his sidewalk, that's when I saw this monstrosity parked in front of his house.   It took my breath away--literally! 

"We've already called the city about it," Rich informed me after I told him how I was loving the piece of...hmm...what would I call it...trash on wheels.  While he didn't know which of his neighbor's the truck belonged to, Rich did know that one of them had carelessly parked the truck and left it there.  

I kept reminding myself--and forgetting, to bring my camera to snap a picture of it.  I mean, this was something that couldn't be described in mere words.  I had to have a photo of it.  I'd even suggested that on Sunday, we all would gather around it and have our pictures taken with it lurking in the background.  Of course, I slept in and was too lazy to ride over to do so.  But finally, before the truck and all of its contents were towed away, I was able to get over there and snap some pictures of it.   Only now, someone has moved the truck a few feet from in front of Rich's house.  A few minutes before sunset, I stood next to the hideous thing and snapped away even while a few of his neighbors watched, curiously.  

Overflowing with useless junk and trash and a gleaming white porcelain toilet on top of it all, La Tacoma is now posted on this page for all to see.  

And then there are those who do.

I made a mental note two weekends ago to snap the pictures above.  The pictures are from the neighboring building across the street from ours.  I first noticed the basketball while hanging out with my neighbors on their terrace.  As usual, we were talking about the latest gossip, news stories and of course politics when, as if on queue, Robert, another of our neighbors came out on to his terrace and directed our attention to the window across the street.  

"Check out that basketball." He told us, indicating with a slight head nod towards the building.  Kimberly and I didn't have to strain much before we could make out the five letters that brought a nasty taste to our mouths.  All we managed, however was a simultaneous gasp.  

This post isn't about me trying to sound political.  No, it's nothing like that.  This afternoon, I was looking out the window, once again, when I spotted the basketball which was still in window.  I grabbed my camera and snapped three shots and knew right then that I would have today's post.   I'm not going to blog about how I can't understand how anyone would be bold enough to deface a perfectly fine basketball with those five letters.  Nor am I going to to blast my neighbor for expressing her support for her VP candidate.  After all, John and I did the exact same thing with our Obama 08 placards, which we proudly displayed in both our bedroom window and his office.  

But as I looked at the pictures and then out the window, I started wondering did our neighbor purposely place the basketball in her window to counter our placards which faces her windows?   This neighbor, whom I've met, is the type of woman who--after meeting her, it comes as no surprise that she would support such a vile person.  

And that's saying more than I could ever type here.   

College Dropout.

Managing to narrowly escape an arrest record this over the holiday weekend, I was eager to put my energy into getting settled in to the new Fall semester at City College.  I was looking forward to focusing on my classes and any upcoming school projects that would take my mind off of the fact that my relationship with John was over with absolutely no chance of reconciliation.  The life that I'd become comfortable with was about to change drastically and I was only a sneeze away from finding myself homeless, broke and penniless.  

Just when I thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, it dawned on me.  There would be no possible way that I would get through this semester of school without losing my mind!  Something would have to give.  And that's when it occurred to me.  

I would have to drop out of school.    

After looking forward to starting the new year and surviving the crazy summer months, you can only imagine how angry that piece of news was for me to handle.  But it would have to be done.  I would have to drop out of school.  There was no way around it.  

I was sitting on the floor of the empty vacant condo, after moving most of my things out of our place next door when it occurred to me.  Trying my hardest not to burst into tears about what was about to be reality, I settled into the notion.  I would drop all of my classes this semester, but--I promised myself, I would resume my studies in the spring.  I didn't want to have to drop out of school, believe me, I didn't.  But it was something that I was going to have to do.  

Thankfully, we were out of class on Monday which gave me one extra day before I would have to go down to the campus and speak with an advisor.  In the meantime, I was angry.  I didn't want to have to drop out of school, but I knew that this was the one time when it would be best that I did.  There was no way I would be able to focus on my studies with all the other things that I needed to focus on.  School would simply have to wait.  

I skipped my Tuesday classes, choosing instead to stay home and sulk some more.  I didn't want to see John and I couldn't really call Lucy. How had I allowed all of this to happen?  I kept asking myself over and over.  I loved school and now I was going to have to drop out.  I didn't think I could handle any more.  

Wednesday morning, I jumped on my bike, cranked my iPod up as loud as I could handle, donned my sunglasses and rode down to City.  I didn't want to do it.  I had to do it.  Ten minutes later, I was at City--waiting to speak with an advisor, while at the same time, resisting the urge to bolt out of the office and instead run to my afternoon secondary Algebra class.  

My advisor was a nice man who expressed concern over my sudden deciding to withdraw from my classes.  

"Just know," he informed me.  "That whenever you're ready to resume your studies, you're welcome back here anytime.  I understand that you have more important issues to tend to, but City College will be here."   I thanked him, grabbed my backpack and quickly headed for the exit.  I could feel the sweat starting to run down my face.  

Or was it tears?  Either way, with strength that I managed to muster from deep within, I got out of that office and into the morning sun.  Secure behind the dark lenses of my sunglasses, I headed out of the building, across the quad and back to the bike rack.  

And did nothing to stop the tears that were sliding down my face.

MAD MEN!

When I left off on the last post, the police had showed up to our house.  After speaking with John first, the two officers (normally, I would comment on how attractive they both were, but seeing as this was not the time, I'll digress) wanted to speak with me.  First, I apologized for them having to come out on such a petty matter, but it was out of my hands.  The two men explained to both of us that there really was nothing, in fact that they could do.  No one was in any danger and no one had been assaulted.  

"There's really nothing we can do, but come out and access the situation," the cute blond--I mean, the policeman informed me.  With that and about fifteen minutes wasted, the officers left.  

Still shaken up by this whole dramatic afternoon, I managed to look at John who was seated in his office.  I was angry.  No, I was beyond angry.  I was pissed!  

"That,"  I said to him, pointing my thumb at the door.  "That is so not us.  We're better than that.  We're better than this."  With tears in his eyes, John nodded in agreement.  

With that, I walked away.  

Half an hour after that whole ordeal had finally died down, the doorbell rang.  It was my good friend, Rich.  He was hysterical and could hardly get his words out. 

"Can I come and hang with you?"  He blurted out.  He was crying and he was angry.  

Much like the crazy afternoon that I'd had with John, Rich was going through his own afternoon of madness.  

"Tell me about yours and I'll tell you about mine."  I said, giving my friend a big hug.  

MADNESS!

It was a safe bet to say that all hopes of keeping John's and my break up respectable, civil and cordial went out the window on Sunday afternoon.  What should have been a quiet afternoon with the two of us keeping a respectable distance from one another turned into straight up madness.  And it all started with this simple question.  

"Do you need any help with packing your things?" 

It had been agreed that I would set about packing my things and making preparations to move out of the condo.  While it sounds simple writing it here, you have to understand that I was now expected to find a place to live--all while having no money and no job!  While the situation looked as if it couldn't possibly get any worse, here we were, in the guest bedroom about to push the envelope between rational thinking and downright anger.  

After looking at John for a split second (although, to me, it felt like longer), I finally blurted out, "Where do you expect me to go right now?  And how do you expect me to get there?"  It was those two questions that echoed throughout our conversation while we sat there, trying to once again, be respectful.  

So much for being civil.  

While at no time did we ever raise our voices beyond our normal tone, here we were arguing about--looking back at it now, nothing.  But John wasn't having it.  Against my pleading with him, he made a move that would later prove a ridiculous one and even now as I sit here recalling the incident, I still can't believe he was as daring as he was.  

He threatened to call the police.  

"What are you going to call the police for?"  I asked.  "What do you really expect for them to do?  You're not being threatened.  I haven't assaulted you.  In fact, we're not even yelling at each other, "  I informed him.  "So what do you really expect to happen by calling them?"  

My words fell upon John's deaf ears because he still held his cell phone in hand and was punching the digits.  

I resigned to the fact that our Sunday afternoon quarrel was now about to take an even more dramatic turn now that San Diego's finest was about to intervene.  Whereas normally, I probably would've panicked at the mere thought of the police coming out to our house, I calmly sat on the stairs and listened while John, now downstairs in his office, explained to the dispatcher why we needed police assistance.  So on the stairs I sat until finally, I got up, marched outside, lit a Newport and tried to figure out what to do next.   

Then suddenly, I had an idea!

Buzzing from the nicotine and menthol, I strolled back into the house and into John's office.  He was still on the phone with the dispatcher--only now, he was giving her a play-by-play of my actions.  I held out my hand and asked to speak to her directly.  Hesitant at first, John finally handed me his cell phone and in the most pleasant tone that I could muster, I spoke to the lady who now knew more about us than I'm sure her job required.  

Twenty minutes after John had originally placed the call, the police showed up.  

To be continued...

Friday night gang bang.

Last night was Critical Mass and if there ever was a time that I needed to get out and just ride for a while, it was last night.  Like I'd mentioned before, I've come to look forward to the last Friday of the month.  This evening was no different.  

I'd been feeling kinda down and was starting to get on my own nerves.  By 4 o'clock, I knew that I would be going out to ride.  My friend, Rich invited John and I to dinner at his place and while I normally would pick an evening with him, I declined instead opting for the night bicycle ride.  

A bit after 7, I joined the group of people riding past our building towards the park.  It was turning into a wonderful evening; not too hot and just a small amount of humidity.  At the fountain at Balboa Park, there was a local band performing.  The large group of people--all with their bikes, were sitting and standing around; drinking beers, talking, smoking and riding their bikes in circles.  By 8 o'clock, we were ready to ride, this time choosing the downtown path.   While the group didn't appear to be as large as last month, there was still quite a number of cyclists zipping down Fourth Avenue towards downtown.  

We rode through downtown then over to Little Italy, where the sidewalks were lined with people out for the evening.  Of course, we were a sight to see and a few people snapped photos as over 500 people--all on bicycles whizzed by.  The collective lingered in Little Italy while we waited for the other half of the group to catch up and only then did we begin to track up this steep hill from Little Italy towards the neighborhood of Bankers Hill.  By then, I was drenched in sweat, the threadbare shirt and skinny jeans that I had on, damn near soaked.   

The trip through Bankers Hill was brief and before I knew it we were back in Hillcrest.  But rather than cross University Avenue towards other uptown neighborhoods, we instead headed back west--only this time towards Mission Hills.  Screaming loud, ringing bells & whistles, we zipped through Mission Hills and back down towards downtown. 

We basically came down the hill that we'd agonized over in Bankers Hill--only now we were on the other side!   Nevertheless, we pressed on until eventually we were back downtown.  

I didn't talk to too many people during the ride, instead choosing to crank up my iPod.  I was feeling completely mellow, perhaps because of the pot that I'd smoked before I left the house or maybe the pot that I stopped and smoked while on the ride.  Either way, I was in a good mood and for once was able to think about something other than the shambles that my life has turned into.  

The First Day.

This morning found me alive and full of excitement.  For once, it wasn't a struggle to pull myself out of bed.  I have been looking forward to this day for quite some time. 

It was the first day of school.  

I'd survived to see the first day of the fall semester at San Diego City College and I was ready to charge forward.  Even with everything that's going on in my life these days, I managed somehow to lift my spirits in anticipation of attending my classes.  I was looking forward to seeing my old friends and teachers not to mention, I couldn't wait to see all of the new hot guys that would be strolling around campus.  I would only have to attend one class this afternoon, but I intended to be on campus early enough to walk around and check out all of the newbies even though last year, I was a newbie myself.  

I set about my normal routine of getting ready for school only now there were some slight changes.  Whereas last year, I spent a great deal of money on Starbucks, this year I was making coffee at home.  The 10 minute bike commute hadn't changed and I pedaled my bike as fast as I could down Park Boulevard, iPod blasting in my ears, my head floating from the pot that I smoked before I left the house.  

I love school!  

The City college campus was buzzing with students crossing the quads, heading to their classes.  From the long, blank looks on the faces of the guys and girls that passed me up, I could tell that they weren't as excited as I was.  It was funny actually:  whereas I felt like I could backflip across the courtyard to show how excited I was, these students were sort of dragging their feet, engaged in their text messaging.  

I saw a few familiar faces while I waited for my algebra class to convene.  We all talked about how we were actually ready to get back to school.  I was informed that none of the old gang from my classes last year would be in any of them this year.  It was a bit of a disappointment, but I was able to shrug it off.  

My algebra class, it turns out was crowded with a few of us having to stand outside the classroom.  Of course there were a few students that were crashing the class and a few more who had no idea where they were.  Me, I stood outside in the walkway talking to a new guy who, it turns out, is not only very hot looking, but a nice guy as well.  

This is going to be a great semester.  I can TASTE it! 

Ian Pooley--900 Degrees

Here's the Sunday track.  This one should already be on everybody's playlists.

Bubblegum Jones '08

I mean...you HAVE to admit; it's actually kinda funny & cute.

One dollar and fifty one cents.

Shortly before 4 o'clock this evening, John asked me if I wanted to stroll with him to run some local errands.  

"I need to make a deposit. We need to close our joint account and we need some half and half," he mentioned.  I was sitting at the kitchen table and before I could come up with a reason why I wouldn't want to go, I agreed.  

The three-block stroll was uneventful and where we would normally stroll, hand in hand, John and I were walking with quite a gap in between us.  And even though we were talking casually, there were times when I would allow my mind to wander when I should have been listening to whatever it was he was going on about.  I was thinking about the reality that closing our joint bank account would signify.  

It was really over.  

I guess there was a part of me that was trying not to focus on the breakup.  But then, there was that part of me that allowed it to consume every thought in my mind.  I guess while I knew that we were ending our relationship, I didn't really want to believe it.  

There weren't too many people in the Wells Fargo bank, which I suppose was a good thing.  I tried not to focus on the cheery-faced tellers and for an instant thought about keeping my sunglasses on until we were finish with our business.  Fortunately, we wouldn't be long.  John set about making his deposit, leaving me to linger until another bank manager showed up to take care of me. 

"Was there a problem with the account?"  He asked while punching on his keyboard.  I'm sure this wasn't the first time he has had to close an account behind a couple who were calling it quits.  It didn't matter really.  After closing the account, he informed me that we had a remaining balance of: 

One dollar and fifty one cents.  

"That's done!"  John said as soon as we'd left the bank and started crossing the shopping center and headed towards Trader Joe's. 

"Yep," I agreed.  "Something that should have never been done to begin with." 

And just like that, I was over it.

I:Cube--Metamorphik

I could listen to this track all day. I like the music that I:Cube puts out, but I'd never heard this one. I came across this track tonight while fooling around on YouTube. Listen to it and just mellow out.