You broke AJ's heart today.

this is probably important

It's been a while since you wrote. That happens. It's almost designed to happen that way--leave the gate running full-sprint and then just lose the momentum. It happens. You can't always come home and have the desire to write. It's not always there. You don't always want to share.

Plus maybe you're too busy living.

There are many, many things that have happened since Sara and Olivia got fired. For the record, you should know that they were both fired for "using computer time without paying" which they both denied, of course, save for once or twice (and in your good conscience you can't say you didn't know about this). Olivia went off on her own life pretty quick. You were never that close with her, although she was hilarious and did very amazing impersonations of your fellow employees and bosses, and so the best you can do now is hope she's having a good life out there living in the middle of nowhere. For the record, also, you should know that you and Sara stayed semi-close friends during her month-long struggle with unemployment and new employment and depression and boredom. On a handful of occasions you got to hang out with her and Adam, usually at a bar, sometimes with others. You'll always like Sara a lot. These days she's got a new job at Copperfields Books and it sounds like she's enjoying that and hopefully you'll get yourself on a bus to go visit her. So life is kind of falling back into place.

Except for Alyssa. A couple days ago you got a call from her asking for Michelle's phone number because Alyssa had just gotten out of jail and wanted to talk to someone who worked at a medical marijuana office. You still don't know why Alyssa was in jail for three days. She didn't sound happy about it. Alyssa who got fired and then broke up with her boyfriend and lived with her friends, you don't know what's going on with her. You should call her...

Carissa got a new apartment and moved out on her own. She's going through her own personal stuff (there's that drama with Amanda that came out of left field, for example) and still pretty cheerful about life. Um, Michelle has been gone for a couple days in Nebraska because of family custody battles, which you don't know all the details about and hopefully she'll be back soon to explain. Meanwhile, you and her and Carissa are planning on a hotel/strip-club birthday extravaganza for Michelle's twenty-first in December. She should be back from Nebraska by then.

Obama got elected President.
Prop 8 passed, those fuckers.
Prop 2 passed, so hooray for the animals.

You voted, maybe, with one of those mail-in ballots and even though you live in Santa Rosa and filled out a registration form on campus trying to change your county, your mom still mailed you your ballot from Auburn and so who knows if your vote counted, considering how you were never quite sure of your proper registration... Oh well. You were sure Obama would win with or without your vote, anyway.

Some new employees have come to Aromas. This only makes your elder-like position more valuable and so that's probably why you got a fifty-cent raise a while back. This is officially your first ten-dollar-and-hour job. You make seventeen cents a minute. The new people are alright. No new best friends. Whitney is a cloned and cleaner version of Stina. Lauren is like Megan, just calmer. The newest batch since those two (Jenna, Rachel, and Ruth) are still here and so is everyone else. Danny says he's leaving in January. Michelle's probably leaving soon, too. Carissa wants to get started on her tatooing and whatnot, but she'll stick around as long as it takes to save up money to fix her car. And you're still just planning on staying at Aromas until May next year. Until graduation.

Let's just go ahead and say you're getting yourself into a relationship with AJ. Last night you'd have had sex with her if you didn't go all limp trying to put on the condom. This wasn't anything new to you. It had happened before. Condoms are like sweaters for pets. The idea of protection is there, sure, but they just get in the way. You'd like to say more about what you crazy kids did instead and you're pretty sure this news is much more exciting to you than AJ, who you'd safely assume is a girl with more experience than you. How you know AJ is from her working at Aromas a long time ago, leaving, then coming back later as a customer. It was recently that she decided to pursue you. It was recently that you started kissing each other.

Elsewhere in life you've got a new friendship with Sarah, the tall blonde girl who's been coming to Aromas for a long time, and that's been a test of your assuredness. There's the new videogames you've been playing (thanks to the money you've been saving, still not driving, still taking the bus and the bicycle). Dead Space and Fallout 3, and, soon enough, Gears of War 2. These are obviously taking you away from time to write, but as for your Kessler's Crossing novel, it's lost its momentum. You're thinking about taking out the whole part about Salt Lake City, but you haven't sat down and actually worked on it in about two weeks. This is disheartening, for sure, but you've always done your best work when life and school and work aren't constantly knocking on your door. It's just bad timing.

You still hate school. You're passing all your classes, you think. You hope.

Michael Cricthon died of cancer at 66 this week, too. That was sad to hear.

Oh, yeah, and then there's that volunteer gig you scored at KRCB in Rohnert Park with the radio program there. Natalie--your "boss"--gives you a stack of CD's every week and you take them home and listen to them and copy them and listen to them on the iPod you borrowed from Sara and then review them. Next week you switch out for a new batch. This simple process has introduced you to a lot of new bands and songs that are amazing and fresh. There's no money being made by this but you can't really consider it work if it's just listening to music at home and giving it good or bad marks. Natalie seems pretty sure that this opportunity will lead to even better opportunities in the music business. You've never considered a life in the music business, you one-track-minded writer, and so recently your little brain has expanded to contemplate the idea that maybe there's something else out there you're passionate about besides writing. Anyway, you're still just reviewing stacks of music and so far that's as much responsibility as you can handle. We'll see where that goes.

That's it for now. You're gonna go play Fallout 3 now.

like really quick

Just real quick because you want to sort of keep this blog going, though with school and everything at work, you don't feel that motivated. Not motivated about life, that department's fine right now, but just to keep a record of this.

But there's just Sara and Olivia getting fired. What the fuck, right?

And that just happened.

how september began

8:00 AM and you're waking up from the longest night of sleep you've had in months. Months. No kidding, and all you want to do is sleep more. But Ruth is counting on you, so up you get. On your feet. This was earlier today, like... Holy shit, it's not even noon. You're fucking stoned and you're writing this thing like it's tomorrow, two in the morning, past your bedtime day-in-review. Wow.

Well maybe that's okay. You can write another one later. You might be up late, anyway, what with the Jeep abandoned on the side of the road halfway to A'romas. Notes in the windows: OVERHEATED. I WILL COME BACK FOR THE CAR SOON, - OWNER. All the doors locked. Windows up. Woops, no they're not. Note to self: Roll up the windows when you bike by the Jeep later today. Okay. Anyway, it's there on the side of the road and probably still gurgling and groaning from overheating, still giving off upset-stomach noises because the radiator's fucked and/or you haven't put enough oil in recently and/or the leaky coolant tank sprayed anti-freeze all over everything and/or you've never even brought the thing in for a check-up.

Amy's coming over. You have maybe twenty minutes. Probably fifteen. She's maybe even already down the street. But she's bringing bagels. You can't deny bagels. What you think about your relationship with Amy Newell is this: she's your ex-girlfriend who should have just been your friend all along, yet you know nothing about a frienship together because you've only known her as a girlfriend. It's like you can't help but feel awkward around her in the same vein as trying to be friends with a distant cousin. Whatever that means... You wonder sometimes who tries to out-do the other, who wants to pretend like they're having more fun than the other. It will be interesting to know if my future self, You, are still talking to her. E-mails? Anything?

You can't stop watching this movie trailer. And you've shown it to all your friends.

Not much else to talk about.

Ciao.

moments before bed

Just so you know, you're watching Idiocracy on the big screen and set up this weird cardboard stand for the smaller monitor. You're feeling pretty clever right now. And hungry. And tired. It's late and you should be asleep.

So you're not going to watch the whole movie. You're just seeing if this new set-up works.

Plus your stomach hurts.

This is such a waste of time. All you want is to say that right now your life is good. Knock on wood, your life is good. And you're not bragging. You just want to record the fact that the past week has been nice. Not sure... The movie is distracting you. So that's that. The strip club was awesome. You saw Kayla. You went to a party -- yeah, what the fuck, right? -- and didn't stay long but you talked to people. Done.

UPDATE: You and Bryce are looking to cancel Comcast because they upped the prices (newest bill was 120 bucks, twenty more than last month, and 70 of that was just for television -- and you don't even watch television). So that might stop this blog short, lest you figure a way to write while at school, but you already know that's kind of awkward.

Okay. Good night.

first of the last

It's funny because you don't really want to write right now. You're fine just listing to Only Son and stumbling aimlessly across the internet. But yet here you are. Each sentence forced out, rewritten, edited. Painfully. Slowly. Your fingers are pretending like they're sore, tired, like they don't want to type. Like they just want to do nothing. Shut up fingers, you say, shut up and work through it. Pretend like you're playing Guitar Hero.

"Brand New Broken Heart"

Or maybe it's your brain. Your body. You're tired. Your brain doesn't want to work this hard. Making words. Forming sentences. Kind of. Short snippets of thoughts. This is your brain on school. This is your brain on two hits of pot. This is your brain after one of the most unique weeks of your college education, ever. Ever, ever, ever. This is why you're writing -- OH YEAH! -- because this is the last first week of your first last year of college. The first week of your last year, my friend in the future. This week was a transition. Next week the ball starts rolling. For the last time. Seriously. Like -- forever. So don't fuck it up, you.

"Quiet Surrender"

Matt Raute. What the fuck, right? A guy you weren't especially friends with -- more of a friend of a friend thing -- during highschool -- and he calls you up last year and tells you he's transferring to SSU. He shows up a few months after that and wants to hang out, wants to know where's good to live, wants to know what I'm up to. No dialogue passing between us for months. You're remembering this now because you probably wouldn't have ever thought about Matt Raute again if you didn't walk by him this morning, before class. He was there with Terran (spelling?), a girl from highschool who was also a friend of a friend of a friend. Layers over layers. Terran is definitely not how you spell her name, but it sounds like that -- you think. She didn't say anything to you today. For a second there you thought Matt was going to actually complain about or refer to the fact we never talked since he'd transferred -- and you did feel guilty, which is why you suggested meeting at The Pub for a beer (make that two) before our five o' clock classes.

Thanks to Sean Gohara, you talked to a girl on the bus for a good fifteen minutes.

"Sleepyface"

Emma Smales. What the fuck, right? For whatever reason, friendships suddenly disappear. Laziness is your excuse, most of the time. After moving to Santa Rosa in 2007 you immediately alienated yourself from your SSU friends and your (now) ex-girlfriend. While you can't break up with your friends like you broke up with Amy, you can still fall into an odd gray area where life took you both in different routes. You're not the same person after six months. Seven. You're not the same person you were one month ago. Emma was not the same person. Familiar, someone you care about, yes. You care about all of your friends. But she's older. She's got different friends. But so do you, so what did you expect? Your life is totally different now. At least through humor and reminiscing and the distractions of others seated with us in The Pub (including Matt Raute), there was not a bit of awkwardness. There's a "thing" on Saturday that you really should go to. But, um, yeah -- that paragraph was about the time you ran into Emma after not seeing her for so long that you didn't expect to ever see her again.

"Long Live The Future"

You're also giving your new friend Rachel a lot of attention. You don't know what that's about, yet, and even now -- today -- August 28, 2008 -- you don't know if you're attracted to her or want a new friend or just enjoy talking to her... And Kevin from ETLIST and L & C is the one who really made you think about what you're doing, about how it's "the first week of school" and "you're already going after the ladies." Kevin is the more mature and older version of Garrett Sucatre, from highschool. That better still make sense to you in the future, Future Me, because that's the only way to describe him and only you will get the reference. But anyway, you were talking about Rachel -- glasses with short dark-red/black hair and a relateable disinterest in school Rachel -- and maybe you wrote about that because you'll find this stuff interesting in the future. Past crushes. If this is a crush. You don't know. You're just trying to be more social and you prefer to socialize with women. Kevin's cool, though. It's nice to have someone also taking L & C and ETLIST back-to-back with you. But fuck off if it isn't impossible to know how old a person it this year! Jessica from the bus could very well be 25 or 26, although she looks like a sophomore. No offense, Jessica. But the more you talk with her on the bus, the more you realize that she's gone through some shit -- just like everyone else you've been meeting (which is maybe why Rachel is appealing because she seems to have the same casual white middle-class upbringing that left you with very little traumatic memories) -- and been going to SSU for six years already.

Now you're listening to The Whitest Boy Alive again.

"Burning"

You're taking a class on aliens. And the history of the Hawaiin Islands (you learned five new words today and the names of the five volcanoes that make up the Big Island).

Light and Color could be a legit physics class, but probably not.

Shakespeare's holding you back from a totally bullshit semester. Not to say you won't learn some interesting tidbits and factoids, like stuff you could use during Trivial Pursuit. Your alien class might substitute for a real creative writing class, turns out, which is sort of awesome in a whole bunch of ways. Guess you'll get someone to read your stuff after all. Feedback helps, even on short little assignments. Hone those skills, boy, because you ain't got anything else going for you except knowing how to make a cappuccino.

"Done With You"

That was fun. I'm glad I wrote tonight. A fucking hour or two just went by and I only took five hits from the bong. I didn't even get up.

Well, you broke out of the second person for a moment but you don't want to fix it.

Then you erased this compliment you gave Chuck Palahniuk. It was dumb, don't worry.

So now you're done. Maybe. You're gonna take another hit and then think if there was anything else worth talking about. No. That's it. Maybe. Yeah... well I guess what's on my mind, your mind at this point in time, is if any of the people you've met this week will become out-of-school friends. You know it's true that if you don't meet people during the first two weeks, you'll have a hard time making it happen. This year, you really do feel like you've been pushing your usual social limits. Just quit being so self concious, someday, if not soon, because it's fucking annoying to go to the bathroom every hour to make sure my hair's not all flat and ugly -- just get a haircut already. Just keep brushing your teeth and using deodorant.

You'll be fine. Just go that that "thing" on Saturday if you don't want to lose all of your friends forever.

Out.

chapter three

Names to remember: Rachel from LIGHT AND COLOR, Kelly from ETLIST, Jessica from THE BUS HOME, Maddy from SHAKESPEARE, and to sit with Lindsey from OUT OF NOWHERE.

You also just finished re-reading Lullaby and have started re-reading Fight Club.

You're kind of in that phase right now.

You're Chris Fryer the student, now. It's an entirely different you. A summer goes by when all you did was smoke pot and watch movies and work and lounge, lounge, lounge... you forget what it's like to sit in a classroom. Go over the syllabus. Introduce ourselves. The meet-and-greets of the first days are over, now. You've leapt off the diving board. You're swimming in it now. Literally. With school and work running side-by-side, you're immersed. No more full days of nothing. No more trips to the river, unless it's on Sunday. No more staying up past your bedtime for no reason. Not as much coming home stoned after work at 3:00 AM. Not as much being stoned overall, most likely.

But fuck all that. Alyssa got fired.

Monday, the official last day of summer, and the official last page of 2008: Chapter Two, and the chapter ends on a plot-twist that no one could have seen coming. You went into work like normal around 3:00 PM and Michelle pulls you aside and says, "Alyssa got fired," and tells you to read the note they posted on the whiteboard in the back. It says she didn't pay for her food. It says they need to fire her to send a message. To prove they will drop the axe on any of us. At any moment. For the stupidest shit. Better yet, they'll fire you for stupid shit that you didn't even do. Alyssa paid for her food after coming inside from smoking a cigarette. The money is in the register. The food is paid for. No harm done at all. She's fired -- swear to God this is true so don't think you were crazy or anything because this really happened two days ago, I promise you, me, and us -- she's fired because she didn't pay for the food BEFORE she started to make it, before she put the cheese and pesto on the bread and tossed her sandwich into the oven.

And you don't know who you're writing this for. You, obviously, but you feel like it's necesary to write it down. Catalogue the event. Even though you know that life will go on. The sad truth is that life will keep going. It's like A'romas hit a patch of rapids while rafting and Alyssa fell out of the boat. Splash. Just like that, snap of the fingers quick, she's gone. Forever, probably. Although she'll probably stop by now and then like Mario. Shayna. AJ.

That plot-twist marked the end of summer and the next day you woke up and took the bus to school. Physics: Light and Sound, Astronomy: Extraterrestial Life / Interstellar Travel, Geology: The Natural History of the Hawaiin Islands, English: Intro to Shakespeare. All good classes. You've met a few people. Girls, you notice. Funny...

Now you're out of steam. So, that's all for now.

nights like tonight

See... and then nights like tonight... you really do want to move to Denver. You really do want to start over. Start fresh. Right now it would be okay if tomorrow you drove to the airport and left California. Left school, left work, left your friends, left your apartment, left your Jeep, left your bills, left your stuff, left your life. Now that your credit card is nearly paid off, the idea isn't so far-fetched. You've just got two more semesters of college and the gates open, my friend. Here's to hoping we made it that long, Future Me. Because right now you're thinking you need the Denver Plan. You need it the way drifting shipwreck survivors need to see dry land.

Ctrl A, Crtl X, Ctrl N, Ctrl V.

Just like that you'll be at square one. Older, wiser... Fresh.

It makes sense that you'd feel this way now. Heartbreak is a killer. You've felt your share of it, shy boy, because you're still too timid. Not shy, no. You'd hardly call yourself shy these days, having broken out of that shell over the years. But you're reserved. No. Not too much. You flirt. Everyone flirts. You don't flirt the right way. Dropping hints and teasing her... Bryce called it "planting seeds" and that's something you don't do. Not hardly at all, really. You don't feel unique anymore because a lot of guys experience the friendship trap syndrome. So it's not cool to be a lot of girls' closest guy friend. Because you probably aren't. It's frustrating when you like a girl. It's so frustrating.

Fuck that. Stop talking about it.

You don't want to remember heartbreaks.

But you write this out and you speak your mind because it feels good to let go. And now you're going to get high and eat a bowl of frosted flakes and just try to step back. Be happy you're alive. You feel like you're in a low point in your life right now, it's been feeling a little lackluster around these parts, but soon that'll go away. School's going to be a bitch but it'll be a new adventure. Your credit is looking much better. You have food in the fridge. So mostly everything is good. Just keep your head up, You. Someday you'll look back on this part of your life and marvel at the sort of stuff you used to let bother you. Right now you're reading this and thinking about a hundred other things you stressed out about since then. It's all a part of life. Nothing is consistently good forever. Emotions fluctuate. You have to adapt.

Ebb and flow.

eighteen minute post

Last night you bought Madden 09 because a Snickers deal saved you eight bucks at 7-11. Last night you drank Russian vodka. Last night you thought a lot about Denver and why the plan lacks the appeal it did before. Last night you watched Half Baked for the second time. Last night you got stoned. Last night you got your financial aid check (and this morning you paid off $1,433.18 of your credit card). Last night you worked on an art project you plucked out of Half-Life 2. Last night you stayed up obnoxiously late until the aforementioned art project was complete (and this morning you hung it up above the door). Last night you were worried you'd feel bored and lonely but it turned out to be just right.

You're only writing this to kill some time before work. You're driving today. Someone almost stole your hat when it flew off your head as you biked across the Range / Guerneville intersection. Amy stopped by to kill some time before she went to work -- she's gone now -- and she brought you hot chocolate and a pizza bagel.

This is what bothers you about the Denver Plan: it's not your plan.

The idea is you'll move to Denver and stay with your uncle, Brett, and his wife, Megan, while being hooked up with a job in Megan's father's advertising company (or some media-connected field like that). But the matter-of-fact way that your mom reminds you of how it's going to play out is what distresses you. You hate it. You hate that you hate it, too. Denver is cool. You've been there a few times, now, and you know you like the city. It's like the Seattle of the Rockies. Sure, you hate the Broncos and will probably get stabbed on the street for wearing a Raiders shirt, but that's okay. Denver seems like a place you'd enjoy living, and you totally know that. But still...

You remind yourself how much A'romas (or any coffeeshop) is a temporary, transitional job. It's the college job. It's not a career. It's a starting point. A place to meet people and not take life too seriously. When you graduate it will be time to really figure out what the next step is. In your vision of the future, you work simple side jobs and write novels. But that won't happen right away. And do you really want to keep the status quo as it has been? Living paycheck to paycheck? You know this is going to be a hard pill to swallow.

Now you have to go to work.

alyssa and melinda

Here's a memory you really don't want to forget, considering how surreal it felt. You went to work tonight at 8:00 PM, the first real thing you'd done all day, and that was nothing special -- just a chance to let out some of that pent-up energy from the past two days. Work ends, 'nuff said. You're down to go smoke with Carissa after you drop off Alyssa -- which was the original plan -- but then Carissa says that Alyssa (20-ounce-breve-hot-chocolate-with-whip Alyssa) wants to have us over to smoke and see her apartment. You're in no position to decline a new experience and you agree without hesitation to meet back at the A'romas parking lot after taking Alyssa (the coworker) home and picking up two forties from 711. Midnight rolls around and you all head your separate ways. Oh, and you let Alyssa drive herself home because she passed her permit test on Wednesday and, gosh darnit, you couldn't say no to her.

Half hour later you follow Carissa out of the A'romas parking lot thinking you had a far way to drive, but then you're pulling over down the street -- less than a block from work -- and parking in front of this old building that recently became a bicycle shop after a failed clothing store. Now you're looking up at the balcony that overlooks the road on the second-floor of this building and there's breve-hot-chocolate Alyssa waving down to you. She actually lives up there. And you're not even going to remember exactly how awesome this place was. Imagine that bachelor pad apartment you dreamed about renting in some big city, and then blow your mind by actually meeting the people who rent an apartment that, more or less, exactly matches your dream home.

The staircase is a thin, too-vertical climb with steps that creak and moan like demonic piano keys. The first room is a dark laundry area with an obnoxious amount of doors leading to unknown places, hallways or secrets. You've been in love since you parked on the road. You're following Alyssa through the tour like she's guiding you through a virtual recreation of what you someday hope of having. The tiny last-minute-thought kitchen off to the side of the empty dining room with hardwood floors and white peeled-paint arches and beams -- everything from the 1940's and showing age, yet sturdy and homely. The scatterbrained assortment of chairs and knick-knacks all over the place. The headless, armless, legless mannequin. The food porn coffee-table book. The two bedrooms with the shared bathroom. Access to the flat gravel-coated rooftop with an incredibly open view of the stars. High ceilings. An unkempt and unorganized look to the place that makes you feel more comfortable than being somewhere too tidy. You know from the instant you step inside that these are the kind of people you want to be friends with. And, maybe because you loved the apartment so much and wanted to someday return, you were seriously on your conversation game tonight. Carissa even complimented you on it when you guys went to Jack in the Box afterward.

You know what that's like -- when you're the perfect mix of stoned, buzzed, and hyper and an unusual amount of comfort and energy seems to sharpen your wit.

Alyssa and her roommate, Melinda, were good hosts. Melinda and Alyssa would both qualify as two of the most attractive girls you've had good conversations with. And you're a harsh judge when it comes to how you think a conversation went. You usually pick up on negative vibes and back out of it, quickly, when the conversation goes wrong -- especially with an attractive girl -- and the same goes for how you respond when it goes right. Like tonight, when you were talking to just Melinda (the other two were having a cigarette break) you had that "Oh fuck I'm really stoned I don't even know if I'm making any sense Can she even understand the words coming out of my mouth Am I too quiet Too loud Too weird She's not laughing Focus Focus Focus" moments, which often causes a minor panic attack when you're the wrong mixture of high and low, but tonight you pushed through it. Literally. You literally remember having those pessimistic thoughts in your head and you remember telling yourself to step back, focus on what you're saying out loud, and find some cohesive point to this conversation. You talked about ways she might make the apartment more homely -- as Melinda confessed she still didn't feel like this place was her home... When it was the four of you together you felt totally comfortable -- not awkward in the slightest -- which helped you stay vocal. If only you could figure out how to tap into that confidence every time you went out... Alyssa reminded you a lot of Jillian -- who quit -- who is simultaneously sweet and rough in her demeanor. Melinda was more relaxed and played along with your stoned ramblings about making the apartment more homely, which almost became a competition between us of who could have the dryer sarcasm.

This is why you started this blog. You want to remember nights like this one. You don't always go out. You don't always meet new people. The day to day stuff is pretty boring in the long run. But when you end up going to a customer's apartment for the first time with one of your best friends from work and relaxing while passing around the bong and talking about cooking, about books, about music, and then go get 2:00 AM Jack in the Box... Those are the nights you want to remember the most. Nights you feel like you made a positive and memorable impression on strangers who could become friends. You were high. You were all high. So that has to be taken into account when you figure if your conversation had any worth -- you remember all agreeing that a trampoline-sized drum would be awesome because someone could dance on it while also playing the drums -- but at the time, during the experience, the dialogue was good. That's what matters, now, looking back. Like choosing between the fish or the chicken side of the meat category, singing along to "Don't Worry Be Happy," guesstimating that memorizing twenty meal-sized recipes qualifies you as a "chef" as opposed to a "pretty good cook," how you write fiction but enjoy writing fiction that pretends like it's non-fiction -- and the ensuing confusion over which meant what...

It all fades so quickly. You're glad you got as much written as you did.

Oh, and Bryce got his HD camera. That's the start of another adventure entirely.