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| Proof of my current situation |
1. Acquire drugs for this weekend.
2. Acquire a ticket for this weekend.
3. Buy a new pair of Rainbows for this weekend.
4. Source a Pikachu costume from China.
5. Think of a witty way to tell all of the haters of my post yesterday that it was clearly fucking sarcasm.
6. Scheme a way to steal some registration tags in lieu of a renewal fee.
7. Convince Gatorade to bring back the flavor Cherry Rush.
8. Purchase web domain AlwaysWestofLincoln.com
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1,000,981. Pay my parking tickets, credit card bill, back taxes and car insurance premium.
But really none of that shit matters because right now I am getting sick. I can feel that dull pain growing behind my eyes. My boss has been displaying symptoms of full blown ebola for 3 days now but she won't go home, because her boss is a tyrannical dictator. Every time she sneezes billions of micro particles carrying Ebolic Hemorrhagic Fever disease come shooting in my direction. I'm pounding Airborne like I was smashing mushroom caps last weekend, yet somehow I feel like I'll still come up short.
The obvious course of action is to stay home this weekend and rest up. I mean, I'm traveling cross country next weekend for a wedding. I'm going to a big college football game with my dad, don't I want to be 100% for that?
Alas, promises have been made and I am not in the business of flaking. I will go to this music festival in San Diego and I will have fun. But of course I will take it easy right? I mean I've done hard drugs 2 weekends in a row, God knows what Chicago has in store for me. Maybe I can just rotate beers and waters at the concert and enjoy the music tomorrow. That would be the prudent option.
Fuck that. The only concession I will be making this weekend is that I may mix in a little Super Orange Emergen-C in with my coke. I will go balls to the wall Saturday and Sunday, this will artificially keep my illness at bay, but when I board the SurfRider home Sunday night my body will collapse like a house of fucking cards.
By 6am Monday morning at Manhattan Beach studios I will look akin to a decomposing corpse. People will see me looking like dog shit and I will be sent home. I will spend the day in bed doing my classic Netflix and chill/triple masturbation marathon and then I will sleep until noon on Tuesday. Then I'll come in for a half day in a performance that will be considered to be braver than Caitlyn Jenner's transition.
But why would I do this to myself you ask? Because life is too short for fucking decaf. (OOOOH you like that title pay off? Is it cathartic? Almost like that Killers song where he goes the entire FUCKING song and then he finally says it….ALLL THESE THINGS THAT IIIIIIII HAVE DONE bow bow doo doo bow...bow bow doo doo bow)
To be fair I've been obnoxiously selling the shit out of this all day. If I fail to show up Monday, no one will assume it's because I found a San Diego State student that dragged me out to Gaslamp. They will actually think I am dead. Then I will answer from the Best Western Plus in San Diego when they call and I will tell them I am in the emergency room and I am so sorry I forgot to call.
All will be forgiven, they'll probably even offer to pay. This ebola is THEIR FAULT. It has nothing to do with the fact that I was borderline coming down with something and then went on a bender that would make Amy Winehouse blush. But I digress.
Eventually I'll recover, I'll go to work for a few days, I'll go to a wedding in Chicago, I'll fly back and hopefully my Pikachu costume will have come in the mail. I'll probably senselessly repeat this cycle of absurdity until my world comes collapsing down all around me. At which point, I'll go to rehab, join the military, quit drinking and turn into an adrenaline junkie. This could happen tomorrow or it could happen in 12 years, but until it does, I'm living every day on 11.
See I have a plan.
Life ends. I will die some day. Before I die, I want to do things that most people haven't done. I want to hike half dome, I want to fly an airplane, I want to dive the great barrier reef, I want to travel the world, I want to write a movie, I want to hunt a bear, I guess a bit of partying too. And I want to fucking chronicle all of this shit and spend the rest of my life telling stories.
I don't know how to get paid to do all of that stuff, so it appears that I'm on my own. It's fine, no one promised me the key to life's adventures would be easy. I was promised a 60k Market Research job that never came, and sure it would be easier if I was some sort of #brand guy that traveled around the world going to cool events with an expense account. But to quote indie auteur Mark Duplass "the calvary is not coming." There is no all inclusive package planned by burn-out college students that will help me experience life, so I press on.
Every weekend night I stay in and 'relax' I am racked with guilt. I think about all of the people all over the world doing cooler things than me. I think about a cheap Spirit flight I could have hopped on that would have taken me to a city I've never seen. I could have stayed in a hostel for $7 a night and met a bunch of people from all over the world. But I stayed in and watched a re-run of the Bojack Horseman Christmas Special.
That's not a terrible night, but it's a Monday. Saturdays are for doing stuff.
This Saturday, I am going to do stuff. Every Saturday for the rest of my life I am going to try to do something I have never done before. This Saturday I am going to roll at sunset while Kygo plays Firestone next to the Pacific Ocean. Next Saturday I'm going to tailgate on the Union Pacific North to Ryan Field for Iowa/Northwestern. Two Saturdays after that I'm going to party in a Pikachu costume.
You know what that means?
I have a free day! The 24th! What should we do? You want to go sailgating? Should we rent Houseboats on Lake Mead? I've never been to Terranea in Palos Verdes. I've never seen the LA roller derby girls.
I'm going to feel like dogshit on Monday. I'm going to feel like dogshit most Mondays the rest of my life. But I'll get through them and then one day when I'm 50, I'll sit back and think…damn, I did a lot of cool shit.
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