hand in unlovable hand

Friday my studio was completely demolished in a night filled with unexpected cuddlers, guitar playing geniuses and the good kind of drunken conversation. It could be that the amount of love, alcohol and awesomeness you pour into an evening is directly proportionate to the fucking disaster you wake up with.

B and I had spent the day slogging off work and fucking around with my new four track. The guy can rock the harmonica. I can sort of sing and he can't sing at all. Combine all this with my acoustic guitar skills and we sounded like a lama fucking a tornado. Record deal forthcoming.

When it got dark people started cramming into my tiny castle. I was planning on taking it easy and getting to bed early so i'd be bright and crisp for my reno trip the next day. I think we clocked out around four A.M.

When I woke up my floor (it's a really small place) was layered in an inch of potting soil (all my plants and their pots were destroyed in the chaos), poker chips, pennies, cigarette butts, guitar strings, pens, bills, poems, beer bottles, undefined liquids (beer? probably) and books (my bookshelf took a tumble... fucking ikea).

Joe Awesome was having a birthday party in Reno. Around noon B and I bought a six pack and hit the 80. We were running away from one disaster and speeding towards another. Reno, at least, is not my disaster. Somebody else fucked that town up a long time ago. I was in the perfect post-break-up-mood for a place like that. The city was constructed, solely, for beating dead horses. I certainly did. I cut off its hooves off and smashed its fucking head in.
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There is something so awesome about driving down an interstate highway with the windows rolled down - listening to some shitty cassette tape you found on the floor of the cab - that I can't even write about it.

The Reno trip was all about A's birthday. He rented some big time fancy suite with a full on bar and big screens everywhere. My job (dude if you're reading this I really am sorry. Who would have thought they would all actualy show up?) was to fill it with as many people A didn't know as possible. We flew D in from LA. One of B's girlfriends found out about the trip and drove in from Berkeley. N happened to be staying in Tahoe that night and joined us as well.

Notes:

- I paid $140 so a strange women would dry hump my knee for twenty minutes

- Ashtray rocked harder than Ashtray has ever rocked

- B is the best drunk driver ever. There should be some sort of compeition for this. He would win.

- I am a horrible gambler

shrimp cocktails and rum in bad ass suite JApaid for hundred dollar bills flying at green felt best guy hugs and inside jokes air conditioned cigarette smell awesome entertainer ashtray operation ivy cover filling rooms with dancing smoking a lot and fun iphone broken strip club antics cab driver conversations uncomfortable crushes D flying in from LA M passing to surf instead all you can eat eat like a bird ding ding ding no coke tonight elevators room numbers you want the truth you can't handle the truth falling down squish on fancy couch screens everywhere record deals well deserved hospitality taken advantage of reno dreams crushed balls ready to explode crying crying crying

B cooked N and I dinner in her tahoe cabin the next night. We prefaced the meal with the most hard core game of chess since Ashley's superb endgame play in 1993. B won, but i definitely talked a better talk and, really, that's what matters.