I’ve lived in Long Beach for about five years now and as much as I LOVE it here, it’s time for me to move on.

I feel that I’ve gotten too comfortable and my life has become stagnant. I stopped working towards my goals. I lost that motivation. Most of my time here consisted of working and playing. Now, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that lifestyle. I just want more. And I’ve always wanted more, but I lost my focus because I was too busy having a good time.

And its not that I want to grow up and be boring and not do anything except work and invest. I still want to have fun, but I need to balance the everyday fun with the bigger, better fun. I want to travel. I want to be able to take real vacations every year. I want to get married, buy a house, and have kids that I can provide for. I want the ridiculously expensive furniture, interior design, and electronics. And I want a comfortable retirement.

I want to live the muthafuckin’ life.

No one’s going to hand me that life. I need to bust my ass and get it myself.

And I never thought I’d say this, but getting laid off last year was probably the best thing that has happened to

me lately. It reminded me that even when times were rough, I still handled my shit and got myself out of it by my damn self. And it made me appreciate employment much more than I ever have.

After the new job, the next thing on my list is to get my own place. So that’s what I’m doing. I’m moving me and my doggies into an apartment in LA. Not everyone is a fan of what I’m doing, but I can’t please everyone, right? Nor should I even be attempting to. It’s about me and it should’ve always been about me. I lost my focus for a bit, but I’m back on my shit.

Since I have to transition the pups from being crazy outside dogs to well-behaved inside dogs, I’ve been practicing and have had them sleeping with me in my room at night. Bastards have been doing extremely well!

Oh, and outside dogs usually mean fleas, especially in my neighborhood. So I chopped all their fur off because I figured it would be easier to get it under control.

I’m not a dog groomer. They look horrible. Scrappy looks like a zebra and Buttercup looks like she’s sick. Oh well. At least they’ll stop scratching and be generally happier. What? It’s not like it won’t grow back.

I tried taking a picture, but its hard to get them to stop and say “cheese”. So here’s a video. Hopefully this posts correctly and you don’t have to turn your head sideways just to watch. My apologies ahead of time. I am posting again from my phone. Also, I had my music blasting. You might want to turn down your speakers a tad.

This morning I visited the doctor in order to get antibiotics for my bronchitis. (BRONCHITIS, bitches. Bronchitis ≠ swine flu.)

Do you know what’s worse than being sick with bronchitis? Being sick with bronchitis during your special cycle. Cycle? Yeah, you know … when a lady is riding the Crimson wave, when Aunt Flo’s visiting, when your na-na is having technical difficulties ….

Yeah, it fucking sucks. Not only am I dealing with a sore throat and spitting up phlegm the color of nasty, I’m having craptastic lower back pains at the same time.

Plus, coughing so hard that your tampon pops out is never fun.

Ugh.

So, next time you ask me if I’m moody because I’m on my period, the answer is yes. I’m dealing with too much bullshit right now to have the extra patience for you that I normally would have.

The funny thing is that this rant isn’t even directed at one person. Nobody pissed me off. I even opted to work from home today because everything just hurts right now. But while picking up our prescriptions today at Costco, I totally got pissed off at my woman parts. Out of nowhere, I vented out to Sara, “I hate my period. Can I tell you that? I hate it right now. It’s fuckin’ annoying me. This is exactly why girls are pissy. Because they gotta deal with this shit.”

She looked at me sideways, laughed, and said, “Whoa, you totally got mad at your period.”

Turning your back on things that don’t meet your standards is pretty easy. People, however, are different.

Relationships with people are a much bigger investment, but it’s harder not to stick to your standards.

Mine are basic: Employed, has a car, a sense of humor, no major self-esteem issues (this shit leads to jealousy and other craziness), is attractive, and is ambitious.

Let’s say that I meet a girl that is everything I want: Smart, sexy, funny, and likes a lot of the same stuff I like. But, she doesn’t have a mode of transportation.

Uhm.

That’s one of my “requirements”. I hope that doesn’t make me sound superficial, because that’s not it at all. I just don’t want to become a chauffeur, and that’s exactly what will happen. I’ll have to pick her up all the time and take her where she needs to go. It’ll lead to her asking to borrow my car. She might be able to find her way around without me, but I’ll feel like the asshole who lets her girl bus it everywhere. And then I’ll resent her for it.

But if everything else works out sooo well except for that one thing, what do you do? Do you not pursue the girl because she doesn’t have a car? If we were talking about a pair of shoes instead of a girl, I’d quickly say, “Well that sucks, but it’s not what I really want” and be over it.

All of us have our own standards when it comes to potential mates, but we don’t always follow them. We try to make things work anyways, like pounding a square peg in a round hole.

Where the fuck are all the round pegs?

**Edit**
One other requirement is that she must want to do “it” to 90′s r&b.  If Ginuwine’s “So Anxious” doesn’t get your panties wet, I don’t know what’s wrong with you.
**/Edit**

I have a ton of stuff that I don’t even need. Receipts for this or that. Paperwork for closed accounts. Clothes that I don’t wear. Electronic cords for things I’m not sure I even own any more.

And the worst part of it all? It’s all thrown together in boxes, completely unorganized. Not only do I have boxes and boxes of crap, but those boxes have been hit by tornadoes.

(sigh)

The problem started when I moved into a house. Houses, unlike most apartments, have garages. Garages are awesome for storing boxes of shit that you really don’t feel like going through. Three moves later and three garages later, I’m finally unpacking these boxes. I’m tired of not being able to find stuff that I know I have.

Last night, as I was going through some of it, I came across The Box.

Oh, yes. THE BOX.

The one box where you put all your old pictures from Back In The Day. Or those few cards that you held onto because the person that gave it to you really took the time to write you something heartfelt and meaningful. It’s usually the smallest box you own, but it takes 7 hours to go through it.

It’s a box of memories.

I’ve grown apart from a lot of people that I was once close with. Most of the time it was unintentional. Life happens sometimes. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to try to find them on Facebook tomorrow so I can ask them how the hell they’re doing.

But other times, like when friendships or relationships took a shit, the distance needed to happen. Last night, I came across old photos and cards from people who I undoubtedly cared for. I won’t lie and say that I didn’t smile as the memories of Good Times flowed through my mind, because I did. But I also remembered why we separated ways.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t harbor bad feelings for anybody. It’s all in the past and I’m over it. I wouldn’t mind catching up with some of them, but it’s not something I’m going to go out of my way to do. There was a reason why those relationships ended and I try to keep those reasons in mind.

But, for some reason, I held on to a few of their memories. Last time I went through The Box, I got rid of the majority of those reminders, but there was always just one thing – - a picture of us at the beach, a card for no reason, a note – - that I just could not let go of.

I pulled those things out of The Box, took a last look at them, and wondered why I still had them. I shook my head and placed the items in the plastic bag with all the other documents that I needed to shred.

It’s amazing how one little piece of paper can be so hard to let go of when it’s the last memory you have of a relationship in the past.

It feels good to do it, though. You should try it.

really cool baking dishes with lids,

some of these,

and get super fucking excited about it.

(sigh)

1. prepare food
2. heat that bitch up
3. smell the yummy goodness
4. resist urge to shove food in mouth
5. let stand 10 minutes before serving

Does anybody ever follow the last two steps? Anybody?

I can tell you who doesn’t. *points to forehead*

My Brain.

Because of My Brain, I have been victim to scorched taste buds and displaced roof-of-mouth skin on more than one occassion (lots more).

I know I should wait. I know I could possibly injur myself bad enough to lose my sense of taste for a few days. But I take that chance. “It’ll be ok,” I think.

It’s never ok.

I could spend hours preparing food. But the second it comes off the stove or out of the oven, I am unable to wait just 10 more minutes. And I don’t know why.

My most recent experience was when we ordered pizza. I grabbed a slice and bit into it. With my amazing luck a huge part of the cheese came off with my bite. Half was in my mouth, and the other half rested on my bottom lip. My first instinct should’ve been to spit it out. It wasn’t. Instead, I tried to slurp it up. The piece of cheese slowly dragged across my bottom lip and into my mouth, where it continued to burn the shit out of my mouth.

Smart move, Brain.

I was worried that I was going to wake up in the morning to a blistered bottom lip. And that I’d have to somehow explain it. I was lucky enough that it didn’t cause any damage. I only had a numb lip for the remainder of the night.

It’s not only cooked food. I fuck up on cereal, too. I fill my bowl with Apple Jacks and milk and instead of waiting for those sugary O’s to soften up a little bit, I go crazy on account of the sweetness and start on the bowl immediately. Afterwards, I’m left with the roof of my mouth tore up.

I’m an extremely patient person, but when it comes to food, every ounce of my patience goes out the window.

Sixty-seven minutes later I yelled at myself (I do that from time to time) and reminded myself that regardless of how crappy I felt, it was still Thursday and I still had to go to work.

Being a grownup and responsible sucks sometimes.

I grabbed the closest pair of shorts , sweatshirt, and shoes. Their colors were royal blue, gray, and hunting camo. I like to be the epitome of fashion when I walk the dogs in the morning.

After the walk, I still felt blah. I ate a bowl of cereal and then looked at the time. Oh Shit that is Holy, I really have to get to work! I showered, picked out something that is somewhat fashionable (I can wear whatever I want to work), and debated if I was actually going to “do” my hair.

What? Why is that something that I have to decide? I have a lot of hair. Brushing alone is a time-consumer. Straightening it takes AT LEAST 30 minutes, so that was out of the question. I decided to go the mousse route. It’s not difficult, I won’t burn myself, and doesn’t take too long.

The last few days I have been way lazy with my appearance. I just threw on jeans and a tshirt. I didn’t even bother trying to select a t shirt. I grabbed any from the millions of tshirts I have. And then threw a hoodie over it. And my hair – I was too lazy to do anything with it so I braided it in one single braid. I didn’t even bother putting any product in it to keep the flyaway hairs tamed. I felt like shit and my appearance mirrored that.

But today I am glad I bitch-slapped myself. I still didn’t feel great but this time I took the time out to do the ‘do and put on some nice clothes. In turn, I feel better.

And now, I can say with confidence, “go ahead and sit back there and say my hair ain’t luxurious when you know it is, bitch.”

Moral of the story: When you feel like crap, take the time out to make yourself look pretty. Because it’ll make you feel pretty, therefore extinguishing the shitty feeling.

For your viewing pleasure, a part of one of Katt Williams’ stand ups. If you haven’t watched Katt Williams, I don’t know what the fuck you are doing with your life: