Unexpected Visitors

Last night, I was tapped for my athletic prowess to represent the Cheetah bowling team.  As you can probably imagine, I jump at the opportunity to spout off Lebowski lines at any giving time.   It was pretty fun but it always ends up bad idea when I know things are gonna get nuts.  I've always thought the spontaneous drunks were the best anyway.  

I got a text last night from the night DJ who told me that the owner of our club decided to make a surprise appearance.  This automatically puts everyone on high alert.  Things have been kinda rough around here lately because business has been slow and that frustrates everyone.  I've still been survivin' on a wing and a prayer.  The only thing that has been naggin' at me is the future of my job.  I feel relatively secure in the job I do, but it is still gonna be contigent on how well the club does.  I've been thinking seriously about what my next move would be if the worst were to happen.  

I started thinking that I might try luck in Vegas.  I think at the very least it would be the opportunity of a lifetime to work in the center of the strip club universe.  Logistically, it would be difficult.  I did just buy a house about three months ago that I absolutely love.  I don't think I'd have any issues renting it but I'm not interested in selling it at all.  It's a very solid investment that could eventually help me have a financial future.  I'm not real interested in working at any other clubs in Atlanta because they all suffer by comparison to da Cheet.  I thought about maybe trying to work for a DJ company here in town where I could do weddings, parties, and trivia nights around town.  The money would probably be a big step down, but after being a cube rat a few years back,  I never wanna do it again.  It's hard to put a price on sanity.  

With all the uncertainty, I figure I've gotta be proactive is my approach to the future.  I've been considering renting out some of the empty rooms in my house.  I always knew it would become Jamie's Home for Wayward Girls.  It be way cheaper than me renting anyway.  I've been seriously considering trading in my MINI Cooper for something more practical that I could have paid off in a six month period.  It would probably end up saving me a good $400 a month.  That seems like a no-brainer, really.  To bad I still let my vanity get in the way.  But on the flip-flop, I got more attention growing a beard anyway.  

In some ways, I'm actually hell bent on having a decent sized nestegg, just in case.  I've gotten pretty good at saving in the past year aside from the occasional fall from grace when I buy drinks for all the pretty girls in a room.  I could tolerate being out of the business for my own mental health.  I just wanna make sure I've got a substancial buffer to spend all that extra time to really improve myself.  I know I'd turn into a gym rat again and I'd be away from all the bad influences that I have trouble saying no to.  

My favorite person in the whole world, Amanda, is always worried about me.  I don't really blame her and it makes my heart swell knowing that she sincerely cares.  I am shamelessly honest with her in ways I've never been with anyone.  She told me that she thinks I have trouble dating because I appear to crush on everything I see.  I don't totally disagree with that, but let me ask ya, who doesn't love pretty girls who are a little dirty?  

What I do agree with is the perception is that I always wanna portray to everyone how much I truly care about them.  And maybe roll around in the sack with them.  But I really need to work on my mystery.  I'll just wear my hair in my eyes more.  

I really don't have the answers for what I need to do.  But hopefully I'll realize that being complacent will not do an effin' thing to help.  Jamer out!

The Art of Emo

This past Christmas my friend Amanda got me this book called "Everybody Hurts: An Essential Guide to Emo Culture."  I hope all of your eyes are collectively rolling back into your skull just from the title.  I know mine did.  But I read it and slapped my forehead numerous times of how painstakingly accurate the whole book is.  Nobody (especially an overly-sensitive aging hipster) enjoys being simplified into a type.  But I'm a type and there ain't much I can do about it except for accepting it.  That's why I have a blog (in case you are scoring at home.)

I have this other friend who is facinated by transgenders (I still have my sack, thank you very much.) It really got me to thinking.  I think all I've ever wanted to be is a pale, lanky, inked, punk rock guy.   To my credit, I've got the pail thing down according to the lucky few who've seen my ass on occasion.  The sentiment and dedication and emotion are all there.  It just doesn't really fit with my appearance (despite me having the world's largest black t-shirt collection.)  

People always ask me about tattoos.  I've never gotten any and really don't want 'em.  I've always thought that it would be an untrue statement to the world about who I am.  I love 'em on most people.  But I think it's just a rung on the ladder of cool that I feel justified in skipping.  So I've kinda sabotaged myself in my quest for punk rock longevity.  

My hair is kinda long and I wear a beard that's nicely coifed (I did find some of my lunch in it today.  Who wants seconds?) Not really punk rock anymore.  I'm no Tyler Durden, but I could easily be mistaken for anyone in the band Three Dog Night.  I'd actually probably take that as a compliment anyway.  I've never told anyone this, but my long hair is really more of a tribute to a friend of mine (There is some gay about to come your way, watch your eyes.)  Even though I know how utterly adorable I am with my short, nicely-parted, clean-shaven, I-love-my-khakis look, it's not who I am.  One of my best friends in the world, Howard, has had long hair since Kiss took off their make-up (except for his stint at Dillard's).  I admire that.  He's a rocker and he always will be.  He told me the story of going to his 20th class reunion and how clearly he recognized that he has never compromised who he is.  Most of his friends got married two or three times and have kids like most people two decades removed from high school.  They had to be in awe of Howard.  This is a guy who managed to see the Scorpions 20 or 30 times in Birmingham over the years.  While that in itself is pretty impressive, it's representative of a very concrete set of values that my friend has.  The fact that my pal has long hair might not correlate to the choices he's made or how happy is at this exact moment, but I'm positively certain that there is a lot of comfort in knowing exactly who you are.  And I think that's pretty fucking punk rock.  

As far as the lanky part goes...  Well, dudes, it ain't gonna happen.  My brother is the tallest person in my immediate family and he stands a towering 5'9" (he'd say 5'10"...  He understands the importance of an extra inch.)  We weren't issued legs at birth, but I suspect I was probably given a Krispy Kreme doughnut and a sack full of Krystals upon my exit from the birth canal.  I can't really blame glands or big bones or even my effin DNA.  I just really enjoy eating a box of Cap'n Crunch in a sitting.  Granted, I haven't eaten that stuff in quite a while, but I could if I'm in some eating contest on ESPN 2.  Gluttony isn't really punk rock either.  That's the straight-edge philosophy.  And that's the most punk rock part of punk rock, restraint.  Being above an influence is the hardest thing in the world  to conquer.  But I can only take baby steps with each mile I walk on that treadmill and resisting the urge to get my picture on the wall at Vortex for successfully eating the Double Bypass Burger.  

I guess that's why the Emo subculture was created in the first place.  It's like being Stuart Smalley but with a bitchin' iPod and a bag from American Apparel.  And while the labels themselves are ridiculous, they exist for a reason.  I guess I'm cool with that.   I couldn't wait to get my Radiohead tix.  But ya know, I've never bought anything from American Apparel anyway.  I can't wear girl jeans even though chicks seem to dig that nowadays.  I'd like to think my Levi's and Ratt t-shirt are timeless.  

 

A shot of mopey mixed with HGH

So I've been kinda dumpy lately and have lacked the will or motivation to do much of anything.  I'm always waiting to turn some corner or have some epiphany that'll change everything.  I spend so much time in this godforsaken box that it often seems like I don't have much of a life outside of it.  There aren't windows in this office, but the view isn't bad from my desk.  

I've been more manic than anything.  I try and keep my energy up when I'm around people and I really try to not dump on my friends.  I get by myself and I'm just a mess.  I'd by lying if I didn't say that chemical enhancements never really help my mood either.  I guess some things really just come with the territory.  My mother always told me that I had an addictive personality and I guess I've been in denial about how right she's always been.  Guess that's why she's my mom.  

I had been trying to do things like go to the gym over the past month to try and make some much needed changes to my shape which has gotten increasingly rounder since summer.  There was a stretch where I didn't go to the grocery store for six months and had only emergency ramen in the house.   I have had plenty of encouragement from both sides.  Some want to just rock the casbah all the time and others are truly concerned with my health.  It's always hard to implement good habits than drop the bad ones. 

I've also ceased trying to see anyone and it's been that way for a while.  I seem to always get the feeling that I'm on the outside looking in and that it seems futile for me to walk in the door because my luck has been atrocious with women.  Well, that and I don't have the best judgement anyway.  A lot of my friends tell me that I have really bad confidence issues.  I only half-way agree with that.  I'm not that down on myself.  I just cease to believe that my belly is the only reason I can't get stinky on my hangdown.  My natural radness has never been in question obviously.  Chicks dig a sense of humor.  Just not in their vaginas.  

It's not really the biggest deal in the world and I'm not sitting around pining for anyone.  I'm more consumed with getting myself right in the head.  That could be the most futile pursuit of all.  I still haven't even put the mini-blinds up in my house after a month.  Still not sure when that's ever gonna happen.  I've been slowly getting my shit in order at home.  It's been almost two months since I moved in and it still feels like an apartment for me.  I bought a new couch and obnoxiously big TV, but the walls are still white and there's nothing on the walls.  I need so much help getting stuff done around there and I keep on wondering if I bit off more than I can chew with this investment.  I just want the shit done.  

It's been a much lower priority to me than it needs to be.  I'm killing myself trying to set myself up financially.  Being here all the time is gonna pay off in the long run and maybe I'll just hire someone to give me style in mi casa.  

There is some good things on the horizon.  I found out today that Radiohead tickets go on sale for Atlanta tomorrow.  Also, Amanda and I are considering renting an RV and going to Bonnaroo with some big-breasted ladies of easy leisure.  I've never done that festival before but the Truckers are playing and they always rule me.  Besides I need a fucking vacation.  I considered maybe taking the entire week off and getting the other guys to cover me so that I could go to the beach or something after the show.  Guess we'll see what happens.  

Barack is still ruling the world and I think the primaries in Ohio and Texas are gonna be the deciding factor on who I'm gonna be voting for in November.  You know what they say, vote early.  And often.  

Roger Clemmons is such a fucking liar.  I've been sitting here watching his Senate testimony this morning and I just don't believe the guy.  I even heard that his wife was taking it, too.  I had no idea she was slumming in the minors.  I think I'm almost completely numb to all of this now.  Fuck it.  Go Braves.