Wednesday February 4, 2009

Alarm goes off at 7:30 AM. The idea of starting the day early seemed good last night but once it comes time to execute said plan, I say fuck it and reset the alarm for an hour later.

Alarm goes off at 8:30. Same results: I’m too fucking tired and too fucking lazy to get up. I have to be at work at 10:00 AM, which means I have to wake up and get ready no later than 9:00, so what’s that extra half hour really going to allow me to accomplish in the long run? So I decide to say fuck it again and sleep for an extra half hour.

I finally get up and going around five after nine. I shower, skip the shave this morning (I’m attempting to grow a full beard), and rock my morning coffee and cigarette. I brush my teeth, feed the little bastards, and it’s out the door.

I get out to my car and the fucking thing won’t start… AGAIN! Fuck my life. Worst part about it is that Tool’s working, Stin’s at school, Shimon’s working, V’s working, and Hart just lives too far. I phone into work telling Ryan my predicament. Conversation goes as follows:

“Caribou Coffee, this is Ryan.”
“Ryan, it’s Jon.”
“What’s up, Jon?”
“Well I’m in kind of a big fucking predicament right now.”
“What’s up?”
“Well, I’m supposed to be in at 10 and my car battery is fucked yet again. I need a jump but my brother is working and all of my friends are working or in school right now.”
“It’s cool man, just get here when you can.”

I pause for a split second to try and decipher this dude’s brilliant advice. I respond:

“Uh, dude, I won’t be there at all if I can’t get my car jumped, and there just happens to be no one available to jump it.”

Now he pauses. It’s a lot of shit to think about, I know. He responds:

“Oh well, you’re not in until 11, so take your time.”

I know. I couldn’t believe it either. I come back:

“Ryan, I’m in at 10. My car needs to be jumped. Everyone that I know that could possibly jump my car is either working or in school. I need you to tell me what you would like me to do to assure that I make it to work today. I won’t be in at 10, obviously, because it’s already five after. Do you understand?”
“Call Jill, she’s in at 11. Then call me back.”
“What’s Jill’s number?”

He gives me her number and I hang up. I’m fuckin’ pissed off and now my head hurts from having to write out my situation in crayon to my manager. I call Jill and explain how my car is dead, Ryan told me to call her, etc. She tells me she’s not at home, but can get there within forty-five minutes. I tell her not to worry about it because Hart lives only a good twenty minutes away, which seemed far at the time until I hear her time frame. She tells me she would rather drive forty-five minutes out of the way and help me out as opposed to getting to work on time. After persuading me to allow her to come help, she’s on her way.

I shoot a call back to Ryan and tell him that Jill’s coming but neither of us will be into work until around 11:30. Surprisingly, he’s cool with it and just tells me to get there whenever. That’s all I need to hear. I chill on a smoke for my troubles and then bomb back inside to watch some T.V. and drink some more coffee while I await Jill’s arrival.

Just like she predicted, she shows up about forty-five minutes later. After navigating her through the condo complex over the phone, she finally finds my parking lot and parks next to my beige bomber. We set up shop and let the car juice up for a good five minutes. It starts right up, I thank Jill for her time, she thanks me for getting her out of almost an hour of work, and we cruise on out to hell (work).

Work goes alright for the most part. Nothing really worth documenting. I have been trying to keep my already tight budget from becoming no budget at all, which means I have had to dodge my desires to get Chipotle burritos for the last three days of work. This is harder than it sounds. Today, unfortunately, I finally fucking caved. But god damn was it one of the best burritos I have ever had the pleasure of indulging in.

After my burrito, I bust out my laptop and do some more work on the script. I recently decided a few days ago that I had way too many ideas for the whisky-drinking pot dealer movie to make it merely a short film. So, because I’m so fucking stubborn when it comes to my writing, I decided to turn it into a full-length feature. The film, now under the working title, “All Day, Today,” is still about two pot dealers armed with a handle of whisky and the colorful conversations they get caught up in throughout the day with each other and their customers. In addition, I am now throwing in a little drama. I won’t say what exactly (don’t want to spoil the fun), but if it works out as well as it is in my mind and in my script, it should make for an excellent film (I hope).

I shoot a call over to Dave T. to set up a meeting so I can fill him in on my changes and see if he agrees or has any ideas. No answer. I leave him a very nice message going something like this:

“Hey assbag, I’ve got some important updates and changes to my screenplay that I need to discuss with you, ASAP. Pull your finger out of your ass and call me back so we can set up a meeting. Peace fucker.”

I bomb out of Caribou at 5:00 PM and head on over to Best Buy to pick up Kevin Smith’s latest opus, Zack and Miri Make a Porno, which just came out on DVD. I gun it home after my pit-stop. Once at home, I sit in the office updating the diary and trying to figure out rental equipment specs for when the movie is ready for production. After fucking around for about an hour, I cruise on over to band practice.

Practice goes fairly well. We wrote a new song (actually Dave wrote it awhile back and just showed the rest of us). It’s a little slower than our other ones, but still rocks and is catchy as fuck, nevertheless. We jam out a few more songs and call it a night around 8:30. Tool calls me up on my way home to ask if I can pick up a bag of cat food for the two bastards. I do so.

Once at home, I am greeted in the parking lot by V, Tool and Stin. We rock a smoke and head inside. V throws on Zack and Miri and we all sit around watching. Just about half-way through, Phil shows up with his friend Katie, whom we all went to high school with (eliminating the need for 20 fucking questions). We migrate to the table with a case of brew and shoot the shit for a few hours.

After many beers, we decide to rock a smoke. Tool goes to bed and we head outside. Everyone decides mid-smoke that they’re going to take off. We all bid each other farewell and make plans to get breakfast in the morning. I cruise inside the lobby and realize that someone closed the complex door. Of course, I don’t have my keys or my phone. On top of that, our doorbell is broken, so Tool wouldn’t be able to hear it. I sprint my drunk ass out to the street in hopes of catching either Phil or Stin before they leave.

I catch up with Phil right as he’s getting into his car, thankfully. I use his phone to call my brother. Just my luck, his phone is dead. Fuck my life. I shoot a call over to Stin who tells me I can come crash at his place (he lives a few blocks away). Phil drops me off. Thank god I have friends.

I get inside Stin’s place and he’s already got a pair of shorts sitting atop a pile of pillows and blankets for me. Thank god I have friends who actually have some hospitality. We throw on the T.V. and start watching Southland Tales. Both of us are still pretty fucking plastered at this point, so we opt for some food. We get down on some homemade chili that Mary had so nicely brought over the other night for the Super Bowl. Needless to say, I’m out quicker than a motherfucker the second that chili was gone.