Thursday, April 17, 2014

There are homeless squatting 4 free in a large, empty apartment in my building. Laws protect them from eviction. I'm moving there...

There are homeless squatting 4 free in a large, empty apartment in my building. Laws protect them from eviction. I'm moving there...

     San Francisco is so fucking weird.  Where the weed's a flown,' the over-entitled rich kids spend way to much money to look like they don't care and the streets are paved with crackheads.  This is the place I call home.  Here you can smoke pot everywhere you damn well please but god forbid you light a cigarette or use a plastic bag, the masses will show their distain for you with passive-aggressive shrugs.  So, recently I find out that there are homeless people living in some random, unmarked Pandora's box of an apartment in my building.  Let me repeat this: there are homeless squatting for free in a large, empty apartment in my building. Laws protect them from eviction. I'm moving there...

       I am kind of afraid to go into this apartment that the homeless are apparently living in.  This is not out of fear for safety or hygiene.  It's because I bet their place is bigger than mine.  I know it's not the size but the motion of the ocean but this is ridiculous.  If I don't pay my rent I can get evicted.  If I illegally have a pet in my unit I can be evicted.  If I illegally try to squat in a unit that I'm not living in the law protects me from getting evicted easily.  What's wrong with this picture?  Where is the "It Gets better Campaign" now?  Apparently if you set your sites low enough, you too can squat in a Tenderloin apartment for months for free.

      I imagine there to be a large variety of half-smoked cigarette butts to be offered for appetizers when visiting this apartment.  A television in the corner that has both shattered glass and isn't plugged in, but makes an amazing coffee/coke table...  Who are we kidding?  Crack is cheaper!  Here there is no doodie-smell.  No. No.  You know why?  There is a toilet and electricity!  Who pays for it?  They don't know, care or ask questions.  I imagine a bed made with street sheets as far as the eyes could see and nice, warm blankets made of wall insulation.  What type of homeless live there?  This I do not know.  I assume it's the well-to-do homeless that went to homeless college in order to afford their fancy digs.  There one would major in Panhandling or Human Sexuality.  It is San Francisco after all.  Don't make the mistake of bringing non-organic cigarettes to this party, you will not be welcomed.  Much like how I went to college, majored in Speech for 5 years, learned how to roll a good joint and live in an apartment I can't afford.  Since I have no choice in this matter, maybe I should write them off as dependents?  See?  Stars really are like us.  So from now on when people ask how I'm doing I'll say, "excuse me have a dollar?"

Friday, March 21, 2014

Single Moments

     There is this point in being single that I would like to talk about on stage but can't really figure it out.  When you get a phone number from someone you would never imagine going out with in any other circumstance.  Maybe you're out trolling a bar and some toothless, balding hottie hands you their card.  In the moment you're like, "fuck no."  If not verbally, in your head.  Then a few days later you realize you still have the card.  For some stupid reason you never threw it out the number.  It's just sitting in your wallet looking at you.  Then there is what I call a "single moment."  It's that time where you have watched enough Scandal to get your period, started to refer to your dog as we and find suicide funny but would never actually do it.  You're just desperate enough to reconsider the situation and try out good old toothless.

Friday, March 14, 2014

I am producing a comedy show called Yuri & Friends with International Headliner Thai Rivera!  He will make you uncomfortable in the best way possible. His politically incorrect style of humor has taken the comedy world by storm.  After becoming a  favorite and regular at clubs such as the Hollywood Improv and World Famous Laugh Factory he started to travel across the country in the most unlikely of places, redneck bars. Some of you may recognize him from the Jo Koy Comedy Tour, he has also been featured on Comedy Central's Live At Gotham and The Logo Network's One Night Stand up. Thai made his second appearance on Comedy Central October 25th, on Stand-Up Revolution.  

Hosted by myself, this show includes local favorites Lydia Popovich and Johan Miranda! Special guest Marga Gomez has won “Best Comedian” in both SF Weekly and the Bay Guardian! This is a night not to be missed! 

See it live at San Francisco Punchline comedy club at 8pm on 4/15/14  while tickets last!


Thursday, February 27, 2014

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Vegetarians and Gluten allergy BS

     Todays started shitty... First off I wake up early at noon.  My friend Lisa invites me to lunch.  She says, "hey lets get barbecue."  When we get to the place I find out that it is vegetarian barbecue.  That doesn't even make sense!  It is at this moment I realize that going to a vegetarian barbecue is like going to a prostitute that just wants to hold your hand... You leave very hungry.

     What a lot of people don't know about me is that I was a vegetarian for 2 years.  I didn't do it for any moral or ethical reason.  I just looked in the mirror, realized that I had larger breasts than most women.  I figured with all the hormones in today's meat supply going meat free was the way to be.  Then there was a trip to Virginia.  Don't ask why I was there.  I just was.  I'm with some friends at the Wendy's drive-through because it was either that or go hungry for another hour.  I ate a fry with a tiny morsel of chicken stuck to it.  I'm was so hungry I didn't notice.  This was when the blood-lust kicked in and I was hooked.  I ate enough chicken tenders, shakes and fries to kill someone.  It was as though I had never seen food before.

      As an ex-vegetarian I can comfortably say that unlike homosexuality it's lifestyle choice and manageable.  What I do not understand is why vegetarian restaurants keep trying to push shit like fake Chic-en.  If you are against eating something that had a face, then why the fuck would you make your food look like something that once had a face?  To-furkey?  More like wet cardboard.  "Riblets" taste like feet smell! Stop it!  Making your vegetarian food look like meat is like saying 'I don't do heroin anymore so I shoot up insulin.  No saturated fats!"

       What I am saying is vegetarians need to stop pushing rank shit like fake-sausage and focus on the good stuff like...  Actually I am having a hard time remembering what that is but eventually I'll remember.

      After vegetarians the next actually more annoying group are the people who lie and say they are allergic to gluten.  Can people stop lying about that shit?  I am sure a small percent of them legitimately have issues with that stuff and I get it.  I don't get though why they have to make crap like "gluten-free cookies."  Isn't that a bit extreme?  Why not just eat a piece of plastic?  If you are changing your diet to be healthy, here is an idea: STOP eating shit like cookies!  Gluten-free beer?  Really?  Why not just hit yourself in the head and skip the crap beer?  At least your taste buds will be intact.  To be clear I am not saying people with real gluten issues shouldn't get to enjoy being a lush just as much as I do.  What I am saying is why make lame crap like gluten-free bagels when you can just skip the bagel and have something else?

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

The END OF DAYs...

            Today I get to the office after a long night at the Lab.  I am super tired and envious of all the San Francisco people I pass on my way to the office.  I am late to work and cranky.  Walk around San Francisco during any weekday and there are people everywhere, the park, cafes, it’s like they don’t work or all lie and say they telecommute.  Right before I get to work I pop by a coffee shop on a blog down from the office.  There are people of all sorts, typing on their laptops, sipping their lattes and laughing their heads off while having their conversations presumably about soy products or crap that annoys me.  A part of me is envious, wishing I could be like them sitting there on my laptop, sipping a coffee and working on my blog, writing jokes just for fun.  Instead I have to be an adult, go to my career-job writing boring ads for things I don’t care about.
            I roll into the office at a quarter past 10 in sunglasses hoping no one notices my bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep.  All 20 of my officemates are silently working on their projects at their computers typing away.  One is clearly pretending to work while watching a movie or something funny on his screen because he keeps laughing so loud the noise is just grading on my tired ears.  I get to my desk, unpack and check my email.  Usually I have at least 7 emails from my boss and his bosses asking me to do random updates to my accounts.  Today there are no emails.  I actually have nothing to do.  Besides the jackass laughing in the corner, the silence in the office is piercing.  I spend the next 2 hours updating my blog with various stupid jokes in my head completely ignoring what is going on around me.  
At noon my boss messages me on my computer’s messenger (even though he is just sitting 25 feet away at his desk).  It’s strange how passive-aggressive offices are these days with computers being the way you talk to your co-workers even if they are in the same room.  He asks me to meet him in the CEO’s office.  I assume they are going to give me a promotion or something along those lines because I’m an idiot.  I get laid off.  This is the second time in my life I have been laid off and I am 24 years old.  The only thing I say to them is “again?”  Both Director of my department and the CEO look confused and try to coddle and console me telling me that the lay off has nothing to do with me personally just the economy.  I have no emotion on my face at all at this moment.  I think it scares them.  I don’t look happy or sad.  I look like I’m in a comma.  After they hand me my check, I feel numbed.  I go pack up my desk and walk out.  As I get into the elevator heading out of the building I suddenly have tears streaming down my face.  They are the “I’m going to Disneyland” tears.  I am happy.  I am unexplainably ecstatic to be done with the office.  I am so happy that I am upset that I am not shattered by this lay off and make an appointment to see Dr. John.  Since he is booked up for the next 2 days, I go home and write.  I don’t know how or why but some stories just flow from me.  I write three about my years at the bar on the blog and proceed to pass out for several hours until my bar shift that night.

The night it all happened!

The night it all happened.
            Working at the Lab is fun but not what it looks like.  That’s what I explain in my last blog entry.  My mom reads it and instantly calls me.  She wants me to stop talking about pot in my entries because then people will think I do drugs.  I tell her, “If you call pot a drug then yes I do.  If you live in San Francisco, it’s considered fresh air.”            
            After the lovely pot argument with my mother, dad calls me.  He is clearly smoking a cigarette and starts choking on his own cough before I get the chance to say hello.  This makes me want to roll a joint but I don’t because I’m out.  Dad asks me when I’m coming to visit.  He hasn’t had a job in several years at this point.  I have no idea how he gets by.  I ask him why he can’t drive up to visit me.  He tells me it’s too far for him to drive.  I offer to pay for Amtrak and he then says he’ll get sick on there.  I get annoyed and he changes the topic and asks me if I have seen the latest Pay-Per-View fight.  I say know and even though it’s on the phone I can hear him shaking his head.
            Something that has always bothered me is that I have lived in San Francisco for around six years.  My father has never tried to come and visit me.  On occasion I have made pilgrimages to visit him by driving the six hours to Northridge and hanging out with him.  This act consists of watching a twenty-year old Tyson/Forman fight on a loop for at least an hour, stuffing our faces with enough Chinese food /MSG to bloat and awkwardness.  There are a lot of weird silences that we cover up with the sound of the television.  After the fights, we switch an old Columbo rerun for my grandmother.  She lives with dad then comes by with bowl of grapes to make sure we are fully nourished.  She makes light conversation about her daily struggles, current ailments and then my dad goes to the bathroom to suck down 1-3 cigarettes.  
            My dad makes it very clear to me that he loves me but not that he’s dependable.  I remember as a kid my father was supposed to visit San Diego, and take me to the zoo while introducing me to his girlfriend at the time.  He never came.  This was the third or fourth time this happened.  That night I found out that it was because of the Northridge earthquake.  He lived around the corner from the apartment building that fell over. 
            From fifteen year-old and on I always worked.  I would take time off of work to meet up with my dad in San Clemente, our agreed upon halfway point between his home in Northridge and mine in San Diego.  Two out of five times he would have to cancel the day of which would anger me.  After a while I stopped making those plans with him.
            I tell Dr. John about how it upsets me that dad hasn’t ever made an effort to visit me.  Dr. John asks me to measure my stress-level.  Right now I am at an 8.  This is on a scale from 1-10.  I don’t really have a reason for this.  I just know it’s there.   He then tells me to just focus on myself for a while.  Write out my feelings maybe on the blog and keep my dad at bay for a little bit while I compose myself.  I hear what he says but of course don’t listen.  That night, while working on a new blog story I purchase tickets from my dad to fly up to see me.  I call to tell him about this and he is super excited.  The tickets are for the following weekend.  It’s a Friday-Monday sort of thing.  That Thursday my dad calls to tell me that he isn’t feeling very good and can’t come.  It’s like being 14 all over again.

 

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