5/25/99 -- I smoked up again last nite, damn me all to Hell, or any other really hot place.  Damn me to Phoenix!  Anyhow, I'm mad at myself.  Yesterday at work I told myself I wouldn't smoke up.  On the way home, I didn't particularly feel like it.  When I was walking to the house and saw Paul's car out front, I thought that was cool b/c that would mean that there'd be someone else to distract me or that I could talk to.  Plus Paul doesn't do drugs anymore, so he's sort of a positive influence (Although normally I think he's kind of a killjoy -- c'mon Paul, just smoke some pot!).  And then as soon as I went upstairs to change out of my work clothes, I started thinking about bud. Going back downstairs didn't help.  Paul was talking about how stupid we all were on Saturday night, and I talked about the Toke Shop, and then Farand called and he and Ray were talking about going to Amsterdam for New Year's.  Amsterdam was the last straw -- I had to go show Paul my new bong.

I got it to work really well, too -- I used the grip and had it all nice and icy.  Nuttin' beats icy bong hits.  But anyhow...this isn't what I wanted, not for me, and not for Ray.  I know Ray looks down on me a lot, and this doesn't help his impression of me.  I would really like to earn Ray's respect, but I never do anything to show that.  Instead, I degenerate further.  He's been really critical of me lately, and I deserve it.  Smoking up by myself, even if he doesn't say anything, is just more fuel to the fire.  I guess I'm glad I'm moving out next month for his sake -- he doesn't have to have this loser living right above him anymore.

The Amsterdam conversation also triggered an old, irrational reaction in me.  I'm particularly sensitive to feeling left out, and Farand and Ray's planning for an Amsterdam trip for New Year's, as unlikely as it is to come off, got me feeling jealous.  How come I'm not invited to Amsterdam?  I'd really like to experience mayonnaise on french fries.  But seriously, I don't feel like the boys ever invite me in on anything.  It was the same thing with the trip that Paul and Dave are planning for this weekend: why didn't they invite me?  These big trips always seem to start with Ray or Das, and they find me last, if at all.  Christ, Sharon invited me out to Hong Kong, and Michelle has invited me out to New York.  Why can't I get asked to go on a trip up north to see Jimbo and Winston?  (Maybe Sharon and Michelle are starved for a little Haole lovin', but that's just wishful thinking.)

Of course, Ray sorta provided the answer to both the weekend trip and the Amsterdam trip.  He's tagging along with Paul and Dave (and, as it turns out, Farand, once he gets back in town) b/c he invited himself along.  I was in the car with Ray on Sunday when he asked Dave if he could come along.  Das said sure, like it was no big deal.  In any case, I'm hanging this weekend in LA b/c I want to see Maya before she splits to Suckramento.  But that's irrelevant.  Then last nite, when I came back inside in my stoner stupor, somehow I brought how jealous I was of Farand and Ray's Amsterdam trip (like it was all set in stone or something).  Ray then said, "Well, it's not like you can't go."  And that's true, of course.  Outside of the obvious obstacles like money and getting time off, why can't I go?

I guess I have this image of friends as always thinking about one another all the time.  If a trip is planned, then everyone has to be invited.  That's clearly not the way life works (well, clearly to everyone except moi), but that's what my demented mind thinks, and I'm perturbed if I'm not included.  Y'know why -- It's because I don't feel like a fun guy or a good friend or shit like that.  It's not because I don't show any interest in going (nah, it could never be that), but because I suck.  And part of that is definitely true -- I've never been described as being a fun guy.  Especially now -- I don't drink, or play golf, so what the hell good am I on a trip?  The whole time I'd be cursing myself for having invited myself along while thinking what a jackhole my friends must think I am.

Christ, and sometimes people wonder why I don't have a girlfriend.  Mr. Right?  Fuck him, how about Mr. Neurotic? 

Despite all this, for some stupid reason I'm feeling optimistic about things.  It probably has a lot to do with the phone call I had last nite with my moms.  I asked her if she would lend me the money for a car up front, rather than having me find a car first and then ask for the money.  She seemed cool wit it.  So now I feel like a car is inevitable, once I start looking.  Of course, I know that when I get a car and move out to Santa Monica, a whole new world of problems is gonna start, like money.  Paying off the loan, insurance, gas, service and repairs, plus increased rent and food prices, are all going to add up to a lot of cash.  So, I'll have a car but no money to go out with!  God hates me.  It's always these kinds of traps with me -- I think my life will improve once I get x, only to find that y and z and the rest of the fucking alphabet just complicate my life further.  Maybe there is something to this whole, "Finding happiness within yourself," idea. 

Nah, it's all about money and gettin' some.

Yeah, I know what I should do about money: get a second (or third) job.  Great, more headaches. Argh, where's my white picket fence and my long cold glass of lemonade?  They'll probably just get repossessed once I get em'.

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