Anyhow, I'm sober right now, no thanks to anybody.  I'll do a quick weekend recap first.  I got stoned on Friday night, I think.  Yeah, I did -- Paul and Ray went over to Winston's and got the bong back that I bought last year and promptly left at Wu's house.  So now I've gotten two bongs in the last week.  The one I got back is actually better.  Shit, anybody want a slightly used glass bong with a grip? 

Saturday was a day to visit friends, so I saw Paul and Ray off on their trip up North, and then promptly took some fat hits off my bong.  I then began a two-hour journey to get to the car rental play at LAX.  I took on bus, two trains, and two shuttles, and had absolutely the weirdest time.  I saw so many freaky looking people -- people with bulging eyes, lazy eyes, bulging lazy eyes, jheri curls, Cro-Magnon foreheads -- and it didn't help my state of mind.  On the plus side, I did have my walkman -- listening to my walkman with my nice headphones is such a good experience on bud.  I feel like I hear every chord and every lyric so clearly with them:

Just Bone n' Biggie Biggie,
Just Bone n' Biggie Biggie,
Yes Bone n' Biggie Biggie,
Just Bone n' Biggie Biggie 

Let's ride,
Let's ride,
Let's ride.
Get high,
Get high,
Get high.

And who says rap isn't meaningful?  That's some deep shit! 

Anyhow, then I saw Michelle.  It was good to see her, and seeing her is a good experience.  Heh.  Anyhow, we didn't do much -- went to Fedco, and then walked around some fair in Pasadena.  We blabbed about the usual stuff - jobs, New York, women's fashion.  I had to cut everything short b/c I remembered I had to pick up Farand from the airport.  So I said a reluctant toodles to Michelle and blazed a trail to LAX.  Farand had said before that he was thinking of taking me to Versailles, which is this Cuban restaurant on the Westside that everyone in LA has gone to at least three times.  Except me.  I've never gone.  Farand did the sensible thing, though, and just treated me to Carl's Jr. 

As I told Farand later, I think I'm now determined never to go to Versailles.  It'll be the one LA thing that I never do.  Well, besides getting laid. 

I dropped Farand off, smoked up, and then came here.  Then I hung out with Farand and smoked up and drove around Little India in Artesia, looking for an Indian Karaoke place.  We couldn't find one.  Then Farand wanted to see Star Wars, but it was too late to find a theater.  Then we went back, and I was passing out, so I made Farand walk home.  What a bastard, I know.  I told him to take the car! 

Well, as it turns out, taking the rental car would have proven to be impossible due to the fact that I locked the keys in the car last nite while I was firing up my bong in front of Ray's house.  This morning I stumbled downstairs to the car, only to find the keys, bong, and weed all sitting on the passenger's seat.  Ray's mom had just left for church, so I had hurriedly called a locksmith, praying that he would get to the house, unlock the car, and split before Ray's mom came home.  It took the locksmith, like, and hour to find the place.  In the meanwhile, two Sheriff's cars parked down at the end of the Cul De Sac, about 8 houses down from Ray's house.  So now I was hoping that the cops wouldn't take an interest in what the locksmith and I were doing, and what was in the car.  When the locksmith did finally pull up, he got out of the car, looked inside, and said "Damn, you been taking bong tokes!"  I laughed, and then he got to work.  It's quite an interesting process, watching a guy unlock a car door without the key.  It seems frighteningly easy for any car thief to do it.  Just get something to pry the black rubber seal that covers that gap between the door's window and the door, stick a curved wire into the gap, and yank away until you hit the right lock mechanism.  Rather scary to think that's all it takes to steal a car.  Well, to break into one.  Stealing it is a whole 'nother matter.

Is it just me or are carjackers really lazy people?  You get a gun, walk up to a car at a stop light, and say, "Get out of the car!"  They do, you get in, and drive away.  It stuns me that so many people do so much shit every day at their jobs, when all you need is a pistol and a little nerve to get yourself a car.  So hey, what am I doing at this fucking job?  Oh yeah, I hate guns, I forgot.

After the stress of this morning's events, I decided to take myself out on a date.  I've never been on a real date, so why now take myself to one?  I took a shower, got dressed, and put on some of my best cologne.  I left my pager at home so I wouldn't be interrupted.  Then I drove off to the Japanese American National Museum.  I hadn't been to a museum in years, and they seem like good date spots, so I figured it'd work for me.  And it did.  Lots of honeys, but they were all with their men.  And hey, what did I care?  I had me.  Afterwards I bought a couple of imagawayaki (fried pastries with a red been filling.  I also bought a souvenir t-shirt at the historical museum's gift shop.  I'm gonna buy dinner after I finish up here.  Damn, I am one good date.  Shit, I should have bought flowers!  Eh, I fuck everything up.

The museum itself was really breathtaking.  Most of the upper floor of the pavilion had Japanese American artifacts dating from the time the imported laborers first reached Hawaii, through the reparation movement, culminating in George Bush's letter apologizing and offering the reparation payment.  They have the entire life story, told through photos, letters, and other personal times of two brothers who grew up, joined the army in 1944, and were killed just three months apart.  Getting a telegram saying that your son was killed a few weeks ago on the other side of the planet, fighting for the same country that has imprisoned you in a camp in the desert, is a cold, cold experience.  Then imagining it happening twice.

The photos are what really struck me.  So many of them depict ordinary looking people in non spectacular scenes:  a class picture, a group of girlfriends, a guy in uniform with his girl.  They seem so typical, and they're always wearing their best camera smile.  Then my eyes move away from the focus of the shot, and onto the background.  Desert.  Sand.  Snow.  Wood huts with no bathroom facilities.  Even though I've read books, seen movies and documentaries, and blah blah blah, it drained the air out of me to realize what these people had to go through.  And how there wasn't a single, good fucking reason for it,  Just lots of bad ones.

Argh, it was such a peaceful place that I couldn't even get mad at the white people who were there.  But now that I'm away from there and at my office on a Sunday, I really wanna smack the first whitey I see.  Fuckers. 

Oh yeah, I wanted to smoke up some more, but  didn't have any icy water around and wasn't in a neighborhood I was familiar with, so I just drove ot work and brought the bong and the weed upstairs.  I grabbed some ice and water from the snack room, and was debating whether to smoke up in the workroom, the bathroom, or nowhere at all when it hit me: I left the bong's bowl down in the car.  For those of you unfamiliar with the workings of a bong I'll just say that, I have no place to put the weed to spark it up.  Fuck.  Oh well, guess I'll do it when I leave.

Last thing before I forget: I know my moods are really unpredictable and shit.  I don't like it anymore than you do.  The sinking feeling of depression I incurred over Thursday and especially Friday was brought on by my constant thoughts of the firm's "Spring Fling" party, and how I didn't go.  Everyone thought I should have gone, and I didn't: That depressed me.  (People were actually looking for me at the party!).  Everyone had a blast, and it was the best party ever, and I didn't go.  Akiyo was there with her man, and I could have seen her and met him, but I didn't go.  I could have danced with Akiyo, or Emily (whose man is in Europe), but I didn't go.

How could I have gone?  I have no car, no date, no nice suit to wear, and no ability to function in group settings.  I was fucked either way.  And that depressed the fuck out of me.  I didn't want to hear anyone talk about it, and I didn't want to think about it, but I couldn't get my mind off it.  It's the whole "born to lose" thing I've been going through since before I had hair on my chin (as opposed to hair on my nuts, which I got when I was 10 and wasn't mentally fucked up).  So yeah, I spiraled down the well, and some of you got taken for the ride.  Uh, sorry about that.

Ok, time to smoke up and get going, err, get going and smoke up.  I'm not in at work until Tuesday, so don't bother checking here.  Do yourself a favor on your day off (Americans only) and masturbate instead.