Tag Archives: AA

Untitled In Progress

 

     He puts on an Affliction exercise outfit, with matching workout gloves, high heel Chucks and grabs a stopwatch. Before we leave he asks me if I like his outfit? I say yeah it’s fine, he tells me it was made for him, exclusively for him by a top designer at the Affliction company. I don’t know what to say. Then he tells me it cost 4500.00. I still say nothing. Which works.

We go to the gym in the complex. After about ten minutes of light weight lifting (between vaping) he says his ribs hurt and we go back to the unit. He spends time with his GF Serenity then he showers. She comes into the living room. CNN blairs. I’m sucked into a mainstream media loop of terrorist hell. She’s wearing a t-shirt only, seems nice but looks crazy in the eyes. If eyes are the window to the soul, well, these windows lead into a dark place. She speaks to me and tells me about his relapse two months ago. He ran away from a Malibu rehab and called her, she stated that they met just weeks before at the ‘Spiritual Solutions By The Bluffs’ meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.

They went to the Chateau Marmont and she says that being from Bellflower she was very impressed and overtaken by his class, elegance, grace, and impeccable taste. So then he coaxes her into getting drugs. So she texts Sinbads and he brings coke and heroin up to the room. She said his disease, the disease, whatever tricked her and she accidentally relapsed but only did two lines. So she immediately blew her nose and flushed it out with Evian water. She said she still has 17 months of sobriety and she’s not giving up her time. To be safe she spoke to her sponsor, she referred to her as a hardcore bitch, Ex-Chola from Venice etc etc…So Sylvia told her that her clean time is between her and her higher power, and IF anyone has a problem with that tell them to go take a flying fuck off the Santa Monica pier, don’t put up with that shit Mija.

Anyway back to the hotel, she said she kept a close watch on him while he snorted coke and heroin so she could save him if need be. But then unfortunately then she fell asleep and when he snorted out of a fresh balloon turns out it was Fentanyl, and when she woke he was foaming at the nose and mouth, she said “Pulp Fiction” style. She called 911 and so then he needed Narcan and those paddle thingys. Then she goes into detail about the relationship, they don’t go anywhere, he just wants to watch the CNN and the Game Show Network. He doesn’t hug or kiss me, he’s really not that intimate and they only fuck occasionally, and the lights have to be off. Or, he won’t fuck her at all.

Her eyes start to water and she says he calls me fat and stupid. Then she asks me if I think she’s fat and stupid. I tell her I don’t know her. She says of course, I’m sorry. I guess you wouldn’t know my IQ. But then she asks me if I saw her on the street would I think she was fat, and am I YOUR type, would you fuck my body type of girl? I tell her that this is all inappropriate and I’m really am not comfortable with this conversation. She goes in the bedroom and comes out with a big purse with a small Maltese dog in it, gives me a dirty look and leaves abruptly…

 

Disgruntled Client.

OCT 3, 2017

WOW! Where do I start?

I’ve been to about 26 rehabs, no need to list them here, but feel free to ask my mother. There’s a thread of etiquette and a sense of decorum that comes in the world of rehabs, sober livings, and sobriety in general.

It might serve you to make a poster or placards for all to see, maybe hang it in the common areas. That being said (with the exception of the piss soaked, shit stained bed bug ridden county dumps that I’ve experienced) this is quite possibly the worst rehab I’ve ever been in. Hands down! Kip Garman, my case worker, therapist, whatever it is he claims to be (I have yet to see any credentials.) He just sits and blows vape clouds and looks out the window while I’m telling him my most intimate of secrets! Then makes no comment whatsoever, except, “good work I’ll see you next Monday.” HUH? What the actual fuck!!! He has the emotional depth of a bird bath! Also that scam artist in accounting, Candy, she double bills my insurance!

Well, I mean my mother’s insurance, but still! Now to the residents. Just selfish fucking little assholes! They never clean they’re up after themselves, AND staff just sits there looking on and don’t say anything. WHAT THE FUCK! It’s like the staff is intimidated, or scared they might get fired if they say something to these little shits! Stop coddling these little fuck sticks. Tough love works! Make them scrub toilets! Clean up dog shit at a local dog park! Why do I have to clean up or move things around because these brain dead millennials wreck havoc throughout the place!

There is a dishwasher, fuckers! Load it, fill it with cascade, turn it on, and goodnight! Then, in the morning, empty the fucking thing! Nobody loads or unloads it except me! They all live out of the dishwasher and then load dirty dishes in with clean dishes so there’s never a complete cycle of anything being clean or dirty, fucking so sick of it! These people have zero living skills! The same goes for the washer and dryer, these little assholes just live out of the dryer like it is their drawers or closet. And then I have to pull that shit out and put it in their room because otherwise I get yelled at for putting it in the common areas!

They keep the volume on the TV at like the highest possible level! I have to listen to the Friends theme song at maximum volumes. And there’s a DVD collection of every season of “Friends” in the common area? AND Who even watches that shit? I’ll answer! They do! Because they’re on suboxone or Librium or Seroquel! They sit there drooling and droopy-eyed, most of these assholes never even had a real habit or have had to truly hustle to keep from getting dope sick!!

Also regarding the tv. My bedroom wall is right on the other side! IT’S SO LOUD! The common areas are a disaster too! Half-eaten bags of Doritos and cookies and burritos on the coffee table. Gummy bear fruit bullshit stuck to the sofa, a motherfucking half glass of almond milk sat there for so long it turned back into an almond! It is disgusting and I am about to call the board of health. The techs sit around and try to pass all the shit off to the next tech and they just walk by something that has been there for DAYS! Why oh why the fuck don’t they say anything!?!?!? The smoking area is a health and safety disaster too!!!

These halfwits leave lit cigarettes on the edge of the wooden benches or fill up the but cans with so many cigarettes it finally just burst into flames. Nobody says or does anything it’s just one big fucking free-for-all. They vape frantically like they’re going to the electric chair. ALSO, I overhear people talking about cheating on their fucking Piss test, sneaking out at night and drinking. One guy (some wanna be wigger ex-con who’s never done a day in jail) said he had his girlfriend smuggle drugs in that she had “stuffed in her pussy.” I was like, “hey dip shit this ain’t pelican bay! I mean this place is 20 grand a month! the fuck am I paying for? I could be spending that in a crack house. Anyway, I want to just talk about the most glaring cases.

#1 Phillip Eckstein (trust fund self-entitled little fuck bird who lives in his OWN room)! He’s constantly leaving soiled peanut butter spoons knives forks (apparently whatever he can use to scoop it out) then open jars of everything and crumbs on every surface of the god damn kitchen! He walks around saying nigger this and nigger that like he’s from the ghetto. A white dude! This motherfucker is a refrigerator white trust fund dude from Holmby Hills for Christ sake! He never flushes the toilet when he defecates and makes remarks like, “My parents are paying top dollar for me to be here, I think the staff could at least clean up after me.” You believe this little douchetard! I finally let him have it when he used a washcloth to wipe his ass and then he just throws it behind the toilet like nobody knows! I swear to God I’m gonna beat this kid within an inch of his fucking life if something is not done about him. And the worst Fashion sense fucking kid wears three different decades of styles. Plus I think he’s banging that other resident Tempest that hippie broad. Don’t give me started with her constantly slathering coconut oil all over her body just a creepy cookie brought with hairy armpits. She says she doesn’t use deodorant because it’s unnatural but if you smelled her that’s unnatural.

Example #2 Cassandra Levin: Why o’ why the fuck do I have to listen to every traumatic event that occurred in he life? “Oh my uncle fingered me, I was beaten by my stepfather with a frozen turkey in a pillow case, my mother dressed me up like Brook Shields in that movie Pretty Baby, and trotted me around Old Town in Pasadena. I gotta listen to this shit while I’m watching episodes of CSI in the Day room…REALLY?!?! Bitch if Brooke shields got over it you can get over it. Then the food! Just like momma used to make except she didnt shit in it! How about something a little more complex then meatloaf, pasta, baked chicken, and potatoes? Every week the same shit!

Look, I know I’m here on a scholarship and I’m grateful for that but GET IT TOGETHER HERE! I really hope you address some of these issues my sobriety is at stake here.

12 steps (IMHO)

Look, I’m a fan of 12 step programs. I believe they do help, I’ve watched these programs help 100’s of people over the years. BUT…

you have to beware of, sexual predators, money grubbers, real estate agents, grifters, hustlers, poseurs, producers, actors, second story men, old rock n’ rollers, old punkers, elderly R & B artists, bad teeth, bad caps, stupid hats, silicone tits cheeks and asses, Botox, bikers, tattooers, hot rodders, gurus, yoga teachers, dream catchers, spiritual make believers, Buddha beads buffoons, agents, writers, brooding struggling artists, directors, money grabbers, liars, cheats, thieves, age inappropriate fashion, bad hair, bad vibes and unwanted hugs and touching. But who am I to judge? I’ve had my fair share of sponsors over the years. Some got loaded, one blew his brains out (he was a doctor operating a pill mill) and got busted bailed out went home and put a gun in his mouth. My most recent made it clear, “I can’t keep you sober, hopefully you will have an experience and not have to drink or use again.” Well it’s been 4 years and 4 months and the one thing I remain clear on is if I drink and or use drugs I cannot control the amount I ingest. This is something I’ve experienced over and fucking over again. And the thing is (in a sober state) I have an obsessive mind that takes me back. So I talk to people about my fucked up thinking and ideas. I also try to be helpful to others and LAUGH! Not get punked out by the world of impermanence that’s FOREVER constantly changing around me. I’m not gonna mention god because to me it’s irrelevant in doing the steps, I’ve been agnostic and atheistic for many years, but I’ve been able to become somewhat of a better person through these steps. I’m not quite as needy desperate selfish and angry.

Intro to yours truly.

You would think after getting shot at on the 405 freeway back in the mid-1990’s (for flipping somebody off) that It wouldn’t happen again, or more importantly just chill out on the road in general, I’d be Zen-like.

 

Nope, wait. Before I get into the next “the second time I got shot at” story, that occurred on the 10 freeway, I’ll elaborate. It’s a “hot as fish grease” day,  August 1994. I’m making my way over the Sepulveda pass to The West Side. I had just left my Mother’s condominium in Van Nuys. As I was leaving she stated, “well, should be a breeze at this hour, but you never know.”

I’m in a Jeep Wrangler ‘soft top’ no air conditioning, the top is up. Traffic is moving at about 7 miles an hour in fits and starts. I’m light-headed and nauseous from the amount of exhaust I’m breathing via the windless baking heat. I feel like I’m in a Glad sandwich bag or a rolling greenhouse. The Jeep seats are plastic, the top is canvas and the windows are plastic.

In my haste to ‘get on the road’ I neglected to zip off the back and side windows, and although the front is zipped down I’m not getting any relief. This is not ‘a breeze.’ I started going into deep morbid reflection about the Jeep purchase. The main thought was; a year and a half later and $12,000 in payments to go I felt like a sucker, an absolute dupe, a patsy. Glendale Jeep got me good. They saw me coming.

I sat for 7 hours bargaining and negotiating for this ‘utility’ vehicle that already had three recalls. I maxed out three credit cards as a down payment for this rolling memory of constant financial remorse. It haunted me frequently. As all this was turning in my head like sneakers in a dryer, a Toyota Celica cuts into ‘my’ lane and I stop short, almost hitting the left rear quarter panel. The bumper of his car has a plethora of 12 step bumper stickers, “easy does it, clean and crazy, let go and let god, one day at a time, my other car is up my nose,’ and of course the car has no license plate.

I honk, he immediately puts his left finger out the window and shakes it. That’s always a strong move, you cut me off, then flip me off. You do it with real authority, with a shake like you would a fist, but with ‘the bird.’ I had been listening to Fugazi’s “Waiting Room” my self-pity quickly turned to homicidal rage. I turned off the music, ‘Fuck you piece of shit!’ I yelled.

His tinted windows were all rolled up, he was sitting in the cool composed comfort of air conditioning, looking for someone else to impede on. I pulled into the right lane and got up next to him. I was quickly making hand gestures for him to roll down his window. He rolled down his window, he was wearing a suit and tie, I imagined he sold cars or worked in telemarketing sales. “Hey asshole, don’t fucking cut me off, then you flip me off like it’s my fault, you piece of shit, and what’s up with all those stupid bumper stickers?” We sat and made eye contact for a moment. “So what are you going to do?” He asked blankly. Fuck this guy. “Pull over ‘Mr. clean and crazy’ and I’ll give you a beatin’ you won’t forget.”

He put the car in park and slowly reached over to the glove box, my intuition quickly told me he had a piece. He pulled it out, it looked similar to the .380 I had at home, which I wished I had now. I quickly zipped up my jeep window, huh?

I saw him pull back the slide and jack around with his left hand. Then he lay against the passenger seat. Expressionless, he leveled the gun right at my face. Quickly, I sat back in my seat as hard as I could. Am I going to die? Here? Now? I heard the .380’s report and immediately smelled the cordite. I had been shot at before but had never been at this much of a disadvantage. Visual assessment. I wasn’t shot! I saw a small bullet hole in the plastic jeep window and was strangely grateful that I had zipped it up.

Cars were honking and there was a 5 or 6 car gap in front of him, so I quickly cut over and floored it, I went into the emergency lane and drove like, well, like I had just been shot at. I looked in my rearview, he wasn’t pursuing and I got off at Sunset and headed west. I pulled over. I balled my fists and pounded on the steering wheel and went into a Tourette like rage, “You motherfucker! You column of human waste, scumbag, dope fiend, alcoholic piece of shit!” I finally stopped. Most of those insults were truly things I also felt about myself at one time or another. I took a breath. I chilled.

I thought about the fact that I had nowhere to rush to, I had no job, and I had almost got myself killed over a patch of road. I continued to drive like an asshole even with the bullet hole through the plastic window. I’m hard-headed, I’m a little insane. I don’t learn lessons from these experiences and then just act right. There is no need to tell the other story. I’ve mellowed out a little,  except for following a guy to Starbuck’s and beating him down. That felt justified. So, I’m on the Glendale freeway going north. In fast-moving traffic, a grey Mercedes-Benz gets in front of me and slams on the brakes. My old dog Roscoe flies against the dashboard with a loud yelp. I’m enraged and mystified all at once. Did I do something to this guy? Did I cut him off earlier? He’s laughing and holding his middle finger out the window, his arm accompanied by a horrible silvery green, cable-knit sweater. His license reads BADAZMB. The freeway divides. I’m going west, he’s going east, but I can also see he’s signaling to getting off at the next exit.

I know the exit. There is a Starbuck’s, Noah’s Bagels some other little retail stores and a theater. I get off the next exit and double back. I have a strong feeling he is at (or going) to Starbuck’s. I drive and park my car in a shaded corner and slowly slink around the parking lot. I see his car BADAZMB. I walk up to it look around, nobody is watching. I key the fuck out of it, both sides all the way across, “This is for disturbing my dog Roscoe.” I turn to go back to my car, I can’t. I turn around and walk to the Starbuck’s, I go in. Steely Dan’s ‘Babylon Sister’ is playing. I look around, I see him and his bad sweater in the corner. He is on his computer.  Maybe he is writing about me? I look around again, no cops but a lot of people of all ages. I walk up to him. Stand over him on his right side. He looks at me, he has NO IDEA WHO I AM.

He Just did all that bullshit and has no clue. “Can I help you?” I look out the window and point to his car. “Is that your Mercedes?” He looks out the window. “Yes. Why what’s up… Just then I grab him with my left, hold him down in his chair as I pummel him with my right fist. Five quick shots to the right side of his cheek/chin area. At the same time I’m saying, “YOU MOTHERFUCKER, THIS WILL TEACH YOU TO STOP SHORT IN FRONT OF SOMEONE ON THE FREEWAY FOR NO REASON!” He’s screaming, ‘I’m sorry! I’m SORRY!’ Very quickly people start leaving the store. “We’re calling the cops,” I hear a voice yell at me, So I turn and say ‘Alright I’m leaving.’ I walk out. Now I’m paranoid, was all that on camera? Am I gonna go to jail? For days after I feel horrible, scared, and have an emotional hangover that reminds me of how quickly violent I can turn. Since then I’ve learned to seriously pause or pull over when I feel it surfacing. It takes serious vigilance. This is a reminder. I will lose my freedom if I let some shit stain rock my game.