Goodnight, Moon

I can see the moon from my bedroom window. And its not just as though I'm standing there, being cliche, watching it disappear and resurface through the clouds and the fog. I'm lying in bed and the shades are drawn and I am watching it from the place where I will drift off the sleep.

I've never experienced this, and I realize now why people make such a big deal about that big hunk of cheese in the sky. I feel like I could die right now. Read more!

The Restaurant 2 - The Island

The Restaurant
The Island

Like most restaurants, the staff typically hangs out long after the shift is over. I began feeling like the Gollum of the restaurant, there for the gold and not much else. Seeking my angle in, I strategically eased myself into the lives of the staff without making it seem too obvious.

Like myself, many of the people at the restaurant were already in committed relationships. The Princess and her Prince were engaged and lived close by, and were notorious for hosting many after-hour parties. “Burt” had a girlfriend who occasionally came in to have dinner. Also coupled were “Brandon” and “Tiffany,” two bartenders who had been committed for years.

My strategy was clear – ask people about their favorite topic: their personal lives. I started questioning about their relationships and began to serve as the unofficial love counselor for anyone lusting after a fellow co-worker. It was entertaining and it was fun, but it was also somewhat predictable.


You see, I have this theory called “the island.” Have you ever devoted so much time to a job that you began to feel as though you and your coworkers were stranded on a deserted island? Almost instantaneously, crushes a-la High School Musical begin popping up everywhere, between people who may or may not have found each other attractive otherwise.

Two new servers landed on the island about a month after I did. “Mandy” was from the same neck of the woods as I was and we immediately bonded over a common dialect (“hella” and “jankie,” anyone?). “Cole” was also from California, good-looking, and with a personality that made people want to be around him. Michael, the lead server, who was quickly becoming one of my better friends, took a liking to Cole.

Flirtation is always a key ingredient to getting through a long day of service. I couldn’t agree more, but, being in a committed relationship already, I directed all my attention to pimping out my newfound co-workers.


Mandy had a big thing for “James,” a server who had been at the restaurant since the opening. James was probably the most friendly, down-to-earth person I had met at the restaurant so I thought he would be a great match for her. When Mandy announced her interest in James, I was excited because I thought they would make a great match.

A few nights later the Princess announced a get-together at her place and I finally scored an invite. The Princess’ soirees were the highlight to any long day at work, but it was especially enticing this night because of the staff that was working – Michael, Cole, Mandy, James, a few other favorites like “Pete” and Anne.


It was as if Dionysus himself was smiling down on us in the shape of vodka martinis and Coronas. The Princess and her Prince distracted us with shaken cocktails and spoke joyfully about their wedding arrangements; but only a keen eye would have caught the way that Mandy and James were sitting, pressed together like books on a shelf that none of our drunken eyes could read.

As people began to throw in the towel at the after-hours drink-a-thon, I stepped towards the bedroom to use the facilities. But as I turned the corner, I saw Michael leaning into Cole, their faces pressed together, their arms linked up like a sticky spider’s web. Cole’s eyes bulged dramatically as he caught my gaze. He pushed Michael back and turned into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

Michael twisted around suddenly, his eyes glazed over, as though he had drunk too much. He took a step towards me, and asked, “What did you see?”

I shrugged, smiled, and turned, to approach the rest of my co-workers, who were scraping together their belongings and sobriety. Michael came at me from behind, grabbed my shoulder and whisked me around.

“Don’t you say one f—king word about this, okay?” Michael’s face was bright red and his eyes predatory. “Just remember – I make the schedule.”

It was not much of a threat, but a threat. It was the price you have to pay sometimes when you make your own moonshine on a deserted island.


As the Princess walked Michael, Cole and I out, she made a suggestive comment about James being eager to walk Mandy home. They both lived in the same direction, but it was quickly becoming apparent that they definitely were on their way to working some overtime very soon. Mandy later confirmed my speculations the next shift we worked together.

And as for Michael and Cole? Well, lets just say that we both worked brunch the next morning, and Michael was definitely wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the night prior. Read more!

Doveman - "Sunrise"

And after finding out
I tried to make it right.
to call the party off
to teach you how to fight.
strange then to know one day
your heart just stopped.

And when I sing alone
it's only in my head
I know it all by heart
remember every word
you ever said

But sometimes the best laid lies
just turn around on you.

And when I call your name
its only in my sleep.
I can't repeat it now
I've promises to keep.

And sunrise is when you know
the day is lost

And in your arms
salvation's not so far away.
we're getting closer
closer every day.

And I swear that I can see forever
in your eyes.
and I swear that I can see forever
in your eyes.
and I swear that I can see forever
in your eyes.
and it's paradise.
and it's paradise.
and it's paradise. Read more!

Stencil Graffiti

I created my first piece. Let me know what you think.

Read more!

Jobz, or a lack-there-of

So, I'm a server, but as of lately, I have not been affiliated with any restaurants. I was fired from the Heights, my previous place of employment. The following is a piece I wrote for my internship,, and it will be part of a series. Here is the first entry.

The Restaurant
The First Two Days

Like lots of writers these days, I am also a server in a restaurant. This information is relevant to the site because, up until recently, I was a server in one of the most influential restaurants in Columbia Heights.


Working at this place was fun because of the people – from my colleague who I will dub “the Princess” because she refused every alias I offered her, to “Mitch,” one of the newer arrivals, who’s personality made everyone act like inmates serving life sentences whenever he came around. I made many friends and some enemies, but it was all so interesting because we were all local, part of the fabric that made the neighborhood so diverse and rich. It was also intriguing because the patrons at the restaurant were mostly neighborhood people, so we were like flies on the wall, so to speak.

I began my work here on the second day of January – swept in by the snow and the rain, a little frantic because my prior restaurant experience had not been so enjoyable. The staff, from what I noticed up front, was attractive and friendly, yet tightly knit – like a potato sack I desperately wanted to cut into with my personality and strong work ethic.

I did my best to show my “best” personality – I smiled more than I usually do, I made more conversation than I usually would with strangers, and I made inappropriate jokes that made the rest of the staff exchange worried glances. Being a recent arrival from California, I was also in the market for friends, so there was even more incentive to win them all over.

After food tasting with “Michael,” the lead server, and after a shift of training on the expo (food) line, I was standing at the computer to take all the orders the servers had taken at their respective tables. It was my job to input the orders into the computer, course the meals, and recheck all the items to be sure that they were correct.


However, mid-shift, I was distracted by the gaze of two faces that I recognized – a gay couple I had bartended for the previous month at their private holiday party. They approached me to briefly catch up, and I explained that I was in training to be a server at the restaurant. They told me that they were meeting one of their friends from their holiday party, and introduced me when he came in.

But I already knew who he was. See, I recognized him from the party – a young, handsome Cuban with Prada glasses who had been tearing up the carpeted dance-floor with some modelesque waif who lit up the room like a mirror ball. I had also seen him before, in Columbia Heights, walking hand and hand with another Kate Moss, maybe two weeks after the party, and was surprised to see that he had already updated, upgraded, and changed the flavor. We performed the necessary courtesies, and I told them to enjoy their meal.


They remained at the bar for several minutes after, perhaps because there was a wait and because the hostess, “Anne,” who doubled as a server, was only allowed to seat complete parties. When the fourth member of their party arrived, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut anymore, for the it was a new girl, beautifully clad, maybe five-foot ten-thousand, who came around and kissed Prada on the mouth and beamed at his friends.

I turned to the nearest server, Michael, and giggled slightly. “See that guy?” I asked, pointing at Prada. “The one with the girl?”

He nodded, uninterested. “Yeah?”

“That guy is a player. He’s been with three different girls in a month. And look at how comfortable they are. They all probably think he’s they’re boyfriend.”

Michael snickered, then turned to “Ron,” who turned to “Drew,” who turned to “Carly,” who took the information to Anne up at the host station. You see, the information may not have been all that particularly interesting, but when you’re working, gossip is the distraction of choice.

Seconds after the information got to Anne, I saw her small frame, her bouncing blonde hair, and her full lips, glossed and in a tight frown bee-line for me next to the computer in the wait station.

“What did you say about that guy? The one at the bar?”

“What?” I asked. When she’s angry, Anne’s presence is ice water hitting you in the face.

“The guy at the bar. With the girl? What about him?”

“Oh. I just said that I’ve seen him with three different girls in a month. Once at this party I bartended at, another at –“

“That guy is my roommate’s boyfriend.”

The rest of my second night at this restaurant was purely damage control. You see, Anne was one of those people who everyone drifted to, like a sieve to catch food at the bottom of a sink – and I was definitely just going to wash right though. Any chance of me developing meaningful friendships with the staff seriously became jeopardized.

This was day two at the restaurant.



I have two job prospects right now. Vinoteca, and Commonwealth. Please, let me know what you think. Read more!


I'm not dead, just boring.

I went to NYC this past week with one of the best people I know, Melissa. It was pretty legit, except for some funny business by her friend Tatiana. I guess you've worn out your welcome when your hostess starts having sex four feet away from your left arm. Another good way to tell is when you try to drown out the noise of sloppy moaning by putting on your shoes noisily. (For the record, it isn't very effective.)

I may have a lead on the job front - Commonwealth in Columbia Heights. We'll see where I end up, in any case.

Read more!

Life like a hole

I'm in a hole. Its approximately twelve feet in diameter, and probably forty feet deep. The walls of the hole are shaped like my bedroom, decorated like my bedroom, but the doors have been removed and the only way to escape is through scaling up over my bed and persistently jumping until I can grab a grip on the rim of the edge.

It is an all time low. I have never been this down and out. Every semblance of stability that I had held onto for the past eight months is gone. Everything that I thought I knew, that I thought was a tangible something I could hold onto is gone.

I don't want to make myself out to seem like a pity party, because I'm not. I don't want pity, I don't want help. I don't want people to throw in ropes and try to get me out. This is one of those situations where I have to pull myself out, even if I lose a little part of my sanity in the process.

It would be so easy to just call Rob and tell him to come back. It would be so easy to just grab a job anywhere, any place that is hiring and become part of that family, too. But I don't want to just be reabsorbed into a new life, either. I want to feel this pain, this misery, and I want to write it down and remember how it felt.

It feels kind of like being in a hole. It feels kind of like no matter where you go, what you do, all the walls of every room are following you, watching you, and waiting to come down on you. It feels kind of like you're going to be slapped at any second, punched and ripped apart. Like things will come out of the darkness and point and laugh. It feels kind of like you're the last person on earth, and everyone else is a robot programmed to never have genuine emotion, like you feel. That's how it feels. Read more!

Mark Simpson, my E-boyfriend

"Moralists who protest at gay e-promiscuity should be encouraging the Government to provide gays with grants for permanent broadband connections, since the internet not only keeps them off the streets and out of the parks, it turns all that messy sexual energy and appetite into ... typing. Gays have become the unpaid secretaries of desire, filing and cataloguing human weakness. Promiscuity is now a form of bureaucracy. Tedious, eye-straining, number-crunching slave work. Don't bother feeling jealous, all you sexually frustrated, non-online non-gays: internet cruising is its own form of punishment, Dante's e-ferno where thousands of disembodied souls in e-ternal torment constantly prod one another with inquisitorial malice: "stats?", "into?", "travel or accom?" and "how big’s your cock?"

- Mark Simpson in "Promiscuity into bureaucracy" Read more!

Ben Folds - "You Don't Know Me"

I wanna ask you
do you ever sit and wonder
it's so strange that we could be together
for so long and never know never care
what goes on in the other one's head
things I thought that I never said
you said things that I never said so
I'll say something that I should have said
long ago

You don't know me
You don't know me at all
You don't know me
You don't know me at all

You coulda just propped me up on the table like a mannequin
or a cardboard standup and paint me
any face that you wanted me to be seen
we're damned by the existential moment
when we saw the couple in the coma
and it was really really cliche
but we carried on anyway

so, sure, I could just close my eyes
yeah, sure, trace and memorize
but can you go back once you know

you don't know me
you don't know me at all
you don't know me
you don't know me at all
you don't know me
you don't know me at all
you don't know me

from the person who you think I am
clueless chump you seem to think I am
so ? let it stray and you're a dog
who ocassionally escapes and needs a shorter leash
then why the fuck would you want me back?
maybe it's because...

you don't know me at all
you don't know me
you don't know me

so what I'm tryna say is
what I'm tryna tell you is
not gonna come out like I wanna say it
cause I know you'll only change it Read more!