my brother says he can't sleep on his back because his friends pass the bud on the left
i drove back to san bernardino to my parents house so that i could get my shit ready to move tomorrow morning. i got here at 2am and found my brother and his friend rick in the driveway. my brother gave me a peace sign and fell over. rick and i walked him into the house and he kept telling us how much he loved us. total drunken idiot style. i asked him what the fuck he was doing tonight. he was "drinking fodder."
"what the fuck is fodder?"
"f - t - r. fodder. fodder. vodka."
that's how drunk he is. i had to force him to stick his finger down his throat so that he wouldn't choke on his vomit in his sleep and i had to lift him into bed and he kept saying, "thank you katy. i love you. you're a good sister cody."
"i'm katy."
"you're cody jovin and you're a good sister and i love you and i'm sorry."
"yeah, you're lucky cody jovin knows what she's fucking doing."
"you're not cody. you're carrie... carrie... carribean."
"ok, don't sleep on your back."
i'm glad i came home tonight. my mom wouldn't have known what to do. it would be way too stressful for her to handle. i'm used to taking care of drunk idiots and i'm even more used to being one. she knows what happened though, so he's screwed. and if she tells my dad, this will probably be the last straw, the one that gets my brother kicked out.
my brother is supposed to help me move into my apartment tomorrow. he's going to have the hangover from hell. he'll be totally fucking worthless. guh.
i didn't get to go up at lestat's tonight, but it's okay because i didn't have one minute of funny material, let alone ten minutes of it. i was actually a little relieved i didn't get my name drawn. i was there from 1pm until the end of the show, but while i was there, a girl approached me and addressed me by name and i had no idea who she was. she looked like shit. it ended up being a friend from high school who is out here to kick a heroin addiction. christina, if you read this, all of our old food not bombs buddies are apparently smack addicts now. and none of them are vegan anymore either. double bummer.
i'm genuinely depressed about this, but she's been off for a week and a half, so hopefully she stays clean for awhile. i felt really uncomfortable talking to her. what the fuck was i supposed to say?
"what have you been up to lately?"
"shooting up."
"that's nice... how's the weather in LA?"
i just gave her my number and told her if she ever wanted to hang out while she was out here to call me. it was such a cop out. i could tell she wanted me to hang out with her right then, but i couldn't handle it at the moment. i needed to let it sink in a little.
i also got to talk to the little fifteen year old gutter punk kids who hang out at lestat's and sometimes work at belmont park with me. they remind me of some of my friends from high school. one of them, a kid named waffles, reminds me of myself at his age. i told him that in a few years he's gonna grow up and take the patches off his jacket and turn into someone that the person he is now would hate, but it's okay because he'll have different priorities by then so it won't really be selling out. he told me he is gonna start a carnival run by punk rockers. haha, i was going to start a punk rock freak sideshow. it kind of bums me out because waffles and the other kid (whose name i forget... maybe it's pancakes...) are both smart kids, but both dropped out of school and frequently sleep on the streets because their parents kick them out for coming home drunk/high all the time. i just hope they don't end up like all my punk rock friends did... addicted to heroin or speed or in jail.
aaron rockwell says i am too longwinded on my blog. he's right, but i totally don't give a shit.
"what the fuck is fodder?"
"f - t - r. fodder. fodder. vodka."
that's how drunk he is. i had to force him to stick his finger down his throat so that he wouldn't choke on his vomit in his sleep and i had to lift him into bed and he kept saying, "thank you katy. i love you. you're a good sister cody."
"i'm katy."
"you're cody jovin and you're a good sister and i love you and i'm sorry."
"yeah, you're lucky cody jovin knows what she's fucking doing."
"you're not cody. you're carrie... carrie... carribean."
"ok, don't sleep on your back."
i'm glad i came home tonight. my mom wouldn't have known what to do. it would be way too stressful for her to handle. i'm used to taking care of drunk idiots and i'm even more used to being one. she knows what happened though, so he's screwed. and if she tells my dad, this will probably be the last straw, the one that gets my brother kicked out.
my brother is supposed to help me move into my apartment tomorrow. he's going to have the hangover from hell. he'll be totally fucking worthless. guh.
i didn't get to go up at lestat's tonight, but it's okay because i didn't have one minute of funny material, let alone ten minutes of it. i was actually a little relieved i didn't get my name drawn. i was there from 1pm until the end of the show, but while i was there, a girl approached me and addressed me by name and i had no idea who she was. she looked like shit. it ended up being a friend from high school who is out here to kick a heroin addiction. christina, if you read this, all of our old food not bombs buddies are apparently smack addicts now. and none of them are vegan anymore either. double bummer.
i'm genuinely depressed about this, but she's been off for a week and a half, so hopefully she stays clean for awhile. i felt really uncomfortable talking to her. what the fuck was i supposed to say?
"what have you been up to lately?"
"shooting up."
"that's nice... how's the weather in LA?"
i just gave her my number and told her if she ever wanted to hang out while she was out here to call me. it was such a cop out. i could tell she wanted me to hang out with her right then, but i couldn't handle it at the moment. i needed to let it sink in a little.
i also got to talk to the little fifteen year old gutter punk kids who hang out at lestat's and sometimes work at belmont park with me. they remind me of some of my friends from high school. one of them, a kid named waffles, reminds me of myself at his age. i told him that in a few years he's gonna grow up and take the patches off his jacket and turn into someone that the person he is now would hate, but it's okay because he'll have different priorities by then so it won't really be selling out. he told me he is gonna start a carnival run by punk rockers. haha, i was going to start a punk rock freak sideshow. it kind of bums me out because waffles and the other kid (whose name i forget... maybe it's pancakes...) are both smart kids, but both dropped out of school and frequently sleep on the streets because their parents kick them out for coming home drunk/high all the time. i just hope they don't end up like all my punk rock friends did... addicted to heroin or speed or in jail.
aaron rockwell says i am too longwinded on my blog. he's right, but i totally don't give a shit.