A few months ago, I moved back to the city I was born and raised in. We didn’t plan on moving back to SJ, we just wanted to move from the house we were renting for three thousand dollars a month, with a pedophile landlord who we’re currently in litigation with because he unjustly withheld our deposit after telling us in person that the house was fine, the day before we moved out, with just a few stains to clean up on the carpet he had to replace anyways since we were there for seven years. He’s a fucking scum bag. We were kids when we moved in, and he thought he could take advantage of us, which he did via making us pay for plumbers every winter because the pipes were shitty, likely fucked up by tree roots or previous earthquakes rocking the fifty year old house.
We responded to the letter he sent regarding the withholding of the deposit professionally. His letter was so arrogant and rude, it only helps our case.
In one of his letters, he claims my brother and I tried to intimidate him…bullshit. We’re big guys, but we just walked around and said yea, yea, cool, alright—nothing at all considered intimidating, unless he was just intimidated by our natural state; if that’s the case, he’s a giant pussy…and he claimed to be in the CIA. We found out that was true. What a fucking bitch.
We’re going to get eight grand back from him; I only wish I could see his stupid fat face when he realizes he fucked with the wrong tenants.
Anyways, I didn’t intend on talking about my landlord in this post. Typical me, typical rambling, typical write about something I didn’t intend on and because of it, I get bored and cut the post short.
Home, moved, how do I feel?
I’m right across the street from the drive ins. My family started going to it when you still had to put the speaker(?)radio(?) machine on your window. I remember watching the first Austin Powers there, and begging my mom to stay for the second movie, the scariest movie of all time: Kazaam. Still gives me the creeps. I also remember seeing the first Pirates of the Caribbean. I know we saw a lot more as a family, but I can’t remember.
The real fun started when I was around fifteen, when my friends and I would go with girls and booze. It was only six bucks per person, but we were broke kids so we stuffed everyone in the trunk. One time, I was stuck in a trunk with three girls. They said that being in the trunk made them extra horny—kind of weird, like a rape fantasy, I think—and my friend opened the trunk to me making out with one girl while another one jerked me off. I’m a slut.
We went almost every weekend. When we couldn’t stuff everyone in the trunk, some of us just hopped the fence to get in. Twenty people, two cars, hilarious. We never got in trouble, surprisingly—not because we were smart, the employees just didn’t care. During the summer though, a lot of cops were stationed outside of the gates of the actual drive ins. They were there to prevent drunk driving, reduce the likelihood of shootings and stabbings via gangs, and probably just to watch a free movie occasionally. On those days, we paid full price.
Fudge, that’s what I wanted to talk about: gangs.
I grew up on the south side of San Jose, only a few miles north of Morgan Hill. The neighborhood I grew up in wasn’t really dangerous, it had a few no go col-de-sacs, but they were only dangerous to outsiders. I knew most of the gangbangers via playing ball at the park, and they were always cool to me…but only because they saw me beat the shit out of a kid fucking with sister when I was twelve or so. A few did call me white boy too much but not in a derogatory way. One of my best friends shared my name, and was black, so white was an easy descriptor to use. But there were a few dudes who’s call me white boy in a derogatory—white boy basically means bitch—and I’d have to fight. I have a good fighting record but have been fucked up a few times: off the top I think I got fucked up three times, not including the three times I was jumped—they don’t count.
I lived in that neighborhood until I was 18, then moved into a hotel for a month. Yea, a hotel haha. After that, I decided to move into the mobile home my mom and dad bought. I lasted there six months, I couldn’t take it. My mom and dad hated each other, for what feels like, all my life; I think I only saw them kiss once. My dad bought the mobile home, and let my mom decorate the entire thing, foolishly thinking that would patch things up? I’m not sure, she ended up getting half of it when they divorced a few years later.
Oy vey, this is longer than I wanted it to be.
Speed up, speed up.
After leaving my parents house, I moved downtown with my girlfriend. We were in love most of the time we lived there, often having these pure conversations after taking ecstasy. Despite being a slut, we both were, we had more fun talking to each other on E than having sex…though the later was amazing. We’d have mind sex, go down to the courtyard and smoke an insane amount of menthols. Good times. We’re not with each other any more, she couldn’t take my personality. I felt horrible, as I always do, but especially in this case because she moved back from university in San Diego to live with me. I’m a piece of shit. Now I know, via my diagnosis(6years after this) that I was on the downside of a bipolar bender, and when I’m down, I don’t want to be around anyone. I’m not rude or mean, I’m just cold…almost apathetic. I hate myself.
Ehh fuck her. She’s a tattoo model who tried to entice me with her model pics not realizing I despise models—a hard thing not to know after being with me for years. Go ahead and model, but don’t act like you’re anything special…sorry rude. We’d talk every few years, and I’d get annoyed by how she changed, call her a cunt and ghost her. I’m a piece of shit. Now we don’t talk at all anymore, even if we run into each other. It’s for the best; I hope the dumb cunt has a beautiful life. Just kidding, she’s not a cunt, she’s just annoying, and I’m not just being a spiteful ex, she’s objectively annoying.
Geez, off topic again…what was this supposed to be about? I forgot. My homes throughout my life, gangs, exes…ah fuck it.
It was fun living downtown. Once I came out of my funk, I started partying a lot again, and at the time, I had a lot of friends throughout the city, most being graffiti artists or affiliated, a few bands and bouncers, older friends of my sisters. As a result of this, I was able to get into two clubs at nineteen. They snuck me in the back, told me to never go to the bar, they’d bring me drinks, and I could only drink beer. Good times. My girlfriend never went with me, it was at about the time we started disliking each other.
Best part about downtown is it’s the only place in the city you can walk place to place, seemingly infinite amount of restaurant choices, art shows held across the street. It sucks we weren’t twenty one at the time, but It was for the best.
My GF and I decided to move from downtown to the west side with my brother. He was looking for a place to live, we three got a place together. He’s not my blood brother, but he’s more than a best friend, blah blah blah, all that jazz.
My lady and I grew further a part; my best friend was in a deep depression so I focused on him more than anybody. We lasted a year there than her and I called it quits. She moved back to her mom’s house, and my best friend and I moved back to his fams house, where I slept on the couch for a few years. It’s a humbling experience. Having no room to retreat to, especially considering my anti social behavior. My Nonna woke me up every morning via loud coffee making. She was always a grump until noon; I made it worse by displaying an appallingly happy demeanor. She loved it deep down. She did so much for me. She treated me like blood. Fuck, I’m about to tear up. She fought cancer twice, but a year and a half ago passed away. I miss her. One of the most interesting and caring people in the history of humankind. Love you Nonna.
Fudge, still rambling…almost done.
From there I moved—again with my brother, but now his GS—to the house I just moved out of. It was perfect for three early twenty somethings. One of the first things we did was pass out envelopes to our neighbors asking them to come to us if we’re making too much noise……and fuck, we made so much noise. Parties every holiday, raves every other weekends. They hated us at first, but towards the end we all got along because we stopped partying at home. Too much work cleaning up, and no one was helping. But fuck, so many good times. So many good drugs. Surprisingly only one one night stand with a forty year old Asian woman, and some girl I met somewhere, can’t remember. Good times. I’m glad those days are in the past, I’m an old man now.
And now we’re here, back to the south side.
Oh yea, fuck, this post was supposed to be so short, I’m such a rambling mess.
I went to order a refill for one of my prescriptions via the app, and I realized I can never have it delivered; no doubt someone will swipe it—one of the worst neighborhoods is literally on the other side of the tracks, about a mile east. One of my sister’s friends got shot in the head while pulling out money at the Wells Fargo that shouldn’t be there. I was robbed for my phone and empty wallet by some dude who creeped up on a friend and I acting like he knew us, until he pulled out a pistol and stuck it in our faces. Having a gun in your face is surreal, it changes you forever. Two of my other friends also got robbed, maybe by the same dude.
We’re safe in my neighborhood, but the Trees(name of neighborhood) is close enough where shit left outside of your house is guaranteed to get stolen.
So I can’t have my meds delivered here. That’s all I wanted to say.
I’m a weirdo. Enjoy ye Sundays. Sorry if you got to the end of this.