Mosh Pit Madness pt. 1

So I wake up this morning and I'm completely convinced that I got hit by a train last night. My neck was all stiff and my right arm felt like someone tried to literally detach it from the elbow. Did I get in a fight? No, I wasn't drunk so I would have remembered that (Unless I blacked out from rage). No, my friends, I attended the Scapegoat concert in support of my good friend Spencer and found myself in a hurricane of elbows and fists for about… shit, I don't know how long it was. HOURS. Even though I had been to one of these concerts the previous year and was mentally prepared for what I was getting into, my body was a year older and that much more run down so I probably should have stretched or something before I went. Mosh Pit Madness was in full effect (Oh, in case you haven't noticed… there are hyperlinks like a mother fucker in this entry and if you're reading this in Facebook, it's just not gonna show up. Just go to my actual blog site at http://dreaminjoshd.blogspot.com/ to see them).

For those of you who know me, I know y'all are thinking "Josh… you, mosh? Are you in that desperate need of some more black friends?" to which I would respond, "Probably, but that shit was fun as hell!". Truth be told, it's not really my style and y'all know that. I'm not into the whole hardcore, thrash metal, whatever it was kind of music that was being played there. I am open minded though and Spencer is one of my better friends so, why not? Before I detail the night, let me just say I had SO MUCH FUN. Scapegoat is a very talented band and they kick huge amounts of ass. Also, I now better understand why people go completely cuckoo-bananas at these shows. THE MUSIC MAKES YOU DO IT! Before I knew it, I was ready to steal off on a couple of people for no reason. I was getting really into it. Anyway, here's how the day went:

I got up, already a little nervous about the concert because this was gonna be Tanner's first time there and I knew how it was gonna be. I didn't want him to be scared off and weirded out because… as I've stated before, they come from a different world and stuff is constantly presenting itself as NEW to my room mates. Actually, I knew Vincent would be alright because he's been around. My Facebook account was already wielding messages such as "YOU GOIN' TO SCAPEGOAT TONIGHT!?" and "WHAT Y'ALL DOIN' AFTER SCAPEGOAT" and "CAN SPENCER GET US IN FREE!?" so I assumed a lot of my friends would be there. All the more reason I had to go. Even Miles had called me to see if I was going and I don't think he'd ever called me before in his life. Damn. How was I gonna prepare myself for this? What the hell was I gonna wear? I eventually settled on my Richard Pryor T-shirt, my dark skinny BDGs and my classic vans… with a freshly shorn head. The head-shaving was a last minute decision influenced by alcohol, but it went along with the "guyliner" that I was also drunked into putting on. The shaved head, dark eyes, and my heavy eyebrows just made me look straight up Indian (which I really don't mind because that's a beautiful race of people) and slightly creepy. Tanner did it too, though. He ended up looking like Pete Wentz' beefed up, jock-attack cousin "Butch".

Miles ended up coming over with the drummer of HIS band, Andrew. We drank a little bit and chilled then they left to um, get something that they never came back with (Yeah Miles, I'm lookin' at you) and that's when all the "getting ready for the show shenanigans" started. All of us; Jen, myself, Tanner and Kyle pretty much played ANTM, emo-punk-metal edition for a good 30 minutes before we left. Yeah, I know, it sounds gay as hell but you know what? Alcohol, that's what… so shuttup.

So we get to Tremont Music Hall and there's a sea of black, grey and steel everywhere. All these kids (and when I say kids, I mean honest-to-goodness, legit kids)were loitering around outside as if they were waiting to get in. Tanner asked me if that was the line and I was quick to remark "No, those are just burn outs". I didn't build on that statement at all because I didn't feel like having that discussion at the time. It would have turned into some kind of fight, I just know it.

We get inside and go to the main concert auditorium. The VERY first thing Tanner notices is this big, cleared out area in front of the stage. This is his lucky day! He reasons that we just found the best spot in the house to watch the show and can't figure out why no one was already standing there. Memories flood my mind, but nothing clear. I remember something like this happening the last time I came to a Scapegoat concert. What was this mysterious ring for? What purpose did it serve. Well, as soon as the music started, we found out real quick.

The sea of people became utterly tumultuous. Bodies thrashing this way, that way and every which way. People getting kicked, shoved and literally thrown all around. It looked like a huge fight and I felt Tanner and Kyle both tense up behind me, fists clenched and teeth gnashed. This is what it was, people. This is what this event was about (besides the music, obviously) and this is what a lot of these people came to do; act a pure monkey. I was trying to protect random girls from getting hit all the while trying to catch a glimpse of Spencer up on stage. He was up there, just gettin' it DONE on his guitar. He smiled at the crowd and I swear I heard a "ding!". Then I looked and saw Ryan Freeman. That's when I knew that something crazy was going to happen. You see, Ryan is a cage fighter and it's his actual JOB to beat asses on a regular basis. This was just some on the side training for him. If he got hit the wrong way, there was no doubt in my mind that he was gonna shut that mother fucker all the way down down down to Chinatown. I did all I could to mollify any feelings of beat-ass-ness that he was feeling at the time. I think he actually left before he could get to that point.

*OK, now Kyle is over here and there's no way I'm gonna finish this. Spencer's gonna be over soon too so I'm just gonna have to make this a two parter. Stay tuned for part two tomorrow… I guess.*

Frivolity & Drunkitude

Hello.

So for those of you who are my friends on Facebook and read my note yesterday, you should have been expecting this blog. If not, get on Facebook. Myspace doesn't get my attention anymore. It's just too boring. I feel like I've betrayed Tom, but… I don't know. Facebook just kind of fosters my need to be have my finger on the pulse of what's going on. No, I'm not saying that I'm nosey or a busy body, but I do like to be in on stuff so, interpret that however you see fit.

So what's up people? Drama's a-brewin' and I KNOW y'all want to hear my take on it. Fret not, young'uns, I'll get to that. There are a couple little transpirings in my life that I want to touch on right now just to catch you guys up on me. I don't really go out anymore and you're about to see why. My life lately just seems to have been much more fulfilled without that shallow and cursory lifestyle. Don't get me wrong, I've not totally abandoned it, but I was on the threshold of swingin' on folks and that couldn't go down. I'm too old for that.

Tuesday was a sad/gratifying sort of day. Spencer, Nicolette and I drove down to Weddington to attend Ward's (Trace's dad) funeral. I knew from jump street that I was going to be sitting up in there crying like a bitch because that's just how I do at funerals sometimes. He was honestly one of the most fun, cool dads that I've ever had the pleasure of meeting and was one of my biggest fans (my being a Rallycat and everything and he being a season ticket holder). Who's gonna scream my name at the games now? I should have thrown him more shirts… my arm sucks though. I'll spare you all the details of the funeral because… well, it was a funeral. Afterward, Spencer, Nicolette and I rode back up to my house to chill a little bit before Ward's Celebration of Life gathering at the restaurant he owned, La Paz. Now, I must admit that I wasn't really in any emotional state to prepare myself for this because I had no idea what to expect. So, to take the edge off of this potentially emotional experience, my friend Spencer and I drove down to the local Shell Station and picked up several 40 oz. bottles of Miller Highlife. Who the hell am I, anyway? We get to chuggin' and as soon as I was good and toasty we figured it was time to head on down to the restaurant.

Ward would have been so proud and happy to see how much fun was being had in his honor. Without divulging too much of my behavior, I'm just gonna say that Spencer and I left considerably more smashed than when we arrived, and I was missing Ward a whole lot more.

Passed out early that night. Like, 11 o'clock. Spencer had Facebook'd me at 4:00am and he was STILL drunk from our "drinking saga" as he so named it. I apparently had slept so long as to sleep off any hangover I would have normally suffered after a night (which was more of an afternoon) of drinking with such reckless abandon. Woke up; birds tweetin' and sun shinin' and shit. I really don't recall much of what happened on Wednesday until about 8:30 when Chris Hayes came over to chill. This is what we do now, people. We get together and drink and talk and hangout and watch TV and BOND. None of this going out listening to the same damn music every night hanging out with shallow, artificial fuckheads. It's an event now, no doubt! Chris and I cracked open some 40s and sat on the porch in definitive chillax mode. That's when my quasi-pseudo-not-quite-but-almost-might-as-well-be-superfluous 4^th room mate, Spencer Bensch of Scapegoat came over after his band's practice. We were all set for a night of frivolity and drunkitude, but he was hungry. He barreled through the backdoor, Wendy's bags in tote and proceeded to inhale an insane amount of food. Fatal error before you drink that late at night. He was a gonna before we handed him the first bottle, which he didn't even drink, because a nigga was tired (Yes, I call all my friends nigga; black, white, girl, boy- I even call the dog this. It's an endearment thing. Calling Rev. Sharpton will not be necessary). He stayed the night on the extra bed (which I guess he's gonna start doing now because it just makes sense… we live closer to his band practice and UNCC and where he lives is almost literally on the other side of the damn world) all cuddled up with Crucis. So yeah, I guess he's the new part time room mate. Which is cool.

SO TODAY, John Matthews calls me from Afghanistan. I could tell he was already in "war mode" and wouldn't be too much fun to converse with, but he proved me wrong and the conversation was actually stimulating. I feel like I'm making ground with this whole war phenomenon. This is my fourth year with dealing with it and I'm just now able to half way wrap my brain around it. War is sick, man. It changes people in crazy, uncomfortable ways. Despite my relentless attempts over the years, he is in fact changing. I just hope he doesn't turn out like my OTHER room mate V who's pretty much become a hermit. It's weird. He's like, socially inept now and I can't figure it out. Does war do that to you? His friends that knew him in high school said he wasn't like that. He stays shut up in his room ALL THE TIME. He's in there now. He rarely speaks. What the hell is he doing in there? He randomly disappears too. I don't get it. I don't think he does well with room mates, to tell you the truth. He lives his life with a particularity that just doesn't mesh well in a living situation with others. I hope he eventually finds what he wants/ needs because he is not happy. I've tried to break through that wall, to no avail. Shit fuck it all. I'm not trying anymore. It did no good. I can't be everyone's Dr. Phil (just most people's). I think I'm just frustrated about V because at one time I got a sense that he was resentful of my relationship with Tanner. Tanner and I tell each other everything and are really close. V's like the 850lbs safe in our kitchen that's full of stuff, but rarely opens. I think he has trust issues with people too, but there's not much I can do about that at this point. I officially love the guy to death, but close up on me enough and I'm not even gonna wonder what's inside anymore. Maybe if things don't work out, quasi-pseudo-etc-etc-room mate Spencer will become ACTUAL room mate Spencer. I wish I knew how his cleaning habits were though…

WHICH BRINGS US TO THAT SHIT. That's the one thing about V that I love. He's clean. We share that. Kitchen's gotta be straight, rooms are straight. Tanner, I love you to death but those excuses about why you don't/ can't clean just don't fly. Mainly because you told us you weren't like that and living with your horrid, horrid EX who produced squalid conditions for you both taught you the importance of cleanliness. Do you know I left that chocolate syrup stain on the kitchen table for a WEEK just to see if you would clean it up? And that milk went sour INSIDE THE DAMN SINK. I can't live with two dirty people, I'll lose my mind. So Spencer… if you end up living with us one day… please for the love of all that is righteous and holy be clean. If not, we're just gonna have to work a visit from Merry Maids into our monthly bills. Yeah, I said it.

How off topic did I just get? It doesn't matter, I'm about to go to bed anyway. I started off talking about John Matthews and ended up venting about my room mates. Shit was pent-up, though. Had to release. Spencer's band has a concert at Tremont tomorrow and we're all going. It's pretty raw stuff, though. The last time I went to one, there was a mosh pit and people were slam dancing. My 26 year old African American self was not ready for that shit. And John Matthews, corn fed and right wing as all get out, was just looking for an excuse to hurt people I think. After that, we're gonna head to Cans I'm assuming to finish up the night. Sometime in between, though, I'm sure some 40s will meet their demise.

Hasta pasta.

Peacockish

Hi.

Ok, y'all, I'm not completely crazy. I know you guys read that blog I put up the other day and were like "DAMN, this nigga has seriously lost his mind", but really- I was just having a moment and I needed to vent. So don't harp on it. I don't need referrals to all your personal therapists or names of any institutions that can help me "cope" with whatever it is I'm going through. I'll be alright, I swettagod.

Now, with that out of the way…

It's just another lazy Wednesday afternoon with me sitting in front of the computer having absolutely nothing constructive to do. Job Search 2008 has hit a snag, so in the meantime I'm working on me. Physically, emotionally and spiritually. Ok, maybe not so much spiritually as I should, but the rest of that shit is on a roll. My workout is on some insanity deal. I've gained all of the weight back I lost during PARTYPHASE 07 (thanks Charlie) plus a little bit. And it's muscle, not fat. I don't do fat. I don't even have any fat people in my family on either side. Blessings. Yesterday I actually had my flexed bicep measured at 14.5 inches and I've never before been the kind of person who would give a rat's ass about that sort of thing. Who the hell am I? I've found myself becoming more and more peacockish (haha) every day. Mirrors don't escape my gaze like they used to. I used to actually avoid those mother fuckers at all costs deeming them catalysts for unnecessary mood swings. I'm starting to worry about my face too. Like a girl would. I'm seriously thinking about investing in this Obagi treatment system thing. It's on some dermatologist-prescribed type shit and seeing as I don't have a regular job right now I don't have the insurance that would cover it. Insurance probably wouldn't cover that anyway since it's all cosmetic, vain and gratuitous. It's supposed to be some daily treatment/scrub thing that more or less melts your face off until it's red and burning leaving you with the taught, supple and blemish-free complexion of an 8 year old. Seeing it written out though, I'm not sure I want all that. I mean, I don't think that I'm that metro yet and probably never will be.

Let's just pretend that the second half of that whole paragraph didn't just happen. I'm kind of embarrassed about it now.

I guess part of the reason that I'm like that now is because I'm in the entertainment industry (kind of). Being one of the Rally Cats for the Charlotte Bobcats affords me the annoying privilege of being recognized by random people out in public. Do you know what it's like, walking through the grocery store and getting pointed at by people whispering to their friends "I think that's that Bobcats guy, you know, the one who does all the flips!". It's unnerving. I don't like people I've never met spotting me like that. What's worse is when they recognize me on a day that I probably shouldn't have been allowed to leave the house looking how I look. When I don't feel that I'm on top of my game, I will straight up lie when people ask "Are you that guy who—" "Ooh, no, sorry. That's not me. I know who you're talking about though." Fresh face to the world man, fresh face to the world.

So I'm gonna wrap this up because I'm waiting on the plumber to come back so he can fix my tub. It's way past annoying now. Whenever I take a shower, by the end of it I'm shin-deep in a cesspool of body dirt, shavings and soap scum. It is so nasty I can't get over it. I have to be on point too because I need just enough time to hide Crucis (The dog we're not supposed to have) just in case the plumber is in actuality a spy for our land lady, Renata Von Flueggenheim (That's not her real last name, but she is German). And you know what, that nigga probably was a spy because he said he was going to be back in about 15 minutes over an hour ago.

Oh well, my name isn't on this lease so I could care less.

I’m Pregnant

DISCLAIMER:
If I've sent any of you private messages regarding any of this, please ignore. I was going to just blog about how I can't stand certain people, but that's not true and it isn't fair. I'm just crazy right now.

Ok, for reasons I really don't care to disclose right now, I'm completely loopy insane. I mean, I actually have a good MEDICAL reason for why I'm like this, but that's not really any of y'all's business (Except for those of you who know) so just know that I'm not normally like this. This must be what it's like to have bi-polar disorder; no disrespect for those of you who actually have that shit, but this has to be it. The dizzying highs, the terrifying lows, the completely zoned-out middles. I know my room mates are just over it right now too.

Well, one of them is anyway. V probably doesn't notice too much as he's not around a lot and probably wouldn't pick up on it too quick anyway. He's good at offering a quick fix to my attitudes anyway, whether he realizes it or not. Disc Golf and fast food, that's him. My other room mate, T, the one to whom I have a more kindred connection, just exacerbates my shit to the point of sending me to the brink of Breakdownsville. Not that I'm saying he's like this per se, but right now in my loopy state of mind he just comes off as completely egocentric, vain, oblivious, fake, pseudo intellectual and smarmy. And the thing is, he's not like that (Well, he is vain as hell but even he'll tell you that… and I guess a fair amount of egocentrism HAS to go along with that, just because). Out of everyone in the world I can think of right now, he should be the most sympathetic to my condition since he's gone through this before. But honestly, I think he could give two shits. So, I'm gonna be riding a I-HATE-MY-ROOM-MATE-WAVE until I can get a hold of my self and deal with it (OH! And y'all know how John Matthews is my best friend/ brother/ ride-or-die nigga, right? Well, he just went to Afghanistan yesterday and I was depressed about that all day. I told T about it and you know what he said to me? "Sorry, Buddy". FUCK YOU!)

I think I've figured it out. I'm pregnant. Yes, I'm a pregnant guy. I don't know how in the world it happened but that must be the only way anybody's this hormonal. If mood swings were actual swings, I'd be on the Sky Coaster at Carowinds. When I'm happy, I'm the happiest motherfucker alive. When I'm angry, someone is well-nigh close to getting swung on. When I'm sad, hide the razor blades.

OK, so I just talked to T on the phone and I'm now 100% convinced that he's just oblivious. Called me up like absolutely nothing has been wrong with me over the last week. So, I'm just like… what the hell ever. I'm not gonna sweat it anymore. I'd go for a run right now were it not for my prematurely arthritic knees. I don't wanna lift anymore weights because then my testosterone goes off the hinges and I wanna kill things. Plus, if my arms get any bigger I'm gonna have to size up in all my shirts and I can't afford to do that right now.

Good news, though. Crucis, Das Wunderpitt, is a certified, Purple-Ribbon American Staffordshire Terrier (I still refuse to say pit bull). So, yay- he's not some beautiful bastard mutt. I always knew he wasn't.

So, I'm seeing some greasy food in my future. Burger King, perhaps?