Which toothbrush is yours...

"Is yours the green one or the blue one?" I shrugged just using the green toothbrush.

Over the last 5 years Jamie and I have grown to love each other in ways I did not even know existed. We have seen each others flaws and worked through them together. We have worked on our communication and being transparent with each other, even if it is uncomfortable. This includes all the gross things you do in the bathroom when you think no one is watching, at what "level of dirty" you decide to do your laundry, shower schedules, borrowing the expensive razor (and leaving it in the shower 😡), when and where you clip your toe nails...and even mistakenly using their toothbrush. 

Since we decided to move in together, 3,000 miles from home, into a glorified studio apartment (garage guest house), we have no privacy. The bathroom is next 12 feet from the couch where we watch TV. The desk is next to the bed and the "dinning room table" is next to the door.  Shouting, "The mexican we had last night is coming back to haunt me! Turn the volume up, unless you want to hear the battle I am about to get into with last nights burritos!" is not out of the ordinary as one of us gets up from the couch to the bathroom. 

I figure, if we can get through this time, in these close quarters, we should be fine. 

Jamie - Yes, this morning I used your toothbrush, my bad, sorry! Love ya!

-YourFriendMatt

I Got Stuck...Part Two...

"I wonder if we'll ever get the hell out of here?" I stated in uncertainty staring at the clock, begging it to go faster.

It was almost 4am and we had slept in the cold LAX airport on black and while marble floor. Very comfortable and accommodating. At this point a cardboard box on a heating grate in New York would be the Ritz Carlton. Jamie and I stared at each other coldly, hating each other, damp sweat and anxiety poured over us. Silence. We just want to get out of here. "This sucks." Was a common response to our deliriously back and forth conversation as we tried to keep our spirits up. 

The clock stuck 3:45am and we packed up out makeshift bedding of carry-on items. With all the strength we could muster, we gathered our bags, which seemed to weight a billion pound now. We had to get through security. Rounding the corner for TSA we could see everyone was already in line. Another 40 minutes later we were there. The first time we went through security check the day before they pulled Jamie aside to rip her bag apart. She had a camera and a bottle of perfume she forgot to take out that set off certain alarm...and I guess she looked like a terrorist. Just for fun, I took her bag and left the exact same camera and perfume in there, we had time and I wanted to see what would happen. We made it through security without any trouble. Feeling safe at the airport yet? Same objects in the bag, no security stopped us. Wow. 

We made it to our gate. We still had another hour to see if we were going to make it out. We are flying standby so there is no guarantee. We got coffees through the endless line at the only Starbucks in our terminal, returning to stare at the clock again.

The plane started boarding. Our building anticipation deflated as the gate agent announced over the intercom, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to begin boarding our nonstop flight to Philadelphia. This is a full flight and all passengers are checked in. We have a full flight. We will not have room for everyone's carry-on bags, if you have a roller bag, please bring it up now to get it checked."

"Welp, we aren't getting out on this one. Maybe we can take a nap." I said, sipping my shitty airport Starbucks. We made a new carry-on baggage bed and laid out watching the happy passengers board their plane tipping our coffees to them. The plane took off and we waved them goodbye.

"When's the next one?" Jamie asked, pulling out her neck pillow and eye mask. "Oh, I don't know, another 2 hours?" I responded. We took a nap and waited it out...

-YourFriendMatt

It's not my birthday...

“This is probably the biggest moment of my life and you are brewing beer.” 

I work retail. I always have. I tried to get out once but for whatever reason I ended up relapsing. A retail schedule enables me to forget what a weekend is and get excited for a Monday or Thursday like they are a Saturday night. It's not out of the ordinary that I find myself day-drinking on a Monday after working 8 days straight and calling a friend to see if they want to hang out. “I would but it's noon. On a Monday. I am obviously at work.” Is their normal response to my invitation. Over the years I have learned how to have fun on my own and have taken up many hobbies. I started a candle company once. Then started a repurposed furniture website with my girlfriend. I took up golf. I even took up brewing my own beer. 

This bring us here. One day, on my lonesome, I got the required ingredients to make a porter and set out to spend the afternoon brewing. I cranked the jams danced around like a moron to Hall and Oates enjoying the day when I turned around to see my brother standing in the doorway. Staring at me dancing he raised an eyebrow; as if it was me interrupting him at his house. Startled, I switched off the music and asked him what he was doing. Shouldn't he be at work? He doesn't work retail?

"Grab me a beer and sit down. I want to talk to you." He states taking a seat at the dinning room table placing a bagged present between us. He seem to have something on his mind. "Who is the present for?" I ask and start digging around. He promptly slapped my hand like you would with a child about to touch a hot stove. "Hey, wait a minute. It's for you but hold on." We both cracked open some Busch tall boys, dad's favorite, and tried to make small talk. We both really suck at it and finally gave up. "Okay, fuck it. Open up the damn present." He stated and grabbed his phone to take pictures of me. I kept thinking how weird it was that he wasn't telling me anything about this and it wasn't my birthday. I slowly opened the present as he snapped photos eager with anticipation. Two cigars fell out wrapped in pink and blue ribbons. My brain froze and then time stopped. There was a shift in the universe. Are we adults now? In a matter of milliseconds billions of questions raced through my head. I snapped back and felt like I was in a washing machine, my vision blurred and the room turned upside down, colors blending together. My body couldn't keep up with my thought process as I blurted out the only thing I could think of...a faint but prominent "Huh?"

To my knowledge he had been seeing someone on and off. Nothing serious, right? I had been with Jamie for a few years now and for some reason my first question was "Jamie's pregnant and this is how she wanted to tell me?" He stared as you would to a complete imbecile. I don't think I have seen a face of more disgust or disbelief. He had to be thinking to himself "No. There's no way he is this stupid." He final spoke "No you fucking idiot! Your going to be an uncle!" 

Hey! I'm an uncle!

Pete - I will never forget that day and love you man. Declan rules.

The Nose Ring...

Holy shit! I think you ripped it out!” Jamie screeched in my direction. “My bad.” Trying to subdue my laughter.

Recently my family came to visit for the week. My mothers first trip out to Southern California to see the life her son and girlfriend had made for themselves. My sisters first trip to LA as an adult. This is a big moment for our family and we were all thrilled. Not to mention Philadelphia is 12 degrees and covered in snow so it is a nice break from the "Polar Vortex" they are currently experiencing. 

Oh, ya know, just hanging at the tattoo shop with my mom. That is blood on my sister's shirt...

We had a few ideas planned for their trip and taking them to see the chaos Venice Beach offers was a must. I don’t know what it is but every time family comes to visit, we go a little crazy. In the infamous words of the famed Canadian actor-turned-rapper-turned-actor Drake...YOLO. Case in point, last time Jamie’s parents came for a visit she and her mother decided to get tattoos one afternoon. Why not? When they’re 2-for-1 you’d be an idiot to pass up that kind of deal. This time around it was Jamie and my baby sister who decided to get piercings. Surprisingly, but not really too surprisingly, my mother instigated the whole thing. She cheered them on from the sidelines and paid for it all. Way to go, Mom!

A few days passed and they headed back east. Jamie still had to nurse the fresh hole in her nose so it wouldn't get infected. I came home from work one night and our dog, Piper, greeted me by running around, jumping excitedly and accidentally knocking things over as she does. This creates an effect on the house and we all started rough housing.  Jamie and I went to pick up Piper at the same time when my left hand perfectly grazed Jamie's face, fingernail first meeting the faux-diamond-topped piercing sitting on the side of her right nostril. The piercing now stuck under my fingernail was ripped out of her nose with one swoop....accidentally of course. 

The scream of pain that came out of her next is still ringing in my ears. "You dick! What the fuck!" Followed by a string of obscenities that I couldn't make out as she ran for the bathroom. Blood running out of the inside and outside of her nose life a faucet. It was everywhere. I pulled the toilet paper off the roll and handed it to her to stop the rushing blood. “You are such a moron! Why would you do that! My nose!” And I just took it...laughing on the inside. "Yeah, I know, I'm a bastard." I agreed and apologized.

We got her patched up and she iced it down. She eventually got the ring back in her nose a few hours later as she shot eye-daggers from the couch I was not allowed to sit on now. 

Important safety tip: refrain from rough housing with a tiny, furry dog when you have a fresh nose piercing. It could end in disaster.

-YourFriendMatt

On Break...

“Holy shit, this place is weird.” - Me

All I wanted to do is read a book and relax on my lunch break. I am lucky enough to work a stones throw away from the breath-taking views of the Pacific. This is my place of choice for taking all breaks throughout the work week, an oasis if you will, from the hell-trap on Earth I work in dealing with the silver spoon, brainwashed to keep-up-with-the-Jones’, American public day in and day out. In all honesty I love what I do, no complaints…if only the damn customers weren’t there…but thats a whole other conversation.

Today, I take the long way to the coast to sit on my usual bench to read and decompress from the first half of my shift. I arrive at my bench just at the edge of the tree lines shade at the perfect time of day. As I take my seat there is a man pacing behind the bench on the phone call of his life. He speaks loud and direct to whomever it is he needs to get his point across to on the other side of that mobile device. I do the usual raised eyebrow dirty look towards him and open my book. As I start to ingest the immoral words from my library-borrowed Christopher Moore fiction my new pacing friend ends his call. Good - my eyebrows did the talking again. Victory.

As Pacer stands there I notice out of the corner of my eye another older man, tattered, in every sense of the word, with a sticker-covered guitar case takes a seat on the grass next to the bench. Indian style now he opens the guitar case to pull out 2 drum sticks. Sure. Why not? What? You expected him to pull out a guitar? No, no. This is California, nothing normal happens here. Especially on the cliffs overlooking the ocean in Santa Monica…I really need to find a new oasis…this place is getting weird. Oh - did I forget to mention he has a tarnished, half consumed wine jug with him? My new tattered friend takes his drum sticks, one in each hand, and in no order or musical computation I can make out starts to sing and bang on the guitar case as if it were a drum using his half consumed red-stained jug to accent his nonsensical beat. I slowly raise my head from my fiction in a mix of confusion, frustration and awe. By the time I look over at this tattered man he has pulled out a recorder, the kind of flute-like instrument they hand out in 3rd grade and starts contributing his own horrific, and once again in no music computation that anyone could comprehend or interpret to paper, soundtrack to the picturesque scenery.

At this point I assume you for got about Pacer. I almost did too. As I rip my eyes from the absurdity that is Tatter to my friend Pacer I notice he is in a trance, barefoot, shoes removed and discarded across the grass like litter in a hunched position looking like he is prepping for a human take-off in the vein of Superman or Peter Pan. He springs upright and releases all the air in his lungs like a party favor balloon squeezed of air. It is at this exact moment I notice another man who has sat down on another bench a few feet from me fighting the air in front of him as passerby’s move out of the way of his mighty fists. What the hell is going on today? I sit and wonder then ask myself, "Does this happen everyday?"

Now, I can’t make this shit up. I wish I was this creative and smart but I’m not. I am on break at work and from all sides around me people are going crazy. How in the hell am I going to focus on a book now? And it is now that I realize. If we stop to notice life, just slow down for a minute...the world is a beautifully insane place. Take a minute this week to break out of your 'normal' routine and look to see what the hell is going on around you. Like Ferris said "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around for a while, you could miss it." Or you might find some crazy assholes doing God knows what in all areas around you. 

But then again...sometimes....you have to go back to work.

-YourFriendMatt

Ol' Trusty...Part One...

"Dude, this could be her last ride. It's only right we take her." I said to Chris convincing him to take the dilapitated band van to our most recent show.

Throughout the years music has taken me across the nation and back. I consider these some of the most formative years of my life. When you are 1,400 miles from home, have no money, everything you own is broken or smelly you learn a thing or two. Since my friends and I started playing music we have destroyed every one of my mom's cars, most of my friend's parents cars, every one of our own cars, vans bought strictly for the band (old or new) and now we have a hand-me-down 2005 Ford FreeStar.

The band van is a beautiful thing. It's your safe house. Office. Board Room. Mobile home. Sales force..makeshift acoustic performance stage...salvation and worst nightmare. I've learned more about  auto repair on the side of the highway...at night...in a state I've never been too...with 18-wheelers whizzing by...underage...in the snow...than I ever will in a driveway. All in all seeing new things from a bench seat in a busted van was one of my favorite parts of the journey.

Up until this point of my life preforming has been something I have always done. I have had a chance to play with some great musicians in Los Angeles since my move but haven't hit a stage in a few months. When my old band got a call from the biggest rock radio stations in Philadelphia to preform live we all went for it. I landed in Philadelphia the day before the show and we ran through our normal setlist, caught up and went home to get a good night sleep.

We gathered on the day of the show at Chris' house to get a plan together. We needed to figure out how we were going to get our equipment to the show. Take separate cars? No, that is lame. Then it dawned on us (well at least me) that the old band van was still sitting out front.

Side-note: A quick back story on this van: It was Chris' families van for years. It has carted him and his siblings to countless karate and basketball tournaments. As the years progressed the air conditioning eventually gave up resulting in too many summer adventures with both sliding doors open...including a trip all the way to Outer Banks, NC from Swedesboro, NJ with the doors open. I know the van has been in at least one accident on the highway and after that they gave it to Chris...who never fixed the headlight. Why bother? Something is also wrong with the battery connection so we had to carry around a little wrench to undo the positive connection to the battery everywhere we went. We would show up to work, pop the hood and unhook the battery...besides all that...this van is a gem and we wouldn't have it any other way. One more thing, it looks like this on the inside...

"Dude! Let's take the van!" I screech cracking an ice cold Pabst. "I don't know man, I haven't started her in months." Chris says turning to me. "Dude, this could be her last ride. It's only right we take her. Who knows when we will do this again!" Sipping and spitting beer everywhere. Chris shrugs with a half-assed sigh and we make our way outside to check out the van.

She sits on the street waiting for us to come check her out. She hasn’t been moved in months and there is a layer of yellow and brown dust pollen covering her exterior. One of the tires is just about flat but we know we can make it to the gas station to fill it back up. As we peer in the back tinted windows we see our previous filth from the last ride…and its disgusting…just the way we like it. “Let’s pop the hood and connect the battery!” Chris yells getting more energized remembering all the good times we have had in this beauty.

There was a zap of blue electric that shocked us as we reattached the positive connection to the battery. “Yes!” We belted with a second wind of excitement. This was a good sign and we both knew it. Chris ripped open the driver side door ready with his keys and turned the ignition. She turned over with a sputter, pop - and finally roared like a dying old bird…our dying old bird. “Well boys I guess we know how we're are getting to the show! Let’s start packing!”

We packed, drank the last of our beers and decided it was time to head to Philadelphia. Half of our band had to drive separate due to obligations after the show and work the next morning. This was no big deal - Chris and I found it poetic. We had started a lot of bands together and worked on more music than either of us could remember. We had no idea when we would get the chance to drive to preform together again so it made sense to us that the rock gods aligned the stars this way. It was like we were 17 again.

To be continued...

YourFriendMatt

First World Problems...

 "Motherfucker." I said after calmly collecting myself from furiously punching, screaming at and shaking the steering wheel.

Since embarking on our adventure to California we have experienced nothing but car trouble. The SUV we drove from the chilly east coast died almost immediately upon arrival here in sunny California. She served her purpose, got us here safely and then gave up the ghost like a good soldier. It's all I asked of her. We lucked out when our friends Greg and Rick drove my other car out west from Philadelphia giving us another shot at LA traffic bliss...but now we have another problem (see picture above).

My 2004 Ford Focus, with all manual features standard, has been a godsend. She has taken me all over the east coast and now out west to tackle what this terrain has to offer. Sure her ignition sticks and you have to hit the steering column with a hammer every once in a while...sure the radio will just cut out for no reason sometimes ruining your chance at harmonizing the chorus of your favorite song...sure that passenger side mirror has never worked and makes merging a fun game of life or death...but overall...she's a gem. 

When I got the call from Jamie stating she couldn't get the key to turn I thought she was full of shit. We have been through this exact scenario a million times. The ignition just sticks and will get stuck now and then. Once you give the steering column a good love tap with a handy-dandy hammer it loosens up. "Jamie, my cousin who I never see is visiting and we are grabbing a drink. If I leave to travel across town to try and fix this it had better be officially stuck." Immoral words I wished I never used in retrospect. When I arrived at the scene like the knight in shining armor I think I am I arrogantly jumped into the driver's seat. Jamie was in the passenger and looked at me like I was the world's biggest dickhead. Which I am. "We'll be out of here in a minute and then we are heading back to catch my family for a drink." I state as I try to turn the key confidently. Stuck. A worried slightly embarrassed "Haha" Shot out of my mouth. "Uh, must give it a little more muscle." I try again as Jamie's eyebrows cock and a smirk creeped across her face. 

After about an hour of punching, hair pulling, screaming, yelling and explicitly expelling every curse I know (and some I made up) trying to turn the key with no success we decided to call roadside assistance. "Motherfucker." I say under my breath and let out a deep sigh. This thing was like the fucking Sword in the Stone, only the chosen one could get this thing to move. I have no idea how something like this happens. Imagine the key to your car ignition would not turn and get back to me. Don't take it for granted the next time you get in the car to zip off to the mall, corner store or...to grab drinks with your family...which at this point after trying to turn a key for two hours...were surely cancelled.

We called roadside assistance, found the closest Ford service station, found a ride home and were quoted 60 minutes for the tow truck to come get us...which gave us plenty of time to get the car to Ford to be fixed. When we realized we only had 10 minutes to get to the garage and we were still on the side of the road, long past our 60 minute rescue quote time, we got worried. I called the tow company, our insurance company and Ford. No one has ever heard of a "Matt" before. Fucking fantastic. Hearing "Who are you again?" is never a good response. Evidently the fax had never went through from our insurance company to the tow company to come get us. Make sense right? "What the fuck? Who uses a fax in the first place? What the fuck even is a fax?" Echoed in my head, that was currently on fire with fury, when they told me this. 

Jamie told me to calm down as I ferociously confiscated her phone and started dialing all parties numbers. I had our insurance company and tow company on 3 way on my phone and Ford on Jamie's "Mr. Bates we apologize for the inconvenience, Ford has a parking lot you can get the car towed to tonight after hours and they will look at the car first thing in the morning." Said the representative from our insurance company in a monotoned voice. "Uhhh, no we don't" responded the 20 year old valley girl receptionist from Ford. All parties were on speakerphone to hear each other. I stared at the phones, sat for a minute and responded quietly with "Guys. Do you see why I hate you all." Calmly like a serial killer and I paused "None of you have your shit together. Please communicate with each other before you present me a house of lies." My voice escalating. "Get me and my girlfriend off the goddamn side of the road immediately and somebody get my fucking car fixed" Now screaming every word. Another pause and a breath "Please." Trying to force my manners. I am not a total asshole but I think this specific scenario warrants a curse here or there. Jamie was mortified.

At the end of the day the car was finally towed...another hour later. Our tow truck operator Caesar didn't know who we were or where the car was going. We had to make another call to his boss to get it straightened out again...but he was at least a nice guy. I didn't give him shit and we laughed. It's not his fault his company is run by a bunch of motherfuckers. At this point I just gave up...signed the papers...and prayed I would see my car again someday.

YourFriendMatt