Andrew Breakup Letter to Sharon (longwinded)

Well, I guess this is where it all started, isn't it? Email. There is no mystery or danger any longer, just communication between souls that have a hard time always saying what they mean. 

I don't really know why I'm writing to you now, just nostalgic, I guess, having a real hard time letting go.

I love you so much, and I know I will never stop even if that love means letting you go. You need to do what is best for you. Not be stuck in a relationship that doesn't satisfy you. Love cannot be forced on someone or faked by someone in return. 

I will never stop caring for you and will not go down the road of hating you, just to make the feelings disappear. They will never really disappear, because I am human and have a heart and mind that remembers all the good, and happy times we've had. 

I can't go around with regrets, I don't regret the time we've spent. I regret the bad things that have happened, maybe the fact that I didn't do more of the little things that would have shown you that I loved you. But I think you really, honestly, know that I do, and have, loved you. 

You think I took you for granted, or that I didn't really appreciate you. You think I just saw in you some girl, any girl, and that that was all I cared about. That I didn't love you for you. I loved all the things that you let me know about you.

I could have forgiven you anything from your past because the person that I knew you to be was different. A person can change. I would not have held the things in your past against you, if you were up front about them. 

You never trusted me enough to tell me some of this stuff because you probably thought I would think horrible things about you. The truth is I would have admired you for being honest and could have believed the best about you, that you were different from your past. 

I am different from my past. I was an immature teenager and an irresponsible adult. I’ve caused my share of hurt in people's lives. But when we started our relationship it was a clean slate for both of us. 

So a lot has happened and now we have to break up, because we are both not happy. You, because you want things out of life that I cannot currently provide, and me because I can't be with a woman who doesn't respect me. 

Although I tried to earn your respect and make you want to proud of me, in going to school, bettering myself, I guess things weren't up to your expectations, or didn't happen fast enough. And then there's the fact that I will never be a big, towering hulk of a man. So you probably would look upon me as inferior, no matter how smart or rich I was. 

The bottom line is, I didn't have what it takes. I just want you to know that I loved you, and really thought that you loved me. That we had something special. I know there were times of hostility, the usual couple fighting stuff. But the times of fun and love and sweetness were about 90% and the other stuff about 10% or less. But that was all with the assumption that we were both being honest with each other. If it wasn't 90% and 10% for you, I didn't know. 

I have so many good memories that will always be a part of me, that helped me to become the person I am today (hopefully better than the one I was). But I cannot help but be confused. Were ail these good things, the love and tender feelings we've shared not true? They were for me. 

I can't believe that there wasn't love between us, real love. And if it was real, what happened? Why did it have to end? What can really make love end? It can't. I still love you. I can't be with you right now, I can't respect what you've done. I hate the fact that I was lied to and used. 

But that doesn't change the fact that I still do love you. I will always care what happens to you, if you are happy and healthy. 

I can't make you love me, if you don't. I can't buy your respect. Or remake myself into the image of a 6'5" lumberjack. I am what I am. I don't apologize for being 5’9". 

I guess there's no point in saying "If I wasn't your ideal man, whatever did you see in me to stay with me for a year and a half?" You did, but you regret it, now you are free and I am sad. I thought I could make you happy, I didn't want to make you depressed. 

Just believing that you loved me made me so happy and started me down the path of being a better person. I didn't realize that I wasn't having the same effect on you. I wanted so much for it to be mutual. Sometimes it just can't be. 

When I think of all the little things, like blowing kisses on the radio, like the cuddling (when both of us are really into it), like all of our pet names for each other and how we both treat our animals as if they were our children, the fun things we've done, and the crazy things like camping out. swimming, barhopping (and field hopping) ... the fitness fad, the sicknesses we've endured, the laughter (even at my stupid jokes), our romantic times and even the day to day boring routine of cleaning up after horses, or just watching movies or doing some recreation to pass time like playing cards for nickles, I just can't picture myself doing it and having as good a time with anybody else. And I can't bear to think of it coming to an end. 

I think of you as my one true love in life, and I will never be able to replace you. Since I can't have you, your love and respect, I can't have what I want in life. Sometimes people can't get what they want. 

Maybe you will find what you want, maybe not. But I will not allow you to settle for me, if I am not what you want. I don't know how long it will take for you to be strong and face the possibility of being alone. I hope not too many more half-way relationships. It only hurts you and the other person. 

I don’t intend to preach to you, I just wish you would be truthful with yourself first, and with other people, including me. Its the only way we can be friends. Friendship is built on trust. Trust is given by faith, but if it is lost it has to be earned. When you tell the truth, even when it hurts you, it establishes trust.

Right now, we are at the very, very beginning point of the truth coming out. It hurts. Eventually, it can heal. If there is love, there can be trust again. Love is patient, and kind, and forgives all things. I don't say that I have perfect love, but if ever I've loved anyone in my life, I love you and wish you the best in all things. 

Even if your feelings aren't the same for me, I know I can't lie to myself and say that I don't love you when I do. I just can't be with you. I can't pretend that you are mine when you are not. I've said all I can say, and I can't make you stay. I must let you go, it's the only way. 

Maybe someday, when you've been hurt a time or two, you'll think of our love, and it won’t seem so boring. Maybe I’m kidding myself by being so sentimental, I really never knew you as well as I thought I did. Maybe we'll get to know each other better, and if we can stand one another, after being honest for a while, we'll have a chance at something real. 

I don't want to lose you. I just don't know how good of a friend I can be to put aside my own hurt and pride and be there for you unselfishly. I guess I really don't have a choice, I love you. I will be there for you in whatever way you need me to be. I will probably hold a candle for you till the day I die...silly me...but that's the way I am. 

We're broken up now, so you can see who you want, date who you want, be who you want. I want you to be happy in life, so be free but be wise, and take care. Remember, in all your relationships....honesty. 

You probably won't like having me for a friend, see how preachy I am? I can't help it, I just want the best for people, and they just want to screw their lives up. But being a friend means backing off and letting people make mistakes, not condemning them, but offering advice IF ASKED. 

So, I'll shut up now, I hope things go good for you and if you ever need someone to talk to I'll be there. Take care, sweetie.
Love,
andrew

Guilty Pleasure - I try to win Sharon back, textbook style

From: dogboner
To: Sharon Orrick
Subject: guilty pleasure
Date: Friday, May 14, 1999 09:48:07
 
Sorry, dear, but I couldn't help it, I need to join a self-help program for people who can't stop writing letters. I was online for a while gathering valuable information on pruning fruit trees, and la da da da blah blah blah. I couldn't get you off my mind. 

I admit it, I am obsessed. I will chill out, I'm sure when things become more stable. But as things stand right now, I am so antsy, so itchy, so up in the air, that I can't keep myself busy enough to stop thinking of you. 

Funny, huh? And you thought I took you for granted. God, Sharon, what kind of a spell did you put on me? I have only been broken up with you for 2 days, and I want you more now than I ever did. 

I am not writing to you because I am unable to talk to you face to face. It's just that here I am, thinking about you, and all these things are racing around in my brain wanting to come out. And you aren't here for me to tell you. If I wait until the next time I see you, maybe I'll forget, or get distracted and not have it all come out as clearly. 

Plus, I admit, it is a guilty pleasure. I like to write to you. It is a way of getting things out, and communicating with you when you are not there. I also like to get emails from you. I don't expect books, like the kind I've been writing you lately. It's just nice to hear from you, how you are doing. La la la, blah blah. 

Let me get to the point:
 
I. How would you feel about not breaking up?

 
   a) Things would be different:

      1) You need more space, breathing room.

      2) I need to expand my outside activities. 

      3) We would spend only QUALITY time. 

      4) I would not hinder any of the self-improvement excercises you have going (ie. no pizza binges)

      5) We would both be entirely honest with each other.

      6) We can start over with trust and respect for each other.

      7) PASSIONATE KISSES

   b) I have already forgiven you for everything.

   c) I love you and must have you. 

   d) You are the only woman for me, I will never, ever love anyone like I love you.
 
   e) Mother is NOT always right. 

   f) We can work on our problems together, and help each other. 

   g) We aren't getting any younger. 

   h) No one knows me and understands me like you do. 

   i) I can usually talk you down when you get really out there and get irrational.
 
   j) We both want the same things: love, the good life, kids, nice stuff, fun and adventure, animals.
 

II. So, what do you think?
 

   a) No pressure. 

   b) Think about it.

  

III. I am not wimping out, I just want you back, I know what I want out of life, and you are my one true love. (ref. section I, subpoints c & d)

 
IV. Do I sound desperate?

 
V. Could you love a man like me?
 
   a) I am a weirdo.
 
   b) I am short, bald and have a hairy back.
 
   c) I would never lie, cheat or do anything to hurt you in any way.
 
   d) I would work hard to make a good life for us and provide for our (future) family.
 
   e) I would stand behind you and support you, and never stand in the way of your dreams and goals or keep you from having fun.
 
   f) I would smile a lot and do my best to make you laugh and cheer you up when you are down.
 
   g) I would shower you with affection and little reminders of my love for you.
 
   h) I would love you with all my heart.

 
VI. Silly me
 
Well, I hope I have made my point. I don't know if I could be as precise in person, but I'll certainly give it a try maybe I'll just take a few notes. And oh, yes, eye contact and make a few jokes to lighten up the speech. Yeah, that's the ticket. 

Sorry, hon, but I do feel better now. Just had to jot down a few thoughts and share them with you. Hope I didn't bore you with too many details. See ya soon.
 
Love,
 
Andrew
 

Email from when Sharon and I broke up briefly in 1999

From: dogboner
To: Sharon Orrick
Subject: good for you, girl
Date: Friday, May 14, 1999 02:10:47

Dear Sharon,
 
I hope that you do what is right for you, and that you will stay true to your truest feelings at all times. I know you that your problem revolves around a co-dependency issue; you've never been alone for any length of time. But alone is not so bad; it gives you time to discover what you really are, what you feel,
and what makes you happy. 

People in relationships have to have something to bring, of their own, to the relationship. When two people are focused only on each other, they become stagnant, and lose touch with reality. For instance, my lack of outside interests, has made me an isolated, and boring person. I spent all my time and energy focused on you, and lost myself in the process. 

I was a person (not necessarily the most responsible or intelligent) who had a life (kind of lonely, and dysfunctional) and thoughts of my own. Ok, I'm not a good example. But I did have things that used to make me happy (ok, they were stupid things like playing music over the cb and thinking I was a local celebrity).

I look back at the things that I used to do and wonder "who was that guy?" I have changed. I am in the process of changing. I need to find out what is important to me in life, what I am interested in, what I am about. 

For the last year and a half I have been about you. And I have let the other aspects of my personality
that used to mean something to me die. Some of them were elements of my immature  teenage lifestyle, and they needed to die. 

Being with you made me grow up and start taking things more seriously. I gained something but I lost something as well. We all need to have our own space, inside our heads, that is us, not someone's expectation or ideal. I have tried to live up to your ideal, but I never left very much time or energy for what I was about. 

The thing is, I have never been so happy, felt so complete as when I was with you. When we were together, even on our most ho-hum days, I look back on them and they were the best days of my life. I can't kid myself, and tell myself that I'd be better off without you. 

I am constantly reminded of you (and it hasn't been very long since we've been apart) by songs "Your just too good to be true, can't keep my eyes off you..." and "I only have eyes for you," and I go to pieces. 

I was reminded of Monterey, by something on TV, and I was back there with you. Remembering driving on the coast, into the sunset. How romantic it was, how we were still together. How much I miss you and need your love. 

I thought I was stronger than this. I think about the things you did and try to convince myself that I am better off without you. But all I really want is to hold you and have you with me forever. The way I thought we used to be. 

I was in my own little dream world, I guess, but you were there in my dream. You were my dream. I had a harsh awakening when you decided that you would seek a way out of the relationship. I didn't want to let you go. I couldn't believe you could want someone else. I guess I was a fool, who was just too in love to want to believe it. 

I know that you did what you did, because you have a problem, and this problem is not my fault. I could be the greatest guy in the world (I am not) and you would still have this problem. 

You need to take care of your own heart and mind, try to get tuned in to what's real, leave aside relationships for a while and focus on your own life. You can't find happiness with someone else, if you are not happy with who you are. 

I know what is best for you, and although it doesn't make me happy to be without the love of my life, it is for the best. I think you need to do as your parents say, lose the weight, stay out of chat rooms and away from the personal ads. 

Keep your horses, and stay focused on them. They are the key to your sanity. They are what you are really about. When I met you they were the center of your life, and they were what made you who you
were. 

It was very romantic for me, when we first met, to see you going about your horse business. It was fascinating for me to see a girl who was capable of dealing with these big, powerful animals. To be able to be a part of your life, you the capable cowgirl, was thrilling for me. 

Sure, I was green, and you've had to show me everything, so that I wouldn't get myself killed, or ruin your training. But now, much of what you've shown me seems like second nature. 

Your horses are one of the things that make you an interesting and special person. Don't let your priorities get so far out of whack that you forget who you are and what you are really about. 

If you will always promise to be truthful with me, I will always be your friend. I can't say what will happen in the future, but for now we need to spend some time apart. If there is really love there it will stand the test of time. If there isn't then the pain of breaking up will only be temporary. Only time will tell. 

I won't be reading your email, or checking up on you. You are your own person, and owe me nothing. If time and fate bring us together again, perhaps we could start afresh, and be kind to one another again. 

I have some growing up to ao, too. I need to be my own person first, and have my own life and priorities in order. I need to take care of No. 1 (and clean up the No. 2) .

I will carry about with me forever the good times that we have shared. I will put the bad things in the past, and hopefully they will fade into the distance, as they already have for me. I am without anger, I
am left only with the memories of us, and miss you very much. 

Be good, I will never be far away.
 
Love,
 
Andrew
 

I need a woman (1997)

I need a woman

A dog won’t do

I’d prefer one without scabs, or crabs or saggy, baggy,

Bags of flab

Although, a beer belly would be ok

In the winter

Now, I can’t afford

To pay for this woman

All at once or a little at a time

I don’t want a loaner

I will work for my woman

If she’ll work for me

Together we’ll be a team

Not some leaching

Parasitic horrible thing

Sucking on my sac long after the

Pleasure has gone from it

She should stop out of consideration for my

Rod, lest it break and the piston

No longer do its natural born thing

Up in the cylinder, and start to scrape

In an unpleasant manner and the monkey

Starts screaming and beating himself about the

Head and neck—then she could

Gingerly begin stimulating the instrument

Bringing it up to speed, warming up the components

Gradually     OOeuHH

Andrew Letter 7 -- the state of affairs in Chico at 180-1/2 E. 8th Ave. circa 1997

MEMORANDUM

 

TO: Mominator, momski, the big "M"

FROM: Andrew, Droody, Hoody alias Dogbone aka "the weirdo"

SUBJECT: The state of affairs in Chico, Northern Cal

 

Hi, hello. Howzit goin'? I suppose Steve, that old bag of farts, is there and reading over your shoulder right now, so I'll be brief. And cryptic. And sarcastic. I'll try not to ramble, but you know I seldom get on one of these things (typewriter) so JHGFJHFG 

Hey, who left that pile of gibberish right in the middle of the page, how rude, well, where was I?

Oh, OK. Yeah, well, um, things are fine. For now. I guess. I don't know.

I have talked to my landlord, and he says he doesn't have any news about the building but that when his other project is completed and the county is done inspecting it, then it will be "party time." However, if my building is red tagged, I am out. But he doesn't have any other plans for the building, blah, blah, etc.

I have checked into the real estate market in Chico, talked to agents, mortgage brokers and homeowners and looked at quite a few houses. With backyards, and detached garages and bathrooms and kitchens, the works. There is a lot out there in the 75,000 to 85,000 range. I have determined that I cannot afford anything higher and that I really cannot afford that without getting a roommate to defray some of the costs.

The ideal thing would be like, a girlfriend who had a killer job and could afford to pay half ... and I'd like to eat ice cream sandwiches on the moon, too.

I have been in a prolonged period of disinterest of the opposite sex and relationships and activities in general. I work 25 hours a week at the Camcorder Repair place, do the occasional screenprinting ~ in my spare time, walk the dog, talk on the radio, listen to the scanner, watch TV, drink beer and on the weekends rent about ten videos. I have grown fat and lazy, and that is the story of my no girlfriend, no success, no money situation.

I like my life as it is. Too much change makes me nervous. I am the epitome of status quo, with the occasional tendency to drift downstream. I'd like to live upstream, but I don't want to move my tail vigorously enough to make the trip. I am like a big fat lazy salmon saying, "Ho hum, I wish that helicopter would come and drop me off over yonder, upriver." But at least I'm not a fuckin' bum. That bothers me. Fuckin' bums. No responsibility, crack smokin', no job, probably resort to stealing, kind of bums. But who's to say what different circumstances might have done to me. 

Please excuse this sorry-assed excuse for a letter, just getting bitter is all. You know, this paper here is a piece of crap. It didn't want to go in. I had to force it, and ram it, and it was a pretty lame piece of paper to begin with. It was on the bottom of a bunch of other papers, and it was the last piece of blank paper, so I had to use it. It was wrinkly, dog-eared and thin, you know, inferior paper. 

But the situation being what it is with trees and the environment and all, I should be grateful to have this paper at all, and should stop wasting resources by denigrating it. I can't help it. I have low self-esteem, so I pick on things which I deem to be of even lower worth than myself. Is anyone keeping track? Are all of my shortcomings being tallied up, and just what is the penalty for abusing a piece of paper?

 ... well, that was pointless and yet boring. 

I had to stop and take time out of writing to answer the phone. It was a potential customer, so I gave her a quote. Three quotes as a matter of fact, in case the first two didn't work out for her. For free, cause that's the kind of guy I am. I did some big election signs just recently, and they turned out pretty nice.

The guy who ordered them even tipped me $15 because he was so happy with them. I think he'd never seen screenprinting before. They did look nice, though, all red, white and blue with big bold letters saying "Elect Bev Payne -- Assessor." 

That was labor day week-end. Hence, the name "labor" day. I like working. I hate getting started, but once into it, I enjoy doing it, until I run into problems, then I cuss and throw things. The key is to keep the windows shut and throw unimportant objects at other unimportant objects, and then no one's the wiser. My stinginess works against my destructive tendencies to my advantage. 

Well, enough pop psychology, I have to get crackin'. Get these videos back to the store before they turn into pumpkins. If you have any videos you could recommend, I am at that stage where I have rented everything with a slick looking cover and am moving on to other criteria: plot, actors, cinematography, etc. 

I think video stores should have memberships with unlimited access for a nominal fee. As it is, I frequent multiple stores because it gets embarrassing seeing the same clerk 5 weeks in a row. I always rent the 4 for $4 or 5 for $5, and since this is my only form of paid entertainment (I don't even have cable) it is justifiable. It's sick, but justifiable. 

So, anyway, I'm fine, holding out behind this stump here, hoping the currents don't force me downstream, or force me to try to swim upstream anytime too soon. I like this stump, the rent is low, who knows how long it will last. I appreciate your being there for me and offering to help when things looked bad.

I really need to get on my feet a bit more, though, before I can seriously consider house payments of $650 to $750 per month. Or find a housemate that is compatible with my lifestyle, perhaps on the moon ... anywhee, got to go, paper's low. 

Talk to ya soon, love and all the best, C-Ya, Bye ....

Andrew

P.S.

La la la la ...

Shower Dynamics (1995)

The 1^st Principal of Shower Dynamics as applied to showering bodies in a 9 to 5 configuration:

If you intend to shower from 9 to 5 you can (and do) generate phone calls and appointments with up to 99.9% certainty—simply by removing your clothing, stepping into the hot (or mild whatever the temp of your choice) water and lathering up.

At this point, the phone will almost always certainly ring, or someone will come to the door—or both. The dog will bark, you will cuss, and the birds will sing, and bells will ring.

The only possibility of this not occurring would be in the event that one were actually trying to prove this theorem by generating heretofore unexpected phone calls. Persons of this caliber are fools, basing many of life’s decisions on the spurious divinations of hairballs, potato entrails and other random chance erosion/sediment patterns.

Songs written by the window of 180-1/2 E. 8th Ave, across the street from Quest Diagnostics in Chico(1995)

Songs Written by the Window

Well I’m old and I wear a hat

And I carry a pack

And I drive the company truck

Wearing flannel overcoats and the like

Now I’m drivin’ away

A young lady in a small red car

Make that a middle age wreck

The woman not the car

Lookin’ like heck and

Frantically digging in her purse

And tripping in her highly

Inappropriate heels

Fine young grunge princess

Disappeared behind the bushes

I wonder where she went?

Will I see her again?

More on this as it unfolds

Maintenance contractor, union type

Gets out of the rig that’s

Blocking my view—what’s he

Gonna do?

Old people, young people

Waiting for their urine tests

Waiting for the word on their pee

Did I pass? Did I? I sure

Hope the bum I bought the

Piss from didn’t lie to me

Just to take my money—oh, well

Well, I’m waiting? What’s the news

On my juice?

Andrew Letter 48 -- The Huckleberry Report

 
 

Wuhll Howdy, Momster,

Shucks, hi-are-yi-doin? 

Sunday rnernin 'bout 7am an' I is feelin' verbose. Mah dawg is watchin' Gardening Naturally. He prefers the O.J. Simpson proceedings (boring legal jargon puts him right to sleep). I am secretly training him in his sleep with old Lassie, Flipper and Scooby-Doo episodes--anything with good human/animal role models. Absolutely no Police Dog or Ninja Pups with gratuitous barking. Steven King is right out.

I tell ya it's eternal vigilance ya gotta have with these kids. He's a feisty little toddler, but I'm breaking him. A little psych­ology, a little reasoning--talking him through it like a director (sit-good-perfect-fabulous-hold it--- no, no, no -- it's all wrong­, take it from the top, etc). Gettin' a picture, yet?

Yeah, but he loves me. He won't never catch a rabbit, but that's OK cause he's good enough, smart enough and doggonit -- people like him. Especially little kids. He licks their little faces, whereas he bites my scraggly old beard (still looking for a teat somewhere in there).

Whoa--gotta GO. 

Little tyke was getting restless. I gotta get him on an independent study program, 'stead of this Mr. Constant Attention Required.

But he's a regular Gomer Pile, or uh, Forrest Dump. He does his most prodigious work outdoors, thank God. He's had his first worms and his first fleas. Oh boy, what's next? His first psychoanalysis? His first double homicide? Aw, heck, I can feel a nap corning on...

And the days and weeks whirred by like daises, like birds, and the spring came with its lengthening of days and balmy nights. And there was music, and bells -- but I never heard them ringing. No, I never heard them at all -- and there was Huck.

Old sad, droopy-eyed, mutton-jowled, hang-dog shuckle-burnpkin. He's got Willie Nelson Ears. He's my buddy. Did I mention that he loves me? He shore does. He's always trying to make eye contact with me, just for reassurance. Now, who will reassure me?

I seem to have faith these days, or is it blissful ignorance? Wutcha gonna do when the well run dry? Get a haircut and get a real job? I dunno. I'd a hundred times rather be just making it and be my own boss than be working for someone else eight hours a day, day in day out. Especially with today's corporate streamlining, downsizing and layoffs of long-term employees nearing retirement age, blah, blah, blah ...

The world is starting to suck for a large number of people. Or has it always sucked? Is sucking intrinsic to the world? Is the balance of sucking shifting out of our favor? For whom doesn't it suck and why? Is it just a state of mind?

Do we need drugs? Or guns? Or bombs, or what? Is the answer to just live quietly, ignoring it all, or is that just postponing the inevitable? We've got hate groups race riots, people poisoning Tylenol ... are we headed for Armageddon? Live, breaking news -- The End of the World -- we'll show it to you right after these messages.

Thus endeth the ravings of one Andrew P. Golding this day, Monday 9am 4-24-95.

OK, it looks like I’m a little late getting this bulletin out. No new news. See ya when I see ya.

 

Love,

Andrew

Andrew Letter 49 - 3-21-95 Approaching The Big Three-O (font is Slacker Illegibilius, pat. pending)

 

Andrew Letter 40 - Blue Christmas in the new shop

 

 

Season's Greetings, Merry-merry, and a ho, ho, ho ... (and all that sort of rot). Hi, hello, yabba-dabba-doo.

Thank you very much for the lovely Christmas Package (which I opened immediately upon delivery, to the dismay of the still present postman). I don't know when I lost the Christmas Spirit. I never have been too sporting. Remember when I ditched school and hopped a bus home, so I could unwrap and play with my presents early? And you returned the gifts and got me clothes or something?

Where am I going with this thought ...

 Anyway, I put the slicer to use immediately, really handy gadget--PLEASE DON'T TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME! Wahhhh! I won't do it again. There, enough sniveling.

Uh, sorry about not callin' on Xmas day. I been real busy, what wit workin' every day, and I got my dates mixed up, so on Christmas Day I thot it wuz Xmas Eve, and so the day which I thought was going to be Christmas turned out to be the day after. Well, I'm such a heel, I was too embarrassed to call then, so here I am.

I really have been busy -- for me. Three jobs in as many weeks, hundreds of multi-color stickers, posters and signs. So, I've made my rent electric, and bean bill again.

Kind of exciting, the not knowing. Sittin' around for weeks, wakin' up at the crack of 8:30, waitin' for that phone to ring, drinking coffee, watching TV and puttering. Then, PA-WASH! Suddenly, I am busy every day.

I just finished with everything, and now it's back to puttering and wishin' I was fishin'. I hate the cold. Steve called me from someplace near Ixtapa and said it's great, a gringo paradise. Maybe one day, I'll become as he and ride the warm air currents of life.

With my ambition, I'll never get rich ... or married ... or change the oil in my car. But Steve sounds like he's having fun. Livin' it up on granpa's money, the bum.

Hah, I ain't bitter. Look at all I got. I've learned a trade and am reaping the rewards of a business I did nothing to establish. Everything has just fallen into my lap. True, it's not the lap of luxury, but it's more than my sorry-ass deserves at this point.

No time for introspection now, though, it's technically a workin' day.

So, how's by you? Kids OK? No abnormalities or deviant behavior, I mean, any more than normal? And Greg?

Hope your Christmas was white or bright or whatever hue you wanted it to be. Mine was blue, but that's nothin' new. Even my cat didn't want to hang around with me on Christmas, man, that's blue. But not as bad as forgettin' what day it was, cause it ain't no different and it's just as cold inside as outside and your only friends are a TV set and an electric heater.

But I've stopped worrying about the landlord. I talked to him about the owner dropping in on me, and he said not to sweat it, they've been trying to sell the place for years. He didn't seem any more concerned about my staying here than before, so I guess I was just paranoid. Must be the Zoloft.

Hah. No. But for the first two days I got deathly ill-stomach nausea, night sweats and the I-think-I'm-going-to-die dry heaves. It could have been something I ate, or the flu. But I've scaled back to 50 mg every other day ‘cause it’s just too much of a buzz. I mean, I was up on the roof raking leaves at 8:00 AM. Now, tell me, is that normal??

Well, I gotta go. Happy New Year!

Love, Andrew

A pothead's house (1994)

Our house, if we could afford one

Wood of course be something

Weed be proud of

Open any window

Inside every cabinet

Weed have smoke

In the morning

And in the afternoon

Weed smoke some more

Cultivating

An interesting period (1994-ish, edits and comments in red are from some later period)

An interesting period…

Fuckin’ Carol & watchin’ Saved by the Bell

Callin’ Carol, getting told “It wasn’t that good”

And jerkin’ to Hustler

Cool dude, furry freak bro. seeking fuzzy freak chick. Soft lights, smooth sounds, (some fishing), incense and cats puppy await the right beer guzzling hussy.

Four Dykes and a Dildo

Starring Huge Grunt

Yellow outside, black & red inside

A damned shame

You need some brain therapy,

Here, bend over…

My landlord’s name is Eric Hart

With his trusty sidekick Allison

A couple of nicer people

You could never hope to meet

Roachweed (1994)

Roachweed

This is the chorus: Roachweed

Never tastes the same as it did the first time around

Never stays lit, smells like an oil spill

Makes your lungs hurt from the very first hit

Although the reasons for smoking it are sound

Such as

Concentrated THC form many highs

From when it was just getting’ good

And was snuffed out prematurely

Surely, if you can stomach the taste

And are against needless waste

You’ll agree with me

Roachweed

Gets you through them hard times

Except if you’re a spoiled wuss

In which case fuck you

Who let you in here

Get the fuck out

You fucken loser—an abuser

Of resources

That don’t come so easy

To many of my friends—Roachweed

Spurious reports from the far right

Medical experts in the field

Have mentioned it’s a hazard

To inhale burning matter

As if to say, God doesn’t smoke

Well, what’s a fucken volcano?

God smokin’, that’s what, and let

Me tell you He takes big hits

And holds them in

A LONG FUCKIN TIME, OK?

A serial killer's song (1994)

Make me a present, a part of yourself

Pretty little piece I can keep on the shelf

Something in pink, with the inside all red

“Middle of the heart, cross section,” it said

Take me somewhere inside of you

Anywhere’s fine, any opening will do

I’ll find my way in, and you’ll close the door

And I’ll never be seen or heard any more

Give me a pint of your precious dew

And let me relax for a moment of two

Don’t go away cause you know we’re not through

Many are called, but those that get away are few

My Last Words to My Friends -- date approximate (***unedited*** Explicit *** trigger warning, etc. *** -- be warned -- This is misogynistic, vile and disgusting ***)

                             My Last Words to My Friends

Arvada -- Just stop picking it. Stop it! It will go away. It's disgusting. That's all.

Carol -- Can't believe Gene stuck it in you. He told me that he's ashamed and regrets it. But he did mention that it was only possible at all because he turned you around and fucked you like the farm animal that you are?

Carol's Daughter -- Grow up, bitch! Get a job, get fixed and put your baby up for adoption. And leave your poor squirrel brained mother alone.

Any Girl on the Streets -- Hey Babe. Didja like the buckets of white hot bubbling cum I drenched you with last night? 

Didja like licking my flaky white crumbling toejam, bitch?

Didja like sucking out the earwax and the leftover soapscum from my ear, CUNT!?

Didja like the smell of my itchy smelly scrotum bags, honey, of course you did when you sucked my cock so readily, sow, whore, piglet, slut, your reeking fish-barge pussy is so sloppy and well gravied it's a wonder the whole neighborhood's cats don't show up every time you uncross your looser than gooseshit legs. Oh, and your nipples, if they had any more hair around 'em would look like these woolly mammoth type flying saucer things, I don't know what -- but goddamn they're scary! Whew. And if I catch you around my butthole, with its greasy, bloody hanging bits of debris, along with lint -- either sniffing or attempting to lick the gathered salami tie creases around the sphincter, or trying to insert either a tongue or other non-organic foreign object therein -- I shall blast you! Ha. I will fart in your face. I fart in the faces of all poop smelling butt loving bitches anyway.

Wart (1994)

Wart

Too bad I had to see you today

Don’t know what you’re made of

‘Cept one part “T”

And one part War (on humanity)

Looky here—it’s big and getting’ bigger

Can’t face you now

Can’t even look in a mirror

I stopped getting fan mail

A whole month ago, lead singer quit

The band…and

Nobody comes around my one room walk up

Flat…I started wearin’ a hat

And a scarf and a vinyl Jump Suit

Can’t hide, can’t hide

This wart is out to get me

It’s out of control, it’s eating me

I have no life, it controls my

Every move

Y A H H H---!

Way to go out, finish the race

Man explodes, wart on his face

Red balloons always remind me

The day you came to stay

I put my good old days behind me

WART

Get it off, get it off, get it off me

WART

Leave it alone/It’ll go away/NO

WART

Friday night in suburbia (1994)

Let’s go downtown and stare at all the freaks

Gawk at all the losers, tryin’ to be somebody

It’s Friday night, we’re white

And this is suburbia

Start a fight, dance all night

We’re the cultural elite

I want meat, to sink my teeth into

Let’s go to the store—and check the quick sale bin

This is so stupid

Freeway sentinels (1994)

So I can’t believe I didn’t tell you about those hooded freeway figures, spaced out evenly, as if dispatched as sentries. These grim sentinels stood over 40 feet tall and had a beak and claws. With its body shrouded, these were all you could see. And, oh yeah, I was drivin’ when I noticed them. They was standin’ in pairs, by each freeway overpass and off ramp.

I swear it was the night I came down with a death chill, which first I thought was the flu, but without the diarrhea. Yeah, but now I only catch glimpses of these little flying things (they could be mosquitoes) and cats in the corner of my eyes. I haven’t seen the devil in over 4 months.

I have been growing this pot, which looked pretty good at first, but a lot were males. They smoke ok, kinda fresh, the shoots’ll get ya fucked up—in a nice schoolyard kind of way—and even the broad leaf (when smoked damp, like tobacco) gives good smoke—always accompanied by coffee or beer.

I got unemployment checks comin’ in (to pay the rent & PG&E) and $ in the bank. Dope in the ground is better than $ in the bank, because in the end you may not find any dope for sale and you may have spent the $. Never mind that. Uh.

Exerpts from: Cuss Words That I Use (1994) unabridged

Fuck:   Pronounced fuhk, a quick little outburst, used monosyllabically, to display mild distaste for an event, situation, person or object.

           

            Pronounced faaahh—ck to indicate increased displeasure at the above.

Fuckin’ A:       Used mostly in commiseration circles to affirm something negative, eg. “Did you get another parking ticket?” “Fuckin’ A!”

            Can denote surprise, awe or wonderment, as when one sees a really bitchen monster truck crushing old junk cars.

Fuck You:       Can be directed at a person, object or nothing at all, if one is sufficiently pissed. Caution: not to be used indiscriminately around strangers who are bigger than you.

Fuckin’ Jesus Christ:  Pronounced gee-sauce, not necessarily blasphemy, but close enough. Conveys a pseudo-righteous disgust, complete disbelief or exasperation.

Fuck off:         Means “I hate you”  “Go away”

Fuck off and die:        Copulate with insect repellent and terminate. “Go to hell.”

Fuckin’ shit:    Used to describe objects which have fallen under your disfavor. “What is this fuckin’ shit?”

Fuckin’ bullshit:         Used to describe events, actions or things which do not live up to your expectations.

Fuckin’ suck my dick, you fuckin’ fuck:       Can be used whole or in parts. Suck my dick—fellate me. You fuck-- n. A person who is an asshole can be designated as a fuck.

Fuckin’ son of a bitch:            Not related to canine parentage, simply another exclamation of dissatisfaction or a description of an unsavory person.

Various critiques and letters to celebrities (1994-ish)

ART BELL IS A FUCKIN WEIRDO.

Ya man so what

Ok then

---

Made yourself cry lately, bad boy?

---

Dear Mel,

I purchased your Marijuana Grower’s Inside Edition. You stupid-head.

---

Hey Tom Snyder! Yer cool, man, although I grew up w/Ackroyd doin’ you, and I honestly don’t know who does a better Tom Snyder. Any way

---

You suck, Steve. That is all.

Oh, did I say that?

---

Your kind is easy to find                                    I wish I said this to somebody

Like earthworms after the rain

---

Dear George,

I have been watching your show “The George Carlin Show” & have been a fan of yours ever since “Toledo Window Box.” You have spoken for more than one generation during your career as comedian and, well, whatever else it is you do. I personally was edified way back when, listening to your “hippy dippy weather man” and “the dog is licking his balls.”

Um, so what am I trying to say? George, do you still smoke pot? I don’t work for NORML or anything, I am just a consumer of all things cultural.

Do something for the cause, please, my older generation role model, sir. Use your prime time power of predilection to expedite the legalization of or benign pant-friend, marijuana. Don’t be afraid. Just cuzz you’re rich and can buy the real good stuff. You must realize—you are a spokesman. Do your job, be honest and let’s see some cutting edge TV.

It’s nothing new, but persistence—not knuckling under—is what pays. So, do it. Be our hero. Tell the networks that you smoke buds. Deal with it. Don’t be a coward, you only live once.

Your friend, Andrew (a friend in weed)

PS. Was that too preachy? Sorry. Bud. Do it! Be a man, don’t back out now…

---

Dear Thomas Brothers Map Co.

I recently purchased your California Road Atlas. You have set the standard in road atlases. Atlas’sz—whatever. You guys are good. I’ve followed some of your roads on very enjoyable excursions. Yet, I still find myself lost from time to time. Can you help me?

"P" Rap (1994)

“P” Rap

Hi Ho Hi Ho. It’s off the dope I grow

If you’ve never planted seed then ya just don’t know

First you sow, but ya just don’t throw

Not the surface of the ground but just below

Next important item—the H20

It’s gotta be pure as the melted snow

So to the mountains I go

Tell me more, brother, rap on

Well there’s ever so much more to be covered, son

Because of sentencing guidelines

Dontcha buy no gun

If they don’t stick ya in the ground

Then they’ll put you away

In some lightless tomb

Ya might as well be dead

So don’t forget what I said

No gun, no run, you see them pigs are fat

But rather than that

They’d just shoot you in the back

And that’s a fact

Now back to the story of the little bad seed

Grown up real sturdy

Well foliated weed

With just the warmth of the sun

And some dirt’s all you need

Make small patches so they won’t be (seed)

By the ‘lectronic eye, only feared by the greedy

Cuz more than 10#’s in 3 months is overdoin’ it

But if ya got it covered, brother, see to it. I’m in to it.

One whole page (1994 rap attempt)

One whole page                                                          NOT WORTH IT

Dedicated to rage

And the occasional taste of pain

When I injure my brain in an insane way

I think it’s safe to say, I have

A knack for the inane and I inundate

Everything that I say with hate, tied up with

A piece of tape, I meditate, skip the parade

Stay home and gape at the waste paper

Basket and ask it, do you have a clue? How are you?

And where do I find a new suit? It’s my

Duty in life to remain fulfilled, with every

Little vibe that I feel I make it real

Can’t say I haven’t mastered the profession

Of letting my hair down, I’m downtown

Cause that’s where all the mighty fine hos be around—EE YEAH

Big bad scary God (1994)

He’s a big bad scary God and He’s watching you

Waiting to thump you right over the

Head and

Send you to hell the minute you masturbate

Yeah

He’s a big bad scary God so you better be smart

Don’t read nasty magazines

And don’t eat beans

And fart in church

On Sunday mornin’ smellin’ fine

He’s a big bad scary God and He’ll kick your ass

So don’t you light up

That marijuana cigarette

Shut up, wear ties and keep your

Goddam liberal druggie talk

To yourself

He’s a big bad scary god and he hates queers

Almost as much as

Democrats and immigrants

And the poor (lazy)

Welfare bastards

Sittin’ at home tradin’ food stamps

Drinkin’ beer and fuckin’ and

Makin’ more poor little bastards

For us honest, hard working taxpayers

Like you and me to

Feed

He’s a big bad scary God and he hates niggers

Or colored or black or whatever

Those jigaboo fried chicken gold chain wearin’

Caddilac drivin’ crack smokin’ polyester

Neon bell bottom pimp suit wearin…

Death March (April 1994)

4-94

I’ve been bad, I’ve been good

Faced the things I thought I could

Said my prayers, sang my song

Watched the days grow sad and long

Now I got no one, now I got no one

I seek for things without going to far

I lust for a life not bitter or hard

God picked me up and we rode in his car

Then he kicked my out of the passenger door

Now I’m walking, now I’m walking—on

Life’s a death march

The tired and slow

Are obliterated beneath

The wheels of the strong—

Take me somewhere I can belong

In the shade of a tree

By the banks of the river, yeah

With a fishin’ pole in the sand

And a sizeable joint in my hand