Archives:
Chapter 1: Introductions
Chapter 2: the second chapter
Chapter 3: Super perfundo.
Chapter 4: The "lost" chapter.
Chapter 5: Fuel for bad love songs.

People:
Amy
Ngan
Daniel
Ann
Alicia
Vince
Vy

Places:
X-E
W-D

Things:
Flat Bread
My Quiz
Obligatory Guestbook

Monday, August 8, 2005 02:50 a.m.

I'm back! But only for today, I'm sure.
I bet you thought you'd never see another post from me again. Actually, I bet it never really crossed your mind.

Next week I will be kind of pitching a movie idea to Greg Beherent - a writer for such shows as HBO's Sex and the City and NBC's Commited, not to mention his own New York Times Best Selling book. He's also a generally awesome guy. I know that it is going to end with nothing more than "Hey, that's an awesome idea. Good luck with that," although part of me envisions signing a deal then and there on the spot and become a big shot Hollywood writer.

On a somewhat related post, I was informed by the San Jose Improv Comedy Palace that once their contract with the Bay Area Comedy Competion runs out, I may be able to perform my sketch comedy show live from their stage on Wednesday nights. That is what we in the buisness call awesome.

I'll see you all again next year.

Monday, July 5, 2004 10:42 p.m.

Yours till Niagra Falls.
"I'm not qualified to write your biography or anything, but it looks like you've gotten all the bad stuff in your life out of the way early, so it's nothing but daisies and waterslides from here on out." She reaches out and takes hold of my hand, squeezing it softly one last time. "We'll make it through together, okay?"

Saturday, June 5, 2004 02:49 p.m.

I'm finished with school this semester. Joy. I dropped my Psych class, so I'll have to take that the next time they offer it, but other than that, I had a pretty solid semester. I wrote so much stuff, I'm pretty much done with one of my screenplays, and it's pretty good, if I do say so myself. Anyway, in lieu of writing anything substantial, I'll leave you with a quote I found written in my psych notebook that I wrote when I should have been taking notes.

"The flames on his sleeve represents his inner-fire, the skull on his chest represents his inner-skull."

Wednesday, June 2, 2004 03:36 a.m.

Re: my awful haircut.
Differing opinions on my haircut:

My sultry co-worker Betsy (whom I love) says, "At least you know if a girl likes you, it won't be for your hair."

My manager Rick (whom I hate) says, "That's a good hairstyle for you. You look professional."

Friday, May 28, 2004 02:40 a.m.

I have very vivid dreams. When I can remember them, I give myself a congratulatory pat on the back for being so creative and otherwise awesome. This is few and far in between, however, because more often than not, I forget my dream before I have a chance to write it down. All I can remember is that it was pretty cool/well scripted. In an effort to remedy this, I started to keep a notepad by my bedside, with the notion being I would wake up and immediately write what I dreamed about. Appearantly I awoke in the middle of the night last night, because when I awoke this morning I found the following written:

We're spoons were purple. Like Mary Penderdine.

I am of the opinion that context is the greatest invention of modern man.

Thursday, May 6, 2004 04:18 a.m.

Lest you forget, I was ASB President.
Gotta bring this back up. Whiny journals are so 2001.

I'm going to work on my game in the next couple of months, and if I feel confident in my skills, I'm going to become a proffessional bowler. And I'm being completely serious. Help me think of a cool nickname. I'm not sure how well "The #1 Hispanic" will fly. I'd want an awesome nickname, like "Johnny McAwesome", but I know you can't give yourself a nickname. So lay it on me, string-bean.

Thursday, May 6, 2004 04:00 a.m.

This isn't meant to be woe-is-me-y or anything like that.
Every now and then I go back and read through my old entries and compare them with the older entries of my friends (because all my friends were angst-ridden back in the days, yo). I try to sync up what was going on in my life with what was going on in their lives and basically try and remember what we were doing however many years ago. With the exception of an extremely few amount of instances, I've come to the conclusion that I have been, for the better part of the last four years, a non-factor. While being a peripheral character does have it's advantages, this does explain how quickly the college drift-apart phenomenen kicked into place with my "best friends" (roughly four seconds after I graduated highschool.)

Two years ago I would have taken a bullet for any of my TA 'family.' I wept openly with them. I shared things with them that I've shared with no one else. Now I can't remember most of their names.

Sorry to be all e-annoying, but I figure I've had this thing for three years and haven't once written an angsty "online-journal type" entry. I was overdue.

Wednesday, April 21, 2004 04:15 a.m.

I believe in rainbows because I'm an optimist.
I fully expect the Bush administration to announce that, due to an information gaffe, these United States of America fully intend to go to war with the La Quinta chain of hotels, but that's because I'm an optimist.

Friday, March 12, 2004 07:27 a.m.

LiveJournal? More like Stupid.
Haven't posted here in a while. Now that I have the stupid LiveJournal, I'm not showing my pitas the love she deserves. So, for you, a Pita exclusive.

I just finished writing a ten page paper/script for my film class. I know I have ten pages due every Friday, and yet I still wait until Thursday night to start. It's a bad habit, especially considering I work all night on Fridays now, so I'm awake for some 36+ hours. It's like high school all over again.

There's this girl who I work with who is so mysterious. I've yet to talk to her in my three weeks working, and I don't know if I'll talk to her this weekend. I looked into her eyes, though, for a moment, and let me tell you. It was intense. And mysterious. Although I still prefer the mysterious girl from my past to the mysterious girl of the present.

Saturday, February 21, 2004 01:08 a.m.

God lives in my hometown.
[x-posted in my LameJournal]

Lynchburg, Virginia.

Adam, the Hebrew word for "man" and more than just some guy named Adam, was created by God on the fourth day of time. The first upright humanoid stretched his muscles four billion years later. Somewhere between then and there we had cockroaches and horeshoe crabs crawling on Eve's discarded apple cores and Lucy the Human Fossil's Ethiopian hut, or, later, her body. Then there was an ice age and Stonehenge, Pyramids and Olympics. Jesus showed up, died, and then had a rock opera. Now sheep have clones and so do kittenes, but cockroaches and horeshoe crabs are exactly the same. We have evolved, the level of which varies depending on the religious inclinations of the species, but they have not. They are indentical to their ancestors. I have not changed since I was twelve years old. The weight is gone, and facial hair pops up when I don't have time to shave. My feet don't fit into anything below a size thirteen. Every night before bed I catch myself starting my prayers before I shake my head and tell myself that I don't talk to God anymore.

Saturday, January 24, 2004 03:41 a.m.

Letters mentally composed but never written
Dear Neighboor Who Lives in the Apartment Below Me,
I realize that one night three months ago we were playing music at a late hour, and I fully understand your anger for it. I apologized then and I'd like to apologize again. However, your constant complaints and curses of non-existant noise are not appreciated, nor is you suggesting to the landlord we be evicted. Your chief complaint that we walk to loud is just plain silly. Hey, if I could I get a jet pack, but I think that'd just make the noise problem worse.
Regards,
Rob

PS. I hate you you stupid die.

Dear Blonde Australian Girl Working at the SJSU Dining Commons,
I've been nursing a small crush on you ever since the day you first swiped my meal card. Not that I ever expected anything to come out of it as I'm sure you have a boyfriend who is far more interesting than me and, outside of swiping my card and working in a job you probably hate, you would have nothing to do with me because I'm a loser and you're so cool, and even if you didn't think that I already transfered and moved away so this is all pointless. Nevertheless, I would like to clarify something really quickly. On the few occasions that I actually worked up my courage to say more than a sheepish "thanks" to you, the goofy grin on my face wasn't because of the accent you were self-conscious of, but rather the simple fact that you were talking to me.
Always,
Robby

Dear Mom,
I never told you this when you were around, but all my friends thought you were the coolest mom ever, and so did I.
Love,
Your Son

Dear Girl At Elisabeth's Surprise Party Who Not Only Looked Like My Ex-Girlfriend But Also Sounded Like Her, Used The Same Expressions As Her, Laughed Like Her, Smelled Like Her And Even Had the Same Name as Her,
Even though I'm sure this is some sick joke orchestrated by someone or something I cannot comprehend and I the thoughts of how that relationship ended leave me with the feeling of being punched in the stomach, I am still more smitten than you could ever imagine.
Yours,
Robby.

Friday, January 16, 2004 01:52 a.m.

Use your cell phone as a ninja star!
You just killed ten of the enemies, so you eat some fish and try to sleep. You try to sleep. Now you are back on the quest; your bamboo vest just saved your life. It saved your life.
You better live the code. You better live the code. You chose this lonely warrior life.
Use your cell phone as a ninja star.
The code will save your life, my brother the samurai.

 For 19 years, a purveor of high-quality ninja rock.

Tuesday, January 6, 2004 02:33 a.m.

School is back in session. !
I have a Intro to Macro Economics class that meets four times a week from nine to twelve-thirty. Now matter how interesting Macro-Economics can be, three and a half hours is just too long. I will get by.

Our apartment is lacking a certain reptilian flavor. I want to buy a chameleon and name it Chameleo Estevez. I think it will still be clever two months from now.

And what with this once a month stuff, you say? Well, at least I'm consistant. Happy New Years.

Tuesday, November 11, 2003 03:03 a.m.

So I archived the last set of entries. "Fuel for bad love songs." where I chronicle moving out, finding an apartment, starting at a new school, meeting a girl, falling in love, the inevitable break-up and coming to terms; all the while rocking out harder than I have in years. I did that all in 5 nondescript post that mentioned little of the above. Man, proffessional authorship, here I come.

Anyway, I'm going to be updating this a lot more than usual (which would still not be much, seeing as how I was at around one entry/one month). The world will be a better place once some small section of the internet can read me complaining that Enviromental Science 10 is a lot harder than it should be.