Bobby vamp Calabrese 2011 Summer Party!

I'm not sure what to blog about, but I'm blogging right now. I'm not lying when I say I've been wanting to post something of legit value for the last week, but I've yet to muster up the strength and energy to do just that. I have these grand ideas of posting about my favorite X-Men, or detailing in all in all of my most sensational word wizardry my most favorite wrestler in the WWF. Both of these subjects, by the way, will be presented to you very soon. Lots of crude Paint art of pink haired mutants and oiled up brutes from the 1980's are sure to follow, paving the way for my blog to be the most scattered diary of any musician ever.

Maybe it's the above one-hundred degree weather that's been sucking my energy dry, perhaps it's the fact that every time I squat down to write a damn thing I lose all interest because I'm hungry and caveman must eat food yes. I demand a quiet, solemn atmosphere to write and in the last week, I've yet to achieve such a state. I'm not sure how that is, since I've created my living quarters to parallel that of a dark and musty cave, but it has, and all of my juices have run dry.

All is not lost in the way of creative outlets, mind you, because at least, if anything, I've been spending a lot of time writing songs, watching mindless Godzilla films and trying my best to just relax. I feel like an asshole when I say that my life is so demanding and stressful, that even eating junk food and playing video games isn't relaxing, but even for a guy who strums a guitar and sits on the Internet on all day, even that can become inane and monotonous. Every now and again, I need to just be one of the people. I need to enjoy life in the fullest, I need to grab a six pack and bake my shimmering, chalk-white skin in the hot Arizona sun. I need to sit by the fucking pool and be a party, baby.

And I did just that.

To say that I'm writing this buzzed might be an understatement. What's "being buzzed," really? How can one judge your level of intoxication when everyone has their own limits and regulations? Needless to say, I'm a tad bit loopy, my fingers feel sporadic and I'm just dying to see what I wrote, while I write, in the sad and lonely hours of the morning. Yeah, I'm totally drunk.

There's a lot of spellcheck to be had, I will admit that, because even if I'm the biggest boozer around, I demand proper spelling punctuation. Grammar, too. Everything, really. I have my standards.

But I want to write to you, dear friends, what I've been up to, even if it's not smothered in toy reviews and sensational meals I've had at the local pub. Even though I'm not including any fun photos or crappy drawings, I need to update. It's the least I can do, since, ya know, this is all I do. My life is awesome.

So. Where to begin?

Over the Fourth of July weekend, I went to Disneyland with the family. This includes all of my brothers and sisters, mom and dad, wives and husbands, kids and friends, etc. Our group has become almost humorous in it's absurd amount, but in the long run, it's way better for the guy stuck in the middle of it all. Sick of one side of the family? Hang with the other. Tired of the picky eaters? Hang on, trooper, just skip to the other side of the group. Bored of the complainers and whiners? Jump right back into the middle and out of sight, soldier, where you're obscure and out of the limelight. It's a delicate game of balancing who you can tolerate at any given time, but it is my family, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Hell, I'm too used to the weirdness. I practically crave it.

We did everything one could do in Disneyland, even if that secretly meant paying for overpriced beers in California Adventure just to past the time. If you could win a record for being the most nauseous and loopy on the California Screamin' roller coaster ride before you even rode the ride, I would win.

I'm not gonna lie, I love the place. It's not a love I'd wholly admit to, but just being there is nice. It's a good thing. I'm sure, in my age and current state of mind, things would be different if they didn't have the roller coasters and beer and whatnot, but overall...I dig it. The rides can seem a but outdated, the food can make you feel like you just ate the last thing thing you will ever eat before your heart gives out, but it's fun. The atmosphere is nice, the staff is dumb with friendliness and yeah, overall, you're just pleastanly pleased with whole experience. Plus, you're greeted with people who know who you are!

Yeah, I'm rich and famous. Not so much rich, and actually...not so much famous. But it's not commonly unknown for us Calabrese brothers to be spotted out of a crowd. Even us lowlifes can be recognized from time and time!

While we were rocking Space Mountain for the first of many times, we just so happened to be in front of a lovely couple who knew who me and Davey were. We may have looked greasy and slobby and agitated, but it was us, in all our Calabrese glory. Completely flattering, and although we tried to make appropriate smalltalk, I can't help but wonder if I blew the whole situation completely. You see, upon meeting these fine folks, I decided to, in my infinite hilarity, demand the young man give me his food. He was holding a half eaten carton of what appeared to be a Disney approved, plastic container of fruit, and, apparently, I thought it was kind of a funny thing to say. I don't know why, and looking back, it doesn't even make sense. No wonder they stopped talking to us thirty-two seconds in.

Usually, in such situations, I want to be the most hilarious and outgoing I can be. While growing up, I always imagined meeting the bands I liked and yeah, I wanted them to be normal, but what I really wanted was for them to be the part they portrayed on stage. Be the wild man, be the joker, be whatever! Just don't look like you got off of work at Wal-Mart and sufficiently hate your life. I know it's all an illusion, but it's what made famous people famous. If you're in a band, and for whatever reason you wear nothing but cowboy hats and bright red Nike sneakers, you can never be seen in a baseball cap and flip flops. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is. It's not your thing. Stick with your thing! Anyway, I did what I could, and if I have failed you, Two People Behind Us in the Line for Space Mountain...I apologize.

We also saw Trent Reznor walking down main street. I'm not admitting to becoming a total fanboy, but I did kinda goad Davey into following him in the bathroom. I just wanted to know what was up. Fuckin' Trent Reznor, right? In Disneyland! It was damn precious.

My older sister got a photo with him, which I'm totally jealous of. I will fully admit, I pussed out, but now I wish I had some more snapshot taking balls. I could have had a wicked sweet Facebook profile picture.

So now we're here, today. I went to the pool earlier, which is shared by a large apartment complex, offering the finest in nutjobs you're always pairing up with. I'm already nervous and self conscious by even being next to water, under the sun and with my shirt off, so by even looking in my general direction you've dramatically elevated my heightened sense of nervousness. I won't bother you, and you won't bother me. Yeah, I'm talking to you, guy with the awkwardly-mismatched-to-the-rest-of-your-body face tan. Seriously, work on your back, bro. Even that shit out.

I also brought down a six pack of Peroni, which was awesome, but is now quickly dismissed as the worst idea of the night. That is, until I decided to keep drinking well into the night, bringing Worst Idea Number Two to life. It lived, it thrived, it hurt.

My lounging time was heightened by getting a sweet drunk on, but now a fervid guilt and an oncoming fear of a hangover is ever present in my mind. I can't enjoy anything right now. My entire day of rest and relaxation has been ruined by a mixture of gluttony and sadness! So I think this is the time for me to say goodbye, dear friends. I'll see you in the morning. Have the Advil ready.

UPDATE:

Hungover, yeah, but not as bad as I expected. My head feels like something out of "Scanners" and my guts feel muddy, cruddy and gross. Oh well. Was it worth it? Yeah, I guess so. My greatest fantasies in life would be to tromp around in the jungle with Indiana Jones, or to be on the beach in any scene with the Karate Kid. Despite not having the massive bonfires, the actual big blue ocean and half-naked high schoolers dancing and drinking from the 1980's, I feel like I made headway into completing a tiny section of my bucket list. With my bizarre and lonely pool party, I have vaguely achieved somewhat of this scenario. Now get me that fucking Advil.

Anyway, I also did some post-editing. I added a bit of dash and spice with my lame banner, because I could NOT let this post go by without some color and pizazz. That's a straight up Cardinal sin, yo.

So enjoy your summer! Do something fun. Go buy some Godzilla toys or eat a bag of marshmallows. I know I will.