I'm going back to Cali, Cali, Cali
I'm going back to Cali – no man I don't think so
– LL Cool J
Life In A Mexican Ghetto Back To Cali
Sorry, I haven't updated this blog in a while, but life has been more tumultuous than normal. I've promised many times that this blog would be a re-accounting of my past, and someday I'll get to that, but when your current life is more fucked up than the shit-show of the past 44 years: That's a bold statement!
Let's do a quick recap because I'm quite sure there's a lot I left out. While I was waiting for the short-sale on my house through Keller Williams. The house had been in short sale negotiations for a while but hadn't reached escrow (or so I was told). I figured I would have at least 60 days to figure out what I was going to do once it went into escrow.
On August 29, Shawn Kormondy, Kellar Williams called me and asked if I could be out by the 15th. I asked what happened to telling me about escrow? He made up some bullshit story, and I reminded him that wasn't giving me a hell a lot of time to figure out what I was going to do with my life. He said he would try to buy me some more time and then called me back a few minutes later and asked if I could be out by the 16th.
I've told him, “Jesus fucking Christ, what's the difference?”
So I had to make a plan and make it fast. I figured I would go back to Atlanta where I am more respected as a musician and get back into playing music, maybe even get Dick Delicious back together, and keep on doing the Internet marketing thing. Since I had stayed there many times in the past and for the next three years would not have enough credit to get an apartment I hastily called the Highland Inn in Atlanta to see if they have any rooms open. It's one of those extended stay hotels, it's in a pretty decent neighborhood, and they have free Wi-Fi.
I sold off most of my belongings except for some guitars, amps, computers and clothes. I had about $13,000. I figured I could live on that for a while. So come the 15th, I loaded up a U-Haul behind my 2002 Expedition and started the cross-country trek from Los Angeles to Atlanta which didn't go as smoothly as planned. The day I arrived in Atlanta I noticed I didn't have any feeling in two of my fingers on my left hand. It wound up I had a compressed ulnar nerve and would need surgery. To this day, this is the worst event of my entire life. I can no longer play guitar, and despite the surgery, the symptoms have not improved as of the writing of this blog.
Atlanta Thinks Blacks Lives Matter
Also, on the first day in Atlanta, they have a big Black Lives Matter protest that blocked the highway. Here is a picture I shot from my Bicycle off one of the bridges that wound up all over Twitter.
It was okay back in Atlanta. That is where all my real friends are anyways, of course, in the past 15 years everyone's gotten older and mellowed out quite a bit, and that didn't bother me. I concentrated on getting my Internet marketing career going again.
After a few unsuccessful attempts at correcting my nerve damage with the chiropractor, I finally went into surgery, and they told me I might feel normal and 18 months to two years, But they couldn't even promise that.
Two days after leaving the hospital, I went to brush my teeth one morning and was trying to spit up a giant lugee. I couldn't understand why I couldn't spit it up, so after clearing my mouth of toothpaste, I noticed my tonsils were the size of golf balls. I immediately went to a nearby walk-in clinic, and they told me I had tonsillitis which I probably picked up in the hospital. If the swelling didn't go down, I would require another surgery. They gave me some steroids and antibiotics and fortunately they worked, and the swelling subsided, thus dodging going under the knife again.
Fuck The IRS
Sometime over the next few days, I logged into my bank account and saw that it was at negative $888,888.00. My first thoughts were that the IRS had gotten me. I knew I owed them some money, but by doing the math there's no way it could've been not much, so I began the four-hour process of trying to contact Bank of America.
It wound up, in my haste to move, I left a checkbook because someone got a hold of it and started writing bad checks until they had completely drained my bank account. I was able to log into my online banking and find all the bad checks. After a week or so it was resolved, and the money was put back in my account.
Of course, I couldn't stay holed-up my room hacking away on my computer I had to get out and socialize occasionally. From time to time I would visit my favorite local bar the Highlander, but only once a week or so. After my operation and up to now I have not been able to go to the gym or ride a bike as it puts, even more, undue stress on my damaged nerve.
Fuck The Highland Inn
One day, my friend Juan hit me up and asked me if I wanted to go out and get a few drinks. We got drunk but not THAT DRUNK He was right around the corner, so I went and met him at the bar. We hit the Virginia Highlands and then I returned to the Highland Inn.
The Highland Inn his old school. They have these metal keys for your door. For the last week the metal had fatigued on my key and almost broke off a few times. I should've had it replaced, but I didn't want to be a pain in the balls. That night after returning from the bar I put my key in the door, and the metal on the key started to break. I managed to wiggle the key out of the door before it broke off completely and went down to the front desk to get a new key.
When I reached the front desk there was no one there, but I could hear some guy playing guitar and singing Bob Dylan songs in the back room, and I tried to yell to get his attention for a good 10 minutes to no avail. So I got aggravated and figured I would give it one more try.
I went back to my room and wiggled with the half broken key for a good 10 minutes fighting with the lock and couldn't get it to budge. Finally, out of exhaustion, I just sat down next to my door and said I would try it again or go back to the desk in a few minutes. I sat down, and I fell asleep in front of my door.
Eventually, somebody came by and let me in, and I finally got some sleep. When I woke up the next morning, a note had been slipped under my door saying that I must check out immediately. Of course, I didn't have a Plan B. So I called my friend Shane Morton, and he let me crash at his house for a few days.
It became apparent to me between the nerve damage, tonsillitis, bouncing checks, and forced evictions that Atlanta doesn't want me back. So I decided to move back to California. I have a friend who was kind enough to offer a place to stay if I moved back. She is the bartender at The Rainbow (my favorite bar in LA).
After staying at Shane's for a few nights, I caught a flight back to California. This time, I wouldn't be living in some 2.2M home, I am staying smack dab in the middle of a Mexican Ghetto in West Hollywood. To be honest, it's no big deal (or at least not yet).
One thing I have learned about life: Material things is not that important. Because as soon as you start owning a lot of stuff, your stuff owns you.
Where do I go from here?
If you would like to help me keep writing so I don't have to keep sneaking into Starbucks for WIFI and can order of mocha Frappuccino, donations are always appreciated!