/drəNGk/

Wine is delicious. Wine is... All of the positive adjectives. I can't think of them right now. I'm typing coherently, but if you asked me to spell it out for you, I'd say "Wineisdelishur." Because it's true. And because I'm drunk.

Yes. I am drunk. Yes, I had half a I had 3/4ths a bottle of wine with my salmon and tuna sushi rolls. I filled my glass to the brim because I thought one glass meant one full glass and I was all like "If most wine bottles contain 4-5 glasses of wine, why is this bottle nearly empty after one?"

This is probably a bad idea. Blogging while drunk, I mean. But so far, hey, zero typos!

I once did drunk improv. In college. It was one of the most fun improv experiences I've ever had, but apparently, it wasn't as much fun for the audience. My pants came off. My boxers did not. But they almost did. Had I had one more Jagerbomb, they most certainly would have. Delma was in the front row and she freaked out.

I don't drink Jager anymore because I once finished an entire handle of Jager by myself while playing Pokémon cards withs my cousins. I played Mewtwo and then woke up curled around the toilet with the wastebasket filled with vomit.

I want more of that malbec I bought. Is malbec a type of wine? I don't know. It says malbec on the bottle. It's red.

I'm not much for wine tasting. Or palettes in general. People will be all like "I taste hints of earthy cinnamon and singed oak with just a hint of truffle oil smothered with vanilla" and I'll be all like "I TASTE RED."

I just laughed for a minute straight at "I TASTE RED." I hope you did too.

Guys. Guys guys guys. These are the drunks ramblings of Alfonso Zapata. Alf Zap.

I went to the Museum of Contemporary Art today and I thought WHat is this shit? Honestly, I don't "get" it. But when I go to the art institute, I can appreciate the art, you know? I like it. Most of the stuff that's contemporary kinda sucks.

Except for this film of a dude riding the railroad through Alaska. That was sick. I wish I could travel likethat, but I'd freak out too much about my morning anxiety.

Morning anxiety? More like MOURNING anxiety, am I right, ladies?

ALSO, if it's CONTEMPORARY, why is it DONE?

I was thinking of using that as a stand-up joke, but it's kinda stupid. So I won't. But I wanted to share it. So I'm sharing it with you. Boom.

I don't know how long I'm going to make this post. I think I've been writing for half an hour. The laundry is being done. I put my boxers in there. I never realized how many boxers I got, but I gots lots.

I hope this is as enjoyable to read as it is to write.

Who was is that said "Write drunk, edit sober?" Was it Hemingway? Maybe. Maybe not. I DON'T KNOW, STOP PESTERING ME, JESUS.

I think about Delma a lot. I love her. A lot. This isn't just the malbec talking (seriously, is malbec a type of wine? I need to know). These past few months have been rough. I've been keeping myself super busy with work and reading and writing and stand-up, but it's not the same. Every night, when I go to bed, I think about her. I miss holding her. Every night, when she was here, I'd wrap my arms around her and kiss her neck. Then we'd just lay there until we fall asleep. And, every night, without fail, I'd have to wake up and move my arms because they'd be numb, but it was ok.

I know what you're thinking.

But whatever. I'm drunk off that malbec. Purple drank. Cus a malbec is a wine made frim purple grapes. Am I right, ladies?

ANYWAYS, I miss her. And I want to be with her.

But things (that originally said "butt things") are going great here in Chi-town. The job is better than I could have imagined. We're already pitching TV spots! What the hell?! We're in a great position to make shit happen. You know? In fact, we've already sold some radio. Here. Check it.

The stuff I do now will help me in the future. Also, I never thought I'd enjoy a job this much. It's ridiculous. We get paid to make people laugh. Seriously. It's awesome.

So there's that.

I will porbably be hungover tomorrow. But tonight, I am fine. I am more than fine.

I don't know. I'm tired of blogging. I just want to play Zelda while drinking more wine. It's Saturday night and I am already too much.

Airing out dirty laundry while doing real laundry. Blogging about shit I shouldn't be blogging about. I might regret this tomorrow.

Have a good Saturday night. Read this wile you can cus I'll probably take it down tommorrow morning.

Nueva York

I went to New York this past weekend. Those of you who have been and loved it, you know what I'm going to say. The city is a living entity, there's so much to do, it's so inspiring, blah blah blah. Whatever. You get it. New York is awesome. For those of you who hated it, whatever. WHATEVER, I say.

Delma's five-year old cousin says that a lot. "Whatever," I mean. He'll ask a question like "Fito, how come your company doesn't make a funny commercial about Pizza Hut?" and then you'll respond with "Because we don't have their business, another agency does" and then he'll pause for a few seconds, cross his arms and say "Whatever." It's obnoxiously cute.

I met up with my mom, Delma and Kayla on Friday night and got back Monday evening. It flew by quickly, as jam-packed weekends are wont to do. We did some of the touristy things. Times Square, Central Park, Rockefeller Center. We had the best pizza I've ever had in my life, then the best roast beef sandwich I've ever had in my life, then the best bagel I've ever had in my life, followed by the worst cemita I've ever had in my life (can't win 'em all, New York).

I'm a big fan of cemitas. Sandwiches in general, man. The sandwich is my favorite food. But that's not fair, because what constitutes a sandwich? Two slices of carbs, some protein, cheese and veggies? It's like saying your favorite movie is comedies. By that logic, anything could be a sandwich. A burgers is a sandwich. The Cheesy Gordita Crunch is a sandwich. My face in between two slices of stale pita bread is a sandwich. That's why the sandwich is my favorite food though. It's so versatile. You can't define a sandwich, man. It is what it is and if you say otherwise, whatever.

Kayla enjoyed the trip. At least I think she did. I hope so. She seemed extra sassy this past weekend and I didn't like it. There were flashes of adolescence every now and then. An eye roll here, a snarky comment there. She's still very much my baby sister and we had a lot of fun. She was super excited about the Nintendo Store and she was running around the playgrounds at Central Park like a gerbil in a… gerbil thing (whatever). But still.

I don't want her to grow up. When I saw her at the airport, she dropped her bags and bolted towards me, jumping up and throwing her arms around my neck. I don't think a teenager Kayla would do that. And I know it's selfish of me to think this way. She needs to grow up and live life and become her own person. But I'm worried that once she hits adolescence, she'll no longer think of me the way she does now. She won't be excited to hear that I'll be visiting. She won't want to go to the park and run around. She won't want to trade silly knock knock jokes with me. Stuff like that. I'm scared she's just going to cross her arms and say "Whatever" to anything I do once she hits fifteen.

The reason for our trip was my cousin's quinceñera, actually (smooth transition, eh?). Saturday night, we drove to Brentwood out in the middle of Long Island. It was a beautiful quince. My aunts, uncles and cousins greeted us with open arms and warm hugs, despite not having seen us in years. Delma and I danced salsa and cumbia and bachata (well, Delma danced and I just shuffled my feet). I showed my cousins a few of the videos I've made at work. A nice time was had by all.

We dropped off my mom and Kayla at Newark early Sunday afternoon (driving in New York is the worst thing about New York) and then Delma and I went exploring. The hotel we stayed at had bikes you could rent for $5 a day so we decided to do that. They were some really shitty Huffy-type bikes though, the kind that you have to pedal backwards in order to brake. We had to stop at a bicycle shop because there was no air in the tires. But riding through Brooklyn and Queens was incredible. It was a cool sixty degrees and we went to the Williamsburg Flea Market and I bought Delma a necklace and a donut, then we had our picture taken by an Australian male model. On the ride back, we stopped by 5pointz and did some photographing there.

We went to the original Barcade with a friend and had dinner at Xixa which is the kind of place you completely expect to be in New York, although it was under $100, surprisingly. Also, Delma had the best tequila cocktail she's had in her life.

I absolutely fell in love with the city. I want to move to New York. But I only spent three days there, so I don't know what it's really like. I have a very romanticized vision of New York in my mind, similar to the one I had of Chicago before I moved here. I'm going to be doing standup in Manhattan and writing at cool coffee shops in Williamsburg and everyone's going to love me because I'm so witty and cool and I wear ironic sweaters. Whatever, man. Whatever. I'm not even doing those things here. Reality will never measure up to your expectations, but still… I want to move to New York.

A lot of that enjoyment was because Delma was there. Chicago is awesome too, but it hasn't been as fun since Delma left. Long distance is hard, y'all. I kinda just sit in my room and listen to the Smiths every evening. Seeing her again reinvigorated my spirits and I was riding a high the entire weekend. I bet if we had gone to Fayetteville, Arkansas, I would have loved that city just as much because I would have been with Delma.

This is mushy and long. Whatever.

It's raining and I'm late for work.

I wrote most of this last night and I held off on posting it so that I could go through and revise it. Make it better. I made minor changes, but then I realized that I could totally rework the whole thing and turn it into more of an essay. So I'm gonna do that. But I'm going to leave this up. Why? Because whatever. That's why.

This Entry Concerns Bagels

I'm in a 'bagel' phase right now. For the past seventeen days, I've had a bagel for breakfast. Not always an entire bagel (sometimes I split with Delma or Conor). Not always a plain bagel (I'm particularly digging sesame seed bagels). Not always with cream cheese (a bagel dunked in coffee is, honestly, better than a donut). But, in some capacity or another, bagels have been a part of my life for the past couple of weeks.

There's a restaurant called "The Bagel" in Lakeview. I don't particularly like their bagels, but they have the best matzo ball soup I've ever had. To be completely honest, it's also the only matzo ball soup I've ever had, but I love it and anytime I get sick, I go and order a large matzo ball soup and I sip it slowly and carefully and I can feel the warmth of the matzo ball soup radiating throughout my limbs, filling me with matzo ball life. I have a cold right now and I plan on going to "The Bagel" when Delma gets back from work. I'm going to have her carry me all the way down there. Because I'm sick. And I deserve to be treated like a princess.

There's a old lady who lives in our building that owns a beagle. That beagle's name is Bagel and it's the cutest beagle I've ever met. So nice and friendly. The lady walks Bagel the beagle 6-8 times a day. Seriously, it's like every time I look out the window, she's there, walking Bagel the beagle. I do my best to avoid her. I feel bad, because she's nice and because Bagel's the cutest, but if I say hi to her, she'll ensnare me in a conversation about the most inane topic for 10-15 minutes. Delma and I have timed these talks. I'm sure she does it because she's lonely and craves human interaction, but I'm a jerk and just want to get on with my day.

I used to live a couple blocks from an Einstein's. I loved going there and getting a chocolate chip bagel and a cup of fruit. It was my morning ritual when I worked from home. There was this one Filipino lady who worked there who always had a smile on her face. All the other workers would be sassy and give me looks whenever I walked in because I look like a bum, but she was so friendly. And she knew my order. I don't know if we'd be considered friends, but if there was a fire and that Einstein's started burning up and I only had time to save one person, it'd be her.

The best bagels are supposedly in New York City. The best advertising jobs are supposedly in New York City. Is that a coincidence? Yes. It is.

Why does New York City have the best bagels? I don't know.
Do I want to move to New York City? I don't know.
Why do I keep referring to New York City as New York City? I don't know.

The best bagel I've ever had was at a German breakfast restaurant in Mexico. It was so soft and moist. It was like biting into a cloud. Mmm. A cloud slathered with cream cheese and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

The worst bagel I've ever had was at a Best Western in Marion, Arkansas. It was incredibly dense and dry. It was like biting into a four-day old bagel. Because that's probably what it was.

When I lived in Sacramento, I found this bagel chain called Noah's and their bagels tasted exactly like Einstein's bagels and I was like "Whoa, guys. This is taking it too far." Turns out they're owned by the same company.

I have a funny story about donuts. But I'm not going to tell it because this entry is about bagels and I'm not going to break the rules for you. Jerk.

Everything bagels scare me. How can the bagel be everything? If the bagel is everything, does that mean I am the bagel? And if I am the everything bagel, that means that I am you and you are me and we are the same. We are the same being. And if we're the same being, then... What is individuality? Does it even exist?

These are the questions that the bagel road leads to.

"Are there bagels in heaven?" is another question down the bagel road.

I had a bagel this morning, but I want another bagel, but the best bagel restaurant close to me closed at 2pm and it's 4pm and I'm sick and I want to sleep, but don't I deserve a bagel because I'm sick?

Philosophical Bagel. That'd be a cool rapper name.