Just got stabbed in neck by Barbie


My daughter just gave me a hug from Barbie a second ago.  Unfortunately Barbie has some hard plastic limbs and she inadvertently stabbed me in the neck.  There is quite a lot of blood pouring out of my carotid artery as I type.  Hopefully I can stem the flow a little bit, buying me at least enough time to write a proper entry here.  Its been a minute.  Its hard as fuck to concentrate on this shit though because my same three year old kid is sitting here asking me if the socks that she just picked up off of the floor are from Frozen.  She is also asking me if I can find her shoes.  She is also going through all of the drawers of clothes that I just put away yesterday when I cleaned up this fucking nightmare room.  Her purpose in tearing through the drawers is ostensibly to find proper attire for Barbie.  You see, we are getting ready to go to the store together to find buy some Pullups because she is still having issues with potty training and can’t really be trusted to be completely diaper free just yet.  Her biggest issue seems to be not taking a shit in her panties everyday.  Luckily for me the shits she is taking are pretty firm in consistency and don’t really cause that much of a mess which is a good thing.  It kind of keeps my sanity intact for one more day if you know what  I mean.  If you know what I mean really then I feel sorry for you because nobody should ever really have to relate with my nutty life.  Now I have the adorable little child standing next to me going through my little sketch pad and asking me about every single thing that I have ever drawn in there and asking me who each person is.  The problem is she is not satisfied with answers like, “oh its a little man” or “its a little doggie”.  Then she wants me to draw an itsy bitsy spider for her.  She loves that little itsy bitsy fucking spider so much that I have to draw her another one.  Now I’m starting to lose my focus if you know what I mean.  Of course! We just fucking went through that whole thing I forgot.  I’m ignoring her so she is getting more desperate for my attention, telling me that she needs to go into the shower, which she just got out of.  I ignore that so she starts pushing me and saying daddy a few dozen different ways.  Stone face so she starts really pushing me and calling me by my Christian name which happens to be Anthony.

I forgot I was even writing this.  Its like 4 hours later and we went to Walmart together (Daddy and Daughter) and got boisterous for a little while.  We were both just amazed at “how cute” every single product that had a tie into the Frozen movie was.  That’s what Audrey said literally about every single thing she recognized from that blasted movie that fucking Walmart had stocked on their shelves, in special displays all over the fucking store, next to the elevators, escalators, entrances and exits, restrooms, dressing rooms you name it. I actually was amazed…she just thought each thing was so cute and of course she wanted one of everything in the store.  She was cracking me up so I did get her a couple of things and using my mind manipulation techniques I was even able to convince her that her Pampers Pull Ups were a special treat.  What we settled on for her were a pair of shoes with lighted heels and special pics of Frozen princesses Elsa and Anna.  I was considering shoplifting the fucking things to see if I still had it but ultimately decided to leave well enough alone and even though the shoes were safely on baby girl’s feet and the upc price tag safely ensconced in the box containing my new mma hand wraps, when I was paying at the register I made a point out of making sure that the semi attractive cashier (Debbie I think) rang the shoes up.  They were $15.87 by the way.  We also got her a mini basketball which she picked out.  It was neck and neck between  the mini basketball and oddly enough a football (no soccer but football like the NFL football).  She had never previously shown any interest in or knowledge of the fact that football even existed prior to tonight as far as I know so I was kinda tripping on the interest in the football to begin with.

In case you were really fascinated by our shopping trip and you want to know what I purchased for myself, too fucking bad.  The only reason I am still working on this article is because I am getting ready to go running in a few minutes but first I need my piece of shit phone to charge up enough that I can listen to my fucking Spotify punk rock motivational crap and have my Runtastic app remain open on and running for my entire run so I don’t get cheated out of mileage and times like always happens because something stupid like not having a properly charged phone battery rears up hisses and fucks up my mojo for that day.  It never fails to happen when I am on a personal best pace on a day with heavy mileage being run, a day I would be able to use as bragging evidence via a screen shot that I use whenever some body that is not dead and also knows me but hasn’t spoken to me for one reason or another for six months invariably gets to chatting and asks me the innocuous sounding “so what have you been up to”? and I use that as my opening to bore the tears out of another apathetic winner from my past, present, or future.   Anyways yeah not having a fully charged phone can really come back to bite a guy in the ass in these circumstances.

I’m wearing a really homosexual looking Adidas athletic suit thing right now which is not very flattering especially with the pooch belly I still have even after running 1,367 miles since October 6th of last year.  I think it might even be unwashed in fact I’m pretty sure it is.  And its not mine.  I found it in the barn at my cousins house in Los Angeles and I’m reasonably certain that it belonged to my cousin Dayna’s soon to be ex husband.  He is a cross fit guru allegedly ranked number two in the USA at one point.  Anyways my cousin John gave me permission to keep the ugly stinky article of clothing and the funny thing is I don’t think he really had/has the authority to be giving away another man’s homosexually slanted gay pirate muscle suit thing.  But he did.  And I accepted it because I wanted it and I really don’t know why.  Maybe I enjoy dressing like a gay.  I’m pretty sure I do in certain aspects but that’s not a subject to get into right now.

I’m well aware that I am coming across as a mental defective and I’m really not one I don’t think but I have to admit being somewhat enamored with the whole stream of consciousness that can come pouring out of my fingertips almost without even trying at certain times.  Real talk for a second and I just made this mental connection that the reason for my sauciness tonight is that I have been power watching past episodes of Shameless on Netflix and Showtime on Demand for the past few days and if you watch Shameless you know that basically every character is larger than life, smartasstic horny drug taking hedonist sado masochistic and kind of bad overall yet they fascinate me.  Lip is especially cool and I want to fuck Fiona badly.

In case anyone cared or didn’t know I have relocated out of the Temecula Elsinore Casino Meth Capitalistic Inland Empire Bro Prison White Trash Desperado Probation Parole Headquarters to the lovely confines of Los Angeles which has all of that and more but is infinitely more interesting, diverse, busy and I have to think educated in a certain way that is part money and culture but also street smart mixed with school smart mixed with mostly transplanted out of towners from all over the world melting pot with history and millions of stories waiting to be wrenched from the surroundings where they lie.  Temecula in particular has nowhere near the historical appeal of someplace like Hollywood and I would be lying if I didn’t admit to being very happy that I am out here.  I don’t have any sort of permanent thing going on here but I am working towards having something that makes sense to a higher percentage of those with their crazy lives somewhat in control.

Hopefully it will all work out for me and little Audrey out here near Tinseltown.  Who knows maybe I can get her a part in some sitcom or some shit.  She is a little charming actress fake crier extraodinaire already so we shall see.  Along those lines, Ed Harris and his wife (I think) are filming some kind of something at the property where I currently reside.  I’m not going to be more specific than the greater Los Angeles Area and its not because I don’t want any of you to know where I am  but out of respect for the people who are nice enough to let my daughter and myself sleep here temporarily.  Its nice to have a bloody roof over my head and to know my daughter is safe.

I’ve lost my focus here obviously so I am going to cut this post now and if you are lucky I may just publish it in the next five minutes so one or two of you can read along and send some good vibes and thoughts my way.  Any girls that want to fuck, I’m down as of right now.  Private message me and I will give you my cell  phone number. If I have a girlfriend down the road shortly and she is reading this let me take a quick moment to apologize.  I’m sorry honey (whoever you are) I’m just lonely and often really horny. So yeah.  I have gotten with a few very hot little mamas since arriving in Los Angeles. I’m not going to out them on this forum but trust me we are talking about some primo female flesh.  Just counting my blessings.

Steve Jacobson, Josh Erlenmeyer, Elijah Brown, Kris Cass, Steve Bultsma and others have promised to meet up with me out here in Los Angeles and thus far have not made the attempt.  I can understand why for Steve and Elijah who both think I will be an over the top distraction for important women in their lives.  Josh will eventually get in touch and Kris Cass and Stevie will too.  Faith in humanity and faith in friends.  You gotta have that shit if you are going to have a happy life.  I gotta go running now.  I have four miles of warm ups and warm downs with 8 sprints of a half mile thrown in the middle.  45 seconds of rest after each sprint is not nearly enough so I really gotta go motherfuckers.

Thank God (that’s what you are probably muttering to yourself under your breath if you made it this far)

I dedicate this post to the memory of Charles McEldowney.  I love you Charlie.  Hopefully I can hump your girl Mia too.  That would be lovely. 

Liza Rowe and Nikki Knightly are fine ass ladiesHollywood-Sign-Wallpaper

 

 

 

People Who Died: Trevor McGrew


I’m trying to remember exactly how long ago it was when I met Trevor McGrew.  I’m thinking I need to backtrack from the present to get to anything resembling an accurate year even.  That’s not saying much for my memory I know but shit…it gets a little bit hazy.  The easiest way for me to put things in their sorta proper time frames is to base it off of my daughter Ciara Mandich’s age and go from there.  I definitely know that Ciara is 14 years old and was born on May 16th, 1997.  I found out Heather was pregnant with Ciara sometime in September of 1996ish.  I was working at TSA Clothing as Accounting Manager at that time and our warehouse was still at the end of 18th Street in Costa Mesa.  I remember that me and Jim Waataja went to some cell phone place on Harbor Blvd. that day and that Heather had given me a little cute letter all folded up that I opened while me and Jim were getting our cell phones.

Not that it matters but the letter said, Dear Tony, It’s true.  I have a bun in my oven.  Love Heather. Cute huh.  I’m chuckling at that right now because what does it really have to do with the topic of this story about Trevor?

So…..

Anyways……

I found out Heather was pregnant.  That was September of 1996.  I was living on Superior right across the street from Hoag Hospital with Jim Waataja.  Rene Prospero and Chad Muska also sort of lived there.  Chad slept on our couch a lot.  Rene had the tiny closet downstairs.  That was his room ha ha ha ha.  It was literally like six feet deep by three feet wide and he made it into a bedroom and I would always boss him around and tell him to get to his room.  We called him Stick Dog.  It would be like this:

“Shut the fuck up Stick Dog.  Go to your room Stick Dog.  Shut the fuck up”.

For some reason he would totally listen and go to his room with his little ass blankets and stay in there.  Strange kid.

Again I digress.

I met Jim like five months earlier then that so maybe April of 1996.  At that time I still was working like at FHP Healthcare or Talbert Medical Management Corporation and I was living in Huntington Beach.  I had just gotten my convertible BMW which was a sick sick car.  I lived on Pensacola Circle with this idiot named coincidentally Jim.  He was a total moron but fuck that I’m not gonna get into that.  Believe me I could but I won’t.  Before Pensacola Circle I was on Fern Street in Newport Shores living with Scotty and Gerald.  I only lived there for a short time because they had this friend named Monica who sold coke and weed and one night when I was totally fucking wasted I went over to her house and pretty much robbed her.  She had this dude there like some friend of hers I don’t remember his name.  She wasn’t there.  I forgot where I was earlier that night but I’m pretty sure it was like El Ranchito with Trevor McGrew, Joe Huff, Joe Todora and some other dudes.  Like I said I was so fucked up.  Long story short, the dude didn’t wanna let me in which is totally reasonable seeing that I was fucked up as hell, Monica wasn’t home, and he didn’t know me.  Total asshole move by me, I ended up getting into a long and drawn out fist fight with the dude.  He was about my size and sober and relatively tough but I think I ended up getting through him and into Monica’s room.  She had this jar, like a Mason jar, full of little baggies with one nugget of crip weed in each one but I wasn’t there for that.  I hate weed.  I wanted coke for sure.  I know I didn’t find any coke.  I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking like I said this was a total bad move by me.  I ended up grabbing a couple of twenties of weed that I didn’t even want and fought my way back through the house and outside.  By this time Monica was arriving home as I was running down the sidewalk.  I lived like one street over from her.  Duh.  So anyways, the dude I fought with must have told her what I did right.

Pause right there and keep in mind we are in Newport Shores which is totally densely populated as fuck so the ruckus I had caused getting into the room to begin with to steal the chick’s weed that I didn’t even want had woken some neighbors or something and someone called the cops I guess.  I don’t know because I never saw them that night I only heard about it the next day when I was so insanely hungover and bumming so hard on my out of control self and the shit I had caused.  So as the dude tells Monica that I stole her drugs and I’m hop scotching it the fuck down the sidewalk, Monica, righteously furiously angry is screaming, “That dude stole my drugs……”.

I guess the cops heard that, went into her house, searched it, (she had a warrant anyways, like a bad bench warrant for a third DUI she failed to appear for), found the drugs, arrested her and wow.  Just made my stupid drunken idiotic move even that much worse.  So yeah bottom line, my friends I lived with who hadn’t even really known me that long to begin with and were totally long time friends with Monica were totally pissed and I had no choice but to run from the scene basically.  Luckily I found that place on Pensacola Circle in HB.  Otherwise I would have been living on the streets for sure.  I’m thinking that must have been maybe January of 1996.  Backtrack a little bit more and I was living at 116 37th Street right down in the war zone or fun zone or whatever its called down in Newport.  I lived there about 8 months.  Insanity for sure.  Not even going to tell any stories about that right now or else this won’t even be a story about Trevor you know what  I mean.  I’m reaching as it is.

So that puts me at when?  Like May of 1995 or so when I moved to 37th Street.  I moved to 37th from Fern Street.  Same street I was living on when I did my big weed heist which got Monica put in jail for like 200 days (MY GOD I felt like such a fucking dick about that).  This was Fern Street Part I though when I lived at 202A Fern Street, downstairs from my life long friend Thadius Daniels.  I lived with this chick named Carrie Babbitt (who coincidentally hates my guts to this very day for an incident that I wasn’t even involved with but according to her I had the power to stop from happening and failed to do so etc….long story).  I probably moved in with Carrie somewhere around August of 1994.  Total guess there but I know I was on unemployment after I had already been living there for a little bit and I ended up going to Las Vegas to work doing tile with my friend Conley Massey and this dude named Dirk (Morganstern?).  For sure I was living in Vegas with Conley and still had my room with Carrie during the winter of that year because I remember it being cold as shit over there.

So August of 1994 is the approximate time I moved to Fern Street.  We’re going to say anyways.  Now I had been coming down to Fern Street for maybe 3 months prior to that and hanging out with Thad and getting wasted etc.  So that takes us to about May of 1994.

And thats when I ‘m going to say I met Trevor McGrew.  Trevor had a little house right next door to Thad, on the same side of the street and everything.  So I guess his address was 204A Fern Street, Newport Beach, California.  He was five years younger then me.  I just verified that by looking at one of the newspaper articles about his death so that’s a pretty accurate number.  He was 36 in 2009 when he died.  So minus fifteen years off of that and that puts him at 21 when I met him.  For sure he could go to all of the bars because we went to millions of them so 21 is a pretty good number.

Is anyone still actually reading this.  I just realized how schizo this story must sound but whatever.  I had to go through that little process just to get some kind of a somewhat reasonable estimate of when I met the dude.  Damn that was complicated though.  Sorry.

Back to Trevor.  This is probably one of those stories that if certain people do read it they will totally hate the fact that I’m even writing about him.  This is due to the circumstances in which he died.  And while I’m definitely sympathetic and understanding of everyone’s point of view about Trevor, how he died has nothing at all to do with my relationship with him or any times I ever shared with him.  He totally had an impact on my life in a good way and I loved him for sure so lets just say I’m telling you my own life story and I can’t omit the chapter having to do with Trevor so there it is there.

Trevor was a blond surfer dude with a little gap in between his two front teeth if I remember correctly.  He was a good looking guy and had a hot girlfriend named Suzanne Blackburn.  They lived together and I can’t remember if they had a roommate or not but I’m pretty sure that they did and it might have been Joe Todora.  Don’t hold me to that part though.  Anyways Trevor loved to surf and skate and drink and fuck around.  He was a wild and crazy dude and totally funny and had millions of friends around Newport and all over.  Like a totally popular dude.  I had been coming down from Corona to party with Thad and all of our friends most weekends and Trevor was around and I would hang out with him too.  I thought he was so fucking cool because…..he was man.  Even though I was like this kooky idiot from the Inland Empire and didn’t even live in Newport, let alone Newport Shores, which was such a “locals only” environment, Trevor was still cool as hell.  We would get wasted as shit and Trevor would get wild.  I mean he was crazy wild.  In a good way but still a crazy and kind of scary way.  He wasn’t scary in the sense that he was going to get all violent with any of us but he would do crazy shit when he was drunk and he wasn’t scared of jack shit, I mean nothing.

After a just a short time of me going down there to party with Thad, I started hanging out with everybody on Fern Street, not just Thad and our crew from Corona like Gordy, Rick Hagaman, Conley Massey, Mark Hudson, Rob Gubion, Steve Jacobson, Jason Clark, Jason Rhodes, Matt Hopkins, and Frank Colapinto.

These dudes from Newport were nuts and I liked them and definitely wanted to be part of their little crowd.  Everybody that lived on Fern Street partied together and went to the bars together and represented the Shores and Fern Street as a little mini kinda gang.  Thad was my intro to them all in general but Trevor was the one who made me so easily accepted by everyone who lived down there.  Like I said, Trevor didn’t care where I was from.  Me and him got along super super super good and hung out all the fucking time.  He was definitely like  a made man in Newport, liked and accepted by everyone, questioned or harassed by no one.  No one fucked with Trevor period.  He just had it like that.  Chicks loved him, dudes loved him, he had all kinds of fans.  I was always with him so nobody fucked with me either which was cool because I didn’t know nobody, I didn’t grow up there and I just wanted to fit in and have a good time.

Trevor made that happen for me and I loved him for it.  Here’s a quick run down of who else lived on Fern Street at that time okay.  So there was Dave and Isaac and Joe Todora and Joe Huff and Joe Huff’s girlfriend who was so fucking hot my God I would have given anything to be naked with her.  There was Jason Haught, and he was another one that had all the charisma and good looks and surfing ability and chicks and friends and I hung out with him alot too.  Jason is a way cool dude.  He was with this French Canadian chick named Marie Claude.  She was hot as fuck too with no makeup either and she barely understood English, she was just visiting Newport and fell totally in love with Jason.  He had it like that.  All of the chicks fucking LOVED that guy.  He worked at Mutt Lynch’s as a bar back and girls were constantly throwing themselves at him.  He got laid like EVERY night.  I remember this one chick wrote on the back of her business card “Here’s my number, I want your lumber” and gave it to him.  I thought that was so fucking cool man.

Jason lived upstairs from Gerald and Scotty with this dude named EP (Eric Peterson).  EP didn’t think I was cool I don’t think.  He never really liked me.  Guessing he thought I was a try hard, Inland Empire kook who didn’t know how to surf and wasn’t local.  He was totally right.  I still liked him though.  Which is neither here nor there actually.

Trevor had tons of friends like I said and not just on Fern Street.  All over.  It was rad going to parties and bars with Trevor because you felt totally safe.  Trevor liked to get drunk and fight.  When he got in fights he always won.  He kicked fucking ass man.  I guarantee that whoever was stupid enough to get it going with Trevor, especially when he was buzzed, regretted it immediately.  He was good for a black eye, busted ass lip, broken nose, lumped up head….shit like that.  I never saw him back down, or lose a fight.  He never started them on purpose though.  He also never held a grudge after.  You could fight Trevor, get your ass kicked big time, stand around and bleed and feel sorry for yourself for awhile, but when you were ready to talk about it later that same day or whenever, he never held that shit against you.  Trevor would be gracious in victory and humble about it hahaha but really it was better to not fuck with him.

Some of Trevor’s friends that I can remember are dudes like Johnny (Stogie), Litzy (Eric Litzenberg), Jeff Lonzway and his chick Gina and his brother Snowy, and this dude Smitty.  They all had known each other forever and it was cool just hanging out with all of them and listening to all the shit they got up to and stories they told.  We would go down to bars like Mutt Lynch’s, Stag Bar, and especially Cassidy’s.  I always felt so cool if I was with the dudes from Fern Street, especially Trevor or Jason.  Couldn’t even begin to tell you how many times I got laid just by hanging with them, especially Jason, because Trevor had a live in girlfriend like I said.

This hasn’t been like some kind of glowing testimonial about what a great guy Trevor was and really that’s my fault because he was a great guy, at least to me.  He was a good friend and would totally be cool with anyone that wasn’t a pussy and that would be cool with him.  He always made sure that I was included in on everything and he made me way tougher of a dude because he wasn’t into being a coward in any way.  I remember not long after that night where I dicked out hard and got that Monica girl arrested and basically acted like a piece of drunk shit, Trevor was still my friend and didn’t join in the bandwagon of people calling me a kook and calling for my head.  Trust me I deserved that and in my own mind I totally had an ass beating coming if not worse.  It never happened but still I deserved it.  Even though I deserved to be shunned and scorned, still though, a lot of the people pointing fingers at me were just jumping on the bandwagon.  It was such an easy call you know what I mean.  I wouldn’t have blamed Trevor if he joined in as well.  He had known that girl for years and years and was totally tight with her.

God bless him though, he stuck by me as my friend.  Trevor lived to buck trends and do the opposite of what was expected of him.  He was rooting for the underdog always and I was grateful that he didn’t turn his back on me then.  Like I said, I didn’t deserve that sorta mercy, but I got it from Trevor.  And I can never forget that.  The only thing about it was that he didn’t want to see me pussing out about it and hiding my face.  We went to El Ranchito like two days after it happened and I’m not gonna lie I was scared.  I thought for sure I was going to get jumped by Monica’s friends.  I didn’t want to go in the place, I was like whimpering to Trevor before we went in, “what if her friends are there, what if they wanna kill me, what am I gonna do????”

He pushed me against the stucco wall.  Hard.  Right outside the door of El Ranchito.  “Don’t be a fucking pussy.  Get in there and don’t worry about it”.  That kind of set me straight in my head and I went in there like I belonged.  Acted like I owned the place like usual.  Nobody had the balls to come up and say a word and the whole story died down pretty fast.

Trevor loved salt water fish tanks.  So did I.  We both were always buying shit for our tanks and competing on who had the raddest coral and coolest fish.  While I knew Trevor in those Newport days, he was always a hard working guy, no matter how fucked up he got the night before he still always went to work every day.  His place was always clean and he had a pretty good relationship with Suzie.  He definitely loved her I know that.  And she loved him too.

Okay so that’s pretty much where my story with Trevor ends.  I loved the guy but I ended up moving out of that area and didn’t really keep in touch with anybody.  I still did talk to Trevor every now and then.  I heard stories that he was getting into all sorts of trouble like doing speed and just out of control drinking and that sorta shit.  He got married to Suzie and they had a daughter and I heard that he like left her for awhile and stuff.  This is just through the grapevine talk.  I personally didn’t see Trevor again after about 1996.  The last I heard, right after I got home from living in New Zealand in May of 2008, was that Trevor was living in Lake Havasu with Suzie and things were good. Jason Haught is the one who told me that.  We found each other on myspace.com and were chatting back and forth for a few months.

Fast forward to September of 2010.  I’m going out with this girl from Newport, April Shand.  She hooks me up with this dude (no names mentioned) who sells meth and I wanted some.  I go over to the dude’s house and his roommate is a friend from back in the Newport days with Trevor.  It’s Eric Litzenberg.  I hadn’t seen him in years so we are chatting away for a while and I ask him about Trevor, hoping he had his number and stuff so I could get in touch.  And then he dropped the bomb on me.  Litzy’s like, “haven’t you heard?”.

Uhhhh no.  Heard what, I say.  And he tells me this crazy fucking story.  He tells me that Trevor was living in Havasu and was having marital problems with Suzie to the point where she basically left him and is seeing some other dude.  Trevor I guess was pretty out of control, either on drugs or alcohol, or both.  I’m not clear on that part.  Anyway, I guess one day in January of 2009, Trevor knows Suzie is seeing some dude and he follows her secretly to the guys house.  I have no idea what was going on in his marriage or in his mind, I only know the facts as they were told to me by Eric Litzenberg and then what I read on the internet.  So, he follows her, waits a little bit I guess and then goes and knocks on the dude’s door.  This is in Lake Havasu somewhere.  I know that Trevor did have some friend of his with him and they were in Trevor’s truck.  Obviously the friend didn’t know what was going to happen.  Trevor had a gun with him.  Trevor knocked on the dude’s door.  I heard that Suzie and the dude were both at the door.  I also heard that Trevor put the gun in Suzie’s face.  I don’t know if that’s a fact or not, it’s just what I heard.

What is a fact though, is that Trevor shot the dude, 36 year old Matt Gandy.  Killed him in fact.  Right on his doorstep at about 5:30 p.m. on January 15th, 2009.   Then Trevor jumped in his truck and took off.  His friend that was with him sustained minor injuries when he  jumped out of the truck after seeing what Trevor did.  Obviously like I said that was unexpected and the dude didn’t want to be in the truck with Trev after that.  Totally understandable.  Trevor’s friend was a guy named Brian Corners.  I am not familiar with Brian or the guy that Trevor killed, Matt.  I’m pretty sure Matt used to live in Newport and knew Trevor and Suzie from California but again I’m speculating.  Anyhow, Trevor left the scene and went to his house with the .45 semi automatic pistol and killed himself.  I’m not sure when he did that but I do know the SWAT team entered his house a little after 11 pm after several unsuccessful attempts to communicate via the phone and whatever other means they normally use to negotiate with people.  When they entered his house, he was dead.

I have to be honest when Litzy told me that story I was floored.  I mean, in shock, mouth open, disbelief.  Crazy fucking story.  Tragic, sad, horrible story.  Not a good way to go out.  Not a good thing to do killing someone.  Not a good way to deal with his situation with his wife.  Just bad news all around.  I’ve read lots of stuff about Matt Gandy and from all accounts he was a great guy who didn’t deserve to die that way.  I believe what I’ve read.  I’m sure he was a good guy.  I’m really sorry that he died, sorry for his family, just sorry period.  I’ve also read that Trev was a monster and all this other shit.  That I don’t believe.  I know he did a horrible thing.  A horrible thing.  I’m not taking anything away from that fact.  That was wrong and bad.

I’m sorry though, I knew Trevor really well and he wasn’t a monster.  Regardless of how his life ended, he wasn’t a monster.  He was a good guy with a big heart and he wasn’t evil.  I swear he wasn’t.  I don’t know what was going through his mind that day but the fact that he committed murder notwithstanding, Trevor, in his heart was a good person.

I’m sure that the family and friends of Mr. Gandy don’t agree and who can blame them.  Their son, brother, friend, uncle, nephew was taken from them at such a young age and for no good reason.  He was only 36.  That totally sucks.  My condolences to his loved ones.

But my condolences to those who loved Trevor as well.  He was also 36 and died tragically, albeit through circumstances he brought upon himself.  It’s still tragic either way and I’m still sad and blown away whenever I think about Trevor.  I’ll always love Trev and consider him one of my best friends of my life.  I’m sorry I couldn’t have been in more contact with him or helped him in some way.  It really sucks.

Anyway that’s the story of  Trevor McGrew.  A friend of mine that died.

Me and Sparklett’s Water Makin’ Friends


Anthony Mandich is the man who sketched this out

Hello and a very happy and joyful Tuesday in July to all of my friends in Cyberspace.  It’s Anthony Mandich here.  I’m going to make this very short and pretty fucking sweet.  I have alot of painting to do tonight plus I have to call the beautiful girl in Wellington, New Zealand, that responded to my ad on NZ Dating today.  LOL.  That’s a very inside joke, one that I cannot at this time share due to statute of limitationary gobbledygook.

I need to give big shout out to my dear Aunt, Auntie Michelle Manire.  She recently celebrated a birthday, and she looked bloody fabulous in the pics that followed her night of cocktails, sweater vests and long walks with Andy Fowle, her significant other.  So here’s to ya Auntie Michelle.  From your loyal and nearly God like nephew Anthony Mandich.  I hope you have a wonderful night tonight and every night for as long as nights exist.

What else?  I went to lunch today with an old old friend of mine by the name of Eric Kisner.  Kizzy.  Kizzy was and is a cool motherfucker.  When I was a punk rock severely delinquent sophomore at Corona Senior High School, Kizzy could always be found in flagrant violation of the High School Code of Ethics regarding the smoking of cigarettes in undesignated areas such as the lockers in between classes.  At the end of every class I would venture over to where he kept his locker and politely request a couple of hits off his Marlboro Red.  Although he was  a rocker dude and didn’t normally associate with human mohawked scum like me, Eric Kisner always showed mercy and kindness to his fellow human beings and gave me a couple hits.  I like that.

Today I went to visit Kizzy at his place of employment which happened to be right next to the Glen Eden “Sun Club”, which if you are from this area, you know is really a fucking horrible little spot where fat, old, haggard, yuck, gross, wrinkled, asexual, Cougars and Cougmen hang out in the buff, completely fucking disgustingly naked and proud of it.  Gross.  But anyways, yeah Eric was driving this big tractor thing and doing something to fix this trout pond his boss owns.  Apparently the water keeps disappearing from the man made pond/lake/puddle and it is causing the trout to die.  I was shown the rotting carcass of one of the trout and Holy Mary Mother of God, it was fucking big man.  I guess they stocked this little lake with 1800 pounds of trout.  I’m talking about an area no bigger then half of an Olympic Sized swimming pool.  Crazy shit.

So yeah we went to lunch and it was fun and we talked about old times and called Steve Jacobson, my son, and purposefully did not wish him a Happy Birthday, which I could totally tell he was waiting for but it was more fun not to.  Then we made plans to go play poker real soon and  I split.

Then I entered Sean Stenlake’s world for about two hours.  We played baseball (badly by me), I went for a run in the middle of this baseball shit because I was feeling so out of shape and horrible I figured a brisk run in the 108 degree heat was just what I needed to finish the job of my destruction.  Somehow I survived the winds of hell and made it back to play a little more baseball.  Then I showed Sean some of my art videos and then we had a very interesting conversation about his friend Adam who got busted six years ago for counterfeiting by the Secret Service and was given the option of Prison or the Navy for SIX years.  Just like the old days I thought.  Anyway he is going to be getting out of the Navy next month so good for him!

I think that’s gonna do it for today even though I have much more to tell you about including my very lengthy conversation with Sade from Houston who telecommutes from home in her capacity as a Technical Support Person for Sprint.  I talked to her for like 3 hours this morning and it was actually very cool.  Her husband is entering the NFL Draft next year and yeah she is a cool chick.

Okay kids.  bye bye

Cleaned the Hovel I call a Room


Today was a topsy turvy crazy kind of a day.  Memorial Day and to be honest I still have not taken even a minute to remember the men and women who have died in support of the political machine i mean quest for more oil i mean fifty united states of america.  Well I threw in (and then used the incredible strikethrough feature on) some rather snide and sarcastic remarks before rallying and pulling “fifty united states of america” out of my asssssssssss.

I’m not really looking to fight that battle to be honest.  I think I just did it to impress my militant punk rock friend and brother Steve Jacobson.  He’s a pretty intensely politically incorrect sorta fella and what not.  Anyways.  Should we bow our heads now in a moment of silence to remember not just the veterans who have died for causes both just and unjust, but also to remember our loved ones who are no longer with us.

They don’t necessarily have to be dead, although thats the usual criteria I suppose.  Perhaps you are a psycho and someone you loved (obsessed, stalked, harrassed) obtained a restraining order against you so they are no longer with you.  Disturbing yes, fits the criteria for moment of silence?  Yes.

Perhaps like me, you were physically removed from a foreign country for overstaying your tourist visa by 716 days.  Its now out of your hands and you are no longer among many people and animals you have grown to love.  That fits too.

I’ve attended the funerals of my sister Natalie Anne Amador (Mandich), two of my much loved Aunts, Monica Monceaux and Nell Monceaux (in the last ten days) and they definitely count.  Aunty Nell’s funeral was today, this morning at St. Ireanaus Catholic Church in the police mecca, Cypress, California.  That was a lovely service.  It was incredible to see some cousins I used to get wasted with as a youth.  The service was presided over by a rather handsome priest Father Mac (i think thats his name).

Father Mac is interesting for a couple reasons other then the fact that he committed my Aunty Nell’s spirit to God.  He’s also the first priest I’ve personally ever seen who looks like Chris Cornell in the early Soundgarden days.   He’s also the first priest I’ve personally ever met who is John Wayne’s grandson.  Thats pretty bad ass actually. He was totally cool and of course for some wierd reason, he sought me out after the funeral  during the reception/lunch to ask me what my story was.  He thought I was either in a band or some kind of an artist.  Bingo.  So yeah anyways….

I saw my daughter Ciara over at my incredibly cool cousin Donna’s house in Anaheim Hills.  Man is she loaded.  They have a radical house, a full  skate park on the property complete with two bowls,  a bunch of ramps and a whole street course set up.  Sick.  And she has an excellent bar.  I turned her on to Caipiroskas.  I’m a bad ass bartender.  We’ll get into some bartender stories later but yeah I rock.  She was in love with them immediately and later when I was kicking my Uncles and Cousins asses at No Limit Texas Holdem (Blinds $1 and $2), she kept hitting me up to make more.  Thats when you know you basically dominate as a bartender by the way.

So I did see my daughter, who I love to death.  I bamboozled my family with poker skills, I shared lots of pics of my art with loads of family at the funeral.  I got to mingle with, chat to, and hug lots of people I love and I sat next to the hottest chick in church.  Actually I sat between two of the hottest chicks because I sat next to Donna, my cousin and this other nectar mama whose name I did not catch but whose arm and dress and sort of leg  I did come in contact with many times.  The sad thing is she must be young because she is my cousin Yvette’s daugher Alyssa’s friend.  But fuck man, she is definitely of legal age and smoking hot.  Yikes.  We hit it off definitely.  She thinks I’m hot definitely.  She thinks I’m cool definitely.  I want to bed her.  Definitely.  Yowza.

What else?  Shit I could go on and on because I am a pontificating wind bag who thinks nobody has anything better to do then read about my life.  Really I have no point in this post or any posts ad infinitum.  Trust me.  You don’t wanna follow me.  Thanks for stopping by today but really just spend your internet time more wisely in the future.  There are plenty of informative and incredibly interesting web sites out there that have the potential to actually enrich and nourish your need for worthy content.  This is not one of them.

God Bless us everyone!  Bye bye.

P.S.  Let me give a shout out to the following cousins, all children of my Aunty Nell, and some of my favorite people on the planet.

Alan Monceaux (wonderful man, balding, yet still ruggedly handsome, suffered a major heart attack at a young age and the telling of that story is frickin fascinating)

Cindy Monceaux (all time favorite cousin, we almost drowned together in Mexico, which is a special bonding moment)

Roseanne Monceaux (also all time favorite cousin, she gave me $40 bucks for a buy in at Hawaiian Gardens Casino when I was broke. I love that woman)

Richard Monceaux (unable to attend funeral but a very bald man who is a very cool cousin of mine.  His son attended in his absence and has a very wierd Pittsburgh accent, but a cool young bucka lucka nonetheless)

Patrice Monceaux (she is married so obviously has another name, I have no idea what that name is.  however her husband is quite cool, and she has two very pretty daughters)

Nadine Monceaux (for some reason I’ve always kinda thought of Nadine as a hippy  (Ish).  She is a lovely very cool and very hot cousin of mine. but yeah i dunno why she reminds me of the beatick  movement in all its glory)

Yvette Monceaux (two lovely daughters and she’s a lovely lady herself.  saw her ex husband today (steve) i haven’t seen him in years. so that was cool.

Ian McCall, MMA fighter and Facebook afficionado