I got drunk again. Stumbled outside the Teen Center. Nearly got run over by some asshole.

Turned out that some asshole was Hank. He seems me fallen from grace, dirty, scruffy... He wants to have a man to man chat. And I figure, well, what have I got to lose?

So we sit down. And he tells me about where he came from. The carefree lifestyle. The wife. The kids. The cheating. The divorce. The amazing world adventures...

And as he's talking, as I'm watching his mouth move up and down on that puffy, middle-aged face, two things occur to me:

A - this guy's adolescence and young adulthood... Sounds a lot like mine.

B - He's a pathetic old windbag, clinging to girls half his age, with no real sense of direction or ...

I don't want to be that. I can't be that. If I just run after one skirt and another, leaving behind whatever family I might find, alone and hated by my children... I -

I made a decision. I got back to my place, I wrote a check to my landlord for the next month's rent with a note saying that I was vacating my apartment. I packed some books, some CDs, and a bunch of clothes.

In a few minutes, I'm going to take this all out to the car, throw it in the back, and say goodbye to Los Angeles, hello to the open road. I've had it too easy. Time to live life a little harder, meet some people, learn some trades.

Got 23 bucks in my pocket and a pre-paid cell with 120 minutes on it. I'll be in touch... someday when I've learned who Parker Abrams really is.

( Out of Character )

Current Mood: hopeful

Not sure who the hell reads this journal anymore, or who the hell cares...

Last night? Was a bad, bad night. I don't want to get into the wherefores of it. Basically, I found myself doing some really stupid shit. I went to D'Oblique, got drunk off of my ass, left, wandered the streets of Los Angeles for a while, caught a taxi out to a really bad dive bar in a really bad part of town...

And then I woke up on the street. I don't want to talk about it.

It was a bad idea to date Anne in the first place. She was too sweet, too nice... I thought she was great, but she should've never been with a creep like me. Never, ever. I fucking hate to admit that hanksummers was right more often than he was wrong... but that's the way it is.

Ask me now if a fling with Harmony in the closets was worth losing the chance at being a better man, and I'd still tell you yes. Because we are who we are. People... people don't change. Not people like me. We don't have the tools. I'm sorry I ever hurt her. I hope she's... I hope she's moved on. Some of them don't you know. Even the one nights, they run into me months later, and want to do something, like I was the one chance at something great.

You'd think they'd get the picture, you know? I'm not worth the effort. We'll have fun, and then I will leave. And if you're good and stay away for a while, we might actually talk again. I can't change who I am. I wish to everything in me that I could be the better man, that I could've been the reliable one, the shoulder to cry on... And not the predator.

Does everybody want to know the story of Buffy Summers? Because I'll tell it. It involves a guy who saw a lost girl, and decided that she probably would fall right into the game. Once I spent a little more time with her, she smelled of rebound. And I went in. I'd learned to do it so unconciously that I'd convinced myself that I really was making a connection and having fun and all of that bullshit...

But I'm a goddamn vulture, picking up the scraps of other people's broken hearts.

I screw up everything I touch, and I don't have anything in my life to fall back on... Except for Frank. And, inexplicably, Dennis is still around. Go fig.

I don't want to be who I was... But I have no idea who I'd be otherwise...

Current Mood: numb

I have to get out of this apartment. First, I have to shower, change my clothes, and maybe put on some deodorant, but then I have to get out of this apartment. I've barely left except for errands. My hair needs cutting, I need a shave...

I'm going out tonight. Somewhere. I don't care. I haven't done anything with myself in two weeks...

Current Mood: blah

Dennis is kinda a funny drunk. 'course, we couldn't talk much, but I kept Notepad open on the computer and he typed me messages. Heh. He'd grab stuff and start floating it in funny little loopy patterns. 'course, a lot of that's just the affectedness of one who hasn't been drunk that often, but it's still fun to see some of that youth and vigor.

Me? I'm 25 years old. 25. And what the fuck have I done with my life so far? Nothin'. Worked for over nine months (if you include my "training period" during the summer) at a law firm, used my powers for shit. I coulda done something. Coulda... coulda done...

Fuck.

Start again. My name is Parker Abrams. I have, in my lifetime, gotten a Bachelor's degree in History. Worked Public Relations and god fucking damn well. And I have slept with... a Slayer, a Halliwell, the one-time Queen of the Underworld, a vampire with a unicorn fetish, and a sweet innocent girl who runs a teen shelter downtown. I have also banged myself. Which may be part of the reason we are where we are.

Where was I?

I have done... nothing with my life. When I'm gone, and in a world brimming with the kind of creepy crawlies that it brims with, that could be any time now, nobody will mark me. No woman will say, "There goes the love of my life." I'll just be another schmuck with severe neck trauma and a Catholic family who bicker at the funeral over who coulda prevented my life of sin.

There's nothing special about me. I'm not a hero. I don't want to save the innocent. I don't have super-strength, or speed, or flaming balls of death. I don't know any magic. I'm just a guy. Walking in this world. Normal, unnoticed.

They talk about the size of the universe, and how insignificant we all are comparatively. Fuck the universe. Look at the size of Los Angeles County. Look at the people who are putting together lives, and helping others, or at least helping themselves. Look at all of it, and then look at me. I'm a speck on a speck, in an apartment I can't afford.

Yeah, I've done things in my life. But I've always relied on the weakness of others to get me through. A smile, a wink, and suddenly they're special. And I believe they're special, too, until they aren't anymore. And then they're a bother. See, I don't make mistakes. Everybody else does. I can't make mistakes because I never do anything... I just paint a chalk line and wave a delicious basket of chocolates around and mention that maybe if you're lucky you'll get the treats if you follow the line, but the line... it goes over a cliff.

I've gone on too long. I was trying to write about Dennis. *sigh*

Current Mood: drunk

I'm fine now. Whatever. They can keep their stupid job, because I'm over it. Over it. Just gonna start retyping these resumés soon. Well, after i finish off this movie I'm watching. And then run some errands... But then I'll work on getting a new job. Promise.

Hm. I think the Parkermobile might need some gas, too, while I'm at it.

Huh. Looks like the bastards have hired a new guy. He's not PR, but that says to me that this whole "cutbacks" thing was a damned ruse in the beginning. They were looking for any excuse to cut me.

What the hell? I screwed up a few times, but I'm still trying to figure out how I could have done my job better. I did the best I possibly could have. Maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe I needed to be a better me. I don't know.

I need another beer.

Current Mood: betrayed

stupid stupid assholes... Just wanted to do a fucking job. Just... just wanted to see if I couldn't be something useful. I was that stupid job and they...

I'm out of pizza and margarita shooters. Excuse me.

Well, Morrigan had one of her underlings spring me from the joint - that's the good.

The bad is... well, I don't know yet. I haven't checked my flist yet or anything. I really really don't need to find out anything yet. Not without getting a chance to fight. So I'm playing the avoidance game right now...

God, I hope I can spin this.

Current Mood: distressed

I have a bad feeling about this.

//Firewalled Against Turner, his associates, and fucking everyone while I'm at it//
I'll admit, this hasn't been my best month ever. Okay, yeah, going back to boning Harmony was really stupid. Running around like a jackass in Paige's body was much, much dumber. Not double-checking Tucker's information? Gold medal in moron. Baiting Turner when my job is on the line also fails to qualify as my most brilliant moment ever. I'm not EVEN going to get started on the whole canoe safety thing...

So, yeah. I've made a mockery of myself... but I'll be damned if I'm not going to fight until I have nothing left in me. That job is MINE. I earned it, I owned it. They won't find better, and frankly? Who would hire me after all of this? I'm not fit for government work...

Christ. I don't want to go back to Tonto's.
//End Firewall//

Current Mood: aggravated

I'm "cooling my heels" in a cell right now. Luckily my cell phone is also a PDA, and they didn't bother to take it off of me, so here I am posting. Still, dammit. I got bamboozled.

First off, the sacred rock in Orange County? Hard as hell to find. I ended up asking some brawny kid who looked like Russell Crowe to get me directions. He was relatively new to the area, however, and didn't really have a clue where you'd find a sacred rock. Plus, I think he was a little freaked by my entourage of Grixnars

So that didn't help. I ended up wondering around the beach until I found one with some weird carvings in it. So, I look around, strip naked to reveal my hieroglyphics, and then start performing the ritual. It takes me two hours, and finally, I remove the string collars they'd been wearing when I found them. And *pop* there they go. Just in time for the law to pull up and arrest my nude ass for indecent exposure and suspicion of illicit drug use.

Somebody want to come get me? Mr. Gunn? Dennis? Morri? Harm?

Somebody?

Current Mood: drained

Just received an e-mail from that Tucker guy about my Grixnar problem...

Um, it's a ritual. A very complicated ritual. I have to go to some sort of sacred stone in Orange County, and completely cover myself in Egyptian hieroglyphics, do some things with a gourd and a hamster that are probably not legal and... wait...

Oh, god, you're kidding me.

I'm not doing the Hustle.

Criminey...

Current Mood: cranky

Crap. I have the demons stuck back in the closet for the time being, but this Wells guy hasn't gotten back to me yet...

*dials again*

Hello?

Yes, I'd like to speak to Tucker Wells please.

Yes, I'll hold...

I have to get rid of five demony things by 1PM. It'd be six, but I'm keeping Frank. Damn. This is going to break up the Rat Pack. Oh, well, Jerry was never a member anyway. And Joey was a dork.

How the hell am I supposed to do this?

Hmph. Guess I'll have to make some phone calls. Most prominent demon research facility in the country is in Cleveland... I'll just dial over, see if they have any suggestions...

Hello?

Yes, I'm trying to deal with a problem with some demons.

No, I don't know the breed.

Well, they're kinda brownish. Pointy teeth.

'bout the size of a poodle.

A large one.

No, no fur.

Tail... Uh, sorta.

A Grixnar, huh?

No, no I didn't feed them after midnight. No, I'll try not to get them wet.

Can you just put me through to somebody who... What was that name?

Tucker.. Wells... Two L's?

Great.

... Hi! Tuck -

Voicemail.

Hi, Tucker? This is Parker Abrams over at Wolfram & Hart, Los Angeles Branch. Give me a call at your earliest possible convenience, my number is 219-555-3832. That's a direct line. I'm trying to figure out a Grixnar problem here, and your assistance on the matter would be appreciated. Thanks.

Current Mood: blah

Got to the office this morning. Pissy e-mails from Lorne. Still wants to meet with me. Guess I might have to do that.

Then a rustling from the closet in my office... I open it up and there's like, 6 poodle-sized demons on all fours, looking at me like I'm the messiah or something...

And so I ask again, who the HELL had my body yesterday?

Not that it's all bad. I mean, I just sent one of the little guys to get me a Fresca. It was so cute how he clenched the quarters between his razor-sharp teeth...

Current Mood: confused

Okay... that was too much fun.

I'm in *so* much deep shit, but it was a lot of fun...

I still want to know why I woke up to find the menu of Fellowship of the Ring Extended Edition on my television... And why Lorne's left me about a dozen angry messages to "see him immediately."

He couldn't mean about...

Wait. Who the hell was in my body yesterday???

What if it wasn't a chick?

Alright, Ms. Halliwell... you want off the ceiling? I know how to get you down.

*finishes floor painting*
*speaks Latin*
*shiver - shake - blast*
*Rancor rises in the lobby of Wolfram & Hart*

Fluffy? Wanna get Ms. Halliwell off of the ceiling for me?

*evil grin*

Rancor spell prepped. Just have to paint the portal symbol in the lobby and there's going to be a 12 foot tall beastie ravaging Wolfram & Hart.

It's amazing what you can do with the right resources.

My Grixnars are being incredibly lazy. They've caused almost no chaos, and nobody in the building has even noticed them.

I've ordered them to be more active, at least do some guerilla growling or something.

I need folks to be distracted before I release the Rancor.

Okay, it's not a Rancor. But it looks like one, and the real name - a Wokoko - is way too cutesy. Doesn't strike fear into the hearts of anybody.

Should be a few more hours before I have that properly prepped...

Grixnars unleashed. I gave them a little binding fluid so that they'd only respond to my commands, then told them to go out and cause havoc.

I'm keeping a few with me as my own Imperial Guard. They're more than willing to offer up one of their own in sacrifice so I can work on my project...

This is going to be so cool.

Got diverted it was cool. Apparently this Parker guy is worshipped as a god by the female populance. That should be useful info if I have to charm my way past a girl security guard or something. Just so long as I don't blow my cover.

Anyway, I'm at Wolfram & Hart now, and I think I've got a good enough idea of the layout to get the materials I need. Just a Horn of Dhambala here, a mystical draught there, and I should have a Grixnar attack.

Grixnars, if you didn't know, are small vicious quadrapeds with huge pointy teeth who enjoy being controlled. An entire species bred to be subs - and I'm the man whose going to bring them together. Also, killing one of them should get me the bone and blood necessary to raise something just a little bigger...

It's a good day to be me. Or Parker. Something.