Monday, November 16, 2009
true story
I want to be in love again. I am going to save up as much money as I can for the next year and go on a road trip. When I find the love of my life I will stay there and figure the rest of my life out at that point. I hope it's a trailer park in Oklahoma.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Fuck talking to anyone, let alone strangers.
Board games give you false hopes for the real world. I say this because there is no way to win at life.
I used to be good at said game. I retired with millions of dollars, a wife and a truck load of offspring. But in this "real world" I am 24, single, living alone, and apparently couldn't get anyone in my 4 cylinder Honda if I paid them.
Regression aside, the argument is this:
Most people have shitty lives. Plain and simple. Teased in elementary school, sexual awkwardness of middle school, heart-breaking dumpings in high school (if one was "lucky" enough to be in a high school relationship). Lose your drunken virginity if you aren't assaulted in college. Maybe marry someone young. Have a shithead kid. Most likely end in divorce and pay child support for the rest of your pathetic life. Maybe remarry maybe not, but never find "true love" that's for goddamn sure. Then that little bastard of a kid puts you in an old folks home where they neglect you with your pants full of shit because you are too feeble to take care of yourself. You wish for death but fear it so you stay in a constant state of anguish, fear, and shit filled pants. Then you die. Innevitable.
Some have great lives. Make lots of money, marry his/her sweetheart. Travel the world. Have a couple of smart kids that do great things with their lives. Grow old in comfort, wealth and love. And die. See, that's the kicker in the "good life". Everything is so good you are tormented with having to leave it for the eternal sleep. When you have nothing, death is not so bad because you aren't really losing anything but life. No stuff, no friends, no relatives. Just your sorry excuse for a life. It's the richie rich's of the world that really have it bad. They have to say good-bye to so much.
Which brings me to my conclusion. Life is a fucking whore of a bitch who showed you a little bit of boob behind the chemistry building but never called you back. Life is the perfect high that you get that one time and can never repeat, but don't stop trying. Life is the 9-5, the daily commute, the cold dinners, the warm milk breakfasts, the slip and fall in the shower, the ingrown toe nail, the hairy fat gut at the beach, the pit stains in your shirts, the skid mark in your underpants, the reality that this is all there is.
And for some reason, I'm still here. I feel like I'm testing God to see how fucked up he really is. A staring contest. Come on, God, blink for Christ's sake.
Heres some lyrics for anyone who reads this to choke on (unless you are my sister)
"I came as ice, I came as a whore
I came as advice that came too short
I came as gold, I came as crap
I came clean and I came as a Rat
It takes a long time, but God dies too
But not before he'll stick it to you
Well I don't know, but I been told
You never die and you never grow old"
I used to be good at said game. I retired with millions of dollars, a wife and a truck load of offspring. But in this "real world" I am 24, single, living alone, and apparently couldn't get anyone in my 4 cylinder Honda if I paid them.
Regression aside, the argument is this:
Most people have shitty lives. Plain and simple. Teased in elementary school, sexual awkwardness of middle school, heart-breaking dumpings in high school (if one was "lucky" enough to be in a high school relationship). Lose your drunken virginity if you aren't assaulted in college. Maybe marry someone young. Have a shithead kid. Most likely end in divorce and pay child support for the rest of your pathetic life. Maybe remarry maybe not, but never find "true love" that's for goddamn sure. Then that little bastard of a kid puts you in an old folks home where they neglect you with your pants full of shit because you are too feeble to take care of yourself. You wish for death but fear it so you stay in a constant state of anguish, fear, and shit filled pants. Then you die. Innevitable.
Some have great lives. Make lots of money, marry his/her sweetheart. Travel the world. Have a couple of smart kids that do great things with their lives. Grow old in comfort, wealth and love. And die. See, that's the kicker in the "good life". Everything is so good you are tormented with having to leave it for the eternal sleep. When you have nothing, death is not so bad because you aren't really losing anything but life. No stuff, no friends, no relatives. Just your sorry excuse for a life. It's the richie rich's of the world that really have it bad. They have to say good-bye to so much.
Which brings me to my conclusion. Life is a fucking whore of a bitch who showed you a little bit of boob behind the chemistry building but never called you back. Life is the perfect high that you get that one time and can never repeat, but don't stop trying. Life is the 9-5, the daily commute, the cold dinners, the warm milk breakfasts, the slip and fall in the shower, the ingrown toe nail, the hairy fat gut at the beach, the pit stains in your shirts, the skid mark in your underpants, the reality that this is all there is.
And for some reason, I'm still here. I feel like I'm testing God to see how fucked up he really is. A staring contest. Come on, God, blink for Christ's sake.
Heres some lyrics for anyone who reads this to choke on (unless you are my sister)
"I came as ice, I came as a whore
I came as advice that came too short
I came as gold, I came as crap
I came clean and I came as a Rat
It takes a long time, but God dies too
But not before he'll stick it to you
Well I don't know, but I been told
You never die and you never grow old"
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
The Bloggings of a Man
There is a man. There are many of them, really, but this blog is about the man. The man is a normal man: mid-twenties, white, likes music, tries to read some but often falls asleep. He has always wanted to make a difference in the world, but then again, who doesn't?
Most days are the same. Get up early to go to work. The man works with children and, until today, has never really thought about what the difference is between working with different age groups. If one works with children he is helping the future to grow. His hard work and dedication is hopefully understood by the younguns and they grow to become productive members of society as adults, or even do great things with their lives. If he works with adults, his efforts are less noticed. It seems, to him, that working with adults (retail, food service, some sort of goods production or other service) is more mundane. Yes, it is necessary for these jobs to be carried out to sustain - for lack of a better word - everything, but it just seems so hollow. If one works with the elderly it is less of an investment in the future but a thank you for the past. The elderly have done great things, but humans in their selfish ways, are often hasty to brush them under the rug of the retirement "living community" and forget about them. The man ponders this and is satisfied with his decision to invest in the future.
It is odd then that the man feels so alone. He is surrounded by people all the time, but that doesn't fill that void that aches deep from within him. He goes home at night to his empty apartment, puts something in the microwave (leftovers or frozen somethings) and sits in front of a screen. He knows that man killed God. The proof is the internet. God no longer has the whole world in his hands, we have it at our fingertips. Despite the man's realization of all the power and knowledge beckoning to him like the fabled forbidden fruit he mindlessly rummages through the garbage dump of online personals databases. Pictures of past lovers, long lost friends; he finds anecdotes and quips about the day-to-day happenings of all these people he once knew. But he always finds his way back to one. Perhaps because he likes the torment of knowing every little detail of this person's life, a life that once was a part of his, but now he can find no evidence that he ever existed in her world.
He curses life and blames woman for his pain.
And yet, he writes his thoughts, his feelings, his inner secrets on this world wide web; millions of people have access to these deep dark places of his soul. The man could never express these feelings to another human being and yet he opens himself up to the entire world. He doesn't mind, however, he knows the vast majority will never stumble upon his tiny insignificant musings. Only one person he knows even reads what he writes but that is enough. He might reach millions someday, or through the course of his lifetime of work with others. That is insignificant. If he can reach just that one reader whom he truely loves then he has experienced success.
He sets his alarm, picks up the book he has been meaning to read, and falls asleep. Tomorrow is another day.
Most days are the same. Get up early to go to work. The man works with children and, until today, has never really thought about what the difference is between working with different age groups. If one works with children he is helping the future to grow. His hard work and dedication is hopefully understood by the younguns and they grow to become productive members of society as adults, or even do great things with their lives. If he works with adults, his efforts are less noticed. It seems, to him, that working with adults (retail, food service, some sort of goods production or other service) is more mundane. Yes, it is necessary for these jobs to be carried out to sustain - for lack of a better word - everything, but it just seems so hollow. If one works with the elderly it is less of an investment in the future but a thank you for the past. The elderly have done great things, but humans in their selfish ways, are often hasty to brush them under the rug of the retirement "living community" and forget about them. The man ponders this and is satisfied with his decision to invest in the future.
It is odd then that the man feels so alone. He is surrounded by people all the time, but that doesn't fill that void that aches deep from within him. He goes home at night to his empty apartment, puts something in the microwave (leftovers or frozen somethings) and sits in front of a screen. He knows that man killed God. The proof is the internet. God no longer has the whole world in his hands, we have it at our fingertips. Despite the man's realization of all the power and knowledge beckoning to him like the fabled forbidden fruit he mindlessly rummages through the garbage dump of online personals databases. Pictures of past lovers, long lost friends; he finds anecdotes and quips about the day-to-day happenings of all these people he once knew. But he always finds his way back to one. Perhaps because he likes the torment of knowing every little detail of this person's life, a life that once was a part of his, but now he can find no evidence that he ever existed in her world.
He curses life and blames woman for his pain.
And yet, he writes his thoughts, his feelings, his inner secrets on this world wide web; millions of people have access to these deep dark places of his soul. The man could never express these feelings to another human being and yet he opens himself up to the entire world. He doesn't mind, however, he knows the vast majority will never stumble upon his tiny insignificant musings. Only one person he knows even reads what he writes but that is enough. He might reach millions someday, or through the course of his lifetime of work with others. That is insignificant. If he can reach just that one reader whom he truely loves then he has experienced success.
He sets his alarm, picks up the book he has been meaning to read, and falls asleep. Tomorrow is another day.
Monday, October 12, 2009
IM LIVIN ALONE!
I have those famous words screamed by good ole Kevin McCallister replaying over and over in my head. At first it was exciting and a bit comical (as intended). But as the night takes its toll on my tired bones and my hungry belly grumbles for food not contained in this awesome new apartment my mind replays those words and I feel an overwhelming sadness. I "lurk" profiles and get upset. Everyone has their lives and who am I to expect them to wonder about me? I have been working so hard and it sucks. I just feel taken advantage of.
But then there is family. So much support even though it doesn't feel like it sometimes. And as those words continue to repeat I wonder how anyone could be driven to say such things about his family. I am goin through a lot right now, but nothing I can't handle. Plus I have such a great family. I don't know where I would be without them. I don't know what I would do if I lost one of them.
Here is a song (although not many songs are in my mind right now because my speakers still aren't hooked up):
"All because of you I haven't slept in so long
But when I do I dream of drowning in the ocean
Longing for the shore where I can lay my head down
I'll follow your voice, All you have to do is shout it out."
But then there is family. So much support even though it doesn't feel like it sometimes. And as those words continue to repeat I wonder how anyone could be driven to say such things about his family. I am goin through a lot right now, but nothing I can't handle. Plus I have such a great family. I don't know where I would be without them. I don't know what I would do if I lost one of them.
Here is a song (although not many songs are in my mind right now because my speakers still aren't hooked up):
"All because of you I haven't slept in so long
But when I do I dream of drowning in the ocean
Longing for the shore where I can lay my head down
I'll follow your voice, All you have to do is shout it out."
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Beach Livin'?
Beach livin'? More like, fuck you asshole. One month until I move out and I'm told that my plans to have roommates in a beach condo are shot, now I scramble to find a place to call my own. I might need to rent a room out of a house or something, hopefully I don't end up back home. Not that there's any room for me there anyways. Looking for a studio in costa mesa. Closeish to the beach, and lots more stuff to do than Irvine. Want to kill roomate. What a fuck.
"We cut our wrists like cheap coupons
And say that death was on sale today."
"We cut our wrists like cheap coupons
And say that death was on sale today."
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Beach Livin'
I am so close to sealing the deal on a new apartment/house to live in for the next year. Hopefully we can get something close to the beach, it's expensive but so worth it. The vibe we got walking around Newport Peninsula was just awesome, people barbecuing on their porches, young people riding bikes around, just an overall feeling of good. When one thing ends another begins. So ready to start anew. Feels like I've been stuck in quicksand and I got my lifeline. Sucks though, I have to pack all my shit up. I'll be throwing lots of stuff out too, so if anyone wants anything (if you actually know me) let me know and we'll see.
"Everyone's afraid of their own life
If you could be anything you want
I bet you'd be disappointed, am I right?"
"Everyone's afraid of their own life
If you could be anything you want
I bet you'd be disappointed, am I right?"
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Good Times
Sometimes all you need is a good talk with an old friend. Everything always works out in the end, so it's pointless to stress about the little things. I have enjoyed rotting in this chair the past few days growing virtual veggies with a close sibling. I have enjoyed hacking accounts secretly to obtain some noodles and precious metals. I have enjoyed late night conversations with old friends talking about anything from the Office to the inevitability of two red heads to produce a red-headed offspring. And amidst all this enjoyment I am sure there has been some unpleasantness, but I don't remember what it was. Don't sweat the little things. They really don't matter.
And now I begin a new tradition for this shitty blog: I am going to post a lyric from a song that is on my mind at the end of each post. If anyone would like to guess at what the song/artist is go ahead, but don't be a tool and google the line and then ruin the fun for everyone.
"It's hard to get hold of
And hard to let go
Always something we look for
From the day we were born
Instead we're the people that we wanted to know
And we're the places that we wanted to go"
And now I begin a new tradition for this shitty blog: I am going to post a lyric from a song that is on my mind at the end of each post. If anyone would like to guess at what the song/artist is go ahead, but don't be a tool and google the line and then ruin the fun for everyone.
"It's hard to get hold of
And hard to let go
Always something we look for
From the day we were born
Instead we're the people that we wanted to know
And we're the places that we wanted to go"
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Never Cured
Depression is a bitch. It always seems to creep up on you when you least expect it. Even if dormant for years. I think I'm just tired, but that's always just an excuse to deny the fact that it's always there deep down. Just waiting to get me down. Just gotta bring it, keep goin, plug away. Tomorrow will be bright.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Wayans Brothers have tails
Please disregard the last post. This will just be a blog to let me tell the tales. Because I indeed have tales to tell.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
It's my first time, be gentle
I am starting a blog to document conversations with strangers. I am shy and hopefully this will help to alleviate some of my social anxieties as well as provide some amusing stories. I know this post is shite, but hopefully I will strike some gold on the blogs to follow. Bear with me, and enjoy the show.
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