I'm trying to remember a metaphor I made last night... Sam said it made sense, despite being ridiculous. Hm.
I've been making some bad comparisons lately. When Lucy and I last set things straight, I compared taking her out on dates to taking out the trash: sometimes it can seem like the most grueling chore ever discovered by man; other times it can almost be (dare I say) fun because there's a sense of accomplishment and keeping-things-in-motion.
I'm at work and Sam just rolled up on his bike.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
I'm Drunk Off All These Stars and All These Crazy Hollywood Nights
I've got a streak going: three bars in a row providing free drinks. It's sweet. Clarke's provided for the first two nights: and off-duty waitress bought our table one round the first night and two the second. Last night, this guy I know from Truman Middle College was tending the bar at Nick's. Three rounds of Pabst for three people (Mai sat out the last round), not bad.
I picked Lucy up after work last night, intending to meet Danny for a drink. But, like the skin under Toby's coat, Danny flaked. That's okay, I have to meet Vivian anyways, because she makes the best pumpkin pies. That led us to Ania's apartment, which she shares with DB. Margo was there, as were a few people I vaguely know. The party moved to Nick's, which brings this story full circle. Oh, and lots of pool was played, but the outcome was never clear.
Anyhow, speaking of Truman College, to kids were shot right out front today. That's reassuring. I definitely can't wait to go to class tomorrow. Actually, I especially can't wait because I might have a paper due this week. I'm not too thrilled considering I haven't started it.
I picked Lucy up after work last night, intending to meet Danny for a drink. But, like the skin under Toby's coat, Danny flaked. That's okay, I have to meet Vivian anyways, because she makes the best pumpkin pies. That led us to Ania's apartment, which she shares with DB. Margo was there, as were a few people I vaguely know. The party moved to Nick's, which brings this story full circle. Oh, and lots of pool was played, but the outcome was never clear.
Anyhow, speaking of Truman College, to kids were shot right out front today. That's reassuring. I definitely can't wait to go to class tomorrow. Actually, I especially can't wait because I might have a paper due this week. I'm not too thrilled considering I haven't started it.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
The Sunlight is Always Gonna Take Love Away
I have a feeling my mother won't like me for the next few months. She's house-sitting for the Keenan's, who live in the same neighborhood I grew up in. This new house, though, is like my old house 2.0. It's ridiculous: Hank's room is a penthouse on the third floor with a deck that seems built for drinking and smoking, the basement is finished and has a pool table and three beds (plus a couch), and the giant kitchen has an attached sun-room. Oh, and there's parking outside, which is sweet.
Last night, four people slept over. There were four on Wednesday night, too.
It's tough: I'm given keys to a place that has "fun" and "drinking" written all over it and I'm supposed to be a responsible adult. What Bullshit. With a capital 'b.'
Matt Skiba was last night. I didn't want to go, so Aaron and I sold our tickets. I think I mentioned yesterday how Alkaline Trio has become something to reminisce over, as opposed to get excited about. Plus, it sold out so my pity-support wasn't necessary.
So I managed to kill almost seven hours here. It's almost eight o'clock and there's an older couple making out on the back couches. Cool. I'm playing the Clash and trying to abstain from having another cup of coffee because I've lost count at this point. After work I'm having a drink with Lucy and Mai and Danny and anyone else we run into. Should be sweet.
Last night, four people slept over. There were four on Wednesday night, too.
It's tough: I'm given keys to a place that has "fun" and "drinking" written all over it and I'm supposed to be a responsible adult. What Bullshit. With a capital 'b.'
Matt Skiba was last night. I didn't want to go, so Aaron and I sold our tickets. I think I mentioned yesterday how Alkaline Trio has become something to reminisce over, as opposed to get excited about. Plus, it sold out so my pity-support wasn't necessary.
So I managed to kill almost seven hours here. It's almost eight o'clock and there's an older couple making out on the back couches. Cool. I'm playing the Clash and trying to abstain from having another cup of coffee because I've lost count at this point. After work I'm having a drink with Lucy and Mai and Danny and anyone else we run into. Should be sweet.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Timorous Me
Thanksgiving delivered on all cylinders, minus a few cousins. Luckily, there's a pool table in my grandparents' basement in which, unfortunately, there's some kind of leak that expels an odor reminiscent of a litter box full of dead cats.
The evening before entertained the real action, though: I've never been so close to being kicked out of a bar. Actually, had we not left immediately, I think it would have happened within a minute or two. Matsuo somehow pissed off Tiki and, as I was reaching for my nearly-finished beer, all the glasses on our table crashed to the floor. It was quite a scene; I was impressed.
So now I'm bored and at work, knocking back a few yogurts. I somehow work up at 6:40 this morning despite the alarm on my phone being at the absolute lowest volume (my fault for not anticipating that the low ring volume would also mean a low alarm volume) and my alarm clock mysteriously not going off. To reward my intuitive awakening, I slept for another 20 minutes and was 5 minutes late to work. And here I am. And there have been three customers and we've been open for more than an hour. I'm here until 2:30 and this day seems like it will feel long.
I don't know, I don't even feel like writing right now. I don't know what I feel like. I feel cold, so I suppose I could say I feel like a scoop of ice cream? That could be it. Eating a ton of sugary candy and soda doesn't leave the sweetest taste in my mouth, though.
Damn this sucks. I'm so bored. Last night I watched The Dark Knight with Aaron and Diann. It was lame. The movie wasn't lame, but who goes to bed in the middle of one? Not me. So I stayed up, by my lonesome, really wishing I had watched a movie I had never seen before.
What else is there to complain about... how about getting old? Sure, I'm only 22, but still. Aaron has a funny story about a friend of his named Colin. Back in high school, the two of them would joke around about people who light incense and sit around enjoying their nasal sensory perceptions or whatever (Aaron's description painted a clearer picture, so bear with me). The two of them were driving around fairly recently, within the past two months, when Aaron made a comment about some jagbag appreciating his incense. This remark caused Colin to turn to Aaron and respond, "Hey, uh, I'm kinda into that stuff now." I found it hilarious but also entirely plausible and probably very common. And it sucks. For instance, lots of kids I knew in high school thought the whole idea of religion and church was pretty dumb. Or they said so, maybe they were humoring me. Regardless, my point is that kids go through lots of phases and find out what irritates them and what makes them comfortable, and sometimes their left brain analyzes the idea of religion (for example) and finds flaws and fallacies and things that don't add up, but their right brain reminds them that their mom took them to church every Sunday, and how it's nice to be a part of something, and maybe they enjoyed being groped by an older man in a collar. I don't doubt that this happens, especially in my family. Hey, maybe I'll fall victim to this vicious dichotomy: logical and miserable or nonsensical and happy.
I think I strayed from the topic. I don't know how to sum this all up as one point because maybe there isn't one. But maybe all this can account for why it's difficult for me to open up to people. Everyone's always changing (ideally), so if I break out my high school fuck-Christianity jokes to my old friend who may not be a full-fledged Christian, is it worth isolating myself from this person? I don't know. Maybe that's part of being myself and seeing who sticks around. Maybe.
Anyways, I have three hours left here and it was fairly busy over the past hour or so. Now I'm getting hunger pangs that coffee is only exacerbating. Time for a Twinkie.
So yeah, this is my life. Pretty exhilarating. Tonight is Matt Skiba and Brendan Kelly at the Bottom Lounge. At some point I crossed a line with Alkaline Trio-- from excited fan to reminiscent... guy. Some bands had an affect on me that would have me going to shows because it seemed important, like whatever the singer had to say bore some great importance to the future of my life. This isn't the case anymore, but that could be due to my favorite bands all growing old at a rapid pace.
Now there's a fire across the street.
The evening before entertained the real action, though: I've never been so close to being kicked out of a bar. Actually, had we not left immediately, I think it would have happened within a minute or two. Matsuo somehow pissed off Tiki and, as I was reaching for my nearly-finished beer, all the glasses on our table crashed to the floor. It was quite a scene; I was impressed.
So now I'm bored and at work, knocking back a few yogurts. I somehow work up at 6:40 this morning despite the alarm on my phone being at the absolute lowest volume (my fault for not anticipating that the low ring volume would also mean a low alarm volume) and my alarm clock mysteriously not going off. To reward my intuitive awakening, I slept for another 20 minutes and was 5 minutes late to work. And here I am. And there have been three customers and we've been open for more than an hour. I'm here until 2:30 and this day seems like it will feel long.
I don't know, I don't even feel like writing right now. I don't know what I feel like. I feel cold, so I suppose I could say I feel like a scoop of ice cream? That could be it. Eating a ton of sugary candy and soda doesn't leave the sweetest taste in my mouth, though.
Damn this sucks. I'm so bored. Last night I watched The Dark Knight with Aaron and Diann. It was lame. The movie wasn't lame, but who goes to bed in the middle of one? Not me. So I stayed up, by my lonesome, really wishing I had watched a movie I had never seen before.
What else is there to complain about... how about getting old? Sure, I'm only 22, but still. Aaron has a funny story about a friend of his named Colin. Back in high school, the two of them would joke around about people who light incense and sit around enjoying their nasal sensory perceptions or whatever (Aaron's description painted a clearer picture, so bear with me). The two of them were driving around fairly recently, within the past two months, when Aaron made a comment about some jagbag appreciating his incense. This remark caused Colin to turn to Aaron and respond, "Hey, uh, I'm kinda into that stuff now." I found it hilarious but also entirely plausible and probably very common. And it sucks. For instance, lots of kids I knew in high school thought the whole idea of religion and church was pretty dumb. Or they said so, maybe they were humoring me. Regardless, my point is that kids go through lots of phases and find out what irritates them and what makes them comfortable, and sometimes their left brain analyzes the idea of religion (for example) and finds flaws and fallacies and things that don't add up, but their right brain reminds them that their mom took them to church every Sunday, and how it's nice to be a part of something, and maybe they enjoyed being groped by an older man in a collar. I don't doubt that this happens, especially in my family. Hey, maybe I'll fall victim to this vicious dichotomy: logical and miserable or nonsensical and happy.
I think I strayed from the topic. I don't know how to sum this all up as one point because maybe there isn't one. But maybe all this can account for why it's difficult for me to open up to people. Everyone's always changing (ideally), so if I break out my high school fuck-Christianity jokes to my old friend who may not be a full-fledged Christian, is it worth isolating myself from this person? I don't know. Maybe that's part of being myself and seeing who sticks around. Maybe.
Anyways, I have three hours left here and it was fairly busy over the past hour or so. Now I'm getting hunger pangs that coffee is only exacerbating. Time for a Twinkie.
So yeah, this is my life. Pretty exhilarating. Tonight is Matt Skiba and Brendan Kelly at the Bottom Lounge. At some point I crossed a line with Alkaline Trio-- from excited fan to reminiscent... guy. Some bands had an affect on me that would have me going to shows because it seemed important, like whatever the singer had to say bore some great importance to the future of my life. This isn't the case anymore, but that could be due to my favorite bands all growing old at a rapid pace.
Now there's a fire across the street.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
And can you live with what you know about yourself, when you're all alone, behind closed doors, the things we never said but were always right there?
Well, the weather outside is shitty. I'm supposed to go out tonight, and supposedly everybody else between the ages of 21 and un(happily)married will be doing the same. I took $300 from under my mattress and spent $219 on license plates for my car. This leaves me with more money than I'd like to spend tonight. Now and then I pride myself on my self-control, but the feeling is too familiar: looking to keep the good times going, then glancing down at a full wallet. This doesn't last long, of course, as nothing ever does.
This is old news. What else..? I'm about to eat a twinkie. That's cool. This new fascination with twinkies comes from Eric buying them at the gas station, and Zombieland-- if a man risks life and limb in a post-apocalyptic world for the sake of enjoying a twinkie, I shouldn't take them for granted when they're at my disposal.
Uh... huh. I'm at a loss. I brought nothing to do, the shop is nearly empty and I'll be surprised to have a customer in the next hour.
I guess I could talk about why I look forward to Thanksgiving being over, right? Right.
My dad is very conservative. It may have been rational or commonplace at a time, but now... Well, now rationality and commonplacity are tied very closely to geography or geographic regions or something. Anyways, my dad would probably be the coolest, most level-headed person on the block in rural Arizona. Unfortunately for almost every party involved, he lives in Chicago. Here he can come off as ridiculously self-righteous. He also frequents the air-time that is occupied by Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity. So there's that. My aunt and her new husband get along very well with my dad, as do my grandparents. Meanwhile, my cousin Greg is a suave, young lawyer in the South loop who voted for Obama (he's also like 6'8, which used to impress me beyond belief until I crossed the 6' mark). I don't know how my other two cousins feel about the whole situation, but I'm usually left feeling isolated and disenfranchised and waiting to drive back to Chicago. Actually, I don't remember ever not smoking cigarettes on Thanksgiving... how else could I sneak away and pass the time?
Oh, and to make matters worse, my uncle lives with my grandparents. Doesn't sound too bad, right? Here it is: I don't know if my grandparents could ever enjoy a cold beer, or maybe a heavy, delicious German beer with Thanksgiving dinner, but the whole idea of drinking is taboo now that my alcoholic uncle (who was recovering, but may have slipped back again) is lingering upstairs. Just saying: everyone I know loves Thanksgiving because it involves quality, drunken time with family members that aren't usually around.
I suppose this is as good a time as any to step outside and dwell in self-pity for a few minutes. Be right back.
Back. It's cold out. And raining. Tonight might be soggier than I had hoped.
This is old news. What else..? I'm about to eat a twinkie. That's cool. This new fascination with twinkies comes from Eric buying them at the gas station, and Zombieland-- if a man risks life and limb in a post-apocalyptic world for the sake of enjoying a twinkie, I shouldn't take them for granted when they're at my disposal.
Uh... huh. I'm at a loss. I brought nothing to do, the shop is nearly empty and I'll be surprised to have a customer in the next hour.
I guess I could talk about why I look forward to Thanksgiving being over, right? Right.
My dad is very conservative. It may have been rational or commonplace at a time, but now... Well, now rationality and commonplacity are tied very closely to geography or geographic regions or something. Anyways, my dad would probably be the coolest, most level-headed person on the block in rural Arizona. Unfortunately for almost every party involved, he lives in Chicago. Here he can come off as ridiculously self-righteous. He also frequents the air-time that is occupied by Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity. So there's that. My aunt and her new husband get along very well with my dad, as do my grandparents. Meanwhile, my cousin Greg is a suave, young lawyer in the South loop who voted for Obama (he's also like 6'8, which used to impress me beyond belief until I crossed the 6' mark). I don't know how my other two cousins feel about the whole situation, but I'm usually left feeling isolated and disenfranchised and waiting to drive back to Chicago. Actually, I don't remember ever not smoking cigarettes on Thanksgiving... how else could I sneak away and pass the time?
Oh, and to make matters worse, my uncle lives with my grandparents. Doesn't sound too bad, right? Here it is: I don't know if my grandparents could ever enjoy a cold beer, or maybe a heavy, delicious German beer with Thanksgiving dinner, but the whole idea of drinking is taboo now that my alcoholic uncle (who was recovering, but may have slipped back again) is lingering upstairs. Just saying: everyone I know loves Thanksgiving because it involves quality, drunken time with family members that aren't usually around.
I suppose this is as good a time as any to step outside and dwell in self-pity for a few minutes. Be right back.
Back. It's cold out. And raining. Tonight might be soggier than I had hoped.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Muscles Burning Alcohol and Nicotine
Well, it's Tuesday. Yup. Like every other Tuesday, I have foggy memories of the evening before, of Matsuo puking into a cup and Tiki peeing on my hallway floor. Hm.
It'll be a while before any drinking buddies step into my house, that's for sure. Well, not necessarily. It may be a few days. Or a month. We'll see.
Anyways, I finally got the Cabrio-- it's sweet. Aaron said we're slowly forming a club of people with cool motorcycles and feminine cars. I can see it, but the Cabrio's too much fun to be pigeonholed into the category of "chick car."
Speaking of Pigeon (being the name of a prominent character in A Long, Long Time Ago and Essentially True-- excellent book), Brigid Pasulka was at my mom's new house (which she is house-sitting, not owning) for a book club meeting. It went well and it was great seeing her and now I'm struck by the idea of moving to Germany for no apparent reason and with no plan and few belongings. It'd be nice to learn a new language and not have to... I don't know. What can I complain about? I've been lazy and not the best brother/friend/boyfriend/co-worker. It just gets so boring doing things the right way. I mean, I know how to be healthy and how to be on-time and how to tell people what they want to hear, but is it worth it? Sure, I suppose it is. It'd be nice to fall in love with my life again when I'm 60 and not be living in a dilapidated shell of a human being. Man, I feel like every time I look up, I'm a some kind of crucial crossroads. Will I tire of this and arbitrarily settle into whatever habits I happen to be entertaining at that point in time? That could be a very good or very bad thing. I'll tell you what, though: I won't let myself get used to this smoker's cough-- it sucks and it's inconvenient and awkward and only good when it results in my hacking up a huge ball of... I went over this in the previous entry, I believe.
I wasn't really led to this next point, but here goes:
The Matrix was the first to bring the idea to my mind, the one comparing humanity to a virus: grazing until the land is dead before moving on and repeating the process. Is that a realistic way to live on an individual basis? I think it will kind of happen whether or not I try, but should I make a conscious effort to enjoy things to their fullest until I bore of them? That was a prior mentality of mine but I can't quite recall how it felt. Should I listen to Against Me! until I can't stand them anymore? Should I drink constantly until the idea of waking up with poor recollection and an abundance of regret becomes overwhelming and I need to live a sober, orderly life? With a car or motorcycle or bicycle, it's possible to drive recklessly and fully enjoy the car while, simultaneously, putting the work in on the side to make sure the oil is fresh. And the work on the side can be fun, too. Did I just answer my question? Should I stop being a lazy asshole and start working out and eating right again to preserve my body throughout the alcoholic assaults I've been putting it through? Hm. But it's so much more fulfilling to eat twinkies than a banana, especially when I'm drinking or hungover. So yes, I think I did answer my own question: even if the wrong oil is cheaper-- or, for that matter, no new oil-- I still have to use the right kind if I want my car to last. Good? Good. This should begin immediately. I've already burnt myself out on school, I don't need to burn myself out on having fun, too.
Last thought for this entry:
Since working for Ms. Lerone and Stella and Starbucks and Panera and Dunkin' Donuts, I've learned a few things. First of all, Starbucks or Panera or Dunkin' Donuts would never give me a car. That thought will never come as a shock to anybody, but there's more. At Stella, generally, I'm treated as a human being, as opposed to a hat or an apron or a piece of shit. Don't get me wrong, the people who go to Starbucks and Panera and Dunkin' Donuts are also people and, thus, are not entirely incapable of making judgments in the present as individuals... but!(this is a big but)! There's a hat and an apron and a dress code and the customer doesn't really need to make any judgments outside of what flavor they want their coffee because in front of every baristas face is the Starbucks logo-- both parties can hide behind it and everything's anonymous and that's kind of how I know America. It's kind of sickening. So my point is, aside from being half-baked, that if there weren't uniforms and hats and logos to hide behind, people might make connections in different places. You know, the way that some people know their mail- man or lady but those people, generally, seem to be shunned. And that makes me wonder whether mail people seemed a little strange to me before or after I noticed their being shunned. It's the same scenario as the guy who towed my car: is he an asshole because he was expecting me to be an asshole? Was it self-defense? I don't know. I'm still not used to this coffee shop. I mean, people talk to me like we're building friendships, and, in a way, we are: I'm their coffee-guy. Rarely more and never less (until they find a different shop or I skip town or something). So there's a sense of community here, like how cops make a community out of 7-11 (but that's different because that's just cops, employees of 7-11, and the occasional drunk dude).
So there's that. It's an observation that would probably be shot down if I shared it with a human being instead of the internet or the ether or wherever these posts end up, so I guess I'm going taking the anonymous route-- the one that makes me so uncomfortable when I observe other people doing it. Kind of like cocaine-- that always had a scary aura until it was me in the circle. Now it's just dumb.
It'll be a while before any drinking buddies step into my house, that's for sure. Well, not necessarily. It may be a few days. Or a month. We'll see.
Anyways, I finally got the Cabrio-- it's sweet. Aaron said we're slowly forming a club of people with cool motorcycles and feminine cars. I can see it, but the Cabrio's too much fun to be pigeonholed into the category of "chick car."
Speaking of Pigeon (being the name of a prominent character in A Long, Long Time Ago and Essentially True-- excellent book), Brigid Pasulka was at my mom's new house (which she is house-sitting, not owning) for a book club meeting. It went well and it was great seeing her and now I'm struck by the idea of moving to Germany for no apparent reason and with no plan and few belongings. It'd be nice to learn a new language and not have to... I don't know. What can I complain about? I've been lazy and not the best brother/friend/boyfriend/co-worker. It just gets so boring doing things the right way. I mean, I know how to be healthy and how to be on-time and how to tell people what they want to hear, but is it worth it? Sure, I suppose it is. It'd be nice to fall in love with my life again when I'm 60 and not be living in a dilapidated shell of a human being. Man, I feel like every time I look up, I'm a some kind of crucial crossroads. Will I tire of this and arbitrarily settle into whatever habits I happen to be entertaining at that point in time? That could be a very good or very bad thing. I'll tell you what, though: I won't let myself get used to this smoker's cough-- it sucks and it's inconvenient and awkward and only good when it results in my hacking up a huge ball of... I went over this in the previous entry, I believe.
I wasn't really led to this next point, but here goes:
The Matrix was the first to bring the idea to my mind, the one comparing humanity to a virus: grazing until the land is dead before moving on and repeating the process. Is that a realistic way to live on an individual basis? I think it will kind of happen whether or not I try, but should I make a conscious effort to enjoy things to their fullest until I bore of them? That was a prior mentality of mine but I can't quite recall how it felt. Should I listen to Against Me! until I can't stand them anymore? Should I drink constantly until the idea of waking up with poor recollection and an abundance of regret becomes overwhelming and I need to live a sober, orderly life? With a car or motorcycle or bicycle, it's possible to drive recklessly and fully enjoy the car while, simultaneously, putting the work in on the side to make sure the oil is fresh. And the work on the side can be fun, too. Did I just answer my question? Should I stop being a lazy asshole and start working out and eating right again to preserve my body throughout the alcoholic assaults I've been putting it through? Hm. But it's so much more fulfilling to eat twinkies than a banana, especially when I'm drinking or hungover. So yes, I think I did answer my own question: even if the wrong oil is cheaper-- or, for that matter, no new oil-- I still have to use the right kind if I want my car to last. Good? Good. This should begin immediately. I've already burnt myself out on school, I don't need to burn myself out on having fun, too.
Last thought for this entry:
Since working for Ms. Lerone and Stella and Starbucks and Panera and Dunkin' Donuts, I've learned a few things. First of all, Starbucks or Panera or Dunkin' Donuts would never give me a car. That thought will never come as a shock to anybody, but there's more. At Stella, generally, I'm treated as a human being, as opposed to a hat or an apron or a piece of shit. Don't get me wrong, the people who go to Starbucks and Panera and Dunkin' Donuts are also people and, thus, are not entirely incapable of making judgments in the present as individuals... but!(this is a big but)! There's a hat and an apron and a dress code and the customer doesn't really need to make any judgments outside of what flavor they want their coffee because in front of every baristas face is the Starbucks logo-- both parties can hide behind it and everything's anonymous and that's kind of how I know America. It's kind of sickening. So my point is, aside from being half-baked, that if there weren't uniforms and hats and logos to hide behind, people might make connections in different places. You know, the way that some people know their mail- man or lady but those people, generally, seem to be shunned. And that makes me wonder whether mail people seemed a little strange to me before or after I noticed their being shunned. It's the same scenario as the guy who towed my car: is he an asshole because he was expecting me to be an asshole? Was it self-defense? I don't know. I'm still not used to this coffee shop. I mean, people talk to me like we're building friendships, and, in a way, we are: I'm their coffee-guy. Rarely more and never less (until they find a different shop or I skip town or something). So there's a sense of community here, like how cops make a community out of 7-11 (but that's different because that's just cops, employees of 7-11, and the occasional drunk dude).
So there's that. It's an observation that would probably be shot down if I shared it with a human being instead of the internet or the ether or wherever these posts end up, so I guess I'm going taking the anonymous route-- the one that makes me so uncomfortable when I observe other people doing it. Kind of like cocaine-- that always had a scary aura until it was me in the circle. Now it's just dumb.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Thanks For All The Nice Murder Music
It's tough selling coffee without a voice. I really don't know where it went-- Mike and I were driving back to my place around 3 or 4 this morning and it occurred to me: I'm losing my voice. It's tough; I'll go a while without talking and forget that exercising my vocal cords lets out a crackly, unbecoming murmur. Then a customer walks in. At least when I'm consistently talking for a period of time I can control my range, instead of diving into a pool of speech that isn't very deep.
This brings me to my next question: how does this happen? Is yelling responsible for every morning that has me waking up with half a voice? Here are a few occasions to which the question is directed:
-after a long night of drinking
-after going to a show
-after smoking lots of cigarettes/weed.
I don't know. This whole business boggles my mind. I'm drinking peppermint tea, though, in hopes it helps.
Earlier today I saw a squirrel. Earlier today I saw a fat squirrel. I'm talking about one squirrel here, but is that how nature works? Or, well, is that how squirrels work? I figured there was some kind of nut-stockpiling going on, not some mid-November binge eating. Then again, I'm going off a four-second observation of one squirrel.
Anyways, so there's what's up: I'm a little sick, a little hung over, and a little jonesing for a cigarette.
Okay, now I feel like shit. I just smoked a cigarette because I was bored and hoping to expel a large amount of phlegm that I suspect is impeding my speech. When I woke up this afternoon I coughed up a huge, green wad of shit that must have been in my lungs or something. It was gross and so big that getting it out almost made me puke. I can't tell if it's cold in the coffee shop or if it's my deteriorating immune system. Hm. This may not keep me in tonight, though, because I've been in the kind of mood that insists on being shortsighted and making bad decisions.
Last night must not have been enough, though it was great seeing friends I rarely get to hang out with.
Anyhow, there's work to be done so I can close up shop and get on with my life.
Oh. So I began this shift with some Nick Cave before getting into some Murder By Death. It lasted two hours or so, maybe a bit less. During the last song of that stretch, a regular, on his way out, commented: "Thanks for all the nice murder music." All I could do was smile a big, voiceless grin.
This brings me to my next question: how does this happen? Is yelling responsible for every morning that has me waking up with half a voice? Here are a few occasions to which the question is directed:
-after a long night of drinking
-after going to a show
-after smoking lots of cigarettes/weed.
I don't know. This whole business boggles my mind. I'm drinking peppermint tea, though, in hopes it helps.
Earlier today I saw a squirrel. Earlier today I saw a fat squirrel. I'm talking about one squirrel here, but is that how nature works? Or, well, is that how squirrels work? I figured there was some kind of nut-stockpiling going on, not some mid-November binge eating. Then again, I'm going off a four-second observation of one squirrel.
Anyways, so there's what's up: I'm a little sick, a little hung over, and a little jonesing for a cigarette.
Okay, now I feel like shit. I just smoked a cigarette because I was bored and hoping to expel a large amount of phlegm that I suspect is impeding my speech. When I woke up this afternoon I coughed up a huge, green wad of shit that must have been in my lungs or something. It was gross and so big that getting it out almost made me puke. I can't tell if it's cold in the coffee shop or if it's my deteriorating immune system. Hm. This may not keep me in tonight, though, because I've been in the kind of mood that insists on being shortsighted and making bad decisions.
Last night must not have been enough, though it was great seeing friends I rarely get to hang out with.
Anyhow, there's work to be done so I can close up shop and get on with my life.
Oh. So I began this shift with some Nick Cave before getting into some Murder By Death. It lasted two hours or so, maybe a bit less. During the last song of that stretch, a regular, on his way out, commented: "Thanks for all the nice murder music." All I could do was smile a big, voiceless grin.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
I'm Lonely (But I Ain't That Lonely Yet)
Let me clear up on thing really quick: I bitch a moan a whole lot when I write. Is it entertaining to read someone else's bitchings and moanings? Occasionally. Is it fun to write? On fewer occasions than the response to the first question. Here's why it happens, though: when I get a hankering to write, I have to get past my obsessions and torments. If these obsessions and torments are constantly Batman, girls, and cigarettes, then that's going to pre-occupy my writing. Also, if I don't write then most of this complaining will be done to my friends, and no one wants to be around the guy who constantly complains or conjectures about his own life.
So that's why I'm here. Real writers may may translate their problems into abstract stories or vampire tales or something, but I'm not a real writer-- I'm just some guy trying to figure things out. I hate even saying that because people who are trying to figure things out seem to get places, even if it's sporadically and infrequent.
On to today's problems..:
I couldn't sleep until 4:30 or 5 last night (yeah, this morning) after going to bed before 2. My headache was lingering around and a late-night beer/cigarette combo literally did nothing to abate my symptoms. I felt better waking up, though, and got out of bed a bit after noon (which is early in regard to my recent sleep-schedule... that's completely improvised). I rode my motorcycle to Toby's place, then back home to grab my bicycle and head to work. I was completely caught off guard by my own responsibility today: these past few weeks have seen me running late to everything, often ending Toby's walk at exactly the one-hour mark in order to try to make it to work within ten minutes of my scheduled time.
Now I'm at work. I got a text from Lucy when I was walking Toby-- she wants to know when she could come by and pick up all her stuff. I feel like a couple steps were skipped but I'll take the blame on that. I feel bad for not being better at communicating, but hey, here I am. Too late for that. Mike told me I shouldn't be with someone who doesn't understand me, no matter how much she may care about me. He said that I'm me and if I feel like digressing and taking a load off for a while then I'm very much entitled. I'm 22 years old, I have no kids, I'm not married, I'm working pretty close to minimum wage-- why not go with the flow of my own judgment until that's no longer possible (because of kids, a wife, a real job)?
As Mike puts it, he and John are "hetero-life-mates." I don't have that. I don't have the person to do everything with, like going out and getting blind drunk, or going to a movie with, or grabbing coffee, or sitting around and smoking cigarettes. Lucy has been my best friend for the past few years, and it always sucks having to lose someone from your life because you can't make it work on a certain level.
So now what? My rational side says I need to get my shit together, but then I'll be rounding out this circle even further. That's how I work: I get my shit together, I get a girlfriend, it's cool for a while, my shit gets untangled, I lose girlfriend (usually by my own hand), and then the cycle repeats itself. Maybe I should try Mike's move, where I smoke cigarettes and go drinking whenever I want and, as the expression goes, throw feces at a wall and see what sticks. The only downside of that is what if I make some friends who smoke and go out a few times a week and don't understand when I fall off the face of the Earth for a while? I guess I'll have to deal with that if it comes up.
Sometimes I feel like I just moved to a new city. Everyone I used to hang out with is off doing their own thing, or maybe we weren't as good of friends as I thought we were? Nah, not gonna mess around with those thoughts. I don't know. Maybe I should move to a new city. Denver has Megan, so I wouldn't be completely alone while I get adjusted. That's really the only city that comes to mind, unless Juan and Earl find a cool place, like Albuquerque or Seattle.
Maybe I'm due for a bad winter-- it has been a while. There was a time when I thought I wasn't ever going to have to deal with another cold winter. I'll have to make some preparations, I suppose-- cigarettes in the fridge, whiskey in the jar, Netflix in my mailbox, twinkies in the freezer.
I suppose I should clear that up, too. I don't drink very much. Well, I suppose that's quantifiable and everyone has their own standards. Next to lots of my friends, I don't drink a lot. Sometimes I'll go out three times a week (which is rare and I often feel lucky when I can) but I'm often satisfied going out once or twice in a week.
I'm at work right now. I've been at work throughout this entire entry, as is usually the case. Anyhow, I just want to point out how awkward it is for the 3 or 4 minutes that a bad or annoying song comes on. It's almost always an accident, but the only thing worse than letting it play out is skipping to the next song-- then, even the girl who was ignoring the music is made aware that a terrible song was on. Hard knock life, this is.
Alright, I'm within two and a half hours of finishing work so I should probably go do something productive to avoid being here all night.
So that's why I'm here. Real writers may may translate their problems into abstract stories or vampire tales or something, but I'm not a real writer-- I'm just some guy trying to figure things out. I hate even saying that because people who are trying to figure things out seem to get places, even if it's sporadically and infrequent.
On to today's problems..:
I couldn't sleep until 4:30 or 5 last night (yeah, this morning) after going to bed before 2. My headache was lingering around and a late-night beer/cigarette combo literally did nothing to abate my symptoms. I felt better waking up, though, and got out of bed a bit after noon (which is early in regard to my recent sleep-schedule... that's completely improvised). I rode my motorcycle to Toby's place, then back home to grab my bicycle and head to work. I was completely caught off guard by my own responsibility today: these past few weeks have seen me running late to everything, often ending Toby's walk at exactly the one-hour mark in order to try to make it to work within ten minutes of my scheduled time.
Now I'm at work. I got a text from Lucy when I was walking Toby-- she wants to know when she could come by and pick up all her stuff. I feel like a couple steps were skipped but I'll take the blame on that. I feel bad for not being better at communicating, but hey, here I am. Too late for that. Mike told me I shouldn't be with someone who doesn't understand me, no matter how much she may care about me. He said that I'm me and if I feel like digressing and taking a load off for a while then I'm very much entitled. I'm 22 years old, I have no kids, I'm not married, I'm working pretty close to minimum wage-- why not go with the flow of my own judgment until that's no longer possible (because of kids, a wife, a real job)?
As Mike puts it, he and John are "hetero-life-mates." I don't have that. I don't have the person to do everything with, like going out and getting blind drunk, or going to a movie with, or grabbing coffee, or sitting around and smoking cigarettes. Lucy has been my best friend for the past few years, and it always sucks having to lose someone from your life because you can't make it work on a certain level.
So now what? My rational side says I need to get my shit together, but then I'll be rounding out this circle even further. That's how I work: I get my shit together, I get a girlfriend, it's cool for a while, my shit gets untangled, I lose girlfriend (usually by my own hand), and then the cycle repeats itself. Maybe I should try Mike's move, where I smoke cigarettes and go drinking whenever I want and, as the expression goes, throw feces at a wall and see what sticks. The only downside of that is what if I make some friends who smoke and go out a few times a week and don't understand when I fall off the face of the Earth for a while? I guess I'll have to deal with that if it comes up.
Sometimes I feel like I just moved to a new city. Everyone I used to hang out with is off doing their own thing, or maybe we weren't as good of friends as I thought we were? Nah, not gonna mess around with those thoughts. I don't know. Maybe I should move to a new city. Denver has Megan, so I wouldn't be completely alone while I get adjusted. That's really the only city that comes to mind, unless Juan and Earl find a cool place, like Albuquerque or Seattle.
Maybe I'm due for a bad winter-- it has been a while. There was a time when I thought I wasn't ever going to have to deal with another cold winter. I'll have to make some preparations, I suppose-- cigarettes in the fridge, whiskey in the jar, Netflix in my mailbox, twinkies in the freezer.
I suppose I should clear that up, too. I don't drink very much. Well, I suppose that's quantifiable and everyone has their own standards. Next to lots of my friends, I don't drink a lot. Sometimes I'll go out three times a week (which is rare and I often feel lucky when I can) but I'm often satisfied going out once or twice in a week.
I'm at work right now. I've been at work throughout this entire entry, as is usually the case. Anyhow, I just want to point out how awkward it is for the 3 or 4 minutes that a bad or annoying song comes on. It's almost always an accident, but the only thing worse than letting it play out is skipping to the next song-- then, even the girl who was ignoring the music is made aware that a terrible song was on. Hard knock life, this is.
Alright, I'm within two and a half hours of finishing work so I should probably go do something productive to avoid being here all night.
Monday, November 15, 2010
These Days (Take 23)
It's not a splitting headache I'm dealing with, but it's a headache nonetheless. It could have something to do with not having had a cigarette in a few hours, or maybe from too much or too little coffee, or maybe because I got very little sleep all weekend before 13 hours last night, or maybe I contracted a sore throat and a headache and various other cold symptoms from my mom when I stayed at her place the other night.
Regardless, I'm not too concerned: I have to walk Toby and work tomorrow, then Wednesday is just school and Toby, and Thursday is completely clear (plus Toby); I should have plenty of time to get rested.
Juan bought me a tin of Puerto Rican coffee-- it's supposed to be remarkably stronger than what I've been drinking (Intelligentsia and Starbucks). We had been talking about how much coffee we drink. He doesn't much anymore, but drank way too much when he was volunteering at the hospital. He said he'd go home and get high to take the edge off. I'm wondering if I should incorporate that part of his routine into my nightly exercise.
So yeah, that's it. My mind has been barren for a while. Well, not entirely, but most of the thoughts that have passed through have already been written about (by me) and don't need further explanation.
Actually, here's a fairly new one:
Mike was talking to a girl at a bar the other night. The more I looked at her, the less attractive I found her (which isn't what I mean to talk about). Anyhow, Mike and I were talking about it later. He's got this girl who's the one willing to stay with him when he goes through the Army (he's assuming), but he's doing to her what I've done to almost every girlfriend I've ever had (which is a terrible, terrible thing, but there's nothing I can do about it now.. or then, for that matter, because I didn't force anybody to stick around (Mike found that last sentiment to be especially asshole-like)), which is going back and forth between "I love you, girl," and "well, I'm not quite sure about this." Now, in defense of my own actions (still not what I'm aiming to write about), these feelings are entirely genuine and equally overwhelming.
So Mike's telling me about this girl, and them talking, and he said he had a lot of fun. I could see that-- it didn't seem forced (maybe a little awkward because John and I were sitting right there and they thought we were making fun of them (which we were only doing when we ran out of conversation (which wasn't too often))) and Mike later confirmed that he was being completely honest with her. What he said next kind of sums up a big part of my relationship with human beings in general: "Usually I hate explaining myself to every single girl (/person) I talk to (which is what applies to my life), but I really enjoyed talking to her."
Man, now I want a cigarette, but then I'll definitely have to take a dump (which is not ideal when I'm the only one working... which is whenever I work).
No matter, back to conjecture: Mike seems to feel a sense of urgency in his situation, yet doesn't consider his one steady girlfriend person to be settling (if that's how things end up).
Whatever, this is starting to bore me.
Regardless, I'm not too concerned: I have to walk Toby and work tomorrow, then Wednesday is just school and Toby, and Thursday is completely clear (plus Toby); I should have plenty of time to get rested.
Juan bought me a tin of Puerto Rican coffee-- it's supposed to be remarkably stronger than what I've been drinking (Intelligentsia and Starbucks). We had been talking about how much coffee we drink. He doesn't much anymore, but drank way too much when he was volunteering at the hospital. He said he'd go home and get high to take the edge off. I'm wondering if I should incorporate that part of his routine into my nightly exercise.
So yeah, that's it. My mind has been barren for a while. Well, not entirely, but most of the thoughts that have passed through have already been written about (by me) and don't need further explanation.
Actually, here's a fairly new one:
Mike was talking to a girl at a bar the other night. The more I looked at her, the less attractive I found her (which isn't what I mean to talk about). Anyhow, Mike and I were talking about it later. He's got this girl who's the one willing to stay with him when he goes through the Army (he's assuming), but he's doing to her what I've done to almost every girlfriend I've ever had (which is a terrible, terrible thing, but there's nothing I can do about it now.. or then, for that matter, because I didn't force anybody to stick around (Mike found that last sentiment to be especially asshole-like)), which is going back and forth between "I love you, girl," and "well, I'm not quite sure about this." Now, in defense of my own actions (still not what I'm aiming to write about), these feelings are entirely genuine and equally overwhelming.
So Mike's telling me about this girl, and them talking, and he said he had a lot of fun. I could see that-- it didn't seem forced (maybe a little awkward because John and I were sitting right there and they thought we were making fun of them (which we were only doing when we ran out of conversation (which wasn't too often))) and Mike later confirmed that he was being completely honest with her. What he said next kind of sums up a big part of my relationship with human beings in general: "Usually I hate explaining myself to every single girl (/person) I talk to (which is what applies to my life), but I really enjoyed talking to her."
Man, now I want a cigarette, but then I'll definitely have to take a dump (which is not ideal when I'm the only one working... which is whenever I work).
No matter, back to conjecture: Mike seems to feel a sense of urgency in his situation, yet doesn't consider his one steady girlfriend person to be settling (if that's how things end up).
Whatever, this is starting to bore me.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
I'll have a Shirley... No, a virgin... No, a children's... Oh, what the heck? You only live once. Give me a white wine spritzer!
Last night I was feeling young-- right now I'm feeling old.
It was 5 in the morning when we got to Steak n' Shake, the one in Evanston. At some point in high school, Matsuo, Tiki and I (and maybe Steve Ryan and possibly a few others) got high in the sheds at the neighboring Home Depot in Evanston. Very memorable.
Anyways, my sleep schedule is out of whack, to say the least. Before midnight last night, the only food I could find time to eat was a Jimmy John's sandwich that I managed to eat faster than they had made it and while I was driving back home to get my bike and get to work.
After work, Aaron asked if I wanted to go for a ride. Our bikes were in the basement and it kind of sucks pushing each one up the long plastic ramp and back to ground level, so I told him I could go either way. Somehow it was decided that we'd ride down to Clarke's and grab a cup of soup or something.
Because my mind has been in the gutter for a while now, I decided to re-name last night's soup the Bearded Clam Chowder. Pretty aptly named as it had a funky taste. Later it would come to light that we were going to eat furburgers at 5 in the morning. Gross.
We rode down and it was fun but uneventful. In fact, the only real excitement of the night was when we went to 7-11 so I could redeem my "$1 for a pack of Camels" coupon. Some girl with her loser boyfriend were trying to argue that the picture on the girl's fake ID was, indeed, her. The blue eyes in her photo were covered with brown contacts and she had been drinking so she couldn't take them out. Pretty flimsy story, really. Who would cover up blue eyes in favor of brown? Yeah. I wouldn't be surprised if brown contacts aren't even on the market. So they argued with the 7-11 guy for a while before threatening to call the cops before, finally, leaving.
The guy, who introduced himself to me and Aaron as Rich, wasn't having any of this. He's the kind of guy who would have given the girl her ID back had she been honest enough to admit she'd been had. We told him about the tricks that had gotten us, like how one guy asked me for my sign (I guessed my own, which was the only one I knew wasn't accurate), and we told him to start taping the taken IDs on his wall. It was all quite amusing.
So the night made me young. Getting an hour and a half of sleep is making me feel old. I got home around 6:30 after not paying attention and heading west towards Park Ridge instead of east towards my apartment. I had to be on the train by 9 to meet my mom downtown. Sam Sheppard was speaking at the... Symphony Center (I think it's called). We were 20 or 25 minutes late but the half hour we saw was worthwhile. Except for the end, when he read two of his newer stories. I was easily distracted by all the white-hairs leaving and couldn't follow the story. Well, that or the last two weren't as engaging as the others.
Fuuuuck. It's barely 5 o'clock, the sky is dark, and I sure could go for a full night of sleep. Tomorrow morning is the last of the Humanities Festivities that I told my mom I'd attend-- another 10 in the AM extravaganza. Tonight is looking like a movie and eight hours of sleep. Sure, it's no 12 or 14 hours, but the Bears game is on at noon and I should be back in time.
Oh, one last happening from last night: After joking about it for various reasons, we (being me, Aaron, Eric, and Matt) end up at the Shell on Hollywood. Aaron went in to use the bathroom then came back. Eric went in immediately after to buy twinkies and borrow some tape to fix his bike. While standing in line, a lady comes in and frantically yells about her need to use the bathroom, "right fucking now!" The guy behind the counter can't help her out as there's only one bathroom and someone had just gone in. Eric comes out and tells us about it, pointing to a lady who is now at her car with the front and back of the crotch-area of her pants soaked. I'm still in awe that I was able to bear witness to such high-end entertainment.
It was 5 in the morning when we got to Steak n' Shake, the one in Evanston. At some point in high school, Matsuo, Tiki and I (and maybe Steve Ryan and possibly a few others) got high in the sheds at the neighboring Home Depot in Evanston. Very memorable.
Anyways, my sleep schedule is out of whack, to say the least. Before midnight last night, the only food I could find time to eat was a Jimmy John's sandwich that I managed to eat faster than they had made it and while I was driving back home to get my bike and get to work.
After work, Aaron asked if I wanted to go for a ride. Our bikes were in the basement and it kind of sucks pushing each one up the long plastic ramp and back to ground level, so I told him I could go either way. Somehow it was decided that we'd ride down to Clarke's and grab a cup of soup or something.
Because my mind has been in the gutter for a while now, I decided to re-name last night's soup the Bearded Clam Chowder. Pretty aptly named as it had a funky taste. Later it would come to light that we were going to eat furburgers at 5 in the morning. Gross.
We rode down and it was fun but uneventful. In fact, the only real excitement of the night was when we went to 7-11 so I could redeem my "$1 for a pack of Camels" coupon. Some girl with her loser boyfriend were trying to argue that the picture on the girl's fake ID was, indeed, her. The blue eyes in her photo were covered with brown contacts and she had been drinking so she couldn't take them out. Pretty flimsy story, really. Who would cover up blue eyes in favor of brown? Yeah. I wouldn't be surprised if brown contacts aren't even on the market. So they argued with the 7-11 guy for a while before threatening to call the cops before, finally, leaving.
The guy, who introduced himself to me and Aaron as Rich, wasn't having any of this. He's the kind of guy who would have given the girl her ID back had she been honest enough to admit she'd been had. We told him about the tricks that had gotten us, like how one guy asked me for my sign (I guessed my own, which was the only one I knew wasn't accurate), and we told him to start taping the taken IDs on his wall. It was all quite amusing.
So the night made me young. Getting an hour and a half of sleep is making me feel old. I got home around 6:30 after not paying attention and heading west towards Park Ridge instead of east towards my apartment. I had to be on the train by 9 to meet my mom downtown. Sam Sheppard was speaking at the... Symphony Center (I think it's called). We were 20 or 25 minutes late but the half hour we saw was worthwhile. Except for the end, when he read two of his newer stories. I was easily distracted by all the white-hairs leaving and couldn't follow the story. Well, that or the last two weren't as engaging as the others.
Fuuuuck. It's barely 5 o'clock, the sky is dark, and I sure could go for a full night of sleep. Tomorrow morning is the last of the Humanities Festivities that I told my mom I'd attend-- another 10 in the AM extravaganza. Tonight is looking like a movie and eight hours of sleep. Sure, it's no 12 or 14 hours, but the Bears game is on at noon and I should be back in time.
Oh, one last happening from last night: After joking about it for various reasons, we (being me, Aaron, Eric, and Matt) end up at the Shell on Hollywood. Aaron went in to use the bathroom then came back. Eric went in immediately after to buy twinkies and borrow some tape to fix his bike. While standing in line, a lady comes in and frantically yells about her need to use the bathroom, "right fucking now!" The guy behind the counter can't help her out as there's only one bathroom and someone had just gone in. Eric comes out and tells us about it, pointing to a lady who is now at her car with the front and back of the crotch-area of her pants soaked. I'm still in awe that I was able to bear witness to such high-end entertainment.
Friday, November 12, 2010
A Toast!
Boxes of files and receipts blockade the doorway to a place I can't (stay/see). And the relatives I never wanted to be now hang on my walls and stare at me. They're stuck in the 1950s like I'm stuck in today. They're stuck back in time like I'm stuck being me. Some cliches make sense, like some things never change. Some wheels never turn and no one's to blame. Certainly I'm right and the world's going crazy.
Last night was group-therapy led by Mike and featuring Sam. I don't even know how it came up, but I don't think it was my doing. I got outside of my house a little bit after 4 but Mike and I kept talking until almost 5. He's got problems, too, so he's joining the Army. I don't think I could deal with the post-traumatic stress that I'd probably acquire from time in Afghanistan or Iraq. I hope he's okay.
Anyhow, Mike told me not to be too much of an asshole just for the sake of being an asshole. This advice came after I explained that I am no exception to the general nature of human beings: I clean up my act when I want to impress a girl. Unfortunately, things get pretty bad when I devolve to my normal ways. I told him that my new goal should be to act like an asshole (which is to say I should act naturally and say what's on my mind) and see if anybody takes the bait.
I probably shouldn't be thinking these things, but maybe that's the point. I still have a girlfriend and she doesn't seem to thrilled about my new mindset. Mike said I should be having fun and telling people who don't like me when I'm acting natural to fuck off.
I got to wondering, though: why do I consider censoring myself in the first place? When I first met Mindy, we hit it off pretty well by sitting on a bench in a mall and pointing out people who resembled animals. Is my pessimism or loathing of humanity unhealthy? Is that what I'm running from? The whole positive mindset worked for a while, but in the end it's complete bullshit. Where am I now? I try to see the best in everything, and I consider myself to be pretty fucking miserable right now. I know everything isn't for the best. I know the story of Dana Reeve, and that everyone gets shit on sometimes. Am I sensationalizing the importance of my mindset? Should I just let it be and stop trying to control it? Maybe that's how people find success. When you're riding a motorcycle, you look where you want to go. It works both ways, too: if you're staring at a pothole 50 feet ahead, you'll run right over it. If you look past the turn and at your destination, you won't even have to think about turning because the bike will, in a sense, do the turning for you. Or your body will. Whatever. My point is, did Alkaline Trio become so successful and organized because Matt Skiba vented his anger and frustration into his songs, making him capable of forgetting his mind (or, not letting it become a distraction)?
So I've been frustrated and I've been trying to figure things out and get by. This has been the case since I became conscious of having choices and better circumstances. As far as I can tell, the task of "figuring oneself out" never ends. Very reassuring. So what do people do, slowly lose interest and get a real job?
Last night was group-therapy led by Mike and featuring Sam. I don't even know how it came up, but I don't think it was my doing. I got outside of my house a little bit after 4 but Mike and I kept talking until almost 5. He's got problems, too, so he's joining the Army. I don't think I could deal with the post-traumatic stress that I'd probably acquire from time in Afghanistan or Iraq. I hope he's okay.
Anyhow, Mike told me not to be too much of an asshole just for the sake of being an asshole. This advice came after I explained that I am no exception to the general nature of human beings: I clean up my act when I want to impress a girl. Unfortunately, things get pretty bad when I devolve to my normal ways. I told him that my new goal should be to act like an asshole (which is to say I should act naturally and say what's on my mind) and see if anybody takes the bait.
I probably shouldn't be thinking these things, but maybe that's the point. I still have a girlfriend and she doesn't seem to thrilled about my new mindset. Mike said I should be having fun and telling people who don't like me when I'm acting natural to fuck off.
I got to wondering, though: why do I consider censoring myself in the first place? When I first met Mindy, we hit it off pretty well by sitting on a bench in a mall and pointing out people who resembled animals. Is my pessimism or loathing of humanity unhealthy? Is that what I'm running from? The whole positive mindset worked for a while, but in the end it's complete bullshit. Where am I now? I try to see the best in everything, and I consider myself to be pretty fucking miserable right now. I know everything isn't for the best. I know the story of Dana Reeve, and that everyone gets shit on sometimes. Am I sensationalizing the importance of my mindset? Should I just let it be and stop trying to control it? Maybe that's how people find success. When you're riding a motorcycle, you look where you want to go. It works both ways, too: if you're staring at a pothole 50 feet ahead, you'll run right over it. If you look past the turn and at your destination, you won't even have to think about turning because the bike will, in a sense, do the turning for you. Or your body will. Whatever. My point is, did Alkaline Trio become so successful and organized because Matt Skiba vented his anger and frustration into his songs, making him capable of forgetting his mind (or, not letting it become a distraction)?
So I've been frustrated and I've been trying to figure things out and get by. This has been the case since I became conscious of having choices and better circumstances. As far as I can tell, the task of "figuring oneself out" never ends. Very reassuring. So what do people do, slowly lose interest and get a real job?
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Glancing Up At Where You Lived When You Lived Here
I can't go home. I am home. I'm three stories above the ground-- eye-level but five miles north of where my heart is. Not quite 2 in the morning? It'd be outside, in my backyard. Three of the sweetest girls I will ever meet are walking into my backyard to hang out with me and Dave and our grimy friends. The prettiest one has a pack of cigarettes for me, whose meaning will evade me until what has recently become November 10th or 2010. The night will be young when all but one will go home. I'll fight being tired when the sun starts rising but I'll turn in once my pack is empty.
I've been kind of sad lately-- the way I felt when I was in freshman year of high school, or maybe 7th and 8th grade. it is no longer possible to discover getting drunk and high for the first time anymore. My friends have either grown past or too comfortable with that kind of lifestyle. On this particular night, though, the one thing on my mind is a great realization. It's come a few years late, though, as I think I met her a few years early.
Brendan Kelly wrote about some of the difficulties of getting married. The key point that stuck out to me was the abandonment of trivial habits. Here's my version of his explanation: when you get married and realize that you no longer have to impress a potential mate, lots of niceties go out the window. Hiding farts, keeping the sink empty of dishes, or showering on a daily basis suddenly doesn't seem necessary. For women, shaving one's legs may no longer be part of a routine. Pretty simple-- yet very believable-- stuff.
I get caught up in this kind of thing all the time. I used to wash my sheets every time I knew my first girlfriend was coming over-- and I never even told her that. I quit smoking whenever I'm trying to impress a girl (which has been the case with at least three who would become girlfriends). What else? I clean up much more often (by which I mean that I shave and wear cologne and a nice shirt and look like a real dork) when under this kind of pressure. Oh, and I often take womanly advice more seriously, like from my sister or mom or close friend-who-happens-to-be-a-girl.
Anyways, this all boils down to the cliched teen-chick-flick storyline where I was too stupid to notice the girl who cared about me when I was chain-smoking and getting as drunk as I could before the sun rousted itself and trying to live life to the fullest while being as reckless as possible and being constantly surrounded by all of my best friends. Yeah.
Now I'm tame and I'm followed by this girl who cares about me way more than I care about myself and I kind of feel like an asshole in a very general way. And that's why I've been depressed lately.
But tonight has provided a major break-through as far as my obsession with cigarettes (referring more to why I place so much importance on their implications and less with my actual smoking of them).
I've been kind of sad lately-- the way I felt when I was in freshman year of high school, or maybe 7th and 8th grade. it is no longer possible to discover getting drunk and high for the first time anymore. My friends have either grown past or too comfortable with that kind of lifestyle. On this particular night, though, the one thing on my mind is a great realization. It's come a few years late, though, as I think I met her a few years early.
Brendan Kelly wrote about some of the difficulties of getting married. The key point that stuck out to me was the abandonment of trivial habits. Here's my version of his explanation: when you get married and realize that you no longer have to impress a potential mate, lots of niceties go out the window. Hiding farts, keeping the sink empty of dishes, or showering on a daily basis suddenly doesn't seem necessary. For women, shaving one's legs may no longer be part of a routine. Pretty simple-- yet very believable-- stuff.
I get caught up in this kind of thing all the time. I used to wash my sheets every time I knew my first girlfriend was coming over-- and I never even told her that. I quit smoking whenever I'm trying to impress a girl (which has been the case with at least three who would become girlfriends). What else? I clean up much more often (by which I mean that I shave and wear cologne and a nice shirt and look like a real dork) when under this kind of pressure. Oh, and I often take womanly advice more seriously, like from my sister or mom or close friend-who-happens-to-be-a-girl.
Anyways, this all boils down to the cliched teen-chick-flick storyline where I was too stupid to notice the girl who cared about me when I was chain-smoking and getting as drunk as I could before the sun rousted itself and trying to live life to the fullest while being as reckless as possible and being constantly surrounded by all of my best friends. Yeah.
Now I'm tame and I'm followed by this girl who cares about me way more than I care about myself and I kind of feel like an asshole in a very general way. And that's why I've been depressed lately.
But tonight has provided a major break-through as far as my obsession with cigarettes (referring more to why I place so much importance on their implications and less with my actual smoking of them).
Relapse Therapy
When I sparsely smoke cigarettes (as opposed to consistently or hardly ever), funny things happen. This is the case because nicotine is a stimulant and my mind doesn't know a gray area between frequenting and quitting stimulants (see: coffee). A handful of cigarettes or a few cups of coffee doesn't cut it, so my brain lags; stupid things become funny, miscalculations become tolerable, and life is more care-free. Unfortunately, it is not possible to remain in this sort of limbo for very long-- quitting or partaking will eventually beat the other one out of my daily routine. (Editor's note: I, currently, have no vested interest in which habit prevails).
Anyways, here's a few recent happenings that would not have occurred had I been committed to or against smoking cigarettes:
1. I fell into a bush.
2. I didn't fasten my front bike tire securely to the frame.
3.
Here's how it happened:
1. I was riding my bike down Wilson because I wasn't aware of the on-going construction-- the workers had torn up a portion of the east-bound side of the street to lay a new coat of asphalt.
I was riding east and I could only use the sidewalk for so long before I had to face the unpaved surface. When this kind of work is going on, the street is fine until the torn-up part, where there's roughly a two inch drop. Well, the drop on this stretch of torn-up street was closer to three or four inches. I knew my front wheel would be fine dropping down but I didn't trust its durability hitting the abrupt three or four inch wall to get back to the regular pavement. Are we clear so far? As I approached the, uh temporary curb, I spotted a more gradual exit in a corner. I was going maybe five miles per hour as I tried the ease myself back onto the normally paved surface, but my front tire didn't have enough torque(?). Anyways, I kind of comically tipped-over into the bush next to the curb. It was pine and some of the needles stuck to my arm. I laughed.
2. Toby needed to be walked and I was in a hurry. My mom had given me a ride home the previous night so I could get my record player out of her car and into my home. This ride necessitated the dismantling of my bike (actually, just the front wheel needed to be taken off). the next day, the thought crossed my mind that hey, maybe I didn't fasten the front wheel to the fork part tight enough. The thought crossed my mind again as I was biking down to Lincoln Park (from my house, it's a good seven or eight mile ride). Still, I was kind of surprised to see the wheel detach from the fork as I lifted the handlebars (and the attached bicycle) onto a curb. I would have laughed had I seen someone ride up to a curb, get off, and have the bike partially fall apart. It reminded me of that commercial where the guy gets out of his car and slams the door, only to have the door hit the frame of the car and fall to the ground.
3. 3 was left blank up there because I can't remember what it was. I'm a half-assed believer in the power of 3s and I often don't sit down to write something until I have three parts to whatever it is I'm trying to linguistically tackle.
Oh, and a kid just came into my shop and said, "I'm really high and late for class, can I please have a cup of water?" I found it hilarious.
Anyhow, tomorrow is $5 pitchers of High Life at Hamilton's. Speaking of which, why do I go there? When Danny mentioned Hamilton's as the bar he got into when he was 16, I was kind of awe-struck. Maybe this is similar to why people gawk, or watch Cannibal Holocaust. Or why I watched Joe Dirt the other night-- I was so bored and I would rather have been disgusted.
Anyways, here's a few recent happenings that would not have occurred had I been committed to or against smoking cigarettes:
1. I fell into a bush.
2. I didn't fasten my front bike tire securely to the frame.
3.
Here's how it happened:
1. I was riding my bike down Wilson because I wasn't aware of the on-going construction-- the workers had torn up a portion of the east-bound side of the street to lay a new coat of asphalt.
I was riding east and I could only use the sidewalk for so long before I had to face the unpaved surface. When this kind of work is going on, the street is fine until the torn-up part, where there's roughly a two inch drop. Well, the drop on this stretch of torn-up street was closer to three or four inches. I knew my front wheel would be fine dropping down but I didn't trust its durability hitting the abrupt three or four inch wall to get back to the regular pavement. Are we clear so far? As I approached the, uh temporary curb, I spotted a more gradual exit in a corner. I was going maybe five miles per hour as I tried the ease myself back onto the normally paved surface, but my front tire didn't have enough torque(?). Anyways, I kind of comically tipped-over into the bush next to the curb. It was pine and some of the needles stuck to my arm. I laughed.
2. Toby needed to be walked and I was in a hurry. My mom had given me a ride home the previous night so I could get my record player out of her car and into my home. This ride necessitated the dismantling of my bike (actually, just the front wheel needed to be taken off). the next day, the thought crossed my mind that hey, maybe I didn't fasten the front wheel to the fork part tight enough. The thought crossed my mind again as I was biking down to Lincoln Park (from my house, it's a good seven or eight mile ride). Still, I was kind of surprised to see the wheel detach from the fork as I lifted the handlebars (and the attached bicycle) onto a curb. I would have laughed had I seen someone ride up to a curb, get off, and have the bike partially fall apart. It reminded me of that commercial where the guy gets out of his car and slams the door, only to have the door hit the frame of the car and fall to the ground.
3. 3 was left blank up there because I can't remember what it was. I'm a half-assed believer in the power of 3s and I often don't sit down to write something until I have three parts to whatever it is I'm trying to linguistically tackle.
Oh, and a kid just came into my shop and said, "I'm really high and late for class, can I please have a cup of water?" I found it hilarious.
Anyhow, tomorrow is $5 pitchers of High Life at Hamilton's. Speaking of which, why do I go there? When Danny mentioned Hamilton's as the bar he got into when he was 16, I was kind of awe-struck. Maybe this is similar to why people gawk, or watch Cannibal Holocaust. Or why I watched Joe Dirt the other night-- I was so bored and I would rather have been disgusted.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Wake Up Exhausted
It wasn't very long ago at all that I despised myself for watching television for even five minutes if there was something better I could be doing. This was the Me that refused cigarettes and had trouble seeing the point in drinking. My free time was eaten away by novels and my diet was limited to things beneficial.
I've been trying to fix things over the past few weeks but I can't find a balance. When I'm in the getting-drunk-is-awesome mindset, I don't read or have much motivation for anything. On the other hand, though, I'm much more social and less inclined to isolate myself. I'm much more outgoing when I'm slightly hungover, or slightly exhausted, or generally run-down, I guess. Well, that's not true. I'm more social when my brain feels like it's been jolted out of place a little bit, like it's floating in its goo instead of having sunk to the bottom.
It's tough. Maybe I only read Dostoevsky and Voltaire to feel superior than other people. No, that's not it. I do enjoy being healthy and exercising my body and brain. Maybe I shouldn't worry because my habits are cyclic-- but that doesn't bode well with trying to be consistent. Some interest or aspect of my personality well have to be cut, then I'll feel that part's wrath in the form of a depression, like when people get acute symptoms because their small toe doesn't get any attention being lumped together with the rest in a big boot that was seemingly designed for people with webbed feet.
All I know is that I'm reverting back to my old ways of doing one thing a day; today is work, tomorrow is the Bears game (on television), Monday is school, and Tuesday is work. Wednesday will suck (school and work).
I've been trying to fix things over the past few weeks but I can't find a balance. When I'm in the getting-drunk-is-awesome mindset, I don't read or have much motivation for anything. On the other hand, though, I'm much more social and less inclined to isolate myself. I'm much more outgoing when I'm slightly hungover, or slightly exhausted, or generally run-down, I guess. Well, that's not true. I'm more social when my brain feels like it's been jolted out of place a little bit, like it's floating in its goo instead of having sunk to the bottom.
It's tough. Maybe I only read Dostoevsky and Voltaire to feel superior than other people. No, that's not it. I do enjoy being healthy and exercising my body and brain. Maybe I shouldn't worry because my habits are cyclic-- but that doesn't bode well with trying to be consistent. Some interest or aspect of my personality well have to be cut, then I'll feel that part's wrath in the form of a depression, like when people get acute symptoms because their small toe doesn't get any attention being lumped together with the rest in a big boot that was seemingly designed for people with webbed feet.
All I know is that I'm reverting back to my old ways of doing one thing a day; today is work, tomorrow is the Bears game (on television), Monday is school, and Tuesday is work. Wednesday will suck (school and work).
Friday, November 5, 2010
Everywhere I Go
So I've got this theory that I've been trying to dispel. It goes something like this:
there's a fixed amount of money that I'm going to spend on a monthly basis and there's nothing I can do about it.
I've gone on drinking binges, I've smoked cigarettes and gotten high on a daily basis, I've averaged gone to the record store four or five times in a week, I've gone to four or five shows in a week... it's always the same. Granted, I don't do all of these things simultaneously (except during that month where I did some pretty heavy damage to the limit on my credit card).
But then, when I try to save money, I'll find a ticket on my parked car, or something will have gone missing (or stolen), or maybe some past debt will be collected. Maybe this is just me, and a vacuum was planted under my wallet. If I was the kind of person who found money to be deeply disturbing when lacking, I'd be an emotional wreck. Good thing I don't mind eating spaghetti every night and cereal every morning.
there's a fixed amount of money that I'm going to spend on a monthly basis and there's nothing I can do about it.
I've gone on drinking binges, I've smoked cigarettes and gotten high on a daily basis, I've averaged gone to the record store four or five times in a week, I've gone to four or five shows in a week... it's always the same. Granted, I don't do all of these things simultaneously (except during that month where I did some pretty heavy damage to the limit on my credit card).
But then, when I try to save money, I'll find a ticket on my parked car, or something will have gone missing (or stolen), or maybe some past debt will be collected. Maybe this is just me, and a vacuum was planted under my wallet. If I was the kind of person who found money to be deeply disturbing when lacking, I'd be an emotional wreck. Good thing I don't mind eating spaghetti every night and cereal every morning.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
I'll pack it up and in this time
Is it wrong that I like reading things that were written about me?
To get this straight, most things written about me are love or hate letters that only I ever read, which aren't very interesting. I know how great I am, and I also know how big of an asshole I am. I'm no different than anyone else, so all of that correspondence is given and taken with a grain of salt. Hm. There's kind of a lot going on in this paragraph and I feel bad leaving so soon. Whatever, on to the next paragraph...
Anyways, I know this girl. We dated in high school and it went great-- for like two months. I always remember the beginning because I was trying to court her when the last installment of the second Star Wars trilogy was opening in theaters-- I saw the 12:01 Friday morning showing with Earl, Kevin, probably Aldo and Woj and Radames. Oh, and Luke Roeschley and Juan must have been there. Wait, I'll just find out really quick using this whole "internet" thing.
Okay, according to RottenTomatoes.com, I'm talking about May 15th, 2005. This makes sense. School was almost over and the weather was warm. Kevin and I were so tired driving back to my house that he parked his car sticking out into Fullerton and said "fuck it." The next day at school may have been the day where I unsuccessfully called myself in to school. After I thought I had that taken care of, my dad called me and asked why he had received a call saying he had called me in sick. I told him it must have been a prank call. Oh, and the reel jumped near the end of the movie so everyone in our theater was given a pass to a free movie.
I keep getting side-tracked, like the joints I roll. I'd guess I started talking to this girl on May 8th (Will's birthday), or maybe even May 1st. I broke up with her on the 4th of July, or maybe the 3rd-- one of those-- and that was the main hub of an on-off relationship that seemed to last forever but quickly spiraled out of control and played a miniature role in me dropping out of school.
Until about two weeks ago, I had talked to this girl about three times since I was 18 (I'm now 22). She always managed to stay in my head, though, because I kept stumbling across online journals (much like the one I'm writing on now) that she'd written on, with much of the content being about my life (particularly the part of my life when I dated her). She would also include very intimate descriptions of my eyes and nose.
I'd always read on, entirely captivated by a new angle of my own life. It registered in my head that this sort of thing was kind of strange, but I didn't find it necessary to contact her and mention that she may want to cut it out.
The new entries had thinned about and she closed down a few of her pages. Then, I don't know how it happened, I came across two more. This was in April, I think, of this year, and the words were still warm. These new entries still had that hopeful edge that things would turn out her way, but there was a new hint of having been defeated.
Hold on, I have to back-track and find out what I intended on leading up to...
Oh, alright, so there wasn't really a particular end in mind, just that there's this girl who obsessively writes about me and I kind of enjoy reading it. Oh, but if my girlfriend found out I had been reading it, then I probably wouldn't have a girlfriend anymore.
So there's that poorly constructed thought for the day. It's only 5:30 and business isn't exactly booming. It usually takes until 7 or so to get to this point, which is when I decide I should probably be working so I don't get out of work half an hour late.
Ha, I just read this article about the pros and cons of being a vegetarian.
Pros:
it's a good way to lose weight; your dump-cycle will be regular; you will save money (roughly $4,000, according to some people whose names I don't know).
Cons:
some alternatives to meat may be slightly more expensive (though on the whole you're saving $4,000 a year); it can take research and work (like most worthwhile things); it's not always convenient to eat out; some people may not understand.
This article caught my eye because of how absurd some of the cons are. "Some people may not understand"? That's the dumbest reason I have ever heard for not doing something. Some people don't understand pregnancy, some people don't understand why the moon orbits Earth and why Earth orbits the sun, and some people don't understand why other people enjoy watching football. It all boils down to my contempt for everything. This is why people drink.
To get this straight, most things written about me are love or hate letters that only I ever read, which aren't very interesting. I know how great I am, and I also know how big of an asshole I am. I'm no different than anyone else, so all of that correspondence is given and taken with a grain of salt. Hm. There's kind of a lot going on in this paragraph and I feel bad leaving so soon. Whatever, on to the next paragraph...
Anyways, I know this girl. We dated in high school and it went great-- for like two months. I always remember the beginning because I was trying to court her when the last installment of the second Star Wars trilogy was opening in theaters-- I saw the 12:01 Friday morning showing with Earl, Kevin, probably Aldo and Woj and Radames. Oh, and Luke Roeschley and Juan must have been there. Wait, I'll just find out really quick using this whole "internet" thing.
Okay, according to RottenTomatoes.com, I'm talking about May 15th, 2005. This makes sense. School was almost over and the weather was warm. Kevin and I were so tired driving back to my house that he parked his car sticking out into Fullerton and said "fuck it." The next day at school may have been the day where I unsuccessfully called myself in to school. After I thought I had that taken care of, my dad called me and asked why he had received a call saying he had called me in sick. I told him it must have been a prank call. Oh, and the reel jumped near the end of the movie so everyone in our theater was given a pass to a free movie.
I keep getting side-tracked, like the joints I roll. I'd guess I started talking to this girl on May 8th (Will's birthday), or maybe even May 1st. I broke up with her on the 4th of July, or maybe the 3rd-- one of those-- and that was the main hub of an on-off relationship that seemed to last forever but quickly spiraled out of control and played a miniature role in me dropping out of school.
Until about two weeks ago, I had talked to this girl about three times since I was 18 (I'm now 22). She always managed to stay in my head, though, because I kept stumbling across online journals (much like the one I'm writing on now) that she'd written on, with much of the content being about my life (particularly the part of my life when I dated her). She would also include very intimate descriptions of my eyes and nose.
I'd always read on, entirely captivated by a new angle of my own life. It registered in my head that this sort of thing was kind of strange, but I didn't find it necessary to contact her and mention that she may want to cut it out.
The new entries had thinned about and she closed down a few of her pages. Then, I don't know how it happened, I came across two more. This was in April, I think, of this year, and the words were still warm. These new entries still had that hopeful edge that things would turn out her way, but there was a new hint of having been defeated.
Hold on, I have to back-track and find out what I intended on leading up to...
Oh, alright, so there wasn't really a particular end in mind, just that there's this girl who obsessively writes about me and I kind of enjoy reading it. Oh, but if my girlfriend found out I had been reading it, then I probably wouldn't have a girlfriend anymore.
So there's that poorly constructed thought for the day. It's only 5:30 and business isn't exactly booming. It usually takes until 7 or so to get to this point, which is when I decide I should probably be working so I don't get out of work half an hour late.
Ha, I just read this article about the pros and cons of being a vegetarian.
Pros:
it's a good way to lose weight; your dump-cycle will be regular; you will save money (roughly $4,000, according to some people whose names I don't know).
Cons:
some alternatives to meat may be slightly more expensive (though on the whole you're saving $4,000 a year); it can take research and work (like most worthwhile things); it's not always convenient to eat out; some people may not understand.
This article caught my eye because of how absurd some of the cons are. "Some people may not understand"? That's the dumbest reason I have ever heard for not doing something. Some people don't understand pregnancy, some people don't understand why the moon orbits Earth and why Earth orbits the sun, and some people don't understand why other people enjoy watching football. It all boils down to my contempt for everything. This is why people drink.
Monday, November 1, 2010
We've all got problems. These are mine:
It's currently 2:50 in the AM on what is no longer Halloween. The ride back from Urbana earlier this evening was quick until we had to take a detour to drop off Juan and Crystal at her car at Belmont and Narragansett (apparently I spelled that correctly on my first attempt, which is pretty bad-ass). It was about 9 o'clock when I walked in my front door and about 10:10 when I walked back out-- showered (but not shaved) and back to smelling like a respectable human being-- en route to dropping the car I loaned back in my dad's neighborhood.
I couldn't find a good segue from what I just wrote into what I'd like to write about so I think I'll just make a few bullet-points to cover this weekend's activities.
- [soberly] yelling at a car from the window of my (parked) car, something a long the lines of "you stole my idea [for a costume], you sonuvabitch!" The girl was dressed as a pirate and my costume consisted of a pirate-gown type thing with a pirate-hook, plus a Santa hat and red pants. Also, I wore my Converse in case I wanted to be The Spirit.
-Tiki using an extremely solid and durable glass beer-mug to shatter the screen of his TV.
-Tiki with a deep gash on his wrist caused by his second swing at the TV.
-Tiki's wound opening numerous times due to being hit with a frisbee, hit with a branch, hitting Sam, and so on.
-Me and Matsuo peeing on Tiki's floor.
-Tiki peeing on Tiki's floor.
-Max dressed as Dr. Manhattan, completely hairless and naked (not to mention entirely blue).
-The rim of the toilet seat as a platform for Tiki's blood, Max's blue, and various pubes.
-Tiki upset that everyone trashed his room (in his bed: a cracked egg, mustard, several gumballs, maybe some urine. On his door/doorknob: shaving cream, small pieces of paper, a condom, black face paint.
-Tiki learning that most of the damage (including the mustard and the egg) was his own doing.
-Learning to walk the way Tiki does when he's belligerently drunk, which is kind of a cross between a slow, original Dawn of the Dead zombie and John McCain (which are almost the same thing, anyways, but his walk encompasses the subtleties).
-Learning what Dubstep is, but still not really getting it.
-Watching MacGruber and The Other Guys, but of which I expected to suck but turned out being hilarious (which I attribute to the lack of oxygen in the smoke- and garbage-filled apartment).
-Google maps getting me even more lost than I would have been had I used to own faculties (which were on their last legs, at the time).
I don't know. It was a good weekend, I guess. I've been pretty bummed out about nothing in particular lately, and I had planned on this weekend being a kind of cure-all. I'm still kind of down, but I'm a little more excited to be depressed as I've renewed my stock in "I'll do whatever the fuck I want." Sometimes that means a balanced breakfast and a reasonable bedtime, but right now it means hanging out with as many friends as I can so I don't end up without any. There doesn't seem to be room for a girlfriend in the vision I have in my head, so I'll see how that pans out.
Oh, and I'm a little less worried about being an asshole. Over the past few months I've kind of taken on this mentality that everyone should be respected and it isn't necessary to offend people for the sake of offending people. This is all good and noble or whatever, but I'm suffocating my inner-asshole. Or maybe I'm constipating it. I think I need to move more into the realm of having an opinion as opposed to just being a bystander who tries to understand and justify everything.
So yeah, fuck everything. Especially voting. And that dude in Dekalb-- that guy's a real fucking asshole. I wish my life was more like it was when I had two good groups of friends that occasionally intermingled. I'd kill to hang out in Vivian's apartment with Vi and Dave and Briana and Virgili and not Brianna and maybe Mandy and Long and Frankie. Or the days of drinking High Life in my backyard, the nights where I'd tell everyone to come and there would always be a good 8-10 people hanging out and almost everyone would pass through at some point-- even if it means staying up too late to do coke with Dot and Teddy. I don't think I would be very well off right now if I didn't take a step back, but now I want to get back in and have and be fun again.
I couldn't find a good segue from what I just wrote into what I'd like to write about so I think I'll just make a few bullet-points to cover this weekend's activities.
- [soberly] yelling at a car from the window of my (parked) car, something a long the lines of "you stole my idea [for a costume], you sonuvabitch!" The girl was dressed as a pirate and my costume consisted of a pirate-gown type thing with a pirate-hook, plus a Santa hat and red pants. Also, I wore my Converse in case I wanted to be The Spirit.
-Tiki using an extremely solid and durable glass beer-mug to shatter the screen of his TV.
-Tiki with a deep gash on his wrist caused by his second swing at the TV.
-Tiki's wound opening numerous times due to being hit with a frisbee, hit with a branch, hitting Sam, and so on.
-Me and Matsuo peeing on Tiki's floor.
-Tiki peeing on Tiki's floor.
-Max dressed as Dr. Manhattan, completely hairless and naked (not to mention entirely blue).
-The rim of the toilet seat as a platform for Tiki's blood, Max's blue, and various pubes.
-Tiki upset that everyone trashed his room (in his bed: a cracked egg, mustard, several gumballs, maybe some urine. On his door/doorknob: shaving cream, small pieces of paper, a condom, black face paint.
-Tiki learning that most of the damage (including the mustard and the egg) was his own doing.
-Learning to walk the way Tiki does when he's belligerently drunk, which is kind of a cross between a slow, original Dawn of the Dead zombie and John McCain (which are almost the same thing, anyways, but his walk encompasses the subtleties).
-Learning what Dubstep is, but still not really getting it.
-Watching MacGruber and The Other Guys, but of which I expected to suck but turned out being hilarious (which I attribute to the lack of oxygen in the smoke- and garbage-filled apartment).
-Google maps getting me even more lost than I would have been had I used to own faculties (which were on their last legs, at the time).
I don't know. It was a good weekend, I guess. I've been pretty bummed out about nothing in particular lately, and I had planned on this weekend being a kind of cure-all. I'm still kind of down, but I'm a little more excited to be depressed as I've renewed my stock in "I'll do whatever the fuck I want." Sometimes that means a balanced breakfast and a reasonable bedtime, but right now it means hanging out with as many friends as I can so I don't end up without any. There doesn't seem to be room for a girlfriend in the vision I have in my head, so I'll see how that pans out.
Oh, and I'm a little less worried about being an asshole. Over the past few months I've kind of taken on this mentality that everyone should be respected and it isn't necessary to offend people for the sake of offending people. This is all good and noble or whatever, but I'm suffocating my inner-asshole. Or maybe I'm constipating it. I think I need to move more into the realm of having an opinion as opposed to just being a bystander who tries to understand and justify everything.
So yeah, fuck everything. Especially voting. And that dude in Dekalb-- that guy's a real fucking asshole. I wish my life was more like it was when I had two good groups of friends that occasionally intermingled. I'd kill to hang out in Vivian's apartment with Vi and Dave and Briana and Virgili and not Brianna and maybe Mandy and Long and Frankie. Or the days of drinking High Life in my backyard, the nights where I'd tell everyone to come and there would always be a good 8-10 people hanging out and almost everyone would pass through at some point-- even if it means staying up too late to do coke with Dot and Teddy. I don't think I would be very well off right now if I didn't take a step back, but now I want to get back in and have and be fun again.
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