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.

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.

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.

Lose Yourself. for Marshall Mathers -or- You're Having the Time of My Life

Having made my rounds of the internet, along with having just begun a book of essays that doesn't seem too appealing, I figure I'm best off jotting down some notes.
Maybe it's the change in the breeze, or it could be the sense that I'm beginning to lose me, but something is insisting that I recalibrate my life. School has become such a burden that I often opt out of studying in favor of doing the dishes or washing my clothes. I've been smoking more cigarettes in the past few weeks than has been normal over the past few months. I haven't read a good book in over a month, when I finished Brigid Pasulka's A Long, Long Time Ago and Essentially True. Aaron suggested we throw a party in our somewhat new apartment and I could only think of a few people to invite. I'm often late to school and work and it's difficult getting out of bed every morning.
My initial response is to question my girlfriend. Not her, but me with her. See, I can divide my everyday life over a few things: school, work, girlfriend, family. School is necessary, I've heard; work is necessary, I know; family is important; girlfriend? My mom was taken aback when I told her that we hang out almost every night (though this has not been the case lately because I'm beginning to boil over).
I broke up with Mindy six years ago for these very reasons. Despite the various relapses, I think it was a good time for it to end.
But if I cut these ties now, then what? My schedule would be less hectic, for one. Well, that's not entirely fair. I'd have more time to myself? Yeah. As opposed to very little. I wouldn't have to feel guilty about waking up grumpy, or for being generally grumpy. I'd get full authority over my life, which means I can say when I stay in and when I go out (always a plus), I could hibernate to abate this financial crisis I have put myself in, and I would only have to worry about keeping myself happy (which is remarkably easier). Cigarettes could be smoked with an easy conscience, and my schedule could go back to normal (which is spontaneous). Oh, and maybe I could go for an entire day without hearing the words "marriage," "children," and "future."
On the downside, I'd have to fall asleep and wake up alone on those cold winter nights, I might not always have someone to talk to, and I'd have one less person worrying about me (for better or worse... which might as well go in the "neutral" section).
I don't know. There's a lot of talk about freedom these days, and how various political ideologies are conniving to take it away while we're not looking. None of that is relevant to my current thought-process, except that the idea sneaked across the front of my brain and that, if anyone is stealing anyone else's freedom, I'm stealing my own. As a teenager, my idea of freedom was smoking cigarettes in my room and drinking beer without guff from my mom. I wanted to stay up late into the night without being told to go to bed, and I wanted to have friends over whenever I pleased. What happened, though, is that my friends went off to college and suddenly I was alone. At some point, I had heard, people mature and drop their bad habits and settle down-- often after they've learned first-hand why it isn't a good idea to smoke in their rooms or drink beer when they please.
Don't get me wrong! Before I go on, I haven't completely stunted my own growth. I know why I should drink four cans of Pepsi a day, and I know that it sucks facing a full day of school and work on three hours of sleep... I just haven't, I don't know. At this point, I'd be devolving, and not naturally progressing-- but that doesn't mean I should suddenly take all this future-marriage-children talk seriously, right? Of course not. That'd be like deciding to cut my legs off because I can't be the fastest runner in the world. Poor comparison, but whatever.
All these thoughts of what's wrong with my life stem from this burnt-out feeling I have. I don't feel too bad about it, considering I work about 30 hours a week, I go to school twice a week (until last week it was four times a week, but I've decided to drop my third out of four classes), and I bike anywhere from 5 to 15 miles a day (when I don't ride my motorcycle). Other causes of stress are financial (I bought too many records and charged too many organic groceries) but that's getting better (I sold the Cadillac).
The worst is over, though. My back bike tire won't get stolen again, and I won't get robbed again [under the same circumstances]. I won't recklessly spend money on things I don't need (I'm getting good at that: I often don't need dinner). I'm proving to myself that, when it's absolutely necessary, I can adapt.
For the time being, I plan on exercising a few freedoms. For instance, I don't feel like going to school next semester.
On a lighter note, I finally washed my pants. They feel fine, I guess, but not as homely. They're just a pair of pants, now, as opposed to my pair of pants.
This weekend is Champaign and Urbana and crappy Halloween costumes enhanced by Bulleit Bourbon. Godspeed.

Under the Blacklight

We all plagiarize, right? Or am I just incriminating myself?
Regardless, I stand by what I said but I don't think it's a bad thing... unless it's done by a sociopath.
Here's what I mean: if I'm courting a girl and I sneak a Dashboard Confessional lyric into my speech, the fact that I chose that particular line says something about me (that isn't simply a narrative on my lack of creativity).
Unclear? How about jokes: like this one:
A man stomps into a bar, obviously angry. He growls at the bartender, "Gimme a beer", takes a slug, and shouts out, "All lawyers are assholes!" A guy at the other end of the bar retorts, "You take that back!" The angry man snarls, "Why? Are you a lawyer?" The guy replies, "No, I'm an asshole!"
That joke didn't come out of my brain, but it happens to fit right in with all the other things I find funny. If I tell someone that joke, they'll get a better idea of who I am and where I'm viewing the world from.
So there's that.
Oh, and I told this really nice girl that I was losing faith [in the Bears] and she took it to mean I was losing my faith [in religion (or Catholicism)]. The look on her face wasn't replicable. If only she knew of my past, with the refused confirmation and various "blasphemies" I've committed.
Anyways, I'm almost done with work so I'll stop before I get into another thought.

The blues, Mary.

The M&Ms I'm eating taste like gasoline. This is the case because my motorcycle was leaking gas, so I kept a rag in my jacket pocket to wipe my engine dry whenever I was stopped at a red light. Will almost completely stopped the leak, so I moved the rag from my pocket to my bag. After I left Will's garage, I stopped at my mom's house to pick up the side-view mirror that had arrived in the mail. While I was there, I looked for food and drinks to steal-- I couldn't take the last roll of Oreos, but it wouldn't be too terrible to take one of the last two Izze drinks. Next to the nearly empty Izze box was a bag of Halloween candy that seemed to be evaporating rapidly. I decided to play the roll of an enzyme, speeding up the process. I grabbed two of every different kind of candy and threw it all into my bag.
So yeah, it didn't occur to me that gasoline vapor could penetrate candy wrappers. It seems that I'm literally eating, breathing, and sleeping motorcycles (not yet bleeding, though, luckily).
So I was thinking: in high school (especially for me, anyways, but I know some people never stop) I was very critical of my parents-- there was nothing they could do right. Now, instead of being vocal about the attributes and actions I don't condone, I quietly keep track and adjust my own behavior. But! But here's the thing: all the making fun and being critical of that I and many other people do may be some big joke by some divine spirit or something-- under the assumption that we all become our parents. If this is a big joke and/or we do end up becoming our parents then I don't think I have much to worry about. My parents are completely opposite in every way imaginable. They are not, for instance, the same sex, nor are they the same religion and they identify with opposite ends of the political spectrum. My personality will probably just be a void when I'm all grown up. Hm.
That's about all that's on my mind. Oh, last night I was having an engaging conversation with Christina's friend (who was very drunk, which I did not notice). Conversations between humans general contain a few pauses, which can be awkward when it's between unfamiliar people. Anyways, during one seemingly standard pause, this girl put her head on the table and was done being sober enough to carry her end of a conversation for the evening. I found it funny.

What a Guy

I haven't been writing lately as a subtle way of snubbing both my creative writing teacher and Jonathan Franzen-- my creative writing teacher because she sucks (which is to say that she assumes the role of a person of authority when it comes to judging writing... she is not), and Jonathan Franzen because of how bad I thought The Corrections was. The initial torture I had him endure was to be alive in a world that included me taking forever to finish his crappy book. Got him!
Anyways, that's about it, which makes me think I'm not doing much writing because I haven't been doing much thinking. Hm...
Well, I have a working motorcycle now, which is very cool. Actually, it's no longer working. It was great for the first day or two, now it's running on one (of two) cylinders. No bueno. Will's coming over tonight to help fix the problem, though.
So that's my life. Oh, and I met with Millie on Sunday. She's great, hopefully I can find some time to practice what she recommended I work on. Besides that... nothing. Florida for Christmas, maybe Urbana for Halloween.
Scooters normally run on one cylinder. This is worth knowing if your mechanic is Will's friend Eric, who supposedly diagnoses scooters with the line, "There's your problem: she's only firing on one cylinder!"