What to say?

The life is pretty empty these days. Just sort of hanging out. Could theoretically start working at Wendy's this week. Which is about the most depressing thing since Auschwitz. But, money is a thing.

Planning on going back to school I guess. Seems like the thing to do. Not really digging doing this for the rest of my life. No idea what to study.

Really miss drugs, obviously. But I guess it's worth it to trade day-to-day unhappiness for a shot at something real later on. Or at least that's what I tell myself. I'll always have mike and ikes, anyways.

There's a severe lack of adventure in my life. Could use some surprises or something. But I guess we'll see.


The End.

Dear,

You told me I was cute and asked for my number, which is not a good start in the 'me respecting you category'. I took you out because your name was Sarah, but I'm afraid it was downhill from there. When you finally offered to give me a blowjob, perhaps in an attempt to cure of my detached indifference to everything about you, I was almost tempted. Not because I found you in any way attractive, but because you were so pathetic and embarrassing that it seemed like it really would have sealed the deal in my quest to become a horrible person. Fortunately, even that tantalizing reward was not enough for me to give in. Also, you have a stupid face. Stop texting me.

It's really hard to watch 'The Other Boleyn Girl', because I can't decide whether I'd rather make out with Scarlett Johansen, Natalie Portman or Eric Bana.

Title

I dreamt of you on the night of my grandmother’s funeral.

It had felt strange that day, to say your name, after so long. It was inevitable, though.

“This is only the second funeral I’ve ever been to.”

“Who was the first?”

“Her name was Meg.”

That is the simplest explanation. I remembered you, therefore, I dreamt of you.

 But you were so beautiful. Your face was, at the risk of sounding cliché, radiant.

Not like a Proactiv commercial radiant. But in the classical sense of the word. A glow. And your hair was red still.

At one point, you tucked it behind your ear. Or at least, I think I remember that. It’s hard with dreams, like any memories, to keep them pure, unadulterated by imaginations, exaggerations, colored perceptions. What you wanted to have happened, what should have happened.

But still. I think you tucked your hair behind your ear. At any rate. Red.

You weren’t dead, obviously. But never had been. We were at a crowded stadium, the kind that probably neither of us have ever been to. We talked. You can’t know how much I wish I could remember what we talked about. But anything I conjure up at this point is sure to be a lie. I don’t remember.

It was strange, to have this experience on that particular night, just a dozen or so hours before I would begin to contemplate my own death. Sit back, make a hard analysis of my life, my past and current choices, and what choices I’m willing to make in the future, and realize that the road I’m on inevitably leads to you. I’ve got a good while yet, but a road is a road is a road.

You were happy. So happy. When I woke, I had to think so hard about what was true or not. I had these two images in my head. One was you, as I had just seen you, and the other was a sort of x-ray. A stop-motion film of a head being torn apart by a bullet from beneath. What do you call that soft part, between your chin and your neck? I don’t know. But I had these two images, and my mind was desperately trying to reconcile them. One, or the other, but certainly not both.

 I don’t know. Maybe I’ll see you again. I have a lot of sleepless nights ahead of me. Consider this an open invitation.

David touches my feet alot

I know this sentence has been uttered about a million times by now, but: I got a Kindle. I didn't think I would like reading on it, but I really do.

It's tough being so mainstream.

I also like the Hunger Games series now. How's that for a corporate sellout? Also, I've run myself into the ground with debt, mostly for brand name clothes and TV seasons on DVD.

Also, I'm thinking of having several children out of wedlock and getting a Snooki-related tramp stamp.

Finally, society will validate my existence!


And, in conclusion, I'm writing this to take a break from my Sea World application. I'm wondering if I can design a show where Shamu tries to eat me and I fight him off my rippling biceps and boyish charm. (Full disclosure, it's not the biceps themselves that ripple...)

I want to marry this girl:



And have this baby:



I'm not a scientist, but I'm pretty sure if we conceive in the Bamboo Panda bathroom, it's totally possible. (Fuller disclosure: yes, this is a picture I found after Googling "cute baby". Don't judge. I'm not picky.)

But really, she's amazingly talented. I listen to her CD's approximately all of my life and eternity. I got  a D on the approximation unit of my 8th grade math class, so you'd think I'd know my best subject a little better. BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE.

Today my acupuncturist (I spelled that wrong once on my iPhone a month ago and it continues to haunt me by autocorrecting even when I spell it right) tried something new, since it's been a rough week. She hooked up little electrical things to two of my needles, one in my left hand and one in my right ear. She turned the machine thing up and told me to say when I felt it. I didn't say it fast enough, so my ear and arm went crazy and I felt like I was going to throw up my brain, but luckily she turned it down again. In the end, I fell asleep while resting for the first time, and she decided to just let me electro-sleep in there for like an hour and a half. The whole thing had some Kevorkian fan-fic potential, but she didn't even make a move. In case you're wondering, my acupuncturist is super hot and has both a nose ring and a doctorate of medicine. I'm not sure which came first. Either way, I can finally fulfill my having-women-stab-me-with-needles fetish. It's a relief to be able to stop dating heroin addicts.

I'm listening to Tina Fey's "Bossypants" on audiobook. It's quite humorous, though I haven't heard the word "vagina" spoken more times in a day since I told a girlfriend my theory about the word itself. I explained that it was a word created by the Catholic church in the early 1600s to scare young boys away from them. (I fully support them in this endeavor, as the only thing more hideous than the word itself is the orifice it describes.) The girl then proceeded to litter our conversation with "the V word" until I finally snapped and broke her pelvis with a baseball bat. One part of that story is not true, can you guess which? (You win, it was actually invented by the Greek Orthodox's.)

For a very brief time in high school I had the nickname of "the Bear Jew" or "BJ", and I have the birthday card to prove it. I was well known for giving painfully exuberant bear hugs, and when a large group of us went to see Inglourious Basterds, which features a Bear Jew that beats Nazis to death with a baseball bat, the name just seemed to fit. It didn't stick, though, so I eventually ended the post abruptly.

AUGHHH

Under my blanket, burning hot. Not under my blanket, freezing cold.

I hate my life.

L33t H@xor

I beat a video game yesterday. This might not seem like much of an accomplishment, I think normal boys do it on a regular basis. But, for me, it's big. I've beaten two other games in my entire life. The reason for this is simple, I suck at video games. No coordination, a low threshold for frustration, and a debilitating case of the quits combine to make me, well, suck. I think I started two Zelda games that I actually did beat about 30 times. But, in a moment of boredom this week, I purchased a PS3 and some games, and now one of them is successfully under my belt. Go me.

Our family has always been a game-playing one. I'm a fan of some, (Risk, Monopoly, Set, Acquire, Bang, Settlers). Others are zero fun, (Risk, Racko[my mother's favorite], Bananagrams, Scrabble[everyone in the family teams up to try to destroy my dad, then he whines about it after he beats us by 200 points anyways]).

What's this, you say? Risk shows up on both lists? Yes. Risk is a very special game, that can't really be categorized. One the one hand, it's educational. You learn many things from Risk that you can't learn anywhere else. For instance:

Who knew that Kamchatka was not only an actual place, but a prime spot to launch an assault on North America?
Australia is actually not useless, despite all the real world evidence to the contrary.
Africa     "                                                                                                                   "
Europe is useless, confirming all real world evidence we already knew.
Everyone you know is an asshole.

That last one is the first thing you realize when you play Risk. People you've known for years who, up to this point, have always seemed like reasonable, friendly people, are revealed to be backstabbing conspirators, seeking any opportunity to ruin your carefully laid plans and, by extension, your life. Risk can unravel years of nurture and devotion, destroy casual relationships outright, and breed animosity that will fester for decades.

But dang is it fun when you destroy everyone.

Also, fuck Kamchatka. We all know it's not a real place.

Week in review

Good.




Bad.





Good.




Once good, now bad.


That about sums it up.

Saturday night at the drive-in

I've learned a lot in the last couple of days. Apparently, combining and quadrupling the dosage of different medications does strange things to you (i.e. 14 hours of Natalie Portman hallucinations, and not the good kind). Also, I had a splitting headache for like 9 hours today, until I had like half a cup of juice, then it went away. Wish I had thought of that earlier. 

But, as promised, I'll catch you up to speed on the media of the day and age. Real quick-like.

Breaking Bad- Probably the best show I've ever seen on television. Very intelligent. Great acting. Compelling story. Gritty. I'm in it till the end.

30 Rock- Never seen it, but there's always been such a hubbub, so I got around to it. I'd like to be Jack Donaghy someday. I think I'm well on my way.

The Usual Suspects- Kyle Curry raved about this once in journalism class. It's legit.

The Fighter- Fantastic. Probably in my top 10 of all time.

A Streetcar Named Desire- I came into this expecting some old romantic comedy. I was pleasantly surprised. My aunt started crying and left the room, but it might just because Marlon Brando's biceps were raging out of control. He is super hot. Damn good movie, though.

The Girl Who Played with Fire/The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest- Swedish, with American subtitles (so you're cool just for watching). The whole trilogy is fantastic. Smart, interesting, good acting, and a lead actress that you'll spend the whole time wondering if she's hot or not. (Yes, she is.) 

Black Swan- Going back to the beginning. I watched this last evening, and it ruined my life. This was hands down the most disturbing movie I have ever seen. All night I was reliving different scenes (and once again, not the good ones). An amazing movie, by all temporal standards, but dangerously evil. Avoid at all costs.

The Art of Getting By- Cute, indie, had potential. Not great acting/script/story anything though. Unimpressive.

Fargo- Coen Brothers FTW! (Seriously. So good.)

Blue Valentine- Poop.

The Big Lebowski- I watched this movie for the same reason I listen to Lady Gaga all the time, it's the closest thing I've got to Sarah anymore. But, it is one of the funniest things I've ever seen. And it makes me understand like 75% of the things she used to say that I thought were just her being funny. So, good stuff.

Pulp Fiction- Hell yes. On every level.

Shane- So good, so sad. 

Sucker Punch- Not so good, not so sad. 

That's all I've got in the old head grapes for now. I'll probably have another 50 by this time next week. That's how I roll. 

Check it

Story of my life.


Also, this one.

Denim on Black

My cousin David, who is 25, has some interesting habits. They range from harmless, (winking and finger-waving to every girl we see) to frustrating (tickling, neck kisses, and 10 minute hugs).

One such frustrating habit is David's need to put things away. He is a very organized guy, and, since not everyone shares his same proclivity for structure, he takes it on himself to be the "stuff police". Everything has a place, you see, and it is not always where you might think. You or I might look at a small jar of poppyseeds, and think, "This goes in the pantry, next to all the rest of the spices." Fortunately, David is not constrained by our in-the-box thinking, and he knows that poppy seeds, in fact, belong with the small forks and duck tape in the back of the cookie board cupboard. You or I might think that putting your watch, wallet, glasses, etc. on your nightstand or dresser before turning in is a logical choice. But we are sadly mistaken. Luckily, David is more than happy to correct my blunders, usually while I'm asleep, and then forget where he put everything.

This, too, can range from harmless, (Why is my deoderant in your box of movies?), to the frustrating, (Why did you take my wallet and iPhone why I was sleeping? Why do you not understand that this is not okay?), to the disastrous (Why is grandma's heart medicine not with all of her other pills? Why do you not have any recollection of moving it, or any idea where it might be? Why do you want your decrepit grandmother to die a slow, painful death? Why why why?).

All of these things have occurred recently. In some ways it's nice. Things I didn't even know were missing I find in new, peculiar places. Remember how it feels to find a 20 dollar bill in your jacket in the fall? Imagine that joy several times per day! And then replace that 20 dollar bill with your flash drive shaped like an Angry Bird, or your tithing envelope, or your shoes. And then imagine that you want to shoot yourself in the face. Yeah, you've got it.


But, I don't mean to be a Negative Nancy. (As a side-note, I met my Aunt Nancy the other week, for the first time in my life. She's like the mysterious black sheep that I'd only heard rumors about. But, she's just a funny old lady with 30 fruit trees in pots in the parking lot of her apartment complex.)

All Nancy's aside, I very much enjoy David's company. And, in fact, the experience of living here. It's pretty good. I chill with the horses. I get a lot of sun. I get to enjoy SoCal girls who have at least a smidgen of fashion sense (no offense Alaska/Idaho/Pennsylvania, but you're just not in the game yet). I get to hang out with my grandmother, which is awesome. She is probably not going to be around for like, a super long more time. And she has about 7000 grandchildren, so it's pretty lucky to be able to spend so much time with her. She's very sweet and old. Sort of like this lady:



Except, even nicer. And frailer. And probably throw in her, too:




Her inability to remember anything is, well, what it is.


That's all, folks. I saw a hummingbird the other day. I heard it first, and thought it a giant killer bee from hell, and that I was about to die. Really, I had consigned myself to destruction. And the buzzing got closer, and my life flashed before my eyes....




I felt a little dumb. But it was pretty enough to get me over it.

But I can if you want to

It's been a bit. I think we have some catching up to do.


This:


Didn't work out so well.

We're trying this on for size:



It's going alright. I'm living with my aunt Becky, who is cool. I share a room with her son, David, who has Down's Syndrome. He is also cool. We've also got another down's syndrome aunt and my 93 year old grandmother. It's a riot.


Up until this Thursday, I spent most of my days doing absolutely nothing. Since then, I've still done absolutely nothing, but with an infinitely better soundtrack.

I was going to talk about a bunch of stuff. But I don't really feel up to it.

If any of you intend to be my future wife, take notes. This is the hair that will do it. The eye makeup won't hurt your chances either.