All I felt like doing today was sulking at home, with Fiona Apple and Ricardo Arjona sulking with me in the background, while I figured out whether the solution to life was to ingest a large amount of sleep aids or buy a few beers and have a party. Instead I went to work, took a test I did horribly in, and, in lab, measured enzyme substrate reactions for an hour. Either, I’m having one of those we’ll-just-kick-you-while-your-down type of days, or need to see a shrink. As a guy, I know better than to share my feelings. As an American, I know better than to tell the truth. I wish I had saved yesterday’s post for today, so I could have added a whole new slew of things I’ve thought up to depress me.
"Life! Don't talk to me about life."
I think I called about everybody I know yesterday (yes, I know, except for you) to try to talk to them. Most of them I just gave up on as soon as they answered the phone. Some people were busy, others out of the country, and one was actually too depressed to help me.
"Life," said Marvin dolefully, "loathe it or ignore it, you can't like it."
At any given time, I’m probably much happier than you. Today, I’d say, we’re about even.
"Pardon me for breathing, which I never do anyway so I don't know why I bother to say it, oh God I'm so depressed."
When Stephanie started playing and singing Ms. Guilty Eyes’ Limp on the piano, I immediately thought, that is last thing I expected for her to start doing. A nanosecond later, I though, “No, that is so fucking appropriate I’d like to cry”. I had a really hard time explaining why the fuck I was laughing so hard. Still would.
"Simple. I got very bored and depressed, so I went and plugged myself in to its external computer feed. I talked to the computer at great length and explained my view of the Universe to it," said Marvin."And what happened?" pressed Ford."It committed suicide," said Marvin and stalked off back to the Heart of Gold.
When your feeling self-pity, you can always count on Max to point out how cliché you are, you fucking pathetic loser. I concur. But someday, I will get the man to show some emotion. I’m afraid, it involves killing a cat.
"Here I am, brain the size of a planet and they ask me to take you down to the bridge. Call that job satisfaction? 'Cos I don't."
I keep thinking of just dropping everything and going to New York. I could be janitor with a working knowledge of neural chemistry. That my friends, should be a movie.
"’The first ten million years were the worst,' said Marvin, `and the second ten million, they were the worst too. The third ten million I didn't enjoy at all. After that I went into a bit of a decline.’" - Marvin the Robot (Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.)
I think I’ve had a crush on every woman I’ve ever met, except for two: my grandma and my Aunt Luvia. That’s right; my great-grandma is a fox!Okay, this one isn’t Marvin…
Sex is not the answer. Sex is the question. "Yes" is the answer.
Thank you Mr. Douglas Adams, for all the fish, and a few laughs too.Alright, this post is for me too. Oh, and I’d appreciate some comments for once. I know you bastards are out there; you suck up my monthly bandwidth!Ja.
You know how most blogs are a whole bunch of daily summaries (blah), peppered with occasional tragic episode of teenage life? I don’t know if it’s ego or simply an attempt at communication. In my case, it is both. Suddenly I have a deep down I-want-to-sleep-my-life-away kind of feeling and I’m going to tell you about it. If you, like me, hate whining, this is your chance to jump ship. So, I’m really confused as to why I’m writing this, and so it is difficult to start. I first wrote, “I feel like shit,” but that didn’t seem to capture the spirit I wanted to convey. Then I wanted to make a few observations, maybe a couple of jokes, about suicide. That didn’t fly; half of you would laugh, and the other half would worry and call me in the middle of the night (this, interestingly, is almost equally divided between males and females, with a few notable exceptions). What I want to avoid is being dramatic, or at least, overly so. Usually I’d now be on the phone with a friend, discussing my miserable life for a couple of hours, end up trying to be funny and feeling better, at least for a while. Somewhere along the way, I ran out of those people who were willing to listen. Or, somewhere along the way, I ran out of people who I wanted to listen. And, fuck me, if that isn’t a part of the cold pit in my stomach. I thought I was so strong because I’d bested all the death and agony of past few years that I forgot that I always had somebody to pick me up. So, I’m angry at myself, and I’m the best person at beating Nick up. I love women. Some of you might think I’m gay, or have some nagging suspicion. I’ve heard it before. But there is something about the soft peach fuzz on the nape of a beautiful woman's neck, and her reaction to it's caress that tells me I'm not. What you think, I'll give a damn about later. The truth is, I’m a sad pathetic romantic. Sex is… Oh, what can I say, awesome, spectacular. Insert your favorite word (pun mostly intended). But, and here is the so called ‘pussyfication’ factor, where do I go from there?Something changed this year; something important to me. I never wanted a girlfriend. Actually, what I didn’t want was a relationship. I spent my late teenage years answering 2 am phone calls about boyfriends who didn’t understand, guys who didn’t call back, guys who did call back but were the wrong guys, and so on. Yes, I made the mistake of becoming a friend to these women, but they more than repaid me when the time came for me to complain. The thing is there are no answers beyond your own. So, when they cried softly, I just listened. I’ve heard people dishing out advice as if they have it all figured out. My great grandpa called this kind of advice, perfectly logically idiotic. Use common sense, you know yourself better than anybody.Oh, and yes, the guy that you call in the middle of the night to sob to, he probably wants to sleep with you. When you’re crying on his shoulder, he might be wondering if he might weasel himself in somehow. The only variable is, if he’s man enough not to.That was tangent there. What I meant to say is, I changed my mind. Maybe a woman is what I need, not only what I want. Why this makes me sad, I don’t know. I think I’m getting old. And, all the girls I could see myself with, I’ve either long since made clear I “ain’t the boyfriend type”, or don’t like me. I wish I could say that instead are “taken”, because that would make it easier to stomach.These gray days have been boiling for a while. Yesterday, I had a bittersweet day, and it only made it worse to remember how much fun life is. I want to call myself a pussy so bad, but I know I’m not. When I came home, I found out that an aunt of mine, who helped raise me while my mom went to school, who saw me walk for the first time, who loved me like her son, is dying. Slowly, with the same brave face that she’s always had. (And I’m crying right now, and don’t give a shit). What makes it worse is that she clings to the stupid idea of God. She’s given up because she feels some kind of assurance. I hate it with passion, but could never tell her otherwise. I’m torn.I wrote this for myself, so it's raw and personal. I post it because of ego and loneliness. And I’d like to quote Nietzsche but he sounds idiotic right now. So, please, Miss Guilty Eyes, tell me something I don’t know…
I've been watching all the time
And I still can't find the track
And I wanna know
Is it okay?
Is it just fine?
Was it my fault?
Is it my lack?
- Red Red Red - Fiona Apple
I’ve been listening to Loveline for a little less than half my life. I love radio, and despite all you naysayer’s, Adam Carolla and Dr. Drew were a special kind of thing that only happens once in a lifetime. Oh, the rants, the bogus calls (...an asshole the size of a mason jar), the passionate passionate man, lightning rounds, farts, psychic recognition of sexual abuse, germany vs florida, stupid left turn lights, Fletcher from Pennywise going insane and barfing all over the place, and recently, The Darkness walking out because they couldn’t handle the calls. It goes on and on and on. Yes, both Adam and Drew will still be on the radio, but it’ll never be the same.This being the last week:Thanks for the lessons and the laughs. Adam. Drew.Mahalo.
There are a total of three people I know who respond to the question, “How are you?” correctly. They understand context and appropriateness.If I’m simply passing down the hall, “How are you?” can be answered in a variety of pre-composed phrases. It usually sounds something like this:“How are you?”“Fine, you?”“Fine.”Some people are more creative, interjecting a clever quip such as “Still alive”, “Doing what’s doing”, and the contra positive of the first, “Not dying” (This is, by the way, a lie). The constant here is immediately asking how it is that you are doing. It’s a sort of unwavering Americanism, a primary reflex. There is nothing wrong with this response in this context, but let’s continue.Now you and I are having dinner. You might have to use your imagination here, as a few of my readers despise me, or at least feel nauseated by my presence (Why do they still read this stuff? I’ll save that for another post). We’ve had a lovely pasta primavera, with lovely plump peas that I keep pointing out are really quite rare in these parts. You’re drinking a yummy but cheap chardonnay, picking at your corkscrew pasta, either having a great time or thinking about the many places you’d rather be. (I just realized I keep imagining women at the other end of the table, but it could just as easily be a man. In which case, you might be drinking beer or some sort of soft drink.) Then spontaneously, because that is how the subject comes up, I ask how you are.“So anyways, how are you?”The appropriate answer here is a bargain, struck between complete honesty and dismissal. A “Fine, and you”, will only convince me that I definitely should have asked somebody who was at least interesting to dinner. (Did I mention that you can ignore all this if you are an absolutely gorgeous brunette with an encyclopedic knowledge of massage techniques?) The answer should dwell on a few current events (“Have a test on Monday”, “Just bought a new car”, “Tired, worked late” not “Have a yeast infection”, “Got kicked out of the house”, “Contracted Ebola last night”) and your feelings on such. Just a few minutes of considerate summary. If I find something interesting, we might dwell on that a few extra minutes.Fianally, I’m going to really stretch the limits of your imagination. Let’s say I’m your friend. Not simply a “friend” but a card carrying member of your inner circle. Here I am, looking very debonair on your couch (am I pushing it?) and you’re juggling beanbags or something.“Alright, that’s enough. So you could have been a carnie. We all have hard choices to make.”“You know, you’re looking very debonair on that couch," you say.“Really? Hmm.”Silence. Here it comes.“So, anyways, Juls, how are you doing? You know, with life?”If you go to a stock answer here, I will walk up to you and slap your carnie ass. No, here is your chance to discharge. We’ve already established that I’m your friend. Your answer will still depend on your level of trust, but it won’t be a dismissal or a summary. It might be concentrated on a current event or just a general state of the union. Just talk to me.The whole point of these elaborate examples is this: learn a little tact. I don’t need to know your life story while having a mocha frappuccino on a Friday afternoon. At the same time, when I’m sitting on a bed with you at 3 a.m, dismissing my question without explanation is more than a little hurtful (there are exceptions to this, but knowing this is a part of the whole tact thing). There are a whole bunch of things in between here (your boyfriend can’t get it up? Phrase it delicately) but its all common sense. And common sense is something that a lot of people are lacking.
Okay, so what the fuck was I talking about in that last post? I know what I meant, but I think I did a little too much ‘literary’ masturbation in getting to my point. Like everything though, I like it. In keeping with a few themes (honesty, didactic meanderings, and coming across as a fool):Everybody (ignoring those finicky exceptions) I know reads this page, and rather frequently at that. The amount of people I know is usually either much higher or much lower than you’d think. So, putting off the ten-ton truck of posts I mean to write, a list of things that (almost) nobody knows:• I go outside and look at the stars every night. I have no idea when or why it started. I just do. Sometimes, if I’m busy, it’s just a quick glance, but I’ve been known to indulge in a twenty minute gaze.• I have a favorite tree. Except, some idiot cut it down, so know I only have a second favorite tree (which is the first tree’s sibling).• The only real pet I ever had was a fish. He lived for about five years. His name was John, and to this day, that is what I always initially name any male characters when I’m writing anything.• When I was about four, it was the opinion of several doctors that I would be deaf. Suckas…• I once got detention twenty days in a row, for different reasons. The disciplinary dean had truly abnormally large ears.• I’ve stayed awake for twelve days straight, twice. Don’t be stupid, go to sleep. It's a bad sign when the back of your eyeballs actually hurt.Alright, that’s enough. There are a few things I couldn’t let myself put on there, despite trying to be completely honest. Maybe when more time passes.***I’ve been angry at too many people lately. So, I’m going to apologize to the only person who it was stupid to be angry with in the first place. I won’t say said persons name because it’s no fun that way. Don’t worry; it’s easy to figure out.If you really want to really get under my skin, you just have to get me to like you. This isn’t the type of ‘like’ where you find a person charming or funny. Nor is it a keyword for ‘find attractive’. It isn’t even about friendship. It’s my favorite type of feeling: one without a reason. So, I was so angry at said person, who I like, that I didn’t like them much anymore (This is called “Valley Girl Reasoning”). So I really wanted to piss them off. So I start spewing as much bitter sarcastic jabs as I could think up at this person. I’m trying to get said person to get mad, but I’ve never seen this person mad, so it’s very difficult to gauge. So I keep going, for something like a month, maybe longer. Soon it becomes the normal way I interact with said person, which is horrible.Then, this week, I heard myself sounding so bitter and jaded when talking to, and later, about said person, that I felt horrible. I’m tired of wasting so much time being angry at said person for nay a feeble motive, and I’d like to apologize. A real sorry, so sorry. The funniest thing is that they probably never noticed.(Half of you think that I’m talking about a certain angel, the other about a magic man. I don’t want to give it away, but I’m pretty sure s/he just cut his/her hair and won't admit it.)(I am laughing so hard right now, it’s not even funny. It’s half reading what I just wrote, and half at Jon Stewart)Ja.
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