|Trials and Travails of a 20-something|
Friday, January 31, 2003
Thursday, January 30, 2003
What I learn from ept commercials:
"I can't concentrate. Could I be pregnant?"
Wednesday, January 29, 2003
Ok, ok. I know I promised I wasn't going to resume normal posts until tomorrow, but this is really cool. Stole the link from Jason K.'s website by the way. BookCrossing is a novel idea (no pun intended). The basic idea is that people take a book, put a label in it with the website URL, and leave it in a public place. That book gets picked up, read, and the reader logs into the website to leave a review before leaving it for someone else to enjoy. A very cool idea. You can even search for books left in your area. A couple of them were even left in The Butcher Shop back in December. So somebody in Longview knows about this. Spiffy stuff. Adios for now.
The quality of a university is measured more by the kind of student it turns out than the kind it takes in.
- Robert J. Kibbee
Music: Beastie Boys - You Gotta Fight For Your Right
Post, version 3.0:
Things are changing. I'm not sure what effect it will have. But all I've ever really wanted to do was write. And I plan to continue. Although I'll attempt to offend the least number of people possible in the process. There's not really any need to make enemies if I don't have to. Normal posts should resume tomorrow. Adios for now.
When we talk to God, we're praying. When God talks to us, we're schizophrenic.
- Jane Wagner
Music: Harry Chapin - WOLD
I prayed for a friend last night because she asked me to. I realized as I did it that I really don't pray often enough. Besides the obligatory prayer at meals or getting roped into praying when in a group, I actually pray very seldom. A very worrying fact. I was struck again last night as I prayed by how comforting an action it is. The idea that you can let someone greater than yourself share a burden is incredibly reassuring. God is there to be that perfect friend, around in good times and bad, happy to celebrate victories, and ready to share sorrow. I should talk to him more often. Adios for now.
Tuesday, January 28, 2003
Unmentionables - those articles of ladies' apparel that are never discussed in public, except in full-page, illustrated ads.
Music playing right now: Lisa Loeb - How Does Your Heart Beat
My routine in the morning is pretty much always the same. I stumble out of bed, jump off of the loft and hit my alarm clock. Then, because I'm addicted to my computer, I check my email and blog. After determining, that yes, there were no new comments in the last 6 hours, I stagger towards the shower. Because of the fact that I live on the first floor, and much of the time the door to the lobby is wide open, I always make sure I'm wearing at least the bare necessities of clothing down the hall, despite the fact that I must then share the shower with a group of naked men.
Yesterday, being laundry day, my collection of boxers was exhausted and I was forced to don one of the pairs of briefs that usually live out their lives in the far back of my drawers. It was these same black briefs that I was wearing as I stumbled down the hall to the shower this morning, my towel draped over my shoulder. I got in the shower, did my thing, and got out, only to find that they were gone. Totally. not dropped on the floor, not hanging on a different hook, just missing. I even checked the trash can to see if somebody had thrown them away as a prank. My only thought is that somebody mistook them for their own and either put them on or took them back to their room. So I wrapped my towel around me, came back here to my room, and got dressed. All day today though, I've smiled to myself from time to time, knowing that somebody somewhere could be wearing my underwear. That poor sap.
Monday, January 27, 2003
so fuck you
and your untouchable face
for existing in the first place
- Ani Difranco
Got my Ani Difranco CD in the mail today. Very good stuff. I especially liked tiptoe. I don't think it can really be called a song, because it has no instruments, almost a beat poetry thing. The lyrics are below, but you really need to hear the song. Come by my room sometime, I'll play it for you, it's only like 35 seconds.
tiptoeing through the used condoms
strewn on the piers
off the west side highway
the skyline of jersey
walking towards the water
with a fetus holding court in my gut
my body highjacked
my tits swollen and sore
the river has more colors at sunset
than my sock drawer ever dreamed of
i could wake up screaming sometimes
but i don't
i could step off the end of this pier but
i've got shit to do
and i've an appointment on tuesday
to shed uninvited blood and tissue
i'll miss you i say
to the river to the water
to the son or daughter
i thought better of
i could fall in love
with jersey at sunset
but i leave the view to the rats
and tiptoe back
I like my beers cold and my homosexuals flaming.
- Homer Simpson
At the blog meet-up held a week ago, we were given sentences with which to start a story. I have finally written mine. I'm slightly hesitant to post it, but I'm going to do so anyway. Part of the blame however, rests with the one and only danielle, as she helped direct the path of the story by answering key questions. So if you are stout of heart, read on. Otherwise, please feel free to leave.
It was unarguably the worst day since Oliver had knocked himself out with the bedroom door. And that was truly a horrible day. Imagine having to tell an emergency room technician that the big gash on your head was from running into your own door. At least he didn't have to tell them that it happened when he was "Sweatin' to the Oldies." For some unexplainable reason, a man never looks at you the same after finding out that you watch Richard Simmons on a regular basis.
That day though, horrible as it was, was nothing compared to the day that Oliver had just suffered through. The weather itself was in a pissy mood. Oliver had woken up to the twin sounds of his alarm clock buzzing, and the rain pounding on his window. Half of the window that is. Being in a good mood when he went to bed last night, Oliver had left the window open to revel in the night air. Now that same air was freezing his feet and soaking the copy of East of Eden on his bed stand. He was going to have a fun time trying to return that one to the library.
Oliver dragged himself into work about 15 minutes late. The traffic on I-35 was even worse than usual. Naturally, his boss just happened to be near the door as he walked in. Normally this would be a great thing for Oliver. He'd always had a secret crush on him. But today, Jeff was not the person that Oliver wanted to be running into. The problem Oliver had with Jeff, besides the current lecture on tardiness he was getting, was that his gaydar always malfunctioned around him. Even after working for him for a year and a half, he still had no idea whether he was straight or gay. It didn't help that the man never went on a date and seemed to be a workaholic.
Jeff was the man that Oliver had always wanted: good looking, smart, fun, spontaneous, adventurous, and comfortable with himself. At the annual company picnic, he was always the one that everybody naturally gravitated towards. They all knew that where he was, something fun and exciting was bound to happen. And as Oliver stood there, listening to Jeff reprimand him and trying not to stare at his ass, he made a crucial decision. Fuck it. Today was the day. There's no more holding back.
"...and so you see, when you show up late, you're not only hurting yourself, you're also hurting the company. Understand?"
"You know what Jeff? I can't take this anymore. I've got a confession to make. I fantasize about you all day long. I watch you sitting on that desk of yours, making deals, talking to clients, and all I can think about is how I want to kiss those lips, feel those muscles. I've been going out of my mind trying to figure out if you'd ever consider dating me, but I just can't hold it in anymore. I had to let it out. I'm really sorry if I'm wrong about you. I totally understand if you fire me on the spot."
"Ummm...wow. Dude, Oliver, I don't really know what to say. To be honest, I'm pretty much speechless. I can't believe you finally picked up on all those hints I've been dropping at you for the past 8 months. I feel like exactly the same way. I was just way too much of a wuss to do anything about it. Thanks."
Oliver spent the rest of his workday in a giddy haze. Every once in a while, he'd catch Jeff's eye and they'd smile at each other knowingly. For Oliver, it was bliss. In his wildest dreams, he never thought it would all work out like this. He could hardly contain himself and work on at his computer until he went home at 6. They were supposed to meet at a bar around 7 and get to know each other a bit better. He went home and changed into his cutest outfit: some body-hugging leather pants, a tight black t-shirt, and a mesh button-up over that. He was a walking gay pheromone. No man dared resist him tonight.
Jeff showed up to the bar about 5 minutes late, but looking so hot Oliver didn't mind at all. His tight wrangler jeans showed off his ass, and the Barbra Streisand shirt he was wearing was classic. As he sat down, he looked Oliver up and down and just grinned. They sat and talked for a while, traded stories of how they came out. Oliver just couldn't take it anymore and let it out during thanksgiving dinner a couple of years ago when he was asked why he wasn't married yet for the 43rd time. Jeff had told his parents over the phone his senior year of college, but the world in general still had no idea.
Around 9 or so, both of them a bit tipsy, they made their way back to Jeff's apartment for another drink or two. Cher was playing, always helping to set the mood. After his 2nd rum and coke, Oliver started getting a little frisky. He took off his mesh shirt, and staggered over to Jeff. His eyes were a combination of lust, fear, and alcohol. Jeff took the hint and wrapped his arm around Oliver's head. He let his fingers move up through his hair before he pulled him in for a long deep kiss.
They kissed for quite a while, neither of them really wanting to break the spell. But finally Oliver pulled back and looked at Jeff with what he thought was a sultry smile. Then he pushed Jeff into the recliner behind him and dropped to his knees. As he bent over him, Oliver dimly remembered something he'd seen in the latest Cosmo. It was under the heading, "37 Ways to Please Your Man!" He smiled, put his hands behind his back, and proceeded to unbutton Jeff's jeans with his teeth. He looked up to see Jeff with his head thrown back in ecstasy and then resumed his work.
As Oliver pulled the zipper down, grasped between his front teeth, he heard Jeff emit a low moan. The sound both excited and distracted him and he hastened to finish the job. Haste is never a good idea. Especially when the elements involved are metal interlocking teeth and sensitive parts of the anatomy. 3 seconds later the apartment building was rocked by Oliver's scream. Actually, scream may be the wrong word for it. With his tongue stuck in Jeff's zipper, Oliver found screaming surprisingly difficult to do. As a result, he ended up in more of a combination of yelling, yelping, and whimpering.
Needless to say, this fiasco pretty much killed the romantic mood previously in the apartment. Jeff, reacting quickly yanked back on his pants, doing nothing but causing more loud noises from Oliver and drawing some blood. After some suggestions by Jeff and some wild charades from Oliver, they succeeded in deciding that Jeff would take his pants off. This involved him standing up very slowly, and then unsuccessfully attempting to extricate himself from skin-tight jeans without moving them too much. More blood flowed. Eventually however, the pants were removed.
Jeff, faced with the problem of having a man in his apartment attached to a pair of his pants, panicked. He showed Oliver to the door and promptly threw him out. Oliver, understandably vexed, made his way down the stairs and hailed the first cab he saw, but not before drawing quite a bit of attention from passerby. He managed to convey to the driver that he needed to get to the nearest hospital, and after the driver recovered from his fit of laughter he stepped on the gas and hightailed it to St. Francis.
The doctors there were able to save Oliver's tongue. Unfortunately, the stitches put him on a liquid diet for 4 weeks. As Oliver went home that night, his mouth full of gauze, he reflected back on the evening's events. Jeff was pretty much a washout. There wasn't much chance of him ever seeing him again. Especially after getting thrown out of his apartment. At least he still had his pants. And from the back pocket of those pants, his wallet. This was one doctor's bill he wasn't going to have to pay. Can we say Mexico?
Sunday, January 26, 2003
I don't know. I never smoked AstroTurf.
- Tug McGraw, when asked if he preferred grass or artificial turf
Music playing right now: They Might Be Giants - How Can I Sing Like a Girl?
The superbowl is almost upon us. Only a few short hours away. In the little time that is left before this annual orgy of overeating and laughter, I'd like to reminisce a bit about last year's. But first a bit of background.
Mark was a poor unfortunate freshman. One of those kids that just rub you the wrong way. He had a bad habit of having to be the smartest person when it came to any subject, which necessitated him constantly interrupting whatever others did, to interject 'helpful' comments. I'm afraid the boy didn't have any real good friends on campus, but we were nice enough to him, just because we try to be nice to everyone who ends up on our floor.
Enter Lisa, a nice enough girl, ballet dancer in fact. She frequently visited our floor just to hang out and bring us food. We appreciated both her generous nature and her brownies. As a result, we made sure that she came to our superbowl party. We had the lounge filled with couches, 4 TV's, and way too much junkfood. Unfortunately for Lisa, Mark appreciated her a bit too much. Her last couple of months had been spent studiously trying to avoid his clumsy advances.
Formula for an unforgettable superbowl: Take 1 annoying boy, with a general lack of social skills. Add 1 girl, who previously mentioned boy finds attractive. Put them together on a couch and watch the sparks fly.
There were 5 or 6 of us up on the top of the loft, laughing, eating, generally in a jovial mood. After about the first quarter or so, we started noticing Mark and Lisa beneath us and pretty much ignored the rest of the game afterwards. We had our own game to watch. And we made sure to keep up a running commentary going as the game progressed. It's amazing how well football terms worked to describe the interaction between the two of them.
Mark would try to unobtrusively move over towards Lisa on the couch. One of us would yell out something like, "Wow! The offense is making a move here! Watch out!" Then Lisa would also move over a bit, away from Mark. "Denied! The defense kept them out of the red zone yet again!" Mark asks if he can use Lisa as a pillow, he's feeling kind of tired. "The quarterback's going for the big score!" Lisa reaches behind her, grabs a pillow and shoves it in his face between them. "That was an ill-advised move by that offensive coordinator. Looks like he's going to have to get a new playbook." ad infinitum.
I don't think I even remember who was playing in that superbowl or who won. The battle of wills going right underneath my nose was so much more engrossing. I'm not holding out any great hopes for a repeat performance this year. Mark transferred to some school in California, and I'm not sure we've really got anybody to replace him. But you never know. Maybe this year will hold some new unexpected pleasure. Have a wonderful superbowl sunday. Adios for now.
Saturday, January 25, 2003
You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.
- Ray Bradbury
Are you an aspiring young writer? Does the need to put your thoughts down on paper consume your everyday life? Do you live to write? Are you currently breathing? If the answer to any of the above questions was yes, you should check out Passing Kolob, the online writing project started up by Chris Daines, and Sabrina C. I've joined up, and all we need is you. So visit, sign up, and join in on the fun. Adios for now.
I really don't have anything to say tonight. So instead, you get a bit of philosophy featured in America's Sweethearts, a movie I should watch again. It's been a while.
Life is a cookie.
Thursday, January 23, 2003
The number one sign you have nothing to do at work: The 4th Division of Paperclips has overrun the Pushpin Infantry and General White-Out has called for a new skirmish.
- Fred Barling
Music playing right now: Ozzy Osbourne - Crazy Train
An important milestone was reached today. Some lucky person was the 10,000th visitor to this page. Actually, according my stats, that 10,000th visitor made it to me by searching for "circumcises of girls pictures." I'm really not sure what to say to that. But in honor of this historic moment, I've made a list of the things that I want to accomplish before I make it to 20,000.
1. Read The Brothers Karamazov, Russka, East of Eden, and something by Hemingway
2. Watch Adaptation, Chicago, Punch-Drunk Love, and Natural Born Killers.
3. Develop an active social life outside of the internet blogging community
4. Kiss another female
6. Do something incredibly scary and exciting and not tell anyone
7. Break my altoids addiction
8. See at least
9. Figure out what I'm doing for spring break
10. Become content.
If you can help with any of these, just let me know. Adios for now.
Ok. I've given up on haloscan. It was too annoying to have to reload my page 3 times just to have the comments link come up. So I'm now going with backblog comments. Hopefully they work a bit better. If not, I'm not sure what I'll do.
A man can stand a lot as long as he can stand himself.
- Axel Munthe
Music: Coldplay - The Scientist
Being content. That's what life boils down to: the search for contentedness. joy is wonderful, bouts of happiness are without compare, but when they dissapear, unless you've got a sense of contentment, you aren't left with much. I've been feeling very discontented lately and it's disturbing me to no end. Particularly since I can't trace the source of this unsatisfaction. If I didn't know better, I'd say I was feeling a bit depressed. But that can't be. Dan Golden doesn't get depressed, only tired.
I look around me and see others who seem to have it all together. The missionary who spoke tonight at chapel (best chapel I've been to in months, by the way) looked like he had it together. Friends of mine look content. People who've found their "soulmate" look content. What am I missing?
Looking back on my past, I'm hard pressed to pinpoint a time when I was absolutely content with my life. The only real instances I can think of all involve members of the opposite sex. This leads me to believe that contentment either lies in relationships, whether it be with God or with a significant other, or contentment comes when we think of someone beyond ourselves.
I've always been a very middle of the road guy. Temperate, you might say. I never risk much, yet never really gain much either. I'm always on the lookout for me, myself, and I. As as result, I never experience extremes. I haven't cried in more years than I can remember. And I'm not sure I've ever really been in love. Let me qualify that a bit. There are many people that I love with all my heart. Real romantic love though, the kind that's supposed to grab your heart and not let go, has eluded me thus far. Whether this is because I've been afraid to let myself get hurt, or whether I just haven't found the right girl is anybody's guess.
I think I need to experience more extremes. Not that I'm going to go out and start being a wild and crazy guy. That's just not me. But I need to let myself feel more. I need to open myself up to more experiences and better relationships, both with God and with others. I need to make myself more vulnerable and transparent. I need to stop writing posts after 1:30 in the morning. Adios for now.
Wednesday, January 22, 2003
I've been feeling really ugh lately. I don't think there's another word for it. Just a general lack of energy. So in lieu of a real post here, I'm just going to quote the inimitable Jason Royal:
"i can't even muster up the strength to masturbate. this is life."
Posted on 11/8/2002
**1 hour later**
Ok. I had to revive myself from my lethargy for just a minute. This has been a particularly good week for my referrer logs. This is just a sample of the search engine hits I've gotten:
dr. bobby johnson
do people eat pancreases nude?
megan mullally breast size
waitressing at chili's
naked hula girls pictures
bmx xxx pictures nude
Single guy Blogspot
orphanage nude girls -.org
picture of running nude girls on campus
pictures of Satan mating females in hell
weirdest longest word in the english dictionary
There are plenty more, but you get the idea. I always have to wonder if these people are incredibly dissapointed to find not a stitch of porn on my site. Oh well. sucks for them.
There is no pleasure worth forgoing just for an extra three years in the geriatric ward.
- John Mortimer
Music: Cake - When You Sleep
I don't think there is anything in this world quite as annoying as getting stuck behind an old lady in a Cadillac going 15 mph under the speed limit. The only thing that rivals it is a professor that feels the need to comment on every aspect of the films he shows. I was coming back from Wal-Mart today, the mecca for LeTourneau students, and found myself moving at exactly 20 miles per hour in a 35 zone. Naturally, it was a one lane street, and this lady wasn't turning off anytime soon. I honestly believe that Cadillac salesmen tell their customers that the cars will explode if they exceed 30. Those bastards.
Later in my trip back, after I'd finally passed Granny, I saw something that really made me wish I had a camera with me. It illustrates one more time why I left the education dept. I was driving past Southward elementary and on their big marquee sign outside they had written, "Thanks for everything, Longview LIDS." I'm sure that the Longview Independent School District never knew they could be abbreviated in such a creative manner.
I've found myself lately without too much of an inclination to write. But I need to get myself back in gear. It's about time in the semester to start on essays and papers. My general lack of motivation is disturbing. I've come to the conclusion that I have no talent for seeing the big picture. But despite my lack of skills in the motivation area, I must start writing like a rooster with an itch. So here's to homework, late nights, and caffeine. Adios for now.
Space station, overstimulation, lack of motivation, too much masturbation, well I need a vacation.
- LiveonRelease, Johnny Johnny
Monday, January 20, 2003
I say, if your knees aren't green by the end of the day, you ought to seriously re-examine your life.
- Bill Watterson
Music playing right now: LiveonRelease - Get With It
Malls are a microcosm of American society. Every group is represented inside them. There's the junior high boys in the latest clothes striving to find their identity. You can see the old grandmothers walking the mall for exercise. And there's always a good helping of giggling junior high and high school girls streaming out of the gap or abercrombie and fitch.
Dave, Edgar, and I made a pilgrimage down to Tyler and visited Hot Topic today. I bought a brand new sticker for Edgar and put it on him when we got back. His butt now proudly displays "not wearing underwear." Also bought a shirt that I'll be proudly displaying tomorrow, assuming it fits.
The people who venture into the realm of Hot Topic are a people group unto themselves. Some of them are merely curious people who tip toe in to see where the scary people at their high school shop. Others are the hardcore punks and goths who view the store as their mecca. The coolest people in the store though are probably the ones who only use it to accessorize. The largest amount of their clothing comes from the local goodwill and salvation army. While people at the mall are paying $25 or $30 for a shirt, they're getting almost exactly the same "retro" look for $1.50.
The employees of Hot Topic are also a very distinct group. These are offshoots of those same hardcore punks and goths. They liked the store so much that they started working there. They have their own unique style, that usually includes plaid pants, multiple rings and bracelets and black makeup. They are also some of the most interesting people you'll ever meet. If I had to pick the employees of any store in the mall for my friends, I think I'd go with Hot Topic. Or maybe Victoria's Secret. That would work too. Happy MLK Day. Adios for now.
Sunday, January 19, 2003
The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you tell someone else when you're uncool.
- Almost Famous
I know it's a good movie when I find a quote in it to write on my loft.
Easy reading is damn hard writing.
- Nathaniel Hawthorne
Music playing right now: The Eels - World of Shit
Spent the last two days sitting in this room. Pretty much. I left to go eat, but I think that was basically the extent of my migration from these 4 walls. I did get a bit of stuff accomplished though. I wrote a couple of monologues for Chrissy. I'm not incredibly impressed with them, but if you're interested you can check them out here and here.
Watched Pretty Woman last night for the first time in a while. That's really a very good movie. I'm tempted to add it to my video library. I should get out of this room today. Anybody got any good suggestions? Maybe if I got out of bed before 12:30, the day wouldn't be quite so wasted. Adios for now.
Saturday, January 18, 2003
Friday, January 17, 2003
Ok. Do me a favor. Go check out Jillian's blog. She's a very interesting person, and I'm tired of being half of the total comments on it. She deserves a much bigger audience.
Sex between a man and a woman can be a wonderful experience, provided you get between the right man and the right woman.
- Woody Allen
Music playing right now: Coldplay - Warning Sign
I am a disgrace to the male half of the species. I think I just fulfilled every female cliche out there. I sat down in front of a movie with a big vat of ice cream and stuffed my face. The only concession I made to my gender was watching The Full Monty instead of When Harry Met Sally. I fell asleep in the middle to try and forget. And now I'm sitting here trying to remember. What frail and strange things we humans are. Adios for now.
Thursday, January 16, 2003
A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.
- Mignon McLaughlin
Music playing right now: David Grey - We're Not Right
Texas and the American West wasn't particularly stimulating today, so instead of really listening I penned the following story. Who knows, I might finish it later, might make it a recurring project in that class, but for right now all you get is the beginning:
American Tragedy, a prologue
He sipped his coffee, she stared at her napkin. Neither wanted to be the first to speak. How do you tell someone that the last seven years of your life was a mistake? That they weren't really the person you're supposed to spend the rest of your life with?
Random images flashed through his brain, memories that stirred up long-forgotten emotions. A young woman, sitting on a swing, arms outstretched from a smiling face. That same woman, a few years older, wearing a white dress and a radiant expression. She was light herself, for everything around her dimmed in her presence.
The memories move forward 14 months to her straining in a hospital, creating new life where there was none before. The smile on a mother's face when she sees her child for the first time is truly a sight to behold. The only emotion more raw and powerful was the anguish on the same face six days later when young Justin Corey Clark left this earth.
A spark in her was extinguished forever by his death, only to be replaced by a hardened heart that refused to love. A soul that experiences such tragedy needs love, support, compassion, and time. A husband who works late nights and weekends can provide little of these. Material goods are a poor substitute for a spouse.
He was not the only one with memories however. Her mind too, was traveling back through the years, attempting to pinpoint exactly where things went awry. Things certainly started out well enough. She remembered a young man, dressed in the best suit he could afford, jumping for joy after his interview for Johnson, Roberts, and Hummel. Life was good. She remembered a proud man breaking into tears at the news of her pregnancy, and that same man shutting himself off from the world after his son's death.
She even remembered Jack, the strong, handsome young intern at the hospital who provided such comfort in the days after Justin's death. Eventually Jack would also provide comfort to a wife ignored by her hard working husband.
Then came the day 2 months ago when Jack was "visiting" the house and the hard working husband came home early to announce the promotion that he'd finally received. The look on his face when he walked into that bedroom could have broken the hardest heart. Anger she could have taken, rage she would have expected. But to see his face melt from joy to shock to despondent dissapointment caused a reaction that she thought she was incapable of anymore. Feeling was reawakened inside her dormant soul. His slow turn and silent walk from the room replayed in her dreams for weeks.
And so it has come to this, an uncomfortable meeting in an anonymous restaurant. Seven years of togetherness ended amidst checkered tablecloths and coffee cups. Neither wanted to be the first to speak. But one of them had to. He put down his coffee and studiously stared at his hands.
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
It is not a bad thing that children should occasionally, and politely, put parents in their place.
- Colette, My Mother's House, 1922
Music playing right now: Spinal Tap - Big Bottom
This has been a day of vastly changing attitudes and moods. Ennui to boredom to fun to laughter to annoyance to frustration.
My extended family has had a tradition for the past 4 or 5 years where we give out free gifts at Christmas instead of buying them for each other. We save up all the free stuff we get all year and at the end of the year we give it all away. I'm convinced that one of my relatives is on the inside track at the perfume counter of Dollar General. For the past two Christmases I've gotten big bottles of really cheap cologne. I'm now the proud owner of a El Vaquero, 2 big bottles of Sentinel, and a huge one of the creatively named Billy Jack.
Being the stupid man that I am, I decided this morning that since I've got enough to last me 3 lifetimes I might as well use some. I wet my finger with the smallest amount of Billy Jack that I could manage and applied it as sparingly as possible. The name is prophetic. It actually does smell like liquified hick. For the next 4 or 5 hours I'd occasionally bend the wrong way and get a whiff of the odorous stuff. Eventually I wanted to faint. I think they specifically make cheap cologne stronger so that no matter how little you put on, everybody around you can tell that you got your cologne from the Salvation Army.
My day improved though as it wore on and I went to my first real day of work this semester in telecounseling. I caught up with all the old faces and had a grand old time pretending to do actual work. The best part of the night was when Katie Ward got the enviable job of calling "Charity Head." I think I may have laughed for about two solid minutes about that name.
After work I came back to my room, promptly decided I had nothing to do, and went to blockbuster where I rented Scotland, PA. A very strange movie, but a good one nonetheless. It's based on Macbeth, which appealed to me since I'm currently in a Shakespeare class. But it's set in the 60's or 70's, I'm not exactly sure when. It's got Christopher Walken, Andy Dick, and a bunch of other people I recognize. If you like Shakespeare or Macbeth at all, I'd recommend it.
Unfortunately for me, my movie and my good mood got interrupted by a phone call from my mother. Guess who has stumbled onto my blog? Guess who doesn't like the fact that I have a tattoo? Guess who doesn't like my "foul language?" She has promised to "respect my privacy" in the future, but needless to say, I'm a bit wary now of posting anything on here that I wouldn't want my parents to know. What a dilemma. I really don't want to start a brand new blog. Too many people to inform of the change. Then again, I don't want to curtail my posts and edit them to make them PG. I guess if she does end up reading, she's just going to have to deal with it. I just wish she wouldn't ask me dumb questions like "Are you still a Christian?" Don't worry mom. If I plan on becoming a Buddhist, you'll be the first to know. My tattoo is not grounds for kicking me out of the faith quite yet. Hope your day was a little more stable than mine. Adios for now.
It's LU Blog meet up time! Yes, that's right. If by some strange chance you happen to read my blog, and don't ever look at The Yellow Project, I'm announcing it here as well. We're meeting this thursday (tomorrow!) at the McDonalds inside Wal-mart at 8 PM. I know, it's not the most glamorous of locations, but our membership has exploded in the last semester. I don't think there's a coffeehouse around here that could handle 20 rowdy college students making their lives hell. So if you have a blog, are thinking about starting a blog, or are a drop-dead gorgeous girl with a high IQ and low morals, I expect to see you there. If you want more details, check out the aforementioned yellow project. Adios for now.
Fun thing to do late at night #87:
Wait until your roommate is trying to dig a splinter out of their foot with a sharp implement (e.g. a pocketknife), and then yell as loud as you can, "IT'S PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME!!!" See how badly they stab their foot.
Tuesday, January 14, 2003
Monday, January 13, 2003
Simple pleasures are the last refuge of the complex.
- Oscar Wilde
Music playing right now: Eve6 - Girl Eyes
My eternal gratitude goes out to mark lusby. Thanks to his suggestion, I have now found one of my new favorite activities. There's something inherently wonderful about taking a hot shower and drinking ice cold IBC root beer. Especially when that root beer has been sitting in a refrigerator that's turned up a bit too much and the middle is frozen solid. Relaxation has never tasted so good. Adios for now.
There are 10 kinds of people in the world. Those who understand binary, and those who don't.
Sunday, January 12, 2003
Nobody forgets where he buried the hatchet.
- Frank McKinney
Music playing right now: Soul Coughing - Bus to Beelzebub
In the interests of saving my blog from turning into a mud-slinging match, I'm going to move on. My suggestion for you in the waning moments of this weekend: go rent Amelie. Or call me up. It's not due until like next wednesday. Rarely have I seen such a wonderful movie. If you're scared of foreign films because you don't like subtitles, you must conquer your fear, if simply for this movie. It's one of those movies that 'resonates' with me. I should make a list someday of the books, music, and movies that really capture my essence. Amelie would be high on that list. So stop reading this blog. Go watch it. Improve your life. Adios for now.
Saturday, January 11, 2003
Does excessive sighing indicate a contented life or an unfulfilled one?
Friday, January 10, 2003
I just asked this one guy what was so great about this one girl he likes--he said, "She tingles."
- Conversation with Maryah earlier tonight
Music playing right now: Red Hot Chili Peppers - Parallel Universe
Nothing to write about tonight. It seems that lately my will to write has been sucked clean out of me by all the new homework dumped upon me. That and I've been writing a whole lot for the YAC website. Unfortunately, it's not up yet. IT still has to approve it. So in lieu of a real update, I want you to check out the latest post up at MeHead, the one entitled Not Even the Rain. Great writing. Adios for now.
Thursday, January 09, 2003
For a long time I thought I wanted to be a nun. Then I realized that what I really wanted to be was a lesbian.
- Mabel Maney
Music playing right now: The Violent Burning - Superman
I'm a wuss. There's no getting around it, I am a coward. And yet I enjoy pretending that I'm otherwise. Whenever given the chance I like nothing more than committing little acts of rebellion that keep me somewhat cool, yet never pose any real risk to myself. Case in point, tattoo. Will my parents ever find out about it? I sincerely hope not.
I checked my CPO earlier this week and received a survey from the LeTourneau Mail Center asking which new products I would like to see for sale. Being the witty, semi-rebellious man that I am, I immeditately checked the "other" box and filled in "cheap lesbian porn" before dropping it in the campus mail slot and walking on my way. Besides possibly giving a little chuckle to whichever student worker gets the enviable job of tallying those surveys, I really accomplished absolutely nothing with that. Didn't even get to show it off to any friends before I anonymously turned it in. And yet it made me feel like a rebel. How sad.
Dr. Batts told our Shakespeare class on Wednesday to find an article about Shakespeare on the internet and bring it in to show the class. Not being satisfied with finding the usual fare, I searched until I found an article that puts forth the thesis that many women in his plays were actually lesbians. Alas, poor Dr. Batts will have to put up with my use of this article in class tomorrow.
I was famous in Dr. Solganick's Children's Lit. and Drama class for finding the weirdest and worst children's books out there. My favorite was probably when he asked us to bring in an informative book and I brought in Hair in Funny Places: A Book About Puberty. I must admit, I had fun trying to top myself every week by finding weirder books. And yet, if Dr. Solganick had ever asked me to stop and bring in some normal books I would have responded with a "yes sir, of course." I only seek to be different until it threatens danger to myself.
Nosce te Ipsum. Know Thyself. I know who I am. I'm a coward. But I'm fine with that. I get to have my little fun without getting myself hurt. I get to laugh to myself at things I do. And I get to walk around knowing that somebody in the mail center is going to read my suggestion for lesbian porn and wonder, "who the hell wrote that?" Adios for now.
Wednesday, January 08, 2003
If I could go back in time, I'd want to meet snoopy.
- Melody, Josie and the Pussycats
Music playing right now: They Might Be Giants - The Guitar
Bored? Tired of reading my blog? Need a new diary to keep you occupied on these long winter nights? How about the secret diaries of the members of the fellowship of the ring. I promise you won't be dissapointed. Who knew Aragorn was gay? Enjoy. Adios for now.
Tuesday, January 07, 2003
How can I stand, and laugh with the man who redefined your body?
- Smog, Cold Blooded Old Times
Music playing right now: The Eels - It's a Motherfucker
What a strange position to be in. Advising the person I was totally infatuated with last semester on her current love life, or lack thereof. Especially when I'm not quite "over" her yet. What is one supposed to do? How do I act? Do I let her know that sometimes the thought just knocks all the breath out of me? Do I tell her that I still dream about her? Or do I just smile and tell her I want her to be happy? Which is true. She deserves so much happiness. I honestly do want that for her. And I know that eventually my romantic feelings for her will fade and be replaced by a platonic friendship. At least I hope so. I guess this is just something I'll have to work out on my own. What a weird place to be. Well, such is life. C'est la vie.
Wow. I sound really whiny. Enough self-pity. I'm a decent enough looking guy. I'm sure I'll find somebody else. I give me 3 months before I totally give up on finding another girl. Although the prospect of finding another at LU is somewhat daunting. but we must keep hope. It is possible. We'll see how I'm doing at the end of this semester. Until then, no more whining for me. Adios for now.
Monday, January 06, 2003
Are you ready? It's time for the first annual darker side of the caption contest. Comment in with what you think the bubbles should be filled in as. First prize gets a brand new mix CD made by yours truly. Now that I've finally sent out the old ones. Get those creative juices flowing. Adios for now.
You can get all A's and still flunk life.
- Walker Percy
Music playing right now: Bono Gavin Friday and Maurice Seezer - Children of the Revolution
it's been a while since a real blog update. a lot of reminiscing going on lately. But despite that, my life goes on. Back at school for my 6th semester. I finally finished registering for classes today. Am signed up for 15 hours this semester, all liberal arts. 2 english, 2 history, and 1 bible class. I'm guessing it will be a lot of reading and writing. I have yet to buy my books, but I should get on top of it, espeically since classes start tomorrow.
The past two days have been extremely non-productive. I think the most important thing I did in the past 48 hours was to change the quote written on my window. People driving past my dorm room can now see Oscar Wilde proudly displayed: "Women are made to be loved, not understood."
Went to Olive Garden last night with the members of 1A who had made it back by 6. Seemed like we saw half of LeTourneau there. Since the 20 students who got there before us were taking up all the benches, our group kind of congregated by what happened to be the ladies room. We were just talking, waiting for them to call our name, when a middle-aged woman came by and chastised us for our choice of places to stand. "Nice choice. Do you watch all the women going to the bathroom?" We all thought she was kind of rude and contemplated standing in front of the door to wait for her to come out. We were rewarded when she came out though with another rebuke. "3 minutes. Not too bad was it? How did I compare to everybody else?" Unfortunately, my quick wit failed me and I couldn't come up with anything to say. I'm considering going to bed early tonight, but I'd better wait at least until dave shows up. the little punk is the last one on the floor to get here. Adios for now.
...it only looked like a bunch of kids eating lunch. It was really about opening our insides in front of everyone.
- Anne Lamott
Music playing right now: Avril Lavigne - Naked
Ok, so I'm stealing an idea from Anne Lamott. She suggests in Bird by Bird that when you have nothing else to write about, you write about school lunches. Not that I have nothing else to unburden my soul about, but it seemed like a good idea. The other can wait.
There's something very scary about a school cafeteria. The school food is just a very small part of it. It's the one place where your entire reputation can be built or destroyed in the space of 30 minutes. Most often though, violent changes like that didn't occur. Instead, it was a place that defined who you were in the hierarchy of school society. Try and explain it to homeschoolers someday, they just don't understand. The people you ate lunch with defined who you were as a person.
My dad was in the air force, which meant that growing up I moved about once every 3 years. That also meant that I had good experience in adjusting to new cafeterias. I went through all the stages. For the first month or so, I'd be the loser. You remember him, every cafeteria has one. The person who sits by themselves in a corner and reads a book while they eat. Studiously tries to avoid eye contact with anybody and everybody. The only contact this social pariah might have with the rest of the school population is to answer yes when asked if they can borrow a chair from his table.
After a month or so had gone by, I'd move up out of my social outcast position into the realm of acquaintance. I sat at tables with others, but didn't talk much for fear of losing my position and being relegated back to my corner perch. This continued for about a month until my presence was taken for granted and I could speak my mind without fear of losing my position.
the table that you end up with though is very important in what you're pegged as. There are always certain tables that contain certain people. A table for the jocks. A table for the drama people. A table for the potheads. A table for the nerds. A table for the goths, who glared at the rest of us to let us know that they didn't appreciate having to share this bit of americana with conformists like us, but did it anyway.
Things got even more complicated when you introduced the matter of food into this already volatile mix of variables. Do you buy your lunch? Do you bring it? If you bring it, is it in a brown bag or a lunchbox? Or how about those crappy polyester-like bags with the velcro that lets everybody know your mom makes your lunch? And what's in your lunch? Peanut butter? Lunchables? It all lets the rest of the community determine your standing. A veritable minefield of social faux pas to tiptoe through. God forbid you bring something strange or unfamiliar. Only good old-fashioned american bologna and chips for the true school patriot. I find it sad to say that many a day I would be the only one at my table with a bagel and I felt appropriately ashamed.
If only times had changed. But my guess is that high schools, junior highs, and probably even elementary schools are just the same today. Good luck little soldiers of the cafeteria. Perservere. claim your spot at the table of the in-crowd. Make fun of the little guy sitting by himself. Do your best to uphold the values that your elders have exemplified. Make sure that the lunchroom is a paragon of social conformity. Not that I'm bitter or anything.
Saturday, January 04, 2003
Write as if your parents are dead.
- Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird
Music playing right now: Trio - Boom Boom
When I was 18, my dad had his mid-life crisis. He went out and bought a Landrover 109:
Unfortunately for my father, Landrover dealerships are not all that common. The town of Rome, NY, simply did not have one. So by way of remedy, my dad bought one that was in Montana. Naturally, this presented a problem. How to get the car from Billings, MT, to Rome, NY. Preferably soon, as the car was only getting older. This dilemma was the catalyst for one of the fastest cross-country trips I've ever taken.
Being a used car dealer, the man who had sold my pater familias this car was not very trustworthy. Therefore he didn't accept checks. That meant that my father and I had to go to the bank and ask for an $18,000 certified check. The look on the tellers face was one of sublime awe. After securing the means of payment, my father and I caught a flight out to Billings. I think we were the only ones in the baggage claim area not picking up a gun case.
We spent the night in a holiday inn and the owner of the lone landrover dealership in Montana came and picked us up the next morning to go see our new car. It was beautiful sitting in that garage. A real piece of art. I'm not one who usually enjoys looking at cars, not really that masculine, but this was a beaut'. We took it out for a test drive and then an hour later we drove off towards New York in our brand "new" Landrover.
We discovered rather quickly that this car had a top speed of about 55 mph. downhill. with the wind at our backs. But that's ok. Because our car had a snorkel. And if we were ever caught in a flood, we would be the only ones whose engine would be able to take it. We drove through canada, michigan, and every nothern state between montana and New York. at 55 mph. At least we think so.
Driving into detroit, the speedometer broke. As in, it sat on 0 and didn't move. So we drove the rest of the way by accelerating until the engine screamed, backing off a little, and staying there. At least we knew we weren't speeding. The car also started dying at very inconvenient times. At first we thought it was because we were awful at double-clutching. But it happened way too often for that.
Anyway, after the long trials and travails of this non-stop journey across the top of the US, we finally made it home. I think my dad may have driven it 3 more times after that. Before selling it to a dealership in Vermont. Oh well. All good things must come to an end. Like this post that started out very short in my mind. Adios for now.
A pearl of wisdom garnered from nine year-old Zeke today:
"Green is for the money, Gold is for the honeys."
Friday, January 03, 2003
We're mimics, we're parrots -- we're writers.
- Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird
Music playing right now: CCR - Have You Ever Seen the Rain
My body shows my life to the world. They just don't know it. I look at my left index finger and remember the day in Ohio when my 8 year old self got his finger stuck in the hinge of a swingset. The mark has faded since then, but it's still visible. Moving farther up that arm, I can see the triangle of pinkish skin where I ripped my arm open in a nameless church in Kansas City.
My right leg bears a 3 inch scar where it was torn open by a metal rod. I can still remember my feelings of confusion and embarassment as I stood outside my high school with my mom driving off and I standing there with my leg dripping blood and my pants in shreds. 13 stitches for that one.
Asthma is the legacy left me by a childhood spent in Turkey. Coal is still the heating agent of choice in that country, a mineral that isn't kind on the aveoli. My right hand has a long red scar that peer pressure forced upon me. Sitting on a skateboard and riding down a concrete storm drain is not the best idea in the world.
Every time I get an x-ray at the dentist they ask me if I knew that there are 2 pins in my jaw. As if they could have just magically appeared there overnight without my knowledge. They're the remains of orthodontic surgery to appease my mother. Was the 5 weeks liquid diet worth the straighter teeth? Perhaps, but not very enjoyable nonetheless.
I wonder if this is what old people do, sit around and reminisce about what their body tells them. "I got this wrinkle by worrying about Pam on her wedding day." "This scar is where John's dog bit me." "This emphysema is from those sleepless nights of smoking spent waiting up for Greg to come back to me." I wonder what my body will tell me when I'm old. I'm going for laugh lines and smiling eyes. Adios for now.
Thursday, January 02, 2003
Humorous Wichita Encounter #37:
Gas station named the "Kum & Go"
Wednesday, January 01, 2003
In honor of the new year, I'd like to thank my biggest referrers for 2002.
The Yellow Project came in number 1, with 866 referrals
Surprisingly, for just having started his blog, lesbo came in 2nd with 189
Then comes bethany, andrew, disturbing search requests, and C-4.
I think it's sad that my 9th biggest referrer is people searching for school girl massage pictures. Oh well. Thanks for all of your links out there. Have a wonderful new year and don't forget bug-eyed earl's wisdom:
When life gives you poop, make poop-juice.
My wife thinks I'm awesome.
Days since Dan entered into wedded bliss:
::Required Reading::My beautiful wife
A Capital Idea
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