Er, in the same house as the ex girlfriend.
I didn't make a pass at her. I wanted to. I think part of her wanted me to. I think Becky wanted me to.
I know the guys, the dogs, and my hormones wanted me to.
But I didn't.
Sigh.
There was that awkward moment, the staying up just a few minutes later than everyone else, the pause and the look when "good night" crossed both our lips.
And I stood in the hallway, around the corner, and waited, pondering, wondering, wanting, but not doing.
It's okay. I know why. I know what I could have said, I know that to anyone in the known universe with some semblance of sanity, I could have made a pass and had it come across as flattering if not downright charming. I could have poked fun, and made her laugh, flattering even as she declined.
But not her. No, she was one of the crazies. The craziest of crazies, in fact. The remaker of history even as she's living it. The rewriter of the words crossing my lips even before they're articulated.
The soul mate. Or so she said on her 26th birthday. I remember, even if no one else does.
Sigh. That was almost 5 years ago, and I am no longer hurt, no longer mad, and no longer ruminating (until now). And yet I'd so much rather be in her bed right now than my own.
I guess it just wasn't worth it. The risk of being shot down and told another set of stories about for the next year -- this one with a grain of truth.
I would like to be touching her again, though. That familiarity of a bygone lover, even as everything is new and different because you've forgotten, because you've both changed, and because, well, you've both been with a cheerleading squad and a football team since then.
Or two.
(She always was a slutbag.)
--
I think my room smells vaguely of cat piss.
Damn it.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
"Who was your last", aka, Being Unproductive, a side effect of cube-ville
8-5 sucks. Ok, Ok, it's 10-5, but it still sucks. This is the result... stupid myspace quizzes.
Rule # 1:
If you open this you GOTTA take it.
Rule # 2:
You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone
messages you and asks
Rule #3:
Answer True or False or Kinda
Q: Kissed someone on your top friends?: F (all boys)
Q: Been arrested?: T
Q: Kissed someone you didn't like?: T
Q: You like someone?: T
Q: Held a snake?: T
Q: Been suspended from school?: F
Q: Been fired from work?: T
Q: Done something you told yourself you wouldn't?: T
Q: Laughed until you started crying?: T
Q: Caught a snowflake on your tongue?: T
Q: Kissed in the rain?: T
Q: Sang in the shower?: T
Q: Sat on a roof top?: T
Q: Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on?: T
Q: Broken a bone?: T
Q: Shaved your head?: T
Q: Played a prank on someone?: T
Q: Had/have a gym membership?: T
Q: Made a girlfriend/boyfriend cry?: T
Q: Shot a gun?: T
Q: Donated Blood? F
Q: Had your heart broken?: T
Q: Broken someone's heart?: T
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Who was your last?"
just be 100% truthful
LAST PERSON....
1. You hung out with?:
shane
2. last person you texted?:
ayla
3. You were in a car with?:
yadong
4. Went to the movies with?:
shane
5. Went to the mall with?:
rachel
6. You talked to on the phone?:
some stupid customer
7. Made you laugh?:
myself, reading my own blog
8. You cried with?:
Myself. If that doesn't count, well, um... it was in texas.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WOULD YOU RATHER...?
1.Bite or lick?
Depends where. Bite I guess.
2 be serious or be funny?:
FUNNY
3. Drink whole or skim milk?:
NON FAT
4. Die in a fire or get shot?:
GET SHOT
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ANSWER TRUTHFULLY...
1. Sun or moon?:
Sun.
2. Winter or Fall?:
FALL
3. Left or right?:
left
4. Sunny or rainy?:
SUNNY
6. Where do you live?:
In a hick town
7. Have you got in a physical fight before?
of course.
8. Do you want to get married?:
sure.
9. Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it?
yes
10. Do You Cook?:
yes
11. Current mood?:
is it 5 yet?
---------------------------------------------------
IN THE LAST 72 HOURS HAVE YOU...
1. Kissed someone?:
yes
2. Sang?:
Yes
3. Been Hugged?
Yes
4. Been told you were hot?
yes
5. Wanted to scream?
yes. i did.
6. Missed Someone?:
no, not so much. (yay)
7. Wished you were somewhere else?
only in cube-ville.
8. Thought of an ex?:
yes
Repost this as, "Who was your last..."
Rule # 1:
If you open this you GOTTA take it.
Rule # 2:
You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone
messages you and asks
Rule #3:
Answer True or False or Kinda
Q: Kissed someone on your top friends?: F (all boys)
Q: Been arrested?: T
Q: Kissed someone you didn't like?: T
Q: You like someone?: T
Q: Held a snake?: T
Q: Been suspended from school?: F
Q: Been fired from work?: T
Q: Done something you told yourself you wouldn't?: T
Q: Laughed until you started crying?: T
Q: Caught a snowflake on your tongue?: T
Q: Kissed in the rain?: T
Q: Sang in the shower?: T
Q: Sat on a roof top?: T
Q: Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on?: T
Q: Broken a bone?: T
Q: Shaved your head?: T
Q: Played a prank on someone?: T
Q: Had/have a gym membership?: T
Q: Made a girlfriend/boyfriend cry?: T
Q: Shot a gun?: T
Q: Donated Blood? F
Q: Had your heart broken?: T
Q: Broken someone's heart?: T
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Who was your last?"
just be 100% truthful
LAST PERSON....
1. You hung out with?:
shane
2. last person you texted?:
ayla
3. You were in a car with?:
yadong
4. Went to the movies with?:
shane
5. Went to the mall with?:
rachel
6. You talked to on the phone?:
some stupid customer
7. Made you laugh?:
myself, reading my own blog
8. You cried with?:
Myself. If that doesn't count, well, um... it was in texas.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WOULD YOU RATHER...?
1.Bite or lick?
Depends where. Bite I guess.
2 be serious or be funny?:
FUNNY
3. Drink whole or skim milk?:
NON FAT
4. Die in a fire or get shot?:
GET SHOT
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ANSWER TRUTHFULLY...
1. Sun or moon?:
Sun.
2. Winter or Fall?:
FALL
3. Left or right?:
left
4. Sunny or rainy?:
SUNNY
6. Where do you live?:
In a hick town
7. Have you got in a physical fight before?
of course.
8. Do you want to get married?:
sure.
9. Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it?
yes
10. Do You Cook?:
yes
11. Current mood?:
is it 5 yet?
---------------------------------------------------
IN THE LAST 72 HOURS HAVE YOU...
1. Kissed someone?:
yes
2. Sang?:
Yes
3. Been Hugged?
Yes
4. Been told you were hot?
yes
5. Wanted to scream?
yes. i did.
6. Missed Someone?:
no, not so much. (yay)
7. Wished you were somewhere else?
only in cube-ville.
8. Thought of an ex?:
yes
Repost this as, "Who was your last..."
Monday, June 18, 2007
Thursday, June 7, 2007
A visit from austin joe
I hung out with my friend Joe from Austin tonight. It was really good to see him. Yesterday when he came into the office I couldn't stop grinning. I didn't realize that I'd missed him, and it made me happy to hang out, talk about old times, and catch up.
Tonight, though, after vodka sampling, an anchor steam, and two fantastic slices of Zachary's, I had to excuse myself for a couple of minutes. Talking about Austin, things/restaurants/shops/experiences there... I don't know, but I guess I got quiet for a bit, and it felt like my insides were eating themselves.
I went and looked at myself in the mirror and wondered what the heck was wrong with me.
My god, man, you've been sad for SEVEN MONTHS. What the FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?!!
And tonight, I caught myself getting more and more cynical, more and more negative, and more and more alone with each passing moment. I wanted to just go home, but Joe is leaving tomorrow and I won't see him for months, so I wanted to hang out as long as possible. But then we found ourselves watching some ugly, stupid man on television, and everything that crossed my mind and my lips was sour.
I got the heck outta there.
And I put on Blink in the car and screamed half the way home. The other half I wondered what was wrong with me. Then I wondered why it's always been so easy for women to leave me.
I got home, and considered crawling into bed without washing, without writing, and without undressing. But I opted to turn on music, and as soon as my iTunes window appeared, I knew what it would be.
As the Garden State soundtrack came on, so did my tears. And still I wonder why it is I cry and what is I miss.
I'm not mad at her. I'm not even annoyed. I don't think she did anything wrong. I don't even think I did anything wrong, although I've replayed my behavior ten thousand times in my mind, trying to decide where and how I went wrong, trying to make a mental list of all the things I'll never do again to any girl I care at all about. Some of them are nice things, some of them are just static, and some of them are exactly what every girl claims to want but then runs away from.
All of them are lame. The whole exercise is lame.
I'm lame.
I remember India Joze and Austin Java and Trudy's. I remember the Starbucks at 4th and Congress, the Rite-Aid (or was it a walgreens?) on Riverside where that ghetto guy told me to "handle my bid-ness" and called me brother at 1:30 in the morning. I remember her rubbing my head the first morning she woke up in my arms, glad I was there, glad we were together after weeks of longing, missing, and wondering.
I remember feeling home. I remember carrying her keychain when I went to the gym with it's pink strap, knowing it announced to everyone that there was a girl not too far away, and I didn't care. I remember getting "I miss you" text messages and not rolling my eyes or snickering, but instead smiling inside.
I remember listening to these stupid songs and thinking of her.
I remember feeling free, far away from work, from tenants, from computers and my parents, from the rigors of every day life, from all that is and was familiar, from every other woman on my voice mail as they slowly stopped calling.
I remember feeling happy.
Anna asked me sixth months ago if I felt like she was irreplacable. I rationally answered the way anyone in my position would. I told her what I've been wanting to believe for seven months, that it was a really good time, that it didn't work out, that there were others before and there will be others after.
I remember wondering if I was wrong.
Today I wonder if I sabotaged my UT entrance. I looked at my AZ transcripts today, and they don't have the credits that UT was missing either. I wonder if Davis has them.
Maybe I didn't send them to anybody. Maybe I fucked it up on purpose.
Which leads me, full circle, in this never ending inward spiral, wonder yet again what the hell is wrong with me.
I still see Texas shirts and wince. I saw Joe today and wanted to ask him if he's seen Lauren, directly, in passing, on purpose, or around town. I want to know how she's doing, how Austin is doing.
Without me. I want to know how she's doing without me.
And, again, what the flying fuck??!?! I knew this girl for HOW LONG? And I place her on a pedestal almost a year later that sits near Amanda in importance and influence upon the shaping of my life and my world?
I bet she never even thinks about me. I bet... sigh. It doesn't matter anyway. What matters is that I'm excusing myself while out with friends so I can go talk myself out of crying while staring into the bathroom mirror.
What matters is... and I don't care what bullshit there is wrapped around it... I miss her. I don't care that it's stupid, I don't care that I'm a fool, I don't care that I'm too old, that she's too young, that my life is here or in AZ or wherever, I don't care that she doesn't go to the gym, I don't care that Serino thinks less of me for it, I don't care that I only knew her a few weeks, I don't care that it would never work, I don't care that there's other fish in the sea, I don't care.
I fucking miss her.
I'm trying to remember if I ever felt so at ease... if I ever felt more content or comfortable or...
Nope, not so much. With her there was nothing to prove, no drama to deal with. All my girls had drama. Or they just cheated. Either way, I was never good enough.
Sigh. I guess, in the end, I wasn't good enough for her, either.
So, and here's the 17K a year question, is my desire to go back to school not really about school? Because I am actually hoping that I'll be happier. Imagine that. But what is it, really? Am I just hoping I'll feel that way again, somehow, somewhere?
Yes. And I don't have the vaguest idea whatsoever how to go about it. I didn't even realize I had it for the first week I experienced it with her. It just kinda hit me on the head.
So, wait. What's WRONG with ME?!!?
Fuck this. I'm going to bed. I'm going to turn on a superhero cartoon (love those superheroes), and I'm not going to think about this any more.
Maybe I shouldn't drink unless I'm hitting on chicks. Seems like when I drink without the explicit goal of getting leads, I get all depressed. Yay.
And tomorrow, I'm going to call my academic advisor, and ask her again about prerequisites and if I'll still be able to register for bio in two weeks when the friggin' math department decides that my A in Calculus 12 years ago means I'll probably be able to understand elementary algebra. Duh. And why I can't seem to register for PE. May as well get some credits for working out four hours a day, huh?
And tomorrow night I'm going out with a girl. Maybe a first with Veronica, maybe a 2nd with emily, maybe a third with Tracy. Hmmm, let's see, new lead or closing a deal? Sigh. Odd that it's actually debatable.
Ok, there's another case where drinking is allowed. When I need to get drunk so some girl can take advantage of me. (longer sigh)
Then, this weekend, I'm going to see Danielle, that awesome little hottie that sold me jeans last saturday. She just better be a good kisser. If she knows what she's doing, I just might have to sweep her off her feet.
Fuck texas. Go Wildcats! Go Alfie!
Tonight, though, after vodka sampling, an anchor steam, and two fantastic slices of Zachary's, I had to excuse myself for a couple of minutes. Talking about Austin, things/restaurants/shops/experiences there... I don't know, but I guess I got quiet for a bit, and it felt like my insides were eating themselves.
I went and looked at myself in the mirror and wondered what the heck was wrong with me.
My god, man, you've been sad for SEVEN MONTHS. What the FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?!!
And tonight, I caught myself getting more and more cynical, more and more negative, and more and more alone with each passing moment. I wanted to just go home, but Joe is leaving tomorrow and I won't see him for months, so I wanted to hang out as long as possible. But then we found ourselves watching some ugly, stupid man on television, and everything that crossed my mind and my lips was sour.
I got the heck outta there.
And I put on Blink in the car and screamed half the way home. The other half I wondered what was wrong with me. Then I wondered why it's always been so easy for women to leave me.
I got home, and considered crawling into bed without washing, without writing, and without undressing. But I opted to turn on music, and as soon as my iTunes window appeared, I knew what it would be.
As the Garden State soundtrack came on, so did my tears. And still I wonder why it is I cry and what is I miss.
I'm not mad at her. I'm not even annoyed. I don't think she did anything wrong. I don't even think I did anything wrong, although I've replayed my behavior ten thousand times in my mind, trying to decide where and how I went wrong, trying to make a mental list of all the things I'll never do again to any girl I care at all about. Some of them are nice things, some of them are just static, and some of them are exactly what every girl claims to want but then runs away from.
All of them are lame. The whole exercise is lame.
I'm lame.
I remember India Joze and Austin Java and Trudy's. I remember the Starbucks at 4th and Congress, the Rite-Aid (or was it a walgreens?) on Riverside where that ghetto guy told me to "handle my bid-ness" and called me brother at 1:30 in the morning. I remember her rubbing my head the first morning she woke up in my arms, glad I was there, glad we were together after weeks of longing, missing, and wondering.
I remember feeling home. I remember carrying her keychain when I went to the gym with it's pink strap, knowing it announced to everyone that there was a girl not too far away, and I didn't care. I remember getting "I miss you" text messages and not rolling my eyes or snickering, but instead smiling inside.
I remember listening to these stupid songs and thinking of her.
I remember feeling free, far away from work, from tenants, from computers and my parents, from the rigors of every day life, from all that is and was familiar, from every other woman on my voice mail as they slowly stopped calling.
I remember feeling happy.
Anna asked me sixth months ago if I felt like she was irreplacable. I rationally answered the way anyone in my position would. I told her what I've been wanting to believe for seven months, that it was a really good time, that it didn't work out, that there were others before and there will be others after.
I remember wondering if I was wrong.
Today I wonder if I sabotaged my UT entrance. I looked at my AZ transcripts today, and they don't have the credits that UT was missing either. I wonder if Davis has them.
Maybe I didn't send them to anybody. Maybe I fucked it up on purpose.
Which leads me, full circle, in this never ending inward spiral, wonder yet again what the hell is wrong with me.
I still see Texas shirts and wince. I saw Joe today and wanted to ask him if he's seen Lauren, directly, in passing, on purpose, or around town. I want to know how she's doing, how Austin is doing.
Without me. I want to know how she's doing without me.
And, again, what the flying fuck??!?! I knew this girl for HOW LONG? And I place her on a pedestal almost a year later that sits near Amanda in importance and influence upon the shaping of my life and my world?
I bet she never even thinks about me. I bet... sigh. It doesn't matter anyway. What matters is that I'm excusing myself while out with friends so I can go talk myself out of crying while staring into the bathroom mirror.
What matters is... and I don't care what bullshit there is wrapped around it... I miss her. I don't care that it's stupid, I don't care that I'm a fool, I don't care that I'm too old, that she's too young, that my life is here or in AZ or wherever, I don't care that she doesn't go to the gym, I don't care that Serino thinks less of me for it, I don't care that I only knew her a few weeks, I don't care that it would never work, I don't care that there's other fish in the sea, I don't care.
I fucking miss her.
I'm trying to remember if I ever felt so at ease... if I ever felt more content or comfortable or...
Nope, not so much. With her there was nothing to prove, no drama to deal with. All my girls had drama. Or they just cheated. Either way, I was never good enough.
Sigh. I guess, in the end, I wasn't good enough for her, either.
So, and here's the 17K a year question, is my desire to go back to school not really about school? Because I am actually hoping that I'll be happier. Imagine that. But what is it, really? Am I just hoping I'll feel that way again, somehow, somewhere?
Yes. And I don't have the vaguest idea whatsoever how to go about it. I didn't even realize I had it for the first week I experienced it with her. It just kinda hit me on the head.
So, wait. What's WRONG with ME?!!?
Fuck this. I'm going to bed. I'm going to turn on a superhero cartoon (love those superheroes), and I'm not going to think about this any more.
Maybe I shouldn't drink unless I'm hitting on chicks. Seems like when I drink without the explicit goal of getting leads, I get all depressed. Yay.
And tomorrow, I'm going to call my academic advisor, and ask her again about prerequisites and if I'll still be able to register for bio in two weeks when the friggin' math department decides that my A in Calculus 12 years ago means I'll probably be able to understand elementary algebra. Duh. And why I can't seem to register for PE. May as well get some credits for working out four hours a day, huh?
And tomorrow night I'm going out with a girl. Maybe a first with Veronica, maybe a 2nd with emily, maybe a third with Tracy. Hmmm, let's see, new lead or closing a deal? Sigh. Odd that it's actually debatable.
Ok, there's another case where drinking is allowed. When I need to get drunk so some girl can take advantage of me. (longer sigh)
Then, this weekend, I'm going to see Danielle, that awesome little hottie that sold me jeans last saturday. She just better be a good kisser. If she knows what she's doing, I just might have to sweep her off her feet.
Fuck texas. Go Wildcats! Go Alfie!
Sunday, June 3, 2007
dating update
June is not going to be a depressing month, dammit!
The cycle has begun again.
Got a number last week out with Serino from a gal in Folsom. 22, very cute, does reverse mortgages, going back to school to be an interior designer. Jenna. Talked on Wed., should call her tomorow.
Had coffee with Emily on Thursday. Match. 30, purple streaks in her hair, formerly batted for the other team, has a 2 year old, in grad school, went to O'Dowd, very down to earth, pretty cute (she is 30 after all), seems like a lot of fun. I'm not sure if I like her or not, but I'd like to see her again to find out.
Had dinner with Tracy on Thursday. Good kisser, pretty cute, 24, old lead from Match (went out six months ago and stood her up on the second date because I was unknowingly trying to forget a certain Texan by overconsuming alcohol the night before). I like her.
Had a drink and a snack (not quite dinner) Friday night with Ann. Hands down, the single worst date I've ever been on. She roasted me. I kept waiting for the punch line, but it never came. I didn't get the vibe that she hated guys, nor the vibe that she disliked me, but she just wouldn't stop insulting me. The only thing I regret is not calling her on it more directly. Why would she agree to meet me if she was going to do that? Stunningly odd and negative. Good thing I'd had two good dates the day before, or I'd be back in women-hating mode again already. (lol)
Today I was out with Rachel after visiting Lauren C. (yes, she's one of them) this afternoon. We did a little shopping in Walnut Creek and she ended up playing wingman for me while I picked up on Danielle, who is really cute, seems super upbeat and fun, and was diggin' on Alfie. Happy place. I'm considering breaking my own rules and calling tomorrow night instead of waiting the standard two days. Our vibe was that good -- so good, in fact, that I have this tiny little feeling that waiting a solid two days would turn her off because it would signal regimented playah-playah status. Which isn't necessarily false, but I'm looking for good pillow talk, not conquest. I dunno. I'll decide tomorrow.
Pipeline is stacked. Gotta plan first dates with Jenna, Danielle, and a Simone.
Good times.
The cycle has begun again.
Got a number last week out with Serino from a gal in Folsom. 22, very cute, does reverse mortgages, going back to school to be an interior designer. Jenna. Talked on Wed., should call her tomorow.
Had coffee with Emily on Thursday. Match. 30, purple streaks in her hair, formerly batted for the other team, has a 2 year old, in grad school, went to O'Dowd, very down to earth, pretty cute (she is 30 after all), seems like a lot of fun. I'm not sure if I like her or not, but I'd like to see her again to find out.
Had dinner with Tracy on Thursday. Good kisser, pretty cute, 24, old lead from Match (went out six months ago and stood her up on the second date because I was unknowingly trying to forget a certain Texan by overconsuming alcohol the night before). I like her.
Had a drink and a snack (not quite dinner) Friday night with Ann. Hands down, the single worst date I've ever been on. She roasted me. I kept waiting for the punch line, but it never came. I didn't get the vibe that she hated guys, nor the vibe that she disliked me, but she just wouldn't stop insulting me. The only thing I regret is not calling her on it more directly. Why would she agree to meet me if she was going to do that? Stunningly odd and negative. Good thing I'd had two good dates the day before, or I'd be back in women-hating mode again already. (lol)
Today I was out with Rachel after visiting Lauren C. (yes, she's one of them) this afternoon. We did a little shopping in Walnut Creek and she ended up playing wingman for me while I picked up on Danielle, who is really cute, seems super upbeat and fun, and was diggin' on Alfie. Happy place. I'm considering breaking my own rules and calling tomorrow night instead of waiting the standard two days. Our vibe was that good -- so good, in fact, that I have this tiny little feeling that waiting a solid two days would turn her off because it would signal regimented playah-playah status. Which isn't necessarily false, but I'm looking for good pillow talk, not conquest. I dunno. I'll decide tomorrow.
Pipeline is stacked. Gotta plan first dates with Jenna, Danielle, and a Simone.
Good times.
Friday, May 25, 2007
real me
i'm gonna cry in a minute. I've been wanting to for a couple of hours, but I don't know why.
I don't want to work. I don't want to play. I don't want to fuck. I don't want to pray.
I don't want to love. I don't have any hate. I don't want to cry. And I don't appreciate.
Sounds like a depressing Dr. Seuss, doesn't it?
I went out again tonight. Plenty of girls, plenty of opportunity, plenty of alcohol, plenty of...
I don't know what else was there, but I wasn't smiling. I just didn't want to play.
It's work to go up to chicks. You know that, bitches? It's fucking WORK. You're not fucking special, you're not that entertaining, and most of you really aren't even that hot, no matter what your girlfriends say or how much your foundation cost.
And for you to make me act like a fucking circus monkey after I've caught you checking me out 4 times is fucking lame. Grow the fuck up and be fucking nice.
I am not your circus monkey, I am not some clown to make you laugh, and I am sick and fucking tired of working for shit.
Working for love.
I don't want to be alfie anymore.
But you know what? I don't want to be me, either. That fucking guy is really smart and appreciated for his tenacity. But that's it. Mostly, people shit on him. Now that he's "made something of himself", whatever the fuck that means, MORE people shit on him. People who were supposed to be his friends and family now shit on him too.
Fuck that guy. Fuck alfie. Fuck everything in between.
Fuck you, fuck the world, and fuck your mother.
--
I just wish I had enough energy left to be angry like that more of the time. That anger is all I've got.
--
I was just thinking about how two people who don't know shit about me (despite knowing me for more than half my life in one case) like to say they'd rather that I "be real" and "true" instead of putting on the alfie mask.
Easy for you to fucking say. Can I see one fucking piece of shit that has a black cloud like mine following him around that is actually happy?
No. You're all dead or disconnected.
That's the conundrum. I don't hate enough. It was so much better when I was still angry at Laura, still ready to take it out on any chick who crossed my path.
Everyone I know who has my type of baggage fluctuates between depression and evil. They use people, they don't follow that goddamn piece of shit golden rule, and they're perfectly fine. They aren't happy, no, but they don't get as far down the rabbit hole as I am progressing at an increasingly rapid pace.
They don't find themselves out with their best friends with pretty girls smiling at them and walk back to the car, alone, and cry.
They get phone numbers. Or they get laid. Or both.
So, yeah, I'm me. Whoopdee fucking do. Alone, as always, at 3:30 in the goddamn morning wishing I could remember something sad enough so that I could actually cry. Wishing I could come up with an excuse good enough so that I can actually feel the despair that haunts my soul. Wishing it could ever be ok.
Wishing I could remember what it feels like to actually smile. Not at something funny, but because I feel peace and contentment.
Or even just hope.
Right here, right now, in this one moment in time, I don't miss anything or anyone. I don't hunger for some feeling of belonging from the universe, from my mother, from some chick named Lauren or Laura, from an old friend, or from my own sense of accomplishment.
Right now I just want to stop crying. Stop wanting. Stop needing.
Right now I wish I were apathetic and stoic.
Right now I wish I were dead.
--
That's funny. I just stopped crying.
--
Don't call. I'll be fine. It's not the first time I've had these thoughts, and it clearly won't be the last. I kinda just want to kill the part of me that cares. I feel so alone anyway... why not?
The thing is, nothing can fix this. There is no solution. I wouldn't know what it felt like to actually be loved if it hit me in the head.
Laura said she loved me. But she clearly didn't.
Lauren said she appreciated me, and when I saw it in action coupled with "I waited all day to be here" as she lay in my arms, for a few moments, I believed it. It felt really good. But the minute I believed, she was gone.
Amanda at Disneyland was a really happy time. Except for... right. Drama queen. If that's love, I don't want it.
Mom says she loves me all the time. But she married the devil and let him abuse me incessantly without apology.
--
I've been thinking about that whole "giving back" thing lately, and there's a problem. Really giving back requires that you have something to give.
I think that I really am dying, even if I don't jump off something with a high altitude.
I don't want to hope anymore. I don't want to feel that, because it just makes me want, want, want.
It hurt so bad when you took it away, Lauren. It hurt so bad when I believed in you Laura. It hurt so bad when you left me out in the cold Mom. It hurt so so so bad.
And, like an abused kid yet again, I'm left to blame myself, to try and re-take the control that was taken from me forcefully. It's not that Laura was a whore or Lauren was a baby. It's not that Mom was an idiot and a baby. It's not even that Chrissy was a slutbag psycho and Amanda was a drama queen.
It's my fault. I'm too blame. I didn't work hard enough, or I was too nice, or I gave too much too quickly, or I forgot to play the game, or I trusted too much, or I was just plain stupid. I, I, I.
It's my fault for hoping, my fault for believing, my fault for loving, my fault for them leaving.
It's my fault she cheated, my fault she left, my fault she fought with me, my fault she caused drama, my fault she lied, my fault she couldn't stand up to dad, me, me, me.
I feel angry again. I guess that's good, because it means on some level I don't believe this shit.
--
Something has got to give soon. I'm going to sabotage my world and self-medicate myself into oblivion if I keep this up.
I don't want to work. I don't want to play. I don't want to fuck. I don't want to pray.
I don't want to love. I don't have any hate. I don't want to cry. And I don't appreciate.
Sounds like a depressing Dr. Seuss, doesn't it?
I went out again tonight. Plenty of girls, plenty of opportunity, plenty of alcohol, plenty of...
I don't know what else was there, but I wasn't smiling. I just didn't want to play.
It's work to go up to chicks. You know that, bitches? It's fucking WORK. You're not fucking special, you're not that entertaining, and most of you really aren't even that hot, no matter what your girlfriends say or how much your foundation cost.
And for you to make me act like a fucking circus monkey after I've caught you checking me out 4 times is fucking lame. Grow the fuck up and be fucking nice.
I am not your circus monkey, I am not some clown to make you laugh, and I am sick and fucking tired of working for shit.
Working for love.
I don't want to be alfie anymore.
But you know what? I don't want to be me, either. That fucking guy is really smart and appreciated for his tenacity. But that's it. Mostly, people shit on him. Now that he's "made something of himself", whatever the fuck that means, MORE people shit on him. People who were supposed to be his friends and family now shit on him too.
Fuck that guy. Fuck alfie. Fuck everything in between.
Fuck you, fuck the world, and fuck your mother.
--
I just wish I had enough energy left to be angry like that more of the time. That anger is all I've got.
--
I was just thinking about how two people who don't know shit about me (despite knowing me for more than half my life in one case) like to say they'd rather that I "be real" and "true" instead of putting on the alfie mask.
Easy for you to fucking say. Can I see one fucking piece of shit that has a black cloud like mine following him around that is actually happy?
No. You're all dead or disconnected.
That's the conundrum. I don't hate enough. It was so much better when I was still angry at Laura, still ready to take it out on any chick who crossed my path.
Everyone I know who has my type of baggage fluctuates between depression and evil. They use people, they don't follow that goddamn piece of shit golden rule, and they're perfectly fine. They aren't happy, no, but they don't get as far down the rabbit hole as I am progressing at an increasingly rapid pace.
They don't find themselves out with their best friends with pretty girls smiling at them and walk back to the car, alone, and cry.
They get phone numbers. Or they get laid. Or both.
So, yeah, I'm me. Whoopdee fucking do. Alone, as always, at 3:30 in the goddamn morning wishing I could remember something sad enough so that I could actually cry. Wishing I could come up with an excuse good enough so that I can actually feel the despair that haunts my soul. Wishing it could ever be ok.
Wishing I could remember what it feels like to actually smile. Not at something funny, but because I feel peace and contentment.
Or even just hope.
Right here, right now, in this one moment in time, I don't miss anything or anyone. I don't hunger for some feeling of belonging from the universe, from my mother, from some chick named Lauren or Laura, from an old friend, or from my own sense of accomplishment.
Right now I just want to stop crying. Stop wanting. Stop needing.
Right now I wish I were apathetic and stoic.
Right now I wish I were dead.
--
That's funny. I just stopped crying.
--
Don't call. I'll be fine. It's not the first time I've had these thoughts, and it clearly won't be the last. I kinda just want to kill the part of me that cares. I feel so alone anyway... why not?
The thing is, nothing can fix this. There is no solution. I wouldn't know what it felt like to actually be loved if it hit me in the head.
Laura said she loved me. But she clearly didn't.
Lauren said she appreciated me, and when I saw it in action coupled with "I waited all day to be here" as she lay in my arms, for a few moments, I believed it. It felt really good. But the minute I believed, she was gone.
Amanda at Disneyland was a really happy time. Except for... right. Drama queen. If that's love, I don't want it.
Mom says she loves me all the time. But she married the devil and let him abuse me incessantly without apology.
--
I've been thinking about that whole "giving back" thing lately, and there's a problem. Really giving back requires that you have something to give.
I think that I really am dying, even if I don't jump off something with a high altitude.
I don't want to hope anymore. I don't want to feel that, because it just makes me want, want, want.
It hurt so bad when you took it away, Lauren. It hurt so bad when I believed in you Laura. It hurt so bad when you left me out in the cold Mom. It hurt so so so bad.
And, like an abused kid yet again, I'm left to blame myself, to try and re-take the control that was taken from me forcefully. It's not that Laura was a whore or Lauren was a baby. It's not that Mom was an idiot and a baby. It's not even that Chrissy was a slutbag psycho and Amanda was a drama queen.
It's my fault. I'm too blame. I didn't work hard enough, or I was too nice, or I gave too much too quickly, or I forgot to play the game, or I trusted too much, or I was just plain stupid. I, I, I.
It's my fault for hoping, my fault for believing, my fault for loving, my fault for them leaving.
It's my fault she cheated, my fault she left, my fault she fought with me, my fault she caused drama, my fault she lied, my fault she couldn't stand up to dad, me, me, me.
I feel angry again. I guess that's good, because it means on some level I don't believe this shit.
--
Something has got to give soon. I'm going to sabotage my world and self-medicate myself into oblivion if I keep this up.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Demographics are the problem
I've bitched about this a lot, only to get a set of rolling eyes from people who don't know what they're talking about. Well, here's a nice map indicating what I've been saying for years: women in the San Francisco Bay Area are too big for their britches because of an over abundance of choice.
Which is why I often date below my cast in terms of quality. Bitches.
(Oh, and you eye rollers are (a) married, or (b) have vaginas. In either case, you have absolutely no idea what it is like to be a single male anywhere, let alone in the center of one of those big blue dots on the map above.
Wait! Stop! Close your mouth. Stop clicking.
You don't know. Just live with it.)
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