Postarita

Goodbye Postarita

2011-11-03T00:21:00.001-05:00

Today I am closing Postarita. I know three people throughout the nation just clutched their chests with sadness, but I think that it's time. I'm not who I was when I began writing here. Not that I'm implying that I'm all that better than I was; I'm still different now. It is time to move on to new things.

I have a lot of guilt about this blog, because as a writer I should be more dedicated to my craft. I should want to write, if not everyday, than at least once a week. I should want to document my life, if not for those reading than for myself. Though, every time I began transcribing some detail of my life here all I could do was read through its old posts and relive those parts of my life. This made me realize that I am somewhere different now, and that I don't particularly identify with these words anymore. I know that this is a part of growing as a writer, and growing as a person, but I think it's best that I start fresh.

My new blog is called The Open Shut Case, which I won't explain here, but I hope that you'll visit it to get a sense of what I'm trying to do there. I hope you'll follow me, and more so I hope I pick up some new readers.

I have written three hundred and eighty seven posts on Postarita, which I'm proud of. The words that are here, are words that I lived, or thought, or breathed into existence. As a writer, I'm happy that I could do that, but I want to be able to show different sides of myself (hopefully with more frequency than was ever done here).

So, again I hope to hear from you soon on my new blog. Goodbye Postarita, it's been a good six years.

I'll leave you with the first post I ever wrote here:

Postarita (N) Poe-stah-ree-tah

1. A blog to discuss the funny and thoughts of a ninteen year old boy.
2. Post as in post hurricane Rita that completely uprooted said boy for nearly two months, and nearly destroyed his home town.
3. Postarita as in if you switch it out for "Senorita" in the Justin Timberlake song of the same name, you have a catchy pop ditty.

Pop Cultured: The Glamorization of Criminality

2011-10-26T23:41:00.001-05:00

Preface: I know I haven't blogged in some time, I'm just too busy. I know that's not a good excuse, just as it wasn't the other hundred times I've said it. Between school work and my work at my university's newspaper The Contraband, I literally have no time, nor the urge to write anything else. To hold you over until a time when I might be more willing to write something again, here are some pieces that originally appeared in The Contraband. I write a weekly pop culture piece, sometimes they are funny, sometimes they're not trying to be. Although I think if you look hard enough you'll see some of me in there. I hope you enjoy them, as I'm posting them one right after the other.

I’ve been trying to figure out for the last year and halfwhy Lindsay Lohan keeps trying to avoid jail time. Basically the timeline of a typical month forLohan looks like this: reckless behavior fueled by all of the crystal methproduced by the world’s largest trailer parks, she gets arrested due toreckless behavior; she gets bailed outof jail within a matter of hours, then getsslapped on the wrist, and repeat. I’mjust wondering why she’s even fighting it at this point. You know that the Los Angeles county jailprobably has a cell with her name on it, like a fancy dressing room. I’m imagining it’s even set up with all thenecessities she requires like an on-call female inmate named Ron who’s beentaught to be a masseuse, and a marble toilet in which she can spew her bulimiainto. If I were Lohan I’d take the jailtime. Trust me, you’re not going to getany movie roles anytime in the foreseeable future, this would be a better useof your time, and uh “talents”.

I guessmy biggest problem with the whole ordeal is the fact that as a society not onlydo we take celebrities and hold them up as Gods, but we also glamorize theircriminal behavior. For instance ifyou’re watching the five o’ clock news and see a woman addled by drugs in ahigh speed chase, you would judge her for it. You would see a skanky drug user, as a skanky drug user. But for public figures like Lohan, we can’tget enough of it. We want to know whatshe wore (or didn’t wear) to court. Wewant to know where she’s serving her sentence, we want to know how short of asentence she’ll serve, and we want to know if she’s got any movies in thepipeline. We want to see everything butsome kind of punishment.

Andit’s not just Lohan, in the past five years celebrities have gone fromcan-do-no-wrongs to hardened criminals. Hell, in the past week rapper Soulja Boy has been arrested, and HannahMontana co-star Michael Musso has been busted for a DUI. And although admittedly neither of thosecelebrities are what you might call A-List, we don’t even seem to judge themfor their bad behavior.

Criminality is so glamorized thesedays that it’s even showing up in art. The newly released music video for the aptly titled “Criminal” byBritney Spears plays as a Bonnie and Clyde-esque love letter to criminalbehavior. Within five minutes Spears andher real life boyfriend are shown: robbing a bank and a convenience store,stealing a car, having at least seven different kinds of shower sex, and thenmaking out in the middle of a hailstorm of bullets. It really makes a statement of: I am a celebrity and I can do what Iwant. And that stands as true, becausewe let them.

Pop Culture: Occupying Hollywood

2011-10-26T23:39:00.003-05:00

Things have been oddly quiet on the pop culture landscapethis week. The fact is unusual in afield that usually pronounces itself with loud outbursts, and PR stunts on analmost weekly basis. This week no onehas gone to court, no one has died, no one has been ousted as a vampire, andeveryone has kept their clothes on. Ithink it might have something to do with the somber national mood. I’m not sure if you’ve heard as of yet, butpeople are occupying. They are occupyingWall Street and saying loud things; things that some people do not want tohear. So in a way, occupiers everywhereare the celebrities this week for finally getting noticed in a world whose newsis usually being clogged by actual celebrities.

The people who are picketing in Wall Street are doingsomething controversial. I don’t want toget in to the specifics here, but I’m glad that someone is sayingsomething. Did you know that there’sactually a plan for an “Occupy Lake Charles” movement. I’m guessing it’s a grassroots movement, andthey’ve certainly gotten coverage on other local media outlets. Although, on the subject of what they mightbe protesting, I have no clue; as far as I know Lake Charles is not thenation’s financial capital or anything.

Because this is a pop culture column, I’d like to say that Iwish celebrities would get involved with this occupying business. Not because Iparticularly want to hear what they have to say about financial reform, ortheir views on politics. In fact I’dlike to go on record to say that celebrities should never give their opinionson who they’d vote for President. I’msure President Obama would thank you for your endorsement Kim Kardashian, but Ican decide on whom to vote for all on my own, thanks.

What I really mean is I wish celebrities would all come outin to the open, and start bitching about what it is that bothers them, insteadof being their tight-lipped, strictly PR controlled selves. I’m sure for the most part it would not beanything that is of concern to real human beings; and would likely be wildlyhilarious. I’d like to hear Paris Hiltoncomplain that the discounts at Fred Segal are not what they used to be becauseof the economy. I’d like to hear BradPitt and Angelina Jolie complaining that the tariffs on adopting foreignchildren have gone up exponentially, and that they refuse to adopt a singleother child until something is done about it. I’d like to hear Lindsay Lohan (alleged drug user) to complain that inthese unstable economic times she cannot get any movie roles, and that it iscomplicating her payment plan with her dealer.

Basically, I think that the people who are occupying WallStreet are setting a great example. Weshould be talking. We should be gettingloud. We should be making ourselvesheard. And celebrities should be takingtheir clothes off, so that I can have something to write about other thansocial issues.

Pop Cultured: Steve Jobs

2011-10-26T23:37:00.004-05:00

Do you remember atime when the word apple wasn’t ubiquitous with candy-colored, sleektechnology? I’m pretty sure that theword used to refer to something that grew on trees, and supposedly kept doctorsaway. In fact the word has become soovertaken by the technology powerhouse of Apple Inc., that I’ve heard that inCalifornia (where the company’s headquarters in Cupertino are located) peopleare calling apple pie, just pie now. Although as far as things go for the word apple’s public image, it can’thurt for the red-skinned fruit to be confused with the most valuable company inthe world, and the purveyor of all things that make life easier, and morestylish.

This week has beenfilled with news of Apple Inc., both the good and the bad. First speculation ran rampant on the detailsof the rumored to be upcoming iPhone 5, only for those guesses to be completelyinvalidated as the new iPhone 4S was announced. Though, the most shocking announcement had had very little to do withupcoming products, and instead focused on the death of Steve Jobs, thevisionary who founded the company and in whose garage the first personalcomputer was built.

For Jobs it neverseemed to be just about what technology could do, but how it looked, and howpeople reacted to it. After building thefirst boxy looking Macs of the eighties and early nineties, Jobs went back tothe drawing board and created sleek and beautiful electronics, which worked inthoughtful ways that most other manufactures hadn’t even thought of. He pioneered the candy-colored iMacs, andchanged the way we listen to music with iPods. He made people yearn for the latest incarnation of the iPhone, and madeus consider selling our body’s plasma so that we can afford an iPad. More than just producing products he hasbuilt an army of loyal consumers; who will press their noses to the glass wallsof every Apple store they pass.

It is sort of oddto be speaking of Steve Jobs in this column that is regularly about celebrityculture, but he has sort of become a celebrity in his own right. I’m just personally hoping that the drawer-fullof lovingly used until they were broken iPods I have procured over the years,have gained some resale value in his passing. I cannot for sure say that any of them were personally touched by Mr.Jobs, but I also cannot prove that they were not. I’m hoping to make at least a couple thousanddollars on Ebay, because as I said earlier I really don’t want to have to sellmy plasma to buy an iPad. Trust me whenI say that Mac nerds will buy almost anything with that famed half-eaten appleon the back. I know because thanks toSteve Jobs, I am one of those nerds.

Pop Cultured: Michael Jackson Trial

2011-10-26T23:36:00.001-05:00

Conrad Murray theman accused of the wrongful death of beloved pop star Michael Jackson, hasfinally gone on trial for his alleged crimes. It’s not hard to believe that this is turning into one of the trials ofthe year, as Michael Jackson news has been permeating our collectiveconsciousnesses since his death. Thereason for this is obvious; Jackson was simply our template for how talentedpeople seem to fall down the hardest.

I do not believethat Murray is wholly innocent, nor do I believe that he is wholly toblame. Clearly Michael Jackson had adependency problem that was only rivaled by his talent. Which of course begs the question, why is itthat so many talented people that we’ve decided to turn into celebrities, havedependency problems? Is it the fastpaced lifestyle of millions of people caring about you? Is it the money and fame that enables you topretty much do whatever you want which leads you to your own destruction? And if this is the case, why are we lookingto blame someone other than Jackson for his death? Clearly he knew what was happening, when anaudio recording has been recently played in front of the jury which shows himcrying out for the drugs that killed him.

That is not to saythat I believe that Murray is without fault. Obviously Michael wasn’t injecting himself with lethal doses of Propofol(although a large part of Murray’s defense hopes to prove that the final dosewhich killed him actually was administered by the pop star). Clearly Murray is partially to blame, even ina world where many celebrities go “doctor shopping” to find the medical professionalwho will administer the right drugs for the right price; a world in whichJackson would have likely found someone to do it if Murray were unwilling. Murray still enabled Jackson to do thingsthat were highly unethical, and highly dangerous, for which he should be heldaccountable.

We live in a societythat holds celebrities in a higher ranking than politicians, higher thanreligious leaders, higher than teachers, mothers and fathers. I believe that even when most people assumethat Jackson was in some way responsible for his own death, they still need tohold someone accountable. You just don’tget over it when the person who moon walked his way into your heart, getsripped away from you just as it seems he may be coming back. It’s probably good for Murray’s sake thatthis trial is being judged by a jury and not by public opinion; because it’shighly likely he would have been hung two years ago.

Pop Cultured: Nicholas Cage

2011-10-26T23:34:00.003-05:00

Have you heard thatNicholas Cage is a vampire? Actually,let me start from the beginning. Haveyou heard that Nicholas Cage has been living for hundreds of years, duringwhich he has somehow tricked the general populace into turning him into acelebrity and lavishing him with riches? If this sounds ridiculous, that is only because it is.

This rumor croppedup when a man living in Seattle tried to sell a picture on the auction siteeBay for one million dollars. Thepicture in question was taken in 1870, and damn if its subject doesn’t lookexactly like Nicholas Cage. The pictureis so uncanny, that it’s easy to believe that it isn’t a real picture at only,and instead a clever use of viral marketing for some future project in whichCage plays a vampire who feeds on Civil War soldiers. Of course the internet has run off with thisrumor as it is wont to do, and has turned Nicholas Cage into the undead.

Although I do notbelieve in vampires, I do believe that there is something weird going on. If Nicholas Cage is not a vampire, then howdid he become famous in the first place? If you’ve ever seen one of his films you’d have to assume that he wasfeeding on the casting director, putting them in a deep enough trance to lethim in front of the camera. Vampirism isabout the only explanation for the long-faced, gravely-voiced acting we’ve beenforced to endure since the eighties.

And if NicholasCage is a vampire, than it’s probably true of many celebrities and notablepeople. How else can you explain thefact that the cast of Jersey Shore has permeated our lives, if it’s not becauseof the supernatural? I’m going to goahead and start a rumor right now that that Snooki has been parading around herover-tanned, big haired self for centuries. And what about Sarah Palin, who is clearly the most blood thirstyindividual to come into public conscienceless in recent memory? You can practically see her fangs glisteningwhen she mentions President Obama, and this stands as the most probable reasonwhy.

Vampirism alsoexplains why Lindsay Lohan is still among us. If alleged alcohol and drug-use can’t kill her, it is clearly onlybecause nothing but a wooden stake can. I would attempt to attach the stigma to Lady Gaga, if only so that shehas a rumor about her other than the fact that she was more than likely born aman; but sadly there is just no evidence to this as she has some modicum oftalent, and therefore didn’t need to be a vampire to become famous.

So if you believethe internet, vampires are indeed among us. Not only are they around, but apparently we are paying them to entertainus. Which begs the question, why are we stillallowing anyone with an extra fifty-five dollars a month have access to the internet?

Pop Cultured: Scarlett Johansson

2011-10-26T23:31:00.003-05:00

If you’ve beenonline at all in the past week, you’ve either already seen or heard about therecently leaked photos of Scarlett Johansson. The photos hit the internet on Sept. 14, 2011, and flew around the worldlike a vicious strain of gloriously naked bird-flu. Hours after the outbreak Johansson’s lawyersdemanded that the hundreds of high-profile websites that had posted them, takethem down at once. As everyone knows,there is no quicker way to make sure everyone sees something than telling themthat they can’t. Johansson’s lawyershave contacted the FBI to address concerns that the pictures were stolen fromher iPhone. The hackers alleged to havebeen involved with Johansson’s case are believed to be associated with the pastphone-hackings of celebrities such as Jessica Alba, Vanessa Hudgens and MilaKunis.

Imagine you’re Scarlett Johansson for amoment, won’t you? You’ve been in ahandful of big budget movies. You’vebeen married to Ryan Reynolds. Thegeneral public agrees that you are both mildly talented and wildlybeautiful. You should have no need forvalidation from anyone. So, why wouldyou take naked pictures of yourself? Toshow them to someone else, so that they can tell you how good you look? What is the thought process behind that?

Though, this mostrecent case of a celebrity’s naked portraits getting out into the generalpopulace does at least seem to be different from the others. It doesn’t smack of desperation as VanessaHudgen’s literally hundreds of nude photos, in which she appears to beauditioning for any pornographic magazine that will have her, did. If Johansson’s photos were legitimatelystolen from her, then it is easy to understand her embarrassment and outrage. Though, it does seem odd that a celebrity aswidely known as Johansson would be foolish enough to take photos of this naturein the first place.

It’s obvious thatsexting is a widespread epidemic at this point; the public serviceannouncements played on radio stations during every commercial break,admonishing the behavior proves it. Butare people really taking that many naked pictures of themselves? There is pretty much no reason for thisbehavior. If you need someone to see younaked that badly, you should go to their house and take your clothes off. Unless you want strangers to see you naked(which they will, because these things never stay private), then you shouldbecome a stripper, rather than take naked pictures of yourself. Even if you don’t have the daddy issuesnormally associated with the exotic dancer, it’s still a better idea thanletting people see you naked without your permission. So let Scarlett Johansson be a lesson to usall before we press the shutter button.

Dog problems, I signed a lease

2011-09-20T00:03:00.003-05:00

Just for fun if you want to read some of my articles, go to www.jordangribble.com

I woke up in the garden of Eden

2011-09-12T21:47:00.003-05:00

and it's changing everything I believe in

A couple of days ago while in a fit of boredom I read through some of my old posts from blog pasts (before this current one), I also read through the blogs of my friend Kelli. It's good to see the progression of things. I still see glimmers of myself in those words from eight to ten years ago. Although I have to be honest that it upsets me that I am old enough to look back an entire decade and think of it as not being not that long ago.

I remember the things that happened. I remember performing in talent shows, and choir competitions. I remember sitting in the common area of school drinking Sonic drinks for breakfast. I remember what happened in Burton Coliseum that wasn't my graduation. I remember meeting Kelli and her friend Paris in the library, every single morning for two months. I remember F.U.C.K. 93.7 (We fuck so you don't have to). I remember the Asian shuffle. I distinctly remember the phone call that lasted all summer. I remember holding her hand and feeling sure. I remember sitting in Bryant's shop for hours at a time, pretending to play pool but really just trying to make one another laugh. I remember this perfect drawing that Kelli once gave me of Christnia Aguilera if she were Pentecostal. Speaking of Pentecostals I remember that they make the best peanut brittle. I remember being too loud, and at the same time never loud enough. I remember reading To Kill a Mockingbird, and Harry Potter. I remember listening to Britney Spears, Incubus, and that one Mad Caddies song that Bryant used to play all the time, that I still listen to.

I remember too much, and I don't remember enough. I remember before I started smoking. I remember before who I was before it happened. I remember feeling lighter. I remember being a moody asshole. I remember the time before Facebook, when the world felt bigger. I remember when I wasn't so pretentious. I remember not appreciating time. I hope I'll one day remember this.

Hello again

2011-08-29T21:20:00.004-05:00

     It is August, that means I have not graced this page with words in four months. I'd like to say that in those four months I've done amazing things. That's only half true. I went to New York. I saw Britney Spears. I worked at a newspaper. I saw two Broadway plays. I became a President. I have written articles. I have gone to class. I may have fallen slightly in love. I played way too many video games. I have cried in a WalMart parking lot. I have had absolutely no urge to write anything other than my articles.
      In fact the last time I wrote for this blog it was part of my Lent initiative to write every day for forty days. I think it's just that I completely blew my load. I am not meant to be heard from every day. I am not that wordy, I don't have that much to say.
      I am going to try to start writing again. I can't promise anything drastic, or anything constant, because honestly I just don't have a whole lot of time. I did miss this though. I missed the ability to speak without a filter.
     I guess I missed being read, thinking that someone might find the words I write might in some way affect someone. I'm not saying they were moved, because I don't think I've ever said anything meaningful. I don't think that people have openly guffawed at anything I've ever written, I'm not always that witty. I do hope that something I've written here at some point has made someone think, maybe not about what I said, but just remembered it. Maybe they thought about me when they were alone later, maybe my words played in their head. I think that's worth it.

I'll still be out here having fun

2011-04-26T21:47:00.001-05:00

Songs I cannot live without as of late:

Whatever Lola Wants Sarah Vaughn
Price Tag Jessie J
Rollin' With the Flow Mark Chesnutt
God Only Knows Natalie Maines
American Girl Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
Because the Night Patti Smith
Trouble For Me Britney Spears
To Make You Feel My Love Adele

Everybody loves me, baby I'm the king of the night

2011-04-26T21:38:00.000-05:00

Lately I have been flying in a million different directions. I'm not sure where I am going. I have no clue where I might land. I've done things. I've done weird things. I auditioned for a televised singing competition. I grew a beard. I've played more video games that involve guns than I ever have before. I've done almost no homework. I've settled in with some new people. I am changing.

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 18

2011-04-01T01:16:00.000-05:00

I've been having an amazing time lately. I've suddenly found myself surrounded with amazing new people, which is good because I've been in such a horrible state of mind lately. And though these new people are great, it makes me realize that without my family I couldn't possibly deal with all of the other ridiculousness in my life. I love them.

Four reasons my sister is amazing

1. She frequently puts things in my room to make me laugh. Tonight when I came home I saw that she had put a framed picture of some of our ugliest relatives on my nightstand. I nearly peed myself.
2. She does this thing where she talks for our dogs because they themselves are incapable of human speech. The greatest thing about it is that she believes that all dogs speak with Jersey accents, and horrible grammar. As far as my sister is concerned she believes that dogs typically say things like "Hey, youse guys!".
3. She is the one person that I can ride around in a car with singing Mariah Carey songs and never feel bad about myself afterwards.
4. She understands things about me that no one else ever will.

Four reasons my parents are amazing
1. My dad does the most amazing Mexican accent. It also doubles for his black guy accent.
2. My mom once called the Holocaust museum in Washington D.C. as "that Nazi place we visited".
3. My dad frequently asks for my help with house remodeling, or car repair not because he thinks that I'm actually capable of doing any of it, but because he wants to hang out with me.
4. Because my mom's family gave me this amazing hair, and wit.

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 17

2011-03-31T00:44:00.000-05:00

I'm still writing my Tennessee post, and I know you're super excited about all of that. I'm not quite done with it (when writing a large post, I actually like to take my time instead of churning it out like I normally do). So instead I'm going to write a list. I know that you haven't gotten nearly enough lists about myself, so you must be thrilled.

Four Things I wish I could do
1. Backflips
2.Pull off awesome guy stubble
3.That someone would put vending machines in the Mass Comm department. This journalism major needs constant caffeine.
4. That I could finish anything I started.

SIDENOTE

2011-03-30T00:55:00.002-05:00

I know that I keep writing more and more posts like this, but my giant Nashville post will come tomorrow. It will be at least twelve paragraphs long, and at least the most amazing thing you've ever read. So, just be patient, yeah?

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 16

2011-03-29T00:43:00.002-05:00

Things happened. THINGS HAPPENED EVERYWHERE! I will tell you all about them. You will be really excited. I will tell you tomorrow, initiative still happening!

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 15

2011-03-24T00:40:00.001-05:00

As I've mentioned an innumerable number of times, I'm leaving for Nashville tomorrow night for an SPJ convention. I won't have access to a computer over the weekend so I won't be able to blog during that period, but to keep my promise I'm going to tack an extra three days on to the end (after Lent). That is if what I assume will happen, doesn't. I just assume that sometime over the course of the weekend I will be discovered and will soon be a country singer. I'm almost positive it's going to happen, so I guess I'll let you know.

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 14

2011-03-22T23:54:00.000-05:00

I've tried blogging twice tonight, but neither of those posts stuck. Again, even though I would like for every day's blog post to be substantial, meaningful, or maybe even have a couple of dick jokes. Not every day has those kinds of moments that I can easily talk about. So I'm not breaking my promise to myself by not writing every day, because I know that if I could I would. I'll talk to you tomorrow.

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 13

2011-03-22T00:36:00.000-05:00

There is a reason why people don't generally blog every single day. ALL CONVERSATIONAL TOPICS HAVE BEEN EXPENDED. Anything worth talking about has been talked about at least seventeen times. So instead, I'll just thank my friend Firefly for bestowing upon me a blogger award. Apparently I am now supposed to list seven facts about myself.

1. I do not eat anything that is white. This rule mostly applies to mayonnaise, ranch dressing, and whipped cream. It's not so much a color thing as it is a consistency problem. Also every time I see someone eating one of those foodstuff it ends up on their mouths and it makes me want to die.
2. I have a completely random blond streak of hair. It is natural, and no matter how often my hair gets cut it just keeps coming back.
3. I am absolutely horrible at meeting new people. I almost always say something incredibly offensive, which is fine with people who already know I'm an idiot, but doesn't exactly make a great first impression.
4. I have catchphrases such as, "What the What?!?', and "You're doing a bang up job".
5. I once read a nine hundred page book in under five hours. It was my crowning achievement.
6. I once applied for a job as a boat captain, just to be funny. Then they kept calling me to try to set up an interview, and I started to feel bad. See? Not all my bits are good.
7. I have been single for over five years (Oh my God, I am going to die alone).

Now I'm supposed to pass the award to seven other bloggers, but I think we all know that I'm the only blogger out there worthy of any kind of award. (But in reality if you want to know which bloggers I think are awesome, check out my links.)

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 12

2011-03-21T00:49:00.000-05:00

Instead of doing 4 Things today I'm going to pull a Kelli and do Cool Things/Uncool Things instead. I hope she doesn't mind.

Cool Things
- the thirty nine episodes of Family Guy saved on my DVR
- this coupon I got from Gap that donated 5% of all of all of the profits from my purchases towards the charity of my choice, and also gave me 30% off
- skim vanilla latte's with splenda at Starbucks every morning
- Glee soundtracks
- Their Eyes were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston which I'm reading for my English class and assumed I'd hate, but don't mind
- when something interesting happens in Lake Charles like this
- meeting people that I don't hate
- doing things that I don't normally do
- cinnamon raisin bagels/low fat cream cheese
- can I mention my trip to Nashville one more time?

Uncool Things
- not having time to read a non school related book since Christmas break
- incredible neck pain for seemingly no reason
- having to fill out a FAFSA every year
- that after I get back from Nashville, I won't be able to leave this shit hole until I leave for New York in June
- not being Jewish
- going to the gym and being on the elliptical machine next to the guy who could bench press twelve of me
- not having time to watch any of the movies I've had from Netflix for the past two weeks (Paranormal Activity 2, and Pulp Fiction)
- having to pee while attempting to write a blog post

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 11

2011-03-20T00:58:00.001-05:00

Today I woke up with the most inconvenient ailment

My neck hurts so badly. I guess I must have slept on it wrong, but that still only makes sense if I was for some reason doing handstands in my sleep. I'm not saying that I definitely wasn't trying out for the 2012 Olympics in my slumber, but that doesn't even make that much sense. I don't think I've ever even wanted to be a Korean gymnast.

Yesterday was an amazing day

You know those kinds of days when everything is just amazing? Those types of days where your favorite nineties songs like "Ride that Pony" by Ginuwine are on the radio, and everything you want to buy is on sale? Yesterday was like that, but more than that. For the first time I felt just honestly happy for a while. Not just because I've been upset lately, just I feel like I've lost myself somewhere recently. I really believe that you can't really be happy with others. Not that you can't have a good time with friends or family, I just think that the only way you can truly be at peace is alone. I'm at my happiest when alone in my car going about that day's travels, singing along to the radio, eating fast food, shouting obscenities at passerby, dancing with only the middle third of my body. Yesterday seemed to be the perfect day for all for that. I am thankful for it.

Yesterday I got to plan

I like to travel, but not nearly as much as I like thinking about traveling. As you know, and are probably getting sick of hearing about at this point, I am going to Tennessee next weekend, which should be almost fun. The part I really like about it is, the buying, and preparing, and the planning that leads u p to every trip I take. I need to know every detail, every possible situation that could arise. I just like being in control, so much that sometimes it gets in the way of the actual fun of the trip. I'm okay with that though.

People are being really awesome

I just wanted to thank my friends Kelli, and Luci who have been really supportive of my blog as of late. Kelli by writing about it on her own blog, and Luci for sending me several amazing text messages. You are both awesome.

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 10

2011-03-19T01:01:00.000-05:00

Four things I purchased today for my trip to Tennessee:
1. This Shirt from The Gap:

2. This shirt that is very similar to this one only in red and way more awesome, at The Gap

3. this pair of Sperrys:

\

4. These jeans from Old Navy:

Things I purchased (and then consumed) today:
1. One of these delicious rocky road cake pops at Starbucks

2. A shrimp poboy that was very similiar to this one at Dairy Barn

3. This Passion Fruit Tea Lemonade from Starbucks

4. At least seventy three of these (By the way I gave up, giving up on Cokes)

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 9

2011-03-17T23:34:00.000-05:00

I really do not have the energy at all to write anything right now. So will you all forgive me for only being able to write four sentences tonight? I realize that this is not exactly the agreement that I made with myself, but don't I deserve some leeway? I've written more in the past week than I have in the past year, and I think that warrants some kind of free ticket, so goodnight; talk to you tomorrow.

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 8

2011-03-17T00:32:00.003-05:00

Emotions are high this week

I am not able to reign myself in. If I am singing, I am the loudest person who has ever sung. If I am laughing, my laughter is more riotous than you could hope to stand. If I am sad, I am the saddest person in the room. I have never been good at keeping myself in check. I've just been so angry lately. I fly off the handle, I lash out, I do all of the normal anger cliches. I don't know why I'm so mad, I don't know how to stop being so endlessly angry. Maybe I should take up meditation, or maybe a crystal meth habit, or anything that will divert my attention away from the fact that I am seething all of the time for seemingly no reason at all. Writing is helping me a little, I like the reflection of it, I like the routine. This exercise is becoming slightly cathartic.

Today I was pretentious

I am taking an American Literature of the nineteenth century class as an elective this semester. I really planned on liking it, I love reading, I love writing about the things I've read. I just didn't plan on the class being so pretentious. Everyone in that class other than my friend (Hey Luci!), is so overwrought and pretentious that it literally pains me to go to that class every Tuesday and Thursday. I thought we'd be discussing literature, and I was hoping for something more easily digestible like To Kill a Mockingbird instead of ridiculous novels like The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton. It doesn't even appear to be a literature course as much as it is a discussion on penis theory. Apparently every question that arises from reading any novel ever written, has an answer and that answer is penis. The penis is everything and every where appearently. If a woman doesn't love her son, it's because she has penis envy. If an impotent man drinks heavily, or a vapid woman spends furiously, they are just compensating for their lack of a working penis. Penis, penis, penis, phallus, penis. All class period, that is the only matter on hand, and it is driving me crazy.

It goes without saying that I have to attempt to be as pretentious and ridiculous in every paper that I write for that class. Our midterm is due tomorrow and it consist of three essays.l I mentioned more things that I can't even begin to understand in those essays that I am literally ashamed. As a prospective journalist I'm always trying to write the facts (and sometimes the embellished truths that appear on this website). I'm not used to completely fabricated, and then trying to support those lies. I hate it.

This week I've constantly hoped that it was Friday

I'm actually only saying that as an excuse to post this video of internet sensation Rebecca Black. If you haven't head Rebecca's first single Friday, listen to it here. It is the single greatest piece of musicry (which I'm well aware is not a word), that has ever been created. My favorite lyrics include "Today is Friday, we we so excited". Also there's a rapper who appears to be at least thirty years senior to Ms. Black, and I am assuming he is the man who molested her and has given her a decreased vision of her self worth, and made her think that this was a good career move. Or maybe it's her dad. Maybe it's her boyfriend dad. I'm not sure, but it's unintentionally hysterical.

Also check out fake Bob Dylan's equally amazing cover:

Today I have been writing daily for seven days straight

That means I've written twenty eight distinct things! I am awesome. That is all.

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 7

2011-03-16T01:57:00.000-05:00

Remember yesterday when I said I loved that I made this commitment? I was totally wrong about that. It is true that I do love writing everyday, and I am fully determined to fulfill this goal for myself because I seldom finish anything I start. But because of this commitment, I've remembered why I don't write everyday and that's because I don't have the time. Right now I am studying for a Biology midterm, writing three essays for an English Literature midterm, and struggling with severe caffeine withdrawals (I gave up sodas yesterday). But again, I made a promise to myself, and I intend to keep it. So though, I wanted to write a detailed list of four very real things that are happening right now I am again relegated to writing a couple of lists of meaningless nothings.

Four things I am excited about right now
1. My trip to Tennessee which takes place in two weeks.
2. How I've managed to keep my perennially filthy car, clean for nearly three weeks.
3. The new credit card I got yesterday.
4. The fact that a month after my grandmother's death I'm finally starting to feel excitement again.

Four things I am always excited about
1. The thought of J.K. Rowling one day deciding to write another book.
2. Finishing school and starting an adventure.
3. The thought that one day, hopefully, someone is going to think I'm awesome enough to marry.
4. The prospect of one day being the man I've always hoped I'd be.

Four things I was excited about in my youth
1. Driving (Which turned out to be a bust, if I could be driven around all day I absolutely would).
2. One day being old enough to do all of the things my parents forbid me from doing as a child, including but not limited to: watching The Simpsons (in actuality it sucks, so I don't blame them), eating Lunchables, and cussing up a shit storm.
3. Second base.
4. One day performing on a stage (I totally did this one)

Four things I am never excited about
1. Hearing people sing off key, even when it's in a joking manner.
2. Seeing people whose faces I recognize, but names I don't remember.
3. Getting my haircut.
4. Meeting people who introduce themselves as musicians or artists.

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 6

2011-03-14T23:59:00.000-05:00

I'm starting to actually like this initiative I've taken on. In some ways it makes me feel so connected to my life. I know that sounds ridiculous, but sometimes over the course of a couple of hours I've already forgotten the things I've done that day. It's nice being able to sit for a moment and think about everything I said and everything that was said to me. Speaking of things I've said, I've been thinking about all the ridiculous things I've said in my life. Honestly now that I think about it, there wouldn't be enough room to write all of the offensive, over the top, ridiculous things I've said. So instead here are the four most offensive and ridiculous things I've said this week:

To a girl I barely know who insisted on showing me pictures of her frankly hideous child:
Her: "He's so cute, isn't he cute?"
Me: "Yeah, he's cute"
Her: "Aww...thank you."
Me: "You actually made me say that."

To the manager of the store I work at when for some reason I didn't get paid for my sick day:
Him: "Sorry"
Me: "Yeah, well if I can't pay my meth dealer this week, it's really your fault."
(Sidebar: I've now heard a rumor that everyone has to submit to drug testing)

To a friend of mine talking about these hot dogs she ate at the Mardi Gras carnival:
Her: "Yeah, they're like famous for their foot long wieners"
Me: "So am I"
(This one's actually not offensive, it's just such a dude joke to make that I can't believe I said it.)

During my biology class that I share with the gayest person I know (also one of my best friends) of mine when we were talking about a group of children born in Haiti that are not born with one specific gender. And although I can't find anything on Google about it, apparently they are just treated as girls until they hit puberty when they may or may not become men:
Professor: "And when they hit puberty they sometimes begin to show signs of being male, and suddenly a penis emerges"
Me: "See (Son Tran)? There is hope that you might not be a woman after all."
(I should note that after this exchange he told me to "suck it")

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 5

2011-03-13T23:34:00.000-05:00

The four things I should be doing instead of blogging, but instead I am not doing so that I can keep this promise to myself.

1. Writing about the movements of realism, regionalism, naturalism, and modernism, in The Awakening, The Custom of the Country, or The Sun Also Rises; for my midterm.
2. Studying about cells and mitosis for my Biology midterm occurring in three days.
3. I should try to go to the gym because I'm suddenly very aware how fat I feel.
4. I should try to illegally download a copy of Rosetta Stone so that I might begin to learn German for my trip next year.

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 4

2011-03-13T00:19:00.000-06:00

The point of my 4 Things series is that I am supposed to list four things that have happened to me over the course of the day, or the week, or the month. Sadly, I would be hard pressed to think of four distinct things that happened to me today. It was completely awful. I ate Subway twice in one day. I watched more than six hours of pointless television. So instead of doing that, so as to keep up my promise to myself I will instead list things in four. Maybe I'll even write four separate lists. We'll see how it goes.

The four most played songs in my iTunes
1. Little Lies by Dave Barnes
2. I Wanna be your Lover by Prince
3. The One That Got Away by Katy Perry
4. Valerie by Amy Winehouse

The four most played songs from the new Britney Spears album Femme Fatale that leaked yesterday
1. Criminal by Britney Spears
2. Trouble For Me by Britney Spears
3. How I Roll by Britney Spears
4. I Wanna Go by Britney Spears

The four things I've been watching
1. The entire Indiana Jones series
2. Rewatching the first season of Big Love
3. Chelsea Lately/After Lately
4. Countless stand up specials on Comedy Central

The four things I've been meaning to read
1. The last seven or eight issues of Men's Health, GQ, Details, and Popular Science that have accumulated on my desk.
2. Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Closterman
3. It's Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini
4. Tales of the Madman Underground by John Barnes

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 3

2011-03-11T22:31:00.000-06:00

I knew that some days over the course of this experiment would be harder than others. Not everything I do everyday is worth writing about. I mean don't get me wrong, you'd be fascinated to hear it if I wrote about it, but I just don't think you need to hear about my daily trips to the grocery store, or how many cigarettes I smoke in a day (read: a lot). You don't need to hear about where I go to lunch every day, or the intricacies of every conversation I have. Though, there are some things I do every single day without fail. I'm not saying that these things are interesting because they certainly are not for the most part. Though, I've always been one for routine. Here are the four things I do every day (or most days).

On weekdays I go to class

I know I'm probably not the only one who feels this way but I like the idea of going to school a whole lot more than the actual act of doing it. I am not one for sitting still for hours at a time. In fact it's killing me to sit still long enough to write this post. I like to keep moving, to keep doing. I do not like sitting and listening. Though not all of my class are lectures, some of them are even worse, those conversation classes. I do not enjoy those classes where Dr. Professor KnowsTooMuch expects the entire class to join in. I hate that idea. If I wanted to be taught by someone other than the professor, I would have paid them instead of the university, thank you. Though there are classes that I do enjoy, mostly the ones directly associated with my degree program. I love my Mass Communication classes. I like the group feeling of it all, taking most of my classes with the same group of people. I like my professors, and actually feel like I'm friends with most of them even though I know that's weird. Those classes remind me of high school And though, for the most part I hated high school (I wasn't nearly as amazing back then) I like that feeling of familiar faces and shared mentality. I also like school because I like being able to skip it.

Some days I go to work

I always thought that at the age of twenty four I would have a more sophisticated career path than the one I am currently on. Well, to be honest I never actually thought about having a job, but I knew it would be different than this. I guess I thought I'd be done with school by now, but I should have known better. I have never been the one to finish first, or blaze a trail. I am not a fire starter, I am not the quickest. I guess that's why at twenty four I work in retail at a well known drugstore. I print people's naked pictures for a living. I say that last sentence to be funny, but also because it's completely true. I wish it were a little less bleak than this. I just keep thinking that soon, in the looming near future I will have a job I can be proud of. Or at the very least I'll have my own desk. Or maybe I'll share a desk with someone else, I really don't know the specifics of office work. Someday I will wear a suit, and maybe carry a briefcase. I will have work contacts in my phone, and a favorite lunch place. I just know that it will be good. Or at the very least better than this.

I do things for myself everyday

I attempt to better myself a little bit more every day. I might not be the smartest, or the most talented, or the nicest, but I like to play to my strengths. I think I'm funny but want to be funnier so I make it my business to stay informed on pop culture and politics, so as to stay topical. I like to sing, so I sing scales and runs in my car over and over again. I like to cook so I watch far too many episodes of Barefoot Contessa and spend a ridiculous amount of money trying to cook like she does. I like to be well read, so I read everything I come in contact with. I spend a lot of time being selfish, doing things that only benefit me. I know I should be contributing something to society instead of only trying to better myself. I know I should volunteer more, or donate more. But honestly, I've got a lot on my plate right now and just don't have that kind of time. The malnourished and impoverished should be more sensitive to my feelings.

Everyday I live in a fantasy world

I know that everyone is prone to day dreaming. I think I take it to a new level, an art form if you will. I have a very active imagination, in fact it's all consuming. I dream all day long, about nothing in particular really. Sometimes I dream of things being better, brighter, more glamorous. Sometimes I dream of things being the same but different. I think of reversing decisions, I think of how things could have been different. I dream of having my act together. I dream of being renowned, respected. I dream of being different than this.

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 2

2011-03-11T00:40:00.001-06:00

This week things on TV have pissed me off

Let me preface this by saying that I usually don't watch a lot of television. It's not that I think I'm too good for programming tailor made for the masses or anything, I just usually don't have time to devote to it. In the past couple of weeks all of that has changed and I find myself unable to pull myself away from it. I still hate commercials apparently.

Mostly in specific I hate this commercial for Hot Pockets smaller counterpart Side Shots. First of all, I find it highly offensive when foodstuff is humanized. As if I believe that these lumps of dough filled with undercooked meats and sauces can have human emotions. Also, when you give a frozen delicacy a face, it makes me think of cannibalism, and I just can't condone that kind of behavior.

Also because it reminds me of Meat Cat who is way more awesome:

Has anyone else seen the trailer for "Hop" starring James Marsden and apparently the Easter Bunny? First of all, no. Absolutely not, this should not be happening. First of all I believe I made it mandatory for all Holiday movies to stop after the "Santa Clause 2" premiered. Second of all, do we really need an Easter movie other than "The Ten Commandments", even I'll admit I've never actually seen that one, but it seems to be very popular. I do not need a cutesy animated movie where the protagonist has jelly beans for excrement. I just don't.

Today I was supposed to meet a Buddhist monk

Today in my Intercultural Media class we were supposed to have a guest lecture by a Buddhist monk, and I was super excited about going. I really was, and I almost never get excited about meeting spiritual leaders, or going to class period. Sadly this morning I woke up feeling the worst I have in almost forever. In fact, I'm still pretty certain that I am dying, or at least very close to dying. So, I did not go to class, but instead because I make bad decisions I went out for sushi with some friends (to be fair the lecture was optional). The sushi was amazing, but sadly did not help my illness. I should have gone to class, I might have learned something. I wanted to learn something. On my quest for spiritual enlightenment (which is a quest I've just decided I've embarked on), it may have been helpful. I know that Bhuddism is all about being present in your every day life, and living for the exact moment that you are breathing through right now. That's a lesson I could stand to learn.

Today I missed my friend

My friend lives too far away. There is not a day when I do not wish he still lived across the street so that I could go outside and talk mindlessly for hours with him. That will more than likely never happen again, but it's comforting to think about. It is hard to stay connected with someone when there's so much distance. Life gets in the way, time gets in the way, priorities get in the way. I don't always get to call, I don't always get to fly to Cleveland to see him. Today our friendship felt a lot closer to home because he found an interesting way for us to be able to feel like no space separates us. I won't give too much away, but thank you Bryant for making my day a little more awesome. You are better than a monk.

Today I did not do what I intended

Things I intended on doing, but for some reason or other did not
1. Did not meet Bhuddist monk

2. Did not start reading "As I lay dying" by Ernest Hemingway

3. Did not go to work

4. Did not go to the gym

Things I did instead:
1. Bought twenty dollars worth of raffle tickets

2. Bought fifteen dollars worth of fruit, including kiwis which I don't even like

3. Spent two hours mentally listing my favorite female celebrities in levels of attractiveness

4. Illegally downloaded a seven hundred dollar program (InDesign) for school

I am not proud of myself.

40 Days of 4 Things, Day 1

2011-03-09T21:47:00.000-06:00

Today, I decided to challenge myself

I am not a good Catholic. I have not been to church since Christmas, and before that I couldn't even tell you the last time I had sat in a pew. Today is Ash Wednesday, which I guess is about burning plants and spreading the ashes on your forehead. I'm pretty sure that it symbolizes the baby Jesus parting the Red Sea and hanging out on a pirate ship with pairs of disciples for forty days. Honestly I have no idea because I've never read the bible. Although for my first communion my aunt gave me this really tiny blue one with my name engraved in gold on the front cover. I would be lying if I said I didn't carry it around in my back pack for years afterward. I wish I had an excuse for not being open to that kind of spirituality, I just never have been. The fact that I'm not is weird to me, because religion is just about believing in things you can't see. I've always been the type to believe in almost anything. I am nothing if I am not a dreamer.

Three weeks ago someone amazing left my life. She was the most devoted person I will ever know. To honor her, I would like to see what this religion business is all about. I am going to start with Lent. When, I was a child I was always told to give something up, and I did so halfheartedly until no one was looking. I almost always went back on my word, and did whatever I had purportedly decided to abstain from. So this year, I've decided not to give anything up, not to sacrifice for seemingly no reason. My sister told me that she believes it's not about giving anything up in the first place, it's about doing something to better yourself. And though there are many areas I could stand to improve in, there is only one thing that I'm interested in getting better at, and that is writing. That's why with God as my witness I am going to post an entry of 4 things every day for 40 days in a row.

I won't always write the posts like I usually do, when I detail four things that happened to me that particular week. Because it will be daily, I will try to talk about what happened on that particular day, or maybe I won't at all and just tell you four things I've been thinking about, or four things that I find amusing. I hope either way that you enjoy it.

Last Friday, I hit another car:

This is not the first time I've talked about this, in fact you might remember it from an earlier incident which I talked about here. I am not the greatest driver. Although I have never myself been responsible for an actual traffic related accident, I have hit several things (and I'm assuming people) while backing out (whether that be in parking lots or driveways). It's not that I'm not paying attention, it's just that I have no attention in which to pay with. My mind is nearly a hundred percent of the time on myself, and almost never on the task at hand. Sometimes I'm thinking about whether I should treat myself to a Great American Cookie Company tray of cookies (I wouldn't have to think about it if it were just one), sometimes I'm thinking about how fantastic my hair happens to look at that moment. Though usually I am thinking about how much I need to pee. I don't know why it is, but almost as soon as I put my car in reverse my urinary tract shrivels up to that of a much older person, and I am immediately scrambling to get to my next destination so that I can relieve myself.

This is what I was thinking about last Friday while pulling out of my school's mass communications department, after my weekly SPJ (Society for Professional Journalist, which I am only spelling out because I'll mention it again later) meeting. It was then, while thinking of toilets that supposedly I hit a lady's car. The only reason I even knew this, was because she happened to be sitting in her car at the time studying (I'm assuming because she has no friends). If it weren't for her violently throwing herself out of her car, and nearly jumping atop the hood of mine, while screaming at me, I probably wouldn't have even noticed. And though after parking my car again, and getting out to assess the damage on both of our vehicles, I couldn't see what the fuss was all about. Her car was the filthiest vehicle I have ever seen. Now, I'm all about having a dirty car, on the inside where no one can see how disgusting you really are. I have been known to drive around with entire bags of fast food, that I have completely forgotten to eat, along with the detritus that I accumulate on a daily basis. But, the outside of my car would never lead you to believe that there's a meth addict driving it (like the inside of it would suggest). Among all the dust, and dried splattered mud, and what appears to be the remnants of some sort of water fowl on her car, I couldn't tell where metal had met metal and created the catastrophe that she seemed to be so upset about. But, against my better judgment I gave her my information and got the hell out of there. I could tell you that she was rude about the whole thing, I could tell you that she wasn't wearing a bra and her over thirty student nipples were pointing at the ground during our entire conversation, but I won't. Instead, I'll just tell you that she was a cunt, and I didn't much care for her.

This week, I decided to go on an adventure

After writing that heading, I realized that adventure is the wrong word. Let's just assume that the "ad" in adventure is the fun part, and take that out and just leave venture. That's right, I am going on a venture. At the tail end of March I am accompanying my local chapter of SPJ (see, I told you it would come up again that's what you call relevance) on a trip to regional conference in Nashville Tennessee. Though, I'm excited about being able to meet new people in my field, and hear some of the speakers talk about their experiences in journalism, I'm mostly going just to get away. I need a break, a trip, a\n excuse to stop being Jordan for a couple of days. And though, I'm going to have to endure a twelve hour van ride with fourteen other people (some of them fatties, and some of them who just annoy me), I am determined to have an amazing time. And in spite of myself, I am really excited.

This month I lost one of the good things

My Grandmother died three weeks ago. I've lived with her for the past three years, but even before she was the one relative outside my parents and sister that I have always had a relationship with. She has always been one of the best things about my life. It's already been three weeks and I find myself still devastated. I say that not in a melodramatic way, it's just the way I feel. I know that some people say that death is not an ending, but a beginning, and that always sounded like a bunch of ridiculousness to me, but now I get it. I don't think of it the way that most people probably do in that they believe it means that it is just the beginning of a person's eternal life. I think of it as a beginning, because for the people that are affected by it, it's like starting all over again without that person. I now understand why they measure time as before and after death because that's all there is. There is your life before that person died, and your life afterward. Honestly, I'm having a hard time dealing with it.

As I prefaced this post, I will repeat, I am not very religious, and the skeptic in me has always kept me from truly believing in anything, no matter how badly I'd like to. I am now choosing to believe there is a heaven. There has to be, right? There has to be a place where all of the amazing people go. This can't be it for her, it just can't be. I can't live thinking that's all there is to her story. I have to believe that she is somewhere, that she is everywhere. Otherwise what is the point? What's the point of living a good life, if there is no reward? I believe she is everywhere. I miss her more and more every second. So, Goodbye Anna Francis. You were one of the good things.

to Anna Francis

2011-01-19T23:06:00.000-06:00

     I haven't written in the past month and a half not because of lack of topics but because I have been consumed with family crises. My Grandmother who has lived with me for the past three years has been in the hospital on four seperate ocassions during my winter break from school. She is dying slowly, but as surely as I am certain of most things I have no idea about. I can tell she is slipping away, and as her health declines into the great recesses of there's no turning back, I have to say I wish she'd have the good sense to move on. I say this not with indelicacy, as I honestly don't know how I'll deal without her as she has been one of the constants of my life.

     I remember snapshots of her my entire childhood. Her teaching me a song about ducks when I was three. Playing a vast amount of card games with her when I was six. Her calling my house and telling me to come over because she had made my favorite macaroni and cheese when I was nine. Me crying on Christmas day when I was eighteen because on the telephone she told my sister that she loved her, but neglected to say it to me. Her laughing at my jokes about her old friend Vicki, and how incredibly unattractive she is, last year.

     But lately these memories have been replaced by moments spent with a woman who acts nothing like my grandmother. She's become angry and impatient in a way to deal with her chronic pain, and failing health. She lashes out at me, at everyone who tries to help. I don't know if it's because of her many illnesses, or a complete lack of ability to cope with not being able to do things for herself for the first time in her life. I just know that the woman who I've been spending so much time with lately trying to ease her back into a temporary state of good health, is not the grandma I know, nor the type of person she would ever want to be. I hope for her sake, it comes quickly. Though selfishly I wish it would never come. that we could go back to playing UNO on that old wooden table in her small kitchen, that she could forever say things to me like "Lordy Miss Agnes", and "Ah, foot!". I am going to miss her, I guess in a way I already do.

Snippets

2010-12-19T00:46:00.000-06:00

     You might not believe this because I post so infrequently, but I actually write for this blog quite often. For some reason I always lose confidence in what I'm writing half way through, and never finish or post three quarters of what I write. I went through some of those old posts tonight, and even though they are for the most part unfinished, I still think some of it numbers among the best things I've ever said. Don't get me wrong, there's a reason why I never finished these things, sometimes they're just too personal, sometimes they make no sense, sometimes I recycle parts of them for other things I'm writing. Though if it saves me from having to write anything original I'm going to show you some of them. So, I am presenting to you these snippets, these bits and pieces of my life that have so far gone untold.

Originally written 12/2/10

     Every time I begin to blog, I first read some of my old posts. I don't know why I got myself in the habit of doing this, because every time I read one, I have to then read nearly everything I've ever written. I like seeing how I've changed, how my writing style has grown, how my jokes have become sharper. I like the idea of growth, the idea that things always get stronger, bigger, better I like thinking that there is no end to anything. That talent grows, that people grow, that love grows. There is no end to anything.

     I've been converting my parent's old VHS tapes to DVD, as part of their Christmas present. Some of the tapes are filled with the mundane family gatherings that I always hated as a child. The type where every single family member within in earshot of the camera is talking over one another, or saying something wildly offensive.But a lot of the tapes have childhood me in them. I know this is going to sound self involved, but then again I am known for being self involved, but I love watching myself. I like seeing the progression, the stretching out of my life in slower chunks of time. I like the sheer fly on the wall aspect of it all. Some of the tapes I can remember exactly what I was thinking that day, how I was feeling.

     I like to think I've grown, that I've changed, though I know that's not altogether true. I am not any more intelligent than I was five years ago, ten years ago even. I am not any more talented or quick witted than I was in those time frames of my life. I feel like I'm nicer though, that I'm a little more . I'm more observant of other people's feelings.

Originally Written 6/14/10

     I hate math. I hate numbers, addition, multiplication, tangents, and cubes. There is nothing good that can come out of subtraction or division. I hate mathematics, because no matter how many professors of the subject claim that there are rules that help you get the answer to any given equation, the rules are always changing. I don't like anything that isn't constant. I've never understood math, and I never will. Now, I'm not going to say that I think the square root of four is rainbows or anything, but it's still pretty bad. Unfortunately I am taking a math class this summer, only because I hear that it is easier to pass in a shorter amount of time. I still doubt I'll be able to do it, but I guess I can try.

      My hated for math has mostly been mostly based on the fact that I cannot understand it for the life of me. This is a pattern in my life, I generally hate anything that I cannot understand. This is most of the reason why I hate Mormons.

Originally Written on 4/07/10

     I got contacts a couple of weeks ago. I love them because it makes one part of me almost perfect. I am no longer encumbered by wire frames and polycarbonate lenses. That is freeing for me, to think that I can see without the aid of glasses. Though it makes me sad to think that I even need them at all. It upsets me that I wasn't born with anything perfect.
.
     I've been feeling very unattractive lately. I know that doesn't sound all that important, but it's been plaguing me for weeks. I know that I should try looking inside for all that inner beauty bull shit, but to be honest I'm not sure I have any beauty inside me. In fact, all I have inside me are snide comments, and dick jokes. I'd like to say there's more there but that would be a lie. Oh wait, that's another thing I have in me...lies.

     I had a horrible biology teacher in the tenth grade. She was short tempered, and not all that intelligent from what I can remember. Once she even made us dissect a sheep's heart. It was disgusting, and I'm pretty sure I still don't know what the hell is inside of a sheep's heart. Though, I do remember learning one thing in that class. I do remember learning about adaptation, and how we all change to survive. We all pick up little survival instincts along the way that keep us steady, keep us alive.

Originally Written On 4/19/10

It is a weird sensation to be alive. Though I've never personally been on the other side of life,I realize that the sentiment is true all the same. It is a weird thing to know that I am a living body, beating heart, and blinking eyes, and breathing lungs. It is an odd thing to know that I am stuck in an ever changing body. I am constantly getting older careening towards uncertainty. I will be twenty three in a couple months time.

I never even imagined myself becoming a legal adult, I thought for sure I would tie tragically young. I think that has something to do with my best friend dying when I was young. He died when he was only ten years old. I was two years younger, and I think subconsciously I always held in the back of my mind that if it could happen to him, it would more than likely happen to me. I held bated breath on my tenth birthday, knowing in the back of my mind that as soon as I blew out those candles some tragic fate would befall me. And when it didn't, I don't think I knew what to do about it. I know that sounds odd, as most of my thoughts do. But in that revelation there was an inkling I had that told me to be louder, bigger, better. I haven't always lived up to it, sometimes I am not as great as I would like to be. Sometimes I'm not as nice as I'd like to be. Sometimes I completely forget that people even exist. In fact that very thing happened last night...

Originally Written On 12/08/08

I am notoriously selfish, I always have been. I've always been pretty much focussed on my own needs and wants, rather than caring all that much about anyone else. And though some might say that this is a bad charachter trait to host, I completely disagree for the most part. I believe it's all very survival of the fittest. I never really bought into the whole Darwinism thing, but I do believe that we are all hard wired to care for ourselves above all things else, because if we don't who the hell else is going to do it for us? Except for our parents, and the ocassional loved one not a single person really cares about you more than they care about themselves. I've always viewed it as basic instinct, just human nature. I just can't help it, I was built thi way.

So I spend most of my days attempting to meet my every whim, damn the consequences. If I want something, I buy it no matter how ridiculously expensive it may be. If I want to say something, I say it loudly without thinking of hurting anyone else. I do what I want, I do what I feel. I do for myself, constantly.

Real Quick Like

2010-12-18T01:41:00.001-06:00

I thought that when school ended for the semester I'd finally have enough time to write something. I was wrong, the end of school only made things ramp up to a new level of ridiculousness. I just wanted to write a quick update to say that I think something odd just happened. I just walked in the front door to find that in my absence my parent's had purchased a new 50 inch plasma, that was hanging in all it's glory as I walked in the living room. I'd like to say I had my first appropriate dude reaction to a piece of electronics and immediately started scratching my balls and wondering when the game was on. More on that later though.

A Prelude to 4 Things: "Oh Why, Oh Why, Oh, Why, Oh Did I Ever Leave Ohio?"

2010-12-01T00:57:00.000-06:00

I know that things have been quiet here for quite some time, and I apologize about that. I have many things to discuss with you as soon as finals are over in a week.

Topics we should discuss:

My trip to Cleveland
Why I was an unattractive twelve year old
How my new Gap sweater implies that I have a vagina when I'm wearing it
How I've consumed an unwieldy amount of calories in the past two weeks. Seriously, you would be appalled. Yesterday I had not one Hostess product, but two; and they did not come in the same package.
How I'm submitting a portfolio for both the McNeese Contraband, and a local magazine so I can score some freelance work
How Arlene and Jefferey changed my life

I'll see you in a week, though if you were wise I wouldn't hold me to a strict time frame.

2 and a Quarter Things

2010-10-17T00:50:00.000-05:00

I've been meaning to write an installment of 4 things, and I am doing that right now, but to tide you over here is the remnants of one I wrote at the end of August. Some of it makes no sense, and it cuts off at the end, but I still think parts of it are pretty awesome. So, enjoy that shit.

This Week I Became a Mentor

I've already told you that this semester I will be working as a mentor for incoming freshmen at McNeese, which I was totally excited about until I learned I'd be expected to sit through four hours of productivity meetings to be trained. There is nothing I hate more than meetings, maybe it's because I have an instilled inability to sit still for more than six minutes straight without losing concentration and begin to think of more important things like penguin birth and the direction that Justin Beiber's career is heading. More than likely though it's just that I hate being in a group. I'm not trying to say I'm a loner or anything because that is totally not the case. In fact I absolutely hate being alone, but if I am going to be with a group of people it should be people of my choosing. It should not be a hodgepodge of uninterested twenty somethings being forced to listen to a middle aged woman speak about "how uplifting it can be to mold the young minds of tomorrow" or whatever bullshit the lady in charge of this meeting was spewing.

I guess I've always hated that rah-rah, we are the world bullshit. I hate forced enthusiasm, that kind of hokey empowerment makes me want to seriously consider bulimia as my new religion. I dread one day having a career where I may be forced to sit through seminars with motivational speakers and team building exercises. I'm not sure I could possibly be able to keep my shit together long enough to stand it. I don't want to come off as cynical or anything, it's just that this kind of forced giddiness does not work on me. I do not want to work with a group I would rather work alone. Mostly because I know that I am not stupid and anyone I were to be paired with more than likely would be.

I'm not trying to belittle the work that this woman is doing, or the work that these other people are hoping to do with these students. It's just that I'm not in it for self satisfaction. In fact I'm only doing it because the head of the journalism department asked me to, and I don't want to piss her off seeing as she is the professor of most of my classes. Thankfully I was able to do what was expected of me in this meeting. I sat, and I nodded, and I acted as if I was pondering thoughtfully. I hate knowing that I'm expected to smile and nod and speak thoughtfully instead of screaming the obscenities that are blaring in my mind. I just hate that "we are all in this together" mentality. We are not in anything together except for this awful room. Everyone one is in it for themselves. Teamwork was only ever meant for migrant farmers and lesbians.

I guess it's no surprise that I hate working in groups because I am prone to hating all strangers. I have to had talked to someone at least twenty times for me to consider them as a human being. I am notorious for avoiding strangers at almost all costs. I like to think it's the precocious first grader in me who is worried about STRANGER DANGER, and getting molested. Which let me tell you my parents were always unusually vocal of the possibility that any moment I could be molested. I'm not sure what gave them this impression I'm not sure that I was an unusually attractive third grader or anything.

This Week I Started School

I know for sure that one of my teachers is already on the first day starting to piss me off. She is teaching my "production across media' class which is basically video editing and learning how to use final cut pro. Not only did the professor do that stupid thing where everyone goes around the room and talks about themselves endlessly. I have never been good at this exercise, and like I mentioned earlier I hate strangers so I care very little about the lives of my classmates. I don't care if before they came to McNeese to study Mass Communications they were in a troop of African tribal dancers that used to entertain America's elite in the backrooms of strip clubs across the Midwest. I don't care about the lives of strangers because I barely have time to care about myself. People should be more sensitive to the fact that I think about myself all day long, constantly and therefore do not have the time to be pondering other people's existences. Anyways after hearing about Melissa who with a tilting sort of whiny voice told us that she couldn't decide whether she should continue with her degree in Public Relations or purse a career in dance. She then proceeded to tell us that she had never danced before but was willing to now start trying at the ripe age of twenty two. No one picks up a new skill at twenty two. At twenty two you already have everything you're ever going to have. You will from that point on neither get any smarter or dumber. You will not pick up any new talents or skills. You are constant from that age forward. You cannot just decide you want to be a dancer. Twenty two is too old to become a prodigy or an ingenue.

Hearing Melissa talk about herself for near ten minutes reminded me of something I just heard about someone I was once friends with. This person is quite possibly one of the dumbest people I've ever met. I remember once we shared an English class and after the teacher had painstakingly walked around the room to pass out that days test. He waited until she sat down and without even glancing at the exam stood up and turned it back into her. When she asked him if he wanted to try to answer the twenty something questions upon the page he replied "that it was just too hard" He also used to turn in papers with thinly veiled plagarism. He once wrote a research paper on some celebrity that I cannot recall right now and in lieu of copying what was in the book as "she was born in 1962" he wrote "she was born in the year of 1962". See? He was painfully dumb, the kind of dumb that only usually occurs after head trauma. Anyways I recently found out that this dumb ass has decided he wants to become a pharmacist. Not only is that the most terrifying thing I've ever thought of, but what the what is he thinking? You cannot just wake up one day and decide you are going to be a god damned pharmacist. That's just not feasible. That's like me saying I have a secret desire to be a mathematician, or an Asian bikini waxer. I have no chance of being an Asian bikini waxer (that is to say an Asian who waxes bikinis not an Asian's bikini waxer). I have almost no chance of being an Asian bikini waxer because I have no preposition to become one. First off, I don't think I'll ever be able to magically become Asian. Second of all, when have I ever shown any sort of gumption in the field? Did I dream as a child of one day pouring hot wax on the genitals of strangers and speaking in broken English? Did I train for years on the pubic regions of my sleeping friends? No, I did not and that is why I will never be an Asian bikini waxer, and he will never be a pharmacist. I don't appreciate it when people dream too big.

This Week I Joined a Gym

You've heard me bitch about how fat I am on more than one occasion I am sure. I've said it before that I am not crazy fat. I am not the kind of fat that seat belts can't contain, or that airplanes cannot accommodate. I am not the kind of fat that has to resort to shopping at the Big, Fat, Tall, and Ugly store, although they do send me the catalog that way I may one day be able to order in the privacy of my own home.

4 Things I Want To List

2010-09-27T20:08:00.000-05:00

You guys are so lucky today a wave of sickness has knocked me out of commission and finally slowed me down enough that I can sit at the computer for more than three seconds so that I might post something. I don't have the energy to post a full blown segment of 4 things, but I think that this might tide you over until that time.

4 things that I am excited about right now:

I finally got an iphone 4, which makes me feel very sophisticated and important. I imagine that when people see me on it, they think that I am talking to important clients, or arranging meetings. The sad reality is that I'm probably ordering General Tso's Chicken from Yank Sing for pick-up, but they don't know that do they? Though it is helping me to reach my goals of being a more proficient and amazing individual. There are all kinds of note taking, and scheduling apps to keep up with my life. But there's also a game where you get to fling birds at pigs so as you can imagine that's exactly what I've been doing.
I finally booked my flight to Cleveland for this November. I didn't think I'd end up actually doing it, but I am so excited about it. I imagine that I'll spend my time there eating at less than hygienic twenty four hour diners, seeing the first installment of the new Harry Potter movie, and laughing so much that I'll lose my voice, or start doing that really annoying squealing thing that I am prone to do. I know this next part is going to sound very juvenile for a twenty four year old but I have never gone anywhere without my family and that thought is exhilarating, the freedom. I cannot stop thinking about it.
My news writing class is so great, I really love it. I'll admit that before I actually started to get into my journalism classes I wondered if it was for me. Most of my fears have subsided now, mostly because I'm enjoying it so much. I feel like I'm learning so much, not just about the craft itself but about the world around me. So far I've interviewed a nurse, a student who has started her own charity, a child psychologist, and a firefighter. I know that makes me sound like I'm writing essays for a middle school career fair, but still. I am really enjoying learning about things that I previously had no aptitude or interest in whatsoever.
The last thing I'm excited about is really just everything else that hasn't already been mentioned. Do you get that feeling when even though you have no reason to believe that things are about to be amazing you just know they are? I've been feeling like that for a while now. Usually I'm a terrible Debbie Downer, but right now I just feel so optimistic. I feel so hopeful, and sure of everything. I just know that things are going to be amazing, without much effort on my part. Things will fall into place. I'm sure of it.

4 things I love right now:

Little Lies by Dave Barnes
These shirts from American Eagle which fit in perfectly with my closet full of plain colored t shirts. These make me feel a little less like a giant cotton covered wall of fat.
This iphone case I found on Etsy, which I would order because it looks amazing, but it is totally impractical to put a four hundred dollar phone in a cotton sleeve.
Einstein's Brother's Honey Whole Wheat Bagels, which I eat nearly every Tuesday and Thursday morning during my break between classes.

I'm so mono begging to be stereo

2010-09-02T23:42:00.000-05:00

Today I was told by my journalism professor that to be a journalist one has to be aggressive. To be a successful writer one must be balls out and take no prisoners and be cut throat, and all of those other adjectives to describe a complete asshole. I immediately was terrified because I may be the least aggressive person in the entire world. Although naturally curious by nature I am not the one to go out of my way to talk to new people. In fact I'm more inclined to do the opposite and stand int he corner and observe until someone deigns to speak to me first. I never want to interrupt, or speak out of place, or be presumptuous. It's just not in my nature. I don't want to step on any metaphorical toes.

It got me thinking that maybe I'm doing it all wrong. Maybe it's not enough to just love something, or to have a mild amount of talent for it. Temperament is important, drive is important, maybe I don't have enough of either of those qualities. Maybe there is some job out there that I'd be more suited for.

I've never tried pottery. What if the first time my hands touched clay I made the world's best clay pot? What if I am a pottery prodigy and never knew it? I could be the worlds best clay pot maker; and how will I know whether or not I am if I've never tried? How will I try all of the things out there before I decide what it is that is meant for me. Is there anything out there that is meant for me?

What if I can't be aggressive, or what if I have no place in a newsroom? What if I look horrible in business attire? What if no one wants to come to lunch with me? Will I be expected to buy an iPad? What if I can't reach deadlines? What if I don't measure up? I am terrified that I will be the worlds worst journalist. Will I graduate with a degree in Journalism only to be made to write up obituaries for the rest of my life? Will I someday have to take a job as editor of the Thrifty Nickel? What if I am the world's worst journalist? Do they offer some opposite of the Pulitzer prize, some Razzie of the newspaper world? Will they create the award just for me so that everyone knows that I am the worst writer to ever grace the crinkled first page of some small local daily?

I feel like it's already started and I am no where near graduation. I've been assigned to write one article a week. Find a story, find an interview, write it up. I'm already nervous. I've already begun to spin. I know that I am spinning because that is what I do. I spin out of control so fast that almost no one can keep up with the bouts of crazy radiating off of me. Has anyone as ridiculous as me ever gone on to be successful in this field? Do you have their number?

Tentative

2010-08-29T00:24:00.002-05:00

I just want to let you know that I wrote a post for week five of Four Things the other night. I wrote three or four pages of what has happened to me in the past couple of weeks. Sadly it was written when I was completely exhausted, and it makes little to no sense whatsoever. So I am going back and editing the shit out of it. So it should be up by tomorrow at the latest.

Four Things Week Four

2010-08-12T00:00:00.003-05:00

From this week forward, you can call me Professor Gribble.

    The head of the journalism department, and my academic adviser recently asked me if I would be willing to assist her with the incoming Mass Communications majors by helping her teach the required Freshmen Foundations course. I was almost immediately pretty excited about this proposal because I almost always get excited about anything I might have to buy new clothes for. In my mind all male teachers wear sweater vests and checkered bow ties, coupled with the kind of pants I believe are known as trousers. I immediately begin pursuing J Crew's website, but sadly did not buy anything because one of my forthcoming bullet points.

     But anyways, I am terribly excited about her offer because I think it's about time that someone has noticed that I deserve to be in a position of power and influence over malleable minds. It's time that I begin to imprint my great fountain of knowledge on the youth of Louisiana. Actually my teacher made it pretty clear that I would not be teaching the class in any capacity because apparently I'm not qualified. Whatever, I'm pretty sure that I will be the sole instructor of the class. I believe that I'll get to assign homework, and to make tests. I believe that I'll finally be in a position where I can be sued for the sexual harassment of a student. Sadly, none of this is the case though, as my professor mostly insinuated that I would be responsible for helping the students and answering questions about he workings of the University. I would also be responsible for helping with the grading, and posting assignments and such on Blackboard. That mostly sounds really boring, and something I wouldn't even be good at because I am prone to large stretches of ineptitude and indifference on almost every subject.

This week I hit the poverty line.

     I have been broke as a joke for the past two weeks. I'd like to say because I was suffering silently after working hard and being able to pay all of my bills. I wish I had spent my money on bills because then at least I'd know what the hell happened to it. Sadly, I don't even have any bills. None, I have no financial responsibilities whatsoever. I never have, yet I have never been able to hold on to twenty dollars for more than an hour.   A lot of people say that you need money to make money, and I wish I could say I was taking all of the money I make and am turning it into some kind of money-spinning venture that will leave me flush with cash. That is not the case in the slightest. See, I don't know if you know this about me or not but I kind of have a shopping problem. I don't mean that in a way that says I am materialistic or that I need the newest, hottest every things. I don't really care about that kind of stuff to be honest. I just have a problem in which if I see something and like it, I have to have it. I cannot handle not owning it, and holding it, and taking it home. If I see a shirt I like, I'll buy it in five colors. If I want a candy bar, I'll buy five of them, and end up throwing three of them away. I have a sick, sick addiction. I blame my Grandmother.

     When my Grandmother was alive, she was the most generous woman I had ever known. Generosity didn't come hard for her, as I believe her DNA strands were made out of hundred dollar bills. She came from money, she had always had money, she shared her money with the people she loved. She lived over six hours away, so when I did get to see her she'd celebrate my birthdays and Christmases and Chinese New Years by bringing me to the mall and telling me to buy what I wanted. She never asked why I wanted a particular something, she never questioned my selections she would always just tell me to "wear it well", and handed over her credit card. I don't want you to assume that I had my hands outstretched waiting for her charitable donations, because that wasn't the case. Though, having her around got me used to getting what I want.

    Honestly she probably had nothing to do whatsoever with my complete inability to stick to any kind of budget. I mostly just wanted to talk about her. I guess the moral of the story is that I can't be trusted with money. I will absolutely blow it, waste it, give it away. I may never grow up.

This week I have liked some things.

This week I was not a fire starter, nor a firefighter.

    I did not set the world on fire this week. In fact if the world had been on fire I believe I would have feebly tried to put it out by peeing on it, and then have given up half way. I then would have ignored the screams of the third degree burn victims and gotten back to my regularly scheduled nothing.   I think it's pretty clear that I tried to avoid doing anything at all this week. I would have had nothing to write about if things just hadn't fallen into my lap. I didn't actually do anything if you haven't noticed from the first three entries. All of the things that did happen to me came from complete lack of participation on my part. I didn't go after a mentor ship position, I was offered one. I did not worry about budgetary concerns therefore I am broke. See? I did absolutely nothing this week. Things just happened to me with no work or forethought whatsoever. I wish I had been more productive, but in all honesty I'm not sure I'm ready for kids.

Things that will have happened to me next week:
I will have seen my best friend who is coming in for a few days.
I will have gone to a training meeting for the mentor ship program.
I will have gone to rehab for drug and twizzler abuse.
I will have attempted to not be so useless.

Newsworthy

2010-08-01T23:23:00.000-05:00

    You probably remember a couple of months ago I said that I was going to start scouring the newspapers for articles from every possible section, and give my own thoughts on the stories from within. I planned to do this to familiarize myself with all of the sections and maybe to acquire an interest for news, so that one day I may be better equipped to write it. The last time I thought about it was in March when I posted this post ont he dangers of bedbugs, and haven't thought of it again until now. I wasn't wrong, it's not a bad idea, so I am going to attempt to do it, only this time actually do it. One section at a time I am going to get to know each section of the newspaper. I've decided that just like the first post I wrote I will get my articles from The New York Times, because my local paper cannot be trusted for anything that is not about a hurricane that happened nearly six years ago.

     I've said it before, but I absolutely hate reading the news. Sure, it's informative, and sometimes interesting, but it's always written in such a cut and dry way that I can't stomach it. I prefer a little more magic in the things I read. So I will be trying to find the lesast painful articles to report on as possible. Today I read a piece from the World section entitled "Indonesia Finds Banning Pornography Is Difficult" by Aubrey Belford. I picked this piece because it was the only one that had "pornography" in it's title. The short of the article is that Indonesia's information minister Tifatul Sembiring has mandated that Internet Service Providers in the region will have to somehow prevent their subscribers from being able to access pornography by August 11th, 2010 which is the beginning of the Muslim fasting month known as Ramadan. Internet service providers are finding this task to be insurmountable. Apparently there is no quick and easy way to get rid of millions of porn sites from all over the world that are popping up as quickly as blue balls will be if Sembiring has his way.

   I could start off by saying that I think the whole idea of blocking porn from the people of Indonesia is ludicrous, but who cares what I think? Clearly they believe that the viewing of pornography is somehow dirty or wrong, and I am not going to belittle their belief system. Though I have no qualms about saying how ridiculous the notion is. I'm just wondering what the death rate of porn is in Indonesia. Can anyone find me some facts and figures on how many people in Indonesia have died in the last ten years due to porn? Maybe there's something I don't know, maybe Indonesia has some kind of porn that induces some kind of crazy seizure, where immediately after seeing it a man goes and sacrifices a virgin in the middle of the street in the name of Dick Cheney. I have no idea what they do in Indonesia, I don't even know where Indonesia is located. All I know is that you can't stop porn.

   I don't want you to think that I'm some some porn crusader. I am not fighting for the rights of porn, in fact I do believe that porn is too easily found by those who aren't even looking for it. It comes into the hands of people who should never be allowed access to it; sex offenders, children, Mel Gibson. Maybe it's just me, but I swear porn somehow manages to find me even though I'm not looking for it. I get at least ten messages a month through Facebook from random spam accounts with a slutty girl picture and an invite to chat in exchange for cash. The country of Indonesia isn't wrong, maybe something should be done. Porn shouldn't be so easy to find, it should be restricted. Attempting to get rid of it completely, however is a fools errand.   The people of Indonesia (or Indonesians, or Indonesianites) are just trying to get their rocks off. What's so wrong with that?

Four Things Week Three

2010-07-30T01:36:00.001-05:00

     I have been attempting to write this for the past couple of days, but I wanted to tie up the loose strings before writing about these things. For instance you can probably already see by the first header that I have quit smoking in the past week. I didn't want to say I had done that only to re neg on it a couple of days later. I had to make sure that it would stick. To be honest I probably would have kept you waiting if it hadn't have been for Kelli's glowing review of this Four Things series. I would like to thank her publicly by stating that she is the best writer I know, with a talent that usurps mine greatly. She is also probably nicer than I am, and is always willing to be the only other person I know that is willing to order more than one desert with me. If you have never read her blog I couldn't possibly tell you in under three thousand words how fantastic it is, so go and find out for yourself.

This week I quit smoking.

     I should start this out by saying that I have an addictive personality. If I find myself liking something, I can't ever seem to get enough of whatever that something may be. If I like a sandwich at Quiznos I'll eat it every day for a week, for lunch (In case you were wondering my sandwich of choice is always a Chicken Carbonara on Rosemary Parmesan bread with extra jalapenos). If I think a person is funny, I'll call them every single day and talk to them for hours at a time. I can never seem to get enough of the things I like. I guess what I'm saying is that I would make a good junkie. I can honestly see myself with dark circles under my eyes, sweaty and even paler than I already am, just looking for my next fix. I guess that's why I've never been much of a drinker, I've always assumed that if I have more than a couple of sips, I'd be dead within a week, my liver in shambles.

     It's just that I have always been too willing to give myself up to something, anything for a little bit of satisfaction. I realize that with some things like my Quiznos obsession the only thing in danger is the credit limit on my Old Navy credit card because I will eventually have to start buying new clothes to accommodate my expanding waistline. Though sometimes my addictions are more reckless. I should have known better than to ever start smoking. I could chalk it up to the indiscretions of my youth, or that when I took my first drag I was in a horrible period of my life, or that I was surrounding myself with the worst kinds of people. Those things all have some semblance of truth to them, but they're not the whole story. Sometimes I think I just wanted to do something bad for the first time in my life. Do something that people wouldn't' be happy about, do something that made me stand out for once. I'm not saying that it's good reasoning, because it is not.

    I've been smoking since I was nineteen, I am twenty four now, for those who are as mathematically challenged as I am that totals to five years (I had to count on my fingers twice to figure that out). Five years that I willingly did something I knew was wrong. God, am I starting to sound like an anti smoking PSA? That was not at all my intentions. I'm starting to believe that quitting is taking away my sense of humor, I hope that's not true. Last week I bought my last pack of Marlboro Menthol one hundreds, and bought my first pack of NicoDerm CQs. When I put the first tan colored patch upon my forearm, I felt an immense sense of relief. And even though the patch stands out awkwardly among my pale skin, I'm okay with that. I keep telling everyone it's my Ortho Evra birth control patch, which is a huge blow to those people who are trying to inseminate me, I'm sure. Though, I like the patches because they make me not have any cravings at all. Though breaking the habit of driving around listening to dumb music and smoking, is going to be a bitch.

This week I traded one addiction for another.

     I've always heard that the second you stop smoking you are sure to gain thirty seven pounds of your dignity back. I guess I am doing my part to keep that truth alive. Within seconds of smoking my last cigarette I quickly found solace in a bag of goldfish, followed by a six pack of twenty ounce mountain dews, and chased them with an entire bag of cherry flavored pull and peel Twizzlers. I love Twizzler's, they are God's perfect food. They are sweet, and chewy, and taste like home; if you happen to live in a dirty movie theater that is. In fact I think it's possible that in the past seven days I have consumed the world's supply of Twizzlers. There are no Twizzler's left for the children of the world, unless of course they're looking for the black ones which I'm sure they'll find in droves because no one wants them--they're disgusting.

    I'd like to say that I am attempting to counteract this sudden binge of carbo-loading, but instead I'm just going to let it play out. I guess I could try to eat sensibly and maybe try to figure out exactly what pilates entails, but instead I think I'll go the opposite direction. No, instead I am going to eat whatever the hell I feel like and pray that I don't get crazy fat. As everyone knows crazy fat is the exact weight you must reach to be considered for a job in postal service. All postal workers I've ever seen are crazy fat individuals, not that I think there's anything wrong with the postal service or anything. I'm just not sure I'm organized enough to be considered for it.

This week I had the craziest dreams.

    On the box of nicotine patches there is a warning that states that the wearing of said patches overnight might result in vivid dreams. They were not lying. The first couple of nights I wore the patch to bed without much concern of the consequences. I made the wrong decision. I did not sleep for three nights straight due to the ridiculous dreams I was waking up from every fifteen minutes. I am well aware that there is nothing in this world that is less interesting than having to listen to someone talk about their own dreams. Trust me I know, I used to know this guy who was constantly walking up to me and asking me to talk about his dreams with him, this guy was the worst. Though his dreams were not at all as interesting as mine. Let me walk you through a couple of the scenarios that I remember.

     Scenario One: I had a dream the first night that my friends Bryant and Kelli asked me to accompany them on a trip to Oklahoma, the journey was made my train. On the voyage Kelli who is not narcissistic in the slightest, would not stop talking about her own hair. Bryant did the only normal thing in the entire dream, and did what he always does and talked about electronics he wanted to purchase. Once we arrived in the great state of Oklahoma, Bryant quickly informed me that he was ready for me to leave. I was somehow transported back to Louisiana, and I cried about never getting to see Oklahoma whilst baking the most bizarre apple pie I've ever seen.

     Scenario Two: I was on some kind of covert mission with a guy who I guess was supposed to be my brother, when in reality I don't even have a brother.    My fictitious brother and I were both proficient with firearms (in reality I've never even held a gun). We broke into a stranger's home where an overweight teenage prostitute resided. We ran out of bullets, and the whore's father told us that we could steal some from the local Walgreen's (Sadly, Walgreen's is part of my reality). The dream ended when me and my partner left the house and entered into a lobby where someone shot us (If this was reality, I'm pretty sure my last words right now would be "Twizzlers").

    See? Even people on high quality pharmaceuticals don't have dreams like that. That is ridiculous. Remind me to never quit smoking again.

This week I bought some goldfish.

     I'm finally going to talk about something that except for the twenty three words in this sentence has nothing to do with smoking. For the past few months I've been having this fantasy about owning goldfish. I'm not sure why, because I'm not even a huge fan of fish. In fact I don't really like animals other than dogs. I hate cats, reptiles, and rodents, parrots are okay. Though, I would be perfectly happy to have as many as seventeen dogs, eighteen would be enough to have someone call animal control on me, but seventeen would be perfect. Though for some reason I've been wanting to own a goldfish really badly. I don't even have a great track record in fish ownership, as the only marine life I've ever been responsible for has met an untimely death. I once had a Betta fish named Jalapeno, and he met his fate early on when I completely forgot he existed and forgot to feed him for two weeks. I also once purchased a pair of fish for my Grandmother that I had named Rizzo and Kenickie (from Grease fame), who died in a matter of weeks. Though I had nothing to do with their demise, I still feel guilty about it. I also once killed an entire colony of Sea Monkeys by accidentally dumping them all over my bedroom floor. So I guess you could say that I might not ever foray into the world of marine biology. Although, I do think it would be fun to run an aquarium, only so that I could sneak behind children who were viewing the shark tank, and scream loudly in their ears so as to make them pee themselves. Because if R. Kelly taught us anything it is that urine be funny.

I guess the point of all this is to say that this fantasy has been fulfilled I purchased these last weekend, and surprisingly they are alive. I have no clue as to what sex they are, but I'm just assuming that they are male and female, and are of course in love. I was originally going to name them Queen Latifah and Tupac Shakur because my coworker told me that she believes I have a blackocity higher than most white people she knows. I wanted to name them after two great African American's as to benefit our community. Though, I ultimately decided to go back to my roots and to name them after two Southern deities: Paula Deen and Conway Twitty. Paula is a boisterous cow of a goldfish, and is constantly mixing foodstuff with her bare hands, bawdy rings on every finger. Conway is a womanizing alcoholic, who enjoys guitar strumming and harmonizing.

I know, I know

2010-07-25T00:14:00.000-05:00

I realize that I'm about a week late with a post, but I wanted to wait to write until things started happening. Thankfully, things are happening, huge things and I want to be able to do them justice so just give me a bit, okay?

Four Things Week Two

2010-07-13T00:01:00.001-05:00

     I'm two days late with this post, but at least I'm posting so I don't want to hear your bitching. I act as if there are hundreds of you out there clamoring for my every word, instead of all two of you. That's fine, I'm glad you're here. I knew when I started this posting experiment that some posts would be better than others, as I am prone to having large bursts of productiveness, followed quickly by giant lapses of nothing. Which is a shame, because I prefer to be busy.

This Week I Did The Inevitable and Failed My Math Class

   I'd like to start out by letting you know how much I truly hate the study of mathematics. I hate numbers, addition, multiplication, tangents, and cubes. There is nothing good that can come out of subtraction or division. I guess adding is fine, but the trouble comes when you begin to go forth, be fruitful, and multiply. I hate math, because no matter how many professors of the subject claim that there are rules that help you get the answer to any given equation, the rules are always changing. I don't like anything that isn't constant. I've never understood math, and I never will. Now, I'm not going to say that I think the square root of four is rainbows or anything, but it's still pretty bad. Unfortunately I am taking a math class this summer, only because I heard that it is easier to pass in a shorter amount of time. I'm not sure what asshole said that to me, but if I can ever remember, I am going to shove my eighty dollar math book up their ass.

     To be honest, the class didn't start out badly. I have been out of math classes for over three years, so the little that I did already know had begun to fade away. And though, I didn't immediately begin to jump back into my feeble understanding of the subject, I was at least on my way to a place where if I didn't understand the subject, I could at least scrape by and do what I do best and fake my way out of it. And that's when my math class gave me a bladder infection a couple of weeks ago. I'd like to say that the teacher after seeing me fall asleep at my desk for the umpteenth time stabbed me in the heart with an infected piece of chalk, which gave me the painful disorder. But sadly, it was just his refusal to let me leave class to use the restroom that made my kidneys fill up with waste, and by the end of the two hours had me doubling over in random shudders of bladder pain. I know you probably weren't expecting this post to end up as a detailed account of the excretory system, but sorry that's just the way my kidneys roll. The day following my painful bout with bladder infection, I skipped the class out of retribution. I'm not sure if I thought this would somehow let the professor know that he had wronged me, or what. Instead it just made me fall behind. And then I began to fall further behind, to a place where I couldn't possibly catch up. I should have known better, but if we've learned anything about me at all we know that I don't. So, the moral of the story is, always pee before class or you'll end up taking it again next semester.

This Week I Began Watching Supernatural

One of the reasons that I was reluctant to take a class this summer in the first place is that this is the first summer I've had as a college student in nearly three years. I didn't really want to waste these three months by going to class, instead preferring to stay home and watch television that I had missed all last season thanks to homework and actual work. Summer is also the time of the year where I begin to watch new shows that have caught my eye, so that I may begin to watch them when they start back up in the fall. Although honestly, the list of shows I'm watching these days is spiraling so far out of control that maybe I shouldn't have begun to watch any new shows, or I may just fail all of my classes next semester. My best friend suggested to me that I should start watching Supernatural, which is a show that I assumed would not be up my alley. I lean towards entertainment that is funny, and brightly colored, maybe with a little song and dance, and light on the dramatics and mystery. Though I knew I would end up watching it anyways because I am always looking for something to talk to my friend about.

    The thing is, I've been friends with this person since I was ten which is miraculous because we don't have a single thing in common. Sure, we both have brown hair and have lived across the street from each other for half of our lives, but that is where the similarities stop. He is thoughtful and funny, I am crude and obnoxious. He is a law student, and I am a walking, bumbling, catastrophe most of the time. To be honest, I'm not sure why he likes me but I'm glad that he does. So needless to say, I am always looking for things to talk to him about. Though I assumed that if he liked it than I would more than likely hate it. I'm not so into serious television, I mean I just finished watching an episode of "The Real Housewives of New Jersey". But, I picked up the show last weekend thinking that even if I hated it I could hang in there and at least be able to discuss it with him. Holy shit, I had no idea how amazing it was going to be. You guys, the shit that is happening on this show is just unreal. You have to watch it, so that I don't have to completely nerd out, and explain it to you. Seriously.

This Week I Researched

     If you don't know me very well you might know that I am a planner. I like to have nearly everything mapped out to the most minuscule detail. It is one of the few things I am truly great at, and that is thinking of every possible thing that could go wrong. You might say I'm a doomsayer, or a Debbie Downer and you would probably be partially right. I just like to be prepared, I like to know everything I can possibly know about any product I plan on purchasing, or any deal I plan to get into. So, I research, and I plan, and I think a lot about every single one of my ventures. I've been doing a lot research lately, on things I plan to buy. I'm hoping to get an iPhone in the next couple of months, so I've been reading reviews, and researching message packages, and data plans, and discounts I can get based off of being a student. I've also been looking into purchasing a new car in the next six months or so. That is something I have never done, as both of the cars I have driven were bought for me. I've never been able to actually sit and choose what it is that I wanted. I'm leaning towards something mid size and red, though my father believes I should get something that runs so I have no idea what I'll end up getting.

     I also went to the McNeese bookstore this week and perused the list of books that I'll need to purchase in a month, just so that I'm fully prepared for how damn expensive they are so that I don't experience a chronic hernia after seeing my bill. Will someone please tell me why it is that because I am taking an online course for Sociology that my book is seventy dollars more than the regular sociology book? That is absolutely outrageous, and whoever decided this needs to be stopped immediately.

This Week I Didn't Accomplish Things I Had Hoped I Might

     As you can probably gather from the three other accounts of my weeks adventures, I didn't get a whole lot done. In fact, most of what I've been doing is watching Supernatural, and reading product reviews when I should be studying math. So as you can imagine I didn't accomplish much. There were a couple of things I meant to do in the last seven days that I somehow couldn't find an excuse to actually do. Here are those things:

I did not eat any watermelon this week.
I did not find an appropriate or topical reason to use the phrase "Work that hose, bitch!" in normal conversation.
I did not watch a single game of the World Cup, even though I told myself I would try to get involved.
I did not read over my bank statements, and try to figure out where all of my money is going.
I did not get this post up inside the self scheduled deadline.

I will try harder to be more amazing next week, hopefully something happens.

Four Things Week One

2010-07-03T01:16:00.000-05:00

     This blog makes me feel so guilty. Not guilty because of the things I have said on it, but because somehow it has become a chore. A chore to write about what is going on in my life. I guess I never think of the minuscule happenings of my every day life as extraordinary enough to talk about. So instead I write nothing, and the guilt of writing nothing keeps me awake at night. Actually that's a bold faced lie, because there's pretty much nothing in this world that can keep me from getting my daily twelve hours of sleep. Though, I do feel guilty of not keeping you abreast (I've never been able to figure out an excuse to use that word until now) of the minute details of my life. Which is not to say that I have nothing to talk about, because clearly I am where it's all happening in the world.

     I guess I just need some inspiration, something that I will be proud to share with all four of you out there that are hanging on my every word. I've decided to try a little experiment, to see if I can increase postings. I have decided that every week I will write about four things I have done in the last seven days. Sometimes these things will be things I planned, chances I wanted to take, things I wanted to say. Sometimes they'll be errands, or the mundane things that bog me down. Sometimes they'll be the completely bizarre things that seem to happen to only me. So here goes what I am tentatively titling Four Things. Original isn't it?

This Week I Wore Shorts In A Public Place.

    This has always been a sore subject for me. If you know me in real life you may have noticed at some point that no matter the state of the weather outside during any given month whether it be in January or the middle of July that I am more than likely wearing jeans. Even worse, I wear jeans with flip flops on a daily basis. I know that's probably some deep fashion faux pas, but I wouldn't even know because even though my sister subscribed me to GQ for my birthday a month ago, I have yet to receive my first issue. I guess I've just always been funny about having the bottom two thirds of my body on public display for the world to gawk at. It's not that I think that particular region of my body is in some state of complete disrepair or anything. It's not like I'm walking around with cankles or something equally horrifying and disfiguring. My thighs have never been bigger than my head, although to be fair I do have a rather large head. I even have pretty decent calves which I like to attribute to the years I spent when I was in middle school jumping on my trampoline and listening to Reba McEntire. Though, to be fair my legs are pretty pale, as is the rest of my frame. I'd like to say that my body is tanned and chiseled, but sadly it's floppy and the exact same color of Elton John's face. Though, I walk out of the door on a daily basis even though I have approximately seventeen chins, so I'm not sure why this is a sticking point for me.

     So I decided to do the unthinkable and wear shorts to my Summer Session math class this last Thursday. To be honest I only own one pair of shorts and those were purchased by my parents for my birthday, and though I deeply considered taking them back and exchanging them for the cash, I had inadvertently already taken the tags off of them, so sadly I was stuck with them. I guess I should wrap this up by saying that oddly enough no one was harmed by seeing the blinding white flesh of my ankles and legs last Thursday. Although I'm pretty sure I did hear a couple of gasps, and at least one audible shudder. I do believe the only reason no one in that class turned to stone after looking at me, is because there was a test that day and no one took the chance of looking up to see my legs lest the teacher think they were cheating. So score one for me I guess. I tackled my fear, and no one died. That's not to say, that I'll ever do it again. I'm all for doing crazy things once, but am not ever willing to repeat them.

This Week I Went To The Dentist

    I know this is not exactly ground breaking news, as I'm sure most of you have excellent oral hygiene and go to regularly scheduled dental appointments. That's not to say that my mouth is in a complete state of disarray. I floss. I've just never been big on the dentist. I guess I've just always been ashamed of my teeth. For some reason my parents decided in my adolescent years that there was no need for me to have braces, and the subject was never brought up. My teeth aren't a hot crooked mess or anything, but they're not as perfect. And through the use of many a box of Crest WhiteStrips I have tried to keep them in some semblance of the color pale.

     I guess my fear of dentist stemmed from a couple years ago when my normal dentist got busted for some misdemeanor and had to close up shop. Her last name was a slang term for the word butt, which I guess should have been a sign to my parents to contact the American Dental Association and find another practitioner. So, I've just gone the past couple of years without a dentist, which I understand is horrible. Trust me, I get it. Though, don't worry three times a day when I'm going through my normal dental routine I recite a lecture in my head, and warn myself about the dangers of plaque and gingivitis just like she would have. On Thursday in my post shorts wearing high, I went and got lunch with my sister and immediately afterward I felt like there was something stuck in between my molars. So, I flossed, and I brushed, and I flossed again to no avail. It became clear to me later that night when my bottom gums were being punctured by an unseen force, that I had chipped a tooth. I made an appointment with an unknown dentist the following morning, and they scheduled me in for an Emergency visit.   After waiting for an hour, and falling asleep in the lobby, they finally called me in to an office with the two most attractive dental hygienists that are probably walking this planet. I'm not sure if all dental hygienists are this attractive, and if that's a job requirement, but it must be. I guess that's why you always hear about dentists banging their dental hygienists, because they simply cannot resist. I'm guessing that they don't even waste money on expensive nitrous oxide to sedate their male patients, they just parade the dental hygienists around the reclining chair until they're in a semi catatonic state, drooling with mouths wide open.

     They prepped me for an X Ray, and began to shove a large apparatus in my mouth, to which I responded to by gagging forcefully. The dental hygienist replied by asking if I had a gag reflex. Which up until this point was something I thought all people were installed with, but I guess not. Great, now I have something else to feel self conscious about. I've been going around all these years gagging unexpectedly, only to find that this is something that would qualify me for a circus side show. After all was said and done the dentist came in and announced "there is something wrong with your tooth, something needs to be done about your tooth" well, thanks for the sagely wisdom, asshole. He then informed me that I would need have a root canal, and then to get a crown installed, and would I be interested in something in a white porcelain, or a gold tooth? I think I'll leave you hanging on my response to that question.

This Week I Planned A Trip To Visit Two Of My Favorite People

   I have been saying for more than a year that I would visit Ohio where my two favorite people have relocated. Yes, I've looked up airplane tickets, and considered scheduling, but I have never actually gotten anything done. Either my school schedule conflicted, or the money just wasn't there. Thankfully I am now getting federal money to go to school because I am now what the government considers to be of non traditional school age. Which is probably true, I am twenty four after all. I might as well be a sixty year old grandmother sitting in some of my classes. I certainly feel like a dinosaur in most of my classes. Yes, it's true. I know neither of Gossip or its Girl. I am a dinosaur, and someone should take me out back and shoot me.

     Anyways, thanks to this federal grant I now have a lot more spending money in way of student loans to play around with. Normally, I would spend the money on frivolous things such as patterned boxer shorts, and cases of those delicious soft cookies they sell at Walmart. You know the ones with the really thick sweet icing and the sprinkles? Those cookies are delicious and worth spending thousands of dollars on. Though, I have budgeted my extra money and have finally found enough to go on a voyage to Cleveland. That's right, it will be a voyage, not just a mere trip. I have talked to the friend I am visiting and have worked out a time frame which suits both of our school schedules. I am happy to be doing something, to be going somewhere. I like having something to look forward to, something to plan.

This Week I Saw Someone I Used To Know.

     I used to have this friend. This friend who I had known since the sixth grade. This friend that I had been loyal too, this friend that I had confided in. This friend who I counted on. A couple of years ago, this friend gave me up in favor of greater promises. I used to be filled with resentment over this friend. I was filled with bitter, angry feelings on how he had tossed me aside, after I had picked him up so many times. Eventually I got over it as I tend to get over most things that ruined my life at one point or another. I hadn't spoken to him in nearly two years, which was fine with me. I saw him last Wednesday, as he came into the establishment that I work at.    Immediately I got that feeling in my stomach that I always get whenever I'm panicky and fearful of seeing someone. I used to get this same feeling whenever I would see my ex girlfriend. That feeling of pure terror, that feeling of burning raw panic.

     He said hello, I said hello back. He asked how I had been and I mumbled something about being fine. I didn't ask how he was doing, because I didn't particularly care. He then turned to walk away, and before he did he said to me "It was good having you as a friend". With those words, it was all over. The panic subsided, the fear went away. The friendship is still over, and will always be over. It just no longer feels like a burned bridge, but instead a bridge that was taken down by a city after a newer and better bridge was built in its place. I have moved on to better people, and I hope he has too. So goodbye Luke. I hope things with you are well, even though I couldn't say it to you face to face.

So there's the first week of Four Things. Painless wasn't it? Or at the very least less painful than my trip to the dentist.

Happy Birthday Dear Jordan

2010-06-05T01:31:00.002-05:00

     Tomorrow is my birthday, and I'll be turning twenty four in half an hour. I've always believed that birthdays instead of New Years are the beginning and end of my years. I don't usually remember what I did on New Years, but I can always recall who I spent my birthday with. Last year I was in an airport terminal for the majority of the day, and in a car on the way home the other. At some point I broke my Zune, and it was not a great day. On my tenth birthday I received among other things a Linda Davis cassette tape, and a baseball mitt. The Linda Davis album, I reordered a couple of months ago on EBAY for three dollars, because I missed it. The baseball mitt gave me a burgeoning career of imaginary baseball playing. That's right, I'm wearing a cup right now.

     My eighteenth birthday I spent with my favorite people. I had just gotten my car a week before, and was scared to drive at night by myself. So to relieve myself from the fear I sang Happy Birthday to myself for fourteen miles while I drove home in the rain. At nineteen I was having the worst year of my life up until that point, and my world was imploding (that was the year I created this blog, actually). As my gift a couple of my friends booked time for me in a recording studio to record some badly done renditions of karaoke songs. It was a fucking dream come true. My twentieth birthday I can't remember precisely but I'm pretty sure my new year was brought in at a bar. I like to call that year of my life my blackout phase. Not because I spent any period of time blacked out (I'm not much of a drinker), it was just such a chaotic time in my life that I barely remember any of it. Though, honestly I did and said such stupid things, that this is probably for the best.

     But today I'll be twenty four, and I don't yet know if it will one day be one of the birthdays to stick out in my mind as great. To celebrate it here I planned on writing my annual post of a list of things I wanted, although I think I'm beyond that now. I think I'm at the point that I've stopped dreaming of having an Elton John impersonator sing me Happy Birthday. Not that I'd say no to it, were someone to arrange it. I just don't hope for it like I used to. Instead I think I'll write about what this year was for me. What happened to me, and what happened for me. Since my last birthday my two best friends moved to Cleveland, and that sucked so hard I can't even begin to tell you. I do not do well with separations (which is something my nineteenth year taught me well). Though, I've reconciled with the fact that I am just as lucky to see them a couple of times a year, as I was to see them every weekend. They are that awesome.

     This year I continued to work at a job that I hate, but that ended up being a good thing too because it made me realize that there was no fucking way I could continue to work there, or an establishment like it for the rest of my life. I realized that I had to go back to school, something I had been telling myself I was going to do eventually, but was too lazy to actually accomplish. Though, I ended up doing it and I'm really glad I did. When I left school the first time, my grades were in shambles, and I skipped class more often than I attended it. Though I still skipped a fair amount of classes last semester, I still ended up on the President's list, which trust me wasn't even all that hard and I really shouldn't be mentioning it because it makes me sound like a tool. In February my dog died, and although this sounds completely ridiculous, there was a period of time afterward where I thought my world had stopped. He was one of the good things, one of the good constant things that kept me going. I really miss him.

     In short, this year has been completely ridiculous. It seems like all of the things I had been dreading for years finally came out all at once. Though maybe that was a good thing too, maybe that means that there isn't much bad coming my way in the coming twelve months. I feel like all I've been talking about are bad things, but there were good things too. I finally saw Britney Spears, I reconnected with people who had been gone from my life for too long, I read a lot of funny really wonderful things, I got contacts, and I got better a little every day in being comfortable with myself. I've decided that I am going to write a list after all. Not one of wants, and material things, but more like New Years resolutions. If the New Year starts on my birthday, then I think I should resolve to do some things on this day too. I have to make the most of it now, because I know I am now only one year away from having my quarter life crisis.

I resolve to:

Stop being so hard on myself
Stop fantasizing about doing things, and actually do them
Think harder, read more, write better
Be up for anything
Meet her
Pass Math 113
Sing louder, laugh harder, get really mad every once in a while
Stop having delusions of grandeur, and start sticking to a budget
Eat more/less cookie cake.

Are you hanging on the edge of your seat?

2010-06-03T00:23:00.000-05:00

A few minutes ago I tried to view my blog, and it said it had been deleted. Apparently my Google account had been monitored attempting to do some suspicious activities. I guess my account was hacked. Just wanted to let you know in case this blog goes missing again. I'm not sure what is going on. I guess even Blogger thinks I'm unworthy of having a blog anymore.

Place Holder

2010-05-22T02:10:00.000-05:00

Remember when I was a blogger? Yeah, those were good times weren't they? I would come on here and write about what I was doing, or something funny I had thought of. That all ended when I went back to school six months ago. Suddenly, it was just BAM! I have no time to write anymore. I've had plenty of things to say, but no time in which to say them. I am sorry about that, I really am. I've had a good week though, my two best friends have finally come to visit me from Cleveland. I had forgotten what it was like to have two amazing people hang on every word I say. It is electrifying. Tomorrow, I am leaving for Washington D.C. on vacation. So when I get back I should have the traditional vacation posts to tide you over with some awesome while I try to think of something else to say to you. I hope you haven't left me. Though, if you have I enjoyed the company while it lasted. See you in a week.

Thou Shall Covet

2010-04-26T00:36:00.003-05:00

I'm just going to admit up front that this idea is not original, I completely stole it from Kelli, who I believe stole it from someone else. Though I think it's good to keep a running list of things that I want, even if they are completely stupid and unattainable.

I want this suit:

Now before you say that $1295.00 is excessive for a suit that I don't even have an excuse to wear, just look at how amazing I would look in it. See? If my neck looked like it attached to my body I would be unstoppable in that suit.

I would like to go noodling. What is noodling you ask? Apparently its when you catch a giant catfish while using your arm as bait. Now, I don't care for being outside, or eating anything someone caught themselves, but this looks just white trash enough to be a good time.

I would also like to have a endless supply of Sour Patch Kids. I really do believe they are the world's perfect food; sour, sweet, and so delicious. Sour Patch Kids are God's candy.

I really thought there would be more to list, but apparently I'm not that materialistic. Damn, that's something I didn't know about myself.

This Reads Like Homework

2010-03-11T21:33:00.003-06:00

I've been doing so much homework lately that I think I'm starting to think of this blog as an assignment. I realized a while back that though I hope to one day write for a magazine, or similar publication that I have absolutely no appetite for news. I'm not sure one would need to really be interested in what they are writing to be able to do it well, but I figure it can't hurt.

So I've decided to test myself by actually reading the paper for once and reporting upon an article in each section that I read. This was no easy task, as I couldn't read a local paper because there is absolutely no news in Lake Charles. For example I first looked into the articles of a local weekly here called Lagniape whose biggest article boasted the title "Why Women Live Longer and What Men Can Do About It". Which I'm guessing had a deleted subtitle of "How to Murder Your Wife in Ten Minutes or Less". And there was nothing to be found in our daily The American Press unless you want me to tell you about the double wides that people are trying to unload for two hundred dollars. If you are in the market for a collapsible home, I circled an ad for you. There was one late eighties model that was being sold "as is" with no flooring or lighting fixtures. Myself, like this trailer am also a late model from the eighties, and all of my floors are intact. I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean but I was not expecting it to sound so sexually charged. And again unlike this dilapidated home, I am unlikely to have urine stains on my ceilings.

So clearly, the Lake Charles American Press is out of the question, so I turned to a paper from a city I've never been to but I figure it's reputable because it's one of the most prominent large market publications out there: The New York Times.

I started in the Home and Gardens section, because I know nothing of either homes or gardens so I figure I could use the education. Without sounding like a current events project from the sixth grade, the article I chose to pursue was titled "A New Breed of Guard Dog Attacks Bedbugs" by Penelope Green. Though the title pretty much gives the lead away, I still thought it was pretty interesting if not totally icky. Apparently New York has been hit by an infestation of bedbugs, and the only form of attack people have on these creatures comes in the form of a dog's snout. I have heard before that dogs could be used to sniff bombs, drugs, and even cancer. This was new information to me.

I guess the most pressing matter at hand here, is why are they wasting their time on bedbugs? I could think of another type of insects that infest beds, that would do a lot of good for people if they were eradicated. I am of course talking about crabs. If we could only train all of our schnauzers to sniff the crotches of everyone we have any sort of sexual contact with I think the crotch circus would pack up and leave town for good. And although I'm sure they do some very impressive things on trapezes, everyone including Lady Gaga could benefit from this. Sure, people might be spending thousands of dollars on exterminators to rid their houses and belongings of bedbugs but crabs can be expensive too. Just think about how much all those fancy medicated salves and petite Asian bikini waxers cost. I'm just asking people to think of the pubes for one moment. Is that too much to ask?

While we're at it and training our pets to sniff out all of the dangers of the world why don't we do the world a favor and teach them something useful? I am of course talking about teaching our pups to sniff out potato faces. Some might not know what I'm talking about right away, and to all of you I give you Tori Spelling:

If that doesn't sum it up completely, I'm not sure how to make myself more clear. Potato face is a very common affliction that can affect elderly people, and children alike. Although you are most likely to notice it in people who clearly have some rare adult form of fetal alcohol syndrome. Sometimes the light plays tricks on us, and we don't immediately realize that we're conversing with a potato face. This is the time when a dog that was trained in these sorts of matters would come in handy. It would also be for the best if this dog was also a trained attack dog, that is ready to maul at the sound of a predetermined signal. So I guess what I'm saying is, dogs that can alert you to dangers with just their sense of smell are good, and ugly people are bad.

Dog Problems

2010-03-09T00:01:00.004-06:00

I am doing this blogging thing too infrequently aren't I? I apologize for that, I really do. I know this is going to sound like a stupid excuse but I have just been so exhausted lately. Maybe it's the balancing of school and work. Maybe it's a malignant virus that is slowly eating away at my brain. I can't really be sure, but there is something going on. Maybe a vitamin deficiency? It's probably both to be honest. For the most part I've just been too busy. So in the next couple of posts I'll try to update you on what I've been doing.

I recently aquired two new Coton de Tulear puppies. I know you don't know what breed that is, I didn't either until a week ago. They are french dogs from Madagascar, and quite adorable. My family members can't seem to actually pronounce the name of the breed so it comes out more like "Cotton Two Layer" but that's fine with me. To be honest I wasn't sure it was a great idea to make such a large commitment so soon after losing Bear, but to be honest I missed the companionship. Even though I also have another dog Buddy, I had already began to feel like I didn't even own a dog, and that's a feeling I can't live with. I was ready for another dog.

This is Maggie whose full name is Princess Margaret of Monaco. I know it appears that she doesn't have any eyes, but she does...I think.This is Izzie whose full name is Princess Isabelle of Spain, though that name detracts from what she really is...a three pound crap machine.

Edit: I wrote this a hour ago before I discovered a four inch turd nestled atop my Associated Press Style Book I casually left on the floor. Maybe I am not ready for a dog after all.

Goodbye my sweet Bear

2010-02-13T01:33:00.002-06:00

You were one of the good things.

Love/Hate

2010-01-27T00:02:00.003-06:00

I know I haven't written, burn me on a stake in your front yard if you must. But I feel like I finally have a good excuse, instead of my standard "I didn't feel like it" response, I have for once been extraordinarily busy. As some of you may already know, I have re enrolled into school, and am in the midst of my second week back. I forgot in my hiatus how much I love and hate school. I love taking notes, and listening to the voice of a boring teacher. I hate being surrounded by a bunch of people that I don't care to know. I hate walking to school, but love the feeling of walking towards something significant instead of pacing in my backyard smoking and talking on the phone. I love new books, and post it notes I hate seeing girls around campus in zebra print tights. I love the Cougar in my Advanced Composition class, but I hate my Advanced Composition teacher because he has an incredibly wheezy voice. I love the feeling that my life is important again, I hate knowing that I wasted the last few years of my life. I hate waking up early, but I love being able to eat breakfast for once I am coming to again appreciate Nutrigrain bars, and SmartStart in the morning. I love having something to do again, but hate not being able to do my normal nothing. I guess what I hate most about it is how much I love it all, and how much time I wasted when I could have been doing this instead.

Supplies.

2010-01-06T22:43:00.002-06:00

Is there any better feeling in the world than having freshly bought notebooks and fancy pens and post it notes? I seriously doubt it.

Happy New Years

2010-01-02T00:56:00.002-06:00

I like to believe that things repeat themselves. I like to think that patterns exist and that we can trace all of our actions and reactions back to things that happened years ago. I like to believe that things come full circle. It is the beginning of a new decade and I believe that decades are significant, because I think that we need markers to show us how far we've come.

Starting off in the first decade that I can fully remember I've looked back on the way things turned out, to see if maybe I have something to look forward to in the next ten years. In the nineties things started off well with elementary school, sagged around 1997 during the sixth grade and began to pick up during 1999, the year that both Britney Spears came out and I finished up junior high.

The new millennium started out with my first years of high school and my first years of having amazing people around me. Things just kept going great until 2006 when everything turned to shit. I had a period of years that I don't want to even remember. And now on the verge of a decade I feel like things are starting to look up again. I am going back to school in two weeks, I know some of the most amazing people you could ever hope to meet, and I'm finally happy with who I am. I don't think you can ask for too much more than that really. So I can only hope that history begins to repeat itself and I have an incredible time in the next few years. I am hoping for the absolute best, but fearing for the worst. I cannot wait to see what is going to become of me.

This Still Stands

2009-12-19T14:37:00.002-06:00

All That Glitters

Although maybe you should ignore the typos, I don't like to edit myself.

Too Many Aunts

2009-11-30T00:13:00.003-06:00

I know I'm a couple of days late on this, but I guess it's time to update you on my Thanksgiving. Apparently all I'm posting about these days are holidays. So I guess you should expect the next two posts to come around Christmas and New Years, but honestly I don't know what I'll be doing for Martin Luther King Day, so I'm not sure if you'll even get a post in February. Sadly, this is just the way things are these days. I guess I should start by saying that I don't even really like Thanksgiving, in fact I'm not even sure it should be considered a Holiday. Really it's just an excuse to consume twice the daily limit of two thousand calories, which frankly I already do on a regular basis anyway, because that's how me and my insatiable appetite roll. I would like to say that I make up for my over consumption with a super metabolism and a strict exercise regimen but in reality I just keep gaining pounds, and continue to wear the same sized clothing to make myself even more appealing to the opposite sex (by the way, I'm still single!)

But again, I am getting off track here. Really this post doesn't even have anything to do with myself, for once I was not the absolute train wreck of the festivities. Generally during holidays I like to commit loud outbursts about inappropriate things which has resulted in several cases of family dissolution over the years. One Christmas I sat atop an air conditioning unit in Texas, sobbing while my younger cousins played touch football twenty feet away. Did I mention I was seventeen when this happened? But again, this Holiday was not about my outbursts but instead about the outbursts of everyone else.

It all began early that morning when my eighty year old aunt Peggy walked into our house and apparently completely lost all her facilities including speech, telepathy, and how to walk properly. So instead of heel toe, she face planted on to the pavement, and broke her nose. I'm not trying to say this was funny, because it absolutely was not. I generally don't advocate the bruising of the elderly. Though I feel that if you knew my aunt Peggy (who I believes birth name is actually Pegetha after what I like to believe was a forgotten ancient Roman goddess), you'd be able to find the humor in this situation.

See, I have this theory that every family has a dud. If there are multiple children born to a family, one of them is always going to be the less successful, the less attractive, less mentally able child. I say this not to be rude, but to educate. I once believed that I was the dud in our family, because my sister is exceedingly more awesome than I could ever hope to be. But then I remembered that I actually had a sister that died, and I'm not trying to be insensitive when I say this and no irreverence to the dead or anything, but one of us survived and one of us did not, so I guess I am the clear and undisputed winner in this case. So thankfully I am not the dud, but I digress out of her nine siblings my aunt Peggy sadly, is the dud. She is the most ridiculous person you could ever hope to meet, or have the misfortune to spend more than twenty minutes with.

Not that I don't love her, because I do. But she is completely ridiculous, and has absolutely no idea what is going on at any given time. Example: When my sister and I took her to the emergency room about an hour after her incident, the doctor inquired as to what happened and what was wrong with her, and she responded that "she had a sinus infection, and laryngitis, and that she needed Cadillac surgery, and that she needed to have her Cadillacs removed". If you can't guess the mention of a certain luxury car was actually misplaced for the eye affliction more commonly referred to as cataracts.

Now, I also have cataracts, and I would agree that if instead of cataracts you were suffering from Cadillacs, that you would absolutely need to get them removed and try to sell them above Kelly Blue Book value, but sadly this is not the case, and also not at all what the doctor asked. When he did inform her that her nose was broken, and we left the establishment her first words were "Well, at least my nose isn't broken." Which only goes to prove that not only was she just not listening at all, but also that she is the dud. I think I've proven my point.

Now sadly this was not the only aunt related incident of the day. You see, I was born into a family of melodramatics much like myself. I don't typically see anything wrong with over dramatic tendencies, as I am known to throw a hissy fit approximately fourteen times a day, I think it's good for the soul, and definitely good for the economy because every time I commit an outburst someone usually buys me something from Sonic, which I really appreciate. Though I could not even begin to compete with the theatrics brought on my aunt Dianne. She is the true thespian of our ilk. Usually she likes to show this off every Thanksgiving with a well thought out prayer. Last year she printed out no less than ten pages of prayers, which she had copied, collated, and stapled for every member of our sizable group. She also assigned equal parts to everyone there. It was like performing a badly rehearsed, badly choreographed elementary school Thanksgiving play, only it was all about God. Needless to say, it did not go well as I'm pretty sure a couple of my family members can't even read. So we all stood with hands clasped together for well over an hour as my drunken high school dropout cousins stumbled through declarations of thanks, as everyone eyed the cranberry sauce longingly. It was not a good time had by all.

But this year, she really stepped up her game as earlier in the year she was in a bad accident and is temporarily in a wheel chair and has a lot of free time on her hands. All seemed normal at first, there were no pamphlets passed out, there was just a simple bowing of the heads as my grandmother began to recite the normal prefood blessing. After she was done my aunt interrupted loudly "I'd just like to say we should take a moment to remember all those boys in Iraq (though she pronounced in Urrack) who are serving our country and can't be with their loved ones today". Although this sentiment could be considered sweet to most, I immediately knew that things were not on the up and up, as we don't have a single person in our family who is in the military. Not that I don't appreciate everything they do for us I guess, I just didn't see the need. I could immediately feel the nervous energy of my fellow family members as we all wondered what was coming around the corner.

That's when I noticed my aunt pulling her very own script from her purse, she held the paper in front of her face with one hand, as she wiped away a single stray tear with the other. She began to recite in the most sorrowful tone I have ever experienced "From the halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli. We will fight our countries battles, in the air, on land and sea...." Yeah, that's right motherfuckers she tearfully recited the entirety of the Salute to the Armed Forces. I wish I was fucking making this shit up. I couldn't possibly. It was absolutely horrible, it took her seventeen minutes to finish a fucking sentence. She was talking so slowly that I'm pretty sure she thought she was Nobel Laurette Maya Angelou. Well, if my aunt is Maya Angelou and I just didn't know it before, I finally know why the caged bird sings, and that's too drown out her horrible voice. I hope your Thanksgiving was a little less stupid.

It's The Great Racist Charlie Brown!

2009-11-01T23:08:00.001-06:00

I would like to start this post off by saying that it features some highly offensive language in it. Well, actually no it doesn't but it would if I did some direct quoting. But instead I will substitute some choice words to describe someones race. The word I am trying to replace rhymes with bigger, but has an alternate beginning consonant. Do you get what I'm saying here? So instead of saying a word that is offensive to many, I'll substitute it with a word that applies to a group of people that offends me: Canadians. So if you see the word Canadian in this post, know that it really stands for something else. Do you hear what I'm trying to say? Okay, you get it? Good, then I'll start.

Last night in the hopes of finding something fun to do on Halloween, my sister and I along with a couple of our older cousins perused around the greater area of downtown Lake Charles. I won't begin to describe to tell you how pathetic the greater area of downtown Lake Charles is, but I'm sure you can guess. We were driving around looking for a haunted house exhibit that was going on last year for charity, but for one reason or another was not going on last night. In our unfounded search we came upon two horse drawn carriages perched by the Lake. For some reason we thought this would be a great idea, so we paid our thirty five dollars and hopped on.

I have ridden horse drawn carriages twice before. Once in New Orleans, and another in Memphis, Tennessee. These were good rides, very informative if not a little yawn inducing family activities. I expected something similar in this, but what I got was not at all what was expected. If I had looked closely before getting on this ride, I would have noticed that the driver was missing nearly all of his front teeth. Which in foresight does not bode well for the proceedings. Although now that I think about it that might actually be a prerequisite for carriage drivers. You are not fully qualified unless you are missing your molars.

But at the beginning I had no idea that not everything was on the up and up here. He drove us by the destroyed boardwalk that is under construction. He informed us that they were planning to build some "fancy things like restaurants and night clubs" though he said the word club as if it rhymed with boob. Which let me tell you in normal human pronunciation it does not. But beyond the normal realm of how words are actually said, things were fine. He drove us around the civic center, and the courthouse. He drove us around the loft apartments, and some of the downtown bars where a mass of people were converged outside waiting to get in. This was right around the time that he noticed that a group of people were doing the Lake Charles second annual "Thriller" dance.

Apparently this thirty something redneck did not at all recall his childhood when Michael Jackson was the end all and be all of pop stars. He was highly offended, the only way I could tell because this string of words sprung out of his mouth: "You know, a few years ago they were going to execute that Canadian (Gay Slur), they were going to give him the electric chair. He molested those kids you know? He had the gay sex with them, he did. But then when he died, he became a god damned hero. And then that Canadian turned himself white. I saw some pictures of that Canadian on the TV after he died, of when he was a kid. He was a cute little Canadian baby. But then he became a white woman, molesting all those kids. He molested kids, you know?"

First of all I would like to start by saying, I hate how people recycle old jokes. You know the one about Michael Jackson when people say "he started out a black man and ended up a white woman." Yes, that's frankly hilarious I get it. We should laugh at his personal choices, and his skin disorders, and his race. That is humor. If I were a redneck, I'd like to believe that I'd at least be clever with my racism. I'd like to think that I'd be original. All the while this is happening, my older cousin who is in the middle seat directly behind the driver started egging him on because he thought it was funny. I on the other hand did not find it funny at all. I kept repeatedly saying, that I was mortified. To see if he would stop. He did not stop. I actually told the man that I thought Michael Jackson was a national treasure. I'm not sure what kind of aneurysm made me decide to say that. May I tell you that when he was saying this we were riding through what could be described as the more ethnic part of our city?

I don't know how to drive that point home to you except to say that while he was pronouncing his very colorful view of "how things are" we were literally surrounded by African American trick or treaters and their parents. When I started to say something discreetly about that fact, he informed us that it wasn't important because he had a gun. Well, now that's just fucking fantastic. I was on an armed, racist, horse drawn carriage. I might as well be the ringleader in a fucking Ku Klux Klan rally. I'm not really sure what they do at KKK rallies, but I assume they collectively drink the blood of a goat, and then all beat their wives. Which doesn't really sound like my kind of people.

But I feel like towards the end, things started to look up. When we pulled back into the parking lot we came from, he parked the carriage. We all got off and began to pet the horse, and he came up to us and announced that "tips were appreciated." I looked him in the eye and said, "Well, racism isn't." And then we got in our car and left. I think that I am the modern day Martin Luther King. Aren't I? Well I think I am, and that's enough really.

I'm Gonna Hit This City

2009-10-24T23:53:00.001-05:00

I keep wait, wait, waiting for something funny to happen so I'll have something to talk about. But then earlier I realized that funny things never actually happen to me. Which is weird because usually whenever I talk to someone I always have some outlandish story to tell them. It usually involves a hero (always played by me), and how the villain (which is generally played by anyone I come to find completely ridiculous) attempted to fuck up that particular day for me. These stories are always a rousing success and I usually make a mental note to add them to my repertoire so that I can entertain possibly millions of other people I might meet later in life. Sadly, one day a friend and I were recounting a story to someone else, and I inadvertently kept adding all of these details that I swore actually happened, when he informed me that they indeed did not. I guess I just have a way of taking a completely pedestrian story and blowing it completely out of proportion. I think that may be my one true gift. A gift that I shall now wrap (in some tacky Christmas paper emblazoned with Disney Princesses my parents more than likely bought on clearance fourteen years ago that is still to this day sitting in a closet at the end of our hall) and give it to all of you. Try to sort through the bullshit, I'll do my best to filter it from my end.

So yesterday, I was on my way to McNeese to fill out some paperwork for next semester (because in case I haven't mentioned it I am going back to school in January). On my way to school, I did what I always do which is listen to an unsettling combination of Reba Mcentire, Britney Spears, and a little bit of "California Love" by Tupac for good measure, at an incredible decibel, smoke as much as humanly possible, and drive as if I'm completely blind. Which is sad because I actually can see...sort of. So, I'm on my way to school when the right side of my car starts doing this horrible combination of both screeching and grinding. I couldn't possibly explain to you what this sounds like, unless you have recently heard Mariah Carey's cover of "I Want to Know What Love Is". I immediately pull over into the nearest gas station to see if I blew a tire or something equally horrifying. But when I get out of the car I see that all four of my wheels seem to be intact. Which is really great seeing as how I would have no earthly idea how to replace one if something like this were to actually occur. Which is painful for me to admit as a twenty three year old man. I simply cannot wrap my head around anything mechanical. But to my surprise I see absolutely nothing except for my amazing reflection in my alloy rims. (Does anyone know what alloy means by the way? I have no idea.)

So I get back in my car, and proceed to drive to school. On the way things seem fine until I hit a pot hole because even on the main roads in Lake Charles the streets are exceedingly ghetto. Immediately my car starts shaking, and grinding, and bleating. Oh the bleating, you'd be shocked to hear it. I immediately pull in to school, and to the nearest parking lot. The beautiful twenty somethings on their way to class give me horrible looks. I would shout obscenities at them usually, but I'm too busy FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. I pull in to the parking lot, and immediately call my father. This is where the story ends. He came and got me and that was it. But the way I tell the story in real life, the engine caught fire, and I killed no less than fourteen civilians. Backpacks and lattes are strewn all over the campus. It is a national disaster. People usually nod at this part, shaking their heads with laughter. That Jordan is hilarious, they think. I agree, he is.

Love/Hate

2009-09-25T00:30:00.002-05:00

Things I have loved recently

The best television show of our generation, Glee. It's about a choir which brings me back to breath control, and good posture, and standing in the front row of the tenor section next to this fat guy I used to be friends with.

This nagging feeling I'm getting lately that tells me that maybe it's time to get something started. To become something better than I am, that maybe I can be more than I already am. This feeling is keeping me going.

The Britney Spears concert I went to last week. It was the best two hours of my life sadly. I would like to say that there was something more meaningful that has happened to me in my twenty three years but sadly that is not the case. I'd even go as far to say that it might be the pinnacle of my existence for I am clearly going to die alone, and have no life goals of which to speak of. So yeah, pretty much Britney Spears was it for me. I guess I can start cutting myself now.

The fact that two weeks ago I stopped smoking. I would like to say that it was because of some great new understanding of the dangers of lung cancer, and heart disease, and knowing that I want to live as long as possible so that I may one day see my future children get married. But sadly it was just because I had the flu and was too weak to walk outside and light one up. So really I quit, because I'm lazy. Which to be fair is the reason I quit most things.

Things I have hated recently

Actually to be honest, I had planned on writing about a bunch of things that have been bothering me but then I realized that I couldn't really think of any. And I guess that's something else to love.

Actually now that I think about it a few hours ago two fingers on my left hand started tingling randomly. Which I'm sure is probably a manifestation of a deep neurological disorder. Well that, or a sure sign I have cancer of the lower asshole, and I'm not even sure I have an upper asshole so now I have that to worry about.

Kill the Lights

2009-09-18T00:22:00.002-05:00

I will come back eventually. I will.

Never Ever

2009-08-12T22:05:00.002-05:00

He needs rats to do his job. Never, ever rat. I'm a turn coat, a bad person. I betrayed her, and I feel so guilty. I had no choice.

I am so melodramatic

2009-08-03T00:36:00.003-05:00

I have been trying to write something to say to you for what seems like months. In reality it's only been a couple of hours since I told you goodbye. God, that was something I never wanted to have to say to you. But I don't want to get melodramatic as I am sometimes prone to do. I don't want to write something that I'll look back on in six months and cringe. I do that a lot. I make so many bad decisions, say so many wrong things, that it's hard to look back on them. But I made no bad decisions as far as you were concerned. I'm so glad that some twisted kind of fate introduced the two of us. And when we met I didn't really know anyone worth knowing, but I took a chance on you. It paid off. And it seems like all of the people I now know that are worth knowing I met because of you. Everything in some way stemmed from you. And now there are so many people and faces that sometimes my cup runneth over. I guess in a way that's what you're doing, you're over flowing to somewhere else. And I know you're moving to Ohio. And I know that you'll meet a million new faces, and I know that there will be someone there who makes a better friend than I do. Someone who knows all about the things you care about. Who has something to say other than how much they like Britney Spears. And when that happens, I think you should take that chance. Because I once took a chance on someone and I gained the ten best years of my life. You deserve to have that no matter where you are. I know we'll see each other sporadically. And I look forward to that more than you know, or more than I'd ever want you to know. But we are adults now, and maybe we're too old to have best friends now. But, I really hope we're not. It doesn't matter either way I guess. Because I just like to think of us as eternally twelve years old and playing video games and listening to Weird Al, and walking around the neighborhood, and drinking Mountain Dew. But like I said in reality we are adults now, so I know we can't stay here forever but I wish we could. I really wish we could.

Thank You and Goodbye.

I am not mature

2009-07-23T00:34:00.002-05:00

I just finished wrapping a gift for my cousin who is scheduled to have a baby tomorrow. I can't believe I'm finally at that age when people who are two years younger than me are procreating, getting engaged, going to prison, moving to Cleavland. It's not that I'm not happy for all of those people, I am deliriously happy and wish them nothing but the very greatest things. I just can't help feeling behind the times on this one. I am in no way ready to do any of those things just yet. I ate a corn dog for lunch today, and an hour ago I paid six dollars for a cupcake. If those two things don't signify to the world that I am in no way mature enough to be bringing life into the world, I'm not sure what would. I am not ready to get married because all I see in front of me is a world of potato faces that are not right for me. I'm not ready to move to Cleavland or go to prison because I feel that there are still things for me to do here. Also, I don't want to get ass raped, which I'm sure could happen in Cleavland just as easy as it could in prison.

I've Got Your Crazy

2009-07-11T01:05:00.002-05:00

There are alot of things that are making me incredibly happy right now. I can't say what they are yet, but I can say that it's a good thing.

Be Careful What You Do, Because The Lie Becomes The Truth

2009-06-28T23:58:00.002-05:00

I know I should finish telling you about my trip, although that was nearly a month ago at this point. Instead I will tell you about some of AWESOME and some of the REALLY FUCKING BAD things that are happening now.

First of all in about a month's time the single greatest person I have ever met is moving thousands of miles away. I haven't really been able to process that one yet.

The only thing that is getting me through it is knowing that on September 19th, 2009 I will be finally accomplishing my life goal of seeing Britney Spears IN PERSON BUT NOT SINGING LIVE. I can't tell you how motherfucking excited I am about that.

Colorado Part Two

2009-06-21T23:17:00.004-05:00

To be honest there was more in Colorado than just aging hippies. There were young hippies too. This was mostly demonstrated in the city of Boulder Colorado which is a sleepy college town. I say sleepy because most of the people there can't pry their mouths off the end of their bongs to do anything too productive.

Although in all seriousness I saw some of the most ridiculous stuff in Boulder than I did on the rest of the trip. This ridiculousness includes an overweight twenty something college student dressed up as a jester and making balloon animals. Which wouldn't have been that bad because I'm sure there is a child somewhere who would actually be impressed by a dog made out of latex. But sadly for this child the jester kept accidentally popping his creations with his cigarette. He was a sad clown. I also saw a man playing the piano with his feet, which now that I think about isn't even all that interesting. For all I know maybe he had some kind of crippling disfiguring like Megan Fox and has toes for thumbs. I have no idea really.

By far the greatest thing I saw in Boulder was the exchange between a harmonica player, and a sleeping homeless man sitting on two benches facing opposite of each other. The exchange went something like this:

Harmonica Player: "Hey man, you play harmonica?"
Sleeping Homeless Man: "......"
Harmonica Player: "I play harmonica....and shit I make some good money."
Sleeping Homeless Man: "......"
Harmonica Player: "Man, I just play the way I feel....and I always feel sad."
Sleeping Homeless Man: "......"

I was actually eating at an outside table at a Cheesecake Factory when I witnessed this. I was laughing so hard, I could barely finish my weird ass chicken and pasta dish. Also side note: Why does the Cheesecake Factory have to be so god damned pretentious? They act as if they're curing cancer instead of stealing your money by selling you a slice of fourteen dollar cheesecake.

To be honest I shouldn't have been eating cheesecake in the first place because Colorado is known as one of the physically fittest states in America. It wasn't that hard to tell, seeing as how I saw droves of people everyday laden in spandex riding their bikes up a mountain. I can understand being active, God knows I've never liked it but I could see how someone might view it as beneficial. But why the mother fuck would you bike up a god damned mountain? Biking up a mountain is on my list of things I'd rather die than do right in between seeing my high school librarian naked, and Hugh Jackman as Wolverine clawing me in the nut sack. (I can't believe I just used the term nut sack.)

Also in that same category it was weird to me that Colorado had hardly any normal grocery stores. All they really had was a ton of "Whole Foods" which I've never actually shopped at but I'm assuming is really pretentious and gay. There's nothing wrong with eating organic I guess, I just can't say I'd ever decide to do it. Unless maybe they started making organic gummy bears, and Milky Way Midnight bars. I could get behind that maybe.

I was going to attempt to put all of this in two posts but it is getting out of control. The third installment will happen shortly.

Colorado Part One (Also My 300th post)

2009-06-16T00:21:00.003-05:00

It has been nearly two weeks since my trip to Colorado ended. And although two weeks may be too long ago to still be talking about, that's exactly what I am going to do. And if you are not interested in hearing my amazing observations from over two weeks ago you can feel free to disregard the next ten million pages of awesome that I encountered.

I will start by saying that I normally do not enjoy leaving the comfort of my home. A trip to the grocery store or the mall is fine, even sometimes warranted. But being out of town for more than a few hours is usually intolerable for me. This is mostly because being away from home takes me away from the things that I do enjoy, mostly consisting of sitting on the couch watching "Wife Swap" pantsless. And though on this vacation there was a very capable television in our hotel room, I am not usually open to the watching of any television programming sans pants in the presence of my family.

Not that I would have even had time to that if I had wanted. Because of course we had to run this vacation like every other Gribble family outing which involves cramming nine hundred things to do every single day. I always thought vacations should be about taking enough Tylenol P.M. to knock out an entire city block of people, and watching free HBO in your hotel room. But apparently not so much, instead we ran the entire gamut of things there are to do in this mountainous state.

Did I mention how severely I hate mountains? It's not that they're not beautiful because they are in a very "all rocks look the same" kind of mentality. It's just that my body cannot adjust to being in any kind of change of elevation. This is probably caused by the fact that I am used to being in Louisiana which is approximately seven million feet below sea level. Believe it or not Colorado is about the same in the exact opposite direction. My insides just could not deal. I won't bore you with the consequences but let's just say that later in this story something will happen on a raft. And let's just say that this was not the first time that this specific thing had occurred on this trip. You will probably be able to figure this part out by the end.

The aspect of Colorado that I found a million times more exciting than the mountains was the sheer amount of hippies populating the area. I was almost positive that hippies were a dying breed that was replaced with racists and hicks but apparently all the hippies in all the world just packed up their hope for world peace and went to the mountains. This notion of hippies being so prevalent had not even occurred to me until I tried to get a cup of coffee in some butt hole town that we were touring (again for the god damned mountains.) Apparently normal coffee is not a luxury normally afforded to hippies. Instead they partake in some bullshit called yerba matte. Which I can only describe as looking like the dehydrated piss of a million mountain goats, and actually it tasted much worse. I was told by the barista that this drink was better than coffee because it and I quote "stimulated your metabolism, instead of your nervous system", as if I was going to take her opinion on anything seriously. She was wearing hemp, and absolutely no make up. So you know she was ass backwards, and buck nasty. She also went on to describe the typical way of drinking this finery was actually from a gourd. I'm sorry but if anyone who smelled like patchouli and bong water passed me a gourd and told me to drink from it I would immediately call the authorities. And also who the fuck cares if it doesn't stimulate your nervous system? What kind of pussy ass motherfucker gets the shakes from a god damned latte? And as if her bong smoking ass hadn't encountered much worse. Fuck hippies.

In our next installment you can look forward to even more run ins with the local free spirited sect, white water rafting, and the horrible flights to and from Colorado.

My cousin is a hero

2009-06-12T18:00:00.001-05:00

You can watch the amazingness of my nine year old cousin here: http://www.kplctv.com/global/video/flash/popupplayer.asp?ClipID1=3857280&h1=Nine%20year%20old%20girl%20saves%20her%20grandmother&vt1=v&at1=News&d1=104967&LaunchPageAdTag=News&activePane=info&rnd=26551531

Struck

2009-06-10T22:05:00.002-05:00

Tonight I went to the wedding of a girl I've known my entire life. She was the kind of family member who wasn't actually related to me in any sort of way but was always referred to as a cousin. I remember me and my sister spending the night at her house in sleeping bags watching Duck Tales (Does anyone else remember that? I fucking loved that shit.) I remember going on vacations with her, and spending every fourth of July in her pool. We used to play a game where we would sink to the bottom of the deep end and tried to see who could stay there for the longest. She almost always won. I never forgave her for that until now. It seems like so much time has passed since then, but she's only seventeen on her wedding day. She literally had to have her parents sign a permission slip to get married which is completely ludicrous. She should have looked so much older in her wedding dress, but the lacy edges only proved to make her look younger. I hadn't seen her in so long that when I leaned in to hug her, and tell her congratulations I remembered how much she was wrapped up in my childhood. As I saw her pose for photos with her new husband I realized how weddings are all about posing the way people want you to. I wondered how people figure out to stop posing, and to start living their new lives together. The whole night really made me wonder. Am I ever going to get to go through that? Am I ever going to get married, and have kids, who will one day have childhood friends that they will eventually go to the weddings of having the same questions? I hope so. God, I hope so.

It's Jordan, Bitch

2009-06-06T14:33:00.004-05:00

I am back from Colorado and I have lots of things to tell you including finery such as: herbal coffee drinking, wet suit wearing, stream face planting, white water vomiting, hippie seeing, jester balloon making, harmonica playing, airport security detaining, and the glorious story of my birthday. Stay tuned for the funny.

The Birthing Season

2009-06-03T20:53:00.000-05:00

My birthday is in two days. Please commence the merriment.

Tomorrow

2009-05-29T23:48:00.003-05:00

Tomorrow I am leaving on a jet plane. For the first ime these feet will leave the ground. Usually only my head is in the clouds. I hope to have something to talk about when I come back. I kind of doubt it though.

There I Go Again

2009-05-10T23:58:00.002-05:00

Okay, you win. I fucked up. I should have been there.

B & K

2009-05-07T23:40:00.002-05:00

Congratulations to the two of you. Ithink you already know who you are. I am so proud of the two of you. I hope you know that. I would elaborate, but it's pointless. I think the two of you already know how amazing I think you are. I'm sorry I couldn't make it. Really, sorry. When you get back into town celebratory Buffalo Wild Wings is on me.

Halt

2009-04-29T22:33:00.002-05:00

In the past week I have purchased seventeen books from AbeBooks. I need to be stopped.

Fidget

2009-04-14T00:31:00.000-05:00

I am clumsy. Well, I am. In the past week, I have broken three ceramic vases, a steel reinforced mechanical door (and it's respective locking mechanism), fallen out of my own chair, and tripped over my own feet more times than I can recall. Sadly, I can't blame it on my sobriety because sadly I am not under the influence of anything. I am just wired to be the one person on earth with the least amount of grace or stability possible. I am not the kind of clumsy that Disney instills in it's heroines to endear her to the hearts of millions. I am not clumsy because my team of writers decided that I had to have one character flaw amid all of my amazing attributes. No, not me I am endlessly, tirelessly, clumsy. I'm the kind of clumsy that can break a priceless porcelain anything from across the room just by thinking about it.

My clumsiness knows no boundaries, and the possibilities of breakage and personal injury are limitless. I'm fidgety, I need to touch everything I come into contact with. I need to pick it up and hold it in my giant, clumsy hands. I need to bring it closer to my face so that I can see it clearly. I need to manipulate it in a way it wasn't meant to be forced. I need to break things, it is a compulsion that is hardwired into my genes. My gracelessness doesn't even stop in the realm of breakable objects. I hurt people all the time. I forget people even exist sometimes, because my clumsy brain loses the information. I insult people in crowded restaurants because my clumsy tongue can't find a tactful way to say anything. I am insensitive and I can't properly sit in a chair without falling out of it. I guess that's two more things to add to the list of things you don't like about me.

Yes

2009-04-13T13:14:00.001-05:00

I am coming back.

Broken/Open

2009-03-19T00:19:00.002-05:00

Today was a bad day. My disco ball, the one relic I kept from my parents restaurant after it closed, shattered in a million pieces on the floor. Apple refused to fix my ipod even though it was broken by no fault of my own. Things are breaking all around me. Not just the material things, sometimes I think that maybe I too am broken. Unable to love, unable to be loved, unable to be serious even for a moment, unable to be anyone other than myself. It's a hard thing to admit to myself, that I'll never be anything more than I already am. And eventually, I'll keep trying to be something that I am clearly not, that I'll just bend until I break too. I just want someone to help me pick up the pieces. I just want someone to give me a chance.

A Chance

2009-03-18T00:12:00.003-05:00

Sometimes all I'm looking for is a chance, an opportunity. I wish someone would just give me a second glance. That's all I want right now.

H.L.D.

2009-03-02T23:01:00.004-06:00

My grandfather died two days ago in the early morning hours. I feel like I can say that without any sadness. I barely knew him, because in his days of living he was a stubborn, unforgiving man. And today at his funeral as everyone waxed poetically about his virtues they all sounded like far fetched lies to me. That was not the man I knew. I'm not trying to speak ill of the dead, but I do feel that in covering up who he really was I'd be dishonoring his memory. I never met my grandfather until I was ten years old. He had a long grudge against my father for reasons unknown to anyone but him. He finally let it go when I was ten, but the resentments were always there, we always walked on eggshells around him. Things were never easy between us. Our conversations were awkward and stilted. He asked me about my schooling, and where I was working. And in my answers he heard the voice of a boy who had come from a man he never could stand. And in his questions I heard the voice of the man who had never treated my mother the way she was meant to be treated. When he looked at me, he never really saw me. When I looked at him I saw a giant of man, that I would never understand. He never asked me about my friends, about my interests, about my personal life. I don't know if he didn't ask because he didn't care. Maybe he just knew that a line was drawn in the sand, and there was only so much I was willing to tell him.

When I was seventeen the questions stopped. There was a fight, I started it. though some have said that if it hasn't been because of me it would have been because of something else. The fragile ice we had been skating on all those years had finally cracked. I didn't speak to him again until he was almost too weak to respond. Finally five years later when he was sick, and it would have looked to horrible not to visit him I saw him again. The questions started again, though this time with a slow and measured breath. Now, he would ask them repeatedly, because he couldn't remember having asked them in the first place. I didn't mind them as much now. And I was glad not to be asked about anything that was actually important to me. And in the five years that had passed he had become so much smaller in my eyes. Whether it was because of the curvature of his spine, or the lack of respect I now had for him, I am not sure.

Today as I was sitting in the pew during his memorial service, it struck me how conflicted I felt about the entire situation. Here was a man, who was more closely related to me than nearly anyone else in my life who I truly love. Yet, I felt no affection for him at all. I felt no stir of emotions at all as I looked at his casket. I felt nothing. And in feeling nothing, I felt everything. I can't believe how dead inside I was concerning this man. I just couldn't understand how that could be, as I am the most emotional person you will ever meet. I never realized I could hold such resentments that I never even knew I had. And as the rest of the people attending the services began their procession out of the room the family made it's way to him. As my mother and her mother, and her siblings crowded around him I found myself shying away in the corner. They finally left, and I realized I was alone in the room with him. I couldn't tell you when the last time that has happened. I walked up to his coffin, and said goodbye. And as I walked out of the room, I forgave him. I only hope he can forgive me too.

The Sad and Hidden Truths

2009-02-13T00:38:00.001-06:00

I'm finding out a lot of things about myself I think I may have been better off not knowing lately. For instance I willingly watched almost two hours of UFC fighting with Bryant recently. And even worse than just viewing this masochistic display of manhood, I kind of got into it a bit. Apparently somewhere deep inside me is a prehistoric man who is craving bloodshed. I do believe that's something I could have lived without knowing about myself. Although I have always shied away from any sort of physical activity including watching others partake in it, and never allowing myself to participate in it. But for all I know there is a Ultimate Fighting Championship lover in me. Maybe if I had known this earlier I would have been one of those thirteen year old white trash boys who wore WWF shirts to school and told everyone that would listen how much they loved Stone Cold Steve Austin. I totally could have been that guy, and is there anything worse than that really? I kind of doubt it.

I'm also starting to realize that I may be a compulsive liar. Not in the "Oh No Officer, I didn't savagely beat and possibly rape pop star Rihanna!" kind of way. But a less malicious story telling kind of way. I don't even know how it happens, I just find myself having simple conversations with people, and in the middle of which I find myself bored and start weaving these completely ridiculous tales. And believe it or not, I actually have a pretty good poker face. So most people think I'm telling the truth. And I do eventually tell them I'm lying, and that most of everything I say is a boldfaced lie. But I don't understand how I find myself in this situation in the first place. I'm a good person right? Good people don't lie, do they? I mean sure they lie to get out of jury duty, and helping the homeless. But beyond that normal people don't' go around telling fairy tales so good that they could have been penned by J.K. Rowling herself do they? I don't think so. I need to find a way to stop myself.

My first job: food service

2009-01-30T22:54:00.001-06:00

I will never serve food for a living again.

My first job was when I was fifteen at the restaurant my parents managed at the time. I think my official title was "busboy", but I also was used as a guacamole maker, tortilla warmer, chip fetcher, drink refiller, and most importantly my father's bitch. Mostly I just followed him around, and did things for him all day. I was too young to get a paycheck so it was all cash. I was always pretty sure they were shorting me though. I should have a talk with my Dad about making up some of that lost income. That time could have been better spent doing things I did when I was fifteen like watching MTV, and learning to drive a car. I wish I had spent that extra time learning how to drive, because I am awful driver today seven years later. I think there's a lesson there somewhere.

If I had easy access to a helicopter, I'd fly to New York this weekend

2009-01-30T13:59:00.001-06:00

I'd like to experience a big city but only in a small dose. I think I'd feel to lost and out of place to stay there for two long.

My ideal Super Bowl halftime show would include Britney Spears and Reba Mcentire

2009-01-29T22:41:00.001-06:00

Britney Spears
I don't think this really needs much explanation other than the fact that she's fucking Britney Spears.

Reba Mcentire
Because I'd really like to see her do a duet of "I'm A Slave 4 U" with the abformentioned Britney Spears.

If I were a superhero, I would certainly wear tights

2009-01-28T00:14:00.001-06:00

My name would be SONIC BOOM. My abiliities would include being the loudest motherfucker in the world, and filling the awkard pauses in conversations with obceneties.

When I realized I was a grown-up

2009-01-24T14:13:00.001-06:00

Although I am three years over the usual standard for being an adult I still feel like I'm not quite there yet. And to be pefectly honest I kind of feel like I'll never relaly feel old.

In defense of my vice: Britney Spears

2009-01-24T01:08:00.001-06:00

When she came out I was in the seventh grade. She immediately did a backflip into my heart and I could never stop listening to that bitch now if I wanted to.

Why my hip-hop posse would include A Random Half Naked Heiress

2009-01-24T00:59:00.001-06:00

A Random Half Naked Heiress
Because I think it goes without saying that every hip hop pesario needs a gaggle of half naked girls, and those half naked girls need a leader. And who better than to lead those half naked girls into lots of half naked conga dancing.

Three overplayed songs I love anyway

2009-01-24T00:58:00.001-06:00

Ignition Remix by R. Kelly

This song takes me back to the summer after I graduated. It was everywhere I turned, but I loved it anyway. It reminds me of going to the park and drinking Mountain Dew LiveWire and eating gummy bears.

Imagine by John Lennon

Even though this song is trotted out by some overdone artist at every event for charity/children/AIDS/poverty, I still love it even if I hear it by every other American Idol contestant every year.

Dolly Parton. by I Will Always Love You

Because it is so much more fragile and beautiful than the overwrought cover by Whitney Houston.

Disconnect

2009-01-15T23:50:00.003-06:00

Bad things happen sometimes, it is an unavoidable situation. Girls break up with their boyfriends, and pets die. People die all the time actually. It's the natural way things are supposed to happen I guess. My Grandfather is dying. And I don't say that in a way that begs for sympathy because I honestly don't want any. I have no relationship with my maternal grandparents and haven't had one for years. It's always been an off and on kind of situation. And the only reason it's on at the currently is because he is dying. And I feel so many things mostly for my mother who is torn between her resentment of him, and the guilt she feels for not having a good relationship with him, and the underlying grief she feels. And I don't know how to make sense of it. It is an odd feeling to know that you should be sad, but know that you're not. It is an odd sensation to know that you honestly don't feel anything at all about a particular person. No bad feelings, no good feelings, just nothing. That's the exact way I feel about the situation. I thank him for having a part in bringing my mother into the world because she is an amazing person and for that I thank him. but after that I want nothing from him, and nothing to do with him. And I know that's wrong, and I know that makes me a bad person. I just can't help it. I surprise myself sometimes how disconnected I can be. I think I need help. I know this doesn't make any sense to you at all, and that's because it doesn't even make any sense to me. I'm sorry.

Things You May Not Know:

2009-01-05T23:55:00.002-06:00

My sister signed all of her Christmas presents to me "To: Bitch Tits From: Marilyn"

I once was the victim of a run by kicking by a complete stranger at the Calcasieu Parish Public Library.

There are 479 songs by Britney Spears in my Itunes library.

I nearly named this site "Heartbreak is a Mother Fucker" but then decided that Postarita was probably a better fit.

A week ago I ate one of the best honey buns of my life. Easily in the top ten of all gas station pastries I've ever partaked in.

I am attempting to build my life's library a'la Alaska Young by going to garage sales every weekend.

I am intentionally listening to a Clay Aiken song at this very moment.

My mother got an mp3 player for Christmas. She asked me to fill it with music for her. As a joke I filled it with gangster rap, and line dances from the eighties. Oddly enough she loves it.

I can never decide if meatloaf is one word or two.

A few weeks ago me and Nicole found the entrance to Hell, and it's in Jefferson Parish.

I love writing nonsensical lists.

I do what I like and you like it

2009-01-03T22:58:00.002-06:00

Usually my predicament is not having enough to say. Right now I'm in the position where I have a lot to say, and not enough time to sit down and say it. I had a good Christmas, and an adequate New Years. In fact, I was taking a dump at the stroke of midnight. Which I think is a good indicator of things to come in 2009. I have lots of things to tell you, updates coming soon.

Shake Up

2008-12-18T00:29:00.003-06:00

I cleaned my bedroom today, which is not an extraordinary event worth writing about for most people. Only for me it happens bi annually at best, and never at worst. It's not that I'm too busy or anything, in fact for the most part I have absolutely nothing going on in my life. But for some reason I choose to live in filth for six months at a time. I am always amazed at the sheer amount of crap that I can accumulate in such a short span of time. It consists mostly of empty coke cans, and receipts for crap I didn't need to buy in the first place. But also I usually find a stack of notes that I write to myself in the middle of the night. For some reason I get most of greatest ideas while I'm asleep. Or at least what I think are great ideas at four in the morning. These notes usually turn out to be not so legible at best, and just doodles of what appears to be two stick figures having sex at a German carnival at the worst. These notes cover my night stand, and spill out on to the floor. They only contain stupid little things that in my sleeping state I think are critical to have down on paper. Whether it be jokes that I think are funny, or song lyrics, or ideas for a blog. Tonight, I found a note haphazardly written on the back of an old photograph that simply read: "Red headed lesbian goat farmer in Bogota, New Jersey" Apparently I believed at one time that this was relevant information.

So I guess that good news is that I can finally make my way to my bed without tripping over nineteen books in my way. The other thing I want to talk about is what I mentioned earlier that I have absolutely nothing going on in my life right now. I like to have a project, I like to have something to do at all times. I like to keep going, going, going when possible. I am my happiest when I'm busy, when there are people to see, and places to go. I can't understand why my appointment book is not filled to it's fullest extent. It makes no sense to me, I am amazing to be around. In fact I'd go as far to say that I'm the most amazing person I've ever met. And if I was another person and happened to meet myself I would do everything in my power to spend as much time with me as possible. I guess I'm just upset that I haven't been able to do anything productive as of late. In fact I'd go as far to say as the only productive thing I've done in the past month is to take a dump. And that's not even so much productive as it is filling up the sewers and polluting the ground water of Louisiana.

I guess what I'm saying is I need to meet that red headed lesbian goat farmer. I need to meet anyone, and everyone that brings some fun back to my life. I need a shake up. Yes I do.

It's Begining To Look Alot Like...

2008-12-14T02:05:00.002-06:00

I just found this picture while doing a Christmas project for my parents. I'd like to say that I was incontestably adorable. I look really happy, but for all I know I might have been molested by the mall Santa minutes after this picture was taken. I really don't remember, so I couldn't say for sure. I'd also like to say that if anyone could find me that exact same shirt in my current size I'd greatly appreciate it.

All That Glitters

2008-12-10T23:46:00.005-06:00

There's not a whole lot of things not to enjoy about this time of the year. Although most people redundantly refer to it as "their favorite time of the year" as if anyone out there really hates Christmas. I don't see how they could, really. This time is so special and not just because of the crowds and the forced merriment happening all around us. There's just something good in the air around this time, and it stings with a certain crispness that you won't find in July. People who sit in their homes day after day only thinking of themselves are suddenly filling their buggies and emptying their wallets for their loved ones. I swear even music sounds better during December whether it be the gentle tones of "Silent Night" even the amazing new Britney Spears album "Circus" sounds better this close to Christmas (Side Bar: Buy Yours Today!)

Sadly, I think I have finally found something to dislike about this season, and that would be glitter. It's barely big enough to see with the naked eye, but it is big enough to fuck up my entire day. I find it everywhere, on everything I own. It's on my shoe laces, and on my favorite wool peacoat. But that's only because everyone is insisting to add it to everything they touch this time of year. It truly is everywhere, on everything I see. It's on ornaments, and greeting cards, snow globes, and ceramic angels, garland, and wreaths. It is on everything.

It is almost as if the Christmas decoration creators of the world have begun to think the same way about glitter as most American chain restaurants think of chocolate. Which is: "If chocolate is good, then wouldn't more chocolate be better?" And then they answer themselves with: "Why don't we only serve deserts with approximately ninety seven different layers of chocolate? We can have a chocolate fudge cake, layered with chocolate icing, and topped with chocolate gannache! We could top it with chocolate ice cream, and pieces of chocolate candy! We could follow that up with chocolate whipped cream, and chocolate sauce with chocolate sprinkles! And then we'll serve it on a plate with ornate drippings of chocolate sauce!" You can almost see fat Americans everywhere sink to their knees and start thanking God at this proclamation.

But, it is perfect thinking, if you stop and consider it for a moment. We are a glutinous people. If we like something, we want as much of it as possible. We want it in as many different ways as we can have it. We want it all at the same time and please be quick about it. This kind of thinking only hurts those who just wish for a simple bowl of vanilla ice cream, or God forbid something with fruit in it. It is not enough to just want something simple anymore, it has to be adorned to the maximum extent. It has to be bigger, and better than what the people next door have. Whether that be with a fifteen foot high chocolate monstrosity that some waiter in a Chili's in Bogota, New Jersey is limping under the weight of. Or it could be the subtle way that neighbors silently compete over who has the most ornate Christmas decorations in their front yard. Which is all fun and games until someone brings out the airport landing strip like strobe lights to display their life size collection of wooden cartoon characters painted in their holiday finery. I'm speaking from experience as such a rivalry has broken out not two houses down from mine.

Apparently your house is not festive enough this holiday season unless every single ornament and yuletide trinket is covered with shiny fragments of metal. I cannot stand near enough to a decorated Christmas tree to admire it without coming away with it all over my face, and hands. And when I do purposefully touch something with glitter on it, I can almost see the glitter rise in a cloud above the object in question just in the wake of the gentle pads of your fingertips. I accidentally inhale it, and for the next month I am coughing and sneezing out the shiny pieces. I cannot walk down the Christmas aisle at Walmart or the stork I work in without looking like I just came from a strip club and was boobie slapped in the face by a coked out Russian stripper by the name of Charisma wearing a glitter and sequin studded g string.

I swear to God that yesterday I saw glitter in my pee. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but I swear that's what I saw. So I guess what I'm saying is that it all has to stop. The constant war of outdoing one another, the constant slathering on of our favorite things on every thing we see. Not everything is better with chocolate shavings, or red and gold glitter. Not everything can be fixed that easily, and that's something we need to learn. It really came to a head when I woke up this morning fresh from a horrible dream I had the night before in which I somehow got a piece of it in my eye during a parade gone horribly wrong. I then had to succumb to an experimental glitterectomy in which I lost my sight. I remember the feeling of relief I had when I woke up realizing that I still had the ability to see my surroundings. I felt so lucky, and fulfilled. Then I accidentally passed to closely to our Christmas Tree on my way to the kitchen and my whole fucking day was ruined and I think you know why.

Forture teller says maybe you won't go to hell

2008-11-24T01:41:00.004-06:00

He sounds so sure of himself. He sounds like he knows what he's talking about, and he makes me want to take his words for truth. He's in a place that is much different then than the place I find myself in on a day to day basis. He has his entire life planned out for him. He knows what he'll do, and he knows who he'll be with when he does it. He knows where he'll be and, who he wants to be. I feel completely different about the future. I feel like I have a million ideas, and a million passions, and none of the resources or knowledge to do anything with any of them. I feel like the seeds of a dandelion when you blow gently on it's petals. I'll just float in the wind until I land. And maybe I'll end up somewhere that I can flourish and finally become what I was meant to be. Or maybe I'll end up in a pile of scurrying ants (which I'm allergic to). Or maybe I'll land on someones driveway, amongst the steel framed cars and skid marks. I don't think that dandelions can grow through cement but maybe I'll be the first.

I just feel like a few years ago I had everything, and then in a matter of unconnected moments I lost it all. It's like I went to a fortune teller and there was a crack in her crystal ball. And she had no idea what to say to me about a life marred with cracks in the fragile glass surface of my life. And that scares me, but it also thrills me. I like not knowing, even though not knowing is what keeps me not sleeping. But I guess what I'm saying is that he might have it all figured out, and maybe I don't. But I guess I'm not scared at all, of the cracks in the crystal ball.

Nothing

2008-11-22T00:22:00.002-06:00

Remember those times when I was full of funny anecdotes and maudlin tales? This is not one of those times. I am so absolutely empty in life right now that I have absolutely nothing to talk about. So sorry for the lack of updates.

Is There A Light At The End of This Road?

2008-11-02T22:49:00.003-06:00

Yesterday I was restless as soon as I woke up. Sometimes I can't help myself, I like to be running, running, running, all of the time. No one was home, so I wouldn't have my sister as my partner in crime. It was too early for any of my regular cohorts to be awake. I had money that was burning a hole in my pocket, and a thirst to buy some books. I looked up a used book store in a small city just fifteen minutes away from my house. I grabbed my dad's TomTom, and was out the door. I got there with no problems surprisingly since I am notoriously bad about driving on interstates, and getting lost at every chance I get.

But I did get to the Second Hand Prose Book Shop. Sadly, the building did not offer what I thought was promised. Instead of pages and pages of exciting books, books that would make me laugh out loud, books that would teach me something about life, or love, or both. Instead it offered romance novels as far as the eye could see. Clearly, there was a problem here that I did not expect. But since I drove the twenty miles out, I was going to buy a book whether or not it was one I actually wanted. I found a battered copy of "The Catcher in the Rye" by J.D. Salinger sitting lonely on the only bookshelf that did not have anything with a muscled man with an open and billowing shirt on the cover. I paid the three dollars for it, and took it home.

On my way home however I ran into a snag. I misunderstood the GPS, and took a wrong on ramp and ended somewhere thirty minutes away from home before i noticed anything was wrong. My phone was dead, so I couldn't call for help. All I could do was freak out, and worry. I drove, and drove, and drove not knowing where I was or where I would end up. The TomTom was worthless at this point. There were no road signs, just miles and miles of empty highway. I don't think I've ever been so scared. I never realized how scary being lost actually is. Not knowing where you'll end up, or whether or not you'll ever make it back home. It's a frightening thought. You start to think of the people you left behind, the faces you may never see again. You could get in a wreck, and die forty miles from home and no one might ever know what happened to you. You might end up somewhere strange and not have enough money to get home. Your name becomes foreign to your loved ones, and you walk around a strange place as just another nameless face. You can fade into obscurity in a minute once you're lost.

But then I started to like the idea of getting lost. The idea that you could start over anywhere else. You could pick a new name for yourself, a new identity, even a new accent. Anything is possible when no one knows who you are. And something about that appeals to me. I haven't always been happy with the way my life is turning out, not exactly how I always thought that it would. I always thought there would be something more. Maybe it a person that's missing from my life that I haven't met yet. Maybe it's a career, or a promise for the future. Maybe it's some sense of accomplishment that I have yet to achieve. I don't know what it is exactly but maybe I could find it somewhere new. And I gave it a serious thought for a moment. I really did. Then I came to my senses and took the nearest exit and stopped to ask for directions. I guess I realized that I could live anywhere, but I can only be at home in one place. And that place is here.

We're In The City of Wonder

2008-11-02T22:34:00.003-06:00

I spent Halloween with the kind of friend that I don't spend enough time with. The kind of friend that every few months or so I take off the shelf, dust her off and have an amazing night with. We went to a local haunted house where all of the proceeds were donated to charity. It takes a special kind of friend to go to an event that has the chance to be even slightly frightening with me. I am the biggest pussy in the entire world. Although I'd like to say that means that I'm just a six foot tall vagina walking around with a hulking clitoris flapping in the wind, but sadly that's not exactly what I mean.

I mean that I am the archetype for easily frightened people. I am the perfect audience for scary movies, because I gasp in all the expected places. When the foreboding music cues up, I hold my legs close to my body. I hide my eyes, and scream. I can't help it this is just the way I was wired to be I guess. I think I get it from my mother, who freaks out at sudden movements and ordinary noises. But anyway, I am not the kind of person you want to go with when things have the opportunity to be scary. But Nicole was up to the challenge for that and I commend her. She didn't flinch once as twenty somethings dressed as zombies attacked from across the room. She did not push me aside when I grabbed for her hand in the dark. She did not yell at me, when I stepped on her feet trying desperately to get away from the man with the chainsaw standing in the corner. She took it like a professional, and I commend her for that one. It's not easy being my friend sometimes, but I'm always willing to buy you a cherry limeade from Sonic so I would say I'm probably worth it in the long run.

After that we drove out of town, further into this part of the state than I'd ever been before. It was the kind of place where grass grows all the way up to the bottoms of houses on cinder blocks. The kind of place where coyotes roam free, and their howls fill the night. We go tout of the car, on a deserted, dusty road and looked into the sky. I wish I could say that I was a smaller town where you could see the stars as perfectly as you could there. I've never seen so many of them all at once. And right then I knew that the zombies could attack, bring them on. As long as I ot one last good look at those stars I'd be ready to join them.