Another one of those moments where there is too much shit going on in my head, accumulated over the last couple of days... that I don't know where to start. I'm also tired from a long couple of days...
So uh... let me try to make it a quick hit.
1. Drunk texts.
They suck... when sent from a self-centered jerk.
I stayed up last night texting back and forth with MGH. He tried making me feel guilty for my trip to Chicago. He's coming down on the 20th with his girlfriend, and he had planned to stay at my place... unbeknownst to me.
He booked the flights, and nothing else, thinking he'd be good with the room to stay because he'd just crash at my place.
I told him I'd be out of town from the 16th until the 23rd, but he leaves the 22nd, so that's useless.
Try reasoning that shit out with a drunk guy who thinks he fucking owns you (because he knows he did at some point, sadly).
I tried to remain friendly... and I did apologize for being so "thoughtless," but I told him I really needed the vacation. I also said that since I had somehow managed to fuck up his girl's birthday, I owed them one for the next time... I mean, my house will always be here... with me probably living in it... until I die or whatever.
But he just started getting vicious on me... using hurtful words and whatnot... so before I started texting mean shit, I turned my phone off and went to bed.
Drunken mind speaks a sober heart, right?
2. Hair cut.
I don't care how many people freak out over the length, I. LOVE. IT.
If I start feeling bummed, all I have to do is catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I'lll crack a smile. I smile so much, I don't even look like myself.
Good times.
Know who used to play with my long hair? MGH...
3. The Amy Winehouse thing...
It upset me to see how quick people were to joke about the death of a person.
Mooney read me a tweet form RL Stine (I LOVE THAT MAN! He and Shel Silverstein have a special place in my heart. If it weren't for them--and Judy Blume-- I wouldn't have read at all as a kid) regarding celebrity deaths. It pertained to how people tend to mock and ridicule the untimely death of a female (or just their mental instability, a la Britney Spears), however, when it's a male figure, it suddenly turns into a "tragedy" (or they get admired, a la Charlie-Tiger-Blood-Sheen). Which... yeah, it's true. No one laughed or cracked jokes when, say, Heath Ledger ODed... or DJ AM (not saying they SHOULD have), but when Anna Nicole Smith ODed, and now Amy Winehouse unfortunate death, people didn't think twice to mock.
These people had a problem... and no one seemed to be able/want to help them.
That's heartbreaking.
There isn't anything joke-worthy there.
Fuck off and find validation from your peers some other place.
4. Books.
If it weren't for Mooney, I'd be a hardcore neanderthal. I'd refuse to go out and... read a book. I'd be home eating meat, lifting heavy objects, and communicating using only a couple of distinct grunts.
Luckily, I have concerned friends and family who pull me out of the troglodyte cave and reintroduce me to society.
Since Borders is-- sadly-- going out of business, Mooney decided to drag me along to try and BUY a book... since the vast majority of books I own are textbooks which only elicit dry-heaves and some tears from me.
BIOCHEMISTRY! FUCK YOUUUUUU! Oh look! Two codons for phenylalanine!
As we browsed through the store, all I could see was Darcy.
Chuck Palahniuk, Bret Easton Ellis, Anthony Burgess... the entire Jane Austen section... the actual name "Darcy" EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE from those... what are they called, Mooney? Continuations? Those books where other authors go on and write about particular characters... which apparently Darcy is quite the dude to make spin-offs about (that's what I'm calling it, fuck it). I was going crazy.
OK, really, let's stop the madness. I'm trying to lead a normal life here... and this is like, the fucking museum of Darcy... awww... but that is kind of adorable... ok, stop with the creepiness, AnoMALIE.
It was the most massive... Mother of all DD's I've ever experienced.
Nothing like the constant reminder of a person who hardly remembers you're alive.
I did end up walking out of there with two books. It would have been more, but insanity ain't something I fuck with, so I was out pretty quick.
Book stores... sneaky motherfuckers.
5. Future series of posts.
I'm getting kind of shitty at sticking to writing every day. I'm telling myself it's just the summer slump. I'd rather be outside playing in the water with tyson... or getting a tan... or just... playing... than sitting at the lap top, trying to jot down whatever the fuck I'm thinking. Plus, the majority of the summer time, I'm honestly not thinking of a damn thing.
But I do have this series of future posts planned out (most are even typed and saved right now)... but I don't have the heart to add them just yet. It's me, 100 percent me... without joking or sarcasm or cynicisms... it's just ME. I don't think anyone enjoys being that truthful and vulnerable in front of the world... so that series might simmer in the back-burner for now... maybe never see the light of day... but... it might... maybe... make it out. Just maybe... if I'm ever not too... depressed or whatever... and if the secondary portion of it comes to fruition (Jesus Christ... "the secondary portion comes to fruition," Listen to me talk. REALAX, it's not so serious).
Being completely honest with oneself is draining as fuck... and scary.
... but exciting.
Bah!
So uh... let me try to make it a quick hit.
1. Drunk texts.
They suck... when sent from a self-centered jerk.
I stayed up last night texting back and forth with MGH. He tried making me feel guilty for my trip to Chicago. He's coming down on the 20th with his girlfriend, and he had planned to stay at my place... unbeknownst to me.
He booked the flights, and nothing else, thinking he'd be good with the room to stay because he'd just crash at my place.
I told him I'd be out of town from the 16th until the 23rd, but he leaves the 22nd, so that's useless.
Try reasoning that shit out with a drunk guy who thinks he fucking owns you (because he knows he did at some point, sadly).
I tried to remain friendly... and I did apologize for being so "thoughtless," but I told him I really needed the vacation. I also said that since I had somehow managed to fuck up his girl's birthday, I owed them one for the next time... I mean, my house will always be here... with me probably living in it... until I die or whatever.
But he just started getting vicious on me... using hurtful words and whatnot... so before I started texting mean shit, I turned my phone off and went to bed.
Drunken mind speaks a sober heart, right?
2. Hair cut.
I don't care how many people freak out over the length, I. LOVE. IT.
 |
| The joy I get from knowing the haters can't read my blog and see my new haircut. HA-HA-HA! |
Good times.
Know who used to play with my long hair? MGH...
3. The Amy Winehouse thing...
It upset me to see how quick people were to joke about the death of a person.
Mooney read me a tweet form RL Stine (I LOVE THAT MAN! He and Shel Silverstein have a special place in my heart. If it weren't for them--and Judy Blume-- I wouldn't have read at all as a kid) regarding celebrity deaths. It pertained to how people tend to mock and ridicule the untimely death of a female (or just their mental instability, a la Britney Spears), however, when it's a male figure, it suddenly turns into a "tragedy" (or they get admired, a la Charlie-Tiger-Blood-Sheen). Which... yeah, it's true. No one laughed or cracked jokes when, say, Heath Ledger ODed... or DJ AM (not saying they SHOULD have), but when Anna Nicole Smith ODed, and now Amy Winehouse unfortunate death, people didn't think twice to mock.
These people had a problem... and no one seemed to be able/want to help them.
That's heartbreaking.
There isn't anything joke-worthy there.
Fuck off and find validation from your peers some other place.
4. Books.
If it weren't for Mooney, I'd be a hardcore neanderthal. I'd refuse to go out and... read a book. I'd be home eating meat, lifting heavy objects, and communicating using only a couple of distinct grunts.
Luckily, I have concerned friends and family who pull me out of the troglodyte cave and reintroduce me to society.
Since Borders is-- sadly-- going out of business, Mooney decided to drag me along to try and BUY a book... since the vast majority of books I own are textbooks which only elicit dry-heaves and some tears from me.
BIOCHEMISTRY! FUCK YOUUUUUU! Oh look! Two codons for phenylalanine!
As we browsed through the store, all I could see was Darcy.
Chuck Palahniuk, Bret Easton Ellis, Anthony Burgess... the entire Jane Austen section... the actual name "Darcy" EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE from those... what are they called, Mooney? Continuations? Those books where other authors go on and write about particular characters... which apparently Darcy is quite the dude to make spin-offs about (that's what I'm calling it, fuck it). I was going crazy.
OK, really, let's stop the madness. I'm trying to lead a normal life here... and this is like, the fucking museum of Darcy... awww... but that is kind of adorable... ok, stop with the creepiness, AnoMALIE.
It was the most massive... Mother of all DD's I've ever experienced.
Nothing like the constant reminder of a person who hardly remembers you're alive.
I did end up walking out of there with two books. It would have been more, but insanity ain't something I fuck with, so I was out pretty quick.
Book stores... sneaky motherfuckers.
5. Future series of posts.
I'm getting kind of shitty at sticking to writing every day. I'm telling myself it's just the summer slump. I'd rather be outside playing in the water with tyson... or getting a tan... or just... playing... than sitting at the lap top, trying to jot down whatever the fuck I'm thinking. Plus, the majority of the summer time, I'm honestly not thinking of a damn thing.
But I do have this series of future posts planned out (most are even typed and saved right now)... but I don't have the heart to add them just yet. It's me, 100 percent me... without joking or sarcasm or cynicisms... it's just ME. I don't think anyone enjoys being that truthful and vulnerable in front of the world... so that series might simmer in the back-burner for now... maybe never see the light of day... but... it might... maybe... make it out. Just maybe... if I'm ever not too... depressed or whatever... and if the secondary portion of it comes to fruition (Jesus Christ... "the secondary portion comes to fruition," Listen to me talk. REALAX, it's not so serious).
Being completely honest with oneself is draining as fuck... and scary.
... but exciting.
Bah!
1 comment:
Yes, yes, continuations is correct! "A Weekend with Mr. Darcy" indeed! I stopped pointing them out once you got angry at spotting the first few. LOL.
I'm looking forward to your posts!
Post a Comment