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Posts Tagged ‘Dyana’

How Fucked Up Am I?

November 22, 2010 1 comment

I started this one depressed day after my birthday and left it unfinished until tonight when for whatever reason I made a bizarre deal with myself saying that if I posted this I would allow myself to sleep. Best enjoyed with apple and cheese. No one gets that but me. She’s not reading this.

….

As I begin this I’m depressed. By the time I finish it I won’t be as depressed. Either I’ll start writing, and get in my writing mood and start making lame jokes and that will brighten my spirit, or I’ll stop writing before I get too far into this and just lie in bed listening to sad music until I fall asleep. The latter is usually what happens, but tonight I’ve got high hopes. Relatively speaking.

My birthday ended 51 minutes ago. It was a pleasant birthday. I usually hate my birthday, but for this birthday I told myself to just be. I don’t even know what that means, but I guess I did it. I woke up, listened to some podcasts, read a little, napped, went out to eat with my family, wrote, smiled at all the nice comments I got on facebook, especially one which I wasn’t even sure I’d receive. There were quite a few I didn’t think I’d get, but this particular one I really wanted, and ended up getting. It was from her of course. She brightens me up and tears me down to the likes which no one can match. That may be odd, but it makes perfect sense to me. Think about it, you only get disappointed for things that you get your hopes up for. It’s not that she does bad things that make me sad. It’s the lack of such great happiness I know I could be having with her that makes me sad.

This is how I know I love her above all others. I tell others I want them to be happy. I’ve had girls tell me I’m great but they’ve met someone else. And I care about these girls and I tell them its fine and I just want them to be happy. And I wish them much happiness in their relationships, and you know what’s shocking, I mean it. Sometimes it’s relieving. And I’ve told her that before too. I’ve told her I just want her to be happy, even if it’s not with me. And guess what, it’s total bullshit. That’s how I know I love her. I want her to be miserable with every guy she ever hooks up with because they can’t compare to me. How fucked up is that? But it’s not like I want them to hit her and talk down to her and have the sex to be bad. I want them to treat her like a princess, and buy her everything she wants, and have intellectual conversations that make Nietzsche and Socrates look like Ralph Wiggum, and I want the sex to be magical, out of this world great, which God damn orgasms that Jenna Jameson couldn’t even pretend to have, and I want her to have all that and more, but still when she’s lying in bed at night she’s sad because it’s not me, and she’s not as happy as she’d be with me, and she knows it.

How fucked up am I?

The sad part, well at least to me, is that I continually doubt myself. She’s in college. She’s going to meet guys smarter than me, guys hotter than me, guys who will make a lot more money than me, guys with bigger dicks than me, guys who can quote more movies than me, guys who remember to put the toilet seat down, guys who don’t almost cry twice a week, guys who don’t wake up and masturbate because they have nothing to do, guys who don’t almost slip and break their neck in the shower because they get too into singing one of their favorite songs from high school, guys who don’t start writing something about a girl they love but never finished and then come back to it two months later because it keeps nagging at them, guys who don’t pretend they’re in love with other chicks because they so desperately want to get over their first love, guys who don’t use commas just because they think run on sentences make more sense sometimes, guys who don’t listen to a song over and over again because it reminds them of her, guys who aren’t scared of failing, guys who don’t write whole paragraphs about how much better so many guys are then them, guys who don’t care about being perfect, guys who don’t care about being perfect for her, guys who aren’t me. Guy who despite knowing how great she is, despite being so much better than me in so many God damn ways, won’t be able to make he smile the way I can.

Doesn’t she know she’d be happiest with me? No. I never proved it. And now I’m afraid I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to.

 

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#98: So In Love by The Icarus Account (acoustic)

September 15, 2010 3 comments

I like having this band on the list because I don’t think many people have heard of them. The Icarus Account is made up of twin brothers who don’t look super similar, but you can tell they’re brothers, that or gay lovers who clearly fantasized of sleeping with themselves as kids. Their names are Ty and Trey, which I don’t like at all. When I am King of Oregon, California, Nevada, Utah and parts of Arizona and Colorado I’m making it a sin to give your kids names starting with the same letter, and double sinful if they’re twins and triple sinful for triplets and so forth. It’s too cheesy. When I am king Inanity with run rampant no more.

So In Love wasn’t my original pick for this spot. I had the song Farewell For Now by the same band here but I couldn’t find a good quality video on youtube of it and since I was struggling between that song, the one I chose and the song Only One it wasn’t that big of a deal – later on the list there will also be a song that so far I haven’t found on youtube and because it’s a top 25 song on my list I will upload it myself, but since this is number 98 I’m not going to burn any calories, and I don’t mean that in a figurative way, I have a rule that whenever I upload a video on youtube I have to work out for an hour, crazy rule, but until I can get the signatures required to get it overturned I have to live with it.

I think I like listening to the songs So In Love and Only One better than Farewell For Now, but Farewell For Now means more to me (which is also the name of another good The Icarus Account song), and I know this because it’s one of the songs I can’t listen to at certain points because it makes me think about something I sometimes don’t want to be thinking about. Pretty much any song that can do that means something to me and quite a few of those will be on the list.

“And it’s clear that distance is our enemy for now, but if it’s meant to be then it will be somehow.” Those are lyrics from Farewell For Now that hit me especially hard. Those of you that know me know that I’m in love with a girl who doesn’t live close to me. She’s not that far, only a couple states away, but when you don’t have a car or much money distance can be a skinny bitch – I went with skinny because the usual ‘big bitch’ might put the image of a fat chick in people’s minds and skinny girls are bitches too…and now I realize that by assuming that I’m implying that bitch is connected with girls which I would say is sexist if it weren’t true.

Quick kind of tangent. I don’t recommend long distance relationships unless it’s a long term relationship that has already been established beforehand and it will only be for a short amount of time, or if the chick is super awesome and amazing and hot and even though you lie in bed at night with heart pains because you can’t hold her it’s still worth it because you believe, even if it’s stupidity, that one day you’ll be together and it will be magical. As you all know I’m retarded – I can say retarded and still be politically correct because I’m almost sure I must be mentally challenged. Of the top five girls I’ve liked most in my life only one of them has lived in the same state as me (not same city), and I’ve met all of them a combined one time. But here’s how I feel. What are the chances the girl I would get along with best and fall in love with most would live near me? I don’t live in a small town, but I strongly doubt that the person I would want to be with most is among the million people who live in the tri-city area. I’m sure there’s plenty of people I could love here, but could love isn’t the same as falling madly in love with. I’m just not the type of person who can settle (that attitude will change when you’re 50, alone and still a virgin) most assuredly. So even though I’m against long distance relationships it makes complete sense to me that a person would more likely be ‘meant’ for a person not living near them then the relative few in that person’s area.

“So I guess this is farewell for now. I’ll find you in the end somehow.” Again from Farewell For Now, and again eerily reminiscence of the situation I have been put in with this girl I am distanced from. It’s agreed upon that we can’t be together now (more so on her part), but we feel, or at least I feel, or at least I used to be more sure, that in the end we’d end up together. So I guess it’s not surprising that I skip this song sometimes when it pops up in the shuffle because it brings up sad thoughts. On the other hand both So In Love and Only One make me happy when I listen to them.

Both songs have simple if not cheesy lyrics. “I love the way that you say my name. I love the way that you hold my hand. Like we’re so in love. Cause we’re so in love. Yeah we’re so in love” (So In Love). Very simple, but I don’t mind. Sometimes simple is enough. I don’t know about the holding hands part because I’ve never really experienced that, but there’s something about hearing someone I like saying my name that puts a smile on my face. I’ve heard before that people like it when you say their name for whatever reason. Apparently it’s a good strategy to use when trying to pick up chicks, and also you’ve might have noticed that politicians say the names of people they’re addressing a lot. Like if someone in the audience named Corey asks a question you’ll hear the politician respond to Corey directly by name no fewer than five times. And anything politicians do must be trickery.

The Icarus Account is an up and coming band for me with usually simple but emotional lyrics and nice guitar work. If I was doing this list a year from now I think the three songs I’ve mentioned today would make the list and then two others might squeeze their way in. In the six months since I’ve discovered the band (yes, discovered, just like Columbus discovered America even though thousands and thousands of people had already been living there before) I’ve already listened to them 535 times (information provided by lastfm.com) and that’s not counting the 30 times I’ve listened to them while writing this and talking to Eva.  I expect big things from them in the future. Well big to me, but not to the general public. I predict in the next ten years less people will have listened to this band then girls have had Justin Bieber snort cocaine off their tits – if I threw in him snorting cocaine off dicks it wouldn’t be close.

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A link to Chris and I talking about the “Boob N’ Nipple Crisis”

I Knew My Subconscious Was Gay

August 2, 2010 2 comments

The other day I had a vaguely homosexual dream (what a wonderful way to start off a blog). But it wasn’t just vaguely homosexual, it was vaguely homosexual and involving me. I’m sure some of you assumed if I was having a homosexual dream it would involve me in the homosexual acts, but I think others might have just thought I was dreaming about other people doing homosexual stuff, and I wasn’t involved in it at all, just observing it through my dream. I’m not sure what I would have thought, none of my friends have ever told me they’ve had homosexual dreams, and it’s not because they’ve never had any. They must have at some point with all the homosexual thoughts I’ve put in their heads. I don’t mean that as in I’m so damn sexy that even thought they’re straight they can’t help but to dream about me. I just mean me and my friends talk about homosexual things all the time. And I don’t mean homosexual as in “gay”. I mean homosexual as in gay. That may be a little confusing. I don’t mean homosexual as in the way so many people use the word gay these days, that being as a synonym for stupid. I mean homosexual as in gay as in its second original meaning, that being for a man who likes other men in a homosexual manner. So what I mean (you’re taking way too long to explain this) I know, and it won’t be worth it, but what I mean is that me and my friends talk about gay people and make gay jokes and that kind of stuff a lot – mostly me. It’s very offensive actually. If there was a gay guy there most certainly he would have been offended. Wait a second, it turns out all those years there was a gay guy there. And no, although the heavy money would have been on me coming out of the closet that day will never come (you do realize that makes it sound like you’re gay but just not willing to admit it) and that’s what I want the people to think. But it turned out one of our friends was a homosexual, which makes all those gay jokes over the years I’ve told really awkward. Not to mention all the times I jokingly accused one of our other friends of being gay and kept telling him to come out of the closet.

I’ve strayed off the point, and that’s why I’m starting a new paragraph. I’m sure we all have homosexual dreams, and to stray off the point one more time (please don’t) why does saying homosexual sound so much more offensive then saying gay? Or is that just me? This blog aside, you don’t even have to read the rest of it, but would you be so kind to as (or as to) let me know in some way, shape or form, whether it be by leaving a comment, writing your own blog about it, or having someone sky write it, whether you think gay or homosexual is more offensive to call a man who likes other men, or are neither of them offensive at all, or is calling the person a man who likes other men the most offensive of them all?

And here we are again, at the beginning of a new paragraph, with misplaced commas strewn about, trying desperately to stay on point, which has undoubtedly been my biggest downfall as a writer, you know other than writing anywhere near well. So, to get back on point and stay there, ‘gay’ has been a big part of my life (what the hell do you mean by that?).  Granted up until recently I have never knowingly had someone who was gay be a big part of my life. But from the time I hit puberty, like most boys, I became hugely obsessed with penises, mainly my own. Hours upon hours I would waste abusing it as if it was a terrorist detained at Guantanamo Bay. And then when I started watching porn, which I’m starting to believe was a huge mistake, I started noticing all these big penises, and that’s when I became jealous. I’ve never been jealous of things so ugly. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a penis before, but they are disgusting. All you ladies reading this (‘because there must be millions’ I say with more than a hint of sarcasm) want to know why guys love receiving oral sex so much? Partly because guys are lazy and they don’t have to do anything but sit there, but mostly because it’s fascinating to see a girl like the guy so much that she’ll put his ugly ass penis in her mouth (what about the pleasure part) guys get no pleasure from it. Physically it feels like a rattlesnake eating your penis, but emotionally it’s a greater ego boost then being voted most awesome person in the universe (first of all I don’t think that vote takes place, but if it did Cody from Step by Step would win, and secondly you’ve never received oral sex so how would you know?) I’ve heard through the grapevine. Okay, so it’s true that I’ve never had my hot dog boiled inside a woman’s mouth pot, but I’ve had the discussion many times, and penises are ugly, and I would never stick something that ugly in the same thing I kiss my mother with. Oh my God, my mother has kissed me like a million times with the same mouth she probably used to go down on so many guys with. Oh my God, I can’t believe I actually wrote that. It’s probably so offensive to my mother. I should really delete it. But instead of deleting it I’ll just say that this is how ugly and against giving head to a guy I am. I’ve said on many occasions that I’d much rather be fucked in the ass then have to give head to a guy. With most guys they have to think really hard about that question. And some won’t even answer and just say ‘neither, I’d kill myself first’. But not me, I immediately go with being fucked in the ass. Sometimes I say my answer before they even finish the question. And I’ll even go as far as blurting out ‘I’d rather be fucked in the ass,’ apropos of nothing.

At some point in my life I started making gay jokes, and not offensive jokes, although I’m sure gay people would be offended by them, but more so just gay comments, and somehow that turned into me making comments that would suggest I’m gay. I don’t know which came first, whether it was me making gay comments about myself or if people thought I was gay and I jokingly went with it and took it to the nth degree. I guess it’s like the chicken and the egg; we’ll never know which came first. Although I guess scientists have figured out that the chicken has to come first, which most have thought so for years, but apparently one of the chemical components that make the egg is created within the chicken, so you can’t have a chicken egg unless there’s a chicken to create the egg, whereas you can have a chicken without a chicken egg because God can just go ‘poof’ and then magically a chicken is created. But facts aside, my life has been filled with gay jokes towards myself, and I wouldn’t say at the expense of myself because I’m not really gay. And it’s odd that my humor as taken that route because I don’t have a gay ounce in my body. Okay, maybe my ass is a little gay, but no big deal (that’s a joke people). I think the gayest thing I would actually do is kiss a man on the lips for the sake of humor, but no tongue, I don’t think I could do that unless it was really, really funny, or I was really, really drunk. I wouldn’t even partake in a Devil’s threesome, even if the girl involved was Scarlett Johansson. Although I think I could do it if I was drunk and while he was banging her from behind and I was receiving oral, or vice versa, there was a curtain between us so I couldn’t see him. But other than that there will be no two guy, one girl threesome for me. I could watch a Devil’s threesome though, just not be involved in one. I could probably even watch one in person, if the chick is hot, and there’s like some chips or popcorn to munch on, but it can’t be a buffet of hot dogs and popsicles. And although it would be awkward to watch people having sex in person, and I don’t have any desire to, I’m just saying I think I could because it wouldn’t be that much different then watching porn, except the part where I can’t rewind so I make sure I jerk off at my favorite part. Instead I’d have to tap the people on the shoulder and ask them if they could do that part over again, and it wouldn’t be as good because then they’d probably just be faking it and I’ll be able to tell. So I guess it’s probably best if I just keep my jerking off to traditional methods. The point is I’m not gay in any way except for the part where I constantly make jokes that make it seem like I’m gay, although I don’t think a gay person would do that, so I’m not even gay in that way. If I were really gay I’d probably over compensate and make jokes about fucking the cliché hot celebrities like Megan Fox and Pam Anderson (no one thinks Pamela Anderson is hot anymore) I do, I’d fuck her so hard (<– over compensating).

I always used to joke about my subconscious being gay, which most people would then say I must be gay too, but I argue it doesn’t. My argument for having a gay subconscious without me being gay is this: that’s just how it is. That’s not a very good argument, but hey, I’m not a very good person, so it fits. I used to always joke about it being gay because my first thoughts on things would often be gay thoughts, albeit in a joking manner, but still odd I found. And often when watching porn my eyes would wonder off the girl’s charming, bouncing breasts to the man’s despicably disgusting penis. And I’d just be staring at it, having stopped masturbating, and I’d just be jealous of it, but I’d joke that on a subconscious level I loved it otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it so much, but on the exterior I’d put on this charade of being jealous of it and that’s why I was fascinated with it. And by the way, I really am jealous of big penises, to a certain degree, but its not like I can really sit here complaining that my penis is so small and girls would laugh me out of rooms whenever I took my pants off. I think it’s just that I grew up watching porn, and the penises tend to be bigger in porn, so like how if you grow up watching basketball you dream of playing professional basketball, I watched all these big penises as a kid and it became my dream to have a big penis, but that’s a dream I fell a couple inches short of, which in any other scenario it’d be amazing to get within a couple inches of my dream, but unfortunately in this scenario a couple inches is a big deal, which also unfortunately left me with a small deal (Oh my God, the wit you portray is legendary) how dare you and your sarcasm, sir, that joke would be good enough for Two and a Half Men (Whoa, whoa, whoa, I didn’t think the joke was that bad) Zing.

But alas, I get to the reason I’m writing this – I think I meant to put at last instead of alas but even though alas means it’s a bad thing I’m getting to the reason I’m writing this I like the way it sounds so I’m leaving it. I had the gayest dream of my life the other night. Okay, maybe not as gay as the time I had that dream where I kissed my step dad on the lips. But I argue this one is gayer because the one where I kissed my step dad on the lips was short and sweet…I mean just short, not sweet, whereas this dream I’m about to speak of was a little longer, not much though, and it was not said, but implied that I was gay in the dream, where in the dream where I kissed my step dad there was no thought at all. And it was just a peck on the lips, no passion whatsoever, which by the way, ladies, in real life I’m all passion (no you’re not) I’m at least 70% passion (I’d argue that’s too much passion for most people).

In the dream I just had I went on a movie date with my gay friend. It wasn’t said that it was a date, but I know a movie date when I’m on one in a dream, which is apparently the only place I can get a date, and what’s worse is that I get a date in my dreams and it ends up being a gay date. That’s about the extent of the dream. There was a little bit of who should be paying for the popcorn and drinks and stuff like that – I remember being confused about the appropriate paying policy, but I felt as the manly man as should pay– and there was no making out or holding hands or even eye contact. In fact I may have even felt a little awkward, but can you blame me, I’ve never been on a gay date before, let alone any date. And now that I think about it I’m offended. My gay dream date (dream date is poor wording) my gay date in the dream didn’t even try to make out with me. What the fuck? Am I not good enough for him? What a kill to my ego.

When I woke up the next morning I felt weird, but I felt a little comforted because I don’t recall having a boner, which I usually do when I wake up. The weird feeling went away when several minutes later I masturbated to some extreme lesbian porn (<– over compensating). It was just what I wanted. These were real lesbians, short hair, no tits, they looked just like boys. I’m kidding. I don’t recall what I masturbated to that morning, but I remember not really caring that much about the dream. I’m not one of those people who thinks every dream means something and that if I dreamed about being on a date with my friend then I must be gay and want him. But I do think dreams often represent what’s going on with a person’s subconscious and as a student of psychology (since when?) I’ve taken psychology (one time, and you barely passed) well as a person who finds psychology interesting I like to analyze my dreams sometimes. Especially when they’re gay dreams and there’s potential of me outing myself. Oh how wonderful it’d be to get to be gay. I’m kidding of course. Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. But I maintain that of all the options of sexuality gay is one of the worst for the sole fact that there are less people to hook up with. At the same time they’re competing for less people, and that may be good for some people, but I’m really picky with who I want to be with, and not many people live up to my high, high, way too high, so high that I now only want one person and this could end up making me die alone, high standards. And this may shock you, but I don’t think heterosexuality is the best of all the sexuality options. Clearly bisexuality is the best. You get everyone. If you’re a bisexual female you still have the whole man species to choose from, excluding the gay ones, but you also have the options of hooking up with a lesbian. More is better. Heterosexuality is fine, and so is homosexuality, but combining them and having more options is by far the best option, especially in this day and age where as long as you stay north of the Mason-Dixon Line most sexualities are widely accepted, and even if disagreed with people tend to mind their own business.

The day of the dream, or the day before, or I don’t know what you want to call it, but the day spent that led up to the night which the dream took place during (you have a genius type way of making things longer than they need to be) me and a couple of friends hung out with my gay friend and his gay boyfriend. We went hiking up a trail to Multnomah Falls and for most of the time hiking I was quiet and thinking about how badly I wish a certain girl could have been there with me. It’s something I’ve never got to experience, doing something with the girl I love, anything, even something as simple as going to the movies. My gay friend in the dream didn’t represent love for him, it represented my jealousy of him getting to do things with his boyfriend. Sure they didn’t get all lovey dovey during the hike and when we hung out at the lake, but I get jealous of the simplest things, and for a guy like me who has loved – and some people will debate whether its real love because of the circumstances it was under, but I say fuck them mightily, it’s love – but never got to do anything with the girl, even something as little as sitting at a picnic table on a warm summer day eating relatively plain sandwiches with complex tortilla chips that apparently taste like cheeseburgers seems like fucking heaven. Of course I still get jealous of the big things. When my friends talk about having sex and cuddling and stuff like that I’m extremely jealous, but its too the point now where even seeing people holding hands is killing me. To hold her hand for but a second is more desirable then getting to fuck Scarlett Johansson for life. And I mean it, and that’s saying a lot because just thinking about Scarlett Johansson makes me want to run to the computer and jerk off to pictures of her (running to the computer seems odd seeing as you’re typing this on the computer right now) I meant the other computer (the one sitting a foot and a half away from you?) yes, a brisk jog will do.

So I think the dream represents the desire for even a simplistic relationship, and not even with her, I don’t think the dream had terribly much to do with her, I think the dream represents my subconscious desire for a relationship with anybody, and at this point apparently even a man. Maybe my subconscious is telling me to go for whatever I can get –I don’t think I could get a gay man by the way, they wouldn’t be able to put up with my constant barrage of gay humor – but I don’t really listen to my subconscious because I’ve always felt it’s not what I really want. My subconscious just works preliminary shit out, but it’s what’s going on in my external thought process where I believe the real truth lies. And as much as I think about being in a relationship, and as much as it depresses me at night to be alone, I’m still going to wait and not force anything, even if that means years and years of homosexual dreams, but in case my subconscious is reading this I’d much rather have dreams of being fucked in the ass then sucking a guy off.

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Podcast of me and Chris talking about stuff, and maybe even this topic unless Chris deleted it from the Podcast.

I don’t know what this is

January 30, 2010 18 comments

If you think you know me you probably don’t unless you’re one of five people. I said five semi-randomly but I’m going to go ahead and name those five people. I think Chris knows me. Of all my friends in the world I’ve always felt I was most like him. I think we’re going down separate paths but I really wanted to write a movie or TV show with him. I know he hates me at times and I know I deserve it, but… no, that’s the end of the sentence. I worry about me and Chris. I ain’t gay or nothin’ (that’s a joke only a few people would get) but losing his friendship would suck more than so many things, but not everything, but still a lot of things. I’ve had more laughs with Chris than with anymore, save my cousin Nick.

I’m not sure Nick really knows me. He might though. I’ve spent more time with him in my life than probably anyone other than my mother and possibly my siblings. I’ve had some nice talks with Nick. There’s no one I’d rather have a serious talk with than Nick, except maybe Dyana, she’s quite smart and always brings up interesting points, and no by that I don’t mean my penis, although I should have meant my penis, I’ll go back and fix that when I edit. Nicks a smart guy, and he has strong opinions, so it’s fun to talk with him. Some of my fondest memories at parties are when I’m talking to him about random shit that really doesn’t need to be talked about at parties. Fuck getting drunk and chasing skirts. I’d rather get drunk and talk about educational reform.

David definitely doesn’t know me. He still can’t figure out whether I’m really depressed or just joking. Although that may be my fault because I am very depressed but I always tell him I’m joking. But I know he doesn’t know me because when he did think I was really depressed he thought him and quy – who doesn’t know me at all – needed to do something about it. Had he really known me he would have known there’s absolutely nothing that could be done about it. I don’t blame him though. He’s so young and naive. He still thinks the pink ranger is real and that he has a chance with her. Which is crazy. Doesn’t he realize she’s mine? Nah, I don’t want her. There’s something very intimidating about a girl who can kick my ass. Which is sad because pretty much every girl can kick my ass.

Oddly enough I think Leighton knows me. I think it’s because I started talking to her at a time when I was really depressed. She was just some random girl who was really honest about herself so I decided that she would be the one that I talked to about Dyana, because I didn’t really talk that much about Dyana with anyone else and I felt I needed to. Leighton is very blunt. She told me I was stupid for talking to her about Dyana when I should be getting on a plane and flying to see her, her Dyana that is. She may have used the words ‘fucking idiot’ in place of stupid. Although on second thought maybe she doesn’t know the real me because she hasn’t really seen the funny and sweet side of me, assuming there is a sweet side of me.

If there’s one person that has seen all sides of me it’s Dyana. She’s seen the sweet side of me, probably to a fault. I can be quite sweet at times, it’s actually rather annoying. She’s seen the depressed side of me. Oh God that’s embarrassing. It sucks when I’m trying to be perfect and strong but I just can’t at all. I’m such a weak human being in so many ways. It’s quite embarrassing. She’s seen the funny side of me but I try to show that side to everybody, but with her I’ve always tried to blend it in with some sweetness. I’ve always wanted to give her that perfect combination of a laugh and smile. It’s an art form I haven’t quite mastered but God have I tried. I remember when I used to read her blogs and I would spend so much time trying to figure out the perfect thing to write as a comment. Something witty, but also sweet, but not too sweet as to come off creepy and nothing too witty as to come off pompous but something perfect, I don’t think I ever succeeded, but God damn did I try. I haven’t left her a great comment in a long time. I should. Out of everybody in the world I’m most honest with Dyana. I’m a pretty honest guy in general, but with her it’s weird because I don’t want her to know all my faults, because I have many and it scares me that she knows them, but at the same time I want her to know them because they don’t seem to bother her as much as I would think. She doesn’t seem to mind that I’m a loser who’s going nowhere in life. But then again I don’t think she believes me when I say that. She believes in me probably more than anyone, besides maybe my mom but my mom doesn’t have all the information on me. If my mom was aware I made dick jokes, and wanted to make dick jokes for a living – kind of sort of – she would disown me probably. People have called me funny before – liars! – and people have alluded to me being somewhat smart – bigger liars! – but when she says I’m funny, although she uses the word clever, and she says I’m smart, it makes me feel special, and that maybe it’s true. Whereas when everybody else says it they’re filthy liars who are just trying to get my hopes up so they can tear me down and laugh at my greatest of failures (seems a bit dramatic, but okay).

I love Dyana.

Chris won’t like this blog

January 24, 2010 4 comments

Today I want to talk about all my sexual inadequacies, but that would take far too long so instead I’ll just talk about my phone and a few things associated with my phone. It was yesterday that I realized that I am paying roughly $43.63 a month for my cell phone plan (unlimited talk and text with Cricket, not the greatest company but the cheapest) and in this month of January I have only used my phone to talk once, and that was a few days ago when Leighton called me. Oh wait, I did receive two other calls this month, both from people who had been given the wrong number. It’s a little depressing. A few words that would describe part of my last year would be, ‘my phone doesn’t ring.’ I spent a good amount of time last year staring at my phone waiting, and hoping, it would ring. Sad, but very true, which makes it even sadder. I was going to say I wasted time staring at my phone, but I don’t really consider it a waste of time since I have no idea what else I would be doing, and anyway while doing something else I just would have been thinking about my phone not ringing.

I have convinced myself that the main reason my phone doesn’t ring is because people don’t want to talk to me, but that seems rather obvious, so I must dig deeper. The reason nobody wants to talk to me is because I am so very, very boring, especially on the phone. As you may have been able to tell from my writing I’m not a very emotional person. Well I guess that’s the biggest falsity my writing gives off about me. Last year I cried about ten times, which seems rather a lot for a boy in his early 20s. I cried more than double that if you count the 18 episodes of Grey’s Anatomy I watched. Okay, not really. And actually oddly enough the majority of my crying over TV shows occurs while watching sitcoms, but I don’t really count that as crying. I think it’s the juxtaposition of comedy followed by a saddening event that makes it more emotional for me, as opposed to a show like Grey’s Anatomy where it’s just a downer the whole time with mixed in sex scenes between attractive males appearing to be in their mid 40s with younger yet oddly less attractive females (is there a point to any of this?) A person can say I have a small penis a million times and it doesn’t really effect me. Partly because very few people have ever seen my penis, so they don’t really know the size of it, but mostly because I only vaguely care about the size of my genitals. For some odd reason my penis hasn’t taken much abused from anyone other than myself. However on many occasions I have been called shy, quite a few times as a result of my boringness during phone conversations, and before I didn’t really mind much, but over this past year it’s really taken a toll on my emotions. I’m supposed to be able to talk good (it’s well) I don’t mean grammatically. I just mean I’m not supposed to be boring. I’m too unattractive to be boring. I’m supposed to be witty and charming and completely unboring in every single way possible other than appearance.

Let’s have a change of topic. I’m back from my two hour hiatus from writing this and frankly I don’t want to write about what I was writing anymore. Not about my phone, but more so about being depressed for being shy. That’s a topic I could only delve into when I’m in certain moods, and that mood has long since past, and been buried, and has reincarnated in the form of a warthog, why warthog, I have no idea. Anyway, I took a two hour break from writing this because my mom rented The Hurt Locker and it’s gotta be returned soon and I wanted to watch it because Teresa Strasser said it was one of the best movies of the year. It was good but I don’t know why I listen to her movie suggestions considering many of the movies I remember her liking I’m not a fan of. I guess it’s because me and her have one of our favorite movies in common, that being The Princess Bride of course.

The unlimited talking on my cell phone plan I haven’t used much of, but I definitely get my money’s worth of texting, even though I basically only text one person. I find that people not wanting to talk to me transcends just speaking. I’ve often wrote long texts to both Bonnie and Eva and their replies are usually similar. Eva often responds with lol and nothing more. Bonnie’s replies are a little more in depth, something to the tune of ‘you’re weird.’ So I’ve pretty much stopped texting people other than the occasional ‘hey, how’s it going?’ but what I really mean is, ‘hey, I’m only texting you because you never text me and I’m checking to make sure you haven’t forgotten who I am.’ The only person I consistently text anymore is Dyana, which seems fitting considering she was the only reason I got a cell phone in the first place. I had vowed to never get a cell phone, albeit it was a half hearted vow, but I had imagined I wouldn’t get a cell phone for at least a few more years. But then she came into my life and there was no way in hell I could go a few years without hearing her voice (that sounds creepy) it probably is creepy. But even though my cell phone has brought some depression into my life, and often when I get a call or text and it’s not from Dyana I’m disappointed, the phone has brought some major joy to my life and made staying in touch with friends and such a lot easier, and I have Dyana to thank for that.

Thank you little miss wonderful.

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