An Asshole

12-18-11

There’s this girl here who looks very simlar to Kat Dennings, but not quite as made up, which makes her more attractive…to me. I’m on break from helping my mother with work at this theater in Canby, Oregon, a smallish town. I’m sitting in this little café inside a Thriftways, conveniently 13 steps away from the theater – I originally wrote 12 steps, which would be more accurate (not really) but crossed it out because 12 steps sounds awkward for obvious alcohol related reasons.

I saw her yesterday and was very attracted to her butt. Regular readers of my blog (so no one) well then new readers of my blog (so no one) well then I know (still no one) that I’m attracted to girls with curves, Kat Dennings would be an example, so I like bigger butts I suppose – to be clear I’m talking Kim Kardashian, not Rosie O’Donnell. When I saw her face I found her very cute. It wasn’t until a few moments ago however that I realized her resemblance to Kat Dennings. And when I did these thoughts, in the form of a text I was going to send to my friend Christopher, went through my head,

“There’s a girl here that looks like Kat Dennings. She really turns me on. I wish I was an asshole so I could go sweet talk her and then fuck the shit out of her in the bathroom and then leave without even saying ‘Thanks,’ because nice guys are supposed to thank women after random hooks ups, right? I guess nice guys don’t have random hook ups. I guess that’s why I wish I was an asshole sometimes. Don’t tell Jenna I said this. I’m kidding. I only said that so you would tell her. Not that I think you would if I told you not to. I just knew when I said not to tell her that I’d then say this, proceeded by, “I’m secretly/not-so-secretly in love with the fact that Jenna has some kind of interest in my love life.” I really like her. I really like that you like her and even though I’m really jealous when you talk about her it makes me happy to know she makes you that happy and excited. I think, but don’t know, that that’s how relationships are supposed to be. I want that. I don’t want to be the asshole who fucks celebrity look-a-like bagger girls at semi-trendy grocery stores. But I hate so much the pain of waiting for that, and not knowing if I’ll have it, or be able to make some girl feel the way Jenna makes you feel, and I assume you make her feel, and that instead of being patient and hopeful, I’m becoming more and more this guy who no longer wants to give a fuck. I wanna fuck the Kat Dennings look-a-like. But I don’t really, and that kind of sucks. I really wish I could walk over there and start a conversation and make her laugh with my stupid, awkward jokes that I refuse to accept girls actually like even though I can recount numerous, and by that I mean 2…kidding…but seriously, I say seriously like you were the one making jokes, but numerous times where my silly, dorky jokes have made girls laugh, and even like me, although eventually they realize they can do better, and I guess I don’t mind that, because I firmly believe that one day I won’t be the better’d, but rather the better, and that came off cheesy. But I wish I could get Kat Dennings look-a-like’s number, and talk to her, and maybe fall for her, which is stupid because this is Canby, only a half hour away from Portland but I can’t drive, and I don’t know if she could, and even if she could what’s she gonna do, come visit me at my mom’s house? God I’m such a loser. I know you also live at home, Chris, but you’re doing great in college, have a college radio show, and a very attractive girlfriend. You have no idea how fucking seriously jealous of you I am. And you’re way funnier than me, which is nice because hopefully you’ll rub off on me…yada, yada, masturbation joke, jada…I think that’s why I put you down so much in front of the others. It’s true that I try to bring you down to my pathetic level, when I should be trying to climb up to your level, I just can’t though. It’s not that I don’t believe in myself…It’s that I believe so much in you. I know that sounded gay, but some things just need to sound gay. The world is better/funnier that way. It is stupid that I’d even consider me and Kat Dennings look-a-like a possibility. She’s way out of my league, but every girl I like is, and even though she’s not in Portland at least she’s closer than Arizona, or Wisconsin, or Suburban New York, or Texas. I still love Texas girl, but I’m annoyed that I sit and wait while they have fun. I don’t blame them. She just wants to have fun, the other she is very selfish and in the moment, the other she is bat shit crazy but also very sweet (and far too hot…but they all are), and the last she, the Suburban New York She, I don’t blame her because what she did was my fault and I’ll always hate myself for that. I miss her a lot. She was a little crazy, and had a bad past, but she deserved me, she really did. But I let her down, and now we don’t talk. I hope to God, the same God I firmly don’t believe in but always say I hope to God, that she’s happy. No offense, but she deserves it the most. Damn, I fucked up bad. I’m a horrible person. You think I’m a horrible person, right? Come on, I need some validation.”

Okay, only about half of that really went through my head when I wanted to text Christopher about Kat Dennings look-a-like. I didn’t text it to him though. For one it would have been too long. But also I didn’t feel like he’d care that much. I don’t feel like anyone would care that much and I don’t even feel like there’s anyone in my phone who I’d want to share my feelings for Kat Dennings look-a-like with. I don’t feel like I have anyone I can open up to anymore.

This turned out more serious than I thought it would be. Not that it matters. That I care thought…that I care.

#11 You’re What Keeps Me Believing

#11 I Want To Know Your Plans by Say Anything

“You’re what keeps me believing the world’s not gone dead, strength in my bones, put the words in my head. When they pour out to paper, it’s all for you. ‘Cause that’s what you do.”

            Her and I will never be together. I think she’s okay with that and I’m finally okay with that. She’ll always love me. I believe that. It’s not the kind of love I wanted from her at first, but it’s the kind of love that keeps me going some times. I’ll always love her. I’ll always care about her. Despite all the negative things I’ve said, and I’ve said more than she deserves, and all the alluding to Her hurting me that I’ve written about, she’s probably done more good to my life than anyone except my mother. I might not be here writing this right now if it wasn’t for her. It was from my time with Her that I discovered who I really was, and wanted to be, and my love for creativity was finally realized. I knew I liked it, but I didn’t know it was who I had to be. She helped me discover that, whether she knows it or not she was a huge part of me finding myself, and beginning my journey to true happiness. If it wasn’t for her right now I’d probably be a successful Lawyer with millions of dollars, a house way bigger than I’d ever need, a six figure sports car that goes way faster than I dare drive, and have a hot wife with impractically big boobies….but I wouldn’t be happy. Not that I’m happy now (he says laughing) but I’m on my way to being happy. I’ll get there.

This deserves more explaining than I care to give. At first I figured it was because I’m lazy, but I’m starting to think it’s because as I grow older I grow less fondly of remembering the past. Even the good parts. Obviously this doesn’t bode well for my sanity. Obviously I’ll pretend not to care.

I keep forgetting that I can write this any way I want to. I took a break to pee, put in another load of laundry – because I’m running low on masturbation socks (if only that were a joke) – and get a glass of cranberry juice, which I didn’t end up doing. But during that I was talking to myself, not out loud of course, and saying that it’s my writing, I can do it any way I want to, so that’s what I’m going to do.

Sadly most of the things I create I don’t do for myself. I’m willing to admit that I do them with the intention of having other people see it and then praise me as if I were their God, or something slightly less narcissistic than that. However, I get joy from other people approving of me. Sad, but true. So it’s kind of doing it for myself However, once again, I don’t go out of my way to do something I don’t believe is myself, or that I hate doing, just to get attention. Sure I once ran around the block naked in a nice area while beating around my penis so some blood would flow into it so it wouldn’t appear so small to the few ladies at the shindig – it pretty much looked like I was killing two birds with one stone by jerking off during my midnight jog, but I say whatever gets a man to sleep at night is fine by me – but I didn’t want to do that, I had to do that because I lost a bet during a game of beer pong (and the point of this story is?) no point, I just want people to visualize me naked.

She was the first person I wanted to create for, or rather I felt that I needed to create for, that I needed her approval, that her approval meant something because it was coming from a place that was honest and therefore important and validating. For whatever reason she liked my writing, and it wasn’t because I was tall, dark, and handsome with six pack abs (because none of those things are true….short, pale and gruesome with two crooked abs that make the stomach look deformed).

I discovered her writing – I say it as if she was a bum in the park and I came across her cat pissed on notebook and found majestic poetry that’s now sold in Starbucks across America and half of Vietnam – and quickly fell in awe of her. She was so passionate, which as a new blog reader I had yet to see. I immediately wanted her approval, and it was only slightly because at that point she was the most adorable thing I had ever seen. That was just a benefit. She writes the way I wish I could. Her sentences compose not words, but beauty, soul, emotion. She presents wisdom and enlightenment through entertainment and humor. I make small penis jokes and bitch about being lonely, which is arguably the same as what she does, just way, way, way less intelligent, and oh yeah, not the same at all.

I still strive for her approval. I have no idea if she’s aware of it, or ever will be aware of it. I hope she knows I’m proud of her, and all that she’s trying to accomplish, and all that she’s going to accomplish, because she’s going to accomplish a lot. And with every accomplishment she makes it’s just going to motivate me more and more to try and impress her, create more, try to live up to the expectations she once had of me.

I don’t know, I guess what all of this was supposed to say, but I ironically failed at (is it ironic?) maybe? (Probably not) is that I never really believed in myself until her. I talk about wanting her approval. She gave me her approval. I forget it sometimes. She believed in me. I guess more than wanting her approval – although I so desperately still want her approval – I don’t want to disappoint her. I want to be something and have her think, “I always knew he could do it,” because I know she’s going to be something, every guy will want to be with her, and every girl will want to be her – and be with her because every girl is bisexual now – and her brilliance will be showcased all across the world and I’ll be thinking, “I always knew you could do it, and I know you’re still going to do so much more.”

If she reads this I just want Her to know that every time I write she’s a part of it….I mean the good parts, not the small dick jokes part…except when I allude to my penis being the size of a pinky, she’s a large part of that. Anyway, thanks for keeping me believing in something, Dyana.

Technical Difficulties Episode 1

So I was going to write about my friend Christopher’s radio show he’s doing over there at that building where all those college students do their learning, but instead Annabelle decided to call me tonight and of course tell me exactly what I wanted to hear after not having talked to her for over a week, that she’s been talking to her ex boyfriend trying to make him feel better after getting his heartbroken and how he’s trying to take advantage of her by trying to get back with her, then when she refuses he calls her a cunt- because when a girl turns you down that’s the best way to win her graces back? – and then calls to apologize to her and then tells her that they should fuck, and all the while all I can think is, “Really, so even that’s more appealing than talking to me?” I could complain for hours, but instead I’ll write this right quick and then force myself to bed where to help get to sleep I imagine cuddling with a pornstar, who even though she loves sucking nine inch long fat dicks is willing to give up her entire luxurious life because she loves me (sadly he’s not exaggerating) I’m exaggerating a little bit. She loves 8 and a half inch dicks, so if I can clone my penis, and glue it on top of my original penis, I can almost please her, but she doesn’t care about that because she loves me for my personality, which they all say but that never makes me feel any better (is this still part of the helping get to sleep fantasy?) No, we’re talking about my life now (oh God) here comes the tears…anyway,

I truly am proud of Christopher doing his radio show. He identified what he wanted to do, and he did it, and almost better than I expected – except not really, and we’ll get to that in a minute, except I’m probably going to forget – sure he could have just dropped out of community college, and never got his license, and never got a job, and never got a girlfriend, and cried his self to bed because he so wrongly falls in love with girls millions of miles away (quit describing yourself) but he persisted and has done great in college, and now has more success behind his belt. Is that a saying?

I said almost better than I expected because even though I’m super negative when it comes to watching movies, or TV shows, or even listening to new podcasts, and never expect them to be good, surprisingly when I went to listen to the first episode of Christopher’s college radio show, Technical Difficulties, there weren’t any feelings that it wasn’t going to be good. In fact the opposite was true. I trust Christopher’s comedic abilities, and knew there would be a girl on it, who I will forever refer to as Beb from now on, and I was 95% sure I would development an at first cute but later surprisingly serious crush on said Bed – that’s actually looking like it won’t come true – so I kind of expected the show to be really good, in fact too good. So good that it will over shadow everything I have ever accomplished in my life and would make me feel bad.

I meant to put a picture of a cat with two faces, but this was much cuter.

If I was in therapy, which I should be, one of the most brought up things would have to be my jealousy. I want all my friends to be successful. I want all the girls I like to fall in love – not necessarily with me – and I just generally want everyone to be way happier and more successful than me, but for not at all good reasons (isn’t this post supposed to be about your friend’s show?) he has a semi successful college radio show, he doesn’t need more attention. I say the reasons aren’t good because only part of it is because I want them to be happy. Most of it is – and although I deny this I truly believe at least to some extent this is how I subconsciously feel – because being less successful and less happy than everyone else makes me special. I want to be the best, but obviously I can’t be. So the only way for me to be unique is to be the worst. I hate that I so desperately want to feel special. I hope that it’s that I want to feel special, and not be special. Because maybe I can feel special if I work hard enough at it. But I don’t know if I can ever really be special. But I’ve been doing better, and I want Christopher’s radio show to be a hit, and I want all of my ex lovers, who I call ex lovers even though I’ve never slept with them even though they’ve slept with a  lot of other guys, to go on to happiness, and at least part of it is because I really care about them, so because of that I’m writing this post because I really believe in Christopher’s radio show, and not at all because I’m not a part of it and that makes me feel odd so by writing this I can somehow squeeze my way into the Technical Difficulties history book.

Christopher, who’s DJ name is apparently Chris Chris because Chris was taken, and Beb, who’s real name I won’t speak of in honor of my favorite weather girl of all time Stephanie Kralevich, make a great pair. They disagree on seemingly everything, which is by complete coincidence. I agreed with one of the hosts a lot more than the other, but to stay unbiased I won’t mention who I agreed with more. Poor, naïve Beb was always wrong and so naïve about everything, while Christopher had spot on criticisms and wittiery all over the place (wittiery?) yeah, like being witty, but in a made up word form.

They complimented each other well, and once the first half of the show where they give each other compliments was over they got right into the hard hitting news, such as poor realistic characters on Sesame Street, and kitties with two faces, or possibly two kitties with one body, and then other stuff that I forgot, such as a drunken moose stuck in a tree and fat guys complaining at White Castle.

Okay, I don’t really have much to say about Technical Difficulties, except that it’s exceptionally good and you should listen to it, which you can do by clicking on the link I provided…or will provide…or whatever. The important thing is that you listen to the very funny and very cute show – Bed provides the funny and Christopher the cute – and for every click a stripper somewhere across America is one penny closer to getting that regretting tattoo of her boyfriend’s name laser removed off her left breast.

Link to Christopher and Beb’s spectacular college radio program that I guarantee you will enjoy, and if you don’t enjoy, then I didn’t mean you, I meant that other person, but not you, so that in no way effects my successful guarantee percentage rate.

10-1-2011, the week of

What the fuck, this week is so horrible in such the littlest ways. I didn’t get the skit I wrote for me and my friends filmed, my Seahawks lost a close game their coach should have gave them a better chance to win at, and I missed a call from Annabelle because God hates me (probably a more scientific reason than that) nope, I had my phone by me the whole time and it never rang and all of the sudden I get a voice mail from her left half an hour earlier saying she tried calling me before she went to sleep but I of course didn’t pick up because God decided not to let my phone receive the signal, she didn’t mention the God part in her message, it’s just the only logical answer I can think of.

Actually, this happened to me on possibly two other occasions, the reason probably being that I have shitty cell phone service so sometimes my phone only alerts me of my messages right at the exact moment they become no longer relevant. Of course every time this has happened to me it has been with a girl I’ve liked so – I think rightfully so – I assumed it was either God – I can’t stress this enough, I don’t believe in God – trying to keep me from everlasting happiness, or, and this was two years ago but I was just young and crazy enough to almost believe in this, there was some kind of special number girls could dial to send a 30 minute delayed message to any guy they don’t really like but want to keep stringing along in case their plan A, B, C all the way to P, don’t pan out and they’re stuck with me, Quentin. I of course didn’t and don’t really believe that to be the case…but there was a time when nobody thought we’d ever go to the moon. Just saying.

I wrote out a pretty shitty script for me and two of my friends to film, which surprisingly David didn’t hate, and less surprisingly Thaison didn’t want to play the character I wrote for him, but instead of filming it we watched a bunch of gaming crap. I say crap because I gave up gaming, except occasionally with friends, after high school because I wasted way too much time playing video games in my youth. We watched a bunch of top ten videos, some of which were more interesting than others, but one I found controversial.

The website, and David, say Playstation deserves to be number one on the list of best gaming consoles (the list was made before Xbox and Playstation 3 came out) because the best games came out for it. However I argue that’s complete bullshit, because the Playstation 2, which came in at 3 or 4 on the list, is much better than the Playstation because every game you can play on Playstation you can also play on the Playstation 2, not to mention play newer games with better graphics and watch DVDs. I understand that if you only count the games that came out specifically for Playstation and weighed them against the games that came out specifically for Playstation 2 then the Playstation games would be better. But the reality of the situation is that because the Playstation 2 could play original Playstation games those games by default must be accounted for when considering games for the Playstation 2. So the game selection for Playstation 2 is exactly the same as for Playsation, plus newer games specifically for Playstation 2. So basically this paragraph is a big F-U to David.

In this weather the only thing his receivers are going to catch is a cold...thank you, thank you, I'll be here all night...no I won't. I'm masturbating then heading to bed.

Lastly, and I put this last because I know none of you care about sports so you can skip it. Today my Seattle Seahawks lost to the Atlanta Falcons 28 to 30. It was by far the best game Seattle’s offense has played all year long (it’s only been four weeks). It came down to the final seconds. It was 4^th and 8, 13 seconds on the clock, and Seattle with the ball and one time out and they needed three points to win. They had two options. They could kick a 61 yard field goal with an average kicker whose longest kick has been 55 yards. Or they could go for the 8 yards, call a timeout and then kick a field goal that wouldn’t be impossible for the kicker to make. As you can guess God whispered into Pete Carroll’s (head coach of the Seahawks) ear, “Fuck Quentin in his hairy ass,” to which Pete Carroll decided to fuck my recently waxed (not really) ass by sending the field goal unit out to which the kicker – whose name is too hard for me to spell and I’m too lazy to look up – proceeded to miss the field goal terribly. It wasn’t even close. Four yards too short, four yards too wide. I don’t blame him though, very few kickers in the league could have made it. I blame Carroll. That’s right, I blame my Grandpa’s dead ex girlfriend. Not really, I mean Pete Carroll, that was just an inside joke for me. I know, I’m terrible for making that joke, but in my defense I’m terrible for much worse reasons as well.

Tarvaris Jackson may be considered one of the worst, if not the worst, starting quarterback in the NFL, but he and the offense were playing at their best that game, and the chances of him throwing for a first down, or running for a first down and then calling a timeout and giving the kicker a field goal he could make was much higher than the decision Carroll made of sending the kicker out for a 61 yard field goal. But of course even the chances of all 22 players on the field simultaneously pulling down their pants and mooning the camera, then the feed being switched to the Super Bowl halftime show where Janet Jackson’s nipple was shown, then Rupert Murdoch coming on screen saying, “vote for Obama in 2012,” are much higher than the kicker (just look up his name already) making the 61 yard field goal, because the chances of Steven Hauschka making that kick is 0 percent. Zero fucking percent, Pete Carroll. So Pete Carroll choosing for Hauschka to attempt the field goal over letting Tarvaris Jackson try to get a first down is exactly the equivalent of Carroll sleeping with Jackson’s girlfriend, wiping his dick all over her face, then looking Jackson right in the eye saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I did not just fuck your girlfriend and wipe my dick across her face,” and then for good measure Carroll whacks his dick on her eye – that time I did mean my Grandpa’s dead ex girlfriend Carroll (horrible) I know, my week totally was horrible.

Getting Progress: Part 2

In short: I got zero progress this week.

In long: I spent way too much time being depressed this week. I’m not even really sure what the fuck I was depressed about. I didn’t work out much this week, so that sucks, and might have something to do with my downer attitude. I feel better when I work out. I’m not a work out nut, and if you could see my body you’d see that it goes without saying, but you can’t see my body (luckily), so the only way it goes is with my saying. I mostly didn’t work out much because I kept waking up so damn late every day, except for the day I went to Christopher’s to record the podcast, which was exciting, except for staying there until midnight mostly playing Peggle and then walking home and not being able to sleep until five in the morning, which kept me on my horrible schedule.

God hates me. God doesn’t exist of course, which is a shame because what’s life without an omnipotent being to shit on me. Why does this nonexistent God hate me? Well I am a nocturnal creature, and maybe that has more to do with my genetics than God, but I am far more depressed during the night than the day, which is part of the reason I like to wake up early, so I won’t have to be up all night alone with my thoughts and endless internet porn that while aiding in my favorite pastime now only makes me more depressed.

If there was ever a picture to encapsulate what I wanted to say in this post this would not be that picture.

No one ever in the history of the entire universe would ever care for what I’m about to say, but this week I didn’t masturbate that much. If you want exact numbers I don’t have them – last month for budgetary reasons I had to lay off the crew I hired to keep data on how much I masturbate – but on two separate occasions I went more than 24 hours without masturbating, which is very rare for me. As you all know (because it’s mentioned constantly) I masturbate a lot. It’s something I’m not afraid to share. I should be afraid to share it, and don’t get me wrong I am definitely ashamed of it, but I’m a big fan of honesty, even unwanted honesty, like how much I masturbate. I’ve mentioned here before that I’m a morning masturbater. It helps wake me up. But on the morning before I went to Christopher’s house I didn’t masturbate. Very unprofessional of me considering I was going to record the podcast, and having not masturbated that day I was very off my game.

Depression does weird things to my masturbation habits – yes, this has turned into a post solely about me masturbating, so the faint of heart, or just those only interested in interesting writing, can turn away now. When I’m really depressed I don’t want to masturbate at all. All the times when I stringed together a fair amount of consecutive days without yanking it were times when I was really depressed, no doubt always girl related. But when I’m only kind of depressed, or mildly depressed – which is most of the time – I masturbate a shit ton. I don’t know why I said a shit ton, because if there’s one thing I don’t want to be thinking about when masturbating it’s shit. Could I masturbate to 2 girls and 1 cup? That’s a tough question. Obviously it’s no. But if the girls were hotter it’s a definite yes. I hope their parents don’t read that and get offended.

How is any of this related to my progress is life? The short answer is that it isn’t. The long answer is that it is. But that’s a lot of explaining I’m far to tired to do at five in the morning.

Link to the podcast I did with Christopher where we talk about old news and God and other things.

Getting Progress Part 1

I’ve been thinking about documenting the progress of my life for awhile now, but because I have absolutely no confidence in myself I didn’t want to do it and then seem pathetic when week after week my life gained no, and perhaps lost, progress. But now I’ve decided it’s the right time to start documenting my progress towards getting a happier life. So I must feel more confidence in myself, right? Wrong, this is going to be a complete disaster and a year from now my life will be just as pathetic as it is now, if not more pathetic due to actually trying and failing, rather than just failing by not trying, which has been much of the 23 years of my previous existence (pervious existence? Has a new existence started?) It would make for a better story to act as if this is a new starting point to my life and from now on I’m going to be a bigger and better Quentin, but nope, I just typed ‘previous existence’ by accident without wanting anyone to really look into it to find a deeper meaning.

There are five things I want to accomplish that are most correlated to the happiness in my life. The closer I get to achieving these things the happier I believe I’ll be. Of course I say all this knowing damn well that there is something extremely wrong with me and I’ll probably never be happy because I strive for perfection and we all know perfection is impossible, but really that doesn’t even come into play for me, because I could strive for just being 10 to 15% as successful as the average person and still come up unbelievably short. But despite the depressing self awareness of knowing I’ll never be happy I’m still going to try for that God damned happiness, or at least nap and masturbate a lot less.

1) Get a job – That should be clarified as finally get a job, because get a job could mean at one point I had a job and lost it and now I need to get a new one, but that’s not my situation at all. My situation is that I’m a 23 year old with absolutely no real job experience who’s first name is misspelled (Danniel instead of the appropriate Daniel, thanks mother) and who’s last name is very Hispanic (Trujillo) not that there’s anything wrong with that, although I would have hoped it’d help me get my foot in the door at Taco Bell, which it didn’t, but I take full blame for that – to quickly comment on the Hispanic name thing, I don’t think having an ethic sounding name is a burden where I live, but in other parts of the country it could be more of a detriment when trying to find a job, especially without any real experience.

I touched on the experience thing, and you may know that I do help my mother out with work, but it’s really difficult to explain to you what I do let alone explain it on a resume or to someone when I’m being interviewed. And it’s not like there’s a real boss someone can contact as a reference, or real paychecks even. I work a completely unreal job extremely part time (like 100 – 200 hours a year) for my mother. I’m not sure that’s much of a backbone for a resume. In case you’re curious what I do is usually write down the trailers that play before movies and write the audiences reaction to them and then give it to a company that then relays it to movie studios and then I can only hope and assume they wipe their ass with that information. Sometimes I have to count people and take down demographics for movies on their opening weekend. It’s fun, I get to see millions of hot girls going on dates with guys in flip flops – you wouldn’t believe the percentage of guys who wear flip flops when going to the movies, unless you’re one of those guys, then you’d probably believe it.

What I need to do to get a job is go back in time and have people tell me about this call back thing before I start applying to places not knowing I’m expected to call them to set up an interview or whatever. My mother tells me I need to just call all the places and not mention that I sent them my resume or filled out an application two months ago. That’s probably what I’ll do, but I don’t like lying so I won’t necessarily mention the two months thing, but if they even hint about asking about it I’ll go ahead and shout it out as if confessing a murder I’ve held within my soul for 15 years. I’m fairly confident I’ll be able to get a job….someday.

2) Get a license and then car, probably in that order – this past week, or something, I finally passed my driving knowledge test, which means I can get my permit and start learning to drive, which I’m very afraid to learn to do, but in this day and age you kind of need a car. I mean not necessarily because the world would be a lot healthier a place if more people used public transportation. But for things like going to the lake, or picking up hitchhikers, or getting to second base with Mary Beth it’s always nice to have your own car.

I don’t know how this is going to go down. I’m deeply afraid of driving. I’m not at all scared of being in cars. I’ve been in cars while the driver was doing some very dumb and fast things, and I wasn’t scared in the least bit. But the idea of me driving is very nerve wrecking. I don’t think I’d be a dangerous driver, I just don’t trust those other assholes on the road. They can try and hide it, but I know they’re out to get me.

3) Film skits – This has been a dream of mine for a long time, and God damn it I’m going to do it. It’s summer now, so Christopher should have some more free time, and David should be free more often, and my cousin is back from the army, and I just got in contact with Tim again, and I can coax Nathan with beer, and I don’t know what the deal with Lupita is anymore, but she said she’s usually free on weekends so hopefully I’ll get a hold of her sometime, and God damn it I swear on everything that is holy and unholy and all in between that I will film some fucking skits this summer. I can’t swear that they’ll be anywhere near good though.

4) Do the podcast and youtube show more regularly – Christopher was busy with school and his girlfriend (The Herminator) so he wasn’t able to podcast with me, and that was a big blow to the podcast because I hated doing them by myself. But that is no more. Now I kind of enjoy the alone time with myself and often times look forward to doing the podcast alone. Not that I’m not looking forward to Christopher coming back to the podcasts more regularly this summer, but at least now I’m more confident is having more podcasts out on a weekly basis as opposed to before where we went a whole month without releases one.

The youtube show I need to treat more as a regular job, because it takes a lot of effort and with my nature of putting everything off until the last minute that can’t work for it. I have to write, record, edit and then upload all that crap and it takes a lot of time, time I’d apparently rather spend masturbating, or napping, or listening to podcasts, or talking to people online, or thinking about ideas for the youtube show but never writing them down and working them out so I can actually record them. Luckily I have this trusty monthly planner that my mother gave me so I’m going to start organizing my time using it, and that should keep me on schedule with getting the youtube show out on time.

5) Stop being so obsessed with women – This is absolutely the hardest thing for me to do, but it’s crucial to my happiness, which sucks because it’s pretty much impossible. I’m not going to stop thinking about girls and unfortunately I’m nowhere near being able to really be with one. The only thing I can hope is that I spend so much time doing the above four things that I don’t have enough time to think about girls, or rather how I’m alone. But what I can’t let happen is what I have been letting happen and constantly think about these such wondrous women creature and how I lack the special one, and then that gets me all depressed and in no mood to focus on what needs to be focused on. Last night Annie called me at three in the morning after not talking to me or returning my texts for over a week and even though I was in the middle of sleep I of course picked up the phone because there is nothing I love more in the world than talking to her and having my precious sleep interrupted throwing me off my desired scheduled of waking up early, and although that sounds sarcastic I meant it to sound that way to disguise the fact that I’m completely sincere.

So here I go, off on my journey to improve my life, which shouldn’t be hard, atop the first step is higher than the floor. What do I even mean by that?

#51 Happy Birthday To Me (Feb 15) by Bright Eyes

This song is meaningful to me in that its title reminds me of that girl I used to love. I’m not entirely sure why it reminds me of her, but on a completely unrelated topic her birthday happens to be on February 15^th. I had been listening to this song for about a year before I realized the commonality. What’s weirder is that certain lines of the song like, “I’m sorry for the phone call and needing you,” had made me think of her before the titled had forever entrenched my mind with memories of her every time I hear the song.

Originally this post was going to be all about her, and the crazy things I had planned on doing for her birthday, which I never got to do because every time her birthday came around we were always in a not entirely talking to each other mode, but I’m desperately trying to not make her such a big part of my life, which so far I’ve desperately failed at doing, which is no fault of her (there should be a ‘which’ count going).

At one point I was going to write her a message on Facebook, which (4) has become our only form of communication, or rather my way of talking to her no longer expecting her to respond, explaining to her that I’m sorry for everything I did and harboring the grudges I’ve continued to harbor for so long, and then I was going to stop writing about her and making the dumb jokes I do about what happened between us, which (5) aren’t entirely jokes, which (6) I’m sure you and her – if she ever read any of this – are fully aware weren’t entirely jokes concerning the way I felt and feel about the situation.

Riki Lindhome, my current "celebrity" crush. And it's a big one because it's based mostly on personality.

I’ve toggled back and forth many times between writing her that note and then forever not writing about her, but I can’t do the latter ever I think. It’s just a part of me. Maybe one day I can get rid of all the grudges I have. In fact I’m pretty sure if I were to be with another girl I love I could throw all that behind me. I could stop blaming myself for ruining my chances with who I once considered to be the finest female specimen to ever walk this planet, Riki Lindhome excluded.

Akin to that thought, I was listening to the Adam Carolla show today and this girl was on (Donna Antebi) and they were talking about men who cheat and I was thinking about how I really don’t think I could be one of those guys. Of course I’m young and with age and spite I’m sure I’ll change, hopefully not. But it’s not really a principal thing for me. I don’t not want to cheat because it’s bad and it will hurt the person who I assumedly love or at least loved – although that certainly helps me not want to cheat even more – but when I’m with a girl I really don’t think about being with other girls and wishing I could have a night with Scarlett Johansson or whatever starlet’s hot at the moment, granted I’ve never really “been” with a girl. I’m sure I’d be taking the quickest lay I could find out of the house with all the constant nagging and talk of Oprah the wife is doing, right fellas? I’m kidding.

When I was in at my emotional fullest with that girl I loved and fully expected us to one day get married I didn’t think about all the girls I wouldn’t get to sleep with even though I was so very young and had never had sex. I prepared to go through this life having only slept with one girl. Unfortunately now I’m starting to worry if I’ll even get to the one. It’s not that I don’t want to be one of those guys who tells all his buddies about all the notches on his bedpost and crazy sexual stories he has. It’s that I’m not one of those guys. Conversely I wouldn’t even take pride in the fact that I was loyal and only with one girl. I don’t care about that. I just have this chip in my brain that makes me want to find the one girl I can love most and then spend my entire life creating beautiful memories with her – I’m pretty sure the chip in my brain was just a metaphor, but also the chip is designed to make me think that. It sucks in a lot of ways because I am very afraid of getting in a relationship with a person and then having it end. I’m not a ‘plenty of other fish in the sea’ type person. I’m a ‘leave me alone for a week on the floor with a bottle of Jager and Bright Eyes playing’ kind of guy, which (7) brings me back to the song.

I was going to talk about Valentine’s Day but I guess I had other things going through my mind. I do want to make mention that one thing I like about it is it’s a third day of the year (with Christmas and Birthdays) where all those douche bag boyfriends have to at least attempt to do something to make their girlfriend happy. I would much prefer if those douche bags would do things like that on regular occasions, but of course then they’d lose their oh-so-important douche bag status. Or even better, perhaps those girls could dump their douche bag boyfriends and realize they can do so much better. There are few things in this world more sad than when a sweet girl is with an asshole guy. I’ve seen it a lot and the joke reason behind it is he’s got a huge cock, and the not so funny reason behind it is daddy issues.

Lastly, I forgot to mention a couple paragraphs up, but when I like a girl, like really like a girl and it’s pretty obvious that she likes me back, my masturbation numbers go way down. I’ll go whole weeks without jerking off, which (8) is the equivalent of Charlie Sheen going two weeks without coke and a hooker (cheap joke). There are two reasonings behind this. One is that I use masturbation as a distraction from stress and depression. But when I’m in like with a girl I’m happy so there’s not much need for it. And two, and this is more along the lines of what I was saying about myself earlier, when I really like a girl other girls just don’t seem so appealing anymore, even sexually. Although semi-recently things have gotten complicated with me liking multiple girls and not knowing which (9) one I really like best. And it sucks even worse because it’s still hard to think about being with any of them because I of course still love that girl I used to love.

Bedtime Thoughts #9

It was, I’m guessing, somewhere between ten and fifteen minutes ago that I was brushing my teeth in the mirror and thinking about writing another installment of bedtime thoughts and how what has been on my mind most recently is liking these three girls but always getting confused on which I like most when I started to laugh because I realized that obviously it doesn’t matter which one I like most because I will end up with none of them. Of course part of the reason I will end up with none of them is because I will never know which one I like most, among many other reasons of course.

One I could never end up with. I like her a lot, but I just couldn’t end up with her. It’s hard to explain why, but I guess the short answer is that although she would be very cool to be with we have so many things not in common that I could see it being frustrating to her down the line, and possibly a bit frustrating to me too. Plus I could see her being extremely freaked out by my constant need to be affectionate and complimentative – I’ll maintain to my death that complimentative will one day be a word. I want the girl I am with to feel like a princess, for lack of any less clichéd saying, but unfortunately I do not have the bank account of a prince therefore I can only show my affection through words, and not jewelry that costs more than my life – I like that they say you can’t put a price on life, but isn’t that really what life insurance is for?

This is why I should have been born an Anime character.

These other two girls are more openly affectionate and accepting of my affectionateness. However both these girls are of course miles and miles and hundreds of miles away from me. Therein lies another problem with not having money. Why, oh why, was I not born a Gates or a Jobs!? Of course then I would be a geek and inherently not care about any girls unless they were dressed in some kind of kinky anime character costume. Those girl anime characters always have huge breasts. I feel like in a perfect world I would have been born as an anime character in some sort of melodrama where I was the kooky best friend of the protagonist of the show and I had a severe sexual perverted fetish, which I’m now convinced that 80% of all anime characters have, which leads me to believe that 90% of all Japanese men have.

I was thinking a while ago that all these girls I’ve liked would in no way get along with my friends. I think one of them might. And I think another one of the girls I used to like would try to fuck all of them. Seriously. It’s sad actually. But I imagine the idea that my friends wouldn’t get along with my girlfriend, and vice versa, somewhat makes sense to me. I think part of this is that I’m attracted to girls with qualities not very similar to that of my best friends. For one I’m attracted to boobs. None of my best friends have those. But on a more serious level I’m attracted to girls who show lots of emotion, and often times friends are hesitant to open up with one another.

In my group of friends we always make jokes. It’s very impossible to have a conversation without making jokes. Ironically the most emotional argument which lacked jokes was an argument about how we couldn’t openly talk about serious personal subjects with each other because we couldn’t take it seriously and someone, namely me, would always make jokes. For me it’s almost impossible to talk about something without throwing in some jokes. The only exception is of course when I’m talking to a girl I like about something personal to her. And even then the jokes are flying through my head, I just somehow manage to keep my mouth shut, possibly because I’m extremely shy around girls, even girls I know well.

This isn’t on topic, but nothing here ever is or is ever meant to be, but I’m not getting more tired. I was hoping by now I’d be asleep. I can’t write forever. I mean I suppose technically I could, but it would all turn into mindless drivel which is actually a step up from what’s been written so far.

So the problem with this one girl who I thought might be the one – and by one I don’t mean the one who I end up marrying, but rather the one who can finally get me to forget about that girl I was in love with – is that sometimes she won’t talk to me for a while, and I’ll text her and she won’t respond, and it makes me feel like the things she tells me, particularly about how much she likes me, might not be entirely true. Today she texted me asking what I was doing and I answered and texted her back asking what she was doing and she didn’t respond. I don’t expect us to talk every day or even every other day, but I don’t know. I really just don’t know. Like I know nothing at this exact moment. I’m just going to close my eyes for a few minutes and see what happens.

“I don’t want what I need. What I need hates me.”

Lately, as in for most of the past two years after that girl broke my heart – I think the first time, not the second – and then nothing ever happened with that another girl – which was good at the time because I didn’t really like her as much as I thought I did but was mostly using her to try and get over the other chick – I’ve been struggling with the idea that I need to learn to be alone for awhile. Before I can really be happy with a girl and keep her happy I need to get some things straightened out with myself, and at times I understand this, but then something always throws me off course of course – yep, I put off course next to of course, and then what’s worse is I mentioned doing it, so sue me.

I was reading the wonderful Teresa Strasser’s book Exploiting My Baby and it has me thinking a lot about what it’d be like if I ever had a child with some unfortunate girl. Just yesterday I was thinking about how it wouldn’t be that bad not having a child. The Trujillo’s have a very storied history in this country, all of which is horrible and must be put to an end. Most of the Trujillo’s, who I haven’t met more than once if at all, are very good at sex, well more so very good at getting sex – The larger than average weight and tendency of breathing problems point towards the sex probably being not so great, but nonetheless fertile. I of course not being raised by any Trujillo’s, but instead by my mother who is of the Lloyds, didn’t obtain the ability to get sex easily, which is odd because just like the Trujillo’s my mother’s side of the family contains many members which appear to have sex often, and produce many offspring, many of which they don’t even know about. So somehow I managed to miss that whole thing where my previous family generations had lots of sex and had kids at a young age, and instead I’m a virgin at 23 with a borderline obsessive compulsion towards masturbation. Don’t drop your panties all at once, ladies (I hate that joke).

In the book Exploiting My Baby Teresa talks about how because her mother was such a terrible parent it gave her fears that she wouldn’t be such a good mother. I’m not sure if this holds true with me, but instead of mother father. My father wasn’t there for essentially my whole life – and if by essentially you think I mean anywhere near half my life I mean more like he was only there when I was two, and I can’t remember what I did last Thursday, so I definitely don’t remember anything at two. If I had a kid I know I wouldn’t leave it. In fact if I had a kid with a pale white woman – you’ll see why her skin color is important in less than ten seconds, trust me, well I guess it depends how fast you read, anyway – and the baby came out looking like Marlon Wayans in Little Man I’d still feel like I’d need to raise that child.

I'm sure it was a lovely family movie

For some reason I almost prefer if I had a kid that wasn’t biologically mine. I guess if I had to figure out why that is it would come down to two things. The first being that I’d feel like I was being a father figure to a kid who needed it as opposed to impregnating some chick and putting another soul on this Earth that needs guidance. The second thing being that I don’t want to pass on all these horrible genes to anyone. Anything I pass on to the Earth I have a responsibility over. I don’t want another crazy, depressed, short, small dicked (get on with it) transvestite on this Planet. One is enough, minus the transvestite part. I figure my future son only did that because he harbors resentment that his mother left because of me and now he figures that’s the most logical way to make up for the lack of female presence in his life – whenever I make up future children of mine they always end up fucked up, not that being a transvestite is a bad thing in case any are reading this, but maybe the fact that I always imagine my kids ending up weird, not that being a transvestite is weird except it is, is why I don’t have a huge desire to have kids?

Yummy...Oh my God, I was referring to her not the candy. I'm not a fat ass (I Guarantee that joke didn't work well).

Despite the lack of desire I have of passing on my seed, while I was reading Exploiting My Baby by Teresa Strasser – yes, I’m mentioning it multiple times so it will get stuck in your head and maybe you’ll buy it, but hey at least it’s cheap – I kept thinking about being with some girl in the future and going through the whole baby making experience, particularly all the sex, and also in this scenario my wife was Scarlett Johansson, and for some reason she ovulated better – or more, I’m not sure which is apt – when Kaley Cuoco and the little known dancer from the movie Fame and season whatever of So You Think You Can Dance and apparently that Katy Perry California Girl’s music video Kherington Payne is involved. Two things: before any teens or gays correct me, I know it’s ‘gurls’ and not the traditional ‘girls’ but I’m not going to fix it – I only said gays because this guy who writes a gay blog, that I don’t know anything about it because I totally never even accidentally stumble onto anything gay because that’s how straight I am, put that song on his list of best songs of the year…wait, look how not gay I am, California girls wasn’t on the list, two other Katy Perry songs were. And secondly I don’t make up the rules for my fantasies. The fact that Scarlett can only get pregnant if we have sex with two incredibly hot girls is the universe’s doing.

The point of all that insanity is that I often think I don’t want or need any of those things so desired by many others, but when I think about it I do kind of want it. I want to impregnate some girl. Not at this precise moment, but preferably before I’m old and all my sperm needs walkers to get around with. That’d be an excruciatingly slow ejaculation. Me and Scarlett might have to watch two and a half episodes of Glee before I can safely eject myself from her – I know I’m supposed to use ‘I’ there instead of ‘me’, but guess what, I still don’t care, but at least I’m aware I’m making the mistake, and isn’t that what’s most important?

But I don’t like thinking about all that. That’s what makes me so lonely. I’m convinced it’s not being alone, but rather all the thinking of what I could have with someone that makes me so lonely. If you ask me what the loneliest place in the universe is it’s an easy answer. It’s not some far off Galaxy billions of lightyears away from any semblance of life. It’s the Moon. The Moon watches all the life that happens on Earth, but never gets to partake – I guess unless you believe in the Moon Landing, which I have mixed feelings on. It sees all the potential happiness there is. Pluto doesn’t get to see it. Neptune doesn’t get to see it. They live in ignorance, hell, some might say in peace, or at least the clichéd bliss. But the Moon spends its entire existence watching everything. All that it wants. All that it can’t have.

#64 Sic Transit Gloria…Glory Fades by Brand New

Apparently this song is about a boy hesitant to lose his virginity to a girl who he’s looking for much more than just sex in. I related a lot more with this song a few years back, in the sense that come the time I would lose my virginity I would probably have no idea what to do, and in fact having sex with the girl would probably not even be my first choice of things to do with the girl. A good cuddle while discussing the events that transpired on that night’s episode of Survivor would seem much more appealing. It’s not like younger Quentin had no desire for sex, it’s just his mind was corrupted with the idea of love and there being more to the relationship between a man and a woman than just sex. The Quentin of now realizes the error in his ways, and that true love doesn’t exist, but is just a word guys throw around to get girls to sleep with them over and over again and not feel bad about it.

I jest to a certain extent, I am not that jaded, but I’m sure one day I might be. I guess what I was trying to get to is that as the years go by I’m less and less looking for that girl I’d like to spend the rest of my life with, and now settling, although in a struggling manner, with the idea that I’ll have to go through many women to find that special girl, which is not something I’d like to do, both because I don’t like the idea of getting my heart broken and I don’t like the idea of potentially breaking any girls hearts.

I guess I’m kind of struggling with the idea of becoming a person who can have sex without real emotion. Whereas three years ago I feel like that would have been impossible I now feel like even though I don’t really want to be that kind of person – not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with being that kind of person – I think I could very well have sex with girls I don’t really feel anything for. Certainly the fact that I’m still virgin affects that. I’m completely opposed to having sex with a hooker, or even just the neighborhood slut. I’m no longer waiting for love, nor do I think I ever was, but I’d like to wait for someone I really care about and who I think the possibility of love could happen with. But the way I’m going as a person, and the constant disappointment I’ve had with women over the past couple of years, I feel like sex is going to be to me what it is to most other guys, and I don’t really like that.

I think I think about sex a lot, but after examining it I actually think a lot about me not having sex. Whenever I think about having sex it usually involves a girl I like and then it’s less about thinking about sex and is much more about other stuff involving her and me. Whenever it doesn’t work out with one of these girls I’ve liked I don’t get disappointed that I won’t have sex with them, it’s always disappointment over other things. Although to be honest it completely rips me apart to think about other people having sex with the girls I once liked. I find this weird, because at the same time when I think about them being in a loving relationship with someone else I don’t get as upset, and I think it’s because deep down if I really like them I want them to be happy above all else, and then there’s also that part about me wanting to be the saddest person in the world, but that’s a discussion for another time.

Even though the song is about sex I didn’t expect this post to take this direction. In fact yesterday I wrote mostly on serious matters, so I was hoping today I’d keep it light-hearted, but this year has started off pretty terribly, and despite how much I enjoy writing it hasn’t really been able to knock me out of the funk, and the people who usually make me happy aren’t here, so everything kind of sucks, but I’m gonna get past it, because despite all my horrible qualities I still believe I control my mood, and I’ll figure out a way to stop feeling like this.

I hate her so much. I miss her so much.