I Haven’t Went To The Bathroom Yet

I had a charming little semblance of a day, yeah?

The cloudless winter days are the coldest. That isn’t a factual statement by any means, it’s just something I’ve noticed in my life. I have my theory, and I did a little google research to back me up, and found nothing that my feeble mind could grasp, so I can only assume my theory is right (Hear that children? Whenever you can’t find the answer you want just assure you were right in the first place) I’d be a happier man if I lived by that rule (remember to edit out the joke “I mean I am happy, I’m just not a man”). But basically I took what I know about global warming – and if you don’t believe in global warming this theory probably won’t make sense to you, but hell, if you don’t believe in global warming most simple things don’t make sense you to, ha! take that you non green dudes and dudettes – and with global warming the more smog the more heat that is trapped on Earth, thus warming it and melting big ice chunks that could be put to better use in my martinis – I don’t drink martinis and do martinis generally come with ice? – and it throws off the seasonal balance thus ruining the Earth, and also for good measure let’s say it was behind 9/11 as well. So my theory is more clouds more crap to hold the heat in the atmosphere and that’s why in the winter it’s warmer on cloudy days than sunny days.

My room is horrible. When it’s cold it’s fucking freezing and when it’s hot I’m literally – not literally literally, but you know – in hell. But on days like today, where it’s cold and sunny it’s somehow decent. The sun heats my room and for some reason it’s spared from the cold, so after I shower I’m able to sit around in my towel for an hour before I garner enough effort to put underpants on, and I only did that because I wanted to leave my room for sustenance. The few days previous to this when waking up I could barely get out from under my covers because it was so cold, and I slept in full regalia, which I hate doing. I’m usually a boxers man, because I like to have some freedom but I don’t want things going too crazy down there. But in this cold I’ve got on sweat pants, two shirts, a beanie and two cock socks. Not because my penis is cold, but because my fingers get cold and I lost my mittens.

On the most recent episode of the podcast my pod mate buddy Christopher brought up an interesting point that you – but especially you – should hear. He loves music. You know the way you love sex? No, you don’t? Well you love sex a lot. And he loves sex a lot. And all you literal fuckers who have sex love sex so much and you love it almost as much as you throw it in the face of us literal assholes (literal?) who have never had sex. Well that’s how much he loves music. Only actually probably not as much. But anyway, he hates 99% of the music he hears. As do I. And a lot of people hate a lot of music. But still they love the music they like. But it’s just weird that people say they love music even though most of the music in the world they probably don’t like. Unless you’re one of those asshole snobs who just goes through life loving everything with your fucking stupid smile brightening everyone’s day and generally making this Earth a happier place…wait, why am I angry at them? (Because their happiness is jealousy invoking) oh yeah. Fuck them. Literally fuck them straight into the hell that is my bedroom in the summer. Not literally of course.

Anyway the bathroom is calling, and a shorter way to say that would have been nature is calling but not necessarily because nature is calling is shorter than the bathroom is calling because then I would have of course made mention of Jim Carrey’s hit film Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls, which my memory recalls little of so I don’t know why I’d bring it up, but rather because had I said nature is calling with the subsequence Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls mention it still would have been a lot shorter than all of this which I have just written, so jokes on me because I really need to pee, and for some reason I validate that as an acceptable reason to end this blog even though I’m not going to post this until after I get back from the bathroom, and if you like bathrooms listen to the Closer To Clarity podcast, where we talked about pee for a moment or two, so that segue worked better than I would have imagined when starting it.

A Link to the Pastcast…I mean Podcast.

Bedtime Thoughts 11

Lately I’ve been having a strong desire to smoke that marijuana substance all the kids are so crazy about. I’m a bit hesitant because it seems like something I would like too much, and I have a policy not to get addicted to anything that costs money (which explains the obsession with masturbation) hey, tissues are costly. Aside from the minor semblance of pride I have, frugality is high up on the list of reasons I don’t engage in such vices as gambling or snorting coke off hookers. By the way, I’m not sure how the snorting coke off hookers works, but I would like to believe they have sex with the hooker first. A person shouldn’t have to be coked up to enjoy sex, even if it’s with a hooker. Have the sex then do the blow. I get the idea of two good things at once being better than doing them separately, but don’t overkill it.

For some reason the idea of eating during sex popped into my head. I have no idea what the appeal of that would be. I love eating, but I’m certain I would love sex, so why not spread out the love by first eating the pussy and then you can get to that banana cream pie in the fridge.

Come to think of it, I don’t think I like doing any two things I genuinely enjoy at the same time. The closest I come is writing and listening to music, but even then I’m usually listening to old stuff I’ve heard hundreds of times and not paying that close of attention to it, just letting it float around in the background hoping it doesn’t somehow seep into my writing – which is why I never listen to rap music when I write, I don’t want to accidentally drop an N bomb, or even worse, get into the habit of rhyming everything.

I had totally forgotten I started this thing talking about wanting to smoke the ganja. I guess a lot of it has to do with feeling really stressed over the past few months, and wanting a way to take my mind off things for awhile, although to be honest I’d probably never smoke marijuana by myself and the only people I would smoke it with I really wouldn’t need it in the way I want it because my mind would already be off things.

Also I’m already incredibly lazy, and I have a lot of stoner friends, and Jesus Christ do they make me look like Jay Leno – well established workaholic, although not that well established if I had to mention how established it was after saying it, I should have went with Bill Gates or something. Whenever I think about something good or unique to write about I always do the same thing. I think, “wow, that’s pretty interesting, I should write this down,” then I attempt to get some paper and then think, “fuck it, I’ll just remember it for later,” and then I of course forget all about it. I don’t think being high is going to help that process in any way.

If only I could find a way to be proactive and high it’d be perfect (as if it’s already decided that getting high would be a good idea) good point. I guess I just assumed I’d enjoy being high but I have no evidence to back up that hypothesis. Maybe I’d smoke and hate it? Maybe I’ll freak out and get paranoid like one of my nerd friends did when he try pot? But maybe all these fucking amazing ideas will run through my head and I’ll look at the world from a completely new light, and perhaps that’s what I need in my life right now?

 

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.

#65 Do Better by Say Anything

As the year came to an end and I noticed I was about ready to place this song on my list I decided that it would be the first song I would post of the New Year, and despite the cheesiness of it I still feel like it’s a good mantra to have for me this year, after disappointing myself so much last year. I know the standards I set for myself are high, or at least the standards I’d like to one day attain to, but the minuteness of my few accomplishments last year make me have to redefine my idea of possibility and perhaps those things I thought could be achieved are just as impossible for me as all those unreachable goals I set?

I’ve never felt like a year could make or break me so much. After saying that for the first time when commenting on someone’s blog a couple of minutes ago I realized that it’s ridiculous that my success or failure could so neatly be decided within a clearly defined period of time such as a year. In reality I’m sure it will be a series of hours spanned out through months that determine what happens in my life. And even then no one stays on the path of up or down consistently. This life is filled with highs and lows. I just feel like what I do with what I have this year is going to determine weather my life has more highs or lows, and right now it’s just not looking great.

I don’t feel like writing this anymore. End.

Watch me beat this.

The key to writing is putting the words on paper (sounds easy enough). Mind you that’s not the key to good writing. I haven’t figured out the key to good writing. Perhaps the key to good writing is the kind of writing I just don’t, and perhaps can’t, do? I can’t think about what I’m going to write before I write it. Just now I was trying to figure out how the hell I was going to start writing and what it was going to be about and then I remembered that I almost never think about what I’m going to write before I write about it, and even when I try I get distracted and am off topic often.

That’s the beauty of starting without a topic. The only way to get off topic is to somehow get on a topic and stay there, and that I just can’t do. I’ve figured out my brain doesn’t work that way. I think a key to life is figuring out how our brains work, and not brains in general, but every person needs to figure out how each one of their own brains works, because you can’t convince me that they aren’t all different.

It was very disappointing to learn that I’m one of those people who want what they can’t have. Do you think I’ve liked the girls I’ve liked because they’re beautiful, or intelligent, or sweet, or funny? Hell no. It’s because every girl I’ve liked has been amazing and I know the league I’m in, and I know they’re not in it and they can do much better than me, but I’ve convinced myself that somehow someway I can get them. It’s sad in a way because they deserve much better than me, but at the same time I think every girl I’ve ever liked has been aware of that, and that’s why I’ve been single my whole life.

Disappointingly not a picture of Katy Perry's breasts

By the way, let me make one thing clear here (because all that should ever be clear is only one thing).  I’m not saying that I like these girls because I want to prove that I can get them. Katy Perry is very attractive with an extremely attractive pair of breasts, but I know very little about her personality – besides the fact that she married Russell Brand which is a huge strike against her – and therefore I don’t consider her out of my league in a sense. Yes, in terms of looks she’s a million lightyears out of my league.  And career/fame-wise there’s almost a just as big gap between our leagues, but frankly I don’t put that much stress on those leagues.

The beauty among much ugliness in guys is that the success of a person plays almost zero role in how much we want to have sex with a girl. Katy Perry may be a 9 but she’s in fantasy world and if a 7 walks by in real life that 7 becomes immediately more appealing than Katy Perry because the 7 is in the real world, and therefore the guy actually has a chance of hooking up with her, which is exclusively what guys care about in this world. Don’t let any guy fool you, anything he wants in life, whether it be a car, job, fame, money, a peanut butter and fucking jelly sandwich, he wants it because he thinks it will help him get laid. Sure I seem like some guy who doesn’t care that much about sex because I’m still a virgin at 23 and I didn’t try as hard as most guys would in situations where it seemed pretty obvious that I could have gotten laid, but I make no bones about every single thing I do being in pursuit of finding that one girl who I can spend the rest of my life in a massive explosion of happiness with, and once that happens you better believe sex will be involved.

I used to convince myself that I wanted to make this world a better place, and the reason I’m on this planet was because of that – I don’t believe we have reasons to be here, I believe we give ourselves reasons to be here – but I only spend about two nights a week feeling sad about knowing I won’t be able to make a difference. I spend the rest of my nights fearing I’ll never find that girl I want to spend the rest of my life with. I guess, and this is hesitant, that I can live without making a real difference on this planet. I can, and might have to, live without being truly in love, but I can’t do it without being in pain.

P.S. I always have thoughts I want to get to but because I never stay on topic I never end up getting to them. And also I guess I beat it for a while but it got back to being sad again, but even though it may not show it in the post, at least in real life things got much brighter.

Some Stuff and Some Things #1

There had to be some advantages to living in a cave. For example when I wake up in the middle of the night and need to go potty (as all 22 year old males call it) I have to get my ass up and walk 13 steps to the bathroom where then in a blurry daze I manage to get 30% of my urine in the toilet and the rest is divided among the wall, floor, toilet seat and kitty litter box which I find is rather ironically placed next to the toilet. The irony comes in that the cats are making with their business right next to where the people are making with their business. It was less than a week ago that I was urinating at the same time as my boy kitty Klown who was just inches away from me. Had my penis been angled a few degrees to the right I would have been pissing on him while he was peeing in the kitty litter box, which I must imagine is the bizarre fantasy of the few people who are both into bestiality and golden showers. But anyway, if I were a caveman I wouldn’t have to get up in the middle of the night and drowsily walk to the bathroom and see the kitty litter box and think about peeing on my cat. Instead I could just lean over and pee wherever I God damn wanted to, because it’s a cave, not peeing wherever I pleased in it would be disrespectful to the cave.

Of course there were probably a few disadvantages of living in caves, such as getting eaten by bears. I don’t think there’s any shame in getting eaten by a bear though. They’re big and strong and apparently deceivingly fast. Now getting eaten by a turtle on the other hand would be terrible, shame on your family for six and a half generations terrible. They’re weak, slow, probably mentally handicapped. Could you imagine the differences in conversation when telling someone how a person got killed by a bear vs. a turtle? I can, and I’ll show you.

“So how did Gary die?”

“He got ate by a bear.”

“What a brave, brave soul.”

“Yep, he gave up his life saving 13 Cub Scout Troops. Later he had planned on molesting them, but nonetheless, honorable, brave man.”

Now let’s replace bear with turtle.

“So how did Gary die?”

“He was eaten by a turtle.”

“What a fucking pussy.”

“Probably retarded too.”

The moral of the story is that if you’re going to get eaten by an animal make it a big and scary animal otherwise people will be laughing at your funeral. Wait, on second thought that’s the selfish thing to do. You wouldn’t want to deprive the ones you love of laughter would you? Make your funeral a joyous occasion, getting eaten by a turtle.

Chris and I talk about 6 things guaranteed to turn women off.

ranDUMBness #6 or something like that

While on the subject of penises (we weren’t on the subject of penises) then what the hell were we talking about? (Nothing, the blog just started). Oh, well what the hell should I talk about today? (It doesn’t matter, whatever it is you’ll find a way to make it boring). Not tube socks. I could make tube socks exciting (perhaps, at least you try to everyday).

I was walking to the store today and I saw one third of a lobster shell on the sidewalk. Or was it a crab? Damn it, it was actually a crab. I had a whole routine worked out on lobsters, but since it was a crab I wouldn’t feel right doing it. Or maybe it was a lobster? I’ll have to go and check it out again.

My microwave makes a beep when you open the door to it, which I find unnecessary. I get that when it’s done microwaving it needs to make I sound so that when a person is in the other room doing whatever – in my case getting off a quick jerk off before the two minutes it takes to make popcorn –  they will knows it’s done. But it really doesn’t need to make a sound when I open the door because I’m right there opening the door so the beep is unnecessary and rather annoying. And also when it’s done it beeps four times no matter what. It could beep once and I could open the door and it will beep the final three times, plus it will beep for me opening the door. If I open the door to the microwave it should know it doesn’t have to sound off its final beeps because there’s no more need to tell me the food is done, I’ve already opened the door, so I clearly realize it’s done. Why doesn’t this microwave have a mind of its own? I get that electronics are getting too smart and one day they’re take over the world and kill all humans, but God damn, I must have got stuck with one of those mentally challenged microwaves. They’ll be no world domination by it. And by the fucking way, how exactly is saying mentally challenged any less offensive to retards than saying retarded? Sure one sounds nicer than the other, but with both I’m insulting the person’s intelligence. In fact I would argue that it’s better to be called retarded than mentally challenged. Because if someone calls you retarded then it’s like, ‘well that person is just being a prick.’ But if someone calls you mentally challenged it’s like, ‘oh fuck, I have a serious condition that renders my mental facilities inadequate,’ although I still maintain that the mentally challenged person doesn’t really care about being called mentally challenged v.s retarded as much as the parents care. Anyway my point is that calling someone mentally challenged is worst then calling them retarded. No one is with me on this one are they? (Like always they are not.) Well screw them, they’re all mentally challenged anyway.

Both the football teams I wanted to win today lost. This is very disheartening. Almost as much as when I turned around no more than a second ago to find my kitty cat, Cloud, eating my dinner. He always eats my food. I’d prefer him not to because he is so very vey fat – although he’s lost weight since we put him on a diet. To get back at my kitty the next time I feed him at some point I’m going to push him out of the way and start eating his food. I don’t care how bad it tastes, he must be thought a lesson. Also he keeps trying to have sex with his sister, Kilala. So the next time I see him riding her, ironically doggy style, I’m going to push him out of the way and…. I pussed out of making the joke about fucking my girl kitty (it went from talking about football to not making jokes about bestiality) how’s that for range bitch.

If you really think about it masturbation is good for so much. If you’re ever bored just jerk off, that will excite things up. If you’re ever horny just jerk off. If rapists would just jerk off that would save them so much jail time. I mean sure the rapists are having a good time when they’re raping, but is it worth the risk considering if they get caught they’re going to jail where their ass will become a buffet for hundreds of horny prisoners? I say not worth it. Just jerk off. That’s my motto for everything. If I’m feeling horny, ‘just jerk off.’ If I’m feeling lonely, ‘just jerk off.’ If I need to study for a big test that will determine whether I pass an important class or not, ‘just jerk off.’ Okay, that’s mostly a joke, but big tests tend to stress me out, and jerking off is a great way to relieve stress. Also if you’re angry I suggest jerking off. I hate christian bale, he makes me very angry, so sometimes I put his dumb ugly face on the computer screen and just jerk off very angrily staring deeply into his big dumb beautiful eyes the whole time. Now some people try to point out that doing that is totally gay, but there’s nothing gay about it. I’m not feeling any sexual emotions, just anger. Plus there’s a plus, it’s usually the most pleasurable jerks sessions I ever have – I really amaze myself sometimes, christian bale is easily in the top five people I hate most in the world yet I can still make jokes about jerking off to him, you people should have your pants down in awe of me.