Yeppers Part 1 (there’s no part 2)

After an inability to sleep for more than an hour without being interrupted I woke up in the dark longing for a kiss, almost needing it. As I lightly kissed the air directly above my mattress I felt stupid, but also incredibly warm and comfortable, but that’s only because I slept with three shirts and a beanie on and had two cats around me. I didn’t know what I was doing. I said, “I love you.” There was no one here I meant it for…but I know who I meant it for.

I wrote something similar to that shortly after I woke up and realized my actions were as if someone I cared for was in bed with me. I didn’t actually write it down as I am writing this down, but I jotted it in my head, knowing I wanted to write it down, and tried to construct it in a meaningful way. I like to think my original draft, stored somewhere in my head, was a lot better than what I wrote up there. It was probably the haze the mind can be in after first awaking that made it seem better than it was. I like it. I like feeling that I’m writing something worthwhile. Even if I’m not I still like to feel like it every once in a while. It’s motivating. It may be false motivation, but it’s a lot more than I’ve had recently.

It’s the Eve of Christmas and I’m excited. Not for Christmas of course. But because most of the football games have been moved to today, so I will watch my Seattle Seahawks keep their playoff hopes alive by beating the San Francisco 49ers (*edit* turns out no), or watch my Seattle Seahawks lose their last hope by losing to the San Francisco 49ers (*edit* turns out yes), or perhaps the game will be a tie, or perhaps the field will implode like it does in the trailer for The Dark Knight Rises (*edit* would have been less painful than seeing the Seahawks lose the way they did). All of these are possibilities. I suppose not equal possibilities, but much like the reason I flunked out of community college I am too lazy to do the math.

I watched Sherlock Holmes 2 last night. I had many opportunities to over the past week but for some reason I didn’t, even though I kind of wanted to based off the trailer even after having not watched – and still no desire to watch – the first Sherlock Holmes. Robert Downey Jr. is a very good actor, and despite my hated of Jude Law – because he cheated on Sienna Miller who after seeing on a few talk shows I developed a pretty big and oddly sensible crush on – he was very enjoyable in this film, and I surprisingly spent a very little amount of time cussing his good looks and charming ways which he undoubtedly used to seduce Sienna Miller not only once, but twice including after he had cheated on her.

I will admit it’s a bit long.  I didn’t want to admit that, but gosh darn it you squeezed it out of me. It seems the trend with movies these days is to go long, which is kind of odd that the movie studios allow. Anyone who keeps an eye on the big movie studios knows they don’t have the audience’s best interest in mind. They just want to make a lot of money, and we have proof of this based on all the shitty sequels and remakes and occasionally a fresh piece of garbage that the studios put out. But I think the recent trend in the length of movies shows that maybe the money isn’t the thing they care about most, and really what they want most is just to do everything the audience won’t like.

Don’t get me wrong, there are movies I could enjoyably sit through for two and a half hours without thinking, “Really, did we need that scene? Because my bucket up popcorn is nothing but kernels, I’m sucking watered down soda from the bottom of my cup, and I have to take a tremendous piss, so can this thing end soon?” I’ve talked about recently how movies try to do too much nowadays, jam pack tons of action and unneeded storyline and plot twist into films and for reasons I can’t understand. It doesn’t benefit the movie studios because the longer the movie the more their budget, and not only that but the longer the film the less times it can be shown during the day. At the theater I was working at in Canby Sherlock Holmes only showed four times, while the hour and a half The Sitter played five times. And I know one argument someone might make is that the longer the movie the more the movie goer gets for their money. Well that’s all good if the movie is great, but if the movie is bad or the scenes are unnecessary than the movie goer is just paying less to have the movie waste more of their time.

I also watched Young Adult this weekend…that’s all I’ll say on that.

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.

Bedtime Thoughts 27 – Spoiler Alert: She Didn’t Call Back

I stupidly called Her. Not stupidly because I want to get back to being really close with Her even though she’s still a thousand miles away and things have continually failed to work in the past, but stupidly because I’m tired and was about to go to sleep at a reasonable hour – ten thirty in the pm – but now she picked up, which I honestly didn’t expect – I never expect girls to pick up the phone when I call, there’s a very low percentage of me calling girls and them picking up, I swear on whatever I consider holy that it’s under 10% – but instead of us talking, which I thought if she picked up we might do for ten or fifteen minutes and then I’d fall asleep afterward, she was in the middle of watching a movie – Original Sin which is one of the few movies I know she loves – and said she’d call me back when it’s over. Her finishing a movie she’s seen plenty of times before is apparently more important than talking to a former love. If she had called while I was in the middle of The Princess Bride – one of my favorite movies – I would have said fuck The Princess Bride – which is a fantasy of mine, unless Sean Penn is reading this – and talked to Her. Hell, if any girl ever calls I’ll give up watching movies for the rest of my life just to have five minutes of talking to an actual female that isn’t charging my credit card $5.99 a minute.

I don’t actually call those numbers, but as a kid I was very curious about them. I really wanted to know the interesting conversations those sexy girls were having that cost so much. For that amount of money I should be getting the cure for cancer or a blow job. Hopefully the latter. It’s a common joke, or at least portrayed as a common joke, that the people who use those numbers aren’t actually doing it for sexual reasons, but instead just to feel female accompaniment. I guess I can kind of see that because if you’re paying that much money at some point, about the nine and a half minute mark, it becomes cheaper to just go out and find a hooker if all you want is to get off. But also guys are really perverted and looking to get off anyway they can. Luckily my cheapness trumps my horniness, so I don’t think I can ever get into calling those numbers, or hookers, or porn websites. Plus I honestly believe that if I called a sex hotline I’d want to talk about everything but sex. I wish there was a strip club where I could have conversations with the strippers, and throw a buck at them every time they say something interesting. But it has to be with strippers. I don’t really want them to be naked, but I would appreciate if they got down to their undergarments, just so I can be sure that they had some kind of fucked up past. That’s not fair to say. Not all strippers had bad pasts. Some just have really bad nows.

I decided to write while I wait for the call, but also I want to watch Scrubs, which I own the first seven seasons of – I wish I owned season eight because I recall enjoying it more than I enjoyed season seven, but right now my funds are a bit low due to late night phone sex conversations, I kid of course. I haven’t watched Scrubs in a while. It used to be one of my favorite shows, and there are still episodes of it that I love, but I don’t like it as much as I used to for whatever reason. Even though I hate the Janitor – not that I think he’s a bad character, I just think he’s an asshole, but obviously enjoyable to watch – I really like the episode in season five where…I don’t really know how to describe it because I’m a horrible writer. Also I really like the episode I’m about to watch, where J.D’s brother – a character I actually hate watching – visits and finds that J.D. has become cynical like his mentor Dr. Cox and J.D. thinks his brother will never come through for him but his brother corners Dr. Cox and tells him he has a responsibility to not let J.D. go down the cynical path, and Dr. Cox abides and starts to get J.D. to be more positive and J.D. never finds out that it was his brother who caused that so he still thinks his brother is a loser, which he is, but at least he did some good. I don’t have a brotherly connection with anyone, especially my brothers, but what I really like is that the brother does this good thing and never gets credit for it. I love when I do good things and don’t get credit for it. It’s not something I’m proud to admit.

I Apologize To Any Women Who Was Repeatedly Called A Cunt As A Child

I don’t know what the deal with me and the word cunt is. I never feel bad saying it. I never feel bad calling a girl a cunt, and I never feel bad calling a guy a cunt. That’s probably because I never call a girl or a guy a cunt unless they either deserve it, or I’m joking. Actually I probably only do it if I’m joking. On a few occasions I think I’ve used it when I’ve really been mad and ranting about horrible women, none in my actual life, just women in the news who do terrible things, and even then I don’t say it because it means anything to me, but rather because I know for some reason it is really offensive to some people so I know saying it will get across how angry I must really be at the particular woman.

I don’t even know what cunt means. I mean I know it’s supposed to be very derogatory towards women, or can also refer to a female’s vagina, but what the hell is its historical context? To me nigger isn’t offensive because it means horrible or dumb or whatever bad thing followed by black person, because a person could just call a black person a horrible or dumb or whatever black person, and it wouldn’t be anywhere near offensive as if they called them a nigger. The reason nigger is so offensive is because it’s steeped in years and years of racist use. No offense to the word cunt, but growing up in school I’ve never heard people make fun of girls by calling them cunts, or even calling them cunts behind their backs. I have however seen black kids be called nigger – and I live in a very liberal city, Portland Oregon – and many times I’ve heard people call people niggers behind their back. Same goes for the word faggot, which I find more offensive than cunt but still nowhere near as offensive as nigger. I mean when people use it I don’t really care unless they’re directing it at a gay person to make them feel bad – nigger is the only word in history that I feel weird about even if it’s being used in a joking manner, which is very hard to do but some people have successfully done it.

Why am I writing any of this, especially when I’ve wrote on this subject a couple times in the past? I don’t really know. To kill time perhaps? But to me nigger is by far the most offensive word in history, granted that’s coming from a white boy who is part Mexican and lives in a very liberal city, so I haven’t been exposed to all cultures so perhaps somewhere in Indonesia there’s some kind of more offensive word. Faggot is next because I have known a lot of people who hate gay people and use that word very hatefully. To me cunt isn’t even on the spectrum and I don’t know why some people are so offended by it. I guess it has something to do with it being so taboo. To be honest guys use bitch a lot more to put down woman than cunt, and they use it in a much meaner way. Bitch should be more offensive to women then cunt. Also, it greatly offends me when women, or anybody, says cunt is the n word for women, and as I have said before, to those women, or anybody who says that, you people are tremendous cunts.

Bedtime Thoughts 26 – Hair In The Bathroom

About an hour or so ago I went into the bathroom, mostly to take a piss but also it’s nice to have a room to walk into where I know there’s a 65% chance I’m gonna get angry, and I found little hairs all over the toilet seat, the cushioned part. There was also hair on the floor, in the sink that’s constantly clogged, so much to the point that we use the bathtub to wash our hands in (that’s completely true) – except apparently everyone decides to use the sink until it’s filled with water after a day and takes a two weeks to drain – and there was hair in the bathtub, enough to clog the hair protector thing in the drain. This infuriated, but did not shock, me.

What human being thinks this is okay? It’s a family member of mine, probably my little brother, or maybe it’s not a family member and its his girlfriend, or most likely it’s both of them, but despite me sharing blood with the person, or at least sharing blood with the person who shares his fluids with this person, I’m not afraid to say this person is bad at being a human being.

Now you may think I’m being harsh, although it’s more likely you agree with me because you, reader, are a good human being, and would never leave all this hair, clearly from a haircut, in four different spots in the bathroom. That’s what really bugs me. It’s not like the person cut their hair then hopped in the shower and forgot to clear the drain strainer thing. Although that thing is never clean except after I shower, even though none of my hair is in it, or after I enter the bathroom to pee, wash my hands in the bathtub, then notice the strainer is clogged, get fucking annoyed, and clean the disgusting hair out of it myself. This person got their hair on the floor and didn’t care, in the bathtub and didn’t care, in the sink and didn’t care, and all over the toilet seat and didn’t care.

Maybe a person doesn’t notice one or two of those messes, but they at least notice half. So this person carelessly blew off cleaning their mess. And they’re cutting their hair, so they know there’s going to be a mess, so they knew to look for a mess afterwards. Or maybe after they cut their hair they looked in the mirror and thought, “Hmm, ironically after cutting my hair I’m missing a lot of hair. I wonder where it went? Must have evaporated into another dimension.” I strongly doubt this person is that dumb. Probably close to that dumb, but my money is on much more lazy than dumb. They probably thought, “Holy crap, that’s a lot of hair in the sink and bathtub and on the floor and toilet seat. Maybe I should clean that up? Nah, I gotta get back to leaving nasty comments on youtube and saying nigga because I’m white so I can’t say nigger because I’ll get my ass beat, but I’m still hardcore so that’s why I say nigga. Instead I’ll just let Quentin’s pussy ass clean this mess up. He’s so considerate, always cleaning up other people’s messes when he’s not in his room sulking over being lonely. What a dumb ass.”

P.S the mythical pussy ass is the favorite fantasy of bisexual men.

Bedtime Thoughts 25 – I Can’t Sleep At Night

First of all before I even start writing and you even start reading I should inform you that this exact moment is a great example of how my life works. As you’ll come to find out shortly while reading this, unless you’re scanning it looking for talk of the band Brand New’s second album or gay masturbation material – I just found out by far the two biggest searches people have used that led to my blog are Deja Entendu and Huge Penis (how fitting, everything you find here has already been heard, hence Deja Entendu which is French for already heard, and this blog contains lots of irony, such as people looking for huge penises and being led to a blog written by someone with a small penis) – I have trouble sleeping at night. It’s hard for me to do, especially as of the past few weeks, but also for all my life. The reason this moment is a good example of how my life works is because I’m actually pretty tired and could probably fall asleep relatively soon, rather than being up for hours and hours until sunlight and then falling asleep, once God has gotten me back on my shitty schedule that I hate so much, but instead of avoiding that by getting to sleep right now I of course realized something, which you’ll come to know shortly after this long paragraph that has assuredly scared away any potential new readers because people are attracted to short bite size paragraphs made of two or three sentences, not eight or nine run on sentences that contain enough comma splices to dry an English teacher’s red pen, and once I did realize that something I had to write about it. I of course didn’t have to. I could have waited until tomorrow. But I find in my life I always wait for everything. Fuck it, I’m done waiting, and putting shit off. Of course I’m not really. It’s hard to break habits, especially the bad ones that feel so good in the moment to break, and then like shit later. So I made myself write. Granted as of yet I’ve only alluded to what I wanted to write about. But at least I’m writing, and that’s the important part, right? (Not really.) Oh, well damn.

I spent the night at David’s house last night, like I’ve been doing for the past three or four Saturdays. He’s not my gay lover. For one I don’t date Asians, and for two I’m not gay. And for three I’m kidding about not dating Asians, I’ve actually been pretty attracted to Asian women as of late. I hang out with him and usually some other friends on Saturdays and by midnight I’m usually too lazy or tired or both to head home so I just stay there until morning, plus whenever I sleep somewhere that isn’t my own bed I can never sleep that long, so I wake up early, so it helps me get back on schedule.

So I was trying to sleep on David’s floor at six in the morning – we had been up playing video games for the previous 14 hours, seriously, okay, a couple breaks, and I hate playing video games alone because it feels like a waste of time, but with friends its fun and relaxing – and I was having trouble falling asleep and of course thinking about all the wrong things, like why Annabelle barely calls or texts me anymore but whenever I ask if things are going okay between us, because, and I think rightfully so, I get nervous because twice in the past things have happened that made her stop talking to me, and not things that I do, just things in her life that she has to deal with, although with one girl in the past one of the reasons she had stopped talking to me so much was because I was always worrying, too which I explained, “Ah ha! I knew I was worrying for a good reason.” I didn’t really say that, it’s a joke.

Also I think about dying a lot. Ever since I was a little kid, about five or six, lying in the dark in my 101 Dalmatians bed, with matching sheets and blankets and pillow cases, and puppy paw print stickers all across the room, I would think about the concept of eternity and how it seemed so weird, but also about how not existing at all seemed weird, and scary.

I guess at that age I believed in God because that’s what my mother told me was right. That’s where I got the idea of eternity. I die but then I’ll live forever in Heaven, assuming I’m a good little boy and say my prayers, and eat my veggies and stay in my room whenever mom brings her “we’re just hugging” buddies over. Well we hug too mom, so why can’t we hug with no clothes on? Okay, first of all that’s all a joke. My mom wasn’t a whore…at least not after I was born…and she didn’t tell me to eat my veggies, she did, and still does, tell me to say my prayers though, and although I didn’t want to fuck my mother, at least I think not, I did get jealous of this guy she liked once around the time I was seven or something, and then my mom explained to me that me and her couldn’t be together, and at that age I knew exactly what sex was and I knew even though I liked my mom and wanted her not to give her attention to other guys I didn’t want to fuck her. The only thing I wanted to fuck at that age was the two and a half foot doll we had for some reason even though her only children at that point were boys (wow, this is turning out not to be about sleeping at all) it’s bedtime thoughts, so I let my mind wander.

Thinking about living forever was weird, and soon led me to the idea of not existing anymore. That was weirder. Some people say they wouldn’t want to live forever – I guess they probably mean just here on Earth and not in Heaven for some reason – because things would get boring, but I feel boredom is a much better alternative than nothing. I’m deathly afraid of not existing. As a little kid when I would think about it in bed at night I would cry because I didn’t want to be nothing. Now of course I cry because I’m afraid I’m going to be nothing but not in a non existing way.

My mind of course fucks with me all the time. That’s what people who worry do. They think of all the bad things. Oh, we think of the good things too, we think of every thing, all the possible scenarios, and then we think of all the reasons the bad ones are more likely to happen then the good ones. It’s truly a horrible problem. It makes a person deny logic. So it also makes a person very stupid. And while a lot of my worrying has turned out to be true, most of it, pretty much all of it, doesn’t happen at all, and isn’t even close to happening – what makes the dying and being nothing thoughts so scary, but also surprisingly less trouble to deal with, is that it’s not a “what if” it’s a “oh crap this is going to happen one day,” I mean there could possibly be some kind of afterlife, I strongly doubt it, but either way the chance of me existing forever is too small to even calculate, so I know it’s going to happen and that sucks, but it’s going to happen and there’s nothing I can do about it, so it’s best just not try to think about it, or better advice, because telling a person not to think about it is useless because that person is going to think about it, I’ll think about it, but after worrying for a minute I’ll remind myself that there is nothing I can do about it, and letting it get me sad doesn’t help me, it doesn’t keep it from happening, it wastes a lot of my time, but that’s about it, so think about it but don’t let it ruin me.

As I said my mind likes to fuck with me, I’ve known this forever, but just tonight I realized that one of the reasons I struggle so much with falling asleep is that I put too much pressure on myself to fall asleep. I want to get to sleep fast because I don’t want to think about all those bad thoughts. The past couple years I’ve been avoiding lying in bed at night, even when I’m very tired, because I don’t want to lay there, even for just ten minutes, thinking sad thoughts.

Elizabeth Laime with Aubrey Plaza (stolen from TotallyLaimePodcast.com)

I realized I was putting pressure on myself because instead of turning off my computer tonight when I went to lie in bed I left it on, listening to a podcast, an episode of the Totally Laime podcast, it’s quite enjoyable, and I left most of the programs on my computer going, firefox, google chrome, AIM, itunes, and for awhile, up to the point I decided to write, I had even left my light on, but I hate wasting energy, I hate it a lot, even though I do it a lot, I mean if I leave a room the lights go off, recently I leave my room in the afternoon to go to the bathroom or kitchen and the light will be on and I’ll flip it off and there will be almost no difference in lighting because it’s broad fucking daylight so there’s really no need to turn the light on and especially leave it on when you’re done with the fucking room, but tonight when I went to turn off my computer and light because I didn’t want to waste energy I said, “No, if I do that it means I’m going to bed and that’s it. I’m not doing anything but going to bed and that’s what I have to focus on. If I leave the stuff on I can still lie in bed, but I have the option of getting up and reading (no) or searching for undiscovered pornography (yes), but more importantly, I’m just lying here, I’m not going to sleep, I’m just relaxing in bed listening to a podcast, so all those things I associate with sleeping I don’t have to do.”

That’s kind of crazy, but that’s how it works with me. I thought to myself the other day that it’s weird how much I hate going to bed now, when I used to love sleeping. I never loved sleeping. I always had horrible thoughts when trying to sleep. What I remember loving are all those times I would lie in bed watching TV, being tired but never needing to sleep. When I would stay home from school (pretending to be) sick I would lie in bed watching TV, or playing video games, or listening to the radio, and at some point around three in the afternoon, when everyone was getting home from school, I would doze off, not needing to be up for school in six hours, but instead just getting rest.

I guess I’m doomed. I can’t just have no obligations my whole life. I want to wake up at a certain time so I have to be in bed by reasonable hours, which means I can’t wait until I’m about to pass out so I’ll have the least amount of time thinking bad thoughts as possible. Once things in my life are better I think I’ll be able to sleep easier. I think a lot of people have trouble sleeping. I think I’m going to have a lot of trouble sleeping tonight because I stupidly choose to write this instead of falling asleep and now I’m not really tired, and I have to pee a lot, and I’m not really proud of this writing, but I enjoyed doing it, and I’m happy about that, but not really happy because I’d like to write well one day, and that’s not even that true because I don’t know what writing well is, because I see stuff that is considered good writing, and a lot of the time it doesn’t appeal to me, I just want to write, and that’s what I’m doing, so I’ll be happy with that, and I’ll sleep well tonight, because someone told me I’m a positive person, which is the first I’ve ever heard of that because I always sound really negative when talking about myself, but its not a lack of confidence thing as I was telling myself earlier, it’s that I believe in myself so much that really anything but perfection isn’t good enough for me. Perfection doesn’t exist. That scares me. That will probably keep me up (Oh my God, go away) and it ends with rambling followed by a period.

Bedtime Thoughts 23

 

I can’t fucking sleep. I gave it my all, but I can’t do it. Way earlier in the night I said, “Fuck it” and decided to do some pushups in the dark in my underwear while writing an email to someone, and then I brushed my teeth because I had forgotten (forgotten in this instance means didn’t want to) earlier in the night and then I collapsed in bed for an hour and still haven’t been able to fall asleep. This is complete bullshit.

I’ve been thinking of her of course. I’m almost always thinking of her. Even when I masturbate I’m thinking of her. Not in the way you may think. She’s extremely sexy, but for some reason masturbating to thoughts of her just seem wrong. Instead I look at other women. Other women who aren’t her. And I wish she were with me so I wouldn’t waste so much time masturbating which I only partially do for pleasure, while I mostly do it out of boredom and to stop thinking, which doesn’t quite work as well as it once did.

I’m listening to The Icarus Account right now. The same The Icarus Account that left a comment on one of my blog posts because I had one of their songs at like 98^th on my list. Pretty cool moment. Had the list been made now they’d have more songs on the list. They’re easily in my top ten favorite bands. Okay, I’d have to think that further through to make that declaration. But I can say that they’ll easily be in my top ten favorite bands soon. So many of their songs touch home with me. Well not home as literal home. But home as in the home that is the soul housed within my body. Not that I necessarily believe in souls. The song Anchors Away particularly hits the metaphorical home with me,

“Every time I miss you I’m afraid that you’ve found someone else. That every thought I’ve spent on you is another moment here that I’ve lost. You don’t have time to talk, am I a memory that you’ve forgot? And what scares me most is how I’ve fall, I’ve fall, I’ve fallen for you. Hook line and sinker to every part of my heart.”

We’ve gone weeks, even months without talking before, but she always eventually talks to me again, but this time it feels different. Okay, that’s a complete lie. It feels exactly the same. But it’s still a shitty feeling. And it’s still a feeling of not knowing if she’ll ever talk to me again. It’s weird because I feel so close to her, but if she was going out with someone I don’t think she’d ever feel the need to talk to me. I don’t think it’s as cold as it sounds. I think she knows that we can’t just be friends. Or maybe it is just her not wanting to break my heart with that news? Or maybe she just found a guy who makes her happy and she forgot all about me? If it’s the first case I’d rather have the broken heart. If it’s the second then I’m happy for her.

I don’t feel like writing this has gotten me any closer to sleep. And now I’m hungry. I can’t wait to make breakfast in the morning, whenever morning might come for me. Now it feels like one of those nights where once I finally get to sleep I might sleep for ten or twelve hours, which is not something I’d like to do.

I guess I’m just gonna write until I fall asleep. Not write this. I’m done writing this.

Bedtime Thoughts 20

Three most disheartening things about this product - 3: The comical thinness saddens me. 2: The wrong end of the penis is being inserted into the mouth. 1: For the love of God where are the balls!

It is bedtime, and these are my thoughts.

I have an endless supply of porn – meaning I have a computer and internet connection, not that my family owns a portion of a pornography company – I shouldn’t be allowed to complain about anything. There are starving kids all around the world with absolutely no pornography to help them masturbate. When it’s put that way you realize just how depressing the world can be.

My friend recently had sex with a teacher in the back of her car. He said if she put as much effort into teaching as she does with fucking our students would be in much better shape. None of that is true at all. Well my friend did have sex with a teacher recently, which is actually the hardest part of that to believe. Apparently as of late he’s been doing better with woman because he’s been able to channel his inner douche. He keeps telling me that’s what I need to do, and I keep telling him I’m perfectly happy with being a virgin, besides the whole not having sex thing, but other than that it’s just peachy.

I was in the bathroom not too long ago thinking about sex while brushing my teeth, for it’s a very sexual process what with all the in and out motions of the phallic toothbrush into the mouth. Not necessarily the metaphorical sex I’m into, but nonetheless sexual in spirit. You think the foam building up in your mouth is from the toothpaste? Nope, that’s your teeth jizzing (was this originally going somewhere?) I can’t promise that it was, but it might have been.

I fell asleep and now I woke up so this isn’t really bedtime thoughts anymore, but I didn’t want the lasting image of this piece to be jizzing teeth. On second thought…

Bedtime Thoughts 19, I Guarantee You’ll Love This Post (a title of hypocrisy)

What the fuck am I worried about staying on a schedule for? I wanted to sleep early, well midnight was two God damn hours ago, so I can kiss that goodbye. Falling asleep to the sunrise here I come. Might as well do something instead of pretending like I could actually fall asleep relatively soon. So I decided to write while listening to Kevin Devine and Manchester Orchestra and Bad Books which is essentially Kevin Devine and Manchester Orchestra. I have no idea what will come of this writing. Thoughts, probably. I can’t guarantee that. Lately I haven’t been able to guarantee much.

I do love when people guarantee things and turn out to be wrong. I was playing Scrabble earlier today with Christopher and David and Quy and after we were done we were checking the official Scrabble dictionary to see all the words we had iffily, yes iffily, put on the board fearing someone would challenge them but no one ever did. For example had I put iffily on the board it definitely would have been challenged because there is no way in hell it’s a real word. It’s just something I made up based on the word iffy. However David put the word edo on the board and no one cared to challenged it. There were a lot of words on the board no one challenged that ended up not being real words. Of the four of us combined we’ve only had sex with one girl – we’ve all each had sex, it just so happens we’ve all slept with the same one girl…that’s not true at all…at least not yet…kidding Christopher – the point being that we aren’t exactly big on taking chances in life, and apparently to us Scrabble is life (also apparently taking chances and sexual intercourse has a correlation).

The most exciting word was tainter, to which I proclaimed that I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t in the Scrabble dictionary, to which Christopher burst out in outrage, for this was his played word, that he guaranteed it’s a real word. He then proceeded to check both the Scrabble dictionary and the regular dictionary and it was nowhere to be found. I understand how he could make that claim. Tainted is clearly a word. We know because we’ve heard Soft Cells Tainted Love a million times. So if love can be tainted it’s reasonable to believe that someone or something is doing the tainting, and wouldn’t that person or thing be the tainter? Mr. Scrabble and popular dictionaries tell us no. The point of all this? Christopher being wrong on a guarantee makes me happy for some bizarre reason. Honestly not just Christopher being wrong, but anybody being wrong on a guarantee is nice to see. I’m 100% sure that makes me a douche bag. And it’s not really true. I’m actually the guy who will change the channel when watching a reality TV show if one of the characters is in a really embarrassing situation.

I don’t watch the Bachelor or the Bachelorette and part of the reason is that I know I couldn’t. It’s so weird. So the Bachelor is dating all these girls and as the competition continually gets narrower and narrower he genuinely from the bottom of his heart wants to sleep with all the girls. Was I supposed to say he loves them? I’m not sure I believe that. I do believe that by the time it gets down to three or four girls or whatever most, if not all, the girls really like the guy on a very deep level, and probably feel as if they have a real connection that he doesn’t have with the other girls, when in reality, like I previously mentioned, he just wants to have some fun with a bunch of girls. If a guy is looking for love he doesn’t go to a reality show that is just going to put 25 hot girls in front of him. Any guy who wants to simultaneously date 25 women isn’t looking for someone to settle down with. The Bachelorette I feel is a little bit different, only because women are a little more crazy when it comes to dating. No offense women. It just seems like maybe women do sometimes get so desperate that they actually think dating 25 hot men on a reality show is the only way they’ll truly find love. But anyway…what the fuck am I talking about again?

Oh yeah, so all the girls really like the guy but the guy just wants to bone all the girls and is deciding which girl he wants to bone for the next three months before he ultimately breaks up with her and takes his short lived Bachelor fame to bars and clubs picking up chick after chick, many of which know he’s an asshole but that’s what attracts them to him because they think they can be the one who changes him into the lovable asshole or whatever the fuck is the reason so many girls go for douche bags instead of nice guys (bitter much?) I’m not saying I’m a good guy by any means, it just angers me, so yes, ultimately I’m bitter, but anyway the Bachelor has to tell all but one of these girls that he doesn’t want to be with them, and that’s the TV moment that some people like Bill Simmons crave, while I can’t watch because even though it has nothing to do with me it’s painful. I really am too sensitive.  I used to genuinely get upset and angry and downright sad whenever there was an episode of a show I liked where one of the characters cheated on their boyfriend or girlfriend or wife/husband etc…As of a couple months ago I got angry at Dr. Mary Albright in 3^rd Rock From the Sun because she slept with another guy while dating Dick Solomon (wonderfully played by John Lithgow) – of course I couldn’t get that upset because I think he had done some sort of cheating on her either before or after that, so it went both ways. I had to sit back and think for a minute why I was starting to feel sad – not real sadness that would amount to anything, just sad feelings – over some comedy show.

I think ultimately it’s what I do with everything. As a narcissist I have to relate everything back to myself. With TV shows, and movies and reality TV even in situations when I have no emotional connection to the character or person I think the reason I feel so sad is because at least subconsciously I’m putting myself through that situation and how similar things might really happen to me at some point. So on the Bachelor Bret isn’t telling Vanessa that he doesn’t want to be with her and instead he’s going to be with Julia. Bret is telling me he doesn’t want to be with me. And God damn it that just hurts down to my core. No homo (what the fuck is this no home thing all about?) I have no idea. I realize that people say it after they say something gay, like a guy being hurt over the guy from the bachelor not liking them, or saying Brad Pitt looked his best in the movie Troy – funny, I was trying to think of douche bag names that I could give to the guy on the Bachelor and ultimately chose Bret but my original first choice was going to be Troy, a name I absolutely despise – but really, no homo is a thing that has caught on and is being said by millions of people across the world? Seems like we’re better than that. I keep forgetting that we’re not.

Bedtime Thoughts 18(or something) – Mom, Come Wipe My Ass

I was, and still am, left with the decision of either sleeping or writing, having already forgone the opportunity to masturbate, which is rare – not masturbating, me masturbating is the dictionary example of the opposite of rare, but rather deciding not to masturbate – and I was thinking about the pros and cons of each. If I were to write, as it appears I am doing now, I would be writing, which seems obvious but denotes a larger meaning, and that of course being that I am writing! (the difference between writing and writing! is the exclamation point of course). But also if I were to write the whole time I would be tired and want to be sleeping instead of this thinking. Now if I were to try and go to sleep I would get to lay in bed and not doing anything but listen to music. However, there is a strong likelihood all I would do is think for forty-five minutes until I got up in a fit and complained to the universe about how I couldn’t get to sleep. And then it dawned on me, while falling asleep all I do is think, and when I write all I’m doing is typing out the thoughts in my head, so basically by not writing I’ll still be thinking but my thoughts will just waste away into the nothingness that is my mind. Whereas if I write them down they’ll be forever saved onto the nothingness that is this blog.

This weekend I have to help my mother work, so I’ll be sitting at a theater for eleven hours on both Saturday and Sunday, but I’ll make a little cash which will keep my phone bill paid for another month or two while I continually fail to get a real job. It’s so annoying that I’m so unqualified for life, of course no one to blame other than myself for that, although I have theories, and I’ll get to them now. So I’ve filled out some applications, I don’t know if it’s a lot or not, but it’s to low level places, like literally Taco Bell, McDonalds and stuff like that. Places where the people who work there get made fun of, and not even behind their back, but directly to their face, and I haven’t had one place respond to me at all, except this one REI place or something like that who sent me back an email that said they’re going with people who fit their qualifications better – by the way their qualifications were, and this isn’t a joke (except it is), can you say, “Hello, welcome to REI,” and can you wipe your own butt. I liked getting the rejection letter though. I equate it to the time that one girl called me creepy. For weeks she had been dodging talking to me and I felt so bad because I had really liked her and then finally I found out she called me creepy and then I confronted her about it and it became clear that things weren’t going to work out between us and it felt good just to have it over with. One could argue that I should have been able to tell things weren’t going to work out when she didn’t return any of my calls. Oh, and then of course there was the restraining order (there wasn’t a restraining order) If she would have seen what I was doing in that tree outside her window all those days there would have been one (that’s a joke people) or at least until the court hearings are over my lawyers insist that it’s a joke.

So we know I suck at getting a job, but I still haven’t got to the one fault that I don’t think is mine. The being 23 and never having a job and not being able to drive and not having a degree and not being able to make a resume correctly, and having bad grades in school, and never having had sex (why does that matter?) I just wanted to mention it again (oh) and not being able to lie so I sound better to companies is all my fault. But what isn’t my fault is my first name being Danniel. Don’t just glance over that and assume it says Daniel, because it doesn’t. It says Danniel, with two n’s. My mother spelled it that way because she smoked a lot of pot in high school which apparently stayed in her system for the next decade until she had me. Don’t get me wrong, I actually like it because I have this desperate need to be unique, which is ironic because wanting to be unique isn’t unique. And I like even better that my middle name is Quentin and that’s what I go by with my friends and all those who I deem nice/sweet/cool/whatever enough to be in my life, but with things like jobs or whatever I’m just going to go by Danniel because that the first name on all my official documents, so it’s just easier that way. But there’s an inherent problem with it, well I suppose not really inherent, I just say inherent way too much. There’s a problem, and there might be some inherentness in it, and that possibly semi-inherent problem is that my first name is Danniel spelled with two n’s.

It probably looks like I’m a colossal idiot when I fill out all these applications and make my crappy too-full-of-lackluster-truths resume. I can’t stop wondering how many of these people think I’m misspelling my own first name. That’s probably why I didn’t get asked to interview for the REI job. If I can’t even spell my own name right how can I be expected to wipe my own ass?