“Stay What You Are”

I don’t want to go to sleep. Not yet. I have to be at work tomorrow at five, but I don’t want to go to sleep. Not just yet.

I wish I could just write and not think before the words pour out. I’m sure it’d end up bad. That’s what editing is for. I’m sure I wouldn’t edit.

A Her just called me. Do you think they’d be offended if they knew I now referred to all of them as Her. I haven’t lumped them altogether. And it’s not a sexist thing (if there were a bunch of guys I liked/used-to-like I’d call all them Him). I just don’t know what else to call them. I don’t want to use their names. I don’t know if it’s out of respect.

I know she’s not going to call, but I’m going to wait up for her to call anyway. Since I know she’s not going to call I guess I’m waiting up for her not to call. I’m not waiting up ‘just in case’ she calls. I’m not. I know she won’t call. I’m waiting up so I can tell The Universe, “I told you so.” Why does it feel so good to say I told you so even when the I told you so was bad news?

I can’t write about this particular Her anymore. She might actually read this. Not soon, but someday. Probably when it’s far too late, but I don’t want her ever knowing how I feel.

I freeze up when she calls. Save the Day’s Freakish, “As I’m talking my words slip to the floor and they crawl through your legs and slide under the back door rendering me freakish and dazed. Well here I am. I don’t know how to say this. The only thing I know is awkward silence.”

At work there’s this older girl. We do stuff. It’s not talking, it’s not flirting, I’m not quite sure what it is. It’s words. Her words are always better then mine. Yeah, I have a little bit of a crush on her even though I know very little about her. Sometimes I get crushes on people and worry it’s less about me liking the person and more about distracting me from someone I like so much more but can’t be with.
There’s a running theme in everything I write and it’s that I’m not funny anymore. Even when I was sad in the past I used to write and I would attempt to be funny. That’s all I ask of myself. At least an attempt.

If she got pregnant I’d be devastated. I wonder how her boyfriend would feel?

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I’m Skipping Breakfast

I’ve been sleeping too well lately. But I’m still always tired. Maybe I’ve just been sleeping too much, but not actually well? Sleep shouldn’t work that way. I don’t know that it does. I don’t know that it doesn’t. I just know that I sleep all the time. I just know that I’m tired all the time.

My left shoulder hurts. I can’t lie down comfortably.

Just write.

I just looked at her Instagram page. I like the pictures of her where she isn’t meant to look beautiful because she somehow looks more beautiful. Her fucking smile. No words.

I have work in a little over an hour. Sometime after work I’ll record a podcast with Chris. I’m not sure how I feel about any of those right now. I feel too lazy and tired and dumb to work and I feel too tired and unfunny to podcast. I feel uninteresting too. There was a time when I was funny. I guess that’s the one that matters the most to me.

Just write.

My direct superior at work is shaped oddly. Not like she’s fat, if that’s the first thing that came to your mind. She’s in excellence shape actually, but the shapes are weird. Her muscles look odd. Her chin looks odd. Her shoulders look odd. Odd isn’t always a bad thing. I’m not convinced odd is even a bad thing the majority of the time. She’s far more attractive than I care for.

I wrote a girl on Facebook today. I haven’t talked to her in a while. We talk, then we don’t talk, then we talk some more, then we don’t talk. I told her to text me or message me back or call me or whatever, just talk to me because I miss her in my life. And I do. She wrote me back saying her life is too messed up right now to talk. My life feels more messed up than it ever has before. That’s why I wanted to talk to her.

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“Let’s Talk About Your Hair”

Jerking off to girls I’ll never fuck but might one day kiss.

I’ve been looking forward to work recently. Maybe it’s because it’s new. It was new before and it was still new when it became completely new again. Maybe it’s because almost all the people are different? The location is different. I don’t have to spend three hours every work day on the bus. I don’t have to get a ride from my mother when I have to be at work at five in the morning because the buses don’t run that early. That made me feel pretty pathetic.
This isn’t on topic (ostensibly none of this is, so who cares?) but I don’t want to workout today, but I feel ugly. Not that working out can change my face, but I feel like you know what I mean. Plus I need to stay up a little while longer so I can wake up late tonight and stay up until I have to be at work Thursday morning. I already almost fell asleep. I need to keep myself busy.

Masturbate. Work. Masturbate. Sleep. Masturbate. Work. Masturbate. Sleep. Masturbate. Work. Masturbate. Sleep. This repeats long enough for me to be embarrassed before a fourth thing is thrown into the mix.

One of my best friends is moving away. Far away. Far enough away to where I have no idea when I’ll be able to see him again. Years? I haven’t had time to process it. Working 12 hour days ever since he told us (minus the last two days and us being me and my other couple of good friends) hasn’t given me much time to think about it. Not that I may have thought about it otherwise. I’ve become very bad at processing bad things. By bad at processing I mean I don’t do it. When unnamed Canadian girl ended things with me months and months ago I never stopped to think about it. I still haven’t. I can’t believe it’s been months and months.

There’s something to think about. This truly amazing girl who was in my life is now gone and I didn’t shed a tear. I cried during a scene from last week’s Game of Thrones. I feel more for unreal things. I cared when unnamed Canadian girl left me. But it didn’t surprise me. It felt right. Not because I didn’t want to be with her. But because she was too good for me. The girls in my life who have, for lack of a better description, broke my heart have all been too good for me. I’m a realist. She gave me more than I ever deserved from her.

Maybe I will cry. If I think about it I could cry. I don’t think crying is weak. That’s not why I don’t think about these things. I don’t know why I don’t think about these things. Maybe it is because I think crying is weak and I don’t want to be weak in that way? I don’t think that’s why, but I’m open to the possibility considering I don’t have any answers.
Maybe I’ll write more. This is what this was all supposed to be about, right? Writing more?

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My Greatest Moment in Sports

(I wrote this a couple years ago)

I recently came across The Long Shot podcast and I really enjoy it. I like both the mixture of people and mixture of comedy with talking about their real lives. The podcast features comedians Eddie Pepitone (Eddie has since left the show), Sean Conroy, Amber Kenny and Jamie Flam. I like that Eddie Pepitone and Sean Conroy have been doing comedy longer and probably have a better idea of who they are then newer comedians Jamie Flam and Amber Kenny. It makes for good diversity in how the comedic conversation is presented, but also it’s just nice to have more relatable people like Jamie and Amber who are more closer to the beginning stages of figuring out who they are as comedians as opposed to listening to a podcast containing a bunch of well established comedians – and I’m not putting down Jamie and Amber as comedians, no matter what field a person is in it takes a while to establish a comfortable persona, and even once that happens I think people trying to better their self will continually be looking for ways to grow.

            On the episode I used to first introduce myself to The Long Shot podcast they had on Greg Fitzsimmons, who I’m well acquainted with from hearing him back on the Adam Carolla morning radio show, then Adam Carolla podcast, and now on Fitzsimmons own podcast. Unfortunately this isn’t a great starter episode for the podcast because Eddie Pepitone, who I think it’s fair to say usually plays the most vocal – or at least loud – part in the podcast, wasn’t on this episode (which now makes it a great starter episode), but nonetheless it has been one of my favorite episodes after listening to about 15 episodes of their back catalogue so far.

            They talked about their greatest sports moments, and it was hilarious. They all had very comedic ones. Even in the one that was a true game winning moment it was comical. For me the best part was hearing Jamie Flam talk about his best moments in high school football. I couldn’t stop laughing hearing how everyone was responding to his best moments. And the moment I’m going to talk about as my greatest sports moment is pretty relatable.

            I have a lot of great sports moments to choose from, most notably the time I actually got to play in the game. Actually I did get a reasonable amount of playing time. I wasn’t a great athlete at all, I’m only about five foot six and height helps a lot in the two sports I played, basketball and football, and probably if I went to a bigger high school – by that I mean number wise, but I guess person size wise would also work – I would have been one of the perpetual on the bench and only goes in during blow outs guys, and this isn’t me being self deprecating, this is the truth. I know a lot of times I’ll say negative things about my looks and girls will be like, “No, you’re wrong you don’t look bad at all, in fact you’re amazingly sexy and turn me on so much to a point that I can never be attracted to any guy other than you ever again because they just can’t live up to you, and just thinking about you gives me massive multiple orgasms,” (wow, I think that’s a bit much) but seriously, I wasn’t great at sports, but I went to a smaller school and was able to get some playing time.

            Despite me actually getting some playing time, and even having a varsity football game where I returned an interception for a touchdown, my greatest sports moment comes off the field. It actually comes on a basketball court, but oddly it had nothing to do with basketball.

            It was just before we were about to have football practice in the gym because we were sissies sometimes and didn’t like practicing outside in the pouring rain, and a lot of people were goofing off, which was a semi regular thing for us, and probably many high school teams, that’s just the nature of teens, but had we not goofed off quite so much – and to be fair we did work hard a lot of the time, just not as much as we should have – we possibly could have went 6 and 3 (six wins, three losses) instead of 4 and 5 – we were six points away from 6 and 3 and making the playoffs and we loss two games by two points each.

            So we were goofing off, but I wasn’t really. I was just kind of talking to a couple people waiting for the coaches to come up. Not because I’m against goofing off, but because I would look ridiculous goofing off and God forbid a high schooler not give a damn about their appearance. So one of the coaches comes up, Coach Scott, a short black man who I believe grew up in Alabama and was now in his 60s or something but had not an ounce of body fat on him, pure muscle, the kind of muscle you only get by working out intensely every day even though you’re 60 and should be in your pajamas watching Jeopardy – that’s what I imagine I’ll be doing at 60.

            In the head of then 18 year old Quentin – and I was technically an 18 year old man but in every way other than literal age I was a boy – I knew Coach Scott hated my guts. I had to work with Coach Scott on a regular basis because he was the Running Backs coach. I wanted to be a Wide Receiver but as mentioned I was too short, so I was stuck practicing for a position others wish they could be because Running Backs get the ball a lot. I did very poorly during the Running Back drills which often led to Coach Scott yelling at me, often befuddled at how someone could be so inept as me. Coach Scott didn’t have much tolerance for non-perfection – and I know grammatically that sounds horrible, but it’s the only way coming to my head of how to say it at the moment, plus I like my grammar being not so well – which is why when Coach Scott was the first one up and saw us goofing off he didn’t take it lightly.

            He started yelling furiously at us. We had to all get in a line up against the wall as he metaphorically raped our psyche’s with his words. I don’t remember all that he said, I just remember it was very unpleasant, and it was the most we had ever been yelled at by a coach, and we had our share of times being yelled at, but it was never like this. It was painful. It was scary. But then he mentioned Blue.

            Before I go on let me explain who Blue is. Blue is me. It was my nickname for the high school football team because I wore blue a lot. It’s as simple as that. I’m surprised how much it caught on. Still to this day a lot of the people I know from the team only call me Blue. Coach Scott, who I’m still not sure knows my name, always called me Blue, and even when meeting my mom called her Mrs. Blue, which is actually kind of weird.

            Coach Scott called Blue – me – out, but not for being the piece of shit football player that I was, but instead for being a hard worker and never complaining, which was somewhat true. I never complained even though I often had to do things I wasn’t comfortable with, and that’s just what happens when you’re not that important to the team. You, i.e. me non-important guy, have to do all the menial stuff, like play on the defensive line – a position for some of the biggest players on the team – when there aren’t enough big people and the first team offense is practicing their plays. I don’t think I was necessarily a hard worker though. I still wish I would have worked harder, pretty much in all phases of high school.

            But in this moment Coach Scott, a coach who I thought hated my guts, was yelling at the team, and then praising me as an example of a hard worker and saying more of the team should be like me, someone who didn’t care about the glory but just wanted to do the little things – by the way, I would constantly day dream about scoring the game winning touchdown, but I knew being who I was, a crappy player, I would never even come close to getting to that moment if I didn’t work hard and do the little things, and again, I didn’t work as hard as I should have, but I did do the little things that were asked of me.

            I probably can’t convey how much that moment of him being so angry and using me as an example of a hard worker meant to me – and I know that makes me a bad writer and ironically if I was actually a hard worker I’d be a better writer and do a better job of conveying it – but in that moment him saying that almost brought tears to my eyes, and just writing about it now and thinking about it almost brings tears to my eyes. I was just so surprised that he felt that way.

            After he was done yelling at us and bizarrely praising me my friend Tim came up to me to ask me what I thought about Coach Scott using me as a positive example. I remember just being shocked. I felt a little guilty because I was nowhere near the best player on the team, and probably nowhere near the hardest worker on the team. It’s kind of an awkward position to be in because I didn’t want to be the guy hated by everyone else because I was being falsely praised, but on the inside it felt really good – turns out no one hated me because they’d take actually having talent over being praised for work ethic.

            At the end of the season I won the award for hardest worker person or whatever on the team or something – I forget the official title. I never got the trophy because I missed the trophy presentation. It doesn’t matter. Knowing I won it means enough. And I’m certain the only reason I won it was because of Coach Scott, a coach that I was absolutely sure hated me.

            So even though I did return an interception 35 yards for a touchdown, my greatest sports moment was realizing I had the respect from someone who I thought couldn’t stand me.

            But again, I did return an interception for a touchdown. Just saying.

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We’ve Got Your Back (Documented Minor Emotional Breakdown #2)

This song often gets lost in the waves from the sea of the many Los Campesinos! songs I love. It’s kind of nice though. I don’t seek it out like a Miserabilia, or We Are Beautiful, We Are Doom, or more recently As Lucerne/The Low, but when it pops on my ipod it’s always a nice surprise as the lyrics caress my synapses and a smile transforms my usually dour face – not exactly true, as even when I’m not in the best of moods I smile often, in thanks due to two adorable baby kitties (they’re five, stop calling them baby kitties), and finding humor in the morose.

“I’ve learnt more from toilet walls than I’ve learnt from these words of yours. The feelings are buried in the scriptures and fictions, it’s all in the words but I’m here for the pictures.”

These have to be some of my favorite lyrics ever – I use “have to be” and not “are” because I have hundreds upon hundreds of ‘favorite’ lyrics ever so who knows what my real favorites would be, but I can’t imagine these wouldn’t be among at least the top 100. If I ever get lectured by an Ex I won’t hesitate to throw at them – before you charge me with assault let me finish – the words, “I’ve learned more from toilet walls than I’ve learned from these words of yours.” Both because it’s so mordant – a word I recently learned meaning sharp, usually humor – and I’d have to cite my source and she might listen to the song which would be a good thing for her and her ears, so I wouldn’t feel too bad about saying it.

“I’m sweating off the cheat notes on my thighs. They were for your benefit, not mine.”

The female vocalist (sung by former member Aleksandra) are just as biting. Sung along with the aforementioned ‘toilet walls’ lyrics this makes for the best part of the song, not only because the lyrics are so great, but the overlapping of the male and female vocals has always been a favorite of mine. If nothing else skip to the 1:55 mark of the song and listen to that, and if you don’t love it I can’t give you your time back, but I will skip to the 1:55 mark of any song of your choosing and listen to a minute of it – No Miley Cyrus or Justin Bieber, nothing against their music but…actually, yeah, I was insulting their music.

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As I write this I have cat furs stuck in so many parts of my month. All I did was pet my cat for a few seconds and now the air circulating my room is a flutter with small grey hairs. But that’s of no importance (other than the small amount of annoyance it provides me while writing this).

            Friday was an abject failure in terms of accomplishing daily goals. I didn’t wake up early, in fact I woke up later than usual (granted it was because late night Thursday, technically early Friday morning, I was made aware of something pretty awesome that disallowed me to feel tired for longer than I wanted), so I didn’t exercise or write anything. I’m not beating myself up about going 0 for 3 on my daily goals though (because that would imply that I had some notion that I’d actually complete them).

            Although I got to hangout with my friends on Friday two of them were sick and didn’t show up, including the one coming down from Seattle who was the main reason we were meeting up on Friday. The night still consisted of video games and nonsense chatter and talking over movies, but it lacked a necessity that the friend we don’t get to see often would have given it. Not that every thing needs to be necessary, but at this point in my life I’m trying to cut down on acts that aren’t necessary towards bettering myself as a person (whatever the hell that means).

            I didn’t leave my friends house until after 7 in the morning, so my schedule is completely off now (I woke up past 5 pm today), but hopefully tomorrow I can do a little work towards getting back on a schedule that I feel would be best for me, and I guess that will be a segue into my goals for Sunday.

1) Wake up no later than noon – Goals are supposed to be definitive and not vague, so perhaps this is a shitty phrasing of a goal, but it’s whatevs (which is a shitty phrasing of “whatever”, which in and of itself is a shitty phrase). If I can do that then perhaps Monday I’ll get up early and then Tuesday I’ll be able to wake at the ideal time of 6:15.

2) Go to the library and get at least one book that maybe isn’t my ideal book to read but might make me smarter if I can force myself to read it – I’ve been reading too many easy books lately (not like Go Dog Go). Not that they’re bad, but I don’t know if they’re keeping me on my toes, whatever I mean by that. Maybe they just don’t make me think enough in terms of what good writing is? I used to want to learn a lot. Read about science and history or the classics like Moby Dick (which I didn’t finish) or Lolita (which weirded me out), but now I just want to read stuff I like, but I don’t know if that’s what’s better for me if I want to grow as a writer. I think (I definitely won’t claim to know) that whatever field a person is in it’s best to study its diversity. So that being said maybe I’ll delve into literature I haven’t yet encountered, like Romantic Novels with Fabio-esque men on the cover (I most certainly will not…though I have a suspicion I’d like them more than I might think).

3) Don’t get too angry and sad if the Seahawks lose – The last time The Seahawks were in the Conference Championship game they won. They then lost the Super Bowl to the Pittsburgh Referees…um, I mean Steelers, but I watched that game from a hospital bed right before I had my appendix taken out, so I didn’t have time to be too angry or sad. Tomorrow’s (today’s) game against San Francisco is the biggest game I will have watched since I became a Seahawks fan, arguably bigger than their Super Bowl loss (this is a failed argument because I’m making it against a Super Bowl game but I’ll still make it) because it’s against their rival, and a victory would mean playing against either Tom Brady or Payton Manning who are two of the best Quarterbacks of all time and therefore a big Super Bowl, and maybe most of all, this Seahawks team has an identity that could become legendary (depending on how long the team stays together and how well they play). The defense is loud. I don’t know exactly how I mean that, but I mean it in a way to say they’re more than just good. Richard Sherman, Earl Thomas, Kam Chancellor, it’s a secondary that if plays together at this level for a couple more years will go down as one of the best, if not the best, of all time, but they have to at least make the Super Bowl, otherwise they’ll be forgotten. The same goes for Russell Wilson. He has the feel of a Quarterback that could be one of the best of his generation, but if he loses tomorrow (today) then Colin Kaepernick immediately jumps him in that discussion. The Seahawks team that played in the Super Bowl had Matt Hasselbach, and he had a great Seahawk career, but he’s already been forgotten as a good Quarterback to most people. And nobody on that Defense has left a mark on the NFL (although Lofa Tatupu had a great start to his career), and even Shaun Alexander has less of a highlight reel than Marshawn Lynch already has. The player with the best legacy on that team was Walter Jones, but no one cares to remember offensive linemen. This current team has young players that could have hall of fame careers (Earl Thomas, Richard Sherman, Russell Wilson) and it will be devastating for me to see them lose when they could have got such a quick start on making memorable careers. Which is exactly why I shouldn’t be too depressed if they lose tomorrow. The team is still young, and most of these players haven’t reached their prime, and patience has never been easy for me but as long as most of these players are here next year playing at the same level they’ll be in this same position to do something for their legacy, and knowing that is exciting. (I didn’t mean to write all that much.)

Sweat Dreams.

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I went 3 for 5.

So I guess I didn’t do too terribly on my goals yesterday (today. Why am I referring to today as yesterday already?). Surprisingly I did wake up at ten and after sticking three frozen waffles (I toasted them first) together with honey flavored peanut butter I stuff them in my mouth, washed them down with some cheap instant coffee, and then got in a little exercise before picking a topic (after showering…in case you were curious) for the podcast and researching it more than I usually do.

            The topic I choose was memories, and Christopher did polyamory, and it made for a pretty good episode, and I’m a pretty harsh critic when it comes to judging the episodes (because around half of the episode is made up of my words and I hate most things I say).

            I didn’t write though. I’m not sure why I’m struggling so much with writing. The easy (and correct) answer would be to say I’m a combination of dumb, lazy and unmotivated, but I think it’s something deeper than that. I have no reason to believe it’s something deeper than that, but I feel like saying it’s something deeper lends a kind of mysteriousness to my life that I’m sorely lacking. As Einstein once said, “A life without mystery is a life without history.” Okay, he never said that, nor did anybody as far as I know because it doesn’t really make sense (although plenty of things that don’t make sense have been said and repeated many times).

            We don’t have to get into my troubles with masturbation. Not troubles in terms of not being able to get it up (more like troubles in not being able to keep it down), not really that either, but I do need to keep my hands occupied with something else so they’ll stop being so occupied with my penis. But come on, can you really blame my hands for that? Yes. You could even go as far as making a case for insanity. But enough about my wily hands. But also a little bit more. It’s not like I’m doing it 3 or 4 times a day (usually), but when you accomplish as little as I do in a day even twice takes up valuable time I could be using towards something positive, like showering myself with negativity (it gets me in the right mood to be productive…or sit around listening to sad music, which apparently I consider productive).

            Tomorrow I’ll be hanging out with my friends for a large chunk of the day, so I don’t have too many goals, but I have just enough (whatever the hell that means).

1) Wake up at 9 Am – it’s not 1:30 yet, so I could reasonably fall asleep by 3 and get six hours of sleep, which is something (despite claims by my high school self of it being nothing). Six is about what I got last night, so I have reason to believe I can do it again.

2) Exercise – It’s Friday, and I’m not used to exercising on Friday for numerous reasons (to be honest I’m not used to working out on most days, not that that makes a difference anyway? or does it? I don’t know how things work), so maybe my body and mind will just completely reject the idea of exercising and find a way for me to weasel out of it. But I mustn’t. I must persist and get in shape so women will like me…um, I mean I’m doing it completely for myself, so I feel sexy. I don’t at all care what other people think, except, yeah, I do. Justin Bieber is relatively short, but he got in shape and millions of people love him and I assume it’s because he’s in good shape and not at all because he’s a hardworking (I assume) famous singer, even though he was super famous before he got in shape (much like hunky McHunkster Zac Efron of High School Musical fame). Can we please stop liking assholes even if they can dance? The Biebs is a douche (arguably I am too for referring to him as ‘The Biebs’), there’s ample evidence of him being a douche now. Do people just ignore it, or do they not care?

3 Write, God damn it, write – I won’t have much time to fit writing in before I hang with my friends, but maybe my goal is to write a little something for Youtube so I can maybe start making some videos again. Or maybe I’ll even just sit on my butt and try to focus on writing some tweets to help keep The Sarcast twitter feed active in the potentiality of garnering new listeners. I’ll be happy with writing anything as long as I’m writing (besides this crap, of course).

Sweet dreams (that’s my sign off, this isn’t part of my sign off, although maybe it will be…also, can the last words of a blog be called a sign off?)

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