This is the third song I’ve had at the 88th spot, and for the love of God let’s hope it’s the last. By the way, from the time I wrote that first sentence to the time I went and quickly checked something online I thought about putting another song here. I think it’s the double 8s that are freaking me out. It just looks so unnatural to me. Like two infinity signs placed on top of each other and then turned sideways. What the fuck that would freak me out for I have no idea. Guess I’m just buying time.
This song lost considerable points because the last 57 seconds of it sucks major ass. I hate when songs do this. The 57 seconds adds nothing to the song, and does nothing but make me wait longer for the next song to pop up on my mp3 player. The most blatantly horrendous case of this was Bright Eyes’s EP Every Day and Every Night, which has a great title and great cover, where each of the songs endings gets longer and longer with crap before I have to wait for the next song. That EP has a song featured on my list and not surprisingly it’s the song with the least bullshit noise at the end of it. Listen, I love Conor Oberst in a way only one emo boy could love another emo boy (is that a gay way?) I have no idea, but he is the king of putting crap at the beginning and end of songs that don’t need to be there. He could make a whole album filled with that stuff called Crap Noise I Put At The Beginning And Ending Of Songs Just To Annoy Quentin.
However, even with the crap that technically makes up a forth of this song I still enjoy it. I’m a big fan of bands that have a boy and a girl as the lead singers. Girls sound by far better than males vocally, the only problem is that ever since hearing Alanis Morissette sing about going down on Uncle Joey from Full House in a movie theatre I haven’t been able to connect with female singers the same. I’m always like, ‘oh yeah, I totally connect with what this female vocalist is throwing down.’ Then I sit for a moment and say, ‘wait, how sure am I she isn’t just using a metaphor for blowing an ex boyfriend?’ And I’m never too sure. So many metaphors can be made for blowing a guy. I’ve just now made it my goal in life to one day use a metaphor of giving head to a group of inner city kids to teach them the values of the first amendment. Doing this will either be the thing for which I am remembered when I die, or the thing which causes me to die.
“I take these things for more than what they’re worth. I take each kiss for more than what it’s meant to be. Call me a hopeless romantic, call me just plain pathetic. I am what I feel and tonight I’m not that much.”
These are some of my favorite lyrics for the mere fact that, unlike Alanis Morissette’s lyrics, I can connect with them. I take everything for more than what it’s meant to be. The other day I texted a girl and when she responded I was sure she was digging me. I wasn’t so sure when after the 33rd text, 31 of which by me, she responded with ‘I warned you. Now I’m calling the cops.” I’m not completely sure how the kids do it, but I’m pretty confident that’s not sexting.
I’ve kissed three girls in my entire life (that number should have been four) and at the time I could have swore I would end up marrying all of them. Actually I was sure in the moment of each of these kisses that they meant absolutely nothing. The first kiss happened when I was seven and we were playing spin the bottle and I’m pretty sure that’s before I was even aware I had a penis and that girls existed for any reason other than stealing their Barbie dolls so my GI Joes could have something to do in their spare time after I made them pillage a village. The second time I kissed a girl I was drunk, she was drunk and we were being egged on by my drunk cousin and a drunk Timothy Martin, whose name I only mention because I pretty much mention his name whenever possible. And the third time I’m pretty sure the girl thought I was a lesbian and she was doing a scavenger hunt that required she kiss a lesbian. However the second I finally take it to the next level and make out with a chick I can assure you I’ll take it for more than what it’s meant to be. Oh Holy Lord how sad is it that at 23 I still haven’t made out with someone? “Pretty fucking pathetic,” replies the Holy Lord.
And then of course I’m a hopeless romantic, mostly hopeless, but romantic when given the opportunity (are we assuming romantic and creepy are interchangeable in meaning?) shut up your face. That goes back to the taking things for more than what their worth part. Maybe I get a little too romantic a little too quickly. I suppose I’ll never get it right (now you’re just plain pathetic) ah ha! And yet again I relate to those lyrics. Except I firmly believe I’m not just being pathetic, I’m pathetic to the core. It’s part of who I am. It’s ingrained in my genes. Granted genes that somehow managed to skip every single other person in my family, but still they’re my genes. I never feel ‘not that much’. I’m pretty much always feeling some kind of emotion, and it’s pretty much whatever emotion most corresponds with patheticness.
I can’t stay happy for more than just moments. I do cherish those moments, but they don’t make up for every fucking night of feeling pathetic. I even go out to the bar with Nathan and I don’t get drunk enough fast enough so I spend a considerable amount of the night when I’m supposed to be having fun instead feeling even more pathetic for not being able to have fun while I’m drinking. I just don’t have anything going for me, and it’s hard to imagine turning it around. I’m trying to, at least I think, but it seems so far away. I have the podcast, but that seems to be getting less listeners as it goes along, but at least recording it with Chris is still fun. I write this and even though no one seems to be reading it in the moment I’m distracted and at times very silly and happy. The few times I get to hang out with my friends I’m less sad, so that’s a thing – made me laugh writing that at least, although not in a great way.
I was lying back in bed moments ago thinking about all those nights feeling hopeless and pathetic and like there was a better chance of the moon crushing me before I could ever begin to do something of worth. And I remembered back to when I was in love. I don’t mean loved someone, but was in love, love going both directions. Me loving her, her loving me, or at least that’s what was implied, and I believed at the time, kind of hard to believe it now, but God damn did I believe it then. And even though she wasn’t with me, and even though I had nothing going for me, I would get sad at nights, and then I would think of her, and I would smile, because at least I had her, it didn’t matter that I had nothing because I had her and that seemed like everything, and I had someone who made me feel like I wasn’t worthless, and that I could actually be something someday. And even though I still sucked, and I still got sad, whenever I thought about having her and her having me I would smile. I miss that. Believe me I want the new to be in, but god damn it I miss the old.
That was a cheesy way of making the last couple of paragraphs have any semblance of relevance with the song.