Because You're Worth It?

It might be just an ad campaign slogan, but it does bring about a good idea. At least that was how my brain thought about it today while it tried desperately to keep from falling down the rabbit hole of unconsciousness. Today was a continuation of not being filtered. But in a more internal sort of way. Today I was brutally honest, bold and outspoken to myself. I decided I wanted to trade in my gold four door, and get a black pick up truck. I decided even if there was a boy who wanted to date me, it'd be hard to do because I'm kind of dating my house. Either by making sure the kitchen is clean, double checking that the pup is taken care of, keeping up with the five guys I am privileged to live with, and occasionally spending an evening cooking or baking something for all of us to enjoy and calm down over. So, the boy who ends up wanting to be in my life, better make sure it's all worth it. What really struck me today was how badly I do not want to be in college. I keep having this repetitive de ja vu where it feels like I'm doing the same thing over and over again, and I always have the same level of excitement or passion for it. Which is borderline zero. It's like a modern version of Bill Murray's "Groundhog Day". What ever happened to Bill? "Lost in Translation" was like four years ago. Anyways. I'm liking the idea of going to massage therapist school. Doing some kind of accelerated course and being done with classes as soon as humanly possible. It is not worth it to me to be stuck in courses that make me want to never pick up a book again or put pen to paper. I do not have time for that, especially when Iran getting all trigger happy all over again. That shit is scary. So with the ever present carpe diem mentality, I have decided to start researching schools, used black trucks, and new cookie recipes. For the guys, of course. Because to me, that's what makes it all worth while. Taking care of yourself and the ones you love. F society and the educational societal norms. We only get to do this once, right? So I want to do things that won't wash out or fade over time, I want a life that is vibrant and multi-faceted. Because, I'm worth it.

A Brief Moment

There is one thing to be said for being tired all the time: you're uninhibited. You say things you wouldn't have said had you got enough sleep. You take action in ways you wouldn't if you had the rational thinking rest provides. And you wouldn't be bold enough to talk to people who otherwise would have intimidated the shit out of you. Being exhausted can be freeing. The brief moments where I was once unafraid of repercussion when I was fully rested, now happen all the time. My brain is too tired to filter what I'm doing. It's two thirty am, I have to be out the door at seven. When I crawl out of bed I will have a thirteen hour day to look forward to. But hey, what do I care? I don't even get a moments pause to think about it all. If things start going bad, I'll just lean over and make a new friend. I'm learning that it's not that hard. Apparently all you have to be is tired.

Let It Rip

I have a strange feeling that this week is going to be one long free fall. And when I try to pull the rip cord, there will be no parachute. It might be problematic. I was sitting in Philosophy class today and I was so disgusted by the conversation that I ready to drop out of college completely. The whole idea of it is so perverse to me. And if you really focus on it, it seems unnatural. The things that I am supposed to be learning in college will not be my parachute. There is no way. In the long run I see myself caring for a family and writing when I have the time. I like caring for people, I'm good at it. It comes naturally. My mother was a great example of how caring for people can be the most rewarding thing there is. School and college is something "they" created to keep us in line. Well I feel like stepping out of line, politely. I'm not going to start anarchy or develop a new kind of cult. I just don't feel my life and my skills are best utilized through college. Maybe I should go to massage therapist school. It's a form of caring for people, and you don't have to sit in a classroom that often. That's one of the many things that get to me, sitting in those white washed classrooms. I think the color is designed to suck the future right out of you. I can't stand it. Life seems to be passing me by. I don't like that feeling at all. Sometimes, usually after a couple of glasses of White Zin, this phrase returns to me: Gone and forgotten, before I had a chance to remember it. I first thought of it while riding my bike back to my first house from campus. It was so true. Everything around me seems to gone before I even had a chance to remember it. Today was like one long de ja vu, but it was stronger then that. I had sat in those classrooms before, I had typed a paper four minutes before it was due before, I had contributed to class discussion without having read the material before. I'm on some kind of weird pseudo auto pilot. I don't think I should be at that point already. I'm a little too young for that. Or, at least, I think so. I should be enjoying what I'm learning, and not zoning out and day dreaming. I should be okay with the parachute I have strapped to by back. Because, honestly, the one I have right now doesn't look all that appealing to pull. That's a problem, no?

No Signal, Searching For A Network

One of the guys I live with has just adopted two kids. Two representations that not only is he heavily involved with his girlfriend, but they have begun to start a family. At this point it's only a technological family, him and his girlfriend are getting a "family plan" with their new cell phones, but these days that means more then owning a dog together. A cell phone baby requires commitment, and a contract. You're locked in for two years, and where diapers should be you have hidden charges. And in place of first steps you have free texts. In my opinion they were already on the family highway, maybe not in the express lane, but definitely driving at a steady pace. They're starting a family, cellular instead of nuclear, and I can't even text someone to get a drink on a Saturday night. Don't let me be misunderstood, because I have no hostility towards them at all, but it does sting a little when you see someone wearing Banana Republic and you're wearing last seasons cardigan. It's only a problem because I let it be one. Singlehood is not the end of everything. And I'd rather take the time to find a good signal then try to pick up a bad connection. It's hard to find a network that fits your schedule and where you are in life. Terminating a phone plan because it was a bad fit hits you with fees, terminating a relationship because it was bad hits you with emotional fees. So maybe it's not a matter of being single, but a matter of finding the right signal. Or sending the right signal. Maybe it's me, maybe I'm sending all the right signals. I decided a long time ago that I wouldn't go out of my way to change service in hopes of getting a good connection, so maybe that comes off as being a bitch. Or stubborn. Which isn't the case at all, I just have standards. And if the plan isn't working, I'll drop it faster then when I went from AT&T to Verizon. I shouldn't, and never will, have to dial a new number just to have a guy pick up, but at the same time I shouldn't feel like I'm in a dead zone. My texts might be unlimited, but my patience is not. There are some things you can rely on to always connect: friends, a good spaghetti dinner, the complete first season of SATC and English tea. That's my new thing, SATC and English tea. I get all the seasons for free from work, so I'm going back through all of them again. All the way at the beginning, connecting with it all over again. Not sure how much longer I'll be able to get it from work for free, today was a disaster. And on Thursday I was so tired I showed up at the wrong job. I was supposed to open Job One, but I showed up at Job Two. It all worked out alright, but I see it as an omen. I can't keep this kind of schedule up much longer. But at the same time, I kind of have to. Truth be told, I'm trying to be in too many networks and I'm just ending up getting fuzzy signals from all of them. I need to try and consolidate my life and dial less numbers, less area codes. I'm all over the place. Live here, work there, class over there, work down there, friends up here. Both my mind, and my phone, is on overload. Sometimes it feels like my battery is burning out, and I have to recharge more often then I use to. Is this getting old, or just another upgrade I didn't sign up for. Seems like life is getting just as complicated as the newest cell phones, but I don't remember why I have all these apps. What happened to good old dial phones. I crave that a lot more then a busy signal. I keep trying to dial the old fashioned way, but the only response I get is "If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and dial again." That's not productive.

Chicks Dig Scars

I grew up in a cul-de-sac, in the suburbs outside of Chicago. It was kind of boring in that circle, because it wasn't a full blown street. It was like a blemish on the street it was connected to. I wanted to live on street more like Wisteria Lane even before I knew about a Wisteria Lane. Although the blemish was dull, it did have it's highlights. No one ever drove through it, so I would roller blade in circles for hours without worrying about getting run down. Except this one time when a random car did pull in, and I had to slide out of the way. After silently cursing with a new found swear word, I realized I was alive and well. Except for the rock sticking out of my knee. I still have the scar to this day, and every time I tell this story at least one person says, "it's cool, chicks dig scars". I'm not completely sure what "chicks" dig, but I am realizing a disturbing trend when it comes to scars. I don't mean the kind of scab you pick at because it got itchy, I am referring to the more hidden scars, the mental scars and the emotional scars. There seems to be an unspoken competition as to who is more f-ed up. Nowadays it seems necessary to have at least tow tales of how someone done you wrong. You're not supposed to have easy break ups and happy goodbyes. You're supposed to have sutures all over your heart and brain due to the immeasurable damages done to you. The in thing these days seems to be getting thrown out, of a relationship that is. Having scars and baggage seems to the new must have item. Forget about strapping on an Omega watch or carrying a Louis Vuitton bag, now you strap on your last relationships hatred and carry your ex's insecurities. I would even go so far as to say anti-coupling has replaced coupling. Matching yourself up with someone when you know it's going to go bad sooner rather then later, just because you know it'll be a good story to tell later. I think this is a terrible trend, worse then pajama pants making a comeback and more disastrous then the band aid dress. We should be attempting to put band aids on our wounds and cleaning up our cuts. The only kind of burn or scab I want is the one I got while trying to make a romantic dinner.

Empty Bed, Empty Head

This weekend was more of just an extended work week. I put into full shifts at both of my jobs. It was mostly a blur of car travel and customer service, until Sunday evening. One of the guys a live with turned twenty one. I don't think I need to say anymore then that. I was one of the drivers so no drinking for me, but it was fun enough getting to keep track and take care of all of those who were drinking. A few of them apologized for being so crazy and thanked me for watching over them, but I really don't mind that kind of thing. I'm good at it. I excel at it. I like it. I have no problem caring for the people I love. This evening was a really, really good time. But it also made me remember( like I could ever forget?) how much I miss having a guy in my life. I like caring for him. Listening to his day. Cooking for him. Looking out for him. Having a great time with him. Once again, it's something I excel at. I really miss having someone to cuddle up to before going to sleep. Having an empty bed sort of feels like I'm not doing everything I could be doing. I'm good at both my jobs. I'm great at being a friend. I'm crap at school. I'm an above average baker. But I excel at relationships, and not being in one feels like a part of my brain is not getting exercised. Like a big chunk of brain is just empty, vacant. I don't like that feeling. I'm not going to lie, I let the puppy sleep on my bed last night, and it was the best sleep I've had in a long time. Just having a beating heart to fall asleep to. Feeling someone roll over in the night. I miss that. All is not lost though. The temperatures a dropping which means layered clothing, and everyone looks cuter in layers. When done properly. And it means I can live in my black cardigans. Which I look proper in. It'd just be so much nicer if I had a guy who fit properly with me. And we could be proper together. And have a proper relationship....And wear argyle. Ok, obviously I need to go to bed now.

Time Goes Bye

When I was really little I got lost in a Target. Not so much lost, has separated from my family. I remember it very well. I stopped in front of the watches to look at the cool Batman watch, and the Power Ranger watch and the Ninja Turtle watch. They were so cool to look at because they were bright and lit up and made tick tock noises. So there I stood mesmerized by the time pieces when I suddenly realized I was standing all by myself. It wasn't long before a nice worker lady scooped me up and was about to take me to the front desk, or whatever desk they take lost children to, but before we got to there my mom had caught up to us and taken me back. It wasn't so much a traumatic experience as it was a learning experience. I already knew not to wander away by myself, and not to run immediately to the toy aisle, so there was no lesson about staying put or minding where you are. The lesson I walked away with that day so many years ago was this: time sucks. Ok, so I didn't phrase it like that back then. But I discovered that time is a tricky, unfriendly, mean thing that is evil to us. I tried to stand still for just a moment, and I wound up lost and in the arms of a stranger. Funny how that works. It's still applicable to me today too. I have no time to write, or create or draw or paint or do leisure reading. All of my hours and minutes are broken up into categories. Work, school, eating, sleeping, miscellaneous. And then those categories are broken down further into subcategories. My life is just thirty minute intervals. This might sound like I'm complaining, but it's more of me being surprised. Again and again and again. How times goes bye so quickly. It up and friggin leaves, just walks out the door. And it takes everything with it. Places, experiences, laughter, tears, people...love. Try as you might, you never get to stop and stare at the watches, because even if you do they are still ticking away. Eventually you reach the day when no one, stranger or not, will be there to pick you up. Because that takes time out of their day. And who can afford to do that when time goes bye so quickly?

Look Your Best, Feel Your Worst

There are all kinds of ethos and phrases when it comes to fashion and how you are supposed to dress and what helps and what hurts. Less is more. Leave something to the imagination. Put everything on, then take one thing off. It's better to be over dressed then under. My view on all of this is: Who cares what you are doing, just make sure you look good doing it. This is especially true when I am not feeling one hundred percent, or when I know the day is going to be unpleasant. Somehow, looking very refined and well put together helps me get through the day. I make myself believe that I could not possibly encounter something I can not handle while wearing argyle. No way am I going to lose my temper while the pinstripe on my button down matches the color of the sweater on top of it. That would be preposterous. Simply ridiculous. The scary thing is, this almost always works for me. And I tend to accomplish more then if I were acting like it was any other day. For me, the clothes set the tone for the day. I was out of my house today for a complete twelve hours. Going from job one, to class and then errands and then home. It was nice to arrive back at the house when everyone else was eating dinner. There are few things better in my life these days then being cramped into the kitchen nook with my housemates eating food and telling stories. I don't think these guys know just how sane they keep me. Or maybe they do. I did realize today that although the clothes might make the attitude, they certainly cannot keep my mind from dressing up in disastrous designs. While at work, I tried to figure out while I am always falling for men older then me and completely different then me. My top five include: a doctor, a lawyer, a biologist, a philosopher and a mathematician. I'm a Nick Hornby wannabe who looks to Patrick Marber and Carrie Bradshaw for inspiration; why do I go for the opposite of who I am? Do opposites attract, or detract? Based on my past they lead to nowhere. But none of the endings had to do with not having common interest or conversation topics. What it comes down to is the difference in thinking. Writers, artists, and actors tend to think romantically and whimsically. Like, believing a Banana Republic v-neck can somehow fix your day. While scientists, business men and those in the medical field tend to be fact based and leave no room for variables or possibilities. They would never prescribe Ralph Lauren as a cure, chances are they wouldn't even know who Ralph Lauren is. The latest installment of me versus the left brain thinkers occurred earlier this evening, when the lawyer took me to court. Relationship court that is, and then he brought down the gavel and said that it would be futile to date me. Me and all my youth and naivety. I always try to hide the fact that I am dark and twisty from guys I take interest in, but maybe if they saw that they would catch on to the fact that I am not really the age stamped on my license. Obviously, tomorrow will again be a day of looking my best because I am kind of feeling like crumpled tinfoil. A crinkled mess of something that could look shiny and bright, if someone just took the time to smooth it out. And this is only what I thought about at work, and what occurred once I got back to my house. I didn't even begin to describe what I was thinking about during classes. I made new lyrics to a couple of my favorite songs so that they were more personal to me. I do that a lot. I tried to think of three secure, steady careers I could see myself in once I graduate. And I began thinking about how I want to celebrate my birthday. People keep saying I should act my age, but if I did that, they wouldn't want to be around me. I wouldn't want to be around me. People say I should date my age, but I don't have time to babysit. I need some maturity, some security and some compatibility. If I am doomed to have repeating incidences with the left brain thinkers until I become "of age", well, let me say this. Banana Republic is going to know me by first name.

Too Many Flashing Lights

The Packers won. Kanye proved once again how much of an idiot he really is. Pink joined the circus. And Lady Gaga proved that her lyrics really do flow through her veins. I say that all the time: these words are my blood. Usually in reference to whatever novel I'm working on, or some play I'm part way through writing or recently I've gotten into song writing. Yes, some things about me are very stereotypical. Like me writing and wanting to be an author and/or playwright. I draw inspiration from everything around me. But a lot of it comes from what has happened and what has been done to me. Sometimes I'll turn something that I lived through into a play and then the play itself becomes some kind of closure for me. Words alone haven't been cutting it lately so that's why I've gotten into writing songs. The process of writing is very helpful, but imagining how I would perform them is what really helps the heart. Most of the time I see myself in some kind of Velma Kelly kind of situation. Not only singing, but emotionally releasing the words onto the audience. I don't just sing a song, I usually end up acting it out. It doesn't always sound good, but you can hear the panic, desperation, hurt and frustration in my voice. I think that is what makes it a good performance. The kind of day that I went through in the last twenty four hours leaves me so broken, hollow, drained, empty and furious I'm so overly inspired I don't know what to do. I want to sit and write a new play, but I can't stay seated long enough. I want to work on a few chapters for the novels I have been writing, but I wouldn't be able to seperate the character from myself. I want to go running, but I have no iPod and I would totally play chicken with cars given the mood I'm in. I want to have wild crazy sex, but even though there's a cloud of stupor around me I can still see that would be a bad idea. I want to talk to someone, but all my friends are on other continents or busy. The closest thing I did to talking was try to get a hold of one of my housemates girlfriends. Now I want to smoke a cigarette and listen to the Lady Gaga Paparazzi performance over and over again until I fall asleep. I have been listening to it since I got back from classes. I'm sure someone in the house is annoyed, but no one has said anything yet. I am completely obsessed with right now because her passion and hurt mirror what I am feeling on the inside. Even the bullet to the stomach emulates what I am feeling. I do feel like I was shot in the stomach. I feel like the life and energy is flowing out of me with each beat of my heart. And, honestly, I don't even feel the need to find a suture. This kind of wound has been done to me repeatedly over the past several years. You might think I'm being dramatic and simply distraught over some guy. But this is not just mere boy problems. I guess the problem is due to the fact that I like boys. This has caused such great shifts and chasms amongst my immediate family that I can not even begin to describe them on here. Hence, the me writing a book thing. What I can say about what happened today, is that I am now no longer just at the core of problems in my immediate family, but the destruction that is my "choice" has now effected my extended family. Pinning brother versus sister, and pulling even more on the unraveling family blanket that I was once protected under. All I can do is shake my head and try not to scream out loud and violently dance myself into an exhaustion. I've matured enough to no longer want to punch walls and break windshields, most of the time. Nowadays I just want to scream a song, dance myself into a sweaty exhaustion and then sleep the world away. Which, again, is why I am dangerously in love with last nights Gaga performance. The whole thing kind of mimics how my day went. It starts out looking glamorous, albeit slightly unique, and then just turns into an aggressive, fast paced, bloody ending. Complete with tears and bellows. Even the lyrics have new meaning today. I keep chasing after my parents to love me for exactly what I am. But we both keep wrecking one another and now it's even more complicated because there are even more people on stage. It seems like every conversation and sentence turns into a some big explosion, a flash of light that blinds me, stuns me, annoys me and makes me want to retreat to a dark corner. With so many flashing lights going on recently, and for the past few years, I am too lit up to even make my mind up. It's hard, pretty much impossible, when you constantly have flashbombs going off inside your brain and behind your eyelids to function at normal speed. I just need some peace and quiet in a darkroom, maybe then I could try to develop a few photos. But I don't want to be in the darkroom alone. I am criminally tired of being single, but simultaneously unsure if any guy out there could even handle the flashstorm that is my life. I mean, how many guys out there deal with their problems by sweating them out to dance music? Even if there is such a guy, he probably won't want to put the effort forth. Or he'll think I'm too young to be taken seriously. Or he'll just hit it and quit it. Yeh, you know who you are. So that leaves me to rely on me alone to wipe up my wounds, disinfect my bullet holes and sew up my own cuts. I am all for self dependency, but I am also a firm believer in companionship. And, the word all gays fear, relationships. I can keep shielding my own face from the flashing lights, but that leaves me little energy to be useful for anything else. My grades suffer, my personality darkens and my smile fades. And, I must confess, it all makes me Marlboro friendly. Don't give me that look; you try holding the epicenter of family destruction on your shoulders and see if you don't take to bad habits. I think I should get free tickets for not turning into a coke head. You think that my now I should be use to the bright lights, but they still sting my retinas and make my flinch. As much as I would like to succumb to the weight of the lights and just refuse to get up, I tell myself I have to hold out for the day when the lights are for my new family portrait.

New Style, But It's Still Grand

I was ready to scrap this thing completely and just focus on my writings, and not my bloggings, but I do miss this thing. It's very therapeutic, and I don't always know who to say what to, because I still feel that sometimes by me telling my friends what's bothering me I add to what's bothering them. So this way, I can say whatever I want to and have complete strangers read it. Or no one at all. I considered doing audio updates but that seemed way too common. These days you can't swing your dick without hitting some vlog, twitter or audiocast done by some queer who is obviously more witty then your other gay best friend. So I figured I would stick with what I know best, words. Lots of words. And if you were hearing this, it would be spoken quickly and animatedly. But not to the point to where you'd think I vacationed at Fire Island. Although, admittedly, I am listening to "party in the usa" while typing this. Damn you Miley! If you're going to make catchy music, you could at least try to not be annoying. Seriously though, I dare you to listen to it and not find it addicting. It can't be done. What balances out the listening of Miss Cyrus is the fact that I'm doing so in ratty jeans, a baseball cap and the same gray t-shirt I've had on and slept in since Thursday. I smell good though. I promise. I always make sure to smell good. I am a cologne whore. And I recently found out that you can get knock off colognes at the dollar store...yahtzee!!! Who's excited? This guy. I spent a good hour in the dollar store today, getting everything I needed and then some. I found the most delicious smelling candles! One smells like brewed tea with honey it in. And another one is orange and black currant. My room smells like a French bakery, it's fantastic. Sunday is the only day I get to do errands. The week is filled and overfilling with five classes, two jobs and the worlds most amazing friends and housemates. And of course a few movies and a couple chapters in whatever books I'm reading. I'm excited for the new Nick Hornby and the new Kazuo Ishiguro. Those are two of my favorite writers. I want to get a couple more chapters done in A Spot of Bother before my evening really gets started. I am torn between watching the Bears vs Packers game, or the VMA's. I think I'll record the VMA's and watch the game. But how catchy are those VMA commercials?! The sad thing is ninety percent of the kids who watch them probably have no idea they are based on West Side Story. What once was old is new again. On the topic of "old"...what is it with anyone over the age of twenty four thinking they already have one foot in the grave?! I've been hearing this kind of talk far too much lately? We live to be, like, 120 years old these days; being 25 is nothing. I think I'm really burnt by all of this because I had a date with a 26 year old the other day, and he made it clear that he was just soooo much older then I am. Which is complete lies because he's fresh out of law school, so debt wise and place-in-life-wise we are very similar. It doesn't help that we is supercute and just as witty as I am. I've had this kind of thing happen in the past too. Everything is going well until I own up to the fact that I'm only twenty. No one knows until I tell them, and even then they aren't convinced until they see my license. So can we all just agree that how old you are in life isn't always how old you are on a calendar. Ok, I need to go pick out a tattoo design. This is the new style of The Grand Life, keep up if you want to.