Regret

I regret almost everything in my life. I don't want to do this anymore.

What do I want to do? I don't know, but I'll know when I get there.

I should've moved

I'm having renter's remorse. I feel like I really shou've moved, should've bet on myself. Let myself breathe a little. Slept in a little. But I needed to get away, not move backwards. I don't have anywhere to GO. I need some respite, and I'm out of options. O, modern world. I just want somewhere to lay my weary head without it costing a thousand dollars. Is there a hippie commune nearby? Even a weekend yoga retreat will put me back nearly a thousand. Money, money money money money moneymoney.

What is bringing out the regrets tonight? I feel like after five years, people should be asking me my plans and inviting me places. I realize how that sounds. But it's how I feel. And as my therapist says, there are no wrong feelings. So I fell asleep on the couch here at nine instead. What would I have done out? Drank? Yep. So I'm glad that I didn't do that. Tomorrow there is a SLUT WALK that I really want to attend, but I guess I'll attend that alone. I wanted to go with someone, but noe one wants want s to do it with me. "I'm so alone." -Fake Lindsay Lohan on the cover of Us Weekly.

Remember Gone with the Wind? Scarlett is always trying to get Ashely Wilkes to notice her and (spoiler alert) she finally gets her way only to realize that he isn't what she wants because he kind of sucks. That's how I feel.

Doink!

Race to the bottom

Recently a friend has taken a fancy to a fellow who is in the unfortunate predicament of having the words "White Pride" permanently painted to his chest. I suppose the circumstance isn't so unfortunate to him, however, because he can't be bothered with getting it removed or covered -- even a black bar would do given the situation. It's very perplexing to me how indifferent my friend is to her condition since she is a very reasonable young lady. And a very nice young lady.

I can't support something that I know to be wrong. I'm sure he's perfectly lovely to my friend, and even to those black coworkers who apparently know all about his tattoo, but this is 2011 and decent people just can't support that. I'm sure he's cool if I met him, and no I haven't met him and I don't have anything personal. It is my sincerest belief that he chooses to live out his life with hate speech on a large part of real estate on his body, and for that I really don't want anything to do with him.

And I guess the friend in question has read this and since defriended me on Facebook. I would suppose that it was her passive aggressive way at retaliation for this very post. And I may also suppose, if I took a deep look into my own personal motivations, that these musings are a tinge passive aggressive as well. In addition, I feel like I need to put my thoughts in the universe. To consolidate and refine my thoughts, since at times they can be all over the place.

Tunnel Vision

You walk down the tunnel and what's at the end, you figure it out when you get there but at least you'll know, right? But why would you not want to know?

2moro

"She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing." — Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5, lines 17-28)

Nostalgia

Remember on 80's sitcoms, there was a popular theme for having one of the main characters fall in love for someone, only to find out that their love interest was actually IN A WHEELCHAIR? During that time, technology enabled people to connect, without having to see the person (phone dating?). So there was always someone, like Zack Morris, who thought he'd be finding a bodacious babe on the other end of the line, only to find her unable to move her legs. This caused an emotional dilemma for our protagonist, but he/she always let the inner beauty of the object of his/her affection shine through. Then they were never seen nor heard from again.

Nowadays we don't have that because of the internet. I guess you could Skype and not know the other person can't stand up, but I think that somehow you'd just know. I think in the 70s it used to be interracial dating, and in the 90s maybe that person was really a dude or a lady. I don't know. But I do know for 10 glorious years we learned through our favorite sitcom character that people in wheelchairs are people too.

Jesus Blanco y Negro

I was offended when I walked past a black church and I saw a depiction of the Last Supper with a black Jesus and black apostles of varying hues. I guess I was more taken aback than offended, but either way I thought it was bothersome without being able to articulate it. In the Malcolm X movie with Denzel Washington there is a scene where he talks about Jesus Christ being described in the Bible as a person with dark features and kinky hair, ergo he's black according to a certain Black Liberationist (Supremacist?). I really didn't think that meant that he was black. People think Egyptians were black too because they come from Africa, but they are definitely not black. There were black Egyptians and even black Pharaohs (from Nubia), but the majority wouldn't what I consider to be "black." (I especially bristle when people claim that Cleopatra was black just because she lived in Africa. She came from the Ptolemic line of Macedonians. It would be equivalent to insisting that Charlize Theron is black just because she happens to be African American.) So a black Jesus by that logic is a similar thought process or so I think. But then I thought of how I had to grow up with super Anglo Jesus who had milky white skin to match his pure soul. And I thought that was even more bullshit, so I let the black Jesus slide for now.

I still think this is funny

A conversation cut short

March 16, 1985

A man who has recently read Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead" has joined his longtime friend at a cafe. After a exhausting the conversation, the second man remembers the television show he has just seen.

"So what do you think of Mr. Belvedere?"
"I don't think of Mr. Belvedere."

Flapping in the Cooler

As anyone who is obsessed with reading my status updates on Facebook would know, yesterday I went finishing in the Pacific Ocean yesterday. I went with some of the guys living on island. We rented a boat and used their gear. When we launched, I was really excited. I didn't really care about catching fish, but being in the ocean on a boat is freeing. Sometimes I'll sing "Born Free" to myself while standing near the bow.

After we went through the pass from that lagoon side to the oean side, we headed towards a bird pile. This signals that birds are feeding on the abundant number of fish in the area. Clever. Well we didn't catch anything, which is unusual. We drove around for a while, passing the various islands. I wanted to get out and explore them.

On our way back we caught a 30lbs Yellowfin Tuna. On the floor of the boat, its mouth was wide, as if it were gasping for air. If only it breathed through its mouth. They dumped it in the cooler where my bottled water was. It looks like I'm not going to drink water for the rest of the trip. After a while, I hear a Boom Boom Boom from the cooler. It was that fish. For the next ten minutes, that's what I heard and felt coming from the cooler. Then it became more intense. BOOM BOOM BOOM. I thought of Egdar Allen Poe's Telltale Heart. The fish was pretty strong. Then it stopped. Suddenly I felt a boom boom boom boomity boom boom bo boom. The fish was in it's death throes. It went silent.

I know it's just a fish, but it was weird. We caught another fish and it bled all over the floor. I didn't know that fish can bleed like that. I thought to myself that tonight's dinner will be vegetarian, but I ate meat because it tasted good. We are planning to eat the fish tonight, so it went to a good cause.

Island Madness

The day before I left Virginia for Kwajalein via Honolulu, I decided to give myself a haircut. It was a spur of the moment idea when I realized that I wouldn't have a decent haircut for at least another two weeks. At first I just wanted to clean myself up along the sides and in the back. Then a peculiar event occured, and I ended up buzzing my entire head. I can't tell you what that even was. The closest I can explain is that it happened at midnight before going off to a place that I never wanted to see again.

This isn't my favorite place in the world. And to all those people who think this is a tropical island, they have never been to a real tropical or even subtropical island, or probably even a decent beach. To quote Charlotte from LOST, "This place is death!" I'm trying to enjoy it as much as I can without believing in a lie. After dark, I walked to the seaside part of the island and sang to the waves, but before I ran at sunset.

I wanted to run six miles, but I could only run four. What I really want to do is yoga, but there isn't any room. Tai chi it is. While on my run, this lady of a certain age rides her bicycle next to me and gives me the once over by openly staring at me. I always thought it would be fun and flattering to have someone treat me like a piece of meat, but it just made me uncomfortable. She didn't say anything for about a minute until I made awkard small talk. The point is, I'm still bragging that I finally attracted my very own creeper, but I remain unsettled by the experience itself. It must be the hair.

My REAL Friends

Within the recent past, I've lost friends for what I call "personality flaws" and what others may refer to as not respectable. This probably doesn't apply to the whithering few who are still my friends and perhaps still read my blerg, but soon too, I fear you will defect and then there will be none. I already have a plan B because I've learned through Andersoon Cooper on "Oprah" that "Hope is not a plan." So in such an event that I end up with no friends left, and at the rate I'm going I foresee that within the next decade, I will make fictional characters my friends! It's the perfect plan, and I'll tell you why. Fictional characters (FC) are dependable, funny, and are easily replacable.

My blerg, interrupted

I really disliked my blerg and therefore I deleted it. I wanted it to be honest and revelatory, but it only goes into half truths because I don't want to offend anyone and I am desperately seeking your approval. So I quit that bitch. It's a really hard balancing act to reveal ones life without it being cheap.

I've taken to writing in my real journal, which I kept before I started this whole online blogging business. I feel like I can be freer to say what I want. I can be darker or dirtier and not have to worry about the repercussions of it all. In short, it's more fun for me.

Plus the font of interesting stories of mine has run very dry. I haven't really done anything worth noting for a good four months when I met Andy Dick and I was invited to his hotel room. I went, by the way. Right now all I do is run because it makes me happy and it balances out my moods, which are a bit unstable(?) as of late. If anyone has any ludes, let me know.

So that's all for now from my dog and pony blerg.