Conspiracy of One: The Silver Cyclone

I settled on a vehicle for my transportation purposes. It happens to be a 2004 Chevrolet Malibu. I finally have my Silver Cyclone, aptly named after Tekken veteran Lee Chaolan’s signature unblockable. Truthfully speaking, the car is huge, or at the very least, it is in comparison to the late Honda. Well, this is the new challenge, and I will embrace it accordingly.

I’m finally not depressed or down on myself. It took me a couple of days, but I guess the car truly had to awaken my senses. Not being autonomous was a shock that left me devoid of life. Now, I have my swagger back. With the swagger comes hope; with hope comes the hair bleach. Suffice to say, it is just a matter of time before I unleash the raging demon. And I will not compromise once the transformation is complete.

Now, to find an iPod connection…I need this damn interface, or having an iPod would be pointless to me. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Shadows Fall “Fury of the Storm”


Conspiracy of One: Sixteen Years, Two Owners, One Car

I broke the car. Simply put, my negligence doomed the family car that has served us since 1991. To be frank, it depressed me considerably; the first time I ever truly blamed myself for failing. As much as it is my fault, I was just delaying the inevitable; it was going to die eventually. Speeding up the process, however, was not entirely on my itinerary. Note to self: oil makes cars stay cool, or something like that. Next car is coming soon, and I resolve to do a better job.

On a more somber note, Chris Benoit and his family are no longer with us. While the people who care to know already know what happened, I’d like to remember Benoit for his wrestling legacy, not for the atrocity he brought upon the world. Two years ago, it was Eddie Guerrero, now Chris Benoit. Times like this make me revisit the whole necessity for steroids, as in, are they necessary? I doubt it. Rest in peace, Canadian Crippler. You will be missed. Let me think…Cameron Benoit Guy. That’d be an interesting name for my son. Bleh. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Our Lady Peace “Whatever”

Conspiracy of One: Outside the Ropes

Confusion runs rampant these days. I can honestly say it ended perfectly: a Saturday that left me alone and devoid of any plans. However, it all begins on Thursday.

Thursday was the company party in Redondo Beach, even though it felt more like Torrance. Started horribly due to schedule meltdown, but ended far better than the last one. In other words, there was a degree of dancing, and it is not a secret that I love to bust a move every once in a while. In fact, I feel it should be mandatory that dancing occur in order to promote a loosened up atmosphere. The party also doubled as a farewell event, as our fearless leader is leaving us for another shore. Anywho, good times, good food, good fun. The environment was very preferable in contrast to the previous gala. One for the record books, if I may declare it.

Friday was a bit more touchy, as it was my mother’s birthday. I really pissed her off a couple days ago, so I was not necessarily sure if I should be present. Sure enough, there were a couple of rough spots. Overall, a decent night, due to Benihana Restaurant’s insistence on hiring hilarious chefs.

Saturday, tonight, last night, whatever, was for the most part, whatever. The one thing I can’t seem to plan against is the absence of Jordan and Brandon. Pretty much, if they’re unavailable, my day off is worthless. Continuing that note, I fielded an offer from old Dana classmate Taylor, and well, I found myself in Redondo Beach driving around aimlessly. In all honesty, I only went because old Dana classmate Megan was there. Once in the midst, I soon discovered my presence was pointless, as the road since middle school has split significantly. For what it’s worth, I’m from El Segundo; they’re from Mira Costa. There’s a distinct clash of attitudes and culture that simply put, wasn’t for me. The real shock was Megan…she’s not the girl I remember from years back, and maybe that’s a good thing. At the very least, she’s developed wonderfully…mind out the gutter, mind out the gutter. Where was I?

Oh yes, well, that added to my anxiety over my feelings for girls, so I’m pretty much fucked mentally. I’m not sure what I want, but I’m definitely sure what I don’t want. Lust aside, it’s a conundrum. Being in giant Acura vehicle can help you realize these things. Yet with all this insight, the only thing I’ve been able to do was something I’ve been trying to avoid:

Buying sports fan gear.

In a couple of weeks, I’ll be able to customize my Angels jerseys with the patented “GUY 17”, a plus. Also, the Team Canada Steve Nash jerseys will be here soon, and well, that’s where I’m stuck. I’d rather be stuck in a relationship instead of buying stuff that will invariably make my closet rod collapse or give me a headache when deciding clothes. Thanks to Megan, I at least have one avenue more traveled. Thanks, kiddo. We’ll probably never talk with the passion I’d like; hell, we’ll probably never talk again. It’s a given she’d never give me a chance to show the masterpiece that is Basic Offense. Charge this one to the game, bartender; the next round’s on me. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – The Fray “How To Save A Life”

Conspiracy of One: Jordan Can Drive…Horribly

Jordan is a horrible driver. At the very least, he scared the shit out of me numerous times, and got a kick out of it. His enthusiasm reminds me of some other venture capitalist I know, yet the name eludes me at the current moment. Him and his PT Cruiser should be quick allies; it reminds me that I should fall in love with my car again, despite what my lust triggers in my brain. New job, new car, borrowed attitude. I’d almost think the kid was born again.

School ended a couple of weeks ago, and my marks are pretty damn good. All in all, I pulled off a 3.71…not bad considering how hard and often I worked to perfect my craft. I am proud of my efforts, yet the fire still burns. Why does the fire still burn? Old conversations recently discovered in my possession while conversating with my mother.

For one, I’m still hellbent on going to Berkeley. It is my will, and it shall be done. A useless bitch will not stand in my way, either. Vanessa Rodriguez is probably owed a letter of gratitude as much as she deserves my scorn; if it was not for her, I’d probably be content at Long Beach. But no, no one disrespects me and lives. If I have to transfer to UC San Diego to get my point across that I will not die, it doesn’t bother me.

And why do I feel like I’m not at Berkeley? Simply put, it’s either God trying to humble me, or someone fucking with my first semester, prodding me to commit my first error in my career: failing Spanish 3. If a certain incident would not have happened, I would be in Berkeley, because I would not have failed that damn course. It’s alright, considering my presence truly was necessary in Hawthorne. Mother needed someone to help her recover, I still had my best friends, and well, other business that I’m sure I’ll take care of soon as I figure out the full scope of what needs to be done.

Thus, brings me back to Vanessa. I requested a mindfuck session for her, and well, it worked. I’m still not done, though. Success will be the best revenge. Whether you’re in San Diego, the South, or right next door, I’m coming. Nobody can stop the freight train. Whoever decides to stand in my way will die, simply put. No more fun and games; the bitch is back. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Mims feat. Purple Popcorn “This Is Why I Rock”