Conspiracy of One: Playing Not to Lose

An adverse thought to my usual victory streak. What’s it like to play not to lose? Anybody can do it, it just requries a bit of cowardice. If you play to win, however, odds say that you can probably lose and lose badly. I’m used to losing in the most heartbreaking of ways, due to odd shit happening at the least convenient times. Now? I’m not necessarily sure.

Case in point: dance class. At about this time, I’m usually getting ready for the dance party that will showcase all I know and prove without a shadow of a doubt that I’m the standard to which everyone is measured against. Well, since I’ve been trying out new dance shoes, working on innovation, and sitting in on multiple classes in order to prove/maintain my superiority. Now, it’s no longer in question: I’m the best at what I do. However, my main aim for being in this class was to meet girls. I’ve met plenty, and contrary to usual form, I haven’t truly hit on any of them. By now, I’d at least shoot for a phone number. This time, it looks as if I’m more focused on bridging into new locks and stuff. Succinctly, I’m not putting my immense talents to use. In fact, a girl I was interested in is now dating the guy I’ve vowed to retire Friday.

In lighter news, that’s something I have done right; this dance has a storyline, and I get to play the heel. Playing face sucks, because I can’t thrive off cheers. However, anytime I’m booed, it turns up the trouble for a bit; I learned that from Jordan heckling me into a chaotic outburst. I already have the heel getup I want, and now, I’m going to send Marco out with a bang. A nice, loud bang. I’ve

Jordan’s coming to Long Beach. That makes me laugh gleefully for two reasons. One, my roommate that I have now can be unconsciously used as horse glue. I feel it’s my right to come home to a messy half of a room; any guy that would thanklessly make up his roommate’s bed has serious problems. The second front is that I think Jared’s presence offends me beyond all belief these days. I look over, and I ask myself a few questions that never reveal a decent answer. I see mistake after mistake, and…smart friends are a treasure. Jordan’s not one, but he’s pretty damn close. At the very least, he pushes my buttons only in witty irony. Jared, on the other hand, does in it a way that would press me to snap his neck. Thus, next year will be a reboot.

Need to hold committee with my new employers: my mother has qualms about the area. Of course I shrugged it off to begin with, but now, I’m seeing the light.

I retired Liz last Friday. It was beautiful. Cider was had, emotions were spilled, and a favorite son was welcomed home. Note, I’m the favorite son. A pleasure it was to eulogize my comrade; it was like Bush eulogizing Reagan, except that Liz is more of my disciple than the other way around. This week, I’m retiring Marco. Then, well, a life of peace. Time to turn out the lights. Click. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Kid Rock “Amen”


Conspiracy of One: Slowly Burning

Spring break without working definitely isn’t my idea of fun. I have too much energy that doesn’t seem to dissipate efficiently without stimuli. Needless to say, this whole rest and relaxation thing is not quite grinding my gears; I’m better off burning myself out in activity.

Yet, there’s a particular story I have to tell. So, hunting down my father has been coming along easily, yet still merits a fair share of headaches. Being the proficient stalker I am (stalking family has to be a new low; they should always be accessible), I’ve managed to nag him enough that he’s going to submit. Not to me, though; he requested to meet with my mother. He declared me crazy and does not want any future interaction with me. Under normal circumstances, I’d feel very sad, depressed even.

On the other hand, I never had a relationship with the guy. He was never supportive of me during my childhood, and proved to be difficult now, even though what I desire is free. Never wanting to deal with me again? I’ll live. If he wants an intermediary, fine by me, because I believe I’ll only require his assistance once more. After that, the question of his life or death will not provide a tear in my eye. This is the greatest moment of my life…God bless you, Ric Flair.

Where was I? Oh yes, delivering three superkicks to any thoughts of a paternal bond with my father. Unlike the Flair/Michaels match, I don’t think I’ll hesitate in delivering the final blow, nor will I be mouthing “I’m sorry…I love you.”

Nah, just a nice, nasty superkick. In lighter news, talked to one of my favorite ex-coworkers today. Funny guy, that Myron. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Mercy Fall “Hell Will Be Callin’ Your Name”