Before The Devil Knows I’m Dead

I’m finishing up my DVD collection started earlier this year, and I’m pleased with what I have seen. Besides that abomination known as Adventureland. Also, Bruno was lackluster, which is surprising in light of how much I enjoyed Borat. Years ago, it would’ve pained me to stay at home watching movies instead of trying to find my white whale. Now, the television is not only the best option, but my birthright.

I went dancing twice last week, and two important things happened. First, I lost my 2011 Mavericks title hat. After years and years of waiting, I plucked down $30 and lost it. The other regards my seemingly worsening lovelife of sorts. To be fair to the person who brought this up, my personality has been solidified in the public eye by my mannerisms. However, the modus operandi has always been “girlfriend”. Nothing else has eluded me (including controversy) quite like attachment. In short, I was offended when she questioned my affinity for a girl by saying “she won’t sleep with a guy unless she’s in a relationship.” Funny, I didn’t recall asking to sleep with her. Also, I’m not a fan of a colleague withholding information under any circumstances. If I can’t trust the people I’m around, I’m better off retiring off to the ranch. Even then, I can’t find rest because a sleazy bastard called me a pussy for my decision to step away. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, but I’m determined to prance to the beat of my own drum. I reckon it’s better to be a pussy than to stay the course in failed pursuit. I cried to myself a few days ago at work when looking over the stuff I had with Blondie. I strongly feel I missed an opportunity with her for something special, and all I have now is my absurdly large brain and a summer of…Punk.

Which brings me back to Hawthorne. I am nearly finished with my car customization. That’s what 23 year old kids do when they’re single and haven’t a clue what to do about it. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – The Rock “Electrifying”

Truth Hurts

So, I was having a crappy week, but that was to be expected. The harder you fight, the more resistance you’re prone to meet. Work has been a nuisance, but at least there’s a paycheck involved. Salsa doesn’t pose the luxuries of having a quantifiable victory, but I do it because there’s always that sliver of hope. That is, until your mentor tells you your personality is broken and you couldn’t date anyone in the room.

Granted, I’ve come to terms that my personality has definable shortcomings. However, being confronted by those facts is still tough to swallow. I guess that sitting next to a girl I tried to date pushed me over the edge. As I type this another girl passes my car before I have the opportunity to dance with her. Jenkies. I can excite a room of girls with my penchant for fun, but that will never translate to success, despite my best efforts and intentions. Why wouldn’t I trust the authority on this one?

He did nail the girl I was pursuing, after all. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Saliva “Hollywood”

Sandwiches and Reality

School is out for the summer and I’m exhausted. Some of my friends are in the real world succeeding, others are in school thriving or about to thrive, and I find myself somewhere in the middle contemplating if I made the right call. The truth about being me is that I often lose faith in the mission I’ve laid for the future. A cocky smile for the public is perhaps reassuring to others, complemented by a snide remark that lets the world know I have a pulse. Deep down, it’s much more complicated than that. I’m a lonely boy surrounded by toys that successfully has people convinced that the real world doesn’t bother him all that much. Someone give me an Oscar for my performance.

I spend tonight doing something admirable: making sandwiches for homeless people. I’m not one that glorifies charity or the sort, but I felt pretty good being able to help out the less fortunate with a group of friends…that happened to be predominantly Muslim. As a matter of fact, I was the only heathen there, which made for some good conversation. Middle Eastern women are beautiful, but I’m not trying to navigate a strict Muslim code. I was mistaken for a Muslim, but I believe that’s due to my descent *cough*. I was also mistaken for another guy’s brother, because we were both “brothers”. Even after years of communication training, racism is still the glue that keeps America together.

I read people for a living, or at least that’s what I told a previous encounter. Not to come across as a whiny bitch, but I looked at past pictures, and gee, I was happy. There I was with the gang, before the split. There I was with the girl, before things went to hell. Amongst my friends, I am the most credentialed and determined enough to be the most successful. But I haven’t found my complement, which I am desperately seeking. One more year in Long Beach, and if it’s not here, I will find it somewhere else. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – The Used “Listening”