Her Wedding Day

Today, Victoria is taking the holy vows of matrimony. Or in simpler terms, she’s getting married. That seems to be the growing trend these days of people my age. I would’ve been invited to the ceremony if I made an effort to stick around. Naturally, I didn’t. Happy events depress me more than my normal slightly suicidal levels I deal with. Besides, Vickie was my first love. Sure, you can make an argument that Emma, Christine, Pippa, or even Amanda from Dana had that role, but Victoria was the only one that I tried to be a better person for. I’m talking teetotaling, no swearing, and ironing my clothes. That, and engineering a complete salsa hostile takeover. I was complicit in crashing Cash America’s system so I could audition and place myself on the team’s board.

 

Gee…that sounds awful when I vocalize it.

 

Fast forward four years, and you have a wedding. The last time I saw her, I avoided her. I relived every moment we had just by looking at her. There was more good than bad. Hanging out at the lighthouse and blowing Pippa off to do so. Getting my friends to dance with her because I wanted to go outside and smoke an imaginary cigarette. Looking up how to become Catholic.

 

And now, she’s getting married to someone else.

 

I believe that winning and losing has a large hand due to luck as it does skill. It’s a testament to who we are that we learn which battles to fight and which ones to avoid. Yeah, my testament is taking all fights, even on short notice. In return, I’ve been dealt severe losses. Some times, we are destined to lose, because the story can’t progress without a roadblock. If I won everything I wanted, life would be boring. I couldn’t appreciate it all if I didn’t face an obstacle. Unfortunately, meeting and losing Victoria was necessary. The lesson I was supposed to learn? To be determined. Congrats, Victoria. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

 

Current Track – Imagine Dragons “Radioactive”

Phone Blues

After an unnecessary prolonged battle with Virgin Mobile, I am now in possession of a working phone. It’s a beast, really. Not sure if I know how to use it, or even if I will bother to learn how to use it. I’m a little bummed that I had to throw away my 11 year relationship with my phone company because they sold shitty wares and had deplorable customer service. But that’s life. You can’t necessarily expect people to give a damn when they have no true incentive to do so. I wasn’t going to start a civil uprising over a prepaid carrier. Who would? Bingo.

I started to wonder why I would get another phone anyway, since I don’t exactly light the world on fire in terms of popularity. I’ve done a good job over the years of ignoring the things that bother me. Or at least, compartmentalizing my disgust. Lately, I’ve been unable to hide it. Scary prospect that I’m not in complete control of my thoughts. I went through my contacts, and saw a grand total of five contacts that I regularly talk to. I found two former interests, and sent them texts since I haven’t spoken with them since…before my phone killed itself. One didn’t respond, the other responded forcefully in the negative. Damn. That stung. I can’t really say that any interaction I’ve had with a girl ended on a positive note. There’s a bit of logic in that, since if there was positivity, it probably would not have ended.

Am I a shitty person? Probably. When bugged by my friends, I constantly ask myself “why do I have friends?” Oh yeah, I forgot; I’m a gamer. I’m down for anything at anytime, which makes me valuable in the long run. Although, I’m a bit unnerved when people are offended by my personality when they’ve said and done far worse things that I’ve yet to call them out on. Bastards. Anyhow, still shocked how I have friends. Amazed, really. I came to the conclusion that most of my friends’ friends have to be complete morons if they still choose to want my company. Seriously, I commit faux pas after faux pas, willingly, knowing that it is going to end horribly. Yet, I still do it. Too conscious for my own good, he says. Walking embodiment of Deadpool, I say. It makes no sense. None whatsoever. I guess one of these days, my luck will run out. Someone will want to kill a real-life comic book character.

In somewhat confusing logic, this brings me back to my efforts with women. Have I truly put in any effort finding a girlfriend? I’m not sure, these days. Flings have come and gone, and I could’ve made a more concerted effort not to screw things up. Sometimes, I could’ve avoided screwing things up before they began. I’ve asked a couple girls out at salsa, but I was met with indifference and rejection. Outside of that, I don’t go to bars, never asked my friends to set me up (because dear Lord, I know it can’t happen), and I have a set routine of activities I like to do. Scratch that, I did recruit a friend to help set me up, but he failed me twice. He doesn’t really know that he’s outlived his usefulness. Fuck. I’ve tried, I think. Trying harder seems difficult, and doing nothing comes across as lazy. I’m confused. I think I need a divine intervention or else I will be dying alone. Love isn’t blind…it’s retarded. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – The Lonely Island “Go Kindergarten”

Deactivated

Sometime around midnight, I took my Facebook page down. If you would’ve asked me back in middle school whether that would be a big deal, I’d guess my response would be “what’s a Facebook?” Anyhow, I wonder how many of my friends will find me here. I’m guessing all of them.

HA.

Each defeat brings me one step closer to the edge. Or at least, it used to bring me one step closer to the edge. I’m officially at the edge. I’m not sure what makes Aiyana more special than any of the other girls I’ve pursued. I can’t exactly say that she is more special than any of the others. What I can say is that she was the last in the long line of failures. And I guess that designation does make one special. I just came to the conclusion that I’m tired of being around people who are happier than me, yet less deserving. I don’t mean to play the victim, but I’ve suffered. Hard. Long and hard. For what? To go 25 years alone? What sense does that make? I’ve seen druggies, alcoholics, delinquents, lazy bums, and the like all find girlfriends, meaningful relationships, and companionship, while I’m left to navel gaze? I call bullshit. I’ve been the good friend for so damn long that I’m…tired of being the good friend. I’d rather live up to the asshole title that I had to adopt or else the criticism would be too much. I’ve grown contemptuous of people for some time, and I can’t even pretend to fake camaraderie. I bluntly told someone who’s been something of a mentor to me “fuck you, and everything you stand for.” Basic words considering my lexicon, but it was a shocker. I took off my shoes, left the club, without a way for anyone to get in contact with me. That’s one of the benefits of not having a working phone, I suppose. Yet, I do look forward to getting a working phone in the next couple of days. I can’t watch the NBA Finals without Twitter. For seven years, I’ve been salsa’s curator. My reward has been extremely lacking. I didn’t sign up for friends; not that vain. I didn’t sign up for fame; eviscerating classmates did the trick. I didn’t sign up for glory; outsmarting Bill Cosby can leave all other trophies worthless by comparison. I signed up to find a girlfriend. That didn’t happen, so there needs to be a split, be it temporary or permanent. Something has to change. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Nobuo Uematsu “One Winged Angel”