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”