I was going to disclose the full episode I experienced a couple of days ago with Foster Charmington throwing up on my foot, but I think I will save that one for another day when I can’t think of anything to write. What’s on my mind right now is STILL those pictures of the girl I had the major crush on back in high school.
I know, I know, let it go. I can’t. It’s not something in my genetic makeup. I can not really let it bother me, but I do have to think about it because that’s just the way I process things. I don’t think I really analyze things too much, but I do think about them until I run them into the ground and, hopefully, bury them. It may not be the best way to do things, but it definitely gets the job done.
I’m going to be in trouble if a flash flood ever comes and washes away all the dirt and grime in my mind that covers all of the stuff I have run into the ground.
So . . . the pictures. I don’t even want to say this girl’s name because that seems to give her some power over me that I haven’t had to deal with in close to 20 years. Let’s just call her Lady X. Lady X had a picture of her and her family sitting around the dinner table on Christmas or Thanksgiving or one of those other holidays where everyone sits around the dinner table and wears sweater vests and eats with like 6 different forks.
Everyone at the table is smiling with their veneered teeth and their fancy clothes and their tucked in shirts and, you guessed it, bright red matching sweater vests because red is the color of the holiday season. It’s all just so Norman Rockwell I want to check to make sure everyone isn’t a robot and this isn’t some kind of Stepford Wives type deal. Even the little kids were wearing sweater vests. It would have been disgusting if Lady X wasn’t still so smoking hot.
I’ve been having the most trouble with that one thing, so I’m going to tackle the sweater vests, because the only other thing I feel like taking on is the fact that Lady X’s kitchen looks like something you would find in a magazine or in some show on HGTV where the designer walks in and says, “You don’t need to change a thing in here, let’s go fix your neighbor’s house so your property value can rise even higher.”
Back to sweater vests, because seriously WTF? Those things might be the worst things ever to come out of men’s fashion since V-necks were invented.
As a sidebar here, if you wear a V-neck anything you are either a douchebag or gay. There is NO other explanation. And there is NOTHING wrong with being gay. Douchebag is a choice. Think about that the next time you are planning on donning one of those and hitting the clubs. It’s a perfectly okay wardrobe choice if you plan on taking one up the old highway later on that night, but if that’s not on your agenda you might want to re-think your choice. I’m only trying to help.
Dammit, I keep getting sidetracked by all of this other stuff. Suffice it to say that you will catch me in a V-neck before you ever catch me in a sweater vest. My torso NEVER gets colder than my arms. What a worthless piece of equipment. I understand the sleeveless T-shirt for those hot days when you really just want to make sure everyone can see your armpits, but why layer a long sleeve shirt with a sweater that only covers the part of you that doesn’t really get as cold as the rest of you? That’s fucking stupid.
You know when you’ll catch me wearing a sweater vest? In a time and place called Never. Even if I was sponsored by Polo and they wanted me to represent their sweater vest collection for the year I would only agree to do it if they made some alterations to the sweater vest, like adding sleeves and changing the material from sweater material to some kind of fabric like UnderArmor or Nike Sport Tech gear so I could go play sports in it.
Somebody go work that out for me. Fucking sweater vests . . .
B!
Friday, September 3, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
500 Words A Day-Day 11
Yesteryear Revisited
Today I came home from work and put on my “Go To” music selection: Counting Crows album “August And Everything After.” This album was the soundtrack to the year I came alive and finally figured out what it meant to be alive. 1994.
I like to tell people that I learned more about myself during my first semester at U of A as a freshman than I did in the entire 18 years prior to that. That’s the truth. But I learned more about EVERYTHING ELSE in 1994. To this day it is the year I would most like to live over.
In 1994 I moved out of the dorms and got my first apartment (with roommates, of course). I bought my first car and got to live under the pressure of having a car payment and insurance premiums to pay. I got my first credit card. I got my first utility bill in my name and my name in the phone book for the first time. I always think of the movie “The Jerk” when I think about that.
1994 was the year I got my first glimpse of what having a job meant. Prior to that it was just something I did to keep some change in my pockets, but when I got that car and the car payment and the rent to pay I realized that working was something I needed to do to keep myself afloat and out of my parent’s house (which, for whatever reason, is ALL I ever wanted to do when I was growing up). I started my “career” with KB Toys in 1994. I also got my first serious girlfriend that I actually liked that year. I found out the importance of finding your alcohol on sale that year, too. At that point one of the most important things I ever found out in my life, to be honest. Even more important than having the girlfriend I liked, unfortunately.
I also found heartbreak that year. I found what it was like to be truly alone in the world. I found out what it is like to REALLY want to be a part of a group and not be able to be a part of it. I found a well of creativity that year that didn’t exist before that. I wrote, and wrote and wrote that year. Good things, bad things. Heartache. Loneliness. Everything had a way of making it onto paper. So many pages of writings in my backlog come from that year.
And this CD playing right now (well, not actually a CD, it’s on my iTunes) embodies nearly everything that was important to me that year. As soon as I put it in I am right back to where I was the first time I heard it. I’m sitting in my room on a mattress on the floor on the second story of University West Apartments in Flagstaff, looking out the window on a June afternoon, soaking it all in.
“And every time she sneezes I believe it’s love and oh Lord I’m not ready for this sort of thing. She’s talking in her sleep, it’s keeping me awake and Anna begins to toss and turn. And every word is nonsense but I understand and oh Lord I’m not ready for this sort of thing.”—Anna Begins
Turns out I really wasn’t ready for any of that sort of thing. But damn if it wasn’t a good time. I’d go back in a second. In a SECOND!
I really wish I could feel like that about my life now.
B!
Today I came home from work and put on my “Go To” music selection: Counting Crows album “August And Everything After.” This album was the soundtrack to the year I came alive and finally figured out what it meant to be alive. 1994.
I like to tell people that I learned more about myself during my first semester at U of A as a freshman than I did in the entire 18 years prior to that. That’s the truth. But I learned more about EVERYTHING ELSE in 1994. To this day it is the year I would most like to live over.
In 1994 I moved out of the dorms and got my first apartment (with roommates, of course). I bought my first car and got to live under the pressure of having a car payment and insurance premiums to pay. I got my first credit card. I got my first utility bill in my name and my name in the phone book for the first time. I always think of the movie “The Jerk” when I think about that.
1994 was the year I got my first glimpse of what having a job meant. Prior to that it was just something I did to keep some change in my pockets, but when I got that car and the car payment and the rent to pay I realized that working was something I needed to do to keep myself afloat and out of my parent’s house (which, for whatever reason, is ALL I ever wanted to do when I was growing up). I started my “career” with KB Toys in 1994. I also got my first serious girlfriend that I actually liked that year. I found out the importance of finding your alcohol on sale that year, too. At that point one of the most important things I ever found out in my life, to be honest. Even more important than having the girlfriend I liked, unfortunately.
I also found heartbreak that year. I found what it was like to be truly alone in the world. I found out what it is like to REALLY want to be a part of a group and not be able to be a part of it. I found a well of creativity that year that didn’t exist before that. I wrote, and wrote and wrote that year. Good things, bad things. Heartache. Loneliness. Everything had a way of making it onto paper. So many pages of writings in my backlog come from that year.
And this CD playing right now (well, not actually a CD, it’s on my iTunes) embodies nearly everything that was important to me that year. As soon as I put it in I am right back to where I was the first time I heard it. I’m sitting in my room on a mattress on the floor on the second story of University West Apartments in Flagstaff, looking out the window on a June afternoon, soaking it all in.
“And every time she sneezes I believe it’s love and oh Lord I’m not ready for this sort of thing. She’s talking in her sleep, it’s keeping me awake and Anna begins to toss and turn. And every word is nonsense but I understand and oh Lord I’m not ready for this sort of thing.”—Anna Begins
Turns out I really wasn’t ready for any of that sort of thing. But damn if it wasn’t a good time. I’d go back in a second. In a SECOND!
I really wish I could feel like that about my life now.
B!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
500 Words A Day--Day 10
How Facebook F’d Me Up
Yesterday I ended up having a bit of a walk down memory lane that got into my head so much I spent most of my day today just thinking about it. And I have Facebook to blame for it.
It started out innocently enough: one of my “friends” had some pictures posted from one of his vacations with him and his fraternity brothers. I have the word friends in quotes because this is a guy I went to high school with who I literally haven’t talked to since probably 1995. He was dating one of my girlfriend’s sorority sisters back then so we kind of went in the same circles but we always seemed to be at different events and whatnot. He was always super cool to me in high school (he definitely ran with the more popular crowd) so I never thought twice about adding him as a friend when he requested it.
So when I saw he had pictures of his trip up, I went ahead and checked them out. Kind of a way to peek into someone else’s life for a second or two. As I was checking his photos out, a picture popped up from the profile of the girl I had a major crush on in high school. Not just a major crush, but a MAJOR CRUSH. Like I wrote songs for and about this girl, I wrote poetry about her, I even wrote a movie loosely based on my experiences with (or, more accurately, without) her, etc. This was the girl that defined what my high school experience was.
So I see these pictures of her and her family (she is married with four kids now) and it is a full-blown mind fuck for me. I can’t even convey exactly how important this girl was in my development as a human person type being, and this is literally a girl I NEVER talked to in four years of school. Actually I take that back, I never talked to her in more than five years of school. She was literally the first girl I ever saw in Flagstaff as she was there at Flagstaff Junior High the day I signed up for school in 8th grade.
She was a cheerleader, a track star, the school photographer, daughter of a famous surgeon, in AP everything, etc. She had the best set of legs I have EVER seen on a woman, hands down. And she never said a fucking word to me in school and I never said a word to her. Yet somehow I have found a way to base my entire high school experience on the fact that just seeing her in the halls would absolutely make my day in a way that I don’t think I have ever experienced since then even with girls I have been in actual love with.
It’s borderline pathetic, to be honest. It may be across the border, actually.
Anyway, as I’m looking through the pictures of this woman’s life I slowly come to the realization that I have NOTHING that would even come close to satisfying her on any level except a physical one. As much “pain” as I was in with the unrequited love in high school it took this long to dawn on me that I had absolutely nothing of interest to her. That probably explains why we never said a word to each other. Girls don’t want poets, they want guys who can provide for them, ESPECIALLY girls who have doctors for fathers (I learned this one the hard way by dating a girl with a dentist for a father for close to three years—once again, when it came down to it, I had NOTHING to give her but myself and that wasn’t enough. I did, however, write some of my best stuff ever after we broke up, so I guess I can thank her for that).
What she did for me was define which girls I would find attractive for the rest of my life, though. I know part of this is just a manifestation of an Oedipus complex, but I know that the women who I have been REALLY attracted to have all been smart, driven, athletic, successful and they all have a really good set of wheels connecting their hips to their shoes.
I remember the first time my mom saw her. We were at a video store (remember those?) and my crush walked in. I just about lost my mind. I pointed her out to my mom and she just said, “That’s the girl you like? She doesn’t look very special to me.” Of course my response was, “Mom, you don’t UNDERSTAND!”
Truth is, though, she was right. That girl is just like every other girl who doesn’t talk to me now . . . only she still has a killer set of wheels. I wish her the best from afar, which is exactly how I wished her anything when we were in high school together. And both of our worlds will keep spinning just fine, just like they always have.
B!
Yesterday I ended up having a bit of a walk down memory lane that got into my head so much I spent most of my day today just thinking about it. And I have Facebook to blame for it.
It started out innocently enough: one of my “friends” had some pictures posted from one of his vacations with him and his fraternity brothers. I have the word friends in quotes because this is a guy I went to high school with who I literally haven’t talked to since probably 1995. He was dating one of my girlfriend’s sorority sisters back then so we kind of went in the same circles but we always seemed to be at different events and whatnot. He was always super cool to me in high school (he definitely ran with the more popular crowd) so I never thought twice about adding him as a friend when he requested it.
So when I saw he had pictures of his trip up, I went ahead and checked them out. Kind of a way to peek into someone else’s life for a second or two. As I was checking his photos out, a picture popped up from the profile of the girl I had a major crush on in high school. Not just a major crush, but a MAJOR CRUSH. Like I wrote songs for and about this girl, I wrote poetry about her, I even wrote a movie loosely based on my experiences with (or, more accurately, without) her, etc. This was the girl that defined what my high school experience was.
So I see these pictures of her and her family (she is married with four kids now) and it is a full-blown mind fuck for me. I can’t even convey exactly how important this girl was in my development as a human person type being, and this is literally a girl I NEVER talked to in four years of school. Actually I take that back, I never talked to her in more than five years of school. She was literally the first girl I ever saw in Flagstaff as she was there at Flagstaff Junior High the day I signed up for school in 8th grade.
She was a cheerleader, a track star, the school photographer, daughter of a famous surgeon, in AP everything, etc. She had the best set of legs I have EVER seen on a woman, hands down. And she never said a fucking word to me in school and I never said a word to her. Yet somehow I have found a way to base my entire high school experience on the fact that just seeing her in the halls would absolutely make my day in a way that I don’t think I have ever experienced since then even with girls I have been in actual love with.
It’s borderline pathetic, to be honest. It may be across the border, actually.
Anyway, as I’m looking through the pictures of this woman’s life I slowly come to the realization that I have NOTHING that would even come close to satisfying her on any level except a physical one. As much “pain” as I was in with the unrequited love in high school it took this long to dawn on me that I had absolutely nothing of interest to her. That probably explains why we never said a word to each other. Girls don’t want poets, they want guys who can provide for them, ESPECIALLY girls who have doctors for fathers (I learned this one the hard way by dating a girl with a dentist for a father for close to three years—once again, when it came down to it, I had NOTHING to give her but myself and that wasn’t enough. I did, however, write some of my best stuff ever after we broke up, so I guess I can thank her for that).
What she did for me was define which girls I would find attractive for the rest of my life, though. I know part of this is just a manifestation of an Oedipus complex, but I know that the women who I have been REALLY attracted to have all been smart, driven, athletic, successful and they all have a really good set of wheels connecting their hips to their shoes.
I remember the first time my mom saw her. We were at a video store (remember those?) and my crush walked in. I just about lost my mind. I pointed her out to my mom and she just said, “That’s the girl you like? She doesn’t look very special to me.” Of course my response was, “Mom, you don’t UNDERSTAND!”
Truth is, though, she was right. That girl is just like every other girl who doesn’t talk to me now . . . only she still has a killer set of wheels. I wish her the best from afar, which is exactly how I wished her anything when we were in high school together. And both of our worlds will keep spinning just fine, just like they always have.
B!
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