Quick Recap

It's cold. I'm rancid. I'm tired. I'm getting sick of "Bejeweled Blitz" on facebook. Except I'm really not, actually, and it's made logging onto the internet more exciting.

More later.

I'm Fascinating

I'm currently:

Reading the Wolf at the Table by Augusten Burroughs.

Freezing.

In a state of mild depression which will escalate to severe upon the beginning of my two back to back double shifts.

Overeating. On my couch. Cheese and crackers.

Wondering why no one has called me tonight.

Remembering that I am a lame piece of shit.

Ceasing my wondering.

Angered that my computer is about to die.

Angered that one of the keys on my keyboard continues to fall off, in spite of me putting it back on every time I use it.

Tired, yet this should be expected as it is a seemingly constant state.

Incapable of doing the Jillian Michael's workout series.

Incapable of movement.

Incapable of writing.

Incapable of being interesting.

Incapable of caring.

Goodbye.

All Hail Carrie Bradshaw

So, I think we've established my overall dissatisfaction with life in general. Yet, I still feel the need to elaborate.

If karma exists, it just hit me really hard. In the arm. I think I pulled a muscle--not from any strenuous activity--but from carrying buckets of ice at work. It doesn't really hurt at all today, but at Lisa's sister's wedding last night, it was excruciating. I probably sound like a pussy. I probably am a pussy. However, I did take two Advil which, combined with vodka and cranberry juice followed by wine, almost made me pass out/throw up simultaneously. I was able to pull myself together (physically) later, but it was difficult.

So, I think that we've also established that I'm gay. And I'm not in the closet, nor am I really ashamed of it--however I still cannot connect with other gay men. Even if I find them to be cool/admirable/funny/anything. All I can do is watch with feelings of self loathing and patheticism (which I realize is not a word, but it should be). Lisa's sister's gay friend, let's call him Isaac, is a dancer/singer/Broadway extraordinaire, which I must say is quite impressive and awesome. I would love to be talented. It makes everything so much easier. Anyway, Isaac was dancing up a storm, really showing off some moves straight from So You Think You Can Dance (which, by the way, I saw live recently on their tour around the USA). I was trying to dance a little more aggressively than I normally would to not seem like the boring gay that I am--especially in the presence of Isaac--and I actually had fun while dancing... but for some reason something just wasn't right.

After the wedding, I kind of tried to make an effort to strike up conversation with Isaac at the after party (in the presence of other people, of course). And I failed. Why? It's not like I had a crush on Isaac. I just figured that now that I'm 20 (not that old, but old enough to stop being a fucking little pathetic piece of shit) I should start to maybe try to involve myself a little more in the gay community, and maybe talking with Isaac would be a good start. Yet, I came off as dull, boring, kind of snobbish, and just overall not fun. Why, you might ask, can I not snap out of this? It's as if I'm in a cloud of anxiety, and my brain cannot see through the cloud, yet it knows that the cloud is there which makes everything so much worse.

I had been looking forward to Lisa's sister's wedding for months, and somehow I managed to almost ruin my time by 1) having a pathetically weak left arm and 2) having incredibly low self-esteem. This needs to stop. My physical and mental strength need to increase. I need someone to slap me into shape.

My composition teacher, who is no longer my composition teacher but I will continue to refer to her as such, said to me a few weeks ago that everybody should make a conscious effort to continually put themselves in situations where they feel uncomfortable because doing so enables them to grow the most. Still, the feeling of being uncomfortable is just so... uncomfortable that the thought of continually throwing yourself in those types of situations is kind of frightening. And the thought of always being uncomfortable with something going on in the world is depressing. Yet, somehow I am expected to ignore all of these thoughts and put on a facade on a daily basis that I am a normal, confident, funny, happy person. Is it a facade? On some days, yes. On others, I am that person.

Maybe I need pills or something. Happy pills? Do those really exist? I wish that I could live life like Karen Walker, who struts around New York City with a sense of such great self-worth and evil hilarity without a care in the world about anyone else. Or like Carrie Bradshaw, who just writes a column once a week, smokes her cigarettes, never works out, yet still manages to have $40,000 worth of shoes and remain incredibly skinny and ripped. Why can't these people exist, just to prove that these lives are possible and things can be this simple and easy?

Using Will & Grace and Sex & the City as a serious means of idolatry is probably a sign that something is definitely wrong with me.

Hmm.

Concerned About Paula Abdul

If you watched Diva's live tonight, you'd understand why. She almost fell of the stage during her opening performance, then for the rest of the show wore a series dresses that made her look like a Brat doll.

Um.

Yeah.

Anyone watch the Serena vs Kim semi? "If I could I would take this fucking ball and shove it down your fucking throat. I swear to GOD!"

Scary, but entertaining. I still love her. I do wish Venus took home the trophy, though.

I bet more people saw Kanye rip the mic out of Taylor Swift's hand. I like Taylor Swift. I kind of didn't for a while because I just automatically associated her with Miley Cyrus, but she is really a non-rancid, nice individual. I like her song about how the kid she likes in her class doesn't see how awesome she is. Kanye is an absolute tool and always has been. His balded girlfriend is frightening.

My favorite part of the VMAs had to be the Body Heat Cologne commercial shown during every break. That guy is hot. I wish I knew his name.

With regards to my actual life: work=hell. School=pointless and annoying.

I'm going to go far with this attitude.

Things I Don't Hate

Here is a list of 10 things/people that I don't associate with rancidity. I was extremely challenged by doing this.

1) Friends. The show.

2) Will & Grace. The first three seasons.

3) Venus & Serena Williams. Even though they are rancid sometimes. But I still love them.

4) Masturbating. Most of the time.

5) Eating Pirate's Booty. It tastes awesome and it's not that bad for you.

6) Writing entries on this blog.

7) Beyonce. Even though she does refer to herself as Sasha Fierce.

8) Whitney Houston's singing voice during the 80s/early 90s.

9) The Gap. The store itself. It's filled with employees/people who generally care about how they look but don't want others to know. The music isn't loud. You don't need to count your items before entering a dressing room. I really like the Gap.

10) Laying in my pool after all bugs have been removed.

I figured that I should do this in order to give myself a reason to make it through this week. It's amazing how almost two years after leaving Shithole Unifuckface I am still just as rancified as I was then, but by different things. I am the problem, and my levels of rancification will never decrease until I decide to either stop caring or live in a hole.

Busy As Usual

Just read a blog about a guy who is trying to re-grow his foreskin. It was interesting, albeit kind of disturbing. However, I commend anyone who is comfortable enough with their own sexuality to discuss this matter in graphic detail.

Back to college tomorrow. It should be interesting to see how my mind reacts to the prospect of learning. As of right now I am expecting it to aggressively reject all information.