So my internet's going to be cut off in about half an hour...

And I'm downloading Firefox 3.  Makes sense.  

Okay, just fired it up.  Snazzy.  Think I'll spend these last few minutes poking around and seeing what's new.  I guess I'll be back to this as soon as I get reconnected.  On the bright side, I've got plenty of movies I need to catch up on and I made sure to pull some new porn before midnight.  So I've got that going for me.  Later.  

Not rock bottom, but close.

Reality has given me a swift kick in the ass in the last few days.  A person who I hadn't talked to since February, but whom I consider a friend, has either forgotten who I am or is willfully pretending they don't know me.  It's bad when you're hoping someone is playing a cruel joke on you.  My phone is off, and by this time tomorrow my internet and cable will be gone as well.  I'm negative 600 bucks in the bank, my car is busted, and I'm about to run out of food.  I am, in short, well and fully fucked at the moment.

I'm praying this is it.  I'm praying this is the lowest I go in life and that if I can get back on track, I'll finally get my shit together because I'll remember what life's been like for me so far this year.  But frankly I'm scared.  This has happened before.  The first half of 2006, things weren't much better than they are now.  I worked a job for a couple of months, but I was so depressed from getting dumped-- mind you, I got dumped in October of 2005-- that I couldn't cope with anything and I ended up getting fired.  I tried to drink myself unconscious on Valentine's Day that year.  And the thing is, when I finally got a job a couple of months later and things started to level out, I told myself then, "Don't let this shit happen again."  Now this.  

I think I've said this before, but I feel like Dante in Clerks.  Somewhere along the line I quit doing what was necessary to better myself.  I just settle for what's around me until inevitably it all turns to shit and someone has to bail me out.  I don't know when, why or how, and I don't know how to fix it.  What's worse is that there's a part of me that doesn't want to, because that would require effort, and what happens when you try, really try, and fail?  Get rejected?  This friend of mine who doesn't seem to remember me, I've written her twice now, told her about conversations and events from less than six months ago, and she replies she's "still having trouble figuring out who you are."  I'm down on myself enough as is, I seriously don't need reinforcement of the notion nobody gives a shit right now.  

I could never join the military.  I don't want to fight in wars.  I hate authority and being told what to do.  Yet if I were to be completely honest with myself that kind of system is exactly what I need.  That structure, the complete lack of freedom.  Rank and file, rank and file.  I need to have my ass kicked before I'll do anything.   It's like this:  When I was in high school, I did pretty well.  Everything was laid out.  I went to my classes because attendance was mandatory.  After school I came home, did my homework, that was it.  There was time for a job and to hang out with friends but Monday through Friday, that was it.  I just accepted it and went about my business.  When I got to college though, that changed.  I had a lot more freedom and immediately I started screwing up.  Didn't go to classes.  Hung out with my friends and did absolutely fuck all.  The grades would slip, my mom would get pissed, I'd turn it around for awhile because I knew she'd give me shit if I didn't, and then the whole thing would start over again.  

So basically, and I fucking hate to admit this, for me to straighten up and act like a human being I need something like the threat of my mom giving me shit.  Is that really the fucking case?  I know deep down inside I have it in me to stand on my own two feet.  I've done it before.  But I guess that's it; I can only maintain the status quo.  I either can't or won't try to achieve more, and I have a sneaking suspicion that until I do, this endless cycle of suck is going to keep repeating.  I need help.  Serious help.  I've tried to get help before though and I never stick with it.  It's the same goddamn problem.  I don't put the effort in.  So I fail, and what happens.  I get it in my head that I can't do it.  That the problems are unfixable.  FUCK.  Even typing this out now I see it all.  The loop of shit I'm in.  I see my problems.  I know my faults.  Why am I so unwilling or unable to make things better?  When did I turn into this person?  What the fuck is wrong with me?   

Choice of viewing.

What movie do I watch while waiting for my various Wendy James and Sunny Leone torrents to finish and the new 'Doctor Who' to be aired and uploaded?

Rambo?

Jumper?

Or The Machine Girl?

The first two were impulse downloads.  Rambo's gotten decent reviews; Jumper, meh, it just looks like a sci-fi action movie that might not blow.  I'm thinking Machine Girl.  I've been wanting to see it since the trailer popped up late last year.

Okay, this was the first time I've watched that since Christmas.  Holy shit.  I'm going to stop typing now and check out the whole thing.  

Remember that scene...

...In Terminator 2 when John Connor calls home and the T-1000 picks up the phone, Arnold hops on the phone and figures out who it is and hangs up?  They're playing T2 on AMC today and after he hangs up they cut the line where he says "Your foster parents are dead" in that matter of fact tone.  Why would AMC do that?  I don't see the purpose.  

...In Idiocracy where the most popular show on TV is 'Ow, My Balls!'?  Look at this.



Mike Judge had it wrong.  We're not going to need 500 years to collapse.  

No news today.

More to the point, no news for me today.  Usually at this point in the day I'd be listening to Rachel Maddow and gearing up for Olbermann-- though since it's Friday I'd really be gearing up for 'Doctor Who' and 'Battlestar Galactica'--  but on hearing the news of Tim Russert's death I can't do it.  I've mentioned before about my anxiety about anything having to do with hearts and death, and the way he passed so suddenly, with no warning, it immediately set off all those alarms in my psyche.  It couldn't have been more than five minutes after reading the news I was sweating and looking for the aspirin because I could be next.  Never mind that Tim Russert has twenty eight years on me and I have no idea of his lifestyle or family history, the hyper-vigilance kicks in and it's game over for me thinking like a normal human being.

That said, I'm sorry to see him go.  I never followed 'Meet the Press' but I've seen it a few times when I've stayed up all night on a Saturday, and the day I sat watching Hillary's concession speech on MSNBC he was the guy everyone was deferring to.  The general consensus is that he was one of the few journalists left who really did fit the mantra of "fair and balanced," a term which has now become more a punchline than anything else.  My condolences to his family during their time of mourning.  

Passing rain and passing memories.

This past weekend my state got hammered by storms.  A town near here got pretty much wiped off the map.  Me, I slept through most of it.  The morning after it'd all blown through I took a walk through town.  This was at like 5 AM.  I'd been so busy sleeping through the storms that when I finally woke up it was about the time most people should be going to bed.  Everything was grey and wet outside.  It was also almost seventy degrees, so the slight fog amped up the moisture in the air that much more and I could feel my shirt starting to cling to me.  What was odd to me though was the smell.  There was that fresh clean air smell you always have after a rainstorm, but it was mixed with something else-- all the branches down, the puddles of mud.  It was vegetation and silt, and it brought me back to my grandparents' house back home.  They lived on the water, and the scent in the air that morning was the same as when I'd wander out onto the public pier next to their house.  It hit me then how long it's been since I've been home.  I haven't heard my grandmother's voice in five years, and the last time we spoke she didn't know who I was.  Fucking Alzheimer's.

I've always told myself I wanted to make it back and see her one more time before it was too late to say goodbye, but another part of me is wondering if the moment's already passed and maybe I'd be better off.  The last time I saw my grandfather was two weeks before he passed away, and it was a rare good day for him.  He was lively, he argued with Grandma, had a milkshake.  The spark was still in his eyes.  The night he passed he went into a deep coma, and when my mom asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital to see him and I just couldn't do it.  I wanted to remember him the way I'd seen him that day.  I don't even remember the last time I physically saw my grandmother.  I know it was probably a day or two before I left.  I know that we talked on the phone a few times; she yelled at me for not introducing her to the pretty girl I liked so much and kept asking when I was going to take a vacation and come visit her.  What I remember most though is the last phone call, on my lunch break at work, standing in the parking lot and listening to my grandmother tell me what a nice young gentleman I was to spend time talking to her.  

"Of course, I'm your grandson."  

"Are you?  I'm sorry.  Well, that's good!"

"Yeah, it is."

My mom tells me that physically Grandma's doing pretty well for someone pushing 90.  Mentally, it's hit or miss.  It's more a matter of lucid days vs quiet and staring off into space.  Part of me still wants to see her so bad, hold her hand, tell her I love her.  But again, I just don't know if I can do it.  

Despite all that, when I walked in the door after that walk I actually felt better than I had in days.  I don't know why.  Maybe it was just getting out after having been cooped up so long, or maybe it was that I was happy to have remembered that smell of the saltwater and all the good times that went along with it.  When I do eventually make it home, I'm going to drive down to the place where my grandparents' house stood.  I'm going to walk out on the pier, because I know it's still there.  I'm going to sit down, watch the waves roll in, and think about nothing but when I was a kid, running around with a water pistol and a crab net, not even knowing about the sorts of things that are weighing on me now.  I think Grandma would appreciate that I was finally taking a vacation.

That girl, that girl, that girl.

I just went and looked at the MySpace of the girl I'm currently madly in love with again.  For real, I know I'm just setting myself up but I swear to god, every time I read her writing or look at her picture, she's just so amazing my brain starts to hurt.  Especially because her last blog entry is about her spending Memorial Day weekend in my hometown where her family is from and talks about visiting all the places I used to slog through for something to do.  I wanna go run laps and work on witty one-liners now so I can prepare for when I finally get the nerve up to try and talk to her again.  

God, I just realized the perfect song to sum up how this is all eventually going to go down.

I'm actually in a better mood for even having seen her smile this morning. Christ I've got problems.

"I'm gonna show her my E.V.O.O. face."

Ah, Rachel Ray. Cook. Talk show host. General television personality. Terrorist sympathizer*. I've been in love with her for awhile now. I know, I know. She is grating, yes. She does walk the fine line of enthusiasm and obnoxiousness, yes. And yes, I'm sure in real life she's a huge bitch. I know all that. But there's just something about her. I get the feeling that she is absolutely the dirtiest whore in the world in bed. You know damn well she cusses like a sailor; with that voice there's no way she couldn't. She's the kind of freak who gets on top and tries to break your dick off while she's riding you and uses her teeth a little more than you'd like when she's giving a beej. Probably slaps you around and screams a lot. But by the same token, she probably goes in for anal no questions asked and wouldn't even care if you maybe wanted to piss on her a little. (Not that I would personally, I'm just saying.**) I've even downloaded Eva Angelina vids because she bears a passing resemblance to Rachel Ray. That and the fact she likes to wear her glasses when she fucks. That shit is hot.

So until a sex tape gets released. and twenty bucks says she's already done a couple, I'm going to have to settle for matching up the audio with these pictures and using the power of imagination.






Yum-o indeed.



*For the record, Michelle Malkin is one of the few women on this planet who define wholly and completely the term "grudge fuck."
**Just kidding. I'd totally piss on her.

In other news.

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In love and hating myself for it.

Have you ever seen someone where you look at them and you just know that's the person for you? A couple of years ago I came across this girl's page on MySpace, and it was like lighting had struck. She was gorgeous, she was funny, she was everything I could have possibly wanted in a girl. I sent her a message, which is no east task for me. I hate introductions. Trying to make a good first impression is one of the greatest fears of my existence. But she wrote back. She thought it was cool how much we had in common. She seemed genuinely interested in knowing more about me, So of course I freaked out and wrote this entirely too long reply. That happens to me sometimes, I get overly excited and start babbling and go completely overboard. To my complete lack of surprise I didn't hear back, not that I blamed her. I'd probably scare me off too. Still, I figured I could wait a couple of weeks, send another message apologizing and try again now that I'd gotten the initial "OMG YOU"RE SO COOL" out of my system. When I went to find her page again though it was gone. Vanished. Deleted. "This member does either not exist or has had their membership cancelled" or whatever the line is they use.

I wasn't crushed. I didn't cry, I didn't shake my angry fist at God. But I won't lie, there was a part of me that was heartbroken. I know how that sounds. I mean it was a fucking MySpace page. Still, haven't you ever been walking down the street when you lay eyes on someone walks who captures your imagination? In that five or six seconds before your paths cross you live out the rest of your lives together and you picture what your kids are going to look like. You almost wish you'll "accidentally" bump into each other just so that you'll have an excuse to say something. But then they're gone, and when you turn your head to look back you get a little bummed because they didn't do the same thing. You keep on walking though. That's just life.

Anyway, point is I never forgot this girl, and every once in awhile I'd type her name in to see if she'd gotten a new page. Never had any luck...until late last week. She's back, and as god as my witness she's somehow even more awesome than before. So now I'm trying to work myself up to sending her a new message, but the truth is seeing her again has taken all my flaws and laid them out very plainly in front of my face. You can't write her now. Look at you. You're a fucking mess. Out of shape, no job, no car. You're a fucking loser. No way she's going to want anything to do with you, and that's if you're lucky enough for her not to remember what a spazzed out geek you were last time. Asshole.

It's a kick in the gut but in a way it's what I need. For the first time in a long time I'm starting to feel motivated to actually do something with my life and dig myself out of the hole I've been in for the past eight months. But there's also a part of me that's still giving myself shit in my head. This? This is why? You finally start to feel your oats again and it's only in the vain hope some girl on the fucking internet might want to talk to you? WHAT THE FUCK. I know that I'm supposed to want to fix the problems in my life for me, to feel better about myself-- that's what everyone tells me. That's what my ex told me when she dumped me. But frankly, that's something I've never been able to do. I've never cared about myself that much. The only time I ever want to be a better person is when there's someone I want to be a better person for. And right now I want to be a better person for this girl. Is it bad to have a goal like that? Maybe it is, but I have to believe having a straw to grasp at is better than nothing.

Well hello, dolly.

Quick question.



I'm going to hell for wanting one of these, right? Yeah, that's what I figured.