So, there's this girl...yea I know, it's always interesting when I start out that way. The trick is preparing yourself for how it's going to begin. Sweet and a little tarty? Or distastefully vulgar? But taking into consideration who's writing this, you probably already have a pretty good idea that it will be a vaudevillian mess with a boastful swagger and just a touch of insecurity. Or not. I mean really, that's a bit much, even for me.
Regardless, I've digressed. So yes, there is this girl with curly brown hair and those couture sweats that doesn't scream sexy in your face, but hints at the tastiness beneath them. She's got just the right amount of bounce, the perfect amount of jiggle, and I, with a disregard for all appropriateness, stared like dog - out of breath, jaw dropped, and one dirty thought away from a semi.
My friend Max and I have dubbed her bubbles. More precisely, my bubbles. And yes, for those of you eagerly anticipating it, I'll say it without further ado, I want to pop my bubbles so badly. Oh bubbles, you're so wonderfully sweaty.
Bubbles and I crossed paths one morning when I had left my glasses at the gym. I was in a hurry to hop in the shower and she had found them abandoned on the counter. As I rushed out to retrieve them, I literally almost ran into her. We caught eyes and she mentioned the glasses. Of course I wasn't wearing them, so we might not have caught eyes at all...anyways, I instinctively checked her out - gave her the ol' up and down. She giggled, and I slowed to a walk and said a simple, "thanks." So this is what James Bond must feel like. And without fail, my life reminded me that I am no where near that level of debonaire, as I crashed into one of the various tables set up outside the gym. In fact, my life saw to it that I never forget, and none better than a shot to the groin. In this case, my bundle of joy collided with the corner of a steel chair. I suppose if this ever happened to James Bond, he'd say, "So this is what Miguel feels like."
There was little in the way of interaction between the both of us for weeks after that. But in the early hours of Monday, Wednesday, Friday, I was content to admire the scenery - I was content to watch my bubbles float on by. And so it went, week after week, it kept me going to the gym so early in the morning, even after a grueling session the night before.
And then it happened. No, not that - it's me writing this, remember? I had just finished a set of pull ups and I was admittedly a little dizzy due to the lack of sleep and general exhaustion. Bubbles walked passed me, and in a lapse of judgement, filtering, and personal censorship, I thought out loud and said, "She's so hot!" Upon realizing this, my eyes widened and I ironically mouthed "fuck" in silence. She stopped and turned around. And for a split second I hesitated as she paused and gave me a quizzical look. Then, with about as much gumption as a newborn lamb, I whimpered, "...in here. I wanna take my clothes off..." *sigh...At this point, i would have much rather taken another nut shot.
No, the embarrassment doesn't end there. Weeks went by, and I fell back into the routine of lift, stare, drool, repeat. It was good, I was happy and bubbles knew no better. At the end of my workouts I try to squeeze in some abdominal work. My favorite is the crunch machine. Which I'm proud to say I can comfortably do with 170 pounds of resistance. These are great to make your six pack pop out, but do nothing in terms of trimming fat off. So I end up with strong abs under a layer of fat. If I were a steak, I'd be a sirloin. Fuck at least I'm tasty.
Anyways, I walked away from the machine in order to grab one of those sani-wipes as the one I had, had dried out. Just then bubbles unknowingly snuck in. And I wasn't about to kick her off the machine. But I left my water bottle and shirt (I had a tank-top on underneath) by the machine. So I walked over and said excuse me as I grabbed my stuff. And she stopped for a second, and the conversation went like this:
After looking at the weight, and then looking at me she said, "Oh, were you using this?"
me: "Yea, it's ok, I'm tired anyways."
And then I could have sworn she checked me out, only because I've been getting pretty good at recognizing it when my boobs get checked out. Hell, as Max says, I'm all tits and I know it.
She smiled, blushed, and giggled - "You go ahead, I'll come back later."
me: "Are you sure? You can go if you want."
her: "No, no. It's fine, I'll come back." and at that she made that hand gesture that just so happens to let her fingertips graze my chest.
At that, I finished up my sets with a much deserved smile. Well, kind of a smile, those crunches make me grimace like a mother fucker. I even managed to hold in a fart that really wanted to get out. For those of you who don't know, do not use that machine if you gotta go. Trust me...no sphincter should be trusted under such pressure.
I walked out of the gym that day and took a second to admire bubbles on that single leg kick back machine. Damn she's got a fine ass - I'm sorry, there's just no better way to say it. Hell, why do you think we call her bubbles? I almost went over and talked to her, but I was really tired - not to mention gassy. Probably not the best condition to approach bubbles. (That pun was not intended, but thoroughly enjoyed none-the-less.) So, I made my way to the locker rooms, undressed, and flexed a little in front of the mirrors - took note of the progress, some problem areas, and the definite need to trim. And after letting the water warm up, I got in and said, "Fuck you James Bond, she touched my boobies."
Monday, December 10, 2007
Monday, December 3, 2007
Please Pick Me!
hey guys and gals, all you english geniuses out there, help a brother out and read my essay and tell me what you think.
I could easily fill a page with details on how beautiful your campus truly is. Or I could just as easily write about the prestige, and success the University of Pennsylvania and its alumni receive and duly deserve. And in earlier drafts I did just that. I wrote compliment after compliment in my attempts to express the reasoning behind my desires. But while all these would be true and none-the-less worthy reasons for my intent to transfer and graduate from the University of Pennsylvania, my reasoning, much like myself, have changed over the course of my college career.
I graduated high school and shortly thereafter, pursued an admittedly lofty and impulsive dream of mine. My girlfriend and I left home and drove across country to California. And to answer the most likely questions, no I did not want to be a rock star, an actor, and at the time, not even a student, at least not a student in the traditional sense of the word. But I was always open to learning, and learn I did.
In those years following high school, I learned a lot about growing up. I experienced the pleasures and headaches of renting my own apartment. I debated differing political views and enjoyed speaking and often befriending those of other cultures. And after my girlfriend and I went our separate ways, I learned what it was like to lose a love I thought would last forever. Yet, what I thought was once a less than preferable turn of events became a catalyst that led me to re-evaluate my life.
Although I was happy with many aspects of my life, I knew that I had much more learning to do. And with the generosity of a loving family, I moved back home in order to pursue a more formal higher education. I was excited, albeit a little afraid – but I was focused and determined to succeed. And even though it had been several years since I last stepped into a classroom, I felt ahead of the curve, and my grades became clear indications of my committed resolve.
I had planned to earn a bachelor’s degree from the very beginning, and hope to continue for an MBA. The University of Pennsylvania has always been on the top of my list, at first, for the many reasons I stated in my introduction. But over the course of my tenure at my current junior college, the University of Pennsylvania has become the fuel that has kept me fervent and awake - unwilling to waver in my endeavors for education and a better life.
I am well aware of how exclusive transfer acceptance is among the top Universities, especially UPENN. While I would love to write that I am the best possible student, I simply can’t – not that my academic record is at fault, nor to any sort of detrimental shortcoming of mine - but such superlatives seldom really mean anything. However, I can tell you that if I were given the opportunity to study at the University of Pennsylvania I would be nothing short of happy, honored, and extremely capable. I know it will be difficult; I have no misconceptions about the academic rigors UPENN presents to their students. Yet, I welcome the challenge with a healthy amount of caution and the courage to move forward when difficulty arises. And academics aside, at the very least I know I could contribute an open mind, a little creativity, and if all else fails – a fairly good sense of humor.
I could easily fill a page with details on how beautiful your campus truly is. Or I could just as easily write about the prestige, and success the University of Pennsylvania and its alumni receive and duly deserve. And in earlier drafts I did just that. I wrote compliment after compliment in my attempts to express the reasoning behind my desires. But while all these would be true and none-the-less worthy reasons for my intent to transfer and graduate from the University of Pennsylvania, my reasoning, much like myself, have changed over the course of my college career.
I graduated high school and shortly thereafter, pursued an admittedly lofty and impulsive dream of mine. My girlfriend and I left home and drove across country to California. And to answer the most likely questions, no I did not want to be a rock star, an actor, and at the time, not even a student, at least not a student in the traditional sense of the word. But I was always open to learning, and learn I did.
In those years following high school, I learned a lot about growing up. I experienced the pleasures and headaches of renting my own apartment. I debated differing political views and enjoyed speaking and often befriending those of other cultures. And after my girlfriend and I went our separate ways, I learned what it was like to lose a love I thought would last forever. Yet, what I thought was once a less than preferable turn of events became a catalyst that led me to re-evaluate my life.
Although I was happy with many aspects of my life, I knew that I had much more learning to do. And with the generosity of a loving family, I moved back home in order to pursue a more formal higher education. I was excited, albeit a little afraid – but I was focused and determined to succeed. And even though it had been several years since I last stepped into a classroom, I felt ahead of the curve, and my grades became clear indications of my committed resolve.
I had planned to earn a bachelor’s degree from the very beginning, and hope to continue for an MBA. The University of Pennsylvania has always been on the top of my list, at first, for the many reasons I stated in my introduction. But over the course of my tenure at my current junior college, the University of Pennsylvania has become the fuel that has kept me fervent and awake - unwilling to waver in my endeavors for education and a better life.
I am well aware of how exclusive transfer acceptance is among the top Universities, especially UPENN. While I would love to write that I am the best possible student, I simply can’t – not that my academic record is at fault, nor to any sort of detrimental shortcoming of mine - but such superlatives seldom really mean anything. However, I can tell you that if I were given the opportunity to study at the University of Pennsylvania I would be nothing short of happy, honored, and extremely capable. I know it will be difficult; I have no misconceptions about the academic rigors UPENN presents to their students. Yet, I welcome the challenge with a healthy amount of caution and the courage to move forward when difficulty arises. And academics aside, at the very least I know I could contribute an open mind, a little creativity, and if all else fails – a fairly good sense of humor.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Spring Roll Pimpin'
At a bar no longer than an average hallway, and in width only about half as wide, I sat with a friend and said no words of worth, while whiskey was mixed with beer and cokes. And so we sat, we drank, and we smoked - barely showing any signs of...life.
The air was thick with cigarettes and chatter. I used to hate the chatter, the random yelps in two or three other languages - ear piercing, nauseating shrills, their fucking staccato flicks of the tongue...but after a dozen or so drinks everything is just a buzz. Communication became a vague haphazardly recognizable hand signal that in all its simplicity conveyed the single most important message..."one more."
Thinking back on all that, my life was a little picturesque...not like in an awesome "Trainspotting" kind of way, hell, not even in a niche Steve Buscemi kind of way...it was more like a not even good by "B movie" standards, Lou Diamond Phillips kind of way. You know, the kind of movie where the supporting actors make it almost ok, but you can't get over Lou Diamond Phillips' extremely large and round face, accented with really teeny eyes and anorexic lips.
Actually, I take that back. My life was nothing like a Lou Diamond Phillips movie. I just really wanted to work in how much I hate Lou Diamond Phillips movies. I wasn't really sure how it would happen though - it almost worked.
There was this one time in Southern California, I was sitting in my cubicle, absolutely racked with anxiety, uneasiness, and complete unrest. I had a saying in my head that I just couldn't find a way to get out. "It's a little wet outside eh?" Nope, couldn't say it there. "Hey Miguel, the hot gymnastics coach is handing out bon bons!" Sadly, I couldn't use it there either.
Five or so hours go by and I catch a ride with one of my managers to Panda Express. For those of you not in the know, it's like a commercialized chinese fast food chain restaurant. And, while you can order large quantities of a particular item, via family style dining, they offered plate specials where you can pick a la carte a billion, yes a billion, items to make a styrofoam bushel of unnaturally colorful foods that kind of look familiar, but kind of looked alien enough to have you believe there could be a little cat in there. (holy runoff sentence batman!)
Anyways, I went about ordering my food, "I'll take the neon purple eggplant with the gooey brown sauce, and a scoop of the safety cone orange chicken, and..."
There it was, the last one, perfectly crispy, deliciously golden brown - the lone spring roll. "Gimme that spring roll!"
Now in all my excitement, I nearly forgot about the saying I had stuck in my head. My manager soon followed in line, distressed, upset, shocked, and unbelieving, "Miguel! You fucker! You took the last spring roll!" To which I gladly replied in my best Chris Tucker voice, "Don't hate the playa...hate the game." Of course I simultaneously made a fake gun gesture with my left hand and poked at his styrofoam cornucopia overflowing with monosodium glutamate (that's msg).
Ahh, it felt good. We had a good laugh, and he even made a comment about how I must've been dying to say that for so long. I don't know how he knew...but I did. I can't get over how awesome it made me feel. It wasn't necessarily up to ejaculatory standards, but you know that shiver you get when you pee? Yea, it was kinda like that, minus the part where it makes you miss the bowl entirely. Speaking of which, you ever clean your bathroom and go, "How the fuck did it get there?!"
Well, to all my friends I ever had, have, and will make in the future. No matter how much we drift apart, lose touch, and well however else you can say lose touch or drift apart; I hope, at the very least, you'll have a good laugh when you think of our friendship. Spread the legend, the myth...and above all, let them know that, "Miguel...yup...he was that guy."
The air was thick with cigarettes and chatter. I used to hate the chatter, the random yelps in two or three other languages - ear piercing, nauseating shrills, their fucking staccato flicks of the tongue...but after a dozen or so drinks everything is just a buzz. Communication became a vague haphazardly recognizable hand signal that in all its simplicity conveyed the single most important message..."one more."
Thinking back on all that, my life was a little picturesque...not like in an awesome "Trainspotting" kind of way, hell, not even in a niche Steve Buscemi kind of way...it was more like a not even good by "B movie" standards, Lou Diamond Phillips kind of way. You know, the kind of movie where the supporting actors make it almost ok, but you can't get over Lou Diamond Phillips' extremely large and round face, accented with really teeny eyes and anorexic lips.
Actually, I take that back. My life was nothing like a Lou Diamond Phillips movie. I just really wanted to work in how much I hate Lou Diamond Phillips movies. I wasn't really sure how it would happen though - it almost worked.
There was this one time in Southern California, I was sitting in my cubicle, absolutely racked with anxiety, uneasiness, and complete unrest. I had a saying in my head that I just couldn't find a way to get out. "It's a little wet outside eh?" Nope, couldn't say it there. "Hey Miguel, the hot gymnastics coach is handing out bon bons!" Sadly, I couldn't use it there either.
Five or so hours go by and I catch a ride with one of my managers to Panda Express. For those of you not in the know, it's like a commercialized chinese fast food chain restaurant. And, while you can order large quantities of a particular item, via family style dining, they offered plate specials where you can pick a la carte a billion, yes a billion, items to make a styrofoam bushel of unnaturally colorful foods that kind of look familiar, but kind of looked alien enough to have you believe there could be a little cat in there. (holy runoff sentence batman!)
Anyways, I went about ordering my food, "I'll take the neon purple eggplant with the gooey brown sauce, and a scoop of the safety cone orange chicken, and..."
There it was, the last one, perfectly crispy, deliciously golden brown - the lone spring roll. "Gimme that spring roll!"
Now in all my excitement, I nearly forgot about the saying I had stuck in my head. My manager soon followed in line, distressed, upset, shocked, and unbelieving, "Miguel! You fucker! You took the last spring roll!" To which I gladly replied in my best Chris Tucker voice, "Don't hate the playa...hate the game." Of course I simultaneously made a fake gun gesture with my left hand and poked at his styrofoam cornucopia overflowing with monosodium glutamate (that's msg).
Ahh, it felt good. We had a good laugh, and he even made a comment about how I must've been dying to say that for so long. I don't know how he knew...but I did. I can't get over how awesome it made me feel. It wasn't necessarily up to ejaculatory standards, but you know that shiver you get when you pee? Yea, it was kinda like that, minus the part where it makes you miss the bowl entirely. Speaking of which, you ever clean your bathroom and go, "How the fuck did it get there?!"
Well, to all my friends I ever had, have, and will make in the future. No matter how much we drift apart, lose touch, and well however else you can say lose touch or drift apart; I hope, at the very least, you'll have a good laugh when you think of our friendship. Spread the legend, the myth...and above all, let them know that, "Miguel...yup...he was that guy."
Thursday, September 6, 2007
with a blanket and a pillowcase
These words don't come easy, but then again, nothing seems to do so since this Fall semester. I am beside myself at night, sweating, tossing and turning in my lilliputian bed. The fan on my ceiling spins as it's brass trimming blurs in an aged golden yellow, and the wind it circulates swims across my skin. There is peace that comes with this loneliness, and while it sounds like I'm sad or at the very least a little melancholy, I am quite happy.
I've had a good Summer, I've seen a lot of smiles, and I've even seen a new place. I've taken one too many shots, I've laughed so hard I cried, and I've even quit smoking...for the most part. I've seen so many movies, I've come to terms with the fact that girls fresh outta high school are traffic stopping hot. I'm ok with the fact that I don't like the latest style in jeans, I've come to terms with coming close and my affinity for "almost there". I am ok with the fact that everyone is generally too busy, and I've remembered how to let it slide.
Here's to the Fall, the Winter, and the Spring; to Saturdays, to good mornings without "I love you-s", to good evenings with alcohol and a certain few I can truly call friends, here's to the naps I'll have between muscle aches and countless chapters read, here's to the dreams I face - armed with nothing but a blanket and my pillowcase.
I've had a good Summer, I've seen a lot of smiles, and I've even seen a new place. I've taken one too many shots, I've laughed so hard I cried, and I've even quit smoking...for the most part. I've seen so many movies, I've come to terms with the fact that girls fresh outta high school are traffic stopping hot. I'm ok with the fact that I don't like the latest style in jeans, I've come to terms with coming close and my affinity for "almost there". I am ok with the fact that everyone is generally too busy, and I've remembered how to let it slide.
Here's to the Fall, the Winter, and the Spring; to Saturdays, to good mornings without "I love you-s", to good evenings with alcohol and a certain few I can truly call friends, here's to the naps I'll have between muscle aches and countless chapters read, here's to the dreams I face - armed with nothing but a blanket and my pillowcase.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
mind fart
Since most of you don't give a damn, I'll keep this part of the blog short. Nikon just released two new cameras and four lenses. In short I couldn't sleep last night because I was too excited reading all about them. Even though I tried to make myself fall asleep through hours of masturbation - I failed and was left with cramped arms, a perfuse amount of sweat, and one gooey sock. These new cameras are absolutely fucking awesome. Not that I can afford one, and to be honest I don't even really want one - the lenses on the other hand are a different story. But I just like reading about new cameras especially when they are of the upper echelon tier. (Okay I lied, I kinda want one, but shhh don't tell Niki.)
No I'm not going to get one...there are other things on my list of material goodies. I've been eyeing this particular bicycle. I really need to get on some form of cardio. Sex would be fantastic, but I think the bike would be cheaper in the long run. There's also the tattoos, I really need to work on that my body looks undone, then there's the cell phone - my razr is static heaven even in the best areas of reception. And perhaps a new hoodie, there's one at NCC that I want - haha.
I also want a pet penguin. I'd give him a little backpack and watch him waddle around. I'd probably need a ridiculously cold basement with a pool and one of those jackets with the furry hoods.
If you're wondering why this blog seems so all over the place, it's because I've been trying to write this god damn essay for way too long and my head is spinning - no amount of gooey sock makin' fun could cure me of this. Perhaps I shouldn't be so intimate with my footwear, there's always my shirts I guess.
I'm suddenly reminded of the time I held some crying 30 year old in the mission. She roomed with these 18 year olds that had an affinity for short shorts. I was drunk...really drunk...so drunk that I knew I was safer in this icono-clash-tic stranger's apartment than on the streets in the Mission District trying to find my way home.
I think I'm going to buy a pack of white v-neck t's. But my belly is on the rise, these new protein supplements and my love for Sun Chips just keep getting the best of me. mmm...tasty. But really, the nacc gym needs to go back to it's regular schedule.
I tried reading some stuff to help me write. I fell back on Bukowski and so far all my essays inspired loneliness and the farthest thing from acceptance. Hey guys let me go to your college I'm a borderline drunk and an asshole - Bukowski really knows how to find romance in a bottle, not to mention his love for the word cunt. Speaking of which, I think I'm growing a rather strong crush on Parker Posey. And this other girl. I love the way my pets lay around me. I think I'm ending this before it gets too into it.
Boom Shaka.
No I'm not going to get one...there are other things on my list of material goodies. I've been eyeing this particular bicycle. I really need to get on some form of cardio. Sex would be fantastic, but I think the bike would be cheaper in the long run. There's also the tattoos, I really need to work on that my body looks undone, then there's the cell phone - my razr is static heaven even in the best areas of reception. And perhaps a new hoodie, there's one at NCC that I want - haha.
I also want a pet penguin. I'd give him a little backpack and watch him waddle around. I'd probably need a ridiculously cold basement with a pool and one of those jackets with the furry hoods.
If you're wondering why this blog seems so all over the place, it's because I've been trying to write this god damn essay for way too long and my head is spinning - no amount of gooey sock makin' fun could cure me of this. Perhaps I shouldn't be so intimate with my footwear, there's always my shirts I guess.
I'm suddenly reminded of the time I held some crying 30 year old in the mission. She roomed with these 18 year olds that had an affinity for short shorts. I was drunk...really drunk...so drunk that I knew I was safer in this icono-clash-tic stranger's apartment than on the streets in the Mission District trying to find my way home.
I think I'm going to buy a pack of white v-neck t's. But my belly is on the rise, these new protein supplements and my love for Sun Chips just keep getting the best of me. mmm...tasty. But really, the nacc gym needs to go back to it's regular schedule.
I tried reading some stuff to help me write. I fell back on Bukowski and so far all my essays inspired loneliness and the farthest thing from acceptance. Hey guys let me go to your college I'm a borderline drunk and an asshole - Bukowski really knows how to find romance in a bottle, not to mention his love for the word cunt. Speaking of which, I think I'm growing a rather strong crush on Parker Posey. And this other girl. I love the way my pets lay around me. I think I'm ending this before it gets too into it.
Boom Shaka.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
48 hours
So with Summer sessions over I've got a little less than two weeks before the fall semester begins. Well I should say, we've got...we as in those still in college or some form of school. I'm taking two, four credit classes. and three, three credit classes. I have a feeling this fall is going to suck. I needed a break from essay brain storming...I actually have an essay written for my application already, it just kinda sucks.
I'm growing to dislike work very much. The new kid is stab-able to say the least. But it's tough to give up the perks. I love watching movies, hell I watch two on average every day. You're thinking, how the fuck can anyone watch two movies everyday. Well, apart from a relatively boring existence I generally have a movie playing in the background whether I'm on the net, eating food, reading, or god forbid when I'm studying. Movies are essentially my radio.
I rented two modern day classics, in my opinion at least. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and City of God. The latter being subtitled, probably dubbed in english, but I hate dubbing, with a passion. Almost as much as I hate it when people whine about "reading a movie". I understand if you're tired and your eyes can't stand to read - but some people are so matter of fact about it. As if subtitles are some moronic way to view movies. I refuse to believe someone is that stupid that they can't read. Like fully grown adults, these people drive automobiles - large hunks of metal that are capable of causing irreparable destruction and death - these people have children, these people are responsible for the lives of budding youth - and they can't read subtitles. You know what's worse than stupid young people? Stupid adults. It is truly frightening to see them in a classroom environment - hell any environment, but it's only amplified by the existence of textbooks and teachers. I'm almost always caught in a state of disbelief when it happens. I think to myself, that man (or woman in many cases) has a child, or is a nurse. Oh my god they are health care professionals. It's almost sad - in fact a professor of mine ranted about this. Probably the most hilarious thing I've ever heard in school. Licenses should be given out for people to have children. Failure to comply should result in jail-time, possibly death or at least a severe beating.
Then there's the whole "widescreen" vs. "full-screen" debacle. "What's a widescreen?" For the love of fucking god!!! I don't know if it's possible to come up with a name any more self-descriptive. I could understand if it were named the doodle-fangle-dangle-dooda. Then if someone asked me, "Excuse me, what's a doodle-fangle-dangle-dooda?" I'd be more inclined to explain to them what it is. But guaranteed after they realized what it was, they'd be telling me, someone with no say on how things get named, that they should have just named it something logical, something descriptive, something simple, like I don't know - WIDE-FUCKING-SCREEN!
*as a side note, if a director shot something in a certain aspect ratio (generally what widescreen movies preserve) i'd prefer to see it that way. You wouldn't buy a painting and go, well it doesn't fit in the frame I bought, so I'll just cut it. But then again there are many who can't understand this, and simply like to watch "Wild Hogs", or such popular hits as "Premonition" - cue vomit.*
Then there's the pile of recently organized, alphabetized movie boxes. "Do you have WIld Hogs?" "Oh yes we do ma'am, it's in that pile, it's alphabetized." "Huh? How can you tell it's alphabetized?" "WHAT?! How the fuck can you tell anything is alphabetized?! Isn't alphabetization pretty fucking self-explanatory?! Here lady - A, B, C, D,.....WILD - FUCKING - HOGS!!!"
I need a new job. Anyone got any ideas. Low pay, low expectations, and low responsibility - something to tide me over until I leave for school? Help please... After all that ranting, this is me whimpering, begging, pleading - for help.
I'm growing to dislike work very much. The new kid is stab-able to say the least. But it's tough to give up the perks. I love watching movies, hell I watch two on average every day. You're thinking, how the fuck can anyone watch two movies everyday. Well, apart from a relatively boring existence I generally have a movie playing in the background whether I'm on the net, eating food, reading, or god forbid when I'm studying. Movies are essentially my radio.
I rented two modern day classics, in my opinion at least. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and City of God. The latter being subtitled, probably dubbed in english, but I hate dubbing, with a passion. Almost as much as I hate it when people whine about "reading a movie". I understand if you're tired and your eyes can't stand to read - but some people are so matter of fact about it. As if subtitles are some moronic way to view movies. I refuse to believe someone is that stupid that they can't read. Like fully grown adults, these people drive automobiles - large hunks of metal that are capable of causing irreparable destruction and death - these people have children, these people are responsible for the lives of budding youth - and they can't read subtitles. You know what's worse than stupid young people? Stupid adults. It is truly frightening to see them in a classroom environment - hell any environment, but it's only amplified by the existence of textbooks and teachers. I'm almost always caught in a state of disbelief when it happens. I think to myself, that man (or woman in many cases) has a child, or is a nurse. Oh my god they are health care professionals. It's almost sad - in fact a professor of mine ranted about this. Probably the most hilarious thing I've ever heard in school. Licenses should be given out for people to have children. Failure to comply should result in jail-time, possibly death or at least a severe beating.
Then there's the whole "widescreen" vs. "full-screen" debacle. "What's a widescreen?" For the love of fucking god!!! I don't know if it's possible to come up with a name any more self-descriptive. I could understand if it were named the doodle-fangle-dangle-dooda. Then if someone asked me, "Excuse me, what's a doodle-fangle-dangle-dooda?" I'd be more inclined to explain to them what it is. But guaranteed after they realized what it was, they'd be telling me, someone with no say on how things get named, that they should have just named it something logical, something descriptive, something simple, like I don't know - WIDE-FUCKING-SCREEN!
*as a side note, if a director shot something in a certain aspect ratio (generally what widescreen movies preserve) i'd prefer to see it that way. You wouldn't buy a painting and go, well it doesn't fit in the frame I bought, so I'll just cut it. But then again there are many who can't understand this, and simply like to watch "Wild Hogs", or such popular hits as "Premonition" - cue vomit.*
Then there's the pile of recently organized, alphabetized movie boxes. "Do you have WIld Hogs?" "Oh yes we do ma'am, it's in that pile, it's alphabetized." "Huh? How can you tell it's alphabetized?" "WHAT?! How the fuck can you tell anything is alphabetized?! Isn't alphabetization pretty fucking self-explanatory?! Here lady - A, B, C, D,.....WILD - FUCKING - HOGS!!!"
I need a new job. Anyone got any ideas. Low pay, low expectations, and low responsibility - something to tide me over until I leave for school? Help please... After all that ranting, this is me whimpering, begging, pleading - for help.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Blue Ice Pops
I woke up today dragging my feet a little. Your traditional, "what happened?" simply doesn't cut it. Maybe if I added an admittedly cliche yet classically effective, "the fuck", I'd be a little more precise in describing my failure to seize the day, night, and ultimately my inability to the seize the girl. A bit dramatic - maybe, but I bet you're still wondering, "what the fuck happened?"
I fear that I am incapable of topping that first paragraph. I guess I'll have to leave you wondering.
I fear that I am incapable of topping that first paragraph. I guess I'll have to leave you wondering.
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