I think a reasonable amount of time has passed for me to be Able to reflect on this, which is why I'm writing this now (Also, I'm very drunk):
November 4th, 2008- History was broken and made anew- well, not literally, because that's...just not possible- you can't break "history", just as you can't break "space", "time", or "NOUN." However, historical-and-seemingly-inevitable-regarding-our-future precedents were contradicted. Vehemently.
You were probably out with those...those persons with whom you often socialize and speak- you know, "friends"? (No, NOT the television show- LoLprogramming!) Maybe you were at a bar, or scheduled super-fun-time-watch-the-polls event. That's so cool! I was going to go to one, but my ex decided to fight with me on g-chat during my entire work day (when I proffered a ceasefire, she yell-typed that I Always end arguments in that manner- I am Such a douche! (I know!)). Of course, some of our mutual friends were going to be there- sorry, I mean, several no-longer-my-friends were going to be there. Needless to blog, I opted to not attend the watch that bitch get drunk and make out with someone, "not because I have to, but because I CAN"-fest. Coincidentally, I didn't want to watch my ex do the same- Hey-YO! (Wait, to whom was I referring? Vhatever.)
What did I do? Aww- you're so sweet. =^D
I cut myself and spent the night laying in the blood of my wrists (i.e., corporeal form), crying- like some sort of vampire with a big broken bottle of Type 0-. I didn't even get drunk- because That would've been a little Too self-destructive- amirite?!
Thankfully, I've mastered the art of wussy-self-mutilation- that is, cutting oneself, bleeding onself, but not in a blatantly noticeable manner. Examples of Noticeable cutting/bleeding oneself? Dying, probably the biggest. Also, while the form I practice could be considered "super faggy lamefest", I would have to contend such an opinion- first of all, it's 2009- being faggy has been cool in all the places that matter for quite some time (sorry stuff in between NYC/Brooklyn and...most of Cali!). Second, while it isn't as captial-r-Romantic-sounding as "ending my existence", I never have been arrested or held overnight at a hospital for the SUPRLAME action of "attempted suicide".
If you find yourself Attempting suicide, and then -somehow- experiencing ANYTHING post-attempt, then I... man, I have no words for you. This is a Blog, and I have no words for that personas non dead-a. "You suck- and not in a gay way" ? (as aforementioned, that would be somewhat cool)
Anywho- I'm guessing what compelled me to write about this Now, as opposed to a more relevant period of time/space/History!, is the fact that a similar event occurred today. No, not the whole "first black POTUS" thing (don't worry- I -really- placed a paper towel over my keybord- I really like this HP Pavillion Widescreen laptop!).
It's 7:10 PM. Goodnight.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Day 32 Cont'd
A friend of mine had recently knowingly given me the non-advice of doing something positive/for-myself/live-your-life! in order to have new-sex. Or feel better about myself, but they're the same thingamirite!?!?! LoLcats. =^[
It works like this (supposedly):
I do constructive/awesome stuff -> I feel... at least decent about myself -> somehow, get laid.
Now, I know this works - and it Has worked in the past. My problem with this is such- my friend has a vagina. And boobs. Also, my ex has a vagina, and boobs. I, merely, have a penis.
Experience has shown me that -while my friend's recommended method is certainly a healthy (ier?) option- both her, and more importantly, my ex, can simply waltz into...oh, Anywhere, and say, "...Sex?" and have Many many options to feel better about themselves.
If I were to go into a Borders, and say, "...Sex?", it would have the same effect as me walking into the store and not say anything- that is, giving off the signal that I am not-that-good-looking-And!-I'm-not-a-girl.
Is this blog whiny-er than what you've read/thought/heard previously? Good.
It works like this (supposedly):
I do constructive/awesome stuff -> I feel... at least decent about myself -> somehow, get laid.
Now, I know this works - and it Has worked in the past. My problem with this is such- my friend has a vagina. And boobs. Also, my ex has a vagina, and boobs. I, merely, have a penis.
Experience has shown me that -while my friend's recommended method is certainly a healthy (ier?) option- both her, and more importantly, my ex, can simply waltz into...oh, Anywhere, and say, "...Sex?" and have Many many options to feel better about themselves.
If I were to go into a Borders, and say, "...Sex?", it would have the same effect as me walking into the store and not say anything- that is, giving off the signal that I am not-that-good-looking-And!-I'm-not-a-girl.
Is this blog whiny-er than what you've read/thought/heard previously? Good.
Day 32 I Think.
SO, I traveled home from work in Center City...to about Powelton and Preston. Then, I changed shoes, put on a heavier jacket, and walked to Dahlak to romantically drink myself into oblivion
If you don't know how far a walk that is to get "cliche-drunk-over-a-break-up", use an internet.
Two cranberry-vodkas and a whiskey sour later, I decided it was time to go toward home. I went to the local Supreme, in hopes of obtaining a plethora of NON-VEGAN MICROWAVE-READY foodstuffs. A White-Castle-Box, Swanson-fucking-enchilada-meal, and Pepsi purchase later, I was ready to go home, not be bothered, and watch the Charlie Brown Christmas special on repeat- if my barely-wireless/disabled-when-Hulu-activated internet wasn't up for the task, I'd have the soundtrack at the ready.
However, Fucking-Life had designs on me... designs involving totally annoying me and ruining my depresso-angst with Annoyance.
You see, I had purchased one of those "mini-umbrellas" from the local Rite-Aid, as my Totally-Awesome (TM) Golf-umbrella ($4!!!) was missing due to... well, it was just missing. I had only purchased this, instead of the more curbersome, but probably more rain-hitting-my-body-prevent-ing larger model, because of the maker's claims on the umbrella's package:
"Uses Resistant Technology to Prevent Umbrella Flipping"
What? That's fucking amazing! Also (I later realized) Every umbrella uses this technology- it's called "Facing The Direction the Wind is Coming From, You Idiot."
Also, before I had even left the Supreme/Shop N' Bag/Why isn't this place closer to my apartment? store, the "handles" of the two plastic bags that the cashier had placed my goods within had ripped- letting the contents fall to the floor.
The security guard looked at me as if I was some drunk bastard (hint: he was correct!), as if That had anything to do with the shitty quality of these shit-bags. I collected my purchases, and placed them in yet another plastic bag.
Yes, I realize that, "Hey! What prevents That bag from being just as shitty?" Well, I didn't have any other options, sooo fuck you.
That bag later fulfilled Life's request at annoying me, and the handles ripped- about four blocks away from my apartment, whilst my Non-umbrella literally flipped out (Supreme is about six blocks away from my apartment).
Luckily, those three woman drinks had steeled my depression to an utmost degree (What? Yes.), and I carried that bottle of Pepsi, and those microwaveable non-vegan foodstuffs in my arms like they were collectively a really ugly baby-but-My-baby.
All of this to say- Fuck having to move because no one wants you to stay, Fuck shitty non-umbrellas, and fuck you for hurting me so bad- even if none of this is anyone's "fault", let alone yours.
If you don't know how far a walk that is to get "cliche-drunk-over-a-break-up", use an internet.
Two cranberry-vodkas and a whiskey sour later, I decided it was time to go toward home. I went to the local Supreme, in hopes of obtaining a plethora of NON-VEGAN MICROWAVE-READY foodstuffs. A White-Castle-Box, Swanson-fucking-enchilada-meal, and Pepsi purchase later, I was ready to go home, not be bothered, and watch the Charlie Brown Christmas special on repeat- if my barely-wireless/disabled-when-Hulu-activated internet wasn't up for the task, I'd have the soundtrack at the ready.
However, Fucking-Life had designs on me... designs involving totally annoying me and ruining my depresso-angst with Annoyance.
You see, I had purchased one of those "mini-umbrellas" from the local Rite-Aid, as my Totally-Awesome (TM) Golf-umbrella ($4!!!) was missing due to... well, it was just missing. I had only purchased this, instead of the more curbersome, but probably more rain-hitting-my-body-prevent-ing larger model, because of the maker's claims on the umbrella's package:
"Uses Resistant Technology to Prevent Umbrella Flipping"
What? That's fucking amazing! Also (I later realized) Every umbrella uses this technology- it's called "Facing The Direction the Wind is Coming From, You Idiot."
Also, before I had even left the Supreme/Shop N' Bag/Why isn't this place closer to my apartment? store, the "handles" of the two plastic bags that the cashier had placed my goods within had ripped- letting the contents fall to the floor.
The security guard looked at me as if I was some drunk bastard (hint: he was correct!), as if That had anything to do with the shitty quality of these shit-bags. I collected my purchases, and placed them in yet another plastic bag.
Yes, I realize that, "Hey! What prevents That bag from being just as shitty?" Well, I didn't have any other options, sooo fuck you.
That bag later fulfilled Life's request at annoying me, and the handles ripped- about four blocks away from my apartment, whilst my Non-umbrella literally flipped out (Supreme is about six blocks away from my apartment).
Luckily, those three woman drinks had steeled my depression to an utmost degree (What? Yes.), and I carried that bottle of Pepsi, and those microwaveable non-vegan foodstuffs in my arms like they were collectively a really ugly baby-but-My-baby.
All of this to say- Fuck having to move because no one wants you to stay, Fuck shitty non-umbrellas, and fuck you for hurting me so bad- even if none of this is anyone's "fault", let alone yours.
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