Nerdrage

(Apologies for the TWO hour setback. Blogger was giving me some formatting problems I couldn't dispatch.)


I am writing this from the opposite end of a posting feed. Meaning if you are reading this, Blogger has so sufficiently angered me that I have actually started writing a fresh post rather than deal with the plethora of errors I am being fed. This. Is. Nerdrage.

For those that are new to the internet world of memebase and trolling I am going to give you a quick walkthrough so that you understand both the internet and the strange terminologies I use a tad better.

The art of trolling is really rather simple. It is posting/saying something intentionally to get a rise out of someone, or in some cases to so confuse the other person that they actually try to help you. For example:

Someone facebook posts: "I <3 Super Mario!"
Troll: "Donkey Kong is better."
Someone: "No freaking way! Super Mario is a much better game that has way more to do than flipping Donkey Kong!"
*troll leaves*
Other Random Person: "I wouldn't say that now.."

Mission Accomplished.
This may seem stupid, but is by far the best thing to do to someone since the discovery of sarcasm, and I STILL have to explain sarcasm to people, and it's 2011. Fail.

So first lesson you should all take to heart. If you see someone saying something like this..no matter how much you want to say something. Fight the urge. Do NOT feed the trolls. They live off anger, wit, and other's lack of willpower and intelligence.

If you haven't figured it out yet. This post is significantly below what I intended to write today. You win this fight blogger, but I will return with a horse and enough magnets to make your server immediately ragequit.

Magnets, how do they work?

My favorite example of trolling:

We are not saying this body wash will turn your man into a romantic jet fighter pilot, but we are insinuating it.

Home

So this Thursday I officially have to go house hunting. I'm hoping it will be sort of like an episode of well..anything on the TLC network. Maybe I can buy something really hideous and then have my family send in a really sad video journal of how I deserve a nicer home, and that I've been through a lot. Maybe I'll be some form of rare disease survivor. Uh..I had scarlet fever once. I think that used to be deadly, like a century ago. Does that count? Probably not.

I am hoping that I find something at least half way decent that doesn't involve me living in a gated community though. Most people think gates are a good sign, but when I see gates all I can think is, "Uh oh, what kind of horrible debauchery happens across the street?"

Because putting up a physical fence between you and something is just about as offensive as you can get. You are basically saying. "No no no. You can keep doing your thing. I just don't want to see it...or you. In fact lets just pretend this is a magical forcefield. Climbing is cheating by the way."

Perhaps I'll get an apartment, but then be hip and call it a flat just because I can. Maybe, I'll get a "economical" apartment but then call it my studio so I appear more artsy. I might even get a townhouse and call it a loft, and then fill it with couches I'll call sofas and loveseats, because I'm classy like that.

To be honest though I'd be content with a nice RV. That is just about as hipster as you can get if you play it right. One day when the abandoned parking lot you're living in gets bought out and turned into a nice thriving neighborhood. You can proudly move out able to say, "I lived here before it was cool." Then do a nice hair flip and drive off into the sunset.

Yeah, my future looks promising.

Dreamcatcher

Last night I couldn't sleep. So like all good americans I decided to see what was on the tv, and like always the answer was nothing. So as the hours ticked by I decided to check out netflix. In the mood for something scary I slowly scroll through the horror section, and then that little voice in the back of my head stopped my mouse over the name Dreamcatcher.

I'm not sure who is to blame for this, but someone at some point, possibly 15 years ago told me that Dreamcatcher was a good movie. I don't know who it was, but if my memory someday gives me your name I will find you, and hurt your face.

Dreamcatcher is the perfect Netflix bait. It has an interesting name, and the cover isn't an evil clown. It's by Stephen King and it stars MORGAN FREEMAN. C'mon, I trusted you Morgan, and you let me down.

The movie essentially begins with 4 best friends that are somehow psychically intertwined because of their FRIENDSHIP. Okay, okay. I can maybe buy that. As the story progresses you find out that they each have a sort of special power that was bestowed upon them by a mentally retarded kid they rescued from some bullies in perhaps the most unrealistic flashback I have EVER seen.

Okay, they then decide to have a vacation in a really nice log cabin somewhere past Massachusetts. Guess what. A blizzard comes in, and then they stumble upon a man who was lost in the woods. So obviously since they have magical powers they HAVE to help him. No biggie.

Here's where Stephen King apparently ran out of material.

The man is terribly sick and carrying an alien in his body that he poops out.
No, I am not kidding. You then find out that Morgan Freeman is in charge of a special branch of the military that fights aliens all the time, but we've never heard about it. Then Morgan Freeman goes on a poop alien killing spree. Uhhhhh.
Then you find out that one alien took over one of the 4 friends bodies, and is going to attack the Boston water system. Ummm.
Then Morgan Freeman somehow steals a military grade helicopter and starts trying to kill everyone.
What?
Then you find out the mentally retarded kid wearing a Red Sox jacket and carrying a Scooby Doo lunch box was actually a good alien all along and he saves the day while somehow still being adorably retarded.

THE END

My mind was blown, and I truly don't think any story I ever hear from anyone will ever surprise me now. Seriously, Stephen King has ruined me. I will never be able to look at the mentally handicapped the same ever again. In fact, I will probably have to fight the urge to believe them if they say they have super powers now.

PS The title Dreamcatcher has absolutely nothing to do with anything. Of course this entire movie is driven by absolutely idiotic plot points so I can't really be upset. Although you can't watch it without being surprised. Who would have guessed that evil aliens had British accents?

Have you ever seen a movie that just made you go....&%^%(*^*&%*#E*&%&?!?!1!?

Mind Heist

I'm not sure why, but my dreams have suddenly gone all inception-y on me.

It's weird. There is this dramatic music in the background and Leonardo Dicaprio keeps bossing me around. Kidding, but it has gotten fairly weird. For example last night somehow I was like a ninja scuba diver. 

Is that a thing? Probably not.

I could swim at extreme speeds and dive really deep like Aquaman on roids. However then I get cocky and forgot to get air. So ninja scuba diver Lance kind of drowned horribly...oops. That one in particular is a tad weird, but the that's not even the meat of the problem. A few weeks ago I had this horrendous dream where a girl I really care about was in an abusive relationship, and I can't even blame it on watching too much TV. I don't watch the Oxygen network. Okay, maybe that joke was a tad cruel, but you can't say it isn't true.

For whatever reason women seem to love shows and movies about horrible things. I suppose that's how Nicholas Sparks is still around. Regardless, the dream was absolutely horrible, and I couldn't shake it off for half a day. No joke. I literally spent between 6-12 hours coping.

Sometimes my life makes my heart hurt.

So like every good awkward person I then had to tell the person that was in the dream. WHY. There is absolutely NO way to say "you were in my dream last night" without sounding like a flirt and/or perv. Yet, I can't resist  not keeping the information to myself. It's a curse really. An awkward unwanted curse.

By the way the dream gets worse. After having to suffer through watching a horrible relationship play out I then was relieved to find out that somehow I was besties with Artie from Glee. Yeah, awesome right? No, not awesome. Somehow Artie has some random illness I'm unaware of and dies. This is like the first time I played  The Sims all over again! :(

So I'm left with the following question I must ask myself.

Dear Subconscious,

What in the holy heavens of baby Jesus is wrong with you?

Have you ever had a weird dream that threw you off?

Anybody?

*crickets*

Where'd You Go?

"Where'd you go? I miss you so. 

Seems like it's been forever that you've been gone. Please come back home."

Sometimes life hands you lemons, and you just look life in the eye and say, "screw this. I wanted apples." Then you hide, because life will find you and curb stomp you into a lemony submission. I was always told that everything happens in God's will and God's time. So that someday regardless of all the absolute garbage I have to wade through I will look back and know it had a purpose.

It's not everything I have gone through that gets to me, or the fact that I made mistakes I can't take back. It's that terrible moment when you realize your life could be an episode of MTV's True Life. Except it's one of the sad episodes like the extreme OCD one; and that's almost as sad as one of those horrible humane society commercials.

It seems every once in a while I think I'm lying. Every once in a while I stop believing everything I say.

It's not that I found out I'm actually a different person, because that would be cheesy wouldn't it? Maybe a tad schizophrenic?

It's not that I realized I made a series of horrible decision I can't take back, because that would be useless.

It's not that I entered a depression that I can't shake off, because I don't actually get depressed I just get tired of going and doing things...it's different. Promise.

I just needed a recovery, and the other day it just felt weird. I just woke up and felt completely different. I cleaned, and I shaved, and I apologized to those that I hadn't seen for the blur of the past 3 weeks. It was like some piece of me had just come back. 

I suddenly understood where I was, and who I am.

Deep huh?

I bet this sounds like some crazy Charlie Sheen rant, and in that case I guess I am bi-winning. Woot!

It's a strange thing, but I'm glad it happened. So to those that actually were upset that I stopped, thank you. I guess I pulled a bit of Dave Chappelle there for a few weeks. However, I promise I set have set some new standards. These posts will be everyday at 6:00PM. You also may notice some changes to the page as things persist, but I'll mention them as they happen.

Have you ever had a moment where you felt like you weren't yourself?

The Cave

I am becoming scared I'm losing my creative way of writing.

Is this how Picasso felt as he entered his 'blue' phase? Was he just hanging out in his cruddy apartment(he was an artist after all) with nothing but a paintbrush and easel thinking, "I have a whole lot of blue paint just chilling here, and I don't want to have to go back to Hobby Lobby for more red...this will have to do."

It's not that I can't make funny movie references, because I have plenty of those. Right now, I'm being very Donnie Darko-ish. I'm full of concepts and thoughts, but I can't express them in the limited amount of time provided without making a crappy sequel no one wanted. Also, if a talking bunny named Frank shows up I am freaking out of here.

It's not that I don't have loads of stories to share, because I do. Our pet Great Pyrenees, which we are pretty sure is some sort of evil clumsy reincarnate of our previous dog, has learned a new trick. She is named Sugar but don't let that fool you. The second you turn around she will rush you, bite your pant leg, and attempt to pants you. She has been successful on every attempt so far. Someone for the love of all that is good and holy buy my family belts!

I think I just need a more effective schedule. My body doesn't really have one which is sometimes great! For example: Both the trip to Vegas and back I was primarily awake the entire 16 hours. Which was a good thing since evidently every time I fell asleep, whoever was driving also began to doze...it is a miracle I am alive. However, it can also be a very bad thing. You know that whole I stayed up almost the entire 16hr drive thing? Yeah, I slept for almost a full day yesterday. No joke. I am like the Lil Wayne of sleeping.

One month I will release 15 different singles, remixes, and co-produced songs. The next, I will be in jail, sleeping. I'm almost positive that's why he disappears for months at a time. Dude is just exhausted, and I can understand that. *fist pound*

Can I add that to my bucket list?
#11 fist pound Lil Wayne and share a recognition nod.
Done.

Oh wow. I just wrote an entire post about nothing...
You see my problem here?
I may be becoming the Joel Osteen of blogging.
Sure, I'm saying a lot, but you didn't really learn anything.


Please help me...also someone buy me a belt...seriously. I can hear the dog coming.
*cowers*

Waking Up In Vegas(Vegas Trip Part 2)

So we made it to Vegas, and now we made it back home. What was it like you ask? Well, I find it best to describe like this:

You know the annoying girl in every mall that grabs women and does the whole 'can I straighten your hair' thing?

Okay, imagine that...every five feet...down several miles of road.

But here is the kicker. They aren't trying to straighten your hair. They want to either A: Get you 'special' passes to a strip club or B: Get you a prostitute. That's it. 

So on that note. Do NOT ever bring children here. There is literally porn in vending machines on the street corners, and prostitute wallet pictures blowing down the street like they are trading cards. As one random man said after being handed several cards, "Whoa, when we get back to the hotel we are going to battle." It was like a game of adult pokemon. "Mercedes the college drop out I choose you!"

I couldn't even count how many times we were asked, "Hey, you guys going to a strip club?" to which we answered "no?" Then they said, "ahhhhh c'mon now. I'll even get you a free limo. It's VEGASSSS" To which Franklin would walk away and leave Kyle and I to the wolves. Then Kyle would use that stupid app on his iphone where he faked a phone call and walked away. Leaving me to try and ninja out of the awkward situation without being handed pornographic trading cards. Which is nearly impossible.

However, it's crazy that you can look around the strip, and be absolutely astounded at the beauty and just all out coolness of everything. I mean where else in the world will you find a Michael Jackson impersonator right up the street from a guy in a Bumblebee transformer suit? Besides a mental institution not many places. You are essentially in the most beautiful degrading mess of a city you will ever see.

I now understand why people do stupid things in Vegas though. It's like going to a Braums and trying to avoid ice cream. Bad decisions are just everywhere. Fortunately, I didn't do anything stupid...*cough*. Just kidding, but seriously. I was an angel, honestly.

Trust me.

You Won't Know

Sometimes I can't be as funny as I would like.
I write and write, and edit and edit. Still too serious, and no one wants to read serious.
Sometimes I can't do it.

Today, I was on the Vegas strip for hours with my best friends and some very nice girls(not strippers). Yet, I stared at the black screen on my phone for the little green notification light to flash every few seconds. There was no family crisis or necessary conversation taking place. I was in Vegas surrounded by absolutely anything I could possibly want to do, and I wanted a freaking text message. That's it.

There you go world. You now know the secret to my happiness.

Sometimes it's the littlest things in life that make you happy.
Sometimes having someone just miss you while you are gone is better than anything else.
Sometimes temporary happiness is one little green notification light away.

I wish I could choke down emotions like everyone else my age chokes down liquor, but alas I am without.

Someday I will be more mature, and then I won't care so much.
Someday I will no longer need to vent mindlessly into my writing.
Someday, but not now.

I think at the core I just want to mean something to someone.
That's it.

Someday I will find that.
Someday, but not right here, and not right now it seems.


"So they say, "in heaven there's no husbands and wives." Well, on the day that I go up they'll be completely out of their forgiveness supplies; And I can't use the telephone to tell you that I'm dead and I'm gone, so you won't know. You won't know."

Who Said We're Wack

Despite popular belief all of the natural good looks and charm I possess had to come from somewhere. My dad, just happened to be the one carrying a lot of the magical traits that seem to have defined my personality.
For example:
I love Def Leppard.
I love women.
I love video games.
And I love women who will listen to Def Leppard while playing video games. I haven't met one yet, but that has to exist!

You see, when I was 10 my dad took me to Target with him, and made me do the most awkward thing a 10 year old boy can try to do. Impress women. Anytime a woman went to the door, pre-automatic mind you(it was the 90's after all), I had to hold the door open. That was it. We may have been there a total of 5 minutes, but I never forgot. In fact, to this day I don't think a single woman has ever had to open a door while I was around. I'm basically Tom Cruise in every romance involved movie he has ever done. Which is almost all of them.

I'm sure to my dad that seems like nothing, or he may not even remember, what with the oncoming mid-life crisis soon to come and all, but it wasn't. That alone, is why I try and be the nicest guy I can to everyone, and why I love to help others. That one day at Target is why I try and treat my girlfriends the absolute best I can, for as long as I can afford it, without digging a financial hole into something similar to our current economy.

What? Women are expensive things.

One time, I had to buy a girl a 5$ glass of water, because tap water didn't sound appetizing enough.
And one time I took a girl to a restaurant where the ticket was 75$ without tip.
Yeah, I'm a baller, or stupid. Probably both, but irregardless.
I would like to think I have become an intelligent respectful young man, and I'm proud of that.

So to the coolest most chill dad I have ever met, thank you.
I don't know who I would've become without you.
Probably a creep that makes everyone uncomfortable in public scenarios.
Probably a social hermit that makes incredibly strange things in the name of art.
Probably an emotionless shell that never actually acts like anything.
Essentially, thank you for keeping me from becoming Keanu Reeves.



I love you.

Little Lion Man. (Vegas Trip Part 1)

The following is all true, all hyperboles and figurative language aside; Delivered in the order of occurrence as best as I can remember. The people are real. The stories are real. (Times are estimated. After the first 300 miles you don't really care anymore.)

7:00ish PM Friday 6-18:
We begin our assumed 18 hour journey to the land of Las Vegas. I spent the first 3 hours completely unconscious in a state of partial denial that this car wouldn't be escaped until we were an entire 3 states away. Although Texas is more of 6 to 7 states. Especially going out west. Amarillo smells like cow manure and wildfires. Mixed together. Basically it smells like the entire city is covered in flaming piles of poop. Go Texas!

12:30ish AM Saturday 6-19:
Franklin has driven the entire first leg and we are now in the land of Albuquerque, New Mexico. While it stinks significantly less than west Texas, now I have to drive for at least 4 hours until Kyle starts his driving right before Arizona. This did NOT go as planned. While I had slept for around 3 hours. I neglected to mention that I had not slept for an entire 25 hours prior to entering the car. Yes, I was driving cross country, on 3 hours of sleep, at night. Don't worry we all make it out alive in this story as far as I know. *crosses fingers*

4:30ish AM Saturday 6-19:
I have been driving for around 4 hours, and we are approximately 3/4 of the way to the Arizona border. By some magical Full Throttle-Starbucks-Dr. Pepper mixture I had managed to keep everyone alive and I was so overly caffeinated that I was wide awake. I was in a crazy sleep deprived state of hilarity, and in my Rambo-ish state I decided  I wanted to drive us through the NM-AZ border to the first rest stop. What I did not know at that time was that AZ does not have rest stops...anywhere.

7:30ish AM Saturday 6-19:
I have now been driving for 7 hours..I hate myself and I hate Kyle. At this point he has been asleep for around 6 total hours so far. Franklin and I are still partially aware and able to drive with his sorry butt passed out in the back seat like a coma patient. We began to go into survival mode and questioned how neccesary he was, and where we could throw him out if need be. We didn't, yet.
Franklin has not slept yet and I haven't had near enough. Luckily, there is hope in the distance! What is that shiny golden sign on the horizon? McDonalds, can it be?. Their terribly unhealthy Egg Mcmuffins may have saved us all, and I forever owe my sanity, and life; to a breakfast sandwich.

Roadtrips are a strange strange place.

(Will be continued soon!)

Sic Transit Gloria

I remember the very first thing I ever wrote on my own.
It was called "The End of Me" and it was an emo expose' on my terrible sophomore relationships.

You see, I was a smaller and less well versed Matthew McCounaghey from Dazed and Confused my early years of high school. So essentially I spent more time changing girlfriends than I did in actual relationships.
Almost a sweet lou.
High five if you got the movie reference!

But I'm afraid that that particular song is forever lost to the world of myspace. It would be retrievable if I didn't think I was hilarious in high school, and made my password virtually un-guessable. It is probably has something cheesy to do with my ex, but the options there are endless.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to high school and tell myself something intelligent that would help me in the future.

Like, "Hey, cut your hair. You look like an emo Ellen Degeneres."
Or, "Hey, Hawthorne Heights SUCKS. Stop pretending they are a legitimate form of music."
Or, "Okay look. There is a young child on this earth named Justin Bieber. Find him and punch him in the throat."

Jk. I wouldn't punch a child. Unless it stole my wallet.

However, in all seriousness I don't think I would change a thing in my life. I seem to be a magnet for writing material. By writing material I mean: bad relationships, losing my wallet, hitting an immigrant with my car, helping my ex ex move, and playing nerdy video games.

Yep, I'm a professional. Don't try any of that at home. You may die.

It is funny though that somehow amidst all my strange life occurrences writing has been one of the very few stable things. Which as you may have noticed by my writing, I treat my life like Taylor Swift. If you don't want to be mentioned in it you best not date me, befriend me, or doing anything remotely funny out of the corner of my eye. Yeah, I see you over there. *begins scribbling on napkin*

So now that I have thoroughly isolated myself, I'm off to Vegas!
Prepare for a slew of random tweets and posts, and the potential for me to come back with a tat on my face.
Muahahaha!

Another Girl, Another Planet.

Love, love, love.

That's what makes the world go around isn't it?

Actually it's the conservation of angular momentum, but that doesn't really matter does it?

Let's just say that it's love.

Plato suggested in his Symposium that men and women were meant to be one, because before they entered this world they were one creature. Essentially, he believed that husband and wife were originally a 4 legged, 4 armed, hermaphrodite. Sexy huh? While you may be sitting there saying, "that is absolutely ridiculous." This is where the idea of soul mates comes from. Plato knew how to get the ladies.

If you think about it and apply it to your life, it is hysterically disturbing. Next time you are checking out that special someone at the coffee shop just imagine yourself merged with them into some crazy dual-human monster. You'll think twice before flirting I can guarantee it.

Is it really so crazy though?

Well, yes, but uh...how do I transition after that? Anyway.. whether we put it on God, Plato, natural selection, or christianmingle.com doesn't really matter; because we believe them all for the same reason. We were meant for someone else. We all somewhere in our core want love. Even if it is off of eharmony, or at one of those AWFUL church singles group conferences.

Seriously, I will sooner die than ever go back to one of those again. Our church had to create a cowboy and indian style caravan around our women to protect them from the crazies. It was like that one awful dance in junior high where no one wanted to dance, but the parents working the refreshments stands made you.

Either way just love everyone a little bit, and it'll make the world a better place. 

After all, you may have been meant to merge into a superhuman monster with one of them.

Sigh...love is so beautiful.

Dismantle, Repair.

Life is a complicated ordeal sometimes. It is full of ups and downs, and twists and turns.

However, most of the time it is like the video game Minecraft.

What's that you say?

Only the best thing ever. 

It is essentially a 2-bit pixelated haven of freedom. The premise is as follows: You are a guy in the world, and you can make things out of everything around you. Oh yeah, and zombies come out at night to kill you. That's it.

There isn't any deep plot where you find out you were the man who shot Kennedy, or some crazy "get to Lvl 85 so you can kill a giant dragon that respawns every single Tuesday" mentality. It's just you, your imagination, and zombies. Just like real life!

You see every morning you wake up to a new day. A beautiful beginning where you go to your job to build your future; for yourself, your children, and the ridiculously large amounts of pets you'll accumulate because of sed children. We all do it every single day, and hopefully we find ourselves happy in our daily life activities. However, what happens when the sun goes down? Freaking zombies.

Not literally. Although that would be a thrilling lifestyle. I am speaking of Mind-Zombies. 

They are the terrible voices in the back of your head telling you, "you suck," "you're fat," and "no one loves you." Those racing thoughts that come to you right before you fall asleep. All they want is your imagination and your hope. They want to take the piece of you that wanted to be a baseball playing astronaut, and make it into that creepy guy at work no one invites to parties.

Don't let them do that to you. 

You are worth so much more than a life full of regrets and second guessing.

Be strong like Christina Aguilera.

Because you are beautiful no matter what they say, and words can't bring you down.

Now go out and be somebody!

Or build a giant castle with lava towers and a moat...because that's what I'm doing.

I'm going to call it "Lancetopia", and you have to know the password to get in.

It's 'taco.'

I Miss You

If life is like a box of chocolates, then I love the chocolate covered pecan-cluster.
It is the perfect mix of flavor to me, and there is only one in every box.

Sometimes life gives you lemons and you have to make lemonade, but if life gives you a pecan cluster just eat the delicious thing before some jerk steals it. I am that guy that everyone hates around Valentines day, because I take a bite out of every single chocolate in the Nirvanaesqe heart shaped box. Do I finish it? Not if I don't like it. Why would you finish eating something that tastes bad? Who am I Bear Grylls? Take your self righteous chocolate judgement somewhere else people.

However, no matter what. I know that I want to find that pecan-cluster, and enjoy it's nutty goodness.
Forrest Gump had it right.
You never know what you're gonna get, but when you do find something good take it.
Of course that doesn't apply to everything.

I think Johnny Depp is a good actor, but kidnapping him wouldn't be a great move on my part.

So don't take my crazy idea too far, because you'll end up in prison.
Just be passive like me, and blog about your life in a delicously chocolatey allegory.

So pecan cluster if you are reading this just know that one day we will have a wonderful 80's movie montage together. I would like it to be kind of like the one in Footloose except there would be 2 of us frolicking through a strange factory for no apparent reason. That's what love is right?

Whatever, Kevin Bacon rules.

Feeling This

Good day to you ladies and gents. I believe I owe everyone a bit of an apology..I was a tad detained this weekend, and I was internet retarded. The lack of wifi was a detriment to my blogging career it seems. However, it was nice to see some of the threatening texts I received informing me if I quit writing that bad things would happen to me.

Does that happen to Tom Clancy? 

"Make another Rainbow 6 or I will beat you with the toaster." love, your biggest fan.

I suppose so.

With great power comes great responsibility. 

I think the dead uncle of Peter Parker said that, and he was right.

High five Uncle Ben. I'm sorry you had to die in the first half hour of Spiderman.

So, what did I do this weekend? Well, I would love to tell you.

I helped my ex ex (yes two exs' were intended) move into her new apartment.

Is that bad? 

Because I feel like in the scheme of things that comes across as mildly strange.

It wasn't. Does that make it stranger? Dear Lord, I am in some kind of strange inception loop.

Strange within a strange.

It was a grand ole time though. 

I learned that I am evidently fantastic at carrying heavy items backwards.

If that is indeed as valuable a skill as I believe, then I can probably single-handedly take over Uhaul.

It was strange how awesome everyone was to me though. (strange within strange within a strange) Not because they aren't always cool, but because we kind of go way back, and I haven't always been the man I should've been. Not very many families I know are that fun to hang out with all the time. Seriously, it was like I was on some white version of a Tyler Perry show. So if you are reading, thanks for being great.

So in short my weekend was a nice adventure into nostalgia.

I missed it, but in the future I promise to never disappear for any amount of time without a legitimate excuse. I won't go all Dave Chapelle on everyone, promise. However, be looking forward to this weekend's post, because I'm going to Vegas baby. Hello, Mr. Papa Georgio!

My goal is to either get one of friends drunk and married to a stripper, or to convince Criss Angel to do an illusion where he disappears into my pocket. Then I can bust him out at parties, and be like, "Hey everyone check out my pet Criss Angel." Then he would be like, "Are you ready?" And everyone would say, "yes!" Then he would appear in a random photo on the wall, and everyone would freak out, and scream "get out of my picture you time-travelling demon!" And he would eat the nearest camera, because that's what Criss Angels do.

*Sigh*

The awesome things I would do with a pet magician can keep my mind busy for hours...

Building Steam With A Grain Of Salt

Today has been a very excruciatingly long day.

Partially because my mom made us do family pictures. Which is never good, ever; But also because I haven't slept since yesterday. Insomnia is a cruel mistress. Whatever that phrase means.

Okay, I sort of lied. At one point I think I passed out on the floor in the middle of my house. That sort of counts. How is it that everything becomes incredibly comfortable when you are exhausted? 

"Hey man, I'm tired. Do you have somewhere I can lay down?"

"Uhm I have this bed of poison tipped nails in my backroom. Just be careful around the rabid raccoons."

"Perfect."

Did you know that you can actually merge your sleep deprivation into an insanity plea in court? You could be on trial for burning an entire town to ground and reply, "Sorry, I was realllllllly tired guys."

I think that's what I'll use for why my writing quality has become so incredibly passe' the past few days. There is a certain point where you get so tired that everything is funny. Then there is a point after that where you openly use a rabid raccoon reference in your blog for no evident reason. I have reached the latter.

I'll be getting myself back on schedule tomorrow, and hopefully start getting my posts up in the morning again. Assuming the rabid raccoons in the corner don't get me before then. Everyone see's them right? Yeah, I'm sure they're real. I'm not crazy, yet.

Although, my Explosions In The Sky/DJ Shadow sleep mix is messing with me. Bass seems significantly louder when your tired, and all the lyrics magically begin to apply to your life.

It's like they know me, bro.

Oh sleep, just take me away.

One-Eighty By Summer

I can't seem to keep myself awake anymore. I find myself walking in that bland gray reality in between sleep and utter exhaustion a lot lately. That crazy false reality where everything is either hilarious or terrible. You are either laughing with your friends about absolutely nothing, or fighting back the urge to hit an inanimate object when you're alone.

I try and not hit things though, because I have more respect for the people and things around me than Chris Brown. Ouch. That was rude, but it's okay because now he is getting paper!

Don't hit me Chris Brown.

I can't sleep anymore, because I don't like having to wake up. Not because hitting the snooze button is an incredibly hard task, but because when my day is almost over, when I should be getting in bed, everything makes perfect sense. My entire life seems to be a puzzle that has been solved, until I fall asleep. It's like a terrible Fox TV series that they won't cancel. At the end of the show everything pulls together only to start all over again next week.

So as an ode to the problems keeping me from sleep, this one is for you.

I can't change what I've done, but I am not changing who I am.
I've just been a guy making the same mistakes over and over again,
but it ends now.

You say, "live up to your first impression."
Well, my best side was your worst invention.
Why can't you live without the attention?

I will never make another promise with you in mind.

You Know How I Do

What defines awkward? Urban dictionary used the following: Walking by a homeless person on the way to a coinstar machince. Or having your roommate walk in on you while you are making out with yourself in the mirror, moaning, and saying in a deep, sexy, voice: "oh, baby."

Both of those are legitimately on the site, and are grand examples of the wonderful world of awkward.

I find myself in these situations quite often. I would love to say it's just because I'm a weird person, but it isn't. It's because everyone I am friends with is, at the least, equal with my level of awkward. It's not our fault..we were born that way!

I tend to be that guy that can carry on a great conversation, but then is completely unaware of how to appropriately escape the social encounter. So, I do what any awkward person would do. I start a sentence that sounds like an excuse to leave, but then I get nervous about lying, and just kind of slur off into mumbling, which makes the other person significantly less comfortable with the circumstances, then when I have thoroughly ruined what was probably a great conversation, I wave and run.

Seriously, that happens. It is less of a 'run' and more of a brisk power walk though to be honest.

So how should we handle this social faux pas? Should we all act like normal people, and try and move past our shady awkward past?

Nay, I say. Embrace the awkward!

Go hug a stranger.
Bring up inappropriate topics in conversation at your next dinner party.
Break out into a slow clap the next time you are in a crowded Starbucks.

Enjoy the beauty that is being 'that guy/girl' at every event your friends or family host.

Because together we can make this world so awkward that even Kristen Stewart looks comfortable in a public forum. Yes, I went there.

Kristen, we're sorry but the awkward is ours.
I mean Popcorn.
I mean uhhh.
Bye...
*brisk power walks away*

The Taste of Ink

Writing is an interesting thing. They say that people write because writing always expresses your emotions better than you ever could verbally. So I guess my incessant blogging is more of a homage to everyone that reads it, than mindless ranting. Yeah, I'll go with that.

It's incredible to me that so many people actually enjoy it though; Considering my senior newspaper/editing teacher told me I sucked. However, I'll take that for what it is. I was quite the stupid teenager my senior year. What with me being the head quarterback, and dating the lead cheerleader, I was pretty stuck up. Okay, so maybe that was only half true. I thought about playing football...once..in junior high, and my girlfriend wasn't head cheerleader. She was pretty cool though. Until she broke my heart like a really bad episode of Dawson's Creek.

Kidding, of course. It was more of a 7th Heaven type affair.

I just want people to know that I appreciate you reading this nonsense, and I hope that amongst the randomness you can pull out some sort of lesson from my failures and experiences. I know that I don't always write with a goal in mind, as you may have noticed by now. I kind of just sit here for hours staring at a blank screen, and it then it just happens. I'm like the Criss Angel of blogging. 

Now you don't see it, now you do. Seriously, I'm levitating right now. Trust me.

Life is an amazingly interesting journey. Where I am now is not where I ever would have expected to be even just a year ago. Much like a Mastercard commercial, "Stack of paper-1.25$, Uniball pen-1.00$, someone reading the useless junk you create with the previous items-priceless."

I love you guys. I apologize if sometimes these take you to the place where you end yelling, "what the 'F' David Blaine!"

But as long as your alive and care. I promise I will take you there.

Your Hand In Mine

As a guy I have the astonishing ability to be both a gentleman and a shallow jerk.

You see, I know a lot of random facts about a lot of random things. Sometimes I study random books just because I want to know something thoroughly. Which means I have to do a full personal research endeavor until I am satisfied with my own conclusion, and that applies to everything. Most people would say that is a good thing, and see it as very intelligent or driven. Assuming I don't go all Rob Bell on everyone, and create a crazy book that contradicts everything.

However, on the opposite plain I have a Kevin Bacon(Tremors) style list of what kind of girl I would date hidden in a secret location in my car. Which means from now on, any girl I talk to will be working her way down a checklist that she doesn't even know exists. That isn't nice, but hey. Kevin Bacon did it so what can I do? He's a man's man.

So where does that put me on the scale of Bad Guys vs Good Guys?

At like a Heath Ledger in Ten Things I Hate About You? I'm kind of a jerk, but at the end you find out I'm a really deep guy?

Because I think I'm going for a Ryan Gosling in The Notebook style. Where I'm really awesome, you love me, I love you, but you end up being crazy and I'm okay with it kind of thing.

I might even settle for Brad Pitt from The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Where there is something clearly wrong with me, but I'm too adorable for you to not love me, and everything works out fine...in a weird I reverse age and die kind of way.

I thought about referencing Leo from Titanic, but I thought since all anyone really remembers from that movie is the nude scene, and his untimely death; I would rather not.

Why does every love story seemingly end with one of us dying or having alzheimers?
Someone needs to write Taylor Swift and tell her she has mislead an entire generation. Her song should realistically end, "It's a love story, baby just say, "yes" annndddd that you will stop time traveling, because I keep forgetting who you are, and you have to retell me the story every single day, and I think you are slowly getting younger and that is kind of weird...It's act 5 do I drink the poison and you use the dagger or vice versa? I forget."

Either way, I will be your Romeo if you will be my Juliet, or in this case, I will be your Ryan Gosling if you will be my Rachel McAdams.

Just let me work out a bit, and start an acting career, and get a role in a Nicholas Sparks movie.

Seriously, I can do this. Give me like a week, and we can journey off into our own anti-climactic tragic love story. It will be beautiful. In a terrible kind of way.

You Can't Spell Crap Without 'C'

Today, I may have saved the world.

It all started this morning when I spent 3+ hours talking with various Verizon employees as to why my phone hates me. I guess I should have seen this coming. You see, my phone has been dropping subtle hints as to it's evil nature ever since I received it shortly after it's shipment into the Americas. This ladies and gentlemen, is what lead me to believe my phone was a terrorist.

One glaring example is that since it is a smart phone, occasionally you have to remove it's battery to perform what is called a "soft reset." I like to think of it as a nice power nap for my phone. Except there is one small problem, I had to get small sharp objects to shimmy the battery out of it's cozy little slot. After doing this in front of a Verizon employee he began screaming and violently waving his hands. 

Evidently, my phone is the only phone he had seen that came without an easily removable battery, but that isn't the punchline. It's a lithium battery, which means me stabbing around it could result in an explosion...a big one.

Another piece of irrefutable evidence of my phones guilty terrorist-ness is that my T9 makes me appear to be a terrible person. So if I ever text you, and I try and ask, "what are you cooking?" Without fail my phone will use it's evil powers to change it to "what are you choking?" To which my poor taste in friends would probably reply with, A: "a puppy," or B: "your entire family and your dog." Which I presume my evil phone would reply to with a dark and sinister, "lawl."

So needless to say when my phone started acting even stranger today and wasn't allowing me to converse with other people, I saw it as a threat. I immediately ran to the nearest Verizon store, and begged them to help to which they replied, "Sir, your phone is the spawn of Satan."(not kidding)

Great. So it doesn't work, and it's the Anti-Christ? I feel so blessed to play this part in world history.

I called everyone I knew and warned them of the impending doom, but no one would believe me. Even Harold Camping mocked me, and that just isn't okay. I went to the police and they thought I was crazy. I went to the FBI, and they gave me a line to the President. Finally a break. Obama kindly told me the best way to solve this problem is to dump it off the side of a boat into international waters. That way all the other Motorola Droid's couldn't go to it's grave, and make it some sort of terroristic smart phone shrine. Genius, but there had to be a simpler way.

What did I do you ask? Well, the only thing a good-apple-pie-eating-red-blooded-american could do. I outsourced, and called the Verizon hotline in India. 

My phone is fine now!

Yay for being anti-climactic!

...*awkward silence*...

We R Who We R

I listen to some pretty crazy hardcore music at times, and people usually either love it, hate it, or scream, "TO HELL WITH THE DEVIL" and run out. My personal favorite was when an older guy came up to me and asked, "what's that really low noise that it keeps making? It goes doo doo doo." I sat and thought, "Uhm bass?" He replied, "Yeah make that stop, it hurts."

However, you know why I started even listening to my awesome scenester music to begin with? No, it isn't because I was trying to cover up the years prior where I openly endorsed N'SYNC, or because I think I may have at some point owned a Nickelback cd. Sorry world but in actuality; Freshman year I had a crush on a girl, and guess what she listened to? Yeah, that's right. I listen to an entire genre of music to this day because I tried to be cool my freshman year.

So before we go and bust out our nostalgic Underoath and Hawthorne Heights shirts let's figure this out.

When I was a sophomore I used to have my dad drop me off at the local shows every weekend. You know what happened there? Sex, drugs, and rock n roll. Also, there was alcohol...loooooooots of alcohol, and Black and Milds everywhere. I never did any of it. I just listened to the music and left every single week. I wanted so badly to be cool, but I didn't want the consequences of the idiocy that came with it.

Is that who I am? If so, I am a poser.

When I was dating a particular girl who dressed up every single week for church. Over the course of time I began to also dress up out of respect. Now we are no longer together, and guess what? I show up rocking my skinny jeans, my Rob Bell-esqe glasses, and with my Bible on my phone(gasp!).

If that's who I am? Then who was I? A poser.

At the end of the day I think somehow my journey from punk scenester to Bible college student to who I am now will come in handy someday. However, for right now all I have are stories about listening to Ohio Is For Lovers at 3am, and lighting a chair on fire for no reason in my dorm with my roommates in college. Pyromania is not an appropriate pasttime, but a fantastic Def Leppard album.

If we are all the product of our decisions, and all mine have shaped me into this. What have I become?
If everything happens for a reason yet I remain the same at the core. Who am I?

Myself.

Love Rhymes With Hideous Carwreck

In the beginning there was a man and a woman, and everything was awesome for a while;
And then it wasn't.

I'm currently enjoying the phase of my life that only a small percentage of people really get to take part in; The "everyone is getting married except for me" phase. Which is interesting considering my compilation of past relationships. Maybe I should have bought more roses, and been less witty and charming. Or exchanged all of my writing for a medical degree. That would probably help. Sarcasm probably isn't helping me here is it ladies?

I evidently suffer from a debilitating disease called "wildly overly romantically minded."
Also called WORM, but I like saying the whole thing because of the ly's.
I was even recently informed that if I dated someone like myself we would never get anything done.
Which is possibly true, but dang that would be an interesting mix of awesome.

We would practically be a rainbow frolicking through a field of happiness-filled-lollipops on unicorns.
Enjoy that mental image.

I just for once want to get to do car karaoke with someone besides Franklin. Not that that isn't loads of fun, but I feel a soprano would add some nice tone. Especially when we are trying to dual vocal Remembering Sunday by All Time Low. We love the song, but we sound incredibly gay, and that also isn't helping me here.

Maybe I can find someone that thinks my vast taste in music is a positive trait, and they won't judge my Blink-182 to Ke$ha to The Band Perry playlist. There is nothing wrong with it! It's called Punkapopatry.

However, I'm okay with whatever. I can always just be like House and snap, and drive my car into one of my ex's houses in a fit of rage.

When I asked a friend what went wrong in my prior relationships I expected an extensive game informer style walkthrough. Where he would say, "well Lance if you had just done this," or "if you guys had had a better prayer life," or even "if Jesus liked you guys together it will work out," but no.

He replied with candor,

"You fell in love, jack-ass."

Ladies, and Gentlemen. My Brother the Failure.

Okay, so I am pretty positive everyone I have ever met became a part of a giant bet riding on my ability to make bad decisions. Yeah, that's right. I'm on to you.

I see the way you watch me when I go into Hastings to see if I pick up one of those 'bad Christian' books; Or ask how I'm doing just to see if I reply, "Oh not too good. You see I'm in kind of a bad place right now. What with my vast amounts of crack cocaine and scantily clad women in my life it is really hard for me to focus."

Of course no one would actually do this in real life that would be far too obvious. 

So today, I'm going to give you a gift.

Ten Steps To Make Your Facebook Unlurkable

1) Best way to create an ambiguous page is to describe what you are thinking with incredibly vague lyrics. That way they have to not only google the song lyrics, but also attempt to see how the lyrics, "This place about to blow-ow-ow-ow-ow" apply to your life. Are you a terrorist? Is this some kind of crazy jihad remix? Who knows. You just became incredibly edgy.

2) Never reply 'attending' when invited to an event, only the iffy 'maybe attending'. Even if the event is the end of the world. Never admit where you are going to be, only insinuate that you may be interested...sort of.

3)Only upload webcam pictures of yourself making funny faces. This is a lurkers worst nightmare. You see a lurkers bread and butter is clicking 'enter' through every single one of your pictures since the beginning of time. If every picture you have is relatively the same you are practically driving his pasttime into the ground, unless he/she's a webcamifile. If that is the case expect a "Wanna Skype?!???" message very quickly.

4)Actually to build off of 3 do you have a baby? Or relatively cute animal? Make them your profile picture. Nuff said.

5)Speak in code to your friends. Only talk within the confines of incredibly obscure inside jokes. "You going to the Oogly moogly today?" Reply: "Bahahaha oh gurl u no I only go back to the smackity doo bop." Your lurker is literally reading a dictionary right now to try and understand you.

6) When you are 'liking' different pages throw in a curve ball every once in a while. For example, after you 'like' "Waking Up To Watch The Sunrise :)" also like "Lithuanian Goat Mating Corporation". You just blew someones mind.

7)Upload a video of you dancing...badly. Not just once mind you, but on a monthly basis. Nothing says desperate for attention like a bad dancer, and lurkers don't like desperate. They stick to the philosophy of, "You must not know 'bout me. You must not know 'bout me I can have another you by tomorrow. So don't you ever for a second get to thinking you're irreplaceable"
Lurkers loooove Beyonce.

8) Bad Grammar. Having no respect for the different "Their, They're, There"'s will break your lurkers heart. Stupid isn't cute. Or lurkable. Post something like, "i h8 traffik lites! there sooooo dumb!" My heart hurts after allowing myself to type that.

9)THE MOST COMMON TURN OFF IN INTERNET SPEAK IS THE CLASSIC CAPS LOCK. DOESN'T THIS MAKE YOU TENSE? CAN YOU HEAR ME YELLING AT YOU? BECAUSE I AM. I FEEL LIKE I NEED TO TYPE REBECCA BLACK LYRICS. WE SO EXCITED. FUN FUN FUN FUN!

10)Like other peoples status' at random. "Jim is out dancing tonight." *like*. Uh oh, now you are okay with Jim the sporadic dancer fulfilling his addiction. 1 hour later. "Jenny(Jim's wife) I wish my husband would come home :(" *like*. Whoa whoa whoa. Whose side are you on exactly? Later that week when the event "Jim's Intervention" comes up be sure and put 'maybe attending', and post the status; "JUST DANCE. IT'S GONNA BE OKAY. DOO DOO DOO!"

Ghost Man On Third

Sometimes it feels like every decision you make puts the weight of the world on your shoulders. You feel like one wrong move, and you may literally crush yourself beneath a metaphorical earth.
I'm there.
I have T-Minus 2 months to reconfigure my entire life into some reasonable future I have to live out for the next..well, life?

I need a job.
A home.
A school.
And a new entourage to back me up at all times.
Preferably taller and more intimidating than me so I don't have to fight off the hordes of crazies myself.

Trust me, I was just there.
In a matter of 45 minutes I was asked for a cigarette, a quarter, stalked by an elderly woman for half a block, and had to walk by an all black church preaching on a street corner. I know you are probably saying, "Lance, that is racist. There is nothing wrong with all black churches." To you I say, "I completely agree." However, this all black church began to yell that, "All white people are going to hell."
Does Eminem count? He tries really hard to fit into the black community. Is that repentance?
Or what about Michael Jackson? Was he originally going to heaven before he realized he a was small white man stuck in a tall black man's body?
Do you guys claim Dennis Rodman?
Who gets Bill Cosby? Does God find his clearly white comedy funny enough for heaven?

Part of me kind of wants to show up at the Sunday morning service, and just yell out random 'amens'. Or, be that guy that obnoxiously screams 'Jesus' every 2 seconds during their song service.

However, I won't. Because unfortunately I'm nice, and I don't want to die.

Sometimes the world is a sketchy place, and it feels like you are forced to play along with a life you don't remember choosing.
It's like playing Baseball with only one outfielder. You just have to hope that life doesn't hit anything into deep right field, because there is no way that Stumpy the fat centerfielder that you picked out of sympathy will make it there in time.

"Take all that you have, and turn it into something you would miss if somebody threw that brick, and shattered all your plans."

Negativity will never be in my plans.

Step Inside, Walk This Way. You and Me Babe, Hey! Hey!

I have awesome people in my life. Perhaps I feel that way because they are always there for me, but it is probably just because one of them gave me great free coffee like 2 seconds ago. Thanks!

I told her whenever I find a job I'll give her something for free.

Now, my goal is to find one of the most awkward jobs ever.

Hmm, Prison guard?

"Thanks, for the free coffee! Enjoy these prisoners! Only one of them is a repeat offender, but public indecency isn't that bad is it?"

Or, male model?

"I really appreciate the coffee, enjoy these beautiful half naked pictures of my self. I work really hard to be that beautiful. Jenny Craig hasn't let me down yet."

Or even better, Professional Interpretive Dancer

"Your coffee was absolutely delicious. This is dedicated to you beautiful coffee shop girl. Enjoy my frolicking to the beat of your favorite song that will now have my tights wearing body permanently associated with it!"

(Your welcome for providing you with that beautiful image.)

I would never do anything that terrible. Except maybe the interpretive dance one. I would make at least 4 other people do it with me though so we could have that, "Whoa they are in a squad. That must mean they are good" wind about us. Think about it...one guy walks in with a guitar. Your thought, "great some punk that will play Dashboard Confessional for 8 hours." A full band walks in..."Awesome! Play Freebird!"

Why is it always Freebird? Why can no one just once run up to a band and scream, "Hey! Play Pour Some Sugar On Me by Def Leppard!" or even "Hey! Play Photograph by Nickelback."

If either of those ever happened and the band actually performed it, I would perform a standing ovation. Assuming I could stand after laughing that hard. 

Today has been a great day.

Since I didn't have anything deep to say today I will leave you all with this...

"Look at this photograph. Every time I do it makes me laugh...every time I do it makes me...laugh."

EDIT: Thank you, Jennifer G. for suggesting the perfect third song reference. Photograph by Def Leppard!

Will You Come Home, And Stop This Pain Tonight?

A lot of times we get in the mode of saying "FML" after every little thing that happens to us even when it isn't so bad. We live our lives like Nancy Grace and gripe for-freaking-ever, and get nothing done. When in reality we should live like Anderson Cooper. Why? 1) Because the ladies dig him. 2)Because he keeps it real. 3)Have you seen his Hurricane Katrina footage? Cooper saves lives.

As people in this world progress towards the world of tomorrow I think we lost touch with what makes living great. Everyone around you.

Today around 2:00 a young junior higher came to my door with something I had already held a funeral for. My wallet in hand she(that's right, she.) handed me my identity. For a split second the world went all WoOoOoO, and I'm pretty positive the song "I Miss You" by Blink 182 began to play softly in the background.
(Read "I Wish I Was A Baller" for context)

I spent a good 5 minutes in shock at the fact that someone actually brought it back. I mean it is probably about as rare as an assassin being able to hit George W. with a shoe. (God knows that man practiced his entire life for that moment.)

I wish I had something more intellectual to say to her than my confused and awkward, "Uhhhh thank you.." Maybe something deep like, "Young child, thank you for returning my pocketbook. You see it contained my very livelyhood! Unto you I say young one, 'tis better to be happy and destitute, then sad and wealthy!"

In a British accent of course.

So my advice:

Today, say "hi" to a stranger or just hold the door open for someone else. I promise you the stranger will be thoroughly weirded out which is both hilarious AND nice! Two-fer. 

Because sometimes I wish I was a little less cynical. 

Because maybe I need an intervention.

Because maybe I need a psychologist.

Or maybe I just need the attractive legal aide from The Social Network to say the lines supposedly spoken to Mark Zuckerberg to me, and perhaps everyone like me.

Marylin Delpy: "You're not an a***hole, Mark. You're just trying so hard to be."

I Wish I Was A Baller

Sometimes life throws you a curveball like a relationship ending or some junior higher jacking your wallet, and you are supposed to be upset. You are supposed to spend time in grief, or prison. Depends how hard you hit the kid, and how fast you can run if the parents are in earshot. However, my upcoming lawsuit has nothing to do with this post. I evidently have no sense of emotional attachment anymore. 

After 3 hours of searching for my MIA wallet, and a thorough final run through with a dog that had my scent I was forced to let my hopes crash on the the rocky stones of reality. My wallet was long gone. Perhaps it is on a beach somewhere enjoying a Pina Colada, or in Narnia having some turkish delight...I can only hope it suffered such a delicious fate.

If I recall correctly the words I uttered at the time of this horrid defeat were, "Sometimes my life makes my heart hurt."

It's true. Beneath my Fabio-esque muscles my heart was hurting. Why? I'm not sure. It had all my information, but most of it is worthless. Maybe that is why it hurts. I had to acknowledge that nothing in that manpurse/wallet was of any real value to me. Should this jerk off of a junior higher actually steal my identity the most he could purchase is a used DeLorean on what little credit I have, and pray that he can hit the proper velocity to fly back in time and tell his mother to never have him. 

Why? Because I will find him, and give him a stern talking to..with my fist.

JKJKJKLOLOLOL

I would never do that. I am actually okay that my wallet is lost to the universe; I am actually okay that I am single; I am actually okay that my life is kind of simple right now.

Hell broke loose today in the form of a thieving child. 

However, someone else also told me today that they read my blog, and liked it alot. They said they were genuinely impressed, and despite being poor and identity-less. That meant a whole heck of a lot more.

I'm not sure why I am the way I am, but I kind of like it. Even if it is a tragically wallet-less lifestyle.

And to the child who stole my identity, enjoy my debt. Oh, and also my late fees that I owe almost every single movie rental facility in the city. Also, if you could build my credit up that would be nice.

KTHXBAI.

You're Gonna Go Far Kid

"If there is one thing I've learned thus far in my life it's that context and citing your sources can help you save a lot of face. Someone can take a few meager lines from a Facebook post full of truth and meaning and make it say something completely different."

George Washington said that. He did, I promise.

For once in my life I've reached a point(outside of my awesome teen angst. Sorry mom.) where I really could care less about how people portray me. Which some would say is a good thing, and give me a high five and say, "Screw the world bro, write all the Facebook posts involving The Hangover quotes that you want!" Others may say, "What other people think about you is important. You should be a better example."

"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."
I was always taught in school that character was who you were when people weren't looking, and I'm tired of pretending that that version of myself is some spiritual genius that hangs out and and tries to make everything have some deep meaning to impress everyone.

I'll be honest I make bad decisions. On rare occasions of course. Use everything in moderation children! Even ignorance, and sometimes that compelling feeling that you have to always share your thoughts.

For example: "I, for some reason can not get you out of my head, and that could be dangerous. That could cost me a lot of face, but for some reason my ignorance is exceptionally well above the standard levels right now."

Point proven. I said just enough to be dangerous, but kept it vague and targetless to cover up the fact that I can't cover up the fact that I may or may not be a complete idiot.

A key sign of maturity is learning when to shut up, and when to say something.
However I promise if you just give me a try I'll be the best mistake you ever make.

Would You Like To Kill This Page?

No, Google Chrome. No, I would not like to commit a felony homicide on my web browser. Maybe manslaughter at best, and that only applies if something requires "buffering". Why am I here? Does anyone read this dribble anymore? Do people still care about vaguely stated opinions expressed via the interweb blogosphere? I don't know, but I'll write a bit anyways. 

Maybe some sense of self healing occurs when you write. Maybe somehow this will give me some sense of commitment to accomplish something; even if it is only to an audience that may not even exist.  Maybe, just maybe. 

However, all insane dribble aside I think I will write about something. Something happy, or sad, or some weird awkward chick flick mix of both. I'll write about how I think too much. I'll write about how my love life is a absolutely awesome(You'll learn to catch my sarcasm over time young padawan). I'll write about how too many people write and that it is too mainstream for me, but it's okay because I learned to write before it was cool(the 80's I think? I was born in 89' that still counts). I'll write about how one day, some way or another I will change this world. 

It probably won't be big, but hey if Charlie Sheen can get on TV for being a warlock then I can get on for..well...I guess anything that actually exists. Wizard? Is that too close? I'll go with Wizard, and I'll dazzle the world with my ability to play Sex and Candy by Marcy's Playground on guitar. Not because it is hard, but because no one remembers the 90's anymore.

Hey, "I didn't say I was powerful. I said I was a wizard."

Kill that Google Chrome you murder enabler.