Fucking and Punching

We Win Forever

2011-01-19T00:49:00.004-05:00

2010: A Year In Review
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i know the year has ended and that i haven't updated this blog in a long, long time, but i was feeling nostalgic.
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January: drunk. all of the time. backed into a corner. uncomfortable. broke. broken. resistant to change. well-fucked and far from home. lost. start talking to someone for the first time in 2 years.

February: drinking more. less hours at work means less money means more time spent writing songs. options begin to make themselves forcefully clear to me. valentine's day and hiding my shit in corners. trying actively to disappear. irish guy convinces me to try to start a barfight. blindness.

March: i leave and go back to the beginning to try again, differently. cut off all of my hair. assess the damage done.

April: the bizarre sensation of being in the exact same place doing the exact same things i had been doing two years prior. no self-worth, minimal self-esteem. weekend visits to the city. i start recording music again. ring chodes' doorbell to fuck with him (what an asshole.)

May: i get to see my favorite band. i enter into a relationship that must have been inevitable. rooftop picnics with the stars. i find blissful, unparalleled happiness. this happiness is soon replaced by a huge melancholy. my mom fucks up her knee and i have to assume a huge amount of responsibility. my grandfather falls and is put into the hospital. i take my worthwhile job back and decide to drown sorrow in payable hours, working seven days a week. high violet is released and it's the greatest.

June: still grinding. saving huge amounts of money. frustrated that it isn't working fast enough. i haven't seen my family in weeks. i watch every episode of the wire. my mom's knee is still really bad.

July: citation for an open container. i turn 21, subsequently piss my bed. attempt to take on more responsibility at my good job; nothing happens. no full-time employment. vague plans to move back to manhattan are scrapped in hope of something more tangible. i am so lonely. i check my phone constantly. discover manhattan bars. drunken cabrides. begin buying seasons of House on dvd.

August: go to visit and surprise the living shit out of her. give up at work and accept the fact that the store's mgmt doesn't give a shit about us. something that i have actively pursued for 3 years (school) is finally within my reach. i am terrified of not having anything to bitch about. my grandfather dies and i press pause.

September: i buy a car. i go back to college. i succeed admirably. i party on a rooftop. the europeans take over.

October: everything bottoms out. teachers still have the capacity to be asshats, even at a collegiate level. mistakes are made. i start writing.

November: disintegration. this is the darkest month of all. i can feel depression starting to sink in. i spend thanksgiving alone.

December: numb. tired, but proud. stable. scared. striving for efficiency. 4.0. snowed in. fresh start. hercules the cat.
-------------------
Which was the best month for you?: may was golden.
Which was the worst?: january, august, and november.
What was the most significant thing that happened this year?: going back to college.
What person had the most impact on your life this year?: ME.
What was the best concert that you attended?: the national.
What was your biggest challenge of 2010?: jealousy and its stupid friends.
Your biggest regret?: not being around more in june.
What moment stands out to you the most?: laying on the beach the day after the wake.
What band did you listen to the most?: the national, jose gonzalez, spoon.
On a scale of 1-10, 2009 was: 10.

Did you....
Meet anyone special?: yes.
Get close to someone you didn't expect to?: in a number of different ways.
Have a boyfriend or girlfriend?: yes.
Have a relationship for more than 3 months? of course.
Hook up with anyone, no strings attached?: there are always strings attached.
Experience the death of a loved one?: yes.
Get in a fight?: sorry, steve.
Lose a friend?: naw.
Get drunk?: oh what the fuck.
Regret doing something?: naaawww.
Go to a concert?: the national.
Fall in love?: fell MORE in love.
Fall out of love?: no.
Get back together with an ex?: i would never do something so stupid.
Enjoy being single?: it was wonderful but leading to a point.
Accomplish a goal?: FUCK YEAH.
Learn something new?: everybody lies.
Get arrested?: citation.
Break up with someone?: not really.
Get a tattoo?: "Same as it ever was."
Go to a party?: every weekend.

Your favorites of 2010
Favorite CD (released in 2010): the national - "high violet"; gayngs - "relayted"
Favorite CD (not released in 2009): spoon - "ga ga ga ga ga"; elvis costello - "this year's model"; grizzly bear - "veckatimest"; cat power - "you are free"
Favorite songs of 2010: jose gonzalez - "hints"; silversun pickups - "little lover's so polite"; gayngs - "the gaudy side of town"; the national - "afraid of everyone"; spoon - "black like me"; the antlers - "shiva"; elvis costello - "radio radio"; grizzly bear - "two weeks"; band of horses - "no one's gonna love you"
Favorite movie: black swan, the social network.
Favorite person to talk to: (in alphabetical order) brendan, chris, christina, mike, natalie.
Favorite thing to do: get drunk and watch House.
Favorite TV show: hoarders, house, the wire.
Favorite memory: walking into my first class, fake patois.
Favorite food: benny's burritos.
Favorite drink: stella artois.
Favorite outfit: i spent too much money on clothing.
Favorite celebrity: SHINOBI NINJAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Favorite place to be: the kitchen.

The New Year
What will you be doing on New Year's Eve?: i went to a party on a roof.
Will you kiss anyone at midnight?: i did.
What is your New Year's resolution?: smoke more weed.
Did you keep your resolution from last year?: yes -- i found a place on the UES that didn't ID for beer.
Do you think things will be different in 2011?: everything changes.
What do you want most out of 2011?: more college.
Do you think 2011 will be better than 2010?: 2010 will be a difficult year to compete with.
Anything you are particularly looking forward to?: sending out transfer applications.

Final Quotes / Lyrics / Comments to describe 2010:
--"people get what they get. it has nothing to do with what they deserve." -greg house
--"i put them in the back pocket of you." -nat
--"drink up and die right, you cunts!" -det. ed norris, the wire
--"you can be the big lime, i'll be the little lime." -mike haskins
--"why did you dress me down and liquor me up?" -the national, available
--"do you ever have something that's like a self-joke with yourself?" -christina
--"if a woman farts, hit her." -eugene mirman
--"that's like 10 pounds of shit stuffed into a 5 pound bag." -jason (describing robert)
--"i'm going to leer inappropriately at women to pass the time." -mike haskins
--"...ve don't haff any chews in chermany." -johannes
--"enjoy a simpler commute. spend more time at home. we are building a new rail tunnel american flag." -nj transit
--"fuck no. i don't watch inspirational movies to get inspired. i do drugs and jerk off." -chris, (on The Blind Side")
--"there's nothing wrong with sending yourself a nude text message." -my brother
--"valentine's day must be like black friday to a prostitute." -luis
--"hold my come like a warm gift" -fridge poetry
--"Hey. I see A lot Hahaha." -danny
--"life is hard enough without trying to suck your own dick." -molly
--"We win forever...." -christina

this is how it goes.

2010-03-28T02:48:00.002-04:00

it's always the same story:
she'll say he had a small cock, or that he came too quickly;
he'll say she faked her orgasms, or cried after sex.
she'll say he never made time for her;
he'll say she was clingy.
she'll say he couldn't keep it in his pants;
he'll say she was a slut in the bars.
she'll say he never listened to her;
he'll say she was boring.
she'll say they were better off as friends from the start;
he'll say she was a cadaverous lay.
she'll call him a liar; he'll call her a whore.
she'll say she never loved him;
he'll say he never loved her.

jesus christ what happened?

2010-03-24T23:58:00.003-04:00

shut the fuck up, all of you. i can't make sense of anything. can't make scents of anything.i don't make cents.

i can't understand these things -- i struggle and then fail to grasp at the reasoning and logic
(as i've been continuously and liberally applying my old mantra "self-control through knowledge"), ending up with some huge weight inside my chest.
i get so easily confused now. my attention span is smaller than my dick (gets more application too).
if you look at blame as a game of darts, and try to determine causation by throwing darts at it, how can i have ended up pinned in the bullseye for things outside of my control?
for that matter, how the fuck did things get so out of control?

if you could strip this down and bottle it, it would be venom. pure vitriol. triple distilled, 100-proof indiscriminate hatred, for myself, for others, for my job, for my town, for events, for words, for emotions, and ultimately, for the fact that i am back where i am again. and i'm gonna drink the whole motherfucking thing.

new york.

2010-03-23T01:17:00.001-04:00

tonight my mom asked me if i wanted to move back in with my dad in the city.
i said no. and then i paused and thought and said yes.
because how could i not?

happy birthday

2010-03-18T00:55:00.004-04:00

i'm thinking about you today.
sitting here, wearing your old t-shirt, thinking about you not in a sad way, not in a hateful way, but in an optimistic way,
because you're finally out of excuses.
you can no longer pretend that you're a fucking child.

i feel like this is the year of your life when you realize that you alone are responsible for yourself, that we are the exact sum of all of our actions, and that there's no magic hat involved in what happens to us. you can stamp your feet and ball your fists and beat yourself up all you want but, as aimee mann so eloquently put it, "it's not going to stop/till you wise up."
and i want that for you.
maybe that's the self-realization you claimed to lack. if it is, my birthday wish for you is that you find it.

i can trick 'em into thinking anything.

2010-03-12T01:49:00.003-05:00

i keep starting sentences that i meant to finish months ago. i don't even know what that means but it's the truth.

i like to think that, if you and i still talked, you'd be really proud of me, the way i've been able to handle more wrenches thrown at my gears. but we don't talk anymore, we haven't for quite some time now, and i feel proud enough of myself not to need any additional validation.

i have so many thoughts that i can't choose which ones to listen to and which ones to discard. and when i do start to listen, i can't decide which one to start with, so i end up getting frustrated and just staring into a bright screen until my eyes bleed, ultimately convincing myself not to bother because i never had anything worth thinking about in the first place.

every day is a struggle against the wells of self-pity and ambivalence that i could easily jump into, because it's really hard to care when there's nothing around you to care about.

think fast, killer.

2010-02-04T04:14:00.001-05:00

i think about you and i want to fucking scream as loud as i can.
get out of my mind.

shooting star.

2010-01-28T04:08:00.003-05:00

this feeling is so sickeningly familiar -- quickened pulse, cold sweat, stomach in knots. all it takes is a few sentences in some corner of the internet and you dissolve into a shaking mess. the only thing that helps is alcohol, copious amounts of alcohol, administered nightly, and that's fucking dangerous.
so instead of trying to maintain this rapid and rickety pace, i am following the natural progression of things and treating you like the cold-hearted devil you act like. eclipsing history.
rewriting my own digital and emotional memory to exclude any semblance of you. i can't change fact but i can pretend like you never meant all that much to me. i can literally cut the pictures in half, burn you and give away the frames. i can be just as callous and uncaring.

i feel so clean after this purge. today i was happier than i have been in 2 weeks. yes, it's 4:15 am and i'm writing this sober with little intention of sleep in the near future, but i choose this over crawling around on the barroom floor looking to see what i can find laying around to validate my dwindling self-esteem and vacuous personality.

this is my favorite stage of a breakup. i call it the "island" stage -- it's where you start to isolate, lick your wounds and begin to wonder why the fuck you're here again. it's numb, and it's blissful. after this comes the lonely, lengthy period of involuntary celibacy, where you watch every season of the x-files and seriously think about cutting your dick off.

so here's to women -- we eat 'em, we beat 'em, we always mistreat 'em. this one's for you, gals.

you put your face on the glass and you called it good cinema.

2010-01-17T03:25:00.002-05:00

we put it back together just to fall apart at night.
the same familiar racing heart, stomach in knots, cold sweat, can't focus on anything.
can't stand not knowing. gimme a good reason and i'll hate you.
feel like i'm losing my shit each time i walk past that picture on my dresser. should put it in the sock drawer.
should turn off my phone.

"i'm looking at a hand full of broken plans/
and i'm tired of playing it down/
you just want her to do anything to you/
there ain't nothing that you won't allow."

i feel my luck could change (2009 in review)

2009-12-28T02:26:00.006-05:00

2009: A Year In Review

January: the lowest of the low. i started the new year with the knowledge that something had to change. tired of spending every day laying in bed waiting for something to change. tired of not having money to eat. broke but not broken anymore. got fired from an unpaid internship. went back to mcdonald's. saw the last show of spring awakening.

February: kept my head down and worked. tried to reacclimate to working after a 6-month hiatus from having a day job. brushed dirt off shoulders. make plan to return to college at SUNY; have cord pulled shortly after forming plan.

March: first real fight, almost did something really stupid but decided to start fresh. decided to stop fucking around with illegal substances forever. jim and i discover cafe pick-me-up. i am picked up. christina starts calling me bread.

April: commenced employment at the worst job i will ever have in my life. thought it was a blessing. ha ha ha ha. make plan to return to college at CUNY. walk away from mcdonald's; feel better about myself. discover artichoke pizza; soon after first bite, realize artichoke is my tragic flaw. chodes gets put in the hospital again and he's there for an indefinite amount of time. his crackhead girlfriend comes over to get high and we almost call the cops.

May: the beginning of the first summer of our relationship and the first serious time spent apart. i never knew i could miss someone this much. she leaves on a month-long outreach trip and i start to spiral. phone bill $250. no money to pay for CUNY application fee; give up. open savings account somewhere far away from my greasy little fingers. quit smoking. start seriously writing. christina comes over almost every night after work. we make rules for a drinking game based around our frequent topics of conversation.

June: it rains every day. we don't have air conditioning. fall into the monotony of working life. drinking excessively. metric concert. embarrassment. reconnect with an old friend who is not what i thought he was. find an awesome bar that i won't even speak the name of.

July: 4th of july concert; watch some kid get beaten to death; pee off of balcony while singing the national anthem. awesome bar starts carding. everything good is fleeting. my drinking gets sad. she leaves on family vacation to europe. talked into seeking outside help. decide against outside help. month-long dry spell. start smoking again. hate my job more with each passing day. steve comes down and we have numerous encounters with situations that should have killed us. the goofbird lands.

August: help christina find an apartment. christina moves to the village; i assemble her bed for her. i have a friend. i hate my job more than i have ever hated anything before. i start drinking again. start to feel really sorry for myself. become bitter and spiteful instead of hopeful and optimistic. quit smoking again. natasha starts to gets her life together and i'm there for her. colleen and i visit each others houses -- we go to the beach at boardwalk in jersey, and to her town pool. she makes me certain why i'm in love with her. that stupid fucking cat dies.

September: everyone comes back. i can't take my job anymore. make plan to quit and move back to jersey. start drinking nightly again. start applying for jobs while drunk. trying to figure out why i haven't died yet. streetlight manifesto. one year in new york and nothing's changed. weekly pasta night is instituted.

October: everyone comes back. i can't take my job anymore. make plan to quit and move back to jersey. drinking nightly. applying for jobs while drunk. trying to figure out why i haven't died yet. streetlight manifesto. one year in new york and nothing's changed. weekly pasta night is instituted. a margarita debacle proves why i hate anything to do with nyu. i get to meet natasha's boyfriend and the social environment at my almost mater starts to disintegrate.

November: get my first dental check-up in over 2 years. have many cavities. told i can no longer drink soda. part of the grand opening of the most important store in this company's history. pixies concert. i love my job. shitty thanksgiving, but what did i expect. evicted from my apartment under bizarre and unfounded accusations. things are getting really awful really quickly.

December: getting better at working through problems, convinced i have something i want to hang on to. surprised at how deeply two friendships are growing. gain new value for human life and shit. spend christmas alone; fly to austin to be with family. almost everyone i knew at my almost mater is gone. find a new temporary place to live. resolve to the fact that life is a continuous circle of picking up and reassembling the pieces of what you thought to be true.
-------------------
Which was the best month for you?: august and october.
Which was the worst?: oh they all fucking sucked. february/march and may/june/july.
What was the most significant thing that happened this year?: getting hired for a job that i am actually proud of.
What person had the most impact on your life this year?: John Chodes.
What was the best concert that you attended?: Pixies.
What was your biggest challenge of 2009?: keeping up with christina's present nickname for me.
Your biggest regret?: not moving back to new jersey.
What moment stands out to you the most?: that afternoon she and i went out to Roosevelt Island.
What band did you listen to the most?: i hate to say it, but probably radiohead. at least radiohead was the most consistently played artist over the longest timeline.
On a scale of 1-10, 2009 was: about a 2.5.

Did you....
Meet anyone special?: not particularly.
Get close to someone you didn't expect to?: yes.
Have a boyfriend or girlfriend?: yes.
Have a relationship for more than 3 months? a mother fucking year.
Hook up with anyone, no strings attached?: no. there were strings attached.
Experience the death of a loved one?: squeaky :(.
Get in a fight?: i watched a kid get beaten to death by 5 other guys..
Lose a friend?: you can't lose what you never really had.
Get drunk?: DRUNK GOT ME.
Regret doing something?: that would be pointless.
Go to a concert?: metric/jenny lewis/streetlight manifesto/say anything/pixies.
Fall in love?: fell MORE in love.
Fall out of love?: yes, with a lot of things. i fell out of love with solomon choi.
Get back together with an ex?: technically yes.
Enjoy being single?: i wasn't single for more than 24 hours and it was a miserable 24 hours. i had to work.
Accomplish a goal?: no.
Learn something new?: yes. cocaine is a hell of a drug.
Get arrested?: there are still 3 days left in the year. i have time.
Break up with someone?: yes.
Get a tattoo?: no.
Go to a party?: yes. in a hospital

Your favorites of 2009
Favorite CD (released in 2009): white rabbits - "it's frightening!"/metric - "fantasies"/yeah yeah yeahs - "it's blitz!"
Favorite CD (not released in 2009): sunset rubdown - "shut up i am dreaming"
Favorite songs of 2009: metric/"help, i'm alive"; white rabbits/"midnight & i"; radiohead/"lucky"; sunset rubdown/"the mending of the gown"; say anything/"hate everyone"; handsome furs/"dumb animals"; the format/"dog problems"/"time bomb".
Favorite movie: 500 days of summer/taxi driver.
Favorite person to talk to: christina, colleen, mike and steve. (in alphabetical order).
Favorite thing to do: drink alone and play solitaire.
Favorite TV show: six feet under.
Favorite memory: my birthday phonecall.
Favorite food: that fucking goddamn risotto.
Favorite drink: tequila.
Favorite outfit: my handles t-shirt. the green one.
Favorite celebrity: britt daniel.
Favorite place to be: with friends.

The New Year
What will you be doing on New Year's Eve?: i have no way of knowing.
Will you kiss anyone at midnight?: there is a possibility.
Who do you WANT to kiss at midnight?: that should be obvious. my girlfriend.
What is your New Year's resolution?: to get out of my own way and find a place that doesn't ID for beer on the UES.
Did you keep your resolution from last year?: i think my resolution was to go back to college. nope.
Do you think things will be different in 2010?: probably not.
What do you want most out of 2010?: money and lasciviousness.
Do you think 2010 will be better than 2009?: 2010 can tickle my balls of all i care. the sunglasses look stupid.
Anything you are particularly looking forward to?: turning 21 and becoming a real person; going back to college.
Final Quotes / Lyrics / Comments to describe 2009:
-"I think someone should take this city and just... just flush it down the fucking toilet." -travis bickle.
-"LIFE IS A FANTASY." -ManCol poet laureate.
-"Dieseldykes From Dusseldorf." -john chodes, on potential film titles.
-"SOOPA FUQ: Great Vietnamese Food, Greater Prices." -imaginary vietnamese restaurant.
-"Where is your poosay?" -the goofbird.
-"Guys literally have to crouch to fuck me." -anonymous.
-"This is so much fun. It's like a hospital." -kai strom-weber
-"If the mountains are blue, bring them to me." -steve fox.

home.

2009-12-23T03:36:00.002-05:00

the concept of "home" is a strange one -- one part familiarity, one part hatred, one part safety. in the past 2 years, i've called more places "home" than i have in the rest of my 20 years on this planet, but not one of them has felt as right to me as 4 orchard drive. maybe it's because i was so young, 14 or so when i moved, but my memories of that place are untarnished.

this topic comes up because i'm getting ready to move again. hopefully it'll lead to something much more stable than where i have called "home" for the past year, but it's still transient and temporary. i feel guilty for thinking that i will miss what i have now when i hate it so passionately.
but i don't want to forget it. i don't want to forget the fucking horrible pieces of "art" that are littered throughout this room; the self-portrait of the bastard that adorns the northern wall, next to the window, or the view out that window -- the way the moisture poured out of the smokestack on top of the ConEd plant like clouds and hung around and crept across the line of sight in the cold air.

i'm taking the cure so i can be quiet whenever i want.

2009-12-15T03:35:00.002-05:00

it's finals week and i'm drunk on a monday night, since i don't have exams to prepare for (like a normal person).
i have the day off tomorrow from my new job at the #1 consumer electronics retail chain in the country.
i typically work 4 days/25 hours a week, selling musical instruments and giving guitar lessons.
if any of you are curious, here is my to-do list for my day off:

DAYOFFAPALOOZA:
-catch up on back episodes of The Office and Californication.
-record a heartbreaking, award-winning rock song
-watch the royal tenenbaums, because i always watch the royal tenenbaums at this time of year and i haven't yet done so.
-cancel my AT&T cellular phone service, because i can't stand any company that is arrogant enough to include an ampersand in its name (this goes for you too, Johnson & Johnson).
-make pasta with christina and edit her application essay for a potential internship with one of the best ad agencies in NYC.
-fantasize about a life that doesn't so closely resemble hell.

i dropped out of college 2 years ago this week and i'm in the exact same spot that i was then. nothing has changed.
it's over, division day.

as wolves are known to do.

2009-12-12T03:46:00.004-05:00

when you are faced with the Ridiculous, it becomes surprisingly hard to hold onto reality.
when you are completely immersed in someone else's madness, you unknowingly start to question the things you hold true, your interpretation of reality. you become effectively unable to relate to the world.
simply by arousing suspicion, people rape you of your peace of mind.

i play the tape back a million times, i watch it again and again, i stare until my eyes bleed and i drink until my gut bursts. i can't for the life of me remember what happened that night, or if there was something earlier, did i hurt him, did i give this man any grounds for his animosity.
because if i didn't, which i don't believe i did, the fact stands that i am living 5 feet from someone who exists in his own separate reality.

every day is a battle. i would sooner piss out the window because i don't even want to open the fucking door and risk seeing him.

in semantics there's a type of logical fallacy called a "plurium interrogationum", or loaded question. it doesn't have any positive answer. ("is it true that you've stopped beating your wife?": yes implies that you once did; no implies that you still do). it's a logic trap and it's really effective.

true love by the hour.

2009-11-28T00:32:00.003-05:00

i am renting my room from the most miserable niggard on the island of manhattan.
the terrific bastard, aptly named John Chodes,bought his apartment in the co-op shortly after its construction was completed mid-1950s. to best describe john: imagine Bukowski without an ounce of charm or literary talent; Jack Nicholson without one single redeeming trait.
his circle of friends is a motley cast of characters: lydia, a drug addict and practicing prostitute; rina, a venesualan adulteress (potentially also a prostitute); "crazy louie", a dominican man of uncertain employment with a poor tendency to drink and a strong affinity for "the fights"; and antonio, a 28-year old misogynistic pussy addict ("cunt hunter).

this man has, over the course of our roughly year-long rapport, committed many unethical acts under my nose: petty theft (food left in the kitchen), extortion, harboring known criminals, untidiness, coercion...
in short, he is the landlord from hell. i can't even enumerate the injustices perpetrated by this man. he surely must be the most miserable, joyless cunt i will ever meet in my lifetime, and i will celebrate the day that he passes from this earth.

the apartment is littered with framed pictures of his bulbous, tattooed ex-lovers, modern surrealist art (read: paintings of chicks with dicks), playbills, and awards he has incredibly earned over the past 40 years for his mediocre plays. in my bathroom is a framed portrait of S. Benito Mussolini, which should come as no surprise to any historian, as it is accompanied by a replica of Mussolini's glass desk in my bedroom.

all of this considered, it should come as no surprise that he evicted me this evening, claiming that last night i sleepwalked into his room (separated by a curtain) and "appeared to have the intention of rape on [my] mind."

i have 40 days to find a new place to live.

kids.

2009-10-12T01:16:00.002-04:00

i'd like to take this opportunity to officially apologize to my mother for ever coming late to the dinner table:

mom, i know you called me, and i know i kept saying i was coming, and i know that i kept doing whatever was distracting me. i know you worked hard to cook dinner for me and my brother, especially coming home from work after a long day. i know you worked hard to buy that food.
i know this because it's what i have to do for myself now.
and i miss you. i miss having a dinner table to be late to.

socialism.

2009-08-21T10:02:00.003-04:00

recently, all talk on the news has been about our government's plans to reform health care. this upsets me greatly. i can't turn on my television (which i'm used to staring at for at least 12 hours a day) without hearing about some liberal scheme to socialize my country.

we live in a capitalist country. this means, you idiots, that we are entitled to nothing, but entitled to PAY for everything. you want health care? buy it. an education? buy it! a car, house, future? FUCKING CHECK BOOK.
this philosophy is an integral part of the rock this country was built on -- it is woven into our flag.

this is why i'm opposed to a universal health care system: it isn't American -- it's in conflict with our identity as a country. it's the kind of shit you'd find in Europe, or in (literally) any of the other industrialized nations of the world. not here.

"but," you whine, "America already has some 'socialist' programs, doesn't it?"
I KNOW! nothing makes me angrier than knowing our country has already been infiltrated. i say we get rid of all of these socialist programs. privatize it. i say we get rid of our libraries. get rid of our postal service. get rid of our firefighters and our police. get rid of our medicare. we need to preserve the values that set our country apart from EVERY OTHER FIRST-WORLD COUNTRY IN THE WORLD.

FUCK.

2009-07-29T02:43:00.002-04:00

2:45 am. my apartment is 80 degrees. humid. sheets made out of polyester; drunk and snoring middle-aged spaceheater shares the bed with me. rolls over onto my side. plays unconscious footsie. kill me.

--i hate all of this. i hate the conditions that i have accepted to live my life under. i hate this dingy fucking apartment, i hate that it never gets cleaned. i hate that -- in all fucking honesty -- i wouldn't even know where to begin the cleaning process.
--i hate the worthless son of a bitch we rent from. i hate how he extorts money from me. i hate how he takes without asking, and any complaint is met with a thinly veiled threat of eviction because, after all, my tenancy here is illegitimate. and i hate his fucking stupid used tampon of a cat.
--i hate that we don't have air conditioning. i hate that our landlord will charge us an extra $100 a month if we do put one in, just to cover a "possible increase" in our electric utilities bill. i hate that no matter what side of the bed i lay on, no matter what side of the pillow i turn over, i am living in a glorified litterbox with no ostensible way out, save for mea culpa, which destroys the possibility of a worthwhile higher education.
WHICH MIGHT NOT EVEN HAPPEN ANYWAY.

most importantly i hate the fact that i am going to wake up in 6 hours and everything will suck just as much as it does right now, if not exponentially more.

wake up.

2009-07-25T00:45:00.002-04:00

i have this recurring nightmare about elevators. i'm in one, sometimes alone, sometimes with other people, and we're going down. the elevator starts to shake, the lights flicker, and the cables snap. i'm thrown to the floor and cling to it as i plunge. i wake up right before it hits.

sometimes it's a freight elevator, sometimes it's the kind with a big glass window that lets you see how high up you are.
but the cable always snaps.
i dunno what it means.

i turned 20 this week and, for the first time in my life, i feel like i have things worth living a long life for.
i want to grow old and disgusting and have a family.
but things are harder now than they have ever been before. things are more uncertain than ever before.
the possibility of education has never been so close to my grasp, but it's not close enough yet.
everything is rocky and transient. and you can't build on rocky ground.

pitseleh.

2009-07-12T02:35:00.003-04:00

8 of them, all swarming on one kid, fists in his face and kicks to his gut. i still see it when i close my eyes. one kid comes at his head with a fucking skateboard. i called 911 but got the cross-streets wrong.

the blood is still dried on the sidewalk.

i can't keep living like this. i don't know why i saw this happen that night, don't understand the meaning behind this bizarre message. i don't do well with violence. i don't understand why everything hits at once -- why it was the kid one night, a prelude to a terrible relapse the next, and free jager shots the following. i don't know why i've been crying at pigeons in the park eating bread crumbs thrown to them in blatant disregard to the sign instructing otherwise; crying at "Pasta Night" written on menus; laying awake sober every night for 4 nights in a row trying to get my head back together.

"they say God makes problems just to see what you can stand before you do as the Devil pleases."

maybe you're right.
how much longer until LES crushes me to death?

like a single mom.

2009-04-16T16:52:00.004-04:00

when things in life aren't going the way you'd like them to, you are the only person who can correct it.
my mom always used to tell me i was at the center of perfect freedom.
i never really knew what she meant -- at the time i thought she was telling me to get out of her house (which i did, a few times) -- but now i get it.

my McJob has been even worse than usual over the past month. nearly every employee (and this store is WAY over-staffed) has been cut down to 4 days a week, and shifts are only lasting about 5-6 hours -- when they ask you if you want to go home, you say yes.
my already meager paychecks are being eviscerated, i still have no health insurance, and i'm only about $200 closer to going back to college than i was when i started.

so to supplement my feeble, emaciated income, i am taking on a second job. they're offering to start paying me at nearly a dollar over minimum wage, with promised room for advancement. if all of this doesn't kill me by the end of the tour, i may actually come out ahead.

when i think about it, this course of action is in keeping with my typical drug-seeking thought processes -- "well, if ONE job is good, then TWO must be even better....". i have no self-control; even when it comes to such a constructive, productive thing. if i want something i will break myself in pursuit of it.

yesterday, as i was getting my coat from the crew room, my manager came up to me and said, "when i leave here, i'm bringing you with me." i don't know what that means, but i'm grateful that someone wants to save me.

the better angels of our nature.

2009-03-29T17:28:00.002-04:00

i'm lost again. i had my map and compass out, but i looked away for one second to get my bearings and when i looked back, nothing was familiar. i'm standing at a 12-way intersection, all of the paths in front of me are dark and scary and lonely and lined with big menacing fucking trees, weeping willows, and it's going to rain soon.

i'm in the mud spinning my wheels.

i feel like all i have now are problems -- mine and those of others. i feel like all i am now is problems. i start arguements but i can hardly even talk. i feel like i'm racing against a clock, constantly -- like there's some sort of deadline on my youth, when in actuality i stopped being young about ten years ago. i feel like folly and failure have set in stone the path i'm going to have to walk lonely down, for i don't know how long.

but i feel guilty wanting this solitude, like i'm strapped to a bomb in the middle of a crowded transit terminal, and i need to get as far away from civilization as i can before it goes off. or like i'm carrying some deadly disease, highly contageous, one that will force me to live out my remaining days in isolation. but at least those would be noble fates -- i would sacrifice myself so that hundreds, maybe thousands, could continue to live -- i wouldn't be the ignoble complacant bastard i recently woke up as.

the truth is that i'm the one who wants to have his hand held, who wants to be coddled and talked down. not all the time. not even most of the time. but i want to be noticed when i'm scared. when i was a kid and i argued with my parents, i would lay awake in my room crying, sometimes for hours, in the hopes that one of them would come up to check on me and notice and sit on the foot of my bed and talk to me with a soothing voice. but i have problems now -- mine and those of others -- so soliciting mollification makes me feel guilty. because having your hair stroked and your tears dried isn't productive. and i've got to be productive.

i want joy and sunshine and butterflies in my gut, but i don't want it from the bottles or the pills or the worry.

wage slavery.

2009-03-28T03:15:00.004-04:00

i've been lax in updating this weird medium, and part of that reason is the fact that i found a job.
well, "found" is misleading -- i didn't really have to look. as a matter of fact, i spent 7 months looking in the complete opposite direction. but my body's apparent requisite for food demands some sort of steady income, so......

working in fast food is like dancing with the fattest, most disgusting girl at your senior prom (that metaphor works really well, because chances are, she eats a lot of fast food) -- you really, really don't want to, as a matter of fact, you hate yourself for even thinking for half a second that you should ask her to dance, but it's your fucking senior prom and your girlfriend is off grinding with some guy who isn't you, or you're a loser and came by yourself, either way the punch was spiked and you're kind of drunk and suddenly, she's not so bad looking.
plus the kid parked in the seat next to you is playing pokemon on his gameboy (red version) and you don't want to be grouped into the same tight little pigeon-hole as him.

this job doesn't make anybody happy. not me, not you, not your heart. so it is for this reason and with the hope of bettering us all that i will share with you, my loyal and nonexistant readers, some of the secrets from the other side of the counter:

1. do not debate the price of your food with your cashier. if you think about the situation logically, as i am SO FOND of doing, you will soon come to see how far removed your cashier is from the price of your meal. we didn't price the items, we don't control the sales tax for the state, and most importantly, we have no power to change anything. essentially, you are using us as a your punching bag to vent your frustration at realizing that you are powerless over your own eating habits. because, more times than not, you pay the fucking $4.65 for an an(g)us burger anyway.

2. don't expect too much. i know, i know, i know, the signs all say "smiles come free with your order!" but grow the fuck up. the minimum wage is set up to systematically destroy any and all ambitions possessed by its employees over a long enough timeline. $7.15 boils down to about $5.50 after taxes. even full time, you'd make more money on welfare. that's why we're called "wage slaves". so please, take a second to stand in a pair of our non-skid boots and adjust your expectations accordingly.

3. don't ask to speak to our manager. if you're dissatisfied with something about your meal, talk to your cashier about it. chances are, we're pretty dissatisfied about something too. we have solidarity. we have shit in common. if there is anyone in that store who hates being there more than you do, it's the shift manager, because the only thing worse than dying ambition is a dead dream. which is what a mcshift manager is made of.
plus, do you really think any of us give a fuck, personally-speaking, about the fact that your experience wasn't satisfactory?
(typically, this is the result of a misassembled menu item. again, i stress the importance of your expectations -- our kitchen staff is comprised predominantly of non-english speaking immigrants, or, as we call them, "hombres". so yes, the grill slip attached to the box DOES SAY "no pickles", but when you have no idea what the fuck a "pickle" is, knowing them only as "des escabeches", it doesn't really matter.)

4. leave your problems at the door. let me say, i'm no stranger to the concept of "eating one's feelings." i'm also very aware that fast food is an excellent and frequent outlet for this activity. but, dear customers, it isn't your cashier's fault that you're getting a divorce/you've been laid off/you haven't gotten laid recently/etc. keep in mind this one noble truth of dining out (as it is pertinant not just to fast food, but to all of the food service industry) -- the staff are the last people to contact your food before its consumption. don't fuck with us.
just saying.

5. know what you want. this could serve you well in other areas of your life, too. there is nothing more hysterical than the faces you people make as you stand and stare at our illuminated menu boards, salivating openly as you are momentarily overwhelmed by the flood of possibility and essential choices immediately confronting you. deer in fucking headlights.
i understand that most of you are relatively small-minded. so, to help aid in this process, i suggest you ask yourself (internally, of course) a series of questions, such as the following: do i want chicken or beef? how hungry am i? would i like french fries? how much money is in my wallet/bank account/boyfriend? do i really need that 4-piece nugget?
this is an easy process, especially when limited to yes/no questions, and it will greatly expedite the entire process, along with making you look that much less like a complete and utter invalid.

i have so many anecdotes from my past year of mcslavery that i can't even choose which ones to share.
this is the best i can do.
i hope it helps you to read as much as it helped me to write.

violent losers

2009-03-05T03:13:00.003-05:00

i hate money. i hate having money, i hate not having money, and i hate the varying degrees of contempt people look at you with depending on whether you have it or not. i hated the way my father's bloated wallet distended the back pocket of his trousers, how he was always slightly slanted while sitting, and how the wallet could be barren as soon as the next day.

cash rules everything around me. get the money. dolla dolla bills, y'all.

come away from it.

2009-02-17T05:16:00.004-05:00

A Smoking Life: a memoir of a cigarette smoker.

my name is ryan, and i have been a smoker since the summer of 2004. my first cigarette was a half-finished butt i picked from the sidewalk outside of the local drugstore, nervously and awkwardly puffed in an alleyway one night while walking my dog. i was just shy of 15.
that winter, i found an unfinished pack of marlboro ultra lights. they tasted amazing in comparison to my dog-end habit. i would smoke them out of the window of my room late at night, sometimes so overcome with guilt that i wouldn't make it past the first two or three drags.
my first real pack was bought by an older friend the following year. camel lights. she was a big sister to me, and knew all of the places in town that would turn a blind eye to underage smokers. the camel lights were her brand. being too timid and shy initially, she would pick up packs for me after school, before rehearsal for the high school drama production.
maybe it was because i was such an early adapter, but i grew unbelievably self-conscious and gave it up that spring, only to be greeted by a shiny pack of Marlboro Reds for my 17th birthday, accompanying the onset of a deep depression.
and so it truly began.

my mom had growing suspicions about my secret nicotine habit, which were confirmed one november night in 2006. it seems so long ago now, but i came in from my nightly dog-walk and my mom confronted me:
"you smell like cigarette smoke, ryan."
instead of the de facto response i had used prior ("______ smokes", "at a diner/restaurant", etc.), i told her the truth. my habit was growing -- upwards of 4 or 5 cigarettes a day, typically after school. i was tired of sneaking around, showering immediately afterward, hiding the offending garmants under the other dirty clothes ready to wash.
"that's because i smoke, mom."
"i see. how long have you been smoking?" my mother, an ex-smoker herself, was nonplussed by my admission.
"two years, almost."
"how much do you smoke?"
"every day. maybe a pack a week, two at most."
"are you addicted?" i paused. i didn't know. i still don't know if i am addicted to nicotine, or if i ever was.
"yes."
"well then. you know it's terrible for you, i'm sure." a long, awkward pause ensued, and then, "you aren't allowed to smoke in my house." that response always struck me as odd -- not because it was an unreasonable request (quite to the contrary: smoking had been such a clandestine activity for me, i assumed it went without saying), but because it seemed so superficial a thing to say at that point in time. in retrospect, there was so many other difficult, troubling things happening or about to happen at the time, my smoking pales in comparison.

that winter brought about my first heartbreak, my first serious battle with a crippling depression, and my first sense of utter bewildrement as to where i was supposed to be going in my life. so it goes without saying that my cigarettes were my answer for anything -- any conflict (internal or external) merited a smoke, maybe two; i needed the prospect of a cig to coax myself out of bed in the morning, faced with 8 hours of mind-numbing high school; i sat through dinner every night, anxiously awaiting the moment my mom would go to bed so i could walk the dog and smoke without feeling like i was being judged.
by the time spring rolled around, i had it down to a science: one in the morning walking to school. sneak one during my lunch period (propping open the side-door by the band room) and walk around town. one on the way home from school. one after getting to my house, sitting on the step in the back yard. one after dinnre (openly going out now, no more hiding). one or two out of my window before shower (which covered up the smell nicely).
sometimes, i would borrow my mom's ford explorer and smoke while driving, hypersensitve to any residual smell, driving with all 4 windows down in the middle of february for at least an extra 10 minutes before returning home.
i knew all of the local places with lenient ID policies, and once my best friend started, we would drive there and stock up. i was broke most of the time, so i bummed off of her a lot of the time. she settled on parliaments, which i smoked for a while (3 packs for the price of 2, what a STEAL!), before discovering marlboro blend no. 27s.

then came college. i went to college with 4 cartons of smokes. after the first month and a half, they were gone. my mother begged and pleaded with me the summer prior to give it up -- "smoking is such an antisocial habit, ryan. how will you make friends?" i couldn't wait to tell her that EVERY SINGLE FRIEND i made initially was met over a cigarette. even my first adult romance was initiated through a shared love of Clove kreteks (the black ones).

i left college after that semester, and travelled the country for a few months, settling down with my sister (another ex-nicofiend) in a suburb of nashville. so much had become transient and uncertain in my life -- dropping out of college, turbulant relationships with both of my parents, a lonely existence in a strange new city... my cigarettes seemed like the only static truth i could hang on to. no matter what happens to me, i thought often, i can smoke and think and sort it all out. i will be okay.

the whole thing became such a ritual for me -- i would pop in my earphones, grab a dr pepper and light up. my music was just as important to me as the smoke itself: anything by Elliott Smith demanded a cig if it came on, as did Nirvana; Neutral Milk, Sufjan Stevens, the Shins, and Pixies were all good for lazy outdoor sessions, waiting for friends; Bright Eyes and Death Cab was so depressing that you had to smoke a cig just to break even; light one for the Postal Service because you'll always be alone. at one point, it felt like i was acknowledging how important these songs were to me, lighting a fresh one in their honor. if elliott were alive, i'm sure he'd be laughing at me.

throughout this time, smoking was never a problem for me. at times, i was self-conscious and uncomfortable about how i smelled, or constantly having to go outside at all hours of the night and disrupting the other residents, but i could afford it. it was worth it: those 6 or 7 minutes of clarity, time i spent listening to music and thinking. time for myself.
but i couldn't sort everything out the way i thought i could. things were too heavy for me, and i fell. i fell very, very hard, and landed in a very dark place. and i moved home.

my mom welcomed me with open arms and a list of expectations: eat right. sleep right. work hard. live right. i vowed to do my best to quit smoking, something i never intended to actually accomplish, and continued to push back my "quit date" -- after i got a job, after i started treatment for depression, after i got the right meds, etc.
the first bump i hit came on my second saturday back: i returned home without a penny to my name, and was terrified of what would happen if i couldn't smoke. i would lose the one constant thing i had had for the past year. i gathered together my collection of DVDs and told my mom i was going to a local blockbuster to sell them. my brother and i drove to an FYE 30 minutes north of our town, sold them, and promptly got lost. two hours later, after deliberately ignoring her calls, we return and my brother lets slip our actual destination. i lost the privilage to drive, and felt like a genuine asshole for lying to my mother almost immediately after she took me back in.

once that ran out, i still had no money. i loaded up the back of the car with an old marshall amplifier (lists at $250), and a well-loved but aging epiphone sheraton II hollowbody. this guitar was a very beloved possession: a christmas gift from my father 5 years prior, i had studied how to play jazz with it, performed with it, polished it, adored it. i was proud to own this guitar, proud to show it to people, proud to tell them how little it was sold for ($450, lists at around $900). i sold my sheraton II for $85. i can only hope that it found a home with someone who is less irresponsible and has a better sense of priorities than i.

alarm set in soon after i got a job -- i was making minimum wage, and even working 40+ hours a week, i was barely making over $1k a month, after taxes. out of this, i had to pay rent, a phone bill, student loans, insurance, plus attempt to save money for an attempted return to college. the available funds i could spend on cigarettes were quickly diminishing, but still i smoked on.........

until i moved to New York last september. in new york city, on the island of manhattan, a pack of cigarettes costs a minimum of $8.50 at any bodega (most charge $9). i was once again without employment, once again completely broke. my father initally stipened me $20 a day, but soon tired of supporting my smoking habit (which, due to lack of.... well, anything to do, had swollen to at least a pack daily, often more). this $20 was supposed to feed me, entertain me, and transport me around the island each day.
i had the misfortune of falling in love with a girl who had just started smoking, who would readily give me an almost-new pack of cigarettes, or more often than not buy me my own. it made me sick. it felt like i was taking advantage of her, something i would never want to consciously do to anyone.
so i got a job. same as the last job, only with less hours and an even lower hourly wage.
and i can't afford to keep it up.
---------
i believe that we walk a path through this life. i believe that everything happens to us for a purpose, at a purposeful time. i believe that who we are and where we are, every minute of our lives, is based on a universal need -- we are what we are right now because that is our role at this point in time.
the emphasis is on the timing -- i believe that i needed to be a smoker for this part of my life. i believe that my smoking habit helped me deal with stress, helped me channel my depression and anger into something less destructive than what it could have been. i believe that i would not be here typing this if i hadn't started smoking.

and i believe that it is time for me to go. i am no longer meant to smoke cigarettes. i have too many goals and plans and dreams that will not be physically or fiscally possible if i continue.

which is why at 5:09 AM this morning, february the 17th, i smoked my last cigarette.
it was a Parliament Full Flavor. and it was the best cigarette of my entire life.

wish me luck. but i don't think i'm going to need it. :)

i'm mr. snow miser.

2009-02-09T06:15:00.003-05:00

all of my life i've listened to people talk about winters in NYC with a sort of dark reverence, as if each season on the Island were some grotesque, perennial rite-of-passage that will separate the Tompkins Gutterpunks from the Chelsea Gays.

it's always the same razor-like gusts that bite at every inch of exposed flesh, rending through layers of clothing like it's trying to take something from you; the ubiquity, the sheer totality of the bottomless temperature, chilling through you until you don't even remember why you moved here; the way the snow drifts melt on street corners during the workday, becoming depressing puddles of filthy slush, only to freeze back into a traffic hazard in time for tomorrow morning's rush.

all of these hyperbole are more or less accurate, but they fall short of grasping the truly sinister. the cruelest part of winter on the Island comes in the middle of january, when you wake up one day to halcyon sunshine and 59 degrees of golden air outside your window. you dare to venture out, practically naked compared to the veritable suit of blankets you've been shrouding yourself in, looking to the sky and naively wondering if some kind of seasonal cease-fire had been called......but you're lucky if you aren't back in scarves and mittens by sundown.

these tantric thaws serve no purpose than as a fleeting reminder of the fertility of spring, and to reinforce the intrinsic inertia that keeps you cocooned every frigid fucking morning.

a better daughter or son, and a real good friend.

2008-12-11T13:17:00.002-05:00

there are occasional times in my life where i will be forcefully reminded of just how much i love Rilo Kiley.
that's the wonderful thing about that band -- i will go for months without listening to them, enraptured by various other recordings and raconteurs, and then all of a sudden, bam, i'm walking around midtown on bizarrely warm December night and "A Better Son/Daughter" comes on shuffle and i actually start crying.

jenny lewis lyrically addresses her innermost insecurities and fears, but she does so in such a lighthearted and darkly humorous manner that you can't help but grin.
if you don't know what i'm talking about, listen to "Glendora" off of their eponymous album.

"that one?"

2008-11-05T00:33:00.000-05:00

nah.
more like, "that won."

decision 2008.

2008-11-04T15:12:00.004-05:00

i want to tell you about barack obama, and why i voted for him.

over the past 20 years of my life, i watched this country bloom after the cold war. i watched the first gulf war broadcast right into my living room. i watched the country falter under the media-fueled weight of a presidential sex scandal. i watched florida fuck up an entire electoral process.

i saw the planes hit the towers again and again and again. so many of my friends in middle school lost family. september 11th, 2001 got my attention and i started listening -- something which i continued to do for the next 8 years, and something i frequently wondered if my fellow americans were doing. i watched this country come together and unite after those attacks.
i watched that unity fall under the weight of fear and suspicion and anger.

i watched the most powerful man in the greatest country in the world lie with a perfect poker face. i saw cracks form in this society and i watched, horrified, as they turned into enormous ravines. i watched talking heads on both sides spew hate at the other -- one side clung to a flag that the other was setting on fire.

the most frustrating part of this entire downswing was the fact that my opinion didn't matter. i was disenfranchised because i was too young, too inexperienced, too undereducated, too whatever. i felt trapped in a system that i didn't choose, like being in the backseat of a burning car. i screamed and screamed throughout my adolescence but, honestly, who the fuck is going to listen to a plaid-wearing highschooler who looks like a regurgitation of a decade-old social movement?

this brings me to my point: barack obama has aligned himself -- either deliberately or inadvertantly -- with my generation; us, the kids who grew up watching their parents scream at televisions and at each other in complete frustration, the kids who screamed at their parents, who spit out Michael Moore talking points like they were Gospel.
he is the opposite of the incumbent administration, but more importantly, he is opposite of the incumbent culture in this country -- in that he speaks of peace and unity between all men, by whatever means necessary.

this nation is at a breaking point that it hasn't seen since the days before the Civil War. the fact that a black man from an underprivilaged background is standing on the verge of a landslide victory for the office of the President is stirring up some of the most hideous parts of this country's past, but he is looking past it.
and we should be, too.

barack obama is a change. he may not be the most experienced candidate for this office, but he has a heart, and he has self-control, and he has love.
and in the words of neil young: "love and only love will endure. hate is everything you think it is. love and only love will break it down. love, and only love, will break it down."

division day.

2008-10-30T16:46:00.003-04:00

sometimes when i'm really angry, or having difficulty expressing my emotions, i go onto AIM and open up a conversation window with the person who i'm angry at.
in the dialogue box, i type all of the things that i can't say. i lay everything out very simply and very honestly, taking time to make sure my grammar is perfect.
after it's all done, i sit there and look at it for a second, reading it, relishing in the fact that i could hit "enter" and solve the entire situation. and then, once i feel content, i close the window and take a deep breath.

i don't recommend doing this when you're drunk, though:

11:32:19 pm coming up ryan: i hate you. i cna't udnerstand why you wnt talk to me anymor23e. you tell mde that you've been in love with me this entrie time and after that you ignored me agian. fuck you, that's really evil shit. it makes sendse because youre al the same. you all do the sazmea evil manipulative shit. i don't even twatn to talk to you.
11:32:47 pm coming up ryan: oh fuck.
11:32:55 pm coming up ryan: i didn't mean to sned that.
11:33:01 pm coming up ryan: fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.
11:34:33 pm xxxxxxxxxxxx: ......ryan?
11:34:59 pm xxxxxxxxxxxx: this is tim, not xxxx.
11:35:49 pm coming up ryan: oh. lol.
11:37:04 pm xxxxxxxxxxxx: .....haahahahahahahahaaahahahahahhaa you're such a tool.

violent pornography.

2008-10-27T01:07:00.003-04:00

frequently i wake up and my extremeties are numb. i'm attributing this to my genetic low blood pressure and my decreased circulation from cigarette smoking. and i think that this is the reason why i've been single for a year.
in all honesty, nobody wants to cuddle with a guy who has frosty toes.
and, ladies, who can blame you?

there is nothing more traumatic than having your paramour climb under the sheets with you after you've already been in there, incubating, waging war against the encroaching cold that you have to slowly beat back to the outskirts of the sheets, half-asleep only to be jerked back into awkward, frigid reality by his/her cadaverous touch.
it's enough of a shock when you stretch your legs out fully from your fetal sleeping position and discover that the lower half of the bed is still ice fucking cold, but to be so intimately betrayed by someone who should be contributing to your cause with their body heat? that's just cruel.

today marked the one-year anniversary of someone stupid who, as fate would have it, did something really stupid.
i mean, really, really fucking stupid. to think that i may have lived through the day in peace, failing to remember that such an event had transpired one year ago tonight, until i was reminded lovingly by my dearest Chelsea, wanting to wish me bon anniversaire and see what festivities i had planned for the night.

oh, i don't know, chels. i was thinking about going to the bar and getting hammered, then going back to my room with my friend's girlfriend and anally fucking her before sending her off to bed with her boyfriend, down the hall.
but the hour is late, and i have grown weary.

ah, well. maybe next year, yeah? : )

loisaida.

2008-10-16T09:49:00.002-04:00

greetings from the alphabet.

i got out of that hell of an apartment a little over a week ago, settling to pay $300 more for what could ostensibly be considered the best view of the east side of manhattan. my new landlord is a 70-something year old playwrite with a penchant for hard liquor and uninhibited vulgarity. he has a cat who is about as decrepit as himself, called "squeaky."
life is incredible, no?

you would think that in a city this highly populated, one would have to actively search out reasons to be lonely.
you would think that forty ounces is a lot of alcohol.
you would think a lot of things.
but it's not true.

what makes me so angry is the fact that nobody is explaining this ACORN bullshit. sarah palin is claiming that the obama campaign is refusing to disavow ACORN's voter fraud, which is a ridiculous fucking statement seeing as how there was no fraud committed -- WE HAVEN'T HAD THE ELECTION YET.
regardless of that fact, nobody is mentioning the fact that ACORN themselves were the ones who brought the fraudulent ballots to the attention of the election committee. that's right -- ACORN, the organization who is about to cause the very fabric of worldwide Democracy to unravel.

oh what the fuck. give me a break here.

DRILL BABY DRILL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2008-10-02T22:47:00.006-04:00

hi, my name is sarah palin, and i've been a puppet for just over a month. i always wanted to be a real girl.

over the next hour and a half, i'm going to wink at the camera, disregard the questions asked of me by the moderator, send shout-outs to third-graders, raise my own question and neglect to answer them, rattle off memorized nonsequiter attacks against the opposing ticket while ignoring my own principal's flaws, and then (my coup de grâce) i will hypocritically cry for "SMALL GOVERNMENT!" just before energetically discussing my plans to distend the role of Vice President.

oh, and did i mention that i'm going to openly mock my candidate's personal emotional losses while he cries publicly?

i am everything that is wrong with America at this point in time.

in the words of my favorite philosopher: "watching Biden and Palin debate is going to be like watching two flies fuck on a wall."

good grief, america. good grief.

the fool and the financial aid office: a love story

2008-09-22T17:36:00.002-04:00

it's times like this that i wish i went to NYU, so i, too, could blow $200,000 on the right to ride around on the subway and sneer at everyone around me like a complete fucking douchebag.

today was rather uneventful. i woke up and turned on the news, and found out that the economy is over. that's it -- kaput. we're all fucked. i really wish i had some wity, clever remarks about who bought out who, or which part of your head you should point the barrel of the gun at, but i don't. so long.

last night, natasha and i went to colombus circle and had the pleasure of encountering hernando, an astonishingly inebriated 30-something man of dubious origins who took an avid interest in the two of us.
our conversation went like this --
hernando: "where you from?"
me: "here. new york."
hernando: "ahhh, new york. mumble mumble mumble."
(4 minutes later)
hernando: "where are you from?"
me: (laughing) "new york."
hernando: "england?"
me: "yeah. sure. england."
hernando: "what's yr name?"
this man was handing me gold nuggets of shit. i had to take them.
me: "bernard. bernie, for short," i say, donning my most over-the-top british accent. "and this is my sister."
hernando: "and what is your name?"
natasha: "chelsea."

and so on and so forth.
new york, new york. fuck you.
-ryan out.

the ruff muffs.

2008-09-21T23:45:00.000-04:00

so here i sit, bewildered on a mattress, no longer able to take the stench of this apartment and i've only been living here for two days. the landlord is old and decrepit and has lots of cats and back problems that prevent her from cleaning or actually doing anything. at all.
the room i'm renting is roughly 10'x10', has one "window" (a hole with glass that looks out into the spacious air vent of the building), and is recovering from a silverfish infestation. the entire apartment is furnished in someone's grotesque attempt at 19th-century parisian sensibility, but it feels like whoever decorated gave up and fucked themselves halfway through. the walls are stained and peeling; the sink in the bathroom looks pre-war and has aquamarine-hued mineral deposits beneath the handles and faucet from constantly-running water; the kitchen should just be set fire to and prayed for. by anyone's standards, this is a veritably ruff muff -- it'll take a lot to love a place like this.

it'll take a lot to get laid in a place like this.

this is it -- this is the "better life" that i'm determined to make for myself. this is what i get for dropping out of college after a semester and quitting a shit job. this is what i get for frustration.
but fuck it, i get to smoke inside.

tomorrow begins my job-hunt, the construction of my resume (which will be pathetic), and probably an extended period of time where i sit by myself watching missed episodes of grey's anatomy on abc.com.
that show is fierce.
more on the story as it progresses.

ryan out.