"I've Made a Huge Mistake" Part Please Kill Me Now!

This is the rickshaw in question:


More on it later.

I've moved. Most of my stuff, at least. Not so much the big stuff, but I'm going to get it later. The highlight of my day was finding my copy of Dear You that I've been looking for for two years plus. There have been many low lights. My mom only waited about five minutes into the drive to start explaining to me how some people don't achieve their goals and how she didn't and Dad didn't and they never thought they'd end up the way they were. Her point being that some people can't achieve their goals, and by some people she means me. I don't see what the big fucking deal is. All I want to do is move to Chicago. She's been there before. She wasn't murdered. It's not that expensive. I'm not that gigantic of a failure. At least I don't think I am. I had to change a tire. That was another low light. I was hungover all day. That was shitty. There's nothing to eat. I think I broke my back carrying all of my dvds. None of these things were the worst part of my day, though.

This is me and my Grandpa when I was three-years-old.



If you look closely, you can see that I was fucking adorable. You may also notice that nowadays I dress exactly like the guy, sans the hat. Anyway, he died about a month ago and, due to a series of unfortnuate events, I was unable to attend this funeral. It is true that I hate funerals and I ran out in the middle of the last one I was at and I vowed to never go to a funeral again. I think funerals are an obligation and not a celebration of life, not to mention the fact that it's an extremely lucrative business that funeral homes exploit to their advantage. I would rather not support that.

That said, not going to his funeral was terrible. I don't recall ever feeling quite that badly about something. I didn't really speak to anyone for eight days, I barely ate, I couldn't sleep at all, so on and so forth with the terrible things.

So, anyway, Grandpa used to pull me around in that rickshaw when I was young and that's a very fond memory for me. I was thinking about that rickshaw the other night and decided it would be a great idea for me to take it and try and fix it up while I'm living here, because I won't have any friends to hang out with or anything else to do. I asked my dad about it and he said it could probably be fixed up but my mom kept going on about how it's a hunk of junk and they're going to sell it as soon as possible and she won't have that thing at her house, blah, blah, blah. Later on, I told her I couldn't believe she wouldn't let me have the rickshaw and she was all, "You didn't even go to his funeral so I don't know why you would want it, anyway." Then she went on and accused me of not going on purpose, just because I didn't want to. My family seems to think I have this cruel streak in me where I don't care about anyone else. I don't feel like getting into anymore examples because they really bum me out, especially since I don't think I'm cruel or insensitive or completely uneffected by deaths of family members. These people don't get me. At all. This is probably why most people don't move in with their parents at this age.

This was day one. Not even a full day has passed and I've been scoffed at for thinking I'll actually move to Chicago and I've had my feelings hurt pretty badly to boot. DAY ONE. FUCK.

Shut Up, Blog

Oh, no. It's happened. I've gotten drunk alone and have started feeling really sad. I don't think it's about leaving Columbia, though. I'm going to miss some of my friends from Columbia. A few I'll keep in touch with. Others I probably won't keep in touch with and I might even feel badly about it. Others have made it perfectly clear that there was no point in us being friends to begin with. And some probably don't even know I'm moving. So, I'll miss a few people, and I'll miss 9th Street Video, and I'll miss Eastside some, and I'll miss the occassional Shakespeare's Pizza. I'll miss Boulevard Wheat, too, I bet, but basically I'm ready to leave.

I've always felt rather lonely here. In fact, I've felt lonely for as long as I can remember, give or take a few nice spots of comfort and happiness. I'm setting myself up for greater lonliness, though, I think. I'm moving in with my parents for upwards of half a year (God, I hope it's not that long) with intentions of deliberately ignoring any and all possibility of social activity. Then I want to move to Chicago where I know absolutely no one? If I thought I were good at making friends I wouldn't be concerned, but I know I'm not good at making friends. The only thing I'll know to do is go to bars alone and drink until I'm drunk enough to talk to someone, and then what? Is that person going to be my friend? People who make friends in bars are creeps, aren't they? And wouldn't that make me a creep? I don't want to be a creep. I don't even want to go to bars alone anymore!

Oh, well. I'll figure it out, I guess. I'd sure like a sweetheart, but that would probably ruin things more than my own disposition already has. Or will. Or whatever. Shut up, Blog.

Which is the Better Ron Howard Movie?

Backdraft or The Paper?

Blogger won't let me edit my stupid blog entries. Seeing as how I consider them stupid, one would think I wouldn't care about editing my blog entires. I do, though, I really do want to. Especially that last one. It's so stupid. I could delete it, but deleting blog entries is the first sign of me losing interest in the ol' blogspot, and I want to keep it going. I like the anonymity of Blogger. Myspace isn't doing it for me these days.

The following makes me very unhappy:

I'm Going to Join Daughtry

I don't like that people get so offended when Kobe is compared to Jordan. It offends... ME!

I watched The Bank Dick again tonight. W.C. Fields is funny. I bet no one has ever noticed that before!

I should be packing stuff but I've just been sitting in front of my computer all night doing nothing. I made pancakes for dinner. They weren't good. I was going to watch The Rules of the Game, too, but I'm not quite in the mood to see what could be the greatest movie ever for the first time. Me and my moods.

It would be pretty cool to be a guitar player in Daughtry. You surely have to be able to let go of every insecurity you've ever had to play music like that. I can play that crap. I've got a semi-fancy guitar. I can get some leather pants. I want in! I want to be around that Chris Daughtry aura. I bet it's like walking through the gates of heaven with a big boner. I would just breathe him in. Perhaps I should make an audtion tape...

"I've Made a Huge Mistake" Part II

My Mom bought me some contacts for Christmas and had me pay for them with her credit card. I gave the card back without committing the card numbers to memory believe it or not.

Today I got an e-mail saying there were two strange charges on her card from yesterday and she wanted to know if I made them. Considering that I have no access to said credit card this was impossible for me to do even if I had wanted to, so I said that I did not make those charges. She wrote back and asked if I was sure. Now, granted, I did order a t-shirt online on March 19th that, with shipping, cost $4.99. I used my check card to do such, though. I told her this but stressed that it was on my card, not hers. I also asked what the charges were. She e-mailed them to me and after a quick Google search of the two companies ordered from, it was obscenely obvious that my Dad had made said charges. He was never considered a suspect, though, despite the fact that he orders something off of Ebay with that very same card at least once a week. First it was my fault, then it was the Internet's fault.

What am I getting myself into... Yikes.

"I've Made a Huge Mistake"

I've decided that, after a reasonable amount of thought, that I am leaving Columbia, Missouri. I will be making the incredibly embarrassing move into my parent's humble home, for... oh, this stings... six months. Worse yet, maybe even longer, but I will defintely not be living there in 2008. At some point this fall I will be moving to Chicago where I will take some semi-appropriate steps towards attempting a career in writing. This is the point where you start laughing. Unfortunately, however, what I just wrote was unintentionally funny. Whatever, though - I'll take what I can get.

If I could think of a reason to not do this I would strongly consider it. I can't, though. I've stayed in Columbia four years longer than I should have. I don't really have any commitments to anything here. People need goals. I pulled one out of my ass and it doesn't even stink, so I'm just going to go with it.

As much as living with my parents is going to suck, I look forward to baking a lot and posting photos of all of my baked goods. I might even build something and take a picture of it, too. I anticipate abusing Netflix, reading all of the books I own that I've yet to read, and enjoying not having a car because I really don't want one. Oh, and having a really shitty job.

I'll be gone on the 31st, so if I have anything of yours that you want back, let me know.

Addicted to Addiction

I don't know what I'm watching on HBO right now, but it should not be on television. It's a guy abusing his wife in front of his four-year-old son who is screaming and crying. Holy shit, there's video of him drunk driving and wrecking. Wow. This is ridiculous. Make me stop. These addiction shows are not for me. Somebody put on "Cathouse" or "Babar" on. This little kid crying is breaking my heart.

Oh, wait. He's out of rehab now. Everything's better. He still seems like an asshole, though. Oh, wait. They're bankrupt now. Things are not better. He's going to relapse. Why am I still watching this? Why does it have to be so fast-paced? Wait. Huh? He's a news anchor now. They live in a log cabin now! How the hell is this asshole on the news? Lead anchor! Oh, no! He's drinking again but they're playing happy music. PAID SUSPENSION! His boss asked for his resignation! His wife is crying. He's talking about shooting himself. 1997 is history, let's start 1998! Oh, no. March onf 1998 the wife filed for divorce. And so begins the crack smoking... Hopefully the crack will help him sort things out. Six years later and he's giving a speach about being sober at a high school graduation. I hope this is over. He keeps talking about the fame and how hard the fame was. He's was a local news anchor. How hard could it be? Ah, credits. Thank you. I'm going now.

I Can't Snooze But I Still Lose

Friday night I failed to crash your party and, therefore, I had no reason on Saturday to say I'm sorry. Today, Sunday, I did nothing, so it didn't really trash me out again. Here's what I did do this weekend:

Friday: I watched Take the Money and Run and Bananas on Turner Classic Movies. After that they aired an episode of "The Dick Cavett Show" from 1971 and Woody Allen was the guest. It was fairly amusing. Then I laid in bed for several hours until I finally decided I was not going to be able to sleep, so I made pancakes. They were not all that great. It was only my second attempt every at making pancakes. My ham, cheddar, and jalapeno omelette I ate the day before, however, was delicious. I was able to fall asleep around 9:30 Saturday morning.

Saturday: I woke up at 3:00. Jimi told me we had to go to Bobby's at 3:45 and we did. We watched several episodes of "Wildboyz" and I thoroughly enjoyed each. Then some people arrived for his party and we grilled food and drank beer and other things of that nature. When they all decided to go Deja Vu to dance, dance, dance, I took that as my opportunity to take Jimi's car home, which I did. If I recall correctly, I looked at a bunch of crap on the Internet and was bored out of my mind. Eventually I think I managed to fall asleep.

Sunday: Bobby showed up over here for reasons unknown and he brought be a Route 44 root beer! That's my favorite. Then he and Jimi went to softball practice and I've basically sat around and done nothing. Very little to report no the Sunday front.

That was my lame weekend. I had an okay time at Bobby's, but everything else was dumb.

Did you know that my hair looks ridiculous? I've told myself I'm going to get a haircut for the past two weeks, I just don't go through with it. I hate it so much. And I have to walk there. The walk of shame to Great Clips. I wonder who it will be worse for - me, the person who hates getting haircuts and is very uncomfortable with the entire process or the person cutting my hair who will see me walk in with this mop on my head and realize that he or she does not get paid enough? I'll get a haircut tomorrow. If I don't I'm going to punch my genitals really hard. That'll teach me.

I think The Human Giant looks pretty funny.

I have a friend named Jessica who swears she listens to techno. Who the fuck listens to techno?

David Spade touched Jessi Klein's boobs on "The Showbiz Show". I do not approve. And, speaking of Spade, he's really funny. I'm not ashamed to say it.

As you can probably tell, I'm out of things to say.

The Whole World, Man...

Planet Earth. I'm excited.

Tales of a Neglected Blog

Oh... Hello, Blog. How have you been? No, no... Stop being silly! I haven't been avoiding you! I have not! I've just been busy. You know, hustle and bustle and the like. You called? Oh, my cell phone is just plain screwy. I barely even know how to work the thing. Check messages? You can do that on a cell phone? News to me. Just shut up for a minute so I can tell you how I've been!

I received a Myspace message today saying that I have fallen off the face of the planet. That's some dumb hyperbole, but there are some elements of truth in there. I did all but delete my Myspace account two or three weeks ago (although I did put a picture of Davy Crockett up and a sweet YouTube video, so it's not being completely avoided). I haven't "gone out" lately, if you will. Um... oh, I cancelled a show my band was supposed to play a few weeks ago and, more recently, I quit said band. I haven't answered my phone in seven days or so. I've been trying to avoid all things human in general come to think of it, so yeah, I sort of have been a little unsocial. The past two weeks have been some of the worst ever for me. It's to the point where I'm going to have to pull so hard on my boot straps that they might break, but if I don't manage I might wind up committed. The latter being something I've always romanticized, despite having an uncle who has been committed for decades and knowing how unpleasant that must be just from visiting him. Seems like a good excuse, though. "Hey, I'm fucking crazy over here! Leave me alone!"

Did I mention that I don't sleep anymore? Well, I do sometimes, but I've been having so much trouble sleeping that I've actually cried tears of sleeplessness. There's a reason I'm writing this at 4:00 in the morning. It's because I've been laying in bed for three hours unable to produce the tiniest of lowercase zs. What can I say, I've got a fuckload of anxiety. Sue me.

I made a tiny donation to the WFMU pledge drive last night. I'm pretty bummed that I couldn't afford to donate more, but I'm glad I actually went through with donating instead of last year when I didn't even bother. I was also bummed that my pledge didn't get acknowledged on the air, nor was my comment read, but the entertainment provided more than made up for it. Not to mention the fact that Mr. Tom Scharpling himself visited a messageboard I frequent and thanked us all for our donations and even apologized for chewing gum during the show, something I mentioned was annoying in a previous post, completely unaware that Tom would be reading it. He said he was chewing gum not out of Burt Reynolds-style arrogance, but in hopes of having minty fresh breath for all of the guests to enjoy. That I can understand.

So, I want to get back to writing some because, uh... Well, I've got some stuff I want to write. And while I know the crap I've written and wrote-en here certainly can't be considered "writing", it's practice. Hopefully I will bring this blog back better than ever (shouldn't be too hard) and I'll get ten hits a day or some shit. Stay tuned.

Or not.