With the only highlight of the trip thus far being Wal-Mart potato wedges, I was pulling into Richmond between the Boulevard and Belvidere exits when 'Home Sweet Home' came on shuffle on my ipod. We made wonderful time home, and we needed to. I'm never leaving Richmond, especially for somewhere west. It's just so far removed; all those cities are buried inside America. Theres no escape.


On a a serious note, fuck Louisville. I am never going back there. It's like it tries to be as 'cool' as Richmond and DC, but it's so full of rich yuppies that it's impossible. Fuck most of the people there, and especially fuck you, Keith.


I came home to warm damp rugs creating a humid tropical rainforest in my house and a roommate bitching about conditioner that he probably hid from himself. I woke up to a mother screaming about my 200 dollar parking ticket and went to work only to come home again to the power out. Awesome.


NTC lifestyle never quit

Scared of girls

99 problems but a bitch ain't one. I've found myself dealing with so many assholes lately, and i'm glad to say for once that my family hasn't been contributing for once. Christmas went off fight-free for one of the first times, though chinese food isn't helping my cheer.

For the first time in my life, I have found myself with some people being afraid of me. This is weird. I am not an intimidating person, but I am crazy. At this exact moment there are at least two people who refuse to speak to me because they are afraid. This is because I tell them the truth. I really do hope that you are the first death from weed overdose, Ryan, and I really will sue you in February, you know who you are.

In other news, I got a new job! And thanks to Ukrops only giving me one day a week, I will still be there. Fun times, but it's whatever. I can't keep getting bored all the time, some variety will do me good. I'm eternally thankful for my parents being willing to help me pay for my shit so that I can get on my feet. Love them.

It's christmas time! Fuck yeah, we're gonna chill tonight.

Fuck

Writing like it's my job sucks. 20ish pages in 24 hours, my new home:

Until approximately 1am. Then 2 hrs of Brokeback Mountain.

I'm starting a punk rock band to the kill the time when I don't have to deal with this shit, or anything except my monotonous job for 40 hrs a week. Who's with me?

What

I haven't updated this in forever because I don't have any good stories, except for ones that I'm tired of telling.
We're finally moved in but on a precarious perch.

My dog is gone.

My mother was functioning really well with the move until this weekend, buying us house supplies and being really supportive. I came home tonight to get some stuff, and I told her about our idea for a present for her- getting her a new tattoo in DC. She refused the present and then offered me whatever money was in her wallet, almost in tears. She never really thought we were leaving, and now we are gone and theres just... nothing. I am fucking torn. I never doubted anything until now, and now I can't doubt because this is right, and now I'm fucking crying in the goddamn library because I already miss her.

On top of this, someone I've had a pretty fucked up relationship with but whom I trusted as a friend fucked me over for the last time this week. I am DONE.


It's been a pretty bad week, minus 1202.

Clean

Tonight I decided to undergo at least part of the Herculean task of cleaning out the underneath of my bed. I figured I'd find a lot of treasures, and I was not disappointed. I found papers that I had scoured for hours for last year, and which almost cost me graduating from high school. I found a notebook from the summer before my sophomore year when I dieted obsessively, chronicalling every calorie I ate. I found a full pack of cigarettes. I also found this, written about 3 years ago about the summer after my 8th grade year:

"When I walked down my driveway on that unusually beautiful February day, I noticed something unusual - my dad was in the driveway washing the car.

I would like to say that if I could have foreseen the horror, pain, and ______ [I didn't put a word in here] ahead, I would have left. In 2002, I would have stayed with my Aunt or Grandmother when I saw them that summer. Or, in 2004, I would have taken the chance to give up the Governors School and stay with my Aunt in South Carolina after staying with her all summer, and experiencing some semblance of normalcy.

But I wouldn't have, and I have still never left hell. Not because I am brave or strong, and I want to tough out the rough times with my family, but because I am weak. If I could have known then how things would end up, I simply would not have believed it. How can, in five years, a person go from a quiet kid from a solidly middle-class family with loving parents to near-insanity and relying on the charity of others to survive? Truthfully, if I had known, I would have refused to accept what would happen to me- much the same way I am now.

Is ignorance really bliss?"


I know this sucks but I really still write the same way I do now, it's strange. Just for background info, my dad lost his job in 2002 which lead to a downward spiral of alcoholism, deranged behavior from all, us losing our house, and me becoming a religious fanatic as a way to cope.

Fun stuff, all brought up under my fucking bed.

Alert the Internet

I'm getting clean and getting a house.

And still finding ways to be a fuckup.

On the bright side, I remembered this week why I love my parents. Today, I told the mother about us moving out, and, after being completely nonplussed and claiming ownership of the dog because 'you all aren't going to take care of her' (thank God, good riddance), proceeded to start gathering up, sorting, and packing our kitchen items without being asked while Bianca and I went out.

Sometimes I like school

I borrowed Bianca's USB drive today because mine is missing to save a powerpoint for history class. Knowing Bianca's fondness for crude pictures, I did a brief scan of the mostly photograph-containing drive and found nothing offensive at the top, presumably the only area visible as I select my powerpoint in front of the class on the projector. The only picture I found was a picture of our "friend", professional douchebag Ryan, in a gay-porn style cowboy hat and a rather homoerotic grin, appropriately titled "homo". Fearing this may offend or embarrass someone, I move the picture to the bottom of the icon tiles, and move my powerpoint to the top.


Once in class, I go up and front and begin to open up the powerpoint when I first realize that my powerpoint is not at the top anymore. What is instead at the top of the icon tiles is a full-folder icon preview of a real-life ass. As I hastily scrolled down to avoid the ass, hoping that no one noticed, I encounter the 'homo' picture of Ryan. One student comments "I like that picture of the guy named homo"
I begin somewhat nervous banter, and scroll up again only to encounter the ass yet again. This time my teacher, obviously a former New England liberal arts college hippie, notices.
"Do you want me to no-show it?" I begged.
"See the problem is, it won't turn back on."

While I hastily try to resolve the situation by blurting something about how I borrowed my friend's USB drive and had no idea of what else of awfulness she may have put on it, my teacher saves the day.

"Oh dear... well maybe just don't tell her that we saw that, and we'll all close our eyes so you can open the powerpoint."
While my professor and most of the class oblige me, I brush my shoulders off, open the powerpoint, and commence presenting.


Later, I text Bianca about the mishap.
"Dude, you know that was my ass right? From when ______ bit me"
"Well, I guess 19 people just saw your ass then."

She thought it was hilarious.

I can only write when i'm high

They say that heroin addicts spend their whole lives chasing the dragon- trying to reach that first, pure, unattainable high again. I realized last night that I have spent most of my last few years chasing the dragon in every area of my life. The happy years of my childhood whose memory I associated with my house, I chased – looking to preserve memories long dead in the fights ringing in my household. If I could save the house, I could save us all and bring us back to that time. After the first time I kissed or touched or fucked any of the people I have, I chased. I tried over and over again to get as high as I got on that first night with anyone who would oblige me long enough. If they did not, I chased them, trying for even a chance at obtaining that high, and getting back what I once had but had lost somewhere along the way. I chase the night I lost my virginity in every sexual experience I have, hoping to top my preconceptions of perfect, though I would always be willing to settle for a match. I chase the high I got from my first few packs of cigarettes every time I light up a Marlboro Red, the calm and relief I get now only being a passing substitute until the day they miraculously get me high again. In chasing the beautiful, childlike high I got from ecstasy, I used hordes of people I considered my friends, running over them for an experience that ended up being horribly aging – I suppose I got what I deserved. Even as I write this, I look forward to the possibilities of new highs and new firsts that I will chase in the future, because these memories are still sweet. My memories remind me that good still happens, though it is fleeting, and I chase these memories to keep them alive.

5 things I learned from Ben Sweet

After having spent so much time around this nutty fellow named Ben Sweet this summer and this fall, I have found that I learned a lot from him.

1. If you make a drink out of Everclear, vodka, PBR, 1.29 Grape Drank from Wal-mart, and lemon-lime off-brand soda, it will taste shockingly good, but will probably make you ill shortly thereafter.

2. Shell and BP have the best gas, most other brands are total shit. This is probably the most important advice i've learned, and one that I will carry with me throughout my life.

3. Primordial dwarves are not babies, or aliens, or alien babies.

4. Psychedelic drugs are bad. Acid is dangerous. Shrooms are not any safer, and I will never do any of these [again].

5. Djarum Blacks are awful and make my throat burn.


All of these things I did not know before this summer, and all of them I know because of Ben Sweet. So thanks, Ben.

Advice

SO, Kyle told me a couple days ago during our AWC [after work clove, or this time camel] that if i'm trying to get laid as much as possible, I need to be a lot, lot more slutty. I took his advice to heart last night and decided to try it out on an easy target.
I texted an acquaintance of mine who is usually down with very little manipulation but has been, as of late, difficult and annoying. At first I tried my usual trick of "Hey what are you doin" to little avail. I hate it when I have to work for a meaningless lay. It was time to bring out the inner slut.
I asked him if he worked tomorrow during the day, and when I recieved a positive response, said "We should hang out then". I got back a horrorsome response:

"Ok, what do you want to do?"

Shit. Shit. This was supposed to be easy. I pondered the question for a while and was about to just leave it unresponded and give up, when a half-asleep Bianca tells me to say "I don't know, what do you want to do?"
GENIUS!

I get back an even more difficult response of "Up to you". God damn it. It was time to be a real slut- desperate times call for desperate measures.
"I think you know"

Bam, there, I said it. All of my boldness went unrewarded with the response "No, what". I hate him. I went to bed.


I woke up this morning to a text asking me what I was doing. I responded, thinking that my efforts have finally paid off, and I get nothing in return. It is now 12 hours since the first text, and I am still unlaid.

What I don't understand is why this is so difficult. The last time I was "in a relationship", it was impossible to NOT cheat because I had so many young men on my tail. Now I can't even get laid by someone exponentially sluttier than I am. I'm pretty sure that if there is a God, which theres not, I am being punished for being such an asshole this summer.

I guess there's always work tonight.

First

This blog is for me to chronicle my own personal strangeness and the craziness that surrounds me.