So I started my gig yesterday and I can say with total confidence that every bone in my body aches. Areas of pain include, but are not limited to, my entire back, the soles of my feet, my neck, and a strange area just under my ass that I didn't even know existed. I think they call it the "thigh"? No wonder I have such skinny legs.
Anyway, after the scheduled outage, I'm going to tell you guys a little gem about a trip I took to Mexico where a few guys and myself learned to mix concrete with just shovels and manpower. It's an epic tale of endurance, brawn, and willpower. Seriously, this story is just dripping with manliness. But since I feel like a little titty baby, I can't tell it very well right now.
Til then!
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
boing!
I've been meaning to post for quite a while now, and I'm glad I finally have the energy to do it. I know it was only a few days since my last post, but that shouldn't count, considering it was a somewhat out-of-mind experience. Same goes for the one previous to that. I lost it, people.
Speaking of losing it, I should probably go ahead and tell the loyal, royal army (henceforth to be known as "LRA") IE, my fanbase (excuse me while I have a good self-depricating laugh) what the deal is with me and anger.
See, anger and I go way back. There was a time, long ago in my wee stages of life when anger could be found screwing me up almost every day. No matter what happened, as much as I tried to just be myself and make friends, get good grades and do my chores, anger would show up and terrorize both me and anyone that might come into contact with me. It got to be so bad that even my own family became afraid of me. "Don't piss Wes off" was a common phrase around the house. That was at age 11 or so.
Anywho, I had a dream one night that shook me to my core. Anger manifested itself into this creature, and I was helpless against it. I wroth around, helpless as this demon choked the life out of me. Then, in my dream, I somehow found the strength to overcome it. I drew power from a light that was behind Anger, realizing immediately that the light represented the future. No matter what, no matter how much Anger has control of me, the future is always going to be there. It was only when Anger began to dim the light of the future that I realized how important it was to regain control. From that day forth, I did my best to make anger like a well trained animal.
Moving on. Tonight, I let some of that Anger loose. They call it "letting off steam" because when steam is trapped inside of a container, it creates pressure. Here's how it happened.
As I walked outside the bar, I saw Crater hanging out with some people. I made some chit-chat with him and exchanged a little friendly shit-talk. Crater then slapped me on the face like he does and I laughed, saying, "Fuck you!" It was all in good fun, so far. So I decided to get Crater back. I said, "Okay, well I'm heading out. Hey, Crater... look at me. Look at me, man." Once he made eye contact... POW! Right across the face. Got him pretty good. Well, that steamed him up a little, so he started smacking away, like a sparring match or something.
Then, out of nowhere, this jackass decides to throw one in for himself. I'm watching Crater the entire time, but pop! This guy smacks me too. So I stop. Actually, everyone stops. I turn and look at him, and said, "Did you mean to do that?"
He mumbled something and before I really bothered to ask him to repeat, I said, "You're afraid I'm going to smack you back, aren't you?"
And then he said it. Just for reference, people, don't EVER, ever EVER say, "Go ahead, slap me."
So I smacked him. Ohh, mama howdy, I smacked the shit out of him. I actually fell down. When he got back up, he was pretty mad, but all I had to do was tell him if he started any shit, then I'd smack him even harder. The best part is that while everyone was trying to break us up, they were all laughing too hard to say anything reasonable.
Ha ha ha haaaa! Good times. Anyway, that definitely let off a little steam for me. Mama Howdy!
Speaking of losing it, I should probably go ahead and tell the loyal, royal army (henceforth to be known as "LRA") IE, my fanbase (excuse me while I have a good self-depricating laugh) what the deal is with me and anger.
See, anger and I go way back. There was a time, long ago in my wee stages of life when anger could be found screwing me up almost every day. No matter what happened, as much as I tried to just be myself and make friends, get good grades and do my chores, anger would show up and terrorize both me and anyone that might come into contact with me. It got to be so bad that even my own family became afraid of me. "Don't piss Wes off" was a common phrase around the house. That was at age 11 or so.
Anywho, I had a dream one night that shook me to my core. Anger manifested itself into this creature, and I was helpless against it. I wroth around, helpless as this demon choked the life out of me. Then, in my dream, I somehow found the strength to overcome it. I drew power from a light that was behind Anger, realizing immediately that the light represented the future. No matter what, no matter how much Anger has control of me, the future is always going to be there. It was only when Anger began to dim the light of the future that I realized how important it was to regain control. From that day forth, I did my best to make anger like a well trained animal.
Moving on. Tonight, I let some of that Anger loose. They call it "letting off steam" because when steam is trapped inside of a container, it creates pressure. Here's how it happened.
As I walked outside the bar, I saw Crater hanging out with some people. I made some chit-chat with him and exchanged a little friendly shit-talk. Crater then slapped me on the face like he does and I laughed, saying, "Fuck you!" It was all in good fun, so far. So I decided to get Crater back. I said, "Okay, well I'm heading out. Hey, Crater... look at me. Look at me, man." Once he made eye contact... POW! Right across the face. Got him pretty good. Well, that steamed him up a little, so he started smacking away, like a sparring match or something.
Then, out of nowhere, this jackass decides to throw one in for himself. I'm watching Crater the entire time, but pop! This guy smacks me too. So I stop. Actually, everyone stops. I turn and look at him, and said, "Did you mean to do that?"
He mumbled something and before I really bothered to ask him to repeat, I said, "You're afraid I'm going to smack you back, aren't you?"
And then he said it. Just for reference, people, don't EVER, ever EVER say, "Go ahead, slap me."
So I smacked him. Ohh, mama howdy, I smacked the shit out of him. I actually fell down. When he got back up, he was pretty mad, but all I had to do was tell him if he started any shit, then I'd smack him even harder. The best part is that while everyone was trying to break us up, they were all laughing too hard to say anything reasonable.
Ha ha ha haaaa! Good times. Anyway, that definitely let off a little steam for me. Mama Howdy!
Sorting out issues.
When I was in high school, I blogged at least once a week. I wrote in an actual notebook every day. Dry spells were either because so much was happening at once that I had no time to write about it, or nothing was happening at all. In junior year, I had a phenomenal English teacher. He was the first teacher I ever had that showed emotion-- particularly frustration. I was secretly thrilled any time one of the girls caught a verbal beating for talking too much or not paying attention. Hell, Mr. C would go off if he felt like the people in the back weren't taking him seriously enough.
The girls he'd always yell at were never dressed down. They wore high heels and reeked of fruity perfume. They were all beautiful. As much as I hated them, especially one I'll call KB, they came to represent a fantasy I've since had for hooking up with a beautiful girl from a very rich family. On the outside, I hated their stiff upper lips, their clothes-- how adult they all tried to seem, and how no matter what kind of grades they were given, they really never had to worry about making it outside of high school. I hated their privileges. I see some of them today, and they are exactly the same, only fatter.
But inside, I was entranced by KB's curves. Even when she was sitting down, I fell into dopey stares whenever she wore strappy shirts or skirts with slits on the side. I'd draw the outline of her leg, from the hem of her skirt to just past the calf. I shied from detail to keep the drawing ambiguous, should anyone ever see. She also suffered from a hellish case of falling bra-straps... or rather, I suffered. On the rare occasions that she disengaged from her posture, her shoulders gave way to a loose feminine-colored strap, and it would timber to the side of her arm. I had to be careful in these times to make sure that my staring wasn't obvious-- but it probably was anyway. Then, she'd slide a finger under the strap, tilt her shoulder down and saddle it back into place. I'd melt.
My truce with the rich dissolved as soon as the bell rang, and I'd watch in a haze of disdain and lust as she walked out.
I never dated any supremely hot girls in high school. In college, I was engaged and living with my girlfriend for over two years. I wouldn't call her a total babe, but I was sure in love with her. After she and I broke up, hot girls served their purpose. There are times when my interest in one of these beautiful women grows beyond getting sprung. I tend to investigate and stir up possibilities-- and then, for some reason, it gets weird and I lose my cool.
I know what went wrong with DC. When she spent the night at my old apartment with me, I made the assumption that all the things she'd said while we roved around the bed were still valid after sunup. I assumed that her previous reservations were then removed, and we could continue forward. Instead, I was dealt a serious backstepping. The next time I saw her, she made basically every effort to consort with anyone else, especially guys. Was it wrong to feel hurt by this? The sensitive of you will say "Yes! What a bitch!"
But really, I should have known that people do not change overnight, or even change their minds. She is comfortable in her bubble of adoration. She could allow a very discreet tryst, but one governed by her sheer whim. Certainly not one hinged on any mutual desire. Who's to say that such a tryst, even if I were to lower myself to such a thing, would be exclusive? Secret relationships are by their very nature, non-exclusive, otherwise there would be no problem with a guided indiscretion about it.
I'm not saying I'm above having a fuckbuddy. Hell, I'd go for that any day of the week. But that sort of deal only works on conditions... such as, no existing relationships, no expectations, and no cattle prods or two-way dildos. Right now, the no-expectations rule is the one I can't follow. I'm just not wired like that.
For now, I'm just going to let myself occasionally fall into that familiar haze of lusting after form while sneering at fickleness and falsehoods.
The girls he'd always yell at were never dressed down. They wore high heels and reeked of fruity perfume. They were all beautiful. As much as I hated them, especially one I'll call KB, they came to represent a fantasy I've since had for hooking up with a beautiful girl from a very rich family. On the outside, I hated their stiff upper lips, their clothes-- how adult they all tried to seem, and how no matter what kind of grades they were given, they really never had to worry about making it outside of high school. I hated their privileges. I see some of them today, and they are exactly the same, only fatter.
But inside, I was entranced by KB's curves. Even when she was sitting down, I fell into dopey stares whenever she wore strappy shirts or skirts with slits on the side. I'd draw the outline of her leg, from the hem of her skirt to just past the calf. I shied from detail to keep the drawing ambiguous, should anyone ever see. She also suffered from a hellish case of falling bra-straps... or rather, I suffered. On the rare occasions that she disengaged from her posture, her shoulders gave way to a loose feminine-colored strap, and it would timber to the side of her arm. I had to be careful in these times to make sure that my staring wasn't obvious-- but it probably was anyway. Then, she'd slide a finger under the strap, tilt her shoulder down and saddle it back into place. I'd melt.
My truce with the rich dissolved as soon as the bell rang, and I'd watch in a haze of disdain and lust as she walked out.
I never dated any supremely hot girls in high school. In college, I was engaged and living with my girlfriend for over two years. I wouldn't call her a total babe, but I was sure in love with her. After she and I broke up, hot girls served their purpose. There are times when my interest in one of these beautiful women grows beyond getting sprung. I tend to investigate and stir up possibilities-- and then, for some reason, it gets weird and I lose my cool.
I know what went wrong with DC. When she spent the night at my old apartment with me, I made the assumption that all the things she'd said while we roved around the bed were still valid after sunup. I assumed that her previous reservations were then removed, and we could continue forward. Instead, I was dealt a serious backstepping. The next time I saw her, she made basically every effort to consort with anyone else, especially guys. Was it wrong to feel hurt by this? The sensitive of you will say "Yes! What a bitch!"
But really, I should have known that people do not change overnight, or even change their minds. She is comfortable in her bubble of adoration. She could allow a very discreet tryst, but one governed by her sheer whim. Certainly not one hinged on any mutual desire. Who's to say that such a tryst, even if I were to lower myself to such a thing, would be exclusive? Secret relationships are by their very nature, non-exclusive, otherwise there would be no problem with a guided indiscretion about it.
I'm not saying I'm above having a fuckbuddy. Hell, I'd go for that any day of the week. But that sort of deal only works on conditions... such as, no existing relationships, no expectations, and no cattle prods or two-way dildos. Right now, the no-expectations rule is the one I can't follow. I'm just not wired like that.
For now, I'm just going to let myself occasionally fall into that familiar haze of lusting after form while sneering at fickleness and falsehoods.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
How the hell!?
This is going to be one of those few occasions where I actually say whatever the fuck I want to say.
How... the hell.
How the hell did I get to the point to where my life revolves around what people say or think?
How the hell did I get to the point where I care so much about what one person thinks or does that I govern all actions of my own accordingly?
How the hell did I get to the point where I was afraid to make a conclusion, based only on the fact that, if given enough time, said person would come through, thus proving me wrong?
How the hell did I allow myself to be wrong?
How the hell did I get to the point where I'd give this person so much fucking time to come through, that I'd bypass every gut feeling that says "Run! Run away!" and just allow myself to be the world's biggest schmuck?
I'll tell you why. Because there's no greater feeling than being in love. I can't say so honestly that I was in love with DC. In fact, I don't think I really am. I'm enamored with her, I'm infatuated with her. But I can safely say I know what it's like to be in love, and here it is:
She brought me closer than anyone else ever has to feeling like I was in love again.
But not close enough. It wasn't the real thing. It felt like a dream about a memory.
Yea, I was in love once. I was so in love that I ignored every signal that said "She's not right for you." I was so in love that, for the sake of being in love, I allowed several trespasses to occur, because I truly believed that no other love could make me feel the way she did.
And then, of course, I gave myself a reality check.
Here's the deal.
I loved someone so much that no matter what they did, I still tucked them in at night and watched them fall asleep. I loved someone so much that I felt for them as though they were my child-- a god-given child in the form of a grown woman-- one that had been given to me, and me only. Given to me so that I could take care of her, watch over her, and make sure nothing, absolutely nothing ever hurts her.
I loved her so much that even after she cheated on me, I never told anybody what she'd done. In fact, I let them make their own conclusions. And whenever someone asked me what went wrong, I said, "I did."
That's love. Schmuckish? Yep. Probably. But then again, what the fuck do you know?
Tonight, I've been reminded for the dozenth time that I will probably never again see love like that. I've been reminded that no matter how hard I try to be who I am: a person who is obviously deluded about their qualities; I will never, ever....
ever, be in love again.
I care too much about my life to give it up. So I'm pretty sure I'm going to become one of those guys who focuses every iota of his being to making money and never, ever being lost again.
How... the hell.
How the hell did I get to the point to where my life revolves around what people say or think?
How the hell did I get to the point where I care so much about what one person thinks or does that I govern all actions of my own accordingly?
How the hell did I get to the point where I was afraid to make a conclusion, based only on the fact that, if given enough time, said person would come through, thus proving me wrong?
How the hell did I allow myself to be wrong?
How the hell did I get to the point where I'd give this person so much fucking time to come through, that I'd bypass every gut feeling that says "Run! Run away!" and just allow myself to be the world's biggest schmuck?
I'll tell you why. Because there's no greater feeling than being in love. I can't say so honestly that I was in love with DC. In fact, I don't think I really am. I'm enamored with her, I'm infatuated with her. But I can safely say I know what it's like to be in love, and here it is:
She brought me closer than anyone else ever has to feeling like I was in love again.
But not close enough. It wasn't the real thing. It felt like a dream about a memory.
Yea, I was in love once. I was so in love that I ignored every signal that said "She's not right for you." I was so in love that, for the sake of being in love, I allowed several trespasses to occur, because I truly believed that no other love could make me feel the way she did.
And then, of course, I gave myself a reality check.
Here's the deal.
I loved someone so much that no matter what they did, I still tucked them in at night and watched them fall asleep. I loved someone so much that I felt for them as though they were my child-- a god-given child in the form of a grown woman-- one that had been given to me, and me only. Given to me so that I could take care of her, watch over her, and make sure nothing, absolutely nothing ever hurts her.
I loved her so much that even after she cheated on me, I never told anybody what she'd done. In fact, I let them make their own conclusions. And whenever someone asked me what went wrong, I said, "I did."
That's love. Schmuckish? Yep. Probably. But then again, what the fuck do you know?
Tonight, I've been reminded for the dozenth time that I will probably never again see love like that. I've been reminded that no matter how hard I try to be who I am: a person who is obviously deluded about their qualities; I will never, ever....
ever, be in love again.
I care too much about my life to give it up. So I'm pretty sure I'm going to become one of those guys who focuses every iota of his being to making money and never, ever being lost again.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Lived A Little: A Rewind
30 mins ago: Pulled into my driveway, went inside my new home, went to my room and opened my laptop.
45 mins ago: Took a final shot with Curly and Moe.
1 hr ago: Was barreling down very curvy roads that eventually led home at speeds exceeding 60mph. Moe was driving. I think I said his driving was akin to taking a Formula One Taxi.
3 hrs ago: Hung out at Yellow Rock Trail's overlook 45 minutes away from my hometown, debating with Curly and Moe on whether the bright star coming up over the horizon was Mars or Venus (it was Venus). We debated other things, but mostly drank and littered.
5 hrs ago: Barreled toward Devil's Den, trying my best to keep a 6-pack of shitty tasting Michelob intact at speeds exceeding 60 mph. (I was not driving)
7 hours ago: Played pool with a guy who owns an excavation company, and beat him 4 out of 5 times. He offered me a job.
7.25 hours ago: Guy who offered me a job had a friend whose girlfriend really really didn't like me. I called her out on her bitchiness and said guy (and his friend) sided with me. She was smokin' hot, though. I really just wanted to see her chest. She wanted to rip my balls off.
10 hours ago: Started playing pool, ordered my first drink of the evening, said hello to my friends at the bar.
12 hours ago: Had a small dinner at Mom's. Very thankful that it was small, otherwise, I might have regurgitated it 7 hours later.
14 hours ago: Bought some socks and vanity hooks for the pots and pans in the kitchen at Wal-Mart.
17 hours ago: Went to lunch with mom and sis. Had the chicken sandwich. (Weighed myself 2 hours later.... I'm still 180.)
18 hours ago: Woke up.
In less than four hours, I'll be waking up again. When I do, I won't be worried about DC. I won't let the job slump prevent my success. When I wake up, I'll be a brand new man, no matter how sore I am of all the thumps life has given me.
I'll forget everything that held me back when I wake up today.
45 mins ago: Took a final shot with Curly and Moe.
1 hr ago: Was barreling down very curvy roads that eventually led home at speeds exceeding 60mph. Moe was driving. I think I said his driving was akin to taking a Formula One Taxi.
3 hrs ago: Hung out at Yellow Rock Trail's overlook 45 minutes away from my hometown, debating with Curly and Moe on whether the bright star coming up over the horizon was Mars or Venus (it was Venus). We debated other things, but mostly drank and littered.
5 hrs ago: Barreled toward Devil's Den, trying my best to keep a 6-pack of shitty tasting Michelob intact at speeds exceeding 60 mph. (I was not driving)
7 hours ago: Played pool with a guy who owns an excavation company, and beat him 4 out of 5 times. He offered me a job.
7.25 hours ago: Guy who offered me a job had a friend whose girlfriend really really didn't like me. I called her out on her bitchiness and said guy (and his friend) sided with me. She was smokin' hot, though. I really just wanted to see her chest. She wanted to rip my balls off.
10 hours ago: Started playing pool, ordered my first drink of the evening, said hello to my friends at the bar.
12 hours ago: Had a small dinner at Mom's. Very thankful that it was small, otherwise, I might have regurgitated it 7 hours later.
14 hours ago: Bought some socks and vanity hooks for the pots and pans in the kitchen at Wal-Mart.
17 hours ago: Went to lunch with mom and sis. Had the chicken sandwich. (Weighed myself 2 hours later.... I'm still 180.)
18 hours ago: Woke up.
In less than four hours, I'll be waking up again. When I do, I won't be worried about DC. I won't let the job slump prevent my success. When I wake up, I'll be a brand new man, no matter how sore I am of all the thumps life has given me.
I'll forget everything that held me back when I wake up today.
Monday, January 14, 2008
The pathology of Anger
Once in a blue moon, I have to set out to dissect exactly why I'm angry and how to deal with it. Anger, for me, is a source from which I draw a lot of my energy-- whether it's creative, physical, or raw emotion. When I'm about to make a strong point-- something I believe in so fervently that no other emotion can employ more tension-- anger is the well that I draw from. If I'm about break something-- which can be surprisingly therapeutic-- I piss myself off first.
Tonight, I'm angry. Angry beyond the ability to channel it into something useful. It's like a red, boiling gel coursing through my veins. My palms could fry and egg, and my face grows flushed. My eyes sink, and it's no longer optic nerves but my mind that plies truth from lie. Things no longer represent hard or soft-- only breakable with my fist versus breakable with a tool of some sort. A dull numbness creates a crown on my head, as if I'm wearing an invisible helmet. I try as hard as I can not to clench my teeth, because it creates a pressure so intense that my temples throb. When I open my hands, palms facing up, I can feel blood throbbing the blue vein in the pit of my elbow. It's like an unearthed root-- typically stoic, but suddenly loose and alive.
I tried my best to be a good friend. I went further than I normally would to make sure nobody could detect my inclement, burgeoning rage. But now that I'm home alone, only my thoughts to accompany me, thoughts which dispel any notion of a benevolent fate...
After running through what was said over and over again, I tried to pick out the indication that I should have expected this. I tried to blame myself first, for not picking up on a hopefully obvious sign that my expectations should be promptly killed on sight. But nothing seemed out of order. Nothing seemed miscued or troubling.
Nothing is exactly what I received after -- if even for a brief moment -- deciding it was okay to generate expectations, to bungee with hope as my rope. To take for granted after such a good night, that a second would follow. Karma, it appears, delegates my punishments in 24-hour cycles. Well, I'm really sick of it.
Im sick of knowing in my gut that the night is going to be full of useless bullshit, and convincing myself that my gut is wrong. From this point forward, if I have a bad feeling, I'm going to follow it. If I have a good feeling and it turns out to be wrong... then I'm going to punch a baby in the face.
I'm starting to feel better already.
Tonight, I'm angry. Angry beyond the ability to channel it into something useful. It's like a red, boiling gel coursing through my veins. My palms could fry and egg, and my face grows flushed. My eyes sink, and it's no longer optic nerves but my mind that plies truth from lie. Things no longer represent hard or soft-- only breakable with my fist versus breakable with a tool of some sort. A dull numbness creates a crown on my head, as if I'm wearing an invisible helmet. I try as hard as I can not to clench my teeth, because it creates a pressure so intense that my temples throb. When I open my hands, palms facing up, I can feel blood throbbing the blue vein in the pit of my elbow. It's like an unearthed root-- typically stoic, but suddenly loose and alive.
I tried my best to be a good friend. I went further than I normally would to make sure nobody could detect my inclement, burgeoning rage. But now that I'm home alone, only my thoughts to accompany me, thoughts which dispel any notion of a benevolent fate...
After running through what was said over and over again, I tried to pick out the indication that I should have expected this. I tried to blame myself first, for not picking up on a hopefully obvious sign that my expectations should be promptly killed on sight. But nothing seemed out of order. Nothing seemed miscued or troubling.
Nothing is exactly what I received after -- if even for a brief moment -- deciding it was okay to generate expectations, to bungee with hope as my rope. To take for granted after such a good night, that a second would follow. Karma, it appears, delegates my punishments in 24-hour cycles. Well, I'm really sick of it.
Im sick of knowing in my gut that the night is going to be full of useless bullshit, and convincing myself that my gut is wrong. From this point forward, if I have a bad feeling, I'm going to follow it. If I have a good feeling and it turns out to be wrong... then I'm going to punch a baby in the face.
I'm starting to feel better already.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Drunk, Delirious Blogging
Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm sure the great majority of you have come home from a night of utter chaos-- a night that began with treachery, one filled with tribulation, and ending as a trial-- nay, a testament to how karma can go from kicking your ass to kissing it.
Yep. It was definitely one of those night for me. It all started with DC. You guys know a thing or two about DC. For the astrology buffs, she's a Gemini, and I'm a Capricorn. You know that that mean.s "Oh Boy" usually comes after such a combination. More like "Aw Fuck..."
Anyway, DC said from the get-go that she was in a weird mood. She got into a fight with her roommate-- something to do with her roomie wiping out on a bicycle when said roommate didn't need to be traveling in the first place. Then I managed to quip about how tired DC appeared. DC took that too mean "You think I look like shit." Well, no. A hint for the guys... never, EVER tell a girl she looks tired. She will always take it to mean that you think she looks like she just got shoved into a camel's ass. In any case, not good. Just as I managed to repair that situation, DC decides we need to go meet her friend Shana. Shana is someone I've already met, but I didn't realize that yet. From the beginning, lovely Shana did her best to exclude me from every possible conversation, joke, introduction... EVERYTHING. When DC went to the ladies' room, Shana and I were alone. I figured this would be a perfect time to get to know her and maybe get on her good side. Lucky for me, Shana's very sensitive and I managed to piss her off, sending her into a fit of rage in less than five minutes.
After Shana found DC and left without me, I went where my heart said to go--- the usual place. My bar. THE bar. Lo and Behold, they were there. DC demanded that I apologize to Shana, which I did, successfully. Then DC had to use the ladies room again, and left me sitting there with "T". T proceeded to tell me all about how I need to lighten up and not care what these "bitches" think and to just do my own thing. He actually sat there and tried to tell me how to be a player. Meanwhile, he sat there with this smug look on his face like he knew all about it. Needless to say, I wanted to fucking kill him.
Fast forward. T went ahead and told DC what a big fat douchebag I am, for not being enough of a player, which inspired DC to leave with Shana without so much as a goodbye. Feeling pissed, I was ready to go soon after. My good friend Eddie was with me and as we walked out, T said something to the effect of "Better luck next time, baller." To which I replied that he was a barking dick, and I could care fucking less what he thinks. This created a big mess of T getting in my face and me threatening to rearrange his anatomy.
It finally got settled by some very big people that told him to fuck off and asking me to go home. That's all good and done.
So I'm home, but I'm thinking to myself, FUCK... I really screwed things up with DC. I was sure she'd never talk to me again after hearing what her friend "T" had to say about me.
All of the sudden, my phone starts buzzing. It's her. I answer, and after a brief conversation, find out that T thought I was someone else, that she left because Shana was insanely drunk and couldn't wait any longer to puke somewhere, and that she was definitely still into me.
Key phrase. "Wes, T thought you were trying to get with Shana. That's why he said what he said to you. He has no idea about you and I."
Sometimes, news is delivered in fine print, my friends. DC proceeded to repeat this "You and I" bit a few more times, and assured me I'd be hearing from her tomorrow. Suffice to say, I suppose she still likes me. Even after I pissed off her friend Shana, and almost caved her friend T's face in with my forehead. This is almost as good as the night before, when she kissed me at the bar.
Oh yea--- I almost forgot... this whole post is so fucking gay. What am I, 16? Jeez. Okay, guys-- if you're reading this-- just throw some stuff at me to talk about that's manly and I will rock it out old school. Seriously, I'm open to suggestions. Also... heh... if you knew what DC looked like, you'd totally understand.
Yep. It was definitely one of those night for me. It all started with DC. You guys know a thing or two about DC. For the astrology buffs, she's a Gemini, and I'm a Capricorn. You know that that mean.s "Oh Boy" usually comes after such a combination. More like "Aw Fuck..."
Anyway, DC said from the get-go that she was in a weird mood. She got into a fight with her roommate-- something to do with her roomie wiping out on a bicycle when said roommate didn't need to be traveling in the first place. Then I managed to quip about how tired DC appeared. DC took that too mean "You think I look like shit." Well, no. A hint for the guys... never, EVER tell a girl she looks tired. She will always take it to mean that you think she looks like she just got shoved into a camel's ass. In any case, not good. Just as I managed to repair that situation, DC decides we need to go meet her friend Shana. Shana is someone I've already met, but I didn't realize that yet. From the beginning, lovely Shana did her best to exclude me from every possible conversation, joke, introduction... EVERYTHING. When DC went to the ladies' room, Shana and I were alone. I figured this would be a perfect time to get to know her and maybe get on her good side. Lucky for me, Shana's very sensitive and I managed to piss her off, sending her into a fit of rage in less than five minutes.
After Shana found DC and left without me, I went where my heart said to go--- the usual place. My bar. THE bar. Lo and Behold, they were there. DC demanded that I apologize to Shana, which I did, successfully. Then DC had to use the ladies room again, and left me sitting there with "T". T proceeded to tell me all about how I need to lighten up and not care what these "bitches" think and to just do my own thing. He actually sat there and tried to tell me how to be a player. Meanwhile, he sat there with this smug look on his face like he knew all about it. Needless to say, I wanted to fucking kill him.
Fast forward. T went ahead and told DC what a big fat douchebag I am, for not being enough of a player, which inspired DC to leave with Shana without so much as a goodbye. Feeling pissed, I was ready to go soon after. My good friend Eddie was with me and as we walked out, T said something to the effect of "Better luck next time, baller." To which I replied that he was a barking dick, and I could care fucking less what he thinks. This created a big mess of T getting in my face and me threatening to rearrange his anatomy.
It finally got settled by some very big people that told him to fuck off and asking me to go home. That's all good and done.
So I'm home, but I'm thinking to myself, FUCK... I really screwed things up with DC. I was sure she'd never talk to me again after hearing what her friend "T" had to say about me.
All of the sudden, my phone starts buzzing. It's her. I answer, and after a brief conversation, find out that T thought I was someone else, that she left because Shana was insanely drunk and couldn't wait any longer to puke somewhere, and that she was definitely still into me.
Key phrase. "Wes, T thought you were trying to get with Shana. That's why he said what he said to you. He has no idea about you and I."
Sometimes, news is delivered in fine print, my friends. DC proceeded to repeat this "You and I" bit a few more times, and assured me I'd be hearing from her tomorrow. Suffice to say, I suppose she still likes me. Even after I pissed off her friend Shana, and almost caved her friend T's face in with my forehead. This is almost as good as the night before, when she kissed me at the bar.
Oh yea--- I almost forgot... this whole post is so fucking gay. What am I, 16? Jeez. Okay, guys-- if you're reading this-- just throw some stuff at me to talk about that's manly and I will rock it out old school. Seriously, I'm open to suggestions. Also... heh... if you knew what DC looked like, you'd totally understand.
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