I'm 22. I act like I'm 14, 35, and 76 all in the course of one day. I'm probably overweight and definitely out of shape. I like books, whiskey, hockey, whiskey, comics, cigarettes, tattoos, whiskey, music and complaining. Maybe one day I won't be a writer.
When is the last time you had a conversation with someone and never once used the phrase(s), “that’s like the time I” or perhaps “I feel” or even “I remember”…? Hm.
Try going through a day where you just ask people questions!
Come on, don’t wait until they’re finished talking just so you can blurt out your dry anecdotal nonsense.
Be real. Be a better listener. Don’t use the word “I” for a while. Let me know how it goes.
Saw this the other day and it was intense. When it comes out on May 4th, put your ass in a seat and enjoy!
Have you ever…
1. Come to a point in your life where you feel like you’ve been punched in the face by God himself?
2. Been punched in the face?
3. Ordered pizza after 11PM on a Monday?
4. Stopped to smell the roses?
5. Stopped to trample to the roses and not feel badly about it?
6. Considered taking a “class” on something (not for college credit, for self improvement)?
7. Driven really really irresponsibly?
8. Asked questions you already know the answers to for reaffirmation and to feel self-worth and accomplishment?
9. Gone to the “delete account” section of your facebook and considered clicking it and confirming, your heart racing, like you were about to step off a bridge?
10. Purchased cigarettes over food 9/10 times during the week?
11. Had an endless battle with yourself of whether you really like The Beatles or not?
12. Had an endless battle with yourself of whether you really like Weezer or not?
13. Thought you’d feel better if you were of a different race, sex, or religion?
14. Considered if you’d feel better if you had won the lottery, but you never play. Ever.
15. Really really really thought about one thing for more than 2 hours?
16. Asked yourself, “am I doing what I want to do or what someone else wants me to do?”
17. Been told you were stupid?
18. Discovered that you were stupid?
19. Eaten Indian food?
20. Fallen in love twice with the same person?
21. Been discouraged?
22. Been left out?
23. Been sold out?
24. Not stopped at the stop sign in front of my house? (not that I noticed).
Asked by Anonymous
I’m going to begin blogging more again, starting today actually.
This is part numero uno of a five to seven part section I am calling, “sometimes I feel insane, but then I just realize you are too!”
Let me break something down for you.
For the past twenty or so odd years of my knowingly known being and existence I’ve endured a lot of horse shit from a lot of really messed up people. Sick fucks. However, I was taught that it would somehow make me “stronger” or more resilient or something. Perhaps, not taught…more like…told! Told, that’s it. I think that’s true in sense though. Maybe? In a sense.
I feel like, though, all it did was give me a grander opportunity to study how the mind works. To open up mine a bit as well. It’s been a weird ride. I can’t say I hated it. Didn’t really enjoy it. Just lived it. Sometimes you just live. You live good. You live bad. You live happy. You live angry. You live feeling sold short. But hey, isn’t that what life’s about? No. I feel like there are two types of people and two ways to live life. Crazy and not crazy. Let’s go through a few different scenarios…maybe you can tell me if I’m crazy or not.
How many times have you gone to that restaurant that you’ve been dying for and got there simply to realize that this waitress is going to be a total c-word for the next 40 minutes of my life. She’s already walked away twice without taking my order, I asked for a beer fifteen minutes ago, and she’s too busy flirting with the manager that she’s been clipping for two months to care that the miserable prick that’s working the grill flipping my steak has burnt it. Like, really burned it. It looks like the tires on Jeff Gordan’s car after a Daytona race, I ordered it medium rare—charred it. This shit happens right? But you pay for your meal. Sometimes you still tip her (AFTER ALL, 15-20% IS JUST COMMON LAW), you maybe decide to go back again in 6-7 months knowing it might suck again. But you did it. You lived it. You experienced. You went home. You told your friends about it. Maybe turned it into a funny anecdote. You know. Then you forget about it. It’s over. But some people…you people perhaps even filled out the survey on the check and taught that bitch a lesson. Right?
Do people really do surveys by the way? I don’t. People do though. They really do it! I don’t understand it. Am I crazy? Am I just the guy that realizes and has been on the opposite and receiving end of ‘the survey’ for so long at my menial fucking jobs to know surveys are fucking ridiculous. Do we really gauge what Tammy so-and-so does at work by somebody’s god damned number rating response. She could have been awesome and because that middle-aged white woman walked in thinking the place was supposed to be 5-star penthouse status and it was a Red Lobster that a chick who just took her SAT’s is working at shoveling free baskets of the garlic cheddar biscuits down her throat…she gets a 1. That’s the funny part to me. They really believe that ‘Ashley’ or whoever the sap was waiting on them is going to be fired because they put down a 1 out of 5 on the “experience” section. You ate at the proverbial Walmart of seafood establishments bitch, get a clue. I hate the kind of people that do surveys. Fuck you, seriously. Get a life. You are what’s wrong with the world. CRAZY OR NOT CRAZY?
Have you ever been a part of a circle of friends or people that all consistently bang one another? Furthermore, have you yourself ever been part of that sick petri dish of bacteria? I don’t understand it. I’ve been there though. Some of you have. Most of you got touched when you were kids, but that’s beside the point. I’ve been under the microscope. But I just don’t get it. Don’t you realize that going tip to lip on the bottom of a Chuck-E-Cheese ball pit sounds more appealing than fornicating with somebody who has clearly seen and had your friends’ junk in or around them? Why? Why people? Why? Tell me why.
…to be continued. I have to go fill out a survey on why the dude at Longhorn was a real prick to me last night because my steak was grade C and not B while banging my ex best-friend’s ex girlfriend. later!
Okay, so listen. This is something that I’ve been meaning to do for a while. I’m attempting to compile just a metric shit ton of my ideas into this thing. Maybe read, see, or meet some cool new people along the way. I really want to write a book. But I’m lazy. And I’m 22 and haven’t lived long enough. Seriously. I wish I could write books for a living about the shit that I’m thinking about. People would find them funny. Some people would think, “fuck you…you’re not talented.”
Sidebar: If you’re trying to write something meaningful in book form and you’re my age or younger, not gonna happen sister. If you weren’t born in the 1800’s, chances are you haven’t done shit in the first 22 years of your life. You spent a good two of those shitting and pissing in your own pants. Four of them learning to read and write and talk. And a good twelve of them watching MTV, being obsessed with getting laid, and starting a bullshit rock band in your mom’s garage. Which by the way, FUCK your local band but god bless MTV.
Also, by the way—I’m not new to tumblr. That’s like saying that a heroin addict is new to shooting up. Although, I’m in no way an addict of any sort when involved with the internet. That’s my girlfriend. Who has a tumblr. (plug here) For me, most of the time the internet is good for two things: amazon.com and (insert free streaming porn website here).
However, I must confess, that I miss writing things I’m thinking about down on something. I used to have this little leather bound notebook I wrote stuff in like I was fucking Ernest Hemingway or something. But I lost that with all of my other things to a storage locker somewhere near Costa Mesa, CA. You see, in 2010 I thought it’d be really neat to move to southern California. It was. In 2011, it wasn’t cool anymore. In a strange turn of events (not so strange for the way things happen in my life) I moved back to Pittsburgh to live with my friends. My shit didn’t.
But the point is…I have used the internet and blogs and tumblr before. See, usually when I talk like I would write people just seem to think I’m yelling. I’m not. I talk loudly because that’s the electric shock my brain gets when triggering my mouth for speech. It’s just a little more of a shock than yours gets. My brain learned it from my father. I am going to take this blog a bit more seriously than the 2,467 of them I’ve had in past years for that reason. I’m tired of yelling and being angry. It’s all the stuff I wish I could fit beneath the character limit on twitter. @billcity, get at me.
I got really into this internet crap when I was about 15. It was at this time I realized I didn’t fit in with the jocky fuckwads or the thug-like primates obsessed with Ford pickups from the 90’s that I went to high school with…so I did what all misplaced 15 year olds do. I started a band. My band sucked. And mostly all of your high school bands suck, even some of your college bands, but mine really sucked. And we knew that. But it was cool. It opened my life up to myspace. And because I got to talk about girls and friends and ex-friends and ex-girlfriends and bang out the four chords I knew how to play on a guitar while doing it. Anyway, myspace, for me like all of you, started it all.
Here—I’m hoping to find some people that share my ideas. I have a lot of them. Mostly all of them aren’t mine, but still. It’s not like I’m a mindless zombie with no “original” thoughts. I know plenty of you fucktards. Allow me to conclude this first post with a letter though in regard to that. I’ll be writing again soon. Don’t worry.
DEAR (INSERT ANY OF MY EX-GIRLFRIEND’S “NEW” BOYFRIENDS, ANY HIGH SCHOOL TEACHER I DIDN’T LIKE, ANYBODY WHO I WENT TO HIGH SCHOOL WITH WHO I NEVER HUNG OUT WITH, PEOPLE WHO WEAR THE NORTH FACE, PEOPLE WHO MAKE LOTS OF MONEY AND KNOW IT, ANYBODY IN THE “PITTSBURGH MUSIC SCENE”, ANY MANAGER FROM A SHITBAG JOB I ONCE HELD HERE, etc etc etc):
Fuck you. Seriously. You have never had an original idea or thought. Ever. You think you are better than people because of the people you hang out with, the clothes you wear, and the image you present. You’re really just a loser. A big one at that. Quite honestly, it’s condescending, pretentious, detailed, image-based, position clenching, hate mongering dicks like you that make me want to drive wood screws through my fucking eyes. Stop talking. Stop posting things on Facebook. Stop. All of you. Just keep on having sex with each other and creating more of you until you all get claimed by the apocalypse.