Balloons Are My Downfall!

Without balloons, where would we be?

And can you blame me? I mean, after witnessing the wonderful spectacle that is the Disney Pixar movie "Up", the love for the bright & shiny, colorful globos were wildly expanded and "Hella yes" excepted. From a young age, those sphere things were something that had always had me in awe. Childish? No. And shame on you for thinking so. It's presh potskins at it's best, and it's a symbol of happiness that should not be tampered with in any kind of way. It should only be appreciated. And I'd kiss the person how invented the first balloon of color, no matter who it is. Not the foul, gaudy, foil-looking "dark & twisty" ones, but the real rubber "bright & shiny" ones. The ones that can get you in trouble. I love the ones that can get you in trouble. And the helium! Don't get me started on the helium. The trouble-making balloons are pretty much a festival of awesomeness, topped with a dollop of presh potskins. And to repeat myself, I'd just leave a pile of balloons everywhere in my house randomly. It'll be my thing. My very unfortunate and awkward thing. A thing most people would worry about, but will only be missing out on. Disturbing enough, if there are balloons around me, and you are trying to have a heart-to-heart kind of conversation, you'll be rather bemused fellow. As I will not keep any semblance of eye contact. My attention will be rightfully attracted to the colorful globe hovering a few feet away from you.

Inadequately equipped with, well nothing, but loftiness and slightly annoying chuckles, I have been known to engage others in the eccentric playing of "Balloon Time", which is needed every two weeks. It relieves stress. In fact blowing up balloons and seeing those relaxing or bright colors is thought to be therapy, at least for me. How droll, right? No, I'm super cereal. No joke. And to be completely oratorical and bombastic, I love the pops and the small noises, your mother would hit you in your face for. Mocking the disgusting human function that is flatulence is a favorite. It seems that as mature as I or others may think I am, I'm not. Well that was kind of depressing. And the appropriate cure for depression is very well the discovery of a good balloon animal. That is always the way to go. Any "scene kids" who act as though they are bored by the sight of a well-arranged balloon, you just don't know how to enjoy life. Emo people are sad because they haven't received a balloon in their childhood. How sad?

Is there danger in loving balloons. Yes, but we won't get on that. We'll keep our sights on the positives, because I want to cover it all up, and package this new useless blog post with a pretty yellow, or pink bow that will attract everyone to it. Because, as a nation, balloons have literally been our downfall. But let's keep this under wraps, as it will ruin your chances of being a "Bright & Shiny", because a "Dark & Twisty" could not except the biblical epicness of the epic globe that is the "Balloon".

The Sexual Tension is Palpable

With a headstrong exterior, no one can envision the insanity that is unleashed inside of that blemished exterior.  Two people that have no idea of the growing sexual tension slowly growing between them is some pretty cutting-edge stuff. In the words of psychology, one would say that they are suffering from a double helix of sexuality issues. So much for evolving beyond puberty. And of course, I am referring to those anonymous presh potskins friends of mine, and their impending sexual intimacy, which will take over any moment at any day. Ever since their first run in with each other, and the cutting-jabs they were firing from the mouth of which they both will kiss one fateful day. The anticipation of this event is becoming unbearable. Everyone knows, except them. And that's how it is these days, is it not? Actually I'm almost 30% sure that has been the case since the Cavemen days. The longing of this event has been hinted on so much, especially this year in school. It's high-larious. From the small touches to the taunting of less than non-existent sexual organs. These children are extremely attracted to one another, and as anonymous high school children, it becomes more apparent that there are other children out there involved in situations of sexual frustrations. Lust is a powerful thing that can be horribly amusing or horribly dangerous. In this case, the hilarity is almost unbearable. And the anonymous sexually frustrated students are brutal towards each other. One may insult the other rather harshly, and you can sense the angry sexual energy radiating from them. In fact it may seem as though they should just mount each other right there and now. But it won't happen. I wonder if it ever will.

These two lovers can pretty much be the pictured definition of anonymous passion. This is a very important thing to address, and in all honesty I hope these children come across this "blog" and reconsider their hateful feelings for each other, and push through their facade and actually get together in one way or another. They would make quite a pulchritudinous couple. The only problem is that sexual tension between friends is deadly. With a capital D. Without any doubt it would be a disaster and a miracle if "The Blessed Ones" as I call them, become a pair. As I say, the sexual tension is palpable, but to find out about some sort of secret fling between them would be a fallout. A fallout that would lead to an inevitable "love lockdown"; or the end of the sexual tension and the beginning of practical friend breakup. But I do not foresee any negative coming out of this priceless bout of sexual defenses, only love. Not attachment love, nor just sexual love, but romantic. Obviously there will be a period of bursting sexual activity in the beginning, but once all of that is out of the way, there will be an even longer period of romantics. And I can already see "The Blessed Ones" fluttering with that intense feeling that is better than any drug or illegal substance. And I cannot wait to attend their most likey Celtic wedding, equipped with the odd, clever, embarrassing, but undeniably cute shindig down the aisle to a less than graceful song, which I hope to God I will be included in.

Point is, sexual tension can possibly lead to a successful marriage and also cause your friends to post on their "blog" about their undeniable love for each other that is hidden behind fervent arguments and hateful e-mails. And so here is my big, Bright & Shiny, happy, glowy good luck to the impending relationship of the anonymous couple; Ms. Mary Lewis Driver and Mr. Walden Stutten. Good luck!

A Failed Life and a Half: A Satire?

Cathy Lucile

With so much going on lately, there hasn't been time to really get into the spirit of being a happy, glowy person. It is quite simple really. The stress, the delusion, the self-loathing, the high blood pressure. I've got so many things to worry about that just the simple need to have some sort of fun or calm has just become uncompromisable. I am very much at the point where I don't even recognize that I'm even alive. Everything is moving too fast, with the kids, the cramped house, the degrading job, and the foul perfect stranger that is living in my house, and sleeping in my bed. Can anything be anymore fucked up right now. Oh! And the cursing. I haven't used the F word since 1991. I'm becoming a foul mouthed bandit of some sort..and I feel that it's okay. With no resentment, I let the perfect stranger that lies in my bed, and makes those 'oh so sexy' twisted facial expressions grace me with the rather small appendage, that I'm not quite sure can be called an actual penis. And I let it happen. I'm glad it's happening. And, it is hard to know that something as this less than mediocre plight become the highlight of my day. Of my week. Of my month. It's depressing. But I'm not depressed. Though I do find myself hovering in doorways 65 percent of the time these days. My award winning mother always laid into about hovering in doorways. "Those how hover in doorways are coming from nowhere, and are often going nowhere." As fate would tell it, this is true. I haven't gone anywhere in my life. And, for the life of me, I cannot remember whether or not I came from anywhere significant in the first place. Speaking of the significant, the feeling of freedom seems to have it's consequences, no? You let that linger in your head too long and you'll have to pay the dirty little price for having too much freedom. At the point when you can no longer prance around, nude in your own home is taken from you because of the wonderful two accidents you reluctantly name Steven and Mika, you have to have some type of resentment. Though I find keeping a closed, and tightly sealed bearer behind my actual feelings is better. And to actively go about your day with the weight of wanting to give your own children the finger can be a disturbing way to relax and make it through the office of those who think so little of you, but smile as you walk by. It's funny how a simple little smile can convey so much. Behind those clenched teeth there is passionate hate that is exploding to come out. Otherwise, it's jealousy, envy, or one of the other Seven Deadly sins, in which so many of us indulge in. I myself, find that a good two minutes of blazing envy can consume whatever feelings of violence one may have. And this one has many.


So I sit and wonder at times. Am I the only one who lives like this. A life of mediocrity. A life of stress, annoying children, high blood pressure, and sleeping with someone who you have deemed to be the perfect stranger, living in your far from perfect house. A house which you are not sure if you should call home? I feel like I am. But I will continue to tell myself that Miss Perfect Patty is also hiding behind a facade. And Daniel Bateman, and Terry Thurman, and Randall Gatsby, too. I like to think that us all, collectively, have preliminary struggles that occasionally fuck us up. Yet, I am hiding behind a facade, of hoping and thinking that my neighbors and co-workers, have more multiple facades than myself, when in reality, I take to cake as the most fallible person on earth. Even now I am hovering in a doorway frame, waiting for the wind to sway me one way or the other. Hoping my dead and gone mother will come out of nowhere and tell me to drop everything and find out where the hell I went wrong. She'd probably say when I came sliding out of her womb. Either way I need some advice, and the only way to get it is to turn to someone who knows what is happening with me right now. The perfect stranger wants to poke me with his appendage again, and try for a baby. Who am I to say no? I let him grace me with those two disgusting children that we both love oh so much, why not? He wants a third bastard in his life, then he'll get it. Who am I to worry if I'm forty-one years old and I have a glandular problem? It makes no difference to me. I feel that taking a quick anti-depressant before sex with anyone helps stave of crying like ,a young stripper paying her way through college, during coitus. And then a nice Valium leaves everyone happy. I would divorce, but I have no really reason to, and my father is always yelling about how so many Americans are getting divorce all of the time, and god forbid I let him down anymore than I already have. "Better to have a failing life, than a failing marriage." And you know that so many people are willing to do what ever it takes to make it look as though they are significantly happy with their significant other. Who am I to break the chain of the Happy Marriage Facade? I'll follow along. I am not a person to make a change, which is why I was thoroughly unwilling to support the election of Sir Barack Obama. I have to advertise my failure into what other want to see, and it's all very worth it. I feel that others think I'm great. Except those who are close to me. Those who know the truth about me and my failed life. Even my sister, crack-addicted Betty is doing better than me. I guess giving sloppy blowjobs in the back of an old 70's style van pays the bills. Or the girl must have some skills. My the loss of the two front teeth gives you an advantage when giving oral stimulation. Yep. This is what I've come to, wondering if my true calling is to be a prostitute slash drug dealer slash short-order cook. Am I meant to dump my family and go out onto the streets of Chicago and sell myself. I'm thinking maybe. I often have thought how it would be to have a real "Pretty Woman" experience. But I digress. I have nothing to really be too pissed or unhappy about, because I'm not. I'm not unhappy, just...bored. And if traveling to Italy, India, and Bali could help me find myself I would have done so already. This is my life. The life of a forty-one year old woman with two children she loves, a perfect stranger with possibly the smallest penis in the world, a dead, award winning mother, a pope-like father, a typical two-faced office job that cannot be deemed as a career, a couple of facade wearing neighbors, a crackhead sister, and high blood pressure. A failed life and a half. Should I be happy? Or happier? Should I be bored? Or am I just an ungrateful white woman with a Benetton Rainbow complex? I think so. And maybe we all are.

Oh! You Terrible, Terrible People

Tanni

I am not accusing you guys of anything. I am just simply saying that you all make me feel like shit, like a hundred times a day, and you guys are my family. I need to be able to feel something other than shit, after coming straight out of rehab, all whole and healed. I mean, I did. I got all whole and healed, and I'm trying to be worthy of some sort of love from you wonderful people, but honestly, this day has been hell from every corner, edge, nock and mother f'in cranny. Okay, all of what I have seen or heard today is judgment, ridicule, and annoying constant surveillance. Do you know the first thing Uncle Harrison said to me the moment he saw me today? "Did you kill anyone?" I mean, seriously. What the hell is that? And no, dad. Don't say it. Don't try and make the same damn excuse of Uncle Harrison being off of his meds for the past ten year like you always do, because you know, it's getting rather old. I know that this is a day of solemn and darkness due to the death of a very fine citizen from our very, very sparkly family, and it is sad. It is, truly. But I am also very concerned with the amount of evaluations that are being made about where I stand after my crisis during rehabilitation, because if anyone has cared to notice, I'm out now. They don't let you out until all the glittering asshole professionals can conclude that you are safe enough to be back in mainstream society, which I don't care to be included in anyway. It's just, I feel like everyone is expecting me to just pull out a machete and chop everyone to pieces, or burn the house down. Should I just get "anarchist" tattooed on my giant forehead? Or should I just take all the micro managing that you guys spew at me? And the thing that started all of this, was how you guys renovated my room. Like the things I had in there at the time that I left were so bad and dangerous and were gonna destroy me when I came back home. I haven't even smoked a damn cigarette and everybody is looking at me funny, because, you know, I bet if I did everyone would be gossiping about whether or not I'm going to burn the house down. Is something horrible going to happen just because the big and evil child of the Pruitt family has returned from her self-destructive splendor at the happy,  happy rehabilitation center? And oh, I don't want to skip out on any details of my own ingratitude or disappointment, because you know, I don't want any of you to think that I think any of you are terrible, terrible people.

Abby

Oh, please Tanni, this is not news. There is nothing new under the sun about what you just expressed from, what I'm sure was meant from the top of your poor, little heart. But instead of answering your questions, I'm gonna tell you what I wanted to tell you the day--the very day you went off to that happy rehabilitation center. I want you to get better. I am hopeful, and I pray that you. And I really, really would love for you to return to being that little girl who used to be independent and selfless, instead of the foolish, craptastic drugged up whore that you are now. Your "self-destructive splendor" as you put it, is nothing to make light of in conversation. And it definitely is  nothing to throw out at your family to feebly try and force a little sympathy to your crisis. It's offense. Especially on a day in which one of our own was buried. The renovations of your room, wasn't for you, it was for Mia. You remember Mia? That short blond haired whore you left at our doorstep asking for a place to stay because her batty mother kicked her out for using drugs. Yeah, your friend Mia, didn't very much care for all the weird shit you had lodged in there so we had to clean it all out to her liking. And don't even ask for her phone number, because when she heard that her drug supporter had left and gone to rehab, she killed herself. She swallowed a bunch of ibuprofen and Adderall, but she couldn't even do that right, so she slit her wrist and then hung herself. Pretty brutal, huh? No one else here was going to tell you because they all thought it would cause you to go back on the rocks again. But really since your already thinking about using again, I thought, gee, this would be a great time to tell Tanni about her now dead, gone, and buried friend slash drug donkey. Bitch stole $50 from me and she died before I could even get it back. Sometimes I wonder did she kill herself because of you or because she just didn't want to give me my money back. I go back and forth on that for days. And then I sit there to day and I laugh at Grandpa Ida's funeral thinking about that day when I went to her grave and talked to her tombstone. And you know me, I've never been a fan of movies where stupid jackass people talk to tombstones as if their dead loved one can still hear them, but I did and I asked that girl's tombstone if she was hiding my money somewhere. And that very day I thought, wow, I wonder how Tanni is doing? That day--that day was April 24th and that was the day you told me a few weeks before you were about to go back into another program because of your relapse, but I see you never did. And now your out. Again. I guess it turns out those glittering asshole professionals aren't so wonderful at concluding whether or not one is ready to be back in mainstream society or not. And you wonder why and complain about all of the micro managing and constant surveillance. You used to crave all of that shit as a kid, and now that you have it you'd rather crawl in a corner and get high. And Uncle Harrison...don't even wonder about what the hell is wrong with Uncle Harrison, he just asked the question that all of us were too scared to ask in the first place. Which is why some of us like him of his meds. A little crazy is good for the home. Makes us all remember that were alive. But when the big, bad crazy, that would be you, returns back home, people all begin to wear their worried face. And can you blame them? You totaled four cars when you were on the dope, Tanni. Why would anyone not wear their worried face? Mine has been on since the very moment you came sliding of mom's womb. And hey, if you feel like shit because of that, then maybe that shit is just all yours. Because, although no one in this room will admit it, other people's shit, is just their shit. And that my dear sweet little sister is something I need you to take notice of. You're the one who picked up the crack pipe and your the one who is gonna have to deal with the shit that you let slip onto your lap. Sorry dad, but it's true. And maybe you should get "anarchist" tattooed on your gigantic forehead. It would look a hell of a lot better than half the crap you've scrathed deep into your greasy skin. And hey, if you don't like any of the truths of what I just said...blow me. And hey maybe we are just terrible, terrible people...

No Mocking! There Is No Mocking In Life! Only Warmth & Light...

Except it! The title is sarcastic. I know, sarcasm does not work on the internet, that was witless on my part, but it is true. No mocking! But we do it anyway, and it's acceptable, because we don't know any better. It's something we were not taught. I have found that over the past eighteen years, that people seem to "mock" their lives, or "take it for granted", me included. And it's not something that many individuals think is something considerably awful, but it is. And I think God knows that. He knows, because every time we might happen to do something that could be considered evil or unpleasant, he sends something down to punish our you-know-whats. And then we complain. Followed by the "What did I do to deserve this?". And then the frustration that lingers forever, though you know what you got...you fully deserved. So, why not be a positive "Bright & Shiny" and avoid "The Mocking of Life". We don't do that, because it's easier to mock, than just be a positive BS. And that's cool, because we are humans, and we do only use about 10% of our brains, so we don't have the capacity or capability to evolve onto more affective ways of living with "Warmth & Light". In short...we're stupid. As smart as we are, we are pretty witless. And   it is usually the "Dark & Twisty" ones who fail to believe in the "Warmth & Light", and fall to the awful "Mocking of Life". Pretty horrible, right? No, the "Bright & Shiny" ones are guilty of this act as well, they just don't show it so as much as the others do. Let's face it, 99.8% of us are inconspicuously careless with our lives, and it's probably because of the earlier mentioned stupidity of the human race, or is this foul behavior the work of something a little more complicated. I hope so, just for the reason that I'd like to believe we, as a whole, are more "evolved" emotionally, spiritually, and mentally, than what I already think. We simply might think that this behavior is acceptable. Maybe. Without all the contrived and contemptuous technological advancements that lead us all to be so spoiled and with a grand old presh potskins smile on our face, I believe we all would probably be better off with seeing the "Warmth & Light" of the world. But then again, as I finish this I myself will probably go back, all humbly, to the "Mocking of Life", and I will not notice a thing. But what can I say...only 10% of brainpower. Sad.

A Mature Conversation

Aaron

Just because I enjoy a good laugh, at the risk of accidentally maybe, possibly hurting someone, does not mean I am some immature douchebag trying his best to get some attention. And I'm not vapid. And I'm not stupid. I can construct a well-devised sentence and defend myself from a dull lifeless person's wrongful criticisms. No offense. And I know the difference between something appropriate and something horribly foul. I did graduate from Dartmouth. At the top of my class! I mean, I don't expect you to understand anything concerning humor and liveliness. You, most likely, associate happy and hilarious with death and pollution...no offense. It's just, I think you really don't understand that this is the reason people think you're a depressive downer. And that Melinde from accounting believes you to be a stalking pedophile. You do remember the Take You Daughter To Work Day incident? Not that any of that matters or pertains to this conversation. Or would you rather call it a debate? As I understand the only thing you participated in at that belligerent, overly-callus and overly-expensive private school which was poorly named, Livelihood Manor, was debate. And you pride yourself on that fact. Which you should I mean obviously you were this angry young man who was analyzed as the weirdly asexual and dense pale-eyed loner, so you had to take your frustration out with something, and I guess debate was your ticket out of your own personal hell. No offense. I know I keep saying "no offense", and you may think of that as annoying, and I'd agree but, I just don't like being insulted by a man who describes cough drops as "candy by another name". I mean what makes you think I'm this immature loser who threw an inappropriate party in the office? I got this job because of  my maturity level, and my mind-blowing degree. I'd expect another Ivy League graduate to understand my want for a nice party. Also your comment about workmanship and contribution...unfair. It's pretty generous to concern yourself with my work ethic, and wonder about my contributions, but I think I'll be okay all on my own. Also, I'd bet my next five pay checks, which would be about $150,000, that I contribute a lot more to this workplace in the past three months than you have in your last three influential years. And that's not me being egotistic about my monstrous paycheck, it's just me telling the honest-to-God truth. See, I'm not some immature monster who uses ball point pens. I' just a regular guy that knows how to chill out once in a while. I'd suggest you learn to do the same.

Terry

First of all, I do not like the fact that you feel the need to pronounce all of my shortcomings just to display my seemingly horrid inability to "have fun" or "chill out". It is offense. And I am not a depressive, nor a downer. I simply find the idea of a wild and ridiculous, haphazard party being in a workplace of which there should only be professional and expert behavior...redundant. And as an Ivy League graduate, whom should have learned this fact, I am disappointed. But then again you did go to Dartmouth. I mean no offense, but everyone knows that the only Ivies are the Holy Trinity: Yale, Princeton, and Harvard. And ball point pens should be banned from this whole entire country. You are aware of the failing penmanship all over these great states. Especially, California. Dull and lifeless. How dare you? And to bring up an ounce of my past is an insult, not only to me but to anyone involved. I was an angry young man, but I have grown out of that...foolishness. And the fact that you have the audacity to proclaim your own "monstrous", over-blown paycheck is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous! As if your better than anyone. This is why I and some unnamed others see you as an ignorant, immature arrogant. Like your new. There is nothing new under the sun. Your workmanship is questionable and I do have to admit you have made a great amount of contributions to this workplace, no matter if most of them being inappropriate. I can only imagine your unfortunate behavior as a result of your pretentious overworking. Overworking that only an immature and under confident and ignorant young man, such as yourself can do. And it is a pain. I myself have been looking forward to seeing you drown under all the pressure your new job has brought you, but I am also trying my best to behave in an easing manner. It's a shame that after my three years of faithful work the I still have the common man's salary, while trash like you walk into this office and quickly gains a near six figure salary. It's truly quite a disarray. The blatant disrespect that spews from your mouth on a regular basis is concerning to me. I don't think you belong in an office with others way beyond your own maturity level. You have the open ability to be more than a blabbering, callow child with a salary bigger than your overgrown ego. Have you any recollection of how important the work is that we do here? This isn't just a place where we goof off and try to pick up the working women. And for the record, I couldn't give two craps or a damn if Melinde thinks the worst of me. She's a struggling divorced single mother who cheated on her husband with two thugs, and now trades sexual services over the internet as a cyber-prostitute to support her kids through the same farcical private school she attended and graduated from at the bottom of her ridiculous class. It's a shame that most of the women here are doing the same, not to mention Eric. Can anyone say, ironic? I'm sure I am not the only one who knows about Melinde's sex-capdes around the internet. Be clear that I'm not making judgments. Melinde is a woman as superficial and unattainable as they all are. And my sex life does leave much to be desired, but it is none the less nothing you need to be concerning your bird-sized brain about. I have sympathy for Melinde. And Phillis. And Eric. Poor souls. They'll be working here for the rest of their lives. At least they are efficient enough to do so. But you...I feel as though you will soon run your course. I do believe that you are rather popular around the office, but you have to be sure that you have loyalties. Which you don't. Your work is mediocre. You are hellishly unorganized. And you do seem to wear the same suit every other day. Not enough suits? Have to keep room in your closet for your ripped blue jeans and undersized graphic douche tees, no doubt? They way you're going will get you there, but it won't keep you there. And to be frank, under all of that humble exterior, lies a little loser with extremely low self-esteem, who also has a tendency to run to the men's lavatory and silently cry in a stall whenever he is rejected by a woman. I'm sorry...that was kind of out of line. You are a vapid, vapid young man. And I honestly think you have no idea how everyone in this office views someone like you.

Pacey's "Dark & Twisty" Thoughts During Graduation

Hell. That’s what I see it as. Home. School. Life. I just don’t find it too appeasing. Does anyone? Being one of the many people that cannot stand any kind of deficient individuals, I found myself kind of alone seventy percent of the time, which was fine by me. I like my private time. I like my quiet. I like my thinking time, and I am extremely content with it. They talk so much and are overly aggressive. These people my age, are not the people my mind says they are. They are the people I despise. Immature and obnoxious. Untamed and, more times than not, driving me insane. To my dark side, to say the least. Why is he talking so loud? Shut up. I hate you! I shouldn’t say such a thing, but it’s how I feel, so why the hell not. It’s not a sin to hate someone you don’t even know, but is causing you a considerable amount of mental torture. Everyone’s excited about today. It’s graduation day, and I just want to get out of here. Finally. I’m standing next to a stranger who used to be one of my best friends. What happened? I don’t even care anymore. I feel like I should say something. I’m not though. We don’t even make eye contact. If we made eye contact I would have to say something. We don’t. That bitch Mrs. Fredrickson is making her slightly readjusted speech from five years ago, and she’s stammering. She’s probably thinking about her upcoming divorce. It would be high-larious if wasn’t so sad, and the school wasn’t gossiping about it. Could anyone think of why she was crying her eyes out in her office three weeks ago. The person to my left is a person I’ve wanted to talk to all of my high school career; Josh. And by God’s good grace, he would be the poor bastard to sit next to me on the day of which I call, “The Unnecessary Judgment Day”. Not so much as judgment as it is unnecessary. Josh…is fucking beautiful and I have gotten a slew of hints from him that he was somewhat enamored with me as well. Too bad the only kind of verbal interaction we’ve ever had was in eleventh grade English class, when we were all assigned to do a project in the most awkward and unfortunate group I’ve ever had the displeasure of being a part of. Josh being there was the only “pleasure” I got out of it. This cannot be over quick enough. The guy behind me is still being a dick. I turn around to see who this person is and I am actually pleased to see Michael. As happy as I am to see him, I’d still like to punch him dead in his mug. Save the silence. Why is she still talking? Sit down. Ponder your failing marriage instead of glamorizing the idiots graduating here. Here on this unnecessary day, full of malice and over indulgences in the feelings of achievement and the taking in of knowledge that will all seem to float away during the summer. She doesn’t realize, I am impatient. The day in which I sit between two people I’d like to talk to but will not. And not just because my social anxiety is acting up, but because I am that dark person that sits in the left corner of the room and laughs randomly at semi-amusing events that happened over three years ago. It’s stupid that we have so many ceremonies that glorify the passage of time, when really all we are doing is celebrating our own inevitable deaths. Shut up! Right now, I don’t consider Michael a friend. He called me Dark & Twisty.

Dark? I’m not dark. Twisty? I’m not twisty. If I am any of those things it’s because I am just slightly anti-social, and I have brief suicidal tendencies. They don’t last long, it’s just a thing. I’m sure I’m not the only one to think or do so. The mind wonders is all I’m saying. You put yourself in front of a Picasso painting and tell me it doesn’t make you think. Then again, most people don’t ponder  like I do. I could be described as having a fuster-cluck mind of Ayn Rand, The Mad Hatter, Lord Byron, and Nikola Tesla all put in one poorly misshapen body. Feeling uncomfortable in my own skin is the usual for me, do to severe annoyance with humans and frustration with how my left shirt collar is pointing slightly more upward than the right one. Zone in. She continues to talk. Zone out. I wonder when the schmucks from my father’s side of the family will leave. They’ll probably hang around a little while longer just to see if they can figure out another way to critique my mother’s parenting. Randall is probably aching for a drink. Gloria is most likely pondering a final solution in which she will finally move out of her parents house…for good. My grandmother is realizing that I wasn’t as dim witted as she once thought, or she maybe thinking of what to sing at choir rehearsal on Sunday to please her priest and her man. My grandfather is no doubt dreaming of some young fine thing from the Red Fox; a truly foul and shameless club, famous for handing out woo-hoo jobs and God almighty dances. It’s like a family tradition actually. My father, my uncle, my cousins (whom I am sure I do not remember at this time), and my grandfather. I’d rather not. Save the Chippendales, please. I’d rather salvage all the woo-hoo jobs & God almighty dances for those who might actually pay for some coked up bimbo to do what she does to her filthy boss. And also save the gunshot wounds that are found lodged in the fat folds of the coke whore’s thighs. I wonder if Gloria ever went there. What if they ask me to go with them tonight? I have that feeling that they will. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon. “It’s a male’s right of passage.” Yeah, for a straight man. No sorry, a shameless straight man, which most of them are. But what about a sexually independent male’s right of passage? I’d want both guy and girl. Nothing is this black and white. Wow. There’s a white cow in front of me. And a black horse in the back. I’d love to turn around and see if Astrid is wearing her dainty little headband like she usually does. She’s not. Zone in. She’s still talking. The hell? Zone out.

Falling on stage would be a problem. A funny one. I’d like to see someone drop. The hilarity of it might make me feel a little better. Crap, I’m laughing a little. Hope no one can see this awkward ass smile being bestowed upon my face. I wipe that smile away. What if I fall? Everyone will see--POP! Some whore behind me is popping gum. For a second it reminded me of that time I kept blowing up balloons after seeing the movie about the house and the old man and all the colorful floating things he used to pilot his home. What hues of blue and yellow could do to a debauched mind such as mine. And what did happen to that old man after my mother and stepfather’s wedding. I’m sure he has not fallen to the other side of life yet. If so, then good for him. Who the hell wouldn’t want to be in the place that is really our home. I wonder if I believe in heaven or hell. I do. I believe in heaven. Not so much hell. I find myself doubting a lot of what religious officials say. I mean when you’ve got cults and pedophiles as holy saviors, things are not going to pan out a-okay all the time. When the Christians are beating the frightened homosexuals, you have to stop and think. Yet no one does. “If the bible says it, it’s true to me.” I think we all know who wrote these bibles. The lord himself did not, neither did his wonderful son, so am I going to sit here zoning this wretch of a woman out, and having a debate in my la cabeza or am I going get my skinny ass up on the stage and get that diploma, and get the hell out of here? The latter of the two gives me great pleasure to even visualize on. “Get your ass up there, bitch.” It’s Kevin. I zone in. “Oh.” I’m really tired, and my mood swings are catching me off guard. I can’t pretend not to want to curse his name. Yet I pride myself on some kind of leveled maturity. I get up and walk to the creaking stairs and across the hollow stage to the vulture handing out the little scrolls that, in my mind read: Screw your life.

We Are Not Happy, Glowy People (1)

We are not happy, glowy people! And it's understandable. With the world as it is, it's quite understandable to have the Dark & Twisties, and because it's easy as opposed to pushing through grasping ahold of the bright and bubbly, which is at a minimum in the wonderful place we call the world. If everyone were happy, glowy people, then there would be congregated in peace and the word so many people fear to mutter; Love, would be proudly spoken. There would be no signs of a single "Dark & Twisty" thought. It's a good thing. But with the immortal sins of man, we have to deal with the emo, the "Dark & Twisty", and the lack of the best word known to man. I for one, am not a martyr or a person to preach presh potskins relationships and rainbows and crap, but I do promote the "Bright & Shiny", no matter the amount of "Dark & Twisty" I have encountered, staying on the positive side of things can keep anyone from seeing things just in black and white. This whole world needs a spoonful of that. God will only know if everyone would be able to swallow it. Or force it down, only for it to come back up again. Happy. Glowy. It's a good thing, but as people, all we do is cause trouble. Obviously this is a charm about the human race that we seem to take pride in since we have yet to change anything about it. Another charm about the human race; our repetitive history.

Happiness and Glowiness is a virtue, because I don't know about you, but I would love to see a lot more Ellen DeGeneres's in the world.

Go ahead and marinate on that for a minute.

Fruit

"Fruitful Conversation" is what this post was previously called, but lets all leave that in the back of my mind for now. I didn't want to attract any readers to this in the first place, I mean it's not like I get any reader because this place is as empty as Death, but whatever. No one will read this. No matter how many times I post it on Facebook. No one will glare into these unfortunately awkward words I will type onto this digital white canvas that will just take up valuable internet space. How fun! If you're still reading. No? Okay then. I will digress, now.

At an event, that I had graced everyone with my showing up to, I came across a group of wonderful elderly Caucasian women who also graced me with their conversation. Their conversation of fruit. And oh, it was as marvelous as you think it was. Oh, yeah I forgot. No one is reading. However, in all cases, the absence of a reader or fellow blogger is not needed to tell the fable of "Fruitful Conversation", which is nothing but completely unfortunate. Fruit doesn't define who you are, and thank God, because otherwise I'd resemble a gargantuan grapefruit. According to certain Facebook quiz. Those things are evil. Those things are Death. Thank God no one is reading this or I'd be "hella" embarrassed. In any matter, it was quite the hour-long convo. I had no idea that elderly Caucasian women could go on and on about purchasing, eating, cutting, grinding, serving and maiming fruit. It was great, and very insightful. I lift my hat to them. A full hour of sitting down with young-looking elderly Caucasian women and chatting about the graces of fruit. Especially, muscat grapes. If there is one thing an elderly Caucasian woman knows, it's her muscat grapes. They are quite the grapes! Powerful too. The convo was high-larious. I love the fact that they were so open about what they do with their fruit. The stories of fruit purchases were the best. I just wanted to yell, "Oh, presh potskins!" But that would have further complicated things, so I left that on this unread blog, which I am thoroughly embarrassed about. I mean who uses three coupons to pay for four apples. That is a child that wants to save money, and who wouldn't in these awful economic times. Free apples is what I believe in. "Hella" yes.

You haven't read anything yet. The best thing is what my imagination came up with when such thing were being said; such as me imagining my own "ridunkulous" grandmother using a chainsaw to cut up her cantaloupe or kiwi. That is something to behold, which you could only understand if you know my grandmother. Also with me sitting down with the wives of elderly Caucasian men, things were quite unfortunate for me. And can I just say, that I think elderly Caucasian women love conversation with young African American boys such as myself, because everywhere I go, I either experience it or I witness it, and it is pretty much the definition of "So Much Love". The dwelling on "Fruitful Conversation" is not a wonderfully productive way to spend time, but it is rather informative. You learn an abundance of things! It's "ridunkulous" how much "Fruit Knowledge" you will obtain. Was it biblical? No, but it was an epic conversation. And I value that very much. I have a new appreciation for fruit. What more can you ask for, especially from elderly Caucasian women? But I'm just going to keep "Fruit Conversation" in the back of my head for now, because no one will read this glorious post, with all the words. And not only because this country (USA) is getting more and more lazy everyday, but because I cannot, for the life of me find out a way to end this in a graceful, and on-topic manner.


I think that if you shake the tree, you ought to be around when the fruit falls to pick it up- Mary Cassatt



And boy did I catch some falling fruit! 

The United States of Tara & Diablo Cody= Dark & Twisty//Bright & Shiny

It's Showtime channel's best tragic, dark comedy. (Next to Nurse Jackie.) It features two of my favorite actresses; Toni Collette and Viola Davis. I am officially in love with this show created by the wonderful "Juno" writer; Diablo Cody. I love her. She is one of my favorite writers ever! I love her humor and style of writing and I cannot wait to see what other quirky and originally eccentric ideas she comes up with next, and every week on "The United States of Tara". It is my fourth favorite television show and it keeps laughing and shocked by the craziness the characters go through every week. The offbeat humor is mainly for those who love the "Quirky Independent Movie" feel that leaves you slobbering over the clever sensational writing. The show focuses on a wife and mother of two; Tara, and she is dealing with DID or; Dissociative Identity Disorder, or more commonly known as multiple personality disorder. She has four multiples: T, Buck, Alice, and Gimme. And now in it's second season, there is a new alter; Shoshana. T is a raunchy, over-exaggerated sixteen year old trouble making teen. Buck is a very manly Vietnam War veteran. Alice is a pristine, church-going, 1950's Stepford wife with a knack for causing the most trouble. Gimme is a non-verbal, primitive, angry and animalistic alter. And lastly, Shoshana is Tara's very own inner therapist.

Her husband (Max) is losing his cool, her fourteen year old son (Marshall) is a confused gay dude, her daughter (Kate) is a smart-mouthed rebel gal, and her sister (Charmaine) is a mildly narcissistic self-righteous chick. The new character is Lynda, played by the wonderful Viola Davis, and she is my second favorite character! Just watch and find out why! The #1 reason I love it is the Dark & Twisty//Bright & Shiny factor.

Anyway, if you have Showtime then I suggest you check it out. And do check out the wonderful Nurse Jackie as well, featuring the great Edie Falco.

Unfortunate & Awkward #2: You Have Food On Your Shirt

Everyone knows that feeling of not wanting to go answer the door. It's not a matter of laziness, but a matter of  understandable distaste for the "ding-dong" melody. Not to mention the troublesome possibility of opening the door to a bill collector, a poorly dressed girl scout, a Jehovah's witness attempting to spread "the Good Word", or an ax-wielding psycho killer. There are a myriad of things that could go wrong when embarking out of that thin barrier that protects you from the outside world. But this has nothing to do with wanting to deal with a telemarketer or a door-to-door salesman. This has to do with a big glob of nachos left hanging from my shirt.

Right after school, I have no recollection of what is happening around me. I am usually drained or just simply annoyed with people. The thought of undergoing the daunting task of dealing with anyone behind the front door, is abhorrent. And so it begun. The doorbell rings. And rings. And rings. At this point it's apparent that this creeper isn't giving up or going away without some sort of an awkward fight..or duel. What's with this guy? I pretty sure it was a good minute and a half of "ding-dong" before I took it upon myself to unfavorably answer the door and shut this dude up.

And here is the kicker; Before this incident, I had been reluctantly enjoying a rather messy nacho platter. Gross, I know. And me being the flustered spaz that I am, I'm sure I twitched a little when I heard the door bell ring, inevitably dropping a huge blob of messy nacho scum onto my shirt. But, I was so discombobulated from hearing that uninviting "ding-dong", that I did not notice the "Food Attack" that slammed down onto my white shirt. Just to note, that my luck that day was not in my favor whatsoever anyway, which was why I just decided to go answer the door. Not such a stupendous idea. When opening the door I could see that I was going to have to deal with a "Sherk-looker"; a stubby, Irish-looking, bulging, almost green skinned, and almost hairless single dude. Possibly in his late 30's or early 40's chatting on a dating site trying to find a "pretty girl" that will except him for him, and that he had a painful divorce and is struggling to keep up with the young people, though he is only coming across as an illegitimate creeper. Anyway, I do not fully remember what this dude what selling or talking about, but I sure it was about some terrible magazine. Maybe I should have bought it from the little guy, but I didn't. As he started to talk I could tell he looked a little taken aback for some reason. I wondered why of course. He looked as though he was chocking to hold back a laugh. This is understandable, since I am considered a very high-larious child. No. (Note to self: Sarcasm does not work accurately on the internet.) But I digress. I hated not knowing what this "Shrek-looker" was fighting back a laugh for. When I'm annoyed, my face says everything, and that was the day I was annoyed in advance of this wonderful event.

After I continuously  refused this "young" man's awful magazine collection for the past two abnormal minutes, I was ready to close the door, so I told him,"No, thanks." once more, and inexplicably told him, " Bye. And good luck." Which doesn't seem weird, but you'd be surprised what something like "Good luck" could come across as; Sarcasm. And if it wasn't for him being all entertained by my "Shirt-Nacho Tattoo", he would have noticed. Good thing.

After closing that thin wooden barrier, my cousin laughed at me. "What?" I found out why, and with no really "real" reason, I was filled with irrational and unnecessary embarrassment, but of course, me being me, I laughed at myself. It was cool...I guess, not as awful as it could have been. I just knew that mister "Shrek-looker" wanted to report "You Have Food On Your Shirt".

Picture of the Day 2

What Happens During School Hours...(Mostly 5th Period)

At times, during the harsh hours of high school, certain eccentric people and events go down, and you are happy to have been a part of them, no matter how disturbing or awkward they are, and having a handy-dandy camera around while these presh potskins situations take place, is very convenient. Very convenient indeed.

In the photos (the presh potskins): Anna, David, Randa, Brooke, Mackenzie, Brian (from the backside only), Paul, Caroline, Aubree, & Nathalie. Oh, and me (Patrick).

OH, and today is prom, so I should have some awkward pictures up from that soon afterward...

Unfortunate & Awkward #1: Hooked Onto a Door

Of course when you are sitting in second period Spanish class for an hour that wields like two hours, you want to hurry up and get the hell out of there, and you are attentively waiting for that screeching bell that will signal your somewhat satisfying, sweet release. Also, when you know you have to tolerate a room of inexperienced, hormone induced freshmen in the front of you, ghetto banshees inappropriately wailing behind you, and big meat-headed jocks & rednecks yelling about their trucks and football on both your left and right sides, you feel a little drained. But what happens when you have the unfortunate pleasure of accidentally getting attached onto a door for a good two minutes? Talk about "Awkward Pants Deluxe".

Okay, I really think there is a way to get through these unfortunate times, but me being so ungraceful, I wouldn't know how to properly follow the techniques. So, this little incident happened a few weeks ago. It's happened before but never for as long as an exasperating two minutes. It couldn't have been more awkward. I am usually the first or second one to be out of the door, and it becomes fatality concerning when you hold up other people in front of the door just because you've gotten yourself in a certain predicament. "What the hell?!"  Of course one of those meat-headed jocks has to blurt out something and make the whole experience more discerning. Some "a" double "s" starts to push me, while I try my hardest to get my book bag released from the door. Thing was stuck good. I realized that I was not in store for a small presh potskins "Embarrassing Hooked on the Door" experience, but I had gotten myself into an maladroit situation. Maladroit...you like those big words?  :-\

Minute One:

A lot happened within the first minute. The snagging and pushing, and the alarming panic of "Oh, s***!" Sweat. Why the hell was I sweating? Oh, I know, because I had over twenty annoying people breathing down my back to get the hell out of the way, or I would be trampled. Trying to block out all the pushing and "What the hell?!"s , I ripped and ripped. Some unfortunately pale child managed to nudge her way out of the huge blockade, that was me. The douchebag that sits directly in front of me almost knocked me down, when his gargantuan body swept pass my book bag. The vile pedestrians in the hallway were starting to witness the unfortunate debauchery of me framed into the doorway, and scrunched their faces into the "WTF" expression. I started to get frustrated and my equally awkward friend, Tim decided to come up to say "Hey." Thanks. Thanks so much, Tim for the very helpful "Hey" and the very graceless standing around for thirty seconds. Oh, and look, a ghetto banshee is making her way towards me. I hear the belligerent screams of the ghetto, southern accent coming closer and closer. Naturally, a fear of a "Ghetto Rundown" filled my gut, so in a very spastic nature, I rapidly started to yank at the fabric of my annoying book bag.

Minute Two:

Then of course the ghetto banshees were the only strong ones to start a revolution...I nearly got ran down. The smelly jerk that sits at the left of me pushed, so did the irrelevant buzzard from the far right corner of the classroom. The smart mouthed witch, with a capital "B", let out an annoying"Get the hell out of the way!" Do I blame these vile creatures? No. While I wouldn't have pushed so violently, I honestly would have tried to maneuver my way out of being attached to the oafish situation. The most disturbing thing is that I started to laugh, as I got down on my knees to get a closer look at how to loosen the book bag strap. I noticed I was not the only one, my new friend, who is extremely "Bright & Shiny"; Casey was laughing. I needed scissors. Another friend, Brian, passed by and made the last minute more unfortunate than what it already was. And oh, Brian is one of the most awkward. He's the closest to "Awkward Pants Deluxe 5" I have ever come in contact with. He's a cool dude, but he's damn unfortunate and damn awkward. When I finally got my book bag unhinged from the door, to top it all off most of my books and crap were on the floor. Wonderful!  And then I had to rush to class.

I was late to third period English class, and I also had to tell my teacher why. Unfortunate. That's my life. And I am very happy for it. Most of the time.

:)

Picture of the Day

Ridiculous. Or should I say, "Ridunkulous" (remember,The Extraordinary Power of Imaginary Words &  Phrases.) Powerful stuff going on in this here clip of eccentric art. Whatever you want to call it, it's presh potskins for sure, and a bit influencing. It brings out the "Bright & Shiny" in most people, including me. I have no idea where this came from, or who contrived it, at all. It's just a blessing to have found it. What is not to like about a kaleidoscopic-like, gleeful piece of creativity?  

My Obsession with the Ralph Eugene Meatyard Photography

I came across these presh potskins pieces of art and photography a few weeks ago, and I have been trying to find a place where someone sells them, or something because I am literally obsessed with them, and I don't know why. Maybe they just scream "Dark & Twisty" to me.

Here are a few:

Yes, it all does exclaim "Dark & Twisty". Which is great.

Capable: by Stella, Harry, & George

These are three little random monologues I wrote a while ago when I was in the middle of my "Dark & Twisty" issues and I just wanted to share them. All three of them are linked into a little scene. It's very random, but that's what you can always expect from my psyche.


Stella

I am capable of most things! I don’t need you for everything I do. I’ll be fine without you most of the time. I chose to do this on my own and I will. (beat). I just need to figure out how. And look, I am not a fan of my mistakes but I do learn from them, so dammit, let me learn! You talk to me like a stupid adolescent girl playing with the big men or something. I’m not the same person I was 10 years ago. I take everything in. I speak. I teach, and I am understood. Even if it takes a considerable amount of time, my brain does still work. And I need you--I need you all to understand that. I am a strong independent woman, who is capable of most things! I am talented! I am experienced! I am! I am damn capable. And don’t you forget it. When I speak people listen, and when I walk into a room people turn their heads, and not because of how hot I look when I’m carrying over 20 pounds of copied papers in one hand and carrying a mug of raspberry-chocolate coffee in the other. But it’s because I am capable. Because I am a strong person, and I earned it! (beat). And George, you think your attracted to me but really your only attracted to my profession, and my skill, and the fact that you know you can’t have me. And maybe possibly how hot I look carrying 20 pounds of copied papers, but really, to the both of you men, I just want to say that I am capable.


Harry

Can you shut your face, please. For a moment. Please. I know you’re capable. I know you’re independent, and strong. I also know that you learn from your mistakes which is great and wonderful and all happiness and sunshine and rainbows, but please I beg you. Shut up! Shut your mouth, please, for a moment. Because if you haven’t yet noticed, I have a psychology test tomorrow morning in which I am very unsuccessfully trying to study for. And I tried to help you because I saw how stressed you were, and how your ass of a boss was abusing his power. And also how slutty and coquettish you were being to try to exploit a little sympathy from him. Don’t deny it! I know because I saw that new collection of astonishingly short skirts you brought. Bet you didn’t know or count on him being gay, hm?  I mean seriously. Seriously. Your ass hangs out of those dresses. It’s embarrassing. Anyone could see. And don’t-- don’t get offended, just take the criticism. That’s one thing you’re not capable of. Your loud. Your full of misguided & misplaced arrogance. You lie way too much. You complain about men trying to tame you, when you put yourself in the position to be “tamed“. You rant, even when it’s not appropriate to. And your just pretty much an unfortunate young woman. And you want sympathy from people all the time, but refuse to sympathize with anyone else. I tried to sympathize with you and your stress today, but god forbid you even try to sympathize with mine. (beat). And by the way, you don’t even look remotely “hot” when your carrying 20 pounds of copied papers. You look constipated, or like you’ve lost a few very important brain cells. Not to mention the disturbing, almost, but not quite cute way your face scrunches up while you also carry that very much unnecessary mug of raspberry-chocolate coffee. It’s disgusting and not good for you. Stop drinking it! (beat). Oh, and George…he is attracted to you. He’s attracted to you, your profession, and your skill. Also that amazing way that you are capable. Because you are. He knows that as much as I do. That small, chunky little man loves everything about you. Even the way you’re sometimes a pretentious and hopeless romantic. Even when you need to shut your face. He loves you….you are his angel. In his words not mine. So love him and stop talking down to him. (beat). Or don’t I don’t care, whatever, but as you weight your options, I’d consider wiping off that shocked and angry look of your face and trying something a little more…dignified. And also do consider the possibility of shutting the hell up, because I can’t take it anymore.


George

I may be a quiet, short, stocky guy-- a guy you’re not used to, but I am also capable. And worthy. And I do. I do love you. And I am attracted to you for a myriad of reasons that would take me an eternity to mention. Such as the way you try so very hard to cook for everyone and it only turns out be another rather unfortunate murder scene. Also the way you criticize everyone you meet even though you may not have the room to. Not to mention that high-larious way you’re able to lose weight everywhere on your body excluding your thighs. And how you fake talking on the phone to seem like you’re popular even though you have no friends whatsoever. And I know it my seem like we’re just pointing out your many, many innumerous flaws and beating down your already extremely low self esteem, but I am trying to make a point. Because despite those extraordinary flaws, you are capable. Harry’s right. You are strong and independent. You don’t need that collection of short skirts to try to impress your gay boss. I mean seriously. So honey, I know of your capability and so does Harry and so does your unpleasant mother, no matter how ordinary she thinks you are, you’re not. I mean you’re the only woman working at that business, and still surviving, as a woman. You’re special and witty and you have a wonderful singing voice. It’s just too bad you hate music. And it’s a known fact that most people in this house view me as the incapable woman, many of the men in your workplace think you are. And for that I apologize.

Breif Explaination of the Phrase: "Presh Potskins"

Just to clear up a few things, the phrase "presh potskins" is can be an adjective, adverb, or noun. It is a statement I first heard from my one of my wonderful friends. She is wonderfully high-larious by the way

Presh Potskins: Precious, wonderful, fun, and imaginatively intriguing to the point of losing all sense of reality and tangibility...which is okay.

It is a fun, dinky phrase that anyone could use, although I have to say it does not look or sound good on everybody, but that shouldn't matter. Presh potskins is a fair, equal statement that even your groovy grandmother can appreciate when she's baking a pie. Example: "Oh, honey this apple pie is going to be the presh potskins of your day!". See. It's very easy, everyone asks me where it came from. I don't know. It could be German or Swedish for all I can perceive, but it's a peachy group of letters mashed together and scrambled to make what I call, "The Extraordinary Power of Imaginary Words & Phrases." Yes, it's something a "Bright & Shiny" would say, but I have my "BS" moments.

Ralph, or The Prose That Was (Nearly) Cut

This is the short prose that I intentionally wrote for my high school's literary magazine, but got cut because of it containing the statements "suicidal" and "snuff films", and get this; "asexual". It's preposterous. I understand the whole editing process of the dainty, church belt, over-censored schools, but this is just ridiculously abhorrent, and kind of an insult, but everyone at school seems to like it, and I am simply disappointed, but this was just a prose I refused to edit, since I've edited it at least five times before I submitted it to the magazine. Just another reason to loathe high school. But all is fine, and I am just happy that it was a piece of my literary work that a fair number of people like. Warning: This prose is pretty "Dark & Twisty".

Ralph

Basic social rules: Following instructions. Accepting criticism. Accepting “No” for an answer. Staying calm. Disagreeing with others. Asking for help. Asking permission. Getting along with others. Apologizing. Having a conversation. Giving compliments. Accepting compliments. Listening to others. Being honest. Showing sensitivity to others. Introducing yourself.

Ralph does none of these things.

Ralph refers to himself in third person. Ralph calls others out of their name. Ralph gets angry when he is critiqued. Ralph does not follow the rules. Ralph refuses to give or properly accept compliments. Ralph has never gotten along with others and never listens to them. Ralph is always disagreeing with people and takes things to a whole other level. Ralph is happily dishonest. Ralph has no sympathy for others, and does not wait to get permission. However, Ralph does introduce himself, but only as “the best.”

People do not like Ralph. Ralph does not like people. Ralph takes his issues out on others. And Ralph has an abundance of issues. Ralph does not believe in love. Ralph does not believe in happiness. Ralph is an atheist. Ralph has a sweet disposition towards death. Ralph likes to see others fail. Ralph causes others to fail. Ralph says he has never shed a tear. Ralph has suicidal tendencies. Ralph is asexual. Ralph has never been with a girl. Ralph is disgusted by politicians. Ralph enjoys snuff films. Ralph lives with his mother. Ralph is 33. Ralph weighs 118 pounds. Ralph does not care about the latest trends or people. Ralph thinks mainstreaming is for losers. Ralph wants all jocks dead. And Ralph keeps his true feelings in his head.

That being said, Ralph does have feelings.

Ralph considers being polite. Ralph would like to take criticism well. Ralph would like to be able to follow the rules. Ralph would like to be with a girl. Ralph wants to give compliments and except them, properly. Ralph would love to enjoy other’s company. Ralph wants to be able to have empathy and sympathy for other humans. Ralph wants to learn to love, and become capable of being loved. But cannot. And his family maybe to blame.

Ralph’s family refers to themselves in third person. Ralph’s family call others out of their name. Ralph’s family gets angry when they are critiqued. Ralph’s family does not follow the rules. Ralph’s family refuses to give or properly receive compliments. Ralph’s family has never gotten along with others and never listens to them. Ralph’s family is always disagreeing with people and takes things to a whole other level. Ralph’s family is essentially as disturbed as Ralph, himself. Like son, like family.

Ralph was abused. Ralph was never told he was loved. And Ralph is afraid of emotions. And as a result, he is scarred as an adult.

In a perfect world, Ralph would follow the instructions. He would accept criticism. He would accept “No” for an answer. Ralph would be calm. Ralph would disagree with others in a polite fashion. Ralph would get along with others, and Ralph would be capable of apologizing. Ralph would be able to hold a conversation. He would be able to give and receive compliments. Ralph would listen to others and be honest. He would be able to show empathy and sympathy. Ralph would not introduce himself as “the best” but as “a person”.

But since things are no more perfect than you or me, everyone knows Ralph as the disturbed, slightly schizophrenic, and weirdly asexual, silent young man who has no idea what real life is yet.

Ralph would like to say sorry, for breaking all sixteen of the basic social skills that everybody should know. Ralph would like to know what it is to be happy and know what love feels like. Ralph would like to express his true feelings Ralph would love to finally talk to Rachel. Ralph would love to start over to get his childhood back. And Ralph would like to take back his sudden death. And Ralph is sorry.

Photo from: http://www.suckatlife.com/digital.html

The Formal Disliking of People

I know for a particular fact that I am nowhere near alone on the topic of formal dislike for the human race, or to put it quite simply: People. And I'm not saying I hate people, here! While it may not be a popular or real dysfunction, the non-medical diagnoses of what I call, "The Formal Disliking of People", is actually quite a simple trait us "Dark & Twisties" all carry. Trust and believe that I know and I am a rather flourished professional in stating the fact that your environment is an assuming factor on how you acquire your own little brand of FDP. And for all you presh potskins "Bright & Shinies" out there, don't knock what you do not understand, just think of it as a form of sinking satire. I, my fellow bloggers, am a "Dark & Twisty"; a child of the formal dislike of most things that are considered normal, and with a dark view on much that the few "Bright & Shinies" of the world would believe to be dreadful or distasteful. But all in all, heading into the topic of people and why there is a modest group of eccentrics that personally do not like them. It is because of the arrogance, ignorance, intolerance, close-mindedness, hateful, crass, belligerent, and cantankerous traits that us vile creatures have. And of course I am talking of: People.

We are so full of pride to be the one animal on the top of the food and intelligence chain! It's wonderful, that is until you face what I call "The Debridement of Respect & Intelligence." This is where my brand of FDP wiggled itself in. It's a sad fact that while we are at the head of the current of technology and advancements in all kinds of greatness where we can almost call ourselves "Personal Gods", that we still have inappropriate ways of interacting. The daunting Facebook, the now fading Myspace, the ever so popular Twitter, and the happily unmentioned and unpopular Friendster. Not to mention all the nameless chat rooms and dating sites we use to make ourselves somewhat intricately interesting. But, I could forgive all of that if it all didn't end up with us being more comfortable to talk to each other from behind a machine, than in person...face to face. People say some of the most uncouth things all around the internet and do so only because they feel pathetically safe behind the vindicated barrier of their most likey porn infested computer. I have to say that I do my best not to say anything on the internet that I would not tell to any of my wonderful, close friends or family members. And though I suffer from a particularly bad case of FDP, I still react to things in an appropriate manner...for the most part.

To add more on my beef with the People; we do not appreciate our lives, and just the same, we do not appreciate the environment in which we are subsisting in. Pollution and litter! Calm your self, I am no hippie, even if I do admire their presh potskins ways. And no I have not seen "An Inconvenient Truth" with Al Gore. Though I am no saint when it comes to dropping a little gum wrapper here or there, I do have a sudden strike of guilt every time that foil wrap hits the ground. It's a small thing, and I won't go into those badgering statistics but I will point out that it all adds up to a lot. Not to mention the threat of exhausting the ozone layer, which could potentially kill us in well over half a dozen ways! But I digress.

I am firm in the formal dislike of the way many people disrespect other's race, gender, color, religion, or culture, not to mention their niches. And they do it just because our society, and withered generations say it is okay or that it is considered a fun good laugh. It's a cheap laugh, and anyone who enjoys a cheap laugh at the expense of a young turban wearing Muslim child, is an A, double S. It may seem like all is a joke, but that person could even grow up to reject that side of what he or she is and that is just a tragic thought. Yes, yes every race or culture has their own partially true stereotypes, but it is up to that culture to defy the boundaries of what that particular stereotype is. I know I do. Here in the wonderful (God forbid) state of Alabama, there are many derogatory statements blurted out unto different races and cultures. This a major problem, but me being formal and all, I try my best to properly act against it, but after all, the south is known for it's church belted, close-minded, intolerance that makes for calling young gay boys the F** word. Or calling anyone of Asian decent the C**** word, which is the most disrespectful in my opinion, since most of what we Americans have is from Asian countries and since I have a love for Asian cultures and people. Have you ever seen a cute little Asian baby? They're adorable.



Okay, if you still don't like Asian culture after that, then you must be a corporate bed wetting zombie with no working emotions. Or a sibling of Sue Sylvester from Glee. Off topic. Once again, I digress.

There are issues in the relationships of people as well. Many would love the whole "Bridges of Madison County" romance story in their life, but, thanks to the games people play, it rarely ever happens. What's up with the games? In my immature stages I myself have played a few relationship games, and let me tell you, they don't work. The whole "You cheated on me first thing!" doesn't go down well. Neither does the "I'm weighing out my options" thing. Trying lust or coveting and you'll only end up hurting yourself, and a few others. It's a ridiculous thought that we people gotten into our heads that playing childish games will win that "special person's heart." Stop and think about it. What is the simplest way that we humans can get into a real trusting relationship and most likely stay there and be progressively happy? How about trying to be "really, real" with your feelings and talk to one another...for real. I mean seriously. Seriously! That's how most relationships lose that "wonder". It's the inevitable loss of communication, even though many will somehow blame it on unsatisfactory sex or being stalked, or any of the seven deadly sins they don't really understand but will use as a discretionary excuse. I know. I've done it. And I'm only seventeen.

As a "Dark & Twisty", I have to be accountable for my own feelings toward people and controlling how to deal with the vile beasts in the most elegant of ways, meanwhile the "Bright & Shinies" go through life being the "perfect human", which is really, in more ways than a million, the worst creature. I am not stating that I hate people, it is just that I have a better connection with my pets than another human being. I'm sure the first person I'd want to see when I get to heaven is my first dog ever; Lady. I have a love/hate relationship with people, and I'm sure all of my "Dark & Twisties" can agree with that, and hey, maybe I think everyone has a little "Dark & Twisty" in them, and is faking to be the "Bright & Shinies" that we know almost barely exist. Hmm.

Well my presh potskins bloggers, rather than stay in the realm of the unfortunate (this blog), you should tell me of your own views on " The Formal Disliking of People", and if you are a "Dark & Twisty" or a dreaded, but regrettably entertaining "Bright & Shiny" like my friend, Aubree. Yes, I know, I'm friends with a "BS". I guess it's a good thing...

:)