Goddamn skunks (whoops)

I would like to tell a little story about my drive tonight. It goes a little something like this...

As I was driving tonight, my mind was wandering as it tends to do on the deserted and winding roads in my particular inbred part of Texas. Just as I was almost completely zoned out and in full road hypnosis mode, a skunk wandered out in front of me. I swerved to avoid it and I almost ran into the ditch. "Jesus!" I exclaimed as I regained control of my awesome and sexy Chevy Cobalt (interested, aren't you, ladies?). That got me thinking about Jesus. I'm not a super religious guy, but I do believe in God and Jesus and the basic Christian ideas and principles, yet I make jokes about God and Jesus and the basic Christian ideas and principles. I'm a strange dichotomy of God-fearing man and complete and total douche.

Anyway, I started just thinking about Jesus in general. Jesus Christ. Christmas. Things along those lines. Then it occurred to me that if his name was something like Jesus Cockcrapsworth, how ridiculous it would be to celebrate a holiday called "Cockcrapsworthsmas." Then I felt those strange pains in my stomach. You know the kind. The ones caused by the internal struggle between the forces of what may or may not be comedy and your own morals and somewhat lax religious beliefs. Kinda like the ones I just felt as I typed the word "cock" after Jesus' name.

I drove extra careful after that. I didn't want to get in a wreck and die having that be the last thing I thought about. I didn't really want to meet my maker on those terms. It's like farting in a room mere seconds before a really hot girl walks in. Sure she might still like you, but the odds definitely aren't in your favor.

What's the point of all this? Where's the moral, db? I'll tell you. Don't avoid hitting skunks. Why? 'Cause skunks make you blaspheme. That's why. Next time you see one while driving, run the fucker over. You'll thank me later when you're resting comfortably in Heaven. Also, you'll be doing a service to unsuspecting French cats the world over. (See what I did there? Pepe LePew? I know what you're thinking and you're right. I should win some sort of award.)

Merry Christmas

I love you all. Well, most of you. I hope you all have a great Christmas.

On this glorious Christmas day, I'll even ignore the fact that a good friend of mine failed to introduce me to or even mention the fact that she was friends with a hot science teacher who is near my age here in town. Who knows what could have happened. We could have had chemistry. Get it? 'Cause she's a science teacher? I bet she would have loved my particular brand of humor. We could have talked about sciency things like beakers and Florence flasks and whether or not God exists. Things probably would have been great. *sigh* I guess we'll never know now, will we. Oh well. Maybe next year somebody will think enough of our friendship to maybe introduce me to a hot girl that lives here in town. One can only hope. *sigh*

Mostly kidding.

MERRY CHRISTMAS. I'm going to take a pain pill and see how many times I can watch the Christmas Story before things get blurry and I start to feel sick. Then I hope the effects of the pill carry over through most of my family being here so I can sleep through it. Hope your Christmas is half as festive and enjoyable as mine.

Here's a disturbing fact for you to put things in perspective this holiday season. If you have a shitty Christmas or get bad presents, just think about poor little Judith Barsi. Judith did the voice of Duckie in Land Before Time and the voice of the orphan girl in All Dogs go to Heaven. On July 25, 1988, her dad murdered her and her mother before killing himself. So as you're opening presents that you don't like just be thankful that you're not poor little Judith. Not because her father murdered her, but because she will forever be associated with All Dogs go to Heaven. That movie was fuckin' horrible.

Stay in school. Believe in Jesus. It's his birthday.

New Dream Threesome

The new lineup, after watching a bunch of episodes of scrubs and the first four episodes of the first season of "24," includes Sarah Chalke and Mia Kirshner. (The alternate in the event that one of these two lovely ladies gets sick or becomes fat is Ms. Elisabeth Rohm.) Discuss.

I almost put Amy Lee as my alternate, but I thought about it and realized that Amy Lee deserves my full attention and the brunt of my dongular girth.

Disappointed you didn't make my dream threesome, ladies? Well, you should be. Work on it.

"And Jesus said unto him, 'PLLLLLLLTTTTTT...'"

I'd just like to thank Kenny for sending me this gem. I'll see you in Hell, sir. I'm kidding. Jesus isn't mad. Anybody who manifests himself as a dog's butthole has a sense of humor, right?

Man without a face, you are my hero

Hot women in Santa outfits are quite possibly the sexiest thing in the history of things. I watch this commercial and think, "what do I have to do to get a girl like Heidi Klum? Is it acid? It's acid, isn't it?" What the fuck happened to Seal anyway? Was his mom grating some cheese one day and about 30 minutes into it realized it was actually her infant son? But seriously...good for that guy. It gives a pristine-faced guy like me hope. Hope that one day I might get horribly disfigured and end up with a supermodel. A supermodel with a sexy accent and gigantic boobs I can rest my weary head on after a long day at the being a badass factory.

My heart...it breaks

The Steelers got the shit kicked out of them today. That was pretty bad, but I'll survive. I've seen worse. But then to add insult to injury, I was looking to see if there were any better pictures of my "double eye" tattoo that I want and that's when I found the picture below.


What the fuck? That's the exact thing I wanted. It's the eye from the Tool cd. I didn't want it in that color, but that's the exact thing I was looking for in the first place. I don't know how tattoo etiquette works, but I don't want to have the exact same tattoo as some other douche. I guess there's a way around this. I had an idea of what I wanted, but I don't think I want that anymore. I had a design and an eye model in my head, but those things definitely aren't what I want now.

EDIT: Holy fuck, there are like a thousand of this exact tattoo.

Strange

Last night I had a very weird dream. I dreamt I was strapped to a chair and there were like a thousand nuns in front of me praying for me in unison. One nun stood next to me and kept saying "sufre" over and over. This is weird in a couple of ways. First, I'm not now nor have I ever been Catholic. Second, I don't speak any Spanish at all. I wasn't even 100% sure what "sufre" meant until I looked it up. So that was weird.
Then I woke up with this horrible pain in my stomach. I had a lot of shit to do today at work, so I painfully got dressed and went in. I spent the first five hours of my work day hunched over at my computer putting together quite possibly my shittiest paper yet (and that includes the paper where I wrote the woman who was having her 100th birthday was celebrating a "decade." Yep...I'm a genius like that.) Then I decided I should probably go to the doctor.
I explained to the doctor that the pain wasn't really a sick feeling, but more like a physical pain. He poked and prodded and then came to the conclusion that he needed to check me for a hernia. Ah, nothing like having your balls cupped by a dude. In one of those "as long as you're down there" kinda things, I asked him to check out the scrotal abomination that is my third testicle. His exact words were, "wow...that's definitely not normal. If not checked out, this could get bad." So he wants me to come in next week to set up a biopsy. Hm. I'm not too sure about having something jabbed into my balls.
So the dream coupled with the stomach stuff (turned out to be a virus, but apparently not the 24-hour kind since I'm still pretty sick) kinda freaked me out. Ladies, better send me those boob pictures now. I could be on my way out. At least the fictional nuns think so.

It was either this or a job at the VHS manufacturing plant

So today my boss and I had the final talk in our series of "are you sure you want to go back to school" talks. I am. I took half a day off and filled out all the paperwork to get back in. (Cross your fingers.) I'm really close to a degree, so I'm going to go ahead and get it. What prompted this was the fact that I realized that I really don't want to be an editor. I don't like being in charge of anything. Then there's that whole "too nice/laid back thing." While it makes me a big hit with the bake sale old ladies, it doesn't do much for me in other aspects of journalism.

I was watching the news earlier and they were talking about how newspaper jobs were down with not much sign of positive change. Something about this new "internet" thing. Let's face it. In less than 5 years, newspapers are going to be over. There's really no need. The cost of running an entirely online paper is ridiculously low. You eliminate all printing costs, which are pretty hefty.

So that's that. I'm going back to school next semester barring some crazy setback (knock on my imitation wood desk.) I have no real plan other than that. No place to live, no job. That's how I do things, though. Backup plans are for old ladies and retarded kids. If this doesn't work out, I'll just go back to being a hand model.

Letters that need to be written

Letter 1

Dear Animal Planet,
Steve Irwin is dead. He's not coming back. Are you to blame for his death since he probably died while filming something for you? Probably. That's ok, though. People die. What people don't do is watch the new version of his show with his wife. The only reason people watched him in the first place was because he was a crazy foreigner that chased animals around and (almost) always avoided injury. His wife? Well, she's an American lady from like New York or some shit. If I wanted to watch a woman mess around with animals, I'd watch Jeff Corwin (or Kenny's mom's "show.") And don't even get me started on his daughter. What an annoying piece of shit she is. And you gave her her own show? What the fuck? My dad died. I didn't get shit. Given, he wasn't mauled by some underwater sea creature, but still. I should get something. So, Animal Planet, unless you can invent a time machine and tell Steve he might want to pack his stingray retardant wet suit before he heads out, I don't want to watch the show anymore. It is a nice touch that you have his wife write in a diary about how much she misses her husband, though. Maybe you can reel in a few viewers with sympathy. That should work for a couple more episodes.


Letter 2

Dear Yahoo!,
Why do you keep hiring dumbasses to write "relationship and dating" columns? Fuck! I need advice here. I'm at the end of my rope. The last one titled "When women date men who are less attractive" got me a little interested. Then I read it. Awesome. You give examples and then explain that for this to work, the poor ugly bastard probably needs to make a lot of money. I knew that. That doesn't help me. I'm too lazy to get a good job that pays me a lot of money. I need a scheme. I'm looking for a column that teaches me how to mix some sort of potion or a more effective way to apply chloroform. I don't need to know that I need to make more money. That helps me none. Who do you think your audience is for those columns? Attractive guys who are "just wonderin'" Fuck no. I'm your audience. The guy who lives with is mom still and flips a coin when he wakes up to help him decide whether or not he's going to drink the stuff under the sink. The guy who gets excited when a new flavor of doritos comes out. The guy who recently mourned the loss of his little furry masked bandit of the forest. I'm your fucking audience. Doesn't it sound like I need a little more than "you need to make a lot of money?" I need something along the lines of "here's a magic spell." You've disappointed your audience, yahoo. I could poop on my keyboard and the pressure on the keys from said shit could craft a better column than what I just read. That lady seems to be as much of an expert on dating as I am on diet and exercise. I know of it, but I'm not too familiar. Sigh.

Look who's not dead. It's me!

Work has been rough lately. My inexperience isn't really helping things out. My boss has been on my ass about all kinds of things. I'm in a bit over my head, I think. I can't remember if I've written about this before, but she told me that I'm too laid back and not very aggressive. She told me that I need to be mean. I need to be "in your face" to ever be successful at this job. That's not me, though. I'm not a mean guy. I'm a super laid back kind of guy. Apparently that's not a good thing in this job. I don't know that I want to become aggressive. Sure, being a passive douche has its downside, but it's who I am. Every time she comes in my office, I get the feeling like I'm about to be fired.

Not to make excuses, but my schooling didn't exactly prepare me to be thrown in as a managing editor of a newspaper. I never learned if there was a "style" to interview people. I ask softball questions when I probably should be digging for more, but truth be told, I don't really care about digging for more. There are a lot of things about journalism I don't agree with. Wrecks are one. The sensationalism of wreck pictures has always pissed me off. People see one and for ten or fifteen seconds, they are entertained/enthralled/whatever, but for the families and friends of people who were in those vehicles, that's an image they didn't need to see. Everybody knows what a fucking wrecked car looks like. I don't agree with showing pictures.

Anyway, (I'm stealing this phrase from a guy I work with) I said all that to say this: I'm re-enrolling in good ol' SFA. Think of it as me staying a step ahead of what feels like my eventual firing. It's not that I'm doing a bad job or anything, but I just don't think I'm what they're looking for. I don't really care about small town politics either. I wanna write about fart jokes and how much I hate things. I want to make fun of things. I don't want to report on some county election. I thought I did until I actually got the chance to do it. So going back to school will allow me to get my degree so maybe I can choose a job instead of hoping somebody will hire me. Plus, I'd learn a little more about journalism (if that's what I really want to do.) I'm also close to a degree in English. Don't know what the fuck I'd do with that, but it's something, right? My family doesn't really think this is a good idea, but they usually don't think things I do are a good idea. Like being born. They weren't so big on that. I tried to have a serious conversation with my mom earlier about my life and how I've been feeling lately and the possibility that I could leave one day and not come back. She clearly rolled her eyes, although she said she didn't, so I just walked out. It blows having a family that doesn't listen to shit ever.

Another thing about me is that I don't take critcism very well. I don't get pissed or anything, but I get discouraged. If I think I'm doing a bad job, things tend to snowball and it just gets to the point where I don't want to do it anymore. That hasn't happened so much in this case, but my boss keeps trying this whole "tough love," "showing me the ropes" kinda thing and I hate it. I don't respond well to tough love. Also, I'm a follower. I have no desire to be "the guy," the leader. So maybe the editor job wasn't such a great idea. I liked it at first because I got the chance to write. I love to write, but the other things that go along with it, I don't like so much. The pre-meeting bullshitting with people I don't know just to be seen. Small talk about some ordinance passed in a town I don't even live in. Just things like that.

Back to me not being aggressive. Apparently people notice. We had a Thanksgiving kinda thing at work where we all sat around the break room table and ate together. It's the first time we've ever done that. They asked me something about my family. How big, stuff like that. I told them that my dad worked a lot and passed away when I was 17, so it was mostly my mom, my three sisters and me. Somebody said, "So, you were mostly raised by women?" I said yeah and the look on their faces when I said that was like they'd all just simultaneously just solved a riddle or something. It kinda pissed me off. I'm fuckin' manly, goddammit! Right?

BOOSH!

I started to write this really long, philosophical post about how my life is pretty shitty and there's trouble at work and how sometimes I seriously think about driving my car into the river because I feel like nobody really listens to me, but then I took some pain pills to cheer me up. They did! I think I'm going to become a junkie. It seems fun and I don't see anything negative coming from it.

So Iv'e decided to take this post in a new direction. I was thinking about it earlier and I decided that Alicia Keys and Olivia Munn would be my ideal threesome. With those two, you basically have all your ethnic backgrounds covered. Plus they're both super hot. Who's your ideal threesome? Comment. I'd like to hear. Or don't. I really don't give a hippo's fuck. Have great night everybody.

What if I'm the asshole?

I was thinking today that maybe I'm the asshole and the girl who may or may not have blown me off isn't. What if she really did have to go? Maybe she had to take her mom to dialysis, but thought she'd message me quickly first? These are all possibilities, I think.

That poor, poor girl. On top of the fact that she has to take care of her sick, kidneyless mother, she also has to be in the deep pit of despair that comes with me ignoring her. What kind of monster am I? A sexy one? Oh yeah. I forgot.

Maybe some things are worse off than I am.

Last night I was laying in bed watching tv and doing one of my favorite things to do while laying in bed watching tv. No, not masturbating (much). I was playing a game I like to call "find somebody worse off than me so I can feel better about myself." When you have non-existent self-esteem, it helps to find people that have shittier things happening to them than you do.
Candidate #1 was a couple who had a baby two years ago. The baby was born with a rare genetic degenerative condition. It was basically in its best condition the moment it was born and had been going gradually downhill since. The parents talked about the impending death of their baby with the same tone as somebody would talk about closing on a new house. I really sat and thought about it. These people had their first and only child and there was something wrong with it from the beginning. From the moment this baby was born, they knew it would die in a couple of years. I really sat and thought about these parents and what they must be going through. I waited for it. I waaaaaited. Nothing. I don't know what it's like to have a kid. Sure, I felt bad for them, but I wasn't feeling bad enough to make me feel better.

Candidate #2 was that guy who died while running that race. I changed the channel pretty quick. I've ran like three times in my life, and all three times something was chasing me. Be it dog or bee or my drunken, slightly aroused uncle that was babysitting me, at least something was chasing me. This guy was running for FUN. Who does that? People who die. That's who.

Then I found it. Candidate #3 was the winner. It was on the discovery channel. It was a cape buffalo or whatever those things are called that remind me of Whoopi Goldberg. This cape buffalo was the dominate bull in a small herd. For some reason, a pride of lions singled out this particular buffalo as their evening meal. The bull was scrappy, though, and wasn't going down without a fight. The lions attacked again and again, but their teeth and claws couldn't get through it's thick, leathery hide (just like Whoopi Goldberg.) The only thing the lions could bite/claw was the buffalo's butthole. After about 10 minutes of strategic ass attacks by the lions, the buffalo had enough. He spun around to face the three or four lions that were attacking him and prepared to make one last stand. Then, out of fucking nowhere, this huge bull comes over and mounts the wounded bull and sodomizes him right in his lion-ravaged pooper. The narrator comes in and says something like, "sensing weakness, the rival male mounts the dominate male to solidify his new place in the herd." Ouch. He manages to eventually fight off the homo usurper and turns his attention back to the lions. They gnaw his butthole a few more times, but he stays on his feet. Then the fucking other bull comes back and rams him from the side, knocking him down. The lions pounce on him and bite his throat. The camera zooms out. His leg kicks a couple of times and then it's all over.

That's when I realized that while I may have my problems, they are nowhere near this buffalo's. Sure I have my ups and downs, but I've never had the inner part of my ass batted around by gigantic cats. I can also say that I've never had a huge buffalo dong in me. Knock on wood.

Don't you walk out on me, Self-esteem...

This has been the worst week in the history of weeks. I've had retarded car trouble with my new car that required shop time and me taking a day off work. I almost ran over a pot-belly pig in the city limits of the hillbilly town I work in. Work has me really stressed out. I can't sleep.

The other day I was at a meeting of area clergy. I was in line to fix a plate for lunch and this 739-year-old lady in front of me dropped her napkin. I picked it up for her so she wouldn't turn to dust or possibly die when she tried. She said, "Oh...I'm getting old." I responded with something like, "nah...you're not old." You know, the obvious lie. It was kind of awkward after I said that, so I followed it up with some small-talk. I said, "wow. I'm pretty sleepy. I need a nap when I get back to the office." This old fucking bitch turns to me and says, "you know why you're tired? It's because you're carrying all that extra weight on you." What weight? My gigantic dong? That's what I should have said to that old lady. Old people piss me off. She's a representative of a church, too. A church in a certain hyphenated town down the road from me.

Now I have a question. My second attempt at pathetic internet romance has seemingly fizzled out. It was all bacon and no sizzle. I'm not real sure if I used phrase right, but I heard it the other day and thought it was awesome. Anyway, she asked me about myself, so in my next message I wrote the novel that is the life of me, omitting bad shit and things that make me sound weird. So it wasn't that long, I guess. I'd say three solid paragraphs of greatness. I checked it today and there was a message from her. I thought it might be good, but given the way my week was going, I didn't have my hopes up. Good thing, too. Here's what she sent. Keep in mind that I just wrote quite a bit about myself and asked her questions about her.

"I went to (college we went to) for interior design, but I might be making a career change soon. Yeah, we might know some of the same people... (town college is in) is pretty tiny.
Well, sorry to keep this short but I've gotta run. Hope you have a great Halloween!"

I just got blown off, huh? Be honest. I've reached a new level of pathetic. I've also got a hunch that she doesn't care about my Halloween. She doesn't care about my Halloween at all.

Some things, good and bad

My stomach is killing me. I don't really know why. For the last hour or so I've been playing a deadly game of Russian roulette that I like to call, "is it fart, is it turd?" I'm three for three so far, but I have a feeling that bullet may be there the next time around.

I worked about 30 more hours than I got paid for this week. I really like my job, but these 70+ hour weeks are going to get old eventually. I think it's going to interfere with mini-Thanksgiving, too. I wanted to go to Nac soon, but I don't know when I'll be able to. I need a weekend away from here.

My mom bought me some Halloween peeps today. I do love peeps with their marshmallow and sugary goodness. My mom's a nice lady sometimes. It's really a shame that I'm going to have to put her in a home soon.

I miss people. This town kinda blows. I miss watching football and talking shit with a bunch of people while I eat a gigantic basket of assorted fried awesomeness. I guess this is what happens when you grow up, huh?

Now for a little sad news. My little raccoon has been acting weird the last few days. I thought it was maybe because it was getting cold outside, so I filled his raccoon house with hay. I called a vet Friday from work and asked if they looked at wild animals. They said they didn't unless I had a permit for it. I found out a permit costs more than I was willing to pay for an animal that hates me. Saturday when I fed him, he was moving kinda slow and didn't eat much of his food. When I fed him Sunday morning, he wouldn't even come out of his house. When I went to check on him Sunday afternoon, he was dead. Kinda sucks after I saved him from the dogs and all that. He seemed fine Thursday, but I guess he got sick sometime after that. I buried him by my pet duck that died when I was 8. He's tipping over God's trash cans now.

I took another shot at the internet dating thing. I actually made a legit profile with my correct age and all that. I messaged one person and she actually replied. Turns out we went to the same college at the same time. She asked me what my relationship was like with my family. I told her that I come from a small family, but we're pretty close-knit (which isn't 100% true, but it's not exactly a lie.) Then I told her that I still live pretty close to my mom. I figured that covered all my bases. If things go bad for whatever reason, I'm done. I know they say that when one door closes, another opens. For me, when one door closes, my fingers are usually in that little space between the door and the wall, so I'm just going to leave it alone. It'll just be another thing I've failed at like dieting or trying to tone down my awesomeness. I directed her to my myspace page so she could see a picture. Hindsight being what it is, I probably should have changed the picture away from my "drunken, double gun" photo. While we're on the subject, if you haven't added me on myspace, why don't you go ahead and do that. I'd like to pad my friend stats before she sees it so I seem cool. Not that I need it, but yeah...I need it.

I hate the fact that I've seen more than one episode of "Shot of Love with Tila Tequila," but she's on there. Damn reality shows and their one hot girl that makes me watch. Anybody who knows me knows that she fits my "dream woman" look. She even has facial accessories. I love those. Too bad it wasn't a scar. I'll stop before I sound creepy. How did Tila get her own show? I didn't know they could find 20 people (outside of Kenny's family) who wanted to fuck a chihuahua.

Steelers won. Boosh.

That's about all I have. Hope everybody has a great Monday. Not really.

Aww, my fallback is gone (or is it?)

Picture it, a young me in my junior year in high school. I was with Josh and Greg at a church none of us went to after a football game one Friday night for some "don't drink and do bad stuff" churchy kinda thing. I'm not sure why we were there. I think maybe Greg was trying to bang some girl from that town. I can use that as the reason I was a lot of places in high school, and for the most part, it'd be accurate.

Anyway, I met this girl there. Kinda weird how we met. She initially wanted to date one of my friends and thought I'd be a good go-between. She realized he was a huge douche later on and we stayed friends. She was the first girl that I thought really "got" me. She didn't question the weird. It was great. Well, it was great until I realized it was a relationship without any of the fun stuff. She briefly dated (and slept with...ugh) my arch enemy and I think his brother. But, by God, when you're fat and desperate it takes a lot more than a black/hispanic dong to stand in the way of true love. She was a little off, too. I didn't mind, though. The only thing I didn't really care for was the fact that she'd occasionally drop the kids off at he pool while she was on the phone with me. Incase you don't catch my drift, I'm talking about pooping. It was a little weird, but who am I? The Pope? I also got the feeling that none of my friends really liked her. Most of my friends are assholes, so that wasn't much of an issue either.

We were all set to go to my senior prom, but then she said something really shitty about some friends of mine. I got pretty pissed and decided to "go a different direction" with my prom date. Turns out that sometimes beggars can be choosers. Who knew? She cried, I felt like shit. Not a great day. We had a really long talk, and during that talk she said probably the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me in the history of my life. That includes the time the guy at Burger King said, "Oh, I'm sorry sir. You only ordered one whopper? I put two in the bag and we can't take it back after we touch it. Just keep it." Ha...I'm sure you all know that last thing never happened 'cause when have I ever ordered just one Whopper? After she said the super nice thing to me, she said, "listen, three-hole punch version of db, if we're both still single at 30, we should get together. You know, just so we aren't lonely." Oh, maybe I forgot to mention she was pretty fucking crazy and possibly had some emotional issues and mental problems. Part of my attraction to her? Definitely. I likes 'em crazy and with little to no self-esteem. Mmm.

I went off to college and so did she. I almost forgot about her during that first semester, which mostly consisted Cory and I saying, "dude...we're in college," about once ever five minutes. It's a big accomplishment for two degenerate fucktards such as ourselves.

I ran into her at Best Buy once. We talked for awhile and exchanged email addresses and phone numbers. We seem to talk pretty solidly for about a week each year since then. I got a random text message from her about three years ago when I lived in that town where I went to college. It said, "I guess our deal is off. I'm engaged."

Three months later, the guy she was engaged to had an aneurysm (and not the Nirvana kind) burst in his head and he died in his sleep. She was pretty fucked up about it (obviously) and she called me. We kept in touch over the next few months, and after about seven months went by, she sent me another text that said, "We're still on for that 30 thing, right? I'm sending you a picture." I got it and holy shit she was hot. Ha. Sucker. She turned out to be super hot and I was a fat piece of shit. Joke's on her. That's when I made preparations for my time machine to take me to the future when I'm 30 (and hopefully not dead) so she could mouthify my wang (stole that from a movie, but I can't remember which.)

I can't really remember what happened after that. We lost touch until today. Today I was cleaning out a desk at work that I was thinking about moving into my office. I found an old paper and just glanced at the front page. She was on it from back in her high school days. It was probably about the time we met. I did that weird reminiscing thing where you kinda sit there with the retarded kid smirk on your face as you slowly shake your head back and forth while you look at the picture and read the caption. "I wonder what she's up to these days," I thought.

I got home tonight and there was a message on my computer. It was from her of all people. It said, "My mom said you were the new editor at the paper. Congratulations." Actually she spelled congratulations wrong, but why quote her as a dumbass? I messaged her back and asked her what she'd been up to and all that small talk bullshit. She then said, "Well, since you're there now, maybe you can tell me how much it costs to put a wedding announcement in the paper. I'm getting married in November!" "Oh wow. Congratulations," I replied.
"Thanks. I guess our 30 year thing is off again, huh?" "Yeah, I guess it is," I said as I flipped to the dog-eared page in the "A" section of my "Big Book O' Bad Shit to Wish Upon People."

E-jected: a new low

Oh I'm sorry. I was under the impression that women were looking for smart, funny guys. Guess I was wrong. I'm kidding. I gues she sensed the fat through the internet. That's how fat I've become. Women can tell by the way I write, I guess. It probably had something to do with my fingers smashing multiple keys at once.

I'm kidding. I know I'm great at almost everything ever. It just sucks that the stupid site shows me that she actually read it. Maybe she's just taking her time to craft a response that equals mine. Jeez...if that's the case, I'll never hear from her. Or maybe my description of myself/hobbies/all that stuff made me sound like a huge douche. I probably shouldn't have put "like Chris Farley, but with more sweat," in there. Oh well. Her loss or whatever you say when you try to pretend you didn't just get kicked in the e-balls.

And thus ends my internet dating experience forever. I shall put this up there with my other short-lived endeavors. Playing the bass, for one. Yeah, those were an awesome couple of days. They mostly consisted of me saying, "Cory, CORY, that sounded like Schism, huh? No? How about this time?" That might have lasted longer, but my amp was politely stolen by a black guy. I'm not saying there's a correlation between him being black and stealing my amp, but I'm also not NOT saying it.

This would have fucked with the old DB's head. Not now, though. I don't really care all that much. Does that mean I've grown up? No. It just means I'm slightly less of a douche than I was before. And that's all any of us can ask for.

I'm an idiot

I've decided to ignore the sound advice of everyone and do what I was planning on doing all along. That damn impulsiveness again. I'll let you know how it goes. The compatability test was fucking retarded. I probably failed. Why the fuck does it matter whether or not I like scary movies? I'm also changing my password for my yahoo email account. I apologize to all of you who were using my fantasy football stat tracker. Maybe you cheap asses will have to buy it yourselves?

Ok, this site is ridiculous. I'm not sure I want to be apart of a place that sends a warning message that says my profile is "to" short.

Writing that was pretty difficult. I think I started off sounding like a pretentious cockbag, but after that I wove a tale of textual suavity the likes of which I'm sure she (or the world) has never seen. Oh and lies. Plenty of those. Like Michael's suggestion about how I shouldn't mention video games and pretend to be active and not a fat couch log.

It's not so bad being 30 (or possibly 29. I'm not so great at the math.) I explained how I wasn't really 30 and why I said I was. Creepy? Probably. Is that new to me? Not a bit.

Well, it's 3:30 and I have to be at work at 7, so I should probably sleep. You all have a good day, ya hear?

WRITE IT FOR ME

So this is like chapter 4 of the patheticness that is my life. I can't think of anything good to write about myself for a possible profile thingy. Not that I'm writing one of those. Just saying, though. If I did decide to write one, I can't think of anything to write. I keep coming up with "a fat Drew Carey." Something tells me that's not going to be the flower to the ladies' bee. Also, I keep writing "flower to your bee."

So write it for me. It'll be fun. I'm not really expecting anything serious due to the jackass to non jackass ratio here. Also, I've gotta find a new site. The one I've been looking at is um...yeah. Here's a little from a profile I just saw. "i'm overweight big time and if you got a problem, don't bother contacting me. i'm in a wheelchair due to my spine deteriating." Is she Campbell's soup 'cause that sounds mmm...mmmm...good. Ooh. I just made that last part up. Let's use that.

Stuff

One last thing on the internet dating idea. I saw a profile that "appealed" to me. The only downside is that she's only looking for people closer to her age (32.) So here's my plan: I'm going to lie. I'm not that far from 30. What's five years? Am I going to be any more mature in five years. I highly doubt it. I can see myself still watching Jimmy Neutron five years from now barring it going off the air. And why would it? It's a great show. What negative things could come from me lying on an interent dating profile to try to trick a woman into thinking I'm interesting? Nothing I can see.

In "you can't make this up" news, the game between Arkansas and Auburn earlier today featured three quarterbacks. B. Cox for Auburn and C. Dick and R. Johnson for Arkansas. Cox, a Dick and a Johnson all in the same place at the same time. Surprisingly, it wasn't Kenny's mom's butthole.

Compromise

I've been thinking about the internet thing and I've decided to hold off a few months. In about four or five, I should be out of here. And who knows what could happen between now and then. I also didn't realize that living with my mom was that big of a deal. I know it's weird, but I didn't know it was that weird. It's free rent, people. We don't even talk when we see each other usually.

Ok. Enough of that. Today was kind of awesome. I found out the temp girl that works at the office is a vegetarian. Being the fat lover of all things beef/pork/fish/poultry, I decided to give her a hard time about it. I've never really understood vegetarians. She got all offensive when I asked her why she chose to be a vegetarian. She gave me this bullshit, "I don't eat anything that walks, swims or flies," speech. I said, "Wow...that really rules out ducks then, huh?" She wasn't amused. Then she followed that up with something about how animals have a soul and she can't eat anything with a soul...except boneless, skinless chicken breasts. That's when I decided she was dumb. Hypocrites are neat.

I'm having problems typing on my PC now. I use an ass-backwards Mac at work all day. Macs are ridiculous. It's like having a standard and automatic car only the standard has a bunch of extra steps to do everything and you have to drag your gas tank to the trash to open it.

Thanks for everybody's comments on the internet post. PN, welcome back. I've known some people who didn't survive missing me for so long. You're safe now, PN. You're safe now.

Michael, you need to not be such a downer. You just wait until you need my advice on something I'm an expert at. You know. That day will come when you ask something about what the best brand of frozen taquito to buy is. Who's going to be there to say negative stuff? This guy. Also if you need to know anything about ending sentences with prepositions.

Laurie, I like how you stuck the backhanded compliment in there. Second, not every woman is into the Adonis type. Well, those ladies will be out of luck in this case. This reminds me of a college conversation. "Dude, you might have a chance. She's not really into looks." And obviously she wasn't. Shazam? Shazam.

Rev, dude...you're pretty lucky they didn't have these about 28 years ago. You might have never been.

Yep, that's me.

I need feedback.

How weird are internet dating sites? How much would you look down on me if I signed up for one? This is normal these days, right? Here's the deal: I don't live in a great area for meeting new people. Anybody from here can back me up on that. There's not really a central gathering place here. There are a couple of bars, I guess, but I'm not going to find a Rachel McAdams in one of these places. I'm not even looking for a Rachel McAdams. I'm just saying. I mean, I'm aiming pretty low these days. The last girl that horrible shot me down and obviously didn't recognize the greatness that is me, well, she was like a 4. I'm being generous there. She's the one that started dating that guy who thought the word "fond" meant hate. Yeah. Ok, she was like a 3. Still being generous.

And I know I don't need somebody, but it'd be nice, I think. And people are always saying stuff like, "it's not that great," blah, blah, blah. I think that's crap, for the most part. Everybody I know that is in a relationship always seems happier more of the time than not. And I'm not saying I want to get married tomorrow or anything. I'm just tired of hanging out with dudes all the time. No offense, guys.

Here's where the internet thing comes into play. I'm sure there are girls on there looking for the same thing. If it becomes more from there, then that's great. If not, that's cool too. And the internet thing is just impersonal enough to work for me. I'm cool after the ice is broken. I think I'm even a little E-charming. It's just the real life first impressions that I suck at. Being bad at first impressions and being in an area where there just aren't a lot of single, attractive girls is a bad combination. I'm like a shitty farmer trying to grow stuff in the desert. (Bad analogies are sexy, right?)

I think I'm in a good place personally for this sort of thing now. I'm comfortable with what I'm doing. The self-esteem is starting to slowly trickle back. The self-worth is there. I don't want to drive my car into a tree nearly as much. I don't want to end up being that guy. I watched two episodes of the Pickup Artist (gayest show ever, by the way.) I'm a basement shy of being that dude who starts every conversation with girls by saying, "did you guys see that fight down there? Yeah, it was two girls fighting over some guy named George." I don't wanna be the fat guy cliche. I'm tired of playing video games all the time. I'm a great guy probably. I'm taking better care of myself (or at least I plan to.) I'm even thinking about going back to church (after football season. I'm only human. I still don't understand why God made the NFL so damn successful and on Sunday if He wanted me to go to church.) Look at all that. I'm a fucking catch, no? Did I mention that I still live with my mom? Huh? Caaaaaaaaatch!

So give me some feedback on the internet thing. Is it weird? Not weird? Stuff like that. Michael, isn't this your area of expertise? I know it isn't college football. Ha!

And I swear to God if anybody comes on here and gives me some bullshit about how I shouldn't rely on other people to make me happy, I'll hunt them down and cave their head in with a tire iron and eat what comes out. Kidding, kidding (but seriously...I'll do that.)

And for your information, Anna, I could open like a billion sets if I wanted to. And yes, those were sarcastic italics.

If this post didn't make sense, I apologize. I was watching Wedding Crashers for the 963rd time. That's probably where the Rachel McAdams reference came from. And that girl was more like a 2-2.5, but that's ok because I wrote it in tiny letters.

I'm no genius. I'm just a man (who happens to be a genius.)

Mark my words: Notre Dame wins this week against UCLA.


Michael said...
You've got to be fucking kidding me.

Notre Dame 20 UCLA 6.

Pointless end of the week stuff that not many people read because they have real lives that don't involve my blog

I enjoy pudding, but I'm not too fond of the cups it comes in. I had a thought earlier about how it'd be great if pudding was like a hand fruit. Isn't that what they are called? Hand fruits? Like apples and stuff? It would still have the same puddingy consistency, but it wouldn't get on your hands...and you'd bite like an apple. Think of how great that'd be. Pretty great, no?

Who the fuck is watching Kid Nation? Pedophiles? That's the dumbest show ever. I don't want to see kids deal with real life situations. That's stupid. I want to see them deal with cool stuff like fire and maybe bears. That would be a pretty sweet show.

After watching an ebay commercial earlier, I realized I've never held anything above my head in triumph. I really need to get on that.

Can you guys do me a favor? Can you have a great weekend? Hmm? Can you do that for me? I love most of you. A few I'm still undecided on.

Unflappable

So yesterday, my happiness kinda hit a wall. And by wall, I mean truck. And by happiness, I mean me. I'm not 100% sure who was at fault, but for the sake of this blog, I'm gonna go ahead and say he was. My poor car. Ripped off the front bumper and messed up the front end a little bit. Nothing major, though. It still drives. I look like a hillbilly driving around with no bumper, but now I actually fit in around here. This car is like my baby, though. I don't mean in the loving way. I mean in the "I tossed it in the dumpster when I was in my early teens and now it's found its way back to me and wants to be a family," kind of way. Basically, I'm stuck with it. I ran that analogy by my mom earlier and she got mad at me. Kinda makes me wonder if I struck a nerve. Maybe I have a dumpster brother/sister somewhere. Sucks for them if I'm the one they ended up keeping.

Michael, I'm gonna need you to not be in SB this weekend, ok? Actually, I don't even know if it's a home game for them. Touchdown Jesus needs to work his magic if it is. It's getting to be pretty pathetic. I'm still going with my prediction that ND beats UCLA. I couldn't bet ND to win straight up, though. Something about them being 20-point underdogs or something.

I know this is going to make me sound like an idiot, but the words I want to go with my tattoo are inspired by a Tool song. It's this song. I don't want to get all weird on you and say that this song "changed my life," but I've probably listened to this song more than any other (except maybe Mr. Brightside...that's another post for another day.) There's a message in there that really stuck with me and kept me from taking a bath with the toaster. It's kind of hard to explain the whole thing where people can understand it. Not saying you're idiots or anything, but I haven't fully figured out how to explain it. It's one of those things that might just make sense to me. Like an omelet made out of spaghetti-os and sour cream. It has to do with where I was and where I am, how inner weirdness effects outward appearance and how some things appear to be normal and fine, but are really kinda fucked up underneath. And also how all that stuff is ok, and (CLICHE ALERT) you never know what's going to happen tomorrow. Darkest before the dawn, and all that good stuff. Here's the basis for the idea again. I'm thinking black and gray with the maybe a dark blue or dark green for the irises. Not sure about the words, though. There are only going to be two. I might take the Rev's suggestion and make a new tattoo out of the words. Also taking his advice on where to get it. I'm thinking the inside of my left bicept. I'll have to not work out for awhile, though. I don't want the needle to break when it hits the STEEL. That's right, ladies.

I want to wish a happy belated birthday to my good friend, Amanda. It's just belated on here. I don't want to toot my own horn or anything, but I'm pretty awesome at remembering birthdays (except Julie...sorry.) And also an on time birthday to my pal, "Anna." For a present, I will allow you both to send me boob pics. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I believe you both are in your mid 20s? *wink*

Weird...

I don't want to turn into one of those blogs. You know the ones. The ones that are always rainbows and butterflies (Yeah, I quoted Maroon 5. Wanna fight about it?) But wow...I feel great. A special person in my life once told me that nobody is going to be happy with me until I'm happy with myself. Well, I think I'm there. And I don't mean "special" like "means a lot to me." I mean it in more the helmet wearing way. My paper forgot to turn in my direct deposit information, so I got my check two days late. I'm still happy. My radiator apparently has a crack in it. I'm not sure what that means other than it's bad. Still good, though. My boss told me today that since I've been working so much to just take Wednesday off. I love taking days off! You know what else is awesome? I haven't even made up and excuse to not go to work yet. No fake stomach virus for this guy.

I've decided that for my tattoo, I'm either going two words or no words at all. I think I'm going with English words, too. The words coupled with the eyeball tattoo won't make any sense to anybody regardless of what language they are in.

Welp...I took a pain pill for no reason and I'm kinda sleepy. You kids have a great day, ya hear?
Mark my words: Notre Dame wins this week against UCLA. I'm dumping the rest of my sports gambling money on them. Should be great odds.

Legends of the Fall and Bret Michaels

There are only two movies ever made that crack my super manly shell and make me almost tear up. The first, and I'm not ashamed to say that I almost cry every single time, is Rudy. That's the greatest movie of all time possibly. Notre Dame makes me cry now, but in a different way. I blame a certain blog reader. Seems like the Irish weren't having a problem with winning until he got there. Hmmm.

The second movie is Legends of the Fall. I watched it a little while ago. It's a great movie. The part that always gets me is when Aiden Quinn shoots the sheriff (but not the deputy) at the end to save Tristan (Brad Pitt) and his dad (Anthony Hopkins.) Then Anthony Hopkins, who had a stroke and had previously been mad at him, limps up to him and gives him a hug. Gets me every time. Another great part of that movie is at the end when Brad Pitt dies. That's how I want to go out. It's pretty much the manliest way possible. He dies stabbing a bear. When I say that I want to die stabbing a bear, I mean actually stabbing a bear and not that euphemism I use for when I have sex with Kenny's mom.

The last episode of Rock of Love with Bret Michaels was on tonight. He chose the adorable Jess instead of Heather, the dude with the penis. That was a pretty obvious choice, I thought. It's like choosing between a diamond and a piece of what may or may not be poop. After watching this show, I don't hate Bret Michaels as much as I did before. He does try to be a little too philosophical and says the word "soul" too much. Nobody is perfect, though. I guess that's why they say that eeeeeeeeeevery roooooooose has it's thorn. Somebody said that, anyway. I think it was Ratt. I'm happy things worked out for Bret. Seeing things work out for somebody, well...I guess you could say it gives me somethin' to believe in. I was going to carry that Poison song title joke out a little farther, but those are the only two I know. I've heard that the happy couple is registered at the Headband Outlet. I really hope things work out for those crazy kids. If nothing else, it made Bret Michaels relevant for another couple of minutes. God bless 'em. Knowing VH1, though, there's probably already a sequel and two spin-offs in the works. I'm still waiting for Rock of Love with Ann Wilson. Not to watch it, but to audition for it. Sexy.

An aye for an eye

Yep...that title was the gayest thing I've ever written. Anyway, my super creepy question that I was mulling over was whether or not to ask somebody if I could use her eye for the tattoo I want. She said I could. I won't say who it is, but if she wants to mention it, she can. I still think it's a little creepy. I'm shooting for May to get this tattoo done. I'll be in the Dallas area for gayhole's wedding (just kidding, Jimmy.) Speaking of which, do I get a finder's fee for that shit? I should. Wait, will I be in Dallas? I should probably know these things since I'm the best man. I don't mean in this wedding. I mean IN THE WORLD. Anyway, back to my tattoo. I want to get words in Latin around it. That's where you come in, Turd Ferguson (funny name, by the way. It's funny 'cause it's bigger than regular name.) All of this has meaning. Where I was. Where I am now. Where I will be. You know. Stuff like that. That's why I want it in Latin 'cause it's a little gay to put in words that people can read and understand. I'll write more on this later. I just worked a ridiculous 17-hour day and I'm pooped. Heh...pooped.

Have a great weekend. Try not to love me too much or forget my name too much. (Pazing!)

Creepy?

Ok, I have this huge dilemma. I need to ask somebody a favor, but it's a very strange favor. I don't even know that it's really a favor. It's just a really weird request. The thing is that I had this vision that made so much sense to me it was scary. Not one of those crazy "I saw Jesus in a corn chip" visions. A real vision. An artistic vision. If this person doesn't agree with it, then my vision is done. I can't figure out a good way to even ask. They have to be open minded from the second I open my mouth to ask the question or else it's going to sound weird. While the question itself is extremely creepy, the thought behind it isn't at all. I PROMISE. That's not even sarcasm. Neither was that. I swear on all that is good and holy that this isn't meant to be creepy. I just don't know if asking this is going to be worth the end result. Is the juice going to be worth the squeeze? Shazam! I need advice, blog readers. I won't say what it is, but I will say what it's not. It's nothing gross, naked, criminal, immoral, humiliating, controversial, invasive, um...other stuff that's bad.
It's not bad. It's just...weird. So if you think I may ask you something, just consider every weird thing you can think of. Also consider that it contains none of the things listed above. Then consider the fact that I'm adorable.

On a related issue, anybody familiar with Latin? If so, that'd be great.

Change (in the house of fries)

Yesterday I came home and sat down here to write a long post venting about my horribly shitty day. After I finished and posted it, I realized that I didn't really need to post it and I took it back down. The same thing happened today. I started to whine in an email to someone, but I ended up deleting it.

Things are changing. Today at work, I was reading a rival paper and I realized that I was 95% sure mine was better. In both style and content. Holy shit. Is this what confidence feels like? Not bad...not bad.

Things have been ridiculously great lately. The Steelers are 3-0. Nebraska almost lost to Ball St., but that's ok. Their name is hilarious. They deserve a good game. Notre Dame looks like ass, but they were bound to look like ass eventually. The personal life (minus the girlfriend part) is going well. I should be financially stable enough to hopefully celebrate my next birthday in a home where my mother doesn't live. Things just feel great. I was close to the end. I wasn't too far away from chewing on a Dora the Explorer toy. But now? Well now the thought of digesting lead-based Chinese toys doesn't even cross my mind. It's good to feel like a person again.

Something really bad is about to happen, isn't it?

Don't worry, though. I'm not going to turn into one of those "look at me. I made it through adversity" blogs. I'll keep the happy stuff to a minimum. Expect the same level of poop jokes you've all come to know and love. I've just been really busy lately. Ha! Busy! It feels great to say that and actually be telling the truth.

On an unrelated note, I've finally found the tattoo I want. I've wanted one for awhile, but I can't ever decide what I want. That shit's permanent, ya know. Here it is. Someone who can draw, draw that for me, por favor. I'm serious about this. It has meaning to me, but it's kinda gay and I don't want to go into it. I randomly came across this when I was looking for stupid pictures to photoshop. It couldn't have been more perfect.

I need help

I need a name. That whole "too lazy to think of a name" thing is kinda gay, but I was rushed. Anybody have any suggestions? I have a few, but don't really like any of them.

• Doughboy - The name I use for basically everything. Video games, fantasy football/baseball teams, email addresses.
• Lunchy McBox - My um...3rd (?) blog name. I didn't stay there long.
  
• Turtlehead - No real reason. Just makes me laugh. Honorable mention here: Teabag.
  
• Tom Selleck - Never got over the disappointment that it was taken when I made my AIM screen name.
• Arvid Engen/Dennis Blunden - Anybody?
• EDIT: Meshack Taylor's White Cousin
  

Gimme some suggestions. I just thought of another one, but I'm gonna have to photoshop some stuff to make it as funny as it is in my head.

EDIT:


It doesn't make any sense, but really, what does?

Ridiculous

I have this huge flaw. No, not the one about me being too handsome. I wouldn't exactly call that a flaw. Curse? Yes. Flaw? No. My flaw is that I tend to think that people like me more than they actually do. Not to the point where I show up at there house to just hang out uninvited because I think I'm that cool and we're great friends. Well, except for Josh and Amanda, but I've known you guys since I was a mere fetus and I don't really care. But it's just some people. I'll be going about my business and then this flaw shows itself. I think everything is cool. I've really made some kind of connection with somebody and then they go and say something about how they "don't know my last name" despite the fact that I've known them for over a year and talk to them on a semi regular basis. Of course that scenario I just described is purely hypothetical...or at least I wish it was. Your name is basically who you are. It's what identifies you. It's you. If somebody easily forgets fundamental details about you, forgetting about you all together is probably the next step. I don't know how this shit happens. I'm a fucking fantastic person. Why just the other day I won an award for the greatest guy EVER. I declined, however, because I was also set to receive the Nobel prize for humility on that very same day (which I also declined. You know...in the interest of humility.)

It amazes me and pisses me off all at the same time. It reminds me of that Indian chick in college who I shared many mutual friends. I think I met her "for the first time" about 46 times. Several readers of this very blog can back me up on that. I was going to tattoo something on my forehead so she'd remember me, but I didn't want to offend her. Get it? 'Cause she's Indian? Ah, stereotypes. Is that supposed to be like the third eye to offer more clarity or something? Hmm...maybe she should have tried a third ear so she could hear MY FUCKING NAME.

During the course of writing this, I received some news that I didn't think I really gave a shit about. Turns out I totally do give a shit about it. Huh. I think I'm going to have to put today, Sept. 20, 2007, on my list of shittiest days of my life. Probably broke the top ten. I'm going to have to put in front of that day I failed math and came home to find out my dog of 15 years had died. It comes in behind the last time this sorta thing happened, though. I saw this one coming at least. Life goes on, I guess.

I need to find a happy place.

"It's all good, baby..."

Ah, there it is. G'night, folks.

I'm an idiot

A conversation with the mayor's secretary:

Me: "So the luncheon is a the Immaculate Reception Catholic Church, right?"
Her: "The what?"
Me: "The Immaculate Conception Church..."
Her: "You said 'reception,' didn't you?"
Me: "*sigh*...Yeah"
Her: (laughing while I gradually lose all credibility as a journalist)
Me: "Well, at least Franco Harris would be proud."
Her: "Who?"
Me: "Nevermind. I'll see you guys at lunch."


I apologize, readers. I know how lame it is to post conversations nobody cares about. Oh well. At least this one actually happened.

The next time you get a chance...

...really look at an old person's face. Not because you'll see years of wisdom or anything like that, but because they've got some crazy shit going on. There's all kinds of crazy nooks and crannies. A random hair here and there. It's like an alien landscape. There are all sorts of colors. They've got levels of crusts that they probably aren't aware of. It's pretty gross. Maybe that's why I always close my eyes when I make out with them.

The best idea ever?

Picture it...Mad Lib Obituaries!

"Ha! Mom, guess what? Grandma died and was buried in a butt! Then...THEN, her graveside services were held at a smelly booger! Haha...Grandma is hilarious. Why doesn't she visit anymore? Oh, right."

Holy shit. I'm on the phone with the copyright office now.

The only one of its kind

I'm going to go ahead and get this philosophical post out of the way. I'm going to try to keep that crap to a minimum on here since I feel like this is sort of a new beginning for me. I can't tell you guys how happy I am. I seriously can't remember the last time I felt this good. That job couldn't have came along at a better time.

I won't lie. I was in a pretty bad place for a very long time. I would say the last 6 months or so. I decided to take one last stab at a job doing something I wanted to do. And there it was. When I went for the interview, the publisher said it was odd that I called on that day. She said that she'd put the job up on a press website, but all the applicants were from out of the area and few had the same experience that I had (which is sad for them.) She decided to hold out one more day before hiring one of the other applicants. That's the day I called.

Now I don't want to get all weird and religious on you, but sometimes it's hard to see a coincidence as just a coincidence. I'm not the most religious man in the world by any means, but I've done a lot of praying in the past six months. I prayed that something would come along and change things one way or the other. Good or bad. A new job, a heart attack, a million dollars, I didn't really care. I just wanted a change. That's how bad it got. I didn't care about anything and that scared me a lot. My family is falling apart, I felt like I was being abandoned by some of my friends, and I was beginning to feel pretty insignificant and unimportant. I was starting to feel like I was just a waste. I remember watching "The Bridge," and thinking to myself, "Eh, that doesn't look all that bad." It's not a good place to be.

Then this thing came along. It was like somebody shook me and said, "Dude, you're only 25. Nothing's over. Maybe things are just starting." Once I got in my office and started doing paper stuff again, I felt great. Better than I've felt in years. It all came back to me and the worry that I wasn't going to be able to do the job immediately left. I wrote some sports headlines Friday night, and it made me a happy man again. I even assigned myself a couple of football games in the next few weeks.

So I apologize to everybody, I guess. The past six or seven months have been pretty bad. I apologize to people who I fell out of touch with for awhile. I apologize to people who I've been an asshole to. I also apologize for my usual shitty mood. Hopefully those days are over. I'm going to end this post now before it gets any gayer. I'm going to try to keep the whiny, bullshit posts to a minimum on here.

Hi

Thanks for following me. I'm like the migratory buffalo, and you guys are like the indians who eventually caught smallpox and died a horrible, horrible death after their lands and women had been raped. Welcome.

Let's try not to use my real name. Not that the job I got is some super cool, high profile position, but there are some douchebags in my county that like to be douchebags. I don't want to fall victim to their douchebaggery.

About my job: I got a job as an editor for a newspaper. It's pretty cool and has been something I've always wanted to do. That being said, don't bitch at me for poor grammar or spelling on this piece o' crap. I don't really care here. This is going to sound extremely lame, but I actually feel like a real person again. No more laying in traffic for this guy.

I feel kinda bad. There are a couple people that I didn't give this new address to. I saw the opportunity to just get away and I jumped on it like a fat kid on a cupcake. To those who haven't heard from me in a long time and got a random text from me with this link...welcome. I missed you. Also, naked pictures would be nice. (Julie)

This site will be great. I blog before you today a new man. A changed man. A better man.

I challenge all of you today. I want you to go out and use one of two phrases in a conversation. Phrase 1: Don't shit where you eat. (Poop/doodoo/poo can be substituted if "shit" is offensive.) Phrase2: Was the juice worth the squeeze? I want a full report. DO IT!