Oh, the humanity...no, seriously.

I hate nights like this. Nights when my mind's going in a million different directions at once, gears turning a mile a minute in some desperate attempt to distract me from my own frail mortal bullshit. I've got worries, problems, hopes, fears, desires and things I pray with every fiber of my being that never come to pass, whether I know they will or not.
I'm human, a member of the worst thing to ever happen to Earth since it's creation. Strong in some ways, weak in others, and towing the line between both in most. I brave up, I get scared, and at the end of the day it doesn't really matter which I do more. All the jokes and rantings won't change a damn thing in the long run, no matter how many people think they make me sound like a genius or a prick, depending on who they are and how much shit they had to swallow that day.
See? Perfect example. Yeah, everything above pertained to the same thing, but it was all about as random as Indiana weather.
Indiana. Never thought I'd say, or in this case type, that word and have any sense of longing whatsoever. I miss people there, more than I ever would've thought. Fact is, moving to California wasn't even a knee-jerk reaction. It was just one of those "What If" scenerios that spiraled way the fuck outta' control way too quick. Do I regret it? Hell no. I proved something to myself by coming out here with nothing but a paycheck, some old debts called in, my car and a place to crash. I found a job damn quick, especially by West coast standards. By some minor miracle I managed to attract the positive attention of a few people who, in all honesty, don't know me from Adam, and all that's kept me warm on nights that would otherwise probably have frozen me solid. None of that changes the fact that I bailed on a lot of what I had back East without even knowing it. Same old story, the grass looks greener on the other side of the fence, only when you get there, you realize that the grass on the old side wasn't so bad after all.
I know what would've happened if I'd have stayed, though. I felt it happening, a flippancy that could've turned me into something that I never wanna' be. I don't mind having the mindset of an anarchic criminal, that much is pretty well hardwired into my DNA. The day I'm afraid of is when I finally break the moral compass that seperates being a criminal from being irredeemable.
You'd never know it to look at or listen to me, but redemption's a big part of my daily thought processes. Fact is I've done some rotten things to people in my life, and that keeps me awake a lot more than I'd like to admit. Disregard for the law I can handle; it was written by people who don't have a clue how the world I'm from works. It's disregard for people that I'm afraid of. When my apartment was broken into, it wasn't that my stuff got ganked that bothered me. What bothered me was that someone out there didn't have a rip about whose stuff they ganked. Ya' wanna' hit up some rich fuck's summer house for some extra dosh, be my guest, but don't rip off the lower-middle class working stiff who just wants to come home, jam out on his guitar, play an old beat up PS2 and pretend he's got it better than he does. That's just dick.
More immediately, I ain't scared of jail; I've been around too long and known too many convicts to buy into the media craze that prison's a bunch'a big, burly, tatted-up fags trying to assrape anyone who walks through the door. What's got me wigged out is what it's gonna' mean for my life when I get out. I've got a relatively decent job, I've got a place to live and, more importantly, other people living here who depend on my contributions to maintain their own lives. I go away, I lose my job. I lose my job, we might all lose our place, and that throws all manner of wrenches into the cogs. I can't afford a plane ticket back to Missouri for this shit, and the legal office has me chasin' my own tail tryin' to get this transfer sorted out. Likely, it won't happen, and then my ass'll really be in the fire.
I'm watching everyone around me get into relationships that don't seem as stupid and inconsequential as they used to. Sleeping alone sucks, and they fact that I'm one of the few still doing so sucks even worse. Worst of all, it's got me looking back on past relationships that weren't worth shit like they were the golden days, and that's got me a little pissed at the world in general. Life, thy flavor is bitterness. Also, fuck you.
I miss my brother and his dumbass antics that made me feel like I wasn't the only one afraid to take a chance and fuck up a little. I miss his crazy girlfriend who said I was a junked out car with a bad-ass engine that just needed a little tweaking, after she and her siblings agreed I looked a little like Johnny Depp. I miss my sister, even though we almost never hung out, because I spent most of my life wondering who and how she was and now that I'm two thousand miles away I'm afraid I might never see her again. I miss Will for being obnoxiously right and knowing me better than I know myself, I miss Scott and all his self-deprecating comments and seeming reliance on me to dispute them. I miss that stupid apartment on Main Street that everyone told me kicked ass. I miss Felicia and Penny, and the way they acted like me showing up on their doorstep looking like death warmed over was the best thing that happened to them every time I stopped by. Hell, I even miss my old man a little, even though I'm a little pissed that it took moving across the country to get a phone call out of him.
I miss my old life, no matter how much promise the new one has.
I wanna' go home, I wanna' stay here, I want everything, damn it.
And after all this ranting, I wanna' go to bed.

Now you, yes, you, can be a hero just like me!

Ladies and gentlemen, this is Drew. Drew, unlike the bastard who's writing this bulletin, is good people. Drew, not unlike the bastard who's writing this bulletin, has friends who occasionally are absent-minded and forget things.

Like his birthday.

Now, I'm not going to point out all of the times that I've made you laugh, helped you through some sort of crisis or otherwise gone out of my way to make your lives a bit more jolly. I'm not going to remind you how much it sucks to be forgotten on a day that, really, should be all about you. I'm not even going to guilt you into doing something nice by pointing out that this ten kinds of kick-ass and stand up guy's already had a hard time of things and deserves a smile more than most of the people walking this cursed planet. All I'm going to do is ask that you head on over to Drew's MySpace and wish him a belated happy birthday. Y'know, because it's the kind of thing God Jesus I would do.

And Mike Ness.

Apparently no one told you...

...But sex is a good time. No shit (and feel free to take that in more than one context, ya’ miserable deviants). Yep, fucking is pretty much the only reason that most men even bother getting out of bed in the morning. You could say that they wake up in order to go to work, but that’s just part of the trip. See, men work to support themselves, and having a place is part of supporting one’s self. Why? So we have somewhere to bring back the chicks who bought into our attempts at being charming and, thusly, plan to spread their legs while we grunt and sweat all over them for an hour or two.
Unfortunately, there are a great many issues that women, for whatever reason, seem to think merit not having sex. For those in a hurry, I’ll sum up this entire blog in one very simple statement: Unless your vagina is resembles some sort of hideous B-movie space alien, it’s a safe bet that we still wanna’ stick and stir you. For those of you who aren’t in a hurry, proceed below for...

Rem’s List Of Stupid Things Women Overreact To In The Bedroom

1. You forgot to shave your legs that day. So you forgot to pick up a new pack of Lady Bics on your way home from work last night and got a little stubbly. It’s not the end of the world. Honestly, unless you’re some kind of hippie scumcunt who found money under your pillow for a baby tooth more recently than you trimmed up, we don’t care.
2. You don’t think it’ll be special. Sex isn’t special. It isn’t some magic pagan ritual signifying the union of two hearts that beat only for each other, and honestly, every time you call it ’making love’, the world gets a little more gay. Make what? No, you fuck, and then the room smells weird because all you really made was a mess. I’ve used that line once before in my blogs, I know, but it fits. Put away the romance book, close your eyes, I’ll get a towel ready and we can get to work.
3. You have to be up early tomorrow. Ladies, there is absolutely no reason at all why this sentence shouldn’t be the best thing any man can hope to here. Sex isn’t always a long process. God blessed us with The Quickie for a reason; wham, bam, thank you ma’am, no I’m not cuddling because you’re not the only one who has to be up early tomorrow. Go to sleep.
4. You think we won’t respect you. Personally, I respect someone who doesn’t deny herself a good time a hell of a lot more than someone who turns it down for fear of some non-existent stigma that a woman who sleeps with a friend/a boyfriend/a husband/me is a sloptwat. Remember, no one likes a prude; we just pretend to until you put out and we mount our cumsoaked sheets on the wall as a tribute to our unerring tolerance for puritanical bullshit in the face of potential naked feel-good happy time.
5. You have morning breath. This is another one of those "We don’t give a shit" situations. Honestly, if you’re that concerned about it, keep a box of Tic Tacs by the bed and let’s start the day out right, damn it!
6. You have a headache. Well, my nad ache is worse, I guarantee it.
7. You’re on your period. Are you fucking kidding me? The other three and a half weeks of the month we swap spit, semen, sweat and God only knows how many germs in more capacities than even I’m comfortable thinking about, and you’re worried about a little blood getting on the sheets? Every time I hear this I wonder if there’s a way to tell someone to stop being a fucktard without hurting my chances of getting my cock wet. Seriously, have a little common sense.
8. You’re afraid the neighbors will hear. That’s funny, because I’m hoping the neighbors’ll here. The wife’s kind’a hot, and I’ve got a reputation to think about.
9. You’re afraid the children will hear. Though not something I’ve experienced personally due to the fact that all the single mothers I’ve had sex with came to my place and left their children with someone else, it does come up. Not to contaminate you with that nasty logic stuff, but it didn’t seem to bother you when you were horny and your partner’s cock was probably a quarter’s width away from little Timmy’s face as he was nestled snugly in your womb. Seriously, which do you think is worse: hearing the headboard hit the wall a few times, or staring in wide-eyed terror as your first introduction to the outside world keeps trying to hit you in the forehead and, upon failure, spits at you and leaves?
10. You’re still angry over an earlier dispute. Look, I understand grudges better than anyone, but what the hell? What’s the point in both of us being miserable because I didn’t like the toilet seat cover you thought made the bathroom so much prettier? Besides, when you get right down to it, when the hell else are you going to get a free pass to do so much damage? Have you ever once, in your entire life, heard a man complain because you left too many claw marks on his back? It’s the perfect solution to the domestic confrontation! You get to draw blood, I get to grudge fuck you, and both of us get our rocks off and feel better afterward.

In closing, I have absolutely nothing more to say. Good night, good luck, and good grief, put out a little more often!

I have a theory...

...Regarding my love life and the attendant disasters thereunto. While at one time I assumed that there was just something fundamentally wrong with me, I’ve since learned otherwise.
It’s your fault, you rotten bastards.
No, honestly. Every time the proverbial shit hits the fan as a result of my developing an interest in someone or vice versa, one of you shitheads ends up either A) finding a metaphorical long-term parking space for your genitals, B) having some life-altering epiphany that leads to finding a metaphorical long-term parking space for your genitals, or C) fucking someone so far out of your league that, were I not so miserable, I’d be tempted to give a standing ovation while screaming "Grand Slam!" at maximum volume.
Seriously, enough with stealing my love karma, folks. I ain’t gettin’ any younger.

Then again...

I know there was that whole jumpin’ the gun and assuming the worst about yet another woman who seemed genuinely interested in me thing earlier, thus dealing yet another blow to the possibility of ever bridging the gap between genders and ending the battle of the sexes once and for all, but y’know somethin’? It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia is a damn good show. I don’t think I’ve stopped laughing since I started watching it on Veoh two hours ago. Yup. All’s well again. Thanks, fictional television situation comedy!

...I am so gonna’ rot in Hell.

Okay, which one of you chuckleheads brought the voodoo doll?

So here’s a list of everything that’s happened to me today.

-Found out one of my grandmothers is dying.
-Found out I have a court date after all.
-Found out my brother is in jail. Again.
-Found out I can’t work at Circle K for at least a month because of a fucking computer error.
-Found out I got the job at Wal-Mart (whether this is good or bad I’m still trying to determine).
-Found out that if the two aforementioned jobs fall through, pretty much the only thing I’ll be able to do is work at Subway.

Oh, the best part? I’m pretty sure I got blown off. Again.

Psst, hey life. Fuck you.

Damn it, but I'm getting old...

Note: This blog has been obviously seamlessly edited to reflect certain changes in the state of things, as well as my m4d 1337 ever-increasing proficiency with HTML.

...And have thus begun to ponder the question that I’m convinced is what leads people into that ulcerated, xanax-dependent period of their lives called adulthood. Once upon a time, I was content to wake and bake, drop a cinnamon raisen begal into the toaster, slap a few dime-store slices of turkey on it, reach for my keys...and realize I had nothing better to do than plant my skinny ass on the couch and watch season 1 of Invader Zim on the idiot box because, let’s face it, nothing’s on TV at 2:00 PM anymore.
What now?
Well, in the immediate sense, now I feel like I’m incomplete because I don’t have a job. I’ve been psychologically kicking the shit out of myself because I’ve been in southern California for a whoppin’ week and a half and I’ve only had four interviews, and only have two scheduled for this week. What the fuck happened to me? Well, the answer’s fairly obvious. Scroll up if you’re too dense to figure it out. I grew up, and boy, does it suck. On the plus side, there’s all of the nifty shit that comes with being an adult.
Apparently, friends don’t set you up on dates, you don’t necessarily graduate from college before getting pegged with a lame-ass drug charge that disqualifies you for financial aid, and your cars still go through the same bullshit problems they did when you were fresh into eighteen. There are leases, electric bills, overdraft fees, credit card statements and permanent records (they do exist, only mine’s called a rap sheet). There are piss tests at every decent job to be had which, ironically, aren’t that common. There are bad dates in the rare event you can take enough time away from worrying your ass off about everything else to actually have one. There are friends you still think about but, when you run into them on the street, haven’t the foggiest notion who you are and if you’re lucky, the feeling’s mutual. Dental plans you dream about but can’t land a good enough job to pay for, medical insurance that doesn’t cover the damage of the assraping they deal you on a monthly basis, and social security that’s taken out of your check even though you’ll likely never see a dime of it because the assholes you didn’t bother voting for don’t give a dead rat’s testical about you. Cleaning the gutters, getting by, looking ahe--
Sorry, Irvine Welsh infected my brain with an overwhelming fear of getting older long before life did. Moving on...
Obviously, I’ve been overanalyzing the hell out of my existence, and so far the only thing I’ve got going for me is that I made it to California and have a marginal chance of being able to survive out here. Plus. My car is still in one piece after the trip. Plus. I’ve managed to party with a group without pissing every last one of them off (even though one of them made a snide comment about my shoes). Plus (minus the bitch who was one hundred percent all style and no substance). There’s a few people who’ve been blowing up my phone ever since I got out, namely Jenny, Scott and Stick. Even got a phone call from Will, and that never happens. Plus. The icing on the cake only indication that I'm still, in fact, living my own life as opposed to having taken over someone else's is that this chick got ahold of me who, I shit you not, may almost have as many geeky interests as I do, despite being the single most adorable female I’ve ever seen a bitch. Definate plus standard operating procedure.
I guess what I’m trying to get at is that getting older is always going to suck, no matter who you are. You could have a claim on every dollar in America, and getting on in years is still going to eat ass. There is, however, solace to be found in that even though aging sucks, life doesn’t necessarily have to. You can piss away the idea of a career, live in a low-class part of town, drive a car that’s almost as old as you are, and still find a few smiles here and there.
No matter who you are, what you do, who you know or don’t know, if you play your cards right, you can still make it and have time at the end of the day to curl up next to someone of your gender of choice, and pass out secure in the knowledge that the sun will more than likely rise tomorrow, and so will you.
Keep your chin up, people. Phoenix out.