Some people have it all figured out. They've picked out their school, married the love of their life, mapped out their career and picked out names for their future children.
I hate those people.
Okay, so I don't really hate them. I have a really hard time getting mad enough at somebody to actually hate them. In my opinion it takes just as much effort to hate somebody as it does to love them, so why waste all that energy on somebody you don't like anyway? So because of that philosophy I only hate three people in this world. One of them being that bastard Alex Trebek, but I digress.
I am 20 years old and I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.
I don't know what happened. I knew exactly what I wanted to be when I was seven. I wanted to be a professional baseball-football-basketball-hockey-tennis player that was also a lawyer in the offseason. I don't know what happened to that dream. My mom would probably say that I got lazy. I would have to agree.
I have no idea where I am going to be one year from now, hell, I don't know where I'm going to be six or even three months from now. I don't know where I'll be living, what job I'll have, which school I'll be going to, what my major is going to be or who my friends will be. I don't know a damned thing, and the crazy of it is I'm really not all that concerned.
Does it bother me that I don't know this stuff? More than anything. I think about it every day. A month ago I was ready to get out of Utah so fast the door wouldn't have a chance to hit me on the ass on my way out. Then I come back from school, hang out with my old buddies again and meet some pretty awesome new buddies (I'm looking in her direction... and she knows who she is, and it's not just her, the rest of y'all know who you's are) and it makes it that much harder to leave. I can't stay. I've made promises that I wont break, so I will be leaving in August, but I'm trying at the moment to figure out how to fit you all into a box so I can take y'all with me.
Ah, I hate thinking about stuff like that. So most of the time I don't. Right now I'm just going with the flow. I don't know what the next day will bring me, but I'm just going with it. I'm trying to focus on the things I know: My job blows, I'm right-handed, I drink too much coffee, I like a certain somegirl (I'm still looking in her direction, and hopefully she still knows who she is), I suck at Guitar Hero, I want to go to the Death Cab concert in August, Anchorman is a sweet movie, so is The Pink Panther, and I heart my friends. When I think that way it lets me think I know lots, and that makes me feel better about all the crap I don't know. I'll figure that stuff out when it comes time to figger it out, and not a moment sooner, because damn it, I'm lazy like that.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Thursday, June 08, 2006
I have no skills!
No joke. I have no talents to speak of.
This may come out of left field for a lot of people. But I was chillin' out on saturday night with some folks listening to this guy jam out on the guitar. He was three sheets to the wind and he could still belt it out pretty good. As I sat there I got to thinkin', dude, that guy could get any girl just by playing the guitar like that, turning to her, giving her a little wink and saying "come here baby." The fact that he had a female wrapped around his body as he was playing only confirmed my hypothesis. Damn that guy was good.
I'm definitely not a hater. If a guy isn't going for my girl and I see that he knows what he's doing around the ladies, I can acknowledge that. If a kid's got it, a kid's got it. I don't hate, I appreciate.
So I was sitting here watching this guy play, and I was thinking to myself. "I wish I could do that." Because in the world of Talents That Will Make You Popular With the Ladytypes, I have none. I have no musical talent to speak of, and that just happens to be the best talent to have when it comes to impressing ladies. A little over a year ago I bought a ukulele because they're easy to play and if a guitar can get you 100 girls, a uke should be good for at least 20. I goofed around with it a lot and my buddy Chase (mad skills, that guy makes playing the accordion look sexy) taught me a song. It took me a while but then I got it down, but then my uke went out of tune, so no matter if I played it right or not it always sounded like crap, so it's more of a decoration now. It actually ended up getting me one girl, but let's no talk about that.
Some guys can beat box, some guys can dance. Other guys know all the right words when talking to a girl. I don't have any of that. Some guys that don't have any skills like that are gifted in area's of activity reserved for the bedroom. I don't know if I'm in that group yet, either. Contrary to popular belief, my buddies and I don't get together and compare the size of our... wristwatches. So I have no idea on that one. And apparently it's not the size of the hour-hand on the watch that matters, but rather the... motion of the second hand. (I'm pretty sure that innuendo just fell flat on it's face)
This isn't to say I have no skills to speak of, I'm not completely hopeless and inept. I can write, but you can't really impress a girl by sitting in front of a computer for hours on end typing a short story. Plus I wont bastardize myself enough to write poetry. Don't get me wrong, I like good poetry, but I'm really bad at writing good poetry, and there is plenty of bad poetry in the world, and I have decided that I wont add to it. It's not that I don't like a certain girl enough to write her a poem, it's that I like her enough to not write her a bad poem, which is the only kind of poem I know how to write. So every girl in the world that has not recieved a poem from me should consider themselves complimented.
I can also cook. I make a mean chili, and I'm a champion of breakfast foods, chicken, and pasta. I can cook most anything that isn't candy, so I guess that's something of a talent, although I'd trade my cooking ability for a nicer car and the ability to play the guitar.
I can also give pretty good back rubs, but usually a girl would have to already like somebody before they'd go for that. It's not really a way to get a girl, but rather a way to keep one.
Since I don't have any of these Talents That Will Make You Popular With the Ladytypes. I tend to pay a lot more attention to the little things. Such as treating a girl right. Opening doors, walking her to the door or to her car, making sure that she is enjoying herself telling her when she looks good, and listening to her when she needs somebody to listen to her, also I like to let a girl know I like her for who she is, not just because she looks good in a skirt or something. Hehe, this is all starting to sound kinda sappy, so I'll stop it there. I don't really have any playa skeelz, but that's because I'm not a playa.
This may come out of left field for a lot of people. But I was chillin' out on saturday night with some folks listening to this guy jam out on the guitar. He was three sheets to the wind and he could still belt it out pretty good. As I sat there I got to thinkin', dude, that guy could get any girl just by playing the guitar like that, turning to her, giving her a little wink and saying "come here baby." The fact that he had a female wrapped around his body as he was playing only confirmed my hypothesis. Damn that guy was good.
I'm definitely not a hater. If a guy isn't going for my girl and I see that he knows what he's doing around the ladies, I can acknowledge that. If a kid's got it, a kid's got it. I don't hate, I appreciate.
So I was sitting here watching this guy play, and I was thinking to myself. "I wish I could do that." Because in the world of Talents That Will Make You Popular With the Ladytypes, I have none. I have no musical talent to speak of, and that just happens to be the best talent to have when it comes to impressing ladies. A little over a year ago I bought a ukulele because they're easy to play and if a guitar can get you 100 girls, a uke should be good for at least 20. I goofed around with it a lot and my buddy Chase (mad skills, that guy makes playing the accordion look sexy) taught me a song. It took me a while but then I got it down, but then my uke went out of tune, so no matter if I played it right or not it always sounded like crap, so it's more of a decoration now. It actually ended up getting me one girl, but let's no talk about that.
Some guys can beat box, some guys can dance. Other guys know all the right words when talking to a girl. I don't have any of that. Some guys that don't have any skills like that are gifted in area's of activity reserved for the bedroom. I don't know if I'm in that group yet, either. Contrary to popular belief, my buddies and I don't get together and compare the size of our... wristwatches. So I have no idea on that one. And apparently it's not the size of the hour-hand on the watch that matters, but rather the... motion of the second hand. (I'm pretty sure that innuendo just fell flat on it's face)
This isn't to say I have no skills to speak of, I'm not completely hopeless and inept. I can write, but you can't really impress a girl by sitting in front of a computer for hours on end typing a short story. Plus I wont bastardize myself enough to write poetry. Don't get me wrong, I like good poetry, but I'm really bad at writing good poetry, and there is plenty of bad poetry in the world, and I have decided that I wont add to it. It's not that I don't like a certain girl enough to write her a poem, it's that I like her enough to not write her a bad poem, which is the only kind of poem I know how to write. So every girl in the world that has not recieved a poem from me should consider themselves complimented.
I can also cook. I make a mean chili, and I'm a champion of breakfast foods, chicken, and pasta. I can cook most anything that isn't candy, so I guess that's something of a talent, although I'd trade my cooking ability for a nicer car and the ability to play the guitar.
I can also give pretty good back rubs, but usually a girl would have to already like somebody before they'd go for that. It's not really a way to get a girl, but rather a way to keep one.
Since I don't have any of these Talents That Will Make You Popular With the Ladytypes. I tend to pay a lot more attention to the little things. Such as treating a girl right. Opening doors, walking her to the door or to her car, making sure that she is enjoying herself telling her when she looks good, and listening to her when she needs somebody to listen to her, also I like to let a girl know I like her for who she is, not just because she looks good in a skirt or something. Hehe, this is all starting to sound kinda sappy, so I'll stop it there. I don't really have any playa skeelz, but that's because I'm not a playa.
Monday, June 05, 2006
For one last time I need y'all t'roll
My evening has just gone down the crapper.
No joke. I spent most of the afternoon chillin' out with my two-year-old nephew while my sister went and had her nails done or something like that. He's a cool kid. He calls me "Uncle Dude!" or usually just "DUDE!" for two reasons. 1. He hasn't really mastered the use of more than one syllable and 2. I taught him how to say the word 'dude'. I tried correcting him the first couple of times, but I gave up. I figure there are worse things to be called and Uncle Dude beats Uncle Crazy Bastard any day of the week in my book.
So I had fun with that, watched The Ringer, then I was gonna work out while I watched the Sox/yanks game. Well I was about to get started... then it all hit the fan. It's the top of the 4th and the stankee's are winning 13-3. I can't watch anymore. Every time a yankee scores a run God kills a kitten, those cruel cruel bastards. They're definitely not cat people.
So instead I'm going to put off my workout and ramble on here for a bit. I haven't done it for a while, and some new junk is going on, so I thought I'd ramble a bit.
To add to my misfortune I wanted to write this up while listening to some Jay-Z shtuff, no luck, the only cd I have is scratched beyond recognition for my laptop.
Stuff like that makes me want to kill a kitten.
Stupid yankees.
I guess I'll settle for some Rage Against The Machine
Hold on... the disc has to load...
Okay, anyway, let's go. I've been hanging out with some new folks lately since the kids I usually chill out with have jobs and school and ladyfriends and are generally too busy for ole Jason these days. It's all good though, I'm not drinkin' H8orade or anything like that. I still love alls of my friends (Except you, Alex Trebek, you're in the doghouse for sure), life just gets busy, so no worries.
So, yeah, back to the word on the street. So I've been spreading around the Jason lately, which is just fine because there's plenty of me to go around. Went bowling with some folks at Fat Cats on... oh... wednesday? thursday? with Andrew, Charlie, Jenn, Kendra and Taylor... I know I'm forgetting somebody. Good times, the music was too loud in that place so I couldn't really talk that much and get to know anybody, so these folks' first impression of me was my retarded bowling style. Where I bowl the ball and then use all sorts of body language to try and convince the ball to go where I want it to go. It somewhat resembles John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Yeah, it's horrible. Went to Dee's over on 7th East and 21st South and ate like three plates of breakfast food while everybody else nursed drinks and cheese fries. Oh yeah, I know how to make an impression, but I was STAHVING! Then we started discussing the physical proportions of Ron Jeremy's body when I get smacked in the side with a piece of wet bread. I look over to the other side of the room and see this angry hispanic guy staring me down. My first reaction is like "What the feck is wrong with that guy?" Then after spending a few minutes getting good and pissed off I decide to go talk to the manager about it, as soon as he sees me talking to her he gets up and comes over, wife-beater and all.
"Dude, what the hell's your problem man?" He says.
"I don't have a problem, Dude, except that you chucked a piece of bread at me."
"I didn't throw sh*t! Why you goin' off blaming me!?! I didn't throw sh*t! I didn't throw sh*t! How do you know they didn't throw it?" He says, pointing at the only other people in that part of the restaurant, a table of five with grandma and grandpa and all that.
"Yeah, whatever dude."
"Yo, you got a f*ckin' problem? Let's step outside"
"Whatever, I aint steppin' outside with you."
"Why the f*ck not?"
"Because I'm not fighting anybody over a piece of f*cking bread, broseph." (I was also pretty sure he had a knife on him or something. The last thing I want after eating my lumberjack breakfast is a good knifing. That I can do without.)
So he tried to square off with me, the manager yelled at him to not cause trouble, and I just walked away. He argued with the manager for fifteen more minutes and ended up leaving. When we left an hour later I was sure to have my keys poking out of my fist just in case a crazy wife-beater man popped out of nowhere looking for a fight. Fortunately he wasn't around, so that ended that.
Saturday night was tons better. There was a gathering of fourteen or so folks at Andrew's place. Good times man, good times. Cards, pool, Guitar Hero and good people, that's all you really need in life, that and maybe a bar of soap and some toilet paper, but let's not get picky eh?
Anyhow, I've killed plenty of time writing this, so I'm gonna go put on Scarface and try and get some reps in.
No joke. I spent most of the afternoon chillin' out with my two-year-old nephew while my sister went and had her nails done or something like that. He's a cool kid. He calls me "Uncle Dude!" or usually just "DUDE!" for two reasons. 1. He hasn't really mastered the use of more than one syllable and 2. I taught him how to say the word 'dude'. I tried correcting him the first couple of times, but I gave up. I figure there are worse things to be called and Uncle Dude beats Uncle Crazy Bastard any day of the week in my book.
So I had fun with that, watched The Ringer, then I was gonna work out while I watched the Sox/yanks game. Well I was about to get started... then it all hit the fan. It's the top of the 4th and the stankee's are winning 13-3. I can't watch anymore. Every time a yankee scores a run God kills a kitten, those cruel cruel bastards. They're definitely not cat people.
So instead I'm going to put off my workout and ramble on here for a bit. I haven't done it for a while, and some new junk is going on, so I thought I'd ramble a bit.
To add to my misfortune I wanted to write this up while listening to some Jay-Z shtuff, no luck, the only cd I have is scratched beyond recognition for my laptop.
Stuff like that makes me want to kill a kitten.
Stupid yankees.
I guess I'll settle for some Rage Against The Machine
Hold on... the disc has to load...
Okay, anyway, let's go. I've been hanging out with some new folks lately since the kids I usually chill out with have jobs and school and ladyfriends and are generally too busy for ole Jason these days. It's all good though, I'm not drinkin' H8orade or anything like that. I still love alls of my friends (Except you, Alex Trebek, you're in the doghouse for sure), life just gets busy, so no worries.
So, yeah, back to the word on the street. So I've been spreading around the Jason lately, which is just fine because there's plenty of me to go around. Went bowling with some folks at Fat Cats on... oh... wednesday? thursday? with Andrew, Charlie, Jenn, Kendra and Taylor... I know I'm forgetting somebody. Good times, the music was too loud in that place so I couldn't really talk that much and get to know anybody, so these folks' first impression of me was my retarded bowling style. Where I bowl the ball and then use all sorts of body language to try and convince the ball to go where I want it to go. It somewhat resembles John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Yeah, it's horrible. Went to Dee's over on 7th East and 21st South and ate like three plates of breakfast food while everybody else nursed drinks and cheese fries. Oh yeah, I know how to make an impression, but I was STAHVING! Then we started discussing the physical proportions of Ron Jeremy's body when I get smacked in the side with a piece of wet bread. I look over to the other side of the room and see this angry hispanic guy staring me down. My first reaction is like "What the feck is wrong with that guy?" Then after spending a few minutes getting good and pissed off I decide to go talk to the manager about it, as soon as he sees me talking to her he gets up and comes over, wife-beater and all.
"Dude, what the hell's your problem man?" He says.
"I don't have a problem, Dude, except that you chucked a piece of bread at me."
"I didn't throw sh*t! Why you goin' off blaming me!?! I didn't throw sh*t! I didn't throw sh*t! How do you know they didn't throw it?" He says, pointing at the only other people in that part of the restaurant, a table of five with grandma and grandpa and all that.
"Yeah, whatever dude."
"Yo, you got a f*ckin' problem? Let's step outside"
"Whatever, I aint steppin' outside with you."
"Why the f*ck not?"
"Because I'm not fighting anybody over a piece of f*cking bread, broseph." (I was also pretty sure he had a knife on him or something. The last thing I want after eating my lumberjack breakfast is a good knifing. That I can do without.)
So he tried to square off with me, the manager yelled at him to not cause trouble, and I just walked away. He argued with the manager for fifteen more minutes and ended up leaving. When we left an hour later I was sure to have my keys poking out of my fist just in case a crazy wife-beater man popped out of nowhere looking for a fight. Fortunately he wasn't around, so that ended that.
Saturday night was tons better. There was a gathering of fourteen or so folks at Andrew's place. Good times man, good times. Cards, pool, Guitar Hero and good people, that's all you really need in life, that and maybe a bar of soap and some toilet paper, but let's not get picky eh?
Anyhow, I've killed plenty of time writing this, so I'm gonna go put on Scarface and try and get some reps in.
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