The Great Escape

                I have been planning my great escape since high school. Or, at least I have always been envisioning the prospect of leaving home and never coming back. What if I just upped and left? No warning. No trace. Just gone. I imagine my sister would be upset that I didn’t tell her, “but my Little Matty tells me everything!” My mother would be in hysterics. I mean, she’s a mother, that characteristic is a given. No real surprise there. My father, well, he would set up his own paramilitary group consisting of former and/or current military, state and local law enforcement officers, federal agents (current and/or former) and even any other government officials that have some sort of experience. Basically, the largest man hunt known to mankind would happen.

                I’ve lived in the same place all my whole life. The world is too big to just set up shop in one place. I know I’d be leaving a lot of friends and family behind, but, starting over has always been a real desire of mine, especially in the resent months. I’m just fed up with my life and change is needed. A lot of the people I used to hang out with have either left home, have important jobs, or are just too burnt out on drugs and just have no clear vision or desire to deal with life. Why bother? I mean, I have gone out of my way to please people, make time for people and then, when I want to do something with these people, life is just too busy (this really excludes those who are doing something with their lives). I’m now in a position where I’m just in a stalemate with life. I’m good. I’m ready to move on.

                “Fake it till you make it.” That’s what I’ve been told all my life. Well, I’ve been faking it and I just ain’t making it. I’ve met a lot of people along the way and I’ve learned a lot from these people. You sometimes find yourself imitating these behaviors because, well, it worked for them. But then you meet someone. This person stands out. They break the mold. They drum to their own beat. And one day, they look at you with their dreamy eyes as if you mattered and they tell you the most powerful two word combo meal anyone can say: “do it.”

                “Do it,” has never given me so much clarity in my life until now. Well, not at this exact moment. I mean, the epiphany already happened for me, it’s just taken a while for me to get around to this blog (fun fact: the epiphany is January 6^th. Guess whose birthday that is…? Mine, guys! C’mon, reel it in). I wrote a while ago in blog about dreams. I think they’re important. They give us a general sense of purpose. Without them, what’s the purpose of life?

                I’ve always dreamt of striking gold in the film industry. I mean, when I was a kid, I told everyone I was going to be “an actor, a director, a producer, and I writer.” Damn right, I’m going to write my own garbage I star in. The dream began when I was a kid. I always had a tough time making new friends. After my parents got divorced, I did what any kid would do.

 My imagination was my escape from the world I was living in. My sister would often lock herself in her room, which led me to having no one around. This is the problem when you’re the youngest child. It’s not that everyone forgot about me, it was that I thought everyone forgot about me. So, I escaped. I escaped to my imagination and I have been doing that ever since.

When the tough gets going, I get going. I become a recluse to those around me. I shut everyone out and I shut down. I’m like a PC. “Welp, can’t tell you what’s wrong, so I will shut down right in the middle of whatever that was important…” This is a problem I have always dealt with. Sometimes, that feeling passes by in a few days, weeks, or months. But lately, I haven’t been able to shake this feeling off. I know in my heart, that my problems are important for other people to help me overcome them. But, I feel like they’re so minuscule, that I can’t understand why others would care.

I remember back in high school, my father and I got into a huge argument about schools to apply to. I wanted to leave home in the worst way. I wanted to get out and explore the world. But, my sister butchered that chance by throwing her college education away. So, when I told my father I wanted to go to film school, I was told that I can’t. “I can’t” ruined me and I fell into this dark abyss. But, that was my dream and it was crushed. So, I road through the currents of life, went to community college, and just got by. I finally set myself on another path: Public Relations. It was an up and coming field that had always been around, but it was starting to burst. So, I went that route. I wanted to make a difference, so I took an interest in politics. I worked on a political campaign and I found out that that was NOT what I wanted to do. My heart and desire was still for the love of storytelling.

I wrote a story about a fictional version of me running away. I still think about that story to this day, as I basically wrote about how and why I would leave. Basically, the premise of the story was, the main character left because of a girl that he couldn’t be around anymore.  Every little thing reminded him of her. So, he leaves. He meets a trucker, who too, is leaving his old life behind. The two travel a bit when they suddenly meet up and find a girl, who has always been on the run. The main character and the girl form a friendship and they get close and tell their deep and intimate secrets to each other. The two characters fall for each other because of how much they trust one another and how vulnerable they are without each other. The story ends with everyone mending their old wounds, except for the main character. He finds himself in a position where he can’t be happy and he runs away again.

Years later, I look back at this story and I think, “Wow, I predicted my own future.” The thought of running away has never been to escape my problems. While some people may look at it as just that; it’s just not the case. Sometimes, you need to just start from scratch. More and more each day, I feel this to be the only thing I can do. It’s not that I hate everyone around me; it’s that I hate everything about myself. I failed myself because I had vowed not to become this monster. And here I am. It’s not any easier starting over. It’s harder than fixing problems that may exist. It takes a strong person to leave everyone they love behind, because those are the people that matter most. And for me, I can’t bear to watch people try to fix my problem when there’s nothing that can be done. I might be thinking selfishly, but look at it from my perspective. I’m not crying out for help. I’m just hoping you’d understand.

I never really felt I have belonged. I’ve often joked to my friends about being kidnapped by aliens and going on a journey across the universe, minus the Beatles acting as my intergalactic soundtrack. Maybe the Killers, that’s more of my jam. But, sometimes when you feel out of place, it’s just time to move on. I’ve seen friends come and go from my life. I’ve tried so hard to preserve as much of them as I can, but sometimes, you just get exhausted and you find yourself fighting an uphill battle that was a lost cause from the very beginning. I feel like if friends end up reading this, they’re going to be thinking how out of the blue this is. If you know me well enough, I have left plenty of clues along the way. This isn’t news. So, when I leave, don’t be sad and don’t kick yourself for not trying hard enough. Just think, “hey, he’ll find his way.” I know I will. I don’t know what I’ll find, but I’m not going to find it here.

Yeah, one day I’ll leave. Who knows when, but when I do, I’ll just go quietly into the night…

All Aboard the Train of Nostalgia

                I recently stumbled upon this blog not too long ago and went on a little mini trip of nostalgia. I fumbled through a few blogs that I had written as if it were a time portal to yesteryears. To be honest, it was only two years ago when I last put my fingers to this keyboard and concocted some bit about life and its bitter ironies.

                In my last post, I wrote about how I loved to write and what I wanted to achieve in my jovial sense of sarcastic wisdom. The irony; I haven’t written since, due to my sudden displeasure of writing. The reason for that lies within the text of why I loved to do it in the first place:

“The problem, however, is that I hate the process of writing; the time it takes to consume you in a different world, just to come back to the real world. I hate the fact that you sit and stare at a blank computer screen and no words pour out or there just isn’t anything to say.”

As it turned out, there just wasn’t anything good to say. My mind had grown stale and the repetitive nature of my banters on the cruel world (at the time it was cruel) was just something I found more disheartening than anything. So, I stopped. With that, I lost interest and stopped writing. There was no satisfaction in it anymore. My writing had no pulse. It was in rigor mortis. But now I’m back, I think. We shall see, really. I’m trying this new thing and that is to go with the flow.

I wish I could tell you that I came back to preach to you all the lessons I’ve learned over the last few years of being dormant. But, that is not the case. I wish I could tell you about all the mistakes I’ve made and how I’m going to tell you how I’m never going to make the same mistakes again. In fact, I’m about to make all new mistakes… Honestly, I came back, because, I went to see a psychic and I was told that I needed to get back into writing. That was my calling and that I have or had a following and that following is only going to grow. I wish I could say the egotistical side of me pounce at the notion, but I would need an ego that actually gave a shit. Eh, it’s really a work in progress. That and my alpha tendencies are still in its hibernation mode from like seven winters ago. Great news, however, my beta is on point and is waiting for someone else to lead the way. So, anytime, guys… Point me in the right direction.

In the last two years, I will say, I have made changes in my life. I’m hoping for the better. I’m not saying how I am a new man. Christ, no. I’m still the same old dink and getting older. But, I’ve come down to earth a little bit. My head’s still in clouds, but I’ve come down. I have felt a weird spiritual awakening inside me. I’ve met some people who have changed me and even inspired me to move on and allow myself to grow. I find my imagination taking me on new and exciting adventures. Adventures that are reminiscent of old illusions that I used to embark on in my dreams are now exploding in my mind.

So, as I sit here, I’m making a promise to myself. You all are here to hold me to my promise. You are my witnesses. Although, I’ve already begun trending down this path, I begin a new journey; a start of a new adventures that will lead me to where I’ve always dreamed of being. It’s time to let go of childhood fear. It’s time to let go of, not the fear of failure, but the fear of being overwhelmed by success. It’s time to be inspired again. It’s time to build on dreams. It’s time to live my dreams.

You know, I love to write. To me, it has something to do with arranging words in a rhythmic, poetic flow. The problem, however, is that I hate the process of writing; the time it takes to consume you in a different world, just to come back to the real world. I hate the fact that you sit and stare at a blank computer screen and no words pour out or there just isn’t anything to say.

My biggest fear about writing has always been what others thought of what I wrote. I love to show people the work I’ve done. Whether it’s a short story or just simple thought’s that I’ve had on my mind and need someone to read it and gauge with feedback. But then, how will they feel about it? Whether they’d say it was stupid or highly improbable or something heart breaking, isn’t that the point?

Who would have thought, that my petty fear is actually the true purpose of writing? The whole purpose of writing is to push the envelope, destroy the boundaries, and get people to start the conversation. Sometimes, I have to just say, “I’m doing it my way.” Sometimes, it’s necessary to coax the public, the reader, the viewer, just to simply tell them, “fuck you” for no rhyme or reason. Just that you can.

The simplest reason for why I write is so that you can think and feel. Not to think that what I say is believable or what I say is right. In fact, I want to inspire you to seek out the fallacies, the inaccuracies, the grammatical errors, and the intangible. I want you to read the various sides of me so that you may like me, hate me, understand me, side with me, and disagree with me. I want to bring out all these emotions and make you think about why you feel that way. 

So that is why I write… 

-Stebs

Can We Reschedule for Never?

                It’s not often I wake up at 6:30 on my vacation, but my mind was racing with so much “what the fuck?” that I just had to spill it. I feel like this would be so much cooler to write if I was sitting in my kitchen drinking coffee and just have my roommates look at me with extreme confusion on why I am up, but I don’t like coffee so I’m just going to axe those plans all together. I suppose, I could sit there with some strawberry milk, but I feel like that just way too hipster… Do hipsters even drink strawberry milk? Ain’t nobody got time for that.

                Speaking of time, I hate making plans with people. It’ll come to a point where like, five minutes before the plan is to commence, I could just care less to hang out with them. So, like, I just begin to think of elaborate excuses to get out of it. I spend hours preparing a story and I tell it to myself enough times that it almost becomes real. “Yeah, no man, my dad is like pissed I didn’t wash the dog, and I got to do that, then I have to move some furniture with my dad upstairs in our loft and, you know, it’s just too much of a fucking hassle… Can we just do this never, on a different day of something?” And then I think about the story some more and it’s like, I don’t have a dog… I don’t have a loft… What furniture would I be moving? The plan just falls apart in my head and I just end up telling them “I got thing…” That’s it, plain and simple.

With women, it’s the fucking worst, because, I’m like, “King Story Fabricator,” and I almost feel compelled to break down everything and analysis it. I dunno why. I hate it, really. So there they are, going off on a list of things they have to do; “I have this meeting that I have to go to, and then I want to go work out for a little bit, and then I have this seven hour gap to do a whole load of nothing, so, I’ll probably get a coffee somewhere, and  then I’m meeting up with a friend at like 6ish to do a thing that I could probably do another day and, so, I can’t do anything today.” So, I sit back, take that whole schedule in, and I work it out and time it all out in my head systematically. “The meeting will take about an hour, working out is another hour, just to get ruined by a coffee trip to MaryLou’s, seven hours to be frumpy , and then irrelevantly see a friend… Okay, so for starters, go to that meeting.  While you’re on your way to that meeting, tell that friend that excuse you gave me and let him systematically break it down in his own way. Second, don’t be frumpy and go work out. I’ll buy you a coffee after.  Lastly, well, now your day is suddenly freed up… And of course, with women, there’s no way around that schedule. Its set in fucking stone, notarized, and sent off to some other irrelevant person. Then you go and bargain for time. “Well, what about the seven hour gap of nothingness? Coffee? Maybe?” Then four hours later, I get an angry the angry text, “I’m busy!” Sometimes, there just isn’t a return text. I get it, I’m not stupid. I’m not the person who gets pissy about getting ditched. I don’t even call it getting ditched. I call it, “getting bumped from the schedule.” Yes, it’s the same thing. So, when I get pumped from the schedule, I get depressed, and then I go and drive around wasting gas, hit up Instagram and see everyone’s hipster photos of doing non-hipster things that are now hipster things. Shit like that.

I feel like Instagram is almost becoming like the Myspace of old. You know, when people takean action picture of someone doing a thing that anyone viewing it, is going to have no frame of reference. Just a thought. I’ll let you soak it in a bit.

I noticed like two weeks ago, people evidently fell into some “hard times.” Now, I’m not going to divulge the actual events in which transpired. However, I’ll comment by saying, it was hilarious, and I always love reading a good Facebook fight as much as the next person. I mean, I had to take a break at work just to catch up on this. But it wasn’t just one person. There were a few other examples of things that went down.  Just people posting stuff about Karma being a bitch and all that. Can we be realistic for a second? Why does Karma have to be a bitch and why do you have to stand and bask in the glory of some battle you won? What did you just fucking accomplish? What, you watched someone gets arrested? You had a witty comeback? You beat some skank up cause she was all over your man? You posted tasteless pictures of someone one Facebook because you have a grudge with them? Well aren’t you fucking special. At the end of the day, why would you invest all that time in orchestrating some deviant plan? But what do I know. I choose my friends wisely. I stay away from people who have a shady past. I don’t live a reckless lifestyle. I don’t seek out ways for an “escape.” I don’t make up excuses for my insecurities and insanities. I deal with my problems accordingly. I stay away from grudges. I get it, people hate me too, but you know, the fucks I give aren’t that high in that area.  At the end of it all, why you gotta be so mean?

So, No Shit, There I Was...

           Ben Affleck is Batman. Okay, now that we got that out of the way, we can move on to the more pressing and pointless bantering.

So no shit, there I was, eating a fucking salad—because, every good story DOES start with eating a damn good salad. I don’t understand why salad gets such a bad rap. It’s a fucking tasteless leaf and when you put some form of flavoring shit on it, it becomes tasty and flavorful.  Nope, didn’t really have a point there. I just wanted to share that tidbit with you.

                Great news, it will be September. Woohoo! Summer is basically over and I’m openly content with that. I’m happy for this because, I work in retail, and the dummy tourists will not be visiting. I’ve done an amazing job by not sounding off on them. It’s just been a long summer. I think they have been the dumbest, most brainless, people I’ve seen in a long time. Just some dumb fucking people. Dip shit after dip shit. But you know, I could bitch and complain and say shit like, “Oh my Gawd, Rebecca, this bitch pissed me off and I got all angry pants, and I had to bite my tongue and if this bitch had said one more thing, she would totally for regret that shit.” I mean, that’s cool and all, but I’ve learned, sometime just nodding at the idiocy around you and silently knowing that you’re the smartest person in the room is much more self-satisfying than having to remind everyone in some way that you are the smartest person in the room.

                Speaking of dumb bitches that suck at fucking life; so there I am driving down a road. This bitch pulls out in front of me like she’s fucking entitled to every space in her car reach. I’m driving a fucking moving truck. You know, a vehicle that doesn’t necessarily stop on a dime. So she pulls out of this street. I ride up on her ass because, fuck you, and she sticks her hand out to fucking wave. I’m thinking, okay, I didn’t have much of a fucking choice in this matter, but okay… We drive maybe another 100 feet and the bitch stops all fucking traffic with her car to just let everyone pull out on this one particular street. Now, I get it if you’re making a turn somewhere and you want to let a car or two go on their merry ways, but this woman took it upon herself to, not only hold me up and the five cars behind me, but the four other cars from the oncoming traffic. I immediately went from, meh to raging maniac in literally 4 seconds. I laid on my horn for a good minute continuously screaming, “Are you fucking kidding me you dumb fucking cunt!” She won that battle I’m afraid. However, the dude on the other side wasn’t having it either so he just said, “thug life!” and finally broke up the traffic halt. He was definitely the MVP. I was the coach who randomly argued nothing to the umpire for no reason just to get ejected from the game. Regardless, she was a fucking cunt and I hope she falls down her basement stair, breaks her back, and manages to land with her face submerged enough underwater as her basement suddenly becomes flooded. Hopefully fate will prevail in my favor. One can only hope...

                So this is a story that has no relevance to anything. It was just a thought that propped in my mind while I was checking out this girl the other day. So there I was doing my scanning of this chick in a bathing suit and notice she's tatted up. I'm thinking, that’s a really cool tattoo, I wish I could see the rest. After realizing what I wanted to ask, nonchalantly, I realized I’d be basically asking to see her vagina as her tattoo stemmed into that region. That wouldn’t be an issue to me, but I felt people wouldn’t be like, “oh yeah sure, let me pull my bottom off so you can get the whole view. This then prompted me into thinking up a way to explain myself if I were to make an attempted as to why I wanted to see her tats/vag. Finally, after digging myself in such a deep hole, in my mind and quite possibly real life, I'd probably just give up, saying, "I'm more curious to see what it looks like when you’re 75 anyways..."

                …and with that in mind, I’m done for the night. Again, as I generally do, I wanted to write something really cool and at the end of this, zero relevant things were brought up. Cheers.

Val Kilmer being....Fat

Blinders

                I’ve noticed something about humans. There are the go getters and then there are those that just wait for the right opportunity. I tend to fall into the latter category. I don’t know why I do this, but I just find myself doing just that. I like to sit back and evaluate the scene before I decide to go ahead and make my move.

                When it comes to finding that special somebody, whether it be for the long haul, or just for the time being before the need to settle down, we all have those particular standards. I’m a sucker for tall, blue eyed, blondes. Skinny, of course. I don’t like my women overweight. I mean, brunettes are great, don’t get me wrong, I just like me some blondes, especially the petite ones. Red heads are few and far between. The real bread winner, however, are the red heads that can switch off between being blonde and red headed. Them fem’s be talented. It’s not an easy feat to accomplish and master both hair colors. If they can rock that hipbone action, holla! Total kryptonite for me, let me tell ya…

                See what I did there? Did I give two shits about their personalities? Did you judge me a bit just then? I hope you did. Think about this. We have all these expectations of how we want that special someone to be, look, and even act. I mean, face it, if I could propose to either Emma Watson or Taylor Swift, I’d be all over that in a heartbeat and could and would live happily ever after. I mean, c’mon Emma Watson, that little cutie from Harry Potter. Then you got Tay Swift there. Sure she’s a fucking head case, but shit man, legs for daysssszzzzzz. I have all these blinders on right now, I don’t think anyone really matter.

 I guess the real question is, if that special person walked into our lives today, would we recognize them? Maybe would should all lower those blinders, shall we?

Fuck it, I take it all back. Get me a ring, I'm gonna marry Emma Watson, tonight. I'm also gonna need bail money... Just a funny feeling I got...

Battle Born

          When I graduated high school, I wanted to go to film school and be then next big thing. I wanted all the movies that I would direct have a catchy slogan, like, “From the Director that is far cooler than Steven Spielberg…” But that hasn’t happen, and will probably never happen.

I thought going to Emerson would be cool, but I also thought, Emerson wasn’t cool enough for me. I also had to worry about what my Dad could afford, because lord knows, I wasn’t paying for shit. I got accepted to Suffolk, and I thought, sweet, I got this. I was so excited. My mother was excited, my father was happy that I got into that school as well. But he knew me better than I knew myself. My motivation level was through the floor…not the roof. It was nowhere to be found. I had replaced it with my 18 year old ego, which was, “film school? Ha! Where I’m going, we don’t need film school. The talent flows through my veins and reeks as if it were a sensual aftershave.” So, my dad said, “Son, you’re going to 4Cs.” My world crashed. How the hell would I become the next great thing? Who would make amazing movies? Who would revive Star Wars? Well, thank Christ there’s JJ Abrams to hold down that fort till, whenever I decide to get around to that…again.

So, I guess I want to start this reflection with, thanks Dad. Sometimes, you need someone to just tell it to you straight. No grey areas, just, plain simple English.

When I got to 4Cs (Cape Cod Community College), I flat out didn’t give a shit. I was basically in an academic limbo. I suddenly felt like I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, but yet at the same time, I didn’t give a shit about anything in life. I lost all passion. I basically just fell short of a nervous breakdown.

I never really sought out to make any friends there. It was as simple as, do my time and then get out. If I had happened to bump into someone who shared the same misery, we’d blankly stare at each other, zombified. Maybe we’d say a few words, but mostly grumble about shitty things and how we hate life. But then something hit me. I didn’t want to be that guy. I wanted to break the mold and actually do something with my life. Just what, was the big mystery.

My four years at 4Cs ended on a high note. I actually broke out of my shell and met people. I even socialized, which was something pretty big in my life. And so, to those people that I actually became friendly, thank you. Sometimes the smallest gestures leave a lasting impact. Whether it would be allowing me to buy Red Sox tickets off you for below market value, or buying me Twinkies to munch on in class and be fat, or feeling comfortable for being a nonconformist, slug in class. Thanks for making a difference in my life.

4Cs taught me a lot of things. I helped molded me to who I am. A lot of the professors there pissed me off to the point, where I actually talked back to them, which, surprisingly, is not my style. I got kicked out of class, I told a teacher his methods were ineffective, and I even had the balls to make a sexist comment to a feminist teacher… I actually regret that bit, mainly, because she put me right in my place thereafter… Which is actually easy, but my timing was beyond abysmal…

From there, I grabbed life by the horns and managed to get into Bridgewater State University. Talk about a fucking culture shock. I’m still trying to recover. It’s a Cape thing. Once you go out and see the world for a half second, you realize, maybe there is more to life than just sand and other shitty things on the beach. Although, my time at the Bridge was short, I think it made a bigger impact on my life. Everybody basically has their shit together. We all had a common goal, and everyone worked together to help improve the other. So to all you Bridgewater folk, from the inept groups, to the margaritas in class, to even that God-awful, fucking animal shelter, you rock. You all have deemed yourselves dependable people, in my book, and not many people make it into my book on positive notes. It was a pleasure to work with you on all those projects, especially the makeshift, spur of the moment ones. Oh, and thanks for not catching on that I hardly did any work, when I offered to make the PowerPoint… But you gotta admit they were some pretty damn good PowerPoint presentations.

To the bros and hoes that just happened to hang around in my life, I know I’m stubborn like an old man, and I’m not always the easiest person to get along with or have a normal conversation, but thanks for putting up with me. Some of you may know why I am the way I am or some of you just went with it, it really means a lot. I’m not going to the get any sappier with that. I’m just going to leave it that. Miscellaneous/Family/Others: Thanks. Much love.

And lastly, to all the fuck heads that had no clear purpose in my life, thank you for getting the fuck out. Turns out, I could do it without you. Y’all have been basically the biggest pieces of shits in my life. You have done literally nothing to improve it. You know when you leave your laundry in the washer machine for too long and it’s that smelly shit that is technically the only thing you have clean, that’s a better day than spending a moment with you. You are virtually nonessential. Even that extra Lego in the package, has more of a fucking use than you. I'm not going to leave any subtle hints or anything. You all know who you are. We can leave it at this; you should have been a blow job. 

Hey, you wanna get drunk?

A Bitter Jibe: Part Deux

                What’s up thuggians? Me? Glad you asked. Shut the fuck up. I know you didn’t really ask. Just fucking roll with it, bro. Anyways, I just wanted to let you know, that the last few days, for some moronic reason, I’ve been getting in touch with my inner sensitivity. Well, it was too fucking weird for me and I’m back. Just like the second go around of the Bubonic Plague or when your herpes flare up again or you decide to date your ex-boyfriend again, because “things will be the same different now…”

                Well, anyways, I have come to an impasse in my life. I’m getting ready to graduate and heading off into the wild blue yonder, or how ever the fuck it goes. Personally, I don’t give a flying. But I feel like the whole part of growing up, compromises have to be made. Not only compromises, but I think becoming compatible with other human beings is probably going to be a necessity. Personally, I don’t give a flying fuck about the shit either; however, who really has a say when the bird decides to in fact shit on you?

                Human interaction is A.) A lost art, B.) A fucking joke, and C.) A giant fucking mystery to me. Some days I get it, and then the next day; it’s a pretty much a foreign fucking concept. It’s not that I’m trying to say that I can’t stand to coexist with people. I can, it’s just the days when I start thinking dark thoughts, I find myself concerned for whomever is going to be the one to come into contact with me.

...and no, I don't wonder why I get rejected often. I'm fully aware of my attributes. 

                So, I’ve been playing around with this thing call OKCupid. I do it, because, I think I’m going to find the love of my life. Well sure as shit, I hate everyone on there. I haven’t come across a person I could see myself with; even the ones that I do message and get rejected from. I just can’t find myself to liking them. First off, the majority of these girls are ugly. I’m talking, bottom of the barrel, looking. Unless, I suck and just didn’t click on the ugly filter option on there. I dunno, to be honest. Then, the ones that do make it past the eye test are like beyond fucking retarded. I’m sure these people are sweethearts; I would totally hate to knock on them, especially if they potentially have a heart of gold. However, I can’t find myself to take anyone serious if they start their bio with, “I’m weird. If you can’t handle weird you should probably leave this page.” That’s basically the best advice I’ve heard. You’re probably right.

                I hate the ones that just go on about their lives. How they have all those cats or dogs and they do cute things. Then they talk about all the activities they do with their lives and how incredibly boring they are. Honey, no one is really taking that much of a vested interest in your life. You’re practically an afterthought. You’re literally going to be forgotten in about ten seconds, because your pictures are from sexy. Unless you want to get my attention, throw a little side boob action. Otherwise, you wrapped up in your blanket, just isn’t that impressive.

Another one of my favorites is when they tell you how incredibly sarcastic they are and how if you can’t put up with the extremist of sarcastic personalities, then… well you get the gist. Really, tell me about sarcasm. I’m really interested…It blows my mind how people use their sarcasm as a bright spot in their personality. I never knew it was a great quality to have. I’ve run into so many people who cannot stand being around me for my strong sarcastic personality. I don’t blame them. I break out into full beast mode. But I don’t go around bragging how I’m sarcastic. It just happens and people eventually find out the magnitude. To be honest, sarcastic people is a blatant turnoff. I want nothing to do with someone who gets into a pissing match over who can outwit the other in a sarcasm duel. They’re retarded. Brick, hammer, genitals. BAM! I guess I’m alone on that one…

                So basically in my spare time, I just judge the shit out of random people’s profiles and a part of me feels happy about myself. So, it does have its upsides. I know people who have had success with it. Me? Well, I’m clearly doing it wrong and I am I making any real concerted effort to fix that. Till then, I’m going to continue my search for true love the conventional way, by buying one online from Russia, or wherever the shipping is cheapest…