Silence Does NOT Speak Volumes!

si·lence n.
The condition or quality of being or keeping still and silent.
The absence of sound; stillness.
A period of time without speech or noise.
Refusal or failure to speak out.

If there's one valuable lesson that I've learned this year about relating and dating, it would have to be that silence does NOT speak volumes! In fact, everytime that I have given someone the silence as a tool of cluing them into the fact that I'm NOT interested in them, it has back-fired or fueled the fire even more.

The truth of the matter is that I just have high expectations for those I let in. Usually I only let people in who I see something spectacular in...this drive, this passion, this karma, this incredible energy or incredible potential. I do not care for loosers (ie. people who do not make any effort towards humanity and do nothing to improve the dissatisfactions that they have about their own lives).--This goes for friendships, as well as for people I date.

I refuse to believe that there are people who are worthless in this world. However, I have come across a few too many people that just don't give a care about what their purpose is in life. They live their lives soaking up all the resources around them and sucking other people dry while they themselves do nothing to improve their circumstance.

You may be thinking, "What in the world does any of this have to do with the first comment about silence??" Well, I will explain...

In my life, I have few that have been silent. These would be people that find it necessary to withdraw themselves from my friendship because they lack the guts to admitt that I make them uncomfortable. What's so hard about saying that??? I'm not so fragile that I cannot handle it. As a matter of fact, I am one that thrives on confrontations and I love conflict for the shear fact that it causes me to MOVE...to GROW...it sparks me into a metamorphic phase and I become a better person for it. I do not wallow in self-pity over one person who does not like me for some reason...I like to know the reason so that I can work on it.

Craziness

This has been the craziest and most entertaining week! First, to meet such a great and interesting girl...and then to be scouted out by a couple of hotties who finally got my digits this weekend. And to be having mimosas with them and then cutting up the dance floor yet again and partying yet again....and partying yet again. ;)
And then to reunite with a couple ole highschool buddies. Man...this has been a crazy week! What next?

I will try to write more tomorrow on this here above....

And here we are...it's "tomorrow" and I'm writing a little more.

HAZ MAT

No matter how blithely aware I may be that my arrival to any budding romance will be accompanied by a full set emotional Louis Vuitton of my own, any trace of it in someone else I meet with immediate misgiving. I think I have learned this about myself and have in this last week decided to ease up a little.
So....I was at Sue Ellen's last night (surprise surprise!) with a friend I met over a month ago named Angeline. She's a cute tiny little Malasian chick and so incredibly sharp! I think I FINALLY am getting to know someone in-person and on a *friendship* level that is on my same page. We went to this pub called Idle Rich for starters and got bored with the straight crowd. So, we decided to go to the gayborhood and kareoki/dance/check girls out. I have big ole feet for my tiny frame and Angeline wore sandals...of the thongy type. I tried spinning her around and 2-stepping at RoundUp. Of course, she's like a foot and a half shorter than me....Well...all I have to say about that is she was quickly out-of-order for dancing and that led us to Sue Ellen's for the chick-scoping.
We arrive and there's hardly a soul there. But we were in high-spirits and we decided to stick it out. Sure enough...a nice little crowd showed about 45 minutes later! I'd say we were about ready to call it quits for the night when this TALL guy approached me and asked me if I thought this girl behind him was cute. I had caught her taking a look at me in the corner of my eye earlier, and I thought she was OK-looking (mind you...it was all from the CORNER of my eye). So I said, "sure". So he had her introduce herself and we really hit it off! I think she's incredibly funny and witty, intellectual, and yes, she was really cute...such BEAUTIFUL eyes!
Turns out we have a 3 person web connection to one another. This Lesbian World is sure starting to get small on me!!! Turns out that she also lives in Plano and is going to my community college at the same campus, around the same times. So we met up for lunch today. It was pleasant and I am glad I wasn't my normal..."I'm not interested in talking to anyone" self last night. She's also the type that likes to get to know someone before being interested in them romantically...so I FINALLY met someone that isn't making me feel like I'm being harassed. *good thing*
I am a total skeptic when it comes to meeting people at bars or online. Haha. This has been the story of my life lately, though! Most the people I've met have major emotional Louis Vuitton going on. I personally don't care if they have a little baggage, but I like the concept of stowing it in the under-carriage. The whole "best friends" thing with ex's...I don't really mind it, but I don't know that I can do that now. But the having casual sex with random people just to feel a connection thing...not for me. I am just not a big fan of carrying my ex's around with me once we break up or of having casual sex with people...at least I haven't been since I came out, anyway. My ex-boyfriends are a different story. Most of them are sweet-hearts and I felt awful for "lying" to them about who I really was. I did have a connection with them, just not the same they had with me. I have maintained most of them as good friends, and I don't think they are baggage because there's absolutely NO way that I would ever go back to any of them or date them or cheat on my girlfriend with one of them. But the casual sex thing was also an instrument I used not to have to admitt to myself that I was gay. And I'm not using that as an excuse...I was the type, but now NO WAY!
I think that keeping ex-girlfriends around pose a threat to current relationships. And women are naturally jealous...posing a threat in itself. Drama Drama Drama. Ex's are like HAZ MAT...
Otherwise known as Hazardous Material.

Distraction subtraction

My face is red and blotchy. I need to change makeup.

Lately I've been too distracted. I haven't been able to concentrate. I've been studying, but my enthusiasm isn't where it needs to be. So I'm going to try something new.

I hate routine. Seriously, I dislike it. But it may be time for me to try it and see how it works. So I'm going to set the old alarm clock for 7:00 tomorrow morning. I'm going to get up, get a quick shower, deal with email and whatnot for no more than an hour, then I'm going to write until nine. Two and a half hours in the morning. Go to school, maybe take a walk after lunch. Then class again from two until four thirty and then dinner and class again until .

We'll see how that goes.

Jen's flight was delayed. Or changed. Or something. There was a mixup. She's coming in to Love Field at 8:45. I'm going to go pick her up, of course, because that's what the good friend does. That's the job. A job I'm only too happy to do, because I know how nice it is to be picked up at the airport. There's nothing quite so lonely as showing up at an airport, either at home or away, and having to go hail a cab. It's a miserable, depressing place. There are thousands of people, tens of thousands, all around you, all going in their own various directions, none of them making eye contact or striking up a conversation.

So close. Within reach. People, all around us. Other souls. Other minds. Thinking original, unique thoughts, thoughts we've never heard before. They'll share them, if you give them half a chance. Strike up a conversation. Hear something you've never heard before.

--If anybody out there knows me, you'll recognize that the previous sentiment was totally in character for me. What can I say? I'm slowly comming back to being myself. In a way, I think I have evolved. But most of the time lately, I have kept to myself.

Every day I wake up a different person from the person I was when I went to sleep the previous night. Most people find this surprising and disconcerting. So I try not to advertise it too much. It's not that I don't think I'm a great person...it's that I don't think people should be so content in who they are...we are human and there's always something that needs a Spring cleaning job inside of us.

Douche Bag

Saturday night as I head for Sue Ellen's (my fucking favorite place in this whole wide world!) I run into, none other than, Jade. Yes, Jade and her best friend Jennifer (not Jen by the way). I keep hanging with Jade. Then this girl, Angeline, that I happened to meet the same night that I met "Crazy Australian" is there and we proceed to bash "Crazy Australian" and all her psycho schemes while dancing to the music.
By the end of the night I had my ass grabbed by "poopy pants older woman"...who by the way, did NOT have poopy pants this night...and yes, she is damn fine...I still can't get over the fact she crapped her pants the night we met, though!
So, back to Jade...who was ditched by her best friend and her best friend's boyfriend while in terrible shape...attempts to drive her truck. I have her take me to my car, and then she passes out in her truck in the parking lot.
So I drag her into my car and take her home. Then call Joel up to take me to her truck so I can drive it to Jade's place. When I get into her truck, I notice bag full of beer cans that half are empty and other half still have beer.
Things become evident that Jade is an alcoholic and now I'm not so angry at her anymore.
But still, I'm officially a douche bag and retarded.

You know what’d be cool right now? Blogging.

I should be blogging today, I really should. I’ve got a great excuse why I’m not, but I’m not gonna tell you what it is, Internet, because it’s none of your beeswax. How you like that, Internet? Huh? Huh? The girl who lives a life of perfect transparency has a secret or two after all. How you like me now?
Okay, I’ll quit taunting you with my secret. But anyway, I’ve got this thing going on, and it’s distracting me. Makes it tough for me to concentrate. So any blogging that happens today is gonna be purely coincidental.
And thanks for asking, but no, it’s nothing bad. It’s just the opposite. What’s the opposite of bad again? That word I hardly ever use? Oh, right. Good. It’s good, Internet. It’s six kinds of good with hot good sauce and whipped good and a cherry right on the very tip-top.
Neener-neener, I have a secret.
Oh, right. Stop with the taunting. Sorry, Internet. I know you’re sensitive about that kind of thing.
[snicker]

Late-night ennui

This morning — well, technically yesterday morning, being as how it’s after midnight now — I was thinking about late-summer malaise, about the doldrums, about ennui.
I’m going to revisit this topic, not because I’ve got a whole lot to say on it, but because I can’t sleep and I have to write something.
I think there are people out there who understand ennui and people who don’t. Ennui, to me, is an overwhelming sense of what’s-the-point. It’s a low-grade existential crisis, a sense that nothing matters, that nothing means anything. It’s an acute case of profound disinterest in the world and all there is in it. I mean, really: who cares?
For some people, ennui is just a word, something experienced by other people, or maybe not even experienced but just talked about by people who want to give off the impression that life is somehow harder for them than it is for everybody else and that they’re in some way special.
For me, ennui is the real deal. It hits me periodically, and when it does, it just weighs me down. This is because life is harder for me, and I’m special. Remember that.
Ennui is distinct from depression. Depression isn’t ennui. Ennui is an entirely different emotion. Depression is an ice pick through the heart. Ennui is a cold drip through the short hairs at the back of your neck. Depression is “just fucking kill yourself and get it over with.” Ennui is “oh, why bother.”
I have ennui tonight. Tonight it feels like the whole damn country has ennui. It’s gonna rain tomorrow. Nobody will move. Everyone will sit in their air-conditioned enclaves and wait for the clouds to part and for the sun to go down and end the day.
There are a lot of great things about living in Texas. The weather ain’t one of them. Neither is the ennui.

Rumination on impulsiveness

So I was talking to a friend the other week at Sue Ellen's. And suddenly, out of the blue, she says, “I got another tattoo!” (All quotes are paraphrases. )
This friend — whom we’ll call Jade because that’s her name — has several tattoos already. She insists that she got her latest tattoo before all her financial shit went down, and I believe her. At least I say that I do, because I know what’s good for me.
We’ve talked about tattoos before, and she’s told me that she’d like, in the abstract, “someday” sense of the word, to get another one. “Well,” I allowed, “I’ve always been kind of interested in getting one myself.” She perked up at this. “Really?” she asked. I explained how I’ve always liked the idea of having a little tattoo somewhere on my body, someplace out of sight, just purely for decorative purposes. I told her how I liked the idea of having something unique about me, something demonstrable that I can point to and say, “Nobody else has this. This is mine alone.”
Plus there’s the girl factor, of course. “Do you have any tattoos?” she’ll say. “Yes,” I’ll say casually. “Can I see it?” she’ll say. And then we’re off to the races.
Jade and I talked in greater detail about what I’d get if I were going to get something. I told her that it would have to be on my back, because I don’t want it to be someplace where I can see it. I explained that I’m an incredibly critical and cynical person, and that if I can see it, there’s going to be something about it that I don’t like, something about it that bugs me. So I want it to be someplace where I can only see it if I really go looking for it.
I further explained that I’d want something wholly abstract, not at all representative of anything. I wouldn’t want it to look like anything or symbolize anything because it’s going to be on me for the rest of my life, and I don’t want it to become irrelevant, or worse, to represent something I no longer value.
So we talked, and we talked, and we talked some more, and finally she said to me, “When you decide you’re ready, let me know. You can come to town and we’ll go get inked together.”
That was a week ago. Last weekend she says to me, out of the blue and apropos of nothing, “I’m getting another tattoo!” Just like that, just all of a sudden. I asked her why, and she said that over the past couple of days — since the previous Sunday — she’s decided that she’s just going to get it done. Like, now. “If I had the money, I’d get it this weekend,” she said.
I think she saw it on my face. “What is it?” she asked. I didn’t know how to say it, so I deflected. “That seems really … impulsive,” I said. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, but then again I did. Jade is an impulsive person. That’s just how she is. That's why she's out of a job again, and in more financial trouble...AND I'M NOT BAILING HER OUT OF IT THIS TIME! She does things on impulse, so deciding on a Sunday that she wants a tattoo and having it by Saturday is not out of character for her at all. In fact, if anything, what’s out of character is the wait. I’m a little surprised she didn’t get it done on Sunday.
So we talked about impulsiveness for a minute, and frankly I made a big mess of it. She thought I was being critical of her, that I was looking down on her for being impulsive. That wasn’t it at all. I couldn’t find the words to say what I wanted to say.
Naturally, the minute I ran off, the words came pouring into my head.
It’s not that I think impulsiveness is bad. It’s just that I’m not at all impulsive. I can’t do anything without second thoughts and cold feet. I can’t buy a gallon of milk at the store without some kind of reservations about it. That’s just who I am; it’s just part of my personality. So the idea of getting a tattoo, something that’s absolutely permanent, frankly fills me with apprehension.
When I said all that to Jade, she thought I was criticizing her. I wasn’t. I was telling her that I’m jealous!
I really wish sometimes that I could be more carefree, more daring, more impulsive. Not about silly things like tattoos, but about big things in my life. A few days ago I had a chance to join a new company; I decided not to because I would have had to drop a class. Now I wish I had the guts to go ahead and drop the class. And who knows how many girls have walked past me, turned the corner and disappeared because I was too nervous to talk to them.
So when Jade calls me up and says, “I’m getting a tattoo!” and my first reaction is one of fear and apprehension, it just serves to underscore the fact that I’m more uptight than I wish I were.
I think the right path through life is the narrow path. I think it’s appropriate to be nervous and unsure sometimes, but I think it’s also appropriate — or even necessary — to throw caution to the wind sometimes.
So what do you think? Should I just say “Screw it” and get a tattoo?

She is

Everytime I doubt, she makes me believe again. Everytime I'm insecure...she makes me change my mind. She's a great person...I do NOT deserve her in my life!

A whimsical assortment of things that totally jack my shit

So e-mail, right? E-to-tha-mail. Electronic mail.
Why is it that electronic mail can turn a perfectly intelligent, normal person into a blathering idiot? And I’m so totally including myself there, even though I said normal which as I have already established I am so very not. But just roll with it, kay baby?
Let us consider for a moment the notion of e-mail letters. You write an e-mail, then you send it out, and the person you sent it to gets the e-mail. Tight. Only it doesn’t work like that. What really happens is that you write an e-mail that says exactly what's on your mind, and you know you don't really plan on sending the damn thing. You just write what you really want to say and then you go through it and cut out the parts that are too introspective. Well, what really happens is that you fucking click “send” before you fucking edit the document, and you can do nothing about it but sit back and hope that person realizes that you're not such a douche bag as the email they got reveals you to be.
And it never, ever happens when you don't care what the person thinks, oh no. ’Cause that would allow you to cordon off your humiliation in a nice, manageable chunk. No, instead it happens when you’re sending an e-mail to someone are somewhat interested in. And you type your message and you click “send” and it’s like everything goes into slow motion like in a really fucking bad Michael Bay picture but I repeat myself.
And for the rest of the week, you wonder if the people in the next table over at Sue's are cracking jokes about how you should have your mittens safety-pinned to your jacket, and God you just wanna kill everybody.

So the other week, somebody sent me a package. They UPS’d this thing, and they apparently checked the little box that says “Make this motherfucker as inconvenient for the recipient as possible” and then they checked the little box below it that says “No really, for serious, make ’em suffer.”
And the UPS guy comes to my house, only I wasn’t home because I was busy with Army stuff. And instead of leaving the package he puts one of those little stickers on the door, you know the ones, the ones with the totally false air of sincerity and cheerfulness. “Sorry we missed you!” And then there’s like a fucking 1040 form or DD form, and if you want the driver to come back during the next full moon and leave your package for you in your mailbox with two black truffles and a tin of Osestra caviar on top, you check this thing and then sign this thing and then initial here and then attach a copy of your credit report or some shit.
So I spent like an hour filling out this form and I slapped it back on my door and went inside to do three quick shots of tequila.
Next day I come home all looking forward to my package and shit, and what do I find but another fucking 1040 form stuck to my door. And the driver guy had taken his little ballpoint pen and circled, like ten times, the tiny little print at the bottom that says “IN PERSON SIGNATURE REQUIRED.” Which is bogus, because there’s not gonna be an in-person to give a signature, because I already told you I’m out. So I got me a good annoyed on.
So the next day, on the Dart train, I call the little 800 number on the UPS door form thing, only it wasn’t an 800 number but like an 877 number or some shit but I still call ’em 800 numbers so deal. And I relate to the tomato on the other end of the line my tale of woe, and she’s all, “We can deliver that package to another address for you.”
I tell her yeah, take it to so-n-so which is the address of the place where I’m at, and like three hours later there’s the package sitting in front of me. Happy ending, right? All’s well and all that? Maybe you need to read the headline again, man. This post isn’t about happy endings. It’s about things that totally jack my shit. And when I took that package home and unleashed some red hot Swiss Army action on it and opened it up to find enclosed one (1) book about bartending (1) bartender kit, and (1) form to fill out by [X] date that already past to take the certification exam, my shit was well and truly jacked.
Also, women totally jack my shit. But that’s a whole other post all by itself.