When You're Coated in Syrup

I always have this feeling that I'm waist-deep in syrup. And this syrup, as sweet as it is, is filling my shoes, making it hard to walk. It's filling my pants and soaking my socks. It feels tidal waves over my (soon to be pierced) navel and that is making me uneasy.

I think I imagine syrup instead of water because it's so much heavier. And it's sticky, like most of the situations I get myself into.

I hate sticky.

In other news, I bought an Audrey Hepburn poster. I'm pretty sure it's every girls dream to be Holly Golightly.

Take Out a Shit of Paper

Isn't that title funny? My Spanish teacher said that to some fourth graders a few years ago. She is originally from France and she couldn't quite grasp the pronunciation, so a sheet came out as a shit. This made my day. I don't know, I just thought that was really funny at the time. Maybe just the fact she said it in front of 4th Graders?

Okay my friends, I spent today sort of floating around. You know that hazy feeling? I was just not all there today. I mean I was there, but I was in the corners of my brain. The corners of my brain tend to be a dangerous place, because I can spend daaaaaaaaaayyyyysssss there. So when I went there today, here is what I found:

Last week I read this David Sedaris story (If you don't know who David Sedaris is you are a total waste of human life. I'm sorry, but you can go crawl back into the depths of hell from which you emerged.) and in this particular story he talked about his day dreams and all the things he thinks about. Well, when I recalled this story, I began to think back to all the day dreams I have. I usually have like, seventeen running all at the same time but that's definitely the best part.

So I thought back to my favorite day dream. This day dream is so special to me, it has its very own iTunes playlist.

The Dream:

I'm on this cross country road trip. I'm coming from Yale University (for some reason...) to go to California. I don't ever know where in California, just this big arm-shaped mass with a giant "CA" printed on it. Anyway, I stop in the middle of the night on this quiet road in the middle of some New Mexican desert. I'm driving this red convertible and I just pull over. This Death Cab for Cutie song "Passenger Seat" is playing, but not from my stereo, it's just blasting from nowhere.

I get out of the car and just lay down on the hood of my car and look up. And I can see all these stars, everywhere. Splattered across the whole sky. I'm the only one there and its so quiet, and even my awkward and clumsy movements are muffled. I'm totally, for lack of a better or more descriptive word, free. Free from all this sticky, oozing boredom I seemed to be so eternally trapped in. Not in some freaky-emo-I'm-better-than-everyone-else way. Rather in this sort of I'm bored-because-I-aspire-to-do-so-much-more-and-this-is-so-not-it kind of way. Think Jack Kerouac.

And that's it. That's the whole dream.

Of course, I float from dream to dream. In some of them, I'm a CIA agent cutting of Venezuelan Mafia member's limbs while speaking flawless Spanish, others I'm battling cancer. In some I'm getting married, in others I'm a pregnant teenager. Or in most cases, I'm just thinking about the situation I'm in at the moment. How lucky, or unlucky I am or I'm forming some sort of calculated insult or comeback. It all depends. But I always (apparently) make the same face when I start fading. My eyes get glossy, and I close my mouth (rare as it it), and I tilt my head slightly. But not quite as dramatically as J.D. in Scrubs.

This is coming directly from the mouths of my friends (Amanda). I've never seen this face, and have a hard time believing it actually exists.

I don't know. I like the brain a lot, and it tends to be my companion on most of my cross country trips or cancer battles or it's sitting in the first row at my wedding.

This post was a little bit more thoughtful than the others, and I apologize if some of you were less amused. I just thought about this today and wanted to post it.

"Take your time coming home.

Hear the wheels as they roll.
Let your lungs fill up with smoke.
Forgive everyone.

She is here and now she is gone.
We had plans, we can't help but make love.

It's a beautiful thing when you love somebody,
And I love somebody.
Yeah I love somebody"

--Fun (the band)

Who does that? Can you stop?

------Sorry if there are too many grammatical errors in this post, its 3:11am and I just don't give a hairy rats ass anyway----------LET THE BLOGGING COMMENCE!

Um, do you ever meet someone and they say something and you're like Who does that?

I logged on my dearest Facebook today and someone invited me to join the group:

Petition To Remove Group "Soldiers Are Not Heroes" INVITE ENTIRE FRIENDS

And my immediate reaction was: Hey! I was just FB stalking the guy who invited me to join this! How odd.

My second reaction was: Wait. There is a serious group called "Soldiers Are Not Heroes"? What? Who does that?

Please, all six of you reading my blog, don't get the wrong idea. I am so in favor of free speech its crazy. I eat free speech for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Hell, I have a blog! Thats how into free speech I am!

But really? REALLY? Thats the equivalent of starting a group called "I'm in favor of the Fuhrer!" or "Taliban-tastic!". Its like, yeah you have free speech, but because you started this group you're a dick.

Not to mention this person has made a very general remark. Is he saying all soldiers aren't heroes? NONE of them have done ANYTHING HEROIC? Not a single one?

Have you checked that Mr. Dickhead? You have met all members of the armed forces, past and present, and can assure us all that not one of them is a hero? You have not met one member of the armed forces who had a lick of bravery running in his bloodstream? Mmhmm...

See. What a dick.

Anyway, I'm not posting this so all of you current even whores out there can comment about the war in Afghanistan or oil or your kittens that George Bush ate. I'm just throwing this thought out there in cyberspace saying, "Hey, don't be a dick on facebook because we will all post on the group wall telling you how horrible you are...etc..."

I'm just being a friend, letting you know about social networking's unwritten rules of conduct (because there is at least one man out there who is unaware, and that is NOT okay).

Phew, all that serious talk is draining! Here's some other stuff to read:

My exams are OvEr. The stress zits are disappearing! (Don't hate, you get them too)

I got a cat with only half a tail.

I drank my sisters Gatorade and she told me I was fat and ugly. Ouch. That one hit home.

And...oh, I became insanely jealous of this girl (who I don't know...) who went to my highschool and she did the tongue tango with ALEX TURNER OF THE ARCTIC MONKEYS! WHAT???!! I know its crazy.

Uhg, the luck of some people.

Double Frick

So. I'm sitting in this class at school.

And I'm thinking.

And thinking.

Do you know what I'm thinking? Frick. NO. Double Frick (frick).

Why am I saying frick? Because things aren't going my way goddammit! To be frank, I just don't understand it.

What do people have to do to get positive results around this place? I mean, I admit I have faults, but who the hell doesn't? Are my faults keeping me from a good day? I have had the worst of luck this year. I'm starting to think that what I have to do to get good luck is going to have to be something horrific. Like, I'll have to sleep with Bill O'Reilly or something totally horrible like that.

Do you know what else I'm noticing? Other people around me a struggling too. Like, I have friends failing tests left and right, my mailman died just for helping the post office out on a busy day, and everyone is suffering from the Oinky-Illness.

I used to think that bad luck happend to people who did bad things. Like, for example, murderers, they're put in prison, right? Or that whole theory that, you know, karma and what goes around comes around and all that bullshit will make your life better.

So what the hell? Where is the truth my friends? WHAT is the truth? Does this truth exist?

-AND-

Where is my good luck, my big break, my winning streak? Where are my "A+"s and where is my beautiful boyfriend? Where are the friends who aren't so iffy? Why can't I find the things I want?

If you find my things, please let me know. If I find the things you want, I'll let you know too.

Okay, this was a mildly rando post for the middle of the day, but still. I figured you should hear my whiney crap. After all, thats all a blog is.

Life Lesson: Glue to hold your smushed self together

Humph.

I'm coming to you now from my big yellow bed. I'm sitting criss-cross applesauce with my hair pulled into a neat, straight, ponytail. But my composure now is misleading.

Today was the worst day of my whole life.

Now, I realize that phrase is over used. BUT THERE IS A REASON THAT PEOPLE SAY THIS. I learned that lesson today.

I have never had a day even close to this. I mean, like, I have had "off days" but today was of epic-proportions.

But hold up: REWIND

I wish I could tell all of you what happened to me today. But, I can't. All these things that happened involve private matters and emotions that aren't suitable for a blog. Jesus Christ, I am sorry. If I could tell everyone I would, but I don't need the people I would mention harassing me. But I can tell you; it involves losing friends, a crazy workplace, and sore legs and arms.

I'm not writing this post to dwell on my horrific day, but to tell all the people reading this something.

There is always an "end of the day". I live each day without knowing what the fuck I'm doing or where I'm going. Did you know that? No. I bet not. It’s true.

Sometimes when I'm living my life, the rug of comfort is pulled from beneath my feet and the Anti-Christ punches me in the face and laughs as I'm doubled over on the floor.

That’s so true. It happened to me today. It was awful. It was like being hit with a tire iron while you watch your grandmother get smushed by a bus. It was slow-mo disaster. One thing after another just kept hitting me. Disaster was like "Hey, are you Matty?" and I was like "Yeah, what’s up?" and he was like "Haha, get ready to be disappointed in your life!”

I came home today and cried and screamed and cried and screamed. Which was appropriate, by the way, and then I stopped. I didn’t need to cry anymore. What is done is done. C’est la vie my friends, c’est la vie.

Its not the years in the life, it’s the life in the years, okay? I got punched in the face, hit with a tire iron, watched my granny get smashed up by a bus and received a call from Disaster. But I’m alive, right? Right.

I struggled today with my faith in God and the faith I have in myself. (by the way, I’m not a Jesus freak, but I do believe in God, just not the bible…and I’m a Democrat…) I hate not being able to believe in myself. Suffering from lack of self-confidence is a horrible feeling and it shows in so many ways.

But I learned another lesson today too. That I need to just glue my broken pieces together again. That’s life. That’s peeling yourself off of the cement when you get run down. So, I have officially peeled myself off the cement of October 3^rd, 2009.

Hoo-rah, hoo-rah.

P.S. If you’re looking for a nice project, help a friend find her pieces and go out and get her some glue. She would like that.

An Introduction

Okay, while I understand that blogging is so supremely obnoxious and it causes much grief for people (such as, the Thinking American who spends their time doing things that are productive and worthy of seeing the daylight and would rather not be bugged by a rando expressing his angry self), I figured I should try this shit out. People seem to enjoy it and spend so much time talking about it I shouldn't get so down on it if I haven't even tried it. Sort of like kids who already know they hate broccoli before they even eat it.

By the way, I love broccoli. True story. So, continuing with a few things about myself...

I should be honest. I'm kind of the anti-blogger. I'm also a hypocrite. Lets get that out of the way. I love to talk, and talk, and talk, about me, myself, and I but I really could care less about your dead hamster or cousin who got into Harvard. But hell, if my cousin gets into Harvard or my hamster died, you better shut the hell up and listen. There are lots of things that are okay for me to do, but not okay for you to do. You will be aware of those later on.

I also have poor grammar. So if you've noticed my run on sentences or misplaced commas you can stuff it. Its part of a quirky charm I have. Well, that and grammar is a weakness of mine. I just have so many things to say and no period can stop me! And to tell you the truth, I'm a very happy grammatically incorrect person. It goes hand in hand with my political incorrectness too.

Okay, I feel better. I'm glad you know these things about me. I consider my place on earth to be very important. I consider yours to be important too. I do like other people and I'm glad you're here. Nice to meet you. And, in case I already met you, nice to meet you (again).

Matty