Posts tagged ‘crushing reality’

December 6, 2010

Crushing Reality Or How I Managed to Avoid Killing Myself


This is me everyday actually.

Today I am 24 years of age, an age of no usual significance-unless you’re me. If you’ve read my first post, you would know that Past Me made a deal with Myself that if I didn’t have anything published by the end of my 23rd year, I’d off myself. I would completely succumb to depression and in an angry rage at my inability to chase my dreams, I would end my life. That is unless I somehow fuck it up and just end up in the ER. Resulting in a fate worse than death as I have to live the rest of my life knowing that I couldn’t even do the thing I said I would do if I couldn’t do the thing I really wanted to do with my life.

How did that work out? Well I had planned on averting death by merely proving Present Me is smarter than Past Me by “publishing” some work (this blog) on the internet. Instead, I’ve actually gotten stuff published on a website that is not a blog. Good old Demand Studios, you’ve not only helped me dodge a bullet but proven that I’m also more skilled than Past Me. Sure, it’s not the most respectable of jobs and publishing, but hey, type my name into Google and I come up more than that other Antonin who’s worked on movies.

Take that, doppelganger.

So what else have I done by the end of my 23rd year? Well I’ve finished a manuscript-a first for me. Sure, I’m still editing it, but it’s coming along. (Remind me to never change the gender of a main character ever again, by the way.) It’s become a rather grueling procedure now where I stare blankly at a page thinking of how to fix the rubbish I put there in a hurry to make a certain word count.

I’ve also bought and remodeled a house. That’s neat.

I got a dog too. Past Me would never have seen that one coming. Hell, sometimes I forget the dog is there until she nudges me, wanting me to feed her. As if she’s entitled cause that’s the humane thing to do or something.

The other thing that actually asked most of me is the thing that’s probably made the least amount of progress: getting married. Oh the things we still have to do. I don’t even think the bridal party is set yet. Wait, doesn’t that fact that I don’t know tell me something. I should probably talk to the fiancee and get to work on that. The wedding is about 6 months away-the half birthday of Jesus Christ-and I don’t even think the colors are officially picked out yet.

Yeah, that’s a good idea. I should go do that. I should, but I think I’m going to work on updating that other, nerdy blog of mine.

November 16, 2010

Pay Yo Taxes: Not For You, but For Me.


Seal of the United States Department of the Tr...

Straight up Hustlers.

The other day I received a knock at the door and through the window I could see a man holding bright yellow papers. When I opened the door he introduced himself as a member of the Treasury Department.

First thought: Oh hell, how did Bank of America fuck up our payments now?

He began explaining to me how a certain “Evelyn” who owned the home before us owed back taxes… a lot of them. He showed me the numbers on the sheet and I nearly lost control of my bodily functions. Of course my head was swirling with panic and the desire for a lot of angry phone calls. On the sheet it said “YOU MUST PAY BY MAY 2011 OR YOU WILL LOSE YOUR HOME!!!!!!!!!”

Though I may be exaggerating the amount of exclamation points, there certainly were more in my head.

Then came the awkward conversation.

Guy: Also I need to take a picture showing that I was here. Will that be okay?
Me: (still in a state of shock) drrr dahhh darrrrrr…..
Guy: Of the house, not of you.
Me: Oh! Yeah… that’s…fine.

He then handed me the papers and parted. Frantically I began looking through the papers praying for a miracle. Then I found it.

I ran out the door, shouting for him to stop the car. I was in an over-sized Legend of Zelda hoodie and Jack Skellington PJ pants and looking like a crazy man. In my defense, I was working at home and wanted to be comfy, hardly expecting any company.

“Hey!” I shouted, “Wrong address!”

The address was 23541. My address is 23451.

CRISIS AVERTED!

Moral of the story: Pay your taxes so that you don’t give your unsuspecting neighbors heart attacks.

October 28, 2010

Thar be Dragons


Durp

Recently, I noticed that I simply have not had any half-decent ideas to write in this blog. The purpose of this blog was to chronicle the whole “chasing my dream” thing. Well, as I’ve come to find out, there’s a whole lot of absolutely nothing to talk about for long periods of time.

Right now I’m reading over the draft of my novel-which means it’s a manuscript, which I think means I’m officially a novelist. Of course I’m not just saying that cause it sounds good (although it does), but I’ve heard that apparently just finishing a large manuscript makes you one. Neat huh? Maybe you guys should join me.

The process I’m currently undertaking is very, well, dull. Nothing much to say and too much too do.

Not to mention the fact that since I’m been working-from-home I get a bit tired of staring at the computer screen. Now that’s an excuse.

But really, I’m all dried up here like a raisin as for the topic of this blog.

So I had an idea. If I’m trying to get people to read stuff I write, maybe I should do the smart thing and write about something that’s current that has groups of people that care about it.

Ah yes, there’s the writing community, but I don’t really feel like I’m ready to tackle those people. I read more comics and manga than books.

Which is where I’m going to this. Since I’m just a giant fucking nerd who likes to write, I figured I’d best start another blog about the nerdy crap my family looks at me strangely for.

Yeah, gonna blog about Animus and Mangos. For the past year (or two or ten), I’ve been a bit too on top of that stuff for my own good. I mean hell, I have way too much to say about what the hell happened to the damn second season of K-ON!! than anything else. I mean really, the show started about a group of girls starting a band and aiming to perform at the Budokan and then dissolved into “lol what band? Hey look at this cute turtle!”

Are you still with me?

Mango and its cross section

The subject of my new blog

I’m impressed.

So yeah, I’ve already got some posts on that subject lined up. Sorry to you guys who really don’t give a damn about various Weeaboo nonsense with the crazy Japanese cartoons. Although I will try to make sense of certain things in a way that non weeaboos could understand them. I will still update this blog, though that will be when stuff happens and I have no idea when that’ll be.

So here it is: Weeaboo Fidget

(See what I did there?)

Also: I find it both awesome and terrible that WordPress was able to pick up on what Animu meant, giving me the option of creating it to be a hyperlink to Wiki’s “Anime” article.

September 15, 2010

Other People Having Kids


Newborn child, seconds after birth. The umbili...

These things have come out of people you knew. Kinda like in ALIENS.

It happens in every High School at least once every year: someone gets knocked up. Yet for some reason, it is never a big deal. This usually happens because the people getting knocked up are, well, that kind of people. You are completely unfazed other than the initial  “O RLY?” factor.

When you started college you went to some sort of orientation or had heard this fact somewhere: two out of four will drop out, one of which will be due to pregnancy. Hearing this, in your head you laughed, Pregnancy? Really? I can understand  alcohol and drug addictions and even bad grades, but pregnancy? Come on man! This is the future; we got rubbers and pills to prevent that!

But then you get half way through college or maybe this even happens once you’re done. Either way it will happen. Maybe you’ll be walking to a Dairy Queen on a nice summer day or maybe it’ll just happen when you’re browsing Facebook. You will see people you knew holding small children. Very small children. Then you notice that the girl you knew holding the child in the photo is in a hospital gown and looks very tired. Wait a minute! You say to yourself, Did fucking X have a fucking child?

Yes, yes they did. And they tend to have this happiness in their eyes that you crave deep down. (Stop denying it, you’re only embarrassing yourself.)

For me this moment came when I saw a former roommate of mine comment on a friend’s…. whatever on Facebook. I noticed the picture of a small newborn child. Knowing this girl my first thought was “oh god she finally snapped and stole someone’s kid. Give me the fucking phone I need to call the cops.” But as I did some stalking investigating I found out she had gotten married and birthed the child.

I was genuinely confused. She was the last one I’d ever expect to have a kid. When she lived with me she had done so many drugs I thought that her body would have been unable to spawn offspring. There were nights where I’d walk downstairs and ask if I could have some sudafed since I was having legitimate problems breathing due to allergies. As she held a half drunk 40 in her hand, she smiled and told me she had just ate them all. The whole pack. Oh, and I think she also had two hits of acid at the time.

I just walked away. My brain was hurting.

But there she was, happy in her photos with the child. I hope she stopped her drug habits now that she was a mother. She wasn’t dumb, just a weird girl who should have grown up in the 1960s. Part of me was jealous of her in a way, she was starting a family. Deep down a lot of us want that; little monsters following us around that think we’re the coolest, strongest, smartest people on the planet. I turned to my fiancee and was about to open my mouth, but then I thought about it for a moment and ran upstairs to give her her birth control pills.

Not now. Maybe in about 10 years.

September 10, 2010

Why I Hate Twilight OR Why Hyper Middle School Girls Are The Most Terrifying Thing Known to Mankind


Apparently this is how I look in the eyes of a young girl. If only my fiancee saw me as this attractive...

I hate Twilight, but not for any legitimate reasons such bad writing or the impression it can leave upon young women. No, my reason is far pettier.

I hate Twilight because I apparently look like Jasper Cullen.

People get me weird looks when I tell them this. “Why? That look is so in right now! Girls love that look!”

Cool. It’s a shame that I don’t give a shit.

The first time I was told that I looked like the sparkly, moody vampire pretty much killed it for me. I was subbing for a middle school teacher a few weeks before the release of the newest movie in the Twilight saga and there was a young girl who skipped into class the kind of way that a speed junkie skips around Walmart after their latest fix that they got in the parking lot. Not to say the kid was on drugs or anything, just really, really hyper. In other words, she was being a normal middle school girl. When she saw me standing in place of her normal teacher, she froze as if she was Bella (main female lead) in the cold gaze of Edward (main sparky vampire). Nearly dropping her stuff, she sat down in her seat and started whispering frantically to her friend.

After class had started she approached me, practically bursting with excitement.

“OHmyGODdidyouknowyouleikJasperFREAKINGCullen?”

“Excuse me?”

“You. Look. Like. Jasper Cullen. You know, from Twilight?”

“Oh, I haven’t seen that yet.”

Looking back now, I shouldn’t really have said anything. I should have been a mean teacher and just told her to sit down. (Oh, wait. I did.) Thus began the longest hour of my life. She periodically came up to me to make strange requests, “Can I call you Mr. Cullen?” (No.) “How about Mr. C?” (No.) “Can you autograph this for me Mr. Cullen?” (Will you sit down and do your work if I do?) “Yes.” (Okay.)

Again, my willpower  was too low and I wasn’t used to dealing with such a high-level Girl of Middle School. In my defense I was pretty new at the job. I think it was only my 3rd or 5th day.

She lied, by the way, and spent the rest of the hour calling me Mr. Cullen from across the room and laughing if I smiled. Which I did almost every time. Honestly, at the time I found it endearing and as a compliment. I brushed it off like the vampires brush off the glitter at the end of the day. That’s how they sparkle right? I haven’t seen the movie or read the books yet.

Class was over and she left. End of story right?

Ha.

I noticed she’d appear in the doorway between hours with a new friend pointing me out and screaming “O HAI THERE MR. CULLEN!”

Started freaking me out at this point. Then I had another girl come into my class and tell me the same thing, albeit more sedated.

“Did you know you look like Jasper Cullen?”

“Yes. Someone told me that earlier.”

“[Insert girl’s name from before]? Yeah, she showed me pictures and video of you during lunch.”

“Oh that’s-wait what?”

“Yeah, you didn’t know about them?”

“Sit down please class is about to start.”

Twilight_Jasper&Alice

Bonus fact: My sister is often told she looks like Jasper's wife Alice. Creepy.

Instantly a billion and a half scenarios passed through my head. All of them ending with me losing my job, my fiancee leaving me, being thrown in prison, and losing my sparkly vampire card in an epic ass kicking by actual vampires (I have a very active imagination). I mean really, parents can be unpredictable. Harry Potter has been banned from school libraries because parents thought it promoted Witchcraft. What’s to say that the girl’s parent saw the pictures and thought crazy soccer mom thoughts and demand that I be tried as a child rapist or something? Nothing-NOTHING-would really stop her if she yelled loud enough.

I  kept mulling the whole thing over in my head as I went home. Worrying and worrying. The student was nice really, but I had to cover my ass. Then it hit me: I was an adult and I was being sexually harassed. I remembered all those sexual harassment videos I was forced to watch and decided to actually listen to them for once.

So I called the principal and told her of the situation. Needless to say she took care of it for me and was glad that I told her. I don’t know what happened to the poor student but at times I don’t care. The reality was I could either be a nice guy and take a huge gamble or be an asshole and cover my ass.

Sometimes you just have to be an asshole.

Other times you get to be a sparkly vampire, but still an asshole.

September 2, 2010

Things They Don’t Tell You About Growing Up: Part 1: Your Neighbors


It taunts me with it's existance very day.

Granted, you may have heard your father complain when you were younger but you never thought you’d be in his shoes. So I’ll just tell you right now:

You will hate your neighbors.

Not all of them-that would mean that you’re an asshole and have anger issues-just a few. Thing is, you will hate them without even knowing anything remotely personal about them (such as their name). For me, I hate two of mine and I know I hate them for no good reason.

My first neighbor doesn’t actually live there. The house is up for sale. However, there is no for sale sign visible from anywhere that would make sense. This summer I saw the man twice; he showed up twice in his giant RV. How that damn thing came and went without anyone noticing is beyond me (though I bet the dark arts were involved). Now, I have nothing against him as a person. He seems fairly nice as other neighbors are actually happy to see him.

But they don’t have to deal with the shit I have to.

The house has a large backyard that comes up to my property. There is a koi pond with a bridge over it that is actually a

protected habitat. Yes, so the city and I can do nothing about the swarm of mosquitoes that arise from the 5 foot tall pond flora. While I enjoy the sound that the toads make at night, the bugs that attack me for it ruin the mood.

But I would forgive the man if that was all. You see, in his nice large yard, closest to me is a half-finished gazebo. That’s right. A fucking gazebo. The half finished piece of crap reminds of it’s existence everyday since my windows open up directly to it. The railing on the outside of it is made of left over white plastic fencing that outlines the rest of the property. The rest of the gazebo is wood. Yes, it sticks out as much as you think shiny white plastic would stick out on a wood construction. My eyes beg my hands to gouge them out every morning. If it’s ugly frame weren’t enough, in it’s poorly made bottom covering lives a nasty opossum that has ripped open my garbage cans from the side. The side! Usually critters of that type knock over trash cans, but not this little fucker! He rips open the side and feasts on my trash.

Photograph of the common opossum

Go to hell and leave my trash alone.

The duck-tape I have applied on my trash can is yet another constant remainder of why I hate my neighbor. On trash day it’s also a “I hate all of you because you like him” badge.

Then there’s the neighbor behind me. I’ve been meaning to clear a bunch of trees out of my backyard but I haven’t for two simple reasons: I don’t want to subject my neighbors to my work-in-progress backyard and because I don’t want to subject myself to their immaculate gardens. This one guy in particular has created a soft, gentle hill where there are two koi ponds that are connected by a waterfall that has (wait for it) LED lights in it. How the hell am I supposed to compete with that? Really? Asshole.

So on quiet nights, I can hear the smooth running water from his yard that are really saying, “my yard is better than yours.”

I am going to build a privacy fence around my entire property and lob Molotov cocktails at that damn gazebo. Take that Mr. Possum.

August 31, 2010

A Potentially Racist Post


Angry girl

Black women have a type of sass which other races envy.

Now, I know we all grew up being told that everyone is different and special and that we shouldn’t judge or make assumptions about people because of their race, color of their skin, religion, creed, what they wear, how they talk, social class, what they do, or how they eat their food.

Well I’m going to ignore all of that for a moment because, well, it’s kinda bullshit since you can tell a lot about people just by looking at them. However, if any of us are qualified to figure out this data from sight alone is another matter that I don’t want to go into. (We’re not, stop being cocky).

While subbing, there was always something I noticed, something like the black kids did that white kids didn’t nearly as often. I think it may have to do with black culture, how it makes them act this way almost in self defense. To be honest, watching it occur every time brought a sense of joy to me. As if there really was order amidst the chaos of a high school classroom. The event happens like this with generally the same dialogue each time:

Black male: *says something stupid*

Black  female (usually from the other side of the classroom): [name of male student] why the hell you gotta be so damn ig’nant?

Black male: *is put off by the attack* Man, [name of female student] why you gotta be like that?

Black female: Why the hell YOU gotta be like that?

At this point other students,  including his own friends begin to make fun of him and chastise him. In self defense he turns to me.

Black male: Did you hear that? She’s swearing!

I am busy laughing at his embarrassment.

Black female: You see that? Even the sub is laughin’ at your dumb ass!

Class continues as normal.

(Sometimes, a white kid will point out and make fun of them for talking in Ebonics which 95% of the time ends with everyone laughing. Including said black kids.)

I have yet to see these events enacted by white kids. Usually with white kids, it’s a toss up for which gender says the stupid thing and it’s usually a lot quicker with someone just telling them to shut up. Not as funny usually. 😦

August 24, 2010

Revolver Wielding Muses


Hesiod and the Muse

This image is a lie, Muses are all bitches who hate everything about you.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been working on a novel and since this whole blog was actually started because of it I figured I’d let you good people know about its lack of progress. I’ve been pretty diligent with working on it; inching closer and closer to my goal of 80,000 some words. My productivity even started increasing when I hit the 50k mark since the end was in sight. However, recently I’ve hit a bit of a speed bump. The kind that sends your car spiraling out of control and down a cliff. Soon the news reporters come and everyone is looking at your dead corpse which is half way through your windshield because you were too cool to wear a seat belt.

You see, every writer has at least one muse. I have two: my fiancee and one that only seems to speak to me when I’m barreling down the highway at speeds that would get arrested for reckless endangerment. My fiancee tends to give me good advice at times it’s needed or wanted. She’s good at grounding and telling me when I’m being stupid.

And then there’s the other one. For the sake of clarity, we’ll call her “M” (because I’m so damn original).

The muse that is my fiancee exists in the real world (promise I’m not making this part up) and helps pay our bills; M exists only in my head, but knows how to beat the walls to piss off the neighbors and give me a headache. My fiancee is classy but is able to chug a fifth of vodka if the night calls for it; M is always drinking vodka.

The ideas from M never come when needed or even wanted. The ideas range from “Holycrapawesome” to “WTFisthisshit” and I often have to double check them with the fiancee. Sometimes M just piggybacks off of the ideas the fiancee tells me by telling me how her idea would work or fit into what I got going. Life would be wonderful if I could just get them to work together.

But life isn’t that wonderful.

read more »

July 28, 2010

Finding the Perfect House Part III: Part 2: Fixing the Perfect House


Transformation: COMPLETE!

While I’m not exactly known for being manly, I am quick to start home improvement projects and repairs. Ask my fiancee; the first thing I did was start ripping out the carpet that hadn’t been changed since the late 60’s the second we moved in. It was a good 2 inch thick with various unknown fungi potentially living inside of it. Like many other older homes, (it was built in the 1940s), there is hardwood floor under all that carpet. Yet as I looked over the floors, I knew they would have to be sanded. Here’s a little bit of advice about sanding your own hardwood floors:

Don’t do it.

We spent about $200 and wasted a good week. Oh sure we made progress, but the whole process is long and tedious the point where you don’t see any change for a few hours. Then again, the contractor we later hired only spent a day sanding and it looked pretty much the same before he started staining.

But before we even go there, here’s a slide show of the before photos after the jump!

read more »

July 26, 2010

Finding the Perfect House Part III: Part 1: Buying the Perfect House


(Where’s part one? Not sure, but I did get a phone call from her a few days ago. She said something about being in Reno. I think she was drunk dialing me from a party.)

After living at the House on Silent Hill for longer than I should have, my fiance and I moved in with her brother Mark. If this post counts as the Return of the Jedi, then what happened at Mark’s totally counts as a Shadows of the Empire section. Naked wampas and all.

Aw, isn't that bloodthirsty creature just adorable?

So anyway, jumping ahead to the end of our year at Mark’s, my fiance and I decided we had to get our own place. We began looking at ads for apartments but kept coming to the conclusion that they were either too expensive or too trashy (or sometimes both). Those in the middle wouldn’t allow us to bring cats. Someone, might’ve been my mother, then brought up looking for a house, adding that if we couldn’t get a home loan ourselves, they’d buy it and we’d rent it from them. Cool beans huh?

Well, turns out we could get a home loan. By we, of course, I meant my fiance. Apparently having a good, steady job and excellent credit does come in handy. And here I thought she was just wasting money with that credit card of hers. We ended up searching for homes in the same neighborhood as the House on Silent Hill since we really did like the neighborhood. Rather quickly we found a house that we both liked (not having black mold everywhere kinda helped) and we put a bid in on it.

Then they counter bid.

read more »

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