A Cunt Supreme, volume 3

This past weekend was a slew of awesomeness that you would do better to understand by venturing over to Joe's blog instead of listening to me describe it.

The above mentioned awesome weekend was sort of cancelled out by a mediocore week that went by really slow. There's this kid who always sits next to me in study hall and all he ever does is talk about how much he wants to join the army and how much he hates liberals and other ridiculous bullshit that makes my head hurt.
I disagree with everything he says and dislike him for other reasons, but that's not the main reason why he bothers me so much. His opinions are obviously much different than the majority of mine, and that's fine. What bothers me is his attitude about everything.

His everything-GB-and-the-right-wing-does-is-law-and-if-you-disagree-you're-automatically-wrong-and-don't-deserve-to-live-in-America attitude is bad enough, and then there's the throbbing erection for war and weapons (he has drawings of them in his notebook), his depressing efforts at fitting in with everyone else at the table by making sexist jokes that are terribly unfunny not only in the way that they're stupid and offensive but also just really bad jokes that I couldn't even get a guilty chuckle out of, and also his frequent changing of non-political opinions once everyone at the table disagrees with him (they all go something like "I love Aerosmit," to which everyone responds "Aerosmith sucks," and then "yeah... they're not really that good actually").


Of course, I wouldn't ever say this to his face. The most I've ever said was "Dude, I REALLY don't care," which was yesterday when he was talking about how liberals never give him a chance to say anything in an argument as one quietly sits there and restrains himself from telling you to shut the fuck up and leave him alone and instead gives quasi-polite responses.

Fuck you, kid. Er... fuck your opinions.

a trip to the kingdom of bland wallpaper, easy listening music, and terrible discomfort

Let me break this down for you in a really long sentence:

I don't know if it's the aforementioned wallpaper and music that is supposed to be soothing but instead makes my body temperature rise and the top of my head itch, that god-awful metal scapel they use to scrape your teeth, the pair of unnatractive middle-aged breasts that are pressing up against my face the entire time, the nondescript smell of staleness, my fear of swallowing my tongue while I'm laying at that position, the novacaine shots that I have to get almost every time because of my deformed enamels, or the combination of cold air and water squirting against my teeth (which are "heat sensitive"), or the painful small talk between you and whoever is checking your teeth.

It's probably a combination of all of these things that makes me want to rip off that stupid little drool napkin and dive out the window and swim across the lake outside to get away.

What makes anyone want to be a dentist? You make a lot more money scamming someone as an orthodontist if you're really passionate about teeth or something like that.

my wrists are feeling much better.

I like running. I do it when it's dark outside. It makes me run faster because I think every parked car with someone inside is some kind of anti-running zealot who has been watching me for weeks and has been planning to throw me into the back seat of their car and take me to Aruba. Also, every once in a while this terrifying German Shepard runs out of the entrance of the woods and chases me down the street. I know who it belongs to, but apparently there's nothing wrong with leaving Cujo's bastard Aryan counsin the run of the the woods and your yard without chaining him up or installing an electrical fence. I mean, even if he isn't actually meaning to attack me, there's only one thing I'm thinking when a huge dog that is known to attack on command is growling and chasing after me.



On another running-related note: For the past month or two I've given in to wearing sweat pants. Something about wearing them makes me uncomfortable. I would have stuck to gym shorts like I always have, but I tried this one day without thinking about how much cold air flows up through gym shorts and boxers. After spending a half hour cupping myself in the shower thinking I was going to die or at least lose the will to live, I decided it was time to submit to the preffered pants of douche bags, athletes, kids under 12, and trashy girls who are bound to become pregnant by the time they leave high school.

Every once in a while it's an exceptionally warm day (I think today is, though I haven't been outside for a while), and I get to bust out my gym shorts again.

Those are always good days.

my wrists are predestined.

TV Dinner show last night, which was a lot of fun as expected.

I'm excited for the possibility of being on the other end of it next time, as long as I'm not stricken with a long-overdue case of carpel tunnel. I taught myself a few songs this morning and my wrist has been sore since.

Chances are I already have carpel tunnel. Inbetween typing on the computer, writing really heavily in pencil all day during school, playing drums and bass, and other activites that I frequently engage in (though, not very frequently at all lately), my wrists are doomed to a life of painful cramps that will eventually lead up to arthritis.

I didn't catch the Grammys last night, but it's not that hard to guess how they went. The very few decent artists nominated for anything probably got the shaft in favor of total shit that no one will care about or listen to two years from now.

Point in case: Norah Jones. Who gives a shit about her anymore?


This weekend ended pretty well with spending Sunday at the Gallagher house, and the rest wasn't too bad, either.

Not very many good laws no longer apply to you when you turn 17. Everyone who works at the movie store and theater already thinks I'm 17, so that doesn't really open any new windows for me. Aside from that, I don't think you can do anything new at 17.

Oh well, I always have turning 18 to look forward to. I mean, it's not like age has ever stopped anyone from looking at porn and smoking cigarettes, but once I'm 18 I will be able to enjoy these things constantly (as opposed to just most of the time...). Also, I will be allowed to hold puppies at the pet store without the help of someone who works there, stay out as late as I want, legally leave an orphanage, get arrested and have there be actual consequences, posses a firearm, legally remove myself from my family, go to a strip club, live by myself, vote, change my name to something cool like Popo the Pope Noodle, and buy marijuana pariphenalia. Bada-bing!

As of about 5:00 this afternoon I am officially free the vice around the metaphorical nuts of my personal choices, i.e. Chuck finally called me back and let me know the good news, i.e. I don't have to call him every Wednesday anymore, i.e. I am no longer on juvenile probation, i.e. I can do as I please under the condition that I don't get caught; and though this is good news, I honestly don't care all that much anymore.

I came to the realization on Saturday night that I've grown out of wanting nothing more than to be stoned all the time. I don't really have anything against people who do (the chances that I'll start again at some point are pretty likely), but in a sense I'm kind of glad that I mostly quit for such a long period of time and sort of managed to get my shit together.

But anyway, today I followed up on the job trail that I previously hit last week, and hopefully I will be getting a call letting me know whether or not I'm hired in the next few days.

On my way over to the grocery store afterward I dropped into Books and Tobbacco to see if the new AP was out (which surprisingly wasn't because I ran out of toilet paper and was desperate). It was a split issue with Tegan and Sara and Against Me!. The guy at the counter told me they didn't carry the magazine, and I decided not to believe him and found it sitting out front near the rest of the music magazines. lol Basically, I payed 5$ for two great articles and roughly 200-some pages of absolute garbage about bands that all had names like Fall Red Burning Horizon or some shit like that. The Against Me! article actually changed my perspective on them in a way. I never denied that I liked New Wave, because I do, but I feel like it cleared a lot of things up in that respect.


Was this entry as good for you as it was for me?

I hope the answer is no, because I feel cold and clammy.

Until I actually have something useful to say

Look at these pelicans.

huh.

This week is all about self-control.


and, it sucks.