So today sucked. Like...worse than any other sucky day I've ever had. That's not to say that today was the WORST day of my life, that'd be pathetic and extreme. No. But of all the sucky days I've had, this one sucked the worst.
So to put myself in a better mood, I'm going to list a few of my favorite things:
- kissing boys (surprisingly, I like this more than sex with boys.)
- social networking
- reading a classic novel
- laughing
- the sound of my typewriter
- making desserts with my mother
- watching television with my best friend
- sleeping with my head on someone's lap
- tying my shoelaces
- clean sheets
- going to the movies
- buying books
- eating candy
- catching up with old friends
- lying to strangers on planes (I might have to do a separate blog post about this one.)
- holding my nephew
- blue pens (as opposed to black pens)
- watching the leaves filter the sunlight
- snow
- my stuffed bear
- wrapping presents
- Christmas lights
- coffee with milk and sugar
- British accents
- the color green
- simply existing in the same room as someone that I love
What are some of your favorite things?
-K
November 23, 2010
November 21, 2010
On Death and Dying
I have been to exactly four funerals and six grave sites in my life. I have buried two pets. I've watched countless movies and television shows where people have died and been put into the ground or had their ashes spread at various sites. Not once have I cried.
I always feel a little weird when death enters my life. I feel like I should feel sadder. Like I should be a sobbing mess on the floor or hiding in my bed with no apatite or will to move. But usually when I find the need to pull out my black slacks and tie, I find myself gently patting someone on the back and handing them a tissue. I find myself stoic and robotic.
It's not that I'm emotionless...in fact, it's quite the opposite. The most recent funeral I went to was that of my Uncle C. He was the second eldest brother of my mother and the father of two of my favorite cousins. At the funeral, I sat beside my brother, J. Not one for seriousness, J was cracking jokes and trying to get everyone's mind off the sadness that overwhelmed them. Me? I found myself thinking things like, "Did my phone just vibrate? If it did, it was probably twitter. I wonder what S is doing right now. She's probably sleeping. Jealous. I wish I was sleeping. I wonder if I'll have time to nap after this. When does Grey's Anatomy start? Next week? Next month? What happened in the last episode? What day is it? Tuesday? Shit, I've gotta make a video for Thursday." Death just doesn't effect me. I don't know if I emotionally cut myself off enough that the loss of their life is not something that brings me to tears or if I just haven't been close enough to those that have died for me to have a true reaction.
I find this to be especially true for pets. Recently, I awoke one night to my mother holding my cat, B, in her arms and sobbing. B was twitching all over and looked scared out of her wits. I asked my mother what's wrong and she said that she didn't know but B was having seizures. At first we didn't know what we were going to do. We couldn't think of what could have possibly happened to the cat to cause this and it came to us that B just might die. My mother, the animal lover she is, sobbed uncontrollably. Me? I just sat there. Petting B, thinking about where we were going to bury her and what we were going to have to say to my brother who was asleep at the time. (By the way, it turns out that my mother had accidentally given B the wrong flea medicine and we took her to the vet. She's doing just fine now.)
Don't get me wrong, I love my cat. I really do. I pet and love on her every day. I snuggle with her in the afternoons and play with her in the evenings. I even give her a proper bath about once a month. But the idea of her dying just really has no effect on me. I suppose something taught me a long time ago that death is a natural part of life and it isn't anything to cry over.
Still though...it'd be nice to feel something at the idea of losing a loved one.
-K
I always feel a little weird when death enters my life. I feel like I should feel sadder. Like I should be a sobbing mess on the floor or hiding in my bed with no apatite or will to move. But usually when I find the need to pull out my black slacks and tie, I find myself gently patting someone on the back and handing them a tissue. I find myself stoic and robotic.
It's not that I'm emotionless...in fact, it's quite the opposite. The most recent funeral I went to was that of my Uncle C. He was the second eldest brother of my mother and the father of two of my favorite cousins. At the funeral, I sat beside my brother, J. Not one for seriousness, J was cracking jokes and trying to get everyone's mind off the sadness that overwhelmed them. Me? I found myself thinking things like, "Did my phone just vibrate? If it did, it was probably twitter. I wonder what S is doing right now. She's probably sleeping. Jealous. I wish I was sleeping. I wonder if I'll have time to nap after this. When does Grey's Anatomy start? Next week? Next month? What happened in the last episode? What day is it? Tuesday? Shit, I've gotta make a video for Thursday." Death just doesn't effect me. I don't know if I emotionally cut myself off enough that the loss of their life is not something that brings me to tears or if I just haven't been close enough to those that have died for me to have a true reaction.
I find this to be especially true for pets. Recently, I awoke one night to my mother holding my cat, B, in her arms and sobbing. B was twitching all over and looked scared out of her wits. I asked my mother what's wrong and she said that she didn't know but B was having seizures. At first we didn't know what we were going to do. We couldn't think of what could have possibly happened to the cat to cause this and it came to us that B just might die. My mother, the animal lover she is, sobbed uncontrollably. Me? I just sat there. Petting B, thinking about where we were going to bury her and what we were going to have to say to my brother who was asleep at the time. (By the way, it turns out that my mother had accidentally given B the wrong flea medicine and we took her to the vet. She's doing just fine now.)
Don't get me wrong, I love my cat. I really do. I pet and love on her every day. I snuggle with her in the afternoons and play with her in the evenings. I even give her a proper bath about once a month. But the idea of her dying just really has no effect on me. I suppose something taught me a long time ago that death is a natural part of life and it isn't anything to cry over.
Still though...it'd be nice to feel something at the idea of losing a loved one.
-K
November 19, 2010
Getting Dressed
Like any homo worth his salt, it takes me FOREVER to decide what to wear when I'm aiming to look cute. Granted, sometimes, I can get ready in five minutes or less but that's usually when I don't feel like trying and have resorted to literally throwing things on and hoping they land on the correct body parts.
However, recently I've noticed that it takes me a lot longer to get ready when I'm going out. Today I pondered on this fact for a while (also while staring at my closet trying to imagine each and every option for an outfit that I own.) And the only reasoning I can come up with is that I so rarely wear real clothes nowadays. I wake up (usually in my underwear) and put on my work uniform. After work, I come home and put on sweats until about 10pm where I strip down to my undies and get ready for bed. I'm either sporting a red polo and black slacks or my sweatpants. The opportunity to wear jeans and a t-shirt or a cute sweater or some amazing layering or even my tennis shoes comes so rarely that when I DO have the opportunity, I find myself overwhelmed with the possibilities.
I'm finding that I'm starting to wear the same 4 shirts when I go out. I mean, it makes sense; they're soft, adorable on me, current, and I make them look pretty effortless. But I can't keep wearing these same 4 shirts! I mean, sure I can mix up the colors but it's basically the same outfit and I'm fairly certain that my friends will see right through that. I only hang out with TWO people in this town and they can't keep seeing me in the same stuff all the time. So here I stand, staring blankly at my closet, imagining every piece of clothing I own on my body, trying to come up with a new outfit that no one's seen me in before. Being a homosexual is exhausting sometimes...
-K
However, recently I've noticed that it takes me a lot longer to get ready when I'm going out. Today I pondered on this fact for a while (also while staring at my closet trying to imagine each and every option for an outfit that I own.) And the only reasoning I can come up with is that I so rarely wear real clothes nowadays. I wake up (usually in my underwear) and put on my work uniform. After work, I come home and put on sweats until about 10pm where I strip down to my undies and get ready for bed. I'm either sporting a red polo and black slacks or my sweatpants. The opportunity to wear jeans and a t-shirt or a cute sweater or some amazing layering or even my tennis shoes comes so rarely that when I DO have the opportunity, I find myself overwhelmed with the possibilities.
I'm finding that I'm starting to wear the same 4 shirts when I go out. I mean, it makes sense; they're soft, adorable on me, current, and I make them look pretty effortless. But I can't keep wearing these same 4 shirts! I mean, sure I can mix up the colors but it's basically the same outfit and I'm fairly certain that my friends will see right through that. I only hang out with TWO people in this town and they can't keep seeing me in the same stuff all the time. So here I stand, staring blankly at my closet, imagining every piece of clothing I own on my body, trying to come up with a new outfit that no one's seen me in before. Being a homosexual is exhausting sometimes...
-K
November 17, 2010
Sometimes, these things happen.
Not for the first time in my life, I experienced bigotry. Hopefully, it's the last time I experience it in the work place.
Before I hurl myself in to a ranting story of what happened during the dinner shift at the restaurant in which I work, I must tell you, in case you weren't aware, that in the state of Texas, I can be fired for being a homosexual and I may not sue them for it. However, thankfully, in the cities of Houston, Dallas, El Paso, San Antonio and Fort Worth, I cannot be fired because I'm "different." (They passed individual laws protecting their citizens from bigotry like this.) This doesn't have anything to do with the story as my experience deals with a bigot "guest," as we're required to call them, and not with any of my co-workers.
In my place of work, I am a host. I greet people at the door, welcome them to our establishment, and walk the party to a predetermined table to wait to be fed like swine. I rarely engage in conversation with the patrons of the restaurant for one reason and one reason only: I don't care. I don't care about your movie plans, I don't care about the hurry you're in, I actually don't care that your clearly overweight child is "starving" and beginning to throw a fit because you've stopped shoveling food in it's mouth for five minutes. It's not my job to care. It's my job to pretend to care long enough for you to get out of my face and continue being the wasteful glutton you are.
During a particular bad rush one night, I was manning my post at the host stand, greeting "guests" happily, taking down their names and handing them black squares that vibrate and light up when their table is ready. In walks a large, serious looking man with an accent so thick, I almost didn't understand him....and I'm from Texas. He grumbles something about how long the wait is and as politely as I can, ask him "For how many?" (Side note for idiots: the larger your party, the longer you'll have to wait.) He mumbles THREE times to me a number after which his wife, annoyed at my inability to understand her knuckle-walker of a husband, steps up and shouts in my face "HE SAID SEVEN!" I take a step back, smile and write down their name and hand them a black cube. They step back about one giant step and stare at me as I continue to take names. In most locations of the restaurant that I work, the largest tables we have available seat 6 adults...slightly uncomfortably but in a rush, it'll due. And so as I'm seating people, I consciously keep from seating two of these 6 person tables so that the moment they're clean, I can pull them together and seat the neanderthal and his wasp of a wife.
I had quoted the party at just under 45 minutes and after half an hour, the wasp flits over to me. Her large head looked as if it were about to topple her entire body, or snap her back at the very least. "Uh...how much longer?" she asks, her giant head wavering back and forth with attitude. I explain to her that it'll still be at least another 15 minutes and that I'm trying to seat them as fast as possible.
In every hosts' life, there comes a time when you have to skip over a large party to seat other smaller parties on the list. It happens. It's not our fault you decided to bring your entire fuckin family to a restaurant at 8:00pm on a Saturday. Anyway, so I skip over the family of 7 and seat a kind old couple in a tiny booth made for two people off in a corner. When I came back to my host stand, the knuckle-walker of a man was fuming, tapping his foot and giving me the quick up-down. I ask him with a smile, "Is there something I can help you with sir?" Here was his response....with reality added in parenthesis.
"UH, YEAH! WE WERE HERE A FULL HOUR AND A HALF (40 minutes) BEFORE THAT COUPLE! AND YOU SAID IT WAS GONNA BE 2O MINUTES (30-45 minutes.) WE COULD HAVE SAT IN THAT BOOTH (no they couldn't.) THEY SHOULD MOVE (continue eating their dinner in peace) AND SEAT US THERE, YOU FAGGOT (genuinely nice person who's just doing his job.)"
As difficult as it was for me, I smiled. I grinned like a fucking idiot. As if I didn't even hear what he had said to me, what he called me....in front of a restaurant full of people. As kindly as I could, I told the barbarian that I would go get the manager and see if he could rectify the situation. The man stomped back over to his wife who was beaming with pride at what her husband had just done.
I retreated to the back of the kitchen where I explained the situation and what had happened to the manager on duty. The moment I told him what the ignorant man had called me, the manager smiled and said, "I'll handle this." And led me back to the host stand.
I only WISH I could have heard the entire conversation that went on between the man and my manager but I was busy seating people and taking down names. I did, however, catch the end of the conversation. My manager asked the man repeatedly if he had, indeed, called me a faggot. After asking about 7 times, the man finally relented and said, "Yes, I called him a faggot. I mean, look at him." My manager did, smiled at me, and turned back to the man. I held my breath. Depending on what came out of my managers mouth next would determine if I was going to quit on the spot or owe a ton of gratitude towards him.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Needless to say, I'm grateful to have such a caring manager and one who's not afraid to stand up to bigotry and recognize that words like these should never be used, in any setting and in any company. You just never know who you're going to piss off. But I understand, that sometimes, these things happen....I just refuse to take them lying down.
-K
Before I hurl myself in to a ranting story of what happened during the dinner shift at the restaurant in which I work, I must tell you, in case you weren't aware, that in the state of Texas, I can be fired for being a homosexual and I may not sue them for it. However, thankfully, in the cities of Houston, Dallas, El Paso, San Antonio and Fort Worth, I cannot be fired because I'm "different." (They passed individual laws protecting their citizens from bigotry like this.) This doesn't have anything to do with the story as my experience deals with a bigot "guest," as we're required to call them, and not with any of my co-workers.
In my place of work, I am a host. I greet people at the door, welcome them to our establishment, and walk the party to a predetermined table to wait to be fed like swine. I rarely engage in conversation with the patrons of the restaurant for one reason and one reason only: I don't care. I don't care about your movie plans, I don't care about the hurry you're in, I actually don't care that your clearly overweight child is "starving" and beginning to throw a fit because you've stopped shoveling food in it's mouth for five minutes. It's not my job to care. It's my job to pretend to care long enough for you to get out of my face and continue being the wasteful glutton you are.
During a particular bad rush one night, I was manning my post at the host stand, greeting "guests" happily, taking down their names and handing them black squares that vibrate and light up when their table is ready. In walks a large, serious looking man with an accent so thick, I almost didn't understand him....and I'm from Texas. He grumbles something about how long the wait is and as politely as I can, ask him "For how many?" (Side note for idiots: the larger your party, the longer you'll have to wait.) He mumbles THREE times to me a number after which his wife, annoyed at my inability to understand her knuckle-walker of a husband, steps up and shouts in my face "HE SAID SEVEN!" I take a step back, smile and write down their name and hand them a black cube. They step back about one giant step and stare at me as I continue to take names. In most locations of the restaurant that I work, the largest tables we have available seat 6 adults...slightly uncomfortably but in a rush, it'll due. And so as I'm seating people, I consciously keep from seating two of these 6 person tables so that the moment they're clean, I can pull them together and seat the neanderthal and his wasp of a wife.
I had quoted the party at just under 45 minutes and after half an hour, the wasp flits over to me. Her large head looked as if it were about to topple her entire body, or snap her back at the very least. "Uh...how much longer?" she asks, her giant head wavering back and forth with attitude. I explain to her that it'll still be at least another 15 minutes and that I'm trying to seat them as fast as possible.
In every hosts' life, there comes a time when you have to skip over a large party to seat other smaller parties on the list. It happens. It's not our fault you decided to bring your entire fuckin family to a restaurant at 8:00pm on a Saturday. Anyway, so I skip over the family of 7 and seat a kind old couple in a tiny booth made for two people off in a corner. When I came back to my host stand, the knuckle-walker of a man was fuming, tapping his foot and giving me the quick up-down. I ask him with a smile, "Is there something I can help you with sir?" Here was his response....with reality added in parenthesis.
"UH, YEAH! WE WERE HERE A FULL HOUR AND A HALF (40 minutes) BEFORE THAT COUPLE! AND YOU SAID IT WAS GONNA BE 2O MINUTES (30-45 minutes.) WE COULD HAVE SAT IN THAT BOOTH (no they couldn't.) THEY SHOULD MOVE (continue eating their dinner in peace) AND SEAT US THERE, YOU FAGGOT (genuinely nice person who's just doing his job.)"
As difficult as it was for me, I smiled. I grinned like a fucking idiot. As if I didn't even hear what he had said to me, what he called me....in front of a restaurant full of people. As kindly as I could, I told the barbarian that I would go get the manager and see if he could rectify the situation. The man stomped back over to his wife who was beaming with pride at what her husband had just done.
I retreated to the back of the kitchen where I explained the situation and what had happened to the manager on duty. The moment I told him what the ignorant man had called me, the manager smiled and said, "I'll handle this." And led me back to the host stand.
I only WISH I could have heard the entire conversation that went on between the man and my manager but I was busy seating people and taking down names. I did, however, catch the end of the conversation. My manager asked the man repeatedly if he had, indeed, called me a faggot. After asking about 7 times, the man finally relented and said, "Yes, I called him a faggot. I mean, look at him." My manager did, smiled at me, and turned back to the man. I held my breath. Depending on what came out of my managers mouth next would determine if I was going to quit on the spot or owe a ton of gratitude towards him.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Needless to say, I'm grateful to have such a caring manager and one who's not afraid to stand up to bigotry and recognize that words like these should never be used, in any setting and in any company. You just never know who you're going to piss off. But I understand, that sometimes, these things happen....I just refuse to take them lying down.
-K
November 14, 2010
Trendsetter
Okay, as much as everyone likes to label me as the vain, self-centered gay man, I really don't see myself that way. And honestly, I don't really see myself as Holier-than-thou in the slightest but...there is, on occasion, evidence to the contrary.
Like most people my age, I had to wait until I got a college e-mail address to get my facebook and so by the time I got onto the site, nearly every college student in America had an account. But I know for a fact that I was the first in my circle of friends to get their account and set it up completely. I experienced a similar event with LiveJournal, Xanga, and MySpace. All of these I got at least two months before I knew anyone that had an account on these websites.
Now, I'll be the first to admit that I was late to Twitter. I really was. Thousands of people had Twitter accounts before I ever did. However, I only knew (irl) of one person that had an account and she was actually the one that convinced me to get one. And it seemed to me that the WEEK after I got my account, everyone I knew had a Twitter account and were tweeting all the time and coming to me with all these questions about how to work all of the sites features and such. It was kind of surprising.
And as much as I'd like to think that I don't have this much sway over my friends, I can't help but recognize that none of them were willing to join these sites until after I had established my account. And ironically, as I write this blog, I'm noticing more and more of my friends just happen to also want to start a blog.
Do I really hold this much sway over my friends? Or am I just by happenstance slightly ahead of the curve? No one could know for sure...
-K
Like most people my age, I had to wait until I got a college e-mail address to get my facebook and so by the time I got onto the site, nearly every college student in America had an account. But I know for a fact that I was the first in my circle of friends to get their account and set it up completely. I experienced a similar event with LiveJournal, Xanga, and MySpace. All of these I got at least two months before I knew anyone that had an account on these websites.
Now, I'll be the first to admit that I was late to Twitter. I really was. Thousands of people had Twitter accounts before I ever did. However, I only knew (irl) of one person that had an account and she was actually the one that convinced me to get one. And it seemed to me that the WEEK after I got my account, everyone I knew had a Twitter account and were tweeting all the time and coming to me with all these questions about how to work all of the sites features and such. It was kind of surprising.
And as much as I'd like to think that I don't have this much sway over my friends, I can't help but recognize that none of them were willing to join these sites until after I had established my account. And ironically, as I write this blog, I'm noticing more and more of my friends just happen to also want to start a blog.
Do I really hold this much sway over my friends? Or am I just by happenstance slightly ahead of the curve? No one could know for sure...
-K
November 9, 2010
Straight guys
One thing I'll never be able to wrap my brain around is why straight guys seem to think that because they are male, every gay man will find them attractive and will come on to them in a very aggressive manner.
Most people will say that it's ignorance. But I can't help but wonder if it's just arrogance mixed with insecurity. Guys that think they're god's gift to women probably think that they're god's gift to gay men as well. And for those that are insecure, they've probably got some sort of repressed feelings. Those I feel the most pity for. I know how hard it is to hide in the closet. And I know how scary it is to finally crack the door and take a step out.
But to those that think that because they're hot, any and all gay guys want them...let me shed some light:
1) You're not my type. The fact that you like pussy automatically makes you "not my type." I like guys that like guys. Not guys that like girls. Liking guys that like girls doesn't make good business sense...if you know what I mean.
2) The fact that you think of yourself as "totally hot," makes you totally ugly. There is beauty in humility.
3) If I'm nice to you, it's because I feel like you're a cool guy, not because I want to get in your pants. My goal isn't always sex. Sometimes I like to make friends. But because of your paranoia, I don't want to be friends with you any more.
4) I can find you attractive and still not want to do anything sexual with you. I find women attractive and still have no desire to go to bed with them. I like beautiful things, I can't help it. So get over yourself.
5) Sometimes, when I'm really really really REALLY REALLY drunk, I may make advances. Don't take this personally. When I'm that drunk, I'd make advances at a good tree. You're not special and I won't remember in the morning. Just politely remove me from your lap and tell me to go to bed. I'd do the same thing to your girlfriend if she were making passes at me...just sayin.
6) Yes, I'm best friends with your girlfriend. Yes, I've seen her in her underwear (or less) and yes she tells me everything. Here telling me these things is no different than her telling her female best friend. If you're embarrassed about something, take it up with your girlfriend, not me. I didn't tie her down and force her to tell me.
6.a) Being jealous of me will not make your girlfriend love you more. In fact, it's probably a big turn off. It's best to just try to stay away from the situation and try to ignore it and any feelings it brings up.
6.b) If you haven't seen your girlfriend in her undies and I have and you're jealous, I want you to think back to that weekend y'all spent at the beach. Swimsuit is the same as a bra and panties. So you've seen just as much as I have.
7) Trust me, I'm handling AT MINIMUM 75% of her crazy. If I didn't exist, there's no way you'd still be with her. If anything, you should be taking notes.
8) Sometimes, I will want to do manly things (e.g. play baseball, watch football, drink beer) and if I invite you to do such things with me, it's your duty as a decent human being to not make fun of me while we are doing so and to pretend that this is completely normal and fun.
8.a) This is not a two-way street. If you ask me to go shopping with you, I will make fun of your lack of fashion sense and I will tell your girlfriend of all the crazy shit you tried to buy. However, I will help you and I will make you look at least 50% better.
I hope this has been helpful. If you found this helpful, please feel free to forward this post to any and all of your friends.
-K
Most people will say that it's ignorance. But I can't help but wonder if it's just arrogance mixed with insecurity. Guys that think they're god's gift to women probably think that they're god's gift to gay men as well. And for those that are insecure, they've probably got some sort of repressed feelings. Those I feel the most pity for. I know how hard it is to hide in the closet. And I know how scary it is to finally crack the door and take a step out.
But to those that think that because they're hot, any and all gay guys want them...let me shed some light:
1) You're not my type. The fact that you like pussy automatically makes you "not my type." I like guys that like guys. Not guys that like girls. Liking guys that like girls doesn't make good business sense...if you know what I mean.
2) The fact that you think of yourself as "totally hot," makes you totally ugly. There is beauty in humility.
3) If I'm nice to you, it's because I feel like you're a cool guy, not because I want to get in your pants. My goal isn't always sex. Sometimes I like to make friends. But because of your paranoia, I don't want to be friends with you any more.
4) I can find you attractive and still not want to do anything sexual with you. I find women attractive and still have no desire to go to bed with them. I like beautiful things, I can't help it. So get over yourself.
5) Sometimes, when I'm really really really REALLY REALLY drunk, I may make advances. Don't take this personally. When I'm that drunk, I'd make advances at a good tree. You're not special and I won't remember in the morning. Just politely remove me from your lap and tell me to go to bed. I'd do the same thing to your girlfriend if she were making passes at me...just sayin.
6) Yes, I'm best friends with your girlfriend. Yes, I've seen her in her underwear (or less) and yes she tells me everything. Here telling me these things is no different than her telling her female best friend. If you're embarrassed about something, take it up with your girlfriend, not me. I didn't tie her down and force her to tell me.
6.a) Being jealous of me will not make your girlfriend love you more. In fact, it's probably a big turn off. It's best to just try to stay away from the situation and try to ignore it and any feelings it brings up.
6.b) If you haven't seen your girlfriend in her undies and I have and you're jealous, I want you to think back to that weekend y'all spent at the beach. Swimsuit is the same as a bra and panties. So you've seen just as much as I have.
7) Trust me, I'm handling AT MINIMUM 75% of her crazy. If I didn't exist, there's no way you'd still be with her. If anything, you should be taking notes.
8) Sometimes, I will want to do manly things (e.g. play baseball, watch football, drink beer) and if I invite you to do such things with me, it's your duty as a decent human being to not make fun of me while we are doing so and to pretend that this is completely normal and fun.
8.a) This is not a two-way street. If you ask me to go shopping with you, I will make fun of your lack of fashion sense and I will tell your girlfriend of all the crazy shit you tried to buy. However, I will help you and I will make you look at least 50% better.
I hope this has been helpful. If you found this helpful, please feel free to forward this post to any and all of your friends.
-K
November 8, 2010
The gym
Ironically, of all the places in the world to spend my time, the last place I want to go is the gym. It's not that I'm lazy, I'm really not. But working out puts me in a bad mood. Always. Every time. Without fail.
It took me many a work out to decide what it was that put me in a bad mood every time I worked out. And eventually I figured it out: I think too much. Like when I do most mindless activities, and yes working out is mindless because of it's repetition, I tend to let my mind wander and think through things. Usually, this is a delightful break from ignoring my problems to deal with them later. But when I'm working out, I tend to think about all of the problems in my life: work, my lack of a boyfriend, my choice to leave school, a fight I had with my best friend, etc. And nearly every time, I never come up with a solution. So I complete my workout, without figuring out any solutions only to dwell on my problems for hours later.
So, instead of feeling rejuvenated and all of the pleasant endorphins that I'm supposed to feel, I am sweaty and frustrated, a combination no one wants.
I've tried numerous things to try and change my mindset while working out. I listen to upbeat, peppy, motivating music. I try smiling throughout my workout. I even tried attacking the entire situation with a positive attitude.
But without fail, my mind wanders to the problems of my life and puts me in the worst mood possible. I simply cannot explain it. Soon, I'll try completing the Couch to 5K workout regime. I'll try to employ all of my tricks and tomfoolery to keep myself in a good mood. And I'm hoping that doing this won't make me hate my favorite music. So here's to not hating something that everyone loves doing.
-K
It took me many a work out to decide what it was that put me in a bad mood every time I worked out. And eventually I figured it out: I think too much. Like when I do most mindless activities, and yes working out is mindless because of it's repetition, I tend to let my mind wander and think through things. Usually, this is a delightful break from ignoring my problems to deal with them later. But when I'm working out, I tend to think about all of the problems in my life: work, my lack of a boyfriend, my choice to leave school, a fight I had with my best friend, etc. And nearly every time, I never come up with a solution. So I complete my workout, without figuring out any solutions only to dwell on my problems for hours later.
So, instead of feeling rejuvenated and all of the pleasant endorphins that I'm supposed to feel, I am sweaty and frustrated, a combination no one wants.
I've tried numerous things to try and change my mindset while working out. I listen to upbeat, peppy, motivating music. I try smiling throughout my workout. I even tried attacking the entire situation with a positive attitude.
But without fail, my mind wanders to the problems of my life and puts me in the worst mood possible. I simply cannot explain it. Soon, I'll try completing the Couch to 5K workout regime. I'll try to employ all of my tricks and tomfoolery to keep myself in a good mood. And I'm hoping that doing this won't make me hate my favorite music. So here's to not hating something that everyone loves doing.
-K
November 4, 2010
Lexicon
So I've come to realize that I have procured a list of "code phrases" that I use when I don't really want to say. And here, I will reveal their true meanings. Since most of you don't know me in the real life (or IRL for you 733T speakers,) I find no harm in this.
If I say the word "fine" it really means "I don't want to talk about it....ever. So stop pushing it....now."
If I say the phrase "I'm over it" it really means "I'm not over it."
If I say the phrase "I have a headache" it really means "I'm pretty upset."
If I say the phrase "I'm tired" it really means "I'm mad at you."
If I say the phrase "I think I just want to stay home" it really means "I need to cry by myself."
If I say the phrase "I wanna feed the ducks" it really means "I wanna do something illegal."
If I say the phrase "Love you too!" (as opposed to "I love you too!") it really means "I like you only okay."
Sure, most of them are passive aggressive but I grew up Catholic and it's kind of bred into me. Most of the time I use these ploys in order to not only protect myself but to prevent others from really pressing me into talking about something that I really don't want to talk about. Sometimes, emotions just need to be slept on. And sometimes, I just need to get over myself.
A lot of the times, I feel the need to use these phrases because I feel all too aware of people's needs to be focused on, to have attention on them. And while I do like to have attention on me too, when it comes to true emotions, I tend to hide them and just go with the flow. I see myself forgiving quickly and repeating the phrase "I'll get over it eventually" or "it's really not a big deal." When in fact, it's probably just the opposite. I just feel like even when I do try to express how I REALLY feel with someone, they find a way to bring it back to them and how THEY feel. (Which I find kinda rude, just sayin.)
And I also have a hard time believing people when they say "I know how that feels." Because honestly? When I tell you "The reason I'm so pissed right now is because he kept calling me a faggot." and you say, "I know. I get that." Do you?! Do you really "get" how that feels? How second-citizen that makes me feel? Do you understand how that word cuts down into me like nothing ever before or since? Because I don't think that you, a heterosexual person, living in REPUBLICAN TEXAS, gets how that feels.
I often feel alone in my emotions. Like no one else could possibly understand how I feel exactly. They may come close, but not exactly. And so I created these phrases to protect myself from pressing questions and to protect others from me (as strangely as that sounds.) And there are actually a lot of other hidden, secret phrases that I use all too often but I feel that if I reveal all of my tricks, I'll no longer be a mystery to you people. And all of the magic will have escaped. So I'll leave you with just one more for you to figure out on your own...
I cheated.
-K
If I say the word "fine" it really means "I don't want to talk about it....ever. So stop pushing it....now."
If I say the phrase "I'm over it" it really means "I'm not over it."
If I say the phrase "I have a headache" it really means "I'm pretty upset."
If I say the phrase "I'm tired" it really means "I'm mad at you."
If I say the phrase "I think I just want to stay home" it really means "I need to cry by myself."
If I say the phrase "I wanna feed the ducks" it really means "I wanna do something illegal."
If I say the phrase "Love you too!" (as opposed to "I love you too!") it really means "I like you only okay."
Sure, most of them are passive aggressive but I grew up Catholic and it's kind of bred into me. Most of the time I use these ploys in order to not only protect myself but to prevent others from really pressing me into talking about something that I really don't want to talk about. Sometimes, emotions just need to be slept on. And sometimes, I just need to get over myself.
A lot of the times, I feel the need to use these phrases because I feel all too aware of people's needs to be focused on, to have attention on them. And while I do like to have attention on me too, when it comes to true emotions, I tend to hide them and just go with the flow. I see myself forgiving quickly and repeating the phrase "I'll get over it eventually" or "it's really not a big deal." When in fact, it's probably just the opposite. I just feel like even when I do try to express how I REALLY feel with someone, they find a way to bring it back to them and how THEY feel. (Which I find kinda rude, just sayin.)
And I also have a hard time believing people when they say "I know how that feels." Because honestly? When I tell you "The reason I'm so pissed right now is because he kept calling me a faggot." and you say, "I know. I get that." Do you?! Do you really "get" how that feels? How second-citizen that makes me feel? Do you understand how that word cuts down into me like nothing ever before or since? Because I don't think that you, a heterosexual person, living in REPUBLICAN TEXAS, gets how that feels.
I often feel alone in my emotions. Like no one else could possibly understand how I feel exactly. They may come close, but not exactly. And so I created these phrases to protect myself from pressing questions and to protect others from me (as strangely as that sounds.) And there are actually a lot of other hidden, secret phrases that I use all too often but I feel that if I reveal all of my tricks, I'll no longer be a mystery to you people. And all of the magic will have escaped. So I'll leave you with just one more for you to figure out on your own...
I cheated.
-K
November 3, 2010
Wednesdays
So Wednesday has got to be the absolutely worst day of the week.
No one EVER likes Wednesday. Never will you hear "OH MAN! IT'S WEDNESDAY?! THANK GOD!" It's more like to happen like this:
Me: "What day is it?"
You: "Wednesday."
Me: "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU..."
Nothing is good about Wednesdays. Nothing good comes on television, it's ONLY the middle of the week (which means you still have two more days to suffer through before the weekend,) It feels like the longest day because you're tired from Monday and Tuesday and you still have the work from Thursday and Friday to look forward to. And let's be serious, who really looks forward to work? Not anybody, ever. And if you tell me that you look forward to work because you love your job, get ready because I'm gonna punch you in the kidney. I have a hard time believing that someone would rather work than sit around and not have any obligations, no matter how much you love your job.
The best thing we can do about Wednesdays (except abolishing them worldwide) is hunker-down, do whatever it is we have to do, and pray for Thursday to be in a hurry.
Fuck you, Wednesay, fuck you.
-K
No one EVER likes Wednesday. Never will you hear "OH MAN! IT'S WEDNESDAY?! THANK GOD!" It's more like to happen like this:
Me: "What day is it?"
You: "Wednesday."
Me: "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU..."
Nothing is good about Wednesdays. Nothing good comes on television, it's ONLY the middle of the week (which means you still have two more days to suffer through before the weekend,) It feels like the longest day because you're tired from Monday and Tuesday and you still have the work from Thursday and Friday to look forward to. And let's be serious, who really looks forward to work? Not anybody, ever. And if you tell me that you look forward to work because you love your job, get ready because I'm gonna punch you in the kidney. I have a hard time believing that someone would rather work than sit around and not have any obligations, no matter how much you love your job.
The best thing we can do about Wednesdays (except abolishing them worldwide) is hunker-down, do whatever it is we have to do, and pray for Thursday to be in a hurry.
Fuck you, Wednesay, fuck you.
-K
November 2, 2010
Guns, knives and ropes
So even though I try to lead people to believe that I'm ahead of the times when it comes to pop culture, I'm actually not. I'm very behind. I'm just ahead of the mainstream. I usually get interested in things about 6 months before it really becomes mainstream. Sometimes, it makes me feel like a trendsetter but most times it just makes me feel lucky. haha
Anyway, this has a point, I swear and I'm coming to it fast...I've only just started watching Showtime's Dexter. It's a show about a serial killer who works for the Miami PD as a Blood Spatter Analyst. From what I can tell, he only kills people that "absolutely deserve it." E.g, a man who just got off scott-free for drinking, driving, and killing a young man. He sees his killings as justified while fulfilling his need and desire to kill.
It's quite an interesting show but there's just one thing that I just don't understand, that I've never understood: how can someone decide who deserves to die?
Killing someone or something else has never made sense to me. I've never wanted to shoot a gun, stab a hunk of flesh or even boil a lobster. Holding guns make me nervous and when I hold large knives, I feel queasy. It just doesn't seem right to me. Something inside me holds me back and causes me to shake all over. I sincerely believe that if I were to sit on a jury, I'd have the most difficult time condemning someone to die by lethal injection no matter what crime they committed. I just can't consciously kill something. I can't decide who deserves to die and who deserves to live.
But what does that mean? Does it mean I have a soul? Or just a conscience? Does that mean that the hundreds upon hundreds of people that have sat on a Texas jury and condemned men and women to death don't?
The irony of it all? I have no problem being pro-choice (which some see as murder) and I have no problem at all killing bugs or insects... I guess if I can't see the emotional turmoil I'm putting the living thing in, I don't care if it lives or dies.
-K
Anyway, this has a point, I swear and I'm coming to it fast...I've only just started watching Showtime's Dexter. It's a show about a serial killer who works for the Miami PD as a Blood Spatter Analyst. From what I can tell, he only kills people that "absolutely deserve it." E.g, a man who just got off scott-free for drinking, driving, and killing a young man. He sees his killings as justified while fulfilling his need and desire to kill.
It's quite an interesting show but there's just one thing that I just don't understand, that I've never understood: how can someone decide who deserves to die?
Killing someone or something else has never made sense to me. I've never wanted to shoot a gun, stab a hunk of flesh or even boil a lobster. Holding guns make me nervous and when I hold large knives, I feel queasy. It just doesn't seem right to me. Something inside me holds me back and causes me to shake all over. I sincerely believe that if I were to sit on a jury, I'd have the most difficult time condemning someone to die by lethal injection no matter what crime they committed. I just can't consciously kill something. I can't decide who deserves to die and who deserves to live.
But what does that mean? Does it mean I have a soul? Or just a conscience? Does that mean that the hundreds upon hundreds of people that have sat on a Texas jury and condemned men and women to death don't?
The irony of it all? I have no problem being pro-choice (which some see as murder) and I have no problem at all killing bugs or insects... I guess if I can't see the emotional turmoil I'm putting the living thing in, I don't care if it lives or dies.
-K
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