That Shizz is Fuzzed Up

you'll have to hold on, because upon re-reading my entry title, i'm totally having a laughing fit.

seriously though... "that shizz is fuzzed up." or, "my shizz is fuzzed up." how about, "that totally fuzzed my shizz all up in this bizznatch!" its like a P!nk album title gone crazy!

all so i didn't have a title that had cursing in it... why? you're not my two-year-old niece who compulsively repeats everything i say. you're not an intelligent parrot. you're not those kids i was babysitting sophomore year of college during reunion/commencement weekend who almost drowned right in front of me... are you? yes its true, yes i exaggerated A BIT, no, i'm not telling that story now. that's definitely a third date story.

i'm not actually sure what this entry is going to be about, but i've been reminded that i must blog as often as possible, and so i figure waiting for inspiration is the wrong strategy. i need to sit my ass down, open up the blog, and start an entry, and just see where the hell it goes. its not like i have to do a good job anyway. you people aren't paying me or anything... i could type complete jibber jabber and that would be just fucking fine. or something.

not really, though...

i am still unemployed. this does not please me. i do not let myself have fun when i'm unemployed, and did i tell you about that?

no. i just checked. i didn't.

i heart feist. i really and truly do. i love her voice, i love her music, i love her videos, which always feature her dancing very badly, but very enthusiastically, and looking quite happy to be doing it. feist is the shit. AND she rocks my shit. there. that's a preface.

when i have the inclination to trawl youtube for interesting things, i usually end up trawling for music videos. and several months ago, i had the good fortune to trawl for feist videos, which is how i really became familiar with her and her music. and how i became familiar with the video for "1 2 3 4", which is now being prominently featured in the first ads for the new ipod nano [with video]. bitch is 'bout to blow up big time. if anyone deserves to be linked so awesomely with a great product, rocketing her into mainstream america like a bitch on wheels, its leslie feist.

anyway, when i found this video, i fell in love with it, and shared it with anyone i could convince to sit still in front of my computer for four minutes. (which, given the amount of porn on my computer, can be a frightening prospect.) i shared it with my dad, who liked it, and was impressed. time passes. the ipod commercial comes out, and since he isn't as distracted by the visuals of the full video, he gets a chance to listen to the song, and he realizes he really likes it. so we have a conversation about how feist is wonderful, quirky, was roommates with peaches (yes, THAT peaches) in music school, can rock the banjo in a tune, etc.

we also talk about how jacked up i feel without a job. how worthless that tends to make me feel as a person. i'm not doing anything with my time. i force myself to go to the gym every day because at least that produces endorphins and makes me feel all right for a few hours. i don't feel like i deserve to go out, to see friends, to play video games, to have fun at all. like, if i insist on not being able to find a job, even though i'm certainly trying my damndest, well then i just don't get to do anything else. no movies. no coffee trips. no loafing in bookstores.

its not logical, and its certainly not a nice thing to do to myself. it is not, shall we say, "healthy behavior." but there it is. working on it. anyway. while i tell dad about feist, and my "josh sucks and doesn't deserve anything good in life" mode of existence, i also mention how much it doesn't make sense, and how unfair it is to treat myself that way, and that its ridiculous that i won't even buy myself a cd. which is like, what, sixteen dollars. dude, i can totally afford to buy myself a cd every now and then. but i haven't been willing to let myself.

three days pass. i'm hopping in the car to go do something. i don't remember what. obviously it wasn't that important. i stop and pick up the mail on my way out and throw it in the passenger seat so i'll remember to take it in when i get back home. i also riffle through it to see if i've gotten anything fun. actually, there is a yellow shipping envelope, with my name and address in dad's handwriting, and his return address on a label in the corner. which is completely odd and unexpected. i'm in town. what did he have to send me? what couldn't wait till the next time i see him?

so i open the envelope and tip out the contents, and there's no note, there's no letter, no explanation. a copy of feist's "the reminder" slips out into my lap. i remember the cover art from an online article. i sit in the car for a while, flipping the jewel case over, and over again, reading the tracklist. i fumble the ridiculous wrapper open. i leaf through the insert.

i don't cry very often. i try to cover over this failing by making jokes about having no soul, or simply lacking the ability, or saying its an activity reserved for mortals. i have emotional issues. whatever. i'll deal with it later.

the point is, i sat in the car for a good five minutes, just looking at the cd, feeling very full of a feeling... a warm and soft feeling, that spread out from my mouth, which was all curled in a smile, all down through me.

and i didn't cry. but my eyes were a little shinier than usual.

and its wonderful to have the feist album, and i'm sure i would eventually have bought it for myself (or so i like to think, anyway). but its even more wonderful to have a dad who can so eloquently tell me what it is he thinks i deserve, even if i'm not currently able to believe i deserve it. its wonderful to be reminded that somebody loves you, even when you don't.

and this entry has ended up having nothing to do with the title. and i could say a lot of stuff about how complex relationships are, considering my last entry dealing with my father. but i'd rather leave things just as they are right now. i'd rather end this entry while listening to feist, and remembering what it feels like to be loved.

Stupid Things

i want the freedom to do stupid things.

i want the ability to do really idiotic, crazy, unconscionable things.

i'm not talking about mean things, like punting babies or anything like that. i'm just talking about the dumb shit that so many people do, so much of the time, that we just take it for granted, or think of it as normal. i want to do that shit.

what's holding me back from my mindbendingly great stupid potential, you ask? me. i currently won't even let myself buy a cd because i'm unemployed, and feel the need to pinch pennies. actually, mostly because i feel that since i'm doing so little with my life, i don't DESERVE to have things like cds, or new clothes, or any of the random little things that one normally buys (or normal ones buy) without even thinking about it.

DESERVE.

i used to say, that one DESERVED whatever one had the courage to DESIRE.

admittedly, that little mantra might not be appropriate for everyone. paris hilton deserves nothing but a swift kick in the rear, regardless of all the things she might desire.

my mantra isn't about money, or power, or baubles, or any of that bullshit. its about fighting fear. its about combating low self esteem. its about learning that if you don't have the courage to want, to desire, to say, "this is something that i can have, and there is no reason on earth why i shouldn't have it," then you will never begin to strive for that thing, and it will fall by the wayside, and get lost, and become another sigh, another regret that haunts you. it will be picked up by someone else, or perhaps it will languish and fade away. but you won't have it, and you'll never try, and you will have yet another reason to find shelter in resignation.

well, i'm thinking its time i start having the courage to desire things again. because i've forgotten that i deserve certain things just as much as anyone else in this world. and if i have to flex my stupid muscles in the pursuit of those things, well then get ready, because you are about to see the smartest use of applied stupidity ever. EVER.

obviously, i'm edging dangerously close to being in love with someone. well, if you understood how my warped little walnut of a mind works, it would be obvious to you. its only obvious to me because i've had so much practice... you see, when the stone starts having... feelings... for someone... the stone's first reaction is usually vitriolic anger that he is being put in a position of vulnerability; that he might be (probably will be) hurt and feel pain.

and yes, i'm referring to myself as the stone. fuck you.

but after the anger, comes crippling need. because i have a secret that i try to keep very well hidden. in fact, i try to forget i'm even keeping a secret at all. i try to give myself selective amnesia. i just push it down so deep, and cover it with (questionable) wit, and cynicism, and bitterness and RESIGNATION, that i forget its there entirely. the secret being, that i am so desperate to give and recieve love that its like a constant dull ache once i start thinking about it. my core feels that regardless of job, career, interviews on npr, books written, etc, if i cannot find a way to share in the giving and recieving of love, i am a failure.

to cut a long thing into a short thing, i'm thinking that i need to wrest the controls away from the autopilot and start making decisions for myself. bad decisions. silly decisions. anything to follow my current crush down the rabbit hole and get out of this miserable wreck of a world i'm currently inhabiting.

its very late at night and i'm not typing well.

anyway, the other thing i want to hit on right now, is resignation.

i've decided, tonight, in fact, that i hate resignation. i hate having to resign myself to things. because resignation is like capitulation. its acknowledging that things are not optimal, but there is little we can do to change them, and so, in effect, we give up. we stop trying. we "make peace."

now i'm well aware that there are things beyond my control. i've had insulin dependent diabetes for over nine years now. if one needs any evidence of there being things beyond their ability to control of influence, they should try getting an incurable (though easy enough to manage) disease. anyway, this is a situation i do have to make peace with, because fighting it will sap my energy and get me nowhere except possibly an early grave. not an ideal end result.

but i'm tired of having to say things like "c'est la vie," or "such is life," or, "its unfortunate, but i'll be all right." all those little things we say when we try to turn a big deal into a small deal. all those things we say when we decide to stop fighting for what we really want. all those little soothing lozenges that are meant to mask the sour taste left in our mouths. i'm tired of saying them.

i feel like life really calls upon us to resign ourselves to too much. and i'm fucking tired of it. i'm tired of being mature about it. i'm tired of being wise. i'm tired of being tired of fighting. i'm sick and tired of letting melancholy give ass-lancingly irritating situations a tragic shimmer that obscures the fact that i've stopped fighting for what i really want.

i want the world,
i want the whole world.
i want to lock it
all up in my pocket
its my bar of chocolate
so give it to me!
now...

i think i need to work harder at being a bratty little child who is not at all shy about demanding things be my way. this is completely unrealistic. all of it. and it will end in tears. but i think some calculated immaturity and selfishness right now might be a helpful thing.

because i'm tired of doing the right thing. i'm tired of compromise and negotiation. i'm tired of sensibility and careful planning. i'm done with the greater good. i'm finished with pragmatism and realism. i'm just fucking done.

fuck resignation.

fuck reality.

fuck. it. all.

i think i might feel slightly better after all that...

Those "Good Old Times," Are Unfortunately, Still Happening

unprecedented, i know. a second entry in the same day. i'd love to say that i'm only killing time until midnight, so i can check tomorrow's horoscopes, but i'd be lying. i actually have a few things on my mind.

mostly, i'm irritated. i'm pissed off, as a matter of fact. in and of itself, that's not a big deal, but i still feel the need to post about it here so i can always remember? i don't know. i just want to try and get it out of my system. again.

i had plans with Father to attend a movie tomorrow morning. Superbad. i'm sure you've heard of it. supposed to be hilarious. i'm down, like James Brown. cool. let's go to a movie.

issue: i suddenly realize that i go to yoga saturday mornings, and i'm really serious about my yoga. its sort of my method for keeping in touch with the spiritual side of life. dippy hippie, all the way through, but its the truth. i'm also very intent upon trimming myself down to a more pleasant weight. not that i was all that big to begin with, but things needed to change. in addition, i'm much, much, much happier when i'm exercising regularly, and since i love cardio but refuse to lift weights, yoga becomes an important facet of my fitness regimen. and really, yo... its like, helping me get in touch with feelings and shit. and i HAD FORGOTTEN I HAD THOSE for a while. so its painful, but good things, really good things, are coming from it.

dad knows all this.

so i called him tonight to see if we could move the movie to an early afternoon showing so i could get to my yoga class and shower prior to the movie. and he totally pulled the passive-aggressive snarky voice, and said the morning showing was cheaper (y'know, cuz he's like, hurting for money or some shit... ass...), and basically made it clear that no, he would rather do the morning showing, for no reason other than that's how he wants to do it, and if i insist on going to a later showing, experience has proven that he will be irritated and irritable about it, and why go to the movie at all if he's going to be in a funk, right?

so i'm skipping yoga tomorrow morning. i don't want to, but i'm doing it. because at this point in my life, i'm tired of having these "conversations" with my father. because i'm tired of him refusing to see my side of the issue, and refusing to think that my argument has merit. i'm tired of him trying to make me feel like i'm some heinous beast drunk on entitlement for asking him to compromise a bit and let me go to yoga before the movie. because its really not like he has a packed schedule tomorrow. his wife is out of town, like many people, he takes saturdays off from work, and i think his only concrete plan was to see a movie with me. he's simply unwilling to do it any way that deviates from how he wants to do it. because my dad, is a big fat jerk. or an infantile adult. or i guess we could simplify and just say that my dad, is a prick.

and it irritates me. because i'm not being unreasonable. and if someone asked me to bend my schedule so they could do something important to them, i would say yes. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT YOU DO! you work with people to find solutions. and it irritates me because this is how its always been with dad. and i'm sick of it. i'm so sick of it i'm actually toying with the idea of bringing it up with him at some point soon.

which brings me to the next wrinkle in it all. i'll bring it up, and ninety-eight percent chance, he'll say, "well you should have said something about it instead of being a weakling about it and caving," or something of the sort. except if i say something, we get cranky pants dad. so its a wonderful catch 22, and i'm fucked coming and going. and i'm really not willing to keep having this fight, which is always the same, and which i'll never win, because... just because. because my dad is the way he is.

but still. i'm not willing to let this go very easily at the moment. this one's sticking. i'm usually willing to indulge dad. i usually don't really care. so long as he's not asking something COMPLETELY ridiculous, i'll work with him. its just not that important to me when things happen, or how they happen, so long as they happen, and people are happy, and we all have a good time. that's what makes me happy. but i'm miserable, unemployed, and relying on the sketchy routine of daily exercise to keep me from burrowing into my bed and not coming out for weeks at a time. and he'd rather deny me something that important, a yoga class i paid for, with money that i don't have because i'm unemployed, than compromise his plan for what he wants to do with his day.

that's what it comes down to.

that's why my dad, fun and funny though he can be, is a fundamentally unreasonable person.

and that, is why i'm fucking pissed off.

on a separate note, annie lennox is the most amazing woman ever, her new song "dark road" is beautiful, and so is the video. look it up on youtube. and be in awe of the lennox.

she was born on christmas day, you know. capricorn. makes a strange bit of sense, i think.

but yes. i hate my father right now. and i want to be able to be a healthy and proactive person about this, and talk to him about it, but remember all of the above. and instead, i'll be a passive aggressive dick tomorrow, just like he would be if i'd insisted on going to yoga. because i'm his son, and sometimes, we function in the same way.

and you can bet, if i'm cranky, he'll want to talk about it. he just won't hear how its largely his fault.

and i'll be pissed that its partly mine.

Rut. Definitely Rut.

same coffee shop. same situation. however, this time, i'm absolutely SURE i boned my interview. there was even something kind of grandiose and tragic about it all. the apt metaphor, is getting out of the starting gate, tripping over the first hurdle, continuing to roll along the ground for several minutes, tripping up nearby racers, and somehow, things escalate to the point where you're left watching the last prop of the Titanic dip below the water. it was that, awesomely, bad.

maybe not.

but still, the first question was about working with people with different backgrounds. now, despite taking it for four years and living in south texas, i don't know spanish, so i feel unable to say that i'm proficient in working with people from the non-white culture i'm most likely to encounter here. i don't know the language. i'm like, automatically disqualified. beyond that, i mean, i deal with different people, of different races, etc, all the time. whatever. its not like a big deal for me. which is totally NOT meant to be interpreted as me saying "I ain't no racist!" because i'm totally racist. we all are. its part of being a product of american culture. i'm racist, you're racist, lets all deal with it, try and improve ourselves, teach our children better than we were taught, and just go on living. done.

but so i stumbled sort of hard on that question. because i've never been a missionary in the third world, or worked crisis management in a place where my skin tone is the odd one out. my daily life is a constant attempt to treat everyone with basic human dignity and respect, and beyond that, i'm not like, any more qualified as "racially sensitive" than anyone else. though i do try to keep the slurs to a minimum.

like, "spic" isn't part of my vocabulary, really. aside from like, "the kitchen is spic and span!" and i don't think that's the same thing, is it? like, "my kitchen is hispanic and span!" "my kitchen is hispanic and an unsupported length of material!"

and i really, really, really just want to type the word "nigger" right now. just to do it. but i CAN'T! i feel comfortable saying "spic," but nigger isn't all right. that's some fun racism right there! slurs against hispanics, fine. slurs against blacks, nope. huh. really though, the word nigger has this horrible sound to it. its like a horrible dull "thud" in my head when i say it. its as unacceptable as "cunt." they both make that "thud." its the sound i imagine a toddlers head would make as it hits the floor after being swiftly removed from the rest of the toddler. with a sharp sword. its that "thud" that makes it not all right to say nigger. or cunt.

should we have a discussion about how the history of the word nigger, how it takes everything, all the people who say it, all the people who hear it, right back to a time when it was possible and in fact encouraged to sell black human beings like livestock? it has four centuries of insane, indescribable societal racism behind it. that's what gives it that "thud". spic is like, a newborn two-headed freak baby next to that. still horrible in its own right, but slightly more divorced from our society.

um... what was i saying?

justifying my internal racism what?

sigh... anyway, to cut a long story short, i think i actually boned this interview. if i get the job, i'm going to say, "wow, thank you so much! you know, i left last friday thinking i had TOTALLY boned the interview and i could kiss this job goodbye! thank you!"

i'm feeling the deep and strong urge to be really, painfully inappropriate. and not in the way that the use of racial slurs above is inappropriate. like, i feel the need to be the hub at the center of a massive wheel of breakdowns in the fabric of prescribed and acceptable social interaction. i want it all to be traceable back to me; the crying children, the shivering adults, the yelping dogs and disgusted elders. i want it, i want it bad, i want it now, AND I WILL NOT BE DENIED!!!

i've lost my mind. i've finally just lost my mind. i lost it last night, when my friend E decided she and another friend and i would all go play bingo some night soon. that was what pushed it all over the edge. the hysterical laughter, the near-tears excitement, it all traces back to our decision to storm "flamingo bingo" and play that game-o. i told her, and i'll tell you, that i want it to be like ft. lauderdale when we step inside the parlor. i want old people in track suits and sunglasses. they need to have names like abner and estelle, and they need to look at us like we're scum. they need to totally pwn us at the game. they need to make us feel like the n00bs we are. i have really high expectations for bingo night. i think you can tell.

also, since this entry isn't schizophrenic enough, i'm trying to slowly end my long burial. i went to ground for a long while recently. didn't sign into any message programs for two months. didn't call friends. didn't respond to e-mails, went home to live with my family, etc. i've been completely gone, like the earth swallowed me whole. and i know its not a mature way of dealing with life, and i know that there are people out there who are probably worried about me, but it still feels good. it feels really good to just drop out of sight. to be a non-person. you even start feeling like an outside observer in your daily life. you're disconnected from the things going on around you. you find all this breathing room.

but i'm trying to come back now. i'm trying to come back, and its so far been all right. i still need time outs after interaction, but i'm interacting in the first place, which is a nice change. i wrote a letter to my cousin A, and i talked to T for the first time in months, which is really nice. i want to talk about T right now, actually. and you're going to indulge me because its my blog and you can't really argue.

actually, it feels strange to talk about people. i don't want to drag them into this whole blog fiasco. actually, i'm probably more worried about T finding the blog, figuring out who i am, and realizing that i'm talking about him. not that i care if he knows that i'm talking about him, but rather, what i SAY about him might be something i don't actually want to share with him.

oh, i'm gay, by the way. i'm not sure if you knew that or not. i might have forgotten to tell you. its just one of those things. i don't actually like the word "gay," just cuz it has a lot of baggage, but its easiest for people to understand. queer is nice, in the re-appropriated sense, but not many people have a positive connotation of it. i could break it down and say that i'm a male who is interested in other males romantically and sexually, but that takes a lot of words. we could have a long conversation about sexuality, but we won't right now. what you need to know: i'm gay.

i really hate coming out to people. because i keep, having, to do it. it's never ending. you think its just your family and it can end, but no. every day, you might get the chance to tell people personal information that may TOTALLY change their perception of you. its tiring. it gets so old. you want the "issue" of your sexuality to be taken care of, but it never is, because you're always meeting new people and finding yourself in new situations, and its suddenly the topic of the day AGAIN. whatever.

also, i'm addicted to internet dating and profile sites. which i find interesting, given my hermit-like nature. i want the possibility of community and relationships, but i like keeping it all at a safe distance also. its one of those stupid things that doesn't make sense, and its fucked up, and i'm very proud that my most recent dating profile has kept almost anyone from contacting me. which is sort of the opposite of what you want your profile to do, but i got really tired of being approached by well-intentioned (usually) people who were either idiots, or just really not that interesting, or at times simply horribly inept socially. ***irony alert***

T is someone i met on one such site. and at this point, i'm too tired to even want to talk about him at all. or something. but suffice it to say, it was very nice to talk to him again.

he lives very far away from me, and neither of us believe in long distance relationships. you can see how i enjoy shooting myself in the foot, can't you...

err... i might be done. this entry feels really long.

in other major news, i think i'm actually capable of love after all. i've alerted the media. photos of my newly discovered "heart," which apparently does not resemble coal, in color or texture, will be published with my next entry.

good day to all.