The Conformist Manifesto

I swear, Hillary Clinton has some of the freakiest, most ego-centric supporters I have ever come across. Seriously, if she is standing behind her party, knowing that she lost fair and square, then why are her fans having such a hard time with this? And then, losing your minds because Obama didn't choose her as a running mate? I mean, she's a super polarizing figure, so of course he's not going to choose her. Seriously people. Sour grapes much?

That is all.

So an interesting string of events. There's this boy that I've seen around, and he's a little eccentric, but that's ok, especially because for the longest time I wasn't really into him. And then recently he started showing me attention, and that can change a person's reaction toward someone else. He notices me, so I start noticing him. And he's got beautiful eyes and a sweet personality, so I strive to get to know him better. Only when I do, he starts pulling away til the attention is almost entirely gone. So, huh. It's kind of a downer. Only more so because I'm the kind of guy that makes it matter more than it should, which is not at all.

Well, tonight I see him out and I try to give him some attention without being pushy or clingy or any other bad -y word. And he's very hands off. So ok. I'm heading out early because I really just didn't want to be there and all this put me in a not club mood. I go up to make a point of saying bye to him and I give him a hug, to which he replies (and I feel this is important) that he thinks it's funny that I throw my crotch into my hugs. Like grinding hugging. And this is the beginning of the denouement. He explains to me (I'm not sure how we got to this explanation) that he thinks my ears are cute but that I'm a self-proclaimed slut. That because I told him I'm slutty, so he basically doesn't want anything to do with me because that's a part of his past and not his future. I'm paraphrasing as best I can. So I leave.

And this is the part where my conscious comes into play, because I'm not really sure what to do. I've never been proud that I know my way around a bedroom. In fact, it plays against my whole system of faith in a fairly drastic way. I even acknowledge that it's wrong, but I can't seem to stop. I say seem, because it is a choice. Of course it's a choice. But is it a choice on which I should be so judged? It just doesn't really seem right, especially when boy points out that he was once a slut for about 4 years and now he's not.

So, obviously all this has really gotten to me, and put me in a strenuous position. I want to change. I know I do. But I think I want to change for the wrong reasons. And it's not just him, but it's any decent boy that I would actually enjoy the chance at a relationship with that judges me on my past and present indiscretions. I shouldn't need to change their mind about me, because they should like me for me. I should want to change for all the risks I take by being slutty, even if it's never full on slut. I should want to change because God wants me to. So I suppose the choice isn't whether I should change. I think that's obvious. Actually, I suppose there's not a choice anymore, but a decision on how best I should enact that change. How I should make sure that that person goes to bed and a new person wakes up tomorrow morning.

I just shouldn't have to feel that I'm unworthy of someone else's affection because of things I've done. It's not right.

So, I get home from BBW and it's nice, sort of warm outside. I open the bedroom and the kitchen windows to get some air flowing and to let Tristan enjoy his perch. I enjoy myself some online shenanigans and then go watch some DVRed programming. I need to run to the A-Team house and pay for my ticket to the show, so I go through the house closing windows and turning off lights. I notice something as I wander, that there is no cat to be seen in his usual spots.

At this point, I start to hurry through the house, making sure I didn't overlook him. Then I start calling for him. In the closets. Under the bed. Even in the shower. There's nothing. By now, I am in full freak out mode. Like seriously in tears. And when a gay boy is in tears, he calls his mother. I think she panicked a bit as well. I ran outside with her on the phone but I needed a flashlight. I'm totally not thinking straight, because I'm just worried that he fell out of the window. But there's no splattered Tristan on the sidewalk.

I locate the Maglite in the same place I always keep it and run downstairs again to go look. I'm walking Mom through the steps such as window placement and how long they were open when I hear a cat scream. There he is on the steps leading to the back gate, looking thoroughly freaked out. I like to think he recognized my voice, but I'm already queering the place up, so I recant that. He won't let me pick him up, so I open the doors for him and he runs upstairs. He doesn't look hurt. No bleeding. No limping. But I can't fathom how he could fall from the second story to the sidewalk and not be hurt. I grabbed every bone and he didn't yell, so I can only assume that he's ok. All I've found is a scratched up bottom lip. Thank God it wasn't summer with all the alley cats out and about. Thank God I was home. What a mess.

*post-post* I'm still really worried about him. I want to take him to the vet, but I've not really the money right now. I hate being emotionally attached.

So, I had a fantastic NYE, but it's led me to some not so fantastic conclusions about myself. Mainly concerning one person, but easily transferable to tons of people. I have this habit of creating illusory people based on my friends. I mean, in my head, these illusions are my friends; they're one and the same, but it's not true. It's an illusion. I've just sort of taken bits and pieces of the true person and concocted some Frankenstein monster. I mean, I'm sure that the monster does match with the real person from time to time, but it's a rarity. And when they don't match the monster, I feel like it's my job to fix what they've been doing wrong. Put the puzzle back together, but cut off the pieces because they don't fit right. So I lecture or I look down upon or I become simply disapproving. Is it their fault? Of course not, but I also feel betrayed. Like they've been keeping shards of themselves hidden from me instead of the real truth, that I've been ignoring those shards. So deep down I guess I have all these friendships that aren't really . . . real? I don't know totally. A lot of this is just me rambling thoughts out of my head.

I guess in the end there are two conclusions to draw out of this. There is one person in particular that I know I treat this way, and I'm afraid that for the time being I can't really be a friend anymore. Partly because I feel cheated out of the monster I've created. The monster can never be a real person you know. But partly because I'm not being a friend. I'm being condescending and parental where I have no reason to be whatsoever. So it's time to sort of re-evaluate the friendship. Did I create this relationship because I was interested in the illusion, or was I interested in the reality?

It's odd. I've never been good at deciding why I feel the way I do. I think I tend to over-analyze my thoughts, but I can never create explanations out of emotion. At any rate, this is an apology to one person in particular, but perhaps extending to numerous people, because I'm sure you all feel like I put too much pressure on you to be my illusion, my monster. And now I'm sad. Dammit. It's kind of a silly way to make an apology, but sometimes it's easier to ramble like this in multiple paragraph, not entirely prose form instead of over the phone where it's easier to be misunderstood. Well, at any rate, I suppose this is another resolution to make for the new year. To investigate my friendships and discern the illusion from the reality.

Right up there with create a savings account and continue gym-ing it up. Gym-ing it up is rather necessary.

Hey fellow drivers. It's me, Joshua. I think we need to have a talk. This relationship we have on the road right now? Yeah, it's not working. It's not me, it's you. I don't know who you gave head to at the DMV to get your license, but you might want to brush up on some of the finer points just in case.

That little stick next to your steering wheel? Yeah, the turn signal. There's a reason the car companies make it standard on all their vehicles. You should probably use it since it's there and all.

You know how cutting line in elementary school didn't make you so popular? Yeah, it's not doing you much help out here either. You might want to cut it out.

Riding my ass like that might make me hot at the club (that's a might you perverts) but it's just pissing me off in my car. I've got lots of books in my backseat and I don't need you back there as well.

Despite what certain elements of popular media might say, the left lane is a passing lane. Passing being the operative word. If there's no one going slow in the left lane, you might want to use that turn signal (a perfect chance to put it to use) and get back over. It'd just be easier for everyone involved.

I think that might be it. Oh, for homework I'm going to need everyone to find a definition for the word "merge" and copy it down about 100 times. Then hopefully it'll make you realize that you've been doing it wrong. Thanks.

The process of buying comic books is a lot like buying porn. Hear me out. When you pass other geeks either coming in or leaving, they avert their gaze because no one wants to own up to buying comics, but they can't give it up as it's this addictive guilty pleasure. Also? The comics are put in a nice brown paper bag for the patrons, just so you don't arouse any unwanted attention with your purchases.

Ok, let's take a minute and discuss the most unintentionally funny place ever. EVER. If you get the urge someday to go people watching, there are numerous places to perform this task. University campuses are quite enjoyable, and the mall can be a hoot, but the BEST place is the gym. Seriously.
First off is the obvious reason. The sheer vanity of it all. Nowhere else will you find guys so into themselves. They stare into the mirrors and just sigh at the beauty of it all. Of course they'd much rather sit and talk with their friends than actually get any work done. The longer they piddle around the more people will see them. The girls are just as guilty as well. Seriously, there is no need for that much makeup or hair product if you're just going to sweat it off. But if you're doing it to pick up that personal trainer you've got your eye on, by all means. And then the little high school kids. Their poor little arms are just as small as mine (and I'm not getting into the pity party associate with a 25 year old having matching arms with a highschooler) and they just flex and flex. Oh, the men you'll turn into.
But it doesn't stop just at the gym floor. Oh noes. I don't know what the women's lockerroom is like, but the men's is quite funny too. Like, why would you do all your personal grooming at the gym? Shaving? Really? You don't do that in the morning? Ok, I suppose. And talking on your cell phone in the locker room is quite entertaining. Talking on it at the gym at all is a hoot and half anyway, but you're just adding to the genuine mirth when you take it into the locker room.
Finally we'll discuss the general lack of shame associated with the locker room. Old men? I don't care to see your junk. Ever. I don't want you talking to your old friends showing off your old junk. Throw on a towel, take off your underwear underneath said towel, and then go to the shower. I mean, I have very little shame. I just walked around a party and a bar in my underwears. Tiny baby blue ones at that (my myspace has pictures if you so wish such horrific imagery), so I understand the pride you might have in your junk. But by your age, you might be the only one. You and your wife and 22 year old gold-digging mistress. So keep the boys secure because gravity isn't helping. Thank you and good night.

So, I guess you could call this catharsis, only catharsis is supposed to help. This didn't, but I think it's somewhat enlightening all the same. It's copied from what I just wrote to JadedPollyana on mojo.

Yeah, the funny thing about emotions is that we're so eager to let them control us, because as much as it hurts, it's easy. It means we don't have to do anything except work through the pain. Avoiding the pain would be healthier and all, but it's hard. And the thing is, I know all this. We all do. It's that knowledge about our own bodies that we all intrinsically have. But we choose to ignore that knowledge to our own detriment. And it's stupid and I suppose what makes us human. And that is your deep thought for the evening.

There you go. I know I can't have him, no matter what he might tell me in his own secret language, but I choose to let him invade all my thoughts and sour my mood. Because it's easier than fighting it. And it's been like that with Alex and with Greg and with Jeffrey and even so far back as Casey. And I'm not really writing this for anyone but me for once. I'm sure other people will read it, but I think most of all I want future Josh to read it. Maybe it'll trigger something and I'll finally turn the stick another direction to fit through the door. Maybe.

First update in forevers. Maybe someone important will read this, because apparantly I'm a threat. I'm threatening. Little old me. Who knew? Oh well, I guess there could be worse things to be.

So apparantly if you comment on this post with "interview me" I get to ask you five questions which you answer in your post and so on and so forth. Miss McGill asked me these.

1)If you could go back and be in college for one week, what would you do?
I'm actually going back to college in the fall (as long as I can get enough financial aid). If you mean go back to Murray for a week, I always enjoyed wandering about campus on those really nice days that EVERYONE was out and about. Fun times.

2)What's the relationship that has meant the most to you (romantic or otherwise)?
God, I don't want to do a copout answer, but I'm afraid I would. I've never had any relationships that really stuck out in my head as totally kickass above all others. My time with the Germans was pretty high up there, but I couldn't really give you an exact reason why that is. Maybe because they're hot? ;-)

3)What song most describes your life in it's current state and why?
Cheap question. Perhaps basketcase, just because I've been in a bluesy mood and can't really figure out what's got me down.

4)What's the job you dream of and it is achievable?
Um . . . Oscar winning actor and no.

5)If you could choose one food to eat without guilt, what would it be and why?
Heh. You know as well as I do that I never have guilt about what I eat. I eat with reckless abandon. But thanks. ;-)

Who needs a pertinent entry about my life at the moment? No one! That's who!

So I joined the Louisville Athletic Club with some of my Christmas and Birthday moneys, signing away my soul for the next 18 months. But at least I'll have a hot bod. Anyhow, so I'm running at the treadmills outside the guys' locker room. (Yeah, I know how to find the eye candy) Watching guys and listening to my ipod when this totally abercrombie kid walks by. And by totally abercrombie, I mean shirt, jeans, moppy hair and his gym clothes? They were in an AF shopping bag. Like the bag they put your purchase in. I notice him a bit later as I'm working out and he's head to toe hollister now. Not dressed to work out mind you, because lounge pants and a long sleeve thermal are not work out clothes. He was there to show off. I might be the only one who finds that fairly ridiculous, but yeah. RE-diculous.

As a sidenote? I will no longer talk to anyone who has ever said "but I'm mature for my age." Unless they've since matured since that comment. Because that's a phrase to overcompensate if I've ever seen one.

It's been a while. Mostly I was going to write about one thing right quick, but I thought I'd mention Alex. Totally into me and totally chose his roommate (who also happens to be his ex AND his best friend) over me. Because THAT makes sense. Fucking pussy. Ok, just needed a written reminder so I can go back later and be all "yeah, look, there's another one."

So, yeah, the mysterious wall in my living room. The one that I've told my mother about at least half a dozen times and she still has no clue what I'm talking about. I come home today (after noticing the power in my place had gone out, totally ruining my game of Super Smash Bros) and sit down to watch some tele. There's this squeaky sound coming from the front windows. At one point I mute the tv and it goes away by coincidence, and I totally forget about it. Then it gets loud. Finally I have to make my way over there and it's RIGHT behind the mysterious wall. I get closer and it almost sounds like a bat. And it's moving up. I run and grab the ladder and call Mom all at the same time. Whatever it is hits the ceiling, makes some scuttling sounds and is gone.

As I'm coming down the ladder, I figure I should check behind the print on the MW to see if maybe there's a hole back there. No, just something big and black. Kinda freaks me out so I'm not sure if want to remove it at that point. I kinda pick up the print while being the scaredy cat I'm known to be, and end up dropping the thing as I stare at the HUGE AMOUNT OF MOLD AND MILDEW on the MW. Like, black as all get out. And it's on the back of the print too, even soaking through some of it. Not to mention the hole now in the canvas because I dropped it. So now the MW is even more mysterious. Man homeownership sucks.

In other news, I've decided to go on a slut sabbatical. Think of it as giving up ho-baggery for lent, only extra early because I'm baptist and I have to over perform. I'll try to keep everyone abreast of how I'm doing.

Here you go Lauren. Damn whiner.

SOOOOOOOOOO where to begin? Hmm . . . well, I finished my Christmas shopping today, both what I got people and what Dad wanted me to shop for him. That's a lot of presents. I think I did ok, but we'll have to wait and see. It doesn't matter, because I got some hot wrapping paper from Target and no one will really want to open the presents and ruin the presentation. ;-) Speaking of the shopping, I went to Bass Pro Shop for Jeff, and that place is fucking HUGE. And it has a Starbucks, which makes me giggle.

Um . . . jumping back a few weeks to the one night of cold we've had thus far, I came back home after hitting The Pink Door and my toilet didn't sound like normal. I didn't think much of it and went to bed. The next morning (didn't have to be to work til 4) I noticed the bowl wasn't filling up, so I check the tank and there's no water in it. Nor do I have water in my sink. And forget the shower and kitchen. Wonderful. This is the 8th. I call Kenny the maintenance guy (after going upstairs to see if they've got water/paid their association fees. That's a yes and a no respectively.) and he says he'll get a look at it. I come back Friday night with nothing. Actually kinda pissed at that point because they really should've at least called to give me an update. Saturday I call Kenny and he tells me my pipes burst (long seperate story) and that the cellar would need to be dried out and then the water could come back on. I return home Saturday night to toilet and cold water in the sinks but nothing hot and no shower. Fast forward to me being a shower slut and the next Wednesday night when I finally get hot water and shower. Such a hassle.

Aight, now for the fun. My friend and not-so-secret lust interest Matthew was looking for people to help promote Stoli at Starbase Q. 25 an hour. I mean, why the hell not. The day before the promotion, I keep getting these mass emails from the bartenders inviting people out to see the "hot Stoli models." Meaning me. Hilarious. So I go out sick as a dog (which I still am, thanks) to meet my Stoli partner, who was actually pulled from a modeling agency. Because I just love comparisons. So we talk about our outfits, and the top is this TIGHT TIGHT little Stoli tanktop and the bottoms? Well, my partner wore speedo trunks and I wore my CK underwear trunks. Yes. I walked around the bar for two hours half naked. I hope to find pictures to share soon.

So, quick rundown. I've got two rather large holes in my hallway. Mike and I are doing well, but still not serious. I have 3 weeks to find a job or live on the streets. I'm having a sorta birthday party on January 13th. Come one come all. And I joined a church here in town. Hope that wasn't too much information.

DRUNKEN POSTING!!!! WHOOOOOOO!!!!!!! ;-)

So I've been trying to get Matthew and Joshua over to see my place for some time now, so we agree to meet here for prebar and all go out together. I also manage to guilt Jeff into coming over as well. We drink a bit. Watch Grey's Anatomy on DVR and then head out. Bitches finished off my vodka as well. But whatever. So Jeff and I are driving up to the bar when I look at him and go "Guess what?" He looks at me as a response so I answer, "Apparantly I'm tipsy enough to have forgotten to change shoes. I still have my house shoes on." Sure enough, I'm still wearing house slippers to the club. Hilarious. Luckily I happen to have a pair of tennis shoes with me, but as Jeff pointed out, not a single person would have noticed the house shoes. I could wear a paper sack and no one would look twice.

Also? I'm a slut. News at 11.

Mike came over tonight to just say hi and get instructions on feeding Tristan. Which those are fairly basic, as he'll tell you if you've fucked up. Tristan is in no mood for mistakes when it comes to his food. So after making him watch Gilmore Girls and Veronica Mars I walk him out. At which time he notes, are you going to give me some keys . . . ? Oh, yeah, those. So I get the one for MY door out of my mailbox (which isn't it's normal hiding place, because that's a dumb hiding place, but it's still there so whatever.) The key that is missing, however, is the one that goes to the downstairs door. And it had a good hiding place as well. I get the maglite and search the ground, but nothing. Ruh-roh. Either it's been washed away in the rains or some lucky person has found it. Which scares the shit out of me. I suppose I should tell them upstairs and get the lock changed, but I'd rather take some time in the daylight to do a proper search for it before I confess to such bad judgment. But REALLY. It was a GOOD hiding spot. Even the spiders were protecting it.

I guess this fits me. You tell me.

TABLE cellPadding=20 align=center>
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<td align="middle">the Ham

(42% dark, 53% spontaneous, 26% vulgar)</td></tr>
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your humor style:
CLEAN | SPONTANEOUS | LIGHT

Your style's goofy, innocent and feel-good. Perfect for parties and for the dads who chaperone them. You can actually get away with corny jokes, and I bet your sense of humor is a guilty pleasure for your friends. People of your type are often the most approachable and popular people in their circle. Your simple & silly good-naturedness is immediately recognizable, and it sets you apart in this sarcastic world.

PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Will Ferrell - Will Smith




The 3-Variable Funny Test!
- it rules -

If you're interested, try my best friend's best test: The Genghis Khan Genetic Fitness Masterpiece</td></tr>
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My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 99% on darkness You scored higher than 99% on spontaneity You scored higher than 99% on vulgarity

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Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Boy talk? In a livejournal entry? Preposterous.

So, Mike. He's really sweet and we get along well and I really like him. Which is why I'm taking it slow. I know I'm bad about relationships and I worry that if I just rush into it, I'll fuck it all up with some self-sabotage and that's the last thing I want. I do want it to work. And it seems like it might. But here's the issue. I'm a bit self-absorbed. I don't mean to be, and I don't like it, but it happens. And I don't notice I'm doing it until after the fact.

So tonight I'm talking to Mike and I go off on this long story about FBC Hoptown and the issues they were having. And I realized that I do that a lot. Tell him really long stories of little to no consequence. I mean, yeah, it's stuff about me that's somewhat important to me, so I should share it with him, but I feel like I monopolize all of our time with Josh talk. And I point this out to him, and he replies that he worries that I feel like I have to fill in gaps of no talking because he's quiet. I say no, that isn't it, that I'm just a talker. But this leads me to point out that he asks me all this stuff about my history and family and blah de blah and I never really ask him about any of that on his end. His reply? "Hmm . . . " Which basically means, yeah, I noticed that too.

And this gets to the worry. I don't want to lose him because I can't seem to stop talking about Josh. It's not that I'm not interested in what he has to say or where he's been. I do. I've just always been in the position that all of this should come out in normal conversation, and not some questionnaire, you know? So I told him that I have all day Tuesday off and that he should give me a call. If he calls, then I'm going to try and figure out how to fix this, maybe even throw out moving on to the whole relationship deal. We'll see.

I really am bad at all this. No wonder I'm single.

The good news? Well, my car is fixed. Thanks to everyone who played "Let's Guess What's Wrong with Joshua's Car" but all you battery people lost out, as it was the starter. Which would need a $250 replacement starter, not to mention how much labor would cost. And this is why I went home, because Dad found a starter from a junkyard for $30 and covered all the costs. Yes, sometimes I am coddled. Bite me.

The bad news? On the drive back in to Louisville, I got pulled over, doing 81 in a 65. *sigh* Yeah, that ticket is going to be $151. And that's after he wrote me down at 75 even though he clocked me at 81. Yes, I know that was nice of the cop, but you know what would have been really nice? A warning. I mean, he accused me of smoking pot. Gah.

Oh, and also? I'm a big ol' slut. News at 11.

Things learned while driving to Hopkinsville in the middle of the night:

*The weirdest thoughts come to mind. Such as "That sign makes me feel like I'm living in a pop-up book."

*The fucking most insane drivers also tend to be out at these hours. Such as the guy who couldn't decide on a speed. Basically his speed was whatever could keep him in MY BACK SEAT!

*You get some interesting conversations while in the bathroom at the Arby's/gas station in the middle of the parkway. Much like the conversation these two guys had while I was present.

Guy at Urinal: Hey Michaels!
Michaeals: Yeah?
GaU: I've got some weird shit on my dick man. No really. I don't think that condom worked.

And then they walk away.

*While the ipod might say it has no battery power left, it can run for a long time on no battery power.