01 July 2011
24 May 2011
Nice Guys Finish... ...
The old adage suggests, "last." Personally, it's all bullshit. As each day passes, as I commute to and from work each day, this whole Nice Guy persona is slowly turning into the Bitter-Guy-Who-Hates-Everyone-Slash-Everthing. It could be my short temper, but I have reason to believe it's not just that.
One fine day, I'm driving home after work (http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF&msa=0&msid=214065779436258259951.0004a4088638b3320d030). Use this map for a visual. I take Forest Avenue south bound to avoid the traffic on Parham Road. Forest Ave has traffic, but it flows as opposed to the stop-and-go of Parham. Forest Ave is one lane north of placemark A (please refer to the map). At that point, the single lane road splits into three right before the traffic light at Patterson Road and Forest Ave: a left turn, go straight, and a right turn lane. If you notice, Milford Rd begins/ends at placemark A and there's also a sign that says, "Do Not Block Intersection."
At this point, I stay on Forest Avenue and eventually get to where I'm suppose to go, so I have to stay in the go-straight lane. It's a little difficult to see on the map, but the single lane is more into the left turn lane and the straight lane. Now, depending on how the cars are positioned, cars that need to make a right turn onto Patterson can pass the cars that need to turn left or go straight. I'm the lucky bastard that has to decide whether or not I'm going to be an ass and block the intersection in case anyone coming in the opposite direction needs to turn or if anyone from Milford Rd needs to get onto Forest. I decide to take the nice route.
So there's space in front of me for a car to pass through and space to my right for cars to pass to get to the right turn. Are you following me? This is where the shit goes down. As I'm stopped, I notice a white Honda whatever go past me on the right and kind of stop. All of a sudden the fucking asshole pulls in front of me. Not only did the fucking shit-eating asshole cut me off while my car was stopped, but he blocked the intersection. I'm so pissed at this point, I honk my horn and he pretends he hasn't done anything wrong, the fucktard. Traffic moves and I'm just pissed I have to stare at the back of this guy's car. I don't tailgate him because traffic flow is bit erratic down Forest and to show that I'm not that pissed at him, but really, I want to ram my car into his at 100+ miles an hour.
What I should've done was get out of my car, walk to his open window, and punch the motherfucker in the mug for being a motherfucker or got out of my car and started yelling at him. Sure, he could've had a gun, but this isn't downtown. And I'm sure I could've gotten my point across by being out there in the open and willing to resort to violence for his idiocy.
Thank you for your time. Go fuck yourselves and please, just give me an excuse to honk my car horn because I fucking like it.
28 March 2011
Oh, Life.
Until I get off my lazy ass and reschedule my appointment with a retiring psychiatrist from 4/04 to another date, Blogger is going to have to take the beating for my ranting.
Where to start, where to start? I don't think people realize that I'm very shy and therefore don't do much talking. I'm pretty sure people are thinking I'm just anti-social or don't want anything to do with them. Half of that is true.
Friday, I get invited to a lunch outing with my coworkers. I have no idea who's going to be there – I dislike some of the people I work with, but that's a given when you're working a job. We arrive at our lunch destination, which was delicious despite me not saying more than a couple words the entire hour. Apparently, someone had reserved a room at the restaurant and I felt pretty bad tagging along, but I was told I wasn't included in the e-mail because my managers and boss are automatically copied in any e-mail I receive.
Conversations start and no one is engaging me. I'm listening to what everyone is saying, but there are three separate conversations going and the one I care for more is super quiet. I can only get bits and pieces. The conversation in front of me is super loud, the opposite of super quiet, and about Star Wars, Back to the Future, and gambling in Las Vegas, with drinking thrown in every now and then. I've ordered a cheese steak sandwich and had gotten a couple of "That looks delicious!" but other than that, nothing. I could've jumped in on the geek fest in front of me, but I never saw Back to the Future or Star Wars in their entirety. I'm pretty sure I've only seen a total of like fifteen minutes of Back to the Future and like thirty minutes of each Star Wars film (the ones before Lucas decided to just fuck it up, or so I've been told). One hour of this and we're back in our cubicles. Uneventful and well, boring is how I would describe it. Plus, we had to pay in cash and all I had was a twenty, which I gave anyway, so the waitress got a nice tip from me.
Friday evening, I was told about going out to watch the VCU Rams in some March Madness basketball tournament. VCU is doing really well and in the Final Four, so they have a chance to win all this. I don't care for it, but I do care about hanging out with people (and drinking). I get a text for a destination at like 9 PM and I get myself ready and on my way by like 9:30. The plan was to leave by 9:15, but I got preoccupied. I only live twenty to thirty minutes away, unfortunately, I got there late and parking at this place is horrendous. There weren't any spaces and if there were, they were motorcycle-sized. So, I ended up parking a couple blocks away from where I was going to spend the night and having to walk like ten or fifteen minutes to the bar. The weather was a bit chilly, but the walk warmed me up. Of course, I don't remember if I locked the doors with the keyless entry device, but I'm halfway to where I'm supposed to be. Turn around and make sure the fucking door isn't locked because I'm paranoid someone might try to steal my CDs or my clothes or the car.
After walking for blah knows how long, I finally get to the bar and it's full and they can't let any more people in. I'm kind of beyond pissed and people are talking, saying that no one is going to leave because the VCU game is just starting. True. What's also true is that there's a back door, supposedly the emergency exit, which I snuck through with the help of my friends. My only problem was that if I got a nice buzz and wanted to smoke a cigarette, I'd have to go out the front door and I just had this paranoid feeling that the doorman would recognize me. I'm Asian, and not wearing any black or yellow or any combination thereof, which are the colors for VCU.
Once I was inside, I was enjoying myself. I was drinking heavily and just guy watching. I didn't care for VCU or basketball, so you put those two together and I'm just a ball of don't-give-a-fuck. The rest of the night went well, until I thought that throwing up in a parking lot was a good idea. Whoops. I had a horrible hangover the next day and took an afternoon nap for four hours.
Saturday was uneventful and non-productive.
Spring football for the River City Sports & Social Club is in full swing. The homosexuals have a team. I'm not playing, but that's no surprise. What's a surprise is that I played football with them in the previous season in fall. I'm not playing this season because I don't have a competitive cell in me and I didn't like being yelled at by our quarterback for not being open or I need to turn around faster or I need to be on the line of scrimmage faster. I'm pretty sure I was clear that I'm not athletic or any good at football. I get asked why I wasn't playing and was told that I looked like I enjoyed myself. That's because I didn't give a fuck if we won or not.
Anyway, to show that I'm not a bitch, I go to the football games and cheer (as best I can or am willing to). The team is doing well and it doesn't look like anyone is getting angry, which normally happens. It's a team of homos and one straight girl – there isn't much hope for winning, unless we're up against a bunch of toddlers, and we'd only win due to the height difference.
Sometimes after the game, we'll all go out and get brunch or drinks. Sunday was pretty cold and it had mixed rain/snow earlier that morning. Some wanted to watch the VCU game, surprise. Three groups branch away and go on. I sort of hang around in hopes maybe someone will ask me to come along. I do get asked along, joy, but at the last minute and I was told that I'd be sent a message on Facebook. I live across the James River and about thirty minutes away. I didn't want to go all the way home only to have to come back to watch something I don't care for. I stop by a grocery store for some food because I'm starving. The people I'm supposed to be hanging out with needed to get drinks beforehand or something. They weren't really clear and they weren't really talking to me about it anyway. Like I said before, I got the invite when people were leaving and after I said, "I'll see you guys next week," hinting that I wouldn't be going with them. I had some food, so I stopped by my sister's place, which is nearby. Every thirty seconds, I'm checking my phone for some sign of where to go to meet up with people. Nothing, nothing, nothing. After half an hour, I give up and just go home after stuffing too much potato salad down my throat and into my stomach. If I get the information later, I would just make some shit up like I went home and passed out or was watching TV and didn't have my phone nearby.
Of course, being the masochist that I am, I have to check Facebook to see how much fun everyone else is having without me. I see a post from one of the people saying that she's watching the VCU game with some of her favorite boys; I figure it's her dogs because that's how she refers to them sometimes. Nope, pictures are later posted of them at the bar and she also tagged them in a post saying she had a great time watching the game and being with them. This from the one who said she was going to do homework at her apartment while the game was playing. I see pictures of them hanging out at an apartment, too. Really, they just forgot about me and I'm not memorable enough to remember.
Well, I'm sorry for being so fucking shy. I can't be like all the other homos out there with the witty attitude, girl-no-you-didn't personality. I'm also not skinny or attractive enough to be remembered, either. I'm fucking trying to be more social. There's a fucking reason why I'm going to the football games every fucking Sunday, when I could be at home playing Warcraft and leveling a priest to fucking heal groups and play with other people. I'm fucking trying to make friends, but it's beyond difficult and near fucking impossible when you're shy and have self-esteem issues, especially around such an image-centric culture. The only thought that goes through my mind: am I doing something wrong? It doesn't help that I'm a broken record with this "Did I do something wrong?" at work, but now I'm doing it with a group of people. Yes, I'm easy to pick on and people recognize that because I don't snap back with my fingers and tell them, "Bitch, mind your own fucking business!" or some witty comeback. Thanks for comparing me to a soccer mom in that I'm suppose to bring bottles of water/Gatorade and towels or hell, even alcohol. I'm not fucking rich, and there's going to have to be some like money pot if they want me to provide shit for them because I was the only one who brought fucking alcohol last fucking season and to any other game for that fucked up matter. Sure people brought their own, but did they offer it to the entire team on more than one occasion?
I suppose I should grow bigger balls and let people know how I feel, but run the risk of being a bitch and then flat out not being asked to go to things again? I don't know. If there is one thing I know, is that I'm alone and just frustrated in trying to not be.
Where to start, where to start? I don't think people realize that I'm very shy and therefore don't do much talking. I'm pretty sure people are thinking I'm just anti-social or don't want anything to do with them. Half of that is true.
Friday, I get invited to a lunch outing with my coworkers. I have no idea who's going to be there – I dislike some of the people I work with, but that's a given when you're working a job. We arrive at our lunch destination, which was delicious despite me not saying more than a couple words the entire hour. Apparently, someone had reserved a room at the restaurant and I felt pretty bad tagging along, but I was told I wasn't included in the e-mail because my managers and boss are automatically copied in any e-mail I receive.
Conversations start and no one is engaging me. I'm listening to what everyone is saying, but there are three separate conversations going and the one I care for more is super quiet. I can only get bits and pieces. The conversation in front of me is super loud, the opposite of super quiet, and about Star Wars, Back to the Future, and gambling in Las Vegas, with drinking thrown in every now and then. I've ordered a cheese steak sandwich and had gotten a couple of "That looks delicious!" but other than that, nothing. I could've jumped in on the geek fest in front of me, but I never saw Back to the Future or Star Wars in their entirety. I'm pretty sure I've only seen a total of like fifteen minutes of Back to the Future and like thirty minutes of each Star Wars film (the ones before Lucas decided to just fuck it up, or so I've been told). One hour of this and we're back in our cubicles. Uneventful and well, boring is how I would describe it. Plus, we had to pay in cash and all I had was a twenty, which I gave anyway, so the waitress got a nice tip from me.
Friday evening, I was told about going out to watch the VCU Rams in some March Madness basketball tournament. VCU is doing really well and in the Final Four, so they have a chance to win all this. I don't care for it, but I do care about hanging out with people (and drinking). I get a text for a destination at like 9 PM and I get myself ready and on my way by like 9:30. The plan was to leave by 9:15, but I got preoccupied. I only live twenty to thirty minutes away, unfortunately, I got there late and parking at this place is horrendous. There weren't any spaces and if there were, they were motorcycle-sized. So, I ended up parking a couple blocks away from where I was going to spend the night and having to walk like ten or fifteen minutes to the bar. The weather was a bit chilly, but the walk warmed me up. Of course, I don't remember if I locked the doors with the keyless entry device, but I'm halfway to where I'm supposed to be. Turn around and make sure the fucking door isn't locked because I'm paranoid someone might try to steal my CDs or my clothes or the car.
After walking for blah knows how long, I finally get to the bar and it's full and they can't let any more people in. I'm kind of beyond pissed and people are talking, saying that no one is going to leave because the VCU game is just starting. True. What's also true is that there's a back door, supposedly the emergency exit, which I snuck through with the help of my friends. My only problem was that if I got a nice buzz and wanted to smoke a cigarette, I'd have to go out the front door and I just had this paranoid feeling that the doorman would recognize me. I'm Asian, and not wearing any black or yellow or any combination thereof, which are the colors for VCU.
Once I was inside, I was enjoying myself. I was drinking heavily and just guy watching. I didn't care for VCU or basketball, so you put those two together and I'm just a ball of don't-give-a-fuck. The rest of the night went well, until I thought that throwing up in a parking lot was a good idea. Whoops. I had a horrible hangover the next day and took an afternoon nap for four hours.
Saturday was uneventful and non-productive.
Spring football for the River City Sports & Social Club is in full swing. The homosexuals have a team. I'm not playing, but that's no surprise. What's a surprise is that I played football with them in the previous season in fall. I'm not playing this season because I don't have a competitive cell in me and I didn't like being yelled at by our quarterback for not being open or I need to turn around faster or I need to be on the line of scrimmage faster. I'm pretty sure I was clear that I'm not athletic or any good at football. I get asked why I wasn't playing and was told that I looked like I enjoyed myself. That's because I didn't give a fuck if we won or not.
Anyway, to show that I'm not a bitch, I go to the football games and cheer (as best I can or am willing to). The team is doing well and it doesn't look like anyone is getting angry, which normally happens. It's a team of homos and one straight girl – there isn't much hope for winning, unless we're up against a bunch of toddlers, and we'd only win due to the height difference.
Sometimes after the game, we'll all go out and get brunch or drinks. Sunday was pretty cold and it had mixed rain/snow earlier that morning. Some wanted to watch the VCU game, surprise. Three groups branch away and go on. I sort of hang around in hopes maybe someone will ask me to come along. I do get asked along, joy, but at the last minute and I was told that I'd be sent a message on Facebook. I live across the James River and about thirty minutes away. I didn't want to go all the way home only to have to come back to watch something I don't care for. I stop by a grocery store for some food because I'm starving. The people I'm supposed to be hanging out with needed to get drinks beforehand or something. They weren't really clear and they weren't really talking to me about it anyway. Like I said before, I got the invite when people were leaving and after I said, "I'll see you guys next week," hinting that I wouldn't be going with them. I had some food, so I stopped by my sister's place, which is nearby. Every thirty seconds, I'm checking my phone for some sign of where to go to meet up with people. Nothing, nothing, nothing. After half an hour, I give up and just go home after stuffing too much potato salad down my throat and into my stomach. If I get the information later, I would just make some shit up like I went home and passed out or was watching TV and didn't have my phone nearby.
Of course, being the masochist that I am, I have to check Facebook to see how much fun everyone else is having without me. I see a post from one of the people saying that she's watching the VCU game with some of her favorite boys; I figure it's her dogs because that's how she refers to them sometimes. Nope, pictures are later posted of them at the bar and she also tagged them in a post saying she had a great time watching the game and being with them. This from the one who said she was going to do homework at her apartment while the game was playing. I see pictures of them hanging out at an apartment, too. Really, they just forgot about me and I'm not memorable enough to remember.
Well, I'm sorry for being so fucking shy. I can't be like all the other homos out there with the witty attitude, girl-no-you-didn't personality. I'm also not skinny or attractive enough to be remembered, either. I'm fucking trying to be more social. There's a fucking reason why I'm going to the football games every fucking Sunday, when I could be at home playing Warcraft and leveling a priest to fucking heal groups and play with other people. I'm fucking trying to make friends, but it's beyond difficult and near fucking impossible when you're shy and have self-esteem issues, especially around such an image-centric culture. The only thought that goes through my mind: am I doing something wrong? It doesn't help that I'm a broken record with this "Did I do something wrong?" at work, but now I'm doing it with a group of people. Yes, I'm easy to pick on and people recognize that because I don't snap back with my fingers and tell them, "Bitch, mind your own fucking business!" or some witty comeback. Thanks for comparing me to a soccer mom in that I'm suppose to bring bottles of water/Gatorade and towels or hell, even alcohol. I'm not fucking rich, and there's going to have to be some like money pot if they want me to provide shit for them because I was the only one who brought fucking alcohol last fucking season and to any other game for that fucked up matter. Sure people brought their own, but did they offer it to the entire team on more than one occasion?
I suppose I should grow bigger balls and let people know how I feel, but run the risk of being a bitch and then flat out not being asked to go to things again? I don't know. If there is one thing I know, is that I'm alone and just frustrated in trying to not be.
08 March 2011
21 February 2011
25 September 2010
20 July 2010
Shout It From the Rooftops / Write It On the Skyline
Shontelle's Impossible is absolutely amazing. It's on repeat. Surprise.If you look at the last time I updated this blog, it was forever ago! So why now am I getting the urge to write today? There was a particular occurrance this morning that has spurred me to write. Just keep in mind the subject of this entry.
When I was younger, much younger than I am now, I used to have an electronic journal. I had it stored away and password protected. I had a password to open it because the entries were basically me swooning over any moment I had with my neighbor, even if I just saw him walk his dog. I didn't want my family to know that I was gay at the time, and since I didn't have anyone to talk to, I thought that typing out my thoughts and feelings would help. I guess it did, but it was young and many of the entries were pointless anyway, haha! At one point, I was somehow going to put it online, but I found it to be very very very cumbersome. So I decided to just get a deadjournal and start there. Before posting online, the computer, which housed the journal, broke and I was devastated! Then I put the journal on a CD-RW. Aaah, memories. Anyway, I only reminisce because of what happened this morning and I'm smiling and thinking how juvenile this will be, but hey, I really enjoyed typing those entries.
Since I have a full-time desk job, I usually leave the house around 7:30 AM. (Side note: I've been debating whether or not to use his real name, but I've decided to do so because it means "sun" in Hindi and I find that absolutely beautiful.) My neighbor, Suraj, works for Wachovia doing I don't know what, but he wears suits and looks great in them! Anyway, I had just closed the door and looked up when I saw him, shirtless I will point out, putting the family dog outside. I got a nice look at his shoulders, but he was hunched over and I think he saw me, but I pretended not to notice that he was there. It was from a distance, but his shoulders looked so smooth and kissable. If I hadn't gotten over him (I had the biggest crush on him in high school!) I'm sure my heart would've skipped a beat. And that's basically all that happened. I did smile on the way to the car and as I got into it.
Yup, imagine me just talking about Suraj on a daily basis, but with a more high school crush twist to it. It sucked when I finally accepted the fact that he would never love me back or say, "I love you," to me. That's when I decided that having a high school crush on him was pointless. I will admit that I went to the same college as he did just because he chose to go there. I did get to drive him home a couple of times and he slept most of the way and I remember looking over to watch him sleep. Bad idea because I'm one of those guys who will crash his car because he got distracted by an attractive guy running/walking on the side of road and the danger is multiplied if he's shirtless and even moreso dangerous if he's sweating and glistening in the sun.
Now to completely switch gears, but have some connection for me. I was going through my blogroll and I came across this website and its effort to repeal Don't Ask, Don't Tell. It's called The Dog Tag Project and you basically pay $25 for a dog tags, one that says "Repeal DADT," while the other has the information of a discharged member or one going through the process of discharge because of DADT. The money goes toward helping to repeal DADT. I'm so very tempted to do this. As a romantic I've always wanted dog tags and I always visualized my significant other giving me his dog tags and I'd always wear them and remember him. I don't think I can do that with these dog tags though. A little bio comes with the tags so I'll know of the soldier affected by DADT. I love the idea, and I love spending money. I must resist until I get paid again.
And I'm done. =)
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Photography by Exterface.
