Seasick

Does the holiday season ever fucking end? This time of year needs to be summed up into one day, and one day only. It could be called something like, Christgiving Years Day. One day, where everyone sits around and says, "Hey, something religious happened, lets celebrate by eating turkey on the first day of the new year, in this country we stole." That more or less covers everything, right? Fuck, maybe even wear a costume.

Who taught you to tie your shoes?

Today Sean came home with some new slippers. LLBean slippers, the kind with a back, kind of like a shoe. They have that leather tie on the front, almost like a lace. It had come undone, and when looking at the other slipper Sean realized he did not know how to tie the knot used on the other slipper. The knot used was what I thought was your basic shoe tying knot, one loop, you wrap it around or something, and then poof. I was shocked to find he couldn't do this, who the hell taught him to tie his shoes? My parents taught me, and I figured since we have the same parents, they taught him as well(adopted?). Why would they teach us differently? I guess he uses the two loop one, I cant do that, too many loops, Im a simple guy. I like my ladies like I like my coffee, strong, black, and proud. And I like my shoes tied with one loop. But thanks to Google, and boredom, I've come to realize that I guess the two loop way is the more commonly used knot. What the hell? This just makes no sense to me. Two loops? When you only need one? Maybe this is why people are greedy. When they were kids they had the option of one loop or two, those who chose two loops are always looking to get more. Those who chose one loop are just happy that they have less to deal with. Think about that. How are you going to teach your child to tie his/her shoes? Fuck it, dont! Get them slip-ons.

That thing that I said before about laides and coffee is only half true. Which half? Who knows? I do, I like pale, scrawny, white girls. Coffee though, my coffee has attitude. It's like Sam Jackson in Pulp Fiction. Probably not as good at foot massages though.

I'll write you letters.

Something comes over me when I write a letter, and I begin to feel like a soldier at war writing home to his love. I become slow, dramatic, and long winded, clinging to every word like it could be the last the recipient ever read from me.

I recently wrote an e-mail to a friend from college, Sara, for Christmas. Ok, so it was an e-mail, not a letter. Still, my lack of her street address did not stop the handwritten letter inside me from coming out. I found myself casually using words like, "pleasant," and phrases like, "It deeply saddens me."
Simple statements like, "I wont be home for a while, Merry Christmas!" became, "I'm sad to say I won't be home in time for the holidays, hence this e-mail, I lack the ability to give you something in person."
Using more words than needed, describing subtleties, trying desperately to make my written words seem slow, and soft spoken.

What's great is that she wrote back with the same kind of vibe, showing effort, and meaning behind every word. I do this every time I write a letter, but rarely do I get one like it in return. I don't know what it is about letters, I feel like writing styles have changed so much over the years, but letters will always keep a sincerity that is just the way they are supposed to be done.

Sometime's things have easy solutions.

Seriously, sometimes you just need to add more salt.

Other times you have to go all in with Ace-10.

And sometimes you just need to keep your mouth shut.

Sometimes all it takes to save the butchers life is a few days of rest, maybe shoot some buffalo, rather than forge the river when you know he's sick with dysentery.

I was born yesterday

Just Sayin'

3rd post today. No big deal.

Anyway, new favorite thing to do. Listen to metal and cook.

This is half inspired by this girl, Jaime's, boyfriend, Andrew, telling me about he like to listen to Converge when he does the dishes. I tried that, it kind of rules. Might even make doing the dishes bad-ass. Not for me to say though.

So I took that concept(hardcore/metal while doing other things), and I've applied it to a few other things: Drinking Beer(yeah, caps), getting dressed, showering, brushing teeth, taking out the trash, and some other things that just feel like they could use a little something else. Needless to say the addition of metal music to all these things has been pretty cool.

The latest installment came tonight, with my desire to make mashed potatoes. I bought all the stuff a few days ago(it took two days to buy, as the first day I did not have enough money to buy all the required pieces to the delicious puzzle), but lacked the motivation to make them. So tonight I started boiling water, listening to something(not hardcore/metal), I forget now what it was. I was bored. What ever could I do. Oh yeah, that's right. I could put on some metal. I went with Lamb of God, or Log, as my Father calls them. It was a great fucking time.

We haven't even turned our heat on

New York is blanketed in snow. At most the snow came to around four inches. Oh dear God. This city is ridiculous. It shuts down. I worked 7am-3pm on the day of the "big storm." When I got home at about 3:30 Sean was home early from his 9-5 job because it snowed, so they closed. What? Working a door all day, I saw so much of this: People walk out ready to hit the town and do some shopping on vacation, see the snow, "Oh my God!" and then turn around and go back inside.

This is the scene from my sister's back door in Maine.


18 inches. The snow is taller than her dog, making it hard to let the dog out.

Disappointment goes up or down.

It was this past Saturday, just a couple days ago, snow was falling lightly in a far prettier fashion then the nasty snow storm that was the day before, and I was at work. I work every Saturday night, 4-12pm. An hour or two must have pasted, I feel like I remember working for at least a little while before my disappointment set in. I think I was taking something up to a room, which I do countless times a day, meaning I ride an elevator a lot. I'd say on a busy day I might go upstairs 50 times, that's 100 elevator rides. A day. I wondered once how long it would take me, at this rate of riding elevators, to get stuck in one. Well, it happened on Saturday. FINALLY!

I think I was coming down from the 5th floor, and the elevator reached ground level, but just didn't level off and open. My eyes opened wide, I was excited. I tried pushing a few buttons, nothing was working. I stand there for a minute going over all the possibilities. First off, this a good thing, no, a great thing. This could possibly take an hour or more to fix, oh lord how great would it be. It was kind of busy, but I couldn't work locked in an elevator. I did have my iphone though, yeah, so I could just either call someone, or cruise the internet for how ever long I need to. Oh right, and I'm getting paid right now. Seriously, this is fantastic.

A couple minutes pass, and my mind finally comes to the point of needing to tell the front desk. I call Nate at the desk, and tell him that I'm stuck. He tells me to hold on. I'm just about ready to have a seat and maybe check myspace or something. Then the door opens. And Nate is standing there. He just pushed the button from the outside, and it made it level off and open.

Well, that sucked. I had like three or four minutes to think about all the fun I would have had well getting paid well. Damn, disappointment.

I have nothing to do

and I choose to embrace that by making bad decisions.

Example: Parties.
I generally show up late from work. And then I drink too much. And then this girl I know shows up, because I invited her. And I think about how bad of an idea it is to kiss her. Then I get really fucking excited because she actually came to see me at a party with all my friends (all five of them, and then all their friends). And then I say fuck it, try to kiss her anyway. Then I remember she's sort of my boss. And she tells me no. We all decide to leave to go to a bar/get food. Too drunk, go home instead. This is where all the vodka I drank to fast catches up with me in moment taken right out a movie about high school kids. I somehow wake up in time to go to work, check to make sure I have everything I had the night before. Clean up the mess I made. Remember why I don't really like going to parties. Remember why I stopped drinking vodka. Say hi, and sorry to the roommates, and the girls I didn't know were there. Then put some pants on. Take some cold medicine, and some aspirin. Pour some coffee. Hit the road. Work. Christmas party. Free drinks. Not vodka. Keep my self control MUCH better than the night prior. Stay just long enough to be seen, as to avoid being asked later why I didn't come to the fantastic work Christmas party. Get some much needed sleep.

I have a love/hate relationship with my life.

Also, new blog. Mostly about my writing. Words Wont Save Your Life. Also, I think I might get that tattooed on my chest. It's a lyric from a Hold Steady song. And it seems rather fitting for my life/thought process in general. Cool.