I found out that the trainee, Brennan, not only has a PSP (that he’s always playing) but also has a DSi. I insisted he play a game with me, so he chose Mario Kart out of the games I’d brought. I lost, royally, but IMMD.

Juro que tá monótono já, enjoei, o cérebro condicionou, deu sono. Pra chocar agora só Lady Gaga aparecendo de jeans e camiseta – isso sim dá medo. ZzZzZz

Leeloo – 1997 tá

don’t touch (my márcia goldschmidt way color )

]]> http://yourprofilepicturesucks.wordpress.com/2009/11/26/29/ Thu, 26 Nov 2009 17:57:57 +0000 yourprofilepicturesucks http://yourprofilepicturesucks.wordpress.com/2009/11/26/29/

Acho um look super apropriado pro verão geladinho que tá chegando, couro é um tecido super leve e transpirante, não precisa lavar as mãos (ahn?) – vamo copiá? NOT – parece que sou bicho e tenho garra né! Seduz.

Driving 90 mph on the freeway listening to MSI. It reminded me of riding to/from Chelle’s house with Cre, and blasting MSI at random kids hanging out in the Taco Hell parking lot. IMMD

Jeorge – with a “J” he informs me. He is wearing a pink Armani shirt with purple Coach tie. I know I’m in trouble. Why the hell this guy sat down next to me – in my ratty old red shirt, skinny jeans and tattered chuck’s – I’ll never know. He was definitely the kind of guy who date rapes blonde bimbos in pleather leggings and 6″ stilettos in only the best clubs. Kill me. He throws his feet up on the overstuffed ottoman and glances over at me. “What’s your major?” I have two essays, a Faulkner novel and my computer in my lap – obviously not wanting to make chit-chat.

“I’m a grad student. Humanities.” Which apparently is an open invitation for me to sit passenger side on his ride to crazy town. First he tells me he graduated from NYU and is a stock trader. Did I mention he is bald? In the “I shave my head because I want to look like Bruce Willis in Die Hard because it’s the best movie ever even though I have a full head of hair!” kind of obnoxious manner. Then he starts going on about how he was in the Navy. He’s European. Greek. Wanted to be a Navy seal but ran a seven minute mile so he was too slow so he became a rescue swimmer. But now he’s thinking of being a Math teacher or FBI agent or DEA agent but he’s not a citizen yet but will be in a year don’t worry.

This while time I continue reading and saying, “uh-huh” because I’m afraid if I don’t he may flip out. And then he tells me hes trying to give up coffee and is depressed about it and the last time he was depressed and he went shopping and bought an Armani fur coat. Then he tells me I should blow off class to smoke cigarettes and do cocaine with him – and then started talking about hookers and Ferrari’s. I think he was joking but his accent made every sentence he spoke sound like a question: I graduated from NYU? I have a degree in Economics? I’m an environmentalist? I read Forbes magazine? SHUT UP!

I’m dying to scream it by again, I like my life. Luckily (but not for my homework) I ask him the time – he flashes me his – SHOCKER! – Armani watch. It’s 6:04? And mutter that I have class at 6:20 5 blocks away and he tells me I look like Britney Spears? And I’m not sure whether or not its a complement. Britney Spears circa 2003 is a total compliment whereas Britney circa 2007 is a huge insult.

Basically this kind of thing happens to me often, not just at the bar. apparently I have a face that says, “Please stranger, vent your crazy life story to me!” Though, this guy was totally the craziest so far. I don’t want to generalize guys from the Mediterranean, but my manager is from a similar area and he is a LOT like this dude. Only less freaky and more creepy. Where I’m pretty sure Jeorge wanted to take me home and skin me alive while he ran through piles of cocaine my manager is just awkward, but I think he has good intentions.

Not to all crazy men: LEAVE ME ALONE!

WTF with Pretty Wild Thing??

Let me explain…

I have transferred my “BART” face to my New York “Subway” face. It is the face I make to appear unapproachable, irritable and generally unfriendly. Every once in a while there is a breech of said Subway Face… and when that happens, it’s worth writing about. So I’m on the Bx09 bus wearing my headphones and my subway face whilst minding my own business. Staring blankly forward I notice a large and drunken man board the bus. One of the reasons that I noticed him was because the kneeling bus wasn’t kneeling on purpose, he had literally shifted the weight of the vehicle. As he passed by, I felt the burn in my chest like I had just taken a shot of really bad tequila. He absolutely reeked of alcohol.

Mistake #1- I made peripheral eye contact

He smiled at me… HUGE. I looked away quickly but I had already lost a defense. I thought that maybe my headphones would hold the silence; I was wrong. In a raspy and slightly slurred voice, I heard from behind and to my right, “Hey pretty wild thing…” Mortified, I wore my subway face strongly and faced forward trying to pretend I hadn’t heard him. (He was wise to my plan) About 12 awkward seconds later I hear him mutter, “Married?”. Okay, now I’m looking for a real way to cut this tie. I hope he might get the hint if I start staring blankly out of the window. I turn up the music (attempting to draw attention to the fact that I AM wearing headphones) and look to my left out the window of the bus. Thinking this is working, I relax a bit and move on from the trauma.

Mistake #2- utilize the glass reflection to ensure safety

This was a disaster- I make another peripheral and amateur move only to find that he is attempting to make eye contact with me through the reflection of the window! With a neck squishing wide-eyed creepy face, he does a child-like wave at me.

I pull the string. I exit the bus.

So I’m about to release a dope T-Shirt design on the new Seattle based brand Family Fortune. this shirt will be available  in limited quantity, you can pre-order it at solacewonder@gmail.com, or weirdoculture@gmail just ask for it and we will hook up the payment details … I will have the design available to look at as of tomorrow on this blog. The design features John D. Rockefeller on the front surrounded by my “Ultra Gore” cresting the bottom. The color pallet for the design will be released tomorrow as well. Please stay tuned!!!

So I’m catching up with a friend, John Geckler…good pal from my karate days, don’t know where he went in real life, but there he is in my dream, cruising along with me and his friend, don’t know where we’re going. We stop off at a roadside diner, sit down at a center table–the place is arranged more like a classroom than a restaurant–then we pour over the menu. I can’t remember what I want, but knowing my real life obsession with chili cookoffs I’m guessing my eyes will eventually settle on something with chili on it, be a hot dog or fries.

Geckler notices there a group of guys sitting at a nearby booth. “It’s Daryl Hall & John Oates!” he says enthusiastically.

Sure enough, he’s right…H&O along with their…was it the 80s Big Bam Boom lineup with GE Smith on guitar and Charlie DeChant on keys and sax? Yeah, I think so!

And Oates was looking very 80s with his big moustache and even bigger 80s hair.

Geckler and his pal immediately pounce on the duo for autographs. I’m feeling stressed because I WANT their autographs. Hell, they’re among my biggest childhood influences–I want to worship them! But I’ve got this thing about bugging celebrities when they’re outside their performance time. Last thing I’d want to do while eating breakfast is stop to sign my name a hundred times…my eggs will get cold! So I sit there, being cool as the entire diner APPLAUDS like the ending of An Officer and a Gentleman* and dive in to get their autographs.

This dream must be taking place in the 80s. I mean, I’m sure they still have to sign plenty of autographs, but they’ve gotten enough distance from the fanfare to move about the public freely again.

Now I’m getting annoyed because Geckler and his pal come back with autographs and I don’t have squat, even though *I’m* the raging Hall & Oates fan of the group. At one point I even lobbied for H&O salt and pepper shakers for The Sharper Image catalog*. I want autographs, but I don’t want to be another jerk interrupting the band’s already interrupted breakfast.

Oates suddenly comes to the table to and gives Geckler some change. Why? Because it’s a dream…I don’t know! But I DO know I need to reach out and grab my moment with Oates, so I stick out my hand and go, “Funk Shui RULES!”**

Funk Shui was the name of his solo album that came out years back.

“Funk Shui!” Oates replies, shaking my hand. Score! And I knew I got cool points because while everyone else was gushing to them about their usual hits (“Sara Smile”, “Out of Touch”, etc.) I’d proven I was a REAL fan because I owned the album casual fans had never heard of.

But then I felt sort of guilty, like I was being fake or something. Ya see, I didn’t really like the Funk Shui album that much. I mean, the songs were good, but they didn’t grab me. Not Oates’ fault; you win some and lose some, everything subjective.

But maybe he wasn’t happy with the performance of Funk Shui on the charts and appreciated my kind gesture, even if it was fake. This is what I focused on instead of finding a way to get Hall over to my table.

If only I could make myself dream about REAL issues…solve problems, world peace or at least a better paying career.

Man, I feel pathetic!

*Which one should be the salt and which one the pepper?
**Like the movie, I’m baffled by spontaneous applause here, as if they were the planned guests of honor here???

This one is one of many in a post I have yet to post.

Preview of a portrait…for orchestra of old souls @ upper Playground December 4th 2009!!

Spraypaint on board

Lady Gaga só bomba em editorial porque tem esse visu weirdo, e me incomoda menos que barbarizando nos palcos. Não adianta especular mais – só vazaram essas duas fotos – e o resto do recheio promete! É  a Lady mas ela super pegou boi de ser convidada (sem merecer hein) por Anna Wintour pra Vogue americana de dezembro – super disputada (e com aquela capa das divas do musical Nine). Pagando de bruxa no teminha “João e Maria” com Lily Cole e Andrew Garfield – fotos por Annie Leibovitz merecendo um super negrito. Ah! Mais fotos da lôca que vazaram da Flare de fim de ano también!

Clipe full de Bad Romance já disponível no Perez Hilton! Blé.

ps: Gosto da Gaga mas tudo que é demais cansa né.

…

E fotos que eu adoro de editoriais antigos da Annie – sonho – delícias da Vanity Fair e de todos os editoriais. Lembram dessas?A última com certeza…

OK Folks,

I’m doing an exclusive show for 2009 at Upper Playground Seattle. From Now until the show I will be posting updates about the show…triumphs and struggles…along with detail shots of me in the studio working, and of the work itself. Along side the original works I will have a very limited line of T-shirts and scarves.

Now down to the dirt, The show is called Orchestra of old souls. The show is about the inevitability of old age and the transfiguring of our souls into a physical form before it evolves into pure energy. As the soul leaves the body it takes the form of a colorful explosion of what I’m calling “Ultra Gore” which is mash of eyes, tentacles, pores, skin, fungus and everything that makes up organic life forms. I believe sometimes old souls can be trapped in any “shell” or form, and that death of the body is the only way that the soul may be free to do what it is destined to do somewhere else in this immense universe that we truthfully know nothing about.

Now that that is out of the way…This Show will be the first marker for the Weirdoculture empire, product line.

Stay tuned for pics of the Shirt and scarf design along with updates on the progress of the art…

I have so much going through my mind, but every time I sit down to type, I can’t focus it. I have a post about my thoughts on a dispatch debate that has been in my drafts for a couple of weeks now. I just don’t know what to do with it, how to explain it any better, but I don’t like how it reads.

I feel like school is sneaking up on me, but at the same time I’m ready for it to be over. I’m nervous, because I don’t feel like I’ll do well, but I want so badly to have a real career that will allow me to help people and use the intelligence I know I have. Me? In school again? With how much studying Cre has been doing, I don’t know how I’ll balance 40-hour work weeks with school and possibly a little one. As much as I would prefer to move back to Arkansas to have the support of loved ones while I go through all of that, I know that we both have good jobs with decent pay and in this economy we don’t need to throw that away. Ugh, why on earth does Utah have to be so far from Arkansas?

It also doesn’t help that I haven’t been able to sleep well recently. I swear, on 8 hours of sleep I feel dead, and that will not bode well with having children. I don’t know if it’s related to the Phentermine, or possibly that we need a better bed, but I have got to be able to get more rest. Or learn to like coffee, I guess. Eww.

I only lost 12 lbs in the last 5 weeks, and that makes me feel like a fatty all over again. Over the course of the last 10 months, I have lost an average of 4 lbs per month. That is horrible compared to what I had hoped for, but I guess I can’t really complain. I’m just looking forward to liking what I see in the mirror. I’ve had such mixed responses/comments on my appearance that it’s no wonder I have such weird self esteem. When I was 160 (overweight but nothing like I am now), Matt told me I was fat and I lost 10 lbs that summer because I was terrified to eat around him. Kanji would tell me I was “cute” when I asked him if I was “pretty” or “beautiful,” which led me to feel like he was saying the same thing as Matt but in a different way. Chelle used to tell me when I said I wanted to lose weight that she was afraid I’d become obsessed with it to the point where I would be 110 and anorexic or something. Jacob used to tell me I was beautiful and didn’t need to lose a pound, even as I gained weight, which was the exact opposite of what I needed. I don’t need to be told I’m fat, or to have an answer skirted around, or to be told that I’m going to become anorexic, or that I’m beautiful and I don’t need to lose weight. I need the truth. I am overweight. On the BMI scale, I’m obese and have just gotten myself out of the morbid obesity catagory. Jordan loves me and thinks I am beautiful regardless, but supports me in my decision to lose weight, even if I am obsessed with Onederland. Although it really doesn’t help that I make things like the Reese’s cheesecake or peanut m&m brownies – although I don’t really eat them, just making them and posting pictures of them makes me feel fat.

I am so very impatient for Christmas. I have already bought all of the Christmas presents and am just waiting for a few more of Jordan’s to arrive so that I can wrap them. I’d be even more impatient if I was going to Arkansas again, even if it would mean sleeping on Chelly’s couch again. I have enough sleeping problems as it is, I don’t need to sleep on a couch. Bleh. I am totally looking forward to having our first Christmas tree together, though, now that we have the room to put one up.

It’s funny how we moved from a one-bedroom loft to a three-bedroom apartment and manage to fill up the new one. As it is, we’ll have to move the workout stuff into other rooms when we get preggers to make that bedroom into the baby’s room. -sigh- I want to hit the snooze button on my biological clock so it’ll stop bothering me until I’m done losing weight. I want a child so badly. Jordan’s cousin, Eli, got married the month after we did. They just had their first child. My cousin is pregnant with her second. I feel like I’m behind, which I know is ridiculous, but my body just keeps telling me it’s time. Although the nurse practitioner that I’m seeing for weight loss (Nancy) is telling me that perhaps my body is waiting for a time that’s actually right for me, almost like natural birth control. Haha, if only that was possible.

I’ve been reading a new book series recently, which is very engrossing. (The series is called A Song Of Ice And Fire, and it’s a fantasy series with some suspense and even king-related politics. It’s fantastic, and probably one of the best things I’ve ever read.) I’m on the second book of the five that are currently published, out of what I think is a total of seven. The paperback books are 700-900 pages long, and there is so much going on in the series and with all of the characters that people have dedicated an entire wiki website to it. Of course, reading a post on that website to remember a character that I’d forgotten about got me more spoilers than I knew what to do with. And once I’m done with this book, I need to buy the other three, and then I also have The Time Traveler’s Wife, The Chronicles of Narnia, all three Eragon books (I’ve read the first two but need to re-read them to read the third), as well as another 10-15 books I put on my Christmas list to Jordan, which was mostly comprised of my favorite Stephen King books. When will I ever have enough time to read all of these? Jordan has been reading the Dune series through the library, but I’m sure he’ll eventually want to buy them as well. We already have one 7-foot and one 4-foot bookshelf full of books, not including my Christmas list and the 10ish books on Jordan’s list that I bought him as well. We’re running out of room for them!

I need to get you two out here before we move, because you would love Utah as I know it (not as Cre knows it), and you would love this apartment. Even if it is rumored to have drug dealers in the apartment complex – but what apartment complex doesn’t? At least if I have to call the police, I’ll be talking to Salt Lake County police. SLCO is significantly more useful than Valley Emergency (VECC), which dispatches for the other valley cities that SLCO doesn’t cover. I need to start taking pictures like Cre, categorizing them by month. If only I had things to take pictures of, that might possibly work.

Don’t mind me, just rambling on. Jordan’s getting the laundry so I can put our fresh sheets back on the bed. Mmm.

EDIT: Ugh, the dryers here SUCK, and our comforter/sheets are still wet. We need to buy a washer and dryer asap. We’ll be sleeping with a spare set of bedding for the night.

The first time I saw her it was three o’clock in the morning and she was standing in the rain.  It was late May, one of those warm spring downpours that falls in huge squishy drops turning the whole road into one big puddle.  I’d just graduated from high school and the parties were finally breaking up.  I’d only had one beer since I had to drive most of the guys home, so there was no way I was imagining the girl standing there in the driveway next door, hair plastered to her face, arms up in the air like she was trying to catch something.

I just slowed to a stop in front of my driveway, put the car in neutral, and stared.  The only people I’d ever seen next door before were the Cawleys who had to be about 87 years old and never did anything except watch their three beagles run around and crap in our yard.  I was worried, you know?  It took a moment before she turned.  I couldn’t really see her face, but I could tell she wasn’t happy to be caught in my headlights.  I hurriedly put the car back in gear and pulled into my driveway, doing one of those half-wave greetings that really means, yeah, I see you weirdo, why are you looking at me?  I tried not to glance back at her as I parked the car under the basketball hoop and waited for the garage door to open.  Engine off, parking brake, half a minute to get out the door and shut it again, ten feet at a sprint to the nice, dry garage and I was inside.  As far as I know, she was still standing there.  Weirdo, I thought again.

When I crawled out of bed at two the next day, Saturday, The girl was still on my mind.  I swear, she clawed her way into my dreams!  I got dressed thinking how the first day of being a high school graduate was pretty anticlimactic.

“Do the Cawely’s have kids?”  I asked my mom.  She sat at the kitchen table reading a book on the social behavior of four-year-olds. She was taking classes for her degree in childhood education, which was weird since your mom’s not supposed to go to college at the same time you do.  Well, I obviously wasn’t in college yet, but I’d been accepted to St Anselm’s.  Mom looked up after a few moments—her eyes looked more wrinkled today, I thought.

“What was that you said?  These psychological studies have my head swimming!  Would you believe they did this experiment entirely involving the way four-year-olds stack blocks?”  She paused for effect, “You were back late last night, by the way, good party?”

“Yeah, a bunch of the guys were there.  Ryan and Jeff had to leave early.  They both have work this morning already.  I was just asking if the Cawley’s have kids.  I saw this girl over there last night, really strange, just standing in the rain.”  I poured myself a bowl of frosted mini-wheats as I spoke, and sat down across the table.

“They’ve got a few kids, I think, but they’d all be in their forties by now.  Oh, wait!  Sandy Trilotti was telling me the other day in class that they have a granddaughter staying with them for the summer.  Her parents went to Europe or something.  I’m not really sure, though.  Is she pretty?”  She looked at me with that penetrating look only moms can produce.

“Mom!  She’s a friggin’ weirdo.  Standing in the rain at 3 am?  She probably came from a mental home or something.  Maybe they sent her out here thinking rural life would calm her down or something, but really she’s going to murder us all in our sleep and the guys who made Blair Witch will have to come up here and make another sequel.”

“Anthony!”  My mother was the only one who ever called me that.  To everyone else I was “Ant,” but my mom insisted that she named me Anthony because she liked the whole name, how it sounded like poetry or something.  Does an eighteen-year-old guy want a name that sounds like poetry?  Of course not.

Anyway, I wasn’t really interested in the girl.  Just curious.  Curious enough that I actually decided to talk to her.  I mean, I was bored.  I had a job at the local video store, but since everyone from school worked at either the video store or Friendly’s, we never had days off at the same time.  It was a Thursday afternoon and I wanted to go somewhere, do something.  I was still feeling pretty rich.  See, high school graduation is the only gift-giving occasion where you can just reach into your wallet, pull out twenty bucks, and hand it over inside some cheesy card that basically says, hey man, have a nice life.  And I knew that the 250 dollars I made off of various relatives and neighbors would only buy one semester’s worth of textbooks, so all the better reason to spend it all now having fun.

There were plenty of other girls from my senior class I could have talked to.  Unfortunately, my town’s pretty small, so I know them all.  I know they’ve all slept with some combination of my best friends, and that just weirds me out.  Besides, the only relationship I ever had ended after two weeks.  Really, I’m not bad looking, but I guess I’m too intense for girls.  That’s what Cindy said, at least, said I scared her or something.  If there’s anything I’d call myself, scary is not it.  I’m exactly one inch under six feet (which is as annoying as hell), with hair that looks like a dark brown mop someone attached to my head.  If I cut it, it grows back in a week, so I just let it grow long and attempt to keep it contained by squashing it under a baseball cap.

So I needed somewhere to go, and there was the girl again, outside in the Cawley’s front yard watching one of the beagles run around the yard like it was on acid or something.  Now that I was looking at her in the daytime with dry clothes on, I noticed that she wasn’t that bad looking.  She was definitely weird, though.  She wore one of those tiny black leather skirts over blue leggings, a t-shirt advertising some obscure rock band, and the most worn out pair of sneakers I have ever seen.  More amazing than her outfit, though, was her hair.  It was this insane shade of red, like one of those drug store dye jobs, only it seemed to change color when she moved.  I wondered why I hadn’t noticed it before.  A color like that would be visible even through a torrential downpour in the middle of the night.  I figured she’d done it recently.

I walked nonchalantly over towards the row of short bushes separating out two yards,

“Hey,”  I said.  It was not the best opening line, but I was still staring at the hair.  Volcanic red, I guessed.

“Hello,” she replied, but only after turning and scrutinizing me for a few minutes.  She looked straight into my eyes, not like most people who just glance around while they talk.  What the..?  Her eyes are purple! I quickly looked away,

“What did you feed him this morning?”  I asked, gesturing towards the dog, who was currently attempting to climb a tree in pursuit of a squirrel.  Each jump resulted in the dog sprawled at the base of the tree and the squirrel chattering away in the branches, having the time of his life.

“I have no idea,” she said, “If he were my dog, I’d teach him to hunt for his own food.”

“Yeah, what kind of dog can’t even intimidate a squirrel?”  We both laughed as the squirrel climbed halfway down the tree, taunting the poor yapping beagle.  Her laugh was low and musical, with this intense effect that was sort of like the feeling you get in your chest when you turn a sub all the way up.

“I’m Ant,”  I said, and held out my hand over the bushes.  She walked over without looking at her feet at all, just stared right ahead at me.

“Eve.”

“So, uh, I guess I’m your neighbor this summer.”  It was a pretty idiotic thing to say, but it’s hard to think when two purple eyes are focused on your forehead like radar.

“Yeah.  I’ve seen you.  I can see your living room from my room downstairs.”  She gestured back towards the Cawley’s house, and I noticed a room with dark purple curtains, and figured those must be hers.  Kinda of freaked me out, though, that she’d been watching me play Sega every night for the past week.  “You don’t come outside very often,” she continued.

“Well, there’s not much to do out here.”  I remembered playing baseball every summer as a kid.  Now all the guys were either working or lazing around, watching TV, playing video games.  Wasn’t much else to do, really.

“Maybe you need to look harder.” She paused for a minute, like she was listening to something, then crouched down beside the low, squared-off bushes and touched one of the leaves, “They don’t make a very good fence, and the plants aren’t very happy.”

“Um, I never knew plants could be happy.”

“Anything can be happy or sad.  You just have to know how to look. Here, see this leaf?  It’s cut in half.  The edge is all brown and sad.  You can tell, can’t you?”  This was probably my cue to say something like, Nice to meet you, say hi to the men in white coats for me, dash off into my house, and amuse myself with video games for the rest of the afternoon, but the sheer immensity of boredom I had accumulated over the week outweighed natural instinct.  I sort of shook my head and tried to come up with some way to change the subject,

“So, where are you from?”

“England.”  She shrugged.

“Really?  You don’t have an accent.”

“I know.  I was born in Washington DC, grew up all over the place.  I only said England because that’s where our most recent house was.”

“Was?”

“Well, my parents are out searching for our next house right now.  They didn’t want me on my own all summer.  I don’t see how it matters since I never see them at all, anyway.”  I couldn’t tell if she was angry or just sad, she had drained all emotion from her voice.  She still looked straight at me, though.

“Yeah?  Well I never see my dad.  He lives somewhere in Canada.  Hasn’t talked to my mom or me in fifteen years.”

“Some guys are assholes,” she said.

I had no idea why I had just told her about my dad.  I never talked about him, not even to my best friends.

“So, um, I’m a guy, too, you know,” I said, grinning nervously.

“Well, you have yet to show me that you’re the good kind.  Guilty until proven innocent, you know?”  We both laughed again.

“Want to go somewhere?”  she said suddenly. “I only have to watch the dog for another ten minutes.”  She smiled, and I wondered if she’d read my mind.

“Sure.  Where do you want to go?”

“Well, I don’t know the town that well, but I was wondering if there were any nice ponds.”  I had been thinking more along the lines of lunch at the mall or something, but sure, finding a pond could be fun.  At least it would be something to do.

“Um, there’s the one we all used to skate on in the winter, out behind the town hall.  I guess it’s nice.  I haven’t been there in a few years.”

Part II

I’m a weirdo! And this is not an inspiration from Radiohead’s Creep. This is my personal statement of the year. It was my personal statements for the last few years and probably will remain so in the years to come. But what makes me a weirdo? My lifestyle? My job? My ego? My friends and girlfriends? None of that? All of that?

Hard to choose! And I am not sure I could answer. None of that and all of that at the same time, perhaps. My weirdness has nothing to do with my own self as such. If you look at me, the way I live, things that I do and stuff I like or hate, from my perspective, or any individual prism around me, there’s nothing wrong or weird about it. Yet, if you look at me from a wider social perspective – I’m a weirdo – no doubts!

The thing is, I cannot really fit into any of the social patterns based on which the society in this part of the world functions for so many years, decades, or even centuries now. It’s unique. Or should I say, uniquely bizarre.

There’s a single pattern, which evolves in different forms but still remains the same, which everybody, at some point in their lives, has to join and obey. It’s simple. First you meet a girl or a guy, and then you hang around for couple of months or years with them. Next thing you want to do is you want to get engaged, and then married. Pregnancy is a must and usually happens 2 months before or after the marriage. But before that, you have to find yourself a good job, which in the Balkans means a position where you can afford working as less as possible and get a decent monthly wage. It has nothing to do with career, position, or the labour itself, as such. Nine-to-five job with weekends off and being able to take your family for two weeks annual leave in some beach would be just great. Mortgage with a high interest rate follows, and with that, a new apartment somewhere in the new fancy recently-built buildings, or, in best (read: richest) case scenario, a house in some of the trendy and hyper-expensive residential areas around the town. This is what “everybody” is doing, and why shouldn’t I? It would, if nothing else, help me limit my hobbies to walking around with my own kids and thinking of what a boring day I had at work, or, in worst cases, how to pay the next mortgage instalment.

Well, this is it folks. This is the social patter valid in most of the countries in South-East Europe and especially the newest one – Kosovo. If you think you didn’t join it yet, just wait until it happens. Of course, it comes in many variations, depending on gender, wealth and geographic locations. If you don’t see yourself living based on this pattern, you soon will. If you won’t, then you’re a weirdo, just like myself.

An ex-friend, who is at the same time an ex-girlfriend, made me watch a weird film some months ago – Pi by Darren Aronofsky. It’s a good one, although I wasn’t crazy about it. Yet, in short words, it’s a story about a weird scientist who seeks a key number that would unlock the universal patterns found in nature. Pi – the 3.14 magic number is given as an example. This film made me think about social patterns more than about natural ones. If one can challenge natural patterns, such as decimal numbers for example, and enjoy let’s say the hexadecimal system (or binary ones, like some friends of mine who do programming for living) why wouldn’t I challenge the social patterns.

Because I’m done with middle 20ies and in some years will be 30 years old? Because when I am 30 it will be quite late, or the last moment, to get myself enrolled in the pattern I have explained above?

Huh! The only good thing one can learn in a collage course called Critical Thinking is to ask the question WHY! And I am asking it now. Why should I? Why should I, let’s say, when I meet a hot chick and I’m 30 years old, think of sharing my house with her instead of wishing to get into her panties? Why shouldn’t she think the same, instead of wonder how my credit card balance is? (Let’s just not get into that) Why should I vote for a certain political party? Why should I have coffee at a place where everybody else is?  Why? Why? Why?

Well, the fact that I am asking too much, is enough to qualify me as a weirdo. So be it!

P.S. I don’t edit my blogs. Mind my spelling mistakes. I don’t care!

i am not going to write poems anymore

maybe i am ‘ bad’ at it

wait, no

i am pretty good at it

i ‘ think’

i am gonna stop for awhile

i should focus of on on ‘other stuff’

like ’surfing’ and or ‘ white-collar crime’

both seem ‘ hard’ but  they could be a ‘meaningful’  experience to me

i am a ‘retard’

i am a ‘retard’

i should die pretty soon

because i am a ‘retard’

life should be fun and filled with ’stuff to do’

but it is not

life is bleak

life is ok

not sure what is more important ‘money’ or ‘ interpersonal relationships’

not sure

i am ‘weird’ like david bowie

Hier, j’étais au comptoir du retour et je regardais la neige tomber, les usagers par vague répétitives, les flocons tourbillonant. Je feuilletais aussi le krach parfait d’Ignacio Ramonet et je rageait dans ma barbe.

Quelques fois, lorsqu’il pleut ou neige, nous devons essuyer quelques livres qui ne furent pas protéger des intempéries ou qui furent atteint par quelques flocons ayant eu l’audace d’entrer dans le sac que l’usager trimballait.

Rien de plus normal. Un brin chiant mais normal.

Il devait être quinze heure et des poussières quand je vit une femme tenant un livre au dessus de sa tête, pour protéger ses cheveux!

Elle me remit le livre avec un bon pouce de neige sur le quatrième de couverture et retourna d’où elle venait mais cette fois, sans protéger ses cheveux.

Je n’ai pas eu la force de lui dire quoi que ce soit. Son livre portait sur les clés de la confiance en soi ou un truc du genre.

Si je la revois, je vais lui suggérer l’ignorance en soi.

I’ve realized I have a lot of quirks. Everyone does, but I was thinking about mine the last few days. I tend to refer to myself as “borderline OCD,” because I have some things that I like to organize or fix and I can’t focus on anything else until those are done. But I’m not that way about everything.

I sleep with one arm under my pillow, and I have to take time every single night to make sure I’m not bending my wrist, because that will make my carpal tunnel flare up by putting pressure on the nerves in my wrist.

Our bedding is black, and the pillows are white; somehow, in the way Jordan sleeps, he pushes the pillowcase halfway off the pillow. If I wake up and roll over in the middle of the night and see the white pillow, I have to pull the pillowcase back down.

I don’t like to put away dishes, but I don’t mind washing them.

I still find myself focusing too hard on Onederland and sneak the scale down to weigh myself more often than I should.

When I find a new game/song/book that I like, I will play/listen/read it any time I have free time, until I bore myself of it and move on.

I still absolutely will not eat mayo or mustard; I think they’re disgusting. I don’t even like touching them. But at the same time I know that sloppy joes just taste like spaghetti sauce without mustard, so that is the one exception.

I have trouble picking a movie to watch. I will go through a couple dozen until I find the one that sounds right.

I will check the tracking on a package at least once a day if it’s coming here, and more often if it’s something I sent to someone else. Currently I’m watching 2 packages on their way across the country, both of which should arrive tomorrow (or possibly Saturday).

Whenever I get a headache or stressed out, I find myself clenching my jaw – I don’t grind my teeth, but I will clench them together. I don’t realize I’m doing it until my jaw starts to hurt, which subsequently can give me a headache or stress me out.

I am slightly good at a lot of things, but I’m not exceptionally good at any one thing. I want to own a business, but I am still unsure as to what kind. Perhaps that’s more Gemini than quirky.

Jeez, I know the list could go on and on, but I can’t really think of anything more right now.

I have an appointment with the nurse practitioner next Thursday, so I’ll have a new number to post. I’m nervous.

I, of course, stopped taking my b/c when I realized I really couldn’t do much of anything because of the nausea, and I still haven’t gotten a hold of the doctor’s office to talk about getting a new one.

Jordan and I should be going to a new bank today or tomorrow to have them buy our car loan. Right now, our interest is outrageous. You have no idea. At the time, Jordan had no American credit and mine was shot because of recently missing payments on my student loan, so pretty much the only reason we were able to get a car is because he had such great income. But because of our credit, the interest was over the top – every month, we pay $321.38, and about $200 of that is interest. I really don’t need the payment lowered, but if we could lower the interest, we would pay it off sooner by making the exact same payment. Jordan’s credit has been built because of this car payment and is now over 700. I think it’s 711 or 721, I’m not sure. But it’s been a year and a half of a ridiculous payment, I’d like to change that.
[EDIT: Turns out Jordan's went down a little bit because of the new BBY credit card. I want the best possible interest rate with only one credit inquiry, so we're going to check out the bank once our credit cards are all paid off.]