Well, in spite of some disorganization and what not, the Zombie Walk was more fun than I've had in a very long time.  It was also SO good to get out of the house and ever so quickly get over the mean boy.  I love quick turnarounds. 

Ooh, and Minimus Maximus was there; some guys I knew from skoo were there cookin.  I hadn't eaten from the steel pig yet, and the minimus with cheese and hurt was *awesome.*  My god.  My GOD.  Watering mouth; want more NAO.

I drank beer, too, which is very rare for me.  3 beers down and I was pretty numb-lipped for the better part of the day.  Negro Modelo is now my beer of choice from the store bought brands.  Leave it to my favorite brand of human being, the Mexicans, to make the best beer.

And I got the first sunburn I've had in ten years.  I forgot they hurt!

And in honor of the fact that I am not totally devastated by anything that happens in my life, especially not some god damn BOY, I about to go cut up some jeans. 

The Zombie Walk prevails.

8-0

The Mad Ferret sings all your favorite classics

Today's selection is from a formerly popular total fucking genius artist named Ben Folds.

Song for the Dumped
-Ben Folds Five, Ben Folds

So you wanted to take a break
Slow it down some and have some space

Well fuck you too!

Give me my money back
Give me my money back, you bitch
I want my money back

Wish I hadn't bought you dinner
Right before you dumped me on your front porch

Give me my money back
Give me my money back, you bitch
I want my money back
... and don't forget my black T-shirt

That hurt.  (But what would life be without risk?)

It is just becoming more and more clear as I get older that I'm going to be alone whether I like it or not.  People just don't like me /enough/ to make being close to me worth the effort.

And that's final. (Alright, maybe not totally final.  But there are some pretty unfortunate ways in which I'm going to be very limited in my ability to get close to people thanks to the acrid nature of my personality.  But I'm just not able to turn off the parts of me that are so offensive to other people.  And as I've said before, trying has gotten me straight up shite.  And if I COULD turn them off, at this point, I think I would, as I say below.  Sucky, but true.)

I'm also becoming aware of just how much I crave physical contact with someone other than C.  No one ever touches me, and I certainly avoid touching other people as much as possible.  People run away from me, rather than sit next to me.

I feel like a monster.  (rawr, mummyfuckers)

I'm crying over a boy again.  I think that's stupid.  (totally stupid)

If I could cut out, shut down, or turn off the parts of me that I feel are the most valuable and worthy parts of me as a human being, I would.  I just *hate* being me.  I hate my experiences.  I hate the way people treat me - even when they want to do something different - because I am so de trop.  With an apologetic smile across their lips, they cut my heart out and tell me "have a nice life."  (or "best of luck."  Best of luck?  What the fuck is this, Vegas?)

I *am* this unlovable.  I *am* this unwantable.  I *am* this ugly and worthless.  (But only on the outside.)

I'm going to go cry some more now.  (Thank god that's over with.)

(The Mad Ferret sings along: "But you just smile like a bank teller blankly telling me 'have a nice life...'")

The Mad Ferret sings all your favorite classics

"I want the touch of your charms... the heat of your breath... I want to say all those things that would be better left unsaid... BUT YOU'RE TOO PHYSICAL..."


Sometimes, only H-loving Trent can say it just right.


EDIT:  I wish I had not been so fucking stupid.

It occurred to me yesterday that for the most part I only write here when I'm in a dark and foul mood, but that isn't what I am all the time, either.  (Hence, large gaps in the blog.)  It's not necessarily what I am even most of the time, though pretty much at any time I could be in a dark and foul mood.  In the full 360 degrees of my life I am being very sincerely focused on being less unhappy.  For a lot of legitimate reasons.  But I guess this demonstrates that I tend to write expressively only out of a sense of torment and anguish (wow, how unique and unusual is that, ha ha) and not out of any of the other myriad emotions I experience.  Particularly enjoyment, which happens more often than I'd ever write about.

What is there to say about being in a good mood?  Everybody is in a good mood.  There's nothing newsworthy about being chipper, but there's plenty to say about the causes of torment.

I think the whole "get over it" mentality is borne out of whatever ugly moment brought that person to the point of giving up and giving in.  It's their encouragement that, like them, you too should get over it, shut off your emotions, and buy into whatever dirty juice they are suckling from The Great Teat.

Summer quarter looks to be pretty awesome.  It's going to keep me very busy though.

So it was maybe 3 or 4 weeks ago I started saying out loud that I needed some movement of energy in the apartment.  Things felt... too cramped, too clogged, too cluttered, too messy.  I just needed things in the apartment to move a bit instead of just accumulating, and asked Carlos for help with it.  Yesterday he cleaned out my refrigerator thoroughly, by request.  It is FANTASTIC.  His efforts got me moving yesterday a bit and I got up and moved all my houseplants out onto the deck.  This is great, just fine really, unless and until I decide I want to grill something, at which point I'll have to work something else out.  Basically, I've created the need for a sizeable outdoor table or shelf upon which I can place about twenty potted house plants.

Meanwhile, I've decided that the bookshelf atop which they were previously located needs to move.  This means I need to move two other bookshelves, and a tool chest.  This means I need to completely clean off all the aforementioned shelves and reorganize them, as well as figure out where in the hell I'm going to put some stuff.  I don't like the idea, but I probably could really use a piece or two LESS furniture.  I would probably be best off selling some of the stuff, but then what am I going to do next time I need another bookshelf, i.e., later this year when we move into our house? Spend more money on another bookshelf?  I'd really rather not.  The one bookshelf I'd possibly consider selling I've owned for ten years, so although the wood could be replaced, the memories could not.

Memories of a bookshelf?  Yeah, kinda.  It's one of the very few things I still have that my mother ever bought for me.  And since we are completely estranged with no hope in sight for reconciliation, well... why not hold onto something that shows she has not always felt this way about me.

Her birthday is July 6th.  She'll be 60 this year. 

::sigh::

Anyway, lots to do if I really want to make these changes today.

Peace.