DOES NOT EXIST

I was told recently that my phone did not exist when trying to register it online. BUT IT DOES EXIST! It is IN MY HAND. At least, that's what I think of when I am considering whether something exists: IS IT IN MY HAND?

If yes, then it does exist. If no, then it does not exist. It's an easy flowchart to follow. I made a big poster of the flowchart for easy reference. Whether I'm holding something or not, I can quickly glance at the poster and quickly answer whether it exists or not.

Actually, maybe this is why my partner left me. He did not exist when I was not holding him, which made for some awkward sexual experiences whenever we briefly lost contact when switching positions. Therefore, I should not switch positions when engaged in sexual activity.

EAT THIS POST

I like eating. It's what I do best. People will come up to me and say, 'Eat this!' And I will oblige and eat whatever they're handing me. I have a hard time saying no. And I think people have started to clue into this, because people have been feeding me what I call 'non-food items,' (or NFI for short). Like branches. You know how hard it is to finish a branch? A lot of chewing. A lot of work.

I think this goes back to the time of my childhood; I have fond memories of my mom spoon-feeding me delicious muck when I was seven. She'd go, 'Ah,' and I'd go, 'Ah,' and before I knew it there was a spoon in my mouth and I was slurping up whatever she gave me. Then the spoon would exit, and with-ever-more care it would be dipped into the jar of food, and then the process would repeat itself.

So, yeah. That's why I ate that sandwich. I thought you were handing it to me, and I just went for it. Also, I'm really sorry for your finger. Not sure how my teeth work, exactly, but I think that fault might lie with you--don't put fingers near my mouth. I will probably eat them, like a dog who overestimates the size of its treat and underestimates the size of the treat-giver's fingers.

YOU AND I ARE NOW FRIENDS

Pre-Facebook:

When the person you are seeing meets your friends, you find out whether they will get along or not, and you respond accordingly. And that was that.

Post-Facebook:

When the person you are seeing meets your friends, not only do you find out whether they will get along or not, but a digital copy of the moment in question is recorded for the world to see.

SO IT'S COME TO THIS

I'm not really sure why I was chosen; my communication skills are, well--uh, they are lacking. I also have a tendency to use the wrong word or use words incorrectly. It probably comes from my desire to want to sound more intellectual-er than I actually am.

That's another reason, actually! I'm not the brightest bulb in the tool shed. I also mix metaphors up quite a bit, like a blender to food. Yeah, see, I thought that was a metaphor, not a simile. But I guess that's the way the cookie is eaten. By hungry people. On a blisteringly hot day. When they are starving. And have no food. Except for that cookie, that has yet to be eaten. By that hungry person. On that really hot day.

I also can't describe things good. Er, well. Sorry. Yeah, can I go now?

COMPLAINTS

Sometimes I think that the world is not enough. But then I realise that I'm not a secret agent and move on with my life.

YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG

A man, Man, stands alone on a street corner. Another man, let's call him Man B, approaches.

Man: Hey, man.

Man B: Hey. Let's just walk down to the bridge.

They walk.

Man B: So I was using a fake name, but I can give you my real name and my primary e-mail address for further trades.

Man: Cool.

Man B gives Man an empty cigarette pack.

Man: Uh, what's this?

Man B: It's your stuff, neatly packaged in some tinfoil.

Man: Wait, I thought I was selling you stuff.

Man B: No, I thought I was selling you stuff.

Man: Oh. Well, um...

Man gives back the cigarette pack. Both men stare at each other awkwardly.

Man B: Do you still, uh, want it?

Man: No. Do you want my stuff?

Man B: No.

They continue to look at each other awkwardly. Minutes pass.

Man: Are you sure?

Man B: Yup.

More awkward staring. More minutes pass. With out saying another word, they head in opposite directions.

JUST STOP IT

There was this guy...a guy who had stars in his pocket. No, not literal stars--do you know how hot and big those things are? Very hot! And very big. He had stars in his pocket--isn't that the saying? Shit, yeah, you're right. That's not a saying at all. Okay, let me start over. No, wait! Come back! I wasn't finished my story!

A WOMAN WALKS INTO A ROOM

So, uh, I know this isn't really common--or maybe it is, I'm not sure--but can I have an advance on my pay? I know I just started, but I'm positive you won't regret hiring me! I'm the best there is! Just ask the other girls; they can prove my strong track record. What? Why do I need an advance? Uh, well, I'm in some dire straits--financially, that is. And this would just kind of, well, make me feel a little at ease. Why do I have to wait for my pay? You hired me, you know I'm going to do a really, really, really good job. I just--you know what it is? I'm bad with money. There, I said it. But I'm learning! My pimp is trying to be understanding, but if I could just get an advance on my pay, I can pay him and then quickly service you! No, not quickly--you know what I meant. You're leaving? Shit. Not again.

I THINK THEREFORE I TWEET

I've unearthed (un-interneted?) a few ancient gems in the past couple of days: three Photobucket accounts and a really old blog.

With regards to the Photobucket accounts: my god, why the fuck didn't anyone tell me to stop taking photos of myself?

With regards to the old blog(which actually might have an 's'): actually, I'm not too sure where to start with this one. I've been reading old entries, and I know I thought I was writing really deep and meaningful shit, but now I just cringe after reading certain paragraphs. Why the fuck didn't anyone tell me to stop writing about myself? Was it because we were all doing the same thing, and we all actually gave a shit about each other's 'deep insight' to the proclaimed nuances of our so-called lives? Fuck, what a pretentious fucking thing to have. (Yes, I know, shut up.)

Anyways, it made feel nostalgic, and as horrified as I am to know that these things exist in a medium that at the best of times is a fucking wasteland, I'm still kind of glad these blogs exists. It's almost like a tracking device; I can track the trajectory of my so-called life, and pinpoint times when my biggest worry was over when I would see my then-boyfriend (as opposed to now, where 'then-boyfriend' has been replaced with the infinitely more scarier--and elusive--'next paycheck.'

Nostalgia is a tricky girl. It's constantly re-creating something that I once cherished, slowly morphing it into some unrealised idyllic time in my life. Naivety also has a large role to play, I would imagine. I was a pretty clueless, shit-eating young adult who thought I was better than most because...I don't even know why. Why the fuck did I think I was better than most people? Because I had a blog? Hah, what bullshit. I was just as clueless as everyone else, trying to carve my space out in this life, using the internet as a crutch to thinking everyone gave a damn.

Maybe that's what's wrong with this new generation. I would like to think my internet-self has matured, realising that 100% of the internet does /not/ give a shit about 99.9% of the things I do. And that has come from years of having shitty blogs. I am able to stand back and think, "wait, I should not share this because a) no one cares, b) it's inappropriate, c) everyone can see it." Unfortunately for a lot of people, they didn't really have that maturing stage or beta testing. They have been thrown into this hyperconnected world where (and this is where Orwell and co. got it wrong) everyone can spy on everyone else. And they want to tap into that because it might make them feel connected to something or someone--share some universal human events or some such.

We all have this incessant need to share things about ourselves, and it pretty much stems from--at least this is the case for me--wanting to feel part of something. A comment, a like, a repost--somewhere someone has recognised something I did, and it somehow validates my existence. Someone somewhere has experienced the same thing, and somehow a connection is forged. At least in the internet world in which my old-self used to relish. Everyone wants to feel part of something, and the internet, especially social media, has made that possible. To quote one of the first lines I have fallen in love with,

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.

If everyone has their eyes closed, no one is watching me, and I am dead to all. My old-self needed those eyes on me in order to prove to someone (and myself?) that I was not alone and was part of something. If no one comments or sees what I do on the internet, the word has dropped dead.

I think, therefore I blog, I tweet, I comment, I like, I am.

THING

I think you think that word means more than what it does.

WHAT IN BLAZES?

I'm not exactly sure how we got here...probably had something to do with all that alcohol we ingested. It's been fun, though--right? No? Oh. Well, my memory gets a little hazy as well. It's not all my fault! It takes two people to take off clothes, y'know. And to have the sex. Yeah, actually, it takes two people to have sex. Or more. It's usually more fun when it's more. But, yeah, one person is all that is really needed when you're in the undressing stage--you're right. But, yeah, this does not improve our predicament. Well, truth be told, I'm not really in a predicament. From what I remember, I had fun last night! You should have, too. I don't know why you're all up in arms over this. Okay, I get it, this is your first one-night stand. But so what?! Welcome to the first of what I hope is many. Oh. You don't want many? How come? Really? I don't think it's that slutty. Shiiit, I've quite honestly lost track of how many times I've woken up in a stranger's bed, or had a stranger wake up in my bed. I usually prefer the later; the walk of shame isn't all what it's cracked up to be. Oh. It's not cracked up to be anything? That's weird. But everyone knows what that walk is. And if everyone knows, that means everyone has done it. And if everyone has done it, it's, like, y'know, a universal human event or some shit. Oh. You didn't want to experience that event? Actually, just to back up for a second, I actually prefer waking up in a stranger's bed, 'cause then you could just sneak out in the morning and not deal with any unpleasant awkwardness...no, I was not referring to this pleasant exchange of pleasantries. Yes, I am having a good time! We should do breakfast! I love bacon. Man, do you have bacon? No? Oh. Well, I could go to the store and grab some! Really? I don't believe you. There has to be some convenient store around here. Wait--where is here, exactly? Wicked! That's only a few subway stops from where I live! That's awesome! We could do this again! Oh. You don't want to do this again? I don't understand why. I remember performing quite well last night, if I may say so myself. Just because you can't remember it doesn't mean it wasn't good! That was totally alcohol induced. Well, if you want--and I don't offer this often--I can have sex with you again right now so you can remember it. Oh. Really? Oh. Really?! Okay. I guess if that's what you want...I just thought we were getting along so well. And I got all excited when I found out we lived to so close together! Okay, okay, fine, I'll leave. I just need to collect my things.

Okay then. I'll see you around? No? Wait, you think we're never going to run in to each other on the street? We live so close! Oh. Okay. Yeah.

WAIT, WHAT?

You say you've done this before, but from what I saw, you don't know shit. No, wait, that's being generous. You have no fucking clue what the fuck is going on. I'm kind of surprised you can function day-to-day. How are you not walking around constantly shitting and wetting yourself? No, no, don't start with me. I don't want to hear your god damned excuses. I said shut the fuck up, you piece of trash. You're lucky my mom is upstairs, otherwise I would cut your fucking throat right now. You lied, man. You fucking lied. That's the end of it. What? No, I'm still going to kill you, I'm just going to wait until my mom does whatever the fuck she does outside of the house. I haven't decided how I'm going to kill you, though. You are pretty helpless, tied up like that. Yeah, it will probably slow and painful, 'cause I want to make you fucking suffer for the shit you just put me through. Seriously, how did you think you were up for this job? I've seen you put on your shoes, and, man, you even struggle with that. No, shut up. I said shut the fuck up. Okay, you know what? Fuck it. I'm just going to slit your throat now and be done with it. To hell with my mom. I can buy her a new carpet.

SPARTACUS: LOSERS AND FAILURES

I was kind of looking forward to Spartacus: Blood and Sand not just because Sam Raimi was producing, but because it also promised to be better than 300...At least that was what I got out of the trailer and synopsis for the show. When I first started the episode, I was expecting a lot of awesome violence, gratuitous sex and a nude Lucy Lawless.

I got anything but. The show had a weird stylized gore about it--it looked like a mixture of sloppy anime and unrealistic CGI. And the sex, although borderline gratuitous, lacked...I dunno, substance, or passion. The sex was actually kind of boring, which is the last word you would want to describe fucking. No gritty, dirty, hot Roman sex, which is such a disappointment.

If the sex and violence had been done well, it might have made up for the atrocious acting, which was incredibly forced and awkward, and not at all menacing or gladiator-like.

Also, Lawless was no where to be found, in case you were wondering.

NEVER HAVE I EVER

He was shocked over the fact that I have never played Monopoly. I did not think it was that weird, but I let him play the game with me for the first time, anyway. He should have warned me how cut-throat it is. The blood will not come out of my jeans.

MISSED CONNECTIONS M4M

Even though I was sandwiched between two beefy men, our eyes met as you passed by me to venture into the sauna. I would have called you over to participate, but the ball-gag prevented me from doing so. E-mail me with what colour the ball-gag was and we can hopefully start something special!

OOPS

No, you have it all wrong. I was not trying to get into her pants. I was just trying to pee on her for stealing my drugs.

UNTITLED

"It was never meant to be." Pain erupted in my chest as he slowly released his grip, sliding off me like some oily substance. I fell to the ground, paralysed from the fatal blow. After taking one last look into my eyes, he turned on his heal and walked into the shadows, never to emerge again. I could feel the blood draining from my body, reaching out and exploring its new found freedom on the cold cement. My eyes grew heavy. I saw the first hint of a new day creep in through the tall, lifeless buildings that hung over me. I panicked suddenly, not knowing how I should lay dying. Was I in a dignified position? Should I die with my eyes closed? I didn't know.

I think you just hate having a good time!

HONESTY

Face it: you are not nearly as attractive as you think you are. Also, your fashion profile would benefit from new shoes.

KARMA SUTRA

Are you sure that goes in there? Should we not get a manual? Oh, well, there should be a manual for copulating.

IN LOVE

I have never seen anyone eat the way you do.

HONESTLY

I was not trying to be mean! I was just letting you know your breath smells really badly and I did not care to be around it. Your nose would have done the same thing.

How does one figure out how water works? What is water?

ANCIENT

I really miss the BLINK tag. Someone told me GeoCities.com closed its internet doors. The internet is changing!!

It is bad news when a colon and the left parenthesis hang out.

That was actually a colon and the right parenthesis standing next to one another. They hang out sometimes.

I like your face :)

CONVERSATION ERROR

I do not think that means what you think it means.

MY BAD

Typing with your fingers not on home row can make it confusing for everyone involved.

EXCUSEZ-MOI

You will have to pardon my Francois; he has not been himself lately.

So that is where that went.

HONEST

I swear to you that I am not a one-trick pony. I am just a horse awaiting another idea.

YOUR UNDERWEAR IS CUTE

Booze is like the best thing to give to someone in hopes of getting sexual intercourse on their mind.

FORGOTTEN

Replying to four-year-old Facebook messages that originally went unanswered must be weird for both parties involved.

REALLY

This is really an exercise in restraint.

STEAL THIS TEXT/TWEET/BLOG ENTRY.

I just got into this band. Do you know them?

SHOE STARING

I have not seen you around here before. Are you new? Can we be friends?

WE INTERUPT THIS MESSAGE

Is that even possible? I wonder about the validity of your argument.
Is that even possible? I wonder about the validity of your argument.
Is that even possible? I wonder about the validity of your argument.

This has been a test.
This has been a ‘test.’
This has been a test.

COME ON!

This is not Sparta! Stop calling it that.

CENSORED!

Oh, Sh*t!

Hah! You have no idea what that word is. It was censored. That crafty little asterisk is hiding the profanity! But I will tell you what it was! It is the word shit.

REMEMBER WHEN?!

I feel like I have forgotten how to write substantial things.

TO DO:

I am going to put on a pant.

HEY!

I remember you! It sure has been awhile. You never did return my book…can I have it back now?

1

Do not get me wrong; I understand what you are saying. I am just trying to figure out how we ended up here.