Thursday, October 28, 2010

Trick or Treat Give Me Something Good to Eat or Just Leave the Bowl on the Front Porch with a Sign on the Front Door That Says "Quiet--Baby Sleeping"

For some impossibly juvenile and foolish reason, some people despise Halloween. I cannot even begin to imagine their reasoning for hating such a fun and unique holiday, but they do. Maybe you're diabetic. Maybe your parents were dentists. Maybe you're easily frightened because you lived an overprotective childhood. Maybe you're Dr. R. L. Hymers, Jr. and you're reading this post because of the maliciously-worded e-mail I sent you regarding your sermons in which I descirbed you as a "rabid, indoctrinating, blithering, Bible-thumping baboon."

Or maybe you somehow find it strange that on this holiday, originally the eve to a day honoring saints, citizens of First World countries across the world who call themselves civilized are dressing up in the middle of the night and banging on their neighbors' doors asking for candy.

But, to all of you Halloween grinches and Scrooges, I have only two words:


You heard me right. Fup you.

I absolutely love Halloween. First of all, I really like horror movies. Now, they have to be good horror movies: The Ring, The Shining, Psycho, Halloween, etc. I don't like gore either. I hate gore. Ruins a good horror movie. The best horror movies are the ones that creep under your skin--the ones that mess with your mind. Not the ones that make you feel squeamish and disgusted. Those horror movies are like rude cartoon strips compared to Renaissance masterpieces. I'm talking about psycological thrillers.

Another reason I love Halloween? I like the role-playing--I mean dressing up. Not role-playing. That'd just be weird...and gross...and kinky...and hot....

I love seeing when people get creative with their costume: juice boxes, Nazis, and dragon-hippo hybrids just to name a few of my favorites. I also loves babies in costume.

But most importantly: TEENAGE GIRLS IN COSTUME.

I don't care how corny. I don't care how cheap the costume is. To a certain point, I don't even care if you're good-looking or not. As long as you're scantily clad, shameless, and wearing cat ears. You tell me you want to be a sexy nurse pirate gypsy, I'll buy it--I swear. Just make sure you remember the stockings. Why would a sexy nurse pirate gypsy need stockings? you may ask playfully. Just wear them, b****, I would respond flirtatiously.

(The sexiest words in the English language are not, as our friend Foxworthy says, "Hey, y'all, I'm drunk!" Instead, it is often in response to the question what one is going to be for Halloween. It is "OMG I have the best slutty cheerleader costume in the neighborhood!"

So for reasons like these--role-playing teenage girls, adorable babies, horror movies, tons of packaged candy and the occasional roasted apple--Halloween is the best secular holiday there is. That is, of course, aside from Christmas.

You all remember the following: don't bully kids for their candy. Instead, trick-or-treat with them. When the police show up because one of the parents called them in, you just say "Hey, nice costumes, guys! I could almost buy it!" They'll feel so sorry for you, they'll leave you alone and go chase after some maniac running around in an Oompa-Loompa costume pelting small children with milk duds.

Happy Halloween and a Happy New Year! (slurred the drunken grandmother to the preteen trick-or-treaters before taking a swig of Vodka out of a skull-shaped children's mug from Party City.)

That Blond Guy

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

To Quote from...Jason Mulgrew

Excerpt from Jason Mulgrew's book Everything is Wrong with Me, after the author mentions that he hired a therapist and the therapist has been blaming all of his problems on his parents' divorce:

"Week Four:

Therapist: How are you?
Me: Okay, I guess. Oh, but last week, I tried to rip my penis off. I almost got it, too, but I gave up because I got tired.
Therapist: Hm...Why don't you tell me how you felt when you and your mom moved out of the house?

Week Seven:

Therapist: How are you?
Me: Not great. I learned recently that I get aroused when I watch shows like Cold Case Files and at funerals. I'm pretty weirded out about it, but part of me loves it.
Therapist: Do you think it might have something to do with your parents' relationship?

Week Eleven:

Therapist: How are you?
Me: I took a handful of pills on Sunday and beat up a traffic cop, two dogs, and a fence. To be fair, she was a really big and strong traffic cop and she started it. Although I did accidentally rob her house and her car. The dogs and fence were just innocent bystanders.
Therapist: What was your mom's biggest problem with your dad?

Week Sixteen:

Therapist: How are you?
Me: I burned down some churches and threw a hooker off a bridge. Then I got all coked up and ate most of a couch. Also, I'm not coming here anymore.
Therapist: Do you think your relationships with women have been affected by your parents' relationship troubles? And please keep coming. I'm putting a library in my house and I'm making a killing off you. It's cedar."

A Superb Trio of Totally Unrelated Phenomenon

1) 'Twas my birthday last Saturday. I'm severely disappointed in all of you for not wishing me a Happy Birthday, (shakes bony finger disappointedly with a mischevious twinkle in his eye). Still, it was an exceptional day. On Friday, I had seven or eight friends over for a few hours--then we went to see Red. Bruce Willis, Morgan Freeman, Hellen Mirren, and...(drumroll please)...LENNIE! Tell-me-about-the-rabbits Lennie! You know--Lennie? AKA John Malkovich? Nevermind--you guys aren't worth it.

But it was a great movie. After we left the theater it was pretty late and there were a bunch of shady people outside. We saw one woman digging through ash trays for cigarette butts, for example. Also, there was a long line of hip-looking people waiting to enter a really b******* nightclub with prostitutes and rap stars and five-year-old brothers and sisters. Yeah, about that last part, it turned out to be a steak house. (Sigh.) Scratch the part about prostitutes and rap stars.

For my birthday I got a slinky and my first cell phone. I'm mostly really excited about the slinky. The cell phone I've opened up once or twice since I got it on Saturday. The slinky I've been playing with five hours every day after I get home from school. The slinky is all I really need in life anymore. If I was Tom Hanks in Cast Away, the slinky would be my Wilson. If I was Danny Torrence in The Shining, the slinky would be my index finger. I love that thing.

I guess the phone is pretty cool too. I've named all of my contacts so far in French, which has been the most fun. Overall, it was a pretty awesome birthday.

2) I'm reading a book called Everything is Wrong With Me, based on the author's infamous blog, Everything is Wrong With Me: 30, Bipolar, and Hungry. I've fallen in love with the book. Literally--and that is a difficult thing to sort out legally. There's this one dialogue in the book that left me breadless with laughter. I won't post it TODAY, because the post is already too long, but I'll definitely include it in the next post.

3) Finally, I want you to check out this video by a two-person band called Matt and Kim. (Make sure you watch the whole thing.) It's utterly random, superbly arousing, and totally genius. The ending is the best part, in my professional opinion. Here it is.

I read in a book about computer software that can UN-DO censorship pixelization. That is what I want for my next birthday. Show us all or nothing, government morons. Preferably all. Yeah, definitely don't show us nothing. Kim's body is angelic despite her pixelated privates. And, um, Matt has nice legs.

Was the ending not an exceptional stroke of spontaneous brilliance?

That Blond Guy

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Issues: Keep Them to Yourself

I apologize in advance if this post sounds insensitive. If it does, that is only because I am a very insensitive person--one who never learned how to laugh as a child.

I think people are becoming too showy about all of the problems they have. Teenagers, mostly, are gradually getting to the point where we are proud of all of our problems. We show off our problems like a new blouse--a pretty, deep purple one that has frills at the cuffs.

What ever happened to the image of the misunderstood problem child with a horrible past who keeps all of his problems to himself until he learns to love and finally reveals his troubling history in a dramatic scene at the end of the movie set to a somehow tragic alternative-rock version of The Old Rugged Cross.

And I have to say this too, because it's entirely relevant. I love The Breakfast Club--I love ANYTHING John Hughes--but The Breakfast Club is one of my favorites. But still, did it strike anyone else as almost comical how obvious all of the characters were about their problems? Ally Sheedy even dumps the contents of her purse on a desk for everyone to see so that they all know about her problems. How many times does Judd Nelson complain about his daddy problems? They've only known each other for two hours, yet they're pouring their hearts out to each other about all of their problems. Then, of course, they take cocaine and dance wildly to Karla DeVito's We Are Not Alone.

Problems are the first things teenagers talk to each other about after meeting for the first time. Soon it gets to the point where it's like this:

"Hey, my name is McKenzie. My mother beats me and I cut myself."

"Hi, McKenzie, my name is Luke. My father sets impossible standards and I'm constantly questioning my sexual orientation!"

It's just absurd. Whatever happened to what we did in the 50's, when everyone wanted to pretend they were perfect and kept their problems to themselves because they were ashamed of them? Why aren't we more ashamed of our problems?

And that one I mentioned earlier is the one that really kills me. Cutting yourself. I'm not even going to joke anymore about that, because that just drives me senseless with sympathy and unfounded guilt. Anorexia and self-mutilation. Often found in a package. Anorexia is almost as frustrating to me, because they just get into this impossibly brainwashed mindset where they're never happy with themselves.

(I wouldn't mind anorexia so much if they knew when to stop. Maybe if they saw the supermodels on TV, became unhappy with their appearance, fasted and exercised until they were well-toned and sexy, and THEN stopped. I don't mind girls with injured self-esteems obsessed with being perfect as long as they have the right body shape, which doesn't include skeletal or unconscious. You can still deprive yourself of food, girls, just make sure you stop before your form disappears completely!)

But back to the thing about issues, why are we always so quick to offer up our secrets and problems like they're a big, juicy steak that the listener will feast on delightedly? What's the point? They're not going to help you deal with it. They're going to feel uncomfortable, maybe offer you some awkwardly-delivered words of comfort, and then avoid you until they think you have it dealt with.

The moral of the story? Keep things to yourself. Don't tell anyone about your aunts' psychological disorder or your friend's homophobic parents except your psychiatrist and your cat. Don't breathe a word to any of your peers about your dyslexia or your cousin's involvement in gangs. We don't want to hear it. Humans are self-absorbed and get bored with other people's problems. Let's not pretend otherwise.

That Blond Guy

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Academic Team is Technically a Sport

Last Saturday was my very first Academic Team tournament! I was awoken at the crack of dawn to the sound of roosters calling and pegasi neighing, and I had to leave my house by 6 AM to make the bus. The bus ride to the tournament was about an hour long, but very entertaining, because one kid brought a lampshade that he insisted on wearing on his head the entire trip.

Nerds from all over Georgia were congregated at this one public school in a suburb of Atlanta. All types of nerds. There were inner city nerds with hoodies and sagging jeans. There were urban, private school nerds like us with their own Academic Team uniforms and naive expressions on their faces. Finally, there were rural nerds who looked like any other redneck teen from Georgia but somehow knew the dates of Revolutionary War battles and the authors of classic literature.

There was this one team in which every single member, (I still don't know if they were joking or not), showed up in suspenders, button-up shirts, and glasses. I walked up to one guy and said, "Keen suspenders." He nodded appreciatively like we both knew that those suspenders were the Cat's meow.

We did all right too. Our A Team almost made it to the Semifinalists. Our B Team did decently. Overall, it was just a really good experience. I loved the whole day.

Also found out on that day that Academic Team technically counts as a sport in terms of college credit and everything. Give me a break. (No, really. Give me a break. Maybe just like five minutes to wolf down a turkey sandwich and run to the bathroom. Thanks so much.)

Okay, if Academic Team is a sport, what's next? Debate? Chess? Cheerleading? Ultimate Frisbee? Girls' sports in general? Ha! Never!

Totally random side note! A kid walked into my Social Studies class today during his free period to say hello to my teacher, who basically told him to get out and go study. The kid, who was a little disgruntled, left the room and muttered, "I'm going to go pleasure myself in the bathroom."

The teacher was cool with it, though. This was the same Social Studies teacher who described Suleiman I's turban as "really b*******."


That Blond Guy

Friday, October 15, 2010

Buzz Cuts and a Totally Whacked-Out Music Video

I go to a private school, and we have hair codes. Just like--but not really like--in military school, whenever a guy's hair gets too long, the teacher will give him a deadline to cut it before he gets a detention. And you hear a lot of stories about guys who had to cut their hair at home in their bedroom with their younger sister's safety scissors because they couldn't make an appointment with the barber. They come to school with an extremely mutilated hair cut, everyone laughs and points at them, and the next day--they shave it all off out of embarrassment.

There aren't many things involving fashion or appearence that annoy me. I'm not like those girls in your Chemistry class who are always saying how much they hate this one girl in their homeroom because she never brushes her hair. But, for whatever bizarre reason, it annoys me when people get buzz cuts.

That sounds terrible in writing. It really does. But, having been raised in Georgia and Texas, I've grown accustomed to seeing them, and I've grown accustomed to discriminating against people who have buzz cuts.

I think it all started the first time I went to San Antonio with my grandfather to see the Alamo. I don't know why San Antonio is this way, but for whatever reason, there are a lot of kids with mohawks. I mean, when we went there, we saw entire families of mohawks. Little eight-year-old girls with mohawks, 300-pound daddies with mohawks, and sweet old grandmothers with mohawks. It was just insane. I guess it's like the effect of mixing city life and rural Texas. Buzz cuts and funky, urban hairstyles meet and shake hands. Then they marry, procreate, and have this bizarre baby.

Whenever I see buzz cuts, I think of the army, the Holocaust, and cancer. That's just my impression.

In conclusion, if YOU have a buzz cut, don't worry. I have nothing against you...except your haircut.

You've probably heard Muse's version of Feeling Good, right? That's all very well. It's a brilliant song, after all. But have you seen the video? If not, click on the link in the sentence before this conveniently colored purple for your sake. Anyway, don't ask me to explain the video to you. I think it's just as messed up as you do. The difference is, I love messed-up things. This video has been my #1 YouTube search in the past week aside from F*** You, by Lily Allen. (I've never been a fan of hip hop, but this all goes back to my England fetish. Something about British girls using the f-word makes me hot and nervous.)

Finally, I just want to clear something up.

A few posts ago, I got the following comment:

"Hon, honestly, I like your blog. You're a funny guy. But seriously, you can't always expect everyone to comment, because they don't always. And that's how blogging is."

Guys, what is this? An intervention? "Christopher, we love you. We really do. But this has got to stop." My favorite part is when I am described as "Hon."

I just wanted to clarify that when I whine and complain about how few comments I get--I'm making a joke. The self-pity and complaints are all part of the act, guys. I constantly have to remind people that I'm only joking. Never take me literally. Don't believe anything I say.

On that happy note, goodbye to you all.


That Blond Guy

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

An Imaginary Telescope and a Sobbing Fat Man in Panda Express

Want to know one of the things I like most about nerds? A lot of the time, they make really quality nerd jokes. Just like all the best gay jokes come from gay people, nerds make really good nerd jokes.

I was sitting with a bunch of friends today at--you guessed it--lunch. One of them at some point described himself as a nerd, and a few other people reminded him that everyone sitting at that table was a nerd. Hearing this, another kid at the table formed an imaginary telescope with his hands and started peering through it around the cafeteria, occassionally saying things like "I can see the world so much better through this handy telescope," and "Submarine Captain Sir, I think I just spotted a giant squid!"

At this point, a kid walks up to the table with his tray who used to hang out with us but doesn't really anymore. I could easily read the expression on his furrowed brow. He was scanning the guys at the table with his eyes and thinking, "Am I too cool to sit with these kids?"

I decided to help him make his decision by pointing an imaginary telescope at him and pronouncing loudly in a robotic voice, "Unidentifiable craft has just entered radar, Captain! Launch first torpedo! Bam bam bam bam..." Yeah, he was gone before I could launch that torpedo.

TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT IN AN OVERWHELMINGLY ABRUPT MANNER: Last week I e-mailed the editors of Teen Ink magazine saying that I had not been receiving the issues which I had already paid for. They responded saying they would send me all the issues no charge as soon as possible. The day after, I discovered that we had already been getting the magazines and my parents were simply forgetting to give them to me. So I sent the editor this e-mail back:

Mrs. Olsen,

Please forgive me. Our mistake. I just figured out that the reason we haven't been receiving the magazine issues is because my family has been vacationing in Panama for the last month.



Yeah, easy problem to fix. FINALLY, I have to quote my friend in an e-mail he sent me last week:

"I ate at Panda Express last night. I saw some fat guy in the corner crying over his orange chicken as he shoveled it into his mouth. Then I realized I was looking at a mirror."

He's a genius, he is.


That Blond Guy

Monday, October 11, 2010

Some Astute Observations about the Blogging World

Escapism is a common coping mechanism in the dark and confusing world we live in today. Some seek refuge in mythical worlds of role-playing and magic. Others write murder mystery novels about Mexican-American housewives who are summoned to solve a double homicide case in San Antonio. Some find sanctuary in sanctuaries, while others watch re-runs of Leave it to Beaver while sobbing over bowls of chocolate ice cream to deal with their issues. There are a few of us, however, who deal with the world by BLOGGING ABOUT IT.

I am happy to be included in that select few. (Select few, of course, referring to the tens of millions of bloggers who infest the internet.)

I've been blogging for a few years now. My first blog, Reviews, Raves, and Some Other R Word, last a year before it crashed to the ground. No Right Opinions gathered controversy, showed some promise for success, then...crashed to the ground. The Chin Scratcher and The Nerd Archives are still technically alive. After all of these blogs I've managed, I've noticed a thing or sixteen about us bloggers.

1) The best blogs come from the socially handicapped. If you ever bother to read the blogs you follow, you'll notice that we really do have quite a few socially awkward bloggers on the World Wide Web. The bloggers that seem to actually have an exciting laugh are seemingly boring, undedicated, and uninteresting.

2) A lot of us quickly lose interest in the blogs we supposedly "follow." Look at my list of followers. My most dedicated commenters are all found in the most recent three rows. The top row, or the most recent followers of all, are all included that list of most dedicated commenters.

3) Sometimes we tend to behave like parasites. We visit other blogs in the very practical hope that the bloggers we contact will come back and visit our blog. After we make the decision to follow that blog we visit, we don't stop there. We visit the blogs that they follow and the blogs that their followers follow. We're like computer viruses. And no, I don't mind that we do that. I think it's kind of cool how thorough we are. It just ticks me off when I visit someone's blog, and they "follow" all of my followers' blogs and all of their followers' blogs, but still don't follow MY blog.

4) We're very, very friendly. Except when it involves political blogs, we're welcoming, gentle, and over-considerate of each others' feelings. Sometimes it seems like the blogging world is Utopia. Arguments are constructive, and there are no wars. Maybe that's because 9/10 of us are liberals, but I'm cool with that, you know?

5) Some of us are very skillful in the practice of gaining followers. Others are laughable. For example:

"Hey, cool blog you have here. Follow mine?"

Sometimes they don't even bother to use capital letters. Sometimes they misspell the word "cool." Yet another heads up: the tactic of following as many blogs as possible in hope that you get as many readers as possible isn't foolproof. For instance. Look at the seventh follower on my list of followers. Guy named "Teuvo." Finnish, middle-aged fellow, this Teuvo. I clicked on his profile picture, which led me to his profile. Turns out, Teuvo is following more than a dozen blogs just that begin with an exclamation mark. Not very considerate of my feelings, is he?

6) We have horrid habit of venting. That's all I'm going to say about that...

7) Often the most creative and intriging blogs have horrid, boring titles. Often blogs with the most spectacular and witty titles are the worst ones out there.

That's enough for today, methinks.

Thank you guys so much for commenting on all of my last posts! I finally seemed to have developed a successful process of motivating my readers to comment. It goes as follows:

Step 1: Whine.

Step 2: Whimper.

Step 3: Lather myself in self-pity.

Step 4: Rinse and repeat.


That Blond Guy

A Compilation of Random Stuff That Will Hardly Intrigue You

First and foremost, I have to quote from a blog called Comical Musings. I'm hardly in love with the title, but I think the blog is brilliant. Listen to this transcript between him a guy who knocks on his front door during the day:

Interrupting weirdo: "Hello sir."

Me: "What?"

Mr. Oblivious: Have you decided who you're voting for in the local bi monthly super fantasmical election?

Me: "I'm undecided." (just noticing the yellow badge screaming "LIB DEM" at the world.)

Mr. Lib Dem Lover: "Have you considered voting for the Liberal Democrats?"

Me: "Depends, do they have my rights in mind?"

Mr. Too easy to rope in: "Of course sir, we Lib Dems look out for the community."

Me: "Finally, a baby eating rapist like me can live in peace" (Cue look of fond remembrance).

Mr. Uncomfortable and insulted: "Sorry sir, I didn't quite hear that. Can I just leave these pamphlets?"

Me: "Of course, come back soon."

Mr. Can't be fucked to argue: "Take care."

Me: (Sinisterly) "Oh, I will. Trust me I will."

Judge me if you will. I loved this.

IN OTHER NEWS: Spanish class on Thursday, we were writing news articles about random, imaginary topics. One guy in our class wrote an article about "Little Green Men Discovered on the Planet Mars."

While he was reading the article, our Spanish teacher was falling into fits of uncontrollable, breathless laughter. When we finally prompted her to tell us why she was laughing, she enlightened us to the fact that "Green Men" in Spanish, (Hombres Verdes) is a slang term for pedophiles.

In short, this poor kid in our class had just accidentally written an article about "little pedophiles" discovered on the planet Mars.

ON A LIKEWISE TOTALLY RANDOM NOTE: Nearly had an aneurysm this last Friday. A bunch of guys at my lunch table were having a series of conversations about totally unrelated topics, when one kid brought up the fact that he was reading the Harry Potter series for the first time.

At the instant that he mentions this, three different kids at the table were shouting the endings to the books at him. He was covering his ears and singing "La la la" before they could reveal too much, but a nerve in my brain had just snapped. I was furious. I pounced on those kids and was pummeling their backs with my little fists before anyone could do anything.

That's unforgivable. Spoiling the ends of books is a terrible crime. Spoiling the end of HARRY POTTER is unspeakable. It's totally twisted. Sick. Revolting. Disgusting.

At the moment I got off them, they got to their feet (covered in black and blue marks), and tried to start spoiling the end for him again. It was like that scene from Minority Report where Agatha foresaw Tom Cruise killing Crow, but she couldn't do anything about it. This terrible crime was being committed in front of my eyes, but I was powerless.

In case you're curious, I did finally snap. I started screaming and batted at imaginary birds flying around my head, shouting "It's the Red Knight! Can't you see him, Jack? The Red Knight!"

The teachers had to pin my down. Yeah, it was pretty humiliating once I became conscious again. Don't ever spoil books for your peers, my friends. It's unforgivable.

Finally, here's the poem I wrote for that special someone I mentioned last post which no one read. I stowed it in her locker last Friday, so I'll see what she thinks of it then. Don't get bored during the first and middle part, because the last part is what I'm sure is going to make her fall for me.

Such Blue Eyes

Such blue eyes, you angel,
Girl with hair of flowing sunbeams
That splash onto your tiny shoulders
Like a waterfall of liquid gold

What a spectacular, rippling laugh
That wafts through the otherwise unremarkable air
As you listen to a joke that’s not
Even sort-of funny

A smile to make Mona Lisa quake with
Jealousy in her tiny portrait frame
And even a nose that crinkles when you’re
Happy like that of a cartoon baby rabbit

What is your secret, how are you so perfect
Flawless skin like clouds on a sunny day
Teeth that are somehow attractive by themselves
Teeth can’t even be attractive

Best of all are your eyes, eyes of icy warmth
Miles of glacier and uncharted ocean mixed in
With clear skies and freshly opened acrylic paints
Such blue eyes

How I long to hold you in my arms, goddess,
Slap you around a little to show you what’s what
And to have my sweet way with you
To make you my wife, bitch

Why do you avoid my eyes in the hallway
Is it that one time when I told you
I wanted to make you my little whore?
Forget that, my sweet, and jump into my open arms

I can't wait to see the expression on her face when I see her next Monday! Do you think she'll want to kiss me?

This has been a long and totally meaningless post. I think it's because I'm trying to re-gain the attention of my un-commenting followers. 0 Comments for the last four posts. Tragic, my friends. Totally tragic.

Coming soon "My Blogging Pet Peeves," hopefully with a more creative title. It's going to be a really keen post! You just wait!


That Blond Guy

Friday, October 8, 2010

Crushes: Nothing Is Getting Crushed Except Fresh Mangoes Into Fruit Smoothies

"That's why they call them crushes. If they were easy, they'd call them something else."

What else would they call them, Mr. Baker? Because I'm pretty sure they wouldn't call them "squeezies." Would you ever leave a note in someone's locker which told them you had a squeezie on them? Would people ever say they had a celebrity squeezie on Brad Pitt? Do people have squeezies on the girl next door? No! That's not at all appropriate and oddly sexual-sounding.

Movies, such as Sixteen Candles, do make a good point about crushes. Most of the time, they're utterly hopeless and childish. They lead to nowhere except heartbreak and a lot of frustration taken out on your cat.

But let's explore the positive aspect of crushes, shall we?

The crushes/flirting stage of relationships for teenagers is, arguably, the most exhilarating. After that comes first dates, second dates, potentially sex, arguments, and the break-up. Most of the rest are typically uncomfortable, long, boring, and awkward. I think it's the fact that for a lot of us, after we get what we want, we don't want it anymore.

There is something oddly satisfying about drooling after a girl or guy who you know you stand no chance with. Something so satisfying that you don't mind that whenever you wave to this person in passing, they don't even look at you. All you need is to stare at their flawless profile during the entirety of science class (whoops--that's probably just me) and feel giddy and hopeful all day long.

Plus, you know that you can get out of the relationship anytime you want, because the "relationship" is pretty much limited to a lot of stalkerish gawking and stuttered compliments. In about two months at the very most, this person is going to be off your radar. That's oddly, (very oddly), liberating.

Still, there's always that aspect of crushes that Mr. Baker and other coming-of-ages always seem to discuss. When you like the other person too much, they're sometimes sickening. Like a disease, really. When the crush is deep enough, you feel both giddy and depressed at the same time, which often results in indigestion.

That's where I am. Remember the "goddess" I mentioned a while back? Well, she's still there, and she's no less majestic. She's also very popular. Alas, that brings us to the more unpleasant side of being a nerd: you can't date popular girls until after college when you start making the dough.

I've actually written her a poem. (That I haven't given her, of course.) I know, yes. It's very sweet and all that. "Adorable," some of you might suggest. "Cute" is a word a few of you will dare to utter.

Anyway, that's the end of that. I'm feeling the mingled giddy-depression I mentioned earlier. It doesn't feel good.

ON A DIFFERENT NOTE: I lost my flashdrive. Alas, that's not fated to happen to anyone except me. About a month ago, I lost all of my files. Now that I've given up on trying to recover them, I look for my flashdrive to re-download the files. And I can't find my flashdrive. I guess that's just how much God loves me.

A lot of "0 Comments" I've been seeing lately. I guess that's my fault, as my posts after been pretty pathetic. But I need your support, friends. I have a feeble self-esteem.


That Blond Guy

Sunday, October 3, 2010

A Braves Game and the Flight of the Conchords

Sorry it's been so long since I've posted (at least in my units of time). I haven't even been very busy. The time has just slid through my fingers like a Turkish mud wrestler slides through the clutches of a frustrated police officer.

As you know, it's been Homecoming week at my school. We were dressing up for the pep rally with the theme of "SUPER." Each grade was assigned either "superhero," "super-villain," "superstar," or "Super Mario Bros." Guess which one my year was stuck with? Just my luck. The last.

While all the other high schoolers got to come to school in costume of everyone from Johnny Cash to Superman to Justin Bieber to Mojo-Jojo, we were stuck with Mario, Luigi, and Princess Peach. Hu. Rrah.

I tried to be original by making my own costume for Toad. Then again, I left it until 10:30 of the night before, so I ended up wearing a white t-shirt, purple vest, and red UGA cap with white paper spots taped onto it like a mushroom. It was pretty pathetic, plus there were dozens of my fellow nerds walking up to me during the day and correcting me on what Toad is supposed to look like in the games.

The pep rally was totally rubbish, I hate to say. I don't have bunches of school spirit to begin with, but it was just a terrible pep rally.

On Friday, though, I got to go to a Braves game with a friend, though. That was really fun. I got to hug a giant baseball while my said friend snapped pictures frantically, and I also ordered a blue slushie, (most of which arrives either in my shoes or down my shirt.)

The same night, I watched Se7en. Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman! Yeah, it was pretty bitchin', if you ask me. A horror movie of sorts. I thought it was genius, although considerably disturbing. You can find a plot synopsis here, if my use of four different adjectives to describe it has gotten you intrigued.

Lastly, and definitely the most importantly, ever heard of Flight of the Conchords? If not, now you have:

I feel like a young astronomer who has just chanced upon a faraway galaxy, or a home-schooled, Evangelical preteen who has just discovered masturbation. The Flight of the Conchords are my exact type of humor. They are so funny, I can't stand it. Every time I watched one of their videos, I'm always rolling around with laughter. And once I finish laughing, I want to hit something. That's how funny they are.

Check out the videos. Watch the show. I don't know when it comes on, so don't ask me, you drunken slob.


That Blond Guy