you used to talk about this town
like it was killing you

you gave it a voice and a name
a will and a plan

I had a whole idea of what I wanted to write in this blog, but I ate some chocolate chip cookies and now I don't give a fuck. Cookies do that to me. So what? I'm still a rock star.

Today brings dissonance in the literal form.

I sit in a high-backed barstool at The Annex as a metal band practices in the dance hall. Literal dissonance for sure. Honestly, I can appreciate some aspects of modern metal such as the pounding drums and the insanely fast guitar riffs, but I cannot tolerate grunting and snarling on the microphone. And to top it all off, they are practising....which makes it that much worse. No disrespect to lovers of metal, it is just so not my thing. I love lyrics, therefore, I despise metal bands because either (or both usually) A. the lyrics are predictably terrible rants about anger and despair and snarling angels of death or B. you can't understand a single fucking word that is being grunted out. But that is neither here nor there (a new favorite saying of mine because it doesn't make sense at all). Like I said previously, no disrespect my homies, but damn I just do not like.

Called into work today. Cold building plus old people equals violently angry information desk worker. Damn old people bum me out. Of course, there are the few gems, like the old ladies who asked me last year during the OP Olympics (OP is to stand for Old People from here on out) for some weed. Not that I smoke weed, I just enjoyed that they assumed I would have some since I am a college student. Silly dust bags.

Speaking of being collegiate, I still haven't made THE decision regarding my future. Maybe John Connor will send a Terminator back in time to change the course of my college career. That would be so much cooler than deciding to do three more semester, or just one. But alas, I have once again broached That Subject Of Which We Do Not Speak.

There is an acoustic singer tonight @ The Annex. Just brings up bitter feelings towards Kris Allan. Not even going to broach That Subject Of Which We Do Not Speak Number 2. As you can probably guess, by the end of the year I am most likely going to have a comprehensive list of the Top 100 Subjects Of Which We Do Not Speak.

Subject Of Which We Do Not Speak Number 3 is going to be those people that actively work to be different. These people purposely take the side that is in opposition to the popular choice. This single idea is responsible for a large percentage of "Vegetarians/Vegans", "Pagans", "Bisexuals", "Indie Music Lovers", "Activists", "Japanese Culture Freaks", etc.... The list is damn near endless. No further explanation needed.

Part of me is tempted to continue listing Subjects Of Which Fucking Irritate Me, but I shall stop here. If I quit now, I can keep the hatred from pouring out of me. Sometimes I can't control my urge to take off the gloves and start swinging, but today is not that day my friend. All my browncoats can calm down. We are not rebelling today.

In other lighter news, I am extremely excited right now. I am getting ready to go enjoy and dinner of the most bad-ass kind: SPAGHETTI. Only the Lord himself can deny the greatness of That Which I Am Going to Engulf Quickly. A bitch love her some 'sketti. Best of all, in no way am I involved in cooking it! A friend of ours has invited us (X&I) over for some 'sketti dinner. After 'sketti dinner, on to the Annex again to enjoy the guy who plays acoustic guitar in an emotional manner (which is so original that he is an undeniable artist! /sarcasm). Girl, the hatred done jumped ship. Now I gotta go chase that nigga down and stuff him back inside. He like to front.

Tune in next time for When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong...

Stringing together symbols

I am going to smoke a cigarette.
I will walk outside the double-glass doors, and lean against the brick wall, even though I know that, most likely, spider webs will cling to my shirt after this.
I am going to puff and inhale, then exhale.
I am going to walk back inside and sit back down in my chair, and return to browsing the internet as the hustle and bustle of the Senior Sports Classic (Old People Olympics) goes on around me. Why should I be kicked out of my desk so that old people can sit there and hand out Welcome Packets to their old ass friends? Why should I deal with a stank grey-haired bitch asking me why I still live at home? I still live there because I fucking want to. I will be damned if I am going to dish out 4 to 6 hundred dollars a month just so I don't have to deal with my parents (whom never leave their room anyway, which makes me feel like I have my own 2-story house BOOYOW). This is my job. This fact is completed entirely by the presence of a Sam's Club sized TUB of Germ-X. For people so close to death, they sure fear germs.

The building is extra cold today. Xzaviar's hypothesis is that the university staff is trying their hardest to preserve the bodies of all of these old people. I think it is working. Walt Disney, here I come!

I have a huge decision to make about school. But I'm not going to make it. Because I don't want to. Try and stop me, or in this case I guess, try and make me. I don't see the difference between an English degree and having both an English and a Spanish degree! I'm going to be living in a fucking cardboard box anyway. That second degree will only clutter up the floorspace.

Fuck it. We'll do it live.