This is been a horrid week. Again. Well, last week was a cakewalk compared to this week. All because everything that happened last week came to a head this week. I now have yet another friend who refuses to speak to me again. This time, the feeling is mutual. This friend I speak of and myself have had more fights than you could imagine. All of this has been brooded by her other friend, my ex-girlfriend. They always come out looking clean, and I am always the bad guy. Only two people will take my side on this one. Fortunately, they aren't both of my yes-men again. It's only one yes man this time. Personally, I think that my ex is a horrid influence on my friend. But I'm getting so freaking sick of talking about it now. I don't wanna hear any of their names again, but sadly, being such a small community, there's no hope in that.
I know this has torn my friends in two. Most of them are trying to remain neutral, trying not to tick either one of us off. Quite frankly, I wish they'd just choose sides, so I'd know who is for me and who is against me. But they won't. And I know my other friend is trying to get people to choose sides. And quite frankly, she is the queen of the game of drama, so she could probably get them swayed over to her side. Is it my destiny to make everyone who was once a friend an enemy? I know I can't escape arguments. I know I have arguments with my best friends. But over petty BS like this? For the record, you don't even wanna know. Most of the time the arguments are over deep topics, or some hard decisions, or something very stressful. But nothing so petty. And they don't blow up this much. So obviously me and her were never really meant to be friends.
Or maybe it runs deeper than that. Maybe the mistakes I made with my ex destroyed this friendship. I don't know. I don't even wanna think about it. To be completely honest, I just wanna forget about it, and push through it, and just get on with life, and not have to worry about it anymore. I just keep waking up, and wishing that all of a sudden, all this stuff would be forgotten by everybody, and I wouldn't have to wake up and face it, day, after day, after day. I wind up sleeping so much, because I just don't wanna think about it, or any other problem I have. I know I'm depressed, and I know I'm hurting. And I know it sucks. And I know I need to snap myself out of it. But what's the point anymore? Whenever I say that things will be better, and I start getting positive again, something else comes along that just makes everything blow goats again.
I keep trying to make things right. But no matter what, I keep ending up being the one hurt, and everyone else keep coming out clean. I hate that. I just wish that I could just give it all up, and be myself. But everyone seems to start using me as floormat, and I resubmit myself to that fate.
Maybe I SHOULD leave this place. Maybe I SHOULD go to school in a foreign country like I've been wanting to. At least no one there will know me as the floormat I am here, unless they just happen to recognize me from this Xanga.
I don't know. Maybe I'm talking crazy now. All I can say, that thank God that the semester is coming to an end. I need summer break. I need a job. And I need some time to think everything through.
Friday, April 23, 2004
Monday, April 19, 2004
Thursday, April 08, 2004
Well, Rick (http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=meatcircus) asked me to post this. I'll make a disclaimer: If you are easily grossed out, DO NOT READ THIS ONE!
The following is how I became a legend of pooping:
I used to be chronically constipated. For some reason (blame on my diet, whatever you want) I would not go. In February of 2003, I was admitted to the hospital because I hadn't gone in about 2 months. Yes, two months. I thought I was gonna die. My physician said I was on the verge of it. Well, they admitted me, and thought that they were gonna have to do invasive surgery. Well, my surgeon was invasive alright, just not with surgery. I think you get the drift. I did not get a finger, I got a hand. Throw up now if you please. He then found out that I had a hernia that was strangulating my bowels and wouldn't let me go. He popped it back so it would no longer be strangulating my bowels. PAIN! Well, things started running smoothly. I took 3 dumps that day.
The next day, they said I had to drink a laxative so that I would be cleared out so that I go in for tests. So I took this sucker. Around 6 PM, I had to go. I got onto the bedside commode to go to work. It felt like I was giving birth. It seemed to come out one millimeter at a time. I was having to breathe like I was doing lamase. I grabbed my IV tree and clung to that for dear life. I swear, I felt my toes curling up into my feet! About 5 minutes later, I hear a loud THUD in the commode. After about 3 minutes, I had caught my breath to get up and look. If I'm lying, I'm dying: the thing was 2 feet long, and about 6 inches in diameter. So I called for a tech to empty it. She did, flushed, and it would not go down. They tried plunging it: IT WOULD NOT GO DOWN. They had to call maintenance in to try to get it down. They had to use a power drill to break it up so that it would flush!
Well, that's the story of how I became a legend of pooping. Now for the story of how I freaked out my youth pastor:
The next day. I went in for a procedure. A colonoscopy. Yay. Well, they gave me an IV drip of pain killers so I could be awake but not feel anything. Well, I went into the room talking. From what I hear, I did not shut up during the entire procedure. I came out of the room talking (I can't remember, but that's what they tell me). I go back to my room and I can't open my eyes! Here comes my youth paster. I'm all like, "Wes man! I can hear you. I know your in here. But I can't see you. Either I've gone blind or I can't open my eyes. Just grab my hand so I'll know you're there." He does. "Yeah, now I see you man!" My eyes are still closed. That's when I told Wes that I now knew why he used to do drugs.
Never give me demerol.
You asked for it Rick.
The following is how I became a legend of pooping:
I used to be chronically constipated. For some reason (blame on my diet, whatever you want) I would not go. In February of 2003, I was admitted to the hospital because I hadn't gone in about 2 months. Yes, two months. I thought I was gonna die. My physician said I was on the verge of it. Well, they admitted me, and thought that they were gonna have to do invasive surgery. Well, my surgeon was invasive alright, just not with surgery. I think you get the drift. I did not get a finger, I got a hand. Throw up now if you please. He then found out that I had a hernia that was strangulating my bowels and wouldn't let me go. He popped it back so it would no longer be strangulating my bowels. PAIN! Well, things started running smoothly. I took 3 dumps that day.
The next day, they said I had to drink a laxative so that I would be cleared out so that I go in for tests. So I took this sucker. Around 6 PM, I had to go. I got onto the bedside commode to go to work. It felt like I was giving birth. It seemed to come out one millimeter at a time. I was having to breathe like I was doing lamase. I grabbed my IV tree and clung to that for dear life. I swear, I felt my toes curling up into my feet! About 5 minutes later, I hear a loud THUD in the commode. After about 3 minutes, I had caught my breath to get up and look. If I'm lying, I'm dying: the thing was 2 feet long, and about 6 inches in diameter. So I called for a tech to empty it. She did, flushed, and it would not go down. They tried plunging it: IT WOULD NOT GO DOWN. They had to call maintenance in to try to get it down. They had to use a power drill to break it up so that it would flush!
Well, that's the story of how I became a legend of pooping. Now for the story of how I freaked out my youth pastor:
The next day. I went in for a procedure. A colonoscopy. Yay. Well, they gave me an IV drip of pain killers so I could be awake but not feel anything. Well, I went into the room talking. From what I hear, I did not shut up during the entire procedure. I came out of the room talking (I can't remember, but that's what they tell me). I go back to my room and I can't open my eyes! Here comes my youth paster. I'm all like, "Wes man! I can hear you. I know your in here. But I can't see you. Either I've gone blind or I can't open my eyes. Just grab my hand so I'll know you're there." He does. "Yeah, now I see you man!" My eyes are still closed. That's when I told Wes that I now knew why he used to do drugs.
Never give me demerol.
You asked for it Rick.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
Some random rants of mine:
Title: Amp Head Shopping And Flaming Imbeciles
Well, yesterday, I became more active in my hunt for an amp head (at least if I can get an amp head, i'll know what kind of cab i should get). So I called hart's, too expensive, and he doesn't have any used heads in. So I called the local pawn shops. Yesterday, I became more passive in my hunt for an amp head.
Here was the dialogue that ensued with the owner of Pat's Pawn in Carmi:
Owner: Pat's Pawn.
Me: Do you have any bass amplifier heads?
Owner: What?
Me: As in, bass guitar amplifiers?
Owner: We have guitar amps.
Me: Good. Do you have any just heads, or amp stacks?
Owner: ...We have guitar amps.
Me: We've resolved that. The question is, do you have just the heads, as in, an amp without the speakers?
Owner: ...We have guitar amps.
Me: ...Ok...well seeing we're not getting anywhere with that...what is the wattage of the amps you have?
Owner: ...We have guitar amps.
Me: YOU ARE A FLAMING IMBECILE! *click*
Round 2:
I found a Tech Soundsystems head friday on ebay. It was a 500 watts...a real supersonic gem. I bid a fair amount. Then I got outbid. I raised my bid. This guy must've went up to 50 bucks, but I'm cheap and I didn't wanna put that much down. I got peed at this nutjob whose bid history included, a yamaha bass
, and polly pockets!
He got outbid...but still...this was a piece of amp head. So, to whomever wins it, I HOPE IT SHORTS OUT, ELECTROCUTES YOU AND YOU DIE!
Round 3:
700W Earth Amp on ebay.
Result:
OUTBID AGAIN
I hope it falls on the guys testicles so he can no longer have sex!
Title: Timeouts and the fun they have with me
Let me clarify this: Websites love timeouts! They love to make you waste time logging back in. Or at least they do to me. Here's several examples to prove that Timeouts have fun screwing with my head:
My e-mail: When I am trying to send an e-mail, I have a server time out. It is an 18 minute timeout. It is the fastest 18 minutes of my life. I type out one paragraph (and granted, I'm a pretty fast typer) and I have to log back in, and I've lost the entire paragraph because I forgot to copy the paragraph I had just typed out, forgetting that timeouts LOVE me!
My tab sites: I do a lot of bass tabbing. When I get bored, I submit a tab. It's what I do. There's a really long song that I tabbed out last night. So I was submitting it today. Well, this is a long process because 1) it's a long song, and 2) I have to figure out the repeat values, because I can't think repeat values when I play, and I don't do them in advance. Again, I get this done, and (wowsers!) fail to copy this to clipboard again, and I get sent back to the login page, where it will no longer let me access the extra super long tab I have just written
Thus leading me to the following conclusion:
Timeouts are the real antichrist!
More later
Title: Amp Head Shopping And Flaming Imbeciles
Well, yesterday, I became more active in my hunt for an amp head (at least if I can get an amp head, i'll know what kind of cab i should get). So I called hart's, too expensive, and he doesn't have any used heads in. So I called the local pawn shops. Yesterday, I became more passive in my hunt for an amp head.
Here was the dialogue that ensued with the owner of Pat's Pawn in Carmi:
Owner: Pat's Pawn.
Me: Do you have any bass amplifier heads?
Owner: What?
Me: As in, bass guitar amplifiers?
Owner: We have guitar amps.
Me: Good. Do you have any just heads, or amp stacks?
Owner: ...We have guitar amps.
Me: We've resolved that. The question is, do you have just the heads, as in, an amp without the speakers?
Owner: ...We have guitar amps.
Me: ...Ok...well seeing we're not getting anywhere with that...what is the wattage of the amps you have?
Owner: ...We have guitar amps.
Me: YOU ARE A FLAMING IMBECILE! *click*
Round 2:
I found a Tech Soundsystems head friday on ebay. It was a 500 watts...a real supersonic gem. I bid a fair amount. Then I got outbid. I raised my bid. This guy must've went up to 50 bucks, but I'm cheap and I didn't wanna put that much down. I got peed at this nutjob whose bid history included, a yamaha bass
, and polly pockets!
He got outbid...but still...this was a piece of amp head. So, to whomever wins it, I HOPE IT SHORTS OUT, ELECTROCUTES YOU AND YOU DIE!
Round 3:
700W Earth Amp on ebay.
Result:
OUTBID AGAIN
I hope it falls on the guys testicles so he can no longer have sex!
Title: Timeouts and the fun they have with me
Let me clarify this: Websites love timeouts! They love to make you waste time logging back in. Or at least they do to me. Here's several examples to prove that Timeouts have fun screwing with my head:
My e-mail: When I am trying to send an e-mail, I have a server time out. It is an 18 minute timeout. It is the fastest 18 minutes of my life. I type out one paragraph (and granted, I'm a pretty fast typer) and I have to log back in, and I've lost the entire paragraph because I forgot to copy the paragraph I had just typed out, forgetting that timeouts LOVE me!
My tab sites: I do a lot of bass tabbing. When I get bored, I submit a tab. It's what I do. There's a really long song that I tabbed out last night. So I was submitting it today. Well, this is a long process because 1) it's a long song, and 2) I have to figure out the repeat values, because I can't think repeat values when I play, and I don't do them in advance. Again, I get this done, and (wowsers!) fail to copy this to clipboard again, and I get sent back to the login page, where it will no longer let me access the extra super long tab I have just written
Thus leading me to the following conclusion:
Timeouts are the real antichrist!
More later
Monday, April 05, 2004
Friday, April 02, 2004
So today, I get a PM from one of my friends on Stick Shift's message board. He wants me to call him because he's out of it, he doesn't know what to do, and wants ME to help him.
Needless to say, I can't call him back. I'm in the same boat
I'm getting tired of people expecting me to be the crutch for them. It's ME that needs the crutch. And I'm sick of putting that aside when someone else feels the same way, just because I'm EXPECTED to.
It's always the same thing. Whenever they have problems, I'm one of the first people to hear about it. Whenever I have problems, no one wants to hear it. It's gay. Just plain gay.
I love my friends, but if I get one more message from a friend saying to call him because he has problems that he wants ME to solve...I'm gonna snap.
God, I need a vacation.
Needless to say, I can't call him back. I'm in the same boat
I'm getting tired of people expecting me to be the crutch for them. It's ME that needs the crutch. And I'm sick of putting that aside when someone else feels the same way, just because I'm EXPECTED to.
It's always the same thing. Whenever they have problems, I'm one of the first people to hear about it. Whenever I have problems, no one wants to hear it. It's gay. Just plain gay.
I love my friends, but if I get one more message from a friend saying to call him because he has problems that he wants ME to solve...I'm gonna snap.
God, I need a vacation.
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