- I wrote this impulsively because @Shannon made her blog recently and a part of me feels spiteful that her life recently is so interesting and another part of me always instigates pissing contests at any given opportunity.
- I have at least 28 minutes of performance recordings onsale on iTunes.
- I like to lie most of the time when it comes to any strategic planning and whenever it goes very conveniently well, I claim as if it was all planned.
- I have an illogical and emotional repulsion to lamp shades, but not the actual light-producing lamps themselves.
- My confidence is a product of delusions of grandeur compounded with extraordinary, inhumane talent and being chosen since I was young for something big.
- I primarily use NeoCodex as the only outlet of my introverted self because my real life wouldn't let that side come to light.
- I'm 6 pounds over my BMI and I have no motivation to lose that weight. Just to clarify, I have no muscle weight.
- I can stand being covered from head to tow with tarantulas, but dragonflies scare the shit out of me.
- I am tsunamimarauders. This is a waste of a bullet.
- I believe power (political, economical, social) is never produced. It is relinquished.
- If it seems like I'm making myself look like a bad person, it is actually all a ruse to hide the fact that I can't be emotionally vulnerable and the disgusting things I say about myself are simply distractions from that fact.
- I cringe at the times people call me a bro, on the inside of course. That is not my life.
- I believe people are wrong when they say I have a corrupt ulterior motives to whatever I do. I'd rather think of it as a co-motivator.
- The only reason why I immigrated to American when I was four compared to the true geniuses in my family is because a medical opportunity opened up America I couldn't get access to in the Philippines. I think my parents souls their souls for that opportunity.
- I spent $1300 into publishing a book when I was 21, and the profits never helped me break even.
- I went to a hospital today and saw a picture of a patient and quite possibly a Codexian. It would be cool if it were really the Codexian I think it was--but not in the way of them suffering because someone they love is in the ward, but from just thinking how everything is interconnected in one way or another. It's a small world, after all (or not).
- I acknowledge I probably broke HIPAA laws with the point above, but then again, I was a visitor and not a practicing health care
professionalstudent this time around. Maybe I did. I really don't know if this is slander or not.
- I think my ulterior motive for this blog post is for one specific person to read this and feel horribly conflicted. I am a petty, passive aggressive and a bitter person, at times.
- I don't see making that one person feel conflicted as a bad thing, but the exact opposite. The rest of the reference people, I really don't care for.
- Even after two weeks, I have Vicki's song from Community's paintball episode of season 6 stuck in my head.
- I enjoy adept and premeditated lying at the right times because the thrill of possibly getting caught ups my game and gets my black heart beating.
- I hate movies as an artistic medium.
- I unintentionally smell people and memorize their scents if they walk by close enough.
- My immediate fear is being proved wrong.
- My eternal fear is being condemned with a certain end with no power to change it or make whatever is left the best it could be.
- "Soup That Is Too Hot" is both my favorite CAH card and my biggest pet peeve with non-living things.
- I say to people I've done drugs before to seem cool, but I haven't. The closest thing I've gotten close to doing opioids is eating a poppy seed bagel.
- The one combination of words I hate the most is "I'm fine."
- I rather don sweats in the summer than get bitten by bugs at night.
- When I type, I think phonetically. I type what the syllable sounds like than the actual spelling. Most of the time it works for me, sometimes it doesn't. If it weren't for spellcheck, I'd be doomed. I think this way because I know four languages and three out of the four of them spell as they sound with very minimal exceptions. Fuck you, the English language.
- I had Codex sex dreams before.
- My Snapchats are very crazy, especially if you've have a video one before. Consider yourself lucky if you did receive one.
- I wear a tailored back brace for all my life (not to mention going to the PT monthly) and because of that, I can't go to the gym or run that much. I ride a bike for most of my exercise.
- Even though I post a lot, I consider myself a lurker. I don't actually post when I peruse Codex most of the time.
- My first girlfriend dated me because she thought I was gay. She's a lesbian and originally used me (as I did her) to make our parents shut up about dating when we were both in high school.
- I love all John Rutter music. My all time favorite selection from him is his Suite for Strings because it was the first difficult music I played in my high school's chamber orchestra and overbearing nostalgia trumps sound reasoning.
- My right wisdom tooth is 30% cracked off. I haven't went to the dentist since October and I don't exactly need to go. Despite what all medical literature state, I think it's fine because it'll be removed anyway.
- I have 8 Codexian's phone numbers and/or Snapchats. I haven't contacted anyone in over a week because reasons explained in Number #39.
- I think way too much into internet relationships and dwell on too much rationale as to not talk to anyone online. I should though because of the explanation in Number #40.
- I truly believe harmful, unfamiliar or distant company is better than self-perpetuated isolation.
- I bought 5 pounds of Willy Wonka's Chewy Spree and it arrived last Tuesday. It is now 3 pounds and 11 ounces. I don't share my candy.
- The reason why I didn't want to spearhead Team Codex this year is because I took the Altador Cup a little too seriously last year and it hurt myself and a few others as well (the anti-ACG complainers don't count).
- I recently became so jaded to people sharing their deepest secrets to me that I just wanted say to them "go suck on a moderately-filled bag of dicks and fuck off"--but in a professional, non-aggressive way, and from a place of love. I think I'm starting my sociopathic phase now.
- I love a pint of Friendly's Vienna Mocha Chunk ice cream more than I do for most of the people I see everyday.
- I still habitually write 2014 when I date my papers. So now, the year number always ends with a weird 4 that has a 5 scribbled on top that eventually looks like a digital 9.
- I never post or comment or like or friend in Facebook anymore because it makes me depressed knowing the few people I actually care about are more successful than I am and that I'd rather not see shameless selfies of people I bonded over with in state and national conferences but never talked ever again.
- I just logged into Facebook for the first time in a while and found out my high school friend (we weren't all that close, but I would actually sit next to them in lunch than sit alone) who lives like a 20 minute walk from my parents house committed suicide two weeks ago. Everyone is paying their respects to the family members and her fiance who are enduring this time of hardship.
- I feel like a total ass right now after seeing what I wrote in this blog post. Number #47 puts things into perspective and make me wake up to the fact that writing something like this is a waste of time. I should have accepted a family friend's offer to eat out tonight than watch a stupid season finale of a show I lost interested in halfway through.
- Damn, I feel really really bad now. The funeral already happened on Saturday and I wished I went.
- I was going to end this on a happy note, but now I don't feel like writing something so superficial and inconsequential about myself. I'm going to bed.
At the All-State location, the inspector revealed that total repairs would cost $1700 and my insurance would cover $1400 of it. I was like fuck that. I'd rather get a new car that replace a side bumper and door that had not problems other than being concaved inward. My car is over 14 years old so it was about due to pass into the netherworld soon enough. A Gray 2000 Honda CRV. If I just get a $120 paint job, the damage wouldn't be noticeable unless you intently stare at the lack of symmetry. The inspector was calm and nice so I didn't say what I was thinking out loud. He likes swimming in amazing summer weather like the one we had today.
A Freihofer's distribution outlet was close by. I wanted to buy bread because I'm a cheapskate who likes freshly manufactured bread. The parking lot there didn't have white lines painted on the ground for spaces. I spent a good 10 seconds trying to figure out where to park without looking like an idiot. I dreaded parking diagonally, or heaven forbid--blocking actual "road". A few cars scattered about but not enough in a consistent order to make good judgement. I parked close to this one car who seemed to have their life figured out like their parking, It was a safe decision.
As walked out of my, I rolled my ankle and my left temple banged the sideview mirror of this white van adjacent to my car that looked like it was made only two years ago. The mirror shifted on its movable plane, but not damaged or scratched. A voice from a woman who looks like a recent mother in Ray Bans and a white blouse said, "Ah. That's my car," as if I took the last dessert in the cafeteria line. Well thank you, bitch for caring about me. I don't know anything about her, but I hope her kids continues to live with her in their late 20's. I felt my head and found no bleeding nor bruise. We both got lucky.
In the shop, I bought six loafs: three Honeywheat, three Wholegrain for their local price of 3 bags for $4 bucks. Carrying the bags looked like I was holding six wiener dogs by their tails.
The clientele inside were not the most glamorous or trendy as the bitch mother was. There was a mentally retarded patient and her caretaker, an elderly women and her daughter, and a callously shaven man who still had his Shell gasoline uniform on. The cashier, an urban black women like Sweet Brown ("Ain't nobody got time for that!" woman), was deflated of sass and devoid of shits to give. She almost cracked a smile when I smiled and said thank you, but the muscles of stone cold face wouldn't let the corners of her mouth inch toward her ears.
When I got home, I fell asleep. A combination of striking disappointment, embarrassment and heat stroke made be feel drowsy. It was only 1 in the afternoon by that time.
In my dream, I was in the basement of an old church I was in when I was 8. There were people there I didn't particularly want to talk to but if I had to, I wouldn't mind a superficial conversation with them. I think I was watching a movie projected on an old brick wall and felt annoyed people pestering me about my future and schoolwork while I tried to watch Balto. There was also bagels but I hate bagels.
This is the part of the dream where you can't remember how you arrived at B from A. Now I'm side by side with Pearl (without his effects) from Rupaul's Drag Race Season 7. We were both riding bikes to I don't know where. The roads around were oddly reminiscent of the plazas and residential roads I drove today on my way to see how much money I don't have to fix my car and yet spend whatever I do have on delicious factory bread full of preservatives. There was the travel agency, the ballet studio, the Panera Bread, the Shell gas station, PF Chang's and St. Anthony's. We were biking on the sidewalks even though there was no car in sight. Dream logic.
Pearl fell suddenly fatigued and looked like he was dying. He said he had to make it to the whatever the place was and his strong desire to get there motivated me to carry him on my back all the way there. "There" was a narrow two story house like the ones your find on the hills of San Francisco. The house was wedged between a Barnes&Noble and the Panera Bread along the same strip. I could have just wheeled him there on his bike than drudging on foot, but I didn't. Again, dream logic.
Before I put him down in that house, he said needed chocolate chip cookies in order to feel like himself again. I rushed outside on foot and ran all over the shopping district for the goods. All the buildings were all white blocks with no doors or windows. With each block I passed by, I had this gut feeling that chocolate chip cookies or even the concept of a bakery never existed in this world yet I did whatever I could to help him.
Again, this is another moment where I can't remember how I got from point C from B. One moment I was surrounded by white buildings, and the next I'm back inside the same room as Pearl, seeing him eating spaghetti and smiling. He asked me if I found the cookies. Lying is easier than admitting failure. I said the bakery was warming up a new batch and it'll take a while instead. I felt more disappointment now than I did at the new mother's compassion for my well-being.
Don't psychoanalyze me.
[Bandwidth Warning] A lot of images of basic resolution.
Simulator found here.
Welcome to the first ever NeoCodex Hunger Games! Where Waser Lave is President Snow and relationships don't matter.
Tributes were chose from the Highest Posters for the day 11 March 2015 plus 4 random people in Tinychat at my appearance plus Kate.
Let the games begin and may the odds... fuck it, just murder each other.
(the first moment when the games begin and the hype killing starts)
Stats and Placements
Until Next Time.
A good friend, Irene, is moving back to North Carolina from New York. We went to the same undergrad university up North. Three years ago, she went back to NC to live with her parents at the end of our second year. Last year, she alone moved back to NY alone to make a life for herself. She admitted she longed to escape the conservative environment back at the South.
After working several jobs including a secretary of a children's after school theatre program and an employee of a local Trader Joe's, she felt her life was going nowhere in more than just financially. Fortunately, she was surrounded by extremely nice people who pushed her to be a better person by being a positive model or emotional support.
She rented out a basement of a nice guy (platonic friendship) for 700 bucks a month plus utilities. Financially, she was just breaking even with an above minimum wage income. Eventually paying off student loans became the least of her worries.
She is a person who knows when to drop your sorry ass when you cause nothing but drama and harm to everyone around you. However, she cares way too much for the good friends around her--dangerously so to the point of depression.
I was driving her home after the both of us caught up with another old friend. The drive was a little over 40 minutes.
We both got into my car after saying energetic goodbyes to our friend. We left on a very high note because all three of us were laughing. Scratch that, Irene and Heather (the person we bid farewell to) were laughing. I was just stroking her cat while smiling and nodding at the right times. I stuffed my face with Count Chocula whenever it seemed like I would be later prompted to talk. It was a long day and I was too tired to engage in the conversation at that point.
Irene and I got into the car and as soon as I finished setting my GPS, Irene's said something in almost a whisper. I thought she would say something like today was fun and thank you for driving me, so I smiled and nodded at her. It was my mistake to assume it was a pleasant thing.
She said, "I don't know." It wasn't the same cheerful voice from a few minutes ago.
I stayed quiet a bit, knowing from prior experience to give the person a few more seconds to continue their thoughts before interjecting. She ended up saying nothing for a while.
"If you want I'll listen to you," I said. "It seems to me that not saying anything is hurting you a lot more."
I was going seventy on a highway, but I managed a quick glance at Irene. She hunched forward into her phone, almost tugging the seat belt to its maximum. If her legs weren't down below the glove compartment, she probably would be hugging them at that point. She let out a small sniffle. "I don't want to move back."
I again waited a second to make sure she was done.
"Can you tell me why you feel that way?"
"I'm ending my long distance relationship," she said.
That long distance relationship started way back before Irene left our school. She found a guy in NY and they managed to maintain a long distance relationship when she moved back to NC, how strong that relationship, I never asked. She never mentioned the guy's name so I'll use Torian as a placeholder.
Torian is a bright person around our age. He completed his associates degree in Engineering and graduated with honors. When he was applying to different schools in sight of a Bachelors, his mother got sick or injured herself. I didn't ask what happened to her. All I know is that event left the mother in a hospital for a few weeks and then disabled for the days after. Torian believed that since money will be tight, he will have to work instead of pursuing his education. Irene will be leaving Torian at a very rough time.
"Are you more conflicted that you're ending your romantic relationship with him or you're leaving him at a shitty time in his life?"
"I don't know," she said.
It was awkward. I stayed quiet for a few moments, not for her to collect herself but for me to rethink my strategy.
My past experiences tell me to recommend her to professional services that will help her with emotional sorting and conscious decision-making. So I did. She said she's sick of giving money to psychiatrists who don't help at all. She also said I'm helping her more than they ever did. "What would you do?"
Fuck. I'm in a dangerous situation. I'm the type of person who runs away at the sight of real commitment. I also lock down my emotions to the point of consciously faking them. Whatever I will say won't help a person who is the complete opposite of me. Also, unlike most people I helped in the past as a paraprofessional, I've done so with a cold and logical standpoint. I was a total mess on the inside to really say the words that I should have said from a practical standpoint.
Irene is my friend and I care so much for her to the point of wanting to cry for her, but I couldn't. I was driving.
I did what most stumped psychiatrists do when the conversation is going nowhere and change the topic to focus on a different relationship trouble. Maybe just maybe, looking at another tumultuous relationship for a second will help formulate an answer for the first relationship.
Earlier that day before we met up with Heather, we went to a diner to eat breakfast. I shared my crappy life and she shared hers. She told me in confidence (whoops, I shouldn't be blogging this whole thing at, but nnneh~) that she has a father who loves her and would devote himself to them to the point of dying for her and her mom if it meant protecting them and securing them a bright future. However that devotion is currently only manifested in monetary support and silent faithfulness.
Irene wanted more from her father than just a provider; she wanted a father figure, most specifically a happy memory of her father. She told me that even though she has friends back in NC to help her, she will force herself to ask her dad to teach her how to drive.
Problem is, she knows what will happen. Although I know Irene is already a good beginner driver and there shouldn't be an issue, she admitted that her father would start yelling at the smallest imperfection, then she'll start yelling to defend herself, then they'll go home both angry. Her father will plant himself in front of the TV and Irene will run to her room crying. It happened already, but she's willing to take the risk if it means finally getting that happy memory.
This I can analyze and help her with.
"Have you considered just going up to him and say I'm not happy with the relationship we have? Ask him: I want to know you and love you more as a person and as my dad. As of right now, I'm not feeling enough love from you just by your supporting us alone," I said.
She was quiet for a while. I let her think for a second. Then she knocked me back off my feet again.
"Did you try this with your own parents?"
I was flustered when she asked me that, but I couldn't let her know that. She needed a strong person in that moment.
I was quiet for a while. I juggled between being genuine and telling her I never tried it with my parents and have no intentions to do so OR make a Cinderella story in which doing so will yield strong results in the future. Making this decision was hard because I truly wanted Irene to live a happy life when she moves back. Because of my love for my friend, I made a choice i would never make as a professional.
"Yes I have," I spouted bullshit. "Around the time we were still in NP, I reached a point where my relationship with my dad was not enough for me. It took a heart attack scare to realize that I don't have anything with my dad other than the provider-son relationship. I went to him when I needed money. He went to me when he needed forms to be filled out or information regarding my education. I didn't want him to die without knowing him more. So I told him up front: Hey. I want you to be more in my life and I want to know and love you more. Things didn't magically change overnight. I went back to school, but when I was gone, he slowly opened up to my brother and sister who were still in high school and middle school. To this day, he has been making attempts to get to know his children. It made happy when my sister texted me saying our father took them out for food and he spoke more than two words the entire night. In terms of my own relationship with him, it's not like we're bros, but at least we're making attempts and I think that's better than 3 year ago."
It was all lies. I'm never close to my father, not even after the heart attack scare.
It got dark out and I couldn't see Irene's face except the short moments she turned on her phone to reply to a text. I also couldn't afford not looking at the road because of asshole drivers who don't signal when changing lanes.
"I don't know," she said again.
I resorted to my last resort and said what was really on my mind.
<<Saying what I said really hurt me, but maybe I'll share it another day. This one blog entry is long enough already.>>
Fast forward ten minutes and I said, "I love you and I really care about you. That's why I said what I said. I would have said the cookie cutter script if I were talking to a different person."
"I love you too, " she said. "I really appreciate it."
We were both quiet for the rest of the trip. At least now her faint sobbing quelled down.
I pulled over to the curb of her renter's house. We hugged goodbye.
I gave her my personal email address that I always check and offered my time if she needed to vent more than just using the phone or texts. She gave me hers and assured me the offer works both ways.
I was really happy that the words I said on my mind didn't ruin our friendship. That was the last time I saw her in person, even thought it was just a week ago.
What really bugs me to this day is the lies I said to her just to make her get over her problems. I didn't give her real concrete advice that I know for a fact works from my own personal experience. We even didn't arrive at a conclusion with Torian.
I spent the last hour writing this and it helped me make sense of what I should have done, but it didn't help with what I should do in the future. I have her contact information. I can drop a text or email asking what's up, but I'm so ashamed from the things I said to the point I just want to wait months before doing so. I just hope that everything I said helped her. I couldn't deal with myself if it had adverse effects on her life.
This is a list of fifteen (and increasing) different people from Codex who I really appreciate. I left all the names out because I can only imagine the egos I would inflate and some things are really personal. They will know it’s them when they read it.
1. After I disappeared for a while, they did some research using my real name and checked the obituaries of local newspapers around my location if I died. They even found my Facebook (which doesn’t even have my full name). I was more happy than creeped out.
2. They purposely became the devil’s advocate against two different parties in order to solidify their relationships by becoming the common enemy. Although I don’t approve of their self-destructive means to their goal, I am forever grateful to their dedication.
3. For being that one person who admitted to me that I’m not a cunning, manipulative, or calculating person by nature. Instead, they realized I’m just an asshole who seems to dissect peoples’ mind because I genuinely want to know more about people. They're wrong. But I'm thankful they thought positively of me.
4. They took the time to uphold the rules that can be easily looked over. They has a lot of virtue and persistence. I hope I can emulate half of their character. As such, I decided to take time for myself in order to focus on myself and my own needs.
5. This person really pulled their life together from a slump I can never imagine recovering from, myself. They shared their life of drastic changes and although there are times of weakness, I see so much strength in them everyday. They’re my hero.
6. Their random jokes always made me laugh and it lightened the mood when everything in front of us had nothing but seriousness, problems, issues, etc.. Their smile makes the mood so much better during those times.
7. The long chains of PM’s with this person are really memorable even though I recall nothing. I can’t remember what we said in the recent month, but it made me good every time they replied.
8. I stand strong when I say they should be a television writer. They are so talented in a very certain genre and audience. I love reading their work so much even though I am not into that certain style.
9. This person hides behind a mask, but when their personal self is revealed to a select few, I find them to be a truly beautiful human being. Also consider that I read a lot and bitch a lot about what I hate most in life (people) and for me to say something like that for a person takes a lot of me.
10. For the longest time, I thought this person was a social shut in, but after knowing them a bit better, they are actually an inviting person and are really talkative and funny. Their Facebook is open 24/7. I would talk with them endlessly but I don’t ever go on Facebook.
11. I can’t be thankful for this person who shares all the same interests as I. In my school right now, everyone is so serious about their education and their recreational time is either novel writing/philosophy, punk/alternative garage bands, or drawing birds. It’s such a refresher to find someone who loves the same games as I play and isn't ashamed to talk about it.
12. This person commits so much time and effort to things most people most likely never even notice at first sight. If I were not a moderator and already knew the inner workings of Codex, I would have never noticed their consistent work. To this day, I occasionally check on their updates and smile a bit from what they write.
13. Point blank: They’re the butt of many Codex jokes. They have a massive amount of character just to laugh it off.
14. They bring out the more vulnerable and personal side out of everyone; people are less of a stranger because of them. They do it in the most chill and effortless way.
15. They, intentionally or unintentionally, make me more conscious of my writing and pay more attention to the hidden messages behind people. They also spur more activity in Codex. What a weird combination.
I’ll add more later after observations.
Please refer to the title for clarification and for any and all inquiries.
I give you two choices per fill-in. There is no middle answer. Pick the answer that best reflects you or your opinion. There are five (5) questions.
This quiz has no ulterior motives. None whatsoever. Scout's Honor.
Question 1: The bigger evil resides within ________.
A. The Individual
B. The Nation
I divided these items into three categories: hatred, irritation, and fears. I left out the goody-happy-go-lucky-rainbow-cakes-and-unicorns-for-everyone feelings because I'm the type of person who'd rather self-destruct from locking those feelings away than be vulnerable. And most likely, you wouldn't want to read a blog about what makes my heart and crotch tingle.
Just fucking hate them. I want to swing a metal bat at everyone of those I see. Surprisingly enough, I'm not charged towards the light producing portion. I just want to rip and burn the cone portion that keeps light from really illuminating the room.
I'm not faithful to any belief systems that respects cows or even organization that protects animal rights. I don't care if all the cows in the world were killed to produce the world's biggest and most useless leather chair. Scratch that, I would care just because there's a huge fucking leather chair in the world. I just hate leather seating and it doesn't matter if it's furniture or lines the seating of your car, I'll still severely judge who you are as a person for no explicable reason.
This one brand of cologne that is worn by mature Italian men
I actually don't hate cologne in general. I sometimes like it on a guy, but I would never wear it myself because I'm a cheap motherfucker who, at worst, subtlety smells like stale water like asphalt run-off. However there is one brand (the picture isn't representative of the one I hate) that makes my nostrils flare. It's quite odd, but I always smell it around Italian men between the ages of 30 and 40, never before or after that range. And it's not restricted to my town, I've walked past them and can tell VERY quickly they're wearing it, especially at Disneyland.
I lived in a snotty affluent white community where they send their children to soccer, band, AND space camp on the same summer. Almost every time I visit my friends' house, there is always a bowl of dried, decomposing crap on a fireplace mantle or living room table. The smell never bothered me because it's just a more concentrated Glade plug-in, but it always bothered me. I just want to put it in a corner, outside my field of vision, but never had enough angst to smash it against a wall.
I can drive one although I primarily use an automatic and I don't mind the constant changes in acceleration when riding passenger. If I were given the choice between sitting shotgun with my best friend who drives stick or a fairly close acquaintance who drives automatic, my mind would jump to the latter, but I'll grit my teeth and ride with my best friend.
When people say boobies and titties instead of boobs and tits
Most of time, I don't care what people say as long as they're not prideful, ignorant bigots or class B assholes. But when people say boobies or titties instead of boobs or tits, it bothers me A LOT. I tried reasoning to myself by thinking that only teenagers who have yet to watch porn or have some say it, but even I don't mind those kind of people saying it.
I've watched enough Project Runway to respect her. In fact, I have a 100% straight crush on her and she is a total MILF. However, I don't know what part of her I'm so afraid of her. She's easy on the eyes, confident/feisty, and has a personality. If I saw her in real life, I wouldn't be intimidated to go up to her and strike a conversation, but I would be fettered by the security guards that may politely escort me away.
"Now, work in pairs"
I've spoken as a President's Cabinet Student Rep in undergrad, hosted workshops at NEACURH/NACURH and Circle K conferences, and most recently, I had to give a grad assistant lecture to Psych I undergrad class which is basically speaking for half the lecture time (~45 minutes) with barely any reading from the Powerpoints to 50ish students. I am confident in myself and public speaking and engaging myself with any group of people. However recently, in one of my own classes, the professor said to pair up and discuss the homework reading and prepare questions/comments to share. I didn't mind the activity itself because I actually do my homework and it's impossible to hide from professors the fact that you haven't prepared yourself thorough, especially in grad school where there are at most 10 people per class in a school that values low student:professor ratios. I was paired with someone I'm chill with but the idea of pairing up sent chills down my spine. I know I can handle any social situation, but the fear lingers. My body has those "neck hairs standing up", "clammy hands", and "chills running down my spine" despite knowing full well I can breeze through it.
Getting sliced in half along the transverse plane
Sure, getting cut in any fashion should instigate some fear, but I cannot for the life of me understand why I am so scared of especially being chopped in half along the waist. I thought about being decapitated and even be cut down the middle via chainsaw, but they don't strike as much immense fear in me. I have this crazy instinct of suddenly not feeling my thighs anymore even if my arms are fully extended downward while my lumbar region of my spine slowly separating and I get overly hysteric about it
I did some things, some people critiqued it and I am done reviewing through the multiple channels of correspondence. The worst critique was a "meh/bland" which I don't mind since I feel like I half-assed about 15% of the work. The best was a "wow, I totally get you and hit me up for some drinks" (in a professional type of manner which may result with a loss of a kidney in a motel at Camden, NJ with I as the organ harvester. I'll let you ponder on that). The one that stuck with me was that I lacked vulnerability.
It has been stressed that I am like Katniss Everdeen which is funny because I finally watch Catching Fire recently through the means of an everyday middle-classed minority with questionable morals and internet access; I borrowed a DVD copy from the local library. If you thought otherwise, I do not blame you.
If the whole Hunger Games trilogy was not centered on her POV, you wouldn't know what would be going in Everdeen's head. They (singular critiquey person thing of credentials) felt the same about me except they don't get me. At all. I have been seen as a broken (man)child wearing a cracked porcelain mask that did not shatter all the way through. Just not enough to know my tender essence. They want more of me, not of what I produce but still have me in the the things I produce. I don't get it. Looking at back at the critique, I wasn't compared to Bella Swan. At least I'm more interesting than stale bread.
Back track: what does my essence have to do with my work? I did it. Is that not enough?
This critique had checkpoints in it. Incredible. It took the brevity side of things. Good. I lacked the attention span to read the wall of text others sent.
- XYZ is good.
- ABC is well done.
- MN is a bit confusing but that can be edited quickly.
- A revisit of the work would yield higher quality (no argument there).
- Talk to this guy who works in Illonois. (They did spell Illinois wrong and that alarmed me.)
- You showed a unique voice
- You showed passion.
- You showed depth.
- You showed wit.
- You showed tact.
- You lack heart and soul.
I really don't know what vulnerability means, or at least what level of vulnerability they want. I've been in so many collaborative projects (mostly in school and at the place I'll dubiously leave as "The Center") where I worked long enough with a cluster of individuals to share intimate stories and pinky-promised secrets. I know the unsaid rules of sharing your crazy with other people at the perfect times. I get that. But what vulnerability do they want? Do they want Ke... to spill every single detail about himself even when he's most uncomfortable saying it? Okay. Fine.
Today, I kicked a dog in the head because it kept sniffing my ankle. When the owner asked what happened, I said it rammed its head on the nearby tree chasing a squirrel. I didn't feel bad. Stupid dog.
Today, I was distracted in front of a green stoplight because I was gawking at gas prices on the corner station. Thus, the car behind me got stuck with a red light. They never did beep at me. I felt bad.
Today I wished for someone in Codex to experience a certain turn of events that would result in an unfavorable outcome considered by a majority of a sample population as irksome if an extensive survey was issued. I felt this every other day. Who doesn't? Today I yearned for their SHIFT buttons to be sticky. I am a petty person.
At the same time, I can't just share everything single thing I am to a person that has not reached "You will bail me out of prison if I give you directions to get the money" level with me. I can't share all my sex experiences with random people either. I am uncomfortable talking about sex as much as Boggart having some.
I'll probably email the person tomorrow for elaboration because I spent around 30 minutes typing this while listening to my subscribed podcasts and it'll be around 2 when I finish.
Look at this. The last part of that critique referred me to an "investment" that would set me apart from the competition. Fuck no. I don't gots no money. I don't suckle off my parent's life-numbing inheritance and live in a penthouse above starry skyscrapers. I am going to school to get the job I want at the price I don't and eat the same ol' stale bread because .
WARNING: DO NOT READ
How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?
Probably 22 or 23 because that's the age around most people who finish undergrad are around. If solely based on my mental age, I'd say 14.
Which is worse, failing or never trying?
Never trying. Regret from inertness is much worse than regret from poor proactive decisions.
If life is so short, why do we do so many things we don’t like and like so many things we don’t do?
MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY sex MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY ego issues MONEY MONEY sweatpants
When it’s all said and done, will you have said more than you’ve done?
No. If I've truly done everything, I probably would be too humble to say anything.
What is the one thing you’d most like to change about the world?
I'd probably re-hardwire the male psyche to stop thinking about having sex a lot by removing the "find, fuck, flee" mentality. That's where I think the world's evil can be traced from.
If happiness was the national currency, what kind of work would make you rich?
Tax collector/IRS agent.
Are you doing what you believe in, or are you settling for what you are doing?
I believe in anti-bipolarization towards free thought and decision-making. I show contempt for forcing me to pick one or the other instead of picking something in the grey middle.
If the average human life span was 40 years, how would you live your life differently?
I would fuck more.
To what degree have you actually controlled the course your life has taken?
I will not have a place to myself until I'm 24/25, fresh out of grad school, and enough debt from student loans to make Donald Trump hire me out of pity. At least I made those decisions. I consider myself having a good grasp of reality.
Are you more worried about doing things right, or doing the right things?
Doing things right. Practicality over idealism.
You’re having lunch with three people you respect and admire. They all start criticizing a close friend of yours, not knowing she is your friend. The criticism is distasteful and unjustified. What do you do?
Stuff all their food into my mouth. Stand up. And leave. And then probably run to the restroom to upchuck their disgusting food. When I return, they'll ask me why I did what I did. I'll say, "You all could stand to lose a few pounds. You should be thanking me."
If you could offer a newborn child only one piece of advice, what would it be?
Everyone you meet in life will disappoint you. Instead of yearning for someone, use the time to make the person you've always been looking for in yourself.
Would you break the law to save a loved one?
I would murder another man to preserve my own ego.
Have you ever seen insanity where you later saw creativity?
All the time in front of a mirror.
What’s something you know you do differently than most people?
Think beyond the realm of reason and conventional logic.
How come the things that make you happy don’t make everyone happy?
Because I don't expect everyone to know the joys of creative destruction and psychological warfare. Some people like long walks on the beach. I enjoy oil spills and the delicately crafted mindfuck.
What one thing have you not done that you really want to do? What’s holding you back?
I really want to lock up Tina Fey. She is my only threat in this world.
Money and connections, for now at least.
Are you holding onto something you need to let go of?
Grudges from extreme ones like US President's Cabinet concerning themselves with self-preservation than the obvious good to small ones like people who don't signal when they change lanes. Sucks for them I have a photographic memory oddly enough only towards license plates.
If you had to move to a state or country besides the one you currently live in, where would you move and why?
Canada because they pretty much got their shit together with respect to the rest of the world.
Do you push the elevator button more than once? Do you really believe it makes the elevator faster?
No and no because I'm not irrationally desperate.
Would you rather be a worried genius or a joyful simpleton?
I experienced both and out of the two, I'd rather be a worried genius. At least then, I know what makes me happy is something that truly makes me happy and not something someone behind a curtain hypnotized me to think of.
Why are you, you?
I am because I think and crap into a porcelain bowl on a daily basis. The second is very important.
Have you been the kind of friend you want as a friend?
Yes, only as a friend with benefits. Otherwise, I would want to choke my own neck in a heated fist fight.
Which is worse, when a good friend moves away, or losing touch with a good friend who lives right near you?
The former. That means I have to go out of my way to make a new friend. Making that one friend was probably pure luck. Making another one is asking for the impossible.
What are you most grateful for?
The ability to defecate and excrete waste on a homeostatic level. Oh and probably David Tennant.
Would you rather lose all of your old memories, or never be able to make new ones?
The latter. It'll make me appreciate the moment more knowing I'll have no recollection of it.
Is it possible to know the truth without challenging it first?
Yes. Why challenge the truth head on when you can get around it and attack it from the rear?
Has your greatest fear ever come true?
There was that time I tried on a pair of booty shorts...
Do you remember that time 5 years ago when you were extremely upset? Does it really matter now?
I befriended a 25 year old Marine in a mentoring program. He wanted to be a high school chemistry teacher and was on standby during the "help these kids because they'll end up being homosexual drug addicts against God who are in an armored vehicle en transit to prison" program in my high school. He was then called back to service and died a few months later by friendly fire or faulty helicopter, I can't remember which. Got over like it a cold.
What is your happiest childhood memory? What makes it so special?
I was tricked into thinking a third rate harvest fair was Disney Land. I gained the ability of meta-cognition at a very young age and bent reality into something more enjoyable while cognitive of the so obvious lie.
At what time in your recent past have you felt most passionate and alive?
I actually went to Disney Land last year and I didn't need to do any thinking on my part. I lived out those moments with genuine excitement and enjoyment, unfiltering the stimuli around me.
If not now, then when?
If you haven’t achieved it yet, what do you have to lose?
My sanity, my dignity, my self-respect, my lunch.
Have you ever been with someone, said nothing, and walked away feeling like you just had the best conversation ever?
All the time. I may be psychopath, but I do enjoy those time sitting on the bus ride home from a long day with one of my guy friends saying nothing with our thighs touching without either of us being bothered by it.
Why do religions that support love cause so many wars?
Religions are not stupid. People are. I've yet to see someone who practices any religion wholesomely without bending any part of it for their convenience. In all honesty, I have no issue with any religion that doesn't have murder another human as a necessary practice or pillar.
Is it possible to know, without a doubt, what is good and what is evil?
Yes, but I would never want to know. They grey middle will always be the safest route.
If you just won a million dollars, would you quit your job?
AH HELL NO. A million dollars isn't enough for a stable lifetime. I calculated all possible expenses and if you were to live alone without aiding anyone else you would need 3.47 million. That number considers that last moment when you spend your last 110 bucks for drugs to overdose with.
Would you rather have less work to do, or more work you actually enjoy doing?
More work that I enjoy. I want to work in a correctional facility or a rehab after I graduated. What could be more fun than surrounding yourself with a convicted gunman, pathological liars, and schizophrenics who claw at the walls at the sight of me? They think I'm the Anti-Jesus or something. Silly patients. They entertain me. Safe and law abiding citizens are boring acting passive aggressive in their cubicle. So cliche. So predictable. So unstimulating.
Do you feel like you’ve lived this day a hundred times before?
Not at all. I learned how to use a Skip-It today.
When was the last time you marched into the dark with only the soft glow of an idea you strongly believed in?
Your use of metaphors is deplorable. Next.
If you knew that everyone you know was going to die tomorrow, who would you visit today?
Would you be willing to reduce your life expectancy by 10 years to become extremely attractive or famous?
I think that's how Tony Stark got famous.
What is the difference between being alive and truly living?
The ability to control your bowels.
When is it time to stop calculating risk and rewards, and just go ahead and do what you know is right?
When intoxicated from alcohol and/or drugs.
If we learn from our mistakes, why are we always so afraid to make a mistake?
Isn't that just basic defense mechanism to protect us from harm? I'm pretty sure no one who jumped off a 19 story gorge without any safety equipment survives so that they would jump again. You know, because they're dead.
What would you do differently if you knew nobody would judge you?
I would wear sweatpants 24/7.
When was the last time you noticed the sound of your own breathing?
Thanks a lot. Now I hear it. Stupid metacognition.
What do you love? Have any of your recent actions openly expressed this love?
I love to write to write exciting adventures for that random person I spot walking alone from my bus seat. I'll let my iphone app of short one-shots be the judge of that.
In 5 years from now, will you remember what you did yesterday? What about the day before that? Or the day before that?
No. No. No. If only my photographic memory of license plates applied to the rest of my life.
Decisions are being made right now. The question is: Are you making them for yourself, or are you letting others make them for you?
I choose to not watch fireworks on the Fourth of July. I have some power in this world. Unless that's exactly what someone who's controlling me. Then fuck, others are making decisions for me.
Question #46: Did you realize that there only 45 questions?
So I walked a few steps away from the complex and noticed a light drizzle. I ran back and got my bike because I love biking in the rain and I tend to make poor life choices at nightfall. I changed into a light windbreaker jacket and some swim trunks. I wore those swimming shoes you sign your soul off at water parks and never return ever again.
The area I live at isn't all too sketchy; we have lampposts in front of every other house, the trees here are more of a gardening aesthetic than a living organism, and if I wanted to really push myself, I can bike 14 miles to get to the 14th/15th-ish biggest mall in the US (I haven't checked the stats in years so don't quote me on it). I felt comfortable just riding casually at 10:30 PM. I'm not afraid of a sports car booming ghetto rap hitting me at 80 miles per hour nor a sociopathic killer hiding in the bushes ready to strike. It's peaceful enough to leave your bike one day at your front yard and not expect it to be stolen the next morning.
I usually bike in the residential area where it's peaceful, peaceful to the point of boredom. There were no parties going on and the only thing memorable was my lesbian block neighbors pulling into their driveway and unloading a lot of boxes. Knowing them, they were probably unloading skiing gear or kinky sex things out of their trunk. I waved hi. They hollered me to go inside because it's started to downpour. I smiled ignorantly and rode on.
The farther away I am from the complex, the more plastic furniture and garage sale lawn ornaments stood guard in front of paint-chipped singled-floored houses. There was also an alarmingly large amount of birdhouses on the nearby pine trees, enough to question if the resident had enough human interaction to be deemed mentally sane.
I normally wouldn't be frightened from driving/biking in this area, but the ever-changing downpour, the straggling warm fog, and the rust-colored light from the flickering lampposts added to eerie ambiance. I feel like if my bike chain broke, I would end up staying at a Rocky Horror-esque mansion for the night.
The way back was dull since everything amusing that would of been seen was already seen. I shifted gear and cruised down the gentle hill. At the time, I was not paying attention to the speed I built up and the next moment, I was propped up in someone's arms like Cinderella romantically caught by Prince Charming before she tripped except it was not nothing like that. I could feel the spongy sleeves of a man's soaked sweatshirt on my back and and bitingly tight grip on my left arm. I looked to my right and the first thing I noticed was a thick brown pedophile mustache you'd expect from a 1970's child molester or Ned Flanders.
I couldn't hear what the guy was saying because of the rain. I pushed myself upward, but my hand stung in contact with the cold, gravel-littered ground. I looked at my palm for a second and saw slivers of skin peeling off and trickling blood already being washed away. I stood up completely and thought to myself: thank goodness no other part of my body was hurt.
The rain picked up. I had to go home. Now. I wanted to properly thank the man, but I couldn't see much of the man's face. The lamppost was directly above his head and anything under it would be dark by contrast from a low angle. I am a tiny Asian so everything under that lamppost was a gigantic silhouette. I screamed Thank you, hoping my message would reach him despite the sharp hissing and cracking of the heavy rain. I dashed a few yards to reach my bike and sprinted the few miles back to my apartment.
I took a shower, disinfected my hand, and pulled out the loose skin with tweezers. Now I finished typing this and only until now I realized my left thigh is extreme sore. I hope I can walk tomorrow. I need to buy food.
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