It's official

Alrighty, guys. I am not sure if people still read this or not, but what the heck, I figure I'll give this a shot. For the sake of brevity, I am going to spread the news via the internet: things did not work out between me and Michele. Here is a summary of my feelings, so you all know, without me having to explain the same thing six (6) times.

Yes, it is a bummer, but not too bad. I had a pretty strong feeling this was coming, and had not invested much emotion into it. However, there is a greater feeling of disappointment regarding relationships in general.

The most exciting prospect about having a girl, to me, was not having to constantly think about how to meet people, and forcing myself to do things I am not terribly interested in just because there is a chance to meet someone.

Also, I have further evaluated my record with girls, and I would say I have gone out with roughly 20 girls, to some extent, and have felt a genuine connection to no more than one (1) of them. These are pretty crap odds, if you ask me. I don't know how most everyone I know (save Matt and Darren) has done it. Really.

Oh, and if anyone was going to suggest that I go gay, I have considered this myself at several points in my life. I would say the only thing stopping me from that is I find butt sex really gross, and usually my butthole is totally raw from my constant diarrhea anyway. Also, the thought of making out with other guys is really gross to me, and I find most gay people to be pretty irritating.

Alright, there you have it. I don't need six (6) people asking me how I am doing and being sympathetic and what not. I am fine, just a bit bummed, but such is life. Really, what would be more helpful than anything, is if you guys could all either try pretty hard to hook me up with some chicks (preferably with low self-esteem), OR pitch in to buy me a russian bride.

Wishbone

No one gets what they want, according to the ancient chinese tradition of breaking the wishbone. And by no one, I mean Pamera and I.

Pan-a-ma-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah

Here we coooooooooooooome. I would post a picture to prove it but I don´t currently have the means.

To Matt and Pam:

Hello, Matt and Pam. This is Josh. You may know me as that reliable fixture in your morning lives. You know the one: you wake up and give me a pleasant smile, nod, and "hello", and I respond with "Hey, Fag".

I just wanted to let you know I would not be joining you today in our standard morning ritual. As a substitute, let me paint you a picture with a few keystrokes from my fingertips:

You: drowsy-eyed and hungover (Matt) or exhausted from work (Pam)
Me: Garbed in a stained white shirt and silver Nike running shorts, which have never, technically, been run in

You: Running (Matt) or making a delightful breakfast of biscuits n gravy (Pam)
Me: Sitting in a chair, looking at my computer, farting.

You: Making pleasant conversation
Me: Farting and saying inappropriate yet slightly endearing racist comments

You: Leaving for work and/or school
Me: Sitting in a chair, looking at my computer, farting.

Apparently our toilet is pretty good...

...Because I just threw everything I had at it, and it didn't come close to clogging.

Halloween

Hey, so Halloween is coming up, and I have no idea what to be. If anyone can help, that would be tite. T-I-T-E. Tite.

God?

Ok, so I know I hardly ever drink and very rarely less go out, but i did frequent the Cat Club tonight and it happened to be 80's night. Go me. Let's just say that David Bowie, Cyndi Lauper and Michael Jackson all made their appearances. But what really made this night special was when me and c-dub were dancing and some crappy song like crap on me was playing and I said, "well lets see what the next song is and then we'll leaver." Litlle did I know the next song could in fact be the greatest song ever written. I didn't even see it coming. My head was in my hands and Cristin's coworker was like, "dude your boyfriend is freaking out." I of course proceeded to lip sync, slash scream really loudly, the entire song. Let's just say that I gave Madonna a run for her money.

I live for Like A Prayer.

Crushed Childhood

It's no secret that kids are dirt-fucking-stupid. We can sugar coat it all we like, but when it comes down to it, kids are self-serving shitstains who care more about Trapper Keepers than...well, than just about anything.

The downside of this is, we are all kids at some point. In these formative years, while we are still under the spell of idiocy, we are introduced to many things that appear humorous at the time, while in fact, are quite the opposite.

Examples: Saturday morning cartoons, Police Academy, Sit coms, etc.

I find that throughout life, I stumble upon things I found amusing as a child, only to be crushed that A) these things are, in fact, shit; and that B) I must have been pretty fucking stupid to enjoy this shit.

The latest reality check is a little something called David Letterman. I remember enjoying his shtick, even fighting my primal instinct to go to sleep at 10 in order to stay up for his opening monologue. And oh, who can forget the top 10?
The lethal combination of Letterman's borderline senile rants, Paul Schafer's sugary-sweet melodies, and Allen Coulter's deep, booming voice was enough to send me into convulsions.

But tonight, I watched my first episode in quite some time, and to say that I was "disappointed" is an understatement of Elton-John's-Gayness proportions. All euphemisms and literary flourishes aside, he fucking sucks. He seems to be catering solely to pity-chuckles these days, and has abandoned any sort of social/political commentary in favor of nonsensical asides.

In short, I was pretty fucking stupid as a kid.

Talents

It has been said that people are like snowflakes: no two are a like, and the whiter they are the more beautiful they are.

Much like snowflakes, every person has specific talents. Some people go to college to develop and hone these abilities; others go to college to hit on chicks that don't shave their legs. I fell in to a third category, which can best be described as "picking your butt."

While I initially felt as though my experience at picking my own butt was not applicable to the job world, and I had missed an opportunity to find my own true calling, I realize I was just confused.

My calling is picking my butt. I can sit around and do nothing better than anyone. As opposed to running around pretending I am qualified for bullshit positions, I just need to develop my own job category that exploits my personal skills.

Some possibilities:
Movie watcher (not critic, however...too much vocab)
Couch tester
Fart-maker for movie sound effects
Burrito restaurant quality control

I am open to other suggestions.