Wait a second.

My blog still exists? I remember when it was Xanga, but that was more for children. I suppose blogs gain some form of recognition at one point or another. And this is totally weird, but I just read a couple of my posts and they're not all that bad. I was just too green. And even to this day; still, I feel the same. And shouldn't be ashamed. However, I think it's more of a process of removing oneself -- severed -- from the darkest pits of self loathing where most of the confusion lies for me. In other words, I need to get over myself. Spending too long of nights hoping to drive myself to want to write. It's such a difficult task, literally, at hand to write imaginatively. Why spend the days drolling over personal issues? when all I desire is a pen at hand. Pen at hand to paper. The paper where it soaks one's soul wholly and always a mystery to these foot like blubbering, walking fingertips. Bones that should free the hand to glide the traces of your story.

Like Love, let it happen.

it's just one of those days...

I know consistency is key, but this is my blog!  My blog dammit, and I'm not going to ignore it.  

Today was so full of fail--at least for me.  I've realized that if earning my degree is not exciting me and that it feels like a chore everytime I do it.  Is it worth it?  Am I really happy?  In both my classes, I asked myself if getting my degree was what I really wanted?  I mean I've come this far, and for what?  To drop in the middle of everything and either (a) get a dead end job (b.) change majors or (c.) keep my major and start a new one...yes double major, or minor!

Today, in my Shakespeare class, I raised my hand for the first time just so I could show the professor that I'm interested, not just in quiet contemplation.  I spew out something from my notes and I have a serious moment of realization.  I mean, she didn't patronize me and she knew that I was trying ((not hard enough)).  She's a cool professor, it's me I'm worried about.


Why am I posting again?  Oh, right...

  I'M NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH!

Wake up, man!  I need to wake up and just be inspired again.  Oh mystical blog, help me overcome my state of mind and see through my misty, bog filled future.

Just write.  That's how it all started.

Is Anybody Hiring?

You know what I hate the most about this recession?  The joblessness.  Yeah.  I'm joining the club.  I would sell my fucking soul for a job right now.  Everyone seems have already hired someone for EVERY bloody position imaginable.  The only positions "available" are for the experienced people.  For manager positions, and what have you.  Maybe I'm not looking hard enough into the job market.  I'm only twenty-one, I don't need a fancy job.  Heck, I would give one eye so that I would look like a pirate and work as dishwasher that says snarky, comical comments.  I would be a pirate.  I would sell my soul to be a pirate and star in the next Disney franchise that has to do with pirates?  Yeah.  That one.


But you know what's even worse?  I can't even be a sexy pole dancer too.  I can't even do that because I'm pudgy.  So, what?  Who cares?  I like Hot Pockets, pan dulce, and all that yummy good stuff that the normal people are beginning to ignore.  I'm being IGNORED here people!  Is it my facial hair?  Is it because I look Armenian?  Am I not Chicano, Hispanic, Latino 96.3 enough for you? (I just realized that my ethnicity has nothing to do with what the hell I'm talking about...)  Well, I'm sorry. What the fuck do I have to do to get a job?  Here's what I've done.  I've called these jobs incessantly to the point of desperation.  Why, oh, why do I even bother when the professionals wont even return a simple phone call with a "Yes, we'd like to go ahead and interview you," or "No, unfortunately, you don't meet the requirements."  If you tell me that you'll hire just about anyone and you don't hire me you are LIARS!  (Family Guy moment:  YOU'RE A PHONY!)

I shop at the fucking places.  I eat at the fucking places.  It's just really sad and pathetic.


I have even personally approached managers and hiring managers with my applications.  I even did a personal follow up at the stores.  I go to this one retail store, see, and the hiring manager tells me that he has all my information and that if they need to hire more people for the holiday season he'll give me a call.  My friend, who was kind enough to give me a referral, has been reminding her boss weekly (because I don't want to seem desperate) about hiring me.  Next thing you know, my friend tells me they just hired another person on top of all the other three new employees.  I question why they didn't get the big picture that I was interested in making their retail environment more productive than making the place more beautiful than it already was.  (No, not Abercrombie and Fitch).

I think it's completely unprofessional to not even make a simple phone call.  It just common courtesy!  If they call you and let you know the state of your application then you can move on to another thing.  Yeah.  People get that feeling when they think FOR SURE they're going to get the job.  And when it doesn't happen, reality, oh that reality, hits and you're still jobless because you've been waiting FOR-FUCKING-EVER for a stupid phone call that never came.


Dude, it's just like Santa.  You're a kid.  You wait up all night for that stupid fat man.  He never comes.  Your childhood is crushed.  I had the same thing but for the Tooth Fairy.  That bitch gives money.  What are you going to do with toys?  Grow up and still play with them?  No.  I don't do that.  I really hate to sound materialistic here, but, seeing that I'm American I'll indulge in the stereotype of the greedy fat-cat who only wants more, I WANT MONEY.  What do kids play with: TOYS.  What do adults play with: MONEY!  Because money buys everything.  

I would sell my fucking soul.  I swear.  Geez.  (One word to what just happened here: Lame.)

I'm Not an Addict

I was fifteen when I first found out music was free thanks to the magic of the internet. When my brothers and I finally convinced our father to add the internet service to our household, the first thing I gravitated to was the websites dedicated to music. Yahoo! Music, MTV, you name it; I was in the loop. These websites were just the tip of the iceberg, it sounds cliché but it’s true. Not only were there music websites, but also for free music, movies, TV, and music videos. I was a kid. I was in a candy store. I mooched to my hearts content.

Now, I’m not saying I’ve never bought my music before (Although, I am starting to miss the smell of a new CD case cracked open.) and I’m not condoning such illegal behavior, but, if it’s free, you have to take advantage. Yes, it is illegal, but, sir or madam, there are more important things in life. “Like what,” you say? Well, there’s healthcare, real drug abuse, civil rights, world hunger, I mean, the list of sufferings that humans are plagued with goes etcetera repeated three times. I think music is a universal language that can, at times, solve much of the many problems of the world. Usually, internal problems in a person’s self. But, that’s a good start, no? If you think about it, free music is just like finding money in your pocket that you forgot about. And that’s a good feeling.

By the time I was sixteen, I had heard, read, and even saw with my own eyes the wondrous, even unreal, beauty of Peer-to-Peer (P2P) sharing software. No longer did I need to scavenge the internet search engines for what little morsels I could get my clicking fingertips on. My search time was cut by half, and I consumed. But there was no end to my hunger. A hunger, to which this day, mind you, has never been quite satisfied.

The first of these lovely P2P programs was Ares Lite. Its symbol was a haloed capitalized “A.” It was Mount Olympus. There was a party. I was invited, and the gods fed me from their ambrosia. I downloaded to the point of crashing my hard rive. Long story short, after many system restore points and formatting, I realized that Ares Lite had betrayed me and I infected my computer with an STD, system transmitted disease. And I was also infected, I needed to keep downloading in order to fill my insatiable desire for music…and CD-Rs (recording CDs). Back then, I used Cds and had no idea what an mp3 player was. Needless to say, I had many sleepless nights of downloading and grew fearful for my worsening condition. I blamed the gods, when I should’ve blamed myself.

The next, and the last, was Lime Wire. It was the methamphetamine of all P2P software. It was a bloody needle that would keep infecting my computer on a constant basis. It was my abusive girlfriend that I would keep running to, the hand that feeds and bites, the happy green lime that would shine in the darkness of my room. It was GOD!

After I turned 18, I realized the problems of the software and the consequences that came with it. Through many system restores, I lost family photos, important documents, and personal writings, things that CD-Rs would have been more useful for, other than my greedy music collection. Like most addicts, though I know it is a stretch, I lost a lot of things. This was supposed to be a family computer, but I took over it. I was a tyrant and needed a fix every day. So, after realizing the losses my family was also suffering, I decided, and was convinced by my brothers, that it was time to stop. So much money was wasted on new hardrives when a system restore or recovery did not erase the scars of a virus.

“No more,” I said. I was tired and guilty for having my parents pay for computer problems that I brought upon it. I no longer wanted to be a slave to the P2P community. I no longer wanted my parents to waste their money. Sure, I went through a form of withdrawal and three relapses, but no longer do I suckle from the sour teat of Lime Wire.

So, what’s the point, you may be asking yourself? To be honest, I don’t know and I don’t care, but I’m back to using search engines, blogs, and forums to mooch and fill the endless depths of my Zune. Yes, Zune. (And if you don’t know what that hell I’m talking about in the sentence prior, you really need to get on the band wagon.) And my addiction is no longer in control, facebook is, and Twitter too. But, I’m no longer blinded by the computer screen’s holy light, au contraire, I’m blinded by the fact that I still haven’t admitted my addiction. Until, now.
Music is my drug. Each click and download of a .rar, .zip, and .torrent is an injection of joy. If the music is free, then I too become free. And, if I am free, I am…well, I don’t know what I am. All I know is that music everywhere, it is life, and I’m just living in it.

Hello, my name is P.M.; I’m twenty-one, and I’m an addict.

Normal Freaks

Let's get it up in the air so it can linger for the duration of this thought-to-paper sequence. Men and women want the same things out of life. I may be a little green, but I want to see what I know about shit like love, relationships, and the etcetera of life. Whether it be relationships, careers, marriage, and, the elephant in the room, sex. However, what both strive for is to be somewhat more than their helpless expectations (tomorrow, and tomorrow...etc.). Is it wrong to settle for the average? To have low expectations of life? To never change? I may be shooting for the stars, going over my head, and shooting myself in the foot with this big question. What is wrong with being normal/average? I'm not talking about the penis, or breast size. I'm talking the "where the hell is this life going?" What is a normal now-a-days?

I got to thinking and began to question my average Joe life and decided that it's not so bad. I think about all my friends who've changed since high school, mind you it's been three years already, and see what they've accomplished. They're just like me. They're heading down the slow and steady wins the race path. There is nothing wrong with being normal, or average. You just have to have the ability to improve it. Well, when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, right? So, when life give you normal, you stop and say, "Hey, this is fine. Life is stable, good and drama free."

Or at least Diet Drama. I understand that some people want to be more than what he or she is in life and get their name out there in the world. You know. Be a somebody in a world of nobodies. Is it worth it to risk normalcy in return for fantasy? A little fantasy never hurt anyone, it's normal to want things out of reach. My only gripe is that the average life gets pretty boring pretty fast. It can also get freaky. The tiresome repetition of days. In and out of buildings. Driving the same road. It's the Twilight-Zone.

So, how do we break out of the normalcy? Well, from what I've learned, you can and can't. You can because once you get your name out there, you'll desire a scrap of the normal life. You can't when you don't have the drive to be more than you can be. You're a damned if you're normal and you're damned if you aren't. That's why most people want to be freaks, because they break the regular mold and are turned abstract. Nobodies wanta to be abstract, just because literal and what's on the page is too boring. All that glitters can be fools gold.

I am me; and I know my thoughts are probably all jumbled up, but I feel it necessary to break my block. I want to be more than this page. I want to have meaning and fearlessness. I am searching for my voice and can almost hear it clearly. If normal is what I have to be for the rest of my life. I can try to at least make it sound interesting. Face it, a boring life is an interesting one. I'm a dog without a bone and without a clear vision of my future. I'm a boring person who has nothing intelligent to say. I'm a somebody in a nobody world, yet I'm considered a nobody. I shouldn't think that way, but that's how I am and diet drama tastes nasty.

I'm a normal person who wants to be freak. Don't we all?

My Carrie Bradshaw Moment

Why is it that Carrie Bradshaw always has the right thing to say? Whether it be a witty snap, a smart pun, or just a wise little token, she has the ability to make the watcher think about his, or should I say her, own problems. These problems often lie within the realm of relationships, friendships, and other ships sailing into the social aspect of life. Now, I've never been in a "relationship-relationship," however, I do have friendships, and many of my problems aren't near as complex as hers because I'm living the life a "regular Joe;" but I seem to be gravitating to her and what she has to say. So, what? I'm a guy who likes Sex & The City, sue me, but is life really all about finding love, answering a question with another question, or questioning the first question that led one to question the problem in the first place? I'm going to say no, an "in between" no, a no that describes the very essence of my being -- "maybe." Not one person ever has the answers to everything, true, and the answers will never be convenient, but wherever it lies, it has to come from an adult decision.

Is there ever a dull moment in Carrie's life, her tasteful problematic life? Her question of the night: "Can you get to a future if your past is present?" Doesn't that just tense you up? Sorry for the pun, when you think about Carrie, you, well, get carried away. (I think I'm going to throw up.) Carrie's past exists within Big, a smooth-talking rich guy that holds the key to Carrie's heart. Not with money, but with his ever semi-creeper school boy affection and real desire for her as a person. Her present, a writer by the charming nickname, "Burger," who, obviously, finds common ground for their love of words and Carrie's way with words (I think.). The problem is, Carrie's ever present elephant in the room ex-relationship with Big holds her back from grasping a small glimpse of a stable future relationship with not just Burger, but also her perceptions of love, and, especially, men. It is an interesting tabled turned point-of-view for me as a twenty-something male that is trying to understand why men seem to be the problem for women and women seem to be the problem for men. It's not like the two are from different planets. Both are human and conduct themselves as such, albeit in different ways, but I believe it all lies within social stigmas for the ever battling sexes. That sounds like a snooty college student remark trying to impress his teacher, but it's a little bit true.

That said, why does the future for Carrie matter so much? Why does it matter so much to you and me? Isn't it absurd to even talk about it? Hell, thinking about it can give someone a headache, even scared shitless. I'm trying here, to figure out what actions will affect me in the future, to understand why such consequences will be so dire and, again, why does it matter? I'm going to get it straight for myself, I seem to be thinking in circles. The past has shaped my present, the present in non-negotiable, and the future is unknown. Here I am, going to school trying to to get my future on and get some sort of security for "just-in-case" situations. In the words of Macbeth after finding out his beloved wife has taken her life:

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.

Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28

I'm not just calling Carrie an idiot, we're all idiots. Nah, she's not a complete idiot though, she has a point and she gets it across, pins you down with it, and makes you realize that what you have to live for is for "The Ever Present Now." Is this what love has in-store for all? Tomorrow? I should hope so. We don't know if a tomorrow will ever come, but we EXPECT it, and that's all I need to reassure my restless, unloved "relationship-relationshipless" heart. I expect love tomorrow. Not just from one person, but from my family, friends, and little animal creatures that sing with me during a blacked-out Disney musical number. (Ah, weed and liquor.) Give a little. Take a little. Expect nothing but the best; and, if you can't receive, feed off it from whatever you love. Absorb that energy, I do it all the time. After all, loving yourself is okay, too.