Eat the Fucking Catfish Bitch!

“I’m glad I can’t tell the future. I’d never want to get out of bed.” – Quote from Tracy Letts’ play August: Osage County which I had the pleasure of witnessing last night during a thoroughly awkward rendezvous with two remotely creepy individuals and a bright eyed freshman from Coffeyville Community College. It was a brilliantly written, wonderfully enacted piece by a native Oklahoman born playwright. I felt particularly inflated since I myself have spent some time in Pawhuska OK, where the play is set, in Osage County. Pawhuska lays on the Osage Indian Reservation, hence the county name.

However there wasn’t much about Native Americans except for a rather small character that ends up the maid of the house, and with dual dissatisfaction, was not descend from the Osage tree. She was of some other unmentionable tribe that I had never heard of (which means it was of no merit…kidding, just kidding). The play was very multi-dimensional, chock full of great lines, quotable to say the least, accidental brother and sister incest, a 40 year old feeling up a 14 year old while high, a Mother/Grandmother who lives every day high as a kite and loves it, a woman whose husband cheated on her with a high school aged student of his, an Aunt who had sex with the Mother/Grandmother’s husband and has his child without the Aunts husband ever finding out, and above all else, the alcoholic, self-drowned suicide of the Mother/Grandmother’s husband at the very beginning that plagues the entire show. It was breathtaking, moving, heart stopping, awkward and enraging, everything to look for in a play. Not to mention of course that it was three hours long and had two intermissions (the latter is a cynical statement. It didn’t make the show better). But the show’s intermissions helped break it up to keep it from feeling too ridiculously long.

The playwright was even in the audience, met him in the bathroom. It was awesome. I even got to witness the dubbing of Jan. 26 becoming Tracy Letts day. Rad.

It gave me inspiration to write a play based on a family I’ve recently been observing…well recently for about the past year or so. However, I’m sure it would be embarrassing for that family if I were to blow up all of their problems/mistakes/bad traits in front of an audience when in fact their family is quite lovely and very kind. But my show wouldn’t help happily. I believe a play leave someone with the best impact if it ends horrifically, leaving the audience member stunned within their plushy, chairs, shaking with rage or frustration or tears or whatever emotion I force them to feel. Something they can take with them to chew on for a while. And I’m very happy to have the perfect subject. I just need to get an okay on it.

In other news I was allowed to SWACDA again. I love how I know I’m doing the right thing when everyone around me thinks I’m not, drops me from everything extracurricular, and then begs me back to join because there isn’t anyone else to fill the position. Trust me, I usually know what I’m doing (usually being the opportune word). So, give me the benefit of the doubt and go for the ride baby.

I’ve recently had this burning urge to be blatantly honest with people in a very unkind way and I feel no need in apologizing for it. I told a distant friend of mine off for annoying the fuck out of me in the library for the hundredth time and it felt like a nice hearty sigh. I told someone how I really thought of them and informed their ex that their previous boyfriend had cheated on him with me and another individual and it felt good to be 100% honest about something for once (though I was rather rude and bitchy about it. But it was truth none-the-less). I can’t stress enough that I’m comfortable about it. It’s like I’ve gotten a new license to be myself and I’m taking it and flying. I’m glad my close friends are backing me up. If I seem like I’m being really mean guys, just try to look at it this way…I’m not mean to you! :P

So finally some optimism out of pessimism – it feels great. Now, to end this lovely blog entry, I’ll leave you all with my favorite quote from August: Osage County: “Eat the fucking catfish, bitch!”

A Pessimist at Heart

I hate investing myself. I think I do so well in avoiding it until I finally look and realize I’ve been doing it the entire time. The most aggravating part of it is that I don’t realize till it hurts me that I notice I’m reaching out for nothing but air.


Maybe I read to far into things. I believe much truth can be said in jest. I believe that it really is the little things that define the big things. When pushed up into a corner, we’ll do what we have to to appear nice, or understanding, or a good person, when we aren’t. Not a single person isn’t selfish. Not a single person isn’t looking out for their own ass.


And I guess there isn’t anything wrong with that. To keep ourselves from hurting we do what we can to avoid a situation. It’s just so teeth grindingly, misty eye inducingly upsetting to realize you only have yourself to rely on. In the end, if everyone left and didn’t look back, the only person I can guarantee would be there for me is myself.


I’m not trying to demean my friends at all. I know that they mean the best for me. But everyone, including myself, get’s caught up in life. Who want’s to be tied down by some stupid individual? Who want’s to let their actions be determined by the care for another? It’s fun for a while, but I guess it get’s old.


I don’t know what I want to do after I graduate from my two year. I don’t know what is going to make me happy. I don’t know what will change me in positive ways and what wont. But possibly the most degrading thing about it is being accused of following someone on whatever choice I make. Even if I was, it’s my choice to make. If it’s a mistake, let me learn it. If it’s not, let me enjoy it.


But I have to figure it out fast. Deadlines are coming up and I need to have fall backs for whatever it is I do.


Wow, my blogs have been kind of Debbie downer-ish. :D I guess it’s easier to express myself negatively then positively. Here, I’ll make a promise. I’ll write about positives when I don’t have to worry so much about negatives. What can I say, I’m a pessimist at heart. ;)

It's suite mate...definitely not sweet mate.

People are such interesting creatures. Interesting perhaps not in a true fascinating idea of them, but I’m mostly drawn to their ability to be unkind.


At this moment my lovely suite mate is bathing in the shower. It’s 12:30 and I’m feeling sleep Satan sneaking up on me. Unfortunately it is impossible for me to sleep. Why? Because whenever he showers he HAS to play music. Hold on, I said play, I mean BLAST. It’s grotesquely aggravating to the point that I have flashing images of myself, wielding scissors, cutting the chord to his speakers just so I can get a good nights sleep. However, that would be unkind of me, something I grasp and something he obviously does not.


My previous weekend was for a lack of better term wonderful. I spent 3 days with my boyfriend, something I’m grateful for, because we learned each other monumentally through hookah (and other assorted substances :D), sleeping together (like actually sleeping…don‘t let your minds wander too much) and obviously just living around each other.


I had a moment over the weekend, when I was alone in his room so we could take a break from each other, when I gained a certain appreciation for my existence. It’s cheesy hippy of me to say, but I felt a strong connection with the earth and the energy in it; with Brandon and other relations with my friends, that was very gratifying and refreshing. I’m in no way a religious person, but if I believed in any spirituality, I experienced it during that time.


Now, let me take a moment to rag on myself...


Everyone has flaws. There is no way I’m going to deny that I myself have many. I think that my most annoying flaw (or perhaps most annoying to myself) is that when I try to fix things that I’ve screwed up (I’d like to think this doesn’t happen frequently..huh…) that I can only succeed in making them worse.


In life, there will be people that I will hurt. There will be people who don’t like me. I’m not perfect and regrettably, these things are inevitable. I need to learn to accept that I can’t fix everything; to let people feel how they want to feel about me despite my previous actions or not. To live content in myself is the most satisfying way that I can live.


To end the weekend I wrote a song with Carlie. Music is the best top off to an eye opening three days. Now back to school…X_X.

Lame Monkey

I’ve never quite fully understood the vivacious (though sometimes unconscious) urge of others to fake kindness. It seems of late that a majority of our genuineness has been squeezed out of us like a dishwater sponge. However, I am left in the corner, scratching my head like a lame monkey wondering why so many are content to say “Hey, how are you,” and get a simple, shallow reply back. “I’m okay.”


Regrettably the morbid and self-gratifying truthful response is “No, I’m not fucking okay.” Who the hell is!? Or at least all of the time? Rather than take time out of our busy lives to listen to someone’s problems we’d rather glance over it and pretend it doesn’t exist. Even when someone does say they need help, we’ll laugh it off, give you some drone-making medication and be done with you. And yes, we will stay faaar from you next time we’re trying to have a grand day.


It isn’t just that. We all need someone to take care of us. Let’s face it, humans are created to be paired up with other humans. Miraculously we all are going through this little thing called life and I’m boggled as to why anyone other human being would make it that much more difficult for another. Fuck, life is already grueling enough. Could it possibly be so bad as to help someone out when they obviously need help? Instead of just standing to the corner watching someone juggle everything till they fall head first down a flight of stairs, maybe it would be kind of us lend a hand.


People have feelings. It’s sort of, I don’t know, not our fault. So why are people so scared of a little tear duct action? Empathy is a trait sooo many people should love up on. It’s crazy how much just a simple (and genuine please) pat on the back can help one feel considerably better. Boys, it’s okay to cry. Girls, it’s okay to be strong. It’s okay to be whoever you are. Just as long as whoever that person you are is a genuine and positive influence on others.


I don’t think I can stand surrounding myself with people who pretend. Everywhere I look there’s mask-wearing faker after mask-wearing faker. It’s hard to build something worthwhile, something tangible and reassuring, out of fake hellos and quick goodbyes. There’s nothing interesting in a programmed droid who calculates every movement and says only what the other wants to hear. I have enough to be paying attention without having conversations with trash cans.

Understanding Happiness

I went for a jog today (not different than any other day mind you) however today was, in fact, a bit different. I pulled on my very stylish black sweats, rancid scented under armor, obnoxious rainbow patterned beanie (because it was fucking cold outside), verdant green gloves and immensely worn running shoes and proceeded into the biting chill per usual. I’d gotten through a most invigorating one mile before I encountered that one thing that made today’s run quite different from the rest. Any other day I would have zoned out to my favorite band (The Killers by the way) on my mp3 player, dragged myself through four miles and topped it all off with a hot, refreshing shower. But my run today was impeded by the sad occurrence of a dead bird in my path.


My first reaction was repulsion. I jumped backward, a feat when your moving at such a pace, and actually stopped in some broken idea of a mid-stride and looked at it for a moment. Now, this wasn’t just one of those cute, brightly colored little tweeters that fly carelessly through the sky, this was a fucking honking buzzard of a creature, brown specked and neck twisted revoltingly too far to one side. I don’t know what came over me. It was just the body of a bird that I would never give two shits about. But seeing it there, broken on the pavement, seemed to confused me. I was stumped by it.


Attempting to shrug off the feeling I continued on and quickened my pace. I turned up the music and sweated onward. By the time I was on my second lap (I normally lap the school I attend two times before stopping) the thought of the carcass had flitted entirely from my brain and I was running under my usual consciousness or lack-there-of.


Rounded the same bend. There it was smiling up at me like a yawning sore. My reactions were precisely the same. I stopped violently. I stared intently at the cadaver. A wrinkled brow and panting breath. It was just a fucking bird. A dead fucking bird. Nothing to see here.


And still my juvenile fascination with the scene remained unrequited. I’ve been an avid believer in psychology for some time now and I began to question why it was that my first reaction, in both situations, was foremost disgust. It had once lived. I have no qualm over touching a living thing. In fact I revel in it. Cuddling with a pet or a person or hell even a pillow, is sometimes so calming. However, picturing myself with my arms wrapped around that heap sends chills down my spine. And even though I understand that it’s pointless to be scared of something that was once beautiful, I cannot answer to anyone why.


And standing there I realized that perhaps we all have that same reaction to things we don’t understand. Repulsion is merely the pathetic reaction to something we’re scared of and humans are notorious for being scared of things they don’t understand.


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I met someone and guess what…he makes me happy. Is there possibly anything wrong with that? I have a friend of mine who told me once that I’m never happy. I didn’t understand her, tried to get her to elaborate but she really couldn’t. Lately I’ve honestly been thinking about it and it’s true. I’m not.


I’m the kind of guy who bases his happiness off of other people. Don’t ask why. I just really love people. When I make someone upset I’m always quick to stop what I’m doing to fix it. But this guy, he makes me happy. So, I don’t want to stop. I like kissing him. I like holding his hand.


What I’m trying to say, I think, is that I’ve made someone, even maybe a few people, unhappy. In my attempts to please everyone, mistakes will always be made by a human. I can’t possibly make everyone love me back like I love them. And yes, some of them may not like him. But this guy, he makes me happy.


So for once I guess all I can say is fuck you. I’m fed up with not being happy. We’re all meant to smile sometimes. To laugh and love and hold and be held. We deserve to be happy, even if at times it’s unfortunately at the expense of another’s happiness. But if we always base our happiness upon others, how can we possibly find it ourselves?


So, I met someone and guess what…he makes me happy.