||[17 Oct 2011|10:10pm]
There I was, walking around this tiny island, and there she was- laying out- sunbathing. It was love at first sight. I couldn't help myself. I ran through the trees, and quickly grabbed her from behind and declared my love for her. She was surprised, but I knew this would be one of those stories that we told our kids, and they told our grandkids...
But she didn't seem that happy with my decisions... our love quickly turned sour.
That's the way love goes...
You never know what's going to happen.
DAMN YOU DR. HAMMOND!!!
||[17 Oct 2011|11:45am]
This is me...
See how happy I am?
Okay, so Halloween is quickly approaching. My girlfriend is very excited about us dressing up together... even though we have no plans... I guess we could just dress up and sit on the couch...
Honestly, I'm just not a fan of dressing up... but if I was... I'd want to dress up as a superhero.
To be honest... I'd rather just send the MS Paint pictures out to collect candy for me.
||[29 Jul 2011|02:32am]
So I've accidentally- temporarily given up smoking.
Let me say this- Smoking is a gross habit. It really is. I'm not going to tell anybody not to pick it up. We're all adults here- we can all make up our own minds to do what we want.
I didn't smoke for a really long time. Then one day I picked it up. Peer pressure. No kidding! And I was a total adult. I was working a full time job, living on my own, doing things, trying to make it happen, young guy in the big city (well the suburbs of a big city)... and I realized all the women I wanted to go out with- the same women that didn't want to go out with me- but rather with other people- they all smoked. And the men that did get those women who rejected me- they smoked too. So logic dictates that I too should smoke, then I will have someone to sleep with at nights!
Now you're thinking, "Jeff- that's so... after school special! That's so... I can't believe you would fall for that-"
Shut it. I picked up smoking, and within a month I was having sex. Peer pressure is a real thing, and its a real thing for a real reason. I instantly became more interesting. I went from the guy that didn't smoke, to the guy who was so damaged I did all of a sudden smoke. And I've been smoking ever since.
Except I found myself picking up smoking at the beginning of the great, "let's get rid of all smokers!" movement. Now smoking is banned everywhere- and cigarettes cost $37.76 a pack. And I found that more and more of my friends who have been smoking since they were 8 years old have, or were now trying to quit.
After smoking of a couple of years I decided to try and quit- but it never really took more than a couple of months. And so I just kind of gave up on giving up. Not really because I felt particularly addicted to it- it was just something to do on the drive home from work. But now... now I find that I have accidentally given up.
I say accidentally because I didn't really mean to stop smoking- I just didn't smoke one day, then I didn't smoke the next, or the day after that, or the day after that- and now it's been nearly a week, and I guess what started as poor time management skills and laziness, and a bit of a cold, and semi not wanting to spend money turned into a good habit?
See, I never really found time to go to the store to get another pack of cigs (after smoking the last of my last pack)- and I was always running somewhere with just enough time to get to the place I wanted to go- or I was sleeping- or working- or just not in a place to get more cigs.
Sidenote: I've been to places like the grocery store, or Target a number of times over the past week, but I always feel extra skeezy buying cigarettes from places where I can buy actual produce (Grocery store) or underwear (Target).
It's perfectly okay to buy cigs at a gas station because it's the one place you can smoke a cig and blow up a city block in the process... plus depending on what gas station you're at, in whichever part of town you're in- there always the possibility that there's someone cooking up crank while having sex with a transvestite hooker in the bathroom, so buying a pack of Camel Turkish Gold really makes me seem like a young boyish innocent.
BUT if I were to buy a pack at Target, well then- Isaac Mizrahi would be very upset with me. Smoking doesn't seem to fit in that well with Targets anti-union- pro college hipster vibe. I'm sure there are plenty of people who work and shop at Target who smoke, and I'm sure there are plenty of people who buy there cigarettes at Target, but I just feel funny buying a pack of 4 t-shirts, some Old Spice body wash, an Elmo doll, a pint of ice cream, The Matrix Revolutions on DVD and a pack of cigarettes all in one transaction.
Cigarettes should be bought with beer or gas, and that's it.
That's why I can't buy them at the grocery store either.
"I'd like to buy three Granny Smith apples, some bread, and a pack of Camels please."
Gross. That's just gross.
So- I haven't bought cigs this past week. It didn't hurt my non smoking trend that I've developed a summer cold (what the hell life? I know many people catch colds in the summer- but seriously, it's been 100 + degrees for the last month here in Texas... who catches a cold in that? Me. That's who). and I hate the taste of cigarette and phlegm.
Also, I went out of town last weekend. And I was kinda saving my money prior to that trip, and since lawmakers want to tax people to health (Making cigarettes so expensive people will no longer want to buy them- though aren't we in some kind of debt crisis? Are you saying that the people you want to tax out of smoking are the only reason this country is keeping afloat?)
So, all these things added up- sickness, money saving, laziness, and unwillingness to buy cigarettes at the grocery store or Target- to me not smoking for a week now.
I'm not saying I've given it up for good. I've felt the pangs of desire for a cigarette. I've wanted one after every meal I've had, and at the end of every work shift this week- and it's probably the simple fact that I didn't have any (and I don't believe in bumming cigarettes) that I haven't smoked.
I haven't been out drinking- and I'm sure once I find myself out at a bar, the urge will be too overwhelming and I will have one.
I'm sure there are plenty of people who give up smoking for good- like alcoholics who never touch a drop of booze again. Those people are super strong. I'm not that strong. I'm sure I will eventually have a cigarette again. Maybe even two. I may even go back to smoking on a semi regular basis... but for now I'm going with out.
I've heard radio commercials, or maybe its that I've seen television ads that give facts about what happens to your body after you've given up smoking, I couldn't remember what they said, so I looked it up...
STUFF THAT SHOULD HAVE ALREADY HAPPENED-
- Blood pressure drops to normal. -I guess that happened... who can tell?
- Pulse rate drops to normal. -What's normal? Again- I guess that happened.
- Body temperature of hands and feet increases to normal. -I run hot anyway... does that matter to me? no.
- Carbon monoxide level in blood drops to normal. -Good for my blood!
- Oxygen level in blood increases to normal. -No one start a fire in my body!
- Chance of heart attack decreases. -eh... tell that to the donuts!
STUFF THAT COULD BE HAPPENING NOW!
- Nerve endings start regrowing.- Oh! You're no longer on my last nerve! I have more!
- Ability to smell and taste is enhanced. -Mcdonalds is shitty!
2 WEEKS TO 3 MONTHS
Stuff I have to look forward to-
- Circulation improves. -of my blog?
- Walking becomes easier. -it's too damn hot to walk anywhere. Who cares?
- Lung function increases up to 30%.-Opera here I come!
1 TO 9 MONTHS
- Coughing, sinus congestion, fatigue, and shortness of breath decrease. -okay, sure.
- Cilia regrow in lungs, increasing ability to handle mucus, clean the lungs, and reduce infection.-gross?
- Body's overall energy increases. -Okay...sure
Now, all that is neat I guess, but it's not really that exciting, unless you're shrunken up to microscopic size and living in my lungs... but now it gets interesting... 1 YEAR
- A horse arrives at your front door for a free hour of horseback riding.
- You can stare into the sun for 7 minutes without any repercussion.
- You can run a marathon whether you've been working out or not.
- You look better in bow ties.
- Lisa Johnson from sophomore year algebra will finally want to sleep with you, you can reject her or take her up on her offer depending on your availability.
- You can hold your breath for 37 minutes.
- Risk of cancer of the mouth, throat, esophagus, bladder, kidney and pancreas decreases, also your able to make the perfect crepe.
So I guess if I keep this up, I do have a lot to look forward to.
- You learn a second or third language. Just instantaneously. Don't ask how...it just happens.
- College finally pays off, and all your dreams come true!
I'm sure my ass doctor won't give a damn that I've taken up and quit smoking in the time since I've last seen him (it's been awhile)-
He'll probably harp on me about eating healthier, or exercising or some crap. Whatever.
You health nuts are never happy. Just like me.
|Woes of a content life
||[15 Jul 2011|09:39pm]
Random thoughts that I will somehow string together-
1) It took me way too long to type that last sentence as my fingers refused to hit the proper keys on the key board.
2) I keep getting distracted by Twitter and the need to play the game Bejewelled.
3) I hate working out. I haven't worked out in weeks, maybe even months now.
So-wait a minute, quick game of Bejewelled...
Sometimes I think I'm pretty good at Bejewelled- except then there are times when I'm really bad at it. I really thought it would be neat if a space alien came down to earth and picked me to help him stop an intergalactic war- and the only way we could stop this war was by putting large, free floating, similar looking jewels in groups of three or more... ala The Last Starfighter- but you know, without all the fighting.
Except then I have days like today when I just not very good at seeing the patterns, and I feel like I'm really just wasting my time even more (as if me playing Bejewelled isn't a waste of time- but playing Bejewelled poorly is a waste of time).
Of course what I should be doing is something productive. I'm not 100% sure what that means anymore.
See before, before that was easy. It's easy to define yourself by what you do. Before I was a kid. So before, I would occupy my free time by doing kid stuff. I'd go out, ride my bike. Go see a movie. Play daytime basketball. But now I'm older. Bicycles hurt my ass. It's way too hot to even think about outside. And the irony is you think that once you become an adult you have more money to do things, which is true, but it becomes far more difficult to spend willy nilly, because you can no longer depend on your parents to provide coverage for your poor financial planning (though you can hope- and ask politely).
Then you go from kid to student. So usually there is no free time. Free time is reading time, or homework time, or if you do get a break from that, then it's drinking and partying time. And there's always that available.
Well, then, then you're out of college, and you're a young adult starting a job, and you're chasing tail, and working by day, drinking by night. Meeting new people in the professional world, meeting new drinks in the blacking out world...
And then, BAM- you're finally a few years older. You're kind of established, you've been working for the same company for ten years, realizing your friends make way more than you, and sure that bothers you, but that seems to be counterbalanced by the fact that you have a steady significant other. And for the first time ever in your life (okay lets stop the word play- I'm not talking about you, I'm talking about me)
For the first time ever in my life I'm thinking, "This is the relationship that will not crumble after 3 months, or six months, or maybe even a year. And heck, if we last one year, why not two?" and so on and so forth... but I dare don't say that, because I don't want to scare the poor woman off... and then it turns out, we're beyond mind games, and she's kinda thinking the same thing...
And that's when you realize, aw hell, is this what it is like to be happy and content? The good content. Not the bad content, where it's 104 degrees outside, so you decided to go to a movie, just to get out of the heat, and all that's playing is Transformers, so you have to decide, melt? or watch Shia LaBeouf? Melt your face off 104 degree heat? or Shia LaBeouf? Hot as lava Texas summer heat? or Shia LaBeouf?
Seriously, old people, babies and pets die in this heat, or Shia LeBeouf? It's really a tough decision! But then you figure you can sleep through Transformers if the seats are comfortable enough, so you decided to go into the movie theater.
And basically you're paying 12 dollars to watch a really loud confusing poorly acted movie, and maybe doze off for 15 minutes... and you're content...
I'm not talking about that kind of content- I'm talking about the good kind of content.
You just had some good home cooking. You're sitting at home, you have no worries, you might get to have sex later on that night... that kind of content.
I used to write much more than I do now. I don't really know what happened but a few years ago, I curbed my writing productivity till I was practically at nill. I would take on the occasional writing gig, writing a children's play for a local children's theater (but I was usually asked to write original material- using characters that were copywritten- thus nothing I can claim)
But for the most part I haven't really been writing anything. And it's something that I've been needing to get back into for several reasons.
So a few weeks ago, instead of watching yet another TNT/USA (We know drama/Characters Welcome) show- I decided to hop on the old internet, and look at some of my old writings from my old blog, and my old book reviewing site... and I realized a great deal of my old writings dealt with the fact that I was incredibly unhappy in love- or not in love- or had an unrequited love.
(I keep asking my girlfriend to read my old stuff- and she never seems that interested- or so I thought, but what I'm realizing is that more than likely she's already read it- and probably isn't the greatest fan of how I go on and on about how this girl or that girl got away or broke my heart, or how I was sure she was the one... yeah, slight miscalculation on my part).
But this was quite the realization of me. I am a miserable writer! I'm not maudlin like some gooey high schooler... it's usually light and self deprecating, and sometimes poignant, and sometimes awful- but there was always some sort of heart ache linked to my writings. Just a bit of venom.
And now- I don't seem to have that venom coursing through my veins any longer. I have to invent a new way to write. And it's hard enough to get back on that horse. It's sort of like working out. I haven't done that in forever either. And every morning I wake up and think, "this is the day,the belly expands no more!" but then I usually end up at the grocery store buying muffins because muffins taste good when you're content with your life! You know what doesn't taste good? Salty sweat. That's gross.
And the first time you finally do make it back into the gym after a long hiatus- you think, "Seriously? Is this what running feels like? Holy crap? Why would anyone do this? No one is chasing me? My life isn't in danger... well, it is- but that's the impending heart attack!" and then you do a squat and you think, "Crap on a stick! This is why they use steroids! Cause weight lifting sucks!"
But no imagine you go back to working out at the gym, and all the machines are new machines... machines you've never seen before- machines you have no idea how to use. And they look menacing. There are cables and pulleys and arms jutting out in every direction. And you don't even know where to begin! And you hate it! Because you know it's what you need to do- you know you need to work out (or rather: I know I need to write in the non metaphor version of this story- but really I need to do both)- but you just don't know where to begin, and the whole thing seems too complex, too daunting! What's a guy to do???
Twitter. Hell yeah! 140 characters of total nonsense being tweeted by all my favorite people!
Hell yes John Hodgman just played FURY in a game of scrabble. You know what? It got him 20 points!
And you know what Albert Brooks? I did smirk at your joke: Clint Eastwood seen lunching with J.K. Rowling. Dirty Harry Potter?
Twitter is a time wasters best friend! Just like Bejewelled! And this is what I've been doing with my life. I have not been writing like I have promised myself. I'm definitely out of writing shape. That's why it's taken me nearly a week to write this blog.
I'm out of shape as well- but lets not talk about that here... at least not yet.
Well, that's off my chest. Time for a donut!
|Everything old is new again.
||[26 Jun 2011|11:14pm]
Isn't that just the question dear livejournal- where have I been indeed? Let's see the last time I posted to this thing was back in June of 2008. Over 3 years ago! So what's happened in the last three years you ask? What have you been doing with three years of your life? Traveling? I bet. Totally! I mean, backpacking around Europe, and hiking in the Himalayas! Kayaking down the Amazon!
None of the above. I went to New York a couple of times. Saw some art, saw some theater. Got in a couple of relationships. Got kicked out of a couple of relationships. Kept the same job of selling used books to people. Saw a few movies, had a few laughs, had a few drinks, gained and lost and regained a couple of pounds. Wrote some plays. Made some art. Went on to be extremely lazy, and spent days on the couch eating junk food and watching bad television.
And then something happened. I felt myself backsliding into being a generic guy. I don't do anything. I don't play a sport. I don't write plays any longer. I don't act. I don't draw, or paint, or make t-shirts, or make odd sculptures. I don't write blog posts. I looked up one day and found out I had sort of thrown in the towel on being interesting.
It just kind of snuck up on me... this whole, "holy crap, when did I become so... watching tv, and going to bed, and going to work and this is my life thing?"
I was literally becoming dumber. Is that sentence even grammatically correct? I don't know. I don't know cause I stopped reading!
So this is my attempt to jump starting my life.
Hello old friend live journal. What have you been doing? Really? You've been sitting here too? Let's go adventure together then!
|My trip to the DMV
||[13 Jun 2008|12:19pm]
A Slightly fictionalized short story on heartbreak, drugs, and a trip to the DMV!
“AY! Sup brother? You got one of them cigarettes I can borrow?” The man asked me.
“I’m sorry? What?” I asked.
He looked like danger. Like the kind of person my parents would have asked me to avoid eye contact with. I can almost hear my mom saying, “walk on the other side of the street when you come across someone who looks like that.” And I would have, except this guy was acting like he knew me.
“Do I know you?” I asked.
“Shit that stuff worked some mother fuckin’ wonders! It’s me! Metric system?”
“I’m sorry, you must have me confused with someone else. I’m just here to get my license renewed.”
“Shit man, that shit worked some mother fuckin wonders! You really don’t remember me? It’s me. Charlie!”
“I don’t.” I said. I handed the man a cigarette and walked into the DMV as fast as I could. I would be highly embarrassed if I were to get mugged by someone who looks like an escaped convict in broad daylight.
I walked into the building and saw long lines of angry people standing and waiting. And while there were all races, all ages, all classes of income standing in one room, what I quickly realized is that everyone at the DMV looks like an escaped convict.
“Brother, have I got a story for you.” Charlie said, as he walked through the door and threw his arm over my shoulder.
“I do know you from somewhere don’t I?” I asked.
“Brother, you should never want to forget anything. That’s how you get through life.”
That’s lesson number one of- well, I’ve lost count for the week. But believe me when I say the number is very high. And it all started with a conversation between myself, and a girl while walking down the street:
“I want a dog.” She said. There was a wild excitement in her eyes, the likes which I had rarely seen.
“A dog?” I asked.
“Let’s get a puppy! Can we get a puppy?”
“I don’t really want a puppy.”
“Then give me my space.”
“Leave me alone!”
“What are you?”
“You’re right, we should break up.”
“Break up? What? Two seconds ago you wanted to get a dog together!”
“Let’s be friends.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m seeing someone else.”
“Now? Who? What? We’ve been together for the last three days. When have you had time to… you wanted to get a puppy together, now we’re broken up? Now you’re seeing someone else? What the hell just happened?”
“Please, get over it. We’ve been broken up now for awhile.”
“For awhile? Are we having the same conversation?”
And she left me there, standing on the side of the road, with my dreams dashed at my feet, my heart in my hands, and my soul being shit upon by the imaginary puppy we never bought.
|The Offences of a Tweener
||[17 Feb 2008|04:02pm]
I don’t wear cologne. In fact up until a year ago I’d never worn cologne. I never saw the need for it. Who wears cologne? What’s the point? I shower. I wear deodorant. I don’t smell bad. Why would I want to smell like Eternity or Tom Ford? Tom Ford smells like Tom Ford, and Eternity sounds like it might smell of mummy’s feet.
Still, according to a couple of my friends- this would not stand.
Two years ago my friends drug me around the mall and sprayed me with every sweet, sweet fragrance they could find. We went to Sephora, and Perfumania, then back to Sephora, then we walked around the mall to air out, then we went back to Perfumania.
At the end of the excursion I ended up with two bottles of cologne, and for one straight year I proudly wore one or the other- until both were gone.
I thought about restocking- but never did. I did, however start wearing some lotion (I have dry skin- don’t judge) that happened to have (or so the bottle says) calming effects, and it also smells nice.
“You smell good! I love the way you smell.” My girlfriend would say, as she buried her nose into my neck, inhaling sharply. This would be right after I started wearing the lotion.
I love that lotion. I don’t know if I really feel calmer wearing it- but I like the fact that my girlfriend likes to smell me- and in order to smell me she has to get close to me, and anything that gets a lady (my girlfriend in particular) to get close to me is aces in my book.
Unfortunately we’ve been working a lot of opposite schedules as of late. Things have been popping up, responsibilities have taken precedent, and we haven’t had many opportunities to spend some time together. And just as things seemed to be clearing up- paving the way for us to finally spend some quality time together- we got sick.
It was a lot of me bringing her soup and orange juice and her telling me to stay away, cause she didn’t want to get me sick. Except I did get a bit sick, and I started to wonder, “Will there ever be a time when the two of us can make time to go out to dinner- and have the evening end up with her laying in my bed, instead of me crouched over my toilet?”
I woke up Friday morning chipper, I felt great. My girlfriend was leaving town for the weekend, and this would be my last time to see her before she left. We were both coming off our illnesses, the sun was shining, birds were chirping, “and nothing’s going to stop me from planting a big ol’ kiss on my girl!” I thought as I hopped out of bed.
It was like something out of a movie- the happy music started playing- Mr. Blue Sky by ELO- and I tapped my toes while brushing my teeth. I sang along while lathering up in the shower. I air guitared while applying my calming lotion. Deer and rabbits and birds followed me and along to the song as I walked to my car. Today was going to be the day when everything was finally better.
“Oh my God you smell.” She said, and not in a good way.
“What did you put on this morning?”
“Nothing different. Just that lotion.”
“You like the smell. You’ve always liked the smell.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m still a little sick, but you’re kind of making my stomach churn.”
“Making your stomach churn?”
“Yeah, I can’t stand next to you.”
“I’m sure if I weren’t sick I’d love it.”
The deer and birds and rabbits that had followed me to work, singing all the way, now looked as if they had walked in on their parents having a fight about money. They looked up and down and left and right trying to avoid eye contact with the scene that was taking place in front of them.
“I’m going to go over to that field and eat some grass.” The deer said to the rabbits.
“Yeah, we’ll follow you.” The rabbits and birds replied.
“No wait guys! We were going to sing that song!” I called out to them, but they had already left.
“They probably couldn’t stand the way you smell either.” My girlfriend said.
“Seriously, how much of that stuff did you put on?”
“No more than usual.”
“How much is that.”
“Well, some on my arms- it comes in this pump bottle so that was, let’s see, six pumps for each arm, then some on my neck, five pumps there, on my face, five more pumps, then some more on my hands, let’s say another six pumps, then I pat the excess on my clothes, then…”
I started to realize in my overzealous excitement to start the day that I may have over fragranced. That maybe I was a walking calming lotion- but in this case I wasn’t calming anything- but instead churning olfactory senses and stomachs. I had visions of those 15-year-old boys who wore too much cologne. The kind of boys that spray cologne on their chests, necks, arms, legs, crotch (cause everyone knows if your crotch smells like cologne- you’re going to have sex that day), and then spray a bunch in the air, creating a three feet cloud of cologne in which they spin, so those little cologne particles will attach to every single surface on their clothing. They are the boys who are cursed with acne because they’re pores are clogged with cologne. They are the kind of boys you can smell fifteen minutes before they arrive on the scene. They were the kind of boys who know nothing of subtlety- they were clothes that are too nice for the occasion, and slick their hair way too much. And for that morning, I was one of those boys.
“Oh man.” I said, “I put too much on.”
I tried my best to keep a five-foot radius (the odor radius) away from my girlfriend, which made me sad, as today was going to be the day, the first day in a long time, when we would properly kiss one another. The deer and rabbits and birds were going to sing while we kissed, but they had long since gone back to their burrows.
The workday ended, and she climbed into her car, ready to drive off for a weekend getaway. I walked her to her car, carrying her bag of things. I told her to be careful, and then wonderful person that she is- she kissed me properly.
Sure there was no music being sung by birds or deer or rabbits- but it really didn’t matter. There was music in the air, and apparently a smell to go along with it.
|Writer's Strike Part II
||[14 Jan 2008|01:01am]
So, now that the Writer's Strike has ruined the Golden Globe awards, I finally present the second half of the season of "24 as written by Jeff Hernandez!"
(On a side note- it's not easy writing a tv show by yourself... so sorry if you see typos or there's something that doesn't make sense... just think of it as a regular season of 24).
Previously on 24…
Jack slept. A bad guy named Wendell Wordsworth bought Plutonium from a ex-soviet spy named Vlad. Jack went grocery shopping and met a woman. Jack got called into CTU.
||[19 Nov 2007|03:50pm]
So, there's a writer's guild strike going on in the entertainment industry. I love television, and this will start to effect me very soon, as networks are starting to run out of shows that are already in the can. Some shows have already been torn asunder! 24 (which hadn't even started shooting yet) has cancelled their entire season.
I refuse to watch reality television, which is what the networks will obviously resort to. What can I do to help us all in this time of lack of original written television?
JEFF HERNANDEZ PRESENTS 24- the 7th season. Part one-
(Please remember each hour represents an episode)
||[16 Oct 2007|01:05pm]
I decided as a fun little experiment to just sit around and write a handful of Haikus last night before going to sleep. This is what I came up with.... Oh and hold onto your hats... this is deep powerful stuff... change your life wicked.
||[09 Oct 2007|07:55pm]
I have a goodreads account.
I review books there. I recently wrote a review for Macbeth, which I was sort of was forced to read (not by anyone but myself), but it turns out my fully written review on goodreads was too long. You're only allowed 4,000 characters, and I had some thousand characters too many.
So here I'd like to post the full story:
|My Type of Girl
||[08 Jun 2007|06:50pm]
There wasn’t much movement back in the early days. My leg had just been casted in a hot pink fiberglass cast just below my right knee, all the way down to the ends of my toes. I couldn’t put any weight on my leg. I had crutches, but they made my arms oh so tired and sore, so back then there were only two things I could do. 1) Lay on the couch. 2) Lay on the bed.
Luckily I had a friend with at least five dollars, a friend who bought me the magazine, “Psychology Today.”
“If anybody needs it…” She said.
Ha-ha. I perused the magazine, passed over the articles about how being an optimist can help your health (I give that a big “W” as in “WHATEVER!”), the article about how divorced parents try to brain wash their children, and the article on how and when to shed your office persona, and went straight to the cover article, THE HIDDEN LAWS OF SEXUAL CHEMISTRY, cause really there are only a couple of things I’m interested in at this juncture of my life, and one of them is good grilled food. The other is sex.
THE LAWS OF CHEMISTRY: Whom you are most attracted to reflects the biology of your brain as much as the heat of your heart. It may not have to do with us- it’s all about the kids, by Helen Fisher, Ph.D. Now there’s a title for an article.
The article was three pages long, and was chock full of mumbo jumbo (read: overly wordy) smart talk that essentially boiled down to this: people can be classified into one of four personality characteristics, (Plato called them the Artist, the Guardian, the Idealist, and the Rational) Helen Fisher calls them the Builder, the Director, the Explorer, the Negotiator. And people with certain dominant personality traits will, on almost a subconscious level, choose to relationship with people who have a completely opposite dominant personality trait simply because that sort of balance will help produce a more well-rounded offspring (I.E. Explorers hook up with Builders because a Builder provides a stable environment, while an Explorer provides spontaneity). A sort of opposite attract, but for a physiological reason.
That’s swell, but that’s not really what I was interested in (I can’t think about producing well rounded offspring… that’s way too big for me right now. I have no idea what I want for supper most nights, that’s as big as I can get. Plus, I find that I can barely talk to girls, much less bed them… choosing a mate for reasons of producing a well rounded kid? Come on!) Still, I guess it was an interesting article, but reading the article was just precursor to what I really wanted to get at, the quiz.
I freaking love quizzes. Yes, Quizilla, I do want to know which European city I am. Why sure Blogthings, I would love to know what color Power Ranger I would be. What’s that Cosmo? What’s his favorite sexual position? Let’s take the quiz and find out! The quiz out of Psychology Today was a bit more high-browed, asking to which degree I agreed or disagreed with statements such as. “I get uncomfortable when I see someone standing alone at a party.” (To which I thought, “Is there a mirrored wall I’m looking at?” I’m never uncomfortable being alone.) All which lead to me discovering what personality type I am. The adventurous Explorer? The steady Builder? The decisive Director? The personable Negotiator? Which one would I be? Oh the suspense!
I am a builder (I scored a 12 in Builder, which edged out Director, Explorer, and Negotiator by one whole point. If I maybe thought about my answers a little differently it’s entirely possible I could have been an Explorer). “Those in whom serotonin pathways ma be dominant I call builders; these men and women tend to be social, popular, cautious (but not fearful), rule following, conventional, and often religious and spiritual. “ Is what the magazine said about Builders, which I guess sort of sounds like me, with the exception of that whole religious thing, and conventional sounds so banal. Yeck.
Okay, so if I’m a Builder, that means, according to Dr. Fisher, that an Explorer (From the article: These men and women tend to be risk taking, novelty seeking, impulsive, creative, and curious) .will be looking out for me.
So, now, who my dear friends is out there, available, that is novelty seeking, impulsive, creative, and curious? I can only come up with one answer.
That’s right. Erin Esurance. Oh sure, she’s a cartoon you say. But if she isn’t creative and impulsive, then I don’t know what those words mean. And she totally needs someone who is stable, social, and popular while trying to save people time and money. Plus, if I hook up with Erin Esurance I bet I could get into all kinds of car wrecks and never have my insurance premiums go up, and I wouldn’t have to quote, buy, or print anything ever again! Somebody find me a phonebook!
|A week ago
||[02 Jun 2007|11:12am]
I broke my ankle on Saturday, May 19th.
I got a pretty hot pink cast wrapped around my leg on Monday, May 21st.
I got stuffed into an SUV and driven from Dallas, Texas, to Corpus Christi, TX (8 hour drive) on Saturday, May 26th.
My dad decided he wanted to take a family trip, like back in the old days, before all the death and destruction. He didn't count on me breaking my ankle. I didn't count on my agreeing to still go, but I went.
These are the highlights.
My dad decided that since it was Memorial Day weekend it would be apropos to take the radar detector. Unfortunately the car we were in had super treated dashboards, meaning dad couldn't affix the radar detector to the dash. He instead decided it would be a good idea to use two-sided tape to afix the radar detector to the windshield. This good idea lasted about 30 minutes before gravity took it's toll. The detector fell off the windshield causeing my dad fo flinch.
I was sitting in the back seat at the time, with my broken leg propped on the console up between the two front seats.
The radar detector fell on my foot. Then dad flinched, and his elbow hit my foot too. Both hits hurt. I yelled and bit my hand so as not to curse. I drew a bit of blood.
We got to the hotel. My legs were a bit numb. It turns out our hotel room was on the second floor. There was no elevator in this hotel. I stood there on my crutches, looking up the flight of stairs. I tried to crutch up them, but didn't have the dexterity to do so. So I had to sit down, and scooch up the stairs. This was a bit humiliating.
Still I didn't complain, as I knew that there was no way I was going to actually vacation on my vacation. I can't crutch on the beach, I can't crutch on the naval ship that would be open for tours, I can stay in the hotel room with my leg propped up watching television, which is what I was doing at home.
My dad and his girlfriend complained to management, and eventually I got relocated to a room downstairs.
I shared a room with my brother. My brother and I haven't slept in the same room in over 20 years. He snores. I'm told I snore too. But my snoring wasn't what kept me awake at night. It was mostly his. He also goes to sleep much earlier than I do. I guess I've been single too long. I have no idea what it's like sharing a space with someone.
The next day the family got up early, took showers, and went off to go site seeing. They invited me along, but I knew that would be a bad idea. It was the first good decision I had made in three weeks. They went to the aquarium, the naval ship, the beach. I stayed in my hotel room and watched Man Vs. Wild on the Discovery Channel. I got to see host Bear Grylls bite the head off a live snake so he could eat. Bear Grylls kicks Les Stroud's (Surviorman) ass.
I was happy not to be out crutching around in tiny places. But I was a little sad when they came back showing me all the little trinkets they bought at overpriced giftshops.
The whole reason for the trip was to visit an uncle I hadn't seen in 10 years. We visited him for an hour then left to go eat.
The drive back was just as long as the drive out. My brother brought his camera along for the ride, and kept taking pictures. Truthfully, I don't like having my picture taken. We did get to stop at the Dr. Pepper Museum in Waco (I bought some Dr. Pepper). And we stopped at the Hilsboro outlet malls where I finally bought some shorts so I don't have to force my casted leg through pants and jeans. So... yay I guess.
I went back to work on May 30th. It was hard.
I got punched in the gut on May 31st.
I've been in a sad funk ever since.
Tomorrow will be better, hopefully.
|Broken Ankle Diaries
||[25 May 2007|12:06pm]
"So, how are you? How was your day?"
"Same old, same old."
Man, who knew the same old same old could be so boring. Way more boring than what same old, same old used to be. It used to mean I'd get up, maybe work out, go to work, suffer through the slings and arrows of my daily grind, come home, watch some television, maybe read, maybe MAYBE do some writing, and go to bed.
Now it means wake up, stare at the ceiling, hop to the bathroom on one leg. Brush my teeth. Hop to the computer room to see if anyone has e-mailed me in the last three hours. Hop back to bed to go back to either pick up a magazine, a book, watch some television, or most likely of all, go back to sleep.
I've broken my ankle. I can't walk on it (No weight bearing, as the doctor says) for another week, which means I have to crutch myself around. I can't drive anywhere (right ankle), and the nurse said that I'm officially an impaired driver now, which means if I get pulled over, I could get a ticket.
So my days are pretty much restricted to the confines of my house. There's not much to do in the house, which means my days are pretty much restricted to the confines of my room.
"So, what did you do today?"
"I watched some television, and slept. There's not really much more I can do than those two things."
"You know what you should do?"
"Ride a bike?"
"You should Google, '10 things to do when you have a broken leg'."
"You think they'd have something like that?"
"Google has everything."
|I done broke my ankle
||[20 May 2007|11:38pm]
It was a grey cloudy morning. Rain cascaded down upon us; thunder shook the ground beneath us. It was as if God himself cried, and howled and moaned at the atrocities of the world. And there we were. We four, we brave four, against the world.
Saturday morning in Coppell, Texas was not like any other morning in any other suburb of any other city in Texas. This was different. Danger clung to the dust particles in the air. Reckless abandon surged through the blades of grass in the fields like electric current through copper wiring. And I found myself staring down the Russian mafia on the rain slicked basketball courts in Coppell, Texas.
It all started with a phone call.
“Hey, some of the guys are going to get together for a basketball game tomorrow if you’re interested.” The voice said.
It was my friend from college. I was definitely interested. It had been a long time since I last played basketball. Basketball. The Golden Sport. The Game of Aristotle. America’s super real favorite past time. Hoop. Basketball.
I’d sworn off basketball ten years ago. I said I would never go back, not after what happened. I would never want to relive that moment; the moment when my stunning “Lights out” performance on the court literally knocked the lights out of ten city blocks.
||[17 May 2007|10:41pm]
I came home today, from work, in an odd mood. I was waxing nostologic, remembering the old times, and becoming a little sad, because I miss the old days.
I miss going to play basketball on the weekends with a handful of friends, then going to eat Ci-Ci's pizza buffett afterward (we'd steal pizza, put it in Tupperware for later... this is in college, we were poor). I miss having friends, who would just hang out. Going out is such a production now. We have to set a time, and a place, and what movie are we going to see, and people need to be home early cause they have to work the next day. Or people have this or that which they've already comitted to, and it's just so complicated. Then it was just, "let's go." and we went. I definately miss the girls. There was always a girl I could be interested in then. There was always a chance that I could end up spending the night with someone I knew, or someone I just met. It never happened (extremely very rarely), but the opportunity was there. Now every girl I know is someone who I'm not interested in, or they're not interested in me, or they're already in a relationship, or who knows what. But life now seems so drab.
I start to wonder how many opportunities for adventure, fun, love, or at the very least sex I let slip through my fingers over the last ten to fifteen years. If I had known that this is what was going to happen. That this stagnation is what I had in store for me was what was to become, then maybe I would have jumped, leapt at the chances given me. But that was then, and this is now.
Oh for a handkerchief full of choroform and a time machine (that way I could travel 13 years back in time, subdue 18-year-old me, and take his place. Though everyone I knew 13 years ago would probably be a little freaked that I aged 13 year in an instant).
My friend Theater Guy is coming home from China soon, and he's making a pit stop in Spain, and would like me to fly out and meet him.
I have no passport (a rush job would cost me $130 ish? I think). A plane ticket would cost me $1300+. And then, well, then I'd be in Spain, which will/would be great, but how would I pay for stuff then?
And this trip would be coming on the heels of a trip to Connecticuit to see a friend go off and get married. Not to mention a very cranky couple of credit cards that want loads of money from me. And that schooling I had certainly wasn't free. And I'm still paying rent.
See, if this opportunity were to present itself eight, maybe nine months from now. No question I go (I will soon not be paying rent, so that's an extra $600 a month). But now, I just don't know if it's financially feasible. But damn it. Is this one of those moments? Am I going to be looking back five years from now thinking, "Spain was there, my best friend in the whole world was there, the money wasn't, but maybe it would have worked out, why didn't I take the chance and go to Spain? It's SPAIN. It's where I come from (if you trek back far enough in history). I could have drank Spanish beer. Seen a barbaric bull fight, and gotten rejected by a beautiful woman in a totally different language. But instead I worked. I shelved books, and I got rejected by the same old English speaking women."
Or if I go to Spain, will I be saying, "Why did I go to Spain? I'm so broke. I wish I didn't have to sell my spleen."
These are the moments I actively fear. I think about how I want to become a painter, or writer, or something, or anything, and I think, "But what have I done? How can I write or paint or anything about life when I've done so little living?" And that makes me just a bit sad, cause I'll keep trying to find a way to get to Spain, but that little feeling of doom is growing bigger, just ever so slightly bigger every time I think about it.
And all this horrific rumination stemmed from a project I'm working on (a little short story action) in which I needed to cull some information from an old blog I wrote years ago. I've been scouring my old blogs looking for this one little tid-bit. I've yet to find it. But I did find this funny scenario for a sequal to the movie Dirty Pretty Things (and you thought I was going to leave you with a downer of a blog).
ORIGINALLY POSTED September 4, 2003:
WAIT! 2007 Jeff here: I need to clarify what 2003 Jeff is talking about. Cause I'm re-reading this, and realize that it doesn't make much sense to anyone who isn't me that's reading it. (I also embellished a touch here and there from the original posting) The problem is I haven't seen Dirty Pretty Things since September 3, 2003... so I'm gonna have to do this on memory. Dirty Pretty Things Synopsis: Bad guy sells human organs on the black market of some shitty foriegn country. Humans organs come from "donors". The "doners" donate their organs in exchange for passage to America. I THINK. All I remember is at the end of the movie the two protagonists (Seney and Okwe) end up double crossing the bad guy, they stab him, or cut out his liver or something, and Seney runs off to New York leaving her friend Okwe and the bad guy in whatever shitty country they were living in. Hopefully that helped. And now....
Dirty Pretty Jeff
So, I went and saw Dirty Pretty Things with my new movie buddy tonight. It had a very non-hollywood ending, which left me a bit underwhelmed. Even my movie buddy wasn't very happy with the ending. I told her that the writers and director left the movie to end like that so they could make a sequel... Dirty Pretty Things II: Dirtier, Prettier. I imagine there will be some differences between this movie and the next one. They'll hollywood it up. It'll be a buddy action movie. Hollywood types will step in and take over the roles played by these lesser known actors. I'm gonna spoil some stuff, so if you wanna see the movie, stop reading... DIRTY PRETTY THINGS II: DIRTIER, PRETTIER: I envision Jeremy Irons, (now playing the role of the organ harvest guy), following Seney (played by Katie Holmes in the sequal) back to NYC, which is where we assume she went at the end of the first movie. He (Jeremy Irons) is there to exact revenge for what she (Katie Homes) and Okwe (now played by Wesley Snipes) did to him at the end of the first movie.
He (Jeremy Irons) survived having his liver cut out, but there were complications... and now he has a giant laser gun for a left hand, and attack robot dogs. Seney (Katie Holmes) has to call Okwe for help with Jeremy Irons and his laser gun hand, and his attack robot dogs. Okwe quickly travels to NYC to kick some ass. He brings along his friend The Mortician, (who was played by some guy named Benidict Wong in the original movie, but I'm thinking Jackie Chan will fill in nicely in with the new action themed sequal). So Wesley and Jackie and Katie are all in NYC fighting a crazed Jeremey Irons with a laser gun for a hand, and his robot dogs. There will be cussing, and fighting and explosions, and more organ harvesting, except the organs will be replaced with bombs, and more explosions, and kissing and screwing, and not one ounce of expostion, which is what the entire first movie was... talk talk talk. It will probably end with Wesley Snipes kicking Jeremy Irons down a smoke stack and saying something like, "Smoking will kill you." And then the smoke stack will blow up. That's what people want to see... that's what I want to see... that and tits.
|There's a new Jeff in town
||[15 May 2007|10:03pm]
“Seriously dude, I think you should get out there and just see. I mean, what can it hurt?” He asks.
I try to ignore him.
“I mean look at her. She’s cute!”
Again, I ignore him.
“Seriously tell me you wouldn’t date her.” He says.
”I wouldn’t date her.”
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!!” He yells.
There is nothing wrong with me. Well, at least, that’s how I feel. These are how all of our conversations go. They can happen any time, anywhere. This particular conversation is happening while surfing the web through MySpace profiles and internet dating service sites.
“Look you just need to get out there. I mean, they can’t be all that bad. Can they? Seriously, I mean seriously. Have you even tried it? Because you don’t know what it’s like unless you’ve tried it. Am I right? You should just do it. Just sign up for the online dating. It can’t be that bad. What have you got to lose? It’s not like you’re doing anything now. I mean seriously dude. Seriously.”
He likes to use the word “seriously”, a lot. Which is almost ironic because I rarely take these conversations seriously. The: you need to get out in the world and date people, and you should do this via internet dating, so stop being chicken shit and sing up for E-Harmony or something! The reason I don’t take these conversations seriously is because way back in 2002 I did sign up for an online dating sight. Yahoo personals. I met some people, none of whom I talk to anymore. I went on some dates. None of which were particularly memorable. I’m not in any hurry to duplicate the experience.
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