I lost my job today. I thought that I was supposed to be off today and working tomorrow, and it ended up being the other way around. Big goof on my part, eh? So now I'm looking for a job. In fact, I'm writing my resume right now, in HTML.
So, I used pathchouli oil as a cologne today... Then I went out for a night of drinking.
My first stop, Extreme Bowling at the Cherry Bowl, was relatively uninteresting. I stayed for a bit to hang out with my friends, but left because I was getting depressed.
My next stop was Shooters. That was also depressing for me. So I decided to go to a strip club that I had accidentally stumbled upon when I wa slooking for some place to take a piss a few weeks ago. That time, I had grilled the bartender about the types of beer he had, and I was dissapointed, but not surprised, to find that they didn't carry any quality beers.
Anyhow, I went in there, and ordered a dirty gin martini. They had no martini glasses, according to the bartender, so I instead ordered a gin and tonic (later he found a really old-school martini glass and then I ordered a martini). I sat down to watch a few dances, and one of the girls sat with me. No big surprise there. She started talking to me, told me that I'm cute, and then asked me if I wanted a dance. I decided that, what the hell, I could use one. It may serve to cheer me up. She was really cute, besides, and I have a suspicion that she wasn't acting. During the course of the dance, we made out a bit She let me bite her and, once, I accidentally grabbed one of her tits (in the process of biting her), and she didn't call the bouncers or complain. In fact, she gave me her phone number. Now, as most of you know, I've dated a stripper before, and I'm not too keen on doing it again. But, with that said, I'm not going to begrudge someone their means to make a living. You gotta do what you gotta do.
She's not one of those nasty strippers, either, from what I could tell. She smelled wonderful (and, yes, I was able to ascertain whether or not she takes care of herself. In fact, that's one of the reasons why I don't think she was hustling me). She seemed like she wanted to chill with me the whole night, but the only reason that she couldn't is because she had to make money (which is why I chose the album I did for my blog. Track 5 is especially relevant). I can't remember all that was said, except that I said "enchante" when she introduced herself, and I almost thanked her with "merci beaucoup" after she was done with the dance.
When she left, another girl came up to me, one who was decidedly trashy looking and who was also incredibly drunk. She asked me to pick some songs for her, so I picked "Pour Some Sugar on Me" by Def Leppard and "When Doves Cry" by Prince. Then, after her dance, she started ranting about how she wanted to go home early because she was really fucked up (and she was), and she told me that she was the best hustler in here and the hottest girl there, too. I didn't agree that she was the hottest, but I kept my dissent to myself. I listened to her bitch and moan, and then, after the lights were turned on and the bar was closing, I went to the first girl I had met and said, "Oh my God! That drunk chick..." She apologized, and I said that it was no big deal, it just made me feel uncomfortable as hell.
Also, a side note: Apparently strippers love the smell of patchouli oil. The one I got the dance from couldn't stop smelling my neck, and I got complimented by one of the other girls who I gave a token tip to.
I'm calling the one girl on Sunday (I warned her that I follow the Three Day Rule). Perhaps my excruciating (well, for me, anyway... You have no idea how horny I am on a constant basis) dry streak will come to an end soon. Perhaps not. If not, she seems to be a cool person anyway.
In other news, Hillaire told me that she's eventually going to come to Chicago on a field trip with the school she's going to (she's studying Art and Art History). It's a year or so away, but I'm still excited by the prospects of meeting her in real life (finally). She's fucking awesome. She is so much like me that it's scary at some times, and frustrating at others. Scary because, well, she's a lot like me. Frustrating because I know that we'd be great together, even in the platonic sense. We'd be best friends, most likely, if we lived a lot closer to each other.
Hill, if you're reading this, please remind me to buy a handle of Jack when you come. Merci beaucoup, darling.
Earlier today, I watced "Boy Meets World". There was nothing else to watch. So I watched the show, and, in this episode, Corey's brother starts dating a single mom. Wow... That brought back memories. I couldn't help but think of my relationship with Megan III, because I've done everything that Corey's brother did. I was about to put my life on hold for this woman. I took care of her kids for her. I actually yelled at and punished both of them for misbehaving. We had the same talk about how I had my whole life ahead of me (but, unlike with Corey's brother, we ended up staying together after that). It made me sad and nostalgic, and then I had to endure watching couples or people who seemed to be forming pairbonds (at least for the night) all around me. I didn't even feel like drinking all that much. This begs the question: Am I over Megan III yet, or am I still rebounding? Ha smy rebound period been so long because I've been refusing to confront the residual feelings I still have for her? All my life, I've survived by supressing my emotions, particularly the negative ones, such as sadness, anger, fear, and despair. Now, I don't need to do that to survive. I have a circle of friends who care about me and who will love me no matter what inner turmoil I am going through. Most of them have confided in me at one point or another, and have let me glimpse at their own inner turmoil from time to time. The only times I've ever allowed glimpses into the blackness of my own soul is immediately following my hospitalization for depression (and that was involuntary. Some of them saw the cuts that were healing on my arm and knew better than to buy my lame excuse that my cat was the cause of them), and whenever one of them notices the scars on my upper arm. Very few of them know of my long battle with depression and the times that I almost lost that battle. Very few of them know that I've been put on medication for my depression twice, and both times I stopped taking my medication because Wellbutrin was turning me into a zombie and Celexa wasn't really working. Very few of them, I think, know that I was hospitalized for depression on Memorial Day weekend of last year, and that I had to spend the entire weekend at Swedes.
My depression has been rearing its ugly head as of late, too. I've been dropping hints about it, but I haven't really gone out and said it before. I think it's because I'm staring my mid-twenties in the face and I have accomplished nothing. I always figured that I would have left Rockford by now, and that I'd be pursuing my career in some city that isn't Rockford. But, alas, I am still here, and it looks like I am stuck here. My biggest fear is to lead an insignificant life, and it seems to me that my life is anything but significant.
Now that I've mentioned that, I'm tempted to just not post this blog. But I need to let this out. I need a catharsis of some sort, and this will serve nicely for helping me to vent. The blogs I maintain are the only way I see where I can talk about my problems without being a buzzkill among my friends. Besides, I don't want to burden them with my troubles when they probably have troubles of their own.
So, I used pathchouli oil as a cologne today... Then I went out for a night of drinking.
My first stop, Extreme Bowling at the Cherry Bowl, was relatively uninteresting. I stayed for a bit to hang out with my friends, but left because I was getting depressed.
My next stop was Shooters. That was also depressing for me. So I decided to go to a strip club that I had accidentally stumbled upon when I wa slooking for some place to take a piss a few weeks ago. That time, I had grilled the bartender about the types of beer he had, and I was dissapointed, but not surprised, to find that they didn't carry any quality beers.
Anyhow, I went in there, and ordered a dirty gin martini. They had no martini glasses, according to the bartender, so I instead ordered a gin and tonic (later he found a really old-school martini glass and then I ordered a martini). I sat down to watch a few dances, and one of the girls sat with me. No big surprise there. She started talking to me, told me that I'm cute, and then asked me if I wanted a dance. I decided that, what the hell, I could use one. It may serve to cheer me up. She was really cute, besides, and I have a suspicion that she wasn't acting. During the course of the dance, we made out a bit She let me bite her and, once, I accidentally grabbed one of her tits (in the process of biting her), and she didn't call the bouncers or complain. In fact, she gave me her phone number. Now, as most of you know, I've dated a stripper before, and I'm not too keen on doing it again. But, with that said, I'm not going to begrudge someone their means to make a living. You gotta do what you gotta do.
She's not one of those nasty strippers, either, from what I could tell. She smelled wonderful (and, yes, I was able to ascertain whether or not she takes care of herself. In fact, that's one of the reasons why I don't think she was hustling me). She seemed like she wanted to chill with me the whole night, but the only reason that she couldn't is because she had to make money (which is why I chose the album I did for my blog. Track 5 is especially relevant). I can't remember all that was said, except that I said "enchante" when she introduced herself, and I almost thanked her with "merci beaucoup" after she was done with the dance.
When she left, another girl came up to me, one who was decidedly trashy looking and who was also incredibly drunk. She asked me to pick some songs for her, so I picked "Pour Some Sugar on Me" by Def Leppard and "When Doves Cry" by Prince. Then, after her dance, she started ranting about how she wanted to go home early because she was really fucked up (and she was), and she told me that she was the best hustler in here and the hottest girl there, too. I didn't agree that she was the hottest, but I kept my dissent to myself. I listened to her bitch and moan, and then, after the lights were turned on and the bar was closing, I went to the first girl I had met and said, "Oh my God! That drunk chick..." She apologized, and I said that it was no big deal, it just made me feel uncomfortable as hell.
Also, a side note: Apparently strippers love the smell of patchouli oil. The one I got the dance from couldn't stop smelling my neck, and I got complimented by one of the other girls who I gave a token tip to.
I'm calling the one girl on Sunday (I warned her that I follow the Three Day Rule). Perhaps my excruciating (well, for me, anyway... You have no idea how horny I am on a constant basis) dry streak will come to an end soon. Perhaps not. If not, she seems to be a cool person anyway.
In other news, Hillaire told me that she's eventually going to come to Chicago on a field trip with the school she's going to (she's studying Art and Art History). It's a year or so away, but I'm still excited by the prospects of meeting her in real life (finally). She's fucking awesome. She is so much like me that it's scary at some times, and frustrating at others. Scary because, well, she's a lot like me. Frustrating because I know that we'd be great together, even in the platonic sense. We'd be best friends, most likely, if we lived a lot closer to each other.
Hill, if you're reading this, please remind me to buy a handle of Jack when you come. Merci beaucoup, darling.
Earlier today, I watced "Boy Meets World". There was nothing else to watch. So I watched the show, and, in this episode, Corey's brother starts dating a single mom. Wow... That brought back memories. I couldn't help but think of my relationship with Megan III, because I've done everything that Corey's brother did. I was about to put my life on hold for this woman. I took care of her kids for her. I actually yelled at and punished both of them for misbehaving. We had the same talk about how I had my whole life ahead of me (but, unlike with Corey's brother, we ended up staying together after that). It made me sad and nostalgic, and then I had to endure watching couples or people who seemed to be forming pairbonds (at least for the night) all around me. I didn't even feel like drinking all that much. This begs the question: Am I over Megan III yet, or am I still rebounding? Ha smy rebound period been so long because I've been refusing to confront the residual feelings I still have for her? All my life, I've survived by supressing my emotions, particularly the negative ones, such as sadness, anger, fear, and despair. Now, I don't need to do that to survive. I have a circle of friends who care about me and who will love me no matter what inner turmoil I am going through. Most of them have confided in me at one point or another, and have let me glimpse at their own inner turmoil from time to time. The only times I've ever allowed glimpses into the blackness of my own soul is immediately following my hospitalization for depression (and that was involuntary. Some of them saw the cuts that were healing on my arm and knew better than to buy my lame excuse that my cat was the cause of them), and whenever one of them notices the scars on my upper arm. Very few of them know of my long battle with depression and the times that I almost lost that battle. Very few of them know that I've been put on medication for my depression twice, and both times I stopped taking my medication because Wellbutrin was turning me into a zombie and Celexa wasn't really working. Very few of them, I think, know that I was hospitalized for depression on Memorial Day weekend of last year, and that I had to spend the entire weekend at Swedes.
My depression has been rearing its ugly head as of late, too. I've been dropping hints about it, but I haven't really gone out and said it before. I think it's because I'm staring my mid-twenties in the face and I have accomplished nothing. I always figured that I would have left Rockford by now, and that I'd be pursuing my career in some city that isn't Rockford. But, alas, I am still here, and it looks like I am stuck here. My biggest fear is to lead an insignificant life, and it seems to me that my life is anything but significant.
Now that I've mentioned that, I'm tempted to just not post this blog. But I need to let this out. I need a catharsis of some sort, and this will serve nicely for helping me to vent. The blogs I maintain are the only way I see where I can talk about my problems without being a buzzkill among my friends. Besides, I don't want to burden them with my troubles when they probably have troubles of their own.
"To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd."
--Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, William Shakespeare