The Towel

Caution! The following blog may be emo and/or angry, depending on what my fingers dictate. Read at your own risk.

So, I think I've endured a pretty crappy autumn when it comes to men. I liked a guy for a long while only to be given the "friend" card. Now I'm perfectly happy with this card (probably more so than any other card) but at the time, it seemed anything-but-perfect. Following him was mister rotten fruit whom I liked but was given a similar card, basically due to the fact that he's mental and doesn't really know what he wants (or so I've come to conclude to make myself feel better about the situation).

All-in-all, it has been a lot of stress with no result. No romance whatsoever for three months has led to a boring existence, to say the least.

Recently I've mentioned a boy in Toronto whom I was going to visit this Christmas while home for the holidays. It turns out he's from the same city I am, which is always fun to talk about how quickly we got out. We've talked on the phone, on webcam, done the whole e-date thing a dozen times. Things were looking to be interesting come the middle of this month.

Well folks, if you haven't guessed, the grass is not greener on the other side.

I hadn't heard from him in about three days and had sent him a text message after one with no response, so I texted him again. Here's our correspondence:

Me: Hey. Are you still alive or what? lol. (Yes, I text using proper grammar. So sue me.)

Him: Haha i am lol it's been an interesting few days with life

Me: Ah. You'll have to tell me about it when you get the chance.

Him: I will i don't think your gonna like it tho :( my ex wants to get back together

Me: I thought it was something like that. You do what's right for you.

Him: Thanks buddy

So, right now, since I haven't talked to him directly in four or five days, I'm going to assume that things are going swimmingly with him and his ex. Aw. How nice.

And here, ladies and gentlemen, is where I throw in the towel. The stinky, overused, underwashed, ripped-and-torn, metaphorical towel. Something in me just clicked or broke. Probably broke. I just don't feel optimistic about love anymore. That said, I don't doubt that I'll have relationships in the future and whatever, but something in me just shrugs at the thought. It's just ridiculous that I should put myself through these useless tribulations when I can just be single and not care. I've dated profusely in the last five years and that is plenty for now.

Even though this guy is back home, over a thousand miles away, I had a small hope that we would hit it off anyway. And, don't get me wrong, it's not that I want him to be unhappy. If he's happy with his ex, then great. My problem with this is just that when do I get to be happy? My longest relationship was with someone that was wrong for me from the get-go, and that still lies at six months. When do I get this chance? My friends are getting married and I'm the single crazy one.

Anyway, before I get going on the whys of life, I'll stop. I'm just saddened because I really do feel different inside. Hopefully the next guy I meet likes a jaded prick.

--Jam

The Newspaper Void

Mornin', ya'll.

I'm currently in the library, yawning my brain off, sort of writing an essay, but not really accomplishing much. It was due two days ago and I'm sure won't be done today. (Hooray, productivity!)

It's such a lame topic. Find six news articles on youth (I'm assuming on the same topic) and show how they're being compared to certain sociological theories. For two-thousand words. 2000.

How is that even possible? Newspaper articles are thin pieces of "facts". How am I supposed to stretch them out to make ten pages? The real question should actually be why am I stretching it out to make ten pages. I mean, I don't mind writing essays. If I'm analyzing literature, if I'm actually conveying something. Anything. This essay is just so ridiculous. It's like one of those assignments you get when you're in high school where you have to cut out articles from the paper and then glue them to bristol board and write little blurbs about why they're important.

Except using 1800 more words.

Anyway, this is a bitter rant because I don't feel like doing my assignment. I'm gonna whip some crap together, throw in as much jargon as I can, and pray for a B.

Oh, university. You're teaching me so much about nothing.

And now, a bite-size roommate rant: Yesterday morning, my roommate had a 26-minute shower, and was in the bathroom for a total of one hour, fifteen minutes. WHY? He had a shower and then was in the bathroom for an extra fifty minutes. This disproves the masturbation theory, unless he showers and then does it, which would be insane.

Today, he rushes into the bathroom around nine, slams the door, locks it, and then begins... cutting his nails. He had to dash in there to cut his nails. Nail emergency, you see.

ALSO, why do people insist on coming into the library and sitting in the cubicles where there is no noise and then rip apart eighty clementines and eat them, or turn their music up to MAX in their own ears so I can hear "Womanizer, womanizer, oh" ever-so-clearly while the person whisper-sings along to it. "Uh, hello, Britney fan? I can still hear you shutthefuckupohmygod." And now, in the cubicle in front of me, a girl is shaking a box of cookies. Or at least it sounds like a box of cookies. WHATAREYOUDOINGAAAAAH.

UGH.

--Disgruntled Jam

Gurgle Ouch

That's the feeling I'm getting from my tummy and I have no idea why.

I got nothin' today, but my blog looked bare, so I thought I'd fill it with this text going absolutely nowhere.

The End!

--Jam

PS: I still didn't find out who wrote that. *shakes fist wildly in the air*

Specs

So today I signed into my Facebook, as I do about twenty times a day (self-admitted addict), around 11:30pm. One notification: You have a new Honesty Box message.

Ooh.

For those of you who don't know, Honesty Box is an application on Facebook that allows a person to message another without leaving an identity--being honest, yet anonymous. Normally, these messages are from boys who are too shy to say anything in person, or a friend telling you how much they love you while leaving mini-hints about their identity. (I do that all the time.) This time, however, I received this:

"I really wish you'd stop living in an altruistic dream world and step into the harsh light of reality."

Pardon? Well, first of all, I had to look up altruistic as I hadn't heard it in years. It means to put others above oneself to the point of being detrimental to the generous individual. Now, I think I'm generous and giving and definitely put others ahead of myself, but I really don't think I'm that far south. I do enjoy myself and have an ego in there too, but I digress.

Facebook tells me it's a guy, so that narrows it down somewhat. I had thought of some female friends immediately, but this obviously removes them from the list of suspects. I called/messaged some friends to try to get some opinions on who it could be with little avail.

Shortly after, I talked to a friend of mine back home, an ex, that was very frank in telling me that anyone who knows me well could have said this; that I wear rose-coloured glasses. Hm. Well, if altruistic was meant to be used in that context, which doesn't make much sense but I can see a small connection, then what would compel someone to randomly send me a message telling me to be more realistic? Why wouldn't that person just talk to me to my face? It angers me, actually, because whoever this person is obviously sees life in a jaded fashion if they think it's shown in a "harsh light of reality." Because I see life in an optimistic way, I should change that simply because other people are grouchy and pessimistic?

Fuck. That.

Is my life perfect? Hell no. Am I going to get every last thing I want out of life? Hell yes. If I choose to be ambitious with unattainable aspirations, that is my prerogative, but at least I have goals and a mind of my own. If I didn't listen to my heart, I would be miserable in a business school somewhere, or miserable counting money for people who don't appreciate it. This is my life and I choose to live it the way I please. I am damn happy with the way I turned out and if my surreal attitudes are bothering you, please let me know, because I'd hate for you to have to send me another "anonymous" message.

--Jam

Poemtree

Normally if I have a poem to share, I'll post it over on Jam's Novel Idea, however this poem was not written by me, so I will be sharing it on here. It is definitely one of my favourite pieces, if not the favourite, that I have ever read. Enjoy!

---

"That Time of Year"
by Anne Compton

The day was night and lasted half a week.

Dawn was in the details: each branch a charcoal stroke
against the grey.

Cloud cover pulled so low, its flange was pinned to hills,
the distant dulse-coloured hills.

Leaves thickening up the overcast: a second sky
beneath the scudless murk.

Two waking days and then the mass: hymns at heaven's gate
if you're hopeful.

Outside the funeral parlour, a patchy fog suspended
among the trees

hanging out with the smokers -- watchers on a break
whose talk is weather
and what the lack of light portends. The calm of it.

We're near enough the end to know
perfection of the mood's a paradox.

Among the smokers though
there's one for whom the day's a canvas.

He said the purple of the hills was mile-off rain with shining
in it, and how lovely that was when it happened.

In every score or so, God sends a watcher
whose eyes are not as others are.

They are the ones the light shines through.

---

That's from the collection processional if you like it. The rest of the works are great as well, but I thought this one was especially moving. Anyway, enjoy your day, and make sure the light shines through!

--Jam

This Sucksubus

It occurred to me earlier today who the guy driving the SUV was, in the dream from yesterday's post. It sort of popped into my head as I was getting my hair cut. (It looks totally cute, just so you know.)

I hadn't thought about him in a long time, maybe even a year. I had just accepted he was gone, I guess. He's with another guy, we're not together and haven't seen one another in about four years. I can't believe it still hurts to think about him. I guess that means it'll never really go away. I'm actually kind of dreading the day I actually do see him again. We're from the same town, so I suppose anything is possible. However, if I were to bump into him at Christmas, I'd probably throw up nog and yuletide joy all over the place.

I really like his boyfriend as a person, so I feel bad keeping feelings for this guy tucked away in me somewhere, but I guess I feel like I can't let them go. Maybe some feelings stay forever, tucked away for dreams of a life I can never have.

Hopefully someday I'll get my knight in shining SUV.

--Jam

Angelic Incubus

Mornin'. (It's past 3am. I'm allowed to say that.)

I'm up essaying. I don't know why I always leave some essays to the last minute. It must be a right of passage in university. At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

I fell asleep earlier this afternoon and had a very vivid dream. Here's the gist of it:

The curtain parts and blinding lights flash, illuminating my entire body. As my eyes adjust, I see a stage, followed by thousands of people. My ears follow and the cheers are overwhelming. My eyes start to water, my smile widens, and I step further into the light. The band starts and I begin to sing, much better than I would have ever imagined, and the crowd is going crazy. The song finishes, I bow, extraordinarily happy, beaming actually. Now, skip ahead to after the show where my fans are waiting to get me to sign a copy of my first book. (If only I could have remembered the title, we'd be one step closer to this wonderful dream.) I sign quickly, smiling and thanking them, and eventually exit the building to enter a large sport utility vehicle, for whatever reason. I enter into the passenger seat as my adoring and gorgeous husband has come to pick me up. We exchange a kiss and he says "good show" to which I respond "thanks. The Sprout for dinner?" (The Sprout is a restaurant here in St. John's. Why on Earth we're still in St. John's is beyond me.) I smile again as we drive off, followed by something like a moose chasing us. It's a dream, what more do you want?

Anyway, I think the dream is using my overactive ambition and imagination to create this ideal scenario that I will never live up to. I have to focus on the now; keep my goals in mind, of course, but I'm having a problem lately with really looking at the whole picture as of today. Therefore, back to my essay.

(Damn, I wish I got that guy's number. If only he was driving an Aveo.)

--Jam

PS: Essaying is a word. Weird.
PPS: Wall-E comes out today! Oh. My. Jebus.
PPPS: Listen to "Run" by Leona Lewis. Here.
PPPPS: I realize an incubus is supposed to haunt women and I'm supposed to get a succubus. Somehow, the gay factor seems to make me think that I'd get an incubus. Well, let's hope at least.

The Overall Lifeness of It All

Wassaaaaaaap.

Boy, don't you miss those commercials? No, me neither.

Have you ever had one of those weeks, one of those horrible weeks, where everything just seems so difficult? The normal suddenly transforms into a struggle and you just need to try your hardest to stay about water.

I'm having one of those weeks.

First off, I finally deleted that grouch from MSN and Facebook. I decided I'm not going to post a full story about him, but merely the cliff notes.

1. Met online.
2. He broke up with his boyfriend. By email. (Well hello there, big red flag!)
3. Spent weekend together, both nights with one another. No sex. Perfect cuddling.
4. Talked on Monday. He said he had feelings for ex. When I questioned it, he said we should just be friends.
5. Off-and-on chatting. Not-so-nice discussions.
6. Delete.

He wrote me once he realized I had deleted him and wished me well. He's one of those people who thinks they are always in the right, so I'm sure he doesn't see this as him leading me on at all. Anyway, he's best left alone, I think.

I'm trying to go home for Christmas, but alas, funds don't do as far as they used to. I want to go home for the holiday more than anything, so I asked my lovely father if he would pay for it. I feel like I'm selling my soul to the devil, but I guess if it gets me home, then devil me up, baby!

I've also bombed at NaNoWriMo for the fourth time in a row, however I think I've got the best story idea this year thus far, so I can see myself plugging away at it over the next six months-or-so.

Yeah. Well that was horribly boring. Sorry folks. To make up for it, picture me telling a joke. That should be entertaining.

--Jam's got nothin'

Other than that, things are just trucking along. Tons upon tons of work to do this weekend. Let's see if I can get it all done.

E-Talk Daily

As much as the title days daily, it's more like twice-weekly, just for the record.

Every now and again, I go on gay.com to chat with idiots. I'm not looking for idiots, mind you, but they seem to find me, like the flu or tequila. I chatted to a guy last night who was, just, wow. I forgot to copy the conversation for all of you to read (sorry) but he would talk a little, in broken dumbass English, about nothing and then about how hot I am, followed by a smiley face with its tongue sticking out. It went on and on.

*reenactment of chat nut, take one million*
Jam: So what do you do?
Guy: i work u?
Jam: I'm doing my degree at Memorial in English.
Guy: ur so hot omg.
Jam: Thanks.
Guy: :P
(Jam: ...)
Jam: So what do you do for work?
Guy: i work at convergys
(that's a call centre, for those of you who don't know)
Jam: Ah, and what do you want to do post-Convergys?
Guy: get the fuck out lol
Jam: Okay.
Guy: mm ur hot
Jam: Um, thanks.
Guy: :P
Jam: Well, I think I'm going to head to bed now.
(total lie--I just need to stop talking to him or my brain will explode.)
Guy: me 2 but i have to take care of somethin first lol
Guy: :P
(Jam: ...oh lord.)
Guy: do u have msn?

Ugh.

Anyway, to turn things around, I met a fantastic guy online yesterday as well. He's hot, he's 22 (enough of these twenty-year-olds. Eh? Eh?), he's finishing a degree in fine arts, and he's completely monogamous. He also likes Pokémon and makes dance routines with his friends before he goes to a club and then does them during the song.

He's as geeky as me! Like, holy god, marry me and have my babies.

Anyway, the problem is he's in Toronto. Yeah. Now that I've moved away from Toronto, I meet a great guy in Toronto. Super.

Life is taunting me. I'll get you Life, and your little dog too!

Er, something.

The end!

--Jam

Me and Bill

Bill Maher used the word "idiocracy" on his show on Friday.

I used the word in 2005 on my blog in this post.

We're BFFs.

(Real posts coming soon, I'm sure. Life's gettin' in the way of everythin'.)

--Jam'

Discovery Channel

Howdy, ya'll!

I'm having those pregnant woman cravings again. I know I posted about them before. (Maybe my new blogstalker could look that up for me? That would be super.) The other day, I would have killed a squirrel for cotton candy. Well, maybe not a squirrel. They're cute. How about... a gecko or something. Actually, why don't we not kill anything. (Wow. Tangent.) Anywho, now I want those mustard pickles. Those of you on the mainland have probably not had them. Basically, it's pickles, in a jar, with mustard. It sounds gross (and looks even worse) but omy, it's fantastic.

Well, this is turning out to be a riveting blog. What else can I write about? Hm.

I feel ridiculous about this boy situation. This guy I like now is just a dick. Plain and simple. The problem is, however, I have fallen for the guy I spent time with in person. Online, he's just cold and strange. I think I'm obsessing over him simply because I have no one else to obsess over, if that makes sense. There's just something wrong with the men in this city. I dated non-stop when I was in Toronto, and a lot of them were great, great guys. Double great. Here, it seems like the genetic cesspool is too small to get past a handful of personalities in hundreds of gay men. It's perplexing to say the least. Anyway, I haven't talked to jerk in a couple days, so I assume things have halted. Probably for the best, but still boring for the overall lifeness of it all.

Ha ha, "the overall lifeness of it all"? Wow. I think I need cotton candy to wake me up.

My roommate is getting weirder. I was in the dining room/kitchen with Lilly eating pasta yesterday and he just came in and started slowly scrubbing this pan while looking off into the distance. He's probably planning how he's going to manage to murder me in my sleep and get away with it. Don't worry, psycho roommate. I don't have too many obligations so no one should notice I'm missing too quickly. Maybe you can just use that pan that you're scrubbing a hole into the bottom of and that would just be dandy.

I'm taking two writing courses next semester. Advanced poetry and writing with pictures. What kind of pictures I'll be making, I have no idea. Maybe I'll pretend I know what I'm doing and use pastels or something. Yes. That should suffice.

How is there an advanced poetry? Shouldn't it just be called second poetry or something? Nope, this poetry is ADVANCED. *cue dramatic piano*

This blog is going nowhere far too fast. So I'm going to go. Right now.

--Jam

Song of the week: Untouched by The Veronicas. Here.

Grave-digging

My roommate has a death wish.

1. 20-minute shower again this morning. I got about one minute of hot water and boy, am I getting good at washing fast. Not a skill I thought I'd have to acquire.

2. My laundry that I began late last night is on the table this morning. HOW? I put it in the dryer at midnight, and this morning, at 8.30am, it's on the table. WHY? That means he put an entire load of laundry through in his sleep? He must have gotten up very early and did an entire load of laundry, even though he did two loads this past weekend. That being said, if he was up bright and early to laundrify, why wouldn't he have a shower at 5am so that I would have hot water by 8?

3. The kitchen is a disgusting state. There are about five dirty pans and over twenty gross dishes just rotting on the counter. Tons of food is lying about, including eggs. Yes. Eggs. On the counter.

...EGGS GO BAD!

--Jam is freaking out

Out, Damn Fruit!

I can't stop thinking about him.

I am going to absolutely, positively lose my mind. Poof. Gone. Mind gone.

The thing is, I don't understand why I'm obsessing like this. Really, he has been a jerk lately, and we still haven't met for coffee since he told me he still had feelings for his ex. Blah, blah, blah.

Sorry, I know the whole story has not been posted up here, so this must all sound confusing. Half of me is just saying that this is not worth posting about because the guy is a dink. The other half is saying that he's confused and there is something there.

Boys are dumb.

--Jam is grumpy