Josh “Alright, I hear you. Can you be quiet for like fifteen minutes? I just need to write one more paragraph and then I’m getting ready for bed.”
Ted “Are you gonna shower?”
I throw him a glance of pure impatience.
Josh “The thing is, I’m the last person that will tell you to go fuck yourself, but as of now I’m the only person who hasn’t.”
He leans his body against the side of my desk, his legs crossed; his hand massaging the back of his neck. He appears to be deep in thought.
Ted “So, if everyone else has told me to fuck myself, except for you, then you’re saying it’s been you this whole time?”
Josh “Are you retarded? Do you have any idea how much you stress me out on a daily basis? You’re worse than my girlfriend.”
Ted “You guys didn’t break up?”
Josh “Ex-girlfriend”
Ted “Thought so.”
Josh “My point is, you two are the only people I know that genuinely piss me off to the point where I wish a blood vessel in my brain would pop so the blood would clog my ears and I could slip into the bliss that is a world without being subjected to the shit that spews from your mouth every five minutes.”
Ted “Just tell me the truth then. I know you’re the one that’s been using my shampoo.”
Josh “Damn dude. ‘Just tell me the truth.’ You sound exactly like her.”
Ted “Like who?”
I paused, straining my neck towards him, mouth half open and eyes quizzical. The look of a man silently questioning another man’s intelligence.
Josh “My ex-girlfriend.”
Ted “You don’t have to make everything about your ex. It’s not healthy.”
Josh “This isn’t about my ex at all. This is about you interrogating everyone on this floor about your shampoo that mysteriously pours itself down the drain. And comparing you to my ex-girlfriend is supposed to be an insult. I mean, you’re the one who told her to get her psycho-babbling, attention-seeking, controlling-bitch self out of my life. Plus, people are sick of you sneaking whiffs of their hair when you think they aren’t paying attention. It freaks out a lot of people.”
Ted “Well I’m not sorry. Not until somebody admits to using up my shampoo. Smelling their hair is genius. My nose is locked on to the aroma of berry tea mixed with orange flower. You can’t mistake that smell. And until I catch somebody red-handed this is my best way of catching them.”
Josh “That’s retarded.”
Ted “Now that you know I’ve smelled your hair, what do you have to say for yourself? You can’t weasel your way out now.”
Josh “My head is shaven. I don’t use shampoo. Especially not shampoo that makes me smell like a closet homosexual.”
Ted “Fine. But I won’t stop until I know who’s responsible.”
Josh “I know.”
Ted “I’m serious, dude.”
Josh “That’s why I sound so annoyed.”
-----------------------------------------
Matt “I thought you were gonna talk to Hardy boy about the shampoo thing.”
Josh “I did. It goes right over his head.”
Matt “You should probably just tell him it’s you pouring his shampoo down the drain. It was funny at first but now all the girls on the floor won’t talk to us when he’s around. And it’s his fault I’m losing progress with Stacy…”
I couldn’t help but snort a little bit when he said that.
Josh “Don’t try to use him as an excuse. Stacy has a boyfriend. Who she is faithful to. You guys are just friends. Why can’t friendship with a girl be enough?”
Ted “There is no such thing as just friends. Besides, you of all people know how faithful a ‘faithful’ girl really is.”
I thought I should be upset by this, but I really wasn’t. Maybe I was maturing or something. My hesitation must have made him realize what he said. Ted’s a good guy though; I know he didn’t intend to be cruel so I broke the tension.
Josh “Anyways, I’ll go find him and tell him it was me.”
Ted “He’s gonna be pissed. Tell him you’ll buy him a new bottle of shampoo.”
Josh “Shit. You’re right. We should go find him and watch him piss off some other people first. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”
Ted “No, you won’t. You’re gonna let this drag out until he does something crazy and is court ordered to never interrogate people about shampoo again.”
Josh “Eh. Maybe. Depends on how I feel tomorrow.”
Ted “Which means…not any different than how you feel now.”
Josh “Pretty much.”
Ted “This funk of yours is killing me.”
Josh “Don’t make me one of your excuses too.”
Ted “Just deal with your shit and get yourself together.”
Josh “A true friend.”
Ted “Your only true friend.”
Damn it. He was right.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
The Starburst Story
At the beginning of the summer I went to a party with my girlfriend. We went our separate ways to talk to our own friends for a while. She comes up to me 30 minutes later with the most disgusting story I have ever heard.
She was with her girlfriends when they noticed a guy on the other side of the room with a really fucked up face. They walked over to him and as they got closer they saw that the entire left side of his face was raw and scabby with pus oozing out of some spots. One of the girls asked him what the hell was wrong with his face.
To this he eagerly replied:
“Oh, let me tell you. Well, me and my girlfriend were bored a few weeks ago so we decided to do something different. So, we put five Starburst up her pussy, waited a few minutes, and then I ate them out. A couple days later her pussy hurt so she went to the doctor. Before he had a look he asked her if she had done anything to it recently, and so she told him what we had done. Then the doctor takes a look in her pussy and comes out with one Starburst in his hand. My girlfriend looked at him and said, ‘That’s impossible, my boyfriend put five Starburst up there and I saw him eat all five. He knows he ate all five of them.’ To this the doctor says, ‘Well, your boyfriend ate four Starburst and one herpes sac.’”
At first I wanted to throw up when I heard this, but then I got to thinking. Maybe herpes sacs taste like Starburst. Maybe they are cubic shaped. I’d bet they would taste like cherry if anything.
She was with her girlfriends when they noticed a guy on the other side of the room with a really fucked up face. They walked over to him and as they got closer they saw that the entire left side of his face was raw and scabby with pus oozing out of some spots. One of the girls asked him what the hell was wrong with his face.
To this he eagerly replied:
“Oh, let me tell you. Well, me and my girlfriend were bored a few weeks ago so we decided to do something different. So, we put five Starburst up her pussy, waited a few minutes, and then I ate them out. A couple days later her pussy hurt so she went to the doctor. Before he had a look he asked her if she had done anything to it recently, and so she told him what we had done. Then the doctor takes a look in her pussy and comes out with one Starburst in his hand. My girlfriend looked at him and said, ‘That’s impossible, my boyfriend put five Starburst up there and I saw him eat all five. He knows he ate all five of them.’ To this the doctor says, ‘Well, your boyfriend ate four Starburst and one herpes sac.’”
At first I wanted to throw up when I heard this, but then I got to thinking. Maybe herpes sacs taste like Starburst. Maybe they are cubic shaped. I’d bet they would taste like cherry if anything.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Locked Doors
“What’s up, Pike?”
The words pull me out of my trance and back into reality. I must have been staring at the computer screen for too long again. My chair is forcefully whipped around and I face the open area of my room. It is completely dark except for the glow from my computer screen behind me, and I can’t make out any of the twenty faces standing crowded in front of me. This time my words would do no good, the size of the mob is enough to drown out any doubts still held by a few individuals. Two hands grip each one of my shoulders, and before I can swing my arms free they are wrapped behind me back. POP! Yep, there goes the left pinky finger. Was breaking that really necessary? I don’t have time to contemplate the motive behind injuring such a defenseless finger; I am worried about what is going to happen next. They pin me down on my desk with my arms and legs locked so that I can’t fight back. Squirming around is useless and only makes me weaker. The only thought in my head is that my entire front is exposed. Like a torrential rainstorm the punches come. And just as is true with any fierce storm, it is impossible to distinguish between each drop that lands on your body, and none of your body remains dry for more than a few seconds.
Finally it stops. I let myself open my eyes hoping they had enough and were leaving. But no, everyone is still there, conversing in whispers, and I am still pinned down pathetically on my desk. Then I hear my shower turn on. Apparently one of my asshole roommates is completely ignoring the situation at hand. But I suppose it’s not really his place to intervene.
Unable to stand up on my own from all the dead-leg punches I received, I am lead to the front of the room with my legs dragging behind me. The thought of me looking like a puppet who is wearing a black and blue shirt crosses my mind. I guess it could be worse. I think they are getting ready to throw me out into the hallway, but a glance to my left informs me otherwise. The shower curtain is on the floor and nobody is in the shower. If my attackers could hear my thoughts, then this realization is the cue they were waiting for. Tape is drawn out and my wrists are woven tightly together. This makes me remember my finger was just broken. Lost in thoughts about losing the use of my pinky forever, I don’t notice being thrown into the shower. That is until I land, hard, on the cold marble of the shower floor. Bitter cold hits my chest and stings like needles in every spot I was punched. I still can’t stand up. I might as well not have legs, at least then they wouldn’t be cold and wet.
Everyone is laughing as they leave the room and the mess they made out of me. I finally manage to roll over the step that separates the shower from the sink area when my roommate appears in the doorway. His eyes open wide and the shock on his face doesn’t make me look forward to seeing what I look like.
“Fucking help me dude.”
This initiates a response from him and he hurries over to untie my wrists and tries to help me to my feet before I can tell him it’s no use. He rolls my chair over and helps me onto it. I sit with my head down, breathing heavily as I grab a towel from the rack.
“What the fuck happened to you?”
I manage two words between deep breaths.
“Freshman hazing.”
My roommate is silent for a few minutes as I regain composure and the use of my limbs. I feel like I can speak again so I break the silence.
“I knew it was coming tonight. That’s why I fucking locked the door. How did they”
I am cut off by my own thoughts. Putting the pieces together slowly in my head, I notice the disturbed look on my roommate’s face.
“I totally forgot. I wasn’t thinking. I stepped out for like a minute to take a piss. I can’t believe this happened. You know I didn’t mean to. Whatever you want man, I’ll make it up to you.”
I place my head in the palm of my right hand. All I can do is shake my head and sigh.
“No. It’s fine. I just would have gotten it worse if I hid from it too long.”
Welcome to the life of a Midshipmen.
The words pull me out of my trance and back into reality. I must have been staring at the computer screen for too long again. My chair is forcefully whipped around and I face the open area of my room. It is completely dark except for the glow from my computer screen behind me, and I can’t make out any of the twenty faces standing crowded in front of me. This time my words would do no good, the size of the mob is enough to drown out any doubts still held by a few individuals. Two hands grip each one of my shoulders, and before I can swing my arms free they are wrapped behind me back. POP! Yep, there goes the left pinky finger. Was breaking that really necessary? I don’t have time to contemplate the motive behind injuring such a defenseless finger; I am worried about what is going to happen next. They pin me down on my desk with my arms and legs locked so that I can’t fight back. Squirming around is useless and only makes me weaker. The only thought in my head is that my entire front is exposed. Like a torrential rainstorm the punches come. And just as is true with any fierce storm, it is impossible to distinguish between each drop that lands on your body, and none of your body remains dry for more than a few seconds.
Finally it stops. I let myself open my eyes hoping they had enough and were leaving. But no, everyone is still there, conversing in whispers, and I am still pinned down pathetically on my desk. Then I hear my shower turn on. Apparently one of my asshole roommates is completely ignoring the situation at hand. But I suppose it’s not really his place to intervene.
Unable to stand up on my own from all the dead-leg punches I received, I am lead to the front of the room with my legs dragging behind me. The thought of me looking like a puppet who is wearing a black and blue shirt crosses my mind. I guess it could be worse. I think they are getting ready to throw me out into the hallway, but a glance to my left informs me otherwise. The shower curtain is on the floor and nobody is in the shower. If my attackers could hear my thoughts, then this realization is the cue they were waiting for. Tape is drawn out and my wrists are woven tightly together. This makes me remember my finger was just broken. Lost in thoughts about losing the use of my pinky forever, I don’t notice being thrown into the shower. That is until I land, hard, on the cold marble of the shower floor. Bitter cold hits my chest and stings like needles in every spot I was punched. I still can’t stand up. I might as well not have legs, at least then they wouldn’t be cold and wet.
Everyone is laughing as they leave the room and the mess they made out of me. I finally manage to roll over the step that separates the shower from the sink area when my roommate appears in the doorway. His eyes open wide and the shock on his face doesn’t make me look forward to seeing what I look like.
“Fucking help me dude.”
This initiates a response from him and he hurries over to untie my wrists and tries to help me to my feet before I can tell him it’s no use. He rolls my chair over and helps me onto it. I sit with my head down, breathing heavily as I grab a towel from the rack.
“What the fuck happened to you?”
I manage two words between deep breaths.
“Freshman hazing.”
My roommate is silent for a few minutes as I regain composure and the use of my limbs. I feel like I can speak again so I break the silence.
“I knew it was coming tonight. That’s why I fucking locked the door. How did they”
I am cut off by my own thoughts. Putting the pieces together slowly in my head, I notice the disturbed look on my roommate’s face.
“I totally forgot. I wasn’t thinking. I stepped out for like a minute to take a piss. I can’t believe this happened. You know I didn’t mean to. Whatever you want man, I’ll make it up to you.”
I place my head in the palm of my right hand. All I can do is shake my head and sigh.
“No. It’s fine. I just would have gotten it worse if I hid from it too long.”
Welcome to the life of a Midshipmen.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Choosing My Life
I have chosen to stray from the life that was expected of me to carve my own path. Growing up, every time someone tried to tell me how to be successful in life I had the distant thought that something was wrong with their advice. Sure they meant well, but the context of their advice left me with a lingering feeling of doubt. Conveying this thought has always been a disaster because I was either too immature to understand it, or too afraid to admit what I knew to be true.
My life until now has been in preparation for a career that makes me lots of money. Perhaps attending the best schools, getting the best grades, and pleasing the right people along the way makes you successful in the end. That is if you define being successful as making more money than the Joe next door to you. Just like growing old is only relative to how you feel about yourself as you age, being successful is only relative to how you define success. If being rich is what drives you (as it used to drive me), then do what you have to in order to make more money than your friends and relatives. Just be honest with yourself. Nobody can tell you what makes you happy, that is something you have to find on your own. Surprisingly this process was much harder for me than I would like to admit. The fear of disappointing everyone close to me is still hard to overcome. The disapproving faces are always going to be there.
I would be lying if I said I came to this realization overnight. The move to live my life the way I want has been resonating in the back of my head for almost three years, and very soundly for the past year and a half. With this foreshock brewing behind each of my thoughts, I do believe tonight I made the leap that broke the focal zone of my mind, releasing the earthquake that I’ve been subconsciously trying to prevent.
What brought me to my epiphany was a simple idea that I correlated to my life to help me define why I knew there was something wrong with the path I have been pursuing. It is widely accepted that kids who are allowed to drink and party at their will, as allowed by their parents, are less likely to revolve their lives around drinking and partying when they are older. The fact that these kids are not banned from such activities, or punished when they do stumble drunkenly into the house after a night with their friends, makes them see these activities in a different light than their classmate who wasn’t even allowed at a friend’s home because that friend’s parents drank alcohol with dinner. The opportunity to become successful has always been there for me. By following the advice of my parents, friends, and respected elders, I opened up the doors for a life I thought I wanted. I was never told I could not do what I wanted, because I always did what other people wanted me to do.
Part of the reason I spent the last three years of my life in denial of my true desires is because it was an easy way to live. I never could have imagined how hard life can be when you have people doubting you and telling you “No” every time you turn the corner. I’m laughing at myself now, after realizing all this only an hour ago, because the idea of living to be happy has been laid out in front of me on many occasions. The mixed feelings of stupidity, honesty, and fear can only make a person laugh at themselves.
There is still something that bothers me though. Would I have made the same choices long ago if someone had told me I couldn’t do what I now know I want to do? Would this have made me rebel and change my course in life just to spite those who told me I couldn’t do it? Whatever. I’m here now, and there is no turning back.
My life until now has been in preparation for a career that makes me lots of money. Perhaps attending the best schools, getting the best grades, and pleasing the right people along the way makes you successful in the end. That is if you define being successful as making more money than the Joe next door to you. Just like growing old is only relative to how you feel about yourself as you age, being successful is only relative to how you define success. If being rich is what drives you (as it used to drive me), then do what you have to in order to make more money than your friends and relatives. Just be honest with yourself. Nobody can tell you what makes you happy, that is something you have to find on your own. Surprisingly this process was much harder for me than I would like to admit. The fear of disappointing everyone close to me is still hard to overcome. The disapproving faces are always going to be there.
I would be lying if I said I came to this realization overnight. The move to live my life the way I want has been resonating in the back of my head for almost three years, and very soundly for the past year and a half. With this foreshock brewing behind each of my thoughts, I do believe tonight I made the leap that broke the focal zone of my mind, releasing the earthquake that I’ve been subconsciously trying to prevent.
What brought me to my epiphany was a simple idea that I correlated to my life to help me define why I knew there was something wrong with the path I have been pursuing. It is widely accepted that kids who are allowed to drink and party at their will, as allowed by their parents, are less likely to revolve their lives around drinking and partying when they are older. The fact that these kids are not banned from such activities, or punished when they do stumble drunkenly into the house after a night with their friends, makes them see these activities in a different light than their classmate who wasn’t even allowed at a friend’s home because that friend’s parents drank alcohol with dinner. The opportunity to become successful has always been there for me. By following the advice of my parents, friends, and respected elders, I opened up the doors for a life I thought I wanted. I was never told I could not do what I wanted, because I always did what other people wanted me to do.
Part of the reason I spent the last three years of my life in denial of my true desires is because it was an easy way to live. I never could have imagined how hard life can be when you have people doubting you and telling you “No” every time you turn the corner. I’m laughing at myself now, after realizing all this only an hour ago, because the idea of living to be happy has been laid out in front of me on many occasions. The mixed feelings of stupidity, honesty, and fear can only make a person laugh at themselves.
There is still something that bothers me though. Would I have made the same choices long ago if someone had told me I couldn’t do what I now know I want to do? Would this have made me rebel and change my course in life just to spite those who told me I couldn’t do it? Whatever. I’m here now, and there is no turning back.
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