Incite Full

I have a lot of stuff.

I’m one of those guys who keeps everything. Free hot cocoa packet? It’s in a drawer. Old birthday card? In that shoe box. First toothbrush? Well I guess I exaggerated a little. But to a certain extent I have an issue letting go of this junk. Yes, some of it has value to me, but do I really need my old, busted iPod?

It’s interesting to see your entire ‘life’ in boxes. Rather Palahniuk-esque that I consider my possessions my life, but that’s not what I mean. Sure nothing can take away my memories or my feelings, but we spend our entire lives crafting and molding our outer appearance to portray who we are as people, hence my witty Threadless T-shirts. Okay, sometimes we portray what we want to be.

Recently I’ve given a friend a CD of music that I really enjoy. I learned today that she really enjoys the CDs I make, and that is awesome. Not necessarily because I want to be ‘hip’ or whatever the kids call it these days, but because I feel music, and any art for that matter, is a way to subconsciously communicate with people. No, I didn’t put a bunch of love songs on the CD; I feel that when two people share a connection to something, no matter how long or brief, they can share a connection to one another as well. And that’s awesome.

It’s why my favorite dates have been at zoos, museums, movies, cooking, Color Me Mine, or anything where you invest part of yourself in the process. How many dates have you been on where you just went to dinner? Maybe out with a group of people? These don’t work. Dinner is great, but there is no investment here (unless you’re cooking it). What I need and demand from myself and those I want to be around is that we’re invested in our time together. Sure there are going to be times not filled with emotional or intellectual growth, do you have any idea how exhausted you’d be if there wasn’t? But we all have a friend with whom we eat lunch at work, but never see outside those walls. That’s a person with which you share no greater bond than “We’re hungry.”

Part of why I write this thing is because I’m amazing, we all know it. The other reason, and probably more important, is that I’m simply questioning life and what the hell I want from it. How many times do you stop and ask yourself what you want and what are you doing to get it? Not, “I’m going to college,” but what do you do every single day that is bringing you closer to what you want? If you’re like me, you don’t even know what you want- and that’s scary as hell sometimes. But it’s even more scary, to me, not to question, not to ask what I want. I asked myself what I wanted a couple of months ago, and I ended up changing my life quite drastically. It wasn’t all good or bad, but I feel I made the right choice.

Okay, enough wax philosophical. But I leave you with my goal for the next year- I want to experience my emotions. I’ve read about them, seen them in movies and in the brush strokes of masterpieces. Now I want to paint my life with those emotions. I want to fill these pages with incredibly happy and unbelievably sad stories. As Jimmy Valvano said, we should laugh, think, and be moved to tears every day. I think I’ve got laughing down, but lets just see if I can’t get my cry on.

Maybe I should have started with “I have a lot of baggage”

“it’s not the right word, but it’s the first that comes to mind”

It recently occurred to me, when my friends and I played ‘Duck Duck Goose,’ many people picked the cute girls. I believe this is what sets me apart from other men. Even as a child, I was strategic, calculating, and competitive- so much so I would pick the slow and weak ones of the pack to ensure my victory and my dominance of the classroom. This would often backfire, as every time a girl chose me as the goose, I would fall into an endless spiral of depression, pez, and soda.

There are even stories of this competitiveness taken too far, arms broken from a violent game of ‘Red Rover,’ near death situations from ‘Marco Polo’- competitive children are dying, left and right! I’ve become more muted in my quarterlife. Not nearly as competitive; still competitive to be sure. I am the pastel of competitive- choosing my battles with which I feel my time is best invested. This has taken the form of video games, being a joker, and the most ruthless of venues: company league softball.

It’s amazing how fast some regress once on that pitiful field of dirt and grass, of course we’ll throw in the occasional sprinkler head and food wrappings. This is our coliseum. Our Waterloo. The place we’ve decided boys become men- and for what? Of the 5000 people on lab, contractors not included, maybe 120 play softball. Yet it’s taken so seriously by some people here. Granted, I want to win as well, and i’ve got the scars to prove it, but I’m not going to argue calls with the umpire (blue) with the same vigor I’ll defend my system design. If the people at these games put the same emphasis in their work which they do their softball strategy (does such a thing exist? Yes) MSL would be under budget. While my team is figuring out who plays where, other teams are yelling at one another for not turning a double play, or for not pushing the ball to right field.

Good lord. I almost play purely for the exercise now. And playing the outfield, I get quite a bit of it, but it’s funny- I never thought I would be the non-competitive one, the one driving my team to get better. Don’t get me wrong, as stated above I want to win. Everyone does, no one sets out to lose. If you think you will, why are you there in the first place? But I digress- I’m now the one saying nice try, or giving helpful advice. I now want other’s to play the hardest positions so that we get better as a team. I feel like a parent. And we all know I’m not ready for that.

A bit of going-ons, now- Birthday party for Katie (look at you, two mentions in one week- bet you’re excited) tonight and tomorrow will be me packing my life into a box. Saturday the move, Saturday night the payment in beer for the move, and Sunday will be unpacking and putting my life back in order. And dinner, too!

What you don’t understand you can make mean anything…

An uneventful day back at work yesterday. I did get some cookie dough brownies from Katie, who’s birthday is fast approaching. After work I had C-league softball practice and after that a B-league game. I guess I was actually kind of tired from the practice as my normally independent game time skills were sub par. I did go 4 for 4, however, as the lead off. My first up was a triple and a slide into home on the next play, cutting my entire left side up. simply awesome is what is often said about my dedication to leisure sports.

I also got a chance to talk to my friend Heather and we found some time to go out and get dinner, which will be nice. While I did get a chance to catch up with her earlier, it wasn’t under the best conversational circumstances.

Absolutely nothing funny really happened yesterday, except for a fill in on the softball team and me belting out Niel Diamond songs in the outfield, hoping against hope to become members of “Diamonds in the Rough,” the Diamond cover band. Hello, again, my friend, indeed.

So careless I could care less

Last night was epic.

I picked up Tommy and Dan and we headed out to universal city. On our way, Tommy is way too excited for this adventure, and it turns out he was already drunk- the shots of tequila he took would kick in a little later, and that’s when we knew.

We stopped in silverlake to drop off our car and get a ride from my other friend matt, and on the way, we saw a pimp getting stopped by the police for interacting with his womens. The pimp really didn’t even stop yelling at his girl when the police were right there. talk about confidence.

We parked and headed up to Howl for a drink before going to saddle ranch- and i bought a new castle in a can. Mostly because it was peculiar. Future self take note: a can of beer should not cost 6 dollars, and should not be served by two pissed off guys wearing baseball t’s. In fact, only women should wear baseball T’s.

After that lovely beer we headed out to SR, and headed on in. Tommy and i decided to get some beers for the rest of the guys, but decide first to get a few car bombs. I order the two car bombs from this guy, and he brings them back. right after he leaves, though, another bartender comes over and tells me “Come to me for your drinks, from now on” and I start chatting her up a little and agree to that.

Tommy and I finish our shots, and upon putting those down, there are two jager shots sitting there. I look up and the bartender is just smiling at me and i say thanks, and we continue. We wandered around the bar for a bit, watched some hot and not-so-hot bull riding, and found more people to talk to.

I went back to the bar and asked my bartender for a fat tire, and she got it for me- “no charge” and a smile again. I take the beer, and she asks “don’t you want your shot, too?” Good lord, woman, what are you trying to do to me? This continues for the entire night there, shots and beers, all free. I keep flirting with her a bit, and talk to dan about the situation. He tells me she’s totally into me, everyone else has to buy their drinks, and i’ve practically got her number already.

So for my alst drink, i chat her up some more and tell her she should give me her number.

FAIL.

seriously, what the hell? This is like, the opposite of a stripper- she gives me free shit all night, flirts non-stop, doesn’t make me pay for a thing, and then nothing. It’s the pickup equivalent of blueballs.

Oh well. Life goes on. My friend steph who was once a bartender also told me she would never give free drinks unless she was interested in the guy. So confusion, you have me again.

At the next bar, we met up with matt’s friends. Watched some Australian rules football, and listened to the band that was playing some music. Tommy, in his drunken state, actually got in front of the stage and started to air guitar to the songs he did not know at all. That was hilarious.

The night was winding down, and things were going well, but we decided to head out. on our way out- this super cute girl came in. She had one of those little hats on that kind of look like old school army hats, only hers was black, and she had this plaid jacket thing on- just a really cute girl. I tapped her arm, said excuse me and jsut told her, straight up, that she was unbelievably cute. she grabbed my arm and put her hand over her mouth and began to blush. I saidI had to go and she told me that i just made her night and that i should stay.

God damn car pools.

We got home and I played some games before finding my bed. Bed was good- but the nine million phone calls in the morning could have been avoided. Such is life.

“You can’t depend on the man who made the mess to clean it up.”

A new shirt! Gay Ron helped me pick this out, and i’m pretty pleased with it. It’s probably the most expensive short sleeved shirt i’ll ever buy, but hey- what can you do.

I wore it out last night and got a lot of compliments. And apparently everyone loves to touch the nipple buttons on that bad boy. Last night was a lot of fun, actually. I got to talk with some people about a lot of stuff, tried Afghani food for the first time (and loved it) and had a very enjoyable night.

A man who has not passed through the inferno of his passions, has not over come them.