Things about me. Take notes.

My grandfather is a Freemason and I’m still waiting for this to affect me.

When I was five, I cried because Steve from Blue’s Clues left Blue’s Clues. I don’t remember why it hurt so good.

I mostly get emotional when I see people being good people, to other people. It happens often, so the only option I’m left with is to believe that most people are good people.

The only time I’ve ever driven was a go-cart in Florida for my tenth birthday vacation. I peaked then and there. Don’t ask me to do anything for you, unless it’s listening. Otherwise, I’m grossly underqualified to see to the completion of any task you might have for me.

In high-school, I had a teacher who had a very big mouth, and it was apparent when he spoke. His words were wet, and he smacked his lips and tongue around like he owned the place. It made me uncomfortable. I couldn’t take him seriously when he’d yell at other students because there was always an extra salivary syllable after each word. Directly after his class, I would walk straight home listening to Enka and smoke elephantine amounts of pot when I got there. It wasn’t ‘ol Smacky’s fault though. I got a B+.

My mom used to think I touched myself in the shower a lot, but actually I just had poor time management skills at six in the morning. Sorry…?

My friend once called me a poet because I knew what simile was. This is probably a direct consequence of that. 

I’m not proud of it, but when I was fifteen years old, I fingered my girlfriend in the back of her dad’s Ford Explorer while we were all at a drive-in theater in Pueblo, Colorado. The kind where they pipe the audio through your car’s stereo system, until everybody’s cars sync up to create a hysterically amplified, sonic borg large enough to be heard in the next town over. 

Her parents were twelve feet away from us focused on the screen with an unyielding zeal and attention, the likes of which I have never witnessed before, and we were probably horny. Teenagers are gross. It was an Adam Sandler movie, and I’m fairly certain that was the bigger of the two sins going on at the moment. When the movie was finished, her parents apologized because the movie had a lot of curse words and sexual innuendos in it that they weren’t prepared for. My girlfriend and I choked the ironic laughter down like she asks me to choke her in the bedroom. Teenagers are gross.

I took gymnastics for a second, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter.

One time, I went to that same girlfriend’s-Godfamily-Step-Aunt’s wedding and I think it sucked kinda…? I was there for the whole thing. I stayed for reception too, and stole the Goodie-Bags of candy off of the tables of the guests that didn’t arrive, and gave it to the many children in exchange for them not making fun of my long hair. Those cruel little bastards had me running a prison-protection economy, where I would trade the goods (i.e. candy, in place of the usual pack of cigarettes or porno mag) for my own safety (i.e. my self-esteem, in place of the usual prevention of a shanking, or shower-sodomy-session.) 

I still don’t remember who was getting married. I just clapped when other people started clapping as a chick in a dress walked in holding the hand of a bald-guy with a soul patch, wearing a tuxedo that had purple on it somewhere. Lowkey, I was fantasizing that I was just attending Howie Mandel’s modest, under-the-radar wedding in Colorado Springs. Maybe then I could consider myself lucky. My girlfriend wasn’t aware of that fantasy of mine. She wouldn’t have laughed anyways. Maybe she would’ve, I don’t fucking know.

There was a local newscaster there playing the role of the Master of Ceremonies, and his voice was nice. He had a rich, deep baritone. 

Something had to be done about the anxious, lonely boredom that was welling up inside of me, painfully lumping behind the wall of my throat, like when you force yourself not to cry. 

You know, that feeling of there being a bird trapped inside your larynx, waiting to escape the moment you give those muscles permission to collapse. I wanted to cry there. 

It wanted me to cry.

So I took initiative, and distracted myself. I walked up to the local newscaster (which was pretty much as close to fame as I’d ever been at the time) and said to him, 

“I think you’ve told me the weather a couple of times.”

He replied,

“Yeah, I think so too.”

I nodded and said, 

“Thanx.”

You could tell I said it with an ‘X’ because I do a great impression of myself acting hip in front of strangers.

He concluded with,

“Alright.”, and smiled like he had rehearsed this awkward transaction that meant so much to me for no reason. 

That’s when I realized

he was the only friend I had there.

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