My own best friend is my own worst enemy.

Cliche I know because this posts tittle coincides with that of a Blink 182 song, but I figured a few things out recently.

1) Friendship is completely arbitrary. Sure I have a few, but it now seems they are often gone due to travel, girlfriend sharing, and leaving the state for extended periods of time. Or, they too like me have become recluse. Or I no longer even try to call them to reconnect. Or I've been a really bad friend and terminated the friendship....this one happens the most often.

I've actually figured out that a man can only have so many friends. After they exceed X (the maximum amount of friends one can have), then they can't donate enough time and energy to foster a meaningful and fruitful relationship to continue on. And other friendships go by the wayside. So a man has "Best Friends" which are few in number, "Really Good Friends" which the number depends on how socially affluent one is, and "Friends" which are better than acquaintances, but they are seen with less intensity than the two former categories.

But, as you'll see with point number 2, i've decided to go in a little different direction with my life.

2)Having friends is messy, so I've decided to avoid it all together. I don't actually need friends. You see, I have myself, and I'm comfortable with that. Furthermore, people will always find a way to let you down. This is not true when the only person that you're counting on is yourself. So therefore I cannot let myself down, which is why becoming my own best friend is an outstanding idea.

If I need someone to go to a movie with, I just call myself up, and I'm always down for the trip. If I need someone to drink a beer with, then I ask myself, and Boom! Instant drinking buddy. I don't have to wait on time frames or alternative agendas, because I never have to wait on myself. When I'm good and ready to do something, I do it. Me and myself are so connected within our friendship that we always do what we want, when we want, and how we want without any unforeseen obstacles to our plan.

We really are perfect for each other. I like to stay up late and watch pointless TV, and so does myself. I like to go out and meander and stir the pot a bit, and so does myself. In fact, myself and I both happen to love Bacon. Also, a little known fact is the only person I can truly sit down and read a book with without interruption is.....you guessed it myself. It's perfect. We literally have everything in common and we enjoy doing everything together. Who needs friends when you have that? He finishes my sentences, and I for him. Myself and I are the ideal package for how two friends can compliment one another.

3)Okay as the tittle prefaced a little bit, I have found that I actually can't stand myself. We do terrible things together without any moral advice from an outside source. My bad judgment is his, and his is mine. We effortlessly get ourselves into pickles because of our completely subjective corroboration on everything that could potentially lead to our demise. When my best friend is myself, then there isn't much room for others anyway. That gets messy when people try to get between us.

In fact I have come up with a name for myself. I call him self-ish. Self-ish and I do bad things together. We don't tend to think of others except ourselves, and we certainly don't go out of our way to accommodate other friends. In fact, my friend self-ish makes me skip classes, avoid functions that are important to others, and significantly not contribute to the world around me. We are both spiteful and judgmental.....sometimes we are more like a gang with our mob mentality.

4)So I'm here stuck being besties with my buddy self-ish here, or myself, or Steve. Whatever you wanna call him. It's becoming tricky to distinguish the two of us now. We're a pretty inseparable pair. Though slowly but steadily, we are still managing to take over the world..... or at least create one of our own where we can flourish. I think the latter is more true. When you are best friends with yourself then you live in your own place where other people aren't really all that welcome. It kinda sucks but it just goes with the territory I guess.

So I think its time that myself and I either get a divorce and move on with our lives, or we completely throw caution to the wind and run away together. Tricky stuff I know. Either way I'm slowly figuring out that I'm always going to have to deal with myself. Whether it be through alimony payments or a beautiful marriage. One way or another were stuck together. For better or for worse. My best friend is my own worst enemy. Thanks Blink 182 for ruining this for all of us.

Friendless

I survived my birthday, but not by a lack of trying otherwise. It was slightly dangerous, and I can't thank anyone that was there enough for putting up with my ridiculousness. I would share more, but I'm not into that Tucker Max, I bring it harder than you crap.

So today I noticed that I had one less Facebook friend than I had yesterday, and frankly that pisses me off. I thought I was supposed to be the egotistical maniac that defriended people on a whim and not the other way around. The worst thing is that I'll never have any way of knowing who it was, unless of course they tell me. Then I'm going to beat them to death like that guy in Saw I did with the toilet bowl lid, except I'm going to use a keyboard, or maybe a shoe. Whatever is handy.

So who was this person? Why would they unfriend me? Are they someone I'd care about? Would I be proud if I was no longer associated with them on a web-based networking site? Were we close in person? Is there a reason why they did this, or did they just completely delete their profile so they could delete any evidence of a sketchy past to get a good job? Who was their favorite character on Entourage? If it was a girl, was it over something I said? Did you know that I've written this entire paragraph in interrogative form?

Anyway, that person can eat shit and die in a trashcan. Unless they did it by mistake, and in that case I'll forgive them....maybe. Totally depends on their opinion of Emmanuelle Chriqui.

Okay so its not a big deal. Really its not. I'm going to get over it. Like quickly. Screw them anyway.

But how could they do that to ME? Me of all people? I mean as a kid the White Ranger was my favorite! I'm a functioning definition of cool. People just suck, and apparently some can't see authentic value in true friendship. I would have totally been a really good Facebook friend to them if I knew who it was. We could have had that modem to modem connection that I soooo long for! Man! Their loss I guess. Selfish people just looking out for themselves, and what they need in a friendship. Didn't even for a second think about me and my needs, my need for internet bonding.

Whatever. I'm not really mad about it. But if anyone finds out about who it was, please tell me who it is, but don't tell anyone else. I just don't want to go to jail for the whole keyboard thing.

Aftermath Pt. 2 Keep a Good Thing Running

Yeah Buddy. It's 1:24am on a typical Wednesday night. It's raining still yet again for the third straight day. I'm supposed to be writing a paper for some Political Science class. I'm not in the mood for that kind of writing tonight. So I sat down and thought about writing some other things.

Nope, nope and nope. Not happening. My fingers could not even begin to try and click keys in a form that transfer my thoughts onto the blank screen in front of me.

So I had an AHA! moment. This thing. This old blog. The one that got me a job writing for the school newspaper and saved my life that one lonely summer.

So here we are, you and I. Time's flown by since I last visited. And just to alleviate any worries you might have, I'm still kicking ass. Can't hold me back, no sir-ree. I think I'm coming back to this nasty habit for the time being. But I'm not telling anyone this time. I'm just going to let it all hang free and let my adventures become inspiration for all the rando lunatics that stumble on this on their never ending quest for free porn.

I haven't forgotten the rush this somehow gives me. And hopefully I'll come back with a little vengance. I turn 22 in two days, and let's be serious, considering the shit I've pulled in my lifetime, I count that as a moral victory. By the Grace of God, There Go I.

Last year on my 21st I spent the days at the Austin City Limits Festival, and the nights on 6th street. I can't beat that this year, but there is no telling what is lurching for me behind the corner. As long as I don't spend my birthday drinking Scotch by myself reading "Catcher in the Rye" I think I'll be fine. On the other side of that, as long as I don't spend it blindingly naked and throwing up on myself at the Brazos County Detention Center I think that will rule too. At this point what I'm looking at seems to be a warm intermediary--something that will fill my void for reckless, tactless uncultered fun and continually nurtures my inate will to live and be free. Like getting into a birthday cake fight with a bunch of oriental hookers. We'll see what happens.

The point is that the kid is back. Who knows for how long, but we're just gonna have to ride this wave together.

The Aftermath

I'm alive and in Texas. I lived through the summer, and was able to capture a little bit of it to share with the world, and no, stop your comparisons to Anne Frank, I'm not that big of a deal. Yet. (Ha, just look at that. Yet - is a funny word when it's all by itself, but you normally never notice it. Yet.) Anyway, at the conclusion of this summer, in regard to all that I have experienced, said, and done, several things have become awe apparent to me and predictably I'm now going to write about them.

First, there aren't as many people as I would like to imagine reading this blog. I personally made my two roommates, mom, and two brothers read it, so they don't count. But for the other five or six of you plus the occasional straggler who stumbles upon this site; thank you for anonymously taking part in my tantrums and unsettling moments of poor self-esteem. Just the thought that someone out there actually cares enough about my life to spend part of their day reading about it, totally boosts my narcissistic attitudes to levels unmeasurable by even Barrack Obama's standards. But I write this for me, because at the time I really needed it. So maybe now I can look back and realize: "Wow, what a total lack of rational judgement to publicly advertise how much of a dildo you have become. That is depressing stuff no one should ever know under any circumstances, and yet (there it is again) you celebrated it so now everyone else can think you're a dildo too. You either have giant balls, or a complete lack of neural activity by leaving your life open to speculation and ridicule." Well friends, for the time being, I think I have giant balls. I was so detached from civilization that I had to reach back out somehow. I can only hope you appreciated my efforts as much as I enjoyed embarrassing myself.

Secondly, I had way too cool of a summer job not to tell the whole world about it. While you spent your days wishing your were dead as you stared at a computer screen full of spreadsheets and pointless junk mail to pass the time, I was proudly triumphing over death, paralyzation, and the fierce elements of summer. And I probably made more money than you did. Sure I took a complete dive off the grid while you went out and had an awesome time back home, but I would probably do it all over again if given the chance. Well, maybe not. But I still got to do some way cooler shit that you ever will. I'll get my fair share of spreadsheets throughout the course of my lifetime; but will you ever get to work on tall towers in the wilderness, admiring God's beautiful creation manifested in mountains, lakes, sunsets, bears, and the human creation of C4 explosives? You paced your days by only the occasional business call and the ever present ticking of some clock. I paced my days between the ground shaking and ear shattering booms from a high explosive ordinance testing facility. Beat that.

Thirdly, well I actually lost focus on what I'm trying to accomplish by writing all of this nonsense. I started out with this great inspirational list of reasons to justify my disclosures in this blog, but I think I lost some steam.

Anyway, I lived a pretty cool life this summer, and I guess I was just afraid that if I tried to come back and tell people about it, they would call me a liar because how could anything cool, adventurous, or exciting ever evolve out of New Jersey? So I decided to capture it in writing and pictures and share it with the world, or really only the hand full of people actually reading this. My only regret is that I didn't start doing this sooner.

So if this is your first time on my page, start back at my first post and read them upward in order. You will get a picture of a half-crazed man immersed in a bizarre world, with only his own thoughts to keep him company. And frankly, I think it is pretty entertaining. Hopefully I'll regain my sanity and my street cred back from all my friends whom I've exposed myself as a helpless lunatic to, and continue to live a very fulfilling life. In the meantime, maybe you'll learn something about living a life on the edge. Maybe you'll now appreciate me more for the turmoil I put myself through. Maybe you can give me the name of a reliable counselor I can now visit. Maybe you'll live vicariously through my stories and be jealous of me (and that's a pretty big maybe). Maybe you'll think I'm cool for having a blog. Or maybe you'll think I'm a giant dildo. Either way, I don't really care. I put it all out there for the world to judge so I hope you get a few laughs out of it.

I just want everyone to know I made it out alright. The mental anguish is now over. And I'm a much better person for doing it all with a smile on my face. Party Balls.

Ode to the Birth State of Jon Bon Jovi

I'm feeling creative. Here's a poem for your reading entertainment because let's face it, I really have nothing better to do.

New Jersey sucks ass
It bites giant willy
I don't mean to be crass
But leaving home was silly

Now I'm stuck here
With a few days to go
Filled with a trembeling fear
That the bombs may just blow

I may never make it back
A life ending in vain
Fearing the squirrells may attack
I'm going insane

Friends back home having fun
While I have none at all
My skin gets burned by the sun
How about a fucking phone call?

Though I plan to perservere
Fate may say "No"
Your prayers may be sincere
But I may die tomorrow

So I say in closing
Before I turn out my light
My mind I may be losing
But I'm not going down without a fight

There's more where that came from.... well lets hope not. Because that sucked. I'm sorry but blogging is addicting, and I've used up my self alotted space for self loathing so I needed a little filler. I may yet make it back to Texas, but I can always say I lost my mind in New Jersey. If Mahmoud Ahmadinejad ever decideds to fling a nuke off our way, I hope this dreadful place gets hit first.

August 12, 2008 - The Day Steve Went Off the Reservation for Good.

Consider this a cry for help. I, a man flirting with his wits end, have officially lost my mind. It's gone. Gone. Gone, gone.

I would compare myself with a marathon runner, who after 26.1 miles, mysteriously stops running, sits down, disrobes their person, goes ape shit, starts throwing those little tiny water cups at all of the race volunteers, fights back the police trying to restrain him with slurred versions of hay- makers, and inexplicably starts running in the wrong direction, naked, while screaming the words to Queens "I want to Break Free" as you people watch in shock. Well consider it a loose comparison, but now picture me: High up on some roof, the sun beating down hard on my skin, sunscreen burning at the open sores of the poison ivy wounds enshrining my forearms that refuse to heal, mosquito's feverishly trying to bite the preciously tender patch of skin behind my ears right below my hairline, my asbestos mask tightly digging at my scalp- twisting and pulling hairs all the while restricting my breathing to dull purrs of oxygen intake and exhalation, and me in my darkest time, curled in a ball, tears dripping onto the edges of my safety goggles, thinking terrible thoughts into the empty abyss that once was a seemingly brilliant mind, and proclaiming the words to "Jesus Loves Me" for all of the world to hear, if anyone but the vultures were actually listening. Yeah so you see well... maybe I should just stick to the marathon runner analogy. It's probably better for the both of us. There's probably not a need to relive these moments out here in the open but you know what they say-- "You really don't get to know someone until you read their personal blog about their pathetic life... and then you realize that "Oh my God you do actually know this person!" and it's embarrassing to all involved; so you sever the relationship, pray that no one could possibly ever link the two of you together, and hope for the best." .... or they say something to that affect anyway.

"But wait," you say, "Steve you only have to endure one more week of this trepidation, you can survive!" Good point I say, as I question your grammar usage of 'trepidation.' But, and yes there is a but, it's the count down of time that is chaffing at my existence. I am the man trapped in the desert for months, crawling his way to the ocean, only to find that the sand gets deeper and harder to scrape through once it unfolds into the beach, and once I arrive at the beach the vultures leave to make room for the seagulls- who still want to peck out my eyeballs! Maybe I've stopped making sense, because I just read that last analogy and well.... it doesn't really make sense. So because your confused, allow me to break it down for you.

Long summer in hell + loneliness + paranoia - total loss of self esteem * going back to Texas for a weekend and realizing your worst fear; the world is still spinning back home and people are having an awesome time without you there^3 + (1/2 ) - 16 * my breaking point * eleventeen thousand + five more days up here = You see where I'm coming from now, right? I've come so far, only to feel miles away. Or, 1,750 miles away actually.

I have a solution to relieve my anxious mind, and a great one at that, at lest it's fun to imagine. I've decided that upon returning home, I will travel to Mexico with full intentions of impregnating every women that I come into contact with (or that's at least willing to see me naked), and thus ensuring in fifteen years when my spawn are all grown and more than likely safely across the border, as is the trend these days, there will always be generations of my lineage back in Texas where it belongs. That way, no matter where I lay my head to rue my mortality, there will at least be some version of me back home in Texas where I truly belong. If you ever happen to inhale as much pesticide, asbestos, and yankee oxygen as I have this summer, then maybe this logic will be made clear to you as well. Until then, pray that my dingus doesn't rot off as I labor into the finer aspects of my ploy. (sorry Mom, gross image I know, and Dad, stop smiling).

I'm tired of being here. I miss everyone. Everyone! Yeah even those people who I've probably met only once, but were creepy enough to go ahead and add me on facebook; and now when we pass each other in the hallways at school it's pretty awkward because we haven't spoken since our initial meeting; like sometimes we say hi, and other times we pretend not to notice each other and duck our heads or pretend to tie our shoes (it's really awkward when we both pretend to tie our shoes at the same time, because that's my thing and you should get your own evasive maneuver) but they still got the link to this blog, are reading it now, and now you know me better, but I still really don't know you. Yeah well at least have piece of mind in knowing that I miss you.

Thats it. I've lost it completely. I'm now officially trying to communicate with facebook acquaintances through this shitty blog. I'm not sure whether it's better to judge the ineptitude of my life in person, or by reading this. Because when I read back through these things, I even think I must be crazy. Am I crazy? I must be crazy? Do you think I'm crazy? Never mind, these rhetorical questions only open up old wounds that may have healed in the past five minutes of venting, and I think you get the idea anyway.

I have so much more to say, but then again I'm running out of new material and I inevitably am going to get bored tomorrow and resort back to this, so in my best interest I'll leave you with this knowledge; these next five days will be an eternity, not just in dog years either. I can barely take it. Can you tell? So when you see me next, if you do at all because who knows I may actually like impregnating women with loose morals in Mexico, please pretend you missed me half as bad as I've missed you.

Here's a picture in closure: proving that no matter where you are, life can still be beautiful. (And no, I'm not talking about myself this time, check the background.)

Gravity?

Sometimes when I'm up on a roof I can't help but let my mind drift, and inevitably almost every single time it pulls me to the same conclusion. I think I'm going to jump. And then I want to do it really really badly, so badly that I migrate over to the edge and stand there, looking down at the ground, measuring the distance of the fall, and trying to convince me legs to just take one big hop. It won't hurt I tell myself. Bullshit yeah it might I tell myself right back. And then, almost every time this happens, I take two steps back, sit on the peak, and pout my life away. And I don't have to jump, maybe I could just step off, or pretend to fall and simply roll off; those wouldn't be bad ideas, but my body simply won't let me do it.

You see, it's not the jumping part that concerns me, I can do that no problem, it's the question of; what happens next that bothers me? Wait, maybe I'm painting the wrong picture here, allow me to back track. I think I may have convinced myself that I may be the only man alive who can fly! It would be so freaking cool! I just have to test my hypothesis thats all, and what better way than to take a dive from a few stories up? I have to know, I just have to, so I think I might just muster up the courage and take the leap to find out for certain. But I doubt I'll ever try, because I'm a pussy, and that's why I pout.

Anyway these are pictures to remind you of why it's good for you, not to be me.




That's a sign reminding me of my impeding doom, and the other two are of me and my asbestos mask. Also a reminder of my impeding doom. Now you know why I wish I could fly out of here.