Do you ever dream about car crashes? Not other people crashing, but yourself? You watching the 18-wheeler pulling up alongside you in your rear view, seeing it in your blind spot out of the corner of your eye, hearing the thunder of it's wheels as they spit up gravel and roll along the pavement. You pulling the wheel hard to the right and swerving right under its rear wheels, watching the hood collapse under the weight and feeling the pulse of the engine and pistons collapsing and watching the windshield implode and shards of glass everywhere and the windows exploding outward and the tires bursting and then flipping, rolling, airbags exploding and heat and metal tearing apart and flipping outward in this great movie trailer quality crash and feeling every shake and knowing just knowing that you might not make it and feeling pieces of metal or glass or plastic pierce your skin and your seatbelt cutting off your oxygen as your heart beats faster and faster and finally, anticlimactically slowing, metal on cement and shooting up sparks as your car slows, upside down or on its side, wheels still spinning and fluid still pumping through the destroyed engine and the airbag now collapsed but the heat still on your face. Maybe you make it. Maybe you don't. The police and ambulances and fire trucks show up and traffic stops as people drive by, craning their necks to see if maybe you're ok and it's all a waste or maybe there's a body laying in a heap on the side of the road and just for that glimpse the hour of backup was all worth it.

Yeah, me neither.

currently listening: plain white t's - hey there delilah


self obsession

One thing I've learned through this whole blogging thing is that everyone's a writer. Everyone's keeping their online journal, no matter the topic, hoping to get that big break from some publishing house writing them a fat check to have their book prominently displayed in Barnes & Nobles or Borders. Their own little screenplay produced by Miramax or Universal. Their memoirs (pronounced of course in the upper high class Massachusetts "mem-wah" style), propelling them to fame as the next Augusten Burroughs or Chuck Klosterman or whoever else is in style at the time.

I started writing as a catharsis. Worked a little bit on a book - fiction or truth, the lines all blurred in the middle somewhere. Truth is just the fiction you believe, anyway. But what could I possibly write about that would interest anyone besides myself? I could write about cutting until the scars don't go away or anxiety so bad that I can't sleep at night or drinking or having sex with girls who's names I never want to remember or True Love or the fact that True Love doesn't really exist, at least not in the sense of Lloyd Dobler standing in the rain playing Peter Gabriel or self obsession or self hatred or wearing jeans so expensive that you have to wear them in the shower to break them in and make them truly fit or listening to good music or how I never lived anywhere in my life for longer than two years at a time and then all of a sudden I'm living in Virginia and then all of a sudden I'm in college and then all of a sudden I'm graduating and wishing I never did and living across the world from my family and friends and anyone I ever held close to my heart and truly let in to see the real me or being broke and in debt and still spending money and wearing designer sunglasses or breaking down completely or almost dying in a car crash or existentialism or just anything in general. It all just seems so self-obsessed, nothing about my life really affects anyone else and writing about it won't change anyone else's life in the long run.

Is it weird that I'm counting down to being deployed? Not that I truly support the war over there or think it's not being utterly mismanaged on both sides of the aisle (which is fucked up that we even live in a country with so much freedom of thought and speech that we are forced to have only two sides to the aisle on every issue). I'm just hoping that the utter insanity of the situation over there will force my own sanity back into focus, build me back up from the breaking down and make me normal again. Or it will simply force me further down the spiral, down the rabbit's hole, completely shattering my sense of self and normality. Whatever.

currently listening: voxtrot - raised by wolves


meet virginia

Long time, no post. Been in the field for two weeks, then hopped on a plane heading back east to go to my mom's birthday party, mother's day bbq, and her 21st birthday. Head back to the island tomorrow morning. Wish I wasn't leaving.



Love is the worst feeling in the world.

It's like that first line, the bump in the bathroom stall at midnight to keep you going until last call. A sweet rush of adrenaline and pleasure, opening your eyes and dilating your pupils so you see colors and space and time in ways that you never thought possible. Speeding up your pulse. Every touch explodes in sensation. Every kiss an orgasm. Every look over the shoulder, every smile, every brush of hair tingling the nerves and rushing blood to the skin.

Then you crash.

Everything falls apart, you lose the sensation, you close your eyes again. Colors fade and dim. You numb. All you want is that rush again, that feeling in your veins and nerve endings. You can't sleep without the warm skin next to yours. You can't focus on work, on school, on getting out of bed in the morning without that quickened pulse. The glass isn't just half-empty, it's shattered on the floor, drops of water spreading across the tile.

Love songs brush past this fact. Love songs present it as butterflies and doves and singing from the trees and rose bushes and seagulls cawing over a romantic picnic on the beach. Love songs written by some anonymous person somewhere and sold to a record company and sang by a pretty face with a good image and a stylist and a publicist and a designer and a fragrance line sold in major department stores in every mall.

All I want is another white line right now.

dazed and confused

The ex got wasted last night and decided to message me. Most random conversation ever, full of mixed messages and confusing thoughts. She loves me, wants me to be her best friend, can't imagine living in a world where I'm not happy and living my dreams. She told me what my dream was. Her new boyfriend is honest and nice and would never cheat on her. Her dog shit on the rug. She met a girl who was the same major and also tried to kill herself once. She loves the world, loves everyone, but doesn't love herself. She's giving back all the jewelry I gave her. She went to bed. She got up. Some girl called her boyfriend four times tonight. That girl is a whore. She doesn't want me to die in Iraq. She would kill herself. She might marry her new boyfriend, but she says she says that about everyone because she's insecure. Her new boyfriend is cheating on her, she checked his phone, he was picking up some girl.

I was left dazed and confused. I still love her. Can't imagine being without her and would drop everything in my life if only I could be with her. Want to see her happy. Want her to love herself. Want to be with her forever. I didn't know what to say, didn't know how to respond, didn't know... well, anything. I was just sort of sitting in stunned silence during this whole conversation, feeling so out of touch and out of the loop and for once, not able to say anything to make it better. I wish I could just pour out all the words that I was thinking and feeling and just touch her hand and make all the problems go away and everything all right like it was before. The distance just builds up more and more every day for me, crushing the soul that I am so far away from everything and everyone and everyplace I love and cherish and care about and the things and people and places that make my soul happy. I don't want to be here.

currently listening: regina spektor - bartender



This weekend = trainwreck. Well, more like a 3 or 4 day span of time encompassing a weekend at some point.

Thursday was easy - pizza and pitchers at Magoo's, some good music (for the most part, get to that in one second), and a great Hawaii night. About the music - for some reason, someone played Iron & Wine's cover of "Such Great Heights" on the jukebox. At a college bar. On a Thursday night. While it is a good song (I do believe I prefer it to the Postal Service version, and it's one of the songs I had planned on playing at my wedding - yes, I had planned music for my wedding, is that gay or is that just romantic? Don't answer that.), I'm not sure it's "college bar on a loud drunken night" music. Maybe more "let's smoke a bowl and watch Garden State and cuddle on the couch until I fumble around with your jeans buttons and awkwardly grope your crotch" music. Moving on.

After Magoo's it was a quick trip over to a sports bar to meet some buddies - to be fair, no sports are actually playing on a Thursday night at 10PM in Hawaii (4AM to you East Coast folks), but they had a cover band that a friend of mine is in love with (well, to be fair, she's trying to fuck the lead singer, this guy who kind of looks like a clown without makeup). A few cheers of "let's go Hokies" from various bar folks (I was rocking the Blacksburg shirt for about the 4th day in a row), including a cute blond girl in a sarong named Lizbeth (or was it Elizabeth? Or what?) who smiled at me all night and yelled it several times but when I went to talk to her ran away to go flirt with the singer in the band. Musicians get all the girls, apparently. I hope he grasps his D-list Honolulu fame for the next few minutes, because I'm not sure it's so attractive to girls to be the lead singer in a cover band at an empty bar every Thursday night.

Friday was hangover time. Day off of work, too, which was nice. Popped about 20 Ibuprofen and I was back on track - just relaxed down on the beach (for about an hour, my friends were in town and both are pale redheads who apparently have much in common with vampires), then some good dinner downtown and a little bit of barhopping. I've now realized that I need to go out with cool couples more often - I could pound beers with my buddy, while his wife wandered the bar bumping into cute girls that I had expressed a "hey that girl's hot with all her friends and totally ignoring me" interest in and making it totally cool to talk to them. (I know this makes me sound like I have no "game" or "skillz" or whatever the kids are calling it these days, but honestly, it's more like "apparently just going up and saying hi my name is blank no longer works so well all the time".) Which led to a beautiful brunette with an amazing low cut top and high cut skirt to come over to the table and then go dance with me, at which point she made sure to tell me how she was from the Yay Area and her cousin was in love with me and had slapped my ass and she had a boyfriend who was a really good guy and didn't mind her dancing with other guys. Apparently dancing means "when you jokingly go low to the floor I'm going to throw my leg over your shoulder and thrust my lace-thong covered crotch into your face." I wasn't complaining. When we left, my buddy's wife got the girl's number to call her the next day, and then promptly closed her phone without saving it in a drunken mess. So no number saved, even as the girl was telling me how she loved her boyfriend and sucked on my neck. Awesome. I was tempted to post something on CL's "Missed Connections" board in a hungover haze until I realized that is sort of... sad. Honestly.

Saturday was Jack Johnson and others down in Waikiki. Carried a cooler about halfway across the city filled with beer, then proceeded to double fist them in a park outside the concert hall for 3 or so hours. Around 45 beers total. My parents showed up and hung out, I showed them not only a nice park view of Waikiki but also what a functioning blackout their son can be. I honestly don't remember walking into the concert, but apparently I was quite coherent at times, even so much that the beer vendors in the concert sold me more beer without asking if A) I was all right or B) I was alive. This meant that at some point during Eddie Vedder's set I was curled up on the ground looking like I had cerebral palsy while texting all my friends that "paarl jam rocks" and then repeating what they wrote back to me. I don't know. I did sing along - a lot, so much so that I still don't have much of a voice. Even to songs that I have never heard nor know the words to. I also almost fell over a step several times (a step that I believe I created in my mind to justify not being able to stand up) and almost tackling my mom. After that I start remembering things again, then we headed off to a bar, where I drank a few more beers and took pictures with random girls because it was their birthday and took pictures of girls that I didn't know just to piss them off and sang along to Journey. Then someone in the group wanted to go to Denny's so we ate breakfast and stared at some girl's boobs in her low cut top, and my married buddy took a video of her with his video camera so we would remember it in the morning. His wife found this humorous, which means I need an awesome wife like that.

Surprisingly, Sunday I was not that hungover. I also didn't crawl out of bed until 1, or leave my house until approximately 4:30PM. We watched a lot of MTV, ate a lot of waffles and orange juice, and played a few games of Wii bowling. Luau at night, at which I'm sure I was entirely too antisocial, mostly because the last time I went to the luau was with her and it was one of the greatest nights of my entire life and this whole thing just reminded me too much of that. My folks understood though once I explained it, and they didn't push the point. Went to bed early - I wanted to go out drinking, but I don't think my body would be able to handle it. I was already teasing a sore throat and a cough and a general body ache, and another night of boozing my face off into oblivion would probably just push me over the edge.

So basically, an amazing weekend. Rereading this I realize just how good it really was, and just how much of the good stuff I probably was blacked out during. I also realize that I am a huge fan of run-on sentences and will use them for the rest of my life, despite the fact that I know better and always got A's in English class (even the one with the weird hippie professor who smelled kind of like patchouli oil and Old Spice aftershave).

currently listening: jack johnson - broken


we are virginia tech

One of my good buddies in college, Colin, was in the first classroom the gunman entered yesterday. Only 4 people in the classroom were able to walk out - the rest were dead or too wounded to move. He was shot 4 times - twice in the leg, once in the pelvis, and once in the shoulder. The shots shattered his femur, and he has to go into surgery to get a pin inserted to reattach the pieces. Luckily, the rest of the shots went right through and didn't cause any more massive damage.

32 dead, including a holocaust survivor who used his body to shield a doorway and save all of his students. One of the best engineering minds in the world. Freshmen who's only goal was to pass a class, eat lunch with their friends, and maybe play some beer pong and meet a cute guy/girl on the weekend. Seniors only weeks away from graduation, looking forward to the real world and the rest of their lives. People from every race and culture, every age and walk of life. We will prevail. We are all orange and maroon. We are Virginia Tech.


4 . 16 . 07

Today, we are all Hokies.

Keep them all in your thoughts and prayers.



My brain hurts, I overslept, and I'm sure I'm sweating sweet sweet Bud Light. It's all worth it sometimes though, even though the lack of sleep is going to kill me when I try to make it a repeat performance tonight (this time, featuring liquor!).

I'm also hungry. Breakfast would be delicious, as would pretty much anything to sit in my stomach next to the remaining beer, multi-vitamins, the many many motrins I took to try to feel better, and the bottle or more of water that I've been chugging (funny, I work in a medical office, but can't seem to find anyone willing to just stick me with an IV and make me feel all gooey inside).


april showers

Happy Easter everyone, hope the weather is nice where you are (hate to rub it in, but it's 77 degrees here and gorgeous out, possible beach weather).

So I found a place to live - right next to a golf course, across the street from a gorgeous beach. Affordable, in a gated community, and the perfect size for me and a roommate. Surprising how sometimes things just work out when you need them to, especially when you least expect it. I'll put up a pic or two when I get some good ones.

I went out on a date last night - after boozing my face off on Thursday, passing out all across town, and I believe throwing up for a solid four hours, I woke up on Friday with a girl's number in my phone that I barely remembered. The only thing I did remember was promising to take her to dinner at some point. So I called her, made plans, went to a five-star restaurant that's literally less than 5 minutes walking distance from my house, then went to a bar downtown for a few drinks and to hang out with her friends. Absolutely beautiful girl and a ton of fun to be with, too bad she's leaving the island in the next two weeks for a new job back on the mainland. Funny how these things always happen.

I hated thinking it (because it just makes me feel low), but when I got home, all I could think about was her and how much more fun she was than anyone else. Of course, at this point I've sort of got to move on, let her do her thing and me do mine, but that really doesn't make it any easier, I guess.

Hope everyone eats some chocolate today. I'm going to buy myself a few boxes of Peeps, the greatest Easter invention of all time, and pig out.

currently listening: william tell - young at heart


i just died in your arms tonight

So I get a phone call this morning that pretty much ripped my heart out and... well, did whatever it is to it that crushing phone calls due to normally-beating hearts. My brother's best friend from high school killed himself this morning. Great kid - I would even consider him one of my own friends, the kind of guy that could always just hang out and make you smile and forget your own problems. Always smiling, always happy. My brother just talked to him a few days ago, and his friend was planning on heading down to Nashville next weekend to hang out. So random, he didn't tell anybody, and the night before he was happy and playing beer pong like nothing is wrong.

It's hard - I'm the big brother, one of the people my brother turns to for support and to give him a shoulder to lean on (and cry on, if necessary). What do I say? What do I do? I'm so far away - I can't just run home for the weekend and talk to him or spend time with my family. All I can do is talk to him on the phone and hope the words that I say help him through this hard time. I just wish I knew the right words, the right actions, to make this easier to get through (obviously, it will never be easy - but at least something to comfort and support him).

I have experience with this situation - my junior year of college, one of my fraternity brothers killed himself. It was so hard for all the brothers - I remember the meeting the night we all found out, and there were a lot of frat boys sitting on the front porch of the house hugging and crying that night. The night before he did it, he was smiling and happy, partying with all of us like always. Again, the kind of guy that would go out of his way to help a brother, would drop everything to cheer someone up or be there when needed. And then the next minute, gone. I didn't go to the funeral - I made up an excuse for that weekend and stayed in my room, out of sight. It hurt too much. How do you go to a funeral for someone who's only 20 years old? How do you watch them bury someone who had made you laugh and smile so much? I regret it to this day though. I regret not going, not showing the support, not at least seeing the brothers and the family and just... being there, when everyone else was going through the hard time. It feels so cowardly now.

It throws into sharp relief my own feelings - since I've been out here, I've gone through periods of sharp depression. I've had panic attacks, I've seen a therapist, I've cut my arms and bear the scars. I kept razor blades in my top drawer of my desk for a long time, just in case I was overwhelmed with the numbness that only the pain could kill. It was stupid and it was self destructive, but I didn't know how else to feel feelings at a time when I was so far away from anyone just to talk to, to reach out to. I had times when I would lay on the floor and honestly think about just getting it over with - but then I would see the picture of my family, or of her, and I would know how much it would affect them and how selfish it would be for me to do that. If I know what it feels like to lose someone close to you at such a young age, how could I ever force people I love to watch them bury me?

Then earlier this year, she cut herself so bad that she had to go to the hospital. In the past, she had cut herself because of depression, but this time was so bad that she eventually had to stop taking classes in school so she could go to a psych program full-time to hopefully help her through her depression. All I could do was watch from here, offer my support, and talk to her on the phone. All I wanted to do was quit going to work every fucking day, just get on a plane and fly home to her - hold her close and never let her go. It was so hard to pretend to care at work, pretend to be a leader and strong and know what I was doing, when inside I was falling apart day by day knowing there was nothing I could do. It hurt more than when I was depressed, because I love her too much (more than I could ever think about myself) to just watch her break down in this way. I don't think I could lose her - I had dreams of being at her funeral, being there when they buried her, and I just would break down in my sleep, waking up to a soaked pillow, curled up into a fetal position clutching at the comforter, wishing she was there so I could hold her and be strong for her.

Sorry if this got all emo and what not. I swear, I'm totally cool - I don't even wear black. Just had a lot on my mind the past few days - I've been planning on posting some of this, and then the events of today just sort of broke through the mist and I had to put up at least some of this. Being able to write it down and let it out is like therapy - even if there's no response, and no one reads it, it just lets me get the feelings and emotions and thoughts out. Every little bit helps.

currently listening: of montreal - the past is a grotesque animal


o valencia!

I haven't had sex in three months. Now this may sound like a short time to some (mostly those with Rogaine and Viagra prescriptions), but this seems like a lifetime. I mean, not a lifetime like the 17 years I spent in my prepubescent years as a virginal youth, innocent of mind and body. But a lifetime like "oh yeah I have this wonderful girlfriend who loves me who I want to marry but happens to live six (or is it five? daylight savings time always throws me off) time zones away and oh yeah was supposed to fly out on April 4 but who knows what's going on with us right now and is she really coming or not?" Honestly, can anyone answer this? I think we're broken up. I think she's seeing some other guy. It makes my head hurt.

(Don't worry, I'm not going to become some Carrie Bradshaw-influenced blogger, professing his love for sex with multiple partners in the same breath as Manolo Blahnik pumps. Besides, I'm a guy.)

I head home Sunday from the big island. Arrive approximately 6 at night, get home from work-related issues approximately 8 or 8:30. Shower, change, etc. by around 9:15. Have to be at work at 6AM the next morning. That gives me roughly 8 hours (minus travel time) to eat dinner, drink copious amounts of alcohol, make a drunken fool of myself at some downtrodden (and tourist-infested) Waikiki bar, then sober up and show up to work the next day clean and shaven. After a month out here with no time off and effective 24-hour shifts, I need it. Now the question is of who I can convince to go out with me on a Sunday night. Being responsible is totally lame.

(Also of note today: that pesky Kim Kardashian sex video came out today. I've somehow managed to download the second half, while missing the plot and character development of the first half. Is Kim K truly a Superstar? Is Ray J a black angel sent from heaven to rescue her from Paris Hilton and bring the world to Kim K's feet? Only the first half of the video will tell.)

(Second sidenote: while checking through my Facebook stalker-feed, I noticed that my brother is now apparently in a relationship with a high schooler. Yes, I still use Facebook, but that's beside the point. He's like, a sophomore in college. She's a high school senior. Yes, she's cute, but is there any good way of justifying being in a relationship - long-distance, no less - with a high school girl while you're at that point in your life? Just wondering.)

currently listening: the decemberists - we both go down together



I need to move.

(Of course, I have needed to move back to the East Coast since I first stepped off the plane and onto the concourse at Honolulu International - Hawaii, great rock to visit, horrible to live - but in this case, I mean move within the confines of an approximate 40 x 40 square mile island.)

All three of my roommates decided that while I was on the big island for about a month, they would all move out. Without telling me. Fine, they're under no contract or lease or obligation - but isn't that kind of a dick move? I mean, I don't know everything, and I don't expect them to stand by me till the end, but... at least a text message? Maybe a few days before you move out? Or maybe I'm just overreacting. Who knows.

So I'm looking for an apartment, preferably somewhere not riddled with speed and crack addicts. And also somewhere affordable. And also somewhere clean enough that I wouldn't mind my folks stopping by to check it out. The three of which seem impossible to find in the same place. Oh yeah, and I'd like it not to be too far from where I live now, seeing as how I'm going to have to make several trips to get all my stuff to a new place. And in a good neighborhood. I'm so demanding.

I'm sure, this being my first post, I should be under some obligation to introduce myself and write some cute little paragraph about my life so far and my hopes and dreams and goals and what I do and where I go and all that. Eh. I like good music. I like good movies. I like good things. I sometimes bury my emotions, sometimes wear them on my sleeve. Everything good that seems to happen is inevitably followed by something bad. So here it is, a beginning, a start, an introduction. Take it or leave it.

currenty listening: matt costa - "ballad of miss kate"