College is a time when people tend to make great realizations about themselves. Students figure out where they're going in life, what they're good at, how much they can drink...I found out exactly how awkward I am. If you're wondering, the answer is VERY awkward.
In high school, I never had to face this most prominent part of my personality. I had a group of good friends and I never had to speak to anyone outside of that group. If I wasn't with them, I was at home where the only person I had to talk to was my bird. And she would take any attention she could get.
Once I got to college I realized that the social life that I loved in high school was about to go down the drain. No matter how much time I managed to spend with the few friends that came with me to college, I was still required to interact with other people. If you know me well enough, you'll know that that is probably the last thing I ever want to do next to wearing sweatpants and listening to Taylor Swift.
Even in the first days of college, I was faced with a roommate that I didn't really know. Sure, we had corresponded, but I'm super charming via Facebook and text message because those are crafts I have perfected. Plus, I can usually take as long as I want to come up with the perfect response. So needless to say there was a lot of awkward forced small-talk. I figured that would die down and things would be normal after a little while. I mean that's what happens with normal people, right? Not me. For a few months our room was filled with awkward small talk, then it all eventually faded into nothing. And the scared child inside of me was perfectly okay with that.
Then this year (last year too, but mostly this year unfortunately), I've been forced into social situations that I just have no idea how to navigate: parties. They always start out pretty good because I usually go there with my friends, then my heart drops and my mind starts racing. I don't know these people. What if they say something to me? I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't even know how to talk to people. Do they want to talk to me? What if they don't even want to talk to me? I guess that's okay...but that means there's something wrong with me. It's probably the fact that I'm standing in the most awkward place and not talking to anybody. Do they know what I'm thinking? Am I saying this out loud? Oh god. I should dance or something. I'll just check my phone. Oh. Nothing. All my friends are here. Facebook. Nothing. All my facebook friends are out being social and not on facebook. Uhhhh...
In the off chance that people do speak to me, I still can't avoid the awkward. I just don't even know how to respond to some things.
For example, I have no idea how to respond to "what's up?" I can't even explain my aversion to the phrase...it just triggers awkward. Usually I ignore it and pretend the person just said "hello" or something that I think a normal person should say.
Even if an exchange started off easily, with a simple "Hey! How are you?! It's so good to see you!" I usually have no idea where to go from there.
I guess I'm just doomed to a life of drink-sipping and phone-checking...
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Happy Endings
A friend of mine (Yes, I have friends. Well. Some.), who will remain nameless, recently said to me "You know, Al, college is the time when people are looking for the person they're going to spend the rest of their life with. Yep. So you should think about that."
If you know me at all you could probably guess that I didn't think about it much (you would definitely know that if you can tell who said it). But I did think about it later, probably when I should have been doing homework or something important like that.
The more I thought about it, the more I started to think about how stupid that is. Why should I be looking for forever in every single person I meet? I usually can't even remember people's names. Usually I dread seeing them ever again. I just don't think I should be wasting my college life looking for the person that I'm going to be stuck with for the rest of my life starting at age 19. And I consider myself a nice person, so I'm definitely not trying to cause anyone to suffer through being with me for that long. I'm not even sure I want to spend all those years with myself. Call me a romantic, but I would like to just let it happen. Maybe one day I'll meet someone who just won't leave me alone and we'll spend the rest of our lives together (this is most likely to happen with the aforementioned friend). Until then, why is it so bad to do whatever I want?
I, like other people of my generation, have been taught most of life's lessons through television. Sitcoms taught me that people rarely get married before their mid 30s. And these shows are still running, so the mother and the happy ending may not be found until the characters are in their forties. Or maybe never. And you know what? That's okay. And it's hilarious.
So if staying single for a few extra years (maybe my whole life) leads to the hilarity that occurs on the sitcoms I've been watching, bring it on. And by "bring it on," I mean that every person tryin' to spend the rest of his or her life with me needs to back off. Funny > Happy.
Despite all these feelings, there are a few people I would never turn down if they just said "hey. let's spend the rest of our lives together."
Here's a list of people that I would consider spending the rest of my life with (though some in a completely nonromantic, nonsexual way. I'll let you guess which ones those are), starting right now.
Chelsea Handler. Imagine the mean jokes.
Sofia Vergara. I could listen to that voice forever.
Some guy from my art class last semester. I never spoke to him. Who cares.
Kevin Jonas. And his wife too I guess.
Anyone who will buy me milkshakes and Cheese Nips.
Any kind of bird.
My denim jacket.
Heidi Klum.
Carrie Underwood.
Beyonce's baby.
A skeleton.
Mrs Lovett from Sweeney Todd. Corset and human meat pies? My kind of woman.
Brangelina.
Demi Lovato.
I would keep going but even getting that much was a stretch. All I could think about was my wardrobe.
If you know me at all you could probably guess that I didn't think about it much (you would definitely know that if you can tell who said it). But I did think about it later, probably when I should have been doing homework or something important like that.
The more I thought about it, the more I started to think about how stupid that is. Why should I be looking for forever in every single person I meet? I usually can't even remember people's names. Usually I dread seeing them ever again. I just don't think I should be wasting my college life looking for the person that I'm going to be stuck with for the rest of my life starting at age 19. And I consider myself a nice person, so I'm definitely not trying to cause anyone to suffer through being with me for that long. I'm not even sure I want to spend all those years with myself. Call me a romantic, but I would like to just let it happen. Maybe one day I'll meet someone who just won't leave me alone and we'll spend the rest of our lives together (this is most likely to happen with the aforementioned friend). Until then, why is it so bad to do whatever I want?
I, like other people of my generation, have been taught most of life's lessons through television. Sitcoms taught me that people rarely get married before their mid 30s. And these shows are still running, so the mother and the happy ending may not be found until the characters are in their forties. Or maybe never. And you know what? That's okay. And it's hilarious.
So if staying single for a few extra years (maybe my whole life) leads to the hilarity that occurs on the sitcoms I've been watching, bring it on. And by "bring it on," I mean that every person tryin' to spend the rest of his or her life with me needs to back off. Funny > Happy.
Despite all these feelings, there are a few people I would never turn down if they just said "hey. let's spend the rest of our lives together."
Here's a list of people that I would consider spending the rest of my life with (though some in a completely nonromantic, nonsexual way. I'll let you guess which ones those are), starting right now.
Chelsea Handler. Imagine the mean jokes.
Sofia Vergara. I could listen to that voice forever.
Some guy from my art class last semester. I never spoke to him. Who cares.
Kevin Jonas. And his wife too I guess.
Anyone who will buy me milkshakes and Cheese Nips.
Any kind of bird.
My denim jacket.
Heidi Klum.
Carrie Underwood.
Beyonce's baby.
A skeleton.
Mrs Lovett from Sweeney Todd. Corset and human meat pies? My kind of woman.
Brangelina.
Demi Lovato.
I would keep going but even getting that much was a stretch. All I could think about was my wardrobe.
Monday, October 10, 2011
I don't really hate midgets...
...okay maybe I do. More on that later.
It has recently been brought to my attention that I am a negative person. And by recently, I mean that I've been told this for 19 years and I'm just now choosing to acknowledge it. The only reason now is so special is because I just challenged myself to create a list of things I like and I couldn't think of anything that's not sitting on my desk. And this is just a bunch of shit. I don't even really like it. Well except for the Pepsi cans. I like Pepsi.
BUT as my dedicated readers (of which I'm probably the only one) know, I had no trouble compiling a list of things that I don't like. Newbs, go back to February and check it out.
So I sat down and I said to myself "Garret," (that's what I call myself) I says, "Garret, this is a real problem. Why are you so hateful?"
And after some serious conversation with myself, I came to a conclusion.
Happy and realistic just aren't funny. I can't control what goes on around me, but I can change how I see it and make the best of it. For example, I could look at a midget and feel bad for him. I could feel bad that his little arms probably can't reach above his head or around anyone else's body. I could feel bad that he's probably going to be mistaken for a football a few times in his short (get it?) little life. I could feel bad that no one is going to love him. But I choose not to see those horrible things. If I did, what kind of life would I live? That would be a sad, depressing life only lived by those who do not qualify as human beings (see example).
So when I see a little nugget waddling around, I do what's best for me and ultimately for the world: I make jokes. The way I see it, looking at life the way it is is just sad. And don't get me wrong, this doesn't just apply to midgets. Other common examples include the British, anyone who resembles a witch, lesbians and anyone wearing sweatpants in public.
So if I ever offend you, just know that I am working on making this world a happier place. Midgets, hop off your little pedestals and get over it.
It has recently been brought to my attention that I am a negative person. And by recently, I mean that I've been told this for 19 years and I'm just now choosing to acknowledge it. The only reason now is so special is because I just challenged myself to create a list of things I like and I couldn't think of anything that's not sitting on my desk. And this is just a bunch of shit. I don't even really like it. Well except for the Pepsi cans. I like Pepsi.
BUT as my dedicated readers (of which I'm probably the only one) know, I had no trouble compiling a list of things that I don't like. Newbs, go back to February and check it out.
So I sat down and I said to myself "Garret," (that's what I call myself) I says, "Garret, this is a real problem. Why are you so hateful?"
And after some serious conversation with myself, I came to a conclusion.
Happy and realistic just aren't funny. I can't control what goes on around me, but I can change how I see it and make the best of it. For example, I could look at a midget and feel bad for him. I could feel bad that his little arms probably can't reach above his head or around anyone else's body. I could feel bad that he's probably going to be mistaken for a football a few times in his short (get it?) little life. I could feel bad that no one is going to love him. But I choose not to see those horrible things. If I did, what kind of life would I live? That would be a sad, depressing life only lived by those who do not qualify as human beings (see example).
So when I see a little nugget waddling around, I do what's best for me and ultimately for the world: I make jokes. The way I see it, looking at life the way it is is just sad. And don't get me wrong, this doesn't just apply to midgets. Other common examples include the British, anyone who resembles a witch, lesbians and anyone wearing sweatpants in public.
So if I ever offend you, just know that I am working on making this world a happier place. Midgets, hop off your little pedestals and get over it.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
I could walk all the way to China!
Sometimes I just have too much energy. It's never at a convenient time, like, say, 8am when I have to get the fuck up and walk to class. Or at 11am when I'm only halfway through the day and I still have to run from one end of the earth to the other in less than ten minutes. Energy would be nice when I have three classes in a row in which most of my grade is based off of participation. (For any of you who were wondering, sleeping does not get you participation points. At least not at UNC.) Energy would even be nice at, like, supper time when I could go out and be social. But just like during my 8am walk and 11am run and all the classes in between, all I want to do is sleep.
But do I ever or have I EVER had all the energy I need at those times?
NO.
If I did, I probably wouldn't be writing this.
No, instead of having a normal amount of energy throughout the day like I would suspect a normal person would, mine comes in bursts. Like fucking supernova bursts. Usually around 11pm.
I sit around and do nothing all day because, well, I don't have the energy, but then when I SHOULD be winding down and doing nothing, my body wants me to do cartwheels and jump out the window.
In fact, if you care enough to check, you'll notice that several of the posts to this blog were done after midnight. Every single one of those, including the existence of the blog itself can be attributed to what I'm experiencing RIGHT NOW. Tonight it came a little early, probably because I've been up since the crack of dawn and my internal clock is thrown off. I guess that happens when you go from sleeping into the late afternoon to waking up to get the worm.
I just can't handle myself. I don't know what to do. Over the summer I would usually walk around my room (anyone who has been in my room can tell you that's not an easy task because it's ridiculously small and even more ridiculously cluttered) and then walk down the hall. Several times. I can't do that here because I live with other people who I don't think know how much of a freak I am and I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible.
So for now I'm going to roll back and forth in my desk chair, check my phone every five seconds, watch Jenna Marbles videos, clean my room, make my bed, eat something, stumble, draw a picture, write myself notes and tap my fingers. AT THE SAME TIME.
To my roommate: I'm sorry.
But do I ever or have I EVER had all the energy I need at those times?
NO.
If I did, I probably wouldn't be writing this.
No, instead of having a normal amount of energy throughout the day like I would suspect a normal person would, mine comes in bursts. Like fucking supernova bursts. Usually around 11pm.
I sit around and do nothing all day because, well, I don't have the energy, but then when I SHOULD be winding down and doing nothing, my body wants me to do cartwheels and jump out the window.
In fact, if you care enough to check, you'll notice that several of the posts to this blog were done after midnight. Every single one of those, including the existence of the blog itself can be attributed to what I'm experiencing RIGHT NOW. Tonight it came a little early, probably because I've been up since the crack of dawn and my internal clock is thrown off. I guess that happens when you go from sleeping into the late afternoon to waking up to get the worm.
I just can't handle myself. I don't know what to do. Over the summer I would usually walk around my room (anyone who has been in my room can tell you that's not an easy task because it's ridiculously small and even more ridiculously cluttered) and then walk down the hall. Several times. I can't do that here because I live with other people who I don't think know how much of a freak I am and I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible.
So for now I'm going to roll back and forth in my desk chair, check my phone every five seconds, watch Jenna Marbles videos, clean my room, make my bed, eat something, stumble, draw a picture, write myself notes and tap my fingers. AT THE SAME TIME.
To my roommate: I'm sorry.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Birthday Sex
So it's my birthday. It's also Halle Berry's birthday, Jay Manuel's birthday and apparently the day that Timothy McVeigh was sentenced to death. So hooray for us.
Thanks to modern technology and that kid from the Social Network, everyone on facebook can see that it's my birthday. And anyone who's anyone is wishing me a happy birthday, even people I don't know i.e. this one girl I've been facebook friends with forever and have never seen her nor heard anyone speak her name. Lord knows I love all this attention, but as I get older, the multiple well-wishers seem to blend together and I'm faced with a dilemma. In years prior, there would be a new notification for each wall post, so I would get notifications into the seventies if I went without checking it for more than a minute. Now all the notifications are crammed into one, so as I just logged on, I only had seven notifications. It was kind of upsetting.
But that's not the dilemma.
The dilemma that I face every year is what to do about these wall posts. I personally like when people thank me for wishing them a happy birthday, but if I commented on every wall post and said "thank you!" it would eventually get old and seem insincere. And kind of pathetic, like I didn't have anything better to do on my birthday. Obviously I don't, but that's beside the point. I mean of course I'm grateful for all the well-wishing. Who wouldn't be?
I could just post a status at the end of the day saying "Thanks everyone!" or some shit like that, but that seems even less sincere. The easiest option would be to "like" every wall post, but I've always seen that as a dick move.
I'm thinking about only commenting on/liking the ones that I feel deserve it.
Who am I kidding anyway? I don't really care about how people feel.
Thanks to modern technology and that kid from the Social Network, everyone on facebook can see that it's my birthday. And anyone who's anyone is wishing me a happy birthday, even people I don't know i.e. this one girl I've been facebook friends with forever and have never seen her nor heard anyone speak her name. Lord knows I love all this attention, but as I get older, the multiple well-wishers seem to blend together and I'm faced with a dilemma. In years prior, there would be a new notification for each wall post, so I would get notifications into the seventies if I went without checking it for more than a minute. Now all the notifications are crammed into one, so as I just logged on, I only had seven notifications. It was kind of upsetting.
But that's not the dilemma.
The dilemma that I face every year is what to do about these wall posts. I personally like when people thank me for wishing them a happy birthday, but if I commented on every wall post and said "thank you!" it would eventually get old and seem insincere. And kind of pathetic, like I didn't have anything better to do on my birthday. Obviously I don't, but that's beside the point. I mean of course I'm grateful for all the well-wishing. Who wouldn't be?
I could just post a status at the end of the day saying "Thanks everyone!" or some shit like that, but that seems even less sincere. The easiest option would be to "like" every wall post, but I've always seen that as a dick move.
I'm thinking about only commenting on/liking the ones that I feel deserve it.
Who am I kidding anyway? I don't really care about how people feel.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
I've decided what I want to do with my life.
This entry and all those posted under this are transplanted from my old blog. I decided to switch blog sites to start my professional blogging career. More information on that below...
Anyone that knows me should be able to tell you that the thing I want most in this thing we call life is to be famous. I've never known why, but something about people wanting to know what I'm doing every single day appeals to me. Some would say that I crave attention because of a lack of attention from my parents/other authority figures during my childhood. I say that's stupid, I just want to be Zac Efron.
I've slowly come to the realization that I don't have the talent to be as famous as I want to be. I often fantasize about getting my start on American Idol or the Disney Channel, then after being unfairly kicked off of American Idol after making the top 12 or my Disney show runs its course, breaking out into the world. I envy those people who start off with the wholesome image then get to do something dramatic to break out of it. Considering I'm about to turn nineteen, I think the Disney ship has sailed. Unfortunately, the American Idol yacht has been at sea for quite a while now, as I've never been able to sing.
After I accepted my talentless life and future as reality, I had to figure out another way to become famous. I could try to break into acting somewhere other than the Disney channel, but haven't the passion nor the hometown to do that. This revelation led me to my desire to be a journalist. First, I wanted to write for a newspaper as a career because I like to write and, I don't mean to brag, but I can write a mean research paper. That's all good and well, but where the hell would that get me? Ultimately I decided on broadcast journalism, because my face could be on tv and that would at least make me feel famous. Maybe even famous enough to get my memoir on the NYT bestseller list. I assume you have to be famous first to do that. I don't know how else writers get famous, except for that Patterson guy because he advertises his books on tv.
Anyone that knows me should be able to tell you that the thing I want most in this thing we call life is to be famous. I've never known why, but something about people wanting to know what I'm doing every single day appeals to me. Some would say that I crave attention because of a lack of attention from my parents/other authority figures during my childhood. I say that's stupid, I just want to be Zac Efron.
I've slowly come to the realization that I don't have the talent to be as famous as I want to be. I often fantasize about getting my start on American Idol or the Disney Channel, then after being unfairly kicked off of American Idol after making the top 12 or my Disney show runs its course, breaking out into the world. I envy those people who start off with the wholesome image then get to do something dramatic to break out of it. Considering I'm about to turn nineteen, I think the Disney ship has sailed. Unfortunately, the American Idol yacht has been at sea for quite a while now, as I've never been able to sing.
After I accepted my talentless life and future as reality, I had to figure out another way to become famous. I could try to break into acting somewhere other than the Disney channel, but haven't the passion nor the hometown to do that. This revelation led me to my desire to be a journalist. First, I wanted to write for a newspaper as a career because I like to write and, I don't mean to brag, but I can write a mean research paper. That's all good and well, but where the hell would that get me? Ultimately I decided on broadcast journalism, because my face could be on tv and that would at least make me feel famous. Maybe even famous enough to get my memoir on the NYT bestseller list. I assume you have to be famous first to do that. I don't know how else writers get famous, except for that Patterson guy because he advertises his books on tv.
Even more recently, I have been reading (wtf?) Tucker Max's books and watching every Jenna Marbles video ever posted. These are two people that I really identify with and I could definitely see myself living their lives. How did they get their lives? I don't fucking know, but they're famous. I know Tucker is rich and I'm sure Jenna gets some money from youtube advertisers or something. Tucker made a website, got a book deal. Marbles posts one video and blows up.
I could totally do that. I personally think my twitter is already celebrity-rate stuff and I'm sure I could come up with something to write a book about. It sure wouldn't be about my sad life, but I think I have a vivid enough imagination. So I've set my sights on becoming an internet celebrity. I'm not sure yet how to get so much exposure, but it's going to happen. Just you wait.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Beyonce: You showed your ass and I saw the real you.
I'm tired of people gushing over Beyonce.
Okay, she's pretty and can sing/scream fairly well. But I'm over the fake-nice she always has going on. She seems so sweet in interviews that people completely overlook how trashy she has become. And not only are her music videos getting trashier, each single is sucking more than the last.
Video example one: "Why Don't You Love Me?"
Not the classiest lyrics ("I've got beauty. I've got class. I've got style and I've got ass"), but I'll hand it to her: she didn't write this song. (Her sister did. Maybe trashy runs in the family) She could have made a fun video, but she decides to romp around with no pants (surprise), stilettos (not complaining) and smoking cigarettes and drinking.
Video example two: Her newest, "Best Thing I Never Had."
First of all, the song is horrible. It's just not catchy and the lyrics are anything but creative or subtle. My favorite: "you showed your ass and I saw the real you." The song seemed like a calm enough ballad, though, so I assumed we'd get a heartfelt video full of emotion. Wrong. We got Beyonce in see-through lingerie. Classy? Never.
ONE more thing about this video: she used (what we're to assume is) real footage of a boyfriend that "showed his ass." That's just bitchy and not in the least bit classy.
PS I've heard her say in several interviews that she doesn't curse.
Final video example: "Irreplaceable," probably one of the songs that made Beyonce such a huge star. The song was catchy and sassy enough, but did anyone else notice the oddly-placed bra and curlers (I guess that's what they're called)? Okay, you're mad at this guy for cheating on you. So you sneak off into the attic and take your shirt off?
Not only are her videos trashy, but I've come to realize that her lyrics are as well. I don't know that she writes all her lyrics, but she still sings them.
Lyrics example one: "Video phone." The entire song.
Lyrics example two: "Kitty Kat." This song, while obviously trashy, had a cute metaphor that was completely shattered and littered with trash when she muttered "your sex ain't all that."
Lyrics example three: Her ill-received attempt at a second single "1+1." Now I haven't heard this song, but, unfortunately, I saw the end of her performance on American Idol a few months ago in which she shouted "Make love to me! Make love to me!" Uhh, that's a family show, B.
As much as I want to, I cannot hate everything and everyone that Beyonce is. I was a very big Beyonce fan up until I heard "Run the World." That's a stupid song and I can only assume that the rest of that album is horrible.
It's not the fact that she is trashy that bothers me. I have no problem with Ke$ha. It's the fact that she acts like she's not trashy that bothers me.
So I will continue to support classic Beyonce/Sasha Fierce but I refuse to sit through her lies any longer.
Oh, and there's this...
Okay, she's pretty and can sing/scream fairly well. But I'm over the fake-nice she always has going on. She seems so sweet in interviews that people completely overlook how trashy she has become. And not only are her music videos getting trashier, each single is sucking more than the last.
Video example one: "Why Don't You Love Me?"
Not the classiest lyrics ("I've got beauty. I've got class. I've got style and I've got ass"), but I'll hand it to her: she didn't write this song. (Her sister did. Maybe trashy runs in the family) She could have made a fun video, but she decides to romp around with no pants (surprise), stilettos (not complaining) and smoking cigarettes and drinking.
Video example two: Her newest, "Best Thing I Never Had."
First of all, the song is horrible. It's just not catchy and the lyrics are anything but creative or subtle. My favorite: "you showed your ass and I saw the real you." The song seemed like a calm enough ballad, though, so I assumed we'd get a heartfelt video full of emotion. Wrong. We got Beyonce in see-through lingerie. Classy? Never.
ONE more thing about this video: she used (what we're to assume is) real footage of a boyfriend that "showed his ass." That's just bitchy and not in the least bit classy.
PS I've heard her say in several interviews that she doesn't curse.
Final video example: "Irreplaceable," probably one of the songs that made Beyonce such a huge star. The song was catchy and sassy enough, but did anyone else notice the oddly-placed bra and curlers (I guess that's what they're called)? Okay, you're mad at this guy for cheating on you. So you sneak off into the attic and take your shirt off?
Not only are her videos trashy, but I've come to realize that her lyrics are as well. I don't know that she writes all her lyrics, but she still sings them.
Lyrics example one: "Video phone." The entire song.
Lyrics example two: "Kitty Kat." This song, while obviously trashy, had a cute metaphor that was completely shattered and littered with trash when she muttered "your sex ain't all that."
Lyrics example three: Her ill-received attempt at a second single "1+1." Now I haven't heard this song, but, unfortunately, I saw the end of her performance on American Idol a few months ago in which she shouted "Make love to me! Make love to me!" Uhh, that's a family show, B.
As much as I want to, I cannot hate everything and everyone that Beyonce is. I was a very big Beyonce fan up until I heard "Run the World." That's a stupid song and I can only assume that the rest of that album is horrible.
It's not the fact that she is trashy that bothers me. I have no problem with Ke$ha. It's the fact that she acts like she's not trashy that bothers me.
So I will continue to support classic Beyonce/Sasha Fierce but I refuse to sit through her lies any longer.
Oh, and there's this...
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