Funsies. Nostalgia. Crazies.
I've got a joke for you.
Where I cannot muster the gumption to substantiate my English (Fun Fact: The first thing that came out was "Ensligh." I should have kept it in for kicks.) Paper from the realm of Theory and Conjecture into the corporeal realm of Hard Copy So Eric Can Go To Sleep, I somehow feel the burning desire (this time not in the urethra!) to update this motherfucker. Such is my dedication to you anonymous masses. "Masses"? I take my liberties too freely, sometimes.
For funsies, here's what I have written of my paper so far:
See that vast, blank space in between the temporary "outline" and the (lovingly-crafted) title, "TITLE TITLE TITLE TITLE TITLE"? Yeah, that will soon be filled with refined and uncut AWESOME.
Despite having 150% of the typical weekend, it breezed by all too quickly. Tom made it across the continent (What's that now, four trans-America drives now? Or six?) and took a brief pit stop in the LA area before heading to Berkeley to become a prostitute. Or intern for some laboratory or something. I didn't really listen closely. (We're all hoping for the prostitution, though.)
In any case, it was good getting to kick it with him for the first time in a long while. Like I was telling him (while he was a little intoxicated, I think) on the way back from (wack-ass) San Diego for (equally wack-ass) Muni's birthday, I honestly don't give a shit for anything in all of Santa Clarita. I suppose I rather enjoyed the scent of jasmine on my street that signified summertime. But there are delicious pockets of the very same aroma on campus (I won't tell you where. Nostalgia is in short supply round these parts.), so I don't even need to go back for that unless I get a case of the brain-worms again.
The only thing I really miss are a select handful of people from that (sprawling, suburban wasteland of a) context. I won't waste my breath (fingertips?) enumerating exactly to whom I refer, but you motherfuckers are priceless. Here's hoping some of you are reading this. Don't get me wrong, fuck high school. But I miss having (most of :D) you people around. Here's hoping there's something left in Jeff after he comes back from Mormon Re-Education in Paraguay. I suppose I'd settle for the crazy eyes of anger. Rumor has it that those things were crazy. And anger-related.
Re-reading what I've just written, I kind of want to shoot myself for the fucking nostalgia. Since when is the internet about feeling good? The past should stay in the cold, cold ground.
Whatever, it's not worth the effort of editing.
San Diego was a big fucking bust. The part we were in wasn't even San Diego in the strictest sense of the term. It was some horrible suburban blight that attached itself to the ass of San Diego. I swear to god, it was like Santa Clarita. Only more spread out. And with, ostensibly, more Bros in trucks. It felt good to drink that douchebag's good beer. I mean, put the Newcastle and Blue Moon with the Tecate, and guess what I'm gonna pick? Now get back to doing kegstands so we can all forget that you weren't even good enough to get into the frat. "Bro."
Hung out in Palos Verdes (henceforth known as "PV," because I can't get Diana's voice out of my head whenever I think those letters) for the holiday. Rich, rich town. Huge, huge houses. I want to kill Selina's brother and wear his face around specifically so I can live in her family's new house. I named it Gigantor McHugeyHuge. I've seen bigger. (<--- THIS IS A LIE. IT IS THE BIGGEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN. DIDN'T YOU READ HIS NAME?)
Helped with Concerts staff interviews today. Cute girl was less cute than Facebook foretold. Cool girl was less cool than my expectations had hoped. Hip hop guy was less hip hop than anticipated. (I know there's a pattern here somewhere. But what? And where?!) It was weird sitting in on Jane's interview. I did my best not to snigger and talk to my friend and instead to try and interview (intimidate?) her. As is so often the case, my best was something less than superlative. But I suppose it was sufficient. We shall see.
I was dreading that one crazy chick who applied to Films Staff. Whateverthefuck her name is. When she picked up her app, she lingered in a very creepy way and asked everyone his name in a more creepy way. When she brought her app back she repeated Operation Creepy Linger-Fest 2005 with more gusto, refusing to leave until I gave her a hug. After many awkward arm maneuvers, I managed to escape without physically touching her. For God, thou art a good God, a just God. Yea, in the midst of mine creepeditude, thou art mine Savior.
She didn't get an interview today, because Kathy is fucking awesome. She might get one later, because Kathy is fucking nice. I'll make sure to wear something pointy that day. Scary bitch.
She even Facebooked me. Thanks a lot, psychopath. You get to be the first person I've ever rejected on the Facebook.
Hmm. I have my screenname listed on Facebook.
And my profile has a link to my blog.
And the link to my blog leads to... my blog.
If you're reading this, crazy girl: Yeah, you're bonkers. It takes a shit ton of weird to creep me out. Congratulations, I think.
I lied in my last post. It's only been a few days, so it's definitely more frequent. But it's not significantly less gigante. My apologies. This one felt kinda nice coming out, but doesn't really read so well.
I don't even know if you people give a shit about these, but I suppose I'll keep putting them up. Some old ones, some less old. All wonderful to put in one's ears.
Later days and brighter futures.
-Eric
Where I cannot muster the gumption to substantiate my English (Fun Fact: The first thing that came out was "Ensligh." I should have kept it in for kicks.) Paper from the realm of Theory and Conjecture into the corporeal realm of Hard Copy So Eric Can Go To Sleep, I somehow feel the burning desire (this time not in the urethra!) to update this motherfucker. Such is my dedication to you anonymous masses. "Masses"? I take my liberties too freely, sometimes.
For funsies, here's what I have written of my paper so far:
Eric Chao
English 10A
Professor Jager
TITLE TITLE TITLE TITLE TITLE
See that vast, blank space in between the temporary "outline" and the (lovingly-crafted) title, "TITLE TITLE TITLE TITLE TITLE"? Yeah, that will soon be filled with refined and uncut AWESOME.
Despite having 150% of the typical weekend, it breezed by all too quickly. Tom made it across the continent (What's that now, four trans-America drives now? Or six?) and took a brief pit stop in the LA area before heading to Berkeley to become a prostitute. Or intern for some laboratory or something. I didn't really listen closely. (We're all hoping for the prostitution, though.)
In any case, it was good getting to kick it with him for the first time in a long while. Like I was telling him (while he was a little intoxicated, I think) on the way back from (wack-ass) San Diego for (equally wack-ass) Muni's birthday, I honestly don't give a shit for anything in all of Santa Clarita. I suppose I rather enjoyed the scent of jasmine on my street that signified summertime. But there are delicious pockets of the very same aroma on campus (I won't tell you where. Nostalgia is in short supply round these parts.), so I don't even need to go back for that unless I get a case of the brain-worms again.
The only thing I really miss are a select handful of people from that (sprawling, suburban wasteland of a) context. I won't waste my breath (fingertips?) enumerating exactly to whom I refer, but you motherfuckers are priceless. Here's hoping some of you are reading this. Don't get me wrong, fuck high school. But I miss having (most of :D) you people around. Here's hoping there's something left in Jeff after he comes back from Mormon Re-Education in Paraguay. I suppose I'd settle for the crazy eyes of anger. Rumor has it that those things were crazy. And anger-related.
Re-reading what I've just written, I kind of want to shoot myself for the fucking nostalgia. Since when is the internet about feeling good? The past should stay in the cold, cold ground.
Whatever, it's not worth the effort of editing.
San Diego was a big fucking bust. The part we were in wasn't even San Diego in the strictest sense of the term. It was some horrible suburban blight that attached itself to the ass of San Diego. I swear to god, it was like Santa Clarita. Only more spread out. And with, ostensibly, more Bros in trucks. It felt good to drink that douchebag's good beer. I mean, put the Newcastle and Blue Moon with the Tecate, and guess what I'm gonna pick? Now get back to doing kegstands so we can all forget that you weren't even good enough to get into the frat. "Bro."
Hung out in Palos Verdes (henceforth known as "PV," because I can't get Diana's voice out of my head whenever I think those letters) for the holiday. Rich, rich town. Huge, huge houses. I want to kill Selina's brother and wear his face around specifically so I can live in her family's new house. I named it Gigantor McHugeyHuge. I've seen bigger. (<--- THIS IS A LIE. IT IS THE BIGGEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN. DIDN'T YOU READ HIS NAME?)
Helped with Concerts staff interviews today. Cute girl was less cute than Facebook foretold. Cool girl was less cool than my expectations had hoped. Hip hop guy was less hip hop than anticipated. (I know there's a pattern here somewhere. But what? And where?!) It was weird sitting in on Jane's interview. I did my best not to snigger and talk to my friend and instead to try and interview (intimidate?) her. As is so often the case, my best was something less than superlative. But I suppose it was sufficient. We shall see.
I was dreading that one crazy chick who applied to Films Staff. Whateverthefuck her name is. When she picked up her app, she lingered in a very creepy way and asked everyone his name in a more creepy way. When she brought her app back she repeated Operation Creepy Linger-Fest 2005 with more gusto, refusing to leave until I gave her a hug. After many awkward arm maneuvers, I managed to escape without physically touching her. For God, thou art a good God, a just God. Yea, in the midst of mine creepeditude, thou art mine Savior.
She didn't get an interview today, because Kathy is fucking awesome. She might get one later, because Kathy is fucking nice. I'll make sure to wear something pointy that day. Scary bitch.
She even Facebooked me. Thanks a lot, psychopath. You get to be the first person I've ever rejected on the Facebook.
Hmm. I have my screenname listed on Facebook.
And my profile has a link to my blog.
And the link to my blog leads to... my blog.
If you're reading this, crazy girl: Yeah, you're bonkers. It takes a shit ton of weird to creep me out. Congratulations, I think.
I lied in my last post. It's only been a few days, so it's definitely more frequent. But it's not significantly less gigante. My apologies. This one felt kinda nice coming out, but doesn't really read so well.
I don't even know if you people give a shit about these, but I suppose I'll keep putting them up. Some old ones, some less old. All wonderful to put in one's ears.
Later days and brighter futures.
-Eric
posted by Unknown at 3:34 AM
1 Comments:
you included 'lull' in your post. that is my favorite song to listen to when i'm in a rut, nice to know you are still listening to the mix cd.
ps. 'skin' is a close second
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