Some things never change

And some things do.

It is all a matter of what you want to change and what you want to keep the same. If you really want it then you pull the trigger despite your fears of the unknown and the possibility of facing pain because no pain that awaits on the other side over weighs the pain you feel from knowing that you're still in the same place you were before and it was all a choice made by you.

Determining what can and cannot be changed is a lifelong pursuit. Certain objects topple over with a tap while others don't budge no matter how much blood, sweat, and tears you pour into generating some kind of movement
..

But the truth is that very rarely does something fall into the latter. The biggest obstacle to change is not external, it is internal. A combination of hoping for the impossible and chasing delusions combined with a poor ability to assess the value of something... that is viewing liabilities as assets and assets as liabilities or demonizing plagues due to unbending, baseless ideals is ultimately what dooms many to a life of eternal struggle and frustration towards life for being so unfair and not adapting to how they want to play the game versus them adapting to how the game is actually played.

Not to say one way of living is better or worse than another. Life as a whole is ultimately a beautiful, disgusting experience because we all share the universal truths of pain and pleasure, respectively, no matter how we live just in different forms.

Whenever I feel like my life is becoming too mundane and predictable with the cycle I am living, besides trying to go out and try new things in order to add spice to my life, I also create elaborate far-fetched lies in regards to details about my life when encountering strangers. This all happens without my conscious awareness and it is only after I walk away or wake up the next morning that I suddenly am like, "Wait, what the fuck, why did you say those things about yourself? LOL."

It's almost like a challenge to myself to see how fast I can weave these baskets of untruths on the fly. At first the designs start out simple, like where I am from, what my occupation is, or why I'm even there, but then they begin to exponentially grow like a bacteria culture exposed to an abundant food supply and nurturing environment.

My initial analysis of this compulsive lying is that I perhaps fear the approach of an awkward silence when having a conversation with people I've just met, so in order to fight that from happening, I begin making up stories to have things to talk about with them. The more boring the individual, the more elaborate the lies. The more interesting the person, the more normal I am. It's like a complex mathematical function which isn't all that complex.

Also, the better people know me, obviously the less I will lie about these details as they can already see through my tales from the start like I see through your window while you're taking a shower.

The real question here isn't how do I stop it, but how do I control this power? I feel like the hulk right now, only instead of rage and anxiety triggering my overwhelming abilities, it's alcohol and a quiet room filled with people I don't know.

See the cat? See the cradle? 

 

It dawned on me after a couple of days that I have no ability whatsoever to accurately recollect my dreams so I'd be making up wacky fairy tales of some sort filled with fabricated details in order to compensate for the otherwise droll retelling of my surreal experiences.

While that should theoretically be enough to keep myself and other people entertained, it unfortunately is actually not enough to keep me entertained because at that point I am actually using my brain and I don't do enough of that at work as it is so I'd rather stay consistent and allow my mind to decompose into pink play dough at the steady pace at which it is going.

Enough of this whole 'I'm going to try to follow a theme for my page' nonsense. That has never worked and will never work. You know what does work? Insomnia. The kind where you decide to go to bed early at 9:30 PM so you can actually get a good night's rest and show up to work on time for the first fucking time in 2 weeks only to find yourself overwhelmed with existentialist thoughts of meaning and purpose and WHY THE FUCK DO I HAVE TO THINK OF THESE THINGS RIGHT NOW AS I'M GOING TO BED?!?!

Fast forward 2 and a half hours and it is now midnight, you've decided that short of smashing your head with a brick an innumerable amount of times or firing horse tranquilizer into your veins, nothing will put you down to bed (And by bed, I mean floor because in order to sleep in a bed, you have to actually own a bed), so it's time to just drag yourself the hell out and begin a great writing binge in the hopes that perhaps smashing the keys relentlessly with your fingers will produce some sort of weary exhaustion which inspires that level of jaded tiredness which you've so been craving even though it's far too late and at this point, all that you'll get out of it is waking up groggy in the morning hating yourself for not having been able to sleep earlier. 

Now, about my life and my work and my affairs... Yes, I realize the last two things could probably be encapsulated into the first category, but I like redundancy, it gives me this illogical sense of security that I'm making the right decisions in life and all that jazz because since I've basically emphasized the same thing multiple times and it still doesn't sound retarded, then by logical conclusion, I must either be retarded and unable to tell what is actually sensible anymore. 

Now let me recollect.... As far as my job is concerned, my general attitude is in constant flux. I am still unable to determine whether or not I hate or love every fiber of my existence as I have technically landed my dream job, that is, a job in which I sit around doing basically nothing besides surf the web, show up whenever I want, and get paid a large sum of money in order to do so all while getting pats on the back from my superiors for being such an outstanding citizen (To quote my manager last week, "You know, you should really work slower..."); however, while I am quite content with my lack of ambition in life as my (arguably) forward way of thinking has led me to the conclusion that nothing I do in life will ever matter so thus putting great strain on myself is both agonizing and wasteful towards my enjoy existing, I am at times overtaken by the remorse in thoughts involving the belief that I am not 'getting the most' out of my life as others would say since I am not pushing myself to reach my full capabilities ultimately causing these lingering feelings of ennui; that is, the belief that I am simply drifting through life and not actually living it as the thought of the grinding work necessary in order to do so makes my stomach recoil. 

Despite that fact, it seems as if the wretched flavor of life suits my masochistic needs because every-single-time I go out and do something which I do not want to do under the guise of self-betterment/self-improvement/seeking out new experiences, I find myself enjoying having my shit tossed around by the environment which I surround myself in and it is only when I am able to escape from it all and be in a state of peace and quiet that my neurotic mind begins to get lost within itself and question things such as where I stand with other people, how I am perceived by others, and what I could and should do in life to be less of a careless prick. 

Was there a point to this entire rant? 

No. 

So the apartment which I moved into has been without furniture for the past month because I have been both incapable of finding a way to ship large objects of furniture to the location at which I am living and too lazy to figure out a solution. Instead, I've been slowly plucking through thrift shops for portraits to hang in my apartment in order to give the impression towards my house guests that my lacking a place for them to sit is intentional by convincing them that they've walked into some shitty bohemian art show with me as their tour guide.  

When you step through my doors, you are greeted by a poster of an ugly, half-naked girl posing in spandex pinned up on the opposite end of the room next to this magnificent work of art (Just one of many):

It's hauntingly beautiful, unlike my life. And I purchased it under the presumption that it would be an excellent conversation piece for someone new to my apartment:

Guest: Oh, I say! That's a most interesting picture you have pinned up there on your dry wall! 

Me: Why yes! Thank you, it most certainly is!

Guest:....

Me: .....

Guest: Well then...

Me: Yes...

Guest: I suppose I'll be going then. Fascinating apartment you have here. 

Me: Yes, thanks so much. Great talking with you.

Guest: Indeed, we must do it again sometime, mind you. 

And that would be the end to our conversation. 

The truth is that there is nothing interesting or fascinating about me and I make no attempt to hide this from other people. I am abrasive and classless and ultimately my existence only serves as a means to provide a foil to stoic, respectable, Cesar-esque motherfuckers like this dog over here:

I'm still wide-awake but in a significantly brighter mood than I was in earlier before I started writing this poast. Now that I'm not filled with anguish and sorrow over my remedial and purposeless existence, I'm at a loss on what to write about next. 

Oh right, today I was working out with a co-worker after we got out of the office and his girlfriend stopped by the gym and started working out with us. Near the end of the work-out she suggested we do leg exercises, and I jokingly said I don't need to because I exercise my lower body enough walking from and to my car for work. She stared at me incredulously with this look of utter disgust because she thought I was being serious and said, 'How can you be so lazy? Do you have a girlfriend?' to which I flatly responded 'No.' and then she asked 'Have you EVER had a girlfriend?' to which I flatly responded 'Yes.' 

She rose her eyebrows and gave this mischievous smile to both me and my co-worker and said 'Really? Are you telling the truth?' to which I just flat out said, 'Yes.' in the flattest tone I could muster. Now my co-worker is a semi-socially awkward guy and the fact that his girlfriend was making fun of me and saying I was a forever-aloner did not bother me as much as the fact that she was somehow able to make the observation that I was a lazy SOB through one short encounter in which I was barely saying a thing (Though perhaps that is how she was able to make such a conclusion, and no I'm not being serious for those of you that think I am, jesus...)

Not to hate on my co-worker or anything. I've been told by my close friend that I'm a very 'awkward' person in the sense that I'm a jackass at times without even trying to be because I fully disregard the existence of other people at times such as the time I spilled a drink over my crotch last week and I rushed to the coffee room in order to rinse a towel and scrub myself off only to have my co-worker + boss' boss walk in on me mid-crotch-rub while having a conversation about work. After seeing me there with a handful of paper towels pressed against my wet groin, they both fell silent and there we stood, the three of us, lost in eternity. 

Now at this point, I'm still not sure what the appropriate reaction would have been, maybe something along the lines of:

Me: OOPS! :O *Puts hand to mouth* BENNY HAD A BOO BOO!

Followed by all three of us breaking out into laughter, slapping each other's backs and then carrying on with our business.

No. I don't think that would work out that way. 

Perhaps if I followed my original impulse to:

Me: It's not what it looks like. I didn't piss myself. It's coffee and these pants are expensive so that's why I had to rush here to clean then versus going all the way to the restroom and letting it stain. 

Boss' boss: Well, that explains everything. You know what Ben, I like you. At first, I thought you were just some gawky bimbo showing up late to work and walking around the office with stained pants caused by your lack of potty training as a child, but I was obviously wrong. You're an alright guy. Hey, you know what? There is that new position opening up for lead engineer on that new project we just got funded for and I originally had Ken Fukinawa in mind for the promotion because he's smart, an excellent communicator, and shows up to work on time and brings donuts, but fuck him. Fuck everything about him. You know why? Because he's not you. After seeing you rubbing your dick like that with such passion, I know you're the right man for the job. We need more people like you in this company, quick thinkers, able to act fast and figure out simple solutions to trivial and unimportant issues. Hey, come by my office later after you're done with your business here. I say you and I take off a little early today and go for a golfing trip to discuss future opportunities of growth for your career. 

Me: W-wow, I don't know what to say... I'm honestly shocked...

Boss' boss: Don't say thing. Just say 'Yes.'

Me: Yes.

Boss' boss: I thought I just told you not to say anything.

Me: I'm sorry.

Boss' boss: There you go again disobeying my orders. You know what Ben, I guess I was wrong about you. You're not lead engineer material at all. How can you ever be a leader and think for yourself if you can't follow these simple orders I'm giving you? Forget what I said earlier. I'm going to go talk to Ken. 

Me: No... No! I'm sorry! I can change! Look at how hard I'm rubbing these stains out of my pants! I'll apply this same amount of force to the project and usher in a new era of engineering!

 Boss' boss: *waves hand* I've heard enough. Good-bye, forever. *Walks away*

Me: Sigh..... 

------

See, no matter what I do in life, it will end in utter graceless, blundering destruction. Fin.

But for reals, I really need to fucking go to sleep. Gawd damn. 

Till next time. 

 

I've decided to sporadically write down the bizarre dreams which I experience on a regular basis which will hopefully segue towards other less abstract tales going on in my life. 

It seems like I'll just never be happy with my own. I'm always envying the lives of others, especially those who I initially felt were worse off than me when I see them experiencing events or undergoing levels of excitement which I've never been successful at achieving. Never able to appreciate what it is that I have, I'm left sourly looking through the window of my life pondering why it is that I even bother attempting to do anything when whatever it is I do manage to obtain that strikes admiration in others leaves me feeling unfulfilled.

When I'm able to recognize that I'll never be happy with anything that I accomplish (Even the accomplishments of others which my brain has a tendency of glorifying to be far better than they actually are), at that point, is there any point in attempting to accomplish anything (Besides satisfying the expectations of others, since nothing within your capabilities will satisfy your own)? It seems that only the grind and pain in trying to reach my goals is the only means by which I can gain any sort of satisfaction because I'm able to delude myself into believing that I'm working towards something which I will find meaningful and grant me happiness; Once I finally do reach the finish line and get the trophy, after the cheering crowd has dispersed leaving me to myself, I am then left wondering if all the time and trouble I went through was worth winning this shiny piece of plastic. 

Where are you....?

 

Fuck yes, I figured out how to bring back the old look and feel. My shit is back.

I murdered my theme a while back and have unsuccessfully been trying to bring it back. Needless to say, I've obviously failed in my numerous attempts. Ever since I upgraded to the new theme editor, none of the old code I was using seems to work anymore despite the fact that it is supposedly a better system. 

All I have to say to that is fuck you internet. Fuck you. 

I'll bring back the blue dancing dinosaur even if it fucking kills me. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nMxAXysr9mM

So I'm a professional poker player and I meet this group of second tier professionals who use their money to just drink and smoke all day, basically having no further aspiration than to use their natural talents to provide them with enough money to support their decadent and hedonistic lifestyle.

Over the years, I'm playing more and more, getting better and better but something always feels like it's missing. I somehow end up at a final table of the biggest tournament and I lose the last hand against one of the ennui-ish mofos I regularly hang out with and I, out of frustration and anger, ask, 'Why did I lose? I thought I had a good read on the game, even when I feel like I'm preforming at my best, it's still not good enough.' 

He looks at me... smiles then says, 'That's because you are you and by being who you are, you are already limited to what you can achieve compared to others. The only thing stopping you, is yourself.' 

Then I look at a mirror inside of the casino and I don't see myself, but a different person staring back at me. Apparently, I have been some individual I don't even recognize my entire life, an attractive Caucasian woman to be more precise, and I'm like, 'Oh, that's odd. I'm white. And a girl. And a hot one at that.'

Then everything starts to dissolve away and I go hunt seals in Antarctica for a couple of years before I wake up in bed with a massive runny nose and cough. Possibly because I was being a badass mother fucker clubbing seals and boxing polar bears in my underwear whilst exposed to subzero temperatures. In my dreams.

There was more to that bizarre shit, but that's all I can clearly recollect.