I'm a Terrible Person
This entry it dedicated to Dan (last name withheld by request- XXXXXXXXX: cause i don't want someone googling my name and this coming up)
I haven't really figured out how to put a title on these things. I'll have to set aside a day to learn how to do that. Anyway, I have a lot of free time on my hands, as I'm sure most people know, so last night I was looking over some of my journal entries from freshman year english class at UR. Most of them make me sick. Really, I was such a loser. Check out this entry from early in the year:
"Located in the foyer in all of the apartments I have been in has been a wooden table upon which people (mostly drunken guys) play beer pong. I won't even get into how stupid I think this game is. This brings me to my next point, alcohol consumption at these parties. The quantity of beer available and consumed at these parties is quite astonishing. I have to admit, it is quite difficult to have fun at these parties without a few beers in your system but many people drink just to get drunk, a concept I will never understand."
WTF...that really blows my mind now, especially considering that these days, most Friday nights, I drink to get destroyed. Most of the time it's off cheap vodka. Hell, I would do bodyshots off a decent looking guy if it meant a quick buzz.
I have to go back and add another group of people that I hate to my previous post: Old Hags. I was covering a public workshop type meeting tonight and everyone in the crowd looked like they had just been dug up from the ground (some of them still had mud in their hair). But really, I have no desire to live past the age of 60. These people in the audience were just so sad looking and I'm pretty sure a few of them dirtied their diapers during the meeting. Btw, the meeting was about the future of a particular area of town and all of these old whores bitched about everything under the moon. I just wanted to stand up and say, "Shut up, please. You are going to be dead by tomorrow morning." The sad thing is that all these old people that come to these town meetings and to a greater extent, cast votes in elections, are essentially shaping a future that none of them will be around to see.
The one thing a lot of old people have is money. But what's the point of having wads of cash if you can't wipe your own ass? I'd sure as hell would rather be 23 and making pennies (see me: circa 2005) than be 40 and have $2 million in the bank. So really, if I ever want to be truly happy, I need to Win for Life on a scratch off ticket. And soon.
I'm only writing two stories for the paper this week. To put that in perspective, that is at max three hours worth of work. If I were my own boss, I would be beating the shit out of myself and making me actually earn my paycheck. But fortunately, I'm not, so I will continue to skirt on by putting in as little effort as possible.
I need a personal trainer or at least a nutrition expert to be involved in my life somehow. I go to Walmart once a week for food and the bill comes to around $34 every time. All I buy is 5 cans of tuna fish, 4 boxes of hot pockets, 5 bottles of gatorade, some minute maid lemonade, bread, cheese, beer, ice cream and a box of entenmann's cookies. I've been in this apt for three months now and I haven't touched the stove or oven. When I meet girls now, my first question is going to be, can you cook? Cause if not, I will be feeding my kids a few popsicles for dinner each night and telling them they're loaded with fruit juice. I really need to get my act together. On that note, I've got to go throw a ham n'cheddar hot pocket in the m'wave.
I haven't really figured out how to put a title on these things. I'll have to set aside a day to learn how to do that. Anyway, I have a lot of free time on my hands, as I'm sure most people know, so last night I was looking over some of my journal entries from freshman year english class at UR. Most of them make me sick. Really, I was such a loser. Check out this entry from early in the year:
"Located in the foyer in all of the apartments I have been in has been a wooden table upon which people (mostly drunken guys) play beer pong. I won't even get into how stupid I think this game is. This brings me to my next point, alcohol consumption at these parties. The quantity of beer available and consumed at these parties is quite astonishing. I have to admit, it is quite difficult to have fun at these parties without a few beers in your system but many people drink just to get drunk, a concept I will never understand."
WTF...that really blows my mind now, especially considering that these days, most Friday nights, I drink to get destroyed. Most of the time it's off cheap vodka. Hell, I would do bodyshots off a decent looking guy if it meant a quick buzz.
I have to go back and add another group of people that I hate to my previous post: Old Hags. I was covering a public workshop type meeting tonight and everyone in the crowd looked like they had just been dug up from the ground (some of them still had mud in their hair). But really, I have no desire to live past the age of 60. These people in the audience were just so sad looking and I'm pretty sure a few of them dirtied their diapers during the meeting. Btw, the meeting was about the future of a particular area of town and all of these old whores bitched about everything under the moon. I just wanted to stand up and say, "Shut up, please. You are going to be dead by tomorrow morning." The sad thing is that all these old people that come to these town meetings and to a greater extent, cast votes in elections, are essentially shaping a future that none of them will be around to see.
The one thing a lot of old people have is money. But what's the point of having wads of cash if you can't wipe your own ass? I'd sure as hell would rather be 23 and making pennies (see me: circa 2005) than be 40 and have $2 million in the bank. So really, if I ever want to be truly happy, I need to Win for Life on a scratch off ticket. And soon.
I'm only writing two stories for the paper this week. To put that in perspective, that is at max three hours worth of work. If I were my own boss, I would be beating the shit out of myself and making me actually earn my paycheck. But fortunately, I'm not, so I will continue to skirt on by putting in as little effort as possible.
I need a personal trainer or at least a nutrition expert to be involved in my life somehow. I go to Walmart once a week for food and the bill comes to around $34 every time. All I buy is 5 cans of tuna fish, 4 boxes of hot pockets, 5 bottles of gatorade, some minute maid lemonade, bread, cheese, beer, ice cream and a box of entenmann's cookies. I've been in this apt for three months now and I haven't touched the stove or oven. When I meet girls now, my first question is going to be, can you cook? Cause if not, I will be feeding my kids a few popsicles for dinner each night and telling them they're loaded with fruit juice. I really need to get my act together. On that note, I've got to go throw a ham n'cheddar hot pocket in the m'wave.
posted by Ryan at 2:30 AM
1 Comments:
no oreo cookies?
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