I cannot help that I view relationships the same way I do spots in traffic.
1. I’ll coast along in a spot until I find one better.
2. I get bored sitting behind those not willing to speed things up.
3. I’m agitated by those that don’t give proper signals.
If I leave a spot for another one I may regret it, for about 15 seconds. It’s all behind me at that point and I’m only concerned with the path ahead.
Someone out there is struggling with a final because they chose to better themselves, and considered it the end of the world.
Someone out there is struggling to defend the freedoms of their country because they chose to believe they held a higher obligation besides just themselves and is considering the loss of their brother or sister in arms the end of the world.
Someone out there is struggling to deal with the lose of a loved one because someone chose to act outside of themselves and take other people from this world and considers the grief the end of the world.
Someone out there is struggling to eat because someone chose to simply bring them into this world and they could not think outside themselves nor could the government think beyond itself to provide for them and considers this the end of the world.
With everyone freaking out about the ‘end of the world’ it has already happened to the inhabitants of this world. Live like today could be the end and remember that someone out there has it worse off that than you every single second of every single day. I remember this and strive to live for others. The next time you want to complain about not having ‘nothing in the house to eat’ with food stacked to the fridge, remember that there are some people out there thinking the same thing without a roof over their head, ample clothes to provide them warmth, and no loved ones to care for them.
It’s all perspective people. That’s all I ask. Social networking has allowed this mundane belief that ‘your grief’ is higher than ‘my grief’. Everyone’s grief is equal in my eyes.
You want to know why. This may sound cynical, but here’s why.
It’s because of the way the media reports it. Flip on the news and watch how we treat the Batman theater shooter and the Oregon mall shooter like celebrities. Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris are household names, but do you know the name of a single victim of Columbine? Disturbed people who would otherwise just off themselves in their basements see the news and want to top it by doing something worse, and going out in a memorable way. Why a grade school? Why children? Because he’ll be remembered as a horrible monster, instead of a sad nobody.
CNN’s article says that if the body count “holds up”, this will rank as the second deadliest shooting behind Virginia Tech, as if statistics somehow make one shooting worse than another. Then they post a video interview of third-graders for all the details of what they saw and heard while the shootings were happening. Fox News has plastered the killer’s face on all their reports for hours. Any articles or news stories yet that focus on the victims and ignore the killer’s identity? None that I’ve seen yet. Because they don’t sell. So congratulations, sensationalist media, you’ve just lit the fire for someone to top this and knock off a day care center or a maternity ward next.
You can help by forgetting you ever read this man’s name, and remembering the name of at least one victim. You can help by donating to mental health research instead of pointing to gun control as the problem.
Morgan Freeman on random mass shootings.
If she’s not calling you, it’s because you are not on her mind. If she creates expectations for you, and then doesn’t follow through on the little things, she will do same for big things. Be aware of this and realize that she’s okay with disappointing you. Don’t be with someone who doesn’t do what they say they’re going to do. If he’s choosing not to make a simple effort that would put you at ease and bring harmony to a recurring fight, then she doesn’t respect your feelings and needs. “Busy” is another word for “bitch”. “Bitch” is another name for the chick you’re dating. You deserve a fucking phone call.
The summation of my last “relationship”. Saw this posted up for women. Had to make a guy version.
I tried to let it go, but I just can’t. Yesterday while out at the bar with my boys at Cheeseburger in Paradise in Fredericksburg, my non white persuasion friend and myself walk outside of the bar to have a cigarette. Our caucasian counterpart was inside watering the urinal cakes. It was open mic/acoustic jam session/ whatever night so the patio doors (adjacent to the dining area) were wide open with a screen over the three garage size patio doors to prevent unwanted insect pests. As my buddy and I realize these screens do not combat cigarette smoke, there would have been 8+ very single looking college females subjected to it, and the Cheeseburger in Paradise in other cities do not allow you to smoke on the patio, we walk outside of the patio fencing and get our smokes ready.
Cheeseburger in Paradise. Home to Paradise Burgers and Misguided Racism…wait what?
The bartender comes running out, relief thrown across her face, as she sees that we didn’t ‘run out on the tab’. We kindly explain to her that we were just having a smoke, our friend is still inside. The bartender kindly smiles, and walks inside. “Were you guys going to walk out on your bill?!” comes booming from our left. I glance to see some young caucasian female eyeing us while she smokes inside the fenced in area. No, I reply, we were simply smoking our cigarettes. A smile has creeped across my face and I start to chuckle at the idea. “I wasn’t going to walk out on the bill.” I assess my friend. Then reassess our accuser.
Teal pants, black shirt, tattoo sleeves, pissy attitude. Smoking a cigarette outside of a drinking establishment in the middle of a game of cornhole with a guy that is smoking a cigarette, eyeying us suspiciously, and wearing matching teal pants and black shirt. Either these two work here, or they just lost an audition on ‘So You Think You Can Dance’.
She continues to spout off sarcastic remarks at the notion that “A smoker doesn’t know the smoking laws?”, and “We are smoking here, and there are ashtrays out here on every table, why didn’t you think it was okay to smoke here”. We retorted back here and there. I’m shortening this for editing and timing purposes. We tried applying logic and explaining that there are people inside, but this person just wasn’t seeing reason. Wisely my buddy and I kept our mouths closed until Urinal Cake Waterer returned. Surprisingly that’s when the accusations stopped as well. That’s when my non-Caucasian friend brought the topic of this post to light so that everyone in earshot could hear, “So you thought we were going to run out on the tab because we aren’t white?”.
Needless to say we didn’t get a response. We walked inside paid our tabs and left without a single word uttered to anyone else in that establishment. Yet I still feel pissed about it. I’ve been called worse by complete strangers than ‘tab runner outter onner’….okay so I’m paraphrasing….but for some reason the fact this random worker flipped out on us still hasn’t settled well yet. I think I’ll just go burn it down.
First time I laughed out loud at one of these.
Lmao…I wish I had a woman this understanding and supportive.
Too much going on in my head. Too little good things happening around my head.
My heart is torn. My stomach is in knots. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know why I feel this way. I just feel……..lost. No direction. No accomplishment. I’m miming the motions at this point. Too tired to care if things are done right, and apparently I’m too mean for anyone to tell me any different. I’m three steps away from growing out my facial hair, buying a van, and dropping off the radar.
It’s all becoming too much. Yet there’s no one around to care. I don’t. Why should anyone else. In my all knowing wisdom, I force my inner emo kid to think logically and that numbs the pain. For a time. Rather than stumping myself with quintessential bullshit I’m going to get drunk and stare at tits. Fuck you emotional anguish. I can’t hear you over the sound of my growing intoxication. Bottoms up.