I like to pick my moments when being dramatic. I don't want to give anyone what they expect, even if its something that would benefit me in the short or long term. I get to pick how I react, not you, me. Like I'm ordering off of a menu with a waiter behind me, "So how is your angst and betrayal? Hmm, I'll need a minute, but let me start with some slighted."

Two more people died from my teenage years since my last update. Dead. Peaced out. They saw it coming for sure, everyone around them pretended that they didn't see anything wrong with the victims. Everything is in hindsight to make themselves feel better, "Oh man, I was gonna help tomorrow. Oh tragic irony!"

Adam Berger was a friend of a friend. I had known him for nearly 20 years but I decided not to like him after two. He did a burn out on my dads lawn and never owned up to it, despite first hand accounts. But all of us in Northeast Tacoma made a few mistakes in his Ford Fairmont, late at night looking for windows to break, people to harass, things to blow up.

He was the first one with a car and he didn't know how to say no, it was pretty unfair, we all had a choice to stay at home. Not Adam. Adam and his Fairmont became a platform for debauchery. By the time the other neighborhood punks got cars, Adam and his Fairmont were already established as the run off point and as time went by people started having something to lose.

By my mid-twenties, he became one of the guys we'd talk about remembering, despite him being up the street alone and depressed. Like I said I didn't like him by choice, burn out on my dads yard, fuck that dude. But who deserves that? Most of his daily acquaintances wanted to remain selfish so when Adam needed help his social pool dried quickly. My best friend was their from start to his final moments unconscious in a hospital bed, I would always tell Paul that it was a weakness, that people have to help themselves. But he was there those last seconds, didn't stop caring, Paul stood there and took the full on kick in the teeth.

His funeral was in one of those non-denominational churches a huge sign in block metal letters behind Adam's coffin read, "TRIAL BY FIRE" What the fuck is wrong with people? A number of people took the podium as Adam's last platform for debauchery, apologies and tears in hindsight.

If I had the choice of going to Africa for a week or jail for a month the first thing I would say is, “which jail?” I know that it can’t be all bad out there but really, Africa? I think I’ll pass, most of the people I meet would be more impressed by jail time anyways. Farcry2 anyone?

I remember playing Farcry2 back when it came out in 2008, I never got into it. It seemed boring after playing my beloved MGS4 and on the brink of Valkyria Chronicles it wasn’t what I was looking for. Now for some reason, maybe I missed all the commotion when the game launched back then, but what I want to know is: How did this game get released? Not that its buggy or anything like that, it’s just that we see a ton of real world headlines delay, reroute or even cancel games. Remember Six Days in Fallujah, Motorstorm Apocalypse, some other games (fuck you, they never came out right? Why should I remember their stupid names?). So how did this get under the radar? As I sneak up on a medicine supply in a war ravaged village, what the hell am I doing? Oh assassinate another African leader, ok, spread propaganda through the radio to incite riots, I guess. If a video game tells me to do it, I gotta, there might be an achievement.

On top of the fact that this game exists, which it shouldn’t, Sony gave it to me for free. (???) I…? I don’t think they knew what was in that game, right? They couldn’t have, could they? Every member of PSN got it, right next to the classic Simpsons arcade game. Play as Homer or rape Africa this week on PSN. To be honest I don’t really care about Farcry2, I would like to say that I lay awake at night stressing over the plights of Africa, but I don’t. I often forget that Africa exists. Great, now I’m going to have to donate some money to an African charity to make up for that sentence. Damn you Catholic guilt!

I have hit a rough patch in my home life. I am on the eve of going to school, starting a new job and taking out a sizable loan, but that’s not rough, it’s scary, it’s stressful but its life. All of it is tangible and can be broken down and managed. How do you trust someone who has lied to you? Everywhere I look in my apartment I see testaments of love on the walls, monitors, refrigerator, I can’t escape it and I can’t deny it. I love her. I wouldn’t be going to school, changing my job or my life for the better if it wasn’t for her. But lies and deceit are looming, excuses sound false to me.

Typical me to retreat; I look to simple comforts to distract me from life’s hard decisions. Which never do for long and in fact create more problems than they ever fix. Now we both have trust issues. Is it too far gone? She was my best friend and now I feel like there is a stranger in my house. Did I create this or am I feeling guilty for turning my back on a person who obviously needs help, maybe both, maybe neither. All I know for sure is that I love her, but I need to make a choice soon because I can’t start all these new responsibilities with my head so cloudy.

By the way, Super Street Fighter 4 is the best game ever made. I need to figure out why my Abel is having a hard time Focus canceling into crouching FP online. Frustrating to say the least.

Danny got his finger caught in the bander yesterday, he didn't need my help, which was good cause I really needed to just soak that 15seconds in. Seeing him hunched over the bander, pink brow furrowed as he was trying to to tug his sweaty little digit out of the banding. "Yeah go ahead and tug again you tubby son of bitch, no ones going to help you." I wanted to take it in on a level that would allow me to sketch it from memory because I knew it was going to be my highlight of the week, not because I'm a sadist, but because it was the most exciting thing to happen all week, hands down.

If I knew something like this would constitute as a highlight I really would taken advantage of the excitement last November when they put new linoleum in the cafeteria. Which in turn prompted everyone to swap there best linoleum stories for a decent five minutes. I sneered back then, only a few weeks into the job I really had my priorities in a state of disarray. But that ship has sailed so, "Ohh, little piggie caught his finger, squeal piggie, squeal."

It's only a matter of time until my lifestyle catches up with my profession. I was on lunch, drove to Subway (cause that's the best you can get in an industrial area), I walk in to find a line of red shirts that all matched mine. Panic swept over me as my turn was slowly approaching, "black forrest ham on white" next guy, "meatball sub, on white" next guy "Philly cheese steak, on Italian." My turn, "veggie patty on wheat" - record scratch - "I'm sorry what was that sir?" Clearing my throat while I glared, "Veggie patty on wheat." Loud and clear. I saw people further up in line peeking forward to get a glimpse of the great big pussy that wanted veggie anything.

The red shirt next to me slowly turned towards me, "YOU'RE A VE-GE-TA-RI-AN?"

I know anyone who reads this is a little confused as to why this is such a big deal, it is now 2012 right? Well I work in the 1970s or Auburn, WA to the layman. You drive a truck, you order steak and football is life. We have one girl in the warehouse, she's a 10 don't argue, she's the only one we got so she's a fucking 10, "Just look at her, she's a girl right? So the fuck is you're problem?" Bit by bit little facts about me trickle out, he doesn't like sports (that's weird), he's a vegetarian (whatta fag), he reads comics? (what is he twelve?) plays videogames? (gaaaay).

Then a bombshell, "Hey where do you live?"

"I live in Seattle."

"Oh yeah, what part?"

"Capitol Hill."

"Isn't that where all the fags live?"

"Kind of."

This was too big of a revelation to ignore, old detective dipshits' on the case. The reason why I think my only female coworker ranks well below a 10 isn't because I'm gay, it's because I'm used to seeing beautiful women walk in front of my home every time I look (there goes one right now). But that's a hard argument to make to someone with a red-state mentality*.

I'm used to having my tastes viewed as obscure, it's what I expect - I went to high school with 2500+ people and I made three friends. The best/worst thing to do is slowly feed these assumptions. You have to be slight, because you want them to feel uncomfortable but not enough that the target will discuss it to great length. Like you can say, "yeah I have someone I live with." But don't say, "I live with my life partner." Too obvious, you never go full retard. Plant the seeds to a tree of entertainment:

"Tony have you been working out? You look really cut."

"You're beard looks really good today. Seriously."

One day I told Danny, "Hey Danny, you should buy Jamil some flowers." "Uh yeah, whatever man."

* Don't take offense

That's pretty weak, I guess.

I have a good job that I hate. The hate isn't merited, I just don't like the work.

I work next to Danny, Danny loves black people and football, which we can all agree is great. Way-to-fucking-go Danny! But that's the only talk I hear, Danny yapping peoples names and numbers, this guys scored points in this inning. (Points!!) He was devastated that I don't like football, "what do you do? I'd die without football." He really doesn't like working with me, I can tell because he jumps at the chance to talk to anyone that isn't me when they pass through our area. The football thing doesn't raise an eyebrow that much I'm used to it, most people love to watch millionaires play catch. But anybody reading this is thinking, "Is this guy a fucking racist? He just threw that out there like it was nothing." No, I'm not even slightly Hitlerish, I just get annoyed by the pandering of a chubby 24-year-old who perks up everytime Tony, Terrance or Jamil walks by. He loves them and they loathe him. "H-h-h-hey Terrance, you getting on Madden tonight or are going to hoop wit-ur-boyz?" Or, "Jamil! Jamil! Whats your favorite Kanye West song?" It doesn't sound to bad on paper, but imagine Paul Ruben saying that next to you for 40 a week.

He did extend an olive branch once, "So what you like rock or something? Do you like Maroon 5?" I know that the cunty answer would be to snub him, because that is a little blasphemous, I mean Maroon 5, really? I smiled and said not really, then I asked him if it was Montel Jordan or Montel Williams that was the singer. That launched him into a quite a diatribe about how he loves one of them and has all of his albums (I honestly can't remember which one is which and I kind of want to keep it that way).

My job is a blue collar dream, they pay high, full benneys, 401k, raises twice a year, untaxed bonuses, the hell is my problem? Polyester pants for one. I really went with it, I jumped in with both feet and made an honest effort. It wasn't easy, no talking for one. I'm a chatty guy, I like to talk and laugh, can't do it there, no un-football related talk, that's okay with me, lets me focus on my work. But the work doesn't require much focus: pack a box, repeat.

I have a name tag, 33, plastic name tag. Means to an end I tell myself. But earlier this week we had our morning meeting where we discuss football and stretch when my boss got to this bullet point on his memo, "As of today we no longer have chewing gum privileges in the warehouse." That seems stupid right? Who in their right mind would even think on this past one second. Well I was decimated, something in me switched off, I went to college and I just lost my gum privilege? Let me get this straight, my boss in the red collared shirt and blue polyester pant's took away my "privilege" to chew gum while I worked. We don't even have a radio playing and now I can't manage a stick of gum? I wanted to walk out right there, just toss the plastic name tag in the middle of the group and walk out.

Worst part, is that Danny kicks my ass at the job. I couldn't keep pace with that portly fuck if my life depended on it. I watch him work and keep thinking that the bag of McDonalds is going to kick in and he'll slow down, but nope. All day Danny out performs me, every second of every day. I try for like five minutes and my mind begins to wonder, it’s all I have left. I spent most of Tuesday day dreaming that my boss, ex-LAPD, was a big Disney fan. He’d come home late, pour three fingers of scotch in his darkened living room, sit down in his leather recliner and watch The Jungle Book. It make me smile just thinking about it, he’s in a meeting and suddenly the theme for Ducktails plays and he says, “Sorry I got to take this.” And then walks out with his cell to his ear.

I had to pass tests to wear that name tag, a psych eval., a physical, drug screen, had to write a fucking essay about the company.

It’s actually a big relief to find out that I suck at packing boxes, what if I was really good at it? What if the first day I packed a box something inside me awakened? All I wanted to talk about was boxes and how to pack them. I'd just shimmy it into every conversation I could, "Yeah I saw that movie, it reminded me a lot of the S-4001 corrugate I use back at work, 'What's that you say? You're not familiar, well let me tell you.'" Little pictures of boxes on the front of my trapper-keeper, that would be the greater evil, I think.

Now I have to find a new gig, I have a few more standards to add to my search criteria. I think I will probably hit up a trade school, something I can intern at while I learn.

They never show Bill Murray apologizing in movies for his biting critiques and witticisms.  The audience loves hearing a sharp one-liner sneered under his breathe right before the cut to a new scene.  It gives everyone time to nudge their friend and snicker about how Bill just gave that snooty waiter the business.   As a child, I don't think I would've placed the value I did on the dry, sarcastic antagonists I tried to emulate if they showed what happened after the cut.  If they showed Bill Murray backpedaling awkwardly to stifle an angry victim of his rapier wit, no quick cut to the next plot point.  Just kept the camera rolling and focused on what the aftermath would be for the rest of the evening.  At the risk of plagiarism: "a sharp tongue cuts deep."   
 
Hi.  My name is Patrick and I don't respect you.  Not that I don't like you, I just have no reason to believe you deserve it.  A co-worker told me that I'm not mean to anyone, I just talk down to everyone equally. By that measure I've made a pretty good filter by testing the sensibilities of others, only three* have made it through to the other side.  As a defense mechanism, it worked.  When you grow up in a low to lower middle** class community with a big mouth and a 120lb frame, you need to think of something quick.  If you can't put implicit authority out there through threats of violence, you need to show them that there is still a price to pay should anyone throw their weight on you through whatever means you have.  Unfortunately dry sarcasm, no matter how clever, still extracts a toll on both the victim and the user.    

  The real reason I wish they showed what happens in between the cuts of those Bill Murray movies is that I might have been able to build a defense for the inevitability of being alone.  It's something that I recently brought on myself by leaving my fiancée' and forcing myself to do what I felt was right by both parties (which is a much more interesting story then this***).  The worst part of being on your own is that you have no one to blame for your position, when you have someone in your life you can limit your output by sighting the constraints of your better half.  But when it's just you, there is no shield; either you have the steam to make it or you don't.  Makes it tough to not duck under the covers and pretend that the world isn't passing you by.   

I don’t know why but it seems that almost every time I’m in church I start to think about the most inappropriate things I possibly can.  Can’t control myself I suppose.  And I don’t mean things like catty critiques of another person’s outfit*, I mean like horrible, 100 years ago they would burn me alive for thinking this type of stuff.  I would like to say that I’m just easily distracted or that I am just subconsciously being rebellious by not paying attention (take that omnipotent beings), but really how much of a rebel are you when you’re holding hands with a 90 year old woman?  One of my closest friends thinks that I am brainwashed just for attending church; that I have had my psyche** flawed from childhood  and it’s only now coming through to the surface.  Sometimes I think that my atrocious Sunday morning imagination is derived from a fear that she may be right, maybe I am just conjuring these thoughts to keep the would be waves of brain washing at bay, that it’s a last line of defense before I start buying bumper stickers and say things like, “you know Creed is a pretty sweet band.”  Half of me knows that the church isn’t evil, it’s really just people who make poor decisions in the name of the church.  The other half of me knows that taking religious advice from my friends is about as sensible as me writing a book on menopause.  Which should really be left to people like Clive Barker. 
 
But hey, it’s Holy week, which means there’s lots of church this week, also means that it’s about to get freaky up in here.  Holla back yo.
 
I decided this morning in the midst of my mental debaucheries, that I should start a blog.  I have quite a bit on the horizon right now: getting married in a few months, going back to school for game design, fixing credit and finding all the money to do so.  It’s quite a bit to handle all at once but since I have taken the last decade or so off for personal development, I felt that I can handle being a responsible adult and start addressing things that most people would have handled about 13 years ago.  I personally blame the wedding for this growth spurt, for the past ten years it was all cheese pizza, beer and videogames but now all of a sudden it’s florist appointments, wedding invitations and color schemes (where did all these different shades of white come from?).
 
Hence the blog, a friend of mine told me that it is important to keep a journal to reflect on, that it helps blow off steam and lets you put your troubles on paper.  Borderline retarded.  One thing that I will admit is that I do need to work on my writing, I used to be able to pontificate on paper just as well as I do in my speech, I am hoping to rectify that through many rigorous blogging sessions.  I need the practice since I will soon have to compose a, “let me go to your school for close to 85,000 dollars” essay (tempted to digress) using all the convincing arguments I can muster as to why me slacking off since I was 16 (more like 10) is somehow a good thing.  Maybe I can show them how to make a prison shiv from a corncob or a pipe out of a potato, that should win them over, real life experience that they don’t teach at college.
 
I’ll try to keep this blog updated weekly (more or less depending on inspiration).   I wanted to add a song for every entry because I can, this week is inspired by Smodcast #111.  Donovan, Seasons of the Witch.
 
*OK one catty comment I will make is that there was a lady to the upper left of me in church that was wearing a super sweet Ducky hat.