Here’s the thing… I WANT to have a website that I frequently update. What I’d update it with I’m not even sure of yet. I have some ideas but that’s neither here nor there right now.

The biggest reason I haven’t used this website is because I don’t really own it. Some shady dude bought my domain back when I had less than 1000 subscribers. Then he razzled and dazzled me by saying he would help me design and upkeep my website. At the time I didn’t give a crap because… well… I just didn’t. Nobody was visiting my site anyhow haha.

When I started getting some more hits on my website as a result of my youtube channel, I started putting more thought into the fact that I didn’t actually own it. The lack of control is bothersome. I mean come on. I’m sure you understand.

Not to mention I really hate the outlay of this website.

So basically I’m writing this entry to explain why I haven’t been using it. I apologize for the inconvenience… although I doubt it’s really inconveniencing anyone… but here’s an explanation for those of you that have been asking.

I AM in the process of figuring out a possible new domain and redesigning a new website. I will definitely keep anybody that is interested up to date via twitter and my videos.

Thank you for taking the time to read this hopefully I will work it out very soon.

And hopefully the dude that owns this domain won’t delete this post… but whatever I’ll just make a video about it anyhow haha.

Okay. Yeah. Awesome. Thanks. Bye. <3

I wrote 5 first sentences to 5 different possible stories. None of them have an official genre attached to it yet. I barely thought any of them out. Let me know which one you would want to hear the rest of the most (or the one you would least mind reading the rest of!):

1 – The lights went out… now we knew we were in trouble.

2 – “Mom…”, was the last thing this little body said before he died in my arms. Without even a second thought, I threw him into the trunk of my car.

3 – Harry was checking his emails and eating his nightly bowl of spaghetti when suddenly the door bell rang.

4 – There he was, singing his annoying little tune and strolling along with that innocent smirk across his face, wearing his cologne that you can smell from a mile away. That cologne that gave Charlotte a chill up her spine.

5 – It’s not a drug, but I’m drawn to it like it is. It’s not a person, but it’s a friend I can count on.

Let me know which one you like, thanks!

When in fact that loser has all the time in the fucking world. And the loser knows it.

Sure the loser might have a lot of problems right now. How will the loser pay their rent? How will the loser buy food for them self… and their cat. Can the loser combat loneliness by hanging out at unfulfilling places, with unfulfilling people, and participating in conversations that are… unfulfilling?

Of COURSE the loser has problems. They’re loser. It’s expected.

But don’t be misconstrued by the loser’s articulated view of them self. They feel no self pity. Just self inflicted anger.

WHY have these problems arose? What mistakes were made? Why were these mistakes made? Where is this all going? And most important… why is the loser not writing. After all, that’s what it’s all about… isn’t it?

“See, that’s the difference between me and you. I’m leaving because I’m not made for this kind of environment. In order to live here you have to have an incredible drive and a desire to make all of your decisions around your career. You have to REALLY care about being successful at it. You have that. You really want it and enjoy it. I’m not that person” – Says an outsider.

What’s making them think the loser is doing so much to advance? What has the loser done to deceive this person? Odd.

The loser realizes they are probably talking the talk and painting a picture that is clearly a facade. When did the loser stop walking the walk?

There is nothing like being told you are something admirable and in your heart you know you definitely are not… at least not anymore.

The loser decides to write again. Even though lately the thoughts often turn to mush. They will just write the mush… until it becomes something again.

Maybe then the loser won’t be a loser. No matter what happens.

Well, maybe not a lunatic… just an extreme over analyzer. Probably one of the most annoying things someone can be. That’s unfortunate.

I recognize this flaw… but only when someone points it out.

It’s funny because I will stress so hard over my compulsive analyzation about something (nothing in particular… this pertains to SO many situations) and then someone will just take a few moments to point out why I’m being ridiculous and *poof* the stress and crazy thoughts disappear.

I just need to be told once, and suddenly I’m grounded again. Very odd. Makes me wonder why I even need someone to “ground” me in the first place.

Is it insanity?

I think I’m sane. I feel sane.

Is it my obsession with the subtext in the world because of the many writing classes that taught me to pay attention to what people are REALLY saying in order to be a “better” writer?

I wouldn’t doubt that being a contribution.

Is it something I picked up from my mother who seems to believe the world is against her and can turn anything someone says into a negative connotation?

Clearly another contribution.

Or is it just because I’m a female? Are all women like this? Do we all over analyze everything from something someone said to the way a stranger glanced at us when we were wearing “the jeans I think I look fat in”?

Yeah, maybe it’s just a stupid female thing.

I’m sexist.

Whateves yo.

I’m working on it. I want to relax. I want to be CHILL!!!

Is it ironic that I wrote a whole blog analyzing the fact that I over analyze with the conclusion that I do not want to analyze too much? :::shrugs:::

And now a video that kinda sorta pertains to this blog… only not really at all except for the title. YAY!!!

Crazy – Gnarls Barkley

And if this little thing did not trigger your memory… then the memory wouldn’t exist. Might as well have never happened.

Significant memories hold their place in my mind… but there is SO much more in between that has been lost. It’s sad to me to think about how most of my life kind of doesn’t exist because I can’t remember a lot of it.

But I guess it’s the same kind of sad that I feel for the possibility that there is nothing after death. If we just cease to exist.

It’s sad in the conscious thought… but if we can’t actually experience the lack there of then there will be no sadness to experience. Just like if we don’t remember what we’re not remembering… there obviously is no sense of sadness over that loss.

Does that make sense?

It makes sense to me so shut the hell up! Go read someone else’s blog. Pshhh.

I’m still unemployed.

I was reminded of this unfortunate fact when I came home to a mailbox full of bills. Bills that I just added up… along with my rent… and gas… and food for the month… and realized that it might be time to fold the cards.

If I don’t find some sort of steady income within the next two weeks… I’m going to have 3 options:

1 – Sell my car. (which I probably won’t get much for anyhow)

2 – Leave my apartment and start couch hopping.

3 – Give in and move back to NY.

Unless I win a Ford Fiesta I’m probably not going to go with the 1st option because it’s a bitch to get by in LA without a car. Besides, I really doubt I’d get much for it.

The 3rd option is the most comforting… but I imagine myself doing the 2nd option if I can because I’m a stubborn bitch.

I’ve been so stressed about this for the past few weeks but I don’t really talk about it. I wasn’t sure why I tried to avoid the topic until I finally did really talk about it with my sister the other day and suddenly broke down crying.

I told her not to tell my parents.

I’ve been avoiding them. I talk to them MAYBE once a week now. Normally I would talk to them at least every other day.

I feel bad because it’s not that I don’t miss them or I don’t want to talk to them… I just feel so ashamed that I have no good news to tell them. And they always have a million questions.

“Did you find a job? How are you paying your rent? Why are you even still there? Did you go on any interviews today?…”

It’s too much pressure.

Besides, when I actually did have a good paying job they came up with every stupid excuse for me to move back… now they have real good reasons for me to move back. But I’m doing everything I can to avoid that… I don’t need them tarnishing my thoughts.

I have an interview Tuesday. Hopefully it will go well.

I’m considering applying for part-time jobs now. I wasn’t before because that won’t pay the bills… but I suppose I can try to get two part-time jobs.

It’s okay.

I’m not going to panic.

I know whatever is supposed to happen will happen.

This isn’t a “poor me” blog. I don’t feel bad for myself. I’m where I am right now because of my own actions and decisions and I’m fine with that.

I guess it’s more of a “I’m going to be honest with myself and face that this is what is happening now” blog.

All I can do is search for jobs and interview the best I can for the next two weeks. If it doesn’t go well… decision making time.

It’s cool. Things could be way worse.

I went with Corey Vidal. Random to say the least. I really appreciated him coming along because if I had to do it all alone it would’ve been even more uncomfortable than it already was.

Our friend Sammah came along, too. He didn’t dive. He was there to drive, record and for moral support

So this is how it went down:

We drive there all together. It was about an hour away. We talk about several things, listen to music, and I proceed to distract myself however I could from the intense panic attack that was trying to pull itself over me.

We arrive. We walk around the airport area looking for the skydive office.

As we’re walking around I’m basically repeating to myself in my head over and over “I’m going to jump from a plane. I’m going to jump from a plane. I’m going to…”

We find the office. Introduce ourselves and begin to fill out the paperwork.

I review the contract. “Please write your initials next to all of the following…”

What follows? About two pages of everything that could possibly go wrong.

Second thoughts.

Breathe. Breathe. Okay. Okay. “I’M GOING TO JUMP OUT OF A PLANE! I’M GOING TO JUMP OUT OF A PLANE! I”M GOING TO…”

I initialed the fuck out of that contract and stopped reading what I was signing after the first paragraph.

“Okay, so who’s going first?”

Corey looks at me and smiles.

You son of bitch.

They gear me up as they talk about the jumps they have to do tomorrow.

I’m here getting geared up into what could possibly be the last thing I’m EVER geared up into… and they’re nonchalantly discussing the jumps that are going to occur after mine.

I’m thinking…

“WHAT IF THIS IS THE LAST JUMP EVER!? WHAT IF WE DIE!? How could you be talking about tomorrow!? Stop talking! Concentrate on keeping me alive!”

We walk up to the plane. The teeny tiny plane that looks like it was put together with cardboard and spare panels of wood.

“WHAT THE CRAP IS THAT!?”

We get into the plane. No seats. We sit on the floor all jammed together… just barely fitting in.

Originally the fear was jumping out of the plane. Now the fear was that the plane will fall apart midair before we even get the chance.

Well, at least I know we’re already attached to parachutes.

We take off. The heart starts to pound. We fly around for a bit. I calm down as I take in the scenery. It’s relaxing. I almost forget that we are going to jump out of this damn thing.

I quickly remember when my tandem dude starts to give me instructions.

“Okay, when I tap you you’re going to swing your legs out the door and just hang there till I jump. After I jump you will cross your arms and pull your body back into an arch…” says the tandem dude.

“Okay, okay, okay ::breathing heavy::: okay, okay, okay…” says me.

He swings the door open. I throw my legs out. I look down at the miniature streets and houses.

I am mentally paralyzed. My mouth suddenly becomes completely dry from panicking. I will do anything this friggen tandem dude tells me to do… just don’t let me die!

He’s about to jump. I look back at Corey with my fear stricken eyes. He seems to be enjoying my agony. You motherfu…

We jump.

It doesn’t really feel like we jumped from a plane.

But I know we did.

“HOLY CRAP! OMG! OKAY! OKAY! WHEN IS THE PARACHUTE OPENING!? WHEN DOES THAT HAPPEN!? AHHH…”

Tandem dude opens the parachute.

Rather than feeling like we were no longer free falling… it was more like he stopped the wind. Very odd.

In a split second it goes from SUPER INTENSE to… quiet and calm. As if there was just a hurricane and now suddenly it was sunny and perfect outside.

Just floating in the sky.

We’re safe. We’re weightless. It’s actually pretty awesome. I feel okay.

But OWWWW why does the damn harness have to dig into my leg so much!?!?!?!?

Other than that… light as feather… free as a bird. Amazing.

We land. A light bump to the dirt floor. Like we just fell back onto it by accident rather than jumped from 6,500 feet in the air.

I did it. It’s done.

I can now say I’ve gone skydiving. And it was hella fun.

But um… no I don’t think I’ll be doing it again.

Oh yeah, and Corey landed safely, too.

——————————————–
Her: Where are you living now?

Him: In a mansion.

Her: Haha… come on, seriously.

Him: I’m serious. I’m house sitting for 2 yrs.

Her: Wow… that’s pretty cool. Can I come over and see it on Thursday?

Him: Maybe…

Her: Why maybe?

Him: I might have plans. I can’t remember.

Her: Oh okay, that’s fine. But if you don’t … can I come over?

Him: I don’t want to set any dates with you. You always cancel.

Her: Well that’s why we’re not setting a date. I’m just going to call you on Thursday, and if you’re busy… too bad for me.

Him: You’ll change your mind.

Her: That’s why we’re not setting a date. So no one is disappointed. Except maybe me if I call you and you have plans.

Him: You want me bad don’t you?

Her: Ugh. Forget it.

Him: What? Why?

Her: Don’t say things like that. It’s no fun. It’s better if I just come over on Thursday, with no intentions, and then let things build up.

Him: Oh, okay.

Her: Cool.

Him: But you DO want me, right?

Her: You’re seriously ruining this.

Him: Why?

Her: It’s all in the chase. If it’s expected, it’s boring. Desire doesn’t rise up out of expected situations.

Him: So you’re saying you don’t want me to talk dirty to you right now?

Her: Exactly.

Him: Why not?

Her: I’m not in the mood. And like I said, the chase is the aphrodisiac… and you’re totally killing it right now.

Him: Maybe if we started you would get into the mood.

Her: No. That’s like someone eating when they aren’t hungry. It’s pointless.

Him: Not if it was something very delicious like chocolate. Even if you weren’t hungry, once you get the taste you would want more.

Her: Then I would get fat.

Him: This is the kind of chocolate that burns calories.

Her: I think you were right… I’m probably going to change my mind on Thursday.

Him. No wait. You want me to be bad to you?

Her: Like… be mean? And ignore me till Thursday? That’s a pretty good idea.

Him: No I mean spank you and treat you like a bad girl.

Her: Jesus Christ you really don’t get this!!!

Him: Sorry.

:::silence:::

Him: You’d have to work hard for it anyway. I’m really not that interested.

Her: Now you’re just being obvious.
——————————————-

And then she decided it was a bad idea.

The end.

During one of my many naps today I had a nice dream. I dreamt that I lived in a huge, beautiful house. It had ambient lighting and a modern but still comfortable design. It was the home of my dreams.

Not only that… but my home was also SUPER organized. Even the fridge was incredibly organized. Food and condiments were perfectly lined up in all sorts of organizational fashions. It was good. Very satisfying.

I feel like I’ll never have that. Maybe the organized portion of the dream… but not the house.

I wish we didn’t need money.

That was an intelligent statement.

I wish money didn’t exist. I wish the idea of what money stands for didn’t exist.

In fact… I wish NUMBERS didn’t exist. Without numbers we wouldn’t know who has more or less of anything.

No one would feel “better than” as a result of what numbers are telling them.

And no one would have a reason to feel smaller.

Well, unless their penis was small. But hey… at least without numbers there wouldn’t be inches to measure the size. Hooray!

Anyway… ZOMG THROWBACK…

Yes… yes I did just paste that video into this blog. It’s fairly relevant!

Whatever happened to Mase? Did he become a Reverend or something?

This blog was kind of random. :::shrugs:::

I think every single blog I’ve ever written has been right before I’ve gone to sleep. I guess mainly because part of the reason I can’t sleep is that all of the thoughts in my head that just won’t shut up…. and I kind of feel like if I write something I drained out a few of them.

Tonight, as I impatiently wait for slumber… I’m entertaining myself by jumping back and forth from facebook, myspace, youtube, email, twitter, etc. etc. etc-fuckin-etera.

And today I started a new “dailybooth” account… so thats a new site to add to the list.

As I signed up for it… I was thinking “why am I signing up for this nonsense? what is this for? who the hell cares?”

But then I realized… well, why am I on any of these sites? Why do I make videos? Why do I twitter? Why do any of us do this?

So I thought about it. A lot. I tend to over think things. Some may see that as a flaw… I see it as a flaw, too. Sometimes I just can’t help it.

Don’t judge me.

After thinking about it, I came to a conclusion. Obviously we just want to express ourselves. We all want each other to know who we are. We want to matter. We want to connect. And everyday there is a new way to feed that hunger. Phones, emails, a new website, and so on.

The odd thing is that it feels like no matter what we do, we’ll never REALLY connect. No one REALLY knows me. NO ONE. And probably you, too.

You can’t read my mind or feel my feelings. I can’t plug my every thought and emotion into a friggen computer.

And not even just on that level. The people that are in lives don’t know us either.

Just because we talk a lot, see each other, touch each other, live side by side… it doesn’t mean you KNOW me.

Yet we continue to create more and more ways to communicate and express ourselves. We’re so starving to let the world know who we are.

But in the end… after you posted your video, you twittered your tweet, you snapped a photo on dailybooth, you updated your facebook status, you wrote a blog, you had a good convo on the cell with your best friend and then you fucked your boyfriend…

They don’t know you. Only you know you.

They’re just wondering if you read their facebook status yet.

Okay… now I’ll go twitter this blog.