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From the ghost land of the easy life.

05 August 2005

don’t cry for me argentina :

I am never surprised by the fleeting pity people extend to me. If I had a penny for every time someone told me they’d do something with me, because they think I have a sorry life or that it’s sad I do stuff alone; and then they didn’t show up – I’d be a billionaire. I have this thing. I don’t know what it is about me exactly but I’m starting to think I’m like the cursed magic eight ball.

People do weird things around me. Not only will they make pity plans with me, they will volunteer other people to hang out with me if they don’t feel like doing it themselves. The volun-told pity people always have that deer in headlights look, a pitying deer, but a deer that is oh-so-no-impressed. They usually give the lame plaintive response of well I’m not busy call me. I used to call. They never answered. I don’t bother anymore.

I think I may have the guilty touch. My mom, guilt tripper extraordinaire, may have cursed me with guiltifying everyone who listens to me talk about how I do nothing all the time. For fun last night I watched Armageddon. I laughed, cheered and teared up. I only watch it ever 3-5 years but it gets me every time. I love those wowsa save the world movies. I’m on schedule to do my time with Independence Day soon. I can watch that every 10 years or so. Oh yea, see I am pitiable; some would say.

I don’t want pity. I want friends. When did making friends turn into such a titanium hard proposition? Why is it all acquaintance city the older you get? I’m fairly sure I only reek of desperation maybe one day a week. That’s Friday, because spending the entire weekend alone, doing nothing, talking to myself is starting to seem like something I need to take up drinking to get through. I’m all for quality alone time but I’m getting sick of myself and my taste in movies. Plus I’d like an excuse to cook for anyone. I’d really love to barbeque something. I can take a year+ of no movies in the theatre but no bar-be-queing for like, 7 years, is making me beyond CRANKY.

I think I’m gonna have to try some of Wil Wheaton’s mojo visualization shit. Go read his blog, linked on the RIGHT, and you’ll know what I mean. I’ll be envisioning a kick ass job and good buds to hang out with, so I don’t know if it’ll be as easy to get as a boatload of acting work for a known actor is. But hey – I’m desperate (it IS Friday), so I’ll try anything.

Oh and guys, of the world, why do you stare? I have a long association with weird guys who stare. I say weird because IF I’m gonna stare at some one I’m not gonna do it until they notice, then do it some more. Day in and day out and NEVER EVER talk to the person. My first serial starer was in College. He would sit a few rows back on the other side of the class and stare all class, every class long. His friends knew it, his girlfriend knew it and I knew it. His woman tried desperately to block his view but he’d just move til he could see me again. She eventually left his ass, but he cheated on her the rumour went. He never talked to me, other than hello, what’s up; betcha can’t do a straight shot of tequila. He bought, I drank, he was impressed and then I naively told some other guy that if said other guy was looking for some drugs asking starer guy would be the one to talk to. Yea it was a bad idea but I was YOUNG.

Also in College I was the eye candy for a married man, who always gave me money for snacks if I was broke, this broody beautiful loser who loved to get drunk, pick up other men’s girlfriends and then get beaten to a pulp. He was gorgeous with these watery blue-green eyes and brown, thick, shoulder length hair. He would tell me his secrets, then pretend I didn’t exist. I really didn’t if anyone else was around. The married guy and I were friends for a while. We eventually lost touch. Sad goodbyes to those two, but not to serial starer.

Fast forward to now. I have a serial starer again. This one never has much to say either. Rarely even says hi. Gets weird if I talk to him for anything, fidgety like he’s being burned really. He stares. He is always staring at me if he is anywhere near me. I can look at him, look him right in the eye and he doesn’t always look away. It’s weird. He has a woman who is having twins I hear. Since he doesn’t actually speak to me I don’t know what the hell he’s staring for. And add to that the budding stares from this other guy, who I think may a) be taking lessons from the serial starer or b) actually interested in me because he’s finding reasons to talk to me lately.

I hope one of you fellas can enlighten me as to what the stare hard strategy is for. Does it have a purpose, is there a secret meaning. Should I be afraid, get a bodyguard, a face altering operation, and a large portable wall? What is the staring for?????

Oh please pity me for the starers, and any other pitiable things I may pull out. Don’t pity me for spending my Friday wishing I was at ribfest and watching Veronica Mars reruns, Galaxy Quest and The Thirteenth Warrior. I don’t have much of a life but I am alive and bitching kicking: P
ghost writer Ambrrrr at 8:31 PM

MenTal fUrbAll