GRAPHICS! 2010!

I've decided to make my blog more catchy with graphics that I create. I'm am debuting this one tonight. I don't even know what it is, but it's colorful.

Yay! Colors! Look for this graphic to head up all of my future shanghaied personal life posts from here on out.

Here's your one chance fancy, don't let me down.

Shanghaied personal life update!

Apparently I have little faith in my dear friend and she is, indeed, going through with it. As a preemptive strike of sorts, I went to myspace to do a little window shopping and see what I was going to be up against.

I set up a local area search to a 50 mile radius and what I found was kind of disheartening. Holy shit. What came up looked like extras in the cast of "Precious." I can just imagine saying the phrase, "I don't mind stealing this bucket of chicken, but can we at least run to somewhere safe before we start eating it?"

Now, don't get me wrong. I love women of every shape, size and color...to a point. There is a difference between being a beautiful woman of larger proportion and well...Precious. We will name our child Mongo.

I'm having to put the book on hold a bit so I can write a term paper. With all that I write, you would think that my writing would start to get better.

Otter blog 2010: Now with new posts!

"It's like some kind of hot tub time machine..."

So, a friend of mine is convinced that I need a MySpace profile to start meeting girls. My response to this was, "What is this, the year 2002?" However, while it is true that MySpace is currently only inhabited by pedophiles and people who are completely socially inept, I was intrigued by the concept. Do you know what I did? I fucking laid down the triple dog dare. While my friend has had a history of being totally impulsive, I don't believe that she has the guts to carry out this little plan of hers to shanghai my personal life. I guess we'll find out though.

This all came about as a result of my recent, abject failure at trying to score dates on OKCupid (apparently, my dear friend believes I'm doing something wrong, while I still contend that crazy comes with ovaries). If you all remember, I originally signed up with OKCupid as a bit of a social experiment. I considered myself to be not unlike an anthropologist living among some kind of pygmy tribe in the middle of Papua New Guinea. I would infiltrate, covertly, find out what makes online daters tick, and, I don't know, write a paper on it or exploit it or something. The problem became, however, that I...not unlike the earlier mentioned anthropologist would do, I went native.

It's hard enough being busy but it's even more difficult trying to date busy; the more I looked in to it, I went further and further down the rabbit hole. Practically over night I turned from troll to Rico Suave. I chatted up a few broads and, in hindsight, maybe calling them broads wasn't such a good idea. One girl that I had been chatting up for a while went so far as to delete her profile when I asked her to a real world dinner. Maybe she just doesn't like Thai food. The only real thing that I could even consider a semi-success ended in what can only be described as tragedy, but that's a story for the book and you're not getting it for free. It's, Tat least, $7.29 worth of funny.

Now, as often happens, failure has given rise to desperation. Which led me to giving my friend control of a MySpace me. I keep trying to tell her that things are different for girls than for guys and it is far less likely for a dude to have immediate success.

Basically, it's like this: a lock has many uses. It can protect valuables, it can keep unwanted people out of a room, it can keep people IN a room, and what not. A key, on the other hand, only has one use: to lock/unlock the lock. Women have the lock, and guys...well, guys have the key (if you catch what I'm throwing). Without the lock, that key is pretty useless which is why we going around erm...uh...trying out locks. This analogy is now long, drawn out, and no longer makes sense. Basically, what I'm saying is, any port in the storm.

I'm probably making a grave error handing over this kind of power to my dear friend, no matter what I think about her gumption. But, you know, unless I show up at something she sets up for me only to have Chris Hansen to tell me to "Have a seat right there." then maybe, just maybe, things will be ok. Maybe we'll run across some kind of late adopter who is years behind the times who is attractive, intelligent, and has some kind of sense of humor. Maybe, but probably not. I feel like I'm ultimately going to be vindicated as being the one who was right all along. I only hope that I don't have to end up before a judge in the process.

I realize this post wasn't really "funny" but it's a starting point. I got a feeling that this is going to lead to some humor of a championship caliber. If I'm not murdered by the "MySpace serial killer" I'll keep you posted.

I like having the blog back.

On Twitter and How Much I Hate John Mayer

A lot of different technologies have come and gone since I stopped updating this blog the last time about 4 years ago. One, however, that I see standing the test of time, for at least the next six months, is the baby blue behemoth known as Twitter.

Where else on the entire internet can real celebrities, fake celebrities, and non celebrities become internet celebrities, not unlike your blog host and online travel guide here. The best part, however, is that Twitter takes the dividers out of the internet bento box (color: pinku) and gives each of these different levels of celebrity direct @access.

Case in point, those who know me know that I have a long standing hatred of one John Mayer. While I believe that he is talented and performs his craft very well, I find him to otherwise be a complete and total douche firetruck (my latest, favorite, conveyance of douche). Now, if I ever want to put him on blast, all I have to do is type @JohnCMayer and I have another 129 characters of total shit talk to put him on blast. It's like a digital version on gleeking on the back of the dude's neck in algebra class.

Now, I realize that John Mayer could not possibly care one iota about what some chump from North Carolina has to say about his vampire looking ass. He's probably way too busy having sex with all sorts of beautiful women that he doesn't love to even try to give a damn about your boy, M_C here. However, that's the beauty of it. I'm like some middle eastern kid chucking rocks at tanks. It never really does any damage, but I'm just a kid so I'm also just left alone. However, I keep doing it on the off chance that, one day, an American GI pops his head out the hatch and I stick him right in the eye. Maybe one day, John Mayer will take a break from a marathon fellatio session, sit down at his computer desk wiping pubic hair off of his chin, and one of my barbs will hit him right in the old pride.

Besides hate, twitter can be used as an avenue for other things, like advertising. I, for one, was completely sold after Ashton Kutcher advertised for Demi Moore's ass on twitter. The next day, vasoline and kleenex stock rose three points.

In conclusion, I like Twitter and, as far as I'm concerned, the bird will be the word for a long time to come.

You can follow me through the link on the right of this page.

Hey, yeah, wow, I'm finally writing that book.

About a week ago, I finally started writing that book I always promised that I would write. Currently, I'm on about word 4000(roughly sixteen pages). Not much work done yet, but slowly and surely I'm getting there. A lot of my past blog stories, reworked, punched up with more jokes/life lessons and some other stories that I have never previously written down, done in a way that only I can do.

As a companion to my book writing process, and as a source of catharsis, I decided to reopen the old blog. Good times and here we go.

MOTHER FUCKING PHOENIX, MOTHER FUCKERS! DO YOU SPEAK IT? RISE!

And lo, there shall come a day when, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, a verbose, blow hard will attempt to bring back a blog that no one really read to begin with. Lo, the time shall pass when the writer may also get bored once again with blogging and fall back into the abyss. Oh yes, dear friends, there is no great love without great jealousy.

On anxiety, luck, and the bottomless pit


I titled this entry like that because it makes me feel like I am some kind of Aristotle like philosopher. When, in reality, I am but the same person you have always known and, as such, I am dumb.

Anyway, have you ever known anyone who just seemed, despite all else, to be the luckiest person in all of existance? Of course, we all know of someone. Maybe you're friends with them, or maybe you have never even personally met, but you know of them and their lucky ways. It really makes you wonder why some people seem to have everything in their life fall into their lap while others get shot outside of the gas station filling up with unleaded. Neither of these individuals have done anything thing particulary wrong nor are they bad people, but life has dealt each of these individuals a different hand.

Being dealt a different hand is not something I have a problem with. I know we all have been on the receiving end of differening experiences in life and thus are the victim or victor of certain circumstance. I do have a problem with those people, however, who are seemingly playing with a stacked deck. Those people who wake up in a nice house next to someone they love, go to a job they enjoy, bend over to tie their shoe and find the winning lottery ticket, then come home and go to sleep feeling fulfilled and loved.

What have they done to have things so easy? Surely they put in a lot of work and effort to get to this point. No, no they did not. At least, not usually. There are stories of people who have pulled themselves up by their boot straps and made a great life for themselves. I applaud those people. I'm talking about the people who have everything handed to them their entire lives and continue to do so. Everything is easy. Everything isn't easy, and I have millions of people who live in this world to back up that statement.

I've been dealing with a lot of anxiety and stress as of late. I remember when I used to be funny and this was the fun and fancy free blog, but all of the sudden it has gotten entirely too heavy and I apologize for that. Let me talk to the otter, we'll work something out.

Dropping bombs on your moms.

Update
I was notified today that I'm being given the chance to get interviewed by a local high school for a position next week. I am very excited and I hope all goes well.

I have no idea why. Perhaps the understanding that I am an self important asshole would contribute to the fact that I am creating this post with no intention or merit behind my words. While not atypical, you'd think I would have better things to do with my time that just pontificate nonsense.

Perhaps it is my simple lack of motivation. That would, indeed, make planty of sense as to why I am doing this instead of the many other, more important things that I really need to be doing at this point and time.

Then again, I guess that is the point of the otter blog. Nothing I've ever said on here has been of any real merit. It's been all making fun of people, brooding over girls and love lost, and waxing bullshit on whatever psuedo issue pops into my head.

The otter isn't perfect, that's why he's emmaculate instead of immaculate. It's deep and that makes me smart or something.

For all the ones I have loved before.

Life is funny like that. To bring back memories of someone you haven't seen in about 6 years and bringing them back in such a way that you think about it on at least a semi regular basis.

Yeah, it happens and it happened to me. I knew a girl in high school. Then, she was about the cutest, nicest girl I have ever met, and she still is. As high school does to people, we graduated and went our sperate ways. Since that moment she hadn't crossed my mind, at least not until about three months ago. Since that time, I asked a friend, who just so happens to be dating her sister, how she was doing. An innocent question with no intent given, really I was just interested. We were all mutual friends in high school.

She is perfect. She was then, and, come to find out, she is now. It's not as much as I would like to find out where she is and we'll live our lives together in bliss, but rather I would just like to see her again and let her know how I feel. Feelings which I forgot I had. I know, I know, emo as fuck, but whatever. Perhaps, one day if it is meant to be, our paths will cross again. For now, however, she will just be on my mind, from time to time.

As far as the job hunt goes, no bites yet. I really need something so I'll keep working at it. Perhaps I fear it but that's another blog for another day.

The quest begins...NOW!


It has come to my attention that, now that I have finished college, I must start looking for a real job. OK, I'll play your little "look for a career" game, not like I have anything better to do.

I've got a BA in History from a fairly major university. If I wanted something based on my degree, my choices are really limited. I could either teach, write books, or be on of those historians talking shit about Hitler on the history channel. Did you know that Hitler liked to do Eva Braun doggy style? Neither did he, I just made that up. He seemed like a guy who would like to hit it from the back, gripped tight on those hips though. All I need now is to wear my glasses low on my nose and forge some sort of intimidating facial hair and I'm on easy street.

Writing a book would be a possibility, but that isn't a full time job. I need some benefits and shit. I don't have any health insurance right now so if I were to be stricken with vasculitis or, god forbid, lupus, I would be fucked. No matter how many pages I can write about the US Civil War, or how eloquently I can pontificate over draft riots, it won't save my body from the rigors of disease. It's never vasculitis but it's always lupus so it's really a crap shoot there.

So, it looks like I'm left to teaching. I can do that, I guess. I know my stuff, and I'm working my way in one step at a time. At least I would know better than to fill the children's heads with such silliness as hope and dreams. A special shout out to the state of North Carolina for making lateral entry so difficult. You guys rule. You're a true American hero, you probably drive a Ford truck, we all really love your stories, I hope you find true love.

When it all comes down to it though, I'm open to pretty much anything. I want a decent salary, benefits, and a little bit of a creative outlet. That's all I'm really looking for in a job. If you have one to give me, I'd be willing to entertain offers.

Put your arms around me, I'm feeling on your booty.

Ah yes, old friend, how long has it been? Musing and ranting about everything and nothing at all is apparently quite a chore since I can only bring myself to do it about every 3-6 months or so now.

I was just thinking and began to wonder whether or not the internet would like to have such thoughts for it to hold and offer to posterity the wonder of me making a complete ass of myself on a daily basis.

What was I thinking about, you may ask? I was thinking about happiness, what it means and what we pretend it means. There are plenty of e-philosophers who pontificate on such a subject daily, whether it be on their own blogs, message boards, or personal websites. I'm no different from them, and being in such unison I figure I can go ahead and add my pitance to the meaningless pot.

Happiness is, simply put, achieving what you desire. Everyone on this planet has wants and needs, regardless of culture, class or situation, to have them met is to be happy. However, I believe that our desires go out beyond the realm of actuality and find themselves rooted in mere possibility. Possibility without probability is hopeless and is where sadness lies. If a loved one passes on, our desires are to have them still alive with us. Since we cannot have what we desire, we become sad. Or, even worse, we being to fear the inevitability of not achieving our desires.

While happiness is a physical manifestation, desire is a social construct. While every person's happiness, or lack thereof, comes from their desires, everyone possesses different desires.

This all seems simple enough. In all actuality, it is. However it's something you don't think about on a constant basis, lest ye be damned. I always seem to get like this around this time of the year. You know, I read that scientists have done a study and named January 24th the most depressing day of the year. I understand where they're coming from there. The Christmas bills come pouring in, it's getting colder outside Valentine's day shit starts showing up in stores, as we well know Valentine's Day is a holiday created by greeting card companies to make people feel like shit, and we just shot our New Year's Resolutions all to hell.

Yeah, it's about that time.

Web Comic Adventure 2005

Haven't heard from me in a while I know. I added some adsense to the page. Click a link if you're interested in it and help me pay some bills.

I also started a webcomic. I don't know what it means. five-oh-four

check it out.

Later.

I'm lovin' it.

If you haven't heard, McDonald's recently ran a flash ad on the web that was just off. It included the phrase "I'd hit it" directed at a double cheeseburger. The ad is still on http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/simmons/index . I sent them an email today, below is the text of said email

I recently came across an advertisement for your double cheeseburgers on this website http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/simmons/index
and I must say that I was incredibly relieved when I saw it.

I am one of the few people who will openly admit that I engage in carnal pleasures with fast food. Seeing that McDonald's not only supports my lifestyle but also endorses it was great. It was like a huge weight was taken from my shoulders.

Normally people just shout at me "Hey, greasy wang" or "Go back to McDonaldland, sandwich humper" Now, I can finally hold my head up high, and shine. Shine like my mustard encrusted member in the brilliant light of morning.

In short, thank you McDonalds. Thank you so much. Now if only we could get congress to allow man/sandwich marriage, my life would be complete

:(

Well, I finally did it. I finally confessed my love for the bookstore girl. Since I don't have her current phone number or anything, I sent her a message over AIM. I know it wasn't the best wau to do it, but I had to do something and didn't know how else to contact her.

She was away, so I'm still waiting on a reply. I'll update when I hear something, if I hear something. Either it will be a crushing, defeating heartbreak or perhaps I'll luck out for once in my life, who knows. Here's to hoping.

This post is about anger and missed opportunities.

I have now come to posess a hate in my heart that is greater than almost anything that I have felt before.

I'm sure you all remember the bookstore girl. I told you all in depth about her a few posts down. Well, I'm a wimp. I drag my feet, I procrastinate, I am generally frightened, and I get nothing accomplished. Never has that been the case more than now.

I have recently found out that she has this thing for/with another fellow. For purpose of this blog, let's call him Ethan. Ethan, from what I can gather, is apparently better than me in every way. If there were to be a book to be written about this saga, I would most likely end up as the antagonist (I can always hope to be an anti-hero though). Even though the majority of this is speculation, as I haven't actually seen the two together it could be just a crush of her own, there is a degree of likelihood and it doesn't involve me.

I bet you're thinking to yourself that it's a pretty petty thing to hate a guy just because he's going out with a girl you like. Well, that's not why I hate him, and I'm not sure I even hate *him* per se. It's the fact that I had an opportunity, a chance to be with a wonderful girl, but I'm the most chickenshit human being to ever walk the face of this earth. Their relationship stands as a monument to my indecision, failure, and lack of self confidence. It tears me up inside. Why? Because it's always like this for me and I hate it.

There is a lesson to be learned in this, so for those who it applies, learn it well. It probably could be interpreted different ways by different people, so I'm not going to limit anyone to a specific lesson.

I'll try not to be so depressing next time.

This is one of those stories that just has to be told.

Yesterday, I saw three squirrels commit suicide. You'd think the natural way for a squirrel to off themselves would be to run out in front of a car. Not these bad boys. They jumped out of a tree.

I was in the art building here today, generally slacking off when I should have been working, and headed out to meet up with a friend for dinner. I was on my way to the dining hall, walking through the quad, and I hear a loud rustling up in the trees. I look up to see a blurry mass falling down from a good distance up in the tree, it landed about 4 feet behind me and I walked over to check it out.

It turned out, it was a squirrel. He was just laying there, dying. Then, he looked up at me as if to say 'I told u I wuz hardcore' and went limp. That's the point where I said 'shit' out loud.

I turned and continued walking when, almost right in front of me, falls another one. It almost hit this other dude in the head. If it would have, I would not have been able to meet my friend for dinner, for I would have pissed my pants. This squirrel landed *splat* on the brick sidewalk.

Almost at that very moment, I heard another one hit the ground. 'Holy Shit' I both said to myself and out loud, 'I need to get out of here' I looked at the guy who almost got impaled my the rodent and we exchanged confused and fairly scared looks.

So, it seems depression among squirrels is up 300% at my university. With reckless abandon, they are jumping to their certain demise. I swear to you that every bit of this is true.

I finally got to the dining hall and while my friend and I were eating, a furry walked by in full garb. It was the first time I had seen one that close in full costume. I feared the fact that he very well may have been the "squirrel master" causing the animals to commit suicide. However, this is another story for another day.

I got the opportunity to see Spiderman 2 tonight, (movies at the student union, 6 months late but free) and I must say that it was the most depressing movie that I have ever seen in all my 22 years on this planet.

This is just a warning, from here on in, I will probably get a bit...ok well really vulgar. If bad language offends you, here's a link to Hello Kitty Figurines on ebay.

This movie was so depressing, I wanted to jump up and start throwning my shit in handfuls at the screen. Why did it do this to you, you may ask? Well, let me go through it, character by character, and tell you exactly why.

First, Spiderman. The web-slinging superhero himself. His life was a rich, full, fucking waster. His grades were bad, he wasn't getting any sleep, he was fired from his job, his spiderman powers were fading in and out, and to top it all off, the girl he loved was fucking a spaceman. When he thinks it can't get any worse, what happens? Some crazy scientist wants to rape him with his biomechanical tentacles, and his best friend wants him dead. The only people who even remotely liked him were his aunt and the lanky, inbred, hillbilly, Romanian, Super's daughter from across the hall. All this made me want Spiderman to run down to the Target, buy their most powerful shotgun, and sleep with it in his mouth.

Now, Doc Ock, this biomechanical, tentacled douche bag has a terrible, terrible life. His first fatal flaw was that he was overconfident. Don't listen to anyone else who is even remotely sensible, Doc. You're clearly the genius, you know everything, and that's why your miscalculations killed your wife that you loved so much and turned you into some sort of mechanical monster with AI taking over your brain. You're sooooooo overconfident that you can't rest with the fact that your work failed, and you want to kill every fucking body. Why don't you just jump out of the screen and take a steaming, hot, shit in my gaping mouth? How do we try to make things better? Oh, it's Peter, I'm going to fight this AI and save everybody. NO, IT DOES NOT MAKE THINGS BETTER, YOU STUPID DOUCHE BECAUSE WHILE IT WAS AGAINST YOUR WISHES, YOU CLEARLY DIE A MONSTER AND IT DOESN'T MAKE UP FOR ALL THE SHIT YOU'VE ALREADY DONE. Fuck you Doc Ock, fuck you in your stupid fucking ass.

Aunt May? Her house is being repossessed, and she is still in a deep state of depression over the death of her husband.

Harry? He loses a shitload of money, he's ruined as a businessman, he's obsessed, totally taken over with killing spiderman, and to top it all off, he's being haunted by his father. The next sequel will be equally depressing, I bet.

Mary Jane? She's confused about who she loves and what she wants from life. She's fucking a spaceman, but she still loves Peter. However, she can't stand Peter because he cannot commit to her. Just like a woman.

Jonah Jameson? The spaceman? The fucking spaceman? The one who's woman strings him along and leaves him at the altar? No, his life doesn't suck at all...oh wai...

You see? It was a really, horrid, depressing movie. The ending does not fix things. It does not make me happy or optimistic about the future. It was funny because it made me think about going to watch Schindler's List. At least then I know that the allies are coming, eventually. Which is incredibly sad. You do not do this to me, movie people, you just don't do it. To top it all off, 3 is going to be even worse, you just wait.

*sigh*

Sometimes, a cowboy is just a man in a cowboy suit.

Never is this more true than on Halloween. Here, Halloween is a pretty big deal. I've never been able to understand why, exactly this has come to be, but it's true. I figure the primary reason is that it's an excuse to gather up about 20,000 people in the street in silly (and also often revealing) costumes, and drink until their asses almost fall off.

Being that I don't drink, or really understand the fit raised over Halloween here, myself and a friend ordered Chinese food and played Silent Hill 4: The Room. There is no drunken frat boy on the face of this planet, no matter how costumed, as scary and creepy as silent hill. Well, unless you factor in their social graces, then they're horrifying.

We've almost beat the game, and I am really enthralled by its storyline even though it has not even the remotest semblance of sense to it. I'm going to put the plot stuff here as a spoiler, so if you don't want to read it, don't highlight it. It's basically about this guy who, as a boy, was seperated from his mother and father and ended up in a cult. This cult taught him how to "bring his mother back" but it turns out it was all a farce (supposedly, I haven't reaced the end yet). Now, he's basically trying to summon the devil by killing people. The kicker? He's dead now. So, here's where you come in. All the sudden, weird stuff starts to happen in your apartment, the doors are all chain locked, there are holes in your walls leading to places you know, except they're all rusted and covered in "meat" It's all this dead guy's fault and guess what, you're the last step in his plan to summon the devil. So, you've got to stop him. He thinks hi mother is your apartment, that's why it's happening to you, because he never knew his real mother. All he knew is that he came from that apartment. Weird, eh? and that was fun. However, the interesting part was when I was going back home.

I've never seen the likes of this before. I walked by a half dozen bunny girls ( :-O furries) a dude wearing nothing but a cod piece, and another girl who was about 12 seconds away from falling dead on her ass, just to name a few. Of course, I was wearing my "smirking bastard" costume, because I found the entire situation quite amusing.

The characters Halloween brings out is amazing. These are people I have classes with, and on a usual day, they would act nothing like this, but on this night, they go buck ass wild. I always expect some kind of riot or fire with all these drunk people gathered in some sort of dress-up symposium, but it never happens. One day, I pledge this to be my sociological experiment: Why grown, intellegent (for the most part) people would engage in such activity. Sure, it's fun. Yeah, it's nice to be something other than yourself sometimes. Maybe it just wasn't made for my understanding; which is perfectly fine with me.

I've always thought about joining in (hey, psychology people, you know what this says about me right?), but never had the will to actually do it. I don't like crowds, they make me nervous. So...yeah.

May you always live in interesting times, I know I do.