Neon Pink Spray Paint

I find it disconcerting that my blog is being advertized on an amateur porn site, but it is. I went and looked through the sites that reference my blog and one looked rather bizarre, so I clicked on it and I was immersed in so much vagina that I couldn’t see straight. It really makes me wonder how people can actually look at porn and not get overwhelmed: vagina here, penis there, nipples everywhere. But I have been getting a bit of traffic from that site, so I guess all publicity is good publicity.

Besides that, I was looking at the Google searches people use to find my blog, and once again, highly disturbing. People stumble upon my blog by the following searches: Neon pink spray paint, long now pink I can sleep, boiling water ruining pot, can you spraypaintbraces, fluorescent pink spray paint, genital paint, genital warts friends, how to spray when going to have sex, I dislike my bishop, and I want to stab him. I am really concerned that somebody who uses genital paint is actually reading my blog, or better yet, a person looking for fellow genital wart lepers.

I really shouldn’t be critical, especially if these people actually read my blog, because I don’t really have the largest audience. It brings back old memories of when I started to blog and it was a mildly successful blog. I had readers from 15 different countries and 30 different states. Now, I have genital wart inquirers and people painting their genitalia. I will still keep my head up and type, no matter how unread I feel.

I guess it all links back to the fact that I am lonely and how I miss when I knew somebody was thinking about me all of the time. My best friends have moved away, the wave of men interested me has waned, and I feel like I am a little bit stuck (especially with my sister flying up to Utah tomorrow). But really, I want somebody to be thinking of me constantly. Is that weird? I see Tal and she never stops texting this boy she met from LDSsingles, Bonnie would text her ex-boyfriend, Coco has constant communication with her boyfriend, Tierra with her lover, and I look at my phone every few minutes just waiting for something, anything really; a smidge of stimulation to my day… a connection to somebody other than myself.

To remedy this, I find myself going to random chat rooms, like Omegle, and talking with strangers for a while. That became boring after the third Malaysian girl asked me how it felt to live in UT, so instead I opened up a twitter account. That is bizarre for me because I think twitter is one of the stupidest fads to have ever popped up in the world. Don’t get me wrong, I love me a good facebook status, but a website devoted to facebook statuses that calls itself a miniblog? I think that if you don’t have enough to say to be classified as a blog, maybe you should stick with statuses. But that is just my bitter-old-man soul, rejecting advances in technology and society.

Two more months, and then I am done with BYU. I pray that I will be done with loneliness too.

I’m in Texas. Now what for? That depends on who you are. To the professors of my classes that I am ditching, I am here for job interviews that were very last minute. To everyone else, I am on vacation with my friend Tal, who just moved back here. To myself, I am here to spend one last week with my best friend before I have to live life without her. Yes I’m sad. Yes I feel all sappy and nostalgic. No I am not going to cry.

Somebody needed to come with Tal to Texas anyway because she couldn’t do the whole 30 hour thing by herself. So Monday, when she had food poisoning, we took off. Monday evening, we made it to Colorado, where it started to snow. Tal isn’t the best at driving in snow, but because we were going up hills and I don’t know how to really drive stick, she had to be a brave woman. After crossing Summit, and coming down a snowy, ice covered highway, Tal commented how she feels like she is not in the most control of the car, and immediately following that comment, we skid off the road and are headed directly into a metal barrier. I knew I was going to die because the barrier was about to hit directly where I was sitting, and I thought, “Wow. The irony of dying right after I get my B.S.” I guess I am rather apathetic towards death.

Instead of dying, we slid off the road, into the snow and mud, and into a fox filled ravine that had an icy river at the bottom. Tal insisted that we should put it in reverse and just try to make it out, but I knew that we would slide to our frostbitten death if we did, so I say, “Let me just try to push while you put it in reverse,” thinking that if she starts sliding forward, I need to become superman and keep this car out of the river. She was certain the car would just run me over, but I put on my big boy pants and said, “I am a man. Shut up and put it into reverse.” I was able to push the car far enough out of the ravine so that we were no longer dangling over the river, but I was not able to get us all the way out. “Wow, we barely missed that river.” Tal didn’t know that we almost were plunged into a river, and then started to have a panic attack. A Penske truck driver stopped, said he saw out skid marks but had no chain, and then drove off. I managed to call the cops while trying to soothe Tal’s panic, but the cops never came. We just sat on the side of the road, waiting in the cold. Finally some burly Mormons popped out of nowhere and helped me push the car back onto the road.

Colorado came and went, and it became my turn to drive. Tal drove from 1 PM to 3 AM and I had been awake the entire time, but I took my turn to drive. I watched the sunrise in Kansas and was surprised to how flat it was. I actually loved Kansas for most of the time, until that is my sister sent me a text saying that she was moving up to Provo. I instantly threw up in my mouth, which I tried to wash down with some Mountain Dew, which made me throw up once more. Apparently my sister is moving to Provo next week, living with an elderly person, and will be attending UVU. Did she tell my parents any of this? No. But I called them up immediately and told them I was not happy with this situation and that she is dead wrong if she thinks that I will be taking care of her. But while I complained to them, I knew that nothing I said was being heard because they were just euphoric that they would be rid of the plague that is my sister’s shinanagins. I just need to keep telling myself that I will be out of Provo soon enough, where I can reestablish my buffer zone from my family.

Oklahoma… smells like a toilet.

Texas. I am driving once again, while Tal sleeps. I actually have been driving since Oklahoma, and I think that I am finally getting the hang of driving stick, but then traffic occurs and I am stalling out and bouncing around trying to get the damn car in gear every three seconds. Somehow Tal didn’t wake up to my horrible driving and moans of anguish, but I am almost sure that I did horrible things to that car that will kill it in a few months. I pull off to the side of the road to switch before I have to drive through Dallas at rush hour and a UPS man lets us know we will be driving right into a storm where a tornado just touched down. But we can’t stop and wait this thing though because we need to get home, and Tal needs to shower because her deodorant becomes noxious after 20 hours, so we go forward anyway. We make it through the worst rain and wind I have ever encountered, and then I ask why the sky is turning yellow/green behind us. Apparently this means that you will soon be dead from a tornado, so we start driving as fast as our little car can take us (71mph). Lightning is everywhere, and while we drive, transformers explode right off the freeway. Around this time, I believe I developed TMJ, and I began dry heaving.

Somehow we made it through the night and didn’t die, but I can’t help but think that maybe this whole trip was a bit of a mistake. Tal’s last memories of me will be associated with food poisoning, skidding off roads, dangling over ravines, tornados and lighting, and noxious armpits. Not only that, but we’ve been at her home for three days now and she still feels ill. I am just praying that she will remember our good times, and just remember this experience as a funny one.

Warning: I am about to talk about sex. If you do not want to read, that’s fine with me.

So I am a virgin. And sometimes I wish I would have just had sex with Curtis back in the day so I could just get rid of the stigma of being a virgin, but that didn’t happen so here I am. Well now, I have the opportunity to have sex, yet I something keeps me from going all the way.

The guy I am seeing now is more than willing to have sex, yet whenever we get really close to doing anything that hot and heavy, I say, “I don’t think I’m ready yet.” Then he in response says, “Yeah, I need to go to bed.” I am out of his apartment within three minutes of my statement (and you know I was thrown out quickly when I have to hide my erection while walking to my truck). I don’t know why I am so reluctant but whenever I think about having sex, well I get freaked out and a list of things I need to happen before I go all the way pops up into my mind.

If I am going to have sex, I do not want to do anything on a couch… especially when there is a bed two doors away. Also, I don’t necessarily want to have sex during a scary movie that features a bald, toad licking mutilator. I would like to actually know when the last time my sexual partner had sex (which means anything… you achieved orgasm with somebody else, let me know about it), and I would probably like a clean bill of health from a licensed serologist.

I guess the biggest thing is that I am not comfortable with my body. I am so uncomfortable with my body that just having somebody touch me (anywhere) makes me cringe. I automatically panic and think about how fat I used to be and the possibility that I am still that fat. I can’t breathe, I feel like I am about to pass out, and I want to crawl under a rock and die. I know this is due to my Body Dysmorphic Disorder (which that is an actual diagnosis… not my hypochondria speaking), and so I probably want to have sex with somebody that I don’t think will laugh at me if something isn’t perfect… Dear God, I will never have sex again if during my first time I am laughed at in any other way but playful.

I know I am seeing the wrong guy for me. He does drugs, he possibly is talking to other guys and doing the same things with them as he is with me, he kicks me out of his apartment when I say I’m not comfortable doing certain things, and he doesn’t believe in love or romance. Not that I am this big lovey-dovey guy… but I do believe that romance exists, and I want it. Maybe I’m asking too much to find a guy who is romantic and attractive.

I know that I should just say, “I think we have too physical of a relationship,” or, “Maybe we should talk about this before it happens,” but I just can’t seem to do it. I know that the moment that I say anything, I will be immediately ushered out from his basement apartment and out into the cold. And I like knowing that somebody is attracted to me. Nothing sucks worse than just floating about for two years without anybody hitting on you, giving a flirt, or flashing a passing wink… and that was my first two years at BYU. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I don’t really know who reads my blog, but those that read my blog and actually know me, I would really like your opinions. Although I already know exactly what will be said, but maybe getting a ton of disapproving messages will force me to actually do the right thing.

All my life, I have been known to go completely apathetic in unfavorable situations. So of course this week, if a nuclear bomb was going to hit BYU, I would shrug it off and go along my merry way. The problem is that when I turn apathetic, I lose my mind, do and say things that I shouldn’t say, and then end up hurting one of my friends.

Yesterday I had a big final I had to take, so studying initiated my general apathy toward the world. After six hours on campus, I finally get home and the one thing I want to do is to have a crazy make-out. So I text my what-ever-he-is and he doesn’t respond for two hours, and when he does respond he says that he has plans and then will probably just go to sleep. That is when I realized how pointless getting with this guy is… and it doesn’t help that I can’t make my mind up about him. Sometimes I really like him and would just like to tear off his clothes, but other times I just want to stab him in the neck with a fork.

Then my best friend up here lets me know that she just got back from a date with this guy she has been talking to for about a month. The problem is that she is moving three states away, and so dating him has just been for fun. But last night she told me that, “I’m not falling for him, but I am definitely tumbling.” So of course I respond with, “You’re moving.” She then blows up in my face, and I keep fueling the fire because that’s what I do when I am apathetic. My apathetic alter-ego just wants everyone to hate me. Then she tells me that her date told her that he loves her, which she found sweet. I personally think that telling her he loves her is premature because they have been on three dates and have been talking for only a month, and telling her he loves her is totally a way to keep her from moving. When I told Tal this… well she wasn’t happy.

I knew that I should have just smiled and said, “That’s nice Tal. How do you feel?” But instead, I went off on a rant about how him saying he loves her is stupid and how she is settling for the first guy to come along since her last boyfriend. I realize that she is older than the average age to get married and so she is trying to find somebody… anybody, but I would hate for her to settle for this guy just because he said he loves her after a few dates. I’m just worried for her I guess.

Oh, and I never got my make-out. I waited for some type of clue as to if I was going over or not… never got anything. I’d really like to stab somebody in the neck with a fork today.

So it is finals week… actually it is my third week of finals, but this is the last stretch before I walk, take an English class, and then actually get my diploma. Really this semester is about to kill me because the next two finals I take I have to get rather decent grades on to pass. It’s bizarre because I am getting A’s in all my other classes but these two just seem to be killing me. But I know that
recently I have been slacking off with studies for those classes.

It’s all because of a boy. I guess he is actually a man because he is in his late twenties and is finishing Grad School, but whatever he is… he is something in my life. He contacted me on facebook and I approved him because I never turn down people unless they are obviously prostitutes from Sweden, but he seemed nice and I approved. From there it turned to dinner and he turned out to be the most intriguing guy I have met in a long time. He ate crusty bread and drank red wine, we talked about music, and we said goodnight, nothing special. Then, I started going over to his house when he would get home from work… midnight. We’d watch movies, he’d smoke pot, and he’d get the munchies. The usual. Too bad that this has been the happening for the last three weeks: movies, pot, munchies. Every once and again I will feel a spark, but sometimes I feel his drug use is less recreational and more self-medicating than what he says it is, and that scares me.

My friends despise him although they have yet to meet him. I assume this is mostly because he is rather different than any guy they would imagine me with, but they also aren’t too pro about the fact that his weed usage makes it so that he doesn’t remember anything that was said between the two of us. That also bothers me: Both the fact that my friends don’t like him and that he doesn’t remember me.

Writing all this down makes it seem like I am in one heck of a situation…

So my writer friend has become obsessed with this weird form of poetry. It essentially follows a template and tells you exactly what to write. She has had quite some success with this form of poetry, so I thought I would try it out. It’s not anything special, and don’t hop to conclusions:

His eyes are deep pools
I’m afraid mine will become deep from a kiss.
Burning, glowing, acrid, fleeting.
Lips, taste of poison.
Juliet in Verona.
I go in for a taste.
Hover, stop, retreat.
My legs are janky;
Therefore, I must be clumsy.
Is this feeling three sheets to the wind?
This ever-present taste of crime.
Anxiety tastes so sweet.
I breathe in.
Lush, you’ve got yourself in quite deep this time.
And then haunted with guilt.
Chaotic silence.
And I will go further than Armstrong!
Nire aerolabangailua aingirez beteta dago.
The smoke waves goodbye,
and I’m still looking into those pools.


For the template, use this website: http://www.spynets.com/forum/index.php?showtopic=9280
Write your own.