Forced Entry

The title of this is a crime, and perhaps the post, itself, will be one. Basically, as you can see, I'm forcing myself to write something.

I'm doing this to myself (and to you, suckers) because I'm in a great mood. I usually write out of anger or worse, irrepressible rage, as I've said many times before, so why not see what I can do when I'm not picturing myself as Mike Tyson in a boxing ring opposite a troupe of girl scouts.

"I'm on the Zoloft to keep from killin' y'all" is the best quote ever.

For the record, I'd never hurt a girl scout, even though their cookies suck. Samoas have coconut, which is gross, and Tagalongs are what you feed to a peanut butter cup addict if you want to help them kick the habit or break their heart. Thin mints are good, but I'm over them. I eat Greek yogurt with Chia seeds and drink diet coke now, because I'm half a hippie. You can keep your chocolatey, minty, delicious, oh god, I gotta stop. Must think yogurt thoughts.

Dammit, Will, you ate almost 20 chicken wings tonight. Eat a cookie and shut up.

Anyways, for those not in the know, I'm working at two beer distributors now. At one, I rip my muscles to shreds for a meager salary, in hopes that I will eventually have biceps like my brother, and at the other, I do a perfectly good job and get blamed for things other people did, despite having proof that I was not at fault. Joke's on those in question, though, because I'm a handsome beast and they're not.

I make these minor complaints, but really, I like what I do. I'm surrounded by beer all day long, and I don't work for a woman who apparently aspires to be Hitler. What's to hate?

And since I don't work restaurant hours anymore, I get to have fun. It was one of my new year's resolutions to have fun, which some people teased me for. What a strange concept, really, resolving to have fun. It's usually something that just happens, so why say that you just want to have a good time? Everyone wants to lose weight or something, but I just wanted to enjoy myself. Looking at my recycling lately, it seems I've done that. Clink. I spend so much time thinking about work and love, and I forget to just relax with a few beers and some friends, and just talk. Not so much lately. My memory seems to be impeccably sharp. Resolution half-way complete. It's not a bad way to be, if you can make it happen.

Oh, I also lost 20 lbs in a few short months, so I completed everyone else's resolutions. Sorry.

So I guess what I'm trying to say in the most long-winded way possible is that things are going well. I feel incredibly stagnant and kind of bored, but in the end, isn't it to be bored with happiness than to be driven mad by anger and disappointment? Great things happen due to the latter, and no things happen due to the former, but I don't intend on prolonging my situation. I see it as a rest stop in between turbulence and new beginnings.

I've reached the end of my thoughts for the night, and as you can see, being in a good mood does not get my creative juices flowing. Perhaps that means I'm better-driven by an inner hatred or something. But as I lay here, drinking a diet coke and eating a cookie (I gave in), my greatest enemy crushed by I've Decided Not To Continue Writing This Thought Because I Don't Want To Upset Anyone, plotting glorious trips to visit long-lost friends in Erie, ever-illusive love elsewhere, and basking in the afterglow of a night out with close friends, everything seems to be great. Except my stomach, because buffalo sauce...not good.

One of these days, I'll have time to come up with an original thought, and write something worth reading. This is really just a placeholder to make sure Blogger.com doesn't delete my blog for lack of activity. But for right now, I'm working 6 days a week, I have most nights off, and I intend on exploiting that like a cheap labor force in a Nike factory. I don't have time for originality, and I sure as hell don't have time for Saturday night dinner rush. But I do have time to show you this:

You think my new-found optimism is something that happened on its own? Hell no. Godzilla is officially Japanese.

What a time to be alive.

What Do I Have To Offer? A Motivational Diatribe From Yours, Mostly Truthfully.

My late night thoughts this evening consist of a few words I try not to use here, because hey, this is a family blog, after all.

Just kidding, no it isn't. As the new kid at work undoubtedly thought as he left, tonight, "that guy says "fuck" a lot". And he's not wrong. Bless my little heart and occasionally limited vocabulary, I'm trying to get better at it (sometimes, there's only one four-letter word that fits a given situation).

First thing's first, I met with a woman yesterday (probably two days ago, by the time you read this), regarding my interest in becoming a real estate agent. She and I talked for about an hour, and I think she seemed genuinely interested in what I may have to bring to the table, which surprised me. I go through phases quite frequently, where I feel like I have no talents, and nothing to offer. However, during this conversation, a point was made to compile a list of distinguishing talents and abilities I have, which would come in handy in that particular line of work.

As it turns out, I'm a talented writer (in my opinion, only), polite, well-spoken (when I'm not just saying "fuck" a lot), I have real-world experience that I did not have when I graduated from college, I'm punctual (don't ask my brother about that, since he'd have a different opinion), I work extremely well on my own but I'm a great team player, and I'm apparently quite witty. That last one was my observation, though I can't blame her for obviously thinking it, herself. I am, after all, the Lyrical Miracle and about thirty other nicknames I've shamelessly stolen from professional wrestlers, including "the reflection of perfection", and "the quintessential stud muffin". I have others, but some are not family-friendly, and remember, I'm trying. Others are just stupid, so I won't bring the level of thought down.

I'm not simply writing a list of the things that I think are good about myself, so that you, the reader, sit there and think I'm a swell guy. It helps me to see them written out, and to believe that I do have value beyond my ability to cut the shit out of a cucumber at lightning speed. By the way, did I mention that I can cut the shit out of a cucumber at lightning speed?

I find myself jealous, frequently, of those around me, whom I see as gold mines of talents and abilities I wish I had. I feel passed by, like the person that other people knew on their way to being something, far removed from what they once were. It's good that everyone is doing their thing, but I feel left out of it sometimes.

But let me tell a little story.

'Twas the night before Christmas...eve...and all through the townhouse, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse (because we had one, but it ate the poison we put out, and I disposed of its body). But jolly St Will concocted a plan, to throw a party for which underage kids were banned. Come at 8:30, my text message read, but by 9:20, the party seemed utterly dead. Nobody showed up, not one single soul, so I sat there alone, and felt like a fool. I was pissed off, upset, morose, and displeased, so I got up, grabbed a book, and sat down to read. When all of a sudden, there arose such a clatter, so I got up and answered the door, to see what was the matter. There stood my friends, with holiday cheer. They came with foodstuffs, hellos, and some bottles of beer. I couldn't believe that I had such luck, as to have friends whose senses of time so objectively sucked. We enjoyed the night with good food and drink, and I'm lucky that nobody threw up in the sink.

For those who care to know, I proceeded to get very, very drunk, have a great time, and then fall asleep on the couch while watching The Inbetweeners. I spent Christmas Eve extremely hung over, but quite happy with the turnout.

So, between the story I just shared, and the list of talents and qualities from above, I have two things to remind myself of on nights like tonight, when I feel like nobody really gives a shit. First, they do, as evidenced by my vomiting on Christmas Eve, which was facilitated by their apparent desire to see if I could finish off another IPA (I could). Second, even if they don't, I have talents and qualities to make people give a shit.

I write this blog for everyone to get a kick out of, most of the time, considering I think I'm hilarious. Sometimes, like tonight, I write it for myself, as a sort of self-therapy, which is why I started it in the first place, several years ago. Perhaps it's indicative of my state of mind in the last year, or so, that I don't write as much anymore. It means I'm less angry about a lot of things.

I'm still motivated by anger and spite more than some other things, but I've been able to elevate other factors in shaping the path I'm on, rather than doing nothing but writing humorously to channel intense dislike and fervent rage.

Tonight, I wrote for myself. But I also wrote it for you.

I don't care about making you laugh, or at least not tonight. Any jokes or humorous lines I wrote simply happened because, gifted as I am, I just can't help myself. The "Night Before Christmas Eve" was written simply because I could.

I considered not posting this, because perhaps people will think less of me for being so vain as to think anybody cares about it . Everybody likes to make the joke about people who share stupid shit on Facebook. I even made that joke the other day, by posting that I ate meatloaf.

I also considered not posting it, because I know people do care about me, and may be worried by some of the things I've said. Though, as I've tried to mention, despite my bad mood this evening, I am a much more positive person than I was, and things are going pretty well.

In the end, I decided to post it, because I simply wanted to. I think it's good.

I also wrote, tonight, for anybody who reads this, who doesn't feel confident in themselves, whether they let others know it or not. Blessed though I am with a group of friends who almost unanimously exude confidence, I'm sure that at least one of them deals with issues similar to mine.

When I was asked yesterday about what talents and qualities I have that would give me an advantage in real estate, I sat quietly for a moment, having heard the one question I am always unable to answer. That one question I can't Google and pretend that I didn't. "What do I have to offer". My initial answer sucked. Essentially, it amounted to nothing. That "nothing" represented my immediate feelings about myself. But feelings are misleading.

Feelings don't decide court cases, equations, or history. But facts do. And the fact is that I am all of the things I listed above, though perhaps I'm not the Quintessential Stud Muffin (I am).

If you're not feeling great about yourself, I'm not going to tell you not to. That's not how these things work. Nothing pisses me off when I'm upset quite like when someone tells me to just be happy.

I'm going to tell you, instead, that you have value that you can see when you're not quite so miserable. In fact, you've probably got a list of things that are pretty cool. You just need to find out how to bring it all together.

Unless you're an asshole.

But assholes don't read this. They're not allowed, because they don't have the password.

So, until next time, it is I: Will...the....I already said I won't do it....but I....oh, hell.

Will...

...the lyrical miracle, the quintessential stud muffin, and a goodness-gracious, good golly, damn handsome man. The reflection of perfection and the number one selection. The best of the best, better than the rest. Rockin, rollin, chillin out, maxin, and relaxin all cool-n, shooting some b-ball outside of the school-n, and Def Leppard knows that I'm not f-f-f-foolin'. I'm stronger than a bear and faster than a buck, and the best thing to hit Pittsburgh, because the Pirates still suck....

Schuster.