A Modest Proposal

Today I made my first credit card purchase, I guess that's a milestone. But to be honest I would have rather it had not happened. I just spent three hundred dollars on four brand new tires that I don't even want. Let me drive that home to you, three hundred dollars is enough to by so many more things that are more necessary to sustain life for instance you could buy a brand new beagle puppy for fifty dollars less than it costs for four brand new tires. You could buy a sparkling new ipod, or alternatively you could stay two nights in a fabulous hotel suite in the Orlando Florida Hilton Hotel. You could even buy a night of passionate love from yours truly (before taxes of course).
All these things asside however, I've come with a solution to our biggest problem: money. We need to get rid of all money and go back to the bartering system. But, instead of trading with scraps of metal or our virgin daughters I think we should barter with important things; like love. For instance I'm sure that there is someone in this world who had four perfectly good tires for a ninety six jeep cherokee, that they would have been more than willing to give me for either a year of friendship or a week of passionate sex. I'd be willing to do either if it means that I don't have to pay three hundred dollars for some motherfucking tires.

Pretty much the worst weekend of my life (so far)

I don't have enough energy to actually write in complete sentences, so from here on out, I will write a list of awful things that happened thus far.

Was forced to wake up at three o clock to go to work on Black Friday
Was cussed out by very rude customers at "Great Purchase"
Went fourteen hours straight without eating
Got in a car accident , involving me, and an unsuspecting ditch.
Told I was irresponsible, and the bain of my family's exsistence.
Told I was a role model for younger people, and that I needed to change my lifestyle to accomodate them. Fuck that.

Okay, you should see this.

Just for the record I love Paris Hilton. I just think it's really funny to hear Lindsay Lohan say anything derrogatory about anyone else. Especially when it involves the word "cunt"

New Header

Compliments of yours truly, enjoy and shit.

Yeah I stole this

I stole this from Her, who stole it from this person who I've never met.

Instructions:Write 10 statements to 10 different people.Never tell which one is for who.

1.I wish we talked more, but sometimes it's easier just not to call, because I don't like hearing about your life when it doesn't involve me.

2. I don't call or write you, because the air surrounding our ruined frienship is too fragile, too stale. It seems like nothing has been spoken between us, but everythings already been said.

3. Sometimes I fear I might use you as an emotional crutch

4. I can't help but say most of the time I really don't like you, I just tolerate you because everyone says that I have to.

5. I love you, but it seems like the only time we're close is when we're pissed off about something.

6. I really just don't know what we are anymore.

7. Sometimes I think about calling you just to see what's up, but then I remember that I'm not allowed to do that.

8. You are perfect in your own way, I like seeing how you turn out. You always surprise me.

9. I think a new career is in order, I hope that you find everything you're looking for.

10. I love you for everything you are, and aren't.


Okay, done. I'll give you a hint. The last one is about myself, or maybe it's about Britney Spears. I really don't recall.

Happy Birthday Postarita

On this very day one year ago. I created Postarita on a whim. One year ago today I was in a dark time in my life. I was uprooted, single, and losing faith. Now one year later I'm just single with no faith. I'm looking for a shaky kind of inner peace, one that I haven't found yet. Having Postarita in my life has helped me somewhat however. Here's to another year Postarita. Happy Birthday.

Postarita (N)
Poe-stah-ree-tah1. A blog to discuss the funny and thoughts of a ninteen year old boy.
2. Post as in post hurricane Rita that completely uprooted said boy for nearly two months, and nearly destroyed his home town.
3. Postarita as in if you switch it out for "Senorita" in the Justin Timberlake song of the same name, you have a catchy pop diddy.

Oh, the joys of being a ruthless bitch.

S.S.B.

Today we're going to jump right in, and talk about something very serious. An epedemic that is gripping the nation. I'm talking my friends about a little something CAlled S.S.B. Though it is not the latest craze of sexually transmitted disease or anything as gruesome, it is something troublesome. OF course I"m talking about Secret Single Behavour. Those little thigns you do when you're not dating someone, that you would never actually let someone you had feelings for, or just wanted to bone, that you actually do. You know those little quirks that you and only you alone are allowed to be knowledgeable of. I never thought I would divulge mine, at least not for all the internet to see, but I'm going to for the sake of this post. My secret single behaviour, is locking myself in my bathroom for hours at a time, and messing with my hair. I wax it up for texture, I gel it up for height, I straighted it for something different. And then when all is said and done, I wash my hair and leave the house for the day. All of my minutes of messing going unnoticed, because I never actually let anyone see me like that. So be awed, be surprised, be shocked and unhappy. These are the things that are lurking in people's closets. You all have them too. You're all just not as open with the internet as I am.

A few days ago I recieved an email from myself, courtesy of futureme.org. I didn't rememeber writing it. So it was surprise when I got it. Though I'm so glad that I did write it. It makes me realize how it's really the little things that matter. It really is. As long as I can chill out in the park with my ipod, and get excited over the latest Britney Spears, I'll be alright. As long as I stay grounded, and keep in tune with me. Things will never be that bad.

The letter:

Dear FutureMe,

I hope I haven't let you down too badly. I hope you've found love and life. I hope you're still singing, and writing, and loving everything about yourself. I hope you take the time to listen to your ipod in the park, and talk to your best friends. I hope you've lost a little weight, and grown out your hair. I hope you still read, and I hope you still love Britney Spears. I hope that everything for you is good. Most of all, I hope things keep getting even better.I love you.

Someday

One of these days, I'll start learning from mistakes. One of these days I'll stop living in the past. One of these days, I won't be affected like this. One of these days it won't still feel like a punch in the stomach, a sudden vaccum sucking all of the air out of my lungs, my heart stops beating, my eyes widen, my hands clench. I can't stop it. I can't right now. But someday I will. Someday I will.

But Jordan! Think of the employee discount!

As some of you may or may not know, last week I quit the job that I've been working at since I was eighteen years old. Although you'd be hard presseed to be able to consider it a career, it was like my home. I spent a greater majority of my time there, all my friends are still there. But last week I decided it was time to embark on something bigger and better. Alot of the things I'm about to say are probably not wise to post on the internet for fear of being dooced, but I'm cool with it.

Like I was saying as you may or may not know I now work for and I quote "The world's largest consumer electronics retailer". I will not actually cite the company by it's name but for clarities sake we'll call it "Great Purchase". I started last week, and at first I was pretty sure I loved it. Sure everyone seemed to clap a whole lot, and the pep talks and things like "There is no mountain too high, dream the impossible" being said at every possible moment was a little cumbersome. Yet all things considered I was pretty sure I was going to like it in spite of all that. The pay was great, and the benefits were even better. Sure the my co workers look a little lactose intolerant but I can deal with that too. And for the first few days everything seemed alright. I went merrirly along my way stocking cds, and dvds, and other consumer electronics that make us and I quote "The world's largest consumer electronics reatailer", and all seemed right in the world. But that was all until this week, where things hit a fever pitch.

I mentioned something casually about the constant clapping and pep talks, but I doubt I really did alot to drive home that point to you. It is a constant threat, that makes us want to pull out our hair, and punch someone squarely in the conjones. It is ever present, ever looming; the fear of having to cheer out in jubilation over a company we've only been working for a little over a week. When we get there at the beginning of our shift, we do jumping jacks, and in each interval we spell out the companies name. When we adjourn for a lunch break we are forced to "give them" the letters that spell out the name of our business. When we come back from lunch we are made to recite a cheer that not only do we have to memorize, but we will also be tested on. And God forbid we just clock out and leave at the end of our shift, heavens no. I mean how dare we want to leave when we've only been clapping for the last nine hours of our lives? How fucking dare we. So yet again, we are made to cheer just one more time before we all leave to walk ourselves into oncoming traffic hoping for the absolute worst.

To some people this situation doesn't sound that horrible. Great pay? Sign me up! Benefits and discounts out the ass? Sounds great! But if only you had to endure the constant peppiness, the incesant clapping, the ever present cheering and yelling; you too would be looking for an easy way out: death. But even all of that wasn't enough for me to truly, truly hate my job until today. The day when they thought it would be best to stop the hours upon hours of meticulous arranging and pricing merchandise. No today, we got a special treat. Today we got to sit in front of a three hundred pound man from our very important "corporate offices", and hear him talk about the joys of high deffinition television for five hours straight. Five fucking hours of pixels, and bit rates, and handing out Pez dispensers for the people who got answers to questions correct.

In case you were wondering, no I was not a recipient of a most sought after Pez dispenser. Apparently I'm not worthy of such a thing as a appendageless cartoon head attached to a plastic tube. But even after suffering such a loss, I was still in the game. Iw asn't quite ready to throw in the proverbial towel. That was until as I was trying ot make my escape at five o clock after one last round of clapping, that one of the managers came up to me and said "Jordan, we need to talk about something." Of course the first thought that came to my mind was "Oh, shit. He realized I was asleep for most of that speech about high deffinition tv, didn't he? Holy bejesus fuckballs." And just as I was trying to think of a beliveable lie for why I was asleep, he says "It's about your khakis." I look down at my Abercrombie and Fitch regulation standard issue khaki pants. Sure there are a few frayed edges at the bottom cuffs, but I kind of thought that brought a nice touch. I mean it's not like I paid for these pants to be ripped, this is all natural! You should praise me on how real I am, or something equally stupid. Then he says "Your khakis are not what "great purchase" considers khaki." I look down at the dark tan of my pants, and look back up questionly, my thoughts drifting to things such as "then what color is it dipshit?". He then says to me "Just make sure you fix the problem Jordan, remember that the impossible is possible here at "Great Purchase", I would hate to see you ruin it with the wrong uniform." He looks at me as if he doesn't even believe what he's saying and then turns around and goes back inside. The entire time I'm thinking "Look, Mister corporate, I don't fucking want your mountain. I don't fucking want you're godamned impossible possibillity or whatever the fuck you're talking about. But I do want you to realize that this is what khaki looks like in America. So take a long hard look at my supossed unkhaki colored knee; because you're about to get it up your ass."

I then went home, and instead of walking into on coming traffic like I had promised myself that I would. I sang myself a little ditty instead. You know there really is no mountain high enough. No river wide enough...

Too Much

I just got an email from some random spammer with the current tagline:

"It's okay, it is common to have problems with errections."


Okay, stop right there. Hold on buddy, don't you think this is too much too soon? I mean come on, we hardly know eachother! We've barely even met, and here you are talking specifics about your errection? Didn't your mother teach you any better?

Scheduling.

I just stepped outside a little past midnight to smoke a cigarette. As I inhaled, I noticed all the subtle beauty surrounding me. The gentle reds and tans of the hard brick wall I was leaning upon, the calm winds that tugged the ends of my unruly hair, the moon shining more brightly than I can remember in recent times. It's comforting to know that even if I'm on the outs with my best friend, and my love life is going less than spectacularly...or actually not going anywhere at all (Though, alas that is another post), that life still has simple ways of treating you to a moment that is purely, and simply just for you. And it's sad that we take so little time to appreciate it. All we have to do is show up, the world is already making the perfect moments and memories for us. And while we go about our busy lives , having arguments, and shedding tears, the world just keeps your reservation open for you for the moment you decide to take up it's offer. And I think that's a date we all need to schedule in our date books.

Short

Up date: I just dyed my hair black.

Pictures will be up soon.

That is all.

It's time for things to come full circle.

Happy Fucking Fourth.

Today I spent most of my time doing what all true Americans do on this great holiday we know as Independance Day; I sat on my ass and sold fireworks. This is fine. This is perfectly normal. What is not perfectly normal, however is the fact that this firework's stand is located in the great outdoors. If you know me at all you know that me and the outside world don't necessarily always get along. I mean sometimes we're civil to eachother, but sometimes we're downright rude bitches to one another. This is where the struggle begins me being rude to the mother earth, and the mother earth pissing all over me. Which is actually how the story begins in the first place, piss. As I stated earlier the fireworks stand is located in a giant tent in the middle of town surrounded by lots and lots of trees, but no public restroom. Whoever thought this was a bright idea, I would like to personally kill. It was eventually inevitable though I tried to hold it in for the last week that I have worked there, today on the busiest day of the year for an average fireworks stand, my bladder decided to shit out on me. So I leave the tent, and find a tree. This is not something I'm necessarily happy about. Peeing outside leaves a boy feeling very vunerable and slightly mortified. Although as I stated before this is truly where the conflict comes into play. Suddenly as I'm disposing of several liters of coca cola products I had consumed earlier in the day, my foot begins to burn with the intensity of a thousand midgets clawing their way out of a dumpster of ferrets. Or something equally as bad. At first, I freaked out because I thought I was peeing on my foot, and if that had happened I would have just had to cut it off. I can not walk around knowing that urine had ever been on my foot. But suddenly I realize that I am standing in a freaking ant pile. Gonads to the wind, and tiny insects scurrying up my leg biting the shit out of me. What excatly did I do to deserve this? I mean it's not like I'm dumping toxic waste here, I'm pretty sure urine is biodegradable right? To wrap things up, I finally zipped up my pants, and found another tree as I tried to rid my leg of said ants. All the time wondering if this is what started it all. Were our nations great forefathers peeing in the woods, and suddenly had a eureka that we should have own govermment? Or did they too get their limbs gnawed off by scurrying creatures? I guess we'll never know.

Oh My God

I never thought I would say this...but this is THE SONG OF THE SUMMER.

Jessica Simpson-A Public Affair

I didn't post that really, so I guess it's legal for y'all to download it. Whatever, trust me this is important.

If you know me at all, you know that I'm with someone pretty much twenty four hours a day. I hate spending time alone. I cannot stand to sit here by myself as I am right now. I need to be moving, and going, instead of sitting, and thinking, and falling. When I sit by myself and think old things, suppossed to be dead and buried things, come back from the afterlife to haunt me once again. Forgotten people start bubbling to the surface screaming my name, looking me in the eyes, holding out their hands. It's too much to take.

Back to basics

After being offline for a little over two months, I've come to realize that the interweb is not as important to me as it once was. And though I'm sorry that I haven't gotten a chance to up to date this as much as I would like to, I dont' really feel like sharing every little detail of my life as much as I used to. Maybe it's just me, but I guess I don't see the point of posting all of my secrets for a bunch of strangers to see, anymore. Don't get me wrong I'm not closing the site, just trying to see where all of this is going. All in all, I've missed everyone who does read. Thanks for sticking with me.

Sorry

It's been a while, I realize this. My internet has been down for an entire week. Sorry about lacdk of updates, I am. Will try to get back up soon.

Loved

I'd just like to take a moment to list a few things that I have much love for recently:

Shakira

Cigarettes, and lots of them

Pink Ruffles

That bitch at "Black Tie"

That other bitch on myspace who sent me a message saying that I look just like her first crush, and don't I want to "hook up"?

My stalker, have I told you the story about my stalker? No, I haven't? I totally should sometime.

Telling people that no in fact, my hips do not lie, and neither does my twat.

Public Urination.

I haven't written anything extensive in this for quite some time. I'm sorry if I just can't be bothered that often. I guess that when I'm not writing on this, I'm out there actually living my life. I have to have something to write about. And the only recurring theme I can find recently is friendship. That's all I have around me, I am completely surrounded by love. And that is good enough for me.

Et Tu

I should have posted this earlier, but all I have to say about today is:

Beware the ides of March. Seriously, that bitch is vicious.

Take it or leave it.

If it makes me a loser that sometimes I like sentimental "Oh, don't forget how wonderful we were together, and all the wild sex we accomplished" songs, then so be it.

What do you think about me?

My Pros
and Cons

Only to me

In case any of you were afraid that I had lost my touch to have stupid and odd things happen to me for seemingly no reason at all, well fear not. Yesterday while at the library with Son and Natalie, me and Natalie sat a small table while she did some homework, I believe Son was outside smoking. Anyways, as me and Natalie had a quiet conversation, I suddenly felt something bump my leg, of course thinking it was Natalie I began to proclaim that she had kicked me, and how dare she do such a thing, when I look at Natalie and notice that she isn't paying attention to me because she's looking at someone right on the side of me. I turn to look only to see a very large, very tall, very african male wearing a blue shirt. As I begin to look at him to see if maybe I know him, and he was just trying to get my attention, he walks away. I was the victim of a walk by kicking! I swear to God, this kind of thing only happens to me.

Heard and Said

Him: "Sometime this week, I swear I'm just going to shove something up his ass"
Me: "Why him? You should do it to ****** (Name ommitted to protect the Irish)
Her: "No, that would never work, she's already got something up there."

I'll be ready

I would love to write something witty, or inspirational, or maybe even grammatically correct. But, I can't do any of those things. I don't feel like being funny, or a good semeritan, or a good anything honestly. I just feel like lying down, and maybe never getting up again. Or alternatively taking off my shoes, and running around the world screaming until someone notices me, and when they do, I'll be ready for that.

Haunting

A few days ago I had a frightening thought as I made my way home in my sturdy Jeep. As I passed an old familliar road that my Godmother used to live on, and was also the settlement of an ex, I began to realize that I pass that same neighborhood every day. And when I pass it, do I think of the Godmother who I knew and loved for fifteen years of my life? Or do I remember the person who I dated for a year and half, and then spent an equal amount of time fearing and avoiding? Of course I remember the latter. Is it odd that our past loves haunt us more than people who are actually dead? And is a dead relationship anything like a dead person, or realative, or friend at all? Do we need mourning time? Should we wear all black for the next year? Am I expected to sit shiva? And if so, why is this? Why is it that we can know someone our entire lifes, have them die and still think of our stupid relationships over them? Are we really that selfish? Am I that selfish? Well, maybe I should just stop thinking, and keep driving.

No thanks.

The next time I get a pop-up ad for a dating service, or sexy singles, or over thirty somethings looking for love, or must I say it: porn, I am seriously going to have a conniption. If I wanted to date someone, I would. If I was thirty years old and still single, I probably would have killed myself by now anyways. And if I wanted to see someone's naked flapping penis next to someone elses thirty something year old vagina, I would just go to my uncle's house. So really "TrueMatch.com" and "SexyBabies4U.net", thanks for the sentiment; but no fucking thank you.

Class rules.

Tomorrow is my first day of classes for this semester. I am making a running check list of things that I will, and will not do this semester.

I will not skip. Good students go to class daily, and so will I.

I will not send text messages in class. Although I will read them if they are sent to me, because if I didn't that would just be downright rude.

I will not listen to ipod during class time. I will remember to turn ipod on hold, so that one good Hilary Duff song that I have on my ipod does not begin playing in the middle of class. This has happened before, do not let it happen again.

I will make it a habit not to get up and leave in the middle of class for a smoke/snack/phone call, moment. I just won't. And if I do, I at least will have the decency to come back to class when I am done.

I will also make a habit to sit far away from the door so that I do not have the urge to leave in the middle of class time, through it. Reasoning behind this is that, I would hate to make a lot of noise as to distract the class or notify the professor to my departure, being far away from the door makes this a lot harder to do.

I will not dance or sing in the elevators. You remember what happened last time you did that, and that semi attractive girl walked up to the opening elevator door, mid ass-shake. You remember how mortified you were.

Sing it.

Isn't it scary how the things that we used to revel in, now are the things we shy from? Isn't it odd how there used to be some things or some people you felt so safe with, and now you could actually run in pure emotional terror from just their memory? Well, you're preaching to the choir.

A moment.

All I have to say today is that sometimes the things in your life that you don't want, are the things you need the most. Sometimes life just has a way of letting good things happen to you. Today, I think I'm ready to start letting those good things happen to me.


Next week is my week, afterall.

Once

I once knew a woman in her forties. She had tightly permed red tinged hair, and a quivering chin with a nice smile. Her eyes lit up the world behind her glasses, and her clothing choices always looked comfortable. She used to pick me up for school in the morning, and sang LeeAnn Rhimes songs to me. I once spent the night at her house and we stayed up all night watching television and making Power Rangers cut and bake cookies. She used to make Sheppard's Pie, and cakes. Whenver I sat down next to her, she would always play with earlobes between her fingers. She had a loud laugh, and a brighter smile. She used to make me smile. She was my mother's best friend, and my father's favorite sister. She was my Godmother too. She used the word "fricking" in every possible sentence she could. On New Years Eve when I was in the seventh grade she died after a long battle with colon cancer. Her name was Georgia. And sometimes when that old Ray Price song comes on, I get a little bit sentimental. I think of her red hair, and her glasses, and her voice, and her humor. I think of what it meant to know her, and what it still means to have to say goodbye to her. She once told my dad that the worst thing about dying would be that she wouldn't get to see me and my sister grow up. I hope that I'm making her proud. I really love her.

I once knew a woman in her seventies. She had white frosted hair, but bleached it often. She was always dripping in gold, and diamonds. Excess was her one rule. If she wanted something, she had to have it, in every color and every size imaginable. She was generous and loving. She was unconditional in both. She didn't care about what you wanted, it didn't matter the cost, or the means to be able to get it, she always got it. She would go out of her way to do anything for anyone. She was relentlessly spending, and loving. When I was younger I used to sit on the floor besides her chair in her living room, and she would run her hands through my hair, and tell me how much she loved me. With her, I never had to guess about anything. She was blunt, and honest, and wonderful. I loved every little thing about her. She was my great grandmother, but a mother to my own mother. She lost her daughter last October, and after that she just gave up. She was so stricken with grief and sadness she no longer wished to go on. She died in July. I will always remember the little lessons she taught me about being polite, and proper, and how to tell the carat weight of a diamond. I really love her.

I once knew a boy who was about ten years old. He was my cousin, but moreso he was my friend. He had diabetes but nothing slowed him down. He had short brown hair and big wire rimmed glasses. When he died, I was only seven. My parents told me that the night of the funeral I asked them when he was coming back. I asked them if he'd be able to come over the house again. That story still makes me want to cry. It's been a very long time since he died but sometimes it's like he's never left. Sometimes when I look at his picture, I see him in myself. He drowned at a friends birthday party, while no one was paying attention. It was pointless and horrible. When I was in the seventh grade I stumbled upon the boy who's party he was at in the first place. He didn't even seem sorry. And even though he'd be about twenty two years old now, I will always think of him as that ten year old that I went to go see Batman with. Always. I really love him.

Twinned.

Have you ever heard of that crazy siamese twin that think she's Reba Mcentire? It's totally true. She's a thirty something year old siamese twin, and her one and only dream (besides the obvious one of not being a siamese twin for the rest of her life), is to be Reba Mcentire. So she changed her name to match her idol's and put's on really bad karaoke shows, where she sings Reba songs out of tune, and out of key. She covers her twin with a blanket so as to act like she's alone on stage. What you've never heard of her?


I should totally tell you about it sometime.

Hallmark Haiku Sendoffs

Just a short bitter, angry, haikus to my personals.

To best friend:

Thanks for moving away
I now know what it means to
make my own decisions

To best gay friend:

Thanks for getting me
asked not to return to
Labeurge De Lac Casino

To best friend who happens to be female, but I sometimes forget that she is:

Thanks for sitting there
not acting when you should, it's
staring you in the face

To former best friend:

Thanks for forgetting
that I ever exsisted
means the world to me

To my exes (Believe it or not there are more than one):

It wasn't your messed
up teeth or your bad hair it
was just your personality

Speak Your Mind Out Loud

Me: What are you doing?
Him: I'm speaking in my native language.
Me: And what would that be?
Him: Satanism.
Me: I thought you were Vietnameese?

I resolve.

I have decided this year I will not make pointless New Year's resolutions that I will never stick to such as: losing weight, or to stop cussing so damn much. I know I will never do these things, so instead this year I am only going to wish for attainable things to befall me. And they are as follows:

To eat more cookie cake.
To listen to more Carrie Underwood.
To obtain a Tivo.
To watch more T.V. (I.E. American Idol)
To smoke less.
To cuss more.
To fall deeply, utterly in love, head over heels, even if the person who has all of my affections doesn't return them.
To pop less fireworks at Labeurge De Lac Hotel and Casino, because I am no longer welcome there. Oops.