That sweet thought spot.

Monday 7/29/2013

According to the time stamp on my phone, I got the message from Deena at 10:15 a.m.

You remember Deena right?  Of course you do.  In fact many of you who I know that read these little rants and ramblings are friends with her.  If you're not...well...your loss really.  She's quite the person.  Even if you aren't friends with her, you may know of, or remember our little blog project.  I suppose there remains the possibility that you could be completely unaware of anything I'm talking about.  So to catch up to speed...

A few months back Deena proposed to me, that occassionally we, each from our different points of life...different points of view, pick the same topic, and write about it.  We've done this a few times now.  There is no rhyme or reason to it.  There is no schedule.  There is not a plan.  There is simply the randomness of it, and to tell the truth...I wouldn't have it any other way.  It has been an absolute blast up to this point, and I look forward to each new time. 

At 10:15 a.m. I got a message from her proposing this new idea.

Random thoughts.  Whatever goes through the head over the course of a day.  That's it.  

Well color me intrigued.  I almost never pay attention to my own thoughts.  That seems a dangerous road to travel.  This seemed like just way too much fun to say no to.  Of course I was in.

So now I had to start making note of thoughts.  Whatever shit happens to pop into my head, and I'm very excited to discover what those things might be.  The first thing I begin to notice, is that my thoughts are pretty boring.  I had this idea, immediately upon agreeing to the project, that I would have all of these great, clever, creative, imaginative sparks of random explosion that would entertain and frighten the masses.  What's really happening though is I've been at work for three hours now, and I'm in full baby pajama mode.  

Yes you read that correctly.  I work in a shipping warehouse.  The company I work for is an online retailer primarily focused on women/mother interests.  Baby clothes.  Scrapbooking products.  Stuff for kids.  Jewelry.  You know...pretty much the exact opposite of what I would buy for myself.  So women go to the company's website and buy shit, we in the warehouse print out the orders (somewhere between 1000-1500 on a good day), walk through the warehouse to find the shit they ordered, package it up, and send it out.  It is, to put it mildly, mindnumbing work.  It requires just enough though to keep your brain occupied on that task, but not enough thought to be interesting in any way.  It lends itself to no amount of creativity, and yet if your mind wanders too much, you end up sending some poor woman a skateboard for her kid, instead of crib bumpers for her newborn.  What's really sad, is that as a near 40 year old single male, who's never had a child of his own...I know what a crib bumper is.  I also know what diva cups, freedom bras, and oopsies are.  I am SOOooo prepared for sensitivity.

So there I am, walking through the warehouse, wondering if I can possible be interesting, when I notice I have balled up garbage in my hand.  I throw it, left handed at a garbage can about 15 feet away, and without even hitting the sides, sink it right in.  Of course there is no one around to see it happen.  My first independent though of this project becomes...I am REALLY fucking awesome when there are no witnesses.

I get to a box full of product, located on a very high shelf.  It's pretty heavy, and as I lower it down my arms start shaking.  You see the past few days I've been working out.  Lifting on the in-home weight bench here in the house.  I haven't noticed any difference at all, except if anything...I seem to be getting weaker.  My arms are like jelly.

I fucking love jelly.

Apple jelly specifically.

Although I'm not incredibly fond of apples.

I do like apple juice though.

I should stop drinking soda.

Well actually I pretty much have...what I should really do is slow down on the slurpees.

NEVER

My boxcutter can hardly break through this tape.  Why do they call it a box cutter, when it can't even break cellophane.

And to think, 18 scrawny guys with not but boxcutters brought a nation to it's knees

And now I can't even fly with a cigarette lighter.

God I want a cigarette.

And some apple juice.

I wonder why I'm craving apple juice.

Phone buzz in my pocket.

Facebook notification.

God I fucking HATE candy crush.  It's worse than that goddamn farm game people used to play.  I can't wait til candy crush goes the way of farmville.  That beautiful anticipation that someone may want to talk to me...but no...they just want me to send them extra lives.  

If only friends could send us REAL extra lives.  I'd be jumping down all the sewers to rescue all the princesses, if I had but one extra life.  I don't though, so let the princess figure out her own shit.

Stupid Patrick Stewart has to go and get himself married, so now stupid Jonathon Frakes won't be at stupid Comic Con. There goes my chance to kick Riker in the nuts for having the most glorious beard.

Why is it that when I'm not in a show, there is absolutely NOTHING interesting to audition for...or even go see, but as soon as I'm cast in something three different people offer me roles in fabulous shows that all conflict with the one I'm cast in?  Fuck you universe.

I want to direct again.  

I should write a play.

Okay that one I have all the time.  I mean seriously.  All the goddamn time.  I've been seriously aching to flex that particular muscle again.  Problem is...I have no story to tell.  I try all day long to come up with a good one...but pretty soon, I'm back on baby pajamas, and not thinking about a play anymore.  I crave the process though.  I seriously....SERIOUSLY...want to write a play.  I ache for it.  I just...  I practice.  I write dialogue that goes nowhere.  I'm writing Godot, but with less point.  It's pathetic really.  Also...writing it is only half the joy.  Once it's ready for production...I'd have to go through the work of finding someone willing to produce it.

Work.

Phhbbttt.

I need a new job.

I should go back to college.

College costs money.

I have no money.

I need a new job.

I get to my desk to enter mountains of superfluos paperwork and there's the boutique girl.  She needs me to find something for a customer up front in the store.  That's right.  Our online company also has a physical store.  

She's a PYT and I do as instinct demands.  I notice the low cut of her top, and the way the fabric of her dress hugs her body.  I do this in an instant.  When I was younger, I used to let this moment take forever.  I'd stare, and oggle, and I dunno...probably drool a little.  Then I got older, and became sensitive to feelings, and stopped looking, because it wasn't proper.  Then I got married, and pretended not to look because I was monogomous. Then I got old and single, and said fuck it.  Do whatever you're gonna do, then move on...because life happens.

See the problem is that after four decades of walking this planet, three of those decades living with an intense interest, desire, and craving for all things female, I've...through media, books, movies, magazines, conversations, experience, forums, discussions, and just being male....received just about every single conflicting report imaginable.  The whole checking out thing...it's a mess.  It really is.

"Women aren't objects."

Well duh.  I never thought, insinuated, or for one second thought that they were.

"But sometimes we like to be objectified."

Well duh.  You're human aren't you.  We ALL like to feel that way now and then.

"Women are equal to men."

Um yeah...it's called being human.

"Women are superior to men."

Okay.

"Anything you can do, I can do better."

Well shit...anything I can

 do...ANYONE can do better."

I don't really subscribe to ists or isms.  I don't label myself according to my gender, my politics, my career, or my sexual preference.  All of those things seem to exist on some relative scale of fluidity.  If I DID have to pick an ist though...it would be humanist.

I do believe that all people should be paid the same wage in the workplace for the same job done.  I do believe that every woman, should have every right, freedom, and choice that any man has.  I think she should have access to all types of healthcare...sexual or otherwise.  If a woman becomes pregnant...she should have the availability to utilize ALL of the options available, and the freedom to make whatever choice is best for her.  That's simply how I feel.  I honestly believe that there is HORRIBLE misrepresentation of women in movies, television, and video games.  That's not gonna stop me from playing video games.

I do feel that if a woman is raped or sexually abused in any way...we must...we absolutely MUST and immediately STOP criminalizing the woman.  We absolutely HAVE to stop making the first question..."Well what was she wearing?  What was she drinking?  What did she do to cause this to happen?"  We have to grow up, and we have to put the impetus where it belongs...on the person who committed the crime.

I know that this world we live in is to many degrees not female friendly.  Everybody, man or woman, has every right to wear whatever the fuck they want that makes them feel good.  Feel confident.  Feel attractive.  It is against every single thing in me to ever think that simply because a woman is dressed a certain way, that I am given free access to act a certain way.  

I'm still gonna window shop though.

So there's cute boutique girl.  There's me window shopping.  There's me moving on.

Find out what the customer wants

Find it in the computer

Find it in the warehouse

Go get it.

Repeat ad nauseum.

This is my day.

Every day.

This is my life.

I should be rescuing princesses.

I hate red cars.

I hate the word truth.

I hate how a person declares a truth, and then climbs on that truth taking a moral high ground based on that truth.

Everything is true.

Nothing is true.

I find that the more I learn about anything, the more I grow to appreciate it.

I'm still not going to read or watch Twilight though.

I need a story to tell.

I need nicotine.

I hope the man who invented ecigarettes has everything he ever wanted.

Bathroom break.

Maybe I need a muse.

Someone or something to inspire that story right out of me.

I should go to the park this weekend.

I hope I have sex this weekend.

I will probably not be having sex this weekend.

So maybe I should go to the park.

I wonder if anyone here notices that I read the product numbers out loud when I'm looking for them.

I wonder why I do that.

Thoughts.  Those fleeting things that help us occupy the emptiness of tedium.  I wonder how many of those thought we actually notice, and how many go completely ignored, like so much traffic on the freeway.  The only ones we really notice are the pretty ones, or the annoying ones.

God I hate red cars.

I start to wonder about secret thoughts.  The ones we think might be too dark.  The ones we think might reveal too much about ourselves.  We do afterall have to maintain some sort of propriety.  

But we all have it.  The darkness.  The deviance.  The little kinks and fetishes.  

Come on.  Where's the good stuff?  Why can't I have those thoughts that will turn heads, and stomachs?  That will cause nervous laughs, or slight disgust, or pure outrage...  

This is supposed to be fun.

Be revelatory...

All access to the deviant mind of a sometime blogger, most time actor, full time dork.

Then it occurs to me.  I'm not having secret thoughts because...well...

I don't have secret thoughts.

There's nothing I hold sacred.

There's nothing I won't share.

There's no question I won't answer.

There's no darkness I won't explore.

There's no kink or fetish I won't try at least three times.

(Yes it's a personal rule.  I can't know for sure until I've tried three times.  Once for just the experience alone.  Twice for comparison.  Three times for analysis.)

Although I am quite possibly offensive, you cannot possibly offend me.

but also

I will never judge you.  Ever.  For anything.

Sometimes the very best part of the day is right when you get home from work.  It's not the sitting down, and relaxing...if even for a moment before doing all the things you have to do now that you're home.

It's the moment before.  The anticipation of the relaxation.  That's a beautiful moment.

I should clean my room.

What should I watch whle I clean?

Netflix has too many choices.

I want to watch everything.

I don't want to watch anything.

Thank you Mr. Bach for the Brandenbergs.  

Thank you Mr. Chopin for Nocturn #2

And Thank you, thank you, thank you Mr. Beethoven for Piano Sonata #14 in C Sharp Minor.  A melody that most people have heard so often, and are so familiar with that even hearing it is almost routine, yet to me is still one of the most simple, beautiful pieces of music I've ever known.

Mr Beiber, if people are thanking you for your music 300 years from now, then you'll have my dead respect.

Water.

I'd kill for water.

A beach

A river

a pool

I think I'm part amphibious.

It's time for a new tatoo.  Just got to finish up the design.

I used to wish I was gay.  I tried man.  I really did.  Gay porn.  Pray the straight away.  I honestly wanted that.  True story.  Mostly.  It didn't take.  I still wish I could be bi.  I mean how great would that be.  The whole world a potential sexual adventure.  I think I wanted that mostly though becuase ultimately I'm really lazy, and I think it might be easier to get guys to have sex with me.  That might simply be self flattery though.

Thing is...none of us can be what we're not.

Oh maybe I"ll read tonight.  I don't read enough.  I always forget.  I'm always so tired.

Goddamn 5:30 in the morning

Every morning.

Goddamn not being able to fall asleep until 1 in the morning.

Every morning.

It's a miracle I'm still alive on Friday.

Every Friday.

I should start a religion.

I'm great at public speaking.

I'm short on charisma though.

Maybe I can be the worlds first non charismatic religious leader.

No wait...Pat Robertson.

Fuck.

Oh phone buzz...maybe somebody wants to...

Goddamn candy crush.

Sometimes my roommate's phone rings, and I think it's my phone.

Which is weird because...

we don't even have the same ringtone...

and

I never turn on my ringtone.

Chocolate.

There is never a single moment...never an instant...never any given point of any given day, that I don't want candy.

Ooohhh gobstoppers.  That's what I want.

Or dinner

but mostly gobstoppers.

I sure do have a soft tummy for a guy who never eats real food.

Maybe I should write a play about a...

with...

or...

Nope

Nothing.

Guess I'll go smoke about it.

Twilight.  My favorite time of day.  I hate that I can't think, or even say that word without it conjuring some sparkly piece of shit vampire now.

Fuck you Stephanie Meyers.

I love when the sun is gone, but there is still residual light.  It's my most alive.  It's my most coherent.  It's my most mentally productive.

It lasts about 7 minutes.  And then it's dark.  

Dark.  Always a new kind of friend.  Every damn time.

All the best things happen when the sun is down.

Oh sure daytime is when the stuff happens.  Money is exchanged for goods and services.  Food like products are consumed.  People congregate and do things.  Hands are shook.  Deals are made.  People smile at babies, and take pictures of each other, and go to jobs, so money can be made, for use in further exhange of more goods, and more services.  The general consumerist exchange.  News happens.  Politics happen.  Leaders pound pulpits.  Banks charge interest.  People go places, and do things, and buy stuff, and meet up with other people they like because they have to, or like because it's convenient..or even...sometimes when they're lucky...like because they like.

But at night.

Night is when we put our truths to bed, and our lies put on their shiny shoes and go out dancing.  Night is when we let the romance out, and exchange gifts in whispers and a kiss.  Night is when we touch with purpose, and intent.  When we forget about who we were in sunlight, and become who we always knew we were meant to be.

Night is when we get to remember all the people we have ever loved.  Night is when the quiet slips under the blankets with us, and wraps us in longing.  Night is the friend that never lets us down.  Night is when it's safe to cry.  Or laugh.  Or speak a truth that we are just now realizing.  Night lets us be brave.  Night lets us be beautiful.

And you are, you know.  Beautiful.  I wish you could see you through my eyes.  You would never...ever...question it again.  It is impossible for me to think of you, and not smile.  

If you are reading this because you read Deena's blog first, and clicked a link, and landed here...and then made it all this way...thank you.  If you are reading this because you follow my blog anyways...and you made it all this way...thank you.  Sometimes you like what I say.  Sometimes you don't.  Sometimes I make you angry.  Sometimes I make you laugh.  Sometimes you're just bored, and passing time in the bathroom.  Whatever the case...thank you.

It is my greatest wish now, that you click this I think, therefore... and read Deena's thoughts through a day....