I promised you hate...

Rocca is sick. My friends are trying to see Transformers 2. Which brings me to this place, forcing conversation with myself. I was however, able to come up with a plot synopsis over dinner...



~ Corny Shia LaBeouf joke. Meghan Fox in slow motion. Corny Shia LaBeouf joke. Explosion. Explosion. Explosion. Meghan Fox in slow motion. Explosion. Meghan fox in slow motion with shit blowing up behind her. Copy. Paste. Repeat process 3 more times. Corny Optimus Prime Line. Roll credits.~



I jest of course. While I hated Transformers, (And anything else that Michael Bay is associated with to the best of my knowledge) I cant really hate on him. I have in the past, but that was more me being a pompous ass. I view his movies as a particular genre. They are made for entertainment. And I pray that is all. He's in the same category as Nickleback and Dan Brown. That completes my trifecta of suck. Well, suck according to me. But who the hell am I? They are all gozillionaires. That's the problem I have.



After a good conversation with Pat one day, I realized that books like Da Vinci Code, can exist in their own right. As entertainment. It's when people take them for more then that, that I draw the line. Books. Movies. Music. Any medium really, can exist for many purposes. Weather it be art, or mindless entertainment. Problem is, when somebody likes something, the take it as "good". I used to go crazy telling my friends how awful they were for reading Dan Brown. Then I would list of ten books that they should read, so that they could "actually read a good book". Though they would more then likely hate damn near any book I read. And that's the other side of the argument. People who read books and view it as a form of art, cant fathom that somebody wouldn't like their book. And dismiss those thoughts by insisting that people just don't understand it. Because they arnt smart enough. - I understood Hemingway's Old Man and the Sea. I just didn't like it very much. I recognize that it was good. But I didn't like it. (having said that, I was forced to read it when I was like 16, and am sure I would get something out of it today) Some people cant accept that.



The more I think about it, there really is no good excuse for Nickleback. They just suck. No exceptions. "I'll have the quesadilla..."



So there are, of course, two sides to every argument. I often found myself on the side that was belittling those who preferred the mindless entertainment. I stopped that, because like I said, it exists for a reason. But when somebody doesn't get that... It gets a bit absurd. Like the person who insits Da Vinci Code was a well written, classic, piece of literature. The other authors on this persons reading list often include Mitch Albom, John Grisham, Jose Canseco, Whoever Opera recommends and whatever Wizard or Dragon book is in that season. In today's culture, if somebody is actually reading a book, I say more power to them. But don't tell me about all the great books you read, when they are all essentially the same storyline, just with different names for the characters. I feel I'm repeating myself. I'll end with this, without sounding to pretentious... Next time you're reading a book, pay attention to what people around you are reading, on the train, at work or the gym. If you see five to ten people reading the exact same book. Or if Ron Howard or Steven Spielberg have bought the rights within a month of its release. Chances are, you arnt the avid reader you think you are. Which is perfectly fine, just spare the rest of the world from hearing about this great book your reading.

Now something I have no reservations about hating. Hipsters? Scene kids? I'm sure me using one of those terms is incredibly unhip. And whatever they call themselves has probably changed sixteen times since I started this entry.

Simply put: Anybody who describes themselves as hip. Is not. You're hip because. You don't talk about it. It's not something you strive for. You just are. I have seen kids make an effort to pull their pant leg up, in order to let everybody know they road their bike. That is not hip. Its the same as wearing sunglasses in a dimly lit room. There is no point. My brother is hip. He doesn't know it. Most of his friends probably don't even realize it. But he is. He does most of his shopping at Marshall's, or any other thrift store. Not to find obscure articles of clothing, but because it's what he can afford. And he still looks better then most of the people in the room. He has a way of talking to people. He can have a conversation with my grandmother, in the same tone, with the same humor, that he would if he was talking to one of his closest friends. My brother is one hep-cat.

So, is this what a blog is? Am I doing it right?

~Sunshine~

Had a LiveJournal once.

I enjoyed that. However to go back and read it today, I would probably throw up. Wrote about things like the new green shirt I bought. (or new green official NBA headband). Or about the 7 bud lights and 5 tequila poppers I consumed the night before. Then I would list every person that was there. Different point in my life. Though that seems like another paragraph all-together. (Thats called foreshadowing?... Though not very subtle)

So I seem to have started a blog. I don't even know what the word means. Does it stand for something? Like B.L.O.G.? No matter. I didn't mean to, but I have one now. I was trying to read SJ's, and ended up starting my own. I recall having a following of like 10-15 people on LJ. Now I assume it will just be Pat and Sarah. The two best writers I know. Words to them seem so much more. To me, not so much. One might say... A string of consonants and vowels? I would love to be able to write like that. I have much to say it seems. But don't know how to say it in any manner that one might comprehend as writing. That wont stop me from typing away. Pretending my world is following.

Jumping right in:

I have grown more in the past year, then in the rest of my life combined. I have called four different places home. I had my heart broken for the first time. Then I met the person I was going to marry. Then had my heart broken for a second time. Throughout it all, rediscovering, time and time again, the love of my best friend. And the undying love of a mother.

At times I miss living at pearl street. Those feelings usually vanish once I visit for more then five minutes. I could move back today if I wanted too, I just don't see the point. What I do miss is living down stairs at pearl street. I was there a short time, but its the last place I lived, that felt like home. It's the first time I truly lived alone. And I can see why people love it. If I could get that back... I would it give some serious thought. Finally I ended up at "home" The home my parents reside in that is. The place I spent the first twenty years of my life. I go there now and feel so out of place, like Im staying at a hotel. I have gotten used to it, but I still wake up some nights and need to look around to figure out where exactly I am sleeping. Funny thing is, it took me moving out of Sarah's to make it feel like home to me. Weird, but in the month or so that I lived there I was still adjusting to calling it home. Still had some sleepless nights trying to adjust. Now, when I spend the night there as a guest, it feels like Im supposed to be there. It feels like home, now, when all my stuff is gone, when the house looks the way it did before we knew one another existed. (Well, one more puppy, and some different furniture.) Now, when all that I have there is a boxing glove, phone charger, soap and maybe a change of socks... I can get to sleep without a problem. Honestly, I think its because Im sleeping next to her again, and didn't realize how much I truly needed that until I left.

It was after my first heartbreak, that I think I changed the most. Not that I was trying to. But it seemed to happen. I started living alone. And got to do nothing but focus on me. Who I was, who I wanted to be. And how to get there. I sat back and watched that relationship crumble. Not wanting it to. I wanted it to work in the worst way. And I had a partner that was extremely dedicated to making it work. Despite all the signs that were telling us we shouldn't be together. I don't know how it happened, I should say, I don't know how I got to the point of letting it happen. The love never went away for me during any part of the relationship. I hate to say that I stopped caring, or just got tired of the constant struggle of making it work. I hate to say that cause it's the person I apparently was then. I think thats what happened. I saw the relationship slowly ending, and couldn't help save it. In the end, where Im at now, Im glad it ended, it had to. Not sure there's anyone that would disagree with me. Im not proud of the way it ended, but I wouldn't change it. It got me to the place Im at.

Without that first love, the next love wouldn't have been remotely possible. The first real love, and first real heartbreak, are necessary in most cases. Sometimes your first love is the one thats supposed to last forever. In some rare cases it does. For me, the first's were much needed. Because without having them, and feeling the love and pain that it came with, I wouldn't be at the place Im at now. I wouldn't be able to comprehend the amazing love I have found in Rocca. When I thought that it was gone temporarily... Thats how I knew how powerful it was. It was a different kind of pain. I didn't feel it the first time. I had never felt anything even close to it.

It's weird. Having so much in common, with somebody who is so unlike you on paper. I suppose thats what love is. I was a few months out of a huge break-up. And dedicated to not committing to something again for a long while. Wanted to play the single game for awhile and see where it got me. Knowing the whole time how much I hated the life of a single 22 year old male. I know plenty of guys like that, and was never one of them. Mainly I suppose because I was in a relationship right out of high school, up until I turned 22. I never did the whole bar scene as a single guy. I tried it for a couple months and hated it. But I knew it was a necessary evil. I knew if I tried to look for something real I would never find it. So I stopped looking. And It was thrust at me.

I went to a friends birthday party. Expecting to be with about fifteen to twenty strangers. But there was just this one other Beautiful girl sitting in the room. After evaluating the situation, and realizing that I was not indeed being set up, I relaxed a little. I secretly made it my mission to try and get her to like me. After all I was trying to do the single thing, and if its just gonna be me, her, birthday boy and his lady... What else was I supposed to do? Then the name Max came up... "Shit, Im out...Boyfriend? Husband? Oh god, is it her kid? It's her dog! Okay, It's on again" Then I found out we would be going out dancing. "Shit, now Im defiantly out..."

Problem was, it was kinda too easy to talk to her. She ended up being funny. And when I realized I actually liked her a little, I got upset. I had planned on failing my mission, but was ok with that, figuring I would hardly talk to her and never see her again. But when I wanted her to like me... because I liked her, I knew I was in trouble. We were after all going out to dance. I had the "In, no out" conversation in my head about three hundred times. She had (has) crazy sex appeal. It was odd. I had never seen it before. She had her hair up, little to no make-up. But she was still sexier then everyone else there. I dont know what it was. If it was a quiet confidence. Or just natural beauty. I think a little of both. But it was sexy as hell. She didnt say more then two words to me when she was dancing, and I was "dancing". But she got scary close at some points. "Im, so in." The last dance of the night she shared with Turtle from ENTOURAGE. "Seriously! That guy? Im GLAD Im out!" During the next nine hours, we waited for a cab, And this is when I finally met her for the first time. I entertained a drunk guy, while she contemplated throwing him in traffic. He helped us bond, and we didn't even need to speak to each other. "This is going great, she's hilarious and gorgeous. How old am I?" The stranger asked? "twenty-two." Then he asked her.

When she answered, she was looking at me. Apparently hoping for some sort of reaction. I hear she got one... "Well shit... That settles it, Im out."

Having fallen the way I did, I of course found her on Myspace/Facebook. Not caring that I stood no chance. I figured she might have some fun pictures for me to look at while fantasizing about an older women. Checked her myspace over and over... Came close to not friending her when her myspace name appeared to be "Engaged girl" Reading however is essential, and I learned that she was not engaged. But just really mad at something apparently. Thus began the chase. I didn't know how to play that game. I had only ever done it with girls. Didn't know how a women played it. I remained skeptical. Even after she gave me her number. Which put me in a state of shock for the rest of the night. I had just gotten somebody's number. Half of me was excited. The other half didn't know what it meant. I treasured it. As we exchanged texts during the next couple weeks while out with friends or while laying in bed. I spent all my time wondering why the hell she was talking to me. Honestly convinced, that she was looking for a little excitement with a younger guy. I figured she would maybe hang out with me once, to have a good time, and get it out of her system. I didn't show it, but I was upset. Cause before we even went out, I was falling hard for her.We agreed to go on a date. Turns out it was just as weird a thing for her, as it was for me. Going out on a date. Silly right? I don't remember how it went to be honest, because the entire time I was there, I was focused on not showing my age, and making her come to the realization that she was ten years older then me. We left, and I decided I was going to hold her hand. She let me. I became all sorts of flustered. The kind of flustered I got when she got real close to me the night we met, and I saw the crazy sex appeal. Only I noticed something different this time. I still don't know what it was. All I knew, was at that moment, I had to kiss her.

Here I am. About nine months later. Having never felt this way about a women before. Literally falling more in love everyday.

Oh, tell your mother you love her. I promise you don't do it enough.

I plan on using this semi-consistently. I will try to not make them all about my sappy, boring life. There's plenty of things that I don't like. So stay tuned for some hate.

~Sunshine~