Sometimes Rejection Is Better

Hey folks! I found this post from February on my Myspace blog. I totally forgot about this. I think it's awesome and forgot I wrote it.

sometimes rejection is better.
better than wondering.
better than wanting.
better than thinking things will ever change.
better than waiting around for someone who clearly isn't ready or willing.
for someone who says to wait for her.
wait for her while she does god-knows-what with god-knows-whom.
yeah, because that's clearly a recipe for success.

sometimes rejection is better.
when the message is crystal clear.
no crossed wires, no mixed signals.
no raising of hopes to be dashed again every couple of months.
the dumbest game of cat and mouse.

either put up or shut up.
don't tell me things that make me think you're human
and then contradict it all in a myspace survey.
how stupid do I look?

I hope this is better than a drunk dial or email would have been.
exactly six hours of sleep awaits.
awaits a way to forget about you.
but then I wake up. damn.
'nuff said.

Another 6am Epiphany

Naturally, my epiphanies only come at 6 in the morning. Hours after trying and failing, yet again, to actually fall asleep. My mind, it doesn't tend to shut itself off, even after my body has begged and pleaded for sleep. Not that this is surprising, in and of itself, as the sun rises over the river that my window looks out upon, but I digress.

I was thinking about calling a woman I met up with for drinks last week. Did I say the right things to her? Did I try too hard? Did I try enough? Did we really mean it when we said that we had a really nice time and we should do it again? Sometimes I can't see the subtext forest through the pleasantries. I am really good at over-analyzing everything, though. Sometimes I wonder if I have even lived twenty-five percent of what my life should have been, or if I have squandered way too many precious moments thinking about living. I'd like to think that I've gotten better at not doing that, but sometimes I'm not so sure.

Thinking about that led me to thinking about the bigger picture. Maybe these internet dates are doomed for failure in and of themselves, irrespective of whether the woman in question and I have chemistry, witty banter and maybe even similar lawn ornaments that we keep on top of our respective television sets. I think aforementioned failure is inherent in the design. I don't like picking out dates from a catalogue. I want to be surprised. I want to be smacked in the face with fate. Slapped upside the head.

And here I am, the clock now reading 7:37am, taking myself entirely too seriously and yet still watching Dawson's Creek. Still thinking about how the best romantic moments in my life have all taken me by surprise. They were few and far between, fleeting, but all completely unexpected. No pre-screening or auditions, like some lame casting call for the walk-on part of the love interest in the movie adaptation of my memoir. I'm not putting out a craigslist ad for this. For once (again) in my life, I am trying to bury my head in the sand and not look for love in all the wrong places. I don't want to look for love at all if it means I am never going to find it. Or is that why I obsessively keep looking? Just like that itch I will scratch until it is raw and bleeding, I keep picking at it obsessively, this scab on my heart. Also, I really want to use the word alacrity here. Don't ask me why. It's 8am and I haven't slept at all.

Salon Beards and Korean Instruction Manuals For Life (and how NOT to live it)

Would someone please tell me what I'm doing wrong? I get the feeling lately that the universe is trying to fuck with me. When I was growing up, I was taught to work hard, do what you love when you're not working hard, and everything should fall into place. I don't think this equation works anymore. Or at least, it never seems to work for me.

I must completely suck at life, but I guess that's to be expected when you get the manual and it's all printed in Korean. It's not similar enough to Hebrew for me to even fake understanding it. All the skills I thought I had are becoming more apparent to me to be like how you think you're all smart and special when you're in junior high and high school, until you start applying for colleges and find out that there are literally a million other kids applying for the same schools and some of them never got a 64 in Calculus in 12th grade. Although I do wonder how many of them broke up with their 8th grade girlfriend who went to another school because one dude said she was a slut.

They say good things come to those who wait and also that if you aren't looking for it, you will get it. Well, I'm 35 now, so how much more waiting do I have to do? As far as not looking for it, the only thing I'm not looking for is a punch in the nose, so I suppose tomorrow morning will greet me with one of those.

But enough about me, maybe its time for me to rant about something else that is driving me crazy. I was watching the new "90210" the other night and some shitty band that should be selling motor oil and beer was playing a party. Not only was the music trite and watered down, but they had perfectly trimmed beards that looked like they were done in a salon. SALON BEARDS!!! That is what music is to people? Manufactured pabulum with salon beards???? So of course, now VH1 is telling us that you oughta know about them. Also, I am not mentioning their name because I do not want to help their hype machine.

Go and listen to this band instead:
The Capstan Shafts.
I highly recommend 2007's Environ Maiden as a starting point.