Truth

"You try too hard to compensate for your insecurities."

No other words have hit me harder. It's been months since I've heard these words, in particular, and they've stuck with me ever since. Because it's true: I try really hard to make up what I lack in. And I lack in a lot of things. I never feel like I'm enough of what I want to be, or who I'm trying to be. If you asked someone, or multiple people, how to describe me, I'd guess the words "unique, egotistical, sarcastic, and funny" would come up.

If you asked me to describe myself, I'd say the same things. Because it's all about image. When you strive so hard to make people believe you are who you've been pretending to be, it's difficult to actually open up and tell them how you feel, or let them know who you are. Especially when you don't really know who you are yourself.

I have some wonderful friends, but sometimes, I feel like they know so little about me. And I don't blame them for not being mind-readers, and it's not like they've never made an effort to try, it's just hard to be vulnerable when you've made a life of being the life of the party. The guy who's never in control, who just lets himself go.

It's exhausting being so fake all the time. It's tiring hiding all your problems, even from your friends, because you don't want them to think you have any problems. Even if you keep someone at arm's reach, though, they begin to understand you after enough time has passed. You think you've hidden yourself away so well, and they still ask, "What's wrong?"

Those are the most terrifying words to me. Because there's never a good answer. Either you lie ("Oh, nothing's wrong, I was just thinking...") or you spill the beans, and then, where do you begin?

The truth is, most of the time, I hate myself. The truth is I dress well, and act the way I do, because I thrive on compliments, because if nobody else thinks I'm okay, it's harder to pretend to be okay. The truth is, I'm so tired of being alone that from time to time I am physically in pain, until I take my mind off the subject. The truth is, I don't think I'm pretty, I don't think I'm clever, and I don't think I have anything to contribute to anyone, and I think that's why I'm still alone.

Well, what do you know. The truth does hurt.

Acceptance

For years, I've touted this "I'm-myself-take-me-or-leave-me" attitude, forcing people to accept me as I was or get the hell out of my way. But I haven't been true to my word, because I've denied a very large part of my life for a very long time. I was afraid of being a steriotype, and worse, being steriotyped. For many things, but mostly, for being gay. What was I so afraid of, I wonder now, that I denied myself such a large part of my existence?

Obviously, this isn't a "coming-out" tale. I've been okay with BEING gay for years, it's just people viewing me as gay that I'm starting to be okay with. And, oddly enough, it's because of Glee. Before Kurt Hummel, I had never seen a character who was so steriotypical, yet completely amazing despite (or perhaps because of) that. My friends compare me to Kurt, and we share a few simular traits, but Kurt has a sense of self that I'm still working to achieve.

I dressed like a Nirvana, grunge-era reject because I thought if I actually took the time to arrange my clothes, come up with outfits, enjoy shopping, I would be the type of person I didn't want to be. But if I do enjoy arranging my clothes, coming up with outfits, and shopping, and I didn't do that stuff for fear of the way people would see me, wouldn't that be a whole other kind of conformity?

I'm slowly learning to be okay with myself. I'm 20 years old. I've got all the time in the world for growing-up and all the lessons we learn through out life. I've got great friends who support me, no matter what (I'm pretty sure they love me more, now, even). I'm in a good place. Instead of worrying how things are going to unfold, or giving a damn about the future, I'm just gonna accept it all- the laughter, the love, the pain, the anger, the here, the now, myself. These moments.

Because these are important.

I'm going to make myself sick, with all the lying I do to myself. I forget that I'm not this person I think I like others to think I am. Yesterday, David said I come off as emotionless. That stung. I know I can be difficult, and I know I can be terrible, but I didn't think I'd ever come off as cold. The irony is, I feel just as much as the next person. Every new stimuli makes me feel something else. Sometimes I'll get sad because I've seen something small, and I think too much on it so it just seems like a really sad metaphor. I just don't like to show my emotion.

There's just so much mask, and I have no idea what I'm wearing, so everbody else is seeing me in a different way, but I'm in control of what they see, but I'm not. Honestly, I can't explain it better than that. I try to be confident, and I just come off as bitchy. I try to be reflective, and I come off as depressive. I try to be sympathetic, and I come off as needy. At least people like a confident bitch. That's the only reason I've stuck with that one.

Here's what I want in life:
Love
True Friendship (check)
Real Confidence
Direction
Adventure
Dreams

One out of six? It's a start.

Not Enough

It feels like I'm stuck in a whirlpool, now. See, I figured I'd keep this "drifting" theme, because it works so well for me. As of late, though, I've had problems I don't have the ability to run away from. I can't bullshit myself out of them, I can't do anything, really. Well, I suppose I could just face life.

I tried to bring my dog to the animal shelter, one morning. I drove her down there, and when I parked in their lot, I burst into tears. She didn't know what was going on, obviously. She wagged her tail as she licked the tears from my face. I almost did it. I walked to the door to the office, and was saved. They didn't open till 11am, which is when I needed to be at work.

Since then I've been avoiding it a second time. I've already had to muster up the courage to do it once, why should I have to do it again? Why do I have to do it alone? I love that dog, because that dog loves me like I'm more than I am. No matter how badly I behave, or how mean I get, or how stupid I can be, she loves me with a ferocity and loyalty that I don't even think I can understand. I even admire that in her- which, I know, sounds weird, since we're talking about a dog, but why not? Even animals can have traits we ourselves wished we possessed.

How am I supposed to sleep at night, knowing she's not going to be laying down next to me? Curled up against my legs, or pushing me into the wall. What about all the memories? The first moment I saw her, outside Chris McKee's house, when she was just a puppy, playing with her brothers and sisters. The moment I knew, "That's my dog." The time she locked me and Sam out of my grandma's car, or when we went to Colorado Creek and she really bonded to me. Like, wouldn't let me out of her sight kind of thing.

So many memories, and she's still got so much time left, and I have to give it all up? I know it's not fair, to anyone, really. She's still a puppy, for all it matters. She needs someone who has the time and energy to play with her, and pay undivided attention to her. Someone who can train her properly, so she won't chew on the... well, anything, really.

It's not fair to Emily, who can really only be comfortable in her own house in her room. Who's lost her favorite headband, and a couple pairs of shoes to my little monster. Who can't really touch, or play with, or hold a dog, yet loves them, anyway. Who has to put up with the smell in the house, the hair on the furniture, and the mess we always come home to. Always.

And maybe it's not fair to me. Because I don't have the time to train her right. Or the know-how. I don't have the money to live on my own, and take care of such a needy pet. I don't have the competence. I don't have the resolve. I really don't have much, except for a love of that dog.

Sadly, sometimes, that just isn't enough.

Frozen

It's surprising, the things in my life that HAVEN'T happened. The people around me are surprised when I tell them I don't have a piercing or tattoo, because I seem like the type who would. Even I think I'm the type who would, or should, but I haven't.

When my sister was heading towards graduation, I had to go to Lathrop to drop off some things for her. While I was there, I decided to check up on some of my old teachers. But, mostly just Mr. Parker. It'd been... what? A year since I had seen him last? He stood outside his classroom, apperantly ready to leave, with a group of students crowding him and asking him questions. I must not have stood out as much as I thought I would, because he didn't notice me (then again, my hair was a natural color...). "Mr. Parker!" I practically yelled, as he was beginning to walk away.

He turned around, and it took a moment, but eventually he remembered my face. He greeted me warmly, and we made small talk, but it was when he said, "I'm suprised to see you're still here." that piqued my interest the most. "Why's that?" I asked him, not entirely sure what he meant. "I didn't picture you staying in Alaska. I always thought you'd go someplace exotic, or exciting. I kind of pictured you in New York."

Yeah, me too. For years, actually. When did it come to be, that I realised I couldn't live in Alaska? As far back as middle school, I can remember telling people I wouldn't live here all my life. I was going to get out, into the world. Travel was a big dream of mine; I pictured myself in Tokyo, London, Amsterdam, anywhere that had history and life. Of course, I'd still need a home, and that would be in New York City. A small apartment, perhaps, where I'd keep anything I didn't need to take with me.

I didn't want to get stuck here. Even now, I don't want to be here. I hear the world calling my name, and as much as I want to run into it, find it, follow it, explore it, I'm stuck. Paralyzed, even. I'm terrified of all that unknown... Growing up in Alaska your whole life, being somebody who's never mattered in any way that's important, you don't look into the void and think, "Who cares if I don't have a plan?" and jump. As much as I want to, as much as I'd love to see what lies beyond this Winter of Discontent, I'm frozen into this place like the frost beneath the ground.

But, I'm not giving up. I'm going to get out of here, and I'm going to make my place in the world. I've got brains, desire, and according to some, more strength than I know. I'll find my way out.

Unspeakable Chaos

Prudery has been a part of our society for... well, since society became a word. Cavemen didn't give a shit about sex or sexuality, I can garauntee you that. Decency and social structure are a product of our advancement. But not all products are positive (the H-bomb).

I have the social grace to mingle with all sorts of different types of people. From major prudes, to major sluts. And I mean both in the best way possible. To each his/her own, right? I was a hopeless romantic for years. The whole reason I moved to Fairbanks, actually, was because I was looking for a boyfriend. How sad is that? 14 year old, newly come out me, wearing caked on black make-up and the Tripp pants with the chains. Don't get me started about my hair.

Romance never came. However, casual sex was quickly discovered after I started drinking. Most people probably don't understand this. How does a self-described romantic quickly shift from looking for "The One" to degrading himself in somebody else's bedroom, emerging to a room full of drunks wearing somebody else's shirt? Lonliness. I was One with Pisces. (In all fairness, before I developed the ridiculous amount of confidence I now have, I realise I was very Pisces.)

I was so desperate for approval- for someone to find me attractive, or interesting- that I found it was easy for me to just "put out". I wanted someone to love me. I was a stupid, stupid boy. At some point in time, I realised I was becoming a "downer". I was the guy who'd get drunk, and cry. People wouldn't party with me unless someone volunteered to babysit me for the night. Many also knew I was a total pushover, and they used this to walk all over me. Hint that I might have to confront someone, and I was putty in your hands. I was the epitome of Pisces, I was weak and dependant, and everyone felt like they had to take care of me.

I got tired of this. I was tired of people seeing me as this wet-blanket, dependable, go-nowhere daydreamer. I made an effort to change. And it started with standing up for myself. Sadly, I had never had too much practice in this area. Since I have always been good with the spoken word, though, I found myself very much at home in the art of bitchery. I couldn't intimidate someone who knew me. I couldn't outyell them, or outdepress them, but it was easy for me to just brush them off.

As this came to be, I found myself more and more at home with this new "attitude." I found myself believing that the confidence I had once faked was becoming real, and even more-so, was bordering on egotism. My bitchery, which I had mostly used to make people laugh and get me out of confrontation, was becoming a constant. I was being mean without realising it, and worse yet, mean while realising it.

Fuck. I don't know if this blog ever had direction. Which has always been my constant. Whether I'm a Pisces, a Gemini, or whatever the fuck someone see's me as, you'll never see me with direction. And if you ever do, please, let me know, so you can tell me where I'm going.

Change

I've been having a crisis lately. I wrote a blog, not too long ago, about what a bitch I can be. How I feel bad about it, but don't show it. And lately, it's been a much bigger problem. I don't know if I'm just gaining a worse sense of guilt, or if I'm being bitchier than usual. (Actually, I know I've been bitchier than usual.) Like, legitimatly mean. As I've said, it's something I've been stewing over.

I don't know why I've been acting the way I have, though I have suspicions that it's a number of stress-related reasons, but I'm looking for a solution. I don't believe in fate or destiny, but coincedence can be a powerful thing. We've all seen the generic quotes, usually along the lines of "Be the change you want to see in the world". I can't speak for others, but for me, I usually find myself passing over these quotes. Either I've seen them before, or they just don't interest me the way they should.

But, as I said, coincedence is a powerful thing. It seems like lately, I've been finding answers like these, answers that basically tell me to carve out my own future. I define the person I am: I'm a bitch because I accept I'm a bitch. Once upon a time, this wasn't the case. I'm afraid to ask people what they think of me, because I'm afraid of what's sugar coated and even more afraid of the truth. I know my friends- my real friends- love and appreciate me. (Yes, Lavina and Emily, this includes you, my most faithful readers.)

As I've also said before, I sometimes miss the person I was. I miss the passion, the willingness to confront and stand for what I believe in. It seems like I've avoided confrontation for years, I'm afraid of being disliked, but by being the person I think others want me to be, it seems like I'm just hating myself. And even more so, it seems people aren't enjoying who I THINK they want me to be, anyway.

It's frightening, honestly, imagining these changes I'm hoping to make in myself. Frightening because, if I fail, I know it's a failure to myself, and if I succeed, who knows if I'll like that person any better than the person I am now? Or maybe I'll make the correct changes, but it doesn't change me the way I want it to?

Anyway, sorry to all the people I've been bitchier than usual. I'm trying to change- I WANT to change- but we'll see how that goes. If nothing else, I'm unreliable, and this includes promises to myself.

Grudges

I'm a very forgiving person. Mostly because I forget why I'm angry in the first place. But I really, really hate it when someone hurts someone I love. Which, I'm sure, isn't too surprising. It seems to be a human thing. In my 20+ years of existence, I've only had a grudge against one person. And now, I have a second one.

My sister is a total sweetheart. She's got a heart that's too big for her head, which often makes her seem dumb and trivial. But once you get to know her, you realize there ARE cogs turning in that pretty little head of hers- sometimes, they just don't turn fast enough. Besides, stupidity's HARDLY a reason to dislike someone, and it's almost impossible to hate her. She's had a crap life, also. Alcoholic mom, lazy deadbeat dad, abuse, and some crappy boy/girlfriends (in case you didn't catch on by now, she's not my biological sister).

She doesn't deserve any of that (then again, who really does?). And maybe it's just because she's used to it, but she gets into relationships with guys/girls who keep treating her like a doormat. And she LETS them. Her ex-girlfriend, Jenny, cheated on her with my sister's cousin. Her boyfriend after that was an alcoholic who ended up in court-ordered rehab. Her current boyfriend caught me by surprise, though, which really pissed me off.

As I'm sure you can tell by now, I'm relatively protective of my sister (as a brother should be). So, I was ecstatic when she started dating her current boyfriend. He was nice, not only to her, but the rest of the family, and he was fun, and he seemed really devoted to her (weekly 6 hour drives, here and back). Then, she moved to Anchorage. And the dumb bitch (that's my sister) put herself in the worst possibly place.

She started living with him. She got a dog with him. She basically tied herself to this guy in a way that left her stuck (where else would she go?). She got a dog with him. I thought she was stupid for tying herself to this guy, but I figured she knew better than I did. And then the signs popped up. She started telling me about their fights, how it was always a constant with them. How she didn't have any friends of her own, because the only social interaction she got was at her Cosmotology classes, and when HE wanted to go out. She was lonely, and crazy, and then he cheated on her.

And then she took him back. Why? Because she "loves" him. Well, dumbass, if you love something, set it free, and then your brother will kick it in the cunt for you.

Bitch.

My Capricorn

There are so few people in my life that I feel I can actually depend on, that I can count them on my fingers. Three people, as a matter of fact. I'll admit, my relationships with them are mostly due to my selfishness. They're reliable, solid, they're home when everything in my life is chaotic. I know I can talk to them about anything, no matter what. They give me strength, and in return, I try to keep them happy. It's the least I can do, right? All three of these people are also totally different- one of them is gentle and capable of sympathy and kindness I can't even imagine being capable of. Another is strong, yet sensible. She's rational, but always knows how to temper that with a very big heart. The last (yet certainly not least) is strong, stubborn, and blunt. We can have the biggest fights, but in an hour or two, we both forgot about them completely.

This blog isn't about all three of them, though. It's about one in particular. Right now, she's probably the biggest influence in my life. She's my best friend, my roommate, my Capricorn. She's struggled through things I can't even imagine, yet has come out stronger and the better for it. She's not quite my opposite, but we're definitley very different people. I'm loud, and obnoxious, while she's quiet until given reason to raise her voice. I'm terrible with money, while she can be her own personal banker. If I'm chaos, she's order.

She looks out for me, though, without being patronizing about it. I like to drink, and party, and she'll never tell me I can't do it, but she'll let me know it's probably not the best idea when it isn't. She's not a wetblanket, though- she knows how to have fun, and when I'm with her, even when we don't really have anything to do, we have a blast. She puts up with me on a regular basis, which I'm pretty sure I wouldn't beable to do, if I had a double/clone/whatever. She knows my faults, and she embraces them, as I do hers. Our friendship is probably the closest thing to perfect, if there exists such a thing.

She can be critical. She can be stubborn. She can be petty. But she's always amazing, and she's always beautiful.

She's my Capricorn. <3

Gemini

It's fun, learning about Zodiac signs. "Oh, that is so me!" some may say, while others think, "Well, this is a bunch of bullshit". What a Zodiac sign does, basically, is give your personality an outline. Maybe that outline doesn't fit the Zodiac sign you were born under, but your personality is sure to fit one of the twelve molds, even if it is only to a limited extent. Obviously, every single person on this planet is different from one-another. But there are always things- big things- that help people define you instantly. Loud or quiet. Witty or dull. Upper or downer. Independant or dependant.

I was born under Pisces, the fish. To some, this means I'm a daydreamer, a planner but not someone who follows through. A quiet, gentle soul. To others, this means I am a downer, a drunk, and a pity-monger. I'm pretty sure I'm only two of these things (daydreamer and drunk). I don't fit the Pisces mold. I have the free-spirit, the carefree personality, the ability to drift through life, but I don't do it without making a lot of noise and without making a few people cry.

It's not totally different from a Pisces, but the differences that exist are quite noticable. I don't crave attention, I just need to be in on the action. I've always been good with words, and I've always been terrible with secrets. I'm not so much "immoral" as I am "amoral". I fit the Gemini mold quite nicely. Like Pisces, Gemini are mutable, adaptive. Unlike Pisces, they're extroverts, learners, rogues, and sociopaths. While a Pisces will make excuses for the things he/she has done wrong, a Gemini will just laugh them away.

I'm such a fuckin' Gemini.

Which me?

It's easy to think back, but hard to remember. I know, that sounds totally contradictory, but remember being a kid? Everything was so black and white. I remember thinking I was never going to smoke cigarettes (or anything else) or drink, because it just seemed to ruin the people around me. And growing up in a village, I saw a LOT of ruined people, including family and friends. Things aren't so simple now. Maybe they never were simple, I just simplified them because I was just a child, and it made things easier to understand.

The point is, people change. Constantly. The me who lived in McGrath is so different from the teenager who moved to Fairbanks, and that person is so different from the person I am today. That person was mopey, he was sad, he was giving, he cared about so much. He was quiet, until he had reason to speak up, and he was scared of so much. I think he's still scared.

Now, though, I'm loud, all the time. I don't even do it on purpose. I don't think anybody would qualify me as a downer, and maybe some of my nicer friends would say I'm still a caring person, most would take the honest route and say, "He's a bitch. He'll tell you that himself." And they would be right.

Sometimes, though, I remember too well, and I get so confused. Who am I? Or, better yet, who am I becoming? Do I like the person I see in the mirror? Because even I can't tell. Sometimes, I forget which of the things I say are honest things, and which are just bullshit that spews from my mouth for... what? Friends? Acceptance? Is there even a reason? Sometimes I'm proud of myself, and sometimes I'm afraid of who I'm becoming. Growing up doesn't necessarily mean growing into someone you like.

If I could get all the different "me"s together, what would each of them think of me? Would young me be afraid of the person he becomes? Would adolescent me hate modern me? Would he be disappointed that I don't care so much about politics or lost most of that passion? Would he hate me? I'm not sure.

I'm not really sure of a lot these days.

Champagne

Champagne, champagne, champagne. Maybe it's growing up in the village (or Alaska in general), but I've never drank champagne before. It seems so mysterious, and high class. Something you'd drink at a benefit ball, or something you'd expect Bruce Wayne to show up at. So, for me, I associate chapagne with special occasions, basically. Well, special occasions and high society, but like I said, this is Alaska, so we only have special occasions (and those usually aren't especially special).

This may not be special for most other people, but it's definitley special for me. So, I have champage stashed away for the big night. The first night. My first night. In my new place. (Well, OUR place, if Emily's reading. And she's pretty much the only person who reads this, sooo...) That's right, I'm starting to grow up, and finally getting out. Not that living with my parents is awful, but really, I refuse to be the "failure to launch" guy. I'm independant, I think a lot of people will tell you that. (Or am I incredibly DEpendant? I can never remember...)

It surprises me that we've already done so much. We've got the deposit on the place already- it's ours as soon as we get the 1st months rent together (and by "we" I mean "me", since Emily already paid for the deposit). Am I scared? Yeah. A little. I mean, this is a big step. But I'm mostly just excited, and optimistic. I think me and Emily work well together. You'd think our personalities would clash, but they actually just compliment eachother. We're like Will&Grace (except she's the gay man, and I'm the jew).

All in all, I'm counting down till Friday. Three days of work, and then payday, and then apartment-time. Hoo-rah.

I'll Cut A Bitch

As a friend, you get to take certain liberties. For example, when one of my friends says "fag", I know they're kidding, and I laugh. When someone I don't know says "fag", I assume they're bigots and hold it against them, even if they're not really discriminating against anyone. As my friend, most people have learned that: A) I'm an asshole, B) I'm constantly joking, and C) I have quite the potty mouth. Quite a few of them know where I work, enough of them know how hard it is for me to keep a job, and a couple of them know I love my job. Really, I do. As far as jobs go, mine is the shit. I get to work with awesome people, I get to make and eat delicious food, and I get to make money everyday.

So, when someone I consider my friends threatens my livelihood, I'm a little worried. No, that's not right- I'm PISSED. You're my friend, coming to my place of work, so I treat you like a friend. Really, if you wanted to be treated like a customer, act like you're a customer and maybe don't go to the cafe you used to work at where everyone knows you. Simple enough, right? You were correct, what I said was unproffesional, and if there were other customers around, I wouldn't have said it. But you know what? There weren't. And given the situation, I don't think it's beyond me to expect you to come to me before you go to my boss. You know, a little, "Hey, what you said wasn't very professional/made me feel uncomfortable/was rude."

Instead, I recieved a warning for my behavior. Behavior I would have never shown to a customer I didn't PERSONALLY know and didn't consider a friend. Well, I won't have to worry about that anymore. Because, obviously, we're not friends, so I don't need to treat you as such. I'll treat you like a customer if I see you at work, and I'll treat you like scum anywhere else. Because I can't have people I can't trust right now, I have too much going on. I've got school to worry about, and getting a place, and I have people counting on me, so I don't have the energy to listen to your loud mouth berate ME.

P.S. Didn't you get fired for being severely unprofessional ALL THE TIME?

The Small Town

Once upon a time, I had a best friend who was smart, bold, headstrong, and kind. She was fun, and we used to be close. She told me stories about her boyfriends, told me all of her complaints and shared with me all of the secret couple-things they did. As time passed, she grew more accustomed to the life she had chosen- that of living in a small village. A village where petty gossip caused tidal storms of drama, and the people fed off of the drama like insects. Some stood out amongst the buzzing of the insect wings- butterflies amongst vile scavengers. They were destined to drift on the winds, though some became trapped in the small town, like flypaper, and some would spend the last of their days in that small, sad town.

Once upon a time, my best friend stood out. She was different- open minded, loving, sweet. Then she fell in love- not with a person, but with the small town. She wanted to live a rough-and-tumble life, cutting her own firewood and drinking whiskey around a bonfire. Over time, she became petty and cruel, morphing from a butterfly to a housefly. She surrounded herself in gossip, allowing it to feed her and poison her, to change her into everyone she used to hate. She allowed herself to believe any scrap of "truth" that passed someone's lips, her antenna twitching at the mere mention of an interesting tidbit here and there.

Once upon a time, I knew a boy who lied. Not to hurt, not to scheme, just to lie. For pity, for friends, maybe even for love. He was also kind, and protective of his friends, and he would always listen when you needed it. He wasn't a bad person, just a lonely one. One day the boy who lied moved to the same town as the girl who was petty. It wasn't long until they would fall in love...

Once upon a time, the boy who lied and the petty girl fell in love, or the closest thing to it. They spent every possible moment with eachother, and for a while, it was good. Then, it became dangerous. The petty girl had spent too much time in the village, had grown too petty, and could neither trust nor believe the boy who lied. In a place where people fed off lies and drama, they were a match made in hell.

Once upon a time, I was best friends with a girl who became petty, who fell in love with the boy who lied. I was close with both of them, and I spent all my freetime with them, and then I told them the truth. "You're too dependant on eachother," I told the petty girl, "Perhaps you should take a step back to look at your relationship?" But she would have none of it, and cast me out of her sight. She trusted me no longer, and because she wanted nothing to do with me, the boy who lied was not allowed to be my friend, either.

Once upon a time, there was a boy who lied and a petty girl, and that was it. They had no friends, because the petty girl either didn't like you or she didn't trust you, and the boy who lied did whatever she told him to. They talked about people, and she thought she was better than everyone else while he wished he didn't love her so much. And that's the end of this tale, happily never after.

I'm sorry I'm a bitch

For years, I've owned the fact that I'm an asshole. I can be rude, dishonest, and insensitive at times that are wholly inappropriate. I made a 10 year old cry yesterday by telling her she had a butt growing out of the top of her head (and that her hairline was the crack). Yet, even with all my flaws, I know there is a line that should not be crossed. I didn't think the butt-head thing was that big of a deal, but I apologised for it anyway (and not just because she's my boss' daughter). I hurt that little girl's feelings, and while I think most people know I don't do it intentionally, it's still been known to happen. And sometimes, I step over that line. The strange thing is, I can usually feel myself doing it. I can feel myself being meaner and nastier, and while it sickens me to the stomache, sometimes I just can't stop. The words are like vomiting razor-blades, cutting you down to pieces because I'm drunk with insecurity.

Here's the truth, though, the sickening, scary truth: I'm not really much of an asshole. If I do something I regret, I usually mull it over for hours upon end, thinking of some way to make it right. Of course, I usually end up finding a way to bury it, or (in my mind) make up for it, without ever having to apologise. Somewhere along the line, I became afraid of apologies. I felt like every time I apologised for something, I was betraying myself. I was constantly questioning my own motives: "Am I apologising because I actually feel bad? Or do I just not want ____ to be mad at me?" I like pretending I'm sociopathic because then I feel less responsible. Sort of a, "Well, you know how I am, so you can't really be mad at me for acting this way." And most people seem to go for it.

I can't stand making people unhappy, though. Laughter is my defense mechanism- hell, it's my everything mechanism. I laugh when I'm sad, I laugh when I'm happy, I laugh when I'm angry. I always try to lighten the mood, and sometimes that backfires. When the dog my family had owned since I was a toddler died, I laughed because I didn't know what else to do. When my bestfriend died when I was 13, I made jokes at his funeral. I haven't cried in 3 years, because the laughter has replaced everything else.

I'm not looking for pity, mind you. I'm just letting you know: sometimes I laugh when the moment is awkward, or inappropriate, or just plain insensitive. I probably don't mean to- it bubbles up before I can think of a better reaction- and I probably won't apologise for it (on the spot, anyway), but I hope you know I really am sorry. For anything you didn't know I was sorry about, and the stuff you won't know I'm sorry for in the future.

It begins!

It's been a long time since I last blogged. I believe I was bitching about the mormons, over myspace. Oh, those crazy, crazy mormons... Anywho, welcome one and all, to the Double Standard. That's right, the Double Standard. Some of you may be wondering what I'll be posting in the Double Standard (yes, I know I've typed it out 3 times, but I totally love the title). Well, for the most part, I will use this to bitch about all the little things that bug me (people who don't tip, people who post song lyrics over facebook constantly, women drivers, that sort of thing), or post all of my crazy theories (gravity is a farce, aliens exist, and there's a ghost in the basement of River City). Every once in a while, I may decide to take the sentamentalist route, also (I love you guys!, I'm so depressed right now., or the ever popular, I'm so pissed at _____.) Of course, I'm also not big on "structure" or "planning", so my blogs could go any-which-way. Like Lost, it'll keep you guessing, and probably leave you disappointed at the end (which is also reminiscent of most people's first sexual experience... I just solved the mystery of the island!).

So, to kick things off, let's talk about blogging. That's right, I'm going to write a blog about how ridiculous and stupid blogging is. (See? The Double Standard makes sense!) In all fairness, not all blogs are awful- every so often there is that single, beautiful diamond in the ruff (like this one! or not...). And by ruff I mean heartbroken teenagers, disenchanted housewives, goth poems, faux song lyrics, and other terribly boring subjects (really? your boyfriend dumped you and now you're sad? i really don't give a fuck... or, wow, you write beautifully about killing yourself. why not just get it over with already?). Am I a terrible person for thinking this way? Possibly, but I'm also an honest one (at the moment, anyway).

The thing about blogs are they're for people who want attention (myself included, though I hardly think I need to clarify that). Sure, some people will argue that the writing is theraputic, and they may be right, but you don't need the internet to write. Journals do the exact same thing, and are much, much more private. Blogs are for people who want other people to think they're special, without actually saying that. "Wow, you write so beautifully!" or "You're so creative!" or other such emotionless drivel is usually handed out to appease someone else, while hoping you will, in turn, be commented on. And if you're not commented on, well, that's just more angsty fuel for your next gem, no?

I can already hear the screams of protest. "MY blog IS different!", which really translates into, "I'M really different! I really AM special!" Chances are, you're not. Not to everyone, anyway. Maybe you have a group of loyal readers, or friends, who read all your new blogs. Maybe you don't. Does that make you special? I think not, my dears. Then again, who am I to make that judgement? Who am I to take away the one thing that makes you special?

The Oracle of Delphi was supposedly chosen by the Gods to tell people the future. From near and far, people would go to the Oracle for advice, both commoners and kings. I chose the penname Delphi because I want to fill that role. I want to be special, I want to be revered, and I want to be right. Is that fair? Do I have that right, after putting down so many others?

...Well, I suppose that's the double standard.