Another

It’s summer again and again and again summer tends to bring out the worst/best in me people. I—errr I mean people, sure people…tend to drink a lil more (uuuh hello; cook outs, bars with outdoor areas, beach trips, festivals, concerts, picnics, weekends, Thursdays), dress a little sluttier (tank tops n’ shorty shorts). While in general there is nothing wrong with any of these things when taken to X-treme things can get a little, collar-pullingly awkward; especially meeting new people. It can be as what only can be described as a Jekyll and Hyde situation or at worse a Ke$ha situation. Something no body enjoys but everyone will remember…because it was just…YUCK!

Summer is the time for a lot of things. It’s a virtual hotbed of change and discomfort, soothed and aggravated by those characteristic mentioned above. If your lucky you find a balance and meet someone decent, or, you know, not.

Summer is a time for heated ambition that should be cooled, unless you want to make a jackass of yourself with how much you’ve invested yourself in a possibility. And then when that possibility that you talked your fool ass self into thinking was in inevitability blows up in your face. Because no matter how much you think you deserve something, or how much you think you would be the perfect candidate for the job, life has a way of oh saying “uuuhhhh I think you’ve confused your life with a special episode of Saved by the Bell.”

So my attempt at ambition was shot down like so many old yellers. I got put the fuck down. So I’m going to wail and rage and bloody my knuckles, tear at my hair, questioning once again the choices I’ve made. And then I’ll go home and drink and eat ice scream. Because why not, I enjoy being a stereotype.

Because what else is there when something doesn’t go your way and you have no control over it. When people were an your side and a technicality keeps you from what you want. When you’ve spent some much of your life hearing no no no that for once the idea of yes seemed so appealing that you trick yourself into saying yes too.

GOD

I sound like an emo poet from the Midwest.

No substance only whining. I’m like the McDonalds of blogs.



The McChicken of posts.