Corn Patrol.

Well, I had a fucking epiphany about aging today, and that was before I found out ANOTHER one of my childhood heroes died. It appears that, in addition to being left no choice but to grow the fuck up, I’m never going to get that Diff’rent Strokes reunion I’ve been praying for either. God damn you, Gary Coleman!

I started this job earlier in the week. Produce department at a grocery store. I signed on for part-time, but I am already on the schedule for forty hours a week. Because that’s what they need, and I’m not going to complain. Complaining could cost me the job or, at the very least, piss a few people off. So. Mystery bone disease or not, I’m going to have to work my balls off for a while.

Here is my epiphany: I want something, and I am going to have to work for it. Portland is the city I love, the city I miss, the only place I’ve ever really called home. I hate (yes, hate is a strong stupid word that I only reserve for special non-living things) hate hate hate HATE New York. But I’m fucking poor, and I’m not a child anymore. I can’t just move across the country on $500. I can’t fucking do it anymore. It hurts to think about. I’m going to have to grow up, raise/save money like a fucking adult, so I can afford to move out of state. I kinda touched on this the other day, but it’s really fucking sinking in now.

I’ve never been a grown-up before. I’ve had 70+ jobs in my life; the longest one lasted 13 months, but usually I only make it 1-3 months at any one place. Because, here’s the kicker: I fucking hate working. I don’t get it. I mean, getting up in the MORNING (which is obviously the best time for sleep) and going to a place where there are PEOPLE that can tell me what to do?! What the crap is that??! And the things that these people tell me to do require EFFORT and physical energy! The nerve of these bastards!! And I can’t smoke cigarettes very often at all, which is also pretty lame. AND they expect all of this sacrifice from me, but I’m not even allowed to come to work stoned. The People In Charge even frown on cocaine and amphetamine use at jobs, which is fucking senseless because, let’s face it, have you ever seen anyone raging on cocaine or amphetamines? Those people are the PERFECT worker bees. But no. No drugs. No drugs at all. Not even Jack Daniel’s. Fuck. FUCK!!

So, I have to do it. That’s where the epiphany comes in. I have no choice but to enslave myself to these people until I have enough money to do what I must do.

(Can I interrupt just to say that I have 60 hours of albums shuffling around in winamp, and although life clearly hates me, winamp loves me so much. Winamp is playing all my favorite jams right now. I’m starting to cry a little, because I am an emotional wreck every day but even more-so today. But. Thank you, winamp. And thank you, loud music. I love you too.)

So. Yeah, man. Sacrifices. How do people do this shit all of the time without even batting an eye? I’m assuming I need daily affirmations, right?

“Don’t kill your self, and don’t kill anyone else.”

“Think about all the McMenamin’s beer you’ll be able to drink in PDX.”

“Think about getting back west and buying a new chord organ and starting a freaky new band.”

And on top of all, I had a fucked up day at the doctor’s office yesterday. Which has led me to this other serious conclusion: No more doctors; the key to my health is within. I can’t do doctors, I just can’t. Those people are fucking satanic. Fuck whatever disease it is that I have. I will eat healthier, I will exercise, I will start going to the Zen center and learn to meditate (if I really have to), I will get back into NLP, and I will be fine on my own. Because doctors aren’t helping my bones, they’re not helping my eyes, and I’m now terrified of letting them anywhere near my teeth.

(Seriously, winamp obviously knows what kind of day I’m having. This is amazing. These songs are making me feel like God. Also making me want to mix a vodka drink.)

Also, I’ve realised something else: I am feeling lonely. Yes. I am. I am convinced that we are all lonely, of course, but I’m usually pretty good with solitude. And I’m not even being solitary. I just, I don’t know. The break-up thing was rough, mostly because I realised I haven’t been in love in like 5 years. That means my last two relationships were sort of farcical. Because I’ve been in relationships for 4.5 of the last 5 years. Weird, right? There was the one that got away, and she got away about 5.5 years ago, and I have just faked being in love since then. So yes. I don’t want to do that anymore. I think I’d like to have a few more months of singleness. And then, when I get back to Portland, I will meet someone amazing who doesn’t feel the need to fix me. I hope she comes from somewhere very far away, so I’ll sort of know she is a gift. Or he. I always say she, but I’m definitely open to being a homo. Mmmm, maybe I’m not anymore? I used to be. Well. I do love vagina. And I know that sounds bad, but I do. I really do. I love women in general, so much. They (you) are all so fucking beautiful. And the dynamic between strength and vulnerability in a woman is probably the best thing on Planet Earth. I’m getting lost here.

Growing up. I’m just going to have to shut up and do it. I’m going to learn. No choice. Because I know what I want this time, and if I don’t get it… the only person I’ll be able to blame is me. And I lug enough guilt around with me already. It’s probably time to purge the badness from my life. From the inside on outward.

And Arnold fucking Drummond!! If I didn’t want to get old on my own, the fact that everyone I cared about at age 6 is dying like crazy… I just can’t believe it. Corey Haim and Michael Jackson and Gary Coleman. I hope Emanuelle Lewis is doing alright. I have Soleil Moon Frye on twitter, she seems okay.

Oh yeah. I signed up for Twitter. I wasn’t even drunk. Can’t believe it. And you know what? It SUCKS. Absolutely fucking pointless.

So much more to talk about, but I need to stop the rant. I was supposed to go on a date this week, totally fucked that up. And my Dude Post didn’t work, still no dudes reading. And yeah, whoa, this is my 100th post too. I wanted to do some kind of magical giveaway, but I don’t have time to deal with all of that right now. Soon, though. Maybe for post #111? Or #125? Sometime. Soon. Soonish.

So that’s all, I guess. God, I could sit here and rant and rant. But that’s silly. Also, nobody reads my fucking blog on the weekend. It’s 8pm, I’m drinking vodka, already wishing I didn’t have to wake up at 6am. I think it’s time for me to log the fuck off of the internet and go cause some trouble somewhere, and fast. My bedtime is soon. Eww.

Also, you fuckers are amazing and brave for bothering to read this garbage. Thank you.


About R. Spacely

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4 Responses to Corn Patrol.

  1. You are hilarious! I agree… adulthood kind of blows. What is your twitter?

    • Rob says:

      i think it’s but i’m not sure. i’m not really twitter literate yet.

  2. Tom says:

    Around the 15th of each month, when my money inevitably runs out, I have a similar rant – it’s like a scheduled performance, you could set your watch by it. When I have no money, everything else I’m not 100% happy with becomes much more apparent – to the point that everything’s a problem and everything annoys me.

    I’ve also resigned myself to accepting that things will sort themselves out in the future but, until then, I’ll have to continue wading through the crap.

    Not to make myself sound completely shallow, but I as soon as I get paid things start looking up – for all of five minutes.

  3. krystal says:

    i found your blog through Mel’s – I love it so far. I’m with you on Twitter but I still do it anyway so beware because you might find yourself a year later saying the same thing but twittering away!

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