Saturday, January 31, 2009

Smiles are for Birthdays

It's a celebration, bitches.

23 years ago today the storke visited my parents for the first time ( I choose to believe that my parents don't even know what sex is), and gave them the deed to me in my infant state. This was unexpected. They had turned in thier application to the Baby Assignment Group (or BAG as they liked to be called) as a joke, not actually intending on becoming parents. BAG was running a free application special, young Mom and young Dad did it just to see. They were not smart like that.

Lucky for them, they got matched up with what could only be described as the love child of the God's. My eyes twinkled like the stars. My smile lit up a dark room. And I gotta be honest, I've seen the baby pictures people, I was packin some serious heat. There are 7 foot, 300 pound black dudes that weap at the size of the pecker in my baby pictures.

Yes, the newely Mr. and Mrs. Belvin had a little bundle of awesome on their hands. They played cool until the stork had left. They were so excited when they were told I was a boy. Mom says that when my dad confirmed I was a boy, and saw how big the power tool was, he lost a little bit of hair on the back of his head. Sadly, he has yet to grow it back.

23 years later, and here I am. All grown up-ish. I've had some laughs, some cries, some good times and french fries.

In all seriousness, for as much as I bitch I do really enjoy my life. I have a great family (thanks to the power of adoption and remarriage it's now huge. But the new comers are cool, and I've decided they can stick around for awhile), I have incredible friends, and lets face it, kinda tough to be sad when you see this face in the mirror every morning.

Thats not to say that the last couple of weeks haven't sucked a major donkey dick-because it totally has. It's been worse then walking in on a fat man getting a blumpkin (if you don't know what a blumpkin is, you don't need to know what a blumpkin is). But it's my birthday and I was informed that I got my big boy job back, so I've got some reasons to be smiling right now.

I'm really excited to unleash the madness onto Portland Bars tonight. Some of you know what this means. Shit some of you have whitnessed it before. My birthday gives me the perfect excuse to go nuts. So tonight, I fully plan on taking every advantage. I fully intend to cause trouble, hit on ladies, drink beer and support single mothers working on their last semester of that ever elusive business degree.

So with that in mind, lets hold up a glass and give a toast. Lets toast to my parents. Thank you mom and dad for doing what you did (applying for a baby when you did). Lets toast to how fast life can change. Earlier this week, you probably could've talked me into doing gay porn for lunch money. Thanks to becoming employed again, I have rediscovered my morals and thankfully will not being taking a shot to the face. Last but not least, lets toast to me. Lets toast to me because it's my birthday and that in it's self is a cause for celebration.

And I'm totally awesome.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

I should not be allowed to type at 2 am

I can't sleep.

I got home from work a little past an hour ago. Much to my frustration, my body and mind are trapped in a state of confusion. I'm some kind of combonation of exhausted and wide awake. I ate some string cheese, took a shower and then tried to go to sleep. It didn't work out. I tried watching a documentary on Hunter S. Thompson to tire me out, but found I wasn't awake enough to focus on it.

I don't have much to say. Truth be told, I'm not even sure why I'm writing right now. I put my ipod on, and I'm listening to a combonation of Bon Iver, Deathcab and Bright Eyes and writing just seemed to be what I should be doing.

It's just I have nothing to write about. I've been rambling alot lately ( I said some super wierd shit in the last entry), and I wanted to have a reason to write in here next. I wanted to have a topic, some legit structure. Looks like I screwed the pooch on that one. Oh well, there is always NEXT time.

My lack of inspiration is not my fault. I refuse to shoulder the blame for this. I'm just bored right now. I don't have much of anything going on in my life. I'm just waiting for my old job to get in gear and give me my job back so I can start making some serious beer money again.

But I'm tired of writing about that. I'm becoming a "woe is me" broken record, and I don't want the six people who read this to think I'm going snap or do something super drastic. I mean, I DID consider bleaching my head the other day (platinum Billy Idol style). I quickly gave that idea the kabosh. That would be as drastic as I would go. So don't worry, I won't be doing anything crazy like joining the Army (now the Navy or the Coast Guard could be a different story).

I want to be famous. I want to find a way to get paid making people laugh. I know, I know, thats a real fucking shocker. Look, if you're gonna be a regular on this, you'll just have to get used to me droppin intimate pieces of insight like that on you. This is a safe place. A place where we can feel free sharing our feelings. Think of my blog as a nest in a tree of trust and understanding (feel free to name the movie that I just bastardized that from).

I've been doing alot of serious thinking lately. I'm not gonna dive into a lot of details on this one. There is too much to it. It's not a blog topic, let alone for a quick paragraph. Shit, it should be a case study. The only hint is, it's something that has DOMINATED where my head is at over the last few years. Believe me, no one wishes I wasn't thinking about it more then me. It's seriously getting annoying.

It's no one's fault other then my own, and my inabillity to occupy my hyper active mind/imagination with other tasks and things to ponder. The thoughts just keep coming back and coming back. It should just go away right? That just seems logical. Heck, even the Bubonic Plague and the Macarena eventually went away.

Even mentioning it probably didn't help either. I'll probably dream about it now. The imaginations of humans are easily occupied, especially if the subject is taboo. If I told you not to think about a red crayon, what would you think about? Exactly, RED FUCKIN CRAYONS! You'd be day dreaming of Fire Trucks and sports cars. Thats human nature for you.

Guess who just yawned?! Yup, it was me. It was a good one too. I think that means it's time to wrap this up and get my sleep on. So thank you to the six people who read this, and goodnight (or good morning, depending on when you read this).

I'm gonna go drink some water and dream about red crayons and being famous.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Ramblings from my Ice-Tomb

So right now it's 2:00 am. I'm tired, cold and currently locked out of my dads house. Let me reiterate to stress for a point of emphasis, it is really freaking cold outside. If there was a Champion of Life Tournament, I'd get knocked out by Corey Feldman in the first round.


Lucky for me, I'm like the McGyver of dumbshit survival. I have my lap top with me and I've fashioned a blanket with dirty clothing. Right now, I'm trying to forget that my balls are nothing more then a fantastic ice sculpture by watching episodes of 30 Rock. But as I'm nearing the end of the season, I'm coming to the realization that four in the morning is still a ways off. Four in the morning is when my dad will be coming out of the door, allowing me the chance to actually enter the house, and ultimatly, be in a bed.


I'm going mad with the frozen crazies.


So in attempt to perserve 30 Rock for as long as I need, I have decided to try and kill some time by writing. I'll take this time to ramble and update this thing a bit. Let the general public know where I am at.

Which is OUTSIDE, BITCH.

Seriously, if you hadn't caught that tid bit yet, your reading comprehension is rotten. You need to go back to first grade. Don't pass go, don't collection 200 dollars- Go pick up a Dick and Jane book.

Ramblings:


  • 30 Rock is amazing. I think I am being commishioned from a higher power to drown her (her being Tina Fey) in my seed.
  • I think if I were to spit (inside the car) that it would freeze by the time it hit the floor. It's so cold in here the little hairs I have on my chin are hard.
  • I think I hate girls. They are the bane of my exsistance. God must have a sick sense of humor for making me dependent on their affection.
  • I don't hate girls enough to start banging guys.
  • I love Brandon Roy, I would rub his feet.
  • I would not bang Brandon Roy.
  • I can't believe the Arizona Cardinals could be in the Superbowl after this weekend. This is a sign that the apocolyps is near. If you listen closely you can hear the sound of the Four Horsemen on the horizon.
  • My penis and I are no longer on speaking terms, and he is trying to get a restraining order against me. He claims he is under appreciated and there has been an un wanted increase in domestic abuse.

Ok I'm done. I'm gonna put my Ipod on now, and try and sleep. Maybe I can freeze myself in this icey tomb and wake up in a time where the economy is good and I can get a good paying job so I can once again support single mothers and damage my liver.

Pray for me.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Plax needs a helmet

Ok, I've been meaning to bitch about this for sometime now. Plaxico Burress.  Anyone who has seen a tv in the last month knows where I'm going with this. If you are making the same face I make when someone tries to argue politics with me, then allow me to break it down for you.

Plaxico, or Plax for short, is a dumb shit.

He is a professional athlete, or more specifically a Wide Receiver for the New York (football) Giants. He gets paid big money to catch a football for a living. In fact, in September (after a summer of bitching for MORE money) he received a 35 million dollar extension. Even though it is very unlikely that at 31 he will be able to remain an elite receiver in the NFL. Still, he pouted and the Giants paid the man.

Now lets get this straight, I'm not here to bitch about Plaxs' stacks.  If you have someone willing to pay you that kind of cheddar who am I to say, "thats not right." And obviously I don't have personal knoweledge of Plax the man, so I'm not gonna sit here and call him a bad person. Rather, my beef with the 6'6" receiver is with Plax the decision maker. So where I won't question his morality or his manhood, I am going to question his intelligence. 

To say Plax is retarded, would be a slap in the face of Gilbert Grapes retarded brother.

First of all, lets forget that he had been suspended already in the season due to the typical "me first" attitude that receivers have. Quite frankly, that doesn't piss me off that much. Like I said, that attitude is typical of receivers. Sad but true.

I mean I'd probably show up late to practice too if I was getting paid millions of dollars to play/talk football. It would be REAL tough to get out of bed for that. Let me tell you.

 So What did Plax do? After Plax and The Giants had informed the media that he would not be playing Week 13 game against the division rival Redskins.  Oh well, injuries happen. However, even though he wasn't going to be able to hit the field on sunday, he was apparently healthy enough to test it at a dance club on Thursday. Makes sense.

The dumb shittary doesn't stop there, in fact its about to jump off the page. So Plax is out with his wife (one of the reasons I won't slam his morality.)  drinkin, dancing, ya know, having a good time. Plax was rockin sweats, lots of cash and a... gun. YES A MOTHER F***KIN GUN! So there he is, wearing sweats, drunk, and he has a gun tucked in the elastic of the sweats. I couldn't make this shit up if I wanted to. I'm not that creative.

Obviously he shoots himself in the leg. He's lucky he didn't blow his junk off. But what he did do was put a bullet in his leg at a nightclub (What? An over paid Athlete in trouble at a night club? Stop me if you've heard this one before), which caused him to miss the rest of the year on a team that had already bought it's playoff ticket, and appeared Superbowl bound.

(Needless to say, the Giants looked like crap the rest of the season, and got punched in the mouth in their lone playoff game)

Again, the dumb shittary doesn't stop there! Oh no, the fun keeps coming. You see, Plax apparently can't drive. First he wrecked his $140,000 benz, and didn't have insurance. How do you drive a car that costs that much, and not slap some insurance on there. No wonder he was bitching about getting that extra 35 million.

Seriously, someone get Plax a helmet.  Over the course of a month, he managed to basically run himself out of New York, nearly blow his dick off with a gun he had tucked in an elastic band, and wreck a 140 k benzo with no insurance. And now he might have to give back the 35 million.

Then there was the free car rental he got in Pittsburg, on the deal that he was going to do a public appearence for them. Which he no showed. So he's getting sued for that.

So lets recap:  Shot himself in the leg at a club, when he was supposedly too injured to catch a ball. Wrecked his benz, and didn't have insurance. Then  no showed an appearence which he was paid in advance for.

Dumbass.

I'd say we should lock him in a padded room and give him a color book and some crayons, but the dumb ass probably would shove them up his nose and suffocate. 

I mean he gets paid insane amounts of cheddar to play a game, and it's like he is TRYING to screw it up. I think we should have an intelligence aptitude test before we give athletes that kind of dough. 35 million dollars can pay for alot of insurance, but I guess Plax didn't see it like that.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Plaxico Burress, an early canidate for dumb ass of the year.


Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Warning: I'm not in a good mood

You ever have one of those days where you feel less then super human? Where it  becomes a chore to put a smile on your face, and remain positive? I do from time to time. You could say I'm feeling that way right now. Because right now, I feel like the biggest piece of shit on this planet.

No rhyme or reason to it. I just feel like a giant schmuck. 

I found myself sitting in the back seat of my brothers car last night, assessing the situation I have found myself in. Looking at my brother, he's got a lot going for him and I'm real proud. He's 19, got a good paying job, lives rent free at my dads, and is going to school. Me on the other hand since coming back from my California Adventure, I'm 22, unemployed, living at my parents for the first time since high school, and broke as joke. Actually, it's not even funny, so I'm broke like MC Hammer broke. 

To make matters worse, I have no idea what I'm doing. Am I coming or going? I can barely decide, I just drank a fifth of Kool-aid, dare me to drive? Yes, those lyrics are quoted from an edited Eminem song. And yes, it IS that bad of a morning.

I want to go back to school, but do not qualify for independence since I'm not 24. Listen, other then the last couple weeks, I've been out of the parental wing for four years. I am the picture of independence. So, fuck you FASFA. 

I have no car, because I make bad decisions like take a nap while driving on a highway. With intelligence like that, it's incredible administrations across the country aren't paying me to attend their school.

I have no job. I left my good paying job after the car accident because I felt like I needed to change, and felt like it was time to head to my dream land of California. It was a great adventure, only problem is I rushed everything, screwed the pooch on preparation and wasn't able to live down there yet.  Once again, jobs, cars and roommates are keys to living in expensive situations. And lets face it, California is an expensive situation.

So five weeks after my decision to throw caution to the birds, drop everything and leave, I'm back wishing I had not done that in such a haste. If I would've just taken five minutes to sit down and think about it,  I could've probably still been there. But nooooooo I'm a hard headed lazy bastard. And it's getting worse. Seriously, vampires do more during the day then I do right now. VAMPIRES, DAMNIT!
 
Whats really kicking my ass is I don't know whats going on. Not that any one REALLY knows whats going on, but I feel like I'm extra clueless. Do I really want to go to school? Really? Or am I just looking for something to tell people when they ask me what I'm doing with my life? I need a role model.

And when the hell did I start to care? This summer I had fun making up different stories for people when they'd ask me what I was doing. I went to a wedding this summer and saw a bunch of my old high school teachers.  Each one of them got a different story from dentistry to politics(Thank goodness they weren't coming around after I started drinking, or else I would've probably told them I was doing porn). Now,  I feel legitimately bad. I have buddies graduating college now, starting their own businesses and what do I got? An associates degree. Super. According to Ryan Reynolds, I can substitute teach for retarded children.

My current female situation is not helping matters either. I can say I like being single till I'm blue in the face, but lets face it, thats not a 100 percent accurate. What guy in their right mind doesn't want a girl to hang out with all the time that he gets along with, and be  provided with consistent booty? This is a program I'd like to go ahead and sign up with.

And here is where my problem comes in. I'm not 19 anymore.  At 19, I had a nice car, a job (though not an impressive one, but a job none the less)  and my own apartment. I had some times. Plus, girls were easier to impress then. Having a job, a car, and your own place were not necessarily required (ALL THREE weren't required. You needed at least one, and a combo of the three if you were going to pull anything that could be taken out during the daylight). 

Now girls are harder to impress. The three bonuses are now a requirement. They look to see what direction dudes are heading with their lives, and if they can gain anything from them. They want someone with an education, someone who can give them an experience. Girls are material creatures. They want someone to buy them shinny shit. In my current situation, being broke, carless, jobless, and an all-star couch crasher...well I guess it's safe to say I'm not a catch. Girls aren't in a rush to put on their sexy underwear when they need to pick me up at my dads house.

I know I'm over reacting. I mean how many jobs did I expect to land in my lap with the economy being the way it is, and it also being Christmas season. I'm just really bored right now, and I needed to bitch.

What I need to do is step back, take a deep breath grab a coke and a smile and figure out my thing. I know God's got a plan for me, it just sucks sometimes waiting for him to show me whats good. I just really don't like feeling blue. It really screws with my chi. Actually, what I need to do is get out and clear my head. I need to load up my ipod and go take a drive. I need t go drive fast, and maybe ride some twisty roads. Nothing clears your head like a long drive to no where and back. Yes, thats what I need, that'll help me figure out my issues. I'm going for a drive!

So, uh,  Who wants to pick me up?


Friday, January 2, 2009

Welcoming in the New Year the best way I could..

I woke up for the first time in 2009 in typical fashion. True to form I was fully dressed, on a couch that was not my own, and had a bitchin headache. I gave 2008 the finger, and welcomed 2009 in by partying like a rockstar. And yes, when I say rockstar I do mean drinking in extreme excess, to the point where adhering social norms and decency were no longer my concern.

To call me drunk would be to downplay my awesomeness. To be just "drunk" would not be a big deal. For most people, this is a good place to start slamming water, and eat some Taco Bell. They need to soak up that booze, don't want to be too hung over tomorrow. This is not an acceptable practice for myself. I'm of the ripe full age of 22. I live by the Mantra "do damage today, pay for it tomorrow." To say I was "drunk" would make it sound like I wasn't able to drive legally anymore. People by 2:00 in the morning I wasn't able to tie shoes let alone start a car.

Oh it was one of those nights. The kind of night where you enjoy 8 shots of patron before you even head out to the bar. The kind of night where you order drinks that have so much alcohol in them, you could use them to disinfect open cuts. The kind of night where you could participate in consensual sexual intercourse with, dare I say it, a fat chick. Luckily for me, my night did not end in a tragedy, despite the reported efforts of a rather randy herd.

It's like the old saying goes, "if you get drunk and nail a fat chick on New Years, does it count?" Much like the ol' chicken and the egg adage, this question has no answer. There are no winners when it comes to sex with fat chicks, just regretful participants and broken bed frames.

It was the kind of night where you see a girl who you know just had a baby, Springer Style (where for the longest time she wasn't sure who the daddy was) and you find yourself thinking, 'maybe'. It's the kind of night where you bum a cigarette of said new mommy, even though you don't smoke. Sue me, sometimes slumps go so long that you might need to start compromising standards and beliefs to bust them.

It's the kind of night where you are in the front row of another excellent Throwback Suburbia show, rockin your ass off. Where you find yourself singing every word to every song you know (and making just loud, obnoxious sounds to the songs you don't) just in case Jimmy forgets the words he was singing. Jimmy, if you're ever reading this-I got your back. I'm like a human karaoke machine.

If you've never had the chance to listen to Throwback Suburbia there is something wrong with the way you do business. Seriously you heartless bastard, stop reading right now and go check out their myspace. I'll wait.

Welcome back. Now that you know what good music is, I'm going to need you to understand that they are equally as electric live. They touch lives. In fact one crazed fan on an episode of PDX Live made the analogy that it was like "God himself wrote the words and then handed them down to Jimmy."
OK, that might've been me making my television debut, but I digress. Thats what the PDX Live people get putting me on TV after a few Jack and Cokes.

New Years Eve, Throwback stomped faces and broke hearts. And I enjoyed every second of it. Even if I was so drunk that every song kind of blended into the other, forming one big ass super-song.

It was the kind of night where you are out getting shit housed in the same place with friends and family. Where you make new "BFF's" but forget their names by the time you wake up. We're talking good ol' times. So good, it doesn't even phase you that your mom is also no longer able to drive.

Actually, I'm going to be honest. I don't mind drinking in the same spot as my mom. At least I know I'm getting home safe. She's responsible enough to consistently line up a designated driver.

Lastly, it's the kind of night where you end up at your moms throwing up in her downstairs bathroom. Where you are coherent enough to know that you are looking at pieces of the frozen pizza you consumed before the tequila. And you are amused enough to call your mom in to admire your waste, and point out the previously digested pepperoni chunks. The kind of night where you don't mind throwing up, or calling your brother at 3:00 am to have him come pick you up (he was not willing to get up).

Yeah, I had that type of night.

Happy New Years Bitches.