Superficial Gratification

So this week has been quite the upper!

I got a new DVD player, a new cell phone, AND a new car within the past 5 days. Plus I started the new job. Things seem to be going well. :)

It's quite sad that the events which made this week great were all incredibly superficial and money driven. That's not to say that I shouldn't be excited for these things; but I hope that I have the wherewithal to know that these things do not provide true happiness. Otherwise I will spend my life chasing the next high hoping to fill some void.

I am not looking at these things in a satiating way; I don't believe that they are ultimately going to lead to my happiness. Sure, they are fun and all, but my happiness has to come from within.

Okay, I'm going to stop before I begin to sound like one of those crazy life coaches who motivate you to be THE BEST YOU POSSIBLE! (for $39.99 a month and with the purchase of this AMAZING book...)

Peace out, foolios.

Tick... tick... tick...

I cannot wait until this job picks up.

I am sitting at my desk, watching the minutes crawl by. It seems that the first couple of weeks are the hardest: adjusting to a new office, a new staff, new tasks, new everything. What complicates matters is the fact that my lack of knowledge is paralyzing. I don't know what I should be doing with my last half hour. Perhaps in a couple of weeks I will have a clue as to what I can do proactively in my space.

But for now, I sit. Waiting to go home on a Friday afternoon.

A chicken caesar salad would be great right about now. Mmmmm...

New job

I have been at my new job for two days now.

I barely have a clue what I'm doing. :P

There is a learning curve, no doubt. I just wish I could get to the "knowledgeable and competent" part already. I don't like walking around like a putz, ha ha.

I think this will be a good place to be for a while. Especially once I know what I'm doing!

Audi: T minus 7 or 8 days

Traditional Romance vs. Intentional Romance

I believe there are two types of romantics.

First, there is the traditional romantic. Now, let me start of by saying there is nothing wrong with this type of romantic. They operate with all of the optimism and hope that we should continually strive for. I believe that they keep the concept of love alive.

The traditional romantic works within the confines of a socially-set romance. Examples of this would include: purchasing a dozen roses and having them delivered to a significant other, that box of Godiva chocolates set out for Valentine's Day along with an "I love you" card, breakfast in bed, dinner and a walk on the beach for an anniversary. The list goes on and on. This type of romantic cries at romantic comedies and sappy films, holding onto the notion of true love and being swept up in the whimsical.

Then there is the intentional romantic. This type of person does not operate within the system of "romance" that most ascribe to. Giving a dozen roses is trite, buying chocolates is a waste of time and calories, and sappy movies are great but nothing to get all wrapped up in. Many people will often look at this person as a non-romantic because they don't live in a world of soul-mates and they don't sigh or fawn everytime someone tells a sweet story about their partner.

Or so it seems on the surface.

The intentional romantic operates with pointed effectiveness. Giving a dozen roses is trite and impersonal; knowing your partner's favorite flower, then strategically placing one on their nightstand, their bathroom counter, the seat of their car, at their desk at work, and finally a dozen in your grasp as you greet them when they come through the door after a long day is impactful. Gifting chocolates is conventional and fueled by a multi-million dollar industry that focuses on the crafting of "Romance"; remembering the little trinket that they mentioned in passing as you window-shopped one day during a great afternoon together, and then surprising them with said trinket when they least expect it is touching. Breakfast in bed is a staple of Mother's Day and romantic comedies; finding out their favorite meal from their favorite restaurant, talking to the management and chefs from that restaurant to find out how to make the meal, practicing cooking that meal several times until you get it *just* right, and then preparing that meal for them on a random night of the week when you know they have had a rough day is genuine. Intentional romance is where connection, forethought and effort meet. Examples of intentional romance are hard to identify and explain because they cannot operate outside of the connection between two people.

The difference between the two lies in the philosophy behind each type of romance. The traditional romantic is in love with the idea of romance; on some peripheral level, it does matter to them WHO they happen to be romantic with. But at the core they love the idea of love and romance; whoever they are with at the time reaps the benefits of their detached notions of a romantic relationship. The acts that are seen as "romantic" are impersonal; they are a set of romantic ideas with which we have been indoctrinated over time.

The intentional romantic does not see the need to hold onto the notion of romance as it stands within a societal context. Rather, the romance spawns from the love they feel for one person. The ideas and expressions of love come from the connection with that special person; the things that intentional romantics do for them are romantic because they are personal and intertwined with the love and affection that is specifically felt between them. This type of romance is carried out on a daily basis because it is not confined to the cliches set out by our culture. It is borne out of that specific bond and can never be repeated with another person.

I am an intentional romantic. I don't share myself or my affection with every guy I meet. These things are reserved for those that touch me at my core and make it all worthwhile.

In my head, all of this made much more sense. Now I'm not so sure. It's difficult to explain, but I know that I am a romantic at heart, despite the fact that I joke about being "dead inside" (like Chandler Bing!). You don't see my romantic side because it is shared with one person, not the world. And I intend to keep it that way.

I'll stop rambling now. I think I lost my point about 5 paragraphs ago, ha ha ha.

Someone to say this to me

"You're beautiful but you don't know
Can't see what's there inside your soul
Always feelin like you're not good enough
You wish you could be someone else
Sometimes you just can't see yourself
But I can see just who you are, who you are

You never think you measure up
Never smart or cool, or pretty enough
Always feeling different from all the rest
You feel so out of place, you think you don't fit in
I think you're perfect in the skin you're in
You're just perfect just how you are, just how you are, yeah

If you could see the one I see when I see you
You'd know how lucky you are to be you
I see through into you
And you are

You're exceptional the way you are
Don't need to change for nobody
You're incredible, anyone can see that
When will you believe that?
You are nothing but exceptional"

I wish I had someone saying this to me and that it would stick.

Leave it to JoJo and Diane Warren to make a cheesy song that resonates.

EDIT (1:01am): So, after reading over the lyrics again, I've come to the conclusion that this song isn't for me. I don't feel like I'm unaware of my wonderful qualities; I mean, at times I forget or doubt, but for the most part I've come to love ME. I know that I'm pretty damn exceptional, that I have a lot to offer, and that I'm doing quite alright in the grand scheme of things.

If anything, I'm waiting for someone else to see it too. To appreciate and fall in love with me for the person I am.

God, I'm really not this love-obsessed. Ha ha, I had a moment today where the clouds parted and I finally felt that everything is (and will be) okay. I'm content in where I'm at and what I have. Love will come in due time, but I'm in no hurry.

No hurry at all. :)

I really should stop writing at this hour. Talk about disjointed writing! I suppose this isn't a formal paper, but more a space for free-association. I'll just go with it already.

NO MORE MAIL

When I get home from a long day, I usually enjoy receiving a pile of mail. Most of the time I never receive anything; so a pile is pee-my-pants fantastic!

Except this week. First my volunteer rejection.

Today: JURY SUMMONS.

I stood in the kitchen with the obnoxious letter just laughing. Hysterically laughing. My mom thought I had lost it. Then I told her what I had received and she started laughing too.

2007, you are impressing me with your Stephen-spite. :P

I have decided...

... that I could live off of pepperoni pizza.

Granted, I wouldn't live very long. But what a joyous and short life it would be.

I cleaned out my desk today. Perhaps it was a premature decision, but I felt like I wanted to organize everything to the point where I would be ready to walk out for the last time on Friday afternoon.

It's always interesting to transition between jobs. I inevitably build a bond with the people in my office. What happens when I move away from here? I would love to continue talking to the people here in African American Studies, but how likely is that to happen?

I suppose that's for me to decide.

Despite my intense boredom during ohhhhhh 73% (yes, I said 73%) of the time I spent working here, I'm going to miss this place. The job was fairly dull; the people were (and continue to be) vibrant.

Here's to change. And to the cute student that works the front desk in my new office!

Hopefully he has an enjoyable personality as well. Looks only go so far. I should know; mine have only earned me a 57 foot yacht and a timeshare in the Virgin Islands. WHERE'S MY BLACK AMEX???

I'm going to stop rambling now. If I confuse you anymore, you might never come back!

Keep on Truckin'

When I got home from LA yesterday, I found a letter on my bed. It was from CHOC (Children's Hospital of Orange County, for those that don't know). I had applied to volunteer at the hospital and had just completed an interview a couple weeks ago.

I thought "wow! That was quite a fast turn around; I wonder when the orientation dates are." The woman I had interviewed with told me the time line and that I would be receiving the dates around this time, but I figured it was still quite quick. So I opened the letter, excited to see when I would be embarking on my community service adventure!

"I'm sorry to say we cannot offer you a volunteer position at this time..."

I was rejected.

FROM VOLUNTEERING.

It has come to the point where I'm not even good enough to GIVE MY TIME AND ENERGY FREELY.

Seriously, folks; I've been trying to stay positive. I've been trying to persevere through the shit that has been thrown at me this year. If I have gained anything from my experiences in 2007, I have learned how to cope with rejection (or at least handle it a little better). But this was a fucking low blow.

I'm just waiting for someone to come along at random and kick me in the nuts. That would be a good way to round out a fantastic 1/3 of the year.

I'm so numb to it all right now that I can't help but laugh. Honestly, nothing HORRIBLE has happened to me this year. Rather, I've experienced a series of things that add up to a major pain in my ass (let alone the actual pain in my ass from the abscess).

It's time to pack up and move to Yemen. I hear it's warm there. And they have a lot of sand. I like sand; as long as it's not in a plastic baggie.

Dumb ideas gone horribly awry...

I'm in LA this weekend visiting my friend, Ameet. Needless to say, the adventure has been a lovely and well-needed reprieve from the banality of Orange County.

However, upon further reflection, I've realized that Ameet and I come up with horrible ideas. And by "Ameet and I," I mean Stephen dragging Ameet along in blissful compliance.

Anyway, I came up with an exciting series of ideas yesterday. I arrived in LA at approximately 12:30pm; after I unloaded my crap at Ameet's place, we decided lunch was in order. What was I craving? What did I ultimately choose?

Taco Bell.

I ate two burritos, cinnamon twists, and a Dr. Pepper. Tast-y. Dump about a pound of taco bell mild sauce on everything and you have exquisite dining. Well, I didn't dump it on the cinnamon twists. I seriously doubt that would taste right on any level.

At that point, everything was fine. To Wong Foo was blaring in the background (and I mean BLARING; for whatever reason we had the volume set at a hideous high) and we were thoroughly entertained.

Then came the next brilliant idea.

"We should make 4-layer dip* and eat it for dinner!"

*4-layer dip is the picky man's version of 7-layer dip. It involves refried beans, Atun (which is sour cream and taco seasoning mixed together; my former boss, Amanda, and I decided to name it "atun" after tuna in Spanish... drunken nomenclature at its finest), salsa, and shredded cheese (we went for the Mexican mix... plain old cheddar just won't do).

After a considerably short debate, we concluded that there was no better option for a meal. We quickly went to the store and bought the ingredients. Upon our return to the apartment, we went to work on our masterpiece. An hour and half later, the two of us had succeeded in eating 1/2 of the dip. By the end of the night, the dip was gone (thanks to Kenny).

Throw several bottles of wine into the mix and you have the recipe for a disastrous night on the John. I felt like my stomach was angrily clawing its way out my butt. I can sympathize with the man in "Alien" when the alien baby bursts out of his belly. Nobody should experience such pain: alien baby, diarrhea, or otherwise.

Lesson learned, folks: if you ever think to eat a substantial amount of imitation Mexican food and pair it with Chardonnay, you will be in for a brash assault on your GI tract. Your body doesn't deserve it and neither do you.

Learn from my mistakes. Thank you for your time.

A Letter of Complaint

Dear God,

Hello! How have you been? I imagine things are quite busy with the universe being under your control and all. No small task, but you seem to be handling it (in whatever capacity that means).

Now you know I'm not one to complain. I try to go through life as best I can and take the hits as they come. I've dealt with all of the rejection and discouragement this year. It hasn't been easy but I seem to be persevering.

However, today I come to you with a complaint. I don't expect answers or some form of reprieve. I won't lie and say that I'm not holding out a modicum of hope. I only do so because I fear that if I let go of that sliver of hope, I won't be able to get it back.

24 1/2 years of life. 24 1/2 years of struggle, growth, and change. There have been some amazing times. There have also been some unbelievably crappy times (yeah, this whole "gay" thing has been quite the experience). Through it all, I'm still here; I wouldn't change my life because the specific set of events and circumstances have made me the person I am now. I think I've become quite the thoughtful, upstanding young man. I'm not perfect, but I acknowledge that for what it is and realize that my imperfections contribute to my quality of character.

My complaint is as follows: I am tired of being alone. I'm upset that I've never had the opportunity to experience love (a love that is not platonic, that is). I know that I potentially have an entire lifetime ahead of me in which to experience this kind of love. But sometimes I worry that I won't, mainly because I haven't had a glimpse at the potential.

In 24 1/2 years, I have experienced only one kind of love that is beyond torturous: a love unrequited. It tears at your soul, slowly withering your esteem to nothing. Feeling like someone means the world to you and not receiving even the slightest reciprocation in that regard. They say that no one can make you feel worthless unless you let them. With unrequited love, the other person is not the one making you feel worthless; it is the love itself that strikes you down. Love in my heart without its companion in another's heart cannot thrive. It atrophies and takes a bit of my heart with it each time.

If at all possible, could you maybe provide some glimmer of hope? I know it's a long shot; I know that things don't work that way. I just fear that my already-hardened heart will become completely still. Because I can't hold on forever.

Not everyone in life is meant to love. Some people spend their lives alone; and that is okay. Is that what you have intended for my life? I don't feel like I'm the type of person who is supposed to end up alone. I have a lot of love to give and a lot of amazing qualities to share. I am ready to give the world to somebody else; I'm afraid that this "somebody else" does not exist.

What happens when a heart closes its doors? Does the burden I am now experiencing dissipate? Will that allow me to be free? If so, that would be an equally welcomed solution.

I know this doesn't make sense. I know that I am fine on my own. I have managed to prove that I can be on my own. However, I am now at the point where I no longer wish to be.

Thanks for listening,
Stephen

My Favorite Poem

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

ee cummings

I am so damn pensive!

Okay, so I'm already messing up with this taking-a-new-picture-every-day thing. This picture was taken early on this year; I love it and have decided it is worthy of being the picture of the day.

I chose this picture for two reasons:

1) I think it's a pretty damn good picture and I'm proud that I captured the moment.
2) It represents a space in which I find tranquility.

I emphasize tranquility today because I have not had it since I moved home. I constantly feel on edge; starting from scratch, while adventurous and somewhat courageous, is not so glamorous. It's difficult; a constant struggle. I'm trying to find some peace in my career path, my friendships, and the other facets of my life. I'm feeling more comfortable with my job situation now that I have secured a full-time job that seems quite enjoyable. I'm also content to let my career plans move slowly right now; I need to invest the time in order to ensure that I make the best choice possible.

I guess where I am struggling most is in my friendships. Not in the friendships I already have, mind you; while yes, it has been a struggle to adjust to my dearest friends all being far away from me, I feel that I'm finally beginning to get a grasp on keeping up communication. The area in which I am struggling is developing local friendships.

I suppose I'm trying too hard. How do people make new friends when they move to a new job, to a new space that isn't conducive to friendships like the university environment is? Where do people find connection, a sense of belonging? I've been trying, I really have been; although, I am probably looking in the wrong places. I keep trying to connect with gay men. This is a bad decision on many levels: I can't expect to develop friendships with gay men knowing that sex is always in the back of my mind, and I really don't think that being gay is a point of connection. It does allow for a certain level of sympathy and acknowledgement of my experiences, but what happens when that's the only thing we have in common?

I miss everyone. I miss being able to sit with friends in comfortable silence. I miss being able to look across the room, make eye contact with one of my closest friends, and have them know exactly what I'm thinking. I miss the comfort of knowing that I'm not being judged, that I'm not being appraised to see if a friendship can work, that I can just be me without repercussions.

Maybe I'm hoping for too much too soon from the people I'm meeting now. I have to remember that building strong bonds takes time; that I can't just expect to find kindred spirits with ease.

Anyway, all that to say that I'm afraid. I'm afraid of putting myself out there and being rejected. I'm afraid that who I am won't be good enough. And I'm especially afraid that I won't be able to zone out those thoughts when they are impeding my progress in getting to know people.

I'm afraid that my insecurities are coming back tenfold and that they are going to stifle the potential.

Where did the confident and boisterous Stephen go? Why is the Stephen of so many years ago coming back and why is he coming back with such appalling swiftness?

I need to find my sunset. Tranquility.

Picture of the Day #1

So my first "picture of the day" just flat-out sucks. My shoes? Really?

Really. They got me thinking about the absurdity of my wardrobe. I have 27 pairs of shoes. I understand that women have many more than that. I understand that men often times have many less. I like the number of shoes I have and specifically selected each pair for various reasons. I'm not ashamed of my shoes, damn it.

However, I am ashamed of my sartorial apathy as of late. Despite the fact that I have 27 pairs of shoes, the majority of them being casual in nature, I wear one pair of shoes 95% of the time. One pair. The rest consume all of the storage space below my bed (and even the floor space of my closet), slowly finding themselves buried by dust and neglect.

I just can't help it though. The Sperry Top-Siders are so comfortable. And so cute and sporty (in the WASPy "I ride on my yacht during the weekends on my way to the Cape" sporty way). They encapsulate my fashion phase at the moment. Or at least my fashion state of mind; I LOVE LOVE LOVE the nautical look. Except the only nautical attire I own are the top-siders... and a pair of white linen pants that I am scared to wear for fear of tarnishing them with food (or vomit... I've done it before, don't ask) or being mocked mercilessly for my WASPy ensemble. Not that I care what people think; I'm too self-absorbed to notice other people anyway. (that's from a movie; I'm really not that big of a bitch)

All that to say: the boat shoes are my shoe. I wore them as a child, I wear them now, and I will wear them on my yacht in the Mediterranean in the future. Like any good fashion-staple, I will ride these shoes until they die.

Thank you, Sperry, for making my feet look so gay. Gay as in happy. And gay as in, "yes I do like boys! How could you tell? Oh, ha ha, of COURSE! BOAT SHOES!! OMG!" (but NO THANK YOU for turning my socks blue).

Just turn the damn thing off

I think way too much.

The end

The Conundrum of Pain

What is pain? And why do we feel it?

The answer to why we have physical pain is logical; it indicates when our bodies have experienced some sort of trauma that needs to be addressed. It's an alarm system for the physical being.

But emotional pain? That one is an elusive mofo. After careful thought and consideration (read: 3 minutes of quick brainstorming) I've come up with a crap-shoot explanation. I will call it the Opposites Model.

*DISCLAIMER: I'm fairly certain someone has already thought of this and has articulated it in much better terms. But for the sake of this being my blog, I'm going to spew*

Emotions operate in a relational space. The way we gauge our emotions is by qualifying them in relation to other emotions. Examples: "I've never felt pain like this before", "I'm happier now than I was a week ago", blah blah blah. While these examples are simplistic (forgive me, it's 1:30 in the morning), they demonstrate precisely the comparative aspect of our emotions. On a basic level, we do decipher between all of the emotions: happy, sad, angry, hurt, embarrassed, etc. But in order to really get to the crux of the emotions we are feeling, we describe them, we relate them.

All of that leads to my explanation of emotional pain (again, haphazard theory coming). I believe that we feel pain because it makes us appreciate joy more than we would ever appreciate it if it was the only thing we felt. How can anyone know extreme joy without knowing what extreme pain is? Of course you can experience joy independent of knowing pain. But I don't believe that anyone can really grasp what it is to be truly happy and joyful until they know what it's like to be extremely unhappy and in pain. We need the opposing emotion in order to comprehend and accept the positive emotion; to make our awareness and definition of our emotions more acute. There you have it: the opposites model. Pain and sadness are pesky cogs in the system that make our emotional beings whole.

In our society, we shy away from pain and discomfort. We always want to be happy and positive; I think that is one of the biggest mistakes for a society to make. We need the good and the bad in order to be complete. Because, no matter how hard we try, the bad will always be there; if we choose to ignore it, we will be worse off because of it.

This is a lot of rambling. I guess the point of my word-vomit is this: regardless of why we have pain, we need to hold onto it. Let it happen and honestly let it soak in. We all know that the pain doesn't last forever, just as joy doesn't go on indefinitely. By embracing our emotions, we are being true to ourselves. And doing so will make us the best people we can possibly be. We grow in response to what we have felt.

Okay, silly time! I bet you can't guess where the SECOND abscess I have had this month is plaguing me! I'll give you a hint: it's one of the LAST places you want a fucking painful sub-dermal infection.

Happy guessing, everyone!

Run of the Mill

Today is Thursday. (You can thank me later for this life-altering declaration)

I feel like I need to make some drastic changes in my life. Not for the sake of change; rather, to have something exciting to write in a blog.

My days are mundane; I wake up, go to work, eat, go home, sit around thinking about all of the things I should be getting done but don't, then go to bed far later than I should.

Lately I've been meeting a lot of guys; some admittedly better than others. I always feel like my desire to no longer be alone clouds the meetings and their potential for friendships. Logically, I know that nothing significant can be built or felt until a foundation is set; a friendship needs to be forged to get anywhere "real." As a result, I struggle balancing my attraction, my desire to be coupled, and the necessity of a non-loaded friendship first.

I hate the pretense of meeting a guy: the immediate need to assess whether something romantic might come out of the encounter. As much as I hate it, I buy into it every time. That's not to say I haven't made progress in holding off on an emotional response. I'm already selective as hell when it comes to the men I like, so it's not like I fall for everyone I meet. On the contrary, it happens so rarely that I cling to those for whom I feel anything remotely resembling a connection. I'm slowly learning to guard my heart a little better than that. Taking a meeting as nothing more than an encounter with a potential new friend. Not reading into every flirtation or getting my hopes up. This seems to be the way to protect myself.

My friend Mike is correct: I need to take a rest. I can't keep falling flat on my face. I want to hope that everything will just happen as it does; that I will meet someone without trying to, that it will be fantastic, and that for once I will actually know and see it for what it is when it happens.

So here's to intended isolation. To taking life as it comes while making the most of it. To progress.

Blog = Forum for examination of social behavior

I've decided that part of my blogging experience will involve the synthesis of a "picture of the day."

"Where will this picture come from each day?" you may be asking. Well, I'll tell you! Calm the fuck down!

In an effort to become accustomed to using my camera more often, I am going to force myself to take the picture of the day as opposed to finding it somewhere online. Maybe my photography will improve. Maybe it will fall to pieces. Or MAYBE I will capture an impactful and important moment in history. I'm hoping for the first.

I probably shouldn't have laid out the plans before having captured my first "picture of the day", but I'm still in the development stage of this project. We'll start tomorrow.

Not that anyone knows this exists. Maybe I should start there first.

The joy and pain of expressive writing

I'm not quite sure why I decided to start this. I consistently fail to maintain blogs; I believe I have had 3 or 4 in the past, all left to whither and die of neglect. As the saying goes: "Third time's the charm!"

Oh fuck, so much for that.

Often times, people use blogs as forums for emotional discharge. I suppose on some level the desire to emotionally purge from time to time has prompted the creation of this one as well. I figure it's better to articulate my thoughts to an imagined audience than to continue whining at my dog. Let alone the fact that he is an animal incapable of complex thought-processing: he can't hear a word I'm saying anyway (with old age comes hearing-loss, apparently.)

So why here? Why now?

I'd like to say this was sparked by some pivotal/poignant moment in my life. Perhaps the demarcation between a blissfully unaware young boy and the startling cynicism of a man hardened by his experiences.

No no. I'm just bored at work. And boredom, as we all know, is the seed of all new endeavors. At least dumb, poorly planned endeavors.

In fact, I'm so bored that I'm just going to go home now and spare myself the agony of another hour staring at the desk woodgrain. To be continued later...