The Badly Written Sitcom

     Apparently, I misspelled Weber. Fine. Have him sue me. It was wrong for me to assume, and as we all know, making assumptions is very, very stupid.

     Now, on to the tall tales…

     The semester is halfway done, and my place in this small, barren, southern paradise have become more clearly defined.

     Just like when I was a student, I now have my very own dwelling, my new "office" if you will, wherein everyone’s worlds happen to intertwine in one intricate tapestry where dreams and wonder and love and hope and despair and hate and caring all mesh together. I’m actually having trouble adjusting to the myriad of emotions I’m suddenly exposed to, after being an apathetic, arrogant asshole who wore his screw-the-world attitude like an old t-shirt for the past two years. It’s like when Angel first got his soul back. (Ugh, another Whedonverse reference. Geek.)

      Now, I’m (nearly) back in the more suited role of the eternal nice guy, which I am more than willing to play.   

     In other news:  Soon Kathy. Soon.

     See y’all next week. Bitches. (Just had to spit out an expletive.)

     By the way, my phone’s busted. I’m basically unreachable.

    Hey, Resty… I never ask for attention. If you remember the gruesome origin of our little group… attention just happens to wander towards my general direction.  And regarding Ed’s comment about things being all positive, well… that wouldn’t be very accurate. Things are just a heavently mixture of good and bad right now that it all actualy adds up to an elaborate perfection of sorts. So I guess that’s good, right?

     One thing Resty was right about though, was the catharsis. I started the blog, like I mentioned, a little over a year ago, back when the "real world" got me tripping over my own big feet. It just hollowed me out. Now, the changes I’ve implemented to ensure my ability to maximize my life experience are only starting to take effect.

     I have been sort of excluding people from my life right now, with the exception of my high school people and a few others, not out of spite but basically out of damage control. I’ll be meeting up with them once I’m whole again.

     The way things are going… give me a semester or two. I might not even need to blog anymore.

    (This week’s blog was brought to you by Ivan’s room. To those who don’t know, Ivan is one of the Hidalgo boys and is the right hand man of the Godfather of porn.)

     After months upon months of bitching and whining about being dead inside, my heart beats again and my bloods flows once more and it actually hurts. It’s like I’ve been numb for so long and having actual feelings just feel too alien to me right now.

     Take my students, for example. I have a group of students that I am not ashamed to call my favorites. No, I don’t play favorties inside the classroom, but outside of course, there’s these special group of people who, without even knowing it, have made me more at home in the south much like the ones that came before them.

      One day, I was at the pits… something I really wanted, perhaps the completion of my pursuit of happiness, was taken away from me by fate or by some terrible act of god or whatever. Maybe the stars weren’t aligned properly or some shit like that. Basically, in movie terms, I was at the end of the second act, left alone after being caught in the shitstorm that occured when the said shit hit the fan. I got broken again, and much like the past two years, I was certain I had to fix myself on my own.

      Frankly, I was left in a situation I was all too familiar with… hollowed out and wretched and still grasping at straws for the ability to laugh… just to maintain some proud, bull-headed image most people in my life bought.

      They saw me crushed behind my constant smile, they were crushed as well. From the pats on the back, to the lame jokes, to the honest, pained expression in their eyes brought upon by simply seeing that I had the same look in mine, I was fixed. I was almost complete.      

      This is why I’m wearing my teaching hat. This is why I’m not out there in the north killing myself to make ends meet doing some cool job but instead decided to kill myself to make ends meet doing a job I never even trained for.

      To have days like that… days that I would have killed to have the past two years. Days where great things, important things, happen, and all you have to do is show up.

     There’s love in the air, kids… and I believe there’s bound to be more.

     Hot damn, Zean. For someone who hates friendster so much, I think I should feel honored that you pulled out that lengthy comment pretty much both praising and ripping on… well, everyone. "Pulling down the caliber of human intellectuality"? You’ve got me mistaken for that other person in your life. Don’t masturbate using your mind too much… that’s what hands are for.

       And as for the other comments, let me clarify. Not a sex addict. Nope. Never. Nor do I hump anything. Right now, I’m completely humpless.

      I mean, me? Come on! I’m as pure as the first rain drop of May.

      The rest of the things on my list? Mostly mushy stuff we see in teen movies. I’ve got some major Mandy Moore vibes when I wrote that. (To those who missed the reference: watch A Walk To Remember)

       No recollection of adventures for now, the old people from the faculty are riding me hard with such feeble things as paperwork.

       Tune in again next week for more of the badly written sitcom that is "our" lives. (Considering I spend more space talking about other people’s lives than my own.)

      Oh, and Ed? The hair just doesn’t do it for me.