*Why use 3500 words when you can get away with 4?*

They’re all fools and don’t I know it

But these fools can have their charms

I’m in *like* and don’t I show it

Like a teenage boy.

I’m wild and I’m impatient

Men are not a new sensation

Couldn’t sleep and wouldn’t sleep

When you come to me, I shouldn’t sleep.

Lovin’ and huggin’ you know it

I’m in *like* and don’t I show it

Like a teenage boy.

I’m wild again, beguiled again.

A simpering, whimpering child again

Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered … am I?

My heart was lost, I paid the cost

Cold from the start, men played the part.

I must agree, the joke’s on me

But he and I, we’re doing better you see

Cuz we’ll be hating, loving, hating, waiting,

What am I to do?

Bewildered and bewitched

Cause I’m so bothered over you.

I’m wild again, beguiled again.

A simpering, whimpering child again

Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I?

Just the same old sad sensation

That’s the way *like* feels

And these half-heart imitations

As I go head over my heels

Wishin’ and missin’ your kissin’

What am I to think?

Bothered and bewildered,

I can’t sleep a wink.

I’m wild again, beguiled again.

A simpering, whimpering child again

Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I?

I’m and wild and I’m impatient

You are not a new sensation.

If I Want to Suck a Deke, I’m Going to Suck a Deke.

Dear Cornellians, Michiganders, prison inmates, and internet predators,

What pills are we poppin’ here at the ‘reject ivy’? We are, after all, “high” above Cayuga’s waters. Not only do we have (arguably) the ugliest, most AWK student body, but those who are socially-acceptable and not-too-grotesque are absolute tool sheds. I know because I used to be one of them before I grew up, turned celibate, and starting cooking again (sounds tear-inducing, but I really don’t miss the game at all). Others, sadly, have yet to learn: I got passed the usual tablet of Frat-a-din last night; prescribed by the wretched, slanderous souls on JuicyCampus and, sadly, sorostitutes who consider themselves to be “top tier.”

The plotline? I was hangin’ with a few friends, doing them crazy extracurricular activities that almost-twenty-somethings do in upstate New York. Belting out *I Wanna Be With You* at a lake-side bar? Why not! Getting into fights with crazy, insecure bitches? Sign me up! Making a music video to rival last summer’s M.Hal&Friends production of “A Public Affair”? In the works!

While singing, drinking, bitching, and music-video-making would make for a full evening for normal people, the night was still very young; McGraw Tower chimed its sweet bells 12 times over, indicating the time was exactly midnight. What to do? I call a home girl, interrupting her and her boyfriend and … someone else? Total double teaming in the works? Whatever. Too many questions! She excitingly mentioned that she had heard through the Manischewitz-vine that there were two fraternity parties; one at an “upper-tier” annex in collegetown and the other at Delta Kappa Epsilon.

I relay the message to my hotties-with-bodies (all three of them @ Cornell):

“DKE?! F*ck that shit! SO lame. SO third tier! SO gay! (I cringed) I’m totally hittin’ up ctown!”

“I heard that fraternity sucks major Deke (I un-cringed). Let’s go to the annex.”

“My friend’s sorority had a mixer with them and almost died because of the extreme awkwardness.”

It was clear that they were pro-tool-shed and not pro-DKE, but I couldn’t help defending the house. I love sticking up the underdog (Naughty Line #43), and there was absolutely no reason for their prejudice.

“So what if they’re gay? …and we don’t even know them. I can’t even think of one person in DKE. The party might be fun?”

I got blank stares. Silence. Then, hottie-with-a-body (HWB) #1 said it.

“No DKEs anywhere should be given the time of day. Going there isn’t a question, and this isn’t even a conversation that’s worth wasting breath over.”

(HWB #1 fully knows about my liaisons, mind you).

She realized her err as soon as the words came out. I was looking at a hard-core, *I’m better than the world because I’m in a TOP sorority* bitch.

No, honey, your pixie-stick self is not better than anyone. NO ONE is better than anyone. Mike(y) might be better at mastering the MCAT than me, Paris’s fellatio skills might (read: MIGHT) be better than mine, but no one, as a human being, holds higher value over anyone else. Money? Fame? Star-studs? The fact that you dressed like an alpha-slut and were extra fake for rush week in January? Hella-NO.

Get over yourself. You go to Cornell. This means either a) you’re smart or b) you have some damn fine connections. Being a student here doesn’t necessarily make you all-that. Want to be all-that? Go to a party school. So you can be in Kappa Kappa Gamma, SAE, Alpha Phi, Alpha Delt, Sig Pi, Sig Phi, Sig Chi, Sig ahwaaa(?), or… shudders… Delta Gamma, but, in the end, you’re just as awkward and fugz as the rest of us.

Think you’re not the average Cornellian? Prove it to me.

…and I’m certainly not ashamed to tell the WWW that I have and love (and sometimes hate, but mostly love) my own personal Deke, thank you very much.

Love,

M.Hal

Purses and Butterflies

So. There is a new man in my life.

A new woman, that is: the sister of one of my really good friends. We met last night while my friend was visiting her here in NY. Since both her and I are fabulous and pretty damn good looking (I know, I toot my own horn way too much–you can toot it, too, if you really wanna ) , we hit it off right away. We already have plans for gay-clubbing (hyphenation allowed, darling), coffee, and other stereotypical fag+hag activities.

On a sidenote — I was never a fan of the term “faghag”. it sounds ugly and degrading. Before you shit a brick– no, I am not a feminist, and no, I’m not some womans’ rights activist [I am, however, pro-choice and pro-gay marriage, for the record. as if you even thought of thinking otherwise]. I just do not see the aesthetics in the term fag hag, and don’t see why any girl would willing to take on such an unpretty title. Therefore, I wont use it to refer to girls who only hang out with me because of my sexual orientation/fabulosity.

Off the sidenote — before I could even meet my newfound BFF4L x a million, I had to get into the place where her and my friends were. Disguised as a bar, it was really the UES chapter of Pike, fraught with pretty girls looking to be fucked by frat-tastic dudes looking for pretty girls to fuck. This place was not obvi not my scene. I was coming from the mets game (…I know, i lost a lot of gay points last night), and I met up with my friends at the front of the line (my one friend and his sister were already inside). I was looking very cute in my t-shirt and jeans, but by no means did i appear fratty. regardless, I was told by the people I went to the game with that I’d be able to get into the bar without a problem.

Wrong.

At the door, B3 (big, _____, bouncer) politely notified me that, in dis club, there is “no tshirts”. Bitch, please. He clearly did not know who the fuck I am, and his 7 ft 450 lb frame positioned between me and my much needed cock(tails) was definitely not any position I enjoyed. I needed a plan to get past The Rock, but my sobriety meant I couldnt carry out my master plan: climbing in through the windows when the Big Kahuna was pre-occupied with all the pre-britney’s whining to get let inside. Imagine [four octaves higher]: “its my birthhhhdayyy let me in. lettttt her innnnn. Lauren just go in. GO IN. fuckk this. we dont have to listennn. come onnnn. we’re going in side. ahhhh wahhhh eeeee wahh wayyy wannn wahhha blah blah etc etc.” God, I had never been so happy to like dick in my life.
Except those times when the dick was really fucking nice. Then i was really happy. Anywho, King Kong let Princesses Bitch and Moan in after ten minutes of ear drum torture.

I really need to brush up on my pre-gaming strategy, which I guess just means I either forgot everything I learned from welcome week or I’m getting old. I’m not getting old. Thankfully, though, despite my lack of inebriation, instead of having to put my monkey skills to the test my rebellious intelligence made a much needed appearance. It told me, “get your friend’s shirt.” So, thats what i did. BORING, I know, but im a huge pussy [as in i love breaking the rules, but i get scared. again, pre-gaming would have fixed all of this--most likely in a very interesting way]. So, through the open windows, I had my drunk-ass friend take off his collared shirt and pass it to me. Dont get too excited. he had an undershirt on and even if he did not you probably wouldnt be that excited, anyway. Sorry, dear. I went around the corner, put it on, probably looked a bit ridic (we are not the same size) and proceeded to wait back in line for 15 minutes. Again I realized just how happy I was to be NOT into girls. good lord.

Bossman let me in with a quick glance of the ID and a headnod, and then I got to meeting up with my friends. I gave the shirt back, and noticed a least five other dudes without collared shirts. they were built, rather sexy, surrounded by twat, and most probably large douchebags. I totally understood why they were allowed in sans collared shirt. [actually there's no sarcasm there.]

so, said friend’s sister and I fell immediately into pretend straight-love. It made me so . Eventually, when it was time to go, we walked passed el Diablo and he noticed that I had my t-shirt on. “I ‘member e’ryone. i don’ forget people, man. now don’t even try and come back here.” BITCH. PLEASE. clearly, people need to start knowing just who the fuck I am.

The Only Constant in Life is Change

Today. Oh, today.

I have the week off work since my professor decided to take an unexpected trip to Belgium for, you know, a “research symposium.” So I slept in, neglected to study the ins-and-outs of the menstrual cycle (for the MCAT, I swear!), and instead went for an early afternoon workout @ Noyes with my sensuous Asian sensation.

There I was, strutting mah shtuff from collegetown to West Campus in my straight-boy workout garb, which I had more fun shopping for than actually wearing. Imagine me in swish-swash Adidas gym shorts, a tight *I<3NY* Tee (okay, so maybe I wasn’t looking 100% straight), New Balance tennis shoes, and one of those cute, elastic Nike armbands.

Laugh it up. I certainly was.

I arrived at Noyes, got my card swiped by Bryan, and proceeded to mount the elliptical, the one machine that always gets me up and going and burning.

Oh stop it, you’re gross!

I look to my right and see [what appeared to be] a beautiful blonde stallion running on the treadmill. His shaggy-but-not-too-shaggy hair (like Jesse McCartney pre-guido) cascaded up-and-down with perfect resiliency. He turned towards me and half-smiled. I should have smiled back. The face was, like, ew. …a total zero! What goes up, friends, must come down, and I’m not talking about hair. I forgot, for a slightest, scrawniest second that this is Ithaca. I’ve grown accustomed to my thick, hot-pink pair of Cornell goggles.

A-what-uh goggles? I’m not lying. Let me explain.

Cornell goggles eliminate the traditional 1-10 rating system with a simpler 0-1 system. Don’t give me that look; rating people is as natural as Ashlee’s vocals and is definitely not sexual harassment. You know “the 1-10 scale” as well as I do, where 1 = someone/thing heinous that would be dubbed illegal in a court of law to a 10, where 10 = you’re so gorgeous that you belong at a state school. With 70% of girls (and guys) falling on the left side of the “fuckability” bell-curve at Cornell, there must be a way to normalize this shiznat. Cornell goggles, in effect, do this. Here’s how: when you’re out partying with YOUR fabulous fifteen, simply rate a man or woman or fraternity boy (they’re another breed entirely) as a “0” or a “1,” where 0 = “fuck no” and 1 = “fuck me.”

For example: M.Hal is a 1!

(on the Cornell-goggles scale, duh)

Get it? Good. It’s as easy as *****.

[Don’t worry, we’ll play hangman later. Remember to guess vowels first! Those include A, E, I, O, U, and sometimes Y (but when has it EVER been Y, kindergarten teacher?)].

WTF? Sorry for that example, friends. After that boner-killing image of all of our kindergarten teachers, I looked over to my left and see my sensuous Asian sensation was starting to work up a sweat! I didn’t want to keep her waiting, so I check to make sure my polyester Nike armband was securely placed, put in my iPod earphones, click on the “shuffle” option, and prepare myself for a hard-core 45-minute workout with lots of Calabria-ing and trashy hip-hopping.

What comes on instead?

“Oooh, I see the way he treats you

I feel the tears you cry.

…and it makes me sad

…and it makes me mad

There’s nothin’ I can do ba-a-bay.”

*If I Was the One* – Ruff Endz

WHAT?! No! This would not do! I stopped my work-out and skipped ahead a couple of songs, hoping against hope that I didn’t…

Song #2: *I Wanna Be With You* – Mandy (if I were)Moore(straight I’d do you)

Song #3: *If You’re Not The One* – Daniel BED(me)ingfield

Song #4: *Take Your Time* – Lori Carson

Song #5: *Now You Know* – Hilary Duff

Song #6: *Baby Love* – Nicole Scherzinger

Song #7: *Realize* – Colbie Caillait

…Oh. Yes. I. Did. I had taken iPod #2, the one that currently had “My Super Gay Slow Song Break-Up Playlist,” a mix of 32 ultra-gay love songs.

TIME OUT: yes, I have 2 iPods. Yes, I have such a playlist (it’s worked for me and for many of my fifteen). Can we still be friends?

TIME IN: There was absolutely no way I could work-out while listening to a-that. I love Mandy, Colbie’s my bia, Lori’s my life, Hillary wants to be me…but I was in the mood for some hard-core, heteronormative *You can do it, put yo’ back into it / I can do it put yo’ P*SSY into it / don’t stop get it get it / don’t stop N***A hit it!” and instead I was hearing “Your breath on my face / Your warm gentle kiss / I taste the truth (x2)”

My timing was off. My legs couldn’t synch to the gears while my inner 12-year-old was dancing to Mandy’s 2000 smash hit. The end result? An usatisfactory up-and-down motion (I’m talking about the elliptical). I looked like Prince Harry on steroids.

Nothing personal, Mandy; and for the record, you’ve always brought me to my knees.

This is entirely new. Normally I’m not the one on my knees, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Everything around me is changing: my moods, my hair color, my body weight, my friends, my hubby, my hometown(s), and this blog.

This hour’s sudden mood swing is because of “the move” and the fact that I have absolutely no concept of “hometown” anymore. Yesterday at 5:00 PM EST the last few boxes were packed, the truck was loaded, and destiny was ready to claim my existence. M.Hal’s “home” has now been split down the middle – one half belonging to the hotly conservative metropolis of Houston, Texas (Daddy), and the other half belonging to a family friend’s house in the JAP-y neighborhood of Bloomfield Hills, Michigan (Mommy).

To make a long sob-story short, Daddy was laid off last year from his savvy automotive engineering executive position, Mommy made Daddy get a new job, and that new job happened to be in Houston. She’s not leaving her private practice and taking a major pay-cut to work at Baylor Med. You know how the story goes.

They’re still together and making it work, despite the 1,300 mile separation. Words can’t express how much admiration and respect I have for them, as I wouldn’t be able to handle a 500 mile, University of Michigan / Michigan State – Cornell long-distance relationship. They both have infinite grace and class, which goes to show that the apple does fall far from the tree.

I’m not sure why I’m so homosexually sentimental about them selling the house that felt more like a penitentiary than a safe-haven since late-1996. The decision was made without them even notifying me, and I pretended like I was as indifferent as ever. I wasn’t going to be home this summer anyways, and I absolutely hated Michigan – or so I thought – from the very beginning.

Welcome to LUBE325: THE HISTORY OF M.HAL, 1996 – 2006:

I remember being 8-years-old, clutching to a beanie baby, crying, and threatening to run away and join the circus upon hearing the news that we were moving from my little Manhattan to a town by the name of Farmington Hills. ANYTHING that included the words “Farm” and “Hills” spelled out rural disaster, and I was a city boy. I envisioned farmers, pitchforks, and cornbread in place of phallic symbols (AKA skyscrapers), public transit, and friends and family nearby. I wanted to make time stop and forget about my parents’ professions. The day came, however – as unwanted as a few extra pounds in all the wrong places. I boarded the plane at LGA bound for DTW. With my tiny fingers pressed against the window and squinting as the buildings became foggy and obsolete, I knew my life would never be the same.

So began a new school and a new life in the Walled Lake Consolidated School district. The other kids were weird and I wasn’t afraid to speak my mind. I got drilled (no, not like that) in class by my teacher on government the first day, and I was terribly embarrassed when I didn’t know who the governor of Michigan was (why would anyone DO that to a new student?!). Think Elle Woods meets Harvard Law School, but without a Luke Wilson and even uglier classmates. I just didn’t fit. Throughout the years, I never really fit. I hated conformity and hated fake people. Think Julia Stiles in 10 Things I Hate About You, except more refined. (I’m going crazy with the pop culture references, let’s try one more?). The Mean Girls drama of middle school and the homophobic and unprogressive nature of high school made me cold, arrogant, egotistical, and always-needing-to-have-my-way.

M.Hal was a social leper. ‘twas tragic.

I direly wanted to return to New York, and was therefore one of the few souls in the 248 who actually took their schoolwork seriously. Rocking my SAT & ACT and graduating salutatorian in a class of 400 led to me being accepted to Cornell University. I felt like my dream had finally come true – even though Ithaca is a far cry from New York City, I was positively ecstatic. The fact that I had never had a relationship or could count the number of friends I had on one hand was unimportant. I had done the unthinkable; I had escaped Michigan.

Therein lies the question: why would I spare a lysozyme when hearing about Mommy and Daddy selling the house in “The Hills”? I had no memories there; no sleep-overs, no mad-crazy sex on kitchen tables, and very little family drama (I rarely fought with my parents)?

Why, you ask? Because those 3600 sq. ft. were familiar to me. The 4200 sq. ft. in Houston (with a pool + 3-car garage) and the other 3700 sq. ft. in Bloomfield Hills are unfamiliar to me. My parents not being together at a time when they need each other’s company the most? That’s unfamiliar to me (& I’m sure to them as well). As living, breathing people, we are inherently terrified of risks and change: going off to college, parental issues, sex, having our hearts broken, being single, being in a relationship, breaking up with a long-time beaux, taking an off-the-wall class (for me it was Art History), choosing a new and radically different career path (think pre-medicine to pre-Cosmo), living a new type of life (commitment-type and not slut-type), and deviating from the norm in every sense of the word all cause lost sleep and graying hairs.

“Change? What’s bad about change? I can adapt to anything” says the naïve New Yorker. I could be a hypocrite and say that I love change, but looking back, it’s painful to admit that when August ’06 rolled around, I was absolutely terrified about going to Cornell. The school’s known as an academic pressure cooker, they seem to recruit an extremely socially awkward student body, and everyone who was familiar to me (I’m not about to call them “friends”) were going to public schools in Michigan. There was a full day when I wished I would have taken the scholarship money and gone to the Honors College @ the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. Of course, now I laugh at my nervousness, but I’ve had two years to settle into a groove, get involved, find my niche, and establish incredible friendships.

Whether or not we like change, it’s inevitable and happening all around us. Upon my most recent trip to Manhattan last week, I heard the news that the grandparents have sold their midtown apartment of 30 years – for quite a hefty amount of money – to become full-time Flaw-rida residents. Florida? They move in 2 weeks. This is so unbelievable. That apartment is such a big part of who I am. Thanksgiving, fall break, winter break, the occasional New Years … no more. I’ll now been summoned to the Citrus land, complete with early bird specials and inept drivers.

I feel as if all of the constants in my life are slowly vanishing beneath me. My comfort zone and the little things in life which I had the privilege of calling my own are all shrinking faster than, well, me after thinking about my kindergarten teacher. “Where are you going for Thanksgiving?” Dunno. “Are you ever coming back to Michigan?” No idea. “Texas?!” There’s nothing for me in Texas, and yet there’s everything for me in Michigan.

In case you didn’t catch that; I said it. The three people I consider my true ‘soulmates’ all hail from the same Detroit suburb in Southeast Michigan, and using the word “friend” just doesn’t do our relationships justice. Odd that I’ve only known one of them since 1996; the other two I met nearly 10 years later. Sorry, fab fifteen – and don’t be angry, Kyle. Had these three amazing individuals not been in my life, I don’t think I’d be the M.Hal that I am today.

In conclusion: while I might pride myself on being a New Yorker, there truly is everything for me in Michigan.

<3

I Absolutely <3 the Straight Best Friend

K-Salz(io): “Marc, I swear if I hear about this boy one more time I’m going to cut off my ears – not to mention your dick – and mail them to him. For once, be serious and say what’s on your mind, not something smart-ass.”

M.Hal / LubeLicious: “Kyle. I … I have no words left.”

K-Salz(io): “Bullshit. That’s like the one week you decided to go straight last semester; it just didn’t happen”

i know you’re just edging to know what happened

i know its hard, but just take your hands off your KEYBOARD for a second, darlings

[whoever finds the most sexual euphemisms in the above wins a prize ]

I just got back from working out, so the endorphines are flowing through my heads. im proud of myself…i bought a gym membership. it was expensive, so im forced to use it. maybe now i’ll be able to get some ass. a charming personality (trust me, i have one) only gets you so far in the new york scene. but im new here so im sure ill learn the hard way.

ok. count those, too, for a bigger prize.

apparently m.hal has a fan club. im jealous. so im writing this little follow up  instead of him. its ok because as the man in the relationship i get to make the decisions. except for when im being the woman, which is sometimes nice.

so as the legend of le boy and pretty pretty princess goes…

both of our protagonists had parted ways…and sure as a suicide bomber, they had to let it all out. The only way to do this, naturally, was to turn to their blogpowers in hopes of experiencing some sort of catharsis. jerking off just wasnt an option i guess

They they thought and they thought. Tangoing with their inner bitch, wrestling with their respective egos, and finally figuring, “hey. what the hell”

after each was able to read and react to the others digital diary, lo and behold, a miracle doth come! In the form of text messaging, the little gay messiah sparkled from the 248 to the… well 248. via the 212. but anyway. Sans awkwardness and suspense, txtmsging cnt’d. There was no anger or triteness or sarcasm. In fact, it was slightly annoying since i enjoyed a day of peace. :sigh:

And as with any good fairy tale (get it?) it wasnt long before apologies were proffered and the whole situation was thrown by the wayside. It was out of our heads like perez is out of the closet. I believe the cause for this amazing phenomenon–throwing by the wayside, not being out–is a rare characteristic, indeed found amongst very few who find themselves in similar scenarios. That phenomenon is called maturity. or, sometimes, good ol fashioned rationale. By golly, these people can deal with shit. i know right, i dont get it either. someone call the networks, we’ve got a show to pitch (please. call them.)
So, after prince charming kissed snow white, rapunzle spun her hair (idk how that one ended…) and ariel became a human (ok, bad decision number 1), Barbie’s happy, el Chico’s feliz, and Walt Disney isn’t turning in his grave.

The world hath continued to revolve and text messeges hath not ceased to flow-ith. It’s understandably a difficult time for those who thrive off other people’s difficult situations (if you could call the situation difficult), so if you’re in need of some consoling I’d recommend just posting a comment or something. and if you realllyy need something else to do, count all the sexual references in this post. or tell me how much more you love “the other’s” writing. either way, i hope you all are maybe a little more towards the edge…of your seat.

that was so lame.

Inside the Mind of a Straight Male

I decided to call Brendan today – the straight, metro, mini-Ryan Seacrest of a big bro from my recently divorced fraternity – to, er, let him know that I’m alive, I’m kicking and I, like, …deactivated four months ago.

M.Hal picks up phone and proceeds to dial 1-845-TOOL-BOX.

[…4 rings later…]

BGB: ‘ay LITTLE! LITTLE LITTLE LITTLE! I was not expecting a call from you. What up, man? How’s summa?

M.Hal: :Winces: Hi Brendan…

[Okay, so I told him I’m no longer a member of the house, he was pissed and moaning about how our lineage is at a dead-end (please my parents said the SAME thing), I pretended I was listening…blah blah blah. Not important]

BGB: No hard feelings.

M.Hal: I’m glad to finally tell you.

BGB: I bet. Off topic a bit, but I heard you had a boyfriend, ex-little.

M.Hal: Whaaaaa? Oh yeah…about that…

BGB: As long as it isn’t Drew, I’m cool with it.

M.Hal: That was SO Jan/Feb, honey. Where have you been?

BGB: Obviously I’m not up-to-date with your life.

M.Hal: Whose fault would that be?

BGB: Mine. I’ll admit it.

M.Hal: Now you’re all graduated and going into your BIG, filthy-rich iBanking career.

BGB: Don’t remind me. So, does he mean a lot to you?

M.Hal: Does who mean a lot to me? Oh! The boyfriend? Yes. The world.

BGB: See, I don’t understand people who say that.

M.Hal: Why not?

BGB: Well, no one should really mean that much to anyone. Or, at least they should proceed with caution until they know for sure.

M.Hal: How is that possible? How can you know for sure if someone means that much to you?

BGB: It’s hard to explain. I guess I’ll tell you what I do. I like a girl. She crosses my mind a lot. I replay conversations over and over. I think about calling or texting her. When I’m actually in the process of picking up the cell phone, I immediately put it down and jack-off. If I still want to call or text after releasing the *BB Juice*, then she means so much more to me than 99% of the other girls.

M.Hal: Oh. My. God. Brendan. I just swallowed…my Orbit gum.

BGB: Swallowed? …and yeah, dude. It works.

M.Hal: I’m. Speechless.

BGB: For once. I have to go, bra.

MHal: Don’t “bra” me.

BGB: Okay. I have to go SWEETHEART.

M.Hal: Much better.

BGB: You’ll always be my little, frat or no frat

M.Hal: I kind of love you, big.

halfway to irony

Ok, maybe ill keep up with this blogging thing. It’s something to do. I have other things to do, like masturbate. But I can’t. So I’ll blog instead.

This time, i want to draw some parallels from some past people/experiences to the present. As I was pretending to be King (lets see how many of you can guess what that means…), some thoughts ran through my head unexpectedly. I realized that this weekend, and throughout my time so far in NY, ive been in many situations that, now that i think about it, are quite similar to situations ive been in in the past–however, I’ve dealt with the present situations in such a way that i didnt even notice the parallels until now. I think thats a good thing?

Vamos a ver. Well, parallel numero uno was basically taken care of in the last major entry (see both). turning bullshit/drama/unnecessary crap into exactly what it is: nothing. it goes straight out the window. and it’s easy to do. and i guess thats only true because a certain someone trained me so well. thanks hun. now if only we were still on speaking terms?

Undoubtedly, parallel duex comes straight from the aforementioned hun. I suppose most if not all of the things I’ll touch on stem from the same person. After all, everything that that “relationship” entailed took up over a year of my life–and arguably the most significant year of my life, encompassing by far the best AND worst moments of the past 21 years of my existence. There’s much too much there to just put everything that happened off as insignificant or unimportant. Sure, lots of it was “just because” (see the last big post) but still, there’s learning to be done. and parallels to be made. There, back on track.

So, in a series of events that unfolded this past saturday night i got thrown on to the other side of the equation. Instead of being the one fighting for something/one, i was being fought for, if you could call it that.

I am a jealous person. it sucks, but at least i can admit it. people really *shouldnt* be jealous, but its not like its something you can just turn off. its not good to be jealous a lot, and im not, but when i am, its because in certain situations, you just have to understand that yeah, its totally probable that someone who like you might get jealous based on your actions. its a natural feeling, sure it can be 100% unjustified when taken out of context. but in context, its something to be reckoned with. So yes, I’ve been jealous a few times. and its caused problems. Although to be fair, problems aren’t always entirely my fault, in fact they are mostly not my fault. but it certainly does take two. but, sometimes someone would even be more to blame than I. that’s sort of here, sort of there, but really neither here nor there, and that someone’s lack of maturity will continue to ruin any future relationships that may be had. :tears:

so saturday, when i had to deal with someone getting jealous because i wasnt necessarily giving them what they wanted…
wow i definitely know how much that sucks. in fact, “that sucks” is such a large understatement for how much that sucks. its heartbreaking. tots fo real.
and what did i do about it? i acted relatively nonchalant. so nonchalant that, by the mere fact that i wasnt reacting so negatively, that lack of negativity cold have been perceived positively.
do you follow?
its how i would have (and have) reacted.

There’s nothing wrong with cuddling, right? Unless one person likes the other person more/a lot, and the other person knows it, but doesnt share the same feelings. There’s nothing wrong with the casual make-out, is there? unless you’re capable of feeling guilty.
You know that gut feeling…you want something so bad…you get it, or something close, but your mind takes it and RUNS. your heart catches up. (damn, hows that for emo?) and before you know it…you’re back to square one, falling down the graph of life(scroll down), heartbroken for the nth time. but hey, if you didnt see it coming………but you did. i did. even if it takes a bit of time, that feeling never left your gut. it didnt. because when it does, youll know. and you know deep down that it didnt. thats why getting back together is dangerous fun. thats why it can hurt…again. its like falling down the steps. stair by stair. you dont fall as fast this time (the first time it was like the stairs just disintegrated from under you), but its definitely just as hard the second time. and its back down to the same floor you started on. and that’s shitty. mhmm.

Right now im staring out my window to the lit up Empire State Building and Chrysler Building, amidst a vast array of smaller, uglier buildings with lights staggered across the horizon. its beautiful. Its New York City. and im in it. breathtaking? yeah. mindblowing? that too. do i literally have the entire world and more at my fingertips? most probably. And what am i doing? sitting here contemplating the past, and although i could deny that like all hell, in a way, thats just what im doing: contemplating the past. the past. its the past. makes you who you are. but its not the present. [more emo; at least i dont act on it.]
But can this city make me forget about certain things in the past? no matter how many times i say it, “yes” is not the right answer. you dont forget. but, that’s not the best question to ask: can this city make me better than i was before i got here? better or worse, i dont know yet. can it numb my mind to the point of starting over? sure it can. can it heal me? that, i think, may be the “yes” im looking for. but with healing comes lots of stuff. i’m waiting for that stuff. no. strike that. im not waiting. im looking for that stuff. im here for it.

alright so that wasnt exactly a discussion of parallels but its ok. and its not a continuation/updation [ill make up words if i wanna] of what i wrote before about licensing my life away. oh well, i lose focus.

the response

Well this one should certainly be interesting…and long. but thats how i like them. [joke it up.]

I’m not in the mood to write…I suppose I should have written when i was in the mood, this morning. But I had to go to work. C’est La Vie.

I *thought* maybe i could escape a bit of drama this summer…i mean, this is New York City. Okay, I’m naive, but still…can’t i lose myself here? (don’t take that sexually).
This is supposed to be a time for change, exploration, breaking barriers, busting boundaries, and doing everything i’ve been holding myself back from doing. (Take that sexually, if you want.)
Clearly, when they say new york has everything, that means everything, including the drama.

Well it’s partly my fault. There will always be drama†. its part of being human. people are people and they react to things. You can’t change people [i learned this the hard way. yeah, the hard way.] But you CAN change your reaction to them. [no, it's really not easy, i don't care what you say.]
Alas, I have stopped dealing with bullshit/unnecessary and/or misplaced bitching/stupid drama/etc.
at the expense of friendship? shouldn’t be. did i react a little to extreme? probably.

So let’s talk a bit of specifics, since the drama’s in the details. and im all about communication when it comes to problems. did we communicate? hardly. should we? uh huh.
and that logic right there, my friends, may be the extent of my maturity. but i’ll be damned if it doesn’t place me higher than most of the people in this world. I talk when i have problems. i don’t walk away. [no. that wasnt an allusion to anything.] there’s more i can say on that philosophy but it’s not necessary here.

***
†drama. what an annoying, ugly word. Overused, generalized, and so devoid of any significant meaning (unless you’re talking about a theatrical work, etc.) it bothers me to rely on it so much here. But it is what it is.
***

ok back on track.

I’m a heartbreaker. What can i say? I know this. But I’ve had my fragile little organ [okay, i know you're giggling at that] {i was referring to my heart} played with [i just cant help myself] in all the wrong ways too many times. I’ve been affected by life. It takes time to figure shit out, put things in their place, apply the lessons you’ve learned the right way, the best way–and no, thats not something you can do without time, without conscious effort, and without screwing up a few times.
I’m slower than most people…i can’t jump right in and be the person i should be, or that you want me to be. patience may be an issue here. but perspective is definitely the issue.
And like i said before, I’m immature. Well, I’m mature…but only to an extent. I think i told someone that. and im one of those double-standard holding people. Do what i say, not what i do. my advice is sound, my actions, not so much. but im working on it. who said at 21 you had to be god’s gift to human morality? I’m working on it though, i swear I am.

this all my sound very broad and general, and it is. but thats my brain for you. so im going to try to take this train towards the specifics, like i told you i would.

to begin, a math lesson:
friend A>>> friend B >> M.Hal
is not true. bad equalities. ti-84 says wha?

let’s try another (who ever thought id use what i hate to do what i love?)

[(alcohol + strong emotions + conclusion jumping + [jealousy/jealousy]) + 2immaturity + (me)] = this weekend with emphasis on saturday night.

Why’d it happen? Let’s just start from the beginning. I know, im all over the place here. but that’s my style, yo.

The first thing ill say is that i dont believe that people can help what they feel. you don’t have control over your emotions. sometimes you dont have control over how you react to those emotions. some people are stronger than others, and can change their reactions faster and easier. I’m pretttyyy far from those people. Time takes care of it though. time, and time again. its like you’re falling down the Graph of Life. Its kinda like gravity…if it goes up, it must come down, and if it bounces, itll never get as high as the first bounce (thats..inertia?). thank you joosh barclay physics. ew

anywho, as i digress more and more…
you can’t help what you feel. so you feel it and it just FUCKS with you. all day and all night. and that, for better or for worse, is how it is. maybe, when i know certain things, say, how certain people are feeling, i should not let my feelings go unspoken. again, no one likes to be in that situation, no one likes exercising the balls/maturity that those conversations require. I’ve been on both ends. and neither one is fun. its the part of the graph where you’re falling for awhile, hoping you stop before you hit the x-axis. bad math joke? that wasn’t even a joke, was it? sorry.

ok here’s a list of things. totally out of context, but totally in context.

1. someone should have said “no i dont want to go.” preferably BEFORE the 1 am subway ride to the wrong side of town. my directional-bad, though, i think.

1a. im going on record here, and this will come back to haunt me, i know, but really, it wasnt that bad. i’d go back. :gasp: it could be a good time. ur not looking for your “Person B”, and if you are, you’re too young. it’s a party, but not half as bad as some stuff that does go on other places. it can be fun.

2. the ditching was mutual. i dont do bullshit. you made bullshit about something (see 1a, 3, and 4).

3. jealous? please. with a lil’ logic, numero uno above would have been the one-stop-shop for all your problem solving needs. and maybe some pre-planning. but mostly, some communicative lackings needed to be not lacked.

4. two aforementioned characters (A and B) could have been removed from the equation (i think thats the jealousy/jealousy) with a simple “no.”
4a. one of the above persons, yes, i did really want to see. im sorry, but im allowed.
4b. the other–honey you couldnt be more wrong in your assumptions if you assumed them in swahili.

5. I’m sorry about your deeply unfortunate, scary, and awful encounter. I should have been a better friend there. yeah, that was way wrong of me. But that’s why you shouldnt volunteer at homeless shelters, though.
5a. last sentence = joke.

6. try and talk? if you’re referring to that night, well i was pissed too. if you’re talking about the morning, i believe it was you who initiated the silence. like i said, ive learned to ignore bullshit. ill perfect that quality soon enough/never.

7. yeah, ive got priorities. not that what you said we’re mine, necessarily, but still, mine are different than yours. wanna fight about it? kayz.

8. it takes two, darling, two to live, two to love, and two to fight, among other things. its not all what “I” did so much as its what “you” did, as well. and sometimes i even think I’m being weak when i concede, but i suppose maybe that’s just a little more maturity than i thought i had.

9. congratulations on the subterranean confidence boost. Although, personally, i think meeting people on the subway is gross. i prefer the internet </sarcasm>? hmmm.

so that’s that. now on to a bit of personal reflection.

its funny how i find myself on the opposite end of things. that was so not meant to be sexual.
relationship-wise: you’re the pursuer, and the pursuee is just, playing along. its a mind fuck, even if they tell you its not. even if they think its not. even if you think its not. some shit just don’t work out, and that is the universal tautology in the philosophy of life. Why? Because. Acceptance is key…fighting is key, too, but time will eventually teach you to gauge the two. drill that into your godforsaken brains, people.

now, turn the tables. you’re the pursued. what do you do with the pursuer if you yourself dont know your own feelings. whats right to do, whats wrong to do, lets take the easy way out and do nothing. so often thats the case…or just lie. lead the person on. those last two are often, and understandably, seen as one and the same. although they are different if you ask each party in the situation.

but because you’re dealing with two different people, you’re not going to often have one-and-the-same. you’re going to have similar, related, relative, cooperative, supportive, and lots of other good -ive’s, etc. so, the key is understanding yourself. you have to do that first and foremost. the general problem with this, though, is that most people, at whatever age, don’t really understand themselves. again, life is for living. you’re lucky if you figure more than half of it out before time’s up. if you’d like to get into a “whats the meaning(s) of life” discussion, id appreciate if you’d spare me since its relatively frivolous (we’re living, deal with it), but more than likely i’d entertain the idea of such a conversation.
or, maybe its just a maturity issue. or a character issue. or how good you are at pretending? honestly i have know idea. again, Just Because. we know nothing. that probably has a negative connotation but i dont mean it as such. boggle your mind for a bit, bolster the intelligence of the human race, you will be thanked greatly.

so what is this all about? understanding.and perspective. that with a side of typical bullshit. naiveté. maturation. living. dealing. being. working. god i feel like this is straight out of a Rent song or something.

anyway, the point is…what’s the point? C’est La Vie.

i dont know. after reading through that, it doesnt seem like a fitting end. maybe thats just because its not the end? of some things at least. of others, maybe.

–

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