Guess what’s screaming. Go on, guess. Well, if you said my baby or my sense of outraged frustration at my ongoing existence, you’d be correct. Actually, he’s making the noise that my brain wants to make every day that I have to go to work. Ugh. You know, it’s funny. I went to my class last night, where I listen to all the skits that people write, and they also read mine, and last night, mine went over like a fart in a spacesuit. It was psychologically traumatic to be in a room full of unfunny people and feel even MORE unfunny than them…Woe is me, right? Well, usually you just pass out the skits and everyone does a blind read, but since I was doing a highschool/college/nerd movie genre parody, I felt that, like all good examples of the genre, it needed to end in a musical number, so I wrote a rap, which I felt needed to be performed by me, since doing a blind read through of an unfamiliar rap is nigh-impossible.
Okay, so imagine sitting in a room full of nerds, performing a rap that you wrote, and when you finish, getting a response somewhere in the neighborhood of when your grandpa casually drops the N bomb in front of your friends while describing his cab ride to the restaurant. Bemused silence…a sense that someone should say something…Uh, um…hmmm.
Yeah, so it was brutal, and I actually found myself thinking ‘well, at least I’ve got the bartending job’ which is one of the most stupid things I’ve ever thought. I don’t know where I get off thinking that writing dumb skits in a dumb class full of comically crippled turds is going to turn into something other than me shoveling my money into the belly of the institution that I attend. Dumb.
Speaking of said institution, I actually got intimidated by these schlongs yesterday. I was walking into class and there are these guys always hanging around, and they’re in the higher levels or whatever, and they kind of gave me this judgy ‘who the fuck does this guy think he is’ kind of once over, and I was intimidated. What a sack of pig shit, man! I actually had to talk myself out of that one. I sat there and went “Come on, man, those guys aren’t anyone…they’ve just paid to go to these classes for longer than you have. Besides, you’re already IN the entertainment industry.” I had to tell myself this. I mean, as I was sitting in class, readying to perform this rap (a dis verse from the lead nerd to the captain of the swim team), I was thinking ‘man, don’t let those guys get you down. You’re doing cool stuff,” then I realized how fucking pathetic I sounded to myself and THEN I did my rap. It was a real perfect storm of ego deflation. If I was a woman, I would have housed a whole thing of Cookies n Cream on the couch when I got home, but instead I just passed out. I didn’t even have a beer. I’m getting soft.
Okay, so I know there’s lots of advice to get to out there, but I feel I really need to address this one that appeared in the comments regarding the potential school shooter with the giant head (seriously? Man, you can’t make that shit up…) Uh, okay, this is a pretty fucked up situation, and while I like to think of myself as a pretty level headed dude when it comes to doling out the ins and outs of life’s quandaries, this one, I gotta admit, has me kind of spooked. I sure don’t want anyone to get shot because they got bad advice from a bad advice columnist. Eh, fuck it. Here goes:
Chances are good, real, real good, that this dude is just a creepy blowhard who knows on some level that he’s being super creepy and enjoys the power that being a little creepy affords one (people, for example, try really really hard not to piss you off,,,it’s a total behavior rewarding situation, where you act a little creepy, or a little moody, and people tiptoe around you, which reinforces the creepy/moody behavior.) 99% chance that you’re dealing with that. Okay, so you want to tell this guy to get fucked, but you don’t want him to shoot you on that off 1% chance that he’s really nutso…Sorry to say, you’re in trubba trubba trubba. There’s no way to assess how someone crazy enough to shoot people is going to behave, regardless of what you do beforehand. You could be their favorite person in the world and they could still shoot you, (Lennon, Chapman), or they could be the trenchcoat mafia types who spare the ‘worthy’ ones. With crazies, it’s a real toss up. The point is, uh, if this guy wants to start shooting, duck. You say you want to stay off the dudes shit list…the only way to do that for sure is to not have any contact with him at all, and it sounds like it’s a little late for that. Okay, good luck with all that. God, I’m glad I’m not in highschool any more. The school shootings, zits, all the rapping, it’s just too much for a kid.
Oh, and I just thought I was drinking the last gulp of water in my glass, but it turned out to actually be the remnants of melted ice/vodka from god knows when…gross, and early. ugh. Already, what a day.