I have a history of making painstakingly obvious poor decisions. It's etched into my past and then highlighted over and over. No matter how much I try, at the end of the day poor judgement plays it's role in allowing my patterns to continue.
This would bother most people, however I've come to accept it as a concequence of being myself. It's not like I want to be like this; it's just the way it has to be.
More to the point of all this, I've done things that I'm not proud of. Lots of them. All these actions somehow find their way into the mouths and ears of people whom have a direct emotional conflict of interest. It's sort of a curse in a way, because no matter how many times it happens, or how many times it hurts someone, it never stops happening. This post is very depressing so far - but keep reading.
All of these poor decisions have brought on unsurpassable benefits. Things I never would have imagined would come from a thoughtless decision. Directly or indirectly, every one of them has led me down a bright path. For this reason, I regret nothing. All of my future decisions will continue to be of good intentions and poor judgement, and will continue to shape and mold who I am into someone I strive to be. I will never change my ways, no matter the difficulties I encounter - I know that in the end, this will all work out just fucking dandy.
The lesson from all of this? Well, if you're like me it's pretty obvious. The good comes with the bad which comes with the brutal. It all works out and you're going to piss the world off, but that's just the way it needs to be. If you're more prone to making good decisions, well I'd suggest you start acting on some of those impulses. Throw your judgement out the window, and once in a while do something people criticize you for. Those people just haven't learned yet.
One love.
Saturday 24 March 2012
Monday 19 March 2012
"Then you'll be stoned in some park, just nodding your head and pinching your arms,when a girl walks along.She's humming your song,with your t-shirt on.That's when you're done, oh that's when you're done."
The above lyrics struck me on the bus today. Every day I fall in love.
Not in a creepy way, but you might take it that way. I just mean in a strictly situational sense. There's that moment in every day where - for that moment - I'm in love. Not always based on looks either. It could be something they say, or something they do. I've always been a people-watcher, so I'm constantly noticing little things. I guess it makes sense.
There are times it's the perfect remedy for a shitty day too. It's a little boost, a reminder that there are people out there who can make you feel awesome without even doing anything.
I've been watching Californication a lot lately, and aside from the obvious entertainment such a show brings, I'm into it for deeper reasons too. Somehow I relate to the main character. I don't mean admire either - that's tough not to do - I mean I relate in the sense that I find similarities in situations and reactions. Obviously the script embellishes the true personality such a person would have, but the core traits are there, and I see them.
It makes me wonder who I'll be in a few years. Given the current patterns, I may very well be that jaded. Not to mention my weakness to the opposite sex. I mean that's a big one too.
Following up on my last post, I enjoy this newfound self awareness. It's remarkable what kind of changes you can force yourself to make when you realize your flaws.
Till next time.
Thursday 8 March 2012
Contradictions.
So, it's been a while. I won't apologize for it, because fuck you. Much has changed during my hiatus, I've moved to Toronto, and ended up in one of those sea of cubicles.
After work today I went to Winners (because I'm still poor) and I realized some things about myself. It's weird how small interactions with people can trigger massive realizations and epiphanies. As I shopped for my business-douche clothes, I kept getting in the way of one particular guy there. It wasn't intentional, I guess we had similar taste. However he kept glaring whenever we'd cross paths. It didn't bug me really, but it sort of brought my immense hatred for rude people to the front of my mind. I don't like confrontational people. It may seem odd to say if you actually know me, as I've had my fair share of asshole rage moments. The realization of the above contradiction really stuck with me though, and as I stood in line listening to the little asian ladies cooing over shoe polish behind me, I started to realize what a massive walking contradiction I am.
The more I thought about it, the larger the list grew, and various contradictions within myself came to light. See, my whole life I've struggled with love/hate relationships. Girlfriends, career paths, food, cities I've lived in, self image, porn. It all kind of makes sense now though, and really, it just makes for an unpredictable life. I have absolutely no idea what direction I'll end up in. For example, I love my new job, however part of me would rather see myself working with my hands, in some garage somewhere making average money and living an average life. Another other part wants the business-douche within to rise up and take over, granting me access to cocaine addictions, BMW's, and slutty secretaries. Family-Mike wants kids, a stable relationship, and a white picket fence around my dick. It's actually amusing how torn I am over almost every aspect of my life. In the past, it was a negative thing. I despised my indecisiveness. Now, I'm pretty cool with it.
Following the same lines, you may have noticed that this really isn't my typical writing style. You know, referring to feelings and serious life shit. But that's another confliction I've always had. My personality itself is almost split, between comical carefree crass Mike, and the more serious side I have. I actually started another blog to allow that part of me to come out in my writing. Don't bother looking, it's deleted. I've decided to write whatever the hell I feel like. No themes or standards to hold myself to, just pure unadulterated Mike Ross.
Exciting, no?
Thursday 26 January 2012
An interesting, exciting new method of stress relief.
Agressive Urination (aka "Infurination")
Most people aim for the upper region of the bowl. It's a proven fact. It's quiet, discreet, and politically correct. However, when you're really stressed, nothing feels better than an agressive piss. Shoot for the water. Bounce it off the rim so it sprays all over the walls. If you're really stressed, and not in a public bathroom, yell at the pee. Make it your bitch.Take out all of that internal rage with the power of your urethra. A good, well excecuted angry pee, can satisfy even the most stressed out person. Don't have a penis? Worry not! If you're a girl, "touch your toes and see where it goes!".
Most people aim for the upper region of the bowl. It's a proven fact. It's quiet, discreet, and politically correct. However, when you're really stressed, nothing feels better than an agressive piss. Shoot for the water. Bounce it off the rim so it sprays all over the walls. If you're really stressed, and not in a public bathroom, yell at the pee. Make it your bitch.Take out all of that internal rage with the power of your urethra. A good, well excecuted angry pee, can satisfy even the most stressed out person. Don't have a penis? Worry not! If you're a girl, "touch your toes and see where it goes!".
 |
| GODDAMN that felt good! |
Tuesday 24 January 2012
Monday 23 January 2012
Reflection time
Today, I became disgusted with myself.
Not because I forced myself to open all the windows in the work van after letting out a silent (but very deadly) fart, and not because I laughed when a girl crossing the street tripped on the curb and fell into a snowbank. No, these are acceptable flaws I've found within myself.
I am disgusted because today I ordered an extra large Tim Hortons coffee. To add to this, I also verbally confirmed my order, when asked "are you sure you want an extra large?". It was no accident. I actually felt I needed half a gallon of coffee. It was $2.00. *For those unaware, Tim Hortons has increased the size of it's "Extra Large" coffee from 20 oz. to 24 oz.*
As I drove along, gulping down my porno-sized coffee, I suddenly realized how much of a fucking douchebag I was. There is absolutely zero need for that much coffee. Ever. In fact, even a large (the old large, current medium) is pushing it. This is coming from an avid coffee enthusiast, who at times, would drink in excess of five large coffees a day. Those days are long gone - primarily due to the effects it had on my digestive system - but I still love(d) my coffee.
As I finished off the last few sips, I started thinking about all the excessive shit I consume. WE consume, as a nation. It made me feel sick just thinking about it. At that point, the girl fell into the curb and I laughed for a good solid 5 minutes, and then lost my train of thought.
This concludes my blog post.
Not because I forced myself to open all the windows in the work van after letting out a silent (but very deadly) fart, and not because I laughed when a girl crossing the street tripped on the curb and fell into a snowbank. No, these are acceptable flaws I've found within myself.
I am disgusted because today I ordered an extra large Tim Hortons coffee. To add to this, I also verbally confirmed my order, when asked "are you sure you want an extra large?". It was no accident. I actually felt I needed half a gallon of coffee. It was $2.00. *For those unaware, Tim Hortons has increased the size of it's "Extra Large" coffee from 20 oz. to 24 oz.*
| I know right? |
As I drove along, gulping down my porno-sized coffee, I suddenly realized how much of a fucking douchebag I was. There is absolutely zero need for that much coffee. Ever. In fact, even a large (the old large, current medium) is pushing it. This is coming from an avid coffee enthusiast, who at times, would drink in excess of five large coffees a day. Those days are long gone - primarily due to the effects it had on my digestive system - but I still love(d) my coffee.
As I finished off the last few sips, I started thinking about all the excessive shit I consume. WE consume, as a nation. It made me feel sick just thinking about it. At that point, the girl fell into the curb and I laughed for a good solid 5 minutes, and then lost my train of thought.
This concludes my blog post.
Thursday 19 January 2012
I'm an asshole.
That's right. I'm an asshole.
I've been told this 4 separate times in the past week, and you know, I'm actually starting to believe it. It's kind of like if people kept telling you that you were a cat, you'd eventually start believing it. First you'd start kneading the bed before you slept, and the next thing you know, you'd be swatting at your friends for attention, chasing small dangly mouse-like toys, and talking in the third person (it's safe to assume that because of their narcissistic nature, if able to speak, cats would speak in the third person.)
Here's an example:
*DISCLAIMER* Since blogging about this situation could potentially land me in some trouble, I've decided to omit/edit certain details to protect the identity of those involved, and to disguise the actual activity... poorly
Baking a cake with Sally
SO me and my pal Sally decided that we should get together, and do some good old fashioned baking. I go over, we chill for a bit, pound back a bottle of wine, and throw down... some ingredients on the kitchen counter. I start to preheat the oven, and things get rolling. Next thing you know, we're in full on baking mode. Now, Sally makes some pretty weird faces when she's baking, and quite frankly they scare the shit out of me. So, when Sally noticed that I could not make eye contact with her, she inquired why. Being the honest, open person I am, and also being slightly intoxicated, I informed her that she looked *MILDLY* retarded. Bam. I'm an asshole, and me and Sally don't bake anymore.
But here's the thing - I'm actually okay with being an "asshole". You see, people tend to group a whole bunch of qualities together to form the stereotype of an asshole. Qualities that, on their own, aren't actually that bad at all. I mean, yeah I may lack a situational buffer in my honesty, but what can ya do. In my four situations, I was called an asshole, or the accusation of being an asshole was inferred, exclusively because of the accusers perceptions and obvious psychological ailments. Truthfully, in all situations, I was just being an honest guy.
I've been told this 4 separate times in the past week, and you know, I'm actually starting to believe it. It's kind of like if people kept telling you that you were a cat, you'd eventually start believing it. First you'd start kneading the bed before you slept, and the next thing you know, you'd be swatting at your friends for attention, chasing small dangly mouse-like toys, and talking in the third person (it's safe to assume that because of their narcissistic nature, if able to speak, cats would speak in the third person.)
Here's an example:
*DISCLAIMER* Since blogging about this situation could potentially land me in some trouble, I've decided to omit/edit certain details to protect the identity of those involved, and to disguise the actual activity... poorly
Baking a cake with Sally
SO me and my pal Sally decided that we should get together, and do some good old fashioned baking. I go over, we chill for a bit, pound back a bottle of wine, and throw down... some ingredients on the kitchen counter. I start to preheat the oven, and things get rolling. Next thing you know, we're in full on baking mode. Now, Sally makes some pretty weird faces when she's baking, and quite frankly they scare the shit out of me. So, when Sally noticed that I could not make eye contact with her, she inquired why. Being the honest, open person I am, and also being slightly intoxicated, I informed her that she looked *MILDLY* retarded. Bam. I'm an asshole, and me and Sally don't bake anymore.
 |
| Clean, wholesome baking. |
But here's the thing - I'm actually okay with being an "asshole". You see, people tend to group a whole bunch of qualities together to form the stereotype of an asshole. Qualities that, on their own, aren't actually that bad at all. I mean, yeah I may lack a situational buffer in my honesty, but what can ya do. In my four situations, I was called an asshole, or the accusation of being an asshole was inferred, exclusively because of the accusers perceptions and obvious psychological ailments. Truthfully, in all situations, I was just being an honest guy.
Wednesday 11 January 2012
Thoughts on life
Let me begin by saying in no way am I an expert on life, or even a remotely good source of life advice. This one is going to be a bit philosophical, even "deep" if you want to go that far. Just a warning.
Life is like a spiralling roller coaster with a Boeing jet engine strapped to the back and a blind deaf quadriplegic at the helm. Nothing stops this monstrous fuckrocket from moving, despite how unfair you proclaim it to be.
This time last year, I lived a completely different life. Literally everything has changed in one short year, and I've come full circle in my outlook and overall mentality. January 2011, I had a full-time, well paying job, steady girlfriend, secure financial situation, and a thriving social life. Life was good, I would even call it spanky. Spanky is a good word. It sits in between fantastic and un-fucking real.
Suddenly, without any warning, during the summer shit got real. In a matter of 3 months I went from living a peaceful, promising life, with my free time consumed with exciting events and activities, to finding my nights consisting of sitting in my boxers on a shitty ikea futon 200kms from home in a mediocre apartment watching re-runs of friends and eating salad bowls of raisin bran.
This sad, comical life continued for several months, before one night I took a look at myself, covered in bran flakes giggling at Ross' uncomfortable quips, and I realised three things:
1. If left alone, this comical life would continue into my forty's.
2. The cold hard cock of life was dry fucking the shit out of me.
3. There are serious repercussions to eating obscene amounts of bran.
At that moment, I decided to turn shit around. It worked, surprisingly.
Now, here's where shit gets real. I'm sure you've heard people tell you "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." I'm here to tell you that's a fucking lie. Making lemonade will do nothing for you. Nobody even likes lemonade anymore, unless it's got vodka in it. You've gotta go further with it.
Lets see if you can make sense of the following metaphor:
Here's what you've gotta do. Take those lemons that life gives you, grind them up, and make them into muffins. Put some poppyseeds on them too (I had a lemon muffin with poppyseeds on it once and I literally figuratively blacked out in a fit of joy). Take the muffins, make a nice decorative basket for them, and take them with you to your car. Drive to the closest forest. Take the muffin basket, and swiftly punt it directly at the forest critters. Get back in your car, and back over a raccoon, just for effect.
What am I getting at here? It's really quite simple. One hour after reading this post, on your way to get a lemon poppyseed muffin, you could be struck by a dump truck. Clean out of nowhere, BAM. Dead. You could alternatively eat the muffin, choke on it, and die. You could be in the lineup at starbucks, in the middle of ordering your lemon poppyseed muffin, and drop dead from a brain aneurysm.
Point being, there's nothing you can do about life's curve balls. You can't change things out of your control, and giving any bit of a fuck about them is a waste of time. If life drops a giant rapist grizzly bear with a lust for sodomy in your way, you take a detour. Go around the fucking bear.
GO AROUND THE FUCKING BEAR.
At any given point, our time can end. Stop wasting time worrying about the small stuff, and stop letting the big stuff hold you back.
I'm done.
Life is like a spiralling roller coaster with a Boeing jet engine strapped to the back and a blind deaf quadriplegic at the helm. Nothing stops this monstrous fuckrocket from moving, despite how unfair you proclaim it to be.
This time last year, I lived a completely different life. Literally everything has changed in one short year, and I've come full circle in my outlook and overall mentality. January 2011, I had a full-time, well paying job, steady girlfriend, secure financial situation, and a thriving social life. Life was good, I would even call it spanky. Spanky is a good word. It sits in between fantastic and un-fucking real.
Suddenly, without any warning, during the summer shit got real. In a matter of 3 months I went from living a peaceful, promising life, with my free time consumed with exciting events and activities, to finding my nights consisting of sitting in my boxers on a shitty ikea futon 200kms from home in a mediocre apartment watching re-runs of friends and eating salad bowls of raisin bran.
This sad, comical life continued for several months, before one night I took a look at myself, covered in bran flakes giggling at Ross' uncomfortable quips, and I realised three things:
1. If left alone, this comical life would continue into my forty's.
2. The cold hard cock of life was dry fucking the shit out of me.
3. There are serious repercussions to eating obscene amounts of bran.
At that moment, I decided to turn shit around. It worked, surprisingly.
Now, here's where shit gets real. I'm sure you've heard people tell you "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." I'm here to tell you that's a fucking lie. Making lemonade will do nothing for you. Nobody even likes lemonade anymore, unless it's got vodka in it. You've gotta go further with it.
Lets see if you can make sense of the following metaphor:
Here's what you've gotta do. Take those lemons that life gives you, grind them up, and make them into muffins. Put some poppyseeds on them too (I had a lemon muffin with poppyseeds on it once and I literally figuratively blacked out in a fit of joy). Take the muffins, make a nice decorative basket for them, and take them with you to your car. Drive to the closest forest. Take the muffin basket, and swiftly punt it directly at the forest critters. Get back in your car, and back over a raccoon, just for effect.
What am I getting at here? It's really quite simple. One hour after reading this post, on your way to get a lemon poppyseed muffin, you could be struck by a dump truck. Clean out of nowhere, BAM. Dead. You could alternatively eat the muffin, choke on it, and die. You could be in the lineup at starbucks, in the middle of ordering your lemon poppyseed muffin, and drop dead from a brain aneurysm.
Point being, there's nothing you can do about life's curve balls. You can't change things out of your control, and giving any bit of a fuck about them is a waste of time. If life drops a giant rapist grizzly bear with a lust for sodomy in your way, you take a detour. Go around the fucking bear.
GO AROUND THE FUCKING BEAR.
At any given point, our time can end. Stop wasting time worrying about the small stuff, and stop letting the big stuff hold you back.
I'm done.
Thursday 5 January 2012
Buenos Dias
Happy New Year.
I realize my postings have been rather sporadic, I haven't had very much to write about, and when I do have something to write about, I'm too busy living it. Ya dig?
I promise I'll try to try harder this year.
I realize my postings have been rather sporadic, I haven't had very much to write about, and when I do have something to write about, I'm too busy living it. Ya dig?
I promise I'll try to try harder this year.
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