Me: If I told you you had a beautiful body, would you play Halo 2 against me?
Her: *blank stare*.
Me: Wait, no, that's not how that was supposed to go... Uh, Looks like someone shot you with a phaser set on 'stunning'! *weak smile*
Her: *stands up and leaves*
Me: Wait! NICE SHOES, WANNA FSCK!?
I think I feel better after having spent some time on the farm. On the way back, I decided I'd try something new. So when I went to Meijer to get some necessities I'd been putting off, I bought boxers instead of briefs.
...
Ok, you can stop laughing now.
...
No, seriously. Stop.
...
*sigh*.
I'm not afraid to admit that I was raised on tighty-whities. Truthfully, my underwear has never been more than a passing thought. So why did I decide to make this change, and not something like, say, a new fragrance of shampoo? *shrug*. No idea.
Frankly, I'm not sure that I like it. Everything seems... well, dangerously loose. This is the part where some of you equate underwear styles to type A/type B personalities. In the interest of not going there, I'm going to talk about something else.
My mom had bought some shirts from Old Navy on her way back home, and she got one that she thought I might like. It was one of those fake advertisement shirts, something for a mexican grill. "You know, I don't think I can wear that," I told her. For those who don't know me, Old Navy and their parent company, The GAP, represent all that is soulless and evil in popular culture. I mean, for the love of cheese, have you seen their commercials? Thin, white girls prancing around with muscular, white guys while Fran Drescher violates my auditory canals with something completely unrelated to Old Navy Fleece, but really, you should buy it, because it starts at $17.99. Shit like that gives me the dry heaves. I really don't care if they have quality merchandise at reasonable prices. I object on the grounds of good taste in marketing.
So I tried on the shirt to humor her. Turns out the words are printed in felt. This means that I'd have to wash the thing in cold water. This means it'd be the only thing I'd be washing in cold water. I'm sorry, but that violates my sense of efficiency. Fuck you, Old Navy, and your high-maintenance felt shirts.
*rereads post* Hmm. So far, I've written an entire blog entry about clothing. Must... save... post. Oh, yes. I'd like to thank a few of my friends for worrying about me dropping off the face of the earth. (I'd name names, but I'm not sure to what extent the worrying took place.) Rest assured that I'm fine, I just needed some time in the void.
OH! I was thinking about putting in a collaborative story, much like the one on the old freeshell site, so I resurrected the old one. I actually only had to change about four lines of code to get it working. I surprise myself at how modular my code is. :) No, it's not complete, but it does have what is probably the single best line I've ever written:
'Are you telling me I can dodge mullets?'
I am a literary genius.
Whoever said you can never go home again never needed to do his laundry in college. I'm at home for the weekend, watching over the boys to make sure they don't create any WMDs and blow up the house. I'm just kidding. They'd never blow up the house. :)
I just got out of the shower. Recently, our old shower head has been replaced with a newer one. I guess it's a "water saver," which is market-speak for "outputs so little water you'd swear you're getting pissed on by a Chihuahua." Seriously, this thing is so flow-limited it takes 20 seconds to get my hair fully wet. I'm used to the shower head in my apartment that tries to rip the skin from my body. Another anomaly of our shower is the fact that there is one half-full bottle of shampoo, and like seven bottles of conditioner. I don't know why, but it's been like that for as long as I can remember.
I've got a confession and apology to make to some of my friends. I didn't feel ill the other day at volleyball. I just wanted an excuse to be alone. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the effort it takes to interact with other people, and I just have to decompress. So, it's good that I'm at home, because there's so much nothing here that it boggles the mind.
It's 4:20am. The rooster's crowing. (What, you don't have a rooster at your house?) Time to go to bed. :)
A friend of mine said to me the other day in regard to girls, "dont even think about it...just keep it simple...whatever happens, happens." This is pretty good advice. Or, at least it is for most people. I've been thinking about it, and the thing is, if I don't think about it, then I don't ever actually get into a situation where I might meet girls. Let's flesh out an example.
Tonight my friends and I are going to go play some volleyball. Now, the thing is, right now, I really feel like sitting at home and hacking on some stuff I've been neglecting. Much like the craving I had the other day for pork chops, or how I had to go out and slide my car on the wet streets last night, I have this desire to write code that I have to satisfy. So if I go home and don't worry about it, any chance of meeting girls tonight goes right out the window.
But maybe that's a good thing. If I'm more interested in code than girls, I probably shouldn't be pursuing them, right?
I should explain that the idea of "Eating the Roses" posted earlier comes from (surprise!) the webcomic Eat The Roses. It used to be one of my favorites back in the day, before MegaTokyo. I'm proud to say I was a fan of Eat The Roses back when it was a lowly keenspace webcomic. Samuel Orange is the shiznit. UPDATE: Here's the explanation. I guess my definition is a little bit different, but hey, it's not like it's a common phrase, anyway. :)
Also, I've noticed I've been getting pretty steady comments from my posts. I guess this means I've got frequent readers. To show my appreciation, I've added links in the comment page to reply to the post, and the comment submission page now shows the whole thread, not just the parent entry. This should make it easier to follow the thread of conversation.
Oh, and people? Everything on this site expects input in HTML. If you put in two newlines, my software isn't going to convert that to a
for you. If any of you were wondering why your posts always get crammed into one line, that's why. I'm aware of how insecure this is, but I'd like to think my readers aren't lame-ass meta-redirecting script kiddies. :)
We watched Suicide Club tonight. Everyone's afraid to use knives, now. :) The weird thing was, Candy was sitting by me, and she clung to me whenever the movie got really freaky. I sure hope she was just using me as an overgrown stuffed toy.
Why should I be happy about being used, you ask? Well, if all she wants is something to hold on to when she's scared, that's fine with me. It's easy to say "no" when you're just an appliance, but if there are emotions involved, it becomes much harder. That, and I don't really feel anything for her, so I don't want to lead her on or anything like that.
Did I mention she asked me for a massage again? At some point while I was jamming out to Technic Beat, she said to me, "Hey, you owe me a massage."
"I owe you a massage?" I asked, cranking my asshole dial up to 11. "I seem to recall giving you the massage last time, so I think you owe me a massage." She didn't say another word about it all night. Was I mean about it? Yeah. Did it make any difference? No. It's not that I was opposed to giving a massage. I just didn't want her to think she could demand one whenever she wanted. I mean, who does she think she is, Chrissy? :-P (I'm just kidding. Chrissy always asks nicely.)
So there are two songs in IIDX 9th style, "Rottel-the-Mercury", and "one or eight". The first is done by "sampling masters MEGA", and the second is done by "sampling masters AYA". The reason this caught my eye is because in Technic Beat, a lot of the songs are done by two artists: AYA and MEGA. The styles are similar. I don't think it's a coincidence. In fact, according to the VJ Army wiki, here's MEGA, a.k.a Shinji Hosoe, and AYA, a.k.a. Ayako Saso. Yes. AYA is a girl. She's also done *lots* of awesome stuff, like (obviously) IIDX, Ridge Racer, and Tekken 2.
Oh, I almost forgot to mention the My Sassy Girl GRAPHIC NOVEL. I bought the first three issues today. I'm expecting great things from it. :)
From Guest in "Re: The 7th Sense": > So, chip, what ESPs do you possess?
I thought this question was interesting enough that I should devote a whole blog entry to it. Well, that, and I'm bored at work. I have several ESPs. In no particular order:
- The sense of impending Yan - It's basically the reciprocal sense to Yan's 7th sense. That, and he makes all kinds of noise coming up the stairs. Actually, it's less of a sense that he's coming, and more of a sense that I know where he is. Several times I've just randomly run into him. Granted, most of those places were in the Union, where he practically lives.
- The sense of impending breakups - Not that this one is all that hard. You could almost assume any relationship will end prematurely. Sometimes, though, it's patently obvious. If the love isn't there, then it won't last. Oh, and I'm not talking about breakups of relationships I'm in. I'm talking about other people.
- The sense of impending hookups - This is the other side of the coin of breakups. Again, kinda obvious. If a girl and a guy spend a lot of time with each other, and then suddenly dissapear after they've had a few drinks, they're probably bumping uglies on your bed right now. Wash your sheets.
- The sense of impending computer science majors - We can smell our own. Literally. If you're up all night hacking, bathing is optional.
- The sense of impending rejection - I've done far too much whining about this lately, so I'm not even going to explain this one.
- The sense of impending awful George Lucas films - Ok, not really. I just wanted to put in a sideways jab about how dissapointing Episode III was.
- The sense of impending Eating the Roses - I'm not sure if I've explained "Eat the Roses" before. Basically, "Eating the Roses" is when you realize you like someone, so you actively try to stop that feeling so you don't get your heart broken. It's an entirely pessimistic view of love, and pretty common for anyone who's had their heart stepped on a few times. Every time I meet a nice girl, I know it's going to result in a knock-down drag-out fight with myself as to whether or not I should trust my feelings. Either way, I lose. Oh, wait. I said I wasn't going to whine, didn't I? I lied.
Ok, I didn't really mean to get so depressed there at the end... To take the edge off, here's an amusing anecdote from your friendly neighborhood "fortune -a":
This guy was screwing his neighbors wife when a car pulls into the drive.
"My husband!" she screams. He panics and jumps out the window. He finds
himself on the street, naked, under cloudy skies. There is no place to hide
except in a crowd of joggers. As he runs along, a woman looks over and says,
"Do you always jog in the nude?"
"Yes ma'am!" he replies.
"Does it always result in that kind of sexual excitement?" she asks.
"Yes ma'am!" he replies.
"Do you always wear a condom?"
"Only when it rains, lady. Only when it rains."
I was walking over to Kan's today after a failed attempt to go to a moving sale. As I was walking up the sidewalk to her door, Yan popped his head out.
"I knew you were coming, it's my seventh sense," he said.
"Seventh sense?" I asked. "What's your sixth sense?"
"That's my sense of impending doom."
So Yan has two ESPs. A sense of impending doom, and a sense of impending Chip.
In a bizarre, yet completely unrelated twist, Candy asked me for a massage. No, really. This time it most definetly *isn't* what you're thinking. She really did just want a massage. She gave me some evidence that I've got actual skill, too. She said that Dillon tried to give her a massage earlier (you go, Dillon!), and that he wasn't any good at all (well, at least you tried, man). She said I should be a professional masseuse. This intrigued me...
The perks of the job are obvious. I make good money, I get to meet girls ("who might want to sleep with you", Candy said), and... y'know... touch them. Of course, it does have its down side. Intermittent work. Men. Large, hairy women. *shrug*. I dunno. For $60/hr, I might be willing to rub a few guys' backs.
The other night I watched Harold and Kumar go to White Castle with Dillon and his friend Cassandra. I find Cassandra interesting. Not because she's Asian. Not because she's single. I know plenty of single, Asian women (that, by the way, aren't interested in me). I find her interesting because, well, I don't know anything interesting about her. The thing is, every girl I've ever liked was the result of knowing too much about them. While it's cool to know that a girl likes to eat a pint of double-fudge Haagen Dazs while watching her favorite show, and that you think that's the sweetest thing ever, by the time you figure all this out, you're neck deep in friend territory. I might remind you that being seen as a friend guarantees you no nookie with the girl, and is almost always an irreversible predicament, barring a sexual "accident" involving a fifth of Tequila, a can of Crisco, and a bag of gummy worms. But then, stranger things have happened. :)
Anyway, the point is that maybe I should try for a girl I'm not sure about. Granted, the last time I did that, I wound up walking her home early, but hey... Maybe if I'd stop asking out freshmen girls in ECE, that shit wouldn't happen, right? Ok, both my cynicism-ometer and my bitterness meter are pegged, so it's time I went to bed. 'night, y'all.
I spent most of yesterday on Kan Kan's couch. I originally came over to watch the Indy 500 (awesome race, BTW), and wound up staying the whole day playing some Technic Beat and watching The O.C. (Which, by the way, is awful tripe. The only entertaining characters are Seth and Anna, and even then, their development was rarely more than skin-deep.) Yesterday, I was a certified couch potato. *beams with pride*.
Kan has this dog toy that I found quite disturbing. Imagine, if you will, a plush bullet-shaped object. Now attach some simple black circle eyes, a couple of rabbit ears, a fuzzy cottonball tail, a simple nose, and two simple appendages on the front near the bottom of said bullet. This... thing is supposed to be a rabbit. To me, it's missing several important things, namely the illusion of separation between the body and head. It's all the same thing on this monstrosity. Imagine, if you will, a human head with a couple of feet sticking out of the chin. That's what this is. It's a freaking rabbit head with feet sticking out of its chin. And not four feet, mind you. This one only has the two. I guess they couldn't find any room on the cheeks for a couple of hands.
At some point I took Kan's cat ears and put them on this thing. Some four hours later she noticed it. Oh, and this thing wasn't off on a table somewhere. It was sitting between us on the couch. The conversation went something like this:
Kan: It's got four ears! It looks deformed!
Me: Kan! Look at it! IT IS DEFORMED!
Eventually, we all got too tired to appreciate the O.C. (quite a feat in itself) and left. Today, Yan's family is having a cookout, so he's driving the gang out (well, I'm driving myself, but that's because I like driving) for some Memorial Day fun! Nothing says "never forget those who died for our freedom" like barbeque at your Chinese friend's house. (Despite what you're thinking right now, I didn't mean that sarcastically :-P) Laterz.
... OH GOD, NOW I'M USING IT! *cries*
Ok, I'll cut right to the chase. I just saw Requiem for a Dream. It's pretty depressing, but honestly, I'm a little preoccupied with something else. Kan Kan and Greg went rollerblading earlier. They never came back. This means they're having...
THE TALK
For those who actually have the courage to ask someone out normally and have no idea what I'm talking about, the talk is what happens when two people, who like each other but won't admit it, spend some time alone with each other. Free of the usual constraints that arise from being in a group, they come clean about their feelings. Depending on the persons involved (and whether or not this is a movie), this can lead to setting up a date, getting a kiss, or straight into sex. Actually, the above definition isn't complete. The talk can also happen when the feelings are one-sided. Depending on the sympathy given by the other, this can be painful or cathartic for the confessor. (At this point, I'd like to thank Chrissy for giving me the most caring, heartfelt rejection I've ever had. And she only had to do it three times before I gave up... :-P )
So basically, I've lost the girl I like to a better man again. I'm not really broken up about it, though. Greg's a great guy, and I think they'll be great for each other. I see a glimmer of hope in each of them that this will be the relationship that fulfills all their dreams, and I have to say, it probably will be. So, despite the horrifying depression I'm about to stumble into, I'm really happy for the both of them. Thumbs-up, Greg. You da man. :)
You've heard the phrase "When God shuts a door, He opens a window," right? Well, tonight I met Candy. After reading stuff in this sex book (yes, the same sex book) about body language, I think she's at least unconsciously interested in me. Unfortunately, I've got a corollary to the above phrase: "When God opens a window, the poor fool who was trying to open the window in the first place gets his fingers jammed." This guy, Dillon, who lives in another apartment in the same complex, likes her, and they've been getting closer recently. I can't with a clear conscience even begin to pursue this girl, since Dillon is probably the nicest guy out of all of us. Best of luck to him. He'll need it.
Ugh. Quite literally, my whole body aches. Back. Neck. Toes. Fingers. Ass. Ok, you can stop that train of thought right now. Did I mention I'd never played tennis before? Oh, it's a fun game. I liked it more than I thought I would. I like it less, now. :-/
Mike's sister is living at my apartment, I guess for the summer. (The distinct sound of eyebrows being raised is heard) No, it's not like that at all. 1) Not my type at all. 2) She's Mike's sister. He'd kick my ass if anything happened. Ok, he'd try, but I'd lose out of principle. Actually, things are working out pretty well. She likes to do dishes. :)
Before tennis, I gave Kan a back massage. (The sound of eyebrows raising increases in volume. Playfully accusatory "ooooohs" can be heard.) No, it's not like that at all. 1) She really did need a back massage. She was knotted up like you wouldn't believe. 2) Ok, there's no second point, but the only thing I'm guilty of is helping out another person. The fact that I like this girl has nothing to do with it... Ok. That's a lie. I enjoyed it. :) The funny part is the door was open for ventilation, so anybody that walked by could see me sitting on top of her. "You know what would be really funny," I mentioned, "is if I took this sex book and was thumbing through it while I'm straddling you." At this point, I grabbed the sex book that was on the coffee table (What, you don't have a sex book on your coffee table?), and flipped through it. Everybody cracked up, it was great.
After tennis, we ate at Evo's, then went to Rentertainment to find a movie. After about 40 minutes of deliberation, we decided to watch My Sassy Girl, which they didn't have. I had it on two CDs in DivX format, so I brought over the PS2, and we watched it until the CD glitched, cutting out the merry-go-round scene. Turns out we had a DVD copy the whole time, so we finished the movie with that. For those who haven't seen it, it's one of the best sappy movies of all time. Much like the battle between Frosted Shredded Wheat lovers, guys like it because of it's comedy side, and girls like it because of its romantic side. Because it appeals to both sides like this, it's the perfect date movie. Ok, I'll admit it... I like the romantic side, too. For those who are curious, my favorite sappy movie is most definetly Sweet November, despite the fact that it stars Keanu Reeves.
*deep breath*. Alright, I'm going to go take a shot of Jim Beam and lift weights in an attempt to regain my masculinity. If you need me, I'll be putting some mag wheels on my Camaro. *grunt* *snort* *crotch grab*.