Monthly Archives: November 2009

Blue Everything

I want to start a fucking fight. I want to hit someone over the head with my Bud Light bottle. I want to batter someone with my bare hands. I will have to get pulled away, and I will start beating the people that try to stop me. I want to create an utter violent chaos. I want to knock down walls. I want to claw someone’s eyes out. That guy with his fucking polo shirt- who the fuck does he think he is? That fucking gel in his hair. He goes to the gym, works out. “Check out my abs bro.” I want to just fucking kick his teeth in. He deserves it. People will remember it. “Remember that time we were at that bar and that kid just snapped on that guy, and kicked his head in?”

There’s this girl, she is probably older than me. She is wearing blue; she has short, brown, curly hair. I fantasize about waking up in the mornings with her, completely in love. We talk about going to get a late brunch. Moving to Savannah one day or Charleston. A town with an old Southern charm, with minimal racist tension. Our house will be small, but will have a library. She will do her work; when she comes homes at night, I will be writing in the corner. We periodically will distract each other by our random sporadic thoughts that no one else finds interesting but us. We love these thoughts. We have sex in the shower. She looks over my direction sees, I’m looking at her. I quickly look away, but can’t find anything to anchor my vision. It was a poor exit.

I walk to the bar, order another Bud Light. Everyone is looking at me. Wondering how old I am. They are thinking about how young I look. What the fuck is this kid doing here? They can tell I haven’t had sex in a long time. It emits out of me like a light for everyone to see. They laugh at me in their heads. No girl would waste her time talking to me. He wouldn’t know what to do with me, he is so young. I try to emit a light a confidence and wiseness, and wit. But, I can’t muster it; I know it isn’t in me. I know they are all right. When my beer comes, I go back to my seat at the table. The ugly kid who came with us bought some cigarettes for the table. I have just started to get good at smoking. There are six guys sitting at my table. They are all pretty tame and won’t talk to any girls. Not that I do all the time, but I have been known to. There was a time when I was a semi-ladies man, if you considered my beta male status. Not now. People around us think we are gay. A group of guys are talking about it. I can hear them, I feel them looking at us. This doesn’t really bother me. Except for the fact that they perceive that as something wrong with us, when, in fact, the real problem with us is that for all existing purposes we only use our dicks to pee out of. I think about hitting on them- fucking with their heads. Then, beating the shit out of one of them. They will remember the night a fag beat the shit out of one of their friends. They will think twice before making fun of gay people again.

No one is really talking; we are all just sitting there staring at each other, waiting for something to happen. The guy who bought the cigarettes starts talking to me about a job he got this summer. He talks with all arrogance about how awesome his job was, how important the work he got to do was. His father is a doctor; he owns a practice. He’s pre-law, his dad set him up with his lawyer friends. He has nothing going for him. He openly admits he wants to be a lawyer to get girls. I know he has failed on virtually every attempt, as he does with all other girls. He is mostly defiantly a virgin, but in the most desperate, sad way.

Blue walks by our table. She is standing in a group circle, talking to some friends, all girls. She is the shining star, though. She is the face that you spot when you scan the crowd. Her. I have to go say something to her. What? I’m fifteen. She has so many good things to offer, and I only have potentially good things to offer. Things that will never be fully realized. She sees me looking at her again, I don’t take my eyes off of her for a second. I give her a slight smile. She doesn’t immediately look away but, she gives no reaction and then looks back at her friend. Fuck. I’m never going to have a girl like Blue. What can I do?

It gets close to closing time. My friends are drunk and arguing about abortion. I want to get the fuck out of this place. I tell them they should close their taps before it gets busy at closing time. Even though most people have cleared out. They listen because they are shit-faced. I sit, patiently smoking a cigarette, praying to Blue who will never hear me. I feel like I might cry. Keep everything in. Don’t let it out here. My chest feels like it is expanding.

When we get back to my friends apartment they keep drinking. Two of them smoke up. I fall asleep on the sofa. I wake up at 7AM to a cell phone alarm going off. One of my friends is passed out on the ground, not responding. I look for the cell phone. Then I realize that the cell phone is in his pocket. I leave to walk to my apartment. I pass a couple leaving for the morning.

Tagged ,

Color Test

This is extremely cool.

Or, I like it anyways.

It’s a color test, supposedly measuring your color IQ.

Take it, here.

Don’t hurt yourself.

Post your score below.

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