Derrick -- I hate Tumblr. So There.
"Every writer I know has trouble writing" - Joseph Heller
I really try not to be that motherfucker who has the audacity to complain about the weather living in Los Angeles, but this week-long stretch of cold weather, which I thought would be great since it’d give us a much-needed run to flaunt our hoodie season essentials (That sounds just as stupid in my head as it does in writing/typing, however, I’ll keep it there), but it’s been worst than what I expected. Going to sleep with a tee, a thermal and a fleece shouldn’t be a norm, yet it is. Then again my room is literally a fucking ice box, so..
Sort of fucked up given I watched the Lions/Eagles game yesterday where it was eight (!!!!!!! and !!!!!!!!!!!) inches of snow, plus tonight’s MNF in Chicago when the wind chill was below zero, but I don’t care — our bodies on this side of the country are different than you east coast eskimos. But worst of all: this cold LA weather has reverted me back to listening to Abel Tesfaye wail with his annoying ass wishing I had a stripper to cuddle with at night.
Posted on 9 December, 2013
Just when I think the likes of the goddess Hannah Simone, the so-young-but-so-hot Emily Ratajkowski and her beautifully eccentric co-star Aubrey Plaza are duking it out for her spot atop my Female Celebs I’m Obsessed With list, and my general love for her dissipates by the day, Rashida Jones wheels me right back in by doing something controversial that’ll surely have people hate her though it’s for the better because it’s an act to improve this shitty world even though she’s perhaps way over her beautiful head.
Posted on 9 December, 2013
Posted on 4 December, 2013
Was, like, four seconds from pulling the trigger on a PS4 from Amazon this afternoon. Seemed fitting they’d stock up today given I made a trip to Best Buy earlier looking to see what their stock story was about Sony’s new-generation stable of being a loser. Then I thought: do I REALLY, REALLY want this now? Or more like do I NEED this now? Then I realized I’d only have one game — assuming if I bought, I’d have to give in to 2K14 since those next-gen Madden reviews look terrible — when the device doesn’t even have backward capability like my trusty (and noisy) current PS3.
Getting it now simply because I can would’ve been just as bad of a decision as taking all those shots of Henny (straight!) last Thursday on an empty stomach. Even more so when, unlike others, GTAO still gets burn with me, so does (if barely) WWE 2K14 post-30 Years of ‘Mania completion, been meaning to return to Madden (which apparently is better on previous gen), and I’m starting The Last of Us next week. What good would my beautifully-designed, semi-affordable-compared-to-last-the-launch PS4 if I couldn’t play those? Plus, Watch Dogs and inFamous Second Son, which I’m actually waiting for, don’t hit shelves until Q2014?
So fucking glad I didn’t buy that thing now, one of the few great decisions I made this year. Still got a little time to squeeze in more quality time with that piano black beauty of a monster for the lost time in the beginning of our relationship from 2008-2010.
Posted on 3 December, 2013
Posted on 27 November, 2013Source pacsun.com
Posted on 22 November, 2013
I figure it’s a shame how most of my nights I’m forced to turn on iTunes Radio’s Alternative station as a precursor to eventually falling asleep to the likes of Sampha’s genius 2013 material, Denita and Sene, Mayer Hawthorne, James Blake and etc. in my iPhone’s library because I’m worried if falling asleep without them my little not-so miniature obsession in infatuation for something/someone will only further drive my crazy past no return at the most peaceful moment of my day. It’s weird. You’d think by the soundtrack of those I named it’d further perpetuate it, or maybe I’m simply trolling myself every night. And the constant thoughts throughout the day of something I try to believe in which seems to only be true in my wildest fantasies are no help, either. They’re right there, staring at me at 1am every night. Perhaps this is the true reason for my self-conscience to run wild as much as it does every night once I eventually get to sleep in who I see in dreams and things take part in them. Honestly lost count once we hit double figure appearances.
It’s all so creepy, and a little psychotic, but I’ve gotten use to it, however drained by it. Like today, and most days, seemingly, I find myself repeating this name over and over in my head as if my brain was a broken record. I try to fight it, but only to give up by afternoon. My new thing is to tell myself I’m not obsessing over this anymore; oh, denial. I of course fall back into old ways with a sickening swiftness. It’s hard. It’s foolish. It’s crazy. However, when I put everything on the map to see the grand scheme of things, it’s not as crazy as you’d think, and most of all: it makes sense to me. A few wrinkles of unorthodox here and there, but that’ll pave out perfectly given the proper execution in the greater scheme of things. Sometimes I see the finish line, some days it’s a mirage, but I do sense it ending sooner rather than later.
That is if I can convince myself all of this is correct and proper. Some days they are, and others they aren’t. Today, honestly, felt as it was just one of those days they aren’t. Maybe tomorrow is different, and maybe the day after that as well for the better. It’ll finally come to ahead, and it’ll be over, and these nights I go through before sleep will dissolve, I’m just banking on something amazing and indescribable rather than something cold and ugly-—pretty much what they are now. And welp.
Posted on 22 November, 2013
Seemingly whenever I go to Vegas, I always seem to end up falling in love with some woman there I have no business doing so with. A couple years back it was the hot lesbian in a Mandalay Bay bar, this time, it was the hot Nike Town employee who reminded me of Mila Kunis though I don’t even like Mila Kunis because I think she’s as evil as Wal-Mart, the four-lettered network (ESPN) and stuffed-crust pizza (Which I mistakenly had during my four-five days in Vegas). But I couldn’t help it, I wanted her to have my biracial babies who only wore Nikes just off her perfectly done eyebrows and the way she wore her Nike Fuelband SE compared to mines. I also was already beyond buzzed lightyear by that point of the evening and me keeping the Fuelband convo going though I sensed she knew I had been drinking before the inevitable curve was so damn damning.
But what I learned in Vegas wasn’t just whenever I have a chance at getting Five Guys, I GET IT, but that I finally understand why alcohol is so beloved. Not that I hadn’t known before, but after this past weekend with that
coke Dr. Pepper/orange soda/Sprite and rum, I finally fully understood why going out getting drunk damn near every weekend is done among my peers; I felt so free from everything, mainly with the opposite sex. I did things I wouldn’t if I was sober. Much reason why I always thought the perfect first date was two people getting drinks and becoming at least buzzed lightyear and learning about one another with nothing being held back. The two would be free from the general first date jitters, concerns and, of course, awkwardness. However, this obviously doesn’t mean I should be intoxicated all the time (Or.. does it?), but it makes think what I’ve been missing giving I can be complacent (Or more hesitant) with women at times. It’s like I’m locked up in this dark, lonely feelings cell when sober with women, but once I’m getting alcohol’s best, I’m as free as that 17-year-old girl who snuck out her parents’ house with her bad-boy boyfriend to go to some party who eventually does ecstasy. Hm, I’ll take it I’m not the only one with this problem.
Basically: those two long-ass paragraphs in a nutshell: sort of sick of lurking hot women’s Instagram accounts on the Internet and maybe sort of kind of maybe conceivably is finally disliking being single as fuck, not as hell, but, as FUCK. Or this early SoCal rain I came back to is fucking with me already. Eh. Whatevs.
Posted on 20 November, 2013