A Bad Time to Be in Love

Sooo, I'm out having drinks with my (girlfriend?) Wednesday night and at a certain point she says, "Can you make us spaghetti and meatballs?"

If you know me, Constant Lurker, I can cook. Rather, I enjoy cooking but I don't cook regularly for myself because single-serving meals are so exceedingly dreary to prepare. But I enjoy the opportunity to cook for other people and I tend to feel pressure to make it *good*... a pressure which is heightened when dealing with a new romantic partner. First impressions count. First meals count.

Wednesday night, a few drinks in me, three sheets to the wind, I promptly dragged my (girlfriend??) from a bar to a local supermarket and had her follow me as I dashed about acquiring ingredients for "spaghetti and meatballs"... a dish that I can't say that I'd ever actually made before. A dish I was determined to make from scratch. Nothing jarred or prepackaged. It takes a while to develop flavors for a decent gravy, not to mention what it takes to create a semi-serviceable meatball... and yet, I was determined to make this for her Wednesday night. From scratch. Without looking up recipes.

I'm not entirely sure how long it took. It was a blur of fiery pots and pans with my (girlfriend???) playfully distracting me as I endeavored to make a competent iteration of a classic. Wasn't my ideal "spaghetti and meatballs" creation. If I'd had more time to prepare, I would have put so much more thought into it. As it was, I was making certain compromises so that we wouldn't be spending half the night in the kitchen.

All that said....... she liked it.

She was genuinely impressed. She is not easily impressed. She is a pain-in-the-neck to impress, truth be told. Somehow, I managed to crank out a version of the dish that sated her. At the same time, she got to see how I get when I'm in TOP CHEF quickfire challenge mode.

And now, I've got more leftover spaghetti and meatballs than I know what to do with. Anybody want some, PM me.

I really would like a cigarette right about now. I am a non-smoker. I do not smoke.

Perfect Little Dream

You know what I'd really like right about now?

A fucking smoke.

Yes, it's true. I've gone back and forth with the little coffin nails over the years. It has been a unique struggle that I've rarely written about openly here. A bad habit I've personally used as a reward, a punishment, a coping method, a time-killer and as a passive form of suicide. It's a bad obsession I've let linger on for far too long now.

I'm not doing this smartly. I've gone cold turkey without a plan. I'm not replacing the habit with food. (No way in hell do I intend to gain weight because of this.) Thing is, I haven't replaced the habit with anything really. An occasional stick of gum. A stiff drink when the nerves call for it.

Some parts of the day, I can see the big picture and it all makes sense.

Other parts of the day... I'm thinking how sweet it would be to take a long, slow drag of something filthy. And what does any of it really matter, in the end...?

I am a non-smoker. I do not smoke. This will all get easier.

You have suffered enough; And warred with yourself; It's time that you won

You know what sucks about trying to get incrementally healthier...?

Everything.

Monday... not the most productive day. Dammit, Chloe, this isn't rocket science, but there are certain scenes that are enjoyable to write and certain scenes that are more... WORK. So yes, you've got to get some of the WORK done before you can get to the fun stuff. How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat?!

Goddammit to Jesus-titty-fucking-Christ-ridden HELL, I can and WILL finish this draft this week. It's so close and manageable, I can taste it.

Blinders. Blinders. Blinders.

Make War

Yes, the recent weeks have been filled with distractions. There is never a shortage of distractions. Even without being in the beginning stages of a relationship that comes with its own unique complications.

But none of that matters when you've got a job to do. I have to finish up a script draft that is entirely manageable. It would behoove me to finish this sooner rather than later. In fact, getting this done by the end of this week would not be an unreasonable goal.

This is the whip. I need to get this done. This is really happening.

No One Likes Dane Cook

The other night, MySpace account-holder Dane Cook did a surprise set at the Laugh Factory in L.A. and bombed.

Apparently, he bombed so badly that people wrote about it on the internet.

Sure, he was just working out some new material. And I'm positive that his story about how he "chainsaw-fucked a dirty whore's cunt" is going to be top shelf material when it's polished.

An excerpt from T.J. Miller's account:

... he got on stage and was vicious, misogynistic, cruel, and arrogant. He talked about not paying for an abortion. He talked about finding some whore to fuck to take out his anger at his ex-girlfriend. He talked about how girls would do anything for him ‘because I'm me.’ He got mad when people were texting. ‘Dane Cook is onstage,’ he said. ‘Have some fucking respect.’

Seriously, why did anyone ever find this douche-nozzle funny...? I really want to know. Was it his delivery? Was his delivery really that good? Really?

Louis C.K., America. He's the guy you should have been watching all this time.

Let's Open Up This Pit!!!

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Stop-Motion

MORAL OREL was a stop-motion animated 15 minute show that aired on the Cartoon Network during their "Adult Swim" blocks. If you happened on an episode of the first two seasons, you'd think it was just a parody of the old "Davey and Goliath" Christian claymation show which taught Christian morals with each episode. And certainly, MORAL OREL takes a lot of its initial cues from D&G. The titular Orel being a young, devout Christian boy looking for answers to his questions about life in the town of Moralton.

But something happened in the third and final season. A season that aired in 2008 but I've only just discovered.

The show went from being a dark comedy to being... STAGGERINGLY DARK.

I know that most of you won't actually seek this out so here's the plot of one of the Season 3 shows...

A description of "Passing", Episode 8 of 13, from Wiki:

This episode... is a flashback which explores [Orel's father] Clay's relationship with his mother and father. The episode begins with Clay giving Orel "Ol' Gunny" before flashing back to Clay as a child.

It is revealed that when Clay was around Orel's age, his mother doted on him endlessly, much to the chagrin of his uninterested father. Clay's father seems completely unaffected by the religious extremism of his wife and the other people of Moralton, often expressing doubts and taking the name of God in vain (at one point even claiming "there are no miracles").

While looking through old photo albums with his mother, Clay discovers pictures of his mother, presumably pregnant with him. It is revealed that Mrs. Puppington actually miscarried ten times before successfully bearing Clay and it is hinted this is due to her smoking, drinking, and engaging in strenuous activities such as jumping on a trampoline or riding roller-coasters during her other pregnancies; she says she was too busy praying while pregnant with Clay to do any of these things.

After being devastated by the news that he is not indeed his mother's "precious only-ever" child, Clay pretends to shoot himself with "Ol' Gunny". Clay's father eventually discovers the ruse, and when he forces Clay to cease the charade, his mother has a heart attack due to the stress and dies, crying out to God to take her life instead of her son's.

Clay's father blames him for the death of his wife, frequently hitting him to express his frustration. Clay actively seeks his father's punishment, finding it the only source of attention he can get from his emotionally distant parent. At the end of the episode, Clay's father gives "Ol' Gunny" to Clay, insisting that he can no longer bear to have it since it is "tainted with blood." Clay attempts to defend himself from his father's blame, but when he looks up, his father is gone.

The final shot of the episode comes in the form of Clay staring into his drink. The song that plays throughout the episode and during the closing sequence is "Love Love Love" by The Mountain Goats.

There is a great interview with Scott Adsit from 30 ROCK, who also served as a writer, co-executive producer, director and voice talent on MORAL OREL. His thoughts for where the show would have gone if it had survived beyond the third season:

"I wanted to evolve Orel from the innocent guy who wants to believe his authority figures are right about everything they say into a fully evolved human being. We would take him on a journey from what he is in season one, essentially: just kind of informed, self-aware, and skeptical, but happy. But then it would be his journey. And also, I guess that journey would then have an effect on his parents and his brother and his grandfather. And hopefully watch everybody change because that's dynamic and more interesting."

You can watch some clips and a scattering of episodes online at the Adult Swim site. Seasons 2 and 3 are currently not available on DVD in the USA. Pity because this show needs to be seen.

Try to Keep My Hands from Shaking

I know this has read like the rantings of a lunatic for a while now. I am attempting to reform my ways.

This past weekend, Friday through Monday, was a blur. Heavier than heaven and hell. Highs and lows and misunderstandings and... maybe the hope for some better times ahead. It's early yet. Victory, for me, is remaining in the moment.

I know, this is all so terribly oblique.

Trying to be better to myself. Two consecutive days of heavy drinking can really wreak havoc on my internals. Some of this rough lifestyle has started to catch up with me. Several of my key internal organs are holding union meetings, discussing whether or not they should strike. Can't afford for this machine to break down.

I need to sleep better and part of that is living more proper. At least for most of the week.

Against the Grain of Dystopic Claims

I won. For tonight. For now. For however long something like this can last...

... I've won.

Liminality

I am tired. I should eat something. I dislike this feeling I've been having lately. Hunger without appetite. It is Saturday evening and I've been a recluse all day because of the thrilling/stormy day/night I had yesterday. I am trying to write. I am trying to keep my emotions in check. I am trying to have some faith in the universe. I am trying not to make myself sick. I need to treat myself better. I need to calm down. I need to let go.

Nobody Likes the YouTube Entries

In Limbo

Some days you win. Some days you don't.

It's getting pretty tedious around here, don't you think, Constant Lurker?

So, we're pretty much back in limbo. I'd like to think we gained some ground, at least. I'm certainly not the only one who's in pain right now. Sometimes, you've got to let something go for a while and just hope it comes back around.

Going to Vermont to snowboard this weekend, with friends. It's been almost two years since I've gone snowboarding. Small chance I may die. That's something isn't it?

Yesterday I Woke Up Sucking a Lemon

Post-traumatic Stress

Okay. I've been less than well. I wish I could sleep through the night. I have been sleeping poorly and dreaming unpleasantly.

Dusted off a book about abandonment that helped me a few years ago. Has it really been that long since these feelings have hit me this hard?

I'm on the up and down. If you see me, chances are you'll find me on the up. But this is more of a struggle than I thought it would be. I won't lie: this, in fact, sucks. There are times in the day when this hurts like hell. Physically hurts like hell.

This opened up a lot of pain that I've probably been harboring for a while. About a range of things. I miss caring about someone who is not myself. I would like to get over this soon. I would at least like to get to a point where the pain is a quieter ache.

I hate where my head goes at certain hours. I'm always in such a hurry to get over the hurt. And then there's that old nagging fear that tugs at my spine... that I'm going to be alone forever. Maybe this one wouldn't have stood the test of time... but I still wish she could have stayed a little longer, so that we could have seen where it could have gone.

Perfect on Paper

You know, it's not just The Girl. It's the reopening of old wounds that goes along with this routine. The compounding sensation of loneliness after you've gotten a taste of what it would be to NOT be alone. That feeling that I'm the one who always has to end up alone. There goes Malice the Martyr.

Other people do this without breaking a sweat. Fall into long-term relationships, couple-up. People far, far more mundane than me. I've ended relationships abruptly when I've known my heart wasn't really in them. I don't need to be in a relationship just for the sake of being in a relationship. Just to have a lab partner for class.

The thing I can't get rid of completely is the idea that she was... almost perfect. Perfect on paper, at least. Arguably, more perfect than the one I ended up marrying that one time, even. Which might be damning with faint praise, given how that one ended, but still. The whole affair was exceptionally brief and it hasn't been long since it ended... and I'm still surprised at how difficult it is to shake this one. I don't want to get over this one. Not completely. There is a part of me that wants to keep it fresh. That wants to preserve it under glass.

Withdrawal

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After all these years, after all I've worked on trying to better myself, you would think I'd be stronger.

Lazy new year's day Sunday spent trying to distract myself with the Twilight Zone marathon. And finishing up the Angry Birds "Wreck the Halls" advent calendar game. Letting random things set me into jags of tears. Cold sweats. Shivers. Panic attacks. Breathing exercises. You'd think I was trying to kick heroin instead of the memory of a girl.

Mindless diversions can help distract from thoughts. Found this great website that features old electronic handheld games. Some I remember from childhood, some really obscure ones. All lovingly rendered and mind-numbing.

All I did on Sunday was sleep and dream about her, all day long.

What's so happy about it?

I know we're supposed to be optimistic and upbeat and hopeful and thesaurus. I just can't conjure it up today. I don't want to phony it up. I want to dwell on a moment a little longer. Play it back in my head, like a song you just need to keep hearing a few more times.

I will get myself together. I will stop thinking about her. Recovery happens in waves. Good days. Bleak days. Lapses. But sometimes... not very often at all, if ever... you find someone you don't want to get over completely. Like a dream you don't want to forget.

Better things for me this year. Last year was heartbreaking at every turn.