Undisclosed Desires

I had started an entry that celebrated my newfound joy of surfin' the net while on the popper. Well, I finished my... wait for it... duties before I could finish the entry. Sitting on the bowl with some gunk in yo' butt wasn't the ideal circumstance to be in even when writing these fluffy entries, so I had to scrap it. Just know, I'm totally digging it. Also, if I'm trying to vidchat with you, chances are I'm waiting to release that first blast when you press 'accept.' And yes, I've gotten people and it's HILARIOUS.

So this entry is kind of a farewell.

My reckless abandon on life has been the bane and pleasure of my last two years. Having been in a bad place for most of 2010 and slowly recovering in 2011, I can say that 2012 is when I'm starting to collect all the pieces and putting them back together. I feel like I'm entering another phase in my life. I've discovered all my past blogs mark different phases of my life. GRANTED, I'm not saying that I'm suddenly this mature dude who feels like he should be wearing his big boy pants all the time (because, fuck those people) or does and say shit to feel like he's all grown up (because, fuck those people, too). I'd treat this new phase like the next rung on a Pokemon evolution ladder. It's like going from Charmeleon to Charizard. And Ash's Charizard was apathetic as shit.

Anyway, you might be protesting, saying, "BUT WHAT ABOUT YOUR TOP TEN LISTS?! WHAT OF THOSE?!"

I know I use to champion that stuff, but, honestly, the luster of making those lists are kind of slipping. They're fun to make and all, and while I try my best to choose the flicks that will LAST, sometimes I'll overlook or misjudge something. Like, Benjamin Button OVER Wall-E? Turrible. Stepbrothers not making that list? Wrong. Maybe a bit too much love for Letters to Iwo Jima and Little Miss SunShine. Also, Notes on a Scandal would've been much higher and FUCK, Hunger being totally ignored? TURRIBLE. My top three picks have held up for the past few years, though.

AND MUSIC. SHIT. Metric's Fantasies and Sarah Blasko's As Day Follows Night are two MASSIVE omissions from their respective years because it took me awhile to discover them.

So yea, FOR THE TIME BEING, there shall be no lists. I'm thinking more like, maybe in June of this year, I'll go back and make those lists. See which games, films, and movies truly do possess a resonating effect.

But there you have it. A change is coming and the next post shall mark it. Get ready, suckas!

A Change is Coming... A Sexy Change

It's been awhile, hasn't it?

Oh, so what's been going on since my last post? Well, for one thing, that second installment of the San Francisco & San Jose trip will probably never happen. Long story extremely short: I ate some shit and it was delicious.

I really don't have anything to write about right now... I mean, I'm not trying to say that my life is exceptionally boring right now, but it's exceptionally boring right now. I try and fight the tide by doing completely irresponsible things (mostly the binge drinking, drunk adventuring, and strip clubs). It's starting to become an issue, though. When I show up to places and embark on adventures in my drunken stupor, I forget at least a third of what actually transpired.

Case in point, this past weekend, I engaged in rousing conversation with some promising youth from China. Well, you know what? While I remember the other participants in the conversation smiling, laughing, and looking genuinely interested, I can't say I remember even half of what was spewing from my mouth. I got the gist, I'm pretty sure I came off intelligent, but that shit is no longer in my brain.

The next morning I was super worried I made a buffoon of myself at the party, but the word is I conducted myself in a fantastic manner. HOW ABOUT THAT?!

Regardless, I'm going to have to put a hold on the drinking. Not so much because I want my liver to recover, but more so because I let myself go a bit and I need to restore myself into my old sexy status. SO, FOR THE TIME BEING, THE ONLY ADVENTURE I'LL BE GOING ON... is the adventure of getting back in beach-body shape.

And there you have it - the first post of 2k12.

I Use to Think Rose McGowan Was Hot??

I know in the last post I had promised a sequel to the life-changing tale of my California Trip. Well, that didn't really pan out with the celerity I had hoped for (There's a good chunk of it written... just, too lazy to polish and finish it up). But whatever, it's not like anyone out there lost a nano-fraction of their lives stressin' about when the sequel to the smash-hit California Trip post would hit.

Instead, I want to talk about this growin' up business. I'm extremely aversive to anything that could be labeled as "growing up." That means a gamut of things. Whether it's not having saving account (true story; a high schooler from the office could not wrap her mind around a 26 year-old not having a savings account), habitually drinking on weekdays that aren't Friday (at the strip club, so, double whammy there), or carousing the Target toy aisle when it's not Christmas, I fucking do not want to mature.

But, alas, the great Charles Barkley was right in that no one escapes Father Time.

Recently I revisited two pinnacle films in my younger years. These were flicks I've seen MULTIPLE times. The two flicks were Scream (middle school obsession) and Fight Club (high school obsession).

Scream was the film that officially opened the doors to horror for me. It was the flick where I finally embraced the genre. Before, I would curiously watch them on cable TV and then proceed to shit myself for about two days. I would avoid the Horror section at Blockbuster like it was the Ark of the Covenant. Then Scream warped my sixth grade sensibilities and suddenly I was obsessed with horror.

Fight Club seriously punched my ninth-grade self in the face. Aside from the cinematic brilliance of Fincher's vision, the actors' performances, and the Dust Brother's score, the whole mantra of living counter to societal norms just warped my impressionable, idiotic, young mind.

In both cases, chaos and, I guess, anarchy were sweet hymns to my ears.

THIS YEAR, though!

Fight Club is still an amazing film. It's still in my top ten. The cinematic bravo holds up. However, watching it now, I just get super annoyed with Project Mayhem. Before I was all about the whole notion of space monkeys being shot into space. Now? I just think it's a big group of assholes. A group of dumb, retarded assholes. Nothing but a dumb cult sans the suicide punch.

For Scream, it was worse. Teenager's fucking up people's days or lives really irks me. The whole time I'm just like, "This cast of kids... just a bunch of dicks and cunts." Even Randy annoyed the shit out of me. But, it was still entertaining... so, you know, probably going to finally get around to watching Scream 4.

I didn't EXPECT to react this way to these films. But I guess no matter how hard you resist, your sensibilities will "mature" whether or not you want it to. But I take solace in the fact that, even though I'm turning into that guy who says "UH! KIDS THESE DAYS!" If a teenager ever decided to get ironically chummy with me, I would tackle him to the ground, get a hold of his arms and force himself to slap his own face. Fuck the high road!

SAN FRANCISCOJOSE TRIP 2K11: Part I

This past week I had my first REAL vacation since Vegas of 2k9. I've had trips here and there since then, but I wouldn't go so far as to call them vacations. A weekend excursion doesn't count in my book! Anyway, I'm going to split up the posts about the trip into two or three entries... probably only two because I'm lazy and I also want to go play terebi games.

Precursor Tales
Alright, so while waiting for the plane to board, I engage in my favorite past time of people watching. I notice quite a bit of old Asians shuffling around the terminal. Ever since the 2011 Oscars let a dinosaur loose on stage (some refer to said dinosaur as Kirk Douglas), I've been weary about turning old. I'm not joking when I say I want to die before I get Kirk-Douglas-at-2k11-Oscars old. Yea, sure, he had a stroke, but I'm just saying, if a stroke hits me, it better kill me. No punch line. Being cereal here.

Anyway, so I see all these Old Asian dudes and I turn to my sister and say, "Man, I don't want to be an old Asian guy. They are super lame. They're either out of shape or too goddamn skinny. And the skinny ones look so brittle... like they'll fall over onto themselves at any minute. Bleh. I don't ever want to be an Old Asian guy."

The guy sitting next to me gets up and walks past me after I say all this. And OF COURSE it's an Old Asian guy.

I try to muffle some laughter, but it broke through my embarrassment. The whole time I'm hoping he's a FOB Old Asian and didn't understand a word I said. Well, when he came back to his seat, he picked up his stuff and moved to a different chair... soooo, I'm guessing there were feelings present and they were probably hurt. I mean, I felt AWFUL but... you know... I still don't want to turn into an Old Asian guy...

To close out this "chapter," something absolutely UNHEARD of happened on the flight. There was a totally babe-alicious, young, blue-eyed, blonde flight attendant on the Delta flight. Seriously, it was hitting the flight attendant jackpot. Don't believe me? Even my sister was taken back and commented on her hotness.

I didn't take a picture because I'm not a creeper, but whatever hot babe you're imagining, it was that... BUT HOTTER.

Poop Shy
Soooo, I found out I'm Poop Shy on this trip. Granted, I didn't NEED to poop in the days I spent at Samantha's apartment, but I was like, I SHOULD poop given that I was eating some pretty exquisite stuff.

Here's the thing, I didn't know how thin the walls were nor did I fully grasp what kind of a poop I was about to blow. Was it going to be those no hassle soft coil poops? Was it going to be those poops refusing to come out but finally does when you blow a MASSIVE fart? Was it going to be one of those merry melodies of a poo session where every strand is predicated by tuba-like blares? I didn't know! ANY of those situations would've been horrible! I'm not even going to get into the possibility of someone walking in RIGHT AFTER you finish.

Anyway, I woke up at 7 one morning and I figured if there was any time to do the deed, it would've been then. Everyone was sleeping and NO ONE would walk in right after me. Still, I had to be careful. I decided to let it rip AFTER flushing the toilet because the sound of water rushing through the pipes could mask any unwanted sounds. But that gave me a VERY small time frame so I ended up having to turn on the faucet sink. Well, it was all for nothing because I just couldn't poo. I gave up and went about my day.

Everyone ended up asking me what the hell I was doing in the bathroom at 7 because I was causing so much noise that I woke them all up. At the tail-end of the trip, I ended up unleashing numerous beasts... sometimes even twice a day. Even now, being back in Georgia, I'm still unleashing the monstrosities from this San FranciscoJose trip.

Did I buy a Cookie Monster toothbrush at CVS for this trip? Fuck yea. Why? Because I'm a fuckin' adult and I'll buy whatever I want! Was it a good decision? No. It was a horrible one. It did NOTHING for my teeth.
Bonus bathroom tale! I peed on my shirt by accident the first time I used Samantha's bathroom.

Self-Conscious Racists
San Francisco has quite of bit of crazy people peppered throughout its streets. In one of the nights out drinking, we passed by two very obvious skinheads. What gave them away? They both wore pseudo-punk shit with their heads shaved and arms tatted up as well as multiple piercings. Also, one of them doing the Hitler salute and spouting white supremacy shit rang some bells.

Here's the thing... while this one skinhead was unabashedly giving it his all with the Hitler salutes and marching, his racist buddy elbowed him and said, "Shut up, man!" as if it was embarrassing him. That's always nice - a self-conscious white supremacist. He sure hates other races that aren't white, but only in the privacy of his own home.

Unfiltered Peak Into the Secret Lives of Girls
Alright, so I had to crash in the living room. One of Samantha's roommates had a bedroom that's just part of the living room roped off by curtains. Well, this particular night, the roommate's cousin and her went out. I awoke to the cousin's drunken stupor and proceeded to feign slumber.

Basically, she was upset about a boy and reading out her texts to him and such and speaking her mind about the whole situation. Seeing the shit unfold on the OTHER side of the phone... well, girl's aren't complicated AT ALL.

Point of the story is, I was thinking it was at least 3 a.m. or something, judging from the level of drunkeness being displayed. Imagine my surprise when the phone read 12:45. This is because California's last call is at fucking 1:30 a.m. and most people seem to clear out by one-ish.

Just cramming in this pic of the GG Bridge to keep you word-phobic bitches pleased.
That is super fucking lame. Just sayin'.

Fuck You, Legs! No, Just Kidding. I Love You
The first thing that was planned on this trip was a bicycle tour that was suppose to span about three hours. I ended up biking about 22 miles in total. It was fucking awesome. I think me breaking off from the group at moving at my own pace contributed immensely to my enjoyment.

The people who do the program usually end up riding the ferry back to the other side once they cross the Golden Gate Bridge, but I biked back like a boss. There was this absurd uphill that was murdering my legs, but I was loving every second of it. Totally worth it, too, because I rode right past Bob Odenkirk. It was only for maybe a very brief second, but I used my eyes and said to him, "Sup, Bob Odenkirk! You're awesome! Ever think about another collaboration with David Cross? That'd be rad!" With his eyes, he responded, "No, fuck you. I'm with my kids."

At the shop where you rent the bikes, upon your return, they would enthusiastically cheer you on. Like, the whole shop erupted with joyous cheering when you turned in your bike. I know the effect was suppose to be something like, "Wow! You are SO awesome for completing the tour! You deserve all these verbal accolades!" But what it felt like was, "Holy shit! YOU SURVIVED? But you're just a novice biker! Seriously, we all thought you were going to die on this trip. But GOOD FOR YOU!"

I use to think long bike rides were more of a test of endurance for your testicles. Turns out, NOT THE CASE!

There was this cute Russian that looked like Milla Jovovich working here. Naturally, I got her number and we made love until the sun rose.
Last bit. I ended up riding WAY OFF course and found myself at the entrance to a highway so I had to turn back. At a crosswalk, the lights were being dumb and not giving me a chance to cross the street so I fuckin' booked it. When I reached the other side of the street, a car honked at me. I mean, I would've felt bad... but it was a ten-second delayed honk. If he honked the moment I crossed, sure. But after a ten-second delay? Nah, your right to honk at me is revoked.

I see the guy screaming and pointing his finger in a very angry way, pretty much saying, "WHAT THE FUCK! WHY'D YOU CROSS YOU FUCKING IDIOT?!" The only thing I could do, because of the ten-second delay (which negates his right to be angry), was to give him the "I don't know, I'm just THAT awesome"-Michael Jordan Shrug along with the trademark smirk. But yea, biking is rad!

This is from a bar that supposedly introduced Irish Coffee to the U.S.. I was sneezing a lot here because I'm allergic to bullshit. Solid Irish Coffee, though.
And with that last image that seemingly doesn't fit with anything on this post, I bid you adieu until Part Two!

Le Fabuleux Destin du JoE Shieh

Why's it always seem like a fit of inspiration always strikes at ungodly hours of the night?

Look, the three years following my college graduation hasn't exactly gone as planned. Practically every pre-2008 post in this blog has me spouting my mantra of living life to satisfaction and extolling the virtues of being spontaneous. I'd rather be damned than work a nine to five and be a slave to the money!

Contrast that to now. I'm working a job that's an absolute bore and sparsely populated by idiots while densely packed with gerbils running the metaphorical wheels of life (me being one of the said gerbils). Although, I wouldn't say I'm a slave to the money. I spend money like it's just a piece of paper with arbitrary value on it. It's more or less my last act of defiance of falling in line with the rat race of life.

What the fuck happened to me?!

I guess it's that whole college mentality melting away. That youthful feeling of invincibility, where the future may be uncertain but it was certainly bright. Is there really an oppressive hand of society that smashes you into the ground as soon as you enter "the real world?"

The past year and a half I've been slowly disconnecting myself from past aspirations and aligning with realistic and rudimentary goals. Get more schooling. Get a good job. Meet a respectable woman somewhere down the road and get married and possibly have kids. Work until retirement and then enjoy life the best my old, withered, but still relatively healthy body can handle. There was a time where this path kind of abhorred me, but part of me wouldn't mind it.

Is this what "growing up" is?

I just finished watching Amelie for the first time in a long time, and the film spoke to me in a much different way than it did back in high school. Back in high school, I marveled at the expertise of Jeunet as a director. The absolutely breathtaking and mind-numbingly complex crane shots. The beautiful and subtle color distortion in practically every frame. The harmonious pairing of image and soundtrack. The imagination imbedded into every frame. Also, it was a cute love story.

While all these things still dazzle me, the one aspect that spoke the most to me this time was Amelie's struggle to relate to other people. Even though she displayed unmitigated humanitarian qualities, she still struggled with her own interpersonal relationships. An introvert that was capable of helping everyone around her, but yet, unable to help herself.

The human condition to want to find a true connection in life over all else overtook the cinematic bravado.

The past two years have culminated in a rather tumultuous last two weeks. Constant shifts in paradigms I've set for my life has sent violent quakes to my very core. For a guy who pretty much had his life goal set at the age of two or three, to become somewhat aimless was new and strange to me. I'd say I was ill-equip to handle it.

But, that's not to say I haven't been adjusting it. It's a multiple step process, but I've been removing unwanted forces out of my life. Whether that be body fat, obsessive ideas and disrupting compulsions, or undesirable people, I'm expelling all these things and just surrounding myself with the positive. It's time for a change and I'm almost there.

I know I've always said this blog was more for me than the readers, but I guess I've kind of let that fallen to the wayside. With the things swirling around my head lately, I haven't bothered committing some of it to this blog because of fear it would bore people. Nah, fuck that. This blog is for me and you're just along for the ride. It's my chronicle to my eventual mid-life crisis (because let's face it, I'll probably have one).

Let's just say this, in the process of finding myself again, this blog will probably become more entertaining. No longer will I let other people's judgments affect what I post. No longer will I put any weight into what other's could perceive of what's in this blog. Eff all that.

This is my declaration that I'm returning back to form! If I fail at that, then... I've got this post to embarrass my future self. But yea, there will be some BIG changes coming soon...

P.S. - I use 'du,' right??

Too Sleepy To Come Up With a Title For This Post

Not that it's really a secret but I totally see a therapist.

Yea, it makes sense, right?

Well, today, my therapist brings up the subject of medication. From the get-go, I said NO to any sort of medication. I understand that as a doctor, you should offer the best course of action to help your patient. She says this but also adds, "It's also recommended in your case."

I just sit there like, "Damn, my OCD is THAT serious?"

I'm not going to expunge ALL the things I've told her, but I'll say this: what all of you see is just the tip of the iceberg. For those of you who think they've seen the worse of my OCD... trust me, you're getting the nice version.

Anyway, while the recommendation and warning were startling, I still declined medication. In fact, it kind of became a challenge. Can I drop some of this OCD stuff on my own? Am I able to fix my brain without the help of psychotropic drugs?

Who knows, but CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!

UWAAAAAA~

FOOD CONFESSIONAL! So this past week I said to myself, "JoE! You've made such huge strides! Let's chill out this weekend and have maybe only ONE cheat day!" Because honestly, when I rub my stomach at random times during the day (out of habit), I'm completely taken back by how AWESOME it feels. I mean, if someone's washing machine broke, I'd rush into their laundry room and bust off my shirt with much gusto and exclaim, "IT'S OKAY! You can still wash your clothes!... with these abs." Maybe I'm slightly exaggerating, but only slightly.

Anyway, yea, I ended up cheating on Saturday and Sunday.

Usually when I have a cheat day, I don't start the cheating until 12 p.m.. So when it was 11:30 a.m., I busted out an episode of Game Center CX and just sprawled out on the couch. When I noticed that it was almost 12, I paused the show and just stared at the clock. As soon as the numbers said 12:00, I blasted up from the couch and ripped open the pre-bought snacks.

In the course of two hours, I devoured a WHOLE BAG of Baked Lays and Pretzel M&Ms. It was glorious.

I didn't eat out that day, but I ended up having an amazing steak dinner at home as well as devouring ANOTHER bag of baked chips from Trader Joe's with a one or two random snack bags of other baked chips. Then I had two bowls of cereal.

Pretty worthwhile cheat day if you ask me.

On Sunday afternoon, I got way too lazy to cook some protein, so I went to Ted's and got me a bison burger with a whole wheat bun and nothing but avocado, tomatoes, and onions in it. Instead of fries I got green beans. Everything was awesome except for the bison part. NEWS FLASH TO TED TURNER: BISON SUCKS.

Another aspect of Cheat Day that I LOVE is how awesome pooping is. During the week, when I'm eating crazy healthy, my poops are pretty boring. I mean, I GUESS it's a good thing the poo seems super healthy, but you know, sometimes you just want to sit down at a toilet and drop a huge, satisfying load. I did that on Saturday AND Sunday. One of them even clogged the toilet! That's braggable!

Anyway, so for the rest of Sunday, I had two glasses of scotch and a glass of bourbon (not a big fan of bourbon, I discovered). Then I ate some home-cooked meals with three bowls of cereal to cap it off. Oh, and I ate a ton of cookies from Ingles, like, probably ten between Saturday and Sunday.

A very satisfying cheat weekend! NOW IT'S BACK TO HEALTHY EATING AND WORKING OUT! Honestly, this balance is fantastic. They balance and compliment each other perfectly. I look forward on the weekends to eat healthy for the next five days and in those five days I look forward to eating what i please on the weekends. It's a cycle filled to the brim in awesome!

I'm still a little tipsy while typing this entry so we'll see whether or not I decide to delete this tomorrow morning! Until then, LATER, HATERS~~

You know, I ate the shit out of these back as a kid, but I couldn't really say that I really ENJOYED it... The Nintendo Cereal was better.