Rock and Roll Out, Man.

Listening to a mix suggested by SPIN magazine, so you know the genres are all over the place, but no world music, ironically (so hip).

A rock song came on, and it was yelling at me. If I wanted to be yelled at, I'd go back to childhood (amiright, Michael Jackson?!). I don't want you to think that I don't like rock... I also don't want you to think my skin's bad either, but what can I do besides wear headphones and stay in my room?

I had a theory once, when I listened to Top 40, exclusively (I know), that people who liked sad music had pretty nice childhoods and that people who listened to Pop music grew up in foster care... I am pretty sure that people who like rock were molested my their priest.
Maybe these theories didn't hold true as I got older... I also got more friends (856 on Facebook), so my perspective is highly evolved. At least I just said something about molestation. Lots of kids out there, so people should really keep their eyes out... also their ears, if you hear rock- call the cops! I don't think they can do anything to sex offenders unless they actually find their fingers hidden in youth. Being caught "red-handed" never had so many hymen connotations.

So far, a pretty pedophilic post, but let's get back to music. It's great, ey? Sometimes I just sit and listen to it! I am sitting right now listening to it right now. Before I started writing this I was listening to it and even before that. The thing I like is that I am listening to it on my headphones in a shitty coffee shop that is playing Matchbox 20 and company. Every time one of my hip songs is over, in fades Staind, or the like. It just reminds me "hey, you could be stripping." Except I can't because I don't like the way I look hanging upside down naked. Society put that on me... makes me wonder how I am going to protect my children.

For now, I will protect them by not having them and then when I do- holding them real close for 23 years.

Bobby Brown Bear Catches Another Tuna

Bobby Brown is getting remarried.

Bobby Brown is getting married and I have gotten 65 accumulative views on my Youtube channel. Bobby Brown has publicly depicted himself as himself and I am afraid people will find my on-line blog.

Bobby Brown should be married... if one person should be married, it should be him. It shouldn't be me, though... I am working too hard on my own thing and marriage, well it would just Bobby Brown everything up. I am going to start referring to all of my exes as "Bobby Brown", because that's my prerogative ... the irony is that they were all white, most of them poor and there was a very constant pussy lineage between them. Apparently my balls are so big there is only room for one pair. If I were to date the actual Bobby Brown, I bet we would just laugh a lot and pick bar fights with young, white women.

ME: Hey Bobby! Look at this bitch, thinking she's all skinny and shit...

BOBBY: She's skinny, like a boy- boys in dresses make me want to slap a bitch.

ME: No, Bobby! One more strike on your record... I'll slap her!

BOBBY: Let's fuck in the bathroom before the cops get here.

ME: Give me a piggy back ride!

END SCENE

So, I am almost positive the next sentence will be relative. I don't like the way that waif-ish girl is lingering at the counter where my coffee boy crush is working. A really hairy man just walked in... I hope he mistakes her for a Koho Salmon and starts attacking her squirmy body. I love my gender-sisters, except when they encroach on my territory... then I get all Bobby Brown on a bitch. Bobby Brown is getting married and I am barely producing a blog. To my defense, I have been creating in a different medium... on my Youtube channel (http://www.youtube.com/user/abbeyjordancomedy). You can get a sneak peak here. I should warm you that I have a lot of imagined repartee and often times people are subjected to my fantasies, unbeknown to them. I don't want to seem all Bobby Brown or anything.

Bobby Brown, getting remarried. Good for them.

Oh, Alright Cupid... Get In Here!

My dear friend has been going on so many internet dates, I don't have anyone to hang out with anymore. Such thing there isn't a lot we don't share, I started a page on the same site. If I go on dates, I'll just talk about her experiences in life, all while wearing her socks, jacket and back pack... like I don't do or have anything of my own. It's either that or talk about my ex.

My internet dates will ask me about what I like to do and I will say "Rachel speaks Spanish."

Here is the difference between Rachel and I; She is doing things with her life that will help low income people and I want to meet some one who has money. It's not so much that I want to meet someone who has money, as I don't want to do anything for the poor. My ex doesn't have any money and all I've wanted to do are things for him, to help him realize his own potential and feel good about who he is... then he can get it together enough to realize that we would be so happy together in San Francisco. However, my efforts were squandered and now I just end up yelling at homeless people because he isn't around anymore.

HOMELESS GUY: Spare some change, Miss?

ME: [screaming] I can miss you, but I can't change you! [sobs into scarf]

HOMELESS GUY: [to himself] It's a numbers game, Pete.

It's a numbers game... dating and consequently (for me), loving. It's like Scientology invented romance and while everyone else is getting on that space ship of love, I'm locked in limbo with Captain Xenu. So I have decided to surf the international house of hot cakes AKA "OKcupid"....

SIDE RANT:

"OKcupid" is the name of the internet dating site I joined with my friend and I think their ad campaign should go something like this:
"OKcupid- you fix it!"
"OKcupid, what's the deal?!"
"OKcupid, your arrow better be dipped in something fierce, because I have developed a tolerance [the chorus line to Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love" plays in background]"
"Oh- Okcupid, like some cherub is going to crawl inside of this shriveling uterus and give me a legacy."

END SCENE.

I created my account, answered some questions and went over to Rachel's a day later. She has been going on so many dates lately, she called in sick (to her date), so she could hang out with her favorite person: sweat pants. I came over too. She and I pulled up our accounts and went shopping (our favorite!), but because we are both pretty broke we went shopping for men (shoes wont put a baby in this barren wasteland 5 years from now). Her quick match brought up all sorts of dark, beautiful men, albiet a bit young for my taste. My quick match brought up HUNDREDS of dorky, ugly men. One guy (ironically, the most attractive of my entire brigade) called himself "Atractus" and when I quipped "more like UNatractus" Rachel and I laughed so hard, we realized we don't need men. Besides I can't ask a date to wax my ass crack and Rachel is more than down (pun?).
The reason she is getting more viable hits than me is because she has beautiful hair and isn't a gold digger. I'm not a gold digger, I'm just not open minded. I think, ultimately, I prefer that kinetic spark of seeing someone in a coffee shop, yoga or through their car window as he speeds by and thinking "what if?". What if I see him again? What if he asks me out? What if he turns around? What if I get mugged in front of him and I end up laying out 3 bad guys while he films it so he can tag me on Facebook later?

Soul Mates.