That would be the enlarged version of my Stomach...

Joker in His Completely Evil Splendor

What is "Bitchass-ness?"

Who knows?

I made it up one day and thought, there is no complete noun form of the action of being the word, "Bitchass."

You know what sparked it? My friend telling me that she got a text and she replied calling her friend a Bitchass.

Wait, what?

Oh, that's right. I also saw it on a random shirt on a random guy randomly walking through CRC. elC grove's Random College. Yeah that didn't really make any sense. *tough crowd*

Did you hear the one about the Bitchass?

Yeah she had a case of Bitchassness.

*cricket cricket*

I guess if i were to suddenly decide that an entry for Bitchassness needed to slide itself in the annals of www.urbandictionary.com, it would stand for:

1. The constant act of being a Bitchass

2. Being one having an ancestry of a female dog and a gluteus maximus or an anal excrement exit

3. The act of being someone who doesn't please another or doing something to upset many people

Sigh*

I'm not compelled to write about this. I just wanted to put an entry in here because i deemed it awkward after i put that Joker Munny in here, but i had nothing real to back it up. I guess that was an act of Bitchassness on myself. Thanks self.

Another act of Bitchassness is actually wearing the shirt with said word on it, preceded by a NO. That's a stupid shirt. Why would you wear something so seemingly futile, and yet so eloquently describing yourself in one simple word, albeit you trying very hard to negate it with a "NO" in front of it?

imagine if you saw someone walking towards you with this shirt... 

Would you:

A. Congratulate them on being an idiot, like an uptight cynic

B. Punch them in the head and run away, like a true bitchass

C. Do neither and walk past him, like a passive bitchass

D. Tell him to stop with his bitchassness and tell him to change his shirt.

Just some rhetorical questions. And by rhetorical, i mean this is going to be in a poll. 

: )

Head: Completed!

This is the kind of activity that ensues when you're (almost) guaranteed nothing to do at work.

Gogogadget boredom. I only got through an hour and forty minutes doing the head. I wished that i could've spent even MORE time, but then i would've been really extensive with my work and exhaustive in detail, even MORE so than i already have been. Yeesh. And i've been leaning heavily towards the use of Yeesh and Sheesh lately. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Anyways, if you already couldn't tell, this is Dark Knight Joker. Someone at work thought it was Beetlejuice. Yeesh. I can't believe people still even THINK about that retired pop icon.

All the way from 1988. Jay-Z said, "I'm still spending money from '88"

I was born in 1988.

Uh tangentrine?

Goodnight, people. 

Sincerely, 

Matt.A

28 is just too much...(Or The Long Goodbye, Hair)

I'm sorry for those that don't appreciate colorful, insensitive language. Which is why the title happens to be, "28 is just too much..."

I actually counted and the F-word count happened to tally up to 28 uses in my last blog. Yeesh. Maybe if i halved it, then it would be 14, which happens to be a good number...So sorry to you readers that didn't like the uninspired writing. I'll try to tone it down when i'm angry. And now i'm depriving myself of sleep again, because writing is so important to me and i find that it's a good way to release...everything.

Whether it's stress, anger, joy, sorrow, basically any emotion that you feel you can convey through writing, is a beautiful release because we are all intertwined within a beautiful struggle.

On a lighter note, i decided to end the streak of allowing my hair to grow unimpeded. For seven odd months, i let my tresses continue to grow out of my scalp. At first, it was just something to do, something to take my mind off of the day's struggles. And eventually it became something of a fascination, because i had so many opposing this seasonal look for me - which i don't understand.

What is it about the way someone looks that causes such a dramatic reaction from random people? First it was my mother, who constantly prodded me to cut the thatches of hair. Then it became others, like the rest of my family. Thanks everyone, for being OH SO supportive of my newest decision. Yeesh. Even my grandma would make fun of me, albeit in an entirely different language, so i would have to assume her overtones of displeasure and her indignant remarks were negative comments towards this new hairstyle. 

Yes, inang. My buhok is nagatidog. Whatever that means. Inang, i know what "pangit" means.

Anyways, this refusal of cutting, trimming, disposing of, getting rid of my hair became more than a stand to guard my freedom of style. It became more; It became a rebellion against the traditional views that my ENTIRE family decided to plant squarely upon my shoulders. When in reality it all started with me wanting to grow my hair out again because i was depressed and didn't feel like cutting my hair.

Despite this lack of support, i persevered for however long i had decided to stay strong. But eventually, once the pathetic attempts to get me to clip my long, flowing locks started to slow from a steady stream into a light trickle, when i suddenly felt like i had no reason to hold onto this weight that was, literally, on my shoulders. (chuckle)

And so, with Bambeezy in tow, we had an adventure to TanMan's garage/barbershop to make Robot.M look like Orlando Bloom...Yes, i had looked up hairstyles prior to venturing to TanMan and happened to stumble across Orlando Bloom Post-Pirates of the Caribbean. He has a slightly long faux-hawk but styled to look more uptown-chic or what have you...

Yeah that sounded really out of my character. I became obsessed with hairstyles when i finally decided i wanted to cut it. No problem with a little research before an important decision. Sheesh.

Anyways, so i decided to go with the Bloom look, faux-hawk and all. Unfortunately, that meant cutting off my tail of Jedi-joke-fame-for-years. I've had that tail on and off since freshman year of HIGH SCHOOL. Wowzers. That wasn't difficult at all. Oh wait, yeah it was. 

After finally getting the cut i wanted, and styling it the way i remembered, it was as if a weight had been lifted from me, literally and figuratively. I mean, i did have a symbolic reason for cutting my hair, but mainly it was just for a change of pace y'know?

But cutting my hair has led me down many different pathways. It's as if the loss of hair was a catalyst for the rest of changes that are going through my current life.

I cut my hair, and suddenly my life seems much more light-hearted.

I cut my hair, and suddenly my style of clothes has differed critically from the past looks.

I cut my hair, and suddenly it's as though my attitude towards life has become much MUCH different. I almost feel comfortable and complacent with life. It's an awkward but comforting feeling, regardless.

I literally feel like a new man. Which is strange, because it doesn't feel like i've done much to change, but rather, my life has melded and evolved around me without me noticing much because it was such a quick process that i am not used to; usually my thought process is a lengthy, protracted course that i am following not of my own free will, but of nature's will, Nay, rather God's will.

Through my depression, i've learned to pray much less selfishly and more selflessly. My faith has grown...tenfold, twenty fold, twenty-eight fold? I've been much more pious as a result of me struggling through my despondency. And as a despondent, it seems as though this recession of mine may potentially be a "Good Thing Tm" (in my context) because of what it's made me think of, not of what it's made me sad about.

Excuse my horrible picture up there. But i had to do it. I'm in a slightly comical mood because my life is that sad...

Comically unsound,

Matt.A

Fuck Life. There...I said it.

My sentiments are conveyed perfectly through those two amazingly succinct words, used in unison. Fuck, as in to be treated harshly...or sexual intercourse, and Life, which is the amazing mystery that no one can unfold, which is the obvious existence of our futile lives.

And yet, to fuck life is wrong.

For Life is a bitch...and it's too short.

Therein lying the problem. She (it?) is a bitch. I absolutely despise using the word "bitch" unless it's used un-judgmentally or in a colloquial exchange between two peers which accept the word "bitch." However, this word, this seemingly innocuous yet perturbingly (not even a real English word, but who gives a fuck) disturbing word, would describe very accurately the term "Life."

After brushing my teeth after eating an ungodly amount of Taco Bell items at an ungodly hour after an ungodly wait after receiving our said Taco Bell items, i finally see the solace in the screaming...

It all dates back to when i was with my Favorite Former Girlfriend, Michelle. I went to my first, FIRST concert with her; The main performers were Gym Class Heroes, with some random starting acts, which included K-Os, some guy who rapped like Atmosphere/Slug, and some random rock bands.

While we were in line, waiting to get into this fairly underground, yet surprisingly swanky spot called Boardwalk. I specifically remember asking Michelle, "Hey so when are we leaving for Santa Cruz?" And obviously she's like, "WTF, no the concert's in Sacramento. There's a spot called Boardwalk."

And obviously i feel fucking lethargic.

Anyways, so we're waiting in line, and i notice that there are two random tour buses to the side of the building. And i'm like, "Cool, must be the opening acts' buses..."

And, of course, to my surprise, Desashi, the guitarist from GCH, steps out of the farthest bus and skates away to the backstage.

"HOLYCRAPTHATWASDESASHI!," I automatically exclaim. Freaking going teenage-girl postal, i try to calm it down. But of course, i go fucking bananas when, ten minutes later, Travis aka Travie aka the fucking LEAD SINGER for GCH, comes out of the tour bus nearest to us, and starts to clean up the area around the buses. He comes across some random strewn across shoeboxes, with a pair of shoes in them, no doubt. He immediately yells to the people waiting in line, "Hey, who wants a pair of free shoes!?"

FUCK! THOSE ARE MINE YOU DELUSIONAL STARSTRUCK LINEGOERS! BACK, YOU FUCKS! ALL OF YOU!

Ok, so i didn't fucking destroy the building or anything but i do remember just jumping up and down to get his attention, going freaking Cuckoo-for-Cocoa-Puffs...

And he yells to me, since he's like twenty to thirty feet away,

"They're size 11!"

"YEAH!"

"They're Etnies!"

"ALRIGHT!"

"OK, here you go!"

"OH FUCK!!!"

He throws the shoes and, in mid-air i think, "Fuck, how am i going to make this look graceful..?" So i catch one and the other hits the floor, and i immediately look up to see if i'm about to get my ass Bumrushed or some shit, but luckily i don't.

Whew*

And so, as such, being the lucky benefactor of free shoes from Travis himself, i flip my lid. I say such statements as,

"Damn, i got free shoes and shit, Fuck the Show! I'm about to go put these up in my ROOM!!!"

Michelle, being the worrywort that she was, reprimanded me for my generous usage of colorful language. And by generous usage, i mean, i fucking fucked that shit up.

But anyways, we eventually get in, and Michelle's sister and her friend go to the bar to go avoid the hype in the crowd. But being that it was my first concert, i decided to live it up a little and move near the center.

I remember seeing the rapper that was slightly reminiscent of Atmosphere, with his anti-Bush/Gov't-in-general lines that were yelled a little too loud to be discerned by much of the majorly white crowd. I remember specifically listening to his verse when he, and some random guy right behind me who shouts the line along with the rapper but specifically into the back of my head, yells,

"Just because you've got feathers up your butt, doesn't make you a chicken..."

I was freaking chuckling it up after that shit.

A few acts after him was K-Os, who is known for such hits as Sunday Morning, Crabbuckit, Bboy Stance, Man I Used to Be, and many others. Ok, ok, i'll admit having listened to a majority of his songs. And by listened, i mean breakdanced, regulardanced, tricked, whatever the hell you wanted to do to it. He makes/made underground b-boy music, and it's pretty good. There's this video for Man I Used to Be...and it's freaking awesome...

Ahhhh. Tangent-rine.

So yeah, K-Os...music...concert. OH, right. So his set wasn't bad per-se; it was just that he didn't play ANY of those aforementioned hits that i had stated earlier. It's as if he needed to change up his style to impress those white yuppies at the Boardwalk. Well, K...i say FUCK THAT.

Or maybe he was just promoting songs ONLY from his new album?

Yeah freaking right...

And then...after K-Os, Michelle and I moved really, really close to front and center of the audience, but of course, everything comes with a catch...

The rock band that i was talking about comes on and ALL of the hardcore anarchists and lovers of guitar riffs and screaming lyrics and double-bass-pedal action rushed the center of the audience.

I specifically remember almost being toppled over. I was holding on to Michelle the way a scared child would hold on to their Raggedy Ann/Andy; i held on for dear life as the crowd started to push and shove to the music. The people jumping on me felt like a 500-pound gorilla started to pound the ground and my back and sides and i felt as though Michelle and I were going to die in this swanky, underground hellhole. But then, i stopped caring about the pushing and shoving. I stopped caring about my jacket getting ripped. I stopped caring about the fucking smelly white people. I stopped caring about everything else in the room except for my GCH shoes, Michelle, and the fucking amazingly loud, but amazingly amazing music.

I literally found solace in the screaming.

I found the rhythm that the people were fucking jumping on us, i found the ebb and tide to their movements. I became one with the push and pull of the rock music. My chest became filled with the bass of the drum and the crunch of the guitar. I felt the music, finally.

And finally, after what seemed like millenia, the rock band finished their set, encores and all, and left. Which, interestingly enough, caused a whole LOT of people to leave the audience. This of course, left me and Michelle to get all the way up in front AND center!!!

ZOMG. And Gym Class was next!!!

I remember them starting their first song, and me screaming like a teeny-bopper. Except manlier and hair under my armpits. Anyways....awkward.

I remember screaming, "TRAVIE!!! YEAHHHH!!!"

I remember singing every single word to New Friend Request. I still can if you want to sing it with me.

I remember going FUCKING CRAZY over Shoot Down the Stars singing every lyric, making hand gestures to the chorus, putting the fucking middle finger up when he would.(still my favorite fucking GCH song of all FUCKING TIME. At least until the new CD releases?)

I remember Travie picking his nose and using his other hand to make a fish hook in his cheek like every other word and it was AMAZING. He was my idol that night, and for many more nights and days and months after that.

I remember kissing Michelle for Scandalous Scholastics and MakeOut Club. ;D

I remember specifically thanking her for bringing me, and for making me feel freaking amazing.

I remember wanting to leave because i thought they were done, and then they fucking did CLOTHES OFF!!! NOOOOO! We left our comfy spots at front and center because we were ready to leave, but then they started with the encore and i was sad. BECAUSE HE CAME DOWN TO THE CROWD!!! AND RANDOM WOMEN WERE ON STAGE!!! GAHHH!!!

Oh well. I just remember a lot from that night. I was so close that i took a picture of him and i could've shown him the picture!

And remembering those moments makes me remember that i'm not happy anymore. Just a shell of my former self. But whatever. I'm trying to be a grown-up. It's starting to work.

I still wish that i could be happy though. I might not be an amazing person, but i could be happier. I wish that i were him.

Well, just remember. Don't Fuck Life. Because it's a bitch and it's MUCH too short.

-Matt.A

P.S. If you buy a fucking pack of cigarettes, i'm not going to talk to you the same way, anymore. I'm serious. You know who you are!!! I understand it's not fair. But so is fucking DYING. If you really care about who i am, then you'll be complacent. I only have two rules in my car:

1. Don't fucking smoke

2. Don't argue with the people in my car unless you're arguing with me, where that will most likely end up with you literally getting kicked the hell out of my passenger seat.

He loves you all so very much. I only choose to love a certain few of you.

In this video, Travis is rapping the lyrics to, "Shoot Down the Stars." Favorite GCH song, to date, besides New Friend Request.

Depicted Above: Picture taken of Travis when Michelle and I are close enough to give him a high five.

Bad Baseball Puns?

So life threw me another curveball. But i think that it hit a grand slam in my imagination.

Yes, i think i'll answer my own question. Yes.

Anyways, i was talking to AngeloAkaBamBamAkaPowerfulB, and he randomly told a story about Van Gogh's Death. And i was like, "This is awkwardly random." So supposedly the story goes, Van Gogh is in a shack next to a solitary road, and he's doing his painting thing.

And the story skips around, because i guess it's a weird train-of-thought-type-dealie. And the last person to witness Van Gogh sees him in his solitary shack while he's painting. And the person, who happens to be a farmer, is just cruising along in his mule/steed-driven carriage/cart, and he hears a gunshot. Apparently, the farmer goes back to the shack and sees Van Gogh f/ bullet wound in chest, caused by Vannie Pack himself. But there are more paintings around. Strange, i think to myself. He shoots himself in order to go into crazy survivalist "need-to-get-my-ideas-out" mode? And achieves it. Supposedly.

And i think to myself, out loud, so that Bam can hear. 

"I wonder what it's really like to witness yourself dying."

Wouldn't you really become ridiculously hectic and chaotic in trying to get all of your ideas and fancies and images in your brain out onto your creative canvas? i mean, i follow a totally different venue, but i truly wonder...

What happens if i contract some rare disease in my spleen that's slightly impossible to remove via modern technology? What will i do/achieve/strive for?

Can'tremovethisdiseaseinmyspleenitis.

That'd be a great name for the disease that i contract, because i'd be so rare that i'd be comparable to Charizard. Take that secondary Pokemon market. I bust the value on giant reptilian flame-breathing flying draconic lizards.

That was redundant.

Yeah, that was redundant.

So anyways. I thought to myself again, out loud so Bam could hear.

"I think i'd get you like...twenty dollars worth of Taco bell. That'd be interesting, right? You could remember all the great times we had when we had irresistible urges for something spicy, cheesy, crunchy...

"And hmmm, i think i would get PCS a blank book, but fill it halfway with writings of  my life, because i know that she'd be able to fill the other half in. She knows me that well.

"And Metro...doesn't know me as well as PCS so i'd get her a blank book but tell her to write things for me so that i can read important things about life before i lose mine.

"I would give Michelle that scrapbook that she put on me to do, thinking i would never do it. Well, since i would be dying, i'd have/take the time to put my all into it. How's that for closure? Or i would just get her shoes, and tell her that was for the year that you made amazing in my life, and would remind her how amazing of a person she really is.

"I would give J(e)an a camera so that she'd be able to see life through a looking glass the way i do, allowing her to view the world in a different lens, a different sight seeing what her days would be like; What her daily life would be like, what she does that might seem mundane and what she sees creatively.

"I would leave my Macbook with either Jojo or Mikey and leave a single note on the Desktop, with nothing else on the facade. And it would say, 

"I want you guys to look through my music collection. I want you guys to be able to witness my taste in music and hopefully i'll have left behind that feeling on your guys' tongues of music, hoping to touch you guys through music, since you have touched me through your movements through music.

"I would leave behind a miniscule memoirs for the light-hearted life that i would've left, hoping to leave small thumbprints in everyone's life that i've touched, rather than just a subtle brush of your soft surface of life.

"And of course, John, i can't say what i would actually leave you, because i plan on not dying soon enough to show you in person."

All of that came from the story of Van Gogh's Death. Interesting.

Almost Stranger Than Fiction. Oh, watch that movie. It's a beautiful take on the use of death in order to create a moving force of emotion. And it's also a message of selflessness and acceptance that all of us will die eventually. Which is why i think i'm writing this. Because i've accepted that thought we may be blessed with life on our birthdays, you still share that day with someone that has either lived or died that exact same day.

Tangentrines are Stranger Than Fiction. Pumpkin. Seattle. heh...

Forever Strange,

Matt.A