A Few Potential Journal Entries Puked into one Random Pile

1) We are in the middle of an unfinished film to bank off the massive success of the chilling b&w thriller "Poison Pizza." The untitled Twilight Zone-esque production stars yours truly as a man who finds himself in an afterlife waiting room after being murdered. Following his plea for another chance at life, he is returned a few minutes before his murder with the chance of avoiding his demise... if it is not his fate. Does fate exist? Are there some things not worth fighting for? As Ed Wood said after the premier of his Plan 9 from Outer Space, "this is the one that's gonna make me famous!"

2) My roommate woke up this morning with a 20" television on his leg.

3) The individuals in a clique tend to walk, talk, and look alike. I've noticed that when I am with a group of three or four people, I always look like the wild card. With one or two exceptions, I think I present myself far differently than my other friends. Each person's uniqueness aside: when I'm with my friends I either don't fit or stand out, whichever mood I am in.

4) I've had this inside me since noon and couldn't tell anyone while at work: there's this one guy at work that I just can't stand to be around! Not that he's a jerk, not that he is incredibly dull. The guy just smells like loads of raunch! I mean, he walked by me during lunch and made me choke on my sandwich. He sat by me too, which meant I had to always keep a napkin or drink around my face to avoid upchucking into his lunch. He smells like old people, if they had sweaty fish down their pants.

5) I've heard both sides of the platonic-friend debate plenty of times. The debate is over its mere existence, with the following requirements: (1) the two must be of the opposite sex, (2) must be attracted to the opposite sex, (3) not be related, (4) be true friends that spend quality time alone, and (5) never EVER have a sexual attraction or affection from either side. Well, I think I have case proof, from my own platonic friend. Her name was Alexandra. We were friends for a few years, walked home from school together, spent time at each other's houses, and were solid friends and nothing more, until her family moved away. It was a friendship without complications of love or sex, and never did the status of our purely platonic friendship come up for debate. It was simple, solid, good. Oh, to be in fourth grade again.

Am I a hypocrite for rejecting younger-but-legal girls for lacking the physical, mental, and emotional maturity of a woman, when I myself am not yet a man?

Things that Make for a Pretty Sweet Tuesday (or, Why I am Better than You):
Watch Old School at 5:30 am
Eat Alehouse wings for breakfast
Receive an e-mail consisting only of 10 digits and a subject reading, "Jennifer Anniston's Cell Number"
Run through an empty university
See an independent French flick with cute girls
Go grocery shopping at midnight
Sleep with the AC all the on, and the clothes all the way off

Inside Joke Entry

You wouldn't believe what they're selling through national comercials now. Fruit-2-O! What gives, don't they realize it's H-2-Fruit? What losers!

If you want to be my friend, here are some things you need to know about me:

-I'm not terribly social. I normally need some time before I open up.
-If I outwardly criticize or disapprove of something you do, I really care about you.
-I would rather spend a Friday night in an apartment or restaurant with friends than out carousing in public among strangers.
-My quiet demeanor can be misinterpreted as being arrogant or uptight. Nothing has crawlen up my crapper; that's just how I am.
-I don't miss the following television events: a new Simpsons episode, The Sopranos, or a marquee boxing match.
-Most of my sense of humor circles around sarcasm, and I am open to all challengers who try to put my sarcastic tongue to shame.
-I'm all talk.
-I like quoting things, and by "things," I mean movies and shows, not authors or figureheads.
-I'm not a good double date because I (1) am shy, (2) am overly picky, (3) have no game.
-I am a good double date because I (1) come off polite, (2) have a talent to secretly talk you up to your date, (3) do not try to pick up your girl.
-I don't like beer but am willing to hold and gradually finish one to be a good sport.
-Despite what was just said, I don't follow the crowd or succumb to peer pressure.
-I'm usually on time and wish you would be too.
-If you have a problem, I will put everything on hold to listen.
-I want you to be honest, even when I am afraid to be.
-When we're in my car, I try to put on music you would like. If you want a switch, just ask.
-I don't show my frustration toward you unless it's for your own good (or, in extreme cases, my sanity).
-Read: beautiful over sexy.
-I prefer spending the extra dollar but try to be accomodating.
-I greatly admire loyalty and dedication.
-I greatly resent unreliability and selfishness.
-If I am passive, I want you to smack some sense into me.
-I won't hold a grudge.
-Contrary to what my social inadequacies imply, I am always up for meeting a new friend.

No wholesome Hollywood movie screams "title one day borrowed by the porno industry" louder than Legally Blonde 2: Red, White, and Blonde.

Maybe I should do my work on a day when I want to sleep the hours away.
Maybe I should take a run on a day when I want to ball up on the couch.
Maybe I should eat lightly on a day when I'd rather gorge into grease and ice cream.
Maybe I should be with friends on a day when doing nothing seems ideal.
Maybe I should act sunny on a day when the rain won't stop.
Maybe I should listen to music on a day when I am deaf.
Maybe I should live my life on a day when I want to put everything on hold.

It was like "night and day", only it was actually "night and later that night."

Rather than be associated with the overly vulgar and degrading talk, I sat silently amongst the chaos. Speech said it best in the first issue of Paste Magazine: I'd rather people hate me for who I am than love me for what I'm not.

My Tennis Racket

In case you actually care, I'm back home in Pensacola for the weekend. One of the benefits of having financially secure parents who love to spoil you and make you happy is that you get a gift for almost any time of the year. Remember that list of cds I aimed to have in my collection by the end of summer? My parents gave me all of them as a reward for my triumphant spring semester.

(For the record, I am very grateful and try to stay humble in the face of all my parents give me. <'Sweet Violin Music'>) )

My car was coughing like a congested chain smoker by the time I pulled into the driveway this evening. My mom came out to the car and snuck me into the house. I wasn't supposed to arrive until Friday, and when I called my mom with my change of plans, she decided to keep this news silent from my dad. Have you ever been going through your daily routine when someone special to you comes out of nowhere? That's what she wanted to do for my dad.

After the surprise and a good laugh, my mom gave me a gift. This one was just an in general, thinking of you present. She went through the extra effort of wrapping it, though based on the small, thin rectangular package it was obvious I had a new DVD in my collection. Undressing my package confirmed this suspicion, and I was especially excited to receive this movie

I don't normally make a thorough, concentrated effort to go see a movie, but last February I proclaimed my loudest desires to go see the movie Old School. The combo of Will Ferrell, Luke Wilson, and Vince Vaughn seemed to gut-busting to resist. I even had arranged the day I would see it on. That night, I did hang out with my friend, but instead of sitting in a movie theatre, he sat in the emergency room lobby while I tried to figure out whether I was passing a kidney stone or my stomach had exploded and caught on fire.

So I never saw Old School in the theatres. My friends all told me how hilarious it was. I knew it had to be incredibly funny. Smaller budget movies that do so well that a sequel is immediately put in the works are usually of good quality. And through the months I was constantly reminded about how I was the outsider, the dude that hasn't seen Old School. People would quote the movie, I'd give a confused face, remind that I didn't see the movie, and then I'd get that look like I had said I had never seen a cell phone before. But now I had the movie in my hands--- the unrated version at that--- and I'd finally see what the fuss was about.

And I have to say... you guys suck! This movie was hyped to me so vastly, I ended up hugely disappointed. The storyline was terrible, the outcomes predictable and hackneyed, and there was way too much dead time between funny moments. Of course, there were some pretty awesome parts--- that F-bomb coming out of nowhere in the wedding song was the most hilarious (and original) side-step comedy I've seen in a movie in a while--- but for the most part it was laugh out loud, then yawn for five minutes, then laugh out loud, then yawn for five minutes.

Now that I own it, I guess I'll be watching the wedding and poolside-mouth-to-mouth scenes over and over. I just can't get over how much you guys suck for getting me so up for this movie!

If you know me at all, then you know that I am not obsessed with Cameron Diaz at all. It's not like if I see her face on the cover of a magazine, I bring it to the register and sacrifice four dollars. It's not like I outbid everyone and anyone for an autographed photo. It's not like one time I gathered some of my favorite photos of her and created a collage for my desktop.

Ok, the jig is up, and no one fell for that. This guy is a complete fool for Cameron Diaz. I admit it, which is the first step of recovery supposedly. At least the one thing I have resisted is shelling out seven or eight bucks to go see a movie just because she's in it. After the 2.5 hour torture-fest that was Vanilla Sky, I vowed never to see a movie solely to see her face.

Tonight I flipped through the channels and found Cameron and her translucent beauty on my television screen. Christina Applegate was beside her, so through my master slething techniques, I surmised the HBO decided to air The Sweetest Thing as tonight's feature presentation. This was the first movie to star Cameron Diaz after my Vanilla Sky-inspired oath, an oath successfully implemented after The Sweetest Thing came and left the theatres without my money. Tonight, however, I was by myself, had nothing to do, and could actually feel my jaw pulled down by gravity and my patheticness.

Throughout the movie, Cameron and her friends frequented this club. She was wearing this smokin orange ensemble. They zoomed onto her face, and it was as if I really knew this person. I know it was Cameron Diaz on the screen, but I wasn't seeing this Hollywood actress that I once awarded with her own shrine on the web. Something about her face looked strongly familiar, almost intimate. Toward the end of the movie, there is a return to this club. This time when we see her face, Usher's "U Got it Bad" is playing in the background, not as the deejay's choice of club-hopping madness but as the soundtrack dubbing over the scene. When this whole scene was pasted together: the sensuality of the Usher song, the sexy orange club getup (Did she wear the same outfit through the whole movie?), the movement of her lips, I figured out what felt so familiar and intimate to me.

I dated this girl a while back. Long luxurious brown hair, perky little butt, sensuous J-Lo accent... incredibly sexy, the type where your buddies give you a high-five after they first meet her. My Spanish bombshell loved to hop from club to club, too much for a homebody like me to handle! Here's the kicker: she loved to fool around to Usher's "U Got it Bad." That was the trigger: her's and Cameron Diaz's lips are one (pair) in the same.

So now I know one more thing about Cameron Diaz.

She is mind-blowingly awesome at kissing.

Just kill me. Now.

Whenever I find someone with stories about a life in California, I get a little envious. Never in my life have I visited the usurper of the Pacific (sitting in the San Francisco airport for 45 minutes doesn't consitute a visit; until you breathe the outside air, the relationship is not consummated). Through my unfamiliarity and ignorance I picture California as a meticulously crafted perfection, where the weather forecast is always "nice", every sidewalk is a catwalk, everyone is just a little bit more refined, and the glitz and glamour sprinkle endlessly upon each of its citizens. California hasn't seemed just different than my hometown of Pensacola; it has seemed better.

For eighteen years I woke up every morning in Pensacola, Florida. I found it too small a city to be exciting, yet too big a town to be peaceful. Now I have lived in Gainesville for three years, and in its familiarity Gainesville has essentially become a youth-infested Pensacola. While I enjoy my life and the people around me, the monotony of my scenery has given me an itch to pack a U-haul with my belongings and clear out of this town... state... country... planet... wherever; I don't really have a plan. I'm not talking about California--- that will tie into the story later. I'm just saying that after I graduate next year, I definitely plan to continue my studies outside the Southeast US.

I've long assumed that my life would be somehow improved if I escaped the Deep South. I've never truly felt like a southerner. My entire family is from New York. We're talking about the Bronx and Brooklyn here, boroughs glamourous in their own right, where the people may be poor but their hearts and stories are rich. Like my elder New York family, my skin is of olive complexion, I refer to tomato sauce as "gravy", I pronounce that morning drink as "kwoffee", and I can get a little vulgar in my oft-released sarcasm. That sounds like the background of a typical New Yorker, and the truth is that I did grow up in a New York family, but I went to a 130-year-old high school with cows roaming the outskirts. My school nickname was the Aggies. We had a little shack across the school called Fran's Diner, proudly serving greasy (though I must admit, tasty) southern cookin(g). It was such a popular hangout that many guys took their prom dates to Fran's before the dance. I took my prom date to an upscale downtown restaurant of New England decour, but I digress.

Since high school I have repeatedly expressed my desire to leave this area for better pastures. I profess how I will never have my own personal permanent address in Pensacola. Within this declaration has been the underlying suggestion that I may settle down far away, moving to other regions until I find the one that clicks. I've assumed that by moving away, my life will be better.

I spent this weekend with some funny/brilliant/energetic/hot/incredible girls, friends of a friend. They made a pit stop in Gainesville during their move to South Carolina. I never asked them why they were leaving a place as wonderful as California in order to live at a much slower pace in the south, but before they arived I had that exact wonderment rocking my brain. It reminded me of a few months ago, when I found out that my cousins were leaving New York and relocating near my home in Pensacola. They're coming down here? Do they realize what they are leaving? How did these girls decide that a move to the south would be better than where they were living?

I think I understand now. Everyday they woke up in the same city, their own Pensacola, and it was time to breathe some new air.

We all have something in common. We have spent our lives in hometowns that are not inferior establishments, just too familiar. We need to feel the rush of taking an independent journey through life, leaving the comfort of our holes and leaving our own mark elsewhere. I've decided that when I'm looking for grad schools outside the southeast, I'm not looking for someplace better. I'm looking for someplace different, someplace that is mine and mine only.

And I need to make this move now, because I've realized something else.

While I can't imagine myself ever returning to Pensacola permanently, my dream is to raise my family somewhere in the vicinity of the southeast. Now, don't get me wrong: it's not that I've suddenly fallen in love with southern hospitality. But it's important to me that I live near my family, where my kids can truly know their grandparents. If there is ever a family dilemma, I want to be able to pack the car with a few things, hit the highway, and be able to hug my mom and dad by nighttime. That's why I need to leave to Arizona or New York or to California at this point in my life. I need to make this move on my own and see what another part of this great country has to offer. I need to be able to tell my story about that journey I made in life that separates me from my family and friends. And I need to get it out of my system, so I can be set to follow my dreams when the time comes to raise my family. I may find a place where the pace better fits my style or the restaurants serve their linguini with "gravy," but that place will never be any better for me than the southeast. The south is irreplaceable because that's where my family is.

That's where home is.

Ok, so Chik-Fil-A. We all assume that's a play on words because, "Oh, Fil-A, like a chicken filet." But to what is this play? What exactly is Fil-A supposed to mean? If you don't get the joke, let's face it, it's not a play on words. It's just misspelling.

Detours

The marsh waters and swamp greenery had never looked so beautifully lonely.
Neither had the girl, the burnt fade of the sun shining through her blonde hair
onto a camera with no one to film.

If I had gone to high school at Bayside, I probably would have gotten sick of Zach making some smart-aleck remark everytime Principal Belding had an assembly, not to mention how he and his five teacher's-pet friends always got called in class to do the cool assignments. I also probably would have also told Slater, Dude, it's so obvious you lip-synch in the band; told Jesse, Lighten up! They're just caffeine pills. Stop swallowing and switch to decaf; and told Kelly, You're hot. We could make beautiful babies.

The ABCs of my Monday:
Antisocial patient chastizes me for violating my own code of ethics without a word ever spoken between us.
Black coffee scorches my crotch as I drive to work.
Cigarette stench so strong on a man that my throat burns for the entire afternoon.
Drive 45 minutes out of town to listen disc two of Better Dayz.
Ever walk to your kitchen naked, forgetting that your blinds were wide open?
Fall asleep on the couch for two hours.
Game of "Find Funny Names in the Phonebook."
Hongwei Wang continues reign as funniest name in the phonebook.
I guess I forgot to eat dinner.
Jaywalking! exclaimed by one disturbed patient every time I crossed the street.
Ketchup doesn't burn the crotch like coffee, but it stains worse.
Lenny Kravitz cd (Circus) finally arrives in the mail (just as good as I remembered it).
Monday is AYCE wings at Alehouse, but I decided to forget that whole eating thing.
Not having my dog to spazz all over the apartment made my return from work sterile and lonely.
Orange soda splats all over my tater tots.
Patient at the center asks me when he can have his sex change.
Quit trying to teach a man pre-algebra after twenty-five minutes of "how does that work?"
Ripping those warts off that guy's cheeks would relieve me of so much cringing anxiety.
Seven thirty in the morning is really just stupidly early.
Tupac rocks (raps?) my stereo.
Updike stories distract me from an hour of dead time.
Very few interesting things actually happened to me today, so at this point I'm just pulling at threads.
Wake up from nap utterly delusional from sleeping with sunlight and awakening with darkness.
XS J. Crew shirt cannot shield the world from my bulging biceps.
Yoo-hoo after Yoo-hoo after Yoo-hoo, and now I'm out of Yoo-hoo!
Zero offers to make out, what's with that?

Big Test, Short Movie

Click above to see how Josser, Anthony, and I like to invest our Saturday nights. All three of us apologize for the last 20 (unfortunate) seconds of the video. However, we do not apologize for considering ourselves the funniest people we know.

6/4/03 Conversation:

Munzilla: he celebrates
Munzilla: then he's like
Munzilla: "ok, great, now let's get down to work...see here? and here and here?"
Jason Kill: And you have to listen to him.
Jason Kill: Because he's wearing orange.
Jason Kill: Oh, and then there's the shades.
Munzilla: right
Munzilla: the aviators
Jason Kill: yep
Munzilla: like he's maverick or something
Jason Kill: "I just flew in. Thank God you haven't taken the test yet. Now let's get down to business."
Jason Kill: "I'm glad you were carrying your pager."
Munzilla: "hey, man, I made it! Looks like you're studying! Alright! Good man! Ok, so what do we have here...ok...ok..."

Posted by Jason Killingsworth at 01:49 AM