A few things before we get started again. The spelling and grammar of this blog is going to be terrible. Just awful. So please don’t mind. I’m also going to offensive at times and mention people who I hang around. So if you hate bad spelling/grammar, you are easily offended, or you don’t have the internet you probably won’t want to/can’t read this blog. Secondly:
“You think you know but you have no idea this is the diary of Charlie Marks”, that’s from the early 2000s show “Diary,” It wasn’t me trying to be clever or a smart ass. I was just referring to a time when MTV was relevant. Good old MTV. Remember MTV? Like the MTV that didn’t contain pregnant 16 year olds from south of the Mason Dixon line… The show “16 and pregnant” only proves two things which I already kind of knew; A) MTV is the professional wrestling of cable and
B) that girls from the south love having sex and talking like they are mentally handicapped.
What is it that gets these southern girls in the mood so easily? Is it Glenn Beck? Sarah Palin? Do they go straight from “tea parties” to “teeeeea parties” (and by “teeeeea” I mean sex). Don’t get me wrong, I love the south (post-1993), I just have a hard time pin-pointing exactly why some southerners rub me the wrong way. Let’s start with their Miller Lite hats. Why? Really? Out of anything you can put on your head you want it to say “Miller Lite.” Really? This is the way you want to express yourself? Do people look at your Miller Lite hat and say to themselves, “Now that’s a man who loves light beer. I respect him and I respect his hat.” Or do you think some CEO from the Miller Company is saying to himself, “Yes, I just landed the sponsorship of Jerry from Asheville, North Carolina. He’s wearing our hat now. Hooray! Bonus time”!
Another thing that rubs me the wrong way is the southern accent. That accent was okay when it came to things like “little house on the prairie” and hot southern females who find me attractive, but other than that, I can do without the draw. Come on, you don’t really talk like that. It’s a novelty. People who can talk like that can stop at anytime. And proof of that is when people from rural Pennsylvania have a southern draw. There’s nothing worse than people from northern states, who live just an hour from major cities like New York and Philadelphia should have a southern accent. It’s like people wake up and see farm land around them and say, “Shit that’s a lot of land. I’m going to talk like an idiot.”
Well I guess that’s America. And the humans inside of it. Who knows why we do the things we do or say the things we say? I’m not really bothered by southerners or people from the north who talk as thought are southerners (aka Pittsburgh Steelers fans). I do weird things too. I don’t think I’ll ever understand NASCAR, but I understand why people understand it. Sometimes I don’t understand the logic behind some social conservatives. But whatever their thoughts. Whatever their instincts. However way they were brought up or however way they go through life; one thing remain the same; they are still humans. And humans are better than robots. Much better. Did you ever see a robot movie where the robot saved America? Besides the critically acclaimed “Short Circuit” or “Short Circuit 2: Escape from New York” or “WALL-E” or “Bi-Centennial Man” or “AI: Artificial Intelligence”…on second thought; GO ROBOTS!
Where I am getting at with this? I suppose it all comes down to a woman I keep meeting every few months or so. She is a conservative. Not like John McCain circa 2000, I mean straight up “let’s kill poor people” conservative. You know, Sarah Palin/Dick Chaney conservative. The weird thing is that she is the cutest girl I have ever seen. Just drop dead gorgeous. She is smart and she listens to Jazz music. She wears hip clothing and has cool hair, but deep down inside there is a little Glenn Beck. A little person deep inside her beautiful body saying things softly like, “I want my America back,” “Keep healthcare off of my guns,” and “Obama is a socialist/fascist/anti-Christ.” And although I whole heartily disagree with all of it. The thing is. Ah. Well, I’m attracted. I think she is great. It’s like being attracted to an Alien. Like the hot chick from ABC’s V.
What does that make me?
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
The beginning of nothing
I guess this is the beginning. The beginning of nothing really. This blog will certainly only result in the fact that I have a blog and not that this blog means anything to anyone else. In the entire world. Yes, it’s called the “world wide web”, but essentially this is just me on my computer in my kitchen in the suburbs of Philadelphia. This blog is nothing. Don’t read it. You’re not going to get anything out of it besides the fact that you just spent time reading words the whole world can see but nobody in the world will read. Stupid world. Pay attention to me! Where is my attention spot? The spot in my life where I become famous and girls like me enough to kiss me on the lips. Yes, smack dab on the lips. That’s what I need; a good kiss.
I would spend hours upon hours and days upon days just to get another human being to touch my lips with theirs. A kiss is sort of like a representative of humanity saying, “You know what? For some reason, weather it be your looks, the way you talk, or what you talk about; being your money, your art, your blog (fingers crossed), I will symbolically gesture through the physical action of connecting my lips to yours; that you are one of us. You deserve a kiss.” I’ve been looking for a representative for quite some while. Where do these representatives conduct their meetings?
In college, these representatives had meetings at parties and bars, but if you’re really lucky you can convince a representative from a class or lecture or some Penn State sponsored club to go on a meeting with you. This is what we call a “date.” A date is when a representative of humanity interviews you to see if (in my case) she thinks you are qualified for kissing and perhaps other activities (these activities are a bit more awkward and deserve some further explanation later in my stupid blog). But this “finding a date thing” takes work. Anyone can find some 20 year old representative at a party late at night when this said representative is more likely to be convinced you are worthy of a kiss. But to soberly ask somebody on a date is a far more difficult task.
The other week I was at the Free Library of Philadelphia carnival. Yes a carnival at a library. I was there with a friend, talking about two separate but equal books. One of which was entitled Push by Sapphire. It stood there next to another novel entitled, Precious: based on the novel Push by Sapphire. Yes, there were two different novels, next to each other, with two different covers and two different names but each contained the EXACT SAME WORDS. This brought some questions. Mostly; is Sapphire the literarily Madonna? Anyhooooo, there was an absolute gorgeous woman who came up to me and explained the lawful explanation behind the case of Push V. Precious: based on the novel Push by Sapphire. I immediately stopped thinking about the two exact novels and instantly fell in love with this woman who was rambling on about God knows what (books or something). She had died red hair, glasses, and a tight figure; she was a nerdy hot chick like the girl in the Disney classic, The Princess Diaries. Was that Disney? Ah, whatever, anyway this red haired Princess Diaries chick was actually talking to me. Yes me! The blogger! She had this long rant in which, for me, opened up a whole array of absolute reasons to continue talking. Finally an attractive woman gave me every reason in the world to talk to her. Yes, we will start about Sapphire then talk about other authors like Kerouac and Joyce. We would transfer the conversation to music and talk about the Velvet Underground and Wilco. Then I would ask her for some coffee. Coffee would turn into dinner. Dinner would turn into a walk. A walk would turn into a kiss. Then we would live happily ever after. Or. She will end her rant about Sapphire and I would only say, “Oh, that’s interesting.” Then walk away. Like I sadly did that Sunday morning.
That’s what I do. I freeze up. Yeah, I went to college. I know a little bit about the world (enough to bullshit through a conversation), but yet when it comes to talking and holding ground with an attractive woman, I freeze like a Penguin. See, but like a Penguin, although I am frozen and stay frozen, I keep on moving. I guess that’s what this blog is about. Mostly my romantic adventures. I am a single man living in the suburbs. Working at a job I have no business working at. Can I find love? Nah, probably not. But can I demean myself to the torture of looking for love. Yes. And in this process I’ll try to keep you updated my friends.
You think you know, but you have no idea, this is the diary of Charlie Marks.
I would spend hours upon hours and days upon days just to get another human being to touch my lips with theirs. A kiss is sort of like a representative of humanity saying, “You know what? For some reason, weather it be your looks, the way you talk, or what you talk about; being your money, your art, your blog (fingers crossed), I will symbolically gesture through the physical action of connecting my lips to yours; that you are one of us. You deserve a kiss.” I’ve been looking for a representative for quite some while. Where do these representatives conduct their meetings?
In college, these representatives had meetings at parties and bars, but if you’re really lucky you can convince a representative from a class or lecture or some Penn State sponsored club to go on a meeting with you. This is what we call a “date.” A date is when a representative of humanity interviews you to see if (in my case) she thinks you are qualified for kissing and perhaps other activities (these activities are a bit more awkward and deserve some further explanation later in my stupid blog). But this “finding a date thing” takes work. Anyone can find some 20 year old representative at a party late at night when this said representative is more likely to be convinced you are worthy of a kiss. But to soberly ask somebody on a date is a far more difficult task.
The other week I was at the Free Library of Philadelphia carnival. Yes a carnival at a library. I was there with a friend, talking about two separate but equal books. One of which was entitled Push by Sapphire. It stood there next to another novel entitled, Precious: based on the novel Push by Sapphire. Yes, there were two different novels, next to each other, with two different covers and two different names but each contained the EXACT SAME WORDS. This brought some questions. Mostly; is Sapphire the literarily Madonna? Anyhooooo, there was an absolute gorgeous woman who came up to me and explained the lawful explanation behind the case of Push V. Precious: based on the novel Push by Sapphire. I immediately stopped thinking about the two exact novels and instantly fell in love with this woman who was rambling on about God knows what (books or something). She had died red hair, glasses, and a tight figure; she was a nerdy hot chick like the girl in the Disney classic, The Princess Diaries. Was that Disney? Ah, whatever, anyway this red haired Princess Diaries chick was actually talking to me. Yes me! The blogger! She had this long rant in which, for me, opened up a whole array of absolute reasons to continue talking. Finally an attractive woman gave me every reason in the world to talk to her. Yes, we will start about Sapphire then talk about other authors like Kerouac and Joyce. We would transfer the conversation to music and talk about the Velvet Underground and Wilco. Then I would ask her for some coffee. Coffee would turn into dinner. Dinner would turn into a walk. A walk would turn into a kiss. Then we would live happily ever after. Or. She will end her rant about Sapphire and I would only say, “Oh, that’s interesting.” Then walk away. Like I sadly did that Sunday morning.
That’s what I do. I freeze up. Yeah, I went to college. I know a little bit about the world (enough to bullshit through a conversation), but yet when it comes to talking and holding ground with an attractive woman, I freeze like a Penguin. See, but like a Penguin, although I am frozen and stay frozen, I keep on moving. I guess that’s what this blog is about. Mostly my romantic adventures. I am a single man living in the suburbs. Working at a job I have no business working at. Can I find love? Nah, probably not. But can I demean myself to the torture of looking for love. Yes. And in this process I’ll try to keep you updated my friends.
You think you know, but you have no idea, this is the diary of Charlie Marks.
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