Did You Get the Evite to the Pity Party? B-Y-O-Kleenex!

i've had more rejection than i can take these days. and trust me, i can take a lot.


"my spoon is too BIG" for the likes of this world

job search = rejection, parsed out regularly with no breaks or notice one way or the other.

comedy = rejection, parsed out 1-2 nights a week with beautifully apparent dislike.

occasional date = surprise-attack rejection saved up for afterwards, even a few weeks down the road, just for kicks!

yeah. i understand what the simple conclusion is here. i'm letting all the rejection seep into everywhere until i'm a homebrewed mcflurry of despair. must snaps out of it.

mcflurry flavored with tears

it doesn't bother me when i actually think about it. you know, eventually the moon will be full again and so will my self-esteem. it's cyclical like a woman's time of the month. it's my time of the month to suck at life.

a menstrual cycle is red. a menstrual bicycle would also be red, obviously.

but guys saying they'll call and then not calling. it's a highly underreported crime. the actual stats would break the glass on the mcgruff doghouse crime ceiling (he's got a nice crib).


it just bothers me when i'm staring into space and then suddenly think a thought like the following.

"you did not register a blip on his radar screen or, if you want to be technical, any blips you registered he wiped off so as not to pollute the other blips."

my blip is not visible here.

now who the hell put that there? i don't know, but gosh darn it, it makes me feel like watching a marathon of zoloft commercials. maybe i'll just start doing sad clown comedy. nobody likes it, but when an entire audience stares at a sad clown, for one quick instant, all their collective disdain and disgust can shift into one blodgit of sympathy laughter. i'll take it.

my new stage persona?

as for the phone, well, here i am, staring at it. holding it hostage like an amateur robber at the bank, vaguely threatening it with an automatic stapler. waiting for an inbound call. ETA: never.

p.s. nothing feels like failure more than when you're eating something and some of it falls out of your mouth onto the floor. talk about having to rethink a lot of life goals. talk about going back to square one.

p.p.s. i asked my parents to hang out the other day. and they said, sorry, we have things to do. like have lives. well, not those exact words but, in MTV's words, i was next-ed! by my own blood!