Your eyes show as many deep and full shades of blue...

...as a healing bruise upon an injured forelimb.

"Your hair looks nice."
"Thanks. It's actually my hat hair. I took off my hat and... yeah."
"Really? It looks really good like that. It looks styled."
"I know. That's why I just went with it. Goodnight, then."
"Goodnight."

I smile but this moment secretly destroyed me. For thirty seconds (and then the thirty minutes it takes to drive home), there's nothing else to think about and now I have a headache. Listening to the Foo Fighters doesn't help. If you're ever curious as to what it might be like to be bi-polar, listen to an entire Foo Fighters album. Seriously. It also doesn't help that I've been listening to that for two weeks now.

I need an intervention, but not for that.

You really shouldn't compliment me. It confuses me - every time. It's not that I automatically over react and assume anyone who is even slightly nice to me is deeply attracted or interested in me. No. It's also not that I doubt the integrity of these comments. Just because I have no self-image doesn't mean I don't have self-esteem. I appreciate my abilities and accomplishments; I just don't connect them back to their origin very well. I've just never been able to take a compliment. I have no idea what to do with them. I just feel even more awkward than usual. These moments usually provide me with amusing anecdotes and I have one in particular to share with you now.

During my high school production of "Come Blow Your Horn", a comedy in three acts by Neil Simon, I was having a ton of make-up applied by the director/theatre teacher. She was equally impressed, envious, and annoyed because of my lack of facial wrinkles. I was playing Mr. Baker, which was consistent with the fact that I was the only thespian who could successfully grow facial hair and was therefore typecast in every production as the father figure, but my lack of facial wrinkles was making the director a little irritated. Not to mention that all those cosmetics was making me feel less like Father Baker and more like a kabuki fatality. She did compliment me at one point and I explained my problem with never knowing what to do with compliments that I received. She immediately stopped painting stress lines across my forehead and chuckled.

"Well, then you might appreciate that I had a similar problem once. I was dating this guy. It was still during the whole interview/show and tell/whatever... You know, it was maybe date three. Very early in the relationship, but it was getting to that point where... I can't even believe I'm telling you this. Just bare with me, the punchline is worth it. Everything seemed to be going well. It really was. I mean, this guy was a masseur. Very exciting potential. Which leads us to the foot rub he offered me. Amazing. Absolutely to die for. Well, he finishes with my left foot and moves on to my right. We're making eye contact. I am in absolute heaven from those magic fingers. This is a moment. The whole night I've been looking for some sign as to how to proceed. Do I keep seeing this guy or do I move on. There hasn't been this magically connection or chemistry, so I'm thinking about calling it all off and then this happens. This moment comes and everything changes. I'm feeling something finally. And he says, "I bet you have a glorious colon." Moment, evening, relationship - all dead. Gone. Poof. I tell him that I'm not sure how to respond to that, which I'm still not. He tells me that it's a compliment and then he explains something about physiology and massage and I don't know. I pretended to understand the logic. But, I never saw or spoke to him again and I called it an early night. So... I understand not knowing what do with compliments."

I thought about that story all night while I was on stage. I was definitely in character - I was confused, disgusted, alienated. It was a brilliant performance. I recited that anecdote for the tribute video for the director/teacher at the end of the year. No one else really got it, but she laughed hysterically and so did I. People might have thought we were freaks, but we knew there were worse things to be.

Anyway... I think it's been longer than I imagined since someone genuinely complimented me. Or surprised me with a compliment out of seemingly no where. Or maybe my hair just looked amazing and I appreciate that I wasn't the only person obsessed with how naturally it could look that way.

I may never know what exactly to make of compliments or what to do with the information, but I'm getting better at faking it.

Your cleverness ferments meat without the need of oxygen.

Brother from another mother? Hmmm.

I just figured it out. The majority of the random people I run into out in public here in West Virginia think I'm this guy. I know what you're thinking: But J, he has decidedly less blood on his face than you usually do. I know. I'm a very intense person and it's hard for other people to reach that level of bloodlust and insanity. But he's trying. That's something, right? Anyway... Meet Owen Schmitt. Here he is with his face covered in his own blood as he prepares to take the field for the Seattle Seahawks. Now, you're really confused. Why in the hell would anyone in West Virginia confuse me with a professional football player for Seattle? Well, he wasn't always a professional football player and he's no longer with Seattle. Now he's in Philadelphia. Even more confused? I know. The world is crazy and random and usually doesn't make any sense. But this does. Or at least, it will once I explain it to you. Just enjoy this clueless moment. Still nothing? What if he catches another football? Does that help? You know I'm enjoying this. In fact, I'm not sure I want to complete this post. I'm having too much fun. Secrets are delicious. Football is also delicious. This is my current favorite post of all time. Love it. So, I guess you're more than ready to know the whole truth now. Oh, the suspense! This is the image I found while running a Google search for "West Virginia crazy". The original plan was to write a post about how I'm adapting to the culture and community of West Virginia and all the things that make it "Wild and Wonderful". When I saw this photo, I said "Look at that crazy fucker. He's got my hair. And my mouth. Oh. I get it now." Then I sent the googlebots after Schmitt. Neither disappointed. Scmitt was a walk-on at WVU. (Gasp! What?) That's right. He played college football in Morgantown and West Virginia fell in love with him. And why not? Look at that mug. Check out his wiki. Schmitt came to West Virginia with nothing but a dream and a mohawk, much like me, and he left with an enormous fan base and a highly lucrative career, much like me (I hope.). Schmitt left West Virginia to play for the NFL, which explains why no one has seen him around lately. But he was a very, very big deal and still is after playing fiercely for the Mountaineers. When you account for the physical similarities between us and the coincidental fact that I now reside in a state that completely adores the guy, it's not a huge leap for most people to assume we are in fact the same person - especially when I just show up at random around the area highly populated by his loyal and loving fan club. So, that explains part of it, but it leaves one unanswered question: Is Owen Schmitt responsible for people continuously soliciting me for illegal substances? I don't think so. I believe that's someone else entirely and I doubt I'll ever know anything more about that person. I base this theory of yet another alternate copy of myself from the press interviews I've been watching and the fan testimonials. Schmitt seems like a really decent guy - if not somewhat crazy. But when you've got that much testosterone flooding your veins, there's very little chance of being anything remotely close to sane. He seems like a genuinely appreciative and respectful guy. Now, I'm not saying that this means he's incapable of committing crimes such as possession, intent to sell, or even trafficking, but there are no records of him ever being arrested or suspected of any of these things. (He did have a DUI charge which was reduced to reckless driving and resulted in community service, but he apologized for that and that only proves that living in Seattle makes people more prone to alcoholism and poor decision making. Hi, K. That one's for you. LoL.) Anyway, I don't believe that he is responsible for those instances of mistaken identity. Even if that is the case, I'd prefer to think better of both of us. I do, however, believe he is the reason why random strangers (especially males between the ages of 25-50 and females between the ages of 25-30) are so helpful and flirtatious (respectfully, but not always). No, being mistaken for Schmitt is always a good thing for me - regardless of whether I'm interested or appreciative of that specific kind of sudden attention. It feels good, even if it's not actually about me or for me. In a way, it kind of is because I'm the physical body present and the object of that affection/attention. But it's really not. I'm not crazy in that way. Understanding the actual reason for the case of mistaken identity and being aware of the intended target of it helps me make more sense of what had previously been fascinating in that "why the hell does this keep happening" sort of way. Anyway, it's been fun and now it'll be more fun since I've landed myself on the inside of this joke. I'm sure at least some of you are wondering how he got all that blood on his face in the first photo of this post. Let me solve that mystery with a term that usually ends with most people being psychologically evaluated and possibly committed: self-inflicted injury. Yep. It could just as easily have occurred as the result of a tackle or other mishap during the course of a professional football game, but it didn't. It happened during the player introductions and the game hadn't even started yet before Schmitt received several stitches after falling victim to his own savage intensity and the protective gear meant to prevent exactly that sort of thing. See. We're not so different, afterall. We're equally intense and reckless with ourselves. However, if that photo montage was not graphic enough for you, I found a video of it on YouTube. Enjoy. There are several other YouTube videos from games, interviews, and even several fan tributes. The best thing to come from this sudden discovery? I have finally figured out my Halloween costume for this year. Even better, mine comes with a demotivational poster. Can't wait. This will be the best year ever. Hurray for Owen Schmitt! Photobucket banned the poster. Trust me, it's not a huge loss for anyone. I'll post Halloween pics as soon as I get some.

"Welfare" vs. "Well-fair"

Possibly one of the most horrifying typos I've ever made. (If you missed it, good for you. It's been corrected. Don't worry about it.) This blunder made even more laughable simply for the fact that "well-fair" isn't a word even with the hyphen. 1 + 1 = 0? In this case, yes. Absolutely. I'm all about the sentence fragment - random strings of incomplete thought thrown at the reader much in the same fashion as I violently purge my consciousness through my typing fingertips and out into the world.

I might have ADHD. Perhaps I need to be medicated. Pretty sure that's a topic for a different post. Ignore this section completely. Thanks.

So, yes. I'm all about the sentence fragment. I'm not so much into word fragments or whatever you get when you string two real words together with a hyphen to phonetically spell the word you actually wanted to use but didn't. You know, there should be a word for that. Oh, wait. There is.

Dumb-ass.

It's true. We are our own harshest critics. How about that?

(For those of you hoping this post might offer up my personal opinions on our welfare system or possibly a proposal for an alternative government aid program, I apologize. I'll try to take the implications of my title choice more seriously next time.)

You lying bastard.

I know. Trust me, I am thoroughly aware.

In my defense, I had every intention of returning and revisiting the topic of the last post... three weeks ago. My how time flies when you're preoccupied and self-absorbed. Anyway... I shaved my head awhile back. My hair is growing back out now though, so the following picture is no longer current.



Yeah, I'm slacking. Is that surprising to anyone? Honestly? Refer to photo above for cocked eyebrow. Yeah. So, let's get this party started.

As for current events, I've just watched seasons 1 and 2 of Better Off Ted. I can relate so completely with this sitcom and I have one character to thank: Veronica, played by Portia de Rossi (whose legal name is now Portia Lee James DeGeneres following her 2008 marriage to Ellen DeGeneres) as pictured at left, reminds me so thoroughly of someone (I'll never say who.) it makes watching the show a real delight. Also, it makes work alot more entertaining when I can superimpose de Rossi over her real-world counterpart. Also, the show is hilarious on it's own merit. I enjoy the ambiguity of the characters' moral compasses... or lack thereof. Working for a corporation definitely tests your integrity on a semi-regular basis.

It should be noted that I do not work for an inherently evil corporation. My corporate structure is benign or Paula Abdul (who will not be pictured on this blog, ever) at best. But, having worked for corrupt persons/business entities in the past, I appreciate the situational comedy of merely trying to survive in that atmosphere between paychecks - assuming the checks are real, which often in those situations they're not. So, whether or not you can fully relate, I still recommend it to anyone with an active subscription of Netflix. Portia de Rossi! Ok, I'm done obsessing.

While visiting last week, my sister got me hooked on Sons of Anarchy. My DVR is now programmed to record any time it airs. Hurray for Tuesdays and something other than Glee to watch, which I also love but not so much for the singing as the drama and character interaction. Actually, I could probably do without almost all of the singing, especially the solos by Lea Michele as Rachel Berry. Anyway, back to SOA which I will definitely be watching tonight after a quick trip to the grocer and possibly an appliance store to look at the pricing of clothes driers and weep.

I try to convince myself that air drying clothes in my apartment is not only earth conscience and energy efficient but it's also somehow glamorous and reminiscent of a canal in Venice. That works for about thirty seconds and then I return to how aggravating and unsightly the situation actually is and I don't care how much money I'm theoretically saving by waiting two days for my clothes to dry. And the stiffness when it does... I need fabric softener to live, damn it. I know where most of my next bonus is going. In the meantime, I need to find a laundromat because right now every piece of my wardrobe can be combined into a full-body, armor-plated body shield. I like to be comfortable, which is only possible when I'm not wearing clothes now. The "No Pants!" Revolution is alive and well in Apartment H.

Speaking of which, everyone in my building was evicted. Everyone. I can park where ever the hell I want and it's glorious. Hurray for being the only tenant able to pay his rent on time. YES! I also paid my utilities. Love me some online banking.

There's a surprise on the immediate horizon for my family. I'm not saying anything else. We'll just wait for Christmas and no one but my sister and I will have to pretend to be shocked by the sudden revelation. Exciting. Can't wait. I'm sending gift baskets in my absence this year. Coffee themed, I think. I want everyone to be hyper on top of being crazy, abrasive, and openly hostile. Good luck, Ohio. You'll need it.

I've been plagued with alot of uncertainty lately. Most of that uncertainty involves the immediate future of my supposed career. The time to decide the next step is here and I'm still not convinced I want to advance any further up the ladder that I've been passive-aggressively and occasionally agressive-aggressively climbing. Sure, I would love more money and theoretically more control. However, I'm not sure I want to be the person I would inevitably become in that alternate reality. I think I'm fairer than most when it comes to the welfare and concerns of my employees, but I also realize that there are several times when the only thing stopping me from killing every one of them is not having anyone left to clean up the mess I'd make by doing so.

And it would be messy. You have no idea.

Besides that lingering homicidal rage, I'm not sure I'm ready to be the ultimate authority of anything. It's alot less exhausting to have a higher power to answer to and for in work situations. I'm only somewhat ambitious. There are limits to it, very real and quickly approaching limits. I would not, however, be opposed to moving again - anywhere. Location no longer matters to me, if it ever did. I'm comfortable in my current position and am working daily to improve my efficiency and competency. I would like additional real world experience and some more diversity in my management setting. More diversity as in: new people, new places, new anything and everything. Change and a lot of it. Constant and forever.


Anyway, it's something for me to think about and obsess over in the meantime while the higher powers decide what to do with me.