Archive for June, 2013

And this is why I hate planning

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on June 27, 2013 by Johnny Broken

Well… long story short, I had big plans for last weekend, but things didn’t go as I’d hoped. Umpteenth suicide attempt, if you’re curious. I had intended to make the attempt Saturday night, but I didn’t even get that far due to an impromptu minor car wreck earlier in the day. Which is why things are a bit later than usual this week. The specifics of my plans or how they were thrown off aren’t really important right now, and my lack of reacting quick enough to use the wreck to my advantage has me too depressed to explain them any further anyway. So I’m going back to what I had previously intended to post this week.

Many moons ago when I was but a young lad naïve to the ways of the world, like most my age, for all intents and purposes, I didn’t care when I ate, what I ate, or how much of it I ate. I was a chubby kid growing up, but I figured that was just how it was. I mean I hated my relatives for teasing me about it, yeah, but there were some kids at school just as pudgy, if not more so, than me, so I took it as normal. Some kids were athletic and fit, I wasn’t. That’s just how it was. Didn’t really cross my mind that I had any control over this for a long time.

I think my heaviest was around 185 pounds. And considering that I stopped growing at 5 foot 5 and a half, it wasn’t a good look for me. (I apologize if you don’t use American measurement systems. Math and I have never gotten along very well, so I would be the last person to try to convert that to stones or grams or whatever measurement system you use in your neck of the woods.) Now you might be wondering, “Hey, haven’t you said that you’re 5 foot 6 and a half?” and you would be right. Quick story!

I was born with a bad case of scoliosis, and I forget the exact numbers, but something like a 1.5 grade to the curve of your spine is normal. They recommend surgery at like 2.5. My spine was at like 3.2. So as a reward for my extremely screwed up genetics, I got two steel rods inserted next to my spine to straighten it out. And when I finally made it to my grandmother’s for post-surgery recovery, I had this weird feeling of vertigo walking around the place. Then it dawned on me that I had literally been straightened out, and was thusly about an inch taller. The disorientation came from everything being an inch lower than I remembered. Bit trippy, getting used to that.

Anyway. When reality finally sunk in and I realized, “Damn. I’m fat.” I began a lengthy period of trial and error to determine how to best lose weight.

One of the things that I had to plan my life around when I was growing up, was that I was frequently sick in the stomach. Granted a lot of this could be attributed to my nerves even as a little kid, but my parents were also fond of a late night snack back in the day. Hungry? Have a bowl of soup. Or some cereal. Or a sandwhich. Then off to bed in less than an hour. And of course, by the next morning. “Oh, you don’t feel well? Hmm. Ah well, we’ll get you some medicine.”

I saw a TV show somewhere along the lines about healthier living that advised to stop eating before you go to bed. And the exact numbers escape me, but the rest of it was something like you really shouldn’t eat like 2 hours before you go to bed. Sound plan, I thought, and I’ve abided by that rule pretty much ever since. And guess what? Almost immediately after I started watching how late I ate, I all but stopped getting such a frequent upset stomach.

And of course there’s the obvious stuff like cutting back on junk food and soda and the like. And then exercising, well, at all, in my case. But things weren’t progressing enough at first, and my hardcore sweet tooth wasn’t helping either. And then I got that previously mentioned back surgery which was like 8 or 9 hours on the operating table, and 6 months of recovery. Now I would like to point out that when I was barely able to move because my back had been cut wide open so my spine could be fused and bolted straight with two steel rods, the LAST thing on my mind was how much I weighed. At the time I had been growing my hair long, so I admit I was focused on that, but I really never noticed during my recovery that I was dropping weight like crazy. All in all, I lost like 50-60 pounds during that whole ordeal. And I was absolutely thrilled. My hair was long! And I was THIN!

And, oddly enough, this was also when I started dating a girl who was… hrmph, I’m trying to think of how I can phrase this so I don’t sound like an asshole, but I’m at a bit of a loss. So screw it. When I look at the opposite sex, I mentally file women my age into three categories

-Attractive. This encompasses “hot” girls who are thin or toned or curvy in all the right places or whathaveyou. See also, Out of My League.

-Average. An average girl can still be incredibly good looking, but she has a few extra pounds. Theoretically, averages girls are in my league in the dating pool.

-Big. This should be self explanatory. I’m sorry, but I do not find this attractive. And if I lost the weight, so can you.

Now the girl I started dating around this time, let’s call her #5, who also became the aforementioned longstanding girlfriend, was attractive. Well built. Pretty. On the other hand, the girl I dated for a bit before her was a bit on the pudgy side. Big boned, if you will. She was nice, but I will be honest, she’s one of the girls that would not be the first pick of the dating pool. My point here is that once I finally slimmed down enough, I was able to get a desirable, attractive girlfriend. Call my perception of life warped if you will, but a lot of what and how I think was developed through crap I actually went through.

And at that, we are to be continued! And you can relax, I’ll be here for a while. My plans take some alignment of the stars level arranging, so it’ll be some time before I try anything major again.

-Johnny

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My type concluded

Posted in Updates with tags , , , , on June 19, 2013 by Johnny Broken

So there I am, stunned by something I never thought I’d hear. Ever. Then my mind finally scrambled back to a functional level and I did a mental “Waitaminute. What?!” I’m guessing it’s probably rather pathetic, but I just can’t get what she said out of my head. Like I said, beautiful women don’t talk to me, let alone go out of their way to say they miss me. But I am a pathetic human being, so it fits. Getting back to the confusion, I started thinking, in my own utterly incompetent way, about how I could seek answers to the questions that were now running through my mind. A beautiful girl who is nothing like me likes talking to me? Why? Should I do something about this? Should I try to talk to her more? Is she trying to test how I react? How should I react? Am I overthinking this?

Rather, well, smitten with the development, I did go out of my way to try to talk to her more. And that’s what’s made the situation worse. Sometimes she’d wave as she passed. Sometimes she’d blow me off all day. Sometimes she’d wait for me outside and we’d talk briefly as we walked in to work. Sometimes we’d never intersect at all during the day. So I really don’t know I’m doing something wrong, or if I should be doing anything at all. And it occurs to me that you’re probably wondering what my end goal is here. Yeah, I won’t lie, I wouldn’t object to dating her, but I seriously don’t ever see that happening. So I’m really not trying to move forward on anything like that. At least not intentionally, anyway. I’m just… I don’t know, really. Stumbling through trying to be a friend? My only real life friend, we’ll call him #3, tells me I’m wasting my time. But after every time I’ve been convinced that she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, in a few days she’s all friendly again. Which lead me to a surprisingly pleasant development. Temporary, of course, but anyway.

I had a week off from work, and the Tuesday after I came back was a free pizza day. Now I usually head off and keep to myself during lunch, but against my better judgment, I figured what the hell and grabbed some pizza. (I normally only eat one of those six packs of cheese and crackers for lunch. After a lot of trial and error, it’s the only thing I’ve found that I don’t get sick off of. And there’s also my, uh, minor obsession with my weight.) As I passed by the lunch room, I noticed the beautiful girl was sitting by herself at a table, which lead to a brief internal struggle in my head for the 5 seconds I had to think it over before the point of no return.

Odd, I thought, she normally doesn’t stay in here for lunch.

Where’s her friend that’s usually joined at her hip, who also seems to be one of the factors in her not talking to me?

Should I sit with her or go off and do what I normally do?

How much will I regret if don’t sit next to her?

What’s the worst that could happen if I do sit next to her?

And for once in my life, I took the initiative and sat at the table. Well, I admit I cheated a bit and set my stuff down at the table and mumbled, “Be right back” as I walked off to quickly wash my hands. And yes, I fully expected her to get up and leave before I got back. And she didn’t! So we sat and talked for a bit. About 10 minutes later she stood up and said she was going to go “burn my lungs” and she walked out. Now I did not take that to mean “let’s go outside so I can smoke” so pretty much right after she left, I did too. And as I walked out, I chuckled nervously to myself that after something like that, I probably wasn’t going to get to talk to her again for a long, long time.

And guess who wasn’t at work the next day? And only for like 2 hours the day after that?

So I wrote the whole thing off, again, as my having scared her off. Which lead to the following Friday. As I was on my way out for lunch, I happened to randomly notice that she was sitting in the lunch room again, alone, at the same table. Well I sat with her again, and we talked for a while. During which, to my surprise she did happened to bring up that she doesn’t do much online. (I had been wondering how to get in touch with her via social media. And now I knew that wasn’t happening.) But again after roughly 10 minutes, she goes out to smoke. Now at this point, I figured that after talking to her that much, I wouldn’t talk to her again for at least a few days, considering how on-and-off she is around me.

And sometimes in my life, I’m damn near psychic.

My division conspired against me and I couldn’t make the “usual” lunch time the next day. And I don’t think I saw her at all the next two days. And then on Friday, I caught her once, but never got to say anything, and she continued on her merry little way. And the following Monday, like a third of my old division, the stuff she was doing, started issuing layoffs. Which, of course, included her.

Now they do tend to rehire people after a slow week or three. But, well, I don’t even know if I should bother thinking about this. I mean I am going to keep thinking about it, because beautiful girls who are nothing like me don’t talk to me. But at this point, I can’t really do anything else about it, regardless of her tendency to avoid me every other day anyway.

UPDATE: I typed this up initially about a month ago, and as of my posting this, the division she was in has only gotten smaller since then. At this point I don’t know when they’ll be rehiring anyone for that particular job, never mind the odds of re-hiring her in particular. So I find it extremely unlikely I’ll ever see her again. C’est ma vie.

-Johnny Broken

Maybe I don’t know my type after all

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on June 12, 2013 by Johnny Broken

I humbly admit I’ve developed a fondness for certain social medias. The online variety, of course. If there’s a need for a distinction, but anyway, I’m also on twitter @destroyedspirit. Feel free to look me up there. I guess I like talking to no one in particular about topics that people don’t like talking about. Kind of hard for me to do that in real life, as I’ve just recently learned that one of the last two guys I consider a friend is moving out of state for work. As his wife is a controlling bitch of Jabba-esque proportions , my only other real friend and I don’t expect to ever see the guy again. So I’m down to one real world friend. And even he’s an asshole more often than not. Fun times, my life.

Do I have any prospects for a girlfriend? As you may have gathered by now, I’m horrible with women. So I really don’t know. Some random women my age talk to me at work, but I have no idea how to interpret any sort of flirty sign or signal or anything. Or if the looks cast my way are of the “Oooh, interesting” or the “Oooh God stay away” variety. There’s one girl, for example, who confuses the hell out of me. But before I start talking about why she does, I do want to point out that I still don’t know if I should be chuckling or horrified that she has the same hair color and name as that last “real” girlfriend I had all those years ago.

Anyway, this girl, let’s call her #4. The biggest thing is that she’s, well, hot, and thusly out of my league. Way, waaay out of my league. Like I just found out t-ball existed and she’s won a couple world serieissises. (Yeah, I do generally hate sports analogies, but it gets the point across rather well. And yeah, again, there’s no intended innuendo.) If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years with any certainty, it’s that ugly ducklings DO NOT get the swan in real life. And not that it matters, but she’s also a good bit younger than me, and she has two kids. And I know it’s jumping ahead a lot, but you can rest assured, I know full well I’m not ready for anything anywhere near THAT level of responsibility. So, back to the confusion.

Now #4, she’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. I could go on about her reading level, but I don’t know if she even has a GED, so I can’t say how badly the educational system failed her. The important thing to keep in mind here is that in a business environment, I’m a grammar Nazi and I’m pretty sure management knows this. I admit that when she was moved right next to my station at work, and I got a chance to hear her repeatedly stumbling over very simple words, at first I started working on a lot of jokes about how she was putting said inner grammar Nazi into a coma. But then a team leader came by, and #4 quite literally burst into tears because she felt that what they had her doing made her sound stupid, which was made worse by whatever was going on in her home life.

After hearing her confession, I just couldn’t bring myself to mock her as badly as I intended. Feeling a bit chivalrous, I decided that so help me, I will make her smarter and as good at this job as I can. Now I should also mention that the guy who sat on the far side of her was equally capable of coaching her, and did as well from time to time. So a few weeks passed, I helped her out as best I could, and the other guy did too. And to my pleasant surprise, I noticed that she caught on pretty quick.

I try to make small talk with anyone I have to sit next to for like 30 hours a week, and the job it boring enough as is, so I’d also try to make her at least laugh from time to time. (There’s a big clue about that career opportunity I’ve been alluding to.) I was relatively content as the next few weeks passed, then I got moved to a different area at work. More than anything, I was annoyed that I was getting moved away from the hot girl that talked to me, and I figured that was the end of it. But this is where the confusion kicks in. When I pointed this out to her, to my extreme surprise, she actually got all, well, pouty that I was being moved away.

My heart skipped a beat. Women, especially the incredibly attractive ones, don’t express sorrow that they will no longer be next to me all day.

She explained that she preferred learning from me, compared to the other guy on her far side. He’s apparently a lot harsher, and I’m more laid back and easier to deal with. For as pleasantly unexpected a development as that was, it was quickly countered by how badly my new desk at work sucked, and my belief that if I didn’t have a desk right next to her, I probably wouldn’t talk to #4 again. Did I mention she’s beautiful? Beautiful women don’t talk to me. Skip ahead a few days to the start of the work day, and I hear someone behind me trying to get my attention. I turn around, and again, to my surprise, it’s #4. She commented on how she doesn’t get to see me anymore, and then she said something that’s stuck with me ever since.

“I miss you!”

-Johnny Broken

Something about books and covers

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on June 5, 2013 by Johnny Broken

Did I mention I’m bald? Like cue-ball bald. I have the hairline of someone significantly older than me and I know full well I will be extremely self conscious about it until my age catches up. That in and of itself wouldn’t be that bad, but I also have an oversized head. From the front it doesn’t look that freakish, it’s the back of my head that juts out in an almost Xenomorphic manner, which makes finding a decent hat to cover all this up a pain in the ass. And yeah, I have become a “hat guy” in recent years. Special ordered oversized ballcaps, knit caps, and the occasional custom stretched derby type hats. Hell, I spent the better part of 10 years intricately planning my public appearances so that non-family would only ever see me with a hat or a head freshly shaved to the skin. That, of course, was all tossed out the window about two years ago, but that’s another topic for another day.

But baldness isn’t the only aspect of the looks lottery I lost. My teeth are crooked, and no, I don’t really have the funds to get them fixed. (I also hate doctors. See my previous ranting about psychiatrists for the main reason. I’ve also undergone several surgeries in various attempts to correct my horrid genetics, so I’ve had my fill of hospitals for the foreseeable future.) My torso is also, well, misshapen for a lack of a better way to describe it, due to scoliosis. And there’re a lot of other aberrations to my physical form, but those are the remaining hurdles I have to women finding me attractive. Still, that’s more than enough to screw me out of the gate.

Another thing to mention is my overall look. See, I dress anywhere from normalish to geek to goth/rivethead/steampunk. The normal to rivethead scale usually depends on how annoyed I am that day. (If you don’t know what rivethead is, shame on you. Used to do punk, but I lost the will for that when my leather jacket was stolen last year.) Normally these days I dress in what I call dark geek: black slacks, (I do actually like a particular brand, because I’m convinvced they make damn near indestructible pants that don’t fade.) black and white sneakers (again, there’s brands I stick to, but I’m not naming anything) and either a black button up shirt, or a black t-shirt of something geeky.

Had a chain wallet in high school, shelved that for a while, gone back to wearing it again. Pulled the black trenchcoat out of the closet too, but that was partly beacuse my previous leather coat of choice was stolen. I have an everyday wear older trenchcoat vaguely reminiscent (holt shit, spelled that right the first time) of the 10th Doctor’s, and another one for “special occassions” that basically looks like something from Nosferatu. (And considering the shape of my shaved head, and how I’ve been going out of my way to stay pale for the last decade, “nosferatu” is a fitting description.)

When it’s time to go goth/rivethead/steampunk, mix and match some black leather wristbands, goggles, and switch out the sneakers for black paratrooper boots. And yes, I tuck the pants into the boots, military style. I know there’s rascist/neo-Nazi/whathaveyou connotations to wearing black on black pants/ boots like that, I really don’t care. I think it looks cool. (Kind of freaked me out when I noticed Tate on American Horror Story dressed the same way when he went on his rampage.)

I do dress normal-ish sometimes, but there’s always some black in there somewhere, especially since 90% of my wardrobe is black. And while I rarely do so intentionally, I’ve been told my more common facial expressions are reminiscent of a serial killer. Which has sort of worked to my advantage and opened up a previously unforeseen future career option related to that thing that tossed 10 years of my careful planning out the window, but more on that later.

And I guess I should mention that I’ve had an unusual goatee since like, I got out of high school. Off the chin, it’s usually at least 5 inches long, give or take, and braided. Basically like Shavo Odadjian, but nowhere near as long. And I should also mention that for a while I started growing in a sihka last year. Or a backknot, or whatever you call a topknot that’s on the back of your head. Why? Been thinking about it for years, though I forget why I originally became fascinated with the idea. Could also be that I get just bored with my appearance. And as much as it bothers me to admit it, a comment made by a friend (who will heretofore be know as #3) that I look like an evil wizard from the front and Charlie Brown from the back struck home. So I figured “Y’know what? Screw it. I’m not getting any dates now, so why not go all out?” If you’re going to avoid me in public, to hell with it, I’m going to give you reason to.

As of my typing this, I shaved off the sihka about a month ago. But to my surprise, for as much of an utter pain in the ass as it was to try to neatly shave the back of my head with no help other than a lot of patience and a complex mirror arrangement, I actually came to miss it. So! The sikha hath returned! The question now is whether or not I can tolerate my “IT support” job long enough to be able to get it longer than the 7 inches I had it last time.

One of the few things I… think… I have going in my favor is that I’m thin, but I, well I don’t know. Can’t really seem to win either way; being five foot six and a half and anywhere from 140-180 pounds like I was through the bulk of my youth, or being about 125 pounds like I am now. I know I’ve just spent almost an entire post describing how I wear my disposition on my sleeve, but all that came after I was given reason ample reason to be so misanthropic. Have I mentioned yet that it sucks being me?

-Johnny Broken