There will be no "self-summary." There will only be my thoughts. That way, you can come to your own conclusion. There's too much emphasis on selling oneself like a slice of processed cheese. I much prefer to be the cow.
I hate going to the store and watching people leave the cart by their car and drive away. The cart goes back in the cart return, three feet from your car, you lazy moron. Don't worry, I'll take it there for you, so your kids can see through the windshield that at least one of us has sense enough to keep the way clear for other cars, even if it's me rather than you. You are welcome.
I don't do transitions very well, so I'll just dive right into my next topic.
I wish I had a megaphone rigged up to my car that would let me say things like "the speed limit does not mean plus or minus 20mph" as I'm passing or being passed. The freeway is a scary place, causing most cars to shake themselves apart at some point. Let's all cooperate and try not to cause a pileup that will shorten the lives of innocent cars.
I am also an atheist, as my profile states, but I'm not an asshole atheist. I don't go around disproving the religious beliefs of others for fun. I merely have my own beliefs, and they may differ from yours. We don't have to discuss anything about it, you and I. Life is too short to hold one's religious convictions or lack thereof against them.
I know atheism is scary from the outside, but we don't eat babies. At least I don't. Babies are really too chewy for my taste. I prefer the cows and chickens and soybeans that everyone else eats.
A note about my photos on here: The reason I chose grainy, awful arty photos of myself rather than the face-and-abs combos known to sites like this is simply because I feel that as an artist, it's my duty to represent myself in a truer light than others might represent themselves. I'm supposed to be more self-aware, after all. Right?
So one day, when I was ill with what I can only assume was the plague, I decided to liven up my photos and make myself look a bit more like a relevant dead guy.
I recite poetry on city buses. You may ask me why, and that's a good question. I bet my therapist would know the answer to that one.
I love everyone who has a picture of them visiting some awesome expensive destination. You aren't better than me, poopmouth! I just spend my money on making sure my car runs and my rent gets paid.
Oreo cookies denied. You don't get any.
Caution: proceed no further if you have a penis and felt the need to assert your moral will over the vaginas over women everywhere by answering "no" to that question about "is abortion an option in the case of accidental pregnancy," because what's between the lines there is a very loaded question. I will translate: is abortion an option if you have been raped? Because while not all accidental pregnancies are rape, you are still saying "you need to carry that rape baby to term and let it remind you every day of what happened because I felt the need to be what society deems moral and looked no further into the question."
I am not here to meet assholes and people who believe there is a lesser gender. Watch your answers.
I'm about to make myself even less popular with a rant about relationships. How do relationships happen in my generation? Quickly, like a car accident, and just as traumatic. Here's an example (from experience, so don't judge me, or I'll point at you accusingly and the scream the lyrics to Friday):
You've known him two weeks. Been dating for one and a half. It's practically your one year anniversary. Move four states away with no money and no job so that he's the only person you know. You start to resent him after about a month. Break up. Move back somehow. Three weeks later, you're in love again. Repeat.
Never mind all those pesky family and friends you stop talking to every time this happens. They get in the way. Bridges: burn them.
Who needs a career either when you have love? You'll be with this guy forever, and by forever you really mean one month. Make some sacrifices for this unsatisfying stranger you will never change. Cut some parts off yourself to fit inside.
It's always a surprise when you're stuck trying to glue yourself back together later. You've known forever so many times you must be immortal.
I'm referring to all the people who remain teenagers and are terrified to be alone. The people who go from meeting to dating in 24 hours. The ones who just can't be bothered to know the person before proposing marriage.
They are the ones who suffer. It's all preventable from an outside perspective of course, just like drug addiction. Why don't you stop you ask as they try to fit parts back into healed over wounds.
Eventually, they will. I was one of those people. You either stop because you die, or because you start to resent anyone who shows interest.
In the mean time, you learn to live life as a frantic game of spin the bottle. You create whole new people in your mind to paint over the strangers you find and date. When the paint chips away, reality is uglier for it, and reality becomes a deal breaker.
I stopped that pattern years ago, because I realized I had reached 25 with nothing to show for it but a calcified, bitter husk of a heart. After years of heaving it blindly into oncoming traffic, which is what dating is, it had hardened to protect itself, and in doing so it made me angry and bored and judgmental. Self respect is more important than not being alone. Remember this, because it will save your life.
Also, if you came here because I rated you on here... well, I don't take it too seriously. It's like a very terrible game where I can rate strangers. If you know me in real life... I am sorry. I promise I am not trying to be creepy and rub myself all over your walls and invade your underwear drawer. I was just feeling judgmental and you were judged highly! I have no genitals anymore, after all. I lost them in the wars. All the wars. Mostly the war of 1812. That shit was brutal.