Depressed Again

Ugh, why do I do this?
I need A JOB.
Should probably get some insurance for my car first though.
And for the record, his name is Slimer. Or Slimey. Yeah, I like Slimey.
Watched Kung Fu Panda today with Ali and Michael. Still Awesome. The movie and them.
Watched some Avatar: The Last Airbender with them too. Not the Movie. And Amanda. Also still awesome. The tv show and Amanda.
Back to page 56 of The Hunger Games to try and take my mind off my crippling workaholism/lack off work combo!
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay
No food. Must buy food.
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay

California

As you may or may not have guessed from the title right above this sentence, this post has something to do with California. And I'll tell you something else before I tell you how California is in any way relevant, and that is this: I am not playing Skyrim anymore. This is why I am blogging for the first time in literally forever.

Now, you may be asking yourself, "Hmm...why isn't Jayme playing Skyrim anymore? Did he get tired of it? Did his disc break? Did he beat it? WHAT'S GOING ON IN MY BRAIN!?"
And I'll tell you another thing right now, the answers to those questions are (respectfully) "I'll tell you soon. No. No. NO. And I don't k-no-w." The reason I am not playing Skyrim anymore is because I physically cannot. There is no way for me to because my character, Schmee the Dark Elf Bad-ass Mage Extraordinaire, and my x-box, X the Bad-ass Box Extraordinaire, are both in my house. In Maryland.

"But Jayme", you whine, "I thought you were around your house in Maryland like...all the time. Don't you like...live there? Or something?"

Well stupid, whiny reader of my blog, the answer to that whiny stupid question is "No. I do not live there. Nor do I something there anymore."

I live in California now. Los Angeles California. And honestly, right now it couldn't suck any more.

So...needless to say I don't really feel like writing right now. But I'm doing it, because I haven't in a while and I need to get some things out.

Firstly, okay, fine, it COULD suck more, I'm just feeling very weird and screwed up about the whole situation. Obviously moving to California has been my lifelong dream. I guess I just never thought it would get to this point. Or at least when I did I thought it would be less difficult than this.

My difficulties lie in the fact that I am relatively friendless and am therefore just a quiet slave to the people around me. Not an actual slave, that would not make any sense at all. Just...a quiet, unsure person. I need my friends back. Like, more than just the one or two I have out here (who are AMAZING, don't get me wrong), but I still can't fully be myself yet.

I've seen so much great comedy out here already and I'm worried that I made a mistake coming out here. I'm worried I will never be as good as the people out here are. I don't know if I have what it takes. I'm just...not there. They are so funny.
And it's really bumming me out. The funnier they are, the more I laugh. The more I laugh, the more bummed out I am that I will never live up to and be able to compete with what they are. How am I supposed to do that? I feel so out of place out here.

No family either. Far far away. Without friends and family I feel like I've been stripped of everything that made me me. I hope I don't spiral downwards into a horrible identity crisis and have a psychotic breakdown. That would be unfortunate.

So let's hope it doesn't come to that.
On the other hand, California is like College 2. And every single person is an undergrad, and the time is always Party O'Clock on a Friday night. And the week is always Finals Week When No One Has Finals. And the Month is always Party Month (October). And the season is always Palm Tree season. And the year is always 1999. Which is, as everyone knows, the most partying year of all the years.

Okay, real talk. I'm not hating it out here, I'm just adapting. It just so happens that my adapting is taking the form of shyness and depression.

I just haven't acted or done improv in so long and I'm worried that I can't do it anymore or never could do it or never will do it as good as I need to do it to fulfill my dream. I'm itching so hard to do something to push my career ahead in any way, but all I can do right now is lay back and watch other people be INCREDIBLY funny. And it's killing me. As a workaholic and an actaholic and a laughaholic, I'm going through some pretty serious withdrawal.

Did I mention I'm an Old Maryland Friend-aholic too?
Withdrawal is some nasty business.

Who would have thought that I'd be checking into the Betty Ford Clinic so soon upon arriving in California?

So uh...

Yeah I've got Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim now.
So uh...
Yeah it might be a while before I write anything else.
Or write anything period, be it internet blog or my name on a piece of paper.
MUST NOT LET SKYRIM TURN ME INTO A SOCIAL SHUT IN/LAZY MESS.
HOWEVER MUST PLAY SKYRIM.
AHHHHHHH
Dark Elf People Problems, amIright?

Tired, Incoherent Thoughts With Too Many Typos

Well, it's 1 o clock, about an hour after I should be asleep, resting after this long ass weekend, in preparation for my 9 am wake up tomorrow. But instead, here I am, right on schedule, blogging while listening to horrible old whiskey music supplied to me by my buds R. and J. Not Romeo and Juliet, mind you. I love them, but the music they play sounds like shit. But I'm listening anyway, because every now and then they'll play an ancient song that I actually know and like. Not often. Actually only once so far tonight.

Anyjay, much like Mitchell and Cameron at the end of last week's episode of Modern Family, I have escaped the rut. I actually escaped it two Wednesdays ago but was far too busy being happy and loving and loved by the world to blog. But I must blog tonight, because I've done some cool things recently and I have some thoughts to muse. I warn you now. There will be typos aplenty. I guarantee you this. I misspelled my girlfriend/old acting teacher's last name tonight, so no word is safe. Just think about how many times I've written my old teacher's last name. Or about how many times I've scribbled my first name with my girlfriend's last name on my binder in gel pen. No word is safe. So please, baer with mem.

I:
-have very sore legs due to lots of dancing/working/chasing
-found $100 bill on the ground outside a metro station in DC (well, the girlfriend found it, but I picked it up, so I get allllllllll the credit), which I then used to buy all 10 of us some motherfuckin Platos late night food. It was a good time. Hopefully now they all think of me as philanthropic and the best person ever. Because...I pretty much am. No entirely unselfish act, eh?
-That same night, chased my dumb motherfuckin friend down route 1. Like...3 times. All out of stubborn rage. It was exhausting and definitely led to my legs dying even further. But he was being such an asshat! Trust me. Hey, Wengel, if you're reading, just know, fuck you for running out of my car. I'm still grudge holding.
-Had sex in a rehearsal room in my old theatre dept. Yup. Have fun trying to figure out which one! Still waiting for someone to bring it up in Never Have I Ever so I can see their faces when I dramatically lower my finger.
-went to the Renaissance Festival on their last weekend. Probably for the last time in a while, what with the move and all. I just learned that Maryland is one of the few states that holds a Ren Fest and that BLEW MY MIND. It isn't a common thing? Typical silly maryland-raised kid. Always thinking Renaissance Festivals are everywhere and that all museums have free admission.

This last one, upon much tumbling in my mind, and strangely enough, after listening to the Dropkick Murphy's Shipping Off to Boston on my ipod on the way home, led me to some very strange thoughts.

I'd like to travel. I'd like to go to lots of places with a friend or two and just drink, have fun, and interact with the locals. I want to go to Tokyo. Dublin. All the fun places and just...sight see and be somewhere else around different-y people. Although with a few like-minded friends so I don't get lonely. Shipping Off to Boston got me thinking of this because it's a very heavily inspired Irish song (or some shit whatever I don't know) and it got me thinking about how I made a pact with one of my good friends that we would go to Ireland together and do nothing but dick around, drink at the pubs, be festive with locals, maybe pick up a freckled red-head or two. Generally soak up the Ireland-yness of it all. And now, at this crucial juncture in my young adult life, it seems like I'm never really going to get to do this. Or any of my travel plans for that matter. Not for a good while. Because right now I have to move to LA and work and act until I become a celebrity and make tons of money. This is my top priority. Should it be? Yes. I'm young, I must take advantage of my youth while I have it. But even if I do manage to achieve this ridiculous pipe dream, god-willing, any of my plans I then do in my ample celebrity-fueled free time will be skewed with celebrity juices. Unless I'm not big internationally. Or whatever I don't know this all sounds so arrogant to type out, but I want to be able to buy a ticket somewhere and soak up a foreign culture for a few weeks and then roll out to a new place. Must be my middle-childyness that makes me want to keep on moving and experiencing new things and people. Lord I was born a ramblin' maaaaaan.

In conclusion, the ultimate would be to become famous by getting my own travel show where the Travel Channel or Comedy Central or really any channel with money pays me that money to go places with other comedians and crack jokes/have fun for the viewer so they don't have to. That would be...just the best. Or maybe it's my hedonistic/always hungry for new experiences in life side that wants to travel and see new things. I don't know. But I am quite afraid that if I never get to do these cool travel ideas I have in my head, I will be a quite disappointed old man. Life should be lived, right? So maybe the best way to live it would be to spend 10,20, however many years it takes, on the road, backpacking around the world and rambling around until I feel satisfied, then go for stardom. By then I will definitely be a somewhat old man, and the stardom will be...well, not wasted...but certainly not enjoyed to its fullest.

My friend K. was right. I should just be a hobo with her and travel around performing random odd jobs here and there, learning silly things and doing silly shows.

I could never live that life.

Right? Yeah. But sometimes I wonder.
Fuck you, Dropkick Murphys.

Trying to Regain Normalcy...

A lull, a rut, a funk, a depression. Whatever the hell it's called, I think I may be stuck in one. I woke up today and tried to pull myself together. And it worked a little bit. But not as much as I wanted.

I hope this is just some bullshit phase that I'm going through. Some horrible fucked up biochemistry thing to do with an imbalance in my brain's chemicals and shit. I hope that it's not actual things in my life that are just piling up and shitting all over my soul. In fact, I'm like...90% sure it's just a phase, because two weeks ago I wasn't feeling this and nothing has really changed since then.

Other than the fact that Cheesecake orientation for new servers started up last week and I am STILL not in the server training courses. Maybe it's all steming from the fact that I am so fucking done with that restaurant. I don't think I give a shit anymore whether I become a server or not. It's too much work. And honestly, my last few months in Maryland should be easy-going and lazy, not scrambling around, stressing about how to be a server right and whether I'm making enough money. So you know what? I don't care anymore. I mean, I still kind of do, of course. But I'm done giving a shit what these fucking dumb ass managers think of me anymore. I'm done with nice happy me-on-my-best-day Jayme. At least at work anyway. I GAIN NO FULFILLMENT FROM MY JOB.

Maybe that's moreso what the problem is. I feel like the most under appreciated piece of shit at the joint. Curbside gets shit on by everybody. We are the lowest rung on the totem pole. While not entirely true (bussers), it certainly does feel like that every day I go in. It's a real Rodney Fucking Dangerfield in there. No respect. No respect at all.

And possibly the worst part: because I have no job satisfaction, I don't feel comfortable enough there to be myself. So I'm spending most of my week not being myself at a job I don't want to be at. That can't be good for one's esteem. I need to be doing what I like to do. Like writing comedy. Or acting. Or anything in between.

Well I'm going to hit the sack soon, I've got to be up somewhat early tomorrow for this new routine I've started. I'm trying to exercise/meditate every morning as some sort of half-hearted attempt to 1. meditate more 2. exercise more 3. get me out of this shitty ass mood I'm in.

And I'm sorry these last few posts have been so negative. Believe me, you have no idea how hard it is for me to write these. If I so much as think of being a depressing black-hole of happiness around people, I start to feel like I've done something wrong. I overthink. I'm a people pleasing, social obligation haver.

I don't know how to handle non-happy, non-energized, non-jokey Jayme. He's a complete stranger living in my body and I can't seem to find the eviction notice.
Dude, get out. You haven't paid your Rent. I am Benny. Fuck Off, NY artsy-fartsy bohemian AIDs-riddled hippies (who in this metaphor will be representative of evil Jayme and the bad feelings he brings with him). You have 525,600 milliseconds before I go medieval on your lame asses. I got too much shit to do and too much fun to have to be dealing with your shit.

Toodles!

Rated ARG for Pirate. Fuck You!

Sorry, no funny opening line today, because this is an angry rant entry.

I woke up late today because I knew that I had a lot of sleep to catch up on. But five hours after I woke up I realized that I was STILL TIRED. I am sick and tired of being so god damn tired all the time. I don't know what it is about my body lately, but it is so lame and tired all the time. Maybe I'm having a mono flare-up or something, which I've read can happen and which would make a lot of sense. Or maybe it's something else. I don't fucking know, I don't fucking care. I want it to stop.

I went off to work today in the worst fucking mood.
This drastic change in mood made me think about different things.
Things like
-LA or Chicago. Fuck...really, LA?
-My family. Sometimes I fucking hate all of you. There were certain things today that happened that I am so fucking done with but can't tell you to your face because I have to deal with you. Until I move that is. See bullet point above.
-I don't know why I have so much anger. Why am I getting so mad at all these things? The things were not that big a deal. Or are they? I don't know anymore...
-I want to hang out with my old friends more. I want to hang out with some new friends more. I cannot do both of these things. Not on my travel budget. Who to hang out with? Should I strengthen the bonds of a long-standing friendship? Or should I begin the blossoming of a new one? Fuck. And then there's old ball and chain. Gotta hang out with it! And then there's the girlfriend! Gotta hang out with her! And then there's the wife! WHAT TO DOOOOOOOO
-Sometimes I think I get tired of people and I need time to myself, away from people, to just...be me in private. And I don't mean that in a masturbation way. Probably moreso in an masturbatory way...There is a difference. Kind of.
I think I need more of this alone time.

I am under the influence again. hoooooooray! But I needed something to quell the hot fiery rage of Jayme, and influence-rs won. This may be the last time I get under the influence in a while in case I find out that it's my influencing that is causing the angry/tired/social repulsion. In which case I would have to say goodbye to influencers.

But for now, goodbye to you! Goodbye to my blog on a frog on a log that I found in a hole at the bottom of the sea!
Time to get some motherfuckin' sleep!

Musings on Fame

So I was listening to my ipod on the way back from work today, as I am known to do, and a song came on that got me thinking. The song? Kickapoo by Tenacious D. The topic? One I know too well, and yet not at all. Fame. The song is about Jack Black's journey from his childhood/teenagehood to adulthood/Tenacious D-hood. And it reminded me that I haven't written up the thing I've had written up since last Spring that I mentioned in one of my earlier posts. Yup, just checked, I mentioned it in the one where I was TUI. Typing under the influence. So...here's the backstory.

I was sitting in my friend's car, coming back from Ocean City, in June, reading My Booky Wook 2 by Russell Brand, and all of the sudden I needed a pen and paper because I had words spilling out of me with no where to go. My mouth wasn't an option so they ran into my hand, straight through my fingers, where they itched and burned terribly until I got a pen into them and funneled all those volcanic thoughts through some molten ink onto some regular flimsy paper. And here's what they said:

"I've never really known what people mean when they say they have "religious experiences" or when they have this unwavering blind faith in a deity for no reason other than they just have this strange, foreign, instinctual feeling inside them that they don't understand and is beyond their comprehension. They don't know how they know God exists, they just do, based on this powerful magnetic connection (tether?) they have with Him that they cannot put into words. This feeling, this strange feeling, is the only one I have found to compare to this feeling I have inside me. This constant, unwarranted-ly positive, and yeah, kind of religious feeling I have in me that I am destined for fame. I've had this feeling buried in my stupid little head and heart my whole life, but as I am now on the precipice of a major step towards its ultimate fantastical climax, (Editor's note: More like beginning.) its pulsing and scorching withing me with greater intensity than ever before." (Ed's note: That's all I wrote, picking up now from where I left off)

...Like a horcrux sensing it's imminent death. Or the Foe-Glass mirror where the picture of my enemies is getting clearer and clearer. Except instead of death and Snape, it's happy things like success, money, fame, artistic fulfillment, and total self-confidence.

Oop! Just looked down and saw some other things I wrote down, scratched onto the side of this weary sheet of paper, which didn't make much sense. But they did contain another Harry Potter reference, so that's magical. I have some words written to describe the feeling, "nagging, unexplainable, non-sensical" and "Like I am Harry Potter and Fame is my Voldemort, driving ever closer to put its finger on my forehead." Wow, writing it out, it sounds pretty much exactly like what I just wrote above about the horcrux and Foe-Glass. Great mind thinks alike, I guess!

There's a line in Kickapoo where Jack Black says that Hollywood is "the city of fallen angels", which sounds like a perfect description to me. Tons of pretty, talented people ("angels") flock to Hollywood all the time for fame and get shot down all the time. And I had this frightening and kind of awesome thought that if I do go out there and get shot down for a good 20-30 years, I will become a true fallen angel. I'm talking the original fallen angel Satan. If my dreams go unrealized for too long, they will burn a massive destructive black hole in my heart that will pull in and crush me and everyone around me into a singularity of Fuck You. I will lose faith in the world, hate it, and purposefully and pointedly destroy everyone around me's life. Sort of an "I'm going down, so I'm taking you with me and by the way I'm going to rape you the whole way down" attitude.

Of course, I will never ACTUALLY become like this. I don't think I have it in me.
Plus I'm far too sure in this feeling of mine.
But it's fun to think about, right? No? It's scary?
Well then let's pick this blog up again with some happy thoughts.
THIS FEELING IS REAL!

I'd like to close (at some point soon please, says my stomach, I'M HUNGRY) by saying that I realize how ridiculous and pridefully delusional all this sounds. But everything sounds like a delusion of grandeur until it comes true. Then it's just proof of a really really really good intuition. Or divine fate. Or biological imperative. Or something else. Karma maybe. Or I was an ant in a past life who had it really rough, got killed by a scorpion defending his tiny human friends whose father shrunk them with his shrink ray (or something), and so I get to lead an awesome human life. Or my blind optimism, insatiable thirst for attention, and ridiculously unyielding determination. Or Lord Xenu smiles upon me because my midichlorians are off the charts. Whatever the reason, cool. This feeling must be that boulder from Shrek and I must be Donkey, because I like this feeling. It's a niiiice feeling.

G'bye! I smell a Crusted Chicken Romano with white parmesan sauce in my immediate future. But beyond that...who knows? All I've got is a feeling.
But you know what? It's Boston. Know why?
Because it's More Than A Feeling.