(no subject)
[Yeah, I'm lazy, but this is the best update I can manage for the moment. I'm tired, go fuck yourself.]
I'm definitely down for drunk-tasticness. Naturally, Heather heard 'booze', and was immediately interested. So, minor conundrum there, as I can't really vent heavily about Heather if she is, for example, sitting next to me, sipping a Mikes. I dunno, makes it difficult. Plus I'm noticing I tend toward that 'one friend at a time' phenomena. Who knew, I get greedy myself. Sharing friends is a whole different level of interaction, I suppose. Fine for parties when there's umptybillion people, but two on one is hard. Dunno how the French manage it, kinky bastards. I figure I can work something out, though. Not like I really have a curfew.
So, the smoking thing.. yeah. Didn't exactly go into detail about that to you, I suppose. My apologies. I've been a smoker, off and on, since likely my sophomore year of highschool. Fell into the wrong, though interesting crowd there, and was introduced to all those interesting terms that I was sheltered from beforehand. Good old parenting can't compete with the cool kids, eh?
Anyway, I was off of cigarettes entirely until last summer, I believe. Girl on the floor had a preference for my old flame, Djarum Blacks. Naturally, I started up casually. Just had one for the bad days, and the days when I just felt numb. That being the summer I dated and broke up with Jackie, and then got double-teamed by two different and interesting girls at once, and didn't notice until it went south... Well, I needed alot of cloves, to say the least.
More recently, I came across several little shops in town that I hadn't noticed before. Behind all the hookas and 'tobacco pipes' they sell, there was a little box of deathsticks, amidst which was my old partner in crime. Dunno why I really grabbed a pack. No peer pressure, no bandwagoning. I think it mostly had to do with the amount of stress levelling itself onto my shoulders just then. I was dealing with Chere, who was ghosting out of my existence even though I desperately was trying to talk with her about all the weirdness going on between us. Around then, I'd taken Heather to her prom, and it was about then that I really had trouble -not- thinking about it. Beginnings of my first twitterpation in.. ever. That's always fun. I don't flit from person to person, infatuated with them to the point I can't breathe. A pattern like that would be impossible to survive, for a delicate fella like me. I'd rather spar my sensei, no pads.
No, seriously, I would. Cracked ribs are easier to handle than sprained heartstrings, any day. Oh, and I'm probably up for my next belt test in the next month or so. Sensei's been giving me the eye.
So I've been smoking semi-steadily since the beginning of summer, or thereabouts. Summer session wasn't incredibly difficult (4 "A"s, woot), but I had to deal with being exposed almost daily to the girl I found most interesting in the world. Plus she smelled damn good, which is 100% the pheremones talking, I think. Who knows. Girls' hair is like that to me. Item #39 I dig about women, I suppose.
Indeed, karate and cloves don't mix well, I agree. I took a month off when I went home, had a sparse number of cloves, and absolutely no physical activity beyond repairing my room, and lifting the occasional heavy box. So in my silly, over-achieving way, I'm fat and lumpy. Working to achieve that particular level of fitness I had before, mostly. A workout then was a reason to sweat, but I was almost never tired. They couldn't throw a workout at me that could do that, a month ago. Crazy how fast it runs out on you, you know?
I suppose, plain and simple, the cloves help when I get stressed or bummed or just have nothing to occupy my mind. It's the difference between sitting and staring, mind going a thousand miles a minute, and eyeing your cigarette so it doesn't ash on you. Very nirvanic, focusing your entire attention on a little wrap of leaves that's on fire in your hand. Plus, these being cloves, they smell and taste pretty good as far as cigarettes go. The buzz is a bonus, though only a bonus, to me.
I really ought to stop smoking them, I'm the first to admit, as is every smoker. They'll slow me down in karate, and likely keep me from the peaks of fitness I quietly dream of. Sure, I'm a ripped son of a bitch already, beneath the baggy clothes I adorn myself in, but one need only go to a dojo to see people so fit and healthy, you want to rush home and do sit ups out of envy.
On an amusing sidenote, I think I worried Heather a titch, saying I was going to go get drunk with one of my friends. She knows about the whole Chere mess, so I suppose 'girl' and 'drink' were what she heard. I tried explaining that I have gotten drunk with you on a few occasions, and have successfully not fooled around, but apparantly she fears a relapse. Something to mull over when it comes to that crossing, I suppose. Despite all evidence presented by my half of the species, I'm not simply a walking dick. My brain's too big and powerful to stand for that kinda stupid excuse.
Seriously, the graveyard shift leaves me wayyyy too much time on my hands, doesn't it?
~Eric
I'm definitely down for drunk-tasticness. Naturally, Heather heard 'booze', and was immediately interested. So, minor conundrum there, as I can't really vent heavily about Heather if she is, for example, sitting next to me, sipping a Mikes. I dunno, makes it difficult. Plus I'm noticing I tend toward that 'one friend at a time' phenomena. Who knew, I get greedy myself. Sharing friends is a whole different level of interaction, I suppose. Fine for parties when there's umptybillion people, but two on one is hard. Dunno how the French manage it, kinky bastards. I figure I can work something out, though. Not like I really have a curfew.
So, the smoking thing.. yeah. Didn't exactly go into detail about that to you, I suppose. My apologies. I've been a smoker, off and on, since likely my sophomore year of highschool. Fell into the wrong, though interesting crowd there, and was introduced to all those interesting terms that I was sheltered from beforehand. Good old parenting can't compete with the cool kids, eh?
Anyway, I was off of cigarettes entirely until last summer, I believe. Girl on the floor had a preference for my old flame, Djarum Blacks. Naturally, I started up casually. Just had one for the bad days, and the days when I just felt numb. That being the summer I dated and broke up with Jackie, and then got double-teamed by two different and interesting girls at once, and didn't notice until it went south... Well, I needed alot of cloves, to say the least.
More recently, I came across several little shops in town that I hadn't noticed before. Behind all the hookas and 'tobacco pipes' they sell, there was a little box of deathsticks, amidst which was my old partner in crime. Dunno why I really grabbed a pack. No peer pressure, no bandwagoning. I think it mostly had to do with the amount of stress levelling itself onto my shoulders just then. I was dealing with Chere, who was ghosting out of my existence even though I desperately was trying to talk with her about all the weirdness going on between us. Around then, I'd taken Heather to her prom, and it was about then that I really had trouble -not- thinking about it. Beginnings of my first twitterpation in.. ever. That's always fun. I don't flit from person to person, infatuated with them to the point I can't breathe. A pattern like that would be impossible to survive, for a delicate fella like me. I'd rather spar my sensei, no pads.
No, seriously, I would. Cracked ribs are easier to handle than sprained heartstrings, any day. Oh, and I'm probably up for my next belt test in the next month or so. Sensei's been giving me the eye.
So I've been smoking semi-steadily since the beginning of summer, or thereabouts. Summer session wasn't incredibly difficult (4 "A"s, woot), but I had to deal with being exposed almost daily to the girl I found most interesting in the world. Plus she smelled damn good, which is 100% the pheremones talking, I think. Who knows. Girls' hair is like that to me. Item #39 I dig about women, I suppose.
Indeed, karate and cloves don't mix well, I agree. I took a month off when I went home, had a sparse number of cloves, and absolutely no physical activity beyond repairing my room, and lifting the occasional heavy box. So in my silly, over-achieving way, I'm fat and lumpy. Working to achieve that particular level of fitness I had before, mostly. A workout then was a reason to sweat, but I was almost never tired. They couldn't throw a workout at me that could do that, a month ago. Crazy how fast it runs out on you, you know?
I suppose, plain and simple, the cloves help when I get stressed or bummed or just have nothing to occupy my mind. It's the difference between sitting and staring, mind going a thousand miles a minute, and eyeing your cigarette so it doesn't ash on you. Very nirvanic, focusing your entire attention on a little wrap of leaves that's on fire in your hand. Plus, these being cloves, they smell and taste pretty good as far as cigarettes go. The buzz is a bonus, though only a bonus, to me.
I really ought to stop smoking them, I'm the first to admit, as is every smoker. They'll slow me down in karate, and likely keep me from the peaks of fitness I quietly dream of. Sure, I'm a ripped son of a bitch already, beneath the baggy clothes I adorn myself in, but one need only go to a dojo to see people so fit and healthy, you want to rush home and do sit ups out of envy.
On an amusing sidenote, I think I worried Heather a titch, saying I was going to go get drunk with one of my friends. She knows about the whole Chere mess, so I suppose 'girl' and 'drink' were what she heard. I tried explaining that I have gotten drunk with you on a few occasions, and have successfully not fooled around, but apparantly she fears a relapse. Something to mull over when it comes to that crossing, I suppose. Despite all evidence presented by my half of the species, I'm not simply a walking dick. My brain's too big and powerful to stand for that kinda stupid excuse.
Seriously, the graveyard shift leaves me wayyyy too much time on my hands, doesn't it?
~Eric