I started writing in various journals and blogs a little over 4 years ago, and from time-to-time I like to re-read entries. It's interesting to go back and see where I was as opposed to where I am not now. Sometimes it's funny, but most of the time it's downright painful to read just how bad I was at writing.
Not that I presently make the claim to be a writer. At best, I'm an amateur, self-important hack with delusions of humor. But at least I'm not as bad now as when I started.
May 3rd, 2002
"Hmmmm...I feel like my first journal entry should be profound and life altering for ALL my throngs of fans who now know that I am on this site. Bah, who am I trying to kid? I'm just doing this to waste even MORE time during my day on the internet! *scoff* As if I don't spend enough on here already. :D
I had a soccer game last night and it was cold as a russian hooker outside! *shivers* We won 4-0(and I had a goal and assist) but does it really count when we were playing 11 on 8? HELL YEAH IT DOES! A win is a win! I don't think we'll have that many easy games though. A wierd thing happened at the game though. I was coming off the field after scoring and there were 2 guys there that were helping to cast "normal" soccer players for a United Airlines commercial that is going to be aired during the World Cup. They video taped my "trying" to do some of my non-existant moves and said that if I end up getting chosen as one of the 10 finalists, I'd be called sometime this weekend and shoot the commercial on Monday. How fucked up is that? I KNOW I won't get it, but it was interesting all the same :D Ok, I've babbled enough, right Tani? RIGHT?!?!"
Can you believe I used emoticons and words inside asterisks? Emoticons, for fucks sake! I'm sure that there are *many people that would say that I'm not a good writer, and that's a-ok with me, but at least we can all agree that I've improved, at least slightly. At least give me credit for that.
Had I written that piece above in 2006, I probably could've stretched it out to 1000 words, no problem. But I've been told before that my entries are too long, so it's up to the reader to determine which is the lesser of two evils; wordy entries or writing like I've had a frontal lobotomy.
But if I have to dumb it down for the masses, I might as well quit writing and tell jokes to barnyard animals. At least they'd be a captive audience.
I haven't really written much lately. Not really sure why that is, but it is nonetheless. It seems to happen everytime I find myself in a relationship-type thing, though. It's nobody's fault really. When all we do is sigh at eachother, smile, and fake argue about who likes who more, does anyone really want to hear about that?
Even if that scenario wasn't a blatant lie, I'd hope that nobody would be left not puking after reading it. Anybody that wants to read gushy stuff has a problem.
You hear that Amber? A problem. It's the affliction known as "being a girl". It's debilitating, but at least it's not contagious.
And that's what we call a joke in the biz.
I feel like I should go back and rewrite some of the stories that aren't necessarily better, but have much better potential.
Like the one about night where I went to Rudolph's alone and ended up scared for my anus after being given the thrice over by a mexi-transvestite.
Or the follow up to that when I followed a girl down to The 90's(it's the gay club where all the straight women hang out), and when she saw that I actually showed up--yes, she invited me--she ran in the opposite direction. I was left standing there watching the drag show while the aforementioned mexi-transvestite inched closer.
Minneapolis is small that way.
Luckily I was saved by one of the three straight girls in the bar when, after asking if I was gay(that night I wasn't), invited me to join her and her friends at another bar. But is it really considered being saved, when the second thing out of her mouth after the gay inquiry is "I'm not sleeping with you, just so you know"? Probably not.
And then there's the whole gay, german dude that could use a little polishing. The story, I mean, not the dude himself. That's sick.
Or the girl that asked if I had large junk after I gave her my phone number. My real phone number. I wish she'd dropped that bomb before I thought she wasn't crazy in the head.
I'm not trying to make a point that I have much more fun when I'm single, because that's not that case. I have plenty of recent stories that I could tell, but why would anyone want to hear about the orgies with all those Penthouse Pets that keep knocking on my door? Or all those drunken good times I've had with my good pal, Bradley Pitt? (You should see some of the sloppy seconds he just THROWS AWAY.)
No, I'm just saying that some of the stories that had potential to be better, or funnier, or just not stupid--right now, they're crap. Crappity crap crap crap. And at least they'll give me something to write about, because the amount of poker material hiding backstage can be summed up with the following; what the fuck is poker?
Oh yeah, and I should post more pictures. People love pictures of pretty shit, huh?
*This is going along with the self-important theme in thinking that I have thousands and thousands over adoring readers, of course.