I'm beginning to remember why I forgot about this blog in the first place: Even less happens to me than I thought. What kind of life am I living when I think something vaguely noteworthy will happen* every week or so, but then the days just keep on slipping by and I'm still left with "My dog is now old and incontinent" and "What does Tumblr do, again?"
Disappointing.
So I'll tell you about my Omegle experience. Omegle, if there's anyone out there besides me who was unaware, is a chat site that connects you with a Perfect Stranger and the two of you proceed to have a conversation - which, given that both of you are residing behind an impenetrable veil of anonymity, is bound to be soul-baring or at least interesting.
How naive I was, internet. Because of course when the barriers put up by social niceties go down, the first thing that comes up is an erection.
I've had seven Omegle conversations. In two of them I was insulted immediately and then the Stranger disconnected before I could muster an appropriately scathing retort. Two others were normal enough: a nice fellow from, apparently, Sweden, which my faulty Wifi connection ended prematurely; and another guy from Canada who needed a bit of prodding to actually say anything, but was pleasant enough when he did.
The other three? Were hilarious. Horny male virgins who, once they realized their requests for "picz" would not be granted, proceeded to grill me about my sex life. I had fun with that. I got inventive. I scared one of them with my enthusiastic descriptions of BSDM, which involved a bit of quick and spontaneous research I had to delete from my browser history. There were so many emoticons and senseless abbreviations, a string of characters I at first didn't realize was meant to be a penis but, when the penny dropped, seemed like an overly optimistic representation of the Stranger's length.
Everyone wanted to exchange names, ages, and genders, which to me kind of defeated the purpose of the whole "Stranger" business. If I don't know anything about you, I'll talk about anything. If I find out you're 19-year-old, virginal Mike and you have "questuns," I sigh and open a tab on vices for a gentleman's scrotum.
I don't think I'll use Omegle again. The charm wears off quickly.
---
* Osama Bin Laden's dead. There's that. I should have specified "something vaguely noteworthy will happen TO ME.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Sound of Si-No, Fuck It, Too Predictable
Maaaybe it's just been far too long since I've spent any considerable amount of time in a public library, but. When did they get so loud? Between the three kids and their math tutors (or whatever) in the near vicinity, and the man with the ridiculously high-pitched voice constantly piping up from behind a shelf (which is a shame, since now I really want to get a look at him), I can barely hear myself think up in hurr.
The guy at the table next to me is wearing earplugs, for god's sake. Since when do you need earplugs in a library? Where are the terrifying librarians shushing everyone into shameful silence (sorry)? Why is a young child screeching in the distance? Would it be weird to ask earplug man if he has a spare set?
So many questions.
The whole situation has led me to do some Serious Pondering, complete with intensely thoughtful facial expressions and nods which appear to be making other patrons uncomfortable, about how difficult it is to find some silence. Like, real, nobody-else-is-breathing-too-heavily-too-close-for-comfort silence. It's almost impossible. I live with my parents, who, even when they're not talking to me (how dare they), always have at least one T.V. on at a fairly high volume. Whenever I'm home alone the neighborhood children are outside, apparently shrieking directly into our downstairs windows from the sound of it. The campus library is full of the sounds of moist mastication (had to do it) or grunts or coughing or sneezing. Coffee places are, of course, intended for light background music and conversation. And now the public library turns out to be noisy, too.
So really - think about it. When was the last time you were able to sit undisturbed by the sounds of other people? Go on, make embarrassingly public thinky-faces with me. Hmmmm.
If I remember, I'll mention it. But now I have to write comments on other people's workshop stories.
The guy at the table next to me is wearing earplugs, for god's sake. Since when do you need earplugs in a library? Where are the terrifying librarians shushing everyone into shameful silence (sorry)? Why is a young child screeching in the distance? Would it be weird to ask earplug man if he has a spare set?
So many questions.
The whole situation has led me to do some Serious Pondering, complete with intensely thoughtful facial expressions and nods which appear to be making other patrons uncomfortable, about how difficult it is to find some silence. Like, real, nobody-else-is-breathing-too-heavily-too-close-for-comfort silence. It's almost impossible. I live with my parents, who, even when they're not talking to me (how dare they), always have at least one T.V. on at a fairly high volume. Whenever I'm home alone the neighborhood children are outside, apparently shrieking directly into our downstairs windows from the sound of it. The campus library is full of the sounds of moist mastication (had to do it) or grunts or coughing or sneezing. Coffee places are, of course, intended for light background music and conversation. And now the public library turns out to be noisy, too.
So really - think about it. When was the last time you were able to sit undisturbed by the sounds of other people? Go on, make embarrassingly public thinky-faces with me. Hmmmm.
If I remember, I'll mention it. But now I have to write comments on other people's workshop stories.
Re-Eureka!
So this is embarrassing, but I completely forgot I had this blog. Embarrassing but not surprising, I should point out, because I'm the kind of person who kept like eight different journals in a two-year period. I would find a journal, think, "Yes, this cover encapsulates the Essence of Me," and then a month later I'd find another journal I liked better and start writing in that one instead.
Incidentally, I should probably try to round those up. There could be incriminating information in there.
(No there couldn't. My life is pathetic.)
Anyway, the point is I rediscovered this, my sadly abandoned blog, read through it, and decided I didn't sound like a complete moron I would deny ever knowing in real life. So I'm going to start using it again. I even followed all the people everyone's already following! So I'm pretty committed.
I'll start analyzing all the trivial events in my life for anecdotal gold, and when I unearth something worth sharing I'll write the shit out of it. (But not now. Right now I have multiple papers that should have been done last week.)
Okay, I'm out of here. Deuces.
Incidentally, I should probably try to round those up. There could be incriminating information in there.
(No there couldn't. My life is pathetic.)
Anyway, the point is I rediscovered this, my sadly abandoned blog, read through it, and decided I didn't sound like a complete moron I would deny ever knowing in real life. So I'm going to start using it again. I even followed all the people everyone's already following! So I'm pretty committed.
I'll start analyzing all the trivial events in my life for anecdotal gold, and when I unearth something worth sharing I'll write the shit out of it. (But not now. Right now I have multiple papers that should have been done last week.)
Okay, I'm out of here. Deuces.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
