Something I notice every day as I walk to lecture through the parkette behind my apartment is this old Asian lady feeding the pigeons. I never really gave much attention to her other than making a mental note that she was there and feeding the pigeons. Always the same Asian lady, always the same parkette, pigeons. The other day on my way home, I saw an old European lady feeding the pigeons in one of the gardens on campus. I had a thought. Seeing her made me go into a deeply strange and ridiculous story. I imagined going to another parkette nearby. There, walking through and scattering seeds, was a different old lady feeding pigeons. Could these grannies be organized? Is there some kind of Old Ladies Feeding Pigeons Union? I always thought the city of Toronto had a secret underworld. I just never thought that it would be run by old ladies. They fight for their lives, they fight for their turf, they fight for their pigeon feed. I wonder if they’re split by race or home country or if it’s just like area vs. area and each gang of pigeon feeding old ladies has control over specific neighbourhoods.
The Chicago Outfit A.K.A. “The Capones” – Chicago, 1920-1931. The Irish Mob – Boston, 1800’s -Present. Italian Mafia – New York City, ? – Present. Pigeon Ladies – Toronto, 1980 – Present. What do all of these have in common? Ruthless, badass, cold-blooded criminals.
Ever wonder what Grandma does when you’re away at school or work? Pigeon Lady. Why does Grandma smell the way she does? Pigeons. Think Grandma has dementia? That’s just so you’ll never suspect that she’s running a bootleg alcohol, drug and pigeon feed racket out of your basement. Grandma didn’t actually get lost on her walk today. She went to the house of a Pigeon lady from a rival gang and switched all her pills for placebos. Good one Grandma. That’ll teach that rotten bitch to feed pigeons on your turf.
This is the retarded shit that goes through my head.
I don’t think it’s normal
I wonder if anyone else ever thinks these things.
Disappeared for a while. Sorry about that. I’ve been trying to limit my online presence and live a reality-based life. I really enjoy this though so I’m going to try to keep this going.
identity crisis no. 1784 by mechanizedeye
Who am I? This seems to be a question that I ask myself a lot. What do I want to do with my life? Who do I want to be? Is that person different from who I am? Do I like who I am or would I prefer to be someone else? I’m having quite a bit of trouble figuring out what I want from life. I’m not completely sure. It would be nice to be the person great person I believe I can be for the 5-10 minutes after reading an inspirational quote or listening to a RSA or Ted Talk. That guy would be awesome. He would really make a difference in the world. What happens to that guy after those 10 minutes? Where does he go? What happens to all that drive and inspiration that makes me feel so good? Perhaps it’s the logical side of me saying: “It doesn’t take a hero and a genius to state everything that is wrong with the world. Thank you for bringing awareness to the fact that everything sucks, but, just saying that there is a problem is a great start but it’s not a solution. I could be against something like gender inequality, but not really know how to fix it. Words are all fine and good. However, talk is cheap. Saying I’m going to do something doesn’t mean that it’s actually going to get done. It takes a lot of work to take those first steps to start a project. Perhaps “Project Me” isn’t exactly something I’m willing to tackle just yet.
I feel as if I go through life playing a series of characters to fit different parts of my life. When I’m around my Jock friends, I’m a guy that’s interested in sports and everything jock-esque. “…I’m so happy that the Dallas Mavericks won the NBA Championship this year. They’ve always had a great team but the competition has always been so fierce that even a great team like them couldn’t complete. They’re the only team that has consistently maintained a level of quality that no other team has been able to match”.
When I’m with my best friend from elementary school, the geek in me comes out. I mean complete anime-watching, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy-reading, Dungeons and Dragons-playing, geeky nerdy nerd. “I absolutely love Yakitate!! Japan. Not only is it one of the funniest animes I’ve ever seen, its also highly educational. I really enjoy the way they poke fun at ridiculous reoccurring themes in a lot of other animes. It’s really got all aspects of a great anime without seeming overloaded or stupid.”
Oh, no… is that girl crying? I wonder if she’s okay.
“Excuse me, are you alright?”
Girl – “Not really… my life is falling apart and there’s nothing that I can do about it.”
Me – “Well would you like to talk about it?”
Girl – “What good would that do? It’s not like it’ll change anything. My life is still a disaster.”
Me – “Sometimes it’s nice to get it out. I’m told that I’m a good listener and I want to know what’s going on with you. I may just be being nosy, but I hate to see people sad.”
Girl – “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time?”
Me – “Nothing more important than this.”
She talked, I listened. We walked around the city. She cried some more, I bought tissues. We grabbed coffee, she talked some more. I was 4 hours late for work that day at A&F. They didn’t call or even really notice. It made no difference to me. Four hours at minimum wage is nothing. She just thanked me for listening, gave me a hug, I asked her if she would be OK. She nodded yes and I saw her smile for the first time. I told her, “You have a really nice smile.” She giggled cutely. We said our goodbyes and I went to work.
I didn’t even get her name. It’s not that I didn’t find her attractive, it’s just that it didn’t seem like the right thing to do. I felt like asking for her number or name would have been a betrayal of her trust. I didn’t want her to feel that after all that I had some kind of hidden agenda. I didn’t. I was genuinely concerned about this complete stranger for no reason and all I wanted to do was see her smile. It had nothing to do with hitting on her or making myself feel good about doing someone nice for someone else. I just didn’t like to see her cry. Sometimes I’m that guy. I’m not sure if that’s the person I actually am deep down, or if it’s just another character I play. All I know is that I didn’t have play it like I have to with my other personas. It came naturally. Not forced or worked on. I’ve created so many faces for myself that I don’t even know which one belongs to me anymore. I’m a chameleon that doesn’t remember it’s original colour.
Who the hell am I?
I’ve dated enough to know what I don’t like. The idea if “my type” is constantly evolving. Things that turn me off, annoy me, or things I could just do without. Some things are just gross or unacceptable. I’ve dated the crazy girl, the clingy girl, the emotionally distant, the rebellious girl, the hippie, and others. A few more meaningful than others, but most of them ending for the same reasons.
Bottom line is, she has to have a personality. Someone who can hold a conversation. Someone with diverse interests, ambitions, goals. Someone who challenges me, and isn’t afraid to call me on my bullshit. Someone who will punch me in the arm when I’m being an idiot and will hold me up when I’m feeling discouraged. Someone makes me want to be a better person. That inspires me to do things I never thought possible. Playful personality with the ability to have a serious and meaningful conversation. Someone who knows the worst side of me and still loves me. Someone not afraid to open up and tell me what she’s feeling. Somebody I can trust more than anyone else in the world.
It’s stupid… or may seem so, but that’s just really not good enough… it’s really mostly about how we connect. How she makes me feel, how I make her feel. Like a little while ago, I met someone. Her smile lights up any room she walks into. She’s absolutely the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever met, and it feels like our personalities just fit together. An overwhelming attraction. I could just sit and look into her eyes all day and every time I think about her or say her name I can’t help but smile. When I’m around her, I get intense butterflies that make me want to throw up and spontaneously combust.
I find it hard to play nonchalant around her. She flusters me. Throws me off balance every chance she gets. She inherently knows how to get under my skin as if she’s purchased real estate there and has become a permanent resident. She somehow just knows what buttons to push and loves to torment me. She’s got me hooked and I’m finding it impossible to resist regardless of how likely (or unlikely) we are to become anything.
She’s the definition of my type at this moment. Whatever that means. She just feels right. That’s my type.
Staring at the ceiling. Trying to figure out where a guy like me fits in.
Update: The pre-exam week love interest is no more. I went for it and got humiliated. We’re still great friends and hang out quite often. Our time together has made me realize that we could have never worked. She was nothing more than a pretty face with a playful personality. Really not my type at all. I’m well over it and ready to move on. There really isn’t a lot of story to it. It’s not exciting or anything. Maybe a little bit funny, but not really worth talking about. Maybe some other time.
New post very soon. I promise.
Too busy studying to update. I tried to get a few posts done in advance to publish over the last week, but it didn’t quite work out that way. Anyway, I’ll be back after this week and posting much more frequently I promise.
Wish me luck!
All I ever hear about is women complaining about men always hitting on them, or making a pass, or only wanting or thinking about one thing. I never hear about men complaining about women always hitting on them, or only wanting them for sex, or only liking them for their physical appearance rather than their personality. What the fuck!? Why am I the only guy that seems to get this? Why does it seem like I’m the only person in the universe that doesn’t want this? Don’t get me wrong, sex is great (one of the greatest things ever), but when it’s just one-night stands and FWB, it just feels hollow, cheap, and a little dirty (and not in a good way)…
Growing up, I often read stories and watched movies describing and depicting acts of love and chivalry, romance, and passion. As a child, I couldn’t wait until I reached the age where I could experience these things for myself.
Fast forward to now. The age of the “douchebag” and whatever the female equivalent. The type of woman that is obsessed with playing mind games with complete disregard for what the man may feel for her. Don’t get me wrong, a little chase is intriguing, even exciting, however, when it gets to the point that she is ruthlessly leading him on with no intention allowing it to go anywhere, wtf?. I mean the same, goes for men. Men have been openly doing the same for a long time. I’m not denying that. But why is it me that has to pay for the stupidity of my gender?
I’m sorry that I don’t want a random fuck on a Friday/Saturday night. I’m sorry I’m not willing to just drop everything when you call at 3:00am drunk and horny and wanting sex and wanting to give me a try because you find me “intriguing“. I’m sorry for wanting more than just a physical connection.