XXplorher
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Oct 1, 1999
- Posts
- 2,711
You should not bother reading any of this, unless you're (first of all, bored enough, and second) you feel fully able to insert yourself into someone else's life. It's fun cuz I'm foolish enough to spill it. Don't bother getting self-righteous on my ass. I could care less.
The first time I met this condition (as I define it) was in 8th grade.
In grades 1-5 I was mister cool. ‘The Fonze’ in grades 1-3 (which makes me look about as stupid now as it was ultra-cool then). I attained that ‘cool status’ by getting in a heap of trouble, and ultimately chose out of that school into another before I got a boot behind my ass assuring it be true.
In the new school, Episcopal, the whole way of doing things was new. Intelligence was the thing. And attractively, for me, there was a tight knit aspect that I did not have at home. Small groups, interactive. I LOVED how the new school ran things and I jumped in. It wasn’t a ‘ditch’ move, from the other school. I wanted to go there…
Guess what, Fonze… that ain’t cool in the new school. I had to adapt.
>Flash forward 2yrs, we’ve moved to a nearby town. It’s not convenient for me to go to the smart/Episcipal school anymore. I need to go back in with all my buddies who loved me from before, for 8th grade.
No problem, right?
Wrong. I show up all nerdy and smart. Or in actuality, not quite smart or nerdy enough, but close enough to no longer be much Fonzereli like in any manner whatsoever. I’m Potsie. I’m nowhere.
I know people, but I’m not like what they knew. It was weird. I felt like I needed to earn it all over again.
So, I did.
There was ‘The Cafeteria Cool Table’. The Cafeteria had 4-5 tables, and tons of tables to not even eat in there. But if you were COOL? You had to sit at this one table. And if you WEREN’T cool? You best not try.
I looked over at that table for many weeks while I stood in line to get my crappy food. I knew half of everyone there. But the people I knew, weren’t looking at me like they used to. They didn’t know me anymore. And I’d done nothing to substantiate what they knew before. If anything, they made sure not to look at me.
So I waited. Before ‘trying’ for the ‘cool’ table.
I don’t remember how many weeks went by. I remember befriending other people completely outside the cafeteria and learning more valuable lessons that ultimately made me into a far more aware person. But it didn’t matter. I wanted to be AT that table. And this may sound a little cruel, but I also knew I was far too cool to NOT be at that table. I was arrogant about the people I met. They knew it. And I knew it. And I didn’t want that vibe, the one where we’re not on the same level. So some weeks went by… and then I sat at it. The Table.
It was really weird.
No one said a goddamned thing. I thought the fuckbastards I hadn’t known ever would start throwing their plates into the air like Romans who just found out their ass got fucked – but that didn’t happen. They all went about their business like I hadn’t even taken a seat. Which also means no one said hello.
I was not dismissed. And yet I had not been welcome. What did that mean?
So I sat there again the next day, and on and on. Until people did begin to, oddly, talk to me as if I’d been sitting there for 3 years. But I HADn’t! It was the strangest fucking thing for me. I could not define why there was any disconnect. Had I only done it myself?
But then – the argument happened.
One of the guys I hadn’t known from before, who led the group of renegades I also didn’t know – said some shit at the table. I can’t remember what it was. It was something real trivial, and ridiculous. I don’t remember for sure if it was a ‘what the fuck are you doing at this table’ but I suspect that was it. And I don’t remember if I ‘called him out’ or I just ended up outside somehow but he popped me. Outside, with 2 other dudes who could do me on their own (at that time). But it wasn’t the punch. He fucking SAID something. Something that completely crippled me.
I dropped to my ass and just started crying. Like a baby. Or worse.
I remember him asking, ‘Seriously? That’s you right now?’ Or something that just ruined me like 10x worse. To the point where I saw him look at me and he felt like an ass. I HATED that feeling. That I’d fallen down from one punch and was sitting there, disgusted with myself, crying in a way I couldn’t understand – and the very dude that put me down there was so disgusted with it also that he didn’t even want to kick me.
Okay?
So then I limped away, to a safe place behind the gymnasium. And I cried some more. Continually.
I just cried and cried and cried. We’re talking maybe 20min at this point.
I absolutely remember sitting there, vomiting tears, wondering what the fuck was wrong with me and if I might ever recover. My chest was huffing and puffing. I could barely breathe. My mind made no sense of anything. I was just sitting there crying UNCONTROLLABLY. Like a pussy. Or worse.
Then the bell rang.
For some reason I thought I best react to that first bell and get to class. So I got to class early. And the door was closed. So I sat there. And I started crying some more.
And this dude I used to know back in the day walks up, this guy I used to ‘compete with’ as far as cool status goes at the old elementary school, he’s got this hot blonde in his arm (we’re in 8th grade, okay? It was a super big deal to carry a chick around). And he sees me in my state, he’s like, ‘What’s up, bro? Hey, what’s going on?’ And I’m like, “Honestly, man. I have no idea. I’m trying to figure it out. I DON’T know.” And I might start crying again. I’ve now quintupled my embarrassment, right?
But the guy goes, “Fuck Name. That fat fucker. I never liked him.” And then to the girl he had on his arm he goes, “This is my friend (name withheld). I know him from (School withheld). He’s cool.”
Dude gave me dignity.
I was sitting there like a fucking assplate of shame. And this dude who used to be my #1 nemesis, fixed it. Funny. Huh?
And so I went another 15yrs not ever quite knowing what the hell happened that day. Did I have a breakdown? WTF happened? I’m only looking back trying to make sense out of why I reacted UNCONTROLLABLY like that. It must have had something to do with the whole school tension thing. Like, I’d adapted too many times. And then I thought I was in again, but I wasn’t – so I just crumbled.
It’s worth noting… as it turns out, one of the more compassionate things I’ve ever fully witnessed was only enabled because I landed in that especially vulnerable state.
And full disclosure: the dude who afforded me great compassion became a complete douchebag. We’re not friends. And the guy who made me cry, later threw us all out from a truck on fire until he could solve the situation. And did. Possibly saving us all from burning in hellfire. So ya just… never… know.
Uncontrollable Sob II
Now I’m 27. I’ve seen plenty. I’ve been torn up. And I’ve done some decent tearing. I’m 1 of a zillion people who thinks they’re special enough to come to Hollywood and say something that hasn’t been said.
When I get there? The electricity of the place is enough to FAR overwhelm any reservations I might have about where I just came to live. It’s a cacophony of WTF and When Will I of Course. It’s delicious and disturbed. And it’s FUCKED!
EVERYONE IN IT – IS FUCKED!!!! Completely fucked. They’re all slaves to a whole different idea of ‘making it’ than I meant to achieve.
And what does this mean for me? At the ‘Cool’ table?
Initially, I had an “in”. I came down to work for a guy, cuz I’d be a super swell dude if I did that. But that’s not why I did it. I wanted to know ‘Hollywood’. It seemed like a fair exchange. (And ultimately it was, I guess)
It’s a brand new fucking Cool Table though, I gotta tell ya. That Hollywood shit is… don’t go there. It’s bad. Sitting at the table… can only poison you. Honestly.
But anyway… I left and returned for gold and now I’m working at this place where we did movie surveys. If you could fart on your hand they would hire you, so I took that job. (I might have called you at some point. My numbers were outrageous as compared to other guy numbers. They wanted to fire me 6mo before they could – for insubordination. They could NOT fire me before that, cuz the math was too gnarly. I got numbers. And that’s all Hollywood cares about. They didn’t fire me until I had some chick actually doing herself with a vibrator over the phone. This just in? She was the 3rd. They were late. I win.)
So… at this survey place, where I would really earn my numbers was a willingness for recipients to listen to me hammer them about 50 fucking different movies they’ve never heard of. How fast could I get through that? Fast! AND – they had to know what the fuck I was talking about after. And they would.
Each and every quarter we would get a fucking 50page document that my employer thought some random person would pick up the phone and willinglly listen to///
And now we get to the point…
Forrest Gump was 1 of 50 ‘Blurbs’ we read to quantify YOUR interest. You all, to a name – hated it. I – hated reading it. It sounded like the stupidest fucking movie I’ve EVER heard of. It was only a paragraph or three, and while I was the fastest and most enjoyable voice to listen to about its blurb – you all hated the idea of it.
Forrest Gump was as doomed to an abject failure as Star Wars was – by the very same company I worked for – certain to suck for sure.
But then my co-workers went to see it over the months that went by. And they all loved it. The same movie we’d panned on account of the shittiest blurb yet written (mind you, we weren’t in charge of the Gump Happens stuff. Apparently, someone way up top, knew precisely what the fuck they were doing and could give a rats ass about that neanderthal account with the survey group. (Smart people in small doses).
Anyway, I only went to see it cuz this one little angel who’d come back to Hollywood after cheating on her boyfriend and not doing so well in New York, this little waif of a woman who’d completely destroyed a dude I’d been working with for 15mo, and now came BACK to wreck him just a bit more (real good looking dude, very fit, but just totally destroyed by this one woman, the guy was… gone, empty, completely raped by her). She sparkled at me about it. Like, ‘You don’t know anything, go see this movie, I’m as light as air and it will always be that way. Chase me like a feather… bitch.”
So I went to see it. Cuz she had a way of making men who can’t afford it – be her bitch.
To my credit, I didn’t tell her I was/would/gonna. I just walked the half block from my barf blasted apt to a 3pm showing at Mann’s Chinese. I took a nice tasty seat in the middle. And I sat down with my big fat assurance that I knew everything; that Hollywood was a bunch of cocksuckers and I knew a better way, that I’d been paying a ton of attention and they all better get the fuck in line, cuz I’m goddamned 27, mothafucka!
And then the feather came down, with that meandering music – and I immediately got owned.
It happened that fast.
The whole world said, “Shhhh… shut up now. Listen.”
And so I did. I listened.
At a few odd moments I had to look around, “Is this really happening? How many people are in here with me? We could easily escape and swear it never happened. There can’t be more than 20 people in here. We could escape…”
But nobody moved.
And then the movie ended.
And I was sure they’d just all get up and evacuate before I completely lost it.
But they didn’t do that. They just sat there. Crying.
There were maybe 20-30 people in the most famous theater in the world, while credits to Forrest Gump went down – and NOBODY moved. None. All I heard was crying. Fucking, weeping of a kind that you KNOW… you don’t deserve hearing. You need to get the fuck out of there.
So I did.
If they’re not going to vacate before I do? Then I will first. As long as I get the hell out of here before I drop everything I have within me and crap my pants and whatever else. I knew I had no chance of going out the front. So I went out that exit they always allow… (cant comment on that anymore, eh)
I get into the ‘you’ve successfully run away and no one can find you’ space… and I dump. I just start dumping all over the place. I’m like a fountain of water blasting everywhere. Honestly, its everywhere. And I’m freaking out, my conscious is aware but my subconscious don’t care – I’m throwing water on everything. I feel like I must be dying. Some sort of bullshit is clowning me to the point where I’ll just die spilling water out of myself.
And the ENTIRE time it’s happening, I am HONESTLY questioning myself…
“What is happening? I don’t understand what is happening? I understand why I’m emotional, but… this? Why this? I get it. It was a great movie. I liked it. A lot. But WHAT is happening to me right now… Am I not aware of… mySELF?!!”
And that in fact became the answer.
‘No, you’re not aware of yourself. You thought you knew who you were but you are NOT that. You can’t hold a fucking candle to this guy Forrest Gump. Be serious, mate. THAT is a guy doing what he believes in, despite what he gets for it. YOU – don’t do that. You want something for everything.’
And it’s interesting. There was a tremendous amount of relief. The ‘dumping’ was a HUGE relief. Like I’d just been carrying this thing around and suddenly someone said, “Why are you carrying that? Put it down. Moron.” Even though the thing I was putting down assured: I am NOT cool. Not anything close to my own determination of cool. It was such a relief. To know. I had somewhere to go now. It would never matter what anyone gave to me in return. It only meant what I did. That’s how Forrest operates. And it’s fucking beautiful, man.
I need to try to get closer to THAT…
Which of course… is unreachable.
I could use a good cry about it.
; )
Got anything worth dumping about?
Be a brave motherfucker and say so.
The first time I met this condition (as I define it) was in 8th grade.
In grades 1-5 I was mister cool. ‘The Fonze’ in grades 1-3 (which makes me look about as stupid now as it was ultra-cool then). I attained that ‘cool status’ by getting in a heap of trouble, and ultimately chose out of that school into another before I got a boot behind my ass assuring it be true.
In the new school, Episcopal, the whole way of doing things was new. Intelligence was the thing. And attractively, for me, there was a tight knit aspect that I did not have at home. Small groups, interactive. I LOVED how the new school ran things and I jumped in. It wasn’t a ‘ditch’ move, from the other school. I wanted to go there…
Guess what, Fonze… that ain’t cool in the new school. I had to adapt.
>Flash forward 2yrs, we’ve moved to a nearby town. It’s not convenient for me to go to the smart/Episcipal school anymore. I need to go back in with all my buddies who loved me from before, for 8th grade.
No problem, right?
Wrong. I show up all nerdy and smart. Or in actuality, not quite smart or nerdy enough, but close enough to no longer be much Fonzereli like in any manner whatsoever. I’m Potsie. I’m nowhere.
I know people, but I’m not like what they knew. It was weird. I felt like I needed to earn it all over again.
So, I did.
There was ‘The Cafeteria Cool Table’. The Cafeteria had 4-5 tables, and tons of tables to not even eat in there. But if you were COOL? You had to sit at this one table. And if you WEREN’T cool? You best not try.
I looked over at that table for many weeks while I stood in line to get my crappy food. I knew half of everyone there. But the people I knew, weren’t looking at me like they used to. They didn’t know me anymore. And I’d done nothing to substantiate what they knew before. If anything, they made sure not to look at me.
So I waited. Before ‘trying’ for the ‘cool’ table.
I don’t remember how many weeks went by. I remember befriending other people completely outside the cafeteria and learning more valuable lessons that ultimately made me into a far more aware person. But it didn’t matter. I wanted to be AT that table. And this may sound a little cruel, but I also knew I was far too cool to NOT be at that table. I was arrogant about the people I met. They knew it. And I knew it. And I didn’t want that vibe, the one where we’re not on the same level. So some weeks went by… and then I sat at it. The Table.
It was really weird.
No one said a goddamned thing. I thought the fuckbastards I hadn’t known ever would start throwing their plates into the air like Romans who just found out their ass got fucked – but that didn’t happen. They all went about their business like I hadn’t even taken a seat. Which also means no one said hello.
I was not dismissed. And yet I had not been welcome. What did that mean?
So I sat there again the next day, and on and on. Until people did begin to, oddly, talk to me as if I’d been sitting there for 3 years. But I HADn’t! It was the strangest fucking thing for me. I could not define why there was any disconnect. Had I only done it myself?
But then – the argument happened.
One of the guys I hadn’t known from before, who led the group of renegades I also didn’t know – said some shit at the table. I can’t remember what it was. It was something real trivial, and ridiculous. I don’t remember for sure if it was a ‘what the fuck are you doing at this table’ but I suspect that was it. And I don’t remember if I ‘called him out’ or I just ended up outside somehow but he popped me. Outside, with 2 other dudes who could do me on their own (at that time). But it wasn’t the punch. He fucking SAID something. Something that completely crippled me.
I dropped to my ass and just started crying. Like a baby. Or worse.
I remember him asking, ‘Seriously? That’s you right now?’ Or something that just ruined me like 10x worse. To the point where I saw him look at me and he felt like an ass. I HATED that feeling. That I’d fallen down from one punch and was sitting there, disgusted with myself, crying in a way I couldn’t understand – and the very dude that put me down there was so disgusted with it also that he didn’t even want to kick me.
Okay?
So then I limped away, to a safe place behind the gymnasium. And I cried some more. Continually.
I just cried and cried and cried. We’re talking maybe 20min at this point.
I absolutely remember sitting there, vomiting tears, wondering what the fuck was wrong with me and if I might ever recover. My chest was huffing and puffing. I could barely breathe. My mind made no sense of anything. I was just sitting there crying UNCONTROLLABLY. Like a pussy. Or worse.
Then the bell rang.
For some reason I thought I best react to that first bell and get to class. So I got to class early. And the door was closed. So I sat there. And I started crying some more.
And this dude I used to know back in the day walks up, this guy I used to ‘compete with’ as far as cool status goes at the old elementary school, he’s got this hot blonde in his arm (we’re in 8th grade, okay? It was a super big deal to carry a chick around). And he sees me in my state, he’s like, ‘What’s up, bro? Hey, what’s going on?’ And I’m like, “Honestly, man. I have no idea. I’m trying to figure it out. I DON’T know.” And I might start crying again. I’ve now quintupled my embarrassment, right?
But the guy goes, “Fuck Name. That fat fucker. I never liked him.” And then to the girl he had on his arm he goes, “This is my friend (name withheld). I know him from (School withheld). He’s cool.”
Dude gave me dignity.
I was sitting there like a fucking assplate of shame. And this dude who used to be my #1 nemesis, fixed it. Funny. Huh?
And so I went another 15yrs not ever quite knowing what the hell happened that day. Did I have a breakdown? WTF happened? I’m only looking back trying to make sense out of why I reacted UNCONTROLLABLY like that. It must have had something to do with the whole school tension thing. Like, I’d adapted too many times. And then I thought I was in again, but I wasn’t – so I just crumbled.
It’s worth noting… as it turns out, one of the more compassionate things I’ve ever fully witnessed was only enabled because I landed in that especially vulnerable state.
And full disclosure: the dude who afforded me great compassion became a complete douchebag. We’re not friends. And the guy who made me cry, later threw us all out from a truck on fire until he could solve the situation. And did. Possibly saving us all from burning in hellfire. So ya just… never… know.
Uncontrollable Sob II
Now I’m 27. I’ve seen plenty. I’ve been torn up. And I’ve done some decent tearing. I’m 1 of a zillion people who thinks they’re special enough to come to Hollywood and say something that hasn’t been said.
When I get there? The electricity of the place is enough to FAR overwhelm any reservations I might have about where I just came to live. It’s a cacophony of WTF and When Will I of Course. It’s delicious and disturbed. And it’s FUCKED!
EVERYONE IN IT – IS FUCKED!!!! Completely fucked. They’re all slaves to a whole different idea of ‘making it’ than I meant to achieve.
And what does this mean for me? At the ‘Cool’ table?
Initially, I had an “in”. I came down to work for a guy, cuz I’d be a super swell dude if I did that. But that’s not why I did it. I wanted to know ‘Hollywood’. It seemed like a fair exchange. (And ultimately it was, I guess)
It’s a brand new fucking Cool Table though, I gotta tell ya. That Hollywood shit is… don’t go there. It’s bad. Sitting at the table… can only poison you. Honestly.
But anyway… I left and returned for gold and now I’m working at this place where we did movie surveys. If you could fart on your hand they would hire you, so I took that job. (I might have called you at some point. My numbers were outrageous as compared to other guy numbers. They wanted to fire me 6mo before they could – for insubordination. They could NOT fire me before that, cuz the math was too gnarly. I got numbers. And that’s all Hollywood cares about. They didn’t fire me until I had some chick actually doing herself with a vibrator over the phone. This just in? She was the 3rd. They were late. I win.)
So… at this survey place, where I would really earn my numbers was a willingness for recipients to listen to me hammer them about 50 fucking different movies they’ve never heard of. How fast could I get through that? Fast! AND – they had to know what the fuck I was talking about after. And they would.
Each and every quarter we would get a fucking 50page document that my employer thought some random person would pick up the phone and willinglly listen to///
And now we get to the point…
Forrest Gump was 1 of 50 ‘Blurbs’ we read to quantify YOUR interest. You all, to a name – hated it. I – hated reading it. It sounded like the stupidest fucking movie I’ve EVER heard of. It was only a paragraph or three, and while I was the fastest and most enjoyable voice to listen to about its blurb – you all hated the idea of it.
Forrest Gump was as doomed to an abject failure as Star Wars was – by the very same company I worked for – certain to suck for sure.
But then my co-workers went to see it over the months that went by. And they all loved it. The same movie we’d panned on account of the shittiest blurb yet written (mind you, we weren’t in charge of the Gump Happens stuff. Apparently, someone way up top, knew precisely what the fuck they were doing and could give a rats ass about that neanderthal account with the survey group. (Smart people in small doses).
Anyway, I only went to see it cuz this one little angel who’d come back to Hollywood after cheating on her boyfriend and not doing so well in New York, this little waif of a woman who’d completely destroyed a dude I’d been working with for 15mo, and now came BACK to wreck him just a bit more (real good looking dude, very fit, but just totally destroyed by this one woman, the guy was… gone, empty, completely raped by her). She sparkled at me about it. Like, ‘You don’t know anything, go see this movie, I’m as light as air and it will always be that way. Chase me like a feather… bitch.”
So I went to see it. Cuz she had a way of making men who can’t afford it – be her bitch.
To my credit, I didn’t tell her I was/would/gonna. I just walked the half block from my barf blasted apt to a 3pm showing at Mann’s Chinese. I took a nice tasty seat in the middle. And I sat down with my big fat assurance that I knew everything; that Hollywood was a bunch of cocksuckers and I knew a better way, that I’d been paying a ton of attention and they all better get the fuck in line, cuz I’m goddamned 27, mothafucka!
And then the feather came down, with that meandering music – and I immediately got owned.
It happened that fast.
The whole world said, “Shhhh… shut up now. Listen.”
And so I did. I listened.
At a few odd moments I had to look around, “Is this really happening? How many people are in here with me? We could easily escape and swear it never happened. There can’t be more than 20 people in here. We could escape…”
But nobody moved.
And then the movie ended.
And I was sure they’d just all get up and evacuate before I completely lost it.
But they didn’t do that. They just sat there. Crying.
There were maybe 20-30 people in the most famous theater in the world, while credits to Forrest Gump went down – and NOBODY moved. None. All I heard was crying. Fucking, weeping of a kind that you KNOW… you don’t deserve hearing. You need to get the fuck out of there.
So I did.
If they’re not going to vacate before I do? Then I will first. As long as I get the hell out of here before I drop everything I have within me and crap my pants and whatever else. I knew I had no chance of going out the front. So I went out that exit they always allow… (cant comment on that anymore, eh)
I get into the ‘you’ve successfully run away and no one can find you’ space… and I dump. I just start dumping all over the place. I’m like a fountain of water blasting everywhere. Honestly, its everywhere. And I’m freaking out, my conscious is aware but my subconscious don’t care – I’m throwing water on everything. I feel like I must be dying. Some sort of bullshit is clowning me to the point where I’ll just die spilling water out of myself.
And the ENTIRE time it’s happening, I am HONESTLY questioning myself…
“What is happening? I don’t understand what is happening? I understand why I’m emotional, but… this? Why this? I get it. It was a great movie. I liked it. A lot. But WHAT is happening to me right now… Am I not aware of… mySELF?!!”
And that in fact became the answer.
‘No, you’re not aware of yourself. You thought you knew who you were but you are NOT that. You can’t hold a fucking candle to this guy Forrest Gump. Be serious, mate. THAT is a guy doing what he believes in, despite what he gets for it. YOU – don’t do that. You want something for everything.’
And it’s interesting. There was a tremendous amount of relief. The ‘dumping’ was a HUGE relief. Like I’d just been carrying this thing around and suddenly someone said, “Why are you carrying that? Put it down. Moron.” Even though the thing I was putting down assured: I am NOT cool. Not anything close to my own determination of cool. It was such a relief. To know. I had somewhere to go now. It would never matter what anyone gave to me in return. It only meant what I did. That’s how Forrest operates. And it’s fucking beautiful, man.
I need to try to get closer to THAT…
Which of course… is unreachable.
I could use a good cry about it.
; )
Got anything worth dumping about?
Be a brave motherfucker and say so.
Have a nice day!
