How to lose a pregant girl in 30 seconds.

Stalkers have been doing it wrong. So many times you will see a stalker let their obsession be known. Whether it's obvious advances, or just approaching the stalked with that information. Frank (because I don't know how to say his name, he will be dubbed this for the moment) is one of those horribly idiotic stalkers that is bad at what he wants to do best.

I have a friend who is pregnant. Still gorgeous, heads still swivle her way. Of course, this draws a few of the odder crowds. Frank certainly is creepy enough for 4 girls.

To explain Frank is to explain the generic features of a common stalker:unwashed, unibrow, sports the same clothing apparel everyday you see him, and an odd collection of batty habits and mumblings. Frank is also Indian, and enjoys pregnant women. It's nothing new to hear him spout something about how he has a crush on my pregnant friend, and insinuate that it's indeed hot that she is.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think my friend is ugly at all. She's radiate. But when you bring in the fact that she's having a baby and that turns Frank on, we get a whole truckload of awkward. It's the way that he lets his fetish be known that makes all of this even better to deal with. For instance, yesterday Frank told my friend that he should let his dad be the gynecologist for her. What joy, what rapture! Now his dad can check out my friend and run home to tell his son all about it!

Less awkward, and more on the jerkass side of things, is his ability to not care what comes out of his mouth. For instance, Frank loves to tell my friend that she shouldn't have gotten "knocked up" by her baby's daddy. That's not offensive and totally okay to state, right? These sort of impressions never sit well. And at the base of this? He was never a friend to her at any point. He just kinda started calling her "sunshine" and then rolled into the whole insults of getting knocked up uselessly. You know what they say about assuming!

But not to fret; my friend has friends, including me. When I had first heard that Frank was coming around constantly, I was elated to meet and piss him off to the fullest. Opening meeting, my friend told me to give her a massage, and thus he would not approach. Oh, but he did. He even went so far to tell me "wooaahh buddy, back off". Guess what? I did it even more! He left and returned, with a pie. Thinking it was some sort of trade for my friend, I took the pie from him and ignored the fact that it was offered for my friend. Flustered, he soon walked away. I drank his rage that day, and it was good.

Other exchanges were to follow soon after, and eventually I became more comfortable about being a dick to him. Sometime during this, one of the earlier enragements (yes, you read that right) of Frank, he begin to complain that the US gov't put his father in the hospital because they forced him to drink. I quickly shut him down and then drank the atmosphere of awkward. It was filling. I'd feel partly bad for him if he didn't leave open his weak spots like a bad contra boss. He informed me that he gives his father back rubs, and vice versa. With that, I didn't have to say anything, even with his constant questioning of why that was bad.

Just recently though, my friend finally snapped. Good reason, many agree, since the guy tried to kiss and hug her after she told him how annoying he was in his continuous advances. He tried to say sorry, bowing like something from Naruto and trying to explain that he didn't grasp the concept of no touching. I don't know folks, I usually get it when a person yells at me the day before for a good 10 minutes straight.

He tries to talk to me and I ignore him. My friend, tired of his shit, explodes in a way only a pregnant lady could and basically tells him to fuck off. He gets up, smacks his head on a sign nearby, and leaves for the rest of the day. Nobody misses this man.

Twitter, and the hell that follows.

Funny, I just got rid of my myspace because I felt my life cluttered with all these social networking items and now I obtain a Twitter.

I hated that thing for the longest. I guess the idea of a simpler Facebook that notifies people what I'm doing at all moments of the day about all things I preform during that duration rubs me something unhappy.

But, like any good drug and MMO game, it's partly addictive. It's lined with a sense of gloating that comes with it. In a skewed way, it's comparing e-penis for casual internet users.

Go ahead. Add me. Make me feel worse about this whole prospect of hopping on bandwagons and following in the same suit.

http://twitter.com/MSpoilerAhead

Throw a stone as high as you can.

Guess what? It's not last Monday, or the Saturday before that. It's not January, or a year ago. Time is faster than you even realize, because if it wasn't, then those thoughts would be in your head at the moment.

I'm not going to fight over silly things anymore and waste those days I hardly even know are there.

Damn you Facebook!

I don't hate Facebook, I just hate what social networking online has made me into. On the internet, I'm refined. In person, I've become somewhat of a babbling fool when I try to form coherent sentences close to what I write online. That's a bit of a exaggeration, but honestly, Facebook has made it so offline interaction feels like a secondary minor.

To other news, I attended the Pumpkinfest in Morton. I've made it a goal in life to be a ticket seller. It must be a gratifying job. Just think of all the people who groan looking at the prices, but yet have to lay down the cash since they won't have anything better to do besides walk around in odd smelling tents. Or even a food vendor, charging 3 bucks for a small Lemonade shakeup that is halfway filled with a rotted lemon and ice. I guarantee these people sleep happier at night than I.

Today I go again, with tickets I hadn't used up yet since my friends don't contain the iron stomach I have. I don't blame them in the least, because the feast I've done with my stomach are damn near mystical. Like eating seafood that's been left outside in the garage in 70 degree weather for a few days. In my defense, it was some great seafood.

It's like he's really from Final Fantasy.

Coolest hairstyle, or coolest hairstyle? I'd say "You be the judge", but you could potentially be wrong. Excuse my cheek, I had bread in it. English bread.

I'm tired of your shit.

On my last day, if you could consider it that much, I drove to work dreading going in. But this isn't the sort of dread normally surfaced due to general work. This isn't because of something new happening at that hell hole, or just a general day. No, this is a dread that if I went in that day, I'd be stuck there. I'd never exit the walls of clothes, never quit servicing people undeserving with products I know nothing about. Really, when it comes right down to it, I hardly know what the fuck a polo is, much less the different types. And you know what? I don't really care what that difference is.

Thoughts like that bounced around relentlessly. It wouldn't end. Every different form of music I blasted couldn't overtake this aching feeling not to go in through those automatic jaws. When I reached Borders and sat down to kill the time before I was scheduled, I felt that any drive stored in me since my birth would be nullified if I continued to work at that place.

And then it decked me in the face. What the fuck am I doing? I can get more hours at Gamestop! A place more dealing with my profession than anything. A place where I don't have to worry about wiping an elderly person's ass every line of hello I give. And no more magnetic name tags that get caught on things and get lost easily.

As I wrote about the scam (I will divulge that information all too soon, just give me time), time flew by and, when I looked at the broken clock, it signified my lateness by 2 hours. No regrets to this choice at all. I feel liberated, and it's something I will never fall into again. I will try my hardest to find jobs I like and not settle for a place I never wanted to step foot in.

I think myself old enough to finally start my career. To do things related to my job and not piddle around in clothing retail shops that aren't enjoyable.

And me?
Fashion?

I wore mismatched ties almost every day. Though, as one person put it: "It's okay, because you are edgy like that." Uh huh. Edgy.