Hollywood is Dead.

3:14 AM

Why the hell does Mike Huckabee have his own TeeVee show on Fox News?
And why are all of these celebrities dropping dead like it's the end of the world as we know it? (I feel fine) (by the way)).
McMahon, Fawcett, Jackson, Mays; You're on the real silver screen now.

I'm not sure if I hate blogging or not, maybe it's growing on me, but I'm not sure if it's a beard or a tumor.
Today is my birthday. I am two decades old. Seventy Three Hundred days (yes, I used a calculator.) And I'm honestly not ultra crunk about it. I'm still one day closer to dead. And I'm kinda lonely and idea-less and blah. I never really found a job in town this summer, or a girl worth breaking my heart over, but I'll probably be better off without the two. If there's one thing we'll never have enough of it's money. Lately in my job search I've been going to this Temp Agency. That's a cute word for "Last chance job opportunity for losers". I show up in work clothes at 5:30 in the morning to compete with homeless people for jobs. I don't even know if I want these jobs though, I don't deserve them.
I sat next to an oily, smelly black man for three hours one day who cooked ramen noodles from his backpack in a microwave in the corner. He rolled his own cigarettes and listened to a hand radio that sold for new sometime in the eighties. I wish I knew where that radio came from. What privileged kid got it for his birthday and after six months threw it away (like everything else we don't need.)
But who am I to take a job from a man who actually WANTS to work? Who showed up at 5:30, just like me (without an alarm clock or a warm shower next to an iHome playing bullshit indie songs) to FIGHT for his next meals.
It blew my mind that we quit our jobs because we're not getting enough hours, or our social status is hurting, or we're just to cool to bag groceries anymore.
I am an ungrateful, apathetic, stagnant bastard who has a 1.8 GPA at the largest University in the state. These people I share the room with probably never took the SAT, they don't have Facebooks or blogs or internships or Nike LowDunks or Laptops. Or what they really need, hope.
I don't care if he has a criminal record, I don't care if he had track marks on his arm, or smells unpleasant, or can't use Excel or PowerPoint or Word, or learn how to right click on a Mac.
Everyone should have to sit in this dirty bus-stop of a room with these men for a few uncomfortably tense silent hours, and think.

I spent my last three birthdays with "girl". This is my first one in four years without her and I honestly hurt. I haven't gotten heard from her in two months (not to suggest that drunken texts deserve sympathetic responses), but it sucks.
I don't know if I want her to text or call, and I'm afraid to sit in the same room as her. I make myself hate her to feel better about the situation.
(By the way, I can send anyone a playlist of I-hate-you, hearltess, vengeful ex songs if you'd like.)
It has honestly really made me re-think my view on love. I honestly don't know if relationships are built to last, or if anyone can love anyone but themselves when it really comes down to it. I feel like she lied to me. She told me she loved me for three years, we had names picked out for kids, honey-moon destinations; all of that. I don't know if I was naive for trusting a girl that much, or if love really should be naked and unprotected and vulnerable (and terrifying).
I don't know if I'll ever trust a girl (or anyone for that matter) again. I've built walls where scars were and I honestly don't want anyone inside of them.
I just want to feel loved and missed and valued and looked up to.
I want to be a dad (and a hell of a good one at that), but I'm kind of an asshole lately. Ask your friends, they'll tell you, I have dirty secrets now that I used to not have. I used to tell the truth, I used to give straight answers, I used to give without asking for something in return.
I don't know if "she" is out there, but I'm so ready to find her, and I hope she feels the same.
ATTENTION ALL ASSHOLE BOYS: please don't break the heart of my future wife. I love her dearly and hurt for her now, even though I don't know her name.

I hope this scared you, I hope you're sweating, I hope you're breathing quickly.
Truth does that.
I refuse to filter.

-Austin is Dead. (No but really, he's fine. Keep it posi'.)