the end, except not really.

Maybe it's pretty apparent, but I've lost interest in this little project of mine. Turns out that, while I'm by no means an optimist, I'm not nearly jaded or violently angry enough to update on the reg. So, I'm moving on.

DANCE COMA!

This is my new piece of internet real estate. I like to think of it as graduating into grown-up blogging. Of course, Dance Coma! consists of some bitching, but also music and dudes I would bang! So, like, I'm showcasing my varied interests, right? I'm just really well-rounded, and I want you all to know that.

Let's plan an online house-warming party for my new digs. Friday night? Just get comfy with your laptop and a bottle of wine, turn out the lights, and I'll post a couple of songs I like and a bunch of Joseph-Gordon Levitt pics I saved into the ol' spank bank. We can Skype that shit or something. Dress inappropriately.

For real, though. Did you guys fucking see Joe in Inception? SHIIIIIIT. Boy can wear three piece suits FOR DAYS.

nice guys don't finish last, whiny little bitches do.

Look at this asshole, trying to guilt you into a quick BJ with his soulful eyes. I told you not to drunk dial him for a ride.

I dealt with a customer the other night that led to a conversation with a co-worker about self-proclaimed "nice guys" and why they are the worst kind of assholes. This guy stood in the cafe after ordering, talking to his friends about how no one gives him good customer service, even though he goes out of his way to be nice, and that people need to take courses on how to be a decent human being if they're going to be paid to interact with others. Which I somewhat agree with, particularly any time I have had to interact with Wal-Mart employees. BUT, he was having this conversation while I waited at my till for him to pay me for his coffee, and then proceeded to treat me like I wasn't even there while making perv eyes at my co-worker.

GUESS WHAT. Customer service goes both ways. If you're a shit customer, you're going to get shit service. And you can say that you're a nice guy all you want, but the world doesn't owe you a fucking thing if you don't actually act like one. Fact is, yeah, you were super nice to the young, cute girl who ground your coffee for you. Nice to the point of being gross, but creeps never know when they're being creeps, I guess. In the meantime, you straight up ignored the other girl working that night; didn't even deem her worthy enough of your valuable time to drop a "good night" on her. Classic self-proclaimed "nice guy" behaviour: busting his nuts to impress one girl with his bullshit gallantry while offending everyone who's forced to bear witness to his blatant subterfuge, including the sorry focus of his attention. Or, DICK MOVE, if you prefer.

I say self-proclaimed "nice guys" because, if you notice, no one else calls them that. No one else actually thinks they are. If you have to tell people you're a decent human being, then your actions are not speaking loud enough on their own. Everyone secretly thinks you're a jerkoff who covers up their passive-aggressive bullshit with fake-ass apologies and a sensitive Bright Eyes tattoo for the sake of some good pussy.

Ladies, they are the male equivalent of that bitch from back in high school that you thought you were so tight with, only to discover that she's been talking shit about you behind your back on the reg for years and the only reason she stays friends with you is because you have a rad party house and your parents are always out of town. Which, now that I think about it, was totally the kind of girl I was, but I grew up and realized that's a horrible way to treat people and I should smarten the fuck up. Um, sorry, basically every girl I went to school with. I'm sure no one remembers that time I told everyone you were a lesbian and secretly in love with me. (Not referencing Mean Girls. That actually happened.)

ANYWAY. THIS BLOG IS ABOUT HOW SHITTY EVERYONE ELSE IS, NOT ME.

I just hate that self-entitled attitude, that everyone owes them a favour because they've let it be known that they didn't haaave to do whatever random act of kindness for you, but since they're such a niiice guyyy, they did it anyways. Translation: "Have I racked up enough brownie points for you to suck my dick, yet?" And then, when you don't suck their dick, they're all "blah blah life is so tough for the good dudes." Either be nice because you genuinely want to be, or STOP WHINING AND OWN THAT SHIT. People hate you anyway, you might as well be honest about your list of priorities and where your all-consuming need of BJs ranks on that list.

Legit assholes have that going for them. They don't give an actual fuck whose feelings they hurt, but at least you always know where you stand. I don't know, maybe I'm fucked up, but I'd rather go into a relationship knowing I'm going to get treated like shit than have it sprung on me mid-game. Obviously, it would be wonderful if everyone could be decent human beings, but, let's face it: as long as there are other people around to piss other people off, no one is ever going to be 100% nice 100% of the time. I think we could all stand to be a little more upfront with our dickishness is all I'm saying.

hipsters: people who take legit awesome shit and fucking ruin it for everyone.

Acceptable hipsters. Is it hipster to post a Kerouac pic? I don't give a fuck.

I'm not in the mood to pussyfoot around tonight, guys. I've had my dad bugging me all night; my sisters beaking off about stupid immature bullshit that I should just ignore but can't due to the whole unfortunate blood relationship and the fact that they're both pretty on point tonight, lol-wise; and my job and a good portion of the people I am forced to interact with because of it are making me nauseous with loathing. The whole world is grating my fucking cheese lately, and it's so hard to channel all of this churning, unfocused rage into one coherent, hopefully amusing piece of writing.

So, fuck it. I'm just gonna, like, stream of consciousness this shit, because I haven't written anything since October that was over 140 characters or didn't serve as a caption for a photo of some dude I wish I could bang (Tumblr, you life ruiner).

Lately, I increasingly feel the need to air a grievance that has been in my face for the past few months. Frankly, I'm gonna fucking scalp the next hipster I see and donate said scalp to Value Village, where some other hipster asshole will buy it and tell all his hipster asshole friends that he's single-handedly bringing back scalping your enemies and wearing the keepsakes as statement pieces. Fuck.

And that's my problem right now: these little pricks that think anything they do or say is fucking original in the slightest. Like, wow, you're the first person to ever rebelliously don a pair of Doc's and quote a fucking Smiths lyric at me. The idea that anyone influenced by popular culture right now (which is basically everyone with internet access and a pair of working eyes and ears) has even a shred of originality is laughable. Guess what? Unless you've got a time-travelling DeLorean and went back to 1970, you are not the first person in the world to listen to Tom Waits. You're just not. Stop acting like you fucking invented him.

I get the sense when listening to people like this wax poetic about Vonnegut or some fucking vintage dress they picked up for $5 after searching second-hand shops for an entire afternoon that it's not because they legitimately enjoy it, which is really the crux of the matter. What is the point of studying an artist's or writer's entire body of work if not simply out of love? Your indie credibility? How ridiculous and sad. More people need to enjoy music for the sake of, I don't know, enjoying the fucking music, rather than competing with each other, like indie acts are the Pokemon(s? I don't fucking know) and they're the Ash Ketchums of the music scene. And you can shop at Salvation Army all you want, but a Cosby sweater is a Cosby sweater, so wearing it ironically doesn't change the fact that it's ugly as shit.

But you know what really chokes me up? In a scene where everyone strives for authenticity, they all fucking reek of bullshit. Nobody wants to hear that tired ass story about being a starving artist and drinking your pain away when everybody knows you live in the fucking suburbs. Nobody wants to hear how girls made fun of you in school for the way you dressed because you shopped second-hand before it got trendy and now they all jackin' yo' steeze. No one thinks your faux humility or fucking angst is cute.

Sadly, these assholes are everywhere, some of them even friends. On the real, totally decentish people that I find at least mildly tolerable at times, until they start spewing bullshit about some fucking terrible band that I "probably haven't heard of" because I "must not reeaally be into music." Well, you can reeaally go fuck yourself. I don't claim to be any kind of musical savant, but I have a pretty good knowledge of a wide range of genres and artists, so maybe, MAYBE, I haven't heard of your fucking terrible band because I tend to take a pass on music that doesn't so much resemble music as a bunch of wailing shitheads banging on some broken instruments they found in a fucking dumpster in some back alley. Thanks for the load of condescension, though, you pretentious cumstain.

And yeah, I know this is all coming from a girl who's face consists of 50% bangs and dresses almost entirely in shit from American Apparel, but in my defense: I hate grooming my eyebrows, and you try being fat and dressing relatively stylishly while being comfortable. Yeah, that's what I fucking thought. I'm also more than aware of the fact that this entire essay is basically one big "Kids today!" and that in itself has been done since there have been people younger than older, wiser, cooler people. However, at least I'm self-aware and acknowledge that fact rather than act like my thoughts are the fucking pioneer of feeling superior to others who just don't get what music/literature/recycled clothing is supposed to be about.

Just kidding about the recycled clothing. That shit grosses me out.