Honesty, and Transparency, and Realness, and Other Bullshit

Listen, I know you people have a problem with the teenagerness of Death Cab For Cutie, but I've never ever been one to apologize for what my ears like.  "Marching Bands of Manhattan" is amazing to my ears.  My ears want to marry Ben Gibbard's voice, and that's that.  Of all the songs I listen to, those sung by Ben are most comforting (usually).  Call me shallow, call me a teenager (card me, and I'll give you a kiss).  Call me what you will.  I won't apologize.  I like all kinds of different music.  I'm what they call open-minded.

Also, I won't apologize for being honest.  I don't hold back many thoughts.  Which is why I guess I'm comfortable sharing so much in this bloggy medium.  I will tell you if you are beautiful.  If you smell good.  If you say amazing things.  If you inspire me.  Ect, etc, etc.  It's not me trying to be overbearing, or pushy, or whatever.  It's just me being me.  I just do what I wish others would do with me.  Be honest, and real, and transparent.  I hope if you're one I care about, one of my friends, you understand this.

Enough of that stuff.  If I don't stop scratching at my shoulders, I will have gross scabs and scars for my life.  I seriously scratched my hand the other night so aggressively that I have a wound? sore? scab? to show for it. I had no idea what I was accomplishing at the time.  In the heat of the moments.  How can someone mutilate themselves in such a way?  It's embarrassing.  I don't want attention.  I don't want marks on my body.  I just itched.  Now I look like a leper.

Here's the thing:  I try.  I try to leave things as I find them in other people's homes.  Maybe you like your toilet paper to roll under rather than over.  Though I prefer over, and that is my natural inclination, I will force myself to put a replacement roll on so it rolls under.  However, I have the hardest time leaving a toilet lid up.  Ever.  It should always be down.  Leaving it up feels wrong to me.  Hopefully, you won't sit down and pee or poop on a closed toilet lid.  Be forewarned if you invite me over.  There.

Ok, I've got my primary job now.  So, now I'm ready for a secondary job.  Time to make more money and spend more time doing other things after work beside drinking wine and surfing the net and other.  More money = more security.  And less wine means more money and less liver damage.  And less other = less other damage.  Right.

Not enough of that stuff at all.  Another song I unapologetically love is "It'll Be a Breeze," by The Long Winters.  Ben Gibbard, whose voice my ears want to marry, does a lovely cover of it.  Plz YouTube, if you wanna.

All this marriage talk...just so you are clear:  my ears are my only body part that want to ever get married again.  And that's just because they are naive.  No other part of me ever, EVER, wants to get married again.  Marriage is for the birds.  And I even like birds too much to suggest that they should get married.  I don't recommend it to anyone.  If you are happy in a relationship, do what works.  Stay there.  Weddings are a waste of money and emotions.  Marriage is too complicated.  Just be you and be in your relationship and leave things as so.  My advice.  Take it or leave it.  Who's to say you should listen to me?  Look at how good at relationships I am!  Right?  I am too honest and too selfish and too transparent to maintain a real one, so there you have it.

Why do you read this shit, anyway?