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Saturday, December 16th, 2006
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EDIT 12/16/2006: Actually, nah, I don't really want people to see those things afterall. Let's just say some of it was funny, and some of it was sad. Early high school years were kinda blah. But if you really want to know what I was talking about before I edited this entry, the secret is in my screen name. Happy Hunting.
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Wednesday, September 20th, 2006
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On a scale of 1 to fierce, Jessica W. scores something along the lines of a 13.
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You're telling me that Courtney Love* helped staged an intervention for Whitney Houston?
JESUS H. CHRIST.
I'm pretty sure Courtney's vagina is the source of every bad thing that has ever happened in the historical history of history, and now she is being credited as trying to steer someone else away from drugs? Shit, she makes ME want to do drugs. Nothing strong, or anything. Just something like cocaine.
**NOTE**: I accidently named Courtney Cox as the woman the first time I wrote this entry, but I meant Courtney Love.
Whatever, I hate them both anyway. Moreso Courtney C., being that she had the audacity to name her child something as ludicrous as Coco. One day, my kid is gonna whip the shit out of her kid.
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Wednesday, January 4th, 2006
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I believe that if you begin to ask too many questions on why this current journal entry even exists, months after I claimed I had written my last journal back in May (which was comparable to the bathroom graffiti you find in bus stations. Screw off, I lacked creativity and charm), then you'll miss what's important -- me, in an eternal blaze of eternally blissfully bliss, actually having something important to say.
Ever been inside Build-A-Bear Factory? What an obnoxious pit of never-ending happiness and joy that is. The place is so sickeningly sweet that you may actually either:
A.) Feel the film peeling off your teeth.
B.) Absorb particles of sugar and spice and sweetness gathering on your teeth and rotting them.
C.) Commit suicide, the place is so extraordinarily euphorically dreadful.
D.) Form an efficient combination of the three.
Here's how it works, children, so pay attention.
You choose a flat, unstuffed and lifeless toy bear (you can also get other animals too, like monkeys and hippos and lizards and people and shit). Next, you take your creature to a bin that has little plastic hearts, and then you take it to the Build-A-Bear worker, who makes you do a retarded combination of immoral things, like kiss the heart, place it inside the bear, spin around like a ballerina, say cult-status shit like "I LOVE BUILD-A-BEAR", make humping air motions, and then stuff your bear.
That's not all. Next, you have to go to a computer and print up a back-story for your bear. Because all the previous steps were not excessive enough. I remember being inside the store with Mandy making a Christmas present and thinking to myself, "Would you fucking build the bear please? Please? Ma'am? Would you build the goddamned bear? I should say something. Please. Would you--Would you please build the fucking bear? Damnit to eterna--please build the fucking bear. Yes. Thank you."
And, since I'm feeling kind of Ronco Showtime Rotisserie right now, WAIT. There's more. They constantly play eerie (which to a normal person, one already brainwashed by B-a-B's mindgames, is just normal cheer music). And whenever its some little girl's birthday, everyone has to stop what the fuck they are doing and congratulate them on being four.
On my scale of pain, I'd definitely rate the Build-A-Bear experience an F-
To Jessica W.
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For three and a half years I anticipated this day, the culmination of what I would consider the greatest documented recordings of my high school life, stories, thoughts (however mudane, random, or profound) and the often times comical characteristics of my personality. The problem is that ever since I created my journal, I had never really intended to continue it forever, but only use it as a writing medium through high school. And now that I am done with high school it is time to do the right thing.
Interestingly enough, no matter how much I enjoyed writing in it, I never really wanted it when I first got it as a "gift" from Margaret, who went to great lengths to convince me into keeping it--like making a fake screen name and pretending to be an LiveJournal consultant to tell me about all the great features of having a LiveJournal. I knew it was fake, so I decided to make the person jump through hoops to answer my ridiculous questions, like recant the terms of service, rules, and such. We were younger back then, so we thought we were being infinitely clever. But, yeah, y'know. We're all dumb.
The one thing I would never do is go back and read my old entries from years past; until a few months ago. But I almost wish I had, because you can definitely see the progression of my character through the years, although my writing style has remained close to what it started out as--although I admit, I have discovered cursing and swearing, and I do like it.
Sometimes the things I wrote about would be so ridiculous, or some unbelievable that most people would read it and think I was making it up. Although I am the only person to confess that my life and what I think is mostly uninteresting, I'm usually rebuffed by other people and told otherwise.
And then there are the people I would write about, the people I grew up with, the people who molded me, and the people who moved on. There was the summer of Amy and Lisa, Lisa being notorious for reading my entries (although that was quite some time ago, so I'm not so sure if that happens now). There was Jenn, the world's greatest villain, who I bore a gigantic grudge towards who managed to be the butt of the most awesomely hysterical and offensive jokes I had written at the time, entries and comments that almost caused me to face school disciplinary actions for (she overreacted and tattled on me, which only caused her to be ragged on more).
Then I have the documented memories. The Quest for the Sauce, the greatest adventure that took place in two hours with Bill. The ever-infamous Tales from Bible Camp, and one of my favourites, the Georgia Tech: Tim and Jay vs. the GA Tech Ninjas.
It was the experiences that I experienced through high school and transcribed here that sculpted me into the person I am now, and the person I wish to be in the future. And I had years to look forward to it, and now I have arrived.
People are said to take blogs and online journals too seriously. But I never considered this an ordinary journal or blog. It was a testament of my stories, the greatest stories next to the story of Noah's Ark. It was a showcase of my achievements and friends, and a triumph over frustrations through humour.
There always was and always will be a method to the madness, but now it's time to write my last entry for LiveJournal.
I'm moving from the digital world to the Free World, and I'm going to enjoy every bit of it, like a straw to my nose.
It was an extraordinary three and a half years, and I'm thanking the people who got me here and made my life as sitcom and interesting as any teenager could possibly have. To Ben and Eric, to steal a good line from an Oscar-nominated movie*, "We're a fucking tripod". To Tim, my greatest rival and bud. To Jenn, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. I hate your guts. I hope all the bad things in life happen to you, and only you. To Lisa M., there are no such things as valid sorry moments, To Isiah and Tracie, we're awesome, To Janine, a great friend, To all the clubs and sports I was ever apart of through high school, to Jessica W. for the laughs, To all the zombies and incurably silly friends I have ever,
And to the readers: One pregnant woman, three cub scouts, the one person who accidently stumbled here, and the rest at the retirement home who think the computer is the television set and are just looking for The Price is Right.
Take care. It was fun, I'm leaving with 700+ entries left to be read,
And To me. To the next step.
Jay Phillips
May 28th, 2005
*NOTE: The Girl Next Door was never nominated for an Oscar. But it should've been.
Want to keep up with my life as events warrant, but nothing that will nearly be as great or as monumentous as a journal? Visit http://www.myspace.com/jaysfiasco
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These last couple of days were the pinnacle of my life thus far. And a great few days they have been. I mean, let's recap:
- Burt Reynolds slapped the fuck out of someone interviewing him
- My grandmother, aunt, and baby cousin came down from NY to visit me and attend my graduation
- I'm getting money out the wa zoo
- I received a ton of graduation gifts, cash, a "brand new old car" (just my Jeep, except with a new MP3/CD player and paint job
- And finally, after being in school since I was four years old, I can declare myself a graduate of high school, no longer to be identified by my student number, and completely thrust into the Free World.
( The last great story ever told )
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I graduate from high school in less than seven hours.
It's the fastest process in the world, even though it took twelve years of my life.
What the hell does a person have for breakfast on a day like this.
Oh, and I hope nobody minds me taking the episode title for the series finale of Dawson's Creek as my subject heading. After writing 700+ journal entries, you kind of get strapped for ideas.
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I was sitting on my bed today, flipping and tossing the television remote in my hand. Then, I tried to close my eyes and see if I could flip it and successfully catch it in the same hand. So I concentrated.
And concentrated.
..And concentrated.
And I flipped the remote, eyes closed, using my extreme Jedi mind tricks and I caught the remote. I felt the remote twirling like a gymnast in the air. I used the Force and caught it. I was so excited that I got up to run to the kitchen and tell my mother of my accomplishment and clipped my shoulder on the doorway on my way out.
All this Star Wars craze is getting out of hand. As if it hadn't reached that point before, wonder I do.
I went to the midnight screening of Star Wars: Episode III on Wednesday night with Ben and Eric, who got us advanced tickets. The movie started at 12:01am, and you had to be there hours in advance just to get your seats. Driving to the theatre, you could see this gigantic line of asshole geeks dressed in their shitty hand made Star Wars costumes, a line that snaked all the way around the entire theatre. It was unreal. Then once you're inside the theatre, all the extreme Star Wars fanatics know all the right places to clap and cheer, like when the credits first roll and you see LucasFilms. There are certain things you can say to piss off fans, like questioning, "Who the hell is Lucas?"
Otherwise, the movies was great. Anakin Skywalker is one pissed off kid. And I can proudly claim that I am one of the few thousands of people to get to see Star Wars: Episode III an astonishing eight hours before anyone else.
I'm awesome. If you don't agree with me, then you are wrong.
And speaking of stories ending, this epic that is my journal is soon ending. More details later.
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Wednesday, May 18th, 2005
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It takes real, calculating psychotics to do what Kat and Becky did last night.
While I was in bed laying down after a long day, I heard rattling and banging at my window. Naturally, I freaked the fuck out. For all I know it could be a burglar, coming to tie me up and steal my computer and Playstation 2 from right in front of me. I would never recover from that type of ordeal.
Instead of going to the window, I went outside of my house and hurt loud talking. Then I see Becky walking towards my window again and throwing Skittles or something at it, then she runs away, back into Kat's truck, and they leave.
I'm way too tired to do anything significant other than call Becky's phone to investigate just what the hell they were doing. As I was speaking to her on the phone, I walked in the grass to the outside of my window and found a basket full of gifts for my birthday, and different coloured sheets of paper constructed in the shape of a 'J' taped to my window. For all the trouble they went through, they scared the hell out of me more than anything.
Still speaking to Becky on the phone, I went back inside with the paper 'J', which was a collection of messages and pictures written on it, most of which were inside jokes and quotes we all shared throughout the year, like what it means to 'Lose your shoe' and some references to the picture of Penelope Cruz I keep on the outside of my binder.
The details of what was in the basket is another story, truely confiroming that Kat and Becky are average day psychotics [albeit very nice and sweet ones for the trouble they went through to put a nice gift together for me]. Here's a list of what was in the basket:
- A teddy bear
- A miniature box of Corn Flakes
- A pair of red Victoria's Secret panties, sprayed with vanilla scent [note]
- A miniature bottle of rum from their trip to the Bahamas
- Caramel apple dip
- Becky's old jean skirt
- A flag and a cutout of some sort of animals head, taped to a straw
- A Jewish Star of David, constructed with popsicle sticks and glitter
- Tootsie Roll candy
- A gigantic stack of toys from fast food restaurants. The thing is, most of the bags were already opened, leading me to believe they had already played with the toys before giving them to me
- Some smooth, psychedelic type rocks. I call 'em Spiri-rocks
- Two sticks of Bazooka gum
And lipstick. Now, the thing with the lipstick, the way how I interpreted it was as a reference to Silence of the Lambs, which I would always make jokes about because I do some pretty timeless Buffalo Bill references, and there was a scene in the movie where he smeared his lips with lipstick and dressed up as...well I don't know what the hell he dressed as.
It was such a great package and delivery. Becky and Kat, you guys are the greatest (and strangest. I mean come on, lip stick?)
NOTE: Allegedly the panties belonged to Kat, which is great because I had always planned to steal a pair from her house as a souvenier, but never could get around to it. I'm going to hold onto them as a testament to my ultimate triumph.
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Today was my best 18th birthday ever.
I mean. The only one, but. So yeah.
I woke up and felt old and decrepit. I normally don't get excited about birthdays anymore, not like I did when I was five and knew I'd be getting the newest Ninja Turtle toy and accessory. Now it's just like, "Shit, I need to take out the trash, it's starting to overflow and my mom's going to yell at me. Oh what's this, no milk. Soymilk? How the hell...does it come out of the cow that way? I'm not putting that shit in my cereal."
After scratching my ass and leaving the kitchen, I went to go take out the trash when I saw these young kids on scooters speeding down my street. That's when I really felt old, because I wanted so badly to say, "You young bloods, slow down, this is a neighborhood! Dead-head mutha f--kers--Yeah that's right..."
But today actually turned around. Margaret and Jessica came over and bought a copy of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, my new favourite movie. But since neither of them had seen it, I elected for them to take it home and watch it first.
After a less than pleasant stint at the DMV, I went out to dinner with my government teacher Ms. Critchlow, who shares the same birthday as me. Since the first week of school, we had always promised to find a restaurant that offered free birthday dinners so that we could enjoy a free meal (we're both somewhat crafty. Why pay for dinner when you can find a place that'll give it to you for free). So we decided on this really ritzy, upperclass steakhouse. Honestly, no lie, this place makes you drop your jaw. The waitresses walk around with a tray of raw steaks and you can choose which one you want. And it's extremely expensive, but well worth the anticipation.
The only stipulation was that in order to get your birthday dinner for free, you had to be accompanied by a date who had to spend a minimum of $26 (which is relatively easy and inevitable, as most of the entrees cost well above $30). So I took Andrea with me as my date and Ms. Critchlow took our friend Chris from my english class. We were also accompanied by Ms. Critchlow's son, Eric, and one of her colleagues.
I hate to write about food. But DAMN. The food was stellar. Eric, only a 7th grader, was chowing down on filet mignon like it was no big deal. I had this crazy steak with shrimp scampi smothered in garlic sauce on the side.
The waitresses are really nice, too, except one of them dropped a giant roll of bread on the ground and I was like, "I hope they aren't going to serve that to anyone."
We had a great night. Talked about school (or lack thereof, since seniors' last day of high school was last Thursday). After dinner we had dessert and they sang Happy Birthday to us.
Afterwards, I took Andrea home. What the hell, I mean, it was no problem. As my date I figured the decent thing to do would be drive her home. But she lives closer to Egypt than anything. It took forever to get out there, a good forty minutes, and then another hour to get out because I got lost. I ended up back closer to the restaurant I ate at than my house. Egypt. WAY the fuck down there.
Still, great night. Nice way to kick off the "I'm legal!" adventure.
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R.I.P Courtney.
It's sad. We kind of live our lives drifting slowly through space. We always put off the things we are capable of doing today.
But in doing so, we never really live for the moment. We also forsake the things that matter the most to us, until it's too late.
Keep smiling, Courtney.
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I've noticed that banner ads have become increasingly more violent.
Y'know what type of ads I'm talking about. The ones that say, "Shoot the ducks and win a PRIZE!", your mouse serving as cross hairs or a gun and you try to maneuver and perfect your timing as the ducks move around.
That was the precursor. That's how the ads started. But now they are much more advance. The last one I saw was "Shoot the Paparrazi!" that had a Brad Pitt's head on an animated body, running down an alley and darting between two buildings, and your mouse served as a gun as you tried to shoot a paparrazzi cameraman behind trying to take his picture. No lie. Even I can't make this type of insane shit up.
Then you've got the one that says, "Shoot the criminal and win a PS2!" and on the banner ad you see a police car and cop driving head to head with a runaway on a motorcycle (realistic too! He comes with gang colours, hand signs, and a glock, number one cop killer weapon as reported by NWA) and you have to shoot him off the bike. What the hell is really going on. What ever happened to, "You are the one millionth person to visit this website! Here, half a free half eaten bag of Doritos!"
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"When Jay was in Pharoah's Laaannndddd...Let my people goooo..." Or something. It's been a while since I've heard the words.
Yesterday was the last Friday of my high school career. That is, unless I find out that I bomb this nine weeks and I'll be returning as a 5th year senior. But then I will at least be the biggest kid roaming the hallways.
We're pretty much down to the wire, our last day being on Thursday next week. I think I'm gonna paint my face half silver and half teal, dress in my Luigi Halloween costume (green overalls, green L hat, giant cartoon gloves, and a plunger) and terrorize the hallways. It turns out Florida is notorious for senior pranks, especially in northern counties. I heard some kids in Brandenton put an alligator in the courtyard of their school and locked chickens in some of the classrooms.
Then you've got Flanagan High School, some kids drove two school buses into the courtyard. I've seen the pictures and I think they are still there.
It's so hard to do senior pranks now though without someone dying, or you all getting caught because one of your friends told one-too-many people.
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"Death to false hardcore."
What in the hell does this mean. I've seen this quote more and more lately, and I can't even start to understand what false hardcore is. There are so many different interpretations now. I remember when hardcore used to be cracking someone's head open with the blunt side of an axe, then while they were in the hospital recovering and racking up an enormous bill that the state of Florida won't pay for, you slept with their 6-month pregnant girlfriend.
Now it's like, "Hey, let's run tear down that 'No Skateboarding' sign and shoot potato guns.", although I will admit that potato guns are unbelievably cool. More people in the military should carry them. Then with a little butter..chives...sour cream..
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What better way to end your senior year than to realize that your senior picture is not even in the book. Oh, suuure, you submitted your picture and a clever quote to go with it. Oh, suuure you spoke to the teacher in charge of all the yearbook stuff to make sure your picture was received. Oh, suuure you believed your high school was capable of getting at least one thing right in four years.
They sure as hell better give me my money back, or they better recall all the yearbooks and have my picture hastily glued somewhere on the page. Every book. No. I won't calm down, you calm down!
Meanwhile in the world, I saw the funniest thing ever the other day, which only convinces me that the students at my school are infinitely clever. In the bathroom, someone wrote on the wall, If you can piss above this line, the RPB Fire Dept. wants you, and it was written nearly seven feet up, above the toilet.
The hilarity! Bathroom graffiti! Plastic cups! The madness never ends!
Alright, so maybe I let the thing about my picture not being in the yearbook get me all weird. But there are a few pictures of me elsewhere, mostly with the band page.
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Nice going FOX! You hyped up the Family Guy premiere for months and months, then you botch it. I, along with a lot of other TV viewers, got this whack blue screen for thirty minutes that only just came off six minutes into American Dad.
I'm looking out my window now. I see lit torches. A lot of people are standing outside of their homes, they look pissed.
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Saturday, April 30th, 2005
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Oww. Something hardcore bit me on the stomach as I was sleeping and now I've got these bumps on the right side of my abdomen. I hate getting bitten on my stomach (or anywhere else). Whenever something bites me, the bumps grow and I always think about any Alien movie with Sigourney Weaver, and little Emilio Estevez [the Mighty Duck man himself] looking aliens chewing their way through my stomach.
Went to Sunfest tonight. Brian McKnight performed on stage and drove the ladies crazy. He has a weird effect on people. You look around and middle-aged couples are making out like teenagers on Make-Out Hill. Then you have women, independent and wild, throwing their panties with their phone numbers scribbled in magic marker onto the stage.
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Banquet was incredible last night. I pulled off some crazy awards, including the Louis Armstrong Jazz Award, which means my name goes up on the plaque in the band room along with everyone else who has won it over the years. I also received favourite senior (Duh. I'm awesome) and best marcher and favourite section for the saxophones (The superlative awards were a bust. My name was spelled wrong twice, and they spelled saxophone wrong. I spent a few minutes thinking, Who in the fuck is a saxaphone, and who the hell is Jaymaine? I know it's the thought that counts, but the awards were quickly scribbled onto printer paper and some shitty designs were added to it. Oh well I guess, Jazz Award, rock on). Didn't get the sexiest bitch on the planet award, but deep down I'm a winner.
I'm really happy about the awards and leadership positions that were earned by everyone. I get to pass down my position as band captain next season to Matt who worked especially hard for it, Vins and Amanda are going to be the next two drum majors which is great for the band next year because they are both really good. Mike and Josh got lieutenants, and Marco, who had spent hours and hours stressing about it the day of, got the coveted John Philip Sousa Award, meaning his name also goes on a special plaque in a band room, next to the plaque with my name.
Everything else after that got kind of nutty. Spent a lot of time dancing with everyone since this will really be the last time we're all together for a banquet with the new school being completed and making their own band, not to mention the seniors leaving. Towards the end, there was a really sad moment where we sang Bohemian Rhapsody one last time in a giant circle, then moshed in it.
My entire day before banquet night was nothing spectacular. I spent the day with Mr. Hill, Marco, Tracie, Meredith, Jamie, and a few others going to two middle schools and recruiting for band. While we were gone a lot of crazy stuff happened at the high school with something to do with guns or what not, but since I don't know the story entirely I won't get into it. All I will say is that officially, RPBHS is hardcore now. I heard some kid got stabbed in the park next to the school.
How do I know? Because I'm the one that stabbed him. I also steal cars.
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Thursday, April 28th, 2005
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I can't believe The O.C. got shafted for the Presidential conference so that George Dubya could go up there and speak. And I say that very modestly, because earlier I saw a dog on A Current Affair that could say "I love you", which means he pretty much won the Most Eloquent Award out of the two of them.
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Tuesday, April 26th, 2005
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If you recite your Pledge of Allegiance with a slight pause on this line:
"..one nation [pause] under God.."
Then you are a COMMUNIST.
And there's also a good chance that you leave plastic on your furniture to protect against stains, you big, dirty opponent of capitalism and American Idol. Don't worry, help and resolution can be obtained.
EDIT - Can you appreciate my use of red in "communist"? Read up your history books, children.
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greasymonkey's journal
amused.
annoyed.
accomplished.
tired.
nervous.
geeky.
grateful.
blank.
busy.
So Chill.
weird.