Monday, July 2, 2012

An Uninvited Guest

I have a lot of really fucking random hobbies. Among them, and very close to the top of the list is ghost hunting. I'll probably write a lot of my stories in time, but as much as I love ghost hunting, I'm not a big fan of when the ghost hunts me...

This is something that happened to me several years ago at my old house in Swainsboro, GA when I was about 18. I had a nice 3 bedroom house to myself in an area that was actually notorious for creepy shit. It was on an old dirt road about 12 minutes from the nearest town.
I was by myself sleeping in my room when I heard the front door open. I heard the knob turn and it creak open and then 2 footsteps inside. Then I heard it close. I immediately got up and walked to the hallway and stood just inside my room listening for a while. The house was pitch black. It was 3:13 a.m. I crept to the end of the hallway and peered around the corner to look at the door. Then I flipped on the lights. Nothing... but actually... there was one thing.
The door was unlocked. I always locked that door before I went to bed and I even specifically remembered locking it from earlier this night because I was playing with the cat by the door before I did it.
So I walked over to the door and locked the deadbolt and the knob and turned it to make sure. I went back to bed noticing that the house seemed colder for some reason. I laid down on the side of my bed furthest away from the door to my room. I was laying on my stomach with my head facing the wall opposite my door as well. Then something hit me. I realized that I wasn't alone in my room.
I opened my eyes and moved my head just so slightly that I could see, out of the corner of my eye, my door. It was slowly moving wide open. Then it came in.
A tall hooded figure walked into my room. My blood went cold. I froze in pure panic. It was like I was paralyzed. Too scared to move and there was nowhere to go anyways. All I could do was watch.
The figure came into my room and was walking to the side of the bed where I lay. I began frantically and forcefully trying to blink as hard as I could and make it go away, I wanted to wake up. Why couldn't this all just be a nightmare?
It got to the corner of my bed. By this point it felt like my entire body was encased in ice. With every step closer, it got even colder. I blinked hard again. Opened my eyes. It was all the way on my side of the bed now. I slammed my eyelids down once more. Total panic. I still couldn't move. My head was screaming, praying to a god that I've never believed in, asking anything, just begging for something to help me, to just make it go away... Then I opened my eyes. It was standing in front of me.
I closed my eyes one final time... but not in fear this time. In an almost... "accepting" way. I wasn't sure whether to expect to feel a knife penetrate the back of my neck or feel the cold barrel of a gun touch the back of my head before everything went dark and I got to see for myself what really happens once we die...
Then I felt 2 hands placed upon my back. And then nothing...
I woke up the next morning like nothing had ever happened. And I still don't know what happened. It still fucks with me to this day. Any questions, feel free to ask. Everything in that story is true.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

A Little Back Story (Part 3)

Nothing like waking up with a pounding head and a swastika and other random profanity drawn on your face with 3 black guys coming to pick you up for work in 30 minutes. Goddammit I need new friends.

Oh Athens, GA. How I love that place. Most of my friends are there and some ridiculous stories originated in that place.

When I moved to Athens one of my best friends who lived there got his dad to hire me on for his company. So for the next year I traveled all over the east side of the country installing LED lights in grocery store freezers. It paid amazingly well, but my only friends when I was on the road were Red Bulls, and Adderall. We worked in crew of four and would be on the road for almost 4 weeks at a time sometimes. There were 2 guys I met that I actually liked the whole time I worked for that company. One was a very christian fellow with a great taste in music, 5 kids, and he never pushed his views. A great fellow. The other was a guy who had been with the company so long, he flat out didn't give a fuck. He would regularly curse out his superiors if they fucked up. He wasn't the head guy, but dammit he made everyone feel like he was. And we got along great.

The rest of the fellows I worked with were a bunch of middle aged black men, who hated the fuck out of me because I was young, white, still had my whole life ahead of me, and wasn't paying child support because I knew how to wrap my wang. It was a miserable job, unpredictable, unreliable, but its not like I had anything else going for me at the moment. At this point in life, I was just trying to save up to get certified to teach English in other countries and then head to Asia, and probably not spend too much more time in this ass-backwards country. I'd been longing for travel since Europe and my wanderlust was always scratching just beneath the surface. If I stayed anywhere over 6 months I got restless, distant, and a little crazy. That meant it was time to move on.

But if there's on thing I've learned is that it's not wise to plan out your life, because life just isn't designed to accommodate your plans. Don't ever get too comfortable because you never know what's coming. And that realization is going to be either pants-shittingly terrifying or thrilling. It all depends on how you approach it. 

About February of 2011 things started getting weird...

For some weird fucking reason some people started telling me that I should give modeling a shot. I thought it was an absurd idea, and there was no chance. But eventually, I said, "Ah fuck it, what do I have to lose?"

So I sent in some of the stereotypical shirtless cell phone pictures to companies and watched Zoolander to familiarize myself with the craft. Then I got interest. A lot. I joined an agency that I know now is nothing more than a massive scam. Onesource Talent. Don't ever fuck with them. They want a retarded amount of money to join, and a monthly fee to be able to submit yourself to mostly background acting jobs, and crappy modeling jobs. They have basically no pull in the industry of entertainment and they just prey on the common people that don't know any better. My joining with this agency did whet my appetite to get out and explore this new industry of which I new next to nothing about. I talked to agents from New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago. A lot of people were interested in me it seemed. But most of them sounded like fucking rapists on the phone. Then I got in touch with one fellow who was different...

He was an acting manager in New York City. He'd represented Margaret Hamilton, worked with Kevin Bacon, and didn't give me a vibe that he'd have my pants on the ground 5 minutes after meeting me. So finally I took the leap.

Told my boss that "off" was the general direction in which I would like for him to fuck, bought a train ticket, and prepared myself for the next leg on the journey through this whacked out life.

And here I am in New York City, pursuing an acting career, surviving, and plotting the next steps in world dominance.

A Little Back Story (Part 2)

Oh college. The best years of your life, where you find yourself, get your education, and discover your way in life.
College sucked too. Well, kind of. I had a very strong love/hate relationship with college. I liked college as long as I wasn't in college. I went for 2 years, and I did actually learn a lot. Just none of it in a classroom. I learned social skills, made some amazing new friends, and had some fun times. When I started going to my college, I was living with my half sister in the town of Swainsboro, where my college was located. Then she moved in with her boyfriend and all of a sudden I had a fucking 3 bedroom house and big screen TV all to myself. Jackpot.

Most of my time in college was spent drinking heavily, and playing Halo for hours on end. One of my best friends whom I met at college lived 5 minutes from me, so he came over almost every night and we proceeded to trash talk the shit out of children on xbox live. It was wonderful, and we had not a care in the world. Aside from waking up for fucking 8am classes. Damn that. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's having to wake up early for something I don't care about and am receiving no reward for. And the fact that I'm paying these cunts to do this to me doesn't make it any better. I feel like students should get paid to go to college. Honestly, I would still be there. The false promise that all of this will pay off one day isn't enough.

I always did well in college. Everything was an A or a B with minimal effort, as I partied away while many of the other good little rats were home studying for the race. Shit didn't hit the fan until my fourth semester.

I hate math. Always have. And I hate religion. Always have. I was required to take statistics for the major of "General Studies" which essentially translates to, "I don't know what the fuck I want to do with my life, and I'm here because my family wanted me to be." Our teacher was one of the saddest dipshits I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. Primitive, southern baptist teaching math. Fuck me.

He was one of those teachers that does a half-assed job of explaining shit, then when you ask a question you're yelled at and made to look and feel like an idiot. Some days the twat didn't even teach. He just kind of preached. So I started shooting holes in bullshit religious logic on days when I was hungover and the rest of the world was just too goddamned happy for my liking. And since this was most days, we grew to loathe each other pretty quickly. A semester long battle finally resulted in me saying fuck it, if I drop the class, I'll have under 12 hours and lose my scholarship, and if I fail I'll lose my scholarship... so I just won't go anymore. And I didn't. That batshit wacko didn't have anything to offer me, and I wasn't putting up with him anymore. This and the fact that my half sister decided to kick me out of the house and give it to her mom and stepdad really put me in the middle of shitty creek with nothing to float on except for a skimpy little shred of hope, and a few hundred bucks saved up. Well, looks like its time to drop out and find a job. So after living with a friend for a few months in that small town, I moved to Athens, GA. And so began a whole new era of debauchery, questionable ethics, degradation, wanton sex, and above all else, rampant, unchecked drinking.

Life just got interesting again.

A Little Back Story (Part 1)

Well, I guess I owe a little explanation for how I got from point A to point whatever the fuck this is now. I've lost count.

I'm originally from a small little town in Georgia called Stellaville. There's not much there. Only about 8 people and 12 dogs. All dirt roads, debauchery, and no cops. It was a fucking great place to grow up, learn how to shoot guns, and drink whiskey. I lived there until I was about 12 years old, and then moved around to some other small towns throughout GA. I went to a private school (yes, I know, so shoot me) until the 11th grade, and goddammit if I didn't hate it. 

Let me explain that a private school in a small southern town is like a fucking cesspool for ignorance, Jebus, racism, cliques, and blatant discrimination against anyone with a lick of logic or a different outlook. The bastards wouldn't even teach us evolution. It scares me to death thinking that people actually pay these fuckers big money to keep their kids just as blind and ignorant of the world as they were when they were 6. I hate it that for 10 years I was a victim of this shit, but at least I managed to escape, figure out what the fuck this "evolution" thing was, stop talking to this imaginary "Jebus" guy, and get some real insight into this nutty world.

 I didn't really get my first taste of a "life changing event", epiphany, moment of clarity, or whatever the hell you want to call it until summer of 2006. When I was the most miserable, depressed 16 year old in the world  just trying to figure out why I didn't fit in with the "cool" kids at school with their camo, polos, and functional families; I got a letter. Yes, a fucking piece of paper with some important looking designs and scribble on it was the start of the snowball. Everything from that day to this point in the story has snowballed from that little letter. I was going to Hogwarts. No! Fucking better! Europe! France, Switzerland, Austria, and Italy! I'd been recommended to go on a 21 day student ambassador program for the small fee of 1 metric dick-ton of money. Luckily we just happened to have one of those due to some court bullshit my stepdad was kicking ass at. And my mother, being the most awesomest woman in the world, pretty much wouldn't let me back out of this one. It seemed like such a cool idea, but the leaving date got closer and my tiny, fragile mind started realizing I was about to be thrown into 3 weeks of scary social interaction with 43 people my age, who I'd never met. (Keep in mind I was still innocent(ish) at this point in my life and had never been any further from home than vacations in FL with family.)

But the trip, despite my fears, turned out to be the turning point in my life. I got back to the states with 43 new and amazing friends. And goddammit if I didn't almost not come back. I fell into the deepest depression ever for a few months after I returned. I had tasted the world and I wanted more. I changed high schools twice after the trip. I wanted to meet more new people, make more friends, find some new adventures and interests! 

So I gladly embraced change. And after high school, shit started to get real... then real weird...