So, the day started out great.  The weather was nice, perfect for driving.  I didn’t want to go to work, really, but at least I could get paid to drive around in a car for a while.  So, I took on the tasks I needed to to be able to drive, but at the same time not waste too much gas.

Work days go by fast when you skip lunch.  No, that doesn’t mean I didn’t eat, it just means I ate before I went to work and when I got off work.  It’s rather effective.  I get to go home at 6:30PM instead of 7, which gives me added time.

The plan was thus: get home by 7, get ready, go to interview with new production assistant applicant. She told me she’d have to postpone due to homework.  I was bummed, but optimistic.  She needed to do reading and a quiz and I explained how she could do them both together and still have time for the interview.  Exuberance!  It worked and I was on my way to the interview a half hour ahead of schedule.

It wasn’t a date, it was an interview.  However, were it a date, I’d say it was the best date I’d ever been on.  It was fun, random, and we had a lot to talk about.

It was supposed to be at Starbucks, but neither of us were feelin’ Starbucks as a good place, so we ended up at Cookies, the place next to Cold Stone where we had Italian Ices.

We threw coins off a bridge for good luck and I pointed to a plane that I said was our plane and we’d go to where it was going.  She decided it was going to Chicago, and so I said we’d go there someday.  Also, I think we’re going to randomly go to Los Angelas when she tells me we need to go (for production reasons).

Needless to say, she got the job.  She had the job before the interview.  The celebratory dinner is on the morrow and I said I’d make it.  This was PROBABLY a huge mistake, as I can’t actually MAKE food.  I’ll figure something out.  But, good food and gin and tonics will be had.

So, tonight’s blog will end with a high note that’s not usual with a Steven Garone blog.  We’re going to make Tuesday night our “Bridge Night” every week.  I’m aware that we went on Wednesday not Tuesday.

Steven Garone.

No one really understands it unless they have it.  I’m trying my best to be more open with people about it.

It’s not working very well.

It’s a funny thing, really.

I’ve known for years that I have what they call, “General Anxiety Disorder.”  It’s a disorder that allows the little things in life to completely take over.  For example, if I go to a social event, I will spend nigh the entire time trying to figure out what I can say or do to be accepted at said social event.  If I plan a social event, I can do nothing that whole day except prepare for the social event.

So, last night, I was out having sushi with a friend of mine, Ashley.  We used to work together and every once in a while we go out for sushi.  Everything was going grand until the final two orders came out.  I always let her order because she orders good food and I enjoy the food she orders.  She ordered some kind of fried vegetable dish.  I’m not a fan of vegetables.  I also don’t want to offend.  So, I begin to panic, slightly.  It’s new.  It’s different.  I should try it.  I don’t like change.  I don’t want to try it.  I don’t want to offend.  She’ll get offended if I don’t try it.  If I try it and I don’t like it, I’d have to lie.  Next time, she’ll order it again.

She looks at me and asks if I’m ok.  She tells me she’s never seen me so frightened of a food item before.  I am frightened.  I’m petrified.  I explain that I’m not good with change.  I don’t like new things.  I’m shaking at this point.  My foot thumps under my chair and I have to adjust how I’m sitting.

I go into a long rant about how much I don’t like change and how I keep things exactly the way I like them.  I talk about how I only order what I know and what I’ve had before.  I don’t often order anything new unless I know I’ll like it.  This either makes my ordering at fast food joints quick or painfully slow as I have to go over each item and determine whether or not I’d like it.  If I try something new, I have to specially order it so that I don’t get something I won’t like.  The only time I won’t special order it is if I forget to do so and then I just have to eat it because I don’t want to go back and make any special requests when I’ve forgotten it.  This is how I began to have sour cream on my Crunchwrap Supremes.

So, the vegetables.  I shake and I explain and I have to eat them.  I have to enjoy them.  Much to my benefit, they were good.  I’m still shaking and anxious.  I have to explain why I was before.  I have to explain why I was so terrified by a plate of dead plants cooked in animal fat (or some kind of vegetable oil).

I’m sure I ruined the rest of the night.  We got into a long discussion on anxiety.  We left the restaurant and went into Barnes and Nobel.  We couldn’t stay in there for long, though, because I began to hyperventilate.  I needed air and I became pale.  I was still shaking.  I was talking quickly and with my hands.  I was complaining a lot about the things in life that bothered me.

It was dumb.  I was stupid.  Ashley turned out to have a lot of similar issues, but she learned to cope with them better, I guess.

The night ended with her telling me she thought I was just neurotic before and never knew that I had anxiety issues.  Really, I felt like an idiot.

It’s the last straw, I figure.  I need to get over these issues.  These are the issues that keep me from going out at night and meeting people.  These are the issues that keep me from having guests over and doing random fun times.  These are the issues that keep me chained to my old job and not able to move on.  These are the issues that keep me in bad relationships.

I don’t like change.

Since last night, my anxiety has taken a life of its own.  It’s hard to drive long distances.  It’s hard to sleep.

I haven’t seen my roommate since then.  Not that there’s a link between that, but I think that if I did see him around the apartment, I might not be able to handle it.  I never liked having a roommate.  I’m sitting on the brink here.  I’m teetering and every little thing is sending me over the edge.

I don’t want sympathy or advice.  I don’t want people checking up on me and making sure I’m ok.  I just want people to understand that when I get up and walk out of the room, there’s a reason for it.

It’s embarassing.  That also kind of makes it funny.  It’s a feedback loop.  If I go to a party, I’ll be anxious.  If that anxiety gets to me, I’ll need to leave or risk hyperventilating in front of people.  If I hyperventilate, I’ll get embarassed, which makes me more anxious.  If I have to leave a party, I’ll get embarassed, which makes me more anxious.

I was supposed to go to a party last night after dinner.  I couldn’t go.  I couldn’t leave my apartment.  I felt stupid for not being able to go.  I kept pacing.  I called up Kassi and explained why I couldn’t go and asked her not to tell the others.

I called her up a few minutes later and told her that just saying I’m not feeling well sounded like a cop out excuse.  I said she could explain to the hostess why I couldn’t go, so she’d know I wasn’t just not going, that I couldn’t go.  I felt like a jerk and called to appologize to Ashley for complaining.

Looking back at it, it seems so dumb.  I didn’t need to appologize and I didn’t need to explain why I didn’t want the fried vegetables.  Stupid vegetables ruined my whole night…

So, I signed up for a health savings account today.  I might have to change it if I decide to go to therapy for my anxiety.  That’s something I’ll have to think about over the weekend.  For now, I should probably sleep.

Steven Garone.

 Let me first say here that I wrote this while at the school.  You can see how my impressions of it change as time goes on.

Defensive driving school. What can I say about it? It hasn’t started yet, but I can already tell it’s going to be long and tedious. People are idiots. There are a good deal of people here who have no idea how to read or how the number sequence works. They walk in, skip the signs about the numbers, skip the numbers by and go to the front table. They then proceed to ask questions that have nothing to do with the course and have to do with things like where they can get their hair done. There are like 65 people here and 20 minutes in, we’re on person 19 of registration. Registration consists of showing your liscense and ticket. Really, it’s a 15 second process. Maybe the general incompetence is part of the torture those who went 13 miles per hour over in the speed trap that is Tempe.

I imagine that I just paid $133.00 to spend my day learning all the things I learned when I was 10, like not running people off the road or not going too fast. I saved $30, though, since this is cheaper than the fine.

I don’t think that I should go into my rant about the true purpose of the speed cameras or the Orwellian feel to the whole process.

Actually, since I have the time, I think I will. It’s a slippery slope we’re on here. The people don’t seem to notice or care of the new abuses if the system. There is no disgression.

I was driving 48 in a 35, if this ticket is accurate. One might think that a danger, but a look at the video says differently. There were no cars within 100 feet of me.

The education begins.

So, first break of the day. My initial thoughts on this class seem to be misguided. It looks to be an interesting experience.

I still think my ticket is bullshit, but I imagine I’ll learn a few tricks of the trade and the limits at which I’m allowed to drive. The instructor is an interesting fellow with a cool teaching method. He’s definately good at what he does.

Knitting is expressly forbidden. Knitting while driving, I imagine, is even worse.

More to come at the next break. Not that anyone will notice the pause between them.

On the list of important things I’ve learned thus far… If you get into the center left turn lane, you’ve made a commitment to turn. Leaving by turning right is illegal and can give you a ticket. Also, it’s a good idea to give 3 seconds before moving on a green light. It’s much better to be 3 seconds late than to be hit by a red light runner in the state with the most red light runners in the union.

U-turns are permissable on red lights provided they are allowed and the turn is made before the crosswalk.

If you’re impeeding traffic, 5 cars travelling behind you angrily, you should pull off and let them pass. Impeeding traffic is more dangerous than speeding, I suppose.

If you have a red light and an ambulance is behind you, make a right on red, hugging the curb, and pull off to the side of the road.

Arizona Law dictates that one must pull off to the side for emergency vehicles, even if there’s a median, as medians ain’t no thang to an emergency vehicle and they WILL jump that need be.

The center left turn lane is not a buffer lane for turning left from an apartment complex.

I ran out of time here and didn’t write anything else.  I have to say, I meant to finish my thoughts and upload it that day, but I didn’t get around to it.  And here I am, about a week later.

All in all, it was a positive experience and I’ve learned to drive at the posted speed.  I found out that cruise control works at speeds as slow as 20MPH and I think I’m saving gas using that to control my speed.  By using cruise control, I can’t drift off and let my foot push me faster.

I really don’t know why I’ve been in a rush to get from point A to point B.  The scenery is nice and I don’t really have any designated time to be anywhere, so I just enjoy it.  There really is no reason to speed for me.

Since this seems like kind of a cop out entry, since I wrote it all before, I’ll go into some thoughts I’ve been having.

There used to be a way of things at Game Night.  The joke would start out with Ben making a slightly off color joke.  I would then push it further and make it worse of a joke.  Nate would finish it off and take it to an entirely new level and we would all laugh.

The dynamic has changed and I’ve learned to accept that.  Nate, since he has a stable relationship with someone who disapproves of such humor, will no longer take it to a higher level, leaving me looking like a jack ass.

I’m learning to taper off and not jump in to say things, but it seems that my being caught off guard initially has left others with the impression that I’m a horrible person.  I’m really not so.

I’m starting to wonder if I’m turning into “that guy.”  You know, the guy who says the off color remarks and no one expects to ever get with anyone.  The guy who can’t really have relationships and if he got into one people would ask the woman why…

I don’t want to BE that guy.  In truth, I’m the shy guy in the corner trying to figure out where I belong in this large grouping of people called humanity.  I’m trying to find my character role.  Maybe I’ve been defined as this “that guy” character, but I’d like to know how to break out of that.  I’d like to just be Steven Garone.

But it seems like it’d be a step back to get into my shell again and to stop being so… outgoing?  Maybe I could stand to lose a few moxie points in favor of people having respect for me?

I know the way people view me.  I know that no one really expects much out of me these days.  No one expects me to succeed.  They just hope I’m not too much of a failure.

It’s sad to have every conversation with my parents start with them asking how much money I’m trying to con out of them.  Really, I don’t try to take money from them.  I refuse their help, then they insist and I relent and accept only to have it thrown in my face later that all I do is cost them money.  I’ve suffered through many months without asking for help.  I’ve taken a lot on myself and given up things I enjoy so that I can make the bills without having to go and ask for money.

Since my siblings don’t really talk much to me (which I accept as my fault since I don’t keep in contact with people in general), the impression they get of me is probably the same that my parents see me as.  I’m a detrimental cost to them and I’m merely a cause for woe.

I suppose if I wanted to be seen as something important to my family, I should’ve chosen a talent that is seen by the masses.  I should’ve learned to play the guitar or to sing or something.

I’m a background guy.  This is how I am in all parts of my life.  I go in the background and I fix things and bring people together who need each other.  I do my best to make sure the show can go on without being part of the actual show.

I’m also a pretty good punching bag.  It’s a pretty easy ice breaker to find fault with my over the top presentation of myself.

Maybe that’s what my role really is.  I’m a common conversation piece for people.  They can sit down and talk about the crazy thing I did how they can’t believe I said such and such to so and so.  If there’s a question in a game about who don’t you want to know about or who you’d never be interested in, slap down the answer of Steven and everyone has a good laugh.

Yeah, it’s real funny.

I think it might be important to reitterate here that I really don’t like people.

It’s also important to note that no everyone likes being the butt of every joke.

I’ve learned to live with who I am and the laughter that goes on around me, at me.  I’m not to be taken seriously.  I’m an important tool for people to use to help themselves look better or get what they need.

I suppose there always has to be “that guy” in the group.  If for no other reason than to help the other people not fall into that role, it’s important that one exists.

Every story needs a villain.  Every group needs a “that guy.”

I may not enjoy it, but I suppose it’s my role to play.

Steven Garone.

I’m writing this as I walk home from work. I felt that I should write while walking to both pass the time and get something off my mind.

It occurs to me that I have done everyone around me a great disservice. I’ve been, for years, talking about how amazing I am and that if I felt so inclined, I could do anything. Fact of the matter is that I have no idea how well I would do if I applied myself because I never have done so.

I was telling a good friend of mine, though due to a connection error she never got to read it, that it’s easy to sit back, look at life and where I am and say that I am here due to the people in my life or events in my life, but when it comes down to it, I just haven’t tried hard enough and my short comings are mine alone.

It’d be very easy to blame my financial situation on Alyssa or Kat. People have already done this for me. I think I pull people like that into my life so I can fail without it being my fault. I mean, you can’t help who you fall for or who your family is, right?

But you can help it and I could’ve done something about it. No one forced themselves upon me. I accepted them with open arms and welcomed them back. I kept the insanity going and for what?

It’s nice to have an excuse for failure. You’re never accountable for your mistakes and people welcome you back with open arms once the cause is back. It fits well with narcissism. I’m just a nice guy who people like to take advantage of. Now I can be bitter and angry and no one can say anything to me about it because I’ve been burned before and you should feel badly for me.

Would I afford you the same curtesy?  Should I? I know I don’t deserve it. Maybe you’re different from me. Maybe you’re weaker than I am.

I don’t need your pity. You’re weak. You need mine. Is it bad to think this way? Is it bad to hold myself to a hire standard?

But I don’t achieve that standard. I just use it to bash myself over the head and tell myself I’m a failure. All the while I sit here in the same place afraid that I’ll fail if I try anything different.

What’s the least I can do to not fail and be able to blame others for my mistakes?

Steven Garone.

Alright, so these last few weeks, I’ve been a bit crabby.  No, it’s not because of the wars or the millions dying daily.  Someone took away my favorite fruit/vegetable (Scientifically classified as a fruit, but culinarily described as a vegetable) tomatoes.  Some jerk decided that it was too dangerous for this miracle to be served on my burgers and in my salads.

It started with Sunday night family dinner.  We had taco salad.  No biggie without the tomatoes.  I mean, I like the tomatoes on it, but I can survive without them for a night.  I’ll just wait until the next day to get my fix.

No, the Gods that are the FDA (F’ing Douchebag Administration) thought that saving lives by stopping people from having the chance to get solmonilla was worth more than my lunch.

I don’t care how many casualties there may be, when I want a pita, I need someone to throw down some tomatoes on that bad boy.  Instead, I was offered pizza sauce from the Extreme Pita that Kassi and I journeyed to.  They told me that they HAD tomatoes, but it wouldn’t be legal for them to give them to me.  I told them to throw down some tomatoes on my pita.  They almost did, but Kassi yelled at me and refused to let me put myself at risk of death for a tomato.

The week went on.  Burger King Chicken Club?  Ruined without tomatoes.  Ultimate Double Whopper?  What’s the point?

So, now I’m eating salads.  Today, I went and picked up a salad for myself, after spending a good deal of time talking to Jessi about how I’d eat healthier if they would bring back tomatoes, and when I hope it up at work, I’m taken aback.  Tomatoes had returned!

So, I’ll be in a much better mood now that I know that when I throw down some money for something, it will come with tomatoes.

Peace out.

Steven Garone.

I’m noticing a trend with the way life works.  I have a choice to either be intelligent or social.  An intelligent person understands the risks and dangers associated with activities and does his or her best to avoid them.  A social person ignores the risks and does what is needed to get the friends he or she desires.

So, I find myself stuck here.  I don’t want to be anti-social, but how can I sit around and watch people destroy their lives?

It seems that is the trade off.  Either I ignore my intelligence or I ignore the social potential.  I’ve drifted more towards not caring.  How can I care?

What is the point of caring for someone who is going to slowly kill his or herself and laugh about it?  If he or she doesn’t care about his or her life, why should I?

What’s the point of any of it?

I hate you, humanity.  I had such high hopes and every day you destroy those hopes.  No one is good enough.

Steven Garone.

So, I thought I’d offer everyone out there a small lesson in the rule of 7.  The rule of seven dictates what age is appropriate for one to date based upon their age.  Here’s how it’s calculated…

Youngest age = Age/2 +7

Oldest age = (Age-7)*2

Because people don’t like doing math, I’m providing a chart.

Now, for you 18 - 20 year olds, let state law dictate the youngest age you can date and not this chart.

Chart

I went up to 100 so people could see that someone who is 100 years old has their choice of old people to date.

An interesting thing to note.  At early ages, this chart doesn’t make sense.  I figure this is a way to show when one should date.  A good rule of thumb… If the Rule of 7 doesn’t make sense, you shouldn’t be dating anyway.

So, enjoy your summer and keep these ages in mind!

Steven Garone.

P.S. I had to hand code that chart because this blogging application sucks all sorts of monkey balls.  So, please, appreciate it.

So, over the past several months, I’ve been on the website of OKCupid.  This was, at first, to look at someone’s profile who was on eHarmony.com.  But it grew into me making a full on OKCupid profile, answering the questions and generally being a guy looking for love on the internet.  Through this website, I’ve met a number of people, but none of them seemed to be anything approaching what I would consider to be a “good match.”  I had some fun times and I met some interesting people, but the site being used to find a soul mate?  Well, that just doesn’t work for me.

My life has been, for lack of better terms, a series of disappointments when it comes to the opposite sex.  I get into relationships, invest everything I have into them, and promptly get thrown to the dogs.  I’ll grant you that I’ve had fun along the way, but I’ve treated it all with such an intensity that I don’t see as healthy anymore.  I’ve loved and I’ve lost.  I’ve rounded the bases a few times and I’ve enjoyed it all the while.

The more I think about the idea of relationships and love and all that stuff, the more I see it as a thing of my past… Something I’ve grown out of. It’s like swearing for fun.  It was cool, but now I’d like to sit down and have conversations that don’t involve a passively dropped F-bomb.

I’m just not into it anymore, I suppose you could say.  I’m not interested in this whole idea of love or sex.  It’s all the same old boring thing.  What’s the point?  Tell me, really, what’s the point?

I’m obsessed with stories, I’ll tell you this much.  My problem with people is that their stories get told and that’s the end of it.  There’s no more to tell and there’s no more that any of them could interest me.  I can’t spend my life with some person because their stories will be told to me early on and I’ll never really be able to care afterwards.  What’s the reward?  Family?  Children?  Grandchildren?  To what end, people?  To what end?

It all comes down to the same kind of conclusion.  It all has to end and there’s no point to doing any of it.  So, why am I trying for this?  Why have I ever tried?  What was I looking for then that I don’t really want now?  There had to be a reason for me to care before and somewhere along the lines I’ve lost that reason and that want.

No, really, I’m done.

What’s is the spark for all this, you may ask?  I really had been thinking about it for a while.  I’d been searching for someone who could challenge me, intellectually, physically, in any way really.  I was looking for someone who would keep me on my toes and make things interesting in my life.  I felt like if I could find this kind of person, a female me, that I’d be able to stick around with them and things would remain interesting forever.  I found someone who was interesting.  I found someone who could carry a conversation and someone who, at her very base, seemed to want to challenge me.  This could’ve been an interesting thing, but it didn’t feel as amazing as I’d hoped it’d feel.  It felt a whole lot like… nothing.

I’m feeling a whole lot of nothing.

She met someone else and she’s going to go for him, which should be displeasing for me, but I’m not taken aback by it.  I’m not surprised and I barely care.  She was an egoist and she was interesting, but it wasn’t amazing.  Nothing is amazing.

Nothing is amazing.

Maybe I’ve become too bitter.  Maybe I care too little.  Maybe I’ve let the hurts from my past seal off my heart and destroy everything that I once held dear to me.  Maybe that frail child who used to cry when someone hurt his feelings was the person I should be but I changed him into what you see today because I thought it’d make me better equipped to deal with the world.  Maybe I am better equipped to deal with the world.  Maybe my life is better the way it is now.  Maybe it’s better that I can’t feel any of the pain that I should be feeling right now.

I can’t feel.

I’m this big ball of nothing that’s rolled into this form that you know as Steven Garone.  I have no purpose or drive.  I’m drifting from day to day.  My bank account is perpetually empty and I should be upset by all of this but it doesn’t seem to bother me in the least.  I’m failing at this thing called life and I just don’t care.

I really don’t care.

So, I deleted my OKCupid profile.  I’ve deleted over half of my MySpace and FaceBook friends.  I’ve limited myself down to people I talk to often.  I’m not much interested in meeting new people.  I’m pretty much done with dealing with the world and I’m ready to settle down for a good deal of time without talking to people.

I wish I could sum this all up in some nice neat little package, but I can’t.  I just don’t have the ability or the will to make this come together and leave with some amazing incite into the world.  Fact of the matter is that I don’t understand the world and I doubt the world cares about my existence.

Steven Garone.

EDIT:  I think I understand why I don’t care much about the woman who made the choice to be with the other guy.  Her choice is a boring choice.  She went for the dumb guy with the motorcycle.  It was so predictable that it doesn’t even bother me.  It’s like watching bad TV that I can interact with.  Over the next few months, I plan on sitting back and watching as it all goes exactly as bad writing does and I hope that the great novelist gives a twist so it can become an interesting story again.  She has, in my mind, just become the stereotypical rebellious girl.  She’s full of misdirected rage, angst, and a sad story that would sell at the box office.  Pity, for I mistook her angry opinions on life for well thought ideas.  Granted, they were wrong, but they may have been thought out instead of just rebellion against social norms.

Yeah, I’m weak.  I put Twitter in the side bar.  I’m also updating it because people seem to be following it.  Why?  I’m not sure.

Steven Garone.