The Beginning of Summer

Summer has now started.

I have now almost been out of school for the past two months. I’ve been getting a lot of leads for music videos but not a lot done. The dating scene has been out of whack for me since the one girl from Provo. Lead me on just to put me down. Further increasing my personal hatred for Provo. That place bugs me. Nice looking town but the folks spoil the atmosphere. Rhode Island and Provo are two places I never care to spend time in.

I swear, I think my summer job is going to kill me!

I keep having this desire sucking feeling of hopelessness wash over me. Usually I’m a happy go-lucky kind of person, but as of late, I haven’t been. I think this feeling of hopelessness is brought on by spending long hours in an office building were all I do is answer phone calls, run errands and scan documents. There’s no glory in it. If I get real lucky my cousin Adam will show up, sit behind me and complain about his marriage problems and get paid for it. One thing that really drives me crazy is when my cousin Danny will come into my office and reviews the movie he saw over the weekend. Critics suck when their favorite movie of 2008 is STEP UP 2: THE STREETS. To escape the pains of my day I stare out my office window. My view is of a funky looking house built in the 1960s with scenic mountains behind it. The same mountains covering the Ogden Valley. My view would increase if the ugly-ass house from the 1960s caught on fire and burnet to the ground.

Has anybody else ever noticed something I call “sexual competition”? It’s the type of competition where you’re dating someone and you find out their dating other people at the same time. It’s a strange emotion a male feels when he finds out he’s competing for the opposite sex. A basic animalistic nature takes over making us feel that we have to fight for what’s ours. The funniest thing is we could also be dating other girls but the basic instinct still takes over. As a male I feel like finding the guy, just so I can start a fist-fight (and I don’t even like confrontations). You wanta find out what they look like just so you can size them up. “Sexual Competition” can also get very ugly very fast. Luckily I haven’t been into too many situations, because usually I suck at competing.

TGIF

Do you remember how awesome it was when we were young and Friday would come along? After the last bell would ring, how exciting it was to think about all the cool things you’re gonna do that night and the adventures you’ll have with your friends over the weekend. Friday afternoon would come and I was as happy as the first time I was ever invited to a birthday party at Chuck-E-Chesses’. Man! Me and whatever best friend I had at the time would meet and figure out whose house we were going to have a sleepover at. Hands down sleepovers were the BOMB.

One thing I would always love to do at a sleepover was to either build a fort with sheets and blankets or watch a movies (usually horror). Anytime I had friends over at my place we would always build a fort. I had a one bed bunk-bed, meaning that I always got to sleep on the top bunk. My dad would always get me the coolest stuff. Since my bed was so unique, it was real easy to build a fort. Now, sometimes we would set up a TV inside the fort and watch movies until we all fell asleep. Most of the time we’d have ‘boy talk.’ Real personal and secret stuff. In Elementary school it was usually real innocent stuff about toys and violent video games. As we entered Middle school the conversations would involve into what girl we thought were hot and boobies and violent video games. For the most part harmless pre-teen talk.

MAN! I LOVED FRIDAYS!

Well I still love Fridays. I only wish that we would still have sleepovers. I guess in a sense we still do have sleepovers, just a different type of sleepover. Now we don’t really call them anything. (Maybe stayovers)? After thinking about it, I think we now call them ‘one night stands’ if it involves the opposite sex. (Usually fort building does not occur at these sleepovers). I believe the last sleepover I had on a Friday was when I accidentally feel asleep at my friend’s house as I was watching his dog. Unfortunately there were no forts.

I’ve decided that with my next girlfriend we’ll have a sleepover where we build a fort in my basement and watch horror movies ALL NIGHT LONG. It’ll be mandatory! If she wants Gillis in her life she’ll be building a fort with me. (Thinking like this is probably what keeps me single). Oh how times have changed since we were young.

Another thing I have noticed about Friday is that the childhood excitement comes with each new Friday. People love Friday so much they made a restaurant and three Ice Cube movies just to honor the day. Shoot! Half the movies we love probably take place on a Friday. However, I do wish more movies had scenes of people building forts.

It's Too Late To Take it Back Now

I’ve spent too many years of my life being a nice guy. Now all I feel like doing is saying “frak it!” Why bother. Why even care anymore. All I’ve ever got from being the “nice guy” is a hard dick and a bunch of stories about how I’m such a great friend. Or great guy or whatever great bullshit they want to lay on my doormat to make them feel better about dumping my “nice” ass! I don’t understand my I continually let myself get worked up over girls that are just in it for a fun time. Somehow I seem to attract these girls. Well I guess it’s because I’m a “fun lovin’ asshole!”

I should really try and be more like my friend Ben. He’d get girls so easy just by treating them like second-hand citizens. He told me that he ended up becoming so lazy about taking girls out to dinner, is that all he would do with them is take them on a walk or treat them to a drink at his place. Then if they didn’t put out by the second date, he’d dump them, like an old battery. Why can’t I be more like Ben. He’s never standing around holding his dick in his hands, feeling like a jackass standing over the edge of a cliff about to fall off. No! It’d never happened to him. No, I’m the sucker because I believed my mother when she talked about chivalry. I believed the romantic comedies from the 80s. I believed that good things happen to good guys. Well let me tell you the truth before you get too far in life and end up holding your dick in your hand. It’s all BULLSHIT!

Just indulge me for the next little while as I tell you a story about a pitiful idiot named Christopher Lawrence Gillis. Born in a hot as hell state known as Arizona. God only knows why any peckerwood would want to live there. I was the second child to the sometimes psychotic parents, Donna and Larry. If it wasn’t bad enough being born in Satan’s favorite place to vacation, I came out as a blue baby. My mother told me that she was mortified that I came from her womb. Thanks mom. Well I wasn’t breathing, I wasn’t crying. Hell I wasn’t doing anything but looking ugly and lying in the doctors arms.

Finally after several hours of them doctors and nurses poking and prodding me they figured out that my heart wasn’t working like a normal baby’s heart should. Well I was thrown into breathing machine until, the doctors could find other doctors to figure out how in God’s green earth they were going to keep me alive. For the first six months I was in and out of St. Joseph’s hospital. My mother said I looked and acted like a baby straight out the exorcist movie.

This time of being locked up in a breathing container rather than wrapped in the arms of my mother is where I give most of the blame in my life for being so damn co-dependent. Some doctor who was smarter than the last doctor figured out I was born with a heart problem known as transposition of the great vessels. It took me until I was 21 to finally learn how to spell transposition. I’ll continue this tragic tale at another time. I feel like changing the subject.

Intro

I needed in outlet for how many thoughts and ideas run through my head. I’m tired of keeping everything inside. I’m fed up with only writing in a journal. I’m in my twenties, I’m American and I should get my 15 seconds of fame! Man, everybody should get their 15 seconds of fame, isn’t that why we created youtube and blogging pages like this?

I’m tired of holding my tongue. I feel like if I keep holding all my feelings in I’m going to go postal at my place of work. Work… What a joke? I’ve been wasting too much time at a job that dulls my creative juices. Don’t get me wrong I’m very grateful that I have a paying job. But it was only suppose to be a temporary job until I can start getting paid for my real passion. The passion of Gillis is becoming a story-teller. Not like the kind of story-teller that reads books to little kids, but the kind that makes stories. I want to write, I to produce, I want to director, basically I want to make movies. I want to be that kind of story-teller. However, until I get to the point where I making films, I’m stuck here ranting about I see my own existence.

So this is me, Christopher Lawrence Gillis, love me or leave me, or some other stupid cliché I can end this post with.