posting up and throwing a tear down (see: overuse of the comma)

i think, as far as concsiously fabricated identities go, that beach casual was really only a stepping stone to much greater things, and that really what needs to be on everyone's minds these days, what's really going to catch on like wildfire before anyone really knows what's going on, (and this right here is your preliminary, but post-introduction-to-the-world, warning), is a little thing i've taken to calling: "ranchero".

today i called lee and left her a message but the message went on way too long so i ran out of time so at the end of it, the condescendingly nice "voicemailbox" (one word?? fuckin a) lady who had previously introduced me to lee's "voicemailbox" told me essentially that i had wasted way too much time blathering on and on for the majority of the message, not really saying anything at all, leaving a message that was niether pertinent, coherent, concise, nor in any way succinct (paraphrasing here) and that i had the option to leave the message as is, erase it and try again, or listen to it in full, just in case i wanted to hammer down the point further, that i am in fact an idiot incapable of just yet residing in a world of adulthood and maturity and professionalism. i, of course, chose the most latter of options, and in response to the voicemailbox lady's snide remarks, decided it best that i had better try my luck at it again, should probably think about what i was attempting to say beforehand, rather than any kind of improvisational method that i had heretofore relied upon or applied for message-leaving, which up to now i had believed to be comical or charming or in some way inspiring affection or at the very least warm sympathy. [this desire for self growth obviously arising out ofp of my mostly secret eternal and everlasting quest to be better than all other people at everything one could possibly do in life, ever. there may however be a few minor exceptions to this list, such as eating asparagus for example, or, say, wearing clean underwear; things i obviously have no aspirations of ever improving at]. for maybe the first time ever but certainly the first time in a really really long time i found myself listening to a message that i, matt smith, had left. the effect was profound and disturbing and enlightening and grounding all at the same time. so i left another message. once again the pleasant voice rang out in my ears that i was still, officially and unequivicably, not capable of getting to the point. so i left another message. again. this time however, about halfway through, i became distinctly aware of the lack of time remaining and my incredible inability to uh, rap it up (pertinently, coherently, concisely, or even in any way succintly), so i intuitively began to leave the message for myself, instinctively foreseeing or more, phophetically envisioning, the future (albeit the very near future). it was i, me, matt smith who would be the recipient of this long and rather dull recording of my, i's, matt smith's, voice, closing the message with a little memorandum about the ridiculous nature of the actions in which i was participating, directed at myself, or me, or matt smith. the next message i created was strictly aimed at communicating to myself, chocked full of mentions of the hilarity but maybe difficult implications and questions that arose about such a thing that one would do, while also several times mentioning positive qualities that i believed me or i or matt smith to possess, or rather that characterize him, or me. or I. upon listening to this most recent message, i rather quickly became aware of the emotional responses i was experiencing in relation to the statements that i was making to myself. its really a bizarre phenomenon to complement oneself and react to that message of flattery as if it were a totally spontaneous thing one were hearing for the first time and coming from someone outside of myself, someone whose opinion i have respect for, thus granting the message validity. all the while, through all of these messages, more than anything i'm just totally fucking wigging out on how different i thought my voice sounded this whole time. you're right, my lisp is kind of endearing. . .


after finally deleting all these messages and finally just telling lee to call me back, i finally sat back and pondered the impact of losing the game of scrabble i played last with adam, and the potential for hilarity in excessive self confidence. but don't worry, this is not a thing. . .

well, not like ranchero is going to be a thing, or rather, THE thing. . .