Saturday, September 12, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
A Song
Hi everyone. Recently I have stumbled upon a work of genius. This song doesn't have anything to do with the contents of this blog but it has MAD BEATZ YO. It has taken over my life and it now my top played song in itunes.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Rz6q9V6FXo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Rz6q9V6FXo
Friday, August 7, 2009
K So
Looks like Kelly's got her little support group on here.
99,000 vs. 1 is not a fair fight.
I really don't want to be mad at you people. Perhaps we got off to a bad start. Let's start this over.
Hi. My name is Matthew, not Macon. I can be immature, but most people will tell you i am overall a pretty decent person. Your friend decided to try and woo me over late 2008. I was fifteen at the time. Honestly, at this point, i was flattered but didn't take it all into consideration. I was honestly creeped out that someone of her age would be interested in such a younger guy.
A bunch of shit happened and maybe this was asshole move #1 but i decided to engage in physical relations with your friend. Maybe a mistake, maybe not. It sure seems like one now. But the real thing is, I wasn't interested. I didn't want to get laid either. I honestly wasn't ready. But i did stuff with Kelly because I wanted to. I'll be blatantly honest here: I completely disregarded the feelings of your friend. Flushed 'em. Gone! I just wanted someone who cared for once. I know it's hard to see an "asshole" like me getting hurt, but prior to using your friend (which i will admit i did) i had gone through my fair share of heartbreak and being used myself. I'm not gonna bitch and moan about that stuff though, because it's not important and i am still young and will probably go through much worse.
Due to outside conditions, mostly due to the fact my parents found out and didn't exactly approve of the fact i was fooling around with a nineteen year old girl, we stopped seeing each other. Now this is where it gets kind of difficult to explain. Why didn't it end there. Why, after two love confessions, several threats, multiple blogs, and many other things is this still even a topic of conversation? The answer is because she gets so worked up about it. And you do too! You people write these long comments and you hate me. I am a sixteen year old kid, for God's sake. I pose no threat to anyone. Not even Kelly. I am harmless! I am a stupid kid who made a mistake and i continue to not let it die because everyone gets so worked up about it!
Am I immature, yes.
Am I an asshole, probably.
Did I make a couple of mistakes? Absolutely.
But as for the people telling me to grow up, who are you to tell me this? You're the one getting angry at a sixteen year old's blog.
So yeah I am done here. Accept my apology, random people who hate me and think i am immature. I hope that maybe we can be friends and we can be ridiculous and immature together (without being mean or hurtful, of course!) I'll try and tidy this blog up and make it less hurtful, but for the most part, i'm gonna leave it all up.
If anyone wants to talk to me one-on-one or has any questions, i'm up pretty late usually. My AIM is loveanzoonun.
Great meeting all you people.
Matthew G. Newberg.
99,000 vs. 1 is not a fair fight.
I really don't want to be mad at you people. Perhaps we got off to a bad start. Let's start this over.
Hi. My name is Matthew, not Macon. I can be immature, but most people will tell you i am overall a pretty decent person. Your friend decided to try and woo me over late 2008. I was fifteen at the time. Honestly, at this point, i was flattered but didn't take it all into consideration. I was honestly creeped out that someone of her age would be interested in such a younger guy.
A bunch of shit happened and maybe this was asshole move #1 but i decided to engage in physical relations with your friend. Maybe a mistake, maybe not. It sure seems like one now. But the real thing is, I wasn't interested. I didn't want to get laid either. I honestly wasn't ready. But i did stuff with Kelly because I wanted to. I'll be blatantly honest here: I completely disregarded the feelings of your friend. Flushed 'em. Gone! I just wanted someone who cared for once. I know it's hard to see an "asshole" like me getting hurt, but prior to using your friend (which i will admit i did) i had gone through my fair share of heartbreak and being used myself. I'm not gonna bitch and moan about that stuff though, because it's not important and i am still young and will probably go through much worse.
Due to outside conditions, mostly due to the fact my parents found out and didn't exactly approve of the fact i was fooling around with a nineteen year old girl, we stopped seeing each other. Now this is where it gets kind of difficult to explain. Why didn't it end there. Why, after two love confessions, several threats, multiple blogs, and many other things is this still even a topic of conversation? The answer is because she gets so worked up about it. And you do too! You people write these long comments and you hate me. I am a sixteen year old kid, for God's sake. I pose no threat to anyone. Not even Kelly. I am harmless! I am a stupid kid who made a mistake and i continue to not let it die because everyone gets so worked up about it!
Am I immature, yes.
Am I an asshole, probably.
Did I make a couple of mistakes? Absolutely.
But as for the people telling me to grow up, who are you to tell me this? You're the one getting angry at a sixteen year old's blog.
So yeah I am done here. Accept my apology, random people who hate me and think i am immature. I hope that maybe we can be friends and we can be ridiculous and immature together (without being mean or hurtful, of course!) I'll try and tidy this blog up and make it less hurtful, but for the most part, i'm gonna leave it all up.
If anyone wants to talk to me one-on-one or has any questions, i'm up pretty late usually. My AIM is loveanzoonun.
Great meeting all you people.
Matthew G. Newberg.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
An Update
This one I'm keeping up. I still stand that this truly is terrible writing, regardless of the source. This doesn't even have anything to do with Kelly, this is just bad.
Me and Mr. James
By Kelly Lucas
VERSION 2
[Tuesday] June 3,rd 3:47pm
“Come on, go with me,” Phoebe said.
“No,” I told her.
“Why not? You’ll have fun.”
“Oh, yes,” I began, “a hot, crowded, dark, noisy bar where we can’t even drink. Sounds like so much fun,” I said sarcastically.
“It’s June-wear a tank top; it won’t be that crowded; dark is hip; and the noise is really good music.”
I looked straight at her, “No.” Phoebe wouldn’t stop pleading with me; the puppy eyes came out and she asked again, “Go with me.”
Before I could answer her, my phone rang. I, stupidly, picked up before reading the ID to get away from Phoebe’s demand, “Hello?”
“Hey!” Patrick said, “It’s me.” This was not a soothing voice.
“Hi, what’s up, Pat?” Phoebe’s eyes widened, for she knew how Pat was pursuing me, and how I was running to California to get away from him.
“Um…I was wondering if…” crap, he was asking me out; “if you wanted to go to a movie Friday?” he finished.
“Hold on, let me check my schedule.” I put the phone against my shoulder to muffle the sound, “What am I doing Friday?” I asked Phoebe-I had no memory and no scheduler so Phebe, as my best friend and the only person I hung out with, knew all my plans.
“We’re going to the bar,” she said as she smiled.
“I hate you,” I told her before returning to the phone, “Sorry, Pat, Phoebe and I are going to the mall.” It’s best to lie to Pat; he always follows. “I got to go. Bye, Pat.” I hung up before I could hear his response or request for another night.
“We’re going to the bar.” Phoebe repeated, the smile growing.
[Friday] June 6th 7:29pm
I hung my hat on top of the coat rack in the staff room. Looking in the mirror, I saw that my hair hadn’t gotten any better since waking up from my four-hour nap. I took the hat off of the rack and placed it on my head. I continued to stare into the mirror, rubbing my face, circling my eyes to wake them up.
“You’re late.” Gary said.
“Really?” I said, quickly looking to my watch, which read 7:31pm. I was scheduled to work at 8pm.
“No. You’re a half hour early.”
“Then why-”
“You’re late for sound-check.” Gary persisted. “I had my soloist cancel. Didn’t you get my voice-mail?” Digging my phone out of my pocket I saw that I had three missed calls and one voice-mail.
“Yeah,” I said showing him the phone, “I just didn’t listen to it.”
“Stop being a wise-ass and get your damn guitar.” Gary yelled across the room. I jogged back outside to my car where I perpetually kept my guitar. This has happened before. No one wants to play for a small-town bar. One band, Hopper Avenue, who has played here made it. No else will. But I play for love, not for money. I write because I can’t keep my thoughts inside. I sing because my heart sings. Okay, that sounds cheesy, but it’s true.
Twenty minutes later I’m smiling my ass off for twenty-two year old bimbos who couldn’t tell you who’s running for President. Hell, I’d be lucky if they knew who the current President was.
“The girls are loving the bartender in the hat,” Ron yells over the music.
“The girls are getting nothing from me. I have to play in an hour.” I yell back.
“A hot musician who doesn’t want to get laid. What is wrong with that?” Ron plops a lime-wedge into a glass and slides it down the bar to a brunette. She smiles at him and tips an imaginary hat.
“Learn how to play guitar then.” I snipe, twisting the caps off of two beers, “and your problems will be solved.” I’m not one for sharing my bed with a different girl every night. Once in a while it’s fine, but legally Gary doesn’t let us. He doesn’t want his bar getting a reputation for being a brothel. Ron wishes he got half the smiles I got, but there’s only one smile I long to see.
She’s only here on weekends, a high-school senior, but she’s got one helluva smile and a look that could kill. Fortunately for me, the band playing before my set has been here before, and a friend of hers is fond on them. I scheduled myself to bartend tonight so I could see her and tonight, I’m going make her smile tonight.
[Friday] June 6th 7:39pm
We parked the car outside of the bar and began to walk up the sidewalk. You had to be eighteen to get in, but twenty-one to drink and, without me knowing, Phebe had fake IDs made up. This night was going to be tough without drinking [I was expecting lameness all night] and Phebe knew me too well. “I can’t believe you got fake IDs. That is so not like you.”
“For you, my dear,” she put her hand on my shoulder and pretended to tear up, “Always for you.” We laughed at ourselves and walked to the door. Flashing our fake IDs with confidence, we received the “over 21” wristbands. We’d been here before and were lucky that the bouncer didn’t recognize us.
“Find me a seat and let’s get the party started!” I screamed due to the noise. The first band was up, but Phoebe didn’t care about them. She cared about a girl, Chelsea something. We found two seats at the bar and I ordered two Coronas, sans lime. The bartender nodded and went off to get them.
“From the gentleman over there,” the bartender told us, setting down the Coronas and pointing at a guy on the other side of the bar. He waved a hand at us and I smiled and mouthed “thanks.”
“You or me?” Phebe asked, referring to whom the guy was hitting on.
“We’re about to find out.” I answered, for mystery guy was walking over to us, a huge smile plastered on his face.
June 6th [three seconds later]
“Care to dance?”
“I think I’ll pass,” I told mystery boy, taking a swig of my beer.
“Go.” Phebe told me.
“Please?” he asked again, “I have time for one dance. This is a really great song and has to be danced to.” I just stared at him, swinging my beer. I love swigging beer while leaving guys hanging in suspense.
“I’ll dance with you.” Phoebe rose, took his hand, and went off to dance with him. The song was fast-paced, but still slow and soothing. I don’t know how, but they found a happy medium. They looked like an older couple, holding hands and spinning.
When the song was over, Phebe came back to me and mystery boy left. God knows where and frankly, I don’t care. Okay, I care a little. Except, Phebe didn’t explain and I couldn’t ask her. Mystery boy was a great dancer; I could see that. He was interested in me, too, which is a plus-kinda. For some reason, I’m attractive to guys. It’s a plus when you like the guy; a curse when he’s ugly. Phoebe picked up on our awkward-ness [is that a word?], and spit out what was on both our minds, “His name is Paul.”
“Paul. That’s a good name.”
“He’s also a guitarist and a bartender, here actually. On his nights off of bartending, he plays. He’s up next.”
“No way.” I said. Guys and guitars were my weakness. Guys, guitars, and singing ability were not good- I was able to end up in bed with them.
He took the stage gracefully moments later with a red, electric guitar. He played eight songs, five original and three covers. They were good, really good. The applause was sporadic; no one listened to how amazing the lyrics were.
“I’m Paul Kyle James,” he introduced, “Thanks for listening,” though no one did. This guy was good, could make it to the top and I was going to help him do it.
June 7th [8:32pm]
“You’re back.” Paul noticed.
“Obviously.” I told him. I sat down at the bar, “can I have a beer?”
“Can I see some ID?” I pulled out my fake ID, which was golden last night and got me in tonight as well. I was wearing two over-21 bracelets, and he still asked?
“This is real?” he asked, eyeing me.
“Yes……..” he kept eyeing me, “soda’s fine.”
“So, your friend isn’t here tonight?” He asked, pocketing the fake and reaching under the bar for a glass, “I liked her.” He put ice in it and grabbed the soda sprayer.
“Obviously.” I said sarcastically. “She’s such a fangirl though. I’m sorry if she was a little clingy.”
“It’s okay. I don’t have many fans.” Looking sad as he put the glass in front of me. I put a five dollar bill on the bar. “On the house.” He told me.
“I insist.”
“So do I.” He looked me straight in the eyes. Boy, was this going to be easier than I thought. He’s absolutely gorgeous. Just like my first boyfriend, only I won’t be dumb enough to start a relationship with this soon-to-be star.
“Wanna know something you don’t?” I slyly asked him.
“You’ll dance with me tonight? I get my break in five.” His lips curled into a smile; a sexy, charming smile that will break many hearts.
“Well, that’s not what I was talking about, but alright. I guess you can get a dance tonight.” I smiled back at him, the smile that does tend to break hearts.
“What were you talking about?”
“I want to sign you.” I told him. He froze.
“You’re shitting me.”
“Not one bit.” I said, still staring him in the eyes.
“You’re not old enough to be the President of a label.”
“No, but my uncle is. Ever heard of Hopper Avenue?”
“Yeah. They’re from around here and made it to the top; a mix of The Jonas Brothers and Fall-Out Boy; who doesn’t know them considering their singles are all over the radio, and their faces are all over the TV?”
“Let’s just say, I was their first fan.”
“What?! No way!” he yelled. I nodded.
“I want to make you bigger than them.” His eyes widened. “I want every girl in America, Canada, Mexico, England, France, and maybe Germany, in love with you. I want guys to be you. I want adults pretending to be your parents so they can meet you. I want you so big, the President will even be a fan.” His face was priceless, in total shock. “So, you in or out?”
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