MELBOURNE, jason adam

[jason adam melbourne]

*--JASON adam MELBOURNE


i am restless and i keep trembling

"so, for the record, can i get your name?"

Well, my name is Jason Adam Melbourne, but people just call me Jason, or Jace if you’re lazy, or a close friend. I don’t think there’s anything special about my name. I mean, it’s not like I was named after some great-grandfather who fought in the civil war or anything. It’s just my name. Jason was my mom’s pick, I think. Adam was my dad’s. Melbourne. Well, there wasn’t much choice in that one, was there? I have to say, though, I’m rather paranoid about tarnishing the family name…well, that is, more than I already have. Oh, and I actually go by Jace quite frequently. The nickname bothered my mom, so when I was in high school, I told people to call me Jace. A lot of them still do.

"wow. that's awesome. so, where were you born?"

Well, I was born during a summer storm on August fourteenth, 1990. That makes me nineteen, bitches. I guess there wasn’t anything particularly special about the day, except that mom was in labor for like, two days, and I was one big-ass baby. 9 pounds, 8 ounces.

"huh, cool. i gotta say, hon, you are gorgeous."

You’re too kind, really. I guess I’ve always thought I was pretty average as far as appearance. I’m a little over six feet tall, and skinny. Toned, I guess, because I run all the time and work out and stuff, but still, I’m a bean pole. My hands are big in proportion to the rest of my body, which I guess never really bothered me. I always found it kind of masculine, actually.

My hair is really thick and dark, and I need a haircut, really, because it’s always getting into my eyes, which drives me crazy. Girls are always telling me I have gorgeous eyes, but they’re just plain old boring brown. I’ve also got a kind of pointed nose. At least in my opinion. And I’m super pale. I can’t tan worth shit, I just bake until I look like a lobster and then peel. So sunscreen is my best friend during the summer.

Style wise, I guess I’m pretty masculine. I’ll wear Aeropostale and American Eagle stuff occasionally, but Walmart teeshirts are a lot cheaper. Jeans are the other staple to my wardrobe, and I love tennis shoes, and actually skate shoes, you know, DCs, Etnies, ect.

"intriguing. how's your sex life?"

Well, I’m basically as straight as they come. As aforementioned, I’m particularly masculine. My sex life is actually pretty great; that is to say, I’ve got a reputation as a total man-whore. At least back home. I’m hoping to fix that, here. I’ve kinda turned my life around, but that’s a whole different story. At any rate, I haven’t been laid in a good year, so I guess my sex life actually sucks. And I’ve never dated anyone for more than a couple weeks. I guess I used to have a phobia about commitment. I guess maybe I still do.

"so, hon, i gotta know, what makes you tick?

Dogs are first and foremost at the top of this list. I have three of them myself, Chezza, a three year old female pit bull mix, Bonner, a four year male old German Shepeherd, and Mungo, a two year old Jack Russell Terrier. I got both Chezza and Bonner because their former owners were having issues with aggression. I haven’t had a bit of trouble with them. I’ve got Mungo just to surprise people, and I like the image of having these two mammoth dogs and then a little itty bitty terrier. He thinks he’s a big dog, though. It’s great. Anyway. Likes. I like a lot of things. I love animals in general, I guess. I mean, obviously. I also have two rabbits named Mario and Luigi, a cat named Duncan, and a whole plethora of fish. And I can’t forget Mellow Yellow, my cockatiel. Um. I guess second to animals is probably heroin, sadly, despite the fact that I’m supposedly “recovered.” I love being active, stuff like running, biking, swimming, anything that involves some good physical exertion. I like girls, of course, considering I’m straight. I like a good party every now and then, and I love football. I also have an affinity for pickups; I’m not a fan of prissy little cars. Unless they’re sports cars that go really fast. That’s another thing; I like speed. Truth be told, I’ve got several speeding tickets on my record. Haha. Not that it bothers me too terribly much, obviously. I love music. Anything modern, Fall Out Boy, All Time Low, Boys Like Girls. I can listen to just about anything, and I love nothing more than having music blasted on my stereo. I also love guitar. I actually play. Not especially well, but if I hear a song, I can usually chord it well enough. And I can actually sing, too. I love doing harmony; I don’t have a great voice, but I’ve got a nice enough background voice. I definitely won’t be singing any solos, though. Just harmony.

"really! well, then, what makes you sick?"

I hate speed limits. And hats. I don’t know why, but I just cannot stand having anything on my head. Been that way ever since I was a baby. I hate ridiculous amounts of sunshine and heat, because, as aforementioned, I bake like a lobster. I much prefer rainy days, so I don’t know what the hell I’m doing in California, but whatever. I can’t stand clingy girls or needy girls. I guess as a general rule I don’t really like being around girls in general, unless they’re gonna sleep with me, but to just be with them; well, let’s just say they’ve gotta be special. I also can’t stand yappy dogs. I can tell you one thing, Mungo would be long gone if he was a stupid yappy thing. I just can’t stand that. I can’t stand people who talk constantly, either, actually. I’m also not a fan of horses. I guess they kind of freak me out; I feel insecure around things that much bigger than I am. I hate writing, anything. Applications, letters, e-mails. I just don’t like it. Which is weird, because I enjoy reading. I also couldn’t stand school. Thus the reason I never went to college. I’m also not a fan of cats; they just don’t tend to like me, and usually I just end up getting the shit scratched out of me.

"cool, cool. so what's your family like?"

Well. My family is a touch issue. I was born to Charlotte and Churchill (one hell of a name, right?) Melbourne. They both came from upper elitist families, and I think they pretty much married just because it’s what was expected of them. That was always the impression I got, anyway. Char, as she’s more commonly known, was a stay at home mom, and I guess she kind of spoiled me. My dad wasn’t home much. He’s a business man and he traveled a lot. Well, still does. Anyway, I don’t get along with my dad at all. I haven’t since I was a teenager. He was just one of those overbearing types, and in my mind, he was never there, so what respect did I owe him? I still feel that way, actually. Whenever he was home, he was always pressuring me; do this, do that, this is how things are gonna be. Well, did I have news for him. I get along with my mom well enough. I guess I sort of feel like she doesn’t have much of a backbone, which bothers me. And I’m kind of estranged from both of them, at the moment, because dad won’t let her talk to me, and god forbid she should go against anything Dad says.

I should probably give my grandparents honorable mention as well. My grandpa’s every bit as much of a douche bag as my father, if not more so, and I think he’s a lot of the reason he is the way he is today. He won’t talk to me either. My grandma, though, is perhaps one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. Her marriage was actually arranged, and I have a lot of respect for her for making the best of what she was given. She’s the spunkiest person, and she always has a great time. And she’s nothing like my mom; nobody tells her what to do, not even my grandpa, which I think is kind of a love/hate thing for him. Either way, Grandma Hazel is the only person in my family who talks to me, at this exact point in time. She always made a point of keeping in touch, and I guess it bothered me for a long time, but looking back now, I appreciate it and love her for it.

Then there’s my little brother, Christopher. He’s sixteen, and the golden child of the family. He’s basically everything that my dad feels like I’m not, and he’ll get everything when my parents kick the bucket. I’m not as bitter towards him as I sound. I don’t really blame him for anything. He’s done the best he can, and he gets in touch when Dad’s not looking over his shoulder, so I guess I have a fairly okay relationship with him. I know he wants to sneak out and come visit me sometime, so yeah, I guess he’s a cool enough kid.

"so, are there any skeletons hiding in your closet?"

Shit, I think the skeletons hiding in my closet are endless. Number one would probably be the heroin addiction. Everyone back home knows about it, but I’d really like to keep it on the down low here. I’m not really like that anymore. Same with the whoring around and just general causing of trouble. Um. I haven’t told anyone that my Dad’s cut me out of the will. I guess it’s sort of in his defense; I don’t really want people thinking he’s a complete dick, even though he is. I don’t know why. Family loyalties, I guess. Not that I feel like I owe him anything. Um. Geeze. I don’t know. Like I said, there are just so many….

"that is juicy! tell me about your past."

Well, like I said, I was born on August fourteenth, in Eugene, Oregon, which I guess explains my affinity for the rain. My parents were really well off, and extremely elitist, which means I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. I went to a little preppy private school, and when I was two, along came my baby brother, Chris. Pardon me, Christopher. I’m the only one who calls him Chris, and I do it just because it drives Dad crazy, and I’m the only one who’s not afraid of him. Anyway. That was totally beside the point. I ramble a lot, have you noticed? ANYWAY!

I guess my life was pretty uneventful until I was about thirteen. I did everything that was expected of me. Then came the fateful eight grade year, when I decided I wanted to play football. God forbid. I don’t know what was so awful, but my Dad was just pissed that the thought had even crossed my mind, I guess. Well, he told me no, absolutely not, in that stuck up way of his. And I decided I wanted to see what happened if I went out anyway. Mom tried to talk me out of it, but I just blew her off, too. And by golly I was there on the first day of practice. Of course, my dad was gone, and it was a long business trip. I think he was in France, if I remember right, so we were two weeks into the season by the time Dad came home. And he was pissed when he found out. Well, of course, my dad was furious when he got back, and he chewed my ass to the north pole and back. But I was at practice the next day. He forbid me to go back when I got home that night. And I asked him what he was going to do to stop me. Right to his face. He turned ten shades of purple and then just stormed out, and that was the end of that particular argument.

But it was only the beginning of the monster I would eventually become. After that, my dad made half-assed attempts to keep me in line, all of which just pissed me off. He would have been better off to just leave me alone or actually follow through and make me do something. But he didn’t do either. He just nagged and nitpicked. Basically everything I did throughout my high school career, I did just to piss my dad off. I kept my grades up, but I played football, I went out and got shit faced on the weekends, I brought girls home and sexed them up under his roof. That really pissed him off, but again, what was he going to do about it? He’d storm into my bedroom in the morning and boot the girl out, and they’d go slinking off, but it’s not like that was going to stop me.

Nothing really terrible happened until my senior year. I mean, I guess I don’t consider partying that awful. But senior year was the year that drugs got a hold of me. When I started it was just pot that somebody had at a party. Well, then it was coke, and eventually it was heroin. I flaunted that in my dad’s face, too, and he was pissed. Since about sophomore year, Mom had just ducked her head and tried not to get caught in the cross-fire. My dad was pissed, and he basically kicked me out the second I graduated. That didn’t bother me too much. I was pretty glad to get away from the bastard, truth be told. I lived on the streets for a while, but eventually my grandma tracked me down. To this day, I still don’t know how she did it. All she’d ever say was that she had connections, and that she’d been keeping an eye on me the whole time. Well, she was the one who got me talked into going to rehab. I spent a few days at her house, while Grandpa was away, of course, and she sort of made me see the light, I guess. In all truth, she probably saved my life. Anyway, she talked me into going to rehab. I was there for a full year. Yeah, I guess that should tell you what a hardcore addict I was. When I got out of there, Grandma was also the one who came up with the idea of moving away from Eugene. Well, I didn’t go too terribly far, but far enough. I don’t know why it was California, really. I sort of just drove until I hit Eureka and decided to stay.

Grandma came down as soon as I decided where I was going to stay and helped me find a place to stay and get settled in, made sure I had all the necessities, and then was off to Eugene again. One of us still calls the other at least a couple of times a week. I’ve been here for about a month now, I guess, and I think I’ve learned my way around town. It’s not really a hard place to figure. I picked up a job at the bowling alley, which obviously doesn’t pay well, but it’s a dog. My menagerie I’ve picked up in the time that I’ve been here, too, and I guess they’re kind of my incentive to stay off the drugs and the alcohol. They’re kind of my sanity at this point, truth be told. And I guess that brings us up to the present.

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i finally stopped makin' sense

well, hello there! my name is pixel, and i've got fifteen candles on my cake! i've been roleplaying for ever. so, i'm heading for <3. oh, and just so you know i got skills, here's an example of my work:

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