A Drunk's Guide To Survival

1. When entering any household where you want to create as little noise as possible, do the following:
1. Take off your shoes before entering.
2. Roll up your pants if they scrape at your heels.
3. Stare at a dark spot before opening the door. Your eyes will adjust to the absence of light, therefore facilitating the prevention of collision with inanimate objects.
4. Breathe through your nose.
2. If anyone ever asks you if you are trying to get home with a girl, always say no. Why?
1. Because she may overhear the conversation.
2. It'll encourage him to try harder, and make you look better.
3. It would just be tacky to say "yes."
   
3. When choosing a midnight snack, try to have the following available:
1. A hard-boiled egg
2. At least one cup of Vit. D Milk
3. A high-fiber snack such as Wheat Thins or Triscuts.
1. Note... the egg is to provide the protein you've lost after losing sleep. The Vitamin D Milk is good all the time, no matter what, and the fiber snack... well... trust me... that'll help in the morning.
4. If it is your first opportunity to have sex with a woman, turn it down.
   
1. If you hook up with her, she will hold your willingness against you.
2. If she actually let you hook up with her, you will hold her willingness against her.
3. There's about a 60% chance that neither of you have a condom. NOT WORTH IT.
5. Top 5 things a woman says that indicates you should run the fuck away
1. "I just broke up with my boyfriend,"
1. Really means, "I just had a fight with my boyfriend and I want to use you to piss him off."
2. Could also mean, "I never had a boyfriend, I'm just have Herpes and I'm desperate."
3. Also, "I really need a drink, and I'm going to let you stare at my chest for the duration of this drink/shot, and then bail."
2. "BUY ME A SHOT."
1. Yea, never dude. Just... never.
3. "You see that guy over there? (pause)"
1. That guy could be the guy she's comparing you with... in either case, he's sizing you up the entire time. If you want to be a badass, go for it... but she's gonna be a lot like 1.1 (look up)
2. As soon as you walk away, she will be talking about you (that guy).
4. "It's my birthday tomorrow!"
1. "No shit, bitch? You didn't invite me to any fucking party."
2. "That's cool. Come by here tomorrow and I'll buy you a shot."
3. "Oh, you're probably going to need a ride home tomorrow, right?"
6. If you ever talk to people on the internet while drunk, just be aware that they will probably remember more than you.
   

Workout Regimen

Monday - 30 min of cardio: 10 - stationary bicycle, 10 - row machine, 10 - calisthenics
30 min of free weights.

Wednesday - Weight Machines and Bench Press 3 reps of 12 in 5 lb increments starting at 50% body weight (90, 95, 100 lbs)

Friday - Same as Monday, except 50% longer cardio times. 1 hour of lower-body exercise

Sunday - Weight Machines, Free Weights, Calisthenics

Week One - BP starts at 90 lbs, Free Weights start at 10 lbs with 5 lb incs, Weight Machines start at 30% body weight for upper, 40% for lower.
2800 Calories, No Beef, No Fried Food


Week Four - Bench starts at 100 lbs, 10lb increments. Free Weights start at 20 lbs, Weight Machines start at 35% upper, 45% lower.
3000 Calories, Fish & Chicken only, No Fried Food, Eliminate Smoking

Week Eight - Bench starts at 130 lbs, 10 lb increments. Free Weights start at 30 lbs, Machines at 40% upper, 50% lower.
3000 Calories, Eliminate Carbonated Drinks and reduce alcohol consumption to less than 6 servings/week.

120 Days - Calisthenics every day for 30 minutes. Goal Bench Max is 200 lbs. Machines at 60% upper, 60 % lower. Freeweights at 35 - 50 lbs.

3000 Calories. Goal Weight 180 lbs.

The Fireflies Are Late This Year

I've been getting better and better at ignoring the negative forces in my life lately. As I try to focus more and more on improving my situation by looking forward to attending school in the fall (after a 2 year hiatus) and making better decisions with things like the company I keep, specifically women, there are still stressful pressures that manage to slow me down.

For one thing, smoking is still at the top of my list of things that I need to stop doing. I seem to get sick after being exposed to the weakest germ, and I can expect to be out of commission for about a week in order to heal. This time, it's a nasty cough I picked up from my mother, who I took care of all weekend after she caught the bug. It's one of those terrible achy, itchy-throat coughs that keeps me up at night and ruins any chance I might have at a productive day.

Other negative things, like the constant reappearing act of DC can be very discouraging. Last night, as the time drew closer to last call at work, DC suddenly appeared at my side and tried to start a conversation. She could tell that I didn't really want to talk to her and asked me if I was mad at her. I shouldn't have dignified it with a response, but the alcohol admitted right away that I was very pissed.
"Why?" she asked.
I muttered some brief rant about how she had a gift for rocking the boat only to swim away. At some point, she suggested that we hang out. As she departed, she said, "Call me tomorrow." I remember scoffing, and returning with "No, you call me..." to which she agreed.

Of course, she didn't call today. Only a very non-committal text asking what I was up to tonight. Since that doesn't qualify, I didn't respond.

I've come to decide that the ball is basically in her court. In order for DC to have a chance with me, she's going to have to work at least as hard as I did when I first met her, if not harder.

The other disappointing thing about last night was that long before DC showed up, another girl that I'd asked out (who responded in kind that she had feelings for me) came to Finn's with who I can only assume is her new boyfriend. So that was a bit rough.

But that's really not a very big deal. Last week, I had the opportunity to get to know LC, a girl I'd had a crush on (as far as appearance goes) and even got her number. She was pretty enthusiastic about it, too. She had that very endearing eagerness that shows she's both humble and honest. I believe we're supposed to hang out after I get off work on Thursday, so we'll see where that leads. Plus, when I spoke to a friend of hers, they offered up that she'd be back from out of town by Wednesday, before I even brought up her name. Interesting.

Yeah Here Come The Rooster, Yeah

When I first moved here at the tender age of eight, my mother did her best to secure a home loan on a house in a subdivision on the west side of town. When we moved into the house, the back yard was essentially a cow pasture. She chose a house on the corner of the street so that we'd have a tiny front lawn and a huge back yard. The front was definitely a lawn, with transplanted sod from my neighbor's perfectly manicured grass.

She worked hand over foot for various boutiques and stores until deciding to apply for a loan to go to nursing school. Becoming a nurse was her lifelong dream, and finally she was going to get her LPN degree from the community college a couple towns away. At 39 years old, she wasn't exactly the youngest student. I remember the day she found out that she'd passed the state boards to be licensed as a registered nurse, or RN. We were at a family reunion somewhere in Kentucky. My sister and I were just getting to bed, and amidst all the clamor and rifling between my uncles and cousins, she just started screaming. I thought there might have been a snake in the cabin. It didn't take long before her screams became more coherent and we all clearly heard her say, "I passed! Oh, thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Father!"

Tonight, she'll be walking up a stage to receive the most prestigious honor for a Nurse in my area's 11 hospitals. The Nurse of the Year award.

With my brother and sister both several states away, I'm the only person who lives close enough to attend and cheer for her. But I'm not just cheering for her as a nurse. I'm cheering for her as a mother. I'm cheering for her amazing ability to balance classes to get her RN while working as an LPN, and keeping our bellies full and toes warm for all those years.

Last night was a rough night for me, but I'm going to put venting about it on hold for now. All I can think about is how proud I am of my mom. And what better gift to receive with Mother's Day just around the corner? My buttons are busting. God, I'm so happy.

Strange New Days

Yesterday, I put on a shirt that I haven't worn in a long time. One that used to fit well and even flatter my figure. People used to say, "Oh I like that shirt," and that would make me smile. Yesterday, when I looked in the mirror after putting that shirt on, I noticed the bulb-shape of my abdomen and cringed. I have a beer-belly. I'm not at all fat... but I'm certainly not skinny anymore.

In high school, I was just like this. My sophomore year was spent cautiously studying food nutrition labels as I abstained from soda, candy and junk food in general. I worked out every day by playing basketball or lifting weights or doing calisthenics. I kept this up until I met my ex-girlfriend, who I would date for three years, who introduced me to drinking, and ultimately binging (after our break-up).

Today, I woke up for the first time and didn't have anything in my throat to cough up. It was as though I had been sleeping in a "clean room" like the quarantines of a major hospital. Or maybe a snug tent out in the arid climate of the southwest desert.

I'm thinking about how, two nights ago, I found out from a friend of my ex that my dog, Carter died by a freak electrocution. It was an accident, of course, but when I heard the news I was unprepared. I set down my glass and tried to take the next turn at my pool game. I made the shot, but shortly after, the weight of it poured in like cake batter into a barrel. Heavier and thicker and harder to carry. I had to go outside and have a cigarette. I knew what was coming. It was the insane pressure of dealing with my never-lost feelings for my ex. Mixed with this love were the unmistakable pangs of hurt that arrive from finding out more truths-- truths she had always denied but turned out to be true.

Of course, my ex's friend came out to console me and out of nowhere, I blurted out between manly huffs (the kind that just barely hold down tears) "This is the last thing she needs."

I was mourning my dog, of course, but even more I mourned the death of not just an animal, but a connection that I had to my Ex. The last hope, it seemed, that she and I would ever get back together. The last excuse I might have to see her. In the face of all her flaws and misdeeds, her dishonesty, the kind of dishonesty that denies all, but never incriminates-- I just wanted her to be okay. The countless nights I spent squirming around in attempt to grasp the idea that someone else could make her happy were finally outweighed by the realization that her being happy trumps all, even if I am not there.

Now, I hear from my Ex's friend that she is not happy. Not only is she miserable but she clings to the old ideology that she is simply destined to be alone. Her antisocialness was always a problem, even when I held her in my arms and in my heart... and to know that she hasn't rid herself of that blanket of doubt, simply hurts me to the very soul. Ex's friend firmly believes that I should go and see her. Talk to her. Make her feel better.

But I can't. I can't risk my heart for a third or fourth... I've lost count how many times just to boost her ego enough for her to brush me away again. She was once a user of drugs and alcohol. Now, she's a user of people, and that's one addiction she may never beat.

So I look forward to today, thinking that I'll start doing some exercises and work the two shifts I have this morning and later in the afternoon. I'll have money in my pocket and I'll be around true friends. My outlook is for me, not her. And I'll be strong because I know that I've made this decision to ignore her over and over again. This time it's just a tiny tiny bit easier than the last.

Butt scratching and shit kickin.

I only have fifteen minutes or so to write, so forgive me if this is a little brief. Last night at work, I spotted DC just as she was scanning the room. For some reason, after that "date" we went on, I haven't heard from her since. Judging from the way she aborted the meeting after only an hour, based on questionable 'oh yea, I forgot I have to >insert lame excuse here<.'

I mean, any idiot can tell that was pure bs. But something happened and she freaked out. I'm not sure what it was, because based on her pattern of touch and run, I hadn't really done anything that time to warrant her typical fleeing method. Basically, she and I will get close, we'll get a little physical, and then... for some reason, she just freaks out and falls off the planet for a while. Of course, two or three weeks later, I always get that text. "Meet me at busters?" Now, adhering to the glutton theory, which is essentially that I cannot say no to her, even though the result is more predictable than Earth's gravity, I am almost always already drinking when I get this text and my thought process always goes something like, "Hmm... sit here and play pool with a bunch of dudes... or go hang out with a hot chick?" I inevitably choose door number two.

Anyway, that wasn't the only thing about last night. I've sort of come to a realization about some women. It is the fact that there are basically two types of women that I find myself drawn to. Type one is the Pixie. She is aloof and carefree. Often times loving and affectionate, but always a challenge. Then, type two are the Waitresses. Not literally waitresses, but essentially women who touch a lot and flirt indiscriminately. Don't get me wrong, I love women who flirt, so long as they are somewhat classy. As in.. the exact opposite of the chick I played pool with last night. Some guys might disagree, but I don't constitute the grabbing of my crotch from behind and under as a subtle pass. In fact, it's downright whorish. That was one of the things I liked about DC-- her ability to be subtle.

But knowing now that I actually might have "types" (which is something I vehemently denied in the past) it's easier to navigate through the garbage that I seem to be fed by women who are facetious about my emotions.

Back to the basics... of fishing

Saturday afternoon my father and I went fishing in a nearby creek. I was excited about it because, for one, I finally had the chance to enjoy some of the mild weather we've been having here. Plus, I haven't been fishing in a long time. So long, in fact, that my father dusted off a tackle box I haven't used in six years, and it still had all my fishing lures in it. Of course, all the rubber lures had disintegrated, so I was reduced to using spinners and the like.

Now, the embarrassing part of it was that I had to relearn how to cast. It wasn't like riding a bike... at all. On two separate occasions, I snagged my father's pants with a rooster tail. Once, I somehow got it hung up on a support beam under a bridge. By the end of the trip, I estimated that I'd lost about $35 in fishing gear.

On the bright side, my father offered to take me to walmart next week so we can renew our fishing licenses and buy some tackle. Sweet!

Rules

One thing I've always tried to be as a person is consistent. I try not to follow every tiny whim that comes into my head, especially when it comes to meeting women. I have a couple of rules, some of which I've mentioned before. Like the rule about not seeing a woman two days in a row if I've just started to date them. This goes tenfold if I've slept with them. I don't mind calling and saying hello and that I've had a good time (if I did).

The problem is, if a woman wants to spend the night with me two nights in a row, I see that as a clear sign of a rabid nester. Nothing scares the shit out of me faster than clinginess. I don't care how beautiful they are. When my freedoms are threatened in any way, I bail. Another rule is regarding phone numbers. The first rule is to protect myself from the crazy ones. The second rule, which is that I have to randomly run into a woman at least three times before calling them. This ensures that they know exactly who I am, and that I don't have to stumble through the embarrassing fiasco of explaining who the hell I am.

So what happens when I do something incredibly stupid, such as ask for a girl's number while her accomplice is standing right behind her-- and manage to get the number... what happens when I refrain from calling her after apologizing to her accomplice, who is actually a friend of mine... what happens when she calls me?

I can tell this is gonna be a rough one.

Free T-Shirt? How about a JOB?

So it's finally officially final. I start working at Finn's in a couple of weeks doing hotwings and working the door. I've done both a few times before while covering for Henry (my sister's boyfriend at the time) and all I got out of the deal was an open tab. As I was discussing my schedule with Brad, the owner of the bar, a nearby regular cussed up a storm and demanded to know why he wasn't asked to come aboard.
"You have a job," Brad told him.
"I told you I'd quit it."
"Man, you wanna know why I'm hiring Wes?"
I stood amicably, stirring my whiskey and coke. I kinda wanted to know too. It's not common you get a compliment from Brad, I thought.
"Cuz he's one of the boys? You guys and your fucking club," the regular sputtered. He was, I imagine, referring to the group of guys that spent the majority of the evening playing pool in the back half of the bar. Teams are formed early on, and if you get there late, you simply have to put your quarters down and wait your turn. It is a bit of a good ole boys club. When a couple of jokers show up and put quarters up, with money on the game, we revel in the chance to flex our pool muscles against someone besides each other. Victory is always so certain that when wagered against, it's like getting paid to play. It really is the GOB (good ole boys) because fights have been fought and won, and none of us ever wondered what it was that we were fighting about. I suppose we all trust that there's a good reason. Mostly it's someone who claims that they are up for a game, when they are really not. It's appalling how angry people will get over a game that costs four quarters to play. But of course, you know, it's not the quarters, it's the principle.
"No, you big baby. It's because Wes asked me before, and when I told him no, he didn't act like a little bitch about it."

I twisted my lips and shrugged. Pretty much true. All I did was ask for a t-shirt, which Brad had been giving away like candy. He said that for a shirt, I'd have to be an employee. So I said, "So let me work here, then." (as a joke)

Three months later, after all those nights of helping close up the store in exchange for a blank tab, I guess I proved myself as a person of value. Buck, one of the veteran bartenders, actually told me I should get a free tab AND be paid just for doing so well with the closing duties. So after doing that for god knows how long, I'm very happy to be an 'official' Finn's employee. Not like those other guys who just think they work there.

Sometimes, other people stay and help close up too. They are almost always doing it to get on the bartender's good side... but one thing I can say is, if you're not willing to get dirty, then just get out of the way. Then there are people who flip out when they see the men's bathroom sink is clogged and full of puke. Shit happens! Clean it up!

And... of course... there are the people who hover around the barwell and chat it up with the bartender the entire time because they like to pretend that they are the bartenders' very own secret service. They believe that just by standing there and sneering at patrons, they are doing an invaluable service to all employees. The worst is when a bartender is chewing out someone who has an attitude, and a big ole boy thinks its his cue to play Mr. Bouncer. If I can offer any piece of advice, it's this: do not ever interrupt a bartender. When it is time for that person to leave, the appropriate people will step forward and take care of it.

Bartenders are moody people. They are alcoholics with a people problem. A happy bartender is one that just scored a $40 tip.
He or she deals with drunk assholes, girls trying to schmooze their way into free drinks, the loud bitch at the end who is about to lose her legs and the circle of frat boys chanting at two very drunk women as if it were mardi gras. There's always the bitter 25 year old girl who honestly believes she knows everything, and the just-turned-21 hippie/indie/partycat who considers it amusing to talk about this really hot guy she met while shooting coke at a friend's house. There's always the 19 year old coke fiend that drives a beamer, who everyone really wants to throw out, but for some reason, nobody does. By the way, you can bet that the bitter 25 year old chick always ends up making out with this guy, but tells everyone afterwards that he was creepy.

I love it. Every bit of it. I love playing pool, watching people fall on their ass--whether it be making a pass or trying to pass by, smoking indoors, hot women who don't realize that you aren't rich, stupid women who think you are rich, and smart women who are glad you aren't rich. It's my own personal theater, and I can go any time I want.

My opinion.

I began a comment on Legally Blonde's blog and felt a stirring behind my shoulderblades that usually indicates when I'm about to commit a ranting and have insufficient forethought to accurately represent my true feelings. When people ask my opinion about something I really haven't thought about, rather than say "I don't know," I usually resort to the West Texan method, which is to cock my proverbial head aside and state a relatively obvious fact.
For instance:

"Wes, how do you feel about a woman's right to choose?"
"Well... (proverbial head-cock) I'm not a woman. So I guess I don't."

That should be a sufficient cue for someone who knows me well enough that I'd rather not get into it. Not that I'm not interested in investigating the topic, or that I agree or disagree on any particular school of thought... just that I haven't thought about it long or hard enough to present a sensible opinion. After all, I don't like my opinions to be how I feel at just that moment, but based on a core understanding of some personal truths I've arrived to as I get older and wiser.

Don't get me wrong, though. I already feel a little hotness in my cheeks as I write this. I'm not saying I always think about things or always run certain issues through my gauntlet of personal values. I don't. If it's an issue I really care about, though, I'll think on it and get back to you.


Anyway, all that aside, I really thought about the issues I have with dating today. I don't know what it says in my profile, because I basically made it all up for the sake of anonymity (aNONymity... NON...Nobody of Note... get it?) but I am in my mid-20's, I work, and I'm going back to school in the Fall. Here are the things I have going for me:

I'm funny, attractive, smart, and I'm great in bed. All good qualities to have, and usually the qualities that most women (except for the great in bed part) will say that they are looking for when describing their wishes. I'll get back to this, because, ladies... we all know that is an obvious pageant answer.

Things I do not have going for me:
Mostly material things, such as having a nice car, which I don't, or a big apartment, which I don't. I do not have the key to my uncle's lakehouse, much less have an uncle with a lakehouse. I am not a member of a fraternity, nor do I plan on being a doctor, lawyer, MBA grad, or really anything that involves obscene amounts of money or wearing suits. (In fact, I plan to be a low-paid secondary education teacher)

In other words, my down side is that I'm not rich, nor are my parents rich. I also do not play a musical instrument or rugby. I can't even sing, or even run very fast.

I can almost feel your eyes rolling. Back to the pageant answer bit. A lot of women say they want a guy who is charming, funny, smart, attractive, etc... and I believe them. The problem is... women allow a ton of play to a guy who is only charming when he's drunk, only funny when he's quoting a movie, and really smart... when it comes to the stats of his favorite sports team. Why? Cuz he's freakin' loaded, baby! Whooo! Money money money!

Now... this is not what I have a problem with. I don't care that women are drawn to money (= power) because I'm not looking for a chick who cares about my wallet. (as a disclaimer, I'm mainly talking about the women I meet, who are usually 20-somethings in college and work. Hard-core gold-diggers are what they are, and god bless them for it. Without their obliviousness, it would be difficult to recognize them) The women I meet like to hang out with regular guys and wait for that special someone to come along. While they hang out with us, they go slackjaw in shock when one of us jumps at an opportunity to buy a woman a drink in exchange for looking down her low-cut shirt for a while friendly conversation.

You're shocked!? Why!? As easily as most women overlook the average working joe, they sit disgusted by both the joe who jumps on these opportunities and the women who impersonate such opportunities.

I once conceded to my father that it was hard to meet women that are genuine. He replied, "You'll never meet your wife at a bar." I jumped for joy. I've been hiding out at bars ever since.

But seriously, for a guy who lives in a college town, who is college aged, who is not a religious freak in the land of the socially-diametric bible belt... there is truly nowhere else to look.

TBC...

Another Long Weekend

Thursday night was the first time in a long while that I gave in to the pseudo-immoral drunken hookup. One of my few points of pride is that I do not have sex with a woman unless I am seriously involved with her. But Thursday, I tossed aside my usual prude-ness and just let myself go to an entire night of crazy ass sex. From what she said, it was pretty crazy for her too! Got the scratches all over my back to prove it.

So with all the stress behind Ex's latent resurrection through JP, the victory/failure of my date with DC, and the chaotic move-out which involved me wanting to wholly validate my sister's accusations of me being a violent and angry person.... I really really just needed to get laid. Typically, after a few months, I kinda get "pent-up" and I don't expect the sex to be very good on my part, more or less because I have to strain to hold myself back. But that was not the case. Be, the girl I went home with, was very lusty and didn't waste any time trying to "tantalize me" by licking my stomach or tickling my ribs.


Some guys might like that stuff but I don't. Of course, this is just in a hookup scenario. Girls that I have seriously dated do know my erogenous zones and stimulate them appropriately... girls that don't just... well, it's kinda hard not to laugh when a woman is giving me sultry eyes while fingering my belly button. Get the hell outta there! I don't want a french tickle, lady, I want to fuuuuuuck. Of course, I know there's this age-old truism that men just don't like foreplay and women do. My thoughts are that if a man has to work THAT hard to get you wet and warmy, then you (the woman) are just forcing it, and that you are not genuinely attracted to them.

That's why it's better to wait until you are seriously dating a person to have sex with them. Let it build up! Let the passion for this person start overflowing, til you're about to explode. I don't want to have sex with a woman unless she can turn me on just by the tone of her voice. It should be the same for her, too.

Unfortunately, the reason these hookups are such a bad idea is because of what happens later. Friday night, Be decided to surprise me by coming to Finn's and hang out. I was fine with that, but I really planned to hang out with my friends that night and I do have a very strict rule of NOT hanging out with a girl that I've just begun seeing two nights in a row. Especially... well, very much especially if I wind up having sex with her the previous night.

Why this silly rule? Familiarity breeds expectations. Early in a relationship, two people should have no expectations of each other. The only purpose starting out is to get to know one another. So when you slip up and an evening goes too far, too fast... the only thing to do is take a little breather. Anyway, Be was well behaved for the most part. Except when she tried to make out with me in front of all my friends, with no regard for tact at all. Then there was the constant butt-slapping and all-too-audible references to the previous evening. Okay! I get it. You had a good time last night. Yelling, "I give it a ten!" is not cool. It embarrasses me and makes you look like a slut. A drunk one, even.

So when Be came up to me and asked if I was going home with her again, I politely said no. She simply could not believe it. So what does a drunk woman who's just been told 'no' do? You guessed it! She made a big fat hairy hissy scene. Good times. Yea. Luckily, a good friend of mine let me crash at her house so that I didn't have to drive all the way back home (40 minutes away).

Yea, no... really. That didn't suck.

If I wasn't lucky enough to get a call from Be last night, I might have been spending the entire day wondering just what the hell went wrong during my date with DC. Let's recap a little.

Be is a girl I hung out with last weekend, who lives about 45 minutes away and comes into town every weekend. She's great, but I still had my heart set on DC after three very fun evenings of us hanging out. I wasn't about to give her the talk, though, especially since she's full of potential and loves to have fun. She possesses one of the main qualities I look for in a woman, which is energy. For me, I don't really care much about how a woman looks (I have hundreds of ideas of what 'attractive' is, physically) but more how she carries herself, her confidence, and her ability to communicate. DC isn't exactly a stellar communicator, but the challenge of decoding her constantly changing messages, subtle or overt, (but always creative) seems to make up for that.

Anyway, there was a lot riding on today, and I didn't exactly expect it to produce anything new-- all I wanted to know about DC was if she could make plans and follow through. She did exactly that, and nothing else. I don't think I've had a more boring date in my life. I might as well have met a mannequin for coffee. And, of course, about two hours later, she suddenly realized there were more pressing issues to take care of at home. The walk back to my car was especially awkward, since she only lived about a block from the parking lot. So I'm walking to my car, kind of alongside her, and she says, "Well, my house is over there."
"Yea, I know."
"So, I'll see you later," she says, and then gives me this really cheesy pat on the shoulder. What, are you fuckin' kiddin' me? You might as well just run to your house and hope that I won't catch you.
"Yea...," I said, "I'm parked right over there. I know where your house is."
"Yea. Okay. Uh, have a good one."
"Right." I said, and decided to just go ahead and cut through the landscaping of the parking lot entrance. Any more of that banal hinting and I might have to just scream.

As a joke, I sent her a text message about an hour later, reading: "Next time, we'll do something a little more low-key."

I wonder if she caught the sarcasm...


Then, to throw my dating life into even more of a hopeless spiral, JP sent me a message on facebook asking if I still talk to my Ex. JP isn't exactly a central figure in my life, especially since it was her brother that my Ex left me for. I do not have warm fuzzy feelings about my Ex. I do not have very warm feelings about my Ex's friends since they all knew that my Ex was two-timing me. In fact, it was my Ex's friends that set her up with JP's brother. So... no warmth there.

Anyway, JP proceeded to tell me all about how her brother had broken up with Ex and now Ex was basically sucking the life out of her... apparently she's not doing so well and JP thought it would make her feel better if I gave her a call.

I don't even know where to begin. First of all, I've pretty much been in love with my Ex ever since the day I met her, and that never changed throughout all the treachery and backstabbing. Talk about a glutton for punishment... I know. I know. Anyway, I can't fathom what possessed JP to think that my Ex and I EVER continued communication. The bitch dumped me for your brother. Wouldn't you KNOW? Jesus.

Even so, I'm not a total douchebag. I know how to be the bigger man, how to move on, and that's just what I did. It took me quite a while to figure out how to be myself again after Ex finished swinging the axe, but I managed. And now JP wants me to call up Ex to see how she's doing? That the fuck shit is that?

Who is to say that my Ex won't pull the exact same shit again? Are my Ex's friends so clueless as to think that I wasn't completely crushed and my dignity wasn't stripped away over the course of three shit-all unholy months. Least of all JP?

So... I dunno. I said something roughly to that effect in my reply to JP on Facebook, and I'm kind of awaiting the response. My main question that I want answered is this:

"She made it pretty clear that she wanted nothing to do with me last year. What makes you think she'd ever want to hear from me again?"

more nothings

I was going to make my update in the same post as the previous one, but I figured this one probably deserves a post all its own.

There's good stuff and bad stuff in this one, so I'll put the good first. If you like leaving things on a happy note, then you can stop about halfway through. Don't worry, I'll warn you when it gets to the bad part.

Good stuff. I called DC yesterday afternoon and she actually answered the phone. She even mentioned that she was in the middle of an art project, and I offered to call later but she said it was fine. Anyway, I spit it out that we should hang out and we even procured plans for this coming Thursday.

I don't know if I've ever described DC in detail, other than just times when she's royally pissed me off (which is every other time I see her, in which case, I always take a long walk to allow myself to simmer) but one thing that marks her is the unfailing INABILITY to make or keep plans. She's better when she just refuses to make or agree on the plans, because at least then she can't stand me up-- but she has become increasingly better at giving accurate ETA's when the plans are first made (which, subsequently, have increased in the span of time from the zero hour of the plans in question) and arriving where she says she wants to meet on time.

This throws a new bolt into the cogs of all this. She knows as well as I do that all of this is really a test. She knows very well that she's almost entirely incapable of fulfilling plans. Half of me lies here already accepting the fact that Thursday's plans will most likely go up in smoke. The other half of me really wants her to come through-- not so much for my sake. I can hang out with her any night of the week. It's not for me hardly at all. Its as though I'm rooting for her to evolve a little here. The whole idea of hanging out in 'daylight' is to get to know each other as regular people, not as a couple of bar flies that constantly flirt. I guess more is weighing on this date than I realized.

Of course, she can't know that. Even though she does know what hangs in the balance, she can't know that I know. Even though she knows, probably, that I know...I can't confirm it, therefore parlaying what little mystery I have into an unattractive transparency.


Wow. That got out of hand. Anyway... now comes the bad part.

You know how you arrive to a point where saying what's in your heart is easy because everything else seems so pointless? How the words fixate together before you and flow out effortlessly? That's the way things are with DC right now, and I seem to be making progress.

But there's another side to it. Anyone who knows me knows that my sister is probably the most important woman in my life, next to my mother. I can prove this by pointing to the day that I canceled and rejected six fully qualified applicants to be my roommate when I lived in the Spruce Street house, and took my jobless sister in instead. Soon after, we had to move into a more affordable apartment, which she thanked me by throwing a TV off the balcony of said apartment one night in a drunken rage.

I can prove it because when I saw that she'd been hurt by an asshole who'd dated her for a couple of weeks, I threatened to punch him in the throat if he said one word about her. This was a guy who was surrounded by his friends and I was alone. He wasn't smaller than me, and his friends were not women. She thanked me by bringing this guy home to bed with her a few weeks later.

When we had to move everything out of THAT apartment after being evicted for HER outrageous behavior, I spent three days moving all of her stuff into a NEW place, which I found, using only my mom's SUV. She spent the day eating taco bell and hanging out with her puppy, Chase. (by the way, Chase is a person).

I can prove it because time after time of her storming off into senseless acts, getting drunk or calling into work because she's hungover (for almost a week once) I have never disclosed her actions to my mother or father. You might say that I am not a caring brother, but I truly don't believe it's my place to tattle on my sister. She's two years older than me, and should be accountable for herself.

She thanked me for this by holding a hand on her hip and with tears in her eyes, telling my father that I'm an alcoholic and that she's afraid of living with me.

She's thanked me for this by allying with my over-worrisome, paranoid mother and accusing me of being selfish, ungrateful, and even worse, of being lazy. I'll explain this one a little more. One week ago, she announced out of the blue that she was moving out. With rent due on the first, she hid behind a shield of parental favortism and GIRLED her way out of her problems. I could not have been more livid. Nevertheless, I collected myself and said, "Okay. But I am not helping you move your stuff this time. I'm not moving one box, not one piece of furniture."
"Fine" she said.

Earlier this evening, my mother convinced me to come along with them and just help with the big stuff. I'm not an asshole. I'm not going to let my sister and mom try to carry a 250 lb couch up the ramp of a U-Haul by themselves. After agreeing, my mother says that they're getting the truck at 8AM. Ouch. After visiting the doctor today and being diagnosed with Bronchitis, I sweetly asked her to let me sleep in and drive over a little later in the morning.

Then, my sister comes storming in and berates me, calling me lazy and selfish. Says that I OWE it to mother because she packed up all my shit while I was resting today. Apparently, none of the things in my room are included in this estimate, none of the things OUTSIDE of the room even BELONG to me, and a grand total of ONE box of my dishes accounted for an entire day's work. You're right, sis. Getting up at 7:30 in the morning while I'm fighting bronchitis, on my first day of antibiotics is totally fair. Moving all your shit for the third time in 7 months is fair.

I'm just glad there's an objective voice somewhere in all this...

Oh wait, there isn't. Just two batshit women who think I am the son of satan. The real challenge? How do I politely tell them (not so much my mother, who I'd be doing it for in a heartbeat, but my sister) that I will not be guilted into moving her crap under false accusations? Oh boy, what a ride. Fuckall, just fuck it all.

Aqua Teen Hunger Force

Dating Site For Democrats

This is hilarious: Actforlove.org. The matchmaking site for Democrats, liberals and progressives. "Take Action, Get Action" today!

Bwa ha ha ha ha...
This is almost as good as Chris Rocker's rant about Britney Spears.

Eye Storms

I know it's been a long time, but I've been busy as frickin hell.

For one thing, I decided to say "Fuck full time work" and just milk the taxpayers by reaping my unemployment check and working apart time sissie job. So there it is.

Secondly, I've been sick as a dog. Tonight I felt just barely well enough to go out and see some friends. I even decided to contact an old flame, the ever demonic DC.

Except tonight was different. I really threw my guts out there. I believe the conversation went something like this:

DC: So yea, there's something about me you don't know.
ME: Actually, there's something about you, that I've been meaning to tell you. (drunken slur)
DC: What's that?
(JUST then, the music dies down and all you hear are the clangs of empty glasses hitting an oak tabletop)
ME: Well, it's going ot have to wait, because I was going to say it while the music was playing. Now everyone can hear what I'm saying.
(As if the bartender heard me, the music roars up again)
DC: So what were you going to say? :: keep in mind, she fails to make eye contact the entire time:::
ME: Just that... well.
DC: What??
ME: You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful person I've ever met.

Long pause.

Seriously, this pause was so long, it felt like I was counting. She had a look on her face like she wanted to just kiss the shit out of me, and at the same time, just run for her life. I stopped her before she could.

ME: I know that puts you in an awkward situation, but seriously, DC, but there it is. I really can't stand sitting here much longer without telling you that. And I feel like as much as you push me away, there is definitely a chemistry or something here that can't be denied. And I've done my very fucking best to not come across like a weirdo or a stalker or whatever... and to just enjoy you whenever I possibly can. And I know -- I know that puts you in a bad position because you are so inclined to say no.

I looked at the mirror behind the bar at myself, and then back at her

ME: But I can't let you keep saying no. Not until you stop looking at me like that. Not until you stop being the most beautiful person I've ever met. Not until

And then--- right then

She just kissed me. No tongue, no dirty stuff. Just a long, sweet kiss on the lips. It almost felt like she was trying to shut me up... or maybe a sympathy kiss. But God, I enjoyed it... just like every other kiss I've gotten from her. Just like every kiss I've stolen from her.

It seemed like days before I realized that we were no longer kissing and we were back to just looking at one another

After an even longer pause, DC looked at me, and I knew she was drunk and sick, but there was something swirling around in her eyes. A realization, I think, as though I could see the actual chemistry of it. The storm in her raged.

God, it raged. And so did mine.

We parted with the agreement that I'd call her tomorrow-- and the agreement that she'd answer.

A Fondness for the Weird

There is nothing quite so exhilarating as hearing someone say, verbatim, the thought you've just thunk.

I want to go get my haircut today, but I will have to wait at least one more week before attempting it. The wound on the back of my head hasn't completely healed, although the staples were removed last Tuesday. This kind of sucks because my hair is becoming quite grassy. I disclaim an apology for the bare-headed of my readers, but one of the things I wish about myself is that my hair weren't so THICK. I have mainly Irish and French roots, but some ancestral mother of mine may have hooked up with a person who grew hair so thick that it probably calcified and formed a single horn. Perhaps even a human rhino. I guess I can give thanks for my other parts to those genes.

While visiting ADC's mom, she actually suggested that I tone my 'do down with rows. I don't think so.

"Sheeet. You better not be one of those peckerheads who wears a ponytail. No son of mine's gonna be consortin with no fag, boy. You a fag?" she said, "You better not be. I'll smack the happy right out of you."

"Uh... no ma'am," I eeked out.

"No ma'am what?" she shot back.

As I grunted and stuttered, ADC rose his head. "Wes. Just... don't."

"Yes ma'am?"

It was all downhill from there.

Don't get me wrong!

I love blogging. I love the idea of it, the unity, the creativity. I like how I can discover one blog about someone who reminds me so much of me at some point in my life, and like the turn of a page, find someone who offers a completely unique perspective.

I'm always trying to figure out how to improve my blog. Aside from just being lazy and not dazzling it up with photos and videos (which I intend to do soon) I think the most influential part of a blog comes from the voice of its author.

Having said that, I've identified some things that I absolutely love, and hate, about bloggers.

Some things I love:
Focus. I love when someone is able to achieve a crisp narrative based on one subject. There's a blog I read about one man's innocent obsession with food and cooking. It's such a great blog to me because from time to time, he deviates from the usual subject, like grocery shopping, and talks about moments in his life that just drips with a charming awkwardness... a lot like a William Macy character.

Openness. There's a blog about a stay-at-home dad whose life resembles a family living on Wisteria Lane. Somewhere, deep down, I half expect this father of two to morph into Lester Burnham... only he's not interested in "OD's" best friend, nor is he smoking weed with the neighbor's delinquent son.

Depth. Not every blog is glamorous. I've come close to nixing this blog from my bookmarks folder several times, but decided not to because it has come to help me. This man surrendered himself and acknowledged that he was powerless against Alcohol about 100-something days ago. It's not all roses, but this guy lifts my spirit so much because of his humility and integrity. I find myself rooting for him because he has been a phantom influence behind my decision to stop drinking.

Originality. Okay, so there's nothing very original about being a cop. But this guy has 180'd my opinion that police officers are essentially armed sheep. Not to mention, he's funny as hell. He adds color by including cell phone photos of some of the cases he responds to during his patrol shifts. The latest post is just nuts.

Influence. The diarist of a micro ecorevolution never fails to impress upon me how wrong I was to think that the green movement belongs only to hippies. While usually entertaining, I love how informative this girl is with her posts about living a more efficient, healthier life as a citizen of the most energy guzzling (and belching) country in the world.

The main thing I like about all these bloggers is for one, they're good writers. They don't ramble (too much) and they stay away from gut-wrenching abbreviations (omg, lol).

The main thing I can't stand isn't exactly the fault of any blogger, but blogger.com itself. When I want to find a blog, any blog, clicking on that "next blog" link at the top will land me on a completely useless waste of internet space about 19 out of 20 times. I've also noticed that there's an ungodly amount of blogs dedicated to quilting. What the hell is up with that? Is quilting so exciting that someone feels the need to dash over to the ole' comp and upload about 35 photos of their latest pattern? Yikes. It's a quilt. You see one, you've seen them all.

The other thing I can't stand in a blog is relentless over-updating. Whether the posts are long or short, I really don't condone blogging more than once a day. Twice is fine on occasion, but really should be reserved for if an epiphany arises and the author wants to gush it out before it's lost. On the other hand, I hate reading a great blog post, thinking that it was so well written and concise... something new and exciting... only to wait two months to see a single update-- usually to the effect of "sorry I haven't updated. I've been busy."

And finally... the last thing I ever want to read is some self-righteous banter about how even though they are very busy, they're taking time out of their extremely important schedules to let us all know how excruciatingly important their life is. Like I said... I love blogs... but it is just a blog. Nobody pays you to be a dickhead. You're doing it for free.

Good question.

The author of a much better blog asked in her latest entry: "Who would you pay $155 to see?" noting that a pending visit by the Dalai Llama is costing that amount for people to attend the event.

This got me to thinking... what would I pay any amount for anyone-- be it see them, talk to them, or whatever action I wished? So I comprised this list, starting with the highest bid of $155 and working my way down.

Bloggers, I give you: The Top Ten Hustlebucks.

1. $155 to meet Harrison Ford.
2. $120 to throw a rock at Carrot Top. He has to be standing still though.
3. $105 to be on Rush Limbaugh's show, just so I can chew him out without being interrupted.
4. $80 toward a fund to silence Ralph Nader once and for all.
5. $65 to see Robin Williams systematically shut down Dick Cheney. Face to face.
6. $40 to get close enough to brutalize Mark Summers. Or at least throw a pie at him.
7. $20 to get a written apology from Nancy Grace just for existing.
8. $14 to slap Ronald McDonald.
9. $8 to shoot a paintball at a pro-life activist weilding a grostesque posterboard of an aborted fetus.
10. $4 to wipe bacon grease on an Abercrombie and Fitch model's face.

So there they are. To achieve all these desires, I would need a total of $611. I hope my dreams come true.

Pre-St. Patty's Day M-ahem. AHEM!

Last week, I purchased a very cool looking Schwinn for only $10 dollars, thinking that I had just made an initial investment into my greener lifestyle-- one that would garnish returns beyond imagination. My dad happened to stop by and check it out, but much to my disappointment, he told me it wasn't gonna work.

"Pretty cool bike, huh Dad?"
"Yea... uh. Yea, it's cool. It's a girls bike."
"What? No. Nah."
"No, yea-- it's a lady bike, son."
"Oh. Well..." (under breath: gdmnit)


Mens Bikes are identified by the "skirt bar" ironically enough. A woman's bike swoops down.
And so I gave both bikes I had acquired away, thinking that I can't be seen with a girly bike. It's just wrong. I can't shame my family that way.

So off they go, and I'm off to the bike store. I asked the bike pro about it and he kinda chuckled...
"Yea... that doesn't really matter anymore. Nobody cares. A bike is a bike."

FUCK!

Photos?

So I've done a little research about blogging in the past week. This is largely thanks to a tremendous amount of downtime, due in part to my recent commitment to sobriety and mostly because I'm allowing myself to be a vegetable with a mouth and an asshole. Also, because I really like blogging/blogs. The bulk of my research consists of clicking that "next blog" link up there at the top and seeing where it'll land me.

I've seen a lot of good blogs and a lot of bad ones too. One thing I've realized is that good bloggers do NOT necessarily blogroll each other. I've found that if I stumble on a great blog, there's a good chance that the links on the right will lead me to incoherent babble. There's even one (which I've shamefully bookmarked) that consists entirely of short AIM conversations. There's an odd sense of pervasiveness in it, and I thought it might be interesting... except a recent conversation went exactly like this:


RAQUELLE

kerry: i wish your name was raquelle
me: GOD ME TOO
I WOULD BE SO MUCH BETTER
kerry: YOU'D BE MUCH BETTER
me: PIAEHPIAPHIATPAEPIAEPHIHIPIPTAPIHTEAIPHEPHIIEPA
kerry: !!!!!!
me: PIHEATPIHEAPIHAETA

You would think that the spasm of excitement (Re: "PIAEHPIAPHIAT...etc") is limited to just one entry. But one conversation is ALL keyboard spasms. I do think it's charming how kerry replied "!!!!!!" after said spasm. Anyway, if this is your bag, then you can check it out here. Raquelle, if you have any objections, just leave me a comment and I'll take it off. But let it be said that I do actually read your stuff... I just think it's kinda crazy.

But hey! that's what blogs are for. And while I have a pathetic decent readership I figured maybe it's time I take this baby up a notch. It'll be a lot like turning the volume up from a modest "5" to a very impressive "7". Rock and roll. With that, I'm going to start introducing photos in my blog. Since I have about ten thousand to choose from in my archives, I'm just gonna pick random photos and drop them, regardless of the entry's actual content.

Anyway, today I hung out with my dad and ganked a washing machine from some guy that works for him. We drove out to a shanty and picked it up around 3, came home at 3:15... had it unloaded from the trailer at approx. 3:20... and right around 4:30, it was sitting snugly in the laundry room. Yes, that's right.. it took us a little over an hour to get the motherflippa into my utility room. I literally had to take a couple doors off the hinges for it to fit. Of course, once it's hooked up, we discovered that the nozzles are treadbare, so the hot/cold hoses aren't very secure. Twist the valve to allow cold water to run through, and you're left with a high-pressure jet of very cold water on your pants. Well, I was lucky. It sprayed my dad.

There's a Song

This last week has been kind of a lull for me.

First off, I'm giving myself a pat on the back for getting a full-time job. I know a lot of people that have worked there one time or another, and they have all told me the same thing: you would be perfect for this job.

The place is called Piney Ridge, and it is, in the words of the woman who hired me: a locked facility designed to restructure the social behavior of juveniles who have been charged with a sexual offense. I know it sounds like we are brainwashing kids into the "proper" way of thinking, and the fact that all the residents are referred to as "patients" is a little irksome too, but rest assured the children there are not being tucked away out of view from society. Rather, society has been tucked away from them.

One of the things that solidifies my decision to accept this job is the fact it will carry a responsibility to others that outweighs what seems like my own monumental problems.

Which brings me to my next point. Last Sunday, I went out with some friends as usual. I drank a lot, as usual. But something very unusual happened. I fell, hit my head, and woke up in the hospital with four stitches holding a chunk of my scalp together.

I know what you're thinking. "Nice!"

That was my thought too, for a very brief moment. I don't remember the ride home. As I walked into the door, my sister had seen that I was hurt. She probably noticed in terror the purple wristband with some medical information printed on the outside. She probably saw my shirt collar, the blood diluted by rain. That feeling of "nice" dissipated very quickly. I suddenly realized how badly my head hurt. It had never occurred to me to look at my hands. They were stained in red. It must have looked like I'd just been shot.

Today, I'm completely without the concept of time as the chain of events unfolded that evening. At some point, my mother had come over. Soon after, my father was there. And there I sat on the couch in my living room, drunk, covered in blood, soaking up the streams of concern pouring from my family's mouths.

My sister was quiet. Her only offerings were brief defenses when my mother had made a generalization that was too broad. Mom, of course, was quick to develop a psychoanalysis of the past two years of my life. I wondered if in some sick way, she wanted to see me cry. I saw where her questions were leading, and she finally busted out the big one. The bazooka of inducing pity. So there, I wailed about my one lost love, how I'd done everything for her and fell short. I engaged in a stretch of self deprecating babble until my father stepped in. His angle, as it always, was logic. Fortunately, he knows that I am enough like him that I will respond to it. I felt much better once I realized that everyone was there for me. In a sick way, I lapped up the spotlight. Of course, I was still drunk, so I had to resist the urge to make jokes or entertain. We had all basically arrived to the fact that I had a drinking problem and that only a serious attitude adjustment could help.

As I said, I have no concept of time from that evening, but at some point the sun asserted itself as a cue to disperse and my intervention concluded.

After my father left, I sauntered into my mom's car and she took me to her house to get rest. The early morning light screwed into me like a bad smell. I felt slow. In fact, I pretty much sauntered everywhere for the rest of the day. The realness of my injury hadn't quite set in until I went to the bathroom, and almost fainted while standing over the toilet. My mother said it looked like I'd just seen a ghost. Later that day, I went into what my mom calls "the computer room" and saw the ghost she referred to. The computer room is actually a shrine to all things related to her children's past. Pictures of us as children were everywhere. I sunk back into an age of innocence. Even the screensaver on her computer put on a slideshow of when I was thin, healthy and in school.

"Where the hell did you go?" I asked myself.

So now, I'm coming back to the heart of it. I think there's a song that goes like that.

Returning to our regularly scheduled programming...

I wanted to make blog number 50 kind of a big deal, but it seems that I'm lacking time and energy these days. I think I may have to schedule a doctor's appointment. I've been really tired, sleeping way too long, and generally just lacking in energy.

The KC trip was kind of an eye-opener for me. I returned believing I could pretty much face anything after going through the ordeal of working 15+ hours a day for three days straight. I don't know how doctors do it. Waking up those cold mornings with barely an ounce of consciousness, I found myself at the feet of the men in women in the armed forces. All I had to do was drag tables and curtains around. I mean, there were over 600 tables and about 3200 curtains, with about a thousand metal poles to hang them up with... and it was in a venue that is the same spacial area as a wal-mart supercenter, only twice as long.

But still, there are people just like me who answer a call and in mere minutes, are doing flight checks as they prepare to take off in multi-million dollar airplanes.

And then, there's the "diatribe" I wrote on my personal myspace-- sorry the myspace page is only viewable to people I've added, and I don't plan on dispelling my anonymity here anytime soon, even though a good number of you know exactly who I am. Hopefully this blog has answered to you more about me than you dreamed of knowing. Probably too much, at that.

But I realize more and more that as I continue writing about myself, I figure out how much I don't know. I can't remember who said that first, but he was a much wiser person than I. So wise, in fact, he realized that nobody really knows anything.

There's no real news to speak of here... I'm mostly just lamenting as usual. I will try to experience more interesting things if I can. No promises.

I did meet a new girl. We'll call her AS, since I've hung out with her enough times that she be mentionable. DC is fading to the background as slowly as ever. Even though she tries sometimes to pop back in, I've acquired a sort of shield against her brusque finesse. She apologized for being how she was, but I told her I wouldn't accept because if she's simply being herself, then it'd be terrible for me to require a change. My newly developed theory is that if she really cares that much, she'll put a foot forward and make a real effort. That is one thing she has never really done, so I couldn't benefit much by hoping for a surprise.

AS, on the other hand, has her own flaws. One being that she's a tremendous beer-drinker. Secondly, she's four years to my junior-- a major flaw in my eyes that people keep telling me isn't such a big deal in the first place. I feel like it's a big deal because the environment that I met her suggested she was older. She told me last night, as if I had planned to scoop up her weekdays, that she had homework due on Tuesday. At first it didn't seem important, but I began to realize as the night wore on that she was suggesting for me to influence her away from doing her work. I can't possibly give her that, or take it from her depending on how you look at it. So I created more hesitations in the conversation and dug the first ruts of a moat before she could make too many assumptions about me.

The only thing I ever want out of life is to find a someone I an understand wholly. Yet the last thing I will ever want is for someone to assume they wholly understand me.

Next time, I'll delve about how I gave a 35 year old man a black eye. That was actually the highlight of my week, but it will have to wait.

Milestones

Pending the completion of the blog about my mission trip to Mexico, which is turning out to be something of an epic, and has yet to be published... this is my 50th post. I only started this blog in December, so I think I've done a pretty good job of coming up with something to say.

However, as Senator Obama put it, the time for change has come. I've been living the last couple of months in a state of bumbling chaos. Each thrilling victory I've experienced leads to a brand new failure of some sort. I've come to realize that every single one, victory or failure, has been under my direct control or supervision. Every effect achieved has had a series of obvious causes... from winning the job with Roark, to completely and utterly failing with DC, who is more or less the woman of my dreams. I can't remember who said it, maybe Bill Cosby or somebody like that, but it reminds me of a quote: "I'm a firm believer in luck. The harder I work, the more of it I seem to have."

Obviously, I haven't been working hard enough. That has got to change. So today, I feel pretty good about my luck since I'm packing for a trip up to Kansas City to work for a group of people that put together trade shows for large corporations and money-heavy organizations. The job is temporary, but I'm told to expect 5 straight days of 12 to 16 hour work shifts. When I come home next tuesday, I'll undoubtedly be changed for better or worse. Better to have a fat check coming my way, or worse for putting my back through a blender of manual labor.

I'm going to try to embrace the experience as a cleansing. A boot camp, even. I have one goal, and one goal only-- to make it through the next five or six days without falling over from exhaustion. No thinking of the future, no regretting the past. Just working. It's going to really suck, but that's probably just what I need right now. Pure, unadulterated hard labor.

I take that back. I probably will be thinking about the future while I'm up there. I'll be thinking about how I'm not going to put so much effort into winning the affections of someone that barely acknowledges my existence. I'm going to think about how to be more independent and reliable.

Anyway, I'll be back in a week or so. Wish me luck. No.... wish me hard work.

Enough is enough.

I really, really need you to do whatever you can to act as though I do not exist.

I am way too interested in you to compete with all the guys that want your attention.

I am way too sensitive to deal with being ignored by you every time you think someone is looking.

I am way too smart to keep chasing you when you obviously love being chased, but never let yourself be caught.

Seriously, please pretend like I don't exist. You're way too beautiful for me. You're too smart, too funny. I really need you to just ignore me, and not do anything at all that might give me the impression that I have a chance.

That way I can live my life and stop being such a fucking fool for you.

Thanks.

The Path

Path... a way
Pathos... the ability to elicit emotion
Pathology...the science of the cause and effect of diseases

It's all Latin to me, but really, my path has been all three of these things.

I should really begin by saying that when I was 16 or 17, I knew I was destined to be one of those guys who experienced a lot of crazy things. I knew that during my prime, I'd make the best of it. In a sense, I treated my post-high school lifespan as though it'd be short. For all I know, it may very well be. It's been six years since I graduated high school. Six... years...

I can still remember the things I'd write in my journal about how a the girl I wanted was great in every way, except for the fact that she wouldn't date me. I've changed a little. Now, I actually go after the girls I want. The problem is, I used to be able to distract myself with new crushes or infatuations back then. In a hormonal frenzy, I'd jump from challenge to challenge without so much of a thought about the previous attempts.

Now's a little different. I'm not so hormonal anymore. And instead of looking for challenges, I'm really just in a constant state of seeking encouragement. I love a good chase, but lately, it seems as though the women I'm interested in take a look at me and think to themselves, "I'm going to give him hell."

Six years ago, I would have said, "Bring it."
Today, I say, "Can you please, for the love of God, cut me some fucking SLACK!?"

Of course, it'd be easier if these women knew that they all represent the same person to me. They all represent "the challenge". Otherwise known as "the one"-- at least in the mind of a guy who once explained perverted masturbatory fantasy sketches to his father as "figure drawings".... and got away with it, it would really seem like they are all "the one".

Of course now, I'm dealing with the biggest challenge I've ever seen. But here's the big fit. In order to embrace a challenge... to conquer it... there has to be a goal. My challenge, the ever-present, fickle one... my very own DC, answered this for me just last night. When I asked her, "Why does everything have to be so difficult with you?"

She answered, "Why should it be easy?"

I might have been a little drunk, and under the spell of this woman to an extent... but it really rang true to me. It was almost... profound.

Then again, it could have just been her way of keeping me at a comfortable distance, as usual. And like someone very smart and important once paraphrased:

False hopes beget false faiths. False faiths beget false notions, and false notions beget false believers.

I refuse to be false.

New job! So good it hurts!

So I started my gig yesterday and I can say with total confidence that every bone in my body aches. Areas of pain include, but are not limited to, my entire back, the soles of my feet, my neck, and a strange area just under my ass that I didn't even know existed. I think they call it the "thigh"? No wonder I have such skinny legs.

Anyway, after the scheduled outage, I'm going to tell you guys a little gem about a trip I took to Mexico where a few guys and myself learned to mix concrete with just shovels and manpower. It's an epic tale of endurance, brawn, and willpower. Seriously, this story is just dripping with manliness. But since I feel like a little titty baby, I can't tell it very well right now.

Til then!

boing!

I've been meaning to post for quite a while now, and I'm glad I finally have the energy to do it. I know it was only a few days since my last post, but that shouldn't count, considering it was a somewhat out-of-mind experience. Same goes for the one previous to that. I lost it, people.

Speaking of losing it, I should probably go ahead and tell the loyal, royal army (henceforth to be known as "LRA") IE, my fanbase (excuse me while I have a good self-depricating laugh) what the deal is with me and anger.

See, anger and I go way back. There was a time, long ago in my wee stages of life when anger could be found screwing me up almost every day. No matter what happened, as much as I tried to just be myself and make friends, get good grades and do my chores, anger would show up and terrorize both me and anyone that might come into contact with me. It got to be so bad that even my own family became afraid of me. "Don't piss Wes off" was a common phrase around the house. That was at age 11 or so.

Anywho, I had a dream one night that shook me to my core. Anger manifested itself into this creature, and I was helpless against it. I wroth around, helpless as this demon choked the life out of me. Then, in my dream, I somehow found the strength to overcome it. I drew power from a light that was behind Anger, realizing immediately that the light represented the future. No matter what, no matter how much Anger has control of me, the future is always going to be there. It was only when Anger began to dim the light of the future that I realized how important it was to regain control. From that day forth, I did my best to make anger like a well trained animal.

Moving on. Tonight, I let some of that Anger loose. They call it "letting off steam" because when steam is trapped inside of a container, it creates pressure. Here's how it happened.

As I walked outside the bar, I saw Crater hanging out with some people. I made some chit-chat with him and exchanged a little friendly shit-talk. Crater then slapped me on the face like he does and I laughed, saying, "Fuck you!" It was all in good fun, so far. So I decided to get Crater back. I said, "Okay, well I'm heading out. Hey, Crater... look at me. Look at me, man." Once he made eye contact... POW! Right across the face. Got him pretty good. Well, that steamed him up a little, so he started smacking away, like a sparring match or something.

Then, out of nowhere, this jackass decides to throw one in for himself. I'm watching Crater the entire time, but pop! This guy smacks me too. So I stop. Actually, everyone stops. I turn and look at him, and said, "Did you mean to do that?"
He mumbled something and before I really bothered to ask him to repeat, I said, "You're afraid I'm going to smack you back, aren't you?"
And then he said it. Just for reference, people, don't EVER, ever EVER say, "Go ahead, slap me."

So I smacked him. Ohh, mama howdy, I smacked the shit out of him. I actually fell down. When he got back up, he was pretty mad, but all I had to do was tell him if he started any shit, then I'd smack him even harder. The best part is that while everyone was trying to break us up, they were all laughing too hard to say anything reasonable.

Ha ha ha haaaa! Good times. Anyway, that definitely let off a little steam for me. Mama Howdy!

Sorting out issues.

When I was in high school, I blogged at least once a week. I wrote in an actual notebook every day. Dry spells were either because so much was happening at once that I had no time to write about it, or nothing was happening at all. In junior year, I had a phenomenal English teacher. He was the first teacher I ever had that showed emotion-- particularly frustration. I was secretly thrilled any time one of the girls caught a verbal beating for talking too much or not paying attention. Hell, Mr. C would go off if he felt like the people in the back weren't taking him seriously enough.

The girls he'd always yell at were never dressed down. They wore high heels and reeked of fruity perfume. They were all beautiful. As much as I hated them, especially one I'll call KB, they came to represent a fantasy I've since had for hooking up with a beautiful girl from a very rich family. On the outside, I hated their stiff upper lips, their clothes-- how adult they all tried to seem, and how no matter what kind of grades they were given, they really never had to worry about making it outside of high school. I hated their privileges. I see some of them today, and they are exactly the same, only fatter.

But inside, I was entranced by KB's curves. Even when she was sitting down, I fell into dopey stares whenever she wore strappy shirts or skirts with slits on the side. I'd draw the outline of her leg, from the hem of her skirt to just past the calf. I shied from detail to keep the drawing ambiguous, should anyone ever see. She also suffered from a hellish case of falling bra-straps... or rather, I suffered. On the rare occasions that she disengaged from her posture, her shoulders gave way to a loose feminine-colored strap, and it would timber to the side of her arm. I had to be careful in these times to make sure that my staring wasn't obvious-- but it probably was anyway. Then, she'd slide a finger under the strap, tilt her shoulder down and saddle it back into place. I'd melt.

My truce with the rich dissolved as soon as the bell rang, and I'd watch in a haze of disdain and lust as she walked out.

I never dated any supremely hot girls in high school. In college, I was engaged and living with my girlfriend for over two years. I wouldn't call her a total babe, but I was sure in love with her. After she and I broke up, hot girls served their purpose. There are times when my interest in one of these beautiful women grows beyond getting sprung. I tend to investigate and stir up possibilities-- and then, for some reason, it gets weird and I lose my cool.

I know what went wrong with DC. When she spent the night at my old apartment with me, I made the assumption that all the things she'd said while we roved around the bed were still valid after sunup. I assumed that her previous reservations were then removed, and we could continue forward. Instead, I was dealt a serious backstepping. The next time I saw her, she made basically every effort to consort with anyone else, especially guys. Was it wrong to feel hurt by this? The sensitive of you will say "Yes! What a bitch!"

But really, I should have known that people do not change overnight, or even change their minds. She is comfortable in her bubble of adoration. She could allow a very discreet tryst, but one governed by her sheer whim. Certainly not one hinged on any mutual desire. Who's to say that such a tryst, even if I were to lower myself to such a thing, would be exclusive? Secret relationships are by their very nature, non-exclusive, otherwise there would be no problem with a guided indiscretion about it.

I'm not saying I'm above having a fuckbuddy. Hell, I'd go for that any day of the week. But that sort of deal only works on conditions... such as, no existing relationships, no expectations, and no cattle prods or two-way dildos. Right now, the no-expectations rule is the one I can't follow. I'm just not wired like that.

For now, I'm just going to let myself occasionally fall into that familiar haze of lusting after form while sneering at fickleness and falsehoods.

How the hell!?

This is going to be one of those few occasions where I actually say whatever the fuck I want to say.

How... the hell.

How the hell did I get to the point to where my life revolves around what people say or think?

How the hell did I get to the point where I care so much about what one person thinks or does that I govern all actions of my own accordingly?

How the hell did I get to the point where I was afraid to make a conclusion, based only on the fact that, if given enough time, said person would come through, thus proving me wrong?

How the hell did I allow myself to be wrong?

How the hell did I get to the point where I'd give this person so much fucking time to come through, that I'd bypass every gut feeling that says "Run! Run away!" and just allow myself to be the world's biggest schmuck?

I'll tell you why. Because there's no greater feeling than being in love. I can't say so honestly that I was in love with DC. In fact, I don't think I really am. I'm enamored with her, I'm infatuated with her. But I can safely say I know what it's like to be in love, and here it is:

She brought me closer than anyone else ever has to feeling like I was in love again.

But not close enough. It wasn't the real thing. It felt like a dream about a memory.

Yea, I was in love once. I was so in love that I ignored every signal that said "She's not right for you." I was so in love that, for the sake of being in love, I allowed several trespasses to occur, because I truly believed that no other love could make me feel the way she did.

And then, of course, I gave myself a reality check.

Here's the deal.

I loved someone so much that no matter what they did, I still tucked them in at night and watched them fall asleep. I loved someone so much that I felt for them as though they were my child-- a god-given child in the form of a grown woman-- one that had been given to me, and me only. Given to me so that I could take care of her, watch over her, and make sure nothing, absolutely nothing ever hurts her.

I loved her so much that even after she cheated on me, I never told anybody what she'd done. In fact, I let them make their own conclusions. And whenever someone asked me what went wrong, I said, "I did."

That's love. Schmuckish? Yep. Probably. But then again, what the fuck do you know?

Tonight, I've been reminded for the dozenth time that I will probably never again see love like that. I've been reminded that no matter how hard I try to be who I am: a person who is obviously deluded about their qualities; I will never, ever....

ever, be in love again.

I care too much about my life to give it up. So I'm pretty sure I'm going to become one of those guys who focuses every iota of his being to making money and never, ever being lost again.

Lived A Little: A Rewind

30 mins ago: Pulled into my driveway, went inside my new home, went to my room and opened my laptop.
45 mins ago: Took a final shot with Curly and Moe.
1 hr ago: Was barreling down very curvy roads that eventually led home at speeds exceeding 60mph. Moe was driving. I think I said his driving was akin to taking a Formula One Taxi.
3 hrs ago: Hung out at Yellow Rock Trail's overlook 45 minutes away from my hometown, debating with Curly and Moe on whether the bright star coming up over the horizon was Mars or Venus (it was Venus). We debated other things, but mostly drank and littered.
5 hrs ago: Barreled toward Devil's Den, trying my best to keep a 6-pack of shitty tasting Michelob intact at speeds exceeding 60 mph. (I was not driving)
7 hours ago: Played pool with a guy who owns an excavation company, and beat him 4 out of 5 times. He offered me a job.
7.25 hours ago: Guy who offered me a job had a friend whose girlfriend really really didn't like me. I called her out on her bitchiness and said guy (and his friend) sided with me. She was smokin' hot, though. I really just wanted to see her chest. She wanted to rip my balls off.
10 hours ago: Started playing pool, ordered my first drink of the evening, said hello to my friends at the bar.
12 hours ago: Had a small dinner at Mom's. Very thankful that it was small, otherwise, I might have regurgitated it 7 hours later.
14 hours ago: Bought some socks and vanity hooks for the pots and pans in the kitchen at Wal-Mart.
17 hours ago: Went to lunch with mom and sis. Had the chicken sandwich. (Weighed myself 2 hours later.... I'm still 180.)
18 hours ago: Woke up.


In less than four hours, I'll be waking up again. When I do, I won't be worried about DC. I won't let the job slump prevent my success. When I wake up, I'll be a brand new man, no matter how sore I am of all the thumps life has given me.

I'll forget everything that held me back when I wake up today.

The pathology of Anger

Once in a blue moon, I have to set out to dissect exactly why I'm angry and how to deal with it. Anger, for me, is a source from which I draw a lot of my energy-- whether it's creative, physical, or raw emotion. When I'm about to make a strong point-- something I believe in so fervently that no other emotion can employ more tension-- anger is the well that I draw from. If I'm about break something-- which can be surprisingly therapeutic-- I piss myself off first.

Tonight, I'm angry. Angry beyond the ability to channel it into something useful. It's like a red, boiling gel coursing through my veins. My palms could fry and egg, and my face grows flushed. My eyes sink, and it's no longer optic nerves but my mind that plies truth from lie. Things no longer represent hard or soft-- only breakable with my fist versus breakable with a tool of some sort. A dull numbness creates a crown on my head, as if I'm wearing an invisible helmet. I try as hard as I can not to clench my teeth, because it creates a pressure so intense that my temples throb. When I open my hands, palms facing up, I can feel blood throbbing the blue vein in the pit of my elbow. It's like an unearthed root-- typically stoic, but suddenly loose and alive.

I tried my best to be a good friend. I went further than I normally would to make sure nobody could detect my inclement, burgeoning rage. But now that I'm home alone, only my thoughts to accompany me, thoughts which dispel any notion of a benevolent fate...

After running through what was said over and over again, I tried to pick out the indication that I should have expected this. I tried to blame myself first, for not picking up on a hopefully obvious sign that my expectations should be promptly killed on sight. But nothing seemed out of order. Nothing seemed miscued or troubling.

Nothing is exactly what I received after -- if even for a brief moment -- deciding it was okay to generate expectations, to bungee with hope as my rope. To take for granted after such a good night, that a second would follow. Karma, it appears, delegates my punishments in 24-hour cycles. Well, I'm really sick of it.

Im sick of knowing in my gut that the night is going to be full of useless bullshit, and convincing myself that my gut is wrong. From this point forward, if I have a bad feeling, I'm going to follow it. If I have a good feeling and it turns out to be wrong... then I'm going to punch a baby in the face.

I'm starting to feel better already.

Drunk, Delirious Blogging

Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm sure the great majority of you have come home from a night of utter chaos-- a night that began with treachery, one filled with tribulation, and ending as a trial-- nay, a testament to how karma can go from kicking your ass to kissing it.

Yep. It was definitely one of those night for me. It all started with DC. You guys know a thing or two about DC. For the astrology buffs, she's a Gemini, and I'm a Capricorn. You know that that mean.s "Oh Boy" usually comes after such a combination. More like "Aw Fuck..."

Anyway, DC said from the get-go that she was in a weird mood. She got into a fight with her roommate-- something to do with her roomie wiping out on a bicycle when said roommate didn't need to be traveling in the first place. Then I managed to quip about how tired DC appeared. DC took that too mean "You think I look like shit." Well, no. A hint for the guys... never, EVER tell a girl she looks tired. She will always take it to mean that you think she looks like she just got shoved into a camel's ass. In any case, not good. Just as I managed to repair that situation, DC decides we need to go meet her friend Shana. Shana is someone I've already met, but I didn't realize that yet. From the beginning, lovely Shana did her best to exclude me from every possible conversation, joke, introduction... EVERYTHING. When DC went to the ladies' room, Shana and I were alone. I figured this would be a perfect time to get to know her and maybe get on her good side. Lucky for me, Shana's very sensitive and I managed to piss her off, sending her into a fit of rage in less than five minutes.

After Shana found DC and left without me, I went where my heart said to go--- the usual place. My bar. THE bar. Lo and Behold, they were there. DC demanded that I apologize to Shana, which I did, successfully. Then DC had to use the ladies room again, and left me sitting there with "T". T proceeded to tell me all about how I need to lighten up and not care what these "bitches" think and to just do my own thing. He actually sat there and tried to tell me how to be a player. Meanwhile, he sat there with this smug look on his face like he knew all about it. Needless to say, I wanted to fucking kill him.

Fast forward. T went ahead and told DC what a big fat douchebag I am, for not being enough of a player, which inspired DC to leave with Shana without so much as a goodbye. Feeling pissed, I was ready to go soon after. My good friend Eddie was with me and as we walked out, T said something to the effect of "Better luck next time, baller." To which I replied that he was a barking dick, and I could care fucking less what he thinks. This created a big mess of T getting in my face and me threatening to rearrange his anatomy.

It finally got settled by some very big people that told him to fuck off and asking me to go home. That's all good and done.

So I'm home, but I'm thinking to myself, FUCK... I really screwed things up with DC. I was sure she'd never talk to me again after hearing what her friend "T" had to say about me.

All of the sudden, my phone starts buzzing. It's her. I answer, and after a brief conversation, find out that T thought I was someone else, that she left because Shana was insanely drunk and couldn't wait any longer to puke somewhere, and that she was definitely still into me.

Key phrase. "Wes, T thought you were trying to get with Shana. That's why he said what he said to you. He has no idea about you and I."

Sometimes, news is delivered in fine print, my friends. DC proceeded to repeat this "You and I" bit a few more times, and assured me I'd be hearing from her tomorrow. Suffice to say, I suppose she still likes me. Even after I pissed off her friend Shana, and almost caved her friend T's face in with my forehead. This is almost as good as the night before, when she kissed me at the bar.

Oh yea--- I almost forgot... this whole post is so fucking gay. What am I, 16? Jeez. Okay, guys-- if you're reading this-- just throw some stuff at me to talk about that's manly and I will rock it out old school. Seriously, I'm open to suggestions. Also... heh... if you knew what DC looked like, you'd totally understand.

Non's Big Day!

After what seemed to be an evening filled with fruition regarding DC, which kept me up until almost 3:00 AM, I woke up 3 minutes after my alarm was supposed to go off. I set it for 10:15AM last night, amidst the cinema of what had just happened playing in my head. It's very possible I simply forgot to actually turn the alarm on, and only set the time for it.

Anyway, when I first met DC, she was volatile-- creating offenses out of thin air and prosecuting me for them. She'd declare my latest statement as "really stupid" and then just walk away. Usually she went home, but if she really wanted to burn me, she'd just go flirt with another guy. I can't say it didn't work, because it just made me want her more. Not to mention punch the daylights out of the guy she chose to flirt with. And then run.

Now, she's not so skittish. Anytime she says, "I think I'm gonna go," I just reply with, "Like hell you are!" and tug her back into arm's length. The first time I did this, I was pretty sure I'd end up getting my goatee smacked off. Turns out, she digs that kind of thing. So I made sure to pepper every evening we spent together with at least one forceful movement. Sometimes I just plucked her from the path she was walking and made her walk closer to me. Sometimes when she'd get pissy, I'd just get pissy right back and say, "Shut up and listen to me."

It's not mean, because it always gives her this silly grin that makes me want to swoon her. And I always smile right back. But enough of that sappy romantic crap. My main thing is trying to get her to hang out with me earlier in the evening so that I don't get calls from my sister or whoever while she is sucking my soul out kissing my neck. I think that's probably too much detail. Not sure. Maybe you guys can let me know if I'm giving tmi.

Anyway, reeling from the success of last night-- I figured today was going to be a flop. That's usually how it works with my luck. I'm certainly in Karma's constant cross hairs. Something good happens, then I eat shit the next day. Like I said, I got up at 10ish this morning and took a ride to the DMV to get a new driver's license. I was only there for 15 minutes, which is a record for them. Then, after being told it would take up to two hours doing work at the unemployment office, I was catered to by the director and it only took one hour. Snazzy shit! Also, I found out what I qualify for in benefits, and I'm definitely stoked. I can work about 20 hours a week and still collect all my unemployment. Part-time job, here I come. Say 'hello' to assisted living, so to speak.

Then, after I finished up at the unemployment office, I found out the landlord of the place I wanted is going to work with me on stretching rent out so I can move in first. It will be so nice to live in a house that is at least 100 feet from any potential redneck, potbellied Jeds or people with a surname as their last names. See you later, Daniel Dave! Woooooie!

And like I said, the place is the shizzle. I'll include pictures in my next post of the props once we get settled in and make that place our bitch.

And, just so you know, I already made the how-to on saving money at the bar, I just don't want to post it until closer to the weekend. So stay tuned.

Jizzob

So far, I've applied to a grocery store, a landscaping company, a pizza place, an upscale burger joint, an advertising factory for high school sports calenders, and most recently, a butchery. Oh yea, don't let me forget the sub delivery shop. Speaking of which, I need to call them. Like now.

*five minutes later* Well, the dude wasn't there, as usual. Oh well.

Tonight, I feast with my family. My mom finally closed on her condo today and she wants to take us out to celebrate. This will basically amount to her making snide comments about my joblessness and Sister's educational progress, in exchange for a free restaurant meal. It's not a bad trade, only, I wish we could go somewhere that has TV's at eye-level so I can at least appear as though I'm looking in my mother's direction while I watch a ballgame. Everyone has tv's up on the rafters, requiring me to crane my neck like I'm watching a plane go by. It's a little obvious, and my mother hates it. I also hate it when I fart or something and she goes "WES!" and acts embarrassed. It's gas. People get over it. Okay, maybe that's a little rude. I try to keep the air currents to a minimum, but it's hard when every place she likes to eat loads their food with cheese or fries everything in the same vat of peanut oil. Sheesh.

So once we're done eating, I almost always have ESS (expanding stomach syndrome), and the only remedy is several tablets of Rolaids and at least an hour of TV without my mom starting every sentence with, "What are you going to do about: ________?" Of course that never happens, so really, the act of eating in itself is the only good part.

Anywho, I'm gonna see what's up with DC tonight. I almost hung out last night but I decided since I didn't have any moola, to just stay in and not drink copious amounts of cranberry juice. I think it should be a little easier tonight since I've actually got some change in my jeans.

Yea, that's all, I think.

Something's Off

Big changes indeed. Jeez, what a year 2007 was. I seemed to have turned my foot into swiss cheese after shooting it so many times. What do they say? The World Is My Oyster? I'm not too sure if that's accurate, because I can't seem to get the damn shells to open.

I'm not huge on being sentimental, but I enjoy the occasional trip down memory lane. Here are some of the biggest memories I have of 2007.

1. In February, I got a job at the newspaper-- a real one-- and kept it for just over 9 months. Even though the ending was a fucking fiasco, there are only two things I'll miss about that job. The friends I made, and the money. Yes, in that order.

2. March 2007 was the first year I ever contemplated suicide. I had been so royally screwed over by my ex and made a fool of that I really just wanted to end my life. It was shameful, embarrassing, maddening, all of the above. But soon after, I got over it. The weak bonds I had with friends either became very strong or were shattered. I suppose that's how it goes.

3. Over the course of 2007, I moved (and I'm about to move again) four times. I went from living alone, to living with a coworker, to living with my sister-- which has created a bond between us that I don't think existed before other than being simply related.

4. I got really really out of shape in 2007. All the drinking, late night meals, and sleeping late created an environment that allowed my body to shape-shift from the lean, fit guy I started out as, into a husky guy with a bit of a beer belly. Not that I'm overly concerned about my looks. I still look damn sexy. Just kidding. Anyway, I definitely see that changing in the first parts of 2008.

5. I realized (toward the end) that I wanted to finish school. How I'm going to get back in, and by what means I'll use to pay for it is to be determined, but I'll figure it out.


Anyway, enough sentimentality. Sis and I found a cool house to live in and we plan to rock it out, old-school. I've got to get over the whole not having dates over at my place thing. I haven't had a girl come to my place since 2006. Yikes. Mainly, it's because I always felt weird about having girls over when I live with my sister. Other girls get a vibe that tends to igg them out a little when they know the dude's sister is in the other room. Especially if there's shagging goin on. Yea baby! Anyway, when we move into the house, I'm going to be PROUD of living there-- not avoiding it like a cell phone bill. I also want to get my car fixed, and be proud of it too. God knows I walk enough.

So that should be all for now. Next time, I'll set you guys up with a nice little report on how to have fun at a bar, el-cheapo-style.

I'll also tell you what's going on with DC and JR. In a nutshell, JR and I decided to just be friends, while DC and I spent some time together last night. That was really fun-- except tonight her roommates came back, and they're her "posse". She's a totally different animal around those two.