Some Luck Continues

For those of you following the blow-by-blow I just wanted to update that Awesome *did* manage to get out of her NYE trip--- but that still leaves a couple of questions unanswered. One-- was it her doing, and two-- is she going to follow through on the "prospective" obligatory date she has with her neighbor? I've already gotten past the fact that she very well may not be spending NYE with me. After all it's kind of a loaded holiday-- especially to reunite with an ex. Perhaps I should be thankful that I'm potentially dodging an evening filled with significance and expectations.

So there's that. Also, today is officially my birthday. I turn 24 today-- but I still have 6 years left to prove to certain naysayers (mom!) that I will live past 30. My liver is still (somewhat) intact, I can hold my breath for more than 60 seconds, and if I have to, run from the police without getting tired (but I will be sore the next day-- it's a compromise).

To commemorate the event, here is a short list of accomplishments and things I've successfully been able to avoid in all 24 years of my life.

1. I once went 20 years without drinking any alcohol. Shut up, it counts.
2. I achieved my lifelong dream of working for a large newspaper, wrote stories, took photos, and was an integral part of the paper itself. Then I got fired. Oh well-- NEW GOALS! Woohoo!
3. I harbored a 10 foot neon sign in my living room after my friends stole it from a place that went out of business. We eventually returned it after the disappointing realization that we weren't going to make the 6 o'clock news.
   
4. I have yet, *knock on wood* to get a VD of any kind. Mononucleosis when I was 16 does not count, even though it is a form of herpes. It's like chicken pox, you assholes! Everyone gets it! And the reason it burned when I peed last year is not because I had the germ, but because my penis is too big urine is literally 250 degrees Fahrenheit. Like Chuck Norris, I eventually adapted and learned to use it as a weapon.
   
5. So far I've slept with over 20 women. This is NOT an accomplishment of any kind, nor is it anything to be proud of. I repeatedly feel saddened when I'm asked if I know a girl that people doubt I know-- and it turns out I've slept with her. Anyway, the real achievement here is that none of them would kick me out of their bed. YEA BABY! But don't worry-- I still have a deep respect and appreciation for everyone I've shagged.

That's all folks!!!!

Gentleman with some luck

This is a slightly revised version of the post named "Lucky Gentleman" or something like that. I don't remember, and I'm too lazy to actually check, so just go with it.

Anyway, the idea is that I'm not really lucky in general, I just have a lot of luck and I'm a gentleman about how I decide to carry out these actions. I'll give you a few examples.

First. We'll call this little nugget "CP," which is short for Cattle Prod. Yes, that's right. One night, I got a call from JB asking me if I'd like to come over to make out with CP, since CP had broken up with her boyfriend a few weeks ago and was feeling horny lonely. I gracefully declined this offer, thinking this is not the kind of thing I do, no matter how crazy people think I am. A couple weeks later, CP is showing me photos from her digital camera of a guy FUCKING her, and makes a special note of the cattle prod laying across her naked body. I remembered back when I first met CP, she was at a different bar, and was much more sober than today (these days). She seemed like a sweet girl with a little bit of rebellion. Such was not the case, obviously. Along with that cattle prod she had duck tape wrapped around random areas of her body. I did my best to smile with amusement, but could barely contain the upchuck forcing its way up my throat.

Second. JB herself decided to make a move on me. This was the same night I had a wonderful evening with JR-- henceforth known as Awesome. Anyway, JB knew nothing about the date with Awesome, since she runs in different circles, but decided nonetheless to offer her physical being to me, at my disposal, whenever I so chose. Obviously, I declined this offer. JB is a nice girl, behind that iron curtain of vodka bottles, and she really seems like she needs a nice guy like me in her life--- only, I'm too young to deal with her bullshit, she's too drunk ALL THE TIME, and worst of all--- she likes to make a scene. That's an instant zap in my book. INSTANT ZAP.

I could go on with the third and fourth ones, but they require WAY too much explanation, and my faithful readers would probably appreciate a bit of brevity at this point. (sorry guys)

So I managed to wiggle some time in with Awesome tonight by offering to pick her up from duh pub (not to be confused with the REAL pub, which I will always refer to as "The Bar"). Her friend was a little catty, complained most of the time, and generally came off as a girl who would basically rip my face off if I gave her the opportunity. I grew anxious as Awesome, Face-Ripper-Offer and I sat there, sipping our brews, talking about our respective Christmastimes. Face-Ripper-Offer stayed only long enough to evaluate me, then give Awesome a thumbs up or down. Apparently, by Face-Ripper-Offer leaving on her own accord, it was a signal to Awesome that she felt comfortable leaving her (Awesome) with me alone. Awesome later confirmed this by telling me that Face-Ripper-Offer commented that I was cute and funny while I wasn't looking.


Duh.

Anyway, after F-R-O left, Awesome and I just kind of sat dazed for a while. She had this look like she wanted to tell me something, but wouldn't let herself. I hate those situations. You know it's not your place to push for it-- yet having it on your mind makes it really difficult to pursue other topics of idle conversation.

FF>>

Awesome and I are sitting in my car at her place, sort of looking for the signal from one another. After a silence broke out, I finally asked her if I could kiss her. More like, "Can I just kiss you now? Seriously?"
She shook her head no, and sort of leaned away. But her eyes... oh, my friends, her eyes said she lied.
"Bullshit," I said, and I kissed her. she kissed back

Well, don't they always kiss back at first? Of course they do, at first, but that's just reaction. Anyway, she began to press against my chest and I moved with her hands as if the lightest touch could guide me. More chatting. "I should go," she said, and gripped the door-- failing to actually open it. "That's a sign," I said, but immediately unlocked the door for her-- but leaned in at the same time.

After we finished kissing, she asked me what time I needed to meet my sister. "It's tentative," I replied, "I'd say we have another twenty minutes."

For fifteen of those minutes she revealed to me that the person she was "prospectively" going to have NYE with was her neighbor; that this person and her were traveling to New Orleans to visit a friend of hers' and that she had no idea what was going to happen. Then she said, "You know what I really hate... about you?"

My mind reeled with a myriad of things to hate about me.

"You have the worst timing," she said.
I paused, smiled, and respectfully disagreed. "I think I have pretty good timing. If this means that there's even a small chance that while you're down in New Orleans with that other guy, that I'll be in the back of your head at any point during that trip, then I have the best timing in the world."
"If it means," I continued, "That at some point you wonder what it'd be like if you were there with me instead of him, then I have some pretty damn good timing. Because the way I see it, if I had waited a second longer to come to you, that chance might not exist."

After a long pause, she noticed the clock was nearing the 5-minute mark of when I said I'd have to leave. She looked at me and said, "Can we, just for the next five minutes, not think about anything but kissing each other?"

Certainly. Most certainly.

Happy New Years... and Happy Birthday to me in less than 21 hours.

A Festivus for the Rest of Us

At last, the Christmas season is tumbling to an end. Already, Wal-Mart and Target have begun carting out obscene amounts of candy with pink wrappers in preparation for Valentine's Day. Hendog said it best: America is not a democratic society; it is a capitalist society. Long gone are the days when our sacred past-times slowly creep up on the calendar, only to suddenly arrive with little warning and rabid fanfare. Now, America prepares to celebrate holidays months ahead of time by offering useless riff-raff for which the public has embraced as "tradition" and so pressures its citizens to "need". Things like mass-produced candy in lieu of home cooked treats, video games that promote vandalism and violence instead of a joy ride with the family to the city.

Despite all that, the shameless profitism of days where loving one another has been replaced with the subtle giving (as in buying) for others, in spite of that... now that the day itself is finally here, I could not be happier with the friends and family that God has blessed me with.

My friend T used to say, "Only on Earth," when strange truths were revealed. He has a point. Thank God for free will, the ability to screw every imaginable thing up and still be blessed with the support of loved ones. No one is beyond salvation, holy, literal, or imagined. Not a one.

God bless all of you.

Good Timing

Part 1.

Perspective: I'm sitting on my chair listening to Johnny Cash's "I Walk The Line". This song goes further for me than I ever would have expected when I first listened to it. As I sit in my kinda-shabby apartment, watching Sister's cats body slam each other, I think of the last couple of nights. A girl heretofore to be known as JB hit on me. Hard Core. I realized this ridiculous circumstance mainly because JB (a figment in my life) decided to tell me that she was up for grabs, and all I had to do was call her and she was there for the taking.. The problem? I'm not a manwhore. The other problem? How could I meaningfully be pursuing DC if I took the easy out and got laid with JB?

My dilemma is simple. There's a girl I could have had in a heartbeat if I so chose, meanwhile, a girl that treats me like shit that I've been chasing since June.

What a fucking minute. I have DC blowing me off every chance she gets, meanwhile, there's another chick saying, "Here. I'm yours. Come and get it." People who know me really well know that I hate the absence of challenge. I have mixed feelings when a super-drunk girl hits on me, even if she knows me well. Obviously, there's the initial "Hell yea!" at being wanted in the first place, especially for something like an easy sexcapade. But the thing that kept me from going for it was only PARTLY about DC. It was more about me thinking, this cannot be the product of months and months of going out to the bars and being "Me". So I stop. I think about it. I listen to myself. Here's what myself was saying:

JB made me realize two things with her drunken attempt to sack me. First, she made me realize that with my current behavior, IE, drinking and being a bar rat, only someone who knew me well enough to know that I would probably turn them dow-- and only if that person was drunk as fuck would possibly make me an offer like that.

Yea, that's not depressing at all. Secondly, JB made me realize that the first thing that came to mind as she offered all these things was the thought of someone who had been treating me like CRAP finding out about me taking up her offer, and losing my chances completely.

Wow. Can anyone say PATHETIC?

So in one fell swoop, I decided to walk the line. Goodbye, JB. Goodbye, DC. I don't need you any less than you need me, and that's a promise.

Part 2.
Perspective: I'm sitting on my couch in my crappy apartment listening to Matchbox 20. The song is "Unwell". It's a good song for feeling like no one understands the craziness you're going through, or feeling inside. Lately, I've been taking odd jobs working as the UnBouncer (unofficial) for several places. Taking out my aggressions on people who've been deemed unbarworthy, and I get to escort them out the door. It's been a good outlet. I get to feel like the big man, and I don't have to explain my meanness to anyone. If I see them again and they call me out-- hey-- I was just doing my job (at the time).

Just as I decided that DC was out for good, I went to the coffee shop today and wondered how JR was doing. I texted her and asked if she'd like to grab a cup with me. She called me back and said she was in the middle of cleaning her apartment, but if I wanted to drop by with some coffee, that'd be good.

Side Note: I dated JR for two months last year, starting in November 06 and ending in early January 07. Our breakup was quiet for me, but noisy for her. Having said that, I've regretted walking away ever since, and I still think about our time together as a couple, even if there wasn't really a name for it.

I decided to grab a paper and stick it into my bag before heading over with coffee. When I arrived, I pulled out the paper and located the crossword puzzles, which she and I spent a very quiet 30 minutes solving. Suddenly she realized we needed to go to Hobby Lobby to grab more Christmas gift stuff, so we went there. I drove. The evening was slowly evolving into a date. Things were going well. There were flirtations, reminiscences of past dates, trips, and good times, and so on. She made whole wheat angel hair pasta with home-made pesto sauce. I gotta tell ya, it was really good. I don't know if I was just REALLY freaking hungry, or if I was just happy to be in her company again, but that felt like the best home-cooked meal I've had since T-day. Schnazzas! yow.

After the meal, I asked her if she wanted to go see the Christmas lights at the square. She looked at me very suspiciously, (which I confirmed with a sneaky grin) and reluctantly (maybe just hesitantly) agreed. I kept thinking to myself if I stop smiling, I'm going to frown for the rest of the night, because I'm so damn sure that my plans are going to get shot to hell. My plan? Go for the walk with the lights, let the romance set in, then lay it out there. Then ask if she has plans for NYE, and if not, ask her out.

Part 3.
Perspective: I'm sitting in my couch, listening to The Who's "Won't Get Fooled Again". I've got a big, stupid grin on my face. JR already has a date for NYE, but she allowed a kiss... or two... or more than a few. She lamented on how confused this all made her-- which to me is a great sign. Confusion is good. Confusion isn't "No."

Now, just so you guys know, I really do like JR. As I said before, I "Laid it all out there". That, in effect, is me saying that since we broke up, that I have never forgotten her, and that my feelings have remained unchanged. I tried (up until recently) to distract myself, but I've been unsuccessful because no other girl is like JR. She will just blurt random observations out. She is a conversationalist, and even better, she's fucking brilliant. She's beautiful to me. She appears innocent, but she's got the heart of a sage. She's a lover of life, to the point where ridiculous events are more valuable to her than others simply because she sees the value of telling the story of it later.

As the evening ended, she left acting amused and bemused alike, and me feeling wishful and confident altogether.

I promise, tomorrow, I'll be much funnier.

I'm kind of a big deal.

That's right, people.... this is the 30th blog so far. Not too shabby considering it seems like just yesterday when I was pondering whether this blog would make it after its first post or fizzle out like the majority. It would appear that not only have I got something to say-- but that I can say it over and over again, 30 times. Hooray me.

Since I love lists so much (those numbered paragraphs spelling out in no particular sequence my random epiphanies throughout the day) I decided to go ahead and give this occurrence a name. Therefore, I hereby christen all lists henceforth "Hit Lists". No doubt the FBI will be reading my blog more often now, but that's a risk I'm willing to take. Who knows, maybe the feds will read this and see some way to capitalize on my ability to rant.

On we go.

1. I saw "I Am Legend" today with Sister and Hendog. It was actually really good. I didn't expect much when it came to the plot, but my expectations were a little high with Will Smith as the lead. With no other A-listers co-starring (it is a "last man on earth" story) he is basically carrying the huge weight of smoothing over the movie's many plot errors. Having said that, he performed exceptionally well-- exceptionally human. That's all I ask for.

2. I had to kick the same guy out of three separate bars tonight. I heard shit from some people about their friend and how cool he is-- but how they don't want him around. Too fucking bad. I'm not going to kick your friend out just because he annoys you. Do the world a favor and be honest for once. Even worse is when people see I have some pull with the bar staff, and think I want to have a conversation about how they elbowed someone in the sternum the other day. Nice move, dude. Tell me again why I give a shit? I totally feel for people I previously considered assholes now. I SO fucking relate now.

3. DC was walking up the street just as I was heading to BBR. Don't ask me how, but she suckered me into going to Finn's, which I advised against, and of course, they go in, then leave two minutes later. Instead, they head to George's, where DC is accosted by her stalker. So I had the personal treasure and joy of watching her bitch a guy out for following her around everywhere. No wonder she is so damn sketchy. A guy can't freakin smell DC's fart without him getting jealous. This another reason why I am anti-pacifist at times. Some people have the let-it-go, it's-all-good, it's-cool mentality... well what happens when you wind up with a stalker? no go, no good, not cool.

Anyway, the DC moratorium continues until she at least gives me a damn clue.

A lucky gentleman

It's true. I've been in a lot of situations where if I was a much less decent kind of guy, I could get away with a lot of things that most people are ashamed to admit they've done. But as a gentleman, I take the higher road-- not because I think someone's watching-- because as all of you know, I really don't care about that-- but because I imagine at some point, when I was completely oblivious, someone did the same for me.

Unfortunately, my gentlemanly character stops here-- because I'm tired and I've stayed up so late that I've already taken my morning shit.

To sum everything up, I leave you this small token. It's a present for all my faithful readers.

Rhino the Cat

My sister has a cat named Rhino. The best way to describe Rhino is adamant, yet confused. There are times when he is the sweetest little kitty in the world, and times when he seems to be in the mood for harvesting your vital organs.

Now, I know I run the risk of sounding like a weird dude that's proud of his cat-- because, let's just face it... cats aren't really a guy thing. In fact, cats in general are pretty gay. I say that knowing full well that most homosexual pet owners actually care for a small dog of some sort-- shockingly enough, it seems like those little wiener dogs are the most common. (I have no idea why) Nevermind the fact that every small dog I've met with a gay owner acts like he is in constant fear of punishment.

As a disclaimer, I really haven't met very many dogs with gay owners-- and I'm sure that with the majority of these dogs still out there, that I can be proven wrong very very quickly. However, this is my little world, and the current laws of nature originate from my brain.

Secondly, I know a lot of you would probably counter by thinking, "Oh no no, my cat is so funny, etc. etc." and counter with your own story of how little Binky or Mr. Testicles III once caught a cricket and freaked out by piddling all over his widdle self. But the truth is I really don't care about your stupid cat. This entry is about my sister's stupid cat, and how stupid I think it is.

In fact, I even have proof.

Behold!

Youtube doesn't like embedding objects into blogs, so here's a link.

Progress

Take a close look at the tags I've given this blog-- in fact, if you want to know what any blog of mine is going to cover, look at the tags-- if there's no subject that interests you, then I've just saved you at least 5 minutes of time. And that's just because I'm such an nice guy.

I have four goals.

1. This is one I hope to achieve in the next 30 minutes. In an effort to make my blogs more palatable, I'm going to spend only 20 minutes actually writing. Hopefully, with practice, I'll be able to write a well-rounded blog in less than ten. We'll see what happens.

2. Continue searching for employment. I had an interview today with Tony C, the owner of several low-grade bars in the area... mostly just "clubs" for people who don't like to wear collared shirts. He's starting me out as a daytime bartender at one of his pool halls. Should be interesting. My goal is to do whatever I can to get, keep, and make the best of this job.

3. Lay off of the DC chase for a few days. I saw her at George's tonight, only because Peach was at the "other" bar, and invited me to come. I was hoping to only accidentally run into her tonight, but this ended up being more planned than I intended. Regardless, she showed more than the usual amount of affection in front of her friends... good sign always. Anyway, the goal is to -- now that she's expressed a "I actually do give a shit" attitude toward me-- follow up by completely ignoring her. Most guys understand this. Girls probably think I'm a creep if I do this, but think back to the guy that called you 8 times after you made out with him a week before. Did you like that sort of thing? I didn't think so.

--- as a side, I give DC a lot of leeway because of her relationship baggage with a guy that seems to follow her around like a wounded puppy. Seriously, this guy is pathetic. She calls him a stalker, but really he just harmlessly shows up and makes her feel guilty about enjoying another man's company. So there's that. --

4. Successfully get my Christmas stocking and whatever else might belong to me from the E-house. Ever since the freak breakup with my ex (once ex-fiancee, then just ex) things have not been smooth between us. For one, she has yet to show up in public with the guy she's dating. Because, A. I'd choke him with his own arm, and B. She knows I'd make a scene... and she knows I'd make a scene ONLY because I'm one of the few people in this town that can get away with it. So-- in short, I need my shit back, bitch. So I hope that goes bloodlessly.

Now I'm going to enjoy some recently-cooked frozen pizza and see if there are any new pictures of NFL cheerleaders on the sports illustrated website. Cheers!

Notoriety

I'm putting myself on a mandatory no-text, no-call order for the next 24 hours. If anyone is expecting to hear from me tomorrow, it's not going to happen. Sadly, relatively few people will be affected by this moratorium of communication, but I think it will offer me a healthy dose of truth--- in knowing just how many people will call ME after they see that I haven't called them.

One of those people are DC. This girl had me wound around her little finger one night-- after island hopping under canopies while it was raining on the way to her house, kissing under each one, then finally saying goodnight. Then yesterday--- nothing. And today, nothing. Rejected? Of course, I feel rejected. But she's fucking crazy. How should I know if she's planning it all out like this or if she just changed her mind? I just know texting her or calling her tomorrow won't be a good idea. And for that to be an effective (not affective) plan, I have to impose a no-call, no-text order on everyone.

Also, I like how my stats spiked significantly after I posted the map. Hence the name of this blog. Yea... y'all can eat it. I know you're watching and surprisingly for you, I couldn't care less.

Say, stick around a while and keep reading. You might actually find out a few things about normal people and how they live. If all else fails, you can find out how this really weird motherfucker lives his life. I guarantee you, it's freakin' crazy.

Oh-- and for the record..... JUST to freak you guys out... (talking about my friends in Las Vegas) I have only this to say:

Christy, if you ever need tips on sights to see in the Ozarks, you should definitely buy a Tim Ernst book. Look him up on Amazon. He's got a kickass guide on Arkansas waterfalls. Seriously.

Look familiar, anybody? Surprise! I see you too!

I really hope the person under that arrow doesn't think I'm incapable of connecting two very simple dots.

anyone up for frenchin'?

I don't really know why Frenching is called "Frenching", but I assume it has something to do with France being queer. Not as in gay, even though they all kind of are, but as in just not right. If someone sees a couple sitting on a bench in the shade of an elm, lips locked, but at least a few inches of space between their hips... as in they're both sitting down, facing body-forward, but turned to embrace, then they are merely kissing.

"French" kissing is the kind of stuff that leads to French ticklers, and more importantly, sex, which we all know is pretty much the meaning of life. Good things. Anyway.

So not texting or calling DC really paid off tonight. Not that I credit the entire evening's fortune to ignoring her, but I think it might have helped... especially since I found out that last night, when I gave her the balloon flower, she was "ON THE PHONE" with her stalker-- desperately telling him to NOT come over to her house. Obviously she couldn't say that at the time, but she did genuinely dig the gift. Plus, tonight she initiated the kissing not once, not twice, but three times. Before then, I pretty much made all the moves. She either just received them, and kissed back, or would put me on the spot by saying, "What are you doing!?" Twitch, I say, "Could you hold still while I kiss you? Thanks."

We were in her car when she dropped me off and I had just finished telling her (jokingly) that she is the master of mixed signals. I leaned in for a kiss and she practically dove for it. She gave it quite a bit more effort than usual, and I felt the heat in her breath as she kind of panted in resistance. I swear, if I had better hearing, I may have even heard a whimper in her voice. So, having detected desperation, I made it easy for her by pulling away almost immediately and following her empty advice to "have a good night". I turned and began grasping for the door handle, but failed. I searched for only a second before finding it-- then just when my hand reached the latch, I heard a loud "click". I pulled the handle... nothing. She'd locked the damn doors. So I look at my feet, then the mosaic of raindrops on the windshield, then at her lips. All I remember is closing my eyes and meeting her, finally feeling her hand on my neck as we kissed. That's when you know it's truly consensual. It's not a one-way pucker, but a real embrace. Finally, my doubts all along were settled... she wasn't just weirdly charitable about letting me kiss her... she'd been enjoying it this entire time, and she was enjoying it at that moment.

I don't think she's ever looked so beautiful to me before as when she sat there, mouth gaping, struggling to force some combination of clever words out-- but coming up dry. That's right, ladies and gentlemen... I successfully rendered the girl of my dreams speechless. Monumental victory for me... fodder for denial for her.

The struggle continues, though, but I will keep you informed as I try my best not to fuck this up, and mainly, by her suggestion to just "relax."



------
Conversation with a bouncer friend at George's.
Bouncer: Hey Mullis!"
ME: " "Dude, my name isn't Mullis."
Bouncer: "I know, I'm just fuckin' with ya."
ME: "Just call me ---t, man, everyone else does."
Bouncer: "Okay... Mullis."
ME: "Dude, seriously... the next time you call me Mullis, I'm going to pop you in the face."'
Bouncer: "Oh, that'd be stupid. I'd kick your ass."
ME: "Maybe, but I'd still hit you once, and it's going to fucking hurt."
Bouncer: "Ha ha ha... ok.. ok, ---t."
ME: "Thank you."

Reconstruction

So, a number of things have kinda hit the fan. My family has basically decided we're all a bunch of winners. Sister's battery is dead, and a new one is like 60 bucks. She broke up with her boyfriend, which gives me mixed feelings. A week after she gives him the key to our apartment, he gets the axe. I liked this guy, too. He was really the only one who treated her like a lady and didn't get freaky jealous when she hung out with her friends (basically other guys that are like brothers to her). He was protective, but not to a fault. This guy had a lot of integrity and honor, but like so many people I know, his life was basically stuck in "N".

Speaking of "N", that's kind of where I'm at right now. I'm going through the motions with the unemployment stuff, and scheduling interviews with prospective jobs. I met a guy last night who knows the owner of a graphics company. He doesn't know if there's a job opening or not, but I'm willing to check it out. The only hitch is that it's located in Bentonville. Really, I hate the idea of going on the bypass for work every day. I imagine that one day, some soccer mom is going to cut me off causing me to spin out and eat shit in the median grass. Here's an FU in advance, lady.

I caught myself acting crazy last night. DC made a beeline home after the bar closed, leaving me with a very lame hug goodnight. Plus, when she answered the phone earlier, she said, "Hey friend!" Anyway, earlier in the day, I bought her this two dollar balloon flower from a guy who was making balloon animals for kids at the mall. It was a yellow flower, and I thought she'd get a kick out of it because she spent 10 minutes telling me how much she loves yellow roses. I gave her shit for picking out a flower color that symbolizes friendship, twhich she denied having anything to do with her affinity for that particular color. But here and there, she kept hinting at me to not act crazy and "relax!"

So as calmly as I could, I chased her down and caught up with her. She turned around, and said, "I'm on the phone!" Wow. Here, I just wanted to give you this.

Pause.

Once she realized what it was, she started laughing and beating me with it. Good sign? I don't know. I hope she can tell the difference between me just being assertive and a psycho stalker. Just to be on the safe side, I'm not going to call or text her today and let her miss me a little. Or tomorrow, maybe. Knowing her, it may take more than one day. I'll let her go ahead and call me. After all, how shitty would it be to give her that flower (even a balloon one) and not even get a call in the next 48 hours? Okay, that's pretty anal, but really. Three whole days? C'mon, gimme something!

So right now I'm waiting on my sister to get home with my laundry, then I'm gonna hang out with KBT. He's wanting to go shopping, but I think there may be food involved later. We all know how great food can be, huh? Eh? Good stuff.

Oh yea--- I finally saw The Golden Compass a couple days ago. Man, it was awesome. I'm not usually a fan of movies with a child actor(s) as the main character(s) (Narnia made me want to vomit). But this one was pretty damn good. Sam Elliot even has a cameo, and guess who he plays? WTFLOLOMG... himself. It's GREAT! Hah... anyway.

Ups, DHL, and Downs

ADD: Marc, I'm sorry for calling you out. I don't know why I lashed at you like that. Maybe I just needed someone to blame. I know in truth, the only person to blame is myself. I'm still in that whole "this is all bullshit" phase, but I'll get over it and move on soon. Reading what I wrote yesterday, I feel like low-bred scum. I don't know how I allowed myself to get so low. Here is my public apology to you. I'm so very sorry.

***

I can't take it all out on someone that "might" have tattled on me. For all I know, it could be my own fault. Still, I really don't think I deserved to lose my job for getting some tea while I was sick, then later, when I felt a little better, going to pick up my sister's boyfriend from work because she was asleep---nursing herself after catching whatever I had. Apparently, the management sees it another way.

I can't stay mad forever. Either I sit here and bitch about it all day long or I dry those almost-tears forming in the corner of my eye and start filling out applications. Do I have a choice? So many people expect me to be strong and carry on. Some people even laughed and said "No way". My mother didn't even believe me when I told her. It took my sister's firm confirmation in order to gather her acceptance.

I really wonder, even though I have no way of knowing, if anyone will miss me. I know exactly who won't, but I hope the ones I liked will. I know I'll miss them.

Anywho... tomorrow I'll be heading over to the unemployment office and filling out paperwork most of the day. Then around 4:30, I have a date with Ms. Danielle, who finally agreed to hanging out with me. Part of me thinks it shouldn't be so hard to get a date with someone you might be destined to be with, the other part thinks it definitely shouldn't be easy.

Also, something that's much harder than finding a new job, harder than leaving the best job I ever had behind, and harder than telling everyone I know all at once that I lost it.....

Telling my dad.

Interrogation.

Not cool.

Some of my favorite things in life include

HELL YEA! BOOYA!

1. Reconnecting with my inner skater. Thanks to Henry and the donation of his old board, I was able to get acquainted with the acrylic wheel against cold, hard, scratchy, scar-producing pavement. At 3:10 AM. This is the best time, especially since I was hoping that my psycho neighbor downstairs would come out just as I was burning the curb next to her empty mailbox (no gov'ment cheese coming today BEE-YEATCH.)

2. Going to Mickey Finn's. I love that bar. Especially when I know so many people who will say "Oh, I won't go there. It's impossible to get a drink (yet I seem to get peppered every time I go).

3. Danielle. You damn vixen. I finally got the best of you tonight. Jesus, I had no idea your lips were so soft. Maybe now you believe that I'm truly smitten.

4. The onset of winter. JeeeeeeeZUSS, it was bitterly cold tonight. What a wonderful feeling. That made the experience of #3 so much better (cold air; warm lips) for me and (I think) everyone involved. Not to mention the fact that it might actually snow this year (thanks Al Gore, for predicting Global Warming, which could actually result in an early Nuclear Winter.)

5. Parenthesis. Aren't they great? (yes.)

5.5. Not having to work tomorrow. Here's a big ole FUCK WORK. Raise your glass if you have one. If not, raise your pen, because I know you're at work if you're reading this without a drink handy. Cough* M.... *Cough

6. Nicknames. Apparently, my new nickname is Conan. Ain't that the shit?

No really, I love it when...

Our ugly, redneck psycho neighbor downstairs decides to come out in her pj's at 4AM to tell us we woke her up playing on our "skateboard".

When some asshole that calls himself "Joe" tried to convince my sister he was ex-Navy S.E.A.L., yet allowed me to escort him out of Finn's without incident.

Sarah showed up at Arsaga's and, immediately, seeing me with my laptop, demanded I show her the pictures I took the other night, then without hesitation, listed all the ones she wanted me to give her as prints "at least 11x14". Very nice.

Finally, I really love it when my boss calls me and says, "Oh, you're sick... dude, that sucks. By the way, we need to have a formal talk. Some stuff has come up." --- this is where I start looking around for other jobs. AWA is looking good right now. 7:30 AM shift time.... not so good.

Lastly, A'sG telling me that A is "sleepy" and they're not coming out. To which I replied heartily, "Horseshit."

Wait-- one more thing-- sketchy girls. You know who you are. Stop putting some tit out there for the attention and then act surprised when a guy is offended after you shoot him down for the 3rd time. Jesus. Give us a clue.

Not that I've ever been shot down before... cough... *ZAP*

Okay God, so I've been shot down a few times. Jesus. *ZAP*.

Damnit! *ZAP*

Fuck!

..... Fuck... really? Fuck is okay? Sweet! FUUUUUUUCK!

ha ha...

........


....

..

*ZAP*

GS:LDkfJ:LKJ!!!!!!

A response to an ever-present schmoe.

Reminiscent of Mr. Poe, if I do say so.
You speak of a woe
that only few can know.
A woe so oft thrown,
yet few catch and own.
But, sir, I myself row
When I thinkst' you think us a foe.
There for, I say: I dis'gree so.
No. No. No. No.

Oooooooooooobama.

Speaking of the impossible, did anyone catch that game last night? Jeez. The hogs took home the Golden Boot as they snuffed out LSU in the 3rd OT, which as many headlines are reading "crushed any BCS dreams" LSU may have had. In a way, I kinda feel bad for them. If it weren't Arkansas, then I'd feel like LSU was a good team that got beat by a bullshit team. Like when we lost to Vanderbilt at home a few years back ('04).

Everyone says the game ball goes to D-Mac, but he's got enough freakin' balls already. I'm giving it to Peyton Hillis and Matteral Richardson. Hillis consistently converted 3rd downs throughout, and Matteral recognized the OBVIOUS slant patterns they were running with 3 wide-outs. (Like, I dunno... all fucking night?)

Continuing on. I was having a conversation with a friend last night about how people tend to walk all over me. It's true, I'm too nice. But I can be a real dickhead sometimes. It happens. Anyway, here's my train of thought:

Booooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

Next topic. Thanksgiving went exceptionally well. Dad gave my sister and I the spoils afterwards, so now we'll have lunchmeat for the next year few days. Awesome.

Oh, next up--- I have a few new additions to my shit-list.

1. Alex's girlfriend.
Crimes: screening my calls when I'm trying to get in touch with Alex. Following me around town and when I finally stopped, she got out to see if Alex was with me (he wasn't). Being an all-around bee-yatch.

2. Sarah, Leigh, and Amanda.... SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT HAVING ME TAKE YOUR PHOTOS. Yea, you guys say you want pics done, and then you don't call for two weeks, then I see you out somewhere and you say, "When are we going to get my photos done?" Pfffft. Bitch, they ain't your photos yet. That involves money.

3. Jordan, from the bar. Stop being such an uptight prick. Seriously, man, it's not sexy. You're a fucktard.

The Hillary Question

So out it comes, my comprehensive opinion toward the presidential candidates, which I know you've all been waiting faithfully to read.

First things first. Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton, the first woman to run for President of the US. Very cool. Yes, she has experience. Sure, she's got a nice voting record. Hell, she's made huge improvements toward being more familial toward Americans-- a feat I credit to her massively funded campaign staff, but it's worthwhile effort regardless.

Senator Clinton has come under fire over several "hot button" issues. One issue is her stance on immigration. She says "comprehensive reform" which I absolutely hate to agree with some pundits out there that "comp. reform" is simply code for "universal amnesty". It really is.
Immigration policy today reminds me of playing tag in the playground when I was 10. You had areas designated at "base" and everywhere else, you just had to run like hell to avoid being "it". Maybe it's more like hide-and-go seek, now that I think about it. The idea of unAmericanized people streaming into the country scares the bejesus out of me. Don't get me wrong. American is not to be confused with "white". All immigrants (legal) take an oath to receive citizenship. Hell, just to be a "resident" you have to take a crash course in American history.
The fact that hundreds of thousands of illegal immigrants see a quick and easy way to make money, most of whom send it back home to a dilapidated country (don't get me wrong, I feel bad for them, despite their pride) freaks me out. Sadly, there are established immigrants and okay-withs who see a chance to take advantage. They offer consistent work for shit-wages. For years, the US trumpeted the idea that anyone can have anything.

Dare I say, we've made it too easy ?

There's another thing. Clinton is under fire for claiming to have an edge as a leader because she is a "mother and a wife". This disgusts me, but there are many who are hitting back by saying what kind of wife would stay with a cheating husband? I supposed those people have never watched a single episode of Dr. Fuckin' Phil. There are those that say, "oh sure, it's easy for her to be a good wife and mother... she's filthy rich!" Oy. I'm sorry, but that's just freakin' moot. Nothing changes the fact that you're a mother, or a sister, or a brother or a father, a daughter or son. And if I were to subscribe to the fact that she may be different with money--- I can say this. It didn't come without her working her ass off for it in the first place.

My hand is getting tired typing this one-handed and jerking off with the other, so I'll wrap up this part with these words. Don't vote for Hillary because you're a woman. Don't vote for her because you're a friend of an immigrant. Don't vote for her because she'll provide universal health care.

Vote for her because you believe that her experience and wisdom as a politician outweighs the decades of corruption that she has swum through-- and that said corruption has not sculpted her policy.

Okay, I can't take it anymore anyway-- I'm voting for Obama. He's a one-time senator from Illinois, and he's exactly the kinda shaker-upper we need in Washington. Obama's humble. Obama understands the separation of powers. Obama may have a very short voting record-- but I say we need a man who hasn't had a chance to be corrupted by greedy SI groups. Obama all the way, baby!

Can you tell I wasn't sober?

An update on my following of the rules

Considering that my sister and I took a celebratory outing Monday evening to commemorate the small success of us finding a place to live and carrying out the move-in like two responsible adults, I felt that rule number one was made to be broken this week. I was in a situation where, like so many times a beautiful girl tried to use my good nature as a ledge from which to leap into the arms of a mysterious stranger. It was a sharp reminder that I have to trust my gut when it comes to these women.

Then, last night, I went out to meet a friend of mine and he never showed up. I was disappointed, but kind of relieved at the same time. I went home, ate a ham sandwich and watched Havana with Robert Redford. Then, I watched the Three Burials of MELQUIADES ESTRADA with Tommy Lee Jones. Both are good films. The latter, I felt, was masterful. Havana was a typical low-action mystery/romance. 3BME kept the tension like quiet thunder.




Rule number two has only been followed to an extent. The moving really gave me a workout and could be the breakthrough I need to keep pushing myself.

Three- my laundry is done. All my clothes are clean... Now I just have to find a washer and dryer for the new apartment and put it to action.

Saving up is hard to do, but I've managed to stretch less than $30 over the entire weekend and still have a great time.

I've followed rule number 5 with the exception of a McDonald's Double Cheese Burger right after we moved into the apartment.

I've done well by rule number 6, but haven't followed through completely. My responses to an article published yesterday (found here) were written on a small notepad at work, which I plan to discuss later today.

Finally, rule number 7 has been my biggest achievement. I figured out that there are some things I will not do and smoke at the same time. These things are merely distractions but one of them is writing. Following rule 6 will help with rule 7 by default. I will also not smoke while playing games or taking photos, so these activities will see an increase in the following weeks.

For those of you too lazy to look below at the rules, here they are:

1. Go out no more than once a week.
2. Generally exercise when I have the time.
3. Do laundry once a week.
4. Start saving up for something.
5. No more fried foods.
6. Write what I think more often.
7. Kick the smoking thing in the ass.

Last, I'll update in a few days with some photos of my new apartment. A while back I did a post on alternative lighting. Since the landlord has given me somewhat free reign over painting, light fixtures and cleaning the place up, I'll have an opportunity to get a little wacky with the lights. Should be fun.

Still can't sleep

I figured if I'm going to be an insomniac, I might as well put rule #3 into action. I think I need refuge. This place is swallowing me up and every time I look around, I see my failure to be responsible. There's crap laying everywhere, dirty clothes (mostly my sister's both the crap and the clothes) but still-- it's consuming me. As soon as I have enough clothes clean for tomorrow, I think I'm going to go to my mom's house and crash there.

Maybe it's the stress. I've always been able to just brush off stress, mentally at least, but there must be some breaking point where stress takes so much physical toll that the body reacts by not letting you sleep until you say "Okay! Goddamnit, I understand!"

Well, I wish it were as easy as just saying that and going to sleep, but my body likes to make a point and grind it in as deep as possible. No, that's not supposed to be sexual, either. Perverts.

Maybe some positive thoughts will do the trick. Today I felt really great about work. At around 6pm, the police scanners picked up radio alert that a bank had just been robbed. I watched the copy editor saunter into the photo office and see if he could round up a photographer. He came back with the photo editor, who asked me if I had my camera. It's always in my car, so I said, "Yep."
"Need you to go cover this bank robbery. It's on sunset, that's all we know."
So I got in gear and took off for Sunset. They had no idea which bank, or what part of sunset (it's a 3 mile stretch, with stoplights at almost every block). As I drummed on the steering wheel, puffing away at a smoke to calm my nerves, I saw a flash of yellow tape. I realized the patrol cars probably wouldn't have their lights flashing, so I rubbernecked and saw the reflective pinstripes on a car parked just beside Regions bank.

I had no idea what the protocol was for shooting this kind of thing, but from seeing other photos the staff (real) photographers had taken, I assumed they stayed at a safe distance and waited for an appropriate time to get some quotes from the directing officer, in this case, a Lieutenant who was at the scene. After I shot the scene, I interviewed him and got back to the office. Apparently I'd beaten the reporter to the scene and even got to the office with the photos uploaded before he'd even started writing.

I noticed he was dragging up older bank robbery stories and following their formats. I kinda wondered if that was a standard op for writers, but it seems to me that it would hinder originality. Then again, how original is robbing a bank? There's only so many ways you can write it, and if you get too flashy, people could be confused into thinking it's not really a bank robbery story.

The best part is that I was so ahead in my work that I managed to step away to shoot the robbery, come back to the office and catch up, then take a dinner break with a co-worker, come back to the office again and finish right at 11:05pm. My goal for weeknights is always 11pm.

Earlier in the day, I volunteered for a photo assignment early Saturday morning which would give me about 4 hours of extra work for Saturday, a day that I usually spend 10 or 11 hours at work due to university football games.

Wow. It's amazing to me how soothing talking about work is. This is the first full-time job I've ever had and I think I had a feeling when I started out that I was really gonna blow it. Not to jinx it now, but even coming this far makes me proud of myself. I've managed to get a job where if I really pull for it, I can get photo assignments like a staff photographer would. So far, I've covered three football games, some historic stagecoach commemoration event (Butterfield Trail Stagecoach) and then this bank robbery. It's pretty puny for 7 months of employment, but I nabbed the Adventure Race just by volunteering. Even though I have to get up at 5AM Saturday morning, it'll feel good to be back behind the lens. It's even cooler when I submit the work and later in the day get to edit my own photos just like I do for the staff photographers. I feel like even for a little while, I got to be part of a team. It's hard to feel like that with what I normally do, because my regular job is sitting in a dark room, updating the website and toning digital photos. Professional shit, I know.

Hard-to-the-core.

Well, I feel a little better now. Time to take the laundry out.

Time to take it down a notch

It's possible that I'm becoming the kind of person that people either love or hate. After the cataclysmic breakup from my ex, I basically went from a slow, downward dwindle to a lifestyle of darting back and forth between good judgment and irresponsibility.

Before then, I had every important person in my life tucked into specific areas...the ones who do bad things vs. those who do good, people who have direction and those that wander, people who crave attention and those who shun it.

My body has been getting very mad at me lately, and to spare you the details, let's just say that everyday wounds have been taking longer to heal. It's harder to wake up and get my day started-- although I've always been a bitch to deal with in the morning. Now, I'm seeming like a bitch to even myself.
Stubbing my toe on the way to my morning pee.
Hating very bright light.
Finding myself in situations where I'm having to throw the passenger out of my car, literally.
Rejoicing at even the slightest bit of good luck when similar things would barely earn a smile before.

Am I depressed? I don't think so. I think I am just finding happiness in some of the wrong places. I'm saddened when I realized that now that I'm in a position to care only for myself, I'm doing a shitty job. Am I supposed to wring a future parent out of who I am today? If I had to begin such a thing tomorrow, would I fall to pieces or be stronger in nine months?

Thankfully, I won't have to find out.

A lot of people think I'm joking when I tell them that I've taken a vow of celibacy. I thought this would make an impact on how I felt about life, but it hasn't. It's changed the way I view women, seeing as how I don't let flashes of get-in-her-pants instinct jostle my core like it used to. I get them and they pass, like a craving for a candy bar.

I don't know what's worse... planning to get a pack of cigarettes on the way home, and forgetting to stop at Walgreens, thereby continuing a bad habit--- or remembering once I'm home and just being too lazy to go a few blocks up the road and get it done.

I don't want to be in situations like that anymore. I don't want to have to limit my conversation the first hour or so that I'm up-- for fear that while I have a laugh, a phlem biscuit will come shooting out.

I don't want to look at the last 20 bucks I have in my pocket and try to calculate the impact that buying one more drink will have on the next day's budget.

So, right here, right now, I'm making a few rules for myself. They are paltry rules for a Jeffersonian, but for me, I think the strict application of these rules will push me back on to the path of having a healthy, productive, and enjoyable lifestyle.

1. Go out no more than once a week. It'll save money and my liver will thank me.
2. Walk more, stretch more, and generally exercise when I have the time.
3. Do laundry once a week, even if there isn't much to do.
4. Start saving up for something. Anything. Put money aside that I will not touch.
5. No more fried foods.
6. Since I read news stories all day, and form opinions on just about all of them, I should make a better effort to write those opinions down. I want to be healthy and wealthy when I do finally have kids, but I want them to have something of mine to prove that I was young, poor and stupid once-- just like they are/will be/have been.
7. Kick the smoking thing in the ass. I don't know how but I'm just going to try to smoke much much less.

That's it for now. I'll think of new rules as I go along, or when these rules are consistently adhered to. Eventually I'll expand on #2, setting more specific goals for my P.E.

This one's gonna be a gem, for sure...

What a day. When I woke up today, all I really had the intention of doing was getting my phone back from the guy who found it at the bar last Sunday; getting a cup of coffee; looking for a place to live; and going to work with the idea that I might finish early enough to grab a beer afterwards.

Well, all of the above actually happened, and then some.

First of all--- to the guys. Have you ever wondered to yourself-- nay-- fantasized about how you would hold up if you were to go mano-y-mano with a virtual stranger? Let's say it's a friend of a friend that just didn't really rub you the right way. You always had it in for him. You've kinda dreamed about him making the wrong move, saying the wrong thing, or even, for the extremists out there, grabbing your girlfriend's tit. How would you muster in a toe-to-toe, man-to-man, all out call out?

Tonight, I found out how I'd do.

First, let me chop the tension into pieces by saying that I won.

"Won?" The girls say, rolling their eyes. "This isn't a competition..." "That's so macho..." "Real men don't fight."

To you, ladies, I say... bullshit.

As I was trying to drive a friend-of-a-friend home tonight, he got violent and tried to grab the steering wheel of my car, and swerved it into the left lane. I fought him off in the car long enough to pull over to the nearest gas station, then got out (keys out of the ignition) and opened the passenger door. Then, I grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him out of my car, across the pavement, and onto the grass.

For those of you that know where I live, this is the EZ Mart off N. Leverette.

Once he realized, "Hey, my ass is really wet because the guy who almost crashed his car because I grabbed the steering wheel just dragged me into the grass at this gas station parking lot." He stood up and challenged me.

Nevermind that. I ignored him. But then he had to run up and pound on the hood of my car as I was trying to pull out.

So I put it in park. I got out. He swung, missed. Swung again, I blocked it. I had a good shot, but it looked like he was backing off, so I didn't take it. Then he swung again, and I blocked it and served him a right hook that sunk him like a sandbag on a New Orleans beach.

The good news is, I found a really cool place earlier today.

I wonder, now, if I'm going to be known as the guy who kicked Mammal's ass. Probably not.

A few things.

It's Halloween! Everyone knows this is the one holiday that replicates Valentine's Day, only instead of boyfriends getting the bare skin treatment from their girlfriends, EVERYONE gets to observe massive amounts of cleavage and leggage on this most holy day. That's all I really need to say on the subject. I look forward to going out tonight and finding out just how low we can go. Tonight I'm going to what's known here as The Electric Cowboy, which is just one of a chain of EC's in the dirty south.

I've never been there before, but I think Halloween will ease the swallowing of a this reality-altering redneck pill.


And for the fiction fans... here's the beginning of a little story.

I enter a room with no windows, a door behind me and a door to my right. As I see him, I approach, stopping at the center of a small oval rug. The rug gradients red, from where it is closest to him, to a dirt-stained white, toward the entrance. Even without movement, the floor moans. In some places, I can see dusty air venting through the fault lines of ancient wood.

Lazarus sits before me in a tan and brown armchair. The chair is a threadbare fossil from the 1980's. The armrests are worn down to the wood under Lazarus' elbows. A tiny light fixture hangs from the ceiling and shines on his hat, just inches above. The rim of his austral bush hat casts a shadow that falls all the way to his thighs. His dungaree knees shone and under them sat a pair of motionless shitkickers.

"You're late," he croaked. The huge brim slowly tilted upward, but still concealed his face in darkness. As my eyes adjusted I could see a tinted yellow underbite and a stubbled chin. I tried to think of an answer. I tested the grit of my own chin, rubbing it between my thumb and fingers--only to find it feeling feminine and pointless. Suddenly everything about me became pointless. Brick after brick, the temple I had built of my body demolished. Like a black hole, the relevance of facial hair was sucked into this man's mouth-- hurdling forward, leaving me naked and useless.

I tried to remember the words of my teacher, but it was as though I was deep in a dream and my body had sent word to my mind that it had stopped functioning. Air. I need air, I thought. For all my will to break free, I was frozen. I surged into myself, devoting everything to simply breaking away from this. Finally, my arm snapped and I spun away, hitting the wall and sliding down to the floor.

Lazarus stood up and I scrambled to find his face-- but the light evaded him. He moved so that only his knees and the top of his hat were visible-- and the stony row of teeth that sat atop a sunken lip. I tried to remember the words of my teacher, but they would not come. They were there, in front of my mind, but the darkness of the room ate them all away. I was useless to move. My eyes darted back and forth between the two bright blue knees and the top of his obscene hat. Boldness. They fear the bold. Fear begets hate and courage begets love. My mind ran away from all the correct things and I found that I, laying there in the corner of the wall, could only think about sex. The soft skin of a young woman. The inviting eyes of a wanton, the lactic breasts of a venusian woman. Images of lust formed a nickelodeon in my head. Boldness. The word came again and again until it was all I could picture.

I reached up against the wall and felt for something to grab on. Nothing. I looked down at my legs and summoned them. Up, damnit! Move!

The room went pitch for a moment and I found myself looking at Lazarus in his decrepit chair, with his hat on his lap. I was standing in the center of the rug, at ease. His face revealed itself under the light, which seemed liquid in the way it revived.

"Lazarus..." I said.
"Don't be late again. Or there will be hell to pay," he said, brandishing his smile. Only then did I recognize him. Sags of skin tentacled from his chin to his chest. His cheeks drooped so that under his eyes were cheshire moons of red, wet flesh. He was hideous. Wires of white hair flew from his scalp. His ears covered more than half the side of his head, and his lips were white. He was disgusting. He was the oldest human being on earth.

tbc..

rules.

rule number 1.

never trust people who say, "It's all good."
In fact, knock them out as quickly as humanly possible.

rule number 2.

if a woman says, "I'm not from around here."
Tell her to go back home.

rule number 3.
if a dude dresses up as the devil on Halloween, but acts a fool... knock him out. It's the devil. Nobody cares.

rule number 4.
never.... ever... EVER let someone tell you what you think. The people that put words in our mouths are called lawyers. Only then can someone speak for you. No exceptions.

rule number 5.
IF you see the cops laughing right before you get pulled aside, you are fucked. if you see them frowning, you are fucked. As a matter of fact, if the cops pull you aside... you're fucked. The only exception to this rule is if you know the cop because you both went to the same high school and you let him cheat off your test during senior year final exams in order for him to get his diploma.

That is all.

Oh-- oh... one more thing. I am giving the world 5... count them.... 5 more chances to provide me with a person that lives up to their word. Failure to comply will result in total annihilation. No exceptions.

Furthermore... the word of the day is "Worthy". Think about it. Tell me what it means to you. It's a strong, historical, spiritual and Anglican word. Make it happen.

My God.

Instead of writing some kind of predetermined narrative, I'm just going to spit a few gems out there.

One of my best friends, who offered to buy my drinks tonight, since I was utterly broke, actually walked up to me at the bar as I was talking to a fuckalicious beautiful woman and said, "Here. (handing me $7) This is your food money."

I've discovered that I can nail anyone from any distance (within reason) with a penny. I was taking requests at a dollar per to bean the person of their choice with a very well thrown coin. The only problem, though, was convincing the angry dude with the pony tail and bright green shirt (easy target) that I had nothing to do with the ensuing laughter after his pelt in the forehead with an Abe Lincoln roundy.

My sister is the coolest roommate I've ever had. Tonight, on my way home, I called her back at 2:30 AM (thinking she wouldn't answer, because she was originally calling about the electricity being shut off.... not that I would know anything about that) only to find that she had a "couple" (I.E., FIVE) people over, and that one of them was getting a tattoo. She was calling me to warn me, and to tell me not to make any sudden/loud noises when I walked in. As it happens, Sulu, whose real name is Scott (as in Scotty from Star Trek), whose last name I won't offer for his own sake, was doing a badass tattoo in my dining room.

Now, I am actually a photographer, even though I'm trying to be ambiguous about my occupation/identity. And seeing this in my living room stirred up some artistic obligation on my part. So I went into the mode. If you know who I really am, you'll look at my other blog and see the photos that ensued.

To my millions of readers:

Don't feel bad about not commenting on that last post. It was actually a challenge from a friend of mine to see if I could write about lighting.

I noticed on the myspace main page that Will Smith has a new movie coming out. "I Am Legend" starring Will Smith.... and only him. Before you get too excited, this movie is actually just another last-man-on-earth-because-everyone-else-has-been-killed-by-a-genetically-engineered-virus-flick.

But there's one twist. First, it doesn't happen in suburbia, as was the case in Dawn of the Dead. It it doesn't happen in London, like 28 days/weeks later. It's actually in NYC. It's no wonder to me why NYC is the assumed target of an international attack on the United States. Every blockbuster world-ending movie Hollywood produces has NYC earmarked for devastation. Isn't this getting a little old?

Godzilla (released in 2000), The Day After Tomorrow, Deep Impact, 1-18-08 (set to be released on Jan 18, '08), and just about every other movie in which a cataclysmic disaster occurs. Why does Hollywood shit on NYC so much?

Well, now the Big Apple can have the last laugh as the flames of hell kick the shit out of San Boobjob Valley. No, that's actually not how I feel.

I am a little upset that Bush is expected to visit the area tomorrow-- isn't disaster supposed to occur after he arrives? In a weird way, I think Bush is going there just to take notes. "Oh yes, I like what you've done here, Satan... heh heh heh heh."

It also pisses me off that all the folks who have evacuated are being federally pampered while New Orleaners are still living in shitholes and drinking their own urine. What the fuck is wrong with you, George Bush? Get a clue, you daft son of a bitch.

That's enough until I get upset again. Won't be long.

alternative lighting

Today I'd like to discuss alternative lighting. I will share a few examples of how specific light sources create a mood that can alter (hence the alternative) what would have been a neutral scenario. In the photography world, the closest anyone can come to a neutral light source is that projected by the sun on a cloudy day. The clouds act as an atmospheric diffuser. I'm not talking about cartoony Super Mario Bros. clouds, but ethereal blanket of almost-precipitation.

This produces an even glow of low-contrast, low-shadow illumination. It's almost dull.

Now that we've defined neutral light, let's continue.

In offices, the lights are bright and redundant-- usually florescent fixtures of patchwork among the plaster ceiling tiles. This is intended to keep an alert, undramatic, atmosphere in order to create highly efficient employees out of the plebes working in it.

In diners and restaraunts, it varies greatly. The idea is always to make the floor as invisible as possible, distracting you from the mess left by crummy eaters. The tables are lit with muted fixtures and almost always, lights pointed at the walls are the only things revealing the room's dimensions.

In bars, the light almost always hang from the ceiling, are low-wattage, and offer only puddles and pools of light. In any case, the less light, the better. The bar is always the best-lit area, next to the stage. All that is offered otherwise are bright spots that sharply turn a dark corner into a triangle of brightness, with swirls of smoke ghosting in and out of its path, and sprays of dust flickering at a pace other than reality. If there are pool tables, notice that the lights are arranged in the same proportion as the table. Typically 3 lights encased in a 1 x 3 ft rectangular vase. Rarely does this bright box extend past the edges of the table itself.

Notice also that the lights become brighter as you delve further within the bar. It is darkest near the door (imagine why?) yet the back wall is showered with striplights that show bourgeois (yes I just said bourgeois, stfu) art donated to the bar by indebted tab holders.

Finally, I think of the bedroom. There's never a way to describe the average bedroom's light, since it depends on an array of factors that range from income to preference. Some people are lamp lovers, others enjoy the installed lighting attached to a fan that all-too-often wobbles squeakily on its highest setting. And even still, there are those that appreciate a simple desk light and a small lamp on the night stand.

If I had a choice, I would light my room the same way as a restaurant. I would want only the dimensions of the room revealed, and possibly flex-tube lighting that lines the molding where the walls meet the floor.

Please, comment and let me know what you envision the perfect lighting situation for a bedroom would be.

Moment(s) of Truth(s)

First, I'd like to share with you a kind letter I wrote to my sister, placed atop of box full of my ruined clothing. It goes a little something like this:

A,

Not trying to be a huge A-hole or anything, but seriously, these are all the clothes in my room that your cat(s) either pooped or peed all over. Most of them were inside the box already. Some were on the floor.

Every time I come home, I am greeted by the fresh scent of grade-A cat shit/piss.

I know I am not a scholar in the art of cleanliness, but this is at least 1/2 the clothing I planned to wear this winter.

Do with these items what you will: wash, trash, burn or construct inefficient wind kites. They are very much more yours than mine now.

-W



Secondly,

I just witness what is possibly the most grotesque display of drunkenness in my life. Crater, Beandip and Tenicious D, otherwise known as TD (who is a female) were being driven home by yours truly. The entire way home, I had learned that Mitts, TD's boyfriend, had gone AWOL earlier in the evening. Keep in mind that I got off work at roughly midnight, CST. That allowed me to arrive at roughly half-past, leaving me approximately an hour and some to get soused and hang out. In that time, apparently Mitts went to fetch his dog from some random guy's a friend of our's house down the road.

Long story short, everybody (and by everybody, I mean anyone who isn't me) lost track of Matt. TD and Beandip went looking for him, found him, and was promptly shoved off with a very quaint "Fuck you, fuck everybody" from Mr. AWOL, a.k.a., Mitts.

I, being my chivalrous self, offered everyone a ride. (And by everyone, I meant anyone who isn't Mitts.)

The entire fucking way back to Mitt and TD's house (which is actually rented by Crater as well) TD is kicking and screaming in the back seat to be let out on the street, dog in tow, to go look for Mitts herself. We are pleading with her to please please just shut the fuck up. We finally arrive to Mitt's, and I promise TD that I'll go look for him myself if she'll just take the dog inside and go to sleep. In the back of my mind, I'm wondering if the dog hasn't died from the shock of seeing a 105 lb girl going apeshit in the back of a Honda Accord.

As it turns out, Mitts is inside, wondering where the fuck his girlfriend has been all this time. He comes out in nothing but boxers and proceeds to tell all of us to fuck off, except for TD, who needs to get "her whore ass in the house." We were just (I like to use italics. Get over it.) about to leave when he actually grabs her and throws her inside. Oh. Hell. No.

She's crying. She comes stomping out, I imagine, thinking there will be a quick apology underway. There isn't. Mitts shoves her again, and I inch closer. He tells her to choose between going home with us "again" (I have no idea where that came from) or coming into the house, and adds that if Beandip or myself don't leave, he's going to club us to death. He makes an about-face and goes inside, slamming the door-- leaving TD in a heap of tears on the steps. I stand, confused, appalled, but more than anything, disgusted. I'd never seen Mitts like this, but it wasn't above me to let him get away with it. So into the house I went. I pulled him out of bed and asked "Are you fucking serious?"

That leads to him edging me closer and closer to the door until we were back out on his front porch again. There, Beandip said something that made Mitts go nutshit on him. That's when I jumped in. Mitt's pit bull is thrashing the shit out of my leg and hips as I'm pulling Mitts off Beandip-- continuing to bite and claw at me until Mitts has been thrown into the house.

After that, Beandip was breaking down. TD was hyperventilating and I was keeping my eyes open for Mitts to come out with a baseball bat. I finally convinced Beandip to leave, since we were the object of Mitts' anger, and not TD-- even though he had manhandled her. I had to make an executive decision and I don't see any other way I could have done it. I asked TD outright, "Do you feel safe here?" But she wouldn't answer. I honestly think our prolonged presence would have made everything much worse.

So that's how it was. In the aftermath, I am kind of proud of myself for just walking into his house and standing up to him, then ripping him off Beandip when he did go nuts. Though I'm surprised he didn't make a jump at me. Beandip has no natural defenses, so maybe he just wanted an easy beat-up. If that's the case, I'm sad for him.

Beandip feels horrible that we left TD there, but I don't. I remember very easily her wailing in the back of my car. It is just as much her instigating the madness as it was him being mad in the first place. (And by mad, I mean lost-his-goddayum mind) I wish there was a better way to have handled the situation, but I think by us leaving, we made the best decision possible under the circumstances.

And as a epilogue, never again would I ever put my faith in Crater to make the right choice. He is a sack of shit that didn't do anything to help at any point. In fact, it was as though he tried to make everything worse. The only thing I can credit him for was not getting involved. Still, though, he didn't have to just sit there and talk shit, and then not take responsibility for it. He basically fueled the fire and then ran to high ground. Or in this case, lower ground.

When I wake up, I'm going to nurse my dog-attack wounds and hopefully get to work on time.

Yea.

Being Deaf

The tired adage: "write what you know" comes in handy tonight.

There are some truths in my life that have yet to fail. Among those are:

1. My palms and fingers get very hot when I'm bored.
2. REM, Matchbox 20, and Green Day will always cheer me up.
3. I am deaf.

I'm going to elaborate on that last one a little. I am not Deaf, capital D, Deaf. I am deaf. Lower-case, meaning that I have a profound hearing loss which affects all aspects of my life in some way. More on that in a moment.

I have heard a lot of people say, "Oh I can't hear anything out of this ear," which proves just a few things. First of all, yea... you probably can't hear anything out of either ear because it's a bar and everything is loud. (For the record, everything I ever talk about will have occur in a bar, unless otherwise noted.) Two, it's amazing the number of people that have hearing loss. In fact, it's still not certain to auditory and oral pathologists just how much people are supposed to be hearing. Many people lose hearing without knowing it, and simply adjust. And third, you're an idiot if you lost your hearing from listening to an iPod at full throttle. You deserve a slap in the mouth for whining about it, moron.

Which brings me to another point--- not exactly related to anything I've just said, but here it is. Has anyone noticed the trend of people holding their cell phones just 4-6" away from their face, and speaking to their friend on speakerphone? Give me a fucking break. It's bad enough that I have to hear half of a very inappropriate conversation, but to air out the whole thing? What are you, fucking retarded? Turn off the speaker and lift the phone all the way up to your ear. Better yet, just try to swallow the goddamn darn thing.

Anyway, back to being deaf. I wear hearing aids. Most people don't notice because of my huge penis sparkling personality. People ask some pretty fcktrd questions, but the worst of them all is, "Do you have to wear those?"
"Does it bother you?"
"Well, no, I mean, can you hear without them?"
"No."
"Oh, so you have to wear them..."
And there I am, amazed at how long it took for him/her to arrive at that point all by his/herself. (I'll be honest, usually it's guys. Women are less stupid about this kind of thing.)

Continuing on. As a deaf person I have very few statements to make. I never use the deafness as an excuse -- because it's not a disability. It enables me to focus, and filter out bullshit. So, I am like you, only better.

I do have one thing to say though. If you have a physical handicap, then you had better make it your last excuse. It makes no sense to me for someone to say, "I couldn't do this as well as you because I am legally blind!" To them I say, time to start using echolocation, batty. Honestly, why shout out that you are incapable, and then expect for everyone else to allow you the same opportunities when the first thing they'll think of is, "they are incapable." Get over it, on top of it, and if you feel like it, give it a reach-around. Just don't bitch to me about it.

Okay, so next post, I promise I will have a somewhat coherent topic that won't meander into an endless rant. It was an accident, I swear.

Nobody Of Note

First entries are always the hardest. Where to start? What to say? One thing I've noticed is the disturbingly casual way that some people begin blogs. All things considered, these are records that could last forever... then again, the could be destroyed in a nuclear blast sometime next year. Let's hope not. Still, does immortality of these thoughts grant me to be dramatic with my intro? Of the 20 million or so bloggers out there, let's say 20% are forgotten after a week. That leaves 16 million. Even after that, another 20% die off in a month or so, when the boredom those blogs fight gives way to having a life. Now we're down to 12 mil. We can safely say that a third of the internet, at least, is devoted to ways to making your dick bigger. That leaves us with an unimpressive 5 million bloggers.

Of those 5 million, we can be sure that 1/5 of those who regularly update their blogs are under the age of 18. Sadly, this means that 1 million bloggers are beheading the foundation of thoughtful writing by pissing all over basic rules of grammar. No forum for thought has mutinied punctuation more efficiently than emoticon-mongering teenage internet users.

To the kids, I say with all my heart... fuck you.

Moving on.

Most of you that are reading this have been friends of mine for a long time. I can imagine a lot of close friends of mine skipping these first few entries-- as though they are waiting to take the advanced course. "E-mail me when you've got something I don't know about you," someone might say. To that, I reply, "Can anyone remember how useful it was to skip the first chapter of a book?"

I can imagine the kids digging this up in 30 or so years, looking puzzled and snickering, "What's a book?"

Even so, I can count up to the toes the number of people who've begun blogs and taught me something completely new about themselves in their first entry-- even after knowing them for years. It's interesting how the basics get skipped these days. Even in conversation. Everything you need to know about someone you meet at a bar is either tattooed to their lower back or plastered on t-shirts in bold lettering. I know, I know... I've worn shirts like that several times. My favorite is the one that says "Genius by birth/Slacker by choice". It's not entirely accurate. I've been known to work on occasion.

So the basics... out with them, you say? Fine, fine.

Name: Non-(Nobody Of Note)
Date of Birth: December 28
Origin: North Little Rock, Arkansas
Occupation: Non-(Nothing Of Note)
Marital Status: If I had a girlfriend, I'd be a 1-month blogger. Check back in 30 days.
Favorite Food: Meatloaf
Languages: English, a little Spanish, some sign language
Disabilities: Hard of Hearing since birth, Addicted to caffiene (it's a disease, dammit!)
Ideal Retirement: To be "that old guy." It involves a lawn chair, a shotgun, and a 3-legged dog.
Pet Peeve: When someone gimps a handshake, or extends their left hand. Seriously, people, is it too much fucking effort to shake with the right hand? Mount your cigarette, set down your beer and shake like someone who at least LOOKS like they give a fuck. I've half a mind to grab your smoldering camel light and extinguish it with your FACE.

I'm reminded of my late grandmother, who taught me the art of letter-writing. Always finish on a good note. I think this will suffice.