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.