The Second Coolest Guy Alive

Mister Fussy Britches

2015-10-09T08:41:00.002-07:00

Am I a loner? I guess you could say I am, in a sense. I'm sure there are many things which contribute to that, and I'm learning about them all the time. It's not like I'm one of those hermits who sells all his worldly possessions and moves off to a little cabin in the woods, miles and miles from civilization or anything like that...yet, anyways. I'm just alone a lot.

Someone special to me pointed that out last night and that's ok, because sometimes I need that and most people are either hesitant or just too afraid to tell me. I've been told more than once that I'm somewhat unapproachable...not entirely untrue, I must admit. I guess you just gotta know the right path to take. But anyways...I wasn't physically alone, as I was surrounded by those close to me, but I felt far away. Something in my head just couldn't let me connect with people. It was like...like I was two different people. One was laughing, playing cards, having a good time...the other was off in a dark forest somewhere. Thinking...contemplating...just being alone. It's hard to describe but that's the best I can do.

When it gets like that, there aren't many people I like to talk to about it. It's not that I need a therapist (or maybe I do, who knows), but once in a while it would be nice just to have someone to bounce those thoughts off of and see if there are any ways to avoid them in the future. Do I get sad when I'm like that? Of course I do. Who wouldn't be sad surrounded by your closest friends and not being able to tell them how you feel? The hard part is that they KNOW when you're having an off day. They know and they call you out time and time again and you have to keep a straight face and smile through it. There are just things I don't discuss with them and they have to be ok with that. It's part of who I am and it's part of being in my circle of friends and if you don't like it, go fuck yourself. When I need to talk, I'll come find you.

You know, can't I have a bad day once in a while? Can't I feel down sometimes for no important reason? Can't I be sad too? Maybe I have stuff going on that I don't want to burden others with because it's just not their battle to fight. Maybe I don't feel well but I still feel the need to be social and have people around me. Some nights I really just don't want to look at people at all but I do because the alternative for me is isolation and too much of that isn't good. So, I keep that shit inside and just let it sit. I probably deserve it for something and I'm ok with that. I'm not gonna hang myself in my closet. If I truly feel like that, I know who to call and where to go. Mama didn't raise no dummy.

I got angry with one of my friends last night when the questions just wouldn't stop. After the first few instances of just keeping silent and shaking my head 'no' a few times, it only got worse. Someone else would show up and I'd get called out one more time for being fussy britches. You know what? I can be fussy britches if I goddamn want to. I can be crabby too, so piss off. The final time there was a comment made I just looked at this person with half my angry face on and said "DROP IT." I think they got the hint after that. I don't get angry like that very often, but when I do, people notice and correct their course because it could get a lot worse real fast if they don't. Temper and all, you know.

I love my friends...all of them. I'm grateful to have each and every one of them in my life and without them all acting as a kind of single entity, my life would not be the same. They're all important to me as a separate person as well; they each have their own place in my life (some I've figured out, some I haven't) and I'm very thankful for that.

I've learned I can still make *new* friends, too. One in particular is kind of an unorthodox relationship. Young in numbers but aged beyond years with wisdom, compassion, and warmth. Did I get attached too early, as I've been known to do in the past? Nope. Not with this one. They're one of those people who you just sit down with and look at them and think to yourself "Glad you finally got here...I've missed you." It's very endearing to have someone enjoy your presence and smile when they see you, and to hear them say that they feel safe when you're around because they know I wouldn't let anything happen to them. It feels good to be thought of like that, you know? That's pretty goddamn cool if you ask me.

Anyhoo...that's all I got. I vent here sometimes because it's a little more...shall I say intimate, for lack of a better word...than other social media. I can speak my mind here, for the most part. There are still some walls up that won't come down easy, but all in good time and to those who are deserving of seeing what's on the other side.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

2014-12-15T14:22:00.001-08:00

Someone asked me recently if it bothers me that I’m alone during the holidays. I said no. I lied. YES it bothers me. It bothers me a great deal. I miss all kinds of things about having someone special in my life during the holidays. Cooking a holiday dinner. Buying gifts for someone. All that crap. So, yes…it bothers me. It makes me sad and depressed and I don’t like it. ‘Nuff said.

Cats and dogs, living together...it's mass hysteria.

2013-10-18T00:25:00.001-07:00

So…I‘ve been watching The Walking Dead as of late. I just finished watching season three the other day and I enjoy it thoroughly. Fascinating show…very addictive. Since I started watching this show, it got me thinking. What WOULD happen in an end-of-the-world situation such as this? I know zombies aren’t real. People don’t die and come back to life as a dead person that eats your face off. From what I’ve learned over the years by watching House, ER, and Quincy, MD, that’s pretty well impossible. There’s that one drug you can ingest down in South America, but that’s whole different story. I hear, anyways. Ok, so…the end of the world happens however it happens and I’m lucky enough to be a survivor, if you want to call that lucky.

How would I *possibly* even begin to know where to start to rebuild my life? What do I do first? Do I go out to find food? What about ammunition for self-defense against the zombies and possibly other survivors who might want something I have or would want to take over the throne in my little slice of heaven? Sure, I could try to stick it out in my apartment. If I had to survive only with what I had IN my apartment as of today, I’d last about three days at the very most. After that, I would have to take my chances out on the street going to the food co-op on the next block, and maybe the Kwik Trip on the way there as well. Both of those stores would be pretty empty, I’d assume, as they’re really the only two stores in the downtown area of my city that would sell food in anything resembling bulk quantities so they would be hit right away. But, let’s say for argument sake that I DO find enough food and bottled water to last me a week or so, maybe two at the most. I may or may not have electricity, so I can’t really plan on cooking anything that requires my oven or microwave. I have lighter fluid, so I can use my Zippo for primitive cooking if need be. I can’t grab anything that requires refrigeration or freezing because of the electricity problem again. If it’s winter, the back yard will do just fine and if I get cold I have a sub-zero sleeping bag and plenty of winter clothing, but what if it’s July? It’s going to get really warm really fast inside, especially if I’m using an open flame in close quarters to cook with and have no air conditioning. And when my food finally runs out? Who knows…I guess I’m going out again.

The next thing on my list would of course be self-defense. If I’m out looking for food or what have you and come across a zombie, I am forced to defend myself. It’s pretty much a given according to zombie movies and shows from the very beginning that zombies need to be hit in the head to be killed for whatever reason. I can shoot them, stab them, chop their heads clean off…dealers’ choice in that regard. If I make a lot of noise, more zombies come looking for what’s making all the noise. Unless I’m a REALLY good shot with a silent weapon like a crossbow or something like that (and I’m SO not a good shot with a crossbow or a bow and arrow), it’s a never ending cycle with the noise thing and attracting more zombies and so on and so forth. I’ll need ammunition, and lots of it…the closest of two gun shops is about three miles away in some very open territory that would give me relatively zero cover from zombies, and the next one about a mile from there. Since that wasn’t my first choice of survival preparations, they’ll likely be pretty well picked through by the time I get there so the chances of me even finding any rounds for my weapon (I shoot a .45 caliber handgun) may be very limited. I can take my chances and try to make it to the supersized department store way out on the south end of town which also sells hunting supplies, but that’s at least three times as far as the others across the same type of territory and would likely be very picked over as well. I would probably try to find a rifle and a stockpile of ammunition to match and hope there was enough to last me quite some time. Self-defense would also include the living as well. If I have food and someone else has none, the survival instinct in them says to take my food from me, and MY instinct says not to let them by any means necessary at this point. I don’t say that to be an asshole or anything, but hey…survival of the fittest and all that jazz. Defending myself against someone else who is armed and desperate (or several people) would be a LOT more difficult than a slow-moving zombie who doesn’t know why I’m pointing a gun at its head and does nothing to avoid it. In the event that I was wounded beyond the point of medical attention, I would pray that whoever was on the other end would do me the courtesy of putting me out of my misery so I didn’t get my face eaten off and turn into a zombie as well.

Do I stay in my current apartment? In all actuality, no. I would find somewhere more secure and away from the busiest part of town. I don’t know where that would be, but I’d come up with a place in a quick hurry. I would probably venture north, I think. The winters may be colder and would definitely be more difficult to endure then where I am now, but I would be farther away from a major city and it would be a lot easier to disappear, in my opinion. Outta sight, outta mind as far as zombies are concerned. Also, less populated areas means less human resistance to have to deal with. I don’t like people enough to begin with…I’d like them even less if they were shooting at me and trying to steal my food. Less populated also means less opportunity for restocking of supplies, but I’d take my chances. Six of one, a half dozen of the other.

There are an infinite number of things to worry about should this catastrophe occur. Where are my friends and family? Are my children ok? How do I know if there has been a cure found if communication lines are down? So many things to think about…it would be impossible to fathom them all and keep a level head. In the event of a total global meltdown and 99% of the population turning to zombies, would I honestly stand a snowball’s chance in hell of long-term survival? Not very likely, as much as I hate to say it. I’m just not that smart in that regard, I don’t think. If I were a character on The Walking Dead, I would probably be Jim, the hole digger. I would have been bitten early on, but also smart enough to know that I would become a danger to my friends in a very short period of time so I’d make the call for them to leave me behind as they traveled on. Sadly, given the grave circumstances, I would most likely take the cowards’ way out and leave one less zombie for the next guy to kill.

You can't dig holes in February

2013-08-31T16:57:00.000-07:00

I think I've officially hit a writers' block. As some of you might be aware, I have not added a single thing to my blog for quite some time and when I have, it's been relatively dark and somewhat uncomfortable to read for the most part. That's ok. I'm ok with that. However, at this moment I cannot think of a single thing that I think you people would want to read. Not one. I got all kinds of things to say, as anyone who knows me can attest to, but nothing worth writing home to Mom about, so to speak. So...it's time for a little digital diarrhea...see, a little play on words that I just did there. Fingers...digits...digital...get it? It's not important. It usually isn't with me. I've come to the conclusion that I'm not as smart as I thought I was. I'm slipping as I rapidly approach the beginning of my fifth decade here on this earth. Yes, my fifth. Do the math...it works out.

You might not know what makes me tick...why I do the things I do. I'm ok with that too. I don't answer to anyone, for the most part. Yeah, the normal stuff like my boss and the authorities and the like just as every other poor working-class stiff does. But who really tells me what to do and when to do it? Nobody does. That's MY job. If I want to wear argyle socks to bed, that's my call. I've been known to put a big smile on my face and beller out a nice friendly 'go fuck yourself' to random people on the street. I haven't had the crap beat out of me yet, but the day will come, I'm sure.

That was all I could think of to say just now. The rest...I'm gonna wing it.

I don't know what tequila tastes like. Or whiskey.
I most certainly DO know what vodka tastes like and have not tasted it since 1992.
I don't eat tomatoes. The taste of raw tomatoes makes me want to throw up...and it has.
There is a pair of rabbit ears on my television, and yes, they still work.
The background on my phone is a picture of Tardar Sauce. That's Grumpy Cat for those of you who aren't cool enough to know that. Usually it's boobs or something involving boobs, but right now it's Tardar Sauce.
Good and bad things in my life seem to happen in twos. Children, marriages, divorces, trips to jail, tours of duty through rehab...I'm sure there are others if I sat down and thought about it.
I do not own a car.
Never driven a motorcycle...they scare me. Actually, me driving one is what scares me. There's too much potential for recklessness and I'd certainly have not gotten as old as I am right now had I started riding one when I was old enough to.
Contrary to my popular belief, I'm not...ooooo, no. We'll just leave that one alone for now and save that for a rainy day, I'm thinking.

Cripes...I'm really at a loss here. Maybe I just started writing to hear myself think. Who knows. Maybe it's a substitute for what I really want out of life. Freedom. Even with the threat of the NSA monitoring everything I say and do on the internet, I'm still supposed to be protected by the first amendment. There are certain things I just won't tempt fate with, but for the most part I am able to come and go as I please here. But anyways...there are things to be done. I have an entire planet of things to see and do. Soon enough, I'll see and do them. As many as I can before it's my time to go. I may have a heart attack. Car crash. Fall off a cliff. Get mauled by a bear (my personal preference, to be quite honest).

There is traveling to be done...there are so many places on this earth I want to go that I could never think of them all. Germany. England. Norway. Spain. Ireland. Chile. Finland. The list goes on and on and on some more. I may travel to see people, or just places...I honestly have no idea. Wait...yes, I do. There are a few people I want to visit. Just a few.

As of right now in this entry I still haven't thought of a title.

Ok...that's better. I used to think I was quite the writer, just rambling off a bunch of stuff and thinking it was good stuff. And not just good...I mean like New York Times good. It's not. I'm an amateur writer and that's all I'll ever be. People have said "Hey, that was good..." and all that jazz. Yeah...it was good. Just good. It wasn't Pulitzer material by any means and it never will be. I'm alright with that too. I got a big comfy couch to sit on while I do this and that's cool. That will be all.

Tell me about the lambs, Clarice.

2013-04-27T20:29:00.001-07:00

I'm colder than I used to be. It seems that as of late, I haven't had as much emotional involvement in certain things as I previously did. Do I just not care? Am I having an early mid-life crisis? Who knows. What I DO know is that after months and months of systematic emotional turmoil and trauma, I guess I just don't give a shit anymore. I'm starting to not like some people as much as I used to. My behavior is erratic...more so than usual. Day by day I grow more and more tired of my situation and the more and more I can't wait to get out of it. The drama, the fighting, the back stabbing, the bullshit that comes with it all...it's wearing me down and I can't wait to get away from it. I don't want to spend one more disgusting minute here than I have to.

Sure, there are things that I'm going to miss. My favorite coffee shop and the few good friends I have there. Same goes for work. There are a few people I'll miss there as well. My family, of course. They'll all understand why I can't wait to leave. Very few will notice that I'm even gone. For example...I recently had a back injury and needed to take some time off. The first and only person that even noticed my normal routine was amiss and I hadn't been around...the owner of the coffee shop. My boss called to make sure I was doing ok, and that was nice too. My parents, of course...they made sure I was doing alright. It hurts that people who I was once so close to...almost like family, really...have not once bothered to ask how I am. That hurts. It hurts and no, I don't like it. I don't like it and I'm not going to put up with it.

In a time frame of about three years, after I've had a chance to tie up some loose ends and make some arrangements, I will be leaving this fine city that I live in to undertake a new adventure. I don't know where it is yet, but as long as it's not here I will be perfectly happy. I won't look back and I may not even say goodbye. Pretty sure there won't be any broken hearts...not even mine.

Two down, ten to go...

2013-02-27T18:42:00.000-08:00

So...the month of February is almost over and I've made it out relatively unscathed, for the most part. Few bumps and bruises here and there, but nothing I can't handle as I eternally reminded myself a mere 26 days ago.

February 1st...I got my first tattoo Yes, my very first one, contrary to popular belief. I had been thinking about it for a few years now and finally decided to pull the trigger and have it done. Many, many years ago I saw a Clint Eastwood movie starring himself as Gunny Highway ('Gunny' is the shortened word for the rank of gunnery sergeant in the USMC, for those of you who did not know) in which he said the line 'adapt and overcome', or something to that effect. I know there was more to it, and I can't for the life of me remember what it was. Unimportant. That line has stuck with me for many years as I've gone through my trials and tribulations in relationships, my recovery from drug and alcohol addiction, two failed marriages, several different jobs that I liked very much that didn't work out well, dropping out of college several times, and a few different health difficulties I've had to face. In all of those situations...I have adapted to the challenges I've had to face and I have overcome them in turn (for the most part). Still working on working myself up to quitting smoking, but that's a tough one no matter who the hell you are so I'm not gonna dog myself about it too awful much. My father had quit smoking cold turkey and never smoked again another day in his life. I know for a fact I will never be a tenth of the man he was, and I'm OK with that...truly I am.

Got off on a tangent there...my bad. So, yeah...my tattoo. It says the words 'adapt and overcome' down the middle of my spine, but it's not in a language that many people would understand. I didn't want to get it in anything that everyone and his brother usually gets their tattoos in...no Olde English, no hieroglyphics, and nothing you'd normally see in Gangland USA. So, I thought of a few other obscure languages that people normally don't see and/or use. I had it narrowed down to Braille, Morse code, and binary code. I thought long and tirelessly about this for quite some time...about three years on and off with quite a bit of seriousness. In the end...Morse code won the battle.

So, I brought my design to my friend Jake, owner of Twisted Skull Studios in the third week in January and we went over details and placement and all that good stuff, and I made my appointment to come in and get it done right away on the first of the month. Longest two weeks of my life, I shit you not. First of the month comes...I got up in the morning and I ALMOST psyched myself out of it. I thought everything under the sun...I don't need it, don't want it, can't afford it, it'll hurt, I'll get addicted to them and want more, and blah blah blah and so on and so forth. Nope...I stuck to my guns and walked in the door at 1000 sharp. Got all prepped and ready...Jake says "Here, have a seat in this chair and relax." Then...panic set in. OMG ITS GONNA FUCKING HURT AND IM GONNA CRY LIKE A PUSSY. Yeah...that's what went through my head...no shit. Didn't utter a sound. I sucked it up and I told my self no matter how much it hurt I would sit through it and get it done. I was committed and there was no going back at this point.

Now then...Morse code, as you know, is a series of dots and dashes. A couple letters have only one dot or dash, but most have a combination of two, three and even four. So, it wasn't just one tattoo I was getting...it was several dozen small ones all in a row going right down my spine, or so I had it stuck in my head. The first character was an E, the one on the very bottom. An 'E' in Morse code is just one dot...no big deal. In my design, the dots are relatively small...about the size of the leftovers of a paper punch. Jake prepared me that he was starting, and I steeled my nerves. There was pain, I won't lie...but it wasn't a painful pain. It was more of an annoying kind of pain, like a mild bee sting or a cat scratch. One part down...39 to go, if I counted right. The rest were not bad...a few were more painful than others, but for the most part...very tolerable.

I know, I know...this was probably a lot more mentally anguishing for me than it needed to be, and I'm REEEEEALLY good at making mountains out of molehills. But you know, this was something that I knew I was going to have to live with for the rest of my life, and for a long time I was not OK with that, but I am now. Even if I'm not in the future...I'm stuck with it, and that's alright with me.

It was March...a long time ago.

2013-01-10T21:55:00.000-08:00

I thought I was done writing...I was wrong. One more thing I need to get off my chest. I've spoken with a select few people about this over the years, but not very many. I never dealt with it properly when it happened, and to this day I still haven't. I know writing about it probably won't help a whole hell of a lot, but maybe this is the catalyst that will help me finally get started on the path to dealing with this in a positive manner, if that's possible. Time will tell, I guess.

When my father passed away in March of 1998, I was still drinking very heavily. I was a sloppy, disgusting mess and became basically unrecognizable to most people who knew me. Somehow, the day of the funeral, I managed to pull myself together long enough to make myself presentable in front of family and friends. I thought I was being so slick and doing such a good job hiding it. Now that I think about it after I've been sober for some time...they knew. They all knew.

The events of this day are a blur for me now...some are solid memories, some are only hearsay in my own mind due to the emotional state of complete and utter breakdown I was in at the time.

It was very cold that day, if I remember right...bitter cold. The wind stung my eyes and I had a hard time keeping them open as I walked from the car to the mausoleum. I don't even remember who I rode with that day, to be honest. It was all kind of a blur. Walking into the mausoleum, there were people in there gathered around my father's casket and all I could do was look at them in a daze, not really sure what to expect. This would be the most emotional funeral I had ever attended...I was scared to death inside, and it showed. I made no attempt to hide my emotions, just like everyone else in the room. My relatives were there, close friends of the family...they all felt the same thing. Maybe not exactly the same thing, but you know what I mean.

The service began and I went numb inside, almost instantly. I don't remember much of what the priest said, but I know it was good things about my dad and some of the good things he had done in his life. My dad was the coolest guy I ever knew...he knew everything there was to know about everything and he was my hero...he still is to this day. He taught me how to drive a stick shift, how to shoot a gun...and who knows how many other things a boy needs to learn from his dad.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the gentleman with the bugle standing there...I knew why he was there and I knew it was coming but I had no idea how it would affect me, emotionally and physically. When the music started...I lost all control and at that point I was on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably on my hands and knees. That was the longest playing of Taps I had ever heard in my entire life...no exceptions. I didn't think it would ever end, nor did I think I would be able to stand up when it was over.

When the man finished, I remember some people helping me to my feet but I don't remember who they were, and shortly afterwards, I heard the sound of a 21-gun salute outside. Maybe that happened before Taps...I honestly don't remember. Each shot that was fired hit me right in the heart...a little part of me left as those sounds seemed to echo forever in my mind. After the last shot was fired, I walked outside. I didn't feel the cold...or the wind. I didn't feel anything, really. I was numb through and through. I could have been standing in Siberia and it wouldn't have mattered at that point. Nothing mattered to me and all I could do was stand there and cry. Face in the wind, tears freezing on my cheeks before they could fall to the ground. What happened next...I will never forget for as long as I live.

My brother, Andrew, was still young...not quite yet a teenager. As I stood staring down the cold, he came over to me, tugged at my sleeve, and as I turned around he handed me a shell casing he had picked up off the ground and said "Here...I think Dad wants you to have this."

I don't remember anything else after that.

It's been a good run...really, it has.

2012-12-22T20:38:00.000-08:00

This will be my last blog entry...for quite a while, anyways. I had quite a few things planned for this space, but for now...those plans are put on hold. Hopefully not permanently, but for now...that's just how it has to be. My blog has provided me with some much-needed therapy that has helped me out quite a bit since its inception. However, I've gotten as much help from it as I'm going to get right now and the time has come for me to explore other avenues of self healing. What those avenues are...I truly have no idea yet. All I know is that it isn't this anymore and that things are moving in other directions in my life right now that don't allow for such trivialities. Someday...possibly...I may write again. But for now...this is it.

The last year of my life has been a veritable roller coaster of emotions...good times, bad times, and the gamut of every emotion in between. I've lost friends, given up friends, made new ones, and rekindled old friendships that I thought were long since gone which have flourished and grown into very special and valued relationships. Throughout this time, I've done a lot of thinking. Thinking about who I am, where I've been, where I am now, and where I'm going in the future. I'll never be a lot of things that I've always wanted to be...musician, photographer, athlete, adventurer...the list goes on and on. Things that yes, I have a little experience in and truly enjoy doing, but however, I lack the proper drive and the ambition to fulfill any of those dreams to the best of my ability. I get discouraged very easily and I give up on things that I would probably be very good at and could possibly enjoy doing for a long time. And it's not because I don't know how to do things...I don't want to challenge myself. If I put as much effort into learning how to do productive things with my life as I did with things that bring negative consequences upon myself...I'd be one of the greatest men who ever lived, no doubt about it. As you can tell, that effort hasn't yet been put forth.

I am now, and have been in the past, many other things, however. Son, father, uncle, nephew, husband, boyfriend, among others. None of which I do or did very well, I might add. Nothing worth writing home about, anyways. I've learned a lot in these roles over the years, but as of now, most of it does not apply to my current situation. I live on my own...I am better off that way. By doing so, I cannot infect anyone with my toxicity. It's not like I'm contagious with anything...nothing of the sort. I don't have the gout or polio or anything like that. I'm a very, VERY difficult person to live with as I've proven time and time again. I do many things a certain way and I have no reason for it other than that's just how I do them and therefore that's the ONLY way to do them. Folding towels...doing the dishes...pouring coffee...they all must be done a very specific way and if not...well, if you can't do it my way, don't do it at all. Stay the holy hell out of my way and let me do it and listen to me piss and moan about it the whole time. Heaven forbid there be a disagreement...mayhem will commence shortly thereafter.

And as I got sidetracked there...allow me to bring myself back to the task at hand. I need to get some things off my chest and then I'll quit, I promise. I've heard quite a few times over the years that I help people. I think that's cool and all...it's nice to help other people. It's both beneficial and therapeutic, I believe. Sometimes it's a difficult process, but for the most part, helping people is good and that's just the way it is. I've learned a lot by helping others. It's shown me how to live a life that I wouldn't normally live had I not been shown by others.

But I don't.

I don't follow advice very well at all, and people get hurt in the process, sometimes very badly...myself included. It shows in EVERY. SINGLE. ASPECT. of my life as of late. I then, in turn, take my anger and aggression out on others who deserve absolutely zero part of that side of me whatsoever. I feel kinda bad about that...well, no. I don't. I've grown cold. Colder than I ever used to be at any point in my life and I'm ok with that. I feel empty and cold and cruel and heartless inside and I feel absolutely no remorse or regret about that in the least little bit.

Over the years I've learned how to love and be compassionate, and how to show people empathy and also how to be caring. I've also learned how to be angry, spiteful, and how to instill fear and dread in people. The emotion I've learned that has caused the most impact on my well-being is hate. I've learned how to hate. Not only have I learned it...I've nurtured it, loved it, and allowed it to grow and flourish inside me. I don't discriminate when it comes to hate. I can hate just about as easy as it is to sharpen a pencil. I know, I know...hate is such a strong word. Well, yeah...it is. That's an old cliche that I don't subscribe to, and to be honest, I think it's horseshit. Hate is no stronger than the equalized feeling of love that the guy sitting across the way from me in the coffee shop feels. There are many things I hate...things and places and of course, people. I said it...there are people in this world whom I actually feel HATE towards. Some for no reason other than I can. Some have done things or said things to me that in my opinion, warrant such an emotion. Yes, I hate people...I say that freely. Not all of them...just some. Call me what you will...It's all good. I've been called worse, I guarantee you that.

Life has taken its toll on me and it shows. It shows to me and to others. I have loved and been burned once too many...time does not heal some wounds. I now live my life how I want to live it. I do what I want when I want, I come and go as I please and I say what I feel to whomever it needs to be said to. Some people find that offensive...some find it refreshing. Either way is ok with me. My life...the life I've chosen for myself because in all honesty, the life I feel I deserve...it revolves around anger, despair, hypocrisy, deceit, contempt, misery, and yes...hate.

Out.

Adieu...

2012-12-09T12:17:00.000-08:00

Not long ago...fairly recently, actually...you were my friend. After many years, we were brought together by a common bond that made us almost inseparable. I grew to love you very dearly...the kind of love you normally reserve only for family. We were as close as two people could be and I loved that relationship we had. There were many nights of deep conversation about anything and everything under the sun, countless fits of hysterical laughter, as well as grueling bouts of pain and agony accompanied by the kind of crying that comes from deep inside you...the kind that makes you think life as you know it will end that very minute.

All of a sudden...almost overnight...it was over. No explanation, no apologies...nothing. Maybe you healed yourself from within of whatever was ailing you, maybe you found another type of therapy...who knows. I didn't heal as quickly or as easily. My pain lingered on and on and on. I needed you more than I needed anyone on this earth and I still do. You are the only one who would understand me...the ONLY one who could comfort me in this time when I need someone so desperately. While you were in pain, I held you while you sobbed and wept uncontrollably and literally could not stand on your own two feet. I held you in my arms and choked back my own goddamn tears to be strong for you. I did that because I love you like you were my own family and I still do even though I know your feelings have faded. Maybe I failed you in some way...but I don't think so. This one's on you, I'm pretty sure.

Now...I need someone. I need someone to hold me up and I need a shoulder to rest my head on while I weep. I need someone to be strong for me and you're not there. I'm in pain and it hurts like hell and you're not fucking here. I was there for you every GODDAMN time you needed me and I was there for you when nobody else was. I listened to you while you cried and I made myself available for you at a moment's notice. You're not here for me and it kills me that the ONE person I need is no longer there.

I need to move on. I now need to deal with my life without you. Without someone to run to, to cry with, or to comfort me. Every day that I wonder why...I grow a little colder inside. I feel a little more angry than I did the day before. I hurt a little bit more every day that I wonder why you abandoned me when I needed you the most.

I wish you the best of luck in finding whatever it is you're looking for.

Goodbye.

I guess it's obvious...I also like to write.

2012-09-24T20:16:00.000-07:00

As a VERY amateur non-fiction writer, I tend to write about the things that are in my life at any particular time because I'm not creative enough to write fiction. My thoughts, my actions...people, places and things around me, among many other things. Some of those things are good, some aren't. Some make me happy, some just plain hurt. As of late I've been dealing with the not good, hurtful feelings and while I've been told I need to maybe let it go and move on, I can't. I feel that injustices have been done and I have gone without answers for far too long.

How is it that some can abandon friendships that were once so beautiful and special...so endearing to one another...and discard them like trash and not think twice about it? Yeah, I'm harping about it again. And yeah, I'm probably going to continue to do so for a while until I learn to let it go. It hurts, to be honest. I'm a rock. I've been a rock. I've stood fast while people have fallen and grabbed my hand to keep from sinking into the abyss. I've shouldered more people than I can count and some that probably didn't even need it and/or deserve it but I did anyways because I'm such a nice fucking guy.

And now...I am the one falling. I am the one who needs help and the ones I wanted the most to help me up when I need it are nowhere to be found. It shakes the foundation of friendship to the very core when this occurs. When I've solved everyone's problems and mine remain...who is there to hold my hand while I heal? Who is there to grab my hand and help me up while I fight the battle inside me to keep it all together? While I walk through HELL and do not falter...who is there to mend my wounds when I come out the other side? Nobody. I have become an outsider...cast aside to walk among the lepers of my society. That's ok...I will adapt and overcome as I always do. But I shouldn't have to do it alone...I didn't let any of you.

I've had to face some hard truths lately as well...truths that I should have realized long ago. Lights fade and new ones come into our lives to replace them. I still have my bouts of happiness...and that's alright. I smile a lot more lately, regardless of the internal strife I battle almost daily. I've been given reason to smile. Yeah, some days I don't want to but now I know I CAN...there's a big difference. One of those lights I mentioned a bit ago...that light gives me reason...gives me purpose.

And some asshole stole my bike, too. That made me angry but I got over it. I don't mind walking too much...until winter hits and then I'll mind it a little more than I do right now. You don't appreciate things until you've gone without them long enough. I've gone without food, water, shelter...I've even burned a bible to keep warm in the winter when all else was gone. I haven't lived a difficult life all the time, but there were times that made it very, very difficult for me to see another tomorrow. When your next meal depends on when they throw out the leftovers at the closest fast food joint...tomorrow isn't a very popular word in your vocabulary. When sleeping on a cold linoleum floor or even in a Dumpster with a lid to keep the wind and snow from chilling you through and through is a luxury, you don't even care about a tomorrow. All you care about is right now. Now may be all you have in spots like those...and for some, tomorrow doesn't come. They lose the battle and succumb to those things which they could not escape.

I've shed my tears for friends I've lost over the years in that way. I will not allow anyone to shed the same tears for me...I refuse to. Like I said...I will adapt and overcome. I am a survivor and I will win...in some ways I already have. I guess even more appropriately...I will not be allowed to lose :). To have a hand to hold, an ear to talk to, and even a shoulder to cry on if I need it...those are life's true luxuries...and for those things I will ALWAYS be grateful.

Thank you for reading.

No More Mr. Nice Guy...

2012-09-02T14:19:00.000-07:00

So...yeah. This entry, while being my first mobile entry, will be my last for a while. I know my place. I've been shown my place, rather. I know where I stand with the moral majority and whilst I'm not totally ok with it, I will let it ride. There comes a time when we must let things go, and that time for me is now. True, I don't need to publish this on a public media site to convey my feelings, and I don't care. It makes me feel better and that's all that matters.

At times in my life I haven't exactly been the most pleasant person to be around. I've been an awful friend, a shitty employee, a horrible father and an even worse son. I'm loud, obnoxious, and at times I can be a downright asshole as some of you have seen and experienced first hand. Don't like me anymore? Cool with me. I can live with that. My soul is prepared...how's yours? And yeah, I'm not exactly off the charts in the karma department, but I do what I can when I'm able to. Remember that two or twenty dollars you owe me? When was the last time I asked you about it? I haven't. If I needed it that bad I'd call you out on it. Keep it...in some cases it was a small price to pay for you to leave me alone. I do a lot of nice things for a lot of good people...some appreciate it, and some don't. I'm ok with that too. Like I said...my soul is prepared.

What's the point of this blog entry, even if nobody reads it? To bitch. To piss and moan a little...who the fuck cares? Those whom I love and care about very deeply...you know who you are and I couldn't be who I am today without each and every one of you even if I don't show it regularly. Some of you I don't feel as...grateful for. But I've tried...the good lord knows I've tried. I've done my part. I've welcomed you into my home and told you to make yourself at home as if it was your house too. I've never asked you for compensation or to return the favor in any way. I have witnessed some of you break down and pour your hearts out in front of me and sometimes in my arms as I choked back my own tears to be strong for you.

But now...things have changed. Things that I can't control and I need to accept that and move on. And yes, I am at peace with that. I am resigning from the throne I once sat in as I have been evicted from my rule. Whoever takes my place will have a hell of a pair of shoes to fill.

When the chips fall and they land on your side of the table...don't ask me to help you pick them up. I'll probably tell you to go fuck yourself instead and I won't think twice about doing so.

Lighten Up, Francis...

2012-02-03T17:58:00.000-08:00

You know, there are many other people who do the same job I do. They come from all different walks of life and that's ok. They hear the same shit day after day after day as I do, and that's to be expected because we can't pick and choose who we deal with when the phone rings. Some of them have had some of the same types of issues to deal with as I have...some worse, some not. However, some people deal with different situations in different ways. I, for one, make a mistake all too often and get too empathetic with the people I deal with on a daily basis and I have a VERY difficult time hearing the things they have to say. I don't handle those types of things as well as other people do and it shows, more often on the inside of my head than the outside. I try to hold it together as best as I can, but some days it gets the best of me and it DOES become evident to others around me and yes, I feel bad that my emotional weakness does not allow me to control my emotions as well as others. It's who I am. If you don't like it, go fuck yourself. Yeah, I cursed. I curse a lot and anyone who knows me would agree with that.

I don't troubleshoot cell phones for Sprint, I don't deal with crabby customers who get the wrong size shoes from the JCPenney catalog and want me to bend over backwards to accommodate their oftentimes unreasonable demands. I am a contractor for the Department of Defense and I deal exclusively with soldiers who have recently returned from the theater of war. Some of them have seen combat up close and personal, and some haven't. It doesn't matter. They do what I am unable to. Sometimes their stories are not at all pleasant, to put it mildly. They live in conditions I would not let my dog live in if I had one and they're there VOLUNTARILY. They enlist knowing full well they will likely be shipped off to war and very well may not return. I can't and won't get into some of the things I hear because I put myself at risk for doing so. Suffice to say that the things I hear...while not bad to others, are bad to ME.

I have a lot of difficulty hearing some of the things I hear on a regular basis. I empathize with each and every soldier I talk to because they deserve to be listened to. They deserve to be heard and goddammit, if that person is me, I fucking listen. I hear each and every word they say because they fucking earned it. Some days I don't want to...some days I can't stand to hear another goddamn story about what happens overseas and I want to run from my desk as fast as I can and never look back. But those are the days that I dig deeper than I ever have before and I find the strength to do it one more time. It's always one more time...there is never a last time and there never will be and I force myself to be ok with that because I have to. The people I work with hear the same things that I do...maybe they deal with it better, and maybe they don't. How they deal with their shit is their own thing.

Maybe I have a difficult time with it because my father was a soldier until he passed away...as are many other members of my family whom I love and respect very much. Maybe it's because I'm too empathetic to a fault. Maybe it's something entirely different. I don't know and I don't fucking care. It's my job and I do it because I help people. I have personally saved lives because of my empathy and compassion and that fucking means something to me. If it doesn't mean anything to you, then you have more problems than I do, and that's saying a lot lately.

What I do...how I do it...it's not trained. It's born in you, and it's either a gift or a curse...sometimes both.

Lighten Up, Francis...

2011-12-27T21:34:00.000-08:00

When a person goes crazy, it's...well, it's certainly an interesting trip. One may even call it insanity. There are things that people in that mindset experience that normal people don't. They think things that aren't normal, acceptable, or even humanly possible. Things go through their heads that cannot be explained by even the most qualified trained professionals. It starts out slow...once in a blue moon they have a fleeting thought of something that just isn't quite right. Soon afterwards the thoughts are more and more frequent. They hear things in the midst of silence, they see things that aren't there, and they imagine things that just plain ol' aren't true. It's not like they wake up one morning and think to themselves "Maybe I'll lose my mind today." It doesn't work like that. It takes time...like watching paint dry only a LOT longer. Or something like that. You get the idea.

People who are sick...whether it's bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, paranoia, or what have you...people who are suffering from those and other afflictions are oftentimes difficult to deal with and are just plain pains in the ass sometimes. It's not that they TRY to do the things they do...often they can't help it and no matter how hard they try they cannot function as "normal" human beings without therapy and/or medication. There are scientific forces at work in their brains that simply will NOT allow them to lead normal lives. Sure, they might get by for a little while...couple months, maybe a year or two at best. But it catches up quick...and when it comes on it hits them in the face like a ton of bricks and knocks them flat on their ass. By then it's usually too late...the bridges have been burned, the damage has been done beyond repair, and it's all over but the cryin'.

Those in the early stages of some afflictions sense the onset...they try to warn others to run...they intentionally (and sometimes subconsciously) sabotage their interactions with other people so it won't hurt as bad when others actually take their advice. They know they're difficult to approach, converse and interact with, and they're ok with that...sometimes they prefer it that way to save themselves the pain of failure. Occasionally they drive people away on purpose...many times the emotional price they pay while doing so can never be justified.

However...once in a blue moon, they discover the one person who actually gets through to them and breaks down the walls they have so meticulously set in place, brick by brick...the elaborate construction sometimes taking years to complete. The ONE person who understands them...possibly the one person who has been in their shoes and walked down their path. Most of the time that person won't know what they've done. Most of the time they won't think twice about the relief they've given to someone else because they don't know how important it is. For the afflicted, it's like finding a four-leaf clover in the Sahara Desert. It just isn't supposed to happen. Ever. But it does. And when it does they just want to do the happy dance over and over again...

<("<) (>")> <("<) (>")>

so they do their little happy dance. And all is right in the world again. They see things clearly...they start to think clearly more often than normal. Things seem...right. Things they had never found pleasure in before. Normal things that seemed so ridiculous in the past. Normal things that are now normal. And it FEELS normal. Life is good...until...

panic sets in.

o.O

turns into

O.O

and then into

"WHY THE BLUE FUCK AM I SO HAPPY?!?!??!?" Well...this can't go on. Happiness? Not their gig. Can't have any of THAT, now can we? STFU, stop the press, slam on the brakes, and it goes back to square one. The happiness is gone. The normalcy we cherished...it disappeared like a fart in the wind. And the cycle starts all over again. Vicious cycle it is, indeed. Nothing anyone should have to go through. But it happens...all too often. Happy...sad...happy...sad...happy...sad. It's a never-ending internal battle of good versus evil. One does not simply walk into sanity. One must embrace it...nurture it...care for it...and love it. Sanity seems to come freely for some and is taken for granted more often than not. But INsanity...many pay a much higher price than they can afford...for some it costs them their lives.

More Coffee, Please...

2011-12-26T07:42:00.000-08:00

I've had a bit of writers' block lately...nothing I think of seems to strike me as worthy enough to share with the world, when in all actuality, my life would make one hell of a movie. It would be an epic Peter Jackson eight-part mini-series filled with drama, intrigue, suspense, drunken debauchery and it wouldn't be complete without plenty of despair and self-loathing. I had originally decided to start documenting some of the experiences I've had that others may find interesting (thanks, Patrick, for pushing me to do that) so that my life and the things that happen in it may bring humor to others. If I had to actually document all of them...the interwebs would collapse into a big black hole like I just divided by zero or something like that. It's evolved into so much more than that for me...it's now an outlet for me to document some of the innermost feelings I have and allows me to share them with other people without actually 'sharing' them with anyone at all.

For those just joining us, I hate feelings. I hate talking about them, I hate thinking about them, I hate thinking about talking about them, and I abso-FUCKING-lutely hate that they get the best of me sometimes and the quality of my life is worse because of it. Well, most of the time. But...I deal with it. And lately, I've actually been pretty good at sharing some of those feelings with those close to me. I've told people things that never in a million years would I think I would have the strength or courage to tell anyone...and lo and behold, it felt good. It actually DOES feel good to share deeply personal things with people you care about; people you know will understand exactly where you're coming from and have quite possibly had or are having those same feelings themselves. There is a sense of...how shall I put this...self accomplishment in letting something out, whether it's good or bad, and knowing that it no longer has the same power over you as it used to. Yeah, sometimes it sucks that you have to think about it first before you talk about it, and honestly, that's the hardest part of all, but once it's done...it's done. You can begin to breathe a sigh of relief and smile a little. You can begin to live just a liiiiiitle bit better and move on.

There are also sometimes when it's better that we (I say 'we' but I really mean 'I') just keep our goddamn mouth shut and bottle those feelings up because to not do so at that particular time and place would shoot ourselves in the foot and probably do more harm than good. There is a time and a place for us to say anything and everything, but we have to practice discretion in choosing JUST the right time and place for some of those things to come out into plain view. When it's the right time, we know. It may be weeks, months, or even years or decades before that time comes, but when it does, we just know. It's part of being human. Part of what sets us aside from every other species on the planet. That and opposable thumbs. But anyways, I digress. Knowing the *exact* time and place to say something to someone and not end up in a bigger hole than you started in takes a LOT of thought and a hint of luck. After all, it's not just you...there is another person involved in this as well. If I'm talking to one of my kitchen chairs, then hey...who gives a flying fuck WHAT I'm talking about, right? But when I'm talking to another person...I have to tread lightly. No exceptions. Others have feelings as well, and those need to be taken into consideration. No exceptions there either.

Along with feelings that we are able to express in words and actually share with other people, there are emotions attached. Emotions that can be expressed without saying a single word. Emotions that can be expressed in an infinite amount of ways. Whether it's tone of voice, body language (both of which can be shown and heard in SO many ways), or whatever...most of the time you can say EXACTLY what you want to anyone without saying a single word. For example...when I get a text message from someone that simply says ":-*", I know exactly what that means and it just makes me melt inside thinking about the meaning behind it. It's not a word, it's not an action, nor anything in between. It's 1s and 0s put together in a certain way to convey an emotion that someone wishes to express to me. It's just...yeah. It's just awesome =).

MY emotions...ha. I've been an emotional train wreck lately as anyone in my general vicinity will tell you. Many reasons...some good, some bad. I've learned a lot about myself lately and because of the things I've learned I feel it's made me a better person in some ways. It's a never-ending battle...a lifelong process that will allow me to grow just a little bit more every day. When it's over...then I'll rest. Until then...game on.

Remember it...write it down, take a picture, I don't give a...

2011-12-18T15:47:00.000-08:00

Before I sat down to type, I had ALL kinds of things I wanted to say about everything under the sun. Now that I'm here...I got nothin'. Not a GOD-damn thing. All I can think of is how crappy that TV dinner was last night and how warm it must be in Fiji right now. Neither of which mean a thing to me at this moment, really. I think that if I just sa...nope. Nothing. My emotions are a shitstorm of astronomical proportions right now and I'm not sure I know how to effectively cope with them. I know how...I just don't know if I neither can nor want to. Things are in motion that have the capacity to change my entire life...and I'm ok with that. Yeah, I'm gonna fuck things up along the way...I already have pretty bad. Not much I can do to rectify things, really. When I mess up, I don't go at it half-assed...it's balls to the wall for me. This will most likely be my shortest blog entry ever. Out.

The Bread Basket

2011-11-05T19:59:00.000-07:00

Don't jump to any conclusions here. The 'bread basket' in question is exactly that. A bread basket. No more, no less. No innuendos of any kind...yet. It was a basket that held bread. Don't judge me for what you're about to read.

At an impromptu dinner for three at a local restaurant with my friends Ed and Erin, we got to experience the bread basket. Well, I did anyways. My alternative for the night was a bag of microwave popcorn, my couch, and a selection from the Lord of the Rings trilogy; most likely The Two Towers because of the epic battle scene at Helm's Deep. That part rocks. So, you can understand why I jumped at a last-minute dinner invitation out to a real restaurant where they serve real food. And bread baskets. It was very much needed tonight...thanks, guys.

So, we ordered our food, and we were enjoying rather calmly. My friend Erin got a basket of fries, which came in another basket, but since it had fries and not bread, it could not technically be designated a 'bread' basket. Along with the fries came a side order of ranch dressing. Hell with the ketchup...bring on the ranch! We all shared a laugh when my friend Ed and I dipped our fries in the same little cup of ranch dressing at the same time, and I beat him to the punch with with the totally disgusting but appropriately expected comment from myself. Kind of a 'two guys, one cup of ranch dressing' thing if you will. However...what happened next was probably one of the funniest things I have most likely ever...EVER, I say...ever done in my adult life. Funnier than the time my friend Jen got the nickname "Butters" in that very same restaurant. Even funnier than the time I lost a bet and drove naked from the grocery store to my apartment...in February. Way more funnier than the time I had those latex pants...we'll leave it at that. That was just disgusting and I think my children read this.

You all know how tasty ranch dressing is...you can pretty much put it on anything and it's just yummy. Steak, cereal, strawberries...it doesn't really matter. I had dipped my french fry in the ranch dressing and on its way back to me, a drop of dressing landed on the bread basket. Just one lone drop. No blob, splotch, or dribble...just one single solitary drop of ranch dressing. Well, that stuff's pretty tasty, you know. Can't be wasteful in this economy. I said, "You know, I really wanna lick that drop of ranch dressing off the bread basket...". I mulled it over for a few moments, and I thought "What the hell...I'm gonna do it. I'm really gonna do it!".

As I was licking the drop of ranch dressing off the bread basket, our waitress chose that precise moment to stop at our table, stand behind my two friends, face me, and ask if we wanted more bread. The look on her face was priceless. I think I had done one of the strangest things she had ever see a patron do in her career at that restaurant. I froze like a deer in headlights, and put the bread basket down on the table, and said "No, we're good...thanks."

Our table was now in hysterics. I couldn't see straight from the tears in my eyes, my stomach was starting to hurt and the infamous V-shaped vein on my forehead was in full effect. Laughter ensued for quite some time...I think at one point my friend Erin told me she was never going anywhere in public with me again, but I know deep down in her heart she was laughing on the inside just as much as I was on the outside.

It wasn't until we left and went outside for a smoke that all the 'lickin' the bread basket' innuendos started. I'm not saying any of them here. My children read this.

Title in Progress...Just Like the Rest of the Book.

2011-10-23T12:26:00.000-07:00

Pain is a fickle beast. It makes us act irrationally. It makes us do things that are unnatural, things that are unhealthy for ourselves and those around us, and also things that may be just plain dangerous. It damages us, inside and out...beyond repair in some cases, and it makes us re-evaluate how we conduct our lives and how we interact with other people. People who are in pain are difficult to deal with at times; they don't quite see things from your point of view, and even if they do it just doesn't quite fully sink in. These individuals know that they are in pain and there seems to be no way to escape it, but there always is. It might not be the easy way out, nor is it the path you want to choose because of the fear that's instilled in you, but there is ALWAYS a way out, and sometimes you have to be willing enough to open up and let someone in to help you get out of the abyss you seem to be stuck in.

To put it bluntly, pain is a motherfucker...it hurts like hell, we hate it, and that's the plain truth. I know it as well as anybody else. We let it control us and tower over us and we let it dictate our words and actions. We let it shield us from those who love us and care for us so dearly and want nothing but the best for us. We allow it into our lives and we give it free reign over our emotions. Pain does not discriminate...it digs its claws deep into the strongest and most resilient people and reduces them to nothing but an empty shell of what they used to be. People who are beautiful, caring, intelligent, strong, compassionate, determined, successful...even people like that stand no chance when the demon that we call pain plants its roots inside us. To steal a word or three from Ozzy Osbourne, pain at its best is a 'killer of giants'. Nobody is immune. Even the mighty fall.

We get so used to what that pain feels like that feeling anything else becomes foreign; it becomes almost unwanted. Moments of levity, moments of happiness, moments of joy...we sometimes become uncomfortable at those times because those are emotions that have been absent so long we are no longer equipped with the knowledge that we need to effectively handle them. We get confused and think to ourselves...

"Am I supposed to be happy right now? Why do I feel joy at this particular moment? Why do I not feel pain? Jesus Harold Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me? Where's my pain??"

...but for some reason, it feels good! At that precise moment that our pain is temporarily lifted, the wall comes down a bit and we see things clearly...we see that there is no more need for pain because there are other emotions we find happiness and joy in that we are finally able to appreciate and let flow through our being. It becomes crystal clear to us that there is no more need for pain in our lives...that we have a better way. Let that newly-found clarity drive you...let it show you that there IS something else out there besides the pain you so despise with every fiber of your being. Let it help you allow yourself to be loved and cherished and held and told what you so desperately need to hear. After all...there aren't any fairy tales and happy endings in hell.

The Long Lost Blog about the Second Coolest Guy Alive

2011-10-13T16:55:00.000-07:00

Some people are wondering why I've been kind of a different person lately...why I've seemingly lost a fair amount of weight, why I've been seeking the company of friends more than normal, why I don't seem myself. The last few months of my life have been trying...more so than normal. I've had to face some hard truths about myself and how I've lived my life. Some good, some not so good. But that's ok...I've learned things about myself that will hopefully help to make me a better person for those who encounter me in the future.

I won't lie. I won't sugarcoat things. I've been an asshole. I've done things that not only affected myself but many people around me, and looking back at my actions, I feel horrible for that. I do have a few morals left, after all these years. I was conceited, arrogant, crass, ignorant, and selfish. I hurt people around me who loved me so dearly with little or no regard for anyone's feelings but my own. I could say SO much more but I'd prefer to keep this simple...as simple as I can, anyways. To those of you in my wake...I sincerely apologize. But, there are times in my life that I must admit complete and utter defeat...this is one of those times, as hard as that is for me to admit.

There are some who know the specifics of the previous month or two of my life, but there are many, many more who do not. Some very close friends of mine have offered me their love and support as I've dealt with something rather painful and difficult...for that I thank you immensely. One of my dearest friends recently kept me from doing something very...unpleasant. That short-lived phase of my life is over and I don't want to revisit it.

And now I draw a blank...as is my usual MO.

Anyways...as I was saying. Or wasn't saying...like the sentence above states. I will bounce back stronger than ever...I will emerge victorious. I will adapt and overcome. I have no option. Falling apart for me right now at this point in my life is NOT feasible in any way, shape or form. Now, more than ever, I MUST win. No exceptions.

I Fought The Law...

2011-07-27T18:29:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, I was quite a hell raiser. I know, I know...hard to believe, isn't it? Well, it's true. If there was trouble to be found, I found it. Sometimes it found me. If there was no trouble, I *made* the trouble. My teen years were spent mostly in a drunken haze, treating my body like an amusement park. Some kids did drugs, some kids were into breaking into houses, some kids fought all the time...not me.

Not to say I didn't do those things as well, but they weren't my forte, so to speak.

Booze was my thing. No matter what you called it...if it was an alcoholic beverage, I drank it. Beer was my favorite, hands down. There just wasn't enough beer in the world for me. Cans, bottles, glasses...it didn't matter to me. Beer was my thing.

By the time I hit 18, I was a seasoned alcoholic. I make no bones about it...I was. I'm not ashamed of it, but I am ashamed of some of the things I did while I was under the influence of it. Most of my high school career was under the influence...there are very few days I remember from start to finish. I would sell my soul to the devil himself to go back and change that today...I really would.

People who like to drink have an uncanny knack for finding other people who like to drink...it's what we do. Drinking is the one thing that brought people together in my school...I partied with people who otherwise wouldn't give me the time of day. After time, I even drank with people in other cities...and other states altogether. It was like my own personal national pastime.

One such night, I was out with a buddy of mine and an uncle of his who was our designated buyer. I was 18 and so was my buddy, so we needed someone to buy us beer as the drinking age had been raised to 21. We were driving around in my first car, my beloved 1978 Chevy Nova...a two-door model. Man, the stories that car could tell...anyways. That night was cold as hell...it was the middle of December and the heater in my car didn't work all too well, so we kept bundled up so as not to freeze to death. Out cruising around, a couple cases of beer in the backseat, a buncha empties all over the place, tunes crankin' on the AM radio and we felt like we had the world in the palm of our hands.We were invincible. Life was good...damn good.

Until...

We got hungry, so we decided to stop at a convenience store to get some snacks and of course, some more beer and cigarettes. We weren't out of either one, but it might have been a while before we stopped again. I stayed in the car, and my buddy and his uncle went inside the store to get our supplies. I kept the car running so the heat would stay on, which wasn't really doing that good of a job in the first place, but I did it anyways. My buddy and his uncle came out, walked back to the car and got in, and I raised my beer to finish it off.

And then...

ALLLLLLL hell broke loose.

My buddy starts saying "Cops! Cops! Cops!" and I panicked and started to put my empty beer can under my seat, which I know now was really stupid. I saw myself hiding a beer can (like they weren't going to see the other two empty cases floating around the front and back seats), but the officer at my window saw me reaching for a weapon of some kind. The next thing we heard was "PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM AND DO NOT MOVE!!!!!"

There was an officer at my window, one at the passenger window, and one at both ends of the car, all four with guns drawn on me. I was mortified. I couldn't even open the door when the officer asked me to. I think I might have even peed a little. They had to search the car, of course, and we could have built a small fortress out of all the empties they took out of the car and put on the trunk.

See, when we pulled into the parking lot, we were all too drunk to notice the police car at the other end of the parking lot AND the police car in the parking lot at the fast food restaurant next door (it was dark...that's my only defense). And of course, I pulled into the closest spot to the driveway, which happened to be one of the two spots the clerk couldn't see very well from inside the store. Two guys run in, one waits in the car...yeah. They thought they were going to be robbed, so the second clerk tipped off one of the officers in the store (my buddy and his uncle were totally oblivious to the two officers in the store, for some reason...they must have been more drunk than I was). Then the second car rolled in nice and ninja-like with its lights off after the other two got in the car, and we were stone cold busted. The nights' adventure got me my second underage drinking citation, and I don't remember what the other two got and frankly I don't care.

It didn't scare me enough to make me quit, but it DID make me more a cautious drunk for the future.

LOL, WTF, and BBL...The Way of the Interwebs.

2011-07-13T13:07:00.000-07:00

I am an internet junkie. It started way back when in the late 1990s when I discovered chat rooms. The very first time I ever logged into a chat room, I had a hard time believing that there were real people there. There were. The first dialogue I ever had in a chat room:

I said "Hello?"

Someone responded "hi".

(Oooooo...this is COOL!!!!)

I was hooked. Real people!! They had cool names and used colorful fonts and letters and I could talk to them and they talked to me back. Well, type to them, anyways. I spent countless hours in various chat rooms...made a few friends here and there that I chatted with on and off while I was there, but most of the people in there were not regulars. I became a regular after a while. Some people I chatted with outside of the chat rooms; Yahoo Messenger was a popular medium of conversation, and I utilized it often. Hours and hours were spent chatting about anything and everything amidst various emoticons of smiley faces and sad faces, lols and brbs. I met one of my closest and dearest friends in a chat room over ten years ago, to be honest. Little did I know that it was those early days that would suck me into the internet for good.

Then I discovered IRC, short for internet relay chat. It was like chat rooms on steroids. It was there I learned how to exploit websites and gain access to their content for free. The people who taught me how to do this were ex-programmers and system admins, and they were among the best on the planet. They had cracked more websites than I could count and were responsible for general mayhem and chaos. They were the elite hackers of the planet, and I was under their wing. I was soon an @ there, which is the abbreviation for operator. I could kick people out of our channel, add people to our ranks, ban the newbies who didn't follow the rules, and various other benefits.

It didn't last long...I got bored and left the channel I belonged to, and have all but forgotten how to use the tools I was given. The tools are still out there...somewhere. I just choose not to use them anymore. Too risky nowadays with Big Brother breathing down our necks.

Then came the advent of social networking. I enjoy it because it allows me to talk to family and friends I normally wouldn't see or hear from for years at a time, both foreign and domestic. Facebook, Twitter, and countless others encompass billions of people across the world, and it seems that nobody is immune to their grasp.

And then...MMORPGs. Or, massive multi-player online role playing games. Yowza...I couldn't possibly know where to begin here. World of Warcraft was my poison...people have nicknamed it 'Warcrack'. I spent hundreds of hours in front of my computer. I won't go into detail because I could go on and on for days about Warcraft, so I'll spare you all this time. I still play here and there, but not nearly as much as I used to.

Now, I subscribe to many different news readers and groups and am constantly reading about the latest in gadgets and electronics, business, politics, games, humor, and many other things. I'm hooked but I don't want to quit...I don't think I could if I tried =). I'm still a junkie, I guess.

Where will computing go next? What else is out there that we could possibly discover? How much more is there to invent? We may never know. Not in our lifetime, anyways.

Know When to Fold 'Em...

2011-07-09T19:29:00.000-07:00

Many, many years ago, I used to enjoy gambling. Blackjack, to be specific. At first, it was the mystique of the casino; the buttons and neon-colored lights on all the machines, the sounds of jackpots and semi-jackpots calling to you to empty the loose change from your pockets before you even get your wallet out and hit the cashier, even the smells of the casino.

Yes, there are smells....honest. Some are good...some not so good.

The good...the all-you-can-eat buffet, the occasional pipe aroma wafting through the air, and if you're lucky, the smell of a stack of bills as you walk out the front door with the house's money. The bad...the smell of mini-buckets of dirty nickels and quarters being hauled around under watchful eyes by little old ladies taking their weekly (sometimes daily) bus trip, the various odors of the regular degenerate gamblers who threw bathing out the window because 'they were on a roll and couldn't quit now', and the over-perfumed women (it's always Vanilla Fields...blech) who try to mask the scent of gin and Virginia Slims they constantly exude.

The very first time I ever went to a casino, I sat down in front of the first machine I saw, put in one quarter, and won $75. I was hooked. I was gonna be richer than Bruce Springsteen...I had it all planned out. Come up here a few times a week, bring a roll of quarters, and walk out on rose petals drinking a bottle of Dom Perignon with an escort on each arm like Ice-T or Hugh Hefner. My dreams were soon dashed. I realized very quickly that the house, not I, had the overall advantage. Then the scheming started...that didn't last long either. I figured out that if I was going to be a successful gambler, a real high roller, I was just going to have to learn how to play the games by the rules and win by strategy, not cheating. Face it...you can't cheat a casino. You might do it once, maybe even three or four times, but you WILL get caught and if you did, you might never be seen again. I didn't have the balls to try.

Soon enough, I found the blackjack tables. I started small, only playing at the three dollar tables. After a while, I learned how to play the game; when to hit, when to stand, when to hold, when to double...all that good stuff. I got pretty good, and I knew the game fairly well. I graduated up to the nickel tables, and once in a while I ventured into the quarter table territory, but not very often.

One night, I decided to try my luck at the quarter tables hoping to win some real money. After I sat down and started playing, I was having the night of my life. I walked in with around $200, and was up over $1,000. I couldn't lose no matter how hard I tried. I felt like Tony Montana...the world was mine and there was nobody who could stop me. Or so I thought.

After a while, a well-dressed man in a very nice suit came over and asked me if I'd like to join this table over in a little corner off of the rest of the tables, the one in a blue haze of expensive cigar smoke and smelling of Old Spice and whiskey. It was a hundred dollar table...somewhere I had only dreamed of playing. My eyebrows went up almost as quick as my heartbeat. I took my stacks and followed the nice man over to the new table and sat at the open spot. I was the youngest player there by a long shot...the next oldest guy there was at least twice my age, and they just got older from there. My luck seemed to follow me there also...soon enough, I was up over $6,000, and I was ON FIRE. Unstoppable. Unbeatable.

Until...it happened.

I caught some bad cards, and I started to sweat a little. My vast fortune was dropping by as much as $500 a hand, and all of a sudden it was like someone turned on a switch and the shoes turned to complete shit. I started to bet bigger and play more erratic to make up for my losses, and I could feel my luck slipping away. I'm sure the free drinks the waitresses kept bringing didn't help any, either. Those broads knew what they were doing. By this time I knew I had already had quite a bit to drink, but I was losing my ass in a big hurry, which took my mind off the booze. The only thing going through my mind at that time was despair and sorrow.

My last hand there was a $250 bet...a little more than I had in my pocket when I walked in the door quite a few hours and almost as many drinks ago. My 19 lost to the dealer's 20 and I was flat busted. Broke as a sonofabitch and I was devastated. I thanked the dealer and didn't say another word to anyone. I walked out with my head to the ground in shame and I couldn't forgive myself for not getting up and walking out when I had over SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS of the house's money sitting in front of me.

I learned an expensive lesson that day...and I haven't played a single hand of blackjack since.

If It's Too Loud, You're Too Old.

2011-06-30T06:36:00.000-07:00

June 28th I had the pleasure of attending a concert here in town. Normally, I wouldn't attend such foolishness, as it's just not in my things-to-do list anymore, but my good friend Jim Heiderscheit suggested I check it out as it would be a pretty kickass show. If you know me at all, you'll know I was skeptical, as usual. I was wrong, also as usual. He was right.

I had my concert-going days back in the 1980s, and they were good. Damn good. My first concert...Twisted Sister. That was 1986. This is 2011. Most of the bands I listen to are either retired, broken up beyond repair, or dead. It's a fact of life. Bands come and bands go. Sad, but true. Sure, there are still a few of them around, but most of them have changed so much over the years that I just don't get what I used to out of them (don't EVEN get me started about Metallica).

Tuesday night was different. It wasn't thousands of people screaming their heads off, getting drunk and passing the doobies around in the stands, stopping just short of a drunken riot. This was a smaller venue, and it fit the bands that played there very well, in my opinion.

Yeah, it was loud. Really loud and my ears paid for it, I'm sure. It was hot and there was no air conditioning. But that was ok. It was rock music the way rock music is supposed to be played. Loud, gritty, sweaty, and IN YOUR FACE. I was right up on the stage with the rest of the guys there who probably weren't much older than my own children. They were jumping around, dancing, banging their head, and after a while, by God, so was I.

The three guys with guitars kicked ass...seriously. The vocals, the keyboard player, my buddy Jim on drums (he was tight, man...lemme tell you what)...these guys have their shit together. They covered "Just What I Needed" by The Cars. Ho. Lee. SHIT. I was blown away. Srsly blown away. You have NO idea.

I felt like I was 16 again...it was awesome. Just plain awesome.

You'll see a couple videos I shot of them playing below; the footage isn't theater quality, but who cares? It's rock and roll music...it's not supposed to be pretty. It's all what you make it.

Thanks for reading (and listening), all.

Brats, Beers, and Keys

2011-06-24T19:21:00.000-07:00

Over the years I have had many different 'careers'. I've been a paperboy, a bouncer for an 'adult entertainment' service, a burger flipper, part of a pit crew, a boot maker, and many, many others; some I won't mention here because I don't want to taint my well-polished image. I'm all about the people, you know.

One of the most interesting and just plain cool jobs I had was a promoter and organizer of autograph shows with professional athletes. This was something my business partner and I did on the side as we also had a retail store to run at the same time. We would bring in athletes to our city to sign autographs at a venue, and we had an awesome time doing it. Because the majority of the athletes we brought in were either current or retired Green Bay Packers (some Hall of Famers as well), we spent the majority of our time 'planning' at a local sports bar that was devoted to sports memorabilia, primarily...you guessed it...Green Bay Packer ephemera. My partner was also a legacy, in Animal House terms, because his grandfather was on a championship team back in the 1940s, so football was in his blood.

Our days were pretty simple for the most part...meet at the 'office' for lunch, which was 99 times out of a hundred a bowl of beer cheese soup, a couple brats, and a few beers (a few...yeah, right), followed by a few rounds of Golden Tee golf (which my golfing partner and I took first place in the first year there was a league in my city...we were pretty happy about that). Generally, it was a given that we would spend several hours 'planning' our work in the 'office', and we were usually happier when we were done than we were when we began.

My partner had this old beat-up Ford F-something with a 3-speed on the column; it wasn't pretty but it got us where we needed to go, and it actually ran pretty well given its condition. Still had the old aluminum keys before they started making them out of brass or whatever it is they make them out of nowadays. One day when we were ready to leave, my buddy went to the drivers' side of the truck which was nearest the curb, and I to the passenger side, which was on the street. Not just any old street, mind you. A two-lane, northbound street which is one of the top five busiest streets in town. There are speed limits posted, but people usually drive at least ten over, traffic permitting. My buddy opened his door with the key, and for reasons unknown to me and every other person on the planet except him, instead of reaching over and opening my door from the inside like anyone else would have done, he decides to toss the keys to me without telling me first (because apparently I was just supposed to know that was the plan), sliding them across the top of the cab, hoping I'll see them in time and catch them.

I didn't.

The keys went over my head, and landed about three feet away from me, in the lane of traffic. I started to step and bend over to pick them up, and something told me to look before I got to where I was going. I turned my head to the right, and HOLY CRAP there was a vehicle coming right at me, not even bothering to slow down any. Naturally, I jumped back against my buddy's truck, and I heard

<clink>

And then I did

O.O

It all happened so fast that I can barely remember what kind of vehicle it was. But what I DO remember...very vividly...is the sound car keys make when they're stuck in someone's front tire hitting the pavement repeatedly at 30 mph. All I could do was stand and stare with my mouth open and my eyes as big as quarters. Our keys were going down the road in someone's front tire and there wasn't a goddamn thing I could do about it. I stood and stared some more, and my buddy gets out and comes around to see what's going on. I pointed...and pointed some more. Then I picked my jaw up off the ground and started to tell him what happened. He told me to quit fuckin' around and give him the keys. I said "DUDE...someone ran them over. They're going north right now. I'm serious as a heart attack."

His jaw was then on the ground as well. We stood and stared at each other, mouths wide open, as if we were watching the Titanic sink to her watery grave. A few minutes later, we composed ourselves to walk down the street, he on one side and I on the other, to see if the keys had worked themselves out and were waiting to be found. They didn't, and they weren't. A half mile later we walked back to call a locksmith to come make us a new key.

Fast forward three days later.

We're in the 'office' doing some 'planning', enjoying our lunch (both solid and liquid) and this guy walks in and sits down about four stools away from us next to a friend of his. We didn't think anything of it, he was just another guy in 'planning' mode. A few minutes later, I hear the man's voice elevate, and he says, "You'll NEVER guess what happened to me three days ago. I got home from work and had a goddamn flat tire. Some asshole jammed a car key in my front tire...and those tires are only two months old!!"

I turn to my buddy with almost a crazed look on my face and and in a loud, semi-drunken whisper I said "DUDE!!!! LISTEN TO THAT GUY!!!" My buddy goes over and asks the man if he still had the key that was in his tire. The man says, "Yeah, I saved 'em just in case." My buddy starts telling the guy what had happened, offered to pay for the tire, and pretty soon the whole place was in bottle-induced hysterics and we called off 'work' early that day to celebrate the reunion of my buddy and his keys.

The Bear

2011-06-21T13:04:00.000-07:00

It's been brought to my attention more than once that I have had experiences in my life that others may want to read about. It's also been suggested that I write an actual book, but that's too much like work. The time has come to document some of these experiences. Hence, the blog begins.

I was thinking about what my first post would be whilst doing some dishes, and in light of the recent holiday, Fathers' Day, I decided to share an experience I had with my dad when I was young. My dad, SFC Gene Stetter (ret), was the greatest man alive. He hunted, he fished, and he knew everything about everything. When he passed away he left me two things...his hairline and his potty mouth. He taught me how to shoot a gun, use a fish pole, build things out of stained glass (that will be a future story) and the Lord only knows how many other things.

When I was about eight years old, we were on a family vacation up in northern Wisconsin, somewhere near Hayward. There's a lot to do up there if you take the time to find it. Some of the best fishing in the world is in that area, and I've had the chance to experience it many times. Northern pike, muskellunge, and many other fish fell to our fishing expertise over the years.

Something else that there were plenty of up north are bears. Bears, in my opinion, are the coolest animals alive. They are my favorite animal to watch and I can spend hours upon hours on YouTube watching videos of bears doing anything from dancing to fishing to fighting other bears. They're just cool. But anyways...back to the story. One of the local attractions up north was this dump where the bears would go to scavenge for food after dark. People would come from all over to watch the bears, bringing loaves of bread and fish they'd caught to toss out for the bears to eat. There were never any grizzlies or kodiaks or any of the bigger bear species there, just your basic black bears that were just as cool. When you're eight years old and sitting in the truck with your old man tossing hot dogs to a bear, you're on cloud nine.

After we had thrown out a few hot dogs and pieces of bread to the one bear that was there after the rest had left, my old man looks at me and says, "I bet if you take a hot dog and walk up to that bear real nice and slow and don't scare him, he'll take it right out of our hand."

o.O (internet WTF eyes)

I looked at my old man like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears or something, and it felt like he was asking me to take the One Ring into the fiery depths of Mordor or some epic task of that nature. My eyes got as big as quarters, and I pretty much told him he was nuts, however an eight-year-old would say that back in 1981. He assured me that nothing would happen, and not wanting to act like a sissy in front of my old man, I reluctantly took the hot dog (I think it was an Oscar Meyer) and opened the passenger door on his F-150 verrrrrry slowly. I stepped out onto the ground with one foot, and I felt fear setting in. My old man did too, because he said to me "He's more afraid of you than you are of him, so don't let him know you're afraid." Yeah...thanks, Dad. I'll remember that when he's eating my face and laughing about it later with the other bears.

I started of walking towards the bear, which was only about 20 yards from me but felt like an endless mile. I readied the hot dog...arm straight out, one eye closed, head cocked to one side not wanting to look, and my tongue was hanging out like that infamous Michael Jordan picture. I stepped slowly but steadily closer to the bear, and then...he saw me. His big head turned to me, and he started sniffing the air, sensing that there was something edible heading his way. To him, it was the hot dog, but to me it could have been...well, me, for all I knew. Then he turned his body to me and strolled over to me nice and easy. I froze like a deer in headlights...I couldn't have moved even if I had wanted to. The bear was within six feet from me and I looked right at him...and he looked at me.

I was certain this was it...I had mentally prepared myself to be eaten momentarily, and as my hand was shaking uncontrollably, the bear walked up and ate the hot dog right from my hand like I would eat a corn dog. Just grabbed it and walked away...that was it.

I was still frozen...totally unable to move. I then heard my old man tell me to back up slowly and come back to the truck. I did exactly that and to my surprise, I wasn't eaten. I wasn't made into bear food before my very eyes. I still had all my limbs and I hadn't wet my pants. Success =).

I got into the truck and looked at my old man...he just looked at me with the face that says "I told you so, silly...". That was by far the highlight of my summer...not many things I've done to date have been anywhere near as cool.

Thanks for reading...there will be much more in the future.