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 |   The only blog that will put hair on your chest... |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Turning from the Dark Side ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** < This is where I'll insert a cool new blog description. Someday. > |
| We were out to dinner tonight, chatting and holding hands at the table as we always do while waiting for our meal. The table behind us piled out, and the bearded, middle-aged man who seemed the patriarch of the table stopped at ours briefly. I don't know what he saw or heard or what bit of body language tipped him off, but his words will forever be ingrained in my memory as the perfect ending to a perfect day and the beginning of forever. "It's nice to see two people so in love." We thanked him, both of us grinning from ear to ear. I didn't catch the remainder of what he said as he strolled away, but I know it ended with "Hang on to it." And we will. |
 No doubt this entry will confuse and confound my readership to no end... just the way I like.  And no hints, shannon! |
| Jodi walked in the hotel lobby around 11:30 PM. I was so excited to see her, partly because I was so worried about her, partly because I was a wreck from the misadventures of the night, and partly because I'm always excited to see her, that I wrapped my arms around her before she could get off the mat that operated the automatic sliding door. The door stood open with artic wind blasting in. Unwilling to loose my grip, I lifted her inches above the ground and swiveled around, depositing her again on her tiptoes away from the mat. I had never been so thrilled to see anyone in my life. I've gotten used to that with her. So one adventure had ended, and another was to begin. I crammed all my stuff into her little sedan. I had a huge red fleece sack of gifts, my bag of clothes for the weekend, my laptop case, a big basket my mom and sis had made for her, and a big birthday gift bag holding my Santa outfit. I convinced her to not look in the bag on the presumption that it was more Christmas gifts. Incidentally if I had not packed all her gifts into that big red sack my mom made to go with the costume, her gifts would likely still be sitting in a locked, smashed-up, Ford Escape at some garage off the beaten path in Chelmsford, Massachusetts. Considering my bad luck yesterday I've decided to notice those tiny blessings. Jodi coasted into town on fumes... literally. The little red dial was showing even below the E line. So it was nearly midnight, we were three hours from our destination, and we were in danger of having to push to the nearest gas station. I checked with the hotel, and we could have gotten a room for the night, but with sleet and freezing rain in the Chelmsford early morning forecast, staying and getting stranded wasn't an option. I drove the car out of the hotel parking lot, and stopped at the first set of lights, trying to spot the nearest gas station. They were all closed. It was almost midnight afterall. I could see the night getting worse and worse. Though sharing a private room with my sweetheart wouldn't have been all bad.  Luckily ther was a station within sight with the lights still on. Some crusty, grimy, hairy man came out, spoke to me in broken English, gave me the willies, and pumped our gas with the omnipresent distinction of a man about to pull a switchblade on us at anytime. I was happy to be out of there, though I didn't bother to tell Jodi he was creeping me out.We were back on the road around midnight. Jodi was sick and had been all day, so I instructed her to go to sleep. She awoke though when I had to put my window down to feel subzero wind hitting my face at 70 mph. As I got drowsier and drowsier I fought it, but when the road suddenly became a battleship sized Coca-Cola Classic can laying on its side and I starting driving through it's opening I decided I better wake up. We stopped at a 24 hour Burger King. Nothing like processed meat and greasy fries to send your heart into a jolt of early morning energy and clog your arteries. Of course my chicken sandwich was cold. The night wouldn't have been complete if it wasn't. We got back to her place around 3 AM. I had to make two trips to the car, and she had to hide some stuff she had sitting out. So on my second trip back I donned the Santa outfit. A word to the wise: avoid changing clothes in the snow, in subzero temperatures, with no lighting, and three bags to carry whenever possible. When at last I stood in her apartment building again, I began fixing my suit outside her door. I was hunched over my boot, tucking in the red fleece, when she opened the door to come looking for me. I was caught quite literally red-handed. Not exactly what I had planned, but still special nonetheless. And since I'm full of advice tonight: remember that kissing with a fake beard is difficult... and itchy. Okay, there's another boring entry for any unfortunate reader who was concerned for our safety last night. All is well and right with the world again. As the anxiety subsides I'll return to my problematic self and return to some more interesting entries. I actually had a comical entry planned to describe my birthday last week, but I forgot what it was going to say. I can only cram so much incredible wit into this head at once. |
| I left work today and headed north for the greatest Christmas of my life. Halfway there I rear-ended a car and ended up getting towed to a garage in a town I've never been in. The garage closed down for the night after letting me make a slew of phone calls. And now I'm stranded in a hotel lobby waiting for my sweetheart to pick me up. I called my girlfriend first. I couldn't bear to have her worrying about me. Then I called my dad because he's the most resourceful when it comes to this sort of thing. Of course I got no answer. I tried his cellphone but it's out of service. I called my grandmother. Still no answer. I called my aunt, whose car I was driving, and again got no answer. Did I mention I forgot my cellphone and was making all these calls from the garage? I had the guy at the desk do an Internet search for my other aunt's phone number. Thank God for the Internet. I called her and she gave me my aunt's cell phone number. Finally I reached someone relevant to the scenario. But what was I going to do? I'm stuck halfway between home and between the place I think of as home. This was going to be our Christmas, the best Christmas, and here I was ruining it. I needed to get there somehow, either today or tomorrow. I had ruined it enough already. So what was I to do? I called my sweetheart back, and my parents tried calling her while we were on the phone. Finally I had some more contacts. Half an hour later, after phone calls back and forth, with my parents and girlfriend carrying on phone calls of their own, we arrived at a plan. She's driving here to pick me up. And now I'm waiting in a hotel lobby and worrying sick about her. I'm about three hours from her place, and she's doing this for me. She's got a car that isn't in great shape. She's sick. She's tired. And she doesn't know the way. And yet she's willing to come and get me. Whether it's because she knows how much I want to make this weekend special or because she wants to be with me or a combination of both I don't know. But I do know that I love her. And I know that despite this entire debacle tonight, this entire fiasco I've put her and my family through, her only concern was that I was okay. And yes, readers, I'm fine. I had so much planned for this weekend. It seems like it will get cut a day short now, and worse I won't get to deliver the surprise I had planned. I was going to walk into her apartment tonight in a full Santa outfit, carrying my bag of presents. And now I can't do that. The many bags are sitting here next to me in this lobby. At least I still have the suit, the presents, the basket my mom and sister made for her, my change of clothes, and everything else I need. The weekend can still be special... no, it will be special; it's always special when we have each other. I put a real damper on it, and I'm having anxiety attack now though. Anyway, sorry, this entry stinks and doesn't even have an ending. I'm just really anxious right now, and especially worrying about Jodi. I needed to get it out somehow. I feel utterly trapped and alone right now, and this website is my only outlet at the moment. |
| During lunch I called my mom and chatted a bit, remembered I had a free sub coming at Subway, and pondered and relaxed while I enjoyed my turkey sub. I figured out the anxiety. All those little things are just tidbits that my racing mind is throwing in because I'm feeling overwhelmed. Work is behind it all. I've been flat out at work for 3 months, and taking much of that stress home with me. My weekends with my sweetheart are pretty much the only time I'm not feeling stressed by work. And it occurred to me at lunch that I've only taken 1 vacation day this year. One lousy day. Twice I've had whole weeks scheduled, and twice I lost the opportunities and worked through the week. I need time to finally just relax. And there's no sign of getting anything more than a 3 or 4 day weekend any time soon. I guess it's all finally catching up. I need a break, and I can't have one. *sigh* Thank God for those amazing weekends with the one I love. I think I would have gone insane if not for those. |
| Yes, it's one of those days where the anxieties are taking over. I'm not afraid of everything like I used to be. Today it's just a fear of everything going wrong. Well, not everything, just silly little things, like screwing up my job, looking like a fool, having thousands of dollars in hospital bills that I can only pay off bit by bit ruining my credit, an incorrect Cingular bill that's gone into collections for a cellphone I've never had and continues to plague me despite months of phone calls and promises that they would straighten it out. Those things and more. Like my boss today giving me even more phone duties, not a damn one of which are in my job description or the job I held previously. And there's the anxiety of fearing I'll screw up Christmas somehow. The anxiety of knowing my van needs tires and realignment, but December is present buying time. The anxiety of this new guy here who is supposed to help me out, but instead I have to train him on stuff I've never been trained on. And oh yeah, I already don't like him. (There's just something smug and boastful about him... we fired the last guy we had who reminded me of this behavior.) There's the other bitter programmer scolding me like a toddler today because of an issue with her program that I neglected to tell her about. There was jury duty this morning, and I need to get some paperwork done tonight. There's the anxiety of living paycheck to paycheck until January because of Halloween spending that still plagues me, Christmas presents, and hundreds and hundreds of dollars in vet bills. For some reason I feel I'm nearing a breaking point today. I feel an anxiety attack coming on, and it's only lunchtime. Why do some of us have to have the problems of dealing with stress and anxiety this way? Why can't I just cope? |
| Saturday night included dinner at Debbie Wong's, and that means fortune cookies. Here was mine: There is a true and sincere friendship between you both. Something else I already knew. Without friendship, you have no foundation. Our foundation is very sturdy. For that I'm fortunate. Hmmmm, I wish I had saved all my fortunes. After I log them here, I tend to throw them away. Had I saved them I could have made a collage of them or something. Granted I would need a creative scrapbooking afficionado to help me out, but luckily I know just the gal for the job. Ah well, perhaps I'll start saving them now.Okay, no more sappy entries today, I promise. |
| It's her fault, it's all her fault! That's my story, and I'm sticking to it! A few months ago my girlfriend had me try some white wine with dinner. I didn't like it. A few weeks later at a Halloween party I discovered I didn't really care for any kind of alcoholic beverage. Since then as a joke I started sipping on that same white wine she first introduced me to. Last weekend I polished off a glass and a half for her because I poured too much. Thanksgiving I downed three glasses partly in jest and partly because I was beginning to like it. Tonight I polished off the bottle with a glass at dinner. And I liked it... Ironically I've discovered that I'm better off just gulping it down fast. On Thanskgiving I had three glasses in the span of 5 minutes or so. I never felt a thing. I wonder if maybe I'm just so naturally loopy and tipsy that a bit of alcohol doesn't really have an effect. On the other hand I'm sure it has something to do with having considerable body mass. So what happens when I get down to my ideal weight? Hmmm, by then I may be willing to regularly drink some wine, so watch out. I'm sure she will thrill at seeing my tipsy. Sweet revenge and all that. The point of the entry is I'm suddenly beginning to like the taste of wine. It's growing on me I guess. I'm not sure yet if this is good or bad. Someone will appreciate it I'm sure. Now I have to wonder though... what if I ever actually get drunk? Or even just tipsy? I'm zany enough inhibited, but what about when alcohol breaks down the inhibitions? How problematic can I become? *shivers* Scary thought. Now before anyone accuses me, yes, I'll confess. I've been drinking more and more wine at least partly in an attempt to acquire a taste for it. That sappy, lovestruck part of me wants to be able to enjoy some wine together over dinner or whenever. Considering I drank wine alone tonight at dinner, I think I've reached that point. I look forward to next weekend when I can sip a glass or two without cringing or trying to shake off the aftertaste. |
| My parents, siblings, and I settled around the table for the quintessential Thanksgiving dinner. We had all the Thanksgiving acoutrements and an additional ham because my father is so damned picky he doesn't even like turkey that much. We were definitely in the Thanksgiving spirit this year. My father and brother were in work clothes from coming back from plowing, and my brother was sporting his work baseball cap that should probably be worn when driving a tractor. My hair was equated to "bed head," my sister was wearing pajamas I think, and my mom made me wonder if the egg nog was spiked. Yeah, what an old-fashioned Thanksgiving. I didn't care really because I couldn't get into the spirit of it. Frankly I wanted to be somewhere else, and with someone else more importantly. Dinner was uneventful. I ate turkey, mashed potatoes, and a couple dinner rolls. My mother had other food arrayed on the table, but I tend to not eat what I can't identify. Finally, dinner was over and my father stepped out to make some phone calls. I decided to venture one more chew on a smoky roll, which my brother referred to as the first ever "steak roll," and I asked him to flip me one. In typical Brian fashion, he tossed it across the table. It landed in the bowl of mashed potatoes, and all hell broke loose. I inspected the roll, gaping in disgust at the potato clumps now tainting its surface. Something deep inside me snapped at this Thanksgiving blasphemy. Some socially repressed inhibition stirred in my soul. And I threw it back as if it were a baseball, a cold, potato-smeared, unintentionally smoked flavored baseball. My brother is amazingly agile, a skill I think you tend to develop with a brother six years older. Well, that and a high threshold for pain. Anyhow he ducked the roll, and it sailed into the wall. He scooped it off and fired it back, hitting me full in the chest. I was never much of a pitcher, and another failed attempt to smack him at point blank range with a dinner roll confirmed that. As he reached for the roll a second time I realized I was better off trying the shotgun approach since the single shot attack was failing me. I scanned the table, debating between broccoli casserole and mashed potatoes. Running the risk of accidentally getting broccoli in my mouth steered me away from that option. So I grabbed the oversized serving spoon for the mashed potatoes and readied my ammunition. The first round was a splattering that stuck to the table, glanced off his dodging back, and sprayed the wall behind him. Laughter surrounded us like mortar fire, and I realized I could be threatened from all sides. I reloaded and catapaulted a clumpy round into my mother's face. My sister, trapped in the throes of laughter, never saw the third round coming. I think she's still cleaning it out of her hair. Having won the first battle, the war had just begun. I exclaimed in my best Bluto from Animal House voice "Foooooooood Fiiiiiiiiiiiiight!" My brother responded with automatic corn fire, the yellow pellets bouncing off me before finally finding their way into doggie bellies. A turkey grenade slammed against my chest, and I redirected its trajectory to my sister's lap where Zeus quickly dispatched it. At that point things settled down, and my father returned. The Scrooge. My brother hit me with one more sneak attack, a glob of mashed potatoes that penetrated my defenses and left me sightless in one eye. Fortunately wiping off my glasses healed that wound. And all this before I drank those three glasses of wine. Go figure. |
People keep telling me I'm a better person now and that she's a good influence on me. It's true. I'm growing in wonderful ways. I was working on growing and changing even before I met her, but she has sped up that process and enhanced it in ways I never really planned on. And for the first time in my life I sit here on Thanksgiving day and I want to recognize what I'm thankful for: Family: For all the complaining about them and all the crap they sometimes put me through, I wouldn't trade them for anything. Well, not my immediate family anyway. I've finally begun to realize just how fortunate I am with the family I was born into. There is a closeness, a love, a sense of humor and fun, and a welcomeness to new surrogate family members that somehow I never noticed before. My job: Yes it's driven me crazy lately doing the work of four people and losing my closest work friend to another job, but it's not too far from home, it's a fun job with lots of great people, and it makes me more money than I really need. It lets me enjoy life by doing crazy things like spending $1500 on Halloween and at least that on Christmas. And now, with a $13,800 raise, it gives me the ability to live somewhat comfortably while supporting a wife and family if that time ever comes. Pets: The joy of coming home each day and being greeted by a slew of dogs, all showing unconditional love, is a rare treat that cannot be repeated many other ways. Thus far it is only exceeded when the love of my life greets me at her door on those wonderful weekends. Sometimes I take the dogs for granted or don't take enough responsibility. I know I've done that with Zeus. And so then again I'm thankful for my family stepping in and doing what needs to be done because they love dogs as much as I do. I can even deal with my father yelling at me about it, because it's justified. A new attitude: I'm thankful that I've finally found the ambition to get in shape, the faith to stop fighting against God and just take whatever plan he has in store for me, a new found appreciation for so many different people in my life, an almost subconscious tendency to become more helpful and caring with people I've sometimes taken for granted, a new courage to live the life I've always wanted, and the sudden feeling of growing up, wanting to settle down, and becoming a responsible adult with a family to support. My grandfather: He's no longer with us. He passed on eight months ago, but it is rare that I go more than a couple days without thinking about him. He molded me in many ways and gave me the desire to pass on his legacy in some form or another. I miss him dearly, and I am in fact tearing up as I type this, but I will make sure he lives on in some form or another. He deserves that, and I'm thankful for all those summers we had together. The one I love: I'm thankful I've found her, someone I love so dearly I would give up years of my life just to be with her, someone I consider a best friend, someone I can be either extremely intimate with or laugh about farting with, someone who makes me completely comfortable, someone who finally knows me inside and out and loves every bit of me, someone with whom I enjoy the simplest pleasures, someone with whom I laugh until my body shakes, someone who makes my heart swell every day, someone I want to spend my life with, someone I want to have children with, someone I know would be the best mom in the world for our kids, someone who I want to feel in my arms every night when we go to sleep, someone who gets on better with my family than I do, someone who I communicate openly with, someone I compromise with, someone I make decisions with after mutual consideration, someone I share values with, someone I love with all my heart. God: He didn't occur to me at first, and adding Him to this list was almost an afterthought. It wasn't long ago I raged against Him and then decided to stop believing. Sometimes I feel like he's always dealt me a bad hand, and even now I don't know what he will deal on the river when all the chips are in the pot, but I have to accept the road he's chosen for me. At least now I can understand that there are things to enjoy along the way. For all the misery and dark times, I see now that there are always things to be thankful for. I have to trust Him. |
Saturday night I made shrimp scampi once again. That time I got to enjoy it by candlelight with some Journey playing in the background. Hell, I even drank some wine with it. Incidentally I finally found a reason to like wine.  Tuesday night I made shrimp scampi again, though the shrimp was prepackaged and prepared this time, and I ate it on the kitchen counter with my family having some too. Now the best part of shrimp scampi is the garlic, and I certainly loaded last night's batch up with it. Which brings me to today's revelation: my poop smells like garlic. I had to use the little boy's room at work and quickly discovered garlic-scented scat. Go figure. Who needs bathroom air fresheners when you can just eat lots and lots of garlic?  Okay, I promise my next blog entry won't be so disgusting. Really, I promise! |
| I spent this weekend with my sweetheart again. Monday we went shopping with her sister and baby nephew. Alas, baby Luke decided it was time to drop the deuce while perusing the aisles of Michael's. We've all smelt stinky diapers before so I won't gross you out with the details. Incidentally on a somewhat smaller revelation scale, I discovered that if you walk alongside the cart containing a poopy baby you can disguise the smell of your own gas rather effectively. Not that I passed gas of course, it was just a thought! A replacement diaper and all the acoutrements were still in my van, so we tried to finish shopping. I was assigned baby patrol while the sisters in crime covorted in another aisle to plot one of my apparent Christmas gifts. Luke and I admired a rack of scrapbooking stamps and Care Bear books, something two males should never be caught doing together, or alone for that matter. And yes, that even applies if one of them is less than a year old. When his mom returned to relinquish him from my arms, she made a shocking and horrifying discovery. Apparently poop up a baby's backside is easier to spot when held aloft by a 6'1" sasquatch. She pulled up his jacket to reveal gag-worthy scat oozing its way up his back. She needed to get to the van, so I was the obvious escort. My sneaky sweetie used the time to continue to shop for things I'm not supposed to see, while myself, a cranky baby, and a frantic mommy made for the sanitary safety of my van. Somehow I found myself on the backseat of my van, suspending a naked, poop-stained baby, doing what I could to keep caked crap from vacating his ass cheeks and finding a new home on my upholstery and Saint Bernard blanket. Now for parents this is all well and good and no doubt par for course, but I'm a 25 year old bachelor who's never looked at a poopy diaper, let alone help change one. I've cleaned up puppy poo before and I gag nearly to the point of throwing up. But for some miraculous reason this didn't phase me in the least. I didn't even flinch when my thumb came away with a glob of poop from his back. I did what I could to help mommy complete her dirty deed, more than I ever thought I'd do with a child of my own, let alone the child of a potential future in-law. And in the process I had a revelation: I want to be a dad. Okay, so maybe I already knew that, but for the first time in my life I felt like I'd be okay with babies. I always hoped that when I became a dad, mommy could attend to the babies and I'd jump in when they could actually string a sentence together. But after some bonding time in a store with baby Luke and some rather unexpected bonding time with his diaper changing, I think I can do this baby thing. Heck, I may even be able to pull off changing poopy diapers if the future Mrs. Ernie Beckwith promises a nice reward. So in the aftermath of waiting outside Michael's as the trio wrapped up the shopping I started thinking about a few things. At first I was starting to tear up thinking about having to leave my sweetheart for two weeks. To take my mind of that, I went back to the whole baby thing and everything else in my life lately. Suddenly I had to ask myself a question: when did I grow up so much? I guess I always knew I would. I just didn't know it would happen so suddenly and without me completely realizing it. And now I have to cut this entry off because I have a grownup matter to go think about... |
| Have I ever mentioned just how much I hate phones? Well, I do. I hate 'em with a passion, and I always have. The only good phones have ever done for me is allow me to connect with the woman I love when she's hundreds of miles away. But even then I hate them, because I can never hear her right and I have to keep asking her to repeat herself. Or if I call and call and call when she's supposed to be home and no one answers, then I start to worry. The same applies for anyone I call that I care about. I'm a visual person and have always been somewhat deaf. I blame it on my torturous ear canals that fill up with wax in places I can't get at them. I have to pour a solution in there, let it sit for a half hour, rinse it out, and repeat a few times every few months. But even when they're completely clear, I have a hard time hearing people. As a result I prefer written communication to the phone. I prefer talking in person above all else, but if I can't see the person I'd rather resort to email. Well, unless it's someone whose voice I need to here for... sentimental reasons. In person I can piece things together with body language, hand gestures, and a meager talent of lip reading. Over the phone, I get none of those visual stimuli. So instead I have to sit there dumbfounded, asking the person to repeat himself over and over. It's utterly embarrassing. But we can't escape phones can we? They're an integral part of our lives. So I've dealt with. At work I try to use email as much as possible and the phone as infrequently as possible. That has worked okay until about September. In September we lost the guy who takes care of our phone systems. My supervisor, in his infinite wisdom, gave that responsibility to the person in the department who hates phones above all overs: yours truly. My greatest fear is looking like a fool, and he successfully managed to realize that fear on a regular basis by handing me this responsibility. I suddenly get calls from all over the building reporting problems and request with the phones. I never know the answers. Never. Something I have to sheepishly admit each time. I tell them I'll look into it, and then I go look for help. Sometimes, if it's an unimportant request, I just file it away, hoping they never ask again. Phone questions seriously give me anxiety attacks because first off I hate phones and secondly I look like a total fool because I know nothing about them. And right now I'm having a whopper of an attack. I started journaling to try and calm myself down. If I sit here and think about it, I'm going to start to panic. For no apparent reason whatsoever. The call center systems just went bonkers. I had to call our phone support, and they're supposedly attempting to connect remotely right now to see what's going on. So here I am, staying late into the night most likely, waiting to hear back on something I know nothing about via a tool I hate to use. And the whole customer service portion of our company is hinging on my incompetence. See, you can tell I'm out of sorts. This entry is dull, pointless, and rambling. I haven't eaten or drank anything all day, been beating myself up over financial irresponsibility last month, been working almost non-stop, and now this... Oh by the way, everyone in my department already went home for the day, so I'm here alone. What a blast. Someone IM me or something. My knee is jerking uncontrollably right now as I tap my foot, an old nervous habit I've had since I was quite young, and my palms are starting to get clammy. God, I hate this. God, I hate phones. |
| Yesterday in the mail, some catalogs came with Christmas motifs on the cover. Anyone else remember the time of year when you were little and the Sears and JCPenney Wishbooks would arrive? Yet another cherished memory of the 80's. It held on into the 90's, but the quality of the wishbook continued to diminish. Eventually it became a tiny subsection of the Winter catalog. Do they even produce them anymore? Bastards. That's what's wrong with a lot of kids today: no toys to drool over and no Saturday Morning cartoons to veg on it. Childhood rituals are a thing of the past. Those rituals are my fondest memories, repetitive events ingrained into my being. Now kids are too busy channel surfing and browsing the Web. But I digress... I used to comb through those books, making out my detailed Christmas wish lists. Of course my lists were highly anal. I would list the item name, catalog number, price, and rate it on a scale of desirability. I would then re-write the list in order, some inexplicable order that I thought affected my likelihood of receiving said items. The lists were several pages long. You always wanted to provide lots of options, because God forbid the gift-givers run out of ideas and buy you clothes. Getting clothes on Christmas when you're a child is like getting kissed by your sister. It's just wrong! Except for babies. Babies can get clothes for Christmas. For that matter they can get kissed by their sisters too. Anyway, I saw this catalog, which was actually some Bass Pro Shop thing with a Santa Clause on the front, and figured I'd relive one of my childhood rituals. I decided I'd post my wish list in here, so all my loyal readers can finally pay me back for hours of entertainment.  (Please no porn, not even home video porn. My brother would just steal it anyway.)So here's my list... The album with "The Safety Dance" on it ...... ... ... I'm drawing a blank. What the hell?! I can't think of a damned thing. All the money I spend on people, and here's my chance to get it back and I can't think of anything I want. I already have the only thing I really need, and she's the greatest gift that's ever been given to me. (Hehehe, you just knew I couldn't go an entire entry without swooning over my love.) So let's see, what else is there? Damn, how utterly depressing. Time to go find one of those wish books. I need to find something. Maybe I should start collecting action figures again. |
| I was just scrolling through my last several entries and noticed a lack of reader comments. I live for reader comments. What am I doing to alienate my readers? I've been told by more than one person that people in love are boring. They only have one thing on their mind, and they spend all their moments swooning over that person. Well, yes, I'm in love, and yes that's all I do lately. Even most of my survey answers are somehow related to her. Okay, I admit it; my blog has become a swooning zone. But can't I swoon? Surely I can be in love and still be entertaining. I know I can. Hell, entertainment is one reason she fell for me. This killer wit has not been dulled with the scent of roses and silky texture of her hair. This irrevent loonacy has not been restrained by cuddles and long, passionate kisses. This philosophical meandering has not not been made shallow by clasped hands and whispered sweet nothings. Nay, I am as problematic as ever. Once upon a time being problematic seemed to herald my entertainment value. Time to reclaim it. Without losing my focus on love of course. So for every gooey, sappy, sugary sweet entry that ponders my sudden frollic into intimate companionship I promise a biting, jabbing, amusing or downright hilarious entry that will make you question my sanity and moral fiber again. Be careful though, you can't force genius. Fortunately I'm a special kind of genius, and there is a thin line between genius and insanity. (Hmmm... how many more cliches can I stuff into this entry?)So let's see, I need an entry idea. Something that will prompt my readers to leave me those precious comments. I'm sure I'll think of something. I know, let me go hang around in scroll for a few minutes. It's practically guaranteed I'll find someone to bitch about in there. |
I stole this one from Mariposa  , who in turn stole it from mood indigo . I really should have stolen it elsewhere, because always having to capitalize mood indigo 's surveys after copying and pasting is driving me nuts. I'm so damned anal.1. When I was a kid, after school I: would watch the Disney Afternoon. Talespin, Gummi Bears, Ducktales, Darkwing Duck... need I go on? Let's get dangerous! 2. This one time when I was high: on love I accidentally called my mom "babe" because I was too busy thinking about the person I would really call that. Thank God I don't think she noticed. 3. The new pope: is old. 4. I fall asleep easily: in the passenger seat of a heated truck or in bed with my arm draped over her. 5. I need more: time. Doesn't everyone? More time to get work done, more time to read and write, more time to attend to projects, more time to have fun, and more time with her. 6. I need less: stress. At least now I get paid for the extra stress. 7. Public toilets are useful for: hilarious stories of getting floaters stuck in a Dairy Queen bathroom in one of the Carolinas. 8. The United States should change its name to: something easier to fit into song lyrics. 9. My theme song would be: "The Safety Dance!" You already knew that answer. 10. Sometimes I think people: are irresponsible. 11. Prescription drugs are: dangerous in the wrong hands. 12. I think about sex when: I lay on my back. 13. The middle finger is most useful: when accomplishing certain tasks that require skilled fingers. 14. The last time I bought a pair of shoes: was this past summer at Dick's Sporting Goods. It's the only place that regularly sells size 15 sneakers. 15. In one month: I will be that much closer to the new life I so eagerly look forward to. 16. For the last time: I am not a bunny! 17. The last thing I stole: was an MP3. 18. If I won the lotto, the first thing I would buy: would be a house on a large expanse of land, the perfect scene for settling down finally. 19. When in Rome: dance in the fountains with the one you love. When they try to arrest you both, run like hell. 20. If only I could get rid of: a few nagging insecurities. I'm much closer to it at least. 21. Your mom: is still unknown to me. Hopefully not for too long. 22. When I'm on death row my last meal will be: ice cream and whip cream, but not served on a plate or in a bowl. 23. The last person who talked to me: told me he saw me at Debbie Wong's last night. He's addicted to the place as much as I am. 24. I mostly use the internet: for 90% of my entertainment. Most importantly I use it to talk to my sweetheart. 25. When I'm president: of my own fan, I'll declare the second Saturday of every month to be "Safety Dance Day." 26. I most resemble: some poor sap in a romantic comedy. 27. The word I say too much is: indeed. 28. Vegas is great for: earning my poker playing fortune. 29. Michael Jackson: is creepier now than he was in "Thriller." 30. The speed limit means: a boundary on how quickly I can get to her. 31. When I die I want my body: buried in a masoleum, entombed with my sword, like a proper knight. Either that or burned on a funeral pyre, but I'm not big on cremation. 32. If I could go back in time I: would change the last couple years with my grandfather. 33. The last time I said "this sucks": was playing online poker when I lost with pocket Aces and pocket Kings simultaneously on two different tables. 34. You obviously know me well when: I tell you what I discovered in a public restroom at a Mass Turnpike service area. 35. Tomorrow I will: long to feel her touch. And the day after. And the day after that... 36. I spend too much time: worrying and procrastinating. 37. The last thing I broke: will probably cost me dearly. 38. Oh yeah, and don't forget: that I'm always going to make you happy. I love you too. |
| This afternoon I went to a wedding. One of my best friends from high school got married to a girl he's been with for six years. It was overdue so far as I'm concerned, because it was clear long ago that they would spend their lives together. My parents were friends with his parents before either of us were born, so my parents were invited too. My mom was sick, and the date I would have taken was hours away and unable to join me this weekend. That left it to just my dad and I. We had a good time, most of it spent with my father regaling our table with tales of his outlandish and outlawish youth. I broke away for a while and sought out some people I haven't talked to you in years. I graduated high school with the best man, so we chatted for quite a bit. That was a pleasant surprise. The poor guy was a nervous wreck over his best man speech. I always figured my brother would be my best man if I ever get married, but after seeing that I had to wonder what kind of speech he would give. I know I'd be one hell of a best man. For all my shyness and anxiety I'm one hell of a speech writer and deliverer. It's one of the few skills regarding public relations that I'm confident about. I wonder if I'll ever be a best man. I think my brother would probably choose one of his friends, and I'm not close enough with any of my friends anymore. Here's to missed opportunities. Anyway, I struck out and actually had a good time. A year ago I would have stayed at my table and not mingled with anyone who didn't come mingle with me. That used to be my reaction amidst a crowd of mostly strangers. It seems my shyness and fears are fading. I struck up conversations with several people I've haven't seen in a while or that I barely even know. I felt good about it afterwards. Everyday I feel myself growing as a person. Normalcy seems to be right around the corner. My father wanted to leave shortly after the dancing started. I'm always afraid of dancing. I dance around family mostly as a joke, but otherwise I'm too embarrassed to dance usually. It's a shame because I hear the beat and I really want to move to it. I wonder if I would have danced if there had been someone there to dance with. Slow dancing, on the other hand, I can do. I never liked to though. I've had to slow dance at weddings before. I dreaded it and desperately wanted it to end. Tonight I felt myself pining for it. I found myself missing her, wishing she were there so we could dance. I haven't shared that with her yet, and I want to. And that shocks me. For the first time in my entire life I want to slow dance. With only one person mind you. I was thankful when my dad asked if I was ready to go, because my heart was just beginning to ache with longing after watching the bride and groom share their first dance as husband and wife. *sigh* I just know she would have been beautiful... |
| I don't like alcohol. I'm 25 years old, almost 26, and I've never drank until a Halloween party October 29th, 2005. At that time I tried more drinks than I care to remember. Here's how my alcoholic endeavors went... My brother and friend pushed a beer on me. The first sip was foul. I had to stop and wonder how on earth anyone could ever drink more than one beer, let alone enough to get drunk. Seriously, who ever sipped the first beer and thought that was a good idea? I drank that whole cup anyway, wincing from the horrid taste all the while. My mom was so drunk she was making mixed drinks without any regard for the amount of booze going in. At one point she's holding the bottle upside down into a glass and peering at the recipe. After a moment she finally said, "One ounce... how much is an ounce?" She made some drinks so strong, no one could finish them. Jodi made me finish hers, though I'm not sure what it was. Thankfully it was very fruity, and I dulled the taste with cookies and brownies. I'm not sure how I got it down. Her stern look probably had something to do with it. In an effort to find a drink I'd actually like, the resident bar tenders and onlookers suggested several drinks. I took sips from a Scorpion Bowl, a Fuzzy Navel, a Tequila Sunrise, and a Bahama Mama. There were more I'm sure. The general impression was...  Then, again at Jodi's suggestion, my mom made me a Mudslide. "Doesn't it taste like chocolate milk?" they said. I gulped down the liquid and squinted. "Yeah, sorta. The crappiest chocolate milk I've ever tasted." So they dumped in some vodka to make it a White Russian. That was somewhat better, and I was instructed to drink the whole cup. Normally I can't say no when a certain someone asks, but I just couldn't stomach more than half a cup. So there you have it. One hellacious party in which I fully intended to discover the wonders of alcohol, and all I ended up drinking was one cup of beer, half a cup of an unidentified drink, half a cup of a White Russion, and many little sips from various booze filled concoctions. I wasn't even tipsy. I simply don't like the taste of alcohol. Frankly I don't understand how anyone could drink it. Ah well, maybe that's a good thing for me. At least the end of the party gave me one of the single greatest cuddling moments of my life... |
| ... on "The Safety Dance." And if you're not, I'm going to make you! If you grew up in the 80s or simply lived through them, there's a good chance you've heard the Men Without Hats one-hit wonder "The Safety Dance." If you haven't, it's a crime I tell you. It's one of those guilty pleasures. It's a completely craptacular song that's catchy as hell. I burned a CD a while back of dubious songs that you just can't get out of your head. Not surprisingly a good many 80's one hit wonders made the list. So on a drive back to Massachusetts with Mariposa I popped in the CD, and we rocked out to these wonderfully crappy songs. She recognized the opener of "Breakfast at Tiffany's" by Deep Blue Something and some others afterward, but she was dumbfounded when track 5 started playing. I was even more shocked to discover another child of the 80's, a 20-something like myself, didn't know "The Safety Dance." Needless to say I indoctrinated her with it the remainder of the drive. By the time we were making the trip back to Maine, she was requesting "The Safety Dance" and singing along to those crazy lyrics.Since that moment I've decided to make it my mission in life to spread "The Safety Dance." I am shocked and appalled whenever I meet someone in their 20's or early 30's who doesn't know it. The whole world should know. And I'm going to make sure they do. I'll being with Writing.com, and then all of the Internet. Operation: Spread the Safety Dance begins today. Now I could post the lyrics here and leave it at that, but that's simply not enough. You need to experience the Safety Dance. Part of the mystique of the Safety Dance is singing along with the same ridiculous accent the lead singer of Men Without Hats has. Yes, that's the name of the band. And how ironic is it that part of their song goes "we can dress real neat from our hats to our feet?" But I digress... And the music video! You must see the music video. I have to get a copy somewhere and spread the good word. There is nothing so utterly perfect as a whole lot of dwarves in renaissance outfits dancing around a maypole, doing the safety dance. Sheer genius! Seriously now, 500 years from now, the Safety Dance will outlive us all. Some archeologist will unearth an ancient tape and witness the glory and rapture of musical captivity... and realize what a messed up decade the 80's was. And now just for posterity: "The Safety Dance" Men Without Hats We can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind 'Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance Well they're no friends of mine Say, we can go where we want to, a place that they will never find And we can act like we come from out of this world Leave the real one far behind And we can dance We can go when we want to, the night is young and so am I And we can dress real neat from our hats to our feet And surprise them with the victory cry Say, we can act if we want to, if we don't nobody will And you can act real rude or totally removed And I can act like an imbecile Say we can dance, we can dance Everything's out of control We can dance, we can dance They're doing it from pole to pole We can dance, we can dance Everybody look at your hands We can dance, we can dance Everybody taken the chance The safety dance The safety dance The safety dance We can dance if we want to, we've got all your life and mine As long as we abuse it we are never going to lose it And everything will work out right Say, we can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind 'Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance well they're no friend of mine http://www.80smusiclyrics.com/artists/menwithouthats.htm |
| Stolen from mood indigo . She did it a while back, but I needed a break from email replying. 1. My uncle once: kissed the ground at a Georgia welcome center and sang "Georgia! Ohh, Georgia!" in his best Ray Charles voice. 2. Never in my life: have I felt like this. Thank you, sweetheart. 3. When I was five: I wet the bed sometimes. 4. High school was: a joke. I breezed through, never once enjoying the sort of things high schoolers are supposed to enjoy. 5. I will never forget: my grandfather's final words to me: "Good luck." They're bitter in my mouth. Such a simple phrase, and I will forever look at it differently now. Why was that the last thing he had to say to me? 6. I once met: the woman who played Indiana Jones' love interest in "Raiders of the Lost Ark." My father mowed her lawn. 7. There's this girl I know who: can't stop singing the "Safety Dance." 8. Once, at a bar: one of the guys I coach against got so drunk while we were teasing him and he blurted out "Why are you guys always picking on me?" and then nearly started to cry. He's in his 40's and doesn't remember it happening. 9. By noon I'm usually: ready for my lunch break to get out of the office. 10. Last night: I dreamed about the first snowfall. She was there. She's always in my dreams now. I know she loves the first snowfall, and in the dream I went inside to get her so I could show her. I'm such a sap. 11. If I only had: not been so scared all my life. Although I might not be in ths situation if that were the case. Maybe God has a plan afterall. 12. Next time I go to church: will be tomorrow. One of my best friends from high school is getting married. The cheap bastard finally got her a ring after six years. I never let him forget that he's cheap. 13. Terry Schiavo: is none of my business. No one should become a public spectacle because of something so tragic. Her life and how it ended is between her family and friends, God, and herself. 14. When I turn my head left I see: an empty bag of potato chips on an end table. Thank God they're empty; the temptation would be too much. Beyond that is the couch and Sonja lounging upon it. How utterly dull and yet beautiful. 15. When I turn my head right I see: the wall and the door to my pit. God I hate the Pit. *sigh* 5 more months. Maybe less. 16. Does someone need me to: make them laugh? It's one of my rare talents. 17. If I was a character written by Shakespeare: I'd be Mercutio. Was he the one that fought with Tybalt? Yeah, he was funny and courageous and yet also tragic and misunderstood. 18. By this time next year: I'll hopefully be living in a different place with a different person. 19. A better name for me would be: Hercules. It's self-explanatory I think. 20. I have a hard time understanding: relationships. I'm working on it. It doesn't help that I waited until I was in my middle 20's to get started on it. 21. If I ever go back to school I'll: get my doctorate in computer science and pick up a degree in mathematics too. A small part of me still wants to be a math teacher. 22. You know I like you if: I tease you, in a non-sarcastic way. 23. If I won an award, I'd be modest and sheepishly accept it with minimal amount of publicity and fanfare. 24. Darwin, Mozart, Slim Pickens and Geraldine Ferraro: could be the cast of the sequel to Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. 25. Take my advice: about poker. I don't know anything else well enough to give advice. 26. My ideal breakfast is: an egg sandwich, perfectly formed into a triangle and prepared by the most perfect woman I know. 27. A song I love, but do not have is: all of the ones I listen to. I don't own any legal CDs. I really only listen to the radio. That's beginning to change though. But frankly money spent on CDs on myself is money better spent elsewhere or on someone else. 28. If you visit my hometown, I suggest: booking your hotel well in advance. Those stupid tourist take all the good rooms. Send 'em back to NYC I say! 29. Tulips, character flaws, microchips and track stars: have absolutely nothing in common, and thank goodness for that. 30. Why won't anyone: ever give me money, instead of vice versa? It's a good thing I prefer giving to receiving. 31. If you spend the night at my house: I'll probably find somewhere else for us to sleep instead. Five people (or more), six dogs, three cats, and sleeping in a pit do not make for a good night. 32. I'd stop my wedding for: nothing. Marriage is sacred, and if and when I am getting married it is forever. 33. The world could do without: alcoholics. They bring grief to those around them and complicate too many situations. Self-inflicted diseases are the worst kind. 34. T'd rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: eat a cockroach. Just a taste can't be too bad. 35. My favorite blonde is: Mariposa . Obviously. 36. Paper clips are more useful than: crappy surveys that go on for too long. 37. If I do anything well, it's: learn. I learn faster than anyone I know. So bear with me, I know I'll get there. 38. And, by the way: I love you, baby. |
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