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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. > |
| The other day my brother called me to tell me something he read on the door of a stall at a restaurant bathroom. He found it highly amusing. The poor sap didn't know my grandfather used to recite it all the time. I remember going to my grandfather's every morning and waiting for him to vacate the bathroom so we could go to work. At least once or twice a week he'd come out all frustrated because his geriatric bowels had failed him that morning. He would then launch into his little lymerick: Here I sit, broken-hearted, Came to shit but only farted. Later on I took a chance, Tried to fart but shit my pants. Beautiful isn't it? Frost and Whitman would be so jealous. elizm446 gave it 4.5 stars. (I only mention that to piss her off by the way.) Anyway, I picked up a lot of crude little expressions from my grandfather. He was highly vulgar but oddly entertaining, at least on the exterior. There's also "drier than a popcorn fart" and "colder than a whore's heart" to name a few. I find myself using some of the tamer ones. The more eccentric, more crude ones, are saved for reminiscing. Now you might wonder why I would tarnish the reputation of someone I cared so much about in a public forum. The truth is he wouldn't give a rat's ass. He reveled in peoples's opinions of him, and he invented and used the phrases for sheer shock value. I suspect I inherited a little bit of being problematic from him. |
Stolen from Katrina Kamradt  via Mariposa  :Kiss a moose or a llama? Llama hands down. Wouldn't it be cool to have a llama or alpaca farm? Be a Hummingbird or an Ostrich? Hummingbird. They can fly. Dress up like a hotdog for a week or only eat hotdogs for a week? I may have pulled off the second one before so I'll go with eating hotdogs for a week. Wear lipstick or have only one eyebrow? (better for guys) Someone tried to pluck my eyebrows last weekend. A horrifying thought but not nearly as horrifying as wearing lipstick. Although... I've had lipstick on my lips, but not my own. Does a unibrow count? I'll go with that. Have no hair or no buttcrack? I could do without either. Though I am now quite attached to my goatee. Be blind or deaf? Definitely deaf. I'm half-deaf already, especially on the phone. Anyone who talks to me knows that. Have no lips or six fingers on each hand? Well, I've just recently found a legitimate use for lips, and surprisingly it's not catching the excess beverage that hangs in my mustache. I'll go with six fingers. Only wear purple for the rest of your life or only orange? Purple is feminine, but orange would make me nauseous. Time to get in touch with my 6% girly side. Not shower for a week or not brush your teeth? Not brush my teeth, though I've gone a week without showering before. You know it's time to finally shower when your hair starts to form clumps. Be stranded on an island with Montell Williams or Dr.Phil? Well, if we ran out of food and I was forced to turn to cannabilism, Dr. Phil provides more sustenance. Be able to fly or have x-ray vision? Fly. Be a member of New Kids On The Block circa 1989 or be a member of N'SYNC circa 1999? In 1989 I was 9 years old (mostly) so that wouldn't be so embarrassing. Catch your parents making out or have your parents catch you making out? I'm a private person and shy, so I'd rather catch my parents making out. I'd be scarred for life, but at least I could show my face at family functions still. Kiss Mary-Kate or Ashley? The one without the eating disorder, not sure which one that is. Get a bikini-wax or have no pinky toe? I'm a man's man, do I really need to answer this one? Be a tree or live in a tree? Live in a tree. I had a treehouse when I was a kid, and I had dreams of living a la the Swiss Family Robinson. Living in a tree is wicked cool. Write a mystery or a poem? I'd rather write a poem, but I'm quite inept, so I'd much more likely write a mystery. It would be a good mystery too. Meet an alien visitor or travel to outer space? Meet an alien visitor. I have claustrophobic paranoia about traveling to outer space. Yeah, I know that's a paradox, but there's no escape if something goes wrong in space. Fight Mike Tyson or talk like him? I'm tough, but I'm not a fool. I'll stick to talking like him. Be stuck in an elevator with sweaty sumo-wrestlers or talkative accountants? I used to want to be an accountant and I used to be built like a sumo wrestler, the worst of both worlds. I'll take the accountants. Be hole-punched to death or eaten alive by the cast of Diff'rent Strokes? Hole-punched, it might tickle at least. Have a ketchup-dispensing navel a pencil-sharpening nostril? I use ketchup sparingly, and I certainly wouldn't use anything that came out of an opening in my body as a condiment. The pencil sharpener though sounds useful. Have a chest of thick poison oak or a sausage halo? How could I dare hug people if my chest was poison oak? Oh wait, I don't hug people. Well, except for one person, but she's pretty important. So yeah, I'll take the sausage halo. Live in a world where massive Afros were mandatory for members of Congress or where it was legal, in fact encouraged to crucify mimes? How about if we just make the mimes grow Afros? Find true love or $1 Million dollars? I've found the one I wanted. And here's a hint: I'm not a millionaire. Be a dog named Killer or a cat named Fluffy? I like both cats and dogs, but no one in hell someone is going to call me Fluffy. Have sand in your shorts or water in your ear? Water in my ear. I need it to wash out all the wax anyway. Be the sand-castle or the wave? The sand-castle. Overthrow a dictatorship or lead one? Overthrow one and then erect and lead a new one in its place. Kiss a jellyfish or step on a crab? Jellyfish are poisonous and I'm paranoid, so I'll step on a crab. Know it all or have it all? Some things we are not meant to know. To know them makes it impossible to live and enjoy life. Having it all though is a Godsend. Always lose or never play? Never play. Although that's the philosophy that prevented me from playing sports when I was younger. I was afraid of losing back then. End hunger or hatred? If we end hatred, ending hunger will follow. Have stars in your eyes or eyes in the back of your head? What does it mean to have stars in your eyes? Slide down a 50 foot razor blade into a vat of alcohol or suck all the snot out of a dog's nose until its head caves in? I have a low threshold for pain and an almost lower threshold for getting grossed out. I'll reluctantly take the dog. Lose your keys three days in a row or have to eat your dog's birthday cake? Lose my keys. Have spaghetti sauce you can sink your teeth into or sink your teeth into spaghetti sauce? I refuse to answer this on account of having no clue what it means. Have a footlong eyelash you can never pluck or an earlobe the size of a basketball? Do your ears hang low? Do they wobble to and fro? Can you tie 'em in a knot, can you tie 'em in a bow... The eyelash. |
I haven't been to my favorite Chinese place in many weeks. That's what happens when you drive out of state every weekend. Not that I'm complaining.  Anyway, I stopped there last night with some family to celebrate my promotion. As per tradition, I wanted to share my fortune:Stop searching forever, happiness is just next to you. I already knew that fortune. I have found happiness, and I'm no longer searching. I got this fortune cookie once before, when I was just beginning to walk down this road, when I had only just begun to explore a relationship that has made me an incredibly happy man. It has the same meaning now as it did then. Thank you, sweetheart, for making my fortune come true. |
| I was sitting in the mall food court enjoying my usual turkey sub from Subway this afternoon. A middle-aged lady and what I presume to be a grandson or nephew or something sat down at the table next to mine. They weren't eating anything though. They just had a "Bob the Builder" set they opened up and proceeded to assemble on the table. The boy was probably about 4 or 5 years old. Something inside me wouldn't let me look away. I watched intently, all the while wishing I could assist in the construction in some way. Clearly the lady didn't know the proper way a young boy should explore building blocks and a construction set. I daresay very few females would really know. I had this overwhelming urge to interrupt, pull the young man aside, and help him construct a lego-like tower of blocks to demolish with that little bulldozer. I wanted to... play. I tried not to stare, but I couldn't help myself. A couple times the lady took the blocks from him and fastened them on properly. I felt like tugging them away from her. The little guy could clearly figure it out on his own. And if he couldn't, show him how, lady. Don't just put it together; show him how it's done. Boys were born with the innate desire to create things with their hands. Or maybe that's just my teaching tendencies kicking in again. So then, was I experiencing some fatherly/older brother/mentor instinct? Or was I just reliving some of my childhood memories and wishing to reclaim some of those cherished moments? In my efforts to look away, I noticed an elderly lady sitting across from me with a smile on her face and an intent gaze on something I could not see. At first I thought she was taking in the same sight as me, but upon further inspection I noticed that she was staring at another youngster a few tables down. This one was a baby, probably not more than 6 months old. This reminded me of a conversation I had with my sweetheart the other day. It seems that for some reason many women see the inherent cuteness in babies, whereas most men, those who like kids anyway, prefer the exploratory personalities of young children. Is that one of the key differences in motherly vs. fatherly instincts? I suppose that works out pretty well. Whenenever I have kids, my wife can tend dirty diapers, and I'll help build the Legos!  |
| I was called up to Human Resources this morning. I've been awarded the position of Analyst - Applications. This is all the work I've already been doing since the other analysts left, so my job isn't really changing. The difference is it's official starting Monday, and I'm receiving a pay increase of $13,800. In other words, my next paycheck on November 18th will be a little heftier. I should be happy about that, but for some reason I'm not. Why can't I shake this melancholy? I guess because in the grand scheme of things material wealth is simply a necessity of living, and nowhere near as valuable as other things. |
| Once upon a time I could achieve a total state of numbness. I had grown accustomed to emotional pain in my life, and I discovered a way to push it to the back of my mind and block it off. I could essentially seal my emotions away, leaving me to feel... nothing. I daresay I mastered the art of becoming numb. I even used the skill when my grandfather died. I gave his eulogy and never so much as shed a tear. My pain had been sealed away in a place where they could not hurt me. But walls come down, crumbling my prison. The after effects of his death played in a role in it. Finding true happiness, rather than some fleeting moment of almost joy that I was accustomed to, also brought the walls down. I could always attain some level of numbness, but not anymore. Why now when I feel a pang of grief or frustration or disappointment or fear do I feel like crying? What changed inside me? How come before when I felt an emptiness I could fill it with things that didn't really matter and now I can only fill it with the things that are missing? Some people feel numb when they're overwhelmed, close to a breakdown. I always used numbness to escape the breakdown. I'd pack all the emotion into the closet of my psyche and proceed emotionless. Yes, eventually the closet would get too full, the door would burst open, and every emotion would come pouring out in a torrent of grief, self-loathing, fear, and anger, but in the meantime I'd feel nothing and that was always better than the alternative. I decided I didn't want to be like that anymore. I didn't want to be an android. Now instead I have to deal with these moments of pain and hurt and fear and frustration. That's the healthier way I know, but how come I find myself wishing for the numbness just a bit? None of us like sadness and hurt, and yet I opted to endure it after already having a way of not feeling it. Did I make the right choice? Most likely, but it sure doesn't feel like it sometimes. |
| The last two weeks have been a series of highs and lows. If not for someone very special in my life, I probably would have reached the breaking point by now. I cherish the last few weekends I've had, last one especially (which I shall journal about shortly), and they are a happy and invigorating end to each stressful work week. I have a whole slew of journal entries in the back of my head just waiting to be written. They keep piling up, but every night I get home I've been too tired to write them. Likewise I either haven't been home on the weekends or simply don't have the time. Soon I'll be able to catch up. I had a plan to do so this weekend, but more likely, given a change of circumstances, I'll just spend the time vegging out. And yes, I will journal about my family's Halloween party and that entire glorious weekend in general. But as you all know I detest journaling about the mundane going-ons in my life. So have no fear; I have a slew of intriguing philosophical entries I've been musing about as well. I also have several readers to address in terms of email I've received, and I've concocted a new little blog game I'll post soon. Just bear with me as I get back into the blogging mode. Being consumed by love apparently distracts me from other less important things, blogging being a perfect example. Not that I'm complaining. There are things much better than journaling in this silly old thing. I write in here to entertain myself and derive entertainment from my readers (yes, I'm selfish that way), but I've now found something immensely better than entertainment. For those who are curious, some of the upcoming blog topics will be:  Responding to my reader mail Ranting some more about tourism perhaps Discussing the Halloween party, including some musings on the drinking of alcohol A vague retelling of the greatest 5 hour drive of my life Philosophical musings on disappointment A new little blog game A survey or two I've found Poker news (posted in my poker diary as well) "The Safety Dance" An apology for shirking my W.com duties of late Various musings I've thought of the past week or so |
| I live in Sheffield, Massachusetts, a tiny rural town with no grocery stores, traffic lights, and almost more cemeteries than stores. Most people can't see their neighbors, and it's at least a 15 minute drive to civilization. When people in my neck of the woods say "we need to go into town," they actually mean the bordering town, Great Barrington. Great Barrington is small town America at it's finest, a stretch of old-world Main Street with not much else. Had Faulker lived in the Northeast, Greeat Barrington could have been a small town he wrote about. Sinclair Lewis explored northeastern small town Americana in his novels, but his "small towns" were cities compared to Great Barrington. But what the novelty and myth of small town America forgets about is damned tourism. Every weekend Great Barrington and the neighboring towns are flooded with tourists, especially of the New York City variety. They clog our streets, fill our hotels and motels, drive up prices on restaurants, get snooty with locals, cause traffic jams, jaywalk, and generally just walk around like they own the town. All the locals complain about the tourism now and again. And yet we still cater to them because it's our largest source of income. Now I could rant and rave about tourists for hours, but there actually is a reason for this entry. I needed to book a hotel room for two nights this weekend. I went from hotel to hotel, and they were all booked except for exhorbitantly priced rooms. As I went from hotel to hotel, beginning to scrape the bottom of the barely a little more each time, I was cursing the stupid tourists. Why do they have to come into my town and take living quarters from us? Why do they have to crowd our streets and drive up our prices? They do it to escape the city. But they never stopped to realize they're turning little ol' Great Barrington into a city all its own, a city that expands and shrinks in conjunction with the day of the week. So now here I am, paying $125 a night for a craptacular room at some Travelodge. I can't imagine that we'll want to spend much time in that room, but thankfully we have entertaining things to be doing anyway. That damned room better at least be cuddle-worthy! *grumbles* Stupid tourists. *grumbles* I think I'll write a full rant on this when next I have the free time. |
| Yes, it's that time of the year. People who really know me know I tend to go overboard with Halloween. This year it's in the form of a party at my parents' house. I've been carving pumpkins all week, and tonight I somehow have to get 8 more pumpkins carved. Yes, I'll be posting lots of pictures soon regarding the Halloween festivities. Lately I've just been completely swamped between Halloween, work, and the love of my life. There's carving and decorating to be done the remainder of this week in time for Saturday's party, so I haven't been online much at night. The weekends I've spent with my sweetheart, and the same will apply this weekend when I go pick her up so she can join us at the party. Basically I've only been online at work. The point is that I haven't forgotten about all those emails I need to reply to. I've replied to a few already and will continue to do so. And yes, everyone will be getting their GPs if they haven't already. Similarly I have a lot to blog about lately, but I'm just lacking the time. Next week will be easier, and I'll finally be able to catch up. And there you have it, the most boring blog entry I've ever written. Have no fear, my wit, charm, and amusement will return to me after this weekend. |
| This one is courtesy of Sarah Rae : [X] I'm afraid of the quiet. [X] I am really ticklish. [ ] I'm afraid of the dark. [X] I'm afraid of facing my back to open doors at night. [ ] I am homosexual. [X] I believe in true love. [ ] I've run away from home. [ ] I listen to political music. [ ] I collect comic books. [X] I shut others out when I'm sad. [ ] I open up to others easily. [ ] I am keeping a secret from the world. [ ] I watch the news. [ ] I own over 5 rap CDs. [ ] I own something from Hot Topic. [X] I love Disney movies. [ ] I don't kill bugs. [X] I curse sometimes [ ] I have "x"s in my screen name. [ ] I've slipped out a "lol" in a real conversation [ ] I love Spam. [ ] I bake well. [ ] I have owned something from Abercrombie. [X] I have a job. [ ] I love Martha Stewart. [X] I have loved someone. [ ] I am guilty of tYpInG lIkE tHiS. [X] I love to laugh. [X] I have tried alcohol [ ] I drink alcohol on a regular basis. [ ] I have tried a cigarette. [ ] I have smoked a pack in one day. [ ] I loved Go Ask Alice [ ] I have cough drops when I'm not sick [ ] I can't swallow pills. [ ] I have many scars. [X] I've been out of this country. [ ] I can't sleep if there is a spider in the room. [ ] I love chocolate. and Bar BQ sauce, and Root Beer [X] I bite my nails. [X] I am comfortable with being me. [X] I play computer games when I'm bored. [ ] Gotten lost in the city. [ ] Seen a shooting star [ ] Had a serious surgery. [ ] Gone out in public in your pajamas. [ ] Have kissed a stranger. [ ] Hugged a stranger. [X] Been in a physical fight. [ ] Been arrested. [ ] Laughed and had some type of beverage come out of your nose. [ ] Pushed all the buttons on an elevator. [ ] Made out in an elevator. [X] Swore at your parents. [ ] Kicked a guy where it hurts. [ ] Been skydiving or planning on it. [ ] Been bungee jumping or planning on it [ ] Gotten stitches. [ ] Drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour. [X] Bitten someone [X] Been to Niagara Falls. [X] Gotten the chicken pox. [ ] Crashed into a car. [ ] Been to Japan. [ ] Ridden in a taxi. [ ] Shoplifted. [ ] Been fired. [X] Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back. [X] Stole something from your job. [ ] Gone on a blind date. [ ] Had a crush on a teacher/coach. [ ] Been to Europe [ ] Been married. [ ] Gotten divorced. [X] Saw someone/something dying. [X] Driven over 400 miles in one day. [X] Been to Canada. [ ] Been On A Plane. [ ] Seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show. [ ] Thrown up in a bar. [ ] Eaten Sushi. [ ] Been ice skating. [X] Cried in public. [ ] Walked purposely into traffic with your eyes closed. [X] Liked someone even though you knew you shouldn't have. |
| Sometimes I like to go into auctions and just buy stuff I never intend to use. I guess you could say I'm a sucker for charity. When it's all said and done, I've spent a huge amount of GPs on things I have to get rid of. Normally I give my winnings to friends or people I bid against. Time for something a little different. I just won 4 signature images from "Invalid Item"  . You, my loyal readership, can lay claim to any one of these 4 sigs. Simply leave a comment saying which sig you like and then make me want to give it to you. Yes, I'm using this little gimmick to entertain myself again. If multiple people want the same sig, I'll gift it to the person that gives the best reason or earns it the most. If you just request a sig and make no attempt or a very poor attempt to earn it, then you're out of luck.  The images in request are as follows: "Invalid Item" "Invalid Item" "Invalid Item" "Invalid Item" Step up to the plate and lay claim to one of these quick! I'll have to make my personalization requests for them soon. At that point I'll just have to pass them along to the first person I can think of. |
| God, this place is boring today. Absolutely nothing is happening in scroll or via IM. Where is everyone? Well I should say "where are the fun people?" No one is even responding to my last little blog challenge. What the hell?! Don't people know how to have fun anymore? Why are 90% of the scrollers just lurking waiting for bots? Get in there and talk, you greedy little bastards! God, I hate GP whores that don't even interact in scroll for any reason except to win GPs. But I digress... C'mon, people! Entertain me! Geez! And remember: |
| My mind is only on one thing lately, or more accurately one person. Therefore, when alone, I find myself getting extremely bored now and again. I try to keep myself occupied with things I enjoy. I find that playing online poker does wonders. But obviously I can't do that all the time. I'm sick of trying to entertain myself, especially when I can just pay other people to do it. So here's the game for today... My inbox is incredibly bare of late. How utterly disappointing. I get blog comments now and again, but that's just not the same. So I shall award a variable amount of GPs to anyone who emails me today or tomorrow. Your emails can be about anything. The more entertaining, the more GPs you'll get. As most of you know, I can be very generous when a person earns it. Also, I'll pick out the best email and award that person a merit badge of my choosing. Be forewarned! I may use the content of some of these emails in my blog. However, if it's of a sensitive nature, I'll protect your anonymity. Now get emailing! Just a few rules: Blog comment emails do not count. You can send as many emails as you like to try to win the merit badge, but only your best email will earn you GPs. I need to receive the email(s) by Friday at midnight. Anything goes in these emails. Just entertain me. I'm a one woman man, so you're not likely to win me over with flirtation or offers of sexual favors. Yes, you can write about how I'm such an attention whore, and how I have no shame when it comes to paying for friendship and amusement. If you get someone else to send me an email and mention your name in their email, I'll give you extra GPs for spreading the good word. |
| Again and again I get the same spiel from people who care about me. They always pose the same questions. How can I expect to be loved when I don't completely love myself? Don't I know that I need to have confidence in myself in order to be attractive? Why can't I just let things be? Why do I have to be negative? I wish I could answer some of those. I'm insecure. There's no doubt about it. I've known that for a long time. But I'm not insecure about everything. Somethings I'm very confident about. Somethings I can even be downright cocky about. But then there are some things that forever plague me with insecurity. I don't think it's irrational insecurity; I think I'm just a realist. I know I'm not altogether attractive. I know there are gaggles of men better looking than I. People tell me to get over that, to be confident in myself. It's not that easy. I've heard time and again that I'm not attractive. I look at myself and don't see anything very attractive. I know the woman who loves me isn't attracted to me as much physically as she'd like to be. So aren't I justified in being insecure? Any positive affirmation of my attractiveness has always been qualified with some negative caveat. Sometimes I wonder why people don't just say "You're attractive... for a fat guy." or "You're attractive... for a plain person." And therein lies the fear mentioned in my previous entry. I know I can make her supremely happy. I know I can give her love that she can only dream of. I know I can take care of her. I know I can be an excellent partner and later maybe husband and father. I know I can work through whatever difficulties we have. I know I can make amends for whatever mistakes I might make. But what I don't know is whether or not this rough shell that I've been burdened with can wear on her and change her feelings for me. She's beautiful, far more beautiful than I could have imagined. She is downright stunning and possesses an amazing personality that made me fall in love with her. I cringe when I think of all the attractive men that can and do pursue her. Knowing that the physical attraction between us is incomplete, I cannot help but wonder my fate if a better-looking man with the qualities I posses comes along. Some of my more critical readers would say that if that happens she wasn't worth it or some such. But the fact is she is the one I love, the one I want. And who could blame her really if she went for someone else? I want all the happiness in the world for her. She deserves to be happy, deserves to be satisfied on all levels. I can change for her. I already have. I can make sacrifices for her. I can take strides for her. I can lose weight for her. I can do so many things. Ultimately though, I am who I am on the outside, and what if that is not enough? When I think of these things, I want to curl up and die somewhere. It took me almost 26 messed up and lonely years to find what I've always wanted and needed, a perfect harmony with another, the first person I've truly shared all my thoughts and feelings with, the first person I'll willingly cry in front of, a soulmate it would seem. And I'm terrified of losing it all because she can't be completely satisfied, and there's nothing I can do about that. She tells me she loves me. She tells me she loves me regardless. She says the emotional bond is worth so much more. So why am I still afraid? I wish I could make it go away. But I can't. I could just as easily wish I woke up tomorrow a handsome young man. Sometimes this fear makes me want to move too fast, makes me want to take leaps to ensure our lives together because I'm so damned afraid of losing her. I've never felt this strongly about anyone, but I have no control over our future or her feelings. So how do I get rid of this insecurity? I'm not sure that I can. I'm too much of a realist. I'm so grateful for her frequent affirmations. Frankly, I need them. I'm ashamed that I need them, but I do need to spontaneously hear those three little words to keep my spirits up. When we're together, I don't even think about it. I look into those eyes, and I can tell what she feels for me. But when we're apart, and I'm not there to win her over with my love, I worry. Why do I have to be like this? |
| I used to sleep through the night. Lately I've been tossing and turning. I don't have nightmares. I haven't had nightmares in years. I stopped having nightmares when I confronted the monsters in my dreams and overpowered them, when I started hunting down the murderers and kidnappers and demons instead of hiding from them. After that only stress or pain kept me awake. I didn't sleep when my grandfather was sick. I didn't sleep when my mom might be sick. I never sleep before the first baseball game of the year. I didn't sleep the night before I made my weekend getaway to see my sweetheart. So what then keeps me awake now? Work is driving me to the breaking point. I'm doing the load of four people right now for an indefinite amount of time. I leave work drained, exhausted, and depressed. But that isn't keeping me awake. I miss my grandfather even more lately, and I have no idea why. I'm changing in so many ways, and I guess I just wish he was here to see it. I'm so concerned with whether or not he'd be proud of me. I wish he were here one last time so he'd know I'm trying, so he'd know I'm doing my best to not let him down. But that isn't keeping me awake either. I'm strapped for cash. I have bills coming in I didn't foresee. All at a time when I need spending money. Halloween is here, and my wallet always takes a hit this time of year. It's my contribution to family holidays. I spend more on Halloween than on Christmas. At the same time Zeus needs things, and I'm afraid Clyde blew his knee out as labs are wont to do and will need surgery. Pair those unexpected expenses up with a new commitment to something wonderful that is a drain on my finances both out of necessity and simply because I want to, and suddenly I'm living paycheck to paycheck for the next month or so. And still that doesn't keep me awake at night. My whole life I've been ruled by fear. Fear of things I can't even explain. Silly things that no one will ever understand. Those fears used to keep me up at night. But I'm conquering those fears, a few more every week. I'm doing things I've never dreamed of doing before. I've finally found a few things that are worth finding the courage to overcome those fears, not the least of which is the woman I love. And yet, as these fears dwindle, an overpowering one has emerged: loss. With the exception of those occasional horrid visions of losing your parents to some illness or freak accident, I've never been afraid of losing what I have. I suppose that's in part because I never had anything. But now I have something that is more precious to me than my own existence. And I fear losing it. I fear losing a grip on my tenuous hold on it. I fear screwing something up to ruin it. I fear never being enough of a person to hang on to it. I fear not being able to achieve what I must in time. I fear never being able to achieve it. I fear being inadequate. I fear not doing enough, not being there enough, not giving of myself enough. I fear that no matter how well I succeed in doing what I need to do that it won't be enough. I fear losing her. That, and that alone, keeps me tossing and turning each night. |
| It's no one's business but ours, so I won't write much about it, at least not publicly. But yes, I spent the weekend with the woman I fell in love with. And yes, it was everything I hoped for. Actually it exceeded my expectations. It was the two happiest days of my life. What took place is only for us to know, but suffice it to say we both want me to return again this coming weekend. As an aside, there was a suggestion it would be different in person, that it wouldn't be love. Well, that was partly true. It was different; it was better than I expected. So much for being a crush. As if lots of love isn't first derived from a crush anyway. Upon leaving I went past a sign that read "Worth a visit, worth a lifetime." I think so, and I hope so. |
| Okay, I'm back from my weekend away and things have settled down, so it's time I wrap up all those entries from last week. First off, yes, I managed to get the nail polish before the deadline. Incidentally, terryjroo's name of "Operation In the Red" earned the codename for this covert mission. I won't bore my readers with the details of my mission because frankly I'm too tired to make it humorous. I will, however, mention that I picked up a bottle of "Cherries in the Snow" by Revlon. It turns out I actually have good taste in nail polish. At least that's what my challenger said. She was pleasantly surprised. When I got in the car after buying it I freaked out just a little bit. I checked the bottle a second time and it said "Nail Enamel." Not polish or color, but enamel. What the hell? I figured it had to be the same, but I opened the thing nonetheless to make sure the little brush was there and everything was in order. Thank God it was. The embarrassment with the nail polish didn't end with the purchase actually, but that's not a story I'm going to relate. My sweetheart would love to tell it I'm sure.  What I won't do for someone I care about... *sigh* I'm such a sap.And I just want all my readers to know, especially my male readers that are questioning my masculinity, that the reward was worth the challenge. Well, if you're as sappy as I can be anyway. Although I'm positive I have no male readers. Frankly if I thought for one minute that I did, there's no way in hell I'd be writing about this. *ahem* *Scratches self and belches to reestablish 94% masculinity* And now on a more testosterone-driven topic, I'll address the issue of facial hair. The overwhelming majority said that I should keep the goatee, but perhaps clean it up a bit. Well, the majority of you agreed with my sweetie and I, and the goatee stays. It's actually getting quite full now and has definitive outlines. I'll have to start trimming it soon in addition to the daily shave. I'll post a photo with the complete version at some point. Now it was suggested that a goatee will make me look older. To that I say "amen." I desperately wanted to disguise this babyface, and I think the goatee pulls that off to some extent. And what's wrong with looking older anyway? I have experienced some drawbacks though. Firstly, I'm just starting to get used to the itching. Secondly, licking my lips seductively gives me hairballs. And finally, when I drink from a cup now I seem to dribble some into my beard. It's as if the added weight on my jaw is keeping my lip from staying up and I'm drooling my drink all over. Alas, the one I care about got to see that first hand. Damned Gatorade. On the other hand, now when I dribble, it wounds up in my beard instead of staining my shirt. So there's a silver lining in that hairy cloud. Okay, I think that wraps it up. |
| I went to the cemetery today. It's the first time I've been since the funeral. I've wanted to go a few times, but I always chickened out. Today though I needed some guidance, and so I went. Going alone was hard, but there's really only person I would have let me see crying like that. I miss him. I don't know how long I stood over his little plague that acts as a placeholder until the stone arrives. But I do know I spent a lot of time apologizing for letting him down and insisting I'm trying. I asked for guidance with other things, but I got no response. I cried most of the way home in fact. I spoke to my sweatheart on the phone later, too. Thanks to her comforting, reassuring words, and those tears I shed for my grandfather, I found some clarity. For anyone who was concerned, I'm going to be okay. And to reiterate, yes, this weekend was the greatest two days of my life. Maybe I'll fill in my readers about what I'm talking about at a later time. Not that it's any of their business really. |
| Darth Vader turned from the Dark Side, and the Emperor killed him for it. In his last breaths he found the light, but it cost him his life. I just realized the irony in choosing that analogy for this blog. Irony or poetic justice? |
| I returned from the greatest weekend of my life prepared to write a glorious blog entry. But nothing is ever that simple. The greatest two days of my life have rapidly become one of the worst Mondays ever. As a result I'm much too emotional right now to write a blog entry anyone would give a shit about. Know that saying "When it rains, it pours"? It's true. The most amazing experience of my life was shattered. It was still a truly glorious couple of days, nothing to take away from that, and it might get even better, but that doesn't change the fact the aftermath left me broken. Lump that with an amazing decline in the supportiveness of my family lately, an absurd workload (especially today when the other programmer went on vacation and I'm stuck doing the work of 4 people), a debate with my supervisor that finally got me a vacation day on Oct 28th (my first vacation day of the year), memories of my grandfather (including a book from my sweetheart and the arrival of the DVD of his documentary), a general melancholy, a grey sky, and a thousand mistakes made both in life and in work. It's one of those days you need to someone to lean on. Normally that would be my mom (since my dad never listens), my sweetheart, or more rarely one of my close friends. My mom doesn't listen to me anymore either. I can't really remember the last serious conversation she had where she wasn't disappointed or upset with me. My sweetheart can't help with this. I've made mistakes and felt pain only she can heal, but she has her own to deal with. And some things I can't discuss with friends. I had two friends once I would have talked to, but one abandoned that friendship and decided it was better to chase me away with hurtful comments. The other just isn't around much anymore, and she'd likely roll her eyes at me anyway. So here I am, plowing through 300% greater workload trying to heal this torn soul on my own. So don't tell me to update my blog, because in the grand scheme of things it doesn't mean jack shit. I feel like curling up and dying in a corner somewhere. I would if I could. I'm sick of the pain and the stress. I wish I were six years old again. How many 6 years old do you know with thoughts of suicide? I don't know any, and why should I? It's one of the best ages of all. So long as you have a parent's arms to hold you, all is right with the world. Life was so much easier when I was just an android. |
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