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This is my blog. I just went through a divorce; it was the worst thing that has yet to happen to me. This is me dealing with it and life. It's my blog; I write about what I want. I hope you enjoy. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** The above was me about three years ago. It is the most up to date digital photo I have.
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So much to say, so little time. Monday, I might have some good news that is personal life related. I got a date tonight with not-a-date. Yay!!! (No, this isn't part of the good news. But I got my fingers crossed that it'll be good news tomorrow morning.  ) I had a happy hour last night that was great. More later.Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| When you come to a very emotional, heart wrenching subject while writing, do you drive right into that emotional maelstrom? Or do you hold back? I hold back most times, but sometimes, I carve a piece of my soul from me and put it onto the page. Then I cry. Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Yesterday, I wanted to walk up to a complete stranger and beat them. Worse it was a 16 - 18 year old boy that I just wanted to grab by the collar and yell, "Grow the fuck up, already!!!" Now, this kid was six foot three inches tall (or around that) and weighed a good 250+ lbs. He looked like he could have been a linebacker for the St. Louis Rams. Instead, he was jumping up and down clapping his hands like a princess in front of one of those rides outside the supermarket. You know those rides, they're little plastic cars that move an inch or two forward and an inch or two backward. He was so excited to ride this thing that three year olds are too old for. He couldn't even fit in the machine he was that big. Now, I know, you're probably saying, "Oh, the poor boy must have been mentally challenged." He was because stupid falls under mentally challenged. There was nothing wrong with his thought process other than he wanted to be a twelve year old girl. There was nothing medically wrong with him. He was shopping with this mom and looking at magazines with his friends in the store. Now, I'm all for letting kids be kids. No one should grow up too early, but then again, no one should grow up too late. When you're a sixteen year old boy, you should be a raging ball of hormones trying to find some girls shirt to take off (or some boy's pants to pull down, whatever floats your boat). A plastic machine outside a grocery store that shakes when you put a quarter in it should not be the highlight of your day. But his mother thought it was so cute, and she hugged him and held his hand. She was treating him like he was a twelve year old girl. I'm willing to bet that she mothers him too much. That she doesn't put the responsibilities a kid should have at that age. He's her baby, and so, it's fine if he doesn't grow up. It's fine if he is socially backwards because his face lights up when she holds his hand. It's a self-defeating cycle of creepiness. It was just creepy seeing a much older woman, much smaller also, hold hands with this gentle giant. The theme music from psycho filled my head whenever I saw them around the store. Maybe I'm a bad person, but if these kids can have sex, drive cars and hold jobs, they need to learn how to grow up, too. Can you imagine this guy and his little baby sitting side by side in these stupid machines and the dad having more fun than his baby? Life isn't all candy canes and pixie sticks. It scares me to see that a whole generation of people look up to Paris Hilton and Britney Spears, who have never grown up themselves. Childlike innocence is a great thing, but part of the aging process is to lose that. Maybe I'm a cretin for thinking this way, and I'm wonderfully okay with that. Because I hate to think that the future welfare of this country and our economic system rests on the shoulders of anyone who thinks a piece of plastic made in China is the best part of their day. Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Well, I had planned to call Ms. Not-a-date, but she called me first. We talked, and she did sound incredibly sick. So, I was correct to trust her. We're going to try to go out again Friday night. However, my blog-friends brought up a good point that I have trouble with. I don't know when being obstinate and pursuing a girl goes from flirtacious to scary. So, I usually don't chase girls, and truthfully, I don't like being chased either. So, how do I know if I should pursue? I want to be the type of man who pursues something that might be worthwhile, but I don't want to be the type of man whose description rhymes with balker. So, where is that fine line? I don't know. I have to tell you that the whole social thing between a man and a woman confuses the hell out of me. I love talking to anyone, provided they start the conversation. I love to meet new people because any new view, any new way of looking at something is wonderful. It helps feed the artistic need in me to see the world with fresh eyes. (The expiration date on my current eyes was last year, so I'll be in the market for new ones, soon. Know any good stores?) How does one ever cross the potential barrier between potential dates? How does a guy with a scrappy beard and asthma stand in front of a woman and tell her that her voice carries the musical of angels on its back? I guess Hello is a start. Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| I got a call saying that she was sick. She said she wasn't standing me up, and that she never does this and that she would call later. So, all I can do is take her at her word, but I was disappointed. I have to say my feelings were hurt a little. She sounded sick, and honestly, I wouldn't have thought she was standing me up until she breached the subject. She said she wasn't standing me up like three times, which seemed a whole lot like over-compensating to me. Oh well, if I never hear from her again, then it just wasn't meant to be. That seems to be the pattern of my dating life. Nothing's ever meant to be. I'm being a little melodramatic here, but I've been e-mailing six to seven women trying to set up a date. Zero dates have come from it. The women say that I sound interesting and that they would love to get together. However, nothing comes out of it. I know things will pick up, and I know I will date again. But, it's a little disappointing and frustrating, which I guess is what dating is all about. Well, good night all, I've got a bottle of Pinot Noir and a book. I'm going to go curl up around some Sci Fi and find some new angst and unrequited lust for my poetry. I hope you all are having great nights!!! Happy Easter!!!! Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Well, in honor of my not-a-date, I decided to lay out some dating rules for all you lovers out there. Getting dates and keeping them is my problems, but during the date, I'm solid gold, so here's how I wooooo-wooo the ladies! First, appearance is very important, and I want her to have eyes only for me. So, I wear a striped button down shirt. Every stripe is a different color of the rainbow. I know it sounds bad, but people love this shirt. I have men coming up to me all the time asking how long I've been out. They get a confused look on there face when I look at my watch and say, "I left the house about..." however many hours ago. Why are they always wondering how long I've been outside? Sticking with appearance, I think it's important that guys know women look at their shoes. The story is that a woman likes a man with nice shoes; it says something about him if he is taking care of his feet. That's why I like to wear Sandals without socks. It says that I'm spontaneous. I could kick off my shoes at any moment. Smell is an important part of appearance. That's why I like to have cologne for a date. Most guys have this, but I separate myself by using five sprays on the front, and five sprays on the back. How do I spray my back? Glad you asked. I hit the pump once and then walk backward through the mist. I do this five times to make sure that I'm good and covered. I also like to present a girl with a flower, but I don't know her. I'm not spending money on some chick I don't know. So, I usually grab a flower out of the neighbor's yard. Don't worry, I wash the dirts off the roots. Choice of cuisine is important. It could make or break a date. Now, McDonald's would break a date. It's too clowny, and there's too many kids there. No way should kids, in any form, come up on the first date. That's why I'm a Burger King type of guy, and yeah, I let her King Size it. Because, hey, I'm a nice guy. After dinner, I like to take my date out for a glass of wine. Again, choice of location is very important. A park is an ideal setting for a glass of wine. You have to scout out the location first to make sure you can find a picnic table for the both of you. Then, you take her there with a couple of glasses and your favorite box of wine. It's magical; it really is. Also, during a date, you have to have good conversation. I like to start out with three questions to get the ball rolling. The first question is how much money she makes in a year. This tells me if she's independent and career oriented. Most of the women I've met say they like it when a man makes them feel feminine. So, I always, always add ten thousand on top of their salary when I tell them mine. The second question is about politics. I want to know that she's smart and intellectual. I also want to know if she's up for a spirited debate on the core issues of our day. Nothing gets the date going better than asking a woman her political affiliation. The third question is, "Are we going to have sex, tonight?" This tells me if she's passionate and spontaneous. It eases the tension after the discussion on politics. Women are a little shy at first about this question; so, you really have to stay on it. You have to keep asking her, again and again till you get your answer. This shows a woman that you will stick to your guns. Finally, the kiss good night, or the kiss to start a good night, should be all tongue. It's best just to set the pace of your relationship early by kissing her in a way that would make pornstars say, "That's just too much tongue." This will ensure that she knows you're an animal between the sheets. Yes, I know, I changed P.O.V. during the post. I was in a hurry. I hope you enjoyed! Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| ...continues. The emotional roller coaster ride that is this week continues. I didn't get around to blogs yesterday. I apologize. I worked a half a day so I had time to post my blog. My roof was leaking so I spent yesterday afternoon in my attic and on my roof. It's a two story house, and I'm afraid of heights. I'm more afraid of a soaked ceiling falling in on me. So, it was a fear filled afternoon. The fight with the friend that I thought was done and over, continued yesterday. I got an e-mail listing points of the arguments that I thought ended monday. I have not replied. I'm taking my time to consider her words and form a reply. It has been raining like crazy around here, and since the tons of snow we got has saturated the ground, rivers are starting to crest over the top of levies. The Red Cross has opened up two Shelters here in St. Louis. If you've read my blog enough, you'll remember that I signed up for Red Cross training to be able to volunteer if needed. So, it's needed right now, and I cannot take off work because of projects I have going on. So, Friday night, I'll be leaving work for a shift at a nearby shelter. I have hurt people intentionally and unintentionally in the past. I have put negativity in this world, and I'm so grateful at my chance to put some good in the world. I'm so happy that I have a chance to serve someone else. How could I pass up on an opportunity to help people worried about losing their house? I have a date this weekend. The girl I talked with Sunday is meeting me for coffee, not Friday night, though. She's got a degree in English and Theatre, also, I think, and she went for a Master's in Theatre and English. She likes wine and food. I'm hoping that coffee turns into dinner. I guess I shouldn't say it's a date. It's just coffee, but potential is there. After all of this, I got a call from my ex-wife. We talked as friends, and we talked about what's going on in our lives. Well, she called me because she wanted me to come over and cuddle with her. Her words were, "We could cuddle and, maybe...more." There were no strings attached; it was just a night of cuddling. I said no. She then proceeded to try to convince me for five minutes, and it was hard. It was tempting. I wanted to go so bad, but I said no. She didn't understand why I didn't want to hold her. I wanted more than anything to hold her. I wanted to go and lay next to her, feel her in my arms. I would have liked to feel the heat of her back on my chest as my arms cocooned her. I wanted to feel her stringy, amber hair on my nose as I whispered jokes into the back of her head. I desired to feel her frigid feet put on my legs to steal my warmth. I wanted to hold her and for a moment pretend that all the pain and suffering of the past year was just a bad dream, that this woman that I loved was happy to be in my arms. I would have loved to pretend that we were happy as husband and wife with a future full of marriage ahead of us. But I don't have that big of an imagination. I can't lie to myself that there would have been no strings attached for me. For her, she might have felt nothing afterwards. I would have felt strange, bad and hurt, especially because I don't love her anymore. She didn't want to be in my arms; she didn't want to be alone. She just didn't want to be alone. So, I said no. I was proud of myself, and then I hated myself. I do miss her, but I don't, really. I miss having someone in my life filling the role she once did. I hated myself for the fact that I couldn't be there for her to make her feel good. But it's just not my place to do that anymore. I told her to find a boyfriend while internally wanting her to pine after me forever, to utter our divorce as her biggest mistake on her deathbed. I want her to be happy. I wish I was the type of person that could have run over there for sex and cuddling. I'm not. She and I have too much history for that. So, the roller coaster ride of emotions this week continues. Why is doing the right thing, so hard? Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| It has been an emotional week, and it's only Wednesday. Sunday, I talked with a gal that a coworker is setting me up with, and we had a lot in common...arts and writing. I got into a fight with a friend on Monday with feelings hurt. Yesterday, I asked of myself, two questions that shook my very soul. The first question, I blogged about. Am I a bad friend? However, the second question is more pressing for me, more personal. Can I write poetry if my soul is dead? Even though I'm taking a class on Poetry Writing, I feel that my best days of poetry is behind me. I'm no longer the young, passionate, hormone-driven, sex hound that I used to be. (I call myself a sex hound because like a dog chasing cars, I worked real hard for it but didn't know what to do when I actually caught it. Catching it was very rare, luckily.) I don't have all kinds of emotions or longing for a warm body in my bed. I'm not a person seeking or yearning for something missing from my soul. So how can I be a good poet? How can I create stanzas that are not fueled and driven by the internal turmoil I have always felt? Maybe some poets can do this, but I cannot. I cannot write without some emotion, happiness, sadness, depression, anger, etc., as the impetus. Since my writing has been flat and emotionless (sarcasm is not an emotion), I began to wonder. I really began to question whether my heart, my soul was dead. Is that the legacy of the emotional turmoil that divorce has left me? Has my marriage and the loss of it murdered my soul? Now, I have had emotions since the divorce finalized. But they have been more or less death spasms. They have been empty feelings that echoed the hurt of 2007. Sunday, after talking with this woman, I was on cloud nine. I was so happy because I learned that St. Louis does offer people with interests similar to mine. I cannot say that anything more than a friendship will come of talking with this gal. But to know that other people enjoy the things I do is amazing. I was hopeful that someday, I could find someone who compliments me. Apparently, a part of passion still smouldered in me. Monday, I got in a fight with a friend. I handled it poorly because she made me feel genuine anger. It wasn't an echo of anger. It was a new emotion. It surprised the hell out of me. It was real, and I wasn't expecting it. So, I didn't react in the best manner. Then, we talked about it on the phone, and it escalated. The escalated feelings were as true and real as the other feelings. The smouldering passion flared into a spark, but I didn't notice. Yesterday, I asked of myself about the type of friend that I am. It's not a question that I can answer, and I'm not sure if it's worth answering. But the big question, Is my passion, my soul dead? Of course that's worth answering. I felt that it was dead. I began to worry. But during class, the poems that the other students read and the comments they gave to my poem, stirred me. The professor's example poems spoke to me. It felt like a strong breeze knocked gasoline over onto the spark. Something flared up inside me. I don't know how this will translate into my poetry, but I can tell you that I didn't sleep last night. I just kept repeating to myself that my soul isn't dead. My soul isn't dead. Maybe there's hope for my writing yet. P.S. Okay, so a little melodramatic maybe, but it was important to me. So, be nice! Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| I’m starting to realize that I’m a bad friend. I think that maybe I’m selfish. I get busy in life and don’t make the effort to keep up friendships. I get involved too much with a girlfriend or wife and let friends fall to the side. When I fuck up, I’m too embarrassed to talk with friends about it. These things make me a bad friend. I would do anything for my friends, or at least, I thought I would. Maybe what I think and reality aren’t the same. I’ve always had this sneaking suspicion that I’m selfish. I wonder if I talk about myself too much. Are we doing stuff that other people like, or are we doing what I like? Am I truly there for my friends when they need me? Or am I just there when it makes me feel like a good friend? My wife always said that we did things I liked, but I thought we always did things she liked. Was she right? I know that she was very selfish; it was her way or no way most of the time. Do I treat my friends this way? I get busy with a girl or with a job, and I don’t e-mail or call my friends. I’ve never been one to talk on the phone. I don’t know why, but I hate talking on the phone. I don’t know what to say, much like in real life. I don’t understand or know how to partake in small talk. I like to ask people about their lives, but it always seems there’s some disconnect. How do I work around that? I have a friend who’s always telling me about her kids, and I love to hear about them. But when’s she’s frustrated with them, I don’t know what to tell her. Am I just supposed to be a listener? I hope so because that’s all I can do. Or, I work with a lot of sport’s fans. I’m not a sports fan, so when they talk about baseball or that, I don’t talk with them. Baseball, football and sports, in general, have no affect on me or my life. So, I really don’t know how to connect with someone like this except through what we work on. This makes me feel boring, and I don’t want to be the boring guy who only talks about work wherever he goes. Plus, at work, I work. I don’t get up and talk much. I feel like this company’s paying me. So, I need to work, not talk. I also don’t know how to just walk up to someone’s cubicle and talk without a preset topic or opening line. Cheesy, right? Going through this divorce, I haven’t talked to a lot of friends. I let one of my longest friendships ever lapse because I just didn’t want to hear an, “I told you so” speech. It probably wouldn’t have come, but it would have been appropriate. Some of my friends had doubts about her, and I didn’t listen to them. I can’t change that, and I probably wouldn’t even if I could. My wife and I had a good run for a while, and I was happy during that time. The pain was worth the happiness. (But it would not be worth it again.) I guess I’m just too full of pride to eat crow and tell my friends they were right. I don’t think any of them would say that, but I would be thinking it. I know my friends well enough that they wouldn’t bring it up. Instead, they’d want to know that I’m doing okay. I hope they’re okay, too. I hope they’re great. I’ve always had trouble finding people that enjoy the same things I do. I’ve always enjoyed playing sports with people; I’ve enjoyed watching movies with others and drinking with others. But I’ve never found a friend who likes to read and write like I do. I’m also happy reading and writing and being alone. Writing is a solitary event. Sometimes, you have to tell people no so that you can write. I’ve had to say no to Boy’s Night Outs last semester to write and get my story in by the deadline. I guess I’m content enough alone that I don’t place as high a value on friendships as others. I don’t lose stress by going to the bars with my pals. I de-stress by reading and writing. So, before this rambles on indefinitely, I’m going to wrap it up. I’m a bad friend. I think that I’m so selfish that I get wrapped up in my life and forget the others around me. I don’t know. I’ve got a lot to think about and figure out. I guess I should just start asking my friends if I’m a bad friend. Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Does anyone out there fight with their friends? Not like a fist fight or food fight, but have arguments? Disagreements? Sometimes, I get mad at my friends. Sometimes, we have arguments; sometimes, we even yell at each other. Does anyone else do this? Or am I just a bad friend? I would seriously like to know. I'm a stubborn person, and I can be an asshole. I know this. Sometimes, someone does something to me that pushes my buttons, and I try to tell them. Sometimes, I handle things correctly, and sometimes I don't. But I don't think I have a single friend who I haven't pissed off or who hasn't pissed me off. It's part of being human. Sometimes we yell; sometimes, we argue. But I don't think we've ever just given up. The only friend I've ever given up on was someone who picked fights with me when he was drunk. He picked the fist type of fights, and I've moved past that in my life. I do NOT resolve things through violence. I can talk or argue or yell, but never ever raise a hand. I have a bad habit of letting little things build that eventually just piss me off, and I say something. This is a bad habit, but the problem is I forget what pissed me off. Because it's little comments that I can shake off, or at least, consciously, shake off. But then one more little comment will be the straw that breaks the camels back. It isn't healthy, but it's not something I plan. I try to say something about it. Then, I forget about it, but the next time it comes up, I'm just that much more irritated. I need to write it down when I say something to someone. I am a laid back person, and I can shrug off most stuff. I have a hard time telling people when they are irritating me. Because in my head, I say, "Aahh, it's just a small thing. Let it go." And I consciously do, but underneath, it must be festering in my brain. Who knows? I'm probably just a bad friend, and if I am, well that's life. I'm who I am, and I'm comfortable being me. If I'm a bad friend, then I guess I will have to accept that. I can try to work on changing me, but I probably won't. I don't see anything wrong with being able to get angry at a friend. I never get angry and say the friendship is over. I get angry and say let's find a way to work this out. Anybody else fight with their friends? Anyone else have a hard time telling someone that something they do just rubs you the wrong way? Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
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