Coming Out

So I decided to come out early.

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On The Ball Like A Testicular Surgeon

Work turned out to be very full of events. Mistakes, near deaths, crazy shit, that boss; and all with a new guy under my wing. I was pretty hyper by the end of the shift. Made me feel fuckin’ alive for once.

During the shift, in between near human roadkill and new rules, I wrote. I wrote a lot. i wrote pages and I wrote single lines.

I like to write. I’m a writer.

But, I also like feeling as alive as I did during those last few hours. I was feeling manic before, but then it became energy. Productive energy. Something I can direct when I feel it.

Something that can help me in the long run.

“You’re Being Very Mature About This”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Fuck, really?

Great.

This wasn’t what I was going for.

Virtues aren’t right most of the time. They tend to get you lost in the crowd, or walked on, or killed. Vices are what define you. Your ability to walk the wrong way beats out your ability to bleat like the rest of them.

But the fact is if I wasn’t holding back every well-deserved trick and cuntpunch, the situation would be much worse. It would cost my family more drama and treasure. It would make the current rough seas stormier, Perfect Storm-style. It would invite destruction upon the already suffering city,

Fuck this.

God owes me one.

Fear Nothing

I take my first drag of a cigarette in years and blow out a small amount of smoke. I take a second.

Nothing. It didn’t catch. Fuck.

I feel like I’m back in college drunk and taking an offered butt. At least in college being drunk was the excuse for taking forever to light it.

Finally, its lit.

I stand at my sink and take my time. I think of everything that I’ve been told to fear about this little stick. I think of cancer, bad breath, stained teeth, headaches, lung problems; I think of the fears pushed on us. I think of the daily billboards, commercials and concerned citizens with nosy personalities. I think of everything that can go wrong. And then, I take in another drag.

I think of the fear of being emasculated when I take the Ex her stuff. It’s not that far out of my original route, and its cheaper. I think of being suckered in by her coyness. I think of seeing her pretty face and crumbling. I think of the guy she lives with. I think of the guy’s friend who also lives there. I think of her fractured and tribal group of friends away biting at each other.

I think of how much I feared everything. How much I fear now. How much that none of it really fucking matters one bit when I look at myself.

There are things you can’t control. When hurt deeply and badly, its human instinct to get revenge. Its survival. When pained physically or emotionally, a man attacks and if he’s lucky, he’ll win. Its not easy to get over loss.

But it doesn’t have to control you. It doesn’t have to destroy you. When you let it, you fear that you’re going to die alone. That no one likes you. That you are persona non grata.

Quit fearing. Quit caring. Let the shit slide and the cool flow from every pore.

I smoked in my apartment. That’s against the contract. I used to fear their response to the punched hole in the wall. The marks. Even the dude next door who beats his wife and kids does it outside. He fears. He fears the landlords. He fears the cops who come every few weeks. I watch him from my window, finishing my smoke. He waits under the gray sky. Cold and shaking.

He has something to lose.

I have everything to look forward to.

I Should Start Smoking

Why?

Because everyone is telling me not to do it.

My friends who smoke. My friends who don’t. The government. Private groups funded by the government. My smoker mom, if I told her. My non-smoker dad, once he gets the picture. My employer’s overpaid, ugly-ass health adviser who writes in the propaganda we get every month.

Everyone is telling me not to smoke.

But, I have this giant urge to start.

I’m also told I’m a good guy, and I am.

But, I should start being a giant asshole.

Why?

Because everyone is telling me not to do it.

My friends. My best friend. The government. Private groups. My mom. My dad. My boss.

Everyone is telling me not to be an asshole

But, I have this giant urge to start.

It’s probably healthier to be an asshole, but that depends where I’m going to be an asshole. I could be an asshole once and get my jaw cracked.

Smoking a pack or two on my trip may just shorten my life by a few minutes. Could be a good trade.

Though there’s no law against being an asshole in or within 25 feet of a building.

Yet.

I buy awesome by the carton!

Money for Nothin’

Day shift today, so I should be asleep now. In lieu of information, here’s great music:

The Castle

My space, my way

With her gone, the place is mine.

With her gone, I have the ability to shape it.

Home is supposed to be your sanctuary. Your place to rest, relax, and recharge, so that you can get ready to go out and face the world another day…knowing you can come home and let your guard down and just enjoy the company of your family upon your return.

How can you do that when you’re afraid of doing or saying something, and than having to deal with an upset tyrant of a spouse? -Hawaiian Libertarian

Before, I’d be happy to come home because of her. I was happy to relax, talk, screw and all the stuff marriage was about. Then it got testy. Then it got nasty. Then she bolted.

It was ours. A lot of the decorating was her, but it wasn’t like I was pushed out to a single room.

Now the castle is without the princess, and it feels much better. As good as it can be under the circumstances.

King of the Castle.

Nostalgia, Lesbians and Irresponsibility

And now! The conclusion of “If I Didn’t Come Back, What Would You Do?”

So, yes, the Ex decided to not come home. Apparently, the call of nostalgia, lesbians and irresponsibility beat out all else. She’s screwed over a lot of people, including her best friend in Utah, who is now my best friend in Utah. She and her boyfriend came over for a bit, bringing beer, video games and support. That morning was spent running around dealing with money and debts. Visiting banks, paying off memberships I wouldn’t be using anymore and talking with the apartment people. I only had a few hours sleep before that, even with a boatload of drowsy inducing pills.

Bitches be crazy.

The good news of all this, other than having her out, is I get to road trip home. I’ll see some friends, visiting a shitload of places I haven’t been before and just generally enjoy life. Also, the start of the road trip will be when I reveal myself. Inspired by Roosh, it was something I had hoped to do after flying home, but instead my first posts of the new blog will chronicle the 10 day or so trip back to my folk’s place.

And yes, I’ll approach like a motherfucker wherever I go, especially in New Orleans.

“If I Didn’t Come Back, What Would You Do?”

Bitch!

C’mon!!!!!!

It was a good day, too!

And the Lord said, "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

I woke up feeling good on Saturday night. Got dressed, grabbed some cheap food. On the way to my long, evil overnight shift I called LP and she seemed open to some kind to get together on Monday. Nice. Even if she flaked, I’d be at a bar I’ve been wanting to check out for a long time. And, if the Gods deemed my evil plan awesome, the Ex would have to come pick me up while I was hanging out with LP drunk on my favorite beer. Hopefully, with a face full of LP’s rack… but I digress.

And then she hits me with a text right as I was passing out:

Ex: If I didn’t come back, what would you do?

FTW: Go back to sleep.

Ex: Are you telling me to do that or is that what you would do?

FTW: It’s what I would do. Is this a serious thought?

Ex: It’s a serious consideration, except for the lease.

So this is how I got her to marry me so fast… impulse and crazy! After explaining how, in less blunt words, I’d happy deal with all the shit extricating her from this state and my life, we hit the greatest example of the rationalization hamster I’ve ever seen in this relationship.

Ex: Is this irresponsible of me?

FTW: Depends on the outcome.

Ex: Explain.

FTW: If you end up not benefiting from the decision, you’ll probably end up saying you’re irresponsible.

Ex: My next paycheck could cover my part of the divorce and the cost of sending my stuff. I don’t see how I can’t benefit from it.

FEED ME!

To be continued…

Qu(K?)(G?)daffi

Who knew a twenty plus year old joke would still be relevant?

I can’t find the video, but the skit goes a guy is asked to say his license plate to some bureaucrat over the phone. His plate happens to be something like PKQGG. The paperpusher asks him to spell it out in the style of “A as in apple, B as in boy.” So he does, and he says, “Alright. P as in… pneumonia. K as in… Kaddafi. Q as in…. Quaddfi! G as in… Gaddafi!…”. You get the picture.

My view on Western involvement in Libya is slightly torn, but it doesn’t matter. Bombs are dropping, and they’ll drop until the masters deem otherwise. Personally, I think the media and the government has skewed the Libyan Civil War to make it look like the government forces are slaughtering civilians only and not armed rebels that can shoot down planes, as the BBC has documented. I also don’t like the crazy tyrant that runs the country. But, in the end, it is the side with the most firepower and brains that usually wins. And if the rebels have any brains, they’ll push the “no-fly zone” (bullshit already since France started bombing tanks) to become a full scale ouster of Gaddafi. If the West has any brains, they’ll fuck off as soon as possible. This was and will always be a tribal matter. It has nothing to do with democracy or freedom.

Shit can’t be squandered on useless things. Like Libyans.