How You Doin’ Blondie?


In Possibly Related News…Part Deux
June 30, 2008, 9:38 pm
Filed under: Coping, Humor, Life, love | Tags: , , ,

I didn’t realize tattoo’s required a certain amount of reconnaissance. The first place I walked into today looked like the exercise yard at San Quentin.

NEXT.

The second place I walked into was being ruled by a short brunette with a Monroe piercing and a sleeve full of ink. The door had barely shut behind me before she barked, “We just opened, we’re not ready for customers.” I looked her dead in the eye and said, “You’re hard ass routine just lost you a sale,” and I walked right back out.

NEXT.

Third time’s the charm. Found a shop over on South Street in Old City, run by a group of guys who collectively strongly resemble My Chemical Romance. Their portfolio is pretty impressive, and they were incredibly genuine and friendly.

I have an appointment to go back tomorrow at 2 and do the deed.

I seriously have not been this excited since I won the bid for a new transmission switch for the Volvo on eBay Motors for like two thousand less than an OEM. Yeah. THAT excited.

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Lonely Are The Brave

I was in my car today when I heard the opening chords for the Eagles’ “Desperado” playing on the radio. It’s always been one of my favorite songs, primarily because I so closely identify with the sentiment (even more so, lately).

So I turned up the volume and started to sing along, and by the time I got to the last verse, my eyes were watery and I felt a little bit sick to my stomach (a symptom indicitive of sadness, for me).

Then I looked in my review mirror and saw this chiseled guy with a crew cut, behind the wheel of an F-350, also singing along to a song that he obviously felt perfectly illustrated the complexities of his interpersonal relationships.

And that’s when I realized I must’ve looked pretty fucking gay at the stoplight, staring forlornly off into the distance, mournfully crooning, “Your prison is walking through this world all alone. Oh, Desperado…”

Pre-tty fuc-king gay.

 

They obviously do it better.



LOLDogs
May 31, 2008, 11:07 pm
Filed under: Family, Humor, Images, Life, love, Pets, relationships | Tags: , , , , , ,

My brother and I were never any good at communicating our feelings for one another, so the bonds that we’ve formed over the years have always been of the decidedly silent variety.

One of the bonds we share is Cody. The day I went to go “adopt” Cody, my brother happened to be up visiting me. He drove with me out to Levittown, and he was the one that held Cody in the backseat during the drive home.

Sometimes when my brother calls, he’ll be in the middle of a story, or just about to tell me something, and he’ll just stop. When he stops, I know what’s happened, I know that’s he just depleted his bullshit source – he’s just run out of the energy to be Sargent Smile. So when he stops like that I always say, “Well Cody did the funniest thing today…” or “When Cody and I went for a walk today…” and I can hear the smile and the sigh of relief in his voice when he says, “Ok, tell me about it.”

To be honest, sometimes I’ve made up stories, or recycled old ones – because the fact of the matter is, Cody is not that interesting. If Cody were a human, I imagine that he would be a middle-aged, slightly balding white guy with a beer gut who sits in his favorite recliner all day watching the 24-hr sports network. Lassie he is not.

But Cody’s exploits aren’t what’s important, it’s what they represent. To my brother, they’re like a safety blanket. To my brother, Cody represents something that he’s seen, touched, felt, and loved, that won’t be complicated by war. To my brother, Cody represents something that is incapable of being tainted by the nightmares that he has, or the nightmares that he lives.

Also, when I talk about Cody, it prevents my brother from having to get Lifetime Network-ish within earshot of his comrades.

So for my brother’s upcoming birthday, I got the idea that I would take a cute little photo of Cody and me and make a birthday card out if it.

My idea reached catastrophic levels of failure.

My exuberance level is at, like, a 10. His is at about a 4.

He’s just not that into me.



Same Shit Different Day
May 29, 2008, 7:49 pm
Filed under: Humor, Life, love, Men, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , ,

So S. has made his official return to relevancy in my life.

We ran into each other this morning, I was walking up to the train station to head into the city for the day, and he was driving to work. He stopped and asked me if I wanted a lift and of course I accepted. So the whole ride over we talked about the MOST boring shit in the world (of course) but the whole time I’m thinking “Ask him out, no wait for him to ask you out, drop him some hints, No just ask him out, ASK HIM OUT ASK HIM OUT ASK HIM OUT.” So I screwed up all my courage and said, “So, I see you got a new truck, what happened to the white Hummer?”

Yeah, balls of steel. That’s me.

So anyway, we finally pull up to the front of the station, and I turn to him and say, “Thanks for the lift,” but really all I wanted to do was kiss him. He smelled SO good, and his voice, oh that VOICE. I haven’t spoken to him in so long, anytime we see each other we just wave – so I’d forgotten how yummy that voice is…

I want him so bad it hurts. So what do I do?

On the one hand, we have the fact that he and I have been out together. Once. In October. 2007. And then – nothing. I got like 2 text messages, and then – nothing. He’s had all this time to make a move, and he hasn’t. So he’s obviously not that interested.

Which, to be totally honest, really does upset me. He was so much fun to hang out with, such a down to Earth guy. If only I knew what the fuck I did to turn him off. Sigh. I am NOT a happy camper.



The Bonfire of the Vanities
May 27, 2008, 3:23 pm
Filed under: Life, love, Men, Reality, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , ,

I went to lunch today with my friends, and I seriously thought it would never end. It was torturous. My friends are all beautiful and successful, but they can’t seem to cultivate a healthy relationship with a decent man to save their lives. Of course, I can’t either, but I know this, I’ve accepted this. They, on the other hand, insist on blaming their failed relationships on male incompetence.

 Well today I finally had it up to here. I decided I was sick and tired of listening to them sit around and complain about being single, and double standards, and how men just don’t understand, and all that “female empowerment” bullshit…So I decided to offer my humble advice and said;

“Look, guess what, ladies? Men are not that complicated. 99.9% of the time, you’re the one who fucks things up. So check this out:

 If you don’t want him to treat you like a slut, don’t sleep with him on the first date.

If you don’t want him to tell you your ass is big, don’t ask how you look in those hot shorts.

If you don’t want him to check out your hot friends, don’t invite us over. Or get uglier friends.

If you don’t want him to cheat on you, find out what the fuck it is he’s not getting from you, and give it to him.

And also, ladies, while I’m at it, those women’s magazines you read? Ditch ’em. Don’t believe the hype – you’re not as great as you think you are.”

Picture, if you will, a turd in the town well. That is how it went over. So fuck them. I like hanging out with the angry old men at my local dive bar more anyway…at least those guys don’t buy me drinks with fucking fruit in them.



I AM JACK’S BLEEDING HEART

My senior year of college, a month before I was supposed to graduate, I got a letter from the bank that had issued me my student loans. The letter started out very friendly, almost like the bank president was on old friend of mine and would like to do lunch someday. It explained that everybody at the bank was really proud of my accomplishments, and they couldn’t wait to see what I did with my future! They also said that, because we were friends, they were going to bestow unto me a one-year grace period, starting the day I graduated, during which time I did not have to make any payments on my student loan debt. Then at the veeeery end of the letter they explained, in excruciating detail, exactly how much I was going to owe them. I believe I almost experienced total organ failure.

I sat down and crunched some numbers and I realized that unless I moved in on the Columbian drug trade, I was going to be making payments until I was well into my 50’s. So I started exploring my options, and one of them was to enlist in the Army Reserve. Although at the time we were officially at war, we hadn’t reached (or at least no one was revealing we had reached) a troop-shortage crisis yet, and the Army Reserve was offering, in addition to a $20,000 signing bonus, 100% student-loan reimbursement. So I figured that next to the Navy (which I had already ruled out because I get as seasick and as claustrophobic as a motherfucker), the Army Reserve was a pretty good way to reap the benefits of the GI Bill without having to see any actual combat.

Then I started doing some research, read some fine print, discovered words like “stop-loss” and “Improvised Explosive Device.” I started seeing pictures of soldiers missing the lower half of their body, or the main portion of their face. I started reading about the disgusting things local insurrectionists did to the bodies of US Soldiers…and that’s when I realized, the US Armed Forces was probably not for me. I realized that I would be the angriest, most pissed off motherfucker on the eastern seaboard, if I got my legs or an arm blown off and all I had to show for it was 20 large and some tuition reimbursement.

So I didn’t enlist. But I realized then that there was a whole group of people out there who did, and they did it in spite of the potential cost. I also realized then that there were people who had already paid the price, who had already made the sacrifice. I realized that those people, the ones who had already paid – the lucky ones in that group were the ones with a fake foot or only one eyeball. The lucky ones were the ones who went home and pushed their kids on the swing-set or made love to their spouses with pieces of shrapnel still in their skull. The unlucky ones were the ones who never made it back alive. The unlucky ones were the ones who were honored for their bravery and courage – posthumously. The unlucky ones were the ones whose families opened the door one day to two somber looking soldiers in a black Lincoln towncar who said nothing other than, “May we come in?” The even unluckier ones never made it home at all. They’re the ones whose families keep that battery-powered candle in the front window, or that yellow gift-wrap ribbon tied to the tree out front, in hopes that one day their loved one will come home.

I realized all this, and I cried. I remember sitting on my bed in my apartment, about two weeks after graduation, and just crying. And it wasn’t one of those Miss. America crying jags, the ones you could almost mistake for laughter if not for the streams of tears running down her cheeks – it was one of those major cries. It was the kind of crying that you don’t expect, the kind that suddenly hits you with a fierce blow and finds you totally unprepared – I was crying like that, for people. I was crying like that for human beings. Humans that sign up to do super human work. I was crying for soldiers. I was crying because you can throw in all the body armor and 21st century technology that you want, but a soldier is still a human, just like everybody else. I was crying because these soldiers suffer unspeakable loss and shoulder impossible burdens, and sometimes it’s dismissed as “just part of their job.” And I was crying because yeah, it is just part of their job, but their job is a great one, and it’s too much for one man, or one family, to try and carry alone.

Since that day, I’ve been very actively involved in organizations whose goal is to support deployed and injured soldiers, and their families. Although there are several, there is one organization I’ve publicly supported the most, chiefly because there is no “organization extraction” – 100% of the purchase or donation price is given directly to troops and their families.

Regardless of your political affiliation, please don’t confuse the war with the warrior. Please support our troops.

 

 I’ll get off my soapbox now.



I am Jack’s Broken Heart
May 22, 2008, 11:24 pm
Filed under: Break Ups, Life, love, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , ,

The guy I was dating, the one I called my “friend”? He ended things today, said that “everything was getting too crazy”.

Fuck that. “Everything was getting too crazy” always means one of two things; either 1.) “The wife is onto us” or 2.) “The sex isn’t as explosive as it used to be.”

I’d like to think of something sarcastic to say about our relationship, but the truth is,

I actually liked him.