We're going with minty refreshment as the vibe of the piece today.
A huge hug and exultant "Merci beau coup" to those that picked up my dried-up carcass outta the gutter last week after my post of self-loathing....
I didn't ask, but yet I truly received.
The real measures of friendship. Extra credit points to the staff at The News Record.
All of you. Hooked me up with a righteous shot of esteem.
Now, with formalities aside, let's get it on....
How cliche is it to have the name of Buck McNeely while you host a show titled "The Outdoorsman"?
Christ, really?
I spotted this show on the boob tube about 2 a.m. one morning last week and immediately fired off a check as a charitable donation to an organization bent on assisting insomniacs.
Those poor souls don't need Buck McNeely in the wee hours regaling them with tales of the leopard-spotted, white-haired 7-toed sloth.
We want them to sleep, not toss themselves in front of cars.
No, I didn't watch it either. I exercised my freedom of a mandible thumb and navigated to "World of Jenks" on MTV.
Not much better.
Mr. Jenks, you tread no new ground, sir. Following around a rapper, a mixed-martial arts fighter and a professional poker player with a video camera is nothing that a slew of groupies has not already beaten dead and cold.
Credit goes to you, however, for having some mush-brained exec at MTV buy off on your formulaic, dusty idea. I eagerly await your bastardized, inbred show covering the Fantasy Factory.
MTV shit out its originality much like a bad night of Mexican food years ago.
Now they just fuck themselves in order to conceive new ideas.
"Real World" killed the video star.
Now on to sports....
My Bengals bring only one question to mind....
Are you ready for Cincinnati Cyclones hockey?
To fake or not to fake, that is what runs through my mind as we close our chat today.
An old high-school acquaintance recently added me as a Facebook friend. I did an Irish jig afterwords, for I had now added a new friend to my harem of 200-plus and counting.
Popularity can be such a heavy cross. (dripping severely here if you can't tell)
This aside, I noticed that said acquaintance had slimmed down quite significantly from our high-school days. Not that she was unattractive then, but she has only improved herself like a fine wine since.
I noticed a plethora of "Wow, you're so beautiful" or "Absolutely gorgeous" comments to her photos.....and it made me think.
Did we compliment her and adorn her in high school as we have now?
Did her spunky, effervescent personality earn her as much praise then as her looks do now?
Or are we, the peanut gallery of commentators, just plain fucking fake?
Did it take weight loss for us to notice a bright, shining human being?
I can only wonder if she had similar thoughts as she responded back to the comments with an air of humility and class; or did she ask the question of "Where were you 15 years ago with your flattery?"
I commented that she had aged well, much better than I had. I lobbed her a softball that complimented her and lessened my filthy lacquer of hypocrisy.
The acidic taste of that hypocrisy coats my tongue, for I never complimented her years before either.
Well, I received my just desserts.....karma can be a bitch.
She truly did age better than I have.
Spragoo
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Where am I at?
If you've read my previous posts, I normally try to be biting, witty and humorous...
Not today. Today I'm melancholy personified. Where am I at in life?
I spent last night alone. Not a new concept for me, but for some reason it just got in the bones more that it normally does.
I'm 33 years old and alone. Without a clue of where I'm headed.
Shouldn't I have crossed this bridge 10 years ago? Shouldn't my life be set at this age, with a home, children, marriage and sterling career?
Instead I sat in my fortress of emotional solitude last night, wondering why I was spending a Thursday night solo and had nary a soul to call up.
Being a college student at 33 is a bitch. My colleagues at the paper have different lives, lives that still bubble with the anticipation of the future. Me? I've waved at the future as it passed me by about 15 years ago.
The cavernous divide between us is noticeable, if only in the responsibilities.
I long to be one of them, to be a part of them. Yet I'm not. I'm a grizzled veteran of life that has seen too much and experienced too much to be one with them.
My life would rain on their parade of anticipation.
The children portion of the American dream I've accomplished, though. Three wonderful, sparkling children (all from the same mother too!) that give me some drive to get through days.
Other than that, it's blah. I strive to attain degrees in journalism and communication, knowing damn well that I probably will not make shit with either one. Writing is a passion, but how long can writing sustain me and be my only partner in life's journey?
I work a job as a 911 dispatcher. Boy, that just makes people trip over their feet running to talk to me about my "cool as shit" career.
I won't even discuss my current living arrangements, with exception to say that I'm not homeless nor living in my car.
I was married at one time. In fact, would have been celebrating an anniversary the first week of November. Somewhere along the way that marriage bust through the guardrail, fell off the bridge and hit the river.
I'm still trying to get to the surface on that one. Every time my head pops above the water, the fucking current of regret, depression and sorrow drag me right back down.
Halfway to retirement in the US Army, I threw it into the garbage disposal and flipped the switch. Ground that fucker up. Nuked it. For some goddamn reason I wanted to start anew, figuring it would benefit my family and my relationship by lessening my stress.
Instead, about six months after the move, I'm whacked with a two-by-four and told "I don't love you anymore."
Now I twist in the wind. Oftentimes I go 48 hours without sleep, only so I can busy myself with two jobs, class and my kids to distract my mind from the burning heap my life has become.
I really don't know why in God's name I am writing this. To ruin your day? No. To seek your sympathy? No.
Maybe to just get some of this tapeworm of bitterness out of my body.
Even as I do this, though, I still hide even more hideous details as I transcribe this. Treacherous "friends", indiscretions, you fucking name it.
It's hard for me to grasp how ignorant and blind I was for so many years to problems, how gullible I was in believing, or why I thought I had the plan.
Even more foolish was the thought that love would sustain through everything. I have a journal given to me that has "love eternally" inscribed to me on the inside. From either the driver or passenger in the car wreck of my marriage; Her nor I have figured out our respective positions in the car yet.
When I read it now, I fucking laugh. Love and eternity are just words. Funny words.
Words that seem to mean nothing, other than affirming my stupidity in believing them.
Don't worry, friends. Sarcastic and jolly Me will be back on the blog soon enough. I've made it quite the habit of being able to easily toss on a skin of funny guy, entertain long enough to satisfy, then slink back to my hole.
A hole that never looks like it will be filled.
Salutations,
Jim
Not today. Today I'm melancholy personified. Where am I at in life?
I spent last night alone. Not a new concept for me, but for some reason it just got in the bones more that it normally does.
I'm 33 years old and alone. Without a clue of where I'm headed.
Shouldn't I have crossed this bridge 10 years ago? Shouldn't my life be set at this age, with a home, children, marriage and sterling career?
Instead I sat in my fortress of emotional solitude last night, wondering why I was spending a Thursday night solo and had nary a soul to call up.
Being a college student at 33 is a bitch. My colleagues at the paper have different lives, lives that still bubble with the anticipation of the future. Me? I've waved at the future as it passed me by about 15 years ago.
The cavernous divide between us is noticeable, if only in the responsibilities.
I long to be one of them, to be a part of them. Yet I'm not. I'm a grizzled veteran of life that has seen too much and experienced too much to be one with them.
My life would rain on their parade of anticipation.
The children portion of the American dream I've accomplished, though. Three wonderful, sparkling children (all from the same mother too!) that give me some drive to get through days.
Other than that, it's blah. I strive to attain degrees in journalism and communication, knowing damn well that I probably will not make shit with either one. Writing is a passion, but how long can writing sustain me and be my only partner in life's journey?
I work a job as a 911 dispatcher. Boy, that just makes people trip over their feet running to talk to me about my "cool as shit" career.
I won't even discuss my current living arrangements, with exception to say that I'm not homeless nor living in my car.
I was married at one time. In fact, would have been celebrating an anniversary the first week of November. Somewhere along the way that marriage bust through the guardrail, fell off the bridge and hit the river.
I'm still trying to get to the surface on that one. Every time my head pops above the water, the fucking current of regret, depression and sorrow drag me right back down.
Halfway to retirement in the US Army, I threw it into the garbage disposal and flipped the switch. Ground that fucker up. Nuked it. For some goddamn reason I wanted to start anew, figuring it would benefit my family and my relationship by lessening my stress.
Instead, about six months after the move, I'm whacked with a two-by-four and told "I don't love you anymore."
Now I twist in the wind. Oftentimes I go 48 hours without sleep, only so I can busy myself with two jobs, class and my kids to distract my mind from the burning heap my life has become.
I really don't know why in God's name I am writing this. To ruin your day? No. To seek your sympathy? No.
Maybe to just get some of this tapeworm of bitterness out of my body.
Even as I do this, though, I still hide even more hideous details as I transcribe this. Treacherous "friends", indiscretions, you fucking name it.
It's hard for me to grasp how ignorant and blind I was for so many years to problems, how gullible I was in believing, or why I thought I had the plan.
Even more foolish was the thought that love would sustain through everything. I have a journal given to me that has "love eternally" inscribed to me on the inside. From either the driver or passenger in the car wreck of my marriage; Her nor I have figured out our respective positions in the car yet.
When I read it now, I fucking laugh. Love and eternity are just words. Funny words.
Words that seem to mean nothing, other than affirming my stupidity in believing them.
Don't worry, friends. Sarcastic and jolly Me will be back on the blog soon enough. I've made it quite the habit of being able to easily toss on a skin of funny guy, entertain long enough to satisfy, then slink back to my hole.
A hole that never looks like it will be filled.
Salutations,
Jim
Friday, October 15, 2010
Home never leaves the bones.....I kinda wanna be anarchy.....R.I.P. Redleggers
For 33 years of my life, I have attempted to escape home.
Home, for those of your not familiar with me, is a boondocks aptly named Okeana. My mother fed me some bullshit growing up that it was the name of some Indian priestess. My mother, a woman from Columbus who hadn't heard of the fuckin' place until Pops built a house there....
My theory? Some farmer in the late 1800's had a tad bit too much white lightning and muttered some mish-mash that coined a town.
The point is, it is a backwoods. People still have rusted hulks of metal in the frontyard, tires as planters and a double-wide with a basement is viewed with envy. This is viewed as high-end decor.
I loathed the place. Subconsiously I think I joined the Army partly to high-tail it out of Ohio....and because I was a slacker college dropout.
Now I'm back. And for some damnable reason, I am reminiscent.
The country air, especially fall, feels cool against my neck. The wafting odor of Jethro burning leaves and tires actually invigorates my nostrils.
Speeding down Cincinnati-Brookville Road at 75 in a 55 zone is freeing....until I crack my radiator on the 12 point buck in the fucking road.
I've come to realize that home never left me. It seems a tad cliche, given all the odes to home that have been written by better hacks than myself throughout the years.
But it looms true.
Podunk bars in the middle of nowhere that actually have David Allen Coe's underground shit (you know what I'm talking about) on the jukebox.
It's laughable how ignorant that twit is, but it's just the vibe given by having it in the jukebox...the vibe of "This here's the country. If you don't like it, kiss our ass and leave."
A small-town diner that is only open till 2 pm, serving chili that is nothing but ground beef chunks in tomato paste.
An abundance of cows and the memory of "We're from Ross, couldn't be prouder! We have pigs and nuclear power!", referring to our former cash crop Fernald.
Okeana and Ross...built on uranium.
I attended a timid bonfire in a field the other night.....brisk evening, cold beer from the tailgate of a pickup.....some lush with a guitar who strummed nothing but drinking country and "ran over the hound while drunk on the tractor" country.
The bastard threw in a few heartbreak songs too, apropos of my situation with the former Mrs. Sprague.
It felt like home. Jarring, surprising, yet not.
Home never left me. For good or ill.
I kinda wanna be anarchy. Government and da man got me down. Campaign commercials are inundating the TV nowadays, and it is simply the same fucking shit....
"(Insert name here) lost Ohio 1 billion jobs."
"(Insert name here) hates veterans."
"(Insert name here) flogged Nancy Pelosi with a studded whip during an S&M party at Steve Driehaus's house. Driehaus's children were dressed like Ooompa-Loompas serving condoms and K-Y on trays to the degenerates."
You get the drift. It's tired and hackneyed.
We have shown as a people that, for the most part, we can take care of fucking shit up for ourselves. We don't need government to pave the road to hell for us.
Humans are quite capable alone.
Thing is, I would immediately become a hypocritical anarchist because, ironically, I collect a paycheck every two weeks from Warren County for being a 911 dispatcher.
Choice to be made....quite the job and become an advocate? Or talk out both sides of my mouth?
Or, just become numb to it like every other American?
Door #3, Monte? I need money, sadly.....can't feed my kids dog food when the dough runs out.
I chuckle, though, everytime I see Mike Wilson, Cincy Tea Party founder, on TV. It's weird seeing a guy that was your manager at Burger King and had quite the fondness for porn 17 years ago talk about Ohio deserving more.
It's surreal.
R.I.P. my dearest Redleggers. I truly didn't expect you to win the division, let alone Houdini in the NLDS. You gave me a reason to hold to my beloved sport of baseball until October and to buy four differing Reds hats this year.
And you gave me hope. Thanks for the memories and looking forward to next season.
Now, just make Jonny Gomes bat with a fucking boat paddle next year and he may damn well hit something. Bastard pulled on his helmet more times than he laid wood on the ball.
Or, just motivate him by threatening a career change to politics. That'd make me hit.
Spragoo
Happy 11th Birthday, Fight Club. Keep up the good work.
Home, for those of your not familiar with me, is a boondocks aptly named Okeana. My mother fed me some bullshit growing up that it was the name of some Indian priestess. My mother, a woman from Columbus who hadn't heard of the fuckin' place until Pops built a house there....
My theory? Some farmer in the late 1800's had a tad bit too much white lightning and muttered some mish-mash that coined a town.
The point is, it is a backwoods. People still have rusted hulks of metal in the frontyard, tires as planters and a double-wide with a basement is viewed with envy. This is viewed as high-end decor.
I loathed the place. Subconsiously I think I joined the Army partly to high-tail it out of Ohio....and because I was a slacker college dropout.
Now I'm back. And for some damnable reason, I am reminiscent.
The country air, especially fall, feels cool against my neck. The wafting odor of Jethro burning leaves and tires actually invigorates my nostrils.
Speeding down Cincinnati-Brookville Road at 75 in a 55 zone is freeing....until I crack my radiator on the 12 point buck in the fucking road.
I've come to realize that home never left me. It seems a tad cliche, given all the odes to home that have been written by better hacks than myself throughout the years.
But it looms true.
Podunk bars in the middle of nowhere that actually have David Allen Coe's underground shit (you know what I'm talking about) on the jukebox.
It's laughable how ignorant that twit is, but it's just the vibe given by having it in the jukebox...the vibe of "This here's the country. If you don't like it, kiss our ass and leave."
A small-town diner that is only open till 2 pm, serving chili that is nothing but ground beef chunks in tomato paste.
An abundance of cows and the memory of "We're from Ross, couldn't be prouder! We have pigs and nuclear power!", referring to our former cash crop Fernald.
Okeana and Ross...built on uranium.
I attended a timid bonfire in a field the other night.....brisk evening, cold beer from the tailgate of a pickup.....some lush with a guitar who strummed nothing but drinking country and "ran over the hound while drunk on the tractor" country.
The bastard threw in a few heartbreak songs too, apropos of my situation with the former Mrs. Sprague.
It felt like home. Jarring, surprising, yet not.
Home never left me. For good or ill.
I kinda wanna be anarchy. Government and da man got me down. Campaign commercials are inundating the TV nowadays, and it is simply the same fucking shit....
"(Insert name here) lost Ohio 1 billion jobs."
"(Insert name here) hates veterans."
"(Insert name here) flogged Nancy Pelosi with a studded whip during an S&M party at Steve Driehaus's house. Driehaus's children were dressed like Ooompa-Loompas serving condoms and K-Y on trays to the degenerates."
You get the drift. It's tired and hackneyed.
We have shown as a people that, for the most part, we can take care of fucking shit up for ourselves. We don't need government to pave the road to hell for us.
Humans are quite capable alone.
Thing is, I would immediately become a hypocritical anarchist because, ironically, I collect a paycheck every two weeks from Warren County for being a 911 dispatcher.
Choice to be made....quite the job and become an advocate? Or talk out both sides of my mouth?
Or, just become numb to it like every other American?
Door #3, Monte? I need money, sadly.....can't feed my kids dog food when the dough runs out.
I chuckle, though, everytime I see Mike Wilson, Cincy Tea Party founder, on TV. It's weird seeing a guy that was your manager at Burger King and had quite the fondness for porn 17 years ago talk about Ohio deserving more.
It's surreal.
R.I.P. my dearest Redleggers. I truly didn't expect you to win the division, let alone Houdini in the NLDS. You gave me a reason to hold to my beloved sport of baseball until October and to buy four differing Reds hats this year.
And you gave me hope. Thanks for the memories and looking forward to next season.
Now, just make Jonny Gomes bat with a fucking boat paddle next year and he may damn well hit something. Bastard pulled on his helmet more times than he laid wood on the ball.
Or, just motivate him by threatening a career change to politics. That'd make me hit.
Spragoo
Happy 11th Birthday, Fight Club. Keep up the good work.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
No more Hail Marys....on the end of a bender....why not prostate cancer?
No more Hail Mary's for me.
Didn't realize this until my mother pointed it out to me yesterday that I'm no longer Catholic....
See, I became a member of a Methodist Church, which in turn made me a Methodist, I guess.
Hmmm....can you say that I really didn't think all that hard about it?
Anyway, I no longer have to deal with ups, downs and all-arounds at Mass....no more telling pedophiles my sins and unfortunately no more wine at communion.
Methodists serve grape juice.
Shee-it.
I'm perfectly dysfunctional. Mocking one sect of Christianity while joining another. I fling stones faster than the Cuban Missile Aroldis Chapman hurls fastballs.
For those not in the know, he is a baseball pitcher from Cuba that wings death encased in rawhide.
While I may throw those stones at others, however, I do toss just as many right back at myself. I'm pockmarked with bruises because of it.
I'm a sinner, not a winner....
Ok. Enough about religion. I gotta fix myself and get right before I even start to analyze Hey-sus and his posse. Gotta give one last tip o' the cap to the Catholic Church, though.
Your summer festivals are kick-ass.
"En nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."
It can be a funny yet dicey proposition when you stop to examine yourself. I stopped and did so this morning while driving to school today. How much of an asshole I am for calling a woman a tramp....how self-absorbed I must be to think my view of the world is better than some tree-hugger on campus.
I thought how if my car could talk, it probably would have committed me to an institution a long, long time ago for half the shit I've said.
My Toyota Camry is a rolling rubber room and punching bag, all wrapped up into one rusty ass package.
So, I ended up chalking up today's earlier regrets to lunacy and proceeded to right the ship and call the driver in front of me a syphilitic bastard.
All is right with my world.
I caught portions of Monday Night Football earlier in the week, particularly the halftime show extolling the strength of breast cancer survivors.
Don't worry now, I'm not that tactless to mock breast cancer survivors.
But it made me stop and wonder....why does the NFL not celebrate survivors of prostate cancer? Football is a sport played predominantly by men, predominantly followed by men and was created by men.
Why are they overlooking a male cancer? Just never thought of it?
Or is it because its tasteless to ponder asshole cancer?
Just curious, is all. Anyone of my 6 fans have any ideas?
I'm just finishing up about a 72 hour no-sleep bender. I awakened Monday morning at 7 am and finally saw the darkness of slumber at about 3 am this morning. In between it was school, work, kids, rinse and repeat.
Had breakfast with my father yesterday morning, who was critical of my current habits. Said I don't sleep enough or eat well enough. Add in a pack a day of Camel's and Dad said I'm a heart attack waiting to happen.
Then he proceeded to cook up breakfast for us, consisting of eggs and country ham, in skillets with a half-stick of butter in each.
Thanks, Papa, for the good healthy eating. I appreciate your love and concern.
The hallucinations from the sleep deprivation were intriguing. Really didn't understand how both a wolf and a snapping turtle ended up at the front of the classroom with the professor in my feature writing class.
That's one of those questions you don't ask out loud, though. That's real rubber room shit to some folks.
I'm really surprised I didn't receive the gift of a telephone pole in my engine block for all my hard work over the past few days. I was able to drive pretty damn good, given the circumstances.
But, if that had happened I'd just have to buy a new rolling rubber room....
Chevette, anyone?
Didn't realize this until my mother pointed it out to me yesterday that I'm no longer Catholic....
See, I became a member of a Methodist Church, which in turn made me a Methodist, I guess.
Hmmm....can you say that I really didn't think all that hard about it?
Anyway, I no longer have to deal with ups, downs and all-arounds at Mass....no more telling pedophiles my sins and unfortunately no more wine at communion.
Methodists serve grape juice.
Shee-it.
I'm perfectly dysfunctional. Mocking one sect of Christianity while joining another. I fling stones faster than the Cuban Missile Aroldis Chapman hurls fastballs.
For those not in the know, he is a baseball pitcher from Cuba that wings death encased in rawhide.
While I may throw those stones at others, however, I do toss just as many right back at myself. I'm pockmarked with bruises because of it.
I'm a sinner, not a winner....
Ok. Enough about religion. I gotta fix myself and get right before I even start to analyze Hey-sus and his posse. Gotta give one last tip o' the cap to the Catholic Church, though.
Your summer festivals are kick-ass.
"En nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."
It can be a funny yet dicey proposition when you stop to examine yourself. I stopped and did so this morning while driving to school today. How much of an asshole I am for calling a woman a tramp....how self-absorbed I must be to think my view of the world is better than some tree-hugger on campus.
I thought how if my car could talk, it probably would have committed me to an institution a long, long time ago for half the shit I've said.
My Toyota Camry is a rolling rubber room and punching bag, all wrapped up into one rusty ass package.
So, I ended up chalking up today's earlier regrets to lunacy and proceeded to right the ship and call the driver in front of me a syphilitic bastard.
All is right with my world.
I caught portions of Monday Night Football earlier in the week, particularly the halftime show extolling the strength of breast cancer survivors.
Don't worry now, I'm not that tactless to mock breast cancer survivors.
But it made me stop and wonder....why does the NFL not celebrate survivors of prostate cancer? Football is a sport played predominantly by men, predominantly followed by men and was created by men.
Why are they overlooking a male cancer? Just never thought of it?
Or is it because its tasteless to ponder asshole cancer?
Just curious, is all. Anyone of my 6 fans have any ideas?
I'm just finishing up about a 72 hour no-sleep bender. I awakened Monday morning at 7 am and finally saw the darkness of slumber at about 3 am this morning. In between it was school, work, kids, rinse and repeat.
Had breakfast with my father yesterday morning, who was critical of my current habits. Said I don't sleep enough or eat well enough. Add in a pack a day of Camel's and Dad said I'm a heart attack waiting to happen.
Then he proceeded to cook up breakfast for us, consisting of eggs and country ham, in skillets with a half-stick of butter in each.
Thanks, Papa, for the good healthy eating. I appreciate your love and concern.
The hallucinations from the sleep deprivation were intriguing. Really didn't understand how both a wolf and a snapping turtle ended up at the front of the classroom with the professor in my feature writing class.
That's one of those questions you don't ask out loud, though. That's real rubber room shit to some folks.
I'm really surprised I didn't receive the gift of a telephone pole in my engine block for all my hard work over the past few days. I was able to drive pretty damn good, given the circumstances.
But, if that had happened I'd just have to buy a new rolling rubber room....
Chevette, anyone?
Friday, October 1, 2010
Rising above....glad they were only $4.99 flowers, tramp....hitting the bricks
Yo-Yo ma....
It's been a busy week. School started up at UC again, meaning classes, professors cussing in class to appear cool to students, and hitting the bricks writing stories for the paper again.
Add to this wading through a plethora of activist-minded students who think they'll change the world and save aardvarks at the same time.
Take it from me, kiddos....your campus anti-war network isn't going to change shit. You're a gnat on the ass of the jolly green military-industrial giant.
Afghanistan will continue, as will war in general, all the while you shout it out loud and play hacky-sack on the commons and puff blunts....
You see reality real quick once you leave the insular world of college. It may be portrayed as a young adults first real-world experience, but its as real world as the MTV show. Students rail against the man in every way, then turn around and drink Coke and eat cheeseburgers in the student dining hall.
Segue to another set of scenes....homeless digging in a dumpster for scraps....soldiers getting shot at daily in a foreign land....some mama-san shitting in the very rice paddy she'll eat out of later that day because she has no running water or plumbing.
Trust me, no one fucking cares about your mid-term on Socrates, the next kegstand party or LBGQT meetings.
No one in the real world, anyway. Prepare to be eaten with a smile, as David Lee Roth would suggest.
Whew. Rant over.
Met someone from an online dating site for a coffee the other day. Not an official date or anything. More a meet and greet, like strange dogs sniffing each others asses....
Talked for about an hour. Common chit-chat, giving backgrounds, pedigrees, etc. Seemed to be going decently. At least, in the idea that my broken "they think you're a dumbfuck" radar didn't go off.
So, I ask aforementioned woman if she would like to meet again, to which I am told "Well, I don't really think so."
Hrmph...
Glad the oriental lilies from Biggs were only $4.99, tramp.
Online dating sites crack me up. Everyone, from men to women, say the same shit...
"I am very open-minded."
"I am willing to try anything once."
"I am humorous."
"I am loyal."
"I am driven."
"Love to get dressed up and go on the town, or cuddle on my bedbug-infested couch with a movie."
Ok, I exaggerated the last one, but you get the drift.
FUCKING LIES.
I had to admire one woman, though. She actually said she wanted a man with a job that wouldn't hit her, and would let her have friends......all misspelled, I might add.
Good luck with that one, chica.
Have had some crap in my life recently. Deaths both physically and emotionally. Friends having hard times, the Bengals passing game, etc., etc.
Only one thing I can offer during times of turmoil, from one of the least likeliest of sources....
Keep the chin up, kids, and "Rise Above", as the hardcore punk band Black Flag preaches to us.
Best advice I've ever heard. Disturbed tells us how to become "Indestructible" too.
Not bad ideas.
In fact, the next tattoos I'll be getting.
Spragoo
Quote of the Day - "Insipid people try to carve out pieces of your heart everyday.....you really piss them off when you let those pieces grow back." - James Sprague
It's been a busy week. School started up at UC again, meaning classes, professors cussing in class to appear cool to students, and hitting the bricks writing stories for the paper again.
Add to this wading through a plethora of activist-minded students who think they'll change the world and save aardvarks at the same time.
Take it from me, kiddos....your campus anti-war network isn't going to change shit. You're a gnat on the ass of the jolly green military-industrial giant.
Afghanistan will continue, as will war in general, all the while you shout it out loud and play hacky-sack on the commons and puff blunts....
You see reality real quick once you leave the insular world of college. It may be portrayed as a young adults first real-world experience, but its as real world as the MTV show. Students rail against the man in every way, then turn around and drink Coke and eat cheeseburgers in the student dining hall.
Segue to another set of scenes....homeless digging in a dumpster for scraps....soldiers getting shot at daily in a foreign land....some mama-san shitting in the very rice paddy she'll eat out of later that day because she has no running water or plumbing.
Trust me, no one fucking cares about your mid-term on Socrates, the next kegstand party or LBGQT meetings.
No one in the real world, anyway. Prepare to be eaten with a smile, as David Lee Roth would suggest.
Whew. Rant over.
Met someone from an online dating site for a coffee the other day. Not an official date or anything. More a meet and greet, like strange dogs sniffing each others asses....
Talked for about an hour. Common chit-chat, giving backgrounds, pedigrees, etc. Seemed to be going decently. At least, in the idea that my broken "they think you're a dumbfuck" radar didn't go off.
So, I ask aforementioned woman if she would like to meet again, to which I am told "Well, I don't really think so."
Hrmph...
Glad the oriental lilies from Biggs were only $4.99, tramp.
Online dating sites crack me up. Everyone, from men to women, say the same shit...
"I am very open-minded."
"I am willing to try anything once."
"I am humorous."
"I am loyal."
"I am driven."
"Love to get dressed up and go on the town, or cuddle on my bedbug-infested couch with a movie."
Ok, I exaggerated the last one, but you get the drift.
FUCKING LIES.
I had to admire one woman, though. She actually said she wanted a man with a job that wouldn't hit her, and would let her have friends......all misspelled, I might add.
Good luck with that one, chica.
Have had some crap in my life recently. Deaths both physically and emotionally. Friends having hard times, the Bengals passing game, etc., etc.
Only one thing I can offer during times of turmoil, from one of the least likeliest of sources....
Keep the chin up, kids, and "Rise Above", as the hardcore punk band Black Flag preaches to us.
Best advice I've ever heard. Disturbed tells us how to become "Indestructible" too.
Not bad ideas.
In fact, the next tattoos I'll be getting.
Spragoo
Quote of the Day - "Insipid people try to carve out pieces of your heart everyday.....you really piss them off when you let those pieces grow back." - James Sprague
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