I'm SCREWED!

My annoying wife

2008-11-15T19:42:43+00:00

My wife is not really that annoying. Mostly..... ha ha ha..... I love her.... really. (ducking.....) I have to update my blog now because she has this really cool feature -- RSS FEED or whatever -- on her computer (rolls eyes)..... Sooo..... I guess I need to start coming up with something witty from time to time... or fairly often.... just to mess with her.

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The spires of churches, the bare ...

2007-12-19T21:11:01+00:00

The spires of churches, the bare baughs of light-covered trees and air-blown figurines, uprise throughout the town. Ubiquitous songs of Christmas reverberate along the crowded shopways.... I pass them one by one, every morning and every night.... yet somehow I seem to missing it all this Christmas season. Too much, or not enough. I'm not sure what, or maybe both. "Life is a journey," I hear a voice whisper. "Next year, the experience will be different...."

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I am going to pay for this in the ...

2007-12-18T00:40:28+00:00

I am going to pay for this in the morning. I normally sleep soundly.... but tonight I just couldn't for some reason, whether it was the alien parasite trying to bore a hole through my chest wall, or this crazy over-affectionate cat we took in which a) won't stop purring, b) won't stop trying to "make biscuts" in my hair (which feels like it's trying to suck what's left of my brain), c) won't stop trying to pounce my feet every time I attempt to move them.... I have decided, I am married to a rather prolific blogger. It is an admirable quality, if not completely adorable. It takes me far too long and far too much effort to do this than it ever used to, for whatever reason. It never seems to wane for her -- perhaps I am much less in tune with my inner thoughts than I should be, or else, simply forget them too quickly before I can make any sense out of myself. Or maybe I'm just more comfortable making nonsense, not to myself....

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Song I heard today

2007-12-18T00:08:38+00:00

Wake up to the sunlight with your windows open Don't hold in your anger or leave things unspoken Wear your red dress, use your good dishes Make a big mess and make lots of wishes And have what you want, but want what you have And don't spend your life looking back Turn up the music Turn it up loud Take a few chances and let it all out 'Cause you won't regret it Looking back from where you have been 'Cause it's not who you knew And it's not what you did It's how you live So go to the ballgames and go to the ballet And go see your folks more than just on the holidays Kiss all your children, dance with your wife Tell your husband you love him every night Don't run from the truth 'cause you can't get away, no Face it and you'll be okay Oh, wherever you are and wherever you've been Now is the time to begin So give to the needy, and pray for the grieving Even when you don't think that you can 'Cause all that you do is bound to come back to you So think of your fellow man And make peace with God, and make peace with yourself 'Cause in the end, there's nobody else.....

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Random thought from my past

2007-07-13T19:18:06+00:00

I used to travel a lot. Three times a year, maybe more, I would go somewhere. English speaking countries mostly, and typically cooler locales. Living in the deep south, I sought refuge from the heat and monotony of constant summer. Then there was September 11, 2003. I was sitting in an early morning terminal of the Atlanta airport waiting to catch a flight to Jamaica, of all places, half listening to the news people commemorate the second anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. It seemed appropriate enough of an omen for me -- I was dreading the trip, a ten-day descent into 100-degree hell and unbreathable humidity even worse than what I was used to. I was not exactly excited about going. It hadn't been my idea. I was going along with my wife as a part of a "mission trip" to share God's love to hundreds of Jamaican school children and various market peddlers, by passing out box loads of donated goods and supplies -- and by making balloon animals. (I made dozens of varieties of balloon animals, and was mobbed by islanders like a rock star...) September in Jamaica is brutally hot, and a tourist dead-season. Our group of six was just about the only white people on the island -- thus, we were given a prime resort villa at a cut-rate price. We had three or four separate thatched hut buildings with their own private bedrooms and baths, our own library, kitchen, entertainment room -- and our own beautiful blue private pool overlooking the ocean. We even had our own maid staff. My wife and I were quartered in a private cottage up a bluff overlooking the entire bay. I quickly fell in love with Jamaica, with the heat, the postcard perfect sunsets, the movie set perfect setting, but my experience there made me feel more wistful and alone than ever. I spent much of my time around the cottage alone, agonizing, smothering in the passion I felt emanating from the heat, from the salt air breezes and the tree frog serenades. And I wanted to fuck. I wanted to make love constantly like two animals in heat, covered in sweat, the sounds echoing around us like a low budget porn flick with the volume all the way up.... Only, I didn't feel that way towards the woman I married. God help me, I couldn't. The chemistry wasn't there, and we never seemed to get it. And so I dreamed.... Sailboats floated towards the deep blue horizon; snorkelers skirted the shipwrecked cove searching for treasure; and I, I sat along my balcony and pulled out my laptop, put on my earphones, and watched Solaris. Solaris. The one with George Clooney. Not the classic, the Russian masterpiece (which I also watched before and was hardly even moved. But this time...) I will always associate Jamaica with Solaris. The two are inseparable to me. As the sun began to fall into the horizon, just above the heavenly blue sea, the movie had ended, and my heart was pounding. How I ached for that kind of passion. How I ached to fear that kind of loss. I thought about it all night, as the rest of the group gathered at our cottage and took photos of my wife and I against the backdrop of the setting sun, now forming a tear drop into the sea during its dramatic seconds'-long plunge at sunset. I thought about how phony I always felt, being treated like newlyweds, or like a couple "in love", when there was clearly no passion present between us. That night, while I tossed and turned in the King-sized bed that I should have been using for anything other than sleep, I listened to the intensity of the tree frogs -- they are so loud, if you allow them to enter your head at night, you lose yourself to their song. And so I lost myself to the tree frogs, and I was awash in pleasure -- I felt it rush through me in waves from head to toe. I convulsed, and gave myself over. I became whistles and chirps and high-pitched groans.... In the morning, I found a tray of fruits and toast (with the best jam imaginable). It felt heavenly, except this urge to drag someone hot and sexy into the shower with me.... I remember thinking that I would never be with someone that I could share such passions with. Not honestly. Not truthfully. And I remember how guilty, how depressed that made me feel.

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Burning up

2007-06-09T20:52:29+00:00

I have been burning up inside lately. Churning. Boiling like a steam-powered engine. Sometimes this produces idle frustration -- the kind where I stare blankly at the ceiling (or a pair of breasts walking by) and slip into a sort of brain-freezed autism -- the sort of autism where the breasts stare back at you and unveil the meanings of things -- of truth, of life, of places and things. This of course, cannot be shared with anyone I know. No one would ever believe I stare at breasts. I am almost too tired to move. So much in my brain to type, and I cannot type it. Not that it's any big loss to the world -- but, sooner or later, I would like to get back to writing and blogging and goofing around on motime again. Something to make me feel more alive. I haven't felt much of anything at all lately, except physical pain and fatigue -- save for those momentary bouts of intense pleasure brought about by bodily friction and fluid exchange....

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ENOUGH ALREADY

2007-05-05T20:06:12+00:00

I am tired. My legs ache. My thighs are so sore and tight that they may snap at any moment. I've simply had enough. I've rushed and rushed and rushed hurried and been pushed as far as I can go, and now my body can't take it anymore. Neither can my car. They're both on strike against me. They've formed a union. I need scabs. Quickly. Somehow I need to show them I'm in control here. Not them. I don't need their cooperation. I'll get rough. I'll work without a leg. Drive without a tire. Drive with my feet... er, foot, if I have to, dammit. Whoa. Am I ever drugged. And my legs still feel like they have pins stuck in them all along my thighs. I am trying to type quickly and coherently while reflecting on exactly how I got to this point, get my thoughts out before I pass out here in the dark..... My Angel worries about me. I think practically anyone who didn't used to be married to me worries about me. I have worked so much for so long lately, I've dropped 25 pounds in two months. I simply haven't had the time or energy left over to eat anything. None of this bothers me, really. None of the money I earn goes to me. I'm not doing this for myself. Every effort I make, every breath I exhaust, every day I spend inside getting hastled and jostled -- it's all for something so much greater than me. I can sleep peacefully with that in mind.

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A made-up song to plagiarize as my own to demonstrate how much today sucked

2007-04-17T22:29:11+00:00

I walked in. The place a mess. Three hours behind. Behind at nine. I want to run. Far and far away. But bossman wouldn't pay. The people fuss. They shout and curse the gods and throw their fat-assed tantrums in the overcrowded aisles. Oh why can't I go? Why can't I go? Oh why can't I go to where the mountain meets the sea and where the sealine meets the misty sea and Plato meets the Odyssy and no one knows what time it is and this and that and etcetera. I worked away. I worked all day. They cursed the time. I paid no mind. I worked past nine. I walked away. They can kiss my ass. Oh will the ringing ever stop in my sleep? I hear the ring the ringing the ringing!!! Is it done yet is it done yet?? Why an hour why an hour?? Four dollars four dollars will my insurance pay for that?? Why hadn't it been run through?? What the hell is wrong with you?? Oh the ringing the ringing the ringing, the incessant infernal ringing!!!! The screaming the cursing the ringing the hurry the now the now the ringing the crying the now dammit now dammit now now now ringing ringing a ling ling ling now now now now!!!!!!!!!!

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I got pulled over for DUI for the ...

2007-04-16T21:26:11+00:00

I got pulled over for DUI for the fourth time THIS YEAR. This would be amazing enough for most people. But what makes it especially amazing for me, is the fact I've never been drunk in my life. Never even been slightly drunk. Hell, I don't even DRINK. Imagine the disappointment of TWO squad cars, and the late arrival of a third, as they all gathered to cart off the "drunk guy" -- only to find out he's just a really bad driver with a really messy car who only ACTS drunk even though he's perfectly sober. They made me blow into the tube FIVE TIMES!!! My face was turning blue by the time I was through blowing. Then they flashed the light right in my eyes to see if my pupils were dilated.... Dude, I've worked on days and days on end, I've been up for 16 hours, driven a couple hundred miles to get here, it's pouring rain, I'm horny, and I've got a really hot babe just two miles down the road -- you do the math. I couldn't find my license at first. It wasn't where it usually was in my wallet. I emptied everything out. I was dead tired and frustrated, laughing inside while they searched over all the empty cans in the back seat -- and empty boxes of what at first must have appeared to be twelve packs of beer, but turned out to be, in fact, chocolate royale slimfast boxes and empty cans thereof. FINALLY -- FINALLY -- I found my license after practically tearing my wallet apart for five minutes, during which time one of the officers spotted a bag of "pharmaceuticals" in the seat and demanded to know what I had in the bag. (now I was an official drug trafficker, and there were three squad cars on the scene....) I grabbed the bag and began handing him, one by one, each drug like it was show and tell. I explained to the officer that I was a pharmacist, which I'm not too sure was a good idea or a bad idea, but I was tired and I didn't remember exactly what I'd filled for myself -- oh well. I pulled out one uninteresting drug after another until the officers finally just began looking at each other and realized they'd gotten their tazers out for no reason. They all looked heartbroken. I almost wished I could do a crime real quick and help them out or something.... I must fit some sort of profile. I dunno. I get pulled over more than your stereotypical black guy in Beverly Hills. And unless I'm speeding, I never get cited for anything. Just a lot of disappointed cops shaking their heads in disbelief they didn't get themselves a really nice catch.

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I really need to find a more ...

2007-04-15T20:03:36+00:00

I really need to find a more efficient way to do this -- like, download my brain into motime or something. I don't have the time it takes right now to write down all the stuff I want to blog. Of course, I know a lot of pornographic material (mostly involving Angel getting spanked A LOT) would wind up on here if I were to do so, too, but still, it would make my blogging life much easier! I just have to say -- Imus is a complete idiot and deserves his fate. I have never in my life seen anyone mishandle something so incompetently. To summarize: 1. Okay, it was sorta funny when he called the Rutgers women's basketball team "nappy headed ho's", and it was still kinda funny when he continued to insult the entire team by saying they looked like the Toronto Raptors or the Grizzleys or whatever. 2. He should have IMMEDIATELY REALIZED that he just insulted an entire collegiate program on national television and radio. Had it been me, I would have been on the phone ASAP with someone over at Rutgers arranging to have the show broadcast on campus there for the next week, and offered up a dozen or so "Imus" scholarships to Rutgers and become Rutgers' number one fan. I would plug Rutgers U at every possible opportunity. Shamelessly. Wear Rutgers U T-shirts and hats on every program. Become a booster. MAKE IT ALL ABOUT RUTGERS RUTGERS RUTGERS!!!!! That is all. That's what I would have done, anyway, and I would have had a lot of fun with it. I mean, WHAT IN THE HELL was Imus doing hanging out with Al Sharpton of all people??? You cannot dignify groundless accusations by acknowledging them, let alone responding to them. By catering to Al Sharpton, it became racial, and thus racist. What was once humorous at first, became downright offensive and ugly and inexcusible. I don't know what Imus was thinking when he first made the comments, but his response to criticism has said TONS about what's going on inside right now. And it ain't pretty. Fair well, Imus. You're a crass-headed lout.

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