I don’t know what all the hullabaloo is about. Anytime I say I’m going to the airport, somebody always proclaims “Ooohhhh, I love to fly!” To those people, I say “I think you’ve eaten too many complimentary peanuts.” I hate it. I mean, I really hate it. If I had John Madden’s bus, I would be taking that monstrosity to Fort Lauderdale instead of this death rocket.
Let’s go over what a typical flight day entails, shall we? Wake up at the asscrack of dawn because you want to beat the crowds (dipshit, if everyone wants to beat the crowd, then you ARE the crowd), get to the airport in record time in order to stand in line.
“How many are you checking in, sir?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s too big to carry on.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s too small to check in.”
“You’re in the wrong line.”
“Lois, come here. Have you ever seen this before.”
“Please check the board. I know they were working on the engine.”
But you go through another snake like maze to the next checkpoint, and after walking through a number of times, are greeted by a good rodgering because you left your belt on and the buckle’s too big. Once you finally abscond your national-security compromising hand lotion, you wait for an absorbitant amount of time for the plane, which you can clearly see through the window, but just isn’t ready for you to sit on.
And now to the flight. Isn’t this fun? Find whatever seat’s available. At this point, it’s probably next to the unshowered fella with the breathing problem and no reading material. He’s taking the outer seat because the view through the window makes him feel like shipping a used Soft Baked Apple Bar your way. You graciously take the inner seat (what choice do you have?) and squeeze past him, even though he’s unwilling to compromise his current position, so you have to pull a Retton and somersault into your 18 inch wide home.
Waiting…waiting…waiting…
OK, it’s time to take off. This is where it really gets enjoyable. The plane sits on the runway behind 22 other vehicles with the same idea. Finally, your plane’s number is called and you’re ready to take off. The man in the snazzy coat up front steps on it and nearly shoots you into the back wall. I hope you brought your gum,. You’re gonna need it. Oh, and some aspirin wouldn’t hurt, either.
You’ve made it in to the air. You’re plateauing. With the exception of the continual fear that if something goes awry, there’s not an airbag big enough to save you, you’re in pretty good shape…
And then…turbulence. You’re bumping around, you’re bouncing, you’re nauseous. You’re praying for a Gawddamn refill of ginger ale, but none are available because the Captain has asked even the flight attendants to buckle up (not a good sign, by the way). There will be no stomach settling pretzels or ginger ale until after you actually need them.
But the turbulence subsides, and the flight takes on an ordinary path. You get the next few hours to look out the window and envision what it would be like to land on this patch of land and that building. You realize how expansive the land is and recognize that you’re life is more nondescript and unfulfilled than it was before you boarded. You’re depressed now.
Did you like the ascension? Oh, that’s good, because you’re gonna get another hefty dose of it on the way down, but with a hint of “he’s going down a little fast, isn’t he?” thrown in for posterity. Then the death rocket’s 6 tires land on Earth, bounce the rocket a couple of times, then goes from a million to 6 MPH in a matter of seconds. You put your head down, and color yourself lucky and thankful that you weren’t going to be the lead story tonight.
Waiting…waiting…waiting…
Time passes and it’s OK for you to stand, but I’m not sure why you would, because you’re not leaving until everyone else has gone, it seems. But they’re officially in vacation mode. Plus, they’re at the endo f an article and they’re not yet ready to leave. After all, they’ve paid $469 for a ticket on the rocket and they’re sucking the nickels out. So, you stand and wait, patiently, but what you really want to do? What you really want to do is let out a barbaric yawp. Unfortunately, the airline frowns on that.
You make your way through the lingerers and get out of the plane. The next piece of travelling pleasure is baggage claim. Aaahhhh, baggage claim. Just follow the signs. Take this left, then another left, then another left, then another left, take a right, go down the stairs, head out the door, go across the parking lot, grab the shuttle, make your way into town, take a right at the retard selling fireworks, and you should see the baggage claim about a ¼ mile up on the right. Credit to the airlines, as 90% of the time, your bags are there.
Have a great vacation. Can’t wait until it’s over so we can do this again.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Awakening
Leaving flowers on your grave
Show that I still care
But black roses and hail mary’s
Can’t bring back what’s taken from me
I reach to the sky
And call out your name
And if I could trade
I would
--The Offspring
"The best thing about our friendship is that I feel like we're immortal when we're out together." These were the words uttered by my friend John at a point when we were younger. He felt that when we were all together, all eight of us, that we couldn't be touched. And it was true... until it wasn't anymore.
Twelve years ago, Mike Catizone passed out on a familiar carpet after a night of drinks, smokes, and unmentionables. When everyone finally went to sleep, Cat made sure it was quiet in the night, grabbed his keys, and went to find his way home. None of this was abnormal. As ridiculous as this sounds, Cat was the best drunk driver we'd known, and if someone wants to do something, there's really no way to stop him. So, off he went onto the Auburn roads. I never heard from him again.
Cat went into a coma and was brought to Elliott Hospital in Manchester, NH. We sat in peaceful unrest and waited for any word to tell us how our friend was doing. We got there early and we left late (and some, not at all). We received word that if he came out of it, he would have brain damage and wouldn't walk normally again. We had conversations about how he'd never want to live like that. That he'd be miserable in that setting. So, knowing that he could hear us when we spoke, I let him know nobody would be mad at him if he quit and faded away. That night, he was gone.
For a period after that, I left the world, too. I was here, but I was numb. I drank more than I ever have, I listened to nobody, and my grades, which were more than passable for a guy that didn't study much, had begun to sink like a stone. Who cares? What's it matter, anyway? We all leave sometime and this, what we see and do, is irrelevant. It's safe to say I was a little fucked up. I was angry, bitter, cold and desolate.
And out of that desolation came an appreciation for the time when that wasn't the case. When I was surrounded by great moments and conversations. When I felt like I couldn't be touched. When I felt as part of a community of friends. And I began to embrace those friendships that meant something, because I didn't know how long they would be around for. Sometimes, as I slip back into a sense of entitlement for what it is that I possess, I reminisce to the time when I thought there was no purpose to anything, and I re-grow an appreciation for those that have graced my life.
And for those that left too early.
I love you, buddy. And I miss you dearly.
Show that I still care
But black roses and hail mary’s
Can’t bring back what’s taken from me
I reach to the sky
And call out your name
And if I could trade
I would
--The Offspring
"The best thing about our friendship is that I feel like we're immortal when we're out together." These were the words uttered by my friend John at a point when we were younger. He felt that when we were all together, all eight of us, that we couldn't be touched. And it was true... until it wasn't anymore.
Twelve years ago, Mike Catizone passed out on a familiar carpet after a night of drinks, smokes, and unmentionables. When everyone finally went to sleep, Cat made sure it was quiet in the night, grabbed his keys, and went to find his way home. None of this was abnormal. As ridiculous as this sounds, Cat was the best drunk driver we'd known, and if someone wants to do something, there's really no way to stop him. So, off he went onto the Auburn roads. I never heard from him again.
Cat went into a coma and was brought to Elliott Hospital in Manchester, NH. We sat in peaceful unrest and waited for any word to tell us how our friend was doing. We got there early and we left late (and some, not at all). We received word that if he came out of it, he would have brain damage and wouldn't walk normally again. We had conversations about how he'd never want to live like that. That he'd be miserable in that setting. So, knowing that he could hear us when we spoke, I let him know nobody would be mad at him if he quit and faded away. That night, he was gone.
For a period after that, I left the world, too. I was here, but I was numb. I drank more than I ever have, I listened to nobody, and my grades, which were more than passable for a guy that didn't study much, had begun to sink like a stone. Who cares? What's it matter, anyway? We all leave sometime and this, what we see and do, is irrelevant. It's safe to say I was a little fucked up. I was angry, bitter, cold and desolate.
And out of that desolation came an appreciation for the time when that wasn't the case. When I was surrounded by great moments and conversations. When I felt like I couldn't be touched. When I felt as part of a community of friends. And I began to embrace those friendships that meant something, because I didn't know how long they would be around for. Sometimes, as I slip back into a sense of entitlement for what it is that I possess, I reminisce to the time when I thought there was no purpose to anything, and I re-grow an appreciation for those that have graced my life.
And for those that left too early.
I love you, buddy. And I miss you dearly.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Oh, the coming wind...
"There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October."
- Nathaniel Hawthorne
Poke your head out the window. Exhale completely. Now, close your mouth, open the nostrils, and take it in as much as you can. Autumn has arrived. Leaves, they're a-changin'. College and pro football are on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday... well, they're on a lot. The Sox are once again in the playoffs. I can't get enough of fall sports
I've been doing pretty well at my "real" job recently, and considering it's the first day of the month, I took it upon myself to grab an extended lunch. I customarily tap the biometric time clock before I leave the building (as the powers highly suggest), but I knew before I left my desk that the 60 minute lunch limitation didn't apply to me, so I looked over my left shoulder, then my right, and darted for the door.
I walked slowly and without purpose to the bank, making certain to greet everyone along the way. I got myself a haircut from my favorite greek barber, Nick, and graciously overtipped him for his artistry contributing to my $11 haircut.
(ASIDE: Nick, I love bay rum. We all love bay rum. It makes us feel clean and in control of our appearance. But when I get my hair cut at 12:45 and at 7, my friend Jeremiah asks me if I just got my hair cut by Nick, the Bay Rum barber, well, it's a sure sign that a little dab'll do ya. We cool?)
OK, this is where autumn kicked in. There's a place here in Dirty Dover called Harvey's. It's rather nondescript, except for its longevity and its self-proclamation that they carry the world's greatest pork pie. With that said, I had their pork pie this past weekend, and it's absolutely phenomenal. Judy Moreau phenomenal? Not quite, but very, very good, nonetheless. But Harvey's is what autumn is all about. The New England chill of October takes a backseat as you sit there, engulfed in a turkey and rice soup and a Boston Globe. And that's what I did today. I wish it was a little bit colder, but there's only so much I can control.
That's what Harvey's does. It makes you wish the outdoors were colder so you'd feel that much warmer within its confines. How many times have you said "you know, it's pretty decent out here, but I wish it were a little more uncomfortable"? My two hour lunch turned my day from "ho-hum" to "downright giddy". Harvey's will do that, too.
- Nathaniel Hawthorne
Poke your head out the window. Exhale completely. Now, close your mouth, open the nostrils, and take it in as much as you can. Autumn has arrived. Leaves, they're a-changin'. College and pro football are on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday... well, they're on a lot. The Sox are once again in the playoffs. I can't get enough of fall sports
I've been doing pretty well at my "real" job recently, and considering it's the first day of the month, I took it upon myself to grab an extended lunch. I customarily tap the biometric time clock before I leave the building (as the powers highly suggest), but I knew before I left my desk that the 60 minute lunch limitation didn't apply to me, so I looked over my left shoulder, then my right, and darted for the door.
I walked slowly and without purpose to the bank, making certain to greet everyone along the way. I got myself a haircut from my favorite greek barber, Nick, and graciously overtipped him for his artistry contributing to my $11 haircut.
(ASIDE: Nick, I love bay rum. We all love bay rum. It makes us feel clean and in control of our appearance. But when I get my hair cut at 12:45 and at 7, my friend Jeremiah asks me if I just got my hair cut by Nick, the Bay Rum barber, well, it's a sure sign that a little dab'll do ya. We cool?)
OK, this is where autumn kicked in. There's a place here in Dirty Dover called Harvey's. It's rather nondescript, except for its longevity and its self-proclamation that they carry the world's greatest pork pie. With that said, I had their pork pie this past weekend, and it's absolutely phenomenal. Judy Moreau phenomenal? Not quite, but very, very good, nonetheless. But Harvey's is what autumn is all about. The New England chill of October takes a backseat as you sit there, engulfed in a turkey and rice soup and a Boston Globe. And that's what I did today. I wish it was a little bit colder, but there's only so much I can control.
That's what Harvey's does. It makes you wish the outdoors were colder so you'd feel that much warmer within its confines. How many times have you said "you know, it's pretty decent out here, but I wish it were a little more uncomfortable"? My two hour lunch turned my day from "ho-hum" to "downright giddy". Harvey's will do that, too.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
September 11, 2001
I wrote this a year ago on another site. Since feelings and emotions on the subject haven't changed, I don't see the need to write something new...
Seven years ago today, the world completely turned upside down. I was a bartender during the time that it happened, so, of course, I was sleeping. After the 5th call of the morning, I decided to turn over and see what was going on. I remember thinking to myself, "somebody better be dead or dying for me to be woken up by this." I also recall regretting those words instantly. Jeremy Forest told me to turn the TV on, and I spent the entire day watching coverage, like everyone else. Was it an inexperienced pilot on a two-seater? Was it a failed engine? It never entered anyone's mind that it was a plotted, calculated terrorist attack. There were a million different opinions as to what happened, but a terrorist attack wasn't one of them.
Shortly after the plane crashed into the first building, yet another crashed into the second building, followed by news that the Pentagon had been hit, and attention quickly turned to "Where is the President? Have they hit the White House?" and P.O.T.U.S. was being whisked away, but it was to an undetermined location. In a matter of a couple of hours, the incidents of the day had turned from tragic accident to hostile, unabated attack.
I was sitting in my apartment with an extreme uneasiness about my safety in this world, as if the terrorists were targeting me in Portsmouth, NH to prove a point to the world. As I thought more about it, though, it came to my attention that I had been taking for granted the blanketing safety provided by my countrymen for my entire life to that point. We can shit on this nation for a number of things. Our healthcare is substandard, our areas of poverty are being neglected, and our leaders can't be trusted, but only once in my 32 years of life have I felt completely exposed. In a country this big, that's unbelievable.
So, as the buildings began tumbling down like a neighborhood of playing cards, hoards of noble, honorable, sacrificing men and women walked into the rubble as everyone else was trying to get out of it. With full knowledge that the collapse of the first two buildings had compromised the structural integrity of the others around them, these uncommon citizens marched forward in their search for any survivors, unsure of what they'd find, if anything, but feeling that it was their duty to look.
2750 people died at Ground Zero, including 450 firemen, police officers, and port authority employees, who went into the wreckage to save a grand total of 20 people. If the events of September 11th, 2001 have shown us anything, it's the resolve of America and Americans. Please take a few moments out of every day to think about those that go to work every day to risk their lives, so we don't have to risk ours. Heroes aren't found on basketball courts or football fields, and they're not found on movie screens or TV sets. Ironically, true heroes in this country would rather go unnoticed and lay under the radar. Yet another thing that makes them true heroes.
Yes, today is a great day to acknowledge the public service folk that lay it on the line daily in the name of safety, given the anniversary of their most recognizable performance. However, maybe it would be more important to acknowledge these people for less recognizable performances, for this is when they truly earn it.
Seven years ago today, the world completely turned upside down. I was a bartender during the time that it happened, so, of course, I was sleeping. After the 5th call of the morning, I decided to turn over and see what was going on. I remember thinking to myself, "somebody better be dead or dying for me to be woken up by this." I also recall regretting those words instantly. Jeremy Forest told me to turn the TV on, and I spent the entire day watching coverage, like everyone else. Was it an inexperienced pilot on a two-seater? Was it a failed engine? It never entered anyone's mind that it was a plotted, calculated terrorist attack. There were a million different opinions as to what happened, but a terrorist attack wasn't one of them.
Shortly after the plane crashed into the first building, yet another crashed into the second building, followed by news that the Pentagon had been hit, and attention quickly turned to "Where is the President? Have they hit the White House?" and P.O.T.U.S. was being whisked away, but it was to an undetermined location. In a matter of a couple of hours, the incidents of the day had turned from tragic accident to hostile, unabated attack.
I was sitting in my apartment with an extreme uneasiness about my safety in this world, as if the terrorists were targeting me in Portsmouth, NH to prove a point to the world. As I thought more about it, though, it came to my attention that I had been taking for granted the blanketing safety provided by my countrymen for my entire life to that point. We can shit on this nation for a number of things. Our healthcare is substandard, our areas of poverty are being neglected, and our leaders can't be trusted, but only once in my 32 years of life have I felt completely exposed. In a country this big, that's unbelievable.
So, as the buildings began tumbling down like a neighborhood of playing cards, hoards of noble, honorable, sacrificing men and women walked into the rubble as everyone else was trying to get out of it. With full knowledge that the collapse of the first two buildings had compromised the structural integrity of the others around them, these uncommon citizens marched forward in their search for any survivors, unsure of what they'd find, if anything, but feeling that it was their duty to look.
2750 people died at Ground Zero, including 450 firemen, police officers, and port authority employees, who went into the wreckage to save a grand total of 20 people. If the events of September 11th, 2001 have shown us anything, it's the resolve of America and Americans. Please take a few moments out of every day to think about those that go to work every day to risk their lives, so we don't have to risk ours. Heroes aren't found on basketball courts or football fields, and they're not found on movie screens or TV sets. Ironically, true heroes in this country would rather go unnoticed and lay under the radar. Yet another thing that makes them true heroes.
Yes, today is a great day to acknowledge the public service folk that lay it on the line daily in the name of safety, given the anniversary of their most recognizable performance. However, maybe it would be more important to acknowledge these people for less recognizable performances, for this is when they truly earn it.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Body For Life Update- Week 2
So, I had a bit of a setback last week. The Body For Life folks will tell you that these are going to happen (of course they are), but it's how you deal with them and work around them that makes you stronger. I was playing basketball on Wednesday and rolled my ankle. Painful? A touch, but more annoying than anything else. Regardless, I'm back to business this morning, strong like bull.
Given that this was a leg-heavy workout week (5 out of 6 workouts involved the legs this week), I was shelved. I stuck to the nutrition for 5 of the 6 days, Saturday being the exception, because when Judy Moreau cooks lobster, shrimp and scallops for your birthday, well, you don't turn it down. The workouts were going swimmingly, with every max being hit. In lieu of a gym workout, I stayed busy with the pushup pro, purchased via the internet last week. Gotta do something.
I'm finding it very difficult to keep in line with all of the requirements of the program, but like an alcoholic, it's important to take this thing one day at a time and wash away the thought of the big picture. This is an undaunting task as it is, without the burdening thought of the effort to be exerted for the next ten weeks and counting. With that said, I will try to make it through today unscathed and see what tomorrow holds tomorrow.
This, perhaps, is an artificial poundage tally, given that I had my fair share of wine last night, courtesy of a dinner party, and I believe all of the water may be sucked from my body right now. However, I'll take it with the knowledge that next week will be a disappointment.
Week 2 beginning weight: 183.8
Week 2 ending weight: 179.2
Given that this was a leg-heavy workout week (5 out of 6 workouts involved the legs this week), I was shelved. I stuck to the nutrition for 5 of the 6 days, Saturday being the exception, because when Judy Moreau cooks lobster, shrimp and scallops for your birthday, well, you don't turn it down. The workouts were going swimmingly, with every max being hit. In lieu of a gym workout, I stayed busy with the pushup pro, purchased via the internet last week. Gotta do something.
I'm finding it very difficult to keep in line with all of the requirements of the program, but like an alcoholic, it's important to take this thing one day at a time and wash away the thought of the big picture. This is an undaunting task as it is, without the burdening thought of the effort to be exerted for the next ten weeks and counting. With that said, I will try to make it through today unscathed and see what tomorrow holds tomorrow.
This, perhaps, is an artificial poundage tally, given that I had my fair share of wine last night, courtesy of a dinner party, and I believe all of the water may be sucked from my body right now. However, I'll take it with the knowledge that next week will be a disappointment.
Week 2 beginning weight: 183.8
Week 2 ending weight: 179.2
Monday, August 4, 2008
Body For Life Update- Week 1
Hello all,
They're coming at me from all angles today and they're committed to crushing the soul, but I have made a promise to myself to write one of these pesky blogs every Monday to detail the progression/ regression of the week past. The things I do for you, the handful of readers.
So, years ago, when I was fat(ter) and unhappy(er), I did a program called Body For Life. it was 12 weeks of less than fun filled days, but in the end, I had lost about 32 pounds and regained a bit of a life. I'm not looking to lose 32 pounds this time around because if I did, I have a feeling I might look like one of those kids that Sally Struthers feeds paste to. My structure isn't built to sit at 151. Regardless, as many of you know, my quest begins and ends at getting to 170, which this program will most definitely allow me to accomplish, should I make it to the end. Now, there will be a couple of roadblocks along the way. For one, I'm taking a "vacation" for a week and will be actually, physically unable to exercise (or write in this damn thing, for that matter). Regardless, with the exception of that particular week, I will write in this space each month detailing some activities, what went right, what went wrong, and where I stand currently. Again, if you couldn't care less about this, no hard feelings and you can catch me on the next one. Deal? Without further ado...
This program started, well, a little bumpy and threw me for a loop. That's the thing about these time-oriented programs is that you have to stay the course, even though fucked up things happen all the time. Anyhoo, I made all of the required workouts, busted my ass while I was there, but slacked mightily with the second half of the week in the nutrition department. It's been said that nutrition is 75% of the workout, and I believe it. Now, I didn't Biggie Size anything, but the plan calls for 6 meals a day of pretty strict portions and items, and I came up short. But, the shopping is done, the meals are made, the paperwork is fill out, and I'm ready to go.
Week 1 beginning weight: 186.8
Week 1 ending weight: 183.8
They're coming at me from all angles today and they're committed to crushing the soul, but I have made a promise to myself to write one of these pesky blogs every Monday to detail the progression/ regression of the week past. The things I do for you, the handful of readers.
So, years ago, when I was fat(ter) and unhappy(er), I did a program called Body For Life. it was 12 weeks of less than fun filled days, but in the end, I had lost about 32 pounds and regained a bit of a life. I'm not looking to lose 32 pounds this time around because if I did, I have a feeling I might look like one of those kids that Sally Struthers feeds paste to. My structure isn't built to sit at 151. Regardless, as many of you know, my quest begins and ends at getting to 170, which this program will most definitely allow me to accomplish, should I make it to the end. Now, there will be a couple of roadblocks along the way. For one, I'm taking a "vacation" for a week and will be actually, physically unable to exercise (or write in this damn thing, for that matter). Regardless, with the exception of that particular week, I will write in this space each month detailing some activities, what went right, what went wrong, and where I stand currently. Again, if you couldn't care less about this, no hard feelings and you can catch me on the next one. Deal? Without further ado...
This program started, well, a little bumpy and threw me for a loop. That's the thing about these time-oriented programs is that you have to stay the course, even though fucked up things happen all the time. Anyhoo, I made all of the required workouts, busted my ass while I was there, but slacked mightily with the second half of the week in the nutrition department. It's been said that nutrition is 75% of the workout, and I believe it. Now, I didn't Biggie Size anything, but the plan calls for 6 meals a day of pretty strict portions and items, and I came up short. But, the shopping is done, the meals are made, the paperwork is fill out, and I'm ready to go.
Week 1 beginning weight: 186.8
Week 1 ending weight: 183.8
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Turn Back
The world nearly ended tonight. Time stood still for a moment and the final goodbye was in sight. I almost lost a friend...
The life of my friend became too much for her to handle, at least for a moment, and she acted on it accordingly. I refuse to get into the details of her actions, now or ever, because they're her own and only her own. But I love her life as much as I love all of yours and for whatever reason, I feel like there was more I could have done. She's intelligent, attractive, compassionate, humble, and selfless, and we almost lost a truly special spirit tonight.
For those close to the situation, the period that follows this moment is when they look at everything in the room but see nothing. We wonder how it is we could have allowed this to happen. We speculate that it was somehow our fault, that if we were able to get to the phone quicker, or if we had used a different adjective at the appropriate time, somehow things would have gone by in an ordinary fashion and tomorrow we'd be talking about the Red Sox rather than trying to convince someone that they're abnormally normal.
I am 32 years old and I'll freely admit that for a minute or maybe an hour, I considered the ultimate ending as my natural path. So have you. And so have you. It's part of learning and healing. You lay on your couch and you cry and you wallow in wonderment how you let something get the best of you. You openly doubt how things could possibly get any better. You see no hope for improvement and convince yourself that the life of shit you're surrounded by will never subside. So you decide, if only for a moment, that the world without you is a better place than the world with you. You sit in the middle of everything unfamiliar and detach yourself from everyone that cares about you...
...and then you sleep. You wake up and notice that things feel 1% better than they did the night before. Weeks later, you sit in amazement that you allowed the world to take you out, if only for a day. You segregate yourself from those things and people that had the audacity to try to convince you that you didn't matter. Maybe you take the liberty of talking to someone. Maybe you find the strength to turn the corner on your own. Maybe you just say "Fuck it". But you get better and look back and come to the realization that that particular day was the worst it was ever going to get, and you got through it, and with that comes a sense of strength and power.
I know it seems like this is how it's always going to be. It's not even close. You're multi- talented and if you think the people that you've touched over your life wouldn't be devastated if you were no longer here, ask someone for a favor and see how long it takes them to show up on your doorstep. I know this much: I'd be holding the door for them. I'm going to be here for you every day that you need me, for as long as you need it. Don't ever scare me like that again.
I implore those of you reading to talk to me, to talk to anyone, if you feel like the world has beaten you down.
I almost lost a friend today... and I'll never be the same. I love you all.
The life of my friend became too much for her to handle, at least for a moment, and she acted on it accordingly. I refuse to get into the details of her actions, now or ever, because they're her own and only her own. But I love her life as much as I love all of yours and for whatever reason, I feel like there was more I could have done. She's intelligent, attractive, compassionate, humble, and selfless, and we almost lost a truly special spirit tonight.
For those close to the situation, the period that follows this moment is when they look at everything in the room but see nothing. We wonder how it is we could have allowed this to happen. We speculate that it was somehow our fault, that if we were able to get to the phone quicker, or if we had used a different adjective at the appropriate time, somehow things would have gone by in an ordinary fashion and tomorrow we'd be talking about the Red Sox rather than trying to convince someone that they're abnormally normal.
I am 32 years old and I'll freely admit that for a minute or maybe an hour, I considered the ultimate ending as my natural path. So have you. And so have you. It's part of learning and healing. You lay on your couch and you cry and you wallow in wonderment how you let something get the best of you. You openly doubt how things could possibly get any better. You see no hope for improvement and convince yourself that the life of shit you're surrounded by will never subside. So you decide, if only for a moment, that the world without you is a better place than the world with you. You sit in the middle of everything unfamiliar and detach yourself from everyone that cares about you...
...and then you sleep. You wake up and notice that things feel 1% better than they did the night before. Weeks later, you sit in amazement that you allowed the world to take you out, if only for a day. You segregate yourself from those things and people that had the audacity to try to convince you that you didn't matter. Maybe you take the liberty of talking to someone. Maybe you find the strength to turn the corner on your own. Maybe you just say "Fuck it". But you get better and look back and come to the realization that that particular day was the worst it was ever going to get, and you got through it, and with that comes a sense of strength and power.
I know it seems like this is how it's always going to be. It's not even close. You're multi- talented and if you think the people that you've touched over your life wouldn't be devastated if you were no longer here, ask someone for a favor and see how long it takes them to show up on your doorstep. I know this much: I'd be holding the door for them. I'm going to be here for you every day that you need me, for as long as you need it. Don't ever scare me like that again.
I implore those of you reading to talk to me, to talk to anyone, if you feel like the world has beaten you down.
I almost lost a friend today... and I'll never be the same. I love you all.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Growth Exercise
Today's exercise is a list. I encourage all of you folks at home to try it on your own. It may just save you $900 in therapy. Your mission, should you choose to accept, is to write 12, 15, 60 things that you've wanted to say to someone but haven't been able to. Perhaps you didn't get a chance to. Maybe you haven't because of fear of what the retribution might be. I've done this before in the old days, but there are different people around, and we've had different experiences, and so here I am...
1) You turned it upside down, but I'll never hate you. After all, it was probably my fault.
2) I told you everything else, but I never told you how I really felt about it, and now it's too late.
3) You left my life too early. I should have appreciated our friendship and embraced our time more while you were with us.
4) I could apologize to you every day and it wouldn't be enough. It will never be enough, even though I think you've forgiven me.
5) I give you shit every time you screw up, but stay true to yourself. I wish I was 85% you and 15% me sometimes.
6) I wish I had your style, your character, your morality. They're all going to be looking to you for answers someday, and you're going to provide them.
7) It's unfathomable to me that you keep going back to the hell you've created. Sadly, the day will come when I'm not here to pick up the pieces.
8) I'll never live up to your expectations. This has created an insecurity in me for as long as I can remember.
9) I've known you for a long time, and for the first time, I don't know who you are anymore.
10) I know you're sad and lonely, but you have to believe me on this one. The sun is gonna shine tomorrow and people will smile at you. There are many people out there who consider your happiness nearly as important as their own. It's a testament to your character.
11) I never knew how much I'd miss you. I'm five different decisions from having you still.
12) You did what you had to do, and I can't blame you. Even though I didn't agree with you, if I were you, I probably would have done it, too.
13) Thank you for being you, for never judging, for taking what I gave and never expecting anything else. Thank you for listening. You've listened to the best I've had and the absolute worst I've been, and you're still here. There's not a Hallmark card big enough.
14) I will love you for the rest of my life. Until the day I die.
15) I'm sorry...
1) You turned it upside down, but I'll never hate you. After all, it was probably my fault.
2) I told you everything else, but I never told you how I really felt about it, and now it's too late.
3) You left my life too early. I should have appreciated our friendship and embraced our time more while you were with us.
4) I could apologize to you every day and it wouldn't be enough. It will never be enough, even though I think you've forgiven me.
5) I give you shit every time you screw up, but stay true to yourself. I wish I was 85% you and 15% me sometimes.
6) I wish I had your style, your character, your morality. They're all going to be looking to you for answers someday, and you're going to provide them.
7) It's unfathomable to me that you keep going back to the hell you've created. Sadly, the day will come when I'm not here to pick up the pieces.
8) I'll never live up to your expectations. This has created an insecurity in me for as long as I can remember.
9) I've known you for a long time, and for the first time, I don't know who you are anymore.
10) I know you're sad and lonely, but you have to believe me on this one. The sun is gonna shine tomorrow and people will smile at you. There are many people out there who consider your happiness nearly as important as their own. It's a testament to your character.
11) I never knew how much I'd miss you. I'm five different decisions from having you still.
12) You did what you had to do, and I can't blame you. Even though I didn't agree with you, if I were you, I probably would have done it, too.
13) Thank you for being you, for never judging, for taking what I gave and never expecting anything else. Thank you for listening. You've listened to the best I've had and the absolute worst I've been, and you're still here. There's not a Hallmark card big enough.
14) I will love you for the rest of my life. Until the day I die.
15) I'm sorry...
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Multiple Sclerosis Walk
Hello friends,
The time is drawing nearer towards the LONG walk for multiple sclerosis. First of all, I'd like to thank those that have taken their time and funds to contribute to this cause. You can't believe how much I appreciate every dollar that goes towards this fight. Please remember that without you, I'm just an idiot on a joywalk.
I don't want to guilt anyone into contributing, and I hope you believe that this isn't my intention, but I have seen some of the effects of Multiple Sclerosis up close, through the battle of my cousin. It's a harrowing disease, the cause of which still remains wildly elusive. I'm not a doctor, nor am I a scientist, so this is the only thing I can do to try to make my cousin feel a little less pain. This isn't about the time or the effort on my part. It's about the support on everyone else's.
I realize, especially in a time of escalating gas and oil prices and unemployment rates, that the value of a dollar is especially high these days, so in exchange for any donation, I will give you a ride to work on my bike, so we can all save the money. In all seriousness, if you'd like to donate your time and fundraising efforts by joining me in the walk, I'm all for it. I'll let you know what you need to do. Otherwise, please consider donating whatever you feel comfortable with and join me in the fight.
All of us are freely able to walk. We can get in and out of bed every day without assistance. These are the things we take for granted until they're not available any longer. Maybe this is the year that we find a cure. If not, I'll walk 100 miles next year.
Again, thank you for listening...
The time is drawing nearer towards the LONG walk for multiple sclerosis. First of all, I'd like to thank those that have taken their time and funds to contribute to this cause. You can't believe how much I appreciate every dollar that goes towards this fight. Please remember that without you, I'm just an idiot on a joywalk.
I don't want to guilt anyone into contributing, and I hope you believe that this isn't my intention, but I have seen some of the effects of Multiple Sclerosis up close, through the battle of my cousin. It's a harrowing disease, the cause of which still remains wildly elusive. I'm not a doctor, nor am I a scientist, so this is the only thing I can do to try to make my cousin feel a little less pain. This isn't about the time or the effort on my part. It's about the support on everyone else's.
I realize, especially in a time of escalating gas and oil prices and unemployment rates, that the value of a dollar is especially high these days, so in exchange for any donation, I will give you a ride to work on my bike, so we can all save the money. In all seriousness, if you'd like to donate your time and fundraising efforts by joining me in the walk, I'm all for it. I'll let you know what you need to do. Otherwise, please consider donating whatever you feel comfortable with and join me in the fight.
All of us are freely able to walk. We can get in and out of bed every day without assistance. These are the things we take for granted until they're not available any longer. Maybe this is the year that we find a cure. If not, I'll walk 100 miles next year.
Again, thank you for listening...
Monday, July 7, 2008
The next stage
"Any guy north of 20 starts to deal with or has already dealt with saying 'okay, it’s time to stop being really good at being a young adult and let’s have the balls to be a rookie at being an adult' and with that comes a more substantial relationship with a girl that might not be some incredible arm piece but somebody you can actually get along with longer than sleeping with her a few times. Then maybe thinking about having a kid and maybe a better job. One you might not like as much but pays better and speaks more to the future. There’s that moment when a guys got to start flirting with being a man and it’s a little scary and you’re kind of left to do it on your own. You don’t have a teacher or a father probably in the house that’s sort of motivating you to do that. That’s a lot of self-motivation."
-Jason Bateman
This piece came across my desk today, and as if acting as a proverbial beam of sunlight, sent a fatherly message straight to my nodes. You see, I had an accident this past weekend. It was serious at that moment but everything's going to be A-OK and I'm thankful for that. That's not the point of this piece. When I came into work this morning and the subject of my accident came up, my fellow sales junkie pointed out that I was like a 9 year old, complete with sill accidents and chicken pox. I couldn't argue with him. And although he didn't mean it this way, I can't help but look at myself and think that the transformation from young adult to adult has taken me longer than the normal man.
I've wanted to make this turn for a long time and I never knew what to do. I have a brother that came from the same seeds as I did and he figured it out, so it couldn't have been that my parents missed a teaching lesson somewhere along the way. Nearly all of my friends have graciously taken the leap, so we couldn't have been avoiding the subject when I was growing up. No sir, this was my problem and my problem only.
About a year ago, I began to transition from what I had been to what I should be. I took the job for less money because the prospects were better. I stopped looking at each prospective date for what she was bringing to the table for today, and more for what she may offer tomorrow. I locked myself in more, made more dinners, and finally started a savings account. I paid down bills and stopped charging senseless purchases. I bought socks at TJ Maxx instead of Polo because, after all, THEY'RE SOCKS!!
But I still have yet to make the conscious choice that my parents and friends have been silently waiting for out of me. This choice forces you to man up, say the things that need to be said to the people that need to hear it, and to take responsibility for everything around you. As terrifying as this choice is, it creates power and confidence within and forces you to become better, socially and professionally, because when the mirror looks back at you, your face is the only one that shows up.
Today is the day when everything changes.
-Jason Bateman
This piece came across my desk today, and as if acting as a proverbial beam of sunlight, sent a fatherly message straight to my nodes. You see, I had an accident this past weekend. It was serious at that moment but everything's going to be A-OK and I'm thankful for that. That's not the point of this piece. When I came into work this morning and the subject of my accident came up, my fellow sales junkie pointed out that I was like a 9 year old, complete with sill accidents and chicken pox. I couldn't argue with him. And although he didn't mean it this way, I can't help but look at myself and think that the transformation from young adult to adult has taken me longer than the normal man.
I've wanted to make this turn for a long time and I never knew what to do. I have a brother that came from the same seeds as I did and he figured it out, so it couldn't have been that my parents missed a teaching lesson somewhere along the way. Nearly all of my friends have graciously taken the leap, so we couldn't have been avoiding the subject when I was growing up. No sir, this was my problem and my problem only.
About a year ago, I began to transition from what I had been to what I should be. I took the job for less money because the prospects were better. I stopped looking at each prospective date for what she was bringing to the table for today, and more for what she may offer tomorrow. I locked myself in more, made more dinners, and finally started a savings account. I paid down bills and stopped charging senseless purchases. I bought socks at TJ Maxx instead of Polo because, after all, THEY'RE SOCKS!!
But I still have yet to make the conscious choice that my parents and friends have been silently waiting for out of me. This choice forces you to man up, say the things that need to be said to the people that need to hear it, and to take responsibility for everything around you. As terrifying as this choice is, it creates power and confidence within and forces you to become better, socially and professionally, because when the mirror looks back at you, your face is the only one that shows up.
Today is the day when everything changes.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
What I will, what I won't, what I did, what I didn't
When I first started this space, it was with the thought that anything that was on my mind would clutter the area. This was in an attempt to express myself, for good or bad, about that which was creating joy, anger, turmoil, remorse, or sadness. Then a strange thing happened...
I got better. I stopped worrying about if I was going to die alone and that I was the only single male over 30 in the tri-state area. I stopped clamoring over the fact that my career hadn't gone exactly to the plan posted on my college ruled notebook paper I scribbled on when I was 21. I stopped concerning myself with the regrets of yesterday and the anxiety of tomorrow and began to embrace that with which I had control, which is the 2 foot by 2 foot space which I can truly call my own.
I once had a friend tell me that I had one foot on yesterday and one foot on tomorrow and in the process, I was pissing all over today. This sentiment resonated within me and allowed me to stay relatively worry free for a number of years. That is, until the past 18 months or so, when I began to think the philosophy of living for today, while a sound mental approach, will never get me the things I need, such as family, home, and financial stability. The truth is, neither the constant anxiety of tomorrow's concerns nor the seemingly blissful outlook of "just today" are going to create the perfectly imperfect world. It's the balance of the game that is in need of management. I'm learning that now.
I spent an inordinate amount of time firmly entrenched in the regrets of yesterday, insomuch that the energy exerted onto it wouldn't allow me to take in what was happening in front of me. It was as if I needed the world to slow down in order for me to get all of my apologies and explanations out so I could start from square one, shortly after getting all affirmations that the world, and all of it's inhabitants, was OK with me and whatever major or minor indiscretions came with me. I now know that at a point, you have to take a proverbial forearm to the desk of life, clear off the post it notes and the calendar and start anew. You'll never catch up to the things you didn't do (or did incorrectly) yesterday. Truth is, yesterday and the people in it couldn't care less if you reach out because they're concerned about what they didn't do (or did wrong) yesterday, and rightly so. And the circle continues.
It is, of course, easier said than done to hit the delete button on yesterday every morning. After all, this is what shapes you today. I have learned that although I have eaten myself up from the inside with my concern over how I'm being perceived in every social setting, this is the same trait that has allowed me to feel the warmth of unabatedly giving the small things to an unsuspecting friend. This is the trait that tells me to speak to my mother once a week, not because that what she'd want, but because it keeps me grounded and in touch with what's important.
Not all bad has come out of the continual feeling that someone, somewhere thinks I'm downright nefarious. It allows me to think twice before toeing the line in the future. Although looking over your shoulder for what you suspect will be demons from behind you can be a daunting, unending punishment, it's important to peer back there, if for nothing more than to remind you why you're not still there. It's healthy. That is, unless you turn all the way around and make the slow trek backwards. Embrace today. The actions of today affect the world of tomorrow, but be selfish in the understanding that they affect nobody more than oneself, and if you can look in the mirror and smile, then you did it right.
The demons of past will have to stay there, because I've built a wall. I'm beginning to learn what it means to live today into tomorrow instead of the other way around. I'll get there, as I hope you will, too.
If you have a feel on this (that is, if there's anyone out there), leave a comment. I'd love to hear it.
I got better. I stopped worrying about if I was going to die alone and that I was the only single male over 30 in the tri-state area. I stopped clamoring over the fact that my career hadn't gone exactly to the plan posted on my college ruled notebook paper I scribbled on when I was 21. I stopped concerning myself with the regrets of yesterday and the anxiety of tomorrow and began to embrace that with which I had control, which is the 2 foot by 2 foot space which I can truly call my own.
I once had a friend tell me that I had one foot on yesterday and one foot on tomorrow and in the process, I was pissing all over today. This sentiment resonated within me and allowed me to stay relatively worry free for a number of years. That is, until the past 18 months or so, when I began to think the philosophy of living for today, while a sound mental approach, will never get me the things I need, such as family, home, and financial stability. The truth is, neither the constant anxiety of tomorrow's concerns nor the seemingly blissful outlook of "just today" are going to create the perfectly imperfect world. It's the balance of the game that is in need of management. I'm learning that now.
I spent an inordinate amount of time firmly entrenched in the regrets of yesterday, insomuch that the energy exerted onto it wouldn't allow me to take in what was happening in front of me. It was as if I needed the world to slow down in order for me to get all of my apologies and explanations out so I could start from square one, shortly after getting all affirmations that the world, and all of it's inhabitants, was OK with me and whatever major or minor indiscretions came with me. I now know that at a point, you have to take a proverbial forearm to the desk of life, clear off the post it notes and the calendar and start anew. You'll never catch up to the things you didn't do (or did incorrectly) yesterday. Truth is, yesterday and the people in it couldn't care less if you reach out because they're concerned about what they didn't do (or did wrong) yesterday, and rightly so. And the circle continues.
It is, of course, easier said than done to hit the delete button on yesterday every morning. After all, this is what shapes you today. I have learned that although I have eaten myself up from the inside with my concern over how I'm being perceived in every social setting, this is the same trait that has allowed me to feel the warmth of unabatedly giving the small things to an unsuspecting friend. This is the trait that tells me to speak to my mother once a week, not because that what she'd want, but because it keeps me grounded and in touch with what's important.
Not all bad has come out of the continual feeling that someone, somewhere thinks I'm downright nefarious. It allows me to think twice before toeing the line in the future. Although looking over your shoulder for what you suspect will be demons from behind you can be a daunting, unending punishment, it's important to peer back there, if for nothing more than to remind you why you're not still there. It's healthy. That is, unless you turn all the way around and make the slow trek backwards. Embrace today. The actions of today affect the world of tomorrow, but be selfish in the understanding that they affect nobody more than oneself, and if you can look in the mirror and smile, then you did it right.
The demons of past will have to stay there, because I've built a wall. I'm beginning to learn what it means to live today into tomorrow instead of the other way around. I'll get there, as I hope you will, too.
If you have a feel on this (that is, if there's anyone out there), leave a comment. I'd love to hear it.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Weigh In- Week 5 Part Deux
Strange week. Strange, strange week. OK, so I beat the hell out of myself this weekend. I missed the gym on Saturday and Monday, probably drank a wee too much on Friday and Saturday, and ate like it was my last meal. I didn't get enough sleep and I didn't drink enough water. I should be ashamed of myself. With that said, it was Memorial Day Weekend and that's what it's here for. And, of course, to remember our fallen soldiers. Although, I think they deserve more than a day.
I feel no remorse for my extended weekend and I'm left to pick up the pieces, all of which I'm at peace with. We have begun a new week, with a 17 mile bike ride on Monday afternoon and a gym visit bright and early this morning. I'm back on my "Quest for 170". The Gods have rewarded me for my bounceback. Again, the Gods miss nothing.
Previous Weight: 182.4 lbs.
Current Weight: 179.8 lbs.
I feel no remorse for my extended weekend and I'm left to pick up the pieces, all of which I'm at peace with. We have begun a new week, with a 17 mile bike ride on Monday afternoon and a gym visit bright and early this morning. I'm back on my "Quest for 170". The Gods have rewarded me for my bounceback. Again, the Gods miss nothing.
Previous Weight: 182.4 lbs.
Current Weight: 179.8 lbs.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
The Weigh In: Week 5
You know how I said last week that the gods must have given me a get out of jail free card? Well, they forget nothing. After a weekend of Bud Lights and french fries, those in the know have shown me who's boss. We ran into a couple of snags this week, as the schedule was less than accommodating, allergy season is truly in full bloom, and Men's Health decided to change their website, thereby making our workout nonexistent. With that said, I creatively fit in all workouts this week. I was extremely screwed up in the food and beverage category, and I'm paying the price. They say that nutrition is 75% of fitness, and that fact has reared its ugly head.
Previous Weight: 179.4 lbs.
Current Weight: 182.6 lbs.
Previous Weight: 179.4 lbs.
Current Weight: 182.6 lbs.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Missing: Wallet, pride, dignity...
Ahh, the bachelor party. An event as time honored as the wedding itself. If you're a male, you've been there before. You've gotten the call, and put yourself completely at the mercy of the best man. You surrender the right to make decisions, as well as any opportunity to tell someone that the decision that has been made for you is out of your budget.
I hate bachelor parties. I have worn a tuxedo to 15 different weddings, so the sample size is large enough for my word to be considered credible. I mean, who made this thing up, anyway? I have my theories, the strongest being that the first bachelor party was orchestrated by a best man who didn't approve of the wife-to-be all that much, so he tried to fit as many obstacles as he could on his way to the alter. He filled a night with beer, liquor, strippers, hookers, cigarettes, weed, cocaine, and the worst influences possible and he did it an hour or more away from home, so nobody would know about it except for the unlucky folks in the room.
I will never understand this tradition. It's been said that the purpose of the bachelor party is to get what's remaining of the sins out of your system and allow the groom-to-be one last chance to bark at the moon, so to speak. The inherent flaw with that explanation is that most of these things would never have been done if not for a bachelor party. In other words, if not for the bachelor party, never in my life would I drink from morning until night, nor would I be in the presence of "ladies of the night". If I had never been to a bach, my mind would have comfortably believed that the only prostitutes in America were in Las Vegas (I have HBO). However, because of these cleansing exercises, I actually get dirtier by what I'm exposed to.
I live a pretty clean life, which means that this shit kills me. I think I slept for 25 minutes last night, using my bunched up J Crew jeans for a pillow, and the carpet for a bed. I won't get into the details of the party, because it's a bit of a cardinal sin to speak of the events, but there were six different levels of debauchery involved with my running mates and I firmly believe that I'm a worse person today because of it. Really, is that a way to go through life?
Bachelor parties have become the great equalizer. How's your health? Did you finally quit smoking? Have you saved up some money? Have you found God? Well, guess what? Everything you worked on since the last bach last September is about to go to shit. And why? Because the best man has decided to put you on the guest list. It's been said that you can only go as fast as the slowest member of the herd. In bachelor parties, the opposite actually applies. If the best man does rails like a Hollywood producer and makes just as much as one, well, cash in your 401(k). It's going to be a long night. You need to roll like he rolls and he LOVES bachelor parties.
I don't drink much these days, and I like it like that. My life is gaining shape and I'm confident of its path. I go to the gym 3-4 days a week and I eat the right things and I say the right things to the right people. Well, yesterday morning, I met with 14 other people intent on making one unsuspecting gentleman's life heaven (or is it hell?). I was $500 ahead of budget, courtesy of a few long nights working at the bar. My clothes were ironed, my sinuses were clear, my teeth were brushed, and my breath was fresh. I was well rested and I had just come from the gym. This morning came and I'm now $2 ahead of budget, my eyes are itchy, I'm sneezing, I feel fat, and I smell a bit, due to a steady stream of Jagermeister and Bud Light. Tomorrow, I restart my world and rebuild my mental, physical, and financial health. And the moment it's all rebuilt, you can be sure I'll be getting an email telling me I'm going to Montreal for a weekend and I need to send a check for $800 to someone I don't even like.
This is a tradition I can do without, but I never will, because somebody out there likes them, and they're the one that's planning the next party.
I hate bachelor parties. I have worn a tuxedo to 15 different weddings, so the sample size is large enough for my word to be considered credible. I mean, who made this thing up, anyway? I have my theories, the strongest being that the first bachelor party was orchestrated by a best man who didn't approve of the wife-to-be all that much, so he tried to fit as many obstacles as he could on his way to the alter. He filled a night with beer, liquor, strippers, hookers, cigarettes, weed, cocaine, and the worst influences possible and he did it an hour or more away from home, so nobody would know about it except for the unlucky folks in the room.
I will never understand this tradition. It's been said that the purpose of the bachelor party is to get what's remaining of the sins out of your system and allow the groom-to-be one last chance to bark at the moon, so to speak. The inherent flaw with that explanation is that most of these things would never have been done if not for a bachelor party. In other words, if not for the bachelor party, never in my life would I drink from morning until night, nor would I be in the presence of "ladies of the night". If I had never been to a bach, my mind would have comfortably believed that the only prostitutes in America were in Las Vegas (I have HBO). However, because of these cleansing exercises, I actually get dirtier by what I'm exposed to.
I live a pretty clean life, which means that this shit kills me. I think I slept for 25 minutes last night, using my bunched up J Crew jeans for a pillow, and the carpet for a bed. I won't get into the details of the party, because it's a bit of a cardinal sin to speak of the events, but there were six different levels of debauchery involved with my running mates and I firmly believe that I'm a worse person today because of it. Really, is that a way to go through life?
Bachelor parties have become the great equalizer. How's your health? Did you finally quit smoking? Have you saved up some money? Have you found God? Well, guess what? Everything you worked on since the last bach last September is about to go to shit. And why? Because the best man has decided to put you on the guest list. It's been said that you can only go as fast as the slowest member of the herd. In bachelor parties, the opposite actually applies. If the best man does rails like a Hollywood producer and makes just as much as one, well, cash in your 401(k). It's going to be a long night. You need to roll like he rolls and he LOVES bachelor parties.
I don't drink much these days, and I like it like that. My life is gaining shape and I'm confident of its path. I go to the gym 3-4 days a week and I eat the right things and I say the right things to the right people. Well, yesterday morning, I met with 14 other people intent on making one unsuspecting gentleman's life heaven (or is it hell?). I was $500 ahead of budget, courtesy of a few long nights working at the bar. My clothes were ironed, my sinuses were clear, my teeth were brushed, and my breath was fresh. I was well rested and I had just come from the gym. This morning came and I'm now $2 ahead of budget, my eyes are itchy, I'm sneezing, I feel fat, and I smell a bit, due to a steady stream of Jagermeister and Bud Light. Tomorrow, I restart my world and rebuild my mental, physical, and financial health. And the moment it's all rebuilt, you can be sure I'll be getting an email telling me I'm going to Montreal for a weekend and I need to send a check for $800 to someone I don't even like.
This is a tradition I can do without, but I never will, because somebody out there likes them, and they're the one that's planning the next party.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Just an ordinary day
When I started this little site of mine, I really hit the ground running. Then life sped up and writing took a backseat to the tiny nuances of the everyday world. I'm starting this blog at 8:36 AM and I have no idea where it will go. Perhaps it will be random words on a page. Maybe thoughts as they stroll in. Maybe just a list. This is my workday...
8:39- I forced myself into tolerating oatmeal about 3 months ago in my neverending quest to see 170 on the Weighmaster 2000. Three months later, this is the worst part of my workday.
8:46- Until about 4 months ago, I, admittedly, didn't take very good care of my teeth/gums. I spent a lot of money to correct that situation and now I'm back to square one. With oatmeal safely digested, I took the floss and toothbrush out of my personal drawer at my desk and went to work on the pearls. Contents of personal drawer, you ask? Two bottles of nasal spray, Visine, Airborne, a pain relieving patch, an inhaler, hair molding paste (that doesn't sound healthy), one a day vitamins, two rolls of floss, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and two packs of gum. The only thing missing is a toilet, a shower, and a rubber duckie.
10:16- Wednesday is training day. Today's topic was about document processing. Most of these trainings go about 45 minutes, but this one was a touch more extensive. Here's a rule of thumb for anyone involved in multiple meetings a week, and listen up because it's important. Never, ever, ever sit behind the guy doing all the talking. If you're stuck there, you're not afforded the liberty of an occasional doze-off or space out. This was my world for the past 75 minutes.
10:36- My world is being dictated by my allergies right now. They have total control and they know it. My allergies tell me to get up and blow my nose, I do it. Need me to tilt my head back/ You got it. Want me to put my thumb and index finger on both sides of my nose, as to make a pinching motion? No problem. I am completely at your mercy today. Awesome!
10:55- We have reached the point of my day when I catch up on the sports news of the world. I have been entreated by a special morning edition of the SportsGuy on ESPN. And the colored girls sing do do-do do-do do do do do...
11:09- Mmmmmm, string cheese...
11:10- I have reached goal for the week. There is no greater feeling than making goal while you're reading a nonsensical sports article on the company dime. And then I wiped the sweat off my brow with company stationary.
11:36- This is the part of the day (well Part I, anyway) where I start to feel the effects of waking up for the gym at 5:30 this morning. I hate that place. Right now, I kinda hate this place, too.
11:48- I just spent three minutes trying to come up with a Subject for an email. Ultimately, I did a cost benefit on the project and went with "Relyco Pressure Seal". This is why they pay me what they do, folks.
12:07- I'm a Maroon 5 guy, but just a minute ago, I officially got sick of listening to them. For good. To the IPod, and onto another guy whose songs all sound the same, Mr. Jack Johnson.
12:33- So, I was upstairs mulling over my lunch choice (tuna on multi), and a lovely, lovely young lady stands next to me. She's what my ideal would look like if I constructed her. She walks the delicate line between plain and fashionable. She's unassuming, yet confident. She makes my heart race. She asks me if I'm waiting in line, and while I'm thinking "No, but let me buy you lunch. My name is Scott", what actually comes out is "I can't decide. Go ahead of my if you'd like". Sure, that's gonna win her over. It's unconfirmed, but rumor has it I sounded like Barney the Dinosaur while saying it. That's the first and probably the last time I'll see that girl. And that, my friend(s), is why I'm single.
1:02- I think I'm Jack Johnson'ed, as well. I've never been enamored with him, but I wanted to take the new album out for a spin. Not surprisingly, it sounds just like the last album and the one before that and the two before that one.
1:14- I'm working on a quote for a major medical center and they just sent me the samples for what I need to quote, after a long layoff where I thought the account was dead. I swear, by my reaction, you would have thought it was nudy magazine day in the office. These are the things I get pumped over now.
1:59- Taking time away from my oh-so busy work schedule, I checked ESPN to see if the news had changed at all. I see that a US Senator has decided that he wants to launch an investigation into the New England Patriots videotaping practices. This is what the United States is paying Sen. Arlen Specter of PA for. Are you kidding me? I know that professional sports are big business, but how is this use of labor justified by the United States government? I need this story to finally go away after 9 grueling months, because I'm become a very, very cranky young man.
2:14- This is the time that I start to check out. My brother comes home from work, so I talk to him On The G (Google IM, for you AOLers). Also, I'm the commissioner of my fantasy baseball league, so the emails start to pour in for trade offers and lineup problems about this time in the afternoon. Right on cue...
3:02- I hate bill collectors. I have two bills that have been due for years now. It's actually gotten to a point where it's more beneficial to NOT pay them than it is to hand the money over. I just got back to back calls from both of them today. I actually had an ongoing conversation with one of them a few weeks ago. I do that sometimes when I'm bored. He anticipates that I'll come at him in a venomous manor and I end up just asking him about the weather and TV and what not. He became completely diffused.
3:34- Mmmmmm, string cheese...
3:37- I need a day off. This is exhausting.
4:03- http://nh.craigslist.org/car/680153347.html . That's all I have to say about that.
4:17- It has come to the time of day when I look around the room for things to occupy my time, making certain not to look any superiors in the eye for fear that they might find a chore for me. This is the life of a salesperson. Do as little as possible. The way I see it, this kind of action (or lack thereof) is what keeps me fresh when I get on the phone with someone. If only I could convince them of this.
4:27- Thanks for sticking with me through this arduous exercise called work. You've really made it go by a little faster, and I feel better about neglecting to write for the past couple of weeks. A rare double win! I'm usually a much better writer than this, but really, is there anything better than the voyeuristic viewpoint you've had into my daily life today? Probably.
8:39- I forced myself into tolerating oatmeal about 3 months ago in my neverending quest to see 170 on the Weighmaster 2000. Three months later, this is the worst part of my workday.
8:46- Until about 4 months ago, I, admittedly, didn't take very good care of my teeth/gums. I spent a lot of money to correct that situation and now I'm back to square one. With oatmeal safely digested, I took the floss and toothbrush out of my personal drawer at my desk and went to work on the pearls. Contents of personal drawer, you ask? Two bottles of nasal spray, Visine, Airborne, a pain relieving patch, an inhaler, hair molding paste (that doesn't sound healthy), one a day vitamins, two rolls of floss, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and two packs of gum. The only thing missing is a toilet, a shower, and a rubber duckie.
10:16- Wednesday is training day. Today's topic was about document processing. Most of these trainings go about 45 minutes, but this one was a touch more extensive. Here's a rule of thumb for anyone involved in multiple meetings a week, and listen up because it's important. Never, ever, ever sit behind the guy doing all the talking. If you're stuck there, you're not afforded the liberty of an occasional doze-off or space out. This was my world for the past 75 minutes.
10:36- My world is being dictated by my allergies right now. They have total control and they know it. My allergies tell me to get up and blow my nose, I do it. Need me to tilt my head back/ You got it. Want me to put my thumb and index finger on both sides of my nose, as to make a pinching motion? No problem. I am completely at your mercy today. Awesome!
10:55- We have reached the point of my day when I catch up on the sports news of the world. I have been entreated by a special morning edition of the SportsGuy on ESPN. And the colored girls sing do do-do do-do do do do do...
11:09- Mmmmmm, string cheese...
11:10- I have reached goal for the week. There is no greater feeling than making goal while you're reading a nonsensical sports article on the company dime. And then I wiped the sweat off my brow with company stationary.
11:36- This is the part of the day (well Part I, anyway) where I start to feel the effects of waking up for the gym at 5:30 this morning. I hate that place. Right now, I kinda hate this place, too.
11:48- I just spent three minutes trying to come up with a Subject for an email. Ultimately, I did a cost benefit on the project and went with "Relyco Pressure Seal". This is why they pay me what they do, folks.
12:07- I'm a Maroon 5 guy, but just a minute ago, I officially got sick of listening to them. For good. To the IPod, and onto another guy whose songs all sound the same, Mr. Jack Johnson.
12:33- So, I was upstairs mulling over my lunch choice (tuna on multi), and a lovely, lovely young lady stands next to me. She's what my ideal would look like if I constructed her. She walks the delicate line between plain and fashionable. She's unassuming, yet confident. She makes my heart race. She asks me if I'm waiting in line, and while I'm thinking "No, but let me buy you lunch. My name is Scott", what actually comes out is "I can't decide. Go ahead of my if you'd like". Sure, that's gonna win her over. It's unconfirmed, but rumor has it I sounded like Barney the Dinosaur while saying it. That's the first and probably the last time I'll see that girl. And that, my friend(s), is why I'm single.
1:02- I think I'm Jack Johnson'ed, as well. I've never been enamored with him, but I wanted to take the new album out for a spin. Not surprisingly, it sounds just like the last album and the one before that and the two before that one.
1:14- I'm working on a quote for a major medical center and they just sent me the samples for what I need to quote, after a long layoff where I thought the account was dead. I swear, by my reaction, you would have thought it was nudy magazine day in the office. These are the things I get pumped over now.
1:59- Taking time away from my oh-so busy work schedule, I checked ESPN to see if the news had changed at all. I see that a US Senator has decided that he wants to launch an investigation into the New England Patriots videotaping practices. This is what the United States is paying Sen. Arlen Specter of PA for. Are you kidding me? I know that professional sports are big business, but how is this use of labor justified by the United States government? I need this story to finally go away after 9 grueling months, because I'm become a very, very cranky young man.
2:14- This is the time that I start to check out. My brother comes home from work, so I talk to him On The G (Google IM, for you AOLers). Also, I'm the commissioner of my fantasy baseball league, so the emails start to pour in for trade offers and lineup problems about this time in the afternoon. Right on cue...
3:02- I hate bill collectors. I have two bills that have been due for years now. It's actually gotten to a point where it's more beneficial to NOT pay them than it is to hand the money over. I just got back to back calls from both of them today. I actually had an ongoing conversation with one of them a few weeks ago. I do that sometimes when I'm bored. He anticipates that I'll come at him in a venomous manor and I end up just asking him about the weather and TV and what not. He became completely diffused.
3:34- Mmmmmm, string cheese...
3:37- I need a day off. This is exhausting.
4:03- http://nh.craigslist.org/car/680153347.html . That's all I have to say about that.
4:17- It has come to the time of day when I look around the room for things to occupy my time, making certain not to look any superiors in the eye for fear that they might find a chore for me. This is the life of a salesperson. Do as little as possible. The way I see it, this kind of action (or lack thereof) is what keeps me fresh when I get on the phone with someone. If only I could convince them of this.
4:27- Thanks for sticking with me through this arduous exercise called work. You've really made it go by a little faster, and I feel better about neglecting to write for the past couple of weeks. A rare double win! I'm usually a much better writer than this, but really, is there anything better than the voyeuristic viewpoint you've had into my daily life today? Probably.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
The Weigh In: Week 4
I was doing so well, too. I was eating the proper amount of proteins every day, having my turkey sandwich for lunch every day with a fruit, using string cheese and yogurt as in-between snacks, trying to keep the carbs down...then the weekend happened and everything went to shit. Eating, drinking, eating, drinking for 48 straight hours. Needless to say, I was a little concerned walking up to the Weighmaster 2000 yesterday.
The workouts are getting a little more intimidating and lengthy, but I'm up to the challenge. I made it to all workouts and can honestly say that I gave everything that I had while I was in that smelly little joint. Last week, I weighed in at 179.4 pounds. This week...
Current weight: 179.4 pounds
(I think the health gods gave me a get out of jail free card this week)
The workouts are getting a little more intimidating and lengthy, but I'm up to the challenge. I made it to all workouts and can honestly say that I gave everything that I had while I was in that smelly little joint. Last week, I weighed in at 179.4 pounds. This week...
Current weight: 179.4 pounds
(I think the health gods gave me a get out of jail free card this week)
Monday, May 5, 2008
The Weigh In: Week 2 (With a Kick)
So, I got home tonight at around 8 or so and have spent the last 3 1/2 hours doing, um, nothing. Yup, nothing. Well, as I'm getting off my duff to go to bed, I come to realize that I have yet to write a word on this screen you see here. Now, normally, I'd let it pass, but I know I'll be hearing it in the morning if I don't, from my most committed (and vocal, and, perhaps, only) reader. So here I am, for you, the reader.
Before I delve into another session of "Fit or Fat?", something strange happened tonight which I think is share-worthy. I was cooking some dinner (which I'm wont to do from time to time) and I received an email from a gal I used to tutor in math when I was in college. She was sent to an old edition of the Concord Monitor for some charity event, and wouldn't you know it, it was the same one I was on the front page of!
(Sidebar for story clarification: When I was 15, I stole candy from an unsuspecting child on a dare. I tried to find him that night, but to no avail. It had haunted me for 17 years, so I decided to create a search for the kid this past Halloween. An article was written about me and it landed on the front page of the Concord Monitor. Sad, but true, story).
I had a man-sized crush on this math-challenged Italian for some time, but the timing was wrong. I was dating someone at that point. Plus, I think I could get 2-4 for dating my student, even if it was just a tutor position. Actually, there probably aren't any rules on that because tutors can't find anyone to date and/or sleep with them. Yet I digress...
So, she comes back into my world tonight and I'm going out with her this weekend. Details to follow? Probably not. Maybe if I get any evidence that anyone but Kate is reading this. Really, I can just call her with details if I want to.
Onto the session. Once again, I didn't eat as I should have. I eat crappily (it's a word) over the
weekend and feel like I'm starting at Square Uno on Mondays. Today, and for the next 6 weeks, will involve no alcoholic beverages and a commitment to this plan. Anything worth doin' is worth doin' right, right? Um, right?
I had three great workouts this past week. Saturdays are starting to step up. This past Saturday was what a ride would feel like at Six Flags Hell. It was about 20 minutes of sheer pain and off we went. The only thing missing was the little water spraying nozzles that are available to those waiting in line for 5 hours for the 3 minute ride. I hate that place.
(Yes, I'm aware that I'm all over the place today.)
This workout is moderately challenging. I have never sweat so much doing anything in my whole life than I do with this little plan. I swear to you it's true. It's disgusting. My sweat is sweating. I love to sweat, as it gives me a sense of accomplishment, but I don't think anyone in the vacinity appreciates it as much.
Here's to hoping that this week, I stick to the turkey sandwiches and the grilled chicken...
My weight: 179.4 lbs.
Before I delve into another session of "Fit or Fat?", something strange happened tonight which I think is share-worthy. I was cooking some dinner (which I'm wont to do from time to time) and I received an email from a gal I used to tutor in math when I was in college. She was sent to an old edition of the Concord Monitor for some charity event, and wouldn't you know it, it was the same one I was on the front page of!
(Sidebar for story clarification: When I was 15, I stole candy from an unsuspecting child on a dare. I tried to find him that night, but to no avail. It had haunted me for 17 years, so I decided to create a search for the kid this past Halloween. An article was written about me and it landed on the front page of the Concord Monitor. Sad, but true, story).
I had a man-sized crush on this math-challenged Italian for some time, but the timing was wrong. I was dating someone at that point. Plus, I think I could get 2-4 for dating my student, even if it was just a tutor position. Actually, there probably aren't any rules on that because tutors can't find anyone to date and/or sleep with them. Yet I digress...
So, she comes back into my world tonight and I'm going out with her this weekend. Details to follow? Probably not. Maybe if I get any evidence that anyone but Kate is reading this. Really, I can just call her with details if I want to.
Onto the session. Once again, I didn't eat as I should have. I eat crappily (it's a word) over the
weekend and feel like I'm starting at Square Uno on Mondays. Today, and for the next 6 weeks, will involve no alcoholic beverages and a commitment to this plan. Anything worth doin' is worth doin' right, right? Um, right?
I had three great workouts this past week. Saturdays are starting to step up. This past Saturday was what a ride would feel like at Six Flags Hell. It was about 20 minutes of sheer pain and off we went. The only thing missing was the little water spraying nozzles that are available to those waiting in line for 5 hours for the 3 minute ride. I hate that place.
(Yes, I'm aware that I'm all over the place today.)
This workout is moderately challenging. I have never sweat so much doing anything in my whole life than I do with this little plan. I swear to you it's true. It's disgusting. My sweat is sweating. I love to sweat, as it gives me a sense of accomplishment, but I don't think anyone in the vacinity appreciates it as much.
Here's to hoping that this week, I stick to the turkey sandwiches and the grilled chicken...
My weight: 179.4 lbs.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Karma
Earl Hickey will tell you there's nothing stronger than the force of karma. Earl lives his life by crossing off bad deeds on a notebook sheet of paper in the hopes that karma will take care of him in the end. Of course, he learned about Lady Karma by watching a late night episode of Carson Daly, but that's besides the point.
Do unto others as you'd want done to you is the backbone of karma. Live by that credo, and I swear you'll win more than you lose. Yes, the Lady's a bitch sometimes. She's not always serving the needs of the good. I've done a lot of good deeds in my life and I have been fed some shitty luck. However, I've done some pretty shitty things in my life and have been abruptly rewarded for them, so as long as the good outnumbers the bad, the scoreboard says I'm winning.
Roger Clemens is a world class athlete. He's one of the most driven, iconic baseball players of all time. He has won 7 Cy Young Awards, one MVP Award, and a World Series. He has over 4600 strikeouts and 350 wins. So why has his life fallen apart in the past three months?
In 1984, Roger joined my beloved Red Sox and although he started slowly, by 1986 he had really hit his stride. Clemens went 24-4 that year on his way to the Cy Young and MVP awards. Even though he complained of a blister and asked out of Game 6 of the World Series, we knew that the Sox wouldn't have even been there if he hadn't put together one of the most dominating individual regular seasons in history.
Clemens gave us 12 good years and we loved him the entire time, maybe a little too much for a grown man to love another grown man. Roger got fatter in the early '90s as his wallet was getting equally fat. Then, in the three months leading up to free agency in 1996, he put together some phenomenal numbers just in time to sign on the dotted line. When the time came, Duquette thought he were in the "twilight" of his career, but Clemens proved him wrong by taking more money because, as he claimed, he wanted to play for a winner, even though Toronto was clearly on the decline. Roger won 2 Cy Young Awards in his two years there. Very impressive. Since then, he's won 2 more Cys and went to the Yankees and the Astros and back to the Yankees again.
Roger Clemens has won at least one Cy Young Award at each stop, and nobody likes him. Can you believe that? I can. And the reason is because Karma has a blind eye towards no one. Clemens lived a charmed life for 20 years, although it seems as if he was legitimately the competitor, family man, and sport ambassador for about 12 of those. Right around the age of 34, The Rocket began to use steroids and HGH to keep his competitive edge. Right around that time, he began to have sexual relations with a country singing, white trash hillbilly. Word has come down today that Clemens had sexual relations with John Daly's ex-wife. Although these are just allegations in the real world, there's nothing alleged about them in this blog, because I'm certain that all of these things happened. Roger decided at that point that he was above the sanctity of everything in America and was allowed to live by his own rules. Not so coincidentally, it was right about that time that Boston fans began to turn on him. We didn't know why we were doing it, but we did it, anyway. We know now.
I don't believe in any sort of organized religion. In my opinion, they're all cults. But I believe in karma. I believe that Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds will get what they deserve in time, as I believe that the guy who doesn't hold the door for the person behind him will get what he deserves, too.Think about what you do or don't do. Big Sister is probably watching, and she's more powerful than you are.
Do unto others as you'd want done to you is the backbone of karma. Live by that credo, and I swear you'll win more than you lose. Yes, the Lady's a bitch sometimes. She's not always serving the needs of the good. I've done a lot of good deeds in my life and I have been fed some shitty luck. However, I've done some pretty shitty things in my life and have been abruptly rewarded for them, so as long as the good outnumbers the bad, the scoreboard says I'm winning.
Roger Clemens is a world class athlete. He's one of the most driven, iconic baseball players of all time. He has won 7 Cy Young Awards, one MVP Award, and a World Series. He has over 4600 strikeouts and 350 wins. So why has his life fallen apart in the past three months?
In 1984, Roger joined my beloved Red Sox and although he started slowly, by 1986 he had really hit his stride. Clemens went 24-4 that year on his way to the Cy Young and MVP awards. Even though he complained of a blister and asked out of Game 6 of the World Series, we knew that the Sox wouldn't have even been there if he hadn't put together one of the most dominating individual regular seasons in history.
Clemens gave us 12 good years and we loved him the entire time, maybe a little too much for a grown man to love another grown man. Roger got fatter in the early '90s as his wallet was getting equally fat. Then, in the three months leading up to free agency in 1996, he put together some phenomenal numbers just in time to sign on the dotted line. When the time came, Duquette thought he were in the "twilight" of his career, but Clemens proved him wrong by taking more money because, as he claimed, he wanted to play for a winner, even though Toronto was clearly on the decline. Roger won 2 Cy Young Awards in his two years there. Very impressive. Since then, he's won 2 more Cys and went to the Yankees and the Astros and back to the Yankees again.
Roger Clemens has won at least one Cy Young Award at each stop, and nobody likes him. Can you believe that? I can. And the reason is because Karma has a blind eye towards no one. Clemens lived a charmed life for 20 years, although it seems as if he was legitimately the competitor, family man, and sport ambassador for about 12 of those. Right around the age of 34, The Rocket began to use steroids and HGH to keep his competitive edge. Right around that time, he began to have sexual relations with a country singing, white trash hillbilly. Word has come down today that Clemens had sexual relations with John Daly's ex-wife. Although these are just allegations in the real world, there's nothing alleged about them in this blog, because I'm certain that all of these things happened. Roger decided at that point that he was above the sanctity of everything in America and was allowed to live by his own rules. Not so coincidentally, it was right about that time that Boston fans began to turn on him. We didn't know why we were doing it, but we did it, anyway. We know now.
I don't believe in any sort of organized religion. In my opinion, they're all cults. But I believe in karma. I believe that Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds will get what they deserve in time, as I believe that the guy who doesn't hold the door for the person behind him will get what he deserves, too.Think about what you do or don't do. Big Sister is probably watching, and she's more powerful than you are.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Belly Off- Week 2
It was brought to my attention by the one person that reads my shit that I made a promise last week to commit Monday blogs to my 8 week workout program. Well, there was no Monday blog last night, and I learned that no bad deed goes unpunished. Because I was tired last night, I didn't write a "workout blog" and EvilKate let me know about it. I didn't use floss before I brushed and I'm certain my dentist is going to be on me like a fat kid on a cupcake. That's the price I pay for cuttin' corners!
I got through Week 1 with no problems whatsoever. I didn't eat perfectly, but I got the workouts in and followed them to a tee. The Saturday workout was a breeze, but Week 8 is going to pay me back.
Current weight? 180.8 lbs.
I got through Week 1 with no problems whatsoever. I didn't eat perfectly, but I got the workouts in and followed them to a tee. The Saturday workout was a breeze, but Week 8 is going to pay me back.
Current weight? 180.8 lbs.
Out with the old...
Those who say that art imitates life would be proud of their accurate proclamation tonight. For tonight, I watched "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" on my first date since the end of, well, you know. With that said, first dates aren't really first dates at all. As Van Wilder says, first dates are interviews. Yes, we went to a movie on our interview, which I know is a big faux, but I've known her for quite some time. Perhaps more on her some other day. Perhaps not.
Some would speculate that my purchase of those two tickets is an indicator that I relish the pain. Quite the contrary. It's therapeutic, though, to see someone in the same position as myself, be it a real person or a character in a movie. This character was a top flight wank for about 3 weeks after the mythical breakup. My mourning period was a bit shorter than that, but I was kind of a wank, too. There was a bit of internal concern that this movie would rehash a bit of whatever it was I was going through, but the truth is, it showed me that my reaction wasn't abnormal or dramatic. It was natural.
Losing "that" person is a tough one, especially when you're the only participant in the failed relationship that wasn't aware it wasn't the right one anymore. In a perfect setting, both people receive the signal in the sky at the same time telling them that the shit just ain't workin'. Well, this isn't perfect, nor is it easy. Relationships are difficult. The writing was on the wall for a while before the end day, but the emotional investment doesn't turn off like a light switch, although I wish it would. Everybody has been through this sometime in their life, and if they haven't, I hope they do. Not because I'm sinister or wish anyone harm, but because it makes the good times better.
Without the pain, the anxiety, the nausea experienced by an unforeseen, kick-to-the-stomach split, there's no yield sign in your brain to tell you to wait awhile before saying what you want to say. There's nothing to tell you that time is actually of your control and if you don't run towards a label, that same label will find you when it's supposed to. The thinkers die in this game and those with their heads in the clouds excel because they just don't know any better. I'm a thinker, but I'm trying real hard to look above the clouds.
You know what happens to the character trying to Forget Sarah Marshall? He burns all pictures, throws away all reminders, and completely drowns in his sorrows hysterically for three weeks. Then he mans up and finds something else, and he does it better the second time around. Will I do it better with this girl? Well, what I learned is that this wasn't a date at all. It was two friends enjoying some Thai food and a funny, strangely therapeutic movie about redemption. Before, well, you know, I would have wondered what the next step was. I would have overanalyzed every giggle and uncomfortable silence. I would have screwed it up before it started. Then I would have kicked myself for doing it. Times, they're a-changin'.
Some would speculate that my purchase of those two tickets is an indicator that I relish the pain. Quite the contrary. It's therapeutic, though, to see someone in the same position as myself, be it a real person or a character in a movie. This character was a top flight wank for about 3 weeks after the mythical breakup. My mourning period was a bit shorter than that, but I was kind of a wank, too. There was a bit of internal concern that this movie would rehash a bit of whatever it was I was going through, but the truth is, it showed me that my reaction wasn't abnormal or dramatic. It was natural.
Losing "that" person is a tough one, especially when you're the only participant in the failed relationship that wasn't aware it wasn't the right one anymore. In a perfect setting, both people receive the signal in the sky at the same time telling them that the shit just ain't workin'. Well, this isn't perfect, nor is it easy. Relationships are difficult. The writing was on the wall for a while before the end day, but the emotional investment doesn't turn off like a light switch, although I wish it would. Everybody has been through this sometime in their life, and if they haven't, I hope they do. Not because I'm sinister or wish anyone harm, but because it makes the good times better.
Without the pain, the anxiety, the nausea experienced by an unforeseen, kick-to-the-stomach split, there's no yield sign in your brain to tell you to wait awhile before saying what you want to say. There's nothing to tell you that time is actually of your control and if you don't run towards a label, that same label will find you when it's supposed to. The thinkers die in this game and those with their heads in the clouds excel because they just don't know any better. I'm a thinker, but I'm trying real hard to look above the clouds.
You know what happens to the character trying to Forget Sarah Marshall? He burns all pictures, throws away all reminders, and completely drowns in his sorrows hysterically for three weeks. Then he mans up and finds something else, and he does it better the second time around. Will I do it better with this girl? Well, what I learned is that this wasn't a date at all. It was two friends enjoying some Thai food and a funny, strangely therapeutic movie about redemption. Before, well, you know, I would have wondered what the next step was. I would have overanalyzed every giggle and uncomfortable silence. I would have screwed it up before it started. Then I would have kicked myself for doing it. Times, they're a-changin'.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
I just want to be miserable
You know, I always thought it was going to be different than this. When I was much younger (very early 20s), I had it right in front of me. I was working for a CPA firm in Manchester. I was going to be a very young CPA and I was going to start my own firm by the time I was 30. I was college educated, I was in good shape and I was successful, in career and socially. Long term relationships were going to come to me and I didn't have to worry about it.
So where am I? Yesterday, in an effort to grow and become more my age, I ripped apart my domicile and started all over again. I hung curtains, mirrors, and pictures. I strategically place new plants and candleholders. I stopped just short of hanging signs that read suck things as "A house is made of brick and stone. A home is made of love alone", but just barely stopped short. I placed mats inside the front door, in front of the toilet and the kitchen sink, and one greeting you when you reach the top of the stairs. I bought a smaller TV for my room (a 11 X 12 room does not need a 32" TV). I purchased matching lamps for my room, and I might even use them.
What's the point? The point is that this was all in an attempt to remind myself that I'm a grownup now. Evidently, I need that reminder from time to time. I'm 32 years old, I'm single, and I'm unsatisfied. It's as if I haven't been taught the proper way to handle a career. I have spent the last eight years doing nothing and being content. I woke up a few weeks ago and I was single and making much less money than nearly everyone that has known me thought I'd be making.
Now, I know what you're saying to yourself, my committed reader. Money isn't always the gauge of success. If anyone understands this, it's me. But it's not as if I'm a painter or a writer. They have something to show for their efforts. I bartended for a spell while trying, feebly, to figure out what every one of my friends had figured out, and that was how to build a family. Not all of them had built a family yet, but they knew what they were doing. Well, while I was bartending, I was building friendships. Those friendships are gone and I'm left here, in what feels like square one once again. How do I get out of it? Right now, I'm doing everything a grownup is supposed to. I'm righting my wrongs.
But I'm 32 and I don't feel as if I'm 32. Strangely, when I was 22, I felt like I was 25 because I was so ahead of the curve. When I was 29, I felt like I was 25 because I was so behind the curve. I'm 32 and I still feel as if I'm 25, and this ain't a good thing.
I want to have a family and vacations and a mortgage. I want to have to fix the sink and paint the bedroom. I want to have a problem with the drainpipes, and I want to get pissed off on a January Saturday morning because I have to buy an overpriced snowblower. I want to mow the lawn with a beer on the rider. I want to bitch about my real estate taxes.
And that's why I re-did my apartment. Because a 32 year old should be a 32 year old, with a third-life crisis and all. Do you think there are other 30 somethings out there who aren't concerned with their drainpipes just yet? I hope so.
So where am I? Yesterday, in an effort to grow and become more my age, I ripped apart my domicile and started all over again. I hung curtains, mirrors, and pictures. I strategically place new plants and candleholders. I stopped just short of hanging signs that read suck things as "A house is made of brick and stone. A home is made of love alone", but just barely stopped short. I placed mats inside the front door, in front of the toilet and the kitchen sink, and one greeting you when you reach the top of the stairs. I bought a smaller TV for my room (a 11 X 12 room does not need a 32" TV). I purchased matching lamps for my room, and I might even use them.
What's the point? The point is that this was all in an attempt to remind myself that I'm a grownup now. Evidently, I need that reminder from time to time. I'm 32 years old, I'm single, and I'm unsatisfied. It's as if I haven't been taught the proper way to handle a career. I have spent the last eight years doing nothing and being content. I woke up a few weeks ago and I was single and making much less money than nearly everyone that has known me thought I'd be making.
Now, I know what you're saying to yourself, my committed reader. Money isn't always the gauge of success. If anyone understands this, it's me. But it's not as if I'm a painter or a writer. They have something to show for their efforts. I bartended for a spell while trying, feebly, to figure out what every one of my friends had figured out, and that was how to build a family. Not all of them had built a family yet, but they knew what they were doing. Well, while I was bartending, I was building friendships. Those friendships are gone and I'm left here, in what feels like square one once again. How do I get out of it? Right now, I'm doing everything a grownup is supposed to. I'm righting my wrongs.
But I'm 32 and I don't feel as if I'm 32. Strangely, when I was 22, I felt like I was 25 because I was so ahead of the curve. When I was 29, I felt like I was 25 because I was so behind the curve. I'm 32 and I still feel as if I'm 25, and this ain't a good thing.
I want to have a family and vacations and a mortgage. I want to have to fix the sink and paint the bedroom. I want to have a problem with the drainpipes, and I want to get pissed off on a January Saturday morning because I have to buy an overpriced snowblower. I want to mow the lawn with a beer on the rider. I want to bitch about my real estate taxes.
And that's why I re-did my apartment. Because a 32 year old should be a 32 year old, with a third-life crisis and all. Do you think there are other 30 somethings out there who aren't concerned with their drainpipes just yet? I hope so.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
I sure am
There is so much to be said for traditions. There's safety. There's reliance. There's comfort.
There's dinner at Ryan and Pong's. There's a good appetizer, a stellar dinner, and a deliciously satisfying dessert (even if it's only an ice cream sandwich).
There's LOST. I can always rely on that show to screw me up for days. The writers have me twisted like a jumbo pretzel. Are we in a flashback or a flashforward? I thought Libby was dead! Is Locke a good guy or a bad guy? Is Michael brainwashed? Why doesn't Hurley lose any weight? Why has Walt aged 5 years in 100 days?
The only thing I know is that I know nothing. I'll watch now, collect my questions in my thoughts, then rent all seven seasons, pull a Howard Hughes, and watch it for nine days straight.
Sorry to pull a Doogie Howser-like post here, but I'm spent. That show wiped me out.
Until...
There's dinner at Ryan and Pong's. There's a good appetizer, a stellar dinner, and a deliciously satisfying dessert (even if it's only an ice cream sandwich).
There's LOST. I can always rely on that show to screw me up for days. The writers have me twisted like a jumbo pretzel. Are we in a flashback or a flashforward? I thought Libby was dead! Is Locke a good guy or a bad guy? Is Michael brainwashed? Why doesn't Hurley lose any weight? Why has Walt aged 5 years in 100 days?
The only thing I know is that I know nothing. I'll watch now, collect my questions in my thoughts, then rent all seven seasons, pull a Howard Hughes, and watch it for nine days straight.
Sorry to pull a Doogie Howser-like post here, but I'm spent. That show wiped me out.
Until...
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Soul rhymes with goal. Give one, get the other.
So, I just started in "the sales game" a few months ago. Well, that's not entirely true. I was a mortgage broker for 9 months of my life in 2005, but calling a broker a salesperson is like calling a lawyer a customer service representative. It did teach me, however, how to be a total douche to people that are just trying to eat their Salmon and brussel sprouts.
More accurately, I just started my first true sales job the first day of 2008. For the first couple of months, I have waded in the water hoping that something would come in the door of any substance even though the powers that be fully expect us to fail the first 6 months or so. Well, in the absence of any true sales, I have done everything that they've asked me to do. Need collections done? I'm your man. Got some paperwork hangin' around? Let me roll up my sleeves. Down a quart in your Volvo? Give me the keys. I'll take care of it. I've done everything over the past 3 1/2 months. Everything except sell, of course.
Until today. Today was one of those days when all of the frustrations are put aside and you remember why competition is so great and compelling in the first place. You could be the most uncompetitive, blase person in the Tri-State area and you can't tell me that the feeling of winning is the same as the feeling of losing. It's not even close. I have a sheet of paper in my cubicle of love that stares at me daily. It says "$1058" and it represents the amount of gross profit I need to generate a week to make my goal. To me, it's the score I need to beat to win the game. Well, there have been 15 games on the young season. I started out of the gate 0-11 but have gone 3-1 since. That, my friends, is progress. And I beat the hell out of the other team this week.
Until tomorrow...
More accurately, I just started my first true sales job the first day of 2008. For the first couple of months, I have waded in the water hoping that something would come in the door of any substance even though the powers that be fully expect us to fail the first 6 months or so. Well, in the absence of any true sales, I have done everything that they've asked me to do. Need collections done? I'm your man. Got some paperwork hangin' around? Let me roll up my sleeves. Down a quart in your Volvo? Give me the keys. I'll take care of it. I've done everything over the past 3 1/2 months. Everything except sell, of course.
Until today. Today was one of those days when all of the frustrations are put aside and you remember why competition is so great and compelling in the first place. You could be the most uncompetitive, blase person in the Tri-State area and you can't tell me that the feeling of winning is the same as the feeling of losing. It's not even close. I have a sheet of paper in my cubicle of love that stares at me daily. It says "$1058" and it represents the amount of gross profit I need to generate a week to make my goal. To me, it's the score I need to beat to win the game. Well, there have been 15 games on the young season. I started out of the gate 0-11 but have gone 3-1 since. That, my friends, is progress. And I beat the hell out of the other team this week.
Until tomorrow...
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
That stupid place with all the equipment
I am not a musclehead. I hate muscleheads. You know who they are. They spend more time talking to the other muscleheads than they do on the weights, but they feel like it's justified because they're talking about a recent article in I Have A Small Pecker So I'm Here Four Hours A Day magazine. I hate these guys. They grunt, they high five (fellas, the high five left with the air quotes), and they drop weights and scare the hell out of me. They never run, though. I mean, they NEVER run. So, if any of them get insulted by this blog and come after me, well, I'll just walk briskly. Stupid muscleheads.
I try to go to the gym 5-6 days a week, but this is a factor of me getting fat, fat, fatter over the course of 5 years or so. Not Orka fat, but the kind of fat a happy father gets after he has two or so kids. With that said, if I had never made a Sunday tradition of the Special C at Hong Kong Express, I probably wouldn't go to the gym now. Truth be told, I kinda hate the place.
So, I went today because I'm about 10 lbs away from where I want to be and I was actually excited to be there. As excited as I would have been to be sitting on the couch? No. But excited nonetheless. See, today was the first day of an 8 week "beat the shit out of yourself" program. It's the Belly Off program through Men's Health, and it looks a lot more tame on paper than it is in reality. There is not one second of this thing that's enjoyable to me. Not one, but if my boys over at the Mag tell me it works, then I'm in. Stay tuned. Moving forward, this will be my Monday blog, so if you don't give a shit what the progress is of my workout (and really, who could blame you), then don't chime in on Mondays. Deal? Deal.
Current weight? 182.
I try to go to the gym 5-6 days a week, but this is a factor of me getting fat, fat, fatter over the course of 5 years or so. Not Orka fat, but the kind of fat a happy father gets after he has two or so kids. With that said, if I had never made a Sunday tradition of the Special C at Hong Kong Express, I probably wouldn't go to the gym now. Truth be told, I kinda hate the place.
So, I went today because I'm about 10 lbs away from where I want to be and I was actually excited to be there. As excited as I would have been to be sitting on the couch? No. But excited nonetheless. See, today was the first day of an 8 week "beat the shit out of yourself" program. It's the Belly Off program through Men's Health, and it looks a lot more tame on paper than it is in reality. There is not one second of this thing that's enjoyable to me. Not one, but if my boys over at the Mag tell me it works, then I'm in. Stay tuned. Moving forward, this will be my Monday blog, so if you don't give a shit what the progress is of my workout (and really, who could blame you), then don't chime in on Mondays. Deal? Deal.
Current weight? 182.
Monday, April 21, 2008
The Inaugural Post
Hello all,
This is the first post of many. If you read long enough, you'll hear tales as light hearted as "How to Make a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich" to memorializing national tragedies. They might make you laugh, they might make you think. Maybe they'll make you cry. They might be lists, confessions, or letters. While I can't promise that they'll be anything more than connected words on a screen, I can promise that they will be honest, unabated, and uncensored.
I just got out of the only relationship that I ever gave a shit about. She was a little young and it came out at the end. That's what you get for dating a 12 year old. Just kidding, FCC. Them's just jokes. Anyway, every "Don't kill yourself" book and website tells you to write out your thoughts when they're happening, in part because it gives you a gauge of where you've been and where you're going, and in part because you'll drive your friends to kill you themselves if you keep going on about it (although the authors of "It's Not the End Yet" don't tell you that part). This is the LAST time you'll hear me speak about that subject, but now you know why I've taken to writing nearly daily. I don't intend to off myself, but if it's good for the suicidals, then dammit, it's good for me.
The Bruins, they were so close. Another Game 7 loss at the hands of the hated Habs. Me and three other people know that that happened tonight, but for me, I'm just glad to be interested again. Of course, there are 84 games in a regular season, so it will probably be 85 games before I see the black and gold again. I'm a bandwagon jumper like that. I'm a hockey fraud. I'm cool with it, and you should be, too.
Just a little light reading today. Easing into the blog world. I don't know if this is completely for self-indulgence or if anyone is going to chime in, but should you have something on your mind, I welcome all comments.
This is the first post of many. If you read long enough, you'll hear tales as light hearted as "How to Make a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich" to memorializing national tragedies. They might make you laugh, they might make you think. Maybe they'll make you cry. They might be lists, confessions, or letters. While I can't promise that they'll be anything more than connected words on a screen, I can promise that they will be honest, unabated, and uncensored.
I just got out of the only relationship that I ever gave a shit about. She was a little young and it came out at the end. That's what you get for dating a 12 year old. Just kidding, FCC. Them's just jokes. Anyway, every "Don't kill yourself" book and website tells you to write out your thoughts when they're happening, in part because it gives you a gauge of where you've been and where you're going, and in part because you'll drive your friends to kill you themselves if you keep going on about it (although the authors of "It's Not the End Yet" don't tell you that part). This is the LAST time you'll hear me speak about that subject, but now you know why I've taken to writing nearly daily. I don't intend to off myself, but if it's good for the suicidals, then dammit, it's good for me.
The Bruins, they were so close. Another Game 7 loss at the hands of the hated Habs. Me and three other people know that that happened tonight, but for me, I'm just glad to be interested again. Of course, there are 84 games in a regular season, so it will probably be 85 games before I see the black and gold again. I'm a bandwagon jumper like that. I'm a hockey fraud. I'm cool with it, and you should be, too.
Just a little light reading today. Easing into the blog world. I don't know if this is completely for self-indulgence or if anyone is going to chime in, but should you have something on your mind, I welcome all comments.
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