hhuuuaarrrkkk toooo

Who knew there was an art to spitting and more importantly why is it that guys always seem to be so good at it? Whether it be a loogie or just a straight spat they always manage to do it perfect; hawking it up and launching a perfect circle as it lands with a splat. I mean lets be serious, the noise it makes is even perfect. Whereas when I do it, it's like a shower of saliva and (depending on the technique I try) a possible drool stream down my chin. Gross.

Spitting practice is something I've started on a more regular basis (this may or may not be while I jog). I try multiple techniques for creating the perfect loog. Tongue behind my bottom teeth. Fail. Shaped like a "u". Fail. No tongue use at all. Fail.

Fail, fail and fail, why can't I just do it? I have asked many of my guy friends on multiple occasions over years about their spitting technique. Even after following their instructions I still can't seem to get it.

I have come to the conclusion that spitting the perfect loog just may not be in my cards. I am also starting to think it is directly related to a man's "lower region" along with something in their saliva that enhances this ability. They can't just be better at it than me, there has to be a reason. Whatever it is, it makes it congeal a little better and makes it impossible for them to fail.

As I continue to try honing in this skill, I will not get my expectations to high on actually mastering it...

One potato, two potato

When picking a potato what are you looking for? Size? Firmness? Dark spots? Is it rotten? Have you ever been able to find the perfect potato? What qualities are you willing to abandon if you can't get them all.

Needless to say I am not an expert potato picker. Most the time I get what i think is a pretty descent tater only to get it home and realize the inside is all spotted and brown. I consider cutting out the spots but how many spots are acceptable to cut before you decided it would just be easier to get a new potato.

One time I tried to salvage what I thought was a good potato but ended up cutting my hand and it hurt so bad that I gave up and tossed it. Maybe I'm just not taking the time needed to make the right tater choice. I should start with what I am planning to make then go pick out the best one. Am I making a family meal? Is it just a fill in? or maybe, it is a quick microwave deal. Wam bam thank you potato!?

I had no idea grocery shopping could get so complicated. I'm about to just say fuck it and stop eating.

Three potato, four...

Infiltrated

Approximately 10:30 pm, I turned my light off and Beans joined me for our nightly spooning. Before I was completely out I felt her jump out of bed like she was after something which I sleepily ignored and passed out.

Four hours of uninterrupted sleep later at approximately 2:30 am I have the same feeling of Beans leaping out of bed, this time it was accompanied with a struggle?! As I turned on my light ready to see Beans with a bug or moth I saw something different. To my horror, it was a huge black BAT! Fuck, shit, damn, I quickly jump up and start to panic, what do I do, what do I do, I need to find something to trap it with. The perfect bat cage doesn’t appear and my window of opportunity had closed because the motherfucker took flight. I screamed and dropped to the ground grabbing my giant pillow as a shield and head cover. I run out of my room and close the door trapping him inside.

Downstairs I gather all the necessary bat catching equipment: a trash bag, a broom, a hand towel (later I upgraded to a full size towel) and of course a hat. Armed and ready I go back upstairs and crack the door, what I see can only be compared to as bat NASCAR. Vroom he flies by, vroom he flies by, I close the door and compose myself, I’m going in.

This time when I crack the door there was nothing; I open it wider, still nothing. Good, this is going to be easy; he has obviously landed now I just have to throw a towel over him and tada back to bed! After combing the entire room with no bat to be found, I was too exhausted to keep looking. It was a little after 3:30am when I decided I was going back to bed with the rogue bat still lurking. (I did of course keep my hat on)

Thirty minutes later the green flag was flashed and the race was back on. I flicked on the light and pulled my covers up so only my eyes were out as I watched him fly around and around. He dipped and dived and I was desperate for him to land and give me a chance to capture him. After taking a couple more laps around my room he did and I thought I saw the area where he was. However, when I got up and looked he had vanished once again the sneaky little cock nose!

I went back to bed ready for the same scenario to play out. Ten minutes later it did, the only difference was this time I had left my bedroom door open and he made a left and flew out. I was about to follow, broom and towel in hand, when I had a better idea… I closed my door. F. this! I’m going to bed.

do you feel it?

eyes closed, music on... taking in the words of the song playing in the background... questioning who sings it and wondering how they know what’s happening in my life. I sit and think of my past years in terms of music one good song after another. It takes me back to the days of MySpace because the majority of the songs were on my profile. I always picked music to represent what was happening or what I was feeling at the time. Music will always be my escape.

I have been to more shows in the past eight months than I’ve been to in years. Some bands I really wanted to see (Gomez, Company of Thieves, Foster the People, Mumford and Sons) others I hadn’t much heard of and loved (Future Islands, St. Vincent) and then there was a few I could have done without (Bootsy Collins, in my defense, I was trying to keep the funk alive). Whenever someone comes out to preform in a full-on sequins red suit with matching star shaped glasses the outcome can never be good.

At the Future Islands show, I was an outsider. I didn’t know any of the music save one song and I just stood watching all the hipsters in their outrageous outfits, reacting to the beat of the music. As the first song opened I watched a young girl cry in pure elation to the show beginning. I will admit the lead singer was VERY intense and a great performer. I was just in awe of how his music moved not just one but many girls to tears. I have attached a video we (as in we, I mean Gabe) took while there. Start it around 2:45 and watch him look through your soul, you may cry...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MteLUiO65Lk&feature=plcp

My favorite thing other than the music itself is witnessing someone “feeling” the music. It may be confused as a convulsion because that is exactly what it looks like. The music has invaded their soul and they can’t control their body. Thrusts, shakes, sways, maybe even a little drool happening ALL AT ONCE. I catch myself starring in awe, amazed and mesmerized by the body movement. I never judge because I never know when I am going to let the music invade my soul.

Eyes closed, music on…


For those who are interested below is my life to music...

Fiona Apple “Not about Love”
Iron and Wine “Trapeze Singer”
Regina Spektor “Samson”
Fergie “Big Girls don’t cry”
Angus and Julia Stone “Mango Tree”
Postal Service “Such Great Heights”
Wintersleep “Ghost”
Missy Higgins “Where I stood”
Emiliana Torrini “Jungle Drum”
Kate Nash “Mouthwash”
Ben Cooper “Ghost Town”

hungry in ohio...

Salt pork, what the fuck is it? You would think I should know because I have two chunks of it frozen in my freezer. Where they came from and why I have two I can't explain. I also realized upon scavenging for dinner that I have four cans of evaporated milk and two cans of coconut milk. I can’t think of one time in the last five years I have used evaporated milk and don’t even like coconut! My pantry is starting to harbor all the undesirables that I just push to the side while I pick out the item that I want. If I don’t hit the grocery soon I may be caught eating evaporated milk straight out of the can with a spoon.

donations welcome.

A random day in the 90’s….

Me: “am I going to find love”

Magic 8 Ball “it is decidedly so”

Me: “am I going to be married by 30”

Magic 8 Ball “outlook not so good”

Me: “fuck you, what about 35?”

Magic 8 Ball “replay hazy try again”

Me ”gawd damn it”

Punxsutawney...

Fact: I have never experienced déjà vu. I sometimes wonder how many people out there are like me and have never felt the sensation of doing something like you have experienced it before. I will admit that I am a little envious of the people who have it, forever curious as to what it feels like and question why I have never felt it. I obviously have my own random thoughts about what it means and why some have it over others. For example, old souls, multiple lives (no, not nine like a cat, let’s be serious). Basically, it would be way too much for me to get into and I do not want my “crazy” to officially start to show... What I do have are repeat life situations; it’s not déjà vu exactly since I know I have done it before. My life at times is on repeat, it is like my own personal groundhog day. People reappearing after disappearing, situations that I thought were resolved are not. I know that when I get the phone call it is going to be the exact same conversation I had a week earlier. No matter what I say it always ends with the same conclusion only to happen all over again in a week or possibly a month. I actually tried to give it a different ending the other day and as hard as I tried it didn’t work. I should be getting a new PayPal bill soon, complements of an old relationship. My groundhog day isn’t all bad though. Some of the situations as backwards as they are with the people they involve, I like. I just know that one day I’m going to wake up and Groundhog Day is going to be over and hopefully my life and realizations are going to turn out just like Phil’s.

For Sale...

Mother fucking Beans. I almost want to stop there because that just summed up what I am about to write. She has to be the most annoying thing on the face of the planet. Even now as I type she is SLOWLY sneaking up onto my arm in her nonexistent stealth mode. It is obvious she has no idea how fat and oversized she is and that there will never be a time that she actually sneaks up onto anything.

Beans is not like most other cats; she is needy, loud and hates to be alone. She follows me around like a puppy, groans and growls when you rouse her from sleep and talks to herself more than what I considered normal. She keeps it no secret that she hates my mom, loves my sister Ali and just puts up with everyone else. I feel I am to blame for this behavior. She has always been given the coolest haircuts, the best clothes so why wouldn’t she act like a twat. I tried to rectify the situation but the damage has already been done. She will just continue to be intolerable but I think that is why we get along so well, we are just alike.

Occupied...

Wait, were you talking to me? I’m sorry I wasn’t listening. I have a lot on my mind lately and when I get like this I find myself “in my head” more often than I’d like. Thinking, questioning, playing out different scenarios, thinking, (shut up I can think more than once) and obviously putting entirely too much energy into any one situation going on around me. I spent the majority of last summer “in my head” and after taking a much needed break, I am not exactly happy to be back.

A large amount has to do with work. Not having enough time, expectations are high, can I get everything done. Once the season starts it transforms into: not having enough events, not kissing ass good enough and not getting things done to Bildo Baggins’ expectations.

The other part is trying to find time for myself. There is it, myself. Is there ever going to be enough time for me? How are things this summer going to go? Will I have more time off, any time off? What about my new relationship, how will it fair? I think the majority of my friends and family have accepted my fate of being M.I.A. during the warmer months. Maybe I should look into getting a new job? Is mine really that bad? Back in my head I go.

Ever since I was 16 I have worked at a golf course giving up most weekends and holidays. Sometimes I dream about a Mon-Fri, 9 to 5 and wonder if I would like it? I could get real vacation days (not just ones in the winter), sick days to use at my disposal AND weekends off. I wonder if that would be one of those: “the grass is always greener” things but maybe not. I should stop thinking so much about it and just let it happen rather than trying to figure out how it will all happen.

FAIL

I was going back through some old crap on my computer when I found a document I wrote a few years ago instructing the reader “How to live happily ever after with the girl of your dreams….. (That’s me)”. I laid it out in bullet form with 6 main headlines ranging from proper attention, bad moods to cleaning. It is actually quite humorous how much detail I went into about some of the things. After reading through it I realize that almost everything remains the same. I don’t ask for a lot and I never have. Below is a list of a few special bullet points that I plucked out to share, enjoy.

1. Give a kiss every morning before you leave and a kiss when you return home….
2. When you’re out without me text me. You could even lie and say you miss me or wish I was there too…
3. NEVER EVER WHIP OUT YOUR COCK AND THINK IT IS A TURN ON…it’s definitely not.
4. Sometimes an unexpected hug is the best way to make me feel special
5. Whatever you like that I do to you….do to me.
6. NEVER assume I’m on the same page as you about anything, the odds are I am not.

Hello? Hello?

The hatred I feel is overwhelming. I can’t think of the last time I wanted to destroy or toss something across the room more than I do now. Some days I hope to get by without the feeling creeping up on me but it never fails, it rears its ugly face and I can’t control myself. I toss my phone across the room, at the wall, and even into my car windshield on one special occasion. As soon as it “thumps out" (as I like to refer to it as) all I want to do is bash it’s face in. No, that call wasn’t important and I guess I really didn’t want to send that text message. Fuck you phone! You are the bain of my existence and I get excited each day to rip a link off of my paper chain to count down the days to my new phone.

On multiple occasions I truly wish my phone had feelings just so I could express how much dislike I have for it. People probably think I have lost my mind when they see me whispering angry comments at the screen because it wouldn’t let me do something. I am convinced it has a mind of its own and I can’t wait to teach it a lesson once I get a new phone and don’t have to put up with its shenanigans anymore (t-minus 24 days). I hope all other phones I own learn from the example I am going to make of this S.O.B.

ROAD BUMP

What happens when you hit a bump in the road that throws you and your passenger around? You saw it coming and knew in your heart that there wasn’t any way of avoiding it. You are honestly surprised that you have been able to avoid it for as long as you have. You walk away a little shaken up but basically unscathed, that’s when you look at the person with you and see the broken heart they are holding in their hands. They look at you, dead in the face and ask you why? Why did you hit that bump? What did they do to deserve it? You realize you have no reason to give, no answer that would be good enough. The only thing left for you to do is get back on the road until you meet someone else who wants to join you on the ride. You can only hope that the next bump you hit won’t leave anyone broken hearted.

Stuck in the middle

As I sit here between two strangers on what seems like a never ending flight I realize I have to urinate. With roughly fifty minutes left I am forced to question the strength of my bladder, can I hold it or should I go.

I take in my surroundings; on my right a man is reading and nonchalantly picking at the loose boogies in his nose, to my left a lady reads her Kindle. If I get up, I will disrupt the reading of my row partners. Ten more minutes go by and I realize that my urge has not increased or lessened with the time, a good sign.

Using the bathroom on flights is always a stressful thing for me. I do not know why but I hate doing it. No matter how many times I pee before I get on a plane I always feel like I still need to go. I know that if I do manage the courage to disrupt everyone and go that I will only push out the idea of having to pee but not the urine that should come with it. It is a relief to try but an overall waste.

After almost missing the connecting flight and with all Southwest flights with their policy of first come first serve seating, there were only middle seats left, which is why I am stationed between two strangers. I sat as close to the front of the plane as possible for a quick exit and find myself only three rows deep and you bet your ass I am keeping this in mind for the bladder issue. I bet I can get off this bitch in less than five minutes.

Legs are now crossed and there is still almost thirty minutes left. What to do, what to do. In the next fifteen minutes we are going to be told to put our tray tables back up and straighten out seats. Shit, they just said it, guess I've got to hold it. I hate this.

Life in the Fast Lane

I saw Dog the Bounty Hunter the other day; he was driving a green Eclipse and was about to get on 71N.  He went so slow through the intersection that I got stuck at the light; apparently he wasn’t out chasing any bond jumpers right then.  As he was turning I tried to point him out to my traveling partner Karl but she didn’t realize what I was saying in time. While waiting at the light, I was doing the math in my head;   I figured even with the time spent sitting there and him driving at snail’s pace, I could catch him and show Karl what I was talking about. 

Once the light turned green, my mission of searching for the green Eclipse began.  It took under ten minutes to spotted the car driving in the slow lane like it was Sunday, wait, it was Sunday.  Either way, I pointed him out to Karl and as we pulled up and began to pass we both saw a lady in her mid 40’s with long straggly hair.  Karl obnoxiously pointed out that, “that does NOT look like Dog the Bounty Hunter, and it isn’t even a guy for that matter!”    I laughed out loud and then thought about how more often than not, I say things just to amuse myself. 

I feel like Chunk from the Goonies when he claimed that Michael Jackson came over to his house to use the bathroom , then later admitted that is wasn’t true but still added that Michael’s  sister did.   Stories like that are fun to tell especially to gullible people like Karl.  

High Fucking Five

Whether you are celebrating a witty comeback, your favorite player just made a touchdown or for all I care you just won the lottery; I would prefer to be left out of the high five circle slap. First, I am not excited about whatever it is you are celebrating and second, even if I was excited about it, raising my arm in the air and slapping hands just doesn’t appeal to me.   I would totally prefer to fist pump at my side or do pelvic thrusts.  Please keep in mind none of which need a second person in this celebration.

 I despise hanging out, not realizing a game is on until out of nowhere someone I am sitting with starts passing out high fives like candy, get the fuck outta here, I wasn’t even watching that game.  I have been caught off guard and guilty of receiving a high five every now and again, usually it is in passing or I am trying to “fit in” with a new group and am just not ready to give a stare down towards someone new when they raise up that celebratory hand and not get one back.  I do have some stipulations that go along with the accepting and refusal of the notorious H5.  (which in my world it is now considered a virus) 

If I know you or do not like you the refusal is usually accompanied with a disgusted look as to why you would expect me to return this action.  However, if I am not familiar with you, I may conveniently turn away, experience a phantom phone call or just look around like I didn’t see the “wave” of the high five coming at me.  Begin able to avoid the H5 without confrontation or having to be open about my feelings is the most difficult.    

Now, I am not only avoiding high fives from people who don’t know I hate them, I am also avoiding them from the people who KNOW I hate them and think it’s funny to trick me into this unpleasant act.  Bitches.  

Gene Wilder

You can always tell when someone moved away or the last time they were home by what they refer to the townie bar as.   “Hey, I’m back in town, you wanna go hit up The Dog?  The Dog? It hasn’t been the dog for years”.   There is only one official bar where I live other than AMVETS, however you really can’t count that place because you need to have a membership to get in. My favorite part about the bar is that the people never change, the regulars rotate with every new name and the bartenders are all people you went to high school with.   

Over the years and throughout all the different owners the bar will always be a constant where I live.  It was the Brown Dog Sports Bar back when I was around 21 to 24, I didn’t hang out here a lot because I was still kicking it at my mom's crib.  The only thing I can tell you about that time was it was known for their award winning wings and the cute puppy dog boarder around the dining room.   Any place that can rock a puppy boarder is definitely a high class Sports Bar. 

After “the dog” we had Coaches, Coaches was my shit.  No need to order here, me and Gretchen, my partner in crime, would walk it and my 16oz pounder and her Michelob Ultra would be ready and waiting, always served lukewarm unless you were smart enough to order from the animal trough behind the bar with the popular beers iced down.   Kevin Bacon's stunt double, Clint Bryant and many other infamous individuals could be seen on any random night at Coaches. 

Coaches was also the place that brought out the klepto in me.  They had so many treasures that no one appreciated, I took it upon myself to steal and cherish these items.  Some of my alleged thievery consisted of and in no particular order were: a purple #12 pool ball, a lighted holiday sign, multiple martini glasses, a beer bucket with salt and pepper shakers, gene wilder (my best swipe to date), a music box thingy, small Christmas tree, Miller Lite beer mat, a large blow up display, and I am sure many, many other items.  The only thing that I truly wanted and never had the courage to take was the clock.  Could you imagine a bar without a clock?! It would have been classic. 

Now, the bar is called Kelly’s Place, I haven’t been there quite enough to form my skewed opinion,  I will say you have a 99% percent chance of seeing the owner  drunk and dancing behind the bar, Sexy, sexy.    I have a feeling Kelly’s Place may be around for a while so I have decided to keep my hands to myself and be on my best behavior when I choose to visit.  (for a while at least)