Eating shit with a swizzle stick.

An excellent return to the forum friends, my reset button in full effect.

Jobless, without car, no significant other, no home, no money.

Christ does it feel good to look around and imagine becoming whatever I can want to be.


I need to get drunk.

and I need to get laid.

My mind will regain its eloquence shortly. But for now, I need a stiff drink and someone to forget my name tomorrow morning.

The Rising Cost of Milk

I'm in the back of car that I had never been in.

Guy 1 "Gas is so cheap"

Guy 2 "Fuck gas, I'm talking about the rising cost of milk"

Guy 1 "Word, for sure"

Holy shit. They were right! The cost of milk has been steadily increasing right before my very eyes. It's getting out of hand. There will need to be a lottery soon, or something. Raffle tickets for a shot at some mother fucking milk. Jesus. To think our mothers were so optimistic as to warn of a 'free milk' utopia where it flows like water. Holy fuck, how much is water?

Guy 2 "I'm thinking that I'm just going to buy a fucking cow."

Jesus Christ. Is this happening? They mean ACTUAL milk. Does no one see how beautiful and relevant this is? How much milk are these dudes drinking?

I don't want to over explain and ruin the subtlety of the awesomeness that was this conversation. But I have an over explaining problem. You see, milk is sex. And cows are women. I guess. Look, I didn't invent this metaphor, alright? I'm not even talking about it now. It's these dudes. I'm as shocked as you are.

But I used to own a cow. Er... I wasn't married. I mean I had a girlfriend. Girlfriends are cows, I guess. We'll go with that. So, I had a cow. But I traded it in... er gave it back. I switched farms. Or I decided to grocery shop again. Really, I moved to France. But now I'm cow-less. And that seemed awesome for awhile. And now I don't know. Milk is getting awfully expensive.

It's really just about adjusting to a milk free lifestyle. I guess. I really should drink more water (fit that into the analogy!). I have not been able to stop thinking about this conversation ever since. When I see a milk truck on the highway, I contemplate stealing it. Like it was a money truck.

Italy on the banana river.

I've been racking up a body count these last few years;
windshields, ex-girlfriends, bathroom doors, "best friends", my god damn about my home town, etc etc.

Along with all of these (mostly)tangible things, a great many little details have begun to accumulate in the back of my mind.

The impossibly deep caverns of my mind.

All the details that separate the "truth" of what happened from the proverbial

"conjecture."

Who kissed who first, why I even had cocaine to begin with, who actually had the car keys. The parts of the night that allow for narrow escapes in arguments with friends and lovers. The damning proof that I was up to no-good. I hide it, often times, with no reason whatsoever.

Burying the treasure for others to find.

Leaving the house open for embellishment, social slanderers and their poorly dressed backbiting friends.

I remember riding with a beautiful young woman along a perfect stretch of road that runs parallel with one of the most resplendent rivers in town. She wanted to hear her favorite song again and again. All I can remember short of those small fragments is that all I wanted in the world was to kiss that girl. All the rest of the information is gone. Why we were in a car alone driving around listening to that song, I haven't the foggiest.

Because to me, that's the most important part, that I was in the car with her.

Not the part that I may have been dating someone else or that I may not have been. Even at the instance the details are lost on me because in those far expanses of emptiness between my ears I hear one thing.

It won't matter tomorrow.

Rock The Sports Bar

Chopping a half a gram line in the bathroom of what could be qualified as, "the true central Florida beach-side-sports-bar-experience" can be a thrill.

Drinking pitchers of beer with what could pass as one of the roaming gangs of bikers-cum-cannibals in a wasteland fashioned after some hot, leather-clad, Mel Gibson movie can be annoying.

Stepping outside to your own ambient body temperature being so much higher than the air around you, that you steam.

Wiping semen on your shorts moments before you step to the stage can vacate your performance anxiety, at least long enough to make it up there.

Minutes after you leave the bar, an epic battle erupts time and time again.

Every time I've ever seen the inside of that bar, some of the most amazing nights I've ever been apart of took place.

I never felt bad about fucking that girl in the bathroom, but for some terrible reason I could never bring myself to brag. The words always failed me. Which is to say...

I felt bad about fucking the girl in the bathroom.

She bought me shoes a couple shows later. Or it might have been the same night.

I can't remember to save my life, but when I finally came clean about it, she'd already taken the credit. Leaving me with shame, like a 2nd place trophy.

Damn it.

just something gross

I have a hard time remembering most of the stupid/mean/dangerous things that I have done that would be the type of thing that I think this blog should be about. Like, I've done shitty things but why exactly are they going on here. Matter of fact, why is this introductory paragraph here? Seems a little frivolous... Well I've got news for you mister, you are being a tad judgmental and maybe this is about me, k?

This one night I was at a party. Like most parties in my home town, there were at least 2 of my ex's there. One of these was very recent and the other was someone that I had dated for a long time. So they weren't just girls I had fucked, is what I mean. I get really awkward in situations like this. Maybe anxious is a better word. I just drink and drink and drink until I no longer have the ability to think about what I'm doing. Typically I get really loud and stupid.

At this party a girl that I had only met a few other times was showing a lot of interest in me. This is always ideal because I have a tendency to come off as... um, desperate (shocking!) when I am the pursuer. So good news, I guess. We snuck off to one of the bedrooms...

We were both far too drunk to attempt what we were attempting. Another poor choice was not finding the light switch. We spent minutes fumbling around with each other's clothes not being able to find the bed that we had assumed would be in here. Had to duck out and check the room across the hall. Good news (arguably), a bed. We fell onto the bed and then... something went horribly wrong. I tried to get my dick inside of her and something was in the way. ALARM!

"um, uh, um, should uh, we be doing this?"

"What? (genuinely shocked) Oh! uhhhhh yeah"

She reaches down between her legs and grabs something. I was cracking up from how subtle and smooth she was trying to be. She brought her hand back behind her head and threw 'something' in the process.

::shrug::

And in sometime under ten (five) minutes, I am pleasantly content to go the fuck home. I walk out and the party is still going. People are drunk and talking and all that stuff that parties have. A minute later 'girl' leaves the room to join the party too. But at a run for some reason unknown to me. When she got to the end of the hall, 'slip, bam, ohhhh'! You know that sound of a body smacking the tile? That 'thwap'? That's what everyone (everyone) heard. I was maybe a few feet away and some people were looking at me like I was the one expected to help her. Clearly not what I had thought I was agreeing to.

I left. A dear friend of mine said to me recently, "with great power comes great... walk the fuck home." And so I did. I made it about halfway before calling a friend to come get me.

Hours later I am trying to fall asleep and I'm getting texts from the owner of the house about a condom, a tampon and some ruined sheets. I apologize profusely. These things happen.

Maybe a year or so after this, I went on a trip with a lot of people and 'girl' happened to be one of them. We ended up becoming very good friends and I think that it is even better because of the ridiculous beginning.

edit* I'm still sorry to my friend's little brother (as in under 13) for ruining his sheets.

It's Always A Big Circle.

In 2004 I wasn't a very good boyfriend to any of the girls that year had in my favor.

In 2005 I was a bit of a distracted boyfriend.

In 2006 I was a lying and cunning boyfriend.

In 2007 I was a hopeful but unsatisfied boyfriend.

In 2008 I was all of these and more.

For all the life of me I can't bring myself to give a damn about what kind of boyfriend I am anymore.

For every time I've cheated I've felt that I've chalked a line on a score board for moments in time that I lived and got to taste something great.

Sometimes just one last time.

others, something that would never be on the menu.

the overwhelming guilt I had to stomach were more for the girlfriend and what she deserved, virtually nothing to be said about the fear that they might leave me.

other than the fact that since 2004, being alone has only been a painful inconvenience.


For every time I've broken up with someone because "I can see the end," I've felt that I've done my good deed for the day/month/year.

Dealing with the fact that "I messed up the one I really wanted" by not letting another one happen is hard I guess.



But not as hard as I get when I think about all the women I might meet one day.

once a cheater...

As I sit here contemplating my single-ness I can't help but think about all the girls I have cheated on (and the regret??? that goes along with it). And since this blog is supposed to cathartic, or something, I figured I would shed a little light on it. I don't know if talking about a particular time is more beneficial that just examining the perceived causes (mostly the need to have my existence constantly validated by members of the opposite sex).

Well fuck it. The very first time I cheated on a girlfriend was one of the best decisions of my life. It was the second girl I ever slept with and we were nearing the end of our ill-fated, two month long journey. In that, the nineteen hundred ninety-ninth year of our lord, I fell in love with my first serious girlfriend. She was amazing. We worked together. And most importantly, I never thought that she would go for me. She was clearly too smart and pretty to like someone like me. This was roughly my thought process while I continued to date... we'll call her Ingrid because I've never even known anyone with that name. I thought that staying with Ingrid was better than being alone. Much better than being alone while secretly lusting after someone clearly out of my league.

So it happened that eventually 'hotter girl' let on that she was, in fact, sort of into me. Or so her adorable note was supposed to have me believe. I was ever the skeptic though and had a sneaking suspicion that this was some sort of joke intended to test my commitment to Ingrid. Of which, I didn't have much. The afternoon that I received said note I had only gone into work to get something. Or more likely just to casually flirt with 'hotter girl'. I had plans for that evening with Ingrid. Once I got the note in my hand and read it I couldn't believe my luck. I had to escape. I couldn't look that ecstatic in front of 'hotter girl'. We exchanged a few meek sentences about it and immediately left for Ingrid's place. I think that I was expected to break up with Ingrid but then what if the note turned out to be a trick. So I did nothing. Just pretend everything is normal. Don't let them suspect anything.

The next day I was scheduled to work with 'hotter girl' and I couldn't wait. I told her that because of her interests I was now newly single (you see how I test them!) and perhaps also looking to mingle. More realistically, I told her that I had idolized her since she started working and that she was awesome, or something. We kissed! We discussed kissing in the future (which we did). We eventually started dating. This dating lasted for somewhere over two years and in hindsight its hard to count this type of cheating amongst the others.

But there it is, just the same. It took me a few days to muster up the courage to really break it off with Ingrid (something that did not go over smoothly). When I did, I never mentioned 'hotter girl' and it never really came up since she went to a different school. But Ingrid did take some time out of her busy schedule to physically fight me in the middle of lunch one afternoon. This helped to set the stage for my future difficulties breaking things off with girls I am involved with. I am worried that they will hit me... in front of people. It also helped to underscore why so many people in high school thought I was strange, in that, girls I dated would sometimes inact physical violence against me.