Checkup Time!

I'm drinking a bottle of green tea with honey. It's delicious, and low in calories. I'm looking at the bottle to my right, and I see this on the label:

BEST TASTE Drink by date on bottle.

So I spin this glass bottle around, looking for the magical Drink By date that will tell me when my drink has peaked and is optimal for consumption. I soon turn to small black letters printed on the side of the bottle. Among the random letters and numbers of a corporate system, there is a date, the hallowed date!

Feb 0606

All I have to do is put this bottle of sublime fluid in the fridge for another 5 1/2 months. Then, and ONLY then, will it be primed and ready. But I'm thirsty, and am left drinking a less than adequately aged drink, cut down before it's prime. Woe is The D. Woe is me.

I went to the doctor this morning to get a physical before I move at the end of the month. My insurance still covers me and I don't feel like taking a loan out for a doctor visit, so I said what the hell, and went. There are two words that can make a routine doctors appointment fun and interesting:

Med Student.

Oh yes, the med student. Fresh from classes and eager to experience the medical world, the med student is bright eyed and vibrant; unscathed and innocent in the world of medical practice. Quick to follow the rules, and be professional, he did my checkup.

He continues the series of routine exams (blood pressure, reflexes, etc.) with the ear exam. Taking out his lighted tool, he sticks it in my ear and examines stuff. (I'm not a doctor, so you get "stuff" for a description.) I proceed to ask him a question that has boggled my mind.

"Why do we have ear wax?"

A seemingly simple question baffled our dear med student. (First time I was at the doctor's office, there was a med student, and I asked him the same question. He didn't know either.) He actually stopped examining my ears and thought for a second, like it was a test or something.

"I really don't know."

Ahh the smell of humbled defeat.

After the routine examinations, he pulled out the sheet of questions, asking the normal things like family history, allergies, sexual preference, you know, the norm. Yes, they actually ask you your sexual preference, to which I said, "I like the ladies."

Just a warning here, there are a couple "sexual" questions coming up, although not too detailed. There's also a reference to testicles. Go away if you don't want to read that.

So during our question and answer period, he asked how I would rate my sexual something. I forgot exactly what it was, and I'm kicking myself for it, but it was an odd question that I didn't know how to answer. I looked at him weird, confused-like.

"Do you mean I should rate myself?"

He started thinking how to better explain the question.

"No, it's not that, it's asking for you to rate your sexual _____" he repeated.

"I still don't get it. I mean, it works, it works well, but what am I rating."

He begins thinking again.

"I'm not really sure," he admitted.

"Is it a scale from 1-10?" I don't know why I asked, it made no difference.

"Well, can you get an erection?" He asked me that, I didn't ask him, cause that would have been weird and pretty awkward.

"Oh yeah, sure. Easier than I want to actually."

He started laughing.

"Just give me a perfect 10, it's workin great." I said.

He then asked me if I had trouble holding my urine.

"No, but I don't often pee in my hand."

He put his head down and started laughing.

Ahh med students, they're so fun.

Then he tried to tell me how to check for testicular cancer. He holds up his hand as if to grab something mid air, and says:

"Well, you take your hand, and you feel one of your..."

He stopped and thought some more. I guess he was trying to find the right word.

"Balls?" I asked.

"Well, yeah, one of your testes, and..."

I didn't hear the rest of what he said cause I started laughing, cause I'm seven years old.

Weight, Worth, and a peanut.

Weight Update! I actually went under 200 a couple days ago. This morning: 198. My goal was to get below 200 lbs. by October 1st. I kind of beat that goal. It took just under 4 weeks to drop 17 pounds. And you know what? I look good dammit. I can see a pretty big difference and it's great to see and I've even had people notice too. So this just ads to my good mood. (I'll explain later)

More good news. I sang at my church Sunday, and it went off great. Couldn't hear a pin drop during the song, and I received several compliments from people and a few surprised looks when they found out I wrote it. So good stuff there.

I'm also quitting my job tomorrow. This is very. good. news.

On a slightly sadder note, I've had to say several goodbyes this week, and I still have several more. It hasn't been a fun week to say the least. This is also why I haven't really been blogging. I said goodbye to my choir directors and the reactions were pretty much unanimous. Even from individuals, they were very sad to hear of my upcoming departure. One woman in my choir even offered an empty room in her house that I could live in for free if I would stay. It was very flattering that someone would offer me that just to stay in the area.

I still have to say goodbye the the choirs themselves, three of them to be exact. These goodbyes are not something I'm looking forward to. It's about 60 or so people in all between the three. When I first moved here 3 years ago, I told myself I wouldn't set any roots because I knew I wouldn't be staying. Roots or no roots, it's going to be very difficult to leave this area because of these relationships I've formed. Without these friendships, my goodbye would be much easier, but what I am saying goodbye to would be empty; wasted.

A man's worth can be measured by the sadness when he leaves. (I made that up, so don't steal it) If that's the case, there have been and will be several times when I wish I was worthless.

I mentioned that there's several good things that are just adding to my already good mood. Know why? Cause I gotta peanut. ;-)

A portrait of a piece of me.

For most of the day, I wasn't planning on writing anything, because I just have so much on my mind and there's some of it that I can't really write here anyway. I was going to leave you to my gum story and then come back tomorrow with something else. Today has been a surreal day, one of confusion, slight betrayal, and extreme seclusion. I'm not going to get into any details, I'm just going to be really vague. If these feelings were all internal because of myself, I would be ok with explaining them and their reasons. They are not, and so I can't.

My feelings of betrayal have only come in the past half an hour. They may not even be feelings of betrayal, but that's the best way I know how to describe them right now. I feel like a certain person doesn't really value me anymore, and it makes me question my value from before. I had value as long as I was in contact, but if I ever stopped contacting this person, I go out the window. It feels as if I wasn't good enough to contact in the first place. I feel taken advantage of, with the time, care and concern I gave this person. In a way I'm not all that surprised. Part of me feared that what happened has indeed happened, and most of me knew that it would probably go this way. Doesn't mean it hurts less. Doesn't mean I deserved it. I guess it just doesn't really mean much anymore anyway. I'm too focused on helping people out, being someone that pulls them up when they are down; being that person they lean on to make it through a trial or hard time. Who then do I lean upon in my time of desperation?

In a way, I have pigeon holed myself into a certain role and through my strength, mentioned just a second ago (helping people and being there for them to lean on), have painted a somewhat unfamiliar portrait of a person that isn't always me. I never have asked for shelter during stormy times; never a rest from tribulations. Even in my hardest of times I have had people come to me crying, wanting to just get through whatever it is they are going through, and I set my needs aside to care for them. I now have painted a picture of a man who is strong, strong willed, unwavering in hardships, and caring beyond any selfishness. It is not a fair picture, for me or for anyone else. It is true, I would put aside my cares to help someone out at the drop of a tear. I have never gotten the hang of this selfish thing, and unfortunately it has been taken advantage of at times, and has left me with endless self exploration.

Unfortunately I can't keep that image up at all times, it's impossible with my life and who I am. I do break down. I do cry sometimes. I do wonder what the hell I'm doing and why I even need to be alive. I've tumbled down valleys that sunlight didn't dare tread in. I've climbed high enough to sip from the nectar of heaven, and I've experienced everything inbetween. And because I do not share some of these things, and do not ask for help, or a shoulder to lean on, many people who know me have only a picture of a man that is in me; but is not my whole make up.

My seclusion comes from this, because I am the only one who truly knows myself. No matter how close other people get to me, it would take them years to know me like I know myself. I would never make the mistake of calling myself simple, or common, or easy to understand. I would never make the mistake of calling myself perfect, or anywhere near that threshold. Just like my song said:

Try and try again,
though perfection's out of reach.

------------------

But there are many times,
I tried to push from mind.
Too many wrongs to right,
within a sinned and tattered life.


Perhaps I would look better from the outside than I do from here. What am I thinking. I like being me, and I like who I am. Mistakes have helped bring me to where I am now, and helped me become who I am; without them I would be incomplete, just like that portrait of a piece of me.

Cinnamon Trident Gum

This post was inspired yesterday by someone mentioning Trident gum, and whenever I hear about Trident gum, I am reminded of my aversion to Cinnamon gum or breath mints. Come with me as I tell a story of horror, torture, and salivation.

I wasn't much older than nine years old that day. Upon getting dropped off by the school bus, I made my trek down our long, windy, rough driveway, avoiding the murky pot holes. As I rounded the last corner, I smiled, looking up on the hill to see my little fort I put up over the summer. My mother's red truck was parked in the driveway. Good, I didn't like spending too much time alone. I walked towards the right side of the garage, down the makeshift stone walkway, and into the side door of the garage.

"Hi mom!" I looked down the cement stairs to the basement to see my dear mother kneeling at the bottom, frantically doing something. I stood at the top of the stairs, trying to figure out what she was doing as she looked up at me with a worried look on her face.

"What are you doing?" I innocently asked.

"We have a really bad leak in the stair here."

For story purposes, let me explain. Our house was very close to wetlands, and after heavy rains, our basement would often floor with anywhere from an inch to a foot of water. It had just rained the night before.

I dropped my backpack down on the floor of the always cluttered garage, and bounded down the stairs to give my expert, nine year old opinion. Reaching the bottom step, I saw my mother with her finger in a hole in the front of the bottom step. She pulled her finger out momentarily and I watched the water flow out like blood from an artery. She put her finger back in to stop it for the time being.

"Wow, that's pretty bad," I opined.

"Yes, I know that, we need to plug it up with something."

My mother was getting more and more frantic with each passing moment. I knew that as the man of the house at that moment, I had to think fast, and act even faster. My mind raced to the answer line, but unfortunately got lost in the pit area.

"I have an idea," I declared.

I ran back up the stairs and into the kitchen door. Once in the kitchen, I opened up the pantry. They were looking straight at me. I grabbed the box and flew back into the garage where I grabbed two packs and ripped them open.

"What are you doing?" my sweet mother yelled up.

"Hang on a minute!" I responded.

After opening the two packs, I unwrapped each piece and put it in my mouth, one at a time, until I had two entire packs of Trident Cinnamon gum in my mouth. That's a lot of gum. Once I got it going and into proper form, I calmly strolled back down the stairs to my confused mother. She saw the look of confidence on my face; she knew everything would be alright. Well, until I answered her next question.

"What are you doing?"

Drool started overflowing and running down my chin as I managed to get out a couple muffled noises, explaining exactly what my plan was.

"Is that gum?!" she asked.

I nodded proudly. She stared at me for a few seconds, trying to figure out if this was crazy, or creative.

"Well, let's give it a shot."

I knelt down next to her and took the huge wad of cinnamon gum out of my mouth, holding it near the finger plugged hole, ready to save the day. My mother pulled her finger out again and I shoved the gum into the hole in the steps, pressing it in to stop the flow of water. We waited a few seconds to see if it worked.

"Well, what do you know, it worked," I declared. Only a few drops of water squeezed through the impenetrable seal of Trident gum. We both heard a car door close as my surprised mother admired our handy work.

My father opened up the door to the garage and started up the two steps to the kitchen door. He saw us both down at the bottom of the stairs to the basement.

"What are you guys doing down there?"

"Well," my mother answered, "we had a really bad leak in the stair here, but we fixed it."

My father seemed satisfied with the answer. It was fixed, done, complete. He put his hand on the door knob and twisted it to open up the door. Then he stopped.

"With what?" he called down.

Puffing out my chest, "Gum!" I said. Gum.

That's when he stared at me, much like my mother had earlier. He tried not to laugh, but that didn't work out so well.

"You should have just used contact cement, we have some down there," he explained. Then he twisted the knob and stepped into the kitchen.

My mother stood up and marched upstairs, leaving me to admire my cinnamon plug. However proud I was of my accomplishment, I couldn't get that horridly strong taste of cinnamon out of my mouth.

From then on, I have not been able to have cinnamon gum or breath mints. I can't even smell a cinnamon flavored candle, that's how much I have been traumatized.

That's your story for the day. If I have brought you to tears (of sadness), and you feel bad for my harrowing ordeal, please send donations. Any type of money will be acceptable.

Any type of cinnamon gum will be burned though.

My own writing, Part 2

I kept promising that I would post more of my own writing and then kept adding entries about other things happening, but here we are. This is the second installment of my own writing, this was the first installment.

Background: This is the song I recently wrote and will be singing at my church on Sunday. Obviously I can only post the lyrics, and though I like the lyrics, it's impossible to get the full effect without the music. I wrote the lyrics in about 15 minutes on the couch in my living room, and the music in about 5 days. Maybe I'll be able to get a recording up here some time. Anyway, here you go.

You Loved Me Anyway

Try and try again,
though perfection's out of reach,
and my soul is running out
of paths to take.
But time and time again,
though I tried to run away,
you looked at me,
and you loved me anyway.

From years and years of asking,
and searching for the truth,
my weary heart just falls
upon its face.
Nothing I could give,
would make up for my sins,
but please Lord will you
love me for today?

His arms now open wide,
his heart upon my life,
leaves imprints of a mercy
day by day.

But there are many times,
I tried to push from mind.
Too many wrongs to right,
within a sinned and tattered life.
I am not worthy of your love.
I'm just not worthy of your love.

But you saw what's on my heart,
and you knew me from the start.
Still you took me in your arms,
and you loved me anyway.


Reader Survey!!!

1. What do you think about the song?

2. What's your favorite breath mint?

3. What was the last movie you saw? And did you like it?

3a. If you didn't like it, what type of movie would you want to see?

4. What type of shampoo do you use?

5. Ask me a question!!! Anything!

Have a great day and pleasant reading. :-)

Alfie

First off, some news in the land of The D. I did my "audition" for the music committee at church yesterday, and felt dirty the whole time. I didn't like it, didn't appreciate it, and didn't like any of them sitting their judging my work or my voice considering they don't know anything about me or my musical background. I don't have a musical background actually, but they didn't know that as proven by the conversation that started after I sang the song I wrote.

Annoying Man: Well, wow, that was great. I really liked that, good song Darrell. (Yes, my name is Darrell, I'll finally use my name on this blog. Don't expect it to be a tradition.)

Annoying Woman: *Nods in agreement* That was very nice. Do you play the piano?

I should mention here that it was a piano only arrangement, so I wrote the piano part for the song as well as the vocal. This annoying woman is a very good piano player. Back to the convo

The D: No, I don't play piano. I know which keys are which letters, but other than that, I can't play a lick.

Annoying Woman looks surprised.

Annoying Man: So did you use another instrument to compose this? Did you play the guitar to figure out the arrangement? *plays an air acoustic guitar*

The D: Nope, I don't really play guitar.

Both look surprised.

Annoying woman: So how did you write this song?

I then explained how I write my songs by writing the vocal after I think of a tune, and then listen to it a lot and listen to the piano in my head and write it down. C'mon now, it's easy. They were surprised and no doubt impressed by The D. Just so you know, I passed their "test" and so I will sing next week.

Move on to the movie review!
A while ago I included a review of The Wedding Crashers in an entry I wrote, and a nice person left a comment saying that they would be interested to see what I thought of the movie "Alfie", starring Jude Law and Sienna Miller, and the always radiant and beautiful Marisa Tomei. In essence, it's about a womanizer who goes through a few girlfriends, and eventually has an epiphany at the end. That's about it, seriously, that's the plot. Here's the review:

This movie sucked. If the movie didn't piss me off so much, I would just leave my review at that, but I hated this movie, and wrote notes on paper during it so I wouldn't forget certain thoughts and things. Jude Law does a good job playing a jack ass in the movie, and I find it very ironic that he just admitting sleeping with his kids' nanny even though he's engaged to the gorgeous Sienna Miller (whom he met during this movie). C'mon people, THAT is irony.

He does however appreciate the female form, as do I, so good for him. Unfortunately, he appreciates it for the wrong reason, for an overwhelmingly selfish reason. As I've said before, selfishness is the root of distrust. And speaking of selfishness, with this unfortunate act comes hurt, maybe not right away, but it will come. Unfortunately, it usually hurts the person who trusted rather than the one who broke said trust. The one being selfish doesn't learn a lesson because they're not the one getting hurt, and because they're too self absorbed to realize what happened anyway. This is our dear Alfie in a nutshell, where he should stay.

Oh, and note to the writers of the movie: Domestified is not a real word. Seriously, it's domesticated, not domestified.

So after he hurts his serious girlfriend by cheating on her, he apparantly has a change of heart and is going to change his life. In the next scene, where he's talking about his need for change, he's drinking a reddish, thick drink. He tells us it's carrot juice with some other healthy crap in it. This is the extent of his change, a health drink. He still cheats on his girlfriends (later on), he sleeps with his best friends ex girlfriend like a couple days after they break up. Quality guy right here.

Everyone has something good about them; he has a scooter.

Later on, after he's screwed over a couple more people, he decides he wants to get serious with the older woman he was cheating with. So he gets her a small bouquet of flowers, and goes to her lavish apartment. She's happy to see him, and he says that he wants to spend the weekend with her out in the country or something, and he tells her that he has something he wants to talk to her about (being the "I want to date you so I can cheat on you later" talk). She says great, and then he wants to stay over, but she says it's not a good idea. Then he becomes suspicious, and looks into the bathroom (she has a bathroom robe on) and there's a guy in there. He freaks out and starts demanding answers from her and keeps asking "What does he have that is better than me? What does he have that I don't have?" After yelling this question several times, she finally answers him:

"He's younger."

Ha, best part in the movie. She's doing this guy cause he's younger. It's like saying, "Well, he had nicer cufflinks than you, so I'm gonna go with him now." I loved that part. My thing is this though. Why did he get all indignant on her? What right does he have to berate her and question her while this (cheating) has been his m.o. the entire time? And they weren't even officially together yet! What a jack ass.

Finally, at the end of the movie, he has his movie ending epiphany. He says something stupid like he realizes that he has it all except for peace of mind.

Scuse me? He seemed to have relative peace of mind when he repeatedly cheated on everyone and pretended that everything was hunky dory all the time. He apparantly had peace of mind while having sex with his best friend's love. But now all of a sudden he doesn't? No, doesn't work like that. He has no conscience if he had peace of mind during all those cheating times, because of his lack of remorse or regret. If he has no conscience, then how can he have peace of mind now?

Overall, this movie sucked, I told you that already. It made me mad and I asked numerous times for the movie Gods to intervene and hit him with a bus. Imagine if the main character was a girl doing all of this? No way would that have been made into a movie. Absolutely pathetic. Now I'm all riled up.

I leave you with this. The theme song in the movie is "Old habits die hard" by Mick Jagger and Sheryl Crow, but re-arranged into a string arrangement for violins and cellos and such. Weird. And they are right, old habits do die hard; but so do old horny men. (Hopefully Alfie too. By a bus. Going fast.)

Effigy

Oh boy. Let me start by saying this is a two part blog in which I, The D, will set the scene for you, and Matthew, I'll give you a link later, will explain what happened.

So last night, Saturday night, Matt and I decide that we're going to clean the kitchen at around 10:30 at night. I start scrubbing down the countertops while he cleans the table and vacuums the floor. Naturally, we start talking about certain things, mainly the annoying faucet that is still broken, and our other roommate's fiance. I won't get into why I don't like her because it makes no difference to the story, just understand that neither of us like her very much if at all.

So, clearing off a few things on the couch in the living room, we happen upon her one piece bathing suit which has been sitting on the couch (after being washed) for about a month now. We don't really care that it is there, because we don't even sit on that part of the couch and it really doesn't bother us at all. However, being funny people that we are, we thought it would be a good idea to hang her bathing suit on a wooden beam in the kitchen, just for the heck of it.

I ask Matt if he has any rope, and he goes out to his car and returns with the rope from his trunk. I stand up on a nearby chair, throw the rope over the beam, well, place the rope, the beam isn't that high. I take the rope and bring it under the two shoulder loops on the suit, and then tie it off so it's hanging nicely in the kitchen. Along with this purple swimsuit is a black sweater which has also been on the couch for a while, and also not bothering us at all. I decide further, that it would be funny to put said black sweater into the bathing suit to fill it out a bit, make it look funnier. At that point, it kind of looked like a turkey in a bathing suit. Being the creative person that I am, I get several plastic bags, ball them up and use them as stuffing for the suit, adding as a final touch, the cherry on top: two tennis balls. I don't have to explain to you what those were for. Balance, yes, they were used for balance. *looks away quickly*

Now, let me also say that we had asked them to move these two items of clothing a few times and had not received any cooperation at all. Let me also say again that this was meant as just a joke and we didn't actually give a crap that the clothes were there, we just happened to be cleaning.

So here we are, around midnight, with a swimsuit hanging down from the beam, looking like a turkey with ample tennis ball sized breasts, waiting to be discovered. It was almost like the New World, but on a smaller scale of course. I, being a good christian who loves God, went to church in the morning while my heathen roommate Matt was sleeping in. Apparantly they came home this morning, and found the hanging turkey in a swimsuit. Matt can tell you the rest. :-) Believe me, it's good.

Go read part II.

By the way, I will be back tomorrow with my movie review of "Alfie", which was suggested to me after I reviewed The Wedding Crashers, and hated it, as well as jack ass men. Ok bye!

Missing the purpose

I'm going to move on from the topic of girls, dating and that sort of thing. I, however, don't have much on my mind right now to write about. Lately, my time has been taken up by writing a song for my church which I am to "perform" on the 28th, a little over a week away. Just to give you a background, I am singing this song at my church for both services. I have done many solos at my church before, and have never had a problem with them or bad responses from anyone. I have done my own song before and I continue to do it at other churches with a men's group that I sing in, and have gotten incredible responses from that. There's your quick background.

Before I sing this song though, I have to "audition" for the *new* music committee, that ousted the former music coordinator in a rather clandestine way. This new committee is headed up by someone that I don't know very well, but has gone to the church for a long time apparantly. I was approached by him a few months ago about doing a solo, and about a month ago, was told that I would need to audition for him in order to sing a solo.

Excuse me? Audition?

Several e-mails were exchanged between us one certain day (cause I don't really work while I'm at work) in which I expressed my extreme displeasure about having to audition for a church solo when I had done so many before. His response was that he had never personally heard me sing a solo, and needed to hear how I sound before he will let me sing a solo for church. I guess he didn't go to church as much as I thought he did. Immediately, my ego got up, snapped its fingers, and said "Heeeeeeeeeell no." I admit it, my ego was bothered by the notion that I was to audition to make sure I was good enough to sing in front of the church. But this wasn't all.

There are two other delightful souls on this new committee. One of these people has heard me sing at least one solo, and has complimented me on it afterwards. The other of these people is IN MY CHOIR, (yes it's my choir, the world is next) and not only has she heard me sing in the choir, but I've done duets and trios and quartets with her. WITH HER. Besides the fact that she's heard nearly every solo I've done. These people can't vouch for me? If it truly is a committee, then every member of said committee would have an equal voice, and if two of them have heard me sing, then it should be plenty for the committee. *getting aggravated*

My last qualm with this whole situation is simple, and maybe the biggest problem I have. In my humble opinion, the auditions and certain other things that are going on behind the scenes (I have spies, seriously) make this a performance at the church, and not a song. Certain people, and this comes from more than two sources, have been excluded from doing special music for the church simply because the pastor or this committee guy didn't like how they sang or played, regardless of where their heart was and what the congregation got out of it. Certain songs are not allowed, like Battle Hymn of the Republic, because of words deemed offensive. (Such phrase is something about God trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored)

Such actions show me that these people in position are completely missing the purpose of worship and praise. First rule in worship and praise: It's not solely meant to please you or I. That is the number one rule to me, and it's already being trampled on. With so much focus on how the person sings and going over the words and music with a fine tooth comb, I would rather have to answer some questions about why I want to sing a solo for the church. In this situation, I feel as though someone's heart and the intentions therein are far more important than how well you can sing.

How sad it is when the heart of man impedes the soul of praise.

To thine own self be true

This post was actually scheduled for last weekend, oops. The title, "To thine own self be true" is from our dear friend Shakespeare. Will and I are tight. About a week ago, I wrote an entry about jerk guys and how girls seem to go for the asses of the world. Afterwards, I spoke to a certain delightful friend of mine who happens to be a girl, and shared my theories on why girls do indeed go for the jerks. She read them, agreed with them, and even added some insightful things. Thanks again peanut. You numba one!

So now I am faced with an interesting issue. I am me, and I like who I am, flaws and quirks included. But I don't always project the image that girls will find attractive; I am not always suited for attracting women. (I say women just as a general sense, not a particular type) Being an introspective person, I know this, and most times I am ok with this because I like who I am. But what about those times when loneliness creeps in and I become apathetic to who I am, and desire to be someone who attracts girls. And how much of a personal life and dating life can I sacrifice in order to remain true to myself?

I also wrote a different entry a while ago in which I talked about becoming who you wanted to be. "Be who you would be; then do what you must do." Making decisions based on the image of a person you want to become, and then eventually molding yourself into that person. However, there is a thin line between becoming who you want to be, and becoming who others will want. Perhaps it is even more dangerous for me since I know myself in and out, and I know what is unattractive at times, and what I could do to be more attractive. Could I trick myself into changing for other people while at the same time convincing my heart that it's good for me? I would normally say no, that I am strong enough to be who I want to be without too much regard for other people's opinions or preferences. I would normally so no.

Being an introspective person, and always looking to make myself better and looking on the inside for answers, perhaps I've skipped over the most simple solution for this whole thing. I keep mentioning that it's hard to be who I am, especially when I know that the opposite sex often looks for certain qualities that I don't desire to have or that run contrary to my nature. I keep focusing on myself, when in reality, I might just be looking at the wrong girls. If certain girls are just naturally attracted to jerks, then why would I want to attract their attention? I have always been someone eager to please and one who goes overboard in making other people happy, and because of that am too quick to change my habits or something with me to accommodate the other person. That's what is really hurting me here.

I am quick to say there are things about me that many girls would find unpleasing (among many pleasing attributes. I'm not bashing myself here) But in reality, I'm not most guys, and so it would make sense that I shouldn't be looking for "most girls". Yes, I may not be exactly what girls are looking for, the tough strong never cry man who makes them feel wanted if I treat them like meat, but that's not the type of girl I want to be with anyway.

So what does it all come down to? I shouldn't change myself to suit someone else. If I do want to change myself, and do so, then it should be for my own good and for my own development and success, not for someone else. In reality, I am the one that lives with myself every second of every day. (cliche alert!!) If I'm not happy with myself, then no one else will be either, and then everyone will be miserable. I need to find someone who is suited for me as they are, and I them. I need to find someone who is writing an entry similar to this one I finish right here. Hmm, I'm off to read some blogs. ;-)

My own worst enemy

I had so many plans for this past weekend. I had my blogs laid out until Sunday with what I wanted to write and such. I had a song that I was already working on that I was planning on nearly finishing, if not completely, by Sunday. I'm supposed to sing it at my church two weeks from yesterday.

I woke up today, with no new blogs, and a song that has the introduction complete. *sigh* My heart isn't into anything right now and I'm desperately trying to figure out why and where it went. I say that I'm my own worst enemy because often times I am, and the pressure I put on myself is excessive and destructive at times. I demand the best of myself, and too often, I don't have the energy to give my best, and then I wake up on Monday with nothing finished.

When I sing that song a couple weeks from now, I want the music and words to touch people's hearts and souls in an even semi-profound way. That's why I write anyway. I try to make a difference in someone's life, or make troubles they are going through feel easier to bear. Anything less to me is a failure. Yes I would be happy if I enjoyed the song, and that's good as well, but if it's purpose was left unfulfilled, then to me it's a failure.

I try my best to write eloquently, thoughtfully (most of the time), and try to get all of you to think more, whether it's just about what I've written that day or whether it's about something in your own life you can relate it to. The purpose of this blog was to have people pose questions and ponderings, and then explore routes to a possible answer. My purpose wasn't to give you an answer, just to look for one with you. That's what I wanted from this blog, I wanted it to be able to affect people.

Why do I put so much pressure on myself? And why is it that I don't try hard at work at all, but pile on expectations with my own projects? That's easy, just spend a day with my boss and you'll understand. But these expectations and their lofty goals sometimes look too high to grasp, and I don't take failure well. Do I only go for the best? Do I not try on things that I don't have a good chance at being best in? If I know I can't win or be the best, do I even bother? Scary to think it might have some truth to it.

My competitive and perfectionist nature often pushes me to be better and drives that ambition in me. It did for years with sports in highschool and certain classes. It did in a few of my jobs, and it reared its ugly head within my writing. But with my writing, why would I ever put out a piece that I think I can do better on? How is that fair to everyone hearing/reading it if it's not my best work; not the best I can do.

Well what if I just don't keep these lofty expectations of myself? What if I ease the grip of the pressure on me? Nope. If I dropped my expectations to anything below what they are now, then I know it's not my best and I'm settling right out of the gate. I know what I am capable of, I know what I can do; sometimes though, my heart is too tired to prove it.

A proud salute

To every service person fighting for this great country, God bless you and may you stay safe.

That line sums up the gist of my blog. No, don't stop reading, cause I'll say a lot more, but I want to express my extreme pride in our armed forces my admiration for what they do. Seemingly day after day, I read about another handful of Marines killed by some car bomb, or some "suicide" bomb, or who knows what else. And each day, they steadfastly continue to do their duty and follow out the orders given to them.

I was originally planning on putting up some of my writing, but I'm putting that off until Saturday. This was just something I wanted to write, had to write amidst another several days of unfortunate death. Recently, I came across a blog, The Replacements, and it's a Lt. in Iraq writing about being on the front line. His descriptions literally pick you up and place you right in the middle of the drama and tension. His leadership and integrity keeps you pinned to the screen, and glad to have him in charge. Seriously, go read it, leave comments of encouragement. Perhaps even more incredible is that his mother leaves comments on the blog quite frequently, and I can't possibly imagine how difficult it is for her to read some of these stories about her son being in danger.

These are the people that make up the strong fabric of this country. (By the way, I might get political. I don't like getting political because it's such a hot button for so many people, and most people don't argue or debate with logic, most do it with emotion which renders their arguments irrational at times. But oh well, I can't help it.) This man, his courage, bravery, dedication, and pride for his men and his country, make up the backbone of this nation, literally. They are the ones who don't flinch, the ones who put their foot down and protect us, who understand that this nation was built upon the fallen masses of our forces who fought for our freedom.

My father is another man I speak and think highly of and admire him for his duty to our country. In one of my previous blogs, I wrote about his service, and I will mention it again. He was in Vietnam for a few years of his life, right smack in the middle of combat and action. He worked with the green beret's, was a tunnel rat and actually survived it. (Tunnel rats were the ones to go into unknown tunnels with a flashlight and handgun to see what's in the tunnels. Several times, there were Viet Cong in the tunnels, waiting to kill you. Not a safe or fun job) I admire him for his service, I thank him for his service and will never forget what he sacrificed for this land.

As far as I'm concerned, they should receive the highest praise and acclaim from us all. Screw the politicians who sit in safety in their offices getting PAID to be off during the summer. These "public servants" who bloat the budget with pork barrel items that take much needed money away from our most important issue: Protecting ourselves, and protecting the ones who fight on our behalf. In essence, that's what they are doing. Every serviceman and woman out there is fighting for me, is fighting for you reading this right now.

Don't you dare disparage them because of your aversion to fighting. Don't you dare look down at them like killers with no emotion. Don't you dare let any Veteran's Day or Memorial Day go by without saying thank you to every single freaking one of them. Don't forget that it is the armed forces that have provided you the freedom the go on the internet and look at whatever you want; the freedom to disagree with policies and decisions; the freedom to make your voice heard; the freedom to practice whatever religion you choose. You want to disagree with Bush and get mad at his decisions? Go ahead. (I like Bush and I would still vote for him over Kerry, even though he's taking 5 WEEKS OFF during this tense time. Dear Lord man, you can't take 5 weeks off right now, that's ludicrous.)

I tried to stay away from politics as best as I could. I don't like democrats for the most part, I don't like the fact that they attribute Bush's win to all the "rednecks" that vote for him. I am not a redneck, I am not dumb, and I'm smarter than 99% of you. I don't like how I'm looked at as stupid for voting for Bush. This mostly happens because I live in Massachusetts, where the liberals and their dresses are everywhere. (So much for not getting political) *sigh* Sometimes I get discouraged with where this country is going, and how incredibley and disgustingly politically incorrect it's becoming. Then I read that man's blog, and I think of my father, and I realize that there are still good people out there.

God bless our troops and their families.

Some fun interaction

I've seen this on other blogs, so I'm stealing it. Also because Aldo mentioned that 10 years ago, we were just going into highschool. That was really weird, so I'm visiting the past real quick. At the end, hold your britches everyone, I'm going to have a reader survey, so answer it! (It's short, and you get to ask me a question too!) So don't just read it, answer it! This site is brought to you by the good people who leave comments. :-)

10 years ago: I was just about to go to highschool. I was 13 years old and had acne. I was going from a class of 12 to a class of 150 or so. That was also the first time I had seen my brother in several years, and i wouldn't see him again for a long time.

5 years ago: I was actually in California 5 years ago. I had moved out to california on July 22nd, 2000. So I was fresh into Cali at that point. HA! Little did I know what I was really in for. I think that would make an interesting series of posts. Hmm...

1 year ago: I was sitting at my desk not doing work just like I'm doing right now. Thinking back on it, I should have quit this job a while ago, but I'm still here. It's going to happen soon.

Yesterday: I went to work, and then went to dinner with my bell choir director. She's a delightfully nice woman. We went to Bertucci's. Then I came home and within about 20 seconds, literally, I had 5 im windows on AIM. I went to bed early without posting anything on the blog, much to the dismay of my early morning bored at work readers.

Today: I woke up and weighed myself. 204 lbs sucka! I'm the man. I was 2 minutes late to work, so my boss gave me the silent treatment. Then I took two phone calls where the people were mad at him cause he didn't call them back and it's like the fourth time they've called. I'm also going to quit in a couple of weeks, but I'm not sure what I should get into. I want a job where I'm around people, that's really it. I've been thinking about going back to waiting tables. What do you think?

Tomorrow: Tomorrow is Thursday. Other than work, it's wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide open baby.


Reader Survey!!!

1. If a homeless man came up to you and asked to use your cell phone, would you let him?

2. What was the worst date you've ever had?

3. What was the last compliment you received? And who was it from?

4. What kind of car do you drive? How many miles?

5. Ask me something, anything. I'll answer them in the comments.

Enjoy!! Tomorrow will be another installment of me posting my own writing up here. Come back and review it!

Wanted: Rabid Beavers.

It's nearly 1:45 in the morning right now. If I don't get this out, I'm going to be thinking about it for a while and end up falling asleep somewhere around 3:30 am.

I'm very bitter right now and hate most guys. No offense.

On Saturday, I went to the gym with my roommate. I did my workout, then ran for 25 minutes, and then got ready to go, finding my roommate conversing with a guy on the other side of the gym. I walk up to them, say hi, and Matt introduces me, but I know the kid. I didn't know him, I knew who he was. I had done a kitchen for his parents and met him a few times throughout the process. I thought he was a nice guy, pretty normal, decent human being.

Then he started talking.

He wound up talking about steroids, and how he won't use them cause it does stuff to you, but a lot of his friends are doing them. He mentioned how it can harm your genital region. (not in those words obviously) He then went on to describe one such event in the most eloquent and thoughtful of ways. (Warning: Unsavory language ahead):

"So my friend was bangin this brod (broad? I don't know this) and you know, he's going at it, and he just goes limp instead of spraying his load."

Brilliant. At this point, I have no respect for this man not only because he revels in stories like this (He used that "bangin a brod" phrase many more times than 1) but also because he refers to women as "brods". Someone really needs to get me that right spelling.

He also enlightened me with this gem:

"So I was at a club down in Boston, and it was like, crazy, there were all these people dancin. I saw this hot chick and I came up behind her and smacked her ass. Girls love it when you smack em on the ass."

The emphatic hand motions made me hate him even more. And this buffoon of a man will get the girls. I've talked about this with my roommate, how it seems that girls go for the jack asses of the world, and then complain about them to the nice guys. I'm not saying all girls are like this; there are some lesbians. (Haha, that one was for me.) I've just heard too many "jack ass" stories to fool myself into thinking it doesn't really happen like that. This oaf, this "man" who deserves to have his nuts chewed off by a rabid beaver, is the perfect example.

I'm trying to keep this short, but bear with me here. I also saw the movie "Wedding Crashers" tonight. What a funny, funny movie. There are some scenes that really do make you laugh out loud. Not the laugh out loud (LOL) that gets OVERUSED on the internet, when someone clearly is not laughing out loud. I refuse to type LOL, the man won't break me.

Aside from it's hilarity, this movie pissed me off royally. 2 guys crash weddings in order to meet girls and have one night stands with them. Super. The disgraceful actions of these two boys are masked by humor and passed off as acceptable with a disgusting happy ending. Stupid hollywood happy endings, damn you!

So after there's a montage (a series of shots) of them sleeping with numerous girls (including the obligatory boob shots), they end up going to this huge wedding where someone really important is getting married. One of them falls in love with a girl, and she's got a boyfriend. Make a long story short, it's supah (Boston accent) cliche.

Girl is dating jerk boy who treats her like dirt, yet she stays with him. (Overused and unfortunately oft true stereotype.) Wedding crasher boy, faking an identity the whole time, falls for her, and she him. In the end, she dumps her jack ass boyfriend of 3 1/2 years after he orders her around like a servent, and she ends up with wedding crasher boy and it's a super happy ending. Perhaps I'm just a stickler and I'm ruining the movie with my issues, but I have issues with it! Yes, I just gave away the movie, how do you like me now.

These guys, for many years, crashed weddings to sleep with women, that was their only objective. I can't put all the blame on the guys because the girls can say no, but geez, this is what they do. Yes, I know the movie is made up, but what do you think guys go to clubs for? So in the end, the wedding crasher boys have all of a sudden had an epiphany and they're completely different and honest, good guys. Yeah, ok. I don't want them to have a happy ending, they don't deserve it. They deserve a broken heart for every heart they broke. Then bring in the rabid beaver and let it do its magic.

My point is this. I have seen and heard stories about guys being asses, waaaaaay too many for my taste thank you. It bothers me that guys think they can just smack a girl on the ass because they want to. It bothers me that guys can just treat women like objects and slabs of meat, but if it's funny, we can just laugh along. After all, that's what boys in their young years should be doing anyway right? This is what society says is ok. Go live it up, go get smashed every weekend and go after some girls, yeah! I'm getting all worked up, sorry. Those that know me well know that I've always felt like this, and I'm not saying this to appear all sympathetic towards women. I'm not a lot of the time. If a girl is with a jerk guy, and she knows it, then she's just as much to blame because she hasn't said enough is enough and left.

To all the girls out there: Know what you are worth and don't accept anything less. Value yourself and don't settle for treatment and love of a lesser worth.

To all the guys out there who sound even remotely like the guy I first talked about: Go screw yourself. Get some manners and some respect you (insert many expletives here.) And go find a beaver.

To all the guys out there who can relate to what I'm saying: Yeah, nice guys do often finish last, but at least you run the race honestly. Keep your compassion, keep your integrity, keep your nice ways, and keep your head up.

Begging, pleading, and daring.

It's almost nine o'clock in the morning. It was almost sunny too.

I had just rounded the corner and started walking down Cumberland St. on my way to work. January in northern California is just a few months of mostly cloudy with a chance of rain; it's a poor man's winter. It was still polarizing to see the palm trees carelessly sway in the wind on a background of gray.

My batteries ran out, dammit. I took the headphones off my ears and slipped them into the large front pocket of my green windbreaker where my now dead cd player stayed. I was never a big fan of walking, but at least the music made it more interesting. Mel, the tiny turtle in the plastic bin, rocked back and forth in my hand as I strode toward the entranceway to the housing complex where I worked. At least it wasn't raining.

I came to the entranceway and turned the corner, stepping up onto the tall curb. I looked down at Mel who was hanging out on the rocks, enjoying the fresh air. He often kept me company in the garage while I worked, moseying around on the rocks and playfully paddling through the water on the other end of his world.

The sudden screeching around the corner startled me, but only for a second. This was a decent sized housing complex, and I gave no attention to frantic or reckless driving; this is California you know. The car barely made it around the corner, nearly clipping the 6 foot wide curbed divider that separated the exit driveway from the entrance driveway. That, was close. The engine roared as the driver pulled the car straight.

It didn't stay straight for long.

The car unexpectedly turned left, right into the divider; over the divider I should say, nearly hitting the palm trees it went between. The front of the low slung, black sports car barely made it over that curb around the divider. It's speed made sure the middle and black had no problem as it barreled over the large divider, landing in the wrong lane. I didn't hesitate to stop walking.

It didn't stay in the wrong lane for long.

Bouncing into the lane, it kept going, up and onto the curb on which I was now paralyzed, standing in slow motion. The power thirsty engine surged again as the driver behind black tinted glass threw the pedal down under the weight of a thoughtless foot. The hideaway lights, tucked away during the daytime, completed a faceless car cloaked in black.

Mel happily wandered around his rocky terrain, enjoying the stillness after a few miles of walking. I can still hear the engine. Barely 30 feet away, the car never wavered from it's straight and narrow path. I leapt to my left with all my strength, landing on the entraceway pavement, just a step away from the divider. I heard the tires come off the curb as I ran with abandonment over the divider, and up the exit road.

I can't tell you which way the car went or if it ever turned around for a second chance. All I could hear was the heavy pounding of my boots on the pavement; not exactly choice running shoes. There were only two things I thought as I ran past the small park and down the street to my version of safety.

1. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit...

2. Try to keep the box steady so Mel doesn't get hurt.

Hours went by as I ran a few minutes to the house I worked in. I ran inside and straight to an office where Curtis and my brother were. I set Mel down on the desk, completely out of breath and mostly out of my mind. They turned to me with confusion penned all over their faces. Through my heavy and frantic breaths, I managed to get this out: "I...just...a...car...tried to...run...me...over...I...almost...got...hit." I sat down in the chair they pulled up for me and tried to get my wits back. Mel aimlessly cruised around the water, enjoying his placid "lake" after bouncing around in the earthquake.

A couple hours later, I cautiously walked back to the entranceway to see the several markings of the black car. Dirt tracks just inches away from a palm tree; tire marks all over the side of the curb. I took pictures of everything, hoping one day to tell others of my daring escape from death; yet knowing I'd remind myself of how lucky I was.

You hear all the time how right before death, your life flashes before you. It doesn't. Your life doesn't flash before you, teasing you with everything you've done and threatening an end to doing anything again. Your life dangles before you, begging you to reach out and take it, pleading with you to cherish it, and daring you to live it.

-- The D

(Yes, this is a 100% true story)

Stream of thoughts

I had an idea for what I wanted to write today, but I decided not to right now. So I'm just going to start writing. I have NO idea where this will go, and I may get into what I wanted to write anyway, but I'm just going to write. Buckle up.

I'm sitting at work staring at this screen and I have absolutely no desire to work. Why am I still here? I don't know. I get paid pretty well, that might have something to do with it. It's easy, cause I don't work half the time anyway. I think this place is draining me out. It never changes, and my boss doesn't either. I miss working with females. I've never got along famously with guys and I've always been able to relate to my girl friends (meaning friends that are girls). I miss being around girls in general, let alone people. I have such a small social life, it's barely existant, and I want that to change but I'm nervous to go out there and try to make it change. I'm way out of my comfort zone around people my age, I just can't seem to get on a similar wavelength with anyone. I like to use the excuse of not having much time for friends, and in some cases that is true, but in others, it's still just an excuse. Where do I go? There's no shopping center for finding friends. Library? People are reading and working on the internet and such. Starbucks or a coffee house? People are usually working on laptops or talking with a friend. Bars? Not my dish. Clubs? Hate them with a passion. Should I just walk down the street and start saying hi to people? Just sit on the corner with a sign saying "Come talk to me." That doesn't shout desperation at all. Is that where I am? Have I become desperate to meet people? I think I'm getting to that point.
It's such a delicate balance that I haven't quite mastered yet. I like my own space and time, but the amount and when I need it can change so quickly that it's often unpredictable. Just like when I'm happy, which I have been a lot lately, and I sometimes want to be depressed instead. (Don't ask) And when I get my masochistic wish, I often become impartial to the things that make me happy. Then insecurities burrow their way in and toy with me. What if I'm not a good enough writer to make it? What if I'm stuck toiling away at my writing projects for years and it's all for not? What if I get married and I'm still doing these "non-career" jobs instead of settling in to something? What if she has faith in my ability and drive to become a writer and I let myself down, and more painfully, her too? What if I keep going down this road and become a hermit at 29 years old, alone and too scared to remedy it? Part of me as a man is ashamed to be like this and embarrassed to be sharing it as well. I don't want people looking this far into me. Why can't I just be a man and suck it up and go for it, carpe diem or something right? Take a deep breath and walk tall. A man isn't supposed to be like this. A 23 year old isn't supposed to be like this. These are apparantly the highlight years here, the best years of my life, yadda yadda yadda. That's what I keep hearing. Instead of highlight years, I'm sitting at this desk, staring at the computer screen in a disgraceful excuse for a showroom, with a sad excuse for a boss, counting down the hours until I leave, and then muting my sadness and loneliness with video games and movies at home. Highlight my ass, this is pathetic.

Who knows

Quick update: I've lost 8-9 pounds since the start of my diet just under 2 weeks ago. yay.

If you noticed a certain lack of excitement there, then way to go. I'm very apathetic today. Self-doubt is apparantly my M.O. today, and has been the last couple days to be honest. I don't know how much I'm going to reveal in this, because I've always had hesitance towards spilling my inner feelings and thoughts out into a "public" forum, as public as this really is. A while ago, in this blog, I said:

"I don't ask for help because I don't want to be perceived as weak, and contrary to what you would normally think, it's not an ego thing."

I also said that I didn't want to get into the psycho babble about everything and why I do it, but I think I will now, since I'm self examining and evaluating anyway. Sure, why not, yippee.
The reasons I don't ask for help are many, including that I don't want to be perceived as weak. One particular reason is that I don't want to be selfish. I know, if I'm having trouble or something's really wrong, I should ask for help because friends want to help, but I guess I can't wrap my heart around that quite yet. I have often, both past and present, been someone that a friend will come to, or someone they will confide in, which unfortunately has doomed me to liking several girls that have firmly placed me in the friend-only zone. Knowing that I'm someone people come to, I don't want to ask their help, because then in the future maybe they will think twice about coming to me for a shoulder to lean on, because it might overwhelm me.
I've also been a leader in most situations where that "position" is not already taken. As a leader, you have to be the one people look to and you have to be a strong leader. I'm not saying you have to be this stoic viking guy that never cries and is intimidating and such, I'm just saying you have to be solid. Perhaps I'm deceiving myself and others by putting on that solid sense when sometimes I'm anything but it.
This next reason, however, is the foremost one in protecting my emotions around people. I don't want to be perceived weak because I don't want people looking at me differently and asking me all the time if I'm ok. I don't want to appear as though I can't handle it. I can handle it. Sometimes it's a struggle, and sometimes I feel like Sisyphus, but I can handle it. I don't understand why I hate people asking me if I'm ok or if I need to talk. I've never liked it and half always clamped up when asked these questions, but for all the self-evaluating, inspecting, and deducing, I still am confused as to why I am like this.
The closest I've ever come was this: I have an obsessive need to figure things out on my own or for myself, which is why I'm not a poster boy for college, or school in general come to think of it. School teaches you to look for the "right" answer as fast and as accurate as possible. It doesn't teach you creativity, and in fact usually draws it out of you and puts it to sleep.

"If necessity is the mother of invention, then creativity is its father." I just thought of that. I doubt that many inventions anymore are out of need, but oh well.

Back to the topic! I have that obsessive need to figure things out on my own. When I was very young, 5th grade or so, certain events affected my life like very few others have. I immediately went into my own shell and tried to figure things out, tried to figure out why certain things happened, and why I was feeling this way. It was way too much for a 9 year old to figure out or sort through, or cope with for that matter. But that's how I did things and that's what I did. My mother, Lord knows she tried and bless her for caring so, tried to get me to open up to little avail. She even had me go to a therapist which I'm sure wasn't cheap and during our poor years, I don't know how they pulled it off. I'm getting all misty eyed, thanks guys. The therapist most likely had even less luck with getting me to spill. Eventually, a few years later, I started to figure things out and moved on past certain things while embracing others. (I'm purposely keeping this relatively vague, sorry.) But I think that's why I don't like having people ask me if I'm ok and all that. It makes me feel as though my facade of strength and confidence is see through at times, and I don't like that. It's as though I'm the magician who bought the see-through hat with the black bunny. (That's an allusion to an illusion, just for Melissa. Oh yeah.)

Anyway, every so often I will try explaining my self-exploration and discovery, not necessarily for your entertainment (cause I know it's not entertaining), but to provide a place to set thoughts out and realize who I am and why I do some of the things I do. Who knows, maybe you'll even get to see the proverbial bunny in the clear hat.

(Ugh, I was also going to talk about all the self doubt I've been fighting but this entry is already long enough. Maybe later.)