Yeah, well...

Sometimes You.

You know. Sometimes life just hurts a lot.

You want it to be one way, and you know it isn’t going to happen.

There isn’t any easy way of working around it.  This pain is what causes the wrinkles around your face, not the laugh wrinkles…the ones that come out when you gaze into the dark and see something that you would rather not.

But, the sun rises over the horizon every morning, and warms us up. Yeah, my heart is heavy, but I know that tomorrow is a new day. Life marches on, right?

Life

Life. Or something like it.

   Everyone wants someone to “open up”. The big problem is that that opening up can be catastrophic.

   I was recently asked to be extremely truthful about some periods of my past, and I  have found that the unburied corpses still are quite awake, and quite pissed off.   Some of you who know me are figured in this matrix, those who aren’t are dust.

   I mean dust in the sense that some shit just  doesn’t  matter.  If I told you that you looked “ fat in those pants” it was because you asked. I don’t ridicule people until I am ridiculed…and then get set for a MG42.

   Two people who mean the world to me have asked me to open up, and I don’t think life has ever been so painful since.

   We all do things that we sweep under a rug, and pretend that they just aren’t there. Now, I am coming to grips with some of the shit that I have pulled on others, and I am gagging hard.

   I have never thought of myself as being nasty or mean-spirited. At all. Yeah, I can pull a few pranks, but I have stopped others from happening when I knew they were over the top.  A bit of hi-jinks is ok now and again, but when it causes pain, it is too far down the path for me.

   I basically drove one woman who loved me to death to hate me, just because I was pissed off about a trivial circumstance. I miss her dearly.

   There is no excuse for that. None. I was an asshole. Picking fights about junk, worrying about things that really didn’t matter?  WTF?  I got into a fight with her about the validity of “modern combat jets” once.  Christ…she was a horse trainer ! She knew more about horses than anyone I have ever (or probably will know) been around, and I had to pick a fight over fucking fighter jets.

   Man, sometimes my knickers are just to friggin’ tight.

   A while ago I was asked by two friends of mine who love me dearly to start actually being real, and not working the words around every subject.

   I don’t know if I like me much anymore.

   I have always been taught to look at one’s self  in the mirror, and judge what manner of man I have become.

   My dad would kick my ass.

   Thank god for my owl.  Archimedes is my “ go to’ person.   No, he is not just an owl, he has a spirit that keeps me somewhat sane. Somewhat.

   Archimedes looks at life somewhat more simply, and 100% more honestly than I do.  What do I need today to eat. What do I need for tomorrow..

   I’ve failed a lot of you over the years, and trust me, I don’t forget any of my screw-ups. I did what I did, and I do  take the full burden of the idiocy.

   I’ve shut a door on many a person that did nothing more than to want to have friend. Likewise, I’ve spurned love when it was offered to me, because I thought “ I could do better”. Gag.

   Life isn’t about power points. Life is just …life.  I am really, really, really trying to do better with what I was granted, and that would be the love and friendship that those of you out there have just given me freely, with no restrictions.

   I do believe I shall worship you, from now on, if that is o.k.

sometimes I can be a dick

I’ve realized that war is just stupid. It is typically fought by people who really don’t want to fight at all, but get talked into it via propaganda and silly movies like “The Last Starfighter” or “Rambo II” .  At least in Rambo  1, they portrayed the government as how it really is…inefficient and corrupt.  The sequels play into this “band of brothers” bullshit that seems to be popular these days. What a load.

Talk about inaccurate, at the end of the “last starfighter”, Maggie decides to leave her family behind to go off into space with her soul-mate (don’t even get me started on that crap),  dumping her grandma in a run-down trailer park and….the most unbelievable…without taking any clothes.

Show me a chick who goes ANYWHERE without at least three changes of clothes (if it is more than a day), and I will grab its balls.  Women without matching underwear are almost impossible to find, and sure as shit, they are not going to go into space without tampons, bon-bons, and any thing else they could possibly fit into the cargo hold.  Where the fuck is she going to get that heavy duty ‘80’s eyeliner?  How will she keep her cheeks from looking they have broken out again without face powder, facial scrubs, and a crapload of makeup?

Some men argue that women should be allowed to fight in combat. I say: NO.  I don’t have enough room in my pack to carry all of that shit around, because you know they will talk you into it. They can talk you into anything. When a pretty girl smiles at you and blinks, there is some part of your brain that just shuts off from normal thought processes.

Women like to say : “men think with their dicks”. This is impossible. The penis is mindless, unlike the secondary brain function that some of the archosaurs seem to have had.

Nope. A dick is just a dick. Hey, I should know, I’ve been one often enough.

I Heard The Owl Call My Name

I heard the owl call my name

Yes, it is indeed one of my most favourite books. I like the simplicity of the logic, and the reasoning of the religion.  I was an atheist for quite a long time, now I consider myself to be more agnostic, partially due to this short novella.

In the meantime, my owl has discovered the joys of hooting in a travertine marble tiled house. The echo effect is incredible. It is even more incredible at three or four in the morning.

“Whooo-Hooo” resounds throughout our peculiar demesne, scaring the cat sometimes, and making the dog turn her head at odd angles.  I have to answer back, which irritates the Lady S. to no end, because now you have two echoing owl calls going back and forth.

This morning, she thought that a houseguest had stepped upon her cat, due to a series of harsh calls. I explained that while entertaining the guest last night, I had completely forgotten to give the owl his evening series of rats to feast on, and he was pissed off.

Trying to find rats at four in the morning while not waking up your houseguest is somewhat hard though.  I thought I had put them in one spot to thaw out (I get them frozen) and had not. No, I do not thaw them out in the kitchen.

After stumbling about with a pen flashlight for a while, I finally discovered them in my studio underneath a plastic bag. Owl is fed.   S.’s alarm goes off fifteen minutes later.  Damn owl.

Anal

O.K. There are some things I am anal about, I know.

Dishes are one of them. I wash the dishes, then put them in the dishwasher. A spot on a glass can cause a major meltdown in the kitchen for me. I scrub, polish, and damn near sandblast everything.

Our plastic glasses are now somewhat cloudy.

What  really gets my goat, however, are the dials on the dishwasher. Why the hell isn’t there just an “on” switch ?  I have this dial that can rotate all over the place (how many of us really need ‘extra rinse cycle’ ?)  without really telling you if you have hit the right spot? 

Turning on your dishwashing machine is like dating a girl who fakes her orgasms. You just never know if you are doing it right or not.  In the end, the dishes are clean, but you walk away from the event feeling somewhat puzzled, and you have to go back and check to make sure it all worked out correctly.  Of course, this is easier with dishes than a woman.  They will slap you if you try to do an inspection.

We have a microwave that does not have settings below 1 minute. Yes, it is pretty, and looks good next to the other myriad kitchen appliances, but come on !  If you want to nuke something for 30 seconds, you have to hit the minute button and then sit and listen to the beeping.  I once forgot a burrito overnight, as I had gotten bored and wandered off someplace. I opened up the microwave door the next day to heat up another burrito. Yikes.

I fed it to the dog, and she had the runs, unfortunately in the stairwell.

I hope someone from the mainstream dishwasher corporations figures out that making washing dishes simpler would ease up on my worry load. Yes, I am running the washer right now, so I have to go check and make sure I got the dial in the right spot.

Good Vibrations

Good Vibrations

The first album I ever owned in my life was by the Beach Boys.  I know every single lyric by heart of every song they did.  Yeah, I know, most of it was junk…but it still makes me smile.  I had a hand-me-down Datsun B210 back in the day. The kind with a hatchback. It went everywhere.

Seriously.

It forded rivers, slid down highways, and went off the snowy roads in Flagstaff. We could just all get out and pick it up and put it back on the road.  Peter (PeePee) and I would get all dressed up in Hawaiian garb, grab a cheap bottle of rum and some cigarillos, then go do doughnuts in the grocery store parking lot near NAU.   We were the only ones insane enough to drive during a white out, and had the Beach Boys blaring from the speakers.  Youth. 

Oh yeah, we also had Slim Jims for sustenance.

I never had much experience with real vibrators until I met some college girls in the 80’s.  I don’t see what the fascination is, but they sure seemed to like them a lot.  I can’t move my tongue at 9,000 rpm, but have done o.k. with the “vowel” technique.

A-E-I-O-U.  Repeat as often as necessary.

I’ve found that horehound drops help keep your jaw muscles from hurting too much.

Anyway, I was gifted with a c-ring that vibrates.  Unsure about it, I thought of what my grandfather always had said “ try everything at least once”.  O.k.

It was certainly interesting.  Today, I did not go jogging as usual, if that is a clue, and still can not cross my legs.  S. seems to be alright, she went grocery shopping and is making a tossed salad.

I wonder what is up tonight?

Hotels and Owls

Tucson Animal Show September 09

Or, Try Sleeping with an Owl in your Hotel Room

Owls are not meant for hotel rooms. 

The passerby glance at them through the windows and do a double take, hence the need to draw the curtains completely. This makes the already somewhat depressing residence even more so.

Owls wake up at three in the morning. It must be an instinctual thing, so they can glide about and catch rodents and whatnot. In a hotel room, they try to glide, but instead cause quite a racket, and leave a lot of feathers for the maid to clean up.

The owl glared at the side of the large television for over two hours. It wasn’t on. I kept on looking at the side of the tv to see what was so fascinating, but couldn’t. I do believe he was mad because it was not turned on.

I did turn in on, but the only thing playing was “Basketball”…a truly horrific supposed comedy that should have been banned in all theatres. The writers would have been ritually flogged, tarred, and feathered as they were ridden out on the rails of the god damned trains that came past the hotel every 20 minutes or so, hooting much louder than the owl, but causing him to respond.

I felt sorry for the people next to me.

In another room, just to clear things up. Hey, my wife reads this now and again.

BANG !  BANG!  Yep , that is your owl at 3:20 telling you that it is now time to try to fly to some other hotel room that may be more comfortable, or perhaps hit the Jacuzzi which unfortunately has already been closed at ten p.m.  You try explaining this to a four year old owl.

I dare you.