My Life: A Pictoblog

How do you keep em on their toes?  You keep them reading.

Doctor filled out my medical marihuana papers for the state of Michigan the other day.  On the back of the paper he put a script:


10 puff - P.R.N. for pain in the gludious maximus.






Had a nice talk with a friend recently.  He equates breaking up "alah koolaid" syle like being thrown under a bus.

Nice analogy I tell him.  I can only imagine my flambouyant shrink a hot mess over my break-up. 

"Oh you pretty chubby mustachiod man, Dr Robert has missed you, I've been looking for a new house boy.  You know those little Asain house bitches just cant get it right."

No happy ending here either!

"Let's go ahead and get ready for a trial" the lawyer tells me.  "Where the hell have you been, I've been prepared for 8 years."  I tell my man, my ace boon coon.  I'm tired of these games and tasting government cheese, I want my chedda bitches.

I talked to another friend a couple days ago about a judge I once wrote about on myspace when I had an account.  Cliff Taylor was called the sleeping judge who sat on the Supreme court here in Michigan.  The man was sleeping while on the throne, hearing some major cases.  This man could've ultimately heard my case and I wasn't taking any chance at that.  His mind was already made in some cases.  He sided with big business. 

Not a friend to me, the working man.  Right around elections in I believe for 2008, I started putting the word out on the sleeping judge, I wrote a blog called "Nazi's and Real Life Nazi's."  I got the word out, people began noticing his name on the ballet.  An incumbant was pushed out of his "good old boy" seat. 

So with that being said, I know you're listening.
I have my tinfoil hat on so you cant steal my thoughts! We can work with a calendar, I work better with my words.

I met this really hot chick recently.  I had only seen her in pictures until a few weeks ago. 



She likes the mustache.   So next time I see her I am going to really do up the manscaping for her.  Do you think she'll get it before Valentines?  Or should I wait?





Maybe I've been locked away from the dating scene for too long.  Women probably don't go for that.  I'm like a caged animal all the ladies say to me "you never get dis la la la la la!"

But if you get a little monkey oil in ya, you can pull off all the manscaping and mustaches you can think of.  It works every time.




But after a 45 or 45......




You get the picutre!

The House Boy Extraordinaire

Living with an addict is never an easy thing.

My mom has a bad case of the OCD.  If you know her it's obvious she has this disease.  

I had once been the House Bitch Extraordinaire in my glory days as a stay at home dad. 

But moving back under mom's rule, the house bitch has essentially went "back to school."  Yes, I brought my books too.

I've lived here nearly two months now.  My mom puts Martha Stewart to shame.  I try to just go with the flow here.  Sometimes my flows a little too slow for her.  She tells me "get to stepping and fetching."

The last time I checked I was a fully functioning MAN with two daughters.  I can cook, clean, remember vitamins, brushing my own teeth 3 times a day.  Gabage day hasn't changed in nearly 30 years since they've lived here.....Friday.

When I said I brought my books I meant cook books.  I usually try a new recipe once a week.  Homemade marinas.  Bread Pudding.  Jalapeno burgers. Salsa. Homemade ravioli noodles (that was a fucking chore!). 

I can usually get away with not doing my own laundry and stuff by cooking and yardwork.  I don't mind.  But when I have to wash garbage cans, with soap after trash pick-up every week....

They're flipping garbage cans that stay outside, we're not eating out of them!  But at Marlene's house it's possible.

I stood out at the cold, dreary curb this morning with my hoodie on and a cig hanging from my mouth washing garbage cans without giving it any thought...

I have come to the realization that I may have the disease too. 

But I think this is a disease that no woman would mind a MAN having.

I got used to living with the Hitler of cleanliness.  I clean and I'm not even thinking about it. 

Gotta go, something needs cleaning.

The Two Larry's, oil and weed

No joke.  I really have two friends named Larry. 

Well, one Larry has known me since I came out of the womb.  He's early 50's.

The other Larry, a good friend of my parents and mine.  He's 61.

I can identify with both on some level to where the age barrier is erased.  I consider each a good friend, like brothers really. 

Here's the deal with the two Larry's.  They both show up for an  unannounced visit every now and then.  And damn them if they don't always show up out of the blue on the same day.  I enjoy both's company.

There is one physical characteristic the three of us share.

The fucking porn star mustaches.  Yes all three of us sport the same kind of fumanchu.  My buddy Jamie told me recently..."once you start rocking the 'chu you don't go back." 

The Larry's have been sporting the look since I could remember.  It must have worked for them in the 70's, early 80's if they hadn't cut it off since.  Me?  I grew my first one about 10 years ago.  Back then it was a time consuming task growing the pornstar mustache. 

It was pimp.  Two of my favorite sayings.....

"It's not what you drive, it's what you put in it." circa B.K. 2000.

"It's not what you wear, but how you wear it."

Words to live by really.

So the two Larry's stopped by unannounced at separate times.  They don't know each other except through my parents and me. It's not like they have each others' numbers.

The first Larry stops by around 5pm.  He is dropping off a flier for a golf outing for his son's travel league baseball team, a fundraiser.  I told him my folks left earlier for an overnight casino trip.  He asks if I have a lefty.  I told him I got my hands on some bubblegum chronic last night but I that stuff was gone.  He says "well Mike, I'll be back in a bit to smoke one with you."  Later dude.

The other Larry shows up a little bit after 6pm.  We talk.  I asked him how his social security claim was coming since I helped him and his wife file online to get it going.  This claim should be in the bag: he's 61, Vietnam vet, worked 40 years in a Ford plant and he has neuropathy from a gunshot wound 40+ years ago.  If there's anyone more deserving, show me.

Larry says to tell my dad he's not going to a different fundraiser golf outing next Sunday.  Entry fee is too steep at $75.  He stays for a while to chat.  I asked him the oil worked that I gave him a while back...oil reduced from medicinal marihuana plants to cook with.  The stuff obviously has a shelf-life. 

(yes I realize I spelled weed wrong up there but the state of Mi's medical mj cards have the mis-spelling across the top of them)

My sister and Jim swing by with some cabbage casserole and mashed taters they had for dinner.  Awesome.

Larry stays and talks about silly movies and tv shows with us.  We bullshit for an hour or so.  Larry leaves, Jim and Ang not too far behind. 

In the meantime I'm thinking "where's this fucking Larry with the joint?"  I got back downstairs with the intent of taking a shower.  I locked the doorwall.  Instead I came back down to sit and look at a blank blog.  Writer's block.

Just then I hear the sliding screen door fly open. I hear the other door stop from the lock, then a knock.  I run upstairs.  It's the other Larry. 

FINALLY.

I knew he'd show, he's a man of his word. 

He chews me out about the door being locked, calls me pussy like his son.  Nate is but a year younger than me. 

"Just like Nate, gotta have them doors locked tight"  shaking his head.

"You forget who are parents our, fucker!" I say!

We go out to the garage to get out of the wind.  I plug the garage in because my dad's too cheap to have a panel wired to the garage, it's truly Nigerian engineering at its best.  I plug in, he fires up.

"Where you been?"

"I said I'd be here, I'm good on my word."

We get to talking about the half done seashell windchime workstation I set up with my daughters.  He admires the 122 piece chime on my parents' patio. 

We start smoking, talking.  About chimes.  I show him six Agate stones I picked up from the pow wow a few weeks ago.  I take them out of the protective wraps and tap them together.  He likes what I'm laying down.  I show him the copper windchime I started making and explained that the tubing I had was too thin and too heavy. 

I was telling him about the Smokerhawk I picked up from the pow wow.  Half tomahawk, half peace pipe made of wood and brass.  I ran into the house to grab it.  We both agree it will mount nicely over the fireplace of whatever house I buy, and that it needs to be decorated with leather straps, beads, and Eagle feathers.

Call us dreamers, or as the Natives call it "visionaries."  We talk about our kids.  He tells me his 10 year old aspires to be a professional baseball player.  I know for a fact that if you tell a kid something long enough, they will become it.

For instance.

My girls are pretty artsy fartsy.  They dig art fairs, music, and anything you can create hands-on.  I always tell both of them...

You're such artists.

A little more programming and they're done.  They will be artists.  We're halfway there and having a dad whose dirt rich helps also.

Larry and I continue to talk for a few.  He had to leave shortly, has to be at work at 6:30am.  We talk about my legal matters and how I had aspirations on Tuesday but left disappointed.  How foolish of me to expect anything from anybody?

Larry grew up with my mom.  The man has a line of bullshit from here to the equator.  But I listen when my elders talk.  He offers up this tidbit of wisdom....

"I'll tell you lesson that takes half your life to realize: family will always be there for you.  Friends will come and go, BUT you know already the one's that will be around forever."

I stopped and thought about it in true pothead fashion.  I rubbed the 'stache a few times and said....

"Fucking A. Right!"

Shit and shit

I got a spare minute to myself so I figured I'd write here instead of the notebooks.  Imagine that: the man with no job, no car, no money has a spare minute.

Actually I just got out of the shower.  I used this "hydrating" body wash on my unit and it's hydrated now, to the point of cutting diamonds.  I will use this soap forever.

I hate the feeling of having to drop a deuce right after getting out of the shower.  I'm squeezing tight as I type this shit!

In regards to a comment somebody made about my last blog: yes I try to be mature about things but I can count on one had how many moments of immaturity I've had lately.  Besides, who said I had to grow up?

I was supposed to go look at houses today but it looks like that's falling through.  We tried looking at homes on the golf course but we looked kind of ghetto to the black rent-a-cop.  Ironic to someone who still wears a fucking jerry curl.

Tuesday will be my day.  I've got a new pair of Doc Martins in the closet, barely broke in, ready to shove up somebody's ass.  I'm happy they're brown because when the shoving is done, I'll be able to polish the turd polish.  I am thinking about spending my whole paycheck on a victory cigar, but that'd be silly like smoking a turd. 

Yes it's 9-11.  No I haven't forgot where I was that day back in 2001.  I remember being glued to the television for 48 hours without sleep.  I did work 24 of those 48 near the airport.  What an eerie feeling not hearing planes in the sky.  Fuck terrorism.

I rarely turn on the tube anymore to watch some depressing ass news, so why would I want to turn it on today to watch more depressing shit?  I'm not an insensitive asshole, but it's hard for me to watch anything about 9-11.

In the grand scheme of things, we've all been polishing turds.  The economic downturn has everyone trying to make the best of shit.  But in this ever so depressing world, I seem to be laughing.  The world can be all yours, all you have to do is shit and get to be successful, so long as some goddamn insurance company is playing games with your life.

I'm tired of shittin this blog.  Off to bullshit somebody new.

Adieu!

Welcome back you sexy fucker

Well its been nearly two months since me and baby's momma split.  How do I feel?

I feel fucking great.  I used to be caught up in the same routine of doing nothing, falling out of the routine of writing on a daily basis.  I've gotten back into the routine of writing again.  I'm learning to live with what may have been my workings on the fate of my relationship but life is moving on.

New routines are hard to get use to but it will all work out for the best. 

So what have I been up to these past few months?

Spending lots of time with my beautiful daughters and doing a lot of soul searching.  Scratch that. I've always known where my soul's been just getting back into tune with it is what I've been doing.

A shitty break-up has worked out for the best. I've lost about 15 pounds and I'm fitting into some of my nice clothes once again.  I shaved off my trademark landing strip and have been sporting the fumanchu.  The ex hates it, I love it!

I've been fooling around in the kitchen with different things since my mom is a part time cook now.  I love to cook so I don't consider it a chore.  My cooking is enjoyed and appreciated, that tickles my fancy.  Yesterday my sister had a barbecue at her house, where I have been storing my charcoal grill for the past few months.  I went over there to make those ribs someone referred to as "money."  My youngest daughter, Olivia, is all about helping out with chores around the house especially cooking.

I always tell her that adults dont keep secrets but the recipe for my rubs and sauces is top secret. I've been teaching her how to mix the rubs and apply them to the ribs and yesterday I let her make the barbecue sauce.  She did a fucking excellent job.  My little chef surprised me!  The sauce was awesome.  Kudos Olivia.

I've been looking for houses and I've looked at quite a few.  I found one that I love; a historical home built in 1929 with original wood floors and orginial doors.  It's priced for me to move in a soon as I get the cash. 

Been doing a lot of reflecting on the past 8 years since my accident.  It's very possible that the legal matters could come to an end next Tuesday (Sept. 14).  I dont pray, I no longer believe in prayer but I'll keep my fingers crossed that it all works out in my favor.  Lot's of meetings with financial advisors and lawyers ahead in the next week and the kids go back to school Tuesday.

I've awaited the 14th to roll around for years now.  I finally get to see how much the multibillion dollar insurance industry thinks my life is worth to them.  They know they're on the hook for a lot of money.  The shoe is slowly slipping onto the other foot, and trust me I am going to tie it tight right before I stuff up the deserving asses.

My ex and I have managed to maintain friendship for the sake of the kids.  I dont like the fact I got booted out for another man but in a way I feel like it's been a relief.  I've been a much happier person and I am very much looking forward to the future.  My "happiness" doesn't require a steady supply of sex but companionship would be nice.  But not if it's going to bring drama.  I'm done living drama.

I wake up in the morning, shove my meds down my throat, brush my teeth and splash a little cold water on my face.  I brush the mustache and say to myself....

"You sexy fucker.  Where have you been?  Welcome back."