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."

Coming back to life

It's been a few weeks since Kindra and I split, this time it sounds like it may be for good.  I've been shacked up with my parents for the last 2-1/2 weeks, the only place besides a homeless shelter I have to go.

I've struggled with addictions for the last 7+ years and she says that's one thing she doesn't miss about me not being around.  She'll probably be pissed about me throwing my personal life out there, but I'm not looking for sympathy. 

I never thought of myself being without Kindra the rest of my life.  I guess I didn't show her that I loved her enough, or maybe I was just a downright rotten mother fucker to be around.  A friend told me "put yourself in our shoes when we have to deal with you men and your addictions." 

Okay I can do that.  Can you put yourself in my shoes?

My self-worth and livelihood were robbed of me because of my accident and being a stay at home dad is stressful as hell.  Maybe I should've done things a lot differently and maybe another man wouldn't be moving in on my ex (I still cant get used to that term).  Now someone else is spending long lengths of time on the phone with her and asking her all the right questions that tickle her fancy.

Every time I talk to Kindra she seems to have no interest in our conversations.  She gets easily upset and offended by me questioning her new life.  I feel left out to dry out.

We had family day yesterday and I went over to the house and made some ribs for all of us.  It was a good day and the conversations we had seemed to be making some headway but today that's a different story.  I notice she changed the locks on the doors and I asked why.  She said she didn't want me showing up in the middle of the night. 

I guess after 7+ years she doesn't know me and I don't know her.  It's been a long hard road but I've come a long way from the days of getting sloppy drunk and angry.  I wouldn't do anything to hurt the woman I still love, the mother of my girls.  I was hurt that she thinks I would do something to hurt her, I'm not that person anymore but its a little to late to hold out for hope.  She seems to be happy without me in the picture so if it's her space she wants, then it is what I will give her.  I don't want to hold her back from happiness by bringing her down with my misery.

We're splitting our time with the girls equally but it's still hard not being under the same roof with them every night.  I miss tucking them in and waking up to them in the morning.

On a positive note, I've got a lot of writing done....the old school way with a pen and notebooks.  Sometimes beauty comes from pain.  I miss being a family, I miss Kindra, I miss life as it was.  I'm not interested in dating or even looking.  My main focus is the two ladies who still love me unconditionally.  I'm giving all my love to the girls who won my heart, they are only 4 and 6 years old but it's a real fine way to start.

This has been the hardest thing I've had to do over the past 7 years but I know somehow I'll get through this. 

So I'm out of here to work up a case of carpal tunnel with my notebooks.  Maybe this was the eye-opener I needed but I didn't expect it to happen this way.

God cant love you more than I do...

This morning Gabrielle came downstairs to tell me she "loves me" as I got dressed.  

"I love you too honey...."  I replied.

"But dad, you can't love me more than God and I can't love you more than God."


"Bullshit Gabby."  Yes I swear around my children.  If you think it makes me any less of a parent than I already am the go piss up a rope.


I explained to her that it's fine that you love God more than me, I am "okay" with that but I will not have her thinking that God loves her more than I do. 


"Gabby, I will love you forever and always, even when I am not here on this earth you will know that I still love you.  God is not here to kiss your boo boo's.  God won't hold you when you're sad so, therefore: I love you more than God does!"


My love for my children is more than any god could give.  Their concept of a god is in it's infancy.  My love is tangible where god's is not.  God doesn't put food on the table, he doesn't tuck them in at night, he doesn't remind them how much he loves them every chance he gets.


It's hard for them to understand that, in my book, God is a thing of myth or urban legend.  I've lost some very close friends and family members over the past 6 years and if there was a god that was so loving, why didn't he cure their ails?  


It's fine if my kids want to believe in god, that's their prerogative and I'm sure it wont hurt them any, but when my kids think that god loves them more than I do......


I have a problem with that.

Ybor City, Florida

We had arrived in Tampa a day after a hurricane had just blown through.  It was mid-September and a friend of mine, who we will call John, set up the trip to Clearwater for a long weekend.  He booked the flight, room, rental car, and even had a daily itinerary of things for us to do; all I had to do was give him the cash.

After fetching our luggage and walking out of the terminal the outside temp was equal to getting slapped in the face with a steaming hot towel; I immediately start to sweat my balls off.

We picked up the rental car, a convertible Mustang, popped the top and turned the AC on full blast to keep from frying like bacon on the seats.

Shortly after arriving at the hotel we change into our bathing suits when I realized that I needed a pair of sunglasses.  Across from the hotel was one of those beach stores where towels are 3 for $9.99.  As usual, the cheapest pair of sunglasses are ten bucks and a pair that were remotely stylish broke me of $20.

Back across the street to the beach we find ourselves in solitude except for that one guy who wades in three feet of water with his metal detector.  By this time I look as if I had already jumped in the water because I have been sweating balls since we stepped foot in Tampa.  

I peel my shirt off and make a mad dash for the ocean with John right behind me.  Into the water I dove forgetting that I still had the sunglasses on that I had bought about ten minutes ago.  I quickly surface with glasses M.I.A.  I dive back underwater hoping to retrieve the new shades but alas, they were gone for good.  After wading around for a few I hit the sandy beach to work on my tan.

While catching some rays I am busy watching this old fart with the metal detector who has now weaseled his way over to where I had been swimming.  

Watching, waiting, watching, sweating, BINGO.....the metal detector starts beeping.  The old codger kept waving the detector over the object as if he couldn’t hear the loud annoying beep.  I sit up as the old man bends over to feel around in the water and to my surprise he pulls up a pair of sunglasses.  This is my cue to run over and ask for them back.

I walk over to the old man and tell him I had just lost my glasses and if they were mine, could I have them back.  He looks up and smiles and says, "are these the glasses?”

"Yes they are, thanks!"  I sigh in relief.

"Finders keepers" he says.

"You COCKSUCKER!!!!" I shout at him as he walks away.  

I was really hell bent on not getting my glasses.  I really would’ve liked to pull some Jackie Chan shit on him, but I figured if he couldn’t give me the glasses back the poor bastard needs them more than I do.  They weren’t even the big clunky wrap around like half the population in Florida wears so I have no idea what his intentions were with my glasses....they were gone.

After a day at the beach we decide we'll ride down to Ybor City, which I was told would be like the Flats in Cleveland.  We arrived there and it was a ghost town.

We pick out this little restaurant because I thought it would be nice to have a couple drinks and some fresh seafood, John agreed.  Now I have shrimp on the brain but there is one craving that has to be handled first.....beers!  After a few cocktails I order what I thought was shrimp cocktail. 

The waitress lays the shrimp appetizer on the table.  By now I am feeling like I can finally get over the incident on the beach and I was feeling great.  The conversation was great as we talked about important things like getting laid, off the hook bars, and work.

As I am flapping my jaw I grabbed a piece of the jumbo shrimp and dipped it into the cocktail sauce.  I stop chatting for a quick second to bite into the shrimp and it was crunchy.  I quickly grab the napkin to spit the shrimp in and I begin inspecting the other shrimps to see why they are crunchy.

While inspecting the shrimp the waitress comes to the table to ask if we need anything else while we await our dinner and she asks me if there's something wrong.

"Yeah the shrimp is crunchy!"

"That’s because it’s peel and eat shrimp cocktail!" she laughs.

"Well you might as well just bring me another beer while I work on this shrimp" I utter in an unassumingly embarrassed tone.

After eating I came to the conclusion that even though we are surrounded by ocean, it doesn’t always mean great, fresh seafood in every restaurant.  I would’ve been content eating at Red Lobster.  

Aww fuck it. I'm on vacation and there's always tomorrow and plenty of seafood to be had is what I thought to myself.

The next day I decided that I had to try that parasailing gig they offered up the street from the hotel.  John didn’t seem interested in doing much more than taking a nap so I hoofed it up the block to the dock.

I paid my thirty bucks for approximately fifteen minutes of 'air time'.  While up in the air I concluded that it wasn’t worth what I had paid and figured it would be more fun to unstrap myself and freefall about fifty feet into the water, but I didn’t and I was reeled in.

There was a middle aged couple that was next and the wife was gung-ho about doing something so risky.  For Christ sakes it’s only parasailing, its not skydiving or even bungee jumping;  I had walked iron 300+ feet at work, unharnessed, so there was really no thrill in it for me.

The woman is all giddy as she is being strapped in and when it’s the husbands turn, he backed out because he was afraid of heights.  Seeing that this woman weighed about 100 pounds soaking wet, I was asked to ride with her.  There has to be a minimum amount of weight on the tow line for them to reel you back in, so I got two rides for the price of one.  The husband looked like a nervous wreck as we took on air.  The second free ride had made up for the thrilless thirty bucks I had spent on one.

On Saturday night, John suggests we should go to this high class bar called 'Liquid Blue'; it came highly recommended by his cousin who lives in the area and he claimed there were plenty of scallywags for the taking.  With pimp suits on we rode.

We arrived at the club and walk in; swanky was my first thought.  Black lights, strobes, neon, leather couches everywhere, and the perfect hunting ground for a date.

First things first we hit the bar for some drinks.  Now John tends to be slow and cautious with his drinking, but not me; I had a tendency to drink like I lived....fast and hard.  Had to build up those beer muscles to compete with guys who were on steroids at this club.

The people there were plastic people, dolled up with snazzy outfits and hair.  I almost felt like a homeless bum mingling with celebrities.  The alcohol quickly erased those barriers in my mind.  Now I was in pimp mode as I made my way over to these two blondes sitting on one of the leather sofas.

John and I walk over and I make some small talk with them to see if I can spark some conversation, but these two ladies were about as sharp as bowling balls.  The conversation is not going as planned and I can see I am going to strike out before I am even up to bat, so I throw out a quick "can I buy you a drink?".

Neither of them was willing to let me buy them a drink, so I immediately cut through the crap and ask the one chick about her fake boobs which she wasn’t going to admit were fake.  In all my years of pimpin, that is thee only time that a woman has ever sad no to me buying them a drink.  Let's face it, when you use that line, most women will feel a slight obligation to converse with you if they accept and that is undoubtedly the best time to change their mind about you.

Now I am just a wee bit offended that they shot down the drink offer so out with some more polite insults; I mean as sharp as they were, they took each and every insult as a compliment until John decided it was time to roll before the Barbies found some Kens they knew to ruffle our feathers.  We stayed at the bar for a while longer, just enough time for me to get totally blitzed before we headed back to the room.  I was feeling like Popeye as I talked out the side of my mouth the whole ride back, not quite getting over the fact of being shot down.  

The following morning around seven o'clock I awoke to the door of the hotel room opening.  It was John with a bag of McDonald's.

"Damn that was mighty white of you to get up so early to grab us some breakfast."  

"Get up?  I am just getting home from the hospital!"  John replies as I choke on my hash brown.

"The hospital?  What? When did this happen?"

"Don’t you remember last night when I woke up and told you I couldn’t breathe?"

"Uhhh, NO" I state in a sort of disbelief.

John goes on to tell me that after getting back to the room after the bar, that he had been asleep for a short while before he had woke up.  He was having trouble breathing and he said it felt like his throat was closing up.  Scared, he called the front desk to see if there was a doctor at the hotel.  There was no doctor so the front desk called an ambulance for him.  He tells me that he laid back down and minutes later the ambulance arrived and the paramedics pounded on the door.  He also says that I hopped outta bed and opened the door to let them in and said " hey come on in, you guys want a beer?" right before I did a swan dive back into the bed and instantly fell back asleep.

"Wow, I don’t remember that at all.  We had more beer last night?"  I asked.

The paramedics took him to the local hospital where a doctor examined him.  The doctor said there was a bite mark on the roof of his mouth near his throat.  He had obviously been sleeping with his mouth open and must've been bit by a spider and had an allergic reaction which caused his throat to swell.  They gave him a shot of Benedryl and sent him on his way.

I guess there is truth to the story that you eat about eight spiders a year while you sleep.

While eating McDonald's, John and I find it amusing that I don’t recall a single second of the incident.  

"Remember I told you I woke you up telling you I couldn’t breathe?"

"Yes"

"You know what you told me?" John asks.

" 'If you cant breathe, try harder!'  and that’s when I got scared".

Let's do something gay

It was a cold Thursday night in 1999 when I was cordially invited to do some drinking and dancing with two girlfriends of mine.  Michelle and Jennifer wanted to meet up with friends from work at a bar in Ferndale. 

I was a little hesitant on going because Ferndale is known for its predominantly gay community, but what the hell; drinking and dancing had become two of my favorite pastimes in the years prior.  I agree to go with them and so I ask a friend of mine named ‘Chubs’ to come along.

Chubs was always down to ‘roll’ the night away with some E and he didn’t work at the time so he was almost obligated to go with.  He tried to weasel out with the “I’m broke” excuse but when I said “I got your back on some drinks” his attitude changed.

The four of us arrive at the club where we had to check our coats at the door.  When we walked into the building there was a long corridor with a tiny coat check room at the end. The music from beyond the double doors at the end of this corridor is deafening. We hand our coats over to the skinny, frail looking guy that has hip huggers and a cut off shirt.

I snicker at this guy’s get-up and as I open the door for the ladies I’m with and I lean over to tell Jen and Michelle what I think about the coat check guy.  I have to raise my voice to just under a yell and I say;

“That coat check guy looks like he’s flaming!”

“WHAT?!?” replied the girls.

I am half way through repeating myself when the music comes to a sudden halt and just in time for the whole bar to hear me say “….he’s flaming!”

That should’ve been hint number one.

We make our way through the double doors and into the barroom.  The bar is very low lit except for the intermittently flashing strobe.  I order a beer for Chubs and I as I scope out a possible date.

“What the fuck man? This is cockfest ‘99” I tell Chubs who most certainly agrees with me. 

By this time the girls we came with are unseen so I am guessing they must’ve found these friends from work. 

“There’s a couple hoes over there” as I point Chubs in the direction of the restrooms.

“Well I gotta take a piss before I grab another beer…”

“Yea I have to piss too.  I’ll go with ya.”  Chubs says hesitating for a moment.

At that very moment Chubs has a look of uncertainty, a look of discomfort.

We walk over towards the restroom where I noticed men coming in and out of both the men’s and women’s bathrooms.  This is where it dawns on me that I am a gay club.

This is fucking amazing, something you would never see at a heterosexual club.  So fucking A, I am going to use the women’s bathroom.

Ok for me.

Not Ok for Chubs.

I took a whiz and saddled up for more drinking.  I stand waiting for Chubs in the small little walkway that separates the two bathrooms and as he is walking out a man on his way into the restroom lightly slaps Chubs in the ass.

You would’ve thought Chubs got hit with a 6 foot long wooden paddle the way he jumped. 

Now I am really amused that we are in a gay bar and Chubs is a wanted man by men with the same plumbing.

“Holy shit!!  Did you fucking see that?!!?  That dude just slapped my ass!!  We HAVE to get the fuck outta here like right now!!”  Chubs says in a nervous and agitated voice.

“Take it easy fancy pants, we just got here and Jennifer and Michelle are not going to want to leave this soon.”  I try to explain.

We find Jen and Michelle talking with some friends at a table so Chubs and I join.

“We gotta get the fuck outta here!”  Are the first words out of Chubs’ mouth.

I am having some beers and shots and talking with the gay friends Jen and Michelle had come to meet and they were pretty cool people.  Not once that night was I ever hit on by a member of the same sex and the friendly friends explained why.

They go on to tell me about this thing called ‘gaydar’ and tell me that it is a common feature among gay people; both men and women have this.

I am intrigued by this concept and in the back of my head I am thinking about the bathroom incident just moments earlier.

Chubs is listening in on the conversation I am having with this fellow and you can see him becoming very uneasy right before he asks for the keys to the car.  I tell him “no”.

“We need all you eligible men who are looking for a date tonight to come on up!!”  Say a Rupaulesque looking man.  Well the once man I should say.

All these men make their way to the dance floor as this Rupaul plays matchmaker for the single gay men.  These were indeed the happiest bunch of people I had ever seen.

By now Chubs is repulsed by the display of groping other men on the dance floor.  He is becoming very homophobic, so I agree to let him wait in the car before we end up fighting because of his blatant use of the word ‘fag’.

As soon as he leaves, the man explaining the concept of gaydar leans to me and says “Your friend is going to be very unhappy the rest of his life by staying in the closet”.

Shocked I say “he’s not gay”.

My new friend tells me that Chubs had been setting off the internal gaydar of a few of the men at the table, so they were shocked when opted to wait in the car.  They also tell me that he must’ve set off some serious gaydar for another man to slap his booty.

“Well what about me?”  I inquire.

“We knew you were straight from the moment you walked into the club, but your friend is a different story!” 

Feeling a sigh of relief, I offer to buy the whole table a round of shots.  I had felt so joyous  that I wasn’t setting off anyone’s gaydar that I wanted to reach over and kiss this guy on the cheek, but I didn’t as I didn’t want to give anyone mixed signals.

It was a great night and Chubs only had to wait in the car for about an hour as I confidently hammed it up with my new gay friends.

I may have never went if Jen and Michelle had told me it was a gay bar and it was quite the confidence boost knowing the same sex doesn’t find you desirable;  if only Chubs could’ve had the same great experience.

Closed minds keep you in the closet one might say!!!

The TDRR Daily 01/27/2010

I've blogged about this before and I've been warned several times about this: beware of what you post on Facebook or Myspace. The social networks can be used against you in a court of law or when it comes to keeping a job.


Quite a few of my friends had to clean up their Facebook page because of their jobs or had to delete coworkers off friend's lists. My lawyer has warned me several times to be careful of what I post: two words - fuck him!


I can see the justification for cleaning up your page if your a manager for a large corporation or even not having friends from work on your page just to keep the whole work/play things separate but how does this precaution pertain to me?


How does what you do on a social networking site dictate the person you are while you're at work? I can see how some people would nail their own coffin shut by befriending a coworker, posting statuses about getting "Crunk" then not making it to work the following day. That's the jackass' own fault.


If worker's comp or the people from my third party lawsuit wanted to dig up some dirt on me, what is the worst they could find? Do they look at the people on these friends lists also? What could those insurance companies possibly dig up that would help them win a case against me, the plaintiff? I've been off 7-1/2 years, don't have any money to have any real hobbies, I'm more less the house bitch because the wife works, and developed a case of anxiety/agoraphobia so I like to "socially network" with other like minded peeps. I get some good laughs, I get angered at the religious fanatics who think their belief is the only way, and I've been sick of politics. (I think I've said this before) But on another note, I've got this really awesome fake farm. Would farming be consider a future income earning potential in the insurance company's eyes? I told a friend last night that if the insurance companies wanted to take away my benefits or use anything I do on a social networking site to hinder my case, I'd get them in front of a judge and drop my drawers and have my benefits reinstated - pronto.

In my opinion, what you do on your own time is your own business. I could see social networking becoming a problem if you're doing it while "on the clock." The same goes for drug testing. You need to take a drug test to work at flipping McDonald's these days....are you fucking serious?!?


Speaking of jobs and drug testing, now that marijuana is legal for medical purposes how is this going to work out when you give a urine sample for a job? Even if you have the medical Mary Jane card I can almost guarantee that they'll hire somebody who doesn't give a dirty sample. The laws with regards to medical marijuana are still in that gray area when it comes to getting it legally and trying to get a job.

Someone asked me the other day about how much I donated to Haiti. Not a dime. I'm on the brink of destitution and have no "extra" money to give but if I did I'd make a nice contribution. It's shocking really. The same people who'd dig deep to help the people in Haiti wouldn't bat an eye at helping the people who are in dire straits here on the home front. Just turn your blind eye and they go away eventually. I am glad to see so many Americans stepping forward to help Haiti in their time of need, but if Americans were only this empathetic to the poor and starving right in their own yard.


Enough of that bullshit....


Last night I decided to try something different in the kitchen. I got these fresh, unsplit, bonless, skinless chicken breasts from the farm market by my house. I decided to make a homemade cornbread stuffing, butterfly the chickens, and bake in the oven over a bed of Uncle Ben's chicken flavored rice. Although it looked good when it came out of the oven, my kids didn't give it the "wow" rating (as in WOW daddy this is good!). The chicken and rice was good but the stuffing was kind of soggy. Next time I'll buy the box of "cornbread stuffing" and go that route.


That's all for today. Beware of the company you keep!! HAHAHAHA