Drugs Are Baaad… Mmmmmmkay?

So here I sit in a dependency treatment center intake, at an undisclosed location, deep in the heart of Texas.



I really want to cry like a damn baby. Fuck.

I wrote that upon checking in to The Treehouse Rehabilitation Center in Scurry Texas. There was more in a notebook. Some of the things I journaled I won’t share. It was really scary stuff. I was really scared. I was angry. I was also relieved. More than anything…I was ashamed.

Humiliation is a real thing. We shame ourselves. We tell ourselves what fuck ups we were. How we let everyone down… and ourselves. This demoralization needs to happen to strip us of our defense mechanisms.

But what we need to be reminded of… that early on in life, I had a very dark mind. And also, I had this incredibly huge heart. This huge heart gave me compassion. It gave me empathy. It made me vulnerable to be hurt. My mind was very dark. It convinced me to not trust, that I was unloveable… mostly that I was unworthy. It told me I needed to medicate myself. It taught me to over compensate. It also saved my life.

Our brains are an amazingly complex machine. Baffling at times.

“What was I thinking!?”

“Why did I do that!?”

Those are questions I find myself asking in regards to a knee jerk, reactive response or behavior. Many times nonsensical. I lied for reasons unknown. I behaved irrationally. All trained/learned self preservation techniques I had engrained into my inner most mind. Automatic responses. Thoughtless mindfucks!

Becoming aware of these things allows us to change these deficiencies inside. Not overnight unfortunately. It is a long process. Sometimes it is intently disregarding our first thought. Then it is intentionally introducing our hearts into our thinking process. I require a lot of prayer, meditation, self awareness and questioning my first thought.

“Is this a reasonable reaction?”

“Will I damage myself or someone else?”

“What feeling is behind this reaction?”

Or just simply:

Will I help, or harm this situation?

That is the most valuable question, and I must ask it each and every time. EVERY…FUCKING..TIME!!!


Give that link a watch. Worth the 5 minutes.

Fearzilla V.s. the Drunk

So here I sit, frozen by fear. Fear of what? I have no idea. Perhaps fear of failure. Or rejection. Or just plain old the unknown.

Anxiety is a motherfuker. Especially when you have treated it most of your life with drugs and alcohol.

Doesn’t mean I’m not going to go forward and try doing what needs to be done next. I need to move through the fear, breath and know everything will be ok. In the mean time… it’s a bitch!

Being fucked is always a temporary status. Doesn’t take away the feelings you experience in the middle of your fucked-ness. Anger. Shame. Hopelessness. Dispair… FEAR. Fear that chokes the willingness out of me.

Fear of being..

.. a failure.




..in trouble.

..in debt.


..hired (and what if I suck at the new job? Honestly folks!).

..yelled at.


..physically or emotionally injured.



The list could go on and on, ad nauseam. It is insideous. This is anxiety on steroids. It’s why I can’t get sleep. It’s paralyzing.

If anxiety were a monster..

I am tired of being bullied by my own fears. Generally, the struggles do not appear on the outside. It is all internal. But the fact that others do not see this, does not make it any less real to those of us that suffer with these constant internal battles. Believe me, it is a battle. Never ceasing. Even as I lay down at night I am forced to endure wave after wave of anxieties demons striking fear and self doubt into my every thought. Sleep escapes me. Today is day five of three to four hours of rest.


I hate asking for help, being vulnerable. Being helpless. Or looking incapable. After all, I’ve done a great job with my life on my own. Right?

We have to be vulnerable. We all need help from time to time.

Perhaps the void of anxiety could be found in the center of being humble…

Now if that is something for me to chew on…

My name is Dan, welcome to my journey.

Ode to the Lady in Blue

Today is a monumental occasion. 42 years ago today a beautiful child was brought into this world.

Her life would not be easy. Her life would be trying. Her life would be full of trauma. She was pushed very hard. Harder than most. What would have injured most people, put in this woman a fierce determination for success.

She was not shown a good example of what love is, yet she determined to become an example of love in this despicable world. A place full of deceit, anger, hidden motives, selfishness, betrayal and ugly people… she chose to touch people with her loving light.

A girl who was robbed of childhood, became a lover of children and like a child herself. Though she was never made a mother she would have been a great one, I guarantee you that!!

Her determination awarded her certain successes. In that success, she chose to share it with other people. Helping to build them up and show them their own talents. She seems to have a knack for seeing in others what they do not see in themselves. She has an eye for beauty, of what dwells deep within.

One could liken her to a greens keeper. She could look at a plain brown seed and recognize the beauty it hides from the world. Most of us would walk past it and never think twice about the unnoticeable, earthy nugget. She on the other hand sees it’s TRUE potential.

Carefully, she gathers the seed and shows everyone the oddly shaped pit and raves of its beauty. People may scoff at her, “What do you see in that!? Its a useless nut! Cast it aside and rid yourself of it, it will be of no good to you!”.

Against their advise, she places it in rich soil and waters it. She turns the soil and nurtures it. Most importantly, she quickly plucks the weeds away from it. Weeds that wishes to rob it of its water, nutrients, and hide it from the sun.

She does this simply to watch it emerge from the soil. To watch the sprout become a stalk full of leaves and eventually blossom to the brilliant flower she saw within the seed. And in that alone she receives delight.

I hope you all get to have a person like this in your life. Mine has been enriched by it and I am constantly inspired by her. In her words to me, in my observations of her, and as a bystander in her life.

Never let your light fade. Those of us who can call you friend, are blessed beyond words.

Happy birthday, I see you.

Oh, I would be remiss to forget to add… BOY DOES SHE ROCK BLUE!


Problem number one is solved. 100% single, and I needed that. I made promises that I don’t mind keeping, but would made my life more difficult, and let’s face it… I have a broken picker. Not pecker! Picker!

The thing is, you can’t keep the truth down. It always makes itself known. And I am now a lover of the truth. And apparently an obstacle or hurdle, whatever!

Truth is, it hurts a little. But it’s not the debilitating hurt. Rejection sucks. But I am worthy of far better. I know this. Sure she was young and sexy, but for gawds sakes, have a little moral code. So many things I could say about this, about her… But truth is I may as well be saying this in a mirror. I’ve been guilty of the same.

Now to put my focus where it belongs, on my broke ass. I got a lot of repairing to do on my life, and believe me, it will be better than before.

I have a lot going for me in the next few months. By doing the next right thing each day, shits going to fall into place. In that, I have absolute faith. However my knowledge of what is the next right thing… well there is some inner debate, a dialogue if you will, as to what exactly the next right thing is.

Part of me, the very sick part, will tell me a good woman will help me to get shit straight, fill that void and straighten the arrow on my broken moral compass (Yeah right, you want more than your arrow straightened, asshole!!).

NO!!!! Dont listen to that dick!!

The other part, it tells me to glue myself into fellowship, working the the steps, and rediscovering myself. Rediscovering the things I used to love to do. Off-roading, fishing, camping, and reading. Things that are important: friends and family, writing and the like.

And sex… what about sex? I love it! Guess that will have to wait.. FML!!


I’m not perfect folks. Just getting better. Sheesh! My name is Earl, I mean Dan, this is my story.


Sobering reality one.

People really don’t care what you’re doing now. What people know about you what you’ve done in the past. The only things that I can do is continue to try to change me. For that, I need Gods help. I ask him every day. Sometimes moment to moment.

I can promise people that I’m going to change. They need to see the change. You could promise them till your blue in the face. All they have to go on is history. I’ve hurt people. I’ve been selfish. I have reacted irrationally over real emotion. I have dropped out. I have not shown up. Have not answered calls, I’ve not replied to texts. I have straight up lied.

I have lost people… that’s a hard one to swallow.

Doesn’t matter what I say now. It’s important that my actions match my words. Telling people I’m going to get better… I would liken their response to what I told my high school girlfriend, “Sure, I’m willing to wait for sex, but you’re going to have to stop rubbing the outside of my jeans until we get there.” I’m sure you get my point.

I’m not coming out of this is a spiritual Guru. Hell I’m a straight-up shitshow to this day. What matters is making an effort every day to change. Consistency is key. Suit up. Show up. Participate. Be real.

Also, I need to remember, I am doing this for me. I am deserving of this.

My name is Dan, not Mark, not Greg, Dan is a drunk, pardon, addict/alcoholic. Not every day is perfect. Not every day is easy. But each day is a opportunity for growth. I am grateful to be on the top side of terra firma. Welcome to my journey.

Here I Go Again….

Y’all heard me say this before. Journey Of A Thousand Miles begins with the first step. Here is step one.

1. Came to believe we are powerless over (insert everything here) and our lives had become unmanageable.

Holy fucking understatement!

Imagine you’re cruising along. 100 ropes in your hand. Every single one is tugging from every single direction. People passing by, “Hey buddy! Do you need a hand?” All the while, one by one, each rope slowly slipping out of your grasp.

You simply look back try to charm up your most convincing smile, all the while sweat, profusely dripping off your brow, your eyes darting wildly in every direction and four more ropes slipping from your hands, ” Nope I got this, but thanks for the offer.”



I’m not sure how long I thought I could carry on that masquerade.

It didn’t last long. It wasn’t long before everything I thought I’d built-up came crashing down around me. My ego had gotten away from me. I thought I was being spiritual at moments. I was making it up, I was lying to myself and those around me. I was completely lost and wanted everybody to believe I had it all together. The lies you have to tell other people to get yourself to believe them. It’s insidious. Much like my disease. It snuck up on me I didn’t see it coming, I really knew it was there all along.

The beauty is today I don’t have to lie. I don’t have to remember what lies I told. I can be honest with everyone around me. I can be accountable. Once again I can carry myself like the man I have always been.

My name is Dan, I have came to the idea that I am powerless over people places and things and my life has indeed become and manageable.

Here is my first step. Welcome to my journey.

Hello, My Name is Addict… But That’s Not Who I Am……

For those of you who do not know what it means to be an addict, and alcoholic, a compulsive gambler, a sex addict, the list goes on ad nauseam….

OMG!!!!!! ADDICTION!?!?!

That is a label for people, who are otherwise driven, brilliant and often successful people… who have a issue with something that can get wildly out of control. Often the addiction makes a mess of everything in their life. As well as those who are around them.

Must be me age 11?

But do not mistake that label as the definition of the person. Regretfully, in society, that label clouds what lies underneath, an amazing person who is normally a beautiful, creative and loving individual.

To the people who are uneducated, uninformed, or have never been around such a person, addicts can be scary individuals. Addicts are capable of lying, stealing, embarrassing you, slipping, or out and out just totally fucking it up. But please do run and hide. Remember. Remember always. Addicts are scary people.

I say this in jest.

However addicts in recovery have some of the biggest hearts, have to overcome some of the biggest obstacles, and possess unmatchable drive.

How does one identify these so-called “addicts in recovery”? Excellent question!

An addict in recovery often has a smile on their face. Some, a sparkle in their eye. Many show real and raw emotion on their faces. They can often be found helping out others, looking outside of themselves, striving to do the next right thing. They do this with every fiber of their core. They show compassion. They sometimes over-react. Sometimes they’re just plain overly dramatic. They’re definitely not perfect people. But all are driven by something bigger than them.

At times they’re confused. Sometimes they can be irrational. But at their best? They’re absolutely beautiful.

If someone you know confides in you that they are a drug addict, an alcoholic, a sex addict, a compulsive gambler, or an overeater, whatever the affliction may be. Feel fortunate. They’re trying to be honest with you. They are trying to remain accountable. They’re letting you into a very vulnerable, private part of their life that could at any moment become a very serious matter. They’re trying to recover.

Please do not reply with judgement, sympathy, or avoidance. They may need to regain your trust if they have harmed you. But if they’re truly in recovery, and trying to better themselves, they just want to be treated like others.

Hi, my name is Dan, I’m an addict and an alcoholic. Welcome to my journey.

Yeah I believe I’m going to follow her.


Can We Get a Reset, on Aisle (what aisle?… Oh, Ok!) All of Them.

Boy to say that our lives don’t go as we have planned out…

Quite the understatement.

I have been somewhat of an island. And there is a saying that goes no man is an island. Well let’s just say that as more of a prophetic saying than anything else because I failed to function normally.


Where am I at this moment of my life, I am being treated somewhat like a child. And in turn I am throwing temper tantrums as a child.

I am a grown ass man however I have failed to act like it.

Well… got so much to say, no time to say it.

But thanks ya’ll…. just for holding in there…. stay tuned…

Dammit, The Universe Ain’t Throwing No Breaks.

I’ve always been a believer, do good and good shall come on to you.

Lately it’s become: no good deed goes unpunished…

Oh I am not blameless. I’ve made my share misjudgments, bad calls, and outright shitty behavior.

Perhaps karma has stepped in from past wrongs that I have not yet atoned for. Who knows. But I don’t steal. Not to mention steal from people who I consider a friend, or someone trying to help someone who has been dealt a worse hand than himself. I always felt the need to help others.

What I saw was a hard working man, trying to clean his past up and had a lot of heart. He wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. He was human still making mistakes, hell we all are. The police officer/neighbor indirectly vouched for him in a side conversation we had a few weeks earlier, “He is a hell of a good guy, when he puts his nose to the grind.”

I didn’t notice the sidebar like I should have.

Leap forward to a work trip that would have me on the road for almost three weeks. He or his girlfriend would call almost every night to see how I was doing, to let me know what was accomplished around the house. For two weeks. The last week nothing. Neither would answer a phone. They communicated through a friend the phone was “damaged”.

I began to worry, not for them, about them. Spidey senses tingled a bit too late.

When I got home, the back door was unlocked. Electricity was cut off. The only thing I asked of them in return for staying there was to get electric paid. The place was ransacked. Not just mine, but the other tenant who was away. Only things of mine that were left behind was a crystal decanter that belonged to my grandmother and a older personal mac computer. I know he left the decanter of mine behind due to the sentimental value it had to me. Even took every pair of shorts, socks, t-shirts and underwear I had there. Left my button up shirts, how kind.

Anger, rage, betrayal, and hurt all in one huge slap. I felt exposed, violated and stupid. So fucking stupid. And hurt.


And to add insult to injury, the other tenants family came to get what was left behind of hers and accused me of stealing her things. And… took the decanter, my tablet, the toilet paper I bought (who does that?) and who knows what else before I realized it.

I’ve lost hope in humanity. People are fucking evil. Redemption is a fucking lie. Mankind IS the devil.

I really need my faith restored.

Give me something God!


True love is a thing only real in the movies. It doesn’t happen that way ever… when it does it fades quickly.

The flame that burns twice as bright, only burns half as long.

So true. The longer you invest in something the more you yeild. I love fiercely… and to my detriment. It hits hard and fast and then fades just as swiftly, and is always on one side. Never both. The heart break is crushing for one of the two.

And here I find myself driving away again. And with each passing mile I feel the separation becoming greater and greater. And the feelings fade away. She is somebody I will always love. But it won’t always be the same. And if I was being truthful, I would love if she were the one. I watch the romantic feelings dessicate and note a lack of appropriate remorse. Truth is neither of us will be crushed. A little bit of honesty never hurt anybody. But it does make me sad to realize this.

Authors Edit:

I removed two pictures that were seen by the person that I wrote about in the above paragraphs. I didn’t think she would read it as she wasn’t a follower or subscriber of my blog. I am sorry she saw it that way. And if you ever come back to revisit this post, I truly am grieving that portion of the relationship… I miss looking forward to what could have been… and in truth, it never waned, I had to shut it off to save me.

-Dan Dan

I’ve given up on any idea of forever. And it’s kind of sad because I’m quite a romantic. I have attempted love… over and fucking over. It fails. I guess the fail is the forever. I have hurt some amazing and wonderful women, that quite possibly could have been my forever, all due to the fact that I did not realize I hadn’t yet gotten over my exwife.

So again I am back to the idea of finding true happiness and true love within. I am “seeing” myself now. I am Gemini after all. I’m serious, he’s not (asshole!). We are quite happy together in all honesty. He is coming around.

Self-reliance for me is being happy with who I am. It’s being happy when I’m alone. When you stop being reliant on other people for your own happiness you can actually start being happy, and share that with other people again. That starts with coming to terms with your flaws, your demons, and beginning to walk through your struggles.

And that is a daily thing. A true forever struggle. That is where you may find your forever.


It’s Over, Dead, and Gone. Signed, – Human

When you miss an old relationship, always remember, you are missing what it was. It WAS. Time changes people, circumstances changes people. It’s like missing a ghost…. you are missing something that is no longer there, and hasn’t been in a long time. It does nobody any good sitting around digging up old bones.

You can miss your “what could have been”, but even that is not real. All of that is past tense. Good to have memories…. but don’t live in the past. There can be no future if you are stuck in the past. I believe it is better off left to the archaeologist, the anthropologists, and the dogs.

So then in moving on, oddly, I thought moving on would be the hardest thing I could possibly imagine.

But in that moment of final goodbye, cutting all ties… only a sigh of relief. No more mind fucks. No more saying just enough to keep me dangling by a thread of hope. No more attempts to reel me back in. No more wishing I could go back. I let her feel like it was her decision. I was over it. But I needed her to stop. I had long stopped trying to talk with her. I in fact had been over it for a good long while.

Total relief.

She was the biggest anchor I ever had tied to me. Bigger than meth. Bigger than anything I could have battled on my own. She was my disease, my sickness. My curse.

She wasn’t always that way. She was once amazing. And that is what I had held onto for two years following the divorce. The amazing left in the final years of our marriage. I suppose it was a mixture of reality meeting her ideology. Perhaps a dash of her spiteful moms influence, a huge helping of a dysfunctional me, and a splash of resentful kids that she forced herself on (with my ignorant assistance).


We all do what we feel is best, the difference is if we operate off of what we feel is best for ourselves, or others. The narcissists meets the philanthropist. Do we chose to care more for ourselves or those around us. And that my friends, is not always black and white. No one amongst us is perfect. Some are less so than others.

And it’s not for us to judge, I’ll let God separate the wheat from the chaff. I’ll just continue to try to be better than I was the day before….

And cut anchors…..

Still Waiting For Intent to Catch the Author

My intent, when starting this blog, was to not be self-indulgent, whiney or negative. But to be positive, uplifting, inspiring, and a bit funny.


Think I’ll burn this bitch down, reboot. Start a new….

Maybe indeed I knew what I was doing. After all, this was a journey of self-discovery. Boy did I learn more about myself than I ever wanted to learn. I have a tendency to keep myself emotionally stunted, walk into the same locked door over and fucking over, and generally make a folly of my own life.

And this is where it stops.

Fuck ups and backslides are acceptable. Dwelling is not. Fuck up and move on.

As we all know male pattern retardation is very real in this one.

So a rebirth of some uncertain order is in store. Yes, by all means, there will be whiskey. Probably more than I should drink.

But don’t let that detract, from the fact, that I’m going to change my act.

Hear that? That was a promising career of a rap star going down the shitter.


So, here I sit, contemplating how to make this all positive, reaffirming, comforting.

I can surmise it with one simple paragraph. Listen up dumbass.

Life sucks and then we die. No one gets out unscathed, unhurt or unaffected. Our purpose on this blue, gaseous (not my fault, I have omitted Taco Bell from my diet), spinning orb, is to create our own happiness. My source of happiness comes from appreciating the small things. Children’s laughter. A long peaceful ride on a motorbike. The love and comfort of someone special. Giving love and comfort to someone. A well written book. Ice cream, fine cigars and bitchen whiskey.

Face it buttercup, life is not all about you. It doesn’t come to you. You have to go out and get it. There is nothing wrong with treating yourself to the finer things in life now and then.

Over do it or dont…




Me? I like writing, the mountains, motorbikes, making people smile, whiskey, and my people… see ya’ll soon.

Allow an edit here…

I met 2 people in my travels this week. She snapped her back and had a surgeon fuck up… paralyzed her…he had been ejected 1/4 of a mile from his vehicle.. died something like 7 times.. lost a lot of his fine motor skills..short term memory. They have had many obstacles and met one another after their tragedies. I have not met two people, so happy, and so friendly in all my travels. If ever Metallica or Dead and company comes to Phoenix, I hope to be able to force them to join me (she has not been to a show since her accident, and we share a fanship).

I hope it doesn’t take a misfortune like that to make any of us happy people.



So, interestingly enough, I was asked to write a presentation regarding my position in this company. I like my job. Aspects of it anyways. It presents constant challenges, forcing me to be creative in my problem solving skills, to consistently think ahead, and to think outside of the box.

I get to be boss and make critical calls.

Things I dislike? Allow me to borrow from above..

It presents constant challenges, forcing me to be creative in my problem solving skills, to consistently think ahead, and to think outside of the box.

That and the amount of travel required to do my job, has left my personal life, my mental and emotional well being in a state that, well, let’s just say, it is being questioned.

Now, I have already wrote up a job description, general duties, and requirements for this position. I was the first person hired for this job. I walked into a VERY vague, and interesting role within this organization 5 years ago when I signed on. And let me tell you, there was a lot of confusion in the beginning. And five years later, we are about to need another 1-2 or two more to keep up with product demand and delivery. Exciting times.

That means there will be a team of me. Watch out world, this may not be a good thing!

Enter a new Vice President of Operations. He is a very smart person, well schooled and a type “A” personality. He is a facts man. Cut and dried, black and white. There is no gray area in his book.

He has stated we are all overpaid in this organization. His justifacation? He could hire college grads to do the work we do for 2/3 our wages. While that is true, he doesn’t consider the following:

1. The amount of experience that this team brings to the table.

2. Each person in the position they hold were selected for their:

A. Knowledge possessed

B. The contacts they have

C. Reputation

D. Personal fit

3. Hire the college grad and once they master this, they move on for more money with a bigger company.

4. They will fall on their faces within the first 3-6 months

Anyways, back to my presentation I am supposed to give. The Quarter two meeting is canceled. I’m fine with that. I haven’t even started it. When asked to do it, I realized there was a motive behind it…

I am usually on the road, in the field and running my ass off. That little assignment has left a foul taste in my mouth. Last week, I didn’t really feel like showing up. Which lead to:

I don’t know how I got to the point of, “What….ever, gah!!!!”. It is completely unlike me.

I lie when I say I didn’t do the report, I had mine done for weeks. I have to admit, I employed a little plagiarism. But it was heartfelt, and I did intend to deliver it. And I had envisioned what I would look like upon the completion of my presentation delivery.


And as I walked out….?


Fortunately, the meeting was cancelled. I won’t be delivering my scripted “spit-in-your-face” presentation now. Probably for the best. I will however give you readers a peek into my comedic rebellion. I did feel like a brain once I finished the piece, though not mine, still brilliant all the same.


Dear Mr (Name Omitted),
We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Thursday in Q2 meeting for whatever it is that we were supposed to learn. But we think you are crazy to make us write a presentation telling you what we think our job roles and responsibilities are. You see us as you want to see us: in the most simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But, what we have found out is that each one of us is:
An overpaid purchasing manager…

an overpaid project manager…

an overpaid assistant project manager…

an overpaid shop manager…

an overpaid deployment manager.


Sincerely yours,


So, I may still deliver this in a one-on-one setting with said V.P. regarding my personal concerns with the direction I see this company going. But it was fun to imagine my inner Jonny Bender emerging in the conference room.


Not much…

No One, Quite Like You

So here I am, sitting and waiting to board a plane. Glistening with a fresh coat of “OMG, will I make my gate!?” sheen. In need of a shower and change of clothes…. 10 minutes past boarding time, the plane is just starting to “de-plane” as they call it in the trade. Immediately my thoughts run to writing a VERY STERNLY WORDED LETTER to their headquarters.

Dear unnamed airline,

Listen, you hear!! I have your android app, why was I not notified that the plane was delayed 10 more minutes….. !?!

Then when I stop to think about it, I realize I would only use that to my advantage, to handle more issues, stop and get that drink, those shoes, that hat….what ever my selfish mind tells me “If only I had just a few more minutes to…..” as nauseum.

I can be a selfish prick.
I steal time
I steal moments

There is very little originality in this world, with exceptions in the areas of new tech…. and even that has been rumored to have been given to us from some superior race outside of our galaxy. Whatever.
No thought, no assembly of word, can truly bear the stamp of originality.

But yet we hear it all around us all the time.

I don’t want to be like everybody else…. I want to be, “Original”.

I am not status quo… I am “One of a kind”.

Oh no, you won’t find anybody that dresses like me, I create my own styles, my own flare… I am “Unique”.

Oh the hell you are. That shirt you’re wearing? The manufacturer made hundreds and thousands more, just like it. That hat you have on? Quite possibly hundreds if not hundreds of thousands. And those shoes, mass-produced, dummy! So there is really nothing unique about the way you dress yourself. Sure maybe there’s certain accoutrement, maybe that bracelet that your friend made you. I will guarantee you that someone else has had that same ensemble thrown together at one point or another. Sure there might be subtle differences that aren’t immediately noticeable to the eye.

Oh. Wait. The small, subtle variances.

Everybody has this incessant need to feel different. Are we really all so different? It makes me quite literally, sick to my stomach.

That problem you’re going through? Hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people, have experienced it, and lived through it.

For those of you who really need to feel unique, worry not. We are all our:

1. DNA








You’ve heard the saying, “walk a mile in a man’s shoes”? That is what truly sets us apart.

From the moment we are conceived, our individual journey’s and experiences creates who we are. The type of food we take from our mother’s bodies, the sets of emotions we experience through them, the things we hear within the womb. I imagine even phases of the moon when we were conceived.. the season we are born into, even what was happening in the media during our development in the womb. The possibilities are endless.

Were we full term or premature? What was our birthing like? What were the sounds inside the birthing room? What were the first sounds we heard upon delivery? Was everything normal and calm? Was there high stress?

Bottle or breast fed? Stress in the home? Siblings? City or country? Pets? Colors in the home. Lead paint on our cribs. How many head injuries we sustained during our formative years. Our friendships…

There are literally so many variables that have even the smallest impact upon each and every one of us. Imagine the idea of the butterfly effect and the impact it has on each individual’s life. Especially the early on experiences.

Relax there Cupcake, you are an individual.

Hey Daddy Warbucks! As you’re walking by that homeless person, judging him, thinking even though you had a tough life, you pulled through… did you have the exact same experiences, to the finest detail, as the homeless man you’re judging had? How then can you judge?

Christian woman? All Pius and holier-than-thou, snubbing others outside of your income class and church group. Looking down on that woman you refer to as whore, slut, or hooker. That woman you judge is single with three kids. First one was a result of rape. You see her going from man to man. She is not whoring around. She is only trying to fill the void, left by her father who abandoned her at 6 years old, only seeking to be truly loved and cared for. Yeah she may have a bit of a foul mouth, but you will always get honesty from her. She is accepting of all the kids in her neighborhood. And she will go out of her way to help another person. What about that log in your own eye? Ironically, she never had a good example of love to learn from as she grew up. Yet she is more capable of showing love than you.

We are all individual, and unique. None of us are cut from the same cloth so to speak. Everyone has strengths in some areas that others do not. Likewise weaknesses. No one is the same. So the subtle differences give us our individuality. I don’t know what yours were… so I can’t judge.

Still, unintentionally, subconsciously, regrettably, and shamefully, I do. One day, I will shed this skin of imperfection, this flawed tapestry. I will be able to walk amongst my fellow human beings, seeing them not for their flaws, but the beauty of their individuality.

No thought original.

No trial unique.

No not one.

But each person is different. Whether its is the canvas, the paint, the strokes of the brush, the subtle difference in hues, or crazy belts of vivid colors from all across this wildly diverse, broad spectrum…

None two alike. And don’t even get me started on genetics.

The Big….Meh

We require human interaction.

Or do we? Could isolation be a cure? Can we completely shut ourselves off from the constant dredge of having to validate one another? Incessant desire for emotional fulfillment? Being open to hurt, pain, heartbreak.

What if it were just me, and a canine companion? Nothing to rely on, or to have to measure up to?

Just cut the rope.



Society is draining, as are relationships. Cumbersome. Burdensome. Exhausting. Hopeless, full of demands without yielding. How, then, would one achieve self-fulfillment? How did the mountain men survive without companionship? What about the physical aspects? Touch, embraces, affection… SEX?ķ

Are we merely being told we need those things to survive, in efforts to create another dependance?

Having once been a lover of people, a self described poet, philosopher, comedian, and gregarious humanitarian, I find myself growing tired of the effort to maintain interpersonal relationships. Tired of lies, let-downs, and questioning my worth to others… I find I don’t really like people. Wasting time and energy to sustain bonds and allegiance to others to have them eventually dissipated to a disappointing nothing is just that. A waste.

I’ve realized for years I have this overwhelming capacity for empathy. I see someone get physically hurt, from a small paper cut to breaking bones, every last nerve ending in my body sends out wave after wave of electric signals. Almost like walking directly into a wall, in pitch darkness. Emotional pain in others causes sadness, in such an overwhelming manner, that I feel it as well. When people say “You can’t possibly understand”, I actually do.

I can’t tune it out either. I see someone that is in emotional duress, I instantly sink down to their level emotionally. My average day is a constant rollercoaster on this Carnival of Feelers.

And my pain, my pain is overwhelmingly debilitating. It is soul crushing. And each cut seems deeper. So to cut all ties seems like the ideal remedy. Hurt, pain and the like all are imminent. It is lurking around every corner.

Can one survive without interpersonal relationships?

I shall see.

However.. I know this is impossible.

Greet another day. Fake another smile.

How’s that for “Getting Real With Myself”?FUCK YOU AND YOUR DR. PHIL WANNA BE TEXT MESSAGE! Best of luck in your new marriage.

Here is my catchy title… !@#$$*&#!!!!

Self loathing is a thing.

It really is. And it is prevalent in our country, in our schools, in our homes, and in our families. And looking within ourselves, each of us can probably see it in ourselves.

I have refined the act of self-loathing. I have made it one of the most disgustingly beautiful art forms. Well I say art form. Its partially art, and probably 80% mental disorder. I felt I needed to create a catchy new name for it.

Why? To make me stand out? Am I being grandiose? Too big and unique for my meager exisitence? Too different?

OH! MY! GOD! Am I turning liberal?



waaaaaiiitt for it……


Now just think how a narcissist treats others. Lacks compassionate understanding for others (empathy). So self involved in their own appearance, they can hardly pass a mirror (vain). Has an uncanny ability to turn every issue with any blame or consequence and turn it to the fault of anyone else, especially the accuser (I don’t even know what the fuck to call this. Deflection-ist perhaps?). Turns fear of something into hate for something (klansmen, Aryan supremacists, Black Lives Matters, feminists). Often feels like the most intelligent, important in any room. Unable to love others.

Sado-narcissist, in contrast to the narcissist, has compassion for everyone but themselves. Spends so much time marveling how good everyone else looks, deploring they way they look themselves (can never measure up to others physically). Has uncanny ability to take the blame on for any issue in the lives of themselves and everyone else around them (martyrdom). Turns fear of someone or something into love and need for acceptance (codependency?). Often feels like they are in a room of their intellectual and social superiors.

A lot of people like to bring attention to their own faults/mistakes or chronic fuck ups. It’s my belief they do this in hopes of good advice… or a bail-out.

Well not….

👍👉this guy👈👍!!!!

I prefer to recoil and hide from others… stuff my shame and disgust in a box. Seeking help is a bitches cry for help. Advice!?!?!? Duh!!!! Don’t do it again, dipshit.

Learn from your mistakes, DUMBASS!!!

“Perhaps you’d like a foot in your ass!?!”

Ah Red Foreman…

My reaction to my faux pas tends to shrink my circles. Keeps others at arms reach. This is truly a unhealthy reaction. Particularly if you remember this god-awful, often cited, overly-played quote…

“We are only as sick as our own secrets.” Whaaaaaaaa!?!? Somebody get me a doctor! I have a rupturing closet door…

So today, I will confide in someone… change comes from within… I was forced to read advice I had once given to my daughter today, somehow, it was relevant:

Make the change you want to see.. just sayin. Like I said. Write your goals down. Want to live on the west coast? Make a plan to visit east coast first. Make sure you are not settling. Small goals to start Sarah, Joshua, and Jonny. Never limit yourselves. Write down the small goals. How do you see yourself making that happen? Take the next right step. Contact your family and your friends. Bounce it off all of them.. real friends will say make it happen. The best friends will say “This is how I would make it happen!”
Never settle, know your real worth. Not what you see, what your true friends see in you. Use them as your mirror. For their words hold more weight than our self-critical minds. Be the you that you want to see!

That and prayer…

Seems fairly simple does it not?

Today, I will look at myself the way others view me.

Today, I will confide in someone.

Today, I will make a list, envision what steps it would take to make my dreams and goals my reality.

Today I will pray, not for myself, but for others. Especially that God place his hand on my dad to heal his cancer. God is bigger than me.

HE has got this. If I try to hold the ball, I will only lose yardage, time to pass.





Be careful when you give in to your curiosity….. even though that wasn’t perhaps the nature of accidentally seeing something you really wish you hadn’t.

When you pull the wool off your eyes, get ready to accept what you most likely didn’t want to. Things were as you hoped they weren’t, which can be both good and bad, or indifferent, a new beginning or that closure you have been needing. What ever it turns out to be… it is what it is and you can’t change it, you can’t go back in time and pull the blinders off sooner.

What you can do is accept things for what they are. You can choose to not let it affect you in a negative manner. You can chose to just be ok with things. “You”, meaning I, or him, or her of course. Change action, behavior, …..expectations.

And I can also laugh at my Male Pattern Retardation.

(The Ringer folks)

At 48, almost 49 years of age, the level of my naivety is astounding. There is a saying that goes as follows:


Why do I have this fucking bump on my head?

Quit hitting your head with that big damn board, asshole. That would be a good start.

I keep saying, every .. fucking .. time .. “NEVER AGAIN!”


Never. Never would I have ever thought. Never would I have imagined.

Imagining……… hearing “X” song without having romantic delusions of my ex-wife.

Not only did I experience this…. I felt sorry for her. Her idea of love is one that can only be realized for moments at a time.

My God how sickening is that thought….. she is far more pitiful than I had once imagined. Loving only for a season. We all have expectations of what our partners, soul mates, or as I prefer, “My Person” would be like. The one I had imagined in my youth was a tall, subservient, witty, fun-loving, “legs for days”, neighborhood organizer, mom to even the kids friends, understanding, kind-hearted, forgiving…..

Oh shit, I could go on. What I had in my mind was indeed far more rare than a unicorn. Unicorns are merely legends. This idea was beyond the wildest myth. My imagery, ideology, far beyond fantasy idea of what my perfect partner was going to, or should be, did not take into account any of my flaws.

My character defects, larger than any elephant in the room, more glaring than 100,000 candlepower led light bar bought off of Billybobs 4×4 Shine Runners Hub, and more destructive than a bomb-vested jihadist wearing a razorblade trench coat.

Let’s just say I could disrupt a cataclysmic event. I am certain end of days will happen after I die. I could walk into an epic Heaven v. Hell battle between Satans army of demons and Gods army of warrior angels…. both sides would simply stop. Satan would remark “Holy shit, did you feel the energy of that battle field take a fucked up turn? I think I am gonna go lay down and reconsider my life goals”.

(Who’s my little creampuff?)

Angel’s would lay down their weapons, walk away arm in arm with each other, comforting demons with phrases like, “Don’t be so hard on yourself, you Jehovah’s Witnesses weren’t all bad.” Or “You know, that Judas guy wasn’t such a bad dude, hell did you hear what I did for a Klondike bar?”

Did you get a load of that weird fucking duck that flew into the battle field?

Anyhow, I digress.

As I grew older, I realized I needed to drop any and all pretense of what I thought my ideal mate should be. We may never find our perfect mates. A real Perfect Mate is going to be that person that understands you, not someone you feel you have to change or should have to change for you. That person may lack certain attributes that you always thought you would have found in your spouse. You need to drop ideology. that person is going to have flaws. They’re not going to change those when you’re ready for them to, they are going to change them in their own time. That person is going to be someone you can grow together with. Sometimes you may have to exhibit patience far beyond what you thought you were capable of. Somehow I have to believe that it would be worth it.

The John Hughes movies of the eighties misled most of us. Gave us is false ideas of what our romantic story should be. Hell most of the things that the underdog did in the movie to get that girl that was way out of his League, is pretty much considered stalking nowadays. If you considered deploying any of the methods they used in his movies, then be prepared to be served arrest warrants, restraining orders, and the like. Hell if you did that stuff to my daughter, I’d fire buck shot into your ass.

Well as we can all agree, life is a series of misconceptions. I call a re-do… I’ve been lied to all my life. Someone tell me the tooth fairy is real….please? I was a Jehovahs Witness, I know about the rest of the fairytales, unless Santa Claus IS actually real…. because I came to believe the redemption of Christ is real, if I have to accept the love and power of Santa Claus, that will take ANOTHER drug addiction, my poor body cannot handle that.


Our bodies and minds are self healing. If i quit smoking now i would have the lungs

of a 78 year old….. not bad……!

So let’s recap my self absorbed paradigm.

1. An ex is easily forgotten, so long as you’re able to convince yourself your life is better than theirs. (My life is SOOOO much better than hers. On sooo many levels).

2. I have no idea where I sit as far as the so-called “Made Up 3” is involved. (That is Sato Claus, Easter Bunny, tooth fairy)

Cuz fuck you, I love Jesus

3. Ex’s are easy to get over as long as you think you have it better than them…. I CANNOT EMPHASIZE THIS ENOUGH!!!

The Fox and the Duck (the dumbest blog EVA)

Too fucking dumb to see their differences, a young duck befriends a witty fox in the mountianside. This odd couple scampered off on wonderful adventures. Oh the days of frolicking and basking in the sun. The duck would fly off intermittently and return. Each time he returned the witty Fox was more and more skittish of the duck. The fox would accuse the duck of trying to somehow deceive it or pull the proverbial wool over its eyes.

The duck had grown quite fond of this fox. And when she would spew her accusations at him, initially it would hurt. But in true duck fashion he would let it roll off his back. Wanting to regain the trust of the fox the duck offered the fox to join him in his adventures. The untrusting fox would merely say, “I couldn’t possibly. My den would be out of order. I cannot possibly leave this place that keeps me lonely.”

The duck begin to use grand gestures to regain the trust of the fox. The duck would help the fox with it’s den. Building things, improving things, the silly duck was bending over backwards for the fox. Anything that the Fox would mention she would like to see done, he was on it.

“Come fly south with me” the duck often asked the fox, “see my life I live away from you.”

“But matters here can’t be handled without my cunning ways.” the fox always replied.

The duck always knew what her answer would be. Each time the duck was about to leave, the fox would begin to change the look in its eyes, as its true nature would begin to surface without her realizing. Her animalistic instincts would surface. She would snarl and bite at the duck, confused and saddened the duck would leave and not look back…

After time, the fox would get word to the duck. Sweet words, kind words, words of regret and remorse. Made to sound sweeter through the delivery of the other woodland creatures, the duck couldn’t resist. He loved the fox after all, and wanted nothing more than to spend his days in the company of this beautiful fox.

Once again, the duck returned to the foxes den. The fox seemed pleased at his return. They spent the day in the familiar ways as they had before. They wore each other out completely, and eventually fell asleep together curled up in a familiar manner. But the duck remained apprehensive, the look in the foxes eyes never returned to the look he used to love. They were more wild, untrusting, almost the same look the duck saw in the wolf that almost killed him years earlier.

They walked down to the spring for a drink. The foxes eyes darkened, the more she drank from the spring. Maybe it was seeing the duck drinking from the same spring… but the fox started to croutch lower as it spoke, “We were never meant to be friends,” she snarled at the duck, “everything you do is a lie. You walk around like it is not in my nature to devour you.” The fox said as it barred its fangs.

“Your right, Fox,” said the duck, “but I know no other way to act around you. I know you love me and would never want to hurt me… I literally know no other way.”

As the duck lowered his head to take another drink from the spring, the fox, unable to control itself further, lunged forward at the unsuspecting duck with its mouth wide open, planting her teeth into the naive ducks neck, pinning the duck to the ground. She tasted the ducks blood as it ran from the corners of her mouth and she felt her primal instincts take over….. she shook the duck violently by his neck. For one moment…. she flashed back to how it used to be between them and released the grasp on the wounded ducks neck and watched his limp body flying towards the spring, then slowly float lifeless down the spring.. far out of her site.

The duck didn’t die, he pulled himself out of the spring and sought help from the other ducks. Flesh wounds were not nearly as severe as the ones to his heart. But the other ducks helped him….

One thing for sure.


Stupid fucking duck!

Won’t You Be My Neighbor….

I have not written in a while. I was uninspired. I was sad. As a matter of fact, I had dug myself into a pit of udder fucking misery, deeper than even I had realized.

Now, please understand, I have not been suicidal. I don’t even know if I would have the courage to take my own life. But I wished, very much, that some force beyond my control would have stepped in and punched my card for me. I was even selfish, horrifically uncaring, shamefully thoughtless in my desire to be taken out… I didn’t give a fuck if others had to be killed with me for it to happen, so long as it wasn’t my friends or family. I was disgusting. But sadly, that is what pain and depression does to a lot of us.

By the time I realized how deep I had my self down, I was neck deep in my own piss, shit and vomit. And I couldn’t even see the top of this hole. Not something I can dig out of. Initially, I always try to claw my way out. I do it until my fingers are raw and bloody….. and still I have gotten nowhere. My best progress comes when I build hand holds to lift myself out. I do that by creating “my next right steps”.

Now I could ask someone to throw rope down to help me out. *Gaaaag!*I can feel the bile rising in my throat as I mention asking for help. I rarely do. I fear the debt it would create, the weakness it would show, and “What would people think of me!?”

Y’all need Jesus, and Mr. Rogers

Fred Rogers embodies what most people need in their lives, in a human form. Kind, caring, accepting, understanding and unashamed about it. He actually cares. I need that in my life.

The deep and meaningful is far better than the simple and shallow.

When we talk about our feelings they become less overwhelming, less upsetting and less scary.

Imagine what our real neighborhoods would be like if each of us, as a matter of course, uttered just one kind word to another person.

Sometimes slow is better in understanding, and learning to be patient, in going deeper spiritually.

Often when you think you are at the end of something you’re at the beginning of something else.

All brilliant, simple, prophetically deep, and meaningful quotes of Mister Fred Rogers.

That and the unforgettable:

I like you, just the way you are.

I always assumed that was utter bullshit. He was actually very true to that. But I have a hard time believing that anybody could like me “just the way I am”.

I am flawed. I’m full of angst. I am selfish. I am also confused. Disenfranchised. I make myself my own Island. I compartmentalize. I keep parts myself far from the public eye.

I am also caring, I’m also loyal. I always wish to leave situations better than they were when I enter them. I find enjoyment in giving without expectations. Whether it’s my time or my labor. Financially when I can. I find a light in just giving a kind word to a passing stranger. The smile on their face brightens my day.

My heart tells me that inherently I am a good person. My head won’t have me believe that. But these truths I find self-evident.

1. I feel

2. I hurt

3. I bleed

4. I am a human, being, in each moment, as flawed as I was created, the best me I know how to be.

I’m told Jesus loves me, maybe Fred Rogers actually liked me… just how I am.

Thank God for good friends, live music and libations!

Village Idiot Strikes Back 



Well you get the point. We as men pride ourselves on having a razor sharp wit amongst our peers, our brothers, our comrades…. to possess the ability to launch a verbal assault, attacking their virility, intelligence, sexual prowess (or lack of), sexual preference, their mothers morality  (again, or lack there of), is something that can make legends of otherwise weak men. 

If the verbal slander is witty, sharp, and fast as a speeding bullet, even the target of the disparaging assembly of vowels and constinants will concede in a gentleman manner with a “Wow, that was a good one.. I’m… I’m. … speechless. You got me real good.”  Generally this is followed by some laughter, and more often than not, a slap on the back, or a firm sincere handshake or high-five, PROVIDING it falls into the following criteria: 

1. Relevancy – you cannot just fire some random fuck up of theirs from 10 years ago if it is does not pertain to the the matter at hand.

2. Stinging burn, with no physical show of remorse or pride…. has to be ninja-like. Stone faced..

3. Must show intelligence… anyone can attack a mom or wife… that is child’s play.

4. An attack of ones integrity, moral character, or self image or either of the previous combined,  is the most prolific assault…. and certainly noteworthy.

So those are the rules set forth. There is also an unspoken rule, one known to most men who have even a thimbleful of intelligence. One’s female love interest is not fair game. No matter how cool she may seem. No matter how expansive the banter is with said interest. And for the love of God, whatever you do, never ever ever do it on social media. If you do it amongst a group of friends in a public setting…. It may result in a very quiet, or very non quiet ride home that night.

Do it on social media? That will result in at least 24 hours silence. Followed by the release of the Kraken…

I used to have a Jiminy Cricket. Poor bastard set on my shoulders for years getting flicked off and crawling back up my pant leg to mount a spot on my shoulder right next to my ear. That poor little prick, crawled back up there time and time again for nearly 12 years. But by year 13, he was smart enough to know that I was not going to fucking listen. 

So I digress, moral of the fucking story here is as follows:

1. Women are delicate flowers and should be treated as so.

2. If you want to talk shit about them, do it in the bedroom as your mounting them as if they were your trusted steed, or in solitude with your most trusted friends…..



She’s got beautiful eyes Part One

People all the time ask me what type of girl I go for. Dan what IS your type?

Well I don’t have a physical type. Yeah I switch back and forth from preferring redheads to blondes to brunettes.

There are moments where I am attracted to skinnier women. Sometimes even a few extra pounds, if you pack it well, is not a put off. The curves can be quite appealing. Sometimes I love the fit muscular look on women, as long as it is not over pronounced and manly looking.


And I have been with some very beautiful women. But I am the master of pinpointing some minut flaw and making it a glaring defect in my mind.

My type you ask? Broken. Broken, with a beautiful soul and a beautiful heart. Completely emotionally unavailable. And I see the Brokenness when I look into your eyes. I see the distrust when you look at me. And let me tell you crazy usually accompanies that.

You might wonder how I can see Brokenness when I look into your eyes. I see myself. You want me to go batshit crazy for you? Withdraw. And guess what happens if you reciprocate my affections. I, in turn, withdraw.

When I get too much time by myself I become very introspective. Which is a good thing because I have learned a lot about me. I also tend to write more when my soul is crushed. I don’t really desire to be in a happy healthy relationship. It’s not my type of challenge. It appears I will spend the rest of my life in the eternal cat-and-mouse game, if you will.

The ones who truly love me and pursue me, I brand them as a stalker, crazy, there must be something wrong with this person. I create the illusion that they’re insane. And has that ever served me well. Here I sit amidst another broken heart and shattered dreams, and wondering what is wrong with me…. And feeling as if I have an entire book within me.

And through a little soul-searching I think the reason for this is two-part

Learning young that women leave

At the age of 17 my house got split in two. My mom cut me out of her life for the next 15 years. I know that had a profound effect on me. Yet at the end of the 15 years, when she pursued a relationship with me, I no longer desired it. And I walked away… I think me not wanting a relationship with her after all that time as part of the self-preservation mechanism.

My mother, when I was a child, was a role model Mom. Very tender and affectionate. Both parents needed to work to sustain the household. But she always insured she was able to work from home. Over the years that began to change. The oldest of five, I’m sure by the fifth one she began to get tired. That coupled with consistent problems with her and my father’s relationship she went into depression. She was also deeply spiritual, she saught God in many different ways. She got involved in a very bizarre cult that eventually ripped my family in two. Her gradual exit started when I was about sixth grade. Not so ironically the summer between 6th and 7th grade, I had my first real heavy crush.

Cindy had moved in directly next door. She was stacked!!!

And it was not long till she and I were officially dating. My first-ever girlfriend, first ever French kiss over the chain link fence that divided our two yards, first under the shirt and under the bra feel. We were always holding hands hugging. They had an above ground pool and we soaked in the pool holding each other. There were nights of slow dancing in the basement. Listening to albums from the 50s and 60s. And the endless making out. I need to thank her someday for teaching me how to kiss. And it seemed like that relationship had gone on forever, when in fact, it was only 3 months long. In all that I also experienced jealousy for the first time. And at the end of that summer my first-ever real heartbreak. I was crushed.

Entering in the 7th grade, I would see her standing around her friends giving me the occasional eye.

I was going to show her. And all the while make a name for myself. So I sought out the bad kids. Picked up smoking. Even started smoking weed that year.

Yeah I showed her all right. Seventh grade was a huge transition from grade school. I was an outcast in grade school and became a stoner in Junior High. Making a new name for myself creating a new person. I gave up baseball and never persued sports after that.

Mom’s activities with a crazy cult began to infiltrate the household. Mom and Dad’s fights got more and more severe. As well as dad’s drinking. My home life was an embarrassment to me. So I began to create a life outside of home and as far away from home as possible. Only the people in my neighborhood and one close friend knew of the asinine shit that happened at our house.

I made sure I always had a job of some sort or some sort of social activity to keep me out of the house. I would become head over heels with girl after girl only to become sick of them after the third week. That pattern stayed with me all the way into high school until Corey Allred.

Corey was my first real cat and mouse game that I was fully engaged in. She was my second real love. One that I never really got over. That ultimately ended in heartache as she eventually chose Mike Heinzman the local drug dealer, over me. He was pretty badass. But he had a hair lip that drove me nuts. But you didn’t fuck with him either. And he had a badass mullet to go with his 69 Nova jacked up on 50s. I didn’t see Corey at all After High School until around 97. We ran into each other at a bar and flirted all night. Hung out a few times after that and then she had to moved back to Washington State. I had her email and phone number. And she dropped off the Earth shortly after that. She got married and had a couple of kids. She died in a car accident a few years later. That’s why she disappeared on me. I didn’t find out until about 8 years after she died. And I was crushed.

Brenda I met my senior year. I had finished my first rehab stint I met her and her best friend at an Alcoholics Anonymous dance. She was cute as fuck. She had a smile that won me over immediately.

She was already graduated from high school a year ahead of me. She was my first fuck as well. The subject of marriage came up after our second month of dating and her getting pregnant. We were officially engaged. She miscarried. And was pretty choked up about it. She took a new job and started disappearing from my life. Turns out she started dating her boss David. A short, fat, balding beady-eyed maggot of a man who owned a traveling telemarketing business. She ended up running away with him, and after doing a lot of acid she changed her name to Ashley. I think it’s safe to say I dodged a bullet on that one.

I finished high school with a revolving door dating lifestyle. In that time my parents had gotten divorced and things got pretty fucking crazy. I was now living with my dad and my younger brother and sister. My dad was an over-the-road truck driver so that revolving door started swinging pretty fast.

Enter Barb .

She moved to Billings Montana from Chicago to live with her brother, who also owned the local porn shop in town. To say she was wild was a bit of an understatement. Hers was the first shaved pussy I’ve ever seen in my life. And I was enthralled. But after 3 or 4 weeks of banging like bunnies, my interest waned. But Lord was she fun. I had Bon Jovi style hair down to my ass. And attention from all sorts of different women. She was by far the hottest. But the game got old. Soon after graduation I moved in my own place. I was dating three women simultaneously until I got caught.

I wish I still had that energy.

I started dating Jennifer exclusively. She was incredibly sweet and extremely sexy.

I would say she is a white buffalo. The One That Got Away. Or I pushed her away. Again with the traps of boredom in dating. I was fickle and fucked up. She had pretty bad issues at home. So she would come to my place frequently cook dinner, clean house, she was amazing. Being a dumbass Punk of a kid, I just simply stopped answering her phone calls.

Then came Laura B. She will only called by that because I don’t want to spread nasty gossip about her. I met her at work, I was really interested in her. She was still a senior in Catholic High School. She seemed innocent and very very sweet. We weren’t going to have sex because we wanted to make a relationship work with us. Her parents were high-end realtors in Montana, and did not like me…. long-haired filthy Punk with a 1970 Chevelle jacked up and loud as hell. When I would pick her up at her house for a date, her mom would only crack the door and say Laura will be down shortly. We did it for a little over a month and I came into work one day her best friend said, “Dan, I got to tell you something. We got drunk last night at the Billings Mustangs baseball game, we went out with the team afterwards for a party. Laura slept with the team, I shit you not 7 guys off the baseball team.”

Fuck me….

Marianne Westermark would be the last girl I dated seriously prior to getting married. We have been dating for 3 months when I decided to make the move to Washington State. She wanted to finish up High School and then meet me there. She never finished high school, she wound up swallowing a bottle of pills and drinking a bottle of wine a month after I had moved. I had talked to her that day on our weekly call. Long-distance was expensive back then and that’s what we had set up. She didn’t say anything about being depressed or sad or angry or anything. No suicide note no nothing. She was found in her basement not breathing covered in her own vomit. Some people say it was an argument with her parents that caused it but nobody really knows. It fucked my head for a long time. I carried her obituary around in my pocket for 4 years. I got a phone call from her best friend a week after it happened.

To be continued…..

Dream a little dream

Rarely has a woman said, “He is so perceptive”.

Our radar as men is so off, and in every direction.

As a matter of fact we’re god-damned ignorant. I’m not even sure at what point I chose to ignore the obvious. It is entirely the fault of John Hughes and John Cusack. The romantic gets the girl..

I can’t even blame them, this, this lays solely on me. The Never Say Die, persistence will pay off attitude, it’s not always realistic. Especially after fucking up to the degree I had. There is no coming back.

Maybe if I…..

NO DAN!!!! Put the boom-box down and slowly walk back to your vehicle!

This one cut deep. I’ve been searching for the words, but there are none. I knew all the while what I was facing, I thought I could win her heart back. If she could only see my heart. If she knew what she meant to me…. all lies we tell ourselves. You cannot change the way a person feels about you. You can’t. There is something about honesty while being naked sitting together in the bottom of the shower…. weird how the truth comes out.

Bless her heart (I don’t mean this in a southern way either), she tried. She allowed me to put my time in, she thought, maybe hoped, that she would feel the same about me once again. She was honest with me all along… but we haven’t talked about it for a few months, though. We drifted further apart. I regret nothing, I had put my all into it and was honest to a fault…… and truth be told, my own affections over the past several weeks have been waning.

We have said many good-byes. This one was definitely different. This one was more permanent. This one’s done. I know we will always be in and out of one another’s lives, but on a different level. Just not as lovers. And if I ever consider opening that door again, somebody PLEASE, hit me with an aluminum baseball bat.

And through all of this, it’s giving me hope. I will not choose to throw myself into a bunch of different beds to cover the pain. I will process it, I will experience it, and I will grieve it. The good thing about pain is is creates growth. I’ve definitely grown over the past year. I no longer seek to live my life alone. However I will not settle. I’m going to be more selective and perhaps a bit more guarded. I know what I bring to the table, and I know my worth. I deserve nothing less than what I put in. So no, no settling for this guy.

She is a good woman, there are none others like her. And that doesn’t mean there isn’t something better out there for me. She is one of a kind and will forever be a part of my story. And Tennessee whiskey will never sound the same…. for now it will be a bittersweet song to hear. Hipster Cocktail Party is off my Pandora, shame too, it’s a great station.

Life is a rollercoaster, an amazing ride. The ups, the downs, the thrills, and the twists and turns…. all makes it a great ride.

My heart indeed is broken. But I’m not going to wallow in that sorrow. I’ll take a deep breath here and there and look up to the sky, allow myself to feel in a moment, but be careful not to dwell in it.

Take care, Boo. (Ps. I hate that nickname)

I’d be remiss to not sign at the end of this.

I am still:

Dan, 48, still Destination Unknown

Just an update:

03/31/18. I never gawddamn learn.. but the callous skin eases the pain.

Can I get a big fuck you!?!?

Alligators in the moat

Self-preservation is an instinctual thing. Especially to those of us who have been hurt the most. We finally make the decision that we’re not going to let that happen again. So we deploy every protection method available to ourselves. We even create protection devices. Our own weaponry. Something that automatically fires when we don’t even realize it is happening.

As children, we experience hurt often. I remember a dream I used to have often as a child. I was in a meadow. A clearing in the forest. It was warm there. Surrounded by trees on all sides and beautiful blades of tall grass that were gently swaying back and forth in the summers breeze. It was comfortable and peaceful in the center. Trees that surrounded me represented the unknown. After a time, I wanted to wander towards the forest. Every time I would make my way to the edge of the meadow, a large hideous Beast would swiftly go to the area I was walking towards. I couldn’t see anything but I felt its presence. I would make my way to the other side of the clearing. And the Beast again swooped in. I was trapped in this Meadow. I couldn’t leave. The fear of something I couldn’t actually see, kept me from leaving my comfort area. In my dreams I never left that clearing. And the beauty of the meadow became dreary and cold. I would never know if in fact that hideous Beast I had imagined wasn’t something else stuck in the dark, seeking comfort from something in the light. Fear kept me from seeing that. The fear that the beast intended to hurt me, kept me to the confines of that meadow.

In my adult life, I have only opened myself to others a handful of times. I have built my castle. Surrounded it with a moat. Loaded it with alligators so that only the people I want in can come in. Ironically the only way in is the drawbridge that I can drop. This drawbridge is full of landmines, spikes, darts and many, many obstacles, that they unknowingly encounter. This is not something I do with intent.

Enter pre-determine self-sabotage.

I am a gregarious person, I really enjoy the company of people. The more the merrier. I actually prefer groups to one on one interaction. One on one is for select few people. I used to be a very trusting person, assumed the best of everyone. Over time, some have shown me their true colors, that and the accumulation of skeletons in my closet, leads me to be distrusting of others.

Well let’s not look in there okay?

While I am fully aware that my feelings towards others is a reflection of how I see myself, I know that I am actually a very trustworthy person. I’m not a gossip. I don’t share other people’s business with anyone else. when I choose to love somebody I am faithful, loyal, determined and fierce. There is nothing I won’t do for the other person. Still, there is something I don’t trust within myself.

One of the experiences that had the most impact on my opinion of people was involving my second ex-wife. At a point in our relationship she felt unhappy and uncared-for, she chose to have a textual emotional affair with out feeling one bit bad. She was completely unapologetic. And even admitted it. What’s worse is it was with an ex-boyfriend that she would regularly flaunt in front of me when she felt I was not giving her the right amount of attention..

She would actually lay in bed next to me texting this guy until 3 or 4 in the morning at times. I’m pretty sure that is the point where I completely checked out of the relationship. I made half-hearted attempts after that, but I never really trusted her again. Then there were rumors. And while we were married, her own mother wanted her date several other people. The ferrier, other trainers, to say the least I wasted my love on a fucked situation. Compile that with the fact that her work took her out of town for weeks at a time. And I would go 5 or 6 days without hearing from her, not so much a text or call. “Too busy”, she always told me. If i called or text her it was only met with a stern chastened tone. Given the information that I had. It was quite a mind-fuck. To this day she still maintains she never cheated on me.

That is, if you don’t count the hot tub kiss she had while out of town, but she was just “testing” him.

Whether that is true or not, I’m not quite sure. But in my head she probably did. The core of the sin lays in the heart, or the intent. The deed is merely follow through.

Love they say is truly blind, so my blinders were removed September of 2013. That’s the final time we filed for divorce and I stuck to it.

So now the challenge for me moving forward in my life. Is learning to trust again. That is a difficult thing to do. On any level. I know for sure I will not get suckered like that ever again.

This sucker was born May 31st 1969.

Never again.

Dear God, your irony is not lost on me.

Pastor Dan, youth minister. 

My life has been a folly. 

(but not a Matt Foley)
Recently, on a Saturday afternoon, post Thanksgiving, on a long drive, alone again, I began considering things spiritual. My spirituality, other peoples  spirituality,  and how that all intermingled. I stumbled into one of my favorite coffee shops in the Ashburn area. As I order my coffee, the Barista smiles and said this is going to be an odd question. I told her to fire away, and then she asked me if I was a youth pastor. She said you seem cool, like a youth pastor, lots of energy ..like a youth pastor and, well, just the face of a youth pastor.

What does a youth pastor look like?

Maybe she is just into youth pastors.

I chuckled a little bit, as I thought to myself how far away I was from a youth pastor. The first thought in my head was the Apostle Paul. He once stated, and I paraphrase, that I am the sinner of sinners. I thought of that, as I totally relate. As far away as I am from the youth pastor, her guess was not that far off.

Not to say that I am Pious like a youth pastor, or deeply rooted in Scripture. But she spoke to my heart. Or maybe she saw my heart. When I was an “on fire Christian”….. I wanted to become involved in Ministry. And the two areas were youth pastor, or marriage ministry. On both fronts, I completely failed in my personal life. Many of my frequent prayers have been, stated in a minimalist manner, “Lord, show me my greatest weakness.”

3 agnostic children and 2 failed marriages later, here I sit.

Those are glaring side effects of the underlying causes. 

Trust. Follow-through. Compromise. Greed. Lust. Weakness. This list could go on and on and I could rip myself to shreds. I could write a riveting tell-all of How Not To….. well you can fill in the blanks of subjects ad nauseum .

Why today? Why after my thoughts drifted off to God? Why Me? And why has that conversation ran through my mind over and over. Dear God, it’s me, Daniel….

Two and a half years on the “Boom-Boom” wagon, schlepping my way from bed to bed and lying my way from woman to woman… whiskey stiffled my conscience enough to feel ok about it (only till the drink or feeling faded away) so that i could keep up my game of “port bingo”. It all stiffled my spirituality as well. Kinked the God conduit if you will. 

I used to hear Him.. not so much in the audible sense, but in murmurs to my soul, a gentle guiding hand. Answers to questions.  Those lines have gone silent. Not so much as busy signal or dial tone. Matters of the flesh has overtaken that. Concerns of worldy clammerings have superseded my spiritual pursuits. And man, it’s fucking loud in my head.


I still talk to God however. and I no longer play Beach Blanket Bingo. Meaningless sex has lost its luster. It’s difficult to pretend you’re somebody else for long periods of time. It becomes exhausting and even more so, expensive as hell.  It took its toll on me physically, mentally, financially and spiritually. 

It was something I had done to hide the pain. I used to keep track of the numbers as a badge of honor. It was a joke amongst my circles of friends. A bragging right for myself, and endless locker room stories. 

The numbers have faded away. I really have to sit down and think it through to come up with an approximate number. I have a lot of shame regarding those conquests I used to relay to my colleagues and friends in lewd graphic detail. 

Youth pastor…. I think not. Fallen angel, wayward wanderer. Maybe. Think I’ll go to church today. Well on second thought I have a lot of driving to do. I’ll do it later

When scars are all that remain

My hand was hurting today. Maybe it was the cold. Along the outside of my left hand is a scar. It’s directly down from my pinky. No-one else would recognize it as a scar, it blends in with the rest of the lines in my palm. A few months ago it was a cut, severed my nerves, but spared my tendon.

The pain brought attention to it. As I looked at it, I looked up towards my pinky to see if there was any discoloration, anything that would show signs of poor circulation or whatnot. As I looked at the back of my hand, I noticed on the finger that used to carry my wedding ring, there’s no longer an indentation. Something that was familiar to me for several years. All that remains where my wedding ring used to sit, is a scar, where I once welded my ring and my watch to the positive post on my alternator and a motor mount of my Suzuki Samurai. There is also a scar where I used to wear my metal watch on my left hand.

It brought back memories when I used to stare down at that ring and spin it around my finger with my thumb. It was something that was always there, something that always brought to mind my wife. Well ex-wife now of nearly 4 yrs. Where no longer is there a callous from a ring, only scar remains.

I remember the pain that was there before the scar ever came to be. And it’s not even as vivid as it once was. It’s a fleeting memory.

It brought to mind the pain I would experience when I looked at that finger and see that wedding ring was gone. There was a time it was almost unbearable. It was excruciating to me. And now only a fleeting memory. I would recall the love the ring once serve as a reminder of. That memory too, has faded.

One I fought so long to hold on to, has simply dissipated. So too, has the scar on my finger faded. It’s over 10 years old. It was way more pronounced than it is now. I rarely think of the day that happened. And I can’t quite remember the pain I actually felt from that wound.

Much the same way as old hurts, wounds, and scars. They seem to fade away with time. You think less and less of them. I guess that just bears proof that our hearts and minds heal much the same way as our body does. As the memory of that pain slips away, the less cautious I become….

I’m not quite certain that is a good thing. I guess, perhaps, I dont learn very good.

Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore..

I met her in a hotel parking lot, not very romantic I know. But when you travel, and live life in a Hilton property (destination unknown), it is as close to inviting someone to your house as it gets.

 WE had linked up days earlier… one of those meet up and no-holds-barred dating sites… we maintain it was farmers only….. dot com. But for the purpose of this story, TINDER (meet and fuck if you can’t run away with a good excuse… ie. My car got hit by lightning). She had her out people.. exhibit A. States defense… I rest my case.

She was charming to say the least. And her profile contained pictures of her fishing on the beach, mountian landscapes, and one of her in a t-shirt with the phrase “Biscuits and Porn”. Well sign me the fuck up!!

 I was quite hesitant to meet, initially. Our banter via text and the dating website was amazing, hysterical, and addictive. I found myself checking my phone often to see if maybe she dropped a line. I definitely was not in search of a relationship. I was set on living my jet-set, playboy, man-whore lifestyle. So this caught me off guard.

We had finally decided to meet. She was coming to me. Smart choice because she could run. As she well should have…. I was veritable shitshow at that point. Still aching from my divorce, licking my wounds, extremely hurt, and still in love. 

She texts me to inform me she has pulled into the parking lot. So I light another smoke and try to compose myself. Now mind you, 20 minutes earlier, I was trying to pet a possum thinking it was a cat.. 

I have since got glasses.

 I mentioned before that she had an out, her car had been hit by lightning. It was a sign. She drove down in a white Toyota Camry. It was a rental. She was wearing a badass pleather jacket. We were both nervous, so we stood outside of the hotel, smoking, giggling a little bit, and sharing in nervous laughter. It was raining outside. And it was kind of cold. But every time I looked into her pools of blue, I was enchanted, and forgot all about the cold.

After 15 minutes I couldn’t take anymore, I placed my right hand on her left cheek and said, “I need to see something”. 

I kissed her…. 



That kiss was something, I definately felt a connection. Instead of putting me at ease, which I thought it would, I became twice as nervous. My hands trembled and I had a hard time catching my breath. On the exterior, I am sure I radiated pure confidence, charm, charisma and nerves of steel. I am usually exemplorary in the well taylored art of keeping emotions caged.

We laughed alot that night, we sat on the floor eating pizza we had ordered out………. Amongst other things. It was definitely not my usual date. 

(This actually comes later.)

She kept me engaged, far beyond the sex. I fell asleep that night with her laying beside me. I was content, happy, and at peace with my inner demons for the first time in a long time. When I woke the next morning she was gone. What usually would have had me relieved, had me somewhat disappointed. Usually I shrug it off, that saves me the awkward goodbye and walking her out to her car. 
I waited a good 15-20 minutes before I would send her a casual text. I AM fucking cool like that. 

Thankfully she did not leave, planning ahead, she got a room in the same hotel. We went out for lunch. Our next date we went fishing. After that we went to a bird preserve. Then we went kayaking. Every date seemed easier than the other. I wanted to learn everything about her. She was a great distraction from the pain I was still feeling from my divorce.

I felt very at ease with this gorgeous, intelligent woman. She was a smart ass like me. We could walk into a room full of stranger’s and walk out with a room full of friends. We were so much alike in so many ways. Intimacy was very easy, that is until July 4th. 

In the throws of passion during an “afternoon delight”, she had said something I’d mistaken as I love you. Not even sure to this day what she said, but it was spoke softly, and sweet, whispered right into my ear.
“I love you too” 😲😲😲😱😱


I couldn’t believe I was hearing the words coming out of my mouth. You dumbass!  And of course I immediately lost my erection. Something that would not return for the rest of the evening, even though she tried.

Did I feel that way? Yes. Absolutely yes. But way too soon for both of us. Needless to say the afternoon’s  hibbity bibbity came to an abrupt halt. We talked about it for a little bit. I frightened her, I absolutely terrified myself. We agreed to drop it for the time being….

Our next few outings together we tried to brush that incident aside. Speaking of it very little. And things went kind of back to normal. As normal as things can be when two people are around each other and pretend there’s not a huge giant fucking Elephant in the middle of the room.

Our next date was Disney World. Florida with my daughter and her friend for my daughters birthday…… and my new friend. An opportunity for her to have a glympse into my life. It was alot of fun, except next time I am picking the park that serves booze!! 

(I am so much more entertaining with a few drinks)

I found myself enjoying doing things with this woman. I could also see myself getting use to sharing my life with her… shortly after that I started to do things to push her away. SHE SCARES ME!!

See ya!!!!!

There has been alot of ups and downs in the last year and a half, mostly me, being a complete prick (largely out of fear of commitment,  or rather fear of hurt). I still find myself recoiling now and then. I can’t help it completely. 

There is so much to add here, as a matter of fact, the amount of details I have spared is alarming. To be truthful, I have been working on this little blog for a few months.

Writers block?

Nah! Well, maybe a little. I think subconsciously, I don’t want this story to end.

Fuck me! I am in unfamiliar territory, a stranger in a strange land. A land that on good days, the colors are even more brilliant and landscapes are breathtaking. Nearly surreal. 

Bad days, well, everything is in just slightly varying shades of grey, no real contrast, no real color, and everything runs together.

Surprising how just a few heart-felt sweet words from her can change the grey almost instantaneously.  And THAT scares the absolute fuck out of me!

I need a brain, I need a heart, and I need a little courage. 

Where the fuck is Dorothy and them fucking red slippers!?!?! Get to clicking bitch, I wanna go home.

IDGAF … and other common lies

My god …..I’ve been wondering when my next story was going to come to me. Sitting here watching HBO after hours, not a glorious life. Just heard Lenny Kravitz singing “AGAIN”. Probably one of my favorite love songs ever. There is a yearning, a desire, a passion. And then what I’m assuming is the Sex in the City movie comes on.

Most moments of my life are lived in my internal dialogue. I’m still a man on the exterior. I can do anything you set before me. Except after 35 years of smoking, a 10-mile hike is a little out of my league…. but I’ll get there again. However I can build shit, and I can make love like a motherfuker. No pun intended.

I am a modern-day man, somewhat Metro, somewhat brash, way too honest, with just a dash of Sex in the City. That last part, yeah, way out there. I’ve been a romantic since I watched my first John Hughes movie. Most of you probably won’t even get it. But Weird Science, it formed me. The idea that you can make, and then meet your ideal woman has gripped most of my life. It is no secret, I absolutely love women. Their shape, their form, their softness. I crave it ,I miss it, I need it. I have been entangled in so many “chance encounter conversations”. In hotel lobbies, airport bars, intense conversations with a thought in the back of my mind, “Could she be the one?” I can literally write a book about it. And perhaps one day I will.

And then there were the random sex-capades. Just a way to get out of my own head, to avoid the actual feelings. Make myself more visceral. I mean, really life is about the moments, correct?

Someday I am going to be the machismo, love story novelist. Kind of a Guy Fieri, culinary-ist, master of words. Or perhaps a Anthony Bourdain mixed with a little Mark Twain. Satirist meets World Traveler. I often wonder. Why is it so difficult for me to meet “The One”. And in a way, I already think I have. I play it quaint, I play it strong and I play it hard. She knows my intention and she is so fucking coy.

I find it odd how I identify was so many different types of writers. And people from so many different walks of life. Sometimes I question whether or not I know my true self… yet, however I do …and if I ever meet myself in a female version, it’s on. And actually I have. As I said earlier. I know how scared she is, cuz so am I. And still I choose to silence that reserve, that frightened voice inside my head that says “Don’t do it! The last time almost killed you. You don’t have another in you.” And perhaps I don’t. This could be the one that kills my heart forever. That turns me into a callus old man. You know that one who thwarts every woman’s warmness. Greets every smile with caution. And believe me, I do not want to be that guy. There is a tenderness inside of me that most women crave, and she has seen all of it. Her friends have seen all of it. I’ve made myself open to a fault. I have literally exposed my jugular to her fangs.

Bless her heart. She holds on knowing there are not many like me. She is afraid to let go, and maybe deep down she does not feel the way I do. Maybe she wants to.

And I am not the type of man who sits there waiting for a woman to fall in love. And yet here I sit. Quite a convoluted life I live.

Then I question ….am I truly in love?

So you kind of have to figure out, is the risk associated with love, worth the vulnerability that you endure. It is something that I continually Ponder, all the while, sitting here, in love. And the problem is, I think rationally after the fact.

I have, a long time ago, determined that love equals pain. And if that is the entirety of the mathematical equation, I choose whiskey. So I “think”

Heart trumps head…




And I’m good…mostly

I’m muddling my way through life.. more accurate I am trying to find my place. Three years on the road has been an adventure. But there comes a time when it starts becoming invasive in your personal life. Meaning you really can’t have one. Not that I want to stop traveling for work entirely. But I need to create a more established-set-type schedule.

God works in mysterious ways. We are taught to believe that. Perhaps to explain death or the bad things that happen in life. But that is not entirely true. He has very intentional signals. I was lost… He sent me on the road to find myself. Listen, and you can hear His voice. I say Him, because that’s what I grew up hearing. God is beyond gender, beyond human emotion. God is everything. The flowers and landscapes I photograph, the heartbreak I write about, the young man that died trying to bring a family in need a little extra money. God is great… God is sorrow.

God IS brokeness. Breath, and think about that one. How else can we, or I, be brought to hear that whisper in the forest, that nudging of your soul. That final voice that says “LEAP MUTHERFUCKER!!!”

I don’t believe HE is insulted by cuss words. I don’t think God judges us by random vowels and constinants. I believe God does not want us to curse him or others… its in the heart.

Most of all, God is good. 

Me? I am corrupt, I am broken, I am lost. I was born with a lustful heart. A greedy soul. I am…. mortal. I am here to snatch up everything, or experience I can. 

Or am I? Can I not give as I learn. Contribute Me? Understand that I am worthy … worthy to give? There is something this broken soul has to offer others?

Oooooooo…. I broke my own bubble. I choose to pursue.. I am worthy. I have so much to offer. Really I do….but fuck… we are all broke. If you show too much confidence.. you’re a narcissist.  To little, low self esteem. If you know all the answers, you are a liberal snowflake, and you are gonna cry when your protests get hit with yelling officers telling you you cannot break the Starbucks window. Just cry rape, after all.. that meanie cop is probably a prostate owner, and he probably wants to invade your feminine jewel with his male nastiness… or something to that effect. 

Feminism wins again. What happened to boy meets girl. He holds her hand, wins her heart and doesn’t rape or cheat on her.

I digress. 

People, above all.. God is love..and God inhabits us all.. We all have experience to share.  My sin?!?! Gawd it is simple. I love people. To… A ….FAULT

Hurt me… cheat on me…. reject me. Anything else, I assume there is something wrong with you. Love me?!?!? I’m gone.

That is my curse

Final steps

When it’s your time, it’s your time. I just spent two days in and out of a sorrow filled and somber hospital setting. One of my closest dearest friends is losing her husband to cancer that started in the kidney and has consumed his body. They found out too late.

As stated before I like to bitch. I have absolutely no reason to at this point. My life is fairly simple and good. I complain about random things. I whine.

I bitch about liberals, I bitch about millennials. I bitch about being single. I bitch about dating.
Never have I had to complain about finding out my spouse has cheated on me. I’ve never had to complain about getting the utter hell beat out of me in New York City and being left in an alleyway for dead. I’ve not lost a parent a sibling or a partner. I’ve not had to explain to three children that their parent is going to likely die within weeks.

Andrea has had to do all of this. God bless this woman. She is a woman of fierce heart and determination by nature. She is crazy by all standards. She also loves like crazy. She is loyal in every meaning of the word. Don’t ever cross her. When her lower jaw gets set, watch out. She is about to fuck some things up. LOL! All I know is that she is a bitchen human being.

Our past is a little sketchy and dark to say the least. We’ve gone through similar experiences. We’ve done similar bad things. We slung drugs, and darkened the doorways of some pretty bad places. We both seen the glory of God and humbled ourselves before Him. As far apart as we have been, we have had parallel existences. Quite ironic from where we both came to where we are now. There was never any romantic connection. At one point we had confused our relationship and thought maybe there was. One kiss proved that wrong. Don’t ever try giving your sister a French kiss, it is weird as hell.


Turns out we simply missed each other.

I remember one time sitting in the parking lot of our little Baptist Church with my now ex-wife and my three children. About to drop them off for their weekly Awana’s Club. And then all the sudden, right there in my headlights that were reflecting on the brick building, walks a scantily clad stripper skank.

That was my ex-wife’s description. My jaw nearly dropped as I locked eyes with Andi as she passed my truck that she recognized. To be specific it was a 1995 slate gray Ford Ranger, quad cab, with matching gray topper on the back. Watching her about burst into laughter as we locked eyes was priceless. My face remained stone rigid. It should be obvious at this point that my exwife never knew her.

I can tell stories on me and Andi all day long. Some pretty epic ones. We had a lot of fun, we’ve had a lot of laughs. We both had some pretty near-misses with our lives. God did not bring us into each other’s lives on accident.

Now I sit here watching her go through what cannot even imagine. Find her husband is dying, no medical or life insurance (In his State, he let it slip without realizing), contracting business in absolute shambles (again, he let it slip while he was sick), and three gorgeous kids about to be without their daddy. I got to meet Mikey, beautiful young lady, whose heart and soul beams out at you through her eyes. She melted my heart. She IS her mother’s daughter. Andi is pretty fucked with this handful. But God bless her, she also has Andi’s heart and clear sense of reality.

(This kid is a rockstar)

David accepted his fate yesterday after seeing the oncologist, finally. The answers that no-one wants.

Terminal, untreatable. Fin’.

The only thing he asked of Andi was a pass. A pass to slip away. He is tired and in pain. I think his query had a little more to it than just that. I think as well he was asking for a pass for his transgressions, past indiscretions….. forgiveness at the very least. I saw the love in his eyes. He is far from a perfect human being. But he loves her, and I also sensed his regret.

A tearful Andi met me in the smoking area, asking me how long she has to keep being strong.

Baby, be weak. Be weak as hell, breakdown, cry, scream, yell, stomp your gawddamn feet. This is not the time to be strong. Time to love your family, hug, ask for help, ask for alone time. Save your strength for when it is time to pick up the pieces and carry on. Loss is hell, in any circumstance. LEAN ON EVERYONE YOU CAN. You don’t always have to be the “Bad Ass Bitch” we know you are.

(Bottle of wine under a desk seems oddly comforting)

No one knows the amount of sand in our hour glasses…. don’t take any grain for granted. Love… above all else, just love.

And always remember this dear sister, we are all His children…

Love you Miss Thang!

It’s never what you think it was

Slap my ass and call me Mary, or Mandy,  or Susan.

Who has been out there wandering aimlessly, on the streets, in life, or in your head?

  • FUCK YOU!  Do not interrupt me! I’ve wandered…. All…. Of…. My…. Life. Here I am. Blind luck, stupidity, or a karmic preemptive strike.

So let me tell you some shit. You believe your soul is crushed.. you’re eternally damaged…. filthy rags…not worthy.

I… I am alone, unworthy.. I am exceptionally damaged. Unlike anyone else…

I     WILL     NEVER     LOVE    AGAIN.
Don’t be a bitch.
You let beautiful people walk away.. They are putty in your hands. .. but one person captivates your soul….. and mutherfuck!! She aint your type… dafuq!?!?!

And when I say ain’t my type.. I mean she does not bore me, get extremely irritating,  sift through my Facebook and add random friends of mine, acting like long lost friends.

She doesn’t invite herself … any where with me. Bitch should! Hell, I got miles and a companion pass.. travel seems fun to everybody else…. but the really busy people. To them, it is a luxury and even more so an inconvenience.

She challenges me… fuck does she challenge me.. to the point of WHAT THE FUCK!!!!

Does she ever rock blue.

(Not her…but you get the idea)

Red white and blue, land of the free …home of the brave……Murica!!!

I could not have been set up, not even a little bit… not more perfectly, than this. It is in moments that we truly live our lives. Minuscule, tiny, moments. I was set up for failure. Destined to be a failure. Yet unwittingly,  I passed. Only in certain measures… but ‘fuckin a’… I passed. In spades.. flyin colors. Not-even-a-second… thought. Well maybe a dozen or so. But….  I PASSED!!!!

My type?… enter the brunette, brown skinned, brown eyed doe….she is young.. Canadian, and sexy as fuck. She approached me… she read only the entry of the story I was writing (see above) and over my shoulder. Im alone in a town full of wayward travelers. VERY…. alone. She won’t be back… So easy…

I engage her in writing. I tell her to continue. And to not discard her writings. She literally just thrown away a half a book of poetry she wrote regarding her ex-boyfriend. She is all about me at this point. Again so easy. We all share a drink and I send them on their way. Pretty simple.

This single, solitary, test I passed. I fail many others.

Not everyone is meant to be together. No matter how right it feels, how great it seems, how strongly you desire that other person. It is a simple fact of life. Not the ending I saw coming in this story…. a fitting one. A sad one.

As I sit here struggling how to finish this out, it really hit me. Not every story ends as we see it should. Such is life. We can yearn for that special ending, we can try as hard as we want to make things happen. Some things are just not in the cards. But never let it break your spirit, or your will. Never give up hope. Never say surrender. Be sad for a moment. Move on. Remember all of it, the good, the bad. It’s all part of the ride.

Chaos is so hawt!

Self-realization is an amazing thing.

There are those people who need things to be just so. They wake up the same time every day.

 They eat the same thing for breakfast. More than likely they will also read the same news source every day. They’ll reflect upon similar articles, most likely read the same sections every day. They walk out the door exactly the same time. Work is usually plotted out they know in advance of what they’re expected to do that day. They get off work at the exact same time everyday. They love punching the clock. They love the preciseness of that time.

Their work space is generally set up the same way. Pictures just so. Desk organized in just such a fashion. The same route is driven every day.

Upon returning home it will be the same thing. Walk a dog if they choose to have one, check mail. Review voice messages. They may choose to have a drink or not. Then dinner time probably at 6. Place for everything and everything in its place.


And then there are the killers.

I like to wake up every day without absolute direction. To figure out in which way, I am going to kill the day. I don’t seize it, I cut that muthafucka. 

Unfortunately this winds up with chaos in everybody’s life around me. I thrive on this. But most people cannot handle it. I find my focus when everything around me is out of control. I become centered, and nearly deadly with a kill shot. In that manner I can seize the moment. I’m pretty certain this reflects upon my upbringing. Grew up in a family of 5 with two working parents. I was the eldest, to say things were out of control and chaotic is an understatement.

I’m not saying that the type A personalities do not have Giants to slay. They do in their own way. But I happen to operate out of the norm in nearly every aspect of my life.

I suppose it could be said that I am your type S personality. Type S meaning squirrel. But for me squirrel is the random details that are running around everywhere out of control. Perhaps i would make a great squirrel herder.

I can try and make myself to appear a random superhero. Captain Chaos. However I tend to appear to everyone else more as Captain Scattered. Because every detail of my personal life runs amuck.

As I say often, The Devil Is In The Details……indeed! Chaos is my friend, my fiend, my drug. I crave a chaotic environment, until I enter the Blue Ridge Mountians. This makes total sense, I had my best summers working on my aunt and uncles ranch in Wisdom Montana. Where I sat on a rock about 500 yards from the house, overlooking the Big Hole Valley, the rivers and valley meadows, accentuated by the “Saddleback Mountian” backdrop… the Rocky mountain range. First place I experienced peace, Zen. I was approached by a five point whitetail buck, 10 point, to y’all southerners. He came to me. Ten feet away, I think he sensed my calm, my energy. We looked at each other for a few moments, he bowed down to eat grass, snorted goodbye and walked back into the woods.

 That became a life changing moment. I took up drugs, mostly weed after that summer.

But the chaos never left, it stopped bothering me, became the norm. It became a driver.. a tool.. a drug.

Realizing this has been perhaps one of the most freeing moments in my life. This is my superpower, now to go forth and use it for good.

I got this.

Doctor, heal thine own self.


DOCTOR: ” We need a tourniquet, and 10 units of epi… Stat!”
NURSE: “Doctor, it’s a chest wound, I don’t even know where to place the tourniquet.”
DOCTOR: ” Jesus Christ we’re going to have to cut this poor fucker open. Just how in the fuck did this happen?”
VICTIM (voice weak and trembling): Doc she didn’t realize the gun she was holding was loaded. She pulled the trigger and thought nothing would happen. It’s not her fault, I put the bullets in it. She…… she didn’t mean it DOC!”
I’ve watched way too many Hospital centered dramas. I don’t even know what Epi is . But I know they always need it in the trauma center. ER, Grey’s Anatomy, hell even started with M*A*S*H as a kid. Hawkeye and Honeycutt, Sloan and Grey, I vividly recall losing Anthony Edwards to a brain tumor. It was heart-wrenching. 

R.I.P. Goose. 

I’ve watched them all go away, get written off.
Recalling Grey’s Anatomy, I always immediately go to the terminology of “my person”.  No matter how fucked-up we are, we always have “MY PERSON”.

Me, I have people. Wonderful fantastic people that I love. But do I take the time to truly cultivate those relationships? No. I stand back, metaphorically waiting for them to drop the other shoe, all the while passing them a cocked and loaded gun. Yup, I pass them the weapon, waiting for the kill shot.

That means what it sounds like…. I somehow sabotage every relationship. It is subtle and subconscious. I quit trusting as a child.

 I kept one hanger-oner for a long time.
Tom. I met him in grade school. He’s the first person I got in trouble with. He knew everything about me. With the exception of some of the darker things that I’ve told nobody.
He has tolerated alot… year long drop outs,
Drug addiction, lies, shady stories, ya… he more than proved himself. But I run.
A friend of mine, who I consider my blog mentor, told me today that I need to decide who I am writing to when I do my blogs. Otherwise they become self-indulgent and disgusting. Paraphrasing of course. Ironically she has witnessed, first-hand, my dropouts, my disappearing act. She still stands by. For the purpose of well, life in general, we’re going to consider her to be just as mentally unstable as I am, perhaps.
Well I pretty much write these for myself. A self-reflection, if you will, a mirror to put in front of myself. Or maybe… maybe.. something that I have to look at so that my thoughts are not just passing. That I can learn from myself.
I’ve currently put my family on hiatus. Very fucked up of me. I keep trying to remind myself of how I’m going to regret this one day. And I know I will. But that my friends is another story.
So back to the beginning. My life is an emergency room triage unit. For the longest time I sufficed with bandages. But over the years I ensured that the scars went deeper. That it was not just a surface wound. Maybe I figured that the deeper more severe more painful and traumatic wounds would serve as a better reminder. Maybe I thought it would protect others from me.

(colonel lingus)

I do know, perhaps better than others…. when you have a bleeder, you have to isolate the source. Cut it off if you will. I’ve cut it off so many times,
If I was hanging on a wall, I’d be called Art.
If I was laying in front of a door, you’d call me Matt.
 If I were in a lake, Bob.
Cut it off… you eventually run out of Limbs.

I’m so good with a scalpel though.

Enter Captain Oblivious

Captain Oblivious

I love the sound of a woman’s voice, calming, soothing and hypnotic…

(she is a delicate flower folks, really)

I quite enjoy those quiet moments where you sit around and talk about nothing. Often accompanied by giggling, laughter, and even giving each other a little shit. Sometimes tears follow. They could be tears of sorrow or tears of joy.

I might enjoy it too much. Sometimes I become so lost in it, it’s almost as if I I’m induced into a trance. And then I miss the details. The devil, is indeed in the detail.
I can confuse details, and dates… all sorts of horrible things that result in misunderstandings, miscommunications, and the like.
And then there’s also my internal dialogue:

“Ooo when she is done, don’t forget to tell her about this”

*”Okay this is important to her, don’t forget!”

*”Oh crap I gotta email work about whatever.”

*”Did I leave the toaster on?”

*”Did I forget to feed the Goldfish? Do I even have a goldfish?”

*”wait, what did she just say?”

Whew!!! That list goes on and on and on.

Allot of people have been misdiagnosed with ADHD. Citing the above as a big reason for it…… OH MY GOD!!!! That is COMPLETE bullshit. One of my ex-wifes brought this to my attention. It is a direct result of not putting what the other person has to say as priority over what is going on with you. And when I say you, I of course mean myself. She is really quite an intelligent person. She has a lot of insight. She’s also overly opinionated, domineering, and not one bit afraid to let you know exactly what she is thinking. I have spent years trying to argue her perspective. Very type “A”. She also comes with a tether that will eventually disrupt your entire life and relationship. HER MOM!!! (She means well.. buts is quite broken herself).

She loves her daughter, and is her only life connection. I feel bad for her.. until I reflect. Then I see:

(hi mom-in-law, how i miss you)

Hope she figures that out one day and finds her mate.

Ladies DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT!!! discount male-pattern retardation. It is a real thing. Very, very real. I know it’s nice to have a mate that reads your mind and knows your every thought and can anticipate your next action, reaction, or need.
However in over 90% of us, clairvoyance is not in our bag of tricks. We are visual creatures. Also creatures of habit. I can learn that every Sunday morning you love to wake up with a Starbucks sitting on your bedside. You like your eggs over-medium, bacon limp. I got that on lock.
However, to know the difference between, anger, hurt, frustration, or the complete “I am over this, we are through, leave me be and get over it” is not easy for me to ascertain . Again, we as men really need to have a manual, a set of directions, a goddamn roadmap if you will.
This is why I hate TV. It gives us all a very inaccurate bar in which we measure our relationships.
Enter the simple minded husband with minoot misgivings but a great heart who is wholly intuitional. It’s impractical, and even damaging. He is quite endearing, and is usually able to cutely, squirrel his way out of any misgiving.

(STOP LAUGHING, I am that smooth)

Women will say this is what they want.. it’s a lie, in the situation, they really don’t.
My only recommendation is apologize, give her space, and when she’s ready to talk, you be ready, and you listen. Attempting to make excuses, logical reasons, or anything else is only going to jeopardize your health and well-being. Be supportive as possible. Be understanding as possible. This is my only go to, well that and flowers. And I even fail at my go-to. I often give reasons for my behaviour.

I’m doomed. Looks like I am making my own damn sandwich till my final days. I’ll be buying peanut butter in bulk.

(I Am David Duchovny)


I put myself into strangely familiar moments. Generally I find this is out of seeking comfort or what is …. familiar.

It’s a selfinflicted mindfuck. Different people, different places, but the stage is set the same. A volatile mix of preimptave failure and self assured destruction. It’s what I know.
I’ve toyed with the idea that perhaps it is a result of my own insanity. After all, doing the same thing over and over with the expectation of different results…. can I get an amen from the congregation?
Where I get my mind set on, “it’s going to be different this time”, I have no idea. It always seems so different in the beginning. This could be anything from relationships to how I fuel up my car. How approach a task at work or home. And being the creature of habit I am, it’s the same, start, middle and finish. The timeline and mundane details offer the only variables. All things that have no effect on the outcome, with the exception of for how long and how hard I suffer.

(the koolaid never comes)

When, or at what point, do I just walk away and know if I am truly going to be happy, I need to be alone. Self dependant. There needs to be no “We”. The more variables removed from the equation, the easier the problem that needs solving becomes.
Continue drifting, creating less involved, and even less demanding relationships…
Run!! Run mutha fuckah, RUN!!!!
Cannot command locked shell..system error.

I need a system override. Rewrite my programs, a file dump if you will. Until I create a master file that overrides what my learned programming dictates, what do I have to offer.
Why so serious? No-one gets out alive

Has Colin Hay been following me around? I’ve been trying to give the muther fucker the slip.


On my drive home tonight, or rather the hotel I’m staying in this week. I was going down the road with these magnificent Rolling Hills full of trees here in North Carolina. On occasion my eyes would fix on the bare tree, the one that looked dead and has already lost all its leaves. Then when I looked out wider over the hills I could see deep green evergreens, popping out amongst limbs of brightly colored red orange yellow and pale green leaves. Then I would focus in on that bare, dead tree right in front of me, and lose sight of the rest of it. And then I would notice many more dead ugly branches in the midst of it all. What a difference changing your focal point makes.
I’m sure somewhere out there, with all this political ugliness going on, someone stopped to give a stranger a kind word and brighten their day, somebody bought the coffee for the car behind them, someone stopped and visited with a lonely, elderly person, someone quietly gave money to a family in need, two kids played in the park today that did not even notice their difference in colors. Maybe a guy bought a stranger a beer for the good conversation. I would even bet a lonely diner anonymously paid for a families dinner across the restaurant and slipped out before they knew it.
I guess my point is, we have a choice as to what we put our focus on.
Man, those hills were gorgeous in that sunset tonight, it took my breath away. That lonely, despaired traveler caught hope in the shimmering of dying leaves fortified by the glorious setting of the sun. Through the exhausting day of seeing the rage in todays world, wish i could change it….. I became renewed by what i decided to set my eyes on… i know, God willing, I will see it again tomorrow … it was beautiful…. so was that Harley davidson tractor trailer rolling down the highway next to me😉

I met someone

Sometimes I have a hard time putting things to words. But this needs to be said.

I have met someone. I wasn’t even looking. I didn’t exactly even want to find someone. She kinda stumbled into my life, she said some words, I said some words. And then, I looked into her eyes and realized that I wanted to be in the middle of that conversation for the rest of my life.

It’s strange how something like that hits you unexpectedly and blindly, and yet, you know that one thing better than anything else, you’ve ever known, your entire life.

It’s complicated too, she is nothing like me and even so she still fits like a glove. Like a leather glove that you have worn through the storm, damp and uncomfortable. Something that seems to impede your movement. But once the sun comes out, it lightens it’s grip around your hand and softens. It seems to move with your hand as if it anticipates every gesture, before you think it, and before you know it, it becomes apart of you.

So yeah really didn’t want to say anything, however,  16 years ago I met somebody. I knew the minute I met her she was the one. And now I still I’m trying to move on. And the friendship with her is just a constant reminder of how I failed a relationship, and how I failed myself, on how I failed her, on how I failed both of us.
I’m often stuck in thought:
“Would I have gone back and changed anything?” Yeah, not everything though. I would change a lot about myself.
But that does nothing with where you and I are now. And it’s not going to change anything. All I can do is change myself. So that I’m prepared for when I meet that one.

So am I OK?
Fuck no! not at all!

But I’m working on it.

Wasted Years

From coast to coast,
And from sea to sea
I travel on, far and wide,
But now it seems
I’m just a stranger to myself
And All the things I sometimes do
Isn’t me but someone else
I close my eyes  and I think of home
Another city goes by, into the night

Too much time on my hands,
I got you on my mind
I cannot ease this pain, so easily
When you can’t find the words to say
It’s hard to make through another day
It makes me want to cry
I throw my hands up to the sky

So understand all the wasted time searching for those wasted years
Face it
Make it stand
And realize you’re living in the golden years

…..Iron Maiden, who thought thier lyrics could be even remotely romantic?
It’s basically my gawddamn sonnet.
A man in pain, regrets and romanticizing his past love, losing himself. Trying all to take away the pain. Do I hold on to the pain simply so I have a reason to medicate?
Or maybe I clutch to it, my own personal brokeness, Individu-fucking-ality!
Or maybe the pain is my favorite drug… kind of fucked up to enjoy the feeling of being splayed out, entrails strewn about, staring down at my empty bowels that use to be the host of a man. With hope, integrity and dignity. People thought I’d go far. Lol.
Charming smile ✔
Bursting with positivity✔
Full of energy✔ (id like to thank narcotics for that).
Firm handshake✔
All a crock of shit.✔✔


And tomorrow morning I get to pack up my things and hop on another plane. Off to a place that I once loved. A very short time ago, a place where I wanted to be, where I thought I belonged, that I felt drawn to.. that I loved.
I loved.
It’s odd how things get cloudy or get convoluted.. get smeared buy my own messed up thoughts, actions, and behaviors.
Choices and deliberate actions seem to draw lines that were once very clear. That are now smudged, faded, and nearly erased. Do these changes become permanent? Or do we someday ever find ourselves and back to where we once were.
The only thing that hasn’t changed is my muse. I still have this ideology of this one person that I love. The one person that can be my safe place, my Safe Haven, my savior. My stunted feable mind can’t seem to move past it. Even though it may have been the worst thing for me, ever. It’s an ideology, something I reach for a constantly. Love to have that candy bar on the very very top shelf.. constantly Out Of Reach
Fuck! Is this some sort of sadomasochistic mind fuck that I just continue to use to torture myself? I have this belief that any woman I ever find myself attracted to is too good for me. That I am somehow undeserving, that my constant bad choices will no doubt be my undoing in any relationship.
So I constantly lower the bar. The bar with which I measure women, the bar of my own moral guidelines, my compass spins constantly. I lack a true north. And because of that, I constantly settle. I settle for substandard, I settle for less than regarding my own choices.
I wish I felt deserving. Maybe that’s why I hate this new generation the Liberal Party the people that feel like they deserve everything. The snowflakes.., a group of entitled whining Bratz. God I just wish my phone knew how to spell. I could dictate everything into this stupid son of a b****.

Hit a block I’m off to bed… unresolved, unrequited, unimpressed. As I generally am by my own thoughts, by my own actions, by myself.

Sleepless in…. (where the fuck am I again?)

Sleep deprivation is wonderful, said no-one, at anytime ever.

My tendency is to think of myself as the little engine that could…. I over-commit and do my due diligence to deliver, to my own demise.
I love accomplishing goals, the feeling of a job well done is so satisfying, with or without the atta-boys, fanfare and applause…
(Danny is such a GOOD boy, yes..he…is)
**shuffles papers and acts busy**
I give myself enough pats on the back.
At the end of jobs well done, say, going to bed at 330 am, It is my ritualistic reward to lie in bed wide awake, torturing myself with what did I forget to do, or what did I fail to mention, forget to call. Even better than that, once I settle my brain and my subconscious kicks in with the most amazing, jarring, snap-you-right-outta slumber, twilight kinda dream.
Sometimes it’s a vivid trip and fall, others it’s walking into a wall.
Last night’s was a new one. As I drifted to sleep, a kid and little brother laying by the pool face down, having a contest of who could hold their breath the longest with their face in the pool. As I watched, I realized the youngest won by drowning. I was jarred awake by leaping out of my poolside lounge chair.
Eyes wide open, I realize I am tucked safely in my hotel bed, at 4 am. Followed by yet another dream that happened 3 times in a row. First 2 times I saw a large peice of luggage dangling above me by a rope. I am blocked on 3 sides, I watched wondering what it was doing there, when all the sudden it is shoved down on me, under the weight of it and some person doing it intentionally, I woke up yelling. What the neighboring rooms must have thought.
Whew! I am “safely” in my bed at 425 am.
Finally I am dreaming, I am in my bed in my cozy hotel room, when all the sudden, someone is attempting to smother me with my pillow and blankets… I struggle unable to breath. When I finally get my face clear of the obstructions, there I am, smothering myself!
I come to and my pillows and blankets are, well, everywhere.
My subconscience is a strong sum bitch.
He is also a crazy muther fucker, unlike myself.

Fuck you! I am sane as I determine I am, “I’m not crazy, you’re crazy.”

I can’t imagine what my fuckin subconscious me is trying to tell my conscious self, but the cot-damn, sub-me needs to get to fucking sleep.
Oh yeah, I am awake, he IS asleep…. what a jackwagon!

Fuck this shit, I have had not enough sleep, or enough coffee, or nowhere near enough narcotics.

“Guess i picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue”.
I’m gonna board another long tin tube, with aluminum air foils, to be hurled through the air at mind splattering speeds….
Welcome to the friendly skies muther fuckers, hope I don’t get my ass kicked by the airport cops.


Brentwood Tennessee (Or places that resembles hell)

There is a joke that is a favorite of mine.

Two friends die at the same moment in a automobile accident.

One goes to heaven and one goes to hell. The one in heaven is bored and decided to peek in on his buddy in hell.

Sitting on his lofty cloud, he uses his hands to part it to peer into hell. And that is when he sees his buddy sitting at a bar with a beer bottle in his hand and a gorgeous blonde sitting on his lap.

He goes to st. Peter and says, “I don’t mean to complain, However I’ve been bored up here, and when I looked down on my friend in Hell, he’s sitting at a bar with a beer bottle in his hand and a gorgeous blonde sitting on his lap.”

Saint Peter Chuckles a little bit and then says to the man,”But you haven’t looked closer. Do you see that beer bottle in his hand? It has a hole in the bottom. And you see that blonde sitting on his lap? Well she doesn’t.”

…..and that is how I relate to Hell, Ergo, Brentwood Tennessee.

Brentwood Tennessee… ne’er been, can’t say that I will again either.
They roll the sidewalks up at 10. Taco bell too.

And the cops ain’t no joke. As I park on a dead end area, a cop following a white suv with his lights on, while over his PA, saying “driver pull over”. I always thought that was just automatic… what ever. Then a pig on foot comes running over, followed by 5 squad cars pulling in behind them, blocking me in (there goes my chances of finding sustenance, THANKS ASSHOLES!)

Call me dumbass, but here is where i want to scream “HE’S GOT A GUN!!!!” Fuck it, im not gonna eat anyways. Right!?!?
The little area I am in is packed with shopping, restaurants, the biggest community YMCA I’ve seen in a small town. And a Del Friscos, always wanted to try. Sure the fuck won’t tonight either.
THANKS AGAIN BRENTWOOD PIGS! Aw.. not their fault entirely, the previous 2 days wiped my old ass out.. was in my room by 5 tonight with intentions of changing and going for food..just for a second I’ll flop on the bed Anand chhhheccckthe newss………
Hello 9pm.. if it weren’t for my eternally demanding gullet, I’d still be in the passionate throws of slumber… I was sleeping that bed ….SOO…..HARD!!!! Woke up thinking of food, and Walter.. my dog…former dog. Miss the fuck outta him.
Ok dammit, you gonna make me cry here.. I had to “rehome” my buddy Walter 2 yrs ago after taking this job that has me in a airplane more than home.
Walter was over 100 pounds, which immediately disqualifies him as a “travel companion”. My then girlfriend suddenly decided she couldn’t deal with him when I traveled. I was forced to rehome my buddy, my road dog that loved going for rides in my Jeep, was an excellent hiker that remained close by on the trail without a leash, even better camper, and got me through a gut wrenching divorce that left me feeling empty, and hopeless. He was there.
I miss him, immensely.
I was involved heavily in his placement with the dog rescue. Awesome people at Bailey Ranch Rescue.
Walter picked his new home actually. A 52 year old lady who was raising her granddaughter. She was a small framed woman looking for a smaller dog as a companion to them both. She would come there on the weekends. Put a blanket out, and sit on the grass watching the dogs at play. She had her eye on the terrier mix. One weekend she brought her granddaughter. Walter had his eye on them. He ran over to them, flopped clumsily on the blanket with all four paws in the air, turned his head towards the 4 year old girl and gave her one quick “hello” lick on the girls leg. She squealed and laughed hysterically.
After an hour she reluctantly asked the rescue people and me if she could bring him home for a day to watch their interaction their. We both conceded.
Walt loved little kids, he loved people.. he displayed exeplorary patience with children, he would drag adults with his leash on, when my granddaughter held the leash, he watched her every step, gently following her.
The next day they called me, she loved Walter and her granddaughter together… perfect fit. In their yard Walter would position himself between the granddaughter and their large pond in the front yard, as well as between her and the busy road they lived on. Snack/nap time he layed on his side, back against the couch, and she layed on Walter, falling asleep to her cartoons.
He is barely 4 himself. They will grow up together… the bond was there instantly… the only thing that makes it ok for me. Per the regulations, I wasn’t given the new family of Walter’s info…. for the better as I could have changed my mind what have you.
I miss Walt. But I couldn’t have written a more fitting ending to that relationship had I tried. 😊😓
Fuck, I’m hungry, I miss Walter and gawddamn I want a drink.
Well supersize my ass, and kick me in the dick!!!! McDonald’s is open. Quarter pounder please…..
it a McFuckin double! Fucking bars are closed…..

that’s all i got to say bout that

Night all


I have been fortunate to not have been stuck with a flat tire in probably 10 years. Luckily, I have no issues or conditions limiting my ability to change my own tires. For that I am grateful. So, yes, as I bitch and moan here… I can also be grateful. Let the bitching begin…

This week, my streak was ended….

When in Texas, I usually drive my Jeep. The front end has been giving me MAJOR issues. I would like to add…. death wobble at 80 mph in a lifted Jeep wrangler is NOT fun. I am assuming not safe either… not just your standard shimmy either. This wobble shakes you so violently that i am pretty sure it has resulted in yet even more brain damage ( ya ya… I can hear all of you saying that explains alot). It makes my ass pucker majorly, i am still pooping seat cushion as a matter of fact…..It was time to get it to the shop. I have a ton of Avis reward points, so I could leave my Jeep at a shop and get the work done, and be very little out of pocket to drive a rental. Only problem is the nearest location is about 60 miles away. A friend at work lives near it and gave me a ride.

I got there right as they were closing, they only had one car left. 2017 Impala. Generally, I like these cars. Have driven several. Plenty of power, smooth ride, and handles pretty well. And the ones that come with all the options, let’s just say, makes me forget they look like a Old folks/cop car hybrid. I walked with the agent around the car to document any damage incurred previously. A few minor scuffs and scratches, nothing major. He tosses me the keys, says sorry, this was the only car left. He then scurried back to the office to close (I can’t blame him, when work is done, work is done!)

As I sit in the car, I suddenly transform into a 87 year old man from Brunswick. I look down at what once were a pair of Chuck Taylor’s, to see a spiffy pair of white penny loafers, accented by black orthopedic socks, sensible brown polyester slacks, crisp ironed in perma-crease.

Maybelle knows how I like my slacks. Looking sharp old boy! “Yessir, sensible car, no frills or gadgets. All them buttons and dohickeys only confuse me.” Check the mirror and adjust my taxicab driver cap, glance over to my right expecting to see my elderly, drunken wife, Maybelle. She hasn’t drew a sober breath since the day we wed.

Can’t blame her really. I mean ya have to find a way to deal with me.
Instinctually, I reached for the jockeybox for my McNally’s road map. Thankfully the odor in this rental snapped me out of my dementia riddened trance. Thank goodness, my Chuck Taylors are back. Smelled like the car had been inhabited by a family with 20 children, all under 4 yrs old, diapers full, half eaten and half spilled food and drink…and ironically as a smoker, I’ll bitch about smoke odor in here as well..
I’ll roll the windows down and get air freshener. At least I am not without a car.
20 minutes from the avis lot, warning lights began scrolling….check engine, change oil, tire pressure sensor needs recalibrating, and R.R. tire pressure low..add air.
Fine! I’ll add air, they can do the rest when I return it. For fucks sakes! This car is almost as demanding as my ex-wife, and it complained the whole time, just like my ex. No wonder this rental left a bad taste in my mouth.
Drove it for two uneventful days, until Thursday rolls around. Now …I am not the type who walks around and surveys their vehicle prior to driving it each time. It’s my opinion there is some things you don’t want to know. And then there is the fact that most mornings, I’d be damned surprised if I pay attention to what vehicle I am even getting in. This may prove to be a problem one day, especially if it’s on a day I forgot to put pants on once again , that’s a whole nother story though.
I zoned for the first mile, when I came to I suddenly realized that ‘fwappp- fwappp-fwappp’ was not normal. I pulled over and sure enough, flatter than hell. No gas station around. Find out later that it wouldn’t have held air anyways, seems the pothole I hit going home the night before did more than jolt the car. Already late for work….

I threw that donut spare on the front right side in little time. I then called Avis to let them know.. roadside lady said I can bring it in and exchange it or drive on the spare. With traffic and counter time, that would result in at least 3 to 4 hours of my day, and did I mention the close at 6 pm, noon on Saturdays, and closed Sunday’s?

Stayed on the donut. I now resembled an illegal guy of Spanish decent, or a tweaker from Southside trailer park “SHIMMERING TIN FOIL ACRES MOBLE HOME PARK AND IMPOUND LOT” in a Impala on the donut spare.

300 and some odd miles later, Sunday. Heading to the airport i am thinking I’m cutting my time close but I should make it. I realize I need gas as I am 60 miles from airport. I pull off the high way, down Morton rd, and turn to grab food to go from the Rig bar and grill, to be greeted by another damn pothole. Not huge either. Noticed it too late to swerve.

‘fwappp- fwappp-fwappp’

Fuck! There went the spare, bent rim as well.

Long and short of this story, Avis roadside assistant was an idiot, I had to tell him how to handle this roadside emergency, simple buddy…
Send me a car, or tow truck… either one.
Get it here fast
Fetch me, and this peice of shit, no frills, shitbox on 3 tires. (Did I forget to mention shitty car?)
Get me to the fucking airport…
Did I mention fast?


Needless to say, a tow truck shows 45 minutes later. He was cool. We bonded exchanging “chic stories” and our frustration over Sherman Texas going no Smoking and not being able to smoke in the bar now. was able to eat and have a beer (ok, you got me 2……. ok …3 beers), hey I can. I don’t have to drive till 10 pm when I arrive in Baltimore.
Fortunately I was able to get a flight 2 hrs later at no cost.
Through this I learned a little about myself and others:

In stressful times, I can still appreciate things to be grateful for.

I thrive on problem solving in chaotic moments.

Avis roadside service has no hiring parameters except “Can you operate a telephone?”

I bet they gave him a achievement recognition award for thinking out-of-the-box.



Journey to the top of the mountian always starts at the bottom.
Journey of 1000 miles always begins with the first step.

*Physical activities always helps me.

*Get out and do something.


I actually love hiking. I get this push, almost to beat myself to the top. This drive makes me wonder if I would have made a great athlete, with proper direction (and if I was also born with natural talent, size more than average). Have to board another fucking tin can destined to break laws of nature, physics, and hurl me from Charlotte to Dallas in the least comfortable fashion engineering’s corporate driven design could afford me.

I digress, back to hiking. I love the trees, the wildlife, the smells, the sounds…. the companionship… which ironically is usually just me.

In a forest (unlike a hotel room) I am away from others, isolated in the great wide open (or density of the trees), free of judgement, comparison, jealousy, desire, lust (yes even my sex drive subsides) frustration at rude fucking trolls who feel the need to step directly in front of you to get closer to the line at the airport.
(Yes you 2!!!)🖕🖕🖕👊👋🖕🖕🖕 I still boarded before both of you fucks… God bless you both.

Again … where was I?

My inner dialect subsides, becomes gentler and less harsh on me. And apparently less harsh on those around me, ie.. people who jump infront of me.
I feel closer to God. I converse with him as if He were on the trail with me, with a frankness that I am not sure He appreciates.

“Hey God, why did such an optimistic, and happy young man turn into such a gun shy, untrusting, guarded fuck like me.” Or..
“Hey God, why can’t I have the things I really want, cause of all the sex out of wedlock? Drugs? Alcohol? Masterbation?”
“Hey God, dont give me cancer, strike me down, plane crash, lightning, car wreck, deer attack. Something quick and at anytime.. I’m ready. Um. Ok… waiting…”

” Hey God, it’s me Margaret.”
I look up in the trees and see the light shine through, reflecting off the leaves and branches. The rays of sun shooting through like beams. Tranquility. I love the thoughts of living in the mountian. I would become a recluse. I remember being the guy who really believed everybody deep down “honestly was trying to do the right thing”. So far away… I want to be that naive again.
Not sure where I lost my Rose colored glasses, somewhere in a pile of blow, burnt up in a meth pipe, melted away in a psychotic trip with shrooms, acid, or what the kids now call molly (most likely were enhanced during the psychotropics😉).

I actually remember sitting them under a bottle of Jack. And there was that time, on the couch, with that girl…. yup that’s where I lost them……. In a vagina (Ahha moment!). Is it possible that is what I have been doing? Looking in vaginas for my youth? I have had more sex than most men my age, I don’t say that to brag.. more as a confession. Even people I should be ashamed for having fucked, yet are high on my sex stories list. And dont ask me to come up with numbers, it’s gonna be a guess. Hell I have forgotten names from the past year even. I did have a 6 months dry spell, by choice. All that and I only managed to fall in love 4 times, married twice, not recommended.

Look out alcoholics anonymous, just finished my fearless moral inventory. I think I would make Bill W. blush. In one fucking paragraph. Ha! My ego thrives through self loathing.
Oh yes… climbing to the top.
The squirrels are my favorite, those scampering little pricks…. They literally have no worries. Usually in pairs. Nothing to parallel here, nothing prophetic.. I just love squirrels. Adhd intermission if you will.
I never get to a summit though. Side trails intrigue me, especially where they are not clearly marked. Especially where there is no trail. People who have poor internal compasses are warned to never do this. I have a poor internal compass, hell, I would hardly be able to utilize a compass in my hand WITH a map. I regularly lose my way. Suprisingly, this is not only figurative it is quite literal.
In hindsight, i really need to go for a hike, and fuck. Actually both together.
So back to my original question, you remember back at the top, before all my rambling.

Oops, not that..

I’ve been getting up…
Every morning….
Against every part of my body and mind that fights it….
I move, slowly at times, not doing everything I need to….

I keep moving, even when I should stop. How’s that for get out and fucking do something!?!?

Somehow this year’s passing holiday blah didnt pass, it festered…it held on and grew. Like a sore, rotted with infection, painful and oozing with ugly stuff I never wanted the world to see. Interesting Segway the story takes. I didnt see it when I started writing. Our body is full of dangerous bacteria. Stored there, really not harming us, until oxygen hits it… then boom!
Wow… think that trail was not marked.

I mean have you seen my ass? Well 15 yrs ago it was really something.
I’m tragically flawed, but I got a great heart. What a day for a hike.


And then there was one..

So once you realize that your entire life has been unintentionally designed after a fictional life created by David Duchovny…… I.E. Californication…X-files.. Playing God. Even before seeing any of these series. I believe they have been written about people like me.
Unintentional, yet ironic, with incredibly soulful splashes of conspiracy theories, sato-masochistic facades of being eternally hip… tangled or intertwined with self delusional ideologies of being a inspirational father, The Prodigal Son, the better brother, the great friend/ex-husband. Maintaining all the while being the perfect worshiper of female embodiment. The iconic boyfriend, the forgotten husband, a truly sad pathetic character. Plenty enough to draw sympathy of others, including yourself. Nothing better than to be the woe-be-me character, and hate your own existence. Modeling his love making styles by the man who is always trying to please the woman, there by being a giver,……
And after seeing that, realizing you are the embodiment of selfishness. God, to believe that you were actually an ideal boyfriend, a gracious lover, a understanding and compassionate being… only to realize it is all done under the expectation of gaining the hero-like man complex.

What a piece of shit, the embodiment of everything you strived to be against. A creation of a dichotomy so diverse that you cannot even achieve an orgasm mid-coitus. You have to sneak off into a corner and woe-fully touch yourself in order to achieve the ability to spew out a wad full of baby making goo. Disgusting, right? Not until you read the rest of the blog.
You son have lost your way. Time to give up everything once again , and maybe at some point, become a real, empathetic, feeling human being.
Self applause enter here.. you even word your self confession in a way to gather pity.
Hank, with a splash of evil.
Et tu Brutus .

Don’t worry though, there are plenty of people who are going to believe in the better you, the man that “they- know- exists- inside -of- you.” Because obviously their own judge of character could not have been that far off. If only people could have realized what a narcissistic Twisted individual I obviously am. Oh, I know not to fracture the basic bags of humanity, the things that will put me in a prison forever. There is murder, abduction, rape, those are all obvious. But emotional larceny is the easiest thing to get away with. To make people believe that you truly give a fuck. What a beautiful art. A horrible confession I know, perhaps, mostly a freeing one.
However somewhere in there you forget to give a shit about yourself. Realizing that you mostly care for people.
Fear of being hurt, makes us the worst people ever. All the above is obvious bullshit…… but once you take a break, when do you start to give a damn again?
Yet, when you take a step back, you see people more infinitely fucked up than you are. Or rather, than I am.

And that is truly the most frightening reality.

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