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😉

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.



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.

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 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.


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.



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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