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  • Base style: Drifting by Jennie Griner
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Wednesday, April 17th, 2013 02:33 pm
Look at me, humpty dumpty at forty-three.

It's weird that sometimes the world inside my own head is so difficult while the outside is so right. There is something in me that is uncomfortable with happiness.

I grew up odd. You would have voted me most likely to blow up the school. I lived inside my head. My room was my bat cave of wonder. Afternoons were spent talking to the voices in my head. Some of the voices were nice and other's called me a failure. I made friends out of words. They sat with me and held my hand. Perhaps they are here now.

My marriage turned an awkward kid into a bitter old man. I try not to be. That should be worth something. There is an ocean of anger that ripples just under my skin with a leaky faucet. It drips drips drips through my day. I can hear the drops in my dreams.

I think the people that love me can hear it to sometimes. My girl hears it; and yet she stays, doesn't even blink. There is no fear in her love.

My ex would look for monsters around every corner. She saw me and all men as objects of fear, zoo animals really. It's like we were lions, fun to look at in cages.

When I come in contact with anyone that reminds me of her, I feel the drips in my chest. Odds are if you have feminist outrage, we won't get along. It's not that I hate women; more that my outrage rejects your outrage. Words like Patriarchy and rape culture, hold little meaning after everything I have seen and been through. Words like alimony and child custody have far more resonance with me.

Drip, drip, drip, drip
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Monday, April 8th, 2013 10:04 am
My world is a series of lines, my head a series of sounds, and my soul a series of moments. Whoever you are, whenever you are, I want to send you a soul in a bottle, because it is my nature. If my passion was fixing your car, curing your ills, or mending your soul, I am sure you would find me much more useful.

I think that by sending out little pieces of myself, they might settle somewhere in you, and in some way make us both just a little less lonely. To me, loneliness is a constant, because even when I am with you, I am alone inside my head.

As I write all these highfluten thoughts, Stubs the cat is over here licking what is left of his balls.

He is still my favorite little boy. I lost a daughter, most of my dignity, and my savings in the divorce.

Still, in the vacuum that was my life, a lot of things came rushing in. Stubs was one of them.

I can tell you that I have never felt so alive, like my life started after the divorce. The old life had to be excised like a tumor. The roots are still there, but fading with time.

There are times that I am angry. It comes out mostly in the internet these days. My technology connects me instantly to billions of you, the people outside of my head. It does this in a way that makes me feel more alone every time I use it.

The anger is a backlash of ideals, thoughts from the others that lurch over my ego's walls. Facebook and the television allows me to filter it all, until only my own opinion is reflected back at me. My ego sits safe and secure inside my head. You may think this is petty and small minded. You think this, because it is. But you may do the same thing, and you may not even realize it.

So I throw little bottles over the wall in hopes that they may settle past someone's filter. Maybe it can float past the labels, the bias, and settle in with understanding.

Understanding is in such short supply when it comes to the other.
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Wednesday, January 16th, 2013 11:21 pm
Sometimes I feel like someone has stepped in me and is trying to get me off their shoe.

Two cats are taking turns showing up to my door, while inside Stubs is sitting at my desk watching me type. I intermittently let them in and let them out. I think I may end up with them more in than out. I am becoming a crazy cat guy, and I don't even like cats. I just can't let things suffer, and they keep showing up. Why can't fat guys with money show up to my door. They could buy me things and in return I would feed them.

Tonight I had chicken thighs roasted with onions, fingerling potatoes, carrots. I threw fresh herbs into the mix with just a dab of olive oil. It was better than married sex. I let the chicken smell waft out the door, but still no rich bastards wanting to buy me things, just cats.

I am forty-three and still clueless.No one tells you the things you need to know when you are young. They let you dream about being a star. Everyone wants to live in a Barbie dream house. No one tells you that you may end up alone surrounded by cats.

They never tell you that your job is going to be tedious, your boss an overseer to a system designed to maximise profits. They never tell you that profits are imaginary. Love is as equal to its great joy as it is to its pain. Falling in love and getting married is the easy part. The hard part is dealing with the inevitable loss. You never know when will be the last time you see someone. No one ever makes a movie where two people fall out of love, divorce, and spend the next couple of years fighting over shit. Weddings are a gateway drug, and they aren't even free. We have been sold.
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Tuesday, January 1st, 2013 04:33 pm
It can best be described as a wall. Four of them actually. They surround me, threaten to swallow me whole. It is both my fortress of solitude and my prison. I am batman without the cape. I still have the mask though, only his is cool and mine looks like me.

You might think that walls will never move. There is one chasing me right now, only you can't see it. The concrete is dancing, rushing forward, tearing through brain flesh. It's a tsunami. Can you feel it?

I think that for an instant, I will stop running, take the hit. Maybe you can't break the already broken.
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Friday, December 28th, 2012 09:13 am
Funny that you have been dead for about two years, but you still come up as a suggested friend on Facebook.

I would add you now, just so you know. I am not mad at you any more. I just realised that. When you were alive, we weren't speaking to each other. I am not sure if you realised that either. I will never know what you were running away from, but I think the drugs made you not notice a lot of things. As far as I know, it was all mostly pain pills and weed. Maybe the world outside your head was just too much.

It was hard to forgive you for breaking mom and dad's heart like that. We were supposed to bury them. We owed them that.

I went to your house after the fire. One of your cats didn't make it, but the other one did. You over fed him, and I think you would have been pissed that I called him a pig with cat ears. Mom has been taking care of him, and he is doing fine. I met your neighbours. They are a cute couple, young, pretty, and the guy tried to pull you out of the house, but you were already gone. He showed us some of the music that he recorded of you on the guitar. I thought it would suck, but it seems you had a lot of talent. It would have been fun to hear you play.

Dad rented your house to them for a cheap rent. They have since got married and moved out.

I got that divorce finally. It was ugly like I thought, and you died right in the beginning of it. Suzanne was a cunt about everything and called me to demand that I move my stuff out of the house during the week I was in Florida because of your death. She threw Tiffany out of the house, and she is now staying in your old room. I took your posters down, because mom and dad wanted me too. We have a box of all your old stuff at the house that no one knows what to do with.. I found your old sketch pad in your closet, next to the mason jar of cigarettes you hid from mom. I was always amazed at the kind of art work you could make.

We never did have a funeral for you. No one could handle planning one. We couldn't find any pictures of you when we tried. I think you hated pictures of yourself. I found one the other day of you and dad. You looked pretty happy. I am going to use that one and start a memorial site with you and the both our grand parents.

I don't know if you knew this, but even when you were a total bitch, which was often, we still love you.
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Wednesday, December 5th, 2012 05:24 pm
This is my first start to a horror story. It starts out gory. Please read it with that in mind.



The Colonel sat in his command chair and could sense the teeth in the dark, jagged bone, devouring. It's pulse throbbed. It lay ready, coiled and hungry

Carolyn wrinkled her nose when she took John's laundry out of the hamper and plopped it into the swirling water of the washing machine. She added a cup of powdered detergent, and then added a cup more, hoping the crystals would work their magic to dissolve whatever horrid bits of much were clinging to them.

Inside, the small rambler the house overflowed with silence. It filled the empty spaces with a slow sticky terror. She hated when John was gone. The air was too thick. Sometimes, even when he was there, she could feel it around her, like the darkness surrounding a campfire. She ignored these feelings the best she could as evening night jitters. That was what John called them anyway. It all sounded so trival when he said that, until she was alone.

She was folding clothes in the dingy little laundry room. It was laundry day, and she was stuck wearing her running shorts that she never ran in and had grown uncomfortably tight across her thighs. She was self conscious of her legs now that she got married. They had plumped up and grown pale from long hours at the bank under layers of silk stockings and business dresses. She had plumped up everywhere she supposed, her breasts dropped freely under a old tight t-shirt as she folded the never ending mountain of laundry.

Above her head, the laundry room light buzzed softly. She could see a small pile of dead bugs through the grimy glass.

She wiped her dark blond hair out of her eyes and continued folding. At thirty, John said she was starting to get some gray poking through her normal dark sandy color. Her breasts felt heavy under the tight shirt and she felt lines of sweat forming around them. She would look like a sweaty cow when he got home she thought miserably.

A kind of chittering sound broke through her thoughts above her head. It was soft at first and easy to ignore. She looked up and saw a fat bloated insect crawling in a lazy circle around the light inside the yellowing fixture.

It had little teeth that clapped open and shut, making a sharp clicking sound. It's eyes were held on long stalks and looked almost human as it peered down from her from inside the grimy light fixture.

She stared at it with a kind of growing horror that seemed to freeze every muscle in her body. Her face twisted into a soundless scream as the air seemed to be sucked out of her lungs.

The chittering sound came again, this time from behind her, and she could hear what sounded like a million little hairs scraping across metal.

This finally broke the spell and she was able to turn her head to see thousand of bugs scurrying through the ac vent set in the corner of the small room, rimmed by yellowed and broken linoleum.

They scurried forward, one taking a large chunk of her big toe, the rest making their way up her calves. She shrieked in pain as she felt them bite deep into her calf muscle. She stumbled for the door and slipped on the slick of blood puddling beneath her. She came down hard on her knees and she could feel them swarm over her back, crawling under her shorts and T-shirt. She shrieked, got up, and could feel several crawling over her scalp. Flailing her arms wildly, she tried to pull them off, their teeth taking the tip of her thumb and biting her pinky down to the bone. She managed to get to her feet again, gripping the knob tightly to the back door, stumbled down the concrete steps as one chewed deep into the inside of her thigh. She rolled over onto her back and felt another one bite through her cheek and into her tongue. Torrents of blood gagged her screams causing her to make a frantic gurgling sound as a face appeared over her, she felt she could almost recognize it. A hard grip surrounded her ankle and she was pulled though the yard towards woods. She struggled weakly, still trying to scream as one chewed it's way into her neck, spraying blood onto the grass, she felt them chew through her eye lids as she slipped into darkness.
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Tuesday, November 20th, 2012 01:11 pm
If they sold my visions in a bottle, I would blow someone right now to get it. I think this is how crack babies are born. Instead, I am on my second jumbo mug of coffee letting the stimulants work their magic. This entry has been started many times. Since I found love and beat the nine to five, it has been hard to write anything. I am going to start working on a voice. It just won't be one of those train wreck ones that is an octave too high and scratchy around the edges.

Looking at this journal is like looking down from a dangling rope attached somewhere above; the older I get, the further down it goes, and the less there is to climb. There is more to regret, more to remember, more to think about. Somewhere up there, I will reach the end and become irrelevant. Maybe the parts of me that have been scattered through the universe will coalesced into something new. Maybe death is more of a gift. The dead do not want for anything. They exist only in our memories that fade to black as well.

So....here is a long rambling post disguised as a status update...

In response to a reply my large brained friend David wrote about something on my wall, I have written this massive offensive post about how fucked up the system is in a true punk fashion, but then my beautiful furry baby boy Stubs got sick while I was away in Florida. The system can wait. It will still be fucked up whether I complain about it or not. It has become unimportant.

Stubs got a urethral blockage, which is common in male cats. This is something that quickly becomes fatal. If my girl hadn't found him in time, he would be dead. He spent weeks getting flushed out, but nothing worked. Finally he got a PU surgery, which involves a rather drastic change to his anatomy. I hated doing that to him. It is hard to believe that a PU surgery was the best they could do for him. I begged him to get better. “Dude they are going to cut your johnson off,” I pleaded with him. I think in the end, I care more about johnsons than he does. He hated the e-collar he had to wear to keep him from licking his stitches and the antibiotic I had to squirt in his mouth twice a day. He hated me for weeks, but what makes him the best cat in the world was that he finally forgave me. Mostly after I stopped pinning him down and squirting foul liquid in his mouth.

I don't care who you voted for or whether you are happy or sad at the outcome. In the interests of peace, I will tell you that I voted for Satan, so you can all agree that this is a bad thing. What you can't agree on is whether Satan won or lost.

Last week was full contact sparring week in Tae Kwon Do. I think Rob cracked a rib with a rather impressive punch. It only hurts when I breath or cough, or move, or beat off. I do all these things on the regular, so I have decided that it best I just stop breathing. I don't think I can give up beating off.

This week I kick targets that I pretend is an attacker, who runs crying for his mother after each blow.

With each passing week, I get just a little faster, and maybe Rob won't beat my ass next time. Pain can be a good teacher if you listen to it.

The weird thing, the really strange thing, the thing that I have not really felt before is that I am happy. Not just happy, but peaceful. Sure there are days I pray to Jesus that my ex-wife falls down a well covered in semen; but, for the most part, I am happy. I have a good life. I have a wonderful girl, a beautiful girl, a girl that doesn't just pick parts of me to love, but the whole hairy package. She loves my cat, loves my daughters, loves when I fart on her. Okay, maybe she doesn't love everything,, but at least I don't have to hide who I am from her. I am completely inadequate in telling her how crazy wonderful it is having her in my life.

It is like this. Imagine this... You are running up hill for twenty years. Your feet and legs feel like concrete set in glass, and one day...poof... downhill you go, one foot after the other, flying free like a puppy in a field. Yeah, that is how I feel everyday that I look at her.

A few weeks ago I was required to go to a SPARE class. It is a class for parents in a divided household. I was a bit angry at first. . Making me go to a parenting class after taking away my ability to be a parent is a kick in the balls. At least my daughter is now talking to me. The distance is closing somewhat. She seems a lot less angry. When I took my ex to court, I had a few demands. I wanted overnight visitation, a chance to take her to a psychologist for joint counseling, and back visitation. A few grand later, I realized that the court will give me nothing. It was pointless. The court appointed Ad litem has met with my ex and just about refuses to meet with me. She is integral in approving overnight visitation, so I need her. Maybe I can persuade her to at least let my daughter have just a little bit of a dad in her life.

So imagine this. My ex bad mouths me enough to my daughter so that she no longer wants to see me. I take my ex to court, and here is what the court does, reduces my rights to overnight visitation, makes me go to a parenting class, and assigns an attorney to review me.

My ex took my daughter to a psychologist because of the issues over the divorce, which according to the class I just too, are issues my ex has caused. They keep sending me bills, and I keep not paying them. I am thinking about calling them. If they tell me nothing about what they are doing for my daughter, I will continue not paying them. I think I could keep not paying them longer than they will want the money, but we will see.

We discovered yesterday that my Ex's douche bag e-mailed my girl over Facebook. Apparently, Facebook has this other folder where e-mails are put from people that are not listed as a friend. So far he has e-mailed me a dozen times, mostly for dick comparisons, my girl's ex-husband, and now my girl. We wanted to e-mail him back to tell him what a complete and utter scumbag loser he is, but we didn't. Too much time has passed and my ex-wife has been reasonably nice lately. It is sooo hard to be an adult sometimes. Still I would like for the rest of you to know that he is a lying douche bag of douches, a fetid bag of testicle pus, an anal polyp on the ass end of a cancerous pustule.

Well, you get the point.

I think this entry has reached then of it's rope. Looking back at it, I can't say that it is not unflawed or even correct about everything. Still, I have a certain fondness for the ugly reaching up towards the light. I hope that you do too.

Goodnight all...I will be back soon.
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Friday, September 21st, 2012 10:45 am
Stubs has found a ray of sunshine to lie under, as even the most hazily smudged window cannot resist the sun for long. He smiles, relaxes, and just soaks that shit in. He is big, with claws like a lion and fangs that hang down from each side of his mouth. The ex-wife wouldn't let me rescue him before on account of the fact that he had only one ear and a messed up face. Well that and he had balls, big furry ones, and she doesn't like anything with balls.

Under all that shit is a lonely old soul that wants a little love and a whole lot of peace. We have an understanding.

I am hiding in my room today and cleaning. Well, I am sitting here to write a few things, so that I can avoid cleaning. Housework sucks. But I like living in a clean room, and Stubs is above getting his paws dirty.

The weight of the world has been resting on my perception and an added little feather caved the rest of it in. I was raised in a world that said that women were made of sugar and spice and everything nice. The reality is that women are made of the same shit men are made of, and sometimes it stinks like broccoli after it has gone through my intentional tract.

If you are on my facebook and I read yours, I may write the occasional off colour joke. It's not that I hate you. It's the opposite. I like you, and I want to make you chuckle. Someone posted how her husband must have put sedatives in the chicken he made her. I reply with “Oh I will have to remember that for my next date rape....I mean date.” Yeah, I know, not the best joke. I can't knock it out of the park every time, and it isn't like I charge you admission. Just ignore the lame ones. Instead I get this “ That is not even REMOTELY funny, and if you knew anything about my past you would know how close you are to being banned”

She is right. I don't know anything about her past. If her post was about being date raped by a chicken, I would never post something like this on her wall. She knows nothing about my past as well. She also doesn't know me very well, which is sad because I am utterly fabulous. Her comment got me disproportionately angry. Like I wanted to write something over the top and mean. I am glad I didn't. I just quietly removed her from my facebook, like an adult. It sucks, because I still think she is an interesting person.

But there is my history to deal with. I was married to a victim. I know the ways of victim-hood, and it is like the ways of the ninja. What you do first is to never work past what happened to you. You make that shit part of your identity. You are a survivor, not a person that had something very shitty done to you. Now you are ready to be like a ticking time bomb of angst ready to snap at the first perceived transgression. The trap is set; all that is needed is for some poor fool to walk into it and get caught.

Once ensnared, Victim Ninjas will then either imply or state directly that you are all for violence, rape, or a misogynist. It's all good, I have been called worse. I was a rapist, abusive, a harasser, and a cheater. Labels are important, because they can classify someone into a convenient box. Then you can hate everything in that black and white box. The ex loved putting people into boxes. She systematically put me in every box she could, even the rape box. Apparently rape is when you lay there like a bloated corpse not moving, not saying no, and expecting someone to read your mind. We had married sex, where the female rolls over on her side, after sighing and muttering something like “fine, whatever”. She will then expose just enough of her genitalia for the male to slide in and begin coitus. We did it that way for over a decade. It probably looked like walruses fucking.

So you know my history, and why publicly calling me out for a silly comment, using your past as a reason to over react, makes me just a little nuts.

Maybe you still think I am an ass-hole. That's okay; I understand. I almost didn't post this. I did because maybe someone will see another side to this. I posted it, because being put in a box can have real consequences. The ex took away my kids for over a month. Everyone believed I was abusive, because she bit me and cut her lip in the process. She filed a report, and I lost all contact with my kids. There was no proof, only a box. That was ten years ago. Now she uses labels to alienate from my youngest daughter.

Having said all of this, No one is getting banned for telling a bad joke, disagreeing with me, or even being a right wing Republican. I say “fuck you” to boxes now.
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Thursday, August 23rd, 2012 04:06 pm
Stubs the cat is sleeping next to my chair, watching me intently from the corner of his half lidded eye as sweat seeps out of my head like a freshly wrung sponge. I have just come back from a run, and I am drinking a sweet concoction of chemicals created by the best and the brightest minds in marketing. Powerade promises to replenish your soul, while tasting like mixed berries. The marketing is so good that one can ignore the fact that it looks like an industrial solution and tastes nothing like berries. Still, it is wet. I wish it could replenish about ten to twenty years. It feels like somewhere along those years, someone replaced my body with that of a fat old guy. My heart is still young, but the rest of me is shouting fuck you as I wait for everything to cool down.

When I run, ravens they cackle at me, and I shout “not yet fuckers”. I want to make sure that death will only beat me once, and cussing at the world keeps me baby fresh.

My wrist still hurts from a faulty block to a well aimed kick. I move it so that I can feel the dull ache during moments when I am thinking to much. I should be twisting it right now.

I saw Julie this weekend. I tried to be the fatherly type on the outside, but inside my head was like a snow globe being swirled around by toddler on so many pixie sticks.

I have always wanted tourettes and narcolepsy. This would have allowed me to shout “whore” and “liar” more than what was necessary at my alimony trial. The judge was either looking down at lot at some mysterious writing on his desk, or sleeping. Considering his decision, I would say that he was masturbating to tranny porn.

For those of you playing my home game, my alimony to my ex will end if I can prove that she in a relationship similar to marriage. I didn't

This is the story everyone believes....

Suzanne met Mike Dorsey over Facebook, and they confessed their love for each other. Suzanne paid for a plane ticket to get Mike to Virginia. Once Mike got up here, he revealed that he was a homo who ,in desperation, used Suzanne to get to Virginia. She decided to let him stay at her house every other weekend, so he could see his kids. He is still homeless and without a car. His father drives six hours from Delaware to Virginia to ferry him back and forth from his house to Suzanne's every other week. My oldest daughter completely made up the story to get back at her mother for calling the police on her and getting her arrested.

Mine was that I found all of Suzanne's facebook e-mails and that my oldest daughter got tired of lying to me and decided to tell the truth. Shortly after she came to me, her mother confronted her, they had a massive fight, Suzanne called the police, and my daughter got arrested for assault. The charges were all dropped.

I am angry over a universe that works this way. I want Karma to kick someone's ass on my schedule. Hell, I want me and karma to go over there and take a shit the size of a birthday cake in their living room.

There is a woman that I know who lost a lot of weight and started getting more attention from men, and this pissed her off. This confused me, because I thought she wanted attention. She said “If I wasn't good enough for you then, you are not good enough for me now.” I have lost a lot of weight, and I will take that blow job, because I damn well earned it. But I have a wonderful girl that loved me when I looked like I swallowed a fat midget, so maybe I already earned it.

Buddhism teaches one to approach life situations with an attitude of non-judgment. Me and my friend have had two similar events with two completely different perceptions. Events are neither good or bad. It is our actions that need to be controlled, not the universe. Keep in mind that if there is ever a zombie apocalypse, I am still going to take a shit in my ex's living room, but I am learning that there is peace in acceptance. Maybe someday I will get there.
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Tuesday, July 10th, 2012 11:13 pm
It is another quiet night; one in which Stubs the cat walks up and down the hall, howling for attention. It takes me some time to quiet him down as he panics about being alone. I assure him that my life span will cover his many times over; and while he is not convinced, he calms down. Between Taekwondo and running, I can see why he might worry. There is that lovely pain that creeps up my arms and blankets my legs. The pain is part of the training. No, training isn't the right word. Training implies a goal. People like goals. Goals can fall in a neat little sequence. They are the jelly beans we place ahead of us in the pile of dog shit we call life, because you don't see the dog shit when your eyes on the jelly bean. And no matter how great you think the Jelly bean is, it still ends up tasting like dog shit.

It isn't training so much as doing. You get that high that comes after pounding your feet on the pavement for a little while, and if you are forty something fat guy, the high comes quickly, like the rum and cokes your lover makes you when she is trying to get some. And oh does she get some. I am one hell of a cheap date. Really, it takes almost no effort at all to get into my pants. Actually, it takes some effort to get me to put them back on. Lately it is so damn hot, it takes a lot of effort to get me to put on any clothes at all. Poor Stubs has been scarred for life.

Taekwondo comes with that delicious adrenaline rush, when you are never quite sure if your partner may accidentally kick your head clean off into the parking lot. It is a bit like my old marriage, except we get to wear padding, and we shake hands afterwards instead of letting our aggression ferment like kimchi for twenty years.


Filing the show cause order had the collective power of nothing in helping me see my daughter. It makes me wonder why I bothered with a contract at all. My daughter was appointed a lawyer who said she was going to reinstate visitation. They call her lawyer an Ad litem, which is Latin for...well who cares. She is an advisor to the court, and my daughter's attorney. My case is moving at warp factor five legal speed, which is slightly above doing nothing. But not as slow as going backwards. She seemed like a nice enough lady, and I smiled and nodded during our meeting. I have to keep my anger about all of this on the inside.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, the ex is threatening a show cause order, because I paid her a few days late. She says she won't remove the show cause even after I pay her. Show cause orders don't work like that, but it is all she can do. From what I can tell, her life is inching towards an abyss, and I may be part of the elbow grease. She is taking my family with her. It's like I am in one of those movies where the guy gets thrown from the car before it flies into a ravine. I am held hostage by her bad decisions and there isn't much I can do about it from here.

But I would be lying if I didn't say I am not happier. Being happy comes with it's own guilt. It comes in a convenient package. It all sort of meshes. But it also comes with a girl; a good girl when she needs to be, and a bad girl when I need her to be.
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Monday, June 18th, 2012 12:03 am
Greetings people of the future from the past. The wonderful thing about writing is that everything in the here and now will be consumed by you in whatever future you are currently living in. I can float the thoughts on winds that travel through time and space instantaneously.

I have never been the perfect father, not a bad one; Just not the perfect one. I told my youngest daughter that we got her and her sister and Baby's R Us. I thought that sounded better than she came head first out of her mother's vagina, because I lost my job nine months before, and there isn't much else to do when you are broke with nothing but time. The ex said that you aren't supposed to lie to your kids. It's weird how these rules only apply to me.

My last court date was there to set up another court date. I got confused and thought that it was to determine whether I would see my youngest daughter again. No, I have to wait until September. If the state was trying to put me in jail, would it take this long? The ex came into court with a massive colored binder filled with paper, each one tabbed and highlighted. I wonder what could be in that thing? It is likely that I won't have any contact with my youngest until September. I miss her even though she hates me right now.

Maybe the future version of my daughter will see the thoughts I floated through the wind and hate me a little less.
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Wednesday, May 23rd, 2012 01:04 pm
The morning was all misty, so I was running through the worlds largest shower. At least I wasn't running naked. No one wants to see that. At this moment I run about a 15 minute mile. I guess that isn't bad for my third run. I ran by this massively fat squirrel. He didn't even move as I got close to him. It was like he didn't think that the sweaty wheezing machine that I had become was much of a threat. It turns out that I wasn't. He sort of half scampered in front of me for a mile or so before running up a tree to laugh at me.

I have been keeping up on the business accounts, and I see them starting to grow. They grow in a somewhat predictable way, which is way nicer than what most things do. People pay their rent. I save some of the rent in case shit breaks, and put the rest away. It is much nicer than the corporate world, which seems to have little value from my perspective in terms of labor. In this world, I am a piece of some massive social machine that produces something of questionable value. Usually I love this kind of environment, because I can pretend to be massively busy while updating facebook and goofing off on the internet. Now it's like I have actual work to do and I have to counsel myself when I find that I am goofing off. I would fire me due to performance issues, but I work for the lols. My corporate job was for a defense contractor where I wrote outdated manuals for a mission planning system that fired an outdated gun. Guns are sort of out of style for the Navy since everyone seems to have a hard-on for semi autonomous missiles. You fire these things; and they fly on their own, can hit multiple targets, and can choose their own secondary targets. It is all pointless really. The manuals are outdated, because we had to write manuals for software that hadn't been written yet. I had to tell the future, and it turns out that I am not good at clairvoyance. After a while the money ran out, and I lost my old life in the divorce. This sort of opened the way for the new one.

I think I will like the new life once it includes my youngest daughter. The freedom can be a bit overwhelming, but I find myself looking back less and less as I march on through my life.
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Sunday, May 20th, 2012 09:40 am
My legs feel like I bashed them up and down on asphalt for an hour, but that is okay. Well, it is only okay because it is true. My ambitions require a different body, and you could call these growing pains. Or you could call me a fool that is forty and trying to get a last hurah before he gets too old. The pain is a minor little thing and gives my brain something to play with.

I should have seen my daughter today, and I suspect I will not see her until we go to court and a judge makes her see me. Losing a child isn't so easy. Running to the next mailbox when it feels like you might cough up a lung isn't so bad, neither is a back kick to the face. The body isn't so unrelenting as the mind, at least not at forty.

My mother has been here for about a month. My dad left her here and went back to Florida for business. Neither one seems to be in a hurry to move back in with the other. Having her here is kind of interesting. She takes over whenever I try to cook and now I let her just to avoid a fight. She doesn't drive so I have to take her shopping. She seems unable to focus on a list and instead wanders around like a toddler throwing crap into the cart until it is full. She cooks pretty well and uses my dad's credit card when we go out. She has been good for my oldest daughter, so things are working out in an odd way.

The sky has been this clear blue little thing for a while and the grass always seem to be so green. Inside my mother is sleeping in her bed, and Stubs the wonder cat is licking himself on my bed. Inside further still, I am attempting to focus my thoughts into words that maybe you could understand. It is like trying to string fleas on fishing line. And maybe at the end you can't understand completely in the same way that I cannot always understand you. Still, I know I appreciate the effort. I kind of hope my daughter sees the effort and the intention some day.
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Sunday, May 13th, 2012 02:28 pm
My life has this hard crunchy outside with a gooey center. At times it seems like a lie, as if someone made up all of its events and that none of this is real. But it must be real, cause it seems to crazy to make up.

Mike and I sent love letters back and forth yesterday. If you are playing the home game to my life, Mike is my ex's current boy toy. It is a strange relationship. He actually has no idea who I am. His entire knowledge of my life comes from the half truths my ex has told him. I can't help but wonder what he thinks as he walks around the house we built and pets the dogs we used to own. I suspect he plays dad to my youngest daughter and pretends he is the man of the house. Still, it has to feel hollow and empty, like he is wearing another man's clothes.

But that is his problem.

My problems revolve around my new life. They are fun problems.

We are remodelling the bathroom at my parents, and they bough a tub large enough to play diver dan in. I plan on marinating in it until my body turns into a kind of human pudding.

My dad is buying another house to flip, and he wants me to figure out the paper work. My job is track all the expenses, write all the checks, and handle the accountants. It sounds easy, and it is easier than breaking bricks. And yet paperwork is never as sexy as you think it is going to be. At least the brick guy gets a house or something when he is done. I get a neat file cabinet and happy accountants.

I am still training in Tae Kwon Do and am now the proud owner of a blue belt. I love kicking things. Next week is sparring, when things kick back.

I have been thinking about doing this 5k zombie run. It is like an obstacle course but with zombies. I love zombies, and this seems like good training for the apocalypse. It will also mean finding my running shoes under the bed. I keep them under there so they won't hurt anybody.

You may notice that none of this is brought to you friends only. I plan on having a lot more writing out in the open. I have this unfinished story that is going to get finished, and I am going to complete both comic scripts. I say this because I figure if I shout loud enough, I will get off my lazy ass and do it.

Speaking of getting off my ass....I guess it is back to work time.....
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Thursday, November 17th, 2011 12:07 pm
I thought I would write another entry for my big fan (Suzanne's "recently became gay" friend). He is apparently one of my biggest fans. He is such a big fan that he keeps sending me his favorite entries and threatening to take me to court with them. He is upset and hurt that I have referred to him as a douche bag. The man makes my daughter miserable for a year and a half, and is upset that I call him a douche bag. You would think a guy like that would be used to much worse.

Most of the time he rarely enters my mind, but he seems to like the attention. So this entry is dedicated to my biggest fan. The rest of my entries will be friends only, but only because I think my silence will eat him from the inside out.

My daughter's court case went well. I give Suzanne credit for changing her mind at the last moment and not taking out her anger with me on our daughter. She was rather well prepared to make things difficult. Armed with e-mails and my livejournal, she was going to somehow twist it into "I am going to get your daughter to get at you" kind of thing. Still, at the last second she changed her mind, and I do thank her for that. My daughter just has to get some anger management training and everything will go away. I am really interested in that whole process, like how do they teach that. Is there a person that pisses people off, and they teach them how to deal with it. Can I get that job? I wanna be a professional anger inducer. My daughter says I would be perfect for the job, even legendary. All I can say is that I was taught by the best, my dad.

The real estate business has been going well. Well, my dad at least has been doing well. I am slowly getting things started, but I am impatient. I want an empire of moderately priced rentals. I will rule over them with an iron fist. I will be king landlord. Okay, not really, but I am still going to wear the silly crown.
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Tuesday, March 22nd, 2011 02:51 pm
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out.

I probably should have paid better attention to the car in front of me. Instead I ran into it and managed to shatter my radiator grill and my hood.

My emotional state was already tenuous at best. This morning I wanted to kick someone. It is possible that they might total the car. I love that little car. I bought it when I separated from wife ten years ago when my old car exploded on the highway at two in the morning. It might be time for a new car. Maybe something with less than 250k, no coolant and oil leaks, and one without a lit check engine light. I am almost old enough for an expensive convertible with a hot chick in the seat next to me. Just another ten years, a bit more hair loss, and I will be perfect in that car. I might not fit in with the rest of the mid lifers, but if it comes with a car and a girl half my age, I think I can deal with it.

I have been watching old 80s music videos, and I have a theory on why I never fit in anywhere at any time. It may have to do with the fact that I do not have the right hair. I grew up in the age of Tom Cruise hair. My hair looks like someone left a small shrub on top of my head. So far shrub hair has yet to be popular. Curly hair seems to be in style now, but now I am too old. If awkward forty somethings ever become in style, this can only mean that I am fifty.

Work lately has been an exercise in frustration. I don’t have enough motivation to pretend I am motivated. Engineers often use the technical writer position as a kind of put down. They say something like “damn all you are is a glorified tech writer”. Hell I wish I was a glorified tech writer. Instead I am more like the guy they ignore in the corner. I am a glorified house plant. At least they pay me.

I am going to try doing some public posts here and there. It means I may have to be more cryptic, kind of like my future, which is starting to spiral around like a bird that has lost its wing.

One of the reasons why I was unpopular in high school might not of had anything to do with my hair. It might have been because I tried so very hard to be a rock, devoid of emotion. This was because I watched rocks and when life stepped on them, they never said ouch. Life slowly worn them away, but that only made them easier to hold. Rocks were safe. Safe isn’t living though is it. Rocks are dead inside.
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Wednesday, March 16th, 2011 03:57 pm
Someone kicked my guts in today. He was too cowardly to do it in the open. The stages are….

Fear
The news says that they are stress testing nuclear reactors due to the problems in Japan. I can only wonder if this involves shaking them vigorously while dumping the ocean on them.

Anger
BBC America News is no longer on BBC America. It is moving to NPR. The news program was designed to show America the rest of the world. Americans are too self centered and stupid to watch it, so it is on a network without ratings.

Acceptance
Fuck acceptance, I am still angry. I am thinking there is a person I could shove my Red Wings into so far, he will fit like a floppy douche bag slipper. I am also fairly certain who he is. I get the feeling he feels he is doing the right thing. He hears the hysterical side of my ex and feels he must do something, be the hero. I was like that once, and dude all I can say is that it is a short walk from here to there. Your good deed could have hurt my two kids and even my ex. You are lucky it didn’t.

So am I, because I just polished my Red Wings.
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Monday, January 24th, 2011 09:56 am
Love me love me.....say that you love me..... lol

My Valentinr - jcpennys7
Get your own valentinr
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Saturday, November 27th, 2010 01:29 pm
They set me up a blog at coralgasm.com, which means I may one day become a kind of professional blogger. Now how does one weave sexual frustration, loneliness, and sarcastic humor into a saltwater aquarium or maybe a country song. Here is an attempt.

A first entry of any blog is like shouting in an empty room, but without it one can never write a second one. I am your humble blog writer for coralgasm.com. Coralgasm is a premiere coral farm and website. See if you bought coral from your typical smuck you would be getting coral grown in the garage. People do that. Most of the coral you see on Ebay are grown in some one's garage next to that old stroller and the paint thinner. Coralgasm's coral is grown on a specially designed coral farm by people that know what they are doing. Their stuff shows it and comes without the exhaust fumes.

The oil spill hasn’t been that long ago and BP, which now and forever will mean Busted Pipe, has dumped enough oil into the ocean to make a the Gulf into a Palmolive commercial. So I got excited when my dad told me that he was helping to build a coral reef farm. I got even more excited when he wanted me to help out. In college I went to the University of Tampa and got most of marine biology degree, and a degree in unsuccessful flirting and making bad decisions during binge drinking.

“So dad do you want me to make sure all the coral is healthy using that C+ average in biology and that D- in chemistry?” I am not sure if he was laughing or crying at all the wasted money he spent. “No son, we have Carl Eby who has been in the business for years and actually got his Marine Biology degree from the University of Maryland. He ran a successful saltwater aquarium store and is like the son I never had. Dad you have two sons. Oh yeah, I forget about you guys. So dad you want me to build all the reef tanks. Son you can barely put your shoes on your feet, let alone build a sophisticated Coral reef farm. I have Rooney doing that. He is an experienced carpenter and salt water aquarist, and he is also much better looking. So dad, what do you need me to do? We needed a person simple enough to describe things in very simple language, and we figured that if it was simple enough for you to understand than certainly anyone else would. Son we needed the simpleton of simpletons and you are the first person I thought of. Wow, thanks dad, I guess.

So this blog is here to answer questions, it is here to describe coral, it is here to tell you about coralgasm.com and it is here to help and entertain you through the world of reef aquariums.

What do think of the entry. :D