Privacy please.

I'm absolutely done with family members who pry into my private life.  Now my grandparents think I'm an irresponsible slacker who just gets drunk all the time.

I don't get drunk all the time, but maybe I ought to start.

41.

It's taking everything within me not to cry today.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

OMG Finally.

Yesterday I saw a school counselor to assess my progress because I want to transfer to a university.  Currently, I'm enrolled in a local community college.  After so much time.. SO much time, I'm at the verge of being able to get into a "real" school (I know, comm colleges ARE real schools.  You get me though, right?).  Just one more class.  ONE MORE.  I walked out of the counselor's office feeling pretty good.  Relieved.  Overwhelmed. 

I have one more class to go.  And that class is... a math class.

I hate math.  I'm not good at math.  Well, the reality is: I have no patience for math.  I don't want to have to understand theorems and postulates and I hate word problems.  And I don't like the instructor.  But, regardless of how I feel, I need to pass this course. 

Anyway, I filled out my transfer application this morning and now it's a waiting game.  So, there's a lot of anxiety.  I need to pass my math class and.. I'm stressing over thinking I may have flubbed the application. 

If the earth could open up where I sit and swallow me whole, I'd be happier.

The thing is, I've been waiting for this moment for a really long time.  I've put myself through hell and sacrifice to be in this position.  Some might think that I've got it easy.  I don't think I do but each one's perspective is always going to be different.  Hell, even my ex-girlfriend thought I wasn't really taking it seriously.  To her, I say "fuck you".  Cunt. 

So, now, here I am.  Waiting.  Anxious.  Hoping.

And worried.  Worried because, when I do make it into uni, I won't know what to do next.  This has a lot to do with my living situation and how I absolutely HATE it here.  I hate it because my life has to be planned around the activities and lives of the people I live with.  My independence revolves around them.  This means... I must regain my independence.  I cannot be a full-time student and cater to the ridiculousness of this house. 

While I don't have any idea what I'm going to do, I do know Craig's List has a Roommate's Wanted section.  I'm starting there.

While I've made a lot of bad choices throughout my life and I have many regrets, I can't change anything in the past.  All I have is the now.  And the now fashions what my future will look like.   I don't want the future to be what it is now because I hate the now.

Time for a change.

Free at last.. free.... at last.

I find it an absolute joy to say that I am now a single man.  For good.  No waffling, no second-guessing, no.. going back.  I'm done.  And it feels good.

Women who are batshit crazy should stay single.  And those of us who are just desperate enough to date them should have our nuts cut into little pieces.  And, if we date them for more than 3 years, we should have our heads removed from our bodies. 

I am free god damn it!  FREE! 

I wish her well and.. feel sorry for the next chap that will be unfortunate enough to date her.

Juicing. The kind with mixed veggies and fruit.

So, I'm juicing now.  Saw a documentary called Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead.  It got me kind of inspired.  So I went out, bought a juicer and now I'm juicing my way back to health.  Or insanity.  One of the two.

I am now on day 2 of a 60 day journey.  And already I've done fucked up a couple of plans I had before I started this crazy adventure.  Today, there's a get together at a restaurant where an old acquaintance is throwing a fundraiser for ALS awareness.  And then, this weekend, I had planned to take the train out to LA to get my drink on, have some fun and experience life as it was sans job and school.  School, of course, starts on Tuesday.  Job, not so much (changed to weekends only).

Let me tell you, the first day of a juice fast is a nightmare.  My willpower was tested yesterday.  The choice between having pizza, salad, burgers or whatever and drinking a concoction of kale, cucumber, carrot, apple and lemon juice really made things rather difficult.  I'm glad water is free.  Otherwise, my budget would've been spent already. 

So here we go, 59 more.  Every morning starts off fine.  Orange juice with a dash of carrot.  Maybe some lemon to tart it up a bit.  But, after that, it's a question of will power, a good mix of veggies and a hope that I can get through another day.  See, there's a goal at the end of this short tunnel.  It's better health and a slimmer body.  And maybe a different way of eating and living life.  We'll have to see.

Chick-Fil-A and the growing attitude of who-the-fuck-cares

There is a sensory-overload going on with this whole Chick-Fil-A thing.  The point has arrived, I think, where everyone on both sides of the issue is becoming tired of the situation.  Really, it has gotten pretty saturated.  I just finished watching a vid on YouTube where someone went along and interviewed a handful of people whose opinions were atrociously stupid.  After watching it, I decided -- this is enough.  I just don't have the capacity to care anymore. 

And I think this is true of a lot of other people.

When the CEO of CFA decided to spew his personal opinion regarding his stance on marriage, faith and his personal beliefs, they were his personal opinions to express.  He has that right.  He also has the right to use his company as a vehicle to further his beliefs and opinions, to the tune of $5 million by the way and to deplorable organizations and political figures.  That's all fine and good.  More power to him. 

On the flipside, the LGBT community have the right to go out and express their opinions however they see fit (within reason.  Let's not get carried away and spray paint on the side of a restaurant... oh.. wait.. nevermind*...).  They can do their Kiss-in's, their protests and their waving of the rainbow flag.  I get it.  I'm with you folks.  But when mayors of cities come out and say they're going to what they can to ban or otherwise prohibit CFA from opening shop, well, that's just wrong, too. 

There is a bunch of name-calling on both sides of this street and, frankly, it's terribly disappointing.  One one side, the conservative, religious chickin consumers decry the homosexual lifestyle and use their biblical nonsense to back it up (and, when I say 'nonsense', I mean they have absolutely no idea what they're talking about because it's obvious they haven't read one lick of the bible.  And even if they had, their knowledge of the bible would be nonsensical as well.).  In fact, on a side note, I saw one girl interviewed (start at 5:05) at a Chick-Fil-A restaurant who actually said that marriage should be between a man and a woman, because that's what it says in the Constitution.  And, further, she said it's because this is a nation founded on Christian principals.  Seriously?  SERIOUSLY?!  I can't make this stuff up.  But, they sure can.  Without even trying.  Then there's the seriousness of the the LGBT community and their supporters.  Calling out the CFA'ers as bigots, haters and against apple pie and baseball.  Well, not the last two, but one should get the gist.  It's getting rediculous.

If you haven't guessed yet, this isn't going to go away.  However, I dare say that this will end up in the favor of those supporting gay marriage.  While it won't happen over night, it will happen.  John Stewart made a great point when he said that gay rights are like a drive through -- it goes forward, not backwards.  Or something to that effect.  Whatever. 

I say, let the haters and the religious knuckle-draggers have their chicken sandwiches and bites.  In the end, CFA will or will not get what they deserve whatever that may be.  And the LGBT community will get theirs.  Everyone will be happy and things will move on.  Until then, I think the gay-rights activists need to move forward and find other ways of furthering their cause.  CFA's power lies not in their chicken sandwiches and great customer service.  It lies in the amount of money they have to give to conservative hate-groups and politicians.  If you can create a money stream to influence the powers-that-be, your agenda will get more attention and better support.  Sad to say it, but it's true.  Even better would be to simply replace the old guard politicians with like-minded new ones.  Again, that takes money.  And you gays, you have lots of money.

Now get out there and start spending.  I'm going to bed. 



* Actually, no one knows who spray painted the Torrance Chick-Fil-A, but, whoever it was, they sure did a nice job.  So much so that I think it was an inside job.  Or Banksy.

Just another night in the DTF

Jeremy and I had been hopping from bar to bar.  We started at the Slide Bar, where a friend's band was playing.  We decided to leave early, not because the band sucked but because the sound guy didn't know what he was doing.  We were drinking heavily and it  took its  toll on my friend more than it did me; I was buzzing and he was spiraling into oblivion.

We had to get out and walk about. 

We stopped by a local smoke shop.  Jeremy bought some Djaram clove cigarettes and we both started smoking.  It wasn't long before a pair of lovely young lasses asked if they could bum a smoke from us.  The cute one had an accent.  "Where are you from?" we asked. 

"Russia." said her friend, as she tried to light her smoke in the wind. 

I offered to light the Russian beauty's cigarette with my own as it was the only way.   They thanked us and continued on their way.  I continued to watch, seeing our opportunity to become friends (or more) die with each step away. 

Jeremy sighed.  I did, too, but on the inside.  Needless to say, they were both attractive but the Russian was stunning.

We walked, passing mobs of young people crowding the sidewalks.  Some were smoking while others just wanted to chat.  Some were waiting to get into a bar; some were in an alcoholic daze.  Many were just standing about wondering which club they were going to hit next.

I decided to hit a place I few frequent quite a bit: Brannigan's Irish pub.  My friend and I sat down and ordered some drinks.  A Cosmo for him (no, he isn't gay) and a gin and tonic for me.I had been drinking the entire night so the alcohol didn't phase me; if anything, I was more alert, with a bit of the hiccups to accompany me.  Jeremy, however, was beginning to fade out. 

We started talking about girls, the bar and the fine scenery of both when two girls sat down at the table next to us.  Oh a great, a drunk "seven" (stating the level of attractiveness from a scale of one to ten) and her grenade friend.  They introduce themselves but I quickly forget their names.  It became a situation in which I need to extricate myself from the scene.  Jeremy had thought the same thing and disappeared, discretely, without me knowing.  The pretty one came on strong.  Asked if I would by them a drink.  Being polite, I did, but not before I was asked for a kiss or two.  I obliged, not thinking twice about the situation.  Of course, every sultry scenario crossed my mind during the brief moment.  However, the need to find a way out surfaced fast and furiously. 

"Waitress!  Bring us whatever these two girls want."  With that, the barmade was gone, my credit card in hand. 

I excused myself from the table to find out where Jeremy had left to.  I found it quite rude that he would leave me wingmanless.  I said I'd be back in a moment.  Frankly, I didn't know what my plan was. 

I checked the bathrooms: he wasn't there.  I checked the patio and, to my dismay, he was not there, either.  I texted him and then dialed his cell.  I wanted to know where he was so that I could figure out how to find my way out as well.  Just as I called, the server approached me bill in hand.  It was a relief beyond measure.  I told her to serve the two girls without me.  I tipped her generously and made my exit.  I was free.  Sometimes, Coyote Ugly means to pay a bar tab just to get away, even without the goods.

It's a new year. Already?

A new year and still the same old shit. It gets me sometimes that people often treat the passing of one year into the next as a means of starting over. To "start things anew."

I think it's bullshit.

Call me a cynic, a party-pooper, a Debbie Downer, I don't care. I am pragmatic. There is but one beginning and one ending with a linear timeline on which we traverse between those two points. There are no new starts or new beginnings to bad endings. Just points where one stops on the timeline, makes a modification and moves on. Sometimes, we refer to these as "resolutions."

I fail to see why one must wait until the 1st of the year (or week, month, whatever) to begin changing "for the better." Why can't one just change now? Procrastination is not a good thing, unless it's something one doesn't want to do in the first place.

I've been known to have these resolutions. Get thinner, be a nicer person, move out of this retched home... yes, I've had these as resolutions. But, in the end, it is a setup for failure. Why? Because there was never any intention of changing or fulfilling these resolutions. Time and effort was wasted on doing something that, in the back of the mind, was considered almost impossible.

So, here I am. The start of yet another year. A year I know will be terribad. Another year where I suffer when I shouldn't have to. Another year where each day is concluded with the thought of either killing myself or those around me. Or both, but in the end I talk myself down from that ledge because there's something better waiting for me at the end of this path. Something that will make all of the suffering worth it. Something greater.

At least, that's what I tell myself before I fall asleep. Because, if anything, each day is a new beginning and if one is going to change for the better, it should be the sart of each day. Not each year, or week or month. I don't know from which part of my arse I just pulled that out of but it sounds good. So, I'll stick with it.