No Regrets

As a follow up to my Ducky post: I just lost my best friend last night. This is a choice issue. Getting drunk didn't help matters. Nor did smashing my fists into my car and bloodying up my hands out of frustration and anger (embarrassing, yes, but I didn't know what else to do). I confronted her with how I feel and have felt for at least a couple of years now and she doesn't feel the same. I'm like "her brother." Unfortunately, there's no way I can be around her now. She's also the main reason I was staying in this god forsaken town so I'm making plans with my folks right now to get a job on the Cherokee reservation teaching and moving to North Carolina. I may as well.

I've never felt so lost in my life.

Everything's Just Ducky

You know how sometimes you fall for your best friend, the one who's always been there for you no matter what for the last 6 years and you just know if you act upon your feelings you're going to blow everything and you two can't be friends anymore and you'll lose your best friend and end up lonelier than you've ever been in your life?

Yeah, it sucks.



Unfortunately, there's no prom at the end where some moderately attractive blond girl can "hey you" me at the end. Life just doesn't work like that.

The Anatomy of Hate

I don't like to feel hate. I really don't. It's probably the most negative feeling a person can have. It can be so strong that it can make a person sick, causing them to do completely insane things that they wouldn't normally do. Nothing good comes of it. Ever. So, I don't understand why some people feel the need to push the buttons of others and bring them to that terrible feeling. I just don't get it.

I lost the friendship of someone recently. It's a shame and all, I guess. I kind of have a hard time saying that because right now, I don't think it's at all a shame. I guess I'd like to think it is. Our friendship ended because, from out of nowhere, she accused me of all of these ridiculous things and basically said I was smothering her. Her idea of me smothering her was me getting in touch with her twice during the week, once to see if she wanted to do lunch together and the other time was trying to get her to go to mini golf a few days later, something she had come up with for us to do months prior. All of a sudden (not even a week after we had last hung out and had a good time), she became uber bitch and when I tried to find out why, she berated me, called me a psycho, and basically accused me of all the things she herself does. I am very well aware of my faults, and none of them are what she threw at me. Words were exchanged, I was in complete and total shock because I was basically sucker punched, and that was it. She showed her true colors and I have zero room in my life for that kind of immature bullshit. Daddy didn't hug you enough as a child and you have abandonment issues so you're going to abuse and drive away the people who care about you. Okay, fine. Boo hoo poor you. See ya. I'll be damned if I let anyone abuse me, especially some worthless little girl. It's amazing how crazy people don't even realize that when they call others crazy, it doesn't hold any kind of merit whatsoever. It's almost comical.

I haven't thought about her since and I haven't talked about her since. As far as I'm concerned, our yearlong friendship didn't happen. I'm not going to lose any sleep over it. I just recently came across some shit talking on her part. Toward me. On a mutual friend's headline on Facebook. He mentioned a personal achievement and I congratulated him. Of course, she had to throw her 2 cents in immediately after and leave a snide remark. Not directly at me, Oh no. she's too smart for that, or so she incessantly prides herself as such. Still, it was pretty damned obvious what it was all about. I'd love it if I'm just being paranoid; that she really isn't this petty person I think of her as; but I know that's not the case.

I don't get it. My whole thing is we have a mutual dislike for one another. She doesn't like me for whatever weird reson she conjured up in her head and I don't like her for very obvious reasons. Okay, fine! That's that! You go your way and I'll go mine. Why talk shit? Why start trouble? This isn't a big town and things will eventually get back to me. I could easily say, "Well, she's nuts. What do you expect." But the thing is, I don't have the healthiest past. I have done some pretty fucked up things, mainly due to my drinking problem. This is something that went on for years until I recently decided to clean myself up. Granted, I've only been on the straight and narrow for a little over a month now, but considering all I've been doing (jogging, weight and abs training, sobriety, eating healthy, and I even tried yoga for crissakes), it's a lot all of a sudden. Like a car that has gone from 0 to 60 in 2 seconds. So, I don't really have the best reputation right now, but I'm doing my best to change that and the last thing I need is some stuck up, self-absorbed, psychotic girl fucking it up for me. Just leave me alone!!! How is that too much to ask? I could totally see if I deserved any of this. If I really am the things she accused me of, but I know I'm not and it isn't fair or right.

And this is why I now hate her. I don't want to hate her, but she's made me hate her. Just the thought of her makes me feel sick. She's a horrible, terrible, mean, hate-filled person and I regret ever having been friends with her. If only I had known at the time. All of this negativity simply because she wouldn't leave it alone. This is the first time in my life I've had to deal with something like this and I hope to God it's the last.

April Showers Bring May Flour?

A strange thing happened last week. When I was leaving for work, I walked up to my car and noticed the driver's side was covered with a white, powdery substance. I looked around and didn't see any of it on Roommate's car, nor on the other cars in the area. Of course, me in all my glorious paranoia thought at once that it was anthrax and someone was trying to kill me.


Anthrax. The good kind.

When rationality took over for knee-jerk reaction, I dipped my finger in it and took a whiff. Odorless. Since I was running late for work, I just hopped in my car and drove off. Was it some kind of concrete dust from the people in my neighborhood working on their houses? Doubtful since this was at about 7:30 or 8 in the morning. Was it some asshole who thought it would be funny to douse my car with God-knows-what? Possibly, but kind of unlikely. Maybe my car is a junkie and a had a nasty coke binge while I was asleep. Herbie never had it so good.

Later on in the day it rained for a bit and I was hoping it would wash all of the dust off of my car. No such luck. It actually made my car look worse. I wasn't too concerned, though, since I drive down South OBT on my way home from work. My filthy car fit right in. That night, I broke one of my rules for car washing: I took it into an automatic wash. This was mainly out of lack of time and energy to wash it myself. I decided to go for broke and got the most expensive wash there was, without realizing it was a no-touch car wash, the lousiest kind there is. I wasted $12. It didn't do a god damn thing to get my car clean. I wasn't mad, though. How could I be? I knew exactly what would happen if I used the auto car wash. I was just hoping beyond hope that I was wrong and automatic car wash technology had drastically improved since I last used a car wash. I mean, it's 2009! And all this a mere week after I berated someone else for using an auto wash. My optimism is a joke.

A couple of Black ladies just came by my house peddling their religion. They didn't get to knock on the door, though, because Roommate's dog went fucking apeshit when they approached. Haha! Good boy. That or they saw my "Republicans for Voldemort" bumper sticker and probably having no clue who Harry Potter is, they decided not to knock on the door of a possible McCain supporter. Hey, let them think what they want. As long as they stay the hell away from my house. I'd love nothing more than to answer the door one of these days dressed as the devil. How funny would that be? Even better: Green Man. That would totally freak them out.


Ohhhhh yeah.

The healthy lifestyle thing I've been into recently has been going rather well. I'm 3 weeks now with no drinking, 2 weeks of jogging and working out, and over a week of dieting. The detox part of the diet ended yesterday, so I pretty much said "fuck it, I'm done." Problem is, though, is it's become kind of habitual, which I suppose was the whole point. I want Wendy's in the worst way but I just can't stand the thought of eating it. I'd be happier with some asparagus. It's fucking scary. Another scary thing that happened was me jogging a straight 5 miles the other day without stopping. Up to then, I've been doing 4 miles with little rests here and there. I don't know what got into me, but I got to my 4 mile point and said, "The hell with it. I'm going to Forrest Gump this motherfucker." And Forrest Gump that motherfucker I did, indeed. I could have gone another mile or two but I made myself stop because I was starting to scare myself.
What in the hell has gotten into me? It's the little things. Like, the other day I went to itch between my waistband and waist, expecting to forcefully shove my thumb into a very tight spot. No such thing happened. My thumb slid right in with room to spare. Results keep me going. Holly said I'm slimming up so fast because I'm a guy. I think that might have a little to do with it. I also think it's mostly because I don't drink beer all the time anymore and I burn off most of the calories I consume.


I'll be looking like my boys before too long!!! And I'll look super rad in the new all black away kits they're putting out for the 2009-2010 season!

My Twitter Twatted

Is it wrong to be pissed off at a friend for treating you like a piece of shit for no real reason? No? I didn't think so.

I had this other blog all lined up that I was writing at work a few days ago on MSWord that I had to email to myself (because people around the office are actually getting fired for accessing the internet now, which explains the length between my posts) , but I decided against posting it. I was in a mood that day and all I really did in it was cry about girls and how lonely I am. Fucking Christ, I hate when I get like that. I sound like a fucking tweener sitting around reading Twilight and listening to Taking Back Sunday. That's not to say that me being single my whole life, minus 4 months back in '96, isn't lonely as fuck and I'm not bothered by it more often than not, but whining about it isn't going to bring Zooey Deschanel knocking on my door. Although, she is marrying Ben Gibbard, so maybe it does.


Ben Gibbard with long hair gives me the fucking creeps.

Speaking of Zooey, she might be at the FMF right now as I type this. Brian is supposed to be interviewing her if she shows up. Our pal James looks a hell of a lot like Ben Gibbard and we were talking about pulling the ole' switcheroo on her. See if she takes the bait. Of course, James' girlfriend might not be too into the idea, but fuck her. Any girl that won't let her man hook up with Zooey Deschanel isn't worth the sheets she'll be sleeping alone in.


Here they are again, singing together. Fucking hell, why can't I have this?

Speaking of Brian now, he, I, and our buddy Jim (not to be confused with James) decided the other day that the past tense of Twitter should be Twatted. This grew from me coming up with the idea of doing an adult version of that idiot site (is it an actual website? I have no idea) and calling it"Twatter." Instead of updating people with every minuscule, pointless thing you do during the day, you only update it with your own sexual exploits. I'd love to start typing away right in mid-coitus. "Shawn is getting some rad head!" "Shawn just gave his first ATM!" How awesome would that be? Maybe not so much for me, truth be told. In reality, mine would probably be an endless stream of masturbation updates, while I sit around hating on all of my friends because they keep updating me about getting laid. Assholes. Anyway, in discussion we came to decide that "Twatted" would be a substantial past tense of "Twitter." For example:
"Are you Twittering?" "Me? No. I just Twatted a few minutes ago."Or "I Twatted my mom all night long."

God, please let this catch on.


Twitter is always better with a little pussy on it.

I've been sober for almost 2 weeks now. Man, what an eye-opener. I'm not going to get into details, but it isn't just the world that looks different through dry eyes, but I look different, too. I found that I've been bullshitting myself about a lot of things for the last couple of years. Alcohol will make you do that. It's so much easier to say "Fuck it" and drown yourself in a case of beer and force yourself to do things and like things you don't really like. I went to I Bar last night and didn't have one drink. Holy crap, that was a bad idea. I ended up leaving early and walking a couple of miles to my car (I didn't drive). I must have seen about 10 reasons why7 I should never know the taste of booze again. From the disgusting people leaning against my back while face-fucking each other to the girl I came across puking in the bushes on Livingston during my walk to this guy I know telling me I had to leave with him to help him fuck four hot girls (who really were hot, but the whole presentation and the 99% chance I'd contract Herpes made me get the hell out of there). I've also been jogging 4 miles every other day (soon to be 5), doing strength and abs workouts on the days I'm not running, and eating better. I'm doing a complete overhaul. It's about time I did. I'm so insanely sick of being 33, out of shape, and horrifyingly average. Now I'm slowly slimming up (it'll be a while before I'm at where I want to be), I'm full of more energy, I feel better about myself, and I wake up earlier in the mornings and get more done during the day. It's been pretty awesome. All I need now is a new pair of glasses and those tattoos I've been planning and I'll be set.


Yyyyyyep. That's about right. Run, fat boy, run.

However, I don't recommend morning running. I should have known it was a bad idea when I attempted to do my stretching and I couldn't even touch my toes because my muscles were so tight. I won't say the run was a total nightmare, but it wasn't easy.

That's about all for now. I'm off to the FMF to watch a documentary about Showbiz Pizza. Apparently, they're going to have the animotronic band that they used there. It'll be like I'm 8 again, as though my Peter Pan complex needs any boosting.


Well, this explains why I was constantly plagued by night terrors as a child.

Is It Vain to Quote Yourself?

I just said something kind of funny in regards to my bass guitar playing years and years ago that sounded so much like something I can apply to my own life right now: "It's good to know that even though I didn't know what I was doing, I knew what I was doing."

Speaking of bass playing, if you haven't heard Basements of Florida, go on Myspace and please give 'em a listen. They just put up a set they played at the Social about a month and a half ago and they totally kicked ass. Sooooooo good.

Welcome, Jameson Keith

I'm hours (possibly minutes) away from being an uncle for the first time!!

Babies, man. Wow.

I also just found out an uncle I liked a lot yet haven't seen in years passed away last month.

I try not to, but really hate death. Especially when it makes me feel so uncompromisingly mortal.

Performance Anxiety

I don't know what my deal is. I have the hardest time in public bathrooms. I know I'm not alone in this, but I get really, really freaked by them. Hitting up the urinal isn't so bad, but if Number 2 is knocking at the door and I'm at work, I'll actually hang on for as long as I can until a suitable time (ie, when I think no one else is likely to be in the bathroom) comes around. Of course, there really is no suitable time for public bathrooms. When ya gotta go, ya gotta go.

The Vatican bathrooms

My biggest thing is privacy. When you're sitting there and someone is, say, in the stall next to you, and it's dead quiet, what on earth are you supposed to do???? Unless I'm amongst friends and we're behaving like 13 year olds, I don't want anyone to get an intimate understanding of the noises my bathroom areas make. It's rude and embarrassing. I don't know what happened to me. My thoughts turn to when I was younger and I had no qualms whatsoever with grunting and groaning very loudly, making an obscene spectacle of myself for the simple reason that I thought it was funny. It was even better when I'd leave the bathroom and my friends would report to me that they could hear me all the way to the lingerie section. There was no better pride. It can't be an age thing, because I still find that pretty hilarious. Just so long as the noises aren't emanating from my stall.

There's also the weird things other people do in the bathroom. For example, talking on the cell phone while dropping a deuce. I have never understood that. What would the other person think if they knew that while telling of the wonderful things that happened to them during their day, the recipient of their story was in the middle of evacuating their bowels? Isn't there some form of grunting or straining involved? David Sedaris wrote of a similar story, wherein he discovered his own sister had done the same to him. Her excuses for the grunting? Trying to open jars of mayonnaise. That story has me so paranoid now, that someone could be so much as exasperated from sweeping the floor and I'll state they're disgusting and request they call me back when they're done pooping. There was another moment when the person in the stall next to me used an endless amount of toilet paper. I don't know what their deal was, but I was patiently sitting there, waiting for them to leave so as to not have them hear my business (God, I sound like an old woman), and they just kept using more and more paper. It was crazy. I must have been sitting there for a good 10 minutes waiting for them to finish writing their TP novel. I finally said "Fuck it" and let it rip. It was their just desserts for taking so damned long.

Then there's the handicap stall. I'm sorry, but if you use the handicap stall when there are other regular stalls available, you're a fucking creep and you should burn in hell. To me, that's the equivalent of parking in a handicap spot, but instead of your car, your parking your ass. Not cool, especially when you work in a place that employs a lot of people in chairs. Just the other day I had to go in the worst way only to find that our 2 normal people stalls were occupado. I had no choice but to use the crip stall. At first it was cool, because I figured if someone handicapable were to wheel their way in, they'd see that all of the stalls were taken and assume I had no other option. Yeah, that was great until the other 2 people finished their bidness and left. At that point, it was me trying to take care of my own as quickly as I could. I was at the pool, but the kids, for some reason or another, were taking their sweet time getting out of the car. You know how kids can be. Every time that bathroom door opened, I prayed I would hear the soft pitter-patter of dress shoes as opposed to the squeak of tire wheel against tile. Needless to say, I made it out intact without incurring the wrath of one less fortunate. Is there even a clinical name for that kind of phobia?

(For some further hilarity involving misuse of the handicap stall, please see the 1st episode of the 2nd season of The IT Crowd!!!)

This is getting lengthy as far as restroom shenanigans go, but there is one more creepo bathroom story I need to tell. A few weeks ago, I'm in the stall "gettin'r done," as a certain, unfunny, faux redneck "comic" would say, when someone walked up to the urinal next door. I'm sitting there minding my own, when the gentleman says, "I could reach under there and take your keys!" You see, like most cool people, I wear my keys on a biner/beaner/whatever from my right back belt loop. So, of course, with my pants around my ankles, vulnerably, I might add, my keys are just laying there and ripe for the picking, according to the guy who should have been minding his own pissness.

"What?" I respond, not fully knowing what the fuck is going on. I mean, I just wanted to poop in private!

"I could just grab your keys and run off! You couldn't do anything about it!"

"Um...uh....heh heh......yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right." I don't know if the Keymaster noticed or not, but my feet slightly scrinched away from the opening of the stall. I put a little hustle in my bustle and got out of the stall. The guy was just finishing himself up when I made it to the sink. He was an older man of black skin descent and looked totally unassuming. I knew better.

"I could have just reached right down and snatched your keys!" He repeated as he walked up to the sink (not next to mine, thank Jesus) to wash up. I felt obligated to answer, now that the Keymaster had a face and I knew he was just being a Chatty Kathy.

"Yeah, I don't know what I would have done. I guess I would have had a mess on my hands." Whether he thought I was being literal or figurative, I couldn't tell. He then proceeded to say something I just could not understand. This was in part due to 2 faucets running. Also what he said next was so far from the topic of running off with the keys of a shitting victim, my brain just couldn't register the words coming out of his mouth. I think he was relating the topic at hand to a Bible story. A Bible story. In the bathroom. I shit you not. (Hardee har har)

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" he asked. All I could do was smile awkwardly at him and nod a yes with a small moan of "comprehension." I then got out of the bathroom as quickly as I could with a firm grip on my keys. I wish the same could be said of my sanity. I've made it a habit of using the middle stall from now on.

Don't even get me started on the people who leave the sink on and walk out of the bathroom or even worse, the ones who don't wash their hands at all. And these are the class act people I work with.

In The Shit

I haven't really been regularly following people's blogs this week. Nor have I been writing anything new. I've been training the managers from Nashville all week on how to do my job, so they can go back to TN and train their people, wherein I will get laid off. It's amazing how these big corporations work.

So, yeah, I've been kinda busy. But, believe me, I'll have plenty of time on my hands to blog before too long. I'll also probably be doing it from Asheville, NC.

I'm Takin' What They're Givin'

Okay, let's get this shit underway. The first entry into my spanking new blog is going to be about work. And not work in the general sense ("I hate working") but work in a more specific way ("I hate my job"). I have rants I need to release.

Okay, I don't really hate my job. Granted, it's not the job I want and banking has absolutely nothing at all to do with my teaching degree, but it is a job and I'm lucky to have it. Sort of. All of us wonderful contractors were called into my manager's office the other day for her to tell us that our jobs are being outsourced to Nashville and that we might temporarily not have jobs. So temporary, in fact, that we might not be let go at all, but to be ready in case it does. And if it does, some of us will be made permanent if and when we come back.

Hello, Ms. Vague. I'm Mr. Confussion. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Have you met my friend, Mr. Stress?

This gets better. Let me throw some math at you. There are 6 people in my department, one of whom handles assigning tasks out to us and 3 of us (inluding me) knows how to do everything and we bust our asses (more or less) on a daily basis. Of the 6, only 1 is actually employed by my bank, so she stays. The rest of us are temps. One of us, who knows how to do everything, is weeks away from having a baby and she'll be leaving anyway. So, that leaves 3 of us wondering what we're going to have to do as far as employment goes. One of the three just informed us that she found another job and she'll be leaving. This leaves two of us: me, who is the only other person who knows how to do everything which includes very specific tasks that really no one else can do, and another girl who's very annoying and a waste of space, in my opinion. Basically, one of two things can happen: they can either keep me and divide what tasks are left for us to do between the 2 of us OR let me go (temporarily) and put the entirety of the workload on one person.

Add to all of this the fact that myself and a couple of others have been busting our humps to get a training manual made and ready for the people who will have our jobs. AND I'll be training the managers from Nashville next week. AND I knew about all of this before anyone else did, with the promise to my manager that I won't tell anyone so as not to cause undue worry. AND my boss keeps telling me that she has plans for me and she wants to make me permanent. WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN????? My god this is stressful. I'm the only one here who is in total limbo and it is not fun. I feel like they're making me sharpen the very knife that they're going to use to slit my throat. Maybe. If I'm losing my job, I'm probably going to say "fuck it" and move to Asheville now.

I work in a very strange place. It feels like a halfway house. Kinda like how Orlando feels. Actually, you know what? This place is the equivalent to the Land of Forgotten Toys. A bunch of random people just ended up here because they couldn't find anything else. I'm making toys but what I really want to be is a dentist, damnit!!! Here are some points of interest regarding my job so you get the general concept of what I go through.

-I know how to do the job better than my manager does.

-I'm one of the few white people here, one of the only men, and I'm also probably the only person who doesn't go to church on a regular basis, let alone at all. I hear the names God and Jesus a lot, along with praise be this and good book that. Sweet Jesus.

-Even though a bunch of us might be let go soon, people are still wandering about looking for money, ie. chipping in for birthday parties, Super Bowl parties, kids' fundraisers, etc. I appreciate the intentions, but now is not a good time.

-And a Super Bowl party? Really? Is the Super Bowl a national holiday now? If that's the case, I want Monday off with pay. Jesus, who gives a shit??? (Ha! I wrote 'Jesus.' I guess it's rubbing off on me.)

-There are some seriously strange and annoying people working here. You have to kind of expect it with a job like this and take it with a grain of salt. One of my coworkers is a few years older than me and a total redneck. She wears those little bands with the balls on them in her hair. The woman is in her mid to late 30's for crisakes. They make her look like a giant toddler. She also acts like a toddler at times, too. She gets really hyper and just acts...weird. I usually flash looks of utter disbelief at coworkers regarding her behavior. This gets them laughing, which makes her think she's getting the laughs, in turn worsening her antics. It's fucking nuts. I'm all for acting goofy and having a good time, but dear lord, calm down! Today she's wearing some kind of leopard shirt. I mean, it doesn't have a leopard on it. It looks like she killed a leopard and she's wearing it's skin. It's ridiculous. I'm pretty sure she shops at Flea World. She also voted McCain. Her response to Obama being in office is that she'll pray in hopes that the Lord can guide him. Now if that ain't loony, please point me in the direction to what is because I'd like to see what trumps that. She also cackles rather than laughs and she constantly looks for some kind of sympathy by endlessly bringing up the fact that she's a single mom. Sorry, but boo fucking hoo.

I have more I was going to write about, but why blow my whole load on the first date, right? (How's that for a lovely image?) I'll just talk about it as it comes up. Actually, I think I'll make it a series! The "Takin' What They're Givin' Series." Damn, I like that.

Oh, wonderful. It's raining. Granted, we need the rain, but just remind me to write about how bad the drivers in this part of town are.