Odd Quotes

You know what’s really, powerfully sexy? A sense of humor. A taste for adventure. A healthy glow. Hips to grab on to. Openness. Confidence. Humility. Appetite. Intuition. Smart-ass comebacks. Presence. A quick wit. Dirty jokes told by an innocent-looking lady. A storyteller. A genius.  A woman who realizes how beautiful she is, but isn't arrogant about it.
~ The internet

Odd Quotes

Intimacy is not entirely physical. In fact, it can have no physical interaction at all. For an intimate relationship to take place, allow someone into your thoughts. Let them hold and caress your feelings. Let them be intimate with your mind. Allow for the emotional intimacy to be the reason for passion to be bred. Now that is intimacy that is long lasting.
~ Somewhere on the Internet...

When the story in your head....is just a story

Relapse Post #9

If you believe, you can achieve. That's the idea,  but what really happens is if you lie to yourself long enough even you will start to think the fantasy is reality. That's where the danger comes in, in those instances where all you've been doing is repeating the tale, but moving the story, the gap is what kills you. 

Sporty is on the move.

Back when she was looking for work two years ago, she talked about Indiana, Oklahoma, Louisiana, there may have even been a mention of tropical St. Croix before the people around the corner from her made an offer to get started in her preferred new field and she jumped at it. There were many  nights during that waiting period that  I'd spoken to God and asked him to help her, to bring her happiness, even if it meant without being with me. So back when she let me know she was ready to get started on this new path I was happy for her, but I was disappointed that she wouldn't be returning to Atlanta.

But now she's packing up her stuff again, and heading back east.

No, not back to Atlanta, but to the DC Metro Megaplex which is close to where she's from.  So I'm guessing the lesson to be learned here is to be careful what you ask for.

It's always great when you can sit ringside while people you care about get those things they've worked for. It's kind of beautiful, even when you're only virtually there. Even when it means you're not going to get those things you've hoped for. I'm happy for her, honestly and truly. But since then I can feel the tears floating behind my eyes. Hey, at least this time I didn't lose the feeling in my legs. I'm getting better at this right?

I keep wondering what's wrong with me, why I get so fixated? When i talk about them, I like to romanticize my feelings, to make seem them noble, deep and elegant. Apparently they aren't anything like that. I've picked this Sporty narrative up again, as though it were now any more possible, when I should have left it where it was - in the closet of my mind. Maybe I've watched too many movies, internalized the words to far too many love songs (as a writer, I am always looking for meaning in words), and maybe because the hope was so much better than the bleak truth I just let it ride, for far too long.

Yes, I know I'm rehashing things that are over, or maybe never existed for anyone but me. Yes, just so you know Serve has already blessed me out this, again. But, for the record, they met once and Serve told me later she instantly didn't like her, so there maybe some bias. Yes, I realize this is my problem, not Sporty's.

I've got a million reasons why this didn't work out due my own social and emotional incompetence, without even entertaining the idea that it might never have worked at all under any circumstances and amounted to little more than a lucid fever dream from the beginning. But rehashing things, something I'd always done is just another skill you're supposed to use in law. I'm still rehashing projects from my first year of law school. How many writing projects have restarted? This is what I do!

So where am I going with this? I don't know. How do I fix this? Well, if I knew that I wouldn't be putting this drivel on the internet, now would I? And just so we're clear...No, I'm not going to learn a damn thing.

Funny thing we call love. Funny thing.

Barkeep. Something alcoholic. And in large quantities.   

Waiting on the Good Word...

Ramblings Post #183
There are some words that when spoken chill the soul to the core. Although they aren't your basic "I didn't tell you I was allergic to nuts?", the sometimes funny "I need a spot to stay for a while" or the classic"Oh No!", they tend to invoke a specialized, personal kind of terror. Words such as "we need to talk" which never seems to bode well for the listener. Another is the oft repeated "I have something I need to tell you," the neon precursor to bad news that makes the wise suddenly start crawling through their memories for a warning sign they might have missed. Oh, it were only so simple.


I have a personal cringe inducing phrase comes from its repeated use, usually as code for world of issues that very shortly will weigh on my mind. It's use is supposed to be be disarming, and I know they're trying to put my mind at ease but those words carve a pit into my stomach. It's now almost a reflex action.

It's two words : I'm okay.

This is usually how Sporty will start off a sentence to tell me she's having problems. I got a short message last week that started with that. What kind of problems this time I'm not sure, because she's been keeping her cards close to her vest lately, which may mean the other shoe is about to drop. Well, not so much as drop as come down on my throat. Metaphorically speaking. But then I have a penchant for imagining the worst.

After all, its been four years since she packed and headed west, so the idea that the degree of emotional intimacy we once wouldn't have changed is at best a fallacy. There had been a point in our relationship where she'd give me her itinerary out of habit, explaining answers to questions I hadn't even asked. Well, most questions. I didn't ask much, I trusted her. Anyway, that trust she put in me felt good. That we will be that kind of close again still is something I hope for, but in either case the underlying feelings that got us there haven't faded. At least not for me.

Before my mind wanders too far down the hypothetical dark trail and into the land of fantastical hysteria, I'm going to start believing its just a natural state of depression that strikes us all from time to time. We have up and down days. For a young woman, she's been through a lot. And although she's on the upswing (overall), there is are still a lot of issues she's handling. And sometimes, when you wake up and the sky is gray, the outfit you meant to wear you forgot to wash, traffic is bad and it seems that everything is coming at you all at once, you get depressed. And then, the world turns just a touch... someone tells a funny joke, your song comes on the radio, that sandwich your made is just right ...and you're back.

Which means by the time I post this, this feeling will be in her rear view mirror and I can stop imagining dragons.

Yeah, I'm gonna run with that.

Barkeep, I think you know what I need.

Will I be happy as a lawyer?

Ramblings Post #158
Transitions are odd. Given a choice I'm a night person, unless I have to work at night, then I'm a morning person. I don't really drink coffee, unless it was free and I was at the office. Now that I don't have an office, I'm thinking of getting a coffee maker. I need focus and self discipline, and I shouldn't have expected them to just suddenly pop into existence. Or should I have? It's only been a week. It's a transition. At least that's what I keep telling myself.



Would I be happy as a lawyer?

Sporty asked me the other day, a question I really hadn’t thought about. That question is the the title of this post - will I be happy being a lawyer?

I make no bones that applied to Law School on a whim, and then actually made the move to go only because it looked like Sporty had moved on and I needed something to occupy my time and my mind. It’s not the first time I’ve started something for less than completely pure reasons and later developed an interest. But that concept made me think about something else that I don’t usually consider about myself.

I’m a fairly intense person.

To look at me, to observe me, to know me you probably wouldn’t believe me when I say that. I’ve cultivated a strenuously casual demeanor, something I’ve been working on to mitigate my “dark side” since I realized I have a tendency to go overboard when I get involved... in pretty much anything. I liked reading as a child, so I read everything under the sun. Westerns, Romance, Fantasy, Sci-Fi, How-to, Horror, Novels, etc. I played organized football, and was that wild eyed screaming lunatic always a little too into the game that my coach would have referred to as - agile, mobile and hostile. I’ve had employers where I was willing to put in nineteen hours days if the job called for it, and with my last employer I nearly worked myself into the grave. Those things I do, I do with a passion. As I’ve said before, I think of my approach to things as being like that of a freight train, slow to start, but a force to be reckoned with once moving.

It’s been three years. So I’ve kinda gotten into this law thing.

That and there are so many things you can do with a law degree, so many types of lawyer you can be. Or even if you don’t take the bar, as I discussed with a classmate, there are things you can do with just a Juris Doctor. It is an advanced degree. The field is wide open for career opportunities. I'll have more tools.

But happy?

The things that make me happy can’t be earned. I can’t really work towards them, or build up a bank to use later. They aren't something I can hone, or develop, or anything I can buy. The things that make me happy have to be given to me.

Love. Friendship. Compassion.

It’s an odd concept. I don’t want to call myself gifted, but those things that can be mastered I have tendency to eventually get a grasp of. I have persistent quality and a great degree of patience, so it comes. Eventually. Most times. It is the intangibles that interest me, that drive me, that make me. And in those situations what I'm counting on mostly is luck of the draw. Damn shame.

So, will getting to the end of this make me happy? Oh, I'll be an effective lawyer, of that I'm certain. Like any other skill, given a little time I will start to get a handle on the nuances and shades that make a good counselor, and mature into legal hardwood.

Happy? Barkeep...how about a small whiskey, and just bruise it a touch with some Sprite. Happy?

Did I just do that?

Ramblings Post #151
I don't really have anything to put here, but I was informed once that without these little lead-ins, these trailers up to the main event, it just doesn't read the same. Thanks Schmoopy. So now I gotta type something here that loosely ties in with what follows. Although sometimes it doesn't, kinda like this. Or maybe I'm weak from hunger since I restarted my diet to today, which accounts for the decision I made that is chronicled in this installment. There, now it links up. Can stop now?


I've just had an ohnosecond.

My book reading has been reduced from novels, five part trilogies and epic historical or fantasy sagas to magazines as of late. This is because anything I can't read and be done with in 10 minutes not related to school is not really allowed. I'm getting by on furtive reads of the articles in Men's Health, Vanity Fair, National Geographic, GQ and Esquire, with the occasional Atlantic or Mother Jones thrown in. But to indulge, I also pickup copies of Renovation Style and various travel magazines - Conde Nast Traveler, Travel & Leisure, and Budget Travel. Yes, I know, its very sad to call that an indulgence.

But I really want to travel someday. When I was kid I used raid the brochures of the travel agency down the street from Dad's shop, and would study the layouts of cruise ships and resorts, area attractions and the foods I would at when I eventually made it there. Part of it was a my imagination and a fascination with exotic places, part of it a desire to be anywhere else other than the really small town in South Carolina I grew up in. Even now online I look at bike trips, scooter tours, catamarans, hiking, cooking tours, wine tours...that need to just get out and go calls at me.

And yet, I don't travel. This is sad. Very sad. I mean like no where. I live in Atlanta and I can barely get to the south side of Atlanta. I traveled more as itinerant college student.

But someone I know also loves travel. And actually does. And so I was going to get her a monthly subscription to Budget Travel, because they have some great deals in the back. Great deals. And I'd hoped to go with her to one of the many places I've storied about, once I had break. But today, I was looking around and low and behold I found Budget Travel's web site. And their expanded Great Deal section. And because I'm a great guy, knowing she'd be interested, I sent a link to my favorite little....

Ohnosecond.

The term "kid in a candy store" comes to mind. Cat out of the bag. Pandora's box. E-ticket. An unlimited gas card and an open highway.

A sudden thousand "What ifs?" popped into my head even as my finger clicked the mouse. A sudden thousand possibilities that caused a sudden feeling in my gut that made me wonder when I'd gotten on the roller coaster. It's not like I haven't contemplated the possibility before of things not working out as I would hope, it's just I hadn't actually thought about that in a long time. And I got a good imagination. Let's just say I had gotten real comfortable with hope, and maybe I just needed a reminder that hope isn't as solid as the dream its built upon. When you know you're going to get hit, you involuntarily flinch. Self preservation. I flinched.

Conflicted. I want her to go, to see the world, to chase her dreams. But then I want... to go with her? To have her wait for me? To not go until I'm ready? I do, I so do. But then why would I not want her to be all she can be, do all she can do and still say I love....

Here's hoping she sends some great postcards and takes some pretty pictures....

Barkeep...I need the cheap vodka. Cheaper than that.

Things I want for my birthday...

It's not really a bucket list, because they're things I want, and don't really see as being something I'm going to have to go out of my way to get. They're "wish" in the sense they're coming, but I just wish they'd hurry up! Some are fanciful, some are serious, and some are just...well, read on and see.

10. A Benz.

I'm not a big car guy. Never caught the bug. And I like little cars. If I could fit in a Mini it might have been my next car, but then my new profession has certain "expectations". Nothing says success like an E-class or higher. So I guess I'll make the sacrifice. Oh, woe is me.

9. A lego set.

I love legos. I don't know why. I have a big blue tub of them now, but I want more. MORE! Not the playsets, just the blocks. Okay, a playset or two wouldn't be the end of the world. They are legos.

8. Golf clubs

I started playing that Tiger Woo! 12, with Augusta, and now I'm hooked. I was in the hunt at the Masters on Sunday, two holes later suddenly I'm six back just trying to hold it together. In real life I want to be looking for the generous bounce, making sand saves, steering clear of the second cut and dropping it on them rolling greens. All that. Yeah, I'm going to hate it all at first, but then I'll get better.

7. A man spa day.

I really want a good massage. No, no "happy ending" allusions here, from a "friend" preferably, but barring that a professional. In a real spa where they also do pedicures, possibly even give you an old fashioned shave. All while you sip on a whiskey and watch ESPN on the 40 inch flat screen. Wouldn't a place like that be sweet?

6. This. Okay, not really, but I seriously couldn't think of anywhere else to put this.


5. Sweet Potato Pie

I make a pretty good sweet potato pie. That said, I use a *sigh* store bought crust. The homemade crust I probably could make would be pretty good, but I'd need to by a rolling pin and ....hmmm. I just might do that.

4. A photo shoot

I own three digital cameras. Almost no pictures of me. I don't even take pictures. But what I want are the kind of pictures of me that look like the ones in magazines, ones with gravity, with substance. You know, posed, with light bouncing off my rugged features. I'm not gonna look this good forever (well, I will, but not this specific type of good looking), and people need to remember this. Plus, when I do finish one of them books, I'm gonna need a decent publicity shot. And and the rate I'm going by then I'll be old.


3. Censored.

I eventually intend to be somebody, and things on the internet have a tendency of hanging around. So just imagine something a guy would want that he might now want to mention in mixed company. Think real real hard. Now add gravy. And now you know why I'm not even gonna put that on here.

2. A bottle of good Whiskey.

I actually have half a bottle of good whiskey at my house now. But I need another. Just in case. Boy scout, be prepared. You never know. I am not a lush.

1. A Good Dinner. With Sporty.

What can I say? Those evenings I spent sharing a table with her resonate even now. It's magical when you can sit down with someone and it just feels right. We clicked. On so many levels. If you've ever been there you know why I still wax nostalgic about it. And hope to get there again.

The Beginning of the Next Part

Ramblings Post #148
Things are in flux. If this were a dramatic film written by your average hack screenwriter, it would be the part right before the montage, where the hero has that moment of doubt or learns a lesson, or reaches deep inside themselves and finds...something. Only my life isn't a dramatic film, it's more a dark comedy. So there won't be a montage, but if I'm lucky maybe I can get Morgan Freeman for the voice over on the DVD. Or at least Keith David.


If you read this ...thing I'm doing, you know that at the end of every semester three things happen. First, as finals loom all law students start to wonder why they're putting themselves through the madness that is cases and rule application (and why nobody can use plain english). Second comes the finals, which are either not as bad as you imagined or leave you in a stupor as you stagger out of the room. And finally, comes the waiting for grades. That long period swings between brash confidence because you know you nailed it and self doubt because you just realized something else you could have added or should have changed. It's a vicious little cycle that repeats again and again until get to take the bar.

This semester in summer school one professor is threatening to bring Thursday night drinking back into vogue, and the other class is once a week so it feels like I've barely even been there. The semester feels so short I almost wonder if this will really count. I feel strange.

Then grades for last Spring came out. And suddenly I'm wondering why I'm doing all this.

Don't get me wrong, grades were very good. I didn't get the fanciful A out of that litigation class, but I did pass, so now I could be less than twelve months from graduation. And as its all starting to crystallize, to become reality, I'm looking at the whole thing with a skeptical eye.

If you read back far enough, you know I started school for the wrong reasons. It wasn't a love of the law, to help people, a desire to right the wrongs of man or even something as selfish as just making more money that got me in the door. I went to school to occupy my time, and to keep my mind from going off track after Sporty left. I'm good at that - crafting a character to play and then finding way to inhabit it on the way to self renovation. The me right now is a work in progress, with the new education, the weight loss and the inversion of my social persona. And it worked, for a minute. But then, the unexpected happened. And I'm a hopeless romantic. (Read that any way you want)

Now I'm in the fourth quarter, and LeBron I'm not.

The question is what comes next? I got way too comfortable plucking them chickens. Now I'm about wander into the wilderness with a gleam in my eye towards conquer... just because.

I had no illusions that getting a law degree would magically change my life overnight. Maybe had I attended full time, been immersed in the whole process I might have a different viewpoint. Not that I haven't grown to find it's nuances a worthy challenge, and can now better appreciate the craft. But as it stands, I've gotten a degree in exile by going part-time. Exile meaning I cut out a great deal to focus on what needed to be done. And it's looking now I'm going to stay in exile for a while trying to get something started in this new profession. Which is anathema to one my pillars of existence - I don't really enjoy being alone.

So what comes next? Not just school wise, or career wise, but in relation to life. There has to more than...just this. Than just me. Isn't there?

Barkeep, strongest thing you got. And light it on fire.

A Short...short...story.

Ramblings Post #183
Suddenly it bursts forth. Little bits of inspiration. Bits of mental images to fill in the blank spots that are the stories in progress in my mind, those stories half written, outlined or started and never finished. Little shorts. Little scenes that encapsulate the moment. Poetry, from an age long ago when everything was pure and hope stared me back in the eye every morning instead of leaving a note promising his return.


A Great Evening.

A noisy restaurant, but all the sound has faded away.
An empty wine glass.
A dark whiskey.
Napkins covering plates.
Deep, easy, conversation.
Her smile.

Ahhh...

Bar Chatter

Bar Chatter #20
Sometimes it just ain't enough to make a post, but it's still needs to go out....it's just bar chatter.

Right before mailing.

This year, with much thought and deliberation, I crafted the "third book" in a series that I'm getting increasingly better at making, although maybe not exponentially better at writing. That's right. Hand crafted. Card stock for the pages, colorful cover, bound with metal rings this time instead of the twine. Not too shabby.

And I sent it to Sporty as her Valentine's day gift (I accidentally trusted it the US Mail, and I'm sweating bullets that it shows up). I must make a note that life is too important to be cheap.

Here's hoping she likes it. And me.

After she's read it.

Cowboys...um, win?

Ramblings Post #157
Someone once said you should never have a regret about a something in the past. That's because at once point, that thing you regret is exactly what you wanted and got. Which makes the other statement, be careful what you wish for even more apt. One of the great problems with wanting something you don't have, and that in reality, you don't know what you're gonna do with it when you actually do get it. Makes you think.


For the first time I can remember, I am less than enthusiastic about a Cowboys win.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad they won. They went in there and held on, played good ball and took advantage of the opportunities afforded them. However I am less happy than normal.

My team is the Cowboys. But Sporty's team is the Colts.

You see there are a lot of great qualities about Sporty. After a few Cowboy losses she was nice enough to send a quick text telling me not to let it get to me. What can I say, I do love her. I also love and know that she is a fierce competitor, serious about her game (whatever the sport), always comes to play and even in a support role, will be there for her team. That said, she has a real problem with losing. Anything. At all.

To reiterate, losing does not sit well with her. Just doesn't.

Being a Colt fan living in Dallas doesn't help. At least not this week. On Mondays, she usually sends me a email or text to get the week started, a bit of encouragement because she knows where I work, and that I'm in school, and that the we're all up against it to some degree. A few kind words mean a lot.

I don't see me getting those words until Tuesday. Maybe Thursday.

In fact, I may just send her a few words instead. I mean, once Peyton pulls it together the Colts are still in the hunt, whereas the Cowboys are just playing playoff spoiler for somebody late in the season. And for Sporty's sake I'm hoping it wasn't the Colts.

Barkeep, my girl needs a pick me up and I need something to keep my mouth shut before I celebrate my ass into a corner.

Photography 305

Ramblings Post #148
As a general rule, I don't usually ask someone to do something that I have the ability to do, but choose not to do for what I can only consider dubious reasons. That said I do have a lawn guy, despite the fact that I barely have a lawn. But my own reluctance to impose is the truth. Most of the time.




Sporty asked for a picture the other day.

Of me.

This request made me realize, that although I used to get on her about not taking any pictures - that I don't like to take pictures. But then she's a cutie with a smile that hypnotizes and I just have a nice personality, the latter of which generally needs a special lens to capture, so there is a slight difference. But since I'm down a couple of pounds she wanted to see the progress.

So I stopped studying for a hot second to take a picture. Forty five minutes, two locations and three wardrobe changes later, I had a single fairly decent photograph. Just the one.

Photography is hard.

When Sporty lived here, I had one or two good pictures of her. One she gave me and the other I took of her at one of her games. I framed the game one and actually gave it to her as a present. But she was adamantly against the idea of regular photos - at least in regards to my requests, which is why a lot our hanging out is memorialized not with candid pics of us at various restaurants, but with a thick sheaf of restaurant receipts and ticket stubs. Now that I think about it, it probably is better there are no candid shots, because it would have been the "before" me in all those photos.

When I say "the before me", since I was on the computer, I found a picture from before the diet and put it with the pic I had just taken and I could see the difference, clearly. Makes me realize I'm not quite done. My plan is to hit the gym after finals and start to tone this up a little more, and by the spring I'll be looking for any excuse to take my shirt off. Need help moving? Let me take my shirt off. Want to shoot some hoops? Let slip my shirt off. Would I like a plate of pasta? Don't want to get my shirt dirty. But right now, I'm still not quite photo ready.

My goal at one point was to have a kind of fashion spread type photo or two of Sporty, which I would have framed and on my wall in what was to be my office, back when my future house was to have had an office [My future house will, so the plan is just "on hold"]. Not the crazy fashion spread, well, okay, a crazy eclectic fashion spread, but something fun, not like on the model shows which get all weird about it. When she lived here I once toyed with the idea of paying for a photo session, but we talked about it and we both knew she'd never do it. Back then. Apparently Texas is much more photo conducive, with the good light and air and all. Either that or she finally took her digital camera out the box. Not that I'm complaining.

But I still want something that just captures her essence. Because I will get it blown up, framed and hang it on the wall. So that one day when my kid asks about the picture, I will lean down to him, look around and make sure we were alone and whisper to him, "Well, she was supposed to be your momma."

With any luck, he'll look back at me and say "But that is my momma!"

By the way, Sporty liked the pic. She said I look fantastic.

I ain't asking no questions.

Barkeep. One good whiskey. With just a hint of branch water.

Mind Games

Ramblings Post #141
First you need a main character. They need to have a flaw or two, nobody likes perfect, but a redeeming quality that makes them likable. They need to be whole people, not just cardboard cutouts to perform the fictional action, but a background needs to be devised. If the background is good enough you won't have to write the story...it will write itself. Oh, and they need a distinctive name. The kind that makes you repeat it to yourself. That's how you start.


Sometimes I wish I didn't have so good an imagination.

As I've indicated, I write a lot. It's like a valve to let all the various thoughts in my head out, because if I don't commit them to paper...um, digital file... I just keep rehashing them over and over, tweaking and honing it into infinity. But that really doesn't help much, because each old idea out is replaced by a new idea or concept. I wrote up something yesterday and today I came up with a new idea for something else I'm have to gonna put together at some point. I'm like a older black version of Barry Ween, I just can't stop thinking.!

The stuff I feel I can commit to paper is just the part of it. A great deal thought involves Sporty, in the various ways a man thinks of a woman. Use your own imagination.

And if that was it, I might consider myself normal. Well for most of the stuff. The vast majority of the stuff. We're both adults. But, before I digress too far, my mind also puts together the bad possibilities as well, playing out worst case scenarios over and over making me question what's going on with my psyche. Why would I entertain these incredibly unpleasant, painful thoughts? Is my mind preparing me for what it sees is inevitable?

In my mind I've imagined incidents that bruise the soul: angry phone calls, fights, screaming, rejection, that day that one day I may have to experience, growing old alone and running into her years later, and many other moments I never want to see in reality. In real life our disagreements are so rare, end so quickly, it's odd. My mind is playing tricks on me with this. Not that I don't imagine other good possibilities: the trips, cooking for her, and sometimes even mundane activities, but the mental horror compilation is playing on far more cerebral movie screens than the romantic comedy in which I cast us [side note: Sporty likes horror movies]. What am I doing to myself?

One of my great inhibitors with Sporty, was that I never could figure out why she liked me. I was in essence a slovenly hedonist at the time we started hanging out. Some women liked me because I was smart, some because I was funny, some because I was nicer than the guys I hung out with. But because I couldn't figure why Sporty claimed me, a lot of my actions were based around the idea that too bold a move would drive her away. I had seen it before, and she'd become too important to me. As a consequence, I imagined the most typical bad situations and how to avoid them. Still didn't work. Now for some reason I can't stop thinking about the bad things.

But where there is life, there is hope.

I live on hope. I have lived on hope pretty much all my life. Hope, bravado and quick thinking.

Vince Lombardi once said, we don't lose...we just run out of time. There are a lot of things you can cut your losses on, this ain't one of them. Play to win baby. Play to win.

Barkeep. You know the drill.

When a writer has no words...

Ramblings Post #136
Words. Sometimes all I have is words. Sometimes when I've got an opportunity, in the moment, when I missed my chance to act, sometimes all I've got are words. They can be eloquent and soothing, or cold and terrifying. Words more than anything show who we are, by our use of them, or lack thereof, by the way we hold them, read them, discard them. Words are. So what happens when you have no words?




Sometimes, I'm at a loss.

The first anniversary since Sporty lost her grandfather, a man she with whom she was very close, just went by. It promised to be an emotional day for her. She said she'd keep busy and asked for me to pray for her. I did.

You ever just want to hold someone until their pain goes away?

When you're half a country away, that's kinda hard. So, because sometimes all you have is words, I thought I would throw to together a short story, something with elements of fantasy with a theme of the love of family being eternal and dragons and all matter of foolishness. Something to read and take your mind away from it all for minute, but still give you a good feeling about family, only personalized. And just when I began thinking how I wanted to lay the whole thing out.... each page a chapter, five or so chapters, character creation, etc.... then I remembered I had a midterm to study for! And in my mind this was turning into a multi-hour project that might take all night.

So maybe installments? But that would still be writing and editing in one hour chunks all day.

Okay, I got realistic. I couldn't write an epic in a night and still get in my exam prep and class reading. Maybe words of comfort, so I started looking through the bible trying to find the right verses, figuring if I could find enough I would send them every few hours as encouragement. So I went to sleep, a few passages ready for the morning.

That morning I did my reading, and some clean up and then hit myself with a new question. What if she's coping well, and my words just muddy the waters? Well that would have been fine and dandy, now wouldn't it. Nothing worse than good intentions.

So I spent the day reading for class, working out my outlines and notes for upcoming classes, sneaking in football scores, making personal flashcards, going through previous classes power points and debating if I should or should not contact her. I didn't want to derail the coping train (she's a strong girl), but then I didn't want to call up and find out I should have spent the night writing, because I didn't have enough to send (she can be fragile too). There I was: thoughtful but helpless, clueless, and busy with my own shit.

In the end, I did nothing...and I feel like I abandoned her. But I don't do death well.

She asked me to pray for her and I did. I didn't want to intrude on a what is a highly personal moment. So why do I feel so bad?

Barkeep, a time machine and cold glass of water. Set it to 1975...

An Unofficial National Holiday

Ramblings Post #135
There are several unofficial national holidays. Superbowl quickly comes to mind. It's one of those days we put all our petty grievances aside and curse each other out for the abstract reason that my team a) will beat your team, b) got cheated out being there, c) will be on it next season or d) are the Detroit Lions and so I'm just mad, 'cause I cheer for the Lions. Either way, the end is cause for celebration. And now, so is the beginning.


Football season is upon us again, and the very idea of it brings back the visceral memories of the smell of sweat and grass, the vision of the world through a helmet and sudden realization that in the heat of the moment I really wasn't concerned with possible pain when I hit somebody. Yeah, I played a long long time ago, but I'd have to think about it...no, I specifically wouldn't think about it... but would just go do it again.

It's a day of celebration. The start of football season is an unofficial holiday, and well, okay the Cowboys lost. By a flag. But we got less to work on than a lot of teams, even a couple who won on Sunday. Although I came in dead last in the office pool, there were a lot "upsets", but then that's why they play the games. The saying "on any given Sunday" exists for a reason. One of the factors I think in why pro football is just a little bit better than college. Well, that and my college team basically served as the opening act for the marching band, who by the way are spectacular. So go football.

But it's still a day of celebration, it's Sporty birthday and she turns ....well, let's just say she gets better with age. A lil seasoning if you will. She's not that old, because I swear [officer] I did not realize she was that young when i met her. She could drink legally when I met her! I think. She's a little bruised right now from all her athletic endeavors, but she'll be fine shortly.

I'm kinda sorry I used the US postal service to send her "box o'goodies" this year, regretting the lack of tracking number for my own personal peace of mind. I'm not sure what I was thinking, the UPS store was like another half block! It's like I sent a box of manna via somebody's cousin Pookie 'cause he "headed that way". In that little cardboard container is a mix of something I hope for all sides of her personality.

It's a funny thing, trying to get a person from all sides. When you recognize that someone is complex, you finally start to see them.

Unless they're simple, which a lot of people are.

That's deep.

Ah football. And Sporty.

Ahhhhh...

Two things Holiday worthy, in my humble opinion.

That said I won't really see anymore of it until December. It being football. Studying...remember? School? Yeah, that.

Barkeep...what's brain alcohol? No really, there's got to be a drink to make you smarter....

Let's see...

Relapse Post #8
When we're young, we make plans. At this point in my life, I'm supposed to be doing X, making Y amount of money and married to a fine Z who does that crazy thing with their....um, I digress. We make plans. Sometimes set in stone. But life doesn't always go according to plan. You make adjustments, you change, you take in the lay of the land and make course corrections based on previously flawed information. But in any case you end up keeping moving forward. And if you're smart, you always have a plan. Not inflexible anymore, but a plan. When I was young I made plans. But I didn't know anything then. So now I have better plans.

It is that time again.

Time to get out your costumes, get your dance moves down, decorate the house and cook the feast. It happens every year and you don't want to miss out, so be ready. It's Sporty's birthday.

Well, actually isn't for a minute, a month or so, but one doesn't just run out at the last minute with these things. Am I wrong for thinking in advance?

In the past I planned as much as three or four months in advance, looking through shops and pricing things trying to find stuff she might like. Sometimes I'm successful, sometimes it still comes down to the last weekend I'm wandering through some little shop trying to find that certain something just before we'd go out. I actually liked doing it, and I don't particularly like shopping.

There was always something about her face, the way it lit up when she would open the bag after we'd had dinner. I say bag because it was rarely one big gift, but instead a series of small gifts. She's complicated, so I tried to get something for all the various facets of her. For a long time I considered getting her *cough* jewelry. First girl in a long time. But it seems that when my mind leans in the direction of such grand gestures, fate swings out of nowhere and shoots me a quick painful jab to the eye. Or the throat.

But when I got her gifts her face would glow a little. She would grin, peer into the bag, and then go through it all, taking the time to remark on everything, good or bad. There is a happiness there I just can't put to words.

She likes the tees with the cool slogans on them, so look for them but have never found any I thought were, um..."suitable" is the term I'm gonna use. She likes to read, so I've given a book or two. I'd get her bath stuff because well, girls like bath stuff, even when she said she didn't like bath stuff she liked it. She likes bracelets, so I get her bracelets. I throw in the quirky. Sometimes I see stuff that makes me think of her and I've learned enough to know I need to get it now, or find myself trying to remember which store I was in when I saw that. I've gotten her gift cards, which I think are so impersonal sometimes, and hats so she looks like the cool chick in the back of the jazz club who you just know owns a motorcycle and knows walks around the house barefoot.

Making her happy makes me happy.

Made me happy.

Well still does really, only some of the magic isn't there because of the distance. But I can hear her smile through the phone. It's hard to describe.

As I said, in the past I would plan three or four months in advance for that one night, considering and re-jiggering. I'm a little late this year, only got a few weeks. Hope I can find something good enough. Yes, I really do have a list. And a plan.

Barkeep, a little traveling alcohol.

Clearing something up

Relapse Post #7
Occasionally we have misunderstandings. You said this and meant this, they heard that and assumed something else entirely. Which is how I assume Lindsay Lohan stays famous. Tangent. Forget that. But in the end, we all need to step back occasionally and ask questions then give slow, measured responses, the fully explain the how's and the why's in measured even tones. They will then of course, assume that we think they must be slow. I also think this is why bars stay in business.

After editing my last post, then admitting it, my girl Sporty is now concerned that I'm censoring myself for her benefit, and that I'm not being true to myself. Me having an outlet for myself is very important to her.

My God that is suddenly an amazing thought.

You see, there is a difference, at least to me, between censoring myself and being intellectually and emotionally honest by editing.

What I did here was editing. Let me explain.

I wanted to say, to those readers interested ( which by my estimation is probably three people ) that I'm scared of the day Sporty will, well, what I'm going to call "the beginning of her journey out of my life". I call it that because I realize two things here. One, that in a way much like when she gets into sports, she focuses. I realize now she went to great lengths to hang out with me during that long spring of 2008, but I'm an observant cuss and even when it was us chillin', it was still them. Her commitment to something like this is, just like my ole buddy Spanky, is simply a beautiful thing. One does not hinder ... *sigh*...love. He is coming. At least I figure he is. I would like to be him, but let's just say those are long odds. He's gonna get the focus. So there's that. And two, I would have to go.

I just realized I'm going to have to explain #2. That's a little later.

Now, what I wrote that eventually ended upon the cutting room floor, because I realized it was something I didn't need, was an overly dramatic retelling of something I'd already written about on this very blog. And in my humble opinion, a fresh memory is usually better than a revisionist version, the guts of which incidentally was shaping up to include phrases along the lines of "sound of the end of the world", "dreams burning into nothing" and "ache in my tortured soul"...and other ridiculous phrases specifically designed to be seen by Sporty.

Stuck for a word, I read back through it and realized I only wrote it like that because I was trying to elicit a certain response, not because it was accurate. It read like I was trying to get back at her for something that wasn't her fault, a situation long past. She knows I was hurt, so why more? What I was doing was taking my dramatic license and driving all up on the curb, trying to clip somebody. I tried to create a mental picture of feeling hurt and suddenly I had the story in the middle of a horror movie happening in a disaster film. It wasn't true, even worse I was writing for reasons that confused me. I love her, why was trying to do this?

So I edited it. I pared it down to the what it was: a very emotionally painful day, so i could talk about the next day like it this in the future. Like the opening words of "Since I lost my baby", the birds were still singing, the sun was still shining... but I was hurt in that moment, but I'm willing to stand there until the next time it happens because, ...well love doesn't always have to give logical reasons, now does it? That's what I wanted to say.

The bare essence: I had a very bad day. And one day I'm gonna have another. And it hurts already.

And then instead of just editing it and moving on...I wrote about editing it, because that's being true to this blog. In the end I think I got a better post, a more honest post, without turning on the sad music and the drama machine.

It's not like she did it on purpose then, and its not like it will be on purpose in the future. It will simply happen. Life goes on, and these things happen. And I will not love her one bit less.

But then I'll have to go. Because me hanging around, still in love with her, would be creepy. And a little stalker-ish. And delusional. Add a couple of other words that just suggest uncomfortable to round that out. And in the interest of his peace of mind, and their eventual continued happiness, it would be just be better if I wandered off into the sunset. No need for the drama when one person can just move on. And I still would not love her one bit less.

Eventually, I'll learn to cope. It won't go away, I'll just be... able to deal with it.

I was confusing then, as it is confusing now, why the words even came out.

Um...I just realized the link to Luther is kinda the sad music. Well, at least I didn't turn on a drama machine.

Right now, I just hopes she keeps reading. It just feels right. My plan for the uncut funk as it were was just my way of ensuring I was sticking to her expectation of uncensored thought. Perhaps I didn't explain that right before.

The plan - No censorship. She keeps reading. World keeps spinning. Life gets better.

Barkeep. No...I am not so giddy or so sad that I'm going to buy a round for the house, are you crazy?

Harder than anticipated

Relapse Post #6
Still here. Still believing in the same dream that didn't work out last time. Trying to breathe life into something that may have never actually existed anywhere but in my mind. Knowing the effort is futile and still trying. Did you not understand the word "hopeless" in hopeless romantic? That's love. That's me.

Don't worry about me, I'm worried about you.

Well, that was quick.

I've been trying to reconcile the concept of Sporty reading this. It will not be as easy as I first thought.

At one point I'm trying to express who am, and with that those associated feelings I have towards her, without ... well, you know. But then a lot of what I write has a natural dramatic tension, so it's again, a balancing act of sorts. This little internal drama stems from me trying to write a blog post and re-reading it I found myself with an "odd turn of phrase". I had to question if I wrote it just to elicit a certain response from her.

For clarification, the bit of writing that troubled me was about that day I know is coming. The day when she says something along the lines of... "I've met this guy".

It doesn't promise to be my best day ever.

She and I don't normally talk about other guys. Or, now that I think about it, girls in regards to me. Not normally. It didn't really feel organic in the past, and now I think I'm scared. And we talked a lot. So I know when she brings it up, whoever she'll be talking about, whenever this is, will be, well, someone er, of note.

You see, in trying to describe that day I know is coming in the future, I started to write about how she first told me about the guy she eventually agreed to marry from before. I went all sound and fury, signifying nothing. Reading it, I couldn't decide if I was being overly honest or desperately dramatic. It felt manipulative. It read like the post I made the day after it happened, but like I'd run the memory through a pity filter trying to highlight particularly painful colors of the moment. It was either poetry or pure shit. I couldn't decide which.

By the way, I can clearly say that day she told me, also wasn't the best ever. So I got one down, and one coming.

But as far as this here blog goes, I got to figure something out. I don't want to compromise my voice, end up whispering into the darkness instead of screaming, and she doesn't want me to. But how do make sure I'm just saying what's on my mind, and not subconsciously directing something at her.

Tricky. No subliminals.

So I got a plan. Might work, might not.

Before there was a blog, I had a little thing I wrote that I updated from time to time with my feelings about me and her. She says I do a lot of words, but for a while, words were all I had. Over the course of, I guess three years, I would update it when the mood struck with what was going on, frustrations, hopes, thoughts, how I felt about things. There is actually less writing there than I remember, since months went by between updates, but it is : unfiltered, uncut, pure. Not really intended for publication, ever. It includes times when I felt good and bad about hanging out with Sporty. And conveniently, at least for these purposes, it stops on Monday, November 19th, 2007.

*Cough*

I'm going to cut it up in small chunks and see how that goes. Between now and when that runs out, I'll either have balanced how to say some things without ulterior motives, or I won't. And we'll see from there.

Barkeep...you know.

A voice in the darkness....yells back.

Ramblings Post #122
Ever taste something so good, that you just don't want to stop tasting it. Because you're old enough to realize that great tastes don't come along everyday, that the next bite won't taste as good as this bite, the next meal won't be as good as this meal, right here, right now? And once you've had that taste, that perfect taste, you'll eat as long as you're able trying for that moment again. Man, ice cream sandwiches are scary.

It's real complicated.

I'm still putting my words to print, so I guess I'm still doing this.

Well, it seems not only does Sporty like my blog, she actually indicated she would be mad at me if I stopped. So, I guess we continue on. And yes, that does read exactly like it should.

This will be my third attempt to write this. My two previous attempts have ended with segues into what I guess are potentially whole other topics involving self examination and personal insights I may or may have not covered earlier in this blog. They may have made, or will eventually, make fairly good posts. But they are really too divergent for this situation.

You see I made a rather startling realization, well, startling to me. In re-reading this blog, I'm finding out things about how I felt during several things during the thick of it , in a honest "screaming into the electronic darkness moments" kinda way. There are quite a few of those in there. And I guess Sporty is seeing some of them too. Not a magic moment, but at least something that catches the eye. Let's just say I knew those pictures looked familiar.

I guess part of what I'm doing here now is seeing if I can still give the unfettered, uncensored, unexpurgated commentary about my life, dreams ... my love...that I used to give, but knowing someone specific is watching. I mean, if it was that easy to do this, these would have been conversations we had and not posts on a blog. But we've never been orthodox as an "us", so maybe this will just be a new way we communicate.

And communication is good.

Barkeep. One for me, one for my girl.

Editor note: Man, you know looking back, I am really really grateful I never really went into some of my more...er, graphic .. um, thoughts.. Whew. That would have been embarrassing.

A voice in the darkness

Ramblings Post #113
The movie version of me, and we all have a movie version of ourselves, is a little taller, a lot thinner and just a little bit more confident than I. But at this stage in the drama (er, well comedy drama) that is my life would be like the end of a Bob Hope movie I saw once. After all his adventures and saving the day, his partner Bing Crosby gets the girl - and this from a 2 minute cameo just seconds before the closing credits. It’s your life, but I suggest you get script approval.

Things are...complicated.

Is this over?

I found out recently, and apparently for some time now, that Sporty has not only located but has been reading this blog. She let me know when she referred to herself as "Sporty", correcting me in a text when I called her Sunshine, a allusion to how she brightens my day. To put it mildly I was a little surprised. Then I thought about what that means.

And its kinda good and kinda bad.

Good in that a lot of stuff I probably put in here are things I should have said to her, and now she knows them without me actually having to voice them. That and she's not mad at me for writing about her. And bad because knowing she's reading may affect the honesty of future disclosures [self censorship] and the overarching concept of "screaming into the virtual darkness". Kind of a toss up really.

One can't really put something on the internet and expect no one to find it, especially since it's linked to my Facebook page, and she's one of my FB friends. But then so many people on Facebook never look at any thing beyond their own page after the first few days, so you figure, why not?

But then the girl has always been full of surprises and has a need to know, which is part of the attraction. *sigh*

In reality, there is hardly anything magical in here, nothing Sex in the City movie-esque as when Carrie found the emails from Big (yes, I did watch the FIRST movie). Some of the more intense things she's probably seen before. One or two moments when I really was "screaming into the virtual darkness" she probably hadn't, but realized must have happened. Nothing soul shattering. And since I'd made it fairly crystal clear to her my feelings, and we both know that they're closer to drug fantasy that any real possiblity, what I guess she would see in here is a few fleeting moments where I indulge in that fantasy. And talk about law school and politics. And restaurants.

It does however paint a fuller picture of me.

Wait, there goes that pesky hope again. Sometimes you get a little disoriented when you have to reclassify a hope as a dream. And hope is something I can't afford.

Barkeep. Riesling. Two glasses. Thanks.