Vacation? What is this vay-cay-shun you speak of?

Mental Rehab Post # 12
Been thinking and thinking, and realizing some truths and other things I've either been faking myself out on didn't want to recognize, which may be the same thing. It's one of them situations where I've suddenly got a major change coming up, and another that just past, so my thoughts are kinda tangled and falling out of their assigned positions. Seeing what happens.


I've never taken a vacation as an adult.

When I say that, I have a very specific set of meanings. Well, first I haven't been on an actual vacation of any kind in more than seven years. Not anywhere just for the sake of going. No place. The two jobs I've had in that timespan either didn't pay enough and/or demanded way too much of my time. (A rough estimate is 72 vacay days lost since I've been at this last firm.) And in the time prior to that, when I say as an "adult" you are unknowingly acutely aware of what I mean in regards to a vacation. You and/or a companion will a) travel and then b) get a hotel room and c) enjoy the event (concert, festival, beach, etc, whatever).

For the past seven or so years the A in that little scenario has been missing. Before that the B wasn't an option. It is a wholly pathetic state of affairs. And I used to read magazines Conde Nast Traveler, Travel and Leisure and Caribbean Travel and Life along with the resort brochures religiously. I studied cruise ship design and sketched out driving routes and figured out train schedules across half of Europe. On my "Bucket List" there is so much travel it's ridiculous. But a trip outside the perimeter is a hassle at this point.

In the years before now, even on those rare occasions I did travel, it was still "college style." You know, where my accommodations were a floor, couch, or mattress at somebody's house. Or worse, an adult lite version where eight or nine people shared accommodations normally shared by two or four. It was a fun concept until you realized that if you weren't the first in the bed you were on the floor. So it was the illusion of adult travel, but was in reality ultra nice college tripping.

And now with law school looming and the post education schedule new lawyers must embrace, a real vacation may be at best another six or ten years away. That sounds wonderful doesn't it? And as I now have no one to travel with there is little to no reason to break that chain so I don't see a vacation happening anytime soon.

How did you survive all that time you ask?

I used to have some spectacular weekends. That and I don't think even I understood how much I got out of my weekly breaks with Sporty till they were gone.

And the band played on...

Barkeep...a little hot chocolate, with the marshmellows...yeah..

A Weekend Out - Fourth Stage

Mental Rehab Post #11
This probably should have been more aptly named the last weekend out, as least for a while as until I get this foolishness under control at law school, I'm on a really short leash. I thought I was getting some things under control, but I still got a lot of work to do inside. And school stress ain't helping. You'll see. But I'm gonna do my best to keep it moving and what happens is what happens.

Friday. It was shaping up to be a big night. I had a birthday get together down at this spot called the Pearl Bar and Bistro down by Greenbriar Mall, the pictures look good and so the crowd should be nice. Then a house party down near the Ted, and maybe even *gasp* working A/C when I get home.

I get home and my uncle, who owns his own heating and air company (I know, like why is this just now occurring you ask?) is hard at work. He'd been there the night before and said he was 70% done. So I figure he'd be done by 8pm and I'm out the door.

Oh the best laid plans.

So it's midnight, we're sitting in the kitchen - him, his assistant and I - monitoring his work while he has a few cold ones. Five hours. I can't complain, I have actual working AC now...but this was the last weekend before law school. Actually the one of the two last good nights, because I have homework - law school means you start day one, none of that we're going over the syllabus and aren't all glad to be here crap. But it was twelve thirty when my uncle pulled out out of the drive. I could have driven over to the house party all late, but I'm trying not to do that anymore.

So Friday was a bust. And since I've got the BLSA thing on Saturday, no late night hang out.

Saturday...The BLSA thing. The Black Law Student's Association has it's 1st year academic "retreat", which is really us getting together for a quick meeting. Most of the group is from my Prep class, so it's nice to see a few familiar faces. Some of it's a rehash of the Prep class, some of it's new so it's worth getting up and getting out.

Then out the blue Sporty texts me to let me know Bernie Mac passed. The world just got a little bit less funny.

I bail out of the "retreat" early because I have some errands to finish as next week starts the time consuming crunch that is education. Actually the consuming crunch starts on Sunday because I still have to write out my brief and do the reading. So I knock out a thing or two, and my RP calls up to remind about Saturday's cookout. Cookouts.

I roll out to Douglasville and am supposed to run up to Dallas, GA but never make it. The set out in Douglasville is so nice I don't want to leave. It's maybe 40 people, the music is straight old school, the food is straight and by my count there are more women than men. Nice.

I HAVE to note this. This one woman. Cute face, but she had the kind of body that, when she walks out of the room every guy looks at another guy with that "did you just see that?" look on his face, as though if he can't confirm what he just saw with another guy he'll swear he was dreaming. She got up to get water and the room got quiet. Yes, we're all dogs, even the hurt ones. Pure breeds too. She gave me a couple of glances too.

But I have this peculiar thing my mind is doing now. I imagine Sporty everywhere. If I see a woman with a nice outfit on, I see Sporty in it. Don't know what's going on. Nice dress? Seeing Sporty. Cute blouse? Seeing Sporty. That supremely fine chick? Saw Sporty. Um...er...pregnant chick? Seeing Sporty looking happily with child. That's kinda creepy isn't it? Putting it mildly. I figure as long as that's happening I probably should limit my interaction with new women.

So after we'd all eaten, had a few drinks, talked noise about the Falcons and the card games have started, I call it a night. I hope my co-workers at the second party ain't too mad at me for missing yet another gathering.

Sunday was a bust. Apparently the idea of actually having the text books available for the students is both an old school concept and an undergraduate idea. All the university book stores are closed (with school just around the corner?) and Barnes and Noble, Borders and the rest don't carry it in stock. It has to be ordered...say around seven days for shipping. Amazon is out of stock completely.

So I figure I'm starting the first day in the hole. I rode down and visit my uncle and end up watching half of Hunt for Red October, which by the way is an excellent movie, while he talks and my aunt keeps offering food. Didn't get a chance to go even price desks, so I'm not going cheap this time I'm getting what I want. The glass one from Office Depot. Fuck it.

Then I hear on the radio Issac Hayes has died while working out. I'm now asking all black male entertainers over 45 to go to the doctor today. Hell, women too.

So I read up on all the stuff they sent me and I start seeing a pattern. The I re-read again. I suddenly feel better because all the pre-stuff isn't for the night time part time students. I'm not in the hole, yet. At least not the stuff for day one. Still gotta get my books, then I'll feel better.

Whew.

I got the laptop, the printouts and everything so it looks like I'm ready. Well, almost ready. I got what I can and we'll see about the rest.

Maybe. I forgot to set the alarm last night. Already running behind.

And on a separate note, I have A/C. And it's too cold. I don't like it.

Barkeep...A Red Bull with whatever that root is that makes your mind work better.

How to Insult a Guy

Vent Post #3
I've been venting a lot lately. Yes, for me, three times is a lot. I've been called the "whatever man" and "the sane" one for so long I'm not sure if I have these other feelings. So yeah, I'm still just talking to myself until I'm tired of listening to me. It's not gonna fix anything and probably won't make me feel better. And I repeat, there are NO answers here...and in this case I don't think I'm even trying to find some. You won't either. Don't try.

You want to know how to insult a guy? Tell him that he's a great guy.

Er..what?

I get told I'm a great guy lots of times a day. I get told I'm a great guy for somebody else.

See? See what I did there?

It's a backhanded compliment with a sneer. I know to the person speaking it you might even mean well, but to the person receiving this it's the same as punch to the gut. No, it's actually worse, because you can be angry at a punch to the gut and maybe punch back, and to this you just kinda feel withered inside. It ranks right up there with "I'm sorry" in the pantheon of most useless phrases in the English language.

I sound bitter you say? I should. But tone doesn't discount truth.

If I'm so great, then why don't they (the assaulting person) want to be with me? There is obviously something wrong. I'd prefer to hear what I can improve to be more desirable than to be given babble and baby kudos. I understand tact and sensitivity, but if we get to the point where we're even having that conversation...and implied knowledge of who I am... then honesty is more appreciated.

Actual help is always more important than mutually masturbatory encouragement. If there is an issue you as the woman is aware of, then improving or assisting with improvement would only be appreciated.

And you'd be surprised how many other guys feel the same way.

I'll serve myself from the home bar.

This Person We're Going to Marry One Day

Vent Post #2
It's really just me yelling into the electronic darkness again because I'm not really looking for an answer, I'm just talking to myself until I'm tired of listening to me. There are no answers here...and in this case I don't think I'm even trying to find some. If I happen to step on a metaphorical toe, it might means your mental feet aren't where you thought they were.

Now this person we're going to marry, we're going to share with them our hopes and dreams, our fears and triumphs, our colds and upset stomachs. This person is going see us at our best and at our worst, we're going to eat and get drunk with them, go to church and sin with them, talk for hours about life, bullshit and things we still want to do. They're going to look out for us, we're going to look out for them and the whole nine.

In other words they'll have to be your friend. Your best friend.

And you'll fuck them too.

This is an epiphany. Can you see the light?

What this means is that most of us have to make a mental leap that we're not prepared for, - we'll have to combine friend and lover. And I know most of us aren't ready for it, because I've recently heard the idea of sleeping with your friend as THE "fatal mistake" and other thinking along those lines. But the truth of it is, because so many in the past 20 years or so mentally have separated the images of both the divorce rates have skyrocketed.

There are some other mitigating factors - economic changes, loss of the stigma of divorce, etc, but the basic concept that happens even before you get to that point, is that the people getting married tend to love each other...but don't actually like each other.

How can you love someone...but not like them?

Or rather...how can you sleep with someone and not like them?

A lot of men, and lately the women have joined in as well, think from below the waistline. They "fall" for the person that turns them on sexually. And overlook the bad qualities, the warning signs, the screaming facts that blare at them that this person, while cute and sexy (or handsome, etc), should be avoided at all costs. Or realistically, utilized as ONLY a quick ...er...quickie. Okay maybe twice, but that's it.

A young lady once described it to me as there are "men you like, men you love and men you lust after...and rarely if ever does a woman find them all in the same man." I didn't see the wisdom in that statement until recently.

But what happens in practice is that people try to work it out. Poor naive peoples. Although they share little beyond the bedroom, they attempt to make this "love" of sorts work because good sex makes the brain go sleepy time now. Marriage does not magically change who you are. But you try. You find out that you're a day person, they're a night person. You save, they spend. You believe in having a job, house, car...they hustle. You have an education, they have a hard time reading street signs like STOP and LANE ENDS. Lack of respect, humiliation, no support, disturbing habits, etc, but they're just oh so fine naked and oiled up...aren't they?

Which is good, or at least okay for a while. Until real bills and real problems show up. Or kids get involved. And then it gets messy. And ugly. And maybe you end up standing in a cornfield at three am holding a suitcase, a bag of chicken nuggets, a bible and small dog named "Chi Chi" wondering if that thing they do with their tongue really is worth all this. And you realize that maybe what you need is someone who understands you...like a friend. And whereas you can shape your sexual urges and desires to some extent, real life bends for no man or woman.

It would be great, heck even easier, if we could make the person we sleep with our friend. But since our mind wasn't on anything of substance when we chose that person (no, the idea that they're sexy doesn't count as substance) and as most women will only grudgingly admit, finding someone you actually like and making friends is a hell of lot harder than picking someone to get naked with. Turning Mr. or Ms. Hey-you-good-morning into someone you can have a substantive conversation with takes mega millions winner luck and an act of God. It is a real head knocker.

In the course of the relationship - this lifetime relationship - you'll be lovers, friends, business partners, roommates, confidantes...etc. Too many of us stop at the first item and think the rest...all of them ..will just fall into place.

Yeah. Right.

So what is my suggestion?

Grow up, get your mind right, and tell your friend that you've got the baby oil, they need to bring the handcuffs. You might find somebody you can live with. Forever.

Think about it. Realistically they were on short time anyway, because things change once you find "the one".

Barkeep - What do you got for someone feeling philosophical?

A Man of the People?

This is a political post.
I don't do many of these, my views on politics are particularly slanted towards people who don't live by the mantra of free market and no taxes until something goes wrong, in which case they then scream and cry that the government needs to do something. I find it just a wee bit hypocritical. I only going to discuss politics when something catches my eye.

The latest concept of Republican's versus the Democrats has the GOP attempting to paint it's opponent in the general election, Mr. Obama, as elitist and out of touch with America.

This is after they realized they really couldn't play the race card.
This is after they realized talk of his lack of experience wasn't getting the desired effect.
This is after claiming he didn't sweat while working out must mean he's the anti-Christ.

I only semi made that last one up.

So how do you make a man who was raised by a single mother and his grandparents, worked as a community organizer, who's former job specialized in civil rights and neighborhood development and who still goes to his kids soccer games appear elitist?

Especially when compared to a man who's family was wealthy (his father and grandfather both admirals, not swabbies), who in his second marriage attached to a still wealthier family who gave him a cushy job and from there he moved directly to the Congress?

Don't ask me how, but they've done it before. Remember Dubya as someone you'd like to have a beer with? I mean really. Was that all it took? His family is the like an off-Brand Kennedy clan. I'm still wondering exactly how that happened. Twice.

Call me crazy, but how about a President who actually acts like a President? Someone who doesn't make up his mind before he has all the information, and isn't afraid to alter the plan if the circumstances change. Sometimes you need to make a change. Maybe someone who realizes that a lot of people aren't all for him and that they need to be respected as well. You know, act kinda like the rest of America and most of humanity when leading us?

So exactly how does a man who has pretty much lived outside the bounds of normal life - Military to cushy family job to politics - come across as a "regular" guy? Against a guy who actually went out and got a job - law professor based on his work in law school?

Here's a tip. Look at the shoes.

Here's Obama.

Well worn. Used. Practical.

And I understand McCain has been wearing black calfskin Salvatore Ferragamo ‘Pregiato’ Moccasins. Really really nice shoes.

Do I begrudge the guy for wearing nice shoes? He's an old guy, he needs good shoes. But then as most of us can't spend that much on shoes, even really good ones that will last years, who really fits more in the "above the crowd" slot?

Barkeep. Gimmie a little honesty with a dash of daring. No ice.

Weekend Out - Third Stage

Mental Rehab Post #10
Still not that crazy about weekends. Long periods of being alone...I hate being alone...combined with my own irrational and self deprecating thoughts and loads of bad television do not a fun time make. Someone asked what are you doing about being alone once, but that implies a friend or love can just be acquired or had like a garden rake or trip to the mall. Maybe for some, but for me it ain't that easy. Just like I don't want to be used, I'm not gonna just use somebody to make me feel better. Which brings me back to maybe I'm just too much of a nice guy?

Friday. So Friday I'm to attend a going away drop in for a departing co-worker. In a bad economy, in a more or less economic resistant business sector, it's apparently so "culturally bad" here my fellow employees still flee into the darkness rather stay at what is fast returning to the "plantation". A relatively safe and still hiring plantation, but a plantation nonetheless.

That's what I first called it when I got there, where I noted that among the throngs of employees that in a company roughly 60% African American that there was no non-white management on any level. Any level. But that the African Americans seemed to have the key responsibilities. But this place paid better than my old company, and I do enjoy eating AND paying bills. They have a few now...five years later, but there are still some shenanigans afoot.

So Friday to celebrate her departure we all revisited an old haunt that three years ago was overwhelmed with business every Friday night: the venerable Dave and Busters in Marietta. Why that stopped is story for another day. I hadn't been in ages. But I showed up as I hadn't been to a in some way company related function in probably the same amount of time, and I didn't want to look too anti-social. Looking back on that evening, anti-social might not have been my worst option.

First, I'm a little beyond D&B's right now. Anyplace that serves alcohol at a bar and allows other people's kids is already questionable in my book, and since the little ones seemed to racing around with reckless abandon, I wasn't really feeling it. So that's why I stopped coming to this place. Oh-kay then, right. My co-workers had taken a spot on the Midway Bar, and had begun sipping and chatting in earnest. I joined them in a slightly more subdued fashion.

There were in my opinion three highlights:
A) A woman bought me a drink. It doesn't seem like much, but from the land of freebies and hookups, somebody going into their pocket to get me is kind of a big deal. Especially a woman. That's a short list.
B) A brief conversation momentarily excited me, then scared me and then oddly comforted me. No, no details.
C) Somebody had to take the tipsy one home, and that doesn't mean me.

The tipsy one. So one of the every growing party, maybe some twenty folks strong, gets a little tipsy. Okay a lot tipsy. At one point she suggested one of the guys just "grab some ass" to get his point across, then bent over so he could get a good handful. She proclaimed her love for a number of gentlemen in a loud boisterous voice. A lot of hugs were given. One or two lively conversations were sparked. Then we decided perhaps it was time for her to go, but nobody was really ready to "go there." Someone suggested I should take her home. The look on my face at the very suggestion elicted a round of hearty laughter. I suggested that so as to not appear improper, that a couple should bear the duty. The statement "she's not our type" only now comes to memory. Funny statement.

So we all looked at one another as she danced about the bar area, attempting to steal drinks when the bar stopped serving her. Draftees were engaged. A few rounds of "not only no, but hell no" were heard. I made suggestion we take up money for cab fare and a few extra dollars as payment for the entertainment provided. That was voted down. The person who lived across the street from tipsy girl declined to take her home. It was implored that in her current state only a woman could be trusted with the action. The women thought we were nuts. The manager suggested that she be escorted out.

I'll end this by saying that today at work she appears none the worse for wear.

Saturday. Well I was supposed to do so much on Saturday. I had no groceries so I was supposed to take care of that, then some housewares, then clean up, then some computer work, then this cookout. My total travels on Saturday equaled a trip to the gas station.

Well, I wasted most of the day on cartoons and self pity. Then just as thinking about planning to start getting around to maybe doing something the rains came. And came. And shortly after that, the power went out. No big, it never stays out that long so I chill. The storm actually helps out with the heat, I get a chance to do some uninterrupted law school reading and burn some of my cool scented candles.

So then party time comes around, the home alarm is on a battery, so I'm like what the hell, let's go see what's up. Slim calls and says the lights are on at her spot and she got people falling through as well as my other function. So yeah, get out and see some folks.

The thing about living in an area "in transition" is that it's an area "in transition." In most neighborhoods, during a blackout folks stay home. In my neighborhood, somebody decided lighting firecrackers would be most ripping. Somebody else decided to have what was apparently a cookout. Music and hollering and all that. I'm like whatever, so I cold shower, get dressed and roll out. As I turned off my street I was surprised to see groups of folks wandering in the dark. Multiple groups. In pitch black streets out wandering. Just wandering.

It was right about then that I decided that maybe I should just find the first place with the lights on, get a drink and head on back to the house. Chill. Till the lights came back on. They didn't jump back on till one in the morning. Candles looked nice though. So Saturday was a bust mostly.

Sunday was even more wasted. Okay, I bought a new watch and did the grocery shopping, got the grass cut and saw a touch of the city, but I did it alone. That and I'm still spotting places I hadn't seen before and in my mind going "we need to pop in there and check that out" right before reality hits me. Then I got my football appetizer the Hall of Fame Game on NBC, which just happened to showcase Sporty's favorite team.

Gee, thanks God for all these reminders. I fucked up. I know this. You can ease up anytime.

It's been a minute and everyday it seems a little harder rather than a little easier. Suddenly Law School and it's all consuming concept doesn't seem so bad, as it at least it should speed the process to getting to whatever's next. Or make it all I think about in the few free hours I have. We'll find out shortly.

Barkeep...I dunno, something brown.