Pizza and a Show

So this happened a few months ago. I forgot I had a blog for a while. I'll start updating more again. 

It was a helluva weekend. Friday night I met Melissa at 816 Pint and Slice for a pint and a slice. We hadn’t seen each other in a while and a Christmas present she ordered me finally came in. I know its four months past Christmas, but the item was sold out and just recently became available again.

She got me Cards Against Humanity, which is a mad libs type game. The black cards have sentences on them and the white cards have the fill in words and you combine them to make the most fucked up sentences possible. It’s hysterically vulgar and not a game for the easily offended or children, unless you want to spend hours explaining to kids what the cards mean. You know actually forget it, do not show this game to kids.

Anyway, so I met up with her around 6:30 and had my first Oberon of the summer. Oh sweet Oberon, how I do love thee. You’re color that of the golden summer sun, your taste of sweet nectar and hints of citrus. It’s fucking summer in a bottle.

So there we are sitting in a window booth, chit chatting about what we’ve been up to in the 4 months since we broke up, did I mention she is my ex? Meanwhile there is a homeless guy (let’s call him H.G.) loitering in front of the store, rambling to himself and the dog tied to a tree in front of the store about fuck if I know, pacing around panhandling and what not.

In the booth I’m facing Melissa with my back to H.G. eating my pizza and savoring my Oberon, if you’re ever in Fort Waste stop and get the White Album and the BBQ Chicken at Pint and Slice it’s tasty pizza, when suddenly a look of disgust and terror takes over her face.

H.G. had vomited all over himself, his luggage, blanket, the sidewalk, and one of the store windows. He then fell to ground and began seizing violently. Melissa and I look at each other, our appetites gone at the sight of the lake of puke five feet away from us on the other side of the glass, trying to decide if we should call the cops or go try to help or just sit there gawking at this human’s suffering like it was some new reality show. I’m a terrible person, I know. But I had plans after this pseudo-date and didn’t want to get puke on me. Plus I think that falls into the store proprietor’s jurisdiction.

Luckily a couple people from the diner next door came out, called the cops, and rolled the guy on his side. He was still seizing so they had to hold him there so he didn’t asphyxiate on his own vomit like some rock star. How they didn’t puke from seeing, standing in, and touching all that vomit I don’t know. It kind of reminded me of the Mr.Creosote sketch from The Meaning of Life, but he wasn’t a giant fat guy eating and puking. He was a scrawny homeless guy, possibly schizophrenic, who was seizing and puking.

So Melissa and I watched, I drank, while they held the guy down and waited for the cops. All the while I’m worried about what’s going to happen to the white and black American Mutt tied to the tree in front of him. If it was his dog and he was hospitalized it would be sent to the pound and probably put to sleep. This, I thought, was the saddest part of the whole deal. Does that make me a terrible person? That I’m more concerned for the dog’s well-being and safety than I was for H.G.’s. The dog is an innocent in this whole situation, it didn't contribute to it's owner's life choices.

At this point, everyone left in the restaurant is watching the drama unfolding right in front of us. Wondering what’s wrong with him, is he on drugs, is he mentally disturbed, is that his dog and finally holy shit is he dead?

About five minutes before the cops got there he stopped moving and the three people attending to him outside got oh shit looks on their faces. You know the face. The, oh shit, something really bad just happened face. Whispers of is he dead start circulating thru the crowd, people asking if he was still breathing, and where the fuck are the police. Mind you, the police station is roughly 4 blocks away and the fire station is about 6.

The EMT’s got there first, but they appeared to be in no hurry as they rolled out of the ambulance and sauntered up to H.G., who was lying motionless on the concrete barely breathing. I was seriously waiting for the EMT to nudge him with his foot and ask if he was dead, the guy looked that incompetent. He was obviously one of those guys who didn’t get out of the ambulance much. He looked to be about 6 feet tall maybe 300 pounds, completely uninterested in helping this guy. I know it’s gross, but that’s your fucking job.

The other guy that got out of the ambulance seemed to be on top of his shit, he was younger, seemed more motivated. He had his gloves on and the stretcher out before I could blink and was checking H.G.’s vitals while the old fat guy just stood and watched.

When they picked H.G. up and put him on the stretcher he was completely limp. Like dead guy in the movies limp, they put his arms across his chest and they promptly fell to his sides when the EMT’s lifted him. Melissa started freaking out when they covered his head with the sheet. They didn’t cover him completely; I think they did it just to keep it out of the way. She, however, was convinced that meant he was dead. I was still worried about his poor dog.

The cops finally showed up as they were putting H.G. into the ambulance. I laughed as the cop almost puked at the sight and smell of all vomit. They picked up H.G.’s puke covered rollie bag and blanket and put them in the back of the ambulance. I got nervous when he headed toward the dog, but a woman stepped in and removed the dog’s leash from the tree and moved him to another tree. I hope this lady was the owner or just decided to adopt the dog right there so it wouldn’t get shipped to the euthanasia clinic pound.

With H.G. on his way to the hospital and the dog safely in the hands of his owner, somebody from the diner came out with water and washed the puke off of the sidewalk. People went back about their business, and I got a to go box for the pizza we couldn’t eat (it made a great breakfast, BTW).

This whole situation struck me as a glimpse of the American psyche, our voyeuristic culture, the system’s lackadaisical attitude toward the nation’s homeless population, and our short term memory loss. Did we all watch wondering if he was dying? Was the response time so slow because he was homeless? I’m sure whoever called mentioned H.G.’s situation during the call. If the same situation had occurred at the ritzy outdoor mall would response time have been faster? Definitely. Did anyone follow up to see if he was ok? I sure didn’t. I told the story to the other people I saw that night, but I couldn’t tell you if he lived or died. More importantly, was the dog ok?

I think we forget that the people we encounter are actually people and not just whatever descriptor we assign them. H.G. was a person, he surely wasn’t homeless his whole life. Maybe he lost his job when the stock market crashed, maybe that threw him into a depression spiral and he lost everything, which pushed him farther down and caused him to try to escape his misery through drug use. Maybe it was the drug use that caused the vomiting and seizures. Maybe we watched him overdose and die right there on the street corner, his misery ended permanently.

Maybe he was schizophrenic and got kicked out of the system when he turned 18 like so many mentally disabled people do now that asylums are a thing of the past. Whatever series of unfortunate events led him to that street corner and caused his vomiting and seizure, it must have been tragic. Should we take solace in the fact that if it was his end, at least we were entertained? In that sick way the mobs of ancient Rome were entertained by slaughter in the Coliseum. Is it right, no, but this is what we’ve become; a society caring only about entertainment, the first thing I heard when it was all over is very telling of our empathy toward our fellow Americans. It was, “well that was interesting.” I may have said it. Man I’m fucked up.

Stereotypes suck

Stereotypes suck

So one of my part-time jobs(I've got a full-time job and two part-time jobs, suck it recession) is hanging out at one of the few remaining Lackluster Video stores across this great land. 

not my store

I'm a movie nerd and pretty much only work there for the free movies, they pay me too but it's not much. Being that said video store is located in the ghetto on the lower income side of town, we don't get too many of the douchey snob types that talk down to us because we're lowly video store clerks. We're damn near pillars of the community. Some of the kids that come in even look up to us and dream of working there some day. It's sad, I know. 

But recently a phenomenon has been occurring that really pisses me off.

Sample dialogue:

"All set?"

"Yes, I'll get these movies."

"Ok, do you have your Lackluster card?"

"No, can you look me up?"

"Yeah, what's your last name?"

"Ruiz, R-U-I-Z."

mother fucker are you serious?!?

If this was an isolated incident it wouldn't bother me. But it's happened more that a few times now, with easy fuckin names to spell i.e. Lopez, Guzman, Alvarez. Basic Hispanic names right. Apparently because I'm a white guy these people think I'm fucking retarded or culturally insensitive or some bullshit that makes them feel they have to spell their name for me. 

Now I realize they aren't trying to stereotype me.  They just have had to deal with lots of ignorant, uncultured swine who can't spell. I get that, people have and continue to misspell and mispronounce my last name all the time, but come the fuck on. Unless you live under a rock in a trailer park in Kentucky next to a NASCAR track you should be able to spell basic Hispanic names. 

Do you people not listen to music? or watch movies? or watch sports? This is America right? Melting pot of the world? Society of immigrants? I guess my rage isn't directed at the people who want me to spell their name correctly. It's directed at all the ignorant mouthbreathers that have caused them to believe that white people can't spell simple fuckin names. 

So fuck you, you rat bastards. Culture the fuck up. I'm sick of catching shit for your ignorance

Adventures in Sobriety

Day 3:

So a few days ago I had the worst anxiety attack of my life. It was brought on, I'm sad to say, by marijuana. For three hours I had an intense fear that the promotion I'm interviewing for at work was actually my boss' way of trying to get rid of me, even though he expressly said he wasn't. But I just couldn't stop the feeling of almost certainty that I was going to soon be fired and all that I have accomplished in the past few years would fall apart and come crashing down. Luckily the girl I'm seeing was over and able to distract me through most of the attack, but it didn't go away. It was still in the back of my mind like a voice screaming at me that I was going to be fired, I'd loose my car, I'd loose my house, I'd have to go back to live with my mother(which scared me most of all) I'd become a loser like my step brother. All of these fears took over the floor of my cerebral senate and would not relinquish it.

So for roughly three hours my subconscious was locked in battle with my conscious mind trying to prevent a total fucking breakdown. I picture it as an epic battle between two samurai masters with my sanity as the prize and it took all of my meditation talent to focus and prevail. It was the worst 3 hours of my life, worse than having to sit through a Nic Cage movie marathon.

But that wasn't the only reason I've decided to quit smoking pot. I've been kicking the idea around for a few weeks now. Mainly because it's just not fun anymore. It's become something I do out of habit, not something I do for recreation. Almost my defining characteristic. I know this from the shock in people's voices and expressions when I tell them I quit. Not that I'm quitting or cutting back or taking a tolerance break. I quit. I'm fucking dunzo.

Back in the day when I would smoke pot with friends it was an event. We got our pot, we got some good tunes to jam to, got some trippy movies to watch, covered the munchie food groups; sweet, salty, chocolate, greasy, got baked and waxed philosophical whilst watching said movies and listening to said tunes. It was great fun. So, naturally, it started happening more and more and then it got to the point that I would do it by myself and when I would do it with friends we would just get stoned and stare at each other or whatever was on the tube.

It started to get really bad when I started selling. I figured if all my friends were smoking pot, they might as well buy it from me. Then other people started buying from me, at my height I had about 30 people that bought pot from me on the regular. It was good money, it kept my bills paid while I was unemployed for a few months. After I got back to work tho I closed up shop except for a few close friends, who had no other sources.

It was a good run, had a lot of fun. Now don't worry, I'm not jumping sides and declaring marijuana an evil drug. I don't even think of it as a drug, it's just a plant. A plant with many wonderful uses. A drug is something man made, not something you grow, pick, dry and smoke. I just used it to the excess of excess. Like all good things, if not used in moderation it can be bad for you. But I still believe it should be legalized, alcohol is legal and it's ill effects are infinitely worse.

So here we are at day three and I don't even miss it. This is way easier than quitting cigarettes (5 months strong). There have been no withdrawal symptoms. I can feel my mind clearing, my vocabulary is expanding, my wit is getting sharper, my appetite is getting smaller and my willpower stronger. I've still got pot at my house, but I just have no desire to smoke it. A wise man once said "when the desire to quit becomes stronger than the desire to use, you will be free." or something to that effect.

Here is what you should be afraid of. Even with my excessively massive amount of pot use I've been able to hold down three jobs in a time when a lot of people are struggling to find and keep one. I've got a newish car and a house on a lake. All of this I've accomplished while staying baked out of my mind. Imagine what I will accomplish now that I'm sober.

Wild Nights

I don't get out much anymore. Mostly because I work 3 jobs and don't really have the time. Sleep seems more important these days and boozin at bars is a good way to waste a lot of money. But last night I decided to go out with some friends after we got done working the hockey game.

Everything seemed ordinary; the bar was busy but not too crowded, Friday Night Karaoke was in full swing and a good time was being had by all. My buddy Jim(names changed to protect the innocent) had his beer goggles on and was chatting up this thick, moderately attractive chick in the corner.

I get my drink(sailor and seven, splash of lime juice) and step outside to smoke a cigar. A few minutes later this little spitfire of a chick rolls into the parking lot and my buddy Wayne and I jump in her SUV to partake of a medicinal cigar(if you're pickin up what I'm puttin down). Whilst we are adjusting our attitudes we see Jim's car pull into the parking lot and park adjacent to where we are sitting. He's just across the parking lot, but not right in front of us. We see him get into the back seat with the girl he was just chatting up.

"Oh hell no," I say, "he's totally about to nail her in the parking lot."

"And if we pretend we're not looking we'll see the whole thing."

The spitfire was right, when he looked over we all looked away and pretty soon the car was rockin and the windows were foggin. So we watched and laughed for a while as we smoked. I then decided his buddies couldn't miss this. They were smoking on the patio, I went over and told them to follow me.

"Check out your boy." and I pointed to the car.

"HOLY SHIT!" they exclaimed and burst into laughter. After a few minutes they figured out the chick was the girl from inside.

"This is epic, who's got a camera?"

"Here use my phone." The spitfire handed him her phone and he went over to get some evidence of the debauchery. The camera flash tipped them off and Jim looked up with confusion and terror on his face. The chick must have freaked out, because she was soon running back into the bar to get cleaned up. Jim stepped out of the car to a standing ovation. He did not appreciate the gesture and quickly mooned us. We told him we were all proud of his accomplishment. But if he didn't want to put on a show, he shouldn't have parked where everyone could see them.

We carried on as people typically do after such things. Shots were purchased, jokes were made, embarrassment was felt. The funniest part was, back in the bar Jim's lover was being fawned over by a some  guy in a blue shirt.

"She gonna do him too?" I said to my buddy Aaron

"Probably." he said with a laugh

The guy stepped out to smoke a cigarette and I got another drink. Aaron and I were bullshitting at the bar when he suggested we go outside, he wanted a cigarette and I had another cigar to smoke. As soon as we walked out the door we saw the guy in the blue shirt that was fawning over the sloot and a guy in a grey hoodie standing toe to toe about to throw down.

Being the peacemaker that I am I walked up and asked what the problem was. They didn't respond, the guy in the hoodie swung on Bue Shirt and it was on. Hoodie knocked Blue Shirt down onto a bench on the patio and tried to ground n pound. Blue Shirt fought his way off the bench and started to take control. Hoodie's buddy tried to jump the patio wall to break it up, but ended up on the concrete with his face bouncing off the bench. Meanwhile, Blue Shirt and Hoodie were exchanging blows right in front of me.

Now in my years as a bartender/bouncer I've learned it's best to let the guys fight it out for a minute, because it's easier to break up a fight when the guys are tired. Blue Shirt grabbed a beer bottle, smashed it on Hoodie's face, and I decided that was enough. I opened the door to the bar, yelled to the bartender what was happening, and grabbed my buddy Wayne. I grabbed Hoodie with a double chicken wing pinning his arms behind his back and Wayne grabbed Blue Shirt. Hoodie was still steaming and now bleeding from little glass cuts. He locked himself in his truck and yelled at his buddy lets leave.

But the bartender wouldn't let him leave on account of his open tab, but he wouldn't come inside as long as Blue Shirt was there. Blue Shirt said he was done fighting, he's the one that got attacked after all, but the guy that loses rarely wants to walk away. Especially if he thinks he's tough and wants to save face, unless he's been beat to a pulp. This guy, however, took the cowards way out and called the police.

Now I'm not saying people shouldn't call the police if they've been attacked, but if you start a bar fight and lose you should just take your ass home. I didn't stick around to see what the cops did. I'm not trying to be a witness to anything. I don't need that drama in my life.

You may be asking yourself, What lessons can we take away from the events of the evening?

1. If you're gonna nail a girl in the parking lot of the bar, don't do it where everyone can see you.
2. If you start a bar fight and lose, learn from your mistake and take your ass home.

Until next time kids. Keep livin the dream and don't let your meat loaf. 

Women

 I'm convinced the female gender is retarded. They won't admit it. In fact they believe the opposite to be true, but they don't factor in logic and rationality. I'd probably receive mountains of hate mail calling me a misogynist or sexist for saying that(if anyone actually read this blog). But it's true, I know it, you know it, THEY know it, they just don't want to admit it. Well sometimes they do, lots of women like to bitch about how stupid, catty, backstabbing and petty other women are. “I don't hangout with women,” a lot of women I know say, “they're too much drama.”

What the fuck does it say about your gender that you won't hangout with each other? There is competing philosophy that says the women who don't have female friends are the ones that are bitchy and cause drama, they're just more conniving and manipulative. Either way you have two groups in your gender saying the other evil. Which pretty much makes all of you that way. Now maybe my sample is too small to make this claim about all women. But I can say with some certainty that this definitely applies to all American women. I'm basing all this on my conversations with women and my 28 years of life experience and my own mother telling me how evil girls are my whole life.

I don't believe this is all entirely your fault though. I think it has to do with the way you're raised to view every woman as competition for the best men. How you're conditioned to hate women that you perceive to be better than you. It also has a lot to do with pop culture. The way movies show fucked up relationship models and the way your mothers taught you that when boys picked on you on the playground it meant they liked you. Although this last point explains more of why women are attracted to assholes who treat them like shit.

So basically the odds are stacked against you. You're destined to be crazy, manipulative, backstabbing, bitches. Another reason I'm glad I have a penis. Maybe if you're aware of how you've been programmed you can work to change it. You can recognize when you're being rational and stop yourself. Maybe you'll say to yourself, “wait a minute, that's the reaction a crazy person would have. Let's reevaluate the situation.” I doubt it though, you're too emotional to be rational. And you would have to already be rational to realize you were being irrational. So I guess your gender is fucked. And most men are hosed because they will allow themselves to be controlled and manipulated for pussy.

This is another thing that pisses me off. If this is the age of equality and women expect equal pay for equal work, equal rights, equality in every aspect of life. Then why is pussy more valuable than dick? Why do women still expect chivalry when they don't uphold their end of the social contract. If you wish to be favored, taken care of, placed on a pedestal if you will, then you have to do your part. Whatever that may be. In my opinion it means sucking my dick and keeping the house clean. One person shouldn't be doing all the work in the relationship. My only conclusion is that you don't want equality, you want dominance and subjugation. You want to treat men these days like men in the past treated women in the past. What kind of fucked up sense does that make? WHY THE FUCK do we have to pay for crimes committed by people in the past. This only breeds resentment and furthers the separation and distrust between the genders. It's like fighting to end war or fucking for abstinence, counterproductive.

So until you bitches can sort your shit out, I'll be over here using your own tricks against you.

P.S. I'm leaving the gold digging and what not alone, because, as all men know, no matter who she is or where you met her, you eventually pay for it. 

Not That I'm An Expert: How To Pick Up Chicks

Another wasted day sitting at the compost site. I really shouldn't bitch, when people yearn to have one job and i've got three, two of which are very cushy. Sitting at the compost site wasting my potential. Trying to write something readable, interesting, and possibly significant. Meanwhile, I drink and smoke and fuck and party, responsibly.

I've found moderation, so to speak. Sometimes it doesn't work out. But mostly anymore I can find the perfect level of intoxication where my sliver tongue is not impeded by my lack of confidence and I can woo any woman. Can't do it if i'm stoned though, I just stare like a downy and drool all over myself. I'm lucky if I manage to mumble “titties” let alone carry on witty conversation that lets me get into the chicks pants.

Cuz lets face it folks i'm not getting the cover of men's health anytime soon. I've always been heavy set and I like to eat. So go fuck yourself if you've got a problem with that. But anyway, i'm not winning any body building competitions so i've got to literally charm the pants off of girls. Luckily i'm well read and well traveled, at least in the country, haven't got out of it yet. But I plan to.

So I tell them i'm a writer, and that Californication show is kind of popular, I don't look like a fat david duchovny or anything. But they almost expect you to be a boozing, womanizing, down for anything kind of guy. So I play that up, a little. Thank you sir. Maybe I tell them i'm published, but it's true, kind of. As far as I know the stuff I wrote for that doctor's website was published on his website. But it was mostly bullshit and I didn't get paid that much. I did get paid though and my terms for calling yourself something legitimately are: You have to be paid to do the job to call yourself a doer of said job. I was paid to write something, ergo I am a writer(however, middle school science teachers that teach kids to shoot off those small rockets are not rocket scientists, sorry).

Three words, just go with it. Thing of it is though, i've been that way since I was like 15. ask people I grew up with, my place was always where the party was at. Which was awesome and terrible at the same time. Nerve racking as all hell, running what was essentially an underage club, a minor speakeasy if you will, on the weekends when my mom was out of town. Trying to keep the noise down, watch out for cops and still let people have fun, get drunk, get laid. Got busted a couple times. Had 3 minor consumption tickets before I was 18. did I mention alcoholism runs on my dad's side. I've got it under control now, mostly. Swear.

I always say its gotta be 2 outta 3. when ever you try something ya gotta make sure the first time wasn't a fluke so ya gotta go 2 outta 3. just to be sure. Except butt stuff, that grosses me out. I'm not into dudes. If that's your thing that's fine. Who you want to fuck is your business, unless you want to fuck me, then it's my business and the answer is no. I might let you blow me tho, depends on how long it's been.

So back to being a writer, sometimes that angle works if I get the right chick and play it the right way. The angle not her, she's not an it, she's a person. Just dumber, easily swayed with booze and bravado. Not that i'm not, i'm a sucker for a pretty face. Ya just gotta know how to play the angles.

Kony 2012

 This whole Kony 2012 movement cracks me up. I'm glad people are trying to help other people. This guy is a monster and should be killed, but the self-righteous overtones of the video are just too much for me. They really think that rush limbaugh is going to thelp their cause? They really think politicians care about the impoverished nation of Uganda. Poor naïve bastards.

Was there a recent oil or rare earth mineral deposit discovered that I didn't hear about? Of course not, so of course they don't care. Yes they allocated 100 advisors to train the Ugandan army to find and capture Kony. But if they really wanted to heed the people's will and stop this Christian they would have sent a battalion of troops or that Seal Team Six Unit to go in and wipe him out. We have that ability, the government just doesn't care. And I can't say I blame them. With all the problems in our own country we don't have the resources to run around the world solving everyone else's problems.

It also pisses me off that these hipster douches have to go to a foreign country to make a difference. Why can't they find a cause to support in America. There are plenty of evil people exploiting children here. There are plenty of starving, under educated children that need a meal and better schooling. But since they are in this country it's not cool to help them so nobody cares. Fucking hipsters and their manufactured charity.

This invisible children organization isn't the most respected charity either. Only about a third of the donations they receive go towards helping the kids. The rest goes to the maintaining the swanky lifestyle of the documentarians. Cutting edge tech and trendy clothes are expensive you know. Maybe i'm a cynical asshole. Maybe this is the documentarian's way of dealing with his white guilt. I don't know for sure it just feels like a sham to me. Like this guy is using these atrocities to jump start his career as a film maker. It is working tho, that shit went viral super quick, probably due to him using his son's cuteness to tug on the heart strings of teenagers and housewives. I give it a month, maybe 2 before people forget about this and the hipsters move on to the next cause they think it's cool to believe in for a little while. I doubt he will be captured this year. Unless oil is discovered in Uganda

Here's a wild one for ya, what if the Invisible Children organization is actually a secret arm of the L.R.A. What if Kony came up with the whole idea to raise money for his war. Guns and ammo are expensive you know and it's hard to raise money for a war with no real purpose, unless you're the US military. Most sociopaths crave attention right. So what if Kony came up with this whole campaign as a way to make himself famous and raise money for his child army? It's a crack pot theory that probably isn't true. But ya never know these days, the world is a fucked up place.