I'm Number One!

I'm starting to think that everything I thought I knew about other people and the way they think is completely wrong and honestly...it scares the crap out of me.

I'm the kind of person who thinks a pretty good way to go through life is to be dependable. I believe that friendships and relationships (the ones worth keeping, anyway) are about being there for each other, being generous to one another, and being able to tell each other anything without fear of baseless degradation. That's just who I am; I think nothing of buying a small gift to cheer someone up or giving heartfelt words of encouragement to those who need it. And in return all I expect is that the person receiving my attention will be so kind as to communicate clearly with me and treat me the same way I treat him or her. I'm not asking for the world; I'd just like a little consideration thrown my way.

I just assumed that's how people are supposed to act when they're good friends, or interested in each other, or what have you. I thought it was just basic human nature that, as long as there's supposedly an open channel of communication, you get what you give because that's how life works. Or is supposed to work, anyway.

I have found out recently that the way I think about life is overwhelmingly wrong, and it's eating away at me.

I feel like I'm in an emotional crisis and I'm not even sure why. I think that deep down it's not like I didn't know that the world isn't fair; bad things happen to people who don't deserve them and selfish people go unpunished. It's apparently the way of the world and I simply chose to either ignore it or hope against hope that if I tried hard enough to be attentive to peoples' needs and not play any of the horseshit games that go on every damn day of everyone's lives that my life would be infinitely enriched.

I guess I'm more mad at myself than anything because, even now, a small part of me still feels that if I just keep at it: take people at their word, be of help to my friends and family, keep taking the position that open and honest communication begets the same from others, that everything will eventually go the way I'd like it to go.

As if sharing myself with people will make them fall over themselves to help me. Or like me. Or love me. Or be honest with me. I'd take a little honesty at this point.

So, where does this leave me? If my realization is correct, that there's no good, justifiable reason on the whole to put myself out there for the benefit of others at the complete expense of myself, then what the hell is the point of being dependable? Decent? Trustworthy? Honest?

Has it really come down to this? For years now I've preached nothing but open communication between people. I've thumped my chest and stood on my pulpit and argued passionately that the vast majority of interpersonal problems that ordinary people face would be eradicated if only those people would be honest to themselves and to others. Hell, it's pretty much been my calling card for the past few years, like the unmistakable sound of a train in the distance with its smoke trail and it's rhythmic chug-chug-chug along the landscape. It's who I am; who I've chosen to be over a huge and monumentally important stretch of my life and everybody who knows me knows that. And now I'm not even certain that it's not all bullshit.

Show me nine other people who think like I do and I'm starting to think that you'd be showing me nine unhappy suckers who can't see the forest for the trees.

I don't want to be a selfish person. I hate the very idea of it. I hate other selfish people with a passion. It seems I'm meeting more and more of them these days; people so self-involved that they don't even have the common goddamn decency to tell you what's on their minds for fear that if they hurt you they'll "look bad". God forbid you risk looking like a real, fallible human being; then you might actually have to (gasp!) acknowledge your feelings and face the kind of person you might actually be.

But you know what's funny? Those people don't have to deal with as much introspection. Those people are the types who see the flaws of other people but never themselves. And while they may pay for it dearly later in life, by the time they reach that stage they probably won't care because they'll have lived their blissfully ignorant years during the prime of their lives while the rest of us with real souls suffer until we come to the realization (albeit too late, most likely) that no one is looking out for us except us. The more I worry about others, the less they worry about me. That way, they get my attention and their own. Seems like a pretty sweet deal, and one I'm less and less willing to push away.

So I'm going to go my own way for a while. I'm worried that looking out for me and me alone will have pretty horrendous consequences, not the least of which will be the realization that I've been wasting years giving a shit about others that I could have spent only giving a shit about me and being happy that way.

But hey, it doesn't seem to bother other people; maybe ignorance has its advantages. Here's hoping.

"Are you an idiot?" "No sir, I'm a dreamer."

I was sitting on my couch tonight, just relaxing in silence. No lights, no television, no music, no commitments; just me and my thoughts. There are times when that precious little slice of peace is the best part of my day or week. Other times, it's torture. I guess it all depends on where my mind wanders.

Sometimes, the two sides get mixed up. Something that at first seems horrific leads to a little bit of clarity and perspective. Sometimes, something that sounds so good in theory can end up snowballing into feelings I don't want. This time, I'm not sure which is which.

On the surface, I'm feeling incredibly vulnerable. Typically, this is not a feeling most people want to have. Feeling vulnerable, either physically or mentally, has so many side effects and associated stigmas. People equate vulnerable to waiting for the other shoe to drop: for them to be hurt, for them to be forgotten, for them to be deemed part of the problem and not the solution.

But I believe that there are two types of vulnerability, and I believe that sometime it can be a good thing.

Inside that good vulnerability lies hope.

Everyone is vulnerable. Everyone feels lost sometimes, or forgotten, or hurt. There's a connection that every person has to each other: people want to feel fulfilled and safe, and they find that security through each other. So maybe vulnerability isn't necessarily a bad thing if within the correct context. Maybe our vulnerability is what leads us to open ourselves up more than we ever thought possible, and maybe it's that same unshielded part of us that acts as a beacon for those who can and want to mend that insecurity. Who can make us feel alive. Invincible.

I want to feel invincible. Safe.

I want someone to see my vulnerability and then make the effort to look deeper, like I do for others.

I want for someone to see me for who I am: yearning for attention, busting at the seams to find someone to give my absolute unwavering love, aware that I have so much to offer and yet so much to learn from other people.

I want someone to open themselves up enough to show me their fears, their hopes, their goals. And I want to be able to help them be the best person they can be while they help me do the same.

Maybe that's possible, and maybe it's not. I have no idea. I can only keep putting myself out there on display for the world to see and hope for the best.

Hope is all I've got.

I just want that to be enough.

Getting to be that time...

I'll be home in less than two weeks. My original plan was to write in here more often, plotting my course along my brain as I moved 3,000 miles across the country and lived on my own, albeit temporarily, for the first time in my life. Alas, it seems I was too busy living said life to update this blog. I'd actually written something one night when I was pretty drunk, posted it, and then took it down out of respect to the subject of the rant and partially because of remorse for the language I used.

It's been an up-and-down trip, I'm not going to lie; I really did expect this whole experience to go differently than it has. Girl-wise, work-wise, adventure-wise...it all seemed to unravel pretty quickly. Sure, I've had some good times and met some great people (even some from Boston who will be back in the area when I am! I'm so excited for that!) but there were some things I wanted to do that won't get done:

1) I will not have found the woman of my dreams. I thought I had her but it was a mirage and I am that much more beaten down because of it, sad to say.

2) I won't get to see Los Angeles. Weekends have been uber-filled and I don't think it's going to happen this time around. Funny enough, though, a trip from Boston to LA no longer seems like a long-distance ordeal now that I've lived here.

3) I won't get to take a short, one-hour flight to Vegas. Thankfully I went in June so I'm not heartbroken; plus, I went to Reno and it's just like Vegas...only filthier.

4) I expected to come to work and be a conquering hero to this group. That is difficult when I wasn't given access to their systems, they don't know any of mine (even though we had training classes to teach them since WE bought THEM), and I'm caught up in the red tape of an IT group that just doesn't "get it" and a VP whose one love in life seems to be burying his staff in unnecessary paperwork and screen prints which diverts them from, oh, actually doing their jobs.

Anyway, I'll be home in less than two weeks. It'll be an adjustment to the cold, the time difference, and the expenses. I can't tell you how cool it is to not only have zero expenses out here but also get paid extra money just for being in California. It's pretty badass; I've been able to pay off a chunk of my student loans and the plan is now to stick around Wakefield until the spring and then find an apartment close to work. I'm sick of paying for parking on top of the T fares. I've also been losing weight by living on my own and therefore cooking for myself; I'd like to keep doing that.

I have more to write, but I want to take this time to type out something I wrote last night in bed. "The girl who was but isn't" stayed over here last night (she does that on occasion and there's nothing romantic or physical about it, much to my chagrin) and the futility of the whole thing hit me like a tidal wave. I am constantly fighting for the things that I want, even if they aren't what is best for me. I bend over backward for this girl who doesn't want me; I argue with a VP who only sees his way; I am loyal to a myriad of people who leave me to be the sole cheerleader on my behalf. So I got up, scribbled a bunch of stuff into my notebook (I only do free-writes; otherwise I manage to neuter the entire piece during the editing process), and went back to bed; I was still sad but at least my brain had quieted.

So here it is. I call it Uppercut.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am always fighting
for what I love
for what I believe in
and for those who believe in me.

I am always fighting
against what I know to be true
when I don't want to believe it
because believing means admitting you've failed
admitting you're just not worth it
if not to yourself, then to others

I am always fighting
to spend less time in my head
too much time in there
dissecting every piece
tearing everything apart
soaking them with tears and self-pity
pity for my own damaged thinking
and the pity she feels for me
that part, I'm certainly NOT imagining

I am always fighting
my instincts
hoping it can be different
praying it will be different
from an atheist to a zealot
in one easy step
And with the next step, off the ledge

I am always fighting
to hold on to my sanity
in a world that is always trying to take it
a world where the time is never right
the pieces never fit
I've either missed the train
or I've been hit head on by it
two objects, full of steam
the steam of power, sweat, blood
against that of delusion and misplaced hope

I am always fighting
not to have it end
like it always does
picking up the puzzle
straining out my heart
from the pathetic pool at my feet

I am always fighting
to convince myself of my worth
that I'm more than I think I am
but in the battle between brain and pity
it's me against the world
deep down, it is as it has always been
not good enough
never good enough

I am tired
the constant struggle to pick myself up
to be my only support
has left me as fragile as an eggshell
and twice as disposable
how many rounds
before I see I'm past my prime
still too scared to throw in the towel
some misguided optimism, perhaps

Battered, bloody, bruised
but not yet defeated
dizzy, struggling
but not yet knocked out

I can't watch anymore
stay down! stay down!
why bother propping yourself up
just in time to take one in the teeth?

Please, stay down
do it for my sake
let me be at peace

No, they really call it "Sac".

For the first time in two months, I'm nervous about this trip.

Maybe it's the turbulence we've been experiencing for the past thirty minutes. Maybe it's just my annoyance toward the kid in front of me who, in between playing with loud apps on his iPhone, has continuously rocked his seat back and forth trying to get comfortable, hitting my netbook with each back-and-forth motion. Or maybe this trip was never truly real to me until I realized that there's no turning back now. Not that I want to head back to Boston but it's such a radical shift, even if it's been anticipated for months.

More turbulence. This is getting ridiculous, almost as bad as the lightning storm on the way back from Vegas. I say almost because I'm not quite at the required level of near-pants-shitting fear that was reached in early June.

Anyway, I think it's the turbulence and not the fact that for the first time I'm going to be living out of state for more than a couple of weeks. Certainly the first time I'll have lived by myself...well, ever. There's a new assignment waiting for me, clouded in mystery and borderline befuddlement in respects to my role in the conversion, I've connected with a woman from Boston who is working in Sacramento until March and I'm meeting her for the first time when she picks me up from the airport. I'm super nervous about that; she's gorgeous and certainly out of my league though she insists she's not. She says she loves the way I talk, and she likes the way I treat her. That's a great feeling, except that I've heard that before and then in the next breath there's a sigh and a break-up, or a denial of a third or fourth date. I know how it works in the end; it's either physical attraction or bust. Them's the breaks.

I'm nervous about the size of my studio apartment. I've never lived in a studio. I'm the type of person who loves having people over to my place for drinks or to watch a game. That's nigh to impossible now unless it's one person and we still haven't gotten out of bed yet. I don't even know if there will be a couch in the place.

I'm nervous about my parents fending for themselves this fall, and especially this winter if my contract gets extended. My parents are not young and the driveway isn't going to clear itself, That reminds me, I'll have to call around Wakefield when I land and see if I can pay a plow to clear out the snow for my parents. I can't imagine it will cost much. My sister is moving to Beverly so she will not be around the house much. She's moving in with her boyfriend and I'm a little nervous for her as well, just from personal experience vis-a-vis leasing a place with a significant other and the complete and utter failure that came with it.

All of this nervousness is just leaking out of me, dying to escape so that maybe I'll be too scared to go through with it. But my nerves don't understand that it's having the opposite effect; by the time I land it will be completely drained and will have dissipated completely. That's my hope, anyway. There's so much to look forward to once I arrive in Sacramento: a new job, a possible love interest, new streets and areas to explore, 10am Patriots games (complete with brunch and booze), and a much-needed change of scenery. I feel like I've been stuck in second gear for almost a year and I am ready to speed up. I want to feel the rush of knowing that I am on my own, creating new memories and new friendships, learning and growing as a person as I traipse through the next chapter of my life,

It's scary and I'm nervous. I'm sure a lot of people feel the same way when they get to this juncture. If you haven't, then go out and scare the shit out of yourself. You'll be surprised what you learn about yourself. The petty shit that used to be so goddamn frustrating and heavy no longer seem all that important, They've been put back into their small places with the rest of the insignificance that attaches itself to people. I can't imagine an experience like this will be anything but beneficial to me and the people I love who want to see me soar and who will reap the rewards of my tiny, corporate vision quest.

And away we go.

Where no one notices the contrast of white on white...

A great weekend, but one that scared the crap out of me.

It was GORGEOUS out this entire weekend; the sun was out, it was warm, no wind or significant rain in sight. I grilled. :-) I also feel like I gained a lot of insight and managed to stress myself out at the same time. I think a lot of the time those two go hand in hand, insight and panic.

I learned that there is no way my parents survive up here in New England if I ever leave. I mean, I love Boston but I've always wanted to see what California would be like for six months. I don't think that's a possibility if they stay up here; there's just too much upkeep with the lawn and garden. Collecting and splitting firewood for the stove has become a three-season process. My parents are old; my dad limps on a bum ankle and has smoked cigarettes for almost fifty years. My mom is great from a domestic point of view but can't turn on a computer or do any heavy yardwork or lifting. My sister helps at times but she's got her own life to live; she'd rather be at the beach or out with her boyfriend/girlfriends than to ask "what can I do to help?" So it gets stuck on me.

Not that I'm not grateful for everything my parents have given me: I live rent-free at home, they paid for two years of college, and I've never been significantly let down by them. But I'm starting to wonder when I'm going to be able to make the choices I truly want to make without having to factor in other people. Maybe I never will; hell, maybe the people I think are making choices for themselves really aren't. Maybe the ones that truly are independent are a whole lot more miserable than me.

A choice I am trying to make for myself is whether or not to buy a house this year. There are plenty of reasons to buy now: the prices are low, the rates are great, there's a huge tax credit provided to first-time home buyers. But I came to a realization tonight that scares the shit out of me.

I was sitting on my porch with a beer, just lounging around in the warm air. It's a great feeling, being completely at peace. But as I sat there I started to feel loneliness creeping in around the edges. The truth is, I started getting bored sitting out on the deck by myself. Not bored in the sense of "I should be out in a bar or at someone else's house enjoying this" but more in the sense that I wish I had someone else with me at my place. There was an emptiness there I just couldn't shake.

That's what scares the shit out of me. If I buy a place for all the reasons I listed above, I'm going to be alone. Sure, people can visit and hang out but at the end of the day I'm going to be alone in some big house. I'm going to be talking to no one when I get home from work. I'll be lying in bed wishing more than anything that there were someone next to me to talk to; the gentle murmuring between two people as they fade off into sleep holding each other. Do I really want that? Do I really want to feel even more isolated and alone than I feel now? But can I really give up the opportunity to buy now and lose out on all the great reasons to purchase a home?

I've already decided that I don't want a condo; I don't want to pay some condo association $250 a month to take out my trash and shovel my walkway. I can't justify paying the same amount in rent that I would for a mortgage payment and having nothing to show for it. And I sure as hell won't live at my parents' house until I find the right woman and get married. Basically...I'm fucked because I want to buy a house but not be lonely inside of it. Awesome.

Speaking of being fucked (and I'm not going to an inappropriate place, don't worry) I had the pleasure of sitting next to a bunch of my ex's friends at a bridal shower today. The men of the wedding party were bribed into going with promises of free food and good-looking women. I actually had a blast though I had to duck out a little early. It was just ironic that I ended up at the same table as four women who graduated with my ex. Well, not really ironic, per se, since the bride-to-be also graduated with her. It was just a little awkward to be sitting next to a woman who doesn't really talk to my ex anymore and didn't know for sure that we'd even broken up until I talked to her (yikes); a woman I went to high school with who is fabulous in every way but is still really good friends with the ex; a woman who I've only seen when I was with my ex so I always associate her with said ex; and a woman whose wedding reception I went to in October of last year - the place at which I realized that I was no longer in love with the person my ex had become, leading to my decision to dump her three days later. Yeah, that was awesome.

So, where am I at now? I'm afraid to leave my family behind because they need me. I'm afraid to buy a house because I know I'm going to end up with a raging case of space madness from being alone all the time. I'm pretty sure the last seven years of my life are going haunt me for as long as they can. I'm afraid that I'm not going to have anyone to share my fears with other than this fucking blog and a night or two out with friends who either:

a) don't understand;
b) even worse, do understand but can't open up because we're surrounded by other people who don't understand; or
c) worst of all, think they understand but, since they don't, I could give a fuck less what their opinions are.

And people wonder why I drink so goddamn much.

...and the living's easy.

It's funny; I didn't originally intend this blog to be some therapeutic mechanism for me. I was just hoping for some funny musings on life with just a dash of cynicism, wit, and maybe a life lesson or two mixed in. Then again, maybe deep down this was the direction I always intended to take it. I've always been the type of person who needs to get things off my chest; "introverted" is not a word usually used to describe me and I'm proud of that. Introspective, sure, but not shy. Maybe this blog was always destined to be a place where I can discuss me with...well, me.

This seems to be working for me; you know, it's ironic (on a conscious level, anyway) that I started this blog up pretty soon after I got engaged. Maybe I saw it all coming and just needed to start venting now; maybe that way I wouldn't have started a blog simply as a vehicle to explode after I became single. I'm just waiting for the day when I can mark milestones with something else besides either "since I got engaged" or "since I've been single". It's a little depressing and, to be frank, more than a little pathetic.

Alas, the blog has mutated into something that isn't going to draw people in. And maybe I'm ok with that now. Although I will tell you that I learned a few things last night at the Celtics game:

1) I think I'm pretty much done with Family Guy. Some drunk 40-something tried to chat me up about them and I realized that he's too goddamn old to be watching it. And then I realized that maybe I'm too old to be watching it. Sure it's funny sometimes, but do I really still want to spend my Sunday nights tethered to the TV watching cartoons? I'm starting to think the answer is "no", especially since the weather is going to get nicer real soon.

1a) Corollary to #1: I intend to enjoy this summer. No excessive work hours, no dealing with other peoples' self-loathing, none of that. I'm just going to enjoy being alive and being happily surrounded by my friends. In fact, if someday I wake up to realize that I'm stuck in a Groundhog's Day situation forever, I would hope that day would be an 80-degree day in June: wake up around 7:00; hit a round of golf; take a shower; pick up some quality encased meats at Karl's Sausage Kitchen; buy some Sam Summer; invite people over; and spend the day in the sunshine, grilling and eating, drinking and laughing and playing games. People would download whatever they wanted to hear off of iTunes, I'd put it on the iPod, and it would play all day through my speaker dock. Then we'd get the fire pit going once the sun went down and make s'mores until we all just fell asleep on blankets on the grass. If there were a heaven, that would be it for me.

You know what? I don't care anymore about the list of things I learned yesterday. Imagining the perfect day while I typed that literally made my week. I like feeling that good; it makes me hopeful that the shit going on in my head over the last week or so is only temporary, like this week-long rain storm that's going to evolve into an 80-degree Saturday.

I feel my thoughts becoming more scattered over the past couple of weeks. I think "restless" is the word I'm looking for. I both love and hate the fact that I'm single coming into the spring; I love being able to go out and meet people but I hate not being able to share with someone every great thing I'm feeling because of the weather. I used to love bringing a blanket down to the Common and just laying there with someone, reading a book and getting some sun or even just talking and laughing with a picnic lunch and wondering why everyone else was doing something other than just being there on the grass.

You know what else is great? I finally had a memory of the past seven years involving my ex that wasn't accompanied by any bitterness whatsoever. That's actually the first time that's happened "since I've been single". Wonders never cease. I feel better than I have in ages, just because of that. Well, I'll be goddamned. On that note, I'm off to bed.

Note: I apologize to anyone who actually read this whole thing and is still wondering what the hell the point was. I know it's not the most interesting read in the world because it's just an outward inner monologue at this point. But I feel great, so I'm not really sorry. If you stop reading this blog, I hope you enjoyed your stay. But I feel great. Good night!

Abundance

So I wrote something last night. I'm not sure if it's a song (because it doesn't rhyme), a poem (because I didn't follow any sort of rhythm), or a story (because it's not terrible coherent). I guess it's a jumbled mess, and it's my mess. And it's called Abundance. And now I know how you know I'm gay.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have so much anger inside of me sometimes
that I just want to punch right through the wall.
Instead, I work out and I strain myself.
I'd like to say that it feels good,
that the pain, the sweat, the fatigue,
that they all make me feel more alive
more vital.
But that's a lie.
I do it because as shitty as I feel
as tired, sweaty, and overheated as I end up,
it's still better than how I was feeling before.
When my anger was all I could think about.
Now I'm too tired to care.
Maybe that's why people have kids.
Maybe the the constant sense of exhaustion
keeps you from going insane
keeps you from rolling over
and hating who you've become
or what you've become.
Maybe this is as good as it gets.

I have so much to offer to someone else
that gets lost in the shuffle of youth.
The packaging ain't pretty and it ain't neat;
it isn't something you run to on Christmas morning.
I'd like to say I have so much patience,
waiting for the right one to open me up
and get the the best surprise of her life.
Something genuine, something hopeful,
something else entirely.
I had that once, you know;
she opened me up and I was sparkly, shiny, warm.
And then I lost my gleam
And then I lost her.
Islanded in a stream of unlearned lessons
because people don't change
they just pretend, over and over.
I'm re-gifted to no one, tucked in a drawer
the wrong color sweater, headed for Goodwill
I'd take any good will at this point.

I have so much contempt for the world
A world that refuses to change
because change is fucking HARD.
It doesn't happen overnight
it won't make you richer
it won't make you prettier on the outside.
And if you don't get unwrapped then you don't get seen.
We all like the idea of "new and improved"
but we don't want new. Not really. Just improved.
"New" would imply having learned something,
having made a self-discovery or two
A moment of clarity
People would rather the ugly duckling turn into the swan
but continue to think like the duckling
than for the duckling to accept itself
and become the swan from the inside out.
It ain't pretty but it's worth it.

I have so much hope that someday
someday soon
I'm going to have my moment.
My moment of undiluted vision
A moment that glares so bright
no packaging will be able to hide it.
You'll be able to see it
no matter how hideous the distraction
No matter what obstacles trick the eye.
And then someone will be smart enough to open me up
It will be the greatest gift I can give
To offer everything I have in this life
And they'll love it
So Much.

On the 5th day of dating, some woman said to me...

I go on dates.

I know, that seems like a pretty lame opening for a blog post, but I think people sometimes forget that I go on dates. I go on dates nearly every week, whether it be with someone from a bar, someone from a show, a friend or a friend, or wherever else there are available ladies. Recently, for whatever reason, I have been trying (against my nature) to force myself to be interested in people who I normally would want nothing to do with for one reason or another. I don't know if I'm just getting desperate for new blood or what, but I have been trying to fit a square peg into a round hole (that's what she said) for months now.

I was speaking to a female friend of mine and she asked me point-blank: "you seem to find fault with so many people you date; are you just making up excuses? Do you actually have a list of attributes you can and cannot tolerate in a female companion?" Yes, she said "female companion"; can you tell she's older and married? And I thought to myself, well, I guess I've never made a list but I must know what I like and don't like, right? I can't be making up excuses in order to keep myself aloof, could I?

So now I'm making a list. This is a list of the things I cannot tolerate in a "female companion", as well as a list of things I need. These are the things that, at this current moment in my life, directly affect my desire to go on a second date or possibly beyond with a woman. So now you can call me out if you hear something come out of my mouth about a woman from a date that wasn't on this list, ok?

Things I CANNOT deal with if we're ever going to have a future together:

1) You smoke regularly or "just when you're drunk". - Smoking on a regular or even semi-regular basis drives me batshit insane for so many reasons. I'm not saying that I don't indulge in a cigar or two per year, but I've never had more than five in a calendar year for as long as I remember and always for an occasion: a golf outing, an outdoor summer party, etc. Not just because it's Tuesday morning and daddy needs his fix.

There's just something so much more vile about cigarettes and the women who smoke them for various reasons. For starters, they smell terrible; they're either reeking of smoke or they're doused in perfume meant to mask the smoke smell. Thanks for the consideration of my nostrils, but if I want to be knocked out by vapors I'll just huff the can of spray paint in my trunk from a ShamWow. Or I could suck down eight cans of computer duster and end up on TV.

And ladies, here's a tip about using the "only when I'm drunk" line for most situations: if you use it, I'll assume that you're drunk most of the time and that you're a skank. It's just been my experience, that's all. And that goes for smoking, drugs, eating a package of under-heated TGI Friday's Potato Skins, and anal...among other things. Or so I've heard. Drinking socially is fine; keeping your local establishment in business single-handedly is not.

2) You're asleep every night before 10:30pm because you'll be a wreck the next day. - Sorry, I don't date senior citizens. I'll be 28 years old in a month. On a typical day I work until 6pm, come home for dinner, and go to the gym. Lately I've also had to contend with rehearsals, performances, an abnormal volume of birthday parties, and helping plan a bachelor party in Vegas.

Here's a secret to how I contend with all that and still manage to keep a social life: I'm not sixty years old. Seriously, if our "relationship" consists of either seeing you or talking to you via the phone on weekdays for the thirty minutes between when I get home from the gym/rehearsal and when you head off to bed, we're not going to make it. I'll guarantee it. I did that for the last year or so of my last serious relationship, and the only reason I put up with it at all is because I spent way too much money to bind myself to her.

3) Your crippling insecurity. - We all get insecure. I'm not terribly happy with how I've let my body deteriorate since college; there's a reason I'm at the gym four nights a week minimum. Sometimes I don't feel as attractive as usual. We all feel that way. The difference is, for the most part I really do like myself. I've never been the type to lack much for confidence or ego because what I may lack in physical appearance I make up for in spades with charm, wit, humor, compassion, and modesty.

You, on the other hand, can barely look me in the eye when you speak to me. You are constantly putting yourself down, or, even worse, speaking ill of others just to make yourself look better or more important. In reality, the kind of person who does that on a constant basis is repulsive to me. I don't want to here how awful someone else is; I want to hear what's great about you and I want to feel like you believe it. Confidence is just so damn sexy. And fake confidence is just so damn transparent.

4) Your need to seem "mysterious" and "complicated". - If you feel the need to play the "you wouldn't understand" or "you wouldn't want to know; it's a long story" cards, then you're right; I no longer give a fuck what you're talking about. I'd rather just take you home.

I'm all about open dialogue (obviously). I want to know what you're feeling, what you're thinking, what make you tick. Tell me about you; you're the reason I'm on the date in the first place. Well, that and the whole "sex" thing, though I won't have sex with someone I wouldn't want to date. Seems a bit hypocritical and desperate otherwise, doesn't it?

The less I feel that you're telling me...I should say, the more I think you're hiding from me, the less chance I ever want to see you again. Being coy is one thing (and that can be quite hot); not being able to carry on a conversation without continuously and inexplicably changing the conversation every two minutes is a different beast entirely.

5) No fat chicks. - I'm just kidding.

::shakes head no::

Things the must be present is we're going to have any future together:

1) You need to be funny. - Humor is the most important thing in a "female companion". If you don't laugh at observational, crude-at-times, deadpan-at-times, embarassing-at-times humor then you're not the one for me. Dead baby jokes died out long ago, funny stories about your pet or the kids you nanny for aren't funny unless one of them ends up on fire or I am personally acquainted with them, and "you had to be there" stories aren't amusing if I wasn't there. If I use a line from the Simpsons, Super Troopers, an Adam Sandler movie, Old School, a Jud Apatow movie, or Family Guy and you don't get it, you're walking home. I'm serious.

Also, Dane Cook is terrible. I suppose I can understand how he might be attractive to women, but let me throw at little S.A.T. action at you:

Dane Cook : Comedy :: AIDS : Africa

2) You need to be at least somewhat interested in sports. - If the Celtics are about to win a championship on your birthday, I'll forego it for you. I'll foresake watching the first Celtics championship win in seventeen years to take you out to dinner, whisk you off your feet, bring you home, and do to you whatever you want for as long as you want.

If you choose instead to head back to your place and then skip the sex to gossip with your roommate/co-worker about the people you work with while you both correct tests while I sit and stew in silent rage because I am trying to be a good boyfriend and not watch the game while you ignore me...we're going to have a serious problem. Ideally, I'd want you to want to watch the game with me but I'd settle for a little understanding that I'm foregoing something important to me to make your birthday something you'll remember years down the road.

And if we can't watch a Sox or Pats game without you turning and asking me what a strikeout or extra point is, you're leaving wherever we are at the time. End of discussion. You want to know what the infield fly rule is? A decent question and I'm happy to answer it. Not sure about the difference between a nickel and a dime defense? Hell, I'll draw you a diagram. If you ask me why so many people like "that Brady guy" so much, I will never respect you. Also, pink hats are BARELY acceptable as accessories; pink jerseys = trailer park. Don't forget that.

3) You will have to like my friends. - If you make me choose between them and you, especially over something petty, I'm choosing them. EVERY TIME. They were here before you and they will be here after you.

4) You need to know how to dress. - Women look HOT in jeans and a t-shirt. Men know this. But you can't wear pants everywhere you go. Skirts are not the enemy. Pantsuits are for lesbians and ugly people. Heels are always a turn-on. Sweatpants are great for around the house or a weekend breakfast jaunt. For a bar? Not so much.

I put time and energy into my appearance because I want to look good when I'm in public and because I want you to look at me and say "wow" once in a while. If I don't see your hair out of a ponytail for weeks on end then you're probably not going to hear "wow" come out of my mouth unless it's followed with "did you just wake up?"

5) You need to be open about what you're feeling and thinking, and be receptive to my thoughts and feelings. - Are you the kind of person that bottles up all of their anger and refuses to speak up when little things bother you until one day you snap and it comes out one day as a flood of emotion, hatred, and irrationality just because I ended a sentence with a preposition? Then to the back of the line with you, please.

If something bothers you, tell me. If I can fix something I'm doing wrong or be a shoulder to lean/cry on then I'm happy to do it. If something make you happy, tell me; I'll keep doing it or I'll find a way to keep it going somehow. If you don't want to talk about it at that precise moment then say so; don't lie to me and say "nothing" is bothering you. There's a huge difference the size of the Pacific Ocean between "nothing" and "I don't want to talk about it right now". I'll respect one but not the other, and

***HINT***

it's not the lie I'll respect.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So that's about it. That's who I want, in a nutshell. And until I find someone like that I'll keep dating and searching, searching and dating. For those of you who have found their someone, congrats; I'm happy for you. For those who haven't, relax; being picky isn't a bad thing, it's a smart thing. Saves you from the heartache later.

Good night, all.

So say we all.

The last episode of Battlestar Galactica just aired a little while ago. I'm a little sad. I mean, I'm happy that I was able to get into this show even late in the game and I'm glad I was able to bear witness to a great show. It's probably the most well-written show I've ever watched. But, of course, once you have an emotional attachment to a character or show and suddenly "THE END" rolls around, it's bound to make a person sad. I am not exempt from this.

When something that I'm attached to comes to an end, I like to reflect on it. I'll mostly keep to myself and ruminate about what the event meant to me and how I can learn from it. I don't usually get to jostled or riled up during that time because it always seems too distracting and almost rude to the memory and happy thoughts involved with being a part of something, even something as passive as a television show (and by "passive" I mean that literally all I did is watch; I had no hand in the actual show).

A big part of BSG is the will of man wrestling with the path of destiny; the whim of a higher being, if you will. Are we pulled toward our final destination? Are our choices already pre-ordained even when we think we're being clever and unpredictable? Or is the destiny of each and every person directed solely by their actions, their choices? Is it a mix of both, like a Choose Your Own Adventure book?

The show dealt a great deal with angels and gods. I like the idea of angels; spiritual beings meant to provide guidance in times of great upheaval and peril. I'd like to think that when I'm at my lowest an angel might come and lighten the load off of my shoulders and nudge me toward my destiny, toward the right decision, toward God's path. That's the kind of thing that I wish I could put my faith in to make me sleep a little easier at night and clear my head.

But religion's a steaming pile of lies.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I firmly believe that these days, religion is more responsible for the decaying status of this planet than a lot of other ills. Religion is outdated; it may have been necessary back when people didn't have the tools to predict tornadoes, or when there was no real justification for peasants NOT rising up and killing their lords. But now religion does more harm than good, and that is across the board.

There's this constant struggle among human beings to show superiority over one another; religion is just one of the oldest tools of that alpha-male bullshit. This faith hates that faith; one claims their holy land on another's soil; one believes in aliens from millions of years ago, claiming that you can be cleansed of their ghosts...as long as you pay for it.

The rules may be different but the results are the same: do as we tell you and you'll be fine; disobey and you'll end up living the worst existence possible forever and ever. Killing yourself is either a mortal sin or the work of a martyr. Eating pork is either verboten or a key ingredient to the perfect hamburger. Cows are either sacred...or yet another key ingredient to the perfect hamburger.

There are so many religions and so many rules, it's impossible to keep them all straight. Not only that, but most religions feel it's their duty to spread their dogmas into the realms of science, medicine, and politics, further polluting our ability as a society to explore, discover, and grow.

Did you know a Texas state representative introduced a bill allowing the Institute for Creation Research to be able to grant Masters of Science degrees? No, I'm not fucking kidding. The group that believes that Earth was created only 6,000 years ago and that carbon dating is "misunderstood by scientists" wants to give out fucking GRADUATE degrees for science. Of course, those who don't believe in creationism are simply out to "get" religion and those who believe in it. It couldn't be that 99% of the evidence out there completely craps on creationism's enormous gaps in logic. Nope, it's all about revenge, obviously.

You see, that's how religion pulls you in, by always making it an "us vs. them" issue. THEY'RE doing the work of God/Allah/Xenu so therefore those who AREN'T doing God/Allah/Xenu's work are obviously hellbent on stamping the true believers out. So rise to the occasion, take up arms, and fight for what you believe in! Or just send us money and go around convincing people that they're wrong and you're right!

Religion naturally calls to the more unstable among us in society. People are looking for an escape from their problems. They aren't sure where to turn for guidance. Suddenly, a group comes along that says "all of your answers are in this easy-to-carry book! Just follow the teachings of people we've designated as experts and they'll lead you to peace of mind!" OF COURSE THAT WORKS; there are a ton of people out there who would love to hand over control of their conflicted beliefs to a group promising all of the answers. Those people aren't necessarily stupid, they're just unable to cope with their problems. Some turn to drugs, others turn to religion.

Recently, the Pope made some comments that perpetuated the Catholic church's stance on birth control and in the process made himself look like a backward-thinking buffoon who simply regurgitates doctrine without forethought. He not only opposed the spread of contraception in Africa (where in some places 50% of a given region's population has AIDS) but actually said (and I shit you not) that condoms may actually make the AIDS problem worse.

Digest that for a minute. The Pope, the spiritual leader of hundreds of millions of people across the world, shits on EVERY. SINGLE. TRUTH. that people know about contraception and the spread of AIDS by suggesting that using a condom to protect oneself or someone else from getting AIDS might actually make the problem WORSE. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Listen, I understand why Christians frown on contraception. As stupid as the reason is, as idiotic an idea as "life begins at conception" is, I understand that they feel that way. And maybe, maybe, you could make the argument that contraception makes people more susceptible to the temptation of sex (you know, if that made any sense to use that logic for a continent where women are already being raped left and right). LEAVE IT AT THAT, YOU SENILE FUCKING IDIOT. There was no need to expound on that idea by inferring that the LAST thing the African people need on a continent that is simply being ravaged by AIDS is PROTECTION FROM AIDS. FUCK.


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here's what kills me the most about religion: people who follow it pick and choose what they want to believe. You either believe that Jonah was swallowed by a whale or you don't. You either believe that being a martyr is a worthy achievement or you don't. But here's the thing: you can't believe in your book of choice as the written testament and "proof" that your religion is valid and then cherry pick which parts of it you want to believe.

If you want to tell me that the Bible says it's wrong to be gay in Leviticus and therefore being gay is wrong, PERIOD, then fine. Just know that the punishment according to the same passage is death. And while we're doing the Lord's bidding with the killing and the smiting, let's not forget all of the other grave sins that are punishable by death in Leviticus:

Cursing at your mother or father!
Cheating on a spouse!
Having sex with your wife while she's on her period!

Wow, I'm sure that no one who believes in the Bible has ever done any of those things or else they'd be lining up at churches all over the world to be killed. Right? Hey, at least the Bible doesn't say you can beat your wife if you see fit! Nope, that's reserved for the Koran!

You either believe in the tenets of your religion or you don't. If you use birth control, you're not Christian. If you eat pork, you're not Jewish. If you don't wear long underwear, you're not Mormon. That's it; being a selective member of a religion makes you a non-member of that religion. Well, unless you want to use the handy reset button known as confession. Over and over and over again. Another phenomenal cop-out to keep people coming back and donating money.

The idea of unseen forces looking out for you seems nice, it really does. But it's bullshit, all of it, and all religion does is hold people back from learning things about themselves and the world. Religion is making the world dumber: curbing vital stem-cell research, teaching children creationism, spreading hatred toward people of different sexual orientation (or in some cases, race...hi Mormons!), and stifling the desire to explore the world because of the belief that if God wanted us to know it we'd know it already.

Think for yourselves. Explore for yourselves. Understand that the fairytale was put in place to keep you from having to think too hard. And remember kids, only you can prevent ethnic and religious cleansing.

And forest fires.

In like a lion, indeed.

It's been a hell of a ride these past twelve months. It was a year ago this month that I finally manned-up and asked someone to marry me. At the time, it was the most wonderful thing I could think of. Imagine the most "in love" you've ever been and multiply it by 100. I mean, I asked someone if they wanted to spend the rest of their life with me, have children and raise them with me, be with me through the good and bad, and to sit by my bedside with my children and hold my hand when I eventually shuffle off this mortal coil.

I mean, that's really what it's all about: finding someone who will live with you and all your faults and be happy to do it because to them, you are as much their world as they are yours.

But it's not always like that and the world isn't always fair. If you'd just said no I could have gotten on with my life but you said yes and THEN no, and you tore my heart out. I just want to hurl insults and curse words at you but it would really do nothing but rile me up and I'd just be throwing those words at the equivilant of a brick wall.

So now my life is filled with not-so-childlike wonder; what do I do now, where do I go from here, am I ever going to find someone like you again, etc. Then again, maybe I shouldn't be looking for someone like you...you know, since you were pretty much the lousiest significant other EVER toward the end.

It's so funny; I sit here every night, checking out Facebook, reading my email, clicking on box scores...and staring at the red box on my desk. The red box that has settled quietly as a fixture next to my monitor in a Ziploc bag with the GIA booklet included, collecting dust and waiting for someone to buy you off of Craigslist. It's not that I haven't tried to sell it but it seems to be happy just sitting there, reminding me of the daughters we won't raise, the house we won't buy, the life we won't have together. It's your last scornful hurrah, I guess.

That's what I miss most you know, the promise of raising children together. Someday, I hope to be able to measure the success of my life someday by looking at my kids and bursting with pride. But they won't be the same kids you and I would have raised.

I still get angry and argue with you in my head. I always win. I'm pretty sure the real arguments would have gone the same way.

Am I better off now than I was a year ago? What's a good measuring stick for that? I'm single, my hair's a little thinner, children are a long way away, and I'm not sure that anyone else is ever going to fall in love with this huddled mass typing away in his room. On the other hand, I'm not living a lie, rushing into marriage with someone who doesn't want to be married to me. I've made new friends and reconnected with old ones, and I'm learning more about myself than I ever could have under the dark cloud that is you.

I go on dates, although I seem to find big faults with all of them. Maybe I'm being too picky. I don't believe it's too much to ask for a non-smoker with a decent grasp of good grammar and a healthy dose of humor. Women who are easily offended aren't for me either; anyone who knows me knows at least that. I guess I haven't hit the Desperation Zone yet, which is also why I won't join a dating site. For me, the best way to meet someone is to, well, meet them. In person. The day I join one of those sites is the day I give up on a lot of who I am.

I also want to be sure that the people I date are people I'd easily be friends with if I weren't dating them. My wife will have to be someone I share common interests with, someone I can laugh with and share stories with who gets me; not just because she's trying to make me feel good but because doing those things makes her feel good, too.

Someday I'm going to find someone who will help me raise little Lorelai, Rosalin, and the others who are unnamed but will be just as cherished. It hurts a little knowing that it won't be you; it makes me sad in the places I don't want to admit exist anymore.

I just hope that someday, they don't.

I think that there are way too many people throwing around the word "change" right now. I get that our new president was elected based off of a campaign rife with promises of "change", as if anything really changes in the long run. Sure, there might be less torture, less taking away of civil liberties, maybe even a shred of diplomatic and domestic decency...for a time.

But let's not kid ourselves; lines were crossed over the past eight years. For every step behind the line we've taken as a country we've taken two past it over a very long period of time. And as long as there continues to be a wishy-washy, less-than-transparent government I don't think we're ever going to make it back to the line in the sand. We'll just keep drawing new ones and saying "this will be the line we never cross". And then when the line is too far behind us to see it even when we turn around and peer into the darkness, we'll draw another one. This will be the line we never cross. And then this one. And then this one.

Politics won't change because too many people are rich off of its teat. Elected officials make millions in donations and fundraisers. Lobbyist groups make millions for their specific causes, not caring from where the money is taken. Cures for life-threatening diseases and conditions are slowed to a crawl, not because we can't fix all of it but because of inane religious beliefs and the fact that there's no money in the cure, only in the medicines manufactured solely to surpress the illnesses but not enough to make you independent of the drugs.

Change takes sacrifice from everyone. And right now, not enough people are willing to sacrifice. Politicians don't want to give up the donations they get from pharmaceutical companies, so they won't push for universal healthcare or tie government funding to measurable goals. Without these mandated goals, those same companies have no reason to strive for cures; they make too much money off of making a drug to treat every illness you didn't know you had.

People whine about taxes while their schools and roads are falling apart. Parents talk a lot of bullshit when it comes to giving their children the opportunities that they never had themselves. They'll rail on about the poor conditions of their childrens' gymnasium, the lack of computers in the writing lab, the outdated textbooks...right until you ask them to do their civic duty and shell out some cash to pay for all of this publically-funded knowledge. And then those same parents will bury their heads in the sand right next to the line we crossed eight years ago and tell us that they pay enough already and to get someone else to do it. There are TVs to buy, boats, cars, vacations to pay for. They'll say they don't owe anything towards education because their kids already graduated, and they'll wonder why their grandchildren dropped out of school because they can't get the attention they need in a class of fifty for geometry.

The idea of "we're all in this together" went to hell the minute Gordon Gecko told people that greed is good. The minute somebody told the wealthy CEOs of companies that if they piss excellence that it will trickle down and enrich the lives of all the little people below them, the ant drones who serve their food, cook their books, teach their children. And rich people swallowed that tripe hand over fist; they couldn't get it all into their gaping maws fast enough.

You want change? Real change?

Too bad; that ship has sailed. The government gave change a boatload of money and it sailed away as fast as it could.

There are two things that will never change: greed and people.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

People don't change. Sure, they get fatter or skinnier; there's always an ugly duckling who turns into a beautiful swan. There's the homecoming queen who turns into the town whore. But those people never really change; they only got what was eventually coming to them. Deep down, people are who they are. They're raised a certain way; their life experiences shape their behaviors.

Doctors can try and walk you through your experiences. They can tell you that none of it is your fault and that you can learn from your mistakes. Sometimes, they're even right; that's not the point. You can learn anything and everything you've ever wanted to know about yourself, but you're still you. You're still the person who made those mistakes and lived those experiences.

They are as much a part of you as your eyes, your hair, your skin. You can't just decide that you're not "that person" anymore and start over because every time you look in that mirror it's still the same person looking back at you no matter how many hours you've spent on a couch shelling out $100 an hour to cry about the time you told your parents you hated them. Or when you watched a life-long friend cry his eyes out because you just had to loudly make fun of him in a crowded cafeteria just so that other kids would think you were cool.

You are who you are, and no amount of self-awareness is going to turn you into someone else. The only thing that seems to ever work in changing one's perception (for a little while, anyway) is tragedy. Two things about that disturb me: one, that a person's only change to better themselves comes after something terrible; and two, that even then...it doesn't last.

Eventually, everyone ends up where they always were. You really do want to draw a new line in the sand, only you'll find that the old one is just where you left it: right in front of you. And if you squint hard and look out into the desert, you might just see something scratching new lines into the sand ahead, a trail of money swirling around in its wake.

"Plus de choses changent, plus qu'ils restent les mêmes."

Well. Hmm. Fuck.

Note: this is one of those "woe is me" entries that I usually just think to myself in my head until it builds and builds and I get even more pissed off at the world than I am right now. I'm not looking for pity or a "you're great, Andy!" I just need to get this down on something before it makes my head explode.

For fuck's sake, what is wrong with me?

I like to think I'm a pretty good guy. I wouldn't say "nice", because at times I'm too sarcastic. I make off-color jokes because I think they're hilarious and my close friends do, too. I tend to fake going off the deep end for a laugh. But I'm pretty sure I'm a good goddamn person.

I keep hitting these obstacles, man. I'm not athletic enough for you. I'm not nice enough for you. I'm not rich enough for you. I'm too loyal to you. I'm too in love with you. You're not ready for marriage even though you said yes (my personal favorite, by the way).

Well fuck, and here I thought we were doing well. Which leads me to the question: am I completely fucking wrong about my perception of me?

Maybe I'm not as funny as I thought, or as smart, or as sarcastic, or as (shudder) nice as I thought. Maybe I really am just some smug asshole with an inferiority complex about his superiority complex who no one will ever truly accept and who brings nothing else to the table.

And by "no one", of course, I'm talking about women.

For all the bullshit I hear about women needing a man who first and foremost makes her laugh, it seems like I'm the comic relief who ends up in a perpetual month-long tango rife with dinner dates, an activity or two, and a "you're a great guy, but I just don't see it happening" talk...you know, just to drive the point home that either a) I am funny, nice, and whatnot but just not attractive; or b) I'm none of those things mentioned in part "A" in addition to being unattractive.

Fuck, it's not like I'm trying to be the way I am; it just is what it is. I don't want to have to change my sense of humor, or my level of intelligence. I don't even want to pretend they aren't what they are. I want someone who accepts me for me. Now I'm almost 28 fucking years old and I'm right back where I started when I was 21. Even worse, I only drink good booze so I can't even drown my sorrows for less than $30 on a good night without eating dinner.

I want to be with someone; I hate being alone. I'm just not willing to sacrifice who I am to get there.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is, fuck you all. I change for no one. If you can't accept it, die. Seriously. I'm going to bed.

Should old aquaintance be forgot...

So, another year has come and gone. Not a great year, not a terrible year. It was the first year I spent New Year's Eve as a single man in a very long time. It's a very bizarre feeling, when the clock strikes midnight, the cheers go up, and there's no one to kiss. Or, should I say, no one I wanted to kiss; there were plenty of women at the Grand Canal but I was just there to have a good time and bask in the glow of my friends. I actually wasn't as let down at midnight as I thought I would be; the night went so well that the New Year's kiss was almost an afterthought. I was supposed to head down to the Cape, where I would have been guaranteed a New Year's kiss. The weather decided to kick me in the ass and make that trip impossible at 6pm. No big deal...it would have been a miserable trip and I wouldn't have gotten there until well past 9pm.

There are several things I've learned about myself and the world in the short time since work ended last night:

1) As down as I might be sometimes during special events when I realize that I really am single, I think about why I'm newly-single and it brightens my spirits.

2) Women will wear the skimpiest clothing possible on New Year's Eve no matter what the temperature is outside. It must've been way below freezing with the wind last night and there were women EVERYWHERE clad in nothing but a short-as-hell cocktail dress, nylons, and heels. Which instantly makes New Year's Eve my favorite holiday. Ever.

3) I truly am a sucker for a woman in a skirt, nylons, and heels. Every time. I ended up talking to two different women for about 15 minutes each who were clearly morons, but I continued to talk to them because they looked like Barbie dolls. Unfortunately, the women who go out to bars on NYE are either taken or part of a "mother hen" group; I wasn't with anyone I wanted to subject to chatting with the mother hen for me. Which knocks NYE down a couple of pegs to just below my birthday (yes, it's a holiday), Memorial Day, and MathiSlam.

I also ended up helping a girl who had slipped in the snow but was literally too drunk to get herself upright again. She almost pulled me down with her twice. Why did I help her? You guessed it: skirt, nylons, heels. Done and done. Her request to give me her number was refused, however, based on the fact that she took three steps after I helped her up and puked.

4) A person walking through Boston at 2am has a better chance of finding, subduing, and collecting the reward for catching Whitey Bulger than getting a cab. I ended up walking for the Grand Canal to my car...at the Hancock Tower in Back Bay. It took me nearly an hour and I'm pretty sure one of my ears may have fallen off. I don't remember reattaching it but perhaps my brain had been numbed as well.

5) There may be something to this new-fangled idea of NOT getting completely hammered in order to have a good time. I only had a couple of drinks and I had a blast. The fact that Bearfight rocks my cock probably had something to do with that.

So, you've probably gotten this far and have decided that this was a waste of your time. Why did you read all of this boring BS about me? Well, if you read carefully then you've figured out the way to get me to do whatever you want. Women, just put on the trifecta of hotness before you ask anything of me. Men...provide me with women who wear the trifecta of hotness before you ask anything of me.

But in all seriousness, I hope 2009 is a better year for you and me. Here's hoping. Cheers.

Gobble the grenade.

A year ago I was in Jersey, spending the holiday with her family. I spent most of the day playing with Pete and Bridget. Dickens Days in Clinton.

It's not so much her I miss, because I don't. She isn't worth it.

It's her family I miss.

It's the memories I have of times I should be treasuring forever that will never shine as brightly as they once did.

They're in the pictures I look at when I'm reminiscing with a little bit of disgust that I never felt before.

It's the sour taste I get in my mouth when I have to answer the same goddamn question over and over in the most polite tone I can muster because I know it's being asked out of genuine concern, when I just want to scream "because she SUCKS" just the one time and have it over with but I can't. Even if it's completely true.

After all the analysis, soul-searching, and explanations I can come up with are exhausted it all boils down to the fact that she's a five year-old who would have rather wallowed in her drama and have taken me down with her than to have actually talked to me like a human being.

Seriously, fuck you. Choke on your goddamn turkey.

God bless us, everyone...but you.

Just Because.

I'm just writing in here because I want to get something down on here. I'm just not sure what. Ideas just come to me.

For instance, did you know that I used to volunteer at a battered womens' shelter back in college? I just took calls, talked to people, gave them lists of places to go/call...that sort of thing. I've seen the excuses women come up with to "justify" the fact that they are physically abused.

1) All he does is push me.
2) Don't worry about me; I fight back.
3) If I didn't do (insert benign action here), he wouldn't have had to hit me.
4) He does it to show me he cares about me.

I've heard a lot of excuses in my time. AND NOT ONE OF THEM MAKE IT OK. So when a woman says that she is strong enough to take it, that she fights back, I say to her "sure, you fight back...until the next time when he uses a fist, or a belt, or a bat." And if a woman says that her guy would never do that, tell her to look back to a time when she said they'd never let a man hurt her. It's the idea of diminishing returns, only what diminishes is sanity, control, and self-worth.

A woman who is truly strong either a) doesn't take that shit from anyone, regardless of relationship; or b) knows to ask for help if and when it happens, if and when they can't fix it on their own.

I guess that's all I have to say about that.

USE YOUR HEAD.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm not really sure on the stages of grief/loss, but I'm pretty sure I'm at "anger" right now. I didn't really do "denial" because I'm the one who broke it off and really, how silly would denial be at this point? ("I did it! No I didn't!" See how stupid that sounds?) I'll probably get to the "depressed" part when it gets closer to Christmas, but for right now I'll take the anger. Feels pretty good, actually. It's what's getting my ass around the lake four times a week in this weather.

Which one is after anger? Sleepy? Dopey? Whatever; I'll enjoy "anger" for a while.

Funny enough, the one thing I could always count on to take me to a happy place was acting. I haven't done a show since Love of a Pig, and the last time with that show was at EMACT back in June 2007. I auditioned for a show a few months ago and didn't get in, which was a bummer. I'm going to jump back in for Acme's New Works Festival and their auditions for Picasso at the Lapin Agile. I just need to be able to get onstage. I need to be able to let go of everything else (control, the thoughts constantly in my head, work, stress) and just be told where to go and what to do. Say this line, move to this mark, project to the audience, don't fuck it up. I was actually asked to direct for the NWF but I just couldn't do it. I am too much in my own world to tell other people what to do with theirs. I need direction right now. Strong, confident, organized direction. That'll snap me out of this johnny-come-lately bullshit funk that has been festering in my brain the past week or so.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Work is...what it is. No holiday party. Possibly no bonuses. You're a Mean One, Mr. Wall Street.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alright, I'm spent. Auditions tomorrow, trivia Wednesday, peace and quiet after that.

Sweet dreams, kids.

Words of advice.

For the life of me I couldn't tell you why, but I read this and cried. Maybe I'm just overtired; I don't know. It made me so happy and so sad at the same time. Where you go, I go. Anyway, here it is.


So there's this guy who's walking down the street when he falls into a hole. The walls are so steep he can't escape. A doctor walks by and the guy asks him for help. The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down the hole, and leaves. A priest passes by and the guy asks him for help. The priest scribbles out a prayer, tosses it down the hole, and walks away. Then one of the guy's friends walks by and the guy asks him for help. Without hesitation, the friend jumps down into the hole with the first guy. The first guy asks, "Are you stupid? Now we're both down here!" The friend says, "Yeah, but I've been down here before and I know the way out."

A Moment of Morbidity

I've always been fascinated with death, mostly because it scares the shit out of me. I am so afraid of dying that I can barely step into a doctor's office or a hospital. Of course, that's also partly attributed to my fear of needles and being "under".

Still, even being as big a pussy as I seemingly am, I think about death. Not in the same way a goth kid does, or an elderly person, or a doctor. I think more about what really happens. Who knows if there really is a God? I don't really subscribe to religion as I genuinely feel that early religions were invented as a story - a story meant to explain "that which cannot be explained" - and which grew to be an escape for people from the harshness of real life. Religion used to be the panacea for anything and everything; diseases were punishments for sins and recoveries were miracles, seemingly the work of divine intervention. It has also evolved into a force of control over the masses, a way to keep the poor from killing the rich and to keep the outsiders just behind the borders of the norm.

Who is right? Who is wrong? And what right do people think they have to judge others based on their beliefs?

I guess I mull these ideas in my head because I don't know what's going to happen when I die. If I even get the chance to reflect on my life as it fades away, what will I see? Will "God" be revealed to me? Will I have flashes of my life, my accomplishments, my failures before I pass? Will I have time for my last words?

I think about my last words more than I probably should. I think about what I need to say if and when I realize that I'm going to die. I've always imagined that my last words will have to be something comforting to my family and friends. Maybe it will be profound, but I'm less worried about that. Will I be surrounded by people I love who will hear my words of comfort? What if I die at a diner or on the train to work? Who will care what I have to say? Who will tell my family I love them?

I just want to be able to tell the people I love that I love them, that they're going to be ok, that I'm going to be ok. And then I think about how many people don't get that chance. People who die in car accidents, or from heart attacks at restaurants, or in botched carjackings; these are people who have lived their lives and have loved and whose flames get snuffed out before they can tell people the people they love that it's all going to be ok, even if it's not.

And maybe I won't be able to say what I need to say. Maybe I'll be too busy crying like a little girl and begging for my fading life. Maybe I will be so preoccupied with fighting against the dying of the light that I won't be able to comfort those I love.

It's scary and it's stupid, I know. But it's what I think about.

So I try to tell the people I love that I love them. My family, my friends...the people who make me happy, who make me love life - even if it's only for a little while and only in small doses. If you really love someone, then go ahead and say it. Don't worry about hurt feelings or reactions; don't let other people pound self-doubt into your head. Love can be so many different things to so many different people, and the idea that love is somehow sacred and only available to certain people in certain situations is ridiculous.

I love my family, I love my friends (new and old), I love the people who make me feel like I matter. I do what I can, though sometimes it's by use of sarcasm and humor, to tell those people that I don't exist without them. I wish more people would get over themselves and just say it to someone - even if you're afraid, even if it's just the love of friendship, even if it complicates things. In the end, you're going to find out what you're made of and what the people around you are made of. Love really will do that for you. It will change you life and make you a better person. And who doesn't want that?

Don't wait to tell people you love them. Don't put it on hold; don't assume that you'll be able to say it tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day. You may never get the chance to change yourself for the better by just being honest and admitting that you're in love with your life and the people in it. And you'll be happier, I promise you.

Love never fails.

Love: An Obituary

It started at a party.

At first, I didn't want to go and Mike did. Then he didn't and I did. After all, it had only been four days since September 11th. No one wanted to move, breathe, leave their beds; why on Earth would anyone want to dance, drink, and yell at each other over loud music when there was so much sorrow in the world? What would be the point?

But as we got to the 12th, and the 13th, and so on the world took on a different feel. People were emerging from their flannel-sheet cocoons with a new mantra, "live now". The world could end at any time, we could be bombed into oblivion, our loved ones might be asked to fight and die abroad. "Live now"...go on and meet people, love life, let go of old fears and old grudges.

And so we decided to go.

And that's when I met you.

Later, we'd omit the part about the "party" being one of the frat variety, and how I met you and two of your friends by being flashed for beads. We spent the night on the dance floor, kissing and talking. Later, we lay in bed and whispered to each other, basking in the glow of the moment.

Alas, our first go-around was destined to fail. You were at school two hours away and I had enough on my plate with work, school, and a semblance of a social life. I only saw you twice in three months, communicating mostly through AIM and the phone. I broke off our then-short dalliance with a phone call right before winter break.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We started talking again in March. You'd had a failed fling with a friend and I'd missed you. We talked about making an effort to see each other because there was a palpable attraction. I could feel it through the phone. We got back together at the end of that month.

Things were great for a while. The summer was tough, with you living down the Cape with your Nana and me living in Wakefield and working two jobs, but we made it work. Once school started, we were seeing each other all the time until winter finals. After that, I was doing my show and you were living your life. We barely saw each other; add to that the fact that we were still young and I was still stupid, and it equaled a break in April of 2003.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was shocked when you decided to come to my college graduation party. We couldn't keep our eyes off each other all night. Once everyone left the party and you stayed behind, I knew that this might be my chance to make things right. We talked, we kissed, we made up and made love, and all was right with the world. We could make this work.

The next year was incredible. I was home, finally close enough to see you on a regular basis. You were finishing up your senior year. That time was bliss; I'm not sure I was ever happier for a longer continuous stretch of time than I was for that year. We laughed, and played, and loved, and dreamed about the future. We even moved in together once your original plan fell through, assured by each other that it was you and me for the rest of our lives.

That would turn out to be a colossal mistake due to the fact that we had no money and you had no friends left up here. Salem was a nightmare. We were broke and we had no social lives to speak of. We fought constantly. We patched up the relationship over and over again. I think we were more scared of leaving each other because of the lease than of the relationship itself. I moved back home but we were too damaged by then; we kept it together until that July and then called it quits. We fooled around for a few months more, unable to let go, and then stopped talking in October.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I can remember calling you in February of 2007. I was distraught; I'd had a little bit of a medical scare and I needed someone to talk to. You were the most comfortable person I could think of. At the time, I thought that was a compliment.

We started with talking. We moved on to dating. And then we slipped back into love as we had so many times before. And it was wonderful. I was convinced that this was it; you were The One. We had jobs, our own friends, shared confidence; it seemed like everything was falling into place.

March 23rd, 2008 is still the happiest night of my life, even if there has been a little bitterness injected into my memories since then. I asked you to marry me, and you said yes. You looked so beautiful that night. The stars were aligned, the night went as smoothly as I could have ever hoped, and by the time we fell asleep that night the world was ours for the taking, together at last.

Life was great after that. We were ecstatic, telling people left and right that were were engaged. We began making plans for a wedding date, for our children's names, for invitees to the reception.

Finally, my dream of becoming a family man with you was being realized.

And then you began pulling away.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It started with your workload and school load during the summer. You were taking three classes, working two jobs, and suddenly the time spent together began to dwindle. We went from seeing each other four nights a week to three, to the weekends, to one day a weekend. You were stressed out, but you chose to spend your time off with your new friends. I understood why you thought the way you did: I'd always been and would be around; you wanted to make your own friends and keep them.

So we spent less time with each other. That was frustrating, but I dealt with it. Then you started pulling away further, making plans with your friends and family on the few days we both had free to see each other. You became emotionally distant. Our phone conversations became shorter and less lively. It seemed that you had time to talk and text to everyone except me.

You were attached at the ear and fingers to that goddamn phone. No matter where we were, it was a guarantee that there'd be no meaningful conversation as long as one of your friends was texting you. My family and friends noticed, too; every time you were out with us or over at the house they'd make comments to you about your obsession with your phone. People began pulling me aside and asking me if we were having problems.

I brushed off the criticism, even when the truth was staring me in the face. You were detached, distracted, uninterested. What I took for your desire to be more independent blinded me to what was really happening: you were giving up on our relationship because you stopped feeling the same way about me that I felt about you.

I struggled to keep us together and to understand you. You told me I was suffocating you. You lied to me about why you were feeling the way you were. I believed it because I had no choice. If someone can just fall out of love with someone else without provocation, what does that say about the other person? Can love ever be "forever" if it can be so quickly tossed away?

I had the creeping suspicion that there was someone else. Eventually that was confirmed by an outside source, someone to whom I will be forever indebted. Confronting you about it, I couldn't help but notice the total lack of emotion when you admitted to the elephant in the room. I don't know why I expected more crying or begging or explanation; I hadn't gotten anything real out of you in months.

This time, it was easier. I'd been dealing with a shell of my fiancee for the past few months; the woman I was dealing with now, I didn't even know. Breaking up with someone you don't know is easier than the alternative.

I don't know if you ever would have told me about the other person, but I wasn't willing to wait for you to figure it out.

So here I am now, trying to live my life without your helping hand; unable to converse with your family, to share in the joy of your new cousin, to be included in the love that you so willingly give to others.

I'm doing alright; I have the best family, friends, and co-workers a guy could ask for. I'm going to get back on my feet and try to remember how to start living as a single man again. My stomachaches have disappeared for the most part. I'm probably drinking a little more than I have in recent times, but that's because my amazing support system has sounded the alarm and tried their hardest to help me move on, and that means taking me out. Things will settle soon, and I'll be a better person for it.

And so we've come full circle - from a national tragedy to an emotional one; a story about a man and a woman who were so deeply in love that they couldn't see inevitability when it was staring them in the face.

I don't bear ill will towards you. I'm sad about what has happened but I know you had your reasons. I'm sure that someday you'll figure yourself out, meet someone, and be happy. Maybe you're already on your way there.

Maybe you'll realize in six months that you've made a huge mistake. I won't be there for you if that happens. I can't afford to be.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So now I lay this story to rest. A story that spanned seven years of our lives, full of passion, tears, laughter, family, broken promises, and love. A story whose time has come and gone.

We'll learn from this experience and become stronger people. We just have to make sure we don't gloss over the time we spent together. Thank you for the wildest, most passionate, most emotionally-immersing seven years I've ever lived. Here's hoping the next seven have a better ending...for you and for me.

Cheers.

Are you FUCKING kidding me?

Let me set the scene for you:

People can't afford to pay their mortgages. Or their oil bills.

A financial institution that's been around for 158 FUCKING YEARS suddenly goes bankrupt. Another one went the way of the dinosaur last month. Yet a third is bought by Bank of America to keep it from following suit.

Inflation has gone way up while the relative growth of salaries has gone way down in the past eight years.

Everyone who doesn't make six figures is feeling the pinch, no matter who they are or what they do.

The former Federal Reserve chair, a man revered by economists and financial minds, stated this week that the current economy is "the worst [he's] ever seen".

And one candidate is so FUCKING OUT-OF-TOUCH WITH REALITY that he said today (the same day that Lehman goes belly-up, Merrill Lynch gets bought out to keep it afloat, and the market drops 500 points - the most since 9/11) that our economy is "fundamentally strong."

You want my reason why this delusional, quasi-senile, double-talking, soul-selling, vile shell of a man shouldn't be our president?

That video says it all. THAT'S my fucking reason.

If you want to sum up a man who gave up his integrity nearly a decade ago in order to get to where he is today, that video is all you need.

Here; I'll post it again in case you missed it.

This man should not be our president. This man keeps lying and distorting the truth to pander to the dumbest among us. The man knows that there are enough moonshine-swilling hillbillies, enough close-minded bigots, enough brainwashed tripe-swallowing cretins to get him into office as long as he keeps throwing 9/11 in our faces.

It makes me fucking SICK.

Those who tout his tax breaks won't see the vast majority of them. They won't. The average American WON'T SEE THEM. Period. Voodoo economics, the "trickle-down effect"...it's all bullshit that the GOP spoon-feeds the mouth-breathers among us and they gobble it up like candy.

Listen, you decrepit, senile old man: I get it. You want to calm peoples' fears so that they'll vote for you. You don't want to throw Dubya under the bus because it will make you look bad. But let's face the goddamn facts: PEOPLE ARE SCARED.

People don't need smoke blown up their asses; they need solutions. They need to know that you understand their plight and that you're here to help. What they DON'T need is for you to look like fucking IGNORANT in front of millions of people. Admit that the economy sucks; admit that it needs to be fixed; admit that you're going to do your best to do the job right. DON'T patronize people.

Seriously, I hope you lose in a landslide.

Fuck you, John McCain.

I'm Andy Boncoddo and I approve this message. Asshats.

Palin don't preach; you're in trouble deep.

I was planning on going to bed tonight. I wanted to write about McCain's surprising (and incredibly cynical) pick of Sarah Palin to be his VP choice tomorrow, or perhaps Friday. Hell, it's 12:30am and I should be in bed.

But fuck that; I'm pissed and disgusted and I'm going to do this now.

McCain's pick of Palin, a first term governor from that hotly-contested and vitally important swing state of Alaska (with it's whopping 3 electoral votes having gone to the Republican party for years), is a pick that should be insulting to members of the GOP and women everywhere. Here is a woman who was picked because she's a frisky outsider, a down-to-her-bones conservative who is anti-abortion, anti-gun control, and pro-Big Oil. Oh, she'll tell you how she's stood up to special interest groups, oil companies, and terrorists as the governor of Alaska over the past 22 months, but really, who the fuck is she kidding?

How did you stand up to terror when neither you nor the leader of the Alaskan National Guard have any say whatsoever as to when or where Alaskan troops are deployed? How did you stand up to Congress with the "Bridge to Nowhere" after your state had already pocketed the money budgeted for the project? If it stopped going to the bridge then where did it go? She's so eager to drill for oil in Alaska, but who the fuck do you think is going to be doing the actual drilling? Or the building of the pipelines? Or the refining of the oil? OIL COMPANIES, YOU DUMB FUCK.

Here's what we know about Palin: she's preached abstinence-only education for Alaskan public schools for the past two years. She's rejected sex-ed and handing out condoms in schools. She and her husband were active in the Alaskan Independence Party which, among other ideals, believed that Alaska should secede from the Union. That's right, the Republican nominee for Vice President of the United States of America once belonged to a political party whose main objective was to have Alaska BREAK OFF FROM THE UNITED STATES and become its own country.

But the best part about Palin? The fact that while she's out and about in East Buttfuck, Alaska warning parents and their children about the evils of sex without actually teaching those people how to protect themselves from unwanted pregnancies and STDs, her daughter is actively getting knocked up by some redneck high school hockey player in the back of his pickup truck. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. And now the Republicans and evangelicals are actually spinning this garbage to make it look like a GOOD thing, going so far as to APPLAUD this 17 year-old for keeping the baby and marrying the father. Are you fucking kidding me? The Republican party is trying to tell people that they only want to teach teenagers that it is not ok to have sex before marriage under any circumstances, but in case they get knocked up at the young age of NOT ABLE TO CONSENT that their best bet (and the only morally right option) is to keep the baby and marry the father? As if a 17 year-old is mature enough to decide that the person they're sleeping with and getting knocked up by is the right person for them with whom to spend the rest of their lives. Does that sound reasonable? You're fucking right it doesn't.

So Palin was really picked because McCain needed someone youthful behind him. He needed someone to take away Obama's votes from disenchanted Hillary supporters. He needed someone who would call forth the extreme right, a group that has wavered on McCain over the last eight years no matter how hard he has tried to reinvent himself to please them. But Hillary supporters aren't going to vote for her; just because she has a vagina doesn't make her the "woman's choice". Her views differ fundamentally from Clinton's; they are from different backgrounds; Clinton has experience on a national and international level.

Palin is a gimmicky pick that negates any possible ground McCain had to stand on when it came to Obama's inexperience. The amount of spinning the GOP has done to make Palin look like a legit choice for the 2nd highest office in the country is making the lamp post outside my window dizzy. I can't imagine that any sane person would actually trust the country to a person with no real experience if something were to happen to McCain, a man who has had melanoma four times and who would be 73 years old at the time of his theoretical inauguration. It's crazy, but then again so are Southerners. And residents of the Midwest. Fuck.

Now I know what you may be saying: Biden is from Delaware and they only have 3 electoral votes. Why are you being such a prick just because Palin is from a who-gives-a-flying-fuck state? Two reasons: first, fuck you; don't interrupt me again. Second, because Biden carries a reputation with him; a reputation of foreign policy experience, of fighting for women who are victims of violence, of leading the way in his home state for fostering new energies to be produced and researched. People know who Joe Biden is; they know what they're getting when they vote for him.

What are you getting with Palin? A woman who was mayor of a town with less people than I lived with in the Central section of UMass, and still managed to leave it with a $27,000,000 deficit when she became governor. A woman who became governor of a state whose entire population is a mere 70,000 people less than the number living in the CITY OF BOSTON. A woman who demands that only abstinence be taught in classrooms but can't even teach that same lesson to her own daughter. A woman who fired Alaska's public safety commissioner because he wouldn't fire her sister's ex-husband after a bitter divorce and custody battle, which the ex won. A woman who still believes that God told Bush to wage the War on Terror.

Hypocrisy, crony-ism, mismanagement of funds, religious zeal...wow, she IS the ideal GOP candidate. But she was also a terrible choice for McCain to make, especially when his first priority should have been to pick someone with economic, environmental, and civil rights experience...all are areas in which John McCain is severely lacking in the experience department. Those hoping that Palin will "learn on the job" are deluding themselves. America isn't Burger King; you can't do fries before you've mopped floors. You can't learn on the fly because no one will take you seriously. Even Palin says that whoever takes office needs to be prepared for anything:

"My fellow citizens, the American presidency is not supposed to be a journey of 'personal discovery.' This world of threats and dangers is not just a community, and it doesn't just need an organizer." - Sarah Palin, September 3, 2008

Well said, Governor Palin. Those without experience in the areas of national and international affairs, as well as the workings of Washington politics, should not be running for a job that entails that exact experience.

"The American presidency is not supposed to be a journey of 'personal discovery'."

Those are her words; will she heed them?