GI Joe Vs. The Pr0n

Sitting at Tully's in downtown Pleasanton on Thanksgiving at Noon. Family went on a hike, but I felt like more coffee and more iPod. Some playlists just fit the moment and you need to isolate yourself and look around at your surroundings with a soundtrack. I knocked out the Benzedrine playlist this morning that felt like open heart surgery the way it just pulled out all the stitches that hold it together, but it's healthy to open wounds every once in a while so that you can apply more scar tissue on top of it.

So, today's story is another chapter in the randomness that is my life. I was doing laundry the other night and my neighbor said, "Hey, I opened my DVD player and the DVD of G.I. Joe was in the player, but I returned the movie like three weeks ago. Blockbuster never called or anything and I couldn't figure out why, but I think I know what happened..."

Here's what happened. I loan my rapy neighbor tons of movies all the time as I'm the resident pirate and also just have a shit ton of movies laying around that are of his taste. So, he had his Vegas girlfriend in town and I loaned them a stack of DVDs. Apparently, there was a porn DVD in the stack. I figured this out when I heard them watching it while I was on my porch.

Now, here is the thing about porn. You don't ever loan porn to someone. You give porn to people under the guise of loaning it to them. There are a couple of reasons. If somebody truly appreciates porn and doesn't find it shameful, they just fucking buy it for themselves. If they like it, but are a little up tight, they borrow it...and never give it back.

As part of my accepting growing up phase last year, I threw a bunch of it away, but have since also been like Johnny Pornoseed and have been doling it out to those in need. It never comes back. One dude has had New Wave Hookers 5 for like 5 years. He's gotten married since he borrowed it. It's not coming back, which is fine because there is a weird porno clown scene in it that is just frightening. So, it's a win-win. Someone gets porn and I get rid of it.

Anyway, so rapy neighbor has a porn DVD for a while. He rents G.I. Joe and some other shit and then returns the movies. Unknowingly, he put the porn inside the G.I. Joe case and returned the movie. So, some dude checking in DVDs at Blockbuster just got some porn returned and no fucking duh you didn't get a call about it. Shit like that tends to fall through the cracks and go unmentioned.

Sadly, if you've seen G.I. Joe, I think the neighbor came out on the shit end of that stick because the porn that he had had more artistic merit than G.I. Joe by far and even a more fluid storyline. Now, that's just fuckin' sad.

Bite Me

Here's a typical Hugh moment. The end was me staring down at a dude's face bloodied up pretty good in a doorway. I reached down and checked his pulse and he twitched. The twitch is the difference between a cab and an ambulance. A couple of dudes then grabbed him and threw him in a cab. I grabbed a girl that was somehow involved in the scuffle and removed her from the situation while she called her mom for a ride home. During the call she looked down at my hand and said, "Oh my god. Your hand is bleeding all over the place."

The bartender looked at me and said "Stick your hand out." He then poured a couple of shots of 151 on it as I said, "That's really all right. I think I'll just put some Neosporin on it when I get home." That was my manbite.

Somehow in the process of being a misguided boy scout, I managed to get my hand bit by a human. Who the fuck bites people? That's got to be a last resort like twenty steps below kicking someone in the balls and the classic throat punch. They are dirty, but incredibly effective in some situations just like jeans that haven't been washed for a week.

I'm still not sure about what happened, but heard that someone may have thrown a drink in a girl's face. Cliched, but still unacceptable. Still, there is no excuse for my involvement in something like that. It was all very instinctual, in my defense, but I should've been home in bed and not being bitten.

Land of the Free. Home of the Grave.

Fuck, man. I went straight Obi-Wan Weekend last weekend. Performed a year's worth of introspection as I tried to distract myself from doing a state of a personal union speech as an internal monologue all weekend. Weakly, I fell into slight self-medicating Friday night. That equals ten beers while trying to beat Guitar Hero: Van Halen on bass. It wasn't so bad, but I Saturday morning quarterbacked myself pretty brutally for doing it. It's severe weakness of character and was a result of a recent dust up over an A-Team like crime that I didn't commit and light rejection. People are not going to like me and that's all right. I need to accept that. That is starting to become very apparent.

The main problem is that, at this point, I feel like a guy running through Bridgetown who is clearly on fire again. I'm getting lonely, yet introverted. I don't want to be around anyone. I just want to sit home and stew. I decided Saturday that I wouldn't drink for the rest of the weekend as it made my mind turn on me. Saturday was Halloween and as I caught up with my DVR and pounded ginger ale, I had this thought. I'm absolutely free. Lonely, but free.

Isn't freedom what we all want? Shouldn't I be happy that I can do anything at any moment in time? On a dime, I can jump on my bike and drink myself into the clouds with the only consequence being the occasional drunk text or off hand remark that ruins everything. Or, I can just sit in my sweats and watch the sun move slowly across the sky until it's dark and then realize that I've done nothing, but effectively melt away a day like a Bond villain with some piece of super science time bending machine.

My two points of human interaction were my buddy Warnervon dropping by to give me a new xbox game for us to play together and dropping off the Bakersfield Raccoons at a club for Halloween. That's right, bitches. HughVoltage as your sober driver pseudotaxi on Halloween. They invited me, but I was in no mood for social interaction, although, painfully lonely. I just didn't know of anyone eligible that I wanted to be around. Everyone that I wanted to be around was simply not an option. So, I sat there with Halloween candy for costumed kids that would never show. I did, however, grab my neighbor kid Sunday afternoon and give him all the candy I had in my Halloween Pumkinhead. The little dude was stoked.

Sunday was xboxing, football watching, grocery store and light chores. The apartment is clean. Very clean, but I'm starting to see areas for drastic change and reorganization. I need to just pick up and leave the apartment, but moving is such a bitch.

Sunday morning was filled with the cacophonic symphony of variations of "Fuck" heard from the Raccoons lair. Duh. Tons of boozing plus Halloween lead to these things. I had made the right move by staying in to stew no matter how lonely I was feeling. I've been what some people would deem phenomenally successful on Halloween in the past, but these are only successes to married men. They were pretty awesome, but not real healthy and I'm still convinced that two of them have been caught on closed circuit cameras somewhere. Wait, I just realized that there is a theme of waking up in hotels involved with them. That and strangers in costume. What a fuckin' mess. So, yeah, this Halloween, I didn't wake up in a hotel room with a relative stranger or strangers. I'm checking the success box on Halloween '09.

So, I'm cutting off the therapy tomorrow to save some money and hunkering down for the war in front of me. I'm at ground zero. I look at my phone to call someone when I'm like this and then just put it away because I have no one to say anything to. The upside to everything is that a) I'm totally free to do whatever I want and b) Something rad is bound to happen if I just sit tight, don't do anything stupid and ride it out.

To be completely honest, it's painful, but I think there was some necessary social cleansing that took place and once it takes I will have an opportunity to improve my immediate surroundings. I lay in bed last night with my first bout of insomnia in weeks and went down the list of companions for the last three years or so and I've made some horrible choices and have made a career of jamming square pegs into round holes expecting something miraculous to happen. It doesn't. Time to take everything at face value and quit making excuses for everyone. It's not that I don't play well with others. It's that they don't play well with me and fuck them. I'm taking my toys and getting out of the toxic sandbox even though it's my fault for being in there in the first place.

This wasn't meant to be a big fuck you. It's meant to be a big thank you. A thank you to Kismet for punching me in the face until I could see again. Time to man up and quit taking this so fuckin' seriously and also drop this sensitive bullshit in lieu of self-preservation. Fuck empathy for now until someone or something presents a reason. Time to take life for what it is and not what it is not. That's freedom. I'm a goddamn patriot.

Letter From The Office Of Can't Win

So, after a phone call and some e-mails calling me at least four kinds of fucker, I've slept on it and have come to a conclusion. I've done nothing wrong, but I still lose...kinda.

Here's the situation that happened as far as I understand while keeping everyone anonymous. Individual A committed action 1 which irked Individual B. Individual B ran it by Individual Me and I told them to just let things work themselves out and it really shouldn't be an irkabling situation. Action 1 took place which led to Action 2 by Individual B which resulted in talking to Individual Me about it.

Two weeks go by and gnarly phone call (action 3 takes place) and I'm accused of telling someone (Individual X because I have no idea who it is) about Individual A's actions which then lead to Individual B telling me, which then lead to Individual Me being an asshole.

A1 = B
B + ME = A2
ME + A2 + X = A3
B + ME + A3 = B(Asshole)

By the way, I've gone through credit card charges and I have no idea when and where this could have possibly happened and wouldn't put some brilliant Melrose Place conspiracy out of contention, but then when I even pondered that, I lost interest in the whole thing and just felt dirty for even considering it a possibility. I think it may actually be one, though, judging by recent historical events paired with clandestine bathroom meetings and subterfuge that have taken place. It's like being in a fucking Cold War with all the spying and misdirection going on. Then again, it could have possibly been an offhanded comment in a blackout, but there was only one of those and the worst thing that happened was that I think I have a stripper's phone number in my phone.

I felt bad about it for a day and then retraced everything back to action 1. I didn't do anything besides try and be supportive to Individual B, however, go back and try to figure out that chain of events. Honestly, if I was quizzed about action 1 and action 2, I don't really even remember any details and to be able to relay that to someone else boggles my mind.

At this point, you are totally as lost as I am, but in a nutshell, I've been accused of saying something about someone's actual actions. Dude, if I say something shitty about someone or do something stupid, I'll be the first guy in line to beat myself up about it and totally take responsibility for it, but I've got nothing on this one.

If you beat up a hobo and I watched it and someone asked me if I saw you recently and I replied that I saw you beat up a hobo, am I an asshole for beating up the hobo? Fuck, I need a team of lawyers to figure this one out.

There is a silver lining to it, though. I've gone back and retraced my steps like a guy who lost his keys and have come to the conclusion that I don't do this He Said, She Said shit. I've tried to find instances in the recent past as a starting point to figure out what to do and I've got nothing. I do know that I've dealt with it more in the last six weeks than I have since high school and I'm way too old for it.

I don't understand the toxicity in people and I do worry about catching it. If you put your toe in a public swimming pool, you are more than likely going to to get pee on it. Fuck, somehow, even when you walk away from the pool, you can still get pee water splashed on you from inside the pool. The message? Don't stand near a pool unless you want to get pee on you.

So, I'll take one for the team, but I prefer being called an asshole for being an asshole. This time, however, it's the path of least resistance and that is definitely in the other direction of the pool.

Take this for an example, you've been walking through the desert for like two days and you come upon two baskets. In the basket on the left there is nothing in it. In the one on the right there is a giant bottle of ice cold water and a snake. Take my advice, if you are going to put your hand in anything, put it in the empty basket. Better to not risk getting bit and remaining thirsty than to take a chance of getting a snakebite and a drink of water and called an asshole. Snakes will totally call you an asshole. Pro tip. It's in the bible. I've never really read it, but I know there is a snake in there somewhere near the beginning. If snakes were rad then Indiana Jones would like them. He doesn't because he probably read the bible. Or, he got lost in the desert and reached into the wrong fuckin' basket and got called an asshole and bit by a snake.

Up next is the mating habits of the Bakersfield raccoons that have taken up residence outside my front door. So far I've got this. They watch a lot of movies and then between them they straddle each other on the front porch while listening to country music too loud. They also make the sounds of a raping at a petting zoo that can be heard outside of the apartment.

Yeah, from the outside it looks like true love, but upon further inspection there is something incredibly dysfunctional that you can't quite put your finger on. Perhaps it's the Orange Crush and plastic bottle vodka that one of them offered you. Perhaps it's the way one of them walks up to your screen door and shakes her fake boobs at you while you are closing up a 13 hour work day on your couch. I should probably have an answer in the very near future and in the meantime will just involuntarily observe the mating habits of the Bakersfield raccoons in love.

Addendum: There was an incident in July that was some He Said, She Said stuff that I was involved in. I'll take that one.

A Man A Plan A Shower Grenade

Never let it be said that I didn't have a plan from the get go. Miserable failures and unlikely awesomenesses are all part of the game, but there is always a plan whether I'm aware of it or not. Usually it's the latter.

So, here's the plan. Socks with magnets in the toes so that when you are watching porn and sorting your laundry (carrot and stick), it's easier to pair them. Why hasn't this been done? Instead, sock manufacturers have devoted time to creating new shades of black ranging from army black to navy black and 36,000 different fabric textures.

It's like playing fucking Memory once you've accumulated enough work socks. You pull them outside in and then lay them out on your bed. After you've hung your pants and shirts up and put your underwear away, there it is: 36 completely different socks. You start top left of your sock grid and start comparing one to the other 35 until you find a suitable match. My ex was horrible at this game and often I'd find myself in a lower calf work sock and a lower knee work sock working in tandem with each other. It was horribly uncomfortable. Yeah, me. I do my own laundry now.

I've tried to buy one brand and it didn't work. I could never find the same socks again. They change from season to season or from store to store. I've seen my step brother safety pin matching pairs together and thought it was crazy, but he might've been on to something...if he had used magnets. This is why I'm the family genius. I haven't come up with a solid solution to this outside of magnets, though. Okay, I'm like the family shitty genius.

Next plan. Shower grenade. It started with a daily shower wash and then it evolved into this. It's the Scrubbing Bubbles Automatic Shower Cleaner For the Hopelessly Fat and Lazy Consumer crowd. It's pretty much a fucking sprinkler for your shower. So, my ex got me to buy into the daily spray and I'll admit that it has lessened the time spent shower scrubbing, but a whirling soap siren is a little much I think. I do, however, think that cleaning the shower and related bathroom receptacles should be more fun, so I propose the HughVoltage Weekly Bathroom Grenade.

Here's how it works. Once a week you pull out your bathroom grenade and pull the cleaning pin out of the device. Let's say Friday morning before work. Toss that fucker into the bathroom and go to work. At the end of the day you will return home and bask in the explosive cleanliness of your bathroom. No paper towel mess. No streaks on the mirror. Just an explosion of cleanliness. If this pans out, the HughVoltage Weekly Living Room Grenade would be next. Oh, also, do not eat the HughVoltage Weekly Bathroom Grenade like ice cream. It is not astronaut ice cream.

Fuck, maybe I just need a maid or a butler. Waiting on the butler until I start fighting crime at night. So, I'll have to stick with the maid for now.

Actually, maybe I'll just get a plant.

Corey Feldman Was Awesome In Dream A Little Dream

Okay. Gonna get a bit weird for a second. Last Friday, I made the trek to the old hood for my stepdad's birthday. My stepsister and her husband were in town, so we had a small dinner with my grandparents and my sister from LA.

The drive was horrible and traffic laden, but I was feeling really good about stuff. The physical therapist had gone silent since the date on Thursday, but I was totally cool with it. Sometimes people just don't click. I thought it actually went pretty well, but I did inform her that I was operating way out of my comfort zone as I could not find one hangup about her. There was absolutely no dysfunction with her and there was nothing to "fix." Basically, I had never experienced it before and was lost. It felt like wearing one wet sock. Hmmm. Maybe that was it. Whatever, I was being myself and if she had an issue with that then it is what it is. As a consolation prize, one of the waitresses on the way out asked me where the last girl I was with was and I told her that she broke up with me for her ex. The waitress then told me that she had a boyfriend, but I should really have her number and she put it into my phone. Why do I ever even bother trying to understand people or their motives?

So, anyway, got to dinner and then about twenty minutes into it I just got this wave of bad vibe. It was like when Obi-Wan sensed the destruction of Alderaan. It was as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I feared something terrible had happened...or was about to.

I went to the bar that my sister works at with my stepdad and got mortified by the town that I grew up in. It was absolutely frightening, the combination of cougars and dudes with grey chest hair escaping their hopeless Tommy Bahama shirts. The apparel had no chance of holding that shit back. We bounced after one beer and one horrible cover of Panama by Van Hagar. Van Hagar? Yes, because the dude couldn't sing it David Lee Roth style to save his life.

We got home and drank 80% of a bottle of Glenlivet with my brother-in-law who is a naval pilot. He's good people. I fell asleep that night to the sound of the freeway through the window. I find it somehow calming and it reminds me of being a kid and growing up in that house. Simpler times.

So, the next morning at 7:00 AM, I got up and my little sister told me that my other sister had broken up with her career boyfriend at 2:00 AM that morning. For a second, I felt I had had a premonition the night before, but I don't believe in that crap. The family went into red alert. We'd been through this before so many times. We're a family that gets punched in the heart habitually. You'd think we'd learn. It probably explains why we are all so funny. Humor is our only hope of dealing with the horrific shit that we are always dealing with. A tribe of sad clowns.

So, I jumped on some baby shower tasks with my coffee run that morning. One of which was getting an out of season watermelon. That shit was like $16, but was the prized task of the morning. I got back to the house and then ran my 15 year old sister to the salon to get her nails done for homecoming. I then realized that I was three years older than my mom was when I was 15 and going to homecoming. That was creepy. I followed that with casing a house that had a lawn jockey in the front yard that I wanted to steal. The garage door was open and my attempt was foiled. Next time, though, I will come both correct and prepared for the theft in the name of anti-bigotry.

I got back home from the errands and my sister showed up. She got three steps out of her car and lost her shit. My heart broke for her. We sat down in the back yard for a bit and talked stuff through. It's a horrible thing that she's going through and I know it all too well. She left before the weird grandma could get to the party and accost her via passages from the Book of Mormon. It was a smart move.

I had had enough of the shower at one point and bailed back home to meet friends and watch football. Cue the shit show. After a bevy of Robert Palmers we went to sushi. I was housed. We then got dropped off at one of the shittiest strip clubs known to man by my friend's wife. I grabbed a cab from there and went back downtown to meet the waitress from the bar at another bar. This is the part where if I was sober I would have asked myself "If I am so unhappy in the hole that I'm in, why do I keep digging down?" I would then toss the shovel and start screaming for help.

I knew that it was a waste of time. I knew that it was wrong, but my feet kept taking me in that direction. Regardless, there was nothing done wrong and I went home after hanging out briefly.

Sunday was a wash while wearing sweatpants and catching up with the DVR. It was actually fairly relaxing after a nutty Saturday. Everything still felt okay. I realized I shouldn't be unhappy about what I don't have and instead should direct my happiness towards what I do have. I'm the rebound guy. I'm who girls turn to when their boyfriend or husband is a dick. That's my role. I'm not going to savor it, but I'll be okay with it until somebody decides to stick around for a bit. There is just one problem. I'm always waiting for the next one to pick up and split. They always do.

So, this morning, mental debris has just kind of been tugging on the back of my brain. There is a tinge of anxiety. A tinge of dizziness. A lack of concentration with a side of notivation. Finally, I'm experiencing what I'll refer to as self-estorm issues. It's a lack of calmness in regards to how I feel about myself. I'm totally cool with myself. I have nice shoes on and a full head of hair, but I still am having issues accepting my situation as happy this morning. There is the residual tug from what my sister's going through. There is leftover brain sludge from visiting home. There is a general malcontent with being alone. There are just some things that I want that I can't have: lightsaber, monkey, a counterpart who cares. For now, I've got absolute freedom and complete unaccountability to anyone. I'm living some peoples' dream, I just wish it was mine.

The Chronicles of Normia

So, last night, I took the pill and jumped down the rabbit hole. My feet were definitely dragging, but I knew I had to try going out with my physical therapist for at least my family and friends sake. Plus, she asked nicely. The girl is a physical therapist who tutors high school kids in Algebra in her free time from work. She is the female equivalent of a boy scout in heels. She likes to cook, loves her parents and is well versed in pop culture. It's absolutely frightening for me. I don't do the traditional date thing. This was more like a job interview.

So, I met her at her work downtown and we just walked a few blocks to a place that had the baseball game on and wasn't too loud that had good food. We were not going out to party. The girl weighs 85 pounds and can't do more than one drink. It's good on my credit card, that's for sure.

We talked about whatever for a bit and then we hit the elephant in the room. After our second date about 8 months ago I was convinced that she didn't like me because she yawned while we were hanging out. Apparently, she is an insomniac, too. We share a similar non-sleeping pattern. She has a pharmacological background, though, so she knew a thing or two about pill cocktails that she shared in the event that I ever want to go that route. She then explained to me that after we hung out she had a bout of disillusionment with her place in life and was going to pick up and leave California because she missed her social network in Philadelphia and just kind of withdrew. It's funny because after I hung out with her I realized I had a ton of hangups and rushed my head to therapy to get repaired. So, that was kind of eye opening. Then, she called me out when I yawned. Irony.

So, we watched the ball game and she actually called both home runs in the game as the batter came up to bat. It was freaky. This is definitely different than I'm used to, though. I'm used to reckless abandon and tragic romance. In this case, it's two kids with walls up against each other trying to figure out if they can trust the other person and I think I actually intimidate her, but she made two Aldous Huxley references and followed that up with an Ayn Rand Atlas Shrugged reference, which is awesome. She is well read. If she makes a Pynchon reference I'll be amazed.

We had dinner and then chased a beer with water while the game finished out and I walked her to her car and gave her a hug goodnight. She said she wanted to hang out again next week. I said "No problem. That would be good" and then went home to catch hell for it. That's none of anyone's business, though.

So, drinking the Kool-Aid of the Bed, Bath and Beyond set. Trying to live how the other half lives, but it seems kind of healthy. Not fun, but healthy. Is this giving up or growing up? Is normalcy okay for me? I'm severely conflicted by the whole thing and definitely have some cobwebs lingering from very recent wounds. The jury is definitely out on this one, but I'm doing my best. I feel like a guy staring at the menu who knows that a salad is better for him, but that steak looks pretty fuckin' good even if it's going to wreck my heart, but everyone knows that a fool thinks he can have his cake and eat it, too. Sometimes, though, it's good enough just to have the cake and not eat it. Sometimes. A steak every once in a while is fine, too, by the way.

Must Love Dogs

I got my second night of decent sleep in a row last night. I blame two Amstel Lights and some pasta, but it was much better sleep than lately. I had really peculiar dreams, though.

I woke up from one of them around Midnight or One because it was disturbing me pretty bad. I was hanging out with my sister's dog, who I love to death, and it kept biting my hand. Then, it started biting my leg and I kept looking down at it and saying, "I love you to death, Charlie" and then would remove its mouth from my hand or arm or leg or wherever the dog was clamped down. I then punched it in the nose and it stopped, but my sister got superpissed and quit talking to me. Like it wasn't the dog who was doing the wrong thing, but me. Hmmm. Sat and thought about that one for a bit last night.

Can you imagine if people were like dogs? Walking around pissing on trees, marking their territory as they went? That world would be insane.

The other dream was just of a party that I was at where a girl that I knew wasn't talking to me and in turn convincing dudes with tribal armband tattoos that I had done something bad to her. I woke up when they all were pummeling me for crimes I didn't commit like the A-Team. Weird night.

Ballad of the "Hey, How Are Ya?" Guy

It seems so simple. A look from a relative stranger expresses acknowledgment of your face and you say instinctively "Hey, how are ya?" Honestly, you could give a fuck, but it seems like the right thing to say. They say "Good," "Fine" or whatever and then they say back "How are you?" and you boldface lie to them with a "Great."

Your stomach's in knots. Your heart hurts. Your head hurts. You're exhausted and your hands have been shaking for weeks to the point that you think you have MS. All of this shit and you just lie to them. You are a liar for the benefit of others.

On the other hand, they could be doing the same. When is the day when we can all drop the charade and just share our real feelings with each other? Good ones will eventually happen. I had them for a couple of months recently and the "Great" was really great. It wasn't bullshit, but it was fleeting.

So, now, I'm looking at others who tell me they are doing "Good" a little suspectly. They could be bullshitting me and going through the same stuff that I am and we'll never know. We could help each other and talk about things, but we just hide our secrets behind cordial pleasantries. They could be going home and staring at a bottle of meds while they pet their cat named after their high school sweetheart and watch Moonlighting reruns on DVD while eating a tasteless Lean Cuisine at night and planning their escape. They could be going home to a man with a shirt with his name on it who calls them a "cunt" and hits them as he gets ready to go to bed underneath his handlebar moustache and a stench of whiskey.

Where am I going with this? There are horrible people out there doing horrible things to people and these people just keep walking through life faking it. Faking a smile. Laughing nervously as if someone might figure them out if they don't laugh. So, they look at you and say "Good." It's a protection mechanism sometimes. It's a wall. As long as everyone is good, everything will be fine.

Now, don't get me wrong, it's not all darkness. I've seen good in the world. I've seen people that say "Good" and I know it's the truth. These people intimidate me because I feel like we are on different teams. Or, I feel like they've reached some unattainable level of self-awareness that has to be cut with ignorance to be truly reached. Like if they were really aware of the things that I was, there would be no way that they could be happy. I'm really hoping that someday, however, I'm going to relate to these people. I want to be one of these people. I want to mean it when I lie to you.

I have to be wrong on this and "good" has to be real. God, I hope I'm wrong, but in the meantime I'll just be "great."

By the way, I don't have a cat and don't eat Lean Cuisines. Everything is fine and manageable. It's everyone else that I worry about.

Just Once

Last night, I did everything right...almost. I had a salad when I got home from work and then worked for a bit while I watched House. I'm still trying to figure out why my mother is always saying that he reminds her of me. No limp. No beard. No pills, but Mom sees the world just a little different than the rest of you.

I was working the whole time until about 9:30, which is close to bed time for me and headed off to bed. I was stoked because I was getting to bed early and was going to get a gang of sleep after like a 14 hour day. SPOILER ALERT: It didn't happen.

I'll be frank. I dropped off the radar because I fell and skinned my knee, figuratively. She really made me happy, though. I took it a little hard. Not as hard as I've ever taken it, but a little hard. (Insert that's what she said or gay joke right here.) Still aches a bit, but that's how second place feels. Actually, it feels more like Al Gore must have felt. I feel like I may have actually won the election, but someone else gets to be President and I would've been a better one and Sean Penn would probably agree. See? Exactly like Al Gore.

Anyway, I was exhausted and relatively at peace and should have fallen right asleep, but nothing. Almost had it a couple of times, but my mind was just bouncing from subject to subject and thinking about it too much. It went through the girl situation a few times, how I've gotta move, how I've gotta buy a new car, get some new shoes, get a haircut, get back to the gym, eat better, why is that lump on my head not going away and why does it hurt, vacuum, clean my apartment, take out the garbage, get up and go to work in the morning....This is how it works. It's like a fucking Bing commercial.

So, I read somewhere that if you try for an hour and can't sleep, you should get out of bed and smoke. Well, it said you should get out of bed and the smoking part I kind of added, but sometimes it works. I sat down and turned the TV on and ate a handful of trail mix while I stressed about all of the sleeping opportunity I was missing out on. Then, I realized that I had "Just Once" by James Ingram from Quincy Jones' The Dude stuck in my head. Not the worst thing to get stuck in your head, but still. On top of that, I was watching the season premiere of Girls Next Door. This lasted about four minutes before I switched it to the news for a second and then tried to sleep again.

Here's the new pattern: sleep for two hours and then wake up for a half hour and then sleep for two hours, etc. I FUCK(intentional space for emphasis) ING hate it. I've tried Tylenol PM. Mom says smoke weed. Some dude said masturbate...how in the hell would that make you sleep unless you were super out of touch with yourself? Coltrane used to work. White noise used to work. The last thing to work was a stuffed hippo and someone to spoon. That was the last time in two years that I've slept in until 10:00 AM.

Could that really be it? Could I be having problems sleeping alone again? That's dangerous. That's how you get into some trouble just so that you don't have to be alone. That's what we no longer want to get into because some mistakes get made that way. Awkward mornings and beds also get made, though. The bed part is nice.

So, anyway. I thought I had this last thing locked down and thought I was pointed in the right direction, but I think I've still got some slivers from the stake that got jammed in my chest or back depending on which angle you look at it from. It's all good. I'm taking it for what it is, but it's like getting gum on your shoe. It's never fully gone no matter how hard you try and remove it. David Roth, my problems have become gum on shoes. This would never happen to DJ Reggie. (wink wink)

Next up is blatant retardation in the workplace. I went back to my normal desk this morning as I've been on a project that is killing me more than cigarettes could ever try to and wanted to get back to my stuff. I walked into the office and it was completely dark. Now, I'm down with sustainability, but that's stupid.

"Hey, I love Abraham Lincoln, but where's the light switch? I'm not working by candle light."

A girl said, "Oh, we had the lights changed yesterday and they are too bright so we're not turning them on."

I replied, "I'm turning on the goddamn lights and if the water bottle is empty and the coffee is not made, I swear to god, I'm gonna fucking lose it."

She just snapped back, "You are the fucking office diva."

What? Coffee, water, light? I'm not asking for stock options, free lunch or free It's-It's. Just the fucking basics. A Sharpie. An Avery Hi-Liter. A black Uni-Ball deluxe pen. Post-Its and a ruler. Just basic items.

So, the electrician came over and literally said this, "Oh, so you are going to need to turn them on now that it's dark?"

I replied, "Dude, they are lights. You don't need them when it's light out. It's nice that they hang there, but if they are not going to light the room, you might as well yank 'em out. It's like a flashlight with no batteries. Those are called sticks."

Seriously, dude?!?!?!? Think about it. Yes, lamps are for light. Yes, they will be needed when it is the opposite of light as they are there to compensate for the absence of light. This is basic luminal philosophy. So, there you are. Bees in the bonnet by 9:30 AM with no sleep and a jilted chip on my shoulder. Look out motherfuckers.

Seriously?!

Last weekend was a disaster. Lost my phone and recovered it in some lady's mailbox. Lost my glasses. Self-medicated, etc...

Then, after a night of no sleep over a twelve hour period of trying, I opened up my inbox and the physical therapist who I had a miserable second date with awhile back emailed me to ask me out after I bumped into her at my physical therapy appointment. Actually, my new therapist and her were pointing at my shoulder and going, "watch what his shoulder blade does right there." The balls on her. I've become a test case at physical therapy and I guess the awkwardness was all in my head. This was pre-mental therapy mind you.

My only concern is her lack of red flags. She is tiny, cute, smart, and has nothing to fix or save. Is that anything I should be interested in? Can I handle normalcy over lunacy? Can I shake the dust off and put my head back together? So many questions with worthless answers these days.

Whuddadik?

Just to prove to myself that I was still relevant, I got the untouchable bartender's number last night. And her last name. I saw it in my phone today. I'm still too distracted by the last girl to possibly have any connection with her, but she's stupid hot. I was in trainwreck mode and still pulled it off, which proves that I can do it on autopilot. Autopilot is going to be the main mode from here on out. I don't want to be with her, I want to be with someone else, but if I can take her away from everyone else, I win. It's the difference between an emotional connection and a physical connection. Also, I'm a dick at heart.

I'm naive and stupid thinking that the last girl was the be all end all. I've had the be all end all a couple of times and survived, but goddammit this last one was awesome. She made me laugh. She made me feel. And, I could see it in her eyes that she adored me, but in the end, none of it was enough. Trying to let go and face the music, but it's just very bitter medicine.

On a medicinal note, I went to what used to be Long's yesterday because they called and told me I had a prescription to pick up. I wasn't aware of one, so I showed up and bought it out of curiosity. The warning on the bottle said "Consult a physician if you experience fear or anxiety." Yeah, dude, I'll skip that. After further inspection, I figured out it was Welbutrin. Apparently, I'm still on it. I gave the last bottle to my rapy neighbor after he cried into a vodka gimlet at 7:00 AM. My therapist asked me not to take it as I was making progress being in touch with my feelings. That worked out fuckin' well. He told me I was ready to have an adult relationship and that just fucking blew up in my face. I was so much better when I was unavailable and inintimate. Regardless, I'm debating on giving the bottle to my neighbor to keep him less rapy, but that's just starting a vicious cycle where I carry a prescription for him. Oh, shit. He never gave me back my ice tray that I loaned him. Whuddadik?

Grand Finally

So, I still have my bouts of insomnia, but managed to pull some sleep together last night with only one minor incident. I'm off the Tylenol PM (pills are bad for me) and managed to fall asleep fairly peacefully, but woke up at midnight from a horrible nightmare where all I remember is that someone was drilling through my fingertips with a cordless drill. It felt real and as I woke up from it my body was tensing like it really happened. It was a little bit weird.

Right then, when I started realizing everything was okay, my phone buzzed and it was a text that said "Can't sleep. Is it past your bedtime?"

Of course, it was. I go to bed when children and old people do most nights. I also get up with the rest of the cocks. Totally unnecessary poultry joke there. It was an ex who is married now and I texted back for a little bit and said goodnight and then all the bad (mildly bad, really) stuff started flooding in and I had to sit there and process it all so that my brain would shut the fuck up.

For the best. Better off. These are fun collections of words that manifest themselves as velvet daggers. They are meant to make you feel better, but ultimately just pull your stitches out. There is definitely an ideal situation that would be for the best and leave me better off, but it's not this one. The situation would involve having someone who cared about me in my life and in turn, having someone to care about. I had those things for a brief moment. Now, I'm getting back to my old routine and withdrawing, eating healthy, going to bed early, but I feel lonely and lost.

I'm fine. I'm better off than a lot of people are, but there has got to be something more than this for me. I'm finally not being retarded. I'm finally not being self-destructive. I'm finally caring about myself, which by the way, makes one feel incredibly vulnerable. I won't be jumping off of a moving car any time soon unless this goes away. I'm finally at a place where I could actually be good for someone and then when I got a chance at it, it got yanked away. Classic case of up for grabs, down for keeps. Never really understood that game when I was 8 and still am being left flustered and disappointed by it.

I could sit here and say that I preferred disaster and disappointment when it was my fault because it seemed almost controllable in a way, but I don't feel that way. I honestly believe that it's worth it to be "good" and that often there is nothing given in return for being "good," but it's worth it just for the piece of mind. I do, however, feel a little bit ripped off by some elements of the world at the moment. Life can feel like a big rip off at times.

One Night In Somnia

There is an awesome thing happening. I no longer fear the need to self-medicate in times of great stress and anxiety. Huge step forward. It's a bitch to actually ride out the things that are stressing you out or driving screws into your head while you try to sleep at night, but it's the healthy way to process changes in life. Or, so I'm told. The old way was to numb up and bury things. No more. I take the arrows naked and alone now.

It's not easy. Last night I went to bed at 9:00 and laid in bed until 11:00 trying everything to put myself to sleep to no avail. Then, light shot in through my blinds from someone parking by my window and then a second later a neighbor started taking a shower and the pipes were keeping me up. Not knowing what else to do, I went and had a smoke on my patio and then popped two Tylenol PMs. Nothing. I finally fell asleep around 2:00 or 3:00. I took liberties and slept in until 7:00 and was a fucking straight up zombie in the morning. Nearly fell down in the shower, which would have fulfilled my fear of being found naked and alone in the shower with the water running after three days of my facebook status not being updated. Then, walked into my door and now am sitting here just feeling nauseous, but my cheeks aren't orange, so the liver is doing it's job with the Tylenol PMs. When I used to drink and use them, I'd turn orange. It was really weird.

The part about the whole thing that really bothers me is that I feel so weak when this happens. I'm constantly falling for the song of Sirens' and smashing my ship into the rocks and then having to build it in the bottle again, minus a bottle now. When my brain gets all scrambled, I have to stay sober and experience it now. It kinda sucks. The part that sucks the most is that it hurts. Why should it hurt? Why should I believe anyone when they say anything? A more logical approach applying to things that you can see and feel needs to be taken.

When someone looks at you and says "I love you," you need to be careful because they may be saying it to try to convince themselves that they do. I mean, fuck, if you say something enough, you can start to believe it. It's a selfish act and when said without meaning it, it just waters it down. It's not their fault. They probably just don't understand it either. It's just a fucking word. Now, this is the part where I admit that I know nothing about this stuff. In fact, I probably try to understand it too much and that's my windmill to chase. The smart man knows he knows nothing. The more he learns, the more he learns he doesn't know.

So, I understand what's happening and it'll take a day or two more to get everything processed and filed away and back to my routine, but in the meantime I feel like I'm clutching a number at the DMV and have about 200 more to go. This time was pretty good and I'm sad that it didn't work out and I totally fell for it, but sometimes shit just doesn't work out. Lucy is going to pull the ball or the joke will be dead. How much crap do you think Reese put into peanut butter before he got to chocolate? He never gave up, so why should I? Will probably withdraw for a little bit, though and go back to MeKends rather than DrinkEnds and calibrate back to zero. It's healthy. I'll get back up. I just want to lay here a little longer.

All's Well That Ends...

So this feels a bit selfish. I stop writing for months because things are going well. It's kind of unfair. Why not share the good times and the gut wrenchingly bad? Well, it's actually because when I'm having a good time there isn't a lot of time to write. On top of that, lately, I've been being a grown up and working nine plus hour days and don't have that much time.

The good news? I got a punch in the face again and need to write a little to hopefully kill all those butterflies that keep me up at night. I'm riding my first Tylenol PM hangover that I've had in a couple years as I try not to take them unless I'm completely out of ideas. Last night, after laying in bed for an hour and a half, I was out of ideas and took two. I usually only take one, but my brain would not stop chattering back with conclusion jumping, analysis, insecurity and attacks directed at myself. All I wanted was to sleep. Then, right when my arms went numb and the Tylenol PM was kicking in, my phone started blowing up with texts from the source of the butterflies.

Eventually, I did pass out, but woke up at 4:00 and then tossed and turned until 5:00 when I just gave up and laid there until 6:00 AM while fighting a toxic internal monologue.

Honestly, shit's not that bad and I've really built up a set of personal characteristics that have gotten flexed a lot in the last two months. It feels like a sparring partner with life at times, but I keep getting back up even if my nose is bleeding and my teeth are scattered about the floor. I feel stupid for doing it, but I promised my thereapist I would attempt to have adult relationships. Now, I feel that I'm playing my part well, but you can only control so much when involving a second party. Seriously, you can control two things in life: your TV and yourself. The rest is pretty much a crapshoot.

Yes, I go over and over it with my therapist that there is a plan and everything happens for a reason and I really believe it does, but even knowing that, a burn, whether planned or not, burns. Hurt hurts. Happiness is happy. All of these things happen in the pursuit of a life less complicated, but I'm learning to expect the unexpected and also it's a fucking bumpy ride to get there. Point B may be less complicated, but it's a really complicated process of putting the pieces together without getting hit in the back of the head with Karma's shovel.

So, yesterday sucked, but was manageable. There were just a couple unexpected situations. The first of the morning was an astronomical one and involved "space." As a child, I loved space. All the mysteries all the things that couldn't be understood because we, as people, just weren't prepared to understand them. So, while I know what space is and respect the need for it, sometimes I find it really hard to understand and can't help, but think there is an ulterior motive.

The other situation was expected, but not last night. The ignoring neighbor came over and apologized for being weird. I knew it was coming, but it was just weird timing to throw that on top of the mental stew that was brewing in my head all day. She is moving and told me about her new hobbies and conducted light conversation for about a half hour.

So, collected, there were two resolutions. One tepid and one cold, but resolve is resolve. All's well that ends.

The moral of the story is that you should plan for nothing and accept and adapt to anything. When the good happens, let it happen and enjoy it, but know that it may end at any moment. In fact, in may end in the moment. It doesn't mean you shouldn't participate in a game if you think you are going to lose. Shit. I play Halo and get beat by ten year olds, but I still play. It's fun. It puts the fun in losing. It's not whether you win or lose; It's that you have fun losing.

The List

I've been working on the list. I suppose it should be some kind of victory list, but it's become sad. The initial list of everyone I've ever slept with started out as a therapeutic tool of dealing with my past and hopefully, putting it to rest. Instead, it awoke a lot of buried memories. It sits on my desk written on the back of an envelope with my work healthcare benefits information inside. Every time I walk past it I remember another girl that I forgot about. The most recent was "Paralegal who said she didn't have a gag reflex (liar)" and another one "I think her name was Tina." We'll call her Trina to keep her anonymous.

She was the only blind date that I have ever gone on in my life. The first night we ever hung out we went downtown and shared some appetizers and cocktails. She had a good sense of humor and was cute and surprisingly, over 30. After two hours, she said "I've got to go meet friends in the city."

I thought this was her making an escape until she followed it up with, "I'd love for you to go with me."

I agreed to go. We went to the Elbo Room which was a bar from my youth. That place awakens so many memories, it's ridiculous. Being nineteen with a fake ID and listening to the best music on weeknights and then chasing it with a quesadilla suiza and two tacos al pastor from El Farolito at 3:00 AM. Driving home wasted and still feeling invincible. Not a care in the world, but a love of nice times and good music. I was there on my twenty first birthday and asked the bartender if I got a free drink and she said, "Dude. You've been coming here three nights a week for two years."

So, we got there and it was reggae night. The contact high was ridiculous. I met her friends and was charming and nice and really got along with everyone. She drove me home with a slight buzz and I didn't invite her in. I think I was kinda buying into it. She was just normal. I was looking for that at the time. We later talked about it and she said that she thought it was weird I didn't try anything and I told her it was because I respected her.

A week later I met her and her friends at a pub quiz night. I fuckin' rule at pub quiz. I drank too much and she gave me a ride to her house where I stayed for the night. We got along well. The next morning I showered and wore my yesterday clothes to work after she drove me to my car. The work of shame.

So, shit was good. She was mature. She was thin. She had good hair. She smelled nice. She adored me. I could feel it. She walked around in a silk robe in the morning and just glided around her room while I was slowly waking up and grabbing glimpses in between fighting seizing the day and ceasing the day.

The next time we hung out was at home with some of my friends. It started at a Mexican restaurant with a group of my friends where we created a temporary shortage of margaritas for the country of Mexico. I heard NAFTA had to change some tariff regulations to get it back to acceptable levels. We went to my home bar where I have CDs in the jukebox. We drank cocktails. I ingested horny goat weed from the vending machine in the ladies restroom and then we headed back to my apartment with everyone. It was a vortex of chaos.

At some point, I said something to her and she got pissed and walked out of the apartment. I looked at Pappy with my back to the front door and said "Fuck it, dude. That shit wasn't working out anyway. Let her fucking go."

Pappy was making a weird face. I thought he was going to puke. I turned around and she was standing behind me. She still stayed the night and we slept together, but any respect was gone for the way she let me talk about her. The whole act was more instinctual than passionate. It was almost a fucking reflex.

The last time we hung out was after the Super Bowl one year. It was pre-DUI so like an idiot, I drove to her place after the game. On the way there, my best friend since I was eight years old called me to tell me that he asked his girlfriend to marry him. I'm on a booty call and he's getting engaged to be married. Talk about fucking parallel, but fuck it. I got married first. Got divorced, too. A fucking relationship pioneer. Or, the Lewis & Clark of disappointment, perhaps.

Again, that night was reflexive. I felt empty the next morning, but still made out with her on the couch on my way out the door. I think she was really trying to make it work, too. I mean she shaved before every time we ever hung out. That says a lot to me. I knew in my heart, though, that this would never be it. I needed someone that would punch back and I was just going to leave footprints on her back if we tried to progress any further on this.

After that night, I dropped off her map. I got three drunk phone calls over the next week with her telling me, "You blew it. I was the best thing you will ever have. You have no idea what you are missing out on." I wished her well in all her endeavors and already had a short list of the best things I had ever had. She wasn't on there. She was merely my ticket to what I thought was normalcy. She was settling. I got defriended on facebook the next day. I now have three defriends. At this rate, hatebook could become a reality.

So, the list makes me reflect on shit like that. It's kind of good. It's kind of bad. In that situation I did the right thing, but feel bad for delivering the bitter pill to her. I tried to be as gentle as possible and would totally be comfortable if I bumped into her, but she is one of the few that carries ill will as an aftermath of us crashing into each other. I still carry feelings for about 60% of anyone that I've ever dated and even carry some feelings for a few of the one night stands. A few of those are still jump in front of a train for them strong. I don't know what that says about me. Fall too easy? Fall too fast? Or, is it all not even real and I just perceive it as falling. This is the stuff that keeps me up at night. The perils of honesty and wearing your heart on your sleeve. You get burned a lot, but you get to dance in the fire just as much. It's great in small bursts.

Hardly Gras

Just went and did the company picnic thing. It was on a Wednesday and they rolled it into the years of service ceremony and cancelled the cakewalk and the beer. There was still the three legged race and a guess how many Bellyflops in a jar contest, but it was just more depressing than morale inducing. Oh, I participated in the guess how many. I entered "7" as my guess and the lady looked at me like I was being a dick. I was.

It was a mardi gras theme and there was decent food, but not even a fuckin' free soda? They had kool-aid and ice water, seriously. It sparked memories of growing up Mormon and also evoked images of Jim Jones. Suddenly, I thought we were all going to die. I went with the ice water.

I looked around the picnic at all my co-workers and realized I didn't know most of them and wasn't friends with any of them except for a few. Aren't these things supposed to be happy? It was like going to an old Chuck E. Cheese with piss soaked carpet for your 21st birthday. Just disappointing. There is no morale at this point. I went with my cube mate and we were both having one of those days. Mine was because I got defriended on facebook by someone and the beat just goes on on that thing. I'm exasperated with it. Hers was with life in general. It was a lot of fuel for our pity fire.

This dude is making this long speech about a guy that has been with the department for 40 years and was "the mayor of this city that we have built." I had to comment on that to my lunchmates by saying, "And what did we build this city on? Rock and Roll, of course." Then, I looked at another co-worker who is just crazy and told one of the Directors beside me that someone should GPS her before she gets lost. Honestly, Island of Misfit Toys.

So, yeah, did my part and went to the picnic, but left real disappointed and wanted to be at a different place where I would like something like that. I hate feeling like this at work and used to try really hard to not get sucked into it, but this place is a stimulation dead zone. They should really do something about it. It's like a bad marriage at this point. I've been at places where it wasn't like that. Where I'd go to lunch with co-workers. Where we'd hang out afterwards. It really helps. I'm starting to really miss it and feel ground down.

Shall Not Covet Your Neighbor

Sunday morning came too early this weekend. I'm still not sleeping and woke up at 7:00 AM after going to bed around 2:00 AM after hanging out with friends from the soccer team. I had already been drinking a beerzooka with another group of friends that afternoon. It was all good, though. I went AWOL at some point in the night and took a cab home and threw a cooler off of my patio into the bushes. I'm starting to draw some lines in the sand with the neighbors and expressly said to not put the cooler on my porch ever again.

In the morning I was trying to go back to sleep by holding the pillow over my head, but it wasn't working and didn't matter as there was a knock on my door. Pappy and Warner were at my place. We kicked it and I showed Warner a list I was making of every person that I've ever slept with. I told him that there is this period where I can't remember anyone's name and so they have names like "Mexican Bo Peep," "Ginger Bo Peep," "Leather Pants Vampire" and "Four Piercings Below The Belt (but may have been named Arlene)." Then Warner gave me a ride to my car. I got the car home and all was well in the world. Watched Liverpool lose while trying to fall back asleep on the couch. Wasn't going to happen.

Around 2:00 PM I decided to be Johnny Palmerseed and go spread the love for the wondrous elixir that is a Robert Palmer. The Robert Palmer is an Arnold Palmer + Vodka + Peach Schnapps. Apparently, people are really ordering them now. It's become a totally legitimate order since being invented at the Portland airport by myself in honor of the love addicted British rocker, Robert Palmer. Sadly, it's only recognized by the few bartenders that I drink with, but it should make the Applebee's menu in about 6 months. It's delicious.

I bargained my way into a sixth on Sunday and introduced a cougar to them. She was a huge fan and thanked me for inventing it. They never thank you the day after, though. So, yeah, after six, I was a little trashed and ready to head home.

I biked home with the plan to order a pizza, watch a movie, and go to bed. It was a pretty solid Sunday plan. The pizza gets there. Life is good and my phone blows up. I'm expecting it to be one of the two people that I've been texting all afternoon, but it's some weird number. The text says: "So...how did you feel about talking?" I texted back "What?!?"

The next text said, "what do you mean by that? I'm asking if you want to talk."

I texted back "I don't know who this is?"

I googled the area code and got up and walked next door. I knocked on the neighbor's door and said "Is this you?"

She said, "No" and I turned around and then she said, "Just kidding, but you deleted me out of your phone?"

We talked for a bit. I told her the silent treatment/ignoring thing was a bullshit move and uncalled for and that I deserved more than that. At the very least she needed to treat me like a fucking person as I had been super cool to her and this is not how you return favors.

She countered by saying she wasn't avoiding me and that she had just been busy helping her friend buy a car and some other bullshit. She actually looked like she might be able to convince herself that that was true. I told her that that was complete bullshit and I didn't care about any of the whys or hows anyway. It just had to stop. Honestly, she hopped the fence onto her patio once last week. It was a little transparent. How am I feeling like the crazy one when stuff like this is happening?

She knew a bunch of stuff I did this past week, too, and knew my routine pretty well. That was creepy. She said that she would occasionally look for me out of her peephole in her door. I mean it's one thing noticing if your neighbor's car is not in the parking lot, but checking the peephole before you leave your apartment? That's a prison.

So, the goal was to end the neighbor feud and I think we got there in about an hour. I then gave her half of my pizza and went home. Mission Accomplished.

Where does this leave things? No more bike rides. No dinners. No sleepovers. No middle of the night comfort calls. No more after work hangouts. No more Rock Band. No more feeling like a stalker in my own apartment. Now, however, we can at least just coexist. A life less complicated is my windmill to chase. I, honestly, don't believe I'm destined for a normal life, but it doesn't mean that I won't try.

Home Is Where The Hard Is

Stuff is starting to fall back together. It's not great or anything, but it's totally manageable. The routine has just been altered a little bit. At this point, it's all about me. I'm the one with the problems and I'm the only one that can help myself. The help from others greatly diminishes the difficulty, but ultimately, I'm the only one that can flick the heavy switch back to "normal."

Starting to sleep again. D sent an itunes playlist of whitenoise that I didn't get fully downloaded by my new 9:00 PM bedtime, but I did something else I had read about and it kind of worked. I just laid in bed and breathed in and counted to 5 and then breathed out and counted to 5. The point being that the oxygen lets your body know that you are not under duress and the rest of you follows suit. The result? I no longer was playing six degrees of your stressors as I slept and also woke up dreaming about Ms. Pac-Man after 4 hours of sleep and then snuck in a couple of more hours after that and still woke up with the alarm clock rather than before it.

I think I may have been wrong about my subconscious being evil and plotting against me. It's taking everything it can and filing it away in the most efficient way it can so that my conscious doesn't have to deal with it during the day. It's why it feels like my brain is spinning the whole night while I try to sleep. It's really just inconvenient timing and I suppose it's the cognitive equivalent of moving furniture for the carpet cleaners. After it's all done, it will be a much better place to hang out. I still have a stock GABA chemical and receptor system, but am a little jealous of those that get to use benzodiazipenes to throw a muzzle on that whole system. It's cheating. "It's the rules of the game and the rules are the first go," sadly.

I was playing the stupid self-imposed curfew game with the blinds closed last night, but realized how stupid that was. I just need to go back to doing what I was doing and not worry about the drama moat that is around my apartment. The moat is what I make it.

Also, had a huge breakthrough with self-medicating again. I had a couple of beers after work to take the edge off. Honestly, just to take the edge off. I took a short nap after that and woke up a little later. The news is like the best thing to fall asleep to in the world next to golf. I got up groggily and thought about another beer. That would be stupid. So, I got up and jumped in the car and went and got a salad from the grocery store and ate. Never got to a third beer. That's a win.

So, tonight, might suck it up and go to a cougar nest in Los Altos to people watch with a girl that I met awhile ago. Going in real softly to that one and will go home early. Or, may just see if we can reschedule until I'm a little bit more together.

The two things I think are the major things to deal with right now are loneliness and believing that I deserve for good things to happen to me and quit self-punishing myself. See? It's all me.

Deprivation Nation

All right. Going to wrap this one up, put a bow on it and give it away.

I was waiting for my sister to meet me for dinner yesterday and my other neighbor goes, "Hey, you want to talk about it?"

I said, "Talk about what?"

He replied, "You and the neighbor over here."

I said, "You know there's been this gray cloud over this whole complex since I got back on Sunday. I don't know that there is anything to talk about, but did something weird go down this weekend besides the obvious? I wasn't even around and we are no longer on speaking terms. That's weird."

He laid it all out for me. It was a typical night of recklessness that I was not above in my formidable years, but I've also learned that nothing good happens on one of those nights and try to not do it anymore. So, newsflash, nothing good happened and it goes way beyond me and has turned the complex that was Melrose Place to Hellrose place.

One neighbor wants to fight the other for cockblocking him by hanging out in a Speedo until 6:00 AM. One neighbor is not talking to me because she is "sick of this shit." Me, I'm just disillusioned by everything. How one man could be so wrong is the part that I'm having a hard part dealing with, but it's pretty resolved. I feel chumpy and stupid, but that's my own deal and is pretty easily resolved. I'm not chumpy. I'm not stupid and I'm shaking this and getting back to being good. Bored, but good.

I had two beers while I talked to the other neighbor and he ran down the events of the weekend for me. He was super angry and I just kept explaining to him that anger was way more hurtful to one's self than the hatee. I learned that a long time ago. I just told him to find his center and get some balance and zen the fuck out. He kept looking to me to get angry about the stuff that I was dealing with as a fallout from the weekend. I'm not angry. I wasn't even in the same area code and had nothing to do with any of it. If anything, I'm just disappointed that what was in my head was better than the real thing, but it's generally the case. Beyond that, I had a where the fuck am I living moment. My sister showed up and "I'm better than all this" was chiseled into my brain. I felt pretty good about stuff. She just looked at me and said, "You need to get the fuck out of here."

To drive that point further home, I got this text while we were at dinner and showed it to her, "Don't 4get my smokes. Thanks dude. Ur so fuck'n young n got so much goin 4 ya can't believe you get upset about this shit. Pussy."

I went to bed after dinner, though, and something weird happened. Everything felt normal and then my pulse started racing. I had it at 120 BPM as I laid there at 9:30. I tried breathing to slow it down and then figured out that I had been thinking about the situation so much that it was all I could think about. I never really thought about it, but what do you think of to fall asleep? Shortly after my separation, sleep dwindled to almost nothing. I could visualize myself in a giant field under a blue sky just floating and it would help sometimes. With deep breathing it works. That still doesn't get away from what I think about when I go to bed under normal circumstances. I'm totally at a loss.

So, I finally fell asleep at about 10:30 and then snapped awake at 11:30. My subconscious was finding all these ways to relate the random things of REM sleep to the neighbor. The funniest one that it pulled off was a melody that was stuck in my head. I couldn't remember what song it was and it ended up being "The Neighbor" by Jason Falkner. I hate my brain for shit like that, but it was pretty brilliant on its part. I'm starting to believe she is a symbol of something else. It's not actually her. It's what she represents. I've read enough of Jung to know that she could be a symbol of something unresolved in my subconscious that I can bury when I'm awake and can turn on some defenses, but there is a shadow lurking in there that needs to be resolved. Sadly, again, there isn't a real clear answer or solution on this one. I'm just being alerted that I need to resolve something by the most innerworkings of myself and she was a reminder of that.

So, anyway, woke up at 3:15, 4:11 and then 5:00 and just laid there until the alarm clock went off. It wasn't a clean night of sleep, but it was unmedicated. I'll take that as a win.

As far as the neighbor situation thing goes. She made a few things a lot easier to deal with down the line by drawing a line in the sand like this. Yeah, it's a bitter pill, but you've got to take it. I'm staying above the whole thing. If she doesn't want to talk then we shouldn't talk. I'm not losing out on anything. She never gave as much as she took and I just plan on playing the ball as it lies. It's the rules, dude. I'm better than this.

Valerdictorian

I'm having a bit of anxiety today due to recent events. Not just the neighbor. The dad. My little brother. Work, etc. I was cyberdiagnosing my condition looking for a first line of defense against the anxiety just to kind of take the edge off and found Valerian root as a natural remedy. I was reading about it and found this weird side effect that it has. It attracts cats and rats. Perfect.

I'm just imagining me sitting there thinking to myself, "Shit. This really works. I feel okay" and then looking around at a bunch of cats surrounding me preparing to steal my soul or my breath while I sleep.

I mean. I've got a full bottle of Welbutrin on my coffee table, but the therapist says not to take it. I could probably get a Xanax prescription today if the doctor checked my pulse and blood pressure or just looked at my hands shake, but there was actually a better answer out there. The answer was friends. They work.

A friend checked in on me this morning just to see how I was hanging and it meant a lot. Another friend who had shared a particularly harrowing experience with me this weekend also exchanged some IMs with me. We talked about the weekend and about things moving forward and the neighbor and me and her, of course. It alleviated some of the stress and pressure from the whole thing. I learned this morning that it was way easier to help someone than it was to be helped, but she was good at it. It's my whole easier to give than receive condition that I have.

She put a lot into perspective both in general terms regarding myself and specific terms regarding the neighbor situation. She told me that if the neighbor wanted to talk it out she would come over and talk it out. If she is hooking up it doesn't mean she doesn't care. Sounds crazy, but it's true. If she doesn't want to talk it out, we won't talk it out and it wouldn't matter at that point anyway. It also made me realize that there were people who cared and there is something so comforting about being missed by someone. Never get to the point where you honestly believe that you are alone and that no one cares about you. Someone does. It's a sneaky feeling, though, you've got to be careful not to let it in. It's pretty much the hot shoes and bikini of the feelings world. You'll let it in too easily sometimes.

When you get your head all bashed in sometimes it makes it possible to absorb some things that you had lost sight of because you weren't paying attention to the big picture. It takes some affirmation that you are a good person and makes it worth fighting again and not giving up. Also, if you're not careful, you just might learn something.

In the past, I would internalize everything and wouldn't reach out for help. That would be followed with drowning whatever ailed me with booze. It's funny, nowadays if I'm feeling bummed, the last thing I'm going to do is booze. The eating? Still an issue, but seriously, it feels like I've got a nest of butterflies in my stomach. They're not pretty when they are inside you. They are what they are. I still get them before soccer games. It shouldn't be such a big deal.

So, someone asked me how I was at work today and rather than say fine, I replied, "You know what? Sometimes things just drop in your lap and you have to look at them and analyze them for what they are and then work with them. It doesn't really matter if they are good or bad. They are your things in your lap." They looked back at me like I was crazy, but I felt like the better man for not lying to them and telling them that I was great. The world won't wait for you and sometimes you've got to pick up your things and keep moving or you will fall behind.

Also, one last point. If a spider spins a web and a fly flies into it, can you really be mad at the spider? It's just doing what it knows to do. The fly is the idiot for flying into it.

Punched By A Ten Year Old

What's it feel like to be punched in the face by a ten year old? I have the answer as of yesterday.

It wasn't really a physical punch from him, but more like a bitchslap of reality.

I got home from some time in Napa. I had gotten a text from the neighbor on Friday assuring me that it's good if we spend the weekend apart and deal with the fact that we are "just neighbors" and that's all. Whatevs. Drank irresponsibly with friends and performed one stunt jumping into the pool from way too high of an elevation on a rockwall. Proceeded to drink myself into a mess with them and gave myself a much deserved panic attack for all of Sunday.

I made the drive home and felt that burning in my stomach paired with a tightness in my chest as I got closer and closer to home as if I knew the shit was going to go down. We talked briefly after work on Friday and she had that look that my ex gave me the morning after my birthday so long ago when she was finally done. It's a look that hits a wall ten feet behind you with an absolute steel quality in the eyes. This is the point when an individual has switched you off. It's a look that I will never forget for the rest of my life.

I got into my apartment and tried to nap, but it wouldn't happen so watched "Enter the Ninja" and did some laundry. The neighbor kids were running around all giddily and started rapping the neighbor's wall knocker repeatedly. I peeked my head out of the apartment and said, "Hey man. If they don't answer after three, they aren't going to answer. Leave her alone, T-Biz."

He then came up and whispered "Go look in the window at her couch."

I replied, "That's creepy and weird. You shouldn't look into people's windows, dude."

He then said back, "They are having sex on the couch?"

He followed this up with "Are you and her dating?"

I told him, "No, man. We're just neighbors."

He took off and I finished my laundry. Normally, at times like these in the past, I would just booze myself to sleep. Not this time. I went inside and laid down for a little bit and just tried to accept and process everything.

The neighbor is in the right on this and has every right to pursue whatever she wants to pursue. I firmly believe that there is some kind of plan of sorts and just need to accept it. There is no talk needed. There was nothing really besides two people having a nice time together briefly. I wasn't being nice to her expecting something in return for it and this is all fine. Yes, if you are falling for someone, it's nice if they fall back, but that's not always the case. Of course, with any fall, there is some time required for a recovery. You've got to fall every once in a while, though. It's how you learn to stop falling.

I exchanged texts with some friends and didn't feel alone in it anymore. I didn't necessarily feel good, still don't, but I definitely felt better. I mean, my hands are still shaking a bit, it's hard to eat and I'm a bit dizzy, but it's all part of the process.

I went to bed at 9:00 and tried to do it natch, but eventually got up and took a Tylenol PM. Only one because I kept almost falling asleep and then some subconscious lightning bolt would jerk me awake. It was horrible. I would lay there and it's like my brain was fighting with itself. One side was doing the right thing and accepting the whole situation and the other one was jumping to conclusions and creating all of those hurtful scenarios in very vivid imagery which would result in me waking up again. So, I got into a two hours on and one off sleeping pattern even with the Tylenol PM which just made me feel like I couldn't move when I did wake up.

The dreams were speaking volumes about what was going on. First, I was in Orlando (hate Orlando) and had forgotten to pack any clothes. Then, my bike was stolen and my phone got run over by a car. Add a lost laptop and then waking up at 5:30 AM unable to go back to sleep and there you have it. Fear of loss.

I swear I swear I swear I'm cool with it, but I do feel just numb. I feel like I'm wearing my body like a suit today and just trying to act like everything's cool, but I'll get into a conversation and just feel my mind slipping away from it. It's hard to concentrate.

The plan: put myself back together and just move forward. It's a little tough at first and blows my mind that this could happen this quickly, but it's doable. Who knew a ten year old could pack such a punch?

How To Save Money On Therapy

"I'll save you money on therapy, Hugh. Life's a bitch." - Hugh Voltage, SR.

So, he finally called me back from my message on Father's Day and made one statement that made every pint of blood drain from my heart and eyes well up. You fucking miserable asshole. He told me I should take all of that money and just buy a nice car and that would make me feel better. He followed that up with news that one of my younger brothers was abusing pills and just fucking up everything. Then he said he would have to call me back. I just kind of sat there in the area in the back of my work where I smoke in awe of what had just happened. I'll admit that he is a particularly powerful man when it comes to words. He crushed me with one sentence in less than five minutes.

This is why we don't talk. This is why I avoid him. This is why I've mentally destroyed all family bonds in my head. I'd like to see what Norman Rockwell would paint of that interaction. Fuck, even Charles Shultz would never do that Charlie Brown. The dad would just say "Bah Bwah Bwah Bwah. Bwah Bwah. Bwah BuhBuh Bwaw." I'd prefer that.

This was after a fairly horrific therapy session yesterday where it came up that I remember the day he left when I was five and the therapist asked me to go over it with him. I woke up and realized he was gone and pinned a note to my mom's bed to let her know. It was the day I gave up on childhood and just wanted to take care of my mom and my sister. It was the day that I developed a crippling fear of abandonment, which is also why I fear giving myself to the neighbor and want to pull away so as to avoid being abandoned, AGAIN.

So there it is. Happy Friday. I can beat this. I can handle this, but fuck it hurts. One day Lucy is going to not pull the football away and I plan on crushing it.

A,E, I, O, U and Sometimes Y is Not the Answer

I don't know what it is, but a wave a melancholy overtook me last night as I had my last smoke before bed.

I had just walked from my neighbor's apartment where I had fixed her Internet after helping her learn Mary Had a Little Lamb on guitar and then laid on the floor with her listening to Jeff Buckley. She's really gay for Jeff Buckley at this point. I laid next to her and rubbed her back as she started to fall asleep. The whole time a film strip of her pictures was flickering on her laptop. There were pictures of her, of her with friends, of her with family and of her with boyfriends. I thought to myself, "You know somewhere down the line, you are going to have to deal with this." I then got her up and gave her a kiss on the cheek and went home.

She has pointed out that there is no way that we will ever be together and I'm starting to believe it, really. I mean, it makes no sense, we like each other, but the only time she really shows it is after a few drinks. That's not real to me. She does, however, share some real moments with me when not drinking. That's the conflict. It doesn't, however, solve the problem of what I need from a person to make me feel secure and trust them.

She's already breached my defenses more than anyone in a severely long time and I don't know if it's her or because therapy has opened up some of those avenues for people to break and enter into. Regardless, why can't I accept the possibility that she could really like me, that it's not some kind of inside joke that is being set up from the get up by the entire world around me?

On top of that, what if she doesn't? I know that I'm okay alone and might possibly even be better alone, but that's the kind of bullshit that we all tell ourselves as an excuse of not getting what we want. We all want to belong and be loved. We all want to be adored and anyone that tells themselves or others that they'd rather be alone are full of bullshit. It's the one thing that we all collectively pursue. It's the reason behind everything. Yeah, I'll say I don't want you to like me or I don't care if you like me, but it's a boldfaced lie. Cheap Trick said it first. They wanted you to want them. I agree. I want you to want me and need me.

Now, I know that even in the short time that the neighbor and I have known each other, her life and my life have been better for it and without each other our lives would be a little less awesome, but there is just so much on the line for me. So much. And, sadly, the horse is so far from the stable at this point that I could never get it back in there easily.

So, she hasn't even done anything to hurt me in real life, but I've gone over about a hundred scenarios of how it is going to happen in preparation for what my mind has turned into the inevitable. Still trying to not put my finger near the eject button, though. I can do this without copping out. I'm just going to try to enjoy it while it lasts. Knowing why I'm feeling the way I'm feeling is not going to really help. An answer in this case would be completely worthless.

Jesus. I should just print this out and hand it to the therapist after work.

The One-Winged, Caged Bird Sings, Too.

This is a tough one, but I really need to write. For some reason, probably lack of sleep, everything just feels real heavy right now.

Friday night I went to Judas Priest and Whitesnake. It was pretty rad. I drank responsibly and headed home afterwards and my neighbor was still up. I went to her place and had a beer with her and listened to some music while I gave her arm tickles until she fell asleep on the floor. As soon as she was out, I left her apartment and locked the door behind me.

I got up at 8:00 AM and made some coffee and worked until about 2:00. The neighbor got up and I Irished up my coffee and gave her one as I completed my last action item. She said she wanted to hang out and be a bum and I told her that I would welcome that. We ended up doing the pool for a bit and then a movie and pizza. It was really domestic. I'm not sure what transpired next, but we got into it again. This time there was door slamming and name calling. I went to bed really pissed off having said some harsh things back. In hindsight, there were some things at play that I was unaware of.

Had breakfast the next morning while I waited for my mom to meet me for breakfast. She showed up right as they took it away and I switched to mimosas while we hung out and talked. I told her right off the bat that I was pretty pissed off from the night before and she reassured me that the neighbor was just going sideways and she would apologize and that if it was going to work out, it would work out. I told her I hoped so because I was falling madly in love with her. I've gone over it and over it and it's the only explanation that I've got. Right after that, I had an "I'm sorry" text show up.

So, we wrapped it up and I stopped at a bar on the way home to have a Robert Palmer to take the edge off. Later I found out that there are Federal, State, and Municipal regulations that state I am to be capped at 5 Robert Palmers in one sitting. Yeah, I got Palmered. It was actually a really fun afternoon of day drinking. The HughVoltage show switch got flipped.

The neighbor texted me to see if I was home and I told her that I was heading home, but was not "talk" worthy for some of the stuff we needed to talk about it. This is where I get fucked. If you would like to know anything about me, put me on a stool and fill me with cocktails. I will be stripped of all secrets if you want them. Nothing is off the table. I would never be a victim of waterboarding. Wait. Maybe they should use my method to get information from terrorists. I might be onto something. When you sum it all up, I think getting my secrets would go over way better in the press.

Long story short, the neighbor invited me in Sunday night when I got home and every card from my hand has been put on the table. She knows that I think I'm madly in love with her.

So, on a rough Monday due to a rough Sunday, she dropped by my work for lunch on her bike and we had lunch and talked about stuff. She pointed out all of the things that I didn't remember telling her. I told her that I may not remember it, but I can tell her that it was all true. She said that I made her laugh. It was a solid recovery. I'm not real mean anymore.

She biked around and met me after work and we went and grabbed a quick bite. I introduced her to fried dill pickle chips and sweet potato fries. I got a random text from a dude I had met the previous day. He thought I was entertaining and wanted to see if I was hanging out for a drink. It wasn't a gay thing. We went over and talked to him for a bit after turning down his offer of a drink. He seemed like good people.

We headed home and I played guitar and sang to her for a little bit, which is really alien to me. I've never done it before, but she's got me pretty good and to be completely honest, I enjoy her as an audience. She just lays on the couch with her eyes closed and listens to me do my thing. It's really awesome and sweet and there will probably never be a moment in our near future to compare to when I was playing "Lilac Wine" by Jeff Buckley to her while she laid on the couch. She looked so peaceful and it was completely contagious. Of course, a ten year old neighbor smashed into the sliding glass door like a lost bird at some point. He's got a mean crush on her, too, and was peeking through the blinds.

She went home after listening to some music for a bit and I went to bed. I wasn't really sleeping. I was mostly just laying there and my phone rang so I grabbed it. It was her and she was crying. We talked for a bit about stuff and I tried to calm her down and then she had to make another call and I went to bed again. Couldn't sleep at all at that point. She called again and I just told her that I would come over.

I went over to her place and she just looked really sad, so I gave her a hug and tried to reassure her about everything from here to there while we listened to "Happy" by Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins on repeat. She eventually looked at me in my Adidas sweatsuit that I had on and said, "You look like a pimp." After that, she asked me to stay, so I stayed. Nothing happened. That's not what this is about. I just like to be around her. I want to protect her, take care of her, make her laugh, all of these things that I didn't know were in me anymore. It's all very dangerous, but it's not worth fighting anymore. I want to watch her while she is sleeping and at peace. I also caught her watching me sleep, too, this morning.

And The Avalanche Cascades

With the stroke of my silver tongue wagging "As soon as I walk out this door, I'm nothing, but your neighbor. Borrowed cups of sugar and maybe half and half on a Saturday morning and that's it," I've completely unraveled whatever was raveling with my neighbor. I think it's for the best.

Here's how it started.

I was on the second day of a coolout period that included cooking angel hair pasta with olive oil, hot pepper flakes, cherry tomatoes and basil leaves. It was spicy, yet delicious and cooking it was the fun part. Yesterday was the second day. I worked through lunch and headed to the driving range after work intending to whack some balls and then eat and then enjoy a glass of wine and sleep like a baby. Solitary. Confined. Okay. Three bottles of wine, a myoplex bar and two cups of coffee in 36 hours. That's your 100% RDA of bad idea.

I got home from the range and showered and cracked open a moderately priced bottle of Cabernet. Dropped the tuning on my guitar to a D and ran through a Minus the Bear song on my acoustic. Finger tapping on an acoustic is an acquired taste. I was completely into what I was doing and completely alone. Happy.

My phone rang and it was the neighbor. She had lost her keys at work and was a bit frantic. I told her to just come by when she gets home and I had a half a bottle of wine and some smokerretes for us to share while she waited for maintenance. Happiness was officially threatened.

She had had a rough day. We shared some personal/very personal thoughts. We killed the bottle of wine. We opened a bottle of Mick Fleetwood (yeah, that one) Merlot. It was a gift from a neighbor for Christmas. It tasted like Tusk.

She got tired of waiting for maintenance and thought she could pick her lock with allen wrenches that I loaned her. I watched attentively at her lock picking techniques and then pulled her screen out and popped her window off the hinges and asked her if she would like me to let her in. I let her in and then got a screw lock for her window so no one could do what I did again.

We hung out for a bit at her apartment and listened to music from my iTunes library. That part was kinda awesome. She's on my network. Another bottle got opened and we sat and listened to Jeff Buckley's version of Hallelujah in a dark room. Everyone should do that once or a hundred times.

We then got to some touchy subjects about us which culminated in an ultimatum. I left a neighbor while she played Hallelujah on a loop that I could hear in my apartment. I texted her to turn it off and it persisted. I then shut down the network to turn it off. Brilliant. Don't fuck with your IT guy.

So, this morning I read our text exchange where she referred to me as drunk and mean and left her a voicemail with a neighborly apology. Three bottles of wine and eleven days of acquaintance equals one apology. Not bad.

I'm letting it go, but still have a soft spot for her. How does one do that in such a short amount of time? I'm emotionally easy. That's really the reason that I questioned the whole thing. I fall too fast.

In other news, I went to the doctor today and got my ankle checked out. It's healing. While I was there I got my annual STD screening to the question of "Have you been exposed to any STDs in the last year?" with a response of "Statistically? Probably." While there I asked him about my back. I've got a beat up L5 vertebrae from soccer and it hurts persistently. I asked him whether I should just get surgery to fix it while I still have health coverage. He recommended I go to physical therapy and I started laughing. He asked what was funny and I told him about how I dated the therapist twice. He laughed right in my fuckin' face and said "That was stupid." I'm about to send her an email and warn her. I'm sure she'll bump me to another therapist so that I can feel rejection again.

Cognitive therapy this evening. Thank god. I managed to get some material pulled together for it. Just a man with a shovel at the bottom of a hole looking at everyone else asking how he got there and how to get out.

Live By The Bottle. Die By The Bottle.

I've worked at a few jobs in the past where I was consistently pondering where the coffee came from. I'd roll into work and smell it brewing and go grab a cup and feel like someone in a tv show getting to work. I even considered whistling and taking up a briefcase briefly. (Briefcase briefly? Seriously?) Did I say few? I meant once.

Not only do I know why the caged bird sings, but I fuckin' know where the coffee comes from. I also know who changes the water bottle every goddamn time it goes empty. I know who picks up the cigarette butts next to the ashtray and the stray McDonald's wrappers next to the trashcan. I know the guy who straightens crooked pictures and throws away stray butter chips from the refrigerator. It's actually gotten to the point where co-workers will walk up to my desk and ask me to make coffee or change the water bottle or fix their chair or unjam the copier.

There was one company that I worked for and the coffee pot was all the way on the other side of the building. So, I would trudge from my office to go put a pot on and then retrudge back to my office to work while it brewed. No whistling. No wanting to take up a briefcase. By the time I returned to the pot it was empty. Those motherfuckers would take it while it was brewing leaving me with nothing unless I stood next to it.

The water bottle? I went on strike here and refused to change the bottle for a week stating that you cannot help anyone unless you can help yourself. I was hoping that I would spot some initiative in the office. It sat empty for three days and everyone just switched to bottled water. I got fed up and changed the water bottle. They won. They always eventually win.

Yes, I make better coffee than them and yes, I don't spill a drop when changing the bottle out, but just because I'm good at something does not mean I should have to do it every time. Hmmm? Perhaps they would be better if they ever tried it. Perhaps they would be better if they even took interest in it. It's shit like this that is going to result in our civilization culminating in nothing but a smear on a dead planet as a legacy in the Universe.

I mean, come on. We have more referential materials at our disposal for intense amounts of information than at any point in history and we're doing what with it? Going to see movies with Katherine Hiegl in them? Status updates about what we're eating? This is what we do? I'm beating up on myself here, too. I watched ten minutes of Hell's Kitchen last night and watched three episodes of Kendra a couple of weekends ago, so I'm not off the hook either. I'll also update a facebook status 72 times in three hours.

I guess it goes beyond coffee and water bottles, but they're a start. From there we can progress to modifying the AC to come on before 4:00 PM everyday. Actually, I'd try, but the union dudes would kill me.

Try Not to Love They Neighbor

This week's therapy session is going to be about how short the road is from smitten to smited. I am quickly falling hard for my neighbor. Too quickly?

There is that undefinable quality in a person where you just know after ten minutes that you like them a lot. The first conversation I had with her there was a surge of butterflies in my stomach and a tightness in my chest. My first reaction was flight from the situation. The proximity factor was too dangerous. I fought it that first week, but we hung out a lot. This culminated in going out again last Friday night.

Let me just jump in with a childhood story. I was probably twelve years old and had done particularly well at baseball tryouts and got bumped up a division. I got put on a team with 14 year olds. I showed up to our first practice and everyone else was much bigger than me. Some probably had pubic hair for christ sakes. This was my first encounter with operating out of my league. I tried to hang, but it was very frustrating as everyone else was two years ahead of me. It was a rough year, but I eventually got through it and the next year was much easier. I feel like I'm operating out of my league with my neighbor at this point.

She is super cute, young and actually has a glowing personality. She makes me giddy. She makes me feel funny. She makes up funny words for things. She makes me drop all of my normal defenses that I employ. She scares the hell out of me and is a threat to my normal, sustainable routine. I've been here a few times and the eventual result was devastating, but when it all went down at least I didn't have to see them everyday or sit in my apartment and know that they are on the other side of the wall.

Anyway, Friday night she came over after work and we listened to music on the porch and had a few beers while she smoked these cigarettes that smelled like candy. They will forever be associated with her. She went into my apartment and grabbed my guitar and looked at me and simply said, "Play for me." I don't play for people anymore. It's something I do by myself in my apartment. I looked back at her and couldn't say no.

She had me play along with some flamenco music that she loved and then I turned it back on her and gave her a real quick lesson on some basic chords and she was killing it. She was playing along with "Ashes of American Flags" by Wilco within a half hour. We decided we needed to eat so I suggested we go downtown and grab something.

We changed and jumped into a cab and headed downtown. I showed my exceptional talent in singing traditional Indian music and impressed both her and the cab driver. He thought I was a natural. We got downtown and I jumped out of the cab and ran to an ATM to grab cash for the cab. I was so wrapped up in the moment that I left my card in the ATM. Brilliant.

We walked to the restaurant and managed to crash a table for two with no reservation. Totally crediting kismet for that and also putting absolute trust in it at that point. We had a nice dinner with the best gay waiter known to man. I thought he had a crush on her until we figured out that he had a crush on me by the end of dinner.

From there, we rolled to a club and put on a dance exhibition. The dances included Making Pancakes, Grocery Shopping, Double Dutch, Jumpshots and a variety of other completely goofy dances as the patrons just stared as us as if we were absolutely crazy. We both could fall back on being part-time mimes at any moment in our lives.

There is a definite caveat when hanging out with a super hot girl in a club environment. Every dude in the club and some of the girls want to destroy you. Even with that distraction, she never dropped her attention from me. I was probably too buzzed to really appreciate this as we devolved into a pair of hot messes. She grabbed my glasses and turned into sexy Sarah Palin before stepping on them and then managed to lose her credit card. We were killing it with recklessness. I realized we were done and pulled her from the club.

We walked past a group of homeless people and her golden heart bled. So, we ended up buying forty bucks worth of pizza for the homeless as all of the cabs sped off into the night filled with drunks. After she had distributed all of the pizza, she looked at me and said, "I'm hungry." This is where we had our first argument. We were really packing in a lot in a small amount of time. We argued in some alley and did that awkward face in face thing, but resisted making out because we were neighbors.

She saw a couple sitting on a curb and the girl looked really tore up so she grabbed me by the arm and led me over to the couple where she talked to the girl and then held her hair while she gave it up into a planter. As the couple walked away the dude looked at her and said "That dude's an asshole. You shouldn't date him again."

I looked at her and told her to hold my glasses while I went and showed him how much of an asshole I was. She grabbed me and talked me out of it as we walked back to where the cabs used to be. As we approached, a cab was going towards the throngs of displaced revelers waiting impatiently. She jumped into the street, stopping the cab short of the people waiting and yelled to me, "Get in!" She then rolled down the window and flipped off everyone waiting while she yelled "Fuckers!" at them while we drove past.

That was the point that I realized I was done. I was smitten.

We made out in the cab on the way home like the ship was going down. Both of us realizing it was totally wrong and that we shouldn't be doing it because we were neighbors.

We got home and...The next morning she was laying on my chest while I stroked her hair and we just talked about whatever before I snuck her back to her apartment next door in an effort to conceal it from any of the neighbors. It was as at peace as I've felt in a really long time and more potent than any amount of booze that I've ever tried to use to self-medicate and forget. She made me want to remember every moment we were spending together. She made me want to live and die on every word that came out of her mouth.

This is not a crush. This is an emergency.