Horsemouth

"I sat around and thought about the things we used to do. It really meant a lot to me."

"I really mean that much to you" - Milli Vanilli, Girl You Know It's True

In the words mouthed by Grammy award winning artists, Milli Vanilli...There's not really anything to say about that. Just wanted to drop the quote.

Been sitting around thinking. Thought is dangerous in both tyrannical societies, modern television viewing habits, popular music, and at my desk.

Here's what I've got on the table. An ex-girlfriend that I've turned from a girlfriend to a person that hates me and is seemingly obsessed, although it has cooled way down since it peaked. Still can't really go to some public places without looking over my shoulder, but there has been no physical altercations or surprise visits as of late. It's been quite nice.

I've got a neighbor who refers to me as "Lonely Guy Neighbor." I give nicknames in the complex, not some newcomer 24 year old from Indiana. You need to know the ways of the world before you can start handing out neighbor nicknames like Rapy, Nudist, and Methzophrenic.

Lastly, I've got the hangup. I've been hung up on the girl with the on/off boyfriend for a while now and every time I get burned and recover, I look down and the thorn's in my foot again. I mean, I put the thorn there, but still. It is what it is.

The three things are: a girl who liked me, a girl who sees me as a lonely person who barely knows me and a girl that I like unrequittingly (unrequittedly?) who means well, but just isn't in to me that way. Or, at least does not have the capacity to deal with a girl manbaby. You just know.

I deal with seemingly solutionless problems for a living that are solved with large doses of logic, but can't for the life of me figure out this puzzle. Being from the Nintendo generation, the first thought is to pull the cartridge out and blow into it and try again. When you do this three times and it doesn't work, you've missed the point and have officially put a toe in the water of the clinically insane. Performing the same process repeatedly and expecting a different result. That's insane.

So, the funny thing is, the three things are girl, girl, girl and I think I'm missing the point. The problem is me, me, me. As Pappy says in his logical wisdom, "You are the least common denominator in all of these situations."

First thing. I didn't like the girl enough to pursue anything long term and I made the decision to leave someone that liked me, but didn't make me tingle right.

Second thing. I'm not lonely. People fuckin' love me (apparently) according to other people. I just don't ever believe it and choose to isolate and wallow and punch myself in the brain. That's my bad. I choose to be lonely I think. It sounds kinda crazy, but I think I do.

Third thing. All me. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. If someone is nice to you, it does not mean that they want more. Even phrases like "I love you" and crap like that should not be read into. People say they fuckin' love candy bars. They say they love Justin Bieber. I've even heard someone say that they love Everybody Loves Raymond. Case in point, nobody really loves Raymond in a way more than one would love a salad or Led Zeppelin. This doesn't necessarily translate into anything, but it's not a total loss. It's a genuine sign of liking something, but it's not good to take it that seriously.

Instead, be happy that someone likes you enough to get mad if you are out with a member of the opposite sex enough to send you an email about it berating you. Be happy that a stranger thinks that you are lonely, but personable and nice enough to make casual conversation with you or drop a bottle of barley wine by occasionally. Be happy that you have someone who cares enough to listen to your meltdowns when they happen even if they don't want to be around you.

So, problem solved. I've just got to be breezy and go about my routine. Just had to air it out a bit on the InterWebs. I can't believe I used to pay so much to a guy for this when I could do it for nothing. I might as well have just wrote it on my wall...over and over and over again like a real crazy.

So, be breezy and never look at anything in the mouth. Problem solved. I'm still not buying that lonely guy thing, though. I don't want to be the lonely guy.

Arsenal just tied up the first round of their Champions League game against Barcelona on a penalty kick. Life's not that bad at all.

Rabbit Seasoning

I figured it out. It's birthday season. For me, that can be translated into feeling like Bugs Bunny holding the Rabbit Season sign while the world is Elmer Fudd with a cartoon shotgun. I deal with it with a series of misdirection and sidestepping while dealing with an internal mental dip. You'll never see it behind a curtain of false bravado and smiles, but I know it's there and if you look close, you'll see the cracks.

The 30th birthday book was the first omen. Then, last night, out of the blue, I got a series of texts from my ex entering me into a business trip bargument about the genuineness of Michael McDonald's voice. In the end, the guy who I was third party text arguing with conceded that I seemed like a good guy after I cited it was blue eyed soul and the Doobs never recorded a Motown cover album. So, I've got that going for me.

So, I'm aware of it and have my head in my lap assuming the crash position. I'll get through it, but it gets me every year. Last year it was easy. A small family dinner chased with some drinks with a red head a la Charlie Brown. I tried to dodge the drinks, but in the end met up with her. She meant well, but I was just going through the motions to feel like I wasn't completely alone. I don't even remember her name at this point.

This year is going to be better. I've got a haircut scheduled and then will jump into the rabbit hole until it passes. There's always music, books and movies to keep me occupied until it's over. The day after is always refreshing while I wear another ring around my trunk the next day and clean the dust off for the next year.

TYRIBFY

There's Your Record That I'm Buying For You.

Dude. Deep Cuts?!?!?!?! All Mr. Big ballads?!?!?!?!? There are 15 fuckin' songs on this. You can't just put out a best of the ballads album. Why not put out one called Bad Jams and just have all of the bad jams on it? Or, if you feel compelled to put out a best of ballads, at least call it "For The Ladies" or "Music To Take Baths To."

Just a couple of ideas there, Mr. Big.

Click on the pic to buy if you plan on taking a bath soon.

Yes, I realize baths are getting namedropped alot.

I Just Know

About a week ago some things transpired that have kinda heated up my mental climate. Some good, some bad and then you throw in what has become normal and you have the little maelstrom I consider my day-to-day.

Honestly, I lead a simple life. It's the surroundings that get complicated. I spent all day yesterday with my escape switch flipped and hung out and watched movies all day. I tried to go to the record store, but ended up turning around and going home. I just didn't have the energy for the outside world.

I tried to figure out why and came up with a few things, but they seemed so trivial. It may have been a triggered event, in hindsight. While I have been accused, mostly in a defensive way from people, of being hung up on my ex-wife still, I'm not. We talk sometimes, but any type of intimacy is gone. The friendship is all that lingers. We spent a lot of time together in the past. She knows me better than most and can be good to lean on sometimes even though she is the one that put the biggest scar on me.

So, the trigger? A good friend made a book for me of pictures from my 30th birthday in Las Vegas. It showed up as I was living with him after my ex and I separated due to the trip. It was accidental salt for a fresh wound. It turns out to be one of the most pivotal moments to date of what I am today. On Saturday, my mom decided to pull the book out of some old stuff that she had removed from our soon to be foreclosed house. She took me on a walk down memory lane and then threw in some pictures of me when I was tiny with my dad and stuff. I can accept my past, but I'm not one to take a bath in it.

I was picking up my sister at my mom's house to go to a barbecue and talked with my mom while I waited for my sister to get ready. My mom was on the defensive a bit, I could tell. It was probably the point where she said, "No. Let me finish." and I told her that I hadn't interrupted her. There is some tension regarding the house, regarding the parents split, regarding family relations in general, etc.

Grabbed my sister and we ran to Wienerschnitzel in Livermore to bring ten chili dogs to the barbecue. It's tradition, right? It was really more for nostalgia. When my sister and I were growing up and lived with my grandparents, they would take us there because a Mormon owned it. I won a free corn dog on this particular visit. It was quite glorious. We passed the comic book store that I went to when I was a kid as we made our way to the barbecue with me freaking out about winning a corn dog and passing a disgusting hole in the wall that my band played a long time ago. We played a country version of Star Wars that night after I heckled some woman that kept asking me to play Seeger (either) or Zeppelin all night.

I wasn't drinking at the barbecue so that I could get back home that night. The man cave magnet was turned on full power and I just wanted to get home even though there is nothing there. I also felt the creeping in of some emotional garbage and didn't want to pour gas on the fire that was building. It's the best group of friends in the world, but sometimes, not even they can make me feel okay. This is probably made worse when I'm dry.

At the barbecue, my sister decided to tell the 30th birthday story to everyone in front of me. I'll wear it, but it's not pleasant. A friend's fiance cried and gave me a hug. It's the second time she's done it with the story. I've recovered from it, but when people look at me sadly because of it, it reminds me that I should be sad about it. I take it for what it is. I see it as part of my make up. I wouldn't be me without it.

This turned to the topic of all of my failed relationships since and the "you are the least common denominator to all of this" talk. Maybe it really is me and my horrible decision making. Every time I think I've got it figured out and I think I'm doing the right thing, rugs get pulled out, I get burned, parades get rained on. If none of that happens then I just jump on my sword and ruin it myself. It's gotten to the point that not only do I not trust myself anymore, but I don't trust anyone.

That's basically what I sat around and thought about all day Sunday while feeling paralyzed on my couch. It wasn't a lot of fun, but was probably necessary to process it rather than try and drown it like I've done in the past.

At therapy, my therapist asked me what I needed to feel safe in a relationship. I thought about it for a bit and said that I need to feel secure. He asked what would make me feel that way and I told him that I would have to feel like someone really cared about me. He asked how I would know that and I told him I wasn't sure anymore, but when I feel it, I just know.

Wow. Somebody's got a case of the Mondays.

ipod Shuffle Challenge: Mr. Big Doubleshot Edition

The HughVoltage iPod shuffle review:

1. "Were You There" - M.Ward
This is pretty typical Americana and pretty typical M. Ward. It's like interesting Jack Johnson. It's what it sounds like when you play an acoustic guitar with shoes on.

2. "Brianstorm" - Arctic Monkeys
This song is the shit on Guitar Hero. This whole album is great. Just love the groove of this song. It's totally Munsters with some Dick Dale sprinkled on top of everything.

3. "We Be Clubbin'" - Ice Cube
Why not bump some Cube at 8:09 AM? This shit should be played on DJ Roomba during a housewarming party in the suburbs. I've got the Eye of the Tiger remix of this song in the iPod somewhere. It's dope. Was this made the same year as Anaconda? Can't hold a candle to King Cobra starring Pat Morita.

4. "Oceans Apart" - The Fire Theft
Hands down the best sounding band I have ever seen live. Got to shake Jeremy Enigk's hand that night and was speechless. This song is good. It's 75% of Sunny Day Real Estate. What could go wrong? It's got that nice slow quiet build up into really big Les Pauls through Marshalls in the middle and then just kinda drives along for about two minutes. If you really wanted to dig in and analyze the lyrics. It's Enigk. It's about a girl or God.

5. "Takin Me Back" - Cheap Trick
Somehow, subtley, these guys mastered the art of writing rock songs about diggin' chicks, losing chicks and wanting chicks and got not nearly enough credit. They fuckin' opened up for Poison and Def Leppard last time I saw them, which was almost heartbreaking in it's unjustness and they played the tightest set of the night. Anyway, this song just sounds like a Cheap Trick song. That still means it's awesome. At least awesomer than your band's songs. Yeah, I wouldn't put this on a mixtape or anything, but would defend it in a bargument.

6. "Flynn" - Ratatat
There are a number of types of instrumental music genres. There is jazz, soundtracks, surf guitar, shred guitar, prog, electronic, etc. These guys fuckin' kill. This one is kinda short and repetitive and not their best. Serves more as an interlude on the album and is being caught out of context. The Mirando video is proof that these dudes are rad. I want these guys to do the soundtrack for my funeral.

7. "Zak and Sara" - Ben Folds
Love the lyric "You'll all die in your cars and why's it gotta be dark?
And you're all working in a submarine." It reminds me of a time in high school that I was all out of it in photography class with Mr. Dreyfuss and stood up and yelled "Nice Bureaucracy" at a TA. No reason at all. Total freak.

8. "Hand of Stone" - Mastodon
The drummer of this band is so sick he should get a flu shot. This is really the best thing to come out of Hotlanta in years. Butch Walker might take offense to that, but these dudes are just so metal. Riffs for days. Beards. One of the most boring live shows ever because they just wanted to rock more and talk less. Magnets must stick to these guys. Super metal

9. "Grace" - Jeff Buckley
Pro tip. Don't take a bath and listen to Jeff Buckley. Actually, don't take a bath. The Jeff Buckley story is one of the most interesting and tragic in music history. I'm not going to do the homework for you. Here it is. Anyway, most well known for his Leonard Cohen cover of "Hallelujah," he also wrote some other jams on Grace. Every song on the album is arranged super interestingly, a bunch of songs involve wine in some way and almost every song on the album is deep and dark. Then one day he walks into a river and poof. Dude's found floating in the river by a tourist like a week later.

10. "Unstitch Your Mouth" - Sparta
This is the half of At The Drive In that didn't keep it weird. It's still good. It's just different. This song is like hyped up U2 with less biblical undertones.

11. "Strip My Mind" - Red Hot Chili Peppers
This band ruled until someone told Kiedis to sing. This song sucks balls. Skipping.

12. "Shores of Sin" (Live) - Death Angel
These dudes are rad. Whammy divebombs. Slow, minor bass lines. Then, boom, ride cymbal and thrash metal. This music makes East bay dudes with sleeveless shirts mosh. Seriously. They still do it. My buddy Dave and I met the drunk Indian and "Fishnets" at this show. She was brilliant. She had this move where she faked a fall and I caught her and then she started up conversation. From chivalry to trickery in 1.7 seconds. If you've ever seen the Cow Palace parking lot before a Tesla show, you know that metal chicks are crafty and will do anything in the back of a pickup truck.

13. "Price You Gotta Pay" - Mr. Big
This isn't even the Mr. Big version. I can't even figure out who is singing it. It's from this album Volume 1: Influences and Connections. Dude, whatever, there's some shredding on this album. The King's X cover is sick. Glenn Hughes sings this version of the song and Steve Lukather takes the solo. You will only know Lukather if you have been reading Guitar Magazines since '88.

14. "Road To Ruin" - Mr Big
SHUT THE FUCK UP! My iPod just threw a Steve Seaweed Double Shot of Mr. Big at me? If this goes into a Threefer Madness weekend or Get's The Led out for an hour, I'm going to have to write a letter to Apple demanding an explanation. Anyway, this song is a Mr. Big song. A difficult riff to play that Billy Sheehan and Paul Gilbert play in unison until they both take solos after the second verse. Paul Gilbert just kills it every time. The dude is so good. Again, this song isn't going to make any mixtapes. Now, "Dady, Brother, Lover and Little Boy" might. They use Makita's with pick attachments on that intro and in the solo.

15. "Southern Fried Intro" - Ludacris
So bummed this wasn't Threefer Madness. Great Isaac Hayes sample on this tune. It's actually a sample from a Burt Bacharach's 'Walk On." The song is whatever, but may Isaac Hayes' Hot Buttered Soul rest in peace.

16. "In The Waiting Line" - Zero 7
This is chill out music. It's a favorite for book and iPod by the pool. The chorus will loop in your head when you are feeling abandoned or lonely and it puts you into a floaty, Zach Braff movie montage feeling. Seriously, this song might make me feel invisible just like walking through a Costco after five people have walked right into me. Thought I was Sixth Sense Dead for like 20 minutes in there one day until someone handed me a gelato sample. Also, pro tip, no more Bagel Dogs at Costco. I'm paying $4 a pop for handmade ones at my local grocery store.

17. "I Summon You (Cool) (alternate version)" - Spoon
This is from the Ga x 5 bonus disc. It's cool, but it just makes you want to listen to the original because it was so dope. How great is their video for Underdog? Real musicians making real music. It shouldn't be a luxury, but it's why the music industry deserves to die.

18. "All Over The World" - The Pixies
This is good personal soundtrack music. You could put it on your Walking Through Airport or Biking Through Town playlists. The Pixies mastered this music and if you listen really close you can actually hear the blueprint for Smells Like Teen Spirit in this tune. I never picked up on that before, but if you listen to the Loud Quiet Louds through the first half, you can totally hear it. Weird.

19. "Prelude" - The Fabulous Hedgehogs
The first song from the Hedgehogs metal concept on their last album. I don't know where the rest of the dudes are, but Mike is here. And he is seriously amazing live. You will question everything you have known to be true in your life after seeing him. It's like looking into the Ark without melting.

20. "Times Like These" - Foo Fighters
This song sounds just like The Cult at the beginning. I think it's She Sells Sanctuary. Now, you can go back to the very beginning with Foo Fighters and it's like Dave Grohl has been writing Jock Jams albums before ESPN even knew what they were. I actually figured it out and 86% of all songs he has ever written could be played into or out of commercial breaks during sporting events and 72% of them could be played underneath commentary. The NFL should just suck it up and have the Foo Fighters play the Super Bowl Halftime show every year. It's going to fucking Bieber this year. Watch.

Okay. Back to work.

Voltie's Choice

Here's the setup. I go into the bathroom and I have my Charlie Brown mug filled with coffee in my hand. The only place to set it is on the pipe attached to the flusher on the urinal. I unzip and proceed to use the urinal when it hits me. If there was a seismological or plumbing event, I would have to make a choice. Urine or coffee.

I went through both scenarios in my head. Scenario 1 is that the coffee falls from the pipe and I catch it. This would result in soiled clothing and shoes.

Scenario 2 is that I proceed with urinaling and just wear the coffee stains.

I'm going coffee stains.

Luckily, there was neither a seismological or plumbing event, but still, it was good to know that I had a plan.

Always have a plan. Now, I will go back to finishing the plan for a Predator attack. Step 1 is to cover myself in mud, making me invisible to infra-red. The nearest available mud is 350 yards from here and would take an estimated seven minutes to reach. Always know where the mud is.

Impressted Development

Did the interviews for the new job opportunity yesterday. Got passed around for three hours to multiple people and got asked similar questions from each. It's all part of the process. There actually was one point where a woman asked if I had any questions for her about the job and the Munsters question flashed in my head for a second. My inner ten year old is always there no matter what the situation.

I think it actually went really well. The two worst things that I did that could kill my chances were oversharing and overqualification.

I'm very personable and will be very transparent in some situations. I kept it all businessy, but was honest. I have a job and don't need to fake it with bullshit. They should know what they're getting. There were no sea animals mentioned at any time.

Every person I talked to referenced my resume and then asked if I would get bored in this position because I had extra skills that would no be flexed. Being able to code can really intimidate, but I don't even code that much. It's kinda just enough to communicate between business and tech people. I can serve as an interpreter of logic. I explained to them that if I needed to get a code buzz there were always crossword puzzles, sudokus and computers at home to wreck to spark that jones if it occurs. To learn about anything, it helps to break it.

When I looked back on the three hours of interviews for a highlight reel, I put it into perspective of where I'm at right now. I'll still turn on the HughVoltage show from time to time, but it's much less frequent. The days of waking up in the morning and realizing that you left your backpack with your laptop in it at the bar are gone. Walking to get the car in the morning doesn't happen on weekdays anymore. It's alleviated a ton of stress of the WhatDidIDos and WhatDidISays. There are less random numbers in my phone with cryptic descriptions as a last name. It's much more boring, but it's relatively peaceful and I really feel like I'm moving in the right direction.

If I get this job it could man a move out of Hellrose Place. It could mean a new set of acquaintances. It could mean a ton of things and definitely could serve as that crossroads that has been way way way overdue as I was stunting my development. This could be good.

Here Comes the Pride

So, stuff has finally wound down at work. I hit a personal best of a 75 hour week a couple of weeks ago. It was at the 60th hour when I decided being payed a salary over hourly blows. I grew up significantly through the process.

As a reward to myself, I'm going into a third interview with a different company than my current employer. The job is a significant pay cut, but it's the natural next step in a career path. Plus, it's been like 7 years at a job that I took because the benefits were good if I were to start a family. That's no longer an issue. I'm more apt to start a fight than a family at this point.

In preparation for my first real job interview in almost a decade, I've been looking at some articles online (useless). All it's done is psyche me out. On the other hand it has made me remember some interview debacles from early in my career. One of them may have been a million dollar mistake. Literally.

The first one was on a third interview when the interviewer asked a wrap up question of "Do you have any questions for me?" Being young and retarded, I asked her "If Eddie Munster's dad was a Frankenstein and his mom was a vampire? Why was he a werewolf?"

Needless to say I didn't get that job, however I did learn never to do that again.

The big mistake happened at Google in 2002. It was a shitty adsense inside sales job, but the company was still really young. They had headhunted me out of Arthur Andersen after we were indicted for the Enron scandal. I was a little frazzled by the whole ordeal as it was my dream job. I worked as a mailboy at an Andersen Consulting when I was going to junior college and I had made it to the point of getting mail brought to me by one. It was the American dream, but per usual, Lucy yanked the ball at the last second.

Anyway, I go to Google when they had one or two buildings. Nothing like the campus they have now. There were still jelly beans everywhere and roller blades in the hallway, but nowhere near where they are today. I still had to get a name tag, but there was no NDA or anything.

I hit my first three interviews like a rockstar. I was killing it. Witty. Charming. Interesting. Then, this dude that looked like Ted's dad from Bill and Ted's walks in. He was the International sales manager or director or something.

We started off very light and he started prodding my marketing background as it was a sales position. I discussed the similarities and differences between the disciplines and how ultimately there should be a synergy with them both to enjoy success on both sides of the ball.

The next part is where I fucked up bad. He stood up and started talking down about marketing, which I felt very passionate about at the time. I let it go on for about ten minutes and noticed that there were people waiting outside of the conference room. As a chip became evident on his shoulder, his voice started raising. In my head, I start thinking maybe this is one of those tests in the interview process to see if I have a backbone. I stood up and continued the conversation face to face with him. I think he found it a sign of aggression. He must have done some prison time and had an adverse reaction to eye contact.

We wrapped it up as the conference room was clearly belonging to someone else at that point and he left almost pissed off.

The recruiter brought me to my next interview where I met with a guy who I would be working with. He was pretty much telling me that he had heard that I did really well and couldn't wait to work with me. I kinda told him thanks for the compliment, but it wasn't going to happen, most likely.

So, the question I'm left with is: "Was my pride worth possibly a million dollars?"

At this point, no. On the other hand, a million dollars will barely buy you a house around here and to buy pride is nearly impossible. Yeah, a nice car may give you sense of it, but it's not pride.

Moral of the story? Tomorrow, I'll take a beating if it comes to it. I have nothing to lose and can shake any dust off that I pick up if attacked. Also, the Munsters mailman was a werewolf. No need to ask the question.

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?