There is nothing like getting a phone call from a friend which simply says, "I'm just calling to see if you're dead yet." How does one react to this? I guess some would find that it is a bad thing. I know for a fact that most women would be crying right now because they don't understand why their friend could say such a mean thing.
We aren't talking about women, we are talking about me. I am not dead but would be such a bad thing to be dead. Of course it would be but here's the nerd thinking that goes on in my head. The first thing I thought of when Dave said that to me was, "I wish I was a Jedi Knight ghost." That would be pretty fucking cool, wouldn't you think? You could walk around and push people over. You wouldn't have to wait in any lines. The best thing is that you could go to a Sorority House and just hang out.
Oh yeah, I know Jedi Knights aren't supposed to be "involved" but could they have sex? Like one night stands with hookers? I sure hope they could or then there would have been many problems with the Younglings. I mean, that's what has been happening with the Catholic Priests.
I'm losing my train of thought. What's my point again? There isn't one. That's just a random thought I had. Dave, I would have called you back but it still hurts to talk and it's still painful to just chat with you period.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Sunday, August 28, 2005
I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane.
As you can tell, the Strep is slowing eating away at me inside. It's causing an anger that I didn't know was there before. In any case, I emailed The Doc and asked him if he could write me something, anything it didn't matter cause I was sick of posting about Strep Throat and in all honesty that's the only focus on my mind right now. This is a personal battle that I will eventually have it out with it and it won't be pretty.
A little prologue…
This weekend, the planets were supposed to come into alignment and I was supposed to head out to Sin City to romp with a young Dan McCockle, the proprietor of this blog. Alas, this was not meant to be. I wasted too much money prior to the purchase of a ticket, and Dan was infected with a temperamental stepchild of the ebola virus. Knowing that I wasn’t going to make my trip to Vegas, I decided to still keep the days I had requested off work, even if only to stay at home and catch up on some reading.
…
Last Monday, I received a call from an old friend from the military days. I hadn’t seen Sam Doster in about 2 years, but we’d spent a good chunk of our military service together. We’ve been known to drink a bit too much and cause a general sense of uneasiness in all those nearby.
Long story, short:
Doster: Get the Hell out here, Nate.
Doc: No can do. The shrapnel in my pocket won’t pay for the ticket.
Doster: Not a problem. I’ve got a voucher for an airline that has to be used by this weekend. You’re on a flight out of Kalamazoo Thursday morning and you’ll be here until Sunday. See you Thursday.
Doc: Apparently you will.
I scramble for the next few days to get work in order for my vacation and, as told, I hop on a Thursday morning flight, albeit feeling a little uneasy. I don’t know why I’m feeling nervous, but assume it’s simply because I’m flying. Of course, no flight has ever bothered me before, but perhaps a body changes after it hits 29. Regardless, I dismiss my apprehension with a Jack Daniels, the only whiskey that any airline seems to keep in stock. It’ll do the job though. I take my first drink of the day at 10:32 a.m., somewhere over Ohio, my least favorite state in the country. This trip was doomed from the start.
Most reunions are full of handshakes and smiles, and Doster’s and mine is no different. We make our way to Sam’s apartment and continue drinking. Apparently, Doster is living with a girl (Kim) that he’s madly in love with. She shows up. Introductions are made. I begin to feel uneasy again.
I learn a few things about Sam and Kim’s relationship during my first few hours there:
- Kim is going through a divorce.
- Sam is in love with Kim.
- Kim does not really want to rush into another relationship (naturally), but Sam is being kind enough to allow Kim to live with him.
- Sam is very much in love with Kim.
- Kim really has nowhere else to go.
- Sam is unhealthily in love with Kim.
- Sam is in love with Kim, and we will all be drinking a good chunk of alcohol this weekend.
Readers, I won’t waste your time with details. Lots of booze, some laughs, some stupidity. Much of it’s actually a haze. You get the idea. But I flew into Washington D.C. on Thursday morning with a return flight scheduled for Sunday, and by 3:00 a.m. Saturday I will be calling Northwest Airlines demanding a flight home immediately.
Friday night is a strange one. We’ve been drinking for a while, but Doster doesn’t seem to be having much fun. Anytime a guy stands near Kim, Sam whispers to me, “Watch this, Doc. I’ll bet you that guy talks to her.”
Now this kind of behavior is always troublesome to me, but it’s especially so when I’m on vacation and it involves the person that I am staying with. Perhaps it’s cowardice, but I always like to maintain an escape route out of any situation. Anyway, my partners in crime and I continue drinking and I start to get that knot in my stomach; the one that usually means the fun’s about to end.
We leave for Sam’s apartment around midnight because Kim’s a little drunk and she has to work in the morning. Sam’s angry and it shows by his driving: hugging corners and speeding most of the way.
We get back to the apartment and Sam continues drinking. I start watching T.V. and I can tell that Sam is itching for an argument with Kim. I imagine that she can tell as well, as she announces that she’s going to sleep on the pullout couch in the living room, rather than in bed with Sam. This only makes Sam angrier and voices are raised. The argument starts and I stay quiet. Sam tells Kim to get the fuck out. She begins to. Sam apparently changes his mind. As Kim tries to walk past, he grabs her arm, and she’s on the floor.
Now here’s the thing: I wouldn’t say that I’m a great guy. I imagine that there are a lot of people that consider me an asshole (and I promise that not all of these people are male). I’ve done my share of playing the insensitive boyfriend in many of my previous relationships. But I refuse to put up with any sort of violence toward women. It’s not chivalry. It’s not heroic. It’s simply a piece of some men’s character that disgusts me more than anything else on earth.
Doster is my friend. It is because of this that I’ll say nothing about the specifics of my intervention, but he grabbed her wrist only once.
Things get out of hand for a while, but eventually Doster calms down, drinks some more, and passes out. I call Northwest Airlines. After explaining my situation to an extremely understanding ticket agent, I have a flight that leaves D.C. in 2 hours. Kim drives me to the airport. She plans on moving back to her parent’s home for a while.
I get on my flight at 6:25 a.m., feeling more uneasy than I did when I came here. Around 7:00, I convince the stewardess to give me a Jack Daniels, though she gives me a wary look. I’m sure that I’m somewhere over Ohio when I have my drink. Makes sense.
Moral of this story: There’s a reason why “free” trips are free. Stay home and drink by yourself, or with friends that you know are absent of a predisposition of violence toward women.
A little prologue…
This weekend, the planets were supposed to come into alignment and I was supposed to head out to Sin City to romp with a young Dan McCockle, the proprietor of this blog. Alas, this was not meant to be. I wasted too much money prior to the purchase of a ticket, and Dan was infected with a temperamental stepchild of the ebola virus. Knowing that I wasn’t going to make my trip to Vegas, I decided to still keep the days I had requested off work, even if only to stay at home and catch up on some reading.
…
Last Monday, I received a call from an old friend from the military days. I hadn’t seen Sam Doster in about 2 years, but we’d spent a good chunk of our military service together. We’ve been known to drink a bit too much and cause a general sense of uneasiness in all those nearby.
Long story, short:
Doster: Get the Hell out here, Nate.
Doc: No can do. The shrapnel in my pocket won’t pay for the ticket.
Doster: Not a problem. I’ve got a voucher for an airline that has to be used by this weekend. You’re on a flight out of Kalamazoo Thursday morning and you’ll be here until Sunday. See you Thursday.
Doc: Apparently you will.
I scramble for the next few days to get work in order for my vacation and, as told, I hop on a Thursday morning flight, albeit feeling a little uneasy. I don’t know why I’m feeling nervous, but assume it’s simply because I’m flying. Of course, no flight has ever bothered me before, but perhaps a body changes after it hits 29. Regardless, I dismiss my apprehension with a Jack Daniels, the only whiskey that any airline seems to keep in stock. It’ll do the job though. I take my first drink of the day at 10:32 a.m., somewhere over Ohio, my least favorite state in the country. This trip was doomed from the start.
Most reunions are full of handshakes and smiles, and Doster’s and mine is no different. We make our way to Sam’s apartment and continue drinking. Apparently, Doster is living with a girl (Kim) that he’s madly in love with. She shows up. Introductions are made. I begin to feel uneasy again.
I learn a few things about Sam and Kim’s relationship during my first few hours there:
- Kim is going through a divorce.
- Sam is in love with Kim.
- Kim does not really want to rush into another relationship (naturally), but Sam is being kind enough to allow Kim to live with him.
- Sam is very much in love with Kim.
- Kim really has nowhere else to go.
- Sam is unhealthily in love with Kim.
- Sam is in love with Kim, and we will all be drinking a good chunk of alcohol this weekend.
Readers, I won’t waste your time with details. Lots of booze, some laughs, some stupidity. Much of it’s actually a haze. You get the idea. But I flew into Washington D.C. on Thursday morning with a return flight scheduled for Sunday, and by 3:00 a.m. Saturday I will be calling Northwest Airlines demanding a flight home immediately.
Friday night is a strange one. We’ve been drinking for a while, but Doster doesn’t seem to be having much fun. Anytime a guy stands near Kim, Sam whispers to me, “Watch this, Doc. I’ll bet you that guy talks to her.”
Now this kind of behavior is always troublesome to me, but it’s especially so when I’m on vacation and it involves the person that I am staying with. Perhaps it’s cowardice, but I always like to maintain an escape route out of any situation. Anyway, my partners in crime and I continue drinking and I start to get that knot in my stomach; the one that usually means the fun’s about to end.
We leave for Sam’s apartment around midnight because Kim’s a little drunk and she has to work in the morning. Sam’s angry and it shows by his driving: hugging corners and speeding most of the way.
We get back to the apartment and Sam continues drinking. I start watching T.V. and I can tell that Sam is itching for an argument with Kim. I imagine that she can tell as well, as she announces that she’s going to sleep on the pullout couch in the living room, rather than in bed with Sam. This only makes Sam angrier and voices are raised. The argument starts and I stay quiet. Sam tells Kim to get the fuck out. She begins to. Sam apparently changes his mind. As Kim tries to walk past, he grabs her arm, and she’s on the floor.
Now here’s the thing: I wouldn’t say that I’m a great guy. I imagine that there are a lot of people that consider me an asshole (and I promise that not all of these people are male). I’ve done my share of playing the insensitive boyfriend in many of my previous relationships. But I refuse to put up with any sort of violence toward women. It’s not chivalry. It’s not heroic. It’s simply a piece of some men’s character that disgusts me more than anything else on earth.
Doster is my friend. It is because of this that I’ll say nothing about the specifics of my intervention, but he grabbed her wrist only once.
Things get out of hand for a while, but eventually Doster calms down, drinks some more, and passes out. I call Northwest Airlines. After explaining my situation to an extremely understanding ticket agent, I have a flight that leaves D.C. in 2 hours. Kim drives me to the airport. She plans on moving back to her parent’s home for a while.
I get on my flight at 6:25 a.m., feeling more uneasy than I did when I came here. Around 7:00, I convince the stewardess to give me a Jack Daniels, though she gives me a wary look. I’m sure that I’m somewhere over Ohio when I have my drink. Makes sense.
Moral of this story: There’s a reason why “free” trips are free. Stay home and drink by yourself, or with friends that you know are absent of a predisposition of violence toward women.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
See You in a Bit
I'm giving everyone the heads up that there will not be any new posts for awhile. I'm sick and I may have tonsillitis. I'm going to give myself one more day before I go to the doctor just to make sure but it's not looking so good. To all the people that are chasing their dreams...this is when dreams aren't cheap. Insurance...what's that? Well maybe I'll just move to Canada. No stupid posts on you hoping I feel better...you are my friends...I know this...so please don't make those comments. I'll be back soon.
UPDATED on August 30, 2005. For some strange reason, people wanted to see a picture of me and how I look. I guess cause I told them how shitty and scary I looked. I have been known to take "funny" pictures and I wish this was the case. This is an honest to god's natural posed picture. You gotta love sickness. Oh yeah...FUCK YOU STREP THROAT.
UPDATED on August 30, 2005. For some strange reason, people wanted to see a picture of me and how I look. I guess cause I told them how shitty and scary I looked. I have been known to take "funny" pictures and I wish this was the case. This is an honest to god's natural posed picture. You gotta love sickness. Oh yeah...FUCK YOU STREP THROAT.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
I'm 5'10'', Blue Eyes and I'm Fucking Crazy.
These are the kind of people I tend to run into. I'm not saying sometimes, I'm saying the odds of this happening are high, it's a very common thing. This was on the last night in Kalamazoo. By then, I was on my third bar hanging out with some friends. The buzz was a success. I was taking some sweet ass pics of friends but mainly of myself (egotistical here) when someone tapped me on my shoulder. In my drunken brain I was hoping it was some hot ass girl, cute even, who had heard about me from someone in some time and had to meet me. Instead I got this guy.Now I don't remember his name but we'll call him Gary. He looks like a Gary doesn't he? Gary asked if I could take a picture of him to put on the net. He didn't ask where, he just wanted it on the net. He gave me his street address and said that he didn't care what kind of girl it was. Fat, skinny, ugly...as long as she came over. I took the picture without even looking at him. You can see to the left my hair. I didn't even see the final picture until later on that night when I was drinking on some railroad tracks (that's a whole different story)and realized that I'm a natural at taking pictures...of evil. He was happy and left me alone...or so I thought.
Gary tapped me on my shoulder again and asked if I was going to do it. I said yes. He then told me that if anyone showed up, he would give me fifty bucks. Now remember, he doesn't know my name, he doesn't know who I am but that's the face I have. I have the face of a trust worthy man, in fact I should run for President someday. Hmmm...I have suddenly become a pimp. I don't feel like a pimp on those rap videos. I don't feel pimp juice running through my veins.
I later found out that this guy is crazy. "No shit Dan, I mean look at him." No, I mean he really is crazy. After days of contemplating, I figured I better put this on my blog so he doesn't track me down and ask me why I didn't put it on the net. So if any of you ladies out there want to have a good time...go to the gutter slums of Kalamazoo and call out Gary. I'm sure he will come out from behind a dumpster, after finishing up on a freshly killed rat and show you a fantastic time. Take you dancing, to a Satan worshipping benefit, you get the drift. Oh yeah, when you do eventually do this, I mean you kind of have to cause he's so damn charming, tell him Dan sent ya...he'll know exactly who that is.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Monday, August 08, 2005
Access Equals Asses Hollywood
WARNING: Pandora's Box has been opened and what you are about to experience may shock some of you. It may abort some of your unborn babies and worst of all...you may just enjoy it.
I'm not the biggest fan of news. Ok, let me rephrase that. I love the news, but I'm not a fan of how biased it is. They say freedom of speech but in the long run, it's all run by big time money makers who want to turn a profit. Let’s spend twenty eight minutes on war and killing and fuck you and the other two minutes will show you a clown and some rainbows.
Peter Jennings passed away today of lung cancer. Yes he smoked and he could have prevented it but he didn't and he's gone on to a better place. Now, I'm not who sits down and watches the news but I knew who he was. I've grown up on knowing who he was and what he did for a living. Even though he was Canadian, he was American, like apple pie. I was watching TV. today...I tend to do that and I was watching Access Hollywood. In a way, it was nice to see that they were paying homage to him. Even a junk show like that is showing respect to someone like Peter Jennings but here's the catch. The segment lasted a minute...with more to come later. So what was more important? "Britney Spear's Baby Shower."
It seems like Britney's baby shower was the other day and what happened? One of those pieces of shit who likes to stalk people because they say it's an "honest living" was shot in the leg by a pellet gun. They showed his injury a thousand times and it was a little bloody. This fucking pussy had to have an ambulance and fire department called because he was shot in the leg by a fucking bb gun. Then he went on to say that he's going to sue who did this. Of course, Britney's security was blamed but the Malibu Police Department is going to run a full investigation on the subject. Oh thank you. Thank you Jesus for sacrificing yourself for all of our sins so I can put up with this shit. These are the same mother fuckers who sell pictures to US Weekly with quotes like, "They shop like us. They eat like us. They bleed like us. They murder like us and get away with it." I really don't give a fuck if these "photographers" claim that it's a legit job. It’s not and I'll tell you why. All of their exclusive pictures look like shit. They are always blurry and you can barely make out what's going on and they get paid a ton of money. A fucking bb gun. People are dying in a war that is done, or so they said, and this guy is crying about a cut.
I'm getting off the subject. I tend to do that. So in a state of shock, I finished watching Access Hollywood to see remainder of the Peter Jennings story and where did they put it? Oh, it was at the end credits. HA. At that time I picked up the TV. and smashed it over my head. Luckily my brother as a decent warranty on it.
I blame myself for thinking that this big as corn filled turd was going to show some respect to an anchorman who we've all had in your living room from one night to another. I'm tipping my forty for you homie. You will be missed.
I'm not the biggest fan of news. Ok, let me rephrase that. I love the news, but I'm not a fan of how biased it is. They say freedom of speech but in the long run, it's all run by big time money makers who want to turn a profit. Let’s spend twenty eight minutes on war and killing and fuck you and the other two minutes will show you a clown and some rainbows.
Peter Jennings passed away today of lung cancer. Yes he smoked and he could have prevented it but he didn't and he's gone on to a better place. Now, I'm not who sits down and watches the news but I knew who he was. I've grown up on knowing who he was and what he did for a living. Even though he was Canadian, he was American, like apple pie. I was watching TV. today...I tend to do that and I was watching Access Hollywood. In a way, it was nice to see that they were paying homage to him. Even a junk show like that is showing respect to someone like Peter Jennings but here's the catch. The segment lasted a minute...with more to come later. So what was more important? "Britney Spear's Baby Shower."
It seems like Britney's baby shower was the other day and what happened? One of those pieces of shit who likes to stalk people because they say it's an "honest living" was shot in the leg by a pellet gun. They showed his injury a thousand times and it was a little bloody. This fucking pussy had to have an ambulance and fire department called because he was shot in the leg by a fucking bb gun. Then he went on to say that he's going to sue who did this. Of course, Britney's security was blamed but the Malibu Police Department is going to run a full investigation on the subject. Oh thank you. Thank you Jesus for sacrificing yourself for all of our sins so I can put up with this shit. These are the same mother fuckers who sell pictures to US Weekly with quotes like, "They shop like us. They eat like us. They bleed like us. They murder like us and get away with it." I really don't give a fuck if these "photographers" claim that it's a legit job. It’s not and I'll tell you why. All of their exclusive pictures look like shit. They are always blurry and you can barely make out what's going on and they get paid a ton of money. A fucking bb gun. People are dying in a war that is done, or so they said, and this guy is crying about a cut.
I'm getting off the subject. I tend to do that. So in a state of shock, I finished watching Access Hollywood to see remainder of the Peter Jennings story and where did they put it? Oh, it was at the end credits. HA. At that time I picked up the TV. and smashed it over my head. Luckily my brother as a decent warranty on it.
I blame myself for thinking that this big as corn filled turd was going to show some respect to an anchorman who we've all had in your living room from one night to another. I'm tipping my forty for you homie. You will be missed.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
See You in Hell
A place I've never been
I'm dying to meet you here
Come break this skin
I'll let you sink right in
And show you everything
See you in hell
See you in hell
We'll gather around the fire
And I will lead the choir
Sing Farewell
See you in hell
Come break, my spell
Well down the wishing well
We'll find some time to time to kill
I'll be, right there
The buzz inside your head
The whole electric chair
See you in hell
We'll gather round the fire
And I don't need the choir
Sing farewell
See you in hell
One of the many reasons why I love the Foo Fighters. I swear to god that I've worked with women for so long that I've some how acquired a male version of P.M.S. I don't know how. You hear that when a group of women work together long enough that they all get their periods at the same time but what about the guys? Something must rub off on them...right? Besides the fact that allergies can suck out in a desert, I can't really explain it. I am so upset right now that I find it weird. The only thing that I'm not craving is some Ben and Jerry's ice cream and to watch Beaches while wearing my pink, bunny rabbit pajamas.
I'm to the point right now that everyone is on a very thin line. Well not everyone, because if that was the case I would have already burned a shit load of bridges tonight. I will say that I almost deleted someone's phone number because I like to over analyze things. Wow, I'm also noticing that this post isn't really about anything and it's just about me and what I'm feeling. Fuck, the next thing I'm gonna say is, "Today I woke up. I made some eggs. After that I went for a walk. It was a nice walk. After the walk I rammed my head into the wall so many times that I bleed and it made me smile because it made me realize that I'm alive." Ok, well most posts aren't like that, but they should be. Please, please. I know some of you guys are gonna ask me, "What’s wrong?" Please don't because there is no point. It's like asking me in the morning, "Are you in a bad mood?" Heck yes I am. Who actually likes getting up this early to go into a crappy retail job?
My point? There is no point. I thought I'd venture into a realm that I rarely go to. I figured I wouldn't bottle up this anger inside of me...just for one night and one night only. And until that day comes...I'll see you in hell.
I'm dying to meet you here
Come break this skin
I'll let you sink right in
And show you everything
See you in hell
See you in hell
We'll gather around the fire
And I will lead the choir
Sing Farewell
See you in hell
Come break, my spell
Well down the wishing well
We'll find some time to time to kill
I'll be, right there
The buzz inside your head
The whole electric chair
See you in hell
We'll gather round the fire
And I don't need the choir
Sing farewell
See you in hell
One of the many reasons why I love the Foo Fighters. I swear to god that I've worked with women for so long that I've some how acquired a male version of P.M.S. I don't know how. You hear that when a group of women work together long enough that they all get their periods at the same time but what about the guys? Something must rub off on them...right? Besides the fact that allergies can suck out in a desert, I can't really explain it. I am so upset right now that I find it weird. The only thing that I'm not craving is some Ben and Jerry's ice cream and to watch Beaches while wearing my pink, bunny rabbit pajamas.
I'm to the point right now that everyone is on a very thin line. Well not everyone, because if that was the case I would have already burned a shit load of bridges tonight. I will say that I almost deleted someone's phone number because I like to over analyze things. Wow, I'm also noticing that this post isn't really about anything and it's just about me and what I'm feeling. Fuck, the next thing I'm gonna say is, "Today I woke up. I made some eggs. After that I went for a walk. It was a nice walk. After the walk I rammed my head into the wall so many times that I bleed and it made me smile because it made me realize that I'm alive." Ok, well most posts aren't like that, but they should be. Please, please. I know some of you guys are gonna ask me, "What’s wrong?" Please don't because there is no point. It's like asking me in the morning, "Are you in a bad mood?" Heck yes I am. Who actually likes getting up this early to go into a crappy retail job?
My point? There is no point. I thought I'd venture into a realm that I rarely go to. I figured I wouldn't bottle up this anger inside of me...just for one night and one night only. And until that day comes...I'll see you in hell.
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