I don't really know why I'm about to write this post, as I've never been all that comfortable talking about personal issues, even with my closest friends. Maybe I'm doing this to try and blow up my feelings as quickly as possible, to get it all out at once, instead of dealing with it slowly.

So here it is: my marriage is over.

35 years old, and now I have to try and begin again, without really knowing how. Jesus Christ, I'm scared.

The only gifts I received for my birthday (June 7), or for Father's day (yesterday) were from my mother. That should tell you all I need to know about the state of my life right now.

Today is my birthday. This is the most important fact you will learn today.

No, really it is.

Just accept it, and possibly even embrace it.


Two years ago, I wrote the following. I paste it now, acknowledging and ignoring the misplaced commas:


As I write this, I'm one half hour from my birthday, and two and a half from the time of my birth, almost thirty three years ago.

I've been sitting in the car, smoking, and drinking a hard cider. The night is warm, and so is the cider.

Just outside, the dog is wheezing in his sleep, and I can hear him turning fitfully in his little nestle hole beneath the porch. He's old now, eighteen years or more, and his time is drawing to a close. He has tumors, and his legs are stiff. He gets confused so easily now, and he wanders, unknowing, into the streets sometimes in the early mornings. We've discussed putting him to sleep, but my mother says she's afraid of how the children would react. I think she's the one who desperately fears losing him.

Tonight she told me that she wakes every year, on my birthday, at two a.m., to remember and to celebrate. Idly, I've considered waiting up until then to see if she really does wake, or just thinks she does. But I won't do that - it's disrespectful to her to presume to intrude into such a private thing.

In a few moments, I'll go back outside, and smoke one last cigarette, and drink one more cider, seperated from the moment of my birth by twenty two hours, and thirty two years.

Goodnight everyone, and goodbye to thirty two: it seems we hardly got to know each other before we had to part.



In those two years, I have changed superficially, but remained essentially the same. The dog passed shortly after I wrote the above, fading into an eternal dream while I held his paw and rubbed his ears. I have a new puppy now: she is beautiful, and stupid, and perfect.

Happy birthday to myself.

Tomorrow morning we leave for Disneyland. Five days of fun and adventuresome adventure with three kids, my mother, and an Indian who rides a horse named Freedom.

It's been about five years since I was last there, and I, average American consumer whore that I am, can't wait. Now the last time I was there, I was struck starry eyed by an actress walking around dressed as Mary Poppins, so I've been working on my sure fire pick up lines to help score some sweet, sweet, forbidden childhood icon lovin'. In your opinion, which of these is not only guaranteed to land me Mary, but the chimney sweep, and Mary's wayward cousin Treacle Annie besides?

A) Hello, Mary. I've got a spoonful of sugar for you. (coupled with MUSCLE FLEX, MUSCLE FLEX, then Gene Kelly dance moves)

B) Hello, my name is Medicine... I go down. (as above for fitness routine)


As a side note, I've given up drinking and smoking for the five days of the trip. Yep, I'll vigorously avoid those vices with the same intensity that I pursue them here. Which means that Enterprise rental may get their car back with two or more dead hookers (or possibly chimney sweeps) in the trunk, but I don't think they'll begrudge a man his stress release.

I don't really update this thing very often, do I?

I should work on that.

My guitarist, Hester Bangs, from Rock Band has become my personal game sex icon. The create a musician function alone pushes RB past Guitar Hero.






All in preparation for my new project: The all SG Rock Band super group.

I think I've reached the point where I begin to question whether or not it's worth paying to stay here anymore. There's still enjoyment to be had, but SG isn't the place it was when I first joined. Or possibly I'm not who I
was when I first joined. Either way, something has changed, and not for the better.

We'll see.

Just for the fun of it, something I wrote tonight on another board, in response to yet another geek (it's a gaming forum) who can't get the nuts up to talk to a pretty girl. A redhead, no less. Come on now folks, you got to hit that shit when you can get that shit. Tapping hot, redhead ass whenever possible is enshrined in the CONSTITUTION, mother fuckers. Or it oughta be.

Ahem:


Okay. Years ago, we had something here called the Four Bastards Academy. It was a bit of a laugh, really, involving four guys who had been around long enough to get so egotistical as to believe we'd finally pulled our heads out of our asses about a few things.

I was one of those Four Bastards (if you need proof, just look at the stickied thread about old, famous Tangency threads). I'm now going to relive that moment.


SHAPE UP SON, AND GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME.

She ain't selling coupons to you. She ain't "fucking" with you, and her friends aren't giggly bints LARPing GlennGarryGlennRoss. She thinks you're cute, and she wants you to ask her out.

If this wasn't the way it was, then 5 of them wouldn't come into the store all the time. Here's them:

"Hey, come with me and tell me this guy's cute."

"Okay."

"There he is, isn't he cute?"

"HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!"

Fuck customers, dude. They aren't going to be alienated by anything but your failure to deliver a sandwich. Hell, the ones that aren't pricks are going to think it's just so insufferably adorable that you asked out a pretty girl right there on their lunch break.

And as to alienating her? Fuck that. The only way you alienate her is by proving to be such a lump that you don't ask her out. I mean it. You don't ask... she's going away. Hot redheads don't need to wait for long, baby. If you don't play, she won't stay. That's the only alienation you need fear.

Seriously man. Give her the YOU, with extra bacon. That's what she wants. And make that shit SNAPPY.

Dude. Tonight, I drank heavily. I drank like a gypsy with terminal cancer.

No, I have no idea what that means, but it sounds like distilled awesome. Made up homespun wisdom for the win!

Watch this: A Gentleman's Duel

Love it as I do.