God's Balls! and other less distinct exclamations.

6 months, 8 days since my last confession.

2008-06-15T16:24:00.007-04:00

Back to writing. I'd stopped for a while partly because my circumstances have changed dramatically and partially because I just didn't have it in me. But excuses are crap. It's like the small green guy with the backwards grammatical syntax says, "Do or do not." So I'm doing. You'll have to forgive the lack of flow for a short while,I'm out of practice, and down a muse.

It's been an eventful six months. I've been fired, hired, moved twice, bought a car, grown up, (sold out), gotten older, improved my credit score and found a competitive streak I thought I'd lost.

In the beginning of November I was asked by my employer if I wouldn't mind not coming in anymore. There's more of a story there but the short form is I immediately went out in pursuit of a job I'd been considering for a couple of years. After almost a month of unemployment I convinced the General Sales Manager at the local Honda store that I really, possibly, might not terrify every customer that walked through the doors. So on December First I started selling Hondas and Hyundais and, as it turns out, I'm pretty good at it. I attribute this to my father. If there's a genetic predisposition for a higher than average ability to sell things than I got it from him. I sold twelve cars in my first month. I've won prizes. I even traded my rav4 in for a very smart Civic coupe. It pays well enough for the time being and there's a distinct satisfaction that comes with being good at what you do.

Success is nice but you've got to watch out for hubris, Memento Mori and all that. I got in a bit of a spat with my former landlord. In my defense, these people were batshit crazy when I moved in and their psychosis became only more pronounced in my tenure on Eoff street. That being said, I can be superiorly antagonistic SOB when I want to be and this time it bit me in the ass. So be it. I moved in with a friend of mine, and her ferrets, for a couple of months and have just recently taken over an apartment that makes the old one look like a hovel. I love my new place. It's smaller than what I had but it's just me,and the kitties, and it's perfect. A couple of very good people helped me paint. I bought myself a ridiculous television and a nice pasta pot. I went to IKEA. I have central-freakin'-air and a washer and dryer that isn't four floors down in a different building. I look forward to coming home at night.

That's the reader's digest version, but it's going to have to be enough for now. I promise to try not to make it another six months before doing this again.

Paradigms and Paradoxes, Engagements and Enigmas.

2007-11-05T23:39:00.001-05:00

I have no perspective on anything I've been feeling lately. My brain refuses to communicate with my heart. My mind races from one nonsequitur to the next... as such...
I talk to Sarah every day.
Talking is good.
None of her friends know we talk every day...
So what, insignificant...maybe...still don't care...getting to talk to my friend.
We talk sometimes about the guy she's with.
Have I been relegated to the role of friend-guy?
I like our friendship, it means a lot to me.
We have an amazing friendship.
I want the potential for more than friendship.
Lie.. I want more than friendship, I am settling, right now, for potential.
Potential has options. Options either way. Options that may help me move on if need be.
Moving on means giving up.
I do not want to be pathetic ex boy. I hate pathetic boy, he's weak, I am not weak.
People that care about me tell me I'm pulling a Don Quixote.
Nothing about our relationship was conventional...ergo conventional rules should not apply to us.
Liam and Jen broke up ten or twelve times, they made it.
Liam and Jen didn't have a ten year age difference to contend with. They matured together.

Felinious is biting my big toe...

and that would be the sign that I am exhausted, I wanted to write about Ryan's engagement today at Later, and post pictures, it will have to wait. As will any references to the hardest JKD class I've ever remembered taking...except for this reference...You can lie to yourself, convince yourself you are one bad ess-oh-bee, but there is no kind of humble like the kind you feel when you get shown just how out of the game you are. Just means you have to work harder.

Also it's Guy Fawkes day, shame on you if you didn't remember remember the fifth of November. I was really hoping somebody would cause a little mischief. I'd have done it myself but mischief causing Arabs end up seeing the bad side of Cuba.

Goodnight.

the goings on of Mitches.

2007-10-30T20:40:00.000-04:00

I've been lazy putting thought to page of late, but it's been an eventful week or two. I'm currently watching the owner of The Diner Next Door hang his Christmas lights. He seems like exactly the kind of guy who would think that to be a good idea the day before Halloween. If that seems a little judgmental it's because he's been a colossal dick to my mother in the past and I'd imbibe a distinct amount of pleasure if he were blown off his ladder by a great gust of wind, or a misplaced semitic elbow. I haven't been that lucky lately.

Speaking of the impending holiday, I don't have a costume, which is unusual for me. I could always reuse last year's $3 awesomeness again, but that sort of seems like I'd be half-assing it. I may figure something out last minute. I have however reprogrammed the music that plays on your way into the restaurant to give our patrons a break from the " See you later alligator ." For the next twenty four hours they'll be treated to a little Monster Mash, followed by the This is Halloween theme from the Nightmare before Christmas, followed by whatever else I can dig up between now and tomorrow's opening. Must remember to put Thriller on that playlist. Digger's benefit show is tomorrow night at The Best Bar in Wheeling, 9 bands for worthy cause, plus it's Halloween.

In the continued adventures of trying to be a healthier and better Arab, I've rededicated myself to my martial arts class. After a decade and a half ,earning my blacks has become important to me. I'm sure there's some psychology behind this renewed effort, but mostly I think I want the opened doors that aren't available to me as a colored belt. To that end I attended our Head of Family's seminar this past weekend. My instructor's instructor was in from his home out west and gave a full day seminar focusing on some very practical hand to hand techniques. This guy's no joke, he just got tapped by a consulting company contracted by the Department of Homeland Security to build the hand to hand combat training regimen that's going to be taught to all the various federal and state agencies that fall under the purview of DHS. What I got from it was that if Sally the Meter Maid meets Achmed the Not-As-Yet-Martyred in a dark alley, she's going to at least have some basic knowledge on how to put the guy down. The other thing I got from the seminar was a pair of broken metacarpals courtesy of a misplaced stick strike. It's not bad enough to warrant a cast, but shifting the Rav4 has been a bit of a bitch all week. I've missed coming home all bruised and bumped, it's a term of respect and affection in this group. When I was in high school our class was bigger and you could always tell who was in it because the day after any good class the senior most students would come to school with red welts across our arms and faces from the foam covered PVC redman sticks we used for stick sparring. Those nights made for some interesting stories.

I went back to Yoga tonight. In the past it's been me and bunch of women, tonight however was me, two other joes, and eight guys from the Wheeling Nailers. I'd like to say I held my own, but these guys are semi-professional athletes and I'm just semi-professional. It's inspiring in it's own way. Work harder because these guys have been doing it longer and it's easier for them.

I'm in dreadful need of a shower, perhaps later I'll post the story of bathing Ampersand.

The incredible edible egg

2007-10-23T18:45:00.000-04:00

Made an omelette for dinner. Somebody once told me there was a chef somewhere that when he interviewed new line cooks for his kitchens the only thing he asked them to prepare was an omelette. I don't know how true it is, but my omelette would pass with flying colors. I am pretty much the god-king of making omelettes. A little feta, a little diced tomato, a couple sliced and sauteed fungi, you have a meal worthy of a diminutive French emperor, or a large and verbose Arab.

" You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows"

2007-10-23T12:38:00.000-04:00

I don't know what it is about rain that I like so much. But, I do like it. I like driving in it, I like sleeping through it. It slows things down.

it's like the nice Scottish lady says, "I'm only happy when if rains..."

2007-10-18T16:41:00.000-04:00

The weather here is all wonky. Cold and grey for a straight week, prompting my landlord to finally turn on the heat. Then today starts out all dark and gloomy, switches to what could have been an oddly timed summer shower, and now it's humid and warmish. Somewhere, someone has postulated that bad weather will last precisely as long as you are without heat.

I can't ever seem to get jeans that fit the way they're supposed to. I'm at the point in my life where I feel more than slightly ridiculous when the back hem of my pants frays from dragging on the ground. The only way I seem to be able to get well fitting pants is to have them tailored. Hemming jeans never seems to end with a satisfactory result. This leaves me with a sartorial catch-22. The guys at Levi's have been making jeans since Moby Dick was a minnow, so why can't they figure this out? I mean, you can only cuff your jeans so many times before you automatically metamorphose into someone that listens exclusively to rockabilly.

Off to yoga, followed by karaoke and fishbowls of booze at the best bar in Wheeling.

"It might be dumb and it might be silly but I'm going to sing a song about Cincinnati Chili."

2007-10-17T21:05:00.001-04:00

What did we learn tonight? We, used in the royal sense, learned that after consuming nothing but fruit and vegetables all day, three bowls of chili is not what one should consider a healthy dinner. Or, really in any way, a wise dinner.

Looking forward to tomorrow night, I've made it mandatory Later goes to Karaoke at Yesterday's. I'm calling it a team work building exercise. All are welcome, I intend to get fabulously drunk and try to remember all the words to Killer Queen.

more later...

the appeal of Ben Grimm

2007-10-14T22:30:00.000-04:00

Started to write about identifying with non leading roles in fiction... couldn't really get the words where I wanted them. So I'm shelving that thought for the time being. I am suddenly exhausted. Soul searching is hard work. More to come...

"Just when you think you're out..."

2007-10-14T10:56:00.000-04:00

I was really looking forward to Sarah coming home. We talk all the time, so I thought everything was getting to be where it needed to be. She came over. She hugged me the way she used to hug me. Half an hour later, I landslide back to a month ago. I'm breaking down, she doesn't know what to do. It's like I forgot everything I've worked out. I want to be able to be around her. I want to her to be able to look forward to coming over here when she's home. I'm the guy she's supposed to be able to rely on. How can she rely on me if we can't have a genuinely good time together without one of us breaking down or having to keep the other at arms length. I refuse to accept the idea that we can't remain close. I am genuinely enthusiastic when she tells me she's having a great time. When she's hurting I care. So why am I still so broken?

Neil Gaiman vs. the scourge of Krypton

2007-10-11T21:40:00.000-04:00

Mitch goes literally and figuratively blue, thinking in the words of others, and a C note's worth of sunglasses

2007-10-11T14:47:00.000-04:00

I just got home from swimming another half mile, the pool was ball-curdling cold. Imagine I'll have to get used to that this winter. I wonder if I could find an insulated pair of swim trunks on eBay. Here's a thought, a small battery powered scrotum heater. It appears the lack of warmth has affected more than just my testicles. I need Tortilla Soup... the Arab trundles off stage left in search of soup and gonadial warmth.

3:21 post meridian, I am warmer, or at least slightly less blue. I keep doing this thing where I spend large parts of my days thinking in song lyrics and quotations. Songs that I've always liked, the words of people I've never met, now hit closer to home than before. I set my computer up to randomize my music the other night. The first two tracks, out of what iTunes calculates to be eight days, one hour, and fifty minutes worth of songs, were Comfortable and Man on the Side both by John Mayer. Both songs I've always liked, Comfortable in particular. I don't think I ever put it together that it's a breakup song. It's about moving on. I don't know why those parts never stood out before. Man on the Side, is even more poignant it's about waiting and hoping that the girl you want comes back. That you'll just wait. Can't tell you what that makes me feel like. But she's moved on. As much as I hate hearing about it, I understand why she has to know what's out there, and I like that she can still come to me. So I listen, even when it hurts, because I prefer that to letting her down. She said once she wished we had met ten years from when we did. I didn't appreciate that fully until we weren't together anymore. It hurts that it was partly the want of the other things that broke us up. There are women I could be interested in. It's not that I'm apathetic to this. But it's so predictable. The rebound followed by the next thing. Am I going to forever compare my relationships to her. Isn't that just setting myself up for failure?

7:32pm I've had a night filled with Sarahs ( or Saras). Talked to my Sarah for a little more than an hour. I like that she calls me. It says something that we're still close. I was also pleasantly surprised my the return of Sara "the girl they call Fed" Fedak to Later. She brought Tim and came to eat. Nice to see her doing so well outside of the valley and still loving this place enough to visit home. I have this theory that Wheeling could be a great city again if we only made some smart moves. How hard would it be to hire five twenty-somethings, put them in suits and send them to every company on the Fortune 500 list with a mandate that says, we'll give you land and tax breaks and subsidized loans if you move your corporate headquarters to our city. It worked for Orrick. I see Marietta, and I think wow this is a lot like Wheeling, without all the crap. I was really hoping to go to Yoga, but that will have to wait another night. Closing time.
An Arab, a Fed and a hundred dollars worth of Ralph Lauren sunglasses.

3:39 am

2007-10-06T03:39:00.000-04:00

I can't sleep so I thought I'd try to write. There's a local artist that my mom and I have known for a long time, he's a metal sculptor, fabricator and welder. His work is really very impressive. A few months ago he offered to tutor me in exchange for some free labor, and I reluctantly turned him down because of my ridiculous schedule. He extended the offer again today and I've decided to take him up on it. To start with I'd be assisting him in his welding class at one of the local community colleges. It's a great opportunity for me to learn an art form which I really admire. I took a welding class about a year ago and I really enjoyed it. My class was very basic, but it's given me enough of a groundwork to be able to grow a new skill with his help.

Sarah and I talked a lot tonight. The last conversation is keeping me awake. I hate that the physical distance between us has had such a negative impact on what we had. There were other factors, but the distance keeps me from being able to be there for her. I want to be able to give her the answers to some of the things that are going on with her, but it doesn't work that way. Even the parts that hurt to hear I want to know about just so I can be there for her. There are parts she keeps from me and that's almost worse. I said something to her tonight that I wasn't meaning to. I told her that I haven't closed the book on us. I've seen a very good friend of mine regret making so serious a commitment so young. I don't want that for us. If we do get back together, I want it to be because there's no one else either of us would rather be with. I know that. It breaks me apart knowing that she wants and needs to experience other things. Would it be easier on me to just give up and move on, to hope there was someone out there I could love the way I love her. Maybe, but I don't believe this is one of those things where the easy way is the right way. I want her. I want what we had back. I'm not going to stop wanting her. If that requires me to sacrifice some much needed sleep or some temporary heartache then that's my choice. I'm aware that this gives her a certain amount of power over me. I've labeled myself, very distinctly, a sure thing. There can be no doubt about the level of my devotion. Does that make me a sucker? Maybe. But if there's a smarter way to go about this, I'm too close to the forest to see the trees.

Current goings on and three things you may or may not have known about Ms. Julia Child

2007-10-05T13:20:00.000-04:00

I've been strongly encouraged to write more. So writing some more I am. I purchased the War of Art online, it arrived this week. A a good friend of mine, who is far better read than I am, seems to think I'll find it useful so I'm looking forward to getting further into that today. Sarah and I are talking more, which makes me happy, though I still catch myself talking too much. I don't know where that comes from. I like the talking, it's something to look forward to. I've wasted half the day being lazy, and I have so much to do. I'm off to check the progress on the new sandwich board for the restaurant. Then I need to make some lunch, and prep some more food for the week. This planning ahead part of my new routine is not something I'm used to. I still need to go grocery shopping. I also still need to verify that my transcripts are going where they need to go. I'm strongly considering going back to the restaurant full time, give my mom a little more help. I don't like the thought of taking yet another pay cut, but I catch little things falling through the cracks. Decisions decisions. I must begin the productive part of my day now. I leave with these parting thoughts about the woman who, outside of licking cake batter from my mother's spoons, first instilled in me a love of kitchens.

The kitchen Julia's husband designed for her, was posthumously donated to the Smithsonian National Museum of American History, where it remains on display.

Though she shrunk slightly with age, in her prime she was six feet two inches tall. So tall that the aforementioned kitchen was designed with taller than normal work surfaces to accommodate her.

After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, she tried to enlist in the Navy but was turned away for being too tall. She subsequently joined the Office of Strategic Services, the precursor to the C.I.A., where she helped to develop a shark repellent for sailors and airmen stranded in the ocean.

How many surrealists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

2007-10-02T07:46:00.000-04:00

I've started a new diet. All fruit, vegetables and nuts. I should say I started it at the beginning of the week. I'm already of thinking of revising it. Less of the fruit, too many carbohydrates, more veges, and more protein. I'm following the advice of pretty much every health food article I've read and have begun eating small amounts of food throughout the day. The box of fruit and vegetables at my desk is hugely entertaining to my employer. I'm not getting the energy I need out of it, probably due to cutting out all the pasta and rice and bread that used to get me through a day. It's also had the side effect of make me dreadfully boring and destroying my ability to write ... the first thing I've completed all week is about my daily caloric intake. I'm stopping this now.

can't find my cat.

2007-09-28T14:26:00.001-04:00

I just swam my very first mile. Sixty-six laps, twenty five yards in a length... having just calculated that I am not nearly as excited as I was ninety seconds ago. 66 x 75 = 4950 which is 330 feet short of a 5280 foot mile. I should have swum another 4.4 laps! Are you freaking kidding me. Aargh... never listening to those swim team kids again.

Still more than I've swum yet. Every day a little stronger. I have to go find my errant feline.

today's accomplishments

2007-09-27T23:23:00.000-04:00

I was a productive puppy today. I got up early. I trimmed my hair and beard. I was subsequently called down to the restaurant because no one was there to unlock the door. I made myself some eggs. I was surprised by Mr. Andy Loos who stopped in to say hi. Andy for anyone that hasn't met him is one of the two guys that helped my mom build Later. He's easily one of my favorite people on the planet. Andy doesn't drive. I don't think he ever has. He walks everywhere. He had a heart attack a couple years ago, he walked himself into the ER. He beat cancer later that year. He was excited because he'd found some lady in Florida to send him his long lost favorite brand of pipe tobacco and he'd purchased a new corn cob pipe at CVS to celebrate. He smokes a corn cob pipe. Seriously. After Andy left, I went back home, changed, ate some fruit, and made my way back to Later to give my Mom a couple hours off. I spent the afternoon there, and wrote a pretty impressive essay for one of my transfer applications. It's really more than pretty impressive, it's essentially the god king of why-i-want-to-go-to-your-school essays. I may post it here later. When Mama came back, I left to go to my very first Yoga class. Shut up, it kicked my ass. So much that I couldn't finish my usual amount of laps. Laps, which I'm now obtaining legally since I've paid for my membership to CentreTown. All in all, a pretty ok day.

the difference matters.

2007-09-27T00:14:00.001-04:00

Something Sarah said to me the other night stuck. She said that I think as I talk. She's right. The problem is that's led to a lot of arguments lately. I work things out by talking them through, she prefers to do things differently, on her own. To me an argument isn't a wholly bad thing. I like the idea that someone could have a better idea than me. A good debate allows for the opportunity to change someone's mind, or conversely to accept a different way of thinking. Everything I've learned about the psychology of the female mind says it's not the same for women. They look at an argument as being unaccepting, as an imposition of will against their own. At least that's what I have to believe. I wish I was better at speaking her language. Because I've never gone looking for a fight with her, and she's said that she thinks I intentionally provoke her. This has led to her not talking to me. For the first time since everything began we've gone days without talking. That sucks. Because I was just getting to the point where I was going to be ok, just talking. Not fighting, not lecturing, just Hey, how was your day? Your nephew still doing adorable things? How's the Greek thing going? She reads this journal. I'm sure there is something to be said about the psychology of writing for an audience, but that's never been my goal here. I write this out for the same reasons I talk it through, I need to clarify, in my own head, what it is that I'm feeling. I need to be able to make decisions based on what I know I feel. Otherwise I'm just tilting at windmills. Otherwise, I'll just continue to make the same mistakes. I'll regret writing this next part but there was something else she said that stuck. She had read what I'd written about apologies, and responded "I'm sorry. See, I went to kindergarten. I'm sorry you are hurting..." the problem with this is, it's written as a condolence not an apology. I'm sorry you're hurting is not the same as saying I'm sorry I hurt you. That's the kind of thing I would never say to her. That would provoke a lot of hurt feelings. So if you read this Sarah, I'm sorry you did. I meant it when I said this journal wasn't going to help us be better friends. It's not a message to you. It's not a message to anyone. Maybe parts, but not this part. Someday I'd love to take a transcript of our conversations, sit down, and translate what we were feeling at the time for the other person. I keep thinking in quotations. Presently, I'm stuck on Nietzsche, " That which does not kill us, makes us stronger."

healthy food makes you fart

2007-09-25T20:44:00.000-04:00

I swam more than I have ever been able to tonight. It's still far less than what any member of any swim team does in an average practice, and I'm sure my form sucks, but it felt good. And I am sore. I went directly from there to the gym. I'll admit if feels great to finally want to do something healthy but the real benefit is that my head is clearer afterwards. Must be the endorphins. Here's to hoping this doesn't stop happening.

Just finished up at the restaurant, I have energy, and I don't know what to do with it. Ten 'til nine.

firewalls be damned! or mobile blog post number one.

2007-09-25T17:11:00.001-04:00

The Orwellian nature of my employer's firewall is infuriating. No Facebook, and no Blogger from any computer that someone as far down on the totem pole as myself has access to. But it turns out I may be able to email or text directly to my journal. We'll see how this turns out.

one single inch, or man am I going to be a sore puppy tomorrow

2007-09-24T21:59:00.001-04:00

Mutatis Mutandis. Sometimes, when I'm not so depressed, and I do believe I'm fighting depression, I understand why she had to leave us behind. Moreover, I'm not helping anything by continuing to allow myself to be a pathetic mess. Can't love something like that. It still hurts. But it's getting a little better. It comes in spurts. Good parts and bad parts. But I'm done letting it overwhelm me. All that does it widen the gap.

I want I want I want

2007-09-24T18:15:00.000-04:00

I want to stop hurting. I want the anxiety out. I want my friend back. I want to accept this for what it is. I want it not to be a big deal. I want to be able to think clearly. I want the things that I write to be about something besides being hurt. I want to stop using this journal as some form of semi-public catharsis. I want her. I want to be happy again. I want a change of subject.

if

2007-09-23T22:56:00.000-04:00

If she cares, why can't she say so?
If she feels loss, why won't she tell me?
If I'm wrong, why won't she set me straight?
If she hurts, why can't I be the one to make it stop?
If I was wrong, why can't I be given another chance?
If it was love, what happened?
Where is my friend?

weakness

2007-09-23T20:38:00.000-04:00

You know what hurts the most? The thing that makes me maddest? I'm the only one that got hurt by this. She got exactly what she wanted and she not once has ever said I'm sorry for hurting you. If she's felt anything, any sense of loss, she hasn't said one word about it. How do you do that to someone? Anyone? Let alone someone you say you love every day for a year. How do you know they're hurting and simultaneously hold that against them. I get mad or want to talk and suddenly I'm a nuisance. I'm the guy whose calls she doesn't take, or return, or whose messages she half reads or ignores completely. God forbid anything get in the way of the "fun she's worked so hard for". Forget the fun we had together, now I'm bothersome. Something from the old life to be cast off and thought about as "that was nice then, what's next?". So why can't I just stop hurting? Why does my day begin thinking about her, and end thinking about her. Why is it so hard for me to move on too. Nothing helps. Can't get drunk without feeling like an asshole. Can't have sex without wishing I was somewhere else. I barely get hungry, and nothing really tastes good. I alternate between a few hours of getting better, and whole days of anger, and betrayal and loss, and hurt. There is a physical heaviness in the center of my chest. Constant anxiety. I want to leave work as soon as I get there, but it isn't any better if I go home and I'm not in any shape to hold any sort of pleasant conversation anywhere else. I'm supposed to be stronger than this. Why am I still hurting? I still don't believe that everything we had was a lie. But how do you just stop loving someone? How do you stop caring about them? If I could just let it go. We could at least have a conversation that didn't end in one of us being angry. She wants me to be happy for her. To tell her I agree with this. Some of it I do. Most of me wants it to be over. She blames me for stressing her out her first few weeks there. I haven't done anything but since then. It could be better if I could just walk away. Is that what I have to do? Can't ask her. Even if she was talking to me. How is it I want the person that hurt me to be the one that tells me it'll be ok? How can I still want her friendship?

the other white meat

2007-09-22T20:47:00.000-04:00

I had pork chops tonight for the first time in, I think, about fifteen years. They were my payment for unbuilding a grill, and some other minor fix up work at Becci's. I never liked them growing up. Mama used to simmer them in tomato sauce with onions, I think my grandfather must have liked them that way. Smoked Amish chops on the grill however I've found are very tasty. Also it was nice to eat home cooked food with friends and the mother's of friends, who, in and of themselves, are friends. Also got some pants hemmed, which I've needed done for a long time. This is more pleasurable than it seems like it should be. I've had these two pairs of khakis for months that, for the most part, I like except they were too long. I felt like an idiot walking on the back of them, so I stopped wearing them altogether. Fixed that problem. Other than that I got nothing accomplished today. I went to swim, and couldn't use the pool because it was alumni weekend at Jesuit. That pretty much did me in for any form of daily productivity. Saturday September 2nd will be marked down in the books as a hump day. Perhaps I can still salvage the evening.

Hey Mr. Quixote let's you and me go out and tilt at some windmills

2007-09-21T21:30:00.000-04:00

I'm having a hard time writing this. I know she'll read it someday. But writing is currently the only way for me to process the feelings inside me. She cried this morning, and I don't know why. I keep thinking she's trying to get me to push her away. The things I say get to her, sometimes they hurt her. I can't believe it's come to that. That I hurt her. She wants this guy because he doesn't care about her. How could I possibly compete with that. She's asking to be used. She looks forward to the randomness, unworried about the hurt that will come. I want to scream at her. She always said, it would take an Olympian to replace me. But she left me for the want of randomness, for one night stands, and frat boys that lie blatantly to her. I'm hurt and disgusted, and betrayed. And I still love her. This changes everything. Even in a best case scenario being with her couldn't be the euphoria it was. She walked away. She did it, and she doesn't care that it broke me. I tell her how crippling this is. She tells me it's not her problem anymore. Which just hurts more. It's like she missed the day in kindergarten where they taught you if you hurt someone you say you're sorry. And if you're sorry, you feel regret. Maybe not for the decision you made, but for the hurt you caused someone. She'll hate me for writing that, she'll say I'm telling her how to feel. How could I possibly tell her how to feel, when I can't figure out my own emotions. Do I write her out my life? I've done it to others for less. Do I follow her around, begging, like some cuckolded puppy dog ex-boyfriend? She's got one of those. Do I back off, and hurt more as she replaces me completely? I'm a checkmated king. If this were a chess match my options would be to lay down my final piece or to toss the board across the room. But this isn't a chess match. You don't have to forgive someone for beating you at chess. I could forgive her anything.

Now watch as I post this, and immediately go e-hug her on facebook. So much for backing off.

Mama

2007-09-20T21:09:00.000-04:00

It says something about me that I write knowing what I write may or may not be read by someone other than me. There is a certain amount of ego in writing a blog. But if you're reading this, you probably care about me. You at the very least know me, and most of the people in this town that care enough about me to read this blog will have at one time or another met my mother. Rarely do I write anything here that isn't addressed specifically to the inside of my head, but this will be an exception. For those of you that haven't yet had the privilege, my mother is a force of nature. She will, without a doubt, outlive me, and you, and our children, and likely their children. She will do this on piss and vinegar alone.

Today on her way to the restaurant, she got all ticked off at some dimwit that wasn't driving fast enough for her taste down Main street. So she passes the guy, legally I'll assume, and stops at the next light. Of course a patrol cruiser pulls up next to her, and the cop is giving her the roll-down-the-window motion. My mother of course obliges, certain she's getting a ticket, and the female officer ( whom my mother has met once or twice before ) asks her, "Didn't you recognize me the other night?" My mother has many talents, a memory for names and faces is not one of them, so she's a little confused. They talk for a few seconds at the light, and it turns out the officer was impersonating a hooker a few nights earlier and my mother had pulled up to her corner and told her off. My mother, pulled up to a hooker, to yell at her. Are you freaking kidding me? She's like something out of a book. This story amuses everyone she tells it to. Thanks guys, let's encourage her, it's not your mom that's going to get shanked one night.

grumble grumble followed by a distinct I win.

2007-09-20T18:04:00.000-04:00

More writing. I've purchased a pair of Adidas trainers. Not cheap but not overly expensive either. The girl at the checkout was nice enough, though not in any real way overly helpful. She spent several minutes trying to sell me some upgraded discount card, that I didn't want. Normally I don't mind a good upselling attempt but I've just returned home to find the damn ink tag still attached to my shoes. Sounds about right, par for the day. I could have taken the shoes back to the store, but gas is expensive, and really what's the point of owning every tool known to man, God, or the French, if you don't get to use them occasionally. The following pictures detail the next half an hour.

my new trainer, and the offending ink tag.

masked off for surgery, check. appropriate tools in place, check.

Safety First! and yes those are LEDs on my glasses, do not mock.

oooo pretty sparks.

Incompetence overcome. There ought to be a sign. Thou shalt not deny Arab Thunder, he does not give up.

Having returned victorious in this small battle I am off to the pool. I shall not be wearing my new trainers, that would just be hubris.

Cosmic Rulebooks

2007-09-20T13:42:00.000-04:00

I believe that words have an intrinsic power. Some more than others, and there are truths that find their way into words, and they get passed along as maxims. It's like the universe's version of a rulebook. So what am I supposed to do if the words that keep showing up are, If it's meant to be it will be. Does that mean I should back off and let Fate drive, or do I continue with the way things are now. Because the way things are now, doesn't seem to be wearing down anything but her patience for me. I can't see a way to approach this so that we both end up with what we want. The hurt continues.

Shoe leather halitosis

2007-09-20T09:18:00.000-04:00

Here's a thought, you should think really really hard about all the things you've learned and then say the dumbest most putting-words-in-her-mouth thing you can think of. Because that will bring her closer to you.

a post of a different color

2007-09-19T20:53:00.001-04:00

As part of the Greatest Living Arab master plan, I've started working out. Specifically I've started stealing pool time from the Jesuits. I suck at it. You can trick yourself into believing you're much stronger than you actually are until, that is, you try to live up to your own hype. Then you come sadly face to face with the reality of your own unhealthiness. But the little progressions are inspiring. I can swim longer without being out of breath than I could yesterday. I've purchased a decent pair of goggles which have the refreshing effect of improving my stamina since the burning sensation in my eyes no longer distracts me. And I like that I go straight from work to the gym, it really does clear my head a little bit. Next step is some strength training. I dislike the idea of paying money to work out, I far prefer my guerrilla workouts, though I'm motivated by the idea of sculpting myself into the form I've always had in my head. I've gotten on these kicks before, but this feels more permanent. I think if I were to invest in a gym membership I'd go just to make sure I wasn't wasting the money. I write all this as I sit here drinking my Newcastle Brown Ale. My solitary Newcastle Brown Ale. Who knew one beer could be satisfying?

Finnegan begins again and again and again ad infinitum

2007-09-17T22:31:00.000-04:00

I have friends that are more objective than I am. I have one friend in particular that has not been wrong yet, and I hate that. Because this friend is telling me that not only am I fighting a losing battle, I'm getting played while doing it. In my head, I'm Charlie Young to Sarah's Zoey Bartlett. There's this line from the fourth season where Zoey is dating this pompous French royal, and the frog doesn't like that she's still friends with Charlie. She mentions this to him, and asks him to back off. Which is an incredibly selfish thing to do. And Charlie, because he's still in love with her, says no. But he does it respectfully. In fact his response is, "Respectfully no." I've said this to her before, I'm not sure she knows it was a quote, which will probably come back to bite me in the butt. But that's exactly how I feel. She wants to be single. She doesn't want to be half of Mitch and Sarah. I'm finding that there's a recurring twitch in the mindsets of the strong and independent women in my life, they have this idea that they lose themselves in a committed relationship. She believes that this is the right thing for her to do. And she's the one that gets to make that call. But I'm not going to stop fighting for her. I'm not going to quit, or give up, or go home. She wants to be single, but that's in direct opposition to what I want. Because I want her to want to be with me. I want to be with her. She get to be selfish, she gets to be single. This presents a problem because I've decided I want to be her boyfriend and I can be pretty selfish and stubborn when I've a mind to.

Brighter Day

2007-09-14T23:05:00.000-04:00

I don't understand your gender. Almost all at once, things are getting better. Who knows what the future brings. All I know is I like this better than I've liked most of the last month. Yaay karma.

your entire gender is messed up

2007-09-13T22:01:00.000-04:00

Just when I try to back away, you hit me with an I miss you. How am I supposed to cut myself off from you when you say things like that? Gods, don't ever stop missing me.

huge helpings of hurt with a side of emptiness and a big glass of betrayal

2007-09-13T08:13:00.000-04:00

I can't see this from her side. I keep trying. I get little parts, but it's never anything we couldn't work our way back from. She's put me in the past. Her words are finite. She doesn't want to come back to me. How can you love a person and then just decide to walk away from them. How can you decide just not to love someone. To not fight. She says the most hurtful things. Sometimes, I think she's trying to make me not love her anymore.

Wednesday the 12th

2007-09-12T21:39:00.000-04:00

Every time I think things are going to be better I get blindsided again. She doesn't know if she loves me anymore. I ruined her opinion of me with one five minute tirade of malice and spite and bile filled words. Now she says I just stress her out. She says she's tried to stop talking to me, but I wouldn't even let her do that. I don't know if I'm strong enough to just walk away. I've lost the woman I love and one of the best friends I've ever had. So many emotions, so many thoughts. I keep apologizing the her, but it doesn't do any good. I keep talking to her about things she doesn't want to hear. I keep making the same mistakes.

fuck

2007-09-01T18:57:00.000-04:00

drink drink drink drink
drank drank drank drank
drunk last night
drunk the night before!
gonna get drunk tonight
like I've never got before!
Cause when I'm drunk I'm happy as can beeeee
for I am a member of the souse family
and the souse family
is the best family
that ever came over from old Germany
there's the Hollander Dutch and the Amsterdam Dutch
and the Rotterdamn Dutch and the God Damn Dutch
Singing GLORIUS GLORIUS
one keg of beer for the four of us
Glory be to Gods
that there are no more of us
cause one of us could drink it all aloneeeeee
Here's to the Irish dead drunk the lucky stiffs

The Beast With No Name

2007-08-28T19:44:00.000-04:00

I've found myself with a surplus of free time in the last two weeks. Surplus might not be exactly accurate, the time is hardly enough and is always interlaced with pining thoughts for my recently Marietta bound girlfriend. So I've been spending more time at the restaurant to help out the Mama, and going out with the friends who I've been neglectful of in my all consuming infatuation. Which has still not served to distract from the distinct lack of Sarahs. In the latter of the two dealings I spent last evening going to dinner with my roommate and some friends, at a new local chain restaurant. ( An establishment I refrain from slamming, though the food was horrible, because it would only sound like petty competition. ) So after the meal, which I couldn't finish, we go out to the car and almost trip over this skinny little stray calico. She came when we called and we're ooooing and aaaahing over how sad it is. Someone, who might have been me, mentioned keeping her and suddenly Adam and I are arguing over what this thing's name should be. After vetoing Hand Banana, and Spaghetti, we half decided on Ampersand in tribute to Yorick's monkey, though I later came up with Felinius Monk, for which I still hold out hope.

Purcival the Brave and Banged-up

The furmonger is litter trained, which I take as evidence that she's assimilated the intelligence of her new roommates. She's far too skinny, but is eating well. I'm investigating a visit to the veterinarian. Her only apparent caveat is her penchant for a smellier than normal rump. Though this is, doubtlessly, due to having real kitty food for the first time in what, I imagine, must be much longer than what would be considered a healthy span. If there is such a thing as healthy span of foodlessness.

I'm reminded that I have to send this post to Meghan Mayhew who spent the better part of last year berating me for not chasing down a stray cat that appeared outside the restaurant last October, and subsequently took off like a furry white flash when I tried to mend it's paw.

In summary, Hooray for new pets.

Turnabout's Fair Play

2007-08-27T00:07:00.000-04:00

Karma's gonna get you every time.

"Lexicon, what the hell is that! It sounds like something wizards use in Dungeons and Dragons." Left Handed Steve

2007-06-11T20:28:00.000-04:00

On the subject of words, those I like the most are the ones that you’ve written and read all through life but have never had the occasion to speak aloud. Invariably, that occasion arises either a: when you’ve been engaged to speak in authority to an audience who believe you to be far smarter than you actually are, or b: when there’s a girl around that you’d like to impress. Wait. What? It’s heh jem on ee not hedge a moan i? Balls. Oh Vocabulary, you are a fickle mistress.

Requiem

2007-06-02T21:03:00.000-04:00

It's my last wish
for you to honor.
Send me off
like a God of Thunder.
Pile hardwood hot
'round my hollow form
I want it not
for worms to dorm.
Burn my flesh
make ash my bones,
send the rest to Captain Jones.
I need no coffin
or cut stone box
mark my life
with a cairn of rocks.
Somewhere private
no cemetery.
Visit me in February.
So my last desire
is when I'm gone
that friends set match to pyre
and throw Old Mitch on.

"These women"

2007-05-29T21:14:00.001-04:00

They don't make them like they used to. These women, they're something more than us. Something more honest, more regal, something better. Something worthy of the grand staircases you see in old movies about the South. You don't always see it, they're tricky that way. You spend your days with them and they fool you into thinking they're like you. But they are not like you. On your best day, you might be able to know them, but only if they let you. It wouldn't be pity, they've got too much class to pity us. Remember that the next you're walking around feeling like hot shit. Because on our best days they rank as far above us as the forces of nature. You could no more deny them then you could outrun the rain. Remember this, and love these women. Because in loving them we better ourselves. Let them inspire you. Let them into your head. Let them in everywhere else. And count yourself lucky, because you do not deserve them.

A Genesis and Disclaimer

2007-05-20T11:49:00.000-04:00

A guy could hardly hope to be known as the Greatest Living Arab if he didn't have a great brass pair to back such a claim up with.

That being said,smart people will tell you that if you want to become a better writer, the first step, beyond learning how to spell, is to write, and then write some more, and finally to follow that up with some more writing. I'm not sure that the great majority of this thing won't end up being filled to the eyeballs with the banality and dregs and misery of my ego. I'm hoping that instead of that, or at bare minimum in spite of that, this will be a journal of what I was thinking or doing at such and such a time in such and such a place. I'm not promising anything.