Benadryl and Whiskey

I think sometimes people make the mistake of having children because no one loves them enough because no one can ever love you enough and well I guess you’re always looking for affection.

And you have the kids and you don’t know that you’re going to need anything from them you think…you’ll give them anything, everything they need. But then when they don’t love you enough you feel hurt and you make dumb choices and the two of you are locked in an adult relationship but they’re children and they don’t owe you anything they would have been just as happy not to exist or moreso. 

You expect they will love you because they are a part of you but they are not a part of you they have just as little reason as anyone else to love you and the more you demand it of them the more they resent you and then finally they’re old and you’re dying and they realize that they owe you something and they pretend to love you as much as they think they should because now they are having kids and no one loves them enough. 

You’re old and you can feel death every morning and you know that you should have never asked anything of them because they were your responsibility. But you need them more and more all the same. 

By then it’s too late to realize that you should have just found yourself a succession of stray cats.

Kids and That

Yesterday I saw a kid snarl at his dad. It was crazy because he was acting all happy and calling me ‘sir’ when he was going to order but then his dad said he would probably like braised calamari and the kid sunk his head low and bared his teeth like a wild animal and he says, “I only like FRIED calamari.” All crazy like. And then the dad said calm down and I was thinking maybe the kid has a disorder.

I mean what are you going to do if your kid starts acting like that? My parents would’ve slapped me across the face, and they still do that to my sister’s kids. Not as hard as they can but hard enough. If my kid acted crazy like that I’d probably be like fuck it I can’t leave the house with this animal.

That shit is probably going to happen to me. I’ll get some kind of headstrong kid who I can’t control and eventually they’ll grow up to be a mass murderer or worse, some kind of super douche. 

Then again, mass murderers and super douches run the world, so maybe that would be the best gift I could give the kid.

Yeah I’ll probably have a kid in like three years barring any super depressing fertility issues. Hoo dang nobody wants to go through that! That shit is rough. Here you are trying to overpopulate the world with super douche half white kids and you can’t even get a start.

Next thing you know your wife can’t stand to look at you. Or worse you have a kid but it dies at 3 months old. Then what? 

All that and in the end even if you’re successful the kid is snarling about some goddamn calamari. 

The Cholesterol Palace

A pound of fried ants costs around twelve dollars. You can buy a six pack with that. I mean the ants are fine but I’d rather have the beer. 

I’m in Columbia this week with my friend Jorge. There’s a place here called the Cholesterol Palace.

I just couldn’t stand to be in America for the Fourth of July. Too many commie bastards. Fuck em all. 

Jorge grew up in the barrio, whatever that means. He’s six feet tall and weighs three hundred pounds. It takes seven beers to get him worked up, and I’ve only got twelve dollars.

I’ll be fine. All I gotta do is be brave and be kind. One day I’ll meet the kings of my homeland far beneath the earth, and, with the pale glow of eternity dulling age’s perpetually famished blade, those shy girls and I will make our amends.

Exit Strategy

My little brother and I just crip-walked through the Marcy Projects. He’s on crutches after totaling my parents’ 2002 Chevy Malibu in a no-headlight night race on a back road in my hometown. We got accosted by a guy telling us how he was laid up for a week with two broken ribs. He got a settlement of $9000 and his building had to install a new stairway. He used the money to put two comfort girls up in a hotel room for a week. He called the experience his “fantasy island.”

I was glad Little Brother got the chance to interact with an old lecherous drunk with a penchant for repetitive storytelling here in Brooklyn. One skill that everyone who aspires to end up not hating humanity when they die should learn is the art of exiting a conversation. Specifically the art of exiting a boring conversation between yourself and a closet megalomaniac who possesses the eye of the ancient mariner.

Little Brother did well in this regard once the old bastard told him for the third time that he didn’t care to know our opinions on his decision to cheat on his wife. Little Brother pretended to see some friends in the distance. An ancient, overused and crude tactic, but effective once in a while. I myself have an arsenal of escape plans ranging from the subtle (successive 3-inch backward step) to the extreme (faking sarcoidosis).

However, neither of us were a match for Brother-in-Law, who uses a time honored three pronged offense: guilt, intimidation, and insincere self-deprecation. Luckily my sister came through in the clutch and harangued her husband from afar with incessant texts concerning his whereabouts, complete with pictures of his sad-faced spawn.

Apparently, Wife and Sister had some troubles of their own while I was away at work last night. My good friend is a deep thinker and a slow talker and allegedly using these tools to hold them hostage over dinner. He asked a litany of questions that had to do with Wife’s recent foray into the world of food policy vis-a-vis grad school, forcing them to consider the ugly implications of the food they were planning on enjoying.

Nothing goes to plan in a world filled with boorish yahoos, and we’re all boorish yahoos. Especially you.

A Convoluted Dream

Last night I had a lot of dreams. I was so tired from work. I tried to forget my dreams a little while ago because they just keep me from waking up. And a lot of the time they are bad dreams. I know if I stopped thinking about my dreams, eventually I would be like most people and not remember them after I woke up, making it seem like they had never happened. That’s how GF is. She thinks she doesn’t dream. But everyone dreams, or at least that’s what I heard. Funny the amount of things you hear and then you just take them for granted. Here is a cool video that points out ten things that most people believe that are actually not true. And here’s another list I found while looking for that video. You have to be careful on Buzzfeed. It’s too late to warn you but that site can really take a bite out of your day.

But anyway shit now it’s like an hour later and I don’t remember what I was going to say.

Oh so anyway last night’s dreams. One was that I was working with my grandmother making cookies for this restaurant, but we were working illegally out of a trailer in the parking lot behind the restaurant. And there were cops there and I was sure we were going to get shut down but I guess they were getting free cookies or something because they didn’t do anything. Then my grandmother had a stroke and died. So the food truck could not continue without her, and I was like well shit that sucks. But my sister said, well those cookies were really horrible anyway, try one. And I did, and it was nasty. So then I felt ok about the whole thing. But then I was in a room with my ex-girlfriend and she was really upset about it. And then we were crying about it on the couch and her current boyfriend walked in and I got up and said I would be back later. I didn’t want to be in the same room with them because in the dream I wanted to get back together with this ex-girlfriend. In real life she’s married and I’m really glad we’re not together. She was always sad and everyone could cheer her up except me and it made me feel like shit all the time. But in the dream world we were going to be together or something. And this guy showed up and I thought she had broken up with him. But when I saw that she hadn’t I knew it was like old times, that they would have sex and she would feel better and that made me feel really shitty. So I went into my old room, did I mention we were at my parents’ house? And I went in there and it was a total mess. Shit was everywhere. But that was normal in the context of the dream. And I sat there thinking that no one cared, that I was all alone in the world and all I wanted to do was talk to someone. And then I thought well if I could just have sex with GF (the real one) then I would feel fine. But that was impossible or something. And I wanted to die so I just went to sleep.

And then I was woken up in the dream world by that same boyfriend who was really pissed and I surmised that ex GF had told him we were getting back together so he was out. He had a little pen knife and he was brandishing it and he was a big dude, a brawler type with long blonde raggedy hair.

He said, “You’ve got three seconds to give me my phone back before I cut it out of you.” I have no idea what that means now and I didn’t know then.

I tried to calm him down, telling him to look at himself, he was obviously better than me in every way. He kept telling me to stand up, why won’t you stand up? He kept asking. And I told him I didn’t want to fight him and that I didn’t understand what was going on with that girl either. I felt like no one would ever understand or care about anything about me.

Then I woke up. I told GF the dream and as soon as I was done she said something that had nothing to do with the dream at all. Then I tried to ask what she thought of the dream and she said she was sorry she just had her mind on other things, and then she told me to tell her the dream again. Then I felt like no one would understand or care about anything about me.

Well, I know it’s not really true. But it was just a depressing thing to wake up from a dream and have the same unpleasant feeling. I walked her to class. She is graduating today from her certificate program. And it was a really nice walk and we had a nice conversation about when we used to live in DC. So that was nice. And then I called my old friend in DC and we talked about restaurant and that was great.

But I still feel like most people don’t listen to anything that I say. Maybe that’s why I like writing, because no one interrupts you. I guess I’ve said that before.

 

Ho Hum

Bluddy drum. Sittin up in this bitch just waiting for GF to get back. It’s weird because I know she won’t get back for a while but I know when she comes in I’m going to have to stop writing for a while so I didn’t want to get on a roll and then have to stop. And now I’m getting sleepy and I’m reading other blogs and drinking more wine and starting to feel like I’m just procrastinating writing. I was thinking for a while after I wrote The Essay that I might not put it on a new blog because this blog is where it’s at, why start a new one? Here’s where the fun stuff is. But I do want to reach a wider audience with the posts that I actually put time into. Or rather just force myself to stay on topic instead of writing whatever the hell I feel like. I mean it’s the most awesome thing in the world that I can be entertaining to other bloggers. I’d also like to write other kinds of things too…or at least have written them I suppose. Well I feel like it’s a big learning experience the whole thing. I feel like I’m learning so much that I forgot at least half of it. Or maybe I’m just experiencing things and not learning them. Shit I don’t know.

For instance, my mom said on the phone when I thought I was doing the right thing and giving her a call, well she said things weren’t going well with all the other kids because they weren’t doing the Christian things and they were all unruly and it was driving her mad. Well for one thing she has three teenage boys at once so how could she help but be absolutely crazy, but then throw in the high expectations that everyone will be God fearing and so on, especially at that age. And then she throws in that she might be coming up in the middle of the month and she might want to stay with me. Well that won’t be good at all because she thinks GF still lives in Washington DC. But with the blog and all and being open and honest and saying whatever the hell I want all the time even saying shit I never thought I’d say about anything…well I feel like it’s ridiculous to not be honest with people. But I can’t be honest with my parents. It’s not about them loving me or not, because they can’t help but love me. But for all they’ve been through with my brothers saying to their face that they don’t believe in God, well they don’t seem to have grown to be able to really accept that, and so to take away basically the last hope they can hold onto, well shit I can’t do that at all. And yet what am I going to do if she comes up here? GF isn’t going to go hiding because she really hates that and she’s already told her Catholic parents so I’m pretty much fucked. And beyond that, I can’t even be honest with real friends. I can only be honest when people have no idea who I am so there really aren’t any consequences. Hell it’s getting harder every day for me to continue to be honest on here the more I get to know ya’ll. I guess I just think deep down where I can’t automatically turn it off that everyone hates me…or that what I have to say is not valid…or that my existence is inconvenient. Sheeit. Well so now I’ve got to figure out what to do if she comes up here. Last time when they tried to visit me in DC I had to say I got kicked out of the apartment basically, and to continue that story ridiculously for over a year, which means I had to make up all kinds of stuff about where I was living, living on the streets, things my fake roommates did. And I’m still doing that now and the bad part is I forget one of my roommate’s names. I can’t remember if I told them it was Omir or Omar.

I think I’d rather just disappear and never hear from my parents again than have them know who I really am. They are sad that I left town and live so far away, but I tell them over and over again that they wouldn’t be happy with me if I had stuck around. They have hinted at knowing that I’m “immoral,” but they have no idea the extent of this shit. I always thought that parents basically know anything you’re doing. But they don’t, they really don’t. Sometimes they ask me roundabout if I believe in God and stuff, but they won’t ask me directly because they know deep down that some shit is not right, and they don’t want to take the lid off that pressure cooker. They know they don’t want to know. But then they do some shit like this and ask to come up and visit. Which makes me think they really don’t know shit. But then even my brothers don’t know GF lives up here. And it’s pretty bad because come wedding day some shit’s going to get real awkward real fast. But at least her parents and mine aren’t the type of people to mix. Rich Semi-Liberal Catholics vs. Poor Extreme Evangelical Conservative Christians. Ah shit. It’s a real conundrum.

It’s these kinds of stupid ass things that I have to think about sometimes and it ruins everything. I have to stop thinking about it and push it away and focus on the moment, and I’m really good at doing that. I’ll enjoy the fuck out of every day from here to there and then when that day comes it will still be there waiting for me and I’ll have done nothing to stop it. Shit. Fuck it.

Klosterman on Cusack

Readability Index: Highly readable (thanks to most of it being written by someone else)

I don’t know how much is legal to quote from a book, so if I’m doing something illegal let me know. Shit I’m not making any money of this so…should be fine. As long as there’s no money involved people don’t usually care.

But I read a blog post about Soul Mates last night on The Sensitive Storm and it made me think of this essay from Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs.

Here is a key passage. It’s worth reading the whole book, for sure. I read the whole thing on a bus to NYC. I didn’t plan on it, but couldn’t stop myself.

“It appears that countless women born between the years of 1965 and 1978 are in love with John Cusack. I cannot fathom how he isn’t the number-one box-office star in America, because every straight girl I know would sell her soul to share a milkshake with that motherfucker. For upwardly mobile women in their twenties and thirties, John Cusack is the neo-Elvis. But here’s what none of these upwardly mobile women seem to realize: They don’t love John Cusack. They love Lloyd Dobler. When they see Mr. Cusack, they are still seeing the optimistic, charmingly loquacious teenager he played in Say Anything, a movie that came out more than a decade ago.”

“And these upwardly mobile women are not alone. We all convince ourselves of things like this–not necessarily about Say Anything, but about any fictionalized portrayals of romance that happen to hit us in the right place, at the right time. This is why I will never be completely satisfied by a woman, and this is why the kind of woman I tend to find attractive will never be satisfied by me. We will both measure our relationship against the prospect of fake love.”

Yeah that’s some true shit. I had to restrain myself from quoting the whole essay as it’s pretty bad ass the whole way through.

Ah but I can’t leave this out. He starts talking about Coldplay and how they, like Cusack’s movies, promote ‘fake love’:

“What matters is that Coldplay manufactures fake love as frenetically as the Ford fucking Motor Company manufactures Mustangs, and that’s all this woman heard. “For you I bleed myself dry,” sang their blockhead vocalist, brilliantly informing us that the stars in the sky are, in fact, yellow. How am I going to compete with that shit?”