Roll On, Rollercoaster

Let me start this blog with what I feel should be the Bipolar National Anthem:

The Bipolar life. I've embraced it for the most part. It's been good to me with the exception of causing me to lose everything. Kids. Money. Self respect and sense of worth.

All negatives have positives though. I gained my sense of self. My sanity. I learned what unconditional love really is. Hell, I learned what love really is. I re-gained a relationship with my parents and sister after many years. Something that I'll forever look at myself in the mirror, and after cringing, tell my brain, "Thank You," since it gave me quality time with my dad before he passed.

My earliest memory of depression is as a young child, in elementary school. I have no idea why I was depressed. At that age there is no reason to be depressed unless you've eaten your last crayon. Yet, I remember sitting on the stoop (it's a small porch, for you rich folks), and my dad comes out and sits beside me, stares straight ahead, puts his hand on my shoulder and simply says, "You seem sort of blue."
That's all I remember. The rest of my memories are mania-driven which may have been depression-inspired. That same day, I may have not jumped the ditch on my bike and it pissed me off when my friend was able to do it and so, it sent me into a downward spiral. I don't know.

Everyday is a rollercoaster ride. Some days, it's all uphill. Others, it's a series of ups and downs like the Scooby-Doo rollercoaster at Carowinds theme park. Up, down, right, right, sudden left and a short dip under a makeshift mountain. Then, up a little mountain then around a curve, another curve, then down a steep hill and up a short incline before a short straightaway.

You've just ridden the Scooby Doo rollercoaster at Carowinds. Save your money, you know what it's like. But, know that in my mind that ride is constantly taking on new riders nearly twenty-four hours a day.

Maybe you understand. Most likely, you have no clue. My goal in life is to provide those clues to those who do not understand the ones like me.
You see, I belong to an elite club. Einstein, Michaelangelo, Da Vinci, Newton, Hemingway, Van Gogh. All Bipolar. The list is impressive. The rollercoaster may have even been conceived by Da Vinci, who knows?

Their rollercoasters took them to greatness when it slowed to a stop. Mine is still taking a turn but there are great things on the horizon. And if not? Well, I've done great things in the past.... so I've been told.

Life is a ride of some sort. Short and fast or slow and steady. Neither is bad as long as the life has meant something to not you, the one living it, but to at least one who knew you and at least one who didn't.

So I end this blog with the song that will take me from this world one day. And I encourage you to listen to the words and take them to heart. Despite your rollercoaster, life is a lovely cruise.

War: Why Can't We Be Friends?

"Let's be friends."
"I'm your friend."

Here's an elaboration of the word: "Good Friend"

A six-letter word, Friend. When you add 'Good' to the mix you add a four-letter word.
Let me give the official definition of the word, Friend. I've not referred to official-ness often, so be aware that this shit I'm writing now is serious. Really, I'm not messing around. Grab your crotch and head bounce.

FRIEND:

1. a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.

2. a person who gives assistance; patron; supporter: friends of the Boston Symphony.

3. a person who is on good terms with another; a person who is not hostile: Who goes there? Friend or foe?

4. a member of the same nation, party, etc.

5. ( initial capital letter ) a member of the Religious Society of Friends; a Quaker.

Are you getting this? First off, let's scratch number 5 off of the list. Unless you are a Quaker or member of the RSF (as I call my homies) we can put this one aside. I'll have my oatmeal tomorrow morning and do an in-air fist-bump to my Quaker buds.

Number 4? There are no friends within the same party or nation or nations' parties. The recent government shutdown was evidence of that. Unless it's a real party. That is different.  I'm pretty sure that 'pubs and 'dems would pass a bottle of Beam and sing to Skynyrd if given the chance. That is how government should be run anyway. Old school. Then, even the Tea Party is on board. God bless America, fuck the rest. I jest, of course.

Number 3 - We're gaining ground on what a friend is supposed to be and where I'm going with this.
 - 'a person who is on good terms with another; a person who is not hostile: Who goes there? Friend or foe?' - now we are going somewhere.

Friend or Foe? A person who is on good terms with another and not hostile. But for how long? A moment? A day? A year or a lifetime? And how do you know and what do you look for in a Foe? A foe is easier to spot. A curly mustache and a sinister laugh. Conical breasts and cold sores. Although that foe was easily beaten (thank you, pharmaceuticals). This is where my story is starting to formulate ... stay patient, it'll be good.

Number 2 - A person who gives assistance or a supporter. Like a giver to the Boston Symphony.

I love music but I'm not sure that I'd give assistance to the bassoon player if he needed his diaper changed. Let's face it, those guys and gals are talented but a few of them are a bit aged and 'Oops I Crapped My Pants' is not so funny of an SNL skit to some of them as it used to be.
However, the symphony isn't my point. Being a supporter is my point. One who stands behind you and supports your ideas and ideals because of a bond. Whether built over years or days, usually you know it when it is genuine, right? RIGHT? This is the most common type of friendship that people consider 'close.' I don't have any scientific data to prove it but it sure as shit makes sense to me. This is where most people get fooled, bamboozled and screwed. Sometimes all in one night.

Number One. - FRIEND: a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.

The most elusive of things. Cupacabra, Bigfoot and Yeti are more elusive and true friends. What makes them so difficult to find is the last two words in the definition: personal regard.

Here's my idea.. True friends are as elusive as the Chupacabra. You'll see one, maybe two in your lifetime. But..... well..... Join me, if you will, on a journey through a friendship example of my own.

I've always been a man, or boy when I was younger, unto my own. I have never wanted nor needed friends. No, let me take that back. I have never wanted to have anyone to tie me down in a friendship that I could never be an equal in the friendship. I'm not a 'join you by the fire' kind of guy.  The reason for that is that although I will be the first one there when you need help, I'm not the one that's going to be there every Friday night. This is why the guys in my Cul-de-Sac looked down upon me anywhere I went for years. I hated that shit. That isn't friendship.
But, I did have one friend. For several years we were close. We shared a lot and we went though much. He was and is a good man. I last saw him at my dad's funeral. It was the first time I'd seen him in maybe, oh, ten years. Yet, the friendship was there. Despite a few changes.... his hair, my belly and our ages... And then there were the philosophical changes. He became super-Christian. I turned from super-Christian to the darkside. Not really, I just embraced my spirituality differently.

We went from being 1980's whoremongers to 2013 'who the Hell are you?'ers.' Yet, when we saw each other, it was if a day from 1985, 1992... whenever the last time we saw or talked to each other, the friendship hasn't lapsed. He was my friend. Still is.

That is my only lifetime true friend. If he's reading, he knows who he is. He probably doesn't read my blog because it'll lead him to Hell, but just in case, Tom, love ya man.

Despite differences, a friend will stand by you and support you. If they say they will, then don't, they have nothing but their own best interests at heart and really put you back at a number 5. Hello, Quaker.

I have one other friend who meets this criteria. I married her two years ago. My second wife, my best friend. I'll spare you those mushy yada yada semantics. Just know that friends like this don't happen all that often.

"Where are you going with this, Jeff?," you ask.

I'll tell ya this. I thought I had a good friend a few weeks ago. I was fooled. I let my guard down, which I don't do that often.
As a result, I had to look at myself and who I am first and foremost. Then, I picked the shit out of the faults of myself then my supposed friend. I found I wasn't perfect but my friend wasn't a Number 1 or a Number 2 either. Hell, she barely made Number 4.

How can we be blindsided so easily? Easy. We need validation. That's why I carry a stamp in my car. I validate myself everyday. I'm good to go, everywhere I go. Validated.

Quite possibly this is why I never let anyone get close to me. Everyone is a disappointment, or, most everyone, when it comes to true friendship.
I might put off some of you with this as you read these words. Sorry about that. You should feel the same way. But I'll tell you this, If I've ever called you a friend, I meant it. Crank it up. If I ever told ya I loved ya, that's me putting myself out there.

Bottom line though.... as a friend, I'm always open to being a Quaker, ever a #2 or willing to be a number one if you don't come back and catheter me in the future.


 

Real-time God Conversations.

"I like ya, but I don't love ya." Sayeth the lord.

"Ye shalt have to endure pain, heartache, frustration and anger in order to know the meaning of thy being..."

And BubbaCephus looked quizzically at his TV.

'Huh?' "well, I'll be a runned-over roadkill," BubbaCephus exclaimed.
"I ain't goin' to no more poles.. polls.. whatever.. to vote for no more people who ain't smart. Now, where's my Copenhagen dippin' snuff?"

And the lord dost sayeth unto BubbaCephus, "Hey, my creation.. tho' I scraped you and the rest of North and South Carolina from the barrel and tho' you are the urinal cake in the makeup of my creation, I shalt try to explain something to you."

And BubbaCephus, hearing this, said, "Huh? Speak English, dammit. This is 'merica."

And the lord shaketh his big head at BubbaCephus.
"What am I to do with my creation?" he exclaimed in a booming voice.

And Beelzebub snickered... "I did okay... hehehehe... what a stupid fuckin' thing you did giving a brain to humans."

BubbaCephus heard what Beelzebub muttered and said, "Huh? Is that you, Pat Robertson? Or anint' you my hero, Pastor Phelps?"


Upon hearing the reaction to Beelzebub's comment, thy lord decideth to speak directly to BubbaCephus through numbers. So, on a given Sunday in October, the lord placed a message. NASCAR is a God-given message-giving entity....

And BubbaCephus, seeing the 28 car trailing the 13 car which was rubbing the 6 car found a message in the decals

"Well I'll be a deer-guttin' somebeetch," said BubbaC... "Cialis can put the Midas brakes on life's problems if you use Castrol. I get it now! Thank you Jeezus!"

With this revelation, the BubbaCephus found that, despite his 3-wheeled trailer being stuck in a corner lot, he could go anywhere if he only looked for the signs... or, decals, in his case.

And with this revelation in the undeveloped world of his creation, the source god did saieth, "Jesus, if BubbaCephus can get a message through corporate advertising then so can the world's great governments. Especially that insignificant piss-ant of a creation country that has those fools that bow every Sunday morning and then watch midget porn after lunch."

........................ fast forward ..... BubbaCephus is now a state senator from South Carolina.

And god saieth, "Mother mary, somebeetch. What'd I do?"

Hi Y'all... my wife will spare your lives now.

We all have things that scare us. For me, it is spiders, Others hate heights or commitment.'

There really isn't a difference between your fear of commitment and my fear  of eight-legged bastards.

Let us take this a step further down the line. The fear of not having control or leadership. That's a big fuckin' problem, that fear.

This week has one of fearful experiences. Politics aside.
You see, I'm married to one of those 'essential' workers who had to work while not being paid. She couldn't take a sick day, not that she was sick, or she'd lose any money for leave.
Basically, my wife was held hostage by a terrorist organization led by Osama bin Ted Cruz and his cohorts and I had to deal with the fear of death each day at home.

Stress is an ugly bitch. It's like Phyllis Diller on a bad day without makeup and no sense of humor. Add undue stress to a woman in an already stressful job, the ugly intensifies. Then, bring that stress and ugliness home to a guy, oh, say me, who is doing everything possible to avoid added stress in order to stay out of jail, and you have a volatile mix of Crazy and fuckin' nuts.

Thanks to the great source in the heavens that saw fit to screw with the twisted minds of out lawmakers and put my wife back on payroll. And not just my wife... the hundreds of thousands of others who were feeling the same stress. My thoughts are with the spouses and families of those who had to look at this government shutdown ball of crap through a set of eyes in an entirely different way than those who now question their worth to the 'company' they work for.

My wife, she has twenty-five years of tenure. She may have well been a lackey in the mailroom on her first day. And, what am I able to say to her? Nothing. It's her entire life. The fucktards with no regard for others have struck a chord within the government sector and it's a B flat.
This will not happen again.

I hate spiders. Detest them. They make my skin crawl and the fact that, on average, a human swallows nine spiders in a lifetime freaks me out.
But, I'll boil spiders and eat them as soup rather than feel the fear I had when my wife was working, unpaid... slave labor... through this debacle.

I'll put her in a cage match with Boehner, Ted Cruz, Mitch McConnell and Obama any day. And I'll bet the ugly and stupid will come out bloody and bruised. My wife is neither ugly or stupid.
I'll also put her in a tub of pudding with Sarah Palin. But that's for another reason and I still think my wife would win. But, I'd pay any amount to see that bout.

Fear. An unreasonable reaction to a perceived situation in which you do have some control.

America. The epitome of Fear.
My wife. The freakin' Terminator. She'll be back.

Russia, I Love You Guys.

Dosvedanya, Comrades,

I use the Slavic, no, Russian wording because for some reason, unknown to me, Russians read this blog. Not only do they read my blog, they read it so often that they rank just below the U.S. in readership.

It's a bit of a mystery to me why this is. But, Holy Kremlin, I'm down with that. If my ramblings and rants made during times of mania and depression appeal to the ones who wear hats with earflaps, I'm groovy with it.

Actually, if my words help anyone, anywhere, I'm down with it. I just find it interesting that Russians find my writings read-worthy. I'm not complaining, no, no, no! I love all of my readers, whether they agree with me or not. My fingers are my voice and my voice is universal. I can't type in Mandarin or China would be better represented, although I do have readers in China.

I'm just a short, slightly disturbed survivor of bipolar disorder here in Bumfuck, Virginia, writing about things that annoy me and humor me. Hell, I make shit up sometimes when it comes to news stories. Inanity is my forte. However, the human experience is universal.

Jesus, or der haysoos de christos, as the Germans call him, once said, "How'd I get all this shit thrust upon me, big daddy?" Moments later, he had his answer and now has the coolest piercings ever given. Hand it to the Romans. I'll catch shit for that comment, but I thought it was funny. Think about it for a second and tell me you didn't smirk.

This world has become intolerable in many ways. Wars here, wars there. Corrupt politicians, greed.... and we haven't yet left the United States and it's need for dominance. The U.S. seems to think it has the biggest dick in a locker room full of porn stars. Nah, the U.S. is the midget porn actor on the world's porn channel. We have the smallest dick with the biggest debt in the world. This is our country, a laughing stock.

And now, a know-nothing party that has nothing at all to do with Tea, has been snookered by big business into shutting our country's government down solely for reasons of pride and prejudice. America is now a laughing stock. Our government held hostage by a few who do not like a few laws. The corporations are winning. Of course, with my resume, I could get a job within one of those corporations.... possibly be a bicycle runner or the guy who says 'Huh?' at every Monday team meeting.

I'm not American. I'm not a citizen. Neither are you. You're an employee who doesn't realize who pays your salary, when they want to. No wonder the Russians love my blog. I'm the epitome of the typical American. Sane in a crazy way. I'm no different than they are in their feelings about their government. The only difference is, their government shows up for work tomorrow. Of course, if they don't they're shot, but nevertheless....

I used to go to a Methodist church as a kid. In Sunday school, we'd read a little story then take some crayons, color a picture of a smiling Jesus or other revered figure, then cut the figure out and take it home to remember what we learned in that little class. Personally, I liked the projects where we had to glue things together... it made my day far more tolerable.... but this was a lesson.

No glue and no crayons, just words. Not even a book of stories. That's what our 'trusted' politicians use today. Words. And people believe what they hear and they love a charming smile. Apparently, some people like orange-skinned Speakers of he House too.


Bless ya, Russia. Thank you for harboring Snowden. Apparently, you're not the bad guys that Rocky IV made you out to be. And, if you have a topic you want me to tackle, name it.

Just know, I'm not good with snow and cold. But, I do dig vodka.

Yelps from the Closet: It's All Smart to Me. Really. No, REALLY.

Yelps from the Closet: It's All Smart to Me. Really. No, REALLY.: I promised myself that I wouldn't write about politics or the inanity of the Republican party, the stupidity of the Tea Party or the mis...

It's All Smart to Me. Really. No, REALLY.

I promised myself that I wouldn't write about politics or the inanity of the Republican party, the stupidity of the Tea Party or the misguided funding of the Obama Healthcare law. All of which are ridiculous in their own right.

So, keeping true to my word, I will not elaborate on the politics or the inanity of the Republican party, the stupidity of the Tea Party or the misguided funding of the Obama Healthcare law. All of which are ridiculous in their own right.

Instead, there has been something gnawing at my brain like a gerbil chewing on a sunflower seed. Bling. Car bling. Today, I saw a car with eyelashes. Fucking eyelashes. Sure, it, was a SmartCar, but it looked like an idiot car. It looked like a whore car that you'd see at a garage late at night after one too many quarts of oil. In that case, that Smart Car would look good. It would look like a midget with big tits and soft hands.

But this isn't a car-driven world where that type thing is normal for most people. A few, yes, but they have their own web pages and they are quite disturbing.

On the road, cruising eastbound at 55mph, eyelashes flapping, a '67 Vette passes going westbound looks over and sees those eyes with those flappy lashes. That crisp, '67 Vette smirks and without a sputter says "pfffffyt....Smart, my ass, three-pronged whore."

Today, on a SmartCar I saw a decal that said 'Actual Size'. I have that same decal on my penis. I own a Harley that seats two people, has two saddlebags and a rear rack. So do most Smart Cars, except the saddlebags and rear rack come in the two front seats. Why? Why, oh why do people find these bastardizations of automobiles worthy of purchase?

Smart Cars aren't smart. They are death traps. You can't can't see them until they're under you. They should be made with small crucifixes as hood ornaments. Face it, have you ever seen anyone under 250 pounds driving one of these cars? They're not smart. A Volkswagen bus from the 60's is smarter. And cooler. You can light AND smoke a joint in a Volkswagen bus. In a Smart Car you can maybe fit a joint in the glove compartment. Even then, you have to light it with the positive and negative charges from your battery. Peace Out, dude.

And then, the *gulp* stick figure family.  Let me gather myself......

What possesses you people to begin a family of sick stick figures on your window that includes dogs, cats, horses, pigs, mothers-in-law and other inherited family? I'm curious because I see it everywhere. It's as if the family stick figure is a symbol of solidarity.

Riddle me this. What if you're single? Or divorced? Or, better yet, like me, what if your kids disowned you. What kind of stick figures do you have on your rear window then? For me, in my case, two stick figure kids with their arms held high behind them, hand in a stop sign motion with me, my stick figure, standing there with 'WTF' over his head.

C'mon lets get creative with these things. Forget soccer balls and doggies and kitty cats and the nuclear family. Let's make stick figure window decals for the real world. How about a pregnant daughter stick figure? A strung out son stick figure? And while we're at it, forget the whole mini-van thing. Let's put these things on '69 Camaros and old Impalas. Station wagons and conversion vans with shag carpet.

This brings me to one more thing. The dudes who wear fingerless driving gloves. Not just any fingerless driving gloves, but mesh fingerless driving gloves.
Just this week, on my way to church (yeah, right), a dude in a Mustang passed me on the right doing, oh, 80, in a 60 zone. His Mustang wasn't just any Mustang, it was a piece of shit Mustang. BUT, this dude had on mesh driving gloves and his hair was quite coiffed. Who wears driving gloves? I'll tell you who wears driving gloves.... Formula 1 racers, NASCAR drivers and rich fuckers who tool around in Maybachs and Lamborghinis on the weekends for fun. Not some douchebag in a 2003 Mustang.
However, I'm sure that with his gloves and Members Only jacket, he's quite the eye candy at the local AC Moore Craft Store.

These are just a few of my favorite things. Like in the Sound of Music.

Smart Cars.
Dumbasses in driving gloves.
Stick figures.

This is our world.
This is How I see it.

My dog looks at me in strange ways with his paws outstretched as if he wants to help.
I think he knows what I know.

Meeting Adjourned

"Meeting adjourned! Now, who's up for drinks and calamari at Capital Grille? Show of hands!"

Awkward pause......

"Ok, I count 17 on the left and.... 48.... uh, 50, 53, 54, 55 on the right. Capital Grille at 5pm. All in favor say "Yay!"

..... 'yeah, 'yay'.

"I didn't hear anyone! We just passed landmark legislation to shut down government and overwhelm our President! So, Capital Grille at 5! All in favor say 'Yay!'

... 'yay!'

"Okay then! The first round of Bloody Bama's and Oyster Rockefellers are on me! Let's Party! We're done here, fellas! We just saved America and the dumb bastards don't even know it! We are GODS!"

And so it was today as sequestration began. Republicans rejoiced as they rejoiced in their victory for the people of America. Although the people of America were not even on their minds, the sequester began for the ones hoping that the government would run out of money simply to prove a point.... a point meant to show a President that his solution to a problem that he inherited and has been trying rectify with the means at his disposal isn't good enough for the ones with their own agendas.

Solution: Shut it all down and make many more live unlivable.

It's now that I wish Abraham Lincoln and George Washington and Thomas Jefferson were around to up a boot up the asses of these government officials. It's about time for another civil war, for different reasons, this time to overthrow the dipshits in control of this country. I've seen better bartering at swap meets.

Yet tonight, there are oysters being slurped in congratulatory style. High fives being slapped over martinis and I'm sure a Cosmo or two. One or two are popping Viagra or Cialis in anticipation of a night of debauchery with their mistress or a hooker that we pay for with tax money while tomorrow the pink slips that are being printed tonight are making their way to offices nationwide.

No more National Parks for the tourists either. Sorry, guys. I'm glad I saw Gettysburg last week.

You blow donkey dicks, Congress. I disown you, much like my children disown me. Run to your banks and corporations who love you and fund you. Sooner or later, they'll be all you have because the millions of Americans you lie to will wake up, and your sorry asses will be here, with us, cowering for money from the very ones you cower to.

Bastards. Enjoy your Oysters.