Just Like Mom

The double buzz. The silent text. I had one tonight at 11:15pm. I've had 'em before but they're usually either from my bebe, Pam, or from one of my customers.

In this case, I'm no longer working for the same company so I know it isn't one of my customers. Pam is home and in the shower. So, unless she has taken her phone into the shower and needs a bar of soap or 'special service', I know it isn't her.

I glance at my phone and see that it my mom. Now, my mom never texts me after 9pm. That's usually when she falls asleep watching either the Food Network or HSN. But not tonight. Tonight, she is chatty. The conversation starts off normally... asking if I have one of the statues that I brought from the house when we packed everything before she moved into her new digs.

"Yes," I say.

She'd like to have it. I'd make a nice complement to the other statue she has. Okie doke.

Then, I asked, "Why are you awake at this hour? I thought you were asleep by 10pm every night?"

Never ask your parents this question. Only ask your children this question.

I was then asked a series of questions regarding jobs, money, life and happiness. I could elaborate on my answers, her questions and our banter, but I won't.

But, I will elaborate on this one thing that came from the discussion. My mom told me that she wished that she could work again. It would make her feel good to know she had something to contribute.

This hit me hard. Not because she needs to work but because she feels she needs to work to contribute. I've heard her say that others tell her she should be a comedienne. She makes people laugh. That is contributing. I told her that I just want to make people smile, I could care less about teamwork and money. It's about people and heart.

That is what my mother has and she doesn't even realize that she has it. I'll take texts at 3am from my mom every night if she wants to send them.

I like being a little crazy knowing that a little of that lunacy comes from her. She's the most unwitting genius I've ever known. My next job won't be a job. It'll be an adventure. Just like all the rest have been. I'll learn, I'll master and I'll move on. And hopefully, I'll make someone smile and laugh.

Just like my mom.

My Helmet

My zeppelin rusted. And my helmet has a hole in the brim that causes the sun to shine in my eyes every day at 2:37pm every single day. Every single fucking day.

I will not complain, no matter the rust or brightness of the sun. Not everyone has a zeppelin. The rust can be taken away with a bit of care, a bit of steel wool and oil. The helmet, well, the hole remains and the sun will remain always.

I can repair the helmet but it is an antique, a relic from a time when then sun likely shone down upon the eyes of the wearer at 2:37pm every single day. Every single fucking day. So through that hole my eyes are his eyes and but for a moment I see what he saw, or so I can imagine.

History is what we hold in our hands. And in what we hold in our hands we can grasp as our future.

Or so I can imagine. Every single day.

Howling at the Moon

Ah, life. The old gray mare she ain't what she used to be. I'm talkin' about life. I feel I have to clarify due to the fact that a certain wonderful woman will be reading this and will undoubtedly come to me asking is she's the 'old, gray mare' if I do not clarify otherwise.

I was backtracking through some of my past writings here on this blog. I have to say, there is some damn good writing, some crap writing, some things I do not really remember writing, and quite a few things I regret writing.
I started this blog not as a public forum but as a place for me to put my inner self out. I began this in a very weird and funky time in my enigmatic and funky life. A lot has changed. I can't believe how many people have read my ramblings, rants and innermost thoughts, fears and actions. Whether I've been right or wrong, people continue to read. Thank you, by the way. I hope my faults and fuck ups help somebody.

Anyway, back to life. I sat outside tonight and stared transfixed at a full Harvest moon. A big, bright full moon. I thought about stripping naked and running wild through the woods, killing chipmunks, wiping my ass with oak leaves and using crickets for earplugs but decided instead to play Dice with Friends on my iPhone. while reflecting upon life as the frogs burped close by.

Here I am, just four months from the half-century mark. That's age fifty for the slow people. There was a time when I would piss and moan about getting old. Hell, I probably did that today and I'll probably do that tomorrow. But, I realized that I'm thankful for a few things too. Not only did I realize this thankfulness, I realized this thankfulness as I was 'watering' the lower vegetation from the front porch. It dawned on me that, although I'm no longer the good-looking man of my youth, the thin man of several years ago, I still have a few things.

Sure, I may not have my 28 waistline anymore. But, I have salt and pepper hair. It's distinguished.
And yes, I lost my Hummer, my money my house, my kids, my first Harley, my pride and my sense of self to an extended bout of bipolar mania and subsequent divorce. Through fire steel is forged.

But yet, I'm thankful at 49 and 7/8 for these things:

1 - I have a great head of hair. A little thinning on top at the back, but overall, it's fuckin' great.
2 - I still have a great pee stream. My prostate is still in good working condition.
3 - I have bipolar disorder. That means I get prescriptions for my meds. Nyah, Nyah Nyah.
4 - Back hair. It's a backup plan for that thinning spot.
5 - Wisdom - Still workin' on this one.......

6 - Pam.

Number 6 and number 2 are pretty special. Number 3 goes without saying. I'll catch Hell for that comment. But, Pam knows me and she'll agree. I'll catch Hell for that comment too.

As I looked at that moon, howled, scratched my nuts and pulled my pants back on, I reflected on these thoughts. I can't believe I'm looking at the big 5-0. Literally, I can't believe it. I shouldn't be here, I should be floating in someone's photo as an orb on an episode of 'Ghost Hunters'.

Shhhh... Did you hear that? ..... footsteps......  Nah, just me, I gotta pee again.

The Westboro Baptist Church Vs. The Calendar

Yesterday was September 11, 2013. Yesterday also marked twelve years since the tragedy of the 9/11 attacks in New York, Washington, DC and the horrific crash in Pennsylvania.

But, leave it to Westboro. Fast Five Freddy and the Funky Bunch of the Westboro Baptist Church decided to picket. It seems reasonable that the haters of humanity and all things having to do with harmony would picket on a day of remembrance of a day of sorrow caused by hatred.

But no, not this time. Fred and Marge, citing America's adoption of gay rights, homosexual marriage, BOGO sales at JC Penney during the Christmas season and their everlasting qualms with Clarence Thomas and his 'Pepsi Can, pubic hair' controversy' rallied the Westboro congregation. All eighty-nine or so members who could get time off from their jobs at Target, Wal-Mart and Chik-fil-A gathered with mis-spelled signs in Yonkers, NY, to protest the 9/11 memorial activities in New York City.

However, while the group's reasons for picketing in Yonkers (three members showed up in Harlem) is not known, what is even more perplexing is the reasoning for the picketing.

According to Marge Phelps, "We are showing our disdain for continued celebration... nay, almost a holiday, on a day ... lets call it September 11, that God smote a country full of fags. So, really, we are picketing the calendar, We are picketing the Gregorian Calendar."

Yes, you read that correctly.

Fred Phelps added, "The Gregorian Calendar was developed by  Pope Gregory, a Christian, who was a Catholic. You know them Catholics. They like them little boys and they're sinners. I know that the Calendar was meant to put Easter, God Bless Easter, where it is every year.... and we like it where it is 'cause it's perfect in Spring.... But other than that, the Gregorian Calendar is a sham! It's full of the devil's lies! Except for Christmas."

FOX News caught up with an unidentified member of the WBC as he shouted, "Ain't No Way You Gonna Make My Day!" The woman, known only as 'Tammy', stated that she wouldn't buy another calendar with September on it if it had an '11' on it.

"It ain't right" she said. "Why do we gotta remember God hates this country because of the fags every year? Damn, Jesus oughtta kill everybody now and get it over with"

So as we move further into September and closer towards Halloween when the crazies come out of the closets, let us keep in mind the Gregorian Calendar and the Westboro Baptist Church and try to distinguish who are the crazies and why Marge and Freddie are so fag-driven. I'm betting there's a pubic hair or two between their teeth.

I'm Not Joey, Ross or Chandler

Everybody apparently needs at least one friend.

I've lived my entire life without that belief. I've been a man unto myself as long as I can remember.

Sure, I had friends as a kid. All kids have friends that you hang around with, do stupid shit with. I had those friends. I also had those friends throughout my high school years. But, none of them were close friends. None were those life-long, close to the heart friends that you see in the movies. You know, the friends like Billy Crystal has in 'City Slickers' or the group of friends that you see on TV a la 'Friends' or the 'Big Chill' or more recently, 'Grown Ups'.

That shit doesn't happen. it isn't real. Sure, it'd be nice. It'd be funny and it'd be ideal. But it just doesn't happen. The friends I had as a kid grew up and moved on, as did I. We didn't reunite and relive our 5th grade youth. God forbid.

No, as a matter of fact, I have avoided close friendships throughout my life. With the weird exception of marriage.

This has served me well for the majority of my life. I have never been one of those guys who gathered around the barbeque grill and talked about the workweek or met at the bar and talked sports.
I have never had a close friend that I've carried throughout my life.
Sure, I do have friends that I consider close. Friends that that know me better than anyone else. But, there is no one, repeat, no one, that knows me intimately. Not even my first wife, who was married to me for almost twenty years, knew me intimately. And, by intimately, I mean as a close, personal friend.

There is only one person now that I've allowed to get inside that perimeter. And, I'm cautious about allowing her to get too far inside. It's not because I have anything to hide, it's because I'm wary that she'll be like a small deer approaching fauna and suddenly see a chupacabra poke its' head up and scare her away.

Friends are never there when I need them. Whether it's because it's too late or I'm a nuisance. So, I just don't need them as much as they don't need me. There are exceptions, however. Thank you, Karre, Elisabeth, Paul, Debbie. Just to name a few. There are those that listen. Those that listen are friends. Sometimes that's all that's needed. I don't need feedback all of the time.

Friends, near and far, are more important than I thought possible. I'm a burden to most, annoying to many and disappointing to those who used to love me. But maybe, just maybe, I have a friend out there who I can help in some way.