Saturday, June 27, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
is this what it means to be an adult?
I'm learning to keep my mouth shut. There's no point of saying what's on my mind cause no matter what it is, it's wrong. If I have an opinion about something I'm somehow putting him down. If I ask him a question, I'm somehow attempting to instigate a problem. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I've already come to terms with this whole pretend fisher price play relationship being nothing but detrimental. Until we live separate live like the "friends" he wants us to magically be after banging on and off for eight years, being completely insuperable for about 5 and now living together for one. He wants this perfect "relationship" where I'm gonna play his best friend/disgruntled husband and still get to play Don't Ask Don't Tell with whatever online flavorS of the week he has going on at the moment.
Even when I want out. Even when all this is doing is making me retreat more and more inside. Because in my head is the only safe place to be. But then the silence is wrong to. Having to explain my every move and breath while being accused of doing the same to you is taxing on me in every possible way. I'm in my thirties. Aren't I supposed to have this all figured out by now? Most of my friends are married with children by now. I'm still living in my mother's basement playing house with my best friend/fuck buddy.
Even when I want out. Even when all this is doing is making me retreat more and more inside. Because in my head is the only safe place to be. But then the silence is wrong to. Having to explain my every move and breath while being accused of doing the same to you is taxing on me in every possible way. I'm in my thirties. Aren't I supposed to have this all figured out by now? Most of my friends are married with children by now. I'm still living in my mother's basement playing house with my best friend/fuck buddy.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Gangsta Puppies
This is just too goddamned adorable. and im really high right now so it's extra entertaining.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Civilization by Marco Brambila
This actually plays in the elevators at a hotel in vegas. i need to watch this in an altered state of mind
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The World Mourns Neda
26 year old Neda Agha-Soltan was murdered recently by the Iranian government during the protests. It's sad that so many are willing to die for what we take for granted everyday. Click the title for the full story from ABC.com.
Neda's fiancee talking to Iranian press.
Neda's last moments caught on tape.
Neda's fiancee talking to Iranian press.
Neda's last moments caught on tape.
Captain's Logs
I never got to see Star Trek in IMAX like I planned. Another "misunderstanding" whether J had already seen it or not kinda turned me off to the experience so I was content to catch the bootleg.
I must be behind on my celebrity smut, cause I'm sure this is a while old. Did Zachary Quinto who takes over as Spock in the prequel and the guy who plays Bones coordinate outfits before this event? "I'm gonna wear my cock to the left tonight."
I've had a man-crush on Zachary Quinto since he played Tori Spelling's gay best friend on So NoTORIous. Here's a clip of Zach and another hottie hot hot, Joel Mchale who hosts E's The Soup.
I must be behind on my celebrity smut, cause I'm sure this is a while old. Did Zachary Quinto who takes over as Spock in the prequel and the guy who plays Bones coordinate outfits before this event? "I'm gonna wear my cock to the left tonight."
I've had a man-crush on Zachary Quinto since he played Tori Spelling's gay best friend on So NoTORIous. Here's a clip of Zach and another hottie hot hot, Joel Mchale who hosts E's The Soup.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Ghostbusters Video Game Trailer
Anyone else catch Ghostbusters 1 and 2 on A&E this past weekend?
Ghostbusters: The Video Game Trailer
Ghostbusters: The Video Game Trailer
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Happy Father's Day
When I was 3 years old I remember my father kicking my ass because I had climbed up on his prized Cadillac and my little shoes must have scuffed the finish. My mother says I was too young to remember and I must have heard someone talking about it.
I used to be locked in my room as a child so I would "study". My father would force me to clean the house and wash the dishes while my little sister got to play with her dolls and my mother shopped the pain away.
I never wanted for anything materialistic. I used to wake up in my old bedroom every morning and run to my dresser cause I knew my father had left me a brand new Masters of the Universe action figure. Everyday. On weekends I'd get the play sets and vehicles. All my friends loved coming over cause I always had the brand new video games. They'd tell me how I had the best father ever.
I used to get beaten for using the wrong eating utensil. For slurping my soup too loudly. For getting anything lower than a B in school. For my mother taking my side in arguments. For my making him look bad. For my bad manners.
I got beaten till I was big enough to fight back. I was fifteen the first time I took a swing at my father. I was sixteen when I broke his arm. I made the mistake of telling everyone about his affair that I'd know about since I was thirteen, after he berated me at a family Fourth of July gathering for asking why my cousin, who was 18 at the time, still had to ask permission to go out. I found myself in a choke hold against the wall. He found himself curled up in a ball on the floor with me kicking his battered body as he cradled his broken arm.
Once he realized he could no longer break me physically, his abuse turned psychological. He managed to make my mother believe I was lying about the affair because I was angry at him and trying to cause trouble. My relationship with my mother, although much improved now, has never really been the same ever since. Anyone who would listen heard about what a terrible son I was. The liar, the fuck up.
I was class vice president, homecoming king and editor of the school paper in high school. In college I was on the deans list and again editor of the award winning school paper. I managed to never join a gang and kept myself outta any big trouble.
Yet it was never enough. Because in order for him to maintain the image of the perfect father, if I wasn't gonna play along and be the perfect obedient son than he would make me the problem child.
I remember when I was in high school suddenly the guys I hung out with in the neighborhood being a problem because my father had told my mother they had asked him for marijuana when he was coming home from the bar one night. I didn't tell my mom I was pretty sure if my friends were looking for weed they wouldn't have to resort to asking my father where to get some. Years later I came to find out from the same guys that my father had drunkenly approached them about scoring some coke the night in question. Then proceeded to talk about "his faggot son" with my friends.
I was involved in a high speed chase with my mother and sister in the car when we happened to run into him on the street after he moved out and my sister attempted to approach him and he and his new bitch ran into their car and sped away like she wasn't shit.
From my father I learned how to be dependent. I learned how to lie and be phony to get what I want. I learned to put on a facade in order for people to like me. I learned that love = materialism. I learned how to scream and shout. I learned how to punch and choke. I learned to not take anything from anyone or be stepped all over, to the point of paranoia. I learned to manipulate. I learned to solve things with my fists. I learned to be on guard and ready for an attack from anyone cause if the man who spawned me seemed to hate my guts and wanted me destroyed, what can I expect from anyone else.
I'm still trying my best to unlearn the lessons I was taught by my father. I spent years being the kind of person I hate because that was all I knew. Guess we hit on the why I hate liars and my tendency to tell the truth to a fault.
I don't hate the man. My faults; inherent, learned or beat into me, are what makes me. I can see I'm not a perfect man and because of what I went through I understand why I can be a little volatile. I see how I can be difficult to deal with. I'm not trying to make an excuse for my actions or for his. I can understand how outside influences and past traumas can shape and make you see things in a way you might not want to. From what I understand he didn't have the best childhood either. I think he just never learned how to be a good father. Fortunately for me I had other role models I could look up to for that.
So enjoy your steaming pile of nada damn thing, dad. Happy Fathers Day. Thanks for the memories, asshole.
Daddy Dearest and I.
I used to be locked in my room as a child so I would "study". My father would force me to clean the house and wash the dishes while my little sister got to play with her dolls and my mother shopped the pain away.
I never wanted for anything materialistic. I used to wake up in my old bedroom every morning and run to my dresser cause I knew my father had left me a brand new Masters of the Universe action figure. Everyday. On weekends I'd get the play sets and vehicles. All my friends loved coming over cause I always had the brand new video games. They'd tell me how I had the best father ever.
I used to get beaten for using the wrong eating utensil. For slurping my soup too loudly. For getting anything lower than a B in school. For my mother taking my side in arguments. For my making him look bad. For my bad manners.
I got beaten till I was big enough to fight back. I was fifteen the first time I took a swing at my father. I was sixteen when I broke his arm. I made the mistake of telling everyone about his affair that I'd know about since I was thirteen, after he berated me at a family Fourth of July gathering for asking why my cousin, who was 18 at the time, still had to ask permission to go out. I found myself in a choke hold against the wall. He found himself curled up in a ball on the floor with me kicking his battered body as he cradled his broken arm.
Once he realized he could no longer break me physically, his abuse turned psychological. He managed to make my mother believe I was lying about the affair because I was angry at him and trying to cause trouble. My relationship with my mother, although much improved now, has never really been the same ever since. Anyone who would listen heard about what a terrible son I was. The liar, the fuck up.
I was class vice president, homecoming king and editor of the school paper in high school. In college I was on the deans list and again editor of the award winning school paper. I managed to never join a gang and kept myself outta any big trouble.
Yet it was never enough. Because in order for him to maintain the image of the perfect father, if I wasn't gonna play along and be the perfect obedient son than he would make me the problem child.
I remember when I was in high school suddenly the guys I hung out with in the neighborhood being a problem because my father had told my mother they had asked him for marijuana when he was coming home from the bar one night. I didn't tell my mom I was pretty sure if my friends were looking for weed they wouldn't have to resort to asking my father where to get some. Years later I came to find out from the same guys that my father had drunkenly approached them about scoring some coke the night in question. Then proceeded to talk about "his faggot son" with my friends.
I was involved in a high speed chase with my mother and sister in the car when we happened to run into him on the street after he moved out and my sister attempted to approach him and he and his new bitch ran into their car and sped away like she wasn't shit.
From my father I learned how to be dependent. I learned how to lie and be phony to get what I want. I learned to put on a facade in order for people to like me. I learned that love = materialism. I learned how to scream and shout. I learned how to punch and choke. I learned to not take anything from anyone or be stepped all over, to the point of paranoia. I learned to manipulate. I learned to solve things with my fists. I learned to be on guard and ready for an attack from anyone cause if the man who spawned me seemed to hate my guts and wanted me destroyed, what can I expect from anyone else.
I'm still trying my best to unlearn the lessons I was taught by my father. I spent years being the kind of person I hate because that was all I knew. Guess we hit on the why I hate liars and my tendency to tell the truth to a fault.
I don't hate the man. My faults; inherent, learned or beat into me, are what makes me. I can see I'm not a perfect man and because of what I went through I understand why I can be a little volatile. I see how I can be difficult to deal with. I'm not trying to make an excuse for my actions or for his. I can understand how outside influences and past traumas can shape and make you see things in a way you might not want to. From what I understand he didn't have the best childhood either. I think he just never learned how to be a good father. Fortunately for me I had other role models I could look up to for that.
So enjoy your steaming pile of nada damn thing, dad. Happy Fathers Day. Thanks for the memories, asshole.
Daddy Dearest and I.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Revenge is Sweeter Than You Ever Were
I find it almost physically painful to listen to him wax philosophical. His drunken attempts to make an intelligent observation are so transparent, like he's reaching for anything to make himself interesting. Even when he's talking to me about running into his biological grandparents at work and figuring out who they are through the ramblings of the crackhead he drives back and forth from his physical therapy sessions, it feels rehearsed. Almost insincere like he's enjoying the drama of the spotlight.
I don't know. Maybe I'm just bitter. Maybe the way we interact is so far gone and my defenses so high I'm just looking for a reason to dislike him. But if we're going to continue this... whatever the hell this is, I need to just let go of my anger and move on. From all our sanity's sakes.
But if i just forgive and forget have I learned anything? It's been 8 years. And still I don't trust him. But then again why the hell should I? I know he lies to anyone about anything for any reason. How can I trust him when he claims to tell me the truth but can lie so easily to anyone else. I'm really not that dumb.
"Who cares?" he asks annoyed when I bring up his string of "little white lies". "It's got nothing to do with you," he tells me. Maybe. But like I tell him, I can't help but feel a little betrayed when he spends all his time with me but feels the need to make up these pretend dates and things he does with imaginary people in his life. Like I'm not good enough for him and he has to make things up. Whatever. Please tell me any other way I'm supposed to take this to make me feel like he's not ashamed of me.
I think the age difference is really starting to show. It's strange how six years can feel like twenty when you're thirty one to his twenty three. Guess I really have no right to play the maturity card this time. Especially after sending all those guys messages from his inbox telling them to "ask me bout my herpes" and "I have herpes, ask me how." Good times. He didn't appreciate that to much. I'm still watching my back. Keep your friends close and all, bygones.
I don't know. Maybe I'm just bitter. Maybe the way we interact is so far gone and my defenses so high I'm just looking for a reason to dislike him. But if we're going to continue this... whatever the hell this is, I need to just let go of my anger and move on. From all our sanity's sakes.
But if i just forgive and forget have I learned anything? It's been 8 years. And still I don't trust him. But then again why the hell should I? I know he lies to anyone about anything for any reason. How can I trust him when he claims to tell me the truth but can lie so easily to anyone else. I'm really not that dumb.
"Who cares?" he asks annoyed when I bring up his string of "little white lies". "It's got nothing to do with you," he tells me. Maybe. But like I tell him, I can't help but feel a little betrayed when he spends all his time with me but feels the need to make up these pretend dates and things he does with imaginary people in his life. Like I'm not good enough for him and he has to make things up. Whatever. Please tell me any other way I'm supposed to take this to make me feel like he's not ashamed of me.
I think the age difference is really starting to show. It's strange how six years can feel like twenty when you're thirty one to his twenty three. Guess I really have no right to play the maturity card this time. Especially after sending all those guys messages from his inbox telling them to "ask me bout my herpes" and "I have herpes, ask me how." Good times. He didn't appreciate that to much. I'm still watching my back. Keep your friends close and all, bygones.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
...and in the end.
It took me some time to realize this but being alone isn't a bad thing. I've been walking around the man-cave pulling down action figures from the walls that aren't mine, taking down posters, boxing up things that don't belong to me and I'm surprised to find myself oddly at peace with it. It's rather cathartic. Like all this pent up rage just released out of me. I may have exhausted all the anger I had left last night. Good thing it was all aimed at the intended target. The only thing I'm sorry for is not doing this sooner. I feel like me again. Not this angry, spiteful ogre I allowed other people's bullshit, their problems, their lies, their affected sentiments turn me into. My spirits are high and although my problems and issues can't all be blamed on one person I feel like I can now take care of myself and the true people who matter in my life without any needless impediments.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Birthday Pics!!!!
This is my third time celebrating my 30th birthday. I accidentally celebrated 30 when I was only 29 and didn't catch the mistake until my mother pointed out the candles on my cake were wrong the next year.
Thanks to everyone who helped make my 30th (part 3) special. For the mildy retarded having a little trouble keeping up: I'm 31.
Click on the title for the pics.
Thanks to everyone who helped make my 30th (part 3) special. For the mildy retarded having a little trouble keeping up: I'm 31.
Click on the title for the pics.
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