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Till death do we part.

“You aren’t listening to me, are you?” (Angry)

“What?” (Too loud)

“You never listen to me, do you?” (Angrier)

“What?” (Louder)

“I could drop dead and you wouldn’t lift a finger to help me, would you?” (Kind of a simmering cold anger that is even worse.)

“What?” (Like a freight train, brutal and unstoppable.)

There is a magical kind of drama, and drama is such an inadequate word, to a couple that have been married and lasted long enough to grow REALLY old together to the point of hatred.

It is awesome to behold.

They hate each other, they really do.

But divorce is not even in their vocabulary, not a chance.

Love, honor, cherish, till death do they part.

The only thing left is the Till Death part.

And they are both waiting, nay HOPING, that the other dies soon.

It is a vile and beautiful thing to witness.

She looks a lot like the Crypt keeper from that old horror show. (Google it, I’ll wait.)

Got the visual?

He has a look of permanent terror on his face.

He has been seated the whole time I have been observing him and the missus, but I am willing to bet he takes 2 inch steps when he walks.

We are a weaker generation that we think Fuck You is the ultimate verbal attack.

There is a true gladiator’s feel to the skill of a true Fuck You conversation.

I am in awe.

This pair of wrinkled old warriors are lions, to be feared and respected.

This kind of fight is not a sprint, its a marathon and you cross the finish line when you opponent keels over.

I am in a dark place right now, and its a brutal place, scary and forbidding that makes you look at the beauty of a long time marriage and then stew in these kind of seriously vile thoughts.

And salvation is just around the corner, in the form of coffee.

Hot and fresh and available for just pennies.

Live is good, sun is out, birds are chirping, and the adorable old couple could not be cuter.

I love caffeine as a drug, it can fill the tank in a ridiculously short amount of time.

Addiction, with cream and two splendas.

And then they try to chip away at my drug induced Dome of Solitude.

“Did you hear what I said?” (Its him being angry this time.)

“What?” (She is truly playing this card.)

“I just told you something!” (Angrier.)

“What?” (This is a masterstroke of the fuck you genre of hot mess replies.)

“Ah, you are to old to talk to!” (He even waved his hand at her in dismissal. I almost shit myself trying to keep from laughing.)

“What?” (Now I KNOW they are just fucking with me. You could see this scene playing itself out as if it was written on a page.)

But it has not touched my euphoria.

And I am leaving before I am sucked into the vortex of negativity.

Because if you ungrateful shits know anything about me, you know that I am all about being positive.

I try to keep the bad stuff from staining my Disney-like purity and innocence.

Outside, there is a breeze, on the chilly side, but the sun is out. Low 70’s with a wind chill.

I am dressed in Southern California winter wear.

Shorts, running shoes, and a hooded winter coat.

Mmmmm good coffee.

 

(Here is how twisted up my head is. I have been laughing for the last 5 minutes because of the line immediately above this one. All of that shit, then “Mmmmm, good coffee.”  Once again, it occurs to me that this blog is a lot of the time, just for me.)

 

 
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Posted by on November 20, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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The Good, the Bad, and then it just gets Ugly.

Two items to get to before we descend into my usual diatribe.

 

The first is, after an unexpectedly long period of no job, by the time you read this, I will be on my second day at my new job.

Happy does not even begin to describe the feeling. We will start at relieved and grateful and go from there.

The exciting part is, while I was fast approaching the point of pursuing ANYTHING that came along, this is a position I would have left my long time job of last year for. Progressive start ups with an amazing product are exciting by nature, but there is so much right here, that I am humbled by how good a fit this looks like.

 

Second item. Baltimore appears to be burning to the ground. Add to that the Supreme Court listening to arguments on gay marriage and you have the type of situation that Facebook is wholly unsuited for.

Facebook has gang-raped debate into three categories.

  1. Loud, angry/condescending agreement of a political viewpoint, belief, or personal pet peeve.
  2. Name calling the moment someone disagrees.
  3. Blunt, rude, and often poorly stated slogans. These people are totally incapable of debate and get ugly when challenged.

If you cannot argue your point while remaining polite, then you do not understand your point well enough to argue it publicly. And before we descend into the idea that, “If you don’t agree with this, you are too stupid to talk to”, understand how big a cop out that line is. ANYTHING can be debated politely.

I often use words like a mugger uses a knife. My intent is to hurt, for a carefully shaped reason. Its not a good thing, but it is not necessarily bad. But I am never shocked when someone is hurt.

And thats the difference. Making a statement and then being shocked when someone is hurt by it, then claiming that it was not your intention is an immature, childish thing to say.

Done here.

 

There are sections of Los Angeles, California that are an odd juxtaposition of neighborhoods.

Like 2 or 3 different places that exist in the same place.

Here is what I mean.

Venice, California.

If you are a tourist, the Venice boardwalk area is a unique slice of Southern California that is a lot of fun.

If you are a homeless meth-head, the Venice Boardwalk is an open air home with dangers and pitfalls that is still your best location for not freezing to death in Winter.

If you are a Southern California native, Venice is a high priced real estate shithole of a place to live. (That was a quote from a 20 year Venice native.They also claimed they would NEVER leave.)

I am a native.

Going to Venice is a lot like visiting Tijuana, Mexico.

Its dirty, the poor are everywhere, and while you have a great time while you are there, you are SO happy you don’t live there.

But, much like going to Hollywood for the day, what strikes you is the high level of homeless that is there.

This is A-game shit, I kid you not.

There are 3 levels of homeless.

The first is the guy that got stoned at 15 and has stayed stoned ever since without developing a taste for meth. He has never had a job that did not involve either a name tag, a hair net or the risk of being arrested.

He is harmless.

His sign asking for money is probably a funny one. “Ninjas killed my family, need money for Kung Fu lessons.”

The next is your unconscious homeless.

You will never see this one awake.

It could be a heat wave and he will sleep thru it.

This is the one I pity the most.

I once left a sandwich next to this homeless guy to find when he wakes up.

That is not as noble as it sounds, I was buying a sandwich for myself and they had a 2 for 1 deal.

The last homeless is the one to fear.

He is a barely clothed daywalker with violent tendencies.

Meth is his God, and his worship practices are terrifying.

His hobbies include daily homeless fight club for varying reasons, violent take downs with groups of police, and defecating in public.

This is the one type of homeless that there is no fix for, no rehabilitation that will work or even help.

Like a rabid dog, he exists in pain and craziness until the day he drops.

You can smell crazy on him. (Smells a LOT like BO and shit/urine.)

These are the big dogs of homeless.

You can tell this by the fact that other homeless avoid them.

Think of it as the the bastard child of societal dynamic and Bernoulli’s Equation. (Look it up, most will still not see the connection.)

And when one of your variables is meth, all bets are off.

Keep your hands up and in plain sight, move slowly, speak softly, avoid eye contact and run when you get the chance.

Otherwise, you risk some pretty heinous potential damage.

You can take self defense all you like. (The best overall is Krav Maga. Despite some zipper heads resent claim that “Tai Chi is one of the most deadly martial arts”, it can be devastating but 99.99999% of ALL practitioners have no clue how to use it.)

No self defense on the planet work perfect for chemically crazy. (Google search “Bath salts face eating” after you eat, not before.)

Now you may ask, why are you at one of the most beautiful vacation areas available and focussing on the bad stuff.

Same reason that after you go to the puppet show for the first time and notice the strings, you can’t unsee them. The magic dies and you realize its a shame.

Now that is a depressing thought.

 

(Authors note, I wrote the depressing crap above prior to getting the new job. I was also on a 3 day no coffee or caffeine thing, big mistake, I am back to being caffeinated and twitchy. )

 
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Posted by on May 1, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Raising the adult child.

It can be difficult, raising an adult child.

And I am not referring to a child that is late teens or early 20’s.

I mean the one you married.

There is a couple in Starbucks that fit this little scenario.

Lets call him Workman

And Workman looks exhausted.

Like, working 3 jobs type exhausted.

He swills coffee like a man trying to jumpstart his battered and spirit-broken heart.

Like he either wants a caffeine rush or a coronary, either one will do.

And sittlng across from him is a little honey we will call Babs.

Babs has that alert but useless look to her.

Just had her nails, hair, clothes, you names it, this leech has had it done by a professional recently.

And Workman is on the hook for indulging “Daddy’s girl”.

5 minutes of listening in fleshes out the story.

They both had solid careers.

And then she lay prone one evening and conceived.

Once the baby was born, an ugly cycle began.

The stay at home mom was born.

Don’t get me wrong, when your kidlets are wee ones, someone who shares the same blood should be with them, 24 7.

However, Babs and Workman’s kidlet just went back to college from the Xmas break.

And Babs is talking about getting involved with a ladies group for an “Event”.

Here’s why I am a psychic, watch me predict the future.

I know nothing about Bab’s, the other ladies involved, or the “Event”, but I will make a little prediction.

1. It will cost Workman money. (This one is a gimme, but I have taken an instant dislike to Babs and feel the need to point it out.)

2. It will not accomplish anything substantial in the real world. (By this I mean, if it is not completely obvious to anyone that sees it and requires anything that resembles an explanation.)

3. It will be little more than an ego stroke for a gaggle of well monied, useless house fraus from the beach cities. (Kind of like the human version of a Lamprey. A fish that attaches itself to other fish and eats the scraps.)

This annoys the crap out of me. Its like having a permanent house guest that will never leave, pick up a check, but will bitch at you about how little respect she gets.

However, its a common story, you know 3 or 4 Babs in your daily life, we all do.

Workman is stuck, raising the adult child.

And this is not a sexist thing, for every Babs, there is a Bob. (Male version of Babs)

I think recognition of who the Babs and Bobs in our lives are is sexist.

Men can only see Babs, but the Bobs are invisible to them.

Women can only see Bobs, and cannot see Babs at all.

And both are convinced that the others are lazy pieces of shit.

Sad thing is, they are both right.

There is a saying about marriage, you either grow together or you grow apart.

But what if one of you grows lazy, while the other one grows overworked and tired.

Eventually the Workman of the couple will either grow a lawyer or a coronary.

And really, both are preferable.

There is a reason why children grow up before you get sick of handling all of it.

Now imagine a child that never grows up, you end up “handling it” forever, but the child will bitch about how tired they are of the lack of respect for their “position” in the household.

You might be tempted to say that this is from my perspective and that I am transferring it onto Workman and Babs.

Wrong.

Its equal parts taken from their conversation, a little poetic license and the final part is my love of the annoying extreme.

And the fact that I don’t like Babs.

Makes me wonder what Workman sees in that leech.

 
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Posted by on February 14, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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