Things I Think I’m Thankful For.

I started thinking yesterday about what I’m thankful for this year, because it seems like just another day of the week to me.

Not to rehash, because everyone knows the storyline at this point, but. We stopped having Thanksgiving at home after my mom passed in 2010. My sister would invite my dad over, who would take C with him, but I was scheduled to work instead. After my dad passed, my sister just stopped inviting us altogether, as that her husband’s family is more important to her at this point. So, the only family “we” have is C and myself. He’s gone over to someone’s house for dinner with a friend of mine who used to be his babysitter for the past 2 years, so he’s at least getting in the food part of it. I get burritos and Kit-Kats on the way to work instead.

But, all of that helps me figure out what I’m thankful for this year.

  • The easy one on this list, is my spawn. He drives me insane often, he doesn’t listen much, and he’s more of a challenge on a daily basis than hacking into the Kremlin is. But he’s my son, and that’s what matters at the end of the day. I haven’t killed him yet, so I’m doing pretty good I think.
  • The people who try to make the effort to let me know their door is always open for me. Even though my awkward nature is never going to let me take them up on that, they always offer to let me come and be a part of their family. Knowing that they make that offer reminds me of the old adage that family isn’t always who you share genomes with, but who you chose to share parts of your life with instead.  The sad part is that there’s probably really good desserts and good booze that I’m missing out on.
  • The life I’ve been lucky enough to lead up to this point. I’ve seen bands and shows that some people dream of seeing. I’ve been places that I wish I could see again, I’ve learned things that helped fuel wanting to learn more, and I’ve felt things that remind me why it’s good to be alive.
  • The people who have taught me that the weakest moments in my life aren’t mistakes to be ashamed of, and that there’s a gift that grows from those moments that can help others by sharing it with others. One of the hardest things about being alone (yes, I have a child but that only emphasizes how alone one feels) from mid-November through early January is that it’s hard to stay focused on how great the other 9 months of the year are. Related to this, I’m thankful for people like Dese’rae and Amelia who toe up to the line daily to remind people that they can do it; and to borrow from Des’ website, “live through this”. I am a survivor of multiple suicide attempts, and these two remind me that we can’t be the secret community that only talks about it in the most hushed of tones.
  • Related to the above, I’m thankful that over the past year I’ve been able to share my those moments with strangers headed to the bottom of the well and know that opening my mouth has changed them for the better.
  • I think the last thing is that I’m thankful for every woman in my life that I’ve ever loved, and been loved by. Granted, I was more than likely pains in your asses, and did my own share of damage by not letting you know that you were the woman I chose to be with daily among other things… But if I never loved another woman again in my life, I’ve already been loved strong enough and deeply enough to last lifetimes. (And I do take some measure of satisfaction of knowing that each of you found the one great love of your life after me. It’s like if I can’t be the greatest thing ever, then being the gateway to greatness isn’t half bad either. 🙂 )

Now that the blessed Thanksgiving burrito has been finished, I can move on and eat my salad of selfishness. 😀 No really. I have a salad on the table that I need to eat before the lettuce gets all weird. May your wallets and lacy underthings be intact after you rouse from your tryptophan induced comas.

A clean kitchen is a sign of a troubled mind.

It’s 4:25 AM, and I’m cleaning the seals on the doors of the refrigerator. I’ve already washed dishes, scrubbed pans that didn’t seem clean enough, scrubbed the sink and counters down, and even washed out Hoot McDaniels + Marilyn Monroe, since if the counter’s going to be clean. well. They’re going to have to get on board too.

This all started after I thought about losing my dad two years ago because someone asked what he died of. Everybody knows that quite plainly put, he died of the broken heart that was left behind after my mom died 3 years previously. Her cancer that had been quiet and missing for 5 years came back quickly, and angrily. We went from a simple bone spur operation on her shoulder into a declaration of tumors in three weeks after her ability to handle the physical therapy post-op was getting worse and worse to the point where she was still exhausted two days after her last therapy session. In less than three months, we went from coherent, but tired, Mom to confused, sad, and scared Mom who couldn’t recognize her own son. The tumor that was growing in the back of her brain was, little did we know, rapidly consuming parts of her occipital lobe and cerebellum. She often demanded to know who I was after my dad had left for work and I was getting C ready for school.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“It’s me Mom, Bobby. Rob. Your son?”
“No you’re not. My Bobby is a little boy. He’s in ballet.”
“No Mom, that’s me. I did that when I was seven.”
“Bobby is seven. There he is right there. Hey Bobby, who is this?”

C would tell her that he’s not Bobby, that he’s C and I was his dad and she was his grandma. Then she’d start to cry because it upset her. No matter what though, she always knew my dad, she always recognized him. When she went into the hospital in the beginning of May, he didn’t sleep at home for three weeks because he was beside her for every possible minute until the end. When my mom passed, we were both holding her hands and had fallen asleep for only the fewest of minutes. She waited for us to not be looking so she could finally leave like we were holding her up. I heard his heart break in that moment when the 17 year old girl he was still with 49 years later wasn’t beside him anymore.

In the next three years I learned more about my parents, and more specifically my dad, than I had ever learned in 37 years. He told me how they had met, how his opening line wasn’t exactly the most flattering… but it worked, how most of the places from his childhood in Norfolk were gone now with stories of things he remembered. I was always a mama’s boy because I wasn’t the healthiest or masculine of kids, but in the last 3 years of my dad’s life I had a relationship with him that I never would have imagined that would be there.

So. Why does it matter that I’m cleaning door seals at 4:25? Because I haven’t really completed processing any of it. I know that a lot of my issues (like my social anxiety that ebbs back and forth like a tide, or the depression that gets debilitating to the point where it’s using social anxiety as an excuse to wallow in itself) stem from an immense sense of guilt over my father’s death. I was only 15 feet away when he died, but I was asleep before getting up to get ready for work. Logically, I know there is no blame. He was ready, and his body was tired. Emotionally however, if I’d had woken up sooner, if I hadn’t have stopped to answer messages on my phone, if I hadn’t had done something that wasn’t important then he wouldn’t have died quiet and alone. Or maybe I could have saved him somehow… until I remembered that he had a DNR because he didn’t want to linger longer than he should have; and so he could return to my mom.

It’s 4:30, and I now probably have the cleanest and mintiest smelling kitchen in the entire apartment complex thanks to insurmountable guilt that I know is unreasonable and illogical. Yea, it’s probably broken me and made me enormously dysfunctional especially in interpersonal relationships. Romantic relationships are probably doubly dysfunctional, because nothing damages self worth like feeling that you failed a parent and that’s a train wreck women aren’t just dying to be a part of.

But, at least guilt gives me a clean kitchen, a remounted towel rack in the bathroom, clean domes on all the light fixtures, and the central air now puts out heat instead of just blowing lukewarm air about the place.

Now it’s 5:18. I wish I remembered how to relax enough to sleep.

Every sperm is sacred..

http://norfolk.craigslist.org/w4m/3294694255.html

Since they always invariably delete it before people can read it, once they realize how stupid it sounds, here’s the ad:

“DONOR

looking for a healthy male to help a couple conceive a child, Must be DDD Free,Must be able to prove it, Drama free, and attractive White, Or mixed preferred. Must Live In Newport News or Hampton and Independent(have your own place).Also must be avaliable in the mornings.Please Provide A Pic and why your interested and i will do the same i am not ugly:).Please keep your negative comments to yourself”

Somehow, I don’t think people who don’t understand genetics or how to use caps should be allowed to have babies. I mean, you really think the donor being “attractive” is really going to impact how the baby looks? You don’t actually give a fuck all if the donor’s intelligent, artistic, creative, none of that stuff that actually matters in mating. You just care that they’re attractive. You do realize that won’t mean anything anyways, once the world of Harrison Bergeron comes to fruition anyway right? What? You don’t know who that is? Vonnegut? Still not ringing any bells? Eeesh. Please don’t reproduce. This world doesn’t have more room for another Honey BooBoo. 

Image

Oh society, sometimes I wonder where your true desires lay.

From an OkCupid profile:

“You… Intelligent. Must have a job and be independent (aka please don’t live with your parents). Kids are okay, even preferred but not necessary. Liberal-minded. Not crazy religious. Practices good hygiene. Doesn’t wear pants below butt. Manly but with a sense of romance. Chivalrous: you’re a man, you take me out, you treat me like a lady.”

Damn. Lost me right after “must have a job”. I know, there’s some basic social instruction where we’re programmed that folks living with parents are an automatic flag that they’re lazy people who can’t take care of themselves and depend on their parents to survive. In the world of failing economies, record unemployment, and the basic fact that the cost of things continually increase while employee pay fails to keep up even in a remotely adequate way, it almost seems ridiculous to use that as a measuring stick anymore. The elderly in America are even more screwed in this, as that all the money they put into the Social Security system to “help when they’re older” just doesn’t cut it anymore (can you imagine working for 60 years of your life to get 1200 a month in “benefits” while Congress refuses Cost of Living Adjustments, while constantly increasing their pay for the same reasons?). 

Not everyone is “living with their parent/s” because they’re lazy. Some are doing it because they have kids and it’s the only way they can survive with a flailing job market and economy. Some are doing it because they’ve lost jobs or their homes and have no where else to turn. Then there’s another block, who are doing it because their parents are elderly and need the extra hand. It’s always been an “old timey” saying that you can tell the quality of the person by how they treat their parents, yet in modern “dating” we’ve seemed to make an effort to punish folks who show that family is important to them. 

Personally, I’m back home with my Dad because after being here helping my Dad take care of my mom in the final months of terminal cancer, I realized how much he needed me to be here. Even if it’s just to sit around to watch TV with him sometimes, or help with the bills since his various retirement money sources doesn’t cover the bills (even after having to declare bankruptcy at the age of 70). While it hurts sometimes and feels pretty insulting that someone would deem me as not worth their time because I opted to be here to take care of my mom towards the end of her life, and to be here to help take care of my dad in his later years, I can only say this to those who use it as a measuring stick: *YOU* are missing out on someone who would be right beside you “for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do we part.” All because you mistake a notion of materialism as a sign that someone’s got possibility as a “quality” mate.

The “Real” woman of CL who doesn’t BS. (No really, it’s gotta be a fairy tale.)

Dear lady who wrote the following ad on CL;

Real men randomly do read Craigslist. However, as that we’re familiar with the fact that women posting on it generally do “bs” as you so eloquently put it; we’re opting to ignore your idiotic goading. Remember, the “real man” you claim you want is going to smell the fact that you may be a bit of a bully from miles away. 😉

Also, demanding a picture or you’re going to delete their email and not answer: also BS.

Amusingly not yours…

PS. Never claim to be intelligent when you aren’t exhibiting some spot on use of English. “For real” is not one word, “open- minded” seems to be a little gappy there, and really. Intelligent people *ALWAYS* know that the folks who cry about “no drama” are usually so full of drama it’s overflowing into the surrounding counties. xoxo.

Tradition is dead, are there ‘real’ men who don’t bs on CL – 26 (Norfolk)

“Some of the guys on here are bullshit forreal and like to play games way too much!! To be real honest attraction is a must!! I don’t play games, let me repeat, ‘don’t play games’ and I don’t do drama. I am currently seperated and have a child so if you don’t like kids click back. I just want someone to hang out with, go out with on occasion and see where else it may lead to. I am attractive, intelligent and like to have fun. I’m very open- minded and like to try new things. YOUR PIC GETS MINE, NO PIC NO RESPONSE…”

Squirrels don’t hire escorts. At least I don’t think they do.

It never ceases to amaze me, when I read an ad where someone talks about how they want to meet a guy who treats them nice, will take them out on a proper date, and blah blah blah. Honestly ladies, you already know these dudes. When you meet them, you think they’re nice guys and they’re really sweet, but you end up blowing them off (or fail to even take them seriously) for some douchebag that barely remembers your name after hearing 30 people say “HI (insert your name here)!”. Yes, it’s super amazing that he remembers the name of that blonde bimbo at the bar with her rack hanging out who slurred her name out drunkenly. Utterly stupendous.

The other side of this, is that it almost sounds like you’re saying “Spend money on me, peck me on the cheek, and get the hell out of dodge.” As Kayne would tell you; that means you’re a gold digger.  No really, it’s true. You’re not setting boundaries (like “Let’s go out and play it by ear.”, so we at least have the impression that there may be something more than a cold and sad peck on the cheek), you’re just outright “Take me out, buy me stuff, then take me home.” Not even the sit in the car and talk looking out at something pleasant, or walking, or something like that.

“I wonder if there is a man out there can take me on a date Without sex being brought up just take me out and show me a good time take me out show me a good time then bring me back home kiss me on my check and say good night Or is all men honestly worry about when they are going to get the next slice of booty I’m shy at first but warm up quickly so if you like to talk put in the title I Take you on a date Photo for a photo God bless”

Clearly, there’s signs here.

 1. Clearly, I don’t believe I’d have a preference for just a “slice of booty”. Quite frankly,  it’s the whole booty or nothing. Unless you have a cake shaped like your booty, and for some reason want to bring that on a date with you. Then, we’ll have to talk about the type of cake and frosting before I even contemplate the quantity of booty I’d like to have.

2. “Kiss me on the check” …. Seriously? I have to pay for the entire date, PLUS write you a check and kiss it? There’s some serious social issues going on here. Where I come from, this kind of behavior is often referred to as being an “escort”. And let’s admit it, you’re really not the escort caliber here ma’am.

3.  “Without sex being brought up and show me a good time” .. So at no point at all is any innuendo at all permissable, else it won’t be considered a “good time”. Come on, even the real high end escorts allow a little verbal innuendo that borders on the end of cerebreal foreplay. Man, I knew I shouldn’t be looking at Craigslist for an escort. Wait.

I should really go back to watching the squirrels have their romance outside my office window. Clearly they have a better understanding of dating and relationships.