You in there Ray?

You ever notice the little voice in your head while you’re reading? Today I realized it wasn’t my voice, but someone else’s. I couldn’t figure out who. Then it hit me. It’s Ray Liotta’s voice. Like the way he sounded narrating Good Fellas. I mean, I enjoy that movie, but why the fuck is he reading to me?

Evil Empire

I fucking hate Apple more than ever before. I constantly have problems with my iPhone. I’m not the easiest on electronics, so I have to take some accountability for the issues. Also, because of Apple I have a business.  But none of that is any fun to talk about and gets in the way of my rant.

My phone has been losing service a couple times a day for the last 2 weeks. The status at the top shows “Searching” and I can’t make calls or use my phone unless I’m on WiFi. Today it finally shit out on me for the whole day.

I dread going to the Apple Store to ask the smug, hipster jack offs who work there for help. I’d rather watch Lena Dunham do naked jumping jacks in front of me for the rest of eternity.  But today I have no choice.

I jumped in my car and headed over to the Apple Store. It’s in this uppity white neighborhood that always packed with rich soccer moms and and their shitty, spoiled kids. Doesn’t anyone fucking work?  I judge all of them.  Forgetting the fact I should working as well, but I’m here being just another asshole in this store.

I knew I wasn’t going to get service right away. I coached myself on the way over to relax and not freak out the instant I walked in the door. You get more flies with honey. And in the grand scheme of life it’s a minor inconvenience. By the time I finally found parking and entered the store all that shit was out the window.

I walked up to the guy working there with a sense of entitlement that my problems were more important than anyone else’s.  The first guy seemed like he was going to be helpful. Unfortunately he directed me to his colleague, who looked like a slightly more stoned version of Kendrick Lamar and I was informed I would have to wait at least an hour and a half.  I felt my chest inflate, my hands clinch and my jaw tighten. When I pointed out the fact there were plenty of employees standing around doing nothing, he didn’t flinch and calmly told me many of them are sales people not technicians.  Fuck me, right? (more…)

It’s Friday Night

Ahhhhh the games we play.  Well, the games I play may be more accurate.

It’s Friday night at exactly 11:11 for those superstitious types like myself.  I got home from work 2 hours ago and I’m laying in bed after finishing a book.

I was exhausted and hungry when I got home. All I wanted to do was shower, eat and have some alone time.  Normally Friday nights I have a visitor stop by for our weekly rendezvous.  I’ve been horny as fuck all week and was really hyping it up with dirty talk to her yesterday.  But when I left work I wasn’t feeling being around anyone or having sex tonight.

She asked about coming over and I gave my usual noncommittal response, “Text me later and we will see.”  She hates when I do that and I know it, so of course I love doing it.

I don’t want to put the effort in tonight, but I’m getting a little horny and bored now that I’m finished reading.   I’m feeling a little needy as well, seeing as how she hasn’t text me back yet asking if she can come over in about an hour.   Plus I took a preemptive Viagra and I don’t want it to go to waste.  Yes, I use performance enhancing meds, I’m not ashamed.

I snapped her a pic of me in bed and she responded “sex time?”   I replied by telling her I just finished reading a book and never answered her question.  I want her to work a little for this.  I get off on the control.

I’m trying to see how long I can keep this going until I fold.  I text her again asking if her her ass was clean.  She let me know she was fully prepared for tonight, anticipating she would see me.  I have to giver her credit for that.

I know I’m going to give in a few minutes because I want sex before it’s too late.  With my no sleepover policy it’s important to make sure I don’t let anyone come over later than midnight or they may get the wrong impression.  Once the deed is done, it’s my bedtime and they have to go.

Right now writing is my procrastination from having sex.  Which is odd because I normally procrastinate from writing by having sex with my hand.

It’s been 20 minutes now, it’s time to pull the trigger and tell her to come by.  I have to lay down extra sheets because she squirts like a fountain and it always turns into an awful mess ruining my bed.  I either have to change all my sheets or sleep on the couch after she stops by.

I’m not sure if this is how normal nights are supposed to go for someone my age. I guess now is not the time for judgement, reflection and deep soul searching.

Great….Another Dating App Post

 

My OCD now controls my use of dating apps.  I’m not talking interacting on dating apps, I mean the actual manner of how I use the apps.   There’s a process I have to stick to.

First, I only use the apps when I’m taking a shit.  I figure I’m stuck there for a couple of minutes, so I might as well make it me time and check out the dating world.  Occasionally I’ll still go on and swipe when I’m bored or I’m procrastinating at other times of the day.   But, It’s rare.  I do the majority of my dating work while sitting on the can.

Second, I must start out using Bumble.  I’m not sure why, but it’s what my brain tells me to do.  So I listen like a good little soldier.

I open the app and I hit the little blinky fucking diamond icon at the top right of the screen so I can see how many people swiped right for me.  There’s a preview that shows the number of possible matches you may have, but it doesn’t show you who they are.   The premium, paid version of bumble shows you who swiped right for you before you even come across them.  I don’t have bumble premium anymore because it depressed me too much.  I would go on and see all the monsters that swiped right for me and started to worry about my attractiveness.  I’m getting close to midlife crisis time and my ego is way to fucking fragile for that.  Plus it defeated the purpose of playing it like a game and I got bored quickly .

So anyway, I look at the number of possible matches then I start to swipe.  I’m incredibly OCD and need to swipe in batches of 10.  I can’t close the app or look at my matches until I hit a multiple of ten.  I count off each person one by one.  Sometimes, I’ll see how long I can keep swiping without matching in multiples of ten.  Those are usually really slow days in my life that I’m not proud of.

Third, I hit up tinder. I’m usually disgusted with what I see within 5-7 swipes.  I’m even more disgusted with myself that none of them found me attractive enough to match with me.  However, there’s times when I start off with 8-10 very attractive girls in their early twenties, which piques my interest.  I’ll swipe right vigorously on their pics.  I can feel myself making a pervy face and grunting when I do it.  After I don’t match with any of them In multiples of ten, I close the app, wipe my ass and go about my day.

You’re welcome dating world.

The problem with weed is…..

It gives me all these creative ideas, but makes me too lazy to do anything with them.

When I’m high, I write down every idea in hopes of doing something with them later.  But once I’m sober, the ideas either seem horrible or they lose the creative spark needed to turn them into something tangible.

Trying to turn my thoughts into a post while I’m high is torture.  I can’t focus for more than 15 seconds, I lose track of what I’m writing about and I usually have food splattered all over my keyboard.  That’s pretty close to my normal writing routine, but it’s much more difficult while stoned.

When I’m showering high I come up with comedy routines.  I’m pretty sure my material is hilarious, at least in my head it is.   I can’t be certain that’s a true statement because I forget the whole routine by the time I’ve cleaned myself.  For obvious reasons, I can ‘t write my ideas down because I have no access to a pen or a computer in the shower.   So I have no way to prove any of this or test out my material.

How do so many funny people create great shit while they’re high?  This is the type of thing that keeps me up at night.  Surprisingly, I’m not high while writing this.  Although, it would make more sense if I was.

No One Wants the Eggplant

Why the unsolicited Dick pic bro? And why am I the guy telling other guys this?  I’m a fucking moron when it comes to women.  I tell women upfront: I don’t do sleepovers, don’t expect to date me, and this probably wont end well; and even I know better than to send a random chick a dick pic.

What goes through a guys mind when he sees a chicks on IG or Snap and fires away an unwanted pic of his mighty member?  Does he think it will make her wet?  Like somehow, she will see his ugly, veiny dick and instantly want to fuck him.

I can’t imagine anyone ever has sent an unsolicited Dick pick to a chick and she was like, “you know what, this dude seems like he’s got it together.  Not to mention a great hog, I’m gonna bang him tonight.”  What the fuck bro?

I thought guys like me were the bottom of the barrel when it comes to tact and class.  Now I see there’s an heir to that throne.  I’m sure your lonely nights of jacking off to daydreams of the women you will never sleep with will keep feeding your fire to send your piece de resistance of cock pics.  Thinking if you just get the angle right this time, maybe she will fall in love.  Keep up he good work you desperate bastards.

Just for today

Today is my 18 month check up at the oncologist.  Every three months I come here for a full day of tests and appointments.  Most of the day I’m sitting in waiting rooms working to keep my mind off the fact I’m surrounded by people who are dying.

I’m one of the fortunate ones.  I only needed two surgeries to get rid of my liver cancer,  no chemo or radiation.  I’ve been given another chance at life. I’d say a second chance, but this is probably my 50th.

When I think about how many chances at life I’ve received I’m grateful. But, I’m also very frustrated with myself.  Life’s precious and I know that, yet I don’t treat it as such.  I continue to make the same mistakes repeatedly, wasting years of my life.

I spend too much time on social media, I do drugs I said I wouldn’t do anymore, I continue relationships that aren’t healthy and run a business that makes me unhappy. I lack passion and kowtow to fear. I settle for the status quo of “good enough.”

What kind of life is that?  From the outside,  people may think I live a good, comfortable and sometimes indulgent life. That may be true in comparison to others.  But, I’m not living the life I truly want to live.

The truth is, I’m not exactly sure what the life I want to live looks like.  I’m still experimenting with what works for me. This could all be a symptom of my age; coming up on the midlife crisis and searching for meaning.  Some existential belief that I need to leave my mark on this world or I won’t have lead a life worthy of my years.  I’m not sure.

But today, I received another clean bill of health and for that, I’m grateful.

It’s Really This Simple

I’m a little high and I got way too much sun today, but I’m pretty sure I realize how life works now.

I spent a lot of time on the beach today.  I had been pay attention to everyone surfing, trying to figure out what made some of them better than others.  I’m a wannabe, novice surfer at best, so I wanted to figure how I could get better.

The surfers who were really ripping it up were patient and perceptive.  They didn’t try to ride every wave they saw.  Most of them were out there for hours.  They didn’t look frantic or panicked trying to pop up on their board they way I did.   They took their time and choose the right waves for them, then took action.

After I was done surfing and watching the sunset on the beach.  I was walking back to my little “jungle hotel” and thinking about how life works. It came to me that life really boils down to three things: Action, choices and chances.  The more action you take, the more choices you make, the more chances you get at living the life you want.  I’m pretty sure the majority of life really is that simple.

Everyday we get out of bed, we decide how we are going to live our life for that day.  For me personally, if I lay around in bed half the morning, then fuck off for the next 90 minutes trying to pull my life together so I can go on with my day; I’m probably making the choice to be a piece of shit that day.  It doesn’t have to mean that, but usually it means my day is screwed and destined for jacking off and watching TV. (more…)

You Little Blue Bastard

Sleeping on a plane is almost impossible.  Every Time I fall asleep, I wake up with horrible pain in my neck and back from being contorted in a very unnatural way for a man my size.

Currently, I’ve been on this plane to Salt Lake City for 3 hours and 45 minutes.  I took two Xanax as soon as the plane lifted up.  Fifteen minutes later I could feel myself slowing down and getting sleepy.  The prospect of sleeping for most of the plan ride made me extremely happy. I barely slept the night before and I was hoping to be well rested by the time I reached Utah. That wouldn’t be the case.

I first tried falling asleep with my body and head resting against the window (I was in the window seat).  Every time I would nod out for a few minutes, I would wake up with drool running down my face, horrible pain in my neck and complete numbness in my hands.  But I kept trying this position as it seemed to be the most promising for me, as I’ve slept this way on planes before.

After waking up every 15-20 minutes using the window-torture position,  as I like to call it, I knew I had to try other alternatives.  There was no one sitting into middle seat of my row.  I tried using that to my advantage by swinging my feet over to floor in front of the middle seat.  I angled myself diagonally in my seat allowing me to lay in a reclined position. This felt like it would be a winning position for me.  I was sure I would be putting my Xanax to good use.  (more…)

And Shes Back

eye

 Fucking your ex can be great.  But it’s like scratching your asshole.  Even though you know it’s going to feel good to get in there, eventually you’ll end up with shit on if you keep doing it.

I let a good one go.  She had a great career, great body, very driven and the sex was pretty good.  We spent several days a week together for a couple months.  I told her I liked her, which I did.  I broke my biggest dating rule by letting her sleep over.  I even asked her to stay over on more than one occasion.

The downside, she had a big head shaped kind of like Quagmire’s from Family Guy.  I have a big head; two big heads don’t go well together.  If we had a baby, the poor child would need a neck brace to keep his head from dragging behind him.

When she blew me I could feel her teeth.  She was very uptight when it came to butt stuff.  She was 27 and drove a new Subaru Forestor.  Who hell buys a new Subaru Forestor under the age of 40, who’s not a lesbian?  Overall I found her to be pretty fucking boring.

We both agreed neither of us wanted to be in a relationship.  After two months of dating, I could feel she wanted more.  I admit I may have acted in a manner that could give a girl the wrong impression.  Treating her well and letting her stay over was misleading.  But I’m a nice guy, I like making people feel good.

I never flip flopped when we spoke.  I repeatedly said I didn’t want a relationship and what we did when we weren’t together wasn’t was our own business.  Then one night she started breaking my balls and insulting me because I went to a strip club.  She apologized the next day, but the damage was done.  The relationship went down in flames and she left with hard feelings.

Then my ex floats back into my life and I allow it.  It started off causally with a couple of messages back and forth.  Within a week I had pictures of her naked and close ups of her pussy. Yes, I asked for them, so I can’t blame it all on her.  Now we talk every day.

A couple months ago I told her I no longer wanted to hook up with her, I only wanted to be friends.  She didn’t like that.  She’s used to getting her way with me.  When I stop paying attention to her she chases me.

At first, I stood my ground and stuck to my words.   That didn’t very last long.  Then I started giving her the attention she wanted, which bores her and makes her run away.  It’s a very healthy relationship.

This cycle has repeated itself so many times I can almost predict the exact timeline of how the situation will unfold.  Things will be fun, we will get together and have some great sex for a week or two.  Then something will happen, like her sleeping with someone else.  We will argue, I will spin out and we will stop talking for a couple weeks.  Then repeat.

I love her and her son.  I know this will end poorly, but I keep pushing forward and tempting fate.   I’m weak and stupid when it comes to them.  I deserve whatever I get.