Archive for March, 2006

That seemed to be the theme of the day, both good and bad. I’ll start with the good, it’s less complicated. While driving home from work (finally just an 8-hour-shift) I received a call from Guigui, my token French friend. Guigui was one of my very best friends that, because of various circumstances, I have not talked to or seen in nearly a year. We met up at IHOP later and it was great to catch up. And I even spared him the endless French jokes that he always had to endure while in my company. Now, the bad…

While it wasn’t horrible, it did kind of fuck my day. I spoke to my ex-girlfriend today for the first time since the Tuesday before Christmas. For the one person who reads this blog that knows most of the story, I’ll save re-hashing the past. For the newbies, I’ll save the drawn out, confusing details for another post. It can be pretty much summed up like this: 3 years of on-and-off with lots of bullshit from both sides with most of the heart breaking done by her to me.

Anyway, checking the mail before work, I received a letter for her, which isn’t that unusual. She often used my address since she was in transition a lot. The last few months I just threw them away. Mostly it was junk but a couple seemed semi-important but I chucked them just on principle. I opened it today to gauge it’s importance and it was information that she may be eligible for a settlement from a class-action suit. As much as I tend to hate her sometimes, I love her kids and taking money from her is potentially taking food from them. I called her cell thinking (hoping) she wouldn’t answer but she did. I hoped that she would be a bitch but she was pleasant. Not “I miss you more than anything” pleasant but just nicely pleasant. Made plans to drop it off to her Friday and ended the call, very little chit-chat.

Since she wasn’t a total bitch, that got my Melvin Udall brain cranking with thoughts it should not be cranking. To make matters worse, I was having problems receiving text messages from a friend that had Cricket cell-phone service. I sent texts to all my friends with other services to see if it was me or Cricket with the problems. I sent one to her since she was the only one that I knew with something other than Cricket or Cingular. She sent one back and we exchanged a couple of friendly smart-ass messages.

And then it happened. I fucked up and told her I missed her. She admitted she missed me too but the damage was already done. Not two weeks ago I recounted a dream that I’d had to a friend that seemed to prove to me that I didn’t love her any longer and may have been wrong in feeling I did in the first place. But now this. My mind won’t stop playing scenarios where we either hook up, get back together, or I somehow get to show her my worthiness as a man. All that hard work I had done the last few months getting to hate her then working it to a kind of blah attitude now lays in rubble thanks to a law suit against H&R Block and a three-minute phone call. And to pour even more salt in my wounds, I found out that she has new job at a place a couple of miles from my house that I have to pass by to go to just about anywhere. So not only will I go back to hoping every text message and call I get has her name appearing on the id, I get to fight with myself to look/not look whenever I drive by her workplace. I need help of some variety, just not sure which.


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I WAS going to post on the happenings of my four-day weekend. But since I have worked 25 hours in TWO days, I’m a bit worn out. Well hell…I know you are all rapt with anticipation so I’ll give the Cliff’s Notes version…

Thursday went shopping at multiple Victoria’s Secrets with two hotties and previewed V For Vendetta. Friday, NCAA tournament at Hooter’s and had sex. Not with either of the previously mentioned hotties but at least it was with someone besides myself. (Yay!) Saturday, Little Rock to party with “open-minded” couples. Had sex, again with accompaniment. Sunday, attended the wedding of a good friend in Little Rock, then home. That’s it in a nutshell.

Posting may be even more erratic because I’ll most likely continue to work 12-hour shifts the rest of the week. MAY get weekend off. I’ll try to muster up the energy and post something somewhere in the ballpark of witty. Most likely I’ll be stuck in the parking lot.

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Arsonist Radio

If your idea of a relaxing Thursday night is to sit back and listen to smart, timely discourse of today’s pertinent topics, move the fuck on. If you prefer listening to three guys of the big-boned variety occasionally cracking wise about sex, midgets, monkeys, and probably something about midgets and monkeys having sex, not to mention dropping the Rock, then tune the hell in. It’s Arsonist Radio in all its schizophrenic loquacious glory. (That means talking about a bunch of crazy shit…a lot)

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I have come to a very sobering conclusion today. I seem to be suffering from the Avian Flu. I have been sick for nearly a month, starting just a week before Valentine’s Day. For a couple of weeks I had an incessant cough but little else. Its presence would ebb and flow and just before this past weekend, I thought I was on the tail end of it. Then, with little warning, I was hit with it hard when I got up Saturday morning….ok afternoon. Since then I have been coughing constantly and sometimes violently and practically live off of nasal spray just so I can breathe and not walk around looking like Bubba Gump.

The Evil culprits Are these to blame for the unraveling of my health. Just has to be. My diet consists almost entirely of chicken, whether it be wings from Domino’s, the sweet onion chicken teriyaki sub from Subway, and the all-time fav, General Tso’s chicken. (Note to self: check one the existence of Feline Flu) Who would’ve known that hot sauce is not a deterrent to virus? It has to be the bird flu, no other reasonable explanation available.

Surely my trip to the strip club late Friday night isn’t responsible. The goal of the Purple Church and its employees is to have nothing short of the highest health and sanitation standards. Besides, how can spending hours in a smoke filled club, folding dollar bills into your mouth, and being the twelfth face to land between a pair of boobs in the last two minutes be anything but beneficial to one’s health?

But rumors of my impending demise may prove to be premature. There is hope. If only the finish line in the race for a cure can get here before it’s too late. I have a celebratory trip planned for Platinum in April.

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On any other day, the above picture would be prime for one of those “which one doesn’t match the other three” questions that were on countless tests back in school. Could this the harbinger for the End of Times? Are the Four Horseman descending on mankind with 24’s that burn out the sun, their grillz ripping through human flesh, and the thumpity-thump of their steroes drowning out the screams of the dying?

Part of me fears that The End just drew a little nearer. But on the other hand, it seems like a good kick in the ass of a sometimes staid and starchy institution. It’s about time that the Dirty South gets to rear its head, even if it has teeth with more bling than the golden statue they just won. And considering the often maudlin tone of most acceptance speeches, Three 6’s genuine enthusiasm was certainly refreshing. I can’t wait to see just how big of a gold chain it takes to wear an Oscar around your neck.

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