I just friended a guy on facebook who I had a major, MAJOR crush on when I was a teenager. That crush started about the exact time I hit puberty and continued forever it seemed. I freakin' LOVED that guy.
And I totally do not recognize that guy in his pictures on facebook. I am looking at his pictures and thinking to myself, "really? THAT guy? THAT's him? No way."
And it's not that he's unattractive. No, this guy on facebook is attractive. He's just so not the guy I remember, regardless. Of course, it IS nearly twenty years later ...
What's happening here? I don't like this getting old shit.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Fuck, Motherfucker!
Holy fucking Christ I just had a little freak-out. Two in the fucking morning and someone's banging the shit out of my front door. Hammering the glass in the little window on the door hard as hell. My heart about near beat out my damn chest it was racing so hard and so fast.
I tried just sitting still in my upstairs bedroom for a few minutes to see if the banging on the door would quit and the person would just go away. I did pick up the phone though, had it in my hand, holding it and waiting to see if I'd need to use it.
Then the rattling started. Rattling door knob, rattling of the brass mail slot in the door. Creepy as shit.
I crept to the top of the stairs and tried to peek down, but too scared to go all the way down yet. But I yelled, loudly, "GO AWAY!!!" And the goddamn knocking and rattling just kept up.
Holy shit did I have to work up my nerve to make myself go down those stairs. Even though the still-functioning part of my brain was telling myself ok, this obviously isn't a burglar, with the racket he's making at the front door. Surely if I yell at him then either (a) if it's actually someone I know banging on my door with a legitimate reason, some kind of emergency or something, they'll yell back and let me know, right? and (b) if it's not, maybe they'll go away if I yell that I'm calling the police, I don't know.
So that's what I did; yell out that I was going to call the police, that is. And dammit but I could see the shadowed outline of the person, tall, tall person, at my door, through the window in the door, lit up from behind by my front porch light. And that just freaked me out too, even though, again, my brain is all "he's not trying to be stealthy here. He's probably drunk or something."
But yelling out that I was going to call the police totally did not work. The guy kept rattling the damn brass mail slot on the door, which was really freaking me out more than the knocking for some reason; just, creepier, you know? So I started thinking, shit I really am going to have to call the police.
And this next part I figured just can't be good for my psyche; do you ever have that dream where someone's out to get you, harm you, breaking into your house or something, and you pick up a phone and try to dial 9-1-1, but you can't make your fingers hit the right buttons, you keep trying and keep failing to call the right number? Well that fucking happened for real. It was so dark in the house, because I hadn't turned on any lights inside this whole time, that I couldn't see the buttons on the cordless phone in my hand, and as I actually tried to call 9-1-1 for real, I couldn't punch in the right numbers. I kept hitting the fucking pound sign every time I tried to press 9.
This whole time I'm still yelling, btw, yelling "go away! right now! I mean it! That's it I'm dialing the police RIGHT NOW!" and this whole time I'm really TRYING to call the police and starting to freak out even more that I can't dial the number right - what if he fucking starts to break in, and I REALLY need 911 and still can't dial the number right?"
Out of panic and frustration I got right up to the door and put my face right there at the window and finally took a good hard look at the person on the front porch, which I'd been too scared to do before - felt safer to keep a distance from the damn closed, locked door - and I can totally tell this guy's drunk. He's standing in one place, but weaving in the air, looks like he's about to tip over in any which direction and fall flat on his face, or on his ass or whatever. And he's young, college age looking, and ok, wearing clothes that look like a college guy who'd gone out that night might wear. And I yell at him again about calling the police, and it's like it doesn't register, he's not even looking at me through the window, more looking off somewhere, like he's, well, off his ass drunk, and still weaving and shit. So I'm totally convinced now that this guy has been out drinking at the bars that are in walking distance of my house actually, that he's out of his mind wasted, and is trying to either get someone to let him into a house that he thinks belongs to him or a friend or something, or has just randomly started knocking on doors. So I take another chance and yell as loudly and harshly as I can so it'll maybe get through to him, "DUDE!!! YOU'RE! AT! THE! WRONG! HOUSE!!!!", and finally, FINALLY, he turns around and walks to the side of the porch and jumps down to the ground and walks off.
I spent the next 5 minutes maybe running from window to window trying to see where the hell he went, but I couldn't catch sight of him again. Down the street a ways, several minutes later, car headlights came on, and a car pulled out and drove off and quickly turned down another street, and I was thinking "holy fuck, I hope that's not that guy, driving a car that drunk," but it was impossible to tell.
So now here I sit in my house, too fucking keyed up and, yes, still a little scared, but now just generally scared of the dark and things that go bump in the night kind of scared now, and I know, I just know, I'm not going to go back to sleep tonight. No fucking way. I'll be listening out for that guy to come back, even though I seriously don't believe he will, I think he finally got that he wasn't where he thought he was and took his drunk ass off to some other place. But fuck that was creepy.
And my frazzled fucking nerves are really not dealing well with this at all right now. Tonight I was supposed to try to get some real sleep, for more than just a few hours, to try to rest some. I've been running on fumes for a few days now. Had an extremely long couple days down at my parents', at the hospital down there actually. My dad had open heart surgery on Monday. He came through it fine, as the doctors keep telling us, but shit, that kind of major surgery just makes you worry. A lot.
I got back to my own home late this afternoon, going back to work tomorrow now, and was already feeling the effects of several days of going without sleep, or with very little sleep, and not eating real meals, just crackers and shit here and there, and way too much caffeine, and generally being worried, just worrying all that time. But you know, in a calm way, just sitting in a hospital waiting room kind of way, waiting on surgery, waiting on surgery results, waiting on post-surgery stuff, then waiting during the intervals of time for when they allow visits in the cardiac ICU, shit like that. A lot of sitting and waiting, and worrying.
My dad's doing well, for someone who had this kind of surgery I mean. I am letting go of that worry somewhat of the wondering if it'll all go okay part, and now just hating it for him that he's in so much pain and in the hospital (though in his own room now, no more ICU), with all that stuff hooked up to him and bandages and all he's going to have to suffer through to let his body heal from that kind of surgery.
But fuck, fuck, FUCK!, this stupid fucking drunk ass motherfucking asshole banging on my motherfucking door in the middle of the fucking night, having to yell at him and him still not go away for the longest time, trying to dial 911 to get the police to come and make him go away, not being able to dial the fucking numbers on the phone because my hands were shaking so hard and it was dark and my fingers wouldn't press the buttons my brain was telling them to press, this is just fucking ... ARGH! ... I don't know what it is; but it's too!! much!! It's just fucking too much.
I'm going to go sit in the fucking dark now and wait for the sun to come up so I can go back to work. Glad I at least got 3 hours of sleep before that fucking fuckhead scared the shit out of me for the night. Fuck.
I tried just sitting still in my upstairs bedroom for a few minutes to see if the banging on the door would quit and the person would just go away. I did pick up the phone though, had it in my hand, holding it and waiting to see if I'd need to use it.
Then the rattling started. Rattling door knob, rattling of the brass mail slot in the door. Creepy as shit.
I crept to the top of the stairs and tried to peek down, but too scared to go all the way down yet. But I yelled, loudly, "GO AWAY!!!" And the goddamn knocking and rattling just kept up.
Holy shit did I have to work up my nerve to make myself go down those stairs. Even though the still-functioning part of my brain was telling myself ok, this obviously isn't a burglar, with the racket he's making at the front door. Surely if I yell at him then either (a) if it's actually someone I know banging on my door with a legitimate reason, some kind of emergency or something, they'll yell back and let me know, right? and (b) if it's not, maybe they'll go away if I yell that I'm calling the police, I don't know.
So that's what I did; yell out that I was going to call the police, that is. And dammit but I could see the shadowed outline of the person, tall, tall person, at my door, through the window in the door, lit up from behind by my front porch light. And that just freaked me out too, even though, again, my brain is all "he's not trying to be stealthy here. He's probably drunk or something."
But yelling out that I was going to call the police totally did not work. The guy kept rattling the damn brass mail slot on the door, which was really freaking me out more than the knocking for some reason; just, creepier, you know? So I started thinking, shit I really am going to have to call the police.
And this next part I figured just can't be good for my psyche; do you ever have that dream where someone's out to get you, harm you, breaking into your house or something, and you pick up a phone and try to dial 9-1-1, but you can't make your fingers hit the right buttons, you keep trying and keep failing to call the right number? Well that fucking happened for real. It was so dark in the house, because I hadn't turned on any lights inside this whole time, that I couldn't see the buttons on the cordless phone in my hand, and as I actually tried to call 9-1-1 for real, I couldn't punch in the right numbers. I kept hitting the fucking pound sign every time I tried to press 9.
This whole time I'm still yelling, btw, yelling "go away! right now! I mean it! That's it I'm dialing the police RIGHT NOW!" and this whole time I'm really TRYING to call the police and starting to freak out even more that I can't dial the number right - what if he fucking starts to break in, and I REALLY need 911 and still can't dial the number right?"
Out of panic and frustration I got right up to the door and put my face right there at the window and finally took a good hard look at the person on the front porch, which I'd been too scared to do before - felt safer to keep a distance from the damn closed, locked door - and I can totally tell this guy's drunk. He's standing in one place, but weaving in the air, looks like he's about to tip over in any which direction and fall flat on his face, or on his ass or whatever. And he's young, college age looking, and ok, wearing clothes that look like a college guy who'd gone out that night might wear. And I yell at him again about calling the police, and it's like it doesn't register, he's not even looking at me through the window, more looking off somewhere, like he's, well, off his ass drunk, and still weaving and shit. So I'm totally convinced now that this guy has been out drinking at the bars that are in walking distance of my house actually, that he's out of his mind wasted, and is trying to either get someone to let him into a house that he thinks belongs to him or a friend or something, or has just randomly started knocking on doors. So I take another chance and yell as loudly and harshly as I can so it'll maybe get through to him, "DUDE!!! YOU'RE! AT! THE! WRONG! HOUSE!!!!", and finally, FINALLY, he turns around and walks to the side of the porch and jumps down to the ground and walks off.
I spent the next 5 minutes maybe running from window to window trying to see where the hell he went, but I couldn't catch sight of him again. Down the street a ways, several minutes later, car headlights came on, and a car pulled out and drove off and quickly turned down another street, and I was thinking "holy fuck, I hope that's not that guy, driving a car that drunk," but it was impossible to tell.
So now here I sit in my house, too fucking keyed up and, yes, still a little scared, but now just generally scared of the dark and things that go bump in the night kind of scared now, and I know, I just know, I'm not going to go back to sleep tonight. No fucking way. I'll be listening out for that guy to come back, even though I seriously don't believe he will, I think he finally got that he wasn't where he thought he was and took his drunk ass off to some other place. But fuck that was creepy.
And my frazzled fucking nerves are really not dealing well with this at all right now. Tonight I was supposed to try to get some real sleep, for more than just a few hours, to try to rest some. I've been running on fumes for a few days now. Had an extremely long couple days down at my parents', at the hospital down there actually. My dad had open heart surgery on Monday. He came through it fine, as the doctors keep telling us, but shit, that kind of major surgery just makes you worry. A lot.
I got back to my own home late this afternoon, going back to work tomorrow now, and was already feeling the effects of several days of going without sleep, or with very little sleep, and not eating real meals, just crackers and shit here and there, and way too much caffeine, and generally being worried, just worrying all that time. But you know, in a calm way, just sitting in a hospital waiting room kind of way, waiting on surgery, waiting on surgery results, waiting on post-surgery stuff, then waiting during the intervals of time for when they allow visits in the cardiac ICU, shit like that. A lot of sitting and waiting, and worrying.
My dad's doing well, for someone who had this kind of surgery I mean. I am letting go of that worry somewhat of the wondering if it'll all go okay part, and now just hating it for him that he's in so much pain and in the hospital (though in his own room now, no more ICU), with all that stuff hooked up to him and bandages and all he's going to have to suffer through to let his body heal from that kind of surgery.
But fuck, fuck, FUCK!, this stupid fucking drunk ass motherfucking asshole banging on my motherfucking door in the middle of the fucking night, having to yell at him and him still not go away for the longest time, trying to dial 911 to get the police to come and make him go away, not being able to dial the fucking numbers on the phone because my hands were shaking so hard and it was dark and my fingers wouldn't press the buttons my brain was telling them to press, this is just fucking ... ARGH! ... I don't know what it is; but it's too!! much!! It's just fucking too much.
I'm going to go sit in the fucking dark now and wait for the sun to come up so I can go back to work. Glad I at least got 3 hours of sleep before that fucking fuckhead scared the shit out of me for the night. Fuck.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Lovin' on N'Awlins
So I'm a day late writing this post, but ... can I just say how awesome it was watching the Saints win the Superbowl? Pretty damn awesome.
I've gone to a Superbowl party here and there in the past, and even when I haven't I've at least still tuned in to the game myself at home on the tv. But I've never actually had a team I rooted for be in the Superbowl before, so this was a new experience for me - watching the Saints play on Sunday. But I did live in New Orleans for three years, and damn but I love that city; I mean I love, love, love that city. And I really like football, too. Maybe it's just the Southern in me that was raised on tailgating and drinking beer at football games being as much a part of fall as eating boiled peanuts and drinking beer on the beach is a part of summer, (drinking beer pretty much goes with anything southern, did I mention?), but for a non-sports kind of person I sure am a sucker for a good football game. So all that combined, well, damn but I was happy to watch the Black and Gold win big on Sunday.
So with all that said, I just gotta pay this tribute: who dat!!!!
I've gone to a Superbowl party here and there in the past, and even when I haven't I've at least still tuned in to the game myself at home on the tv. But I've never actually had a team I rooted for be in the Superbowl before, so this was a new experience for me - watching the Saints play on Sunday. But I did live in New Orleans for three years, and damn but I love that city; I mean I love, love, love that city. And I really like football, too. Maybe it's just the Southern in me that was raised on tailgating and drinking beer at football games being as much a part of fall as eating boiled peanuts and drinking beer on the beach is a part of summer, (drinking beer pretty much goes with anything southern, did I mention?), but for a non-sports kind of person I sure am a sucker for a good football game. So all that combined, well, damn but I was happy to watch the Black and Gold win big on Sunday.
So with all that said, I just gotta pay this tribute: who dat!!!!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Finally. Jesus.
I never understood the point of having a "don't ask, don't tell" policy in the military. Really seems to me like the only thing that actually comes of it is to put down the morale of military men and women who are homosexual, and who the hell needs that; why do that? Stupid. So I'm very glad to see that it looks like that policy's about to end. It sure wasn't doing any good for us, and probably only made us look like Neanderthals to lots of other countries.
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