Joe Cuts His Losses (Or Would That Be... His Leeches?)

I've never been one for making New Years' resolutions.  I don't believe you should make them.  Very few people are successful at meeting this big, grandiose goal that they've substantially hyped up in their heads, at times, that when the goal fails, they either, if they got any stamina of mind in their selves- they might get back up again to try make the goal happen or more often than not- they just quit trying.  If you don't have this super willpower and forward thinking frame of mind, it just isn't happening.  Then you feel like crap for awhile, maybe.

I've been successful at doing what I set out to do a number of times.  Quitting smoking was one of those things.  I might have one or two with a family member, once every six months, but really, it's no longer a habit or desire.  Every so often, when I see somebody with me, normally a family member smoking, I might have one.

In my defense, I don't buy cigs and I don't get to see these family members often.

Oh, for Christ sakes!  I'm going crazy with guilt. AAAAAHHHH!

Must be that dreaded Catholic upbringing.  That's what my friend, Steve, suggested about me once.  LOL.  He's Catholic, too and I think he might have fun with that, too.

I also don't go to church and I enjoy eating cereal while watching animal porn.  I think I saw "Kellogg's Corn Pops" coming out of a monkey penis, while watching a DVD, while it stuck it's dirty dingus in the nostril of a buffalo.  Oh, the shame!  Of course, the final result is a bunch of sticky tissues in your hand.  More shame.

I also don't like to see these fucking positive affirmation images all over the place on the net and in Facebook, in particular.  You can't solve your problems, instantaneously, or become joyful and content by seeing one of these things.  If I would ever feel like I've been cured of all or some of my problems or negative feelings by being a completely sold customer on whatever nilly willy images and words I see, I'd think myself to be a drooling moron with ticks and spiders in his pants.

Then I'd have a career in show business!  :)

Gosh, I feel better already!

Please, for the love of all that feel they must have pouty lips, get realistic and and come back to reality for a visit.  Everyone's insipid positive affirmation images on Facebook give me the runny shits.

But I was watching a news TV program, this morning and these two advisers, that had fields in psychology, were offering this advice about resolutions some people make every beginning of a new year:

1- Make your resolutions proceed in small steps.  For example, set your goal to be accomplished in two weeks.  If you get past the two week or two day or any other short maker of time, add more time to the resolution.

2- If you're overeating or overdoing anything, do what ever is giving you pleasure but do it in increasingly smaller increments.  For example, instead of eating a horse trough's worth of fatty barbecue ribs, today, trying eating a meal that can be fit on a plate and then continue decreasing the amount of food or changing over to something with lighter calories.  Then, go from there.

They said more but I can't remember the rest.  Maybe if you insert your genitals in a old wooden mouse trap and the bar comes down hard, with a loud crack, it will magically come to me.  I'm not asking for much, I believe.

Wait a minute...  Oh yeah... #3-  Forgive yourself if you fail with meeting a goal, regarding your resolution- but realize the bigger failure is to not try again.

Right now, I'm going to change the subject.  I'm boring you.  I can tell.  You're doing the droopy head thing you're doing. :)  Yep.

Here's a positive affirmation pic to pep you up:

I swear I don't know what a 'Mexican Microwave' is.  Is that anything like a monkey when he spurts Kellogg's Corn Pops from his penis???

Let's say I've had a conversation with a guy named Joe.  Joe is a guy who seems well adjusted and well meaning.  He has a great sense of humor.  And he's real.  Yes.  He is a real Joe.  His cup runneth over with Joe, even at this moment. Imagine that!

Let's say he's just really real.

We got together at a fast food joint and talked for an hour.  Joe's a friend that seems to listen.  And he's not very judgmental or an annoying constant advice giver that has a degree in making assumptions (unless it's asked for... the advice that is) unless he's talking about self-serving, wealthy political groups.  With these assholes, he's quite judgmental.

Joe said he has been getting so much frustration, verbal abuse and out of control anxiety from a certain relative for years. Ever since a certain tragedy, involving Joe's mother, is concerned, Joe's father's mental state has gotten, admittedly worse, in the last seven years, due to his Dementia and a series of possible mini strokes, but he also suffers from depression.  He waves away help with that last one, of course. All of this is unfortunate and for a long time, Joe, his sister and his cousin would do anything for him, almost.  Instead of seeking help or trying, just a little, to keep his verbally abusive and erratic behavior in check, Joe's father, he explained, just lets go at whoever is near him, unleashing all of his anger and bitterness at those closest to him.

He does it to complete strangers- anywhere.

Joe's father was leaving candles burning at the place for where Joe's mother and father were living, after his mother had passed.  He also left on, for hours, the oven and stove, lights in the rooms, electrical things one would turn off in an acceptable amount of time and more.

Btw, Joe also mentioned his father was finally put in an assisted living place and finally-FINALLY, AFTER YEARS HAD GONE BY- Joe's dad had his car keys taken away due to wrecking his car into someone.  He had wrecked into a guardrail a year before.  Luckily, the woman in the other car, that I mentioned and Joe's father weren't hurt in the incident but it was the final thing that got his driver's license taken away.  It wasn't the fact that five doctors said Joe's father shouldn't be driving.  It wasn't the fact that he went walking through a blizzard across the hills and valleys, alone, for a couple miles, to have a big mug of beer at a bar to wash down his many medications, either.  Any of this could have killed him and then there was more he wanted to say but I cut him off, at one point and I said, sprightly, "Always look on the bright side of life, dude."

Of course, that quick bit of advice picked him right on up.  Whoopee!

Now, Joe said, his father doesn't try to make real friends where he lives.  He blames the kids for everything. Talks about dying whenever he wants attention.  Talks about being betrayed.  This, Joe pointed out, wasn't oozing out of his Dad's pores just because he suffered from Dementia or mini strokes.  He had been verbally abusive, sometimes physically abusive, since Joe was a kid.  Now it was a hundred times worse, he noted.  He wasn't grateful for all the doctor visits we had to take him to or the visits where we would take him out to eat.  Just about anything wouldn't please him.  And Joe says, that sometimes, you just have to cut your emotional leeches.... or losses (if you can call them that). Especially when they make you stutter.

Joe stutters when he's in anxiety-induced situations or if he thinks about his father or grandmother too much.  Joe said his grandmother could suck the goodwill, happiness and patience out of you, too. He told me that, even though I could see that was obvious, from his pale, defeated appearance, when he spoke of his father or grandmother. And now, he said, his stuttering words come popping out of his mouth whenever he's in any kind of tense situation.  And don't get him started on his insane cat that eats paper, cardboard, meows like a demon and chases imaginary enemies.  Joe won't finish his grilled burrito.  He thought his new cat might be the devil, he jested and left that subject alone.  He stuttered a bit, though, and some wilted lettuce slipped out of his mouth.

He shook his head.  Years of trying to please and make negative people content had nearly drained him dry. Though, he said, often enough, that he had told his father about what his father was directly doing to him.  All that Joe's father knew was what was bothering himself.  He didn't ask about Joe's many maladies, recent test results or how things were going, in general, on his end.

I told him, "Yep.  When those people you are closest to, know what they're doing and show that they don't give a flying fuck about your good mental health, it's time to be guilt free and go forward.  Let the negative parasites dwell in their own muck.  You tell them, 'I need a nice big break from you, apathetic fucker.'

Then I told Joe I was kidding on that last part but it made him laugh, anyway.  Want to know a secret?  I was serious on that last bit.  :)  Joe badly needed some laughs.  Any kind of joy, actually, was what he was lacking. Other things were bothering him, too, he said, but he thought that as long as he had the will to push forward and not get stuck in the muck, he would be fine again.

Being stuck in the muck, physically or emotionally, really sucks.

Joe said he would like to think of the way his father used to be and reflect on that.  For a long time, he admired his father and respected him.  He said he still does, especially when he isn't around him these days, for the most part.  Funny how that works, I thought.  Or not.

Then he got a phone call, at the place we were eating.  Joe took out his cell phone and asked, "Yes?"

It turned to be his father, wishing him a happy new year, Joe later revealed and they had talked for a few minutes, without a verbal confrontation.  A small and pleasant miracle.  Joe was instilled with happiness once more.  Joe didn't stutter for the entire night.  Towards the end of the evening, he did say he was going to keep certain people away, at arm's length for his own well being, for the good of his own mental health. at least for a lengthy period of time.  He said, after all, he wasn't a complete or final quitter- on anyone or anything.  He advised his sister (and in a roundabout way, his cousin) to do the same when it came to his father and taking breaks from him or others.  He upsets them, too, but at different levels.

Joe pointed out that his anti-depressant medication, anti-anxiety medication and those wonderful, supposedly uplifting, stupid, fucking positive affirmation pics and words aren't miracle workers.  I nodded my head, in agreement and then replied, "You've got that right."

Joe suddenly stood up and shouted, "Happy New Year!" to everyone at the restaurant and in the blogging world and wished everyone a peaceful year, ahead.

I looked back and gave everyone the finger when Joe finished with his sickeningly sweet gesture of good will.  My New Year's resolution, this year, is to be really nicer to people.*

*wink

Just kidding.  HAPPY NEW YEAR!  Take care.

I Found A Pubic Hair In My Shrimp

A couple weeks ago, my wifey and I went to our favorite Chinese restaurant/buffet and pigged out. We love almost all the food on their big buffet and look forward to hitting it up every so often. The food there is very tasty and they have a wide variety of seafood on the bar- always a plus with me, since I can never get enough crab legs and shrimp.

But, as things always seem to go, when you like something for a long time, something will happen that will eventually put a damper on it. In the case of eating at one of your favorite restaurants, that something could be bad service, cold food or being placed next to a table full of screeching monkey children that won't stop screaming like banshees.

That last one I mentioned is practically a deal breaker for me since I have a very low threshold for loud, needless noise and suffer from anxiety. The parents who allow this type of unacceptable behavior to go on and on without taking Junior or Juniorette out of the place so the patrons can have a nice, quiet meal that they're paying for, are the ones who need to be taken out to the woodshed and given a couple good whacks with a sledgehammer and a poke with an electric cattle prod, for good measure. The parents could, at least, put a sound-proof muzzle on that adorable, shrieking child-thing of theirs. I won't call it child abuse or call the authorities on you if you do it. If fact, I'll slip you a few bucks to go to the nearest pet store so you can pick one up. Who says I'm not a giver?

Bad service, if it is kept to a minimum, is something I can handle if it only happened once or twice during the dozens of times I've gone to a certain eatery. Cold food- the same way.

But this time something different happened. This time, I went to the buffet bar and brought back a plate of breaded shrimp and boy, did they look good- until I happened to notice a long black pube sticking out of the tail end of one of the shrimp. The slightly kinked hair was about 2 or 3 inches in length and it was in there, stuck very securely. I tried pulling it out, using a napkin and the damn thing wouldn't come out. Now, I know it wasn't mine. I have brown hair. And I know it wasn't another customer's. Who would, after all, take the time and trouble of plucking a single hair off their head and pushing it deep in between the shell end of the shrimp and the meat of it and then putting back into the tray with the rest of the shrimp?

Especially, when they would be easily caught by every other patron, scrambling around, dishing up food on their plates?

No, that mission would be too tough to accomplish.

Look closely at the pictures of the shrimp and questionable hair, click to zoom in and speculate amongst yourselves. This is a real detective's case here, I tell you. One for the books. I ended up wrapping the shrimp up in a napkin, took it home with me and photographed the evidence. I had to throw it away, not long afterwards, because the cat was trying to get at it to eat it and I didn't want him to gag and choke to death on the pubic hair. How would I explain that to the vet?

After all, I didn't want the vet to think I was forcing my schlong down into my cat's mouth and a pube came off and somehow lodged itself in his throat. You have to worry about things like that, you know.

I say the hair/culprit came from the kitchen where the Chinese cooks were cooking the food. I don't know for sure it was stuck firmly in the shrimp, intentionally and I'm not sure if it was a pubic hair, either. When I showed it to my wife, she gasped and then asked, "What is that?"

I said, "I think it's a pubic hair."

She replied, "Well that's gross, no matter which part of someone's body it came from."

I agreed.

Then we both laughed. Wifey asked if I was going to show it to the manager and I replied that I thought it wasn't worth it. The manager would probably think I put it there and the whole thing was too embarrassing to bring up. I'm sure it was an accident. I wasn't looking for a free meal on behalf of the manager or any other compensation that the manager might have given us. Being that this was the first time something like this had ever happened there, I let the matter drop.

Besides, it's not like I actually put the shrimp in my mouth. If I had, and discovered it rubbing against my tongue, I would have been incredibly pissed and went on a mad killing spree back in the kitchen. I would have bounded through the kitchen doors, unannounced. Throats would have been slit with sharp, handy knives. Screams would be heard throughout the dining area. And everybody would be sad. Except me. I would likely just be exhausted from all that hard work and need to drink some of that delicious green tea they have there to quench my thirst.

Perhaps it was an accident. Or perhaps, in a stretch of the imagination, a cook was mad at all of us American heifers, waddling our fat asses in the place and scarfing down rice rolls, dumplings, crab legs, Orange chicken and pubic hair shrimp.

Who knows? It gave me a topic to post about, anyway. That's the important thing.

Moving Madness

I haven't been doing anything blog-related lately because I've been moving my Dad's shit (not literal shit) back and forth from one box to another or one room to a truck to a storage unit for a month and this week has been the worst so far. My back feels like it is just recently on the mend and my mind is just beginning to feel that same way.

The post/poem I wrote before this, was more or less written to let you know I was still kicking. And screaming. And only in the last few days, regaining my sanity a little.

The Story

Unfortunately, when my wife and I got back from our cruise (of which we really should have just stayed on one of the islands) our family, especially my sister and I were plunged into 4 freakin' weeks of MOVING HELL. We, a dozen family members and friends and I had to move my ungrateful Dad's copious amounts of crapola from his house, since he sold his house, to different relative's houses, storage units and other locations.

Dad's constant verbal abuse, accusations that people were stealing from him while helping him move, complete stubbornness of his things to be taken to this storage unit or that 20 yard dumpster made us go fuckin' bonkers.

I understand that he feels that he's somehow letting go of fond memories (or just average memories) of the house since selling it, but goddamn... Don't take it out on us! Don't act as if we don't have lives --that we now have to put on hold.

Mufasa, our 16 year old cat, who died during this moving fiasco will be missed, tremendously I miss her a lot. She would always jump up on the sofa and put her little paws on my leg and she remained playful up until the last week she was alive. It wasn't too much of a shock for me to lose her, however, because I could see she was dying the last few days. I couldn't do anything about it because the vet's office was closed those days and I was moving Dad's shit under a deadline. In fact, while Mufasa was breathing her last few breaths at the vet's office, I was waiting for a fucking retarded dumpster dude to drop off a goddamn dumpster at Dad's house. The dumpster dude was a redneck hick with an I.Q. the size of an ant's dick. He had trouble finding a town that was only two small towns away from his own. Even that is a long story.

I haven't even had the time to show my sister and Dad my cruise pics or give them any souvenirs yet. I spent my birthday moving the last of his shit and putting up with his shit for the last time for, hopefully, a very long time. I need a goddamn break from the emotionally, physically draining events of the past four weeks.

What's that old saying I've seen on bumper stickers before? Oh, oh yeah. It goes something like... WANNA GET EVEN WITH YOUR KIDS?... LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO BE A BURDEN TO THEM

So here's the thing: I wrote part of what I'm talking about a few days ago and I debated on whether to put this light hearted story on the blog or not. I like to put deeply personal shit on the blog once in awhile, as you may well know. It helps gets things off my chest and lightens my spirit or mood. Most of the time. On the other hand, it's like living the shit all over again.

If there is a lesson to be learned here it would be this:

Every goddamn parent out there in the world had better start wising up and having a plan ready so that when you die, sell your house or any other huge event and any other obvious responsibility relating to you, it's taken care of. Put it on paper! See the lawyers! Talk to experts!

Do it all now before something unexpectedly horrible happens to you where you can't focus or keep records. Put old crap in storage now and then and above all... Don't be a goddamn hoarder! Think of all that old worthless shit you've got holed up in a ten room, two story house. And Remember This! Your kids aren't fuckin' boulder holding pack mules with signs on their backs saying "Fuck me emotionally up, please!

Don't make their last memories of you into some kind of mentally diseased slop, you selfish fucking breeders of the world!

Thank you. This has been a public service announcement. This has also been somewhat cathartic. Getting better minute by minute.