Tag Archives: Old People

It Seemed Like A Good Idea

16 Feb

All of us awesome editors over at IndieInk recently got together and threw down the gauntlet geeky writer style. What am I talking about? Simple. A challenge. A modern day duel, if you will. We decided to play a little game and challenge each other on the weekly with anonymous writing prompts. Think of it as You Got Served, but with less rhythm and more nerdy white kids.

This week, my writing prompt is, well, challenging.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.  Okay, so I *wanted* it to be a good idea.”

A challenging writing challenge? Well, I’ll be damned!

****

Underneath this mess, there is pure unadulterated emotion.

But you’ll never know it.

You’ll never catch a glimpse of love, anger, happiness, guilt, elation, or even sadness.

My expressionless face is strong and fiercely robotic.

Or so I’ve been told.

You see, I wasn’t always like this. As a kid, I vividly remember expressing each and every emotion my heart could handle. It came naturally. I wanted the people that surrounded me to know exactly how I felt. If I loved you, I wanted to tell you I loved you. If I was happy, you could hear my laughter from miles and miles away. The simplicity of life allowed my emotions to take control. Logic was no longer a factor. Content with the smile on my face, I allowed myself to just be.

Until he died.

I can still see the frailty of his bones outline his figure as his paper thin skin stretched out across his ravaged body. The chemo and dialysis had taken its toll. As I watched the hospice nurse sit in a chair next to his bed, I knew this was the end.

Struggling to comprehend that each labored breath could be his very last, my ten year old mind broke. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t covey the emotions running haywire through my brain. The direct link between my heart and mind had crumbled. In that moment, I turned cold.

Two days later, he was gone.

What was this pain I felt in every limb of my own body? Why did I want to cry and vomit at the same time? Frantically, I searched for a way to eliminate all that hurt and confused me. I didn’t know how to ask the questions needed to cope. I didn’t know how I should react. Defeated, I just shut down.

It was all I could do. Just shut down every emotion I was used to. Keep everything inside so I could never be hurt again. I never wanted to feel this way. And I would be damned if I would let it happen.

Shutting down seemed like a good idea at the time. I wanted desperately for it to be. Hell, I needed it to be. But how do you come back from that? I am 31 years old now. Two decades have passed and I still find myself trapped inside my own mind. Even to this day, if I even so much as find myself thinking of that moment, I completely shut down.

He was still in his bed the last time I saw him. He didn’t even know I was there.

I was just a boy.

A boy, broken by reality.

 

30 Days Of Truth: Day Thirteen

7 Dec

Day 13- A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)

I can still hear your smooth and sexy melodies as if it were the first time my ears heard such heaven on Earth. As I laced up my roller skates, I could feel the bass from the speakers resonate through my body. It was time. Time to get my groove on. And then you spoke to me. And it went a little something like this.

“I’ve been waiting all night
So just let me hold you close to me
‘Cause I’ve been dyin’ for you girl
To make love to me”

So simple, yet so powerful. My eleven year old mind totally knew exactly what you were trying to convey. You wanted to make love. You possibly were sick because you were dying. Maybe you got shot? Maybe you had some rare cancer? You were dying. That was sad. And yet, all you wanted to do was make love to this girl. You wanted to make out with her. Tell her she’s pretty. Take her to church. Maybe, just maybe, a little up the shirt action. I wouldn’t get your hopes up though. I mean, you were DYING. And that was still really sad. Still, above all your pain, you just wanted to kiss and hug this girl. At eleven years old, I could totally respect that.

I am thirty years old now. A long time has passed since I first heard your words of wisdom. Many moons have risen in the sky. I have, indeed, had my fair share of said “up the shirt action”. So, I guess a thank you is in order. Thanks to you, I know how to officially sex somebody up. Thanks to you, Color Me Badd, I know how to make a woman feel real good and possibly, just possibly do it ’til we both wake up. Although, I am not really sure what you meant by that. But trust me, your advice did not fall on deaf ears. I now have sex awake ALL the time. No more sleep fucking for me. That’s what you were trying to tell me to do, right? Stay awake? Make her stay awake too? Yeah, I thought so.

So, here’s to you Color Me Badd. I owe all my sexual prowess to you. I cannot thank you enough. And whenever I’m feeling oh so very naughty, I just add and extra “D” to the end of bad. Why? Simple. That always lets my lover know exactly what I am thinking. I’m BADD and she knows it.

 

 

Baldwin City v2.0

12 Nov

My second shoot in Baldwin City at the Baker University campus. I had the privilege of photographing a good friend of mine and her beautiful family. Come take a look see at what I saw through my lens.

On to the Flickr Machine!

And the Facebook Machine!

30 Days Of Truth: Day Three

18 Oct

Day 3-Something You Have to Forgive Yourself For

To forgive yourself for something means you actually have a regret in the first place. I’m not going to lie to you and be one of those assholes that says “I ain’t got no regrets.” or anything silly like that. Just like you, I’m human. I make mistakes. But the mistakes I’ve made in my life have formed me into the person I am today. In a sense, everything I’m not, makes me everything I am.

The things in my life I really regret are the things that are way beyond my control in the first place. I regret, at the age of 10, that I didn’t protest enough to my mother about not being allowed to go to my grandfather’s funeral. He had a specific rule that none of the grandchildren would be able to attend. Being the oldest grandchild, I wanted to go. I thought, in my mind, that I was old enough to comprehend the level of emotions required of me at such a young age. But I only asked once. After I was told no the first time, I never fought the issue. I just let it go almost immediately without a battle. To this day, I am mad at myself for not pressing the issue. For not fighting for the chance to see him one last time before he was laid to rest. I realize that I would have fought a losing battle. I know that. But I should have at least tried. This was something way beyond my control and I need to just let it go. I need to just allow myself to forgive and forget.

Staying with the theme of things that were way out of my control, I need to forgive myself for not being there the night two of my good friends died in a fiery, alcohol and drug fueled car accident. I turned down the invite to go with them to a huge, raging party that night. I usually would have been the sober driver. At the age of twenty, I very rarely drank alcohol. I never used drugs. I was always at every party though. I was always there for my friends if they needed a ride. But not this night. I was nowhere to be found. My friends Jeremy and Darrell loaded themselves up with the finest drugs and liquor a 21 and 20-year-old could find. They piled into Darrell’s stepfather’s blue Acura Legend with two friends in the backseat. One party had ended and they decided it was time to find another. They never made it. Going 100mph on the freeway and hitting a guard rail severely decreases your chances of partying. I lost two of my best friends that night. When it was all said and done, three people lost their lives that night and another was critically injured. Now, don’t get me wrong. I know their decision to drive that night had nothing to do with me. I get that. But to this day, ten years later, I still have nightmares. I can see them driving ahead of me. I can see the car swerve. I can see it burst into flames. I wasn’t there that night. It wasn’t my responsibility. I know this. I need to just let it go. And after a decade, I think it’s finally time to do just that.

 

This Week @ MamaPop

10 Sep

After some brief time off in the beautiful mountains of Colorado, I actually regained some of my brain cells and wrote not one, but two posts over at MamaPop this week. How is that different from any other week? Well, it’s not. But!! Wait! This was the first week for my America’s Next Top Model recap! I know you are exited. I can see it on your face! So, do me a solid and go read!

Tuesday’s Post: Watch The Princess Bride Or I Will Divorce You

Thursday’s Post: ANTM Cycle 15 Recap: Episode 1 “Welcome To High Fashion”

This Week @ MamaPop

6 Aug

It was another fabulous week of posts over at MamaPop. Not only did I give you my top ten television theme songs of the 1980s, I also went a little political on your asses by discussing Wyclef Jean’s urge to run for the President of Haiti. I mean, really, what more could you ask for? So, hurry up and click away. And as always, thank you for your support. (This message was approved by TJ Johnson and the Coalition for Random Pop Culture)

Tuesday’Post: My Top Ten Television Theme Songs Of The 1980s

Thursday’s Post: Wyclef Jean: The President of Haiti?

This Week @ MamaPop

17 Jul

If you missed my posts over at MamaPop this week, I forgive you. You really should take a little bit of your time, get over to MamaPop, and read my posts for the week, though. I discuss everything from 3-2-1 Contact to Why I think Perez Hilton should be in politics. I even had a bonus post reviewing the lovely Diablo Cody’s new web series Red Band Trailer. So, hurry! Get over there and give me some love.

Tuesday’s Post: 3-2-1 Contact (Yes, I’m Old)

Thursday’s Post: Why Perez Hilton Should Be in Politics

Friday’s Bonus Post: Diablo Cody’s Latest Project: Interviewing Celebrities In A Trailer

This Week Over @ MamaPop

9 Jul

OK, no kittens were harm while writing my posts for MamaPop this week. You have the power to ensure the safety of future kittens. Use your power for good. Get over to MamaPop and read my posts. I really don’t want to have to kill any kittens. Seriously. They might be too cute to die, but I am not afraid to do it!

(Please note, I really wouldn’t harm kittens. So, please, please save your hate mail for more important things. You know, like when I set armadillos on fire!)

Tuesdays post: Katie Holmes Signs Up For Mr. Schuester’s Glee Club

Thursdays post: Baby Mama Drama: The Bobby Fischer Edition

Studies in Crap: The Hospital Bed Edition

30 Mar

As some of you already know, I spent most of last week chilling in a hospital bed. Contrary to popular belief, I was not in sex rehab with Tiger Woods, nor was I in drug rehab with a knife wielding Charlie Sheen or his lovely cocaine addicted wife. Being sick and held hostage by the medical community isn’t exactly what I call a great vacation. There are, however, some pretty kick ass perks associated with a $7,000.00 a night stay in a semi-private hospital room. First and foremost, there are the spectacular intravenous drugs. Yes, I said it. Say all you want, but when a nurse awakens you at 2:00am and whispers to you, “Would you like some morphine?”, I dare you to ever utter the phrase, “Drugs are bad!”. When I started this little rambling article, I was sure I had a whole list of awesome things I could tell you about being hospitalized. The truth? Well, that would be a fucking lie. The only other thing I can come up with? Basic cable television. Yes folks, the only good things about being constantly probed, stuck with needles, and awakened every two hours are drugs and mindless cable television. So, how does this differ from most of my typical Tuesday nights? Well, let’s try not to get into specifics here. Anyhoo, during the 96 consecutive hours of mind numbing (almost more than the drugs alone) cable programming, I have come up with some very lame and very possibly startling conclusions. So please, put on your personal protective equipment and frolic with me to a land that I never care to revisit.

1) No matter how many drugs are pumped into your body, Paula Poundstone is not funny. Please, please quit airing her stand-up routines every hour on the hour. You are fucking up my morphine high.

2) Tampon commercials make me feel even less like a woman than I already should feel. Yes, you read that right. I am a manly man. I have facial hair, drink beer, and love watching grown men fight. But, when a tampon commercial comes on during a UFC Fight Night re-run, I actually feel sorry for the women it was created for. And Ladies, these ridonkulous excuses for feminine hygiene propaganda should make you want to fly to Thailand to receive sex reassignment surgery as soon as possible. I’m just saying.

3) Why do all vacuum and/or cleaning commercials feature nothing but women? Talk about some sexist shit. Hey, just a FYI to marketers and commercial producers…I was the one who bought the $600.00 Dyson vacuum cleaner. Not my wife. Why? Simple. I kick ass at vacuuming. I leave these awesome little lines that mimic the freshly mowed outfield at Wrigley Field on opening day.  And what if I want to buy that fucking Swifter thingy that has the vacuum attached? Do I have to ask the lady of the house first?

4) While I am on the subject of commercial rants, I have a real bone to pick with the “Just For Men” hair coloring folks. Your commercials make me want to slap a sleeping baby. There, I said it. I mean, are you fucking kidding me with these blatant attacks on the male psyche? So, let me get this straight. Now that I am old and graying, all I have to do to dust my face and cranium with your magical hair dye and I will instantly get that job promotion and score with hot, younger females? Well, sign me up! I should have started using this crap as soon as I hit puberty. Maybe then, my high school dating career would have been so much more of an adventure!

5) Daytime television summed up in one neato frito word: Cockmeatsandwich. Okay, I realize that is actually three words stuffed together, but it has a nice ring to it, right?

6) Sorry. I had something really important to tell you here, but the nurse came in and hooked me up phat on the morphine drip.

7) I really, really need to start writing for daytime soap operas. I came up with an entire script for a new soap pilot in only four short days. Unfortunately, I don’t think anyone speaks half Klingon, half chimpanzee. Why do all my good ideas come in made up languages?

8) If it weren’t for you, Maury Povich, I wouldn’t have had a reason to open my eyes. Side note: I also wouldn’t know that I am, in fact, the father of Neesha’s baby.

9) No matter how much they try to trick you, no matter how much they lie, those bastards from radiology are just plain evil and wrong. That barium contrast does not take like lemonade! You know what it takes like? Satan’s urine with a splash of Crystal Light.

10) Last, but not least, you will always find out who your true friends and family are when you have to spend time in the hospital. Each and everyone of you know exactly what I am talking about.

Thank You for Being a Friend

14 Jan

So long, my friend. It has been one marvelous run. Without sounding completely cliché, it’s not you, it’s me. Really. You have always been there for me through thick and thin. Or thin and thick. Whatever floats your boat. When it was good, it was really good. You were there for me during the highest of highs. You stood by me during the lowest of lows. Your resolve was impressively resilient. You never wavered. Your support coddled me like an infant. Your loving embrace warmed me from the inside out. You were there during some of the most important times in my life. Parties, graduations, weddings, and birthdays, there was your smiling face. Hell, you were even there for the birth of my children. You were always there for a raucous toast. Always around for a grand salute. Sure, we had our rough times together. I mean, who could forget spring break 1999 or that terrible fight we had in Ames, Iowa of all places? Even after our nastiest of fights, we would be back in the saddle, ready to ride in no time flat. We were bros. Hetero life partners, if you prefer. Never would I have thought there would come a time where our partnership must come to a teary end. Now, to paraphrase what our parents used to say, this will be harder on me than it will be on you. You will be absolutely fine. Your friends are a plenty. Your social circle is full of contacts, relatives, and acquaintances for you to run to. Your glass is never half empty. In fact, your chalice is completely full. So, let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be. Let’s just agree to chalk this dissolution up to “irreconcilable differences”. No crying. No anger, hatred, or sleepless nights. All I want for you is good health and happiness. You should want the same for me. In the end, it just wasn’t in the cards for us. So, Alcohol, I bid you adieu. It’s been real. It’s been fun. We will always have the memories. We will always have Las Vegas. I will never forget. We mustn’t forget. Until the off-chance we will be able to rekindle what we once had, I must leave you at the door. Once again, thank you for being a friend.

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