Here we go again.

Hello. My name is Carlos and I am the neglectful owner of this here blog. I feel like I need to re-introduce myself since it has been almost two years since my last post. I had to re-read all of my previous posts to give myself a clue as to what I was writing about and I noticed a trend in which I usually started by apologizing for not posting enough. I will not apologize this time. I will try to start over with a clean slate and hope that I have a better track record this time around. I will not make any promises as I did not keep my previous promises but I will try harder this time. A lot of things have changed in the last two years so I will try to bring you up to date.

I started this blog close to three years ago. A lot can happen in three years. A lot can change in three years. Actually, a lot has happened and changed in the past three years. When I was reading my previous posts, I noticed a picture of me I had posted. It looked exactly like this:

Just look at how young and naive I looked.

I had thought to post a picture of how I look now so that you could compare and contrast. However, I decided against it because that would just be depressing and that is not how I want this post to go. I can give you a brief overview instead. I still have hair. It's still mostly black. It needs a haircut. There I think I covered everything pretty well. Okay, I guess I can add that I grew a goatee. People tell me I look older with a goatee. Despite that, I don't think I will shave it any time soon. I have also, maybe, put on some more weight. I am not gonna admit to it even if the fact that my clothes don't fit as well anymore makes it obvious. I do still try to work out every now and then. That gym membership I mentioned back in 2010, I paid for it for two years. I just never actually went to the gym and apparently just paying a monthly gym fee is not enough to get you in shape.  I have, however, acquired an Xbox 360 with the Kinect and I try to play on it every now and then and count it as exercise. I mean, it should totally count because I run out of breath every time I use it. The fact that it is fun is just a nice plus. On a different note, I think I have gotten shorter but there is no way to prove that so I am not saying more on the issue. I guess the overall idea is that I have gotten older. I tried not to but I was unsuccessful. Maybe soon I will work up the nerve to take a new picture.It will definitely be after I get a haircut. I can tell you that much.

On the job front, I still work at the same place so there is not much to tell there. Granted, I don't have my second floor office anymore and I am stuck at the front desk again but they had to do some cuts and I am thankful that I still have a way to pay my bills. On the bright side, I still work with Heidi and Dottie and Preggo and the Co-Worker so at least work is not boring most of the time. There are times when it is mind-numbingly dull, but it's usually fine.

On the religious front, I have now accepted that I am an atheist. I don't know if this is good or bad, it just is. Unfortunately, it is very hard for people to accept my atheism. Especially because I still use phrases like "Thank god" and "God, no!!!" People need to realize that those are just expressions and not a statement of belief. I also still have all that Bible knowledge stuck in my head so I find myself at times quoting scripture or even trying to explain to Christians why they believe in what they believe. I would say that I am not a very good atheist. I don't feel I am being graded on it though so I don't stress too much about it.

When I was re-reading my previous posts, I made a list of things to talk about. I still have a few left that I haven't discussed like family and dating. I figure I will wait on those as I don't want to overwhelm you, or me, on this second first post. I am pretty sure the family topic itself can take up a full post so I will probably write about that next. Also, my hands are out of shape because I haven't had to type a lot lately so I need to end this post before they succumb to fatigue and I have to resort to pecking the keys with one finger to finish it.

I know the writing in this post is a little awkward so I acknowledge I am a little rusty. I will get better. I have to get better because this is pretty sad. Writing in this blog again is like running into an old friend you haven't seen in years. You are glad to see them and you know how things were between you at one point, but that just makes this new encounter awkward as you re-discover how to approach and communicate with each other again. Bear with me for a few posts and I bet you won't regret it... much. You won't regret it much.

Random Thoughts and Other Things

I woke up this morning not feeling well so I had to call in to work. Yes, that made my weekend a four day weekend, but I did not enjoy not having to work since I was throwing up all morning. I am feeling better now but I felt like I had wasted my day and, in order to do something productive, I decided to write a post. Unfortunately, I really did not have anything to write about so I decided to take a page from Crazy Texas Mommy and do a post with just some random thoughts. I am unsure why she always tries to have her random days be Wednesday, but since I have no discipline and/or follow through on anything, I shall just post them when the mood strikes. So here are my random thoughts of the day:

• It's kind of hard to be random on command. We'll see how this goes.
• I spent several hours yesterday playing super nintendo. It was awesome.
• My thumbs hurt today as a result of yesterday's super nintendo playing.
• I am still planning on playing again later. Quitters never win.
• I am thinking of writing a drunk post one day. I wonder if it will make much sense.
• I just found out a couple of hours ago that I will not get paid for yesterday because I did not work today. It sucks.
• My friend Preggo just found out she is having a girl.
• She hasn't decided on a name for her yet so, until then, I am calling her "The Thing."
• I would ask your assistance finding a name but I doubt she'll want to name her kid Wilhemina.
• I am definitely sure that she would not like her baby daughter to be referred to as "Dirty Willie."
• Or any kind of nickname with the word "Willie" on it.
• Arrested Development is the best show ever!!!
• Days off are just not the same since the Unwanted are here. Even hearing their voices ruins my day.
• I just realized I suck at writing random posts. This may be my first and last.
• Or maybe I will keep at it until I get good.
• I don't have to decide now so I won't.

Well, I guess I did not have that much to say. Sorry for the crappy post. I feel bad even posting it but I already wrote it so I might as well. Hope you all can forgive me. For now, I gotta go because the nintendo is calling my name.

My Very First Sports Injury*

*A bit of a misnomer, but I shall elaborate later on in the post.

I am so sorry. Can you guys ever find it in your heart to forgive me? I know it has been 17 days since my last post. (Going on 18 but who's counting?) I would love to say that I have a great reason for it. I would love to be able to get on this site and tell you guys that my life has done a complete 180 and that I have found a wonderful guy and that my life is so full of wonderful things that I hadn't had time to log on and write. Alas, I cannot say any of those things with a clear conscience. I have to come clean and say that the only reason I have not posted is simply because I am lazy. I know I am a horrible person. Just consider, before you start throwing stones, who among you has never procrastinated and left something for later regardless of how important it was for you. Therefore, let that entity, since all humans are guilty of procrastination, who has never been lazy before throw the first stone. Now, with a clear conscience, I shall continue.

Allow me, if you will, to elaborate on the asterisk next to the title of this post. Will this story center around the very first injury I have suffered that is related to sports? No. There are many painful memories in my sports trajectory. Yet, this particular injury that I speak of happened during a voluntary excursion into the terrifying world of sports and differs from the others because I was not involuntarily placed in hazardous situations.

To fully understand the enmity between me and sports, let us take a stroll down memory lane, where sports memories are safely hidden in a back room with a "Caution: Enter at Your Own Risk" sign at the door warning of the emotional pain that lies within. Shall we?

My first memory is from before I can even remember. Thus, it may not qualify as a memory, though I clearly remember my mother telling me the story more than once. Now, I was there, I just don't remember. As the story goes, when I was but a wee lad of about four years of age, my dad was a big baseball fan. He and his friends had a non-professional league team that would play every Sunday. At some point, and I am not sure why, my dad stopped playing in the team, yet continued to attend the games every Sunday. My dad loved taking me to the games since at that time I was his only son and he wanted to do all that father-son bonding kind of thing. To this day I have no idea what kind of field they played in. I don't know if it had bleachers for the spectators to sit at or if it was just an open field and people would just watch from the sides. Whichever it was, there was obviously no barrier to stop a ball from making contact with a four-year-old's head. Yes, that head was my head. To hear my mom tell the story, she was furious. Mexican mothers tend to be a bit overprotective. Just a tad. Not a whole lot. Yet she decreed that I was not to attend any more of those games. My dad, as a red-blooded Mexican male (doesn't that sound weird?), decided to take me to the game the next week without my mom's consent. Now, I am not saying my dad's decision was wrong but, if lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place, baseballs do. I can only imagine what my dad had to go through after that. I am pretty sure that he was concerned about my well being, but even more so about what would happen when Medea caught wind of what had happened. Needless to say, I never attended any of those games again. It's a shame though because I cannot remember a single one of those games and to this day I wonder if that was because I was too young or because I was hit on the head with a baseball two weeks in a row.

Thus I was ominously initiated into the world of sports and though I never again had a brush with baseball, my attempts at any other sport did not fare much better. I should have seen the sign early on and stopped all athletic endeavours at an early age. I shall blame brain trauma from the two baseball hits to the head as being responsible for me not learning this lesson a long time ago.

Soccer was the next sport that I tried. After all, I was Mexican and they all seem to be obsessed about it. I didn't dislike it, but I was not good at it either. When you are playing against your brother, who happens to be 4 years younger than you, and he is beating you, it is a clear hint that the sport is not for you. Fortunately, only my ego was hurt and I suffered no physical damage from it.

I must admit that growing up I did kind of play "baseball." I say "kind of" and put "baseball" in quotations because we played in the street with tennis balls and pieces of two-by-fours for bats. Once my dad brought a tennis racket that someone gave him and from then on that became my favorite "bat." We also only had two bases and we had a saying "corralito es out" which meant that if the ball went inside someone's property, it counted as an out. I was never injured from these games, unless you count splinters from our wooden "bats." Obviously these were just childhood games and not a sport and I don't usually count them with my sport stories. I only bring it up because I said earlier that "I never again had a brush with baseball" which, if you read this paragraph carefully, is technically true as what I played as a child cannot be considered baseball.

I was always a smart kid in school. My grades were usually at the top of the class when I was in elementary school. That is, of course, if you don't consider physical education. The one class every other kid aced and looked forward to was the one class that kept me from getting a scholarship for a private middle school in Mexico. I didn't just dislike the class, I hated it. I would dread it and I even went as far as to ask for extra homework in lieu of having to go out and participate in whatever sport or activity they had us doing that week. This brings us to my fourth grade P.E. class. The teacher told me that I had to go out and play that day or I would have to receive a failing grade for that month. The torturous activity of the week was basketball. I resigned myself to my fate, took a deep breath and walked into the court. I tried staying out of the ball's way as much as possible but, as luck would have it, someone eventually threw the ball at me. All I can say at this point is that I tried. It wasn't my fault, however, that my lack of hand-eye coordination led to my hand completely missing the ball while trying to dribble and have my right-hand thumb receive the full impact of the bouncing ball and my hand's downward momentum. I lasted a full five minutes in that game before I had to go sit down with a swollen thumb. We didn't really have a school nurse and it did not look broken so I never did go see a doctor for that. All I know is that for a week I could not use that thumb for it was swollen to twice its normal size and it hurt every time there was any amount of pressure on it. It was thus that I learned my lesson against trying to play basketball.

Unfortunately, it was not the only misfortune I suffered at the mercy of a basketball. Many years later, while a freshman in high school, a basketball smashed my glasses. What really sucked about having my glasses smashed by a basketball was that I was wearing them at the moment it happened. Now, I haven't lied. The times I played basketball after the thumb incident can be counted with the fingers on one hand. However, the glasses incident I will take full responsibility for. By then I knew better than to join the game as I knew basketballs were out to get me. In order to avoid participating in P.E. class I had become accustomed to bringing a book with me to read during that interminable class period. I don't remember what book I was reading that specific day, or if I ever got to finish reading it since I could not read without glasses. What I do remember is where I sat down to enjoy my book. Most people would have the common sense to not sit directly underneath and behind the basket. I am not most people. Someone attempted a basket. They missed the basked and hit nothing but air. He yelled something and I looked up just in time to have the ball hit me in the face and break my glasses. I guess the ball did hit something more than just air, but I really doubt they award points for hitting someone in the face. After all, it's not boxing. I was sent to the nurse's office. Fortunately, the glasses received most of the impact. They were these humongous glasses with very thick lenses and a horrendous frame that even Urkel would have refused to wear. I guess the ball did me a favor by breaking them as I got some better ones after that, but for some reason I still do not look back fondly and am not filled with warm feelings when I think about what happened.

Shortly after the glasses incident I decided that I should try a sport that was less intense. I talked to my coach in school and started learning how to play golf. Now, it is really hard to get injured while practicing golf. The proof lies in the fact that golf was another one of the sports in which I did not suffer a physical injury. Then again, I only practiced it a grand total of five times. As we were walking back to the school building at the end of my fifth practice, during which I would have an individual session with the coach as he showed me how to hit the ball, the coach put his hands on my shoulder and said the following words: "You should probably just quit trying to learn the game. You are obviously never going to be able to get it." As I said, I walked away from golf without a physical injury. However, it did hurt. I had confirmation at last that me and sports were not a good match.

All this brings me to the real reason I started this post. A week ago I injured myself playing sports once again.

As you all know, I have been trying to be more active and be more adventurous. Therefore, when some friends asked me to join a softball team, despite my better judgment, I said yes. I proudly became one of the members of the "Sons of Pitches." Last Sunday was our first practice. I didn't really know what that entailed. When I left my house that day to go to practice, I made sure my cell phone had enough battery because for some reason I imagined myself just sitting at a bench enjoying the breeze and texting a whole bunch of friends. Although I had been advised that I would need a glove to play in the team, I did not realize that I would also need one for the practice. To reiterate, the only thing I grabbed when I walked out of my house was my cell phone. Imagine my surprise when I get there and people are expecting me to play catch. They wanted me to play catch! I don't throw. I had not thrown a ball in ages. Furthermore, I did not have a glove. This was turning out to not be the texting bonanza I had envisioned. They kept telling me how to throw and expecting me to do it. Not only that, but they expected me to do it in front of other people. Someone lent me a glove and I finally resigned myself to the idea that I had to do it. I just swallowed hard, buried my embarrassment at having people watch me throw deep inside of me and just did it.

I had just gotten over the shock of having to play catch when they decided to try hitting what they called "fly balls." Apparently, someone was gonna start hitting balls and people had to stand out in the field and catch them. I managed to avoid doing that for the first few minutes but then I was sent in and was, once again, expected to do something that is not entirely within my comfort zone. First of all, I can't catch. Second of all, I have never in my life used a glove and thus cannot catch with a glove. Third of all, when I see a ball flying towards me, instinct and life have taught me to run away from it and to try and avoid any contact. How am I then supposed to meet this ball that is rushing towards me with all its pain inflicting power head on? Throwing, I was told, seemed to come naturally for me. At least that is what my very supportive friends kept telling me. No such compliments were received regarding my catching. I was only too glad to be done with that part of the practice and move on to the next.

For the last part of practice, we actually manned the positions on the field and pretended we were in a game. Every few minutes or so we would rotate so that everyone could play every position. For most of the positions nothing happened so I did not mind them. The positions I did not like though were Short Stop, and First. While in Short Stop, I had a ball head directly towards me at which point I moved out of the way and let outfield know the ball was coming by pointing at it and saying "there it goes." While at First, people kept throwing the ball at me which was usually followed by me not being able to catch the ball and then having to run (walk?) after it. Then, my turn at bat came up. Oh my god!!!!!! Apparently there is a certain way that you have to stand and it looks weird and people are watching. It was so embarrassing. You have by now noticed I have confidence issues. My confidence, however, was strengthened a little when I managed to hit the ball almost every time I took a swing. Although the ball did not fly high, it would actually make it to the out field so that felt kind of good.

It was that one time that I swung the bat and did not hit it though that reminded me I should not play sports. I felt something in my left arm stretch as I swung and hit nothing but air. It was not till later though that I realized I could not raise my left arm without it hurting. Yes, I had injured myself and this time it was at a sport that I willingly chose to participate in. For some reason, this injury did not carry the bitterness and anger of the previous ones. I did not resent having injured myself. In fact, I was kind of proud of it. I knew then that I would have to write about it and that the title would be "My Very First Sports Injury." Again, not because I had not been injured before, but because it was the first injury that did not deter me from pursuing a sport as I do not plan on quiting the team. First of all, because the "Sons of Pitches" is an awesome name. Second, because the team is composed of some wonderful people that don't mind that I can't play the game at all. Third, because the number on my shirt may get to be Pi, 3.1416, as long as the rules allow it. Fourth, because getting injured is not such a bad thing when you choose to play the game on your own instead of being forced to do so.

I am not quitting the team so you all can look forward to hearing more of my sports misadventures as I know there will be many more. Yet, for some reason, I don't dread them anymore. It is funny that I was first injured in a game of baseball and my last injury was in a softball practice. Although they are not the same game, they are pretty closely related and, in a way, I feel like I have come full circle and finally reached some closure.

First Amendment

To those that are wondering from my last post, I still have not received my clipboard back. To make matters worse, I have already lost two pens since Friday. I guess I am too nice for my own good. People, man! They just bring you down, turn you into a monster and then call you one. Still, I am holding out hope that I will see my clipboard back. Oh, where is my clipboard?

Moving on, if you have read my last blog, in addition to being up to date on the clipboard situation, you also know I spent last weekend helping a friend move. Now, I live my life by a set of rules. Some are inane ones like I have to eat the fortune cookie before I read the fortune. Don't look at me like I am weird. I am not the only one who does that... I think. Anyway, some rules I have set just to protect myself and my right to be lazy. One such rule is "I will never help anyone move, regardless of whether they are my friends or not." I have worked hard to uphold this rule. I have gone as far as to introduce myself by saying, "Hi, my name is Carlos and I will never ever help you move regardless of whether or not we become friends." Yes, this sounds funny and insincere. It usually works as a really good icebreaker too. Unfortunately, people rarely believe me and later on the road, once we are friends and they are moving, they ask if I am willing to help them move. To this I reply by simply saying, "Do you remember what I said when I first met you?" They often don't and I am only too glad to remind them. They always say that they thought I was kidding. And I always tell them that I wasn't and that regardless of how good friends we are, I hate moving and will not help them.

Heartless? Callous? Mean? Maybe. But the important thing to remember is that this makes me happy. I don't have to lift heavy boxes and move furniture or make a million trips up and down stairs hauling someone else's stuff and being paid with nothing but some fast food and a soda. I am sorry but gratitude is not enough payment for all that hard work. I like having people feel like they owe me, but they will never be able to pay me back if I help them move. I think by now I have made it clear that I hate, loathe, despise and abhor moving.

This brings me to the first amendment in my book of rules. It goes like this: "I will never help you move. This applies to all my friends and acquaintances." There is however one exception. "If your name is followed by the title of "friend" and this title has the modifier "best" in front of it, then, and only then, will I help you move. Only one person shall have the modifier "best" in front of the "friend" title at any point in time. Offer not valid with any other promotions. I reserve the right to change the terms of this exception at any point in time with or without further notice."

This is actually the first time I put this exception in writing. I only noticed it myself this past weekend. Looking back, this exception has applied since the establishing of the rule. I helped my previous best friend move twice. Once, it was even to a city 200 miles away. Now, I have helped my new best friend move. Yes, I carried boxes and moved furniture and even used tools. What did I get out of it? Well, we ate pizza and had a few drinks. But as with a lot of things in life, it is not what you are doing but who you are doing it with that matters. I guess I am a better friend than I care to admit. There is really not much I would not do for my friends. But let's keep that our little secret.

Oh, and by the way, to all of my readers, old and new, known and unknown, regardless of whether or not we ever become friends, I will never, EVER help you move.

Milestone One, Thanks and Other Stuff

I want to start by saying that I missed a great opportunity. I can't believe that I did not wait till Tuesday to post my friend's "MJ" titled memoir on April 20th. I almost had a moment of synchronicity. Is there such a thing as "near synchronicity"? Because, if not, I am claiming it and coining it. I mean, I might as well own it considering the many near misses that make up my life. If you are thinking "Max", so am I.

I wanted to take some time as well to thank three really special women in my life. First, thanks to Hilly, once again, for sharing her awesome story with us and being my first guest post. You are a great friend. Second, I have no words to express my gratitude to Crazy Texas Mommy for her kind plug of my blog in her own, ever so popular blog. I am very glad that we met. Even if it was in a workplace that cannot find the humor in a talking Mary doll. Third, but not last, thanks to Nicci for promoting this blog on her tweeter. I know it is because of these amazing women that I can write the next paragraph.

I have hit milestone number one. My blog has reached one hundred hits. I know this may not sound like much, but it does mean that people out there are reading this and, though not many things do, this makes me feel all special and stuff like that. Then again, one hundred posts may not seem that important because at last count the number was up to 154, but I am sure that the extra people are from the help of my wonderful friends who thought enough of my blog to promote it. Next, milestone number two, one thousand hits. I hope you all enjoy the journey to it as much as I do.

Moving on to what I really set off to write about. I went to the gym for the first time in over 2 years on Monday night. I know what you are gonna say... actually, I guess I don't. It's kind of obvious that I haven't set foot in a gym for a while. Also, last time I set foot in a gym, I never did more than ride one of the stationary bikes because I could read at the same time so I have never been much for exercise. I figured I needed to start going to the gym again if I had any chance of a)looking better, b)feeling better, and c)finding someone. As luck would have it, one of the many guys I have met online seemed to be really into working out and, since I knew he was way out of my league, I figured we could at least be gym buddies. The whole idea was great in theory and I felt excited about it. That is right until it was time to actually enter a gym.

It was 10:25pm and I was sitting in the parking lot waiting for my friend to arrive. The more I sat there, the more the gym looked like a sacred place. It seemed like a religious place, almost church-like, in the sense that people walked in because they wanted to become better people and feel better about themselves and walked out changed. The building loomed large and ominous and with every second I became more and more anxious about the step I was about to take. Was I ready? Could I really commit to taking better care of my body? Anxiety slowly crept in and soon I was pretty close to having a panic attack. This was not helped by the fact that all the people I saw walking into that gym were skinny and seemed to be popular, happy and the epitome of everything that I was not. I do admit that last part might have been my imagination getting carried away. Still, I could just picture them laughing at me and whispering to each other "Look at that Fat Guy! He doesn't stand a chance! We will always be better than him." Sitting there, shaking with nervous jitters, I looked down and noticed that the over sized shirt I was wearing, because somehow I convinced myself that a huge shirt would be good because it would make me look less fat yet ruefully realized it was worse since it made me look like a shapeless blob, had a big stain in the front. That is just what I needed. At that moment, I started hyperventilating. I wish I were kidding and making this stuff up but the foggy windows in my car didn't lie. My heart was pounding and I was breathing heavier than if I had just run a 5K. Then again, I have never ran a 5K, so I may just be exaggerating a bit. Regardless of my running history, I figured that I'd had enough exercise for one day. See how efficient I am? I was done exercising and I had not set foot inside the consecrated gym floors. Heck, I had not even moved at all!!!

I almost started my car and drove off a couple of times, but it would have been really embarrassing to have to tell my friend that I was not going to be able to make it because I had freaked out and psyched myself out just by sitting in the parking lot. So, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and started texting friends about how I was about to leave. I was hoping they would respond and convince me to stay. Unfortunately, of the one friend that I actually texted, I got no response. I did however realize that fiddling with phone did make me feel less stressed about the whole situation. So, I opened a little note-pad-like-thingy on my phone and started writing little notes so that I would remember what I wanted to talk about when I wrote this later on. And so, my nerves, though not cured, were relieved by someone any geek worth their salt has experienced in their lives: gadget relief. If you are not a geek, allow me to explain. Gadget relief is the one recourse a geek has when outside of his element. For instance, say you are at a party and you don't know anyone. More importantly, it does not seem like anyone is interested in getting to know you. The whole situation is awkward and extremely uncomfortable so, what does one do? Easy. One pulls out a gadget, usually a cell phone, and pretends to text someone or plays a game or anything that can be done with that specific gadget. Thus, you are still alone and unwanted, but it does not matter because you are not focused on the social interactions taking place around you but rather are preoccupied with whatever task you are doing with your gadget. It is the geeky equivalent of looking at your watch and pretending to wait for someone or waving at a stranger when you realize that the person you were waving at was not waving at you but at someone behind you. Now that we are all caught up, I shall resume the story. So there I sat, fidgeting with my phone and trying to keep my stomach from turning from anxiety when my phone beeps and I realize my friend has parked next to me and he is sending me a message telling me he has arrived.

Of course, I had resolved not to share with anyone what had transpired in my car because I did not want to be embarrassed. Yet, somehow that was the first thing I told my friend upon getting out of my car. I might have appeared a bit crazy, but at least I was honest. Also, I am not sure how me posting this in here counts as not telling anyone, as I had resolved not to tell anyone yet knew I was gonna post it, but go with me on this one. The actual workout was rather fun and my friend could not have been more gracious. I forgot to think about bringing a lock for a locker and he let me put my wallet, cell phone and keys in his. Granted, that was a bit courageous of my part considering I had never met the guy before, but my trust was rewarded by the end of the night when I got my stuff back. I also asked him to please take it easy as I had not worked out in a long time and he did. We only used the treadmill for walking and the elliptical machines to... elliptically-machine? Still, we have not attended the gym in the last two days which works out just fine for me as I am still sore from Monday. After all this is the price we pay for... well, whatever it is we go to the gym for.

In the beginning was the word...

So, yes, the title is a bit sacrilegious. Still, it is a good introduction as to who I am. I am not sure why I am starting this blog but I think it will be a good way to vent. Plus, with luck, no one will probably ever read this so it's not like I will get in trouble for it. Though, that would be fun.

Along with this blog, I joined a dating site tonight. In a way, this is a night of many beginnings for me. I am hoping that if nothing else I will get some good stories to tell from the dating site. Maybe then I will have more to write in this blog other than just normal rantings. After all, I can only write so much about tv.

I guess I should talk about me. Yes, I am pretending that I don't like doing that. I am in my late twenties and have no life to speak of. As proof of that I will admit that I have both a Netflix and a Blockbuster online account. At the moment, I am still living with my parents and in case that did not completely label me as a loser, I have not been on a date in months and only dated three times in the last year. I have a B.A. in English Literature even though I am not a native English speaker. I was born in Mexico yet I am not a typical mexican. I don't like soccer, or any sports for that matter. I was not raised, nor am I now Catholic. My religious views are eclectic and will become apparent as time goes along. I think I am a bit funny but I am not sure I can write a humorous blog. I am gonna give it a try though and see if I succeed.

I guess I have left a very important part of me for the end. I am a gay man. You would think that in this day and age that would not be a hard thing to say. Especially on the night when Ricky Martin came out. It is not as easy as it should be, though. Not when you come from a very traditional, religious, mexican family and live in a state like Texas which still has a little bit to go before being completely gay friendly. I still will try to be more honest with myself and those around me as I believe this to be better in the long run. I guess that is all I have to say for tonight.

In the beginning was this blog, and what shall come after it is yet to be seen.