I Am Learning, Little by Little Mind You, That I Am Human.

Before I get into the details of my humanity and all, a quick update on last week's post. Yes, I am still a vegetarian. No, not for much longer. I will actually be giving it up in two days. You may be asking yourself why while raising your hands above your head exasperatedly. Well, there are several reasons. The main one being that of the three people that started in July, I am the only one still doing it. It's a lot more fun being a vegetarian when everyone else is doing it and you have someone to commiserate about the fact that you have to pay the same amount for a dish with four sides and no entree even if it is not as fulfilling as what everyone else is getting. Another reason for giving it up is because I am going on vacation to Portland in a week and a half and I want to be able to enjoy my vacation without having to worry about what to eat. Also, I am starting to eat meat a week in advance of my vacation so that my stomach gets used to it again and to avoid any episodes as I know I will be stressed enough by the travel alone. Other than that, I did enjoy my little forage into vegetarianism. I do believe sometime I will be able to do a permanent transition to a vegetarian diet but that may just be wishful thinking.

On a different note, they have changed my work duties, however temporarily, so I am unsure if I will have time to type this from work as I used to do it in my down time. It's not really good news though. Duties have been added to my schedule and I will even have to spend time away from my desk but there will be no pay increase and I am already frustrated with the way things are being handled. Since I am unaware of how much down time I will have, I may have to start writing from home. What will this mean to you? Nothing really. I will still try to do a new post every Monday. However, the length of the post may be considerably shorter to allow me time to go about my daily life, i.e. watching TV, drinking and such. Anyway, enough with the intros and on with the main point of this post.

So, after much thought and consideration, I have arrived at the conclusion that I am human, after all, with human emotions and everything. You may be wondering why my humanity was up for discussion but I am not a typical human. Especially when it comes to emotions. Yes, it is possible to bring me to tears but it's not through typical means. A good poem, recently W.B. Yeats Easter, 1916, a good movie, Fernando Leon De Aranoa's Princesas, or a good song, Stavesacre's Gold & Silver, will have me bawling like an infant. Yet, the tale of someone's misfortune or death just revs my brain into overdrive trying to find the most hilariously inappropriate comment I can make. I am often accused of being heartless and when that happens I often have no more recourse than to shrug my shoulders and agree with my accuser. It's not all great though. It does bother me that sometimes people don't tell me things because they are afraid that I will make fun of whatever they are going through. They don't understand that I am totally capable of exercising restraint and, though I will make light of the situation, I know when not to do it in front of them. I guess some people will always find a way to make everything about themselves though.

I have no idea where my callousness comes from so I will simply have to blame Medea. She was never really expressive of her emotions and I guess I learned from her. I remember that when I was a kid and used to hug her she would ask me what had gotten into me and if I had dreamed that she had died again. Most of the time, she was right as I would only hug her if I had a particularly vivid dream in which she died and when, upon waking, I was glad to see that she was still alive. However, that gladness was short-lived by her abrupt reception and accusing remarks of how I did not appreciate her unless I thought she was dead. Thus I learned to not express any emotion that may be seen as weakness and preyed upon. I called this living.

I have recently realized though that, even if I don't acknowledge them, the feelings are still there if buried deep within me and so strange to me that I almost do not recognize them when they dare surface. Two such cases happened a few weeks ago and they all happened due to the amazing person that is willing to put up with all my quirks, the BF.

The first one happened on a Tuesday. I don't remember exactly what was going on. I think he was in town but for some reason we had not seen each other in a while. We had talked daily but only for a few minutes because we both had things to do. On Tuesday, we talked as soon as I got off work but once again we had to cut the talk short for some reason or other. We always said we would talk later, but I knew that he would not call back til the next day. After I finished dinner and while I was watching TV and with no good reason for doing so, I called him. When he answered, I had nothing to say. I really had not thought it through. Nothing had happened since we had talked earlier and I found myself telling him that I had called him because it seemed like we had not talked enough even if I had nothing more to say. He gave a quick laugh and said that I had called him because I missed him. I immediately recoiled at his accusation because missing someone is something that I just don't do since it seems a sign of weakness. After all, I don't need anyone because I can take care of myself. I balked at his arrogant assumption and told him nothing could be further from the truth. The subject was then changed and we ended up talking on the phone for about an hour. While I was falling asleep that night, I was still thinking of his accusation that I missed him. I realized then that he was right. I was missing him but I did not recognize it because I have never really missed anyone in my life. I live a pretty independent life and I stay in touch with the people I want to stay in touch with when I want to stay in touch with them. I do not even miss my family. I feel more comfortable when my parents are here because my mom cooks and I know they are all right, but I never have the desire to call them and just talk to them. In fact, since they are in Mexico, I have to remind myself and force myself to call them once every two weeks. I was not aware that I could miss someone and, at first, was embarrassed that I could miss someone. I felt weak and stupid for letting someone influence how I felt. Thankfully, the second case which happened two days later changed my perspective.

Two days later, we had started making plans for the weekend. I was planning on spending the weekend at his place. We had been texting plans back and forth all day but when I called him after work he told me that the plans had changed. See, the BF has a dog, puppy as he likes to call him as he dislikes the word "dog," named Diesel. Since the BF travels a lot for work, he leaves Diesel with a friend of his that also has a dog, Nora. Therefore, whenever the BF is in town, he has to take care of two dogs, puppies, as they keep them together. That however is not important. What is important is that he told me that his friend was coming into the Dallas area for the weekend and that he was going to stay at his place so that our plans had to change. I felt an uneasiness at that moment but chalked it up to the fact that I don't like it when plans change. I told him that it was OK though because we could change our plans to accommodate his friend easily. I was not aware of anything unusual until the next morning when I woke up and remembered what I had dreamt. The BF's friend has a name that can easily be seen as unisex. I don't feel comfortable revealing his name so let it suffice that, in my dream, the BF's friend turned out to be a woman and that, upon meeting "her," my mind was put at ease. It took me a minute to realize that I was jealous. I have always stated that I am not a jealous person, but I have never really had a relationship, so I did not know for sure. In this case, the BF has a friend that shares with him his animals and love of animals and whom I never met and I was a little bit jealous. I was not even aware of it on a conscious level but, obviously, subconsciously I was troubled by it. Now, I have always maintained that jealousy is pointless but I should amend that to say that "excessive jealousy" is pointless. As things stand, I don't begrudge the BF having friends, but it is nice to know that I care enough to feel some jealousy as long as it does not affect the relationship.

I was super excited that I was jealous, to say the least. It was then that I realized that if being subconsciously jealous of the BF was a good thing, missing him was a good thing too. I told my friends at work about my new discovery as soon as I got to work and they were surprised and were the first to say that I may be human after all. I was elated for the rest of the day and told the BF the good news as soon as I saw him that night. He was not as excited about the new developments as I was but I don't think he understood how monumental these changes were. They kind of re-defined who I was which is not easy as I try to be a very self-actualized person. Also, I had proof that I was a person because persons miss people and get jealous. He still did not quite fully grasp why I was so excited kind of like he does not understand how I can enjoy being depressed. He's got a lot to learn about me but the good thing is that, apparently, so do I and I can't wait to find out what else there is to learn. I am a scholar after all.

We Are Almost Caught Up... Just Bear With Me.

I am having a hard time starting this post because I am unsure about what to write. I lead such a lackluster life that there are few things to write about. A typical day for me entails getting up, going to work, going to lunch, going back to work, going home, watching TV and going to sleep. It's a pretty routine life. Every now and then I will switch it up a bit. For example, last night I watched four episodes of Gilmore Girls (I own all 7 seasons on DVD) but I also read a few short stories and listened to some music. Every now and then I will go to the movies but that is it. I rarely deviate from that format. I mean, if it ain't broke... right? Except that all this non-broken-ness leads to a life with few complications and it is such complications that are compelling to write and read about. I have no complications. Unlike Jay-Z, I don't have ninety-nine problems. I wish I had ninety-nine problems. It would spare me having to write a paragraph like the one you just read. I mean, this is no way to gain an audience. I need to provide an escape to your mundane lives (I'm assuming, of course) by providing a window into my exuberant and glamorous life, which I don't have. However, there is no point crying over my life, or lack thereof, so I should move on with this post.

In the last two posts, I have caught you up with what is going on with me and my family. The only thing left to discuss would be my social life. I now need to catch you up with all the goings-on of all my friends and my dating life. This should be a short post.

On the friend front, I am happy to report that I have fewer friends than when I started this blog (I'm being sarcastic, of course. Please try to stay with me as I won't always type an explanation). I am a very gregarious person so I talk a lot to a lot of people but I am lacking the connection one usually has with friends. I usually keep my friend list short in order to be able to provide each one with a personalized experience and be able to have more one on one time. I have never had more than 3 or 4 real friends at a time. Let me clarify here that when I mean friends, I mean people with which I will share anything and everything. I am sure that I know some people that will be offended that I don't regard them as friends but, in my opinion, if I only see you at work and hardly ever outside of it, we are more friendly than we are true friends. Then again, I am probably just being really picky like Kristen Wiig's character in Bridesmaids (which, if you haven't watched it, you need to watch it. Maybe not right now. Maybe you should finish reading my blog first and then watch it. Yes, watch it right after you finish reading the blog. You can thank me later.) when she is complaining to Melissa McCarthy's character that she has no friends and Melissa tells her that she does have friends but refuses to acknowledge and reach out to them. I really hope that made sense. The point is, I don't think I have any really close friends right now as I have had in the past. I was at one point going to read the book "How to Lose Friends & Alienate People" (which was made into a movie in 2008 according to IMDB) but decided not to as I really don't need help in that department. You maybe asking yourself how I have managed to alienate people being the charming and charismatic young man that I am. I would like to blame everything on stupid drunken nights of debauchery that are so shaming my mind has repressed all memory of them, so I will. It is not my fault at all as I am a charming and charismatic young man. Therefore, stupid drunken nights of debauchery are to blame for all of it. Yes. That sounds right. At least it makes me feel better. Then again, I have not alienated all of my previous friends. Some of them just up and moved out of state and I am fairly certain, about 95%, that it wasn't because of me.

It isn't all bad though. I still talk to my friends that moved to Portland, sporadically but it still counts. We have also had two Skype movie nights. A Skype movie night is when we choose a movie on Netflix and then get on Skype and try to watch it at the same time. So far we have watched Zombies vs Strippers and the 1969 Batman movie. We have a thing for B-movies as they tend to be hilarious. Moving on, I still have my Houston friend whom I have never met but often provides me with excellent advice and from whom I borrowed the ingenious nicknames for my nephews. I also have co-workers like Dottie, Heidi and Preggo with whom I share a bond deeper than just the co-worker bond. In fact, if we could only hang out more outside of work, they could probably be upgraded to friends. Unfortunately, they have families and thus busy schedules which leaves them with little free time. So, I am not as lonely as I made it sound in the previous paragraph. In fact, the only reason I often find myself drinking alone, is because I can't resist the call of a bubble bath while enjoying a few drinks and watching The Colbert Report. And, while drinking in the bath is extremely fun, it does give the phrase "drowning your sorrows" a different connotation.

On to the dating front. I am afraid that I don't have many stories to tell. I have mentioned some of my dating experiences in the past and they tend to not be that great. One could easily assume that I am either very picky or very unlucky when it comes to the dating world. Well, I guess luck has to run out some time, even if it is bad luck, because I actually have a boyfriend at the moment! What?!?! Me having a boyfriend?!?! It is so unlike me, I know. But, what can I say? I met someone who is a sucker for punishment and therefore enjoys spending time with me. BF, as he will henceforth be known as, even thinks I am good-looking and I believe him because he is a crappy liar. He is older than me by a few years and has his life way more together than me. In a twist worthy of Shyamalan's early work, The Sixth Sense or Unbreakable and not The Lady in the Water or The Happening, he is a political conservative whereas I have a heart. Fortunately, he does think I am smarter than him and that makes up for the political differences because at least we agree on something. He has told me, more than once, that he used to think he was smart until he met me. I don't need to tell you how much I love that. Especially if you know me at all and know how much of a megalomaniac I am.  We met around New Year's and have been dating for about two and a half months. To be honest, I am a bit wary of the relationship because we haven't had a huge fight yet. We have had small disagreements and he stood me up, sort of, one time but, other than that, it's been pretty smooth sailing and I am not used to that. I am used to turbulence. I am used to Life of Pi style storms that capsize cruisers and leave small boys to cohabit with tigers in a lifeboat. Although I was not the biggest fan of that movie, I hope you have seen it or that reference holds no water. I don't know how much more I can say as I don't recall what his response was when I told him I may write about him. Also, I don't want to jinx anything so I should really not mention anything more though I am pretty sure he will come up in the future.

I guess that brings us up to date on the major stuff. I will have to really start thinking about what to write next. I am going to have to start doing things and that sounds exciting. I am also sure I can reach into my past for some interesting stories to tide me over now and then. I may also re-start my "Reasons Why I Am Going to Hell" but, either I have gotten nicer or I am more numb to what I say, because I don't come across those as often as I used to. I also owe you a recent picture of me but I have not gotten my haircut yet so you will have to wait. 'Til next time.

Public Service Announcement

I am debating on whether to make this a very long post or to break it up in small segments. Considering how inconsistent I am with my posting I am leaning towards the former although the latter would probably be best. Once again, thanks to the few of you who still follow this blog. You might say that I am not a demanding blogger and that I don't expect you to spend many hours reading my many entries. Closer to the truth is that I am a neglectful blogger and thus have to keep thanking you for your continued interest in reading my misadventures.

One more thing, I am excited that, sometime back, we went through the 1000 page views milestone. I should have prepared some sort of concert with some sort of price but I just now noticed it. I shall have to start planning something for when we get to 5000 page views. As to what to do, I have no idea. I may bring it up later  when we are closer and see if you guys have any ideas. Anyway, thanks for sticking with me this long.

Also, I have to get through all this so bear with me, I am sorry for the last post. I needed to get that off my chest and you guys were my only outlet. This actually segues really well into my actual post, which begins now.

Today's PSA is, as most everything in this blog, all about me. I am ISO (in search of, for those of you not in the know) a best friend. I had one but apparently I have misplaced her. I am not too demanding. So far my best friends have been women, but that is not a requirement. I think I could just as well have a best friend that is a guy but guys tend to have weird interests like sports and cars which I have no interest in. Moving on, my best friend has to be fun and willing to listen to inane ramblings that may go on for hours sometimes, especially during road trips. I am known for once spending the whole drive to Waco, about a three hour drive, speaking non-stop about Edgar Allan Poe. That was, of course, two best friends ago. I often wonder if that long diatribe had anything to do with why she is no longer my best friend. Actually, I am fairly certain that her getting married and becoming religious might have had something to do with our growing apart. I have not seen her since she helped me get home after the Odessa incident. We had already been growing apart then and since we have not spoken or seen each other. You could say I am ungrateful but we really did grow too far apart and had to claim irreconcilable differences.

After her, I transitioned smoothly to my next best friend. She was the one that made me realize that I had to add an amendment to my "helping people move" rule. Right now, I would say my status as a best friend has been removed and whether I am still even a friend remains to be seen. Let me update you on this relationship. After I helped her move, she started dating again. She dated several people and then she started fixating on one. They started dating exclusively and, after a few months, signed a domestic partnership. Now, she has moved in with her girlfriend. This would be a wonderful love story, if a short one, if it weren't for the fact that the new girlfriend hates me. We had an argument once, after having a few drinks while we were both stubborn, and she has held that against me ever since. Plus, she was jealous of my friendship with my best friend and how close we were. Unfortunately, that was enough to drive a wedge in our friendship and thus I find myself best-friend-less.

That's life though. I am sad, but I know it is for the best. Now, on to the fun part, finding a new best friend. I am currently accepting applications and resumes. Anyone interested in applying for the position will have to fulfill certain requirements. They can be of either gender as I am an equal opportunity befriender (I know that is not a word but go with me on this one. Also, if you are questioning my writing skills, you need not apply.) Also, I have no preference on sexual orientation when it comes to friends, as evidenced by the fact that my last best friend was a lesbian. You will however have to be at least a little bit smart and think that I am at least kind of funny. You will need to have previous experience. I do not have the patience or time to teach you the ropes of best-friend-ship. If you are interested in the position but have no previous experience, you can always apply for the lower position of just friend or maybe acquaintance depending on how interesting you are. Those positions come with fewer benefits, like me not helping you move, but you will still get my loyalty and an ear and a shoulder when needed. As a best friend you would receive the same benefits as a friend plus I will help you move and you would take precedence over other friends and, at times, family. Anyone interested can contact me in any which way you can. This will help me determine how ingenious and imaginative you are, both of which are important qualities you should have.

To quote the great Tobias, "Let the great experiment begin!!!" I look forward to receiving your applications and resumes. All serious inquiries will be considered fairly and a decision shall be made hopefully within a week. I am expecting some really great and amazing people to apply so if you are not selected for the position don't take it personally, there was just someone better. It is not that I don't care about you but that something better came along so don't be mad or upset at me. It's your own fault for not being all you can be. If you are not selected this time around, you can always try and hone your skills for next time I need a best friend. Maybe then you will be worth my time. It's not everyday you can become best friends with someone as awesome, smart, funny, and humble as me so take a chance. It might be your lucky day.

I am a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad friend.

And a bad blogger to boot. Honestly, I have had some things to write about for a while. I just haven't made myself get on here and get with it lately. Let me update you on a few things first. No, I have not gotten my clipboard back. Yes, I wussed out and turned in her application so I don't have the thief's number anymore. I think this is a lost cause so I may have to let it go. You gotta know when to cut your losses. Next, unfortunately my jersey number for The Sons of Pitches will not be Pi, but 42. Or 44. At this point, who cares, right? Just kidding. I still love the team and am looking forward to our fourth practice. I have realized though that the sport is a lot more dangerous than I was initially told. For example, on our second practice, a ball hit me on my left thigh. I am not saying I overreacted, but I wore an athletic cup for the third practice. But when one of our teammates got hit on the chin with the ball on our third practice, I realize that a cup is not enough. I need a freakin' suit of armor to play this sport. Unfortunately, those are not easily accessible or conductive to a good range of movement. Plus, I don't think it would meet the uniform requirements. All caught up? Let's move on.

Allow me to whine for a moment. I had a horrible week. It didn't start out too bad. I was off Monday since it was Memorial Day (insert something good about soldiers here to make you feel better and make me look good). But Tuesday, oh god Tuesday, was a whole different story. Now I don't want to be all gross, but we all know I am going to so brace yourself. Let's just say that, halfway through my morning shift at work, I kept getting the urge to pee. Let's also say that, right before lunch, I realized I was peeing blood. I don't wanna say this scared the living daylights out of me, but I started writing a will before realizing I had nothing to bequeath to anyone but debts. So during lunch I went home and looked at the ever handy WebMD site. It said that it was likely a urinary tract infection. Under home remedies, it said to drink lots of fluids and specifically cranberry juice. I called work and informed them that I would be unable to return to work and immediately headed to the grocery store to buy cranberry juice. I got one of those one liter bottles of it and downed it hoping it would help. Let me just say this, cranberry juice should never be drunk without some form of liquor accompanying it. Then I just sat at the toilet for the next few hours as the urge to pee would not abate and it was pointless to go anywhere. I cannot say if the juice did much but by the end of the day I had stopped peeing blood, even though the discomfort was still there, and I thought the worst was over.

I was wrong. On Wednesday I got up and figured I would go to work. I realized, when I was driving to work, that I wasn't all there. My reaction time was slower than usual and I was moving slow. Well, slower. Touche. I must say that I hate doctors. The last time I went to one, I was forced to go by my parents. This time, I willingly made an appointment and left work shortly after I had arrived.

Later that morning when I got to the doctor's office, he was not too happy with the fact that I had not had a physical in over ten years and that I had not had a tetanus shot in just about as long. He asked what my symptoms were and I described them to him, adding that now I actually had body aches and was sore all over. He proceeded to examine me, a bit too roughly if you ask me. I mean, when he was checking for hernias and asked me to cough, I could swear he applied so much pressure a tear may have slid down my cheek. Then again, my body was just probably a bit more tender because of being sick but I still held a grudge. To make matters worse, he looked perplexed when he announced that I had a urinary tract infection. He said that men rarely ever got them. I did not say much, but what the hell? Was he questioning my manhood? I mean, he knew I was a guy. He almost made me cry while handling my equipment. Can you see why I hate doctors? Also, he said guys "rarely" got them. He did not say "never." Let's just say I was happy to get my prescription for antibiotics and get going.

Does the story get better? For most people it would after that. For me, it did not. I dropped the prescription at the pharmacy and they told me it was going to be about an hour and a half. I asked, very nice and politely, if they would please give me a call when they got the prescription ready. The nice lady said she would, so, when I got home I took a nap trusting I would receive a call to wake me up and pick my meds up. Four hours later, Medea got home from work. First thing she asked was why did I not go to work. Simple enough, I did not feel well. Plus, I did go to work, I just did not stay. I told her I had to go get my meds and she said that she would offer to go get them for me but she had to cook dinner. I figured that was fair so I went and got my own meds. They are supposed to be taken with food so I also bought a whole bunch of cans of chicken noodle soup and I picked up some Azo the doctor had recommended. For those of you who don't know what Azo is, and I speak mainly to any guy readers I might have (as if!), Azo is a urinary analgesic that makes peeing less painful when you have a UTI. It also makes your pee a bright orange which is really weird. Back to the story, I get home and start preparing a can of soup for myself so I can take the meds. I am moving really slow as my whole body aches and I am really tired. Medea, upon noticing my state, commented that the reason I felt so miserable was because I was just too lazy and had slept the day away. Oh My Freaking god!!! I could have slapped her if it hadn't taken so much energy. I was furious though. There I was taking care of myself, making my own soup, picking up my own meds, feeling like I am dying, and she has the decency to say that. She did not stop there. She said that if I wanted to feel better, I should clean around the house. When I did not respond to that she then suggested I just go outside and just walk or run for a while so I could shake the lethargy off. She wanted me to go running! I could not believe it. I was speechless, which was a good thing because who knows what I would have said. I did get her back a few minutes later though because she said that she had a headache. I quickly suggested that she go for a run to get rid of her headache. Funny, right? She didn't think so. So now she was mad because I was upset because of what she said. I have no idea how she does it, but she always turns things around and gets mad at me for being offended because she insulted me.

Anyway, I would love to say that I felt better right away but I actually felt worse before I felt better. That night I had a fever of 101 degrees. Not too high a fever. What sucked though is that I had not had a fever in over twenty years and I can no longer say that. But it does paint a picture of how sick I was. In the past, regardless of how sick I got, I had never gotten a fever. I would get close, but no fever. That is when I started worrying. That night was the toughest one but once the fever broke, the worst was over. I still took Thursday off to fully rest and allow the meds to get me back to feeling better and take away all the pains and aches. The headache was the last to leave on Thursday night.

I don't want to say I have become paranoid, especially since I have been one to always check my urine to make sure I am drinking enough water, but let's just say I pay extra attention now. Unfortunately, I scared the hell out of myself Friday at work when I went to pee and realized my urine was a bright red. I almost had a mini-panic attack, which is not good when you are using a urinal and you have to keep aiming, until I realized that I was still taking the freaking Azo and just had not had enough water because I had been busy at work. That is one of the most relieving realizations I have had while relieving myself.

So that is my week in a nut shell. Why then is my post called "I am a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad friend?" Give me a minute. I am getting to it. I just don't know the meaning of the word "brevity." Anyway, when I posted on my facebook that I wasn't feeling well, I was flooded with people asking if they could do anything for me or bring me some soup. I even had someone offer something that made me blush. Well, it didn't make me blush so much as it made me wonder what the hell he was thinking. But I digress. My best friend checked up on me daily and kept asking if I needed anything and could not be any sweeter. She kept saying that if it weren't for my parents she would come see me and see what I needed. I called her today after work to let her know I was all better and I find out that she has strep throat. I had nothing to say other than, "well, call me when you get better." See how horrible that is? But I could not bring myself to offer anything. I mean, I am still on antibiotics and I am pretty sure my immune system is still down and I already spent a whole week sick. I can't risk getting strep. Yes, I am selfish. One thing I can guarantee though, I will not tell her to go running so that she will feel better. Hey, I guess I am not that bad after all, right?

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.

"MJ"*

*To all my readers, this is my first guest post. It is not from someone famous but from a very dear friend of mine. Without further ado I give you the post from my friend Hilly:

He was a modern day cowboy....

When I first met MJ I was 16 and still living with my parents. He and his wife had just moved to the neighborhood. You could tell by looking at his red leathered skin that he had lived a rough, wild life, but his sincere blue eyes and his assuring smile reflected his true nature; a kind, non judging cowboy waiting in the distance for when he is needed. Little did I know that two years later I would discover how true those words would be.

Eighteen. This was a dark period in my life. My world as I had understood it had crumbled as the relationship and the place in my family was destroyed and my " best friend" who I loved so dearly had abandoned me simultaneously. The slight confidence I had built was obliterated and I furthered my self worthlessness via Marlboro cigarettes. Unable to sleep I decided to slowly kill myself with a pack of cigarettes outside the front of my house only to find out that my parents noticed and consequently locked me out. Broken, pained with the knowledge that my family lost all promise in me, anguished that they had given up on me, shamed that they didn't want me anymore, walked away.

Aimlessly I walked pointlessly up and down my street not knowing what to do for I had no shoes, no keys, no phone, no money. Then I noticed a blue glow coming from my neighbors home and on closer inspection the door open with a glass screen shielding it. Hesitantly I tip toed over not knowing why my neighbor would be up and how he would react to a troubled eighteen year old girl knocking on his door in the middle of the night. Sheepishly I rapped the glass and he appeared. He looked at me he was not alarmed, inquisitive, but not condeming. He spoke, hello. Embarresed I asked him if I could use his phone to call a friend, that I was locked out of my house. "Of course" he said, "its not trouble at all I am just watching old movies. I have insomnia and can not sleep. You're welcome to stay and watch some with me until you can reach someone." I stayed a little while, smoked a ciggarette with him and called a friend". He never pried about the paramedics earlier that week and only said to me " You know I have seen how you take care of your brother and sister and how you take them to school, you're a good kid." I laughed as I tried to hold back the tears. With a warm knowing glance he said nothing more and we just sat. Being with him those few moments was so healing. Without words he told me everything was going to be ok, my life was not over, and that I was a worthwhile person. We never had spent any other time like that together since that night, except for the occasional passing conversation outside my parents house, irregardless an understood connection remained. I hope he knows how much he helped me that night and how I will never forget him.

March 27, 2010 MJ died of pnemonia a complication from lung cancer. He was only 2 days shy of his 60th birthday. I was so happy to see so many people at his simple funeral-the way he wanted it. I regret never verbally telling him the thought I am sharing with you but was comforted by a thank you letter his widowed wife had written me. She said "MJ always thought of you, saying what a fine young lady you are"...

Thank you MJ, thank you.

Happy Birthday, Medea!

Today was the birthday of that special, and by "special" I intend all meanings including the good and the bad, lady who gave birth to me. I know you were all aware of that since I wrote that long post about the dilemma of what to do for her birthday. The day has passed and I have to report what happened so that you'll know that I listen to you.

My whole weekend, at least the days, revolved around her. The nights were fun. Let's talk about that first.

Friday night started with happy hour with some co-workers after work. From then on I joined some friends at another restaurant for another happy hour. The rest of the night was spent with those friends and a very opportune bottle of tequila. Good times were had by all and some very random conversations. I am not one to usually like tequila as I consider myself a vodka person. I do have a very soft spot in my heart for margaritas though. Well, after several of those, and about a liter and a half of tequila, I invited my friends to do a guest post. I figured I should tell you in advance so you won't be surprised. Especially since I just received one of them and I will be posting it soon. Anyway, it was a fun night.

Saturday night I went to see Death at a Funeral with some guy I met online. After that was over, the movie was good but the company left something to be desired, I ventured on my own to Mabel's to see a benefit drag show and hoping to meet up with some friends. Unfortunately, my friends were a no show. Fortunately, there was this cute, nerdy guy who I kind of talked to and, had I not been too much of a chicken, whose phone number I should have asked for. He is working on his dissertation to get his math PhD. That is enough for me to like him right there. I mean, what else could I possibly ask for, right? Talking to him was fun and the drag show was interesting, so despite the fact that my friends were a no show, it was a good night. (The guy's name was Max and this is a long shot but if anyone knows him you know where to find me.)

Those were my nights this weekend. My days, however, were consumed by Medea. On Saturday I was at my sister's house. She planned a cook-out to celebrate mother's birthday. I spent most of the day there and, despite wanting to leave before Medea got there, I stayed because my sister kept saying that Medea really wanted me to be there. So I stayed and the long ice was broken and me and Medea exchanged our first words in months. Then today my dad cooked liver and onions and the whole family got together again. Another all day ordeal. As you can see, especially by how much of this post was dedicated to her, Medea monopolized my weekend and I have now eaten enough cake to make my search for a soul mate near pointless. At least the family rift is closed now and we can let the healing begin.

As a last note, since this is supposed to be a short post and it is late already, I figured I would tell you all what I ended up getting her for her birthday. I thought of all your great suggestions: a card, flowers, gift card, perfume, etc. I have decided that no material thing could compare to the greatest gift I could bestow upon Medea. The one thing that I knew she wanted and that no one else could give her. I realized that the one thing that would really make her day and that she should count herself lucky to have was... the joy of being able to converse with me once again. I mean, I am awesome and I know she was dying to have me talk to her and to enjoy the wonderful conversation that no one but yours truly could provide. Great gift, huh?

P.S. Please check back soon as I will be posting the first guest post from one of my friends.
P.P.S. Shout out to the G-Man whose voyeuristic tendencies allow me one more reader if not one more commenter. I did not want to use your real name but you know who you are.

I am a goner...

Maybe I am being a little over dramatic. You would too if you had your own conspiracy theory (as every good blogger does). Let me lay it on you.

I have a very strong suspicion that bugs are trying to get me. I am not crazy, though. It's not all bugs that are after me. I do have a very lukewarm relationship with ladybugs. As long as they don't surprise me and come at me from nowhere, I am very friendly with ladybugs. But, other than that, bugs don't like me. I live by one rule. Well, I live by many of them but I am only sharing one at a time. I don't remember, or am even aware, of all the rules. The rule of the day is: reciprocity. If you don't like me, I am not wasting my time trying to like you. Bugs don't like me, therefore, I don't like them. Simple cause and effect really.

Loyal readers will remember the attack of the killer wasp that happened a few weeks back. What readers don't know is that the wasp attack is not the first attack by the bug militia. A few weeks before I started my voyage into the world of blogging, I suffered my first surprise assault. I was sitting on my desk at work when, out of the corner of my eye, I see something moving. My sharp senses and superb reflexes allowed me to locate and avoid a spider that was rapidly moving towards me. I slammed the desk with my palm and the vibrations made the spider stop. The next few minutes seemed to be taken from an old western movie as me and my foe just stared at each other waiting for someone to make the first move. Usually at this point I would provide a long description of what the spider looked like but, unfortunately, I can't do so. And this time, it is not because my descriptive writing is lacking. The reason this time is that, even though I had about ten minutes to stare at my nemesis, I was not able to really observe its physical characteristics due to fact that the spider was barely about an eighth of an inch big. That is including leg span. I can tell you that much. It had legs and a very small, dot-like body. Regardless of the minuteness of my enemy, I knew it had fangs full of lethal poison and was just biding its time until I lost eye contact so that it could attack. I had to act fast so, after ten minutes, I figured I had to end the stand off and take action. Very carefully and slowly, as to not alarm the deadly assassin, I picked up my phone and called one of the girls in the back office to come kill it for me. In case you were wondering, there was mocking but I didn't care. After all, I was alive.

This brings us to today. Just when I thought it was safe to let my guard down, the enemy resurfaced. One of the first tasks I have to perform at work is bringing in the newspaper. It was a beautiful morning and I was in good spirits. I happily sauntered outside into the brisk spring morning. I picked up the newspaper and, as I slowly made my way back inside trying to soak up the sun and breathe in the fresh air, I saw it. This time it was bigger. I swear to you it was almost an inch and a half. Unlike the first, it did not have a small dot-like body but a big round one with stubby legs and I think it almost looked hairy. It was walking into the building at a fast pace and, despite my best efforts at trying to divert it from that path, made it into the lobby. For those who don't know, that is where my desk is. See the similarities? Both of them were spiders and both of them were at work. I guess the next attack is gonna be a bee in my car to keep the flying insects in the vehicle motif. Back to today. The new attacker was stronger than its predecessor. So I had to act faster this time. It only took me five minutes of staring before I called a girl from the back to kill it for me. She came in laughing, as she had heard of the previous spider, but when she saw the new one she asked me to get a broom. I promptly provided her with her weapon of choice. She brought her weapon to bear and slammed it down on the would-be killer. The enemy was stronger than expected and, even after three smacks, it kept trying to walk even though it kept oozing some really disgusting, sticky substance. The girl finally gave up and decided it was best to just sweep it outside.

I have survived, yet again, and foiled the plans of the bug overlord that keeps sending its minions after me. I know they are out to destroy, if not my life, at least my reputation as I have to call on girls to assist (rescue?) me. Working where I work, I have few options as to who to call in times of need. Besides, I rather live emasculated by having girls kill spiders for me than die bravely facing a foe that leaves me frozen with fear.

The war, however, rages on. How long I will be able to survive and thwart the increasing and ever stronger attacks of the dreaded bugs? No one knows. I shall keep you posted on the progress of this battle from the trenches. All I know is that I am not giving up without a fight. Even if it is a girl that is doing the fighting for me.

My Mother Medea*

*No, this is not a reference to Tyler Perry. Look further back in literature.

I know it is unusual for me to be posting two days in a row but I have a conundrum that I need assistance with. Now, I know I cannot count on my readers to provide any feedback judging from the lack of comments about the picture dilemma, but I suspect that just merely rambling on about it may help me make a decision. Let me start with a story...

Suppose you had family in El Paso. Also suppose your grandfather passed away so you have to go to the funeral. This means that you have to travel about 1200 miles with your parents round-trip. Now, offhand, you know you are obnoxious and that such close quarters are just not going to provide a good environment for family growth. Well, everything seems to go well and you are on your way back. Halfway through the trek back your mother, which we will call Medea, starts making ludicrous demands. This makes you waste about 2 hours of travel in a dull city we shall call Odessa. After two pointless hours, tempers escalate and you lose your cool and end up calling Medea, your mother, "ignorant". After this, things go horribly awry. First you refuse to listen to them so you put on earphones and drive around erratically till you find the place Medea was looking for and park. She proceeds to get out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind her. You drive off in search of something to eat while they tend to their business and try calling their phones to tell them to call you when they have concluded their business. You realize then that your dad left his cell phone on the car and Medea is not answering. So you turn around and find Medea bawling in the parking lot and your dad comes to you and tells you to just leave and drive home leaving them there. Remember home is about 300 miles away and your parents are older and not feeling well so you get out of the car and walk away telling them to take the car expecting them to cool down while they tend to their business and to call you to pick you up and have a silent, cold drive home.

Two hours later, while sitting at a park watching Kathy Griffin's TV show "My Life on the D-List" season 5 on your iPod (wow, look at all the plugs in one single sentence), you have the grim realization that they are not calling and that you are stuck about 300 miles from home with two days before you have to be at work. Also, the car they drove off in is your car. It is a grim realization indeed. End of story.

Now, since you are all experts at pretending now, let's pretend that this happened to someone you all might know. Someone like, let's say, yours truly. Now if this were yours truly's story, it would not end there. I would go on to say that, with the help of a good friend, I managed to get home 24 hours later. When I get home, I find Medea and my dad in the kitchen with visitors so I head straight into my bedroom and fall to bed exhausted as I have work in the a.m. It is later that I realize that my parents are still mad at me and are not talking to me. Now, I was expecting their anger to become subdued in a couple of days, two weeks at most. I was surprised that after a month they, and especially Medea, were not speaking to me. My birthday came and went and I got a phone call from my dad and a text message from Medea saying, "Feliz Cumpleanos y que Dios te bendiga." For those of you unfortunate enough not to know Spanish, that means "Happy Birthday and God bless you." (Well, almost. I could not figure out how to type the special "n" letter for the word year in Spanish). I felt that was a gutsy move, you know, mentioning God when she was not speaking to me. So far, the freeze is still on. My dad is talking to me more but Medea's attitude remains unaltered.

Finally, we arrive at the conundrum that prompted this whole post. Medea's birthday is coming up this week. Now, I now I should be respectful because she is my mother, and I probably should start by not calling her Medea but I am not about to go back and make all those changes in the post, but I am also still a bit hurt for being left behind and getting nothing for my birthday. What to do? Should I buy her a gift? Should I just let her birthday pass unnoticed? Should I just send her a text saying "Happy Birthday and may Nature bless you with health"? On that last one, I refuse to use God's name as she did since I don't really believe he exists and if he does, I do not want to incur his wrath by using his name in vain during a petty act of revenge against my mother.

All this just to say, what should I do? I was hoping writing all this would help me decide. I still am clueless. I will say this though. I have learned a valuable lesson. No, it is not "don't ever call your parents ignorant". It is, "don't ever call your parents ignorant when you are about 300 miles from home and they are likely to drive off in your car leaving you with no way home and freezing you out for months to the extent that they forget your birthday and then you have to make a difficult decision about how to act on their birthday because it is coming up." Yes, it is not a very widespread lesson. In fact, it is very specific. But I have learned it nonetheless.

Round and Round We Go

Apparently, my friends seem to think that I need to date more. How do I know that? Simple. They keep telling me so. The fact that it is my life and that I am not great at dating and that I have had horrible experiences in the past, does not matter to them.

So I could stand to date more. I will give them that but it's not like dating is fun. At least not for me, anyway. Consider my last three dates. There was sock-sandal guy, young-anorexic-model guy, and old-creepy guy. None of whom are remotely long term relationship material. For example, sock-sandal guy, who earned his nickname by wearing socks and sandals to every date we ever had. This includes our advent into the Dallas Symphony during which I had sock-sandal guy wearing jeans and sandals with socks to my left and a lady in a fur coat to my right. Fun? You tell me. Then there was young-anorexic-model guy who ate nothing but lettuce on our date and then chose Monsters vs Aliens as the movie afterwards. Did I mention he was 19 and was studying fashion merchandising because he wanted to be a model? Last, and maybe least though I am not sure yet, was old-creepy guy. Now, I don't mind dating older guys. Anyone who knows me knows that. This guy, however, kept lying about his age and kept getting older as the evening progressed. I had to cut the date short in fear that he might die before the evening was over. Not only that, but I am quite sure that he "self medicated" before our date as he seemed out of it and did not make much sense. That is not what made him creepy though. His creepy factor came when he kept leaning real close and kept asking me if I liked "being approached". Now, I still have no idea what that means or entails but I am fairly certain that it gave me the creeps. To top the evening off, as I was answering a friend's call outside the bar, I happened to look inside and saw him giving the bartender his number. Yes, I have had some great moments in my dating past.

Back to the present, or at least the near past, this weekend my friend decided that it would be a good thing if she tried to find me a date. Apparently, the perfect place to find a date for someone like me is Craigslist. Nothing really screams "long term relationship with serious guy who is not just looking for the next hook up" than Craigslist. I must admit I was intrigued at first. My friend pulled it up and in a few short minutes we were appalled by the ads that people post in there. I would be tempted to repeat what the names of the ads were, but I am really trying to keep this blog family friendly. Well... maybe not family friendly, but at least PG-13 as I know I have readers with high sensitivity. I must say looking through the ads was a rather fun experience. My friend and I did not know whether to be shocked, amused or grossed out by some of them. Also, some of the pictures those guys post in there just make you think that some people have no sense of shame. We did get a few laughs out of it but it made me realize that you must be pretty desperate to post an ad on the Craigslist personals.

Obviously, I posted an ad. I had to. I mean, I am kind of desperate. Or, at least, I think I am so I fit the criteria. So, to sum everything up, yes I am trying to date again. I have bounced back from being rejected for being "too big". Also, I guess I should not say I "bounced" if I am trying to convey a sense of non-fatness. I must choose my words more carefully.

About the whole body image theme, I did happen to weigh myself yesterday for fun and was not amused by what I discovered. Since the last time I weighed myself two years ago, I have gained 20 pounds. I must definitely do something about that. For starters, I am only eating mini candy bars instead of normal sized ones. I guess that won't really help since, although the serving size is smaller, I have upped my intake from zero candy bars to three mini ones in a day. I also plan to do some sort of exercise, starting tomorrow. Or the day after. Maybe next week, but definitely soon. Anyway, I need to do something to move my body from an "O" shape to an "l" shape. Then again, that may never happen and I am trying hard to fool myself into believing I am okay with that.

On the whole "looks" category, I have learned some people hate my picture with the green sweater so a friend from work took a picture of me today. It is the one displayed at the top of this post and if I get enough comments saying I should change the picture, I just might do that. Notice the non-commitment part of that statement saying that I "might" instead of saying I would do it. I guess I shall let you all, yes all 5 of you, decide. If this sounds as a hook to try to get you to leave a comment, it is. Comments make me happy. Anyway, I have rambled on too long and you probably know more about me than you ever wished to know. Good night.

The Odyssey Continues

I did not realize that the hard part about writing a blog is trying to come up with things to write about. I have a lot of personal stories but I wanna save those for when nothing is really happening in my life. As for today, things happened.

First, I joined that dating site last night. A few details about that. If I ever thought that the gay community is kinda shallow and all about looks, I was right. While filling out the profile information, along with the usual details like hair color and height, one is encouraged (forced?) to provide weight and waist size. WEIGHT & WAIST SIZE!?!? Needless to say I was flabbergasted! Mainly because neither one of those numbers is as small as I, or any other guy, would like them to be. Yes, the site asked for some other rather personal (sexual) details but I still think that waist size and weight is going way too far. I have not weighed myself in years because weight is the one instance in which I believe that ignorance is bliss. Due to my high mass content, which is probably higher than the number I entered, I had very low expectations. I was all ready to settle for a dateless existence and then life just threw me for a loop...

I was having a really boring lunch. Mind-numbingly dull to say the least, when I get a text message from my best friend to call her as soon as possible. Being the optimist person that I am, I assumed something horrible had happened. When I finally get ahold of her she tells me that she just met someone she thinks will be perfect for me. Apparently, giving up on dating was just what I needed for life to send someone my way. I don't know much about the guy yet, but I like what I know so far. Life is full of paradoxes and is super annoying like that. I would say more but I don't want to jinx anything, even if I don't believe in jinxes. So, technically the dating site did not work out, but things may be looking up after all. Not funny, I know, but at least not depressing and for me that's an improvement.

Well, signing off for tonight. The posts may not be all that, but I am still working at them so bear with me and maybe they will get better (I am not making any promises).