Searching Questions

One in twenty people will go to jail in their lifetime. I know six friends and several acquaintances who have spent at least a night there. I’m not sure what that says about my social circle. I’m not saying I haven’t done things that could have landed me in jail—I just didn’t get caught.

I don’t seem like the type of guy who would end up in jail. My tattoos might suggest otherwise to a casual observer, though.

Why am I thinking about this? I was searching for a post about the time Tinkerbell spent a night in jail. It was over a domestic argument with her baby-daddy at the time. They took her in just to cool her off. I’m sure I wrote about it back then, but searching through 2,000 posts without a tag is like fishing for a needle in a haystack.

It has to be out there. It was too funny not to record.

The Past, Shimmer

 It was Tinkerbell's birthday on Saturday. I texted her the day before asking if she had special plans and didn't get a reply. I didn't hear from her, so I didn't bother texting her on Saturday. Tink has been distancing herself from me for a while. I am not sure why. Anyone who read my book will note this is not the first time. I can only guess at the reason. 

Tinkerbell is a lot like me in that respect. She cuts everyone out eventually. I wouldn't be surprised if she shows up again without explanation sometime in the future. Years ago, this would bother me more than it does today. I don't care anymore. I lack the energy.

Excerpt:

Shimmer Originally Published, April 3, 2009

 "When you are all happily ever after," I start. "You better not forget about me."

"I haven't so far, have I?" She replies-- but that is not an answer. I know she will have to let me go. I cannot play the same part in her life.

As I drive home, I can't keep from wondering: Who will need me now?

We're here and now, but will we ever be again?
Cause I have found
All that shimmers in this world is sure to fade
Away again

It's too far away for me to hold, too far away

It's too far away for me to hold Its too far away... Guess I'll let it go-- Shimmer, Fuel

It's Me

I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser
Midnights become my afternoons
When my depression works the graveyard shift
All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room

Friday, Sam and I went to Green Lantern for dinner. I ordered a small gluten-free pizza, and Sam ordered a salad. Our conversation was stilted. We are both people that articulate the things we are thinking, and neither of us has anything new going on in our lives to discuss. 

Sam ordered a second tall Blue Moon beer with her meal. It takes her a long time to finish off these drinks, and she is usually a bit buzzed after. I found myself staring at the glass, wanting her to finish. Sam will not leave before her beer is done. She likes her Blue Moons.

I wanted to leave. I am less inclined to enjoy these nights out. They are triggering in a complex way that I find hard to explain even here. I would never try explaining it to her for fear of insulting her. We have been friends for more than fifteen years. Much has happened during that time. We have both changed. Like an old married couple, you wake up one day and realize you don't recognize the person sleeping next to you.

Stoically, I am sliding into this new phase of my life, yet still hoping for one last fling to extend the fun. Growing bitter about my choices, even though I know I would not change them if given a chance. 

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me

It's me, hi, everybody agrees, everybody agrees...Anti Hero, Taylor Swift

Originally Posted March 7, 2009

Six Months Ago

"You've wasted your summer," she said, not for the first time, as if summer marked some invisible boundary of importance more significant than the other seasons.

Sam drew out another cigarette and lit it. She was not ready to leave. The shadows were deepening around us. It was a bright early evening when we entered the restaurant now, no light showed through between the window blinds. Another sign that summer was coming to an end.

I tried to form a reply. I sputtered partial phrases, none of which made much sense. "Don't get defensive, " she continued. "You need to find someone more mature. Someone that can offer you something mentally."

It sounded horribly boring to me. Like watching paint dry-- acrylic paint, not oil-based. No fumes to enjoy. I don't really want someone to challenge me intellectually. I don't really put much thought into things, except people, maybe, and you really don't need a Ph.D. to observe people.

* * *

Last weekend:

Tinkerbell sits at the table in front of my computer, feeding her addiction to mySpace. I am sitting on the counter in the kitchen facing her. "See, he is avoiding the issue, and so are you," I say.

"How can he and you not fight? You are the most annoying person I know! He avoids fighting because he is afraid of losing you. Which means he is probably suppressing issues; eventually, that will make him unhappy."

She listens, and we talk more. The conversation is mentally stimulating. It is a side no one else sees.

Archieves

As promised, I quickly pulled a few posts from the archives. I still think I wrote better back then.

Ouch!
Originally Posted September 13, 2007

Last night I went to pick up the boys from their mom's house. Max was last to the car--as always. He walked over to the truck with the hood up, hiding his face. Here is the reason.

Apparently, he wiped out on his rollerblades. My first thoughts were, ouch, boys will be boys, and god, I hope that doesn't scar.

*     *     *

It did not scar. Can you believe the big blue eyes on that kid?

What Is Sexy

Originally Posted, September 24, 2007

Well, what is sexy to you then?" She asks. "Go! Write it for me!"

An easy question. I think she just wants to get off on my words.

Sexy is all in the mind. It's the look that says she knows what you are thinking and the smirk that says-- she likes it.

It's the lingering sigh after a kiss; the prolonged gaze that makes you shiver; the darting tongue that leaves you wanting more.

It's the scent inhaled from the nape of the neck; the touch that raises the hairs on your skin; the promise whispered in your ear.

It's arched backs, open lips, and doe eyes. It's the silhouette in the dark; the memory that never fades; the voice in your mind.

It's desire restrained; vulnerable innocence; freedom-- bordering on narcissism.

It's all in the mind.

*     *     *

This post was so long ago I cannot remember who asked me the question. I still had a romantic streak in me back then. 

Rewind to Present

Originally Posted, June 21, 2010

I'm dodging through evening traffic on my way to meet Milla. I have my phone in my lap. I am still thirty minutes away from the restaurant when I get a text message. I figure it is Milla texting, letting me know she will be late. It's Rose instead, the same Rose who stood me up for Stone Temple Pilots.

Rose: Hey, what's up?

I stare at the phone, wondering if this is some kind of test. Milla knows Rose. Is she having Rose text me to see if I will reply, and if so, what will I say? My state has banned texting and driving, a law I have failed to embrace yet. Ignoring Rose is also something I have failed to embrace.

Bathwater: Hey gorgeous, I've been meaning to come to see you.

Rose: I thought maybe we could hang out sometime before work.

Bathwater: Seriously? Why have you bumped your head or something?

Rose: lol, no!

I left the conversation hanging, afraid that my words were being reported back to Milla and that anything I said to Rose would be used against me. I was being paranoid, but you never know. Milla had quit working at the club two weeks prior. The girls don't talk outside the club.

After my meal with Milla ends abruptly shorter than anticipated, I'm left dodging traffic again. I text Rose.

Bathwater: I'll see you tomorrow night. We'll talk.

The next night I pull out the same shirt, freshly washed and pressed. I wasn't going to let a new shirt go to waste after all. I got to the club late. It was a cool evening for summer. I was moving slowly, and I almost backed out. I sat in a far booth, and immediately Lydia, one of the shot girls, came over to sit with me. I like Lydia. She isn't pushy. She is a cute petite blond, too young to drink but pushing the shots two nights a week and drinking anyway.

Rose sits with us, and the three of us do a few shots. We start discussing my new shirt. Lydia is a fan of Buckle, also. She loves the Buckle style on a guy, she says; I begin to think I'm hitting on the wrong girl I've got Lydia all sewn up...but I like Rose.

An obnoxious group of young want-a-be-players takes the corner booth next to mine. They buy a bottle of booze, try to smoke despite the ban on smoking in public places in our state, and stop every girl that walks by without actually spending any money. They are almost enough to spoil the evening by hanging out of their booth and blocking traffic. After a couple hours, though, they figure out they aren't going to get any free entertainment.

The "players" file out. We break from our conversation to watch them depart. One guy looks over at me, and we lock eyes for a moment. The back corner where we are is cold; I have my left arm wrapped around Rose and my right wrapped around Lydia. The same two girls have been at my table most of the evening. They are snuggled in close. He gives me a puzzled glance, "because you're an asshole." I say to myself and turn back to our conversation.

I take Rose upstairs to dance for me, and we talk. We make plans to go out on her day off, which is Friday. I agree and tell her she won't regret it. I feel her cancellations have more to do with fear and circumstance than her hustling me.

*     *     *

I don't think this one made it into the book. It did not propel the narrative, and I needed to make some cuts.

Preparations And Such

My most popular post over the last year is Not Far, I recently linked this post in another, but it was still high ranking before that. Usually, I can understand why a post has a higher rank. Catchy titles like Birthday or Omnicrom get picked up on Google searches. Not Far does not seem to fit, but it is a good post and an honest moment.

I seemed to have caught a sinus infection over the weekend. It is mild and will probably only last a few days. It could be Covid, but I am not taking another of my home test. I am unsure whether I do the home test incorrectly, but they never come out positive, so I am not bothering this time. It won't make any difference. I work from home today, and most of the symptoms will be gone by tomorrow.

They indicate a chance of rain for all three days of the trip Ava and I are taking next week (Sunday- Tuesday). I don't trust the weather, but it could make for a challenge. We tend to like spending our time outdoors.

I have reached out to the organizers of the Brickword Detroit show but haven't heard back from them yet concerning the specifics of setup times. This is my first time displaying at an event, so I am unsure what to expect. The show doesn't start till 10:00 am. I think they will have us set up the morning before the show and want us to take everything down right after the show is over Sunday night. I can manage that, but I hope it doesn't rain that weekend.

Sam has indicated her desire to help with transporting everything, and I think Max will help too. The twins want to go to the show, but they will not be able to stay a whole day without becoming hungry and bored. I plan to bring them out on the second day in the afternoon. They can help me remove the display when the event is over. 

I am acquiring cardboard boxes in addition to the plastic tubs I already have to transport my display. The show is being heavily promoted online. I am excited to see what others will be showing, and I already have several ideas for what I will display next year.  I'll take a bunch of images. Who knows, you might see parts of my display posted by other content creators on the web.

Words From The Past

Because I have been rummaging through old posts and deciding I was a better writer back then, I am reposting this because it seems relevant. 

Words Give Us Away
Originally Posted, Saturday, August 22, 2009

"Our words give us away." It seems like the phrase should come from the lyrics of a familiar song, but I can't seem to remember the tune. Help me, please, if you do. It is not the spoken words I'm referring to. Those only hold the weight our bodies and our actions give them. "Actions speak louder than words" is one of my favorite mantras.

I am referring to the written words. The post we make on the blogs we pseudo-anonymously hide behind. I have this theory, the more popular the blog, the more contrived the posts. Perhaps that is just sour grapes over my decline in readership. I am often told by some that no one thinks like I do. I haven't decided if that is a bad thing or not. I'm leaning toward feeling it is a good thing-- just not a comforting thing.

So why the title? What am I trying to say? A couple things and nothing. I feel I should be writing but am short on material-- for now. Lately, I'd rather be talking than writing. Though the talking does lead to writing. I have left those in the draft mood for now. I have been reluctant to print what I want to say here because our words give us away.

*     *     *

I had a category on previous blogs, "Too Close To Call." Often cryptic posts eluding how I was feeling fell into this category.

Play The Martyr

Originally Posted Saturday, November 17, 2007

Play the Martyr, stretch out your arms, and call for the nails. It doesn't matter that the crowd has gone home. You could leave on your own. When you're dead, there is no need to take responsibility for what you've known all along.

Play the Martyr, curse their sins till their stones crush your skull. Don't pick yourself up. Let them drag your remains through the mud. An unmarked grave will mark your unremarkable life.

Play the Martyr, hang from the gallows, neck snapped at the spine. You know just how dangerous second-best can be. You settle for lies like you settle for less. Does this make you feel safe?

*     *     *

My writing then was fueled by depression and alcoholic outings. These days, I seldom drink, and my depression is mostly held at bay without the need for antidepressants. Devoid of the chaos I tend to bring into my life, all that is left is to live. Sometimes, that seems like the hardest thing to do.

A Few Changes

On my first blog, I took the time to create several headers, and I would rotate them. I was creative back then. Blogging has always given me a sense of satisfaction. I have always struggled to stay anonymous while honestly writing about myself and my cast of characters. I didn't do an excellent job at anonymity this time because, for a while, I didn't care. 

A Few of My Old Header

Out of caution and consideration, I have tightened things up here. I know once you put something on the internet, it is always on the internet, but for now, I think it is enough to make it hard for people to connect with things will be enough.

Time

The comments I am making on other blogs seem to be a testament to my mood. Self-diagnosing, I'd say seasonal affective disorder has set in. I have not been getting enough sunlight. I decided to up my vitamin D intake, but I don't think it is the same as basking in natural daylight.

I feel locked in stoicism. Silent. Not talking about what is bothering me, unable to clarify my thoughts.

Saturday, Firefly stopped by to pick up a few things she left behind, and it was good to see her. She brought her new boyfriend with her. He is a short, nondescript guy. You wouldn't look twice at him if you saw him on the streets. I see years of struggling ahead for her.

Firefly is currently working two jobs, but she says she is not making much money and wanted her GrubHub bag to start doing that also on the side. Her car is fixed. Her dad paid more money repairing it than it is worth, and it is now a mismatched silver and black. Driving for Gubhub will not extend its life. 

"I wouldn't let her drive," I warned the boyfriend.

Saturday night, I got dinner with Sam at the Enginehouse in Mt. Clemens. She asked me if I remember the Motley Crew/ Aerosmith concert we saw many years ago. It was on a cold October night in sleeting rain. 

"Yes, I remember," I tell her. "It is a post in my book." I pulled out my phone and flipped to the entry. It is hard to believe that it was sixteen years ago. My post-divorce life is well documented in blog posts. The memories still seem fresh. It distorts my perception of time. My earliest posts date back to May of 2005, seventeen years ago. I have a hard time wrapping my head around that. Yet, so much has changed.

I've been playing a mind game lately, imagining what the world will be like in one hundred years from now. From my viewpoint, it is a dystopian outlook, but it would probably seem like a normal progression to someone born in 2005. 

Did you read 1984 when you were going to school? We live in that world. Firefly tried getting me to watch Euphoria on HBO when she was here. I found the reality it portrays disturbing and alien, and I consider myself tuned into the younger generations because I have spent much of the last twenty years involved with them.

Now, I find myself admitting some things I just don't understand. The same way youth cannot understand the way we were raised. It is disheartening. What we learned doesn't work today. It's called old-world thinking. 

I have been watching mindless vampire series lately. Seldon do they portray the reality of living forever. You would have to reinvent yourself every twenty years to keep up with change. I find myself struggling just to keep up with it.

Quixotic

 In the end, Don Quixote denounced his fantasies, saying, "I was mad, and now I am sane." 

I pulled this quote from a post I wrote on December 12, 2005. I was reminded of it when I read Peppy's post. Back then, I still wanted to believe in metaphoric giants and damsels in distress, but even then, I knew they were illusions. 

My age is showing. The conversations I've had with young people lately show me the generation gap between us. Something I seldom encountered before. I feel like I will be cut off by the phrase, "Okay, boomer," at any moment.

I have been pulling back from engaging in conversations. People do not want to debate. If they agree with your viewpoint, they will talk with you, but they want to shut you down if they disagree. People don't think for themselves. They don't question their beliefs and actions. 

More and more, I just want to be left alone. It is probably not a good thing. I would like to find like-minded people. It seems difficult, not because I am opinionated, but because I am not. I am open to debate. 

In my area, we did not get the snow predicted. Maybe, there are six inches on the ground, but that is not a challenge for the Gladiator. This morning, the roads were 80% cleared. I live in a small pocket in South-Eastern Michigan that just gets passed over.

Judgment

 For those of you worried I am stringing the woman from Bumble along, don't. She never replied once I told her my job.  I knew she wouldn't. Most women use apps like Bumble and Tinder for self-gratification. It makes them feel good getting the attention of hundreds of men. Ninety-nine percent of those men just want to get laid and don't even look at anything but the picture.

In my comments, Lucy, the author of the blog Waiting For A Miracle, said she would like to be herself and be left alone. It can be hard being yourself on the internet today unless you surround yourself with like-minded people. On this blog, I reveal myself. Some don't like it. They disagree with my lifestyle. I should be someone more socially acceptable.

For those who don't read the comments, I'll paste it here.

Secret Escape- LOLOLOLOLOLOL!!!!! Imagine passing judgement about someone AND THEIR FAMILY when you fuck crackhead hookers!!!! LOLOLOLOLOL You've gotta PAY bitches to play with your wiener, but holy hell LOOK AT ALL THE RED FLAGS!!!!! You're a fucking joke old man, don't waste this woman's time with your bullshit, go pay some junkie to fuck you if you're sooooooo bored.

Secret Escape likes to pass judgment on me and those around me. Seems like a personal attack. Someone from the real world would rather attack me anonymously to make themselves feel better, perhaps? Why else would they keep coming back? This person does not reveal their own life on a blog, at least none that I have seen. Criticism seems to be what they enjoy. I have blogged for fifteen years, I have seen this before.

I could delete the comments, but theirs do not bother me. Yes, I pay for sex. So what? Most men do in some form or another. Some men just call it marriage. I am getting old, I'm fifty-six, but age is just a number, a fact of life. Everyone gets older every day. Is someone with an addiction worse than a woman with two kids? Who are you to judge?

And that is the real question, who are you to judge? Tell your life story and let others pick it apart. Have you lived? Have your life choices made you bitter, or are you a young person with no life experiences passing judgment on things they don't know? I haven't met any saints. I haven't meant many people above criticism, but I have met many in life who are quick to judge without ever looking at themselves. If you don't like what you see here, I suggest you stop reading and look at yourself. I am sure if you did, you would find a lot to judge.