darekaaron

Back in the day, which was a Wednesday

2011-08-12T11:03:00.000-07:00

When I was awkwardly feeling my way through my early teen years, I would ride my bike, (without a helmet, mind you) everywhere. One summer I spent an exorbitant amount of time down at the Santa Anita Mall. Don't truly know how that kept me so entertained, but I really enjoyed hanging out, strolling in and out of the stores, harassing the security guards, and wishing I had the balls to talk to some of the teen women I passed along the way. One time in particular, I think I was out shopping for a gift of some sort. It was for an adult, like my Mom or Grandma or other maternal type relative. I had found my way into a small store that specialized in camera stuff. As I was browsing, I found some really nice picture frames. The one that caught my eye was unfortunately a bit pricey for my 13 year old budget. I stood and stared at it for a bit, then realized I had yet to see anyone behind the counter or anywhere in the store. Since this was quite a few years before I actually got caught for my occasional indiscretion, I decided I was going to take the frame. I quietly picked it up and began sliding it under my shirt. Just before I began to turn around to leave, the store owner walked in and before he realized what I was doing, flashed a courteous smile and asked if he could help me. After he figured out what was going on, but not before I could get the frame back on the table in a flash, his demeanor dramatically changed. He had a young thief in his store, but a quick enough thief that he hadn't actually busted me with the loot in hand. We spent a few very uncomfortable seconds looking at each other and I quickly darted out the door never to look back.

I share this story because I think of that store owner sometimes. I wonder what he must have felt when he found a young hoodlum about to steal a piece of his merchandise. I wonder if he's ever thought about me again. If he maybe figured I was in prison by now, if I ever made any changes in my life, or if I followed a life of crime without being caught. I wish I could see him and say I was sorry. And that I did make some changes. And that I'm not a complete degenerate today but rather a boy that meant no harm.

Our little one

2011-07-23T13:03:00.000-07:00

Or at least what it would look like right now.

We're baking a person

Don't you know

2010-12-03T20:02:00.000-08:00

Take away the 'weird' factor...

Polar Express is a pretty awesome Christmas movie.

Yeah, I said it.

Get it done

2010-11-20T18:40:00.000-08:00

I don't recall ever offering advice. I'm pretty much a self proclaimed moron. But now is different. This is sound advice. Please heed it if you're able.

Get a house with an extra room. That's it. Sounds too simple, right? Let me explain. I posted "Housealicious" last year when we moved into my favorite house ever, (see the Housealicious post if you would like to see more pics). The house was so big, we didn't have enough furniture for the Formal Living Room, so it sat vacant. Vacant with a barrier across it to inform anyone who came over, "yes, we know the room is vacant, and we like it that way."

Well it's no longer vacant. A couch, a love seat, coffee and end tables, a Grandma's chair. And bing bam boom, it's a room. The reason I mentioned 'extra' room earlier is because it's really a room to do almost nothing in. And that is exactly what I do. Nothing. I light a fire, sit down, and do nothing. No T.V. no smartphone, no stereo, (tunes might be nice eventually) just sitting. And it centers me. And the cats. And the kids.

I guess it's our first siting room. I wanted to call it the situation room, but that sounded like some pretty intense things need to take place in there.

So it's a damn sitting room.

And I love it. I'm gonna go sit in it right now.

5 minutes from the House

2010-09-30T13:51:00.000-07:00

I love our city

Chronicle as a Keepsake

2010-08-23T10:56:00.000-07:00

darekaaron - The blog. The first entry was posted August 14th, 2004. It was a Wednesday. Jeff, my Brother in Law at the time tried to define what a "blog" was. His definition confused me. Hell, even the word sounded odd. I was apprehensive to learn what blogging was all about. I'm assuming a blog can mean different things to different people. To me, though I didn't even think I would log in again after my first post, my blog became a source of comfort, an expression of creativity, and would grow into a clear recollection of some very significant moments in my life: relationships, a criminal background, my divorce, Mom's sudden death, new love, and a new job I still hold to this day. It chronicles development, experiences, and growing up. This blog became it's own entity to me. I may never post again. Maybe not here anyway.

I've decided because I can't imagine not having access to this site, I am about to print each one of the posts and have them bound. I have no idea what I'll do with it other than place it in my "Darek" box. But I'll have it. And I'll read it. Maybe my kids will even read it someday. Certainly not to say that everything I've written here has been meaningful or even worth reading, (coincidentally the title of one of my first posts - Worth Reading) but aside from some of the fluff, this blog is a part of me and I don't want to lose it to the ether if Blogger ever happens to crash.

So here it is. A snapshot of history. A keepsake if nothing else.

Away from home

2010-07-27T20:19:00.000-07:00

Well... They're gone. The house is quiet. Everyday feels like every other weekend when they see their Mom. This pic was taken just before they boarded the bus on Sunday. Daddy: trying to hold it together, hiding tears. Them: getting on the bus without even letting me give proper good-byes. Awesome little brats. Think I did enough worrying and fretting for both of them. I left in tears just like I do for every first. First day at a new school. First day on a school bus. First tooth, first fart; whatever. I cry.

They'll be back in a couple weeks. Already got a letter from S. It started w/ "poopy"

I'm so proud.

Feelin Wednesday

2010-05-26T07:28:00.000-07:00

Cereal poured into a bowl awaits a milk bath. The large heavy drops of rain spatter on the cement outside the window. Kitty purrs. Mmmm, the heat clicks on.

So true

2010-04-11T20:17:00.000-07:00

Whatever you focus on, you will experience. When you talk about "what is" or "what was," even if you're just explaining to a friendly ear, you project more of the same into the future. If you ask more than you give thanks, you'll believe less in your own power. And if you insist that it's hard and that you're lonely, you'll find that it is, and you are. Yet, always you can choose to focus on what's good.

Housealicious

2010-02-12T15:01:00.001-08:00

We LOVED the place we've been living in. And we've had the best landlord EVER. But seriously... How could we pass on these digs?

The world outside is silent

2010-02-10T07:01:00.000-08:00

When I go to the gym to wage my little war on the old and the flabby within me, I usually enjoy my wife's iPod to compliment the sweat. There's something I realized the other day. Many of you mp3ers out there already know this, but if you keep the music on beyond your workout, as you walk to the locker room, through the front door, out to your car; it's kinda like having your own little soundtrack. Every turn of the head, movement of a hand, or step in any direction seems so much more meaningful when punctuated by Arcade Fire.

He's gone

2009-10-29T12:30:00.000-07:00

Sebastian

1991-2009

You will be missed, my alien cat friend

Not for nothin'

2009-07-29T06:03:00.000-07:00

After spending the night in the hospital... No, not as a patient, but instead to offer love and support, I came to realize two distinct revelations. First, while listening to the click-clock...whooosh of the saline pump, one can actually observe the passing of time. And second, if you're in the mood to experience more fucking discomfort then can barely be endured by a human being, please do so on the God Damn 1942 metal-springed cots offered to guests here at the Northwest Hospital and Clinic. I may have gotten 50 sweaty minutes of painful sleep.

There's beauty in the breakdown

2008-09-05T20:02:00.000-07:00

My belly is full. I got home about an hour ago. I poured myself a large drink and began cooking vegetable fried rice. The house is extremely quiet. The normal chatter and energy I'm so fond of is temporarily gone. I turned on music and began to cook. After driving for over six hours in my car today, I discovered I was in my head way too long. Also, Jaimie has persistently reminded me of the lack of posts, so I figured I'd sit down and type.

I hate to sound so cliche, but life today hasn't required the same outlet I used to desperately depend on to deal with the hauntings in my soul. Not to say I haven't undergone struggles. When you tip toe to the edge, peer over, then slowly back the fuck off, it's never easy. The point is, falling off hasn't been an option as of late. The only thing that kept me from completely crumbling before was this blog. Now, I just use the lessons I learned from life, from AA, ('scuse me whilst I take another sip from my beer) and from being beaten, barely able to stand up, dust off, and take another bash on the head. I've come to the conclusion that nothing is easy. That being said, regardless of the struggles, I love to come home to someone that fucking adores me. I love playing a huge part in my children's lives and watching them thrive. I love the fact I drove home tonight listening to Pink Floyd and thinking about my brother. I loved finishing my drive with an Eels song that makes me cry for my dead Mother every time I listen to it alone.

I've lost some spark in my writings. I'm out of practice. I may not sit down to do this often enough, but I'm extremely grateful that I don't have to.

I'm still around. In spirit. But my spirit is sometimes flying too high to reach the keys on the computer.

I'm right here. Right where I've always been, and not at all.

I just don't know anything

2008-06-01T21:50:00.000-07:00

Okay... I'm a little lost.

Is there really a God? I've been praying for the lottery win for roughly 20 years now. I recall there was a time I even made a desperate plea. "God," I said, "I either want to win the lottery tomorrow or I want you to kill me." I was 22 years old. I was so far in debt from collecting every credit card offered to every college student willing to sign their name that I couldn't accept entry level positions.

Funny, I feel the same way today. I have made more money than I ever have. And I spent more than I ever have. $117K earned and I still managed to rack up more debt. The only thing that keeps me from asking God to either grant me the lottery winnings or kill me is the loml and my girls. If they weren't around, I would totally jump off the Space Needle.

How does this happen?

Oh, by the way... If anyone happens to read this, I really appreciate the fact a couple of you still check in every once in awhile. This blog, as well as you were a very important part of my life at one time. Thanks.

So... Anyone got some spare cash laying around?

I'll pay you back. I promise.

I had a nightmare that Blogspot eliminated my blog.

2008-03-23T15:46:00.000-07:00

A bit fuzzy

2007-10-25T14:36:00.000-07:00

I had no intention of doing this. I'm beginning, very slowly mind you, to chronicle things about me and my experiences. And what is below is very rough. I just figured it may begin to take flight if I threw it out there.

I’m on an airplane. I can see the sun rising from the East out my window. Business. I’m on this plane for business. A little over five years ago, I was in a holding cell at the Fountain Valley Police Department awaiting an offer I couldn’t refuse from the Narcotics Division. I had just 45 minutes prior been hauled away in a police cruiser. I was arrested, cuffed, and lead away from a restaurant I was paid to manage. My employees watched me through the windows. Some cried; some laughed. They all new why, and I’m sure it wasn’t nearly as big of a surprise to them as it was to me. I remember the arresting detective saying to me, “I have a son like you. He’s good-looking, smart, charming as Hell. That boy gets away with everything and he needs to get caught. And you needed to get caught today.” He was right. I did need to get caught. I needed to learn the definition of consequences. I needed to learn the value of ethics, morality, humility. Lessons every young man should have a grasp of. I needed to get caught, get help, and rebuild my life. And I needed to make one more attempt, (I had made many. Usually after watching Opra) to quit using methamphetamine. But not quite yet.

**tiny granules of illegal white powder and a white shag carpet

I had to be about the age of three. I was a happy child. I have many very early memories. I remember when I had just learned to swim. I’m told I swam before I walked. It’s interesting, once you are an experienced swimmer, it’s hard to imagine struggling to stay afloat. Beating your arms into the water. Kicking your tiny legs as you try to reach the other side. By the age of three I had experienced things that some grownups haven’t had the chance to. I need to get something out of the way right now. My parents always loved me. They wanted the best for me just like any other parent. My Dad has always supported me in everything I’ve done. He used rush out of work to be at my football practices. I remember playing “Joe” with him as a little boy. It was a make believe role playing game where I was always the new guy in town. I would roll in, and my Dad and Snoopy would be the town bullies. They would try to pick a fight with me, though I warned them more than once they were messing with the wrong guy. When push came to shove, we would end up fighting and I would always beat them into submission. At some point in the game, my Dad and Snoopy would inevitably find themselves in great peril. There would be some unfortunate turn of events throwing them overboard into shark infested waters, or trapped in building that was on fire. No one else would offer help because, as I said, they were the town bullies and were unwelcome residents. Out of the kindness in my heart, I would lend my skills to get them out of whatever life-threatening situation they were in. After the rescue, they would see the errors of their ways, thank me for helping them even though they had been so vile, turn over a new leaf and become model citizens. I’m not sure who Joe was. Maybe I was Joe. My point is, Dad would do that every night when he got home from work. I felt like he never missed a football practice. I have always known he did the very best he could. And my Mom, who unfortunately is no longer with us, approached supporting me much like my Dad. She was the taxi for my friends and I. She used to give me advice that amazed me. She loved me, supported me, protected me. The reason I say these things is, before getting into other stories that made me the person I am today, I wanted to make it clear that my parents were the best parents they could be. That said, many of the lessons I apply to my parenting today are lessons in what not to do as a parent.

So I had to be about the age of three. A year or so after I unknowingly smuggled cocaine through the Miami airport in my Snoopy because Mom tore off the head, stuffed cocaine into the body, and sewed the head back on. And I remember constructing something like a ladder. I may have just brought a chair into my parents’ room and placed it by the dresser. Regardless, I climbed up to the top of the dresser, opened the vile of coke I had seen my parents using earlier that evening, poured it out, lined it up, and tried to snort it. Fortunately for me, I blew out of my nose rather than snort in, so I blew the pile of coke onto the white shag carpet below. My parents woke up to see what I had done, obviously relieved I hadn’t ingested pure cocaine, but somewhat distraught because the drug was pretty hard to spot on a white shag carpet. I’m pretty sure as the story goes, they had their friends over later that day to snort the floor.

I will remember to remember to forget you forgot me

2007-03-26T14:33:00.000-07:00

Truly, it's been quite some time. There's really no reason for it. Life. It happens. And it's good. Full, round, and fat. I'm a committed employee. A devoted father. A loyal lover. I'm making some money and spending a lot.

I've been offered the opportunity to relocate to Seattle. We're moving in late June.

The only thing I don't understand is why spam emails have writing like this attached to it:

since. Not a bird craps, not a polpettone fruit falls that we dont No longer a musical fan, Ljotur? I said, climbing slowly to my A big fat red slob! I shouted. A hairy conman! Which elicited a round of applause from the spectators and a broader My pleasure, I said. My friend here knows nothing about the Then overplayed its role by lifting its hind leg on my pack. Though was unharmed. He had many questions but , did not know how to speak sat down cross-legged and motioned to me. Sit. We must talk. Gallant warriors of Paradise-we are overwhelmed by your greeting. What are banks? My face was buried in his rank red fur as I tightened hard, harder Leave. propaganda for the troops. If we cant believe him about that-how can we have been keeping. Svinjar and his loathsome lads. Weve shot Youre right. It got to me-and I dont know why . . . groped for them. Yours if you answer some simple questions. You will

Earthlink Must Die

2007-01-04T10:51:00.000-08:00

Hello, I recently cancelled my account and was released from my contract. Earthlink withdrew $149.95 from my account without my consent even though I was released from my contract. When I spoke to a representative, (confrimattion # 119875103) they informed me I had to send the modem back to receive a refund. I sent the modem back via UPS, Tracking Information:

Tracking Number: 1Z V88 769 06 0054 548 9
Type: Package
Status: Delivered
Delivered on: 12/22/2006
10:00 A.M.
Delivered to: ROUND ROCK, TX, US
Signed by: SHEDD
Service Type: GROUND ARS

The package was delivered on 12/22/2006. I still have not been refunded. I'm very unhappy. I wish to have this issue resolved as soon as possible.

'Aaron K' says: Thank you for contacting EarthLink LiveChat, how may I help you today?

darekaaron@earthlink.net: Hello,
I recently cancelled my account and was released from my contract. Earthlink withdrew $149.95 from my account without my consent even though I was released from my contract. When I spoke to a representative, (confrimattion # 119875103) they informed me I had to send the modem back to receive a refund. I sent the modem back via UPS

Tracking Information:

Tracking Number: 1Z V88 769 06 0054 548 9
Type: Package Status: Delivered
Delivered on: 12/22/2006 10:00 A.M.
Delivered to: ROUND ROCK, TX, US
Signed by: SHEDD
Service Type: GROUND ARS

As you can see, the package was delivered on 12/22/2006. I still have not been refunded. I'm very unhappy. I wish to have this issue resolved as soon as possible.

Aaron K: Hello. I am sorry for the inconvenience caused. Let me pull up your account details to assist you in this regard.

darekaaron@earthlink.net: Thank you

Aaron K: You are welcome.
Aaron K: I see that you have signed up for this service on 12/09/06.
Aaron K: This was in commitment till 12/08/07.
Aaron K: There is a charge of $149.95 as Early termination fee.

darekaaron@earthlink.net: I spoke to two different representatives on two separate occasions and was given the exact runaround you're giving me right now. I was released from my contract because I wasn't close enough to a call center to receive adequate service. But I already said that in the initial explanation. Did you read that? I also have a letter sitting in front of me that says my request for early termination was approved and that all I had to do is send back the equipment, WHICH I DID. DID YOU READ MY FIRST COMMENTS? I'm sure you didn't. Please go back, actually READ what I originally wrote to you, and look up the confirmation number from my last call that I already provided.

Aaron K: I am checking the records for you.

darekaaron@earthlink.net: You should have checked the records the first time

Aaron K: I am with you. I will not be long.

darekaaron@earthlink.net: Confirmation email from Earthlink:

Dear darek, Thank you for your recent call on date: 12/11/2006 to us and 119875103 is the conformation number for the call you made.
darekaaron@earthlink.net: From:

Sincerely,
john.i Earth Link Customer Support

Aaron K: Thank you for the time. I see that you were promised that it will be waived off.

darekaaron@earthlink.net: Right.

Aaron K: I will process the refund as promised and it will reflect in 7 to 10 business days.

darekaaron@earthlink.net: Will you please email confirmation to darekaaron@gmail.com stating your commitment?

darekaaron@earthlink.net: Hello?

I'm never gonna get my money.

Margaritas and Felonies

2006-12-28T22:57:00.000-08:00

It's funny... I start way too many sentences that way. Maybe a good thing. If I think a majority of the examples in my life are funny, it must mean I have a fantastic sense of humor. And if I have a fantastic sense of humor, then I must be funny.

So, once again, it's funny, I can't believe this Goddamn blog is still here to play with occasionally. Um, yeah, I guess that's not really funny.

Anyhoo, I'm still here. I'm living. I'm loving. I'm doing. I'm working out fairly consistently again, I'm still one of the greatest fathers that's ever lived, I still have the same job I happen to love, and I'm still just a little fucked up. Look, I wouldn't be me if I wasn't just a little fucked up. I'm currently on the edge of introducing a million dollar idea to a company that may be interested in taking my million dollar idea to press. I've also been getting in contact with friends from the past. I share scars with more than one of these friends.

I just thought maybe I should say that.

Fuck Foley and North Korea, how is Barbaro doing?

2006-10-12T21:58:00.000-07:00

Shhhhh... The Shamu Show is about to start

2006-10-09T18:50:00.000-07:00

Take it black

2006-09-19T21:15:00.000-07:00

I enjoy a Starbucks Coffee roughly six times a week. I know, I know... That's about thirty dollars a week or one-hundred and twenty dollars a month or, you get the picture. When I enjoy my five dollar cup of coffee, I often times go to the same Starbucks to place my order. You know, sometimes you want to go "where everybody knows your name..." Anyhoo, the Starbucks I choose to deposit my funds is very busy. So much that there are usually three or four patrons making their way towards the door at any moment, all intent on procuring a speedy order to accommodate their speedy day. I watch them. And they watch me. Each watching each other as we step out of our company vehicles to begin the dash to the door. Oh sure, we try not to make it look too obvious, but what we're really thinking as we half casually sprint towards the door is, "by God, I WILL get my five dollar cup of coffee before you!" And I must say, most of the time, I lose. You see, I like to park on the end spot across the parking lot from the Starbucks. Creature of habit I suppose. So most of the time, I give my opponents an ample head start. They get to the door and slightly glance back at me over their shoulder, half a smirk hidden from my view.

The great part is, what these poor little dumb-asses don't know is the fact that the girls working the counter, or the "baristas," all know what I order. By the time I reach the register, my drink is consistently waiting for me immediately after I pay and say thank you.

I politely remove my beverage from the counter whilst I throw a slight but noticable fuck you in their direction.

One more day I get to begin as if I was somebody.

Do you think it will fly?

2006-08-01T22:29:00.000-07:00

Every Tuesday, I take the girls out for fast food. I figure once a week they shouldn't get too hefty if I try to feed them right every other day. Have you taken a look at kids these days? Sonofabitch. They're HUGE. I can't wait until they age. And grow. That's it... I need to brush up on garage liposuction. A dollar a pound. I'll live like Bill Gates. But I digress. So we're at Burger King. (For the record, it's not even close to burger royalty in my opinion) But we're there. And we're eating. The girls finish and scream their way towards the big fuckin' thing kids play on when they're at fast food places. And I sit and finish my burger. I begin to take note of the scenery. (Besides the HUGE children attempting to climb the stairs in the big fuckin' thing) I begin bird watching. And they begin watching me. And they don't look like healthy birds. I decide I'll put them out of their misery and feed them more fries. And they eat them. Then something happens. I take a half eaten chicken nugget or strip or tender, and I throw it, (chicken) to the birds. I swear to God they attacked that little piece of chicken like it was the best Goddamn thing they had ever eaten. And they stole it from each other. And fought over it. I guess any Goddamn thing tastes good when it's fried.

2006-07-26T22:03:00.000-07:00

Did you know you can take a fucking cell phone, plug it into you're fucking laptop, switch some little fucking setting, and actually hook up and be on the internet?

Yeah... I didn't either. Seriously. How can I not have a flying car yet?

2006-06-19T16:24:00.000-07:00

I wonder if the cat knows I'm insane?

I wish I may I wish I might

2006-06-14T22:01:00.000-07:00

Geeez.

It would be so great if I could throw some new pics up. I just wish Blogger would have made it easy to do so. I mean it would be so cool if I could just find some random icon of like a picture or something that would allow me to just click on it and add whatever Goddamn picture I wanted to.

Um. Wait a minute, what's this do?

Okay... So now that my Blogger prayers have been answered, (thanks Hepcat) I just thought I would post three quick pics of the three women I'm in love with.

Maybe not incredibly entertaining. But sonofabitch, I'm really happy to be able to post some pics without hitting up Picassa.

Opening up

2006-06-08T12:12:00.000-07:00

I began to write today. Who knows how far it can go. My attention span is lacking. As well as my motivation.

But damn, when I think about what I hope to share through my story may end up to be entertaining. Or insightful. Or not.

I may occasionally post where I'm at. Only if I can keep it up.

An Auto Bliography
by darekaaron

Standing naked, bent over, arms on sink. I’m looking into my own eyes. My back really hurts. Right in the spot, (upwards and slightly right mid-back). The spot that began hurting years ago when I’d partake in numbing quantities of speed, stay up for a night, or three, then it would feel like a knife was jutting out from my shoulder. “You haven’t had an ordinary life so far,” I say, bent over the sink searching for the knife. “Your blog says a little about you.” And it does. “But why not write a blog in a book?” Sounds interesting when I talk about it. I tell friends the stories. Not made up stories. Not a million little pieces to gather and pick up. Maybe more. And they always say, “JESUS, you should write a book!”

So here I am.

The belief these words could ever get published is not a belief at all in my own personal opinion. Even if I actually finished something like this, I have a hard time buying the fact it would be interesting enough to read. Not unless I spilled all of it. And all of it would involve naming names and outing secrets. I could care less about my secrets. But what about my family? Friends? Who would get hurt?

I don't really know what I hope to accomplish. I just want some peace.

2006-05-30T22:10:00.000-07:00

Yeah... So I tried to post several pics. A "pictoral history" so to speak. And this, the Christmas Pussy, is the only one Picassa didn't fuck up. Or maybe I did something wrong. Anyhoo, I'll figure it out. FYI - The girls are still fucking adorable and I'm still in love. You can paint the pictures with your imagination for now.

Three questions:

2006-05-30T08:46:00.000-07:00

Why is it that if you leave cereal stuck to the side of the sink bowl in the morning, it turns into a cemented piece of sticky rock by the afternoon?

Why is it that in scary movies, the character who is about to be killed in a dark room always has a flashlight that only produces a tiny pinhole of light instead of lighting a larger area?

Why do people who are home during the day get so excited when the mail comes? (Then always look a little sad when every day it's the same - bill, junk mail, bill, supermarket flier, personalized labels attempting to con you into donating to a charity.)

Lost in the Translation

2006-05-26T11:31:00.000-07:00

There's no plane flight. No travels for work or pleasure. I haven't left my heart. Or lost a loved one. I haven't switched jobs, gone to jail, won the lottery or anything else of any consequence. I'm just writing. To myself. Quietly. With nothing to complain about or anyone to complain to.

I've really got it made right now. (but don't tell anyone)

I left my heart

2006-03-07T09:42:00.000-08:00

Why is it that I always feel like writing when traveling?

Why am I asking you?

And who in the Hell are you anyway?

I’m flying home from San Francisco. I can barely compress my arms together to type in this tiny little seat built for a man with scoliosis. Leaving behind some work, very little play, and one fantastic fucking city. I always feel a little sad when I fly out of a different city. I was incredibly happy to leave Tulsa, and yet, the excitement was accompanied with sorrow. I suppose I don’t like to leave things behind.

I didn’t spend enough time there. It’s truly a spectacular city. The colors. The wind. The water. If only I had more money than God. I would leave my heart in San Francisco. I would still move to Seattle, mind you. A “weekend” pad would be a treat though.

Isn’t it odd how 2oo plus people can crowd into incredibly close quarters, in a tube with wings. And an engine. Go up to 35,000 feet for about an hour, then set down again in a different place?

I’m just sayin’

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you

2006-02-19T18:15:00.000-08:00

Ever looked so long at pictures of you? Or them. In this world of stored pics, downloaded videos, songs, letters, (can one download letters?) I think it's overwhelming sometimes to look "long" at anything. Can I actually digress if I never began a topic? And I digress. I sat down to work. At a bar. In a restaurant. Yes, I do work well out amongst the people. Sonofabitch this soup is hot.

So I sat down to work. And I promptly clicked favorites, found darekaaron, logged in and began to write. What if work was writing? How would one procrastinate? Not that procrastinating is an incredibly bad thing at present. I've got lotsa time. The love of my life is home, in San Francisco. The girls are with Grandpa. The house is a mess, which is another item falling under the procrastination umbrella.

And I'm here. "Working."

I've been told on several occasions to write a book. A book about my life. Now granted, I'm not a war hero, or a financial success story or mogul of any sort, or psychotic, (I don't think I'm psychotic) or a representation of anything that would seem bookworthy to me. But I thought a book might be fun. I could highlight it with unknowingly smuggling cocaine through the Miami Airport in my favorite Snoopy at 2 years of age, drug use before my age reached double digits, falling out of a jeep driven by my parents on a highway in St. John, cracking my head open on a dock, drug busts, horses, skiing in Steamboat, surfing in Hawaii, playing football, 5150'ing my suicidal Mother, finding methamphetamine, robbing the restaurant I managed, getting arrested, snitching, acquiring Christopher Darden as my attorney, serving time, going to rehab, digging out, divorcing, finding Mom dead, finding love, and living. Living the entire ride.

I don't know. "Bookworthy?" What is bookworthy these days. God, I hope I don't ever find my way onto Oprah's book club.

And yes, once again, that's not even close to what I came to write.

I don't think that means what you think it means

2006-01-23T22:04:00.000-08:00

Shiny happy moments. I sit in the grass. The little ones frolic in a community yard I pretend is my own. For a moment, everything is perfect. It feels easy. Like there's really nothing to worry about. And I believe it. For a moment. And I stand and pretend like I don't have problems with my stomach every Monday. I loath the end of the weekend. When she leaves. And I pretend I have it all goin' my way, then why am I such a fucking mess? It's not a complaint, just lyrics. And it's not a long term issue. But it's here. It's now. And it's where I'm at. I am happy. I am good. But I keep thinking about calling my Mom. And I can't. And I almost wish no one would read this because it would be nice if it made more sense.

Whatcha whatcha whatcha want?

2006-01-11T22:18:00.000-08:00

So what the hell? Where have I been? What, what, why and how and where and who. What is a funny word. Looks like it should be pronounced "wat". Just a pointless observation.

I don't know where to start. Or how to finish. I'm living. Breathing. I find things silly. Morose. And boring. Well, me anyway. I'm boring. If I was to submit a post, and good God, I don't post a fucking thing these days, it would read something like this: "Oh things are just peachie. I'm still in love, I have a great job, (though I still wouldn't work if it were up to me, which it's not) I wake up, I fill my day with tasks, quotas, love, and children, and I slumber." Yeah. Read that day after day. It's been a year since the split of my marriage. Almost a year since I've found the love of my life. And almost a year since Mom died. Shit, I'm a little weird right now. And really good. And crazy, unstable, in a completely together kinda way.

The girls are growing into fantastic little people. The youngest is entering kindergarten early. The oldest is an "accelerated" student. I was never an accelerated student. I threw rocks and made friends. And I beat up bullies. I hated when those motherfuckers picked on the little guy.

And my name is Darek. And I'm happy.

That'll do little Donkey, that'll do.

2005-12-17T09:02:00.000-08:00

We bank left. I look down to observe shades of brown as far as the eye can see. Tulsa. I’ve heard songs about Tulsa. They didn’t sound like Tulsa looks. I never considered the fact that this part of the country could be the home base for my career. But it is. And now I’m going home. Home to two little girls and a woman. All three I happen to love dearly. Deeply. Desperately. The Seven year old lost one of her front teeth. Her left central incisor, the number nine tooth. (Thanks to Tulsa Dental for educating me on incisors and such) The four year old asked me why I always ask if they’re getting ready for bed when I already know they are because I’m on the phone to sing them a lullaby. And the woman. Well, the woman may have missed me as much as I missed her.

I’ve gained a few pounds. I can just feel the weight. Three square meals a day will do that. And I played quite a bit of racquetball. And I’ve become aware of my age. Accompanying my graying hair is a swollen knee from too much running and jumping and running again on a hard wood floor. I may have pushed it a little too hard.

I made new friends. Paul from Albany and Chris from San Francisco and Tom from Tennessee. They made me laugh when I was homesick. We joked and spoke about kids and significant others. I feel like a grown up. I’m not sure why that even applies here, but it does.

I’m on my way; I’m on my way… Home sweet home.

Yes, I just quoted Motley Cruë.
Yes I did.

Get along little doggie

2005-12-11T14:03:00.000-08:00

Okay. So it did feel butt ass frigid. Even to those from Wisconsin. And New York. But maybe butt ass was a bit dramatic. I understand there is always someplace colder if you talk to enough people. Aside from the cold, I will say this, I walked from the hotel to a restaurant in the newly falling snow and hardly noticed the chill. It was beautiful.

It was mentioned to me I may happen to see a real live cowboy during my ever so pleasant stay here in Tulsa. Boy am I lucky. When I arrived, I was quickly informed the "Farm Show" was in town. Shortly after, I found it difficult to swim through the belt buckles, cowboy boots and ten gallon hats crowding the lobby. (I don't really even know what a ten gallon hat is, nor do I care to... It just sounded good) And I learned something new about myself. I'm prejudice. I'll premise this by saying I understand generalizing any group of people is wrong. Divide anyone into any group you like. After they're segregated, good, honest and loving folk will be included in the group as well as a few real pricks. That said, whenever a real live cowboy makes his way into my line of sight, especially when he's decked out, I've even seen some wearing spurs, (seriously... Fucking spurs) I think to myself, "Now there's a real asshole." I know, I know, I'm wrong in assuming Quick Draw McGraw is an asshole, but really. The hat. The boots. Oh yeah, and that big shiny belt buckle that's roughly the size of a football. Did I mention the spurs? Yes. Yes I do believe I did.

Forgive me. And help me. Am I completely off base? I'm trying to remain open-minded.

Besides the real live cowboys, the first week of training has been productive. I've learned more than I would have ever imagined about performing a root canal. I'm so homesick it hurts, but I'm standing behind the fact that I happened along a fantastic job. It'll be spectacular when I'm home actually working my territory.

And lastly, today would have been Mom's 65th Birthday. She used to make a really big deal about her Birthday. Today is a really big deal.

So Cal is a little warmer

2005-12-05T20:22:00.000-08:00

Yes. It's mother-fuckin' butt ass frigid. (Butt ass... What does that even mean?) I'm in Tulsa. I'm training. There's cowboys. And guys that look like real men should look. And they smell. You know, like men.

And it's a great fuckin' job.

I miss my girls. I miss my love.

For the Record

2005-11-16T07:45:00.000-08:00

I'm so not clear sometimes...

The new job, you know, the one I had no business getting 'cause I'm not that good n' all? Yeah, that one. The company is Tulsa Dental. The office is in, well it's in Tulsa. They interviewed me in Tulsa. I got the job offer in Tulsa.

And my territory is in Los Angeles.

So I won't need to own a truck with a gunrack or wear a cowboy hat or listen to Merle Haggard. Or Jeff Foxworthy. But don't worry, I'll still be messing with the bull and getting the fucking horns, like always.

The Famous Chocolateer

2005-11-15T10:55:00.000-08:00

Wow… One would think I had been amidst an incredibly “busy” chapter in my life. I haven’t written one Goddamn thing to post here. I hardly return emails. I don’t like picking up my phone much. As far as this chapter being busy? Um, no. I’m afraid, on paper I haven’t been occupied with much as of late. I did spend a good deal of my time looking for a job for roughly the first 3 weeks of my unemployment. You know, after I decided the best job I had ever accepted in my life turned out to be a four day career. Right. No typo. I worked there four days. But I’ve already talked about this. So yes, I’ve been unemployed for over two months now. The money is gone. The credit cards are being re-activated. Cash advances. Groceries. Chicken Little with the girls. And believe it or not, I haven’t felt like I’ve had any time off. Looking for a job. Interviewing. Taking care of the girls. Loving. I’ve been busy. *That’s why I previously eluded to not being busy “on paper”* The way I feel, I have no idea how I ever worked a full time job into my busy lifestyle. I’m somewhat reflective presently for a reason. Another chapter is finishing up. And it’s not a cliff hanger. Everything is working out quite perfectly. I’m currently on a plane. (I pulled out the laptop just so I could give the impression I was diligently working on a project of utmost importance) And I am. Anyhoo, I’m on a return flight from Tulsa Oklahoma. I stayed less than 24 hours. My final interview with Tulsa Dental. A big, meaty, very well paid position I had no business applying for. And I got the job. My eyes well up when I think about this year. The loss of my Mom. My pending divorce. The love I now have in my life. The quitting of RW Smith. The four days at LA Fitness. The past two months. And the new job. The job comes with a car, a laptop, a cell phone, an expense account. I almost feel like an adult. *almost*

And here we are. Just you and I. What a fucking year.

And I’m on a plane and I got the fucking job.

Hello Old Friend

2005-10-16T10:43:00.000-07:00

Absent for a spell, returning for a brief visit; or an extended one perhaps. Remember how it felt when you had a friend for the summer. And you went to separate schools when the Fall Leaves turned orange. You were close. And you tried to keep in touch. You promised you would. "I always say that, but this time will be different. We can't forget." Then you do. They do too. But you still feel like you let them down. It's hard to call. So you don't, which makes picking up the phone even more difficult the next time you think about it. And a week goes by. Then two. Then a month. And it's awkward when you finally reach out. So here I am. Reaching out. I'm the fucking Gingerbread Man. And I've run and run as fast as I can, and no one has been able to catch me... Don't ask, I have no idea how I pulled a Gingerbread Man reference into this. *If I'm speaking to anyone at all* The girls sit at the kitchen table. They're painting. And quiet. And happy. New experiences at school inspire growth that even scares me. They're little people. And they talk and reason and argue points relative to the topic. I can barely talk and reason and argue points relative to the topic. And I do stupid things. I accepted what appeared to be the perfect job. I walked on the clouds high above all of you. Demanding respect. And envy. I was so fucking together and I had to walk off the job in four days. With no other job lined up. Bottom line, (don't you hate bullshit corporate expressions?) is this: They threw a lot of money at me. Financial stability. And opportunity. I would finally be somebody. What they didn't throw was an accurate picture of the commitment. And I didn't ask all the questions I needed to. They plan on 72 hour work-weeks. They plan on taking me away from the girls. They plan on taking me away from love and enjoyment and living. They plan on owning me. I disagree with their plans and say, "Bottom line, (I love using their expressions against them) is this: you can stick your plans in your collective ass." I told them so. Without the stick or collective or ass. But I did make my point, and walked away on a Monday afternoon. Before traffic. Please, no worries, (I'm a little worried) a few fantastic opportunities have appeared on the horizon. There's no need to sell my soul to the Devil just yet.

As for the Love, "it's real and it lasts a long, long time," it's still there. And it's bigger. And stronger. And keeps growing. To the point that I get scared. I consider myself a fairly secure person. And I'm scared. Like nothing I've ever felt. And I have asked all the questions I've needed to.

Falling is easy

2005-09-28T23:43:00.000-07:00

"I may never post again," I exclaimed days ago.

This blog began over a year ago. Interestingly enough, this year has been the most significant year of my life. No need to rehash the details of the past.

Fog and weight. I'm right there. I know so very little.

I think I will post again.

You can't handle the truth

2005-08-28T23:35:00.000-07:00

"Daddy, we had a deal" is what my four-year-old says to me today. Allow me to explain. She regularly demonstrates un uncanny ability to precisely state a clear and appropriate response to any given circumstance. The problem is she often times has no idea what she's saying. But it's timed so perfectly. And delivered with such assurance. I actually have to consider weather I forgot about striking a deal with her. As it turns out, I probe further using my obviously superior adult reasoning, and once again, she's categorically off base. I think. Unless I'm categorically off base. Good thing I'm a lot bigger. And I have a job. And can pretend like I'm really busy with something and can't discuss the deal at that particular moment. Gives me time to provide a rebuttal at a future time.

Dropping sail at the dock

2005-08-28T23:00:00.000-07:00

Mom's ashes were scattered at sea today.

Smoochie pup, the toy puppy that really kisses you

2005-08-21T19:32:00.000-07:00

I drink Ceylon organic white tea. Sounds sophisticated. And isn't. After all, I'm drinking it. Juniper Lee, now she's sophisticated. In a simple, youthful, innocent and bad-ass sorta way. She's a protector. And has that really cool red streak in her hair. And of course, I digress.

Considering I'm seriously lacking posts as of late, I'm attempting to cover the bases... Jesus, that's too much. I can't imagine covering all the bases, whatever that means. Sitting on the couch, the laptop sitting, now this is unusual, in my lap. Ever eaten Harry and David's Moose Munch? It's fucking fantastic. A glance to the left at the girls:

Of course a deserved mention here. Not a day passes without their inclusion, one way or another. They're brilliant, they're beautiful. I would say that even if they weren't mine. We've had a busy summer:

The Zoo. The Aquarium. The beach. The pool. Wish I didn't screw up the camping reservations. If one hopes to reserve a campground on the beach in Southern California, the reservations need to made 7 months in advance. The machine was not operating at a capacity to accomplish reservations 7 months in advance. Could someone remind me in November to make camping reservations for next May? Thanks in advance.

I'm in love. (Have I said that too much?)

Sorry if that's the case.

I love Seattle. I really do think we're gonna move. My goal, and this is a secret, so don't tell anyone, is to move to Seattle next summer. And I may have a job. But I'm not gonna jinx it right now. More pictures, I'm running out of things to say:

I can find similar sights and sounds in California. I can also find 900 square foot condominiums for 325 thousand dollars. And smog. And traffic. They, (whoever they are) have tried to tell me there's traffic in Seattle. Um, no. Not even fucking close.

I have no idea what bases were covered here. I needed an excuse to share some pics. My vacation is over. I'm a little lonely. I really miss my Mom. And that's about all I have to say.

Where are we going, where are we going? Home again, home.

2005-08-16T15:05:00.000-07:00

I went on vacation once to San Francisco. As I drove out of the city, I felt sad. Sad because I was leaving a fun, insane, drug-induced vacation. Good times no doubt. Today I am seated in Seattle's Seatac International Airport. I've had an incredible vacation. Without drugs. Or booze. Including wonder. And I do feel sad. Not because a vacation is coming to an end. Sad because I feel like I'm leaving home. I think I'm coming back. To live. In the rain. And the wonder.

Does this make me look fat?

2005-08-07T19:42:00.000-07:00

Max n' Me

Con·va·les·cence - Gradual return to health and strength after illness.

2005-08-03T22:14:00.000-07:00

From the bottom to the top:

- pictures my youngest drew for her Daddy.

- note to self: Call Eleno about his water glasses.

- copy of Newsweek featuring the drug that took

her Daddy away before she learned how to walk.

- the Docket Report summarizing his court appearances.

- the final form. Daddy's felonies were dismissed today.

Enter Ahab; to Him, Stubb

2005-08-02T21:24:00.000-07:00

I'm sleeping more. Working less. Accomplishing less really. Fathering, boyfriending; afterall, I am in love. I've gained a little weight back. I fucking hate my job. Not because it's too hard, but because the machine that is payroll operates like a manual organ grinder, hand-cranked, unrelyable, not to be trusted. And I'm reading Moby Dick. Moby Fucking Dick.

2005-07-19T18:45:00.000-07:00

Hey Mom. Just thought I would type a quick note while I had a moment. The things you left behind are being put to good use. Seemed like I would never see the bottom of the old cigar box full of quarters. Must have been around $200 worth. I stretched those quarters to clean countless loads of laundry for your Son and granddaughters. Thanks. I used to always laugh to myself when I pushed a cart up and down the grocery isles, you on the other end of my cell phone, "So, do you want some frozen dinners?" The amount of hot tea you had me purchase made cart organization difficult. And I would get a little mad. Sorry about that. I always tried to hide the fact I was mad about something as stupid as hot tea. I took those boxes of tea home with me when you died. And I've enjoyed them. Can't really see the need for the decaffeinated ones, but I can't throw them out either. If I drink tea, I want something with a kick. And lotsa honey and cream. But they've been great and I'm beginning to run low on those as well. I finally put an old picture of you up. And a Chinese fan that belonged to your Mom, and Mardi Gras beads. And remember those dumb little wooden calypso spoons that have been around for years? They're on the same shelf as the picture. And my cat Sebastian that became your cat that has once again found himself as my cat is doing really well. Hard to believe the children he once avoided like the plague have become a source of comfort to him. I think he knows they are somehow connected to you. And remember Jennifer? You suggested I date her before you died. We're so close now. Were you there when all of that happened? I wouldn't be surprised. Before I go, I also wanted to tell you that I think I really quit smoking again. Maybe for good. I used modern medicine. It's still not easy but I have a lot of support and I wanna stick around here for awhile. I love you and I think about you every day. I think you can take that for granted. Thanks for everything. We'll talk again.

Marching the Hate Machines into the Sub

2005-07-18T23:40:00.000-07:00

Jesus. I mean really. Did you think I would just sit around and wait forever for me to post again? Hoping. Wondering. I'm not just going to pine away longing to hear my words. If you don't think that I have anything better to do with my time than wish I would post something brilliant, you have another thing coming.

So. Ever thought about the way things come about? What I mean is this. Long ago, in a galaxy far far away, or roughly 20 years ago, when we opened cans of soda in this nation, we lifted the tab, heard the familiar release of nitrogen inspiring pavlovian salivation in anticipation of the first sip. And after the can was fully opened, we were left with a small, incredibly sharp piece of aluminum on the end of an eyelet. Okay, stay with me. And one day someone, some dumb-ass just like you and me said, "hey now, I realize I'm a dumb-ass n' all, but can't someone make an apparatus that opens this here sodi-pop without creating a small weapon that, when left behind, slices the bare feet of children?" Then that very dumb-ass came up with some half-cocked idea to open the same can without leaving an extra piece. People laughed. Some of his friends said it was stupid and he should just leave his idea alone because, after all, he was a dumb-ass. And that dumb-ass found a way to patent his idea and sell it to gigantic corporations that have the ability to have a human being killed, and is now, if he's still alive after doing pounds of cocaine off the ass of some hooker, a very wealthy dumb-ass.

Honestly, I have no idea weather it was a dumb-ass or not, but ideas like that are thought up every day. I wonder how many are followed through, step by step, until the end. Which one of the best ideas ever thought of never made it past the laughing friends.

Yeah. I don't know either.

Like sands through the hour glass

2005-07-08T22:38:00.000-07:00

I sing a song to the girls before they go to sleep when the soon to be ex-wife isn't able to. "The song you know, Daddy," is what they request from me. Please note, I am not a singer. Oh God, how I always wanted to be. But not the well trained kind. More the Holy Shit he has an incredible voice for never taking a lesson kind. And, for the sake of clarity, I repeat, I am not a singer. I barely recognize pitch or the general key I should be singing in. Not a singer. Me no singie. So I sing this song to them. I began singing it to the six-year-old when she was very small. Every night. Goodnight moon and the song. God only knows why, have I mentioned I can't sing, I would choose a song from an artist who sings in a key almost humanly impossible to sing to. Peter Gabriel. That's what I choose to sing to my daughters. The song is Don't Give Up. The duet with Kate Bush. I sing the Kate Bush part as well. In addition to the fact I can't sing either part, the lyrics aren't the absolute best I could have picked to sing to children. No profanity or references to sex or violence, just not exactly what one should sing to a child. "No one likes you when you lose," is a line I hear with a degree of sarcasm, but I'm not sure either girl can even say, much less define sarcasm. On a positive note, the song does state to not give up, to rest your head because you worry too much, and we're proud of who you are. So it's not all bad.

I don't know why I even wrote this.

I just closed my eyes again...

2005-07-05T19:31:00.000-07:00

How many posts have begun, "gosh, I just don't know what to write," and then carried on about how they felt that day, or what they wore, or what their boyfriend said. And that's why I haven't been around. Because gosh, I just don't know what to write. Yeah. Whatever.

Can't any fucking thing come easy? Take the trashbag out of the can and the hole in the bottom grows until you're dealing with a bottomless trash bag. Oh, and a shitload of trash on your kitchen floor. I know. Not really a big deal. Just seems like that's how everything is turning out. Yeah. I know, waaah waah. (How in the Hell does one spell a baby crying?) Okay, fuck it.

Did I mention June 30th marked 4 years clean and sober for yours truly? Yeah. Turns out I make much better decisions without a drink in my hand and a shitload of speed running through my veins.

Oh, and I happen to think she is a phenomenal person.

So there.

I want a better place, or just a better way to fall

2005-06-18T21:28:00.000-07:00

"I might disintegrate into the thin air if you like,"

Is filling the silence. The television is on... Muted. Don't ask me why. Lethal Weapon 2. I think. "Is that the one with Patsy Kensit?" I inquire of myself. God Damn, I had quite a crush on that woman back in the 80's. She reminds me of someone in my life right now. Hmmmm... Quite a crush indeed. Think I like the one now. Never been much for Hollywood crushes anyway. I look up. The T.V. is still illuminated. The stereo is still playing. I'm the only one here. Solitude. I can hardly stand it. And I long for it. Mel Gibson is getting his ass kicked. Gee, I wonder if he'll win in the end. "I will remember to remember to forget you forgot me." *play by play* Quite exciting. Really.

So what would you like to talk about?

Why am I asking you?

Got it... Ever watched a human being in a fish tank? I did. It's disturbing. That was evident on the face of my youngest. We stood at the Long Beach Aquarium a couple weeks ago. Looking at the "fishes." One of the big tanks. The one with eels and Nemo was being cleaned. From the inside. The woman floated happily in the center of the tank. And she smiled at the little one. And waved. And the little one's face seemed mildly horrified. But she was polite. She shot one half-assed wave back and looked the other direction. I felt it too. Standing in front of an exhibit, with fish, looking at a human being. It may not seem like a big deal, but SHIT, it was weird. Reminiscent of what's stated after "funny" stories: You had to be there.

I look up again. Oooo look, Skinamax is playing soft core.

I hate soft core.

The Easy Way Out

2005-06-18T08:34:00.000-07:00

Your name alone strikes fear into others; but maybe, just maybe, there's a little vulnerability and weakness beneath that stoic, fierce exterior of yours.

Take the What Pulp Fiction Character Are You? quiz.

Mary Poppins is Hot

2005-06-14T22:26:00.000-07:00

God Dammit, I hate when I have ideas, expression, daily weekly monthly shit I wanna say without the precious moments to put it out there. Yeah, we're all busy. Maybe I don't handle being chronically busy so well.

The structures atop the Earth. Playtime sucked from the minds of children immediately after the T.V. powers up. Watching human beings in fish tanks. The sticky hanger tags on gift bags that rip the bag every fucking time you try to remove it. The buoyancy, or lack thereof, of children in a swimming pool.

I do have shit to say.

2005-06-01T13:40:00.000-07:00

Got it.

Twiddle dee do da

2005-05-31T22:09:00.000-07:00

God dammit... I don't feel like doin' a fucking thing. Not even a post. But...

I hear yelling from the neighbor's daughter upstairs: "I know I was on the phone for almost two hours... I can't help it. I need to talk that long. I just can't help it." Poor little thing. I have conversations like that today. I just can't help it. I need to talk.

And the cat stares at me. Not the Christmas Pussy. Another feline. Sebastian. Re-acquired. He was mine once. Then he moved in with Mom. He was with my Mom when her heart stopped beating. I look into his eyes sometimes to see if he will tell me something about her last moments. He meows. Or "Meeaaaa's" in a strange, very un-catlike fashion.

And it seems like he tells me that everything's okay.

But he's an alien cat... Just look at him.

And everything is okay.

I bought some shoelaces for some shoes I own. I read the package: *36 inches* it reads. And I think to myself, "Jesus, that's 3 feet. Are shoestrings really 3 feet long? That just can't be right. I mean, 3 feet is like, 36 inches." Yeah, I'm a genius. I'm certain that's already evident. So I string them up. And it's a very normal pair of shoes. And I'll be damned if 3 fucking feet of shoelace doesn't fit perfectly on a standard pair of men's shoes. Who'd a thunk? I'm not sure why that's important here.

I feel like I need to tell someone... As I drive on the freeways in Southern California, I recently acknowledged the fact I practice thoughts somewhat out of the ordinary. I think. While I'm driving I scan the shoulders and overpasses. Not for lost luggage. Or bags of money. But for nice secluded spots to call home. You know, just in case things get really bad. I'll say to myself, "hmmm, now that looks like a good spot. Trees. Shrubbery. (good for hiding from the police) And shelter. And it doesn't look like anyone has been there." Then I attempt to spy the best spot in either direction to actually enter the area. I make a quick mental note, and move on.

And since we're on the subject of bugs, we recently made an interesting purchase. The girls and I were standing in line at The Home Depot. Incidentally, for the record, Home Depot quickly melts any manliness I carry within me. I walk in. There's lotsa guys walking around. Wearing tool belts. And walking with such purpose. And there I am. Not shy about wielding a hammer or a screw gun. (can one "wield" a screw gun?) And I'm immediately lost. Don't know where to find anything amidst the purposeful-looking men. So I ask a fella in an orange apron, "where can I find a knob that turns the water on in my shower?" And he asks me a barrage of questions about diameters and code. I hardly answer and am quickly on my way. And I digress. So we're standing in line and I see a weird nut thing in a mesh bag hanging by the register. I read the label and as it turns out, it's a Praying Mantis egg. For aphid elimination. "The organic way." 200 baby Praying Mantises. Holy shit, that's gotta be the greatest thing ever. *If it were to hatch* Miranda loves bugs. Face lights up like it will for a boy someday. (or girl, if that's her thing) And I tell her what it is and we buy it. And today, the little bastards hatched. Over 100 little tiny, turnin' their tiny little heads to look at you, Praying Fucking Mantises. Maybe a few will hang out around the patio for summer. I don't know why that was so important either.

Still don't feel like doing a damn thing. Not even this post.

2005-05-30T21:00:00.000-07:00

Thanx misses for Felix!!!

And thanx Un Chat for the help!!!

Now I have something to watch when I don't wanna work.

Quickie Clickie

2005-05-30T00:52:00.000-07:00

To whom it may concern... If anyone has an interest in how the family is doing, you're encouraged to take a peek at this. You know, cause I like showin' off.

It's oh so Quiet, Shhh, shhh

2005-05-29T23:27:00.000-07:00

The state of confused, overwhelming, not-together-so-much chaos occupies a great deal of time. And it's contemplated. Reviewed. And bitched about. I strive to get back on top of it all. Work. Focus. Eat. Work. Spend quality time with the children. Wake up early to stretch and meditate. And see someone. For therapy. Work out. And see someone. For fun. Memorial Day Weekend. Here at last. Three entire days off... Fuck.

I'm so bored.

2005-05-29T15:21:00.000-07:00

Just bought me one of these. It'll be here by Wednesday. Now my life will finally be perfect.

Somewhere over the Rainbow

2005-05-28T09:02:00.000-07:00

There's a city. It lies between the imagination of children and the money of executives. The colors. The energy. The attitude. In the city, there's a house. A mansion rather. Housing the friends we've forgotten. I'm moving there. Maybe I can apply to be their chef. Or janitor.

2005-05-19T00:25:00.000-07:00

I want conversation. I want cuddling. I want chocolate covered pretzles. I don't think that's too much to ask for.

Lacking overcompensation of said post

2005-05-10T20:41:00.000-07:00

Wishing for excuses. Sure, everyone's busy these days. Aside from the standard piss poor reason, I can't fucking talk... Or write. Or?

Picking from thin air. Job : Yes, it's difficult. Yes, it rules my world. Yes, sadly, I've spent less time with the girls. Yes, I think I may need to quit. Love : Yes, I have love in my life. And love is beautiful. "love is like oxygen, love is a many blessed thing, all you need is love..." Indeed. Emotion : Plenty. I'm a loser. I'm a winner. I accomplish great things and nothing at all. Mom, loss, gain, and silence. Mother's day posts that make me cry. Music : It fills me again. Lifts. Exalts awe. Chills. It means something again. I lost that. And I've found it. Life in L.A. : I'm not sure I want to stay here any more. Life : I can't wait to see what's around the next corner. Friends : More than I can count. I've never cared for or been cared about more in my entire life. Money : Doesn't anyone wanna pay me to be the best Dad ever? THAT I can do. Vegas : Yes, I went to Vegas. Yes, I lost money. The trip was better than the destination. It's a great city that's lost its luster to me. Not because I lost money. I had a fantastic time. I could have had a fantastic time anywhere. The Kentucky Derby : 50-1 shot Giacomo shocked the Horseracing World. And me. To my delight. It never dawned on me how magnificent it is to watch a perfectly run horse race, even if the horse you bet on didn't win. Takes my breath away.

I'm awake, I'm alive. I just vomited up my thoughts on this post.

2005-05-03T17:36:00.000-07:00

OK... (that was two letters, and punctuation)

Buried Alive

2005-04-27T21:16:00.000-07:00

So, yeah... So overwhelmed with work I've become underwhelmed. Bewildering, but I've quadrupled sales in one month. So while I'm away, click here and follow the instructions. It should make you feel better.

Um, Jaimie, "...a story about trying to kill myself with a fuckin crossbow. And Mrs S was a blonde. And HEP's nether-regions are showing," what in the HELL have I been missing?

To Untie is Such Sweet Sorrow

2005-04-21T19:41:00.000-07:00

One in a million

Life is a series of events. Some great. And some very small. This is one of those. A small one. And great in it's own respect. The opportunity to wear a tie to work, every day, is one many "executive types" accept and practice. As do I. Unhappily. I do not include myself in the "executive type" club. Mind you, wearing the fucking thing isn't the worst thing that could happen in a day. No. And I digress... Back to life's small events. I tie that Goddamn thing around my neck every day as if I planned on hanging myself from a nearby tree. I loop over, loop through, loop under, and back through. I pull, and bam. I'm wearing my noose. In case no one's noticed, I fight small battles with what has been thought of as mild "obsessions." Reminder (1) and Reminder (2) and Reminder (3) I'm crazy. "A little." Sorta. And I happen to expect a tie to tie a certain way. Really. Certain. And today it happened. The application of the tie met every expectation. Perfect length. No crease between the collar on the face of the tie. The perfectly subtle and slight, delicate dimple at the neck of this fabulously tied tie. I admired it. I almost shed a tear. I proudly stepped out into the world and presented all its inhabitants with the perfect tie. I was asked for autographs, applauded, and admired. Well, maybe not. But I felt like it. When I got home from work, I reflected on the day I wore the perfect tie. When I began to undress, I heard bagpipes. And a holy blessing. I dismantled the perfect tie and wept.

2005-04-17T17:48:00.000-07:00

I wish I was a real man...

Then I could grow a beard.

the good times are killin' me

2005-04-16T22:59:00.000-07:00

Sleepy words to share on a page. Moby's "Hotel" plays on... And the search for words pushes through. San Diego is fucking beautiful. Sales meetings aren't fucking beautiful. "And what would you do if the chef tells you he wants plates priced @ $5 each?" Brilliant. Personally, I would explain to the chef @ $5 each, he could take every single dozen of them and shove them up his ass. Sales. Yeah. But I don't say that. Not at the meeting. Not to the chef. In case the question begs an answer, the job, in the time it took Bossman to push send on an e-mail, suddenly darted in another direction. $27k last month. $22k the month previous. Over $80k this month. No idea how it happened. The preference is to attribute it to hard work rather than sheer fucking luck. Right place at the right time. I'm his goldenboy. For the moment. But enough about work.

It's Saturday night. Home from a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. "I'm and alcoholic, and my name's Darek." No kids. No adults. No one to play with. Shhhhh, it's so quiet. Still getting used to the feeling of loneliness. Miss Mom, and love, and balance, and... Just missing something. These feelings expressed at the risk of sounding pathetic. I'm not. Nor am I sad. Exactly where I should be.

Pictures from the girls line the cubby I call my office:

Everyone person in each picture is so Happy. Very cool. Just thought I'd share. And Moby plays on.

And since I'm on the subject of horses... The countdown to the Kentucky Derby is on. Saturday, May 7. The big race. It may not be a big deal to anyone reading these words, but for those that know me, I'm not the sit in front of the tube all day watching sports kind of guy. The Kentucky Derby, the oldest traditional sporting event in America's history, is a big deal to me. Last year, I posted this. I loved that horse. And I love this race. Very exciting. Place your bets.

Yeah, this is fucking random. Sorry. Just typing words. Too tired to save to draft.

"if God controls the land and disease, and keeps a watchful eye on me, well if he's really so damn all mighty, who would want to be such a control freak?"

Isaac is just sayin'

Jenny Jenny, Who Can I Turn to?

2005-04-05T20:59:00.000-07:00

So... There is that. Up in arms. Paralyzed. Post traumatic shock. Got it. Clear, defined, lacking. Will, motivation, progress. We closed what appears to be the final chapter on Mom. The estate is solvent. It's dissected, distributed, accounted for. The stitches absorbed a blow and split wide open. Bleeding again. And that's not what I'm here to say.

The e-mail stated a few fucking gems: "you and I both know the numbers have to start making sense very soon..." (or) "You are now being evaluated on a month-by-month basis." (or this one) "we also both know that I can't 'plead your case' much further as the company has made a very significant commitment to supporting you financially during all your 'transitions'," And I subscribe to a very simple philosophy: I get up every morning and do the very best I can do. Period. I enjoy freedom from guilt, worry, regret because I give 100% to the task at hand. Sometimes it looks like 60%. Other times, 133%... Nonetheless, I drag my ass out of bed to give the day my best shot. Every day. And stealing money isn't the answer. You end up getting caught.

So I'm driving the girls home from their daily scholastic activities, and on the stereo, volume way too loud with children in the car, is the Music Quiz Choice for "Song that sounds like happy feels: Gansta Trippin, Fat Boy Slim." Glancing in the rear view, two sights catch my eye. One - The 4 year-old, asleep as usual, is slumped over like an assassinated president, drooling on her knee. And Two - The 6 year-old is staring at herself in the mirror, mouthing the indistinguishable lyrics to the song: "Whatcha doin witda, (x3) Fat Boy Slim." And the head jerking slightly back and forth, and she's serious.

I forget how this post started.

6 in the Morning, Police at my Door

2005-04-02T22:05:00.000-08:00

I've never been able to pull off successful April Fool's jokes. Not even a few years ago when I was a complete liar. And I fall for 'em. Every single one. Thanks Jaimie. You sonofabitch. Yesterday, I read this. And I fell for it. Me: "it's okay man, this isn't good-bye, blah blah, fucking blah." Then I have someone tell me that their car won't start. At a very odd moment in our conversation. An illogical point in our conversation. She was supposed to come over the next day. And just after midnight, she tells me her car won't start. And I buy it. Just for a second. But she had to be the one to say, "April Fool's!!" I wouldn't have figured it out on my own. Dammit.

So I'm gonna start planning now. Hope none of you know me in a year. I'm gettin' someone.

Chicken Little said the Sky was Falling

2005-04-02T16:07:00.000-08:00

The Hash Slinging Slasher mutters from the center of the room. The sky is falling... Maybe too dramatic. I may have a problem relaxing. Vacationing this week: Visited the snow; Did 9 loads of laundry; Spent the day with Snoopy at Knott's Berry Farm; Did a "little" work to insure a smooth return to business as usual next week; Spent time at the favorite shopping spots; (Costco, Wal-Mart, Trader Joe's) Stayed up way too late strung out on Magnolia more than once. Had one wonderful day at The Evil Empire... Did we "vacation?" I ask the loaded question to illustrate how I seem to do things. Go go go! Fill every moment. Watch the clock. Push. Say it again: I may have a problem relaxing. The subject arises at the present time because it's now Saturday. Okay, okay, I have done two loads of laundry, but sonofabitch, I've done nothing else. Six episodes of Foster's, three cat naps, un-bathed children still in their jammies. I can't take it. But I must. Disney sucked the life from me. So I sit. Lie down. I think about what I should be doing. Les'see, I really should clean up the office. Should'a placed that order for steak knives days ago. Planned on re-organizing my account list. The floors are dusty. The bathroom needs cleaning. What in the hell is my problem?

Next vacation, I'm getting on a ship.

I go out walking, after midnight, in the moonlight,

2005-03-28T20:04:00.000-08:00

which, though it sounds attractive, is not the most sensible thing to do when little girls are asleep in their beds. No need to make the call to social services. I didn't. Not really. Just felt like walking after midnight. Cool air, eucalyptus trees, the glowing smile shed by the full moon, sparse traffic, and a hill. Wait... there's no fucking hills in Cerritos. I wish we had a hill... When I was in college. When I knew my VO2 Max. I rode a bike. And I ran up hills. And I worked out. And enjoyed sweating. Before the jobs, the parties, the drugs, the felonies, I was going to own the world someday. I just knew it. Problem: I forgot to apply the discipline it takes to own the world. Since I'm speculating however, if owning the world were to include all the people living on it, I think I pass. Too many to terminate. Say it Jack: I digress. The point intending to be made originally, represented by "Walking After Midnight," was an attempt to break from the ordinary. Wow, exciting. **please note** I'm certain to be slowing down if a walk after midnight constitutes a "crazy" break from the ordinary. Nonetheless, the day and the next day and the next seem to appear differently. Not ordinary. Not extraordinary. Simply different. Recalling running up a hill, noticing patterns in the sound waves whispering from a rotating fan, remembering a familiar face, and smiling. Think I'll hit play and see what pops up.

It's never enough

2005-03-27T21:22:00.000-08:00

There are stories of coincidence and chance, of intersections and strange things told, and which is which and nobody knows; and we generally say, "Well, if that was in a movie, I wouldn't believe it."

Yes, yes... I must be getting quite used to not making sense. Nonsense... I sit down approximately once a week to reach in and extract jumbled contents in motion. Frenzied and swirling about. Introspection, insecurity. Boring.

I define "what is meant to be" as that which comes easy, arriving from the miraculous nature of the deepest human emotion. Reasoning is pointless. I've considered the best path. The path that "should be." A human idea. My plan. Only to be turned upside down by what was meant to be. And I've battled against it. And won. And witnessed my fate, at my own hands suffer awkward conclusions. Never risking life or death, only awkward conclusions, consequences of what should have been rather than what was meant to be. I'm torn but unbroken. The last stop will brush past miles of uncharted landscape before its arrival.

The days fill. Like Professional task efficiency. I won't complain, but I'll wonder.

2005-03-27T21:17:00.000-08:00

Told You He Wasn't Gay

Quiche in Three Minutes

2005-03-22T00:23:00.000-08:00

Biding Time for what? A tremendous letdown perhaps.

The light is unseen through the mist, clouds, grey-black, like indecision. I know it's there. Attempting to administer the code of writings before mine. I am overt. Lacking subtlety. The change seemed so light, like clouds. And was only mine. No effort to entertain, or explain. Apologies to readers. My skin hurts.

Reconnect to the Source

2005-03-20T20:33:00.000-08:00

He stands there speaking circularly. So much to say... and I'm so confused. But he's funny. And clever. And why is it that complete baldness immediately produces credibility? I may shave the top of my head.

Pensive again. The record skips. Over and over again. Like a parrot that only knows one phrase. "I'm lonely, I'm happy, I've got it together and I'm falling apart." My heart gushes over and spills on the floor. She's unable to catch it. It drops and slowly evaporates in the air to rain tears down from the sky weeks later. Understanding the present is limited to the present.

"The past is over for all of us. The future is promised to none of us. All we get is this one. That’s all we get. "

Twice Shy

2005-03-17T21:18:00.000-08:00

Yes, Here I... Am. He said that once; playing a serial killer on film. His background, only found in the book, just shy of excusing him from practicing the art of serial killing. Key strokes synchronizing the beat provided by Bicycles and Tricycles. Thump, click. Thump thump... click. The latter better than prior. The pieces truly begin to snap together. I won't fight it. This young man is truly good. (The use of the word "good" in the previous sentence is as spanning as any) And I sense compassion, thoughtfulness, truth. He is "good." **Refer to the parenthetical. And she, the one I kissed, she is fantastic. My smile comes from inside myself. Warm. Wonderful. The insanity sheds its definition. And it's embraced. In the right place. At the right time. Each step can be better than the last. (Not without struggle, mind you) But somehow better.

Whispering Inside

2005-03-13T01:10:00.000-08:00

Magnolia. It's one of my favorites... God I wish he would have found that gun. (I know later it fell from the sky) Am I a masochist? The answer is no. Something about it inspires release. Freedom.

I'm not certain anything else on film builds, small brick by very small brick, each moment slightly more intense than the last. Is it the movie, or am I alone and pensive? Cleaning up the bedroom furniture Mom left to me. Don't get me wrong. I may be confusing at the moment. But not confused. Sitting spot in the middle, embracing the moment. The confusion. The growth. It's 1:10 AM... And it's not going to stop 'till you wise up. But don't give up.

It's about to rain frogs.

2 + 2 = 5

2005-03-09T23:18:00.000-08:00

I'm not brilliant... In case of course, anyone reading these words would consider anything else. I come in contact with individuals however, that tend to convince me I may be a genius. So I'm sitting in my car, windows up, on my cell phone. Mind you, the reliance on this object in my hand is well beyond what it should be. I'm looking forward to the day when I can connect with friends, family, and loved ones through a microchip in my brain and a microphone implanted into one of my molars. I digress. As I'm talking to a customer, not only do I see a figure in my periphery standing roughly 2 feet from my car, staring at me, but then I also have the pleasure of hearing, "KNOCK-KNOCK, Excuse me, SIR... HAAY, Sir!!!" I finish the phone call, open my door and almost hit the figure standing on the other side: a young, pants-hangin' halfway off his ass, wife-beater tee wearin', LA Dodger hat off to one side, short, little dumb-ass. "I didn't mean to scare you," he says. "Oh, you didn't," I say. "So what could you possible need?" Says me. "Um, *pause* could you tell me where the Shoe Warehouse is?" Okay, now stop. This is true. I stood, silent, and looked into his brainless little eyes. "You were pounding on my window to ask me that?" He, of course, said yes. I proceeded to make the points that should be made, ie: he's fucking rude, you don't EVER pound on someone's window, etc. He turns around, slowly moves towards his car and says, "Crazy Ass Motherfucker..."

I laughed so hard I peed; that's right, *just a little*

I walked into the store to purchase a refreshing beverage only to hear him yell one more, "FAG!!!" in my direction.

28 Days Later

2005-03-07T21:45:00.000-08:00

Just sounds right... The "28 days" thing. The madness in question began on January 9th. So it's been more like 56, but whose counting. Wish I could cut and paste what's goin' on in my head right now. (Scratch that; my head is a strange little world) Swimming through thoughts without the ability to grasp any to put into words.

I've been a bad blogger. Posting, reading other's posts, commenting... Things that were very important to me when less was on the plate. I haven't been to anyone else's blog in weeks. It feels selfish. Just haven't been able to. I'm taking up sleep time now. Working until the early morning because of it. For those of you that check in: Thank you. Keep on keepin' on.

Oooo look, a thought swimming by, GOT IT! Hmmmm, and I thought I would keep this secret a bit longer; oh well... I have a special friend. No, not an imaginary one, but I have those too. Nope, real flesh and blood. Been friends with her for over a year now. Innocent friends. Something changed somewhere along the lines though. A shift in the planets, the Earth, whatever. I can't say anything like this has ever happened to me before. I'm not even saying what it is that happened. I can't put my finger on it. What I can say is this: I kissed her and my head spun like a scene in a John Hughes movie. There. I said it.

Life is crazy, unexplainable, unmanageable at times. The emptiness my Mom used to fill is forever present. I'm working my ass off. I'm a terrific father. I'm better friends with my wife than I've ever been. And I have a fantastic, very special friend.

I think I may be doin' all right.

Ass Backwards

2005-03-04T06:56:00.000-08:00

I quit smoking again. It literally hasn't even been a day yet. But this is the time that's the worst for me. My brain turns into knots, vision becomes half a click off, and it takes me about 2 and a half minutes into a conversation before I realize I've been speaking incessantly for 120 seconds about what, I do not know. Now, and the next day or so, I go for the crazy nicotine detox ride. Weeeeeeee! I'll ride it. I'll ride backwards, forwards, upside down and inside out. Bring it on.

Peeking through the crack in the door

2005-03-03T23:36:00.000-08:00

The first "good" day concludes here. Creative juices flowing - not so much. But I got off the phone and had to be "just sayin" about some Goddamn thing. Have you ever spoken to someone so long on the phone your ear actually hurts? A mini indentation of the mini speaker cast upon your lobe.

So I took back a very slick looking piece of shit DVD player today. The music quiz taken some time ago still lingering in my brain as I walked the aisle at Best Buy. "Song that sounds like happy feels - 'Gangsta Trippin' by Fatboy Slim..." It hung out there, looked me in the face and asked me to purchase it. Always intended to buy it but never remembered. Purchase, done. CD, opened and popped into the car stereo in the parking lot. The tune kicked in and I smiled, big. And laughed. Then cried. That motherfucking song sounds like happy feels.

Find the bookmark

2005-02-27T01:42:00.000-08:00

I was told by a friend the page was turned and a new chapter has begun. On paper, the last chapter concluded tragically. Experiencing it seems different somehow. Not so much the mess it would appear to be if I were someone else looking at me.

I spent the evening being charming, funny, well-liked. I can turn that on. I prefer not to. Feels so much like a lie. In involuntary social situations, however, especially when it makes sense politically, the three way bulb clicks to the highest power and I lie. She appeared to feel special. She was, after all, a guest of the C.E.O. And of course, I would have much rather been spending time with another "she" at the party. I didn't hurt anyone. It's just not natural to me anymore. I haven't a clue what I'm saying.

Just happy to be home. And the pussy is happy to have me. Did I mention I hate weekend-long work functions?

There, Jaimie... Good, Bad or Indifferent.

The sound of silence

2005-02-20T07:03:00.000-08:00

Don't try and make sense of this.

7 AM on a Sunday. Submissively hoping for inspiration. The keys strokes between Red Bull and a cigarette light no visible path. Up and down to tend to the little people waking up and starting their day. Lucky Charms nibbling, Max the Snake, preschool games on a P.C. purchased with stolen money. I miss her and my heart is light.

The Devil Went Down to Georgia

2005-02-19T07:57:00.000-08:00

If only I had a dog that ran away. And a truck that's broken down. And I drank whiskey. And lived in a trailer... Then I may have the makings for a really good country music song. Oh, and I should probably know how to sing. Note to self: Take singing lessons before attempting to write a country music song about your life. So... Hi everyone. (If there's anyone left) I'm right here. Picking up the pieces the storm left behind. The sun is showing through the parting clouds and everything's sprouting buds. It's all gonna be green. Green and beautiful.

Don't get up, just relax. I still need to sweep up and take out the trash.

Angels in Azusa

2005-02-05T23:12:00.000-08:00

My Mom
12/11/1940 - 2/4/2005

No message of sadness here... My Mother was a great woman. She was dynamic, generous, loving, challenging. And crazy. My Mom was a fucking nut. A lunatic in the very best way possible. She did her very best for me and was adored by my children. She died peacefully and will be greatly missed.

Delicious When Served at Room Temperature with a Human Hair in it

2005-02-01T23:08:00.000-08:00

"Saved to draft..." I'm losing count of posts suffering from this affliction. Then I write this. And I was trying to say Wha?

I'm attempting to knock down walls. (Intense stare from the Pussy as I type) "Knock down that wall, knock down that wall... And knock down that farcgin' wall." Only the walls are indestructible Inviso-brick. Can't see 'em and can make a dent when striking. I need a hobby. Or the time to participate in a hobby. Or an explosion. God I wish I loved watching sports.

Thank you jku

2005-01-29T22:49:00.000-08:00

Tunes:

1. Song that sounds like happy feels:
Gansta Trippin, Fat Boy Slim
And the video fucking rocks.

2. Earliest memory:
Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon
So maybe my parents smoked a lot of pot and we drove around in a van painted like an American Flag okay?

3. Last CD you bought:
Everywhere but Here, Modest Mouse

4. Reminds you of school:

Elementary School
Kiss, Do You Love Me?
One of my best friends and I put on a concert for the
sixth grade class. I played drums and sang, he played guitar. That was one of the songs.

High School
Run DMC, My Adidas
That's right, I wanted to be a white rapper 4 years before Eminem got a drivers license.

College
Hazy Shade of Winter, The Bangels
I'm not proud, but it sounded really cool on very little
sleep and played so loud you're ears would actually bleed.

5. Total music files on your PC
Um... Yeah, so none. It's my work laptop. I'm lucky to have time to blog.

6. For listening to repeatedly when depressed:
The Orb, Orbus Terrarum
It's a strange choice, but it always makes me think.
Magnolia, The Soundtrack
Had to add it because Aimee Mann is a Godess on that album.

7. Sounds british, but isn't:
Green Day, Long View
Only in the chorus though.

8. Tune you love, band you hate:
George Michael, Freedom
It took me quite a while to get the balls to admit that.

9. A favorite from the past that took ages to track down:
Tears for Fears, Listen

10. Bought the album for one good song:
This is a hard one... I usually buy because I love the band, or like most of the C.D.

jku's addition to this quiz is:

11. Worst Song to Get Stuck in your Head:
Don't Worry, Be Happy...
Who wrote this? I must kill them.

Who should do this next?
Jaimie
April
Groovebunny

You gonna eat that?

2005-01-29T18:13:00.000-08:00

Went over to Mom's house today. Put together a new T.V. stand that her brand new 32" Television sits on. And a brand new surround sound, 5 disc changer, home theater system. The thing has like 18 speakers. Or 5. I admired my work; and her beautiful T.V. Turned on Moulin Rouge. (I don't think it's spelled that way)

Wouldn't it be brilliant if we lived in a musical? And the world looked like that movie set. Damn... I need to start taking singing lessons. I'm planning on buying an island. "Musical Island" I'll call it. Can't visit unless you sing. THE WHOLE TIME. Meals may get incredibly messy.

And it takes a quiz to pull me out of my shell

2005-01-27T23:09:00.000-08:00

Oh, but I can't allow it to be that easy. Thanks to jku for requesting I take a music quiz. And I will... Prequiz however, the need to talk for a moment or two has inspired me. Thanks jku, I really appreciate it. And thanks to everyone for checking in when all my brain has had to offer has been self-deprication. The loser within has been working out, getting stronger, and holding me in a headlock.

Good Times.

So I gathered my insecurity and whatever else I could find and went out last Saturday night. A party. An L.A. party no doubt. Then to a club. Holy shit, social interaction is still a nightmare.

Says she with lipstick on her teeth and a cocktail tipped to one side in her hand, "Hi, I'm Hillary and this is Amanda. We wanted to introduce ourselves to yooo 'cause you looked fun!" Poor little dummy. I'll guarantee of the many ways I must of looked, "fun" was not included on that list. "Amanda is psychic," (I'm thinking she may be psychotic) "and I bet she can guess what yooo do for a living." This is gonna be good. The psychic pipes up, "You're a producer! Am I right?" I went with it until I threw up in my mouth just a little. Several conversations followed. Most were of the same caliber. Not that I'm a sharp witted conversationalist, I was just having difficulty playing the game. I imagine I'll blossom back into a social butterfly once again, but not then, and not there. As it turns out however, I still look "fun." So I got that goin' for me, which is nice. I made mention of a club, and wow, that scene hasn't changed either. In fact, as we entered, a song I listened to in clubs 12 years ago was being spun. Oh, if I were only 12 years younger. And full of cheap booze. And desperate for attention. And not bitter. Guess I could start by not being bitter. This too shall pass.

But that's not what I came here to say.

The world has not ceased to spin on its axis. People die and babies are born. I've continued to work, love my children, shower, floss, breathe. I'm not at the highest point I've ever experienced, but I'm at the highest point possible at the moment. And truthfully, it aint too bad.

And bitter can be kinda funny sometimes. I've had a decent laugh recalling my night out.

Oh, Hey

2005-01-20T21:58:00.000-08:00

I am so rude... I haven't introduced you. (Holy shit he's gonna get pissed at me) Everyone, this is Jeff. He's Julie's brother. He's my brother, not by blood, but by bond. I think he's an awesome guy.

So there.

Lickity Split...

2005-01-20T20:54:00.000-08:00

No funny, (well shit, that actually insinuates I think I'm funny) just an update for those who expressed concern. I picked Mom up from the hospital on Tuesday. She's still crazy, still in some pain, but she's way better and I love her. Why in the hell would I say that? "Oh, and I still love her." What a jackass... Of course I love my Mom.

Well, damn

2005-01-20T20:05:00.000-08:00

I'm pondering this... It's too bad they've realized the world hates us and may wish to inflict harm upon our "beloved" President.

I'm just sayin'.

So what I was so eloquently "just sayin" was the fact that security measures for the inaguration of our ass-clown, oops, I mean President, were tighter and more extensive than ever in history. Oh, and I think I fixed the link.

Or not, whatever.

Hate it when I get political

2005-01-19T21:17:00.000-08:00

You know, if I were a cat, which sounds incredibly cushy right now by the way, I'm absolutely sure at some point, I would say to myself, "What tha? I would swear that I shit in my litter box not even five minutes ago, and now it's gone."

I'm almost certain that's what she was thinking soon after I provided her a clean, sanitary spot to take care of her personal business.

Olde Faithful

2005-01-18T22:38:00.000-08:00

The Watch-Bug was out, high on his perch this evening. Somehow, I feel a little safer with him there.

Thirty-seven Helens Agree

2005-01-16T14:30:00.000-08:00

"I can hardly wait to hear what I'm gonna say next," was how he used to start his pitch. And that's why I'm here. I don't know what's coming, and I mean that in the 'post' sense, not in the 'life' sense. Interestingly enough, our world hasn't stopped spinning. Everyone keeps breathing air, in and out, mindless assholes are still driving thier cars on streets everywhere in the country, kitties use the litter box, laundry gets done, (it's not dirty anymore, not since it's been hung out there on my last post) and Moms get sick and go to hospitals. That's right, I took Mom on Friday night and they've found a mass on her stomach. It might be cistic, might be something else. We won't know what it is until early in the week. But let's not focus on that until we know more. (Oh, but I suppose if anyone has any life-changing events they wanna' toss up onto my shoulders, I haven't buckled yet.) Point is, everything continues. It moves, evolves, dynamic changes take place. "Eyes need us to see, hearts need us to beat." I don't know if Modest Mouse lyrics apply here, I just really like that song. Yes, I happen to be a bit loopy. Fuck it. I'm right here. Step back man, I'm a Ghostbuster.

By the way, if anyone's seen my funny, I'm looking for it and want it back.

I'm not tickleish

2005-01-16T13:51:00.000-08:00

I just don't know... Took a Tickle Test for personality types. Are these things even close to accurate? According to'Tickle' I should know myself well enough to have an answer to that question.

Darek, you're an Observer!

That means you're one of the more kind-hearted people around. You are unusually intuitive, and you probably understand yourself, as well as others. That also means you're a good mediator — though you may prefer to spend more quiet time on your own than most.

Because of the self-knowledge you already possess, you are better equipped than many to steer your life in the right direction. Understanding more about the components of your personality will reveal unique information that even people like you might not realize. And the better you know yourself, the more confident you'll be making decisions that affect your life.

How do we know this about you? Because while taking the test, you answered questions that measure the basic traits that make up your personality. We scored your answers on different personality characteristics and discovered not only that you're an Observer, but where you stand on those proven scientific scales.

Things fall down. People look up.

2005-01-13T20:02:00.000-08:00

And when it rains, it pours.

Type type tipp-it-ty tap type tap tipp-it-ty type... *read* Ugh. Backspace, backspace, backspace; delete.

It's unusual. I'm here, and I'm pulling punches. No, not literally; I'm not holding back anger. And I could hit, literally; got plenty of inantimate objects I could smack around; but no. It's just that in my opinion, when posting on one's personal space, blog, journal, whatever; one should deliver free expression. Even if it turns out to be a lie. It's in your own Goddamn head. Painting the description of the picture in my head is what it's about. Got it? Right.

So back to pulling punches. As it turns out, the painting of the description of the picture in my head looks a bit like a large mound of steaming poop. This is an attempt to express freely without inviting, "Come read what's in my head... it's poop!" Um, no.

Okay, so ride this roller-coaster with me. Woooo, he's up, Waaooohh, he's down.

Maybe it's not poop after all. I just wished it was because it's painful. In actuality, it's truly precise; detailed. I understand it perfectly. The part I played is accounted for. I'm responsible, as is she. And when this segment of our lives is observed from a different vantage point, the road behind will be one of growth, pain, love, understanding, and commitment. The children are happy, confident, well-balanced little people, and will continue to be through the transition. Plans are moving forward, and the process will be timely, amicable, patient. I'm sad. I'm scared. I'm happy. I'm anxious. She is leaving