What is Love? Baby Don't Hurt Me...

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Love is like oxygen!

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Or so we're led to believe, aren't we? When you're growing up, love is a weird lesson to learn. Even as a small child, kissy faces, being told to tell people you love them (we even start this with babies learning to talk--"Do you love momma? Say I love you Momma!"). Then the movies, stories, television commercials, billboards... Love is advertised as everything and anything, the most ultimate prize and goal, the way things should be, with that special person, your soul mate...

As you get older? First crushes... teases and questions from family... more movies...

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Love lifts us up where we belong!

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And let's not forget other factors... Eternal love and all that... Unconditional love... Unrequited love... So many kinds! It's like you go from the simple shit most of us experience (parental love, sibling love, etc...) to all these other loves... boyfriend or girlfriend... best friend... random acts... And so you filter these through your brain while others growing up around you (and not around you, the world over) get their definitions of "love" through their cultural examples and families and friends... Everything is tainted and rose-colored-lensed and culturally based and you run in to more and more differing types of people with differing backgrounds and different concepts...

And the whole while you are supposed to find your "perfect match," your "one and only."

The romantic in me loves (there's that word again) that notion... The realist in me scoffs at it. The jaded grumpy old man in me says "Pshaw! Get off my lawn!"

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All you need is love!

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 I am a firm believer in unconditional love. I think if you profess love, and dissect your feelings and find a person you may be compatible with, you take them, faults and all, to the end...

Or, at least, I used to. My defition has changed a bit after this last go 'round...

Not that I think you can't love unconditionally. But "love" is not "like," and "love" is not "love" if said love makes you unhappy... And I'm also not a proponent of happiness being a goal either--happiness isn't and shouldn't be anyone's goal, in my opinion. Contentment? With what you have? But being able to still desire the best you can have while content with what you already do possess? It's a mix of all that, sure...

But one thing is clearer to me now, something no one had ever told me until very recently... You can love someone and still not put up with behaviors and actions that are harmful to them and you--especially you. You can love someone and not have to live with someone. You can love someone? And sever all ties with them.

And that's okay.

And it's also okay to find love again, as long as you remember lessons of the past, while keeping hope for the future...

What is love? It's a complicated fucking ideal that is simultaneously unattainable and still realistic. It's scary and weird and childish, yet still one of the most adult choices you can make. It leaves you strong AND vulnerable, nervous AND confident, giddy AND somber...

And as I once again embark on a new chapter and journey, fear-filled, anxious, excited, vulnerable, and stronger? I once again ask myself "What is love?"

And my heart whispers back Baby, don't hurt me... don't hurt me no more...

Once Upon a Time...

No, no... scratch that...

It was a dark and stormy night...?

No... Definitely not that...

Remember back in the day, before a buffoon was in charge of the United States?

It's hard to remember sometimes, I know.. and it's only been ten insanely ludicrous months...

Feels like forever... And writing? Well... it's a lot like exercise. You don't do it a lot, you get kind of rusty and creaky and before you know it, you sound like Rice Krispie cereal waking up in the morning...

Okay, I sound like Rice Krispies anyway when I wake up in the morning.

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Jason 3.0: Now With Sound Affects!

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So getting back in to this isn't quite like riding a bicycle, but also not quite like how a three year old knows instinctively how to reprogram and update your latest smart phone. Life has changed so drastically from the minute details all the way up through the grand picture of the forest, sometimes it's hard to know where to begin. Change the look and feel of the blog? Find a new blog platform? Just write long statuses on facebook so people can "TL/DR" it?

But I missed this. Quiet evenings, breeze from the west, traffic moving in the background, cats lounging, dogs (if Chihuahuas still count as dogs, that is) on either side pressing against my hips, sipping an iced coffee, and writing whatever pops into my head, whether a story, something religious or political, a short "Dear Diary" type entry...

I did this for me. Only for me. This was mine... And is again mine. I have the quiet moments again. Have reclaimed my time, as it were, from the chaos and imminent and spontaneous problems and issues that seemed to happen weekly, if not daily...

To be able to just sit and be...

I used to think it was silence that I valued above all else. Having grown up in a quite (not chaotic but) loud home, silence was always hard to come by... four other siblings all close in age, most (if not all) of my mother's immediate family on the same country road (in spitting distance, as they say), there was never a shortage of family and loudness...

I find it's actually a lack of chaos I crave most. I can block out noise pretty good, ignore sounds, other people, music, video games... (Thanks, family!) One thing we never had to worry about growing up was imminent danger or unexpected chaos. Our home may have been loud and with spontaneous moments large families always create, but there was never a worry about disasters and emergencies, not that I was aware of anyway. Most drama surrounded who was arguing with who in the family, or what sibling had taken another siblings toy or item without asking. There was a steady rhythm of stability. Not calm, not silent, but stable.

I like stable. I crave stable. I need stable.

And coffee. Obviously.

And while I cannot create a stable, normal, calm government for my fellow Americans (or the rest of the world), I can, and am, creating a stable environment for myself, in so much as I am able. I can't tell what the future holds. I know Mississippi now thinks people can willy-nilly discriminate against The Gays because "Jesus" (see here), and given the current political climate, who am I to say whether my world here in Florida will remain calm and stable? The oh-so-poor-and-persecuted "Christians" may target my lovely state next for a fascist rebellion against fellow Americans...

But until then?

I shall be calm. Stable. Serene when I can... and blog...

Once upon a time...

Jason 3.0

Life...

& Otherwise...

It still amazes me how life twists and turns unexpectedly...

But then again, I'm not crazy... And I have a therapist to prove it... However, my taste in men notwithstanding, 10 months post-breakup, 6 months post his moving out (hella long story there)? If anything, I'm a hopeless, helpless romantic...

The therapist said I wouldn't be single long... not because I'm all that and a bag of chips, not because I get lonely, not because I have emotional issues around being with someone... I tend to make up my mind quickly when I like something... I'm not one to stay on the pot, as it were. I'm there, I shit, I move on. Lessons learned, but as we all know, some lessons need to be relearned in under circumstances, with new kinds of crazy...

Are there new kinds of crazy? Well, new to me... After years with a paranoid-schizo, this last time with bipolar ADHD, the new one seems to have the same issues I do. We like what we like, we don't take compliments well (though we try), we've both been burned by the exes and dealt with drug abuse, emotional abuse, mental abuse... It sucks that I do tend to have battered wife syndrome, constantly apologetic, increased heart rate and concern whenever a car drives by with uber-loud speakers at any point of the day...

What the fuck has happened to me?

Ugh. Making it through. Dealing, talking, finding the me moments again... Can I just say how stress-free it is to be able to walk around my bed again? To have books on bookcases again? To see my floor, even though I still hate that it's white and always looks dirty?

I can see my dirty floors and that makes me happy.... File that under sentences you don't hear every day...

I don't have near the patience I used to have. Not even close.

I still have a trusting naive streak, to be sure. Sometimes I love this part of my personality, sometimes not so much.

I still love sitting outside and listening to the rain.

I love my chihuahuas, even though they aren't mine by choice but by circumstance, and I'll still tell you they are the most annoying little shits ever created by mankind... but I love them regardless. I will have a real dog again one day, though, and never again own a dog under 20 pounds. Fucking chihuahuas...

I still have dreams. I will own a house, though I've certainly been set back. I will marry a man I love one day, and he will love me back the way every human should be loved.

I'm still afraid of failure.

I'm still afraid of getting into "trouble," though at 41 years old, you would think I'd have kicked that stupid fear to the curb by now... Ugh... grow up religious with a meek, naive, trusting personality... you'll understand.

I still love to read, draw, and garden. I'm sprouting three avocado trees as I type this, along with a myriad of tropical and subtropical plants I still don't know most of the names of six years later after moving to Florida, but I love growing them nonetheless.

I still love love.

I still adore upbeat music with a steady beat and a catchy melody. I also still love a good angry rock song when the mood calls for it.

I still like me, although I don't think I've ever really loved me like I do these days. It's rough growing up thinking you have to be perfect as Jesus was perfect. You hear it every day for 18 years, it does something to a brain. Religion fucks with everyone though. (Cue excuses about religion versus "spirituality" and the like... and then insert my mega-eye roll...)

I will always, always roll my eyes. That much I can guarantee is unavoidable and genetically ingrained into my being...

What is it to be a normal, functioning human?

I'm not sure anyone knows, but a lot of people like to pretend to know.What I do know is that I'm about as normal as I'm ever gonna be.

I'm still going to need the Lady of Shallot print above my couch in the living room, no matter where I live, as long as I live...

I'm still going to need to have bookcases filled with books, with subjects as vast and different as there are subjects to write and read about.

I'm still going to have to have pizza every week.

I realize these aren't needs and are very much first-world problems, as it were.

Saying "need" when it should be "want" is also a pet peeve unless it's me doing the needing/wanting... But we're also all a little hypocritical sometimes too.

I am Jason 3.0.

I am me. I am not perfect. But I'm doing the best I can.

What else is there to do?

This is Life... & Otherwise...

Newness...

This is your couch:

This is your couch on pets:

Any questions?

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After 10 months of living in South Florida, I finally bit the bullet and purchased a sofa. Mind you, please: This is the first couch I've ever purchased. Not only is it the first couch I've ever purchased, it's the first couch that hasn't ever been owned by another family member or friend. (At this realization, I wasn't sure whether to smile or be a little sad, so I smiled a little sadly... I think you can understand...)

It's a step. Albeit only a $35 step, but I've always been a bit frugal and a lover of a great deal--not to mention my fair share of dumpster diving, but something about getting my couch out of an actual dumpster made me a bit squeamish, so I hit up craigslist and garbage nights in the area looking for curb deals, not dumpster deals, and found this navy-blue beauty, complete with queen size sleeper, no tears, no holes, no wear, no smells...

As I look back over the last 10 months here in the so-called Sunshine State, a lot of growing pains were to be had. I could no longer lean on my family except by phone; I could no longer count on my friends except by phone; I had to make myself vulnerable in ways I hadn't since the Army and college, putting myself out there to meet people, make friends, begin a new social network among the living--and it differed even then, because at least in the military and college, everyone there was there for a common purpose (defending country; higher learning), which of course allowed for a foundation of sorts for bonding with these strangers. Here? We had a common plot of land.

I've been hurt, yet I've been rewarded. I've been disappointed at times, and happier than I've ever been at other moments. Depressed beyond my own understanding of self, and elated at coming out knowing myself better. Finding out in news ways how I think, how I feel, what has made me who I am, and what I will allow to continue to make me into who I want to be, or perhaps even what I should be.

And to start with, I have a new couch.

Hell Week ...

A smattering of thoughts:

• My uncle tried committing suicide this week--although he claims not to remember doing any such thing.
• No one but preachers use cross references in a bible, and no one but preachers and those trying to impress others even read the god-damned thing from cover to cover--so why the fuck is it the best-selling book in the world? Vanity, pure and simple.
• People are assholes, which is why school shootings occur. It's at times like these where I agree with Ebeneezer Scrooge in that we need to rid the world of the surplus population--beginning with the shooter in Connecticut today. Although I will say
  • I am against the death penalty and
  • we would start with people like the shooter in Connecticut who did the world a favor and took himself out--just too late to save the non-surplus population
• Russia sucks. Yes, I said it. I mean it. Those poor god damned Russians...
• That last point had nothing to do with anything.
• But I like bulleted points, and I've had a full bottle of pinot grigio... That makes my opinions fact. You didn't realize?

Regardless--or, irregardless, which means the same thing but just sounds plain fancier--in less than 15 days I get to see my mother and father again. And my siblings. And my friends. I'm considering calling the ex for breakfast or lunch or something, but I'm, not feeling exactly charitable, despite the time of year, so that's up in the air... We'll see...

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And I still miss my dog Hawthorne something terrible...

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But there is a new one taking his place. Not that I don;t love Gizmo--the lil guy just tugs a heart-string I didn't know I had! But Maybel... My dear sweet Maybel... Kind, sweet, quiet, shy, gentle Maybel, of unknown parentage (excepting the mother, a black-and-tan German Shepherd whom she doesn't resemble in the slightest), of gentle nature and bottomless heart... I didn't know emotionally (although logically I did) that I could fall for another so soon--dog, that is. Smart as a whip, loving as a--well, a dog? I'm too tipsy to think that much outside the box at the moment, LOL!

IRregardless, it's winding down the end of a long, emotional year. Just a month ago last year, I started a new life filled with anxiety, worry, not just a bit of turmoil, and a hell of a lot of gumption, if I do say so myself. After all, who leaves an unhealthy relationship by moving across the country? Probably those of us too sick in the head to face life head on... Or maybe it's those of us who like to take things to the extreme by going to the exact opposite of what we had been doing for thirteen years? 

Perhaps I should just get a new goddamn therapist already and be done with it. Ce la vie... 

Now French--that's a freaking sexy language!

I've also decided to UNsubscribe from all the right-wing newsletters and bullshit. After all, it does nothing for my mood and everything for my high-blood pressure (which I don't have but would like to avoid, if it's all the same to you...), the breaking point being that asshole from the not-so-much "Family Research Council" using the Connecticut school shooting as a Christmas message! Really? Death to 5-year-olds makes you think "Now is the time to preach about baby Jesus!"? Seriously?? Talk about your surplus population. His ilk should be the next against the wall when the revolution comes... Given humanity's track record, however, that's still too far away... 
 
But where was I? Oh, yes... Surplus populations, amnesiac suicidal tendencies, and a partridge in a fucking pine tree.... 'Tis the season, my lovelies! Embrace the chaos, thrill in the weirdness of life, realize you cannot choose your family even though you can choose to love, and know this--it ain't over til the fat lady sings, and I ain't but sure that unless she top's the Guinness Book of World Records? She ain't the right fat lady... 

Until next time, my friends... I leave you with this tree, which the Blue-eyed Devil and I got for free.... :)

My First New Thanksgiving...

It's my first Thanksgiving that I'm not hosting...

Because my family is 1,200 miles away...

I'm used to two large banquet tables and a circular dining table added to one end. I'm used to two large turkeys cooking overnight, both easily over 25 pounds, started on Wednesday evening. I'm used to having 20+ guests--sometimes over 30!--coming to my home, eating, drinking, laughing...

To go from that, to just now unthawing a 10 pound turkey and cooking it for two...

With 80 degree weather outside....

It's odd, to say the least. I'm unsure if I'll have that experience again, honestly. How many stars would have to align to get the 16 people of my immediate family to come to Florida for me to ever do that again? How many heavens would I have to move, how many gods would I have to sacrifice to, to ever host in that way again?

I find myself missing the most poignantly, albeit of my own doing, starting a new life so far away.

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But for a moment I shall digress and hop on my soapbox because someone just pissed me off with this photo:

1. It is *not* something to feel guilty about to want to spend time with your family on a holiday that has been around for 200+ years
2. It is *not* the same thing to be a soldier fighting for U.S. interests overseas (or even on home soil) and selling crap made in china at a national retailer
3. It is DEFINITELY okay to be PISSED that GREED on behalf of U.S. businesses are making you work--and probably threatening you with your job if you question it--on a day that SHOULD be spent relaxing, enjoying food and family, when there are 363 OTHER days of the year that people can enter your 24 hour a day establishment and buy cheap goods that are not supporting U.S. factories, let alone paying a wage above the poverty rate...

I can only assume that a Republican who thinks his right's are violated if he can't make slaves out of other Americans made such an asinine, stupid, insensitive poster...

Assholes.

I would wish you a hellish holiday, but that's not very nice, as the B.E.D. would say, so I'll simply say to the creator of this image?
FUCK YOU.
Fuck your greed for making your employees work just so you can make an extra buck when you barely pay them shit. Fuck your inhumanity for taking away one of the few days of the year when FAMILY should take priority over all else. Fuck you for trying to equate wanting to spend time with family with "unAmercanism" and "unpatriotism", especially because the wages you pay and the fact that you ARE making people work simply for your bottom line is the MOST unpatriotic, MOST unAmerican thing I can think of.
FUCK YOU.
***
Anyway, missing my family while staring at my paltry frozen turkey...

Luckily, I have an employer who pays a decent wage, allows me time off to spend how I wish, and has no urge to try to make me feel guilty about it. 

Friendless in Fort Lauderdale...

No, not really. But I do love a good word-ism based off Sleepless in Seatle,, you? Everytime I have an emotion, I want to say "I'm intrigued in Idaho!" or "I'm bored in Boston!" 

Hmm...

I know, I know, I know...You're all "Where has he been? What's going on? I'm lost without him!!! And--does that mean he's traveling what he just said up there? Boston? Idaho? What the fuck???"

Okay, perhaps you're not lost. After all, we live in a world of TomTom's, google navigator's, and mapquests. Who the fuck gets lost these days?

Well, besides complete noodle heads...

No, you see, I was tending to my dying dog, Hawthorne. For some weeks now, he had been battling kidney and liver failure, and no amount of medicines and treatments were making his old thirteen-year-old body respond. Needless to say, besides being an emotional wreck, the apartment itself became a bit of one. It's not pretty when your old dog begins to lose control of his... "movements." But as he had been my constant and faithful companion for thirteen years, there was no way I was going to be punishing him for something he couldn't control, you know?

I know you know... 

It's been hard. Trying. Difficult. Death always is. Death kind of sucks that way. It tends to leave the living behind, filled with memories, emotions, feelings, thoughts, regrets...

A whole jumbly-wumbly mess of humanity staring at what used to be another living being--a friends, a relative, a pet--whatever or whoever it was, we the living must cope with ourselves and others who survive at the time, deal with both those who are trying to be helpful and consoling as well as those who think death is an opportune time to... Well, let's just say "assholes" and leave it at that, shall we? No, one step further--death, for the record, is not...

Not!

NOT

--the time to be telling me about your gods, your beliefs, your whatever fuzzy-warm thing gets you through the night... It may be consoling to YOU, but you should know it is NOT consoling to me (if you do, indeed, KNOW me...) and all it makes me want to do is take note to avoid you in the future...

I should clarify, however, that I do not take offense to "Now he's with my dog in doggie heaven" and whatnot... That's fine. I don't believe it, but that's neither here nor there. What I *am* offended by is, "Maybe this is making you think about your own immortal soul and where you might be headed? Hmm?"

I told them to go there. It made me feel better. Feel free to judge me on that point. :)

Irregardless (which, as an annoying little fact most people don't know, isn't actually a proper word as "regardless" means the exact same thing, has less syllables, and is a bit less confusing for those who tend to dissect every little nuance sputtered through the lips of others), in the midst of crying like a baby, I managed to throw together a little "In Memorial" video of my Hawthorne, which I share with you below (although I dare say most of you have seen it on facebook, as not too many of my readers are NOT on facebook) so feel free not to hit "Play" again if you don't feel like having tears spill all over your keyboard again...

Speaking of annoying little facts, it boggles my brain that more people don't run around sharing annoying little facts. I realize that being half-nerd means I'm prone to these types of things--Jeopardy-isms if you will--but stuff I find, in my own mind, to be common knowledge usually isn't, and is usually accompanied by a strange look or a shrug of the shoulders or a nervous giggle... What's that about? Don't you want to know useless bits of trivia? Don't stupid facts of non-everyday life intrigue your brain? Tickle the neurons? 

Hmm... 

Oh well... That was slightly off-topic, but my mind has been scattered more than usual lately (and I hope, understandably), and sometimes I feel like shouting "Squirrel!" every time I realize it... It doesn't help, but it makes the awkward looks a bit more amusing...

Anyway, my tribute to my friend:



Until next time, fellow lifer...

Something Stormy This Way Spins...

How Ballerenic, yes?

Ballerenic... Yes, I suppose it's not a word. Although it does seem as if the clouds themselves pirrouette upon the sky, positioning thus to form the eye as the clouds and waters spin into a great wall of wind and rain, lightning dancing, thunder keeping time, trees bowing at the great performance of nature as it edges closer to the land which will ultimately end it's performance!

As Isaac approaches the state of Florida, I'm excited in the same way I used to get excited for snowstorms--perhaps more so as it doesn't involve cold temperatures or snow. Wind, rain, probably some hail, a multitude of lightning and thunder, but snow shovels need not apply!

This shit's already melted when it falls! Oh happy day!

Of course, I'm on a learning curve here, and I'm tickled pink that I'll be getting my feet wet on a category 1 huricaine. (Pun, indeed, intended...) I've been told by the natives running around the it's not even worth getting excited about, let alone worried, for anything less than a category 3 storm, but I'm a newbie, and I plan on taking some pictures of the beach beofre hunkering down in my concrete bunker of an apartment as the waves crash upon the beach with the wrath and anger only swirling winds and evil-eyed storms can do!

Still, I did what I used to do when I heard a big ol' snow storm was a'comin'! Ran to the store for bread, bottled water, canned vegetables, a few bottles of wine, and--of course--ring bologna, cheese, and Ritz crackers... Nothing says comfortable-storm food like ring bologna, cheese, and crackers! With some white wine in the appropriate wine glass, that is.

Of course, the natives also tell me that I'm probably going a bit overboard. But I'm a firm believer in "better safe than sorry" while also being a firm believer in "enjoy everything," "find the bright side," and, last but not least, "fuck weather!"

Knowing my luck, this storm will simply vanish, or at the very least, go severely off-course by all the hot air being blown around by the sudden influx of windbag Republicans that are strolling into the state for their convention--but it seems to me, that if they truly were "God's party," what with their "pro-family," "pro-life," "pro-God," "pro-country" propaganda shit talk, God wouldn't've sent a tropical storm toward the very place they were having their convention, now would he?

Unless, of course, we consider that maybe--just maybe--God might like the Democras better? Jesus was, after all, a socialist...

Chew on that while watching the clouds roll in, boys... I have some ring bologna to slice up...

And Then There Were Pictures...

Mom wants pictures. Who can blame her? I'd tell her to join facebook to see this crap, but we tried that before. She logged on when she first got facebook... Then she hopped on one more time, six months later, and then only to delete her facebook account...

Such is the life of a woman old enough to get a senior citizens discount, I suppose. :)

So let's start with the newest addition to our little family, Brunhilda:

Brunhilda's, from what the vet tells us, part labrador, part pointer, and ab one year old. She's the one that went Cujo on the visiting doggie earlier in the week, and thanks to Google and a few facebook friends, we're learning ways to rehabilitate her so that she can be a productive member of the canine family AND be able to join us on visits to the dog beach... Sheme to us with severely lacerated legs and scars and at first it was thought she would have to lose the leg:

This picture doesn't even show the half of it, but no one needs to see how awfully she was treated by her former masters. Suffice it to say most ofthe scars are now fully healed and even growing some fur back. The worst gash still has a one-inch by two-inch gash that gets wrapped twice daily and is slowly but surely healing and beginning to look healthy.

Here's the rest of the canine bambino's:

From closest to furthest away: Kylie (tea cup chihuahua, mother of the next two); Gizmo (three-quarters teacup chihuahua, one-quarter pomeranian); his sister Chloe; Hawthorne; and on the other end of the futon is Mysti, whom Hawthorne is fatally attracted to in the same way he used to be about my brother's dog, Mary...

As soon as all six dogs decide they can all fit on the futon together, I'll snap that shot.

Then there's the two cats, Beaux and Mika:

And yes, that's pretty much all they do. Well, Beaux likes to add "Gecko Killer" in addition to sleeping, but some folks don't like the fact that he's an apex predator around here (if you ignore the fact that alligator's live in this here state), but as alligator's have yet to be found within the confines of my apartment, we should be a-okay...

That's it for now.

Hope all is well in your worlds. Mine, for the moment, is quite hunky-dory...

Reconnecting...

I'm blogging from home... Yes, I know, I know, it's been a long time coming, but all things--okay, okay, most things are worth waiting for, and this was one of them.

So, a couple of things:

1. We can never give Brunhilda to another owner. Not because we've fallen that much in love wirh her... Which we have. But she is definately an unpredictable dog, especially when it comes to other dogs and cats. Luckily she seems to have accepted the current dogs as her pack; however, when a friend came over with her dog? Luckily Brunhilda was crated. She channeled Cujo. I am not exagerrating, although I wish I were. I could not in good conscious give her to another home, a home that probably wouldn't understand her history, and then hear that she killed another animal, bit a person, what have you. (Although I will say, she only ever seems thrilled to meet new people...) However, any time we're meeting new people? She's gonna be in her crate or muzzled. I'm just so glad we have a backyard for her to run in, that she gets along fine with the current pack, and that she obeys are commands (as much as any one-year-old puppy does, that is...) And while part of my heart breaks in that we'll never be able to take her to the dog park or the dog beach with Hawthorne and Mysti, she does have a yard, she does love her pack, and she's gonna be one hell of a guard dog, as shown by the actions she has shown to strangers across the street...
2. Skype will be coming in a bit, but not quite yet. Apparently the combination of older computers with older used camera's that are not of the plug-and-play generation of electronics, means I need to purchase something newer if I expect to videocall the family back home. You live and learn, ya know? Be that as it may, at least it's no longer "one day I'l have internet at home again," but "I do now have internet at home, and things are happening..."

So I'm off to see what further deals I can find, enjoy the company of B.E.D. when he gets home from his afternoon shift, and perhaps--just perhaps--think of all those things I wanted to blog about these last few months and get started...

Six Dogs, Two Cats, and a Partridge in a Palm Tree…

It’s cramped but lovely living, I tell you. Okay, “lovely” might be overstating it a bit—I cannot wait until my VA Loan preapproval comes forth. Not that “love” isn’t in the equation… Of that there is no doubt. However, it is a bit cramped living in a one-bedroom with all the wildlife and whatnot.

A word to the wise—do not, I repeat, do NOT—ever get an all-white apartment. If you do happen to find yourself staring at an all-white apartment, note the way the stove is also painted white—and not in appliance paint. And the toilet. The walls go without saying—they are, indeed, also painted. White. As are the tiles. Well, in truth, the tiles should be white. What they are in reality is an off-white due to the amount of sand and dirt the Florida environment decides the bottom of your feet, sandals, flip-flops and shoes should be dragging around to all points indoors. Not to mention the hair shed by two cats and six dogs…

SIX dogs! you’re thinking. Are you NUTS!? Well, yes. But not bad-nuts, unlike some stupid, idiotic, assholed, dick-faced couple who was using their dog for either dog-fighting or baiting (i.e., using her as bait to train other dogs for fighting). She found an escape and found herself in B.E.D.’s carport, where he found her bleeding, legs gashed open, blood pouring from her wounds, abandoned and lonely and crying…

Being normal human beings (unlike her previous owners), he brought her home and she has begun the healing process, both in terms of physical health, but emotionally learning to trust humans and other dogs again… She has also been dubbed Brunhilde, Visigoth Princess of legend, and who’s name also means “battle armor” or “warrior princess,” depending on which baby-names website you prefer… (It should be noted, I had no idea her name would mean such a thing—I simply thought it sounded like a nice, strong, German name, for her strength and grace in the face of such adversity!) Be that as it may, my mother now has one more grand dog to add to the growing list of the Noah’s Ark-like-life of pets her children own…

Speaking of children…

The B.E.D. and I have also started the long and winding process of foster-parenthood. Or to become adoptive dad’s, depending on how you look at it. Florida having some of the ass-backward laws that it does, we both can’t be the adoptive father’s, so we’ll just have to take turns once the classes have ended and the child-care advocates have started knocking on our door—a door, it should be noted, that will not lead into the interior of a one-bedroom, all-white apartment just outside of Wilton Manors…

Just one more month until the pre-approval comes in for the mortgage…

The classes themselves are a hoot! Between the role-playing, the other couples on the road to foster-parenthood, the teachers and social workers we’re getting to know… It’s definitely worth giving up at least five Saturdays in a row, if only for the making of new friends with common goals and wants in life. (It should be noted here, not that my old and other new friends are lacking in any way, shape or form, FYI…) Of course, there will be further classes to take, hopefully not within the confines of a stuffy, Baptist-church basement, but we’ll cross that bridge when we cross that bridge. Due to the types of children B.E.D. and I are wishing to help and adopt, there will be several other courses after this one, but I’m sure it’ll all be worth it in the end!

I’m finally facing fatherhood…

And I’m terribly excited. Partially because, unlike pets, they’ll one day go off to college and (hopefully!) become productive members of society, whom I can pass on my values and life lessons, teach and guide and be there for in ways that partners and pets don’t require. Of course, also not like pets, they’ll talk back. Unlike pets, however, they’ll (hopefully!) use the toilets! Also dissimilar to pets, they’ll come with their own sets of values and morals—but that is not something to cringe at. It’ll be another life experience, a chance to expand my own horizons and challenge my own thoughts, to continue to embrace the diversity of human thinking and behavior…

Is it bad that I am hoping, however, that none of them want to grow up to be pastors or priests or rabbis? As long as they’re happy, of course, I’ll be happy… But their ultimate choice of profession…?

Ach, who the fuck cares, right? Parents and caretakers have been shaking their head’s at their children’s choices of profession for years… Why should I waste a thought on that?

I just want to raise children who will learn to be content, be productive, and use the toilet…

I don’t think that’s asking too much… Do you?

It’ll be cramped but lovely living…

Life... And Otherwise...

Yeah, yeah, yeah, get off my back! When you don't have internet at home, it's hard to stay ontop of this "blogging" thing...

But just to recap:

1. Take ketchup with you to the movies. That way, you can squirt it on yourself and play dead while stupid parents bringing 6-month-olds to a midnight screening of the Batman movie can drop dead... From stupidity...
2. I'm taking the first steps to becoming a father--and no, a turkey baster is not involved. Neither is straight sex. Foster parenting classes!! Apparently you can't adopt without them, which makes sense. Something those parent's of the aforementioned 6-month-old could have used, can I get an Amen?
3. I'm getting better and better at avoiding sunburn while staying tan, AND
4. There IS a short-cut from my apartment to the McDonald's with the free wifi, something I am both happy and sad to have discovered. I now find it at least half-a-mile easier to get on here and blog while at the same time exercising less... On my way to McDonald's... You see my conundrum here, yes?

I promise more next time--perhaps even a photo or two...

But until then, my friends...

Enjoy life...

Spare Change...

I have never met so many beggars in all my live-long days…

At every intersection, people are walking in between the parked cars. In front of every store, you hear “Got some spare change?” or “Hey, got a dollar or two?” Pumping gas the other day, a gentleman approached and said, “Hey, help a brother out—I just need to catch the bus to Jacksonville. Got a few bucks?” (Because I look like a brother, I suppose. My parents gave me two brothers through natural childbirth, and my sisters have me two brothers through marriage. I need more brothers like I need another hole in my head.)

I’m still unsure where they get the markers and the cardboard for making their signs and am convinced there’s an underground black-market for markers for the homeless… Have you priced markers lately? They aren’t the cheapest things in the dollar store…

My favorite is the guy who stands in front of Publix on Federal Avenue who denounces the mob…. Or is it the Mafia? Either way, I’m assuming he thinks he’s unemployed due to the Mob/Mafia. I’m like, “Hello, if the Mob/Mafia really were out to get you, you’d be dead!” But there he stands almost every day, switching out this cardboard sign for that cardboard sign, all the while thinking he’s making some kind of change in the world while hoping spare change will come his way…

What an odd phrase: “spare change.” Imagine if every time a major change happened in the world, there was just some “spare change” hanging around. Like we could save it up and then force change in the direction we wanted instead of just reacting to it thusly…

And I just love, love, LOVE the dirty looks they give me, like they’re entitled to the spare change in my pockets (as if I’m in the habit of carrying a shitload of coins in my pocket!) and it is I who am the failed human being for not handing it out like I can spare all the money in the world. Trust me, I wish I could! But when you have a billion homeless and unemployed standing around at every corner, every store, every stop light? Yeah, I started saying “no” about a week after I got here. It’s an automatic response now, which in a way saddens me. The last thing I want is a callous, hard-hearted attitude toward my fellow man, especially those who actually do need the help! But I’m stuck in that old Catch-22 that is American life: Help the helpless, but look down on those who can’t pull themselves up by their own bootstraps! Charity and Condemnation all rolled into one way of life.

And the cigarette bumming? That also is an automatic “No!” now, granted a little more vehemently than the standard “change” query. They’re expensive, dammit! Buy your own goddamn cigarettes! One woman, standing right behind the gas station, peeked her head out as I was walking back toward my car. “Hey, mister, can I bum one?” As she said it, she lifted her skirt ever so slightly, as if promising sexual favors for a cigarette. A look of disgust must have crossed my face (I’ve never been that good at impromptu-emotional-face-blockage) as I blurted, “I just got the freaking pack!” I got a double-fingered California wave and a “Faggot!” before she disappeared back behind the “has seen better days” wall of the gas station… Something tells me she’s seen better days as well. Be that as it may…

Ewwww!

---

Last night the BED and I spent a few hours watching some of the few home videos’ my one sister made for me over the years. Seeing the pics and small video clips of everyone back home made me a little teary-eyed. Yet it also made me realize how much happier I am. As I looked at some of those old pictures and photos of myself (more over weight, looking older, tired, worn out) I realized I am happier and more content overall then I was back home. Not that this is a reflection on my family and friends—some of the best a person could ever ask for on this green earth! It had a lot to do with circumstances, both in and out of my control, and a need for some of that spare change that had been lying around, unused and neglected.

I made the change. And I couldn’t be happier.

Now if I could just find ways to market that? I’d be able to hand out some to all the homeless in the greater Fort Lauderdale area…

So to both monetary and intangible spare change… A toast…

One Month and One Week Later...

One month and one week later, and I still fucking love Florida more than I even conceived possible.

That’s not to say there isn’t a fair share of idiocy down here. That seems to be a country-wide problem from this perspective…

For example, Craigslist: Three times now I have been on my way to pick something up that someone notified me that I could come pick up. Three times now I have arrived to find out that, “Oh, someone else came before you,” or “Oh, sorry, I ended up giving it to my neighbor.” The all-time pissed-me-off-to-all-high-heaven clincher? “Oh, it was right here. I guess it’s gone now. I don’t know what happened.”

Seriously? What the flying fuck?!?!

Regardless, I have made myself quite a humble home, sans a few comforts I’m dying to have and cannot yet afford (i.e, area rug in the living room, bookcases for my books, internet…) But all in all, it’s not a bad life. I’m tanner than I’ve ever been this early in the summer, I have a job and a roof over my head, and there’s always something to do less than ten minutes away (and is usually very cheap or free). Ergo, I’m not complaining…

Much…

One item of idiocy that does seem in greater supply here than back home is Jehovah’s Witnesses. Granted, the flyers and pamphlets make for great puppy-training materials, but to be disturbed at least once a week by this watch tower magazine, that church service… It’s enough to make one want to claim devil worship as soon as you hear a knock at the door!

Speaking of puppy training material, I know that not all of you, dear reader’s, are friends with me on Facebook, ergo you haven’t met the newest member of my family:

This, dear friends, is Gizmo. All of one pound, two ounces at nine weeks old, he’s the calmest, quietest, sweetest little teacup Chihuahua I think I’ve ever had the pleasure of owning—of course, he’s the first AND last Chihuahua I ever plan on owning. Not that I plan on using him in one of my devil worshiping ceremonies or anything—perish the thought! But when you fall in love with a runt, well, you just kinda have to accept it, adopt him, and move on (proving, in a weird way, that you can fall in love with even the least-likely candidates…). Hawthorne is adapting better to this than Beaux, who still can’t seem to decide whether Gizmo is:

1. something to play with,
   
2. something to eat, or
   
3. something to avoid,

and thus sticks with an “avoid this” philosophy by staying off the ground at all times, hopping from fridge to counter to futon to end table, all in an effort to stay beyond Gizmo’s curious prancing about… Which is probably for the best, at least until Gizmo comes in at a good solid three pounds—the top weight the vet thinks he may achieve… Oy… Three pounds!?!? Gayest dog I’ve ever owned, hands down. In fact, he may replace the way I hold my cigarette as my OGT (Obviously Gay Trait). Let’s face it—we all have an OGT, it’s just that some of us have made more peace with it than others… ☺ (I’m still unsure whether to take the “But you don’t look gay!” comment I’ve had at least three times as an insult or a compliment…) Dumpster diving has also taken on all-new, never-before-attained heights of ecstasy: from the entertainment center (auction value $350 per the masking tape on the inside), the cute little construction table that makes a perfect patio end table, to the two perfectly good pieces of 1x6 that are now being utilized as an indoor shelf… My, my, my, what people don’t throw away! I can only assume brain damage or sun stroke is the culprit for such wastefulness… Hurricane season also starts in TWO WEEKS! While my area of Florida apparently hasn’t had a decent hurricane since 2003 (and many of the locals seem to be of the opinion that we are way past due!), I am looking forward to that niggling feeling of fear as those storm clouds grace the horizon over the ocean, the waves crashing upon the beach in anger, the hustle and bustle that is usually reserved in the northeast for a snowstorm calling for more than an inch… (and yes, I meant “over an inch”… I never said my old home state didn’t have its fair share of imbeciles…). Be that as it may, I’m sure that first hurricane I’ll be all “Oh my god!”—at least, until I get my hurricane legs. And it may be that naive part of myself that thinks a good ol’ hurricane will be great fun, but you know what? I’m still a bit giddy at the thought… Hell, it’s new, ain’t it? And I didn’t move all the way down the east coast for shits and giggles… New and exciting are the order of the week! The month! Hell, for at least the next three years! Anyway, I suppose that’s it for the time being… I’m budgeting to have internet sometime near the end of June, and until then I will continue to type these up on my borrowed computer, flash-drive it, and upload it to the blog from work. I miss being on facebook for a few hours in the afternoon more than anything (as that was my hugest coping mechanism for the loneliness during the end months of my last relationship), and made a great many friends that are hard to stay in touch with from 7 to 3 during the work day—mostly due to the fact that I do work at work, but partially because they are also at work. But not having internet is a small price to pay for the moment, one month and one week out into my new life…

A Hint of Color...

It’s gonna be a while til I own something pretty again. Not that I’m a materialist or anything—not in the true sense of the word in that I think material possessions are the end-all be-all of our existence on this planet. However, theres a part of me that just… Appreciates the finer things in life.

As one of my dear friends put it, I should have been born wealthy.

Pair that statement up with my penchant for dumpster diving, and it’s just one of those things that has most shaking their heads in wonder.

But hell, if it’s free, I’ll gladly take two. Three, if they are available.

I didn’t bring much with me, although I had that trailer packed so tight, you’d think I did. I come from a long, long line of pack rats, however. So for me to give up 2/3s to 3/4s of my material possessions, knowing that my mental and emotional well-being were at stake, well, that’s a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things.

As I sit here in my uber-white living room, within easy view of my uber-white kitchen, uber-white bathroom, backed by my uber-white bedroom, I can’t help but think of Nathan Lane’s line from The Birdcage: “Well, one does want a hint of color.”

And this, my friends, family, and other reader’s who are unknown to me, is why I find myself 1732 miles from my former life: A hint of color. Read that as year-round sun tan, read that as “life in Pennsylvania was boring,” read it however you wish. That statement in poetic that way, in that color to one is listless and dull to another.

I am gonna paint at least one of these rooms, however. I can’t live in a white world anymore than I can live in a black world. Trading the emotional black for the literal white just ain’t my cup of tea—and, since we’re on the subject, Orange Peoke isn’t my cup either. But then again, there ain’t no Turkey Hill or Icey Tea to be had ‘round these parts, and I am loathe to try the local brands, as I remember the last time I had tea in the south. Let’s just say, one does want a hint of lemon and an understatement of sugar at times…

I am managing to scrape by, just to put you at ease. And when I say “scrape,” well, I wish that were hyberbole. I never knew pennies had such value when Friday is approaching but not quite here yet and that paycheck is needed to keep food on the table, or electricity in the apartment, or to make sure you keep that car you had to buy in your own possession. Truth.

But strangely enough… No, scratch that. I don’t feel it’s strange at all. Also Truth. I am happier. Contenter (if you will allow the creative wordsmith to create words, that is…). Calmer. Not only because I am now in control of all money coming and going within my world, I don’t have to listen to anyone else bitching about it. Being depressed about it. Being morose about it.

Yes, you could say I’m still a bit bitter about the way the last relationship ended, but you could also say I’m simply processing yet, and move on as I am trying to do. It is funny that, even though I’m poorer than I ever have been in my life, I’m doing more in life than I’ve ever done. Part of that is not living in the country, surrounded by the woods and fields and solitude I love and miss. Part of that, though, is I don’t have to argue over spending $5 here or $2 there. Part of it is also there are more free things to do in Florida than there ever was in Pennsylvania—be that because of the beach, the tourism centered economy, what-have-you.

But I refuse to be defined by how much money I do or don’t have. Do I miss pretty things? Yes, of course. Who wouldn’t just die to have the money to buy every single shiny thing that caught their eye? (Well, perhaps not die to have money… A bit self-defeating upon reflection…) But you catch my drift. Now if I owned a cat that had an ounce of common sense, that would be of immense help in keeping the (shrinking) number of pretty things I already (used to) own! He’s just lucky he’s a good mouse/bug/lizard killer…

I do finally own a bed, after what—3, 4 months?—of futon sleeping. A luxury I will never ever take for granted again… That is, bed sleeping, not futon sleeping. Ugh! But now that the futon can stay a permanent couch, well, things are feeling a bit more homey around here. It’s amazing the psychological and mental implications of not sleeping in your living room… But again, that could just be me…

I realize I’m rambling and that most of the paragraphs above don’t stay on topic, but hey! Them’s the breaks…

I’d also like to point out that, despite what Animal Planet or Discovery Channel would have you believe with all their shows about Florida, it is not rampant down here with alligators or pythons. Nary a one has darkened my doorway, let alone my postage-stamp-sized yard or pool. Talk about disappointment! On the bright side, I’m not worried nearly as much as I was previously about coming home and finding Beaux trapped atop the kitchen cabinets while watching Hawthorne be devoured my an albino python…

But that is part of having an over-active imagination, too, I suppose…

Other not-so-interesting items of interest:

1. Floridians also drive slowly in the passing lane, and you must pass them in the non-passing lane;
2. Craigslisters for the "free" section are much more numerous than in PA, and it's much harder to get the things you desire;
3. The weather is GORGEOUS all the TIME!;
4. I like the beach much better than I thought I ever would...

I just wish the circumstances leading to my new life would have been not-so-dramatic... Then again, one does want a hint of color in one’s life… Til next time, my friends…

My First Florida Blog Post... From My Cell Phone...

okay so we're gonna see how this goes...

I'm certainly much busier than I imagined I would be. from the dog beach to zumba to free food at gay bars... then there is the blue eyed devil, a lot of puppies, working in a new office, decorating a new apartment... These are a few of my time-consuming things...

I have yet to acquire Internet at the new place--my dream that free wi-fi would exist nearby is out the window, but then again, I'm using the beach and the pool a lot more than I thought I would too, so I guess it all evens out in the grand scheme of things...

I do need to get Internet soon, however, because doing everything you need to do on this teeny-tiny "smart" phone screen (and I use the term smart loosely...) is definitely for the birds. Hence, I do hope you, dear reader, will forgive all grammatical and spelling errors until Internet-capability is reached...

All is going well, however, and I am beginning to get a semblance of a routine despite only having recently started work in the new-to-me office. I must say, it is a pleasure working in a place that values quality work over stress... It's either the enormous amounts if gorgeous weather, or the lack of a certain supervisor... Probably both, truth be told...

Be that as it may, hopefully soon I can take the time to write a detailed post if my, Gawthorne's, and Beaux's great adventures thus far... Some of it annoying (assholes at D.C. gas stations), some of it awesome (blue-eyed devils and awesome sex), some of it just so-so (the lack of alligator and python sightings is a great disappiitment itself...)...

So until next time, my friends... I'll see you at the beach!

An Open Letter to Jenny Garcia,or... Always get a Background Check on Your New Phone Number...

Hey Jenny,

It's Jason, the new and formerly used-to-be-proud-owner of what was apparently your old phone number...

Pay your electric bill, you goddamn lazy bitch.
Also, some dude named Milo is in love with you, but refuses to buy you a steak and lobster dinner. So it's not actually love, probably just lust, and you're better off without him knowing your new number, whatever that may be, because you apparently haven't given it to either your grandmother or birth mother either.

As a side note, your *birth* mother claims to be the "biggest bi in the bx." I'm assuming that's either "biggest bisexual in the Bronx" or the "biggest bitch in the Bronx." Either way, she's a nasty bitch who can't spell and can't hold a decent conversation, not to mention very quick to jump on the four-letter-words bandwagon. I'm thinking the very fact that she uses the term "birth mother" means you were lucky to have not been raised by such a vehemently bad speller, not to mention a mother with the mouth of an uncouth sailor. And no matter which way you slice it, as she seems so proud to be the biggest something, when you do finally get in touch with her, tell her to join the biggest loser. Something tells me she'd get rave reviews for being a big something...

Seriously, though, call your grandmother. She's very worried--at least, so I gather from the half-broken English.

And before I forget?

Pay your electric bill, you goddamn lazy bitch.
I figure sooner or later, you will learn how to inform your loved one's of your new where-about's and learn to be a responsible adult and actually fulfill your monetary obligations. When that time comes, call your old number, and I'll congratulate you on finally stepping up and being a decent human being...

Until that time comes, however, you are on my shit list (as is your mother who threatened my life [I "lol"d at her, pissing her off even further]), and I have since started blocking the numbers of your various contacts and loved ones...

Thanks for listening,

Jason

Moving On Up (Moving On Up!)To the East Side...

Okay, okay, OKAY! More like the south side. I get it, jeez...

So, honestly, where do these moneyless homeless people get the markers? Do they hold up blank pieces of cardboard until someone donates a marker, and then they get to come up with whatever it is they're begging for? Don't get me wrong--I know they aren't homeless because they're lazy, or stupid, or what-have-you. It sometimes happens to the best of people! But seriously--where are they getting the markers? Is there a "Place a Marker/Take a Marker" bin near homeless alleys? Do they save up that first donation just to buy a pack at the dollar store? What's the deal there? Maybe Sharpie has some type of tax-write-off deal for donating markers to the needy? Who knows...

Anybody? Anybody? Bueller? Bueller?

Then there are the shitheads that pull out in front of you just to slam on the brakes twenty-five feet further down the road and make you slam on the brakes again while they wait to make that all-important left turn into the adult bookstore... Do they charge late fees at adult bookstores? Is it imperative you not wait for an actual break in traffic because those extra five minutes will mean Debbie Does Dallas won't be rented by someone in a desperate way because you were that late in returning it? And why are they called adult bookstores when really they are adult video stores? Is that just a PA thing?

Anybody? Anybody? Bueller? Bueller?

And, I'm not sure why this crosses my mind at this moment, but I betcha there's a whole subculture of turtles that just don't get that turtlenecks are not made from actual turtle necks, and thus their protests are more than just a tad useless... But it does beg the question as to where the turtles are getting their markers for their protest signs...

Irregardless (which is just a fancy way of saying "Regardless"...), in five more days I blow this popsicle stand (which is a "I'm hiding my true emotions" way of saying "Sweet Jesus I'm gonna miss these people, but not the weather"...), and I still have so much to do that I honestly shouldn't be blogging at this moment, but I find it easier to deal with emotion by spewing the written word... Which is odd as I was told just a few short days ago that communication is my "biggest issue."

Figures... I may actually have to stop a homeless guy and ask him where he gets the markers. I may take up cardboard signage instead of blogging... THEN we'll see who can't communicate...

Be that as it may, as I look forward to my new life, my new beau (not to be confused with an old beau named Beaux who is coming to Florida with me--also known to the current roomie as that black-headed step child...), my new digs, and my new office, I can't help but grin ear to ear, while simultaneously shedding a tear...

Damn, I'm gonna miss these people...

I'm moving on south...

It's Official... In Other News...

Well, a lot of things are official, truth be told... Whether it be school zone speed limits (annoying), mandatory car insurance (a joke), or the fact that it's still illegal to kill morons (extremely annoying)...

I now have an apartment in Florida, of which I am now paying the electric bill, even though my ass doesn't move in for another 16 days...

Did I mention I was excited? One more "just because I can" shot of the now-becoming-infamous purple tub:


Other items that fall in the "Really Only of Interest to Me" category include:

1. an ex that thinks I'm being a dick when in fact I'm just trying to come across as coldly-detached-yet-civil,
2. a certain blue-eyed hunk-a-hunk-a burning sexy waiting for me to arrive in said southern portion of the United States (Florida, for those of you who haven't been paying attention [for SHAME!!]), and
3. an excitedly-nervous feeling deep, deep, deep down in the pit of my stomach...

Told ya... the "Really Only of Interest to Me" category...

As another side note that should be "official" in one capacity or another: I really really miss busting on fundies for being dumb asses, and the list of saved links is so goddamn long at this point, I'll have to forgo busting on some of the older stories when I finally do find the time to bust their chops, if only because the stories are older than, say, 6 months, and you've probably already heard about the sheer dumb-assedness of said stories, and thus it would be completely pointless to blog about said dumb-assedness...

Speaking of dumb asses...

Really?

Yes, really...

I'm still not sure how it happened... But I apparently spent the last 13 years of my life with a paranoid-delusional who thinks not only that I'm a dick who can't think for himself and simply lives to listen to what others have to say until I form an opinion of my own (and honestly, I refuse to turn this blog into a "Guess what the Ex Said Now" blog...), but if I don't vent here and get it all out, when I do reply to his latest email, I'll simply become the hurtful dick he thinks I am, and I so don't want to go down that road--ergo, I vent here, then email him later (not that he isn't reading this anyway, but there you are--a no-win situation...).

PURPLE TUB FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER!!!:


Okay, okay... So it's kind of a happy thought... And after our latest paragraph, completely warranted... Yes?

Yes...

Definitely a warranted, COMPLETELY-official, happy thought...

In other news...

I still can't afford to be an alcoholic, but then again, I also can't afford cable, so...

It's official... I'm a non-alcoholic, non-cable-watching, purple-bathtub-owning, soon-to-be-southern-Florida-residing gay white male...

In other news...

Falling...

Ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife...

And you think you've found the knife...

And it isn't the butter knife, or the carving knife, or the fillet knife, but the steak knife...

And your heart is the steak...

(Granted, this probably isn't a post for vegans...)

But the feeling is there...

And all that can go through your head is, "I'm usually so rational, so reasoned, so analytical..."

But there it is...

and you can't not take that chance and run with it. Because it feels right, and it seems right, and you were so alone and so miserable for so long that if you don't jump at the chance, you will regret it, and you know it will be a mistake if you don't...

And you can't really explain it, because it doesn't make sense in a logical, rational way...

And your friends and your family, wanting to hope for the best for you, but also not wanting you to dive off a cliff only to realize no one put up the net? You see that concern and you see that love, and you love them for it...

But you have to go for it...

I spent so many years waiting for someone else, so many years waiting, hoping, trying to help and...

And then you had to leave...

And your heart broke all over again because you knew it was final, it was the end, and you thought, "Well, it's just not meant to be..."

And it may be a rebound, but you're pretty sure it isn't, but feelings are fickle things, and your mind reels and your heart sputters and your feet tap in nervous happiness, and the potential and hope for beautiful, wonderful things is there and the faith you thought you lost is there again, and it's screaming at you, "YES! YES! You need to do this! You need to be there, you need to make this happen!"...

I'm falling...

I'm 99% sure I'll be caught...

But again, it is falling...

And it's scary and nerve-wracking and emotionally raw and very new and exciting and...

And there it is...

Falling...

and enjoying it...

---

Anne Shirley: Good morning, Mrs. Harris.
Mrs. Harris: Walking as if we owned the world, are we?
Anne Shirley: So I do.

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Anne Shirley: I feel as though someone's handed me the moon... and I don't exactly know what to do with it.

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