Here’s the Deal

Everything posted below this was originally posted on myspace which I am now avoiding like the plague.  Y’see it seems, my wife met some guy on myspace and has been boning him for almost a year now.  You can still see her pic on my friends list at myspace in her sports bra with those tight little abs.  Yeah, I took that picture.  She maintains that little body partially by working as a professional trainer after passing the test that I helped her study for….twice.  So after fifteen years of being faithful and trying to help her through her six different kinds of crazy, it all went for naught as she decided she would bone the guy who raped her in high school.  Yes, you heard me right.  His name is John Scott and you can look him up on myspace, too.  My wife’s picture will be on his “friends” list, too. The divorce isn’t final, but it will be soon enough.  You two deserve each other.  Have fun.  

So, that’s the reason for the new digs, the lack of posts and everything else.  Now I’m trying to get back into the writing swing.  The previous stuff I transferred over in its entirety from myspace except for a rather embarrassing poem I wrote while I was battling depression a few months back due to my marital situation.  I declined to repost that.  I notice some of the stuff is out of order and not formatted to make it easier to read, but I believe it all is still understandable.  

Don’t worry about me.  I’ve got lots of friends and family supporting me.  My vision gets a little clearer every day and I’m able to see that I was suffering what was basically mental abuse at the hands of my wife for years and I’m now rolling forward.  I’ve lost about 40 lbs recently.  I believe they call it the infidelity diet.  My workouts have been frequent and I feel physically better than I have in years.    I’m off to hang a heavy bag in the basement and work off some bitterness at even having to dicuss my wife’s antics, but in the end, I think writing about it and letting the world know what I’ve been going through could be therapeutic for me and hopefully mildy entertaining for others who may come here, just to have a laugh or two at my expense.  That’s okay.   Later

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Hoookay, well that weight of 265ish I mentioned in my last post. Better make that 270. Yay. Avoiding mirrors is getting to be one of my best talents. Despite that, once in a while when I get out of the shower I still slip up and glance to that reflective menace on my left and I am simply amazed at how much my upper body looks like a pile of mashed potatoes with nipples. Mmmm, mmm. That’s good eatin’.

Sigh…small steps. With that in mind I’m trying to slowly get my shiftless carcass used to activity again. I’m so far out of shape at this point that I have to get into shape before I can start working out again. The last three weekends I’ve managed to get a lot of yard work and errand running done. Tonight I even managed to come home after work and do a little gardening…a pasttime I have never liked, but I thought it might get me outside a little bit and provide some activity.

Getting off my ass after dinner is a big deal for me. I’ve been battling a thyroid condition for a few years now and my routine for most of the last year has involved struggling to remain awake at the wheel long enough to get home feed myself and go to sleep.

“Thyroid condition” Damn I hate that term. I used to constantly belittle those fat housewives who always pushed the blame for their ballooning asses off on a “thyroid condition.” I suppose it is poetic justice to a point for me to eventually find out that such a condition really does exist and really does suck big donkey dick. At least now I know I’m not crazy when I kept telling myself that I wasn’t eating enough calories to support my body weight all this time. It’s nice to be right once in a while.

So the immediate plan is to lose some of body fat through making a few dietary changes and hitting the heavy bag until I get back down to around 255 or so. By then I’ll feel a little more like a human being enough to get back into the gym. Right now, all my clothes look like I’m wearing spandex because it’s all so tight and uncomfortable. I do notice my mental faculties returning of late, too which is nice. Did you know that a severe thyroid disorder can affect your ability to think in complete sentences? At one point I thought I had finally had that one shot too many of whiskey and had finally fried the brain cells that were responsible for me being able to maintain enough of an attention span to wipe my own ass. I’m only partly joking about that. Nothing like having a handful of dirty toilet paper and having to exercise extreme concentration to remember what you are supposed to do with the paper next.

I’ll start posting progress reports regarding my current attempts at getting my shit back together as necessary. I teach high school and in the back of my mind I keep waiting for summer vacation before I kick myself into high gear. I know that’s a cop out in and of itself, but like I said, small steps. I work most of the summer, too, but my summer job is considerably less mentally fatiguing and I tend to get to the gym much more in the summer anyways.

Hopefully at some point I’ll be able to focus on writing something more entertaining in this blog other than dwelling on this deteriorating slum I call a body.

First Blog Ever

First blog ever.

Okay, so I started this blog to try to get myself out of this huge funk I’m in and to have a little bit of fun. I’ve never taken part in a blog before so I figure I don’t want to mess up someone else’s so I may as well mess up my own.

Suffice it to say that I’m having a hard time getting to where I should be mentally, physically and every other wise. So maybe by making myself vent a little here and there I can somehow figure out what the hell it is I’m doing vs what it is I should be doing.

Right now I imagine my posts will range anywhere from weird dreams I’ve had to melancholy bottom of the whiskey bottle type melodrama, to posts designed to kick myself in the ass, to vicious rants about the many, many stupid and lazy people I deal with on a daily basis.

I guess let’s start with the basics. After several medical problems in the last couple years I think it is safe to say that I’m almost in the worst shape of my life. I’m 5′ 6″ tall and weigh in the neighborhood of 265. Now that’s a lotta drippy, hangy, disgustingness wrapped into one package, but it isn’t quite as bad as it seems. I’m not ready for my own Discovery Channel episode yet where they have to knock out a wall and swing me out of my bed with a crane. Not yet anyways. I do have a decent base of muscle underneath all this and I reckon if I got down to 210 or so, I could probably see my abs again. I mean…I’m assuming they are still there somewhere and haven’t moved out seeking better quarters yet.

I’m not going to get into the medical conditions or the runs of bad luck or any of that crap that no one wants to hear about just yet. They will probably come out as I go along with this blog anyways. I just don’t want to start out with a bunch of whiny “poor me” bullshit. I know things could always be worse. I could lose my job and be re-hired as a suppository inserter for other fat people who can’t quite make the reach around to their own anuses (ani?) for example.

Whew. Well, first entry out of the way and I’m out of time. The first entry is the toughest right? We’ll find out over the next few weeks

A Shot in the Ass

A Shot in the Ass

Finally went to the doc after being pushed and prodded by a friend. I gave him a buzz to catch up with what was going on at work because I had missed three consecutive days which is not typical for me in the least. During that time I had coughed up enough clots of semi-solids from my lungs to feed a family of five for a month. I told him I had convinced a local doctor to squeeze me in, in five days. Said friend’s reply was delicate, well thought out, and comforting. I believe it went something like, “Dude, you sound like shit. You better get in some place sooner than that! That thing…in your voice….nnnnnnnot goooooood.” Up until that point I had thought that I just had a persistent bug…the kind that sticks around for 12-16 weeks. Y’know. Typical spring cold and flu stuff. After that phone call I began wondering what the beginning stages of leprosy were, so I got on the phone and found a doc willing to see me sooner. It meant having to take the next day off work, but I decided maybe I should listen to someone for once.

Things went well at the doc’s office with the exception of that scion from Ol’ Scratch himself. Most of you might know him by his lay name, the scale. 268 pounds of fighting shape I’m apparently in. That is if you consider the shape of a weeble wobble a fighting shape. I never let the nurse touch the slides on the scale anymore. They usually put the large weight on the 200, then work it up to the next notch…eye me curiously like I might be smuggling lead bird shot in my rectum and then notch it up again and again. I just save them the trouble now.

The doctor had good news for me and assured me that leprosy hadn’t been seen in our neck of the woods in quite a while. I’m going to share the name of my doctor with you. I won’t share a lot of real names here, but this one is too good to pass up. She is of East Indian descent and her name, I’m not kidding, is Dr. Farah Khan. Do you think her folks did that on purpose? Anyways, after several rattling breaths and coughs from me and several concerned looks from my stethoscope laden anti-semite (just Wikkipedia Farrakhan if you have to…don’t be ashamed), I was whisked to X-ray, the blood lab, and back to the doc’s office.

She asked if I had been sick for a while. I asked her if three-four months was considered a “while.” She favored me with a withering humorless look that I thought only wives could give their husbands and told me aside from my ear infection, sinus infection, and pneumonia, I was fine. (How come she gets to make with the dry humor and I just get cold looks when I try it? It’s my insurance paying for my time there. Least she could do is pretend to find me amusing. Damned, anti-semites.) Then I got a laundry list of antibiotics. I get this really cool inhalant antibiotic. I’m trying to think of some cool way to use it to my advantage. Like passing out in the supermarket and having my five year old daughter pretend to freak out while digging my inhaler out of my pocket. She would proabably start laughing and wreck the whole thing though. She’s like that. I also get some pills and BONUS, I get not one but two shots….in my ass.

Now, I’m not afraid of needles, but I haven’t had to pull my skivvies down in a doctor’s office and bend over since I was about five and had to get shots. I took it like a man. I figured, I’m four years from my first prostate exam so I may as well get used to it. I’m still hoping that before then they’ll come up with some home kit for prostate exams involving a dental mirror and a back scratcher. Either that or they’ll start making prostate exams more home friendly. Y’know how you can’t open a workout mag or even sift through your wife’s Cosmo without there being some article in there about how either the woman can do her own breast exam or have her “partner” do her breast exam for her? I’m hoping before I get to the big 4-OH, that prostate exams will be more acceptable to perform at home. “Honey, if you loved me you would check this for me. What? No, the leather chaps and the ball gag aren’t necessary for the exam, but they do add a little something don’t they?”

The shots weren’t bad. I was worried for a second about just how far to drop trou. If you don’t pull your pants down far enough, then it’s makes you feel even more vulnerable when the nurse has to sigh and tell you, “A little more. No, more than that. Please sir, I have other patients and I’m not enjoying this view.” On the other hand wouldn’t it be embarassing if you pulled your pants down too far and then the nurse was wondering if you were trying to expose her to a rear scrotum view on purpose? I’ve seen a front view of my scrotum and I’m willing to bet the rear view is less appetizing. Apparently I guessed right as I didn’t hear her snickering either then or while I was outside at the payment desk. The important thing is, I’m back on the healing track. I went to work today. I’m still in need of catching up on sleep, but I’m feeling a little better every day. I can’t wait to see what goes wrong next.

That Bitch Janice

That bitch, Janice.

Wow, I can’t believe it’s been almost three weeks since my last posting. During that time, I’ve gone through the final two weeks of school and the end of the year paperwork blitz, done a bunch of preparations for bargaining meetings because we are up for contract renewal, and mowed my lawn it feels like about every other damn day, gone to a send off party for my neice whom I believe is going to a hair school, completely avoided the awkwardness of going to any of my students’ graduations parties, gone on the end of the school year bender, and finally felt healthy enough for two workouts in a row.

None of any of that is striking any chords with me at the moment, but I had this dream last night with such a combination of images that I can’t get it off my mind. So I’m going to write about it.

The dream starts out where I’m walking through my elementary school yard with Janice. Now I do and have known several Janices of various spellings in my life. I currently work with one who helps our teacher’s union negotiate. I believe Janice was the name of the first girl I ever held hands with. I currently have a dear friend of the same name although it has been so long since I’ve seen her, I am starting to wonder if she were ever real or simply an imaginary friend I should have outgrown by now. I’m sure I’ve had at least one student named Janice in some year or other.

The Janice in my dream was different however. The Janice in my dream was the sister of Tony Soprano. The ultimate self-serving, self-deluding, leetch bitch of all time. Her character is so annoying, cloying, and dastardly brilliant in her own way, that I recently had to turn off the episode of The Sopranos I was viewing because I was having violent thoughts towards my television. I don’t know if she reminds me of the negative aspects of women I have encountered over the years or what, but I react to seeing her face on-screen the same way overly sensitve dogs react to a dog whistle. Either whining and hunched down on the carpet or nervously pacing around with a look of what-the-fuck?

Enough back story. Back to the dream. I’m slowly walking on a sunny afternoon across my elementary school yard. I’m a grown man. Sopranos Janice is 1/2 step behind me and close enough our arms brush as they swing. Once in a while I can feel her grabbing for my arm or hand and I ignore her. I vaguely have this feeling of regret. Like I did something bad. Although I can’t remember a single word Janice said, I know she is trying to convince me to stay with her. I don’t want to. There is some sense of guilt in that. The guilt either stems from the fact that I cheated on someone with her or because I deeply regretted rutting with something as hideous as Janice. I can’t tell which, but either way I feel like I am a less respectable man for whatever unknowns I did before the opening sequence of my dream.

I wish Janice would stop clinging to me. I wish she would leave me alone because I feel like I have to or want to go. There are other people around, but their faces are all blurred out like the censored private parts on Asian porn sites. Then the scene switches abruptly. (I kinda think something happened that I no longer remember between these scenes, but I was running too late to write this down this morning when it was so much more clear.) I am now in the foyer of the school standing behind my motorcycle. Janice is still behind me reaching for me. The freedom of the open road surges forward in me in an almost uncontrollable way. Y’know how when you really have to pee and you finally walk into a restroom and it’s almost like your bladder knows you are close to release and you really have to fight back that urge to start pissing before you even get your pants undone? Yeah, I know. I’ll submit that to the board of bad metaphors myself later, but that’s pretty much what it was like.

The promise of freedom almost makes my hands sweat and suddenly I’m tense because I’m so close to being gone that I’m not operating efficiently. Suddenly I see the motorcycle kickstand start to slide out from under it on the smooth stone foyer floor. I reach the bike in time and grab the back end and right it several times, but every time I tip it to allow the kickstand to get under it, the kickstand just slides out again when I lean the bike onto it. Finally, with much fucking around and with Janice’s voice still burrowing into my skull behind me, I lean the bike against myself and manage to shuffle close enough to my kickstand to see that there is a nut loose and that is why the kickstand isn’t holding. The odd part is, it was more like a bicycle kickstand and not a motorcycle kickstand.

From there I think I put the kickstand up and found something to lean the bike on. All I really know is the sense of the bike leaning on me is now gone at this point. I move farther forward on the bike and notice large hunks of chrome flaked off the forks. The forks also are not realistic to my real bike. Not only have large chunks of chrome fallen off, but the exposed metal beneath is all rusted like a large amount of time had passed since it had started peeling. It is nothing catastrophic to the mechanisms of the bike. I can still run it, but I also realize my nature won’t let me run the bike like that for long. I will take the forks off, package them, send them to a chromer, and pay large amounts of money for that service even though I know I don’t have the money to pay. Mostly I feel a sense of…here is something that needs fixing, but I don’t have a prayer in the world of coming up with the cash to do it. I’m even more dreading the time I have to put into pulling the forks off the bike and sending them out.

That’s about it for the dream. Some of the stronger images I’m still aware of in the dream were of the sun as I crossed the playground and again the sun coming through the foyer windows and falling on my bike. The image of that out of place kickstand stays with me as well as that rusty hunk of metal staring at me from under the missing chrome. Strangely, Sopranos Janice’s face never appeared in the dream. She was always behind me. I just knew it was her. There has to be something with time going on here. I’m an adult in the dream, but the setting is a place I last set foot on when I was about 11 or 12. The chrome flaked off recently, but the rust underneath required a passage of at least several seasons. Some sort of mid-life crisis kinda dream or what? Is Janice not a woman at all, but all my guilt personified? My bike, even though it is freedom to me, is it also a burden? So is this one of those, “Material things weigh you down.” dreams?

Fucked if I know. I’m still left with a sense of wanting to get the hell away. Away from that playground. Away from Janice. Away from the bike’s problems even. Maybe I’ll have the dream again tonight and I’ll have another whack at figuring this one out.

The Idiots That Are

The Idiots That Are.

I like to think of myself as a relatively easy going guy. I think most of my students would agree. Well in two short weeks of riding with driver education students I’ve had run ins with two people that really found the button to push on me and I hope they die with festering boils.

The first one was a flag person at a construction zone. The students and I had commented over the course of the week how seriously she took her job. By “job” I mean “herself.” She should have become a cop because bullying and self-righteousness was obviously in her blood. Sorry to take a stab at cops there. I have a couple friends who are are great guys and I’m sure they are good cops, but even they would admit that the police force has more than it’s share of dickheads and bullies.

Without a chalkboard it’s hard to explain what went down in the driver ed van leading up to my moment with the glorified crossing guard, but suffice it to say, she messed up and ended up waving ahead a couple of logging trucks down the lane we were in. The only lane available. Still not a problem except that they were going the opposite way we were. If you want to see a true test of a driver education student’s mettle, I think putting them into a possible head-on collision with a fully loaded logging truck might just do the trick.

Avoiding all harm and making every right choice possible, as I cutomarily do, we slipped into a parking lot at the last minute. After the road was safe for right of way traffic, I had the student go back to the highway where we were stopped by McGruff the Crime Dick and her vaunted stop sign. This chick was swell. Really swell. As in swollen. Really swollen. I didn’t think an object as round as her could, but she did indeed swagger over to our driver education van. Her first words were, “Do you know why I’m stopping you?”

Ummmm, you thought our van was made of Haagen Daz?

Nope, yer teachin’ them wrong.

These weren’t the words I wanted to hear after Bluto had just incorrectly directed traffic at a van full of children. I tried the politeness route once. I tried the politeness route twice. Apparently she thought we had tried to cut the corner to avoid the construction zone. Despite the fact that I pointed out she was incorrect and I had three kids in the van to back up my story she insisted I was wrong and that I was terribly lucky she didn’t report me. The conversation escalated from there. Ending with a concise and well elocuted, “Kiss my ass!” from me before we drove away. Within 1/2 mile I thought of about a dozen zippier things I could have said to her before we left her talking to herself.

The second incidence occurred when I directed a student into a turning lane in preparation for a left turn. At some point while signaling and pulling into the turning lane the correct way (Good job, Samantha) a red, open top Jeep came screaming the opposite way straight at us. Now the Jeep did signal, but that’s about the only thing it did right. It blew into the turning lane at about 15 mph over the speed limit about a ¼ of a mile before it got to us. Just for the record, it didn’t have to actually turn left for about another 1/4 of a mile after it eventually passed us. So now, for the second time we are in a lane facing oncoming traffic and let me tell you, this was one upset female driver!!!! Arms flailing, greasy, white wife beater bulging in and out with the pulsations of a midsection that was just a little too big to be referred to as Rubenesque, and a mouth that could have deep throated a fire hydrant sat there heaping curses on us from the Jeep.

If I had been alone I would have just laughed and sat calmly in the turning lane for the barslut to get the fuck out of my way. But, I did have kids in the car who were getting a little freaked out so we signaled, pulled back into traffic, went around the evildoer (That word does feel good. I think I know why George W. uses it all the time.) Said evildoer stared my kids and myself down the entire time we were creeping past. Again, if alone that would have made me laugh harder, but when students are with me, I get protective and again my mouth got the better of me as I informed her through the open window what a fat ugly whorebag she was. I probably shouldn’t have done that. If the boyfriend who was in the passenger seat of that Jeep reads this in the near future, I want you to know that I saw you there looking rather sheepish as I’m sure you realized that your girlfriend was in the wrong….oh, and one other thing, RUN! RUN AWAY FAST! I don’t care how well she sucks your dick or if she does that thing you like involving baby oil and pork rinds! Get the hell away while you still can.

So what did these incidents have in common that irked me to the point of using inappropriate language around my students? The first thing I can think of is that both of those situations put my kids in danger. The second thing and I think the one that really, really set me off was both of them fucked up and didn’t realize they fucked up. In fact, they didn’t realize they fucked up so bad that they thought we had fucked up and insisted despite all evidence to the contrary that we were wrong. This is an elite level of ignorance. If you are an intelligent person, don’t even try to achieve this level of ignorance. I saw someone try it once and he is now a vegetable. I’ll probably never see my little Tweedledee flag person again once her job is finished (Unless I go to the moon. She might still be visible from there.) and I doubt I’ll see my blonde haired Jeepslut again, but every time I read or someone speaks the word “ignoramous” I want you to know that I’ll think of you two first.

Bout Damn Time

Bout Damn Time

Wow, time sure flies when you’re busier than hell. Glad to say that not all of it has been busy with occupational work and etc. I’ve knocked about 30 jobs off the “Get done before the end of summer” list in my first week off after driver ed shut down. I also I took in Ozzfest at Alpine Valley this past weekend. The setup at Alpine Valley kinda makes me think about what it would be like to have an ice cream man design bridges or something.

The first fuckamarole was a guard rail set up around the second stage to keep it from getting too crowded close to the band. You had to get there at about 7-8 a.m. to get a special wristband to let you into this privileged area. Not the worst idea in the world except that it was one of the best kept secrets of the show. Keep in mind that this is an all day metal festival that goes on for about 13+ hours and not that many people want to be there for the whole thing. I like metal, but 13+ hours is too much for me in one day. If you weren’t allowed inside the guard rail you had to stay back far enough from the band to really damage the concert experience. It didn’t help that while I was right near the guard rail, I got to watch the privileged few do calisthenics and play tag like kids because they had so much elbow room in there. I managed to get one row away from the rail and I still ended up watching over half the concert on the big screen. Great. My brother-in-law has a 65 inch flat screen t.v. that I could have enjoyed just as much for a lot less money. Since the special orange arm band thing wasn’t publicized, anyone more than four rows outside of Graceland had no idea why they were so far back from the stage and kept surging forward trying to get closer, not knowing there was a guard rail fifteen feet in front of them. Again, great stuff.

The main stage consisted of about oh….four hundred acres of seats before the lawn seating began which meant you could stand right behind the seats and still not be able to recognize individual band members. Of course, if I had just wanted to take out that second mortgage on the house, I could have bought tickets in the seat acreage, but I decided against that course of action. Also, for some reason, they decided not to run the second stage and main stage bands together this time. So instead of people heading back and forth to catch the bands they wanted and socializing when it was time to take a break from the mosh pits and crowd surfing, people just gave up trying to see the stage and lagged way in the back of the crowd. The social atmosphere of this thing was severely retarded as a result of this major feat of planning. Not to mention it also made it harder and harder to see the bands you wanted to see because the crowd wasn’t split up between two ends of the fairgrounds.

Those major bitches out of the way, Alpine Valley had two things going for it. A)I never had to wait in line for beer and B)I never had to wait in a line longer than three people for a piss. Other than that, I can only hope that Ozzfest returns to Somerset, WI again in the future because my experience at Somerset will last me a lifetime. My experience at Alpine Valley was okay, but I surely don’t see myself ever spending that much time and energy to see a music festival there again. I think next summer I’ll have to check out the Fox Valley and the SummerFest they hold there annually.