How far would you go for your favorite food? How about a friend? The first one, probably 100 miles, if I just had to. I don't really know on the second one, anymore. It seems that my true homies and I are on the outs, with one exception--the guy who wouldn't shove me off a cliff. What I've got now are work buddies and neighbors, no blood brothers. I think it's natural for guys to slough off the pack, save maybe one or two. But, damn, if I don't miss running with them.
I guess that some of you blogmates are crossing over into a territory that can be defined as true "something or other". This was totally unexpected: Help me define this, please. I never had used the internet for social purposes before, and the blog was started because I like to write. I just wanted some feedback on it and stuff happened. I really don't know what to do with it at all. But, I'm grateful for it.
I thought that I had set myself up as a pretty stoic, impenetrable, and solitary sort--you know, to keep people from asking me about my life--but am finding that it doesn't suit me at all. There are still parts of my life that are off limits to the blog, and they will stay that way--as my personal treasure, to share as I please. If I have given you any amount of confidential information, then you have succeeded in reaching me farther than most of the 3-D meatbags around here. I don't open up much, because I've not trusted many people in my life. There are things that you just can't tell anyone. "...neither cast ye your pearls before swine...", Matthew 7:6.
I am not saying that if I don't give you the dish that you're a swine. I just can't deal with being totally open to everyone. If I do open up, it's embarrassing. I get the "opening up" shits. This is what happens when you've been holding it for too long. I just love poo analogies! So, there are a few of you who are getting a shit load from me right now;) I want to express how much I care for those that are willing to listen to a grown man talk about his drama. Really, we don't know each other in the flesh...well, I'm not getting all dirty on ya, but I haven't shaken any of your hands and so forth. I've heard two of your voices, though. That was a trip. There's some of you that I would like to talk to face to face with and see what you're really about.
I can tell you that if you really know me, that I am this way, really. But, you have to be tight with me, not faking.
Why? Because I still bump into people from old neighborhoods, scouts, and school who want me to do something outrageous or weird for their friends or spouses. Folks, this is just embarrassing for everybody. I don't want to be known forever as the crazy dude who burnt the scoutmaster saw blade protector, thinking it was part of a Hot Wheels track. Or, the guy who thought that human dung would explode just like cow dung, if set alight. Yes, I flung dung on a campfire once, and it stunk to high heaven afterwards. Or, the guy who fell asleep in chemistry, woke up, walked to the front of the class, and simply drew an arrow on the board and said, "Up". Mr. Thompson counseled me afterwards and asked me questions about drugs. And this one: Somehow people thought that I was dealing drugs out of a hearse in high school. I don't even want to know how that one got started. The list goes on and on.
Shit, I did my small share of sampling, but I ditched my dealing friends in my Sophomore year. Unfortunately, I did drive a 1968 Plymouth Fury III station wagon back then, so it's all making sense now. But it at least had a bitchin' 383 Commando Mopar motor in it. I hit 120 mph in that thing. All things considered, that's quite a feat, and that was on a dirt dike. I ended up ditching it in a patch of cattails, but got out unscathed. Sorry I put you through that stunt, Herc. The meat wagon got out alive, too. Switching to a 1969 Beetle made me more socially acceptable, but it was nowhere near the cosmic rush of the wagon, R.I.P.. Why did the chicks hate me for being unique? Yeah, and my friends had El Caminos, Mustangs, old hot rod pickups, and Novas--poor me, I never stood a chance. I think that the only girls who got me either wanted to trade scar stories, or shoot me with their invisible ray guns. I'm not kidding here. You can ask my friends about this. Oh wait, I only have one friend left, and he stopped coming here after the tenth post.
I like having you guys around. I just need to pay Cash enough money to invent a teleport machine so I can do world tours, because we all know how much of a bitch it is to fly nowadays. It's really late right now, and I'm getting all trippy. I wonder how this is all gonna turn out in the morning. This is my version of blogging drunk.
Should I even spell check?
I've never blogged naked. Have any of you?
What is the deal with apple juice being in every other juice? What gives it the right?
What causes me to do the "Dos Magic Streams" slash? If you know what I'm talking about, speak up.
Why can't I finish this sen....
Do you check your undercarriage for road kill? I'm talking wet wipes--they're magic!
Why didn't I just do a normal post? Oh yeah, 'cause I'm not normal.
4 years ago