He's gone

Sebastian

1991-2009

You will be missed, my alien cat friend

Not for nothin'

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

There's beauty in the breakdown

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

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

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

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

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

I just don't know anything

Okay... I'm a little lost.

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

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

How does this happen?

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

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

I'll pay you back. I promise.

I had a nightmare that Blogspot eliminated my blog.

A bit fuzzy

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

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




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

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

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

I will remember to remember to forget you forgot me

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

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

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

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