One of those days

Some days you aren't going to win.

It's a work day. Your alarm goes off and it can't be time yet. It's too fucking early. You swear to God that you just went to sleep like 2 hours ago. You get up out of the tangle of sheets and comforter when your pillows fall off onto the floor. You step on one and the mushy material against the smooth and soft floor cause you stumble into the bathroom. You begin to pee off a night's worth of urine and for a moment rub your eye and hear the sound of your stream hitting the toilet rim and splattering onto the floor. Damn it. You finish your business and grab a handful of toilet paper to try and wipe off the toilet and floor. You're not an animal for Pete's sake. The girlfriend might be over tonight. 

In the bright light above your bathroom mirror, your eyes are screaming at you with tears that feel like sandpaper. You contemplate just going with your glasses today but for some reason, in a fit of stubborn will, decide to force small pieces of flimsy gel contacts into your eyes. You wince in pain at the mirror and see your hair. A fucking rat's nest is sitting on your head and you begin to doubt your capability in making yourself a presentable human being today. But, you push on washing and grooming your hair because you somehow preformed this miracle yesterday.

It's time to go to the closet, a clusterfuck of collared shirts and neutral-colored slacks. You've tried every combination of grey, black, and khaki pants with practically a rainbow of shirts. You pick out a shirt that you like, but realize that you've probably worn it recently and so rifle through patterns and colors of something that looks like it hasn't had 'worn' attention in a while. Once you find one, you realize that you've spent too much time figuring out your clothes situation and grab a pair of one of your hundreds of black dress socks and slide on a pair of pants that are who-knows-what-color because at this point, you better get a fucking move on. After belt and shoes are applied, you grab the usual things that belong in your pockets and look in the mirror one last time and promise yourself you'll fix whatever is already fucked up once you get to the bathroom at work, and shave your face when you get home today because you were too tired last night to do it and you are already a little behind on your morning as it is to stop now. Maybe no one will be looking for me first thing in the morning at work. Please.

You notice your shoes are scuffed to the rugged texture of rawhide, and then curse under your breath that you were supposed to remind yourself to shine your shoes. Whatever. Fuck it. In the kitchen you begin your routine of making a fruit smoothie, there's one banana left but it looks like a piece of a tree branch. You peel the slimy bastard anyway and put it in the blender while reaching into the freezer for a handful of strawberries. Now the milk. It's a new carton of course today, so it takes a little longer to open it up and dump it in with the fruit. You begin to fill up your water bottle under the fridge filter and press the blender on. You walk away and grab your 30lb laptop bag and throw it over your shoulder, because you glanced at the stove-top clock and saw that you only have 13 minutes to get to a destination 20 minutes away. You hear that the blender is stuck because you put too many frozen strawberries in. You crank up the setting to 'pulse' because shit needs to happen, but you have to hold down the entire blender with your hands because it would probably fucking take off into your ceiling with the blades rotating so hard. 

Your breakfast is made, you fill up a portable cup with your slop and grab your keys from the tray on the counter. You hear water splashing onto the floor and realize that your water bottle is still under the filter, and is creating a nice looking pool on your kitchen floor. Just like you always wanted. It's just water, so you figure evaporation will do its shtick and flip off the water on the floor. Take that, water. Locking your door and walking away, you notice something missing in your stride. You take a few more steps and ask yourself why there's so much space on the right cheek of your ass. Realizing that you forgot your damn wallet, you curse again and turn on your heel back to your door and unlock the door. You fly back to your room to grab your wallet, which was neglected for a reason that philosophers will never solve because it was right with your phone and work ID badge--all of which made it perfectly on-board your person. On your dart back through your kitchen you see that magazine with that article that you left out specifically for work every day to show your buddy. You've forgot it for so long that it was now 2 issues ago, and tell yourself that you might as well bring it now. With your hands full you go back outside to lock your door, you struggle to juggle the bag that feels like it has a child in it, which is now sliding toward the edge of your shoulder with a cup filled to the brim with cold breakfast, while holding a magazine with a death-grip in your other hand you pick your keys from your pocket with a creative leg-lifting maneuver. 

For some reason your key chain seems as complicated as a janitor's, and once finding the right one you lock the bolt, but not before the bag has slid off of your shoulder and abruptly down to your forearm. The sudden jolt of weight has shaken your hand violently-the hand holding your breakfast. It slops onto the wall of the apartment, your door, your pant legs, your leather shoes, and the floor--but who gives a shit about the floor. Incredulity is your state. The key is still in the lock so you practically kick your door back in, throw down your bag, magazine, but spare the cup your wrath because well, there is still some breakfast to be had in there. You grab a sponge and 50 paper towels to clean up the mess outside your door before dabbing your clothes. Thank God you chose black slacks. You reach down and recover your strewn belongings because by Zeus' dick that magazine is getting to work now after this. You see the green digital lights of your stove-clock again and see that work is starting in 2 minutes. 

Locking your front door and heading to car you convince yourself to accept the fact that you are late, and begin to muster a litany of excuses for why. At this awkward point, you aren't going to be making it "a little late" but not long enough that you can say something drastic happened on your way in. There was traffic on the way in but that's not unusual, and not even really worth mentioning as anything to deal with. You constantly stare at your car clock as the minutes burn away along with the exhaust from that fucking bro-truck sitting in front of you in gridlock. You then consider that that probably no one is going to ask you where you were anyway, which is one of the the first things that you put trust in that morning. Once you get into the office, you realize that like anyone else that comes into work first thing, you just want to be left the fuck alone and to check your email.

You sit down and finish the last gulp of your smoothie, when you look down and realize that there is a crusty white stain on your pants with tiny strawberry seeds. 

Brief Biography 1

This account is a brief biography of a legendary cave troll named Ryan, as witnessed and told by Troll Elder, Hoqwit Fork of the Bumcutt Band. 

Ryan first emerged from his cave in 938 AD and quickly began raiding villages outlying the Black Forest. Ryan’s  band of trolls quickly recognized his ferocity in flaying the hides of humans and sheep alike, and by autumn of 939 he was brought before the Chief Troll, Grosh-Nab, and promoted to be the band leader of the Rip-Noses, an up-and-coming group of youth trolls with lots to prove. In his first year of pillaging with the Rip-Noses, Ryan quadrupled the amount of hides harvested from the free-folk, and to the satisfaction of other troll clans, also subdued the Grey Cloak Patrol that hindered some of raiding along the Alpine Road. 

By the Spring of 940, Ryan’s infamy had spread throughout the land. His expertise in bulk-skin commodities was sought far and wide among other trolls, and his knack for instilling fear in the villages was consulted even among the fearsome Hob-Torbkin Elders. Grosh-Nab, fearing the growing power of Ryan’s influence and popularity, moved him to the tiresome role of Cavehold Rawl. The majority of his work involved managing the teams of she-trolls who helped the weaker clans survive with food subsidies and worn-out caves. It was also Ryan’s duty to manage the rationing of bones, skulls, and various loot reaped from the local towns; thereby ensuring the stability of the brilliant yet delicate infrastructure of what was then the Golden Age of Troll Society.

The Game

"I don't want to play games." 

Do you say this? I know you've at least heard it before, particularly when it involves people and their relationships. The remark is idiotic. Life itself is a game. Why would you think that what it takes to date another person isn't a game? Our modern American culture has set the board up for us, and we might as well hunker our asses down Indian-style and choose our avatar. 

The games are all around us whether or not you have the guts to admit it. You aren't going to start a romance or even make a friend unless you play. There are rules, there are ways to win, and there are ways to lose. The game is built upon steps and objectives that require time and events to succeed. 

The bottom line is that we do certain things in order to get another thing. It's that simple. Think about it. You hedge your bets on yourself to go to college to get a degree. You plan and work on your studies to get a major to give you better shot at a job that you want. You meet the right people, network with the right friends, build your resume experiences--all to get a job. You get a job to make money and find some role in society. Your body is the piece and your brain and heart make the player. It's all a game, and once you realize that fact and understand what you need to do, you'll start winning. When you fail, you'll realize how to start over and what you need to do to get back up. Let's look at the example of a romantic relationship.

Your goal here is to make the person yours and you theirs. Even the naive, "I don't want to play" individuals have to admit this. The reality is that this is your victory requirement. If you don't get them, you lose. No cliche babble can negate that. 

• Pick who you are going to be. No seriously. Choose your character. Are you going to be yourself? Partially yourself? Someone different? Are you making some personality changes? Whatever personality crisis or identity issues you are having, you need to know who you are. You don't need to have all the confidence in the world, though the more the better, but you need to know some of your personal goals and beliefs.

• You have to choose the target. Yes this is obvious, but it is your first external objective to complete. This is effort is in two phases: 
• You MUST find someone and be physically attracted to them. I don't care what anyone says about beauty on the inside and needing to only have a "kind-soul". If you aren't attracted to them physically, it's not going to get started. 
• Then...if you actually think the person doesn't look like a troll, but someone you could actually sleep with an indefinite number of times and like to look at across a table...then gauge their thought-process and personality. 

• If things seem compatible with you, great; but you aren't done yet. They must also think you are compatible with them. You shouldn't be surprised how often people ignorantly think things are going well and the person is also into them, purely on one-sided evidence. Your objective is to get a feel for if they like you. Otherwise you're going to look like a moron and will  be wasting both of your time.

• You have to date them. It is your task to spend time with them and build experiences together. There's no getting around this. This step is simply the natural order of today's relationship. If you're lucky, you won't despise each other over the course of these dates, and you'll like one another more. If this happens, you've accomplished this objective.

• Build up your points. 
• Give compliments. Saying kind words is as easy as it gets. Mean what you say, and it goes even further.
• Be honest, but think before you speak. Just as you would a friend or family member, give your opinion when you are asked, but be wise enough to not say things that could hurt their feelings. If it might, it's probably worth keeping your mouth shut. 
• Remember what they say about their life, family, and friends.
• Make an effort. Be attentive. This isn't a how-to.
• Etc.

• Let all of the above objectives occur gradually over time. If you have made it this far after a few months, you probably already won. If they are crazy, they let you win earlier on. If you're crazier you let them win early on and potentially scared them off. Start the game over. 

If the person is being confusing and seems non-committal, assume that they don't want to work. They are wasting your time. This is the single-most important point. Your target will let you play the game together if there is potential. If in your mind you are doing the right things and objectives as above, and finding the person conflicting to it, they are for someone else, and you for another playmate. 

Marriage isn't for who? You said "you" meaning me. That is incorrect.

Marriage Isn't For You

http://sethadamsmith.com/2013/11/02/marriage-isnt-for-you/

I keep seeing the above article pop up on social media.  Please go read it.  Go ahead.  I'll wait.  

Intermission music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hmDZz5pDOQ

I can't grow big and strong anymore...

I know what are you are thinking. You are thinking about a penis. One that is no longer able to stay hard. One that's sad and floppy. Well, that's not what I'm talking about here, guy. Let me explain...

Remember when you were a kid and people told you that your body was going to grow into giant? Your mom, doctor, or whoever would tell you to drink milk, eat vegetables and exercise so that you could grow big and strong. You thought time was your best friend; with each day making you bigger and more powerful. Every day you increased your ability to run faster, climb higher, lift more, and ultimately be reckoned with among the other humans in your daily life. There was no limit to what you could do, and you never saw a year that didn't reveal your strides in growth. There was no evidence shown to your body that this could end.  

Well friends, that time is over in your 20s. You peak. You can't be any better of an athlete than during this age. Most of us can train us to be quicker and stronger in our 30s or beyond, but not as much as you were able in your 20s. Granted, we do grow wiser, and guys--we do grow more handsome--but we can start to see that our body doesn't preform athletically as well as we have been expecting it to. Sad times.

This leads me to the point of this script that I'm writing: Why at the age of 28, do I still work out?

Sure there are some of the readily explainable reasons such as the vanity of wanting to look good, the health aspect of wanting to take care of my well-being, the desire to do well in a sport, and of course the demands to attract a mate. But after some contemplation I think that the true reason is that I cannot let go of wanting to grow and be strong. 

I refuse to let go of the agility and power that I have maintained for so long. I work out to keep that ability alive; to still be able to push myself to do the things that I have always done. The sad reality is that time is not my best friend anymore in that light. I'm fighting time, I'm battling what it does to my muscles and reflexes by training them. I may be foolish, but I still want to be able to sprint after that football, climb that tree, balance on that board, hike that mountain, and be big and strong. I've reached as "big and strong" as I can be. I'm not ready to descend off of that plateau. 

Think about it

Oh this life. This society. Look what it does!

We are so bored with peeing and pooping that we have to pull out our phone to just kill the time while our bowels move. No no, forget the notion of there being any fascination with the fact that we put food in ourselves, and in all of its complexity and wonder, it gives us strength and energy, leaving us as waste. No appreciation whatsoever.

So what am I talking about here? Am I suggesting that we should have rejuvenated sense of awe in our pee and poop? Maybe. I mean, it's the thought that counts right? 

What about the distance that civilization has gone to where tiny fractions of a percentage of people even know how the fundamentals of our technology works? If it were to all go away, do you know someone who could re-invent and build your LCD TV for you? Restart cell phones and wi-fi services? Hell, even build a combustible engine for a car? Who? You sir? No, I think not. You are but a small, insignificant person.

Now "What is he blathering about?" you say. "Is he saying that we all need to learn fundamental mechanics and take apart our cell phones and iPads to see what pieces there are?" Of course I'm not. Besides, those little chunks of metal are wired with microscopic precision and hold data. They aren't just bits of metal. The solution in such a scenario would be to rebuild the robots and computers that design such things. And all of this isn't my point either. 

My point is that there are poor folks. Yes, people...millions of them without such distractions and devices. People that truly know suffering and would long to have the boredom that our society has created for us. We have much, and there are so many out there with too little. With this Advent Season, or for you lay-minions, Holiday Season, think about those less fortunate for just a few minutes. Ponder their troubles. Forget why they are there and who's fault it is. Do you not feel compassion? Do you feel no sympathy for them? Any desire to help? Whoa, any selfish want of self-righteousness that at least compels you to "be a better person" or want to be seen doing something for the betterment of human kind? 

Think about that while you drone through your routine of working all day, doing whatever needs to be done to call it "work", driving back on your commute, making yourself your worn-out chicken and vegetable dish, and watching perpetual seasons of scummy unoriginal television shows until upon the edge of drooling yourself to sleep you fall into bed...only to start the routine again the next day. Think about that! Don't be molded by society, mold yourself. Unless, you are like, totally okay with the former.

Carve and Drink

For two years now, sometime in the month in October I've headed to the Old Monk off of Henderson St in Dallas for pumpkin carving and a drink or two.



I can't speak for the costume party on the weekend before Halloween, but the Pumpkin Carving and Pint deal is amazing. For $10 you can get a pumpkin and a pint of any of their many beers that are under $6. This includes the likes of Guiness and Stella Artois, which is good enough for me. Another perk I'd add is that they clean your pumpkin out for you; all you have to do is carve the face--which to outdo themselves even more--the Old Monk provides you with a toolkit set and a number of stencils to choose from. Furthermore, your $10 is matched by the bar and donated to the North Texas Food Bank, a good cause no doubt.

I highly recommend this fun activity to anyone that can partake, as this is one of the few instances that it is fun to see adults behaving like children and doing silly crafts. Here is a photo of my Jack o' lantern. Suck it.