Monday, October 29, 2007

there is time...

with the right combination of coffee and water and cereal and milk, despite the hectic nature of the day, there is time:

there is time to dance in the living room while pretending we are live in concert and the footage we are filming will be used in a video. there is time to pretend i am the silly one in the band and make faces at the "camera." there is time to take the long way round instead of heading directly up to the door. there is time to stop and check out a snail. there is time to leave, and come back to check out the snail again. twice. there is time to say "yay!" and do a little dance at each small task that is accomplished. there is time to smile. there is time to chuff chuff crunch crackle through the brilliantly-colored fallen leaves on the sidewalk. there is time to send a silly random text to a friend. there is time for more water. there is time to pretend we are being chased by bad guys and hide. there is time to notice that no. 1 is mimicing me when i say, "thanks, have a good day." to the lady at the drive-thru, and smile secretly to myself. there is time to argue with no. 2 about his 'hawk: he doesn't want it today and i want to put it up cause he really looks like a nerd with it down. there is time for me to cave, and let him choose to have it down. there is time for me to be ok with that. there is time to empower. there is time to wonder why the hot ups lady that i just saw pass me on my road never delivers packages to my house, but the creepy guy who also delivers to the wife at work and talks to me like we are old pals always does. there is time to imagine what this post will be like. there is time to pretend to be a plane. there is time to sing "sharing cokes under this moonlit summer sky" and suddenly and inexplicably get choked up for an instant. there is time for lollipops. there is time to be reminded that you really are a decent father. there is time to remind someone else that they, too, are doing a good job despite what they think. there is time to misspell a word, laugh, and correct it. there is time to watch my kids when they don't know i am watching. there is time to be proud of them. there is time to let them know i am proud of them. there is time to cry. there is time to laugh. there is time to breathe, and reflect, and tell yourself it's not as bad as it seems. there is time to focus on the positive. there is time to tell yourself it will be fine. there is time to remind yourself how lucky you are. there is time for coffee. there is time to interact with someone for the sake of interacting and nothing more. there is time to be quick to lavish praise. there is time to ask yourself before reacting, "are they really hurting anything?" there is time to smell the flowers. there is time to start off posting about something small and potentially cute and let it get away from you and allow so much more unexpected stuff to pour out of you onto the page as if some higher power is using you to express simple truths.

there is time time to live.

darth sardonic

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Thursday, October 25, 2007

bass 2

well, i just found out that the link wasn't working (probably cause suicidegirls is a pay site, and i aint that bright), and by sheer dumb luck i finally got the stupid clip to load up to blogspot (don't ask me why it didn't work the first five times i tried and then did this time, just be happy it's there). yay! enjoy (or not, hahaha, for all i know you might hate it. but it is a few different bass styles, so maybe there will be something in there for each and everyone on of you, the beloved non-existant readers, and my droogs and only friends.)

darth sardonic


Wednesday, October 24, 2007


i am still recouping from the affects of my nasty cold, and don't really have much to say as of late, but click the link and you can watch a video clip of me playing a few different things on the bass. the clip is dark, and i tried to skillfully edit out the other bandmates, cause the guitarist is a cunt, and in general the band is no more, and most importantly, it's all about me!!


darth sardonic


Sunday, October 21, 2007

Get up, come on get down with the sickness

i am ill. (i see all of you laughing and snickering together. i don't mean ill in the head. i have a cold.) i wasn't ill yesterday. that is to say, i toddled through my day, cleaning house in preparation for my wife's return from vegas, taking care of the kids, doing the things that needed to be done.

then, late at night, whammo!

and this morning i awoke, snotty and breathing through my mouth and headachey and bedraggled (wait, i awake bedraggled every day...)

so a short post today, but a couple of tidbits aimed at making you chuckle:

i would love to be cited as a real-world reference for a product in a commercial. it would be very colorful. here is what i thought to myself as i was cleaning the kitchen yesterday: "these paper towels fucking suck, give me some goddamn brawny!" now tell me that wouldn't make a cool commercial and inspire you to buy brawny paper towels on your next grocery shopping trip.

in the car the other day, nos. 1 and 2 asked the wife and i where we were going. i replied, "crazy, and you're driving!"

blink, blink.

then: "no, daddy, we can't, we don't have steering wheels."

god, i love my fucking cute kids.

darth sardonic

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Thursday, October 18, 2007

returning to funny

when i can, i try not to linger too long on the downer posts. mostly, i was in a good mood yesterday, but that whole chernobyl thing really impacted me, and i really needed to get it off my chest and out into the world.

so, today, a couple of anecdotes about things i never guessed i would have to deal with as a stay-home parent:

1) this happened some time ago. my wife has a toy. ummm, you know, a toy. it is one of those relatively realistic ones. it resides in the top drawer of the nightstand, where most ladies seem to keep their toys. the top drawer is big, and also holds my belts and watches and other acoutrements that i need to attire myself for the day.

on this particular occasion, i am getting something out of the top drawer, and it is open, and i suddenly hear no. 1 behind me: "oh no, daddy!!"

"hey, what?"

"your pee! it is broken! oh no, daddy, can you fix it?"

"my what?"

"your pee! did you break your pee?"

i realize what he is talking about. i simultaneously pick up on the massive amount of worry that is painted clearly across his face: it is as if i can hear his brain saying, "if daddy's pee can fall off, will mine someday? and can that be fixed?"

"it is not my pee, and my pee is not broken and what the hell are you doing in my room anyways? go on."

i didn't share this story with anyone, even my wife, for a very long time. honestly, i was a bit embarassed that no. 1 had managed to see my wife's toy while i was completely unawares. then the other night, we were sharing kid/adult toy stories, and it just kinda came out.

my wife laughed louder and longer than anyone else. not sure what i had been worried about all this time. (she is also the one that suggested i should post about it here. and the story is probably funnier when i tell it in person because i tend to act out both parts with facial expressions and such, but you get the idea.)

2) yesterday, i am getting dressed, and hear no. 1 go into the potty (and by hear, i mean he announces loudly that he needs to go potty as he is running into the bathroom and pulling down his pants at the same time). after a few moments, i hear him say, "daddy, the poop is stuck on me."

"stuck on you how?"

"stuck on me."

"stuck on your bum? or did you get some on your hand? what?"

"stuck on my bum."

"use some toilet paper and get it off." (you may or may not already have an idea of what is to come, but let me just say right here, before we go any further, that i have never pretended to be the quickest at the draw.)

"i can't, daddy. i need your help."

"man! ok, let me see if i can help."

so, one shoe on and one off i go in there.

no one could've prepared me for what i saw, and if they had tried, i woulda said, "bulllllllshit!"

there is about a foot of string hanging from no. 1's bum.

"is that in your bum, or just stuck to it?" i ask, with my eyes popping and my brain reeling.

"in my bum, daddy."

oh fuck no. i think, no fucking way. i didn't sign up for this. i have been puked on. i have been pissed on. i have been shit on. pulling fucking string from my kid's backside was NOT part of the deal.

what can you do, o my droogs and only friends, my beloved tireless shaking-your-head-in-barely-disguised-disgust-and-humor-whilst-pointing-your-finger-at-me non-existant readers?

i grabbed a large amount of facial tissue, and set to work.

after i had about three feet of string, i think it broke off, much to no. 1's relief. we had a long discussion about eating foreign objects in general, and specifically string.

then i searched the internet for anything i might further be able to do to aid in the permanent removal of remaining string.

i found a vast plethera of help. if it was a cat or dog instead of my kid. i finally found one site that said chances were good that if it had made it this far, it would pass on its own.

i just hope i don't have to help it anymore.

darth sardonic

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Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Show me what it's like/To dream in black and white,

...So I can leave this world tonight.

i don't know why the discover magazine is calling out to me.

it has been for a couple weeks now, every time i find myself in this waiting room at the center where nos. 1 and 2 have their therapy.

so today i pick it up.

and behind articles about space and the atom, i find a eight-page article about the world's first "nuclear" refugees and a return trip they are making to their home:

chernobyl. fucking chernobyl.

i remember 20 years ago sitting in a class and watching a recorded news brief on chernobyl so that it would generate a discussion amongst us teenagers.

i remember being horrified by the grainy black and white images of burned workers, the thought of the pain and anguish and ensuing uncertainty that this entailed. (and if you have been reading, and do the math, you will know that chernobyl happened in that period of time when i was sure russia was going to nuke us on a daily basis.) these people were supposed to be my "enemy" and yet all i could see were people like me suffering through something i could not begin to fathom.

the refugees are returning to mark the 20-year anniversary.

at the very beginning, this article gave me a glimmer of hope, as i love stories of displaced refugees returning to their homes (i guess i feel that earth is not really our home, that we are much lighter matter that really belongs somewhere else, and we are merely cosmic refugees displaced to this location to batter through until we can return to the place where we belong, or "home." or "heaven." or whatever you want to call it--and stories of displaced people returning to their homes gives me hope on some spiritual level), but it turns out that this isn't that kind of story.

these refugees aren't returning home, they are visiting a place they once lived for a day to recapture those lost memories and attempt to go away with something real.

because the town is still too chock-full of harmful radiation, and will be, scientists figure, for about another 600 years.

i am not even sure we, as a massive race that thinks it runs the planet, will last 600 years. i am not sure we will last 100. and maybe chernobyl is just one example of why i secretly believe that we won't last that long.

the present-day pictures of pripyat (the town closest to ground zero of chernobyl, and full of the workers and their families--called the city of the future prior to the explosion) aren't much better than the black and whites that were shown on the news in 1986. but rather than burn victims in hospital beds, skin sloughing, it is empty shells of lives that never were, paint peeling like dead skin, dust and debris accumulating like cancerous growths, the most malignant of which is possibly the giant cement sarcophagus built to contain the immense radioactive turmoil.

why was i so impacted by the footage i saw some 20 years ago? and why, today, when i read this article (discover, i seriously cannot find a date on the magazine anywhere, it is driving me crazy, but someone has penned "6/07" on the cover, so i am going to have to go with that, by maryann de leo) is that impact combined with new feelings of sadness and loss and confusion? why am i crying for people i never knew, will never meet, whose lives have been shifted, set aside, ground asunder? why, when i read about the one survivor who took the writer and her translator with him to find his family's apartment, and tapped himself on the chest and said "my home" referring to a shell of an apartment with a moldy pile of his clothes left in front of a window, why did i choke up and fight back tears, lest other people in the waiting room think something is seriously wrong with me?

maybe the real question is: why do we do these things to ourselves? why, when we are capable of so much beauty and passion and love, do we also insist on inflicting such cruelty, pain, and sadness? we are sparks of god, yet we hide down dark alleys to find our devils and spring them free. and why do these catastrophes that we exact upon ourselves seem so easily forgotten? why is this article not the cover article? oh, we can revisit fucking oj motherfucking simpson every year to see what he has been up to since the fucking "trial of the century" but we dare not keep the holocaust, chernobyl, and darfur at the forefront of our collective conciousness.

i pray to every god that will hear my cries that we all find our way home again, and when i say that, i mean the planets of light and happiness where we have all fallen from in the first place, so we might all stand together, barring race religion and creed, and tap ourselves on the chest, and say, "my home."

darth sardonic

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Tuesday, October 16, 2007's just something i saw in your face

'hawking up no. 2's hair is like trying to draw a straight line on the head of a small bird.

"hold still. hold still! hold still!!"

but in the end i guess it is worth it (no doubt dabblers in the science of psychology will attribute my tenacity with no. 2's 'hawk to the fact i desperately wanted one when i was a teenager and never got to have one. i just think they are fucking cool).

the particular pizza joint i work at abounds in propaganda. there are signs and posters everywhere encouraging us to smile and greet the customer within a certain amount of time, blah blah blahdy fucking blah. not sure how propaganda is intended to work, but on me it has a detrimental affect: if the sign says smile, i will, but it will be the dumbest most smart-alecky cheesiest most fake smile i can muster.

one of the most apalling and ludicrous bits of propaganda is what the other workers shout at the drivers as they leave for a run: the driver, on his/her way out the door, is required to call out, "driver out!" followed by the elapsed time of the order, and any side items or beverages that he/she may be hauling.

supposedly, this is so the manager's can keep track of how long it is taking, and whether or not they need to restock the pop cooler.

truth is, they rarely pay any fucking attention at all.

in reply, the workers still in the store are sposed to holler back, "buckle up, drive safe!"

here is why propaganda makes me snort: it is unlikely, were i not already planning on either buckling up or driving safe, that this line would render me so malleable as to change my mind into doing so.

it does, however, afford me with a veritable cornucopia of opportunities to use my trademark sardonic wit.

some of the most common replies to "buckle up, drive safe" that i have offered: "like you guys care!" "if i must!" "no way, crazy as a loon and unbuckled for me, thanks!"

once, with customers lined up and waiting for pizzas, i shouted back, "the more i work here, the less i wanna!" as i zoomed out the door to a hail of raucous laughter, courtesy of all those waiting patrons.

and now, sex:

(got your attention there, didn't i? you pervy little peope. hahaha. which brings up an interesting sidebar: does being a stay-home parent heighten one's perviness and smoldering libido? or is it more just when a guy stays home? or is it just me? i am gonna go with "just me" seeing as i am quite a bit pervy, and always had a plentiful libido. and another sidebar, since we are already here caught between my accursed parentheses and lost in one of my completely unrelated tangents that will force you, the beloved non-existant readers, (and me too) to backtrack to whatever i was talking about before i got sidetracked on this other thing and attempt to reboard my original train of thought (heading for hell and points west, chooo choooo): i know i really don't talk much about sex or sex-related topics within the scope of this small bit of dust under the bed that is the world wide web, but trust me when i say, o my brothers and devotchkas, i love sex. i used to write erotica (for myself mostly--and that is all i am gonna say bout that!) until i reread quite a bit of it and decided that it was all mostly rip-offs from other erotica i had read, and that while i might've added some clever stuff here and there, i wasn't really bringing anything new to the table, and that few people would want to read any of it. it is simply that i feel that discussing sex specifics in here would be putting my wife's and my personal matters, so to speak, right out on public display, and since we have family that read, that would be, in a word, icky. as far as general observations about sex or whathaveyou, well, i just never really find a moment that presents itself. now back to your regularly-scheduled program--)

and now, sex:

one of the drivers (female) that knew me before i left the confines of the pizza joint and my wife left the confines of the country was recently talking to me about my dubious and unplanned return to said pizza joint, and i told her i had done it to pay for my tattoo.

she asked what i was getting done.

it was a bit slow, so i motioned her to the back of the store where we pile up the broken-down boxes for recycling and keep the empty dough trays, and lifted my shirt to show her the tattoo.

i do this all the time. i am used to the reactions: "wow!" "fuck, that is cool!" "dayum!" etc etc.

this girl began to make what i can only describe as fuck noises: "mmmm fuck yeah. ooooh fuck, yeah! mmmm hmmmm."

then, much to my surprise, she did something that no one, and i do mean no one, has ever done, barring my wife. she reached up, and traced some of the newer lines on one shoulder blade with her finger. while still emitting the fuck noises.

now, last time i checked, i am not made of either ice or wood, so it goes without saying that my lizard fuck-n-fight brain took over momentarily and flashed up all manner of craziness in the form of in-my-head-only porn. (and worry not, o my droogs and only friends, i keep no secrets from my wife. the first story i told her of the evening was this particular one, with one of her friends present no less. we all had a good laugh.)

then i dropped my shirt, smirked my smirk, and hoofed it to the front of the store post haste, because even though she had moved away from me and given me back my personal space, she was still standing there with a look on her face that my lizard brain was reading as "take me now" and the logical and coherent part of my brain was sounding the alarm.

what's the point of this little story? not sure. but it raises a question in my head that i often find myself tackling: as a stay-home parent, one is expected to maintain a certain amount of decorum, shall we say. i mean, i am far from pta material, but we're all expected to behave ourselves.

and i am often surprised, pleasantly, i might add, to find that other stay-home parents (women, mostly, since they outnumber us stay-home dads a million to one) get randy, talk with each other about sex (out of earshot of their kids), scope hot passersby, etc etc.

we are, after all, human.

but i still sorta battle this within myself. it is normal and healthy for me to like sex, it is even acceptable for me to enjoy porn. i'm a guy, shit, what do you expect. but somewhere in my noggin i have the notion that stay-home parents don't do this. granted, it is some kind of convoluted idealistic image based, most likely, on some sort of fifties icon with a woman with perfect hair and ridiculously blue eyes vacuuming in a skirt and heels.

or, you might say, i guess, o my beloved and crazy and randy and vivacious non-existant readers, it is based on a propaganda.

wow, i feel better already!

darth sardonic

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Sunday, October 14, 2007

this song is a...

poem to myself,/it helps me to live...

i love brit slang, and kudos to pixie for dropping the phrases that really fit: "barking mad" and "can't be arsed" (or that may have been sparx), and the latest, "knackered."

yes, i have been knackered. still am, actually. and knackered combined with certain outer stimuli, leads to being down.

the kids, and friends' troubles, are but a few of these outer stimuli that lead to negative sensory overload and the resulting funk.

one of my friends is on the mend. the other seems to continue having a rough time, for many reasons, some of which may be her own fault. whatever.

nothing is quite as good at dispelling the funk as the right soundtrack.

because i was grumpy friday, i found an old mix cd i knew to be chock-full of grumpy music that i had made to listen to whilst hauling pizzas prior to leaving pizza hell when the wife left. this cd is a message from the past-me to the present-me. in essence, the past-me said, "it aint fucking worth being this grumpy, but hey, i am gonna help you get ungrumpy in the way that i know works best for us."

the cd starts off with the angry music, which allows me to get mad (though, admittedly, in this case, mad at nothing in particular. just angry in general. which is a natural and necessary follow-on to being in the funk). not sparing the horses while belting out: You had time to waste and I'm not sorry,/such a basket case, hide the cutlery./I had time to kill, it's dead and buried./You've got guts to spill but no one trustworthy is good for the soul, though a tad hard on the vocal chords.

then it handed me a few of my happy songs (most notably, nofx's cover of gin n juice, which i simply can't listen to without smiling), which i had honestly forgotten were on there, and came at just the right time to burn off the remaining anger like cooking wine and taking with it any traces of the funk.

so now i guess i am just plain knackered.

darth sardonic

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Friday, October 12, 2007

Hoping for the best but expecting the worst...

Are you going to drop the bomb or not?

ever start a post and get about ten lines into and decide it sucks ass and you have no real point an no one really would want to read what you have written and delete it all and ask if anyone has ever done that before?

yeah, me neither.

there are times where the line "Kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping/I'm empty and aching and I don't know why makes perfect and complete sense to me for reasons that are beyond my ability to understand.

i have conditioned myself, in the course of my existance, when i am not sure of how something is going to turn out, to hope for the best and expect the worst. this is kind of a candide pansy way out, i realize, but i look at it like this:

if i am expecting the worst case scenario, i am prepared then for that to happen. if anything less than worst case occurs, i am pleasantly surprised.

i am still concerned for my two friends and their situations. i still feel helpless, and i wonder if my repeated attempts to find out how they're doing or what is going on is only making matters worse for them, or maybe coming across as creepy, or god know's what.

so i begin just assuming the worst. and what is funny is the other side of my head, the one that usually plays bastard, will actually pipe up with, "now why would you think that? you have no reason to believe that things have gone that far." that stupid "other voice" in my head likes just playing devil's advocate, i think. he is just gonna pick the opposite of whatever the majority of my gray matter is going for.

i am tired, the kids have the day off from school, and i have to work later. i've no idea why i would be so grumpy...

yeah, my lack of inspiration and motivation continues. maybe it's the season change, lots of gray skies here. maybe it's lack of sleep, although that really has just become the norm under which i function, so not sure there. maybe (most likely), it is just the rotation upon which i spin. fun and laughs and smartass remarks all cleverly tied together, followed by the funk and trying to just plow through the day and put on my best face.

who knows?

i sure don't.

darth sardonic

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Wednesday, October 10, 2007

I've never had to knock on wood

But I know someone who has
Which makes me wonder if i could

right now, i have two very close friends who are going through some very tough times. (if you are reading this, you know who you are)

these kinds of situations always make me feel useless.

i wish i could do more. despite shit i say here to the contrary, overall i have been pretty lucky and have always managed to tough through the hard times with a grin (well, ok, my trademark smartass smirk) on my face, and when my loved ones find themselves in a bind, i always wish there was more i could do to make them feel better.

and sometimes, you just can't.

and that aggravates the fuck out of me.

and that is where i am today, o my beloved non-existant readers. frustrated, aggravated, a little upset, worried, and feeling like my hands are tied.

and then, on the flip side, sparx has given me an award, blog that makes me smile, and this is something that i have been blessed with, the ability to make people smile. it is my gift, and i love making people smile and laugh, so thank you so much, sparx. this also applies, in an oddly connected way to my current situation: i can make people smile. it is something i do. and that helps. that may be the only way help my two friends need.

i hope it is enough.

worthy recipients of this award: archenar, who has been making me smile for quite some time and has recently returned to posting regular in her english blog again, the newcomer blogget jones, who cracks me up with her new fella stuff, i would like to regift the sender, sparx, because i laughed uproariously at the very first post i read of hers, and commented, and as a result, found myself with a whole new readership, krissie, because even the way she deals with the day to day is real and humorous, and queeny, because so much of what we deal with is so similar, and again, the writing of it is rife with humor.

thanks, i hope to have something more enjoyable to post here, and if you would all join with me in sending positive energy (and laughs, o my droogs and only friends, sometimes humor is all we have to get us through--and they can never take that away) to my two friends who are in need at this time, i would appreciate that so much.

darth sardonic

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Monday, October 08, 2007

my major influences

because i am feeling fairly uninspired today, and because this kind of stuff keeps popping into my head lately, and sometimes it is just fun to post something that is a kind of "getting to know you" kinda thing, some of my major life influences:


salvador dali, richard corben, monet, stan lee, m.c. escher, boris vallejo, goya, frank frazetta, vincent van gogh.


e.e. cummings, anais nin, william s. burroughs, franz kafka, j.r.r. tolkein, allen ginsberg, george orwell, anthony burgess, jack kerouac, henry miller.


terry gilliam, david lynch, ridley scott, david cronenberg, luis bunuel, george lucas.


joy division, peter murphy, the cure, skinny puppy, nirvana, the smiths, bauhaus, alkaline trio, codiene, the mighty mighty bosstones, einsturzended neubauten, the ramones, the bolshoi.


dickies, converse all-stars, carhartts, doc martens, vans.


motrin, tangueray, sony, bettie page, honda, jose cuervo, sesame street, fender, jack daniels, argentina, mr. rogers, gibson, seattle, sushi, coffee, crate.

god i am a lazy fucker. hope to have a proper post for all of you, the beloved non-existant readers, pronto.

until then:

darth sardonic

Friday, October 05, 2007

you know what's funny?

funny is leaving a comment on a blog (welcome blogget) that you are just going to link it, and noticing on your way out to do so that you are already linked. not the brightest crayon, me.

it is odd, as an aside (since this post is so fucking teeny tiny) that cell phones and the internet have conditioned us to seek instant gratification, attention, and made us a bit paranoid:

"why hasn't so-and-so texted me back? why won't they reply to my im's? why haven't they noticed my posts? are they ignoring me?"

ummmm, maybe cause they got shit going on. maybe their kid has drawn on the walls and they are frantically trying to get it off with one of those (godsend) sponge eraser thingies before their spouse gets home and asks what the fuck they have been doing all day.

i mean, just for instance, you know.

darth sardonic


Thursday, October 04, 2007

a potpourri of nonsense

"so you must be the famous darth?" one of the drivers hired after my absence says to me. "oh, i'm famous now then, am i?" i can't for the life of me imagine myself being famous at all, even within the scope of the delivery drivers at a stupid little pizza joint in lakewood. the question, considering my previous existance there, should've been, "so you must be the crazy bastard what stomped around this place cussing constantly and hating everybody and always angry?"

we are into the color on my tat. the shading is done. it will be so far from done by the time i leave for florida that i will have to book appointments every time we come back up, and it will probably still not be done.

i am so sore from my appointment tues (where two hours into my three hour block, scott announces, "well, that is it for black and gray. you want to get some color done today?") that when i walk i feel like i am listing to one side like a storm-battered gallion.

welcome back, archenar, man it is good to see ya.

things that bring joy: carhartts. that smile that no. 1 gets where he looks like "the grinch got a wonderful awful idea." flowers. laughter. poking fun at oneself. all-stars. the sun. the rain. the way no. 2 jerks and holds his face like he has been punched in a funny, silly laurel & hardy kinda way whilst laughing when he is being silly. run-on sentences. those little random surreal things that happen almost daily that, if you are watching, make you stop and smile and say, "what the fuck?!?" steaming-hot showers. steaming-hot showers with another naked body pressed against yours and almost drowning from the kisses. nakedness. fallen leaves in puddles. driving a manual car a mite too fast and not worrying about whether or not it is good for the clutch. feeling your ab muscles after several days of sticking to your workout. making-out at the commercials, and stopping when the show comes back on. not stopping at when the show comes back on. silliness. familial moshing in the living room to stupid kid. super soaker fights. mohawks. realizing that the dumb shit you do is being done by others like you the world over. flirting. finding a fiver on the sidewalk. finding no one nearby who might've dropped the fiver, and as a result, sticking it in your pocket. chocolate. too many carbs, and allowing yourself to not feel bad about it cause you have been eating healthy and excercising all week and your back is sore and hey, fuck it, you fucking deserve it. bad grammar. swear words (and if you don't believe me, try it. next time you are really pissed, like your head is about to explode and a dragon is going to burst forth and devour everything, shout out, "motherfucker!! i am going to sodding kill someone in here!! goddamn dozy shite fucking twat bastard carrajo brainpan(brainpan is my own personal word for idiot)!!" at the top of your lungs, with so much force that you are breathing hard, and see if you don't feel better). a barbell in your ear. nofx's ska cover of gin n juice. finding people that think like you in all reaches of the known world, and commisserating.

yep, guess that about wraps it up for the day.

darth sardonic


Wednesday, October 03, 2007

A lonely liver suspended in liquid

thank you, one and all, for the comments, and i am glad the confession i dropped on all of you without warning or preface has helped, and hope it continues to do so.

it may be a bit irresponsible, then, to follow a serious post about suicide with a humorous post about being a sot, but i never really pretended to be responsible.

it is funny that the three times i can remember being the most tore up all seemed related to having a good time and drinking and then, quite suddenly, discovering just how much i had had to drink.

time 1): we went to a bonfire. because we were going to be outside and wanted to keep what we were lugging to a minimum, my wife took my fifth of kahlua, which was maybe a quarter-full still, and added at least that much more vodka (probably even more than that), and cream to the top. a giant white russian. because (again) we were outside, i just drank it straight from the bottle. sitting, laughing, talking, drinking. of a sudden, i look down at my bottle, and there is but a small scum of alcohol adhering to the bottom. oh my god, i think, i am wasted. and i was. my wife had to help me walk up to the house later when i had to pee because the damn ground wouldn't quit shifting. before noticing the emptiness of my bottle, i was toasty, within ten minutes of realizing how much i had to drink, i was blitzed.

time 2): an big going away party. i started off with buttery nipples (two or three, not really sure), and then my buddy passed me a bottle and said "here, check this out." i took the bottle, and looked at the label. it was printed in a foreign language. i sniffed the contents and got a beautifully subtle hint of just the right amount of anise. i love anise. gulp! mmmmmmmm. gulp! "that is good." i say, and go to pass the bottle back. my mate says, "hold on to it, i am going to go get some food." i sit, holding the bottle, and a man i didn't know walks up, says, "where did you get that bottle?" i point at my pal and say, "he picked it up in turkey." off the other gentleman goes to talk to my friend. five minutes later, my buddy calls me over. turns out, the gentleman is from turkey, and the alcohol in question, yenni reki, is the kind of thing they might have with equal parts water over ice at a large banquet type meal. i ask him, "so how much of this might you have in a week?" "a week? we might have a drink like that once a month!" oh my god, i have just consumed two months' worth of this stuff in five minutes. no sooner do i think this than a warm feeling starts at my toes and creeps its way upwards until i am all warm and fuzzy and standing there with the dippiest smile plastered all over my chevy chase, and i am three sheets to the wind. when my wife got my home, i insisted on running around naked and trying to call all my friends, who were smart enough not to answer their phones, and finally settled for emailing a good friend. the next morning when i read her reply, i reread my original email. it really is a wonder she could read it at all. i actually spelled "then" thj3n, and that is just the one i remember.

time 3): the situation that i alluded to in my vegas post. everyone else was drinking vodka, which had given me a pretty hefty headache the night before, so i was drinking whiskey. we're talking, laughing, having a good time, and for some reason i really can't remember, i felt compelled to sho them how much they had been drinking. i said loudly, "well, look! i mean, you guys have about wiped out a fifth of smirnoff and i have--" i hold up my bottle of seagrams 7, and suddenly notice that i have only slightly more whiskey (which only i have been drinking) than they have vodka (which three people have been drinking), and my jaw drops and my eyes pop. ten minutes later, i am in the bathroom.

it should also be noted here, that my wife has the magic ability to make me feel drunk. i tend to act sillier than i should for the amount of alcohol i have consumed. i have a drink or two and act like i have had five and have a good time. my wife cocks her head, and gives me that look, to which i reply, "i am not drunk." then she will do the point, and if she does the point and i see it, i am drunk. i could've had a damn shirley temple and if i see my wife do the point it's the same as if i have consumed all the alcohol in the house. my vision blurs, my words get slurred, i stumble and weave, and i will for fucking sure be hungover the next day. not sure how she does it, but it is a nifty trick.

ok, my kids are beginning to make thinking, let alone writing, virtually impossible, so i will leave you with that.

darth sardonic

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Tuesday, October 02, 2007

a knot...

i wish i could say this one is fiction...

"use your brain! don't be dumb!!"

as soon as i can, i escape to the woods behind the house, my eyes afire, my brain buzzing like a shaken beehive.

i'm not sure i am going to measure up. it seems impossible. it's so vast. maybe everyone would just be better off if i wasn't around...

i toy with the idea of running away, but ultimately know i wouldn't last long, that they would chase me down and bring me home, if for no other reason than to keep the neighbors from talking. i wish i could dive in front of a car to save someone, go out a hero, in a blaze of glory. leave everyone talking about what a nice kid i was...

i am alone. i can't even feel god looking in my direction. the universe is a big empty space that seeks to engulf me, swallow me whole.

maybe everyone would just be happier if i was gone...

there is the rope swing.

it would be so easy. it will be over. everyone will forget me quickly, and their lives will be better, and i will be happy knowing that everyone is better off...

i pull the rope up to the upper level where we get on the swing. i wrap it around my neck. it never crosses my mind that people will miss me. it never enters my thoughts the tears that will be shed, the hearts that will break, the pain and anguish this instant will cause. my only thought is that everyone will be happy. that i will have caused this happiness with this one quick, smooth action.

i swing.

i wish i could say that the spirits of my grandparents called out to me. i wish i could say my unborn children screamed within my mind "no!" i wish i could say that god gave me an instant flash of how important i am. i wish i could say that the eternal ripples of this one hanging moment all became clear to me and i was cured of my desire to leave this existance a better place through my absence...

oh fuck this hurts so MUCH!!

i dig my fingers into the small space between my neck and the rope with one hand, reaching up with the other to hold my body weight against the rope, support myself on the swing.

somehow, feet so far from the earth, i manage to extricate myself from the rope, and fall gasping to the ground.

i wish i could say i was better. i wish i could say i never thought of doing something like this again. i wish i could say that i realized how stupid it was, how important i was, how much so many people loved me. i wish i could say i never thought how much better the world would be without me again.

it took years. years of wondering why i am still here. wondering why i was still slogging through all the shit. of thinking how quick, how easy it would be...

while i still cry at movies like donnie darko and the butterfly effect, and oddly understand the thinking that would go behind that kind of thing, i am glad to be here. for the spirits of my grandparents. the spirit of my father. for my children. for my wife. for my mom. for my many friends. for mortgages and car payments and meetings with school counselors and all-stars and tom collins and lawn-mowing and puking my guts out in a tropicana bathroom and pizza deliveries and the opportunity that i have to do all these things, however stupid or mundane or ridiculous or unnecessary they seem.

i am glad to be here.

darth sardonic

(o my beloved non-existant readers, i have to apologize, but for whatever reason i needed to get this out of my system today. i know it probably wasn't an easy read for anyone. life isn't always easy, as we all know. but it is life, and i love it in all its forms. thanks for toughing it out with me.)


Monday, October 01, 2007

no rest for the wicked...

right back in the saddle today with no. 2's therapy early in the am, and school, and i restart hauling pizzas like the ferryman on styx tonight. i am paying for my tatt, i am paying for my tatt, i am going to my happy pla... dammit, i am paying for my tatt.

lady macleod has passed me another award, blogging that hits the mark. thank you so much. i really can't get past all this attention you non-existant readers are lauding me. i would try and say i am not loving it, but we all know that would be bollocks, so again, thank you. as to five bloggers i feel should receive this award in return, i would have to go most definitely with snuffleupagus, i am quite amazed how she can hit the issues extremely hard, and still geek out about a hot new teacher. so cool. i think jenny deserves this one as well, while not everything she writes about is necessarily globally impacting, she really helps when it comes to issues related to those with "disabilities." likewise, dj kirby and blogging about her son. prada pixie regularly leaves posts that i feel hit the spot on a wide range of issues, from surviving cancer to love, and death. and mother hoodlum, i think, deserves this one as well, as she posts about being a single mom and radio shack goddess in such a passionate and humorous way.

a new pic for me (from our trip to long beach) since the other was several years old, and i think i need to remove a few people from my pals list who haven't posted in a very long time.

i have at least one new non-existant reader that has come over here from sg, and i wanted to give a nod to my faithful non-existant readers who don't necessarily blog, or appear in my pals list, i know you are out there, and i appreciate that you read.

if you haven't already, don't let this post make you forget to read about the silliness from vegas, yesterday's post.

darth sardonic

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