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Posts Tagged ‘pain’

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Photo: Christopher Dunlea

When it rains it pours, shit runs down hill and all that jazz.  The last time I wrote something here I was rather optimistic about life and the world; my life specifically.  OPTIMISM!!! What word, what a dangerous mother fucking word.  It implies that with good thoughts, feelings and hopes good things will be brought about.  Maybe this works for some people. No one I know in particular, but some delusional idiot out there lives by this crap.

Even a pessimistic realist like myself falls into these optimistic ideals on occasion.  It always happens to me when my life starts actually turning around.  Then again had life really turned around for me or was I just starting to believe the lies in order to come to grips with the settlement my life had become?  There were the lies I told myself and the ones that the machine of conformity claimed would bring me happiness.  I am one for total honesty when it comes to oneself, but then again there are times when one needs to believe his own lies in order to accomplish certain goals and ultimately in this mess of an oxymoron a new truth may be achieved.

While I am at it let’s briefly touch on how I feel about the idea of happiness.  I have always subscribed to the thoughts of Aldous Huxley “Happiness is never grand…Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the over-compensations for misery. And of course, stability isn’t nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt…Happiness is never grand.”  This quotation is basically how my life has played out since birth.  If you have been reading here a while then you know.  If not, feel free to indulge yourself for I am not going to bore myself or my loyal readers with my own redundancy (that’s a fucking joke).  Shit I have not written anything for months so I suppose I need to make it count.

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Ah the sweetness of adversity Photo: Christopher Dunlea

Now that we got all that philosophical crap out of the way lets get into exactly what has happened in my life over the past four months.  Believe me a lot must have been going on if I was left nearly speechless by it all.  Some one who existed briefly, yet had a major impact on my life recently said that she found it rather odd that I only share the good side of things on my social media.  Clearly she never read this blog for I am the anti-hero of my own story, a modern Sydney Carton waiting to give his life for his beloved Lucie Manette.  Fuck how often am I positive about myself here? To be honest the pain, misery and suffering I had been going through had me so mentally crippled I was for once in my life at a loss of words or at the very least decent words to delineate my situation.  I also have to blame El Nino as well cause if you frequently read the surflog or just surf in California you know how good it has been here in the 805.

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Oh it’s been fun! Photo Christoper Dunlea

I guess the best place to begin my tale is in the middle of October.  At this point of my life everything was looking splendid and grand.  Things at work were going well.  I had recently got a solid raise.  My bosses were pumped on me.  I had the respect and esteem of all of my employees.  The food we were producing was in my opinion the best we ever had done in my six year tenure at the college.  I was working with my best friend Bizarro and watching him develop as a cook, which gave me a real sense of kin.  Life was good.

Yet there was something missing I just couldn’t put my finger on. Although production was at an all time high, quality good and waste low I still knew we could do better.  I live by the code of the samurai striving for complete perfection and mastery of whatever I wish to consummate.  “So many aspire to greatness yet so few succeed.”  Maybe I got too full of myself.  My ego can be a bit ridiculous at times.  I might have pushed the kitchen and management too hard.  I don’t really know how it all fell apart, though looking back now I have an idea.  We are not there yet and I don’t want to get ahead of myself.  I may not have wrote for a bit, but I think upon the conclusion of this piece you be happy I waited.

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I will stand by my food with my life.

“Hindsight is 20/20” and in life I have always had eagle eyes.  Like I said work was good.  Life was good.  I was surfing a bunch and well. Biz and I were shooting tons of photos.  On the party scene I finally climbed to the top of my circle.  It certainly helped having a bit of disposable income around.  In my personal life I wised up to a certain entity that had been bringing me down for years.  It wasn’t her fault or mine we just kept ignoring the writing on the wall and our own good sense.  Certain instances took place that I am not going to mention, but opened my eyes and saw that as a couple we were never going to go anywhere and although we had found a livable groove that could have went on for another five years, I needed more.
party1I’m a romantic, a Shakespearean, an avid reader of Jane Austin.  For these reasons alone I could no longer exist in a relationship of convenience.   Finally after spending the bulk of September agonizing over what to do I took a deep breath and cut the cord.  I emotionally freed myself from the cage I put myself in two and a half years ago.  Man, it was scary.  As most of you know I am not a person who does well alone.  One thing I have always held true to is that I would much rather be alone for the right reasons then with some one for the wrong reasons.  Loneliness, vulnerability and depravity by themselves are not good enough reasons to pursue a life with another if there is no magic.  Thus I walked away standing tall and proud of the decision I made.

Once again I found myself single.  The dating world had changed quite a bit from when I was in the game.  It is very possible that I had changed a bit too, now in my mid thirties and having very different needs and wants then I ever had before.  For the first time in my life the thought a family crossed my mind when meeting a woman.  I wanted someone I didn’t have to save or constantly help get out of trouble.  I didn’t want to regularly have to turn negative vibes into positive ones.  I really wanted to learn from my past.  Luckily I analyze the shit out of my life and especially my romantic escapades.

I wasn’t perfect either.  In the past I had ruined more then one possible great relationship by being a total ass, selfish, immature or all three.  My temper has always been a problem.  I am Italian after all and we are very passionate people in all aspects of our life.  Temper is definitely a flaw  I am most guilty of.  Over the years I have made great efforts to control such.  There is still a long way to go. We are all works in progress till death comes knocking at that door, probably sooner then later for me.

Ultimately I wanted a relationship with more substance, a person with more substance.  I wanted someone in the industry.  People in my field constantly work crazy hours, nights, weekends, holidays.  This makes having a relationship with someone in the 9-5 world nearly impossible.  When you are off they are working.  When they are off you are working.  When you get off at 10 pm you want to drink a glass of wine, maybe go out, eat a meal. The 9-5’er is already in bed.  On the weekends when they want to rage most likely a member of the hospitality industry isn’t getting off till midnight. It becomes a real strain on both parties.

I thought about other cooks or chefs, but we all have egos and mine is heavier then most.  I knew unless I found the most passive chef  we would kill each other.  I put my sights on the front of the house, waitresses, hostesses, bartenders, managers, etc.  Also let it be said I wanted at least six months to pass before I met anyone else.  Even though my former relationship had been technically dead when we broke off our engagement nearly a year prior we still stayed together for another year of emotional dolor.  By all psychological accounts I needed time to heal.

Day in and day out I went upon my everyday.  As much as I hated the world of internet dating I got back on that horse again to no more avail then I had the first go around.  The difference was I had grown a thicker skin and didn’t really take anything too seriously.  If I met someone cool, awesome and if not at least I got out of the house and made a new possible connection.  One should try to make at least six contacts a day according to many very successful people at life in general.  I had a bit of fun with it all this time around.  Why not have fun? We only get one go around.

My life was good.  That almost brings us up to the fated  blog of optimism I published on November 17th 2015: “A Fresh Start“. Not quite entirely, not even a little bit.  During the aforementioned foray with dating through a digital medium I managed to meet someone whom I began to feel rather smitten for.  I believe she did as well.  The chemistry between us was about the best I have ever felt between a member of the opposite sex and myself.  We had enough in common to be compatible, though not so much as for it to get boring.   There were complimentary strengths and weaknesses existing among us as to be advantageous to both.  The two of us looked good together as a couple both having impeccable fashion sense and good taste (yeah mostly her, my tastes are still very much on the Guido side of things.  You know the saying: “take the kid out of Jersey, but never take the Jersey out of the kid”).

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Like I said “Guido”

We genuinely got along.  With all of these aspects of a budding romance in play I decided to legitimately pursue the relationship breaking my six month rule I had set earlier.  There will always exist a spoiler to such rules in this life.  For that spoiler always has been if I think I met someone who could actually be “the one”.  Cupid doesn’t time when he shoots his arrows and I have let plenty of opportunities for love pass me by cause I  ignored his call in order to sort out a different directive.  The impetuous modern day version of Romeo I can be at times threw all caution to the wind and went for it.  By the time I posted “A Fresh Start” I was very much in love and in the midst of a torrid romance.

For weeks I was in a blissful rouse of jovial spirit.  As a matter of fact I couldn’t remember a time when I was more happy.  Its funny how amazing life is when you feel everything is going your way.  I didn’t have a care in the world.   Nothing lasts forever and as fast as love had come to me that was as fast the pitiful wrath of its ending also abounded.  How it all came crashing down at such a hastened pace was beyond me and the downward spiral it would cause was soon to be realized…

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Photo: Christopher Dunlea

Stay tuned for more of this most recent saga of my life soon….

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BatteredFingerSmI woke up this morning with a penis on my finger and a throbbing sensation.  No my finger was not getting a hard on.  In fact it was just all swollen and pissed off after the trauma it had been through in the course of the last twenty four hours.  If you read the Surflog then you know I was off the past week for spring break and that up until today I was on a pretty decent surf streak this month.  I guess that streak has come to an annoying halt.

Friday (3-14) was my first day back at work in about a week.  In theory it should have been an “easy money” day as we like to call them at the kitchen.  My projected number of diners was around 50 to 100 at best and I had another cook at my disposal for the shift.  Like I said “easy money”.  The menu was decent enough, white vegetable lasagna, BBQ chicken, turkey pot pie along with the usual sides.  I took the slower day as an excuse to make the best damn lasagnas I possibly could. I love the less intense days so I can go that extra mile, which can be near to impossible on the days when your feeding 1,200, keeping tabs on six stations and eight cooks. None the less I always try to obtain the highest level quality possible.

By 3:30 we were pretty much solid on all the preparations and had nothing really to accomplish till four.  I noticed the dishwasher had failed to put away a number of pots, pans, cutting boards and other kitchen related items. Being the nice helpful guy I am I decided to go into the dish pit and finish the job thus avoiding aggravation to my night dish washers who always have shit dumped on them.  As I was stacking a group of 10 gallon pots above my head (a weight of over 30 lbs) I some how managed to get my finger caught between the bottom pot an the other three.  A finger guillotine was instantly created and carried out.
Finger guillotineYou know when you know you just do something really fucked up to yourself, but at that moment while in denial you look at it and think “fuck, that ain’t so bad”.  While intently looking at my finger, or what bludgeoned mess now resembled it I though maybe I could put it back together with a little crazy glue and a band aid.  As I watched the tip of my finger flap in and out of position and saw that the nail was cut clean through I came to the realization that professional medical care was in need.  Fuck it, it happened on the job thus I didn’t have to pay for it anyway.

I walked up to my boss, let him behold the bloody mess that was a finger and nonchalantly stated “I think I need to fill out an incident report”.  He got rather pale in the face, handed me a towel and took me to the local urgent care.  My own personal assessment of the injury and previous dealings with such had me almost certain the ER was not a necessity.  Yes I do tend to find myself in these situations quite regularly.  Its always amusing to me when I walk into a waiting room with a bloody towel wrapped around me and the horrified looks on all the other patients.  All of a sudden their minor complaints of back pain and a sore throat seem rather minuscule as they think “shit, at least I’m not that guy”.  Its ok cause I am always that guy.

Whenever I approach the check in counter the nurses are always thinking “Fuck, I don’t want to deal with this shit, especially at 4:30 on a Friday”.  Meanwhile I always just try and laugh it off as I do with most problems that are thrown at me.  Situations always are more fun when everyone is laughing even in an emergency.  Not wanting to deal with my mess I was sent across town to an occupational health center set up by the town to deal with worker compensation related issues.  Fucked up hand withstanding I was handed a clip board full of questions to answer.

The first few were apropos medical questions.  When I got to the third page, yes THE THIRD MOTHER FUCKING PAGE!!! Mind you I am bleeding all over the place, the form, the chair, my clothes.  I started reading questions like “What hobbies do you enjoy”, “what sports do you participate in”, “what music do you like”.  I said to the nurse behind the desk “what are you writing a book? or am I filling out a dating profile?,  or maybe your looking to sell my information to a mass marketing company, I don’t care which but I AM FUCKING BLEEDING ALL OVER MYSELF HERE!!!!!”  Another funny thing about when you are bleeding all over the waiting room is how all the other patients immediately get up and move to as far away to the other side  of the room as they can.  As if the aids I am not carrying is going to jump into them.

I finally get in to see the doctor, who also consequently wants to go home cause its now 4:50pm on a Friday and his office closes at 5pm.  All his nurses went home already leaving me with him, the x-ray technician and one of the receptionists, none of whom had ever assisted in such a procedure.  Everyone was rather eager to learn and I figured what the hell, why not be a guinea pig.  The operation got under way and I am not going to lie it was a pretty messy ass wound, all jagged and on a weird ass angle.  The doctor decided to go right through the nail with the stitches, a technique I had never really seen used before.  When he was all done he called the entire office in to see his handy work.  I don’t know if he was really proud of the job or he just wanted to show  how fucked up it was.  Either way it was most amusing.  When all was said and done I was left with a penis finger.
Four fingers and a Penis, lucky me. I guess it is better then the four fingers and bloody vagina I had prior to this photo.

Four fingers and a Penis, lucky me. I guess it is better then the four fingers and bloody vagina I had prior to this photo.

That leaves us at this present moment as I finish painstakingly typing this blog for your enjoyment with a hand and a half.  Looks like I am going to be side lined for a few days, maybe a week.  I am not really looking to get in the water until the stitches come out next Tuesday 3/25.  I asked the doc when he thought I could surf again and he said a few days if I duct tape it and keep it dry.  With a solid looking WNW coming in for early this week I may have to take such drastic matters.  Then again is it worth risking an infection and the possibility of losing the finger altogether?  Time will tell my friends.

Flawless Rincon Cove, enough to make the reward out weigh the risk?

Flawless Rincon Cove, enough to make the reward out weigh the risk?

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Human existence is one of those entities I find so mysterious and utterly intriguing.  Everyone is so different yet at the same time so alike.  I just don’t understand anything about the world around me most of the time and as I get older care less to know.  It seems the more I try to figure out whats going on the more lost and frustrated I become.  Instead I try and go along for the ride and see how life unfolds around me acting and reacting accordingly.

That is exactly what I decided to do that faithful Thursday evening back in October and where we last left off a little over a week ago.  Camus wrote a very intriguing short story entitled The Stranger about a wrongfully accused and convicted man the night before his scheduled execution.  The whole premise of the story is him coming to terms with excepting the fact that he is powerless in his situation to alter his fate and that he is going to die.  Once this is realized he becomes rather at ease.

As I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, razor in hand, suit laid out on my bed that was just what went through my head.  I was prepared to except my fate no matter what the outcome may have been.  If I was to show up and meet Heather then I really had no control over what was going to happen.   In the end it was to be her call.  I needed it to be. I didn’t want to sell her on me, plea a case of why we should be together or persuade her to change her mind.  I wanted her to either want to be with me because she loved me and wanted to build a life with me or let it burn and we would move on with our lives separately.

No matter the outcome I was resolved to be strong for if she truly was happier without me then I would be happy for her.  It would be a bummer for me.  Such is life.  I had done everything I possibly could have.  The matter was finally out of my hands.  As I showed up at her door with me was my final poem to her, maybe the best one I have ever composed.  I coupled it with an orchid, the highest most sophisticated flower a man should ever give a woman and not one to be gifted nonchalantly.

This poem I planned to read to her personally from my heart with my voice.  That was just what I did.  She cried, we hugged and then we went to dinner.  I took her to this mellow little spot on Carrillo St., Roy’s.  The food is pretty average but the atmosphere is very inviting and rather intimate making it a perfect date spot.  Price wise it wont break your bank (by Santa Barbara standards) and they have a rather decent wine list.  It seemed like the perfect place for what was to take place.

I must admit I was really nervous, more so then I had ever been.  It took all my self control to keep from shaking at times.  Our conversation and interaction was palatable to give me some hope, although my instincts told me the out come would be not all I was hoping for.  I presented my thoughts and feelings.  When I concluded she handed me a letter.  I took it and put it in the breast pocket of my jacket to read at a later time.

She said she still needed more time, maybe till January or longer to sort things out.  This was the answer I was expecting.  At first I lost my composure.  I kind of feel like anyone with a heart would have.  I got a little defensive and a bit on the angry side.  The whole idea seemed prosperous to me.  We had only been together seven months and nothing catastrophic had passed between us that would warrant such a break.

The explanation was she needed to time to regroup and take her life back.  I told her we should make the most out of the night if it was to potentially be our last night together.  “Let’s pass this night together as lovers and then walk away in the morning as distant acquaintances”.    We enjoyed our meal.  There was some heavy emotion on both sides as can be expected of such.  Afterward I took her down to the beach.  I had gotten a bottle of champagne, one of my favorites and decided to blow my sax for her a bit.  Heather had never heard me play before.

My music is a very personal thing for me and ever since I got out of doing it for a living I tend to keep my performances few and far between.  When I do play, especially these days it’s in rather obscure instances, such as out on the beach at 12 am.  The air had a cold nip in it that night.  I wrapped her in blankets and played a few of my favorite standards and one of my own.  I do believe it had quite an effect over her.

The rest of the night and early morning passed slowly although not slow enough.  As I laid there in bed and she was sleeping on my chest I wished I had the power to stop time.  That I could stay in that moment forever.  It is not in the power of man to do such things nor would it be poignant to.  Time most move on.  Right before I closed my eyes I accepted this and knew that no matter what happened from there that I would always have that moment in my heart forever.  If I could remember the shrouded felicity that passed between us, then I could always look back on the time spent with her in a positive manner.

The next morning I watched her walk out of my life, possibly forever.  The plan was to meet at a certain location at a certain time on New Years Day if either of us felt so inclined.  Until then there was to be no contact.  If we were going to take a break it had to be a real break this time.   I stood in the doorway of my apartment and listened till I could no longer hear her footsteps on the pavement.  A sense of melancholy set in.  Sure, there was always New Years, but the reality was it was not a reality at all, but a fantasy to help deal with the pain.

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As everyone knows I have been hurting a bit these days.  For a while I was puting all the pain into my novel, but as of late decided to take a step back from that project.  I was finding it hard to get pages finished.  A writer friend of mine told me I should leave it alone for a bit and then come back to it.  About three nights ago I was feeling rather depressed.  It happens to the best of us.  I don’t really know what happen next.  This Stanley Jordan song came up on my ipod’s shuffle and the words started to flow.  I have not written a short story in some time.  Maybe it is a pre-amble to something greater.  All I can say is putting it on paper really helped me to clear my head.  I don’t know if its any good, probably just a string of incoherent garbage.  You can be the judge.  I have not had too much writing on here as of late so I figured I would share something different as an apology for that.  Enjoy.

The Bitter End

 He heard the angry clacking of her heels on the sidewalk. The sound slowly got more faint as she walked off into the distance.  Why did she leave?  Why did he let her?  Why was he not the one to leave her?  Why had his heart just sunk into his chest leaving him feeling weak?  “You have so much potential, but I can’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself any longer.”

Those were the words that stuck with Joe. “I don’t love you anymore, I never really did”.  He did not say a word to that.  To any of it for that matter.  He just sat there and listened.  It was almost as if he was not there, but floating above the whole scene.  All the screaming, arguing and the crying.  He did not even feel the pain or blood slowly trickling down the knuckles of his steadily swelling hand.

No, all he could think about was the fact that he would never see her again, never smell her hair next to him when he woke up in the morning, never experience the warmth of her naked body pressed up against his after being satiated by the heat of the passion they once had for each other.  It was over, really over this time.  Not like all the others when she had walked out and came back a few hours or a day or two later.  He did not know for sure, but was almost certain.

There is this extra sensory that couples develop for one another after a sufficient amount of time passes.  They can just sense the thoughts and emotions of the other.  That is one of the remarkable mysteries of love.  He had pushed her limits too far this time.  Joe knew it.

She had loved him once he thought, even if she said otherwise.  Why is it when two lovers split up they always have to say the most hurtful things.  She had to love him once right?  Why else would she have stayed with him for all those years?  She was there when he was on top of the world and when it all came crashing down.  She nursed him back to health when he was bed ridden with an unknown illness.  She always put his needs first.

She had to have loved him at least once.  Maybe she still did.  He would never know now.  She would not come back.  He knew that.  And he would not go after her.  There he sat paralyzed on the dirty front porch of his apartment, their apartment at one time.  He did not care that the dirt would soil and possibly ruin the designer beige and cream pinstripe suit he had tailored for him.  He did not care about the fact that his hand was broken or the subsequent hole in the wall.

She would not come back.  One tear fell from his right eye.  Just one.  The tin man finally got his heart.  She never really knew how he felt for her.  He was never able to express it.  He thought at times his actions may have shown it.  What did that matter now? Water under the bridge.  She would not come back. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

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The Five Day Lurk

I am still alive at least so I suppose that is a feat I should  be thankful for or should I?  If you remember back a few blogs ago to the  Five Day Halloween Party blog Kooky and I were all set for a five day lurk.  Well we made three nights of it before I ended up getting nearly deathly ill, did not leave my bed for two days and did not surf for five.  I am not talking sick from drinking unless this is the beginnings of cirrhosis.  I guess time will tell.  I can’t remember the last time I was that bad off.  I still have a lingering cough. I almost went to the medical clinic.  Luckily my immune system is still a champ and won the battle.

For the remaining nights of Halloween nothing too eventful happened. Kooky did manage a great rendition of Prince that had all the gays at the Kitty jumping out of their seats.  I did a decent portrayal of a Blues Brother.  One night we both went out as Guidos.  It was fun although I am a little disappointed that we could not make the entire lurk.   Good times.

Chefing It Up

On the work front things are going well.  Sodexo opened a new Mexican station in the dinning commons.  I was put in charge of dinner there Wednesday through Friday nights.  At first it was pretty hectic and I got a bit frustrated.  I even considered quitting.  Now I have it somewhat wired.  It is still a ton of work but at least I am learning Mexican cuisine.   With five Mexican cooks on payroll I do not really understand why they put the white Italian cook in charge of the station, but so be it.  I find myself just seasoning everything with onion, cumin, chili powder, cayenne, oregano, lime and lemon juice.  I guess every genre of cooking has its stereo typical spices.  I am beginning to learn mole and different types of salsa reductions.  At the very least its one more thing to add to the resume.

The Joy of Adult Education

The school front on the other hand has not been going so well.  I missed a few classes and had to beg my teachers not to fail me straight out.  I am failing catering cause I have no time to put in the required 26 hours of unpaid labor for the semester and ironically I am failing w0rk study cause I don’t have time to hand in the homework.  I hate school its such a backward institution.  Especially City Colleges where anyone can attend.  The students on the whole are unmotivated and dumb, as a result the teachers water down the curriculum and lose their vigor in the process.

Truth be told I am not all that motivated myself.  I work five days a week busting my ass in the kitchen only to spend my only two days off sitting in a class with a bunch of want to be top chefs.  Those who can cook like myself have these ridiculous egos and even challenge the professors.  That makes up half the class.  The other half are completely clueless, have never stepped foot in a professional kitchen before in their lives and most days are more of a danger to themselves and others with their terrible technique.  Let me say this not everyone was cut out for this business.  The ego maniacs walk around the room just waiting for someone to mess up so that they can rub that person’s nose in it.  The whole thing is insanity.

My Pain

As of this moment I am considering taking next semester off to clear my head and take a better stock in my life.  I have been struggling with heavy depression ever since Adrienne left back in June.  I tried to fill the hurt with a stupid affair that ended with me just getting more hurt.  I don’t know why Ades has been such a pain to me.  I mean when I was with her I was always a bit indifferent to her.  Picking up the pieces of both my heart and my life has become tough and I find myself really afraid that I am turning into other guys I know who were in a similar situation as myself.  One case in particular the dude is a great guy who still has not been able to move on and the hurt is killing him.

I believe I am stronger then that.  I guess only time will tell.  My drinking is definitely gotten excessive, but for the moment I need it.  Alcohol is the only way I can cope with the pain at the moment.  Maybe it was the way things ended that messed me up so bad.  That fact that the one human being I met that seemed better then most when it came to morals and inner strength went and did an act so against everything she stood for that it turned her into a living oxymoron.  I hate fallacies.  One thing I can say about myself and I will always take pride in is that I am a straight shooter and am not a bullshit person.

I call it like I see it.  I don’t make excuses for my conduct and have always been honest about it.  I know I am an asshole and boarder line degenerate, well maybe more of a wolf in sheep’s clothing?  I have always broadcast such.   In the end I know I am going to pull it together.  I always do, but right now I am still most days rather sad, the rest of the days are spent either dead inside or the occasional really happy one.  Classic manic depression.  My mother told me I should make a list of what I think would make me happy and then figure out how I should go about accomplishing such.

Usually her advice just pisses me off, but this makes a lot of sense and is one I am indubitably going to implement.  I need to figure out something to dig myself out of the hole Adrienne left me in.  Enough of this endless pity party.  How tired is everyone of hearing about me cry about Ades?  I know I am.  I think this is the last time I am going to write about such.  I know I always say that.  Sorry in advance when I have another relapse.

The beautification of the Lisanti Palace

I woke up about two weeks ago all hung over from the night before and looked around at the dump of an apartment I live in.  At that moment I realized what a cesspool I have been living in.  No wonder my last two roommates turned out to be heroine addicts.  You would have to be on drugs to consciously pay money to live in this shit hole.  I have had some money saved for my one day New Zealand escape.  These days that dream seems to be getting farther and farther away.  I have decided to take a chunk of that money and put it into renovating my apartment.

I am buying new furniture, putting tile down in the kitchen, hardwood flooring in the dinning room and living room, gutting the entire bathroom.  I am going to turn the palace into a sick bachelor pad.  A place a man can come home to and be proud of.  I think if I nice up my surroundings it might help with my depression a bit.  The process has already begun Ryan, Kooky and I went to Home Depot and bought paint and spackle to give the walls a new coat.   I may post updates here form time to time with before and after pictures.

I think that is it for now.  I just thought I would fill everyone in on whats been going on in my life and that I have not given up completely.  I promise I will turn things around.  I am really beginning to feel like my life is on the verge of turning the corner.  I can just sense good things about to happen….

I saw this on my way home from surfing the other day and it got me thinking deep.

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Well this morning we have a very special UCB for all you little kiddies out there in cyber world.  John Mauriello wins this week or I guess it really should have been last week, but I dont really give a fuck cause its my shitty ass blog and I will do what I want to.  Anyway he asked about my new found passion for lurking.  Sure he posted it about a month ago, but it was very appropriate to the situation.  If this is a bit incoherent it is because I have a little bit of the bad medicine in me (rum).

I think first off I will start with the dictionary meaning for lurking and it reads as such: ” to lie or wait in concealment, as a person in ambush; remain in or around a place secretly or furtively”.  If that is what dictionary lurking is let me explain what Lisanti lurking is. Its really grand and super classy.  It also follows the same principles as the above definition.

Lurking is the derogatory name I deem to going out to the bar, club, party or any place for that matter with the sole purpose to pick up a chick and fuck her.  After which you will never see her again and most likely never even have gotten her name.  Don’t you know that is the best way to interact with your fellow humans of the opposite sex, especially ones you should be looking to pair up with and spend the rest of your life with.  At least in the animal kingdom the male just flat out rapes the female and gets it over with.

No, as humans we find ourselves more then superior to our four legged foes.  Instead we use our cunning intelligence to out smart the female using a combination of looks, intelligence and of course alcohol to achieve such desired results.  In all respect the female does the same.  Fuck she is probably a more ruthless predator then a man.  At least men are for the most part obvious about their intentions.  Women on the other hand act all innocent, nice and decent.  Then once you give them your heart they turn around and fuck you over.  That is because every last one of them is nothing more then a filthy stinking whore.  Fellow males out there if you have a girlfriend, fiance,  or wife and think she is happy guess again.  If she has not fucked some guy behind your back yet, well she probably will later.  Especially if you treat her well.

Here is how a lurk works.  I get dressed up in my best cloths and I go out to the bar.  Immediately upon entering I case the place out to see what talent lies with in.  Then I figure out the game plan that will work best for me to prey on some unsuspecting female counter part.  End goal: to get her back to my place where I can hopefully objectify her by fucking the shit out her all night with out ever getting her name or caring to learn a thing about her. If I can get her out of my house in time for a mid day surf  and never see or hear from her again even better.

How is that achieved, by saying and doing whatever it takes to make it happen.  Your kind of a con-artist.  If you have a good wing man then you most likely have an entire repertoire down.  It is like when lions hunt they pick out the weakest zebra in the heard coax it out and then nab it.  When you lurk you find your mark and basically do the same with out the eating alive part, unless your some kind of psycho killer.

Yeah I claim to be a gentleman, but I guess that is a load of bull shit!  I’m just a mother fucking scum bag like every one else out there trying to get mine before it gets me.  Except there is one catch I don’t lurk anymore.  I cant lurk anymore.  As a matter of fact it makes me nauseous even to think about such a thing.  I find that to be a funny fact because I used to thrive on such an act.

No, I think I’m fucking done.  I had my time and it passed.  I don’t want to lurk.  I don’t want to drink.  I don’t want to feel terrible anymore.  I’m tired and I wish my time here would end.  For some reason I cant die.  Believe me I have tried and wished, but here I am still breathing air.  I can not take my own life cause that would be too simple, but why cant I have peace?  Do I not deserve serenity.   I am exasperated with jumping through hoops.  Maybe I will just move up into the pacific northwest in the hills and become a recluse.

I have had everything I could ever have wanted in life already.  Then I lost it.  I don’t want anything else.  Why can’t you see how wrong this life is that you created for us.  I know your not happy. Stop lying to yourself and be what you always told me you were. My faith in humanity was small when I met you and now after it has diminished even more.  Fuck everyone.  I’m over  all of you and your shit.  Stop laughing at me cause its not funny.  It never has been.  While you laugh I cry.  Thats how its been my whole life.

What the fuck more do you want from me?  What more do I have to prove? How much more suffering should I have to endure?

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