kiss me I have a tattoo

22 01 2010

kiss me I have a tattoo

 Maybe it was the slight buzz of Monkey Man playing in the background at the local Venice  bar or the ease of the cold Jim Beam after a 18 hour day. Sitting there in the wee hours my best friend and I hatched our grand revenge on middle age.

 My buddy not being an LA native was born and raised in the conservative wholesome mid west, where tattoos in the era from which we hailed, were for the most part viewed with certain disdain and downward glances. However now some 42 years later with an expanded perspective having escape the microcosm of small town America, that misconception and those stigmas seemed less applicable living in the land of superficiality. It almost seems as if tattoos in LA make you more genuine dare I say a real persona amongst so many false pretenses.

 The question; “Are we too old to do something wild, are we past the age of defacing our temples with some fashionable ink?”….My response;“Hells yah you’re too old”, “which is exactly why we should do it” Now I had gotten a tattoo 20 years ago when I was in active in the Navy, seemed like the thing to do as a Sailor and to this day do not regret getting the Skoal can sized tattoo on the upper left shoulder commemorating my days in service. There have been some reservations, a few women have express concern at the moralistic standard of the person who would knowingly scar their own body. I asked they just consider it a character witness to my other slight flaws, seemed less consequential after some hot body thumping session. A little bad boy image never hurts as it relates to my clean cut baby faced appearance.  

 Not sure what the real allure of tattoos are for the general ink populous, for me I had no real desire to ever get another, I was fine with just the one. My daughters were much relieved at my contentment in just having one, maybe being the suburbanite father that I am I unknowingly instilled those stigmas associated with the tattoo a cult. I can only imagine their disappointment the next time they see me without my shirt off and see a rather large ink extension now running from my upper arm to the lower part of my scapula , fairly obvious.

 Maybe I was caught up in the moment, excited to turn out my rather listless vanilla life. Or was it the thought of being a 40 something struggling with a sagging midsection, crazy body hair and a craggy older looking unshaved face staring back at me in the mirror. Whatever it was it seemed to be looming in my friends subconscious too.   

 Three days later and I’m back in the Midwest writing this blog feeling the itch above my right shoulder listening to some Neil Young with a broadening smile creeping across my face. You would have thought we shagged the homecoming queen, as the two youthful 40 something year old men high fived on the stoop of the Hollywood tattoo shop, stopping for a moment to light up our cigarettes, then strutting our new wares down the boulevard. We were kings and if only for the briefest of moments we turned the clock back on a wasted youth.





in the vacuum of confidence

12 01 2010

Either I have the confidence of Michael Jordan and Brad Pitt combined or I lack the intelligence to know better.

My impatience makes me lazy but it also makes me the hardest worker. I have aspired to greatness thousands of times and so many times have come short of grasping that brass ring at the top of the rung. Maybe it’s just me but my gut and watchful lethargy tells me I’m not alone. I’m like that interesting homeless guy, just not homeless….yet.  I love the “experience” in it all and that is irreplaceable but being the embodiment of confidence has its draw backs. Confidence is not a renewable resource contrary to popular science it is moreover like a fat cell expanding and shrinking over the course of its life on your ass but the numbers never change. I only realized this after the majority of my confidence had been eaten by others and then the other not so positive traits rushed in to work in a frenzied catalyst to attach themselves to the dying cell to mask its true identity. So now in my life of second place achievements and Wal-mart door prizes I still aspire to greatness. The dribble sauce of confidence is such that it needs to be accomplished in short order….hence my very impatient disposition on life. I’ll give you all the depth you need until the next time you dive in and hit bottom, I’ll give you the quickest 40 in 20, wager a bet on me you might win back your losses. No I need to make it quick because I can only fool my false sense of ability for so long until I realize I am too far away from the safety and security of the front porch. I can usurp a nation on one leg but this trick is old, remember observation, the only difference I have a conscience, the flaw thing.

 So here I sit hedging my bets that the smoldering ember formally known as the emblazed tower of confidence will somehow pull me through in the end of days a Warren Zevon protégé sort of speak. Is that truly an over inflated ego or the ignorant wishes, the slow fade of some past memory that won’t go away.





the lost files/Christmas Cookies

19 12 2009

the “lost files” are some of my older writings which I somehow managed to stumble across. Of these works which I now review those that I can read without thus wincing I will interject with my new blogs. Christmas Cookies is my satirical journey as a middle aged bachelor faced by the misguided presentation of cookies.

December 2006

Cookies ah the delirium of Christmas/Holiday cookies. It seems to be common place with being a middle aged bachelor that I think people feel somehow that a big batch of homemade cookies around the holidays is the best present to give  such a guy in need. I get cookies from my family, neighbors, friends, ex girlfriends, potential new girlfriends and the list goes on and on, even my dog Jack gets dog cookies….??.  Please don’t get me wrong I am a preferred cookie guy to other sweet treats, like Santa I know the trade off for being a “Good Boy”. However and there is always the other darker side to these Yule tide giving’s that I take exception with.

The obvious problem is that I have no time to consume the mass quantities of all the cookies at my disposal. The shear quantity of cookies would definitely stand for a large amount of ass growth and weight gain, not to mention the residual health factors from the lard, sugar, butter and other crap people concoct when baking up these little devilish delights( I have to think this way as I slither into middle/high risk heart attack age). With the vast array of cookies to eat I am allowed the luxury to pick and choose which ones I so like better then the others.  I segregated the cookies by appearance, known ingredients and texture, to my dismay this year I found my liked pile was significantly smaller then the “I’m not sure” to “definitely” do not like pile. Not to be pretentious or seemingly like cookie snobberish I decided to live on the edge and try the “Other” category of genuine, made original from someones kitchen with love cookies.

Here’s what I decided:

If it don’t look good it probably ain’t good: How many times does this apply to real life situations but because of some inherent flaw instilled by our parents we must first try it before we create final cookie suicide. I really should have taken pictures for the full effect but in my 13 hour drive from Michigan to Raleigh I did find many of these cookies helped in my defensive driving or road rage as I hurled one cookie after another out my sunroof.

1. The first cookie I call Cancer Cookie: Somewhere along the line moist gooey chocolate morsels were replaced by M&M’s and other hard candy which take some amount of applied dog like jaw pressure to break off from the main land cookie mass. The one I had was so over run with junk, the cookie doe was the exceptional part, bleeding pastel chunks and white tumor looking bits massed together like cancer cells on lymph nodes. I knew if I ate this one I would need Chemo in the months to come.

2. The Sticky or Napalm Bomb cookie: The Apricot Growers of America have found their way into American households with their undeserving recognition as their goods are displayed each year into horribly bite sized taffy, tooth decaying little cookies. What genius thought “hhhhhhmmm a cookie needs an Apricot jam center” Hell no…… not even close, Apricot Brandy is the only things these little crappy fruit should ever be reduced to. Napalm is exactly what these are (for those who are too young to remember Napalm is a sticky flammable substance used in wars , more effectively in Viet Nam for burning out/on the enemy). On 4 attempts as I passed big rigs on the highway I had 3 stick to their trailers. You know there is some trucker scrapping them off today, cursing me all the way.

 

3. The Dark Skinned Nipple Cookie: I always wanted to take two of these and use them as pasties. You know the cookie, a big ole Hershey Kiss surrounded by a little cookie dough. Now my problem is not so much with the kiss but come on is this really a cookie or an excuse to dress up a Hershey’s Kiss. It’s chocolate with a little dough boat……….stop the madness I want COOKIE even though in principle I like nipples just not on my cookie tray from Grandma. The moisture is also lacking in these bad boys and I don’t know but it screws with the chocolate too.

4. The White Desert Storm Cookie: Or Cocaine cookie, these boogers should come with a warning: If eaten without any significant amount of milk on hand you will experience immediate shortness of breath followed by heart arrhythmia and or death. What……… do you make these suckers with……. all dry ingredients and then when you cough because it’s lodged in the back of your throat because it’s too dry to swallow,  the little crushed up nuts get stuck in the back of your nasal passages………………for Mercy’s sake do not drive or operate heavy equipment after taking one of these. Out of my blurred vision I somehow maintained my vehicle in my lane until such a time I could pull over to blow my nose and take a drink. 

Okay I know you all are thinking how ungrateful I am to say such things…… but I bet you all have your favorites too and you know there’s a cookie snob in all of you. Everyone is a Martha freaking Stewart this time of year, if you can’t cook 11 months out of the year Christmas cookies are not the project to cut your teeth on……. say box cake with me. They are sacred to some of us middle aged, bachelor types….don’t mess with perfection or tradition. Simply let the old standards come back into popularity. soft chewy chocolate chip, sugar cookies, oatmeal and raisin. They’ve been making us fat bastards happy since the beginning of traditional cookie giving around the holiday season. So next year to all my friends and family,,,,,,,know that you’ve been served notice……I’ll be here milk in hand waiting

Happy Kwanza, Merry Christmas, Felice Navida

 





why so flawed?

18 12 2009

It’s my parent’s fault……..well not all of it but in a way as many good parents do unknowingly they instilled in me an inherent flaw. It’s not something you can necessarily pin point other than that navigational beacon in the midst of the fog covered moral complications we all encounter on our life’s journey. Mom and Dad did a good job, my moral compass has lead me to do what’s right at those junctures where it would have been so easy to take the road more well traveled. Even now at 40 I still want to kick the asses of those little bastards, morally incompetent kids that cheated at kickball, tether ball and the assorted playground games…..you know who you are, or do you? I knew if I played by the rules and they didn’t I could never say anything, I just hoped their conscience would get the better of them and wham they would apologize for winning the game unfairly…..I’m still waiting. Maybe only now the bitterness has moved so far deep into my bones that I ache for the ignorance of not knowing when the lie presents itself but my bullshit meter is finely honed and my moral compass keeps me in this rabbit hole. Now I am not so righteous that I won’t admit to having tried my best to be an unmodel citizen of the used and abused but as a lady once told me as I left church, as she ever so gently lay her hand on my shoulder  “you always do what’s right in the end” I think it was my big J.C. moment she was right I was and would always be inherently flawed despite the wrongs which have been levied against me. I am the walking wounded but consciously aware of my predicament.

 Things really started to unraveled 6 years ago and for the embarrassment of every bereaved and cheated spouse I am still for intensive purposes still depraved and waiting for my saving grace but it seems that if humility is the doorway to grace, it’s a much bigger fucking door in my case. I still seek companionship from the other survivors of similar shipwrecks but damn if the other survivors know how to make the most of driftwood to stay afloat. Myself I let go so they might have a fighting chance…why? again my parents did a good job as I bubble to a deeper depth. I have every intent on just making wildlife documentaries with these fine persons and somewhere along the sexually exploitive nature of this short film my conscious kicks in, knowing the only attachment is the sexual organ donation I have made. Women definitely fall in love quicker and seem to have the ability to fallout even faster…maybe it’s the nature in which I stay and try to explain how it’s me…. not them, the perfection in my absolving any misgivings is my final masterpiece. They seem to stabilize and kick the afterburner of feelings into their jet stream, finding love as quickly as they have left it and me I watch in udder disbelief that I could have actually felt bad but comforted in the manner in which I handled the breakup…”.I always do what’s right in the end “ as I light up my last cigarette and slowing fade into some generous helping of self loathing.

 I’m having Christmas dinner with my ex and her new husband ( mr infidelity #2) they want to show me their newly remodeled bathroom, cinema room in their home on the North side of town, yes the renovations I paid for because I pay my child support in advance. The dinner will be a choking reminder of my shortfall but I will smile and eat their ham because it’s not often I get pity and gloating all in the same meal. I smoke cigarettes much better these days and my only salvation is the thought of my reward as soon as I get into my vehicle, that is if I don’t slip and bust my ass on their expansive newly paved driveway. I will drive back to my rented house a third of the size of theirs, my rent half the size of my monthly support check, back in the bad part of town, back to where the other down on your luck folks live, the ones who have done the right thing ? or maybe despite our best effort it’s an inevitable gather place for lost souls. No Christmas music this year, another smoke maybe, the drift, the sonnet of some sweet Rolling Stones as I close my eyes and fall asleep with a clear conscious that I have done what my parents have always wanted of me….I am a good boy albeit inherently flawed.